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outro-jo · 1 year

Text

skz pushing you away

pairing: skz x reader

type: scenario

warnings: poor communication and relationship dynamics (serious red flags), angst?, idk of anything else

request: sorta

a/n: so the original concept presented was if w skz rejected your affections, it upset you and you left but as per usual i took ✨creative liberties✨ please read info before requesting

masterlist | info

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chan- chris was the one that invited you to the studio but he didn’t realize just how stressed he was. you arrived with food and kisses but he immediately shrugged both off with a slight edge in his voice as he told you that he had to get this done. you maintained your peppy demeanor as you took a seat on the sofa and were happy just to scroll through you phone and be with him. felix has popped a head in to talk to chris but actually struck up a conversation with you as soon as he noticed you on the couch. more uptight than even he expected chris suddenly snapped. “look, i have to finish our fucking album in less than 48 hours! can you two take this somewhere else?!” you and felix stared at each other wide eyed for a minute before sheepishly following each other out of the room. the two of you kept talking like nothing happened. the pressure rarely gets to your boyfriend like this and while he does get upset at times, he’s never yelled at either of you like that. just this once, you both were willing to give him a pass. what you didn’t realize was how long you had been out there talking when chris suddenly ran out of the room. he almost fell over in relief when he saw the two of you still in the hallway. “oh, thank god you’re both here. i really need to apologize. i shouldn’t have snapped like that. it was awful of m—“ “chris, baby, we’re fine. i promise we’re not upset.” you reassured him. “yeah, mate, i know if it wasn’t for you this album wouldn’t be finished. no harm done. all good, cuz.” felix chimed in, hugging his hyung then you before saying his goodbyes. when you were alone again, chris caressed your cheek, stroking it with his thumb and rested his forehead on yours. “don’t ever let me speak to you like that again. wack me on the head real good, yeah?” he breathed out a chuckle. “oh, i won’t but i know you won’t do it again. gave you a good scare, huh?” you giggled at his reaction earlier. chris let out a laugh at himself and wrapped his arm around your shoulder to lead you back to the studio. “yeah, i really panicked there for a minute. i thought you’d really gone.” “nah, you can’t get rid of me. you can make it up to me with cuddles though.” you teased him. “oh, i absolutely will. just let me finish this up.” he nodded towards the set up. “take your time. i’ll be right here, love.”

lee know- your boyfriend was not someone to be messed with when he was angry and he was currently in one of the biggest arguments he’d ever had with one of the other members. the others were calling it nuclear and unfortunately none of them had given you a warning. when he came home, still fuming, you excitedly rushed up to him like you usually do, peppering his face with kisses until he threw you off. “god! i can’t have any fucking space!” minho snapped before storming back into the bedroom, leaving you teary eyed on the floor. never had you seen him like this and never had he treated you like that before. he loved your kisses, cuddles, and hugs even on his worst day. it left you confused and emotional to say the least. so you pulled on your jacket and shoes, leaving before he could come out, possibly hurting you again. if it’s space he wanted, it’s space he would get. you didn’t really know where you were going and you didn’t even grab your wallet or cell phone. tears blurred your vision as you walked around the city streets. by accident you’d grabbed your boyfriend’s jacket and when you reached into the pocket finding a little cash so you went into the convenience store to get yourself a snack to make yourself feel better. it was the least he could do after all and if he made a big deal about it, you can always pay him back. you took your treat and walked over to the playground nearby, enjoying it on the swing. the sky above you got darker and after some time you figured you should face the music at home. opening the door, you braced yourself for angry minho but were met with broken minho. he looked up at you from the couch, eyes glazed over with tears as he quickly got up, pulling you into his arms. “i’m sorry, baby. i’m so sorry.” he repeated over and over. your body was stiff against him in shock. “minho, what happened? what’s going on?” “i tried calling and texting you. i should have never done that to you.” he pulled back quickly, inspecting all over your body. “did i hurt you? do you have any bruises?” “probably my bum.” you pushed him off you and made your way to the couch. minho stood there dejected, shoulders slumping. “i probably deserved that” he mumbled. “yeah… a little.” you sighed, trying not to punish him too much. “babe, come talk to me. why were you so upset?” you pat the space on the sofa next to you. soon minho laid with his head in your lap telling you everything about the argument he’d had earlier and the two of you found a solution. he spent the rest of the night apologizing and making it up to you.

changbin- binnie was really bad at communicating. lately he was overwhelmed with work and didn’t really know how to tell you that he was going on tour so he just kinda distanced himself. you noticed he was staying at the dorms more and when he was around he wasn’t as receptive to you affections as he usually was. at first you didn’t think much of it and to compensate for him pulling away, you started doing the most. you had food delivered to the dorms just to get a “thanks” text in return. you ordered the exercise equipment he was looking at online and all he did was kiss your temple. the final straw was when you actually went over to the dorms to cook them all dinner and watch a movie. changbin was feeling like absolute garbage by now for how you were treating him like a prince but he kept pushing you away. he was almost in tears and when the movie started, you happily cuddled into him, laying you head on his chest. he could have cracked right then, but instead he held it together and just moved you off him. the gesture was enough to have you snap… in front of everyone. “THAT’S IT SEO CHANGBIN! JUST TELL ME YOU DON’T LOVE ME! BREAK UP WITH ME, SCREAM AT ME, ANYTHING! ANYTHING IS BETTER THAN HAVE YOU DO THIS TO ME! I CAN’T DO IT ANYMORE!” once that was out of your system, you rushed from the dorm in tears. the boys all exchanged looks before checking on the group mate on the sofa. “i messed up.” he finally whispered as tears formed in his eyes. the boys gathered around him to love him as he finally broke down, chan offering encouragement and advice. you had rushed off without your things but it didn’t matter until you got to your apartment and couldn’t get in. so you sat outside the door and just cried. the gravity of what just happened hit changbin and he called you to try and fix things. your ringtone started playing. changbin grabbed your stuff scattered around the dorm and ran all the way to your apartment. he found you slumped against the door sound asleep from crying and it broke his heart. you woke up in his arms as he carried you to your bed. “binnie?” you asked groggily. “please don’t leave me. i have no right to ask that if you but i can’t lose you.” he whispered as his bottom lip trembled. “i thought you didn’t want to be with me.” you said confused. changbin held you close and finally told you what had been on his mind over the last few weeks. you promised not to leave him as long as he promised to never shut you out like that again.

hyunjin- poor boy, he’s just been so overwhelmed lately. he’s had a lot of opportunities arise lately and a comeback and tour and while he’s excited about all of it, there’s just so much piling up. hyunjin is the type of person that little things he’ll make a big deal about, sometimes because it’s just funny and he has a reaction to it. however, the larger, deeper issues he internalizes mostly to do with him processing. it takes him a while for him to come to anyone unless he’s very close to them. early on in your relationship he would hardly talk to you about some of the bigger things in life bothering him and would opt to go to minho or chan just because he’s known them longer. since he’s internalizing so much it’s been harder for him to be more affectionate with you. he’s not thinking too well and he’s just finding ways to distract himself to cope, meaning he’s less receptive when you try to be affectionate with him. annoyingly for you, he doesn’t realize he’s doing it. when you come home from work that evening, you find him on the sofa mindlessly scrolling through his phone. you offer him a cheerful, loving greeting and only get a mumbled, half-hearted response in return. that didn’t even bother you, what did was when you joined him on the couch and cuddled into his side, hyunjin immediately got up and walked to the kitchen, letting you fall to the wayside. he didn’t even bother to look up from his phone. it hurt. the pain stung in your chest, knocking the wind out of your stomach and bringing tears to your eyes. without a word, you got up and put your shoes back on. just as quick as you finally got home after a long day of work you were once again out the door. you called one of your best friends and asked if they wanted to go somewhere to eat and talk. hearing the emotion in your voice they agreed and met you. they let you vent the whole time, letting you cry and offering you support. before you knew it, the two of you had been talking up until the restaurant was closing and decided it was time for you to part ways for the night. on your way back to the apartment you noticed that you had several missed calls and texts from hyunjin. still hurt by his actions, you decided not to look at any of the messages and just talk when you got home figuring it would be ok if he sweat a bit more. boy, were you wrong. upon entering the apartment again you were met with a distraught hyunjin crashing into you. “baby, i’m so sorry! i’m so glad you’re ok!” he cried into your shoulder. “hyunjin, wha—?” you were stunned and slowly reached a hand up to stroke the back of his head. guilt started to bubble up for making him worry so much. “i’m sorry, baby, i’ve just been so overwhelmed. i didn’t mean to push you away. please don’t leave me!” he begged as he sobbed. your heart ached in your chest at his pain. he’s been holding in so much and you didn’t really have any idea. “hyune… baby, i’m not going anywhere i promise. just please talk to me, yeah? i just wanna be there for you.” you tucked your chin into him and whispered softly before placing a kiss to his head. “c’mon, love, let’s get some rest.” you led him to the bedroom where he laid on your chest and shared everything he’d kept hidden in his mind.

han- in his mind it was a joke. he was goofing off and playing around each time you leaned in for a kiss, pulling back or dodging him. jisung was a sucker for any form of attention he got from you but today he was just more in a playful mood. what you hadn’t talked about yet was how awful work had been. it was probably one of the worst days you’d had in a while and you were barely holding it together simply because you were with him at the dorms. you’d gotten the message at work and from that moment you’d been looking forward to just snuggling up in his arms and watching a movie together to forget how terrible your day had been. but jisung insisted on messing around just to be funny and making some of the guys laugh, well, some of them. felix has been noticing things from the kitchen and told jisung to cut it out but he didn’t listen, thinking his dongsaeng was just trying to ruin his fun. it was not longer fun for anyone when after he had done it one last time you got up, grabbed your shoes and bag, and stormed out of the dorms. the only one that saw your tears as you left was felix. “hyung… they were crying.” he said softly. jisung’s eyes went wide, “what?!? crying? i was just kidding around!” chan put a hand on the younger’s shoulder and tried to offer some perspective. “they did seem a little upset when they came in. do you know how their work day was?” he asked. “well, not really. when they texted they said they really could use a movie night. i was trying to keep things fun and make them laugh.” “they weren’t really laughing.” felix reminded him gently. after a few seconds of thought, jisung scrambled from his seat before running out the door. soon he was at your apartment, pounding on the door and begging to be let in. “baby, it’s me! please, i was so stupid! i’m so sorry! just let me in!” he pleaded. you cracked the door just enough. jisung could see your eyes were bloodshot and cheeks tear stained. “jisung, just go back to the dorms, ok. i had a really bad day and i’m just not in the mood.” “i’m sorry, baby. i wasn’t thinking.” he apologized again. you suddenly teared up again, “all i wanted to do was cuddle you.” jisung’s heart cracked. “awe, no, baby! you still can! can i hold you… please? just let me in.” you stared at him a minute, contemplating before you sighed in defeat and let him in. he gave you all the cuddles and kisses you wanted that night.

felix- you honestly didn’t think much of it. you were getting ready to go out and wanted just a little time with him but he was in the middle of a game and blew you off when you kissed him. this was really unlike felix but he’d had a rough day and he was really invested in the gameplay. so, you just rolled your eyes and kept getting ready. when you called out that you were leaving, he didn’t even hear a thing. with you being out at the club, you didn’t really check your phone that often, immersed with your friends and having a good time. by the time you had returned, giggling to yourself and stumbling through the door, you were met with something completely unexpected. felix slowly looked up at you, his cheeks stained with tears, his hair a mess from running his hands through it. “baby?” he whimpered out before attacking you in a hug. “oh, baby, i’m so sorry for ignoring you earlier! please don’t leave me!” he sobbed into your shoulder. needless to say your buzz was gone and comfort mode replaced it. “lixie, baby, i’m not upset. i just went out. i told you earlier i was going out.” you rubbed his back soothingly as he pulled away. “oh… you did, huh?” he suddenly felt embarrassed. “sorry, i panicked because i was a bit rude before and you weren’t answering your phone.” “it’s ok, love bug.” you pecked his lips. “let’s go to bed. i’m exhausted.” you led him back with you to the bedroom. “ok… can we cuddle?” felix asked, his big boba eyes pleading at you. “of course, cutie!”

seungmin- your boyfriend was not a fan of skinship, you’ve known this from the beginning. part of you was fine with it and would never want to make him uncomfortable or push his boundaries. however, you were just an affectionate person, it was in your nature. from the beginning you did your best to respect seungmin but it was getting harder and you started to feel less loved by him. one thing about seungmin is that he was observant and noticed every time he pushed you away, how your face would drop. he started to get insecure especially when he would see you around the other boys, especially felix, and cuddle them. he noticed how happy you were to have affection and started to worry that if he couldn’t get over it that he might lose you. at this point it was just instinct to deny you and when it happened this time you got up and left the bedroom. seungmin eventually heard the front door shut and began to panic. he raced from the bed, neglecting his shoes, phone, everything and stopped you at the elevator. your eyebrows knit together in confusion as you watched him catch his breath. “i’m sorry! don’t leave me! please!” he huffed out. “seungmin, i—“ “no, please! i know i’m a terrible boyfriend and i’m not good and hugging and stuff but i promise to be better just please stay with me.” tears began to form in his eyes. you sighed lovingly and stepped forward to kiss him softly. “babe, we’re out of milk. i’ll be back soon and we can talk more, ok? i love you, minnie.” you pushed the button on the elevator and seungmin stood back shocked as he watched the elevator doors shut.

i.n- it was a total accident. he asked you to come out with his friends and you completely embarrassed him. you felt awful about it and apologized profusely but he was still pissed. jeongin felt like he was always the baby and always had to prove himself around everyone. it’s something that he’s worked really hard on improving and you’ve honestly helped with that, but he still has his moments where he still feels like the little kid in a group full of older boys. you unfortunately pushed that button tonight and you didn’t even mean to which led to an intense fight once you got home. it wasn’t even really a fight, jeongin just got really mad and you kept apologizing. you came forward and put a hand on his arm for him to throw you off. jeongin didn’t hurt you physically but it did hurt you emotionally. as you stood there staring at him in hurt and shock, he shook his head and went to your shared bedroom, slamming the door behind him. after a few minutes you decided to go to the person who could probably help you the most. you rushed out the door, calling to make sure you could even meet with him. “chris…” you whimpered into the phone and he could immediately tell. “hey! what’s wrong? are you ok? where’s i.n?” he asked concerned. “we got into a fight. i messed up, he was so upset. can i just come talk to you? please! i need some advice.” “yeah, i’m in the studio right now. just come on in.” you quickly made your way over. chan listened intently, not interrupting you as you got the whole story out in between tears. he did his best to comfort you and give you advice on how to handle jeongin, but really you both knew this was just something to ride out and learn from. suddenly, chris’s phone rang. “hey, jeongin… wait, slow down. slow down. they’re with me at the studio. yeah. ok… bye.” he hung up with the younger boy before addressing you. “he was worried about you. he should be here soon.” it wasn’t too longer after that jeongin burst through the door in tears. he fell to his knees in front of you and apologized, his head resting in your lap. you stroked his hair softly returning the apologies but got up, pulling him with you. the two of you said your goodbyes to chris and headed home to make up.

3K notes · View notes

bahrtofane · 6 months

Text

promises under the stars

It's strange. When kisses under stairwells and behind his parents house turns to no more than passing gazes. To hatred. But this is the life you live, the life you have chosen. So you live. You will live.

Jude x fem!reader

Word count - 6.3K+ (yikes !!)

Watch it - angst with minimal fluff. enjoy ?

p.s. - i took a few creative liberties with the time lines an what not so plz take it with a grain of salt and dont think too deeply about it thank u

you can read Judes pov here !

—-----

“Jude, “ you sigh. He doesn't look at you, he's afraid of what he’ll see and you know it.

It's a warm summer night, and you sit side by side on the bleachers of his training field. You waited for hours for him to be done, all for just a few moments together. In full honesty, you're not even supposed to be here, you've been threatened from both sides. And even family overseas have joined in. it's a mess. You think you told them you were off to the library, something like that.

You pulled so many strings just to be let inside to watch training, likewise for Jude. But you're here, he's here. That's all that matters.

Only the lights on the field illuminate you, but you have memorized his face to need no light to see him. Your fingers grab into the seat under you, knuckles turning white. You're afraid. Oh so afraid.

“Please,” you try again, soft and steady, patient.

He finds the courage to face you, ripping himself from the doubt that surrounds him.

You are what plants him to reality, keeps him steady. Your smile is enough to calm any worry, wave away any woe. He hates what he has to do.

“You know this is the last time I’ll see you,” he mumbles. He can't keep risking things the way they are. There's so many eyes on you as it is. He won't put you into harm's way, even if it means parting ways to do so. He wrings his hands together. Breathe, he tries to remind himself. Breathe.

You nod, swift and curt, “I know.” oh how you know. You've been dreading this day to come for a while now. And now that it's here, what can you do?

He picks at the cuffs of his training jacket,“I told them I would marry you, but my agent said it would be unwise.”

“You would marry me?” you whisper, eyes wide.

“A thousand times over. “ he finds your hand, gently lacing it together.

“I wish things were different.” a knot in your throat forms, and tears well in your eyes.

He presses a kiss to your forehead, gently bringing you snug against him as you sob. You will never understand why your families are so adamantly against you two all of the sudden. Your whole childhood was filled with teasing and jokes of marrying one another, giggles when you would be forced to stand in pictures, but now that it was to be true suddenly the jokes faded and anger took its place.

He is good for you as you are good for him. Jude is a man like no other, patient, caring, kind, soft and easy to you yet firm to all else. He holds each door open, never forgets flowers, even when he's away. Surprises you with your favorite sweets, never misses a good night or good morning text. Buys you things you mentioned casually in a fleeting conversation, all because it comes from your lips. If you were to wish for the world he would buy it all, tied neatly and delivered to your window sill.

He takes each burden off your mind with a smile, carries your things, sends a ride to any place you wish to be. (he's working on the actual license).

You fully expected your families to be static, jumping for joy and diving straight to wedding planning. Instead you were met with a brisk, “no.”

No? No to the man who has overtaken your heart and mind? No to the man who wishes to see your flourish and bloom in every regard, every aspect, every part of life? It's cruel in a way. You once used to grimace at the idea when you were younger, fake gagging and instead choosing to wrestle with him in the grass. And now you beg to be allowed to see him.

To ban your union is one thing, but to see him at all brings too much weight on your heart.

You fought every step of the way, every step until now. It gets to be too much at a certain point, when you have to watch your very move in fear of being caught, of being seen with him. When eyes wash over you with lips upturned in sneers and whispers soon following.

The delicate facade you've built is beginning to crack at the seams. Soon there will be nothing left to keep you together. You fear going mad.

So you choose to let him go.

Your phone buzzes, prying the two of you apart. Your heart leaps to your throat. Have you been found out ?

It's just a twitter notification.

You sigh, rubbing your eyes. He rubs gentle circles on your knee. His hands are warm. Just like you remember, just like you dream of. In the gentle quiet of your room you close your eyes and wish for him.

“We can't see each other but I want to keep in touch. I'll wait for you. If you'll wait for me.” he whispers.

You see the tears begin to roll down his cheeks. Ever thoughtful Jude, waiting for you to finish crying to allow himself to do so.

“I'll wait for you, no matter how long it takes. “ you nod, leaning on his shoulder.

And you do just that.

Youre forced apart when a teammate tells him to get going.

He scowls, “hold on.”

The teammate, whose name alludes you, shrugs and jogs back inside.

You stand, watching him shake the tension out of his shoulders.

“This is it then,” you mumble, lip quivering.

“Yeah,” he takes your hands in his, “guess so.”

You bit your lip to stop any more cries. He unlatches a hand from yours, brining it to cup your face gently, wiping the streaks of dried treats left on your cheeks.

“I love you,” he leans down, pressing a single kiss to your lips.

“I love you,” you nod, chasing his lips. He gives them to you. Soft and easy. You screw your eyes shut. Oh you're crying again.

You part when you can no longer breathe, foreheads pressed together while your chests heave.

“My angel,” he sobs.

“Ill find a way back,” you kiss his cheek.

He nods, here,” shaking his training jacket off and putting it on you.

Someone yells his name and he sighs. One last kiss to your forehead.

You watch him sprint down the stands, giving you one last smile before disappearing in the tunnel.

—--

Dortmund is kind to him, you watch as you flourish on the field, never missing a game. You know it's too much to go in person so you stay tucked into bed, laptop out and always always waiting for his name to be announced. Giddy as he looks at the camera. Some days you even convince yourself he's looking right at you.

He calls when he can, facetime you when he's at the facilities. Obnoxiously flexing to the camera while you laugh. You treasure these moments. The few minutes a day when the time difference allows for an overlap. Just enough to get you through to the next day. He always blows a kiss to the camera, and you alway catch it. No matter how cheesy.

“I stubbed my toe.” he whines on the other end.

You laugh, “and whose fault is that.”

“Yours.” he decides.

“Uh huh.” you shake your head fondly, raising a brow at your phone that sits on a window sill. Today you're at a cafe getting some work done. And he just finished dinner.

“Think you'll be able to come to a game soon?” he asks, voice barely a whisper.

You stop typing, frowning, “Jude…”

He shakes his head, “I'm sorry. I know. We can't.”

“Maybe in a year or so? Things should be cooled down by then.”

“Sure,” he shrugs, “they still giving you a hard time?”

You blow air through your nose, “hard time is an understatement, they've practically banned sports.” making light of the outrages situation helps you feel better some days. Jude joining in helps. He always helps.

“So dramatic.” he tuts.

You nod, “so dramatic.”

—--

The year comes and goes. The texts slow down till they are few and far inbetween. You can't blame him. You watch him dominate the field in each appearance, breaking records and showing the world what you've always known, showing just how special he is.

His following count skyrockets and he gets a blue check. You feel special to be one of the few he follows. No matter how silly. Even when he doesn't reply to you and posts on his story you try not to take it too hard (you let it get to your head on bad days.)

You wait for each reply patiently like a lifeline nonetheless, connecting the two of you together. You drop everything the moment his name flashes on the screen. You try to ease the butterflies that float and twist in your stomach, the jitters that make it hard to type out responses right. But you can't help it.

He wins the German cup. And you get a call late into the night, bleary as you reach for your phone, groaning while you put it to your ear. Skipping over his face that illuminates the screen, smiling. Cheeks flush and eyes blown wide.

He giggles, “hi.”

“Hi,” you mumble back.

He giggles again, “m in your ear.”

You squint, bringing the phone in front of you and getting your first good look of him of the night.

“Hey Jude.”

“Hey love.” he sighs dreamily.

You come to your senses soon enough, scooting to sit upright, pushing your pillows around getting comfortable.

“Are you drunk?” You laugh.

“Shhh…” he puts a finger to his lips, “secret.”

You raise a brow, “you’re not doing a very good job at keeping it that way.”

Bursts of laughter bubble from his lips. Swaying side to side while. He blinks, hard, mouth open while he stares.

“ ‘M fine.” He nods. Proud of himself.

You frown, “Are you going to be okay? Are you alone?”

“Erlings with me. My best roommate.”

“Okay good. Be safe.”

“You’re so pretty.” Is what he manages to get out.

“Thank you. You should go to bed.” You smile. He’s sweet, no matter how drunk.

“But I missed you.” He pouts, bottom lip quivering and for a second you think he’s about to cry. Instead he blows a kiss to you. Of course you catch it.

“I missed you too. But it’s late, for both of us.” You lean against your pillow, blinking against the dark of your room.

He hums, tapping his finger against his chin. “I won the cup.” He blurts.

“I know love. I watched.”

His eyes go wide, “you watched me.”

You nod, “the whole game.”

He scrunches his nose, “wow.”

“You did amazing.”

“Wow.” He repeats.

You yawn, squinting against the time in the little corner of your phone.

“Jude.”

“Hm?”

“Head to bed. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

He sighs, shoulders sagging, “fine.”

“I love you. “

He perks right back up. “I love you. You. You.”

You give him a little kiss to the screen and he manages to fall back on his bed sighing happily. You hear erling come in and decide to hang up. You hope he manages to get out of his kit for the night.

——

Things start to calm down on your end. It's almost like everyone's choosing to forget about the hell they've put you through. But you don't make a fuss, you are happy to have peace of mind, no matter how fleeting it may seem. It's just one step closer to being able to have him. Fully and wholly.

He calls you early into the morning. He's sitting in his house, shirt off, smiling.

“Uh oh. What's this about? “

He only smiles wider, bringing an ipad out of nowhere and showing it to you.

You squint, “jude i can't see that. “

He huffs, “here,” picking up his phone and flipping the camera to where his ipad now sits on his lap.

On the screen reads flight information, for about 2 weeks out, destination is to you. Your eyes go wide and you hear him chuckle on the other end.

“No way. No way oh my god.” you all but squeal.

He flips the camera back around, “Can't wait to see you again,” he beams.

“I missed you so much.”

“Me too.” he mumbles, lips curling in a smile.

——-

You greet him at the airport, flowers in hand. No you don’t care how cheesy it is. Even if you have to wait in the most obscure place, car parked and nerves rising. Playing with every button and switch on your dashboard, picking at every spec of dust you can reach. You got it detailed yesterday and you’re already nitpicking.

You check and recheck your phone, picking at the petals of the flowers that rest in your passenger, until his contact illuminates your screen.

You frantically answer, “hey.”

“TSA was being a bitch.” He groans.

You chuckle, “that bad.”

“The worst. Where you at?”

You look around for signs, “arrivals, right next to the luggage cart return thing. It says door D5. “

“D5. Okay okay I’m coming.”

You hum, hanging up and drumming your hands on the wheel.

He calls you again, “okay I’m walking out the door. Can you help me with the luggage?”

“Yeah-“ you unbuckle your seatbelt, putting your hazards on and stepping out of the car. You see him walk out the door and you almost drop your phone while rushing up to him.

He lets go of his carry on, opening his arms and you slip right into them.

“Hey,” he hums into your hair.

You laugh,“hey.”

You unlatch far too soon for your liking out the sounds and rush of the airport pushes you to get him in your car and outta here.

You grab his things, one carry on and one checked bag, clicking your keys and opening your trunk. He doesn’t let you do much else, lifting the suitcase and sliding it inside. Your little 4 door sedan manages to fit the checked bag in your truck. With not enough room for the carry in, it slides into your back seat.

You close the door, patting the top of your car affectionately, “there. All good to go?”

He nods, opening the door to your passenger and gasping, “flowers?” Eyes going wide, eyebrows shooting in and looking at you. Lips parted.

Oh yes. You forgot about those. “Haha. Yeah. Flowers.”

He picks them up gingerly, setting them into his lap as he gets into the seat. “Are these for me?”

You hop to the driver's side, buckling your seatbelt, “duh.”

He giggles,”they’re sweet.”

“Smell them.”

He does, putting his face in the petals, “woah.”

“Best flowers in town.”

“Smells like. Fresh laundry.” He nods.

“Laundry. You called my flowers laundry.” You sigh.

He swats your arm, “it’s a compliment jeez. Just landed and you’re giving me a hard time.”

“Yeah yeah buckle up.” You flick his arm.

The ride home is one filled with animated stories to catch up the time between you two. Completely oblivious to anything else as you drive with one hand, and the other plays with his fingers.

You get to your little apartment, parking and getting his things out. Sliding your key card over the sensor and you guide him to the lobby.

You roll over to the elevator and hit the button. Sniffling while it heads up.

“Are you sick?” He narrows his eyes at you.

“Nah.”

“Mkay.”

The elevator dings and you find your way to your little home, unlocking the door and motioning him inside.

“Ta da!”

He snorts, “I’m excited.”

“You should be. Best house this side of the equator.”

He rolls his things inside, shaking his head, “so there’s better on the other side?”

You shrug, “there might be.”

He collapses on your couch the moment he sees it. Closing his eyes and sighing deeply.

“Shoes off at the door Jude.” You slide yours off and set them next to your shoe rack.

He groans, kicking them off and trudging back to set them next to yours.

By the time you put his things in your room, he's out like a light, snoring softly.

—--

You let him sleep, by the time he comes back to it it's dinner time. Groggy and cranky he pads over to your dining table, still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes but reaching for you.

He finds you eventually, plating the last bit of food while he wraps his arms around you, leaning into your back. You stifle a laugh while he mumbles something about you being mean. You only roll your eyes, unlatching his grip.

“Time to eat baby.”

He only purses his lips, leaning against yours. You give him what he wants. Pressing a gentle kiss and guiding him to his seat. A sleep Jude is a clingy one you've learned.

He eats all you make, complimenting and praising you after every bite.

“You're so good at this.” he sighs, taking a sip of his water.

“Anything for my favorite boy.”

He preens at this, smiling wide.

He's only here for the next three days but you'll take anything you can get.

——-

Jude worries for you.

Even in the gentle lull of your ac that fans his face while you're fast asleep against him.

He wonders who much longer he can keep doing this. Holding onto hope that down the line he will still have you.

His time is running out with you. It feels just like the day you parted at the stadium. Crying. He noticed you kept the jacket, neatly tucked in your closet.

It makes him frown. Making you waste your youth waiting for him.

Part of him wants to keep you for him and only him. Keep waiting and hoping things will work out. Another part of him, much less excited, wishes for you to look him in the eye and tell him you don't love him anymore.

One of you has to do it, he thinks.

Even if you move in with him and you get married. Is it worth the fall out? His mother hates you. His father cant stand hearing your name at the dinner table on the few days they eat together.

He knows the sentiment is shared on your end.

But he loves you. Oh how he loves you.

—--

After he leaves you don't hear from him for months on end your worry rises, and when the replies also shorten, your fear takes a hold of you. Sensibility out the window and in comes every insecure thought.

He's found a hot shot model to be with hasn't he. Or better yet a female player. Reporter perhaps? You're not dumb or blind, you know you're not the only one who sees how handsome he is. He's growing into his features beautifully. But does he see you?

Is he leaving you behind now, as his life and career continue to accelerate at speeds you can barely keep up with, is he no longer waiting for you ?

—--

Jude finds his routine once again. Training playing, training playing. It's a little dull, he thinks.

Much better if you would be here.

But he can't have that.

He stops himself from talking to you. It feels wrong. He can't shake off the feeling that he's only doing you wrong by making you keep up with him. So he slowly distances himself.

—--

He cant stay away. Not even if he tries.

He surprises you near your birthday. Completely unannounced while you're in the middle of cleaning.

You open the door to a jittery Jude who grabs you close, pressing his lips firm to yours.

“Hello to you too,” you giggle in between kisses.

Peck! “You're so-” peck!, “beautiful.”

You shoo him away, getting his things inside as he takes his shoes off at the door.

“I missed you so much, “ he mumbles against the crook of your neck.

“Me too,” you sigh, clutching into his hands like a lifeline.

“I got you tickets?”

You look up at him, “okay. Ill go.”

He attacks you with a hundred more kisses, bursts of laughter spilling from the both of you. You dont think youve ever been happier.

—--

You do go. Sitting in the fancy VIP section while watching him warm up. You almost forgot he’s at Madrid now. Big leagues huh.

He sends small waves your way in between exercises. And you only watch fondly.

When it's time for the actual match, you can't believe you get to watch him score. And he points right to you.

You love him. Oh how you love him.

He finds you after it's all set and done. Kissing you silly while he ignores the hundreds of notifications that make his phone buzz and sputter on the table.

You frown, “who is that.”

He chews his lip, “prolly just the guys,” leaning back into your lips.

You're forced to part ways when the calls flood in, promising to see you soon when he takes care of things.

He doesn't come back to see you, instead leaving you to head back to your hotel alone. You try not to think too deeply into it. But you fear you are already starting to lose him. After everything really has passed and fizzled out to nothing but memories. You fear it's all too late.

—--

You see him only once more during your stay in madrid. When youre all packed and leaving. He presses kisses to your skin whispering promises. And you believe him.

When you land back home you go back to your routine of watching him from afar. And again the replies shorten. So much so you only get the odd text every few weeks. Until it turns to months. And you're back to radio silence.

It's almost a self pity party, trying to keep up with him. Even now that you can go see him, he can come see you, does he even want that anymore?

You crave to talk to him, to know him, to go back to the closeness you once shared. You know that's no longer your place in his life. You were someone he once treasured. Now you're another unanswered dm that lays in his inbox.

Does it hurt you as much as it does him? You don't think so. Not when pictures of him on vacation with his “friends” surface. Who even are these people? You don't recognize a single face. It fills you with rage.

Almost like he's trying to erase his past life with this new squeaky clean image of the perfect player with the perfect life. Friends and all.

Is he ashamed of you?

You fight the urge to call his mom and stir up trouble from the past. So instead you hunker down in your room and try to keep yourself busy and mind off of Jude. This turns out to be much easier said than done.

—--

Jude finds himself in another after party, wearing clothes much too expensive to be getting champagne sprayed all over them. But what else can he do?

He crafted this image delicately. Can't turn back now.

There's a woman who keeps whispering into his ear. She's not you. No matter how much his teammates howl and egg him on. He can't bring himself to do so much as face her.

He's not interested, gently moving her aside while he nurses his drink.

She scoffs, calling him a slew of names. He frowns, excusing himself and making a beeline for the bathrooms. Locking himself inside a stall and leaning on its walls.

He calls you. Of course he does. And you pick up.

“Hey Jude.” he can hear the smile in your voice.

“Hey love.”

“What's up?”

He sighs, long and drawn out, “I just miss you.”

You snort, “really because it seems like you've been having a blast on beaches with people i've never heard of.”

Oh.

“It's not like that-”

“Jude. don't lie to me. If you've found someone else, tell me now.”

“I havent I swear. They really are just friends.”

“Why didn't you tell me you were going?” you whisper.

There's a beat of silence. And Jude can't find the answer. Looking at the ceiling of the club like it will magically come to life and give him just the right combination of words to make both of you happy.

You sigh, “if we are going to make anything work I can't be out of the loop this much Jude. I can't know things after paparazzi do okay?”

“Okay,” he replies, meek.

“Where even are you?”

He licks his lips, “this after party thing.”

“Its in a club isn't it.”

He doesn't answer but it's confirmation nonetheless.

“Dont be stupid and start calling me more.”

He opens his mouth to answer, but you've already hung up. He rubs his eyes and head out the stall. Washing his hands and splashing some water on his face.

When he gets back out there, he decides to call it a night. Ignoring the groans and frowns he gets.

When he's back in bed. He's looking at flights to see you again.

—--

Jude gets a call a few weeks later.

It's right after he gets back from training. Hasn't even changed yet.

The number is unknown and he ignores it the first time. Setting his phone on the dinning table and kicking his shoes off.

When it calls back two more times he picks up.

“Hello?” he scratches the back of his head.

“You know why im calling.” its your father.

Jude scrambles to take a seat, chewing his lips. What does he mean know why. He hasn't talked to you in a few days.

“Um, I really don't know-” he gets cut off.

“This will be my last warning to you. You are not going to ruin my daughter's life i dont give a damn how old you are, how old she is. None of this player nonsense. She has a proper education. You aren't going to ruin that for her, do you understand?”

Silence.

“I swear if I hear you coming around her or talking to her I will sue you and your whole family.”

The line goes dead and Jude sighs. Great. Just great.

He calls his lawyer, seeing if it would be legal to sue.

His lawyer hums, “well they can come at you from any angle really. Emotional distress possible defamation. Id lay low for now.”

So he does just that. Yet again going silent on you.

—--

He hears wind that people have put two and two together. Your instagram has been flooded with requests. You've always had it private but you've been forced to change your user name and picture.

You don't know how but pictures from when you saw him in Madrid have resurfaced.

And have gone more than just viral. It's all people are talking about.

Your work life has gone from just pleasantries and work only talk to people crowding around you begging to know more. You've had people show up to your workplace for god's sake. Begging to be let in so they can see you.

Jude calls you, worried. “I'm so sorry I don't know how pics were even taken. I'm so sorry im so sorry.”

“I don't know what to do Jude i've never dealt with this kinda stuff.” you mumble.

“Hey, hey its okay. Ill get you in contact with a security company dont worry leave it to me.”

“Okay.”

“For now. I dont think ill be able to see you anytime soon.”

“Thats okay.”

“Be safe yeah?”

“Yeah.”

—--

Your family is in a complete uproar. They blame Jude. of course they do. Your father talks about suing him but you turn it down.

“He didnt mean for this to happen.”

Your mother shakes her head, “this is why we told you to stay away from him.”

You dont regret any moments with him.

It takes a while. A grueling few months for your life to finally go back to normal. But Jude rarely comes back like before.

You watch the months turn to years flashing by. Facetimes become a luxury of your past self. Calls are reserved for special occasions like an aged wine. Only brought out sparelily. You get one on your birthday but it feels forced. Heavy and filled with all too much silence.

You've tried calling, texting. Rarely receiving the time of day. Who is Jude to you anymore?

“Hey, “ he smiles. A picture perfect rehearsed one. You almost forgot what he sounded like when speaking to you. How long has it been now?

“Hi.” You mumble.

“Happy birthday. Sorry I couldn’t be there.”

You shrug, “it’s okay.”

Silence while you pick your nails.

“Any plans?”

“I don’t know, maybe dinner with friends.”

“Oh Emily?”

You want to roll your eyes. You haven’t spoken to Emily in years.

“No Jude. We’re not in touch anymore. New friends I’ve met”

He mouths a silent “oh”.

He wants to tell you why he's been gone for so long. But unfortunately he's caught up in a legal battle. Your father actually went ahead with it. And he's stuck trying to make sense of it.

The maniac got good lawyers. And he's using every last bit of the law to win it. Using the leaked pictures that caused you so much trouble as his main leverage.

He's been advised not to talk to you. But it's your birthday. And now seeing you moved on, new friends, new life. It feels like it's time to let go.

For your sake. He's only brought problems into your life. And you live a life now without him. He just hopes you're happy.

—--

You see him once, passing by through the city center. You want to run after him, grab his shoulders and shake him awake, scream and yell, beg for him to remember your promise. But you do none of that. The second your gaze meets his, your heart leaps to your throat, you blink and he's gone.

You get a text from him a few days later, first since your birthday.

Was nice seeing you.

You want to cry. What did he see? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. It wasn't nice. Not at all. It was awful. It ripped any piece of sense out of you and made you sick.

You dont reply.

—--

You wish you had. He gets called to the national team, and suddenly your family begins to boast of your connection to him. And that's just it. Your connection. Not theirs. Yours. You know him, you love him. Or you knew him.

After so many years of cursing his name now they all but sing it.

The local community is hosting watch parties, you refuse to go.

You know the gossip around you as is. You don't need it said to your face. These people are unforgiving on their best days, cruel on their worst. More so the older generation who seems to hold not an ounce of basic human decency.

And somehow you find yourself in a room painted in blue and white, you look away at the stares you get when you walk in. You're regretting coming at all. You're wearing a blank jersey you've had for a while, slumped in the corner of the room, watching. Waiting for the comments to pour in sooner or later.

But they don't, not for now. Instead, the room erupts with cheers and applause as Jude scores a goal, you smile. Not bad for a midfielder huh. The air is electric with excitement, but you feel detached, as if you're watching the scene unfold from a distance, picking at the plate of sweets that rests on your knee.

As the game progresses, you can't help but steal glances at Jude on the screen. He looks different now, more confident, more assured. He's cut his hair, clean and precise. And yet, there's a sadness in his eyes that mirrors your own.

You wonder if he thinks of you, if he remembers the promise he made all those years ago. Has it really been years? But the thought is fleeting, lost amidst the chaos of the crowd and the weight of your own heartache. And soon I have a headache.

When the final whistle blows and England emerges victorious, the room erupts into celebration once again. But you slip out quietly, unnoticed, lost in your own thoughts.

Outside, the night air is cool against your skin as you make your way home. You're not waiting on anyone, and it's a short walk away. The streets are quiet, the sounds of celebration fading into the distance.

You pause for a moment, taking in the stillness of the night. And in that moment, you make a decision.

You may not have chased after him when you had the chance, but you refuse to let this be the end of your story. You refuse to let fear and doubt hold you back any longer. There is no use to let yourself be defined by what ifs.

With a determined step, you pull out your phone and type out a message to Jude.

Watched you play tonight. I'm proud of you.

It's a small gesture, but it's a start. And as you hit send, you feel a glimmer of hope stir within you.

Maybe, just maybe, this isn't goodbye after all. Maybe there's still a chance for the two of you to find your way back to each other, to rewrite the ending of your story.

But for now, all you can do is wait. Wait for his reply, wait for the future to unfold, and wait for the day when you can finally be together again, without fear or hesitation. In a way he'll always be your Jude.

——

News reaches you in the form of an instagram post on a summer day. Not family, not friends, not him. It’s your explore page that plasters it on your screen, in the middle of your morning routine you see him all tidied up in a suit, facing away from the camera, the side of his face illuminated by soft light. Next to his side is a woman in white, you only see a peek of her face but you call tell shes smiling.

“Just married.”

Married. Just. Married.

Oh.

You don't register it at first, the words looking more like a foreign language than any coherent sentence. So you finish brushing your teeth and your hair. Moisturizing your face, slipping back into bed and rereading it over and over and over again till it finally does click for you.

He gave up on waiting.

You keep going back to the picture. He's grown into a proper man now. His features are full and bright. He's gotten a different haircut. Leaving behind the one of his youth. You read through the comments of teammates and old friends congratulating him.

You realize the tie he's wearing is the one his dad got him when he first left for dortmund. You think you're gonna be sick.

No one bothers to ask why you've been crying all day. It's safe to assume everyone knows by now, hell the whole population probably does.

What changed his mind? What made it that he couldn't even bother to let you know beforehand?

And yet there's a stupid prick of hope that can't seem to go away. You're still waiting for him aren't you.

—--

As the days turn into weeks, and the weeks into months, the reality of his marriage settles heavily on your shoulders. You can't help but wonder if he thinks of you, if he remembers the promises made under the stars, if he regrets the choice he made. But you push those thoughts aside, burying them deep within you, because what good would they do?

A sick twisted idea of wrecking his home blooms in your mind, but you know you can't. You just can't. Not to him. You can't take away something like this from him.

Life goes on, as it always does, but the ache in your chest remains, a constant reminder of what could have been. You try to distract yourself with work, with friends, with anything that will keep your mind from wandering back to him. Yet, he's always there, lingering in the back of your thoughts like stardust.

You hear snippets of his life through mutual acquaintances, through social media posts, through the grapevine of gossip that always seems to find its way to you. He's thriving, it seems, his career reaching new heights, his personal life seemingly content. Apparently he has a kid on the way, would you look at that. And you can't help but feel a pang of jealousy. To top it all off you still have no clue on who this woman is. Not who she is, what she does, where she's from. Absolutely nothing, it drives you mad to say the least.

He hasn't spoken to you. Not since that day in the city center.

Maybe if you would have known all that was to come you would've gone after him. Chasing him endlessly through cobblestone stress and crowded walkways. Would he have even stopped? Given you a moment of his day?

The same man who spent his days off in your apartment kissing your worries away and promising you a tomorrow you still cling to.

You're a foolish foolish woman. And for some reason, you don't hate him. You don't think you ever could. Even after everything, every single year that's passed. A part of you will always love him.

—--

#jude x you #jude bellingham #jude bellingham x reader #jude x reader #bahr footy #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham x you #jude bellingham blurb #jude x y/n #jude bellingham one shot #jude bellingham angst #jude bellingham fanfic #jude bellingham fic #jude bellingham fluff

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archiveikemen · 1 month

Text

"Come Play With Us, Miss Fairytale Keeper" Story Event: Chapter 1

Alfons Sylvatica VS Ring Schwartz

This is a fan-made translation solely for entertainment purposes with no guaranteed perfection; expect mistakes, grammatical errors, and some creative liberties. All original content and media used belongs to Cybird. Please support the game by buying their stories and playing their games. Reblogs appreciated.

Read this before interacting

One afternoon, Alfons and I were being briefed on our next mission.

Victor: That’s the general outline of it. Additionally, I have a favour to ask of you two…

Darius’ Voice: It’s me. May I come in?

Victor: You may.

Upon being granted permission, Darius entered the room with Nica and Ring.

Victor: You came at the perfect time, I was going to talk about you.

Darius: I saw Miss Fairytale Keeper enter the room with Alfons earlier, so I figured as much.

(Does Victor’s favour have something to do with the members of Vogel…?)

Victor: Actually, I was asked if one of the Vogel members could accompany you on a mission.

Victor: I’m thinking that it’d be a good idea for this mission. What are your thoughts, Alfons and Kate?

(This mission is to find out the time and place of a transaction involving “illegal drugs”.)

(We’re only going to eavesdrop on the target’s conversation, so it shouldn't be a problem to have more people with us.)

Kate: I think it's fine with me.

Alfons: I don't mind as long as I get to choose who comes with us.

Darius: Fufu, who will you choose?

Ring: I’ll cut every single member down if anything happens to Dari or Nica.

Alfons: Ooh, how scary! But there’s no need to worry.

Alfons: The one I choose is you, Ring.

Ring: … Me?

Surprised to hear that he was chosen, Ring cast a glance at Darius.

Darius: Isn’t that great? I think you can learn various things from this.

Darius: So… Pass auf dich auf / Have a nice one.

Ring: … Alles klar / Understood.

And so, the first mission with Alfons, Ring, and I began.

…

The day of the mission. Ring stared wide-eyed at me when he boarded the carriage.

Ring: W-what’s with that outfit…

Kate: I put it on for the mission. … Do I look weird?

Ring: … I was just a little surprised because you look different from usual.

As Ring gave a blunt response, Alfons put an arm over my shoulder.

Alfons: It suits Miss Robin, doesn’t it? I picked out this dress for her.

Alfons: She looks so lovely it makes you feel like you want to pin her down and get dirty with her, doesn't she? I understand that feeling.

Ring: Wha…! I- I never said anything like that…

Alfons: My, are you secretly thinking about it then? What a pervert.

Ring: I would never! … You’re exactly as the rumours say you are. “A walking offence to public morals”!

Alfons: I don’t deny that, but isn’t your reaction too exaggerated, Ring? You sound like a virgin.

Alfons: I wonder if you can handle this mission when you’re so innocent… I’m worried.

Alfons: Since you’re not used to women, perhaps we should have someone else replace you—

Ring: W-wait… I have plenty of experience with that, so I don't have any problems completing the mission.

Alfons: Is that so? That’s a relief then. Isn’t it, Miss Robin?

Kate: Y-yes…

Alfons continued talking to Ring amusedly, his facial expression looking as though he had found a new toy.

On the other hand, Ring looked uncomfortable and was clearly not liking Alfons’ teasing.

(... I hope we complete the mission without any problems…)

…

The carriage sped through the streets and arrived at a large mansion in the suburbs.

Alfons: Allow me to explain about this mansion which is the location for our mission.

Alfons: This mansion is a meeting place for people who indulge in illicit love affairs.

Alfons: All forms of love are accepted here… regardless of social status, gender, or marital status.

Alfons: Therefore, all conversations between the pairs that take place in this mansion are kept strictly confidential.

Ring: That makes it the perfect place for criminals to meet in secret.

Alfons: Exactly. Moreover, participants can choose to get a key to a private room to enjoy some alone time together as a pair.

Alfons’ explanation reminded me of what happened when we first arrived at the mansion.

= Flashback Start =

Butler: Please hold, dear guests. The rooms can only be used by two people. Three is…

Alfons: No need to worry. We don't intend to have a threesome.

Alfons: He and I are competing for this lady’s love. Isn’t that right, Ring?

Ring: Huh!? Y-yeah… that’s right.

Despite not fully understanding the situation, Ring seemed to be going along with Alfons’ story.

Alfons: She will choose between Ring and I later on.

Alfons: It won’t be a problem if we only obtain the room key after that, right?

= Flashback End =

Kate: We have to choose the room next to our target’s in order to eavesdrop on their meeting…

Kate: That’s why you made it seem as though two of you are competing for me, then we’ll find out which room our target is in and get our key.

Alfons: Your quick understanding is very helpful.

Ring: … I wasn’t told about this mansion prior to starting the mission.

Kate: It was my first time hearing about it too.

Alfons: Ah, I withheld that piece of information on purpose.

Kate: What.

Ring: Withholding information… is this Crown’s way of doing things? Or were you trying to trap me…?

Ring: Whichever it is, I guess I don’t have the right to complain if you were to kill me right here and now.

Kate: P-please calm down, Ring! I’m sure he had his reasons for doing that. … Right, Alfons!?

Alfons: Why did I withhold information, you ask…? It was for Ring’s sake.

Ring: For my sake?

Ring looked at Alfons suspiciously.

He was definitely feeling the same way I was — “this man can’t be trusted”.

Alfons: I figured that you’d get nervous if you knew we’d be pretending to compete over a woman… so I chose not to tell you until the last minute.

Alfons: But you said you’re very experienced, right? My worries were unfounded then.

Rint: R-right. No need to worry about me.

Kate: What about me? Why didn't you tell me?

Alfons: Because you’ll feel bad if Ring was the only one kept in the dark.

(I can’t deny that…)

Alfons: Well then. We’ll have to find out which room our target chose—

Alfons: And Kate will have to choose one person between Ring and myself to be her lover.

Alfons: If this goes as I expected, I’m the one you’ll choose, right? I’ll make you feel good today too, as always.

Ring: … I won't let that happen.

Ring: As a member of Vogel, I can’t afford to make a fool of myself here.

Ring: I’m the one Kate will choose.

Tension sparked between Ring and Alfons.

(What’s going to happen with this mission…?)

#ikemen villains #ikemen series #cybird ikemen #cybird otome #ikevil translations #otome #ikevil story event #alfons sylvatica #ring schwartz

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kurishiri · 3 months

Text

official IkeVil JP twitter role-played with fans as Roger

translation may not be 100% accurate or contain creative liberties. Please reblog, not repost!

and here are some of my favorite responses and some tidbits about Roger (and some others, through his eyes) 🥹👌 also I wouldn’t consider these spoilers; they’re more like bite sized fun facts you might find in a random scene in some random side story or event or something lmao also I don’t like the green gun emoji on my phone so I’m using the beer one instead.

1. Roger is trying to get along with Alfons (it’s not working so well though I guess, haha)

💬: Roger!! Have you been getting along with Alfons recently?

🍻: That’s always my intention, but whenever I see him he gives me a kind of disgusted look. So maybe he’s just shy or something.

2. maybe Victor is trying to get everyone drunk…?

💬: Roger, have you gone out to drink with Victor before?

🍻: I don’t think Victor really drinks outside. If anything, he’s the one bringing some good booze back to Crown for us. Could it be — he’s scheming something and trying to get us drunk?

3. Roger can crack a joke 😂👌

💬: I kind of just ate this without knowing what that liquid is, but what is it, actually? 🧪

🍻: That’s a love potion. If you drink it you won’t be able to think about anything but me——just kidding.

4. Roger and Ellis are the strongest!

💬: Who is the strongest in Crown?

🍻: Me, followed by Ellis. You wanna compare our strength now with an arm wrestle? Though I reckon you wouldn’t be able to win against me even if you used both hands.

5. Roger’s worst fight with Alfons

💬: Please tell us the worst episode of a fight you’ve had with Alfons〜!!

🍻: Once during a mission we got into an argument where Al and I almost died — that day I’ve never seen Victor look that quietly angry before.

6. drinking with William! (they’re the older bros of the group)

💬: What do you talk about with William when you drink with him?

🍻: Will knows a lot, so we’ll talk about all sorts of stuff. Like how Victor’s overworking himself, or how Jude’s got bad feet, or how Liam hurt himself again——wait, what are we, their guardians?

7. Alfons bombed the drinking date

💬: Hey Roger, what sweets do you like? Other than Alfons’ scone.

🪞: Are we talking about me? Oh, that’s my handmade scone that I put a lot of love into. Don’t you feel naughty with just one bite? What do you think is in it?

🍻: Hey, you, get out and go somewhere else already.

8. drinking with Elbie!

💬: Have you drank with Lord Elbert before? 🥺🍻💚💙

🍻: I have, yes. But I can never tell whether he’s drunk or not.

🪞: That’s because he always looks drunk.

🍻: Oy, Al, what are you doing here? Tonight’s supposed to be just me and the lil lady, so don’t get in the way like that. Shoo shoo!

9. Roger doesn’t just drink beer (surprise surprise!)

💬: What do you like to drink other than beer?

🍻: I also drink whisky, though I always prefer beer. What about you, lil lady?

10. Roger comforts you after a long day of work

💬: Roger, I finally finished work…

🍻: There, there, you did well. I remember your efforts very well. Good job today.

11. Jude and drinking, according to Roger

💬: When you’re drinking with Jude, have you seen him when drunk before? I want to know what he’s like when he’s drunk.

🍻: Can’t say I’ve seen him drunk before. It seems like that guy always got a calm look on his face, no matter how much he drinks.

12. what Ellis is like when drunk

💬: Cheers! I have a question, what is Ellis like when drunk?

🍻: Ellis isn’t that weak to alcohol… but he becomes a bit more fluffy than normal, I guess. But he can walk back to the castle just fine.

13. trying to get Ellis drunk…?!

💬: I heard Ellis is a little weak to alcohol. Have you taken care of him when he was drunk? Also how many cups does it take for him to become drunk?

🍻: Pfft, haha… Are you trying to get Ellis drunk? I’ll have you know Ellis is like a cute younger brother to me, so I won’t tell. I have taken care of him though——let’s leave it at that.

14. who can hold their alcohol in Crown?

💬: Who is the worst at holding their alcohol in Crown?

🍻: I think everyone in Crown is pretty good at holding their alcohol. But should we put that to the test? …No way, this really isn’t for me to gather information on them?

15. he be takin care of Crown when they’re drunk

💬: Who do you drink with most often? And have you taken care of someone when they got drunk!?

🍻: Taking care of someone… Ellis — no, Al, maybe? Oh, and also Jude… whoops, can’t say any more than that, or he’ll be after me.

16. what Harry drinks

💬: I always get the impression Harry drinks strawberry milk a lot, but when it comes to alcohol, what does he drink? I want to know 🦊🍸

🍻: Harry likes whisky soda. It goes well with chocolate, and I’ve seen him eating it together with the drink. Noww then, now that I’ve told you some important information, you’ll stop that lying fox from eating too much sweets for me, won’t you?

17. Roger’s advice for those who simp to the point of illness 😆

💬: My friends love you to the point they might be a little ill, Roger. They love you so much it’s too much for me to handle. Is there medicine to make them feel better?

🍻: I can introduce you to a doctor I know who has some good medicine. Want me to? His name’s Roger Barel.

18. he cooks?!?!

💬: I want to eat a meat entree with you, Roger! (this is sausage and roast pork that I made) 😋🍽️🥩✨ What’s your favorite type of meat? And what other foods do you like?

🍻: I would say steak, but any meat is good. But I also like salty things too. Sometimes I make things that go well with alcohol. Want some?

19. oh..? 😳

💬: Yippeeee✨✨✨ it’s everyone’s older brother Roger!! Congrats on your main story🎉💕 I really look forward to this summer! (I have 🦑 with beer)

🍻: You have as much excitement as Victor! For sure, look forward to it. I’ll make it a summer you won’t ever forget.

20. Roger’s recommended drinks

💬: I want to know your drink recommendations!

🍻: Mine is beer, beer, and more beer. Ah, having some ginger ale in between seems pretty good too.

21. he drinks with Ellis and Jude often!

💬: Out of the members of Crown, who have you been drinking with recently? Have you drank with them several times…! 🍻✨

🍻: I go out to drink with Jude and Ellis quite a bit. Well, I think I prefer drinking together with you the most though.

22. he loves meat at the end of the day eheh

💬: I’m thinking of drinking with you tonight🍻 What do you eat (snack) with alcohol? I’m thinking chips goes well.

🍻: My favorite is salty meat. But chips go well with beer too. Should we order some?

23. Roger’s advice for those who just turn the legal age

💬: I’ve turned the legal age, what do you recommend for a first timer…? Was your first drink a beer…?

🍻: At first, you should go for drinks that don’t have high alcohol content to see if you can drink it or not. Other than that, drink together with someone. For example, with me. And of course, the first drink I had was beer!

24. Roger’s favorite drinking partner is… ✨✨

💬: Is there anyone you want to drink alone with?? What types of things would you talk about with them!?✨

🍻: The one drinking in front of me, right now.

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drvscarlett · 3 months

Text

About You Pt 8

Sebastian Vettel x Webber!Reader

Summary: Everyone knows about the history of Sebastian Vettel and Mark Webber. But there's a well kept story within the paddock about Sebastian Vettel and another Webber. This is that story.

About You Series

A/N: if you are a mark webber fan, im sorry its for the plot. Also expect a double update because I'll put up Chapter 9 tomorrow!!!

Taglist: @spideybv28@randomcuboidshape @mehrmonga @casperlikej @cliosunshine @honethatty12 @randomgirlnumber-13 @sugyomama @ririyulife @skywalker1dream @vicurious28 @khaylin27 @0710khj @its-elias-world @vizzzashley @allisonwoods @taytaylala12 @miarabanana @ceciii-b @lindsayjoy444

2011, Hungaroring

Ever since Y/N could remember, Mark was always the one taking care of her. Big brother Mark who would pick her up from school, Big brother Mark who gives her ice cream after a dentist appointment and all that stuffs. It was that reason why Y/N has opted to fly all over different countries to aid and support him in his quest of being the best driver in the world.

There are moments that Y/N wishes that she could have that big brother back but no moment has been much more pressing when she woke up with a pounding headache and a burning feeling.

This was the first time that she got sick without Mark by her side. She reached out her phone and her fingers hovered to press Mark’s number but she hesitated. Y/N was not sure if Mark was okay especially with his crash during free practice and he wasn’t able to get a good spot for qualifying—it is most likely that Mark is already resting. She also knows that Mark is still very upset with her and they haven’t been in speaking terms for almost two months already.

So she calls the other number she knows will pick up.

“Can’t a person get some sleep”Sebastian was half-awake and half-asleep.

“Seb?” Y/N’s voice was weak “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to disturb but I don’t know who else to call”

Sebastian immediately stood up upon hearing the voice of Y/N. There was something different about it and it made him extremely worried.

“What’s going on? Are you hurt?”

“I’m having a fever and I just need some medicines”Y/N explained

“Okay, don’t worry. I got this”Sebastian assures “I’m going to the pharmacy and pick up some medicines. Anything else?”

"Just some medicines and then I have everything covered"

Y/N must be joking if she thinks that Sebastian would simply leave her alone by herself. He was already listing down everything that Y/N might need and already including her in his schedule today.

It didn't matter if Sebastian are a few hotels away from Y/N's. He was willing to sneak to be caught into enemy's territory if its Y/N on the line. It didn’t even matter for Sebastian that he is in a foreign country and has no idea where a pharmacy is. Let alone mind that it was currently 4 in the morning and there was not much stores open at this early hour.

Y/N drifted to sleep while waiting for Sebastian. She had no idea what time it was when she woke up but the sun was shining brightly and she could feel a cool towel on her forehead.

“Mark?” she asked on instinct

“Just Seb here” Seb corrects “No need to worry, I have everything here for you”

True enough, the bedside table has been cleared of unnecessary stuffs. The medicines were neatly arranged and a small bowl with a damp towel was carefully prepared. Sebastian also took the liberty of ordering room service for Y/N to eat because medicines shouldn’t be taken with an empty stomach.

“I’m sorry for waking you up”Y/N mutters

“You don’t have to worry about a thing, I am here for you okay?”

Y/N sits up and Sebastian helped her get into a comfortable position. She genuinely appreciates the effort that Sebastian did for her and at the same time she feels slightly guilty that he must babysit her.

“I think I’ll be fine on my own. I just need the medicines and all that”Y/N reasoned out “You have the race in a few hours and Red Bull might kill me if their driver is fatigued”

But Sebastian shakes his head in disagreement.

“Like I said, don’t worry about it. I am here to take care of you as long as I could”Sebastian assures

“But the race?”

“The race is not until 3pm, I can leave the hotel at 12 noon to get ready” Sebastian quips back.

A grateful smile graced on Y/N’s face as she couldn’t fathom how she was so lucky to have Sebastian by her side.

2011, Marina Bay Street Circuit

Christian Horner was in a good mood after they secured the championship for constructor and the driver's. It was not even the end of the season and they can actually pop the champagne and celebrate their impending victory. Truly, Red Bull's dominance was here to stay.

As a treat, he asked to meet with the two Red Bull drivers for dinner. Sebastian immediately accepted while Mark politely declined. Christian could not even fathom how the bloke feels with him missing the championship twice in a row so he lets him be. Upon learning that Mark wasn't joining then Sebastian asked him if he could invite the other Webber.

For Christian, Y/N was like one of his own. Even if she swapped teams, she was still welcome to the garage. It was no issue for Christian.

And so he finds himself seated with Sebastian and Y/N for dinner time.

"So how is McLaren treating you? I hope things aren't too bad there"Christian wondered as he cuts up his steak.

"It's definitely different from what I'm used to but I manage"Y/N smiles.

"Still not in good terms with Mark?"

Christian may act blind but he sees everything. He knows how there is a huge problem between the Webber siblings. He wished he could mediate and stop Mark from firing Y/N but Mark is as stubborn as he can get.

The female Webber just give him a sad smile and it conveyed a lot for the Team Principal.

"I hope he comes around"Christian voiced out "The garage misses you, don't you like to be in a winning garage?"

"C'mon, McLaren is also trying their best"Sebastian teased.

"Well we're still working ion it but Jenson and Lewis are trying their best with the car's maximum capacity"Y/N assures.

"Yeah, I kind of miss Jenson's competitiveness in a Brawn"Sebastian chuckles.

As the Red Bull driver jest, Christian noticed how Sebastian's cutlery was on Y/N's plate. It was expertly removing the bell peppers and Christian scrunched up his face as he couldn't remember that Y/N requested for bellpeppers to be removed.

"You don't like bell peppers?"Christian asked "We could have it removed if you didn't want them"

"Oh don't worry about it"Y/N immediately answered "Sebastian likes bell peppers a little too much and I think its a common habit that he takes bell peppers from my plate"

Huh, Christian says to himself. That was something new that he learns from the German driver and it was a sweet gesture from Y/N.

As the dinner progressed, Christian couldn't help but notice how the two were in synch with how they order their food and share them with each other. Its like watching a married couple but Christian knows that if he brings this up then the two will go around with their bullshit that they are just friends.

For Christian, there is bound to be a good relationship between the two of them. It would be impossible to not have a good one especially when they are willing to swap dishes with one another or share a dessert together. He honestly thinks that he should have brought a partner of his own so he wouldn't feel too much of a third wheel.

At least, this would be a good story for the team principal to recount when the two get married.

2011, Suzuka Circuit

There was a sea of navy erupting into cheers when Sebastian parked at the parc ferme. The cheers were in different languages and he couldn't even decipher every single one of them. He proceeds to run to his team at the barricade who is awaiting for him and he felt like crying for a wonderful season.

At the end of a barricade, there was a woman dressed in orange and white. It clearly stood up from the rows of navy colored gear. Sebastian didn't miss this opportunity to go to her and give her a bone crushing hug.

"You did it, you did it again"Y/N was ecstatic.

It was a joy for Sebastian to finally celebrate with her. He pictured this happening in Abu Dhabi last year but circumstances prevented him from doing so. He lifts up his helmet and then he gave her his helmet.

"I have something to tell you" he whispered close.

He prays that she can hear him from all the loud noises in the paddock.

"Can't you tell me now?"

"This is important, meet me at Red Bull garage after the podium"Sebastian instructs.

Y/N nods and Sebastian called upon Britta to usher Y/N to the safety of the Red Bull garage. He wanted to make sure that Y/N is perfectly safe and he could see her right away after the whole interviews as well as the podium.

This was the perfect timing to tell her exactly how he feels.

Meanwhile, Britta navigates Y/N back to the familiar Red Bull garage. The younger Webber was confused of what Sebastian wanted to say that is so important that he has to say it in private.

Could it be, she thought about the possibility.

"Britta isn't there anything that you can tell me about Sebastian's weird behavior?"Y/N begged.

"I'm sworn to secrecy" Britta giggled.

Of course Britta knows. She also knows that this is all that Sebastian has been looking forward to in the Japan GP. Britta was the only other person besides Sebastian himself that he would ask her out if he wins his second championship in Japan. She is trying her best to contain her emotions because Y/N seems to be so confused about the whole situation.

"Oh just tell me now, I'm getting so anxious with all of this secrecy-"

"Y/N? What are you doing here"another Australian accent filled the air.

The gears in Britta's head were already turning because this has been the first encounter of the siblings in months and here she was in the middle of it.

"Didn't know I need permission to be here" Y/N responded cooly.

"I think you should especially when you are from the enemy's side" Mark spat.

"Now, I'm an enemy?"

"You moved to McLaren, what are we supposed to do?"

"You fucking fired me"Y/N defended herself "I need a job to sustain myself"

The tension between Mark and Y/N is at its peak. Mark looked like he regretted the things he said but his pride has prevented him to admit that he made a mistake. Y/N, on the other hand, is close to crying. Britta couldn't fathom how much pain Mark is putting Y/N in with his words.

"You should have left this world"Mark stated "You don't belong here"

Y/N dropped the helmet that she was holding. The tears immediately flowed out of her eyes because it was one thing to be constantly told that she doesn't belong in this field of motorsports. She encountered that daily with a lot with its male dominated community and she learned to tune it out. But its another thing to hear it from her own brother.

The tears were no longer because of sadness but pure hatred.

"You are a piece of fucking work Mark"words uttered were laced with venom.

Britta couldn't do anything as Y/N turned to leave in a hurry. She wished she could do something other than glare daggers at Mark and plot the worst kind of PR treatment possible.

Sebastian have to try another day because clearly Mark just ruined his chances today.

2011, Interlagos

Webber wins his first and last of the 2011 season in front of his family.

Dianne and Alan Webber flew all the way from Australia to Brazil to support Mark in his final race for the season. Much to their surprise,they witness Mark go into the top podium spot for the Sunday race. Both the parents are thrilled with Alan saying that "Mark is a very promising driver that is ready to challenge Sebastian for the coming years." Mark is also very grateful to his parents and dedicater the win to them during the post-race interview.

Fans noticed the lack of Y/N Webber during the celebrations. Rumor has it that the former Red Bull employee and now McLaren press officer, is not in good terms with her brother after her move to McLaren. She has been out sight through the whole weekend and she wasn't even spotted during the celebratory family dinner.

Webber siblings caught feuding with each other.

Sources say that the presence of Alan and Diane Webber was not merely to watch Mark race but negotiate between the feud of Mark and Y/N. It has been several months since we last saw Y/N anywhere near Mark and when asked during the interviews about her, Mark refused to answer that question. There is no clear reason how and why it started but everything leads back to Germany where Y/N first donned the orange-white colors of McLaren.

The paddock is currently circulating with a voice recording of a conversation between the two siblings in Mark's driver room. It seems as if Y/N tried to reach out with an olive tree by congratulating Mark but the Red Bull driver was not having it. The recording has been taken down and no one had a full transcript of the whole fight.

Sebastian has been nursing his drink for the past few hours. He knew that he had to be sober because clearly Y/N has a plan to drink the whole place down.

In all the years that Sebastian knew Y/N, he never saw her like this. It was weird how utterly shattered she was and she wouldn't even tell him what Mark said. She just wanted to drink her pain away.

"You should better stop or you'll regret it tomorrow"Sebastian reminded.

The girl raised a middle finger as she proceeds to drink another bottle of beer.

"What even is that point"

He was quite thankful that this was a private bar and no one seems to recognize them. He has already seen the articles and if the media got a whiff of this then it will be a field day for her.

"You can reconcile over the winter break,you live in the same house"Sebastian argues.

"Used to"Y/N clarifies "Used to live in the same house"

Sebastian was confused. He didn't know if this was sober Y/N talking or is this just plain drunkeness.

"They kicked me out. They say I'm a bad daughter, a bad sister, a bad person"Y/N spilled.

If he could only assure her that she is never any of those things, Sebastian would already have. However he knows that his words cannot compare to what she heard from her own flesh and blood. He just gives her a comforting hug to calm her.

"I don't know what to fucking say or do right"the sobbing comes now.

"There there"

It was a moment of silence except for Y/N's cries. It was already past 2 in the morning and the bar was almost empty so they were given the privacy that they need. Sebastian felt upset he couldn't do anything to help her.

"Where do you go now?"Sebastian asked.

He could offer a place back in Germany for her to stay or maybe somewhere near Milton Keynes.

"Michael and Corinna wanted me to stay with them"Y/N answers "And then maybe by January, I'll look for a place in London so its closer to work"

It must be a weird feeling for Y/N to be suddenly forced into this new situation and Sebastian knew how scared the girl must be.

"You'll be alright, you are not alone"

He holds her hand and Y/N leaned on his shoulder for balance.

Sebastian already resigned the idea that he will confess his feelings. There is clearly a lot on Y/N's plate right now and its not a good timing to add more to her worries. If having a good friend is what she needs then that's what Sebastian would be for the time being.

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #sebastian vettel x reader #sebastian vettel imagine #sebastian vettel angst #sebastian vettel fluff

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aethien11-blog · 9 days

Text

NOTE: I DO NOT OWN ANY OF THESE CHARACTERS. (Also, I’m a sappy, silly, dork at times. Sorry not sorry.) I took some liberties when it came to JJK as I’ve only seen the two seasons on crunchy roll and kinda ran with it. Sorry if that’s upsetting.

The boys reactions to learning their s/o has been kidnapped

Fem Reader x : Sakuna, Megumi, Nanami, Itadori

WARNINGS: use of ‘naughty words’, mentions of blood, rape, mutilation, death, violence, and possible spoilers.

RYOMEN SUKUNA

The King of Curses was phased by nothing. Your presence (or lack of) wasn’t that important. He could go a day without you, without thinking of you.

Ryomen snarled. And yet here he was again for the fifth time this hour wondering how much longer you planned to take. Just how long did humans need to visit family for anyway? What was so damned special about it?

“Great One!” Uraume immediately knelt beside him.

“Uraume?” His four eyes blinked once before, “Where is y/n? Waiting my room?” It was a pleasant thought but his battle instinct said otherwise.

“Forgive me, Great One. Lady y/n,” Uraume stiffened.

“Don’t keep me in suspense,” he snarled.

“Forgive my error. Lady y/n was taken, my Lord.”

“Taken?”

Maybe it was fear, maybe a blush that lit Uraume’s face. “Yes. Lady- lady y/n sent me away briefly so she could speak with her family. Apparently, I make them uncomfortable.” It was only a moment but it felt like an eternity passed before she spoke again. “I should have sensed it. I apologize for my error, Great One.” “What are you yapping about? And where is she?” Ryomen roared.

It was impossible to still the tremble that shot through her body. “I don’t know where she is, Lord Sukuna. Only that she sent me away. I stepped to the door, heard something, turned and she was gone. Every member of her family were slaughtered in that moment.” Uraume trembled again. “I don’t know, my Lord.”

“Her body was not among the dead?” It didn’t hurt. He wouldn’t say that. His chest just moved weird when he asked. It wasn’t like his heart could actually hurt over this.

“She was not, my Lord.”

“Hm. I should have figured. You would have brought me a corpse at least, if that were the case.”

“Your trust is flattering, my Lord.”

“Hmph. Find out who took her and what they want. You have one day.”

“My lord.” Uraume disappeared from his sight quickly then.

Yes. It didn’t matter if you were gone a whole day. He wouldn’t allow it to affect him but hell was coming for the creature that disrupted his plans for the evening.

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

“Wow. I’ve seen stupid before, but you’re something else.”

“Ssshhh ut up, human.” The creature’s hissing speech was irritating enough but if this thing thought it stood a chance. “Or I’ll shh, cut out that ssstupid tongue.”

You giggle. “As if. Lord Sukuna will turn you into kibble.” Briefly you scrunch your brows before wondering out loud, “I wonder if Uraume has fed his pets yet today.”

A blade appeared, pressed to your lips. “Sssssh ut it!”

You can’t help but smile and lick the flat of it. “You don’t stand a chance.”

MEGUMI FUSHIGURO

“Why are we being called in?” Megumi asked in his usual uninterested tone.

“The higher ups have a stick up their ass and they want us to pull it out…probably,” Gojo sniped before finishing with a grin.

Megumi rolled his eyes. One day, his teacher was going to step too far and those same higher ups were likely to come down on him but today wasn’t the day…probably.

The doors came open as Megumi, Yuji, Nobara, and Saturo stepped close. “There is no time for greetings. Seat yourselves and let’s begin.”

“Well, nice to see you too,” Saturo Gojo sniped with a smile. “Whaddya got for us?”

Heavy sighs echo through the small room before a woman’s voice said, “Watch.” On a screen on the side of the room, a newscast was being played.

As soon as the reporter switched to the scene behind them, three sets of eyes turned to Megumi. He didn’t notice. His eyes were glued to yours looking up him through the screen.

To say Megumi was used to loss was fairly accurate. He accepted loss was a part of every mission and pretty much expected it… but that was no excuse for you to go and get yourself captured by curse user.

The demands were that one person alone was to deliver their required ransom for you (another cursed object that should never leave the school) or they would turn you into their newest curse. Worse, they made the demand publicly, ensuring the higher ups couldn’t just sweep their request (and you) under the rug.

What none of them expected was that Megumi would volunteer to be the one to deliver their ransom. Or that he would have a plan to get you back without having to give up the cursed item.

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

These fuckers were in for a hell of a surprise. You weren’t worth anything and you knew it. Just some orphan left in the care of the state to manage a life that had thus far amounted to little. For fuck sake, you only graduated high school last year and who in their right mind tries to take a cafe barista as a hostage. These guys were nuts.

But hearing what they demanded and their threats just riled you. No, you weren’t worth some great value but you’d be damned if they were doing a single thing to you without a fight.

KENTO NANAMI

The steady clack of keys on keyboards was near deafening as the entire office echoed it. Blank faces stared at bright screens as the sun sank behind the horizon. Another day of boring repetitive garbage.

Nanami stood from his desk, collecting his things in his usual slow and perfectly controlled manner. At least y/n should be ready by the time he got there. He had worked a little late, but then, you usually took an extra minute to close up shop.

Nanami smiled to himself as he lifted his briefcase and slid his laptop in. You always made him a special set of bread as the last one of the day so it would be fresh and warm even after you both got back to his apartment. Maybe he should ask, no no. He shook his head and set his usual expressionless face back in place. No need to think of that right now.

Kento set his briefcase in the back seat before sliding into his car and starting it. Safer that way. You had a tendency to ‘chuck it’ into the back seat if it were in your way. The edges of his mouth curled into a smile. Anyone else and he would have been ticked about tossing an expensive laptop about like that but when you did it, it was cute. And even if it weren’t, the grin you give him after certainly was.

He barely managed to get the grin back under control by the time he was pulling up to your shop only to freeze as he parked. The glass door was shattered, the shop inside showing obvious signs of a struggle.

Nanami felt like his blood was pumping through his body at several miles a minute then. On the outside, Kento was entirely calm as he slowly unbuckled and stepped out of his car. Only those that knew him would notice the difference. The way his fists tightened, the set of his jaw, or the measured gait he adopted as he stepped through the broken entrance.

His eyes scanned the scene and picked up the single scrawled note with ease.

“Want her, come get her.”

The paper crumpled in his fist before he shifted his attention to tracing the energy. They would pay for making him work overtime.

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

Much as you would love to (continue to) tell these guys off, one of them had already stuffed a sock in your mouth and duct taped it there. That didn’t really stop you though as you continued to hurl insults through your gag.

“Geez. If this guy doesn’t hurry up, I’m gonna kill the broad just to shut her up,” one of your captors grumbled.

“Mmm mmnnnm mmm mm.” Your attempted snarl did little through your gag, and it wasn’t like you could fight back now. These jerks may be asses but they knew how to tie knots. Between the chafing on your upper arms and wrists, you had tested every way you could think of to get loose and were only too glad you had worn pants today instead of a skirt.

YUJI ITADORI

Having adopted his mentor's distaste for meetings, Yuji trudged into the room with a heavy sigh. “Do we have to?” he whined.

You could just give up control and I could kill them all, Sukuna suggests amiably but Yuji ignores him.

Nobara slaps the back of his head. “You already know the answer to that. Sit down.”

Megumi barely managed not to smile before taking his seat. He blinked owlishly for a moment before the friendly wave confirmed his suspicion. “You’re here too?”

Yuta smiled. “Yeah. I’ll let them explain everything.”

“Must be pretty big if they called both of you here,” Yuji said with a grin as he looked between Yuta and Gojo.

“You know it. Three first years are missing after being sent in and we’re going to go save them,” Gojo stated.

Sighs echo around the room. “Let’s begin the actual mission brief.” All eyes shifted to the screen. Typed out quickly was the message from Tengen. “Earlier this morning, three first year Jujutsu students, Eimo Makito, Rugi Kamisari, and y/n, were accompanied by two third years, Panda and Toge Inumaki, to subdue or suppress whatever was causing the disappearances over Lake Tazawa’s area. The reported incidents originally listed this as a Class 3 curse at best, but with our newest information, we believe there may be more than one special grade at work, making it appear lower to continue to deceive us. We can no longer rule it out.”

Yuji had stopped reading at your name and his eyes were glued to it until Megumi elbowed him lightly to draw his attention back to the meeting.

You’re okay, right? This doesn’t mean you're dead. Just that….you’re missing.

“We currently do not know if any of the students are alive or not. The veil we placed has been encompassed by a stronger one and we have no way to get information in or out.”

“So we’re going in blind. My specialty,” Gojo stated with a grin.

Yuta chuckled beside him. “We can handle this-”

“I’m coming too,” Yuji shouted and everyone stilled before Gojo’s chuckle released some of the tension in the room.

“Plan to be a knight and go save your princess?”

“It’s not just about y/n,” Yuji stated, though his blushing ears decried otherwise. “Panda and Toge are there too. We have to save them if we can.”

“You know they might already be dead.” Gojo just wanted to make sure it was clear, that Yuji wasn’t holding out hope on this one.

“I won’t believe it until I see it.”

“Gre-at,” Megumi sighed and face palmed. “It's the detention center all over again.”

“Sorry, Itadori,” Yuta began. “But you can’t-”

“I’m coming too,” Yuji repeated.

“Nuh-uh, kid,” Gojo said standing up. “I’ll let you come with us, but you are staying out side the barrier, you understand. You want to make sure everyone is safe, that’s fine. But you will keep yourself and Sukuna out of that barrier, clear?”

Despite the blindfold being on, Yuji could feel the blue eyes of his teacher boring into him.

Finally he sighed in defeat. “Fine. I’ll wait outside the barrier. But,”

“No buts, or you're not going and I’ll leave you chained up here.”

Yuji’s silence to follow was taken for acquiescence.

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

You blink your eyes open to an unfamiliar sight. The barrier above you seems almost black and the shimmering in it makes you want to vomit after looking at it for a moment. Like staring at trees outside a moving car window. You roll and tuck your left arm up. You're able to move it but the bone in your forearm is definitely broken.

Your eyes land on Panda as you sit up. “How’s he doing?” you whisper through the pain.

Panda smiles sadly at you. “He’ll be fine. Just needs a bit to get his throat to stop bleeding.”

“I’m sorry, Toge.”

Toge shook his head and smiled sadly at you. “Bonito flakes.” It even sounded choked and you felt your eyes water. He must be in incredible pain.

You three were lucky. Eimo and Rugi weren’t as fortunate. You had to come up with some kind of plan to get out of here, but if these two didn’t have anything how could you?

“Fuck!” you curse under your breath.

“Salmon.”

That at least got you to smile and you can tell that was his intention. You would get out of this. Together.

Again a quick and sincere thank you to Miss Vry (@vrystalius) for helping me with tags :D

#jjk #jjk x reader #sukuna x reader #fushiguro x reader #nanami x reader #itadori x reader

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daistea · 4 months

Note

regarding the possessive obsessive bf mithrun i imagine its to be expected that someone who hasnt had any desires for ?? years would get kinda intense abt the things theyre cultivating the ability to feel desire for !

RIGHT?? take my hand, walk into the light with me..

//Spoilers

Honestly, I headcanon that he was like that before the dungeon too. To an extent. There’s this post I like that implies that Mithrun didn’t actually truly love the elf girl from before, he just wanted to possess her because, you know, insecurity and complexes and brother issues.

He wanted to be loved, to possess, to feel worthy. I think that definitely could lead into possessiveness.

the most gorgeous boy in the world 🫣 kiss kiss smooch smooch, my little walking red flag

Anyway, post-demon those feelings go away. He still has emotions and a personality obviously. There’s still glimpses of who he was, but he doesn’t care about the old insecurities. They’re not there anymore. The inferiority complex is gone. He’s just Mithrun, demon killing machine, living only for one thing. I mean it’s canon that he’s already obsessive.

(I know the word ‘obsessed’ being used here is probably just translation liberties, but the idea still remains. If it’s genuinely ‘obsessed’ in Japanese though, I’ll be very pleased.)

I do think it’s possible to have a relationship with him at this point, but it won’t be conventional— that’s true of any relationship with him at any point in his life though. You’ll always be second. He’s not as invested, not as possessive, but I do think that’s just a natural part of his personality as well and it would still pop up on occasion.

THE MOST EVEN GORGEOUSER BOY IN THE WORLD 🥺 kiss kiss smooch smooch

Post-canon Mithrun has decided to live, to help make the broth in a stew or soup, to find use in himself. Yay!

I like the idea of Mithrun deciding to spend his life with someone simply because he enjoys their company, but my favorite thought is him developing a new desire— it’s not a simple desire for a relationship, though. It’s a desire for you. It’s very specific.

When Mithrun develops a new desire, he can’t ignore it. He needs it. He needs every ounce of it. If this desire is for a specific person, then he wants every ounce of them. This possessiveness doesn’t necessarily come from insecurity or inferiority like it used to. It’s from desperation and excitement. He trusts you. If he gets jealous it’s not because he thinks you’re going to cheat, it’s because he sees it and thinks, “They’re mine. Nobody else is allowed to have them.” It’s offensive that someone would even try to take you from him.

He wants his desire close to him. He’s clingy. He’s absolutely shameless. He doesn’t hide his feelings, but he doesn’t really say them out loud either, that’s just not how he rolls. He shows his feelings through actions. Are those actions genuinely unhinged sometimes? Yes.

You’ve got a friend who’s kinda worried that this elf guy is getting too attached? Mithrun has Cithis brain wash your friend into supporting your relationship so they don’t try to get in the way. Is that morally wrong? Don’t care didn’t ask

You want to do something very dangerous? Too bad, you’re getting tied to a chair so you can’t leave. Kick and scream all you want, he’s not risking losing you.

And he does it all with a straight face and no dramatics, too. They’re very normal things for him to do, obviously.

He’s very normal about you, obviously.

He wants every bit of your attention, every touch, every second, every year you have to offer. Does he say that out loud? No. But he wants it.

And when Mithrun actually wants something, he’s going to meticulously tear apart the stars one by one to get it. He hasn’t really wanted anything in 40-ish years. Doesn’t he deserve it?

#sighs dreamily #mithrun #dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #dunmeshi #asks #mithrun x reader #dungeon meshi x reader #mithrun of the house of kerensil #my writing #reader insert

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hamsterclaw · 1 year

Text

Fugitive

You're kidnapped by a desperate man and you can't see a way that this is going to end well, for either of you.

Pairing: Yoongi x f! reader

Word count: 10k

Genre: Escaped criminal, convict Yoongi

Rating: 18+

Warnings: Sex, swearing, mentions of a gun, threat of gun violence

Author note: This story is based on the romance novel Perfect by Judith McNaught. I've taken a few liberties with the plot and characters.

The coffee at this mountainside diner is good, warming your belly as you frown at the snow outside.

All the weather reports say there’s a storm coming from the east, but it doesn’t take a trooper to know that.

Even a city girl like you can see how the sky’s darkening, how the wind’s relentless, how the temperature is rapidly dropping.

You’ve got snow tires on, four wheel drive, emergency supplies in your trunk, but you think you won’t need them, you’re heading west and you’ve made good time on your way to visit your sister and her newborn.

Like your dad used to say, your family’s full of grit.

You swallow your smile when you see the man standing just outside the diner looking straight at you.

Did he think you were smiling at him?

You look down hastily.

The waitress comes round with the check you signalled for, you put money on the little acrylic tray and get ready to go.

By the time you step outside, the wind’s picked up even more, snow swirling, making your eyes want to screw shut under your beanie.

You don’t hear him until he’s almost on top of you.

He’s not a lot taller than you, and he’s not particularly dressed for the weather, in denim on denim, a parka. No hat or gloves.

His hair is dark, as are his eyes, and his skin is pale, like he doesn’t get a lot of sun.

He looks vaguely familiar but you can’t really place him.

‘You have a flat,’ he says, pointing to one of your front tyres.

You look down in dismay only to see that he’s right.

Shit!

‘I can help you change it, if you’ve got a spare,’ he offers.

‘Would you?’ you ask, grateful.

‘Yeah, not a problem.’

You show him where the spare and tools are, and as he crouches by the tyre, you’re very aware of how, unlike you, he doesn’t have gloves on.

You feel a surge of guilt.

‘Hey,’ you offer, ‘whilst you’re doing that, can I get you a hot drink or something?’

He looks up at you, hands braced on the flat.

‘I wouldn’t mind a coffee, if it’s not too much trouble.’

‘Of course,’ you say, relieved that he’s not too polite to take you up on your offer. ‘I’ll be right back.’

You hurry back into the diner to get him a coffee. As you wait you wonder if he might want a sandwich too, and impulsively, you order him a hot sandwich.

He can always say no if he doesn’t want it, you reason.

By the time you come out, he’s putting the flat in your trunk, tidying up the tools he used.

‘Thank you,’ you tell him, passing him the drink.

‘No problem,’ he says.

A little awkwardly, you hold out the wrapped sandwich. ‘I got you a sandwich too, if you want it. It’s turkey.’

He accepts with another murmured ‘thank you.’

You’re wondering if you should offer him money for his kindness when he says, hesitant, ‘I could use a lift, if you’re heading west. I’ve got a job interview I’m hoping to make it to.’

Now you’re the hesitant one. He’s shown you nothing but kindness, but he is still a total stranger.

He waits without looking at you, sipping his coffee, keeping his distance.

You think about his lack of warm clothes, and as you’re looking at him, you notice the crispness of the creases in his clothing, remnants of how they must have been folded when he bought them.

You think about his calloused palms and how he accepted the sandwich without hesitation.

‘Hey, it’s ok,’ he starts to say, and it’s that, more than anything else, that spurs you on to reply.

‘It’s fine,’ you say. ‘I’ll take you as far as I’m heading.’

***

He gets into the passenger seat, and from the sigh that passes his lips you realise that he really was as cold as you thought he might be.

You start the engine, and warm air starts to blow through your A/C vents.

You check that the GPS is still set and glance over at him.

‘You ready?’

You’re a mile or so out of the diner, listening to the radio, when it occurs to you to ask him his name.

‘I’m Y/N,’ you say.

‘Yoongi,’ comes the reply.

In here, away from the whistling wind, you can hear the gravel in his voice.

‘What job are you going for?’ you ask.

‘Just some construction job my friend’s lined up for me near Maisan,’ Yoongi says.

He glances in the rearview mirror.

‘I hope you get it,’ you tell him. ‘Do you live around there?’

He seems to hesitate.

‘I don’t mean to pry,’ you say, quickly.

To bridge the sudden silence, you say, ‘I’m going to see my sister and her new baby. She chose a good time to have him, right before a storm.’

You notice movement up ahead, a police roadblock.

Beside you, your new acquaintance sits up.

‘Nice and easy,’ he says, and you look at him, confused, until you notice that he has a gun in his hand.

Pointed right at you.

You straighten up so quickly your neck cracks.

‘What —-‘

‘Nice and easy,’ Yoongi says again, a hardness to his voice you haven’t heard up until now.

‘There are six shots in this gun, but I’ll only need one to hurt you,’ he continues.

Your hands tighten on the wheel, and your lips clamp together, trying to stifle the squeak of terror that threatens to slip out.

‘I just want you to know that I will hurt you if you try anything,’ Yoongi says. There’s a seriousness in his voice that makes your blood chill. ‘So nice and easy, get us past this roadblock.’

You’ve slowed automatically as you approach the uniformed policemen, your years of driving making your body do the expected things despite the way your head is reeling.

Yoongi has a gun, and he seems perfectly capable of using it on you.

The fear crystallises into a single sob before your throat closes completely. Your breathing quickens but you know you’ll need to look normal, unsuspicious, to get you and Yoongi past the police.

‘Are they looking for you?’ you ask. Your voice is shuddery, you’re trembling so hard.

In response, Yoongi jams the barrel of the gun against you, high up, against your ribs, so hard it’s like he’s impaled you.

‘Shut up and get us through this,’ he snarls.

Your lips snap together again, and you make a conscious effort to pull yourself together.

Just before you stop, Yoongi says, ‘If you try anything, I won’t just be trying to hurt you. I’ll kill you.’

His tone is low, and another shiver runs through you.

You roll down the window.

The police trooper leans in. ‘Where are you headed?’

‘We’re going to see my sister in Maisan,’ you say, grateful at least, that your voice is steady.

Beside you, Yoongi’s sitting perfectly still.

‘You’ve not picked a good time to go,’ says the trooper.

This time, it’s Yoongi who answers. ‘I did say we should wait, but my girlfriend’s been looking forward to seeing her new nephew.’

He shrugs, a picture of indulgent exasperation.

The trooper laughs along with Yoongi even as you try to make desperate eye contact with him.

‘Better carry on then, hopefully you’ll make it before the storm hits.’

Then he’s waving you off, and you have a split second of panic, a moment where you consider screaming, before Yoongi’s gun jabs into your ribs again.

Again, your body responds before you do, driving you away from your last chance to seek help.

***

Twenty miles out from the diner, Yoongi tosses your phone out of the window.

Forty miles out, he programs a different address into your GPS.

It’s another ten miles before you find your voice again.

‘You can take the car, you know, and leave me here. I can’t call anyone.’

Yoongi almost looks like he’s considering it.

‘I can’t leave you here out in the mountains in the middle of nowhere,’ he tells you. ‘You’ll die of exposure, especially if you can’t call for help.’

‘Also,’ he adds, almost as if it’s an afterthought, ‘you know the address of where we’re going.’

‘I didn’t see it,’ you say, too quickly.

Yoongi’s silent.

Finally, he says, ‘Just keep driving.’

‘Please,’ you plead. ‘Just let me go. I won’t tell the police where you’re heading.’

Yoongi’s grasp on the gun, still in his lap, tightens.

‘You’re a fucking idiot. Why the hell would you give a ride to a strange man you’ve just met?’

You don’t have a good answer to that.

‘You changed my tyre,’ you say. ‘I thought —‘

‘I slashed your tyre,’ he says, low, cold. ‘I was hanging around outside the diner, I saw you pull up, saw you were alone.’

His admission chills you.

Tears start to spill down your cheeks when you realise what a fool you were to trust him.

‘I just wanted to help you out,’ you tell him. ‘You seemed hungry and down on your luck, and you didn’t even have any warm c-c-clothes!’

You swipe at your cheeks furiously.

‘Didn’t have any warm clothes,’ Yoongi repeats, incredulous, scornful. ‘You’re some fucking good Samaritan.’

You’re crying quietly now, despairing over your naivety.

Yoongi doesn’t say anything for a good long while, and neither do you.

***

By the time you reach your destination, it’s snowing so hard you can barely see six feet in front of your car.

Snowy walls close in either side of you, buffeting you from the wind but heightening your sense of claustrophobia.

The clearing’s upon you before you quite realise it, and you end up stopping in front of a huge structure in the woods.

It’s more than a cabin, it looks like a proper house, from what you can make out, with a shed and a carport.

Yoongi reaches out and takes your car keys.

‘Wait until I come round to your side.’

He doesn’t point the gun at you, but you don’t need reminding.

He gets out, walks around to your side, pulls open the door, pushes you in front of him.

You try to take note of your surroundings, landmarks, but all you can see is snow.

Your boots clomp on the concrete as you approach the front door.

Behind you, you can hear Yoongi rustling, glancing at his phone before he punches numbers into the keypad discreetly placed by the door.

He cups a hand over the keypad, you don’t see a thing.

He pulls you in as he enters, and you’re initially just grateful to be out of the snow.

Yoongi says, ‘Take your coat off.’

He makes a move as if to do it for you when you don’t react quickly enough, and you snap into action, pulling the snaps apart, unzipping hastily.

He takes your coat, tosses it carelessly to one side, grasps your wrist, tight.

You flinch as he tightens a cable tie around your wrist and attaches you to the steel flap of a radiator by the entrance hall of the house.

‘I can’t trust you not to try to run,’ he tells you. ‘I won’t hurt you, but I can’t afford for you to interfere with my plans, not now.’

You’re barely listening at this point.

The terror of the last few hours has drained most of your energy.

Yoongi stands over you for a few moments, as if to make sure you aren’t going to bolt, and then he heads further into the house.

***

Time passes, you’re disorientated by the darkness brought on by the storm outside and your own sense of disjointedness.

It doesn’t seem like that long ago since you loaded your things into your trunk and set off from home, and yet, it seems like forever.

Gradually, you become aware of the hardwood floor under your salopes. The entry hall you’re being held captive in gives you the impression that this is a nice house.

Whoever had this built has money.

The ceilings are high, the wood panelling rich and beautifully rendered.

The radiator beside you has started heating up, the steel flaps burning you whenever you let your hand move too close.

Your snow boots have made puddles on the hardwood.

Where the hell are you? Who owns this place? Why did Yoongi have the code for the door?

If he has friends this rich willing to let him use their house why the hell did he need you to drive him?

Your mind swirling with thoughts you can’t reconcile, you pull your knees into your chest and tuck your chin in, wrapping your arms around yourself.

You fall into an exhausted, dreamless sleep.

***

You wake to complete darkness and a searing pain in your hand where you’ve let it fall against the radiator.

It all comes back to you in a flash.

The diner. The state trooper. The house. Yoongi.

Your hand hurts, badly, but it’s too dark to see.

As you straighten your legs, your foot hits something that falls with a soft thud, then rolls.

A water bottle.

You’re suddenly aware of how dry your throat is.

You reach for the bottle, but maddeningly, it rolls out of your reach.

There are tears on your face but you’re not crying, not really.

Maybe you are.

***

When you next wake, the cold thin grey light filtering in through the windows tells you it’s morning, or early.

You look up to see your captor standing over you.

You look at each other wordlessly.

Yoongi crouches next to you.

‘Do you need the bathroom?’ he asks.

You nod.

He reaches down to detach you from the radiator.

Your hand.

You can see it clearly now, the blistered, reddened side of your palm, the thin line of blood where the cable tie’s cut into your wrist.

You say nothing. You don’t know if you can form any words.

You get up carefully, follow Yoongi down the hall to a small bathroom.

‘I’ll give you five minutes,’ Yoongi says.

You take care of business, trying not to sob at the pain in your burnt hand and wrist.

The window to the bathroom doesn’t open, and there’s nothing that you can use to break it.

There’s a knock at the door, you feel a surge of hysterical laughter threatening to come out.

He’s kidnapped you, locked you to a radiator, and he’s knocking because he cares about your privacy?

The door opens, and Yoongi comes in.

You stare at the scissors in his hand.

‘Your wrist,’ he says.

You watch, detached, as he cuts the cable tie. It falls to the floor, and you instinctively raise your hand to your chest to rub at your wrist.

Yoongi says. ‘I have food for you.’

He takes you down another hallway, to a huge kitchen full of windows. The early morning sun filters in, bright and blinding, adding more of a sense of unreality to the situation you now find yourself in.

Yoongi gestures to a seat at the kitchen island, sets a plate in front of you, like he’s made you breakfast.

You stare in disbelief at the food.

‘The car’s coming for me in two days, I’ll let you go then,’ Yoongi tells you, like you’re making plans together.

Like you’re just two people who know each other, discussing plans over breakfast, instead of captor and captive.

Now you’re staring at him.

‘You’ll let me go?’ you ask. Your voice comes out in a rasp, you have a vague recollection of trying to drink water but being unable to reach.

Yoongi winces a little, pours out a glass of water that you gulp down.

‘You should have told me you wanted water,’ he says.

‘You took my phone so I couldn’t text you,’ you say, the snark coming out of your mouth surprising you.

His brow lifts. ‘You don’t have my number anyway.’

‘Don’t need it,’ you snap, gulping down your refill. ‘We’re not going on a second date.’

Now it’s his turn to stare at you.

‘You’re not my type anyway,’ he snaps back. ‘Eat your food.’

For a moment you contemplate going on a hunger strike but you suspect he wouldn’t give a shit anyway so you examine your plate.

You fork up some eggs and chew cautiously.

They’re good. Better than you expected. Your stomach growls as you eat.

The food’s doing wonders for your energy levels.

‘Why are you running from the police?’ you ask. ‘What did you do?’

‘I was convicted of murder,’ he tells you, cold.

‘Did you do it?’ you ask, unimpressed.

‘I didn’t, as a matter of fact,’ he replies, flat.

‘Wait. Were you in prison?’

‘I escaped,’ he tells you. ‘With a little help from my friends.’

You mull this over as you finish the last of your eggs.

‘You have friends?’

Yoongi gives you a look that makes your chest tighten a little.

‘Hard to believe, isn’t it?’ he agrees.

He takes your plate, gathers up your cutlery, turns his back to put them in the sink.

‘Don’t even think about throwing your glass at me,’ he says, back still to you.

Your hand stills on the counter.

You change the subject.

‘This is a nice house. Do your friends know they’re harbouring a fugitive from the law?’

‘My friends have nothing to do with anything,’ Yoongi tells you, giving you a hard look.

He sets out a bandage and some ointment on the kitchen island in front of you.

‘Your hand,’ he prompts impatiently, when you don’t make a move to take them.

You’re about to reach for them when he sighs, unscrews the top of the tube, drops a dollop on your burnt palm.

You stifle a hiss of pain as he rubs the ointment in.

‘I’m sorry,’ Yoongi says quietly.

He’s close to you now, so close you catch a whiff of the freshness of his shampoo.

‘You should be sorry,’ you say. ‘I thought you were just some guy who was down on his luck who needed a break, and next thing you’re waving a gun in my face and threatening to kill me.’

You can feel the tears threatening to rise again, but you blink them back.

Yoongi’s touch is gentle on your sore hand.

‘I am sorry. Believe me, if there were any other way I would have taken it. I promise, I’ll let you go. I have no intention of hurting you.’

He says the words with conviction but you know you can’t believe anything he says.

Trusting him is what got you into this in the first place.

You let him bandage your hand.

‘Which radiator next?’ you ask, resigned.

‘I won’t tie you up again, but I’ll have to keep an eye on you,’ Yoongi says, surprising you. ‘There’s a den we can sit in, if you want.’

You don’t see that you have any better options.

***

You start off in the furthest corner of the den from him, back to the wall, wary.

Yoongi ignores you completely as he turns on the TV, scrolls to the news.

You glance over the books on the bookshelf along one wall, but the TV catches your attention.

‘The search continues for Min Yoongi, the disgraced former rapper who was convicted of the murder of Han Jisung three years ago.’

Your gaze snaps to Yoongi, but he’s not looking at you, attention fully on the screen as an old media clip of him rapping plays.

‘The federal police are looking into several leads, and members of the public can contact the number onscreen if they have any information as to his whereabouts.’

The next story flashes up, and Yoongi sits back. You can see the tension leaving his body.

He catches the way you’re still gaping at him.

You blink, clear your throat.

‘So, you used to rap?’

Yoongi’s expression morphs into one of incredulity. ‘That’s your take-home from all that?’

You try again. ‘Too bad I don’t have my phone to call the number. Do you think there’s a reward?’

Yoongi stares at you.

‘I didn’t kill Han Jisung,’ he says.

He refuses to be drawn into any further discussion about it, and finally, you give up and pick up one of the books from the shelf.

***

Lunch is a sombre affair, sandwiches that you eat mechanically while looking at the grey outside.

The storm’s upon you, you doubt your snow tires would be up to the challenge even if you could get your car keys off Yoongi.

There’s no visibility at all, and if the wall of ice that’s forming around the glass of the floor to ceiling windows of the house wasn’t enough to deter you, the fact that you have no idea where your parka is certainly helps put you off.

You grew up in a mountainous area like this, and you’ve got a healthy respect for the weather conditions when it's like this.

You wonder how your sister’s doing, and your new nephew, if they’ve noticed you’re missing yet.

Maybe they think you’ve stopped to seek shelter and are waiting for the storm to pass before you continue on your journey.

You wonder if they’ve put your lack of communication down to a signal failure.

You wonder if anyone will notice you’re missing.

Your thoughts drift to Seokjin, the man you’ve recently had a few dates with.

He’s a good looking guy, outmatching you in looks if you’re being honest about what you think, but he seems to like the way you look, and to enjoy spending time with you.

You realise that Yoongi’s talking to you.

‘Are you all right?’ he asks, nodding to your half eaten sandwich.

‘I’m fine,’ you answer. You pull a face. ‘Well apart from being held captive against my will.’

Yoongi looks like he’s resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

‘Were you really going to see your sister?’ he asks. ‘Will she notice you’re missing?’

You eye him narrowly. ‘I don’t think anyone’s sending out a search party for me just yet, if that’s what you’re asking.’

Yoongi says, unexpectedly, ‘Why not? You’re pretty, you’d catch attention on the front page of the newspapers.’

You say, incredulously, ‘I bet dozens of women go missing every single day.’

‘They probably do,’ Yoongi agrees.

‘How did you get put in prison if you didn’t kill that guy?’ you ask, changing the subject. ‘I’m sure you could afford a good legal team.’

Yoongi takes a while to answer.

‘I was fucking Han Jisung’s fiancee.’

You raise a sceptical brow at him. ‘And?’

‘I think his half-brother set me up.’

You mull this over.

‘So what’s the plan? You escape from prison and leave the country?’

Yoongi shrugs, but his gaze is hard.

‘I stay on the run until I get enough evidence for a re-trial. Prove my innocence.’

‘Seems a long shot,’ you say, but you have no desire to piss him off, at least not while he’s got a gun in his possession.

‘I have influential friends who are willing to help,’ Yoongi says, simply.

You say nothing.

‘Do you know what it’s like to be put away for life for something you didn’t do?’ Yoongi asks, suddenly. ‘I’ve lost three years of my life to this, there’s no chance of parole for another 7 years.’

His voice rings with anger and frustration.

‘I’m sorry,’ you say.

You have no idea if he’s telling you the truth, but you’re convinced of one thing. He believes it.

If he’s telling the truth, you can’t think of anything more awful.

‘Some say I brought this on myself,’ Yoongi says.

He shakes his head. ‘I don’t blame them. I was an asshole and a womaniser.’

‘That doesn’t surprise me,’ you retort.

Yoongi looks at you, momentarily speechless with surprise.

Then he laughs.

‘Has no one ever taught you not to make fun of a man with a gun?’

You look at him seriously. ‘You promised you’d let me go in two days. Was that a lie?’

‘No,’ he answers. His eyes meet yours, gaze steady and unwavering. ‘I’ll keep my word.’

With him looking at you like this, you almost believe him.

***

Night’s falling, or so you think, it’s been dark all day but you get the sense that daylight’s fading fast.

Yoongi gets up, says, ‘Come on, I’m going to bed.’

‘You want a bedtime story?’ you ask, tetchy.

He just waits patiently by the entrance of the den for you to join him.

‘Any chance I could take a shower?’ you ask.

You’ve been in the same clothes for a day and a half, and you feel pretty grimy.

‘Sure,’ Yoongi says, surprising you. ‘Need clothes?’

Yoongi takes you to what looks like a pretty impressive master bedroom, with an equally luxurious looking bathroom.

He rummages in a drawer, hands you a set of grey sweats.

He says, the faintest note of embarrassment in his voice, ‘There’s no women’s clothes here.’

You accept the clothes with a murmured ‘thanks.’

Yoongi says, ‘the door doesn’t lock, but I won’t walk in on you. The window’s too high to jump from.’

You eye him.

‘I have no interest in walking through this snowstorm without a coat.’

You raise an eyebrow. ‘Unless you want to give me the car keys?’

Yoongi chooses not to answer, steps back so you can close the bathroom door.

You get undressed quickly, step under a shower of water so hot it feels like heaven after you’ve been cold most of the day.

There’s toiletries that you avail yourself of, and by the time you get redressed, you feel practically human again, burnt hand and sore wrist notwithstanding.

You wrap a towel around your hair, step out to see Yoongi sitting on an armchair by the bed.

His gaze flicks over you once, his expression unreadable.

‘I don’t want to tie you to another radiator,’ he says.

You wait to hear where he’s going with this.

‘I’m going to lock the bedroom door. You can share the bed with me, or there’s that couch.’

‘I’ll take the couch,’ you say.

You get onto the couch, pull a blanket over your head, and you must be more tired that you thought, because you’re thinking of everything Yoongi’s told you, and then you’re not thinking of anything at all.

***

You wake in complete darkness, quiet save for your own breathing.

As your eyes adjust, you realise that the lump near the window is Yoongi.

He’s looking out, facing away from you.

‘What time is it?’ you ask.

Yoongi inhales, keeps looking out.

‘Sometime after midnight,’ he says. ‘Does it matter?’

You sit up, curl your legs under you.

His profile is strangely lovely, the slope of his brow, the high bridge of his nose, his jaw.

‘What are you going to do if you manage to prove your innocence?’ you ask.

It’s a clumsy question, but Yoongi doesn’t seem to mind.

‘I’d like to live near a beach,’ he says. ‘Make music. Be away from people for a bit.’

You guess there’s not a whole lot of privacy in prison.

‘I have a beach hut,’ you say. ‘We used to spend summers at the seaside. When my parents died, my sister and I inherited it.’

‘Yeah?’ Yoongi asks, turning towards you.

‘Yeah. We swam a lot. Explored caves. Did some rockpooling.’

‘Sounds fun,’ Yoongi says. ‘When I was a kid I spent summers trying to earn money.’

‘Yeah?’

‘I did a lot of gigs, trying to get exposure. I had my own crew though.’ He sounds wistful. ‘We busted our asses.’

He laughs. ‘When I signed my first record deal I got a house so my crew would always have a roof over their heads.’

‘No diamond encrusted chains?’ you tease.

‘Baby, that was after I got my first platinum record,’ he shoots back.

You laugh, and after a moment, he does too.

‘You got a job?’

You look up at the ceiling.

‘I teach,’ you tell him. ‘Grade school. I’ve got a class of seven year olds.’

‘You do have that whole teacher vibe,’ Yoongi remarks.

You’re amused.

‘What whole teacher vibe?’

‘You know. Responsible, prepared for everything. I mean, I saw the supplies in your trunk.’

You can’t argue.

‘You’re too soft,’ Yoongi continues. He’s still turned towards you. ‘You shouldn’t have offered me a ride.’

‘Like I said,’ you reply. ‘You looked like you needed help.’

He scoffs. ‘If I were your man I’d teach you to make any man regret even thinking about messing with you.’

‘I don’t need a man to teach me that,’ you say.

Yoongi shrugs, a rustle of his sweatshirt.

‘All I’m saying is you should work on looking less sweet and harmless.’

You toss a couch cushion in his direction.

‘I’ll show you how to crush a trachea tomorrow if you want,’ Yoongi volunteers.

‘Can I practise on you?’ you mutter, disgruntled.

Yoongi just laughs.

He turns back to the window.

It’s too dark to tell if the snow’s still falling but it doesn’t make a difference to you, because soon enough, you’re asleep again.

***

Yoongi’s quiet today, prepping breakfast with a distracted concentration that makes you wonder what’s on his mind.

You’re fixing coffee, looking for filters.

You pull open a drawer and freeze.

Out of the corner of your eye you can see the way Yoongi’s back stiffens.

There’s a revolver in the drawer. The same gun Yoongi used on you that first day.

Yoongi turns around slowly, and your eyes lock.

He’s too far away to have any chance of getting to it before you.

Yoongi tilts his head.

‘It’s fully loaded,’ he says. ‘You cock the trigger to arm it. Point and shoot. It’s reliable. It doesn’t jam.’

You blink at him.

‘The car keys are in my pocket. The snow’s still a little crazy but if you wait a few hours it might settle. It’s safer to go tomorrow.’

Thoughts swirl in your head, too much for you to process.

Finally, you reach out, and close the drawer wordlessly.

‘You’ll let me go tomorrow?’ you ask, wondering if you’ve just made the most stupid decision of your life.

‘I’ll let you go tomorrow, I promise you. Even if my friend doesn’t come through.’

You can’t look at him.

You can hear him approaching, but instead of heading for the drawer, he heads for you.

‘Thank you,’ he says.

You look over.

His eyes are serious. ‘It’s been a while since anyone who didn’t know me before trusted me.’

‘Like you said, I’m dumb and soft,’ you reply. There’s a wobble in your voice that belies the snarky tone you were going for.

His hand lands on your shoulder. It’s gentle.

‘You’d be eaten alive where I come from,’ he agrees, when you look his way again. ‘But that’s never going to happen, if I have anything to do with it.’

He squeezes your shoulder, reassuring. ‘Forget the coffee. I’ll make it. Go and eat.’

***

The unfamiliar sound from overhead is making the wineglasses rattle.

You glance at Yoongi.

He’s quicker than you, mouth set in a straight line, heading for the window in the lounge.

‘What is it?’ you ask, but a moment later, you know.

It’s a chopper, flying directly overhead.

Yoongi turns to you.

‘If that’s the police, stay inside, hands up, away from the windows whilst I turn myself in.’

You’re staring at him, again feeling like you’re three steps behind.

‘It’s the way that it’s safest for you,’ he says, patient. ‘They’ll want you to come in for questioning once they take me in. Just tell the truth, don’t try to hide anything.’

Your throat feels like it’s filled with cotton, your heart’s pounding in your ears.

‘They won’t hurt you, will they?’

‘There are other ways to hurt a man than shooting him on sight,’ Yoongi replies. The bitterness is back in his voice again.

There’s a truth to his words you can’t deny.

Overhead, the noise intensifies, until finally, it starts fading away.

You don’t know if it’s just wishful thinking at first, but eventually it becomes clear that the chopper’s becoming more distant.

Yoongi hasn’t moved from his spot by the window.

‘They’re not here for you,’ you say, unnecessary, but the silence is so loaded you have to fill it with something, anything.

‘Not this time,’ Yoongi agrees.

***

Around mid-day, Yoongi switches on the news in the den.

You don’t have to wait long for an update.

‘The search for convicted murderer Min Yoongi intensifies. CCTV footage from a mountainside diner near east of Maisan suggests that he was aided in his journey by an unidentified female driving a 2004 Grand Cherokee Jeep.’

You watch, your heart in your stomach as grainy footage of Yoongi getting into your car is played.

The clip is less than 10 seconds, and your face is barely visible, but it’s definitely you.

The same information about how to get in touch with the police flashes up, but you’re beyond listening.

You get up shakily, rush to the bathroom, and throw up the partially digested remains of your breakfast.

By the time you emerge from the bathroom, Yoongi’s waiting outside.

‘Are you ok?’ he asks. He’s holding out a glass of water that you accept automatically.

‘Yeah,’ you say. You take a big gulp, swipe at your face. ‘Am I in trouble, Yoongi?’

‘You’ll have to make a statement when you get to your sister’s,’ Yoongi tells you. ‘Tell them I forced you at gunpoint.’

You think of the gun you had the opportunity to take this morning.

‘I offered you a ride voluntarily,’ you say.

‘I don’t give a fuck,’ Yoongi says, harshly. He steps forward. ‘And they won’t give a fuck, either. This won’t affect me, I’m already a convicted murderer. But it’ll affect you if they think you helped me.’

He slams his open hand against the wall next to him, startling you.

‘You need to wise up. I don’t care if you throw me under the bus, and it won’t make a difference to the charges against me. But this could affect your future, so you need to do whatever it takes to make sure you come away clean from this.’

What he’s saying makes sense, but he doesn’t know you.

‘I promised them,’ you burst out.

Yoongi stops dead. ‘What?’

‘I was adopted, when I was eight,’ you say. The words are coming out in a rush now, garbled, and you’re not sure if you can make him understand but you need to say it all.

‘I promised my adoptive parents I’d never lie again. I was some dumb kid when they adopted me, I’d been in and out of foster homes. I’d developed a thing for taking things I wanted.’

Stealing, your inner voice says, accurately.

‘And when my parents adopted me, I promised them I’d never lie again.’

Yoongi’s staring at you now, incredulous.

‘I’ll tell the police the truth,’ you tell him. ‘But I’m not going to ‘throw you under the bus’.’

Yoongi lets out a long breath. ‘Fucking hell.’

He shakes his head. ‘I wish I’d never got in your car.’

You kind of wish the same thing.

***

Yoongi’s cracked open a couple of beers with your dinner.

‘Be careful when you’re crossing the stream tomorrow – the bridge is hard to see at the best of times, and I don’t think the snow’s made it any easier.’

‘Yes, dad,’ you say, rolling your eyes.

You’d listened the first time he said it, but he’s repeated himself a few times now.

He’s acting like he’s more worried about you getting to your sister safely than himself evading the entire manhunt that’s looking for him.

‘I did survive an entire adulthood without you, you know,’ you say, teasing.

He ignores you.

‘There’s an SOS box two miles west when you get to the main road —’

‘Yes, I know how that works,’ you say, cutting him off.

‘And if any man sends you dick pics you should block him right off the bat,’ Yoongi finishes.

You stop, processing his words, then realise he’s joking.

Your laughter makes the frown line between his brows disappear.

‘And you don’t owe any man anything even if he makes you come,’ Yoongi continues.

You raise an eyebrow at him. ‘Should I be writing this wisdom down?’

Yoongi frowns. ‘I just don’t want anyone to take advantage of you.’

‘Show me how to crush a trachea,’ you suggest.

Yoongi swigs his beer.

‘Yeah, good idea.’

He gets up, pushes his sleeves back.

You catch a glimpse of a tattoo on his upper arm.

‘If any asshole tries anything with you, you should go for all his weak spots.’

He points to his own neck, the hollow between his collarbones. ‘Jab them right here, elbow up into his nose, knee into his balls. Then, fucking run.’

He holds out his hands. ‘Come on, try me.’

You look at him uncertainly. ‘You want me to hit you?’

Yoongi says, patient, ‘Hit me now so when you hit the next asshole you’ll know how to do it right.’

‘Who are all these assholes that I’m meeting?’ you ask, but you comply anyway.

Yoongi rolls his eyes as you jab your fingers into his neck.

‘Harder,’ he says, grabbing your hand.

‘I don’t want to hurt you —’

‘Hit me as hard as I shoved that gun into your ribs,’ Yoongi says.

The memory makes you wince, and you redouble your efforts with the next jab.

When he coughs and splutters, you jerk your elbow up, straight into his nose.

He’s doubled over now, but there’s one last move he’s asked you to do.

You knee him in the balls, and he grabs your thigh at the last second so hold off the blow.

You wrench his hand off and take two steps back.

‘Fuck,’ Yoongi swears.

He folds over onto the kitchen floor, still coughing, eyes watering.

‘You’re supposed to run now,’ he wheezes out.

‘Do you — do you want some water or something?’ you offer.

He shakes his head. ‘I think you’re good. You’re pretty damn quick.’

‘Sorr—’

Yoongi fixes you with a glare. ‘Don’t even think about apologising,’ he scolds. ‘You fuck the asshole up, and then you run. You did it perfectly.’

‘Can I practice it again?’ you ask, sweetly.

Yoongi says, ‘Yeah —’

It takes him a moment to realise you’re joking.

***

Yoongi steps out of the shower, fully dressed, his hair still wet, making little trails of wet course down the neck of his sweatshirt.

You’re already on the couch, covered in a fluffy duvet.

‘You can take the bed if you want,’ he offers. ‘I’ll take the couch.’

‘I’m fine,’ you tell him.

He sits on the edge of the bed, towel drying his hair.

You don’t realise you’re staring at him until he asks, voice dry, ‘Something on my face?’

‘Nothing,’ you answer, startled. ‘You look good clean.’

His laughter is deep, gravelly. ‘I’d have taken a shower earlier if I’d known you preferred me clean.’

‘You should get clean for yourself,’ you answer, primly, but your lips are curving in a smile anyway.

‘Your hair looks pretty like this,’ he says.

You tug at a lock of hair, self-conscious.

‘I’m surprised you’re not better at handling compliments,’ Yoongi continues. He’s looking at you now, teasing in his voice. ‘Given how pretty you are.’

You bury your face in your duvet.

‘Stop teasing me,’ you say, muffled.

He seems to hear you just fine.

‘I’m not teasing,’ he says. ‘I’m just telling you what I think.’

‘Just turn the lights off,’ you grumble.

Yoongi laughs again. ‘You’re not the first woman to tell me to shut up, to be fair.’

He gets up, turns the lights out.

***

You wake in the middle of the night to Yoongi groaning, tossing and turning in bed.

‘Yoongi?’ you call, sitting up to look at him.

He doesn’t answer, but his groaning intensifies.

You get up and pad across the room to him.

He’s drenched in sweat, thrashing in the sheets, holding out his hands.

He’s having a nightmare.

‘Hey,’ you say, grasping his hand.

He sits up abruptly, looking around in the dark, bewildered, disoriented.

You don’t have to think about it.

You pull him in a hug, wrapping your arms tight around him. ‘You’re fine. It was a nightmare.’

You don’t think he’s really listening, but he holds you back.

His heart’s thumping so hard you can feel it under your arm.

‘You’re fine,’ you tell him again.

Eventually his grip loosens, and he pulls back a little.

‘That was some bad dream,’ you say, breathless from how tightly he’s been holding you.

He doesn’t answer, and you realise he’s staring at your lips.

His kiss takes you by surprise, but you don’t pull away.

His lips are soft and warm. When he licks into your mouth you can’t help the whine that falls from your lips.

Your hand fists in the material of his sweatshirt as he kisses you again and again, pulling you into a haze of pleasure so deep it takes you a moment to realise he’s stopped, his hand on your side, on your bare skin, under your top.

He says your name.

‘Do you want this?’ he asks. ‘We don’t have to do this if it’s not what you want.’

‘This?’ you ask. ‘You mean us kissing like this?’

You run your hand along his chest, stopping when you get to the waistband of his sweats.

‘You mean touching each other like this?’

Your hand delves lower, and he lets out a low groan as you wrap your fingers around his hardness.

‘Like this?’

‘I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do,’ Yoongi says, his hand closing over yours.

‘I want to do this with you,’ you tell him.

He groans again, pulls you fully onto the bed, helps you tug your sweatshirt over your head.

His warm hands slide up from your waist, making slow passes over your sides, and by the time he cups your breasts, your nipples are fully hard.

‘Don’t tease, Yoongi,’ you say, trying not to moan as he rolls a nipple under his thumb.

‘Not teasing,’ he says, voice low, thick. ‘I just — fuck, you’re so pretty–’

He dips his head, and at the first flick of his tongue against the tip of your breast, you moan.

‘Yoongi,’ you plead.

‘I’ve got it,’ he tells you, lifting off your breast. ‘I’ve got you.’

Yoongi mouths at your breasts until your hips are writhing under him.

‘Please, please,’ you plead.

He tugs at your sweatpants, and when you raise your hips to help him get them off, he leans down and presses a warm kiss to the bare skin over your hipbone.

‘Wanna taste you,’ he tells you.

He pushes your thighs apart, stops with his face over your core for a split second, breathing you in.

Then he kisses you, open-mouthed, tongue delving into your cunt like he’s starving for you.

Your moan changes into a cry of pleasure as he licks at you, nose nudging your clit.

You reach out for something to grab, fisting the sheets, and Yoongi’s hand grips the flesh of your thigh, firm.

‘Shit,’ he says, ‘ you’re so wet you’re gonna make me come.’

The idea of him coming before he gets inside you could make you cry.

‘Get inside, Yoongi,’ you moan.

‘Not gonna last, not with you like this,’ Yoongi tells you. He strokes between your legs, presses his thumb in firm strokes over your clit, licks into your cunt again, and you cry his name as you come.

‘Fuck, that’s my good girl,’ Yoongi grunts. ‘Can you take me now?’

He slides his cock into you, hard, thick, whilst you’re still pulsing from your orgasm, and you keen with the pleasure of it.

He’s breathless, head thrown back, eyes shut as he moves, fucking you deep.

You kiss along his bared throat, and he swears. ‘Fuck, baby, stop – I can’t —’

He pulls out suddenly, and a moment later you feel the warmth of his cum spurting on your belly.

‘C’mere,’ he says, pulling you close, kissing you deep. ‘Stay.’

***

You wait on the porch whilst Yoongi drives your car out of the carport. He pulls up in front of the porch, gets out.

‘Remember what you have to do?’ Yoongi asks.

‘Yeah,’ you say.

You’ve talked about it so much you don’t think you can bear to go over it again.

‘Drive safe, ok?’ Yoongi says. He’s looking at you, intently. ‘And thank you, for everything.’

‘Good luck with being exonerated,’ you say.

It sounds stupid, you sound stupid, but you don’t know what else to say.

Yoongi walks you over to your car, waits until your seatbelt’s buckled.

‘I’ll see you, Yoongi,’ you say.

‘Take this,’ he says.

You look at the phone number he’s got scribbled down on a scrap of paper.

‘It’s a burner phone. I can’t check it all the time but do you think you could —’

He breaks off mid-sentence, then pushes on. ‘Do you think you could text me when you get to your sister’s? I just want to know you’re safe.’

‘Sure,’ you say. You slide the scrap of paper into the pocket of your salopes, zip it up.

‘Good,’ Yoongi says.

You reach out, tug the collar of his parka.

His kiss is as good a way to say goodbye as any, you think.

Yoongi closes the door, waits on the porch as you drive away.

He gets smaller and smaller in the distance, and eventually, you can’t see him at all.

***

It’s been nearly a month since you left Yoongi at the house.

You’d pulled up at your sister’s house to find out she’d just filed a missing persons report on you.

You’d had an emotional reunion with your sister, an equally emotional introduction to your new baby nephew, and one meal and one hot shower later, you’d found yourself at the police station, being questioned by a couple of detectives who’d regarded you with suspicion so strong it was a short step from open accusation.

You’d been questioned for hours but had eventually been allowed home. You’d been truthful, as you’d told Yoongi you would be, apart from one thing.

It was only later, when you were on your bed in your sister’s spare room, that you’d picked up your phone and scrolled to the name you’d saved Yoongi’s number under.

You’d typed out a text, two words, unincriminating, you’d thought.

I’m safe.

The next morning, there was a text back, similar to yours in brevity.

I’m glad.

You’d refrained from texting again, or calling, not wishing to put Yoongi at risk in case anyone looked into your phone records.

You’d been called in again for questioning on two separate occasions after the initial interview, once by people who’d introduced themselves as federal agents.

You’d thought that was the end of it until the media got hold of your identity.

There was a week or so of reporters stopping you outside your house, waiting for you in the school car park, until eventually something more newsworthy came along.

You’d been photographed more times in that week than you’d even been in your life.

You’ve taken to watching the evening news every night, but as time stretches on and Min Yoongi hasn’t been found, he’s been dropping down the list of top stories, barely scraping a mention.

You’re glad.

You hope he’s closer to getting what he wished for.

***

‘Y/N,’ says Bora, your head of department. ‘Mr Lee wants to see you.’

You look up from your grading, a little surprised. ‘Did he say what it was about?’

‘Nope, just that he’s free now.’

You pocket your phone, straighten your ID badge and get up.

Mr Lee is the school principal, and you’d organised a meeting with him when the media frenzy over your involvement with Min Yoongi was at its peak, but you’ve not seen him since.

Mrs Choi, his PA, waves you in.

‘Mr Lee,’ you say in greeting. ‘Did you want to see me?’

‘Yes, please come in and have a seat,’ Mr Lee says.

He’s a serious man in his mid forties, and as far as principals go, you know he’s got a good reputation.

‘There’s been a complaint put in about you,’ Mr Lee says, sparing you any preamble.

Your stomach drops.

‘What about?’ you ask.

‘I know the media furore has died off over Min Yoongi, but the PTA has fielded a number of concerns raised by worried parents over your involvement in the case.’

You’re taken aback. ‘A number of concerns? It’s not just one —’

‘I’m sorry,’ says Mr Lee, and to his credit, he does seem genuinely upset. ‘I’m going to have to ask if you can take a few weeks off.’

‘Off?’ you ask, worried.

‘It’s not a suspension,’ Mr Lee says, somehow giving the impression that a suspension is exactly what it is. ‘You’ll be paid, and at the end of four weeks we’ll meet again to discuss what your future is at this school.’

You’re trying to make sense of this. ‘My future at this school?’

Mr Lee gets up, moves to take the seat next to you. ‘I’m hoping that having you off teaching for a month will give enough time for these parents to realise that you’re not a bad influence on their kids.’

‘And if they don’t?’ you ask.

‘I’m hoping they will.’

You swallow, and to your horror, tears prick the back of your eyelids.

You blink them back.

‘Should I look for another job, Mr Lee?’

‘It doesn’t hurt to keep your options open,’ Mr Lee says gently.

You suppose that’s that.

***

You wake to a dozen missed calls and texts from your sister.

You blink blearily at your phone and swipe to answer.

‘Yeah?’ you grunt. ‘Is everything ok?’

‘It’s Min Yoongi,’ your sister says. ‘He’s all over the news.’

You sit up abruptly. ‘Is he ok?’

Your sister, who’s heard all about your time with Yoongi, barring the details of your one-night stand, laughs.

‘He’s more than ok. Get online, sis. There’s a press statement you might want to watch.’

You’re still a little drowsy, but by the time you’ve got your laptop open and made yourself coffee, you’re wide awake.

Your phone rings again whilst you’re reading about how new evidence and a new witness was brought forward, resulting in a swift retrial.

Distractedly, you swipe to answer.

His voice makes you stop in your tracks.

It’s gravelly, low, with the distinct mix of sardonic and soft that brings you back to the house in the woods, over a month ago now.

‘Hey,’ he says. ‘How’re you keeping?’

You close your eyes, suck in a breath.

‘Jeez, you telemarketers are getting a little personal, aren’t you?’ you ask.

His laughter makes you feel warm inside.

‘I just wondered if you wanted to go get dinner with me sometime.’

‘Depends,’ you answer. ‘Are we going to have to avoid the police?’

‘Always,’ he says, making you smile. ‘But I’m a free man now, I guess you haven’t heard.’

‘Your friends came through, huh?’

‘All of them,’ he says, the warmth in his voice palpable even through the line. ‘Including you.’

***

You’re a little nervous as you wait for Yoongi at the restaurant he picked. It’s a little out of the way for you, but at least it’s not snowing.

He’s dressed in black, a cashmere sweater that sets off the glow in his skin, his hair styled back.

The rings in his fingers, the earrings in his ears gleam in the golden light.

He’s so beautiful you can’t quite believe he’s real.

Yet it’s him who stops in front of you, gaze flickering over you with a flattering intensity.

‘How can you be even prettier than I remember?’ he asks, tilting his head.

‘Guess you have a bad memory,’ you say. You’re smiling so hard your cheeks are hurting, but Yoongi doesn’t seem to mind.

‘I’ve thought about you a lot,’ he says.

‘Yeah?’

Yoongi pulls out your chair for you.

‘Yeah. I saw the footage of those reporters hounding you.’

‘They got bored after a while,’ you tell him.

‘I’m glad you’re all right,’ Yoongi says.

Over dinner he tells you about how the retrial resulted in all charges against him being overturned, how he’s been back home resting.

‘Been to the beach yet?’ you ask.

Yoongi looks at you over his wine glass. ‘You inviting me? You’re the one with a beach hut.’

‘We can go,’ you say. ‘I’ve been informally suspended from my job.’

This is news to him.

‘Is it to do with me?’ he asks quietly.

You shrug. ‘I’m hoping it’ll die down, especially since everyone knows you’re an innocent man now.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he says.

‘Don’t worry about it,’ you tell him.

He frowns a little, but lets the subject slide.

After dinner he walks you to your car.

‘Can I take you out again?’ he asks.

‘I’d like that,’ you tell him.

He leans close, brushes a kiss against your cheek that sends a thrill all the way to your toes.

‘I live about a half hour drive from here,’ you tell him, when he pulls away.

‘Maybe I can drive us this time,’ he says.

***

Yoongi slips his hand into yours as he walks up the front driveway to your house with you. You look over at him in surprise.

‘What?’ he teases. ‘Don’t you want to hold my hand?’

You stick your key in the lock, push open your front door.

‘Baby, I want to hold more than that,’ you tell him.

Yoongi’s eyes darken, and he lets you push him against the door.

He’s already leaning down, lips seeking yours. He kisses you hungrily, his large hand slipping behind your neck to deepen the kiss, tongue slipping into your mouth.

‘I’ve fucking missed you,’ he murmurs. ‘Shit, I’m so hard it’s embarrassing.’

‘Been deprived, huh?’ you tease, breathlessly.

‘Nah. Just you.’

He kisses a fiery path down your neck, into the hollow between your collarbones.

His hands slide down into the small of your back, cup your ass to pull you against him.

You can feel the ridge of his cock against your belly, and you roll your hips, trying to get closer.

‘Pull these down,’ Yoongi says, thumb looped in the band of your lacy panties.

They’re stuck to you, the wetness between your legs trails a path down your bare thighs that Yoongi’s only too happy to lick off.

‘I wanted to wait,’ he tells you, lifting the skirt of your dress, unzipping his trousers.

‘Wait next time,’ you tell him. ‘Want you now.’

‘You’ve got me,’ he tells you.

There’s the rustle of foil, the snick of elastic, then Yoongi’s parting your legs, sliding inside you with a groan deep in his chest.

Just like before, he fills you perfectly.

Yoongi kisses you again, slow though you can feel his heart thudding wildly in his chest.

‘Feels so good, every time,’ he tells you.

He starts to move then, doesn’t stop when you part your thighs to take him deeper, doesn’t stop when you cross your ankles behind his back and cry his name, doesn’t stop until you’re panting, sticky with your release, clutching him tight.

It’s only then that his thrusts start to become erratic, speeding up then slowing as he reaches his peak. He comes with a shout of your name, buried deep inside you, hips still moving like he, too, can’t get enough.

***

When you wake in the morning, it’s with Yoongi’s finger tracing a lazy path down your spine, his fingertip warm on your bare skin.

‘More, Yoongi?’ you ask, sleepy.

He presses a kiss to your forehead, you can hear the rumble in his chest as he suppresses a laugh.

‘Tapping out on me so soon, my love?’ he asks.

After the first time when you hadn’t made it to your bed, you’d fucked three more times before you’d finally collapsed in a tangled heap.

You’d woken once, to see him flat on his back, looking out the window, fingers intertwined with yours.

‘Can’t sleep?’ you’d asked.

He’d turned to you, pressed a kiss to your forehead. ‘Just thinking how lucky I am. I’d thought being wrongly imprisoned was the worst thing that had happened to me. And here I am.’

‘Here you are, you lucky sonofabitch,’ you’d laughed, squealing as he’d pinned your hands to the bed and half-heartedly climbed on top of you again.

‘I am lucky,’ he’d said, his free hand sliding under your ass, squeezing. You’d have fucked him again if he’d wanted, despite the soreness between your legs, but he’d wrapped you in his arms instead. ‘Sleep, baby.’

So you had.

Now your phone rings, distracting you from Yoongi’s wandering hands, just about.

‘Shit, it’s Mr Lee,’ you say, sitting up straight.

Yoongi cocks a brow at you as you take the call.

‘Y/N, I wanted to let you know that the school board have voted to have you back taking your regular classes, at your earliest convenience. If you’ll have us.’

You frown. ‘I hadn’t realised there was a vote?’

‘An emergency meeting was convened last night,’ Mr Lee says. ‘You don’t have to let me know now, but we’d love to have you back.’

You hang up, thoroughly confused.

‘I guess I’m not informally suspended any more,’ you tell Yoongi.

‘For a new gym with a fully functional basketball court, and a grant for gym equipment, they’d better be giving you a raise too,’ drawls Yoongi.

‘You did this?’

‘What? You thought I was some deadbeat who held you at gunpoint and wasn’t going to repay everything you did for me?’

‘I never thought you were a deadbeat,’ you say.

‘I know,’ Yoongi agrees. ‘You’re an idiot.’

You swat at him, outraged.

‘You’re my idiot,’ Yoongi says, deflecting your blows easily. ‘And I’m going to make sure no one takes advantage of you ever again.’

He hesitates. ‘If — if you’ll have me.’

You pretend to think about it. ‘Well, you’re not perfect,’ you say, ‘but I guess you’ll do.’

#bts smut #yoongi fic #yoongi smut #suga smut #yoongi x reader #bts fic #yoongi fanfic

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callsign-rogueone · 5 months

Text

one for the books - g.t.

Garrick Tavis x Scribe!Reader part of my Valentine’s Day Celly (better late than never?) words: 1.7k (got a little carried away here, oops) 🏷: IRON FLAME SPOILERS. scribe reader who is referred to as a woman one time, and has painted nails, but no pronouns used. just some meet-cute fluff with reader and Gare. love at first sight. it's weird writing him with anyone other than Angel, but I hope y'all will still like it anyway 🥺

Garrick wanders through the rows of bookshelves in search of someone who actually knows what they’re doing, so he won’t have to spend the entire day looking at the titles of every book in this massive library.

It doesn’t take long for him to find the only scribe who’d come with them to Aretia: Violet’s friend, Jesinia, who had helped them sneak into the Archives to get the journals. Who happens to be Deaf. He hadn’t thought about that part.

He waves a hello, racking his brain for the letters of the alphabet and spelling out his request at a snail’s pace, hoping he’s moving his hands correctly. I… n-e-e-d…

Jesinia takes pity on him, holding up a hand to stop him and darting back into the maze of shelves, leaving him standing there thoroughly embarrassed -- he really needs to add “study sign” to his list of things to do after this whole wyvern thing is resolved and Tyrrendor is freed again. Whenever that will be.

He’s expecting her to come back with a pen and paper, so he can write it down, but she emerges thirty seconds later with another scribe in tow, one he’s never met before -- the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.

Jesinia gestures to you with a soft smile, and leaves.

He blinks once, twice, taking you in.

You’ve taken some creative liberties with the uniform, wearing the beige scribes’ robes open with a plain shirt and pants underneath, the hood down to expose your face and hair, a pair of glasses perched atop your head and a clipboard in hand, your nails long and painted a pale pink -- a few of them have started to chip, but it’s endearing; comforting to find a tiny flaw in an otherwise perfect presence.

You’re equally entranced. The fortress is crawling with riders -- you’re one of maybe five students here who are anything else -- but this one in particular makes your heart race.

It’s as if the gods pulled a knight from the pages of one of your fantasy novels and dropped him in front of you in this library; broad and tall, muscled and tattooed, two longswords strapped across his back… he’d be intimidating without the nervous smile on his face and the blush dusting his cheeks, the afternoon light coming through the windows and making him glow.

“How can I help you, Lieutenant?” you ask after a moment, hoping you don’t sound as flustered as you feel.

The scar running down the side of his face moves as he speaks -- more quietly than you’d been expecting. “Riorson sent me; he wants everything you have about wards.”

You blow out a nervous breath. “Okay, uh… I’m still not totally sure how this library is organized, but I’ll see what I can do.”

“We can look together, then,” he offers, giving you a knee-weakening smile.

You don’t know if you can spend the rest of your afternoon with this man and not make a complete fool of yourself, but you’ll just have to try your best. “Sounds like a plan.”

You realize you don’t know each other’s names, having been too busy staring at each other to make proper introductions.

“Garrick,” he offers, extending a hand to shake.

You’re really supposed to refer to him as Lieutenant, since he’s graduated and you haven’t, but you still repeat the word softly, trying it out. “Nice to meet you, Garrick.”

He already owes Xaden Riorson his life, but hearing you say his name, feeling the softness of your hand against his… he decides he’ll be in the boy’s debt well into the afterlife, too.

“I’ll start on one end, you on the other, and meet in the middle?” you ask. “Anything with wards, magic, or protection in the title would be a good start.”

He hums in acknowledgement, heading down to the end of the row.

“I haven’t been in here in ages,” he admits, scanning the rows of shelves for anything that could be useful. “I lived most of my life here before the revolution,” he adds quickly, explaining.

Small talk is good. You can do small talk.

“It must have been interesting growing up in a fortress like this,” you respond, too shy to ask him for his likely incredibly-tragic life story outright, and you’re technically on the job right now, so you should be focusing on the task at hand.

He picks another volume off the top shelf, keeping his feet flat on the ground and barely having to stretch for it. “It was. There were a few dozen of us kids around, always underfoot and meddling. We used to play hide and seek in here, and see how long we could stay before the scribes found us and kicked us out.”

You laugh, a sound he doesn’t think he’ll ever grow tired of hearing. You may be a librarian, but you’re the polar opposite of the typical strict and stiff scribes he’s used to -- young and lovely and not afraid to laugh and talk among the books, to let them hear your voice and know that they’re appreciated. They’re lucky to have someone like you watching over them.

Since you’re grasping at straws here, you decide to cast a broad net and pull down anything that could be even a little bit helpful -- and you’re finding more than you’d thought, likely because the Tyrrish basically invented wards.

You really should have brought a cart, but it’s no issue for him -- he’s holding at least ten thick volumes at once with complete ease.

“I got it,” he offers, shifting the tall stack he’s amassed into one arm and taking yours with the other. Seeing a man like him with an armful of books is hotter than it should be. Everything about him is hotter than it should be.

He sets the stack on the nearest table, shrugging off his jacket and draping it over the back of a chair before he sits down.

Your eyes linger on the relic winding around his arm like a plume of black smoke, contrasting against the pale muscle. You know it was intended as way to mark them as the descendants of those who had committed treason, to set them apart from their peers and to force them to enroll in the rider’s quadrant, but he looks like he didn’t have too much trouble in his days at Basgiath, if the two dozen patches on his flight jacket are any metric.

It suits him. He’d look incomplete without the relic and the thick scar on the side of his face. It would be rude to ask how he got it, but the curiosity still tugs at you. You want to know everything about him.

You realize you’re staring, and pull your eyes away as quickly as you can manage, worried that he’ll think you’re judging him -- though you wouldn’t be here if you weren’t on his side.

You each take a book off the top and crack it open, scanning for anything that could help. “Did he say anything more specific? Or why he needs this?”

“Nope. But he’s always been vague and mysterious, even when we were kids, before he had all those shadows following him around.”

“I’ve only seen him twice, but that sounds accurate.”

It’s his turn to laugh. “He may be all cold and broody all the time, but he’s a good guy. I’ve always considered him my best friend.”

You’re thinking of the best way to keep him talking when Jesinia knocks on the side of a nearby shelf to get your attention. Done with my transcribing. What’s next?

Thank you. You can leave for the day.

Jesinia gives you a sly smile. You don’t want help? Or do you just want to be alone with him because you think he’s handsome?

She’d told you that Garrick’s sign was rusty, that he could only fingerspell, but you still turn away from him as you respond, praying he didn’t understand what she just said.

Two can play at this game. I’ve been meaning to ask, how is that redhead boy who keeps coming by to talk to you? I’m sure he’d like to see you for another sign lesson tonight.

She reddens, realizing you know about her crush on the rider, and bails out of the conversation while she still can. Goodnight!

There’s that lovely laugh again as you turn back to him, seeing him watching you -- now you really hope he didn’t understand. He quickly returns his gaze to the book in front of him, which definitely isn’t modern Navarrian or any of the other languages you know. It must be Tyrrish.

“You can read this?” you ask with rapt curiosity, leaning forward to take a better look at it.

“About every fifth word or so,” he answers. “There aren’t many fluent speakers left, since it was outlawed decades ago and kids aren’t taught it in school. I don’t see the symbol for “wards” anywhere, but that might be too obvious.”

“No language should ever be outlawed,” you respond, perhaps a little too hotly. “There must be so much valuable information that was lost in translation or destroyed entirely after the wars. That’s one of the reasons I wanted to become a scribe, to try to save as much as I could. But so many of the texts in the Archives have been translated over and over, and I can’t help but wonder if some things were left out on purpose.”

Another smile. “Well-said. Into the “maybe” pile, then?”

Your cheeks warm with embarrassment as you realize how long you’d been talking. “That’s the only pile we have,” you sigh, stretching.

He’d shown up around four, and it’s nearing seven now, your body automatically responding to the hour and telling you to pack things up, but that’s one of the nicest things about the library here -- unlike the Archives at Basgiath, you can work here through the night, and not be booted out at seven on the dot.

You’d asked the Lieutenant Colonel about it when he’d come by one day, and he’d told you there wasn’t any sort of magical time-sealing-lock on the library, just a normal wooden door charmed to be fireproof -- so you’d stayed in one of the armchairs until midnight reading, just because you could.

“Well,” he offers, “I know it’s a grave sin to eat in the library, so how about we take a break, get ourselves some dinner, and pick this back up after?”

Smooth. Very smooth.

“I’d like that,” you answer, your heart fluttering. “I’d like that a lot.”

#garrick tavis #garrick tavis x reader #fourth wing #fourth wing x reader #reader insert #imagine #mine #valentine's day celly

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severelystrangewriter · 1 year

Text

Meddling Friends (Kids) (Flufftober 2023 Day 7)

Pairing: shinichiro sano x female reader

WC: 1440

Warnings: none

Summary: shinichiro is lonely so emma, mikey, and izana take matters into their own hands

Note: idk how dating apps work but this idea was just too cute to pass up

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“How tall is he?” Emma asked as she, Mikey, and Izana stared at the bio page of the dating app they downloaded on their older brother Shinichiro’s phone. They were currently huddled on the couch as they discussed it seriously.

“Like, six feet,” Mikey responded.

Emma hummed thoughtfully before typing, “I’ll put six foot two.”

“But that’s lying,” Izana argued.

“It’s for Shin’s sake,” Emma defended, “Now I need some interests, uh…”

“Motorcycles,” The three teenagers said at the same time and Emma diligently typed it out. Then she sat back thoughtfully, “Is that really all he has going for him?”

“Pretty much,” Mikey shrugged.

Emma shook her head, “We’ve gotta come up with something else… How about ‘I like to take long walks in the park and enjoy nature’ or something like that?”

“But that’d be even more lying,” Izana sighed.

“Do you want him to get a girlfriend or not?” Emma snapped, “This is Shin’s only hope, so we have to make him look good.”

“Put ‘loves kids’, some ladies like that stuff,” Mikey added, “And it’s true.”

Emma agreed and put it down, “Now all we need are some pictures.”

She went through his selfies and found the best photos of their older brother and added them to the profile. Then she smiled in satisfaction as she hit the finish button.

“Alright, it’s done!”

“What’s done?” Shinichiro’s voice sounded from the doorway causing the three siblings to jump in fright.

Emma was the first to recover as she proudly held out the phone, “Your dating profile!”

“I’ve been looking everywhere for this thing,” Shinichiro said as he took the phone back, then his sister’s words registered, “Wait, what dating profile?”

He looked down and his eyes widened at the sight of the dating app that hadn’t been there before.

“We took the liberty of making you one,” Izana explained, “You’re welcome.”

“Well I’m deleting it,” Shinichiro replied.

“No!” Emma tried to take the cell back, but he held it high in the air out of her reach. Mikey had the perfect solution and jumped on his older brother’s back, wrestling him to the floor as it became an all-out brawl for the phone. Just then his cell dinged with a notification, causing everyone to perk up.

Emma gasped excitedly, “Someone’s interested!”

“Really?” Shinichiro couldn’t keep the delight out of his tone as he sat up and looked back down at the device. He clicked on the notification and the dating app showed your bright smiling face. He made a noise, sounding impressed.

“She’s cute,” Mikey commented, peeking over his shoulder to see your picture.

Emma quickly scanned your bio and gasped again, “She sounds perfect for you!”

“You think?” Shinichiro found himself asking as he also looked over your information. “Well what do I do?”

“I think you swipe to match,” Izana explained, taking the phone and doing just that. Then he handed it back and continued, “Then you just message her.”

“Message her?” Shinichiro repeated in surprise, “What would I even say?”

“Well most people start with a hello,” Izana said like it was obvious.

“No! Do a joke! Show her you’re funny!” Emma advised.

“Is he though?” Mikey questioned blankly.

“I can be funny,” Shinichiro argued, furrowing his brows.

Before he could think of something to say, you sent the first message.

“Is that her? What’d she say?” Emma asked.

“She said ‘hey’ with a smiley face,” Shinichiro answered, “Quick what do I say?”

“Just say it back,” Mikey shrugged, “Come on, you’ve held a conversation before.”

Ignoring that last part, Shinichiro did just that and soon you were replying.

That was the start of many messages shared between you and Shin. You two seemed to hit it off really well and had quite a bit in common. He found your mannerisms endearing and just genuinely enjoyed talking to you.

However, after about a month, Shinichiro still had yet to ask you on a date, the whole reason why the younger Sano siblings downloaded the app in the first place. Which is exactly what led them to take matters into their own hands once more.

“Have you guys seen my phone?” Shinichiro asked one day as he walked into the living room only to see Emma, Mikey, and Izana huddled around it again. “What are you doing?”

“Talking to (Y/n),” Emma replied nonchalantly, being the one actually holding the device.

“What?! With my phone? Did you at least tell her it was you?”

“No,” Mikey answered bluntly, and before Shinichiro could get his phone back, the phone dinged with a message.

Emma read it first and squealed excitedly, “She said yes!”

Shinichiro was lost, “Yes? Yes to what?”

Emma simply handed his phone over to her older brother with a smug smile on her face. “You have a date tomorrow!”

“You didn’t,” Shinichiro sounded breathless as he snatched the phone out of her hands. His heart was pounding in his chest as he looked over the messages of them asking you out by pretending to be him and you enthusiastically agreeing.

“It’s at the zoo at ten o’clock tomorrow morning,” Izana explained.

“You’re welcome,” Mikey added.

Shinichiro didn’t know what to do or say. It’s not like he could cancel the date because he didn’t want to seem like he wasn’t interested- he was very interested. He was just surprised you said yes.

So Shinichiro sucked it up and decided that he would make it the best date ever.

The next morning you both met up at the train station and made your way to the zoo. You were wearing a cute outfit and Shinichiro just put on a pair of nice jeans with a crisp white shirt that Emma insisted he ironed.

The date was going a lot smoother than Shinichiro thought it would go, much to his relief. You both laughed and joked as you went around to see the animals. There was even a point where you took the initiative and started holding his hand.

Finally, you suggested stopping somewhere for lunch which he agreed. You found a nice little restaurant and were currently waiting for your food.

“So is there a reason we’re being tailed by three kids wearing sunglasses, all pretending to read a newspaper?” You asked lowly out of nowhere, startling him.

Shinichiro furrowed his brows and you subtly nodded your head to the side, gesturing to a table not too far away. And sure enough, when he looked over he saw Mikey, Emma, and Izana sitting at the table, peeking over a big newspaper while wearing sunglasses. When they noticed they had been caught, they quickly ducked their heads behind the paper.

“They stick out like a sore thumb,” Shinichiro felt a wave of irritation as his eye twitched. They really don’t trust him to do anything, huh?

“I take it you know them?” You asked as you took a sip of your drink.

“Those are my siblings I was telling you about,” He replied with a huff.

“The ones that made your profile?” You tipped your lips up into a teasing smile, “And asked me out for you?”

Shinichiro buried his face in his hands and groaned, “Yes.”

You started giggling despite his distress.

“It’s not funny,” He whined, peeking at you through his fingers which made you laugh harder.

“It’s hilarious,” You responded, then when you gained some semblance of control, you grinned at him, “And actually really sweet. It just shows that they care about you.”

At this, Shinichiro lowered his hands, “You’re not weirded out?”

“Nah,” You shook your head, then you shrugged, “Do you wanna invite them to join us?”

“But what about our date?” He questioned.

“Do you want to spend the rest of our date being watched like zoo animals?” You countered, “Come on, it’ll be a nice bonding experience.”

Shinichiro felt a soft smile grow on his face, “You’re so cool.”

“I know,” You said sweetly.

And so you and Shinichiro invited the three teens to join you. They didn’t seem the slightest bit guilty for crashing your date as they immediately started asking you all sorts of questions to get to know you better. Shinichiro watched in fascination and adoration as you clicked with his siblings without hesitation.

They suggested going to the aquarium which was nearby and you walked with Shinichiro, holding his hand and laughing as Emma, Mikey, and Izana started pointing out fishes that they claimed looked like their older brother. Despite all the teasing, Shinichiro felt so grateful towards his younger siblings for meddling in his love life and leading him right to you.

#tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers fluff #tokyo revengers x reader #shinichiro x reader #shinchiro sano #sano shinichiro #x reader #fanfiction #flufftober #kace writes #shinichiro sano x reader #shinichiro sano fluff #shinichiro sano x y/n #tokrev

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cranberrv · 6 months

Text

obsessed

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ in which sodapop is in love with dally’s ex

( a/n : this is SO mid & a bit out of character but i hope you enjoy nonetheless! kind of inspired by olivia rodrigo’s song “obsessed” but i took some creative liberty and switched the plot a bit )

3 weeks after his breakup with sandy. it only took 3 weeks to find someone else to obsess over — and it was you, dallas winston’s ex.

if dallas knew how much sodapop looked at your picture, he would be dead in a ditch. but he couldn’t help it! you were perfect, you were kind, you had those lips that just hypnotized anyone who glanced at them, you were well-read, and you were made for him.

it was mid-summer when he saw you again. the last time he saw you was when you were at the drive-in with your former lovers, dallas and sandy. but this time was obviously different. you walked into the DX while he was working. instantly captivated, he watched as you smiled amd waved to him, before grabbing a diet coke and going over to him to pay.

“hi, soda,” you smile. “long time no see, huh?”

“yeah, guess so,” he nods and scans your drink. “diet coke, huh? that’s my favourite.” it’s a desperate attempt to bond with you.

“really? that’s cool. i don’t know a lot of people who like the diet version, lots of people think it tastes like water but they just don’t get it like us.”

‘like us.’ holy fuck. he is down bad. “you’re not lying,” he laughs. “so, um, what have you been up to since you and dal broke up?”

you shrug. “hm, not much. it’s been boring, honestly. i miss hanging out with the gang.”

“we miss you.” he agrees. “it was fun having you around.”

“thank you,” you say. “how’ve things been going since sandy… you know, left.” you assumed it was a sensitive subject, but was soon proved wrong.

“i thought i’d be worse than i am. i’ve been too busy with other stuff on my mind to even care, i guess.”

“yeah? watcha been thinking about, then?” you ask, tilting your head.

he knew it was wrong. he knew that dallas would be livid, he knew that every girl who liked him would turn against you, but he’s beyond it. he’s got issues, he can’t help it.

“you.”

“..what do you mean?”

“you’re all that’s on my mind, y/n.” he can finally form a complete sentence. “and it’s fuckin’ killing me.”

“soda..” you sigh. “dallas would be—“

“who cares what dal would say? he’s your ex, he doesn’t even care about you anymore. and darrel doesn’t like him anyway, he wouldn’t be a loss.”

“he’s gonna beat your face in.”

“it’s worth it.” he insists.

“you’re crazy, you know that?”

he laughs. he knows he is, after this. no sane person would go after his buddies ex. you would have to be a monster. but he is a greaser. “come to the drive-in next friday, i’m going with a bunch of my friends.”

you hesitate. “..fine, i’ll come.” you do a horrible job at hiding the smile on your face.

he smiles. “see you there, y/n”

you nod, and take your diet coke and walk away. he didn’t even make you pay. he can’t wait for friday night. those dreadful 3 weeks seemed like nothing now that he had you.

#the outsiders #sodapop x y/n #dating sodapop curtis #sodapop headcanons #sodapop x reader #dating sodapop #sodapop fluff #sodapop imagine #the outsiders sodapop #sodapop curtis #the outsiders headcanons #the outsiders x reader

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drabblesandimagines · 11 months

Text

Promises

Leon Kennedy x female reader Fluffy nonsense, taken some liberties with timeline of RE2R.

“There.” You hop off the desk and turn back round to admire your handiwork, hands on your hips and tilting your head a little at the banner now hanging from the ceiling tiles, surrounded by streamers. “Hey – does that look squint to you?” It had looked level when you were stood up there, but now you’re back on the ground the banner proudly displaying Welcome Leon looked a little off.

“Does it matter?” Edward steps behind you, files in hand after rummaging through the filing cabinet. “He’s not going to take a spirit level to it.”

“No, but…” You sigh, tilting your head in the other direction to see if that made a difference.

“You were off the clock 40 minutes ago, rookie, and I ain’t paying overtime.” Branagh’s voice booms from his office door and you turn, shrugging your shoulders in acknowledgement. He’s got his jacket over his arm, briefcase in hand, looking to be heading home for the evening.

“Of course, Lieutenant. I just wanted to get this up before I left for the day. He still starts the day after tomorrow, right?”

“Mm-hm. I don’t know why Chief Irons is insisting on this morale-boosting bullshit.”

You hold your tongue – calling it bullshit is exactly why the captain is insisting on it, and when Branagh had tasked you to do something to make the new recruit – one Leon S Kennedy – feel welcome upon joining the force, you’d thought the idea was quite sweet. It had been daunting enough for you almost six months earlier, joining a police station where everyone else was a few years your senior and friends for a good while. It had been difficult gaining their respect, proving your worth but, hey, you had it now… more or less.

Branagh sighs – you must’ve been pouting. “It’s not squint, rookie.” He walks over, looking at the banner and streamers with a stoic expression. “As long as you haven’t wasted taxpayers’ money with that and that weird lock puzzle you’ve set up, then I shouldn’t complain.”

“No, sir. I got the locks from storage and the banner and streamers are all on me. And we could re-use it, if you switch some letters around…”

He scoffs, taking in the sign again. “To what?”

“Er…” You look at the letters. “O clown melee.”

Branagh sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Go home.” He turns to your fellow officer, then. “Edward, I expect that report on my desk first thing tomorrow.”

“You got it, Lieutenant.” Branagh nods as he leaves the room. “Why are you so excited about the new guy anyway, rookie?” Edward is at his desk now, flipping through the pile of arrest records.

“Isn’t it obvious, Edward?” You grin, picking up your rucksack from beneath your desk.

“Ah, you want a boyfriend, I get it.”

“Ugh.” You scoff. “No, it means I won’t be the rookie anymore.”

Edward cocks his eyebrow at you before shaking his head. “Nah, I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Hello?” The voice on the other end of the line is casual, upbeat. It’s nice to hear after the last 24 hours has been anything but. It matches the photo in the file you have, one finger still besides his contact number. Blonde hair, cute face. Too sweet to come here now.

“Leon Kennedy?” You try and steady your voice, sitting at the desk in Branagh’s office. You can see some streamers dangling from the ceiling and you hope the broadcast that’s been playing for the last few hours can’t be picked up on the line.

“Speaking. Who’s this?”

“I’m with the Raccoon Police Department.” There’s blood on your forearm, but you’re not sure if it’s yours. “I know you were meant to start tomorrow, but there’s been a… delay with the paperwork. Our end, not yours. We’ll be in touch with a new date.”

“Oh. That’s…” He sounds disappointed, but if you told him the real reason he wouldn’t believe it. You don’t believe it. “Er, that’s okay. Thanks for letting me know. You’ll definitely been in touch?”

There’s a bang at the window. A man, blood dripping down from his mouth, a gouge out of his own neck snarls at you through the pane of glass.

“We will.”

“All rig-” There’s no dial tone, no beep of disconnection – just silence. They’ve cut the phonelines.

Seven days of hell. This wasn’t covered at the academy – whatever this is. They said it was a radiation leak at first – that was what was making people act so feral. You’d seen the worst of humanity over the days and no-one seemed to be coming to help anymore. The army had been drafted in, at first evacuating bus-loads of civilians out before that was deemed too risky. They then tried to quarantine everyone, everything in but nothing is working – blockades go up, they come down, more and more people die, your colleagues die.

Or do they, really? Scott, Ford and Carlsen were definitely upright, shuffling towards you the third or fourth time you resorted to shooting them in the head.

The police station was designated a shelter, a sanctuary. It’s a sturdy building, that’s for sure – solid walls of a former art museum – but it’s not enough to stop whatever has happened to the people you tried so hard to protect.

You don’t know where Phillips, Edward or Branagh are, or if they are still even them. It’s impossible to know how long you’ve been down in the cells now – power’s out, it’s dark all of the time. The only way you know that time has passed at all is by the hunger pangs in your stomach.

You’re just glad that they’re not for human flesh.

Yet.

You’d found Irons down here. His last orders were for everyone to stay in the station itself, but Branagh had sent you down, reluctantly, in the hopes of finding any sort of supplies that hadn’t already been picked apart. Everyone assumed the chief was dead - hadn’t been seen in days. As you’d headed down to the cells, you’d heard raised voices, arguing. You couldn’t work out what they were saying at first, concentrating too much on the fact that they were real voices, saying real words and not guttural growls.

Chief Irons holding a gun in a man’s face, forcing him into in a cell and slamming the door shut is not what you’re expecting to see.

“Don’t just stand there,” the new prisoner called out to you, “help me! The guy’s a madman. He’s been selling us all out to Umbrella this whole time. He’s responsible for this all!”

Chief Irons turns to you, pupils blown out, looking fed up, gun still held aloft but now in your direction.

“What are you doing down here? You were told to all stay up in the station.”

“Sorry, Chief. We thought… Branagh told me to come down. What’s going on?”

“Er, hello! Did you hear me?” The man is holding the bars of the cell. “He caused this.”

You ignore your gut in the presence of authority, “Is it wise, sir, to leave him in there? He’ll be a sitting duck.”

“He’s not the only one.” And you see his trigger finger flex.

You run then, an attempt at a sprint from the adrenaline, but there’s a hot, searing pain in your thigh. You’re fast, but he’s faster, an arm wrapped around your windpipe, cutting off the oxygen. You stomp on his foot, jerk your head back, anything to try and make him release his grip but the world is swimming before you.

Perhaps this is the most peaceful death you could wish for.

There is a bitter feeling when you wake up, locked in a cell further down the corridor from where you’d been, without your gun, thigh tacky with blood and painful to move. There is a crude bandage wrapped around it, preventing blood loss but it feels more a death sentence than a blessing, surrounded by echoing snarls and rats that need kicking away.

You wake up to repetitive, methodical gunshots. Someone is going cell by cell, peering in and eliminating those inside.

Maybe the army is back, maybe they’re cleaning up the mess.

You’d fallen asleep sat in the corner on the cot, back leaned up against the wall. The rats didn’t seem to climb up here as much at least – you’d feel them before they managed to get a nibble.

The footsteps are getting closer and closer before a flashlight is shone around your cell, investigating every nook and cranny before it lands on your face, causing you to squint. You hold up your hands.

“I’m not one of them.” You plead, your voice raspy from sleep. You desperately want to cough but worry that’ll make too much of a them sound.

“Are you hurt?” The voice sounds fleetingly familiar. You blink in the light before it dips a little and you can see who’s wielding it.

Although his hair is mussed, a little bloody, you recognize the sweet face from the file on Branagh’s desk all those days ago and a certain something clipped on the end of his gun.

“You got your welcome present.” “Huh?”

“You’re Leon, right?” He nods. You get to your feet, cautiously, using the last of your energy to limp across to the bars, curling your fingers around them to steady yourself. You offer your name - as if it would mean anything to him. “I put that in your desk. Did you solve the lock or did you just smash your way through?”

“No, no, I solved ‘em.” He bites his tongue, doesn’t tell you that when he solved them was moments after he had to shoot that certain colleague in the head. “Did you put that all together?”

You smile, “And the banner – if it’s still up.”

“No, it is.” He wraps his hand on top of yours, maybe as desperate for human contact as you’d been. “Thank you – I wish I could’ve seen it on a day as it should’ve been seen.”

“Me too. But… why are you here? I told you to stay away.”

“That was you as well?” His eyes widen – beautiful blue things. If Edward could see you the smitten look on your face now, he’d be intolerable. He’d caught you making eyes over guys being booked in the past, after all.

“I wish you’d listened.”

“You said you’d be in touch.” He teases, before settling into something more serious. “I’m glad I didn’t cos it looks like you’re in quite the predicament. Why are you in there?”

“Long story. Can you get me out? There should be an override switch for all the cells – runs on a generator. Not sure if things have been messing with it.”

“I’ll work something out.” He smiles, squeezing your hand before he lets go. “Just… sit tight. I’ll be back – I promise.”

And, as you stagger back to the cot, head falling back against the wall, you believe him.

Time is fuzzy now, or maybe you’re just weak from hunger, weak from pain. Water from the cell sink has been the only thing that’s kept you going. But now there’s an alarm sounding and mechanical locks clunking and so much groaning.

Your name is being called, shoulders shaken but you can’t focus. You’re heaved up from the cot, arms wrapped around your waist and over someone’s shoulder. A hand squeezes your backside before there’s an apology and it shifts back to your waist. There’s gunshots, hissing, snarling, screaming, swearing all around you but all you can do is hang limply, catching glimpses of limbs and blood smears on the floor before it all goes black again.

“She’s dead weight.” A new voice – female – echoes around your head, though you’re in a different position now – cradled in someone’s arms, face pressed against the weirdly familiar feeling of a bulletproof vest.

“Ada.” A warning tone.

“What? You can’t carry her and shoot.”

“It’s fine.”

“Not where we’re going.”

“Where are we going?” You mumble, forcing your eyes open and up to see that picture perfect smile once more.

“Hey. How you feeling?”

“I’ve felt better.”

“I’m sure. This is Ada – she’s with the FBI.” A woman in sunglasses and a white coat shoots you a disinterested look. “We’re going to Umbrella’s lab. This whole thing’s a virus – we need to stop…” He smiles, noting your bemused expression. “I’ll explain later. You just rest, okay? We’ll find you somewhere safe whilst we deal with this.”

“Safe?” You want to laugh. “Good luck.”

Leon finds something though – an armored military truck the south side of town. No windows, a box of rations still intact.

“Okay, you stay set up in here.” He’s crouched in front of you, Ada hanging back at the door. “I promise I’ll be back for you afterwards.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

He squeezes your hand. “I’m gonna keep it – just you see.” Leon gets to his feet and Ada steps aside as he exits, before peering at you over her shades.

“Here.” She withdraws a gun from within her coat, slides it over the metal flooring of the truck. “Just in case.”

Leon puts on a smile behind her, hand aloft in a wave and Ada slams the door shut.

You don’t need to check the barrel to know there’s only one bullet in there.

More time passes through a combination of consciousness and unconsciousness. Opening up packets of dry, dusty crackers that tasted euphoric on an empty stomach and bottled water, gun still within reach and blissful silence as the thick metal walls obscured all sound from outside.

The door opens, morning light flooding behind, illuminating Leon as an angelic figure – his shoulder now wrapped in a bloodied bandage. A woman sporting a ponytail behind him, a little girl too, but no Ada.

“You came back.” You breathe out as he crouches in front of you, taking your hand.

“I promised, didn’t I? This is Claire and Sherry, and we’re all getting out of here.”

You kiss him, clumsily, head still woozy, but his hand comes up to rest on the back of your head, holding you steady before someone clears their throat behind.

“Ahem, Leon…” Claire jerks her head towards Sherry, the girl staring wide-eyed.

“Sorry.” He’s flustered – adorably so – but he drops his hand from your head and helps you to your feet, keeping you close to his uninjured side. He presses his lips to the side of your temple as Claire and Sherry turn, mumbling into your ear.

“And I promise to come back for your kiss too.”

You wake with a start, sitting up in the bed, trying to catch your breath. You were back in the police station, hands grabbing at you from boarded up windows, guttural wet sounds from things no longer human.

There’s movement besides you, followed by a click, a soft, yellow light illuminating the room as a warm hand rubs your back.

“You with me, sweetheart?” Leon asks, cautiously. He knows how it feels to wake from a nightmare, how disorientating it can be.

You reach for his hand, lacing his fingers between your own, grounding yourself. You're in bed, you're home, you're safe, you're with him. “You came back.”

“Always will.”

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