#I just didn’t know what else to title it yet somehow that was enough to be rude to my fucking face and even comment further to basically

[frederickkittens]

.

[elikajinnie]

P: Situationship!Heeseung X Fem!Reader (recommended age 18+)

Warnings: Situationship, Hurt/Comfort, Suggestive Content, Tension, Flirting, Mature Content, Pursuing, Possessive & Needy Behaviour, Jealousy if you squint, Alcohol Consumption, Mentioned Drug Use.

Wordcount: 22k

Synopsis: For years, Lee Heeseung had been in your life—never close enough to be a friend but too familiar to be a stranger. You told yourself you weren’t interested, that he didn’t matter to you. But Heeseung had other plans cause he made it his mission to claim your attention—and eventually your heart. But love is never easy.

a/n: was watching the iconic Kuch Kuch Hota Hai when this idea came! (dont ask how) i also wanted to try something new with the title. (disclaimer! some of the scenes are written from experience)

now playing: truth or dare by tyla | friends by chase atlantic | awkward by sza | bloodline by ariana grande | twenty nights by nobu woods | gi faen by ballinciaga

School hierarchy never interested you—peaking in high school, the whole "king of the cafeteria" nonsense. Why would it? None of that mattered after graduation. You always thought it was a waste of time, all those petty dramas and desperate attempts to be remembered as something more than ordinary.

And yet, somehow, you were known, not because you clamored for attention or played into the social games everyone else seemed obsessed with, but because...well, you were you. Quiet, maybe. Not invisible, though. People knew your name, knew your face, even if you couldn’t recall theirs at times. Maybe it was the way you never fumbled over your words when teachers called on you or the way your presence seemed calm. You didn’t try to stand out, but you were noticed, even if you never asked for it.

Made you wonder what made you noticed.

And that question was solved pretty quickly, to be honest. All because you knew Heeseung since you were young.

And Heeseung? Heeseung was everything you’d expect from someone at the top of the high school food chain. Popular, effortlessly so. Basketball captain, the school’s golden boy, practically born to be the main character in someone’s coming-of-age movie. But beyond all that, he was still totally derpy—the same kid who used to trip over his own feet at recess, the one who cried when you beat him in hide-and-seek because he hid in the most obvious spot.

He hadn’t changed much, really. Sure, he had a little more swagger now, a charm that made people laugh at his terrible jokes instead of groan, but to you, he was just Heeseung.

You’d laugh every time someone brought him up to you, trying to see if you’d spill some secret about what he was like outside of the spotlight. “You’re friends with Heeseung, right?” they’d say, voices dipping into curiosity or jealousy. And you’d shrug, like it wasn’t a big deal. Because to you, it wasn’t.

But somehow, knowing him—having that tether to someone like him—had put you on the radar, too. Even if you weren’t part of his crowd, even if you didn’t sit with him at lunch or go to the parties he got dragged to, people noticed you because he noticed you.

And that was the funny thing, wasn’t it? You never cared about being seen, but Heeseung never stopped looking for you in a room.

You were never really interested in initiating anything with him, even if he was very much 100% interested in initiating something with you.

He’d find you in the hallways, leaning casually against the wall, as if it was second nature for him to cage you in, corner you with a smile that made everything around you feel like it had slowed down. He’d ask you about your day, always interested in the little details you never thought anyone would care about. “Are you busy some day?” he’d ask, eyes sparkling, as if he was hinting at something more—something he probably expected you to say yes to.

Other times, he’d slide into the seat next to you in class, talking about his upcoming game like it was an invitation in itself. “You should come watch,” he'd say with that grin, the one that could melt anyone into agreeing. "I’ll even give you my jersey after I win.”

And then there were the parties—he’d invite you to those too, always the center of attention but always making sure you knew you were welcome. Sometimes he’d just come right up to you, all charm and boldness, flirting with you shamelessly, leaning in so close you could feel his breath on your skin. His presence was so intense, so overwhelming, that you couldn’t help but get those butterflies in your stomach, no matter how much you wanted to stay calm.

And yet, despite all of it—the smiles, the promises, the hints of something more—you rejected his advances.

Every. Single. One.

You couldn’t let yourself get caught up in it. You wouldn’t. Even if every part of you, every part of your mind and heart, screamed to take a chance, to let yourself fall into whatever Heeseung was offering, you pushed him away.

Mostly because you knew what type of person he was now. You saw how he was with other women in school, how effortlessly he had them wrapped around his finger, how they would come to him at the snap of his finger, eyes wide and eager for whatever he had to offer. They were drawn to him like moths to a flame, following him like he was the sun and they were planets orbiting around him. And, honestly, it was hard not to see the way his charm worked, how his attention seemed to shift from one girl to the next as if it was all just a game.

A game that you weren’t interested in playing.

You weren’t just going to be another face in the crowd, another person who would fall for his flirtations, get swept up in the thrill of his attention only to be tossed aside when someone else caught his eye. You were different. You had to be.

Heeseung was the type who could have anyone, but you weren’t just anyone. You were stronger than that, smarter than that. You didn’t need to be one of his many admirers to feel valued.

So, you kept saying no, keeping a distance, watching the way he’d grin like it was no big deal, then go off to let his attention drift somewhere else. And deep down, you knew you weren’t immune to it. Maybe you never would be. But the answer stayed the same.

That didn’t mean Heeseung didn’t stop going after you.

If anything, it seemed like the more you pulled away, the harder he tried. You'd find him lingering around your classes, catching you in the hallways, or showing up in places where you didn’t expect him to be. It was like a game to him, though you weren't sure if he knew it was to you. Maybe he thought he could win you over if he tried hard enough, if he kept being persistent, kept flashing that grin and throwing out just enough charm to keep you on the edge of saying yes.

He’d joke with you, pretending to be playful, leaning in with a wink like you were both in on some shared secret no one else understood. But you knew better. You could see through the act, see the way his eyes would light up when he thought he was getting close. It was almost like a challenge to him now, something he couldn’t let go of.

But you kept saying no.

And he kept coming back for more.

You would think that someone like him would give up after rejection, after rejection. But nooooo.

If anything, Heeseung only seemed more determined with each "no" you threw at him. You’d catch him looking at you with amusement, as if he were trying to figure you out, like you were some puzzle he couldn’t quite solve. You could almost hear the wheels turning in his head, plotting his next move. It wasn’t just persistence—it was obsession in its own strange way.

He’d show up at your locker with an extra wide grin, as if all the past rejections were just another small obstacle, one he was determined to overcome. He’d ask about your plans for the weekend, your favorite movie, your favorite ice cream flavor—all these little things that seemed innocent enough but were clearly his way of getting closer to you, of worming his way in until you couldn’t say no anymore. And each time, you’d refuse, hold firm.

It was like a tug-of-war, except you were the one refusing to be pulled.

And yet, he never stopped to one point that there was a part of you that wondered, almost begrudgingly, if anyone had ever resisted him like this before. You could almost hear the chuckles of his friends in the background, no doubt betting on how long it would take before you gave in.

It did kind of surprise you when, one day, you were walking down the hallway, busy trying to find your gum in your bag, when you accidentally overheard a girl confessing to Heeseung. You stopped, pausing mid-step as you heard her voice, trembling with nerves, pouring out her feelings to him.

You looked down the hallway you were passing, and there he was, standing with his back to you, his attention fully on the girl in front of him. She was shy, her words stumbling over each other, her face flushed as she nervously admitted what everyone probably already knew. She liked him. She wanted him.

But what he did next was something you did not expect at all.

He rejected her.

The words hit you before you could even process them. "I’m sorry," he said, his voice calm but firm. "But there’s someone else I’m interested in. Someone I want." He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t even seem to waver. He was polite, but his words were clear and final.

The girl stood frozen for a moment, looking down, clearly embarrassed. You could see the brief flicker of pain on her face, but she nodded and walked away quickly, her head down.

You felt an unexpected sting in your chest, a strange mix of confusion and something else you couldn’t quite put your finger on. You couldn’t decide if it was relief or disappointment or... something else.

And as Heeseung turned around, casually adjusting his jacket, you quickly stepped into a side hallway, out of sight, your heart beating a little too fast for comfort. You had never expected to see something like that, especially not from him. Never from him. And it made you wonder, question everything you thought you knew about him.

Because after that moment, it seemed like he rejected girl after girl, all while still pursuing you with that same relentless determination. It was strange. You would never catch him kissing other women anymore, never saw pictures on social media of him with a girl on his lap at parties, never heard whispers of him flirting with anyone else. It was like the world around him had faded, and the only focus, the only person who mattered, was you.

No one else but you.

It made you question everything. Was he really serious about you? Or was this just some strange game he was playing, a challenge to see if he could win you over when everyone else had fallen for his charm? Or was it something more than the surface-level attention he gave everyone else? You tried to shake the thoughts from your mind, tried to ignore the way your heart fluttered when you realized you were the only one he seemed to want.

But the more you thought about it, the more it made you uneasy. Did you trust him? Or were you walking into a trap?

If it was a trap, it was a pretty good one, because something changed between the dynamic of you and Heeseung. You grew more compliant, more willing to give him a little piece of your attention, a little more of your time. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make him shift gears. Heeseung, who had always been so confident, so certain, now seemed a little more desperate, a little more eager to make you notice him, to make you smile.

He’d go out of his way to do the smallest things just to get a reaction from you—whether it was showing up with your favorite drink, offering to carry your bag when you were weighed down with books, or trying to impress you with his random trivia knowledge that he knew you secretly found endearing. His usual cool composure was slipping, and in its place was a version of him you hadn’t seen since you were young.

And frankly, it was kinda cute.

It was like he was a little boy again, trying so hard to win your approval, doing whatever he could to get you to look his way, to see him the way he wanted you to.

You expected to play a little around with his attention, to enjoy the way he’d chase you, all while ignoring the stares you got from other girls. It wasn’t anything serious, just a game, a harmless little back-and-forth that didn’t have to mean anything. You didn’t expect it to go anywhere—after all, this was Heeseung, the golden boy who had his pick of anyone. He was just... fun to be around, right?

But how were you supposed to know that one measly party—just one event—would change everything?

It wasn’t even a big deal at first. Just a typical Friday night, with music blasting, lights flashing, and everyone packed together in some house that barely fit the crowd. You had told yourself you’d just go for a bit, maybe chat with some friends, and leave before things got too chaotic.

When you arrived, you decided to go get a drink first, something to ease your nerves. You weren’t exactly the type to jump into a party scene, so you figured a little liquid courage wouldn’t hurt. You made your way to the kitchen, and scanned the counter for something that would do the trick. You found a bottle of something strong, poured yourself a generous amount, and started nursing it as you made your way through the house, trying to find a familiar face in the crowd.

The music was louder now, almost deafening, and the air smelled like a mix of cheap cologne, sweat, and the faint scent of pizza. The people around you were lost in their own little worlds—laughing, dancing, talking—but you were searching for someone you knew.

Your search didn’t take long before you spotted a group of people you knew—friends from class, a few people you’d hung out with before. You made your way toward them, grateful for the distraction, and they welcomed you with smiles and waves. You could feel the tension in your body start to loosen as you joined in, taking a sip from your drink and laughing along with their jokes.

You stayed with them for a while, catching up on small talk, sipping your drink more leisurely. The conversation shifted from one topic to another—school, upcoming plans, random gossip about who was dating who—until eventually, the music started pulling everyone onto the dance floor. You found yourself swept along with the crowd, the beat of the song pounding through the floor and vibrating up your spine as you moved with the rhythm, the alcohol in your system giving you a little extra confidence.

It was fun, for a while. You lost yourself in the music, and you could feel the tension slip away with each step you took, each beat you moved to, until everything felt… easy.

Then, suddenly, you felt strong arms around your waist, pulling you close, a warmth pressing against your back. It took a split second for the reality to sink in, but you already knew who it was based on the familiar scent of cologne that filled your senses. You didn’t have to look to be sure, but you turned your head anyway, and as expected, there he was.

Heeseung.

He was right behind you, holding you effortlessly, his grip strong yet gentle as he matched the rhythm of the music with you. His chest pressed against your back, making your breath catch for a moment.

You could feel his chin rest lightly on your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin, and despite every part of you telling yourself to pull away, to keep the distance you’d worked so hard to maintain, something inside you didn’t want to.

For a brief moment, you forgot to question it all. You forgot the reasons you kept pushing him away, the doubts you had about what he truly wanted.

And when he leaned close, his voice low and steady, you felt your resolve begin to crumble as his lips just brushed your ear. "You look so good," he murmured, the sound of his voice sending a shiver down your spine. "Dancing like that, looking so tempting."

The words were playful, but there was something in the tone that made it clear he wasn’t just joking. You could feel the weight of his gaze on the back of your neck.

For a moment, you felt dizzy—not just from the alcohol, but from his proximity, the way he had you caught in his orbit, unwilling to let go.

"You’re driving me crazy," he whispered, his grip on your waist tightening just slightly as if to remind you of how close he was. The teasing had a bite now and you couldn’t help but wonder if he was testing you, seeing how far he could push.

And God did he push.

Heeseung’s fingers brushed lightly against your waist, sending a ripple of heat through you. "You know," he said, his tone softer now, almost a whisper, "you’re not making it easy for me to behave tonight."

You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way your body reacted to his every move, every word. But it was useless—he was too close, too overwhelming, and you couldn’t think straight.

When you finally found your voice, it came out quieter than you intended. "Maybe you’ve had a little too much to drink, Heeseung," you said, hoping to inject some distance, even though your own voice betrayed how unsteady you felt.

He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against your back. "Maybe," he admitted, and you could hear the smirk in his tone. "But don’t act like you’re not enjoying this."

You turned your head slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of him out of the corner of your eye. His gaze was locked on you, dark and intense.

"I’m not—" you started, but the words caught in your throat as he leaned in even closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

"You’re not what?" he murmured, his voice low and coaxing, daring you to finish your sentence.

You hated how your body betrayed you, how your heart raced, how you couldn’t seem to pull away, even though every logical part of your brain screamed at you to step back. But the warmth of his arms and the way he looked at you as if you were the only person in the room—it was all too much.

For once, you let yourself linger, not pulling away from his hold, not giving him the usual pushback. He noticed immediately, his smirk growing as if he had won some unspoken game between you two.

“You’re quiet tonight,” Heeseung said, his tone teasing but soft. His fingers traced small circles against your hip, his other hand resting lightly at your waist. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours, huh?”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at your lips. “Maybe I’m just too tired to deal with your nonsense.”

“Oh, nonsense, huh?” he said with a mock-wounded expression, leaning closer, his lips hovering dangerously close to your skin. “Careful, or you might hurt my feelings.”

“I think you’ll survive,” you shot back, tilting your head to glance at him. But the way his gaze locked onto yours made your breath hitch.

He laughed, the sound low and warm, as he kept still. “You’re enjoying this,” he murmured, the words brushing against your ear. “Admit it.”

You didn’t respond right away, instead letting the music carry you both. There was something about this that felt different tonight. Maybe it was the way he wasn’t pushing too hard, wasn’t making this feel like a game. Or maybe it was just the way you let yourself relax for once, let yourself enjoy his attention without overthinking it.

“And if I am?” you said finally, your voice quieter than you intended, but steady enough to hold his gaze.

Heeseung’s grin widened, his confidence shining through. “Then I guess I’ll just have to keep doing whatever I’m doing,” he said, his voice full of promise.

You scoffed lightly, shaking your head, trying to brush him off, but he wasn’t having it. “Oh, don’t act so tough,” he teased, “I know I’m getting to you.”

You rolled your eyes, stepping back just enough to put some space between you, but Heeseung wasn’t letting you off the hook that easily. He followed, closing the gap again, his movements unhurried. “Running away already?” he said, his tone mockingly hurt.

“I’m not running,” you shot back, crossing your arms in front of you, though the small smile threatening to form on your lips betrayed you.

“Uh-huh,” he said, clearly not convinced. He reached out, gently tugging at one of your hands, his pouty expression exaggerated to the point of being ridiculous. “Don’t be mean, baby. I was just starting to enjoy myself.”

You let out a laugh despite yourself, shaking your head again. “I’m not your baby , you know that right?”

“But here you are,” he replied smoothly, the grin returning to his lips. “Still talking to me, still letting me hold you like I belong to you. Makes me think you don’t hate this as much as you pretend.”

You wanted to argue, to push him away again, but before you could, Heeseung pulled you closer once more. “Tell me to stop,” he said quietly, “if you really want me to stop, I will.”

The words caught you off guard, and for a moment, you didn’t know what to say, but you didn’t want him to stop. You couldn’t say it either. And he noticed.

Instead of gloating, though, his grin softened into an almost shy smile. “That’s what I thought,” he murmured, his hand squeezing yours gently before letting it go, as if to remind you that you were the one in control, even if it didn’t feel like it right now.

“Don’t think this means I’m giving in,” you said, trying to regain some ground, but the way he was looking at you made it hard to sound convincing.

“Sure, sure,” he replied, his smirk returning. “But I’ll take it as a win anyway.”

You rolled your eyes at him, a playful smirk curling on your lips. Leaning in just enough so only he could hear, you whispered, your voice teasing, “Maybe you should work a little harder if you want to win me over pretty boy.”

Before he could respond, you pulled back and walked off toward the kitchen, swaying your hips just enough to make a point and you felt a surge of satisfaction when you glanced over your shoulder.

Heeseung stood frozen in place, his expression both shocked and in disbelief. His mouth hung open slightly, his eyes wide as he processed your words and the sudden shift. For once, it seemed like you had left him speechless—a rarity that made your grin widen.

You turned back around, hiding your amusement as you reached the kitchen and poured yourself another drink.

A few seconds passed, and you felt it—the unmistakable weight of his gaze burning into your back. Heeseung wasn’t one to give up easily, and you knew you’d just ignited a fire in him. It wasn’t a question of if he’d come after you, but when.

You took a sip of your drink, savoring the moment, and braced yourself for whatever Heeseung was planning. You barely had any time to react before you felt Heeseung’s presence behind you. His body pressed against your back, his warmth seeping through your clothes as his arms caged you in on either side of the counter. His hands gripped the edge, locking you in place.

A low, frustrated groan escaped his lips, brushing against your ear and sending a shiver down your spine. “You’re really going to do me like that?” he murmured, his voice laced with mock pain.

You tilted your head slightly, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye, unable to keep the grin from spreading across your face. “Do you like what?” you asked innocently, swirling your drink in your hand as if you weren’t trapped.

Heeseung chuckled, a deep, throaty sound that made your stomach flip. “Walking away like that,” he said, leaning in closer until his lips almost brushed the curve of your jaw. “Whispering things you know are going to drive me crazy, and then just leaving me standing there like an idiot.”

You giggled as you leaned back slightly, your head resting against his shoulder. “You looked cute like that,” you teased, your tone dripping with playful defiance. “Maybe I should do it more often.”

“Cute?” he echoed, his voice dropping an octave as his grip on the counter tightened. “I’ll show you cute.”

Before you could respond, Heeseung’s lips were so close to your ear that you could feel the heat of his breath. “You’re trouble, you know that?” he said, his tone softer now, though still playful. “But it’s fine. I like trouble.”

You couldn’t help but laugh again, your shoulders shaking slightly as you set your drink down on the counter. “You’re so dramatic, Heeseung,” you said, turning your head just enough to meet his gaze.

Heeseung’s eyes locked onto yours, the grin on his face softening into something more tempting. “Dramatic, huh?” he murmured, “maybe. But you can’t tell me you don’t like it.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but the words caught in your throat as he leaned in closer, his nose almost brushing yours. “I think you like the attention,” he continued, his tone smug as his lips curved into that infuriating smirk. “You wouldn’t keep me guessing if you didn’t.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to keep your composure despite the rapid thudding of your heart. “Guessing? Please,” you scoffed, tilting your chin up slightly, refusing to back down. “You’re the one who keeps showing up, Heeseung. Not me.”

“And yet,” he countered smoothly, “you haven’t walked away yet. If you really weren’t interested, you wouldn’t still be here. With me.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, even as a smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. “Maybe I’m just enjoying watching you make a fool of yourself.”

“Is that right?” he said, his voice dipping, playful but challenging. He leaned in even closer, so close that his lips were barely a breath away from yours. “Careful, baby, or you might end up falling for me instead.”

His confidence was maddening, but it was that same confidence that made your pulse race.

You tilted your head slightly, meeting his gaze with a raised brow. “Falling for you?” you repeated, your voice steady even as your heart betrayed you. “Don’t flatter yourself, Heeseung.”

He chuckled softly, the sound low and warm as his hand left the counter to lightly graze your hip, his fingers lingering just enough to make you aware of every single nerve in your body. “Oh, I’m not flattering myself,” he murmured, his tone dripping with amusement. “I’m just calling it how I see it.”

You rolled your eyes, a soft laugh escaping your lips. “You’ve got some nerve,” you said, shaking your head as you turned away from him.

His eyes following your every move as you picked up your drink again. “And you’ve got some walls,” he shot back.

You paused, glancing back at him as you took a sip of your drink. “Maybe they’re there for a reason,” you replied, your tone light but pointed.

Heeseung leaned back slightly, crossing his arms over his chest as he studied you. “Yeah, but the thing about walls?” he said, tilting his head with a grin. “They’re meant to be climbed.”

You side-eyed him, the faintest smile tugging at your lips as you raised your glass to take another sip. “Try all you want mountain climber.”

Before he could come up with a response, you smoothly stepped away, moving around the kitchen counter to put some distance between you. His brows furrowed slightly in surprise, the sudden shift catching him off guard.

“Hey, wait a second,” he called after you, quickly sliding around the counter in an attempt to follow. The way he moved—quick but a little clumsy, as if he hadn’t expected you to slip away so easily—made you chuckle to yourself.

“You’re gonna have to try harder than that,” you said over your shoulder, your tone full of challenge as you leaned casually against the far end of the counter, nursing your drink.

Heeseung stopped on the other side, his hands gripping the edge of the counter as he tilted his head. “Oh, so now we’re playing games?” he asked, clearly in disbelief.

“You started it,” you shot back, taking another sip and meeting his gaze head-on.

His eyes narrowed slightly as if accepting the challenge. “Fine,” he said, “but don’t be mad when I win.”

“Win?” you repeated, raising a brow at him. “Pretty confident for someone who just got left behind.”

That earned a laugh from him, and in one swift motion, he stepped around the counter, closing the gap between you. “Left behind?” he echoed, his tone playful as he leaned down slightly, his face closer to yours. “Nah. I’m right where I need to be.”

Your breath hitched for the briefest moment, but you quickly masked it with another sip of your drink, refusing to let him see how much his persistence was getting to you.

Heeseung’s smirk widened when you began moving around the counter again, and without missing a beat, he mirrored your steps, chasing after you. “Oh, you think you’re clever, huh?” he teased, his tone light as his eyes tracked your every move.

“You’ll have to be faster than that,” you shot back, a playful laugh escaping your lips as you darted around the other side.

His hands hovered over the counter, ready to cut you off, but you were quicker, slipping just out of reach. The look of mock frustration on his face was priceless, and you couldn’t help but grin at your small victory.

“Alright, alright,” he said, holding his hands up for a moment as if calling a truce. But you weren’t buying it—not for a second.

When he lunged, you were ready, spinning on your heel and darting out of the kitchen entirely. “Nice try!” you called over your shoulder, weaving your way back toward the dance floor, the thumping bass and flashing lights swallowing you up.

You could hear him groan behind you, the sound half exasperated, half amused. “You’re really gonna make me work for this, huh?”

You didn’t answer, slipping into the crowd and letting the press of people conceal you. It was easy to lose him in the chaos, and when you glanced back over your shoulder, you caught a glimpse of him standing near the edge of the dance floor, scanning the crowd with a furrowed brow.

For a moment, you just watched him. The way he ran a hand through his hair, clearly trying to spot you, made your chest tighten unexpectedly. But you shook the feeling off quickly, turning back to the music and letting yourself have fun.

The crowd seemed to shift and swirl, pulling you deeper into the dance floor. For a moment, you felt untouchable—lost in the freedom of the moment.

But that feeling didn’t last long. You could still feel him, even if you couldn’t see him. And then, just when you thought you’d successfully slipped away, a familiar voice cut through the noise, low and right near your ear.

“Thought you could run away from me?”

You turned your head sharply, only to find Heeseung standing there, a sly grin on his face. His hair was slightly mussed, and there was a faint flush on his cheeks, probably from weaving through the crowd to find you.

“How’d you—” you started, but he interrupted with a chuckle.

“You really think I’d give up that easily?” he asked, his tone almost incredulous. “I told you, I’m right where I need to be.”

You rolled your eyes, though the corner of your lips tugged upward. “Maybe you’re just a little too determined,” you said, stepping back slightly, but he followed your movement effortlessly.

“Or maybe you like being chased,” he countered, his voice smooth as he matched your pace.

You opened your mouth to retort, but he caught your hand, gently spinning you back toward him, his movements seamless with the music. It was so smooth, so unexpected, that you didn’t even think to pull away. “Caught you,” he murmured, his voice low as his eyes locked onto yours.

You raised an eyebrow, trying to ignore the way your heart was pounding. “I let you catch me,” you replied.

“Keep telling yourself that,” he answered as he pulled you a little closer.

The space between you vanished, and for a moment, you were acutely aware of everything—his hand on your waist, his body, his gaze. It was dizzying, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you stayed there, caught in the moment, wondering how on earth he always managed to get under your skin like this.

Heeseung began to sway with you to the music, his hands resting lightly on your waist, guiding your movements with an ease that felt far too natural. You told yourself it didn’t mean anything. It was just dancing, just a moment. And yet, you didn’t stop him. You let him lead, let him pull you closer, until his forehead was nearly brushing yours.

But then you noticed something. The way his steps were deliberate, not just moving to the beat but steering you. Slowly, subtly, his touch guided you backward through the crowd.

Your brow furrowed as realization dawned. Heeseung wasn’t just dancing. He had a plan.

“You’re sneaky, you know that?” you muttered, narrowing your eyes as you glanced over your shoulder and saw the wall creeping closer.

Heeseung’s grin turned wicked, a spark of mischief lighting up his face. “Sneaky? Me?” he asked, feigning innocence, though the way his hands tightened ever so slightly on your waist betrayed him. “Yes, you,” you shot back, even as your back brushed against the cool surface of the wall. He leaned in, his voice low and teasing. “Can you blame me? You make it so hard to keep my distance.”

You rolled your eyes, though your pulse betrayed you, hammering in your chest as his gaze locked onto yours.

His gaze never left yours for a second. The world around you seemed to fade away as he leaned in just the slightest bit closer, his chest rising and falling faster with each breath. You could feel the heat of his body so close to yours, could feel the tension between you, thick and heavy.

He glanced down at your lips, then back up to your eyes, the look in his gaze unreadable. It was almost like he was testing the air between you, measuring whether you’d pull away or lean in. His hands on your waist holding you in place as if he knew you wouldn’t make a move. His breathing had picked up now, shallow and just a little shaky, and for a brief moment, you wondered if he was just as affected by this as you were.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you whispered, though you knew your voice was too soft to carry any real force. The words felt weak even as they left your lips, because you knew you weren’t really trying to push him away.

He chuckled softly, the sound deep and low, as if savoring the moment. “Like what?” he asked.

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t—because the answer was already in the way your heart was pounding, the way your breath hitched every time he got a little closer.

And then, without warning, he leaned in just a fraction more, his lips hovering so close to yours that you could feel the heat radiating from them, but he didn’t make the move. He was waiting. Testing.

You both seemed to be holding your breath.

Just as you were about to say something, the world shifted unexpectedly. A figure stumbled into Heeseung from behind, knocking into him, and before either of you could react, the person’s drink splashed all over you. You gasped as the cold liquid drenched your outfit, your heart sinking as you saw the mess, the dark stain had spread across the fabric, leaving a damp, sticky trail. “Are you kidding me?” you groaned, trying to wipe it off, but it only made it worse.

Heeseung, who had been caught off guard by the collision, quickly turned around. His brows furrowed with frustration, but his gaze softened when he saw the mess on your clothes. Without missing a beat, he pushed the person who had bumped into him away with a quick but firm shove. “Watch where you’re going!” he snapped. The drunk person mumbled an apology, clearly embarrassed, but Heeseung didn’t seem to care. His attention was on you now.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his hand brushing against your arm as he looked you over.

You just sighed, wiping your shirt, but it was clear you weren’t getting anywhere. “This is great,” you muttered, more to yourself than anyone else, “I didn’t even want to be here tonight, and now this…”

Heeseung didn’t let you dwell on it for long. “Come on,” he said, taking your hand in a way that was surprisingly gentle for all the tension you’d felt earlier. “Let’s get you cleaned up. There’s a bathroom down the hall.”

You didn’t argue, allowing him to guide you through the crowd, his hand on yours was warm, and even though you were frustrated, there was something comforting in the way he took charge.

When you reached the bathroom, he opened the door for you, ushering you inside with a soft “After you,” before making sure the door was securely closed behind you. The bathroom was quieter, and the air felt colder, but it was a welcome change from the chaos outside.

“Sit down, I’ll grab you some paper towels,” he said, motioning to the counter as he quickly moved toward the sink.

You sat down on the edge, trying to assess the damage, but the sticky feeling of the drink on your skin made it hard to focus. Heeseung was quick, his movements efficient as he grabbed a handful of paper towels and wet them under the faucet.

“You’re really going to make me clean up after you now?” you teased, trying to lighten the mood, though there was still a hint of irritation in your voice.

Heeseung didn’t reply right away. Instead, he stepped closer, his fingers brushing yours as he handed you the damp towels. His gaze softened as he looked at you. “I’m not making you do anything,” he said quietly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Just trying to help.”

You glanced at him, surprised by the gentle way he was treating the situation. You took the damp towels from his hands, still a little flustered by how close he was standing, how his gaze was focused on you with such intent.

“I didn’t ask for help,” you muttered, not in an angry way but more out of habit, the natural instinct to push away when things got too close, too personal.

He smiled, a knowing glint in his eyes. “I know. But that’s never stopped me before, has it?”

You opened your mouth to retort, but the words didn’t come. You couldn’t find the right response. Instead, you just looked at him, your heart doing that erratic thing it always did when he was this close.

Heeseung seemed to notice your hesitation, his smile softening. “You don’t have to push me away every time, you know,” he said gently, his voice almost too sincere.

You blinked, caught off guard. But before you could respond, he stepped back, giving you space, though his eyes never left yours. “I’ll wait outside,” he said quietly, his voice shifting back to its usual tone.“Take your time.”

You nodded, not trusting yourself to say anything else.

Heeseung gave you one last lingering look before stepping out of the bathroom, the door clicking softly behind him. As soon as he was gone, you exhaled a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, your heart still racing in your chest. You quickly went to work cleaning yourself up, though the mess on your clothes was much harder to fix.

Your thoughts were spinning. There was something about the way Heeseung was acting tonight, you couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but there was definitely something there, and it made your stomach twist in ways.

You ran a hand through your hair, trying to collect yourself. Why did he have this effect on you? You couldn’t figure it out, but the longer you stood there in the bathroom, the more confused you felt.

After a few more minutes, you gave up trying to fix the mess entirely. It was too late for that. Instead, you grabbed your things and stepped out of the bathroom. As soon as you entered the hallway, you spotted Heeseung standing by the door, his posture relaxed but his eyes immediately locking onto yours. “Well?” he asked, cocking his head slightly as he gave you a once-over. “Better?”

You couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah, much better,” you replied, trying to act nonchalant, but you could feel your heartbeat quicken again under his scrutiny.

He gave a small nod, his eyes never leaving yours. “Good. You look… good.” There was a hesitation before the words left his mouth, as though he wasn’t entirely sure how to phrase them.

You caught it, and for the first time tonight, you didn’t immediately push back. Instead, you simply looked at him, unsure of what was happening.

Wait.

You suddenly felt a strange sense of déjà vu wash over you. The way he looked at you, the way he was standing there waiting for you, felt familiar, like it was something you had experienced before.

Your mind wandered back to a memory from when you were younger, one that you hadn’t thought about in ages. You were just a child, maybe eight or nine, playing in the park with Heeseung not too far away. You’d been running around, laughing with the other kids when some clumsy little boy—one of your classmates—spilled his drink all over you. You’d been so upset, the sticky liquid ruining your favorite shirt, and you could feel tears threatening to spill.

But then, out of nowhere, there was Heeseung. He hadn’t hesitated for a second, not like some of the other kids who were too busy laughing or ignoring you. He’d been sitting nearby, playing with a figurine in the grass, but the moment he saw you, he dropped his toys without a second thought. Without saying a word, he had stood up, walked over to you, and gently grabbed your hand.

“Don’t worry,” he’d said with that soft, comforting tone only he had, “I’ll help you clean up.”

He had led you straight to the bathroom of the park’s little concession stand, where he carefully grabbed paper towels and dabbed at your shirt, his face set in a look of determination. You remembered feeling embarrassed, but somehow his presence made everything feel better.

And now, here you were, years later, with him standing in front of you again, doing the same thing—helping you, without hesitation. It made you smile softly to yourself, the memory tugging at your heart in ways you weren’t sure how to explain.

Heeseung, noticing the smile tugging at your lips, raised an eyebrow in playful curiosity. “What’s on your mind?”

You shook your head, trying to hide the faint blush creeping onto your cheeks. “Just… thinking about something,” you said, your voice quieter than usual.

He didn’t push, simply giving you a small smile, as though he understood without needing any further explanation.

Before you could think too much about it, Heeseung suddenly moved with a surprising confidence, his hand finding your waist and gently pulling you along with him. The sudden shift startled you for a moment, but the warmth of his hand against your side made your breath hitch slightly.

“You look like you need another drink,” he said, his voice low, but playful, as he guided you through the crowded hallway and toward the kitchen. He left you no time to protest, and you found yourself following him without much resistance. You’d barely processed the familiar feeling of his touch when you were already in the kitchen, the sound of music and chatter fading slightly as you both entered the quieter space. Heeseung let go of your waist once you were in the kitchen, but he still stood close.

You looked up at him, meeting his eyes as he turned to the counter, rifling through the bottles of alcohol, though his gaze never fully left you.

"Something strong this time?" he asked, his tone teasing but with a hint of genuine care, as though he wanted to make sure you were really okay. "Or do you want to take it easy?"

You were still caught off guard by the way he had pulled you along, the way he’d moved without hesitation, without waiting for permission.

"Maybe just something light," you replied, trying to play it cool, even though he was making it difficult to focus on anything else.

Heeseung worked quickly, his movements smooth as he reached for the bottle, his back was turned to you. But you couldn’t stop watching him—how his muscles shifted under the fabric of his shirt, how good he looked.

Heeseung eventually finished the drink and handed it to you, his fingers brushing against yours again as you took the glass. For a second, you both stood there, neither one of you saying anything. It wasn’t awkward, but it wasn’t entirely comfortable either. It was that kind of silence where it felt like something was about to happen, but neither of you were sure what.

“So, what now?” you asked, trying to break the silence, but you could feel your heart pounding in your chest as you spoke.

Heeseung took a step closer to you, his eyes never leaving yours. "Now," he said, "we get back to enjoying the night."

You swallowed, suddenly aware of how close he was. "Right," you said, your voice a little shakier than you intended, but you quickly recovered, giving him a small smile. "Let’s see if I can actually make it through the night without getting drenched in anything else."

Heeseung’s lips curled into a grin, and he chuckled softly. "I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen again," he said, his tone playful but with an undertone of sincerity. He reached out and gently took your hand, his fingers brushing against yours.

You let him lead you back into the party, the music louder now, the crowd thicker. Heeseung didn’t let go of your hand, and you found yourself walking alongside him through the house, feeling uncertain.

✰ ✰ ✰

Somewhere during the night, you had lost sight of Heeseung. He had been dragged away by his friends, caught up in the crowd, and never returned after that. At first, it felt like a strange absence, the lingering sense of him still there even if he wasn't. But after a while, you pushed it aside, deciding it was fine.

You found yourself moving through the party, chatting with friends, laughing at jokes, and enjoying yourself. And as the night went on, you slipped into the comfort of familiar faces, people you could talk to normally. You were glad for the chance to just have fun, to forget for a moment the heat that always seemed to follow whenever Heeseung was around. You were fine without him, right?

You decided to step outside for a breath of fresh air. The noise and chaos inside had started to make you feel lightheaded, and the stuffy heat of the house wasn’t helping. A little solitude would do you good, you thought.

The cool air hit your skin as you stepped out into the backyard, a quiet escape from the party. You leaned against the outer wall, looking up at the night sky. The stars twinkled faintly above, and for a moment, you let the silence settle around you. It was peaceful, the kind of calm you needed after the madness inside. You closed your eyes for a moment, feeling the chill of the night on your skin, and took a deep breath.

What you didn’t know was that someone was watching you from the shadows, standing just far enough away not to be seen. The shape of a figure, leaning against the corner of the house, observing you with quiet intensity.

The moment stretched on, the backyard still and quiet, until you felt a presence shift behind you. A movement you couldn’t quite place, and before you could turn around to see who it was, you felt the brush of someone’s body so close to yours that it made you freeze.

You slowly turned your head, your breath catching in your throat, and found yourself face to face with Heeseung. His lips were mere inches from your ear as he leaned in, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him. But something was off.

His usually sharp gaze was a little hazy, his eyes unfocused as he smiled at you—though it didn’t reach the intensity of his usual teasing grin. He looked almost… detached. Out of it.

And then the smell hit you—a sharp, pungent scent of weed mixed with the alcohol. It hit you like a wave, and you realized just how much he'd been indulging tonight.

"Heeseung?" you murmured, taking a step back instinctively, your heart picking up speed as you watched him sway slightly, his breath coming out slower than usual.

He seemed to snap out of his daze for a moment, his eyes clearing slightly as he blinked at you. "Hmm?" His voice was low, almost lazy, and there was a softness to it that you weren’t used to hearing.

You studied him for a moment, his breath still tinged with the unmistakable haze of the night’s indulgence. He wasn't himself—at least not the playful Heeseung you knew. "Are you okay?" you asked cautiously, unsure how to navigate this new version of him standing so close.

He seemed to hesitate for a moment before a slow, almost dreamy smile curled up on his lips. "Yeah, just needed a break too. The noise gets... loud. You know how it is."

He swayed again, his hand coming up to rest on the wall near you, his face inches from yours.

You stood still, your heart racing as you took in the unexpected sight of him like this. “Hey,” you said softly, your voice steadier than you felt. “Maybe you should head back inside.”

He chuckled softly, but it lacked its usual spark. Instead, it was drawn out and almost tired. “Nah,” he muttered, his breath warm against your skin. “I’m fine... just needed a minute.” His fingers brushed your arm lightly as if trying to keep himself steady.

He didn’t back away, though, and neither did you.

You were unsure what to say next, unsure of your next move. "You’re making this... hard," you finally whispered, uncertain whether you were talking about the situation or him.

Heeseung smiled, but this time it was slow, almost seductive, like he was savoring the moment. “Maybe I like it that way,” he murmured, his voice almost a growl. He leaned just a little closer, his breath mingling with yours.

Despite everything, despite all the confusion, you couldn’t stop the way your heart pounded. Heeseung had always been a game you couldn’t quite figure out, but right now, you were starting to wonder if maybe it was a game you didn’t want to win.

As he leaned in further, you had to make a decision: pull away, or let yourself fall into whatever it was that had been brewing between the two of you.

Before you could even make a decision, he made the decision for you. His lips parted, and he murmured a low, breathy compliment against your ear, his voice sending a shiver down your spine. “You look so beautiful baby,” he said, and there was a sincerity in his tone that cut through the haze. But before you could respond, his hand shot up to grip the side of your neck, his thumb pressing lightly against your skin, holding you in place. The other hand moved to your waist, pulling you flush against him.

Then, without warning, he kissed you. Hard. Hungry. His lips crashing against yours as if you were the air he needed to breathe, like this moment was the only thing that mattered.

You gasped into the kiss, caught off guard by the intensity of it. Heeseung’s mouth was possessive, eager, like he couldn’t get enough of you. He kissed you with a desperation that sent a rush of heat straight to your body, his hands pulling you closer, the pressure of his grip firm. It felt like everything had exploded in that moment, every feeling you’d been pushing away suddenly pouring out in a single, stolen kiss.

Your heart hammered in your chest, and even though every part of you knew this wasn’t how you expected things to go, you couldn’t bring yourself to stop it. The way he kissed you—like you were the last thing he’d ever touch—was overwhelming, and for the first time, you let yourself surrender to it.

His lips were intoxicating, and as he pulled you closer, you could feel the intensity in every movement, every press of his body against yours. The kiss deepened, more frantic now, as if neither of you could get enough. The feeling of him—so desperate, so needy—was something you never expected from Heeseung, and yet it was exactly what you found yourself craving.

You tried to stay grounded, to remind yourself of who he was, of all the walls you’d carefully built between you, but with each second, they seemed to crumble. His hands moved to your back, pulling you in as his kiss grew more fevered, his breathing erratic as he let out soft groans against your lips.

You couldn’t help but respond, your own hands rising to clutch at his shirt, your fingers digging into the fabric as if to keep him anchored to you, like the very act of touching him would stop this moment from slipping away. Heeseung’s body was solid against yours, and despite the confusion that still buzzed in the back of your mind, you couldn’t deny how badly you wanted this—wanted him.

His breath hitched as you pulled him even closer, you could feel the way his body seemed to tremble slightly as he held you in his arms, groaning lowly, the sound vibrating against your lips as he used one arm to brace himself against the wall, the other pulling you even closer, if that was even possible. His lips were desperate, claiming, his breathing heavy as it mixed with yours.

Your hands moved without thought, one gripping the back of his shirt, the other winding into his hair, tugging him even closer. He let out another low groan, the sound so needy it sent a shiver down your spine. Heeseung’s hand at your waist tightened, as if he was trying to merge your bodies into one.

Every part of you seemed to melt under his touch, all that mattered in that moment was the way he felt against you, the way his lips moved with yours, the way his hands seemed to be exploring every inch of your body. His lips moved with desperation, and each breathless kiss made it harder to remember why you had held back for so long.

But then, just as the kiss deepened again, your mind caught up with you. You could feel the weight of it—the gravity of what was happening. The familiar warning signs, the confusion, the uncertainty, all came rushing back to the surface.

You hesitated for a moment, your hands gripping his hair tightly, your chest rising and falling in quick breaths, trying to regain some semblance of control. Heeseung, sensing the shift, finally pulled back, his forehead resting against yours, both of you panting softly.

“Are you okay?” he whispered, his voice raspy and gentle, as if checking to see if you were still with him in that moment.

You pulled back slightly, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you tried to gather your thoughts, but your mind was still clouded by the rush of the moment. "We... we shouldn't be doing this," you murmured, your voice shaky, feeling the weight of the situation. "You're drunk, Heeseung. This isn't you."

Heeseung blinked slowly, his eyes still heavy with that lazy, almost dazed look as he played with the strands of your hair, his fingers brushing gently against your scalp. He tilted his head slightly, giving you that smile—the one that always made your heart flutter, even in the most confusing of times.

He leaned in just a little closer, his breath warm against your cheek, and he spoke softly, his voice sincere "Even if I wasn't drunk," he said, his lips curling into a slow smile, "I’d still do this." His eyes locked onto yours, the haze in them making his gaze feel even more intense. "Because you're you. A pretty girl I've wanted for years."

You felt your breath catch in your throat, the heat of his words curling around you like a blanket, and you couldn’t help the way your heart skipped a beat. His hand on your hair moved down to gently cup your face, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheek. "This... this is unforgettable. And I’d do it over and over again, no matter what state I’m in."

You were speechless for a moment, but you knew he was being honest, even if his current state made it hard to fully trust his intentions.

"But...," you started, still unsure, trying to hold onto your reason, "this isn't the right time, Heeseung. We both know that."

Heeseung’s lazy smile didn’t falter, though there was a longing in his eyes somthing you hadn't seen before. He slowly moved his thumb down, brushing lightly over your lips before leaning in again, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Maybe not the right time," he said, his lips nearly brushing against yours once more. "But you’ve always been worth the wait."

Heeseung hesitated for a moment, his hand still cradling your face as if silently asking for permission. Then, he leaned in, placing a soft, tentative peck on your lips. It was gentle and when you didn’t pull away, he did it again, this time lingering a little longer. Each kiss felt like a question, and with every unspoken answer, his confidence grew.

The next kiss wasn’t as restrained. It was deeper, needier, as though the small taste he’d gotten wasn’t enough. His lips moved against yours with increasing urgency, quickly unraveling into something messier. His hand on your waist tightened, pulling you flush against him, while his other hand moved to cradle the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair.

The kisses turned sloppy, his control slipping with every passing second. His breath came heavier, mingling with yours as he tilted his head, deepening the kiss. He groaned softly against your lips, the sound vibrating through you, making your knees feel weak.

You couldn’t help but respond, your hands moving to grip his shoulders, holding onto him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded.

Heeseung broke away just briefly, as he gasped for air, his lips swollen and glistening. “You don’t know,” he murmured, his voice rough and filled with desperation. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this.” Before you could respond, he captured your lips again, his kisses feverish, like he was making up for all the time he’d spent waiting. His body pressed you more firmly against the wall, as he completely lost himself in the moment, his body fitting against yours like a puzzle piece.

You tried to catch your breath, your head spinning from it all, but Heeseung wasn’t giving you a chance to think. His lips trailed down from yours, brushing along your jaw and down to your neck, where he placed hot, open-mouthed kisses that sent a shiver through your entire body. “Heeseung,” you managed to whisper, your voice shaky. You weren’t sure what you were trying to say—stop or don’t stop.

“Say my name again,” he murmured against your neck, his voice low and raspy. He placed another kiss just below your ear, his breath hot and tantalizing. “I love the way it sounds coming from you.”

You didn’t answer because the way he was looking at you left you speechless. His lips were swollen from the kisses, his hair slightly messy, and there was something in his gaze that you hadn’t seen before. “Heeseung,” you whispered again, softer this time, your hand reaching up to touch his face. The moment your fingers brushed his cheek, he leaned into your touch, his eyes fluttering closed for a second. When they opened again, there was a softness there that made your heart ache.

Heeseung’s lips found yours again, capturing them in a kiss so deep, so consuming, that it left you breathless. You could feel the way his fingers trembled slightly as they slid up your sides. One hand settled on the small of your back, keeping you firmly pressed against him, while the other moved to cradle your jaw, tilting your head just enough.

He groaned low in his throat, a sound that sent a shiver down your spine as his lips parted, inviting you to deepen the kiss. The way his tongue brushed against yours was dizzying, leaving your knees weak and your mind spinning. You responded instinctively, your hands moving up to tangle in his hair, pulling him even closer.

Heeseung’s breathing was heavy, uneven, as if he couldn’t catch his breath but didn’t want to stop. His fingers slipped beneath the hem of your shirt, brushing against your skin in a way that made your stomach flutter. It felt like he was memorizing the feel of you, the taste of you, the way you fit perfectly against him.

Heeseung’s lips suddenly left yours, trailing a line of hot, open-mouthed kisses down your jaw and onto your neck. “You don’t even know,” he murmured, his words slurred slightly but full of emotion. “How long I’ve wanted this… wanted you. God, you’re all I ever think about.” His lips grazed your collarbone, grounding you as he leaned his full weight into you, effectively caging you against the wall.

His rambling continued, each word pouring out like a confession. “I dream about you… about us. It’s always you. No one else even comes close, y’know that? The way you smile, the way you look at me… even when you’re mad at me, I can’t get you out of my head.”

His lips moved lower, pressing kisses along your chest as he spoke, his voice husky and raw. “You’re so beautiful… so perfect. And now you’re here, and I don’t want to let go.”

His words were pure need and desperation, and the way he shielded you with his body only amplified the intensity of the moment. “Tell me you feel it too,” he breathed, his voice breaking slightly. “Tell me I’m not crazy for wanting you this much.”

You were overwhelmed, caught between his touch and his words. Heeseung wasn’t holding back, and as much as you wanted to respond, the only thing you could manage was a shaky exhale, your hands clutching at his shirt to keep yourself steady.

Your voice wavered as you found the courage to speak, breaking through the haze of emotions swirling around you both. “But what about all the other girls, Heeseung?” you asked, your tone softer than you expected. “All the girls you’ve been with? The ones who’ve followed you around, who’ve—” You hesitated, the words getting caught in your throat.

Heeseung froze for a moment, his lips hovering against the curve of your neck, his breathing uneven. His answer was strained. “No one’s like you,” he said, his tone almost pleading. “No one even comes close.”

His hand moved up to cradle your face, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek. “You think any of them matter?” he asked, his voice thick with emotion. “All those girls… they were never you. Never even close to being you. I don’t care about them. I’ve never cared about anyone the way I care about you.”

His lips found your collarbone again, lingering there as he continued. “I’ve yearned for you—God, for so long. You don’t even know what you do to me.” His hand slid down to your hips, gripping you as if to anchor himself. “Every time I see you, it’s like nothing else exists. No one else exists.”

He pulled back slightly, his dark, half-lidded eyes locking onto yours. “I’ll drop them all—every single one. I don’t need anyone else, never did. I just want you.”

Heeseung, ever the gentleman suddenly took you by the hand and led you back inside, away from the prying eyes of the partygoers. With a gentle yet firm grip, he guided you through the bustling crowd, his eyes never leaving yours, as he led your way towards an unoccupied bedroom. Once inside the bedroom, Heeseung closed the door behind you, locking out the world and creating a private haven for the two of you, as he leaned in and captured your lips in a desperate kiss.

You responded to his kiss with equal fervor, your hands finding their way to his broad shoulders, pulling him closer, while Heeseung's hands roamed freely, caressing your back.

Heeseung only pulled back slightly, his chest heaving with heavy breaths before he began to unbutton his shirt, revealing a well-defined torso.

Well this would be a fun night.

It was a fun night... but what ruined it was the fact that Heeseung suddenly seemed to forget who you were. The next few days at school were a complete shift. He avoided you. He didn’t look at you, didn’t talk to you, didn’t even so much as throw a teasing grin your way in the hallways.

No, instead, he went back to his old habits. He laughed and flirted with other girls, his charm as effortless as ever, like nothing had changed. Like you didn’t exist. At. All.

It was maddening.

But the worst part? Watching him smile at those girls with the same ease he once reserved for you, as if you hadn’t been pressed against that wall, that bed, tangled up in his words and his touch. It left a bitter taste in your mouth.

You didn’t know what happened. You wracked your brain for answers, trying to piece together where it all went wrong. But deep down, you should have known. Of course, you should have known.

Heeseung wasn’t the type to stay tethered. He wasn’t the type to settle. He was the type to chase, to get what he wanted, and then move on. And now that he’d tempted you, now that he’d had a taste of your attention, it seemed he’d gone on to the next woman.

Why would you be any different?

The thought made your stomach twist uncomfortably. You weren’t supposed to care. You’d told yourself you wouldn’t let someone like him get to you. But seeing him act as if nothing had happened—as if you were just another moment in his life—stung more than you wanted to admit.

And the worst part? You couldn’t stop thinking about the way he looked at you that night, the way he touched you, the way his words had seemed so genuine. Had it all been a lie? Or had he just changed his mind?

Either way, you weren’t about to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much it bothered you. If he wanted to act like you didn’t exist, you’d do the same. Or at least, you’d try.

And you did try. You really did. Ignoring Heeseung, pretending he was just another face in the crowd—it seemed like the only way to keep yourself sane. And for a while, it felt like it might work. You told yourself you could move on, that you could forget about the way his touch had felt, the way his voice had sounded when he whispered your name.

Yeah, no. You couldn’t.

Not at all.

You realized that the moment you walked by the bleachers and saw a girl perched comfortably on Heeseung’s lap during basketball practice. She laughed at something he said, her hand resting casually on his shoulder. Your stomach churned.

Nope. Moving on wasn’t happening.

And then in the hallways, you would see him leaning against the wall, his signature grin plastered across his face as he shamelessly flirted with other girls. Their giggles echoed in the corridor, and Heeseung would tilt his head, his eyes sparkling like he didn’t have a care in the world.

Yeah, moving on definitely wasn’t in the cards.

Each time you saw him acting like you were meaningless, like the night you’d shared was nothing more than a passing moment, it cut deeper than you wanted to admit.

And yet, despite all of it, despite the ache in your chest and the frustration bubbling under your skin, you couldn’t bring yourself to confront him. What would you even say? That he’d hurt you? That he’d made you believe you were different, only to prove otherwise?

No. You wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. But pretending it didn’t matter? That was turning out to be harder than you ever imagined.

Okay, yeah, pretending it didn’t matter was much harder than you thought. Because now, standing in the doorway of your room, staring at a very intoxicated Heeseung, all of those feelings you were desperately trying to bury came rushing back.

His hair was messy like he’d run his hands through it a million times. His shirt was unbuttoned at the top, revealing the smooth skin of his collarbones, and his belt dangled loosely from his hands like he’d been too distracted—or too far gone—to put it back on properly. The faint smell of alcohol and nicotine wafted off him, making you wrinkle your nose.

This was not how you’d planned to spend your night. You were supposed to be studying, maybe finishing the next episode of that series you were hooked on. A calm night. But of course, Heeseung had to ruin that.

“Heeseung,” you said, crossing your arms and leaning against the doorframe, trying to keep your voice steady, “What are you doing here?”

He blinked at you, his eyes glassy but still managing to hold that familiar spark that made your heart do stupid flips. “I—uh...” He trailed off, his gaze flickering over you like he was trying to figure out what to say.

You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “You don’t even know why you’re here, do you?”

“I know why I’m here,” he slurred, leaning heavily against the doorframe. “I just... I wanted to see you.”

You sighed, already feeling the headache forming. “Heeseung, you’re drunk. And not in your right mind. You should go home before you embarrass yourself even more.”

But instead of leaving, he gave you that boyish grin—the one that always made your resolve waver. “Can’t I stay here? Just for a bit?”

“No,” you replied firmly, but even as you said it, you knew it wouldn’t be that simple.

Heeseung’s expression softened, and his voice dropped, almost pleading. “Come on, don’t do this. I... I don’t want to be anywhere else right now.”

You hated how those words tugged at something deep inside you. Why did he always have to show up and mess with your head?

You found yourself hesitating, your hand still on the door, unable to slam it shut in his face, sighing, your hand gripping the edge of the door as you tried to keep your cool. "I can't do this right now, Heeseung," you said, your voice quieter than you intended. "I have too much going on. I'm stressed, and I really don't have the energy for this."

He didn’t back off. Instead, he leaned closer, his breath warm against your skin, sending an involuntary shiver down your spine. His voice was low and teasing, with that same lazy confidence he always seemed to have. "If you're stressed, I can help with that," he murmured. "Play with me a little, and I promise, you'll forget all about it."

You blinked at him, caught off guard by his audacity. “Heeseung—”

“I’m serious,” he interrupted, a small, mischievous smirk playing on his lips. His eyes, hazy but still focused on you, sparkled with that familiar glint that always left you second-guessing yourself. “I’m really good at relieving stress. Just give me a chance.”

Your mouth opened to respond, but no words came out. The sheer gall of him left you momentarily speechless.

Finally, you shook your head, trying to snap yourself out of the moment. "Heeseung, you're drunk. You should just go home and sleep this off before you say something else ridiculous."

He tilted his head, feigning thoughtfulness. “Drunk or not, I’m still right,” he said, his grin widening as he leaned a fraction closer. “But if you really don’t want me here…” He gestured vaguely toward the hallway, though he made no actual move to leave.

You closed your eyes for a brief moment, trying to summon every ounce of patience you had left. “Heeseung,” you said firmly, opening your eyes and meeting his gaze. “I need you to take this seriously. Either go home, or...”

“Or?” he asked, his voice soft but teasing, daring you to finish the sentence.

Your frustration bubbled over as you only glared at him, the sight of his disheveled figure only fueling your anger. "No! Do you have any idea how mad I am at you right now?" you snapped, crossing your arms. "You ignored me for days, Heeseung. Days! You acted like I didn’t exist, like nothing happened, and now you just show up at my door like—like this?"

Heeseung blinked, the lazy smirk faltering slightly, but he didn’t say anything. That only made you angrier. "Do you even know how humiliating it’s been? Watching you flirt with other girls, pretending like what we had meant nothing? And now, you think you can just waltz in here, drunk and out of your mind and what—fix everything with a grin and some smooth words? You don’t get to do that, Heeseung. You don’t get to mess with my head and—"

Before you could finish, Heeseung surged forward, his hands grabbing your cheeks as he pulled you close. His lips crashed against yours with a force that took your breath away, silencing your ramble in an instant.

Your mind went blank, your words evaporating as his warmth enveloped you. His kiss was desperate, almost as if he was trying to convey everything he couldn’t say out loud. One of his hands slid to the back of your neck, holding you in place, while the other stayed firm on your cheek.

You froze, your anger momentarily eclipsed by the intensity of his actions. But then, your hands instinctively pushed against his chest, breaking the kiss as you stepped back, breathless and wide-eyed. “Heeseung, what the hell?” you whispered, your voice shaking, unsure if it was from lingering anger or the way your heart raced in your chest.

“I didn’t know what else to do,” he admitted quietly, his voice hoarse. “You were yelling at me, and I just… I missed you. I couldn’t stay away.”

You stared at him, torn between wanting to scream at him and wanting to pull him back in. “You don’t get to do that,” you said, your voice trembling. “You don’t get to kiss me like that and think it’ll fix everything.”

“I don’t think it fixes anything,” he said softly, his gaze dropping to the floor.

Before you could respond, he took a small step closer, his forehead gently resting against your shoulder. His breath was warm against your neck as he hummed softly, the sound low and almost comforting. He nuzzled against your skin, his movements slow and unhurried, as if he had all the time in the world.

“Heeseung,” you said, your voice strained as you placed your hands on his shoulders, trying to push him away. But he didn’t budge, his larger frame pressing closer as his lips ghosted over the curve of your neck.

“I missed this,” he murmured, the words vibrating against your skin. He pressed a soft, lingering kiss just below your ear, his hand curling gently around your waist to hold you steady.

You tried to push again, but it was weak, half-hearted, especially as his lips found a particularly sensitive spot, sending a shiver down your spine. “Stop it, Heeseung,” you said, but your voice lacked conviction, and he clearly noticed.

He chuckled softly, the sound deep and a little smug. “You’re telling me to stop,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your neck, “but you’re not really trying, are you?”

Your heart raced, torn between the anger still simmering in your chest and the way his touch was making your knees feel like jelly. “Heeseung, this isn’t fair,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his expression softer now. “You’re right. It’s not fair. But I don’t know how else to tell you that I’m sorry. That I’ve been a complete idiot. That I can’t stop thinking about you, no matter how hard I try.”

His words caught you off guard, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. But before you could sort through your emotions, he leaned in again, his lips brushing against your neck once more, and you felt yourself faltering.

Heeseung’s movements were subtle at first, his arm tightening slightly around your waist as he guided you further into the house. You didn’t even realize he’d kicked the door closed until you heard the faint click of it shutting.

Your distraction gave him the advantage, and before you could voice even the smallest protest, he was steering you toward the couch. His hands were steady, firm, but not forceful, leaving you confused and torn between stopping him and giving in to the pull he had on you.

“Heeseung—” you started, but the words barely escaped your lips before his mouth was on yours again, silencing you with a kiss that was anything but gentle. His lips moved hungrily against yours, leaving no room for argument, and when you tried to push back against his chest, your resolve faltered as he moaned softly into the kiss. The sound sent a shiver down your spine, and to your dismay, a small whine slipped out in response.

His lips curved against yours as if he could sense your weakening resolve, his hands started guiding you to lay down on the couch. The weight of his body hovered close, not trapping you but leaving you with the realization that Heeseung wasn’t planning on leaving anytime soon.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured against your lips, “if you really want me to, I will.” But the way he looked at you, his dark eyes full of yearning and desperation, made it clear he didn’t want you to say the words.

When you didn’t respond, Heeseung’s lips curled into a slow, almost knowing smile. “That’s what I thought,” he murmured, his voice tinged with satisfaction. He leaned down, brushing his nose against yours before capturing your lips once more.

This kiss was different—softer at first, unhurried but still filled with that undeniable hunger. His weight shifted slightly, his chest pressing against yours while his hand slid from your cheek to your waist, steadying you. He kissed you like he had all the time in the world, as though he wanted to memorize every detail, every sound you made, and every way you responded to him.

You couldn’t stop yourself from melting into him, Heeseung’s lips left yours only briefly, trailing kisses along your jaw, his warm breath ghosting over your skin as he murmured, “You don’t know what you do to me.”

Your pulse quickened, your heart hammering in your chest. “Heeseung… please,” you managed to whisper, though your voice trembled, making it come out weaker than you’d intended.

But he only shook his head softly, his lips brushing against your cheek as he murmured, “Shh… Don’t.” His voice was low and soothing, almost pleading, as though he couldn’t bear to hear you say anything that might break the moment between you. “Just… stay with me. Don’t push me away right now,” he whispered.

Before you could respond, his lips found yours again, this time slower, softer, as if he was savoring the moment.

And you couldn’t help but let yourself fall deeper into the kiss.

✰ ✰ ✰

Yeah, you were getting pretty tired now.

After waking up the next morning to an empty bed, Heeseung having dipped sometime before you even stirred, you couldn’t say you were surprised. Disappointed? Sure. Hurt? Maybe. But surprised? Not in the slightest.

The hollow feeling lingered as you dragged yourself to school, telling yourself to just push through the day like nothing had happened. It was easier said than done when the moment you stepped into the halls, you spotted Heeseung leaning casually against his locker, laughing at something one of his friends said, acting like he didn’t have a care in the world.

And of course, he acted like last night didn’t happen. Not a glance in your direction, not a nod of acknowledgment—nothing. It was as if you didn’t exist, as if you hadn’t shared anything at all.

You bit down the frustration bubbling in your chest, refusing to let it show. You’d told yourself you wouldn’t let him get to you, that you’d play it cool, but damn, it was harder than you thought. Watching him joke around, watching him flirt effortlessly with anyone but you—it stung more than you wanted to admit.

You sighed, gripping the straps of your bag a little tighter as you walked past him, pretending you didn’t notice him either.

It got to the point where your friends couldn’t ignore it anymore.

“What’s going on with you and Heeseung?” one of them asked, their tone laced with curiosity and concern. “He was all over you, and now he’s... not. Did something happen?”

You hesitated, debating whether to say anything, but their expectant gazes made it clear they weren’t letting it go. So, with a deep breath, you told them everything.

Their reactions were immediate.

“He did what?” one of your friends exclaimed, her eyes wide with disbelief.

“Are you serious? He was with you and then went back to ignoring you? Twice?!” another chimed in, her voice rising in anger.

They were shocked at first, then angry—angrier than you were, which was both comforting and a little overwhelming.

“You need to stop answering his calls,” one of them said firmly, leaning closer. “He’s just using you as a backup plan when he’s drunk and lonely.”

Another nodded, her expression equally resolute. “Don’t let him in, no matter how much he begs. If you let him in, you’re just setting yourself up to kick him out later. And trust me, that’s worse.”

“Exactly,” a third added, crossing her arms. “And don’t even think about being his friend. Friends don’t wake up in each other’s beds after nights like that.”

The last comment stung more than you cared to admit, but they weren’t done.

“If you’re under him, you’re never getting over him,” another said bluntly, her words hitting harder than you’d expected. “And you deserve better than this game he’s playing with you.”

You sat there, their words circling in your head like a storm. Deep down, you knew they were right. You knew you couldn’t keep letting Heeseung in only to get hurt every time he left. But knowing it and doing something about it were two very different things.

One of your friends sighed, shaking her head. “You know what this sounds like, right? A situationship. That’s what this is turning into.”

The others nodded in agreement.

“That’s exactly what it is,” another chimed in, crossing her arms. “He keeps you close enough to make you think you matter, but far enough to avoid any real accountability. Classic situationship behavior.”

You groaned, leaning back against the bench. “I don’t even know if it’s that deep. He probably doesn’t think about me at all.”

“Well…” one of them started, glancing over your shoulder, her expression shifting into amusement and curiosity.

“What?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at her.

She hesitated for a moment before blurting it out. “Heeseung’s staring.”

Your head snapped around so fast you almost gave yourself whiplash. And sure enough, there he was, standing at the edge of the basketball court, holding a ball loosely in one hand. He wasn’t laughing with his teammates or focused on the game. No, his eyes were locked directly on your group—or more specifically, on you.

Your friends followed your gaze, and a chorus of whispers erupted.

“Oh my god, he really is.”

“What is he doing just standing there?”

“Is it just me, or does he look like he’s debating something?”

One of them nudged you. “Okay, spill. What’s going on in his head? Did you say something to him recently? Text him?”

You shook your head quickly, still staring at Heeseung. “No, I haven’t even looked at him, let alone talked to him.”

“Then why is he staring like that?”

“I don’t know!” you said, your voice low but frantic.

Another friend tilted her head, watching him closely. “It’s not just a glance, either. He’s full-on staring. Like he’s trying to figure out if he should come over here or something.”

The thought made your stomach flip, cause there was something more intense in the way he looked at you—like he was fighting some internal battle.

“Well, whatever’s going on,” one of your friends whispered, “he’s definitely not over you.”

You turned back to your friends, trying to ignore the heat rising to your cheeks. “You guys are making this into something it’s not.”

One of them snorted. “Honey, he’s the one making it into something. Look at him.”

Against your better judgment, you glanced back at Heeseung, and your breath hitched when your eyes met his again. He didn’t look away. If anything, his gaze only grew more focused, like he wanted to make sure you knew he was looking.

You quickly turned back to your friends, forcing a tight smile. “Let’s go,” you said, grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder.

They exchanged knowing glances but didn’t argue. One of them muttered, “Good idea,” as the group began gathering their things.

As you walked away from the bench, you resisted the urge to glance back at Heeseung. Your friends stayed close, their chatter filling the air as they tried to distract you, but it was hard to shake the feeling of his eyes still on you.

When you reached the school gates, one of them broke the silence. “So… are we just going to ignore the fact that he was practically burning a hole in your back with that stare?”

“Yes,” you said firmly, your voice sharper than you intended. “We’re ignoring it.”

Another friend chuckled softly. “Okay, okay. But just so you know, he’s not ignoring you.”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair as you stepped onto the sidewalk. “Well, he’s doing a great job of pretending otherwise most of the time.”

“That’s the thing,” someone said thoughtfully. “Guys like him—they act like they don’t care, but the moment they think they’re losing you? They start doing stuff like this.”

You didn’t reply, tightening your grip on your bag as the group walked down the street. You didn’t want to talk about Heeseung anymore, didn’t want to think about the way he looked at you.

✰ ✰ ✰

It was a vicious cycle, one you hated but couldn’t seem to break. Each time you told yourself it would be the last, that you’d stop answering the door, that you wouldn’t let him in again. And yet, every time the night fell and he showed up—messy hair, glassy eyes, and a crooked smile—you found yourself giving in, letting him cross the threshold into your apartment.

Heeseung had this way of making you feel like you were the center of his world. His hands were always warm, his voice low and sweet, whispering things that made your chest ache in ways you couldn’t describe.

“Why do you do this to me?” you’d asked one night, your voice breaking as you stared up at him, your fingers tangled in his hair.

He’d only smiled, brushing his thumb against your cheek as if he didn’t have an answer, or maybe because he didn’t want to give you one. “Because I can’t stay away from you,” he’d said, his voice so soft you almost didn’t catch it.

But then morning would come, and he would vanish like a dream you couldn’t quite remember, leaving behind an empty space in your bed and a heavier one in your chest. And at school, it was always the same. His eyes would find you across the cafeteria or the hallway, and for a moment, it would feel like everything stopped. But he wouldn’t come over, wouldn’t talk to you. He’d just look.

Your friends noticed it, too, how he’d stare at you as if you were the only thing in the room, even when there were other girls around him, laughing at his jokes and vying for his attention.

“You’re letting him ruin you,” one of them said one afternoon, her voice tinged with frustration.

“I know,” you admitted, your voice hollow. “But it’s not like I can just stop.”

You wanted to hate him, for the way he seemed to pull you in only to push you away, for the way he made you feel like you were everything one second and nothing the next.

But you couldn’t. Because even though you knew it was toxic, even though you knew it was breaking you bit by bit, there was a part of you that couldn’t let go.

Because in those nights, when he looked at you like that, when he touched you like he’d fall apart if he didn’t, you felt wanted. Needed. And no matter how much it hurt afterward, you kept holding onto it, hoping that one day, he’d stop running.

It wasn’t until his friend Jake—of all people—came to talk to you that you started piecing things together. You’d been so caught up in the back-and-forth, the way Heeseung would tease you one moment and ignore you the next, that you never truly understood why. But now, hearing it from Jake, it was like a lightbulb went off in your mind.

Heeseung, despite all the other girls he flirted with, never gave them the attention he gave you. He never kissed them, never looked at them the way he looked at you.

And Jake had confirmed it. Heeseung was in love with you. Hopelessly in love, but he didn’t even know it himself. That’s why he acted the way he did. He didn’t know how to handle it, how to deal with it.

Jake had told you Heeseung was scared. He’d never felt this way about anyone before, and it terrified him. So, he’d masked it all with arrogance, with distance. But when he was drunk, then the walls came down, his real feelings would surface. That’s why he’d always show up at your door when he was intoxicated—because, in those moments, he couldn’t hide from what he truly felt for you.

You wanted to be mad at him for hiding behind that facade, for playing with your feelings. But now you understood. It wasn’t that he didn’t care about you; it was that he was so afraid of what this all meant, of what it would do to him, to both of you, that he couldn’t face it. So, he ran, and he used everything he could to keep you at arm’s length, to protect himself from being honest with you.

But knowing the truth didn’t make it hurt less. You still found yourself torn between wanting to be there for him, to help him figure it out, and wanting to protect yourself from getting hurt even more. Because at the end of the day, you were both so damn lost in this mess.

“Look, I know you’re confused. But you need to understand, Heeseung’s been a mess about this. He’s never felt anything like it before. And trust me, he doesn’t know how to handle it.”

You shook your head, trying to process everything Jake was saying. It didn’t seem to make sense. Why hadn’t he just told you? “But why does he act like he doesn’t care? Why ignore me at school like I’m nothing, and then do… all that when he’s with me?”

Jake shifted uncomfortably, knowing the weight of your words. “It’s easier for him to push you away than admit it to himself. He’s scared. He doesn’t get why he’s so into you. So he avoids it.”

You stared at him, your heart racing as everything started to fall into place. But you still had questions, things you didn’t understand. “But why doesn’t he just… talk to me? Be honest?”

Jake shrugged, his eyes softening. “He doesn’t know how to navigate this. It’s easier for him to hide behind his stupid behavior than face the truth.”

You were silent for a long moment, processing all of the information you had gotten.

When you didn`t answer, Jake let out a resigned sigh, his shoulder slumping slightly before he gave you a supportive pat on the shoulder. "You’ve got to make him talk," he said quietly, his voice filled with sympathy. "You’re the only one who can get him to open up. Just… don’t wait forever, okay?"

He gave you one last look before walking off, leaving you standing there with your heart racing in your chest, all of your emotions tangled up in knots.

Your footsteps were heavy as you walked away from the scene, feeling the weight of every question that lingered in your mind. Why did you have to talk to Heeseung? You weren’t his therapist, nor his emotional support. Wasn’t he man enough to talk to you? You clenched your fists, frustration building in your chest.

What if Jake was wrong? What if he was just trying to paint a picture that didn’t exist, feeding you some narrative to make you feel better about the mess you were in? What if you were making a fool of yourself? The thoughts spiraled, doubt flooding your mind. Every interaction with Heeseung now felt like a game you didn’t know how to play, where the rules were constantly changing and you were left scrambling to catch up.

What if you were just a sidepiece? The thought stung more than you wanted to admit, and the image of Heeseung laughing with other girls earlier flashed in your mind. He was always so charming, so easy with them, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe you were just another stop on his list, a temporary distraction, something to pass the time until someone else caught his eye.

You sighed deeply, rubbing your forehead as you made your way to your car. You wanted to be done with this—done with the confusion, the uncertainty, the constant emotional whiplash. But part of you knew it wasn’t that easy. Nothing with Heeseung ever was.

But maybe Jake was right. Maybe you could be the one to make him talk—to make him finally admit what was really going on in his head, what he was feeling. But was it worth it? Was risking your heart worth it?

You bit your lip, feeling a wave of frustration and sadness wash over you.

✰ ✰ ✰

Okay, to be fair, Heeseung had it coming. You repeated it in your mind like a mantra as you looked down at your phone, the screen lighting up with his constant calls and texts. Each one more desperate than the last, his words slurred, the grammar all over the place—clearly, he wasn’t in his right mind. The messages seemed to echo the chaos in your chest, but you refused to reply.

You stared at the phone, feeling a mix of frustration and something else—something deep and heavy that you couldn’t quite place. He had done this to himself, hadn’t he? He had made his choices, and now he had to deal with the consequences. The constant buzzing of your phone finally slowed, and you thought maybe he had given up. But then, the doorbell rang.

You froze, your stomach dropping. You crept cautiously to the door, standing there for a moment as the bell rang again and again, each chime making your heart race. The knocking started soon after, loud and urgent, but you stayed still, arms crossed, refusing to move.

You weren’t going to let him back in.

The knocking stopped suddenly, and for a moment, everything was silent. And then, through the door, you heard his voice.

“Please… please open the door…” His voice was shaky, desperate, as if he was on the verge of breaking. “I’m sorry. Please, I need you. I just… please don’t leave me like this.”

Your breath caught in your throat. This wasn’t something you were used to hearing from him. It was different.

"I need to see you... I can't stop thinking about you... Please, don't... don't shut me out, not now."

Your heart pounded in your chest as you cautiously unlocked the door, the sound of the latch clicking echoing in the silence. When the door creaked open, you were met with the sight of him sitting on the ground, his posture slumped, eyes staring at the bottle in his hand like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

As soon as he saw you, he scrambled to his feet, his movements frantic, as if he couldn't wait another second. Before you could even take a step back, his arms were around you, pulling you into an embrace that was far too tight to push him off.

You gasped in surprise, your hands instinctively pushing against his chest. "Heeseung, wait—" But your protest was quickly smothered as he held you tighter, pressing his face into the side of your neck.

“I can’t… I can’t stop thinking about you,” he mumbled, his words slurred and uneven, the alcohol clearly taking its toll. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry for everything. I didn’t mean to hurt you, I just…” His grip on you tightened, his hands shaking slightly. “Please, don’t hate me… I need you…” His voice faltered, and you could feel the tremor in his body as he clung to you like you were the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

You took a deep breath, trying to gather the words to say, but before you could form anything coherent, Heeseung’s lips were suddenly on yours. His kiss was urgent, a little sloppy, as though he was trying to drown out whatever feelings were swirling inside him. His hands tangled in your hair, pulling you closer, and you could feel the weight of his need against you.

"Stop," you whispered weakly, your hands pushing against his chest, but it did little to stop him. If anything, he just leaned in further, his lips moving with a frantic energy as he kissed you harder.

You pulled back for a moment, gasping for air, but Heeseung wasn’t letting go. His forehead rested against your neck as he breathed heavily, his lips brushing against your skin. “I need this,” he muttered, almost to himself, his voice muffled but laced with desperation. “I need you.”

You tried again, more forcefully this time, pushing him back slightly, but his grip on you tightened. “We need to talk,” you managed, your voice breaking, your hands trembling as you tried to create space between you two. “You can’t just keep doing this—coming to me when you’re drunk, acting like nothing happened—”

But Heeseung didn’t seem to hear you. His eyes fluttered closed as he kissed you again, this time a little more gently, though it still held that same desperate edge.

You couldn’t help but respond, even if you didn’t want to. Heeseung was like a drug, and you were already too far gone, as his kiss deepened and his hands roamed, you couldn’t ignore the voice in the back of your mind, reminding you that this wasn’t how things should be. You deserved more than this chaotic cycle, more than the confusion, the highs and lows.

But in that moment, you let him hold you, let him kiss you, because you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away. Not when he needed you like this, not when you still felt that pull, even though you knew it wasn’t healthy.

And when he finally pulled away, looking at you with those dark eyes full of longing, you were left breathless, conflicted, and unable to move.

✰ ✰ ✰

It was like a cruel game he played—one step forward, two steps back. After the night, when he’d clung to you, he’d returned to his old ways at school, completely shutting you out. It was as if the moment he left your apartment, the walls came back up, and he was back to pretending you didn’t exist.

You’d see him in the halls, laughing with his friends, flirting with other girls, completely ignoring you like everything that happened between you two meant nothing. It was maddening.

You tried to act like it didn’t bother you. You went through the motions, keeping your head down, focusing on your schoolwork, your friends, anything to distract yourself from the constant ache in your chest. But the more he ignored you, the more you realized just how much it hurt. And it hurt even more because you knew that he wasn’t like this because he didn’t care. He was like this because he was scared. Scared of what was between you, scared of how vulnerable it made him.

Heeseung was a complicated mess, a boy who wanted everything but feared the very thing that could make him feel whole. And you? You were stuck in this limbo, torn between wanting to confront him and just walking away before you got hurt even more.

It was exhausting.

One minute, he was the boy who couldn’t stop touching you, couldn’t stop kissing you, the one who made you feel like the only person in the room. The next minute, he was a stranger.

You were deep in thought, trying to make sense of the mess that was Heeseung, when you suddenly felt a presence beside you. Turning to your left, you saw a guy you barely knew—someone who kept to himself at school, never talking much. He was standing there, a nervous but hopeful look on his face, and before you could even react, he asked, “Hey, would you like to go out sometime? Maybe grab a coffee?”

You opened your mouth to decline, trying to find the right words that wouldn’t make him feel bad, but before you could say anything, an arm snaked around your waist, pulling you in close with surprising force.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you instinctively stiffened as you turned to see none other than Heeseung standing there. He leaned in just enough to block your view of the guy, his eyes focused on the nervous stranger.

Before you could protest or say anything, Heeseung’s voice cut through the tension, casual but firm. “She’s not interested,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

The quiet guy who had been asking you out now looked taken aback, stepping back a bit, unsure how to respond.

You couldn’t believe what was happening. Heeseung had just walked up and made it clear to someone else that you weren’t available. You wanted to say something, to protest, but you couldn’t find the words. It felt as if everything had suddenly flipped upside down.

“I—uh…” The guy stammered, clearly intimidated by Heeseung's presence. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—” He turned quickly and walked off, leaving the two of you standing there in silence.

You snapped back from the suprise and pulled away from Heeseung’s grip, your mind spinning. “What the hell, Heeseung?” you managed, your voice laced with frustration.

He didn’t say anything at first. His gaze flickered to where the guy had disappeared, and then back to you.

You stared at him, waiting for an explanation, but instead, Heeseung just stood there, his expression unreadable.

"What’s your problem, Heeseung?" you demanded, stepping back. You couldn’t contain the anger that was rising in your chest. "Why are you acting like this?"

He ran a hand through his messy hair, his eyes avoiding yours for a second. He let out a frustrated sigh before meeting your gaze. “I don’t know,” he said quietly, the words almost sounding like a confession. “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.”

Your heart sank a little, but it didn’t stop the fire that was still burning inside you. You’d had enough of this back-and-forth.

"Then figure it out," you snapped, pushing him off. "I’m not going to keep doing this, Heeseung. Get your shit together."

He didn’t say anything more, but the look in his eyes—so conflicted, so full of uncertainty—said everything.

You turned on your heel, walking away before he or you could say anything. You didn’t know if you were making the right decision, but you couldn’t keep letting him drag you around like this.

It was later that night, after you’d gotten a bit of distance and time to cool down, when you heard the familiar sound of your doorbell ringing again.

You froze for a second, unsure if you wanted to deal with him yet again, but the quiet, hesitant knock that followed told you it wasn’t the same as before. You found yourself standing by the door, hands gripping the doorknob, hesitant to open it.

When you finally did, your breath caught in your throat. There he was, but only.. not the usual version of him you were used to seeing. His eyes were red-rimmed, his face pale, and he looked... broken.

His eyes locked onto yours, and for the first time in a long time, there was no bravado. He was standing there, vulnerable, as if unsure of how to approach you after everything.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” he whispered, his voice cracking. He wiped his face with his sleeve, almost embarrassed. “I fucked up. I know I’ve been an asshole… but I needed to see you. I need to talk.”

You stood there for a moment, trying to process everything. It was hard—too hard. You’d spent so much time questioning his intentions, wondering if he even cared. Seeing him like this, so exposed, made you feel conflicted. Part of you wanted to push him away for all the hurt he’d caused, but another part of you wanted to reach out and hear him out.

“Why now?” you asked quietly, your voice betraying the frustration you’d been holding back. “Why come to me like this? After everything?”

He looked down at the ground, visibly struggling. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. “I don’t know. I’ve been running from this. From you. From how I feel. And now I’m just… lost.” His words were shaky, like he was trying to hold onto his composure but was failing. “I’ve been an idiot, and I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”

You didn’t know how to respond. Everything felt like it was happening too fast. You opened your mouth to speak, but the words wouldn’t come.

Instead he stepped closer, and for the first time, there was no arrogance in his movements, no cocky confidence. He looked genuinely lost, as if he was desperately trying to figure himself out. “I don’t know what I’m doing… but I know I want to fix it. Fix us. If you’ll let me.”

You took a step back, crossing your arms over your chest as you tried to collect your thoughts. “I don’t know what to say,” you admitted softly, your voice trembling a little with uncertainty. “You’ve been so hot and cold. One minute you’re all over me, the next you act like I’m invisible. How am I supposed to trust that this is real?”

He closed his eyes for a moment, as if he was gathering the courage to say what had been haunting him. When he spoke again, his voice was almost a whisper. “I know... I’ve been a mess. I was scared,” he confessed, his gaze softening as he looked at you. “You made me feel things I’ve never felt before. Things that… terrified me. And instead of coming to you, talking to you about it, I ran. I pushed you away, and I’m sorry for that.”

The way he was standing, so different from how he used to act, made you reconsider everything. He wasn’t hiding behind walls anymore. “I don’t want to be scared anymore,” he added quietly, his voice cracking just slightly. “I want to be with you. If you’ll allow me.”

You could feel your heart pounding in your chest as you tried to figure out what to say next. You were so unsure now, seeing him spill his heart out for you.

“I don’t feel this with anyone else,” he said softly. “No matter how hard I tried to push it down, it’s always been you. You’re the only one who makes me feel like this.” He paused for a moment, before he dropped down to his knees in front of you, taking both your hands gently in his, while his eyes never left yours. “I don’t know what I was waiting for. I was stupid, I was scared. But I know now... I love you,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I love you, and I’m sorry for making you feel like you were nothing. You’re everything to me. Please... let me prove it.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and for a long moment, all you could do was look at him, trying to process what he’d just said. You had never imagined he’d say those words, especially after everything that had happened. But now, as he knelt before you, his hands still holding yours with such gentleness, it felt different. It felt real.

Doubts still lingered, but as you looked at him—really looked at him—kneeling before you, his hands gripping yours, something inside you began to shift.

The truth was, you loved him too. Despite everything—the hurt, the confusion—you couldn’t deny that your heart ached for him. And seeing him like this, open in a way you never thought possible for him, made you realize how much you wanted to believe in him, in this. You took a slow breath, your voice barely a whisper as you spoke. “I don’t know, Heeseung…”

He didn’t pull away, didn’t try to say anything more. He just waited, his gaze never leaving yours, hopeful but patient.

You looked down at his hands still holding yours, his fingers trembling slightly. “I’ve been hurt, and I don’t want to be hurt again,” you said, your voice wavering just a little.

“I know,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ve hurt you, and I’m so sorry. But I promise, I’ll do anything to make it right. Just… let me try.”

Your heart ached at his words. And slowly, almost hesitantly, you nodded. “Okay. We can try.”

He exhaled sharply, relief flooding his features, but you could see the uncertainty still lingering in his eyes. You knew it wasn’t going to be easy, but something inside you told you that this—he—was worth trying for.

He stood up, his hands still holding yours, and pulled you gently into his arms. You let him, your body instinctively melting into his embrace. He buried his face in your hair, his breath warm against your neck.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he murmured. “I’m going to make you see that I mean it.”

Staning there in his arms, the doubts slowly began to fade. Maybe it would take time. But you felt hope stirring within you. Maybe you could try to make this work.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching yours, as if trying to read your emotions. His hand still cupped your face gently, waiting for a sign from you. "Can I kiss you?" he asked, his voice low, filled with both uncertainty and hope.

"Yes."

Without another word, his lips descended onto yours, and the kiss was everything. Deep, urgent, and filled with so much emotion that it took your breath away.

When you started to feel breathless you tried to pull away, your breath ragged, but each time you did, he followed you, his lips catching yours again, desperate, insistent. Your heart raced, and your head spun as you tried to pull back for a moment’s reprieve, but Heeseung wasn’t having it.

"Please," he groaned between kisses, his hand gripping your waist tightly. "Just—just let me…" His voice was rough, desperate, as if your lips were the only thing keeping him grounded. "I need you. You… You make my heart beat. You make everything else fade. I want to breathe you in until I can’t breathe anymore."

His words were tangled, like he couldn’t get them out fast enough, like he was trying to make you understand something, but what, exactly, you weren’t sure. His kisses grew more frantic, more needy, and despite your attempts to catch your breath, you couldn’t help but respond to him.

You finally managed to gasp out his name, your voice barely a whisper, "Heeseung... Stop, I need to breathe."

He paused for a split second, just long enough for you to catch your breath, his breathing just as erratic as yours. "I can't... can't stop," he muttered. "You're all I think about... all I want."

✰ ✰ ✰

It was funny how much things had shifted since Heeseung’s confession. You couldn’t deny the change in him. He meant every word he’d said that night, and he made sure to show you just how serious he was about being with you.

Heeseung was intense in everything he did, and his love for you was no exception. It wasn’t just in the way he looked at you, as if you were the only person in the room, or the way he clung to your hand like letting go would mean losing you. No, it was in the small things too. The way he remembered the little details about you, how he stayed up late just to make sure you got home safe from your late-night shifts, or the way he’d pepper your face with kisses whenever he thought you looked stressed.

And then, there were the nights. Heeseung had always been passionate, but now that he wasn’t holding back, it was overwhelming in the best way possible. He left no part of you untouched, no part of your heart unloved. Your skin bore the evidence of his intensity, faint marks that lingered long after his lips had moved on, a testament to just how much he adored you.

He didn’t just say he loved you; he showed it. In every kiss, every touch, every whispered word, Heeseung made sure you knew just how much you meant to him. And while it could get a little overwhelming at times, you couldn’t deny that it felt good—so good—to be loved so completely.

Heeseung's love was all-consuming, and with it came an intensity that left you breathless. He made it his mission to show you just how deeply he cared. But he never lost the playful side that made you fall for him in the first place.

He still teased you relentlessly, knowing exactly how to make your cheeks flush. “What’s that look for, baby?” he’d smirk when he caught you staring, leaning in close to whisper, “Can’t get enough of me?” His confidence was maddening, but you’d learned to give as good as you got.

Sometimes, he’d flirt with you like you were strangers meeting for the first time. “Hey, gorgeous,” he’d say, slidling up to you with a grin. “Come here often?” It didn’t matter if you were at your desk or in the middle of a crowded hallway; Heeseung always found a way to make you laugh and roll your eyes at his antics.

But then, he’d do a 360 and leave you utterly disarmed. Like the way he’d wrap his arms around your waist out of nowhere, pressing his lips to your ear to murmur, “I love you so much.” It was whiplash, the way he could go from cocky to soft in an instant, and it kept you on your toes.

Now that you had Heeseung basically wrapped around your finger, it felt empowering. He catered to you, always quick to appease your whims, and he seemed to thrive on your happiness. Whether it was picking up your favorite snacks, carrying your bag, or pampering you after a long day, Heeseung was yours—and he made sure you knew it.

But he had his limits.

There were moments when he reminded you that, while he adored you, he wasn’t completely under your control. Like when you pushed him too far with teasing, a playful remark about him being “so soft” for you turning into a challenge in his eyes.

One such night, you’d been cheeky, testing how much you could get away with. “You’ll do anything I say, won’t you?” you’d teased, a smirk playing on your lips.

Heeseung’s eyes darkened, the shift immediate. “Anything?” he repeated, voice low and laced with something that sent shivers down your spine. Before you could process, he had you pinned, his hand firm but careful as it held your wrists above your head.

“You like to push me, don’t you?” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. “Think I’m all soft and sweet?”

You didn’t have a chance to respond before he showed you just how wrong you were. Heeseung wasn’t rough in a careless way—he was calculated, controlled, and oh-so-intense. He left no room for doubt about who had the upper hand in those moments.

By the end of it, you were breathless, your legs trembling as you clung to him for support. Heeseung’s smug grin and the way he kissed your forehead tenderly afterward only made it worse.

“Still think I’m soft?” he teased, brushing a strand of hair from your flushed face.

You couldn’t even answer, too dazed to form words, which only seemed to please him more.

The next day, walking was a challenge, and Heeseung, ever the charmer, had the audacity to chuckle when you winced. “Told you there’s only so much I’ll let you boss me around,” he whispered, leaning down to press a kiss to your temple.

It was infuriating, but it was also Heeseung. And if you were being honest, you loved every second of it.

a/n: finished this while waiting for the train to come, in the snow storm :) reblogs and commentary are appreciated <33

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[rosemaryhoney27]

Ghosts, Bats, and a Jealous Witch

**Title: **Ghosts, Bats, and a Jealous Witch

Danny Fenton never thought he’d end up dating a vigilante. Sure, he’d fought alongside heroes before, but being romantically involved with one? That was new territory. And yet, here he was—standing on top of Gotham’s skyline with Cassandra Cain, better known as Black Bat, holding his hand like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Ever since meeting Cass on a Justice League mission, they’d hit it off in an unexpected way. Danny admired her strength, her quiet intensity, and the way she could read people better than anyone he’d ever met. She didn’t talk much, but she didn’t need to. When she looked at him, he felt understood in a way no one else—not even Sam or Tucker—had ever made him feel.

Sam.

That was the problem.

Danny had expected his best friends to be happy for him. Tucker was cool with it, more amused than anything. But Sam? She was fuming.

“I don’t get it,” she had said the first time she saw him with Cass. “You’re telling me you, Danny Fenton, Ghost Boy, went all the way to Gotham and came back with a girlfriend? And she’s part of the Bat family?” Her voice had dripped with disbelief and something else—something darker. “What happened to ‘not dating superheroes’? What happened to being normal?”

Danny had laughed it off at first, assuming Sam was just being protective. But over time, her attitude soured. She became passive-aggressive, throwing little barbs at Cass whenever she was around.

“You don’t even talk,” Sam had scoffed once, crossing her arms. “What do you two even do together?”

Cass had merely tilted her head, unreadable as ever, before looking at Danny. “I like him. He likes me. Simple.”

Sam had huffed in irritation and stormed off.

It wasn’t until she started trying to sabotage their relationship that Danny had enough. The final straw was when Sam tried to get Tucker to hack the Batcomputer to dig up dirt on Cass’s past. That was when Danny snapped.

“You need to stop,” he had told Sam firmly, eyes glowing green with barely restrained anger. “I don’t know if you’re jealous or if you just don’t like me being happy with someone else, but you’re being toxic. I won’t let you ruin this for me.”

Sam had stared at him, mouth open in shock, but Danny had already turned away. That was the day he realized their friendship might not survive this.

Of course, dating someone from the Bat family came with its own problems.

Cass’s family was… overprotective, to say the least.

“You’re dating a ghost,” Jason Todd had deadpanned when he first found out. “That’s somehow the least weird thing to happen in this family.”

Bruce, ever the brooding father figure, had run Danny through every possible background check known to man. Alfred, while polite, made it very clear that he would not tolerate any supernatural nonsense in the Wayne household.

Damian had tried to challenge Danny to a duel. Danny had humored him, letting the kid think he had the upper hand before phasing through the ground and appearing behind him.

“You fight well,” Damian had admitted begrudgingly. “For a ghost.”

Then there was Barbara, who had grilled Danny about his intentions for Cass as if he were under FBI interrogation. Stephanie had just winked at Cass and told her to “have fun with the hot ghost boy.”

And then there was Tim.

Tim Drake had, in true detective fashion, locked eyes with Danny and said, “If you break her heart, I will find a way to exorcise you.”

Danny had gulped.

Despite the Bat family’s initial hesitation, they eventually warmed up to him (or at least tolerated him). Cass was happy, and that was all that mattered.

As for Sam? Well… she had made her choice. And Danny had made his.

“Ready?” Cass asked, standing on the edge of a rooftop, waiting for him to join her.

Danny smiled, taking her hand before they leapt into the Gotham night. “Always.”

[ponderingmoonlight]

jealousy jealousy... x Sanemi

“Hey, you’re not sneaking off without saying anything to me, are you?”

You turn to find Uzui Tengen standing there, arms crossed, a smirk playing on his lips. His towering frame and flamboyant outfit somehow seem even more striking in the dim light of the room.

“Good evening, Lord Tengen,” you reply, offering a polite nod.

He waves off the formal title with an exaggerated motion.

“Ah, drop the ‘Lord’ already. I’ve told you, it makes me sound old. Just Tengen-sama will do.”

You give a small, respectful smile.

“Old? I wouldn’t say that.”

His smirk deepens.

“Careful, or I’ll start thinking you’re calling me handsome again.”

“I didn’t call you that,” you reply evenly, though there’s a lightness in your tone that makes his grin grow wider.

“Well, not yet, but the day’s still young,” he quips, leaning slightly closer.

“I mean, let’s be honest, don’t I brighten up the place just a little?”

“You do have a presence,” you admit tactfully.

“See? That’s why I like talking to you. Always so honest.”

His tone is teasing, but there’s a glint in his eyes that shows he’s definitely enjoying himself with all pairs of eyes set on both of you. No wonder, given the fact that Uzui Tengen straight up flirts with the strongest female hashira in the room.  

“You’re not like the others who just brush me off. It’s refreshing.”

You glance at him, unbothered but feeling the heat of his gaze. He’s not playing and you know it. If it was for Tengen, you’d be his fourth wife already.

You’ve got your eyes set on someone else, though.

“I’m just being polite, Tengen.”

“Polite, huh?”

He chuckles, crossing his arms and tilting his head.

“Well, polite or not, you’ve got my attention.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you say with a small bow.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me for a moment, I need to take care of something.”

Tengen steps aside, dramatically gesturing for you to go.

“Don’t be gone too long. I’ll be here, waiting for your polite company.”

You shake your head lightly, hiding the faintest smile as you leave. It’s hard to tell if he’s always this persistent or if it’s just you, but at least he keeps things… interesting.

“What the hell was that, you clown?” Sanemi stands as soon as you leave the room, arms crossed, scowl firmly in place.

His eyes flick toward the door you just exited through before fixing back on Tengen. Who does this guy think he is? Straight up flirting with you like that. You, the only woman on earth he himself actually admires.

Tengen raises a brow, feigning innocence.

“What was what, exactly?”

Sanemi’s glare intensifies, hands now balled into tight fists.

“Don’t play dumb. Flirting with her like that. You think you’re being clever?”

The sound of muffled laughter breaks the tension. Rengoku is the first to speak, his voice loud and cheerful as ever.

“Ah, so that’s what this is about! Shinazugawa’s looking a little green. Isn’t jealousy unbecoming for a Hashira?”

“Jealous?!”

Sanemi’s face flushes, a mix of indignation and embarrassment. What the hell is that guy talking about? Him, jealous?

“Like hell I am!”

Tengen’s smirk widens, clearly enjoying this far too much.

“Oh, now it makes sense. You’ve got a soft spot for her, don’t you?”

“Shut it. You’re always sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong”, Sanemi growls, his knuckles tightening.

“I don’t know, Shinazugawa, you didn’t exactly claim her,” Tengen replies smoothly, leaning forward slightly.

“And she didn’t seem to mind the attention. Polite as ever. Maybe she prefers my company.”

“That’s enough,” Giyuu chimes in from the side, his tone calm but clearly suppressing a faint smile.

“You’re just provoking him now.”

Mitsuri, sitting nearby, clasps her hands together, her face lightens up in sheer excitement.

“It’s kind of sweet, though, isn’t it? I mean, Sanemi getting all worked up… it’s almost cute!”

Sanemi’s glare shifts to Mitsuri, his face burning red.

“I’m not worked up! And it’s not cute!”

The room erupts into scattered laughter, with even Rengoku clapping his hands together, declaring something about “young hearts.” Sanemi, clearly at his limit, looks ready to explode, but before he can bark another retort, the door slides open, and you step back inside.

The room falls quiet for a split second before Mitsuri quickly calls out.

“Oh! (Y/N), you’re back!”

Her voice is far too cheerful, like she’s trying to cover something up.

You glance around, sensing the tension in the room. Sanemi looks away sharply, his face still tinged with redness, while Tengen just flashes you an overly friendly grin.

“Did I… miss something?” you ask cautiously.

Tengen waves a hand, his tone light.

“Nothing important. Just Shinazugawa being his usual charming self.”

Sanemi shoots him a glare but says nothing, instead turning his attention to the far wall. The others exchange amused glances, but no one offers you a straight answer.

You decide not to press further, though the awkwardness in the air is almost palpable. Instead, you take your seat, pretending not to notice how Sanemi keeps sneaking glances at you out of the corner of his eye.

[damiansgoodgirll]

OK I found it! (No rush what’s so ever BUT!)

(During Roman’s tribal chief era.)

!Female Reader always had a crush on Roman, but was always too scared to ask him out.

One night during a match Kevin Owens costs her the match, (kinda like how Dom cost Raquel that one time) (you can pick between who ever is on the smackdown roster to have reader up against but it’s also not really required if you don’t want to.)

And basically the bloodline, mainly Roman goes to readers rescue, cause beef with Kevin.

(I know it’s not really…LIKE Roman to do something like that because he’s the tribal chief, but I feel like it would be a nice concept idea.)

Idk just fluff and adorable and what ever cause Roman… LMAO.

sorry it took me so long writing this but i’ve never written for roman and i had no idea on how to start 😭 i hope you like it + the timeline doesn’t really exist here lol

roman reigns x reader

likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated

‼️nothing major, hurt/comfort, angry roman, some fluff too, kevin owens is mean here sorry

my weakness

everyone loved roman. yes, he played the big mean guy part and he was definitely good at it but deep down you knew that he cared. he cared for his family, his cousins, the fans, he even cared about his opponents while in the ring. deep down you knew he had a big heart and he was a kind person who pretended to be the bad one.

and maybe it was because of his big mean yet kind personality you caught feelings for him.

it’s not that you were big friends - you had a closer relationship with the usos and your shy personality made it harder for you to get to know him better.

but there were times when you and roman spent some time alone. at the gym, training before a big match or backstage, his presence was nice and even if you didn’t speak much, you enjoyed being around him even if the only present sound was the silence.

unbeknownst to you, roman always admired you. he adored your quite presence. when everyone was noisy around him, he found comfort in your silence. your presence was enough for him.

and his admiration for you didn’t go unnoticed backstage but everyone kept quiet, too scared the tribal chief would get mad if someone said something and they know better to not upset him.

all the locker room knew about that. the saw how roman was nice in your presence but mean with everyone else and even if it made you laugh, you never thought more about that.

even if you had no real beef with anymore backstage, somehow kevin picked you as a main target just to made roman even angrier.

it was going all good on friday night smackdown and you had a match against tiffany - if you won over her, you would get a title shot against nia and after being in the industry for over five years with little to no titles opportunities, you were ready to take it all.

it was your moment to shine, to prove everyone that you deserved to be the women’s champion.

what you didn’t see coming was kevin owen running towards the ring the moment you almost pinned tiffany. you almost had it. but you got distracted by him running and tiffany saw that as an opportunity to stand up and hit you in the back.

you were kinda surprised to see kevin there, why was he even there? he barely talked with you backstage and you pretty sure he wasn’t there to help tiffany as he had no business with her either.

feeling pain in your back, you tried to take back control inside the ring but when kevin got closer to the metal stairs, you and the blonde woman both turned your head towards him.

“what are you doing?” you almost screamed, definitely irritated that he was there to ruin your moment “get down kevin…”

but he stood there, watching the way you and tiffany kept fighting. for the second time that night you had the chance to pin tiffy down but you were too close to the cords and nonchalantly kevin put tiffany’s leg over them.

“what the heck! kevin!” you screamed, even angrier now. you were pretty sure you did him no harm so why was he ruining your moment like that?

at this point you were tired and in pain. kevin was trying to sabotage you and you didn’t know if you had the strength to pin tiffany down for a third time.

meanwhile backstage roman was getting ready for his interview later that night and he had no idea what was happening in the ring. he knew you had a match and he was dying to see it but jimmy forced him to repeat his lines for the interview and he was missing all of your match, until jey came to the tribal chief private locker room and asked him if he knew why was kevin ruining your moment.

roman scrunched his nose, trying to elaborate what his cousin just told him “what did you say?” his tone hard.

“kevin is costing y/n’s title opportunity man, i didn’t even know those two had beef” jey uso repeated.

his words making roman’s blood boil “they don’t” he simply said before he left his changing room.

you fought with every single bone in your body. your head was spinning, your back was killing you and you were tired but you wanted that title opportunity so you kept fighting and for the third time that night you had the chance to pin tiffany down, only for kevin to grab you by the leg and drag your body away from the blonde one.

you couldn’t understand. you really couldn’t.

was it in the script and no one told you?

was your career so pathetic that superiors wanted you out of any title opportunity and instead of telling you, they sent kevin?

your mind was spinning so fast and even faster when your teary eyes met kevin’s eyes. somehow you knew he felt guilty about what he was doing to you and yet he kept going on, dragging your body out of the ring.

you had no strength left so you laid there, hearing the bell ringing, letting tiffany win, and you lose, again.

the crowd erupted in boos, especially since everyone was waiting for your match and cheering for you.

you still laid there, trying to catch your breath again when you suddenly heard the crowd going apeshit.

a very mad roman reigns was running towards kevin owens and punched him right in the face. you quickly stood up, surprised he was even there.

you stood by the ring, a hand behind your back as you tried to catch your breath once again. jimmy and jey coming to your rescue as you all watched roman dragging kevin inside the ring “your beef is with me, now with her…you’re gonna pay for this” he whispered, almost as a promise before leaving the ring.

the crowd was cheering, thinking that it was all part of a script and some even thought that you were going to join the bloodline but you honestly had no idea what was happening.

you saw roman waking towards you, his eves never leaving your body “you okay?” he asked but you were too confused that didn’t even answer “let’s get you backstage…” and for the first time you saw the twins walking in front of him as. roman’s hand gently moved to your back as he helped you walking away from the scene.

medical staff checked you out and luckily you had nothing broken. you were just in a big uncomfortable pain.

roman brought you to his changing room, telling jey and jimmy to go somewhere else as he wanted to speak with you - alone.

“are you okay y/n?” he asked once you sat down on his couch.

“yeah, i think so…” your voice trembled. you definitely weren’t okay. you didn’t even know what happened in the last thirty minutes. your brain couldn’t comprehend it.

“you’re not okay…come here” he gently sat next to you and engulfed you in his big arms. you didn’t even realise you started crying. soft whimpers left your body as roman stroked his hand over your back “kevin is gonna pay for what he did” he said with stern voice.

you looked up at him, quickly wiping your tears away “i don’t think i’ve ever been mean or rude to him, why would he cost me the only title opportunity i’ve been given in five years?” you said mostly to yourself.

“because of me…” roman didn’t want to confess. he didn’t want to ruin the little friendship you two had.

your look quite confused “you?”

“yeah me…” he took a deep breath “because the men in the locker room know…”

“they know what?” you couldn’t understand what he was trying to say.

“that you’re my weakness…” he tried to avoid your look as you watched him with big eyes “you’re my weakness, i never felt like this and they know it…they know i have feelings for you but no one ever said anything…except for kevin, who thought that ruining your moment was okay…he did it because of me, he probably feels like shit knowing that he fucked you up but he got my reaction, he pissed me off and that was his goal” he exhaled once he was finished.

you stayed there, trying to assemble what roman just told you. he liked you, kevin used you to piss roman off and roman defended you, because, again, he had feelings for you.

“you have feelings for me?” you whispered, fearing that if you said it out loud it would have been fake.

“yes…”

“you, the roman reigns, the tribal chief, you have feelings for me?” you whispered again, making roman chuckle this time “am i dreaming? that’s the only possible explanation, i am dreaming…”

his strong voice chuckled again “i promise you that you’re more than awake…”

“why didn’t you say anything about it? we could have avoided a lot of silence conversations…” you asked.

“because i didn’t know, i still don’t know what the outcome of my confession is…i didn’t want to lose you and in all honesty i loved being in your silent comforting presence” he smiled, making you smile back.

you looked at him, trying to find any sign that he was lying but when you find none, you moved closer to rest your lips upon his bigger ones. it was a soft kiss, the both of you testing the waters.

“this would have been the outcome if you told me earlier…” you whispered against his lips, making him laugh.

the title opportunity long forgotten when roman gently moved you over his lap and deepened the kiss.

“i can’t believe you like me…” you whispered, too stunned to believe what just happened.

“i’ve been liking you since you joined the roster…i should have said something earlier…” he said softly while his hand softly stroked your cheek “but i’m glad i did it now…” he kissed you back feeling you smile against his lips.

after a couple of minutes of softly making out, you both got distracted by the twins knocking on roman’s door.

“not now” he said, a stern voice while you tried not to laugh.

“we just wanted to remind you of the interview…” jimmy voice said and you felt romantic scoffing, clearly annoyed to be doing that interview.

“i’ll be out in five” he screamed back and began to kiss you again when he felt the twins walking away from his locker room.

“as much as i love this, you have work to do…” you reminded him, getting an annoyed look by him.

moving back to sitting on the couch, you let roman getting ready as you admired him. he smirked feeling your look on him, especially when you tried to look away.

“i promise you, you’ll get your title opportunity back and no one will interfere this time, you have the bloodline protection, that’s a promise” he said, promising you.

of course you believed him - you knew how important he was in the game and he knew that if he asked hunter for a little favour, he wouldn’t say no.

“once i’m done with my interview, i’ll come back here and then we’ll finish what we started, back at my hotel” he smirked again before leaving the room.

you watched him leave, not being able to answer back. your mouth agape at the idea of spending even more time with roman - maybe, after all, it wasn’t a bad night.

[blainesebastian]

yes is a world

word count: 8,043 ship: Nick Leister x reader rating: NC-17 (for some smut, suggestive sexual language and expletives) summary: Nick rarely finds himself saying no to you, but there is one instance in which he does. notes: title is from 'love is a place' by e.e. cummings. gifs are from this gifpack! i also have a nick leister x reader masterlist here! notes 2: mentions of domestic abuse between reader's parents

Everything about Nick Leister screams yes, you noticed that the moment you met him. 

It’s in the firm lines of his body, broad shoulders, toned waist. The way he wears rings on his hands, his hands in general. It’s how he holds himself, it’s in his well-placed smiles and the curved syllables of his accent. This is someone who knows how to get exactly what he wants, when he wants it. When you first met him, you remember thinking that this was someone who was rarely told no. At first, you thought he was a spoiled brat, silver-spoon engraved with the word yes tipped into his mouth since birth. 

You couldn’t have been more wrong about that, about him, but it takes barriers coming down and masks removed to see that. 

It takes a long time to wriggle through the cracks, for Nick to trust you. A friendship between shared circles sprouts into something else, mutual attraction, an easiness that was somehow not there before. Or perhaps it’s always been there, just transformed into something else. Nick has always been someone who’s touchy; you’ve teased him that it’s his love language—hands brushing fingers, your lower back, dragging across your shoulders, playing with your hair, or rubbing up and down your spine. But him talking in a way that mattered? Sharing things? It was always one-sided. 

You’ve shared and gave and pried yourself open, and Nick’s always listened, been there for you, supported and protected you. But there was never a moment in which he cracked his ribs open either, shared vulnerabilities, until—

Seated on a small swatch of roof outside your bedroom window, you tug a blanket further around your shoulders. You and Nick are just hanging out, watching the dark clouds move across the midnight sky, attempting to count stars. It’s been a long fucking week of parties and obligations and…sometimes that’s fun? Other times it’s exhausting. 

He’s seated close enough that you can feel the heat of his body alongside your own, smell his cologne and something purely him. You glance at him out of the corner of your eye and are kinda dumbfounded, all over again, by how beautiful he is. 

“You know what’s weird?” You ask. 

“That you insist on putting peanut butter on Oreos?” He volleys back, a twinge to his lips as you scoff. 

“I regret sharing that culinary masterpiece with you,” You don’t, “But no. I fucking hate my birthday.” 

Nick doesn’t say anything, but knows your birthday is at the end of the month. 

You tip your head back, eyes following a few stars that get stuck under moving clouds, “I know it’s bizarre. But I just—I feel like every year I’m supposed to be different, or something? One year older and I end up just feeling exactly the same.” 

You’re not sure if it makes sense or if it’s just some sort of deep-seated insecurity that’s been passed on from your parents to you. They’re not divorced, but they should be. They’re not fucking happy. And yet every year passes and things stay the same. You think most kids would be thrilled that their parents were sticking it out together, not cutting up a marriage. Except they’re not trying to work together or figure out how to fix things. 

They’re just making it worse. 

Nick’s hand brushes over your back in silent comfort and when he turns his head, he brushes his lips into your hair. 

You shake your head, trying to clear the sourness from sticking to the bottom of your ribs, attempting to change the subject. “Anyways,” You mutter, straightening your shoulders, “How’s Maddie?” He went to visit her this past weekend and while he didn’t say much about it, you’re hoping he had a good time. You know how much she means to him. 

When Nick stills beside you, you steal a glance at him and can see that he’s upset. There’s a muscle working in his jaw, brown eyes clouded over and…

“You don’t have to tell me.” You assure him, because obviously whatever happened is bad enough to cause this visceral reaction. 

You don’t expect him to say anything, his body is so tightly wound up in what feels like the word ‘no’, and yet—

Nick draws in a slow breath into his lungs, swallowing before— “I can’t see Maddie for her birthday.” 

Fuck. That’s next week. Your eyebrows draw together in soft confusion, trying to figure out how this happened. Nick’s been to a few parties, sure, just like anyone else in their friend group has…but he’s been really good, meticulous, about not involving himself in anything that could get him into trouble. He hasn’t stepped foot in a bare-knuckle boxing match or a racing event in a long while. Not even just to watch. 

You shift just a little to face him, “I don’t understand, what did your mom say?” 

Nick holds your gaze but he doesn’t reply, just licks his lips. Your eyes search his until they land on a fading bruise on his cheekbone and oh…oh fuck. 

“It’s my fault.” 

“It is not.” Nick counters, making you scoff out a soft sound. 

“You wouldn’t have that bruise if it wasn’t for me.” 

When some guy grabbed your ass at a party, Nick shoved him so hard he tumbled into a table. Before you could get in the middle, assure Nick that you were fine and that maybe it was best to leave, the guy got up and suckerpunched with a sloppy fist at Nick’s face.

“My actions are my own.” He replies, his hand slipping into your own and squeezing your fingers. 

“Which you wouldn't have done if it weren’t for me.” 

“And I’d do it again.” Nick counters, finality in his tone. 

You can’t help but sigh, frustrated for him. Knowing Nick, when his mother assumed he was doing something troublesome thanks to the bruise on his face, he never tried to correct her, refusing to drag you into it. 

Well. You can drag yourself into it. “I’m gonna talk to your mom, tell her what actually happened.” You tell him, “And before you start—‘my actions are my own’.” You parrot his words back to him, looking pleased as hell at the look on his face. 

Surprise, maybe, amusement definitely. His lips twitch into an almost smile at your determination. He doesn’t tell you no or try to talk you out of it. But he does lean over and kiss your cheekbone. 

—

That’s the first time that Nick finds himself unable to say no to you. And it’s not the last. 

—

Nick stares long and hard at the ball of wriggling fur in the center of his comforter, one of his hands coming up to rub the lower half of his face. 

“It’s a cat,” You smile, opening your hands wide and motioning to the orange, striped little thing with honeysuckle colored eyes that’s playing with a loose string on a blanket, “Or well…a kitten, I guess, is more specific.” 

His eyes flit up to yours before looking back down, “I know what it is, why is it on my bed?” 

“Because the floor is cold?” 

“Y/N.” He sighs out, slightly exasperated, which causes your lips to pout. 

“Oh come on,” You sit down on the edge of his bed, “I found him outside in the garbage. Someone threw him away.” And you’re trying not to sound hysterical here—the thought that someone could just toss a baby kitten, or any animal for that matter, into the trash if they didn’t want it—you shake your head. 

No need to cry. The kitten is going to be just fine. You smile a little as it rolls on its back, catching his own tail. 

“And you brought him here?” 

Your eyes flicker up to your boyfriend. You haven’t been together for very long but if Nick knows anything about you, it’s your soft spot for animals. This should not be a surprise to him. 

“I can’t keep him at my house—my parents would flip. And they’re already miserable, they don’t need the help.” 

“I don’t like cats.” Nick replies, the tone of his voice leaving little room for nonsense. 

You tilt your head at him, crossing your arms over your chest. Since when? “You’ve never told me that.” 

The orange kitten gets up and wobbles on its four legs to wander towards Nick…except he’s moving too fast and nearly does a nose-dive off the bed. Nick’s reflexes are fast, catching the fluffy ball in his hands and lifting him up and holding him against his chest. The kitten squirms but then starts to bat at the strings of his hoodie. Your lips curl up in soft amusement and Nick opens his mouth to say something but doesn’t. 

Instead, he sneezes, right into his shoulder, barely turning his head in time. He blinks, like it caught him by surprise but then the next one doesn’t. He hands you the kitten, moving towards his bathroom, and your mouth forms a soft ‘O’ as you get up and follow him. 

Leaning against the doorframe as he blows his nose, you raise your eyebrows, “You’re allergic?” You had no idea. A soft, entertained noise leaves your lips as the kitten reaches for a strand of your hair and Nick sniffles. 

You give him an innocent wince as he takes a step towards you, gazing at the kitten like it’s personally offended him somehow. Well, it was a nice try. “I’ll take him to Jenna’s, maybe she can keep him.” 

You look down at the kitten and give him a soft smile, scratching underneath his chin. Nick tips his head back, sighing audibly, before gently taking the kitten back into his hands. He moves to sit down on his bed, leaning against the headboard as he watches the orange little thing play with the silver bracelet around his wrist. 

“We’re naming him Garfield.” 

You grin—we. You move to sit down next to his legs. The name Garfield is perfect. 

—

Nick has to start taking daily allergy pills but he never complains. He starts feeding Garfield special treats right from his hands, sitting on the floor with him. And you kiss him a little harder and longer for that. 

—

You rarely allow yourself to get drunk when you’re out at the club with Nick and your circle of friends. It’s not that you look down on it, or anything, it’s just that you know your hangovers are the fucking worst. There’s no in-between to how it treats you the next day (sometimes in the middle of the night). You’re either completely fine, or god awful sick—nauseous, headaches, body aches and promises that you will never allow yourself to get so shit-faced again. Until you inevitably do. 

Tonight is one of those nights. You’ve pushed past your limits. You’re not incredibly sloshed, or anything; you’ve ironically always been a rather respectable drunk. Just enough of your wits about you to brush your teeth and text your mom that you’re okay before passing out. But the room is definitely spinning and your heart is beating in tandem with the music pulsing through the speakers onto the dance floor. 

Nick isn’t as far gone as you, just toeing the line of buzzed and seeing everything rose-colored, a state in which you probably should have kept yourself at but it was someone’s birthday at the bar. Everyone close by got a shot. Then Lion ordered another round. And then another. That on top of the two mixed drinks you already had. 

You’re off the dance floor, waiting at the bar, leaning against the edge of it. Nick has created a cage around you with his arms, body pressed against your back. You bop your head to the beat, chewing on a straw, waiting for the bartender to free up. 

“We should get another shot,” Jenna declares, finding a stool to slide onto. 

Your eyes widen as you turn to look at her because suddenly that sounds like a great idea, “Yes.” You wave your arm a little, attempting to grab the attention of the bartender, “Sir!” 

Nick reaches up for your hand, lacing his fingers with yours and tucking it down against your body. You rotate to face him. 

“How am I supposed to get the bartender’s attention if I don’t have a hand to wave?” 

He presses a kiss to the bridge of your nose, making you melt a little. “How bout some water instead?” 

You pout, jutting out your lower lip. You can’t hear Nick laugh but you can feel it, that tell-tale rumble in his chest. “No, no, just one more—one more.” You hold up the finger of the number in case he’s confused. 

He shakes his head but he’s smiling, his hand now curling around that one too. “One more,” He relents, “Then water.” 

Grinning, triumphant, you turn to Jenna and call out one more, making her cheer. You lean over Nick’s arm and wrap yours around your friend’s shoulders, a set of giggles capturing you both as Lion orders the shots. Your boyfriend doesn’t let go of you, helping you remain balanced and upright as you tip that final shot back into your mouth. 

—

Drinking water until you leave the club, while needed, unfortunately does not restore your equilibrium. You don’t remember going home with Nick, or him helping you out of your shoes and dress, or taking your makeup off, or helping you crawl into bed. All you remember is the sour taste of shots in the back of your throat as a sharp pain in your stomach wakes you out of a dead sleep. 

Glancing over at Nick, he’s asleep on his stomach, his one arm stretched out near his head along the pillows. He’s beautiful when he sleeps, though you suppose that shouldn’t be surprising. His eyelashes rest gently against his cheek, his back rising and falling as he breathes—and a twinge of amusement battles out your nausea as you see Garfield tucked into Nick’s neck, purring. You brush your fingers through his curls and shift to carefully pull the covers back, moving as quickly as you can to the bathroom. 

Your knees barely hit the floor before you’re vomiting into the toilet. It’s all liquid, which unfortunately does not make you feel any better as your stomach lurches its contents forward. Until there’s nothing left but dry heaves. 

You feel him before you hear him, the measured steps of Nick’s feet against the marbled floor. He then crouches down next to you in a pair of sweatpants, no shirt. The heat of his body feels nice alongside your own given the way you’re shaking in a cold sweat. He carefully gathers your hair up, holding it with one hand as the other rubs down your back. 

You cough, trying to get yourself to stop gagging long enough to breathe deeply in through your nose. Your eyes slip shut, focusing on Nick’s calm breathing, his hands massaging your spine. When you seem to be done, and god—you really hope you are, you close the toilet lid and Nick reaches to flush the toilet. 

“Never let me insist on one more shot.” 

Nick smirks a little, as if you could be told what to do—you know he’d never do that anyways, but he leans forward and helps you up off the floor. He sets you on the closed toilet seat, Garfield trotting into the bathroom like he owns the place. He’s getting a little bigger, chasing Nick’s shadow on the floor as your boyfriend wets a washcloth in the sink and brings it back over. He crouches in front of you, gently tipping your chin up. 

“On second thought, never let me drink ever again.” You mumble. 

He wipes the sweat off your cheeks, forehead and the sides of your neck. “Yes ma’am.” He teases, focused on the task at hand. Garfield attempts to crawl up Nick’s leg by using his sweatpants as leverage. That kitten is obsessed with him…though, you suppose you can relate. 

When he’s done, he tosses the washcloth towards the hamper, picking Garfield up and standing to his full height. “You gonna get sick again?” 

You try to suss out how you feel. Definitely not as terrible as before when you first woke up but…still kinda queasy. No reason for him to stick around though when he could go back to sleep. 

“I dunno, you mise well leave me here to die.” 

Nick smiles, rolling his eyes before returning to the bedroom. You sigh softly, standing from the toilet to at least wash the taste from your mouth with some mouthwash. You then settle on the floor in front of the glass shower, using the door to prop your back up. Your eyes slip closed for a moment, only opening again when you hear Nick come back into the bathroom. 

You expected him to crawl back into bed but instead he…he places Garfield into your hands and sets the one pillow down that was under his arm, then encourages you to sit up while he places the other behind you. He sits down, his thigh pressed into yours, spreading out the comforter over both your legs. 

You should not be getting so emotional about this man creating a makeshift bed in the bathroom. You can’t find the words to explain, either, behind what feels like cotton in your throat. So you lean your head on his shoulder instead as Garfield curls up on your lap. 

—

Your entire body is trembling as you lay back on your sheets, tired, sated, pleasure swirling as it licks at your nerve endings. Nick’s on top of you, inside of you, no one moving as you both come down from your high. Your throat is dry as you swallow, but fuck, you wouldn’t move for anything. He tips his chin down, nipping at your jawline, leaning up just a little to put weight on his arms so he doesn’t crush you. 

“Don’t—” You mumble, hooking a leg around his own, “Don’t move.” 

He smirks softly, his hand moving to tangle itself in your hair, “Weren’t two orgasms enough?” He asks, cheeky little shit. 

“You tell me,” You whisper against his mouth, rolling your hips up to meet his. Your body clenches around his cock and you can feel him stir with interest again, pressing against that deep spot inside you that makes your toes curl. 

Just one more. Nick leans down and nips at your lower lip with his teeth, shifting so he can use momentum to thrust forward. He swallows your moan, turning the kiss into something deeper. 

One more—and who’s Nick to deny you of that?

—

You’ve known Nick a long time, friends far before you were together. Because of that, you know that you can read one another fairly well. Even though you tend to wear your emotions right on your face, heart on your sleeve, he’s always been rather attuned to you. Nick, however, takes a bit longer to figure out. Anyone who doesn’t know him well would miss small signs when something is wrong. He keeps people at a distance on purpose, never letting anyone close enough to get a good look at him, to realize he’s wearing a mask. 

But you know. 

It takes a little while to spot it with a trained eye, but there’s a tightness to his shoulders, his smile a little too forced, his body coiled tight with tension. When you touch him underneath his jacket, you can feel it in the muscles of his back, the way he doesn’t relax into you like he usually does. The way he avoids your gaze. 

He’s upset about something. 

You’re almost certain that’s why he picks a fight with Lion in the middle of this party that you’re at. He’s been short and a little rude all night, but sometimes, admittedly, that’s just how Nick is. He’s a hothead, he sometimes says things without considering consequences. But tonight feels different, you watch him carefully, like he’s a powder keg ready to explode. 

You and Jenna both get in the middle of an impending fist fight and you drag Nick outside until he’s forced to get into his car and take you home with him. You’re hoping that the tension will dissipate by the time you walk into his bedroom, but unfortunately it gets worse. You wrap your arms around yourself, watching as he begins to undress, removing his leather jacket. 

“You gonna tell me what that was all about?” 

“Think it was quite obvious, I'm tired of Lion dragging me into his messes.” His accent is slightly thicker than usual because he's agitated, running both hands through his curls, “And you don't need to defend him, he's got a girlfriend for that.” 

Your eyebrows lift, “I'm on your side.” You say it a bit slowly, pointedly, because clearly whatever he's wound up about is not Lion. 

He scoffs, tugging his shirt over his head to toss in the hamper near his bathroom, “Right. That why you were hanging on him all night? That’s you being ‘on my side’?” 

You draw in a careful breath, looking away from him. Not because you feel like you’re embarrassed, in the wrong, or because you have something to hide. But because Nick is trying to hurt you, he’s trying to push you away. 

And you’re not going to let him. 

“Now all of a sudden you’re upset when we all dance with eachother?” You ask, trying to point out the faults in his so-called argument. 

A tight-knit circle of you and Lion, Nick and Jenna drinking on the makeshift dance floor. Consistently spinning and interchanging couples and…you didn’t think anything of it. It’s something the four of you have always done. Tonight was no different. You didn’t touch Lion in a way that could be construed as anything other than friends, and he was a perfect gentleman with his hands. He’s in love with Jenna. 

You refuse to call Nick ridiculous or begin some sort of name-calling back and forth because that’ll just make things worse. You are not the one that Nick’s upset with. 

You center yourself, squeezing around your midsection, “I know you’re frustrated that Lion pulls you into things without asking, but—”

“He’s not the only one who does that.” Nick interrupts, his words wrapped in barbed wire. 

You lift your chin, “You’re saying I do that too?” 

“Well I couldn’t explain a bruised face to my mother and now I own a cat I never wanted.” 

Fucking ouch. You can tell the exact moment when his words land and the gentle regret in his eyes, his breathing a little heavy. He suddenly glances away and you try to ignore the tingling at the bridge of your nose. You’re not going to cry in front of him, you know he’s yanking on insecurities of ‘what if’s, trying to grasp at anything that’s not the real problem. 

You smooth your hands over nonexistent wrinkles in your shirt, “Alright, when you’re ready to talk to me about what’s really bothering you, I’ll be in the living room.” 

You only let tears slip down your cheeks when you’re far away from his bedroom. 

—

You curl up on the couch downstairs, taking your jeans off and pulling on one of Nick’s hoodies that you find on the back of the chair in the kitchen. Angry at him or not, the man still has comfortable clothes that are hard to resist. 

Frustration sits heavily in your lungs, making your chest hurt. You know that sharing things that hurt isn’t always the easiest of things. You’ve been there. It’s difficult to trust people, especially when they have a habit of letting you down. You know have struggled with that before—not just with one another, but in your own lives with your family. You feel like you’ve tried to promise yourself that it’d be different with Nick, that despite patterns of predictability, that you’d both work on letting the other in. 

Or was that just something you made up for yourself that night on the roof? 

You hope your boyfriend will take those steps forward even when it’s hard, that yes, he’ll come talk to you about what’s really going on. 

But he doesn’t show. 

—

At some point you must fall asleep, because the next thing you know, you’re rolling over onto your back and trying to adjust your eyes to…Nick. Nick seated by your hip, his one arm resting on the other side of you. You can tell that he’s showered, a warm hue to his skin and his hair slightly damp, dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt. There’s an inward curl to his shoulders though that makes him appear smaller than usual. 

“What time is it?” You croak out, clearing your throat. You sit up a little, leaning against the arm of the couch. 

“Just after two,” He says softly and it’s quiet for a moment as you sit with one another. 

You watch him carefully, the way he holds himself. You can see him clamp down on an emotion so he can speak, though his voice is slightly strained when he says, 

“Fuck, I’m sorry—about what I said upstairs. I—”

You shake your head, your hand reaching for his. You squeeze, running your thumb back and forth over his knuckles, “I know.” It doesn’t matter. What does matter is that he’s down here, trying to talk to you. 

“Nick,” You say gently after a moment, “What’s wrong?” 

Nick swallows, letting out a long breath as his eyes fill with unshed tears. It guts you, punches you right in the chest, seeing him like this, struggling with being able to talk about his emotions. He’s got them so tightly under lock-and-key, so buried underneath himself that he’s not sure how to let them out easily, which is how it ends up like this. A dam breaking open. 

“It’s—this is the day my mum left when I was younger, and I don’t know—I guess I think each year will get better, feel different. It never does.” He sniffles, quickly rubbing his cheek against his shoulder, “And I know she’s worked hard on herself, why she had to leave—and yet I’m still so angry with her. And that feels awful too.” 

Your chest splits wide open, hurting that he’s hurting. You sit up, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, encouraging him to lean into you. He’s tense for a long few moments before he melts, lets go, his arms sliding along your back and holding onto you tightly, like a lifeline. You can feel his face press into your shoulder, tears wetting your skin, dragging a ragged breath in as you stroke his back while your other hand threads into his curls. 

You hold him until he’s ready to pull away. 

—

A few days pass and you don’t bring up what Nick said to you about his mother. There’s no need to break it down further—what he was feeling, what he probably still is feeling, is valid. You’re not sure that one conversation is going to fix everything, but you hope he knows that someone is there for him, someone to listen. Someone to hold his hand next year when those ugly feelings visit his doorstep once again. 

Nick apologizes to Lion, who tells him it’s not a big deal, that it’s already forgotten. You’re just glad things return to as normal as they can around here. 

You dive under the water in Nick’s pool, kicking underneath until your lungs burn a little for oxygen. When you make your way to the surface, Nick is coming out from around the hedges in a red swim trunks and a white t-shirt. 

“Got something for you.” He says, motioning for you to get out of the pool. 

“Is it ice cream?” You call out, floating on your back towards the ledge to exit, “Cause I love ice cream.” 

“Easy to please, I’ll remember that for next time.” He teases, setting some towels down on a glass table. 

You pull yourself from the water, adjusting your swim bottoms as you round the edge of the pool to stand in front of him. He looks…he looks better. There’s a lightness that’s returned to his eyes, the smirk more genuine in the corners of his mouth. His shoulders are relaxed too and you swallow the urge to kiss him. 

You purse your lips, “I’m still not convinced it’s not ice cream—”

And then, from a small, blue, velvet bag, Nick pulls out a silver chain that has a tiny key on the end of it. It’s dainty, beautiful, the key top shaped like a heart and no bigger than your thumb nail. Your mouth falls open and then a wide smile spreads across your face as you reach out and take it from him. 

“Nick,” You whisper.

He hums and then reaches into his shirt, pulling out a similar chain. But instead of a key on his, he has a silver lock relatively the same size. It’s clear—they go together, yours unlocking his, and the weight of that sits heavy and low in your chest. 

He chews on the inside of his cheek, watching you, “Do you like it?” 

“I love it,” You reply instantly, turning and handing it back to him, “Can you put it on me?” 

Nick opens the clasp and moves his arms around you, resting it against your chest as you move your hair aside for him. When he’s done, he puts his hands on your shoulders, squeezing, palms traveling down your arms. When you turn back around, he’s smiling, gaze wandering from the key on your sternum and then back up to your eyes. 

Then, in one giant swoop, he lifts you into his arms to haul over his shoulder, a squeal leaving your lips as he jumps into the pool. 

—

Nick’s a great cook, which you suppose shouldn’t be surprising, because he’s good with his hands. It’s like a state of fluidity you can’t begin to understand, the way he moves in a kitchen. It’s like he has a sixth sense of when to add seasonings, when to fix a temperature for something he’s making, when a recipe calls for one thing but he substitutes another. He’s also mesmerizing to watch when he prepares things—cutting strips of chicken, rolling noodles in sauce, mincing garlic and herbs. 

Probably something that shouldn’t be attractive but it is. 

On the flip side, you’re not the most organized in the kitchen. You know how to make the basics, provide for yourself if you’re not ordering UberEats. Your one aunt didn’t know how to boil pasta until she was seventeen so…safe to say you’re not that bad. However, baking is another story. Your grandparents owned a little bakery before it went up for sale when they passed away. One of your regrets is that you were never old enough to take it over, that your parents didn’t save it. 

Regardless, baking is in your blood and you want to be good at it. 

Though…if Nick’s face is any indication as he bites into a cookie you’ve made, maybe you should quit while you’re ahead. Or behind, in this case. You chew on your lower lip, leaning against the counter as he chews…thoughtfully. 

“Not good? Are they awful?” 

“Uh,” He clears his throat, “I don’t know if I’d say that.” 

You groan, tipping your head into your hands, “They are, they’re terrible.” You lift your gaze to his, a soft pout on your lips, “I don’t understand, I followed every step of the recipe.” 

Nick smiles a little, licking his lips, setting the cookie down on the plate. It makes a conk noise, which indicates they’re far too hard. And you like crispy cookies! Like a snickerdoodle that’s soft and gooey on the inside but has a good crust on the outside. But this…isn’t that. 

You pick one up and bite into it. It’s supposed to be red velvet chocolate chip but it kinda tastes…bland. Except at the end where there’s a salty, burnt chocolate flavor. “Oh no.” 

“Really hope food poisoning isn’t involved.” 

“Hey,” You kick his shin under the table even though you’re laughing, “Shut up.” Sighing dramatically, you place the cookie back on the plate, “I guess it’s good I didn’t try out one of my grandparent’s recipes, would have ruined their memory along with the cookies.” 

He shakes his head, his hand reaching for yours on the table. He smiles as he brushes his thumb along your knuckles, your fingers dragging across the silver ring he’s wearing, “You can always try again. I can help you next time.” 

“I wanted to do it by myself,” You grumble—you already know they’re going to turn out good if Nick helps. But that’s not the point. Or…maybe it is. Having edible cookies. 

He stands from the counter, shifting around the island to plant a kiss to your cheek. He then dips his chin, peppering kisses along your face in rapid succession until you laugh, your hand falling to his chest to playfully push him away. 

“I’ll just throw them out, then we can watch a movie or something.” You move to grab the plate, but Nick gets there first, picking it up to carry it into the living room. He selects one of the less sad-looking ones on the outskirts. A small smile blooms over your cheeks as he decides that, yes, he’ll eat another one, despite how awful they are. 

—

Nick rarely finds himself saying no to you, but there is one instance in which he does.

—

Admittedly, this is not how you usually handle situations like this.  You know that when you’re on the outside looking in, it digs under your skin when people you care about try to shove you away from trying to help. When they put up walls around themselves, refusing to let anyone close to help. You’ve always been a problem solver, driven by solutions, or at the very least being available to listen, because sometimes having someone to vent to is more than enough. 

You never want someone to close themselves up to the point in which they push anyone they care about away, building a box inside to shove emotions into because it’s easier not to feel anything at all. 

So maybe that’s why this is so ironic—because now when you’re faced with something you’re not sure how to handle, you cut everyone off like a gangrenous limb. 

You’ve expressed frustrations before about your parents, about how despite the fact that they should be divorced, they’re sticking together for god knows what reason. It’s made their once tolerable relationship ugly, it’s turned them into people who hate one another. And that toxic relationship finally bubbles up one night—

Your dad hits your mom. 

And you’re not talking about a gentle tap, it’s a backhanded strike that knocks her into the table. There’s instant regrets, there’s begging, there’s crying, and all the while you just kinda stand there, staring at the spot where your mom was. It shuts a door inside you, it pushes everything you’ve ever cared about right into your ribs. 

It makes you never want to trust another person again, it makes you never want to be in a relationship because things can sour far too fast. Two people who loved one another, who had a child together, turned into something ugly. You’re not saying you’re destined for that same fate, but it doesn’t inspire comforting feelings about being with someone either. 

This might not be a small town, but drama spreads like a virus in private social circles, and suddenly everyone knows about what happened between your parents. Your mother’s doctor visit, your father at a bar—it’s all too much for you to deal with, that downward spiral making you feel like you’re stuck even though what’s happened doesn’t directly impact you. 

Especially since both of your parents are acting like it never fucking happened. They never mention divorce. It makes you irrationally angry, almost to the point where you want to drive your fist through your bedroom mirror. 

Jenna blows up your phone with calls and texts and you manage to send a few that respond to her questions. You have no idea how to answer, are you alright? Or is there anything I can do? 

You don’t respond to Nick at all. 

—

In the back of your mind, you know you should have seen this coming. Nick wasn’t just going to take to being ignored. You can picture the concern swimming in his brown eyes, the frown tugging his handsome mouth down, the surge of protectiveness to just fix whatever’s wrong. You hate worrying him, but you just…can’t find it within yourself to make a different choice. It’s like you’re sitting in the rafters watching this all play out, a spectator in your own life. 

You’re folding laundry when Nick shows up, letting himself into your room. He’s wearing a large gray hoodie that makes your chest ache with how comfortable it looks, tugging the hood off his head when the door closes behind him. He lets out a soft sigh, reaching into the large pocket in the front and—

A ball of orange, fuzzy fur mewls. 

You pause as he puts Garfield down on your bed, the kitten instantly rushing to greet you, rolling into piles of laundry you’ve created to put in your closet. Your eyebrows draw together in soft confusion, gaze lifting to your boyfriend, 

“Not keeping him anymore?” You ask, voice a little rough from lack of use. 

Nick’s eyebrows draw together—you suppose you wouldn’t be surprised if he was breaking up with you, given the radio silence you’ve created. “No. I figured you might miss him. And since you won’t text or call me back, I assumed you wouldn’t be coming over any time soon either.” 

You swallow over a foreign emotion in your throat (you know exactly what it is) and look down at Garfield. Your heart clenches—you did miss him. The kitten isn’t the only thing you miss. Your eyes flit up to Nick again, who’s hovering near the door, eyes assessing. He’s trying to get a read on you, trying to figure out what he can do to help. You’re sorry that he’s wasted his time. 

Setting down a shirt, you pick up Garfield and bury your nose in his fur for a moment. He kinda smells like Nick’s sheets, like the comfort and warmth of his bedroom. Your eyes close. 

“You gonna tell me what’s wrong?” 

You lower Garfield a little, scratching under his chin, “I’m sure you’ve heard by now.” 

“That’s not what I meant.” 

Your eyes flash as you lift your chin, a scoff tumbling out, “What, is that not enough? What else should be wrong, Nick?” 

“Y/N,” He starts and you shake your head, putting your hand up as you gently drop the orange kitten to your bed. His voice is too soft, too gentle, it hurts to hear. 

“No, I’m curious—please elaborate. Is my dad hitting my mom not a wrong enough reason to not respond to your calls or texts?” Your voice is heightened, slightly pinched and you hate how it sounds borderline hysterical, but what the fuck? When he showed up, you didn’t expect that he’d be calling you out on your emotions. You figured he might listen, try to help, even though you weren’t interested in talking. 

But this? 

“Get out.” You state, voice calmer than before. 

You stare a hole right through him and you can tell the moment that Nick strengthens his resolve, digs his heels in, the asshole actually has the audacity to cross his arms over his chest. 

“No.” 

You blink at him, your breath coming out short, nearly a gasp as your heart begins to hammer in your ears. No? No? Nick has been the type of person to be completely supportive to the point where he nearly bends to your every whim, your every request. He says yes like he was made for it—it’s in every smile he gives you, every lingering touch, every kiss of a promise. 

You do not expect him to say no. 

“Nick, I’m not—” You shake your head, rounding the bed to stand in front of him, not close enough to touch. Not yet. “I’m being serious.” 

“So am I.” 

That just serves to piss you the fuck off, “Get out,” You snap, no longer worried about being cordial, about sounding a certain way. Your voice shakes and you can feel the bridge of your nose tingle, your eyes stinging, “Just leave me alone.” 

Again, Nick looks at you with an utter calm that makes you want to slap him across the face. He breathes in through his nose and then lets it go. He shakes his head, 

“No.” He repeats. 

You swallow what feels like glass in your throat. Why is he doing this? “I don’t want you here.” 

“I don’t care,” He volleys back, determination strengthening his entire stance. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

That statement hits you square in the chest, a roar that sounds like the ocean crashing in your ears. I’m not going anywhere—it repeats a few times, a cycle bouncing off your ribs, capable of ripping you wide open. Your jaw sets in resolve and you’re not even realizing that you’re moving until you take two steps forward and put your hands on his chest, shoving him towards the door. 

Nick’s mouth falls open, more surprised than anything else, as you throw him off balance. He quickly rights himself, that boxing training coming into handy as he anticipates your next push. 

“Stop,” He says softly, nowhere near as pissed as you want him to be. How you feel. 

You don’t listen, hitting his chest again, throwing your body into it to try and force him through the doorway. Out. Away. “Get out.” Your hands curl into fists, throwing them against him, your cheeks burning with effort. Your vision blurs, pent up tears beginning to spill down your face. “I–just leave.” 

Nick shakes his head again, his hands moving to gently clasp your wrists. His body is immovable despite how much power you’re trying to put into each movement. He squeezes you but not in a way that’s painful, just trying to keep you still. You draw in a haggard breath, 

“Nick—”

His features scrunch at the pain in your voice and he attempts to wrap his arms around you to draw you close, even though you won’t let him, taking a step back,

“I know,” He whispers, cupping your cheek and thumbing away tears, “It’s okay, I’m not going anywhere.” 

A pinched whimper leaves your lips as you give in to what he’s saying, your body pitching forward, Nick firmly keeping you in place against his chest. The tears are relentless as they stream down your cheeks, plopping into his gray hoodie, all of your frustration, anger, hurt, emptying against him. He tries to support you the best way that he can, pressing his lips and nose to your temple, murmuring that he’s there, that you’re going to be okay, that he loves you. 

And for once? You’re glad he didn’t listen. You’re glad he said no. 

—

Seated in bed against the headboard, Garfield finds his way onto your stomach, making biscuits with his little hands. For something so tiny, he’s a loud purrer. You glance up as Nick comes back into your bedroom, a mug of hot tea in his hands that he places into yours before crawling in beside you. 

“Were they downstairs?” 

Nick adjusts a pillow near you, leaning back and angling his body a bit towards yours. He smiles a little at Garfield, reaching over to pet between his ears. 

“Your mom’s in the living room. I didn’t see your dad.” 

Probably out again to avoid the gravity of his mistakes. You feel so tired, exhaustion sitting in your chest like cinderblocks. Heavy in a way you’ve never felt before. You hold the mug of tea carefully, blowing at the steam that’s curling out of it. 

Sometimes your parent’s problems feel immovable, like you’re not sure how you’re supposed to get past it. You’re scared it’s going to get worse if it’s not addressed. You let out a slow breath out of your mouth—you suppose you can’t allow yourself to think like that, you’ll drive yourself crazy. 

Besides—at least you have people who care about you, who can help, even if it’s just to be here. You glance over at Nick, his gaze already on yours, mapping along your face. A gentle smile tugs the corners of his lips, his hand moving to rub your thigh gently. 

“Can I do anything?” He asks. 

Your fingers squeeze the hot ceramic. “You already have.” And lean over to kiss him. 

—

There’s this poem you like that reminds you of Nick—one of the lines says, yes is a world. And despite how often he says it? You realize you should be saying yes to more things too. Yes, you will have that extra scoop of ice cream. Yes, you’ll spend a lazy Sunday watching crime documentaries. Yes, it’s okay to feel frustrated that the trust you put in the adults around you has been mishandled. That they’ve hurt you in doing so. Yes, it’s okay to admit you need help. That you need someone to lean on. 

It’s a work in progress, but maybe if you start living more in that world of yes? Other people might too. Like your mom, who will hopefully discover one day that, yes, she deserves better. 

So when Nick asks you if you’d like to come with him to visit Maddie, you smile brightly and say yes. 

Despite everything you’ve heard, you haven’t met Maddie. You’ve briefly interacted with Nick’s mother a few times, but not the sister that is so near and dear to him. You know how important this is, can feel it fill up your chest like a hot-air balloon when pulling into the gravel driveway. There’s this unfounded worry that his sister will somehow not like you, even though there’s no reason to think that. You know Maddie knows who you are—Nick’s told her. 

You watch as Nick gets out of the car and crouches low to scoop his younger sister up into his arms, doing a small spin that makes her giggle and you smile. He’s so good with her, your heart hammering in your chest as he sets her down and ruffles her hair. He motions a little over to you, putting his hands on his knees so he’s eyelevel with her. 

“That’s Y/N.” 

She gasps in pure excitement, “Your girlfriend?” Nick laughs a little before nodding, standing to put his hands on her shoulders and turn her in your direction. “She’s so pretty.” 

He hums in agreement. “She is.” 

You smile, wandering towards the pair, “It’s really nice to meet you Maddie. I’ve heard a lot about you.” 

Instead of replying, she rushes forth and captures you in a hug, squeezing you tight enough to envy her big brother. You can’t help but laugh, hugging her back—you decide you like her. A lot. 

—

After a big dinner, two pieces of chocolate cake, and playing hide and seek (quite terribly, you might add) you and Maddie lay in a hammock under twinkle lights with a book in the backyard as Nick helps his mother put away dishes and clean up. He glances outside the kitchen window at you two, a small smile on his face. The fondness in his eyes is almost enough to take you out at the knees, butterflies skittering into your ribs. 

Maddie turns the page, reading outloud, “It was then the princess said that the prince was her home, even if they were miles and miles apart.” 

She pauses, fingers playing with the page. She tips her head back to look at you, her hair smelling like daisies and citrus. “Can home be a person?” 

You smile a little, your gaze finding Nick again, “Yes,” You nod, “I think it can.” 

[kxsagi]

rin itoshi x chubby girlfriend pretty please? 🙏

“𝐢 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐨𝐟𝐟”

a/n: ofccc

daily reminder that you're beautiful and your body type/physical appearance doesn't define your worth! and ily

(art credits go to kyllooelo on instagram + title was inspired by agora hills)

you stare at the mirror for way too long. 

your outfit’s cute. it really is. you picked it out last week, tried it on with a smile, even imagined rin’s reaction – maybe a quiet “you look nice” or that subtle nod he does when he’s impressed but doesn’t want to show it. 

but now? now all you can see is how tight the fabric hugs your stomach. how your arms look squishier than usual. how your thighs feel like they’re too loud, too visible, too much. 

you turn to the side and frown. try adjusting your top. pulling at the waist. sucking in your stomach just a little. 

and for a second, you consider changing. 

“you almost ready?” rin’s voice calls from behind the door. 

you panic a little and yank at the hem of your shirt. “yeah! just… give me a minute.” 

the door creaks open anyway. because of course rin doesn’t listen. ever. 

he leans against the frame with his usual blank expression, scanning you from head to toe with those annoyingly unreadable eyes. “we’re gonna be late.” 

you glance at him through the mirror. “i know. sorry.” 

he raises an eyebrow, finally catching the weird tension in your voice. “what’s going on?” 

“nothing.” 

“liar.” 

you sigh, turning away from the mirror entirely. “i just… don’t think this looks good on me anymore.” 

rin looks at you, then at your reflection. his eyes don’t move to the parts you were staring at. he’s just looking at you, not picking you apart, not analyzing, just seeing. 

“why not?” he asks, like the idea is genuinely confusing. 

you wrap your arms around yourself, shrinking a little. “i dunno. i feel too chubby for it. like it hugs all the wrong places. i look kind of... sloppy?” 

you expect silence. maybe a grunt. maybe even that awkward quiet rin does when he doesn’t know what to say. 

but instead, he frowns. “that’s not how i see you.” 

your heart stutters. 

he walks up behind you, resting his chin lightly on your shoulder, hands sliding around your waist. his fingers press against your stomach gently, lovingly, like he’s never seen it as anything other than something he wants to hold. 

“i see someone who’s always cute. someone who pulls off anything she wears. someone i want to stare at all day, even when she’s in sweats and has chip crumbs on her shirt.” 

you huff a soft laugh. “you always bring up the crumbs.” 

“because they were everywhere.” 

he presses a kiss to your cheek before turning you around to face the mirror again. this time, with him standing behind you. 

“look,” he says quietly. “this is what i see. someone who looks perfect like this. soft in the best ways. warm. real.” 

you glance at your reflection, at the way rin’s arms look snug around you. at the contrast between your body and his lean frame, and how he doesn’t seem to mind, doesn’t even notice it in the way you do. he just looks content. like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be than right here, with you in this exact outfit, in this exact moment. 

“you don’t have to change anything,” he murmurs. “especially not for me. i like you just like this.” 

you bite your lip, eyes starting to sting a little. “you mean it?” 

rin meets your gaze in the mirror, and for once, his expression softens completely. “have i ever said something i didn’t mean?” 

“… no.” 

“exactly.” 

he kisses your temple and pulls you toward the door. “let’s go. you’re already the best-looking person in the room.” 

“you haven’t even been in the room yet,” you tease, following him out. 

“don’t need to,” he says flatly. “i have eyes.” 

and somehow, that’s enough to make you feel beautiful again. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[ankababy]

A Home (part 23)

Part 1 Part 22 Part 24

Chishiya x reader x Niragi

Finally someone who sees your potential.

Then, still in the middle of the party, a guy came towards you. He was an executive, someone important in the Beach’s little hierarchy, but he wasn’t someone you needed to know deeply. Not yet, at least.

“Niragi.” the guy started, his voice smooth. “There’s an executive meeting called. Hatter wants you there. He also requested that—” His eyes flicked to you. “—you join us.”

You felt a little spark of excitement. You didn’t know what the meeting was about or why Hatter wanted you specifically there, but your curiosity was piqued. Plus, there was something thrilling about being called into a room full of power, to be part of whatever they were planning. And if it involved you, well, you were always up for it.

“Great.” Niragi muttered under his breath, barely loud enough for anyone to hear, but you did. You always did.

The guy just stood there, silent for a moment longer, before a sigh slipped past his lips.

“You happy now?” Niragi muttered, voice low. It wasn’t a question aimed at you, not really.

You nodded cheerfully, too oblivious or too excited to notice the tension in his voice. “Yeah, of course!” you said, your smile bright and infectious as always.

The executive glanced at you briefly again, clearly a little surprised at how easily you took the news. He probably expected you to hesitate, question the sudden call, maybe even challenge the order. But no.

Niragi, though, didn’t seem to share your enthusiasm. He looked away, his jaw tightening, and you could practically feel his mood souring by the second.

“Fine.” he said finally, his voice dripping with something close to sarcasm.

But the way he said it didn’t sound like he meant it. It sounded like he was resigned to something he didn’t want to deal with. You saw the corner of his lip curl, a little sneer forming, but he made no attempt to fight the order.

The executive didn’t seem to care about Niragi’s attitude, nodding. “Good. We’ll be waiting for you both in the meeting room.” he said, then turned and walked off without another word.

Niragi let out another annoyed sigh. This one was louder, and the scowl on his face deepened. You couldn’t quite figure out why he was so upset. The fact that you were called too, or something else entirely?

“I don’t know why I bother.” he muttered under his breath, too low for anyone else to hear, but loud enough for you to catch.

You tilted your head, sensing the weird shift in his mood, but you didn’t say anything. You didn’t want to poke at it. Instead, you flashed a smile.

“Come on. It’ll be fun.” you said lightly.

He didn’t respond immediately. Just a sneer before he rubbed the back of his neck, irritated. He didn’t want to go. That much was obvious. But it didn’t matter. He had to.

You smiled at him and took a step closer, ready to head off.

Niragi followed as if the entire situation was a chore he couldn’t avoid, but it wasn’t like you cared about his mood—at least not right now. There was an adventure waiting ahead of you, and you weren’t going to let anything, least of all Niragi’s grumpy attitude, get in the way of it.

~

You were seated in Niragi’s chair again. He just stood behind you, close enough to cast a shadow over your shoulder, hovering over the Beach’s favorite little sunbeam.

You didn’t belong here, not really. Not by title, not by rank. But you were there.

Dressed in pale pink and still damp from the pool, legs crossed delicately, your hair pulled back in a messy clip that somehow made you look even more ethereal, you sat like you didn’t have the faintest idea how much power you suddenly had. There was the unmistakable shape of Niragi’s teeth on your collarbone, half-visible just under the strap of your swimsuit. No one commented on it. No one had to.

Your presence was a statement.

Everyone watched you, and of course, Hatter himself. Eyes flicking between everyone but always returning to you. He was smiling, as he often did, that same half-manic, half-enlightened grin that made people both love and fear him.

“Quite the turnout.” Hatter said, finally, as he spread his arms like a showman presenting his finale. “And with a new guest of honor.”

He gestured to you, and several eyes—again—cut toward the bite on your collarbone.

You smiled, sweetly, innocently, as if the eyes crawling over your skin didn’t mean anything. As if you didn’t feel Niragi standing behind you, hands twitching slightly, like he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to pull your chair back or punch a hole through the wall.

“Thanks for inviting me.” you said, chipper, folding your hands neatly on the table. You sounded like someone who’d just been asked to tea. Not like someone sitting in on a meeting of killers and tacticians.

Mira let out a soft laugh, delighted. “You’re very composed.”

You tilted your head slightly. “I just like knowing things.” you said. “And I’m pretty good at listening.”

At that, Chishiya shifted slightly, just enough to glance at you out of the corner of his eye. No smile. But there was something else. Recognition. You were good at listening. Too good. He hadn’t decided yet if that was a problem.

“I thought this was a strategy meeting.” Aguni grunted, leaning forward. “Not a tea party.”

Aguni, c’mon, we know you like Y/N too. Who doesn’t?

Ann cut him a quick look but said nothing. She was watching you too carefully to interrupt.

“It is.” Hatter said, still smiling. “But the girl’s proved herself useful. Delivering messages, gathering intel, talking to the right people. She’s got connections that none of us do. Even the dumb ones like her.” He winked at you, and you laughed, like it really was a tea party.

But Niragi—behind you—did not laugh. He just shifted, once.

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. Not for you, anyway. You were too busy watching everyone, your big eyes bouncing from face to face, absorbing everything. The games, the plays, the war behind every line of dialogue. You had no idea what cards they were playing, but you were the one everyone was looking at, and wasn’t that something?

Chishiya leaned forward slightly, his eyes on Hatter. “What’s the purpose of this meeting?”

Hatter clapped his hands once, sharply. “To make sure we’re all on the same page. Card collection. Border progress. Internal control.”

You listened. You weren’t dumb. You leaned back just a bit, letting your shoulder rest against the armrest of Niragi’s chair, unconsciously claiming space like you had every right to be there.

And Niragi stayed behind you.

He hated this. Not you. Never you. But the way people looked at you. The way Hatter smiled at you like he owned your time. The way Mira cooed at you like you were a doll she could pick apart at the seams. The way Chishiya’s eyes lingered too long. Niragi wanted to put a bullet between everyone’s eyes.

But he said nothing.

Because none of them, not even him, could take their eyes off you.

The meeting rolled on from that point. Hatter spoke in half preacher, half CEO.

You sat there, legs crossed, arms neatly folded in your lap, nodding when appropriate, silent and smiling as though you belonged in every room like this. And in a way, you did. You had that impossible, golden kind of presence—one that made people listen to you, not because of power or fear, but because you meant it when you spoke. Because your eyes never lied, and your mouth always had something sweet to say, even when everything around you was violent and twisted.

But that didn’t mean you were stupid.

Far from it.

You watched everyone. Every twitch, every blink, every little tell from every person around the table.

You loved them. All of them, in different ways. Not romantically, not really—though the lines blurred there, didn’t they?

Especially with those two.

Chishiya and Niragi.

Your boys. Your… favorite tragedies.

You knew what they were. Not in some naive, cutesy way—but deeply, intimately. You understood them better than they thought. Maybe better than they did.

You had seen that crack in Chishiya. The one he didn’t want to show. When you fell asleep beside him back at the apartment, or held his hand in the hallway, or smiled too long while asking him therapist questions. He wasn’t made for soft things like you. And yet… he didn’t pull away. Not really. Because maybe some part of him wanted to be studied by you. He just wanted to be understood. He longed to be understood.

And Niragi—fuck. Rage and need, teetering on the edge of self-destruction. He was sick in the head and he knew it, used it like a weapon. He didn’t understand softness, but he understood you. You who were soft but not weak. Gentle but not passive. You didn’t flinch from him. You touched his face like he was a boy who maybe just wanted to be loved.

That fucked him up worse than anything.

So yeah. You watched the room with wide, sparkly eyes like you were a butterfly in a war room. But you were playing the game too. Just in your own way.

Hatter leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers behind his head as he spoke, “We’re close. One day, we’ll have enough cards to make our final push.”

“Final push for what?” you asked, voice soft, genuinely curious.

There was a pause. Not tense.

“To complete the deck.” Kuzuryu said evenly. “To see what happens.”

“To win.” Hatter said, eyes gleaming. “Whatever that means. Emigrate.”

You nodded, processing, your mind working even as you smiled. You glanced over at Chishiya. He was watching Hatter with the same look he might give a poorly written math problem. Dismissive. Already moving five steps ahead.

Niragi leaned forward slightly behind you, hands braced on the back of the chair. You could feel the heat of him.

The conversation moved to logistics. Manpower. Intel. Control. You let it wash over you, tucking away every detail, cataloging expressions, voices, like a librarian.

You were happy here, in a weird, broken kind of way. Among the chaos. Among these monsters and maniacs. You never quite fit in with the normal world anyway. You were too much of something. Too soft, too kind, too weird, too alive.

But here?

Here you were worshiped. Or wanted. Or both.

And even if they didn’t say it—Chishiya and Niragi both wanted you. In different ways. In dark ways.

Niragi wanted to own you, protect you like a rabid dog guarding the one hand that didn’t hit him. You were the only softness in his scorched world, the only thing he didn’t want to destroy. And that terrified him more than anything.

Chishiya didn’t want to care about you. But he did. You were this beautiful mess of feelings and chaos, all the things he’d surgically removed from himself to survive. And now? He was starting to wonder if maybe he’d made a mistake.

The meeting began to wind down, voices growing quieter, more tired. Hatter gave a final flourish with his hands, “Well, then. Let’s keep the pieces moving. And let’s hope we survive long enough to see the end.”

People stood. Some filed out. Others lingered.

You stayed seated a moment longer, glancing up at Niragi with a little grin, tilting your head. “You okay?”

He didn’t answer, just looked down at you with eyes like gasoline fire and something else. Something that scared him too much to name.

You stood, slowly, smoothing your light skirt(AN: I see Y/N always wearing some light, see thru, pretty clothing above the bikini. Just to be cute.) giving a nod to the rest of the room. “Thanks for letting me sit in.”

“You can sit in again.” Hatter said, clearly pleased.

“She’s not a fucking executive.” Niragi muttered under his breath.

But he didn’t stop you.

You had started to turn, your soft smile ready for anyone else you passed on the way out, ready to float back into the madness outside and play the same part you always played—kind, beautiful. But then—

“Not you.” Hatter said smoothly. “Stay.”

And just like that, the air in the room changed.

Every pair of eyes landed on you again. Yours flicked up, curious, but not confused. If anything, you looked almost pleased to be asked. You turned back, gently as always, your expression bright and open.

Niragi’s jaw twitched.

Chishiya didn’t move a muscle, but you could feel it.

“Alone.” Hatter clarified, flicking his gaze lazily to the rest of the room.

No one protested. No one dared—not even Niragi, who, for a second, looked like he might say something. But Hatter didn’t even glance his way. He didn’t have to. Power bent the space around him like gravity. And Niragi might be the firestarter, but even fire needed oxygen. Hatter was the one who decided who breathed here.

Niragi rolled his eyes and scoffed under his breath, turning on his heel. Chishiya didn’t look at you—just shoved his hands into his pockets and slipped out like a shadow. You watched them both go, not saying a word, not asking them to stay.

You knew better. Knew when not to interfere. You were sweet, not stupid.

And once the door clicked shut, the world felt like it had changed color. The stillness was different now. Warmer. Stranger.

You turned your gaze back to Hatter, smiling softly as you stepped forward, your little platform sandals making little quiet noises against the floor. You didn’t sit in the chair again. You slid onto the table instead—right in front of him, ankles crossed, skirt falling neatly over your knees.

“You wanted to talk to me?” you asked.

“I always want to talk to you.” Hatter said, smiling like a man who had everything. “But yes. This time, specifically.”

You tilted your head, all attention. “About what?”

He leaned back. “You’re very loved, you know.”

Your eyebrows lifted, but you didn’t answer right away. Your hands rested beside you on the smooth tabletop, the bite mark on your collarbone visible like some badge.

“You’re like sunshine in this godless place,” he continued. “and sunshine is dangerous when you’re trying to control the weather.”

You smiled gently. “That was poetic.”

“I’m a poetic man.”

“I think you’re an ambitious man.”

“And what do you think you are?”

You paused. Thought about it. “I think I don’t fully understand everything.” you said honestly. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not watching.”

Hatter’s smile was warm. “I don’t underestimate you, little star.”

“I don’t underestimate you either.”

He studied you for a long moment, eyes roaming your face. You didn’t flinch under the weight of it. You didn’t try to flirt or joke your way out of the tension like you did with so many others. Here, you were open. Still sweet. But still.

“Do you love them?” he asked suddenly. Not cruelly. Not sharply. Just… honestly. The way one might ask about the weather.

You didn’t pretend not to understand.

Your lips curved softly. “I do.” you said. “I think I could love anyone, if they gave me enough time.”

“And if they’re monsters?”

“Then I’ll find something in them that isn’t.” you said, lifting your eyes. “Even if it’s just a tiny piece.”

Hatter exhaled, like the answer pleased him.

There was a pause. One where he didn’t speak, and neither did you.

“You don’t belong to anyone, do you?” Hatter asked.

“No.” you said.

He nodded, slow, thoughtful. “But they want you to. Both of them.”

You gave the tiniest shrug, your eyes flicking to the door. “Let them want. I’m not something to put in a cage.”

Another pause. And then, a laugh. Low and genuine. “You’re going to burn this whole place down, aren’t you?”

Your smiled, soft and honest. “I hope not. I like it here.”

You just let the quiet settle again, your legs swinging gently off the table, brushing the polished surface like a child on a park bench, casual and harmless and completely disarming.

Hatter hadn’t moved either, head slightly tilted as if you were something fascinating in a museum. Not to possess, no—he knew better than to believe you could ever be possessed. But maybe… to keep close. To admire.

“You’re thinking something.” you said softly.

“I’m always thinking something.”

You tilted your head in that gentle, playful way you did—and your eyes turned a little sharper. A little brighter. You let your fingers trail across the edge of the table, like you were tracing out invisible thoughts in the wood.

“I could teach you something.” you said, as though offering a cookie.

He raised a brow, amused. “Oh? What’s that?”

“How to get what you want without making people feel like they’re being taken.” you said sweetly. “How to make them love you for it.”

“I already know how to manipulate people, sweetheart.” he said, smiling as he sat up straighter.

“Mm, I know. But you do it like a king, not like a god.” You paused. “Kings command. Gods are adored.”

That made him still. You could see it—the flicker in his expression, the small curl of interest tightening at the corners of his mouth. He didn’t laugh at that. Didn’t wave it off.

You turned slightly to face him better, leaning forward on your hands just a little, eyes wide. “You’ve got the power.” you said. “You’ve got the clothes and the voice and the throne. You’re magnetic, Hatter. But you’re also trying too hard.”

He let out a quiet, amused breath. “So I’m not a god yet?”

“No.” you said, with that gentle kindness you always carried. “But you could be.”

The silence that followed hung between you like a held breath. And then, slowly, like it was the most natural thing in the world, he reached out and placed his hand on your thigh.

Just above the knee.

And you didn’t move away. Your body remained soft, warm, calm. You didn’t even blink. Your eyes simply dropped to his hand, then up to his face again. Still smiling.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t justify it.

You just laughed a little under your breath and said, “See? You’re already using the tools I’m handing you.”

His fingers tensed slightly. “You think this is a tool?”

“I think everything is a tool.” you replied easily. “Words. Looks. Hands. Especially hands.”

And for a long moment, neither of you spoke. His fingers remained there, unmoving. Your leg stayed relaxed under his touch. And your eyes—so wide and sweet—were not innocent at all.

You weren’t flirting. Not really. You weren’t manipulating him either, not the way others might think. What you were doing was far more subtle. You were showing him the blueprint. Of people. Of power. Of what worked.

You were still just being sweet, helping him. Helping him to get what he wants.

“Tell me,” you said, gently. “what are you really trying to build here?”

“A kingdom.” he answered. No hesitation.

“And what’s a kingdom without people who’d die for their king?”

He smiled, slow and strange. “You think I should be loved?”

“I think if you want to last, you’ll have to be.”

“And you?” he asked, voice dropping a fraction. “Would you die for me?”

“No.” you said. “But I’d make everyone else want to.”

God, you were terrifying in the kindest way.

He exhaled like you’d just opened a new door in his mind. And still, his hand stayed where it was—not moving, not pushing, just… resting. Warm.

“You should smile more.” you told him kindly. “You’ve got a really good smile. But people are scared of it.”

“They should be.”

You giggled. “Maybe. But wouldn’t it be more fun if they smiled with you while you crushed them?”

He actually laughed then. Low and real.

Another silence. Comfortable this time.

Then, you turned your head slightly and said, “If I were you, I’d move that blonde executive guy piece soon. I don’t know his name, but you sure do. He’s good, but he’ll waver if you let him sit too long. He’s restless.”

“And what about you?” he asked, voice dipped in curiosity again. “What would you do with you?”

You smiled. “I’d give me attention. Trust. A little space to feel important.”

“Anything else?”

You looked him right in the eyes. “Nothing else.”

He didn’t reply. Just looked at you. Maybe for the first time, he was seeing you—really seeing you—for what you were.

A field of poppies that made men sleep forever.

The softest threat in the world.

He stood then, offering you a hand. “Go on, little star.” he said. “Go shine on someone else.”

You took it, light as a feather. “Thank you.” you said sweetly, standing with grace. “I like talking to you.”

He bent down, just slightly, and kissed the back of your hand. Not flirtation. Not seduction. Respect.

“You’ll do fine.” you said sweetly. “But if you need help… you know where to find me.”

And with that, you turned and left—the door swinging closed behind you like the end of an era.

He didn’t stop you.

He just stood there, thinking of gods.

Niragi was leaning against the wall when you stepped out. Just to the right of the door, half-shadowed by the dim hallway light. Gun over his shoulder, like he hadn’t been waiting at all. But you knew better.

Niragi didn’t wait for people.

He hunted them.

But there he was. Waiting. For you.

You smiled—so soft, so damn sweet it could knock the wind out of someone if they weren’t braced for it. The kind of smile that made people want to be good. Or worse, pretend they already were.

“There you are.” you said gently, like he wasn’t the one who had been lingering in the hallway like a phantom for who-knows-how-long. “Did you hear anything through the door? Are you here to interrogate me?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at you with something tight in his jaw, like the sight of you physically hurt. His eyes dropped to the faint red bite mark on your collarbone, still visible above the fabric of your bikini top and your little throw-on wrap.

He put that there. And it looked so good on you.

“Wasn’t eavesdropping.” he muttered, pushing off the wall. “Not my style.”

You tilted your head. “Sure it is. You just make it look cooler.”

He didn’t even crack a smirk. He looked annoyed you knew him that well. Like that was more intimate than anything physical could be.

You started walking, and he followed. Of course he did.

He always did.

You didn’t look back, but you knew his footsteps by now.

“Were you bored while I was inside?” you asked, glancing over your shoulder finally, all cheek and light.

He didn’t say anything for a second, just walked beside you now. Closer than before. Your arms brushed once. His eyes flicked to that spot like it betrayed something.

“…What did he want?”

You glanced up at him. “Hatter?”

“No, the fuckin’ frog on your table.” he said dryly. “Yes, Hatter.”

“He wanted to talk. Just me and him.”

Niragi’s tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek. His jaw flexed, hands curling slightly at his sides. But you kept your voice soft, disarming.

“He likes me.” you added gently. “That’s all.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” he muttered under his breath.

You reached out suddenly, without thinking, and touched his hand. Just your fingertips grazing over his knuckles.

“And you don’t?” you asked, lips curving.

He jerked his hand away, barely. But not in the usual way—not violent or disgusted, just… scared. Like you burned hotter than his own fire and it terrified him how much he wanted to stay close to it.

“Don’t start with me.” he warned.

“I’m not starting anything.” you said, walking again. “You came to me.”

He didn’t deny it.

You were the sun. You were the goddamn sun in this place. And he hated it. Hated that you made his teeth grit just by existing. That you smiled at other people and meant it. That you touched him like he was something good.

He hated that he wanted to be good, just for you.

He hated how impossible that was.

“Let’s walk a little more.” you said softly, brushing your shoulder into his.

He let you. Didn’t snap. Didn’t move away.

You kept talking, not about the meeting, not about the cards, not about plans. You talked about the shape of the clouds outside the window earlier. About how the light hit the pool just right this morning, like glass. You told him weren’t sure what you’d do if your frog and lobster started fighting.

He listened. He really did. He didn’t say much, but you felt it in the way his walking matched yours now. In how his shoulders relaxed by a fraction. In how his eyes flicked sideways at you and stayed there longer than they should have.

“The bite.” he said suddenly. “Everyone fucking saw it.”

You looked down at it and gently pressed your fingers to the bruised skin, then smiled. “Oh. That. Well, yeah. You left it. What, want me to put a Band Aid over it?”

He looked like he wanted to snarl. Or maybe drag you into the nearest wall. Not to hurt you—no. He’d never hurt you. But to claim something. Make it impossible for people to look at you without remembering who got there first.

“You shouldn’t let people stare.” he muttered.

“They stare no matter what.” you said softly.

You were right. Of course you were.

Everyone stared. Everyone wanted you.

And he knew, deep in that fucked-up little heart of his, that you were too much for this place. Too good. Too soft. Too fucking perfect.

But still, somehow, you walked beside him.

Like he was worthy of that.

Like you chose it.

And Niragi had never been chosen. Not once. Not until now.

He didn’t reach for your hand. He couldn’t.

But he walked beside you, and when you bumped your shoulder into him again—barely, barely there—he didn’t move away. He stayed close. Like he’d burn down the world if you asked.

And maybe you would. You, with your laugh and your little frog.

Maybe one day you’d ask.

And he’d be ready.

You didn’t say anything for a little while. Just walked.

The hallways were nearly empty now, the moon and the party lights bleeding in through the windows, but you glowed more. And Niragi walked beside you like some fucking feral animal on a leash made of pink ribbons and sugar—and he hated it, and he loved it, and he hated that he loved it.

The way your fingers brushed the walls sometimes as you passed. The way your hair bounced a little with every step. The way you hummed under your breath, no real tune, just the sound of you filling up the silence.

He could’ve killed you for that.

He could’ve dropped to his knees.

He could’ve done both in the same second.

He stole a glance at you—not a glance, really. It was more like a gaze, hungry and territorial and scared all at once. You didn’t notice. You were too busy rambling again, about how the ceiling tiles were weirdly shaped in one hallway and how the water in the kitchen tap tasted slightly like lavender, and that you thought someone had stolen one of your lip glosses, but it was okay because you had, like, five more in your drawer.

And every single word felt like you were threading soft little thorns through his ribcage, stringing them tighter and tighter until he could barely breathe.

He wanted to ruin you. No—cover you. Drown you in him, like his mark on your collarbone wasn’t nearly enough. He wanted to rip your sweet voice in half with his mouth. To be the only one you talked to like that. To be the only one who got to see your stupid little smile.

He thought about your room. That big fancy space he got you, and you somehow made soft and warm with your dumb frog tank and your glittery hair clips and your weird fucking lobster.

He thought about the way your perfume smelled on his clothes after he touched you.

He thought about you in that fucking bikini. Not just how you looked in it—fuck, you looked good—but the fact that you smiled like that at someone else while wearing it. The way other people looked at you like you were some prize, like they had a chance. Like they could even dream of being wanted by you.

He wanted to break all of them. Right in front of you.

Not because he didn’t want you to talk to people—no, he liked that. He loved that. Loved watching people orbit you, beg for your attention, try to make you laugh. Because in the end, it was always him you walked back to.

Niragi—violent, blood-coated, trigger-happy Niragi—was utterly owned by someone soft. By someone who could spend the morning naming her animals and the evening giving advice to the most powerful man on the Beach, and still find time to pat him on the chest like he was something worth touching.

He was diseased with it.

You were beautiful. Not just in your face or your body—he didn’t give a shit about that kind of beautiful. It was in the way you made people around you human, even the ones who didn’t deserve to be.

You were the only soft thing in this place he didn’t want to destroy.

He hated that, too.

“Hey.” you said, breaking the silence again. “You’re quiet.”

He blinked, dragged himself back from whatever sick shrine of you he’d just built in his head. “You’re loud.”

You laughed. “Fair. Where are we going?”

He didn’t even know.

Didn’t care.

“Anywhere.” he said.

You nodded like that was good enough. Like walking next to a loaded gun with a god complex was your daily treat. Like you weren’t just safe, but right here.

Like you belonged.

And Niragi felt it again—that twist in his stomach, the sharp ache of wanting something he didn’t think he was supposed to have. Not even sex. You. The way you looked at him like he wasn’t broken beyond repair. The way you touched him like it was okay that he was a fucking monster.

You weren’t stupid.

You knew what he was.

And you still smiled at him like this.

He clenched his jaw, turned his head so you wouldn’t see whatever expression was about to crawl up his face. It wasn’t a smile. Wasn’t a frown. It was something monstrous and devoted and absolutely feral. Like something rabid guarding its first real treasure.

“You okay?” you asked softly, catching it anyway.

No. He wasn’t. Not even close.

But he looked down at you and nodded.

He wasn’t gentle. Not with anyone. Not with anything.

He barked, spit, bit, dragged people by the collar when he wanted something. Respect, loyalty, obedience—he took it all through fear. Controlled it. Crushed it. That was how you stayed on top here. You didn’t ask for space. You carved it out with bullets and bodies.

You had never lifted a weapon. You never needed to.

You never needed to. (Unless he was the one who put it in your hands)

Because the world carved itself out for you.

And Niragi… he was part of that world now, folding for you in ways he didn’t understand and didn’t want to look at too hard. Because when you smiled at him—when you tilted your head, glowing dumb and soft and sweet like it wasn’t him standing there, like you didn’t know what he’d done with those hands—it made something in him kneel.

And he hated it.

But he couldn’t stop.

The way he let you slide into his seat at the executive meeting, legs crossed as if you belonged there—that should’ve pissed him off. That should’ve made him grab you by the wrist and pull you away, because that was his. His chair. His name. His place.

But he didn’t.

He just stood behind you, teeth grinding, eyes locked on the soft curve of your back, your shoulders, that ridiculous collarbone he’d marked with his own mouth like a wild fucking animal. He hadn’t even realized what he was doing when he let you sit—it was automatic.

It was instinct.

Any other girl, he’d have dragged back up by her hair. But you? He stood behind you like you were something sacred, like you were meant to be looked at.

Worshipped.

And when someone talked over you during that meeting—someone who clearly didn’t understand that you were there because the king said so—Niragi’s hand had twitched toward his gun.

Just a twitch.

But it was real.

He didn’t pull it, because you were there.

Because you were the only leash that ever sat comfortably around his throat.

You could say something as dumb as “lobster” and suddenly the chaos in his brain would quiet like a lullaby. He didn’t understand it. Couldn’t wrap his head around it. You were nothing like him—not cold, not cruel, not jagged and cracked from the inside out.

And maybe that was why he couldn’t stop looking.

Because in a place like this you were still soft. Still smiling. Still offering advice to Hatter, and you were sweet enough to kiss someone’s cheek after a win.

And Niragi?

He wanted to fall apart under your hands.

He wanted to press his forehead to your stomach and stay there.

He wanted to crawl inside your skin and make sure no one else could have you.

He didn’t say that, obviously.

No. What he said was—“You always talk this much?”

And you’d smiled—beamed, really—and said, “Only when I like the company.”

He didn’t know what to do with that.

Didn’t know what to do with the way that made his stomach twist and clench and ache, like you’d laced something sharp and warm through his ribs and yanked.

So he said nothing. Let the words rot in his mouth like cherries gone too sweet.

But the truth?

He would’ve killed for you.

He would’ve lined the entire Beach with bodies and fire if someone so much as made you cry.

And not just because you were beautiful.

Not just because you looked good in that ridiculous bikini, soft and glowing and untouchable.

But because you were his beautiful.

You just didn’t know it yet.

And maybe he didn’t know how to tell you.

But his actions did. His silence behind your chair. The way he let you tug him by the wrist like he was just another pretty accessory to your night. The fact that he hadn’t blown any guy’s face off for looking at you wrong.

You didn’t know what it meant when a man like Niragi let you do something.

But he did.

And it was terrifying.

Because the thing about monsters is they don’t give—they keep. They cage. They burn anything that tries to take what’s theirs.

And Niragi was a monster, through and through.

But for you?

He might’ve become a temple.

One that worshipped quietly, obsessively, and with loaded guns.

And all you had to do was smile.

~

Worship. What a dumb word.

Niragi thought it tasted cheap. Too soft on the tongue, too close to the things he hated—kneeling, begging, bleeding for something other than violence. He was a fucking killer, not a monk. And yet, there was no other word that truly fit the way he looked at you.

Worship. Obsession. Possession.

Take your pick.

He’d never call it that out loud. He’d rather put a bullet through his own skull than admit it in those terms. But the way his hands twitched when someone looked at you too long, the way he watched you from doorways, from balconies, from shadows with the cigarette burning down between his fingers… yeah.

It was worship.

Chishiya did it too. You just didn’t see it. He wore his devotion with a scalpel’s precision—never touching, never speaking it, but letting it hang in the air between you both. You didn’t even need to smile at him. Just exist. That was enough.

And Kuina—poor fucking Kuina—she tried not to want it. She really did. But even she wasn’t immune to that gravitational pull you carried around with you. The softness. The goddamn glow. The way you touched people like they weren’t already covered in blood and ruin.

But only one of them had you now. And it was Niragi.

You stood wrapped in his blanket on his balcony, the air clinging to your skin, hair messy from sleep, eyes squinting at the soft sunlight. You looked human. Not otherworldly, not the usual radiant little thing floating through the halls of the Beach like the goddamn messiah. Just… you.

And for a moment, he hated how much he liked that.

He smoked without speaking, elbows leaned on the cold metal railing, the cigarette barely staying in his fingers from how hard his grip was clenched. You stood next to him, barefoot, sleepy, the blanket hanging off your shoulder in a way that showed off the curve of your neck—the same one he’d bitten last night with too much hunger and not enough shame.

The mark was there. Still red. Still his.

You hadn’t tried to hide it.

And fuck, that did something to him.

He didn’t talk, but you did. Of course you did.

You always talked. About the seagulls. About how the sky looked different from this side of the building. About how you liked the breeze and how it smelled like soap and salt and something old. About how his room was “so unfairly nice.”

And how you’d looked for him this morning.

He had no idea what to do with that information.

You told him you’d padded through the halls, looking for him. Him. Of all people. With your arms folded over your chest, still half-asleep. And when you found him in his room, he let you in.

That’s how you ended up here. On his balcony. Wearing his blanket. Talking too much.

And he let you. Because it was you.

He kept his eyes trained on the horizon. Pretended he wasn’t listening when you mentioned saving another bug. Or when you said you’d been thinking of naming the frog. Or when you asked, very seriously, if lobsters had dreams.

You were insane. And perfect.

“Hey.” Your voice cut through the quiet again. Soft, curious. Always curious. “Can I have one of those?” You nodded at the cigarette.

He scoffed, finally glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. “You don’t smoke.”

“Maybe I do.” you said, wiggling your brows, which made him nearly choke on the drag he just took. You looked at him again, more carefully this time, and asked: “You okay?”

What a dumb question.

But coming from you?

It was like prayer.

He didn’t answer. He never really did. But his hand reached out and tugged the blanket a little higher around your shoulders, then flicked his half-finished cigarette off the balcony like he was done pretending he cared about anything other than the warmth of you standing next to him.

“‘Course I’m okay.” His voice was rough. “You’re here.”

You smiled.

And it was that same look again—the one that made his stomach turn inside out and his brain go fucking static. Like he couldn’t even hold onto his thoughts long enough to feel anything but this—the heat of you, the sound of you breathing, the idea that you came looking for him.

God, what a weak fucking thing to admit.

But maybe, under it all, that was what worship really was.

Letting someone see the worst parts of you and still wanting them to stay.

Even if you didn’t know what you were doing to him.

Even if you never said it.

You were doing it anyway.

He scoffed, turning his face away.

“No.” he muttered. “You can’t have a fucking cigarette.”

The refusal wasn’t cruel. Just blunt. That signature Niragi harshness that never really went away, but right now it didn’t bite the same. It was lower, closer to annoyed worry than rage. And you blinked, caught off guard by the answer. Not by the no, but by the softness underneath it, buried.

“Why not?” you asked. You were holding the blanket around you like a cape, standing barefoot next to him, sunlight hitting your hair and that sleepy tilt to your mouth. You weren’t really challenging him—you just liked asking questions. It was who you were. Always reaching, always curious, always wanting to know people, even the ones who didn’t want to be known.

He looked at you from the side, jaw tense. A quiet beat passed.

“It kills.” he said. And then, with less bite: “It was you who wanted me to stop, no?”

Your face shifted. Genuinely surprised now. You blinked again, softer this time, and tilted your head like you were playing the moment back in your mind. Yeah… yeah, you did tell him that once.

And he remembered.

He remembered.

“Oh.” you said, voice gentle now. “I wasn’t serious about the cigarette. I just wanted to try one. But okay.”

You didn’t ask again. Didn’t pout or whine or try to pry it from his hand. You just stood there, blanket swaying against your calves, as content as ever. If anything, your smile got a little brighter. The fact that he remembered what you said—that you’d gotten through to him, even a little—was enough to make you feel warm all the way through.

And Niragi… Niragi hated how good that made him feel.

Because he did remember. He remembered everything you said to him. Every tiny thing you ever did. How you tapped your fingers against your leg when you were anxious. How you always turned around when someone called your name, even when it wasn’t for you. How you never said someone’s name without softening your voice, just a little.

He hated that he knew all this. That he cared.

He leaned back against the railing again, letting the silence take up space between you, but he couldn’t stop watching you. That fucking blanket, swallowing you whole. Your bare legs. The ghost of his bite mark still shining red against your skin like a goddamn brand. The way your hair fluttered in the morning.

He wasn’t afraid of death. Never had been. He’d stared it down more times than he could count. But you—you made him scared of a different kind of ending.

One where you weren’t standing here anymore.

One where you stopped looking at him like that.

He growled low under his breath, trying to shake the thoughts off. The softness. The panic. He could kill a man with a flick of his wrist but couldn’t handle the way his chest squeezed when you did something as simple as smile at him.

What the fuck had you done to him?

You stretched your arms high above your head like a cat, yawning so hard your eyes watered, and mumbled, “M’gonna steal your food if you have anything in your mini fridge.”

He didn’t say no. He never said no to you.

“Help yourself.” he grumbled.

And you padded off inside, dragging his blanket across the floor behind you.

He watched you disappear.

Lit another cigarette.

And didn’t take a single drag.

~

The sunlight danced off the water behind you as you went up to Kuina and Chishiya at the pool, glittering against your skin, and the oversized black sunglasses sliding down your nose only made you look more otherworldly.

Kuina spotted you first. She always did. Her eyes caught the movement, tracked the sway of your hips, the way your towel bounced at your thighs, your wet hair twisted up into a lazy bun that still somehow looked good. But it was Chishiya who stiffened.

Because you were heading straight for him.

You didn’t even hesitate. Just closed the distance. And then you were there.

Clinging.

Your arms slipped around one of Chishiya’s, wrapping around him like ivy. Soft and secure. You leaned your head on his shoulder for a second, just long enough to let your affection settle into his skin, before straightening up again, tugging him down a little by the arm.

You were practically whispering when you spoke. “How’s the plan? Any updates? Or is that top secret info still?” Your voice was quiet, but full of that same lighthearted charm, like you were gossiping and not whispering about literal treason.

He didn’t pull away.

He should’ve pulled away.

Instead, Chishiya just glanced down at you, mouth a flat line, and for a moment Kuina saw something in his eyes. Something soft and sharp and possessive, and for once, it wasn’t hiding. She looked away quickly, trying not to feel that pang behind her ribs. Because she was your friend. She didn’t want to be bitter. But fuck, it was getting hard not to be.

Chishiya kept his voice low. “We might have a shift. Something in motion soon. But not here. Not with all these ears.”

You nodded like it made sense, eyes flicking around the pool. You knew better than to think you weren’t being watched. You were always being watched.

You turned slightly, adjusting your grip on Chishiya’s arm like you didn’t even notice the way his shoulders tensed under your touch.

“Okay.” you whispered. “Just wanted to make sure you weren’t ditching me because you’ve already fled the Beach and I didn’t get the memo.”

Kuina snorted, her arms crossing over her chest. “If we were gonna ditch, we’d at least take the lobster with us.”

You beamed, bright and full of delight, because you loved when they remembered your pets. “He’s doing great, actually. Started kicking the frog’s rocks around yesterday. Power move, honestly.”

Chishiya raised a single brow. “Did you name him yet?”

“I’m waiting for him to tell me.” you said, completely serious. “You don’t just name a lobster. That’s disrespectful. You wait. You listen.”

Kuina smiled behind her hand. Chishiya didn’t smile, but he didn’t roll his eyes either. And from him, that meant everything.

For a moment, the three of you just stood there—an odd little triangle.

And then you tugged gently on Chishiya’s sleeve again, whispering, “Hey. Are you okay? Like… really okay?”

You weren’t asking like someone who just wanted reassurance. You meant it. You were always checking in on people, even when they didn’t deserve it. Especially when they didn’t deserve it.

Chishiya didn’t answer at first. His gaze lingered on you—your sincerity, your softness, the fact that your hair still smelled like Niragi. That bite on your neck still fresh. And somehow, you were still looking at him like he mattered.

“…Yeah.” he muttered. “I’m fine.”

You turned to Kuina. “Do I have time to get another drink before the Beach implodes?”

Kuina nodded. “I’d say you’ve got five minutes. Maybe six if Hatter starts monologuing again.”

You laughed, light and bright, and pulled away from Chishiya’s arm with one last squeeze. “Okay. Be right back. Don’t betray me while I’m gone.”

And you disappeared back into the crowd, just like that.

Both of them watched you go—Chishiya’s gaze locked on your back, Kuina’s smile fading slowly.

You were the eye of the storm. The sunshine. And neither of them, no matter how smart or dangerous or ruthless they were, could stop circling you like moths to a flame.

They didn’t stand a chance.

A guy, drink in his hand, sunburn on the bridge of his nose, shirt open to the fourth button looked at you.

“You.” he said, grinning, pointing his cup at you. “You’re that girl.”

You blinked, then smiled, slow and warm as the recognition sank in. “Oh my god. The tunnels! That one game with the switches. You almost fell into the spike trap because you thought red meant stop and green meant go.”

“It does mean stop and go.” he grinned. “They just messed up the system. You saved my life, actually.”

“And you still almost fell into it.” you teased, folding your arms with a tilt of your head. “Some reflexes.”

He laughed, loud and bright, and you took a sip of your drink with a smile like you’d just gotten away with murder. He wasn’t flirting in a gross way, not really. Just playful. Casual. And most importantly, harmless. You didn’t feel like you were being hunted. That was a rare gift in this place.

Across the pool, Kuina tilted her head, her tongue clicking once against the roof of her mouth. “Who the hell is that?”

Chishiya didn’t answer. His eyes hadn’t left you since the guy walked up.

Your laugh—that laugh—cut through the air again. You leaned into the conversation, tilted your head back, nodded along, made some stupid hand gesture that made the guy laugh too. You were all pink again today. That soft bikini. That light sweater thrown over your shoulders. That bite on your collarbone still purple and sharp against your skin.

Chishiya didn’t do feelings. Not the loud kind, not the obvious kind. But you weren’t just a feeling. There was no escaping the gravity of you. Not for Kuina, not for Niragi, not even for Chishiya—who’d spent his whole life above it all.

You were leaning in again, bumping your shoulder into the guy’s like old friends, laughing as he offered to go grab you another drink.

Chishiya’s thoughts were static. Loud, high-pitched white noise.

That guy didn’t know what you liked to drink. Didn’t know your tells, the little nervous things you did with your fingers when you were lying. Didn’t know the color that looked best on you. Didn’t know you had a lobster and a frog. Didn’t know you wanted to decorate your (ex) apartment with all pink. Didn’t know you used to be a therapist.

Chishiya did.

Chishiya knew.

And he was going to kill that guy.

(He won’t. But he wanted to.)

Kuina glanced at him. “You’re really bad at hiding this.”

“Hiding what?”

She just smirked, then nodded back toward the pool. “She’s not yours, you know.”

He didn’t respond. Because she wasn’t wrong.

And yet, when that guy came back with a drink, when you took it with your sweet little “thank you!” and leaned on the edge of the bar, when you didn’t look back once—Chishiya felt something in his chest snap.

Not loud. Not dramatic. Just a thin, high-tension line pulling taut.

And he stayed silent.

Because he didn’t get to pull you back. He hadn’t put his mouth on your throat. He hadn’t marked you.

But god—he wanted to.

After a while, you walked back to them like nothing had happened.

“Hi.” you greeted, voice soft and sweet, arms already stretching out as you reached them. Without even asking, you curled yourself into Kuina’s side, head pressing against her shoulder. She barely reacted anymore. Just leaned into it, automatically, like your gravity pulled at her too hard to resist. Her arm slung around your waist, fingers pressing lightly into the fabric of your soft pink top/sweater/the fuck it is.

“You missed me?” you asked, looking up between the two of them with a playful little smile.

Kuina snorted. “You were gone for five minutes.”

“And you missed me every second. I get it. You don’t have to say it.” Your tone was dramatic, teasing, but the warmth in your eyes made it clear that you were so happy to be with them again.

Then your gaze settled on Chishiya. Your body didn’t move from Kuina, but your attention locked fully on him, like a spotlight. “You too.”

He didn’t respond right away. Just stood there, hands tucked in his hoodie pockets. If he’d been burning inside before, it didn’t show now.

“I missed you.” you said, completely unashamed, your voice as honest as a confession under a starless sky. “I always do.”

Still, nothing from him. Not even a flicker of expression. But Kuina noticed how he shifted his weight—how his foot edged a little closer. You noticed it too, but you didn’t say anything. You never called him out. That was part of your genius. That was part of why people loved you.

Because you didn’t need anything more than this. Just being near them. Just watching Chishiya breathe, just feeling Kuina’s warmth under your palm.

They could give you nothing and you’d still give them everything.

And it made Chishiya sick.

Not because he didn’t want it—god, he wanted it, wanted you—but because it felt like you cracked him open without trying. Like he’d spent his life building walls no one could climb, and you came skipping through them with a smile and a frog in hand.

You tilted your head at him. “Are you mad at me?”

“No.” he said flatly.

You giggled. “You are.”

“I’m not.”

Kuina rolled her eyes and muttered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like “both of you are insufferable.”

But you just tucked closer into her, nuzzling her shoulder for a second before letting your eyes flutter back to Chishiya. “Well. Whether you’re mad or not, I still love you.”

You threw around “love” like it was candy. But he felt it differently. Every word from your mouth stuck to his ribs like honey. And every time you touched him—even just his sleeve, even just your shoulder brushing his—he felt it like a curse.

Because he wanted to be made of stone. But when you said “love” he was nothing but flesh.

He looked away. But you were already smiling at Kuina again.

“You smell good.” you told her, burying your nose in her neck.

She laughed, exasperated but obviously loving it. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“So many things.” And then you looked between the two of them again, a little more serious this time. “I’m really glad you’re here. Both of you. It’s so dumb, but… I always feel better when you’re around.”

Neither of them responded. Kuina swallowed. Chishiya’s gaze dropped to the ground.

You, of course, just kept going, like your mouth could never stop once your heart started talking. “I was thinking earlier… maybe this place is only survivable because I’m not alone. Like if I didn’t have anyone, I’d just melt into a puddle in the hallway.”

Kuina muttered, “you already do that” but her voice was gentle.

You smiled, rubbing her back lightly. “I know. But you two—you’re like… little anchors. Or like—like… those weighted blankets. You know, the ones that help people sleep? I feel like that around you. Even when you’re moody.”

Chishiya inhaled sharply through his nose. Kuina let her head tilt against yours.

“And I know you’re planning important stuff and I’m not, like, the most useful person in strategy or whatever, but I just… I’m really proud of you. Of both of you. And I want to help however I can. Even if it’s just… being your emotional support lobster.”

You managed to make both of them feel like the only two people in the world.

Chishiya hated how much he wanted to reach out.

Kuina hated how much she wished you’d stay leaning against her forever.

They both wanted to pull you closer.

They both thought the other didn’t deserve you.

And neither of them said a word.

Before you could keep talking—before another string of affectionate nonsense could come off your tongue like honey—someone stepped up to your little circle under the sun. It was a girl, probably another one of Hatter’s messengers, one of his hoes, sunglasses too big for her face.

You blinked up at her, lifting your head slightly from Kuina’s shoulder, hands still half-curled around her.

“Hey.” the girl said, a polite smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Hatter wants to talk to you.”

“Oh! Really? Now?” You smiled.

She nodded. “He said it’s not urgent, but he wants to speak in private.”

And of course you lit up immediately, almost bouncing, barely untangling yourself from Kuina without pushing her into the fucking pool. “That’s so nice! Okay. Okay, yeah. Thanks for telling me!”

The girl just tilted her head once and turned to go, clearly expecting you to follow—but you turned back around, just for a second. Looking at Kuina, at Chishiya, heart beating like it always did when something was happening.

Kuina was already watching you with something complicated in her gaze—jealousy, admiration, worry—but her smile was there, soft on her face. “Don’t let him charm you.”

You grinned. “Me? Never. I’m the one with the real charm around here.”

Then your eyes slid to Chishiya, and your heart did that stupid thing again. Like it always did around him.

Still no visible expression from him, but you watched his gaze shift up and down your frame, then settle on your face like a full stop at the end of a sentence. You didn’t know what he was thinking. You never really knew. But the way he looked at you was… intense.

“I’ll come right back.” you told them both, and you meant it.

And then you turned, following the girl through the crowd and the music and the warm wind that blew over the glittering pool.

~

Hatter poured himself a glass of something golden and smooth, and you were curled up in one of his armchairs, legs crossed beneath you, gaze floating over every inch of his ridiculously luxurious room.

You dragged a finger along the carved arm of the chair, nails painted with tiny glitter hearts. “This is such a vibe.” you murmured, grinning.

He laughed—short, low. Then he turned toward you, swirling the glass in his hand as he leaned a hip against the edge of the desk. “I’ve been thinking about what you said.” he said, voice heavier now. Charisma.

You blinked. “Which part?” you asked lightly. “I say a lot of things. I think my brain’s on fire half the time.”

“The part about people.” he said. “The part where you told me how to use them. Told me how to pull strings without letting them see the threads.”

You tilted your head and offered a small, bright shrug, as if you hadn’t just been talking high-level manipulation. “I mean, it’s not that hard. People just want to be heard. Or adored. Or useful. You just have to find out which.”

“And what do you want to be?” he asked, studying you now.

You smiled, all sunshine. “I want to be adored and useful.” you answered honestly. “Why pick?”

“I think you’re dangerous.” he said, and it wasn’t a warning. It was admiration. Deep, appreciative admiration.

You beamed. “Thank you!”

“And I think I need dangerous people.”

Your legs swung a little from the chair. “You already have dangerous people. Aguni, Niragi, Mira, Chishiya…” You squinted at the curtain, then looked back at him.

“I think you’re the most useful person here.” Hatter said, finally sitting back down, across from you now, resting both elbows on the armrests. “You’ve talked to everyone. They trust you. They like you. You’re not a soldier. You’re not a manipulator. You’re just…” He gestured to all of you. “This.”

You smiled. “You make it sound like I’m a secret weapon.”

“You are.”

You rested your cheek in your hand, eyes sparkling. “You’re very sweet when you want something.”

His lips quirked. “Is it working?”

You shrugged, coy. “Depends what you want.”

He didn’t answer. Not directly. But his gaze dipped for just a second—over your legs, the curve of your throat, the faint shimmer of something expensive on your collarbone. Niragi’s mark was still faint, still there.

He saw it. Of course he did.

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t need to. You just stretched a little, arms over your head, pink sweater sliding a bit off your shoulder, and then you asked, with perfect innocence: “So, what now?”

“I want you closer to me.” Hatter said.

You nodded. “Okay.”

Just like that. No fanfare. No questions. You knew how to play the game. Knew it better than most. It wasn’t about agreeing to whatever he meant. It was about letting him think you had.

You were dangerous in a way no one else here could afford to be. Because they all thought they were playing you.

And that meant none of them were watching you properly.

Just how you liked it.

He leaned back in the armchair, resting the crystal glass on his knee, eyes on you like you were something rare and beautiful that had just sprouted in front of him—something glittering, delicate, and completely unexpected.

His silence made your brows lift slightly. Your legs swung gently, the way they always did when you were comfortable.

“You want me to be the next one.” you said, like you were just naming clouds. Like this was the weather. Like it wasn’t the biggest unspoken secret between you now laid bare.

He didn’t even blink.

You tilted your head. “The next boss. When you get all the cards.”

There it was. Clear. Bright. Unapologetic.

His mouth curved, just a little. “You catch on fast.”

You shrugged, looking at your nails like this was nothing. “You’re not the only one watching people all day.”

That made him laugh. A short, quiet sound that sounded too tired to be flirtation. You knew it wasn’t. Not really. There were prettier people than you at the Beach. There were louder, crueler, more obvious options. But you were the one everyone watched without realizing they were watching. You were the one who got into every room just by smiling.

And somehow… here you were.

“I think Kuzuryu’s going to be real disappointed.” you said airily, crossing your legs. “Technically, it’d be his seat, right? He’s second by rank.”

Hatter didn’t correct you.

“But you want me,” you continued, running your finger along the curve of the table. “because Kuzuryu leads with logic. And you want someone who leads with love. Well, something that looks like love.”

He didn’t deny it.

“And I mean… yeah. I can do that.” you added. “People like me. I don’t even do anything and they still want to follow me around like ducklings. Even the scary ones.”

Hatter just watched you, quiet.

You leaned forward a little. “Do you think it’s weird? How fast this happened?”

“I think it’s exactly how it was supposed to happen.” he said, swirling his drink once. “You walk into a room and people turn toward the warmth. You don’t even try. It’s effortless. You don’t need a gun. You don’t need a crown. You just exist and they… orbit.”

You flushed, just a little, from the praise. Even if you knew it was true.

Hatter studied you for another long, slow moment. Then he said, voice quieter now, “You’ll make them feel safe, Y/N. Like there’s still something human left in all this.”

“Even if there’s not?” you asked.

He smiled. “Especially if there’s not.”

You gave a little sigh and leaned back in the chair, arms stretched along the rests like a child playing queen. “I’m gonna need better clothes.” you said. “Maybe something with rhinestones. Do you think being a leader calls for more glitter or less?”

“I think you can wear a paper bag and they’d still kneel.” Hatter said simply.

That… made you quiet for a moment. Because it was the kind of thing Niragi would think, maybe Chishiya too, but Hatter just said it, out loud, without flinching. It made your heart feel like it had been gently twisted.

“I’m good with people,” you said softly. “but it doesn’t mean I always know what to do with them. Are you sure?”

“Completely.”

“And you’re sure they’ll follow me?”

“Completely.”

You sat with that. Not smiling. Just breathing.

Then, finally, you nodded once. “Okay.”

And that was it. A single word, but it was the start of everything.

“Okay.” you said again, more grounded this time. “So let’s say you do want me to be the next one. Say you get the full deck. What happens after that? Do I have to sit on a throne or something? Give speeches? I’m not that good at speeches. I mean, I talk, I talk a lot, but like, formal stuff? I’ll need practice.”

Hatter grinned at that, slow and approving. “No thrones. No speeches. You just keep being what you are. People follow light. You’re all light.”

You tilted your head at him, voice a little lower. “It’s not just about light though. You don’t pick me just because people like me. You’re smarter than that.”

He gave a slow nod, like he wasn’t surprised you saw through it.

“You understand leverage.” he said. “You understand timing. You know who to be in every room. You don’t think you do—but it’s instinct. The way you survive. And people like you want to make things better. It’s rare.”

“I also carry lobsters in my purse.” you added, gently. “Let’s not forget that.”

That made him laugh again, full and deep. But it faded quickly, his gaze turning distant for a moment. He looked at you like he was memorizing something. And then he said it.

“Something’s going to happen to you.”

You blinked. “What?”

“I don’t know what. But it’s coming.” His tone didn’t change much—still smooth, still calm—but something about the way he said it sent a strange chill through the room. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, his fingers laced. “I’ve seen too many players. Watched the way fate curls around certain people. And with you… it’s circling. Something’s coming. I feel it.”

You paused, staring at him, for once not having anything quick to say. You didn’t laugh, didn’t call it dramatic, didn’t offer some witty remark. You just… looked at him.

Because a part of you knew it too. Even in your silly, soft world full of frogs and lobsters and candy-colored swimsuits—you felt it. That hum beneath the surface. That something was changing. That something had to.

“…You think I’m going to die?” you asked, quietly.

“No.” Hatter said. “No. Not death. You’re too golden for that. But you’re going to change. You’re going to become something bigger than you ever meant to be. It’ll tear things apart.”

You stared down at your hands, soft fingers and perfect nails. You’d never broken a bone. You cried when you saw roadkill. You fell asleep holding stuffed animals. And yet somehow, people kept handing you their secrets, their loyalty, their knives.

Your voice was small. “I don’t want to tear things apart.”

He nodded slowly. “That’s why it’s going to hurt.”

You let that sit between you, heavy as concrete. The room felt warmer than before, despite the air conditioning. You blinked, eyes glassy, but not crying.

“Will you still want me then?” you asked. “When I’m not all glitter and sunshine?”

“I’ll want you more.” he said. “Because that’s when the world will finally see what you are. Not cute. Not sweet. But power wrapped in a pink bow.”

You looked at him, silent. And then—softly, because you meant it—“I don’t want to be alone.”

“You won’t be.” he said. “Not ever.”

That, somehow, scared you more than anything.

“Thank you.” you said. Not light, not playful—no dramatic hand gestures or air-kisses or quips. Just two words. Solid. Real. And full of so much fucking gratitude it made Hatter lean back, like maybe the weight of it surprised even him.

You didn’t just mean thank you for the compliment, or the belief, or the safety of the room. You meant thank you for seeing you. For noticing that beneath the softness, the pink, the love for frogs and the way you were always touching people like the world might shatter without warmth—there was something more. Something sharp. Something terrifying. Something that could change everything if it wanted to.

And he saw it.

You hopped off the table. You just stood for a second. Watching him. Letting yourself be watched.

“I won’t let you down.” you said. And you meant that too.

“I know you won’t.” His voice was quiet. “Go now.”

He didn’t say it unkindly. There was nothing dismissive in the way he said it. Just… trust. And the kind of calm someone has when they know they’ve made the right bet.

You turned, soft steps already moving toward the door, and you paused only once—your hand on the frame—just to glance back and offer one last radiant smile.

Then you slipped out.

Hatter sat there long after the door closed behind you. Fingers steepled beneath his chin, elbows on his knees again.

He had no illusions about people. He knew most of the Beach would turn on him the second it served them. He knew men like Niragi would shoot their way to the top if they could, and men like Chishiya would wait for the perfect second to pull the rug out from under someone’s feet. Everyone here was a loaded gun waiting for the trigger.

But you? You were a bomb. Not even because you wanted to be. You didn’t crave power. You didn’t manipulate like Mira or command like Aguni or dominate like Niragi. You didn’t move like someone with ambition in their veins. You moved like someone who just wanted to love things. Everything. Everyone. It made people give you everything.

And when someone like that finally realized how much they were worth?

When they stopped trying to just survive and started to use it?

That was the kind of person history bent around.

Hatter leaned back in his chair and stared at the door, a slow breath pushing past his lips.

You weren’t ready to be worshipped.

But you were already being followed.

And if there was one person in this whole godforsaken Beach who had the potential to burn the entire system down—

It was you.

~

You’d waited by the pool, your arms folded beneath your chest at first, eyes sweeping the crowd for a flash of blonde or a blue bikini. Kuina. Chishiya. Where did they go? You left them right here. But they weren’t anywhere.

You thought about going to look for them—briefly. But the mood, the lights, the people calling your name, pulling you into conversations like you were the center of gravity—it swallowed you back in.

Yeah, it was nighttime by now.

So you stayed.

The Beach’s golden girl, barefoot by the water, skin kissed by the lights around the pool. Your pink sweater was long gone, peeled off sometime around your fourth half-drink, now left on a chair somewhere you’d definitely forget. All that was left was your bikini, a soft pink shade that somehow made you look both divine and painfully human. Your body looked like it belonged here. Your laughter did too.

You twirled someone’s sunglasses on your finger. Spoke to a group of players and made them smile. Someone offered you fruit cut into little stars. Another said you should be on a card. Someone called you the Beach’s luck charm.

And then—

Fingers at your back. A palm, brushing slow against your spine, curling into the strap of your bikini top.

You gasped—not because you were scandalized, but because your first thought was it’s falling.

You twisted around quick, your hair whipping across your bare shoulders.

Niragi.

Already holding the back of the strap in place like the asshole he was, one finger looped under it, tugging just enough to make your heart leap, but not enough to really take it off.

“Scared ya.” he said, so fucking smug.

Your mouth parted, words caught between a scold and a laugh.

“Are you serious?” you breathed, hand going to your chest as if he actually had pulled it off. “Niragi, I will end you.”

“You’d need both hands.” he said, voice lazy, cocky, leaning in. “And I think you’d like them somewhere else.”

Your jaw dropped. “You are so—oh my god—”

He was already letting the strap fall gently back into place, smoothing it over with an unnecessary graze of his thumb against your back. His hand lingered. Too long. He didn’t move away.

“You’re so annoying.” you muttered, even as you turned your face up to him with the same grin he’d seen you give strangers all night. Sweet. Lovable. Angelic.

But Niragi? He got the real version of it. The version that wanted to smack him and kiss him in the same breath.

He didn’t take you seriously. Not right now. He was like a fucking high schooler—so immature, grinning like he just stole a candy bar, like you were his favorite game.

But could you be angry?

No.

Not when he looked at you like that. Not when you knew the way he’d stood behind you in that meeting earlier, let you take his chair.

Not when he touched you like you were something to be handled carefully, even if he didn’t say it.

You rolled your eyes and pushed at his chest with one hand, but he caught your wrist. Held it. Not tight. Just… there.

“Don’t wander off like that.” he muttered, barely audible over the beat of the music.

“I didn’t.” you said. “You wandered off. Left me all alone in your room in the morning.”

He snorted, gaze dropping to your mouth, then to your legs, then back up to your eyes. “You’re a fuckin’ walking target like that. Someone’s gonna try something.”

“Someone did, actually.” you said, smug, chin tilted up.

His jaw twitched. “And?”

“And I said no.” you replied, simply. “Why would I say yes to someone when the person I actually want is just—”

You caught yourself.

He watched the stutter of your breath like a predator. “Go on.” he said. “Finish that.”

You just smiled again.

“I’m gonna get another drink.” you said, pulling your wrist from his hand gently. “Coming?”

He stared for a second longer, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to follow or grab you again, say something wild, say stay here with me, but in the end—

He scoffed.

And followed anyway.

You leaned half over the bar, arms bare and glittering slightly from whatever shimmer you’d slapped on earlier, as the bartender handed you another tall glass—fruit, mostly, juice, something sweet.

Niragi stood just behind you, close enough that you could feel the heat off him again, close enough to let everyone else know not to get any ideas.

“I’m gonna get you a lava lamp.” you announced, spinning around to lean your back against the bar now, drink in hand.

Of course you were still talking. Like always. Like he wasn’t dangerous. Like he wasn’t the guy who would gut someone in the hallway over a bad look. Like he didn’t burn things just to feel something. Like he didn’t hate the world and himself and everything in between.

Like you weren’t the one thing he didn’t hate.

He blinked at you. “…What the fuck are you talking about?”

“A lava lamp.” you repeated, sipping. “You know. Those glowing blob things? I just feel like you need one.”

“What the fuck am I gonna do with a lava lamp?”

“Look at it, obviously.” you said. “It’s soothing. Mood lighting. You could stare at it instead of staring at people like you want to murder them.”

He stared harder now. At you.

“You think a lamp’s gonna fix me?”

“I mean.” you tilted your head. “It probably won’t make you worse.”

“You’re fucked in the head.” he muttered, finally, poking at his mouth with his tongue, his piercing sliding over his lips.

“And you’re not?” you said, tone light and sugar sweet. “Please. We’re so similar.”

He scoffed again but didn’t disagree.

He never disagreed with you when it came to things like that.

You started walking, slowly, along the edge of the pool, and he moved with you, just barely a step behind, like it was natural. And it was.

That was the thing—you two got along. It didn’t make sense. No one would believe it. But it was true. You two got along so well. It was alarming.

You rambled, talking.

And he listened.

He didn’t interrupt much, just let the sound of your voice keep going, like it helped his brain from spiraling too deep into the other things—the hate, the self-loathing, the mess of rage constantly buzzing in his pretty skull. With you talking beside him, the world didn’t have to be like this. It could be soft. Ridiculous. Weird. Human.

And Niragi? Niragi just existed beside you.

He hated himself. He hated his past. He hated how fucking easy you made everything feel. Like this was normal. Like he was normal. And god, he wasn’t. He wasn’t.

He didn’t deserve you walking next to him, glittering like sunlight, talking about lava lamps and sipping some fruity shit with your mouth so pink and soft.

But still.

Still, here you were. With him.

“You know,” you said suddenly, glancing up at him as you walked. “no matter how much of an asshole you are, I actually really like talking to you.”

He didn’t respond.

Didn’t need to.

The silence was heavy between you, but not awkward. Not anymore. His hand brushed yours once. Then again. Not by accident.

You didn’t pull away. You just looked up at him, smiling that tired, crooked smile that came out when you were relaxed, real. Honest.

And Niragi? He didn’t smile back.

But inside—somewhere under the chaos and the rot and the fucked up parts of himself he usually tried to drown in smoke—his heart ached. Burned.

Because he knew, right then, that if he had to be stuck in this world forever, if it meant he could walk beside you like this, laughing about useless shit like lava lamps and watching you sip stupid drinks—

He’d take it. Every time.

Even if he hated himself for it.

He would burn the whole fucking world down for you.

No hesitation. No mercy. He’d do it smiling, with blood on his hands and smoke in his lungs. He’d watch everything turn to ash if it meant keeping you warm.

Because he was that kind of broken.

The kind of fucked up that didn’t need a reason, didn’t ask for justification. The kind that saw something beautiful—someone like you—and thought, mine. Immediately. Permanently.

And god, he knew how wrong that was.

He knew he wasn’t gentle. Knew he wasn’t soft. He wasn’t someone you could show off. He wasn’t the kind of boy you brought home to your family—he was the one you kept hidden. The one whose hands had already killed, already torn through skin, already carved pain into the world and felt nothing.

But when it came to you?

Everything in him screamed. Every nerve. Every cell. He couldn’t ignore you. Couldn’t even breathe without some part of him aching from it.

And it wasn’t just lust, wasn’t just obsession—not completely. It was deeper. Sicker. Worshipful. He thought about you constantly. The way your lips moved when you spoke. The dumb little expressions you made when you were telling one of your never-ending stories. The way you touched everyone without thinking, like your hands belonged on people’s arms and cheeks and shoulders. And how he’d kill anyone who got used to that.

They don’t get to touch you like that.

Because you were light. And he was rot. A thing full of rage and bitterness and cruelty, the kind of man people crossed the street to avoid, the kind that would never get love in return—just fear, just submission, just sexual touches in the dark.

But you? You had smiled at him from day one. Unafraid. Curious.

You’d kissed him. Told him you wanted to. Said it like it was no big deal, like it didn’t mean everything. And that kiss had lodged itself in his skull like a bullet, still there, still bleeding. You didn’t know what this was.

But he did.

It was everything.

He watched you now, walking ahead slightly, your hair catching the lights from the party, hips swaying in that goddamn bikini that made him want to break furniture and bite through his fucking lip.

And it made him mad. Mad that someone like you existed. Mad that someone like him got to be near you. Mad that he wanted more than this, more than what you’d already given him.

He wanted your trust. Your time. Your whole body under him, around him, your smile made just for him. He wanted your loyalty, your softness, your everything.

And yeah. He was sick in the head. He knew that.

He would chain the sun for you if you asked. Would tear down every tower in this city and light the sky on fire just to make you laugh.

He would paint your name in blood and swear it was poetry.

That’s who he was.

And he hated it. Hated that you made him want to be seen. Hated that when you were around, he didn’t feel empty. He felt human.

He hated that he loved it.

“You’re staring.” you said, turning back to glance at him, head tilted. Innocent. Unaware.

“Yeah?” he said. “Get used to it.”

Because there was no world—no Beach, no Borderland, no Earth—where he would ever stop.

Hopeless. That’s what his heart was. Niragi—who had no business having one in the first place—felt it fracture in slow, quiet pieces every time you turned that sunlit face away from him, smiled at someone else, touched someone else.

He was too far gone.

He wanted mornings with you. Not just nights full of smoke and skin and laughter muffled into kisses, but mornings. That soft light through the window bullshit. Waking up with your hair against his chest, your legs tangled with his. You in a hoodie that wasn’t yours—maybe his, maybe stolen from someone else just because it made you look that cute.

He wanted to hear your voice in the morning before it smoothed out. Wanted to be the first thing you saw when you opened those ridiculous eyes. Wanted to make coffee with you and let you feed your stupid lobster and your frog, and act like any of this was normal.

Wanted to sit in silence with you. Wanted to hold your hand in a room full of people and never explain why.

He wanted all the things he wasn’t supposed to want.

Things no one like him deserved.

And the worst part? You didn’t even know. You never noticed how he was coming apart at the seams for you, how just the way you said his name could change the whole fucking temperature of his body. How badly he wanted to undo himself, completely, just to make you smile.

And then—fucking then—Akira.

Of course it was Akira.

He always looked clean. Cool. Smelled like expensive cologne and didn’t have blood on his hands. Probably never killed anyone with his bare fingers. The kind of guy who called you “princess” in his head.

Niragi knew the type. Knew he had nothing on him when it came to danger, but that was the issue, wasn’t it? You liked danger. You liked him. But Akira was safe. Akira didn’t bite. Akira didn’t bleed out at night in his head thinking about your laugh.

The guy nodded at Niragi. Nodded. Like they were boys. Like they were on the same level.

Niragi’s eyes didn’t move. Didn’t twitch. He watched Akira’s hand slide too casually over your shoulder, fingers brushing the soft skin of your upper back like he’d earned that right.

And you—too sweet to notice the shift—just turned to talk to him, light in your eyes, sun in your voice.

That was it.

Something in Niragi cracked so deeply it didn’t even make a sound. It was clean, internal, permanent. Like a light switch flipping off inside.

He didn’t growl. Didn’t scream. Didn’t grab the guy and snap his wrist like he wanted to.

Instead, his hand—steady, gentle, controlling—landed on your waist. He leaned in, teeth brushing your ear. “Aguni wants to talk to you.” he said. Voice soft. Controlled.

You turned to him immediately. “He does?” Like it was the best news you’d heard all night. He nodded, brushing a stray bit of hair from your cheek, then let you go.

He watched you walk away, smiling over your shoulder. Always smiling.

And then he turned.

No expression on his face now. Just something new behind the eyes.

He had never done this before.

Never willingly sought him out.

But right now? There was only one person sick enough, smart enough, and cold enough to understand what needed to be done.

And he knew exactly who to ask.

Chishiya.

❤︎︎ @lizntstoptalking @cherryheairt @fiction-fantasy-folks @monkey4lifer @psychicyouthfox @so-dramatic1 @mypsychoticlove @unhinged-sorcerer @rattymess @mocchii-writes @adanfore @scarlet703 @fluentgoddess @maxinehufflepuffprincess @onyxmango @bluerthanvelvet444 @risingofjupiter @enhasrii @potato-vagina @cherryyserenade @l5byrinth @soaplickerrr @sillyenemyarcade @miellette @sk1ndx0

[edenmemes]

baldur's gate 3 starters (part 1)

part 1 / ? .

❝ a less trusting person might think this all sounds very suspicious. ❞ ❝ you say all the right words, but i’m not sure you mean the right things. ❞ ❝ i know somewhere quiet. somewhere intimate. somewhere we can…indulge in each other. ❞ ❝ eugh, don’t be nice to me. it makes me want to be nice back. ❞ ❝ we needn’t be enemies. there’s plenty of those to go around already. ❞ ❝ there’s a steeliness to you, an unwavering tenacity in the face of, to be frank, quite dire odds. ❞ ❝ even the waves of fate can break upon the shores of will. ❞ ❝ i appreciate anyone that opens a conversation with threats of bodily harm. ❞ ❝ oh, you know me - ever the optimist. i’m trying to focus on the positives. ❞ ❝ i’m not easily impressed by people, but you’re stronger than i gave you credit for. ❞ ❝ there’s an air about you. something alien. ❞ ❝ loosen the grip on your pride for one blasted moment, won’t you? ❞ ❝ it’s been a long time since someone stuck their neck out for me like that. ❞ ❝ there’s something odd about this village. people skulk around like they’ve something to hide. ❞ ❝ you know, if you want to spend time with me, you only have to say so. ❞ ❝ i want to know what the world sees when it looks at me. what you see. ❞ ❝ what’s better than a devil you don’t know? a devil you do. ❞ ❝ you must know that you’re…that you’re very special to me. ❞ ❝ the gods are nothing if not vindictive in their vengeance. ❞ ❝ stay with me a while, will you? day will come all too soon. ❞ ❝ here’s my little treat with their cheeks all flushed. ❞ ❝ i am terrified. i will not claim otherwise. ❞ ❝ my apologies. i’m not quite myself yet. i had the strangest dream last night. ❞ ❝ we didn’t die today. tomorrow, perhaps. but not today. ❞ ❝ leader’s need to make tough decisions. we do what we must. ❞ ❝ i think that unknowable powers come with unknowable consequences. ❞ ❝ i’ve had a lifetime’s fill of watching little men puff themselves up with grand titles. ❞ ❝ in these times, all we can trust are the blades in our hands. ❞ ❝ it’s not easy to turn away from one you once loved. ❞ ❝ much has been promised to you, hasn’t it? but what has been taken from you? ❞ ❝ damn it all. i can do nothing right - not a damn thing. ❞ ❝ every instinct i have tells me that nothing’s changed. that i’m still just a means to an end. ❞ ❝ do not speak of a story you only know the half of. ❞ ❝ i dreamt every night that you’d come back to me. that somehow it was all a nightmare dawn would undo. ❞ ❝ when the time comes to strike, you must take it. for there may be only one chance. ❞ ❝ your eyes. there is pain, endless and deep. but also devotion - blazing like the sun. ❞ ❝ you’re adorable even when you’re teasing me. ❞ ❝ i don’t need your help, and i don’t need your pity. ❞ ❝ i’m more than what i was. and i’m not afraid of anything any more. ❞ ❝ i said exactly what i meant: i love you. you should never, never doubt that. ❞ ❝ this is all like some sort of terrible dream. but it’s real, isn’t it? ❞ ❝ there is no redemption. can’t you see? it is too late. ❞ ❝ i don’t know that it was brave. i just know that it was right. ❞ ❝ you took those bastards down like it was nothing. it…was amazing. ❞ ❝ they underestimated me. so they paid the price. ❞ ❝ we fight, we die, and we just hope that when our time comes, there is someone else to take our place. ❞ ❝ unfortunately for me, you’re my friend. rescuing you from mortal peril is my right. ❞ ❝ what did you think i was going to say? 'oh, come here, i'll kiss you better'? ❞ ❝ flowers are so overrated. they're bright, gaudy, and almost never make good poisons. ❞ ❝ i’ve been lied to, my whole life. and i was gullible enough to just believe it. ❞ ❝ you know, i never pictured myself as a hero. never thought i'd be the one they toast for saving so many lives. and now that i'm here…i hate it. ❞ ❝ you know, i feel a connection between us. like we're two souls walking the same path. ❞ ❝ the forgiving sort, are you? you should be careful. plenty would take advantage of that. ❞

❝ it’s as if god made you just to ruin me. ❞ ❝ perish the thought. every word i said was nothing less than true. ❞ ❝ you have a manner of irresistible desperation about you. i like it. ❞ ❝ i got my eye on you. you got the look of a troublemaker. ❞ ❝ i’m starting to think you’re my guardian angel. ❞ ❝ it seems you know me better than i know myself. ❞ ❝ you…you have no idea what you’ve done. ❞ ❝ they say madness and genius are separated by but a hair’s breadth. perhaps the same is true of madness and stupidity. ❞ ❝ oh, it’s you. don’t you get tired of telling people how to live their lives? ❞ ❝ good morning! thank you for not killing me the other night. ❞ ❝ when the time comes to strike, you must take it. for there may be only one chance. ❞ ❝ it is good to savour the moment of victory - but pace bg3 syourself. our fight is just beginning. ❞ ❝ i was too hasty to judge you. i thought you were witless, gutless, unimpressivably bland… ❞ ❝ yours is the first happy face i’ve seen in a good while. ❞ ❝ when hope has been whittled down to the very marrow of despair – that’s when you’ll come knocking on my door. ❞ ❝ thank you, my friend. maybe we’ll meet again, in another life. ❞ ❝ you’ll regret sticking your nose in my business. ❞

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Back to Here - No Love Lost Bonus Chapter

Series Masterlist

Read on A03

Author's Note: One-shot request from the amazing @afroslacks! Title from Shade of Yellow by Griff

Word Count: 1.2k

Summary/Warnings: Takes place in Chapter 14. We once again face the horny fluff.

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, fluff

When you’d told Ben you were okay with him touching you in front of everyone, your exact phrasing was as long as you’re not gross. You’re absolutely positive he’d heard you as well, because he’d rolled his eyes before kissing the words out of your mouth.

But the man doesn’t listen. On purpose. You know it’s on purpose, because usually he’ll grunt and grumble but do what you tell him, and right now he’s not even pretending to remember.

What’s annoying is that you’re not even that mad about it. What’s more annoying is that he knows you’re not mad about it, because he’s not even worried about you making him stop. Ben never pushes your lines to tries try see if he can make you budge, because he knows you won’t and he’ll get in trouble. But that also means he’s impossibly good at knowing what lines aren’t real. What things you tell him to do that you say because sometimes you just say stuff. Sometimes you’re just trying to pretend that you’re not always thirsty for him, don’t always want him at your side.

And the asshole has you figured out. He knows that when you say we’re going to team dinners every night you mean it, but when you say play nice with everyone you’re talking about everyone except Butcher. Ben knows that if you tell him clean up after yourself you’re serious, because that’s the start of it. Ben cleans up once and now, months later, you somehow trust him with your life and every part of you he’ll take. He also knows if you tell him we need to get out of bed he can just hold you tighter and you’ll immediately give in with a sigh.

He knows when you say not everything, not yet it’s important that he listens. That he can take everything else he wants except that, and he does. Ben touches you everywhere you’ll let him, but waits for you to give him the clear to take more.

He knows that when you said don’t be gross you just meant don’t make me visibly horny in front of everyone. Don’t make me grind into you or pin me on top of the table. 

And he is walking that line very precariously.

“Bloody fuckin hell,” Butcher mutters, and you can feel his glare from across the table. “You twats can’t keep it in your pants for one hour? Some of us are tryin to eat.”

“They are still in their pants,” Frenchie’s words are muffled from a mouthful of pasta. “And I am eating just fine.”

“That’s cause you’re a fuckin pervert, Mate.” Butcher snaps. “I didn’t come here to see two supes neckin like teenagers. I came here because Hughie gets all bloody puppy faced when I don’t.”

“You promised-“

Butcher cuts Hughie off with a scoff. “I’m here, ain’t I? And I would appreciate it if I could fuckin eat my shitty ass spaghetti without worryin that Soldier Boy’s gonna cum all over the table!”

A chorus of groans echoes through the room, and it’s almost enough to make you push Ben away.

Almost. But he drops his mouth to your neck, pulls you closer in his side, and you decide you can find a way to live with yourself.

You’re starting to worry that he can read your mind. Because before that brief hesitation even fades, Ben sucks the skin at the base of your throat once—sloppy and wet—and pulls away. You’re grateful, half because you can bury your flushed face in his shoulder as he gives Butcher a lazy grin, and half because you were getting dangerously close to climbing on top of him.

“It’s not our fault all you pussies have blue balls.” Ben drawls, and you kick him under the table, glaring up at his stupid, smug, handsome face.

Don’t be an ass.

He rolls his eyes. They’re being fucking prudes.

Benjamin.

“You two care to have this conversation out loud?” You turn to see MM looking at you with a bored expression. He’s never really pissed about this anymore, and you think he just gave up on being disgusted. He doesn’t like it, but he’s not mad. It’s honestly more than you could ask for.

“No.”

You whack Ben’s arm. “Sorry. We’ll stop.”

Ben scoffs, and hunches over his plate. His arm over your shoulders drops down, tugging you into his side so you can only move your hands—everything past that trapped against his body—and you don’t care. He’s touching you, and he’s warm, and you can feel his annoyance but it’s nothing compared to his desire. It’s nothing compared to the affection you can feel rush through him when you give him a smile, even if he just grunts and glares at his pasta like it’s the one that cock-blocked him.

You know it’s a lie. You might not lie to Ben, but you lie a lot to your team. You lie to Hughie when you say you like certain Billy Joel songs because you don’t want him to gape at you and try to convince you otherwise. You lie to Frenchie when you say you’d love nothing more than to hear about his latest supe-killing weapon, because he gets really excited—it’s kind of adorable—and sometimes it’s actually pretty interesting. You lie to Annie when she picks you up for lunch and asks—every time without fail—what’s going on between you and Ben. You say it’s complicated, but it’s not. It’s actually really simple: You want Ben more than you’ve ever wanted anything and he wants you but not like that, just as a friend he can fuck. And that kills you a little, so you’re trapped in this limbo where Ben can almost make you moan at the dinner table—but you won’t let him just carry you back to your bed and make you scream and fall apart under him—and Annie can give her a look that tells you she knows. She knows you won’t stop doing this. There won’t be more tonight, because Butcher’s still glaring at you and Hughie’s whole face looks like a tomato, but tomorrow the exact same thing will almost certainly happen. Ben will kiss you once, innocently enough if you’d only seen it in passing, and you’ll taste him, you'll feel the want pounding in his chest, and immediately pull him closer. The absolute fucking asshole always anticipates you keeping yourself against him—he plans on it—and his arm will immediately move over your shoulders, hand reaching your jaw to angle your head where he wants it. And then he’ll go and go and go until someone coughs—Hughie or Annie—or makes a remark—Butcher or MM—and he finds whatever line you have for the day. Then he’ll pull back and you have to pretend you’re fine with it. Like your pouting is because he’s being cocky and annoying and not because you wish he would pick you up and lay you on the table. 

It’ll happen the after as well, then again after that, then every night until Butcher either shoots one of you or you figure out a way to just attach Ben to you forever. 

End Note: They really can make any situation horny. Also if you've noticed I'm re-using gifs, yeah :( I am. Please sign my petition to make Jensen Ackles just do stuff in character so we can have more gifs.

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[story-box]

ANYTHING CAN HAPPEN ON THE INTERNET | Matthew Gray Gubler | Spencer Reid

Part 1 | Part 2

Pairings: Matthew Gray Gubler x Reader | Matthew Gray Gubler x You | Spencer Reid x Reader | Spencer Reid x You

Summary: Matthew Gray Gubler discovers a fanfiction about Spencer Reid that hits too close to home, igniting an anonymous, irresistible connection with its talented author.

-

It started innocently enough.

He was on Reddit. Just scrolling.

...which he shouldn’t have been doing, frankly, because the comments there either told him he looked like a Victorian wet cat or a “fine wine, if the wine also solved murders.”

The latter, oddly, felt a bit too specific.

Was he wearing a cape in that particular edit? Because that one definitely could have been a thirst trap — if thirst traps came with footnotes about obscure 17th-century literature.

Matthew shook his head. One fan edit titled “Matthew Gray Gubler as a vampire, but make it cute” was more confusing than anything else.

How does one even make a cute vampire? Was he going to be sipping a smoothie in a Victorian parlor while discussing existentialism? It was just a lot to process.

But then a username caught his eye. A link.

Curiosity, his lifelong and possibly most problematic trait, pushed him forward, so...he clicked.

And then he read.

And then he kept reading.

For three hours.

Without blinking.

He wasn’t even sure how he got there. One second, he was Googling whether giraffes sleep standing up (they do sometimes, it turns out), and the next he was elbows-deep in a 20k-word Criminal Minds fic titled “Late Night at Quantico (And Other Terrible Ideas)” by someone named softestsidearm.

It was an x Reader.

About Spencer Reid.

And somehow, impossibly, it felt like it got him. Not just “him” the character — but him. Like whoever wrote this had cracked open his ribcage, peeked at the neurotic little sparrow-heart inside, and whispered, “Yeah. That tracks.”

He set down his phone.

Picked it up.

Set it down again.

Laid down on the floor for a while, like a Victorian woman recovering from scandal.

Then, at 2:41 a.m., Matthew Gray Gubler created a burner account.

Username: drfactsandfeelings

Bio: “probably overthinking it”

Profile pic: A blurry owl in glasses.

He didn’t comment right away. He couldn’t. He spent a full hour typing and deleting:

“This was really great. Your Reid is so in character.”

“Hi, I’m... a fan. Of this. Not in a weird way. Unless you think it’s weird. In which case I’m not.”

“Are you a time traveler?? How do you know what he’d say in literally every situation?? I—” (he deleted that one fast.)

Finally, he settled on something safe. Casual. Normal.

“This was lovely. Beautifully written. You really captured the heart of him. Thank you for sharing.”

He hit post.

Threw his phone across the room.

Regretted everything.

-

Within twenty minutes, he saw a reply:

“OMG thank you 🥺 comments like this keep me going. I’m literally pacing my room like a regency wife who just got a letter from war rn. Thank you thank you thank you.

He reread it four times. His ears turned red.

But then… curiosity gnawed at him again.

He clicked on her profile.

And that's when he saw it.

Age: 25

25.

Matthew blinked, feeling like a deer caught in headlights. Not because she was 25, of course — that was perfectly fine — but because he was 44.

He scrolled down, slightly distracted now. So she was close(ish)…well, not really…. to his age... but still, he shouldn’t be on Reddit at 2:41 a.m., really shouldn't.

Yet here he was, spiraling down a rabbit hole of fanfic, somehow emotionally invested. He tried not to overthink it, but his brain immediately started overanalyzing everything.

What was it like being 25 in this wild world of fanfiction and anonymous fandoms? Was she a professional writer?

Or just someone with an extraordinary ability to read between the lines of a fictional character?

Was this weird?

It didn’t help that the more he read your replies, the more he realized just how you understood Spencer. It was almost eerie. He couldn’t help but feel a little… flustered?

Like he was being admired in a way that was a little too... honest.

so, naturally, instead of sleeping like a person with functioning social instincts, he went back and read all your other fics. All of them.

By sunrise, he had developed:

A deeply parasocial crush on your brain.

An aggressive respect for your metaphor usage.

And a secret favorite line that he screenshotted and saved in Notes. (It was from the fic where Spencer couldn’t sleep, and Reader said, “Then I’ll keep watch. Someone should guard the genius.”)

He paced.

He spiraled.

He made tea and forgot to drink it.

And then he did something wild.

He DM’d you.

drfactsandfeelings: Hi. This is random, but I’ve been reading your work and I think it’s… really, really special. You understand Spencer better than most writers I’ve read — like you’re not just writing him, you’re listening to him. Sorry, that’s weird. I just wanted to say thank you. For putting something like that out there. (Also, you made me cry a little with the “guard the genius” line. Rude.)

He turned his phone screen-down on his nightstand. Turned it off. Put a hoodie over it. Just in case it glowed at him in the morning light like some digital Eye of Sauron.

(Which, in Gubler Language, translated directly to: "I'm catch up on sleep and pretend it never happened.")

...

He did not sleep.

But he tried.

And somewhere around 8:02 a.m., brain still fizzing and heart still chewing on the words “i literally based it on how i think you would play it??, Matthew Gray Gubler — actor, artist, author, former Vegas magician’s assistant — fell asleep mid-spiral, dreaming of owls in glasses and fictional FBI agents who knew how to say the right thing.

[uyuartik]

I'm Starving, Darling (modern obi wan kenobi x reader)

tags: modern!obi wan, teeth rotting fluff, suggestive themes, mention of anakin and satine, this is basically my love letter to the perfection that is obi wan, yes i used a hozier title sue me, y'all are so lucky that this was before "too sweet"

summary: Obi Wan wakes you up from an unplanned nap.

a/n: back dated fic now on tumblr | link to ao3

likes and reblogs are very much appreciated, and let me know your thoughts in the comments!

enjoy!!!

word count: 1078

You wake up to the feeling of the bed dipping and you hear him, seeing him. “Time to wake up, love.”

Bed? When did you even go to bed? Have you fallen asleep? Why does everything look so bright and so orange?

His voice doesn’t help you to establish a sense of reality, prolonging your stay in the dreamland. It is so deep and rich, filled with sweetness, and so close to your ear. You can practically feel the words touching your skin.

Then again, the same sweetness pulls you back to the world, for how could you deny his wishes? Your eyes flutter at the warm rays that slither from the window, desperately fighting back to be closed. It must be sunset, your mind somehow gathers as the struggle continues. Hi, you want to say back, how long has it been.

It remains as a thought once you see his face, illuminated by the golden hour of the day.

Every word dies in the tip of your tongue as you get to see him properly, pupils adjusting to the light. How could you ask him anything, when he looked this angelic under the afternoon sky? A face straight out of paintings. The shadow of his beard only enhances the contours of his prominent cheekbones, and does nothing the hide his plush lips, the corners of it humorously twisted upwards. Even the unruly piece of hair that hangs right in front of his eyes takes nothing away from his perfect image, and above all, his brilliant blue eyes, gazing at you with all the adoration in the world. In older times, he would’ve been titled a prince, capturing every heart in the kingdom (and even beyond), and breaking it all, except one. Yet, here we were, hovering over you, dedicated to making his love known from the moment you wake up to the moment you go back to sleep. This is what heaven must be like, and nothing else, you conclude. How did you get so lucky?

Oh, and lucky you were indeed, and devastatingly patient. Not like you had any other choice, you knew from the moment you met him that he would be the one, and only one. His charm had worked too well on you, and every kind gesture, every mischievous one-liner amplified your crush, which had turned into pure love in no time. Yet, you never had to courage to confess your feelings. When you found it though, the predicament had transformed into a timing problem. You didn’t feel okay with bringing up this subject when he was dealing with heavy issues; Satine’s death, Anakin’s betrayal… You couldn’t leave him alone, and you couldn’t stay too close in fear of somehow feeding your selfish compulsions. You still remember how your hands shook as you texted back your reply to his proposal for a date. That was the last time you cried out of happiness, because Obi Wan took great care not to make you cry, even when he filled your soul with joy.

You blush as his hand removes stray hairs from your face, oh god, you must be an absolute mess right now, with puffy cheeks and a bird’s nest on top of your head, and turn red as his hand travels to your chin, kindly pushing your mouth close with a quiet laugh.

Great. You were literally ogling him with your jaw hanging wide.

You bite the inside of your lip, fighting hard not to hide behind your palms. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

His eyebrows furrow, finding your need for an apology nonsense. “You seemed like you needed it.”

It is your time to challenge his words, scrunching your face. You weren’t even tired, just lazy enough to pass out.

“Besides, you look so cute when you’re sleeping.”

This one actually has your head shaking side to side, yet his words find a way into the depths of your chest, like a thousand butterflies fly in your insides, their wings tickling your soul.

You look out of the window for a second, trying to gather your wits. “What time is it?”

He lowers himself further, resting his weight on his elbow. As your eyes meet again, he dips enough to let your lips touch, stealing a small kiss. Your hand is too slow to bury itself in his hair, but you continue to do so, caressing his soft strands. He releases a content hum, and answers. “19.00.”

Fuck. You two usually have dinners earlier than this hour, and you feel guilty about this unnecessary nap, knowing how much he loves to enjoy the meal with you. And not only the meal, the preparation process, and setting the table… It is the time you talk about your days, catching up on each other's lives and occasionally, gossiping.  Yes, he loved his tea, and you loved the subtle color on his cheeks whenever he got too self-aware while doing it. “Have you eaten?”

“No, I waited for you.”

“Obi Wan…” You whine, remorse settling in even more. “Aren’t you hungry?”

He opens his mouth to answer, but his stomach decides to take on the role, the grumble echoing in the silent room. You are horrified to hear that, yet his chuckle encompasses the atmosphere, his head thrown back, then landing in the crook of your neck, his battle to stay upright lost.

One hand tries to push him off of your body, the other landing against the sheets to pull yourself up to your feet. He defies all attempts as he keeps laughing. His arm envelops your waist, pressing your bodies closer. You can feel him vibrating, and his nose brushes up against your skin, calling the butterflies back when you hear him inhaling your scent.

“That’s why I am waking you up,” he wanted to say, before getting distracted by your sweet essence. “You smell so good.” He murmurs, the sound barely meaningful by the time it reaches your ears. You don’t know how to answer, and he continues to rub his face against your neck, the faint abrasion from his beard all but welcomed in your eyes. “And you are so warm.” He wraps his arm around you even tighter and places a kiss wherever he can reach, then another, then another, each one sultrier than the last.

“Come on, Obi Wan.” You usher, your voice shaky. “You are hungry.”

“Starving,” He corrects you. “Though, not for dinner.”

[serensama]

Head over Feet

I had to get a plot bunny out after playing DA:VG before I could refocus on my other story, but now this is done, I have another hundred stories I want to write. God damn it. Written as little vignette type scenes, just too lazy to split up into seperate parts. And yes, I listened to Alanis Morrisette's song whilst writing this.

Read on Ao3 Rook was a clutz. 

The biggest walking disaster he’d ever seen; but it was something that made her so quintessentially Rook, he worried he wouldn’t recognise her if she wasn’t tripping over or teetering over a cliff’s edge. 

Lucanis didn’t know how it happened. 

At first he was underwhelmed. Then concerned- but somehow it became funny. Suddenly, unbeknownst to him, it had become endearing. 

How could her falling- be a reason to fall in love? 

It made no sense. 

Neither did the way she looked at him. 

Like he was a fallen angel and not a rising demon. 

Mierda.

---

Everything about her was a surprise. 

From the moment that she had blasted into the Ossuary and into his life, he had been caught off guard. He had been taught from a young age that surprises and being unprepared resulted in death, so instead of gratitude he offered her suspicion. She took it in stride, her bright smile, clothes and jewellery shone like a beacon of hope he hadn’t dared to have since his imprisonment. 

That hope quickly lost some of its shiny veneer by the third time the woman- Rook- had gotten too close to a ledge, or lost her footing or fell too short from a run up and had to cling on for her life by her fingertips. Still, he gave her the benefit of the doubt, Caterina believed she could get him out of that hell and he knew the First Talon would not take any unnecessary risks if it meant getting him back … and back in line to inherit her title. Perhaps it was the magic of the Ossuary that meddled with Rook’s equilibrium and whatever was sustaining it affected her more than her companion, Bellara. 

When they returned to Treviso he still wished to give her a chance to prove him wrong. What with the change of pressure resurfacing from the depths of the sea and any lingering effects of Venatori magic… but after a week of travelling with their leader, he was certain it was more of a “Rook” thing than anything else. Still, hapless or not, he would not discredit her skills, if she was a contract, it would not be one he would take with confidence. Unless he could guarantee the fight was on a tightrope. Or required her to jump from place to place at great height, perhaps over a volcano. 

---

He had lost count how many times in Minrathous he almost had to swoop down to save her… he debated whether he should have forbidden her from doing anything but walking on the sidewalks whenever they were in Treviso, but decided against saying anything to their sometimes clumsy, but well-meaning leader. It was in Rivain, however, where he had wished that he had listened to his instincts.  

She leapt from rock to rock easily enough, her excitement at being back home clear from her joyous laughter; but he was far too invested in his ongoing verbal spar with Davrin, offering to shove the Grey Warden’s sword and shield where even the darkspawn would not go- when he heard the splash. 

And learned a frightening, little known fact about Rook.  

She did not know how to swim. 

A Lord of Fortune, who fearlessly flitted between cliffs, rocks and buildings like a bird- previously a Tevinter galley slave - could not swim.

This woman.  

He had not expected the fear that overcame him when he rushed to the ledge and found only bubbles and ripples. Her arm reached out to him as she pushed herself up from the water, eyes wide with desperation as she took her last gulp of air before sinking back to the depths of the sea. 

Lucanis had never heard spite scream in his head so loudly, not even in the Ossuary as they were both tortured endlessly. Both he and Davrin had followed her into the water, thankful that she was not yet out of their reach. 

After coughing up an alarming amount of water – she was nearly taken from us!- true to Rook form, she laughed it off. She said something glib and acted like it was no big deal she had almost drowned right in front of them. But it was a big deal. Instead of the scent of the lavender oil she wore, she smelled of saltwater and fear, and Spite did not like that. And for once, Lucanis silently agreed. 

--- He broached the topic with her after the third time he bore witness to her dangling on the roots and vines connecting Harding’s room, slowly pulling herself back onto the shockingly ‘perilous’ path. He understood that whilst their dwelling, courtesy of the Dread Wolf, accommodated their needs and served them well, he was not sure how safe they really were on the floating property. 

That was to say, if one were to fall off the edges (Rook… or perhaps Manfred), he feared that they would continue falling through the Fade with nothing to stop them. Lucanis could picture it clearly, Rook in a perpetual free fall, disappearing and reappearing every so often like some sort of screaming cloud.  “Do you hold such little regard for your life? You are a powerful mage, but it would do you good to be a little more careful, Rook. Maybe look a little closer before you leap,” he said when she ventured into the pantry. Like clockwork- always coming to him last after checking in on everyone. 

“I am careful, but I also have faith and I always need to try. Even if I end up looking stupid or get hurt, at least I tried,” she replied with a shrug, her attention caught by the new sample of cheeses he brought back from the markets. Lucanis clucked his tongue and shook his head, taking in the scent of the slowly cooling coffee in his cup.

“Careful? Careful she says!” he snorted incredulously, “how can you say that when I saw you jump from that third floor balcony a week ago after playing with those light beams- all for the sake of more treasure?”

“-I thought that it was a chance to learn more about Solas, not treasure!” “Or just yesterday when you slipped on Harding’s path and I flew down to catch you? It makes me wonder how you survived all these years without your own personal demon to save you?”

Rook paused and turned her head to survey him with a stunned expression. It quickly morphed into amusement and he could practically taste the sass she was about to deliver. 

“Are you my personal demon now, Lucanis?” Rook saw a flash of Spite at the back of Lucanis’ eyes as he peered at her from over the rim of his cup, taking a long sip of coffee, both question and answer hanging in the air between them.  Personal demon? I like that. Say yes!

“Why are you always so worried?”

“Why aren’t you worried enough?” 

“Falling is okay, you know, because it teaches us how to get back up again, Lucanis. I’m scrappy and used to not being perfect all the time. Maybe you should try it sometime. Fall with me- I’ll help you up, promise.” 

 “You want me to fall… with you?”

“Or for me. I’m good with either.” 

--- After an unexpectedly taxing fight to get rid of the gaatlok around Treviso, their team managed to make it back to the Cantori Diamond in one piece. Taash was nursing a dislocated shoulder from an Antaam who caught them unawares and Rook, with a gash on her head she hastily knitted back together for Emmrich to look at upon their return. He had tried to convince her to take his emergency healing draught he always kept tucked away, however she stubbornly refused “in case there was more trouble coming back through the city”, in case they needed it more than her. 

They were crossing the narrow walkway on the way back to the eluvian when Rook swooned mid-step and plummeted from the great height. He did not recognise the sound of his cry as he dove, catching her mere metres away from the marble floor. His voice echoed throughout the casino, alarming Crow and patron alike into silence. Teia and Viago were the first to collect themselves, smart enough to continue their conversation as if nothing had happened at all. Jacobus and Chance coughed awkwardly into their hands to hide the small smiles upon their faces, not game enough to offend the First Talon’s grandson. 

His reaction did not come as a surprise to those who had spent any time with both of them together, Teia had a running bet as to when they would finally venture into something more than friendship. She was currently in the lead, whereas Viago had already lost, believing his comrade would have already fallen and confessed to the jewel-clad mage. Lucanis however was mortified. Everyone knew his greatest weakness was his family, and with his public emotional outburst followed by his immediate exit through the eluvian with Rook safely in his arms, he all but confirmed that Rook was now part of that family- and probably in even more danger because of it. 

No matter, he would foil any harm that came to her whether it be from impact, or contract. 

---

Their team stumbled through the Eluvian, assuming they would be back in the Lighthouse but found themselves in the Hall of Valor instead. Harding looked up at Rook who had been the first to dart into the magical portal, influencing where they were all sent. “Why did we come here? Wouldn’t it have been better to perhaps have the Caretaker spirit look at it? Maybe it can fix-” “This is Rivaini armour Harding, I only trust my people to fix it!” she quipped, rushing through the tunnels with both arms clutching her loose breastplate to her chest. The dwarf shrugged at Lucanis and ran after their friend, both perplexed as to why she did not wish to go back to their Fade home and change into something instead of running around half naked... though being in Rivain not many people would have batted an eye at seeing an eye full of Rook. Lucanis could feel Spite bristle at the idea and could feel his demonic passenger’s wings ready to pop out at a moment’s notice to shield any prying eyes. Even his own. 

The Crow kept his eyes fixed upon the merchant who had not even noticed his customer’s predicament, just senselessly prattling on about how amazing Rook was during the last time she attended the arena with Taash and Neve, and how he had wished he could have been there to watch them take down a dragon near the coast. 

Lucanis stopped listening and focused on the broken straps that lay fallen on either side of her back. As talented as his... friend... was at the arcane arts, the real magic was in the way that armour had managed to stay on and protect her at all. It was just a leather strap and some scales placed in the most ridiculous places, how it managed to keep her alive with all the sentinels, darkspawn, Venatori, Antaam and dragons after her he would never understand. At least her other Rivaini outfit had a stylish cape. 

“... don’t forget Rook, we’re on our way back to Hossberg, you may want to find something a little more... more? Evka and Antoine said there were more blight cysts to take care of and-” “Yes Mother Harding, I’ll make sure I’m covered.” “Fine, get blighted, see if I care... oh no that was too mean. I don’t mean that, I don’t want anyone to be blighted.” “Relax Harding, I know,” Rook chuckled as the former scout visibly relaxed. “I’ll take that one Mateo, I’ve not seen it before.” 

The two women disappeared into a tunnel and had Lucanis guard the pathway so no one could walk in on the changing mage. When she walked past him to order a repair of her armour, he had to remind Spite to pick up his jaw from the floor. Indigo hued leather from top to toe, plumage around her shoulders to draw in everyone’s gaze to her very exposed decollete, the sash around her waist cinching her deliciously to encourage his eyes to wander down the curve of her hips...  She looked like a Crow. She looked like she belonged with him. 

“Well Lucanis, what do you think? Maybe in another life, I could’ve been a Crow?” she asked, exaggeratingly twirling around until a smirk lifted the corner of his lips. “Why not this one?” he replied. “Are you asking for my last name to become Dellamorte?”

Harding suppressed her giggle and looked up at him, her eyes twinkling expectantly.  “Well... I...” “I guess I could always be a Cantori, Teia has been offering since I met her. Or a De Riva, Viago was quite kind to me when we had dinner the other night-” “When… why… did you have dinner alone with Viago?” “Or maybe I can make a ninth house? The House of Rook!” she chimed happily, ignoring the deadpan stare of the assassin behind her. As well as the dip in the rocks which almost had her  falling down the stairs into the bar below. Lucanis was at her side in an instant, grabbing her by the wrist and tugging her back with practised ease. “Or maybe we’re just getting ahead of ourselves a little. First learn to walk in the shoes of a Crow, before trying to fly, eh Rook?” he grinned, pulling her closer to him. 

Like you, Lucanis. Two birds. Together. Same. 

“Well, I’ve already wriggled into the pants of a Crow today, it shouldn't be too hard to manage the boots.” 

---

“You’re more than what you’re going through and you wear it well.” 

She was breaking him down. Time and again, any walls she found, she broke them. Any doors in her way, magically opened by her whims alone. He had stayed away from her the moment that Spite had shown a special interest in her, convinced himself it was best for both of them... but who was he against the force of nature that was Rook? If Gods themselves took note of her, feared what she could do, what was one mortal man with a knife? He may not be able to kill a cloud-face god, but he may yet temper her.  “This isn't a good idea,” he cautioned himself more than her, unable to fight the pull she had over him any longer.  “Sometimes a bad idea is better,” she purred, one eyebrow cocked.  “You like to walk a little too close to the edge,” he grinned back at her, enjoying the way her cheeks lightly flushed in the dim lighting of his quarters. He had long imagined the pretty way her hair would fan across the pillow or the way her voice would sound crisper as they bounced off the stone walls...  “So do you,” she remarked, lightly skimming her finger over his vest.  “At least I know I’m doing it…” he continued, closing the remaining space between them, his heart pounding in his throat at the sight of her eyes shut and head tilted back to accept him, lips slightly open ready for... but what if she didn’t realise what she was doing? What if he was the only one who again knew that they were walking along the edge, and she didn’t realise the mistake she was making- and he was the only one who could save her? Lucanis pulled away just a breath away from the feel of her mouth on his and turned away from her in panicked shame.

“I need to clear my head, excuse me.”

The Crow let himself steal one more glance of her and felt the keen stab of regret in his gut from the way her shoulders fell in disappointment. Again.   ---

“Neve, in the Fade with Rook and Spite, you were there. I mean not you, but you know what I mean. You helped Rook. Sort of.” “Sort of? Well isn’t that flattering. At least I’m on your mind,” the detective replied, smiling at him. 

“You are. And not just then.” 

“I... oh. Well then.”

He was about to continue when a soft gasp caught his attention, snapping his head toward the sound. 

Rook had slipped on the fallen log-turned-bridge on their way back to the Veil Jumpers’ camp. She landed on her wrist and excused herself, violently pulling away from him and his offer to bandage up her hand. Citing that she was fine and that she could do it. 

‘Everything was fine’, even though she stalked ahead of them, never quite letting him or Neve walk beside her. 

“Let her cool off, Lucanis. She is probably feeling embarrassed by this all,” the ice mage said calmly. 

“I... I simply meant you were on my mind a lot since what happened in Minathous with the dragon. I always think, what if Rook hadn’t chosen to save Treviso and how I would have fared in your situation? I admire your strength and focus.” “I appreciate the sentiment... but I don’t think that’s how Rook took what you said. If I didn’t hear it that way...” 

“How did you take-.... Mierda.” 

Neve looked at him sympathetically. Traversing the crossroads or managing his relationship with the literal demon inside of him proved to be less befuddling than trying to navigate his path toward Rook. 

He did not fail to notice how she had remained quiet throughout the rest of the journey upon her return, nor did he miss the way that she stuck next to the Grey Warden and his gryphon, Assan doing his best to keep him a fair distance away from her.  I can kill the cat bird, Lucanis. And the muscle elf too. Make her listen. Understand.

No, Spite. She is allowed to speak to her friends. 

But she smells of tears and herbs. You hurt her.

She fell Spite, I did not push her or mean to cause her any harm, you know this. I would never.  

You hurt her. Because she fell for you. 

Lucanis allowed himself to slow down and watch her as she fought with herself not to look back at him. Her eyes were glassy and the skin around them a little red. He was not fool enough to believe that the pain from her wrist was enough to make her cry. 

You. It was you, Demon Crow. 

---

She had been calling his name- HIS NAME- when she was tricked into the Fade by that cursed Dread Wolf. 

He called back frantically, but she was already gone. 

The team searched everywhere on that fucking island but could not find her. He didn’t even have time or capacity to properly mourn the loss of Harding, he could only think of Rook being somewhere he couldn’t get to, screaming for his help. 

Spite had taken over more than he cared to admit, the demon doing its best to offer his host, partner, any respite he could offer. It was a boon at the start but he soon his mind reflected within the Fade to create his own personal torture chamber, tailored to his every regret. Everywhere were things that reminded him of Rook and every moment he wasted between them. 

It had been days. And then weeks. Bellara kept a daily count to remind them (him) of everyday they (he) continued to fail her. 

He could not save her, like she had for him. He had started to lose all the hope she had instilled into him, part of him bitter that she had done so at all. Angry at himself for thinking it may have been alright to dream of something more than what had been planned for him, that he could choose her and even a life without the Crows…  

But when the third week passed without hearing her voice, and he feared that maybe he had already begun to forget what it sounded like... Emmrich cried out excitedly and pulled her out, tired and scared. 

When she fell forward into his awaiting arms, he wanted to cry from relief. Grateful and thanking the Maker, he silently promised that she would never fall anywhere, in the Fade or in the physical world- without him there to catch her. 

---

She kept her promise. He helped her kill a god, and she waited for him in her bed with arms wide open, beckoning him to lay beside her. To sleep next to the woman he loved, without any fear, was more than enough reward for him. Saving the world was just a bonus. 

The sound of her breathing, the warmth of her skin against his, the strong and steady beat of her heart pressed against his back as she held him tightly. He didn’t care how battered and bruised he was, nothing felt better than being allowed sanctuary within her embrace. 

He slept deep and well, something he couldn’t remember doing since before his training as a Crow. So it was a pleasant surprise that for the first time since meeting him, Rook had caught him teetering too close to the edge of the bed and snatched him up before he fell on his face. He smiled as she tightened her hold on him, throwing a leg over him playfully, promising that he was safe and to go back to sleep through her own yawns. 

Lucanis was happy. Happy she was the type of person who could trip over air and fall freely, because all that time, she was trying to teach him how to do it himself. To fall back and know that someone was there to catch you. Just in a very different, wonderful, way. 

“It’s still early Luca… stop thinking too much and sleep love,” she murmured into his shoulder, pressing a soft kiss to his skin before succumbing to her exhaustion once more. 

Luca? That’s new. 

I have been called many things, this one I like, but I have another title I like much more. 

Crow? Personal demon? Demon of Vyrantium? First Talon?

Rook’s. 

[charliedaltonswife]

A casual friendship blossoms between Henry and a the bookstore clerk. He starts to visit her semi-regularly and she starts to recommend books. Imagine his surprise and nervousness when she asks him out one day.

idk!! i just feel like he’s so confident all the time that this would throw him for a loop. excited/nervous henry nation stand up!! love your work btw, you are really showing up for tsh fans!! ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

Books and Beginnings

Henry Winter x reader (The Secret History)

SORRY SORRY SORRY for the delay, I am knee deep in assignments and writing papers on my least favorite area of law, and thats saying something because I love doing law, ughhhhh

Summary: read the request

Warnings: none

master list found here

“Back again?”

You didn’t even look up as you said it, flipping a page in your book with a casualness that was nearly theatrical. Henry had the distinct feeling that you had been waiting for him, but would rather set yourself on fire than admit it.

He hummed noncommittally, stepping past the threshold and into the warm hush of the bookstore. The place was small, tucked into the corner of a side street, with narrow aisles and shelves that groaned under the weight of their own excess. Dust motes floated in the air, catching in the late-afternoon light, and the place smelled like old paper, vanilla, and something else he couldn’t quite place.

“I wasn’t aware I had a schedule,” he said, pulling off his gloves.

“You don’t,” you replied, at last setting your book aside, “but you show up on Thursdays and Saturdays, usually between four and six, and always head straight to the classics section.”

Henry narrowed his eyes, mildly impressed. “You’ve been keeping track.”

“No, you’ve been predictable.” You tilted your head, lips twitching into something that wasn’t quite a smirk but had the shape of one. “I take it you’re looking for something?”

He should have been irritated, but there was something about your presence, dry, vaguely amused, like a cat watching a bird just outside its reach, that made it impossible to be.

Henry glanced toward the shelves, scanning the spines of books he had seen a thousand times over. He wasn’t sure why he had come, not really. He had books at home, more than enough, and nothing in particular on his mind. And yet, there was something nice about the quiet here, the way the world outside seemed to shrink when he stepped inside. It was different from the library, less academic, more human.

“I suppose I could use something new,” he admitted.

You tapped a finger against your lips, considering. Then, without a word, you pushed off the counter and disappeared down one of the aisles. He followed - because what else was he supposed to do? - watching as you trailed your fingertips along the spines of books, skimming titles, lips moving slightly as if in silent deliberation.

Then, you stopped.

“This.”

You plucked a book from the shelf and held it out to him. Henry glanced at the cover, then back at you.

“The Notebooks of Malte Laurids Brigge?”

“It’s Rilke.”

“I know who it is.”

You rolled your eyes. “Of course you do.”

Henry thumbed through the pages, reading a line at random:

"I have often wondered whether especially those days when we are forced to be idle are not precisely the days spent in the most profound activity…"

It was… an interesting recommendation.

He glanced back at you, but you had already turned away, heading back to the counter with an air of complete indifference. He wondered, not for the first time, whether you were toying with him.

“Let me know what you think,” you said, settling back onto your stool.

“I doubt I’ll have much to say.”

You smiled, just barely. “Somehow, I doubt that.”

Henry exhaled through his nose, resisting the urge to smile back. Instead, he placed the book on the counter, pulled out his wallet, and slid a five across to you.

“Keep the change.”

You picked up the bill between two fingers, holding it up to the light as if inspecting its authenticity. “Generous.”

He gave you a dry look.

You just laughed.

And for reasons he didn’t care to examine, Henry found himself looking forward to the next Thursday.

-

“You’re in a mood.”

Henry glanced up from where he stood, running his fingers along the spine of a book he had no intention of buying. You were behind the counter, as always, propped up on your elbows with the kind of lazy amusement that suggested you were enjoying whatever storm cloud had settled over his head.

“I’m not in a mood,” he said, returning his attention to the shelf.

“You are. You’ve been scowling at that copy of Anna Karenina for five minutes.”

“I don’t scowl.”

You snorted. “You live in a scowl.”

He sighed, closing his eyes briefly. It had been a long day. A long week, really. Charles was being insufferable, Richard was always around, Camilla had left a scarf at his place and casually asked him to return it, he didn’t like when people left things behind, and he liked even less when they assumed he would return them like some errand boy. And Julian, perceptive as ever, had asked if he was feeling “unsettled,” which only irritated him further.

You didn’t ask him things like that.

You just watched him with that small, knowing smile, the one that said I’m not going to ask, but I know anyway. He preferred that.

Henry exhaled through his nose and dropped his hand from the shelf.

“What do you recommend today?”

You considered him, tilting your head. He watched as you reached for something behind the counter, sliding it across to him without preamble.

“The Pillow Book,” he read, raising an eyebrow.

“Sei Shōnagon.” You leaned your chin into your palm. “It’s a collection of observations. Random thoughts, moments. Beautifully detached.”

Henry flicked through it.

"It is delightful to sit alone and look upon the mountains and rivers, thinking over various things."

"One day a man came with a request. I thought, 'It is absurd that he should have such expectations of me' and I felt sorry for him."

He let the book fall shut. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

You grinned. “I think you’d like it.”

“Do you?”

You shrugged, unbothered. “Maybe you’ll surprise me.”

He should have known, then. Should have known something was shifting, that something was unfurling in the space between him and you, something neither of you had quite acknowledged. Because later that night, stretched out on his couch, he found himself flipping through the book long after he had intended to put it down.

And the next Thursday, when you looked up and saw him walk in, your smile was a fraction warmer than it had been before.

-

Henry had always been a man of control. A man of certainty. There were few things in his life that truly surprised him, most things, most people, were predictable if you simply observed them long enough. He could anticipate the shift in Julian’s mood before he spoke. He could hear the hesitation in Charles’s voice before he made a mistake. He could see the exact moment Camilla decided she was done entertaining someone’s company.

But when you asked him out, he did not see it coming.

It was a Thursday, as it always was. He had walked into the bookstore at half past three, nodding at you as you sat behind the counter, flipping idly through a book. It was raining, had been since morning, and the shop smelled warm, like paper and cinnamon tea. The door creaked as it shut behind him.

“Afternoon,” you greeted without looking up.

Henry said nothing, walking towards the philosophy section. It had become a habit, his presence here, one neither of you questioned. He came in once a week, occasionally twice, browsed for an unnecessary amount of time, and left with whatever book you saw fit to place into his hands. Sometimes you discussed it later. Sometimes you didn’t. But you always had something to say.

"You never pick anything yourself," you remarked now, glancing up as he ran a hand along the shelf. "You realize that, right?"

Henry hummed. "Maybe I don't trust my own taste."

"You don't trust your taste?" You scoffed. "Please. The last time I handed you something modern, you nearly threw it at me."

"It was insipid."

"It was beautiful."

"It was sentimental drivel dressed up as profundity."

You rolled your eyes, pushing away from the counter. "Fine, then. Let’s see if I can challenge your pretentious sensibilities today."

He didn’t answer as you wandered towards him, scanning the spines of the books as you went. He was aware of you standing close, of the way you smelled like the pages of an old book, like ink and something faintly citrusy. You reached past him, fingers brushing his sleeve as you plucked something from the shelf.

"Here." You handed it to him.

Henry looked at the cover. Letters to a Young Poet.

He exhaled through his nose. "Rilke again."

"Yes, Henry. Very good."

He shot you a look. You just smiled, a small, knowing thing.

"I think you'll like it," you said lightly, stepping back towards the counter.

Henry considered the book, flipping through the pages. He lingered over one passage.

You must change your life.

Something about it unsettled him so he promptly shut the book.

"Fine."

You smirked. "A ringing endorsement."

He started towards the counter, reaching into his coat for his wallet. The sound of rain thickened outside, tapping against the glass, and you watched as he fished out a few bills. There was something unreadable in your gaze, something that made him pause, fingers resting against the edge of the book.

You hesitated. Then:

"Would you like to get a drink sometime?"

Silence. You wanted to almost swallow your words, tuck them right back in in the comfort and security of your throat. It took a full ten seconds for Henry to process what you had just said. You were forward in certain situations, but you had never done this before, so it is safe to say you weren't quite within your comfort zone.

He blinked.

"You mean,” He stopped. Cleared his throat. "A drink?"

You had to follow through now, stay confident. Don’t back down and make it awkward, you thought. You raised an eyebrow. "That is what I said."

There was a sharp, strange lurch in his stomach.

It wasn't that he was opposed to the idea, wasn't even that he hadn’t thought about it, in some distant, abstract way. It was that he hadn't been expecting it, hadn’t prepared for it, and Henry did not do well with things he hadn’t prepared for.

You were still watching him, actually feeling a little less embarrassed but a little amused by his sudden… nervousness?

"Well?" you prompted, amused.

Henry exhaled, trying to will away the inexplicable rush of something that felt too much like nerves.

"When?" he asked. 

"Tomorrow?" Another pause. 

Then, carefully: 

"Alright." 

Your smile widened. "Alright." 

He nodded once, tucking the book under his arm. 

"Good." 

"Good," you echoed, clearly suppressing a laugh. 

Henry turned, walking towards the door. His hand was on the handle when you called, "Henry?" He glanced back. You leaned forward slightly, chin propped on your palm. "You're blushing."

Henry was not blushing.

Or, at the very least, he refused to acknowledge the possibility. Blushing implied something juvenile, something foolish, and Henry Winter was neither of those things. He was composed. He was impervious. He did not blush.

Still, his fingers tightened on the door handle. The air in the shop felt thicker now, heavier, the faint scent of rain curling in through the crack in the door. The walls seemed suddenly too close, the ceiling too low.

He turned back slowly, expression carefully neutral.

You were watching him with a look of quiet amusement, elbow propped against the counter, fingers curled against your jaw. A picture of effortless ease. It irritated him, how unbothered you looked. As if this was all some great joke, as if you hadn't just asked him out and then proceeded to stand there smirking while he scrambled to formulate an appropriate response.

And now you were taunting him.

He exhaled, measured and slow. “I am not.”

Your smile widened. “You are.”

“I assure you, I am not.”

You tilted your head. “Your ears are red.”

Henry clenched his jaw.

It was a terrible thing, to be perceived like this, to have his internal state, normally so carefully concealed, laid bare by something as treacherous as blood vessels. Worse still was the distinct, creeping realization that you knew exactly what you were doing.

He should leave. He should turn around and walk out the door, leave you to your books and your laughter and the irritating way you noticed things. And yet, he lingered, didn't he.

You studied him for a moment, lips pursed as if in deep, theatrical consideration. Then, with a casual flick of your hand: “You should wear a scarf tomorrow. Hide any type of blushing from your ears.”

Henry stared at you. A long, sharp silence. Then, finally, without a word, he turned on his heel and stepped into the rain, the bell above the door chiming softly in his wake.

You laughed as the door shut behind him.

a/n: thank you for waiting my lovely nonnie!!!! hope you like it.

[cigarettesaftersae]

i'll like you - 08 seven minutes in heaven

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Series: reo mikage x f!reader | contains : fluff, angst, jealousy, academic rivals, fake dating

masterlist

WN: emotional talk, friendship lost, no smut (ik the title is supposed to be freaky but no freak)

(erm about 5k words but nothing too serious:p)

Naomi stumbled upon Yuna’s desk the moment the bell rang, her usual nosy, insufferable self on full display. Gorgeous, smart, kind, and, of course, rich—yet somehow, she managed to be as obvious as ever.

“So… Yuna,” she drawled, tilting her head with feigned innocence. “Did Y/N like Reo?”

Yuna barely blinked. “No. Do you like him?”

Naomi let out a breathy, nervous chuckle. “Heh, well…” The girls around them giggled, feet shuffling in anticipation. Everyone knew what was coming next.

“I mean, we practically grew up together and everything,” she continued, voice laced with a sickly sweetness. “But I… I guess I can’t really like him anymore since he has a girlfriend, right?”

Yuna resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Maybe if Naomi got bangs, she’d be a perfect Lila Rossi knockoff.

“I was just curious,” Naomi added, feigning nonchalance. “I didn’t know Y/N had a thing for him at all. It’s so… sudden.”

A dramatic sigh escaped her lips, poisoning the air with artificial sorrow. “I just thought Reo and I had something special,” she murmured, voice trembling just enough to sell the act.

Right on cue, the girls around her swarmed with words of comfort, clinging to her faux distress. Yuna, however, kept her hands to herself.

She knew.

She knew Naomi’s perfect-girl act, her fake sweetness, the way she wove a flawless love story with Reo like it was destiny. She also knew that Naomi was planning something—something that involved you.

Yet, here she was. Being her ‘friend.’

It wasn’t like her at all. But then again, lately, nothing felt real. Not Naomi. Not Reo. Not herself,

not even you. Everything was a lie.

He’s frying your brain, you figured that he was a yapper and such but WOW did you not expect this. Maybe if you just close your eyes—

“Y/n! Are you trying to sleep? I’m still talking to you.”

“Yeah, no, you’re sending extra epic echolocation straight into my ears,” you grumble.

Reo only grins, completely unfazed. “Do you have a favorite chocolate? Or did you like the ones I got you last time? Are you allergic to anything?”

“Peanut butter.”

“Wait—really?”

“I don’t know.”

His brows furrow. “What do you mean you don’t know?”

You groan, turning to the only person who might save you. “Nagi, take your boyfriend or something.”

“eh?…I thought he was your boyfriend,” Nagi mumbles, barely looking up from his phone.

Reo huffs, undeterred. “Come on, why won’t you tell me anything?”

“Because if I do, you’ll buy some overpriced $1000 junk like you did for me and my mom earlier. No more questions, I already answered enough.” You drop your head back down, finally able to close your eyes for a whole second—

“Do you have a favorite animal?”

“Reo.”

“My love, you’re hurting me.” Reo pouts, acting heartbroken

Lifting your head, you meet his gaze, his violet eyes gleaming with curiosity. “What if I get to know more about you instead?”

Reo grins. “Alright. I play the guitar, I play soccer, I speak multiple languages, and—”

“I meant know you. Not the version you project to everyone else.” Your voice lowers slightly. “I hated that version of you anyway.”

He raises a brow, amused. “So… are you saying you don’t hate me anymore?”

“I didn’t say that, Barney.”

An offended scoff escapes Reo’s lips as he clutches his chest dramatically. “Why do you keep calling me that?”

“Look at you, purple head.” You gesture vaguely at his hair, but the longer you stare at him, the more a strange guilt settles in your chest. It creeps in like thorns growing on the stem of a ripe red rose—unseen at first, but impossible to ignore.

A sigh escapes your lips before you ask, softer this time, “What do you actually like? Not what you show off to others—what do you really like? Or hate? Your friends? Your favorite flowers?”

Reo pauses, tilting his head in thought. Seconds tick by. Thirty. Forty. A whole minute.

Finally, he exhales, a small frown tugging at his lips. “…I don’t know.”

You blink, caught off guard by the quiet admission. But you get it. His whole life has been a performance, shaped by expectations, by a lie he never really chose.

“Well,” you murmur, leaning forward just a bit. “Don’t you like soccer? Tell me about it.”

“Here, first edition by way.” Reo’s delicate hands extend a book toward you. One that you’ve been dying to read but never could find it but there it was. Just another item placed around in the 50,000 book—or maybe more, library in the Mikage house— or whatever that building was. How is that a house?

You hesitantly take hold of the book, you’re still spellbound to see it in person, right in front of your two eyes. A star so bright, and full of glitter yet this time it wasn’t out of your hand’s reach. “Is this the only thing you got me?”

“Did you want more?” Reo’s eye light up

“No. You better not have gotten more.”

The hand tucked behind his back slowly reaches out to expose a small keychain and before he could open his mouth in protest you stop him, “ah- no. Why did you even get that?”

“I just..saw it at the store and it reminded me of you.”

“I told you to stop spending things for me, this relationship isn’t even…real” You say softly, avoiding your gaze as you rub the back of your neck

“Well, yes. But our friendship isn’t right?”

It takes a good moment before youre able to gaze into his eyes and respond “It isn’t”

“Oh— and uh dinner with my parents this Friday.” His subject change wasn’t the thing that surprised, it was the fact that it was tomorrow!

“What— wait you didn’t tell me it was this week, I thought we started the Friday dinners next week!”

A chuckle. Just a nervous childish chuckle paired with a cute smile was all you received from Reo as he shy's away. He knew this would make you angry, you weren’t exactly ready to meet one of the richest families on Earth. “Well… They actually found out before I could tell them and then they just arranged to meet you Friday— or tomorrow I guess”

“Reo! I don’t even know what to wear! Have you seen my wardrobe? It’s not Mikage fancy like”

“I like your wardrobe” His happy little smile paved the way through your stress

“But Reo-” His hand softly brushes through yours in reassurance.

“Y/n, I already arranged everything for you. I’ll pick you up at 6 after school, and if you want I’ll pick something out for you to wear. You just need to sit and look pretty and eat. I’m sure the look pretty part is easy for you though.”

The last sigh allowed you to finally breathe normally, stress out the window as Reo continue to rub the sides of your shoulders and soft knuckles. His touch ever so hazy, a kiss of gentle, and melodic “I have practice today so…” Reo stopped mid-thought, gaze lingered, unreadable. He wanted to kiss your cheek a nice goodbye before heading off but he stilled. “I’ll see you tomorrow” His figure began to fade.

As Reo left, there was no point in staying at school any longer. With a sigh, you picked up your feet and headed toward the gates. The sun dimmed down, hueing it’s lucent colors on your radiant skin. Warm, you felt. Just from the touch of it’s lingering kiss, a gift from the Sun was like a gift from Reo. But the moment passed to soon, now it seemed like the dark night had conquered the sky but it didn’t. It was just Yuna.

She looked at you for moment till she started walking, speeding up to avoid you at all cost. “Wait—” it slipped out of your mouth, you’re desprate, hungry, starving—don’t leave. please

She stopped in her tracks the moment she heard your voice, her head turning back to look at you, but her eyes didn’t carry the same look she use to give you.

“I never really liked Nagi…” You try to reason, you could even break down on your knees, bruise it as it may— please, please forgive me.

“Ok..” The shatter on your heart couldn’t get any worse, you knew how angry she was. But did she know how miserable you are. How wretched of the nothing you are without her?

“Yuna—”

“Why are you dating him? Reo. You barely even talked to him, and Naomi and him are soon to be lovers one day.”

“He’s…gracious and caring”

“Is that just another labyrinth lie”

“What— no no it isn’t”

“You’re all a bunch of liars.” Naomi and her personality? Fake. Your and Reo’s relationship, a facade. Her head look down at her feet, avoiding your heavyhearted gaze. One look into your eyes and she’ll give in.

“I don’t want to talk you anymore” And with that, makes Yuna the biggest liar. She loved to talk to you right now. About how she’s having trouble understanding the math assignment, or the new boy on the streets, the spider she saw in the shower, the haircut she’s been wanting to get, but mostly just talk to you. Be with you. But her body takes control of it’s own and wanders away from the very one she die for.

Arriving home after that was nothing more than depressing, all this time you thought Yuna was avoiding you but it hit you the moment you saw her. You were the one avoiding everything, using Reo as a way to function with Yuna gone, pretending like there weren’t nasty gossip about you and Reo and now you have to meet your fake-boyfriend’s parents. Your life is a mess. You wipe away the small tear dripping down your cheek once you heard the door creak open, your mom entered. Gently setting herself next to you. “Is something wrong?”

“No…well…yeah?”

“Is it about your boyfriend? Is he treating you wrong”

You softly chuckle, her motherly humor filling the room’s warmth. Engulfing you with love

“Kinda. Tomorrow I have to go to dinner with his parents.”

“Oh…yeah… I wanted to talk to you about that.” Your mother grew in a deep breath. “I know that the choices I did in my past wasn’t…necessarily good and it can effect you gravely, but never let anyone talk you down on that. You are the greatest gift I can have.” She kiss you on the head, her hand wraps around yours “He must really like you if he’s willing to face the consequences. You know, when I went to school with his parents, they were such bitches.”

“Mom!”

“I know, I know—one dollar in the cussing jar.” She waves a hand dismissively. “But I meant it. If there’s anything bothering you, you’d tell me, right?”

You nod, offering a small smile as she leaves the room.

But the truth is—he wasn’t the problem at all. If anything, he was the reason you were still here, still happy. The weight in your chest wasn’t because of him. It was because of her.

Yuna.

The mess you made, the way things fell apart between you two—it haunted you. How could you ever forgive yourself for what happened? For the hurt you caused?

After she left, it was like the world lost its color. You spent a week drowning in your own thoughts, sinking deeper into something you couldn’t quite escape. The sky stayed gray no matter how many times you looked up, hoping for a change.

But then, when you lifted your head again, it wasn’t Yuna standing there.

It was Reo.

And for the first time in a long while, the sky didn’t seem so gray.

The next morning you’re greeted with a limo, again. Reo exits the car to say hi, but his great smile was already good enough to fill you with warmth. He almost looked like Yuna in a slight moment. “Y/n! Good morning.” He moves to the side to let you in first but quickly stops you, “Are you sure you can come to school, you look sick.” He starts to worry, hands feeling your forehead for any high temperatures, he’s looking around you if any bones or muscles are sore, or if you’re limping. “It’s okay, I’m not sick.” You reassure him, a small laughter leaves your lips as you see him worried so quickly

”Your eyes are really swollen, are you sure?’ He leaned in more close, more worried. His breath making whole contact on the hair on your skin.

“Uh— yeah you know I just got makeup in my eye so…” You try to excuse yourself and look away, rubbing the back of your neck.

“…Were you crying? Was it because of me? If you don’t want to see my parents today I’ll tell them no.”

“No it’s not that… um lets just get in the car and head to school first.” Before you could slip into the limo, his hand lands on your shoulder

“You can tell me if anything is wrong, you’re my friend y/n”

You sigh with a soft smile “Stop worrying and let’s go. We’re gonna be late”

“Late— Oh shoot we need to hurry!”

“You go ahead Nagi, we’ll meet you.” Unhurried, Reo insists his other duo to go first which was quite obvious to you what his intentions was. His heel quickly turns to face you fully, still carrying that angelic smile. “Soo…” He started off slowly, building, rhyming into your ease, not wanting to make you feel uncomfortable. “Are you sure you’re okay?” You both start walking towards the school, students in their uniforms, some messy, some neat, some— are something, pass by as you walk with your ‘boyfriend’ and to your measure girls and boys gather around to admire Reo Mikage and the flowers that following behind him as he walks. “Yeah…—well, I don’t know maybe.” Your breath hitched just for a second before saying her name, it felt impossible to say. It felt like you didn’t deserve to say her name for how horrible you were to her. You did lie to her, and you still are by playing around with the Mikage boy. “I spoke to Yuna yesterday.” Your voice steady, soft, and low. Eyes on the ground, avoidant on everything around you even the pink petals following on your shoulders and the thins between your hair. You couldn’t see but Reo’s attention shifted all upon you, and only you.

“Oh…” Reo softly caresses the side of your shoulder “I know it seems hard…I mean you’re going to meet my parents today, and you’re arguing with Yuna, but you’re never alone. You have your mom, whose nice and always seems like the type to fight for you. And you have….me. So cry or don’t cry, whatever happens from now on. I’m here.” You crane your neck up, embracing all the details of his beauty. He looked more dreamy up close. The soft pads of his thumb caress your dumpling cheek, wiping away your tear. You start to tear up even more, your nose speeding it’s way to breathe. Reo starts to panic, his eyes widen in fear Did I say something wrong?!—Was I too insensitive? Gah, I’m so stupid!

“Y—y/n! Is—is it because of me? I’m so stupid, I’m so sorry—” He quickly hugs you, comforting your head in his chest as you sob. His hand swaying back and forth in the locks of your hair. His touch smooth and caring. His other arm wrapped around you, feeling evermore secure then ever. “I’m sorry…”

Oh, and let’s not forget the crowd. Yeah, they’re still here—watching, wide-eyed, as you and Reo share what might just be the most intimate moment of your life. Their gasps are barely audible, breaths hitched in awe, eyes locked onto the quiet intimacy unfolding in the middle of the field. The world around you feels like it’s slowing down, wrapped in the warmth of his touch, his words, him. And yet, the weight in your chest lingers.

The longest seven minutes of your life. That’s how it felt—wrapped in Reo’s warm embrace, his hand smoothing over your hair as if trying to silence every unspoken fear inside you. Your breath steadies, the tear-stained ache in your chest easing, and yet… he doesn’t let go. Even with the crowd long gone, leaving only the two of you beneath the gentle breeze of the afternoon, he still holds you. "Reo…” Your voice is quiet, but it’s enough to make him straighten, body instantly attentive, as if ready to spring into action at your every word. You hear the nervous gulp in his throat. "Yes?" His response is soft, cautious. You take a breath. "Thank you. Sorry I’ve been a whole mess lately." Reo scoffs playfully, his grip around you not loosening. "It’s no problem," he mumbles, barely above a whisper, like he’s scared his words might make you crumble again. For a moment, there’s only silence—comfortable, but filled with something else. Something unspoken. Then, Reo gently pulls back just enough to see your face, he brushes your hair out of your face and gazes at you a little too long. “Reo” You say softly again

“Hmm?”

“I think the bell rang already”

WN: emotional talk, friendship lost, no smut (ik the title is supposed to be freaky but no freak)

Naomi stumbled upon Yuna’s desk the moment the bell rang, her usual nosy, insufferable self on full display. Gorgeous, smart, kind, and, of course, rich—yet somehow, she managed to be as obvious as ever.

“So… Yuna,” she drawled, tilting her head with feigned innocence. “Did Y/N like Reo?”

Yuna barely blinked. “No. Do you like him?”

Naomi let out a breathy, nervous chuckle. “Heh, well…” The girls around them giggled, feet shuffling in anticipation. Everyone knew what was coming next.

“I mean, we practically grew up together and everything,” she continued, voice laced with a sickly sweetness. “But I… I guess I can’t really like him anymore since he has a girlfriend, right?”

Yuna resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Maybe if Naomi got bangs, she’d be a perfect Lila Rossi knockoff.

“I was just curious,” Naomi added, feigning nonchalance. “I didn’t know Y/N had a thing for him at all. It’s so… sudden.”

A dramatic sigh escaped her lips, poisoning the air with artificial sorrow. “I just thought Reo and I had something special,” she murmured, voice trembling just enough to sell the act.

Right on cue, the girls around her swarmed with words of comfort, clinging to her faux distress. Yuna, however, kept her hands to herself.

She knew.

She knew Naomi’s perfect-girl act, her fake sweetness, the way she wove a flawless love story with Reo like it was destiny. She also knew that Naomi was planning something—something that involved you.

Yet, here she was. Being her ‘friend.’

It wasn’t like her at all. But then again, lately, nothing felt real. Not Naomi. Not Reo. Not herself,

not even you. Everything was a lie.

He’s frying your brain, you figured that he was a yapper and such but WOW did you not expect this. Maybe if you just close your eyes—

“Y/n! Are you trying to sleep? I’m still talking to you.”

“Yeah, no, you’re sending extra epic echolocation straight into my ears,” you grumble.

Reo only grins, completely unfazed. “Do you have a favorite chocolate? Or did you like the ones I got you last time? Are you allergic to anything?”

“Peanut butter.”

“Wait—really?”

“I don’t know.”

His brows furrow. “What do you mean you don’t know?”

You groan, turning to the only person who might save you. “Nagi, take your boyfriend or something.”

“eh?…I thought he was your boyfriend,” Nagi mumbles, barely looking up from his phone.

Reo huffs, undeterred. “Come on, why won’t you tell me anything?”

“Because if I do, you’ll buy some overpriced $1000 junk like you did for me and my mom earlier. No more questions, I already answered enough.” You drop your head back down, finally able to close your eyes for a whole second—

“Do you have a favorite animal?”

“Reo.”

“My love, you’re hurting me.” Reo pouts, acting heartbroken

Lifting your head, you meet his gaze, his violet eyes gleaming with curiosity. “What if I get to know more about you instead?”

Reo grins. “Alright. I play the guitar, I play soccer, I speak multiple languages, and—”

“I meant know you. Not the version you project to everyone else.” Your voice lowers slightly. “I hated that version of you anyway.”

He raises a brow, amused. “So… are you saying you don’t hate me anymore?”

“I didn’t say that, Barney.”

An offended scoff escapes Reo’s lips as he clutches his chest dramatically. “Why do you keep calling me that?”

“Look at you, purple head.” You gesture vaguely at his hair, but the longer you stare at him, the more a strange guilt settles in your chest. It creeps in like thorns growing on the stem of a ripe red rose—unseen at first, but impossible to ignore.

A sigh escapes your lips before you ask, softer this time, “What do you actually like? Not what you show off to others—what do you really like? Or hate? Your friends? Your favorite flowers?”

Reo pauses, tilting his head in thought. Seconds tick by. Thirty. Forty. A whole minute.

Finally, he exhales, a small frown tugging at his lips. “…I don’t know.”

You blink, caught off guard by the quiet admission. But you get it. His whole life has been a performance, shaped by expectations, by a lie he never really chose.

“Well,” you murmur, leaning forward just a bit. “Don’t you like soccer? Tell me about it.”

“Here, first edition by way.” Reo’s delicate hands extend a book toward you. One that you’ve been dying to read but never could find it but there it was. Just another item placed around in the 50,000 book—or maybe more, library in the Mikage house— or whatever that building was. How is that a house?

You hesitantly take hold of the book, you’re still spellbound to see it in person, right in front of your two eyes. A star so bright, and full of glitter yet this time it wasn’t out of your hand’s reach. “Is this the only thing you got me?”

“Did you want more?” Reo’s eye light up

“No. You better not have gotten more.”

The hand tucked behind his back slowly reaches out to expose a small keychain and before he could open his mouth in protest you stop him, “ah- no. Why did you even get that?”

“I just..saw it at the store and it reminded me of you.”

“I told you to stop spending things for me, this relationship isn’t even…real” You say softly, avoiding your gaze as you rub the back of your neck

“Well, yes. But our friendship isn’t right?”

It takes a good moment before youre able to gaze into his eyes and respond “It isn’t”

“Oh— and uh dinner with my parents this Friday.” His subject change wasn’t the thing that surprised, it was the fact that it was tomorrow!

“What— wait you didn’t tell me it was this week, I thought we started the Friday dinners next week!”

A chuckle. Just a nervous childish chuckle paired with a cute smile was all you received from Reo as he shy's away. He knew this would make you angry, you weren’t exactly ready to meet one of the richest families on Earth. “Well… They actually found out before I could tell them and then they just arranged to meet you Friday— or tomorrow I guess”

“Reo! I don’t even know what to wear! Have you seen my wardrobe? It’s not Mikage fancy like”

“I like your wardrobe” His happy little smile paved the way through your stress

“But Reo-” His hand softly brushes through yours in reassurance.

“Y/n, I already arranged everything for you. I’ll pick you up at 6 after school, and if you want I’ll pick something out for you to wear. You just need to sit and look pretty and eat. I’m sure the look pretty part is easy for you though.”

The last sigh allowed you to finally breathe normally, stress out the window as Reo continue to rub the sides of your shoulders and soft knuckles. His touch ever so hazy, a kiss of gentle, and melodic “I have practice today so…” Reo stopped mid-thought, gaze lingered, unreadable. He wanted to kiss your cheek a nice goodbye before heading off but he stilled. “I’ll see you tomorrow” His figure began to fade.

As Reo left, there was no point in staying at school any longer. With a sigh, you picked up your feet and headed toward the gates. The sun dimmed down, hueing it’s lucent colors on your radiant skin. Warm, you felt. Just from the touch of it’s lingering kiss, a gift from the Sun was like a gift from Reo. But the moment passed to soon, now it seemed like the dark night had conquered the sky but it didn’t. It was just Yuna.

She looked at you for moment till she started walking, speeding up to avoid you at all cost. “Wait—” it slipped out of your mouth, you’re desprate, hungry, starving—don’t leave. please

She stopped in her tracks the moment she heard your voice, her head turning back to look at you, but her eyes didn’t carry the same look she use to give you.

“I never really liked Nagi…” You try to reason, you could even break down on your knees, bruise it as it may— please, please forgive me.

“Ok..” The shatter on your heart couldn’t get any worse, you knew how angry she was. But did she know how miserable you are. How wretched of the nothing you are without her?

“Yuna—”

“Why are you dating him? Reo. You barely even talked to him, and Naomi and him are soon to be lovers one day.”

“He’s…gracious and caring”

“Is that just another labyrinth lie”

“What— no no it isn’t”

“You’re all a bunch of liars.” Naomi and her personality? Fake. Your and Reo’s relationship, a facade. Her head look down at her feet, avoiding your heavyhearted gaze. One look into your eyes and she’ll give in.

“I don’t want to talk you anymore” And with that, makes Yuna the biggest liar. She loved to talk to you right now. About how she’s having trouble understanding the math assignment, or the new boy on the streets, the spider she saw in the shower, the haircut she’s been wanting to get, but mostly just talk to you. Be with you. But her body takes control of it’s own and wanders away from the very one she die for.

Arriving home after that was nothing more than depressing, all this time you thought Yuna was avoiding you but it hit you the moment you saw her. You were the one avoiding everything, using Reo as a way to function with Yuna gone, pretending like there weren’t nasty gossip about you and Reo and now you have to meet your fake-boyfriend’s parents. Your life is a mess. You wipe away the small tear dripping down your cheek once you heard the door creak open, your mom entered. Gently setting herself next to you. “Is something wrong?”

“No…well…yeah?”

“Is it about your boyfriend? Is he treating you wrong”

You softly chuckle, her motherly humor filling the room’s warmth. Engulfing you with love

“Kinda. Tomorrow I have to go to dinner with his parents.”

“Oh…yeah… I wanted to talk to you about that.” Your mother grew in a deep breath. “I know that the choices I did in my past wasn’t…necessarily good and it can effect you gravely, but never let anyone talk you down on that. You are the greatest gift I can have.” She kiss you on the head, her hand wraps around yours “He must really like you if he’s willing to face the consequences. You know, when I went to school with his parents, they were such bitches.”

“Mom!”

“I know, I know—one dollar in the cussing jar.” She waves a hand dismissively. “But I meant it. If there’s anything bothering you, you’d tell me, right?”

You nod, offering a small smile as she leaves the room.

But the truth is—he wasn’t the problem at all. If anything, he was the reason you were still here, still happy. The weight in your chest wasn’t because of him. It was because of her.

Yuna.

The mess you made, the way things fell apart between you two—it haunted you. How could you ever forgive yourself for what happened? For the hurt you caused?

After she left, it was like the world lost its color. You spent a week drowning in your own thoughts, sinking deeper into something you couldn’t quite escape. The sky stayed gray no matter how many times you looked up, hoping for a change.

But then, when you lifted your head again, it wasn’t Yuna standing there.

It was Reo.

And for the first time in a long while, the sky didn’t seem so gray.

The next morning you’re greeted with a limo, again. Reo exits the car to say hi, but his great smile was already good enough to fill you with warmth. He almost looked like Yuna in a slight moment. “Y/n! Good morning.” He moves to the side to let you in first but quickly stops you, “Are you sure you can come to school, you look sick.” He starts to worry, hands feeling your forehead for any high temperatures, he’s looking around you if any bones or muscles are sore, or if you’re limping. “It’s okay, I’m not sick.” You reassure him, a small laughter leaves your lips as you see him worried so quickly

”Your eyes are really swollen, are you sure?’ He leaned in more close, more worried. His breath making whole contact on the hair on your skin.

“Uh— yeah you know I just got makeup in my eye so…” You try to excuse yourself and look away, rubbing the back of your neck.

“…Were you crying? Was it because of me? If you don’t want to see my parents today I’ll tell them no.”

“No it’s not that… um lets just get in the car and head to school first.” Before you could slip into the limo, his hand lands on your shoulder

“You can tell me if anything is wrong, you’re my friend y/n”

You sigh with a soft smile “Stop worrying and let’s go. We’re gonna be late”

“Late— Oh shoot we need to hurry!”

“You go ahead Nagi, we’ll meet you.” Unhurried, Reo insists his other duo to go first which was quite obvious to you what his intentions was. His heel quickly turns to face you fully, still carrying that angelic smile. “Soo…” He started off slowly, building, rhyming into your ease, not wanting to make you feel uncomfortable. “Are you sure you’re okay?” You both start walking towards the school, students in their uniforms, some messy, some neat, some— are something, pass by as you walk with your ‘boyfriend’ and to your measure girls and boys gather around to admire Reo Mikage and the flowers that following behind him as he walks. “Yeah…—well, I don’t know maybe.” Your breath hitched just for a second before saying her name, it felt impossible to say. It felt like you didn’t deserve to say her name for how horrible you were to her. You did lie to her, and you still are by playing around with the Mikage boy. “I spoke to Yuna yesterday.” Your voice steady, soft, and low. Eyes on the ground, avoidant on everything around you even the pink petals following on your shoulders and the thins between your hair. You couldn’t see but Reo’s attention shifted all upon you, and only you.

“Oh…” Reo softly caresses the side of your shoulder “I know it seems hard…I mean you’re going to meet my parents today, and you’re arguing with Yuna, but you’re never alone. You have your mom, whose nice and always seems like the type to fight for you. And you have….me. So cry or don’t cry, whatever happens from now on. I’m here.” You crane your neck up, embracing all the details of his beauty. He looked more dreamy up close. The soft pads of his thumb caress your dumpling cheek, wiping away your tear. You start to tear up even more, your nose speeding it’s way to breathe. Reo starts to panic, his eyes widen in fear Did I say something wrong?!—Was I too insensitive? Gah, I’m so stupid!

“Y—y/n! Is—is it because of me? I’m so stupid, I’m so sorry—” He quickly hugs you, comforting your head in his chest as you sob. His hand swaying back and forth in the locks of your hair. His touch smooth and caring. His other arm wrapped around you, feeling evermore secure then ever. “I’m sorry…”

Oh, and let’s not forget the crowd. Yeah, they’re still here—watching, wide-eyed, as you and Reo share what might just be the most intimate moment of your life. Their gasps are barely audible, breaths hitched in awe, eyes locked onto the quiet intimacy unfolding in the middle of the field. The world around you feels like it’s slowing down, wrapped in the warmth of his touch, his words, him. And yet, the weight in your chest lingers.

The longest seven minutes of your life. That’s how it felt—wrapped in Reo’s warm embrace, his hand smoothing over your hair as if trying to silence every unspoken fear inside you. Your breath steadies, the tear-stained ache in your chest easing, and yet… he doesn’t let go. Even with the crowd long gone, leaving only the two of you beneath the gentle breeze of the afternoon, he still holds you. "Reo…” Your voice is quiet, but it’s enough to make him straighten, body instantly attentive, as if ready to spring into action at your every word. You hear the nervous gulp in his throat. "Yes?" His response is soft, cautious. You take a breath. "Thank you. Sorry I’ve been a whole mess lately." Reo scoffs playfully, his grip around you not loosening. "It’s no problem," he mumbles, barely above a whisper, like he’s scared his words might make you crumble again. For a moment, there’s only silence—comfortable, but filled with something else. Something unspoken. Then, Reo gently pulls back just enough to see your face, he brushes your hair out of your face and gazes at you a little too long. “Reo” You say softly again

“Hmm?”

“I think the bell rang already”

“Wh—What already!? We have to hurry before they take attendance”

[ruinofchimera]

Hi, I'd like to know your opinion. Why do you think Peter betrayed the Marauders and blamed Sirius?

By the way, I hope you are very well.

Thank you for the perfect cue. Time to roll up my sleeves and dissect the bane of the Harry Potter fandom: Peter Pettigrew.

Why did he betray the Marauders? I like the phrasing. Because behind it, the real question to ponder is lurking. Did Peter ever betray his friends, or did he just betray the Marauders, the twisted idea of inclusion that he never really had? Oh, don’t get me wrong—there’s no denying that James and Sirius were practically the poster boys for friendship. No argument there. We’ve all heard that tear-jerking speech from Sirius: “I’d rather die than betray my friends.” And fair enough; Sirius had every reason to be an emotional wreck—he was talking about James, the only person he ever truly gave a damn about. Sure, we don’t know everything about their golden years, but what we do know makes it painfully clear: James and Sirius? They were a two-man act, a bond so tight it was as if they shared the same heartbeat.

But where on earth did this idea come from that someone else—anyone else—was ever part of that special bond? The books paint a pretty stark picture if you care to look. There was the alpha pair leading the charge, while the other two trailed behind, playing supporting roles. Look at how they chose Pettigrew to be Secret Keeper in the first place—not because they thought he was capable or smart, but because they figured no one would suspect him. Translation: “We don’t think you’re much good for anything, Peter, but hell, no one else does either, so maybe that’ll save our skins.” And yet somehow, fans cling to this rose-colored myth of brotherhood. Four souls, brought together by some unshakable bond of loyalty. Let’ get real here. There’s a very good chance that Peter didn’t even see James and the gang as friends. He was just along for the ride, hanging around like a dodgy uncle at a family reunion.

People love to reduce Peter’s Animagus form to a symbol of cowardice and betrayal, but they miss the real significance of what a rat actually represents—survival. And at his core, that’s exactly what Peter is—a survivor. Strip away all the noise, the grand ideals, and lofty heroics that everyone around him seemed so fond of, and what you’ve got left in Peter is raw instinct. He wasn’t guided by some deep-seated belief or conviction. No grand moral compass pulled him one way or another. He’s the embodiment of the quintessential “baby boy” trope—the “please take care of me” type. (Sorry, Regulus, but the Chalamet fancast isn’t enough to hold the title. Hand over the badge.)

What Peter craved more than anything was protection. It didn’t matter whether it came from James Potter or the Dark Lord himself. The man just wanted someone bigger, stronger, meaner to pat him on the head.

Pettigrew was already used to playing second fiddle to James and Sirius, who were so full of themselves they practically had their own gravitational pull. So when Voldemort strutted onto the scene, another powerful, arrogant tosser demanding followers, was it really such a massive shift for Peter? Hardly. It wasn’t life-changing. It was just a change of scenery. He did what he was best at: finding the biggest bully on the block and pledging his allegiance to survive. Sirius and James had been grooming him for it for years without even knowing.

It’s easy work, bashing Peter. Man’s got a face like a rodent and a spine to match—hardly the makings of a tragic anti-hero, is he? Sorry, Peter, but “pretty privilege” isn’t swooping in to save you like it did for Slytherin Skittles. If Pettigrew had even a hint of good looks, we’d have a library of fanworks trying to paint his redemption. But with a face like that? Not a chance. Instead, we get a convenient scapegoat for the fandom to rally against, letting the poster boys soak up all the angst. The sacred friendship betrayed! A tale for the ages, and people can boo-fucking-hoo about it for eternity.

As you can see from my lengthy ramblings, I’m doing just fine—so no worries in this department.