#hours of darkness and nothing with only each other and their shared sense of dread to keep them company

[trappolia]

IS IT CASUAL NOW? ── ace trappola + gn!reader, 1k

ace trappola has always been a somebody.

he was born a somebody, there is no denying that; not his father's iron fist always reminding him and his older brother that they could not have achieved the comforts they had today without the hard work of his ancestors, nor his mother's soft hands smoothening his messy hair and telling him to always be humble. there is something distinctive to his family name, the consonants twisting around his tongue like the echoes of the eternal city in a dying sunset and the ancient pathways of the foro romano; english nannies and private schools, summers in the afterglow savannah, winters in the north of the shaftlands.

his "first love" is at seventeen, summertime, at the poolside of some seaside village where a distant cousin let him sleep in the spare bedroom. the sun beats down on his nape kissed a hot, angry pink, and he lays on his back for hours and thinks of how the sun can eat him up with her love. he does not remember why or how he kissed you ── beautiful, sunkissed and golden in his memories of that heat wave in july ── but he remembers the mornings after where he awoke to your legs tangled with his beneath thin, cotton sheets as the sun rose in the horizon, skin tingling with sunburn and bruising kisses.

no one asks why you come down together for breakfast in the mornings, or why the mattress underneath the bed is no longer pulled out for someone to sleep on at night. when his nonna mentions how she expected it, considering how attached at the hip you two have been since first year, ace just gives a non-committal hum, and the subject is never brought up again.

when summer ends, ace does not kiss you goodbye. neither of you talk about it either.

this is not to say that you are a nobody, not to ace. he is not so foolish, not so prideful as he was in his youth just two years ago. ace has already shared with you most things that he would not divulge to just anyone; his time, his space, his bed. you are his other half, the same way he is to deuce; the way your little gaggle of troublemakers have tangled themselves in a web made up of a red string of fate. and so neither of you speak about those hot summer months, entangled with each other like pieces of an ambitious puzzle, and life goes on. there is a shift, yes, he feels it in the marks from your nails in long, linear b lines down his back, stolen moments in between classes in dark janitor's closets, your tie and underwear tucked inside his drawer, but nothing has changed. you sleep over, then you're gone by morning for your next class. you see him in the hallway and beam, let him sling his arm around you like you are both still sixteen and first-years in a school that seems so much bigger than the two of you.

you never stay, but ace never loses you.

ace cannot lose you, or at least, he doesn't think he can. he has never lost anything, anybody; not once in his life. people have only been dismissed from his company, or little toys taken away for some time for his misbehaviour.

but he has never lost.

and then winter of third year rolls along, and there is a trembling sense of finality that settles over ace when he sees you studying for what will be your final exams, skin pale without that warm glow months before. he sees you less often, kisses you less often, as even he has to be hidden away indoors, skulking around dark corridors leaves him saturnine and dreading the exam hall and the weight of his pen in his hand. ace goes to bed alone, and even in those few moments where he manages to stay awake before his head hits the pillow, he thinks about how cold the bed is without you.

ace thinks about how this will be the last year the two of you spend together, before you're both inevitably sent off someplace else, surely not together, for your work practice.

and suddenly losing you becomes terrifyingly plausible.

ace doesn't want to be a somebody if it's not with you; he knows this now for certain. he sleeps over at ramshackle when exams are over, but even when you kiss him he cannot help but think: this is the last time, this is the last time, this is the last time—

maybe that's why he swallows when he watches you get dressed the next morning, thinks of your mocking in saccharine sweet just the night before, crooning in his ear: poor, poor ace. always gets what he wants, and the moment he doesn't, he throws a little fit.

that's wrong, ace had wanted to say. he doesn't remember throwing a fit, not once in his entire childhood. and then he looks up at you, divinity in the flesh, hands wrapped around his throat, and he thinks: oh. i've never had anything to lose before you.

“mhm?” you hum when ace wraps his arm around your hips, lazy but firm. his lips press against the curve where your the skin of your waist stretches over your hipbones, that sweet curve. “you want me to call someone to bring breakfast? i think jack can be convinced.”

“mrm,” ace mumbles against the sweet curve of your waist to hip, the single syllable roughly translated to “no, thank you” by your keen sense.

(his sweet darling, his other half)

“what is it?” you coo, running a hand through his messy auburn hair. “c’mon, i agreed to take ruggie’s shift—“

“fuck ruggie, respectfully,” ace grumbles, and he tilts his chin to look up at you, his mahogany eyes soft and sweet and lovely. “stay.”

stay.

he sees your expression falter at the word. he’s never said it to you, not in this context. ace was so foolish to think he could have you without asking, so dumb to even consider that you’d stay for someone you weren’t even officially bound to.

“stay?” you echo, voice small.

“stay with me,” he reiterates, his cheeks beginning to burn. ace sees the corners of your lips tug up, and he thinks he sees you somewhere down the road, making fun of him and his stupidity at your wedding table.

(his heart swells at the thought, endlessly fond)

“yeah?” you’re smiling now. little shit, he thinks in the same breath as: how pretty.

“yeah,” ace exhales, before his heart seizes. “…will you?”

you laugh, and it sounds like summertime and first loves. “obviously, dumbass. i thought you’d never ask.”

(he was foolish to even doubt)

© trappolia 2024

[thewickedjazzy]

⌞𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰⌝

Part II : 𝙏𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙧𝙤𝙥𝙚

Pairings: mafia boss!Chuuya x fem!reader

Warnings: angst, super fluff, mention of death, mention of other dimensions, mention of panic attack, mention of cheating, mention of blood, bsd beast spoilers ahead, Let me know if I forgot any!

Author's note: Guess who's back? This part is actually my favourite. It portrays a lot of human emotions. Also, this AU is heavily inspired by bsd beast, so a tw to my fellow dazai kinnes. I'm sorry :(. Hope you enjoy it Xx.

↠Part I

Word count : 6.8k

In an alternate universe, the same pale moonlight bathed the streets of Yokohama. The night was a deep, biting cold as Y/N's shaky breath turned to mist with each exhale, lingering in the air for just a moment before dissipating into the dark. She moved with urgency, her steps quickening as she neared the apartment she shared with Daiki—her boyfriend of two years.

Y/N was no ordinary woman; she was Chuuya Nakahara’s right hand, the most feared member of the Port Mafia. An elegant maneater with a reputation that sent shivers down the spines of even the most hardened criminals, she wielded a powerful ability that made all the mafia members think thrice before talking to her. Her presence alone commanded respect and fear in equal measure, and her beauty was a dangerous allure that concealed the deadly strength beneath.

Yet, as she neared the penthouse, her mind was consumed with thoughts that had nothing to do with power or the underworld she ruled so effortlessly.

Her mind was a whirlwind of denial and disbelief, the echo of doubt gnawing at the edges of her thoughts. This can’t be right, she told herself. Daiki wouldn’t cheat on me. He wouldn’t.

But the morning’s events replayed in her mind, the scene etched vividly into her memory. She had been at her favorite clothing store, browsing through the latest arrivals, the scent of new fabric and soft music soothing her senses. As she approached the cashier to pay, her attention was drawn to a woman nearby, holding up a dress and laughing into her phone. The woman was middle-aged, her voice carrying a tone of flirtatious teasing as she moved closer to the cashier.

Y/N hadn’t meant to listen, but the woman’s words cut through the air like a knife. "Oh, stop it, Daiki. We went two rounds yesterday. Isn’t that enough, babe?"

She froze in place, her heart skipping a beat. Daiki? The name hit her like a jolt of electricity. It was too much of a coincidence, but maybe—just maybe—there was another man with the same name. Her mind clung to that fragile hope, even as her gaze instinctively shifted to the woman’s hand.

And then she saw it—the credit card the woman was holding. Her breath caught in her throat as she recognized the familiar design, the embossed letters spelling out a name she knew too well. Daiki’s card.

A wave of nausea threatened to overwhelm her, but she forced herself to stay calm, to complete her transaction and leave the store without drawing attention. The woman’s laughter still echoed in her ears, each note twisting the knife deeper into her heart.

Now, as Y/N approached the penthouse's apartment, her hand cold from the freezing air as she unlocked the door, pushing it open with a sense of dread. The apartment was quiet, the soft hum of the refrigerator the only sound. She felt a cold, calculated calm settle over her. She knew what she needed to do.

Y/N changed into her usual red silk robe, the fabric cool against her skin, a stark contrast to the heat of her emotions. She poured herself a drink, the amber liquid steadying her nerves as she waited in the dimly lit living room. The silence of the apartment was deafening, every tick of the clock amplifying the tension that hung in the air.

Hours passed before the sound of a key turning in the lock signaled Daiki’s arrival. She didn’t move, her posture relaxed as she sat in the armchair, one leg crossed over the other, the drink held delicately in her hand. She watched as Daiki entered, oblivious at first to the storm he was walking into.

"Y/N, you’re home early," he said, closing the door behind him and setting his bag down. "Everything okay?"

Y/N took a slow sip of her drink, letting the silence stretch between them before she finally spoke. "Daiki," she began, her voice smooth and controlled, "I had an interesting morning today."

He froze, the unease in his eyes growing. "Oh? What happened?"

She swirled the liquid in her glass, her gaze never leaving his. "I was at the store, buying a few things. And I overheard a woman on the phone, talking to someone named Daiki. She was laughing, calling him ‘babe,’ talking about how they went ‘two rounds’ yesterday." Her tone remained calm, almost conversational, but the undercurrent of danger was unmistakable. "Then, I saw the credit card she was holding. It was yours."

Daiki’s face drained of color, his confident facade crumbling under the weight of her words. He opened his mouth to speak, but she held up a hand, stopping him before he could stammer out a lie.

"Don’t," she warned, her voice dropping to a deadly whisper. "I want the truth, Daiki. How long has this been going on?"

He hesitated, knowing there was no escape, no room for deceit. "Six months," he admitted, his voice trembling. "It’s been six months."

Y/N felt the sting of his confession, but she didn’t let it show. Instead, she leaned back in her chair, her expression one of detached curiosity. "Six months," she repeated, her tone laced with a hint of mockery. "And you thought I wouldn’t find out? You thought you could keep lying to me, coming home to me every night, and I’d just go on believing everything was fine?"

Daiki flinched, the realization of his mistake written all over his face. "Y/N, I’m sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. I just…"

"You just what?" Y/N cut him off, her eyes narrowing. "Got bored? Wanted something new and exciting? Tell me, Daiki, did you think of me at all during these last six months? Or was I just the convenient one—the one you could always come back to when you were done with your little adventures?"

Daiki lowered his gaze to the wooden floor, " It was a mistake...I didn't- "

Y/N's scoff cut him off, "A mistake is when you leave the food out of the refrigerator overnight. But cheating? For months? No, it takes too much... too much lying, sneaking around, and screwing around to be a mistake."

He swallowed hard, his guilt evident. "It wasn’t like that," he pleaded, but the desperation in his voice only fueled her anger.

"Then what was it like?" she demanded, her calm exterior cracking just enough to let her fury shine through. "Tell me, Daiki, how does it feel to know that you’ve lost everything—because that’s what’s happened. You’ve lost me."

Daiki took a step toward her, but she remained unmoved, her gaze icy. "Don’t come any closer," she warned, her voice cold and commanding. "You’re not going to talk your way out of this. We’re done."

The finality in her tone left no room for argument. Daiki stopped in his tracks, his shoulders slumping in defeat. He looked at her, a mixture of regret and sorrow in his eyes, but she was unmoved. She had made her decision, and there was no going back.

"Pack your things," she said calmly, setting her glass down on the table beside her. "And be gone by morning. I don’t want to see you again."

With those words, she rose from the chair, her movements graceful and deliberate. She walked past him without a second glance, heading to the bedroom where she would lock the door behind her, shutting out the man who had betrayed her so deeply.

As she closed the door, Y/N leaned against it for a moment, the reality of what had just happened washing over her. The calm she had maintained began to slip away, replaced by the ache of betrayal and the hollow emptiness left in its wake. But she refused to let herself crumble. Not yet. Not when there was still so much to be done.

The next morning, Y/N arrived at the Port Mafia headquarters, her usual poise and grace firmly in place, though beneath it all, a hollow ache had settled in her chest. She moved through her tasks mechanically, her mind a whirlwind of betrayal and sadness that she tried desperately to push away.

Chuuya watched her from across the room, his sharp eyes missing nothing. He had known her for years, had seen her in battle, had watched her navigate the treacherous waters of their world with a confidence that few could match. But today, something was different. Her movements were precise, but lacked the usual fluidity; her gaze was distant, as if she were somewhere else entirely.

When the meeting ended, Chuuya lingered, his concern deepening as she made to leave without a word. "Y/N," he called out, his voice cutting through the quiet.

She paused, turning to face him. "Yes, boss?"

He approached her, his expression serious. "You’re not yourself today. What happened?"

Y/N hesitated, the truth heavy on her tongue. But Chuuya’s steady gaze, his unspoken support, broke through her defences. "I found out Daiki’s been cheating on me," She confessed, her voice strained. "For six months."

Chuuya’s eyes darkened with anger, his fists clenching at his sides. "That bastard."

"I don’t want to talk about it," Y/N said quickly, not wanting to dwell on the pain. "I just want to work."

But Chuuya wasn’t willing to let it go so easily. "You deserve better," he said softly, the intensity of his feelings clear in his voice. "Don’t let him take anything more from you."

Y/N met his gaze, and for a moment, the weight of her hurt eased, replaced by a warmth she hadn’t expected. "Thank you, boss," she murmured, her voice slightly above a whisper.

As she turned to leave, Chuuya’s voice stopped her once more. "Remember, Y/N—whatever happens, I’ve got your back."

She nodded, a small, genuine smile tugging at her lips despite the pain still lingering in her heart. "I know," she said, and with that, she walked away, her steps a little lighter, knowing she wasn’t alone.

Chuuya Nakahara had not always been the leader of the Port Mafia. There was a time when he served under Dazai Osamu, the enigmatic and powerful boss whose ability to nullify others’ abilities had been a cornerstone of the mafia’s strength. But Dazai was more than just a boss to Chuuya; even though he used to despise Dazai's carefree attitude, nevertheless he still considered him as a friend, a partner who understood the burden of Chuuya’s cursed power—Arahabaki, the god of destruction that lived within him.

Dazai’s ability, No Longer Human, was the only thing that could stop Chuuya’s corruption form—a state of near-unlimited power that came with a steep price: the loss of his humanity. In his corruption form, Chuuya became a force of destruction, but without Dazai to nullify his power, he risked being consumed by it completely.

When Dazai died, Chuuya was left with a void that no one could fill. The responsibility of leading the Port Mafia fell to him, and with it, the fear of what might happen if his corruption ever went unchecked. But there was one person who could offer a solution—Y/N.

Y/N’s ability, 'Malevolent Marionette', was unlike anything Chuuya had ever encountered. By touching someone, she could create a replica of them—a puppet under her control. But it wasn’t just any puppet; it was a copy that mirrored the original in every way, down to their abilities. And if she destroyed the puppet, the original would suffer the same fate.

Before Dazai’s death, Chuuya and Y/N had trained together, testing the limits of her ability. The goal was simple yet terrifying: to see if she could create a replica of Chuuya’s corruption form and destroy it, thereby breaking the cycle of destruction without killing him. It was a risky, dangerous experiment, one that required absolute trust between them.

Chuuya’s eyes were locked on Y/N, a mix of skepticism and trust evident in his gaze.

“Alright, Y/N. You’re sure you can handle this? I don’t want to end up wrecking the whole place.”

Y/N gave him a steady look, “I’ve trained for this, Chuuya. I’m confident in my ability.”

Dazai, standing with his usual relaxed demeanor, glanced between them with a hint of a smirk. “Just make sure to not repeat what happened. Last time you nearly brought the entire building down."

Chuuya scoffed crossing his arms and shooting him a death glare. “Like I need you to remind me. I’m perfectly aware of the risks.”

Dazai’s grin widened. “Just making sure. You know how you can be.”

Chuuya’s eyes narrowed. “And you know how you can be. Always acting like this is some kind of joke.”

“Come on, Chuuya,” Dazai said with an exaggerated sigh. “It’s not every day we get to see you in a vulnerable state. I’m just here to make sure things don’t get out of hand.”

" Shut your mouth! " Chuuya grumbled, his irritation barely concealed as he sighed again taking off his leather gloves, “O’ grantors of dark disgrace,” he incanted, his voice resonating with an eerie gravitas, “do not wake me up again.”

In an instant, Chuuya’s corruption form took over, his body transforming into a terrifying visage of dark energy and raw power. the marks of Arahabaki on his body seem to burn his skin like hell and rip apart his flesh to blood.

Dazai’s ability was their safeguard, ready to nullify the dangerous corruption if Y/N’s replica wasn’t enough.

Y/N took her position, her focus unwavering as she approached him. She extended her hand managing to touch him, the air around her shimmering with the power of her ability. Her goal was to create a replica of Chuuya’s corruption form—a copy that would mimic the original’s abilities but could be destroyed without harming Chuuya himself.

As the replica began to take shape, Chuuya’s corruption form roared with fury, as Y/N was pushed to the ground but her focus still remained as the replica of Chuuya’s corruption form fully materialized, a dark twin of the original, its power radiating with a terrifying intensity. Y/N maneuvered carefully, her control over the replica precise as she prepared to destroy it.

Dazai watched with a keen eye, ready to intervene if necessary. “Remember, Y/N,” he said calmly, “the key is to separate his consciousness from the corruption.”

"Ugh, shut up, boss... I can do this," Y/N growled as she focused on the replica. She could feel the pressure mounting, the weight of responsibility heavy on her shoulders.

In a sudden burst of light, the replica began to disintegrate, its form unraveling into wisps of dark energy that evaporated into nothingness.

As the light faded, she collapsed to the ground, her body trembling from the exertion. A warm trickle ran down from her nose—blood, a sign that she had pushed herself too far. But she had done it.

Chuuya, now freed from the grasp of his corruption form, staggered backward, his legs giving out beneath him. His breathing was ragged, each breath a struggle as he tried to gather his strength. Finally, with a groan, he collapsed to the floor, his usual appearance restored. He glanced over at Y/N, his expression a mix of relief and exhaustion.

"Fuck... that was...unexpected yet quick." he managed to rasp out, his breaths shallow and uneven. He barely had time to register what had happened before he succumbed to his exhaustion, slipping into unconsciousness.

Y/N, despite her own fatigue, couldn’t help but chuckle softly at his words. She pushed herself up, her legs shaky, and made her way over to where Chuuya lay. Gently, she knelt beside him, her fingers brushing lightly over his face, smoothing back his disheveled hair. There was something tender in the way she touched him.

Dazai, who had been watching the entire scene unfold with his usual detached amusement, approached them both, his smirk widening into a grin. "You’re one hell of a woman, Y/N," he remarked, his tone laced with admiration as he knelt beside her.

Together, they lifted Chuuya’s unconscious form, each of them bearing the weight of the man they had both come to care for in their own ways. As they began to carry him out of the training room, the tension that had filled the air slowly dissipated, replaced by a quiet, shared understanding.

They succeeded. Time and time again, Y/N managed to create a replica of Arahabaki, separating the god’s consciousness from Chuuya’s own. And each time, when she destroyed the replica, Chuuya returned to his normal state, free from the corruption that threatened to consume him.

In those moments, Chuuya entrusted Y/N with his life, and she never once let him down. The bond they formed through those trials was unbreakable, forged in the crucible of life and death.

Now, as Chuuya watched Y/N walk away, he couldn’t help but think of those moments—the times when they had fought side by side, each trusting the other with everything they had. He owed her more than he could ever repay, and the thought of her in pain filled him with a deep, protective instinct.

Y/N might have been betrayed by Daiki, but Chuuya would never betray her. He would stand by her, as she had always stood by him, through the trials and tribulations that came with their dangerous lives.

The day went by just as usual as her shift came to its end she went back to her penthouse, pushing open the door to her apartment that she once shared with Daiki.

The silence of the space pressing in on her as she stepped inside, it's the first night without him. She leaned back against the door, her fingers lingering on the lock for a moment before she turned it, shutting out the world behind her. The ache in her chest hadn’t lessened, but she refused to let it show. But since she's in the solitude of her own home, she felt comfortable to let it out just for a bit.

She moved through the apartment with mechanical precision, slipping out of her clothes and into a burgundy nightgown. The fabric was soft against her skin, but it brought little comfort. Her mind was still spinning, replaying the events of the day over and over, each memory like a fresh wound.

Pouring herself a glass of wine, Y/N made her way to the living room. The city lights outside her window cast a dim glow across the space, but it did nothing to lift the heaviness in her heart. She settled onto the couch, the glass of wine in her hand, and reached for the remote.

She flicked through her music library until she found what she was looking for—Lost on You by LP. The opening chords filled the room, the haunting melody wrapping around her like a shroud. Y/N closed her eyes, letting the music wash over her, each note resonating with the sorrow she had been holding back.

As the song played on, Y/N felt the tears she had been fighting all day begin to well up. She tried to hold them back, tried to maintain the composure that had seen her through so much. But here, alone in the dark, there was no reason to pretend. The first tear slipped down her cheek, followed by another, and then another, until she was crying in earnest, the weight of the day’s revelations finally breaking through her defenses.

Her mascara streaked her face, black tears mingling with the clear ones as they fell. She took a sip of her wine, the bitter taste matching the bitterness in her heart, and let herself cry. The music swelled around her, LP’s voice echoing her pain, and for a moment, she allowed herself to be vulnerable.

It was then that she heard it—a knock at the door, faint at first, then louder. Y/N froze, her breath catching in her throat as she wiped at her eyes, smearing the mascara further. She wasn’t expecting anyone, and the idea of facing someone in her current state made her hesitate. But the knocking continued, insistent, and finally, she rose from the couch, setting her glass down with a shaky hand.

Chuuya stood on the other side, his eyes swept over her, taking in the burgundy nightgown she wore and the tracks of mascara staining her cheeks. Despite the sadness in her eyes, there was a fierce beauty about her that made his breath catch.

“Chuuya?” Y/N’s voice was barely a whisper, thick with emotion.

He gave her a small, almost hesitant smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I heard the music from the hallway,” he said, his tone light, but his gaze serious. “It’s pretty loud, you know. Also...LP? Seriously?”

Y/N managed a weak chuckle, though it was more of a broken sound than anything else. She looked down at herself, suddenly feeling exposed and vulnerable in a way she wasn’t used to. "It’s fitting for the mood."

He chuckled softly, his gaze never leaving hers. "Yeah, I can see that."

"I'm sorry, I didn't expect anyone to show up.." She says with a crack in her voice.

Chuuya shook his head, his expression softening further. “You don’t have to apologize.” He paused, searching her eyes. “Can I come in?”

For a moment, Y/N hesitated. Letting Chuuya in meant letting him see her like this, letting him into the part of her life she usually kept hidden behind walls of strength and control. But as she looked into his eyes, she saw nothing but concern, nothing but a genuine desire to be there for her.

She stepped aside, opening the door wider. “Of course.”

Chuuya entered, closing the door gently behind him. The music was still playing, LP’s voice a backdrop to the quiet tension between them. He glanced around the apartment, noting the half-empty bottle of wine on the table, the discarded clothes on the floor, the general disarray that was so unlike her.

Y/N made her way back to the couch, sinking down onto it with a sigh. She picked up her glass, taking another sip as she tried to steady herself. Chuuya followed her, sitting down beside her, his presence a comforting warmth against the chill in her heart.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The music played on, filling the silence with its melancholy melody. Finally, Chuuya broke the silence, his voice gentle. “Hey… I’m sorry.”

She glanced at him, her eyes still glistening with unshed tears. “For what?”

“For what he did to you,” Chuuya replied, his voice tinged with anger. “You didn’t deserve that. You deserve so much more.”

Y/N looked away, her gaze fixed on the glass in her hand. “I don’t know what I deserve anymore,” she admitted, her voice barely audible. “I thought I had everything figured out. I thought… I thought he loved me.”

Chuuya’s hand found hers, his touch warm and grounding. “He’s a fool,” he said firmly. “A complete idiot for not seeing what he had.”

She felt a fresh wave of tears threatening to spill over, but she swallowed them back, not wanting to break down again. “Thank you, Chuuya,” she whispered. “I… I just don’t know how to move on from this.”

He squeezed her hand gently, his voice low and steady. “You don’t have to figure it out right now. Just take it one step at a time. And know that you don’t have to do it alone.”

Y/N finally looked at him, her eyes searching his for something she couldn’t quite name. In that moment, she saw the depth of his care for her, the strength of the bond they had built over years of fighting side by side. It wasn’t just about loyalty or duty—it was something more, something that neither of them had ever put into words.

“Why are you here, Chuuya?” she asked softly, her voice trembling slightly.

"I was worried about you. I had to check on you." Chuuya said softly, his voice carrying a warmth that soothed her frayed nerves.

"You didnt have to." She says softly her voice barely above a whisper.

" Oh shut up!" A faint smile curved his lips, though there was a hint of sadness in his eyes.

Chuuya watched her silently taking in the sight of her hurting, of her trying to drown her pain in wine, ignited something deep within him—a fierce protectiveness, mingled with an ache that he had tried to suppress for so long. It ate at him, knowing that someone else had caused her this pain. He felt a primal urge to make things right. She was supposed to be safe and cherished, not suffering from the betrayal of someone so unworthy.

Y/N’s eyes were locked on the glass in her hands, her fingers tracing the rim absentmindedly. After a while she reached for her phone as she scrolled through her social media accounts, her hands trembling as she navigated to Daiki’s profile. Her intention was simple—block him, sever the last connection to the pain he had caused her. But as she refreshed the page, her heart dropped when she saw a new post.

There, in stark contrast to her own anguish, was Daiki, smiling broadly next to the woman he had been cheating on her with. They were holding up their hands, showing off engagement rings that gleamed with an almost mocking brilliance. The caption was a blur of words that Y/N couldn’t even bring herself to read.

Y/N’s vision blurred with fresh tears, and her hands began to tremble uncontrollably. The room seemed to spin around her as panic surged through her. Her breath came in short, ragged gasps as she struggled to process the sight of them celebrating a future she had once imagined for herself.

Chuuya, still seated beside her, noticed the sudden change in her demeanor immediately. He turned his head just in time to see the post on her screen. His expression darkened with fury, but his primary concern was Y/N’s distress. He reached out, his voice urgent and soothing. “Y/N, what’s wrong? Talk to me.”

Her hands shook letting her phone drop off, she clutched her hands to her chest, her breaths coming in frantic, uneven bursts. “I—I can’t… I can’t breathe…”

Chuuya immediately moved closer, his concern intensifying. He guided her to lean back against the couch, trying to calm her. “Look at me, Y/N. Focus on me. Breathe with me, okay?”

He took slow, deep breaths, trying to match his breathing with hers to help regulate her panic. “Inhale deeply through your nose… hold it for a second… and then exhale slowly through your mouth.”

Y/N’s vision was clouded by tears, her body trembling uncontrollably. “It’s too much… I can’t…”

Without hesitation, he pulled her to sit up again and wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. “Shh, it’s okay. Just breathe, Y/N. I’m here.”

She buried her face in his chest, her sobs coming out in choked, disjointed gasps. “How… how could he?” she muttered between breaths, her voice barely coherent. “How could he do this to me?”

Chuuya gently rubbed her back, his lips pressing a soft kiss to her temple in an attempt to soothe her. “Hey, dont think about this now. Breathe 'kay?”

Y/N’s breaths remained erratic, her chest rising and falling unevenly as she clung to Chuuya. The pain in her eyes was a stark contrast to his calm demeanor, but his steady presence seemed to anchor her amidst the turmoil.

Chuuya kept his voice soft and reassuring, his hand gently stroking her back. “You’re safe here. Focus on me 'kay? Inhale through your nose… hold it… now exhale slowly.”

He continued the breathing exercise, his own breaths deep and measured, hoping to guide her through the panic. His heart ached seeing her so distraught, and every tremor of her body felt like a piercing ache through his own.

Y/N’s sobs began to lessen, though she still trembled in his arms. “Why does it hurt so much?” she whispered, her voice breaking.

Chuuya’s grip tightened around her, his tone filled with a protective intensity. “Because you loved him, and he betrayed that love. It’s okay to hurt. But you’re strong, and you’ll get through this. You have to believe that.”

Her breathing started to steady as she focused on his words and the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. “Thank you, Chuuya,” she murmured, her voice muffled against him. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Chuuya gently kissed her temple again, his voice firm but tender. “You’ll never have to find out. I'm here. I’ll stay with you through this, and I’ll help you get through it, 'kay?”

Y/N nodded weakly, her grip on Chuuya’s shirt loosening as her breathing grew more even. “Okay,” she whispered, her voice still fragile but steadier.

He gently stroked her hair, offering her the silent comfort of his presence. The tears that had been pouring from her eyes now slowed to a trickle, her breathing gradually returning to a more regular rhythm.

Y/N pulled back slightly, her eyes still red and puffy but holding a glimmer of embarrassment. " This is embarrassing... I never break down in front of anyone... not even Daiki. "

He brushed a strand of hair from her face, his gaze steady. “ You don't have to be embarrassed dumbass." He couldn’t help but smile softly as he saw her let out a faint chuckle. “We all have our inner battles and struggles.”

She smiled and rested her head on his chest, taking deep breaths. Chuuya wrapped his arms around her, holding her close as she found solace in his steady presence.

Chuuya's days revolved around Y/N in a comforting routine. Despite his position as the mafia boss, he made sure to take time each morning to prepare her favorite coffee, carefully brewing it just the way she liked. He would also bake her the special cookies she adored, often leaving them on her desk with a note that read, “For the most amazing right-hand.”

Y/N appreciated these gestures deeply. Even though her stoic exterior rarely cracked, the little things Chuuya did never failed to make her smile and blush. She kept these feelings to herself, unsure if he reciprocated her affection. It was clear he cared for her deeply, but whether it was the same kind of love she felt remained a mystery.

Three months had passed since Daiki’s betrayal, and though Y/N had made significant progress in healing, her heart could not ignore the way Chuuya’s unwavering care and support had become a cornerstone of her recovery. Unbeknownst to her, Chuuya had taken his own actions to ensure Daiki’s suffering, sending the Black Lizard to ruin Daiki and his new fiancée's engagement party as a silent retribution. But he kept this from Y/N, choosing to focus on her well-being rather than the vengeance he sought.

It was a usual Friday evening as Chuuya and Y/N were seated in his office, their usual conversation flowing easily. The office was a haven of tranquility, away from the chaos of the outside world. Chuuya leaned back in his chair, watching Y/N with a soft smile as she recounted a particularly amusing incident from their recent mission.

Suddenly, the door to his office burst open, and Akutagawa rushed in, panting heavily. His usual calm demeanor was replaced by visible panic. “Boss! Y/N! There’s something happening in Yokohama. It’s—”

Hirotsu took a deep breath, struggling to regain his composure. “It’s a tripolar singularity. We’ve never seen anything like it. It’s causing massive destruction in the city center.”

Chuuya’s expression shifted instantly from calm to intense focus. “A singularity? What the hell is going on in Yokohama?”

“It appeared out of nowhere,” Hirotsu explained, his voice tight with urgency. “It’s unleashing some kind of beast or force. The situation is escalating rapidly.”

Y/N stood up, her expression shifting to one of determination. “Fuck! We need to deal with this now. If it’s causing that much destruction, only us can handle it.”

Chuuya nodded, his gaze meeting Y/N’s with a fierce resolve. “You’re right. We need to act quickly. Hirtosu-san, assemble the Black Lizard and get to the heart of the disturbance. Do not engage!! Just wait for us, we will join you shortly.”

Hirotsu nodded sharply, already turning to leave. “Understood, Boss. We’ll move out immediately.”

Y/N exhaled, rubbing her temple. “I have a bad feeling about this…”

As Y/N and Chuuya made their way through the chaos, the sight that greeted them at the center of the disturbance was unlike anything they had ever encountered. The tripolar singularity loomed ominously in the air, casting an eerie light over the battlefield. Amid the swirling energy and debris stood the divine creature—a figure cloaked in an otherworldly aura, partially hidden by a white sheet adorned with black symbols, and fabric ribbons fluttering in the wind. The creature’s face was obscured, and its presence radiated a chilling lack of emotion.

Y/N's heart sank as she took in the scene before her. The Black Lizard lay scattered and bleeding, their faces twisted in pain and shock. The sheer devastation was overwhelming, and the sight of their fallen comrades brought tears of frustration to her eyes.

"No way-" Her voice cracked struggling to maintain her composure.

Chuuya’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing as he assessed the situation. He turned to Y/N, his expression serious. “I need you to focus. We’re going to have to act quickly if we’re going to have any chance of stopping this.”

He was already formulating a plan, but it was a risky one. Chuuya knew that the creature was not just any opponent—it was a force of nature, and their usual strategies might not be enough. He needed to buy Y/N the time she required to confront the creature directly.

“Y/N,” Chuuya began, his voice steady despite the danger. “I’m going to draw its attention away from you. You’ll need to get close enough to touch it and use your ability.”

Y/N’s eyes widened. “What are you talking about? We need a better plan than that!”

“I don’t have time to explain every detail,” Chuuya said firmly, his expression resolute. “Trust me. Just be ready to act when I give the signal.”

Before Y/N could protest further, Chuuya took a deep breath and made a decision that he knew could be fatal.

With a determined look, he stepped forward and muttered the incantation he knew all too well, “O' grantors of dark disgrace. Do not wake me up again.”

Immediately, he began to transform into his corruption form. The familiar surge of power and dark energy enveloped him, and the change was instantaneous. His eyes burned with an intense, fiery white glow, and his presence became both awe-inspiring and terrifying.

Y/N’s heart raced as she watched him, realizing what he was about to do. “No, Chuuya, don’t—”

But it was too late. Chuuya was already moving towards the creature, his corruption form radiating a menacing energy. He engaged the divine being, drawing its focus away from Y/N by shooting black holes towards him. The creature seemed momentarily intrigued by the sudden, overwhelming presence, shifting its attention toward Chuuya.

As the battle intensified, Y/N knew she had to act quickly. She could see Chuuya’s determination clear as day. With a heavy heart and tears blurring her vision, she prepared herself to use her ability. She focused on the creature, gathering her strength and steeling her resolve. Chuuya was putting everything on the line for her, and she couldn’t let him down, maybe if she acted fast enough she could save him. Only if she can master her ability and manage to create two replicas at the same time. But it was impossible, even if she wanted to put it into test, she couldn't move all the way and touch Chuuya before destroying the creature, he'd kill them both.

The battle raged on, the creature’s power clashing with Chuuya’s corrupted form. Y/N moved with urgency, dodging debris and managing to touch the creature, using her ability to create a replica of the divine being. She had to destroy it before Arahabaki takes over Chuuya completely. Every second felt like an eternity as she concentrated on her task, hoping that Chuuya’s gamble would not end in tragedy.

Y/N’s heart raced as she struggled with the replica of the tripolar singularity. Its strength was overwhelming, and for a moment, it seemed like it might overpower her. But she focused, channeling all her energy and resolve into destroying it. With a final surge of power, she shattered the replica into pieces, the divine being vanishing in a burst of light.

She dashed toward Chuuya, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The sight that met her eyes was devastating—Chuuya’s corruption form had taken a tremendous toll on his body. No wonder that his inner organs were damaged by now, he was barely holding on. Tears streamed down her face as she touched him, creating a replica of his Arahabaki form. She destroyed it with all her strength, hoping it would be enough.

But it was too late. The damage was done. Chuuya’s body lay on the ground, blood pooling around him. Y/N’s vision blurred with tears, and her own strength began to falter from the strain of overusing her ability. She cradled Chuuya’s face, her voice trembling as she tried to comfort him.

"No no no no no" she shook her head tears streaming down soaking her cheeks , her voice breaking, “Chuuya, you’re going to make it. You have to hold on.”

Chuuya’s hand weakly reached up to touch her cheek, “Y/N… you did well,” he murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I—” He struggled to continue, his strength fading. “I’ve loved you… for so long... I'm sorry it was the only way to save you—”

The confession was barely audible, but it cut through the chaos like a knife. Tears poured freely from Y/N’s eyes as she held him close, her heart aching with the weight of his words and the gravity of the moment. Chuuya’s hand fell from her face, his strength giving out. He closed his eyes, his breathing slowing until it ceased.

A guttural scream tore from Y/N’s throat, a raw expression of grief and despair. She had lost him—everything she had fought for, everything she had loved. Her world shattered around her as she clung to him, her heartbroken cries echoing through the devastation.

Y/N’s world spun as she lost consciousness, the weight of her grief and the toll of her powers overwhelming her. The last thing she felt was the cold, lifeless form of Chuuya in her arms, the pain of his absence like a searing wound in her heart.

Minutes later, she stirred, the oppressive darkness of the battlefield replaced by a blinding light. Groaning softly, she tried to open her eyes, only to be met with an overwhelming radiance that made her eyes squint painfully. Slowly, she adjusted, her blurred vision focusing on the sight of Chuuya’s lifeless body still resting in her arms. Her tears began to flow anew, each drop a testament to the depth of her sorrow.

The light grew more intense, and she noticed a rift opening before her, a swirling vortex that seemed to pulse with otherworldly energy. The rift beckoned, its ethereal glow contrasting sharply with the stark reality of Chuuya’s death.

With trembling hands, Y/N placed a soft, lingering kiss on Chuuya’s cold forehead, her heart breaking with each tender touch. “Goodbye, boss,” she whispered through her tears, her voice choked with grief. "I'll always love you."

She gently laid his body down, her fingers brushing his hair one last time as she prepared to step through the rift. The light beckoned her, a beacon in the midst of her despair. Taking a deep breath, she slowly walked through it, her body and mind exhausted from the emotional and physical toll. Why is she doing this? She has no idea, but if this rift is connected to the tripolar singularity by any means, then she'll finally figure things out.

The world around her seemed to warp and shift, and she found herself emerging into a new, unfamiliar realm. It was a lush, verdant forest bathed in soft, dappled moonlight. The air was filled with the soothing sounds of nature, a stark contrast to the devastation she had just witnessed.

As she moved through the rift, her eyes fell upon a figure standing in the clearing. It was him—Chuuya. He was dressed in slightly different attire, but it was unmistakably him. He stood there, his gaze locked onto her, his expression a mix of shock and disbelief.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as she took in the sight of him. Her legs felt weak, her emotions swirling in a storm of confusion and hope.

"Boss?" they both exclaimed simultaneously, their voices echoing the confusion and recognition that filled their hearts.

A/N: Ayo!! I can't express how much fun it was to write this part. I am silently crying over Chuuya's death, but it is for the plot 🙂‍↕️. I'll post part three next week fingers crossed that the angst will be over by then cause my heart is shattered.

➵Want more of Chuuya Nakahara ?

[shrillzart]

The Monster in His Place

Pairing: Platonic! Lucas x Reader (Female) Genre: Horror, Suspense, Psychological Word Count: 1,200+ Warnings: Obsessive behavior, Paranoia, unsettling imagery, and themes of possession/identity loss

Author's Note: Ya girl just really likes writing scenes that take place at night. Probably because I have a lot of nightmares.

When your “son” looks at you, it’s never a passing glance. It’s always a long, unblinking stare that leaves you feeling vulnerable, like a predator inspecting its prey—waiting for the unsuspecting creature to suddenly take off and run for its life, only to be followed and apprehended by a much more deadly hunter.

You’ve long since realized that whatever that creature is, it has taken the place of your child. And no matter what those around you don’t notice, you know your baby. That thing is definitely not him. But there are too many unknowns for you to do anything about it. What is he? Is this thing going to harm you? What did it do with your real son?

As the days go on, “Lucas” continues to watch you with those owlish eyes. And you watch him in return.

You keep him at arm's length, doing only what’s necessary to fulfill your role as a mother. You make sure he's fed, clothed, and sent to school like any other child. But the warmth you once shared is gone. Bedtime stories, long hugs, celebrating life’s moments together—those simple joys of being in each other’s presence—have vanished.

“Mother, will you read me a bedtime story?” Lucas asks one night as you finish brushing your teeth in your shared bathroom.

You freeze. You thought you locked the door.

“Oh, honey. Don’t you think you’re a little too old for that?” you nervously chuckle as you shuffle around him, trying your best not to run to your bedroom.

You’re stopped by a small but strong hand on your arm.

“But I do not feel well, Mother. You always read to me when I’m sick,” he says in his unchanging tone. As he continues to gaze at you, you subtly try to pull your arm out of his grasp.

“Lucas, I’m sorry, but Mommy has had a hard day,” you try to redirect him. “I’ll read to you some other time, but I’m too tired for that now. I think you should get to bed soon too. It’ll help if you’re feeling under the weather.”

He doesn’t respond and continues to hold your arm for a few moments too long. Just as the thought of him finally deciding to hurt you crosses your mind, he lets go.

“...Okay, Mother. I wish you a well-deserved rest.”

You only stiffly nod and scurry to the end of the hall where your room lies ahead. As you turn back momentarily to close and lock your door, you see that he has not moved from his spot. His silhouette stays motionless, illuminated only by the bathroom night light. Even when you are safe behind your bedroom door, you can still feel his eyes beyond the wood. Ever staring.

Sleep doesn’t come easy as you toss and turn for what feels like hours before you slip into a restless sleep. Even as shapeless blobs and colors make up what you think is a dream, an overwhelming sense of dread begins to seep into your bones. It’s getting increasingly hard to breathe, and an unknown terror makes you panic. When this feeling almost entirely envelops your being, your eyes snap open.

You lay in bed stiffly, staring ahead into the darkness of your room. Your eyes are just barlying adapted to the miniscule street light coming through a crack in the window. Not being able to see anything clearly in front of you brings you a sort of comfort. However, the comfort of nothing being there is short-lived. As your senses slowly come back, you begin to pick up on another presence in the room.

One that’s directly behind you and curled into your side.

An unknown mass makes your bed sink where it lays. It feels like long extremities are wrapped around your torso. Long, slender fingers are placed just below your ribs, digging into your skin, just on the verge of being painful.

The room is silent except for the sound of your own labored breaths, each one shallow and rapid. The air around you feels thick, as if it’s pressing down on your chest, making it difficult to breathe. You try to focus, to control the rising wave of nausea, but it's impossible. A shiver starts at the base of your spine, creeping up your back and spreading through your limbs, leaving your skin crawling with cold dread.

A low, raspy breathing joins yours—close, too close. Each exhale is heavy with a deep, guttural sound that sends your heart into a wild frenzy. The fingers digging into your side tighten their grip, and you can feel your pulse hammering in your ears. Then, a voice—quiet, deep, and haunting—whispers from the figure behind you.

“Momma…”

The word is drawn out, lingering in the air like a dark omen. Your stomach churns, and bile rises in your throat as the voice continues, each word dripping with an unnatural possessiveness.

“My momma… Only mine… Momma loves me… I love Momma. Will always be with Momma.”

The voice sends another wave of terror through you, the sickeningly sweet promise terrorizing you like a threat. Your body is frozen, muscles locked in place as you listen to the monstrous figure whisper its twisted affection. The nails press harder into your skin, almost as if they're trying to break through, and you can’t take it anymore. Every instinct screams at you to move, to escape, but you’re paralyzed by fear.

Finally, with a surge of desperation, you push yourself up, your body moving on its own. You twist around to face whatever horror is behind you, your heart pounding so hard you can feel it in your throat.

Lucas is sitting there, his blank eyes staring at you with that same unblinking intensity. His face is pale in the darkness, almost ghostly, and he mirrors your movements, sitting up as well. You’re gasping for air, trying to comprehend what just happened. The large hands that were gripping you so tightly are now just his small, childlike ones. But you could have sworn… you could have sworn the figure behind you was something else entirely—something monstrous, with limbs far too long and a presence far too overwhelming.

As you try to piece together what’s real, your breath comes in uneven gasps. Your mind races, struggling to make sense of the lingering fear. The room spins, and you stutter, trying to find the words.

“What… what the hell was that? Lucas… what…” But the words won’t come out, your voice failing you as your heart thunders in your chest.

Lucas tilts his head slightly, his expression unreadable. “What’s wrong, Mother? Did you have a nightmare?”

His voice is calm, innocent, but the question hangs in the air like a loaded gun. You stare at him, still trembling, your mind replaying the moments before you woke. The figure, the voice, the suffocating fear—all of it feels too real to be a dream. Yet here is Lucas, looking as he always does, though somehow different in the darkness.

You want to ask him, to demand answers, but the words are stuck in your throat. Instead, all you can do is nod numbly, hoping that if you just agree, if you just play along, the real nightmare will eventually end.

[fanficfunwrite]

Capital Princess 🔱🩵 (Part 1)

Finnick Odair × Fem!Reader

TW: mentions of sex and obviously more of the hunger games situations.

Finnick Odair had been brought to the Capitol many times before. His status as a victor from District 4, with his dazzling looks and charming smile, made him a favourite among the Capitol elite. They relished in parading him around like a prize, a jewel in the Capitol's crown. Each time, Finnick knew exactly what was expected of him: to play his part, to be the object of their desires. It was a role he had grown numb to, a twisted extension of his survival in the arena. But this time, as he was escorted through the opulent halls of the mansion, something felt different.

The mansion was grander than any place he'd ever been, with its towering ceilings, marble floors, and walls lined with rare artefacts. Finnick's senses were overwhelmed by the richness of it all, the wealth and power that oozed from every corner. He could almost taste it in the air. This was not just any mansion; this was the residence of President Snow himself.

As he was led through the corridors, Finnick felt a pang of dread. What did the President want with him now? His stomach churned with anxiety, his thoughts spiralling into dark possibilities. And then, as he rounded a corner, he saw her: Y/N Snow, President Snow's granddaughter. She was beautiful, with a gentle face that seemed out of place in a world filled with cruelty. Her eyes were soft and inviting, a stark contrast to the coldness Finnick had come to associate with the Capitol.

Y/N was around Finnick’s age, and there was an air of innocence about her that made him pause. She smiled at him, a sweet, genuine smile that Finnick hadn’t seen in the Capitol for a long time, if ever. His confusion deepened. What could she possibly want with him? His mind immediately jumped to the obvious conclusion, the one he had been conditioned to expect. This is what he was brought here for... sex. It was always for sex.

But as Y/N approached him, her demeanor was calm, almost serene. "Hello, Finnick," she greeted softly, her voice like a melody that cut through the tension in the room. "I’m so glad you’re here."

Finnick’s wariness remained, his body tense, ready for whatever was coming. “I think I know why I’m here,” he said cautiously, his eyes studying her face for any hint of the Capitol's usual twisted intentions.

To his surprise, she shook her head, her expression earnest. “No, we aren't doing that,” she said gently, her words surprising him. “We are going to have fun.”

Fun. Finnick blinked, trying to comprehend the word in this context. Fun wasn’t a concept he associated with the Capitol or its inhabitants, especially not in the context of these summons. He had expected the worst, prepared himself for the usual demeaning routine. But there was something about the way she spoke, the kindness in her voice, that made him pause. “What do you mean?” he asked, his voice cautious, his eyes narrowing slightly in confusion.

Y/N’s smile only widened. “I mean, I thought we could just... enjoy ourselves. Talk, maybe play some games, just... be normal for a little while.”

Normal. It was a word that felt foreign to Finnick, especially in a place like this. He wasn’t sure he even remembered what normal was. But he decided to go along with it, his curiosity piqued by this unexpected turn of events. They spent the evening playing simple games, ones that required nothing more than imagination and laughter. They talked about trivial things, shared stories that had nothing to do with the Hunger Games, with death or survival. For a few hours, it was as if they were just two young people, finding comfort in each other’s company, far away from the dark shadows of their reality.

As the night drew to a close, Finnick couldn’t help but ask, “Why did you bring me here, Y/N? I know what they usually want from me... But you, you’re different. Why?”

She looked at him, her eyes full of sincerity. “Because I wanted to be your friend, Finnick,” she said softly. “I’ve seen you on TV, in the Games, and here in the Capitol... I’ve seen how people use you, treat you like you’re just an object. But you’re not. You’re a person. And I want to know the real you, not just the version they show us.”

Finnick was taken aback by her honesty, her kindness. He wasn’t sure how to respond. He had never been seen this way before, not since he won his Games. He was always the victor, the charmer, the puppet on a string. But here, with Y/N, he felt like just Finnick again, even if only for a moment.

As the weeks went by, Finnick and Y/N continued to meet in secret. It became a refuge for both of them, a way to escape the suffocating expectations that surrounded them. They found themselves confiding in each other, sharing their fears and hopes, their dreams and regrets. Y/N would often ask Finnick about District 4, her eyes lighting up with curiosity every time he spoke about his home.

“Tell me more about District 4,” she urged one evening, her voice filled with genuine interest. “What’s it like there? What are the beautiful things? And... the bad things?”

Finnick took a deep breath, his mind drifting back to the shores of his district. “District 4 is... beautiful, in a way that’s hard to describe,” he began, his voice soft with nostalgia. “The sea is the most beautiful thing. The way the sun sets over the water, turning it all to gold... There’s nothing like it. And the smell of the salt in the air, the feel of the sand between your toes. It’s like the whole place is alive, breathing. The people there, they’re tough, but they’re also... kind, in their own way. They look out for each other. We had to, especially after the Games took so many of us.”

Y/N listened intently, her eyes never leaving his face. “And the bad things?” she asked gently, sensing the pain in his voice.

Finnick hesitated, the memories flooding back in a wave of darkness. “The Games... they took so much from us. From me. Even before I won, I lost so much. And after... the Capitol didn’t let me go. They made sure I remembered who was in control. The peacekeepers, the fear... the way we’re forced to live, always under the Capitol’s thumb. That’s the worst part. The way they strip away your freedom, your dignity.”

Y/N reached out, her hand covering his, a silent offer of comfort. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I hate what my grandfather does. I hate what he makes people like you go through. I wish... I wish there was something I could do to change it.”

Finnick looked at her, his eyes searching her face. “What’s it like, being his granddaughter?” he asked, genuinely curious. “Living in this... palace, surrounded by all this wealth and power?”

Y/N sighed, her expression turning sombre. “It’s not as wonderful as it might seem. It’s like living in a cage, Finnick. Everyone is always watching, always judging. People are so fake with me, always saying what they think I want to hear because of who my grandfather is. I can’t trust anyone. And... I hate knowing that everything I have comes from so much suffering, from people like you who have to live in fear and pain because of him.”

Finnick felt a pang of sympathy for her, realising that in her own way, Y/N was as much a prisoner of the Capitol as he was. “You’re different, Y/N,” he said softly. “I never thought I’d find someone like you here, in the heart of all this.”

They continued to meet, their friendship deepening with each encounter. It wasn’t long before friendship turned into something more. There was a warmth in Y/N’s presence that Finnick found himself drawn to, a lightness that made the darkness of his reality a little more bearable. He found himself looking forward to their secret meetings, the stolen moments where they could just be themselves, away from prying eyes.

As their bond grew stronger, so did their feelings for each other. They began to steal glances, their hands brushing accidentally, sending electric shivers down Finnick’s spine. He knew the risks of what they were doing, of letting his heart get involved. But he couldn’t help it. Y/N was a breath of fresh air in a world that had long since suffocated him.

One evening, as they sat under a blanket of stars in a hidden garden within the mansion grounds, Finnick finally gave in to his feelings. He reached out, gently cupping her face with his hand. “Y/N...” he began, his voice barely a whisper. “I... I think I’m falling for you.”

Y/N’s eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat. She had been waiting to hear those words, fearing them and craving them all at once. “Finnick,” she breathed, her hand covering his. “I feel the same. I’ve tried to fight it, to keep it hidden, but... I can’t anymore.”

Their lips met in a soft, tender kiss, a moment of pure, untainted bliss in a world that seemed intent on tearing them apart. From that night on, they were inseparable, sneaking around the mansion, stealing kisses and sharing whispered confessions. They knew they had to be careful, that if anyone found out, there would be consequences. But for the first time in what felt like forever, Finnick and Y/N felt alive, as if they had found a piece of themselves that had been missing in the darkness. They continued to meet in secret, in hidden corners of the mansion or secluded spots in the lush gardens, their bond growing stronger with every shared smile and stolen kiss.

Finnick had never felt this way before. With Y/N, he wasn’t the Capitol’s puppet, not the charming victor paraded around for entertainment or manipulation. He was just a boy, lost in the eyes of a girl who saw past all of that. She was a sanctuary from the storm that raged both outside and within him. And he knew that she felt the same. In Y/N’s presence, the weight of being President Snow’s granddaughter seemed to lift. She laughed more freely, her smile genuine and unforced, not the polite mask she wore for the rest of the Capitol.

One evening, after a particularly close call with a servant who had nearly caught them together, they found themselves back in their favourite hiding spot—a small, forgotten alcove in the east wing of the mansion, hidden behind a heavy curtain. It was dimly lit by the soft glow of a single candle Y/N had smuggled from her chambers, casting flickering shadows on the walls.

Finnick held Y/N close, his arms wrapped around her as they sat on the cold stone floor. He could feel her heart beating against his chest, a steady rhythm that matched his own. “Y/N,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the silence that surrounded them, “do you ever think about... getting away from here? From all of this?”

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes reflecting the flickering candlelight. “Every day,” she admitted softly. “I dream about it. About what it would be like to just... be free. To not be a Snow, not to be trapped by the Capitol’s expectations. To go somewhere no one knows who we are, where we could just be ourselves.”

Finnick’s heart ached at her words. He knew that feeling all too well. The desire to escape, to be free from the chains that bound them both in different ways. “We could,” he murmured, the idea forming in his mind even as he spoke. “We could find a way to leave, together. We could start over somewhere far away from here.”

Y/N’s eyes widened at his suggestion, her breath catching in her throat. “But Finnick,” she began, her voice trembling with a mixture of hope and fear, “how could we? My grandfather... he would never let us go. And even if we managed to escape, he would find us. He always finds a way.”

Finnick knew she was right. President Snow was a man who held onto power with an iron grip, and he would never willingly let his granddaughter go, especially not with a victor from the districts. But the thought of leaving, of being free with Y/N, was a light in the darkness, a hope he hadn’t dared to entertain until now. “We’d have to be careful,” he agreed, “but we could plan it out. Find a way to disappear, to make sure no one knows where we’ve gone. I don’t know how yet, but... I can’t stand the thought of you being trapped here forever. Of us being apart.”

Y/N’s gaze softened, and she reached up to cup Finnick’s face in her hands. “I don’t want to be apart from you either,” she whispered. “You’ve given me something I never thought I’d have—a chance to feel... alive. To be loved for who I am, not for who I’m supposed to be.”

Finnick leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead. “Then we’ll find a way,” he promised, his voice filled with determination. “For us. For our future.

They spent the next few weeks discussing their plans in hushed tones, mapping out potential routes to escape, and talking about places they could go where the Capitol’s reach might not be as strong. It was dangerous, reckless even, but the idea of freedom kept them going, kept their spirits alive in a world that had tried so hard to crush them.

But with every plan they made, the reality of their situation weighed heavily on them. President Snow’s influence was vast, his reach seemingly endless. And Finnick knew that leaving wouldn’t just be a matter of slipping away unnoticed. It would mean breaking free from the Capitol’s grip entirely, something that no one had ever truly done.

One day, as they sat together on a bench in the garden, Y/N turned to Finnick with a serious expression. “Finnick, there’s something I need to tell you,” she began, her voice low and cautious. “Something I’ve been thinking about for a while now.”

Finnick’s heart skipped a beat, fearing the worst. “What is it?” he asked, his voice steady despite the anxiety bubbling in his chest.

Y/N took a deep breath, her eyes meeting his with a resolve he hadn’t seen before. “I want to talk to my grandfather,” she said slowly. “About you. About us.”

Finnick’s eyes widened in shock. “Y/N, that’s too dangerous. If he finds out—”

“He already knows, Finnick,” she interrupted gently, her voice calm. “He’s not a fool. He’s known something was different for a while now. I’ve seen the way he looks at me, the questions he asks. I think... I think he’s testing me. Seeing how far I’ll go. And I need to show him that I’m not afraid, that I’m not going to just sit back and let him dictate my life forever.”

Finnick felt a surge of fear for her. He knew how ruthless Snow could be, how he used fear and manipulation to maintain control. “Y/N, you don’t know what he’s capable of. He’s not someone you can reason with.”

“I know,” she said, squeezing his hand reassuringly. “But I have to try. For us. For a chance at a future where we don’t have to hide anymore.”

Finnick nodded slowly, his heart heavy with worry but also filled with admiration for her bravery. “Just promise me you’ll be careful,” he whispered, pulling her close. “Promise me you won’t do anything reckless.”

“I promise,” Y/N replied softly, resting her head against his chest. “I won’t lose you, Finnick. Not now. Not ever.”

The next day, Y/N requested a private audience with her grandfather. The tension in the mansion was palpable as she made her way to his study, her heart pounding in her chest. She knew this could go horribly wrong, but she also knew she had to take this risk. For Finnick. For herself.

When she entered the study, President Snow was sitting behind his large, imposing desk, a faint smile playing on his lips as he regarded her. “Y/N, my dear,” he greeted, his voice smooth and deceptively warm. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Y/N took a deep breath, steeling herself. “I want to talk to you about Finnick Odair,” she began, her voice steady despite the fear clawing at her insides. “I care about him, Grandfather. More than I’ve ever cared about anyone. And I know you don’t approve, but... I can’t help how I feel.”

Snow’s smile faded slightly, his eyes narrowing as he studied her. “You’re right, I don’t approve,” he said coldly. “Finnick Odair is a distraction, a toy for the Capitol’s amusement. Nothing more.”

“He’s more than that,” Y/N insisted, her voice gaining strength. “He’s a person, with thoughts and feelings and dreams. Just like you and me. And he deserves to be treated with respect, not as some plaything to be used and discarded.”

Snow’s expression darkened, his gaze icy. “You’re treading on dangerous ground, Y/N,” he warned, his voice a low growl. “Remember who you are. Remember where your loyalties lie.”

“My loyalties are to what’s right,” Y/N shot back, her anger flaring. “And what you’re doing to Finnick, to all the victors, is wrong. It’s cruel. And I won’t be a part of it anymore.”

President Snow’s eyes bore into hers, his jaw clenched in anger. “You forget yourself,” he said quietly, a dangerous edge to his voice. “You forget who gives you everything you have, who protects you from the consequences of your own foolishness.”

Y/N took a step forward, her gaze unwavering. “I’m not a child anymore, Grandfather. And I’m not afraid of you. I love Finnick, and I won’t let you take that away from me.”

There was a long, tense silence as Snow regarded her, his face unreadable. Finally, he spoke, his voice soft but filled with menace. “You’ve made your choice then,” he said slowly. “But know this, Y/N: there are consequences to defiance. And you will face them.”

Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest, but she refused to back down. “So be it,” she replied firmly. “I’m ready to face whatever comes. As long as I have Finnick by my side.”

Snow’s expression remained cold, calculating. “We shall see,” he murmured, a chilling smile curling at the corners of his lips. “We shall see.”

Y/N left the study, her hands shaking with adrenaline and fear. She knew she had just made a powerful enemy, but she also knew she had done the right thing. And no matter what happened next, she wouldn’t regret it.

Y/N returned to Finnick's side, her resolve hardening with every step she took away from her grandfather's study. She had confronted President Snow and spoken her truth, and though the consequences loomed over her, she felt a sense of freedom she hadn't known before. When she saw Finnick waiting for her in the hidden alcove, the worry in his eyes evident, she couldn’t help but smile despite everything.

“What happened?” Finnick asked, his voice tense with concern as he pulled her into his arms. “Are you alright?”

Y/N nodded, resting her head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. “I told him,” she whispered. “I told him about us, about how I feel. He wasn’t happy, but I don’t care. I’m tired of hiding. I’m tired of being afraid.”

Finnick’s arms tightened around her, his heart swelling with a mixture of fear and admiration. “You’re so brave, Y/N,” he murmured. “I just hope... I hope he doesn’t do something to hurt you because of this.”

Y/N pulled back slightly to look up at him, her eyes filled with determination. “Let him try,” she said fiercely. “I’m not afraid of him anymore. We’ll find a way to be together, Finnick. No matter what.”

But as the days turned into weeks, the reality of their situation weighed heavily on both of them. President Snow had made it clear that he would not tolerate any disobedience, and Y/N knew he would be watching her even more closely now. They had to be more careful than ever, stealing moments together when they could, always aware that the Capitol’s eyes were on them.

Then, the announcement came. The 75th Hunger Games, the third Quarter Quell, would be different from any that had come before. In a cruel twist, the Capitol decreed that the tributes would be chosen from the pool of existing victors, pulling them back into the nightmare they had fought so hard to escape. Finnick’s name was drawn from the pool of District 4 victors, sealing his fate.

Y/N’s heart shattered when she heard the news. The man she loved, the one who had already endured so much, was being sent back into the arena. She could hardly breathe as she watched Finnick’s face on the screen, his usual calm facade masking the turmoil she knew he felt inside. She knew that President Snow had orchestrated this, his way of punishing them both for their defiance.

Y/N managed to find a way to see Finnick before he left for the Capitol, sneaking into his quarters under the cover of night. When he saw her, he pulled her into a fierce embrace, holding her as if he might never let go. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “This is all my fault. If I hadn’t—”

“No,” Finnick interrupted gently, pulling back to look into her eyes. “This isn’t your fault, Y/N. This is Snow. He’s doing this to punish us, to remind us who’s in control. But we can’t let him win. I’m going to go into that arena, and I’m going to fight. Not just for me, but for you. For us.

Tears filled Y/N’s eyes as she cupped his face in her hands, her thumb brushing away the single tear that escaped down his cheek. “Just promise me you’ll come back,” she whispered, her voice filled with a mixture of desperation and hope. “Promise me you’ll survive this.”

Finnick leaned down, pressing his forehead against hers. “I promise,” he whispered. “I’ll do whatever it takes to come back to you.”

As they shared a final, lingering kiss, Y/N knew that their love had become a beacon of hope in a world that was intent on breaking them. No matter what happened, no matter how far apart they were, they would find a way back to each other.

---

The 75th Hunger Games began with the fanfare and brutality the Capitol was known for. Finnick entered the arena with a resolve hardened by the promise he made to Y/N. The arena was a nightmare, a maze of dangers designed to test the victors’ endurance and break their spirits. But Finnick fought with everything he had, driven by the thought of Y/N and the future they dreamed of together.

Meanwhile, in the shadows of the Capitol, Y/N’s resolve was put to the test. She had been approached by members of the rebellion, people who had seen her defiance against her grandfather and believed she could be an asset to their cause. At first, she had been hesitant, fearing the repercussions of getting involved in something so dangerous. But as she watched the Games unfold, saw the horrors that Finnick and the other tributes were being put through once again, she knew she couldn’t stay silent any longer.

Y/N joined the rebellion, using her position within the Capitol to gather information and help coordinate efforts to undermine the Games. She became a vital part of the underground network, her knowledge of the Capitol’s inner workings proving invaluable. She worked tirelessly, driven by the hope that if they could just bring down President Snow, they might finally have a chance at a life free from the Capitol’s tyranny.

As the Games wore on, the rebellion gained momentum, their ranks swelling with those who had grown tired of living under the Capitol’s oppressive rule. News of their efforts began to spread, and soon, the world was watching as a new hope began to take root.

Then came the moment that would change everything. The rebellion had managed to orchestrate an attack on the arena, a daring move to rescue the remaining tributes and strike a blow against the Capitol. Finnick was among those rescued, and as he was pulled from the arena and brought to safety, his thoughts immediately turned to Y/N.

He was taken to District 13, the hidden stronghold of the rebellion, where he was met with cheers and relief. But all he could think about was finding Y/N, holding her in his arms, and finally being free from the Capitol’s grasp.

When Y/N arrived at District 13, her heart raced with anticipation. She had heard that the rescue mission had been a success, that Finnick was among those saved. As she stepped off the transport, her eyes scanned the crowd, searching desperately for him. And then, she saw him.

Finnick pushed through the crowd, his eyes locking onto hers with a look of pure relief and joy. He reached her in a few long strides, sweeping her into his arms and holding her close, as if he were afraid she might disappear if he let go.

“You’re here,” he breathed, his voice filled with disbelief and wonder. “You’re really here.”

Y/N nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks as she clung to him. “I’m here,” she whispered. “I told you I’d find a way.”

They held each other tightly, the weight of the past months melting away in each other’s arms. The war was far from over, and there were still battles to be fought. But for now, in this moment, they had each other, and that was all that mattered.

Together, they were a force to be reckoned with, a symbol of hope and resistance in a world that had known only fear and oppression for too long. And as they stood there, surrounded by the flickering lights of District 13, they knew that no matter what came next, they would face it together, side by side, ready to fight for a future where they could finally be free.

Bit of a long one, hope you enjoyed

And thanks for reading 😊

[writingcold]

Neapolitan: A Continuance Part 3

Neapolitan: A Continuance

Part Three

A/N: Hello there.  After the smut, comes the plot.  Violet faces some pretty serious issues in this part.  There is an allusion to a death in this part and how Violet and Jake deal it.  The holidays are starting and brings with it so much fluff.  

Content warning: mentioning of a death, alcohol consumption (duh), pure, unadulterated fluff. 

Word count: 5300 approximately, please excuse errors. The wine gets the better of me at times.

     The heat was her constant.  Three months and three weeks into her return and her heart hurt.  Jake had been amazing.  While she was not able to contact him every day, he made himself available every time she did get a chance to video call.  She savored the times his brothers were there to talk with her.  He kept them away when she needed only him.  Their calls were filled with whispers of beauty and love and holiday joy to come.  The nights were long without him, even though it was without the anxiousness of her last tour, this time she seemed to be filled with a longing that took Violet no time to identify:  she simply missed Jake.

     News of who her significant other made the rounds.  Violet could not help the flush of interest from her work friends.  She was sure that since his job was so different from their own that it was what spurned the interest.  She was embarrassed that she could not really describe what he did other than being in a band and going around the world.  That yes, he was good, even cuing up her favorites of his songs to bring a smile in the clinic.

     The day had started off the same as every day- hot.  Hot dry wind.  Grit in her hair.  Grit in her face and teeth.  She walked towards the medical buildings only to find that it was silent.  No clattering of work.  No soft chatter.  No sound of shoes against the naked plywood flooring.  The air inside was heavy.  Violet breathed in the sense of dread that hung between the waves of silence.  Rio was the first person she saw walking from in between the opaque netting that had been pulled between the beds.  The woman’s face was blotchy, her eyes ruined as she looked up at Violet.

      She knew the look.  She knew the void that was in the woman’s eyes.  Her heart was already sloshing around when she caught sight of Dr. Wold, his tired features and slow walk towards a patient was immediately shelved when he made eye contact with the pregnant woman who would be his next patient.  She looked to see where Rio had disappeared to, only to find Umar waiting for her.  His warmth reached out to her as his hand closed on her wrist, asking for her to follow.  They walked out the back door, immediately moving to the shade of the patio that they had all worked on to install.

     “Umar?”  she asked, her friend’s hands squeezing her shoulders in a move that was supposed to be comforting. 

     “It’s Lulit, sweetie,”  he said in his deep, melodic tone.  “I’m so sorry.”

     Her brows pinched as his hands smoothed down from her shoulders to her wrists, to interlock with her hands.  There was no shifting, no time to digest.  Tears hit her cheeks as the pain crashed her chest.  The little girl’s smile flitted through her mind and her soul quaked at the loss.  Umar caught her as she buckled, her breath coming in stilted waves.  She had been at Lulit’s side the entire time, ensuring meds and comfort and distraction.  They had sent her to bed the previous night after sitting for nearly 30 hours when the meds were not working to keep the infection at bay.  

     Her whole shift was subdued.  Violet moved like she was walking through sand wearing concrete shoes.  Her heart ached each time she passed what was Lulit’s bed.  She smiled at the other patients, speaking softly, sharing stories and warm touches, but nothing quite stopped the hurt.  

     The evening brought more quiet.  Even the children were still and not playing like they normally would.  The dark pall that hovered over the small village muted the sun bleached homes.  She felt the need to go and lay down and not move.  Pushing into the bunk room, she stripped out of her scrubs and crawled into a soft shirt she had claimed as her own from Jake and shorts and lay down on top of her bunk.  She listened to the soft breathing and snores of those within the room as they slept.  She tried to picture Jake beside her, his breathing in her ear and his skin under the fingertips.  Biting into her lip, she could not stop the tide of emotion that washed over her.  It was the quietest that she had ever cried, nose into the strip of pillow, but the release loosened the pain that had taken residence in her chest.  She stared up at the ceiling, watching the fan turn in slow circles, moving her towards a haze that allowed her brain to rest.  

     Violet was out about an hour before her body lurched up from the bunk.  She looked at her watch.  Jake was in the States, somewhere.  Closing her eyes, she tried to figure what time it would be for him, what part of his day he would reside in.  Her spirit cinched at the notion that while he was on tour, Violet had no clue what his day was like and what he had to do for his work.  Regardless of her ignorance of his actual job, it would be only around noon.  She pictured that he would still be in bed, curled around a pillow, face warmed with sleep and a hard on that would be like stone.  His hair would be wild, flattened and stuck to one side and knotted and messy on the other.  His skin would smell warm, sensual.  His smile would be…

     Her heart began to pound with ache as a new wave of emotions washed over her.  It may not have been the first time she had to deal with the death of a patient, and not the youngest that she had suffered through.  It was the first time she was honestly open with her own emotions.  It was the first time she was honest to herself.  Lulit’s eyes flashed in her memory; the way they would shimmer with radiance and wonder when she interacted with anyone was to be cherished and followed as an example of how one should be no matter how hard life could be.  

     The thought of Jess’ smile as she practically ran over Sam at the wedding; or the way that the youngest Kizska’s face would light up whenever he has a moment to talk about what he knows better than anyone on the planet; the smile that Josh would flash when a thought or a word or two would catch his attention and he’d have to share; or Danny and the quietness that would coax that man’s warmth into the world was precious.  She turned her nose into her pillow once more as the pain of missing her friends that became her family in such a short period of time made her gasp at the breadth of it all.  Then to pile on her dear friends Max and Ollie and John and all the rest that she had known for years - those that filled her, tempered, soothed, comforted and held her together through the worst of her life without knowing what was going on until well after it was done.

     The wisp of a smile that had formed on Jake’s mouth at the wedding when he was talking about his romanticized view of being her grandma’s ‘something good’ blazed through everything.  The way he smiled during the ceremony when he looked at her but thought she did not know.  The way his body betrayed his smile any time she touched him. Her chin quivered as how his eyes filled with tears when she told him goodbye the first tour she left on, and the way his eyes filled with tears once more saying goodbye on the curb of the airport before leaving this time.  He had such a purity of soul that it touched her, despite the distance.   

      All of it whipped her back around to Lulit.  The girl with the undiluted joy that infected everyone around her was gone.  And yet - those around her, those she loved the most reflected the little one in the most tender manners that she could hold dear.  

     She rolled, looking at her watch and catching the time.  She had scheduled video chat time with Jake for the next day - a few more hours.  She could hold her heart together for that time.  Her eyes drifted open to stare up at the ceiling, at the fan that continued its lazy spin, at the netting that seemed to waft on the breeze of the room.  

     Somehow, she had fallen into a dreamless sleep, only to be awoken by her soft chime of an alarm a few hours later.  Violet silently grabbed her clean clothes and headed for the washroom.  The ache in her chest did not feel any better, but at least she could breathe.  Her eyes felt swollen and her mouth felt too dry as she cleaned herself up.  By the time she reached the clinic, she knew that she would have just enough time to get a cup of coffee before she could call out to Jake.  She welcomed a hug from Rio, followed by Umar.

     “Gonna talk to your handsome man this morning, yes?”  Umar sighed as he was pulling charts up on the laptops.

     “Damn right I am.  I’ll tell him you said hello,”  she said with a half smile.

     “Thank you, love,”  he replied without another look.

     Winding her way back to the tiny offices for privacy, she set her steaming cup down before flipping the laptop up and getting ready for her call.  She was sure she looked wrecked, but that did not really matter.  She just needed to see him.  See his smile and hear his voice.

     All cued up, she sat back and waited, coffee in hand, eyes locked to the corner of the screen.  She stared at the spot for so long that her vision began to blur into a thick haze.  When she glanced at her watch, the screen flashed and Jake was before her, a slightly tipsy smile on his face.  Her voice failed her as she melted at the sight of him.  Tears she thought she had rid herself of the night prior struck her face.  His expression immediately shifted into concern.

    “Violet, what happened?”  he asked softly, moving away from where his brothers were crashing around loudly.  “Shit - hold on.”

     “Where the fuck you goin’, Jake?  I wanna talk to-”  Sam’s voice cut out.

     “Shut it, prick,”  Jake yelled back as it seemed like he was escaping the chaos of the shared space.

     She wiped at her face, unable to stop the waterworks that betrayed her.  A nervous laugh bubbled out of her as she noticed that he was carrying her down the hall of their hotel.  He let out a pissed off huff as he struggled with the phone activated lock to his room, ending in an exasperated “fuck” when he thought he lost her connection.

     “I’m here,”  she said, giving up on stopping the overflow of emotions.

     “I’m going to try that again, baby,”  he remarked, pushing his way out to the balcony and lighting up a smoke.  “I”m sorry.  What happened?”

     Violet barely got Lulit’s name out before she had to cover her mouth from unleashing an ugly cry she was sure would bring Umar through the paper thin walls.  When she was able to see past the tears, Jake remained there, fixed to the screen, just watching.  After a few minutes, she dropped her chin, head in hands.

     “Vi, I’m so sorry,”  he whispered loud enough to be soothing, quiet enough to not cause a blow.  “I wish I could be there with you now.”

     She blew out a hard breath, reining herself in.  “Damn it - I did not mean to do this.  I swear, I thought I was done.”

     “It’s okay, just tell me about it.”

     Dragging in a breath, she started slow; explaining that the pretty little girl with a beautiful smile had declined after spiking a fever and infection.  By the end with her words rushed and mushy with emotion, she wrapped her arms around herself and just tried not to bawl.

    “Fuck, Jake, I want one of those,”  she remarked in a huff as he lit up another smoke.

    “This one's for you,”  he smiled before he breathed out a plume of smoke.

    “Okay, pretty boy, distract me.  Tell me all about what’s going on there.”

    He looked dead straight into the screen for a long moment, no expression, no movement except for the smoke wafting at his side.   Violet’s breath caught in a jagged hiccup before her eyes squeezed out a few more tears.

    “This sucks ass,”  he said quietly before taking another drag.  

    She laughed.  She started to laugh a horrid, high pitched laugh that she could not stop.  Every glance at the screen just made her laugh out more.  She wanted to crawl into the screen and wrap herself around him and never let go.  He carried her back into the room and poured himself out a whiskey before returning to his spot outside.

     He started talking about different spots they had been in over the past few days and how they actually got to get away for the day and just hike around a state park.  He talked about Josh nearly falling off stage - again- although he was sure he was just trying to freak out security.  Jess was supposed to join them, but her brother Craig and his wife had their first baby.  The word rolled out of his mouth, shooting Violet right in the ovaries.  He talked about some girl that Danny had met that has him all over the place.

     Wiping her face once more, she was happy to find that her cheeks were no longer wet and her heart felt lighter.  Somehow, be it sleep deprivation or some form of miracle, Violet could feel him and his warmth tucked around her like a blanket as he spoke.  A few more breaths.  A few more wipes of her eyes she was sure were completely destroyed.  

     “Do you have a shift this morning?”  he asked before taking a sip of his drink.

     She shook her head.  He proceeded to fill her in on his day, the tour, how they’d be heading to Florida after a few canceled shows due to storm damage the following week.  He joked that Sam wanted to go hiking with alligators, but Danny slapped that notion out of his head.  She let him talk, filling her space with just the cadence of his voice seemed to soothe her nerves.  

     “So, Josh has decided to join a cult,”  he said, his eyes dreamily turned up.  “And not just any cult.  This one was started by a fan and yeah… so he’s now the leader and they worship his ass and contemplate dick size, pray for hours about how to get that cock to lay just right to make the fangirls enhance it in pictures and make daisy chains for him to wear on stage.”

     Violet felt her mouth drop.  “What?”

     “There you are.  Hey baby,”  he laughed.  “You glazed over there for a while.”

     Her eyes fluttered a bit as she realized she was on the verge of sleep.  “Sorry.  Yesterday just took a lot of me.”

     “I know.  I wish I could be there with you,”  he said, flashing a million dollar smile.

     “Nine more weeks,”  she sighed.  “Oh, um about that - the team was told that we’d be on a six month break without exception when we get home this time to get us back into the rotation.  It’ll be modified, so just a few days a week where I’ll have to be in on training sessions, but online only.”

     “Six months?  There’s a lot of trouble we can get into in six months.”

     The way his voice dropped low touched her core just right.  They said their goodbyes that stretched for another ten minutes before she finally disconnected the call.  In the silence of the tiny office, she could feel the crush and weight of the moment.  She dragged her bottom lip into her mouth in an effort to relegate the torrent that hit her mind.

     Umar tapped and opened the flimsy door.  His large dark eyes warmed her with light.  She could survive nine weeks.  This stint was so different from the last.  The contact was tethering, reminding her that he was real; that he loved her and that she fell a little bit more after each call, text and video chat, was very real.  He waved her out and they snuck outside to have a shared smoke.

     She was able to find laughter within days.  Peace within the week.  Lulit’s remembrance was strong.  The little girl’s light was not going to be extinguished.  Not fully.  Not ever.

November

     Charlie welcomed her with an open coat and a huge hug.  Her dad was all chatters as they drove home, despite the four in the morning arrival and ice/sleet/snow mix that had threatened her fight from Chicago.  He was excited for the holiday and having all of his family home and in the same state for once that he could not stop his high beam even though she was threatening sunglasses and a privacy screen.  

      Reaching home, she was surprised that there was no snow, but thankful that her parents had stopped by to turn the heat on.  To go from seventies to thirties and then single digits in hours was jarring.  They stopped at a diner on the way out of Grand Rapids for coffee and actual food.  Jake was texting from LA and she was sure he had yet to actually sleep for the day.  She smiled into her cup of coffee as her dad asked about her fella.

     “I don’t know, Vi, you’re too old to say you have a boyfriend,”  Charlie remarked with a raised eyebrow.  “What the hell am I supposed to call him?”

     “My ‘fella’?  Sounds ancient, Dad,”  she laughed as tapped his leg under the table.

     They giggled over their toast and eggs.  It was just right to be sitting with her dad like they used to when she was little.  He preferred taking her for covert breakfast runs since she was happy with whatever he ordered and not picky about anything.  Or at least that was what she told herself to frame herself as the favorite child.  She was pretty sure that Travis was their dad’s standard lunch date, and Ava was his supper princess while they were growing up.  

     “Oh, by the way, I have to say I take issue with you, Father,”  she jabbed as her phone chimed with another text, this time a picture of Jake with his brothers behind him waving wildly.  

     “Why’s that?”  Charlie drawled before taking a bite of his toast, looking at the picture as she held up the phone to him.

     “You told him to ‘be the good’?  Really?  No context or anything?”

     Charlie laughed one of his big belly laughs.  “I was trying to be intimidating.  I would say that it worked.”

      She blushed.  “Yeah.  Yeah it did.”

      “When do they get in?”

      “Well, they get home to Nashville Wednesday.  I’ll fly down there next Sunday for a few weeks.  I did not want to miss seeing little Princess Olivia or Sir Quentyn,”  she said with a nod.

      “I appreciate that you wanted to stay, especially after… everything.  It means a lot to your mom, but to me, too.”   

      Home was like sliding into a veil of warmth.  Charlie helped her get her bags in just as it started to snow heavily.  He had already been over to turn the heat on and to make sure everything was fine, so she just had to come in and relax.  He even made sure that there was milk in the fridge, coffee on the counter, and her mom made sure linens were on her bed.  She kissed him with a thank you for spoiling her.  She would have a day before Ava arrived, so plenty of time to empty out her stuff and get her set up in the room downstairs.  

      She was in bed when Jake called to say goodnight.  He grinned to discover he was propped up on his pillow when she switched it over to a video chat.  Violet said she just needed to listen to him, saying it made her feel closer to home now that they were at least in the same country.  They talked about her flying down to Nashville and perhaps going out to Savannah for a long weekend.  She fought to keep her eyes open.  Surrounded in her soft quilt and sheets on a real mattress, wrapped in his t-shirt and his voice in her ears, Violet felt herself relax in a way that she had not been able to for months.  She felt her legs betray her first, each little knot and ache sank into the bed.  Her back sighed - actually sighed over the feel of her bed, not the hard as fuck slab that she had been sleeping on for six months.  The stress in her shoulders melted away.  Rubbing at her eyes, she tried to stifle a yawn, but failed.       “Sleepy, pretty girl?”  he asked softly.

      “I don’t want to sleep when you’re not here,”  she whispered.

      He laughed gently.  “I’m here.  I’ll stay.  Just close those eyes, baby.”

      “Jake?”

      “Yeah?”

      She had meant to say ‘love you’, and could have sworn she had, but the warmth and comfort of the spell he had woven around her dragged her into slumber.  She woke the next day to her phone lost in the blankets and a whole series of texts of pictures that he took of her sleeping.  He had simply put ‘see, I was here’.  

     Ava was a blessing.  She helped get everything back into place over a ton of wine and chocolate and talked about boys and jobs and the shitty girls that were so, so mean without cause at work.  They helped their mom with Thanksgiving prep the whole week, with sister-in-law Riley and the kids going bonkers in the snow.  They decided Arizona people were weird when it came to anything other than hot and dry or cold and dry.  Violet was reconnecting with her family in a way that she had dreamed of, especially over the last six months.

     Charlie was in his element on Thanksgiving.  Football boomed on the TV.  Family was milling around in the droves.  It was not just the immediate family either, but the uncles and aunts and grandparents and cousins from both sides of the family.  There were children everywhere.   Violet bumped into Will with an overwhelmed expression.  Big brother came to the rescue, pulling her outside with the heavy coats and drinks.

     “You look good, Vi,”  he said as she took a long, slow breath.  “The new job looks good on you.”

      “Thank you,”  she said with a little curtsy.  “It has been quite the experience so far.  Your kids are getting so big.  I can’t.  They were just babies the last time I saw them.”

      Catching up with William was great.  Violet’s eyes moved to the window seeing a burst of activity amongst so many people with so much food that dictated coma status.  Figuring that it was probably Tony and Cara arriving with a vat of booze.  

     “So, tell me about the guy, Vi,”  Travis said, opening his beer.

     “Well, Jake is in Nashville with his brothers and family,”  she started with a nod.  “I think you’d like him.  He’s pretty great.  Genuine.”

       Glancing back inside, she noticed Charlie and Tony at the side of the kitchen talking.  Her assumption confirmed, she turned her attention back to her brother as they slowly caught up.  Will was elusive.  His job kept him down south and did not allow for the family to visit often, so like the rest of her family, she was happy for the opportunity for some big brother time.  The remainder of the evening sped by and Violet felt like she was once more grounded in the reality of home.  

      Heavy snow had started to fall sometime in the night.  Violet found herself at ten in the morning shoveling through nearly a foot of the heavy shit along with Ava.  She let her little sister stay on the deck while she was trying to get to the blower in the shed.  Despite feeling like a stuffed marshmallow, she got to work, earbuds in place and music on full bore and snow flying.  The playlist that Jake had created for her kept her company as she marched up and down the driveway, wishing she could feel her feet and fingertips.  At the hour mark, she was cursing herself for being such a priss.  Ava was waving at her a steaming cup in her hand.

     “Chocolate - spiked!”  she yelled out as Violet paused.

     Rolling the blower up the drive for the final pass, she quickly made her way to the deck.  The heat of the liquid burned down to her belly, but it was a welcomed heat.  They decided the channel that Violet had made for the drive was enough to get the car up and back and that it was time to be done.  Ava tucked into a book while Violet put away the implements and trudged inside to shower.  

     She stayed under the spray until she was pruney, not feeling guilty at all and figuring it would curb much of the ache that she was already feeling in her shoulders.  As she dried her hair, she could have sworn she heard Ava talking to someone but figured it was probably her boyfriend on the phone.  Dressed, she walked down the stairs with the thought of a hot coffee being the bestest thing in the world at the moment.

      The smell of Jake’s cologne hit her nose and Violet felt hollow because of it.  She had had a stray thought at the previous night’s dinner that perhaps, just perhaps, Jake would surprise her and show up unannounced.  It had been her last thought as she drifted off that maybe it should be her turn and see if there was an earlier flight to Nashville.  Treading into the kitchen like it was a fever dream, she prepped a pod and reached for her cup.  She should call him.  Wait - a text would mean that he wouldn’t be bothered if he was with his parents, or if he was working.  She drummed her fingers on the counter a moment until Ava’s laugh drew her back to her body.  Turning, it was the soft wave of brown hair that grabbed her eye.  Her stomach dropped.  Shuffling forward, it was the twinkle of chocolate and smirk of a mouth that tripped her heart and elicited a soft laugh.

      “Fucking christ,”  she cursed as Jake stood up from the couch in the living room.

      “A little distracted?”  he asked as he walked towards her.

      “I must be,”  she whispered as he stepped into her as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

      The room fell away as he kissed her.  The heat of his frame soaked into her skin and claimed her in his own way.  It was merely a moment, but she felt like half of her had returned to sharpen her entire planet into what it was supposed to be.  He glanced back at her sister as he was walking towards the stairs.  

      “Sorry - just going to be a few moments,”  he said smoothly as Violet laughed like an idiot.  

      He tugged her gently up the stairs.  Violet felt like she was walking through a dream.  The moment her feet landed on the floor, he moved faster, dragging her back into the bedroom, their bodies pressed together.  His mouth sought hers in a searing kiss.  His tongue danced with hers as his hands roamed over her like he was making sure she was real.  The soft sounds he made struck her ears, making her want him all the more.  He pulled back just enough so that he hovered just over her lips.  

     “Hey,”  he whispered.

     She couldn’t form words.  He had robbed her of any sense.  Instead, she slid her fingers around his neck to pull him close once more.  Violet took the moment to savor.  Savor him, his body against hers, his lips, his sound.  Her heart raged within her chest and her mind raced with him.  

     “I couldn’t wait.  I didn’t want to watch you fall asleep on that stupid phone again,”  he whispered as he trailed a line of sloppy kisses down her throat.  

     She dragged in an excited breath.  They were of the same mindset.  “I didn’t want to be selfish,”  she whispered.  “I wanted you to be with me.  I wanted to be with you…”

     He reclaimed her mouth, kissing her deeply like he could crawl inside of her.  She fought to keep in step with him.  Somehow, the ferocity of the moment within slowly turned to a simmer, their touches slowing, their breaths becoming more tender.  Violet tucked her chin so that she could finally look at him, taking in the slant of his cheek, the way his mustache hairs were curled from her lips.  The corner of his mouth tugged as he realized that she stared at his lips.

      “Damn, you’re so beautiful,”  he whispered against her cheek as he ghosted his face across hers.  

     Her heart screamed in love and adoration and all the gross, sappy shit that she swore she would swear was never real.  Every damn book, movie, song that ever professed anything syrupy sweet in regards to love was nothing compared to the moment she was experiencing.  It all made her laugh suddenly.  All the foolishness, all the concern and angst, all the fear that she had felt; all of it made her laugh out loud.  

     Jake cupped her cheek, the pad of his thumb dragging gently across her cheek.  Apparently, there were tears she did not realize she had.  He smiled at her, but there was a question in his eyes.

     “What?”  he whispered before planting tiny kisses under her eyes, following the bridge of her nose.

     She tucked his hair behind his ears.  “Nothing.  I’m just in love with you.”

     He hummed.  “Would it be rude of us to ignore your very sweet sister?”

     “Probably.  We’re supposed to head over to Mom and Dad’s in a bit,”  she sighed.  “Think you can survive a little longer?”

     “Think you can?  You’re like all sap and heart eyes,”  he joked, smoothing her hair back.

      Another wave of giggles and tears washed over her.  “I know.  You’ve wrecked me.”

     Tenderly, he kissed her, dragging her bottom lip in between his.  “I guess we both are.”

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[thewayshedreamed]

The Haunting

Elorcan War AU

This Elorcan au has been sitting with me for a while, and I think I’ve managed to get it the way I wanted it. My intention was to have it ready for Elorcan Week - AU day, but I wasn’t able to get it done in time. 

Regardless, I thought I would share it with you. Enjoy! 

Word count: ~ 2.6k

——————————————————————————

The sun always took too long to set. Since Lorcan had started sneaking into her quarters after dark, the days seemed to stretch on indefinitely, yet Elide often chastised herself for wishing them along. They’d been limited from the start, and with each one that passed, Elide felt a subtle sense of dread fill her veins. She had no doubt that the subtly would wear off quickly in the coming months.

They shouldn’t have started seeing each other, but in the cruel ways of their world, something had felt nearly magnetic between them upon their first meeting. Of course, the two hadn’t realized they paid their respective dues to opposite sides of the war when they had made introductions just inside the forest line near Morath. The war had rendered it a shadow of a grand city, but beyond that, the moment had taken on an almost surreal quality that marked a certain significance. The background had become inconsequential to the point of fading out of focus entirely, so although she knew they’d met on familiar ground, she wouldn’t have been able to tell a soul the exact location if under cruel and unusual torture.

Lorcan had ambled into her life; unexpected, unwelcome, and undeniable somehow. Every free, waking moment they had, they spent it together. Some nights they spent walking through the forest, illuminated by the bright moonlight alone, until they settled on a blanket in their chosen clearing. Other times, they would take a similar route and lounge near a creek, talking about nothing and everything until the early hours of morning.

Parting was painful, only made bearable by the surge of adrenaline that came from concerns of being discovered together. Elide was Lord Vernon’s only niece— his heir— so she could imagine the pandemonium occasioned by being seen with a Commander within Doranelle’s Special Forces. Her uncle, the insufferable pain he was, played the Duke’s game, searching for various artifacts of unknown significance. The queen Lorcan served was suspicious of how those same artifacts may be used in the future if they managed to fall into the same hands and had dispatched her own forces. All in the name of protection, she’d insisted.

Motives all-around felt increasingly insignificant the more time Elide and Lorcan spent together. Their conditions always hanged overhead, looming over the brief intervals of joy they managed to carve out of the dark corners of the forest, but they had long since decided they would figure everything out together when the time came. Until then, they expended the majority of their energy in making time to see the other without the imminent risk of imprisonment or worse.

The lamp near her bed cast the room in long shadows when the sun eventually disappeared behind the mountains. Like clockwork, a faint scratch ran across the wooden door, followed by three swift knocks and a tap of the door handle. Only one man would know to alert Elide to his arrival in such a way, and only one woman would know that answering the call felt like coming home.

She threw the bed linens aside and padded over to the door. With practiced ease, she unfastened each lock and jerked the door open. Lorcan braced his weight with a palm against the doorjamb, his other hand tucked tightly into the pocket of his uniform. His eyes snapped to Elide’s upon hearing the latch, and like a gust of wind, he was inside her room and wrapped around her.

He lifted her against his body, and as per their routine, Elide wrapped her legs tightly around his waist to allow Lorcan the opportunity to fasten each of the locks. His own safety was never a concern, but he wouldn’t take unnecessary risks with Elide. Spending time together had met his threshold for threats to her safety ten times over.

“Hi,” he breathed, wrapping his arms tightly around her and moving toward her bed. “I’m sorry it took a while tonight. We had a briefing.”

His voice held a weight that wasn’t necessarily uncharacteristic for him, but it was uncommon. Most things that inspired the tone weren’t able to be shared between them, so Elide only heard it enough to know it meant his team’s briefing hadn’t been a celebration.

“It’s alright.” She kissed him, sliding her hands into his dark hair. Lorcan lowered them to the bed, Elide pulled across his lap. “You’re here now.”

His flinch registered with the grace of gunfire. Elide pulled back to scan her eyes over his face, but he gave very little away. His hands roamed liberally over her back, her hips, her thighs. The touches were a claiming of sorts, but the mystery remained around why it felt necessary. Her heart belonged to Lorcan irrevocably. Surely, he had to know.

His hands— large, and incredibly capable— lifted to remove hers gently from his hair. He held them both in her lap, running his thumbs over her knuckles.

“We’re moving on,” he began, the words barely audible. His mouth formed a grim line, and his brows pulled together. “There hasn’t been enough activity nearby, and Maeve wishes to keep us several steps ahead.”

Elide blinked, took a steadying breath. They had always known the day would come, but they still had months ahead of them yet. Why his queen had made such an impulsive decision to shift them made no sense. Their long-term plan was a poorly crafted knot of certain intentions, but they had nothing concrete. It would take weeks to formulate something feasible, longer still for everything to play out as necessary.

“You can’t,” she blurted, no consideration of her tone.

Lorcan’s lips pulled into a sad smile. “If there was any way that I could stay with you, I would have already set things in motion. I tried to push for a delay, but it was fruitless.”

Tears burned her eyes, spilling over in droves without a chance to stop them. “But, our plans. We’re nowhere near ready. I won’t be able to disappear without some sort of reasonable explanation— not without my uncle sending out a search party upon realizing I’m no longer here. We have no time to stagger our departures, and people will grow suspicious.”

He squeezed her hands, his calluses rough against her soft, fair skin. “I know.”

The silence stretched an eternity, although it was more likely seconds. A sob tore from Elide’s throat, and she forced a deep breath. Disbelief clouded her thoughts, but even more painfully, stark realization followed closely behind.

“How long do we have?” She hated how small she sounded, how vulnerable she felt.

Lorcan’s throat bobbed as he fixed his stare over her shoulder. “We leave with the sunrise.”

She had known from the intensity of their conversation that it was planned to occur soon, but she assumed they may have had a week; days at the absolute worst. Both intervals seemed naive and optimistic in comparison to their reality of mere hours. Her eyes squeezed shut.

“No,” she whispered, her head shaking of its own accord. “I can’t do this— can’t be here— without you.”

“Elide.” He lowered her hands to cup her petite face between his own. His thumbs wiped a mindless rhythm over her cheeks, but her tears weren’t so easily redirected. “This isn’t goodbye. We will have the life we’ve talked about.”

She shook her head, unable to accept such a rapid disruption in her life. “Where will you be? I’ll figure it out. I’ll wait a couple of weeks and start my travel in your direction.”

Lorcan’s grip tightened on her cheeks. His breath hitched, and when Elide opened her eyes, his stare was as fierce as she had ever seen it. “You’ll do no such thing.”

“Were you not listening?” she demanded, pulling away from his touch. “I can’t go back to how my life was before you. I’ll follow you.”

“Please don’t do this,” Lorcan begged, his brow furrowed in frustration. “You can’t follow me— not alone. It wouldn’t be safe, and there’s no guarantees that we wouldn’t change directions on a single bit of intel. I’d never rest for worrying about you.”

“So, I should do nothing?” Her words were louder than she intended, but it wasn’t frustration that motivated her. It was desperation, pure and undiluted. “What about—”

“Yes,” he insisted, his voice firm. “The best thing you can do for me— for us— is nothing. You staying safely in one place is our best bet right now. As soon as this mission resolves, I will find my way back to you. I will always find you.”

Fresh tears streaked her cheeks, and as if it pained him to keep his distance, Lorcan pulled her body tightly against his. His hold was fierce, unyielding, and Elide barely managed to pull back enough to slant her mouth over his.

—

A quiet gasp tore through Elide’s throat when she awoke. Her eyes remained closed, thank the gods, and allowed her to continue the pretense of sleep a while longer. The noises within her chambers clued her to the time of day, with several maids moving about for their early morning tasks. Her dream had left her emotionally raw in the way it always did and served as a blatant reminder of the gaping wound that masqueraded as her heart.

She hadn’t even made it through the moments for which she yearned so viscerally.

Lorcan tracing each soft curve of her body with gentle fingers. How he tangled those same fingers in her hair each time he claimed her mouth. His dark brown eyes looking at her as if she was something holy. His large hands gripping her ribs to lift her and easing her slowly over his length. The way he murmured, I love you, against her lips because she never got enough of how the words tasted.

Tears welled behind her eyes, and she tried vehemently to keep them contained. It had been over 7 years since that last night together, and sometimes, Elide wished she could muster an ounce of anger to cushion the blow of the memories that never seemed to fade.

She had believed his promise. A small part of her continued to hold out hope that Lorcan would find his way back to her, but it dwindled with each passing year. He had never shared his target location with her. Part of his reasons involved the required discretion of his position, and the rest involved his concerns that Elide would follow him despite his adamance that she didn’t.

She listened for news of his company often, but sources for information on Doranelle’s elite forces were in short supply. Lorcan hadn’t written to her, but she couldn’t exactly blame him for the caution. Even if he had, she wouldn’t have received them. At least, not for long. Within months of his departure from Morath, Perranth had yielded entirely to Duke Perrington’s control. Her uncle had decided it best to relocate and brought her along so that he could best supervise her movement, she assumed. Elide had no clue if Lorcan could locate her, even if he’d returned to Morath to find her quarters abandoned.

Seven damned years without him, and the toll it took showed in numerous ways. Elide hadn’t laughed beyond forced politeness since Lorcan had walked away from her, and she cursed silently at her disturbed sleep. When she dreamed, that joy felt close again; not the faint echo tarnished by distance and time. Her only hope for even the briefest reprieve from her bone-deep weariness was in sleep.

She breathed deeply, filling her lungs with air and letting it out on one long, controlled exhale. The dream lingered in snapshots, but the happiness and the ethereal quality began to fade at an alarming rate. She wished she could hold onto them rather than countdown the days until Lorcan found her again.

I will always find you. I love you.

The way it felt when their bodies came together in a rhythm they’d committed to muscle memory. Lorcan’s grip pressing small bruises into her skin; along her ribs, her waist, her thighs. Their hips rocking together and tears filling her eyes. Lorcan kissing those tears away and holding her gaze, making promises that Elide felt in her bones he intended to keep.

Lorcan had meant every word; she just knew it. Their reality didn’t change; however, since she wasn’t entirely sure that he’d managed to survive his assigned mission. Something told her she would know somehow if he had died, regardless of how unrealistic that seemed. Despite the lack of sense, Elide held on to that belief like a lifeline.

She sniffled, promptly tucking her face deeper into her pillow to stifle the sound. The last thing she wanted was anyone thinking she was unwell in some way, or even worse, asking about her troubles. She had no such luck.

“Lady Lochan?” Finnula asked, her voice tentative. She’d been Elide’s nursemaid for the majority of her life and became a lady’s maid once Elide reached adulthood. If anyone had to be nearby, Elide was grateful that it was Finnula. Even if the woman didn’t know the pain in her heart, she knew enough to keep things simple. That was invaluable on such mornings.

“Mmm?” Elide didn’t lift her face from the pillow. She needed to pull herself together.

“I thought I heard you stir. I’ve had them start preparing your breakfast. Would you like to take it in your room rather than downstairs?”

The gods had blessed her with Finnula, truly. “That would be great. Thank you.”

“It’s still quite early if you’d like to rest some more. I’ll wake you when the food is ready. A solid breakfast is best today, especially with your uncle having another parade of suitors coming through.”

The reminder was a fresh stab of pain. Vernon wouldn’t allow her any claim to her birthright as Lady of Perranth, and although he claimed marriage would help Elide’s case, she had significant doubts. Beyond that, the thought that she could be bothered to make an actual connection with any of the vile men Vernon brought forward was enough to send her out into the woods on a one-way hike.

Elide rolled to her back. The curtains let in minimal light, but somehow, Finnula clocked the pain in her expression within seconds.

“Another nightmare?” she asked. It was the same question she always asked when Elide awoke in such a state.

She was quiet for a moment, barely summoning the energy to tip her chin down in a brief nod. Finnula approached her bed and squeezed her fingers in a small gesture of comfort. Once upon a time, she would have felt guilty for lying to her maid and friend about the recurring dream. It held none of the qualities of a nightmare, but insinuating otherwise didn’t explain the guttural emotions she felt each time she awoke. All that would have occasioned was questions, maybe some theories among those who cared for her.

It was best kept to herself, she’d decided.

Very few understood what it meant to be haunted by something beautiful.

[oh-katsuki]

Jealousy (Connie x Reader)

phases of love collab | masterlist

Pairing: Connie x Reader

Summary: You take Sasha’s place. 

Content Warnings: Implied aot ending spoilers, smut, angst, character death (reader), some fluff, romantic sex, slight cockwarming, drugs / alcohol

Word Count: 3.6k

A/N: This hurt me to write so I hope it hurts to read. Thank you so much to @dande-lion​ and @eremiie who beta-read this and gave me so many suggestions because I didn’t like the way I worded it. I would not have been able to be happy with this without you, ILYSM

For @mikaberries​ collab! Thanks for letting me participate!

Connie’d never loved like this before. He can’t recall a single time in his life that he’s felt so truly connected to someone, so deeply ingrained in someone else’s being that he doesn’t know who he’d be without them. 

Connie had you wrapped in his body, dick buried in you so deep and legs intertwined so gently. His delicate fingers sunk into your skin as one wrapped around your waist, the other around your head. There was nothing rough about tonight, nothing exemplary or particularly outstanding except for the fact that he was hopelessly in love with you. 

Connie was infatuated with you. He couldn’t get close enough, couldn’t feel enough of your skin against his as he fucked himself up into you with steady flicks of his hips. You felt so good around him, hips grinding to meet his with gentle moans. He wishes he could have this moment forever, wrap it up and keep it in his pocket so he can feel it whenever he needs to. The way your gummy walls hugged him or how you breathed in low and deep sighs with each of his thrusts. 

“So beautiful…” He exhaled against your skin, pulling back to take the hand from your head and run his thumb along the plump skin of your cheek. 

You gave him a lazy smile, eyebrows furrowed together in focus and pleasure as he leaned in to kiss you. It was delicate at first, pumping into you slowly, keeping up his sluggish pace. Connie was taking you in, appreciating the feel of your lips on his and the way you tasted like sweat and sex and something akin to cinnamon. 

Connie wasn’t working towards a goal, arm wrapped lazily around your body, sticky with sweat while he admired your feel.That was the best way to put it— he was simply letting you both admire each other’s feeling, whispering sweet nothings, he just wanted to love you. So he fucked into you languidly, mind clouded over and head spinning. 

He could remember clearly every moment like this he’d had with you and he was about to lock away this one with the first time he saw you, your first kiss, your first time. He doesn’t know why this moment in particular strikes him so deeply, but the way you look and your cunt fluttering around him has his heart swelling with love and pride. 

You’re his. 

There was nothing to be discontent with, no doubt seeded in his heart about another man, no jealousy bubbling in his gut. You were only his and he knew it, he could feel it in the desperate little sighs of his name as you came closer to your high, heat building in your stomach as the candle beside the bed dimmed as it burned through its wick. 

The two of you had been like this for hours, Connie unwilling to let you go until he’d felt you come undone around him so much that he’s all you think about— you’re all he thinks about. He was already all you thought about though, already taking up the most space in your mind even when you weren’t creaming around him. Still, you couldn’t complain, so wrapped in his smell and feel that you let him keep rutting his hips into you, arms looped around his body and fingers digging into the muscles of his back. 

But it’s true, Connie’s love for you was incredible and you felt it with every stroke of his big hand against you, in the way your skin buzzed as if it were whispering its own sweet words between his. Words of praise whispered over the pillow, lips brushing past each other’s ear to mumble quiet “I love you’s” that rattle through each other's bodies like coins down a well. 

When you finally came undone in a steady rise, like water bubbling delicately over the edge of a too-full container, you whimpered, teeth sinking into the muscle of his shoulder. Your legs trembled as he held you tightly, slowing his movements and letting you bury your face into him, looking for anything to ground you as your body rolled. 

Connie loved your voice, the whine of his name that spilled from your lips and the way your cunt clenched around him, pillowy and soft. He loved you and with that profound knowledge, soon met his own high with a stutter of his hips, cumming deep into you as he buried himself to the hilt. 

You stayed like that for a while, wrapped in each other, Connie unmoving within you as you panted against each other before your breathing fell into an even rhythm. How was he supposed to let you go? How could he be expected to pull out and let you pad to the toilet. It would only be a few minutes but he found himself dreading the moment you stirred in his arms. He’d let you meld yourself to him like this if it were possible. 

“You know that I’ve got to get up.” You chuckled into his chest, turning your head to glance to the nightstand. “And I’d like to get up before that candle burns through and I have to stumble through the dark.” 

It was growing dim, nearing the end of its life span as it casted a low light across the bedroom. Connie’s desk was faintly illuminated in the corner but you were focused on the way the light danced over his features, displaying the apples of his cheeks that rounded with his smile. 

“I know,” he sighed, pulling you closer, “just don’t wanna let you go right now.” 

“You big baby, it’s only a few minutes.” You say, peeling yourself from him and pulling him out of you gently. 

He was soft already, but the act itself was intimate and you could feel the way he started to spill out of you as you moved to the other side of the room, wrapping a robe around yourself before leaving the bedroom. 

Connie watched you as you left, admiring your hips and your figure as you receded into the darkness. How had he gotten so lucky? He somehow managed to snag the girl the entire regiment was crazy for, and– as you both moved through the ranks– managed to fall so irrevocably in love with you that he’s forgotten who he was without you. 

Still, he wouldn’t trade it for the world, wouldn’t trade you for the world. 

He was deep in thought by the time you returned to bed, discarding the robe and snuggling up beside his naked figure. 

Of all the things that had changed recently, you hadn’t. You remained the woman he loved more than anything, still smiling. He remembers the way you’d joke with your friends and squad, evenings spent laughing at a pub with all of the captains after your promotion. 

Every major event of his life had been spent with you and you both had made it out clean, more appreciative of the love you shared. Connie cherished every part of you, every fleeting moment with you. 

And he was certain that he’d do it for the rest of his life. 

---

They’d suspected that Eren had gone awol. That he’d gone off on his own. Connie should have stopped him, they could have talked some sense into him before he fled to Marley, attacking a congregation of world leaders and forcing the Scout Regiments hand. 

You both had separated so quickly, each moving away from each other in your own individual squadrons without so much as a stay safe. You both always did. Connie couldn’t have imagined that you’d be one of the six who didn’t make it home. 

He couldn’t have guessed that the child would sneak aboard the ship and point the rifle toward Sasha’s chest. But Connie could have predicted the way you jumped in front of her, moving before you had time to think to shield his best friend from the shot. 

Connie would never forget the look in your eyes as your blood seeped and pooled onto the cold floor of the airship, his warm hands pressed to your cooling chest, covered in a thick layer of your blood. You looked content, the same look you’d flash at him before any expedition. You were at peace and you smiled up at him. A far too pleased smile for someone who was slipping from Connie’s hands faster than he could process— faster than he wanted you to. How could you be smiling? He was losing you. 

 It was like you to take a shot for a friend. You always put your comrades before yourself like that.

You and Sasha were both brave that way, the only difference being that today, Sasha would return home to her lover and you would not. Your body would stay in the morgue for the night before they placed you six feet below the ground in a graveyard not far from where you lived. 

How is it that you could be so close so far away at the same time?  He’d never get to feel your body against his again, never hear your laugh that rings like chimes on a spring day, and looking at your grave after the funeral procession, he could only think about how quickly your blood had cooled on the floor of the airship. Connie stared at the fresh dirt under the headstone, trying to bring anything but your lifeless eyes to mind. He tried to think of your smile, of the crinkle in your eye whenever he’d say something stupid, but instead he was reminded of the uncharacteristically stiff way your body laid in the airship and the wan tone of your skin as your precious years drained from your face. 

---

As time passed jealousy bled into Connie’s life. Slowly at first, in the waning hours of the morning when he’d be awake and full of drink. He found himself thinking about you constantly, your picture flashing through his mind with startling clarity. 

He’d wake up in the middle of the night, grabbing at the sheets beside him– searching for you, wondering in his half asleep state where you’d gone, only to be reminded that this time you weren’t coming back to bed. You’d no longer take your trips to the bathroom and you were much farther away than a few minutes. Instead, he was reminded that he’d have to spend a lifetime without you. 

A lifetime without your presence. How unfathomable. So he buried himself in drink, in alcohol, in fighting a war he no longer had a reason to fight. It was bearable that way, his days without you. He was occupied. Working until his hands shook and his feet ached, then drinking to quell the pain. It was all he knew in those following days, working for a peace you’d never know, drinking to forget your time together, sleeping in hopes that he’d see you in another world. But the next world wasn’t for him. Life mercilessly kept him alive, despite his carelessness in the fight.

When the war finally ended and things came to a quiet halt, everything became harder. Eldia rebuilt its streets, patching up the wounds that battle had left on it, and with the power of the titans gone, Eldians were negotiating their terms of peace and fighting the good fight to total freedom. Connie found it difficult now to focus on anything but your absence. 

He’d move down the cobbled streets of Marley and be reminded of you at every turn, reminded of something you’d never get to see. He thought of your plans for the future and the way you’d agreed to marry him once peace finally came, but peace came and went without you. 

The summer months in Marley were the most beautiful. They brought couples and children and laughter. You’d have loved them. In between peace negotiations, Connie would let himself wander through the streets. Why he even bothered to go outside? He had no clue, but he still did it everyday without fail, wandering until he ended up in the same place he always did. He’d find a seat in the park and watch the couples, listening to the way the ocean sounded as it beat against the shore. 

It was supposed to make him feel better, supposed to remind him that things were okay now. But all he felt was unimaginable rage. A rage that grew brighter with each gust of wind and each rustle of leaves. Each happy chuckle of passing couples and each aimless laughter of stumbling children. Connie was jealous, perpetually and undeniably. 

He was jealous of the time the two of you never got. Jealous of the people who would spend their lifetimes with their lovers and get to cradle their children. Jealous of his own time, the years he had left ticking by slowly and twisting the knife in his gut with each turn of the month on a calendar. He was jealous of Marco who was no doubt with you now, jealous of Erwin and Miche and anyone they’d ever lost because they were with you.

Why did everyone else get so much time? What made them so different from you? Connie couldn’t understand a world where someone else deserved to survive to see the end when you didn’t, where people other than the two of you got enough time to live out their lives. 

Connie didn’t have that luxury and you surely didn’t either. 

The weight piled on, the greed, disgust, and envy weighed on his shoulders like boulders. A person can only take so much, can only struggle for so long under such a profound feeling. 

It was the day the negotiations were finished, the day the war came to a true end and Eldians were no longer discriminated against legally, that he broke. 

He fell to his knees in his temporary apartment after getting home and seeing the bare walls, the ones that lacked pictures because he’d never gotten to take any of you. You would have loved today, would have pulled him into the living room to dance or even invited all of your remaining friends to your shared apartment to celebrate. Connie could practically hear you telling him to appreciate the day, your voice chiming like bells in the recesses of his mind. It was haunting. 

“Fuck!” He shouted, slamming his fist onto the counter and collapsing to the floor as sobs wracked through his body. 

His friends had followed him to his apartment, worried for him. They had been for a while and today was the breaking point, watching him sway down the steps of the courthouse without so much as a word. They could hear him crying through the walls, hear the guttural cries that seemed to push through him so angrily. 

Connie’s stomach was twisting in painful knots, it was years of being tired, years of missing you crumbling all at once in a crescendo of anger and unimaginable grief. He was sick, his heart wrenched in his chest, hammering against his ribcage, something your heart could no longer do. 

It was sickening, how his bones wracked and how his shoulder shook with every shuddering sob. His own walls were finally let down and his veiled emotions crashed over him appallingly fast. How did he carry around this weight, this grief, for so long? 

Connie couldn’t pick his head up from his hands when his friends came in, ushering themselves past the entrance to crouch on the floor with him, Jean’s arm bracing his frame and helping to keep him upright. They let him cry like that for a long while, letting the sounds echo through an apartment that should have had you in it. 

They all missed you, but they had already done their mourning. In doing so, they’d left Connie behind to fend for himself. Left him alone like you had. 

“She’s watching from somewhere, Connie.” Jean’s voice piped up, low and reassuring.

“Y’know-” Connie choked out, sniffling. “Everyone talks so much about this a-afterlife.”

Another sob wracks through him. 

“About his place where the dead go once they’ve finished their time here.” He was shouting now, voice rising. 

“I just wish that maybe there was some fucking proof that she’s still there.” His fists balled up against the floor. This time Connie doesn’t try to stop the cries to talk, he pauses to let himself sob before speaking again. “Because right now I can’t find a single reason to believe she’s out there and I don’t know what I’d do if I never got to see her again.”

“How the fuck am I supposed to move on? How do I carry this weight? How can I keep taking steps forward when she’s not at the end?” Connie’s eyes snap up to Jean, his hand coming to grab his wrist. 

His eyes were pleading, crying for an answer, something, somebody to tell him that there was something to look forward to. That you would be at the end of this stupid game called life. His  voice came up from the deepest recesses of his body. Eyebrows pulled up in anguish, eyes glassy with tears that refused to let up as he peered into his best friend’s eyes. Connie knew he couldn’t answer, knew that there was no one secret to getting through this, that he’d have to power through on his own. But he was so angry, so exhausted from fighting. 

“Why did it have to be her!” He gasps, eyes going wide as realization courses through his shaking body. “Why didn’t she get more time, why didn’t she get to fucking see today?! Why was it me? _____ would have known what to say today, would have had the perfect words. I’ve never had them, never had anything to say.” 

Connie inhaled deeply, blinking until limpid tears decorated the fabric of his uniform. “I need her here. I need her.” 

That was the last thing he said that night, letting himself cry on the floor in the company of his friends who tried in vain to calm him. He raged against fate, body heaving in tremendous sobs that left his chest feeling emptier than before, inhaling in great pulls because with each cry he could feel the water flooding his lungs. Invading, violating, and wretched with every wail. Everything served as a reminder for his jealousy, ugly and painful in its existence. 

Connie knows you’d have hated this. 

Could you see him right now? Were you watching in the months to come as he hit his lowest low before slowly starting to pick himself back up, finally formally forgiving Gabi even though he hadn’t blamed her for a long while. 

It took a long time for him to gain that semblance of normalcy and once he returned to Eldia from overseas, he went straight to your grave, finally able to face your name scrawled on the headstone once again. Connie hadn’t expected it, but with time the jealousy faded into a dull ache. He spent hours in the graveyard that day, staying with you until the sun had long set over the horizon and the air nipped at his skin. Connie would take any time he could have with you, even if it was like this. And as he sat there talking about the newfound peace, he hoped you could hear him. 

He was filled with regrets about you. He wishes he had made you laugh more or studied the way you threw your head back in a smile because after so many years the memory had faded to little more than a silhouette. Connie wished he had taken pictures of you, kissed you on the day he met you, married you. But he couldn’t.

Connie wondered if you were watching him all the time. Did you watch his healing, the way he picked himself back up after being shattered and broken for so long. Maybe he’d glued part of you to him when he patched himself up, maybe he still gets to carry some of you with him in the corner of his heart he knows is reserved for you.

Did you see the day he met her? The woman he’d marry one day. She’d caught his eye because she reminded him so much of you, especially in her smile. Connie couldn’t help but think you’d had something to do with it, some cosmic influence that led her to him. 

He thought of you on his wedding day as his bride moved down the aisle, radiant in her beauty. Connie loved her the way he loved you, deeply and honestly. He thought of you the day his first child was born and on every day after that because he saw you in every part of his little girl. He saw you in the way she laughed and the way she ate, the way she stood up after scraping her knee to keep running. 

Connie told his wife about you, about the love he lost, and his daughter thought of you as family, despite never meeting you. Your name fell from his family’s lips so often that it was like you’d never left this world in the first place. 

He healed, Finally, time began moving again and that sickening envy slipped from his veins like melting ice. He was no longer jealous. 

He still goes to your grave, every Sunday. He brings his family and sits his daughter on his lap to tell stories about you, about every aspect of you. Partly because he wants her to know, but also so that he can remember. It’s like a prayer, uttering your name as they sit in the grass that had long grown over the dirt with such reverence, such adoration. 

The wind moves through the trees, shaking leaves from their late summer bloom and Connie swears he can hear you laughing, deep and rich and so like you. 

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[yanderenightmare]

uhm, yandere Katsuki with a small reader... like idk how to explain but fluff fear? like waking up together but all she can think about is how loud he sleeps and how BIG he is, also him being a total bitch about how small she is?

yandere kidnapper ! BAKUGO KATSUKI

Support me at KO-FI if you feel like it<3

goodiebag WARNINGS: dubcon/noncon mentions, kidnapping, abduction, abuse, degradation

PUFF

Waking up warmer than usual was something she’d gotten terribly used to. 

It had only been a couple days. A couple days in a foreign house without anything to do except prance around in what lingerie Katsuki bothered to give her, or sleep the hours away. Where which the latter was undesirable, because she’d be risking getting snuck up on by the brute predator once he returned. So, she was left walking about, dragging tired limbs through barren hallways, stopping to take in the space of each impersonal room, half-naked and cold in the marble mansion, doing nothing but dreading the time her hero came home. 

And in the absence of things happening, those moments where she was in fact preoccupied with something became so much heavier and longer than what they were in reality. Expanded, to the degree where she could pinpoint almost every single detail within the moment. 

This was one of those moments.

She wanted to focus on the bed, soft material, caky and cloudy beneath her, but it was difficult to ignore the mass behind her. His nose poking into the top of her head, nuzzling in her hair, a good measurement of knowing how close his teeth were to her neck as heavy breaths ran down her neck like a chilling breeze, ticklish and disturbing like crawling mites. His chest, rising, pushing into her back, the beating of his heart rattling her ribcage. His hands, large and so very warm, warmer than they were supposed to be, scathed like sandpaper as they scratched in their presence by rubbing her hip, arms slung around her body haphazardly, caging her, suffocating her, pulling her close, holding her steady, trapping her. 

Like a dragon protecting his treasure, she thought, but quickly discarded of the notion. It sounded too sweet. 

Katsuki wasn’t sweet.

He’d come home yesterday, coated in smog, droplets of blood flecked on his sand-skin in no particular pattern. He didn't shower, he’d only grabbed her and walked off to bed. No words shared, only whimpers and dark, disturbing chuckles. She’d struggled, as much as she could against the brute, but it felt as though he enjoyed that more. Tightening his hold until she swore she began to hear her bones ache, bristle as he squeezed the air from out of her lungs. 

She was happy she was spared his painful cock that night, but she was sure it would be a short-lived mercy.

His hold; though still strong, wasn’t as tight in the morning. She took it as an opportunity to create more space between herself and the fever-heat and blinding smell of caramel. She almost wished she could smell the blood and smoke instead, something bitter to disrupt the sickening sweet. She wished she could smell anything else, but even the smell of herself was overcome by him. She’d walked around the house thinking of it the other day, how it was almost as though he’d scented her, as though they were animals.

He didn’t take lightly to the disturbing of his slumber, grunting and growling, stirring that overbearing sense of fear inside her gut, her stomach folding in every possible way. She didn’t want to stop, she wanted to fight, she wanted to roar. He tightened his arms around her, squeezed her hip, planting her ass better against his crotch and she froze.

He smacked his tongue against his teeth. “Now what?” He coaxed. She expected his voice to sound groggy in the morning, but she’d learned in the past days, it never shed its ugly tone. “You gonna cry?” His voice sounding almost hopeful as he bit down on her earlobe, earning a gasp that along the way turned into a delicious little whimper. She tried clawing at his hand, his own nails digging into her skin. “Do yourself a favor and relax” All his taunting, patronizing overbearing words, dismissive to her discomfort, rather enjoying it, if only she could see the cracked smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. She kept struggling despite the obvious futility. “Yer’ not going anywhere, yer’ exactly where you need to be... exactly where you belong.” His tone was casual as he sucked in a breath, sighing with a grumbling growl, still sleepy, yawning behind her, comfortable when squeezing her plushie little form, keeping her close like child with a teddybear. 

But he wasn't enjoying how her legs were kicking, despite the rest of her struggles being teasingly pleasurable.

Pushed down on her back, manhandled into position, he made to move himself between her thighs. Now, with more mistaken freedom, she tried pushing him away. Foolish fists hit against the stiff muscles of his chest, until he grabbed them by the wrists and pinned them above her head. His face so much closer now, but he didn’t kiss her, still longing to hear her speak up, to beg, to plead, to scream. But he remained close, knowing how every one of his words made her heart beat that much faster, and how those especially crude words made her quiver or better yet bleat, like a little lamb beneath him.

“Come on…” He hauled out. She barely made out the words, as far hidden in the growl as they were. His voice tickling her burning ear, his head resting its heavy weight on her arm. “I know I’ve been busy, but…” He spoke as though she wanted to spend more time with him. “It’s my day off.” His voice in singsong, as if she’d be excited, the tone sounding dreadful and wrong when coming from him, dark as it was. But it earned him what he’d been wanting, that soft and struggled sniffle, breath caught in her throat, an uncontrolled shiver breaking the sweet feeble noise.

Content with what he’d reduced her to, he rested his head on the pillow beside her face, his weight laid down upon her in a lifedraining fashion. He hummed, closing his eyes, enjoying her small frame beneath him. In her rightful place, he snickered. Eyes fluttering to look at her pretty face, hand covered in dried blood and smoke as it ascended to tug a lock of hair behind her ear, his thumb stroking over her lips when he made to retract it. The state of his skin made him cringe when he touched the fairness of her complexion. It felt wrong, he admitted. 

They needed to find an even ground.

“Let’s shower, I’m dirty.” She could feel his lips on her ear now, but she was too shell-shocked to snap her head away, knowing what was coming.

In all honesty, she wouldn’t mind a shower. She’d been there a while and didn’t exactly feel clean with him spread, smeared all over her, inside her. But, he’d insisted on being so very close at all times, she was sure the same rules would apply in the shower. 

She tried her best to fight, but it was all so easy to simply grab her arm and pull her with him, yanking on her like a child with a toy. Throwing her inside the large bathroom, with strength that almost had her falling to her knees.

“Take yer’ clothes off.” He commanded, having her backed up against the cold tiles of the walls. “Or… they’re not really your clothes.” He tugged at the black fabric of his shirt, one she’d put on after realizing her own clothes were far from wearable anymore, singed as they were.

Towering over her petite shape, enjoying how she had to tilt her head a drastic degree to stare up at him. 

She was so tiny, it sent pleasurable shivers down his spine to look at her, small like a little pet. His shirt hung around her in the same way you’d expect a tent would, reaching all the way down to her knees, only barely fitting on her narrow shoulders.

She wanted to sound strong. “N- no.” It came out weak.

Snickering, he placed a hand on the wall beside her head. “I was hoping you’d say that…” His smile was so feral, she began wondering if smiles were ever a nice gesture in the first place. Katsuki seemed to do it simply to show her those large teeth stored in his mouth, teeth that could rip her throat out if he were dedicated enough. “Better you learn sooner than later just how helpless you are to stop me getting what I want.” He leaned in closer, stepping further into her space, threatening to crush her toes under the soles of his feet, his much too hot breaths striking her face on repeat. “Weak.” He spat the word, as though it were venom on his tongue. “Defenseless.” It disgusted him, distaste clear in the growl lacing his tone. “Fragile.” 

He’d not gotten exactly what he wanted. He wanted her to scream, whether it was of rage or of fear, didn’t really matter. The tears were no less satisfying though, dribbling down her cheeks, eyes glossy and sparkling.

He grabbed the collar of the t-shirt. She felt the pull, but the tear still came as a surprise. The ripped fabric, now reduced to useless singed rags, pooling around her ankles, and she found herself regretting her wish to smell smoke because the burn of the textile at her feet was not the type of bitter like morning coffee, but bitter in the way that made her eyes sting. Her knees almost gave out when his hand neared her again, his other hand placed above her head, meaning to cage her in between his warmth and the freezing wall behind her. 

Her nipples perked at once when he made contact, which made him smile, hand still hot, much too hot. He cupped one breast in his hand, much too small to fill it entirely. He didn’t seem to mind though.

“So soft…” The disdainful tone was gone, but she found herself missing it as opposed to what lingered in his voice now. “So delicate.” Lust was so terribly more frightening than his distaste. “So…” He licked his lips, a hot breath fanned over her face and goosebumps sprung to the surface of her skin. He hummed in response and she was sure she might just faint. “So sensitive.” She yelped when he pinched. “Mine.” His voice was low and rumbling, hot like raked coals. Tugging down her bottoms as well, she did little to prevent it. 

Not that it would have mattered if she did.

Support me at KO-FI if you feel like it<3

[sylverstorms]

Dimitrescus x Maiden---- The End of Winter(s)

Requested here. (I don't always have time for requests but we all needed this one.)

First come the gunshots.

Then, a feeling of dread.

It is strange; You’ve had intruders enter the castle before, in the years you’ve been with the Dimitrescus. Some lasted seconds, others hours. There were one or two the daughters kept around for more than a day, just for the thrill of the chase.

It is not the first time you hear a gun go off in the estate. Your past also renders the sound familiar, nothing remarkable.

But.

You can’t shake off the nausea that accompanies it this time. Your chest constricts and your gut churns and you just know something has gone terribly wrong.

Your fears are confirmed when, minutes later, Bela stumbles in from the doorway, her usual grace and aura of certainty completely gone. She is shivering, shaking, chilled to the bone. The visible patches of her skin look grey and hardened into an almost diamond substance. Flies are breaking apart from her and falling, twitching, to the floor.

You immediately rush to her and she collapses forward in your embrace. Her chin knocks against your shoulder, cold as a block of ice.

“Bela, love, what happened?!” you ask, while leading her to the nearest fireplace. Of course, you know about their weakness.

But how does he?

She wraps her arms around your waist tight, almost too tight, like she’s on the verge of breaking apart –physically, mentally—and you’re the only anchor she’s got.

From the top of the staircase, you hear Alcina’s hurried steps. Another door snaps open in the far corner of the room and you see Cassandra materialize out of the swarm there, then rush over to you.

“I… I… This can’t be happening.” Bela whispers, gasping for breath.

You can only hold her more securely against you, running your fingers through her blonde hair. It seems to calm her somewhat. Both your ministrations and the warmth.

You and Alcina share a look of pure worry.

“I failed. Mother, I failed.” Bela practically sobs without facing the woman and your heart shatters into pieces. You’ve never seen her like this.

“Bela—” she tries to say, while Cassandra remains there like a statue, unable to process the scene.

“He shot the windows and now he knows.” Bela pulls slightly away from you to say. “That stupid man-thing has got Daniela!”

“I’m going. I’ll rip out his intestines and feed them to him.” Cassandra growls and it’s a dark, ominous sound.

Alcina grabs her arm before she can swarm off. “No. I won’t risk another one of you. I will deal with that vermin.” she says through clenched teeth. You can see the effort she puts into keeping her voice steady.

You want to reach for her, to comfort her, but Bela is in a worst state, battling her body’s reaction to the cold and her self-loathing for her failure, so you stay put.

“Stay with Eliza. Do not let him anywhere near her. I will get Daniela.” she orders her daughters, leaving them as your guards.

Cassandra walks over to you and takes your hand in hers, lacing your fingers together. With her free one, she rubs Bela’s shoulder.

“Don’t worry. I’ve wanted to kill Daniela several times over the last century so I can safely say it just doesn’t work.” even as she tries to lighten the mood, though, you can see how tempted she is to disobey Alcina and go after Winters. Her grip keeps clenching and unclenching. “He won’t come near you, darling.” she promises you.

But then… the thought strikes you. What if you go near him?

-

-

After you put Bela to sleep, you tell Cassandra to wait a while with her and that you’ll be back.

You will be back. Just not without Daniela.

The more you think about it, the more sense it makes for you to go. You are only human, yes, but that is precisely what can give you an edge in this. You do not have a fatal weakness to the cold. You move much faster than Alcina.

And although you’ve tried hard to grow beyond your past, you always knew you were no better than what it made you.

You’ve killed dozens who had done nothing to you during your time in the military’s special forces. Why would you not plant a bullet in the head of someone who dared to harm your new family?

Duke recognizes the look in your eye when you ask to see his collection of rifles. You pick one to your liking and test its weight in your grip. So much for promising never to touch a gun again.

You run through corridors and rooms before you hear his voice.

“Shut up, witch! I’m getting Rose back!” he shouts at Daniela, coped up in the library where there’s only one entrance. You press against the wall and carefully peek through. She gives a weak giggle, chained in front of an open window as she is.

God, she must be suffering.

Still, her eye rapidly flits to you. You motion for her to drop down. And then-

You turn into the room, rifle blazing, the first bullets driven into his head and the rest of the clip emptied in his torso. Blood splatters everywhere with every pull of the trigger and for the first time in your life you do feel something as you kill another person. Pure satisfaction.

You leap over the crimson pool that is swelling around Winters’ corpse to free Daniela, who is laughing even though she’s basically an icicle, at this point.

When you pull her away from the cold she collapses into you, much like Bela did, only she can’t move her limbs enough to cling to you.

“Daniela?!!” You hear Alcina’s voice wrecked with anguish. “I will slice you to bits, you filthy man-thing!” she nearly screams as she approaches the library.

“Go wild, dear. He won’t put up much of a fight.” you reply, a brief smirk curling your lip. Daniela burrows deeper into your warmth with a faint laugh. Alcina is equal parts confused and fuming when she ducks under the doorway—

And sees the body of Ethan Winters laying in a pool of his own blood. Her claws detract. She stalks over to his corpse…

Then crushes his head under her heel.

You wince at the gut-churning, crunching sound, holding Daniela tighter, but part of you is deeply relieved it’s finally over despite the brutality. Can’t take any chances.

You almost lost them. You lower your head to Daniela’s neck as silent tears start to flow from your eyes.

“Baby, I’m.. fine…” the redhead croaks out, nudging you with her head.

Alcina kneels down beside you, more exhausted than you’ve ever seen her. She gathers you both into a hug, resting her head on top of yours. You stay there a long time.

“My beautiful girl. My love.” she whispers to Daniela and you. She’s too proud to say most of the things she wants, but you can see them in her expression and the tightness of her throat regardless.

“…I’m hungry.” Daniela complains once feeling returns to her frozen form.

“When are you not?” you tease.

“We’d have that man’s flesh for dinner… but I would never feed my daughters something so disgusting.” Alcina says.

She picks Daniela up in her arms like a baby and you do not look at the bloody mess behind you.

-

-

After dinner, the Dimitrescus and you are all sitting in a couch in front of the fireplace, making light conversation and basking in each other’s presence.

Alcina is delicately sipping wine while you’re leaned against her, with Daniela practically in your lap. Cassandra is beside her and none too happy to not touch as much of you, though she is keeping your hand on her thigh possessively. Bela is curled like a cat at your legs, her cheek on your knee.

“Can you not hog her like you’re here by yourself?” Cassandra growls at Daniela, who doesn’t even think to budge.

“I’m the one who almost died. Piss off.” Daniela’s lips brush against your neck as she speaks.

“Daughters.” Alcina chastises.

“How long are you going to play the ‘I almost died’ card for?” Cassandra asks irritably.

“As long as it works~” Daniela kisses your jawline several times.

“Bela, are you still sulking?” Cassandra nudges her with her foot.

“Leave me alone...” the eldest sister huffs.

And the answer to that is a resounding yes.

You know it will take time to be completely over this. You know right now they all need you, in different ways.

Bela has to climb out of the self-blaming pit she’s dug herself in –she always is too rough on herself—and your touch grounds her.

Cassandra wants you to please her hard and long in bed to blow off the steam of the past day or she won’t be able to rest at all.

Daniela won’t show it but she was petrified and she’s still scared. She needs your attention, needs you to drown her in kisses, until it all goes away.

Alcina almost lost her girls to that man. She hasn’t recovered from the shock but you can see the bone-deep gratitude and the sheer love in her eyes whenever they lock with yours. Her girls will get you first, but when it’s her time with you…

Well.

She’ll thank you in so many ways.

.

Ko-Fi

[certifiedskywalker]

On the Run - Natasha Romanoff

And for a moment, you and Natasha forget about the rest of the world and its darkness.

POSSIBLE BLACK WIDOW SPOILERS

“He seems nice.” “Who?” Natasha asked as she helped you unpack the groceries. She moved so fluidly across the small kitchen in the trailer, reaching up into cabinets to put away cereal boxes and coffee. Never had you pegged Natasha as the domestic type, but the softness in her movements was a welcomed sight. Especially after….everything.

You shook you head to clear your mind of the last 48 hours. “Mason,” you clarified.

“He is nice, for a contact,” Natasha turned and quirked a brow at you. “Are you...jealous?”

“No,” you replied, too quickly to be the truth. You knew it, and, based on her wide grin, so did Natasha.

She abandoned the coffee container on the counter and started towards you. Her hands reached out, plucking the bundle of toilet paper from your grasp and letting it rest in the grocery bag. You held Natasha’s gaze as her fingers reached out and entangled with your own. Gently, teasingly, she pulled away from the counter and towards her, only stopping when your chest was flush to hers. Natasha looked up at you with a tender smile and so much love that your heart swelled with want.

“You have nothing to be jealous of.” “I’m not jealous,” you pressed, giving her hands a squeeze. “I just said he seems nice. Too nice, maybe.”

Natasha let out a soft, thoughtful hum and let go of your hands. Worried, that you stepped over some invisible line, you began to reach for her. Before you could intertwine your fingers again, Natasha’s hands skirted up your arms to your jaw. As she cupped your cheeks, she drew you in even closer and pressed her lips to yours.

Immediately, you melted into her, the roughness of her palms against the sides of your face. How hard those hands had worked, throwing punches and loading guns. Loving you too. You and Natasha had worked hard over the years, learning to trust each other, love each other. Now, all you truly had was each other.

Even if Mason had known her longer.

“Not as nice as you,” she murmured against your lips.

You pulled away slightly, just enough to look into Natasha’s eyes, and allowed a smile to spread across your face. “Mhm, compliment me more.”

Natasha laughed, her breath tickling the exposed skin of your neck. A chill accompanied it, nestled in the heart of her voice, and shot a shiver down your spine You wished you could save the sound. Perhaps shape it into the grooves of a vinyl record or in the ringing of a wind chime. Natasha would hate it, but you could listen to her laughter every day, every hour, and never tire of it.

“There’s no one else I would rather be on the run with,” she said when she tamed her chuckle. You smiled back at Natasha, a little wider, a little hopeful that she would laugh again. Or kiss you again.

“We’re literal partners in crime, aren’t we?”

“You could say that,” Natasha purred, though hints of her own smile started to fade.

Before you could ask what was wrong, try to coax back her happiness, Natasha pulled your lips back to hers. Instinctively, your body yielded to her touch. Your concern lingered but grew lost in the kiss, the feeling of Natasha’s touch. She had a way of dulling your senses. Not so much that you faltered in battle, at least not for long, but enough to numb the sharp knife the world often buried in your back.

And she took that numbness with her as she pulled away from your lips. Her hands fell from your face and you suddenly were all too aware of your surroundings: the dingey trailer. Yet, Natasha’s smile returned; not quite in full force but enough to ease your worry for a time.

“Well, partner, you put the rest of the stuff away,” Natasha said, gesturing to the lingering groceries, “I pick out a movie, and we can settle in. Good plan?”

You nodded and chuckled. “Sure, I see how it is. Distract me from my jealousy with kisses and compliments so you get to pick the movie.”

“Thought you said you weren’t jealous?” Natasha asked, cocking her head to the side. You opened your mouth to respond but found yourself caught. She laughed again, softer this time, and leaned forward to press one last kiss to your cheek.

“You’d make a great spy, you know,” you joked as she started to pull away again. “You’re dangerous.”

“We both are, baby,” Natasha murmured. Despite the teasing tilt in her voice, you saw a flash of fear glint in her eyes. Fear as if she had admitted a terrible truth, spilled some secret met to be kept under lock and key.

You were both dangerous, were both Avengers. Both of you committed treason. Both of you ignored the Sokovia Accords. Both of you were alone, in Norway, facing each other and that dreadful truth. But you were alone together, partners in crime. There was some good to be had in that.

You reached out, tucked a strand of stray red hair behind Natasha’s ear, and sighed. “We are both nice though when it counts. Both good, right?”

“Right.” You weren’t convinced but Natasha gave you a hopeful half-smile as she walked into the makeshift living room of the trailer. Her attention was fixed on the box of DVDs Mason had amassed for the two of you.

For a moment longer, you ignored the groceries that sat waiting to be put away and watched Natasha scan through the movie options. Her fingers traced over the titles, the worn cardboard of the DVD sleeves. Like an untamable lick of flame, a thick bunch of her hair fell along her face, framing her profile, the curve of her nose. She looked soft in the dulled light of the trailer and small in the sweatshirt she wore.

Perhaps she could be soft like that for a while longer, until things blew over with the rest of the team. Maybe you two could let yourselves breathe, share in each other’s stories while everyone else scrambled to hold together. You and Natasha could just be together and damn whatever the future had in store.

[spectoris]

in your hands, you hold my heart

pairing: obi-wan kenobi x gn!reader

genre: friends to lovers, slight hurt/comfort, fluff

warnings: making out, mild steaminess, temporary unrequited love

word count: 2.3k

a/n: in honor of obi-wan premiering 🫶

Jedi are not supposed to love. Though the basis of their practice is compassion and the need to protect others, they cannot give up their hearts. It is love that makes it easy for the dark side of the Force to seduce weakened minds, vulnerable and blinded by emotions, unable to keep their heads clear. There are loopholes around this—connections, care, mutual bonds, such as those between a Jedi Master and their young Padawan. A familial love, nothing more.

This is the life Obi-Wan has accepted. He, more than others, understands the sacrifices he must make to maintain peace in the galaxy. Order outweighs the prospect of a lonely life. There is no need to fill a would-be void if there is none in the first place. His dedication to the Force and the Jedi Order reminds him of his life duties. And, after seeing young Anakin Skywalker fall in love with Padme, disobeying his master and often taking matters into his own hands, Obi-Wan has enough to keep him busy so long as the young Padawan is around.

Occasionally, he wonders what life would be like had Qui-Gon not taken him under his wing, though not a single picture forms in his mind. He hardly remembers leaving his home planet of Stewjon. His first memories are still of Qui-Gon and the Jedi Order, everything his life’s been built upon. He can, however, imagine doing the thing he’s forbidden from—love.

It’s wrong to think about. You’re a senator residing in Coruscant, tasked with diplomatic relations across the galaxy and has only treated Obi-Wan professionally. Though he admires the power he wields, he envies your lack of connection to the Force, oblivious to the internal battle he faces. You think your accidental meeting at one of the city’s clubs is innocent while Obi-Wan is sweating the whole time, fighting to keep his resolve as you reminisce on shared history. Perhaps you’ve overstepped your boundaries as a senator these past few years, watching how Anakin has grown alongside Obi-Wan. Both have matured, you joke, glancing occasionally at the spot where Obi-Wan’s Padawan braid used to be. You even pat his cheek, smiling, before retiring for the night.

In his daze, Obi-Wan can’t pick up on your feelings, something he curses himself for when he returns home. He shouldn’t be worried about it. Even if you did have any sort of feelings, he cannot return them. You still cross his mind as he stands on the balcony watching speeders pass in the starry night, flicking his hair across his forehead. He allows himself to think, immersed to the invisible blanket draped across his shoulders. At first, it’s heavy, itchy, and he does his best to shake himself of the discomfort. As much as he denies his feelings, he is forced to submit.

When he opens his eyes, he part of him is shaken, while the other has reached the conclusion he refuses to see. He’s broken the Jedi code past the point of no return. To continue to fight these emotions will only result in clouded judgements and the fate he dreads most—falling to the dark side. It’s a double edged sword; either he betrays his life’s purpose, or he refrains from succumbing but risks losing his senses. Both seem like the wrong answer, but the first option feels somewhat better. Living a lie is more painful than admitting defeat.

As time goes on, Obi-Wan tests the waters. He lets his hand fall on the small of your back as you walk, indulges in the small touches and light banter. The other Jedi Masters must’ve picked up on the change, but they haven’t, or refuse, to say anything. It gives Obi-Wan more time to enjoy these brief moments with you that stretch into hours until you spend nearly every waking moment with each other. He searches for your face when he wakes up, expects it like a routine, and naturally accepts your presence when you appear by his side throughout the day. The downside is the fact he knows this attraction is shared, but you don’t. While Obi-Wan enjoys the quickening of your heart and your fond glances, it’s impossible how timid you grow when he returns your affections, slipping back into the professional front you give your associates.

For a noble Jedi, admitting his feelings aloud strikes a chord of fear. Fear of sudden rejection, fear of being confronted by his masters, forced to confess to his crime (which he thinks is tactless considering the things they’ve all witnessed). He tries to forget all that as he spends the night having a drink with you, back to the typical good-natured conversation. It provides an escape from the work that plagues you both—honorable work, but immensely draining. The cool wind of Coruscant trails across your face as you sit on the open terrace of your residence. This is the last place Obi-Wan should be, and shame on him if he were caught in a senator’s quarters. Despite his conscience speaking, you’re away from prying eyes to his quiet delight. There are too many speeders and neon signs in the way for you to be visible in the mess.

Here, Obi-Wan allows himself to be more risqué. He sits with you on your long sofa, knees brushing against yours each time you shift. He lets his arm rest behind your head, moments away from touching your shoulders. He can smell the liquid on your lips, the same one that soothes his nerves and produces an extra ounce of confidence. Though, he still holds himself back. It’s that pesky thing in the back of his mind, not necessarily a voice, but an itch he can’t scratch. It doesn’t help that you’re growing increasingly comfortable around him (and flirtatious to the point he feels like he’s dreaming). He’s playing a game of tug-of-war; leaning into you when you shy away, retracting when you give into his advances. His mind is split in two, opposite ideals battling for the podium.

“You’re an odd man, Obi-Wan,” you suddenly say.

He tenses, fingers tight around the rim of his cup, then casts you an unreadable glance. Even he doesn’t know how to feel.

“What do you mean?” he asks innocently.

“It’s just…I feel like I’m with two different people right now. One whom I’ve never met before, and another I’m used to, but I’m more interested in getting to know the stranger.”

Obi-Wan takes a long sip. “Is that so?”

Something within him snaps, a cord pulled to the point of breaking. The adamant buzz in his head goes quiet, a type of silence he has never once felt before. Is this what it’s like to not feel the Force? The eeriness washes away under a slow wave of warmth and chill, both making goosebumps rise on his skin while he sweats lightly under his clothes. It’s dark, seductive, and when his heart twinges in fear, Obi-Wan feels no need to resist it, just as you’re not resisting the decreasing distance between you. His breath fans your skin, face blurred through your half-lidded eyes.

When you kiss, your entire body lights on fire. Years of playful banter, stolen glances, and unspoken words have led to this very moment, and Maker was it worth the wait. Obi-Wan’s pulling you deeper with one hand on the back of your neck, the other on your waist, while you bunch the fabric of his tunic in your fists.

The darkness continues to invade every inch of his soul, pushing him closer to you, to the edge of the endless bliss he desperately craves. For once, he feels true relief releasing the yearning he’s held on for too long. Though he initially cringes at the thought, he can’t stop his mind from wandering into the depths of his desires, wondering how far he can go.

It comes back in an instant. Like a blast to the heart, his crumbling resolve rebuilds itself in the blink of an eye, knocking the breath from his lungs. Obi-Wan falls back into the seat, gasping both from having kissed you for so long and the shock that’s hit him. You reach out to him, try to ask him what’s wrong, but he’s too frazzled to respond.

He nearly gave in. One more second and he would’ve slipped past the point of no return. The buzz returns twice as loud, enraged, screaming at him from within. Obi-Wan’s overstayed his welcome, he thinks. He tells you this as he suddenly leaves the terrace and steps into your home, walking himself to the door. He spares no glance back at you except for when he leaves. The pain in his eyes tells you what you need to know; this was a mistake. He knows it, yet it doesn’t soften the blow of the betrayal on your face before he enters the night.

You see Obi-Wan the next few days as usual; the difference is you share no words. Your only form of communication is the curt bows and head nods you share when you pass through the halls, and that’s only when you feel well enough to offer him the pleasantries. Obi-Wan senses the shifting emotions; longing one day, rage the next, then pure agony after. It starts to set himself off balance, unable to focus on his missions until the Jedi Masters must intervene.

Mace Windu stands face to face with Obi-Wan in a secluded room of the Jedi temple. He speaks coldly.

“Master Yoda is furious. He knew there was something going on with you, but he had faith you’d be able to resolve it on your own. It appears he was wrong.”

“I understand,” Obi-Wan says. “I…It’s unspeakable. I am ashamed of what I’ve done, the fact that I-”

“Spoken words are not enough to prove yourself worthy again,” Master Windu cuts in. “It takes a lot more than that to calm Master Yoda.”

“I know.”

Master Windu inhales sharply. “The senator’s gala is in two days. We are expected to make an appearance, especially you.”

Obi-Wan nods slowly. “I’ll be there.” He takes Master Windu’s silence as a dismissal, but as he walks away, his voice calls out behind him.

“The jedi and senators are expected to remain cordial. You have one chance to make things right. Interpret that how you will.”

On the night of the gala, new and old faces fill the grand hall reserved for the event. In his tunic, Obi-Wan feels out of place amidst the ornate outfits of visitors from all across the galaxy. He’s been asked to enjoy himself, indulge in the feast and company, but he can’t shake the thought of you from his mind. He spends most of the night searching the crowd for your face, swept in the celebrations, occasionally being stepped on.

Over the roaring bustle, he spots a lone figure exiting the hall. From that alone, he follows you quietly, trying not to let his footsteps echo outside. You’re not looking for anything or anyone in particular as you meander through the building, taking in the view of the night sky and the beauty of the architecture. In fact, it seems like you’re waiting for a specific someone, but the remaining betrayal in your heart refuses to let you think about him too deeply.

It isn’t until Obi-Wan is hovering over your shoulder that you turn around. You do your best not to react, but he can sense the shift of emotions around you.

“Are you having a good time?” he asks casually.

You answer with a single nod, casting your eyes away. Your hand trails along the balcony, flinching when Obi-Wan puts his over yours.

“I-”

“What are you doing, Obi-Wan?” You shake your head desperately at him, overflowing with confusion and heartbreak. “I don’t want to play games anymore. I should’ve known you would never give in.”

“It’s the life I was destined to live.”

“And that’s what pains me the most!” Your voice shakes with restricted rage, echoing through the building. “I think about what we could be every hour of the day, the life we could’ve lived, but then I see you and those dreams are crushed. I can’t possibly ask you to give up being a Jedi for me. You have a purpose; it’d be selfish of me to take that away.”

Obi-Wan’s thumb brushes the stray tear glimmering on your cheek. “You’re not selfish.”

“I am,” you whisper. “I’m selfish for loving you this fiercely.”

Obi-Wan takes your hands in his own, trembling as you try to stifle your cries. The entire weight of the galaxy falls on his shoulders as he watches you crumble before him from the pain he’s caused. It hurts more than any blaster or saber, a pain that makes his entire being twitch in agony and his heart wither. The closer he steps towards you, he calms, even though this was not what Master Windu had in mind. While your cries die down, Obi-Wan thinks back to the night on your terrace a few days ago, how he wordlessly told you of his regrets.

“It wasn’t a mistake,” he voices. “It never will be because I love you more than anything across the galaxy.”

It’s you that initiates the kiss. It’s as pleasant as that night on your terrace only flooded with unfiltered emotions; years of unconditional affection pouring into Obi-Wan’s soul. And he drinks it like it’s the last thing he will ever taste, holds you until you can almost feel the beating of his heart against your own. The air around you hums with delight, something only Obi-Wan can feel in this moment. When he opens his eyes and cups your face, the light from the setting sun glows in a halo behind your head. It goes against everything he’s been and has taught, yet having you in his embrace has never felt so right.

[needleandhammer]

Prism

Pairing: Robert Pronge x Reader; featuring Jake Jensen

Warnings: 18+ only, dark fic, non-con touch, kidnapping, it's Freezy so yeah

Notes: Happy spooky season! I cannot believe the writers I am following have led me onto the Freezy Train 😳

For a year, you worked alongside Jake. He came through your office suite to set up new computers one morning. Designated the unofficial tech responder, you reached out to him often, asked questions politely and endlessly until he resigned himself to visiting your office multiple times per week. Somehow, the two of you ended up having lunch together as he listened to you grumble about coworkers adverse to seeking technological solutions on their own. Then going to happy hour together. Then texting each other; Jake followed your lead until the two of you could speak in memes and emojis.

Your friend abruptly left his job a few months ago. With no response to your text messages, you swallowed down the disappointment of losing touch with a friend when adulting kept your circle so small already. You only hoped he was okay.

Now, after a late night at the office, your coworker Carter lies unconscious in your peripheral. The person responsible for knocking out Carter stalks toward you. You’re scrambling around your desk trying to keep distance between him and you, this stranger with scraggly hair hanging over a pair of thick spectacles.

You’re so startled, mind trying to salvage some kind of escape plan that you haven’t even tried yelling for help. You hurl a solid glass paperweight at him. Air rushes up your throat – a scream working its way out when you see him dodge and strike forward at you. His hands circle your wrist, you’re yanked against him and a painful blow to the base of your neck sends you sinking into blackness.

---

You wake with a start. Where are you?

Your hands roam, grasping lightly across your body in search of any new injuries while you breathe past the lingering pain at the back of your head. At least it wasn’t bleeding. Assured that you were able to stand and move with relative ease, you’re on your feet and tiptoeing to the door of the bedroom. Your shoes are gone, dammit.

You swallow hard, breathing deep against grogginess and the aching pulse at the base of your skull. That fucker isn’t here so you need to act.

Go out that door.

Wait. You need something. A weapon. Anything.

A shaky breath forces your stark fear at bay as you look around the room. You make it to the open closet door.

A pink color halts you physically and mentally. Pink. You collapse to your knees and grasp at the cotton fabric. The word printed on the pink shirt triggers a breathless sob that you can’t control.

Petunias

Oh gods, did this deranged man kidnap Jake too? What can he possibly want with you and your friend? Is Jake in some kind of trouble? Questions bombard your mind, tangling into nothing that makes sense. Your head aches. Your limbs feel weak. Has it been long enough that your body has weakened from lack of nourishment?

Beneath another shirt, you discover a scraggly object. It’s chestnut colored, wavy strands that sends a creeping shivering down your spine. You quickly drop the Petunias t-shirt over it, as if to hide some vile creature from sight, and peer around the room again.

Damn it. No light décor or metal objects you can arm yourself with. You’ll have to be quick.

The door gives a creak when you swing it open, revealing a small galley kitchen.

Your heart skips – dread douses you – you freeze when you see the figure standing opposite you at the far end of this small building. He turns, arms falling from the curtained window, to look at you.

You reel backward; your hands reach and claw for something, anything that might help you in this horrible circumstance.

Right back where you started. You made it barely a foot out of your prison.

Your captor descends upon you. You shriek, push and shove against him but his weight follows you, presses you down on the bed.

His palm stifles your cries while he easily restrains you.

“Awake are we?”

You shake your head. You don’t want to hear his voice. You close your eyes. You don’t want to look at him – afraid that your eyes are deceiving you.

He tsks. “Don’t be a brat. We can make this part quick.”

Growling, you shake his hand away and snap at him. “What the fuck are you talking about? Let me go.”

He scoffs at the additional impolite names you call him.

Panting, you glare at him. “What do you want?”

“You gonna play nice?”

You try to headbutt him.

He sighs in irritation.

Your wrists are snuggly wrapped and tied to one bed post. You lean away from him as much as possible where you sit on a corner of the mattress, cutting him with a glare.

He still hasn’t answered you. That cold dread weighs down in your gut as you force another question out.

“What did you do to Jake?”

“Jake?” His smile grows.

“Don’t play with me! That’s his shirt. He – he has a family. His sister and niece, they’re…” Your words die on your lips as he starts laughing.

“Oh, sugar,” he says with a fond look your way. “Time to break the bad news to you. Your buddy Jake is…Well, you wanna take a guess?”

“You hurt him?”

The cold smile does not waver. You swallow down the lump in your throat. You already know the answer.

“C’mon. Don’t leave me hanging,” he purrs at you, waiting for your next guess.

You’re not ready to accept it, despite the tangible evidence in front of you. Despite the bright t-shirt lying in the closet. Covering the brunette wig. It can’t be true.

This man’s face, his nose, his lips. You feel like you’re going mad as you keep being pulled back to those blue eyes. The glasses are gone; you can see his full brows, the aquamarine of his irises. That laugh that sounded wrong, even though the tenor flows through you in familiar waves.

His hair is now a natural deep brown. It's shorter, lacking the gel that previously held it up in blonde spikes. The wig must have just been a precaution for when he showed up at your office. And his facial hair is grown out more evenly and that alone could have transformed the man you thought you knew.

He disappeared months ago.

You study his eyes – you know their exact color – and recognize the mirth glinting beneath dark lashes. But your heart starts racing when his signature crooked smile doesn’t appear. Instead, a hard smirk twists his face into a stranger.

“Jake…” Maybe you hope invoking his name as you know it will make this all go away - will make the world make sense again. Maybe you want to cling to an impossible salvation.

He scoffs softly, a quiet murmur of your name on his lips, almost remorseful. Almost.

“The name’s Robert.”

Gone is the awkward, clumsy colleague you had grown close to. The man you formed a slow companionship with during late office hours sharing fast food while ranting about administration or complaining about the local asshole that stood at the corner of your block shouting right-wing rhetoric to people trying to get to work.

Gone is Jake Jensen, the cute nerd you called friend.

Robert Pronge closes in, looms before you. His fingers skim your jawline before he grips your face tight, deliberate.

“I couldn’t leave you behind,” he says, dipping even closer so his lips graze your cheek. You grow stiff at the gentle affection. His grip loosens enough that you can drop your gaze.

“I…d-don’t know you.” You don’t know this man. “I don’t.”

Robert watches as you press your forehead to your hands. He supposes it’s normal - you haven’t arrived at acceptance of reality yet. Your frame clenches with stress, the physiological response to danger. Robert has witnessed this countless times with countless hits.

A breathy chuckle tickles your skin. He knew you well enough at this point. “You’re a smart one, sugar.”

“No, no, no…”

“And you know now that ole Jake Jensen. Never existed.”

Faced with this man’s remorseless confession, you steel yourself for the inevitable.

“Are you – are you going to kill me?” You raise your eyes. You'll look at this man's face one last time, you won't be deceived in your final moments.

That dark chuckle returns.

“You think I risked showing up in town just for a quick kill?"

He cages you in, enclosing you between arms thick with muscle.

"No, sugar. Wouldn’t wanna waste a sweet thing like you.”

His mouth is on yours and for several seconds, the heated, hungry pressure stuns you. Confuses you. You squawk at the sensation of him probing for a deeper taste, and start twisting out of his hold.

Strong fingers tighten in your hair and make you whimper in pain, stilling enough for his tongue to delve into your mouth.

A quiet moan of satisfaction rumbles through Robert when he accesses the hot taste of you for the first time.

Robert decided long ago. Once his mask is peeled back – that blonde, chirpy mask – he’s taking you as his. And he’ll make sure you get to know the real him intimately.

------------------------------------------

A/N: Hurrah! I have been wanting to write a Jekyll and Hyde inspired fic for a while. Tis the season and all, so I present to you all: "Jensen and Pronge." muahahaha. I am trying to plan this out as a multipart fic. 😏 I'm gonna try to make this soft!dark bc that's the kind of shit I'm into.

[wonjaekook]

Residual Starshine

Pairing:  Soccer player!Yuta x fem!reader

Description: You’ve experienced plenty of irritations in your life. For better or for worse, none of them are quite like Nakamoto Yuta.

Word Count: 19.3k

Genre: strangers-to-friends-to-lovers ; fluff, smut, touch of angst

Warnings: my first published full blown smut scene (only one towards the end, nothing crazy), sexual references?, swearing, mentions of alcohol

A/N: Mingyu appears as a somewhat bad character in this, but I absolutely don’t think of him that way. As always, this is entirely fictional. If you want one song to vibe to while reading this, I was listening to Everybody Talks by Neon Trees a lot :-) this is the longest fic I’ve ever written and the first one containing smut that I’ve ever published, so please let me know what you thought!

Taglist: @junglewoos​ @insomni-writing​ @neowritingsnet​

This is my contribution to @/leesmrk’s sports collab, but she deactivated (Dee I miss you) so @lucas-wongs​ has compiled the masterlist in her stead! The link to the master post with all other submissions is in my masterlist.

You didn’t expect to be spending your first morning before classes with your face smashed into your pillow, pressing the cotton over your ears. Yesterday morning had been perfectly lovely - you slept a solid eight hours and you only awoke to the beautiful morning sunshine greeting you through your blinds.  All things considered, it was a very natural wake-up. However, the loud J-rock blaring through the floor from the apartment below you is the exact opposite of natural. Perhaps the music isn’t as loud as you perceive it to be, but you happen to take things quite personally when you’re woken up an hour early.

Except, you don’t take it personally enough that you force your body out of bed. Instead, you allow yourself to let out a loud groan of annoyance before you pull your covers over your head. Thankfully, the music shuts off about five minutes later and you drift back off to sleep.

When you awaken again an hour later, the sunlight coming into your room doesn’t seem nearly as friendly as it did yesterday. Still, this time you do force yourself to get up. You go through your usual routine - bathroom, change into your running clothes, and stretch. You hear no sounds of any stirring from your roommates as you get ready. It’s somewhat of a relief to have the apartment to yourself in the morning. You put your headphones in and step out of the apartment, trying to get yourself in the zone with your workout playlist while also doing a quick look around to see if anyone is out. One set of stairs and you’re at the door leading out of the small complex - a building with four apartments, two on the first floor and two on the second floor. Outside on the step leading to the sidewalk and there’s still no one around. Without a second of hesitation more, you’re off at a light jog. Half of the apartments in this area of your campus are dedicated to student athletes and there’s nothing you dread more than running, quite literally, into someone who’s by far your superior at this activity and who would judge you. As you run, the thought of your lower neighbor comes to you. You wake up early to go run - but they woke up earlier. At that thought, a frown subconsciously makes its way to your face. Shooting a quick prayer to the heavens that you don’t run into anyone, you continue on.

Though you hadn’t started running until this summer, you know your campus well enough in the years you’ve been here to find a nice path. That also means that, when you see pairs of runners ahead of you, you can make unexpected turns to avoid passing them. At one point, you veer out of the way of a pack of people who you assume is the running club. About forty five minutes later, you’re sweaty and more physically exhausted than when you had left, but the energy thrumming in your veins leaves you with a deep sense of satisfaction. You had successfully avoided every person you had come across on your run and-

You nearly open the door of your complex into one of your neighbors. Acting on reflex, you step back and dip your head, avoiding looking at him. “Oh, sorry.”

“That’s alright.” His voice is a smooth rumble and you look up, briefly forgetting about your sweaty and near-unpresentable state. He looks freshly showered, his skin smooth and just slightly sunkissed. Based on his physique, you would have guessed that he’s a student athlete, but his hair seems a little too long to match the stereotype. It’s a bit of a mane, a dark mop sitting atop the throne of his handsome face, and you think it suits him. As your eyes drift from his hair to his eyes to his nose and finally to his mouth, which has been set into the crooked angle of a smirk, it dawns on you that you’re checking him out very openly. Your face, already warm from exercise, turns blazing hot. After all of the hard work you went through to avoid embarrassing yourself this morning… “You’re cute, too, don’t worry.”

Several very intrusive thoughts come to you at once. By his very specific phrasing, he thinks you’re attractive. He also knows he’s attractive. The warmth of the complement fades to indignation at his cockiness. You press your mouth into a thin line and lower your head again, not making eye contact with him as you slip past him through the door. You’re not sure if his gaze follows you as you march back up the stairs to your apartment.

“One of our neighbors is a total ass!”

One of your roommates, Sowon, is lounging on your sofa as you sit at the small table in your shared living room, grinding the pen in your hand into your planner in frustration. It’s well into the afternoon now, the sun casting lines of shadows through your blinds, and you’re still hung up on what happened earlier. Sowon is also perfectly aware that you’re exaggerating, but she encourages you to continue. “The soccer neighbors or the volleyball neighbors?”

“Of course it’s one of the soccer neighbors! The volleyball neighbors would never do this to me.” You huff, eying the nearly empty container of cookies on the table.

“You’re aware that Johnny just brought those over so he had an excuse to hit on Yein, right?” Sowon releases a strand of hair that she had just idly wrapped around a finger, watching it twirl in the air. Your second roommate only sighs at the mention of her name, but doesn’t deny it.

“And Doyoung was the one who actually made them. So, by association, I am entitled to an equal share of cookies.” You consider Doyoung a friend - you shared a chemistry class with him once and he seemed to tolerate your presence, even enjoy it at times. He even sends you the occasional text still. “That doesn’t mean Yein isn’t going to be the one to give the container back, though.”

Yein frowns and opens her mouth but Sowon raises a finger to stop her. “Y/N is correct.”

With a shake of her head, Yein turns her attention back to you. “You were talking about the soccer neighbor?”

After you explain the situation as truthfully and dramatically as possible to them, they look at each other once before looking back at you. Sowon speaks first. “He’s definitely flirting.”

“Or he’s just like that naturally.” Yein counters. “Who flirts at eight in the morning?”

“You’d be surprised.” After you say that, her words sink in. You ran into him at eight in the morning, when he was looking refreshed. He’s a member of the soccer team, meaning he probably exercises in the morning. He also has pretty stereotypical rocker hair. “Holy shit, he’s the asshole who was blasting J-rock through the floor this morning!”

“Okay, never mind. He is a jerk.” Sowon wrinkles her nose.

“Was it at least good J-rock?” Yein prods.

You shrug. “It was alright, I guess. But that’s besides the point!” You slam your planner closed. “I’m giving him a piece of my mind the next time I see him.”

For several days, as classes start, you still get in your morning run and, each day, without fail, you’re woken up by the boy’s J-rock about an hour early. You fail to catch him at any time of the day until, finally, you’re on your way out of the apartment one morning. As you pull open the door, you nearly ram into him once again, though the situation is reversed. He’s the one who’s sweaty and warm, headphones firmly in his ears. That changes as he smirks, popping them out at the sight of you in the door. “So, we meet again.”

“Uh-huh.” You take the position of a displeased mother about to lecture a child, your arms crossed over your chest as you block the door. “You know, I have words for you.”

“Wow, already? People usually don’t have words for me until at least the third time we’ve met. Well, at least not more than a few choice ones like-”

You cut him off before he can inflate his own ego more. “Stop playing music so loud at six in the morning.”

He tilts his head like he’s confused, but the way his lips are quirked up tells you that he knows exactly what you’re talking about. “Baseless accusations. Maybe you should take this up with Jaehyun or Kun. I would never do such a thing.”

“Come on. I know it’s you.” The look you give him is entirely unamused, so he relents slightly, the smile falling from his face.

“What are you gonna do, report me to housing?” Before you can reply that, yes, that’s exactly what you’ll do, he continues. “I’ll tell them about the parties you and your roommates have. I’m sure they’d love coming out here at 3 AM one day just to tell you to keep it down. Almost as much as they’d love to come to my door at 6 to do the same.”

He starts walking towards the door and you turn your body inward, allowing him passage while silently fuming. “You-”

“My name is Nakamoto Yuta. You can say that if you need something to scream.” He gifts you a sly wink as he unlocks his door and lets himself in, leaving you so bewildered that you can’t think of a response at all.

“Stop messing with the soccer boys.” Sowon immediately reprimands you after you recount what happened. “You know the school will punish us before they punish them.”

“Yeah, and if this is your way of flirting, you need to think of something better.” Yein adds from the connected kitchen, tossing the stir-fry in her pan. “I’m not risking getting kicked out because you decided to mess with the soccer team’s star player.”

“To be fair, I don’t think he was really upset about the interaction. He seemed amused by my reaction.” You slump down, your forehead resting on the table. “And I didn’t know who he was until he said his name.”

“Well, he doesn’t know who you are-”

“And I don’t want him to.” You cut off Sowon. “I’ll just… deal with it.”

You get one more peaceful morning of running alone before, two days after you had first talked to him, Nakamoto Yuta comes jogging up to you. You don’t hear him at first. Music blares in your earbuds, drowning out most of the background noise of the morning, and your heartbeat in your ears fills out the parts of your internal sound profile that your music doesn’t quite reach. He comes up behind you, nearly making you jump out of your skin when you see the figure of another person jogging in your peripherals. Your pace falters, but you immediately try to right yourself and regain momentum, praying he’ll just pass by you without saying anything. Except he doesn’t leave. With an internal sigh, you turn your head towards him. He offers you a grin and air-taps over his ear. Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you pull out your headphones. “What?”

“Great morning, isn’t it?”

You contemplate shutting your eyes so that you can purposefully trip and eject yourself from this conversation. “I guess.”

“It’s soccer season. You know that, right?” You narrow your eyes at him, but nod. “Our first game is coming up soon.” You don’t like where this is going. “You should come.” “You must be hard-pressed for attendees to be randomly asking your neighbor to come to your game.” You reach for your earbuds again.

“Hold on, hold on.” You pause, then immediately wonder why you’re even giving him the time of day. Still, you relent for a moment. “If you come to the game this Saturday, I’ll stop playing music so loud when I wake up.”

“If you were a kind and courteous neighbor, you would just do that without having to threaten me to go to one of your games. And,” you state flatly, “I’ve already been to enough soccer games for the rest of my life, thank you very much.”

As you jog away, he doesn’t try to stop you again, but you could swear that he seems the slightest bit disappointed.

The next morning is more of the same as usual. The same loud J-rock that wakes you up an hour early, your same run, your same shower and breakfast and classes. You consider shifting your sleep schedule so that you wake up at the same time as Yuta, though you dismiss the idea because why should you change your lifestyle to adjust for his? You’d rather suffer the early wakeup.

Except, two days after he asks you to come to one of his games, the music stops. That first morning, you wake up at your usual time. You’re prepared to be upset at Yuta waking you early again, but when your foggy morning brain processes that you had woken up to your own alarm and not his music, you lie there confused. When you go out for your run not long after, you almost hope that you’ll run into him. There’s no way he’s just being nice is there? He has to be sick or something. To your disappointment, you don't run into him and you’re just stuck in your confusion. This goes on for three more days and each day you become more perplexed.

As you’re returning to your apartment after your classes that Friday, someone holds the door for you as you approach. “Thanks-” you start, then see who’s holding it for you. “-oh! Jaehyun!”

“Hey, uh, Y/N, right?” You smile at him, nodding firmly. You’re almost surprised that he remembers your name because you’d only chatted once before, back when you were moving in. He’s perfectly polite, almost shy-seeming, and completely different from his roommate. “What’s up?”

“Nothing, I’m just getting back from classes.” Thinking of his roommate… “I was actually wondering, um…” He gives you a confused look, waiting for you to continue. “Is Yuta doing okay?”

“Yeah, he’s fine. Why?” Jaehyun hadn’t been aware that you were at all acquainted with his roommate.

You appear equally as confused as he does. “Oh, I… never mind. If you don’t mind me asking, where’s your next game?”

He brightens up at that. “It’s a home game. Tomorrow at six, don’t miss it!”

You return his smile. “Great, thanks, Jaehyun! I’ll see you around?” He sends you off with a wave before you go your separate ways, entering your respective apartments.

Should you actually go to his game? You don’t owe him anything, you never agreed to his deal, but he did stop playing his music so loud. You’re not really doing anything on Saturday either… maybe you’ll bug Sowon and Yein so that they’ll come with you.

That evening, the apartment below yours is particularly busy. All of the soccer boys are home - Yuta, Jaehyun, Kun - and the volleyball and art boys are also over - Johnny, Doyoung, Jungwoo, Taeyong, Ten, and Sicheng. After all, as Johnny says, Friday nights are for the boys. Conversation flows from school to girls to boys to soccer, upon which Jaehyun shares a very interesting observation with his friends.

“By the way, it seems like you have another admirer, Yuta.” Jaehyun says as he takes a swig of his soju, recently acquired from the nearby Korean market and grossly overpriced.

“Sure,” Yuta responds, rolling his eyes, “who would that be?”

“You know that girl from upstairs? Y/N? She asked about you today and then asked me about our next game.”

“We haven’t even had our first game and you’re already collecting fangirls? Come on, Yuta,” Kun chimes in this time, breaking away from his conversation with Sicheng about their shared organic chemistry class.

“That can’t be right,” Yuta says, leaning back into the couch, “L/N Y/N? I’m pretty sure she hates my guts. I tried to make a deal with her to get her to come to the game and she just brushed me off.”

Doyoung narrows his eyes at his friend. “Y/N doesn’t just hate people for no reason. What did you do?”

Yuta raises his hands defensively and half-glares at him. “I didn’t do anything! I was just being myself and she decided to hate me.”

“The star-player, cocky version of yourself or the normal version of yourself?” Doyoung says, looking entirely unamused.

Yuta thinks back to all of the encounters he’s had with you and cringes slightly. “Listen, she was the one who was checking me out first-”

“Stupid.” Doyoung shakes his head before taking a sip of the water he’s drinking. “Some people take well to forwardness, but not her.”

“Are you sure? Because if she’s asked after me, I think that means she likes it.”

“I am going to spike a ball into your head, you-”

“Guys, calm down,” Sicheng says with a rather flat tone. Instantly, the two bickering boys stop, resorting to glaring at each other. Jaehyun gently shoves his roommate to get his attention and the room quickly returns to normal. Later, Doyoung passes Yuta a new bottle once his has run out, so he knows that the younger was never truly angry at him. The small party doesn’t go long into the night - tomorrow’s the first game of the season, after all - and, surprisingly, there isn’t much noise from their upstairs neighbor either.

That is mostly thanks to you. You had convinced your two party-addicted friends to attend someone else’s get together instead of hosting their own, so you ushered them out of the house at around ten in the evening. You know that they’ll come back fine in a few hours, rumpled and with their makeup half sweated off, buzzing with alcohol and the blaring music of whatever houseparty they were invited to, but you still tell them that your phone will be off of silent in case they need anything. Previous semesters, you might have gone with them, but, now, you just want to sleep so you can wake up early and go on your usual run.

The morning comes with your sleep uninterrupted by your roommates. After you awaken, instead of lying in bed and contemplating life for a while, you drag yourself up and to their rooms, where you find each of them peacefully asleep in their beds. Yein bothered to change out of her party clothes and into pajamas while Sowon didn’t, her dress half off of her shoulder and bunched up under her butt. Both of them are snoring away, hugging pillows and blankets.

The relief of seeing your roommates in good condition adds a spring to your step. A few minutes later, after you’ve stretched on the floor of your bedroom, you’re halfway out the outside door of the complex when you feel a tap on your shoulder. You know who it is even before you turn around.

“Y/N,” Yuta says, grinning much too brightly for how early it is. He doesn’t seem like he’s been out yet, which is strange. “Good morning.”

“Is it?” You lift an eyebrow.

“Perfectly!” As he talks, you begin to move farther out the door. Down one step. Down two steps. On the sidewalk. “Do you want to run together?”

“Shouldn’t you be just coming back from doing that?” You pull out your phone.

He quickly matches his stride to yours. “I decided to start running an hour later on the weekends. You know, sleep in a bit since I have the time.”

“I’m happy for you.” You select a song and put one ear of your headphones in.

“Are you coming tonight?”

“Didn’t I already answer that?” In all honesty, you feel like you should be more irritated with him than you actually are. He’s at least amusing to talk to. Plus, he stopped waking you up an hour early without you even promising to come to his game.

“Yeah, but then you asked Jaehyun about it.”

You stop moving, turning to look at him. He has another one of those infuriating smirks on his face and all of your previous enjoyment flies out the window. “Maybe I’m a huge fan of his.”

“What position does he play?”

“I don’t have to answer that!” Now, your face is already warming and you haven’t even begun your exercise. You turn away from him again and begin to slowly jog. “Bye, Yuta.”

“He’s a midfielder! And I’m a forward! You can see today at the game!” He calls after you as you get farther away, his voice getting more distant. Part of you feels bad for your neighbors - the windows aren’t exactly soundproof. You just wave a hand back at him in dismissal. A minute later, you look behind you. To your great relief, and mild surprise, he isn’t following you. He went the complete opposite direction.

“Will you guys please come with me? I promise some of the guys on the team are hot.” You tug on Sowon’s sleeve like a child does to their mother when they want something.

“I thought you hated college soccer because of your brother.” She flips a page in her textbook, scribbling down something in her notes.

“I don’t think this one will be so bad. Our team is supposed to be really good this year, right?” You look hopefully at her.

“How am I supposed to know? How is anyone supposed to know? Today is their first game.” She stops attempting to study, looking at you. “Also, I’m messing around. I’ll go with you.”

You look at your other roommate, who is in the middle of the very exhaustive task of sitting on your sofa and scrolling through her phone. She gives you a thumbs up. “As long as I can put on face paint!”

A couple hours later, you find yourselves in the bleachers surrounding the soccer field. It’s a modest stadium, not a stadium at all but just a normal soccer field with bleachers on either side and some decently sized flood lights for night usage. Not too far away is a moderately sized building that is a shared locker room space for all of the school’s athletic teams. Your school never invested much of its funds into soccer until recently, largely thanks to Yuta and some of the other members who are in their third or fourth year playing who made a name for your university in the sport. You also suspect that they probably talked the ear off of the provost so that he finally agreed to give them more funding, but that’s just a personal guess.

From your place on the home side of the bleachers, you have total vision of the field. Both teams are running warm-up drills and it’s easy enough to spot the people you know: someone from your physics class named Mingyu, someone you remember from a party named Baekho, and your lower neighbors, Jaehyun, Kun, and, of course, Yuta. His hair is pulled back from his face in a small ponytail at the back of his head and a small version of your university’s lion mascot stands out proudly on his red jersey.

You purposefully make a point to look for him last, only to find that he’s completely focused. Though it’s just shooting drills, he seems like he’s entirely in the zone, his eyes sharp and calculated. From what you can tell. The physical distance between you isn’t huge, but you can’t read his expressions that well from this angle.

The sharp scream of a whistle being blown indicates that there’s five minutes until the start of the game. The teams both do a bit of last minute stretching as they gather around the coach, a man you recognize as a biology professor. Finally, just as the clock hits six, they squeeze closer together, arms slung over each others’ shoulders in a tight circle, and do some sort of indistinct chant that ends in something like “Go Lions!”

After they break away, you can see the shift in atmosphere. Everyone is completely serious. It’s the first game of the season and they aren’t going to destroy the reputation they’ve built up for the last three years. You watch as Jaehyun moves to his position as a midfielder, Kun moves to his position as defense, and Yuta lines up in the position of forward center. A coin flip gives the kick-off to the away team, a school with a hawk mascot. Everyone shifts slightly on their feet and, for a moment, the world seems to be silent. The crowd leans forward in their seats.

Then, the whistle is blown.

The game gets to a roaring start. From how cautiously the other team is playing, they seem to know the reputation of the Lions - a team that shot up out of nowhere and suddenly has one of the best forwards in college soccer. You find yourself grinning as the ball barely makes it past your team’s defensive midfielder Mingyu before it’s in the Lions’ metaphorical hands. Your midfielders carefully juggle the ball between them, passing and passing and passing, before it reaches Jaehyun at center midfield. He does his job quickly and efficiently, making it almost look easy, and the ball meets the half-tip. From there, the ball is stolen by one of the Hawks’ defense at a failed pass to the second striker, Baekho. The ball shoots all the way to midfield.

For a few tense minutes, you watch the players run back and forth across the field, their eyes never leaving the target. The game pauses every so often when the ball gets kicked out of bounds, but it always resumes with just as much vigor. About a quarter of the way through the game, Yuta finally has his breakthrough. Jaehyun lands a kick directly in his direction, giving him the perfect opportunity. The strike is clean and so fast that you would have missed it if your eyes weren’t glued to the movements of the ball. All of the people on your side of the bleachers launch to their feet in roaring cheers as the ball sails past the opponent goalie’s right side and into the net. You’re standing alongside everyone else, your hands cupped around your mouth as you yell in excitement. It’s not often that you see such a well done shot from a college team.

The boil of the crowd’s blood dies down a bit as the game continues, but soars back up whenever something particularly exciting happens. In the third quarter, the Hawks manage to land a goal on your team, but Yuta comes in clutch a few minutes later and scores two easy goals almost one after the other. The final score is deeply satisfying at 3:1.

The opposing team try to be good sports about it, but they’re obviously sulking when they shake your team’s hands. After they break away, they’re all gloriously sweaty, which you’re sure Sowon is excited about. Some of the spectators immediately rush out of the stands and make their way down, friends and significant others of the players, you presume. Part of you wants to go down there and be a part of the excitement. Luckily enough, a distraction comes in the form of some of your other neighbors before you’re forced to make any decisions.

“Hey, Yein, Sowon, Y/N!”

When you turn, you see Johnny and Doyoung approaching. Yein stiffens slightly and you nearly start laughing at your friend’s embarrassed behavior. Sowon greets them first. “Hi, guys.”

“I didn’t know you guys were into soccer?” Johnny asks, his eyes shifting easily from Sowon to you to Yein, where they remain.

“Not really! But Y/N wanted to go today.” In her nervousness, Yein easily exposes you.

“I wasn’t the only one who wanted to go,” you huff, crossing your arms. Doyoung and Johnny exchange a look that makes you want to change the subject. “I guess you guys are here to support some friends?”

“Yup, Yuta, Kun, and Jaehyun,” Doyoung says, looking towards the field, where some of their other friends are already gathered around the star player. “They played really well. It’ll be a good season.”

“I hope so,” Sowon says, also watching.

“Well, we don’t want to keep you guys from them,” you say, wanting to eject yourself from the conversation before it turns in a different direction. To your displeasure, Johnny is a master of knowing exactly what you don’t want and then doing it anyways. You’ve never really talked to him before, but it seems that he’s similar to Yuta in that way.

“Why don’t we all go say hi?” The tall boy says, grinning. “You guys can tell me how those cookies were, too.”

There is no escape. Now, as you follow them down the bleachers, you reflect Yein in a way. She no longer looks quite as nervous, eagerly chatting with Johnny, while you grow increasingly more fidgety. It’s not that you don’t want to talk to Yuta. You just don’t want to give in to whatever game the two of you silently decided you were playing.

Then again, it is much more fun to play along than it is to outright reject him. Plus, today’s actual game was good. You’ll give him that.

Trying to seem as nonchalant as possible, you join the small crowd surrounding Yuta. If you thought he glowed normally, he absolutely shines now. There’s something about him being in his element at the very top of his game that makes you forget your irritation with him for a moment. In that instant, he’s a star. In that instant, he reminds you of your brother. Then, he spots you and opens his mouth.

“Y/N!” As he calls out to you, the girl he was talking to before you arrived seems perturbed, but he ignores her, pushing his way closer to you. “You actually came.”

You turn your nose up at him slightly. “No one ever said it was for you.”

“Of course not. You and I both know the truth, though.” The wink is nowhere near subtle or sly and you scoff at him. He seems unbothered. “This was your first Lions game, right? Did you enjoy it?”

You nod hesitantly. “I heard you guys were good, but I didn’t know how good. You played a near perfect game.”

The self-satisfied smile drops from his face. “I wouldn’t say that.”

“What do you mean?” Tilting your head, you match his somewhat grim face.

“There’s always better plays to make, better places to have been. You know.” He quickly tries to play it off like he’s uninterested rather than deeply bothered. You’re not sure you know what the truth is. You haven’t talked to him nearly enough to know. This is the first hint of something serious that he’s shown you. It almost makes you want to talk to him more to find out.

“Dude, shut up, you’re good.” From the side, Johnny butts in, elbowing his friend. You’re glad for the interruption, as you once again didn’t know what to say. The mood raises, with some of Yuta’s friends reenacting the best parts of the game, joking about his long hair, betting on what next week’s game will look like. A few minutes later, the Lions’ coach shouts for all of the team members to go shower and get changed, so the crowd slowly disperses.

After you’re alone with your roommates, Sowon and Yein can’t help but give you playful shoves as you walk home. Sowon is the first to verbalize her amusement. “I thought you hated him?”

You grumble under your breath, not saying anything in particular.

“You played a near perfect game.” Yein mimics, making your face burn.

“I do not sound like that! Also, I know a good game when I see one and I know when to admit it!” You kick your shoe against the pavement as they giggle at you.

From then on, it seems like you run into Yuta far too often for your own good. Every few days, you bump into him when you’re either about to go run or when you’re coming back from running. When you go with Yein to return Johnny’s cookie container, Yuta is in his apartment, lounging on the sofa and chatting with Jungwoo, your third volleyball neighbor. Once, when you’re studying at the school library because you need a change of scenery from your apartment, he runs into you. That time, you snap at him.

“Are you stalking me or something?”

He places a hand over his heart, pretending to be offended.  “What do you mean? If anything you’re the one stalking me. I come here every Thursday after practice to study.” He huffs. “If you’re talking about when I was in Johnny’s apartment, I was already there before you even arrived. Unless you’re accusing me of being psychic, too.”

Your shoulders slowly lower at the guilt you feel. Cringing slightly, you raise your hands in apology. “I didn’t mean to imply…” You sigh. “Sorry. Can I buy you a coffee or something to apologize?”

Only after Yuta’s mock hurt shifts to a triumphant look do you realize the implications of your words. You’re really on a roll with implications today. He grins. “If you really want to.”

As you pack up your things, Yuta tells the few teammates he had come to study with that he’s going, and you walk out of the library side by side. Luckily, he actually makes for easy conversation and good company. You don’t know why he insists on the flirting and cockiness in your shorter interactions. As you walk to the campus coffee shop, you learn that he’s a studio art major. He learns that you’re a physical therapy major. You learn that he’s taking a statistics class that you had already previously taken - he put it off while you got it done in your first year - and, without thinking, you offer to help him if he needs it. After you order both of your coffees, finding out that he likes a lighter roast, you sit at a table in the shop with him. Silence comes and goes as both of you do some of the studying that you intended to do at the library. Every so often, he asks you a question. Usually, you answer him. You always return with a question of your own. You find out that his favorite of the bands that he used to blast through the floor is One Ok Rock.

“Sorry,” he finally says, appearing genuinely remorseful with the sheepish look on his face, “I didn’t have upstairs neighbors last year. I didn’t know you could hear it through the floor.”

“It’s fine. Sorry I snapped at you back then.”

It’s very strange to be on perfectly good terms with Nakamoto Yuta.

A few days later, when your brother sends you a ticket for the local professional soccer team, the Ravens, you almost feel like you should ask for a second so you can bring Yuta. Figuring it would be too much to ask, you plan to go by yourself, thankful that the game falls on a day the Lions aren’t playing. Plus, you can’t imagine what your roommates would say if you chose to go out of your way to take him with you.

You’ve taken to hanging out with the long-haired center forward, helping him with his math when he needs it and just… generally enjoying his company. That doesn’t mean you’re all sugar and smiles to him - it’s much more fun to mess around a little, make him think that you don’t like him quite as much as you actually do. The only thing you can think of that would personally offend him would be to say you’re going to one of his games and then failing to do so.

On the bus ride over to the stadium where the Ravens are playing, you’re thankful that you don’t recognize anyone from your school. You’re in the team’s colors, silver and forest green, and it would be clear to anyone where you’re going. Only after you get off of the bus do you realize just how many came to watch. The stadium is full, packed to almost capacity. That’s probably why your brother hadn’t gotten you tickets earlier - all of them were taken. He probably gave tickets to the earlier games to your parents. They would have thrown a fit if he had only invited you earlier, even if you are his favorite.

As you make your way to your seat, you remark on how strange it is to see your last name printed on the backs of the shirts of a bunch of strangers. The vibe of the crowd is completely different from that at your school’s field. While college students are excitable and energetic, these spectators are rabid. At any moment, there’s one hundred people yelling, someone trying to start a chant, someone screaming just for the sake of it. The air is buzzing with the anticipation of the crowd.

There’s a moment of sudden thick silence, like the moment before a dam is about to burst, where the crowd is silent. Then, both teams are stepping out onto the field and the stadium explodes. In the middle of the line of the eleven Ravens players, like he’s trying to blend in even though half of the crowd is chanting his name, is your brother. There’s a coin flip and it’s decided that the Ravens will start. He gets into his position, forward center, and the audience takes another breath.

You’re on the edge of your seat. Half of the game you’re standing. There’s a thrill about the experience that makes you so invigorated and proud beyond belief. If it had been strange seeing your last name on the backs of fans’ jerseys, it’s just as weird hearing the announcer say your brother’s name as he scores. If Yuta had been residual starshine, your brother is a shot of pure gold. He has long given up trying to make himself small where he glows the brightest, smiling as the whistle is blown for halftime. His teammates slap each other on the back when they go for water. Just as the game is about to resume, you feel your phone buzz in your pocket once. You figure that whoever is texting you can wait.

The other team makes a comeback in the second half, scoring on the Ravens and tying the score. You feel a bit bad for the goalie, a guy you know as Kim Yongsuk, who your brother had introduced you to in the past. He’s probably beating himself up over it. Still, the team doesn’t falter, doesn’t repeat their mistakes. It’s a hard game - from how close you are, you can almost see everyone breathing hard. Finally, with just a few minutes left to spare, the ball travels smoothly from the Ravens’ defensive line, to the midfielders, to the offense. Once it’s in your brother’s possession, it’s over. He shoots and he scores.

To be fair to the other team, they try to recover, but it’s just not enough. Time is called and it ends 2:1. The Ravens have won. You find yourself clapping and cheering with the other fans, shouting your elation to the huge stadium. As things begin to wind down and the teams shake hands, people begin to trickle out of the stadium. A satisfied hum is in the air, leaving a smile on your face, too. Perhaps soccer games are the reason you like parties, too. The warm, excited atmosphere, the noise, forgetting about the outside world to become absorbed in something else.

Finally, reality calls again after all of the players filter out to their respective locker rooms. You pull out your phone, about to send a text to your brother. However, when your phone comes to life, the first thing you see is a text from Yuta.

NaYu: Are you at the Ravens game??

An instant later, right on cue, you hear his voice. “Y/N!” Upon looking up, he’s bounding down the aisles towards you, also donning forest green and silver. Watching him weave through the rest of the people trying to leave, you wouldn’t be surprised if he would have slid down the railing if there weren’t other people there. Nonetheless, it doesn’t take long for him to reach you. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Why not?” You tilt your head, smiling slightly. You’re in too good of a mood to outright lie to him.

He blinks. “I thought you hated watching soccer.”

You hold your hands behind your back, swaying playfully. For once, he’s the confused one. “I don’t know what gave you that impression. I really enjoy seeing the Ravens play.”

“But… you said…” He furrows his eyebrows. “Didn’t you say you’ve seen enough soccer games to last your whole life already, or something?” “I changed my mind.” Your phone buzzes in your hand.

B/N: You still in the stands? I’m coming up.

At that, you freeze. Yuta nudges you. “You okay?”

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine.” You’ve kept the fact that your brother is the Ravens’ star striker away from everyone, besides your roommates, and you can’t even begin to imagine how Yuta would react if he found how. What would he think of you? “You can head out without me, Yuta. I’m waiting for someone.” The concerned expression doesn’t leave his face. “Are you sure? It’s kind of late-”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine, I’m-”

“Y/N!”

You turn just in time to see your brother jumping the gate blocking off the entrance to the field from the stands. Most of the stadium has cleared out by now, ushered out by staff, leaving very few people. Your brother has a hoodie on with his team’s colors, the hood up and partially blocking his face from distant onlookers nonetheless. You cringe internally as he jogs up to you, not seeming tired at all, and you greet him as he engulfs you in a warm hug. “Hi, B/N.”

“I’m glad you could make it. It’s not often that I get to play for my favorite sibling.” You’re looking at your brother, but you’re sure that Yuta has a shocked look on his face as he connects the dots. Now that your brother has directly stated who he is to you, there’s no avoiding it. He looks past you and realizes that you’re not alone. “Who’s this?”

“I…” Now that you’re actually looking at Yuta, you realize he’s entirely starstruck. He looks like he’s stuck in one place, his eyes wider than normal and full of awe.

You take over for him. “This is Yuta. He’s my friend from school and our team’s center forward.”

“It’s nice to meet you, I’m B/N! Since Y/N finally decided to show her face at her own team’s games, I heard you guys are doing well this year. Go Lions!” He raises a fist, giving Yuta a sunny smile.

Yuta blinks hard, looking almost like he might pass out. “Y-yeah. We’re doing alright, I guess. Thank you for your support.” He reflexively dips into a shallow bow, making your brother chuckle.

“You don’t have to be so formal. Any friend of Y/N’s is a friend of mine.” He elbows you not-so-gently. “Y/N! Tell me next time you want to bring him. I’ll throw in a second ticket.”

Yuta unfreezes a bit and looks at you. “You don’t bring Yein or Sowon?”

You shrug. “I don’t like to bring only one of them. It feels unfair to the other.”

“Still, I’m glad to see that you’re not lying about having at least one friend.” Your brother gives you a wicked grin and heat fills your cheeks.

“I have friends!” You insist, clenching your fists at your side.

“Do you?” Yuta teases, making you press your lips together in a look of indignation.

Before you can counter him, your brother interjects. “I hate to part with the two of you, but I have to leave.” He steps back, waving a hand at the two of you. “See you!” “I hope you stub your toe on the way out!” You shout back at him as he retreats.

“Hey, this toe is worth a lot of money! Love you, too!”

There’s a period of silence as you watch your brother disappear. Yuta clears his throat. “Do you want to go back?”

“Yeah.” You follow him wordlessly for a while, making your way out of the stadium. He walks by your side, his hands in his pockets. He doesn’t seem upset, just a bit shocked still. As you approach the bus stop, you finally speak up. “Did you come with anyone else?”

“Some of the guys from the team. I told them to go ahead without me so I could talk to you.” Of all the things he’s ever said, that makes your heart feel strange. A tiny flutter of a butterfly’s wings, if you will.

Then, as you make it to the bus shelter, you turn to him, grabbing onto the edge of his sleeve. “Yuta, promise you won’t be weird after this?”

He blinks, not fighting your grip. “Why would I be weird?”

“Just… I don’t really tell people about my brother. I don’t want you to think any differently about me because of it.” This level of vulnerability isn’t something you usually show and it feels foreign, unfamiliar. When you told Sowon and Yein about it, it didn’t feel this way. Yet, standing under the shelter with Yuta, his deep green sleeve in your hand, his eyes on yours, the light of the city falling faintly on your faces, you feel your heart pound even harder in your chest.

“I already liked you before I ever knew that.” He reaches up oh so slowly. You don’t know what he’s going to do. Touch your cheek, pat your head, kiss you? Before you can find out, the bus pulls up with a loud exhale, spewing exhaust. The doors open and the driver looks at you expectantly as you turn and get in. Yuta follows you, silent. Both of you pay your dues and sit down, side by side, his sleeve brushing yours.

You know exactly what it is about him that drives you insane. At the same time, you have no idea. While you don’t want things to be different with him after tonight, you also desperately wish for the opposite. You’re tempted to slap yourself in the face to try and wake yourself up from whatever strange dream you’re happening, but you don’t know how the boy next to you would react.

The ride passes excruciatingly slowly, as does the short walk back to your complex. Finally, as you’re standing in the stairwell, about to part ways with him, he speaks. “Do you want to study together tomorrow?”

At that, such a normal suggestion, you smile. “Sure.”

He reflects your expression. It’s a familiar look on him, which you’re grateful for. “I’ll text you. Goodnight, Y/N.”

The next day is entirely ordinary. It’s like the previous night never happened. Yuta is perfectly normal, perfectly flirty, perfectly infuriating. In fact, the entire week after is normal. You go to the Lions game, cheer on your neighbors, and pretend to be difficult with Yuta after the game. He’s always so hard on himself after his games, remarking on what he believes are the many things he could have done differently to play a better game, despite scoring all of the team’s goals and securing wins every time. You hope that you talking to him afterwards raises his spirits just as much as you enjoy it.

Then, one Saturday, you’re out running when Yuta jogs up to you. Once again, he scares the shit out of you, making you nearly trip. “Hey, Y/N.”

You tear out your headphones, giving him a look. “Have you tried not jumpscaring me?”

The shrug he gives you looks strange, as he’s jogging slowly next to you when he attempts to emote. “It’s kind of funny.” You grumble under breath about showing him what’s funny, and he continues. “Do you want to run together on the weekends?”

“This again?” You say, frowning.

He rolls his eyes. “Listen, I know you’re lonely. Since you come out to my games, I thought I should do you some sort of favor in return.”

“I also help you with your statistics homework.”

“Anyways, you’re in luck because I also don’t have a running partner. It’s a lot easier to set a pace and keep moving if you have someone with you.”

You know he’s right, but it doesn’t make you feel any better. When you’re running, you’re at your most vulnerable - sweaty, tired, out of your element. There’s plenty of reasons you shouldn’t want him to run with you. “You have to run so much faster than I do. I would just slow you down.”

“Not really,” he says, looking at your feet as you jog next to him, “see? We’re both doing fine right now.”

You realize that he’s right. You keep moving wordlessly for a minute, until you speak quietly. “Would you really not mind?”

You focus on his hair bouncing as he takes each step for a while before you look at his face. In the morning sunlight, he gives you a pure smile. “Not at all.”

On Saturdays and Sundays, he’s waiting for you just outside of the complex at seven in the morning with his hair tied up to keep it out of his eyes. He easily matches his pace to yours. He’s always much more awake at that hour than you are, but the quiet encouragement he whispers whenever you slow down help perk you up. It takes you a little while to realize that he’s doing something very similar for you to what you do for him after his games.

It’s a cloudy Sunday morning. Usually, you don’t talk a ton while you’re running together, but it seems that his curiosity has gotten the best of him. “What made you want to start running?”

“Hm?” You hum, snapped out of the world that was just your feet thudding against the ground and the sound of your breathing in your ears. “Do I have to have a reason?”

“People usually don’t just randomly start doing it. Maybe they want to get stronger or lose weight. Maybe they want to impress someone.”

“It’s not about impressing anyone. I’m doing this for me.” You say it firmly, confidently. His pace stutters and he watches you continue forward. There’s something in your voice that makes him incapable of moving, and all he can do is stare at you for a moment, his heart speeding up in his chest for reasons other than the running you’re doing. When you realize he isn’t following, you turn towards him, jogging in place. The way your face is illuminated by the sunlight being cast upon it makes him sure he’s never met someone as incredible as you before in his life. “Are you coming?”

You don’t know what’s up with him. His expression is something you’ve never seen but can’t quite place. He catches up in a few bounds and you resume your run.

The next Friday, you receive a strange text.

Unknown Number: Hey, is this Y/N?

You contemplate whether or not you should respond, but you get a second text.

Unknown Number: This is Mingyu from physics

Now, that’s strange. You start to type out a reply.

Y/N: Hi! What’s up?

Kim Mingyu: I was wondering if you could help me with the lab report from last Friday? I’m having some trouble

Y/N: Sure, do you want to meet in the library later?

Meeting up with someone who you’ve never really talked to before is strange. Mingyu tries to joke with you, but something about them falls flat. You try your best to laugh and help him anyways, figuring it’s just stiffness from interacting with someone new. Though it’s nice to finally have a physics buddy, you’re almost relieved when you go home.

As you approach your complex, you see a small group formed on the lawn outside. Sicheng and Ten are standing on one leg, holding the other leg up and trying to knock each other down. A small smile comes to your face when you realize that Yuta is in the group, cheering for his friends. Around the same time you see him, he sees you and his eyes light up. He’s quickly getting to his feet and bounding towards you. Taeyong calls after him with a frown. “Yuta, you’re next!”

Still, he sidles up next to you as you walk closer to the circle. “Y/N! Where are you coming from?”

“Just the library. Actually, I was meeting up with one of your teammates, Mingyu. We were working on physics.”

The smile he wears twitches downwards for a moment. “I didn’t know you had a class with him.”

“It wasn’t worth mentioning. I never talked to him before today.” You shrug, shifting the backpack on your shoulders. “What are you guys doing?”

“One-legged fight. You should join.” He suddenly has a sadistic gleam in his eye and you take a tiny step away from him.

“And give you an excuse to push me on the ground? No thanks.”

“Aw, Y/N, I’m hurt. You don’t think I would just push you if I really wanted to?” At his proclamation, you shake your head, trying to force down a smile but failing miserably. “I’m kidding, of course. I would never.”

It’s almost sunset and he looks glorious in the golden light, the sun reflecting off of his dark hair and making his eyelashes cast long shadows on his cheekbones. If you were bolder, you might say something about it. Instead, you let out a snort of laughter, looking away from him. From the circle a few yards away, cheers erupt. Ten is curled on the ground, dramatically bemoaning his loss to Sicheng, who stands proudly over him. Taking that as his cue, Yuta gives you a small wave and rejoins his group.

When you enter your apartment with a small, content smile on your face, Yein looks up from her cooking. “Good day?”

“You could say that.”

The next morning, thankfully, is a Saturday. Yuta is waiting for you, looking just as fine in the morning sun as he did in the evening rays. He’s stretching as you approach him. “It looks like it’ll be good weather for the match today.”

“It better be.” He says it lightheartedly, but you can really imagine him threatening the weather. He’s told you that he hates the rain, partly because it makes it unpleasant to play but also just because it dampens his mood. The team is lucky they’ve gotten good weather for the season so far.

As you’re running, you remember what something you needed to ask Yuta about. “Hey, are you free on Wednesday night? My brother offered me two tickets for his game.”

His eyes light up. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah?” You tilt your head, trying to keep your pace steady. “He said he would pull through, so he did. You made a good impression on him.”

“I am totally free. Completely. Did I tell you how free I am that day?” The child-like excitement in his voice makes you smile in return.

“Wow, with how not free you are, I guess I should invite someone else,” you tease and he lets out an uncharacteristic whine.

“Y/N, I know you’re messing with me, but if you take someone else after asking me, I will never forgive you.”

Now it’s your turn to pretend to be offended. “I see how much our friendship means to you, Mr. Nakamoto.”

He sighs dramatically, bringing a hand to his forehead as he acts like he’s going to faint. “You’re so serious.”

You stick out your tongue at him. “You’re such a fanboy.”

“I can’t help it. Your brother is just so cool. I don’t know how you don’t try to hang out with him literally all the time.”

That gives you pause. You feel your feet connect with the earth repeatedly for a minute, thinking about your brother and your complicated but not complicated relationship. You trust Yuta with so many things, so you may as well tell him. “A few weeks ago, when I said I was only doing this for me, I lied. Just a little.” You say, not looking at him. You’ve never really admitted it out loud before. “I want to get good enough to run with my brother. I almost never see him these days, but if I can start getting up to run with him sometimes… it’ll be like when we were kids. Or something. I don’t know.”

“He’s important enough to you that you want to change something about your life to spend more time with him,” Yuta says quietly, keeping pace with you. “I hope he knows how much you care about him.”

“You don’t always need to change to show you love someone. That’s why it was only partly a lie when I said I’m only doing this for myself.” You flash Yuta a smile, which he returns. Though your lungs burn and your legs ache, the air you breathe in is cool and fresh. “I’ll race you back.”

His eyes flash. “Challenge accepted.”

The next time you see Yuta is later that day, at his game. He’s serious, as usual, in the zone. As the season goes on, the bleachers fill up more and more with students eager to see the Lions throw sparks. The games continually get harder, but they manage to clutch this one out with a final score of 3:2.

Despite the win, Yuta still seems somewhat down. Afterwards, you’re about to go up to him to describe the glorious moment when he slid between two of the opponent defenders and scored, but you’re stopped by a heavy hand on your shoulder.

“Hey, Y/N.” To your surprise, Mingyu is the one approaching you. He doesn’t take his hand away.

“Oh! Mingyu, hi.” You try to smile at him, but your eyes wander over to Yuta briefly. “Good game today! You guys played solidly.”

“Ha, thanks. Could’ve been better on my part, I’m always looking to improve, you know.”

“I get it,” you respond, nodding.

“Are you possibly free on Wednesday night? We have a lab due on Friday and I just think it would be easier to do if we can work together, ya know?”

“Oh, um, I’m actually busy then.” You force yourself to not look at Yuta. “Does Thursday night work instead?”

“Sure, whatever. I’ll see you then.” The way he squeezes your shoulder once before stepping away to talk to some of his own friends makes your stomach turn. Why is he being so… weird?

Shaking your head, you turn back to who you had intended to greet in the first place, only to find that he had been looking at you already. What’s with the look in his eyes? Why is everyone being so weird? Ignoring the feeling, you join his circle. Yuta moves closer to your side, his arm looping around your waist as he does so, pulling you in slightly. The touch is brief but intimate, sending a bolt of electricity through your body. You swear that you can almost feel the heat of his skin through your clothes. Then, his arm is back at his side like nothing happened. You want to speak up, say what you were planning on saying before, get your mind back on a normal track, but you find that Johnny, Ten, and Jungwoo are already recreating the scene, making Yuta smile through the veil of whatever emotions he’s experiencing right now.

When the entire team heads over to the locker rooms to clean off the shine of sweat and dirt that had been accumulated through the game, you can’t help watching him. As he goes, you catch flashes of his smile while he congratulates his teammates. Something stirs in your heart.

That night, you dream of healing smiles dressed in a lion’s mane of black hair. That same visage is waiting for you the next morning when you go out to run but, here outside of your head, he’s solid, real, more than heated touches and soft caresses. At the same time, he is those things. Or, so you wish him to be.

When you study with him the next night, he is as he usually is, theoretically. Sometimes it feels like his eyes linger longer than usual, his hand rests a little closer, he smiles a little wider. It’s nothing you can confirm because, to any normal gaze, he seems entirely the same. Perhaps you’re confusing yourself into imagining things. Has his flirtatious nature finally tricked your brain into thinking he likes you?

Sometime that evening, you go to the bathroom and stare at yourself in the mirror. You pat your face rather harshly to try and drive some sense back into your brain. You should tell him. This new boy who has become so close to you. Why are you afraid of it going wrong? You emerge from the bathroom with the same feelings that you entered it with and, there he is, looking up at your return.

The next day, Tuesday is a brief reprieve from the torture of trying to figure out his feelings through his actions. Then, your brother’s game comes. Your chatter fills the space between you on the bus ride to the stadium, him telling you about the anime he’s watching, you talking about the drama you’re watching in response. He jokes about culturing you by getting you to watch a show with him.

Watching your brother’s game with Yuta at your side is an entirely different experience. While you think you normally have pretty good commentary on your own, he provides an extra edge, excitedly explaining why some players choose to do some things or making observations about small moves that you ordinarily wouldn’t notice. Both of you absorb the atmosphere of the stadium, bursting into cheers whenever something incredible happens, screaming extra loud when your brother scores.

During halftime, when the roar of the audience is less deafening, you realize that you’ve never asked Yuta about his background with soccer before. You nudge him. “Hey, Yuta? How long have you been playing?”

He taps his chin, trying to think back. “Probably since I was five?”

“No wonder you know so much,” you say, “I’m talking to an expert right now.”

“You know too much for just a casual viewer,” he says back, snorting, “don’t tell me you don’t have some experience.”

“I only played a bit when I was younger, but I wasn’t any good. It was always more fun to watch B/N. I ended up just taking care of him whenever he pulled something or fell and scraped his arm… you know.” A wistful smile forms on your face. “It started off as just kissing bruises like my mom would, but then it turned into intense Googling whenever I couldn’t immediately figure out what was wrong with him.”

“Maybe you can kiss my boo-boos whenever I get hurt, too, then.” He’s smirking, the ever-familiar gleam of mischief in his gaze.

You force yourself to roll your eyes at him, ignoring the feeling of your heart jumping in your chest. “You’d better not get hurt, Nakamoto.”

“Only because you asked so nicely.”

A few minutes later, the game resumes. This matchup is considerably more difficult than the game you had attended before. Each time the Ravens seem like they’re close to scoring, the opponent defense sends it back towards your end of the field or the goalie successfully blocks it. All the same, your defense and goalie do their jobs, too, leading to a brutal back and forth. By the time the game is over, the only goal that had been scored was the single one your brother got in the first half.

“Ah, that was tense. They almost took it back there for a second.” You stand, stretching your arms behind your back to loosen them up a bit. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah, sure.” Yuta gets up as well, following you as you begin to climb the stairs. “Is your brother not coming to see you this time?”

“He told me he has some press deal after this.” Once you’re in a more open area, Yuta walks next to you instead of behind. You can now see that he’s frowning.

“Does he keep you a secret on purpose?”

“I asked him to.”

“I can’t imagine keeping someone like you hidden like that.” At that strange comment, you stop, looking at him. He seems to be taking the issue very personally.

“It’s easier this way. No one prying into my life, no one asking me for autographs from him all the time. People know who our parents are. What’s so important about an unknown sister?” Is there something else he wants you to say? The look on his face is something you’ve only seen maybe once or twice. He’s in a strange mood, that’s for sure.

“I get it, it’s just…” He sighs, looking at the ground with his hands shoved in his pockets.

“Yuta.” He finally meets your eyes. “It’s important to me that what people think about me is what I show them first. I don’t want to be a reflection of my brother, no matter how much I love him.”

“Is he the reason you didn’t want to talk to me at first?” There’s amusement in Yuta’s voice again, that strange seriousness gone.

You start to walk again and he keeps pace. “No, that was just because you woke me up at six in the morning.”

“I guess both of us have experiences that precede our reputations then, huh?”

The bus comes not much later. The previous reminder of how you met has him offering you one side of his earbuds, saying that this would be a better introduction to J-rock than the one you had before. As you listen, you’re tempted to lean your head against his shoulder or take his hand, which is resting oh so close to yours. Instead, you just sit still and look out the window.

After you get off of the bus, the topic of shows you both like makes a return.

“I will take it upon myself to expose you to great art. Are you free tomorrow? We have to start immediately.” Yuta begins to pester you, practically bouncing as you walk.

“Actually, I’m busy tomorrow. I’m working on physics with Mingyu again.” He doesn’t initially not react to your first statement. However, when his teammate’s name comes out of your mouth, he frowns.

“Of anyone…” The sudden change in his attitude catches you off guard. “Why him?”

“I don’t choose who’s in my classes. What’s wrong with you? I thought you got along with your teammates.” You’re nearing your complex at this point. The lamp posts bordering the sidewalk cast long shadows on the ground as you walk.

“In a team context, they’re fine. Usually. Just, that guy…” He’s scowling now, making you frown deeply in return.

“What about him?”

“I don’t know, Y/N.” He pauses, but then his feet stop moving a moment later. “Fuck it, I do know. He’s not a good person. He’s a manipulator. He’s a good manipulator, but he’s bad at lying when you actually confront him-”

“Yuta, you’re being ridiculous. Even if he is, I’m strong enough to take care of myself.”

“Y/N, he was with me at that first game! The one where I found out about your brother? What if he saw? He’s the type to use information like that to get what he wants. What if he-”

“What if he what, Yuta?” You glare at him, anger muddled with some other hurt now filling you. “He hasn’t done anything. He isn’t going to do anything. Our ‘secret’ isn’t going to get out. I can take care of myself.”

With that, you brush past him, into the complex, into your apartment. Thankfully, your roommates aren’t in the common area, so you safely make it to your room. Once you’re there, you shove your face into your pillow. You consider screaming into it, but you know he’s probably in his own room, where he could hear you. Instead, you just heave breath after frustrated breath.

You don’t know why you snapped at him. Actually, you do. It’s the fear that he’s actually doing what he accused Mingyu of. After every word you’ve exchanged, every conversation, you should be confident that he’s not like that. But, you’ve never been in this situation before. What if he…

It’s a stupid notion and you know it. That’s just the surface. Another layer of your feelings peels away. You hate when people are too protective of you. You want to make your own decisions, to learn for yourself. You hate when your brother is too protective of you and you hate when Yuta is.

That’s not even all of it. Finally, you reach the root of your aggression. What right does Nakamoto Yuta have to try and be protective of you when you aren’t even together? Was that the concern of a friend or the concern of a jealous lover?

You curl in on yourself even more tightly, breathing through the pillow under your face. No one has ever flirted with you as much as he has. You’ve never been so ridiculously on and off with someone before. Still, neither of you are willing to answer the question. You’ve never actually fought like this with him before.

Perhaps he hates you now that you’ve thrown his warnings back in his face.

The next day, after your classes, you force yourself to go to the library to meet Mingyu, Yuta’s words heavy in your mind. As you work, you can tell he’s still trying desperately to get on your good side, even emanating Yuta in a strange, off-balance way. It’s not amusing when he does it.

Finally, the subject you’ve been dreading comes.

“Are you a fan of the Ravens? I think I saw you at one of their games once.”

You swallow back disappointment. Mingyu is the worst fear of your insecure self and you finally have to come face to face with it. “I guess you could say that.”

To your surprise, he doesn’t take it farther than that. If Yuta’s right about him, then it’s probably just one piece of a larger goal. Though you never cared much for Mingyu, it doesn’t feel good to see things begin to unfold.

Not seeing him for two days in a row brings your mood down more than you’d like to admit. At the same time, you’re not ready to apologize yet. You don’t know what exactly is happening on his end, you never know, so when you go outside to run at your normal time on Saturday, you half expect him to be there.

He isn’t. And you don’t run into him on your way back, either. The game it is, then.

As the day progresses, the sky gets increasingly cloudy. In the evening, when the Lions and their opponent team are out on the field running final drills, it’s easy enough to tell that a good number of people had looked at the forecast - the crowd in the bleachers is much thinner than usual. The sky could open up and pour its soul out onto all of you at any moment.

You don’t even bother pretending that you’re not watching Yuta. As he steps off the field for their usual pre-game pep talk and chant, you swear he makes eye contact with you. Normally, he wouldn’t even bother looking, because he’s usually confident that you’re there. You’re not sure what the look in his eyes is now.

The coin toss decides that the other team will start with the ball. That might have been the first omen about the game. Then again, maybe the other team is just… better. Their defense is at least tighter than yours. At halftime, they have a point up on the Lions, 0:1. Yuta seems to take this very, very personally. Within ten minutes of the game restarting, they tie the score back up.

At about three quarters of the way through, it begins to rain. The referee deems that they’ve played far to stop, so the match continues. Almost like they take the poor weather as a sign, the rival team scores nearly immediately after.

You pathetically huddle under a single umbrella with Sowon while Yein shares one with Johnny. The ball slips rather than flies around the field, back and forth, back and forth, until, finally, with barely any time to spare, it’s at Yuta’s feet. The world seems to move in slow motion, then. His right foot moves backwards. It swings forwards. He makes contact.

He misses.

You try not to gasp. Yuta himself seems to be in shock, with how he goes stiff for a moment. Then, he’s back in action, targeting where the goalie had thrown the ball. This time, it’s not enough. A minute later, after another brutal back and forth, the scream of the whistle soars above the sound of the rain. It’s over. The Lions have met their first loss of the season.

The two teams barely wait around to shake hands before they’re rushing off to the locker rooms, away from the rain. Yuta moves slower than the rest, seeming to drag his feet through the muddying grass. Ahead of him, all of his teammates are moving quickly, but moping nonetheless. From your position, you see Mingyu kick the shins of someone you recognize to be one of the younger players. You see Kun’s mouth move as he tells him off, but they’re far enough away and the rain is loud enough that you can’t hear. If you hadn’t been displeased already, you are now.

Might as well kill two birds with one stone, right?

“You guys can go back,” you say, taking a step out from under the umbrella after you’re out of the bleachers with your friends. When Sowon tries to shove her umbrella in your hands, you push it back. “I’ll be fine! It’s only a short distance.”

She narrows her eyes. “You’re going to catch a cold.”

“Don’t worry.” With a sigh, she turns, reluctantly walking back behind Yein and Johnny.

You take off running, trying to outpace the raindrops pelting you. By the time you make it beneath the slight sheltered roof of the locker room building, you’re damp, but not entirely soaked. It’s enough to be an annoyance, your clothes sticking slightly to your skin.

You wait outside for a good few minutes. Small groups of players from either team leave, the opponent players giving you strange looks as you lean against the wall and shiver, Baekho and his group giving you an awkward acknowledgement, and, finally, Mingyu emerges.

“Y/N?” He seems confused, but somewhat excited. As if you’re there to meet him.

“Mingyu. Answer one question for me.” You say it wearily, expressing it like the chore it is.

“What are you acting so weird for?” The excitement you glimpsed before dies.

“Were you going to use me to get in good with my brother?”

The rain is the only sound you hear for a couple solid heartbeats. “Y/N, listen…”

“He was right…” You grumble to yourself. You glare up at him. “You can do your physics labs by yourself. Delete my number.”

He stands before you for a moment more before he realizes that you’re serious. He turns and walks away, into the haze of the downpour. A minute later, Jaehyun and Kun emerge from the building.

“Oh, Y/N,” Jaehyun says, seeming surprised. “Are you waiting for Yuta?”

“Is it that obvious?”

The two of them exchange looks and smile. Kun speaks next. “He’s probably not coming out for a while. He usually gets all depressed when we lose a game, but I’ve never seen it this bad. He’s been standing in the shower for like fifteen minutes.”

You glance at the door. Jaehyun nudges you. “He’s the only one left in there. I wouldn’t tell anyone if you, say, went in right now.”

“A bonafide cupid right here,” Kun says, swinging the bag he has slung over his shoulder around so he can dig through it. He produces something, offering it to you. “Here.”

“What is…” You trail off as you take it from him, your face warming as you realize exactly what it is. “Kun, what is this?!”

“I don’t want any miniature versions of him running around. I’m always prepared.” You stare at Kun incredulously a beat longer before you shove the condom in your damp pocket.

“Good luck!” Jaehyun calls back to you as they begin to walk off, leaving you standing under the overhang. Taking a deep breath, you push open the door and walk inside.

Unsurprisingly, the place has a somewhat sweaty smell to it. The rows of lockers are labeled with names and a little image depicting the sport the owner plays, as all of the school’s teams use the same locker room, and the occasional miscellaneous socks, gloves, and other things are scattered about. A row of sinks is against one wall and past the sinks is an entrance into the shower area. You make your way there.

As you get closer, the distinct sound of one shower running gets louder. The only curtain that’s closed is a middle stall, all of the others open and empty. Parallel to the shower stalls is a long wooden bench. “Yuta?” You call out. He doesn’t respond, so you try again. “Yuta?”

“Go away.” This time, the response is sharp and harsh. He certainly is in a mood.

“Yuta, it’s me.”

“Y/N?” His voice is significantly less negative now. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to talk to you.”

You can barely hear him sigh over the sound of the shower running. “You couldn’t wait until after I was done?”

“No.” When you say that, the water shuts off. A hand sneaks out to grab the towel hanging from a hook affixed to the partition between the stalls. You don’t see anything revealing, but you look away anyways. The scraping of the rings being drawn back tells you he has emerged from the stall.

“You can look at me, you know.”

“I didn’t want to be rude.” You look back, greeted with the sight of his gloriously wet hair and bare torso. He emerged quickly enough that he didn’t have time to dry much of the water dripping off of him. The only part of his body that’s covered is his waist and thighs, though the towel still reveals a tantalizing v-line. You forcibly swallow your thirst.

“Blatantly checking me out again? I get it, but would it kill you to be less obvious?” The comment throws you back to a simpler time, when you were just irritated with him for his cockiness and blasting music through the floor.

“Speak for yourself.” You cross your arms. It was obvious enough that he was enjoying the sight of you in a wet t-shirt and shorts.

“Why didn’t you wear something warmer?” He says, frowning. He steps closer, leaving little space between you.

“I didn’t think it would cool down this much.” You look away, not able to face his bare chest quite yet. The room still has a certain steam about it from the hot shower he was taking that makes it a little harder to breathe. Then again, maybe that’s just him being mostly naked in front of you. He reaches out, touching the hem of your shirt.

“You’re soaked,” he says, rubbing your shirt between his thumb and index finger.

“You’re just making me wetter.” Your face burns something fierce as you say it, contrasting the chill that had settled over your skin from standing outside. “You would think you’d dry yourself off more before getting out of the shower.”

“I was just eager to see you, I guess.” You finally have the courage to meet his eyes again.

“I missed you this morning.” You almost pout while saying it, feeling small under his gaze. It’s not an uncomfortable smallness, but one that makes you feel closer to him.

“I figured you didn’t want to see me.” He reaches out, brushing his fingers softly over the side of your face. His touch is blissfully warm. “Or, I think that you did want to see me, but you would only be angrier if I showed up.”

The thought almost makes you laugh. It would be one of the few times he’s been wrong about your feelings. But, if he always knows so much… “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. I talked to Mingyu a few minutes ago and you were right. I should have trusted you.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t let you handle it on your own.” He runs a hand through his hair, pushing it away from his forehead. “You’re strong enough to deal with assholes like him. You don’t need me.”

“I might not need you, but I do want to keep you around.” The small confession has your bottom lip quivering. “Did I mess up your game today?”

“It was mostly the rain.” He sounds so nonchalant, but you can tell he’s still bothered. “Not you. But, if you do feel bad about it, Miss Physical Therapy, there is something you can do for me.”

His eyes have shifted away from their darkness into a different sort of moodiness. You step closer. “What is it?”

He moves back, taking a heavy seat on the bench. “I’m quite tense. Give me a massage.” His eyes bore into yours. “If you so choose.”

You step behind him. The thrill of what you feel like he’s implying thrums in your veins. The muscles of his shoulders and back are hard under your fingers, showing years of training and toning. You’re almost surprised at how well built his upper body is for a soccer player. His skin is beyond perfect too, and the little droplets of water from his steamy shower that settle on his skin glisten temptingly in the low light of the locker room.

“Sorry my hands are cold,” you practically whisper.

“It’s fine. Feels nice.” He wasn’t lying when he said he was tense - you can feel the knots leaving his muscles as you press down on them, dissolving into smooth flesh that’s soft to the touch. As you work along his back, one particularly tough knot has your thumbs pressing harder into him, drawing a low groan and a curse from his throat. “Fuck.”

The sound turns you on more than you’d like to admit. As you finish his back, you become even more hyper aware of the little noises he’s letting out, the space between you becoming noticeably warmer. Slowly, reluctantly, your hands leave his skin and you circle back towards his front, not quite wanting to look him in the eye. “Is that better?”

“Much.” The air feels heavy. “But you’re not done, yet.” Ordinarily, he’d be smirking so hard you’d be able to hear it in his voice, but there’s only a low command to his tone now. He reaches out, guiding your dominant hand forward so that it’s resting on the front of his shoulder. There’s no hiding from his eyes now. You decide then - if you’re going to do this, you might as well go all out. Sliding onto his lap, your knees pressing into the wooden bench on either side of him, makes you feel both powerful and small at the same time. His face is only a breath away from your own. You swear you can see his eyes flicker to your lips. Trying to play innocent, despite the fact that you can basically feel his dick hardening under his thin towel, you shift slightly, putting your focus on his shoulder and pectoral muscles. Every so often, you readjust yourself, purposefully bouncing slightly on his lap, almost grinding down on him. He doesn’t crack, remaining still and keeping his expression flat. The only signs he gives of being aroused are the slight shiver to his breath and the prominent bulge you’re now certain you can feel. That, and the hands he has on your body, one on your hip and one on your thigh, fixing you in place.

The process is slow, arduous, but you eventually finish with his pectoral and shoulder muscles. You pull your hands away, placing them in your lap and then sitting back, unmoving on his lap, reveling in the way you’ve very clearly made him feel. “Is that all?”

His eyes flicker down to your lips again before boring into your own. “You missed one spot.” Wordlessly, he reaches up, tapping his own lips.

You could walk away right now. His hands aren’t so tight on your body that you couldn’t just get up and leave, go back to your apartment and forget this ever happened. But why would you want to? You’ve been dreaming of his lips for weeks. Finally, you’re about to get a taste. Still, there’s an edge of apprehension digging slightly in your gut.

You’ve sat in silence for long enough that he’s opening his mouth, an apology about to leave his lips, when you swoop forward, pressing your lips to his.

Where he had given you the choice to initiate, he’s the one who really leads. He almost instantly deepens the kiss, dragging you even farther up his lap, pressing you hard against his barely-shielded dick. You feel his fingertips against your skin, under the hem of your top.

“Do you want this?”

“Yes, but-” Where his hands had stilled under your shirt they begin to move again. “Yuta, wait.” He freezes once more, looking up at you. If you didn’t know better, you could swear you see a little bit of fear in his eyes. A shaky breath leaves your lips. “I won’t fuck you unless you tell me you actually have feelings for me. Did you mean what you said back then? After the games?”

“Is that a requirement for all the guys you sleep with or am I special?” You can feel his cock throbbing under you and your own insides ache in response. Of course, he’s delaying what both of you want by being coy. The frustration building up in your gut and in your heart makes you feel like you’re going insane.

“Yuta…” You mean it to sound admonishing, but your tone is more akin to a whine as you lightly drag your nails down his chest. His breath stutters slightly in his lungs at the motion, but in that moment, a sort of gentleness you’ve rarely seen takes over his facade.

“You’re the most incredible person I’ve ever met,” he breathes out, eyes locked with yours, “how could I not have feelings for you?”

You kiss him, sweetly, desperately. His hands begin to move once more, his fingertips digging ever so slightly into your skin. When his hands make it to the edge of your shirt, giving you a suggestion, you cover them with your own, guiding him to take it off. As soon as the garment is out of the way, his lips are on your neck, your collar, the soft skin of your chest. He can feel the hum of your voice through your breast as you speak. “I really like you, Yuta. More than I’ve ever liked anyone else.”

His fingers nimbly unclasp your bra and it falls to the ground somewhere. As his touch ghosts over your breasts, you arch into his hand, drawing a warm chuckle from him. “That’s good,” he says, thumbing slow circles over your nipples, “because I feel the same way about you.”

You pull him back to your mouth, pulling him as close as you possibly can, breathing him like he’s air, tasting him like he’s food. His tongue is slick against your bottom lip, against your own tongue. Almost unconsciously, you rock your hips against his bulge as you move. Impatiently, he tugs at your shorts, pulling you out of the kiss.

“These have to come off.”

“It would kill you to go slow for once,” you laugh, getting off of his lap on shaky legs.

“I go slow for you all the time,” he responds, shifting the towel at his waist, which you realize is barely holding onto him from all the grinding you were doing on his lap, “I’ve been going slow for months now. Isn’t it time to speed things up?”

You roll your eyes, but shimmy out of your shorts, leaving you in your panties and him in his towel. From this angle, he can truly appreciate you. Every curve, every beauty mark, every fold and crease on your body. He leans back, his hands bracing him against the bench. Then, he shifts forward abruptly, taking the opportunity to snap the elastic of your underwear against your skin.

“Yuta!” The cry is half an admonition, half a laugh. You move to push his shoulder gently and he catches you by the hand, pulling you on top of him and kissing you once again. Before you realize it, he has a sneaky hand slipping into your panties, touching you where you’re most sensitive, making you jolt against his hand.

“Is this okay?” He murmurs the words against your lips and you nod, trying to focus on kissing him through the pleasure of his fingers. It’s been far too long since anyone has touched you like this and you’re not used to it.

“Mm,” you moan back, “more than okay.”

He had said he wanted to go faster, but it seems like he’s just going so slow, making you fall apart on his hand, first with just a thumb on your clit, then two fingers pushed more deeply inside of you than you could ever reach yourself. At some point, you’re no longer kissing him and your cheek is pressed to his instead. You nip at his ear, which you now realize is pierced, and the damp spikeyness of his hair rests against your temple.

His free hand rests over your breast, rhythmically squeezing it as you ride his fingers. Oddly enough, you feel like he predicts your climax before even you do, working you carefully through the release of pleasure as you shudder against him and clench around his fingers. Before you can fully regain your senses, he’s kissing you again and removing his hand, wiping his sticky digits against the towel slipping from his waist. You figure you’ll finish the job, reaching down to untwist the cloth so that it falls open against the bench.

You continue kissing him as you take his dick in your hand, your thumb sliding over the precum beading at his tip. It’s his turn to shiver, his cock twitching in your hand. Giving it slow, purposeful jerks, you watch him become perfectly uncomposed under you and you grin, leaning closer to press a kiss to the juncture between his neck and shoulder. He’s stiff, but remarkably soft to the touch, veiny and thick enough that your mouth waters. A couple minutes pass before he’s encasing your hand in his own, slowing your movement.

“I don’t want to come in your hand.” You stop, looking at him with faux-innocent eyes. He blinks desperately at you. “Please.”

“Can I suck you off later?” The words leave your mouth unexpectedly. You hadn’t even really been thinking about the later, but you figure you’re safe to assume that there will be one.

“Of course, pretty girl.” He strokes your hair and you can just think about him holding it back in the future as he-

Trying to distract yourself from the later and focus on the now, you slide off of his lap once again. He almost seems confused, made lonelier by the tiniest distance you put between the two of you. It’s almost a funny image, him half pouting at you while his dick is out, standing up against his abdomen and completely exposed. You let out the smallest exhale of a laugh. “You showed me yours, so I figured I would show you mine.” Your panties fall to the ground, where you kick them in the general direction of the rest of your clothes. The sight of your shorts reminds you of another important thing. “Oh! Also!”

You scramble over to them, reaching into the pocket and producing the little foil packet. Yuta stares at you. “You’re… prepared? I didn’t even think this far ahead and half the time my brain is controlled by my-”

“Kun gave it to me before I came in here,” you say, waltzing back over to him. He takes the packet from your hand, tearing it open. You… give him a hand as he rolls it on. “He’s awfully ready for a great many situations, isn’t he?”

“I think he was expecting this to happen a lot earlier than it actually did, honestly,” Yuta responds, pulling you back on top of him for the third time. Once again, your knees rest on the hard wood bench. “Can we not talk about my roommate, please?”

“I can agree to that.” You smile, kissing him. “Can we talk about how much I like you instead?”

“We can always talk about that,” he says, one hand on his dick, one on your hip, “are you ready?”

The mood dips, making your body shiver in anticipation again. “Yes.”

The way he positions his cock and begins to push into you makes both of you let out noises of relief, a groan from him and a sigh from you. You sink down onto him further until he’s fully sheathed inside of you, hard and pulsing and ungodly warm. He gives an experimental buck of his hips, pulling a moan from your lips and shaping his into a cocky smirk. “Already feel that good?”

“Shut up,” the complaint dies in your throat as you lift yourself up on your knees and sink back down again, bouncing on his lap slightly. You focus on the feeling of him inside of you, the sensation of him hitting your G-spot, the touch of his fingers on your clit again. His breath mingles with yours whenever he takes a break from kissing you. Your hands wander the smooth planes of his chest, your thumb briefly ghosting over his nipple, your palms getting sweatier as you hold onto him. It’s not long before you let your head fall back, your thighs tense as you hold onto his shoulders and move up and down on top of his cock.

His lips are hot as he mouths your neck. You’re not usually the type for marking, but, honestly, the thought of wearing his hickey on your skin sounds beyond appealing. He introduces the slightest bit of teeth, grazing them over your pulse as you ride him. The trail of tiny nips goes down past your collarbones to your breast. Your heart beats loudly in your ears and the desperation of chasing your orgasm makes the passage of time feel fuzzy, but in the sweet, bubbly way a soda does rather than the heavy, blurry way a cold would.

“Yuta,” you whine, the knocking of your legs against the bench growing painful, “can you…”

“I got you, baby.” With a grunt, he stands, lifting you by the thighs. You wrap your legs around his waist, keeping him close. A breath later, your back is pressed to the wall and he’s pushing into you once again. The new angle is a change, and it’s a good change. Every one of his thrusts hits exactly right, pushing you further and further until-

“Yuta, you’re gonna make me...” you pant against his mouth, breathing the same air as him. At some point, after he had picked you up, you had reconnected your lips, and he swallows the little noises you let out hungrily. You clench and unclench your fists behind his back, as your arms are slung over his shoulders.

“Mm, good. That’s my girl.”

All you can think as he pounds into you is Yuta, Yuta, Yuta. You come undone with a final swipe of his thumb and a choked cry of his name. Once your own orgasm has stopped burning quite so bright, lowering to a comfortable simmer in your gut, his hips slow with each thrust until he pushes into you and stays there. You can feel him throb inside of you even through the condom.

Your skin feels like it’s glowing in the aftermath of his love, warm like coals after a fire has just ceased to burn. Warm with the promise of more flames in the future. You lean your face in the junction of his shoulder and neck, breathing love onto his skin. His deep, uneven breaths slow over time as he presses gentle kisses to the exposed flesh of your shoulder. The silence between you is only interrupted by the ambient sound of water flowing through pipes hidden in the concrete walls of the shower part of the locker room. That’s enough of a reminder for you to groan, clutching onto him tighter. “I can’t believe we just confessed and fucked in your sweaty locker room.”

“From my perspective, it’s more ‘wow, I can’t believe we finally confessed and fucked, even if it was in my sweaty locker room.’” That, at the very least, makes you smile. Slowly, he begins to pull out, separating from you with a sticky, wet sound. He backs up, turning so that he can place you gently on the towel still lying on the bench. He disposes of the used rubber quickly, throwing it in a trash can at one end of the room.

Now that he’s no longer touching you, it feels so much colder. “I feel bad for whoever has to clean this place. I hope they don’t find that.”

He shrugs. “I’m sure they’ve seen worse.” He makes his way back to you, naked body still on full, glorious display for your eyes only. “Wanna shower while we’re here?”

You groan. “Yuta, I’m tired. No funny business.”

“Who said anything about any ‘funny business?’ I just suggested we clean off the sweat from all that physical exertion.” He’s smirking, not even pretending to be innocent.

“You’re insatiable.” Still you get up, joining him in the shower stall that he holds open for you. If any follow up activity happens while you’re in there, the only way anyone on the outside would be able to tell would be from the quiet sounds that are mostly drowned out by the noise of the shower.

As you finally redress, accepting the hoodie that Yuta had in his locker so that you don’t have to put your wet shirt back on, he can’t seem to keep his hands off of you, like he’s afraid you’ll go away. The environment between you feels different, but the same. After you’re both fully dressed and start walking out the door, you reach out to take his hand. He accepts the action, interlocking his fingers with yours. Both of you stop under the overhang of the building. By now, the sun has set and a few street lights shine along the walkways of the campus through the haze of rain. “Yuta, are you my boyfriend?”

He blinks a couple times. “Wasn’t that implied?”

You turn away, suddenly shy. “I mean… I just… wanted to clarify…”

“You’re too good for me.” He laughs, then kisses your cheek. Both of you stare out of the rain, as if it’s going to suddenly stop just because you’re politely waiting for it. “I meant it. Every time.”

“Hm?”

“Every time I said I liked you, or that you’re amazing. I was just afraid of- I don’t know. That I’m not honest enough or nice enough, or even good enough at soccer. I just-” He seems so tired as he says it, so brutally truthful, so terribly self-doubting.

You squeeze his hand. “Yuta, it’s okay. Honestly, all this time, I thought you’re too good for me. You’re so much more than the things you say you are. You’re a star.”

“I’m not. I can be an asshole, and jealous, and not serious even when I should be-”

“Yuta, if you like me despite all of my ridiculous bad qualities, I’m pretty sure I can deal with a little jealousy. You’ve shown me who you are and I still like you. You’re loyal and funny and romantic and so many other things. I like you.”

He sighs sweetly, like he was holding in a breath for so long and is finally letting it out. He’s holding your hand so tightly, it feels like he might never let go. Right now, you think you might be okay with that. “Sorry. I’ll never get tired of hearing that.”

You peer into others’ eyes for a long time, content to just look. Then, the cold finally gets to your legs and you shiver, scooching slightly closer to him. You look out. The rain isn’t getting any better. “Do you want to run? To make up for us not going together this morning?”

He doesn’t even respond. He just glances at you, winks, and tugs at your hand, starting to go. The rain pelts you as you go, utterly soaking you, getting in your shoes, darkening your borrowed hoodie. His hair sticks to his forehead, making him look a bit like a wet kitten. Maybe a lion, more accurately. Still, in the passing lights and the sheen of the rain, he glows.

“Yuta?” You say between shallow breaths.

“Yeah?” He keeps going, keeps tugging you along. You have to work to keep up with him, pumping your legs hard.

“Do you want to go professional?”

He looks back at you quickly, but then turns forward. “I would.”

“I really think you could do it!”

Then he’s laughing, truly, mirthfully. “That’s the second best thing you’ve said to me today!”

At that, you’re laughing too, though it slows your pace, though it makes your lungs burn, though it helps rain water run into your mouth. When you make it to your complex, soaked through, looking like you just took a swim in your clothes, you don’t want to let go. Reluctantly, both of you part ways to change clothes in your respective apartments with the promise to meet soon and start Yuta’s effort to culture you with anime.

Sowon and Yein tease you relentlessly, both when you enter your apartment leaving puddles on the ground and when you leave again ten minutes later completely dry. They tease you for the next week whenever they catch you leaving if they know you don’t have classes. The next Friday, you end up staying up far too late watching one of Yuta’s shows, which you admit are at the very least fun, and you fall asleep in his bed. You’re sure you’ll never hear the end of it from your roommates, even if Yein has been staying in the volleyball boys’ apartment every other day for the last month.

In the morning, a mere three hours after you and Yuta went to sleep, you wake up in his arms to a strange blaring of J-rock. He reaches over you to slap his phone and shut it off. You stay awake just long enough to comment on how strange it is hearing the music next to you and not through the floor.

When you wake up around noon to Yuta staring at you, his bangs half covering his eyes, you flip over, checking the time so that he can’t see the absolutely embarrassed look on your face. “You’re so weird.” “Why are you being all shy? I’ve seen you naked. There’s nothing more to see.”

“There’s plenty more of me to see, thank you very much, Nakamoto Yuta.”

“I know there is, darling.” His arm is still slung over your torso like it was when the alarm went off and he tries to wrestle you back around to face him. You squirm in his hold.

“Darling? You’re so weird. Why are you so weird?”

“Weird? I thought I was romantic and funny and-”

“And weird!” You wiggle more until he flips you onto your back, straddles you, and pins your hands to the bed. It’s quite an incredible sight, him pinning you down with his raven hair a complete mess and no shirt, where you can faintly see marks that you may or may not have left on his chest earlier in the week. “No fair. Home ground advantage.”

He leans in, looking ever so charming despite his disheveled appearance. “You know what makes for great morning exercise?”

“You’re weird and a horndog and-”

“Running! Let’s go.” He suddenly rises up, taking one of your hands with him and pulling you into a sitting position.

“Yuta, it’s noon! There are going to be people out everywhere.” He tugs on your hand and you move so that you’re sitting on the edge of the bed. “And it’s Saturday, so there’s going to be even more people…”

“You don’t need to worry about people judging you. If anyone gives you any funny looks, I’ll-”

“You’ll what? Punt a soccer ball at their heads?” You’re standing now, looking at him uncertainly.

He shrugs. “Sure. But, seriously. I promise that you have nothing to be self conscious about. You also have me. That part most importantly.” You would smack him if the smile he gives you doesn’t have you reluctantly agreeing.

He’s right, of course. The run is completely fine. At least, you’re distracted enough by your boyfriend for it to be fine. When you return, you split off to take showers in your apartments. After you emerge from the bathroom, a towel wrapped around your body, you find him waiting in your room. You register him saying something about the tables turning and “great afternoon exercise” before he practically pounces on you.

Afterwards, through your sex-high haze, you hear a loud knocking on your front door. Groaning, you move only so much as to press your face into Yuta’s shoulder. “Don’t wanna get up…”

“Did I make you feel that good?” His voice is a warm rumble, teasing, though full of the same tiredness that yours has. You’re about to jab him lightly in the side when his hand shifts down, two of his fingers running through your folds. Shivering at the suggestion, you wiggle closer to him, hiding your face even more.

“Let me rest, you sex-fiend.” Before he can reply, there’s a few more insistent knocks at your door. “Ugh…”

“Were you expecting someone?” You shake your head against him. He reaches over and grabs your phone. “I heard this going off earlier while we were busy.” You make no move to take it from him, so he turns it on, his eyes scanning the recent chain of texts you’d just received. “It’s your brother.”

You immediately bolt straight up. “What?” Your mind ticks back to the previous day before you’re scrambling out of bed. “Shit, shit, shit, I forgot he was coming today!” As quickly as you can, you try to throw on the various items of clothing that had gotten scattered around the room in your - Yuta’s, more accurately - haste to move them off of the bed, where you had laid them out for after your shower.

Yuta stretches lazily. “Glad I could remind you.”

“Asshole, get clothes on! He’ll kill you if he figures out what we did!”

“Ah, to be killed by L/N B/N. You say ‘what we did’ like it’s a bad thing.”

“He’s my older brother, for God’s sake!” You throw a shirt at him, smacking him in the face. “He will murder you! If he doesn’t murder me for forgetting our plans first…”

“And your plans are?” He slips his arms through the sleeves of his shirt, slipping it on.

“I’m taking him to see your game. Maybe meet the team. Who knows? You won’t be able to see it if you don’t move your ass.” You finish putting your jeans on.

“I’ve never escaped through a window before, but it sounds fun.” He’s still smirking, clearly amused. You’re certain he would actually do that if you let him.

“On second thought, just stay here. I won’t let him into my room.” Your phone lights up with your brother’s face and number and starts to buzz. You pick it up. “Sorry, I’m coming! I was napping.” You hang up. “Please, Yuta?”

He steps into his own jeans. “That’s what I was planning on. Don’t worry, I’m not trying to incapacitate myself before the game.”

With that reassurance, you close the door to your room and head for the apartment door. Your brother, clad in a hat, hoodie, and jeans, weirdly normal for him, is standing in front of your door, his phone in his hand. He narrows his eyes. “Hi, Y/N. For a second there, I really thought you forgot about our plans. Who takes a nap on a Saturday afternoon?”

You step aside, letting him in. “I was just tired today for some reason. Sorry.” “You’re lucky you’re my favorite.” He walks in, sliding off his shoes next to yours. “Are your roommates home? It’s been a while since I’ve seen them.”

“No, but they’ll be at the game later. You won’t miss them.” You stand there, swaying somewhat awkwardly. You’re sure that he’s noticed that you’re acting strangely. “Who let you into the lower doors?”

Your brother steps inside casually. “Your neighbor Jaehyun. Nice kid.”

“Y-Yeah. He’s one of our midfielders.”

“I guess I’ll get to see him in action soon, then. Where near here is good for something quick? We only have an hour and a half until the game.”

You’re thankful for a change in subject. “Depends what you want to eat! Think about it while I run to the bathroom?”

As you head there, you glance at your closed door. You feel kind of bad for leaving him in there, but it’s for his own protection. When you get back to the door, your brother is in the same place, staring at the shoes around the entry. He points at a pair of men’s shoes, which you realize with dawning horror are Yuta’s.

“Y/N? Whose shoes are these?”

“Oh! Those are, um, Johnny’s. Yein’s boyfriend.”

He deadpans. “Johnny. Your neighbor. The one who lives right across from you. Who is dating your roommate who isn’t here right now.” When you don’t respond, he sighs. “Y/N, it would be a lot easier to lie to me if you didn’t tell me so much in the first place. Who’s in your room? I know you hate closing your door if you’re not sleeping.”

Reluctantly, you walk to your room, cursing observant soccer players. Yuta looks mildly surprised to see you, and you walk over to where he’s sitting on your bed, grabbing him by the hand and tugging him over to your brother. If he’s afraid of your brother, he doesn’t show it.

“Yuta, was it?” He’s still expressionless. “I’ll have you know that there’s a few rules.” Before Yuta can even ask about the rules, he’s launching into a detailed explanation about consequences, saying something about maiming and making it look like an accident.

“B/N, you’re a professional now. You should really try not to say such scary stuff. Also,” you say, frowning, “I can handle myself. You know that by now.”

Yuta breaks his silence. “She really can. She’s strong enough to deal with anything.”

“You really believe that?” Your brother’s gaze is unyielding.

“I do.”

“Well, then.” He suddenly lightens up, smiling at the two of you. “Want to join us for dinner? I’m thinking noodles.”

“I actually have to get to warm-ups soon…” Yuta says regretfully.

“That’s a good boy. See, Y/N, I trust your judgement. We best be off, then.” Abruptly, your brother turns, putting his shoes back on. You scramble to join him, grabbing your things and putting your own shoes on.

“I’ll see you later?” You say to Yuta, who’s simply staring, somewhat shell shocked that he survived the encounter.

He blinks, then gives you a sort of smirk. “How about a kiss for-”

“Don’t push it.” Your brother cuts him off, standing in the doorway. He starts down the stairs. When he’s not looking, you lean over, pressing your lips to Yuta’s cheek. Before you can turn around, he sneaks one of his own onto your lips. You run after your brother.

He thoroughly grills you about Yuta during dinner, but you don’t mind. You keep out the parts about sex and the specifics of the relationship coming to fruition and he seems satisfied. You barely make it to the game in time because of your brother’s interrogation, but you still get there early enough to see some of the drills. In work mode, he crosses his arms, making approving comments about Yuta’s footwork. Your boyfriend is in a similar mood, already focused in.

Then, the game starts. The other team starts with the ball, but it makes no difference. The Lions take it back, sending it back and forth across the field, gaining and losing it, until Yuta, as usual, scores, redeeming himself from the previous week. Your brother says something under his breath about potential and skill. Through the game, the Lions make great plays and you find yourself cheering for all of them, even Mingyu. The rival team stands no chance - not for lack of skill, but simply because your team is determined. By the end of the game, the score is a solid 3:0.

You’re one of the first onto the field after the teams break away from shaking hands. You meet Yuta in the middle, jumping on him in a hug when you reach him. You can’t stop the outpouring of praise, telling him how well he played, how brilliant he was. He just laughs, telling you he did his best. It’s the most positive thing you’ve heard from him after a game.

When you let go of him, willing to let the rest of his friends surround him now, you step away in search of your brother. To your surprise, he’s chatting up the Lions’ coach, who seems somewhat flustered by the Ravens’ striker speaking to him. Before you can get close, the coach blows the whistle he has around his neck, getting the attention of everyone around him, but particularly the team.

“Boys! Gather round, we have someone here with something to say to you.”

It doesn’t take long for them to recognize who your brother is.

It’s funny seeing the team rush to your brother, some pretending to be cool, some openly fawning over him. But, there’s one person who isn’t looking at him. From across the mob forming around your brother, you make eye contact with Yuta. And, in the midst of the stars shining in the form of the Raven, the Lion’s light falls on you.

[misha-moose-dean-burger-lover]

for @bend-me-shape-me 's SPN advent calendar 2020. prompt: phone calls and late night texts.

Cas isn't a serial texter.

And Dean's a-okay with it.

But for all that's worth, they sure seem to have a ridiculous amount of emotionally significant conversations via, or starting off as, texts. And most often, in the middle of the night.

*

>>> hello, dean. [12:07 am]

Dean jolts up at the sound, realizing he fell asleep still wearing his headphones, with the laptop on his lap (and a new episode of The Good Place playing) and rolls his eyes at himself, hitting pause before he can see what’s happening (because he has good reflexes, and because screw spoilers that’s why) and rummaging for his phone.

At this hour of the night, it has to be something important.

It doesn’t really strike him that Mechanical Engineering majors whose only other selfprofessed skill is air guitar aren't exactly the frontline warriors for midnight emergencies.

Cas's name shows up when he squints at the too-bright screen, and he sits up a little straighter.

<<< hey [12:09 am]

<<< you OK? [12:09 am]

The response is immediate.

>>> do you have peanut butter? [12:09 am]

And as if it's an afterthought, Cas adds.

>>> yes, I'm fine. how are you? [12:10 am]

Dean blinks.

<<< peachy. peanut butter? [12:10 am]

At least this time the response takes a while. Dean wonders if Cas realized it was midnight, and not exactly a time to run inventory on your best friend's stash of condiments.

>>> I ran out. [12:12 am]

Dean sighs, unable to help smiling.

It's not like he's a stranger to Cas's weird cravings when he's high. (There'd been this one time with pie and a traumatized Gas 'N Sip cashier that still sits heavy on Dean's conscience.) But he doesn't think Cas is supposed to be high right now — Dean's usually either invited or informed by an unspoken rule — which just means this is regular "jelly, not jam"-Cas, at his core a weird, persistently sleep-deprived economics major and astronomy nerd, that Dean may or may not have had a crush on for an embarrassingly long time, and who's also prone to grammatically perfect texting, deadpan, Disney references, and bluntness when the occasion calls for it.

<<< pretty sure i have some [12:14 am]

>>> :) [12:14 am]

>>> I'm coming over [12:14 am]

*

And weird as it may sound, that had turned out to be the night Cas told him he was gay. Said it had been a revelating moment, unprecedented and wholly unexpected — and apparently revelations come in pairs because it had been followed by an intense need for peanut butter, and the rest, he explained emphatically, was history.

Dean had just snorted, congratulated him, and brought out the fancier plates for sandwiches — shipped in from home instead of a sale at Target — all the while, repeating to himself in a loop, that this changed nothing between them, nothing at all, and Cas having the capacity to be attracted back to him didn't mean that he ever would be (or for hell's sake, he'd scoffed at his traitorous chick-flick-nonsense brain, is.)

*

The second time had been early — way, way too early and it was by pure chance that Dean was awake to respond at six friggin' am on a Sunday. Like, that’s practically nighttime. 

Goddamn stupidly-fit running-freak.

Dean picks up his phone blearily, tongue in cheek as he clicks on it.

>>> I miss you [6:28 am]

>>> I'd* miss you [6:29 am]

Dean's stomach twists, and he's not sure if it's in a good way, or a bad way, or what-the-sincere-fuck-are-you-talking-about way.

<<< what [6:32 am]

<<< wtf are you talking about? [6:32 am]

Nothing.

<<< cas? [6:33 am]

<<< dude [6:34 am]

<<< cas???? [6:34 am]

Dean swears at his screen, more queasy than irritated. He can't stop fidgeting, so gives up on lying down altogether and hoists himself to his feet. Better to get his friggin' toothbrush since he's already up, and now definitely awake. Cas was so paying for this later.

He comes back, mouth mint-fresh in theory but still tasting awful and of fear and dread, and practically sags when he sees his screen blare with two messages from Cas.

>>> sorry, I had to make a call. [6:42 am]

>>> I'm not taking the job. [6:42 am]

*

And that's how Dean finds out about Michael (Cas's oldest brother, entitled asshole) inviting Cas to join his and Lucifer's (second oldest, bag of dicks) firm the year he graduates — invite, of course, being a loosely used word here for expecting it blindly (out of some crap he calls 'loyalty') and being readily willing to manipulate him into it.

And it's how he finds out that Cas turned them down.

"It's not who I am anymore." Cas had repeated, third time probably, and surer than before, and Dean had nodded earnestly before realizing Cas couldn't see him through the phone, and humming his affirmation instead. "And if I go back there, I'm never getting out again."

Dean'd swallowed.

"I don't want to." Cas had said, voice trembling. "I am — my own person here. It shouldn't be like this but this is the first time I have autonomy, Dean. Here is free will, and here are you. I don't — I can't. I'm not going to let them take it away."

"Good." He'd sounded shaky to even himself. "Don't."

"Yes." Cas had promised. "I'm not going."

*

And eventually they'd moved past the heavy talk into why-didn't-I-hear-about-this-before territory, Dean being righteously annoyed at his best friend for keeping something so huge from him, and Cas making lame (but probably valid) excuses in the name of not knowing how to explain the situation until he knew himself what he was going to do, because Dean may've been the first person he'd confided in about the insane fuckery that been his childhood and adolescence, but that still didn't mean he'd understand this, broken and convoluted.

And then Cas had nicely segued himself out of Dean's target of irritation and added, "They asked Gabriel too, by the way."

"And?" Dean didn't ever have much care for Gabriel (third oldest brother, cares about Cas, still a jerk) but Cas shared an apartment with him, so he had to face him plenty.

"He's running off to Miami."

And Dean had thrown his head back and laughed until Cas had smoothly added, "And I was wondering if you would consider moving in with me." 

At which point, of course, he'd started coughing instead, because holy shit, it actually made sense (Sammy had left for Stanford two months back, and Dean lived alone in a space that had probably been two big even when there were two of them) and might actually happen, but Dean wasn't really sure how much longer he'd be able to hide his crush, sharing a friggin' kitchen with the guy.

*

The third time's after their first date.

(Because, well. It happened.

It happened with Dean leaning across the breakfast table to prove to Cas his bacon was superior (to cookie friggin' crunch, because goddamn is Cas a dork) and Cas taking a bite with their eyes fixed on each other's, and Dean turning red when Cas licked his lips and then, just like that, Cas swearing under his breath (definitely filed for later pondering, that bit), grabbing Dean, and kissing the living daylights out of him.

And Dean had kissed back with everything he had, hands cupping his face, and nearly melting in his arms - but then they'd separated for air and Cas had had an apologetic look on his face and when Dean had tried to lean in to kiss it away, he'd received half a smile and a shake of his head.

"Let's do it the way we're supposed to."

And Dean had known immediately what he'd meant. Let's not fuck this up by becoming best friends and roommates who sleep together. Let's...play safe.

"Okay. Uh," he'd rubbed the back of his neck. "Would you like to go on a date with me?"

"Thursday." Cas had promised with twinkling eyes, though Dean had already known he was going to say that since he knew Cas’s week at least as well as he knew his own, and two days and an anxious half of a thursday later, they went on their first date. Burgers and beer, and Led Zepp, and hands held in the Impala. Four hours later, they were back, and in their respective rooms, and Dean couldn't stop thinking about Cas.)

When his phone vibrates, Dean reaches for the bedside table.

It's at least midnight, it feels like he's been in bed for ages, and the only reason he isn't asleep is because all his brain seems to be capable of at the moment is thinking endlessly about the date. Fortunately, he's not the only one — although he's better at hiding it (practise, he'd say) because his heart is in his mouth the moment he reads Cas's text.

>>> I think I'm falling in love with you [11:43 pm]

>>> already. [11:43 pm]

Dean is very grateful for autocorrect as he types back with too-excited thumbs and a racing heart.

<<< so much for doing it the regular way cas mosby [11:44 pm]

>>> in my defense, it's been years. [11:44 pm]

<<< that part i get [11:44 pm]

<<< me too [11:44 pm]

<<< but youre supposed to wait three days before calling dumbass [11:45 pm]

Jesus, he'd never expected to blush cause of texts, but here they are.

>>> I'm texting. [11:46 pm]

And he guesses he'd never expected to giggle (he's alone there, sue him) cause of them either, but Cas apparently exists to prove him wrong about himself.

<<< good for you [11:46 pm]

He sends, biting his lip, and then lies in the silent darkness for a couple of minute, devoid of text notifications entirely, thinking uneasily — before he gives up.

They're idiots, sure, but nobody is this dumb.

<<< so when the fuck are you coming over then [11:50 pm]

>>> on my way <3 [11:50 pm]

And thinking about the lightening speed of that reply and the fucking heart emoji is enough to sustain him the entire one minute it takes Cas to get there, gently opening Dean's door, and climbing into bed — fitting in Dean's space like it's been made for him, and kissing him in greeting after leaving his phone on the table next to Dean's.

*

As it goes, with the confessions and the midnight cravings (and the grocery lists that keep getting piled onto through the day, and random pickup lines Cas decides are perfect to send Dean daily once he's found a website for puns, courtesy of Claire, and of course, pictures of Grease, which clog Dean's cloud in dozens whenever the ridiculously cute cat does something even slightly out of routine, god bless her lazy soul) Cas might just be a texter.

But Dean's pretty sure he's more than okay with it, so it doesn't really matter.

[rivendellsstuff]

𝐂𝐚𝐧’𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞.

𝐂𝐚𝐧’𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 | ❝Slowly, she was collapsed and sheathed inside his heart — and that was the beginning and the end of everything for Levi Ackerman.❞

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2590;

𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫: Mentions of canon-typical violence. Inspired by Arwen Undómiel's speech in “The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of The Ring'' and the song ''Can’t help falling in love'' by Elvis.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: Hi! English is not my native language, so if you spot a misspelled word or anything else, feel free to let me know. I plan to look for someone to help me with proofreading because I feel like I leave a lot behind. I hope I can find help to continue publishing these short stories!

────── ▎Levi Ackerman still remembers the feeling when he realized that he loved her.

He knew, he simply knew, that nothing would ever be the same again. This love came suddenly, without warning, and was born inside him in silence, destroying all the countless walls he had built over the years.

The rational and critical part of his brain is always trying to convince him to drown that feeling because nothing good can result from love in those days. So, for a long time, Levi tried to act as if it didn't hurt — how bad hiding what he felt hurt his mind. The fact was: he always lost the people he loved. The fear of losing another person, of seeing them turn into a memory, never terrified him as much as it did now. He didn't want to lose her too.

So, he wonders what the hell he should do. Over the past few months, Levi has always kept her back and that was the nature of their relationship. Levi's understanding of her had always been instinctive, based on a single fact: they were perfect opposites and, in a way, perfect counterweights. But then, he looked at her in a million different ways and loved her in each of them — as a soldier, as a partner, as a friend, as a lover.

Suddenly, humanity's strongest soldier, the one who had brought down countless titans and people who performed evil deeds beyond human comprehension, was unarmed and vulnerable. Slowly, she was collapsed and sheathed inside his heart — and that was the beginning and the end of everything for Levi Ackerman.

The first time Levi Ackerman realized how much he loved her occurred the night before the operation to retake Wall Maria. It was evening, and it was raining - a fine, murmuring autumnal drizzle. The weather was comfortable. Not so hot and not so cold, but just right. Even so, Levi Ackerman was not feeling well. His body was begging for rest and his mind for comfort, but he could not afford to lie down like everyone else. In the stillness, his thoughts were constantly interrupted by the image of the soldiers and friends he had lost over the years, thrown to the ground and covered in his own blood, and this made Levi feel dizzy and sick.

His shoulders were down, his head hung down, and his body was slightly bent over the documents on his desk. Beside him was a long-empty cup of tea. It was the shadow of the great Levi Ackerman. It was simpler than humanity's strongest soldier, but at the same time it was empty and incomplete. Ironic. He had always boasted of being cool, of not caring about trivialities, and of keeping himself intact as a captain, and now he was nothing but a decaying shadow of the infamous Levi Ackerman.

And so, the first few hours of that night passed. So much was happening all at once. He ran his hand through his hair, trying to clear his mind and stand firm, as he always should.

He sighed. Levi left the pile of documents meticulously organized on the table, picked up the empty cup, and stood up. His eyes grew accustomed easily to the darkness, the only sound was of an old clock at the end of the hall and his footsteps on the old linoleum floor.

「flashback」

Levi liked to think he lived long enough to understand that one can never escape his true nature. Such is Historia's destiny, and she is finally crowned as Queen before a large and enthusiastic crowd. The people remember seeing the Queen protect them from a Titan and admire her for standing up to her father.

A smart move, Levi thought.

Standing next to Erwin and Hange, he thinks of his mother. Of Isabel, who cannot be the heroine she was meant to be. He thinks of Furlan and his resilience. He thinks of all the people he has lost over the years, especially those who failed to become what they were meant to be.

''Hey'', Mikasa's voice was low, but it was enough to get the captain's attention.

Up to that point, Levi had not greeted any of his squadron members, although he knew that many were with unasked questions hanging on their tongues. Political issues occupied most of his time. The words were not spoken, but duly were there, at some point; all praise and words of gratitude for his team.

And Levi looked at her, grave tenderness in his eyes turned to Mikasa, and yet, even if she had not been raised among men of war, she was someone many could not overcome in battle. She approached the girl with hair as black as raven wings and whispered something in her ear, to which Mikasa thanked her with a small smile. In those days, it was rare to see anyone smile.

Her dress, which was a deep green with white flower embroidery and golden arabesques on the sleeves, shimmered in the faint wind that afternoon. Levi thinks that she looks so beautiful with the sunlight in her hair.

He interrupts his thought suddenly, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

And, as if sensing that she is being watched, she raises her eyes from Mikasa to the captain. He thinks that she is going to raise one of her eyebrows or simply keep the conversation with Mikasa. But then she did something that surprised him even more. She smiled. At him.

He feels his cheeks burn.

''You are staring, shorty'', said Hange, amused, following his gaze.

''Tch, shut up.''

It was just a smile, but Levi couldn't forget it for the rest of the ceremony.

He thought that the true beauty of the place belonged to her.

「 flashback's end」

Damn, he thinks. That smile.

The smell of tea berries and wet earth overwhelm him. Outside, the rain was falling hard as he brewed another cup of tea. He sipped the warm, clear liquid, allowing the noise made by his lips as he sucked the drink to ring out loud. He smiled, amazed that she didn't like the drink. This was the first more human demonstration he had had in a long, long time.

It was during a sleepless night like that, months ago, when they could finally be in each other's presence, just them. It was... easy to talk. Maybe it was because of the tea, the sound of her laughter, or none of those two things. Maybe just her and her way of looking beyond him as nothing but.... Levi. Just Levi.

Levi grew up poor and alone in a place where he was taught to hate every bit of it with a burning passion, he understands a thing or two about injustice and hate even before Kenny decides to teach him how to fight. He loved his mother with every fiber of his being. He loved his friends. When they died, Levi felt like he was dying with them; but that feeling? It was a different kind of love. He had never loved anything, or anyone like her.

Get out of my head, woman.

He took a deep breath and decided to put those thoughts aside once again. After finishing the tea, he put the cup away and headed back to his room.

He stopped himself momentarily when he noticed the door ajar on his right.

And there she was, dressed in a silver and blue dress, in a polished wooden chair by the window, whose light westerly wind blew through and made her hair flutter. To him, it seemed that starlight was in her eyes.

Levi was silent for a second and then sighed. There was nothing to be said now that they were there, preparing to reclaim the lost lands and waiting for answers.

But when she let out a deep sigh of pain, he slammed his knuckles against the door. She raised her eyes to him, feeling her throat go dry, and immediately leaned back, pulling her eyebrows together in confusion.

''Captain,'' she said, but signs of weariness and pain could not be hidden in her gently voice.

"Are you hurt?" asked the superior, taking her by surprise.

"Except for a few bruises, I'm fine'', She said, gesturing for him to come in. "Can't sleep?"

Levi studied her from top to bottom, paying attention to her body language and any sign of injury. There were two scars on her hands. She tried to cover them with the sleeve of her dress.

''I rarely get any sleep, so the person who should be asking this question is me,'' he said, and although he was glad to see her, worry ran through his chest.

She smiled.

"Fair enough''

Frustration tightened his voice a bit, but she thought it was incredibly appealing when he said: ''You never respond the way people expect you to.''

Levi approached and stopped beside the window. The beautiful weather and the calm seemed a mere mockery to the men before the most dreadful mission of their lives.

"I'm sorry," she says sincerely. ''Just a stupid accident during training...and I can't sleep,'' she admitted. ''Nightmares. They've been recurring since we faced the female titan. I think my brain is malfunctioning.''

''It's ok you have hard times.''

She took a deep breath and then inhaled slowly. It had been a long time since they had shared moments like that; and she had always loved his company infinitely, even though she had never shown it in words.

The thoughts began to surge like a burst of fireworks, making loud noises, disappearing and reappearing. Instinctively, she pressed one hand against the other, but the twinge of pain almost made her curse. He didn't miss that.

''You should bandage this to prevent an infection'' he says.

She let her hands slide to the sides of her body.

''Yeah, you're probably right.''

"Do you have any medical kits around here?''

Her expression wavers for a while, as if she is thinking about it. Then she turns and opens one of the bags left beside the bed. Levi has approached her as she begins to rummage through the material.

''Here, let me do that,'' he said.

「flashback」

The horses pranced and neighed, startled, when a group of titans was spotted. The maneuvering equipment tinkled as the wires were released. The sight of those creatures was terrifying, but the battlefield had already become a part of their lives, and Survey Corps was willing to fight.

Above, a sunless sky, muffled by heavy clouds. Levi could hear roars and screams all around, the sharp, distinctive thud of the clash of blades against the back of the titans' heads. There were bloodied bodies, some without limbs and with pieces strewn across the surrounding ground.

Then, time seemed to freeze.

The titan's giant hand withdrew and a terrible howl resound across the battlefield.

The titan screamed again, but the fury of the guttural howl was nothing compared to what the captain felt as he investigated the still face of (Y/N). For the hundredth of a second it took his mind to assimilate the events, Levi was struck by horror. He stood motionless; he simply found himself gripping the blades and looking at her. Suddenly, his muscles were contracted by the urgency, the will, the urge to hurt him. This wild need, echoing in his ears like a broken record, obscured his mind.

With an immense bang, several blows struck the titan.

As the creature felt motionless to the ground, Levi ran to it, whose face was as white as a lobelia and as cold as frost.

He didn't know how deeply he was entwined with her until they tried to take her away from him

「 flashback's end」

Levi listened attentively to everything she said, as she was also attentive to the gentle, careful way in which he touched her.

''I hope you won't use this to bribe me, Ackerman.''

He rolls his eyes.

''Maybe I'll take Sasha's food and say it was you.''

''That's the biggest threat I've ever heard in my entire life,'' she says eventually.

A strange flutter in his stomach threatened a smile on his face.

"Maybe it makes you let to be a brat"

She takes a long breath.

"I'll let her kill me and then you'll be sorry"

"Don't be so dramatic", he says. "By the way, I'll never let anyone hurt you as long I live."

She is speechless. Her heart starts to beat faster than she thought it could, and all her body was filled with a so good feel. She couldn't explain exactly what is, but there was anyway.

Levi doesn't look at her face again. And then, the silence was back once again.

It was a difficult operation for the Captain; he touches her skin, heard her voice so close and quietly to him.

"It's done", Levi says.

She follows his eyes and saw her own hands. He still was holding them.

"I appreciate that."

He looks at her.

You're so fucking beautiful.

Levi runs his thumb over her fingers tenderly.

A crow screams at the top of its lungs in the distance, and she almost cringes. Levi ignores him and, longing for her starry eyes again, brings her hand to his lips and places a soft kiss on his skin.

"Are you afraid?" she whispers. Levi could feel the goosebumps that her touch gave him. ''Sometimes, I feel as if we are going to discover something eviler than the titans themselves.''

The wind blows angrily, making her hair fly.

''There are few things that make me afraid. This is not one of them.''

Losing you is, he thinks.

Inside his chest, the sound of his racing heartbeat is loud enough for him to hear. His heart pulses melodiously, pumping blood and sending some to his cheeks.

"Besides, this must be the first time I've heard you say you're afraid," he says, braiding invisible lines on the back of his hands. "Maybe you're sick. Let's examine it before it devours your brain entirely.

"I can't tell if you're joking or not."

He laughs lightly, and she thinks how nice it is when he does that. Levi's face is always so stern, so cold when they are around others. It's like it's a secret that only she knows.

Suddenly, Levi thinks about what it would feel like to kiss her.

"You should try to rest now", he whispers, looking away.

He starts to walk to the door.

It was in this exact moment he wished to have been able to tell her all those things in his mind.

"Wait!"

He turns back to her.

"What is?"

While Levi said, she holds his cheeks with her palms.

"Stay", she whispers. "Just a little longer"

Levi feels his heart beating faster than he thought it could, and all of his body was filled with that desire again.

Their lips touch in a chaste and last kiss for barely a second.

Levi holds her hands close to his heart. His tongue traces her bottom lips, brushes against the edge of her teeth before mingling with hers. It was kind, as it could say all those things on his heart.

When their lips step back, he says: "For as long as you wish"

[americxn]

Hi, I have a request 🤗

Colin Zabel and reader like she’s suspect of a crime but they have a night together before and They are shocked when found each other again.

She’s younger than him, I don’t know if you already watched Pretty Little Liars but if you did. It’s like when Aria meet Ezra

❤️



Suspect (Colin x Reader)

a/n: i watched pll ageees ago and can’t really remember anything about it so I’m sorry if this isn’t what you wanted. also, once again, I have no clue about any judicial processes or anything like that so lets just use our imagination and pretend that this is accurate.

wordcount: 1.7k warnings: slight mention of anxiety

Your stomach had long since been reduced to a tight knot of deep-rooted nerves, your skin tight dress doing nothing to quell the almost nauseating apprehension that had your mouth completely dry and your fingers trembling. You swallowed in a vain attempt to rehydrate your mouth as your taxi pulled up in front of the newly opened restaurant in the main quarter of town. Checking your phone, you swiped onto Colin’s name, checking for the fifth time that hour that you had the right place and time. You paid, stalling slightly by wishing the driver a pleasant night before stepping into the cool air, the street lamps bright overhead. The warmth of the restaurant was welcome on your bare legs as you stepped through the front door, the smile of the waiting on staff situated by the small front desk even warmer as they asked if you had a reservation. You nodded, clearing your throat and giving Colin’s name, unsure as to whether he was already here or not. He was, and your nerves were dulled just a fraction as he spotted you being lead to the table, his smile the warmest of them all as he stood and brought you into a tight embrace.

He pulled out your chair for you, coaxing a small smile to your face, before maneuvering around the table and falling into his own seat across from you. You glanced at him, a furry of butterflies replacing the sickening nerves that had graced your stomach mere moments before, the undeniable attractiveness of his kind features a pleasant surprise; for your first time meeting, you were unsure how true to reality the pictures on his tinder profile would be and here he was, proving that your initial attraction to his pictures was more than justified.  “Hi.” He said simply, his eyes alight with excitement as he beheld you in slight disbelief; he had honestly not expected you to show, and your presence was both relieving and enthralling as he took in your face, half shadowed in the dim light of the quiet corner of the restaurant you had been allocated. “Hi.” You responded, offering him a warm smile before introducing yourself, delving into the conversation to combat the awkwardness that threatened to stunt your meeting. Colin indulged in your conversation too, the small space between you warming, the flowing exchange being interrupted only when a waitress came to ask for your food and drink orders. The service was quick, and soon you were completely at ease in Colin’s presence, the two of you musing about the high quality of the food and stealing sips of each others wine. “So, you said that you did detective work?” You questioned when your previous topic of conversation ran dry. “Yeah,” he began, taking a deep drink of his wine before indulging in your question. “I have a big case starting tomorrow, I’m a little nervous.” He admitted with a vulnerable smile. “Why?” You question, cocking your head slightly and taking a bite of your food. He paused, a mouthful of food poised on his fork as he carefully considered your question. “Well, we only have one suspect. And I usually specialise in homicide or missing person cases. I probably shouldn’t be telling you this but it’s a very complex, on running fraud case.” You paused, swallowing your food and flicking you eyes down at you partly cleared plate, your earlier nerves returning with twice as much vigour. “Oh right.” You nodded, your confidence and tone wavering. He regarded you with interest at your sudden evident change in demeanor, his tongue working within the confines of his closed mouth to clear the food from his teeth. You cleared your throat, attempting to shift the change in mood and topic of conversation with it. Colin’s brow creased gently as you kept your gaze averted from his, bringing another mouthful of food up to your lips as he surveyed you. He allowed you to change the conversation, the two of you relaxing as the previous amiable exchange returned, the two of you clearing your plates and finishing off your shared bottle of wine, talking and laughing softly together. Your mood fell once more when your plates were cleared, your shoulders curving inwards; you knew what had to happen next. After what Colin had just revealed to you, and the actions to which you had stooped to in the past year, you knew what you had to do when he offered you a lopsided smile, his accompanying words painfully tempting: “I’m not ready to leave yet. Dessert?” You exhaled slowly, your smile turning sad. Reaching into your clutch, Colin’s dark eyes fell dull as you pulled out a twenty dollar bill, chucking it on the table and thanking him before standing to leave. “Wait!” Colin exclaimed, a slight pleading tone entering his voice. He lurched to his feet, reaching out and taking hold of your wrist. You turned, the dejected look on his face cracking your heart in two. “I’m sorry,” he blurted, “I didn’t realise that you weren’t having a good time.” “No.” You said hurriedly, your head shaking fervently. “No. Colin, I’ve had an amazing night.” You admitted, Colin’s eyes flashing with hope. The next words were horribly painful to form, your eyes having to drop to the floor in order to let the words out. “I just don’t see this working.” You admitted to his feet, pulling your wrist gently from his grasp. “Thank you. I’m sorry.” The words were whispered, your eyes flicking to his as you offered him a parting smile before turning, forcing the tears that formed in your eyes to remain hidden as you pulled out your phone to book a taxi back home. Colin watched you go, utterly confused as his eyes remained trained on your back until you disappeared out the front door, his arm falling to hang limp at his side. 

For the second time that week, your stomach was infested with nerves, your chest tight and leg bouncing in the empty waiting room, your carefully crafted alibi swirling around and around in your head. Your fingers shook as you ran them over your face, every muscle in your body tightening to the point of pain when you heard a door open and close down the hallway, the sound echoing through the quiet of the empty corridor to your ears. Exhaling deeply, you fortified your mind, reminding yourself what was about to happen and how you were going to deal with it.  “Y/n?” Your head jerked up in the direction of the voice. The kindly receptionist that had directed you to the waiting room twenty minutes earlier offered you an easy smile, beckoning you. “He’s ready for you now.” You nodded, swallowing and wincing when the dry walls of your throat rubbed together. You stood and took the directions the reception provided you with to the door at the bottom of the short hallway to the right, installing feigned confidence in your steps and trying to shake the anxious anticipation racking your body. You knocked on the door before pushing it open and stepping inside, your gaze dropping to the small table at the centre of the room, a neat stack of papers sitting before a painfully familiar man. The two of you froze in unison, the dread swirling in your gut only worsening as Colin’s mouth formed a thin line, his elbows braced on the edge of the table and his hands clasped together beneath his chin. Your mouth parted with the icy surprise that doused the entirety of your being. “Come in.” He motioned to the seat opposite him, his tone tense and his eyes weary as they tracked your journey from the door to the chair he indicated to with a nod of his head. You perched on the chair, averting your gaze to instead stare at the hands you had clasped together in your lap. “It all made sense when I read your file this morning.” Was all he said, not allowing any indication to how he felt about having to question you enter his tone, blocking out the memory of how you had left him at the restaurant with no warning and becoming completely professional. “I just have a few questions for you to answer and then you can leave.” At your silence, your eyes transfixed on your lap, he continued: “But based on the amount of evidence we have gathered against you, I don’t think that this will be our last meeting. And not in the way that I had hoped.” Remaining utterly silent, you nodded shallowly in acknowledgement of his tensely spoken words. “Do you submit to this questioning, yes or no?” He continued on a lengthy sigh. You rose your chin to look at him, muttering a reluctant “yes” and glancing back down at the clean surface of the table before you as you awaited his first question.  Your alibi was weak and Colin had torn through it in a matter of minutes, an utterly irritable demeanour settling over him as the questioning commenced, your responses becoming weaker and weaker until you finally gave in, asking Colin to repeat his previous questions and offering him the truthful answers.  By the end of your questioning, you sat low in your chair, your eyes settling on anything but the man sat before you, feeling completely and utterly dejected as the sound of Colin’s pen scribbling on various thin sheets of paper filled the small room. You forced your humiliated, guilt-fuelled tears to remain hidden within your tear ducts, your teeth clamping down hard on your lower lip when it threatened to quiver of its own accord. “Okay.” Colin sighed after several minutes of uncomfortable silence and meeting your teary eyes, his own gaze weary. “I need you to come with me for processing and then we’ll take it from there.” You didn’t bother asking what he meant but stood when he pushed himself to his feet and trailed him out of the door, not even able to watch Colin’s back as he lead you down the corridor, bracing yourself for whatever was to come next.

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