#if it was 'there's always dark before the dawn' like. fine | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

eupheme · 7 months

Text

— are you mine?

joel miller x f!reader

rated t - 4.4k

tags: over-protective and soft jackson!joel, partners-to-lovers, mutual jealousy, secrets, miscommunication and rumors, light angst, valentine’s day

a little valentine’s day gift for the lovely @sweetercalypso - I was so thrilled to get you for the Space Sister’s exchange! I really hope you like it! 💌💕

A change in your usual patrol schedule, a dash of over-protectiveness, and a gossipy partner leads to you desperately wish you could turn back time.

Because how can you face Joel, after this?

"I don't like it."

His voice comes from next to your shoulder. Rough and low - your eyes drifting over heavy, muddied boots, then up. Trying not to linger where his strong arms cross over a broad chest, the pull of fabric against skin where the sleeves are rolled up to elbows.

"Don't like what?" You ask, as your plate and mug join the pile of others in the bin to be washed. Finishing up a quick breakfast in the mess hall before your patrol shift begins.

A second lingers, before Joel answers.

"Don't like the thought of you out there without me."

His answer makes your stomach flip, butterflies already sprouting at the unexpected encounter. You hadn't thought you'd see Joel until later - an unexpected change in last night’s schedule. Sending him out from evening until dawn, and leaving you with a new partner for this morning.

"You're the one that swapped shifts." You point out, finally glancing his way. Seeing the pull of his brows, the shift as he leans against one of the heavy wooden support beams, "Anyways, I won't be alone. They have me with William."

The mark between his brows deepens, "Don't know if I like that, either."

Your own eyebrows raise, "What's wrong with William?"

He doesn't answer - the dark pull of his gaze breaking, as his eyes drop.

"Heard rumor there might be someone in the woods," Joel changes the subject, "Dirt kicked over the ashes, footsteps leading off to the east. No sign of anyone, but that don’t mean they ain’t hangin' around.”

He's worried, you think. Your hand reaches out, hovering for just a moment before you're clapping his bicep, instead of his bare forearm.

"Just because there was someone there, doesn't mean they're bad." The touch lingers for a moment, before your hand is dropping - shoving into your jacket pocket, "Besides, it’s daylight now. We'll be fine. Always are."

His look is dark, at your words.

An optimism lingering in you that has long been leached from his system. An uneasiness that lingers in his blood and bones - a shift of his his as he reaches to draw something out of his back pocket. Pressing it into your hand, when you reach for it without thinking.

"Know how to use this?"

It's a knife - his knife - the folded handle fitting his broad hand but feeling more like a dagger in yours.

“Joel, please-” You all but huff, torn between annoyed and touched. Reaching out to hand it back, but he’s shifting sideways to dodge you.

“Humor me, alright?” He’s grumbling - but he's not done - fishing something else from his jacket pocket. Holding it out for you to take as well - heavy and plastic in your other hand.

You flip it over, seeing the small antenna fit above the speaker, the buttons worn bare and smooth beneath. A gleam of red, the light already on and winking.

"Ellie's got the other. I'll get it from her this morning." He explains, "Two-way radio. You need anything or run into anyone, I'll know."

It would be stifling, if it were anyone else.

Insulting, perhaps.

But knowing that Ellie does this for Joel soothes you, teeth biting into your lip to hold back your smile.

And you can’t deny that you did feel a little uneasy, heading out without your partner.

"Fine.” You tell him, with a sigh.

“But just this once."

The ground crunches beneath your feet, a frost and thin snow freezing and blanketing the green pokes of grass overnight.

You’re already ready for spring, even though the world has just creeped into February. Missing the crunch of leaves instead of ice. Yearning for the daffodils and crocuses to pop up, as the earth thaws.

But for now - you’re content to concede that it’s easier to do your job, at least. The only damaged grass around you, the only marks in the dirt, are your own.

Quiet, idle conversation with William passing as you take the usual route - your rucksack a familiar weight against your shoulders. Padded with the faded and patched feather-down of your coat as you weave between trees.

Checking traps for food, finding nothing. Not unusual when the rest of the world seems to be sleeping.

The sun is nearly overhead when you reach the watchtower, the spindly legs that hold the narrow room high in the sky. The rungs leading up are wide, but you still hold your breath as you climb. Only exhaling at the top, when both your feet are firmly on the metal platform - cold air sharp in your lungs with your inhale.

It's pretty up here. A clouded blue sky above, a suggestion of snow. A wistful hope that it will hold off until tomorrow, as your patrol partner unlocks the door - checking the inside before you follow.

Your rucksack lands with a thud just inside the door, which closes behind you. The windows are cracked, spider-webbing from the corners, but still holding firm enough that it shields you from some of the chill outside.

Looking out above some of the trees, giving you a peek of Jackson when you stand in the southern corner.

Here, you can take a minute to breathe. To talk, while keeping watch and warm.

You can’t remember the last time you've been out with William. You didn't run in the same circles - he had a regular rotation of patrol partners. You had Joel, and sometimes Ellie, and you never found a reason to stray.

That thought, the change, had kept you busy on the patrol. Your mind wandered as your feet moved on your own, through well-known paths. Eyes seeing but your thoughts elsewhere.

He had seemed worried, at the mess hall.

Or - on edge, at least. Distracted.

There had been a quick rap on your door, a mumbled excuse about them needing him last night. Letting you know you'd be with someone else for your shift in the morning. A glance over his shoulder, nodding towards the figure that was waiting for him, before he was off.

And although he had made the switch, he sure didn't seem happy about it this morning.

William was friends with Jesse, who was friends with Ellie and Dina - you couldn't think of a reason for the ever-present mark that had deepened between his eyebrows.

You wonder why - because surely, a set of trained and fed partners would be more than a match for anyone drifting through the woods on their own. Even you weren't so nervous, and you didn't have the years and grit of someone like Joel.

And it wasn't like William was unprepared. He'd been doing patrols just as long as you had, maybe even a little longer.

It's here that you're drawn away, your companion’s voice breaking through your thoughts. His foot tapping yours, where you both sit on the old, wooden floor.

“Been a while, huh?”

You nod in agreement, offering the slightest lift of a smile, “Yeah. Been couple months, at least.”

“More than that. Bet it’s been close to a year.”

“Oh.” You blink, thinking back.

Wondering if that’s why his gaze has been on you so often this morning - that he’s nearly forgotten what you look like, “Guess I hadn’t noticed.”

You hadn’t realized it’s been that long. And at the same time, only that long.

Joel had drifted for a while in Jackson - untethered, but never far from the nearest door, the nearest wall. Content to watch from the fringes, to stay unnoticed. To slip out, when he’s had enough.

It still took a few months until he was rotated into the patrol. Until you met him, fully. Needling conversation out of him in these morning walks, or when the stars stretched out in the inky night.

Fully expecting him to trade out, when he could. Others often did - preferring a variety of company.

He never did. And neither did you.

Things worked with Joel. And more than trust had bloomed in those lone hours together, something that had planted in your first days of seeing him. Carefully tended, nourished by the slivers of traded secrets and shared looks and moments where you had thought that just maybe…. maybe… you weren’t alone.

"Don't know how you can stand patrolling with him. He’s a scary dude." William mutters, the sound low as you hunker down below the rim of the metal railing.

You frown. Joel's not scary. Not really. Not to you.

A grouch, for sure. All bark and bite, but it's never once been directed at you.

“Joel?” You ask, clarifying.

“Yeah, Miller.” He gives you a sideways look, “You know he's killed people, right? Like, not just infected. People, people.”

The stories and rumors aren't new to you, they cling to him like ghosts. The whispers when he came into town had never stopped - but with time, they had lessened.

He had intimidated you, at first. A low voice and an angry look that would send anyone scurrying, but in the two years since he's been here, it's all faded at the edges. Gone soft.

Looking back, knowing now how he looks after Ellie, looks after you - you’re not sure how you ever saw him that way.

And you think, you hope, that deep down - he does care. That a part of him might feel the same.

It’s there in the way he sought you out this morning. More than a dislike in the change of his schedule - that wouldn’t have loosened the knife he carried.

It was there in your patrols. In the way you felt safe, with him - in how it flowed from outside those wooden walls to inside the town, inside his home.

"We all have." You reply, with a sharp finality.

You didn't really remember the days before. Your life had been filled with spoken memories, but they weren't yours. The days of lawfulness are akin to fairy tales - merely stories, in your mind.

Who were you to judge, when your own hands were stained?

The infected weren’t the only monsters in this world. You’re sure he had his reasons, as did you.

William makes a sound of agreement, before dropping the subject. Content to watch the sparkle of snow, caught in the wind where it drifts down from tall branches.

That silence is broken a little later, with another question.

"You goin' to the dance later?"

Your legs stretch, toes wiggling in the chill of the room. Even enclosed, the cold seeps in through the cracks and thin panes of splintered glass.

"Of course."

Everyone would be.

The dances in Jackson were few and far between. Even more rare in these cold months - people preferring to stay warm, keep out of the snow that gathers in the alleys, the chill that whips down the rows of buildings.

The day before had been spent decorating the church hall. There was an ache in your arms where you had helped Wendy roll out the dough for cookies - watching as the younger folks cut hearts out of recycled paper in the mess hall, to be strung along the walls.

Underneath the stars above and in the glow of the lights, it would be beautiful.

There's a steadying breath next to you.

A moment, before he's asking, "You goin' with anyone?"

The rest comes in a rush, "I mean, do you wanna go with me?"

He turns your way, as you slowly go still. Too surprised to form an answer, trapped in his gaze with your wide eyes and parted lips.

"I-" You begin, and then falter.

William was nice. A little older than you. Showy, when he was with his friends, ready to do anything for a laugh.

Nice, but not Joel. No one was.

And deep down, you know that it's not like Joel thought of you that way. Returned those feelings, despite your wishes.

But you knew he'd be there. He'd go for Ellie, who would make sure she was there to see Dina.

And you'd go for Joel.

Even if just to see him, even if only for a moment.

The silence has stretched too long, an uneasy shifting next to you as he waits for an answer.

"There someone else?" The lilt of his voice has turned sharp, accusatory. Slicing through your thoughts, demanding your attention.

And again, you stumble. Still unable to form words, still too caught off guard - tongue twisted in knots.

“There is, isn’t there?” Another verbal nudge, and it’s here that you find your voice.

"There is... uh, someone." You manage - not ready to spill your guts, but there’s no chance you’ll agree to go with him.

"Yeah?" His eyebrow raises as he scoffs, "Who, Joel?"

He laughs at his own joke - and it's only now, as it's turned on you, that you notice how cruel it can sound.

Your own eyes drop, head turning back towards the wall.

And it’s here that your eyes snag on the cherry red gleam that peeks from the outside pocket of your rucksack.

The radio.

Forgotten entirely, in the long walk over.

Panic courses through you.

Can he hear you, from here? Is he listening now?

You send up a silent wish, hoping that perhaps he's stepped out. That if you're lucky, the radio doesn't quite reach this far.

The silence gives you away, before you can brush it off - too caught up in the fear that twists in your stomach. A look had crossed your features that William had caught, the laughter dying as he pushes to his feet.

"You can't be serious." There's the mocking curl of his lip, a look of incredulity, "Miller? Are you out of your mind?"

There had been a flicker of thought - thinking that you could go over, switch it off. Or change the subject, tell Will to just shut up - but there’s something in his tone that distracts you - igniting your dread and embarrassment into anger and irritation.

Making you slip up.

"So what if it is? It's none of your business-" You begin, but he cuts you off.

He’s fully turned your way now. The melting snow of his boots soaking into the hem of your jeans, with how he close he sits. Close enough that you can see the grit of his jaw, as he flings another barb at you.

"You think he's going to treat you right? Do you even know where he was last night?”

It feels like a slap in the face - the way you flinch, cheeks burning.

“He… he was on patrol.” You stammer, unsure where this is headed.

“Could be. It’s easy to change logs when you got a brother out at the same time.” He shrugs, as if it’s nothing. As if your world hasn’t tilted on it’s axis, leaving you off-kilter.

Your heartbeat thunders behind your ribs, in your ears, “What do you mean?”

“I mean… Fred said he saw him at Esther’s house. Last night and this morning.”

Rumors spread like wildfire in a town as close-knit as Jackson. It wasn’t hard to see where he was going, even if it pained you.

Esther, who tended the greenhouse.

Esther, who Joel had once been set up.

Esther, who split last month with her husband.

Esther, who kept the house.

You’re frozen. As if the cold has sunken into your skin, bonded with your bones. An aching weight settling over your heart, stealing your breath.

Because in this moment, you truly realize how much you’d been thinking about him as yours. Suddenly realizing the depth of you feelings for Joel - how much he’s come to mean to you.

It’s devastating, thinking about him being someone else’s.

It just can’t be true.

But…

But wouldn’t it explain his actions this morning?

Did you misread worry for guilt? Or secrecy?

“Look.” He says, after a pause. Giving you a pitying look, his hand reaching out to touch your shouler, “All I’m saying is that I’d never-”

It was all too much.

You’ve had enough.

"Can you just drop it?" You hiss, suddenly, "I'm not going with you."

The focus of his gaze still rests on you, as you push yourself to your feet. Grabbing for your bag - it's still a little early, but you're not about to stay stuck up in this tower with him.

"Where are you-" He's asking, as you shake your head - slipping past him, through the door.

"I'll see you back at Jackson."

Letting it slam shut behind you.

It's stupid, to wander off by yourself. Even if you weren’t too far from home, no more than a thirty minute walk.

The rifle left in William's possession, where it still rested against the railing. Joel's blade heavy and cold in your hand as you fish it from your jacket pocket.

Matching the stone-heavy weight of your heart, as you follow your footsteps back towards town. Your thoughts twisting, as you silently bargain with whoever might be listening.

Wishing foolishly that you could turn back time.

Content with even just not knowing.

Because that’s the worst part, right? That you know he knows. And that he knows you do. That surely - he heard it all.

If you were alone, if you hadn’t taken that radio, you’d still have your secret.

Maybe Joel wouldn’t have his, but you’d try to bear it. Find a way to put the pieces of your heart together, and try to move on.

Cherish those few more days, weeks, before he would have told you. Maybe by then, you could’ve acted happy.

But now, you’re certain he won’t want anything to do with you. Certain that you’ve ruined a good thing - not just the patrols, but your partnership, and friendship.

Because who would want to stick around with a girl with a stupid little crush?

It leaves you feeling flayed open. Grateful for the whip of the wind, giving you an excuse for the tears that spring to your eyes.

For a moment - in your embarrassment - it leaves you even thinking about running away.

You'd survived for this long. It would be harder, on the outside. But perhaps, you could start over.

With a sigh, you crumple the thought up, and toss it away. It's no more than wishful thinking. No different than hoping the world would crack beneath your feet, and swallow you whole.

No…

You would have to bear it.

You're less than a mile from the wooden border around town, when you pick up the crunch of boots on snow. Fear prickles down your spine as the blade clicks open in your grasp, your pulse leaping beneath your skin.

The waver of a shadow, moving between the trees in front of you. You go still, squinting, tucking yourself behind one of the thick trunks.

They're alone.

It could be someone from town, but you'd heard there was only one set of boots near the fire they found, the night before. A quick glance over your shoulder - wishing you hadn't split off.

Wishing you had taken the rifle.

They move closer, and your breath catches as they call out.

Not just a greeting, but your name.

A wave of relief washes over you, you know that voice. This figure. The cock of his hip as he stands, the shoulders that slope when he sees you - a hand raised in greeting.

"Heard you leave. Shouldn't be out here by yourself."

The warm glow in your belly chills, at his words.

The acknowledgement that he had been listening souring your mood. It has you bristling at his tone, misreading his worry.

"I'm fine." You wiggle his knife at him, the blade glinting in the afternoon sun, "Didn't have to come all this way."

In the path you take to skirt around him, you miss the pull of his brow - the frown that forms. The way he breaks into a jog to catch up behind you, staying a few steps back as he does a visual sweep of the woods behind you.

Your strides are long, focused on the crunch of grass beneath your feet. Eyes fixed ahead as he follows, until the tall wooden posts loom up ahead.

Above, and then through.

If you can just make it home, you think that would be enough. The little house is only a few streets away from the edge.

Something that he hated - how it wasn’t safe enough.

Something that used to please you.

He’s still following, your silent companion. Chivalrous, you suppose, to make sure you get home okay. Even after everything.

You’re nearly there - feet taking you up the rickety steps for your porch - when that silence is finally broken.

“You know it ain’t true, right?

For as quiet as his voice is, it still seems to cut through the air, halting your step. Your eyes still fixed on the door ahead of you, but you find yourself stopping - waiting.

“There ain’t anybody else.”

There’s a weight in the way he says it. A confession, layered in the low pitch of his voice.

It has you turning.

To where he stands, where your shadows meld together. And it’s only now that you see him - the intensity of his gaze. The mis-matched buttons on his coat, the cold that burns at his nose and cheeks until they’re pink.

He’d been outside for a while.

Searching for you - leaving hat and gloves behind.

“Where were you last night?” You ask - and he watches you like you’re about to bolt. Palms facing you where they hang at his sides, finger stretching out and then curling.

Reaching up now, to scrub through his hair in frustration - loosening dark, peppered-gray curls.

“I was there.” Joel admits, and there’s the acid ache of jealousy welling up in your chest. Picturing him with her instead of with you - like in your wishes, your dreams.

“But-” His hands raise, when he sees your expression, “But I just stopped by. I was on patrol with Tommy, you can ask him.”

You want to believe him. But you know you’re both thinking the same thing - thoughts flickering back to William’s suggestion.

“Or, you can ask Maria. You know she won’t cover for me.” He adds - and that softens you, just a little.

“Why did you trade?”

The moment hangs, where you’re left staring at each other. Your heart gallops in your chest, as he fights an internal battle - before his eyes slide across your cheek, over your shoulder.

But then there’s the smallest, rueful smile. His dark eyes flipping up to yours.

“Didn’t think it’d be like this.” Joel sighs, moving closer - to the bottom step. Enough to where you could reach out and touch him. Enough to where you see the weariness etched in his face, from where he stayed up all morning to keep watch over you.

“Got some roses for you. They’re at the house.” The words come slowly, “Was gonna give ‘em to you tonight. Wanted to do this right.”

Wanted to do this right.

The words echo in your mind. Pieces of a puzzle starting to fit into place, but you still feel like you’re behind - forever out of step and catching up.

“That’s why I was out last night. Esther is… rekindling things with her husband.” He manages, “Traded his shift last night for ‘em so they could be together. Went back to pick ‘em up this morning.”

“Roses.” You echo, “Why?”

“Why?” Joel frowns, as hands brace on his hips. Looking flustered, looking like he wishes you could just understand.

And suddenly, you do.

Your own words come slowly now, “For me? For Valentine’s Day?”

Relief crosses his features, those dark eyes going soft.

“Yeah, darlin’.” He smiles, “For you.”

Emotions swirl and surge through you. Relief yes, but also something stronger, something that flutters behind your ribs and threatens to burst free.

“I didn’t-” You begin, and then stop. A tightness in your throat, as you gaze at him, “I was so worried that you heard what he said, that it was real-”

“I heard.” A dark look crossed Joel’s features, a grit of his jaw, “Heard what you said too. Made me hope, ‘til he opened his mouth again.”

He’s on the top step now, no more than a few feet away. Irritation prickling at him from the memory of you in that tower, tucked away with someone who wasn’t him.

Until his hand is scratching at the scruff of his beard, his look changing.

“But if I misread this-” Joel starts - almost hesitant, if a man like Joel could be.

It makes you want to laugh, after everything. Because you get it, now.

Just how foolish you both had been.

“You didn’t.” You’re quick to cut him off, “You... you heard right.”

There ain’t anybody else…. but you.

It’s always been him.

He kisses you under the eaves of your little porch.

Stepping into you as your head tilts up - cold fingers tracing your chin, cupping your jaw just as his lips skim against yours.

The lightest brush, as something electric sparks - radiating from that point of contact, skittering down your spine. A soft moan that slips from your throat, before he’s pressing closer - before your hands are slipping, gripping onto his shoulders beneath the thick canvas of his coat.

Everything fades - growing hazy. He’s all you can feel, as your eyes close. Something finally clicking into place, as your lips part for the brush of his tongue. Another moan as he licks into your mouth - stumbling footsteps in both of your haste.

Until your back is bumping against wood, and his arm is wrapping around you. Surrounding you, leaving you breathless as the frame of the door digs into your hip.

Finally sated, in your need for him.

And yet more hungry, than you’ve ever been.

The grip of your fingers loosen, as you reach for the door knob. Fumbling for a second before it’s loosening, and you’re stepping back - bringing him with you, your other hand still fisted in the fabric of his coat.

He groans into your mouth, a hand wrapping around your waist so you don’t stumble, as he follows you inside.

Then there’s low husk of his voice, the barest curve of a smile, “What about your dance, sweetheart?”

Teasing, in the way he spins you around. In the way you’re caged in against the door again, tucked away safely from the other side.

No prying eyes except for his.

Your answer close to a whine, with the way his fingers find the zipper on your coat, drawing it down.

“I think…” You manage, distracted by the press of his lips against your neck. In the fingers that dip beneath your layers, seeking bare skin.

“I think we can be a little late.”

happy valentine’s day, friends! 💌💕 and especially to elaine - these were such fun prompts! you are the sweetest and I hope you have such a good day!

#I tried to incorporate something from each of your prompts! 💖#SpaceSistersSecretValentine #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller imagine

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withleeknow · 18 days

Text

lifeline.

pairing: minho x reader genre/warnings: established relationship, fluff, hurt/comfort kinda?, slice of life?; unedited don't look at me lol word count: 0.7k listen to 🎧: lifeline - the rose note: weeeee it's been a good few months since i last wrote a plotless baby drabble so i might be rusty. in my head this is a companion piece to happy place :) wrote this v randomly bc i was in a mood lol

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation / masterlist / ko-fi

There’s a touch that Minho is familiar with, one that makes him drop whatever it is that he could be doing just to be there for you.

When your fingers dance across the back of his hand until you reach his wrist, wrapping your fingers around it so you could feel his pulse under your fingertips, he knows to take you into his arms and keep you there until you’re ready to let go.

It’s at the crack of dawn when you’ve just woken up from a bad dream, or in the middle of the dark, dark night when you’re plagued with bouts of uncertainty and your chest feels too heavy to fall asleep. Your hand tentatively traces over his pulse point, and Minho brings you closer, your legs tangled together in the sheets, his lips pressed against your forehead and his voice humming the melody of your favorite song.

It’s on the couch on a stormy evening, the room filled with the neverending patter of rain against the window, loud enough to drown out the trio of cats snoring in the background. You aren’t entirely there, your head is somewhere far away but you still absentmindedly reach for him, your thumb on the underside of his wrist. Minho lets you count the beats for a minute or so, before he pulls you into his lap, no questions asked. He tucks your face into the crook of his neck as he cards his fingers through your hair, gentle against your scalp, soothing when they rub the back of your neck.

It’s right before you both leave for a week-long trip with friends, when he’s hauling your suitcases to the front door but you tug him back by his wrist, and Minho knows that the airport can wait a few more minutes. He’s wrapping you up in his arms in an instance while yours wound around his neck, holding him flush against you as you breathe in his scent, your favorite in the whole wide world.

And it’s even when he’s putting groceries away that you come up to him from behind to hug him close. He rests his hands over yours where your fingers are securely fastened around his middle like a seatbelt, and you instantly untangle them in search of that familiar destination again. You press your forehead against the defined muscles in his back as you feel his pulse, beating steadily right under your thumb. A couple of minutes, it’s your little routine.

When Minho twists his body around in your hold to look at you, he scans your face for traces of discomfort, for any sign that you need him to ground you.

“Everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine,” you say with zero regard for the potatoes and onions that have been abandoned to roll around on the kitchen counter.

Then you’re guiding him down by the neck, a sense of urgency in your movement when you press your lips to his. He kisses you back just as eagerly, not wasting a single second as his hands find their rightful place on your waist.

You kiss him until you’re both breathless, until your cheeks are tinted with the rosiest shade of pink. When he opens his eyes, Minho finds you already looking up at him like you’re wonderstruck, your gaze doused in so much love that it proceeds to knock some more air out of his lungs.

“What was that for?” he manages to ask.

“Just… thank you.” You smile softly, nudging your nose against his before you press another quick kiss to the corner of his mouth for good measure. You’ve got more to say, he can tell.

The thing is, you two aren’t overly vocal about your affection for one another. He doesn’t have to tell you he loves you every hour of every day, and you don’t write him love letters like this is some kind of sappy romance novel.

What you lack in words, you make up for with actions, with an understanding that transcends the kind of love people often dream about. Whenever you search for him in your darkest moments, reaching for him and feeling his heartbeat against your fingertips like that is simply enough light to anchor you, to bring you back home, Minho knows that he’s your lifeline in every way that you are his.

And when you speak again after a brief moment, your voice gentle yet firm, he knows that it isn’t an exaggeration. He knows you mean it.

“I think you saved my life.”

#stray kids fic #stray kids imagines #stray kids x reader #skz fic #skz imagines #skz x reader #skz x you #lee know fluff #lee know scenarios #lee know x reader #lee know imagines #lee know x you #lee minho x reader #lee minho x you #stray kids #lee know #lee minho

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jeonstudios · 2 months

Text

dextrocardia | 14

Dextrocardia. Originally a medical term, but also a way to describe someone who's got their heart in the right place.

"She's been moved to another operation to help out. This pairing is necessary because you'll be undercover as spouses. I know you two can be professional about this."

"What?!" It's Jeongguk's upset voice that sounds, and for once, you share his displeased opinion.

Spouses.

pairing: cop!jk x f detective!reader

genre: undercover cops, fake marriage, e2l au, angst, fluff, (smut?)

word count: 9.7k

warnings: a LOT of bodyshaming and fathobia and sexism

rating: NC-17 – Adults Only

masterlist

part 14/?

“I hope you know that I appreciate all the things you’ve been telling me. I know it can’t be easy, all the things you’ve gone through. So I appreciate it, even if I unfortunately…”

“Don’t have much to say?” you smile at him as you turn to close his bedroom door behind you.

“Yeah. It’s a lot different than when I’m talking to someone who maybe just got out of a… situation because, while that’s always hard, you just have to listen and assure them they did the right thing, going to the cops and that we’ll guide them through the rest and hopefully help them get justice. That it wasn’t their fault, you know? But you know all that already, and I’m not much help; in fact, I was a big part of your problem and going to the police probably made it worse in your case because we let you down instead of helping you.”

It’s sad, the way he says it, reaching for the collar of his t-shirt at the back of his neck. He pulls it over his head before he suddenly stops, the shirt stuck across his lowered arms. You meet his deer-in-the-headlights eyes and see how it dawns on him that despite explaining earlier that he wants to keep his shirt on–at least with you in the house?–he hasn’t actually been committing to that promise. You wonder if it had anything to do with his scars, if he wanted to spare you from seeing them or just not risk you being uncomfortable.

“It’s fine, take it off,” you comment casually, “but do know that I might warm my cold feet against your skin.”

He grins, finally removing the shirt entirely and throwing it onto the chair in the corner. “Feel free.”

Flicking the lights off, Jeongguk joins you in the dark, getting under the duvet and getting comfortable.

It’s silent for a while, and you’re halfway between sleep and consciousness when Jeongguk says something you definitely weren’t expecting.

“Are you still scared of me?”

You roll over to face him, even though the room is almost pitch black.

“Do you want me to be honest?”

“Of course.”

“I think that I will always be aware… of what you can do. Even right now, if you in this moment decided to hurt me, there would be nothing I could do about it. I can spend my days in the gym but odds are a vast majority of men could overpower me anyway. If I were to trust my gut, it would say that you’re a… good guy, but I know that most women murdered by a man they knew or even their male partners didn’t fall for someone openly abusive. They’re sweet at the start, and then they change. Hoseong was like that too; kind until he wasn’t. I know you know that because he fooled you too.

“When it comes to you, I think the only reason I’m here with you is because of what you did that night. I would’ve found any reason to believe that you were still playing a game of making me trust you, just waiting for the right moment to strike, if I hadn’t seen you fight them. No matter how talented of an actor you are, they were prepared to kill you, and you… were prepared to die.

“And this…” you move your hand under the sheets, tentatively finding his chest and the scar. “I don’t like looking at it, and it feels like it’s my fault your mom almost lost her son, but it’s also… almost a relief. I don’t have to second-guess if you really want to help me or if it’s just a long con to… finish something. But like I said… just because you haven’t tried to kill me yet doesn’t statistically mean you won’t. I don’t think you will, but then again, there are a lot of dead women who probably wouldn’t have imagined their murderer being someone they knew.”

Jeongguk places his hand over yours on his chest. “For what it’s worth, I could never hurt you. I know I did; that I hurt you emotionally and scared you, but not even when I thought you were the most selfish person on the planet would I have physically hurt you.”

“I will let the fact that I came to live with you speak for how I feel about you, or at least want to feel about you. Also the fact that I’m sleeping in your bed with you.”

“That you find me entirely irresistible, dying to be close to me at all times?”

You roll your eyes, however, blood rushes to your cheeks. “Yeah. Absolutely.”

“Good that we’re on the same page then, cause I’m kinda stuck on the fact that you kissed me.”

Inevitably, your cheeks warm up further, but it’s okay since it’s dark anyway.

“I did. It was a good kiss.”

“Yeah. I totally wouldn’t hate it if you did it again. In fact, I am open to kisses anytime, just as I am hand-holding.”

“You’re sure? Even from me?”

You hate that you have to ask, but… you do.

“Absolutely.”

You consider it for a moment, but eventually decide to trust his words, at least tonight. Empowered by the dark, you move your hand from his chest. It travels over his warm neck before it reaches his jaw. Your heart beats so hard you’re almost convinced he can hear it, but you ignore it and move closer. Despite the dark, you see his face and how he’s smiling, patiently waiting. It’s both a blessing and a hellish curse how handsome he is; he truly takes your breath away.

Using your hand, you move your hair away, and you lean down to connect your lips. His are so soft, and he kisses you back so sweetly, letting you set the pace. You move your mouth against his, pulling back an inch just to do it again. Jeongguk lets his hand hold your waist, and even though kissing him is… a dream, you’re reminded that there’s a limit you’re not comfortable crossing.

So you pull back, but you still let him hold your waist.

“There.”

You fall asleep quicker than the nights before. A few hours later–and a few hours before morning–you blink your eyes open, finding yourself entangled with him. You’ve got your arm thrown over his middle, your cheek resting on his naked chest, right below his chin, and one of your legs lies between his.

For a while, you listen to his breaths, thinking about what it is that you’re doing. He’s so warm, and he feels so… safe, but there’s still a certain thought in your head.

When you wake up the next time, you’re once again alone in Jeongguk’s bed, and the first thought crossing your mind is how unnecessary boarding up your window really was when you’re practically almost always sleeping in his bed these days. Also, does he count on being able to hear a potential intruder trying to break in through his window? Because there is one, and it’s definitely not boarded up.

Your curiosity grows when you hear Jeongguk move throughout the house, and the sound of a…. what is that?

Rolling out of his bed, you yawn as you open the bedroom door to almost run head first into a stressed-looking Jeongguk. The sound you heard you identify as the now turned off blow dryer, something you’ve borrowed yourself but never seen him use. Looking up, you realize that, yeah, his hair is still wet from a shower and blow drying it means that he either doesn’t want to wait for it to air dry or he can’t.

“You’re going to the station?” you ask, noticing that he is actually indeed wearing his dark blue, almost black uniform.

“Yeah, uh, multiple trafficking victims on their way. Want to be there before they arrive.”

A very specific feeling moves through your chest; an uncomfortable sadness that someone has most likely been through hell, but there’s a warmth there too, for Jeongguk.

“What are you looking for?”

He looks around, patting his pockets, “Uhm, I have my phone, wallet, house keys. I need the… bike key and the helmet. The helmet is probably in the garage, but I’m not sure where the key is.”

You blink, trying to remember what jacket he was wearing the last time you recall him using the bike. The leather one, right? You step up to the coat rack, looking through the jackets until you find it. Swiftly, you search the pockets until…

“Found it. Do I put it in your uniform jacket?”

“Oh, thank you. Yes, please,” he says over the sound of the blow dryer that he grabs once more.

You watch him dry his hair, incessantly running his fingers through it to speed up the process. A few minutes later, he turns the machine off and runs his fingers through the black hair one last time, “It’ll have to do.”

Then, he’s gathering his stuff, taking the jacket from your hands and heading toward the door leading to the garage as he throws it on. “Not sure when I’ll be back, it might take a while cause I don’t know how many they are or what they’ve been through, but I can update you?”

“Jeongguk?”

“Yeah?” he asks.

“Come here for a second.”

Confused, he takes the four steps until he’s in front of you looking down curiously but a little stressed at you.

You smile at him, at how pretty and caring he is. “Be careful.”

He grins, a little surprised. “I always am. But it’s mostly just letting them talk and writing it all down, and–”

“I meant on the road. With the bike. I know you can handle the case.”

“Oh. Will do.”

For a millisecond, he looks at you, his bottom lip bitten. Then he’s pulling you closer by your waist, pecking your lips sweetly.

“I’ll see you later.”

With warm cheeks, you watch him enter the garage, thinking of his kind, brown eyes. You don’t know what to feel.

When Jeongguk returns, he’s angry. He doesn’t say much except frustratingly relaying that apparently, one of the women had called the police about a creepy neighbor appearing to watch her house six months ago. The two officers sent did absolutely nothing at all. Couldn’t offer any protection, didn’t talk to the neighbor, couldn’t even give the woman any advice, just left. Two weeks later, the neighbor takes her. You understand Jeongguk’s frustration toward the system, but when he’s spent two hours in the gym without any kind of break, you decide to check up on him.

You hear the brutal beating of the punching bag long before you spot him.

“How are you doing? You’ve been in here a while…”

Jeongguk stops and looks at you from behind the sand-filled bag, breathing heavily. He’s shirtless, and there’s sweat covering his skin and wetting his hair.

“I’m alright.”

But you can tell that he’s frustrated by the turmoil in his eyes. Although it’s hot to see him work out, you don’t like seeing him like this. It has an uncomfortable feeling growing in your stomach.

“You’re doing what you can.”

“Yet there’s always more to do. It never ends, and it’s never enough.”

He’s definitely right about that, but does it help to be so worked up about it? Or are you the weird one, more likely to go apathetic when reminded of the injustices of the world these days?

“But you did your part today, and I know you made an impact in their lives.”

He looks disappointedly at the sandbag, as if your words didn’t affect him at all.

“Hey,” you call softly. He looks at you.

“If it weren’t for you, I probably wouldn’t be here right now.”

‘Right now’ as in alive.

“But I–”

“If you never transferred, they would’ve gotten me at this point.”

“Bare minimum,” is all he mumbles.

“It meant a lot to me. Everything, actually. And I’m really grateful.”

At that, he finally smiles a little, and you find yourself dangerously lost in his eyes again.

Thirty minutes later, at nine p.m., the power goes out. You stop what you’re doing, your hand, holding the kettle frozen in mid air over the mug. Even the very, very low humming of the fridge and freezer stops. You put the kettle down, glad that you probably managed to fill your mug with enough tea water.

Where is your roommate? Last you heard, he was about to take a shower.

“Jeongguk?” you call, but the moment you peek out into the hallway, you run straight into him, still wet from the shower and with a towel around his hips, you think.

“What happened?” he asks, his hands steadying your elbows.

“Uh? I don’t know? I was pouring tea and the lights and everything went out.”

“Oh? So that means it wasn’t our doing. I’ll check if there’s a blown fuse; you never know.”

“Okay,” you pat the pockets of your sweatpants, “Here’s my phone if you want a flashlight.”

“Thanks,” he nods, grabbing it from your hand.

He taps the screen to turn the flashlight function on, the light pointed down immediately illuminating every little crevice in his abs and the glints of water still on his skin. The white towel hangs low, exposing a bit of a happy trail.

You look away, and Jeongguk, seemingly none the wiser, turns around to find the fuse box somewhere other than in the kitchen, guided by your phone.

Sighing to yourself the moment you’re alone again, you go back to your tea, removing the bag from the mug. Opening the fridge, you’re once again reminded of how dependent on electricity you are when the open door doesn’t trigger the built in light. Still, you find the milk, and you manage to pour a little bit into the mug and put the container back in the still chilly fridge.

By the time you finish stirring the tea spoon around, you hear Jeongguk’s steps approaching you, and you see the ray of light illuminate the floor in front of him.

“No blown fuses. I’m gonna see if there’s anything on the provider’s site or else I’ll give them a call.”

“Are you gonna get dressed as well, or?” you joke, watching him smile cheekily.

“Yeah. I was just barely done washing my hair when the light went out.”

“I can see that; you’re dripping all over the floor.”

“Sorry,” he says and shakes his head like a dog, launching drops of water at your clothes and face.

“Jeongguk!”

Laughing, he leaves the kitchen and steps out into the dark.

“What if I slip and fall?” you call after him, wiping the drops from your face before returning to your mug to take a test sip. It tastes good, but you’ll definitely try to remember to buy honey next time you go grocery shopping because you’re a sucker for a little sweetness.

Half a minute later, you hear footsteps approaching, and when you turn around from the sink, Jeongguk is drying the floor with the towel he was just using, now wearing what looks like a pair of sweatpants of his own. He doesn’t say anything, just makes sure the floor is dry and then he leaves again, much to your amusement. Like you said; you’re a sucker for sweetness.

While he’s gone, you use your phone’s flashlight to pour the rest of the water into another mug in case Jeongguk wants some tea too. Then you venture carefully into the living room, trying not to spill the hot contents. It goes without accidents, and so you set the mug down onto the coffee table before reaching for the remote. Which doesn’t work.

“Fuck, no TV,” you mutter to yourself. And you’ve used your laptop without the charger all day. Even more fuck.

“Jeongguk, is your laptop charged?” you call out, praying to the gods.

“Uh, yeah,” he appears behind you, having matched a black hoodie to his gray sweatpants.

He’s holding something in his arms, a lot of smaller things. Candles, you realize when he leans down to gently dump them onto the table. From his pocket he then produces a lighter.

“You wanna watch something?” he asks, lighting the candles one by one, the coziness factor doubling with every flame added.

“I was gonna watch this documentary, but my laptop isn’t charged,” you pout. “Oh, and also, the Wifi won’t work.”

Jeongguk chuckles. “Mine should be fully charged. And we can use my mobile data.”

Wow, way to flex.

“Great. I made tea, do you want some?”

“Sure. Thank you.”

While he goes to grab his laptop, you return to the kitchen to fix his mug of tea as well, returning as he’s setting everything up, the screen illuminating his face where he sits on the couch. The flickering candles are doing their best too, casting a more yellowy glow across the room.

“Thanks,” he says once more when you place the mug in front of him. “Here.”

You accept the laptop, navigating to the specific streaming site and the documentary released just last week about the development of the space shuttles. Due to the size difference between Jeongguk’s TV and that of his laptop, you take your seat closer to him than usual.

Jeongguk sips his tea, but the moment he’s put the mug back safely on the table and is leaning back against the couch and watching the screen, he slowly lets his hand find yours.

In turn, you find yourself moving closer, leaning your head against his shoulder. He smells nice, and he feels nice. And it’s suddenly like someone started some kind of wordless game. You don’t say anything, but there’s also a kind of tension that builds, no less in your body.

Perhaps also feeling the… electricity building, Jeongguk makes his next move, this time slowly lifting his arm to put around you, making you lean against his chest instead. The action has his hoodie riding up just a little, exposing a sliver of his stomach.

When it’s your turn again–and you feel your shared anticipation grow–you try to psych yourself up. He likes you, he likes you.

So, you place your hand on the exposed section of skin, caressing it carefully with your thumb.

Besides the documentary, it’s quiet, although you’re almost positive Jeongguk can hear your heart beat erratically; it’s definitely beating loudly in your ears. For his next turn, Jeongguk somehow both swiftly and slowly pulls you onto his lap, and before you know it, you’re straddling him, staring down at his smiling face.

The narrator speaks in the background, but you can only focus on Jeongguk and how your heart might soon beat its way out of your chest.

You could kiss him. You could.

He looks at you like he’s hoping for it but not expecting it, and you pray to God he actually does want you to. Because you want to kiss him so badly.

He’s got his gentle hands on your thighs, and you place yours softly on his face, holding his jaw and rubbing your thumbs slowly over his cheeks. Until you move one thumb and press it even softer against his lips.

This man is too good to be true, he has to be. As you let your eyes admire him, you think about the fact that, even if you disregard how he literally took a sword to the heart for you, he’s done more for you in the short period of time you’ve known him than any other man in your life.

So you move your finger from his mouth, nervously switching it out for your lips. You can’t even describe how much you like kissing him. When it’s sweet and innocent and just lips and a wordless confession of ‘I like you,’ or when you use a little tongue, and he chooses to follow your lead, kissing you back with the same growing heat. But there’s still something bothering you that you can’t ignore.

In the midst, you pull back an inch, eyes glued to his lips to avoid his eyes. “I like kissing you, but… “

“But what?” he wonders, his hands drawing innocent shapes on your thighs. Your heart pumps even harder as you choose your next words.

“I’m not really your type.”

He smiles, looking carefree, “You are. I think you’re a sweet girl.”

Jeongguk kisses you again, and you try not to think about it, but even with his lips against yours, it’s hard. A sweet girl. Letting one of your hands fall from his face, you grab the collar of his hoodie, clumsily placing your hand inside it to touch his chest, feeling for the scar.

Taking it as you wanting it off, he pulls away to yank the hoodie over his head, and it ends up somewhere toward the end of the couch. Even without it, his bare skin is just as warm under your hands, but before you know it, you’re on your back on the couch, and he’s above you. He’s very sweet, and in this moment–with your hands splayed across his back and the scar there–you know he won’t hurt you.

A sweet girl.

Right?

A sweet girl. You hear the voices and feel the anxiety and fear return to fill you. You go with the flow, unsure of what to think or do. Jeongguk helps you out of your shirt and then your bra, and you watch him sit back to throw them onto the floor somewhere.

But the moment he returns his attention to you underneath him, he stops. Because you’re covering your naked chest with your hands like your life depends on it, eyes teary and absolutely and helplessly begging him to look anywhere but at you.

He still does, and you can tell he’s surprised, his wide eyes taking in the situation from above you.

So you plead quietly, “Please don’t look at me.”

It takes half a second, and he’s immediately closing his eyes, turning to feel around for something behind him. Your shirt probably lies somewhere farther away on the floor, and so his black hoodie is what he ends up grabbing, handing it to you still with his eyes closed.

And he of course moves off of you, the only sounds in the room being the documentary, the slight rustling as you’re putting the hoodie on, and your quiet breaths.

When he assumes you’re dressed, he opens his eyes, heart visibly breaking when he sees how absolutely shaken to the core you look, hugging your body and sitting up. You turn your eyes to the documentary on the screen even though both of you know you haven’t been watching it.

“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t thinking,” he starts to explain, sounding genuinely apologetic.

“It’s fine,” you say quietly, wanting desperately not to make a big deal out of it. If you could just will your hands to stop shaking.

“No, I–”

“Jeongguk, please. I’m fine, okay. I’m not… I’m not ready, but… Can we not talk about it, please?”

Reluctantly, you meet his eyes and see the somber worry in them as he watches you from where he’s sitting, still shirtless.

“Okay. If there’s anything I can do…”

You smile tentatively at him, desperate to move on from the subject, “Watch the rest of the documentary with me?”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” you repeat, “I’ll, uh, go and change so you can get your hoodie back.”

“No, no, it’s alright. Keep it,” he’s quick to rise to his feet, already on his way somewhere–presumably his bedroom.

The forty seconds he’s gone you use to calm your breathing and stabilize your voice. It wasn’t his fault. He wasn’t going too fast or not listening to you. He listened to what you gave him; you, yourself only figured out where exactly the line was drawn when it was basically already crossed.

He’s wearing a black t-shirt when he returns, taking a seat next to you and focusing his eyes on the screen, probably more so for your sake than his. “I hope you know that you can tell me anything. And I have no certain expectations you have to fulfill or so.”

You already know that he’s not asking sex for rent, if that’s what he’s wondering. But regarding his first statement… there are definitely things you don’t want to talk to him about.

“Yeah,” you answer regardless.

When the credits roll only a few minutes later, you know that you have two options. If you sleep in your own bed like you ideally want to, you risk there being an awkwardness tomorrow and that you definitely don’t want. Or you sleep in his bed with him like you have the last few days, and sure, it might be a little awkward, but he probably realizes you’re not up for cuddling, and it’ll be easier tomorrow.

“Oh. Finally,” Jeongguk exclaims when the ceiling light flickers on, signaling the return of the electricity. “I was starting to worry about all the food in the freezer.”

Subsequently, he leans over the coffee table, blowing out the small candles one after the other. It’s late anyway.

“So, uh…” he rises from the couch, “I’ll keep my door open, but I’m not offended if you choose to sleep in your bedroom.”

“Okay,” you nod at him, watching as he leaves to brush his teeth and get ready for bed.

You stand up too, but no matter how much you want to crawl into bed next to him and have him hold you the entire night, you get ready for bed, and you lie down in your own room. You’re still wearing his hoodie because it smells like him, and it ironically brings you comfort. Still, you lie there in the dark, and you think about his face, and his eyes, and his body. His voice, even, and how he might actually be a good guy. Maybe even everything you want, even if it doesn't matter. And you curl up, a few tears running silently down your cheeks. Because Jeon Jeongguk is so very far out of your league, it’s not even funny.

After waking up, you trudge toward the kitchen, still feeling half asleep. After everything that happened yesterday, you still managed to sleep pretty well, most likely because you were exhausted and sleeping alone.

“Morning.”

You stop, hands mid eye-rub.

“I… thought you’d be at the station?” you say, redirecting your focus to taming your hair. Jeongguk is sitting at the kitchen table, donning a white t-shirt and black, what looks to be cotton, shorts.

“No, I’ll use today to go over some of the potential leads you helped find. Can do that from here.”

He takes a bite of a cupcake, and you catch his eyes linger a second on your body and how a small smile pulls on his lips before he looks into his phone in front of him. Glancing down, you realize that since you didn’t expect him to be home, you didn’t change out of his hoodie so what he saw waddle into the room was you, swallowed by his hoodie, sweater paws rubbing your eyes.

“It, uh, smells good,” you mumble quietly, realizing way too late that it’s not that great of a defense. “But I’ll wash it and you can have it back.”

It smells good because he smells good.

He waves his hand, still looking almost… fond. “It’s okay, keep it as long as you’d like. I have a ton of them.”

“Okay, uh, thank you.”

“No problem.”

At least the awkwardness was for another reason.

You decide to do a bit of laundry, although skipping the black hoodie and hiding it away under your duvet for a little while longer. Doing the laundry, vacuuming most of the house, and emptying the dishwasher takes you almost an hour, and then you find yourself outside Jeongguk’s office, knocking on the open door and peeking inside.

“Making any progress?”

He lifts his head from the laptop screen and swivels around in his chair to face you, a pen in his hand.

“No,” he sighs, “I’m looking into the girlfriend angle and so far, we’ve put detectives on a recent ex of Seunghwa’s and on two of Ryung’s flings, but it hasn’t resulted in anything. Regarding Hoseong… I’m not sure I ever actually heard him mention anyone by name, at least not any name that I can seem to match to anyone.”

“What about… I remember him talking about this Jimin?”

“Who’s that? I think we’ve covered most of his friends?”

You search your memory, but it’s hard to remember details. It’s been years since the conversations you try to recall, and as far as you remember, he only mentioned her in passing. “It was a woman, and I think they were more than friends. Or at least she wanted to be.”

“I didn’t even think of that; I only know male Jimins. Tell me more,” he urges, and you can tell he’s trying to recall if there was ever a mention of a Jimin.

“Well, I heard him complain about her a few times; said she was clingy and honestly a little obsessed with him. He made it sound like he didn’t care for her that much. In retrospect–besides being a very red flag–it sounds like something he could’ve said about me when I liked him.”

“Someone who maybe is mostly just a regular woman and would still maybe help them if they’re desperate enough to ask. Or him, at least.”

“Yeah.”

For a few hours, you and Jeongguk work together in his office, and you nearly forget about yesterday’s mishap, trying to find more info on this ‘Jimin.’ Until you find yourself nearly chest to chest with him after turning around too quickly and not expecting him so close. Instead of meeting your eyes sweetly and slowly lowering his head to kiss you like he probably would’ve even yesterday, he smiles and… backs up a few steps.

“Hey, should we take a break? Have a late lunch?” Jeongguk stretches his arms out in front of him.

You continue noting down some last names from your phone onto a paper, using the chair Jeongguk wheeled into his office specifically for you as a table while sitting on the floor. “Uh, you go ahead. I had a late breakfast.”

He stands up. “Oh. I didn’t notice.”

“Mhm, you were already in here.”

“I can wait then, and we can eat together.”

“It’s alright; go ahead.”

He mumbles something you don’t quite catch, but he does leave you to your notes and disappears from the office.

For the rest of the day, it’s just as if you’ve taken two or even three steps back. You don’t… touch a lot, and you definitely don’t kiss. A part of you misses it, but another part is relieved that he’s giving you space. He’s still very, very sweet, of course. You didn’t expect anything else.

Like when you open a cupboard, gaze set on a specific mug of his you’ve taken a liking to thanks to the very big ear that prevents the hot tea from burning your hand even through the ceramic. Compared to your male roommate, you’re lacking a little more in the vertical department and for some reason, whoever emptied the dishwasher placed the mug on the top shelf.

You look at it for three seconds, debating on whether you should grab a kitchen chair and climb or simply admit defeat and choose the next best mug. You’re about to go for the latter option when your hero swoops in, wordlessly and casually picking it down for you, a mug of his own raised to his mouth.

“Thank you,” you take the offering from his hand, a smile growing on your lips.

“You’re welcome.”

Or how he’ll still open whatever door you run into for you, to the point that it wouldn’t surprise you if he tried to open the automatic doors and hold them open with his hands when he takes you grocery shopping.

And sometimes, you do touch. Whenever he’s quick enough to exit the driver’s seat and open the passenger door for you, he holds his hand out for you, and when you take it, he helps you out as if you can’t step out of the car on your own.

When you watch a movie, you don’t sit glued to each other, but he’s not scared to gently pull your feet–which you’ve complained all day of being tired–onto his lap to briefly massage them for you. He smiles at you, all crinkle-cornered sparkly-eyed and dimpled. On two short occasions, he holds your hand carefully, something you don’t object to because it feels nice, it really does.

But despite all these things, you still sleep in your bedroom. You don’t lock the door, but you do sleep alone.

Three days after the incident during the power outage, you’ve worked a long day in Jeongguk’s office. Alone, because he had to leave for the station at nine a.m.. You’ve had a lot of time to think, not only today but ever since what happened–and before that honestly–and it’s become very clear that you need to make a decision. Maybe you should simply gather your courage, give it a shot, and tell him how you feel about him, no matter what happens after?

Despite feeling somewhat determined and having some kind of honestly not very thought out plan, you’re anxious, wandering around the house as you wait for him to return.

An hour before he comes home, you find yourself in front of the washing machine, throwing the black hoodie into it finally. With the machine on, you head into the kitchen, pouring yourself a glass of wine. It helps a little, and the remaining nerves that still reside in your chest, you decide to just try to ignore.

The sound of his bike is what notifies you of his return, and you leave the kitchen to meet him in the garage, watching as he swings his leg over the bike and takes the black helmet off, holding it under his arm.

“Hey,” he greets when he sees you waiting, a genuine smile on his face. “How was your day?”

“Uh… good. Narrowed down the Jimins a bit, I think.”

“That’s great,” he grins, his elatedness infecting you too, causing you to smile a little hesitantly despite the nerves devouring you. “Have you eaten yet? I know it’s kinda late but if not; I could cook something?”

He puts the helmet on one of the shelves that line one of the walls, and then he comes to stand before you.

You keep your eyes on the jacket with the police emblem on it before you peer up at him. A little hesitantly, you reach for the zipper of his jacket, fiddling a little with it.

“I, uh… actually have something else I want to do. Something I’d like to try… If you’re up for it…”

Tentatively, you reach your hand out, fingers pulling down the zipper of his jacket. He watches you curiously, doing nothing to stop you.

“What is it? That you want to do?” he asks, his warm voice definitely sounding curious but not overly so.

You swallow, deciding to just go for it and slowly placing your arms around his neck, “Well… Do you have any… handcuffs?”

He tilts his head, holding your waist while looking at you, searching. “For me? I do, but we don’t have to do anything; you know that, right?”

“Yeah, but if I really want to? Or maybe you…” you realize that he might just not want to. Like, at all. Oh, how embarrassing.

Seemingly noticing the way you take a step back, lowering your arms from around his neck, he stops you, his hands keeping them there.

“No, no. I’m always willing to let you do whatever you’re comfortable with. I don’t mind.”

His encouragement has a more genuine smile pulling on your mouth.

“Meet me in your bedroom then?” you ask, “And bring the cuffs.”

Not waiting for a confirmation, you drop your hands from his neck, and you turn around to head inside the house. Your heart is pounding, going absolutely haywire while you wait for him on the edge of his bed. Maybe you should’ve worn something else? Something other than just a pair of mom jeans and a blue sweater, but it’s too late now, you guess.

He shows up only a minute later, eyes curiously observing the heavy chair you’ve moved from the corner and into the middle of his room. The first thing he does is unbutton the dark blue shirt of his uniform, sliding it down his arms and throwing it onto the bed. You look at his chest and his arms and his stomach, and you see how he notices. This… humble confidence looks so good on him, and it’s so insanely different from how he acted during the mission. You’ve never seen anyone so attractive.

The next thing he does is approach you where you’re sitting, offering you his hand all while smiling sweetly… but still a little cheekily.

Placing your hand in his, you’re pulled up to your feet, basically chest to chest with him. There’s heat in his gaze, but it’s not scalding; it’s just warm.

You give in.

“Kiss me?”

He searches your eyes for hidden answers, but you really do want him to kiss you, and so he does. He places one hand on your lower back, moving your body with him as he steps back and sits down on the chair. Ending up sitting across one of his thighs, you open your eyes when he pulls away just enough to speak.

“I don’t mind you doing… whatever you want to do, if that’s just sitting on my lap or… exploring me. I’m all for it. Do what you want to do. But,” he says, emphasis on that last word. “Only do what you actually want to.”

You nod, and he reaches down to pull something out of his pocket. The handcuffs. You take them from him, pocketing the small key.

“By the way, how did you get out of the cuffs at the house?” you ask, weighing the metal in your hand.

“I went and got another key before. So I threw you one key and kept the other.”

You feel your forehead crease as you think about what that means. You were only able to relax when you thought he couldn’t hurt you, but he… could? At any point, he could’ve simply unlocked the cuffs himself?

“I didn’t keep a key because I had ulterior motives or anything. I was just worried you might hurt yourself or pass out for real, like, stop breathing and everything, so I needed a way to get to you if that were to happen.”

“I didn’t even think about that,” you admit quietly. It’s true; the fact that you had multiple pairs of handcuffs with you to the house, and they all use the same universal key entirely slipped your mind. “But of course. How stupid of me.”

“It wasn’t stupid. You were under a lot of stress, and I used that to my advantage, hoping you wouldn’t think about it.”

Standing up, you round the chair to kneel behind it. Without having to be asked, Jeongguk puts his hands back and waits for you to cuff them together.

“So I’m tightening these extra hard and making sure I have all keys,” you joke, still fastening them tight enough for him not to be able to slip them off.

“If that’s what you need to feel comfortable. But I hope you know that I’ll always listen to you.”

You nod, maybe more so to yourself when you stand in front of him again. He looks up at you where he sits, shirtless and looking gorgeous and absolutely mouthwatering.

You bite your lip briefly. “Can I… kiss you?”

“Whatever you want,” he grins, a smile that widens when you sit down on one of his thighs again.

“Okay. Close your eyes?”

Without a word, he obeys your request, and you feel yourself get almost hypnotized, looking at him. You’ve truly never seen anyone so stunning, even to the point that you could sit and gaze at him for hours. The best of mankind but still very much a man. You remember how you used to hate him, thinking God wasted this incredible beauty on someone so ugly, but although you’re not entirely sure how you feel about him, you know you don’t hate him.

Carefully, you trace your fingers along his sharp jaw, and despite his eyelashes fluttering, he doesn’t open his eyes. Unable to help yourself and because you truly don’t think he minds, you allow your gaze to drop. His neck is relatively thick, and the veins are only slightly visible compared to when he’s physically active. Your eyes then land on his collarbones. Then his wide, muscular shoulders and pecs. Then the scar, before traveling across his abs.

“You’re so pretty,” you state quietly, looking up at his face just in time to watch him smirk.

“Pretty is for girls; I’m a man.”

You can’t quite explain the emotional wave that hits you as you come to terms with what you have to do–the decision he’s made for you–but you know that you have to hide it, can’t make a sound of hurt in the silent room. Pressing your lips together, you look around the bedroom before you rise from his thigh.

“What are you doing?” Jeongguk asks, still smiling and oblivious, his eyes closed.

Already at the window, you untie the white curtain’s tieback and hold it up. “What about this?”

He opens his eyes and looks at the white piece of fabric in your hand, but doesn’t appear too skeptical. “For what purpose?”

“Blindfold.”

Trying to keep a positive and somewhat fear free mindset, it still hurts when you see how he immediately connects the blindfold to how you shielded your chest from his eyes. There’s pain and there’s guilt swimming in his dark eyes.

“You can, but please don’t do anything you don’t want to.”

“I won’t,” you promise.

“Okay then.”

With his permission, you place the folded sash over his eyes and tie it in the back, careful not to trap any hairs. When you’re done, you take another second to look at him. There is something so irresistible about him, something that has your heart yearning and your body pulled in. He’s so warm, both body and presence. You bite your lip, using your hand to trace his cheek softly while thinking about how he’s so conflicting. What if you want to stay here forever? Curl up like this where he can’t touch you, and lean your head against his neck where he can’t see you?

Like the time when you kissed three days ago, you touch your thumb to his soft lips, and you let the smile and the mask you’ve been wearing fall. Quietly, you stand up, and you take a step back.

“I thought you were going to kiss me?” Jeongguk jokes lightly.

You don’t know what to say, stuck in your footing to the floor and how he can’t see you. It’s like a weight has dropped from your shoulders, but your heart still feels heavy.

“I’m sorry.”

Not picking up the real meaning behind your words, Jeongguk tilts his head. “Okay. It’s alright. Why don’t you uncuff me and we can maybe order dinner instead?”

“I’m leaving tonight.”

“Wait… what?” he straightens up, struggling to process your words, “Why?”

But you go silent again, unsure of exactly how you’ll ever be able to tell him everything. He calls your name, sounding stressed, and you hear how he tugs on the cuffs.

“You scare me.”

He stops, and you can tell by the way he seems to almost be holding his breath that it wasn’t exactly what he wanted to hear.

“I… I understand that you’ve been through a lot, but I’m never going to hurt you.”

You keep your eyes on him, feeling like he, himself most likely believes what he’s saying. But it’s not that easy.

“I know… that all in all, you’re a good man. You want to help me and others, and I know you said that not even when you thought I was the most selfish person in the world would you be able to hurt me physically. But you had no problem hurting me in other ways.”

“I know, and I’m so sorry for what I did. I’ve apologized for that, and I’ll keep doing it.”

“I don’t know how to read you,” you add, disregarding what he said because he has apologized, but not in the way that you needed. Not in a way that really matters to you. If this man hasn’t had you broken in a thousand pieces and still insisted on stepping on the remains.

So you keep going. “You look sweet–you’ve been sweet, but you look just like him. Hoseong was sweet too, until he wasn’t. And you… you have this desire to hurt, you want to inflict pain on those who wrong you or who you think have done you wrong. What happens if you think I’ve done something you don’t agree with?”

“I’m not jumping to conclusions without talking to you, I’m not making the same mistake again–”

“What if I actually do something you don’t like?”

For a few seconds, he goes quiet. “I’m not going to hurt you ever again, I promise.”

You fiddle with your hands, glancing down at them. “Are you sure? It was so easy for you, using all my weaknesses against me and breaking me down without ever asking me for my side of the story. And it scares me how you, during the mission, showed just how easy it was for you to one moment act like you could stand me–looking just as sweet as you do now–then angrily tear me down the next.”

It hurts in your whole body but the worst pain originates from your chest. You feel small, insignificant, but also like you take up too much room.

“I know that you probably don’t want to hurt me physically, and that you’re a better man than most, and at first when we came back, it wasn’t too difficult to ignore what you…. think of me, but now…? I kissed you, and you kissed me back, and it just… everything is coming back. I’ve been trying to tell myself that you wouldn’t hurt me at all anymore and that maybe you even like me like I like you, but I know that you don’t. Which in turn makes it hard to know why you’re doing all of this. I think maybe you feel guilty or want to be nice? Give me a chance even though I’m not your… type. But I… I like you. I really, really like you.”

It’s easier to admit than you originally thought, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less. “I want to look at you every second of the day and my hands absolutely yearn to touch you all over. But I don’t want you to touch me. I don’t want you to look at me. I don’t want to be perceived at all. I know that if I stay here and show myself to you, you will not like what you see. You will be disappointed.”

Jeongguk shakes his head, not straining against the cuffs anymore but taking on a calmer approach. “It’s not true. I really do like you, and I think you’re really pretty. Please, I apologized for the things I said, and I’ll do it again. I’m really sorry; I just said those things because I wanted to hurt you. “

“You did. You hurt me, and I’m hurt. You apologized for wanting to hurt me, but you’ve never impli–actually, It doesn’t matter. I know what I look like, it’s kinda hard to forget when you’re constantly reminded. You and your friends came for every single flaw of mine, Jeongguk. “

“I only continued because you never seemed fazed by it.”

“‘I never seemed–’”, you stop to chuckle in disbelief. Your eyes are tearing up as you recall the moments you’re about to remind him of.

“Are you saying that you never noticed that I stopped eating lunch at the cafeteria after what you did? Hoseong said that maybe someone would actually like me if I ‘ate less,’ and you laughed like it was the funniest thing you’d ever heard. That was the day after you walked past me in the cafeteria, saying ‘leave some for the rest of us, why don’t you?’ Jihyo brought cookies for her birthday two weeks later, and you suggested–in front of everyone–that maybe I should do something else with my mouth besides eat. I criticized the fact that no male officer wanted to work on ‘low-rewarding’ cases like my trafficking case, and you… Do you remember what you said?”

Your eyes are already blurry with silent tears, and you feel the humiliation drown you. There’s no way to go, nowhere to hide. People like Jeongguk are watching, inspecting and observing every little part of you. Your bottom lip trembles.

Jeongguk is silent. If he could see, he’d be looking at your feet. You were right to blindfold him because you would’ve never been able to speak so earnestly had you not. Although you like him, and he’s been so kind and sweet to you, you’re back to feeling like nothing in his eyes.

“‘It’s not about the case; it’s about you. You couldn’t pay me to even look at you. In fact, I bet not even the traffickers would take you, otherwise we would’ve definitely traded you.’”

The pain radiates from your chest, leaving no cell of your body unaffected at the implications. You are so ugly and disgusting to him that if he had the chance, he would’ve sacrificed you to a fate no one should ever have to face.

He doesn’t give you a reaction now either; he just sits there with his head lowered. But this is your one chance to tell him how you really feel. You take a big, shaky breath.

“I was doing okay before all of this. Sure, I’ve always known that I have a lot of flaws, but I was doing okay. But you’ve said over and over again that I disgust you, my body makes you want to hurl, you wouldn’t fuck me if your life depended on it, etcetera. It takes its toll. Eating around men gives me anxiety, even if I try to hide it. I cover up my… shoulders as much as I can because I can hear you describe them as ‘manly,’ and how every man within earshot chuckles.

“I wear thick bras and tops, especially around you, because you made it a habit to comment on my breasts and how unfortunately shaped and sized they are. I remember how you asked me how on earth I ever expected Hoseong to like me when I had the ‘saggiest tits in the district.’ And I remember the field day you had when you found out they’re a bit uneven, finding a way to lower your rating of me from a 0.5 out of 10 to a 0.1. Then you asked the other men for their opinion and rating. Or how you’ve so kindly informed me that I didn’t have the tits for that pretty, blue dress and that it looked awful on me. Are you saying that you didn’t notice that whatever you’ve commented on, I’ve never worn again? Not even anything similar?

“I don’t wear tighter pants without a longer shirt to cover my ‘misshapen,’ ‘unfeminine’ hips and the ‘weird dips’ you’ve laughed at, and whenever work dress codes require me to, I’ve avoided you and other men the best I could.

“I wore a skirt to work once, and when I ran into you before changing into my uniform, you said that skirts are for pretty girls and that no one wanted to see my… cellulite. You took every chance to remind me that I have myself to blame for being undesirable, and that men weren’t the problem, I am, and ‘how wasn’t I ashamed for thinking someone like Hoseong could ever like me?’

"Believe me, I was ashamed. I am ashamed. Do you think I never considered just… drinking the poisoned coffee? Or just starting the car even though I knew the brakes wouldn’t work? If there was a way to get rid of one’s body, believe me, I would’ve. It doesn’t matter that you didn’t know what he did to me at the time because how I looked never changed. But looking like you do, I get that you don’t understand how it is to walk around, filled with shame for existing in such an unfortunate body, but I can tell that you want to be better. Maybe you feel bad and want to give me a free trial of how it is to be with a Good Man. Or you want to do the ‘right thing’ so that your dad would be proud? I don’t know, but I can’t ignore the fact that I know how you really perceive me and how you are so far out of my league, it’s embarrassing to even stand here and say it.

"So while I appreciate everything you’ve done for me cause I’d be dead and gone without you, I can’t stay here. You want someone to hold hands with and to buy flowers for, but that’s not for people like me.”

Finally done, you wipe the tears that fall, and you shakily swallow the lump that’s formed in your throat.

“Take the blindfold off and uncuff me,” he begs, once again straining against the handcuffs. You know he isn’t getting out of them, and while he could stand up, the chair is too heavy for him to just pull along with him when he’s got the blindfold on and no sight. He knows, just as well as you, that there’s no use.

“No.”

“Then listen to me; none of that was true. You are so pretty, so breathtaking. I like you so much.”

“Forgive me for not believing you. If you really thought I was even remotely pretty, there have been countless opportunities for you to say so. Or even just a ‘hey, you know you’re not actually as revolting as I told you.’”

“I… I didn’t want to overwhelm you or have you doubt my intentions, but I’m telling you now that I’ve always thought you to be beautiful.”

You scoff sadly. “Yeah, now when the consequences of your actions have arrived,” you glance down at your feet, feeling so insignificant.

“Please don’t leave.”

“I’ve already packed my stuff.”

“Where are you going? You can’t go home; it isn’t safe there.”

Truly, at this moment, your safety doesn’t seem like your top priority. “I’ll be careful.”

“Can’t you stay with someone, at least?” he bargains, “Jihyo or Sana?”

Another tear falls, and your voice goes quiet. “I want to go home.”

You really do. You haven't been home in months, and you feel like a child sleeping over at a friend's, missing your mom so much it hurts and just wishing she'd come and pick you up.

“I know, but you just gotta hold out a little bit longer. Call Jihyo, please. Do you want me to watch your house twenty-four seven, cause I will.”

You consider his words, and if there’s anything you don’t want, it’s to have him so close again. “Fine. I’ll call her tomorrow.”

“Thank you.”

“Yeah…”

With nothing really left to say, you pull your phone out of your pocket, opening the Uber app.

“I’ll uncuff you in a few minutes, I’m just ordering an Uber.”

Luckily, a car is only three minutes away, and so with quick fingers you confirm it. You packed your stuff three hours ago in case this would be the outcome, something you’re very grateful for now. Maybe, maybe, if he had said something, you would’ve kissed him and decided to stay, hoping that he was being honest. But you know that you might be a sweet girl to him, but you're not a pretty girl.

A minute passes, and you sigh sadly. “Okay, I’m gonna open the handcuffs, but I’m begging you, Jeongguk, stay there until I’m gone, okay? Don’t remove the blindfold, please?”

It’s his turn to seemingly consider what you’re saying. What you did, agreeing to call Jihyo, was for him and respecting his wishes. So he has to respect yours. He can’t rip off the blindfold the moment you twist the key in the cuffs and try to persuade you to stay, no matter if he wants to.

“Okay.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

You decide to trust him, and with the key belonging to the cuffs, you round the chair where he’s sitting. Kneeling like before, you manage to unlock one of the cuffs in two seconds, and the metal clinks as it falls off his wrist. Instead of freeing his other wrist as well, you grasp his free hand and put the key into his palm, closing his fist around it.

Though you shouldn’t have expected him to be entirely quiet and still, because while he doesn’t make any move to rise from the chair or remove the blindfold, he does swiftly grab your hand, holding it firmly. Despite being blindfolded, it definitely feels like he’s staring straight at you behind him.

“Don’t believe anything any of us said, please. You really are so gorgeous, and not only that but you’re incredibly smart and hard-working. You’re amazing, and I will regret what I did to you for the rest of my life.”

But you hurt so much on the inside that you don’t say anything to that, you just pull your hand out of his grasp.

author's note: so.... anyway, uh... like, comment, and subscribe <333

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rosesareredrosa · 2 months

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You Don't Know Me Anymore but that Can Change

Theo x fem reader

Summary: Where Theo neglects his relationship with Y/N due to spending too much time with his friends. Realizing his mistake, Theodore promises to change and starts making efforts to reconnect.

Authors note: I have no clue what to write please send in requests

Word Count: 988

The dim light of the Leaky Cauldron flickered as Y/N sat at the corner table, swirling their drink absentmindedly. The place was bustling, but it felt like they were in a world of their own. They glanced at their watch, sighing as the minute hand inched closer to 8:00 PM. Theodore was late. Again.

Just as Y/N was about to give up, the door creaked open and Theodore Nott slipped inside, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on Y/N. A guilty smile tugged at his lips as he hurried over, planting a quick kiss on their cheek before sitting down.

"Hey, sorry I'm late. Blaise needed help with something," he said, running a hand through his dark hair.

Y/N forced a smile. "It's fine, Theo."

Theodore studied the menu briefly, then closed it with a satisfied nod. "I already know what I want. How about you? You like this place, right?"

Y/N bit their lip, looking away. "I used to."

Theodore's brow furrowed. "What do you mean 'used to'?"

Y/N took a deep breath, finally meeting his gaze. "You don't even know me anymore, Theo. You're always with Blaise or your other friends. We barely spend any time together."

His eyes widened in surprise. "That's not true, Y/N. We're here now, aren't we?"

Y/N shook their head. "One dinner doesn't make up for all the times you've been absent. Do you even know what my favorite drink is? Or how my day went?"

Theodore opened his mouth to respond but closed it again, a look of realization dawning on his face. "I... I guess I haven't been around much, have I?"

"No, you haven't," Y/N replied, their voice tinged with sadness. "You used to be my best friend, Theo. Now I feel like I'm just an afterthought."

He reached across the table, taking Y/N's hand in his. "I'm sorry. I never meant to make you feel that way. I've been so caught up with everything else that I didn't realize how distant I've become."

Y/N's eyes softened, but they didn't pull their hand away. "I miss you, Theo. The real you. Not the one who's always busy with everyone else."

Theodore squeezed their hand gently. "I'll make it up to you. I promise. Let's start over, right here, right now. No more distractions. Just you and me."

Y/N felt a glimmer of hope at his words. "You can change if you mean your word no empty promises."

He nodded earnestly. "I do and I will change, Y/N. Every little detail."

A small smile tugged at Y/N's lips as they finally felt the walls around their heart begin to crumble. "Okay, Theo. Let's start over."

The evening carried on, but this time, it was different. Theodore listened intently as Y/N talked, and for the first time in a long time, they felt truly seen. It wasn't a perfect fix, but it was a start. And that was enough for now.

Days turned into weeks, and Theodore kept his promise. He showed up on time for their dates, texted more often, and made an effort to be present. He started paying attention to the little things, like Y/N’s favorite flowers or the way they liked their coffee.

One Saturday afternoon, Theodore surprised Y/N with a picnic in a secluded part of the Hogwarts grounds. The summer sun bathed the landscape in a warm glow as they settled on a checkered blanket. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves overhead, and the sound of the Black Lake's gentle waves created a soothing backdrop.

Y/N looked around, taking in the thoughtful details. "You remembered I love picnics."

Theodore grinned, a bit of pride shining in his eyes. "Of course. I’ve been paying attention."

They unpacked the basket, laying out sandwiches, fruit, and Y/N’s favorite chocolate-covered strawberries. As they ate, the conversation flowed easily, filled with laughter and shared memories. It felt like old times, and Y/N’s heart swelled with a mixture of relief and happiness.

After they finished eating, Theodore leaned back on his elbows, gazing up at the sky. "I've missed this," he admitted. "Just being with you, no distractions."

Y/N looked at him, their heart aching with a mix of emotions. "I’ve missed it too. But I need to know this isn’t just temporary. I need to know you’re really here for me."

Theodore sat up, taking Y/N’s hand in his. His expression was serious, sincere. "I know I’ve messed up, Y/N. I let my friendships and other things get in the way of what’s really important. You. Us. I’m not perfect, and I’ll probably mess up again, but I promise to always try to make it right."

Y/N studied his face, searching for any hint of doubt or insincerity. All they saw was the boy they fell in love with, the one who made them feel special and cherished. "Okay, Theo. I believe you."

His smile was radiant, filled with relief and joy. "Thank you. I won’t let you down."

The rest of the afternoon was spent in a blissful haze, talking about everything and nothing, simply enjoying each other’s company. As the sun began to set, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, Theodore wrapped an arm around Y/N’s shoulders, pulling them close.

"This is just the beginning," he murmured. "I want to make new memories with you, ones we can look back on and smile."

Y/N nestled into his side, feeling a warmth spread through them that had been absent for too long. "I’d like that."

And as the stars began to twinkle overhead, they knew that this time, things would be different. They were both ready to put in the effort, to make their relationship stronger than ever. Together, they would navigate the challenges and celebrate the joys, side by side.

#theo nott x reader #theodore nott #theodore nott x reader #slytherin x reader #theodore nott imagine #theodore nott x you #angst with a happy ending #light angst #fluff

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gremlingottoosilly · 10 months

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That Unwanted Animal [COD Fantasy AU] CursedKnight!Ghost x fem!Reader

Ghost was cursed ever since his king helped him get back to life from his grave. A stench of death, strong and inescapable, renders him unable to find a woman who will be willing to bed him. What will happen when he finally finds a perfect mate? CW and Tags: Dub-con, power imbalance, Medieval Fantasy AU, knight!Ghost, servant!Reader, sex work, brothels, dub-con kissing and touching, obsessive Ghost, dark Ghost, basically Ghost finds a girl and forces her to be his, Ghost is a half-dead resurrected knight, soft reader, submissive Reader.

AO3 Word Count: 2209

“I won’t go to him, he smells!”

“Drop the act, princess, not even half of our guests reek of anything more than their drinks and foul meat.”

“You know how he smells, Katherine. You know what he is.” “What he is, is a client. Rich one. Do you wish to moan under the belly of another failing merchant? Or a peasant’s dick is more to your liking?” “I bring this place more than half of its earnings! I won’t bed a man who has barely got out of his grave and should be put back!” Ghost sighs, his head pressed against the wooden wall. For a brothel, this place has remarkably thin walls. For a brothel, girls out here have remarkably potent noses – and acquired tastes for anything that doesn’t taste like a man who was brought back to life with dead souls still clinging onto every inch of his very being.

For a man of his regals – the blessed knight, the cursed knight, the kiss-your-enemies-goodnight, the spill-your-blood-he might, he has a particular choice in the brothel he tried to entertain himself with. Not like any willing woman would bed him without a sum of gold enough to feed a family for months – and not like he stood low enough to force himself on poor servants of his castle, bringing his dignity and family name down with each handmaiden he tried to grope while on meeting with the king.

“Do you think he is really dead?” “Dead man wouldn’t need a cunt to drown himself in. He had to have something working.” “Maybe he likes to watch? Or to hurt.” “Maybe, we can’t afford to turn him down, princess. Drop your act before he is willing to burn us down for refusing him.” “Well, I heard he went through every brothel in town. Not a single soul bedded him!” “I heard he doesn’t even like girls. Has his royal knight by his side all day.” “He came alone.” “He will be coming alone for the rest of his life with a smell like this!” “Dark magic. King should have known to not trust the Empire and their lurkings.” “Having a blessed knight is good, no? We’re not at war.” “Cursed knight is good in your army, not your bed. But if you are so willing…”

He hears women – from the madam of this fine place, a woman of fine manners, exquisite figure, and the way of looking at him that almost convinces that she doesn’t want to press her fingers against her nose, blocking the smell of death that follows him ever since he became…that. He hears girls of not-so-fine manners, with fine bodies and perfect pretty faces, gentle hands that don’t know about the trials of war. He remembers the way they looked at him – the way they always looked at him.

Scary, horrendous, dangerous. A skull mask and dark tendrils of smoke follow his body, the Grim Reaper himself embedded in his dark armor. No matter how many perfumes he uses, no matter how many washes per day he forces himself onto, nothing can hide the stench of death. He thought he’d be fine with it as long as his battle brothers were with him – as long as he was with them.

Then he got lonely.

Finding a lay in the brothel would be a scandal for a man of his status – but Simon Riley is no man. Not anymore, at least.

“I bet he wears a mask because he is hideous.” “Maybe he is just wounded?” “What kind of wound would make him hide his face while not being hideous?” “Maybe, he just doesn’t want to show his face here.” “No use. By the dawn, all women in the capital will know about great lord Riley, refuced at every brothel.” “What if he kills us?” “What if he burns us?” “What if he…” “Let the servant bring him tea. Make her useful.” Before he could react – as if eavesdropping on a bunch of whores was something of a pleasant chore he was dealing with – a door to his room had opened. Girl, in much simpler clothes than the ones that courtesans were wearing. With a tea tray in her shaky hands, grabbing the poor thing like there was no tomorrow. Huh. Perhaps, with a mug like his as her client, there is no tomorrow for a poor girl.

Ghost sits on the bed, large, muscular legs spread, his dick swaying with attention the longer he is looking at your face. He can’t be picky, not in his state as a not-dead not-man, but he has to admit that you’re pretty. Without all the mannerisms of a prostitute, you look like a poor deer stuck in the predator’s den. Your hands are shaking – but he looks at your face, having no shame in drinking up your expression like a vampire – and he didn’t once saw you wince at the smell. Hm. Must be potent tea you’re serving.

— I didn’t ask for the tea.

Rude, as always – he didn’t come here to be ridiculed by poor attempts at pleasing him without a girl under him, getting her pretty legs open for his cock. He didn’t intend to come here and listen to all of the workers laughing at him like he was a monster – yet, he can’t leave now, his wounded ego grows into something ugly.

— Most of our clients prefer to drink this before the…act. It makes them more potent, as they say.

His cock didn’t have any warm body to dump his semen in years. He doesn’t need tea to make him hard – he sees the glimpse of your skin under those simple robes of yours, and he can already feel it stir, standing up for attention.

— You don’t sound too certain. Your client must not drink it then.

— I…I am not a prostitute, sir. Merely a servant.

He knows already – your makeup is too plain, your manners are off, your clothes are simple grey wool with not a dash of color. If you were his – as a prostitute, a wife, a lover – he would bring you something much brighter and skimpier. You’d look good in silks, he thinks.

Not like you’d allow him to bring you home – not willingly, at least.

— So I figured, love. You’re pretty enough to be one, that’s clear.

“You’re pretty enough to be a prostitute” is a compliment that only sounds good in the head of a man who hasn’t talked sweetly to a woman in ages. His whole life, perhaps, exchanging the embrace of a lady with tight hugs of the war.

— You’re flattering me, sir.

— Bloody hell, woman. Not a flattery if that’s the truth.

— If you say so.

You shift under his gaze like a rabbit in front of an apex predator. Ghost doesn’t want to force any woman to sleep with him – but he looks at the sway of your chest, at the softness of your hips, at the way you tug and scratch on the rough fabric of your skirt as you’re too nervous to look at him…

He must contain himself.

— Why you work as a servant?

— I…tried to be a prostitute, sir. Most clients here don’t like it when you’re not…

He slowly rocks his body closer to you, his head almost laying on your shoulder. He saw the way you looked at him as he leaned to you – you’re surprised, scared, but not disgusted. your nose didn’t twitch a single time, and he is sure that no tea would ever make you this blind to the stench of death lingering on your shoulder now.

There must be something wrong with you – and he wants to save you like a rare treasure because of it.

— Most clients here don’t like what, luv?

— I…have damage, sir.

So he figured. Just didn’t exactly know what you have.

— What is it?

— A…after a bad cold, my sense of smell…never returned. Not for the last three years.

— You don’t smell anythin’? Must be bloody hard.

— It is. But…I manage. As much as I can.

He slowly drapes his hand over your shoulder – you wince at the touch. He thinks of the madam of your fine establishment. The woman didn’t seem the type to beat her girls, but you had such a shy, scared expression as he started to touch you, he can’t wait to burn this fucking place to the ground. Maybe spare a few of your friends if you’d ask him nicely. You won’t be working here again, ever – that much he can be sure of.

— Doin’ a good job, love.

— I hope so, sir.

He drags his hand on your face, squeezing the soft skin of your cheek. You’re adorable – servants shouldn’t be so pretty, it makes him feel bad, it makes him sinful. He should try to hit on the girls who actually work here – not the poor soul that as sent here to bring him here, as a little lam sacrificed to a vicious god.

— You don’t smell me, then?

— I don’t smell anything, my lord.

He chuckles, but your pained expression only makes him chuckle more. Poor thing, living in a place like this without a sense of smell – he can’t believe how you could survive without the smell of heavy incense and creams that all of the whores were using. He loves it when a pretty girl is making herself even prettier – makeup, all of those little elixirs they are putting on their faces, the flowery smells that make his rotting existence a bit easier. It never worked on him, on his disintegrating skin and stench that followed him everywhere – but then it dawned on him.

You have such an adorable, shy smile and a small posture, playing with the edges of your clothes like a girl who is extremely embarrassed to be in a room with a man of his position. But women aren’t shy in his presence, not anymore – they are disgusted, horrified, they want to put their noses into little candy boxes and smell roses just to get rid of the smell.

But you, adorable creature, aren’t disgusted. Hell, how he missed a pretty girl being so shy around him.

Ghost kisses you before he can think of anything else. Before he could give you space to escape, to come to your senses and understand what kind of man he is. Broken, wounded, pushed to the cage, and locked with a key dangling from the side – god knows, Simon Riley isn’t a good man, never tried to be. Devil knows, he will drag you to the grave with him.

Your lips are soft, untouched, you smell of cleaning supplies and sweet tea. Your hair smells like roses and dust, your hands are covered in little scabs – probably from the days spent cleaning and doing the hard work. He will make sure you will never have to work again, not with your hands, at least – he will kiss your callouses and nourish the skin into something delicate, fragile, to the smell of home he lost long ago.

Your mouth tastes like heaven, and Ghost isn’t a man who deserves to push this angel further, isn’t a man who deserves to have a pretty girl moaning under him. He makes you cry, he terrifies you, he kisses you relentlessly and can feel the way your skin burns, tears streaming down your face. If he was a better man, he would oblige to your hands, pushing him away, your mouth is trying to cry for help.

Simon Riley isn’t a good man, and he pushes you on your back, firms hands on your back, on your hips, touching, groping, feeling the skin of a somewhat willing woman. You’re scared, but you should know the kind of job girls here are doing – he didn’t pay all of this money for charity projects, after all. As much as he would pay even more gold just to take you away, to push your legs apart in a scenery much nicer than a room in a brothel. You deserve a real bed, a nice dress that he can rip away from you,

All you get is his hands on your body, ripping your simple skirt apart because he can’t wait to get to the soft skin underneath. He looks at you, precious girl, as adorable as you are, and can’t resist kissing you, stealing breath from your skin. When he finally hears you moan, when his hand goes to grab the softness between your legs – moist, prepared, smelling of roses and arousal, of all things sweet and sinful – all of his sense of self-control shatters.

He will take you on the floor of this room – over and over, claim you as his little maiden, his favorite girl, until he is sure his cursed, rotten seed has filled you to the brim. He will take you away, bringing as much money to your madam as he can manage, buying you all for himself – taking you as his prized possession for the new castle he was ordered to as a lord knight.

Ghost will make you his, hells and heaven be damned.

You cry, but he knows you’ll come around. And he can be very, very patient.

#cod #cod x reader #call of duty #cod x you #yandere cod #ghost x reader #yandere ghost #simon ghost riley #ghost #dark ghost #dark cod #fantasy #yandere male #male yandere

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 5 months

Note

AITA for being honest about what I would change about my boyfriend?

🥊🥊

I’m a cis guy (22m) and I have a boyfriend that’s transgender (20m). We’ve been together for 2 years.

My boyfriend is a very cute guy and he gets hit on a lot in queer spaces tbh. even by lesbians, and they fully see him as a guy. He’s just very sweet and approachable I guess. A lot of people tell him he’s super attractive and I agree, but there are just certain things about his body that don’t appeal to me.

We were at a friend’s birthday party. People got drunk, I was tipsy. We played this game that was like cards with questions about relationships/love/intimacy on them and the whole group would discuss.

One of the questions was something along the lines of "If you could change anything about your partner, what would it be?" Or whatever.

Now, I went first and said I’d probably make him less hairy and get rid of the dark spots in his crotch area and his acne scars. He has some discoloration around his private areas from a rash he got when he was like 13 and some faint scarring from pimples I guess. It’s not an issue, but definitely not my preference. Plus he can’t really shave clean down there because he has thick hair and it always makes him get those razor burn bumps or whatever. Fine by me, he’s hot as hell either way.

Plus, he has a lot of discoloration around his shoulders, back, chest and face from severe acne outbreaks from his puberty and then later again when he started taking testosterone. It’s calmed down a lot, but the scarring is still very prominent. It’s not an issue, just not very pretty to look at.

Please don’t get me wrong. He’s an incredibly attractive person, I just wish his skin was a little prettier. It’s a bit of a turnoff, that’s all. It never stopped me from being absolutely enamored with him.

But when I explained this, a little less explicitly than this of course, the group went dead silent. Everyone was staring at me, some of the girls even clasped their hands over their mouths etc.

When I looked at my boyfriend he was completely pale and was just blankly staring at me before getting up and saying he needs to pee. I just said okay and then gave the card to the person next to me. She very quietly said she’d take away her girlfriend’s anxiety because it hurts her to see the person she loves like that. That’s when it sort of dawned on me that I messed up and that I was way out of line for saying these things in front of our friends.

He apparently left soon after that, which I only found out through a friend. I was a little confused but figured he was just a little embarrassed. We don’t live together, so it isn’t unusual for one of us to leave before the other. But then I found out that his best friend left with him because he was sobbing and couldn’t stop.

I tried calling him and texting him for multiple hours and didn’t want to overstep any boundaries by just popping up at his home, so I gave up and eventually went home. That was two days ago and I still haven’t heard from him. He’s usually a very clingy and noisy person and always sends me small updates throughout the day, but I haven’t heard anything from him the entire time.

I’m so scared. I love this guy so much, he’s the sweetest and the single most interesting person I’ve ever met in my life. I know he has a lot of severe insecurity issues around his body, especially regarding his scarring. But it’s all gotten a lot better in recent months and he even began to love how hairy he is because it makes him feel euphoric.

Now I can’t help but feel like I took that away from him because of some stupid game. But at the same time, I don’t think it was fair for him to just up and leave without talking to me. We could’ve talked it out and I just wish he would communicate with me.

I already know I was a bit out of line for this, but I just tend to be uncomfortably honest. He knows this and loves me for it, so I’m confused why he’s THIS upset about this one. He’s never gone this long without talking to me.

Am I the asshole? I was just playing the game. I don’t think it’s fair to call me cruel for this just because other people are scared to be honest and say shit like they’d take away their partner’s mental illness. It’s so fake and that shit just pisses me off. Everyone has something they would change about their partner’s appearance.

#aita #am i the asshole

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teabutmakeitazure · 1 year

Text

Coincidental Smiles and Hard Working Humour

How the Yan Genshin boys react to a genuine laugh from you and try to dig for more

Characters included: Childe, Diluc, Zhongli, alhaitham, Pantalone

------

Childe: Going to the kitchen first thing after waking up and seeing him half covered in flour with his hair ruffled up like he just got hit by electro did wonders on your brain. The sight of him disheveled and disorderly had made you chuckle, the bubbles of laughter slowly turning into giggles. Childe watches you with eyes as wide as saucers as he remains frozen where he stands, saucepan in hand. The sound of your laughter echoes in the kitchen, and you briefly clutch your stomach during your unguarded moment. Watching you pour out such joyous sounds makes Childe's brain hyperactive and he tries his best to get into circumstances similar to that. He messes up his shirt's buttons and goes to you, asking you to fix them for him. He purposely lets his hair dry all weird so that you could see how funny it looks. He even goes to the length to make up some puns in his head, but that horribly backfires when you mockingly gag. Childe tries his absolute best to make you laugh again all the while going to sleep with the memory of that heavenly sound replaying in his head over and over again.

Diluc: Dawn Winery is no stranger to nature. There's crystalflies, grapes, carrots, potatoes, the occasional boars and your favourite, the resident cats. Having recently befriended a mother and her three kittens, you often sneak out to the vineyard to find them. Diluc is obviously aware of the little rendezvous that frequently occurs but takes no action since, well, you come back inside out of fear anyway. Plus, the staff in the vicinity always keeps a close eye and Diluc himself, when at home, watches. So when he hears you giggle from around the corner as he hides in the shadow of the estate wall, he is enchanted. Not because he's never heard you laugh before, no no. It's because of how genuine it is. He peaks out of curiosity and sees three kittens climbing on top of you with different angles all the while one licks your cheek. More sounds of laughter from you put Diluc in a kind of spell, and he finds himself slowly taking steps towards you. Naturally, blood drains from your face when you see him towering over you. Diluc feels guilty when you go as silent as a mouse, but ends up bringing the cats inside to dig up more smiles from you. Can't say competing with them for your attention was easy but hey, it's a small price to pay.

Zhongli: The harbour is bustling with business during the evening hours. Working people leaving for home and grabbing necessities on the way back and children playing by the docks during the rush hours just to hurry back home when it gets dark. While the ex archon thought you would be interested in shopping, it seemed that the youngsters of Liyue Harbour had been your point of interest all along. You had slipped away when he was analysing which hairstick would suit you better, and though Zhongli would usually be worried, he is aware that there's no place you may run off to. Thus, him being perfectly fine with you roaming about. However, had Zhongli known that you would be engaging the children in different games with so much laughter and joy, he would have let you go sooner. As he stood there, watching with a smile, only one thought crossed his mind. Perhaps you would display the same joy if you had children of your own, right?

Alhaitham: The Akademiya can be... ruthless, even for the feeble scholar. The other day, alhaitham, absolutely sleep deprived, had fallen asleep while drinking his morning coffee and while he would have thought that you'd leave him be, you actually took the mug from his hand and placed it on the counter to avoid any spills. Alhaitham's lack of sleep haunted him for a few more days and on one fine morning had fallen asleep while doing paperwork. Being someone who avoids his attentive stare in the mornings, it had been a few hours later that you had exited the bedroom for breakfast. It would certainly not be an exaggeration to claim that seeing the acting grand sage sleeping on the sofa with his coffee mug empty and the beverage spilled onto the floor is in any way, shape or form reassuring for Sumeru's future. However, catching sight of the little amount of drool spilling from his lips had caused you to erupt into a fit of giggles, waking up the sleeping man. Maybe you should atone for your transgression with offering yourself as a pillow.

Pantalone: The Regrator's job is a stressful one. There are idiots of all types present everywhere and are far too much of a nuisance. Pantalone had summoned you into his home office in an attempt to catch a well deserved break from being hunched over paperwork, but when you had walked in, he didn't even so much as look up from his desk, scowling at the papers haphazardly scattered about. Having to witness such a stoic and composed man scowling and glaring at papers all the while muttering something about 'buffoons' and 'imbeciles' had made you stop in your tracks, suppressing a smile. It was when he had made a disgusted face before grabbing an abacus that you couldn't hold in a chuckle. The sound morphs into laughter, and Pantalone freezes on the spot, head slowly rising to look at you. Seems like today is a blessed day.

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starsjulia · 8 days

Text

casual // leah williamson

masterlist

a/n : a long angsty one based of this request

warnings : angst with a happy ending (ish?), fwb

The rain always seemed to hit harder on nights like this, when you were alone in your apartment, the silence weighing heavy around you. Your phone was lying on the coffee table, screen dark, as you tried your best not to stare at it. Not to pick it up. Not to send the message you swore you wouldn’t send this time.

But the temptation was always there. Leah was always there. Somewhere in the back of your mind.

It had been two years since this thing between you had started—this complicated mess of blurred lines and unspoken rules. It had begun like most bad ideas do: with too much wine and one reckless decision. A kiss that turned into something more, with promises of “this is just for fun” whispered between sheets. You were friends, after all. Close friends, nothing more, nothing less. And that night, it had been easy to believe that you could keep it that way.

But nothing had been simple since then.

You sat there now, curled up on the couch, blanket pulled tight around you as you stared at the empty space beside you. Two years of stolen moments. Late-night texts. Meeting up when the loneliness felt too heavy to carry. Always on her terms, though. Always when she had time. You had told yourself it was enough, that you were fine with the arrangement. After all, Leah had been honest from the start. She didn’t want a relationship. She didn’t have time for one, with her football career and all the responsibilities that came with it.

And you were fine with that. Or, at least, you pretended to be.

Because the truth was, you weren’t fine. You hadn’t been fine in months.

The problem with pretending not to care was that it became harder and harder to keep up the act. You were good at pretending, though. Pretending not to feel the sting of her absence when weeks went by without a word. Pretending not to notice how she never stayed the night, always slipping out of your bed before dawn with some excuse about training or early mornings. Pretending that this arrangement, this friends-with-benefits setup, was still just casual fun for you.

The truth was, it hadn’t been casual in a long time.

Your phone buzzed on the table, breaking through the quiet tension in the room. You stared at it for a moment, hesitant, before reaching for it. The name on the screen made your heart do that stupid, traitorous leap in your chest.

Leah : You home? x

Three words. So simple. So innocent. Yet they carried so much weight.

You typed back quickly, your fingers shaking slightly.

Yeah. Why? x

It wasn’t long before her response came in.

can i come over? x

It was always like this. These late-night texts, her asking to come over, to slip back into your life for a few hours before disappearing again. And you always said yes. No matter how many times you told yourself you wouldn’t. No matter how many times you swore this time would be different.

Sure, doors unlocked x

You sat there for a moment, staring at the words on the screen, regretting them as soon as you sent them. But it was too late. You couldn’t take them back now.

Fifteen minutes later, Leah was at your door.

She walked in like she always did—confident, with an easy smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She looked tired. Exhausted, even. You knew the demands of her career were catching up to her, that she had been under more pressure than ever lately. The national team, her club, the media—all of it was taking a toll. You could see it in the way her shoulders slumped slightly, in the faint shadows under her eyes.

But she didn’t say anything about it. She never did. Instead, she just collapsed onto your couch, exhaling deeply.

“Rough day?” you asked softly, sitting down beside her but keeping a bit of space between you. You had learned to do that, to create some distance even when she was right there next to you.

Leah shrugged, running a hand through her hair. “Just tired. Training’s been brutal lately.”

You nodded, unsure what to say. This was how it always was—small talk that never led anywhere. You were friends, but there was always this wall between you, this unspoken rule that you never crossed into anything deeper.

But tonight, something about it felt heavier than usual. Maybe it was the rain outside, or maybe it was just the weight of everything that had been building between you. The things you hadn’t said. The things you couldn’t say.

Leah glanced over at you, her eyes searching your face for something you weren’t sure you could give. “You okay?” she asked, her voice quieter now, more tentative.

You forced a smile. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

It was a lie, of course. But she didn’t press you on it. She never did.

Instead, Leah leaned in, her hand finding your thigh in that familiar way that always made your heart skip. Her touch was soft, but there was a tension in the air that hadn’t been there before. Like she could feel that something was off.

You looked at her, trying to keep your expression neutral. “Is this what you came here for?” you asked, your voice coming out sharper than you intended.

Leah blinked, pulling back slightly, her hand falling from your leg. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, is this what it is for you? Just… this.” You gestured between the two of you, your frustration finally bubbling over. “Is that all I am to you, Leah? A convenience? Something you can come back to when it’s easy for you?”

Her eyes widened slightly, taken aback by your words. “Where’s this coming from?”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair, your chest tightening as the words you had been holding in for so long finally began to spill out. “It’s been two years, Leah. Two years of this—of you showing up when you feel like it, of you acting like we’re just friends, but then turning around and…” You trailed off, gesturing vaguely, unable to find the right words.

Leah stared at you, her expression unreadable. “I didn’t know you felt like this.”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “Of course you didn’t. I’ve been too busy pretending everything’s fine. But it’s not, Leah. I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep pretending that I’m okay with being whatever this is.”

Leah looked down, her jaw clenching slightly. “We agreed it would be casual. That’s what we said from the start.”

“I know that!” you snapped, your frustration finally breaking through. “I know we said it would be casual. But it’s not casual for me anymore. It hasn’t been for a long time.”

The room fell into a tense silence, the sound of rain hitting the windows the only thing breaking it. Leah didn’t say anything for a long time, just stared at the floor, her expression distant.

Finally, she spoke, her voice low. “I didn’t ask for this to be more.”

Her words hit you like a punch to the gut, the bluntness of them slicing through you. You felt your throat tighten as you tried to keep your emotions in check, but it was too late. Everything was spilling out now, all the hurt and frustration you had been bottling up for months.

“I know you didn’t,” you said, your voice trembling slightly. “But it *is* more for me. I can’t help that. And I can’t keep doing this if you don’t feel the same way.”

Leah’s eyes flicked up to meet yours, and for a moment, you thought you saw something in them—regret, maybe. Or sadness. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by that same guarded look she always wore when things got too close, too real.

“I’m not good at this,” she said quietly. “I don’t know how to do relationships. Football… it’s everything to me. I don’t have room for anything else.”

Your chest ached at her words, even though you had known them to be true all along. “I’m not asking you to choose between me and football, Leah. I would never ask that. I just want to know where I stand. I want to know if I mean anything to you beyond being someone you can sleep with when it’s convenient.”

Leah exhaled sharply, running a hand over her face. “You mean something to me. Of course you do.”

“Then why don’t you show it?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper now. “Why do I feel like I’m the only one who cares? Like I’m always waiting for you to decide when I matter?”

She didn’t answer, and that silence said more than any words ever could.

You stood up, wrapping your arms around yourself as you tried to steady your breathing. “I can’t do this anymore, Leah. I can’t keep being your… your in-between. If this is all you can give, then I need to walk away.”

Leah looked up at you, and for the first time, you saw real panic in her eyes. She stood up, taking a step toward you. “Wait. Please.”

You shook your head, tears threatening to spill over as you stepped back. “I’m sorry.”

For a moment, it looked like she was going to say something more, that she might finally open up, finally give you what you had been aching for all this time. But then she stopped, her expression hardening, and you knew. She wasn’t going to give you anything more. She couldn’t.

The door clicked softly behind you as you walked out into the rain, your heart breaking with each step. You had spent two years convincing yourself that you were okay with the way things were, that you didn’t need more than what Leah was willing to give.

But now, soaked and alone, you knew the truth.

You had always wanted more. And Leah was never going to give it to you.

---

Days passed. Then weeks.

You tried to move on. You threw yourself into work, into spending time with friends, anything to keep your mind off of Leah. But she was always there, in the back of your mind, haunting you like a ghost.

You hadn’t heard from her since that night. Part of you had expected her to reach out, to try and fix things, but deep down, you knew better. Leah wasn’t the kind of person who fought for things like this. She didn’t know how.

Still, the silence hurt more than you thought it would.

One night, weeks later, as you were sitting alone in your apartment again, your phone buzzed on the table. You ignored it at first, assuming it was one of your friends checking in, but when it buzzed again, you glanced at the screen.

Leah: Are you home?

Your heart clenched at the sight of her name. You stared at the message for a long time, torn between replying and throwing your phone across the room.

But before you could stop yourself, you typed back.

yeah. why.

There was a long pause, and for a moment, you wondered if she would respond at all. But then your phone buzzed again.

Leah: Can I come over?

You stared at the screen, your mind racing. You knew you should say no. You knew that letting her back in would only lead to more heartache. But it was Leah. And despite everything, despite all the hurt, you still cared. Too much, probably.

Sure..?

It didn’t take long for her to show up. When she walked in, she looked just as exhausted as the last time you had seen her, but there was something different in her eyes this time. Something softer. Vulnerable, almost.

You stood awkwardly in the living room, not sure what to say, not sure why she was here. Leah seemed just as uncertain, her hands shoved in her pockets as she looked at you.

“I missed you,” she said quietly, her voice raw.

Your heart clenched at her words, but you didn’t let yourself get too hopeful. “You missed me, or you missed the convenience?”

Leah flinched slightly at your words, but she didn’t look away. “I missed you,” she repeated, her voice firmer this time.

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your emotions in check. “Leah, I can’t keep doing this. You know that.”

“I know,” she said, taking a hesitant step toward you. “I know I’ve been shit. I know I haven’t given you what you deserve. But I…” She trailed off, struggling to find the right words. “I’m scared.”

You frowned, confused. “Scared of what?”

“Of losing you,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “Of letting you in too much and screwing everything up. I’m scared that if I let myself care, I’ll get distracted, and I can’t afford that.”

You stared at her, your heart aching at the vulnerability in her voice. You had never heard her talk like this before, never seen her let her walls down like this.

“I’m not asking you to give up your career, Leah,” you said softly. “I’m not asking you to make me your whole world. I just want to know that I matter to you. That I’m not just something you come back to when it’s convenient.”

“You matter,” she said quickly, stepping closer now. “You matter more than you know. I just didn’t realize how much until you walked away.”

You felt tears prick at your eyes, but you blinked them back, not wanting to break down in front of her. “Then why didn’t you fight for this sooner?”

Leah took another step toward you, reaching out to gently take your hand. “Because I’m an idiot,” she said softly. “And I’m sorry. I don’t want to lose you.”

You looked down at her hand in yours, your chest tight with a mixture of emotions. “I don’t want to lose you either,” you whispered.

Leah gently tugged you closer, her other hand cupping your cheek as she looked into your eyes. “Let me try. Please. I can’t promise I’ll be perfect, but I want to try. For you.”

You closed your eyes, leaning into her touch, letting yourself feel the warmth of her skin against yours. It wasn’t a perfect resolution. It wasn’t everything you had been hoping for. But it was something.

And maybe, for now, that was enough.

---

The road ahead wouldn’t be easy. But as Leah pulled you into her arms, holding you tightly for the first time in what felt like forever, you knew that this was a start. A messy, complicated start—but a start nonetheless.

And maybe that was all you needed. For now.

#Spotify #leah williamson #leah williamson x reader #leah williamson imagines #leah williamson one shot #woso #woso imagine #leah williamson x you #leah williamson fluff #angst #leah williamson angst

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kishibei · 2 years

Text

WHAT A CREEP !

— K!NKTOBER DAY 9: PERVERSION

pervert! suna rintarou x reader | smut, 18+ | 3.8k words

summary: when your hot roommate offers to do laundry in exchange for a favor, you oblige in a heartbeat! your clothes seem to be returned in perfect condition, except there's one big problem: several pairs of panties are missing ...

cw: f reader, perversion, panty thieving, peeping, voyeurism, male masturbation, teasing, man-handling, fingering, mirror sex, dumbification, hate-fuck (?), rough sex.

← K!NKTOBER MLIST

You’ve never had a problem living with Suna; he was the nicest roommate you could’ve asked for.

Rent always came in weeks before it was due, and he stayed out of your way for the most part. What he lacked in social aspects he made up for in general politeness. Suna always greeted you in the mornings before leaving, and when he came back he'd offer you takeout in exchange for watching movies with him.

Though he didn't talk much, you were never uncomfortable with his silence. He was much better company than your mutual friend Atsumu, who just couldn't handle shutting up for five minutes, let alone for a film.

Suna was a calming presence and when he did offer his thoughts on things, he was brutally honest. it was something you both seemed to agree upon, a small unifying factor that helped you grow a bit closer to him. He was clean and organized, and your communal spaces were a calm mix of both your living habits. You could definitely trust him with domestic tasks, he had never given you reason not to. So when he began offering to do your laundry in exchange for a couple of favors, you obliged in a heartbeat.

It couldn’t have been that big of a leap anyway. Suna was a self-sufficient man and had done his own laundry ever since he had moved in. Knowing that eased you, and there really wasn't a seed of doubt in your mind when you handed your hamper over to him before work. It was truly impossible for him to fuck this up. Most of your colors could go in the same wash, so all that was really left for him to do was load up the washer and throw in a softener mid-cycle.

In spite of your confidence in him, you still had lingering doubts about his abilities. He was a guy, of course, one who probably had his mommy back home to wash his jerseys all season long. You knew he was capable of doing his laundry just fine and yet you'd successfully convinced yourself he would fuck up somewhere. Mental preparation, you'd called it. Just in case he did manage to disappoint you. Most men had a way of doing that sort of thing, anyway.

Once you had returned, you were pleasantly surprised to be met with your clothes not only intact but neatly folded and organized on your bed. A quick look over your things proved them to be in order and you’d even caught yourself smiling as you packed everything into their respective drawers. You didn't expect Suna to go so far as folding them, so naturally, you felt as if you owed him something extra for what he'd done. Maybe you should cook him dinner?

Turning to the final pile, you paused.

Heat crawled up your body when your eyes fell on the remaining stack of garments.

"No fucking way..." you trailed off, picking up a neatly folded lace thong. You stood frozen in place, staring at the dark sliver of fabric with wide eyes. You could almost hear the gears turning in your head before the realization dawned on you. You had not only let your hot roommate wash, but fold an entire set of your panties.

The mental image that played behind your skull had you wanting to kill yourself. You could so imagine Suna standing in the middle of your room picking up pair after pair of underwear, snickering at each design choice. The mere thought of it made you want to die and at this rate, dying seemed like a way better option than having to face him after this.

It was times like this that made you wish you weren't so lazy. You had intended on separating your underwear from the rest of the wash the night before, but sleep had taken over and you’d completely forgotten about it in the morning.

Sifting through the pile, you inspected the panties one by one, cringing at the embarrassing pattern that decorated your favorite pair. Suna was an attractive man, even after living with him for this long you’d never changed your mind. From the very beginning and especially after finding out who he was, you were hoping he’d have an embarrassing routine or bad habit that would rid you of your feelings for him. But up until now, he had a clean track record.

if anything, it was rather you who had slipped up. It was you who had just now let him see your character-speckled panties, all for some small favors. Tossing the piece of fabric into the nearest bin, you threw yourself onto the bed. Violently kicking your feet, you buried your face in the pillows, screaming about your little fuck up until your throat went dry.

Quick footsteps and a sharp rapping at your door snapped you out of your tantrum. The sheer embarrassment of it all almost had you forgetting you shared the apartment with someone else. But how could you forget? He was the whole reason you were acting this way to begin with.

“You okay in there? I'm coming in!” the man called out.

Suna fumbled with the doorknob, it was his way of respecting your privacy. Wordlessly, he offered you some time to collect yourself before stepping in. Shit like that made you hate the situation even more, why'd he have to be so gentlemanly even after seeing something so humiliating of yours?

Cursing yourself, you sat up. Not only had he seen your worst pair of underwear but now he had witnessed your screaming fit. If he didn't already think you were weird, he would definitely think you were now. He was probably only checking in to tease you anyway.

“Yea Suna, I'm alright!" you blurted out. "I was actually just gonna thank you for washing my stuff!"

“You really didn't have to fold them too, you know?” the words left your lips so fast, you nearly couldn't catch what you were saying.

Suna’s eyes shifted from you to the now messy pile of underwear you sat next to, then met yours again. He wasn't stupid, it was very clear what you were flustered about.

"Oh,” he trailed off slowly, a hand coming up to comb through the hair framing in his face.

“It wasn't a big deal for me, sorry if you didn't want me to.”

“It’s fine!” you squeak. “I guess I owe you an extra favor for that.”

There’s a pause before Suna speaks again, almost like he’s contemplating the right thing to say. He's unreadable at the moment and you're about to curse him for it. But just when you fix your lips to get a word out, it appears he's decided.

“I'll keep that in mind.”

There's a smirk to his words that don’t quite reach his face, and before you can process it, he’s disappeared down the hall and back into his room.

Huffing you drag a hand over your face, turning your attention back to the stack of underwear in question. Sorting through them again you come to a halt. You're sure you’d included a couple more pairs than this so you recount, and recount, and recount. You're probably overthinking it, and things get lost in the dryer all the time. You can't even begin counting how many pairs of socks you’d orphaned in the wash.

This was Suna Rintarou you were talking about: star middle blocker for EJP. A division one player with a reputation to maintain wouldn’t do anything stupid like what you were thinking. Just because he stuck to himself didn't make him some reclused creep, he was a well-known guy who just happened to choose to enjoy a modest life. You're sure his name gave him plenty of girls to fuck, what business would he have stealing panties anyway?

You brush the thought from your mind. It's definitely a stretch, and beyond unlikely. You're almost ashamed that you even had such an idea, to begin with. Suna’s never given you a reason to doubt his intentions, but what kind of man just does a girl’s laundry for fun?

You need to be sure of your suspicions, if they were real at all. You need to catch Suna Rintarou red-handed.

Tonight, you hardly sleep. Staring up at the ceiling, your throat is dry, and your head is filled with unease, mind swirling with all kinds of theories about Suna. Frustrated, you slip out of bed to get a glass of water. The floor is cold, and a shiver crawls up your spine as your feet meet the chilly wood. It's an eerie feeling and it almost makes you want to crawl back into bed and try to fall asleep again.

Forcing the thought away, you make your way to the kitchen, treading lightly so as not to disturb your roommate. You know he has to travel in the morning, and you’d hate to be the reason he isn't well-rested. But as you pass his room, you realize he’s left his door cracked open and isn't asleep at all, heavy breaths and a soft rhythmic patting are proof of that.

The noises he makes cause you to stop in your tracks, and before you realize it, you find yourself drawn to them, clinging to the wall to secure a better view through the gap in the doorway.

Suna’s eyes are screwed shut. The faint glow of his phone screen just barely illuminates his features and you can see the soft dusting of pink covering his angular face. His lips parted and a shaky inhale followed as your eyes drop from his face to the hand that was gripping his heavy cock. You almost gasp yourself as you note the impressive size of it.

He was huge and girthy, even from afar you could make out the thick veins that decorated the shaft and the aggressive shade of pink that blushed over his leaking tip. You watched as fat beads of pre flowed down his cock, dribbling over his fingers before falling onto his weighty balls. You were so entranced by him you had barely registered what he held in that same hand until he began stroking himself with it.

Your jaw fell laxly as you watched how he worked himself with the lacy black fabric. He was practically choking his cock out with a grip so intense you were sure it was painful. Looking back at his face, you watched attentively as his brows knit together before he opened his eyes again. Zeroing in on his phone, a string of expletives fell from his lips as he picked up the pace.

The loud slapping of his skin and the creaking of his bed rivaled the sound of his voice but still, there it was. Among all the obscenities that came dripping from his tongue, there was your name.

It started as a whisper and you couldn’t even believe it was coming out of his mouth. It grew into a continuous desperate chant as if he was trying to summon you to properly finish him off before he pushed himself over the edge.

Suna came hard. Stupid hard. So hard he had let his phone slip from his grasp, and there you could see it.

You could recognize that photo anywhere, it was one of your best. Even if you had gone blind the next day, you could still point it out in a lineup of other revealing photos. There you were on Suna’s phone screen, on vacation at matira beach in bora bora, playfully bent over in a small bikini top and shorts.

This time you couldn’t hold the gasp you let out. Fully opening the door now, you watched Suna scramble to cover himself. The cum that covered his abs dripped onto his sheets as he sat up. Before he could open his mouth to speak you started.

“Fucking pervert.” you spat out.

Suna physically recoiled, the words had cut deep and bothered him more than he had liked to admit. But you’d instantly noticed how he flinched at them.

“Really, panties? And my Instagram? You're pathetic, Suna.”

He couldn't say a word, he sat staring dumbfounded blinking up at you like an idiot.

“Nothing to say, either? I expected a lot more out of you, guess you're nothing but a little pervert.” you spat contemptuously turning to leave the room. “And keep them. I don't want you going through any more of my stuff, freak.”

Suna sputtered as he watched you stand in the doorframe with your back to him. You were desperately waiting for him to say something, anything.

“That's rich coming from you” he fired back.

You froze as soon as the harsh words had reached you. Clenching your fists, you turn. "Accusing me is really low of you, Suna.”

“You think I didn't see you watching?” Chuckling, he ran a hand through his hair. “I mean watching me jerk off? You're even lower than me. I never crossed that line”

“Shut up.” you spat, turning to him. "I was only here to close your door. You're the one who left it open, you wanted to get caught.”

“Such a tease, youre the one who gave me your panties. it's almost like you wanted me to take them.”

Sputtering, you gave up on responding.

“You're no better than me.” he finished. Turning, you faced him fully now. “And you're right, I did wanna get caught, seeing you there made me cum, came real hard actually."

You cringed at his vulgarity. You’d never seen this side of Suna at all. He was always calm and reserved, the complete antithesis of what he was right now. You hated his sudden confidence and yet it turned you on all the same. Before you could think you began making your way into the room. Stopping before his bed, you lowered yourself to be at eye level with him.

“You know if you had just said something instead, we could’ve fucked.”

Bringing a hand to the nape of your neck Suna pulls you in, resting his lips against the shell of your ear. “So what’s stopping you?” he purred. Wrenching your head back to get a better look at you, his crushing grip on your neck intensified.

“Don't fight me now. If you want it, just tell me. I won't judge.” he simpered. "Besides, you do owe me a favor."

Your head spun at the thought of it, but you had also just caught him jerking off with your panties a few minutes ago. He was a creep, but you had also coveted him from the very moment he hauled his boxes in to stay. You didn't want to say it aloud, so you merely nodded. Admitting it would make it so much more real and you liked the idea of this just being some fever dream you’d wake up from in the morning.

“That won't do, I need you to say it,” he cooed, the smile playing on his lips growing sinister.

"I want it.” you whispered.

"Louder”

“I want it, Suna.” you said with more confidence now.

“Good,” he let go of your neck, deft fingers creeping up to get a good grip on your hair, beckoning you into a burning kiss.

The kiss was rough and nasty, spit escaped the corners of your lips and dribbled down your chin as his tongue explored your mouth. Pulling away with a gasp, you met Suna’s eyes, there was something dark steeping in them, but before you could think too hard about it, his hands gathered your hair again, pushing you down to your knees.

Your hands ran up his muscular thighs as he took the sheet off of him, swinging his legs off the bed to rest on either side of your head. He was much bigger up close and the sheer size of him made you nervous. Swallowing thickly you looked up at him again, and he brought a hand to your face, squeezing your cheeks so your lips puckered up for him.

“Go on,” he said with a nod, his other hand gripping his cock, slowly stroking it before bringing it to your eager lips. You opened your mouth and took him in immediately, already huffing around the thick of his shaft.

He was so big you could barely breathe around him, he was only halfway in and you’d already felt like throwing up. Pulling back with a gasp, you followed the trail of spit still connected to his cock, watching it split before pressing light kisses and kitten licks to the length of it.

The expression that painted Suna’s face almost made you laugh. His eyes were shut hard again and his forehead was creased in frustration at the barely there stimulation you offered him. Getting bored of teasing him, you put him in your mouth again.

You'd done it slowly this time, letting the tip of his member reach the back of your throat before pulling away. What couldn't fit in your mouth, you stroked with your hands and Suna was truly in heaven once he peered down at you working him skillfully. Grunting at your ministrations, he shifted his hands to cradle your face before plunging your head further down the shaft. You began to gag but he shushed you, gently stroking your head as he aided you closer to the base of his cock.

“See? Not so hard if you breathe through your nose, girl.” Humming around him you let him take control, allowing him to maneuver your head how he pleased, fucking your face with vigor. Tears streamed down your face and drool ran to your chin, the mix of fluid pooling down at the tip before dripping onto the floor.

“Fuck...” he grunted, bucking his hips as you took him down your throat, the harsh movement causing you to gag around him. “So pretty taking me like this…” his words were muttered and punctuated with moans. “So fucking good for me,” he grunted.

His words went straight to your pussy, and you clenched your thighs at the praise. Suna reveled in the sight of you falling apart in front of him, his words had an effect to them and he had clearly begun to make a mess out of you.

Suna was close, so fucking close. Pushing your face closer to him, you breathed heavily once you’d reached the hilt, nose buried in the light dusting of hair smattered over his pubis. A string of expletives left his lips as a warning. He couldn't quite find the words in time before he was cumming down your throat. When he had worn himself out you pulled yourself off with a pop, swallowing hastily to catch a proper breath of air.

You gasped violently, chest heaving as you huffed waiting for your breath to steady. Suna returned a hand to your face again, raising your chin to examine it. He brought his thumb to the corner of your lips, smearing around some of the fluids that escaped before pushing his thumb past your lips for you to suck. Capturing them obediently you met his eyes again, they were lidded and danced around your face and body, unable to focus on one thing.

“I didn't know pervert girls sucked cock so well,” he jested, sharply pulling back at the feeling of your teeth clamping down on his thumb. “I was joking!” he shook his hand for added effect.

“Let me take care of you now…”

Pulling you up to your feet, Suna helped you undress. He worked slowly and his touch lingered in the places he ran his hands over. Coaxing you over to him, he situated you in his lap with your back to him, pressing his nose into the crook of your neck, he spread your legs.

“Look,” he whispered, pressing soft kisses and the occasional nibble to your clavicle. Glancing up, you had finally taken notice of the mirror that sat across from you. Seeing yourself spread open with him behind you made you shiver, your skin prickled with goosebumps when his hands traveled south, holding your thighs apart.

"Aren't you pretty?” he asked, not really expecting an answer. You were already babbling about him stroking your thighs and he hadn't even touched you where it meant anything. Pushing your panties to the side, Suna ran a finger down your slit, pulling it back to admire the thread of wetness that was still connected to your cunt.

“So fucking wet for me,” he began, bringing his fingers to his lips, sucking them loudly. Your flesh burned in embarrassment as you watched him lick your slick off his digits.

“And all that just from sucking dick? You really are a slut.”

You writhed in his arms, wishing he would get done with the teasing and actually touch you seriously. You were so turned on it almost hurt, the steady thump of your pussy irritated you, and you were practically on the verge of tears.

“Suna,” you whined, circling your hips desperately. “Please, just touch me already…”

You watched his head lift from its position at your neck, making eye contact with you in the mirror. Without warning, he brought two fingers to your cunt, harshly plunging them into your dripping hole. You cried out, bucking wildly in his lap as he drew them out before pushing them in again, curling them to skim the spongy area hidden at the back of your cunt. His digits were long and skinny and he had no problems reaching deep where you needed him. Tears streamed down your face as he worked you to hysterics, hiccupping and gripping his wrists when you were close to your peak.

“S-suna!” you yelped, shutting your eyes hard at the incoming wave of pleasure. Suna grabbed your face, turning it back to the mirror.

“Open your eyes.” he cooed, roughly scissoring his fingers in your pussy. “I want you to see how you look cumming all over my fingers.”

Prying your eyes open, you focused on the mirror. Training your sights on Suna’s nimble fingers knuckles deep in you, you clamped down on him hard, gushing over his hands and thighs with a scream.

Before you had even fully come to, Suna was already busying himself with your spent pussy. Peeling your panties off, he slotted himself between your folds, coating his cock with your fluids before sinking you down on it.

Mutually, you gasped. Your hole fluttered around his length as the stretch of him entering burned you. Letting out a shaky exhale, Suna took his time, slowly lowering you down with small strokes until he had fully bottomed out. When you had finally adjusted, he hooked his arms around your legs, folding you in on yourself as he dragged his cock out of you.

You trembled at the feeling of his length being drawn out before slipping back in. You could practically feel every vein stroke your insides and the angle of his cock had you jabbering incoherencies when he abused the spot that had you falling apart. Suna’s pace was unrelenting, he bounced you on his lap, letting gravity take over before he lifted you up again.

“Fuck,” He grunted, angling his body to sink himself deeper. “Keep clamping down on me like that and I'm gonna cum.” His words had the opposite effect on you, and your cunt was swallowing him up, squeezing his cock with a vice-like grip.

Groaning, Suna tightened his grip on your legs. Standing up from the bed, he bullied his cock into you, lifting and dropping you down on him with vigor. Moaning in pure ecstasy, you hollered at his pace grabbing onto whatever you could to steady yourself.

You’d gone dumb at this point. Sobbing uncontrollably, you were unable to moan or form any sounds other than the string of slurred syllables that made up his name.

“Suna! Su- su-…”

“I know,” he hushed you, pressing sloppy kisses to your cheek down to your neck and shoulders.

“Fuck!” he grunted. “Gonna… gonna cum!”

Gripping his wrists you tried to find the words. “Don- don’t pull out..” you slurred, teetering over the edge of bliss.

Your words shot straight to his pulsing cock and he emptied himself inside you with a strangled cry. The feeling of him filling you up with his warm seed pushed you over the edge. Crying, you gushed around him, pushing his cock out as he tried to fuck you through your orgasm. Coming down from his high, Suna pulled out of you, the mix of fluids dripping out of your worn cunt and onto the hardwood floor.

Relaxing in his arms, your eyes fluttered closed. Leaning your head back, you looked up at him. Sweat lined his brow and his face was a violent shade of pink as he huffed, meeting your gaze.

“So,” you rasped. “Wanna go again, pervert?”

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kyseya · 22 days

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Weston Callaghan

(Yandere farmer x reader. He is from this fic)

————————

Age: 27

Appearance: Weston is a very tall and muscular man. His dark brown hair is cut short and reaches his ears. It’s often a bit messy since he doesn’t brush it or do anything besides wash when showering. He is a whooping 6’7(200 cm), this man is a beast, which isn’t such a surprise considering all the work he does daily. Weston also has a scar below his left eye, you can easily see the depth of the cut that caused it. It seems to be a miracle he didn’t lose his eyesight.

Personality: He is quite the simple man. He doesn’t require anything beyond the farm he lives on. It may be because of the upbringing he had, the one that didn’t allow greed of any kind, but he doesn’t have the energy to think about that. As the older one, he feels responsible for his younger brother. Naturally this meant he had to be the more mature one. Weston can usually be seen with a slight frown engraved on his face. It takes a lot to wipe it off. Despite his stoic nature, he can be incredibly sweet when he wants to. This is not shown through words but through his actions. It can be by helping you with any problem you might be having, bringing you a bouquet of hand-picked flowers or getting rid of any pests bothering you.

Likes & dislikes: he enjoys the light dawn brings and waking up early. In his youth, he absolutely despised it but now he likes the mornings. It’s peaceful and quiet, much like him, and you can enjoy nature in a calm demeanor. Coffe is something he also enjoys, which he drinks before setting out to do his morning chores. If you’re not an early bird like him, that’s fine. He doesn’t care about that stuff. As long as you don’t lay in bed doing nothing all the time. Although that may be more out of concern. Weston doesn’t like TV all that much. It’s because it reminds him of his parents and it makes him recoil in disgust. However much he dislikes it, the TV stays out since Lucas still enjoys sitting in front of it after a particularly hard day. If you like watching TV as well, then there is no way he could get rid of it even if he wanted to. The only exception of it being as a punishment. Even then he would throw it away, but just put it somewhere you can’t see, find or retrieve it.

Yandere tendencies: possesive and controlling. While he’s also protective of his loved one, it’s not nearly as much as his brother. Compared to him, Weston is more relaxed and doesn’t try to restrict his partner, so long they don’t travel outside the frames. If you do as he says and don’t question it too much, you’ll be fine! He will be content when you know who you belong to. He doesn’t pay attention to others so neither should you. Of course he’s not forbidding you to talk to other, no that’s be crazy, just don’t spend too much time with them or think about leaving him. Then he might have to come up with a solution; he is a good problem solver, always has been. He doesn’t want to keep you locked up inside the house, so don’t force him to make that choice, okay?

—-//////

(I don’t know anything about facial scars or eyes, so plz don’t come for me if it’s wrong)

#yandere imagines #kyseya oc #yandere male #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #yandere x reader #kyseya’s dungeon #yandere #possesive #yandere farmer #yandere farmer brother #farmer yandere #Weston Callaghan #Weston Callaghan oc #Weston Callaghan profile #yandere country #country yandere

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wraithlafitte · 8 months

Text

you need to rest

pairing: sam winchester x reader

CONTENT: fluff, established relationship, reader is shorter than sam (but who isn't)

word count: 724

You tiptoed down the stairs from the second floor of Bobby's house, careful not to step on the places you knew creaked. You had awoken feeling the full effects of your dehydration, and needed a glass of water asap or you were certain your mouth would shrivel up and die.

As you reached the bottom of the stairs, you noticed a faint glow coming from inside the library. The men often stayed up late researching, so you didn't even look to see who it was, beelining to the kitchen to get your water.

The doors separating the library from the kitchen were closed, so it wasn't until you were on your way back to bed when you glanced inside the library.

It wasn't Bobby up late, like you assumed. It was Sam, laying over a pile of books, his head resting on his forearm like a pillow. His laptop was open in front of him, casting his face in a ghostly light that emphasized the tired lines etched into his skin.

You walked to the desk softly and placed your water glass down, leaning over Sam to close his browser windows and turn off his laptop.

You gently shook Sam's shoulder. He jerked upright and grabbed your arm, always ready for a fight. "It's just me, Sam," you whispered. He instantly relaxed and dropped your arm.

"Sorry," he said, rubbing his eyes. "Guess I fell asleep."

"It's four in the morning," you told him sympathetically. "You've been working yourself to the bone over this thing. You need to rest."

"I'm fine," Sam croaked. He looked haggard, dark bags under his eyes and lines carved into his brow from squinting.

A few moments from the past week clicked into place in your mind. Sam leaning against the kitchen counter, arms folded and eyes closed. Sam dozing off in the car on the way to town. Sam with his forehead pressed to a bookshelf, jumping when the book fell from his hand, and insisting that he hadn't been falling asleep. Going to bed before Sam and waking up with him not there.

"Jesus. How much sleep have you been getting?" you asked concernedly. "You look like shit."

"I don't know."

"Don't know or won't say because you know it's not enough?"

Sam heaved a sigh that turned into a yawn. "Maybe like, three hours a night? Two? I've gone longer with less."

"A year without a soul doesn't count," you said, swatting his arm. "Come on, we're going to bed."

"But-" he protested.

"Sam."

He closed his eyes defeatedly. "Okay. You win."

Sam rose from the chair slowly and grabbed you into his arms sleepily, resting his chin on your head.

You led him by his limp arm up the stairs to the room you two were staying in, although lately it had just been you. Sam didn't bother to put pajamas on, simply kicking off his shoes and falling face-first into the mattress. You giggled, setting your water down on the side table, and followed suit.

Sam peeked one eye open to look at you. You brushed his hair behind his ear. "You gotta take better care of yourself."

He smiled half-heartedly. "That's what I have you for," he teased. As you scoffed, he turned onto his side and pulled you against his chest. You snuggled against his warm body, face stuffed into his flannel, breathing in the scent of him.

You yawned, causing him to yawn as well, sending you both into a fit of giggles. You turned your face solemn again. "Promise me you'll come to bed when I do this week. At least."

Sam looked lovingly into your upturned face and kissed you on the forehead. "Promise," he whispered. His hand cupped the back of your head and pulled you close into his neck again.

You kissed the base of his throat. "I love you. I don't want you to run yourself into the ground."

He exhaled lightly. "I won't. I know you won't let me. And I know it's not your job to take care of me, but... I appreciate it."

Your arm curled around his side, rubbing his back. "I know," you said simply.

As the first pale fingers of dawn crept over the horizon, you and Sam had dozed off in each other's arms, breathing in tandem.

Finally resting.

divider by @saradika-graphics

#supernatural #spn #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfiction #sam winchester x you #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester fanfiction #supernatural x reader #userwraith

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sukirichi · 1 month

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[ DUSK ‘TILL DAWN : 019 ]

“we who bear the burden of the crown do not need to love. you only need to stay here, with me, in power, in greed, in lust – in victory.”

cw. angst, running away, illegal activities, theft, suggestive, unedited

notes. one more chapter before the end of dtd!! you guys, thank you so much!! ik the last chapter was kinda controversial but that was the last lore drop hehe, there will be no more backstories mentioned here. everything just goes forward from here on. as always thank you so much for the love in dtd <3

wc. 10.7k

series masterlist

[ NINETEEN ] I’ll be on a boat, you’re on a plane going somewhere sane… you were the best but you were the worst. as sick as it sounds, I loved you first

The landscape blurred past your window, a seemingly endless stretch of darkness punctuated by the occasional flash of headlights from passing cars. The night was deep, the kind that felt like it would never end. Rintaro was behind the wheel, his eyes fixed on the road ahead as he gripped the steering wheel.

He hadn’t stopped driving since you’d left the city, the tires humming smoothly beneath you as the car cut through the night. Hours had passed – you’d lost count of how many – and it felt like an eternity. His face was set in a rigid expression, his eyes shadowed by exhaustion yet still sharp, still focused. You could see the strain in the tightness of his jaw, the way his knuckles turned white with every frantic turn he made.

You shifted in your seat, stealing glances at him when you thought he wouldn’t notice.

Every so often, his eyes would flicker, a brief blink, signaling that fatigue was setting in, but he pushed on as if stopping would mean surrendering. You fought the urge to reach out, to place a hand on his arm and tell him to pull over and rest, but would he listen?

“Rin,” you tried, keeping your voice small and soft. “We should stop for the night.”

He glanced at you briefly, his lips turning down in a frown. “We can’t. They could be sending more people after us for all we know.”

“I know, but… At least me drive for now. You’ve been driving for hours. You need to rest.”

He shook his head stubbornly. “I’m fine. I can keep going.”

You leaned back against your seat, your fingers clenching the fabric of your dress as you watched the road stretch endlessly before you. The headlights illuminated the asphalt in a narrow beam, the world outside reduced to a tunnel of light and darkness.

Every bump, every curve in the road made your heart hump. The silence that filled the car was uncomfortable. The clock on the dashboard blinked in the dim light, each passing minute a reminder of how long you’d been on the run. You wanted nothing more but a small reprieve, a chance to catch your breath and get some sleep. But you couldn’t – you felt awake now more than ever, pushed with the need to watch over Rintaro, even if there was so little you could do.

The miles slipped by, and Rintaro kept pushing.

You swallowed hard, your throat dry. You hated seeing him like this, hated the toll it was taking on him. “Rin.” His name sounded like a plea.

Your husband sighed, knowing full well what you wanted him to do. “We don’t have anywhere else to go, Y/N. If I stop now… I don’t know what they’ll do to you.”

“You should be more worried about yourself. You have no idea what the Queen will do to you.”

“She’s not the Queen anymore, she can’t touch me,” he reminded you, “But you’ve deliberately made yourself an enemy of both the Royal Family and the Government. You’re a much bigger target for them than I am. I don’t know what they’ll do to you, but I’m not risking it to find out.”

Finally, you reached out, tugging on his sleeves as you watched the hard lines on his face soften momentarily. “Rin. Just for one night, please? You and I both need to rest.”

It didn’t take much for Rintaro to surrender. Pursing his lips, the car slowed to an eventual stop. “Fine,” he gave in, weary hands falling to his lap. “Where are we anyway?”

You looked around you, swathed in nothing but darkness and eerie silence. “I don’t know, but we should be far enough from the crash for them to locate us.”

You followed your husband as you stepped out of the car, your footsteps echoing eerily in the desolate alley. The air was thick with the scent of mold and decay, and you shivered – not from the cold but from the unsettling quiet that surrounded you both. Ahead of you stood an abandoned building, its windows shattered and walls scarred by years of neglect. The entrance was barely visible from where it stood, obscured by overgrown vines and the remnants of a rustled metal gate that hung precariously from one hinge.

You and Rintaro exchanged a brief glance, the both of you hesitant but knowing you had no other choice left. Motels and drive-in’s were out of the question. One look at your clothes and your faces, and you would be immediately reported to the officials.

With a soft push, Rintaro eased the door open, the creaking of the hinges loud in the oppressive silence. Inside, the air felt stale, heavy with the dust of forgotten years. The remnants of what seemed to be an old office greeted you – desks overturned, chairs broken, and papers scattered across the floor, yellowed with age. The only light that came from the faint glow of the city outside, seeping through the cracked windows.

As you ventured deeper into the building, your footsteps stirred up the dust, sending small clouds swirling around you. Rintaro paused, spotting a storage cabinet that had remained relatively untouched. He tugged it open, and to your surprise, inside were a few unopened water bottles, half-buried beneath old, discolored documents. He quickly grabbed them, handing one to you as you his gaze lingered on you with each long sip. The cool water was a small comfort, soothing your parched throat and calming your nerves, if only slightly.

Rintaro didn’t stop there.

He found a few tattered, discarded rags and used them to wipe down a section of the floor, pushing aside debris and layers of dust until the spot became relatively clean. You watched him work, the focused way in which he moved, touched by the determination to carve out some semblance of safety in a place that felt anything but. When he was done, he motioned for you to sit, and you lowered yourself to the floor, the coldness of the concrete seeping through your clothes.

You sat shoulder to shoulder, the weight of the world pressing down on you as you took in your surroundings.

The building was a far cry from the luxuries you were accustomed to – it was cold, dark, and filled with the fragments of a life long gone. But it was a refuge, however temporary – a place where you could finally catch your breath and gather your thoughts.

For a moment, you let yourself lean into Rintaro, drawing strength from the solidness of his presence beside you, reminding you that he was real, and he was still here. The reality of the situation was starting to sink in – how far you’d fallen, how much you’d both lost. You turned your head slightly, your eyes finding his hazel ones. In the dim light, his features softened, yet you could still see the lines of exhaustion etched on his face, the lingering shadows of fear and regret in his eyes. I’m sorry, they seemed to say, but you couldn’t quite put a finger on what he was sorry for.

Whatever choices you made had been your own. He didn’t have anything to apologize about.

He met your gaze, and you simply stared at each other. “Why did you come after me?” he spoke after a while, his voice low and softer than you’d ever heard him speak. “I never told you where I was going.”

You blinked up at him, unsure if you should tell the whole truth. There was a tinge of hope he’d failed in concealing from his eyes. The truth was that you never expected running after him would lead to this – to losing Kiyoomi, to becoming labeled as a fugitive and being forced to be in hiding. A few hours ago, you’d expected to bring Rintaro back to the Palace, and return to Kiyoomi’s arms in Belleview Manor. Had you known it’d lead to you being stuck in this dusty, abandoned place… you shook your head. No. You couldn’t think about that now. You were not going to regret running after Rintaro.

“Because,” you started, licking your lips to give them some moisture, “I was worried for you.”

“Why?”

You stared back at him, your lips settling into a frown. “What do you mean, why? Iris just got deposed, the woman you’ve thought to be your Mother was taken away by the Police, and you lost everything within the span of a few days. Of course I was worried about you.”

Rintaro’s eyes widened, like he couldn’t believe what you were saying. “You’re worried… even though I’m a nobody.”

You bumped your shoulders with his. “I told you to stop saying that already. You aren’t a nobody.”

“I’m not a Prince.”

Leaning your head against the wall, you sighed, reaching over to intertwine your hand with his. Rintaro lets you, allows you to rest your conjoined hands above his knee – your wedding rings glinting under the moonlight. “You don’t have to be one for me to care about you. I told you already, Rintaro. I liked you much better when you weren’t trying so hard to be perfect.”

A small laugh bubbled out of chest. “Do you still like me now? I don’t even know where I’m going to take you.”

“We’ll figure it out together.”

That seemed to be enough to placate him. For the next few minutes, the two of you sat like that, in silence and ruminating over everything. But the silence never lasted, just as the time kept on ticking by. Brushing his thumb over your knuckle, Rintaro sighed. “I broke your phone. We can’t possibly reach out to anyone.”

Your mind raced with possibilities, and your thoughts kept circling back to the one place the Government wouldn’t dare get near – the borders. One of your estates was near there, secluded and far from the prying eyes of the Kingdom. “Wait,” your back straightened, turning to Rintaro with hope glimmering in your eyes. “We have a private estate near the border. We don’t go there often, so there’s less security, but if we could reach it, we might be able to use one of the old smuggling routes my family used back then.”

Rintaro hummed in thought, seriously considering the idea. “About that… I’m not sure we can take the car. You used a private vehicle, but still. They could easily track it now that they’ve seen the plate.”

“Let’s steal one, then.”

“Look at you,” he smirked, making his handsome face look younger. “From Princess to a criminal in less than a day.”

You giggled, your heart racing as the plan formed in your mind. Determined, you quickly scrambled to your feet, and your heels wobbled on the dusty floor. You teetered for a moment, arms flailing around you as you almost lost your balance when Rintaro’s arms were suddenly around you, catching you before you could fall. He pulled you to his chest, the warmth of his body seeping into you. He was close enough that you could feel his heartbeat against your own, the rhythm steady and lulling you into a calmer state.

You stood like that for a few heartbeats, refusing to let the other go.

Faces inches apart, your eyes locked in a silent exchange. The intensity of everything you’d been through the past few hours lingered between you, but in that moment, it all melted away into nothingness. A soft chuckle escaped your lips, and he responded with a quiet laugh of his own, your shared amusement breaking through the tension. You both looked away, embarrassed by the sudden lightness – the moment passed, leaving behind a fleeting sense of normalcy amidst the dangers you faced.

Still holding hands, you ventured out into the dark night, your fingers intertwined as you walked through the desolate streets. The shadows stretched long, the night wrapping around you both like a shroud, but you kept moving, driven by the need to escape. The silence was punctuated only by the sound of your footsteps and the occasional distant noise, making the night feel even more ominous.

After what felt like an eternity of searching, you spotted a car – a plain, nondescript sedan, parked in the shadows at the edge of the street.

It was perfect, blending in with its surroundings and unlikely to draw any attention. Rintaro was the first to move, glancing around to ensure you were alone before gesturing at you to give him your gun. With a swift, decisive motion, he raised his hand to smash the gun against the car’s window.

“Wait! That might sound the alarm.”

Rintaro’s arm hovered over in the air. “But how else can I open it?” he gestured to the lock car, and you shrugged, his eyes flitting to your head. “Do you have pins on your hair?”

“No… Besides, do you even know how to pick a lock?”

“No…”

Your shoulders slumped in defeat. “Fine. Let’s smash it.”

Glancing at you one last time for approval, Rintaro smashed the car’s window. The glass shattered, the sound echoing in the empty street, and you winced.

He reached inside and unlocked the door, opening it for you before climbing in himself. You both knew hotwiring the car was beyond your skills, and for a moment, you doubted the effectiveness of your plan. Should you just abandon the car and find another solution? But then, as if by some miracle, Rintaro found a spare key tucked above the visor.

“Would you look at that,” he chuckled at the key in disbelief, “Seems like luck’s on our side tonight.”

Relief washed over you as he turned the key in the ignition, and the engine roared to life. Without a word, you both settled into the car, the tension returning as you prepared to drive into the unknown.

“We do have one problem, though,” you grimaced, and Rintaro raised his brows in question. “Since your window is broken, anyone could easily see you…”

Your husband cursed under his breath.

Rintaro sped through the darkened roads, his eyes not once straying from it. The broken window made it impossible for him to relax, and every time a car passed by, he instinctively ducked lower, his grip on the steering wheel tightening. The cold wind whipped through the cabin, stinging your faces, and you could see the strain in his eyes, the exhaustion from driving for hours without rest evident.

You switched positions periodically, a silent agreement between you.

When it was your turn to drive, Rintaro leant back in his seat, closing his eyes as he tried to snatch a few moments of sleep to himself. But even in slumber, his face remained tight, worry lines etched deeply into his skin. You focused on the road, determined to give him a break – even for a little while.

The night stretched on endlessly.

Finally, as dawn began to break, the faintest light creeping over the horizon, you realized the gas gauge was running dangerously low. You gnawed at your bottom lip, knowing you couldn’t afford to be stranded. You needed to refuel, and soon.

The gas station you pulled into was small and nearly desolate, the kind that might be overlooked by passing travelers. It was still early, the world around you cloaked in the soft, dim light of dawn. The convenience store attached to the station was the only sign of life in the stillness, its neon lights flickering in the pale morning haze.

You angled your body toward Rintaro, his disheveled appearance not nearly enough to disguise the regal air that clung to him. He was a Prince, and no matter how worn down he looked, there was a certain refinement to him that was hard to hide. You reached over and ran your fingers gently through his hair, mussing it up further. He stirred awake, and blinked up at you in confusion, but you offered him a small smile, a way of reassuring him that you had a plan.

You tugged at his shirt, pulling it out from where it was tucked neatly into his pants, and then ran your hands over the fabric, wrinkling it deliberately. Slowly, you raised your hands to unbutton his shirt further, stopping when Rintaro clutched at your wrist. He was now breathing hard, his pupils dilated as he adjusted himself in his pants. “W-Wait,” he panted, his eyes blown wide. “We’re seriously doing this here? I mean, do you need me now?”

His voice was laced with shyness and disbelief. Your brows furrowed in confusion, and when it finally made sense, your mouth fell open, slapping his hands away from your wrist. “What are you thinking about?!” you lightly punched him in the chest, and Rintaro cradled his hand with a pout. “You’re so… dirty! I wasn’t even thinking of that!”

“Well, you can’t blame me!” he snapped back, the tips of his ears red all the way down to his neck. “You woke me up and pulled my shirt out of my pants, and I thought you were taking my shirt off! How was I supposed to think otherwise that you weren’t trying to sleep with me?”

“I was trying to make you look less like a Prince so you could go inside and get us what we need!” you pointed to the convenience store, and his gaze followed. The neon signs of it glared back at him, his lips forming an ‘o’ shape in realization.

“Oh,” he coughed out awkwardly, “Okay. You could’ve just said that. You didn’t need to feel me up.”

“I wasn’t feeling you up,” you glared at him, and he snorted.

“Whatever you say, Princess.”

Rolling your eyes at him, you pushed your husband out of the car, gesturing towards the convenience store as you pointed to the rack of cheap sunglasses displayed near the entrance. It was a small thing, but it might help conceal your identities for the rest of the ride. You needed to blend in, to look like you were just another pair of weary travelers on the road. He walked into the store, his posture slightly slouched, trying to appear as ordinary as possible, while you waited by the car, scanning the horizon anxiously.

The minutes stretched on, your heart thudding in your chest. Every noise, every flicker of movement in the distance set you on edge.

You couldn’t stop thinking about how this mundane act of filling up your tank felt like walking on a tightrope – one wrong step and you could be caught. But you had no choice; you had to keep going, and reach your parents’ estate before it was too late. The sun was beginning to rise, its long shadows stretching across the empty lot like an ominous reminded that you didn’t have much time left.

“I got the burner phone.” You looked up from where you spaced out, Rintaro’s body sliding into the driver’s seat next to you. He’d bought snacks, water bottles, a pair of shades and hats for the both of you. There were some chocolate bars, too, the ones he knew you liked. You raised your brow at him, but took it gratefully, unwrapping it and taking a huge bite as you dialed the number you knew by heart – your Mother’s.

“Wait,” Rintaro’s hand shot out, and you paused, your fingers hovering over the call button. “Won’t they… I mean. I think if you call them, I should head somewhere else.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Won’t they notify the Police that I’m here?”

You watched as he scratched his ear, and you shook your head, gently unwrapping his fingers around your wrist. “And give away my location? As if they’d risk that.”

His face fell. “They won’t risk your safety, but they don’t like me.”

You took one more bite of the chocolate bar, handing it to him as you angled your body towards him. Rintaro was hesitant for a moment before he started eating, his eyes momentarily closing as he savored the sweet chocolate bursting in his mouth. “They care about my safety more than they despise you, Rintaro. Besides, we’re all what the other has now. They’re going to have to deal with it.” He continued eating, glancing back at you and the chocolate bar again, before deciding you should finish it. Reaching over the backseat where he’d kept the water bottles, he handed you one, then nodded at the phone in your hand.

Three rings later, and your Mother picked up. There was a slight shuffling sound from the background, and just like that, the tears you’d been holding back felt like a dam had opened. “Mother?”

“Oh! Oh, my darling, is that you?” she cooed, and you nodded, wiping the tears away from your cheeks when you realized she couldn’t see you. “Oh God, thank the Heavens you’re safe! Where are you? Are you safe? You’re not hurt, are you?”

You sniffled, turning to Rintaro as you blinked back the tears blurring your vision. He squeezed your thigh in reassurance, giving you a small smile before he pulled out of the gas station and headed back out onto the road. “Mother, I’m fine. We were able to run away from the Palace, but we never expected we’d be pushed out so far here,” you said, watching as your surroundings shifted to grassy fields and windmills. You couldn’t name the exact town you were in now, but you should be a two day’s drive away from the City.

“Where are you? Your father and I are heading there right now.”

With one hand, Rintaro shuffled for the glove compartment. He pulled out a map, glanced at it briefly, before pointing to where you were now located. Your eyes widened once you realized how far you’d driven off too. “We’re… near the border. Rintaro and I were planning to head to one of our estates here, use the old smuggling route to leave the country. Oh, and please be careful. I’m certain the government is expecting I’d make contact with you and keep an eye on your movements.”

Your mother stuttered from the other line. “No, dear, wait. Just – leaving the country? What are you talking about?”

You bit at your lip, recalling how heavy the gun felt in your hand before you fired it. “I’m a criminal, Mother. This country is not going to accept me. They’ll put me behind bars, or worse. If they caught us and exiled us, I don’t know where they’re going to throw us away.”

“You are no criminal! I know you’re innocent!”

“Mother… I shot a police car yesterday.”

“Oh, dear,” she gasped out, and you heard her fanning herself before her breathing stabilized. “Okay, okay. We’ll meet up at the estate and then we’ll… we’ll talk when we get there, okay? Hang tight.”

“Thank you.”

“Stay safe. I mean it.” Her voice was hard, stern. You felt like a little girl all over again, getting scolded by your Mother because you weren’t careful enough and scraped your knee. But now you were older, and your wounds ran deeper than just skin-surface cuts.

“You too, Mother,” you mumbled back, heart clenching as you feared this might be the last time you’d hear her voice through the phone. “I love you.”

Rolling the windows down, you threw out the burner phone, watching as it rolled and rolled until the phone cracked into pieces. The call had been quick enough for it to be traced, but you couldn’t risk involving any more of your loved ones in this game of cat and mouse between you and the country.

You reached the estate within hours.

The quiet, secluded grounds stretched before you, and the absence of security and house staff felt almost eerie, like the calm before a storm. The air was heavy with the scent of pine and earth, a scent you’d known almost all your life. You slipped through the gates unnoticed, the estate welcoming you with an almost unnatural stillness. The moment you reached inside, Rintaro dropped onto the couch with a weary sigh, tearing into the snacks he bought from the convenience store. He tossed an arm over his face, blocking out the dim light filtering through the heavy curtains.

You watched him for a moment, your heart tugging at the sight of him – disheveled, exhausted, yet still so undeniably… him. You smiled faintly, a bittersweet affection blooming through your chest before you turned away, leaving him be.

Upstairs, the familiarity of the hallway wrapped around you like your mother’s comforting embrace. This place was used more as a summer vacation home, every corner holding memories, an echo of a life that now felt like a lifetime away. You headed straight for the bathroom, stripping off the layers of dust and grime with the hot water. The steam rose around you, blurring the mirror and softening the harsh lines that settled within your face. For a few precious moments, you let yourself believe that nothing has change – that you’re just the same girl who spent every summer running in these halls, not the fugitive ex-princess fleeing from a life that flipped upside down too fast.

When you stepped out of the shower, you moved through your old room with purpose, gathering clothes and essentials. As you fold the fabric and tuck it into your bag, your movements slowed. You glanced around, taking in every detail – the antique dressed by the window, the framed photographs on the walls, the plush armchair in the corner where you used to curl up on the book. If Rintaro hadn’t bought the beach house, you would’ve loved to build a future here with him and your kids here – if that was even possible in this lifetime.

Everything was as it was, yet it felt like you were seeing it all for the last time. The nostalgia was almost overwhelming, leaving you with a deep, aching sense of loss for the life you were leaving behind.

You found yourself standing by the window, looking out at the sprawling grounds. The morning light filtered through the trees, the butterflies dancing across the greenery. You knew every inch of this estate – the hidden paths, the quiet corners where you escaped to think, the gardens where you spent countless of tea parties with your parents. This place had been a sanctuary, a constant in a world that was forever changing. And now, you were saying goodbye to it, possibly forever.

The door creaked open behind you, and you turned to see Rintaro standing there, framed by the soft glow of the hallway light.

He looked different here, in this place that had always felt safe to you. The sharp edges of his demeanor were softened by his quick nap, his usually confident stance now sagging under the weight of everything you’d both been through. His eyes met yours, and you stood there, gazing at each other across the room.

In his tired expression, you saw a reflection of your own emotions – a mix of relief, weariness, and the burden of the knowledge you were stepping into a future that was uncertain at best. This room, this house, this life – they were all a part of a past that you couldn’t return to. And yet, as you looked at him, you realized that whatever may lie ahead, you would face it. Together. That thought brought some comfort to you, and you knew that this place, this country, as much as you loved it, was no longer where you beloned.

“Hey,” you breathed out, opening your arms wide to beckon him closer. As if pulled by an invisible string, Rintaro crossed the room in a few steps, his heat blanketing you as he stood still. His eyes were droopy and tired, the color more green than it was brown as he stared at your palm. Sighing to himself, he closed his eyes, and let his cheek fall upon the curve of your hand. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

“You don’t look okay.”

“I’m just exhausted,” he mumbled, burying himself into the comforting warmth your skin offered. You couldn’t help but smile, your thumb brushing across his cheek and the day old stubble that was beginning to show. Rintaro peeked his eyes open, just enough to see the bags prepared on your bed. “You’ve packed up.”

You nodded, and guided him at the edge of your bed to sit down. The mattress dipped down with your weight, with Rintaro practically sinking into it. “It’s not much, but I figured I could take some of my things with me to… wherever we’ll go.”

The dim light from the bedside lamp cast soft shadows across his face, deepening the furrow in his brow and the downward tilt of his lips. He looked almost distant, lost in thoughts that you could only guess at. You could sense the hesitation in him, the sadness rolling off of him in waves. The closer you got to leaving, the more Rintaro’s resolve seemed to waver, as if the finality of your escape pulled him apart from the inside. He wasn’t just thinking about the dangers ahead; he was mourning what you both were going to lose, had already lost – the life you had together, and the love you had for him that he feared would change once you crossed that line with him. The moment was tender, raw, and it made your heart tighten in your chest. You were both so close to the edge, and yet, in that moment of quiet, the two of you felt more fragile than ever.

“It’s not too late, you know,” he began, his eyes empty as he gazed up at you. “You can still stay. You don’t have to leave.”

You shook your head, a small smile playing on your lips. “Rin. I’ve already made up my mind. Where you go, I go.”

“But you don’t have to,” he insisted, and your ears pricked at how broken he sounded in that moment – like he was desperate, and down on his knees. “It’s been proven that I really am not the King’s son. Our marriage is no longer valid since it was never a genuine royal union. You’re no longer tied to me, don’t you see? You’re free. You can do as you please,” he extended his arms to gesture around your room, “You have a whole life here. Your family, your friends, Kiyoomi. Your world is beautiful. This isn’t something you just say goodbye to.”

Pursing your lips, you reached for his hand, squeezing it in hopes you could ground him back with you. “If I can do as I please, then I choose to stay with you.”

Rintaro’s jaw clenched. “You’re going to regret it if you do. The life you’ll have with me… it won’t be a good one. You’ll be miserable, Y/N,” he sounded convinced, and he shook his head to himself, the tendrils of his bangs falling to his face. “I take back what I said earlier about Kiyoomi. You were right. He can be trusted. I’m sure if we contact him, he’ll immediately come for you—”

“And then what?” you snapped, “What do you expect to happen when he comes for me, hm? That we’ll get married, when it hasn’t even been a week since his marriage was annulled? Let’s say that happens, did you really think the Kingdom would be accepting of it? They would call me a whore, paint me like I’d only been waiting for the right opportunity so I can make him mine. They would call me heartless for abandoning you the moment I found out you weren’t a Prince.”

Rintaro pulled his hand away from you. “Is that why you’re staying, then? Because you don’t want the people to mock you?”

“I’m staying because I choose you, Rintaro. I’m staying because I don’t have anyone else, and my home was taken away from me. You’re all I have, and I’m not letting you walk away from me,” you declared, your chest heaving up and down from how hard you were breathing. There was that image again – of a handsome Prince with a kind smile, of soft curls you could run your hands into forever. An image that was slowly becoming blurred in your memory. “I lost Kiyoomi from the moment I chose to run after you, Rin. He asked me to stay. He asked me to stay behind because it was dangerous, because there might’ve been a chance that I would never return. He knew that, and maybe I knew that, but don’t you get it? I’m choosing you.”

Rintaro scoffed, standing up to his feet as he raked a hand through his hair. “I don’t want you to choose me.”

You mimicked his movements, padding your bare feet across the carpeted floor as Rintaro moved to walk out the door. “Why are you pushing me away, Rintaro? I – is everything I’ve done for you never enough?”

He groaned, the sound angry and reverberating across the empty hall. “That’s exactly why I’m telling you to not go with me! Because you’re going to regret it, and you’re going to keep looking back at what you could’ve had. You’re going to think about what you lost because you chose me. I mean, listen to what you’re saying. That’s exactly what you’re doing right now.”

What you were doing right now? You stood there, frozen, as you were faced with Rintaro’s back. “Is this… is this because I kissed Kiyoomi?”

Rintaro turned to face you, his lips pressed into a thin line as he placed his hand on his hip. He covered his lips with his fist, as if biting back the words threatening to leave his mouth. “You love him, Y/N. I’m not going to hold you back.”

A bitter laugh erupted from you. “I can’t love him, Rin. I can’t choose him. I can’t let him be stuck in one marriage to another.”

“And I don’t want you to regret me,” he bit back, pacing back and forth as his hands trembled. “I could never live with myself if you look at me one day and wonder if you made the right decision by not staying behind.”

“That won’t happen.”

“If it does?”

“It won’t.”

“Why won’t it happen?” he demanded, “Is it because you still love me?”

The words caught in your throat as you heard the unmistakable sound of a car pulling up into the driveway. Your heart skipped a beat, and you froze, listening intently. The faint clacking of your mother’s heels echoed against the pavement, followed by your father’s voice, urging her to slow down and that she might trip if she rushed any faster.

Your eyes darted back to your husband, who stood still across from you, his expression vulnerable and raw.

He had just asked you if you still loved him, and the question lingered in the air heavily. The look in his eyes was one of desperate hope, but also fear – fear that her answer, whatever it might be, would shatter him completely.

You couldn’t bring yourself to speak. The sound of your parents approaching drew closer, and you knew you had only moments before they reached the door. You wanted to say something, anything, to ease the tension, to reassure him – but the words never came.

“They’re here. You should shower and get some sleep before we leave.”

Rintaro’s eyes flickered with pain as he realized you wouldn’t answer, and you heard your heart shatter into a million pieces in the silence. The moment passed, slipping away as the door downstairs creaked open, and your mother’s hurried footsteps filled the house.

The chance to say what needed to be said was gone, leaving only the unspoken hanging in the space between you and him.

You descended the staircase, with Rintaro following behind you. The familiar creak of the wooden stairs, once comforting, now seemed like a countdown to an inevitable farewell. When you and Rintaro reached the bottom, the dam had broken. You barely had time to brace yourself before you were engulfed in your mother’s embrace. It was fierce, desperate, as if holding on to each other tighter might somehow stop time, stop you from leaving. Your mother’s body trembled against you, the sobs wracking through her with a force that made your own shake. Your father was just behind her, tears streaking his own face, though he tried to remain composed. He placed a gentle hand on his wife’s back, rubbing in slow circles as if it might calm the storm of her grief.

“Breathe, my love,” he reminded her, while your mother eagerly held on to you like you were her lifeline. “You’re going to pass out if you don’t breathe.”

Your mother sobbed harder. “No. Oh, god, my baby. It’s not too late to change your mind, you know. You can stay and we’ll figure something out. You didn’t do anything wrong, just please, please, don’t leave us.”

Your eyes stung as you held your mother, the sorrow seeping into your bones. “I can’t stay. I would just be putting you both in danger.”

Your mother’s hands gripped the back of your dress, the fabric twisting in her fists. It was as if she was trying to physically anchor you, her daughter, to this place, to this moment, to keep you from slipping away through her grasp. It didn’t matter that you were nearing your thirties now and you’d grown taller than her – you would always be your little girl. And your father, though quieter in his grief, was no less heartbroken. His gaze met yours over your mother’s shoulder, and then unspoken pain that he held in his fatherly smile made it almost impossible to leave.

“You think we care about our safety? You’re our daughter. We go wherever you are,” pulling away from you, your mother wiped her tears with the back of her hand. Your whole life, she’d always been classy and elegant, but right now, she cared less about manners as snot ran down her nose. Broken, that’s what she was.

But you couldn’t stay. Shaking your head, you planted your hands on her shoulder, giving her your brightest smile to reassure her it’d be okay – even if you didn’t quite believe it yourself. “You can’t come with us, Mother. Everything that our families built is here. Inarizaki is your home.”

“Is it a home if a father is without their child?” your father interrupted, donning just a plain shirt and slacks instead of his military uniform. He didn’t come here today as the Kingdom’s General; he was here as your father. “We can leave the country with you too. We’ll start over someplace new – like your mother said, we’ll figure something out. This can’t be how I lose my little girl.”

“Please don’t make it any harder than it has to be,” you begged, cupping your hands around your mouth to stifle the sobs. “You two are innocent. If you go with us… then they will never stop looking. We will live our lives always watching our backs, never knowing peace. You didn’t do anything wrong, Father, so you don’t have to do this.”

“I can’t,” your mother dropped to her knees, clutching your skirt as she began to stutter over her breaths. “I can’t let you go. You’re my only daughter, you can’t leave—” Behind her, Rintaro suddenly moved forward, helping your mother get back up to her knees. He whispered sweet nothing’s in her ear, calling her Ma like he always used to do. To everyone’s surprise, your mother cried harder, wrapping her arms around Rintaro’s larger frame as her tears soaked his shirt. “Please, my son. Don’t take her away from me.”

You glanced over at him, seeing the way his face fell. His presence was heavy in the room, as if unsure whether he truly belonged in this moment of familial sorrow.

“She’s made her mind, my love,” your father wiped his tears, gently prying your mother’s arms off of Rintaro. He pulled a handkerchief out from his pocket and dabbed at your mother’s ears, his touch tender as he helped her breathe. “Come on. We need to get the kids ready before we leave. We have to leave by sundown.”

Your heart swelled. This couldn’t have been easy on either of them, losing their only child as you were chased out of your country. But your father respected your decision, even if it broke your heart. You couldn’t stop yourself from crying now, jumping over to where he was, knowing he’d catch you in his arms even as he held your mother. And he did, the three of you embracing in your final moments, your cries desperate yet final.

“Thank you, Father.”

“If I really can’t stop you—” he kissed the top of your forehead before glancing at Rintaro, “—then your husband needs to promise me that he’s going to take care of you.”

At the mention of his name, Rintaro stiffened. “I promise, Sir.”

“Mark my words, boy. If you ever make my daughter cry again, I will personally drag you back here and let the officials have their way with you.”

“I won’t make her cry. I promise.”

Your father nodded, satisfied with Rintaro’s determination. He looked around, then glanced at his watch with a grim expression. “Let’s go.” Closing your eyes one last time, you buried your face in your mother’s shoulder, wishing for a moment that you could stay, that things could be different. But everyone in the room knew one thing couldn’t be changed – that you were all running out of time.

You walked between your parents, their hands clasped around yours like they had done when you were a child. Your father’s grip was firm but slightly trembling, while your mother’s touch was gentle, fingers brushing over your knuckles as if memorizing the feel of them. Every step towards the pier felt like it carried the weight of a finality that was too painful to acknowledge.

Rintaro followed behind, silently carrying the small bags you had prepared for the long journey ahead. You glanced back at him occasionally, watching the way his eyes scanned his surroundings, always alert, always protective. But when your gazes met, they would soften, quietly understanding the heaviness of the grief you carried. He’d taken on the burden of your escape so you could have these final moments with your parents, and you were grateful for his silent support.

As you approached the dock, the boat waited for you, bobbing gently on the dark waters. The sound of the waves lapping against the hull was the only noise in the quiet night, amplifying the heavy silence that hung between you. Your heart ached as you reached the edge of the dock, knowing that this was it – the moment you’d all been dreading.

The inevitable goodbye.

Your mother turned to you first, her eyes shining with unshed tears. She pulled you into a tight embrace, one that felt both desperate and full of love. Her arms wrapped around you, and you felt her heartbeat against your own, the rhythm steady but beating slow like her heart cried, too. It made reminisce of stories she used to tell you when you were little, how she’d place your cheek on her chest as a baby to help you fall asleep. You closed your eyes, inhaling the familiar scent of her perfume, wanting to remember this moment, this feeling, for as long as you could. She felt the same way, too, holding on to you for a long time the way a mother wanted to shield her daughter from the daunting future that awaited you on the other side of the water.

When you finally pulled apart, your father was there, pressing a small bag into your hands. It was heavier than you expected.

Inside were the essentials needed for survival: cash, forged documents, and a few belongings that might help you once they were out of the country. He squeezed your hand as he handed it over, the pressure his silent way of saying I love you, take care. You felt a lump rise in your throat, but you swallowed it down, not wanting to break the fragile calm you’d managed to maintain.

As you stood there, the night fully settled in all around you, you looked at your parents, trying to memorize their faces in the dim light. There was a somber understanding hanging in the air, an unspoken agreement that this might be the last time you would see each other for a long time. You could see the pain in their eyes, the fear for your safety, but also the deep, abiding love that had always been there. The universe might’ve been cruel to you, but it gave you the best and most loving parents one could ask for.

“I love you. I love you so much. You’ve been so brave, so great,” your mother hiccupped, and your father rubbed soothing circles at her back. “Promise you’ll write to me every now and then?”

“Yes, Mother.”

“You better write,” your father warned, though his smile was harmless. “Don’t make us come after you.”

“Thank you, Father,” you chuckled, staring at them one last time. You would miss it – your father’s wrinkles, your mother’s smile lines. The sound of their giggles as they danced in the halls every Wednesday night with jazz playing in the background each time they thought you’d went to bed. The smell of homemade pancakes each Saturday when your Mother asked the cooks to rest, and also because she hadn’t used the kitchen since she’d married. You’d missed everything, and it hurt so much to leave them behind. “Take care, okay? I’m going to miss you both.”

Finally, it was time.

Rintaro stepped forward, his hand resting gently on your back as he guided you toward the boat. You turned back one last time, your eyes meeting your parents’ as you stood together on the dock. Your father’s arm was around your mother, holding her close as your mother stifled her cries against his shirt. Tears slipped down your cheeks, but you quickly wiped it away, not wanting them to see you cry. You needed to be strong, for them, for yourself, for Rintaro.

As you stepped onto the boat, your mother’s voice echoed through the darkness, the words soft and filled with love. You couldn’t bring yourself to respond as the lump in your throat grew larger. You simply nodded, your hand gripping the small bag tightly as Rintaro helped you settle on the boat. It rocked gently beneath you as the boat moved, and you watched as your parents’ figures grew smaller and smaller in the distance until they were nothing but a silhouette against the night sky.

You felt the finality of it all crash over you.

You were leaving behind everything you’d ever known, walking into an uncertain future with only Rintaro beside you, and the memories of the life you used to live. You held Rintaro’s hand, your fingers gripping his as the boat sailed father away from the shore, farther away from the life you had once thought was yours to keep.

Kiyoomi’s hands gripped the steering wheel as he drove through the winding roads, his heart racing as a million thoughts raced in his head. He had been driving for hours, retracing every step you might have taken, following the last location you had given him. He could sense from the urgency in your voice that you’d expected him to come find you, and he wasn’t going to let you down now. Besides, it was supposed to be a simple meeting only – you’d promised to come back to him, to finally leave your broken marriage behind and start anew with him. But as he approached the place, a dingy nightclub that he’d never picture you being in, in a secluded area just outside the city, his heart sank.

Rintaro’s car was there, parked on the side of the road, abandoned.

The sight of it sent a jolt of panic through him. He didn’t know what was worse – your car being absent, or Rintaro’s car left behind. He pulled over and got out, the night air chilling his skin as he approached the vehicle. The closer he got, the more he noticed – his belongings were still there, and the car was empty. But there was something else, something that made his chest tighten with fear. There, on the ground, was your phone, broken and crushed like someone had stomped onto it.

His mind raced, thoughts crashing into one another. The last he’d heard of him, he disappeared around the same time as you did. But why was your phone here, and not your car? Were you with him? Had he come for you? Or worse… had he taken you away?

The idea twisted in his gut like a knife, the notion that you might have chosen Rintaro over him despite everything you’d been through. But no, he couldn’t believe it. He refused to believe it. He had been so close – he had finally broken through your walls, you had finally loved him back, and for the first time, he had you in his arms. You wouldn’t betray him. You wouldn’t. You couldn’t be so cruel.

He searched the area frantically, looking for any sign of where you might have gone. Footprints in the dirt, discarded items, anything.

But there was nothing, just the silent trees and the cold wind that seemed to mock his desperation. He called your name, hoping that you’d magically emerge from the shadows and come running into his arms, tell him that this was all a misunderstanding. He imagined you stepping out from behind the building, your face soft with regret as you reassure him you wouldn’t have gone anywhere. He would have the warmth of your body in his arms, the feel of your breath against his neck, and find comfort in your voice as you did with him. But you didn’t appear, and the only answer he received was the echo of his own voice.

You did not appear.

His voice broke as he called your name again, weaker this time, as if he already knew that there would be no response. The emptiness around him seemed to swallow the sound, leaving him alone with the echo of his own voice, a ghostly reminder of how alone he truly was.

The agony of it was unbearable, a raw, searing pain that clawed at his insides. He could feel his heart pounding against his ribcage, each beat a painful reminder that you weren’t there. His breath came in shallow, uneven gasps as the weight of his own helplessness settled over him. You were gone, and there was nothing he could do to bring you back. The realization hit him like a physical blow, doubling him over as he clutched at his chest, trying to steady himself.

He looked around wildly, his vision blurring as tears threatened to spill over. There had to be something he was missing, something he hadn’t seen. He couldn’t accept that this was it, that you had left him with nothing, not even a trace to follow. But no matter how hard he searched, there was nothing – just the silent trees standing like sentinels around him, witnesses to his despair.

The wind picked up again, rustling the leaves in a way that sounded almost like whispering, as if the forest itself was telling him to give up, to accept that you were gone. But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. He dropped to his knees, fingers digging into the cold earth as if he could somehow pull you back through sheer force of will. But the ground was cold and unyielding, offering no comfort, no answers. His body shook with the effort of holding back the sobs that threatened to break free, his teeth gritted against the overwhelming grief that surged through him.

He pressed his forehead to the ground, the rough earth scraping against his skin as he tried to catch his breath. You were gone. The truth of it settled over him like a shroud, suffocating him, drowning him in a sea of despair. He wanted to scream, to rage against the cruel twist of fate that had taken her from him, but the sound caught in his throat, strangled by the overwhelming pain.

He had lost you.

And no matter how hard he searched, no matter how many times he called your name, you weren’t coming back.

Kiyoomi’s day passed by in a blur, each one more torturous than the last.

He barely slept, his mind replaying the last moments he’d shared with you, trying to find some clue, some indication that this wasn’t the end. He couldn’t eat, couldn’t focus on anything other than the gnawing fear that something terrible had happened to you. Or worse, that you really had chosen to leave him behind without a word. He’d gotten so desperate that he’d asked for the help of his brothers – Kita was to investigate on your last sightings, Tobio was to remain alert on any news regarding you and Rintaro, and Keiji had reached out to his civilian friends to report to him in case you’d decided to blend in with the common folk.

No news for the next few days, other than the national announcement that you and Rintaro were now officially missing persons. Kiyoomi quickly shut off the television after that, heading straight for his study where he spent countless nights hugging the sweater you’d left behind. Your scent was already fading, but he refused to wash it, afraid he’d completely lose the last thing he had to remind him of you.

The room was dimly lit, the heavy curtains drawn to block out the morning light. Papers and maps were strewn across the desk, a clear sign of his restless night. He paced the length of the room, eyes flicking toward the door every few seconds as if expecting you to miraculously walk through it. His hand clenched around his phone, staring at the screen as if willing it to show a missed call or message from you, anything to break the suffocating silence that had consumed him since you disappeared.

The door creaked open, and Kita stepped inside, his expression grave. The prince barely looked up, his focus still on the phone. Kita took a deep breath, knowing the conversation ahead would be anything but easy. “We’ve found something,” he began, his voice measured and cautious.

Kiyoomi’s head snapped up, eyes locking onto Kita’s. “What did you find?” His voice was sharp, hopeful yet angry.

Kita hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “Her phone wasn’t completely broken – but it’s been off since the night she disappeared. No pings, no signals. It’s as if she doesn’t want to be found. It’s also odd that her parents stopped calling her a day after the Police tried running after them.”

The prince shook his head, denial washing over him. “That doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t mean she doesn’t want to be found.”

Kita nodded slowly, understanding the prince’s reluctance to accept the truth. “I considered that too, but then I found something else.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small evidence bag, inside which was a photograph of faint tire tracks leading away from the area where Rintaro’s car was found. “These tracks... they suggest a hurried departure. She left quickly. They left quickly, Kiyoomi. Some of the surviving cops stated that Rintaro was driving, and she was the one who shot at them.”

The prince’s jaw tightened, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of his desk. “It doesn’t prove anything. Maybe she was forced to leave, maybe...” His voice trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

Kita stepped closer, lowering his voice. “There’s more. I got a message from a contact in the royal circle. There was unusual activity at her family’s estate the night she disappeared. Some neighbors reported that cars were coming in despite the place being remote for years, and...” He hesitated before continuing, knowing the next words would be the hardest to hear. “A boat was seen leaving the estate after sundown. No one questioned it because apparently, the General liked to fish whenever he was stressed out, but the General never boarded the boat.”

Kiyoomi’s face twisted with a mix of anger and pain. “What are you saying, Kita? That she’s left me? That she’s gone without a word, just... vanished? She’s not that kind of person and you know it, too.”

Kita’s eyes softened with sympathy, but he held firm. “I don’t want to believe it either, but everything points to her leaving the country. The tracks, the boat, the silence... It all fits.”

Kiyoomi’s breathing grew heavier, his heart pounding in his chest. He wanted to shout, to curse, to deny everything Kita was saying, but deep down, he knew it was the truth. The signs were there; he just didn’t want to see them.

He slammed his fist down on the desk, sending papers flying. “No! She wouldn’t do that. She wouldn’t just leave me without a word!”

Kita remained silent, allowing his brother’s anger to fill the room. He knew this wasn’t just about you leaving; it was about the betrayal, the fear that you had chosen someone else over him, that you had left him in the dark. The prince’s eyes burned with tears he refused to shed, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “She loved me, Kita. She said she loved me. Why would she leave if she loved me? She… she said she didn’t care about him anymore.”

Kita took a cautious step forward. “Maybe she didn’t want to drag you into this, Kiyoomi. Maybe she thought she was protecting you.”

Kiyoomi shook his head violently, refusing to accept it. “No. She should have told me, she should have trusted me! She called out to me for help, Kita. She called me, gave me her location before I was met with radio silence. That means she wanted to be found, right? There’s no way she’d tell me where she was if she was going to run away.”

Kita sighed, his own heart heavy with the weight of the truth. “Sometimes, the people we love do things we can’t understand. But that doesn’t mean she didn’t care. It doesn’t mean she didn’t love you.”

The prince’s shoulders slumped, the weight of reality finally crashing down on him. He turned away from Kita, his gaze falling on the empty chair she used to sit in, the memories of their time together flooding his mind. The silence in the room was deafening, the truth too bitter to swallow.

Kita watched him, feeling his brother’s pain as if it were his own. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, knowing that no words could ease the prince’s agony.

Kiyoomi didn’t respond. All he knew in that moment was that you were gone, and you hadn’t even said goodbye. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut, leaving him reeling, unable to navigate his way in this sea of confusion and heartbreak. All he could do was stand there, staring at the place where you should have been.

His mind refused to accept it. His body, in defiance of reality, filled in the empty spaces with memories – illusions that brought no comfort, only pain. He swore he could still feel your touch, the delicate brush of your fingertips lingering on his face, ghostly and cold. The sensation was so vivid it sent a shiver down his spine, and his hand shot up to his cheek, desperate to hold onto the fleeting warmth that wasn’t really there.

The study was quiet, but to him, it was filled with echoes of you.

He heard your laughter, soft and melodious, reverberating through the empty room. It was the same laugh that used to light up his world, that made everything seem less daunting, less lonely. Now, it only amplified the emptiness, a cruel reminder of what he had lost. He turned his head, hoping against hope to see you standing there, your eyes sparkling with mischief, but the room was empty. The illusion shattered, leaving him hollower than before.

His knees felt weak, and he stumbled to the chair you used to sit in, clutching the armrest as if it could somehow bring you back. He could still hear your voice, teasing him gently, calling him by that name only you used, Omi, the one that made him feel human instead of royal. The sound of your voice was so real it hurt, like a knife twisting in his chest, and he pressed his hands to his ears, trying to block it out, but it was no use.

You were everywhere and nowhere all at once.

How could you leave me?

The thought crashed through his mind, a desperate plea that made his heart ache. He had been so sure, so convinced that what you had was real, that your love was strong enough to withstand anything. You had finally opened up to him, finally let him into your heart, and now... you were gone.

Was it all a lie?

The question tortured him, gnawed at his sanity. Had you ever really loved him, or was he just another pawn in whatever game you were playing?

But no... He shook his head, trying to silence the doubt, to cling to the truth he believed in. He knew you loved him. He had seen it in your eyes, felt it in your touch, tasted it in your kisses. You had given him everything, and he had given you his heart in return. You wouldn’t betray that. You couldn’t. Yet, here he was, alone, with nothing but memories and ghosts for company. He wanted to scream, to tear the room apart, to do anything to drown out the agony that was swallowing him whole. But he couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. All he could do was sit there, his body shaking, tears burning in his eyes as the full weight of your absence crushed him.

You promised me.

The words echoed in his mind, bitter and broken. You promised you wouldn’t leave him, that you would stay by his side. But now you were gone, and he didn’t even know why. The betrayal cut deep, deeper than any wound he had ever known. It wasn’t just that you had left – it was that you had left him without a word, without a trace, without a goodbye. Was he not worth even a proper farewell?

Why didn’t you say goodbye?

The question was a knife in his heart, twisting deeper with every beat. He had always imagined that if you ever had to leave, it would be with a tearful farewell, a last kiss, a promise to return. But this... this was nothing. Just emptiness, a void where you should have been, where you had always been.

The pain was unbearable, a crushing weight on his chest that made it hard to breathe, hard to think. He could feel himself unraveling, the carefully constructed walls he had built around his heart crumbling into dust. You were gone, and with you, you had taken everything that mattered, leaving him hollow, broken, and utterly alone.

Please, come back.

The thought was a whisper, a prayer to a god who wasn’t listening. He wanted to believe that you would come back, that this was all a mistake, a nightmare he would wake up from. But deep down, he knew the truth. You were gone, and you weren’t coming back.

Kiyoomi’s breath hitched, and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the reality of it, but it was no use. The truth was inescapable, crushing him from all sides. You were gone, and he didn’t know if he would ever be whole again. All he had left was the echo of your voice, the ghost of your touch, and the unbearable weight of your absence.

#suna x reader #suna rintaro x reader #suna x reader angst #suna x you #rintaro x you #rintaro suna x reader #suna rintaro angst #kiyoomi x reader #sakusa x reader #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #sakusa x you #kiyoomi x you #kiyoomi x you angst

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definitelynotshouting · 10 months

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MAJOR SPOILERS FOR THE FINALE OF SECRET LIFE!!!!!

so i sped-wrote this as soon as i learned who the winner was this morning, tried to post it twice, tumblr mobile deleted it BOTH TIMES... but i will not be silenced ive finally gone to desktop /silly

this will go up on my rough draft pseud soon, but until then please enjoy the results of me being EXTREMELY unwell about the secret life finale. WOOOOOO WE ARE POPPING THE BIGGEST OF BOTTLES TODAY FR!!!!!!!!!!!

Grian barricades himself at the top of the highest tower of Tango's citadel the moment he wakes up. It's a calculated move, admittedly. There are a precious few places one might still find him if he truly wants to hide, but the Deep Frost Citadel isn't one of them— and with the second Decked Out coming to a ceremonious close, foot traffic here is perilously low. Dawn is a swift-approaching knife on the horizon, and Grian soars above it all, face numb with chill wind, wings brazen and feathers strewn across an empty sky.

He doesn't want to be near when Scar wakes. And he doesn't want to be found just yet, either. Oh, Scar will track him down. Of that, he has no doubt— but for now, Grian takes solace in the snow crunching underfoot as he locks himself inside this barren tower.

It's dark here, which suits Grian just fine. He doesn't bother lighting a lantern; instead, he huddles right on the floor, letting the ice seep through him. From here, he can just make out the sky as it lightens, bringing with it the dawn of a new victor. Nausea boils in his throat. With that victory comes a price, and Scar— And Grian— Well. Grian hasn't treated him very well throughout the games, now, has he?

He curls in on himself even further, feathers brushing along the length of his chilled arms. Each hair stands at attention, in some vain effort to pull warmth from the surrounding freeze— when he scrubs a hand along his arm, his fingers shake, and the gooseflesh remains stark and raised against his skin.

There was a sand-drenched point when the concept of warmth was all he could register— scorching wind scraping the cut on his cheek, the scarlet splatter of blood across split knuckles. And like the steady drain of life from a corpse, that warmth has drawn away, poison from a putrid wound— it leaves him compacting this cold, this loneliness, to mold it into four high walls around his heart; a fitting tribute to every grain of trust he's rightfully lost. Grian huffs the barest traces of a bitter laugh as his breath mists in the air. A better man would meet Scar at his base, extend his support, no matter how icily it might be met.

But Grian is selfish, and a coward, and will always be a coward— and so instead he sits, marrow freezing, with only the thin garrotte of paltry sunlight wrapping itself around his tender throat to keep him company.

And there he stays, motionless, for long enough that the chill makes a home in him— the glistening, pale yolk of the sun warns him of the passing time, a watery heat that counts down the seconds to minutes to hours until Scar finds him. Grian curls his wings around himself, a pitiful embrace, and waits.

Two hours later, the whistle of rocket-propelled elytra warn him of incoming company. Grian doesn't bother fleeing; he knows Scar, and Scar knows him, and with this last, missing puzzle piece finally slotting into place between them, he's under no illusions that staying hidden for long is feasible. Grian's eyes skitter to a crack on the far wall as clumsy footsteps scatter the snow outside, scrabbling for balance before the muted click of a cane joins them. Footsteps; another, louder click— the door's latch gives way, and a brief, blinding wave of light crashes over Grian's face, obscuring everything but the outline of a painfully familiar silhouette.

Grian has to look away. The door shuts, and for a small moment, neither of them so much as breathe.

Then Scar's sighs— one great, resigned gust. "Grian...."

He says nothing else. He doesn't have to. Grian draws his legs up to his chest in response anyway, heart a frozen pump bleeding ice into his very veins. What can he say? An apology? They're past apologies, now— if Scar wanted to disavow him forever, take the crumpled remains of their friendship and throw it at his feet, he'd be right to do so.

But Scar doesn't shout; neither does he leave. Instead, his cane taps forward, boots sliding into Grian's line of vision— and, with a grunt of effort, Scar eases himself down, until he's sitting at a safe diagonal from Grian's hunched form.

Neither of them say anything for a while.

Eventually, Grian licks his lips. They're chapped from cold, thin and ready to split. "Hi, Scar," he says softly. It comes out weak, thready— a barely-there declaration. Whatever Scar wants here... he can take it. It's the very least Grian can do at this point.

From the corner of his eye, he watches Scar settle, shifting his weight before he lands on something approximating comfort. He takes his time with it, blind— or uncaring— to the erratic snarl of Grian's pulse. His voice is just as quiet when he responds. "So... that's it, then, huh."

Grian glances over properly before he can stop himself, stomach churning; Scar's gaze has slipped to the cutout acting as a window, middle-distant and lost. Locked on something only he can see. Then Scar shakes himself, an abrupt jerk of his head and shoulders, and that glassy look turns to pin Grian directly to the wall behind him instead. "Just like that?"

Grian's fingers tighten around his knees. "Just like that," he agrees, hollow.

Scar mulls that over for a moment. His sigh is a wisp of white in front of them, crystallizing in the glacial atmosphere. "Jeez," he says finally, scrubbing one hand through the tangled bird's nest of his hair. He must have flown across half the server as soon as he... remembered, Grian realizes with a visceral pang. "I didn't... that's a lot of memories to just, um, gain back on a dime, huh?"

Grian darts a sidelong glance at him. Shifts his wings until their primaries lower, sweeping the ground around his feet like a feathered cat's cradle. "I wouldn't know," he says, a quirk of black humor dancing around the edges of his mouth. He swallows. "Since. Well...."

He trails off. Imagines, briefly, that he is a black hole— a quasar. A neutron star. Something so tight and compact it can string him out, erase him; a ball of grief and misery dense enough that it contains its own event horizon.

Scar hums a little shakily into the blooming silence. "Yeah. I guess that would complicate things, wouldn't it." A pause. "Does it always feel—?"

Grian shrugs. "Don’t know that either, Scar."

"Oh." Scar's still looking at him, the searchlight of his gaze burning pockmarks into Grian's skin. "Cool, okay... so...." He hesitates, teeth worrying his lower lip, before finally forging on: "So what now?"

Grian sucks in his own shuddery breath. "Whatever you want, Scar," he says, blank and dull. Every inch of him frozen stiff, awaiting the tipped scales of Scar’s judgement. "There's no going back, after this." The quicksilver flash of a grimace tugs his lips back to reveal sharp, white teeth. "Welcome to the club, I guess."

"It sure is a warm welcome," Scar says weakly. "Got— uh, got your complimentary balloons, and— and um, a whole gift basket of... of...."

He trails off too, the fragile ley lines of his humor peeling off, cracking at the seams. Impossibly, Grian curls around himself tighter.

An apology is nothing but wasted air now, but it dredges from his throat anyway. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry, Scar. I—" He breaks off, jaw tight. "I'm... I'm not sure what else to say, honestly. I never thought...."

I never thought you'd win. It's a cruel phrase that haunts the air between them, hanging like a smoky pall across their shoulders.

Scar says nothing against it; he only watches.

An uneasy prickle crawls up Grian's spine. "You don't—" He stops himself before he can finish that thought. "Are you— Scar, why are you here?"

"'Cause Pearl's not talking to me yet," Scar says quietly, prompt. "And— and because I remembered. Us."

Grian's throat closes around the word. "Us," he echoes, a rough rasp that ricochets against the deepslate walls surrounding them. The word tears through his ears, distorting with each pass. "Look, alright— I-I don't know if you got the memo, exactly, but— I'm not—"

He breaks off again, lungs jarring, hitching in his chest. Hot prickles sear behind his eyes, but nothing drops— he’s too tired for crying. "I've hurt you a lot, Scar," Grian says at last, lips numb around the words. "I'm not sure if there's much of an 'us' left, at this point."

"I know," Scar says. His eyes reflect the snow-glitter outside.

"And— I wouldn't blame you, if you left right now."

"I know," Scar says again, softer.

"I—” Grian stares at him, helpless. "Okay, then why are you here, Scar?" He gestures between them, an aimless motion that somehow encompasses the breadth of everything that's rotted at their foundations. "If you know all that, then what—?"

Scar regards him with enviable poise. His throat bobs as he speaks. "Maybe, I just— now that I remember— maybe I just want your company, Grian. Is that really so bad?"

Grian stares at him, at a loss. "I don't understand," he says finally, and it comes out plaintive even to his own ears. "I thought you'd be— angry. After everything I've done, after all that's happened.... What's your play here, Scar? If you want to yell at me, be my guest. I think by now I've more than earned it."

But Scar doesn't take the bait. Instead, he shuffles closer— just by an inch. A careful, cautious inch. "Y'know," he says, apropos of nothing, "and correct me if I'm wrong, here— but I seem to remember something about you wanting an alliance before all of... that crazy stuff happened. Is that right?"

Something in Grian's chest spasms. Whatever expression it spreads across his face must spur Scar on, because he scoots closer again, just enough to bring their calves together. The brief shock of warmth explodes through Grian's skin, worming its way underneath the subcutaneous tissue to flood his veins and gnaw at the lingering ice.

After a moment, Scar's lips tilt up— a subtle, fragile smile. "Is it too late to cash in on that?" he asks.

Grian's mind goes blank, white and buzzing, the thin hiss of a creeper drifting through it like smoke. Unfiltered shock threads through his voice. "You want t— what?"

Scar's smile tempers further around its edges, stretching into something softer, knowing. Rounded out. With solemn motions, he reaches into the pocket of his utterly ridiculous safety vest, and delicately pulls something out.

It's a sunflower.

In the frigid gloom of Tango's citadel, Grian gapes, the brilliant yellow petals incongruous with this grim, grit, darkened room. When he looks up, Scar's eyes are overbright, painfully earnest— brimming with a desperate urgency that tucks itself away in the depths of his pupils.

"Can we try again?" Scar says, soft as the new-fallen snow beyond this isolated cell of misery. "Start over? I— I kind of hurt you too, you know. And— for the record, being without you sucks. I don't—" He falters. "I know it's gonna be all weird, y’know, between us… but I don't want to do that anymore. I just... want you here, Grian. That's all. I just want you to stick around."

Grian sucks in a sharp, daggered breath. "You're joking," he breathes, but his heart leaps, tumbling from his throat and onto the floor for Scar to stomp at his leisure. "You're actually— this isn't funny."

"Hey, do you see me laughing?” Scar presses forward once more, a calculated attack, but still slow enough for Grian to track each move, to stop him if he cared enough to. Gently, Scar unwinds one of Grian's hands from his knees, cupping it between his own and brushing the lightest of kisses against his knuckles before turning over Grian’s palm and pressing the flower into it. Grian's fingers curl around it of their own accord, silky petals burning against his fingers.

"So." Scar smiles, tremulous, eyes suspiciously red-rimmed. "Can we still be friends?"

And Grian has always been a raw creature, a tangled wreck of his own selfish greed— he’s craved the honeyed umber of Scar's love since he first cradled it, tentatively, in his palms all that time ago. In the depths of his heart, there will always be that sandstone cliff, the crack of his bones against hard-packed sand, and wings too clipped to fly freely. There will always be that calloused fist around his heart, and beyond his own scrabbling fear, there will always, always be that fervent need to bring Scar close even as he pushes him away.

And where before, Scar had been playing blind, a game with no true rules… now, his eyes trap Grian against the wall, clear as glass— diamond sharp and just as steady. From a winning game, there is no turning back. There’s nothing left to lose here, except this porcelain trust, this shred of hope Scar offers him once more in the form of a flower.

Even after everything, all the memories flooding back— Scar is still here, holding Grian’s heart, and offering up his own in return.

Grian slowly presses it to his chest with trembling, vulnerable motions. "You're sure you want this."

"I'm sure I want you," Scar says, unwavering.

Grian breathes in. Breathes out. Inhale and exhale, both a heavy drag in his lungs. Already, the sun is beginning to strengthen, casting thick rays through the window and splaying them across Grian’s lap. The advent of gilded noon weaves around them, perfuming the air with light and heat.

"Okay," Grian says at last, and it drops from his lips with the weight of a confession; a relinquishment; a solemn vow. "Okay."

This time, when Scar reaches for his hand again, Grian meets him halfway, and the tangle of their fingers nets the sunflower in a promise neatly between them.

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