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writetheidea · 3 days ago

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Too Much to Be Enough - part 2

Hi, I wrote the second part of this fanfiction while juggling my thesis, so I apologize if there are any mistakes. Please feel free to point them out in my DMs or asks—I'd really appreciate it. I couldn't bring myself to just write pure fluff without adding a bit of angst. As I mentioned in the story, rebuilding trust isn't a straightforward process. I hope you enjoy it!

Part 1

Pairing: Franco Colapinto x female character

Plot: after deeply hurting his girlfriend, Franco learns how hard it is to rebuild their relationship, learning that trust, once broken, is a delicate and painstaking process to restore.

Tag: hurt/comfort, angst, fluff.

Word count: 3178

Disclaimers: english is not my first language - I feel like you could tell from my writing style - so I apologize if some of the sentences structures are off, or if I use outdated or inappropriate-for-the-context words, I used a synonym dictionary to try and stop myself from repeating the same words, I still did do that though.

Franco had always been a man of control. On the racetrack, precision wasn’t just a skill; it was survival. Every turn, every decision, required complete mastery over chaos. Off the track, he wasn’t much different, carrying that same calculated demeanor into his personal life. The way he managed his career, his relationships, even the smallest aspects of his daily routine, all reflected his need to remain unshakable. Control was his armor, his identity. But this—watching the woman he loved drift further away because of his carelessness—was a storm he couldn’t navigate.

He had made a mistake. A single moment of thoughtlessness, a few careless words, the laughter that followed, had been enough to tear open the foundation of trust they had spent years building. The memory replayed endlessly in his mind, gnawing at him like a relentless tide. He could see it all too clearly: the way her face fell, how her voice quivered when she confronted him. She hadn’t screamed or shouted; she hadn’t even cried at first. She had just gone quiet, her silence heavier than any words could have been. It spoke of wounds too deep for words, a disappointment that no apology could touch.

At first, he had thought the tension might dissipate after a day or two. He had underestimated the depth of the wound he had inflicted. What followed was a purgatory of silence. She didn’t leave outright, but her presence was a ghost of what it had been. She avoided his touch, his gaze, even his attempts at conversation. The vibrant, warm woman he loved so fiercely had become a shadow, navigating their shared spaces like a stranger. Franco’s every attempt to bridge the gap between them fell flat—flowers went untouched, her favorite pastries remained uneaten, and the small notes he left for her disappeared without acknowledgment. It was as though she was erasing him piece by piece, and he could do nothing to stop it.

The silence was unbearable. He missed her laughter, the way she would light up when she spoke about her favorite books or dreams for the future. He missed the way she would reach for him instinctively, as though he was her safe harbor. Now, he felt like a trespasser in his own life, each moment with her a painful reminder of what he had broken.

On the third night after the fight, Franco found himself sitting on their couch, his hands clasped tightly together. The room felt impossibly large, every corner of it carrying memories of better times. He could picture her curled up on the other side of the couch, her laughter filling the space as she recounted some silly anecdote or read him a passage from one of her favorite books. Now, the silence was deafening. He had spent hours going over what he might say to her, how he might begin to repair what he had broken, but words failed him.

Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. “Please,” he said softly, his voice trembling. “I can’t stand this. Tell me what to do—tell me how to make this right.”

She didn’t even look at him, her gaze fixed somewhere distant. “What’s the point?” she said quietly. “You’ve already shown me what you think of me. You agreed with them, Franco. You laughed at me like I was a joke.”

Her voice broke on the last word, and Franco felt the full weight of her hurt settle over him. “That’s not true,” he said desperately. “I wasn’t thinking—”

“No,” she interrupted, finally turning to face him, her eyes flashing with rare anger. “You weren’t thinking. But that doesn’t change what you said. Or what you did.” Her voice cracked, and for the first time, Franco could see just how deeply he had hurt her. “Do you even understand how small that made me feel? Like I was some kind of joke? Like I’ll never be enough for you?”

She paused, her face now showing the pain she had been harboring beneath the surface “What else do you want me to say, Franco? That I’m hurt? That I feel like I’ll never be enough for you now? You already know that”

Her words cut deeper than any insult, the quiet resignation in her voice tearing him apart. “You are enough,” he said fervently, reaching for her hand. “You’ve always been enough. I was stupid, careless—I didn’t mean what I said.”

“But you did,” she replied, pulling her hand away. “Maybe you didn’t mean for me to hear it, but you meant it. And I can’t unhear it, Franco. I can’t forget the way you agreed with them, the way you laughed about me like I was some… inconvenience.”

Her voice broke on the last word, and Franco felt his chest tighten, guilt clawing at him like a relentless tide. “I love you,” he said desperately. “I love everything about you. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I can’t lose you.”

She looked at him for a long moment, her eyes searching his face as if trying to find some trace of the man she had once trusted so completely. “Love isn’t supposed to hurt like this,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “And right now, being with you… it hurts.”

His throat tightened as he searched for words, but there was nothing he could say that would undo the damage. “You are everything to me,” he said finally, his voice raw. “And I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it if I have to.”

-----

But words weren’t enough, and he knew it. That night, she moved to the guest room, leaving their bed and a gaping void in his heart. He lay awake for hours, staring at the ceiling and replaying every moment he had failed her, every time he had taken her love for granted. He thought of her kindness, her patience, the way she had always believed in him, even when he doubted himself. And now, when she needed him most, he had failed to be the man she deserved.

The next morning, he woke to find her gone. A note on the counter said she was staying with a friend for a few days. He stared at the words until they blurred, his chest aching with the realization that she needed space from him—that being near him caused her pain. He couldn’t blame her for that, but it didn’t make it any easier to bear.

He threw himself into trying to make amends, even if she wasn’t there to see it. He cleaned the apartment from top to bottom, cooked her favorite meals, and set the table with candles and fresh flowers every day, hoping it might offer a small measure of comfort when she returned. The evening when she finally walked through the door, she paused, her eyes scanning the room before landing on him.

“What’s all this?” she asked, her voice wary.

“I thought we could have dinner together,” he said, his voice hesitant. “I know it doesn’t fix anything, but I thought… I just wanted to do something for you.”

She hesitated for a moment before sitting down at the table. They ate in near silence, the tension between them almost unbearable. He tried to ask about her day, her friend, anything to fill the void, but her answers were curt, her gaze fixed on her plate. By the time they finished, Franco felt more defeated than ever.

As she stood to leave, he reached for her hand, his grip gentle but firm. “Please. I’ll do whatever it takes,” he said. “Just tell me how to make this better.”

She looked down at him, her eyes filled with exhaustion. “I don’t know if you can,” she said softly. “But if you want to try, then stop looking for shortcuts. This isn’t about flowers or dinners. It’s about showing me that I matter to you—not just when it’s easy, but when it’s hard. It’s about showing me—every day—that you love me for who I am, not despite it.”

-----

From that moment on, Franco dedicated himself to proving his love, not through grand gestures but in the quiet, unremarkable moments of daily life. He began paying attention to the things she cared about—remembering the books she mentioned wanting to read, making sure her favorite tea was always stocked in the pantry, and taking over chores she usually handled so she wouldn’t have to. He didn’t push her to talk or try to force her forgiveness; instead, he gave her the space she needed, even when it hurt to keep his distance.

The process was slow and often discouraging. There were days when she barely acknowledged his efforts, her walls still firmly in place. But there were also small victories—like the time she laughed, a soft, unguarded sound that felt like sunlight breaking through the clouds. Or the day she found a note he had left in her book that simply said, “I see you. And I love you.” She didn’t say anything about it, but later that evening, she made them tea and sat beside him on the couch, the silence between them no longer quite so heavy.

-----

Franco thought he was making progress. Slowly but surely, she was beginning to let him in again. The walls she’d built around herself were still there, but they had started to crack. She smiled a little more often, lingered at the dinner table to talk about her day, and once, when they were watching an old movie on the couch, she leaned into him without pulling away. Each small step felt monumental, and Franco held onto the hope that one day, she might fully trust him again.

But trust, he learned, was fragile.

It happened at a party—a glamorous event hosted by one of Franco’s sponsors. He had been reluctant to go, worried about the strain it might put on their delicate truce, but she had insisted. “You shouldn’t have to give up your life because of me,” she said. He had taken her words as a sign that things were improving between them, a sign that she was ready to be part of his world again.

The evening started well enough. She looked stunning in a sleek, dark dress, her hair framing her face. Franco couldn’t take his eyes off her, and for a moment, he felt like the luckiest man in the room. They mingled with the crowd, exchanging polite pleasantries with sponsors and fellow racers. She held her own beautifully, her sharp wit and quiet confidence earning smiles and laughter from everyone she spoke to.

Then came the moment that undid everything.

Franco had stepped away to get them drinks, and when he returned, he overheard a group of men making crude jokes about her. The words were vile—reducing her to nothing more than a pretty accessory, a trophy to be paraded around. Franco’s blood boiled, but instead of stepping in to defend her, he froze. He laughed awkwardly, muttered something dismissive, and walked away.

What he didn’t realize was that she had overheard, her expression a mask of disbelief and hurt as she stood just out of view.

Later that night, as they drove home, the tension in the car was suffocating. She stared out the window, silent, her arms crossed tightly across her chest. Franco tried to fill the void with small talk, but each word felt hollow.

Finally, she turned to him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“What are you talking about?” he asked, though he already knew.

“I heard them, Franco. I heard what they said about me. And I heard you laugh. Again.”

His hands tightened on the steering wheel. “It wasn’t like that,” he said quickly. “I didn’t mean—”

“You didn’t mean what? To defend me? To show them that I’m more than the joke they made me out to be?” Her voice cracked, and she turned away, shaking her head. “I thought you were different. I thought you respected me.”

“I do respect you,” he said, his voice rising. “I didn’t know what to say—I panicked.”

“Panicked?” she repeated, her voice dripping with disbelief. “I was standing there, Franco. Listening to them degrade me, waiting for you to have my back. And you panicked?”

The argument spilled into their apartment, growing louder and more painful with each passing moment. By the time it was over, she was packing a bag, tears streaming down her face as she threw clothes into a suitcase.

“Please don’t do this,” Franco said, his voice raw. “Don’t leave. We can fix this.”

She stopped, her hands trembling as she gripped the edge of the suitcase. “You don’t get it, do you?” she said, her voice shaking. “This isn’t just about tonight. It’s about every time you’ve made me feel small, every time you’ve chosen your pride or your reputation over me. I can’t do this anymore.”

And with that, she was gone.

-----

The months that followed were the darkest of Franco’s life. She didn’t answer his calls or texts, and when he went to her friend’s house to see her, he was turned away at the door. For the first time, he had to confront the possibility that he might have lost her for good.

Franco threw himself into therapy, desperate to understand why he kept sabotaging the one thing that mattered most to him. His sessions were grueling, forcing him to confront parts of himself he had long ignored—the insecurities he buried beneath his arrogance, the fear of vulnerability that drove him to push people away.

He also began writing her letters, pouring his heart onto the page in a way he had never been able to do in person. He didn’t know if she would ever read them, but it was the only way he could process his feelings.

Months passed. Slowly, Franco began to change—not for her, but for himself. He realized that he couldn’t ask her to come back if he wasn’t willing to become the man she deserved.

Then, one day, he received an unexpected text.

“Meet me at the park tomorrow at 2.”

His heart leapt, but he forced himself to temper his expectations. When he arrived, she was sitting on a bench, her posture stiff, her expression guarded.

“I got your letters,” she said, her voice quiet.

“And?” he asked, his heart pounding.

“They were… honest,” she admitted. “But honesty doesn’t erase what happened.”

“I know,” he said. “I don’t expect you to forgive me—not yet, maybe not ever. But I want you to know that I’m trying. I’m working on myself, and not just because I want you back. I need to be better, for me. For whoever I become, with or without you.”

She studied him for a long moment, her eyes searching his face. “I don’t know if I can trust you again,” she said finally. “But I’m willing to try. Slowly. On my terms.”

“I’ll wait as long as it takes,” he said, his voice steady. “I’m not going anywhere.”

-----

True to her word, she made Franco work for her trust. There were no shortcuts, no grand declarations that could fix what was broken. If he wanted to be in her life again, he had to earn his place every single day.

Their relationship became a fragile thread, held together by small, cautious interactions. They started meeting once a week for coffee, their conversations polite but distant. She kept him at arm’s length, her walls firmly in place. Franco didn’t push; he simply showed up, week after week, ready to prove himself.

One day, as they walked through the park after coffee, she turned to him abruptly. “Why didn’t you stand up for me?” she asked, her voice trembling.

The question caught him off guard, but he didn’t shy away from it. “Because I was afraid,” he admitted. “Afraid of looking weak, afraid of being judged. But mostly… afraid that if I stood up for you and got it wrong, you’d see me as a failure.”

Her eyes softened, but her expression remained guarded. “And now?”

“Now I realize that failing you is worse than failing in front of anyone else,” he said. “If I ever get the chance again, I promise you, I won’t let you down.”

She nodded slowly, her gaze distant. “We’ll see.”

The weeks turned into months, and their connection began to deepen again. She started sharing more of herself, though cautiously, and Franco matched her vulnerability with his own. He told her about the therapy sessions, about the childhood insecurities that had shaped his need for control and approval. It was a side of him she had never seen before, and while it didn’t erase the past, it gave her hope that he was truly changing.

-----

It wasn’t a single moment that brought them back together, but a series of small ones—acts of kindness, vulnerability, and unwavering support. Franco became a man she could rely on, not just in words but in actions. He stood up for her, prioritized her needs, and made her feel seen and valued in every aspect of their lives.

There were moments when he doubted himself, wondering if he was fighting a losing battle. And there were nights when he lay awake, haunted by the memory of her tears, the sound of her voice breaking as she told him how much he had hurt her. Through it all, he held onto the hope that one day, she would see how much he loved her—that she would believe it, not because he said it, but because he showed it in every action, every choice he made.

One rainy afternoon, he decided to try something different. He pulled out a cookbook she had always loved but rarely used and flipped to a page with a recipe for her favorite cake. He was hopeless in the kitchen, but he wanted to try—to show her that he was willing to make an effort, no matter how small. When she came home and found him fumbling with ingredients, the sight stopped her in her tracks.

“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice tinged with incredulity.

“Trying to make your cake,” he said, holding up a whisk like it was a weapon. “It’s probably going to be terrible, but I thought—”

She interrupted him with a soft laugh. “You’re going to burn the kitchen down.”

“Maybe,” he said, grinning sheepishly. “But I figured it was worth the risk.”

She stepped toward him, closing the distance that had felt insurmountable for so long. “You’re ridiculous,” she said, but her tone was warm, her eyes soft as she reached for the whisk. “Let me help you.”

As they cooked together, bumping elbows and laughing at his mistakes, Franco felt something shift. It wasn’t complete trust—not yet—but it was a beginning. And as he watched her smile, he realized that this was what love was: not grand gestures or perfect moments, but showing up, every day, and choosing each other even when it was hard.

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wxxpingangxls · 3 days ago

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YAYO

+content/warnings; gun play, mentions of guns, allusions of cheating, perverted behavior, getting caught, lap grinding??

boyfriend's icky dad toji who always told his son that girls weren't shit, men weren't piss and money was where it was at, until he met you.

boyfriend's icky dad toji who leers at you every time you're over, insisting that you stay longer to "keep megumi company".

boyfriend's icky dad toji who suprisingly puts a lot of effort into his appearance every time he hears your coming over, shaving his beard, even going as far as to making home cooked meals that he notes you love so much.

boyfriend's icky dad toji who always praises you for helping do the dishes and tidying up, claiming that one day he was going to give you a reward for being so good to him ( and megumi i guess ).

boyfriend's icky dad toji who takes any chance he can to get his grimy hands onto your soft and sweet skin, even going as far as to put his hands on your waist as you're doing the dishes.

boyfriend's icky dad toji who makes sure to check on you (and megumi) whenever you were sleeping around, just to make sure the two of you were ok, even though he'd never done that before when it was just megumi.

boyfriend's icky dad toji who, every time you can't sleep invites you to watch a movie with his until you get sleepy, watching those tiny shorts crawl up your fat ass.

boyfriend's icky dad toji who takes all the chances he can to 'acciedentally' walk in on your undressing, before you catch on and start locking the door.

boyfriend's icky dad toji who watches your eyes gloss over as he tells you the story of megumi's mother and why he was so stoic and stone-faced.

boyfriend's icky dad toji who has to physcially stop himself from grabbing you and fucking you hard, knocking the wind out of you and stuffing your cunt full.

boyfriend's icky dad toji who wonders if you're on birth control, but then the image of you pregnant with his child comes to mind and suddenly his mouth starts watering.

boyfriend's icky dad toji who starts to let his mind wonder every time he sees you, imaging your stuffed cunny leaking his cum, with your big tummy carrying his child.

boyfriend's icky dad toji who doesn't even feel bad about feeling this way towards his son's girlfriend and gets sloppy when trying to hide it.

boyfriend's icky dad toji who, whenever you're in the shower takes a pair of your dirty panties and stuffs them in his pockets, and whenever you ask him about his dodgy laundry he always alludes to megumi stealing your stuff.

boyfriend's icky dad toji who gets caught jerking off with a pair of cute panties on his face by his son, claiming they were from a one night stand.

boyfriend's icky dad toji who not only sniffs these underwear that he's stolen but full on soaks them with his saliva before drenching them in his thick semen.

boyfriend's icky dad toji who starts having wet dreams about you and realises something is really wrong, and he needs to do something about this.

boyfriend's icky dad toji who finds himself humping the erection away at the mere thought of you and figures that maybe just sleeping with you once will be enough to satiate his insatiable hunger.

boyfriend's icky dad toji who shows you his gun collection when megumi's out at a party that you couldn't attend because of a sprained ankle, in an attempt to cheer you up.

boyfriend's icky dad toji who watches your eyes light up as he promises to take you shooting one day if you're good - whatever that means.

boyfriend's icky dad toji who watches your eyes tear up and voice break as you begin to explain how his son was fucking around with someone else.

boyfriend's icky sticky dad toji who suddenly wishes to take back everything he'd taught his son, seeing how bad that mentality had fucked him over.

boyfriend's icky dad toji who tries to make you feel better but the only way he can think to do that is to suck on your pretty lil' clit.

boyfriend's icky dad toji who nearly chokes on his beer when you tell him that you and megumi were back together with the same mouth you used to suckle on his cock.

boyfriend's icky dad toji who swears up and down that he could do you better than his son ever could, despite every thought in his head telling him how disgusting that was.

boyfriend's icky dad toji who genuinely believes he could treat you better than any man your age, he swears he'll spoil you despite not even having a good paying job.

boyfriend's icky dad toji who figures that since your so keen on being an independent girl, he should show you how good it'll feel to have a real man by your side.

boyfriend's icky dad toji who aches and yearns and feigns for your soft lips on his, and finally convinces you to lay and relax while he shows you how a real man treats you.

boyfriend's icky dad toji who is undeniably shocked when he finds out that megumi rarely went down on you especially when you cunt was so juicy and sweet.

boyfriend's icky dad toji who is even more shocked when you suggest grinding on his thigh with a gun to your head, watching as you leak and ooze and drip all over on to his plaid pants.

He watched intently, eyes thinning, as your tits jiggled with each grind of your hips against his flexed thigh. One hand on your throat and another holding a gun to your head. Whether it was loaded or not you had no idea, but that was all part of the sick thrill you had flowing through your veins. Megumi had told you all about his father's sick work and the different escapades he'd been on, but having put a gun to your head was an entirely different experience.

It was deliriously sick, twisted and sinister even. It was beyond demented and dangerous. What if his finger slipped on the trigger? Your brains were sure to be blown out of the back of your head. Maybe that was why drool seeped from between your pouted lips and tears welled up in your eyes. Maybe that's why your nose was all scrunched up and sniffly while your cheeks and ears were hot red.

Your hips tried embarrassingly hard to keep up with the bouncing of his leg but it was like no matter how hard you grinded, you couldn't cum. Was it the fear of having you tongue blown out of the back of your cranium? No, it wasn't that. After all, this was all your idea.

As sweet and innocent as you looked, your eyes held a certain insatiable and disturbing thirst behind them. Not the some what normal fantasy of being held by a signifacntly older man while he rearrgenged your guts, but the idea of danger. Crossing the line between right and wrong.

It wasn't as if you didn't shove your used, slick and dirty underwear all the way to the depth's of Toji's throat just to suck the soul out of his hard cock, dribbling messily all over it, disgustingly spluttering and making a hot mess of yourself all over him while he sat there choking on your panties like a whore. Your cunt was throbbing, and your throat hurt like nothing before as you coughed and constricted around him numerous times before gulping his hot and thick load down shamlessly.

So why now, after being to desperate you flick and play with your cunt, could you not get off on Toji? You whined and squirmed and sobbed and cried, feeling nothing but frustation as your fists balled up on the creases of his pants. Your whimpers died down in your sore throat and Toji's hand against it did nothing to soothe the ache.

A part of him relished in watching you struggle to get off, watching a pretty young thing like you yearn for his help with your eyes. He felt a certain urge however, to flip you over and shove his filthy dick between your - no doubt - sopping folds, and show you how good girls get rewarded, but felt as if you needed to be warmed up first. "You need help, beautiful?" he finally spoke after long minutes of watching your pathetic and helpless cries simmer down in your throat.

You groaned out, squinted your eyes in an attempt to ask if he was being serious with his stupid question, hips occasionally stuttering. "Hey, hey, relax baby..." he soothed, removing his hand from your throat despite the hand with his gun never moving from your head. His hand slowly moved from your neck down as his thumb brushes against your nipple and placed his hand on your hip.

"Take it slowly, ok princess?" he reassured. A part of you was surely confused. This whole time Toji had been nothing but sadistic with you. The two of you were as equally as sadistic with each other, you tying his hand up whilst riding his cock to no end. But now he was guiding you towards an orgasm. "Thereee you go, sweets," his hand that was once on your hip now cupped your face as he moved closer, nose in the crock of your neck. This was intimate to say the least, and you were sure he was going to come up to give upon those beautifully glazed lips.

You whined out loud, feeling his breath tickle your neck, but that was the least of your problems as now you could surely feel a big wave coming. Toji saw as your hips twitched and your toes curled and uncurled: "Oh? Are you gonna cum, sweet girl?" He could feel your naked cunt throbbing hard on his clothed thigh. He immediately sat up, green eyes on your own big ones, watching as you silently pleaded. Pleaded for what, you had no idea, but he surely did.

He knew you wanted to make a massive mess all over his trouses. Completely soak him in your sticky fluids and watch as he gets turned on even more. With every exhale you made, his pupils dilated even more, as if he was getting higher and higher on your impending orgasm. His hand never once left your face and with every deliberate roll of your hips, he pushed that cold metal gun further into your skull.

You stuttered out cries of his name, before attempting to stand up. It was far too much for you, and your orgasm was going too soon. But you were too slow, for his entire arm snaked around your waist, keeping you on his lap, watching as you soaked his leg with your cum. You gushed uncontrollably, begging Toji to let you go as he just snickered in your ear, telling you to hush down and stop freaking out.

He figured that this must've been the first time you've squirted, as you're shaking non stop. Your mascara was dried up on your cheeks and lip gloss all smudged from earlier. Almost ironically, as you came down from your intense high, the outro to Floods by Pantera came on the radio.

Toji was a sick and an icky man, and he lay in seamed in your fluids with zero shame, while his son lay asleep in the next room. He watched as you took in hard and deep laboured breaths, still trying to compose yourself. I guess now you knew how he felt when you went down on him. Him seeing you squirt all over him, confirmed the thought of wanting to see you stuffed full with his own icky fluids. He finally moved the gun from your head before placing it down.

"Would you have really shot me?" you whispered out, voice still coarse.

"Are you crazy? That gun was empty." He scoffed, scratching his stubble.

"That's a stupid question, Toji, and I would've loved for the gun to be filled to the brim," Your cunt throbbed as you imagined Toji's huge cock pounding you hard, hefty arms keeping you in place.

#jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x black reader #toji smut #jujutsu kaisen toji #toji fushiguro #toji #toji x reader #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujustu kaisen #toji zenin #toji x black reader #toji x black y/n #smut

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daphwritesworld · 21 hours ago

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Chapter 4— YKWIM?

content: Top!Leah, Bottom!Reader, pussy eating (both receiving), impact play (R receiving), face riding, degradation, caught cuddling, little flash of toxic!Leah, angry!Leah, & mean!Leah

warnings: allusions to heavy dom/sub relationship, one slap in the face, angst, Leah taking her anger out on Reader, calling reader a slut once, crying reader oops

synopsis: The arrival of a familiar face brings a whole new wave of emotions over you. Can you withstand the flesh and blood reminder of your past, or will it start to tear you apart?

word count: 3.7k

Series Masterlist: here.

!! 18+ MINORS DNI !!

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“WHAT THE BLOODY HELL– Y/N?!” A loud and all too familiar voice booms out. You and Leah jolt awake from the commotion, and you end up on the floor as a result. A rough sounding groan slips from your lips as the wind gets knocked out of you, sitting up as you rub at your head. “Darling, are you alright?” Leah’s concerned morning voice pulls you from your dazed confusion, scooping you up as she settles you back into couch cushions.

“Somebody better start explaining– NOW!!” It’s only then that you realize she’s actually here, and that this isn't some horrible nightmare. Before Leah even has a chance to get words out, you’re springing up and dragging Keira into the downstairs bathroom. “HEY! Where are you two going?” Leah’s hoping up after the shock wears off, hot on your trail. “GIVE US A MINUTE!” And that stops her right in her tracks. Leah has NEVER heard you speak like that. The anger and hurt in your voice, and what’s that look on Keira’s face? She can't quite place it...

She just stands there with her hands in her pockets, anxiously biting at her lips as she thinks about all the possibilities. Oh god did you and Keira date? Is she her best friend's ex's rebound?? Are you married? Is that why you won't talk about your sudden departure from Barca? OH GOD..Leah is a mistress?!? Is that why you left in the middle of the night in Ibiza? Leaving Leah with nothing but your scent on her sheets and the fond memories you both now share…Because you had to cover up the tracks of your affair? Then like a brick drops on her head— did you break Keira's heart somehow? That look on her face…it was one of betrayal. And no matter how much she cares for you, she'd never speak to you again if that were true.

She gets pulled out of her head when the bathroom door reopens. Both of you come out, laughing and smiling as Keira shoves at your shoulder. You both come to a stop as you take in Leah's disheveled appearance, Keira cracking up as she runs to mess up Leah's hair with her hands. "You look like utter shit! Better go shower before I take your girlfriend home with me!"

A groan leaves your lips as wrap up in the blanket on the end of the couch, "She's NOT my girlfriend!"

"Oh sure! You just cuddle through the night with all your friends with benefits, don't you?" The redhead says as a smirk spreads across her face.

"You told her we're friends with benefits, you little worm?!" Leah looks at you with an offended look.

"NO! I didn't even tell her we've had sex! Let alone—"

"I FUCKING KNEW IT!" Keira erupts into a fit, jumping off of Leah as she points an accusing finger your way.

Your face goes red as you snap your mouth shut, not even realizing what was coming out of it until it was too late. "I'm delusional from the flu right now, don't put words in my mouth!"

Keira rolls her eyes as she crosses her arms across her chest, "YOU PUT THOSE WORDS IN YOUR MOUTH, YOU DINGUS!"

"HEY! Don't call her a dingus, carrot top," Leah hops back in.

"Oh you've got it bad, Le. Defending her already? It's barely been a week, and you've let her come back to your flat? Are you sure you aren't the sick one?" Keira keeps poking fun at you two, making kissy faces at the blonde.

"We've known each other way longer than a week! What are you even talking about— LEAH!" It's you interrupting her now. A pointed look on your face as you glare at her. Keira furrows her brows at first, looking between the two of you as the gears start turning in her head. Back, forth, back, forth, back, forth— her head snaps from you to her best mate. Then a lightbulb goes off, "OH MY GOD!" She turns to you as an incredulous look overtakes her face. "YOU'RE IBIZA GIRL!"

"NO I'M NOT!" You yell out as you jump up to defend yourself.

"YES YOU ARE!" Keira shoves her finger into your shoulder.

"LEAH?" "LEAH!" You both turn to the blonde, looking for an end to this argument. She's just smiling at you two, silently laughing at the scene playing out in front of her. All her worries and doubts about you are completely gone from her mind at this moment. They just slip away as the ease of being with her two favorite people sinks in.

"Oh, no. This is between you two. Figure it out like big girls," she moves to sit Keira down on the couch. Making you face each other as you roll your eyes at the cocky look breaking across her features. You can't keep your next words in, too tired to hold the sass in. "Stop making that face. It makes you look constipated."

"Keep deflecting! I know it's you," she smiles at you.

"Oh, yeah? How?" You look at her and tilt your head as you squint your eyes.

"Because you were gone last year at the exact same time. Those 3 weeks when Leah abandoned me in Ibiza? That's the same 3 weeks you said you were visiting back home, but then couldn't provide a single photo from your trip. It wasn't because you forgot, it's because you were getting your back blown out in a different continent. Plus, I'm the only one Leah's ever even told about her. So the only way you'd know is if you are her. BOOM!" Keira uses her hands to mimic an explosion at the end.

You stare at her with your mouth dropped open, cheeks redder than a tomato as her proud smirk mirrors Leah's. Did she really put all that together from the time she walked in to now? I guess you can never really hide anything from Keira…you already knew that though. Sooner or later she always finds out what you're hiding.

"Okay, fine! But you are sworn to complete and utter secrecy, Walsh!" You point a finger this time, a smile finally gracing your features. "But seriously, we are NOT dating."

"Oh, come on! What does a girl gotta do to take you out?" Leah throws her head back dramatically, a loud sigh filling the space at the end of her tantrum.

"I've already told you, Leah! I don't date my coworkers. Maybe if you transfer to Chels—"

"I'D RATHER BLOODY DIE THEN WEAR THAT JERSEY!" Leah cuts you off with a scrawl on her face.

"Guess we'll stay acquaintances then, Williamson," the cocky smirk is on your lips now.

"We'll see about that, y/l/n." Leah leans in closer as she raises her eyebrows.

"Watching you two is like interactive reality tv. It's a fiery mess, but you can't look away…Anyways, I was just stopping by to see if Le would let me stay with her. I really don't feel like sleeping on a hotel bed for a few days," Keira says.

"Of course you can stay! God, Keira like that's even a question. You act like you don't have your own room and spare key," Leah says.

"Well I wasn't going to ask…Until I saw you all cuddled up with y/n in your little love nest," Keira fires back.

"Excuse you, if we're labeling it then it was more like a love cocoon," Leah challenges her.

"Hey? Where are you going?" Keira asks you.

"Yeah! Was it a nest or a cocoon, darling?" Leah pouts your way.

And even though it does make your heart skip a beat, you push that feeling down. You wrestle it from your chest all the way down into your stomach. Where it's going to twist and turn your heart, your mind, and your sanity. "Sorry but this is between you two. Work it out like big girls," you use her earlier works against her. You go to grab a towel from the hall closet before heading to the bathroom, "I'm gonna hop in the shower now that I'm feeling better!"

"Without me?" Leah calls out.

"Keep talking and I'll call Russo to be my new roommate!" You tease before shutting the door. As soon as the barrier of wood is up you feel your facade start to crumble. You truly do love Keira, but seeing her has been a rush of emotions. You know you two left things awkward and unsaid when you left Barca, but she did really try to be there for you…and you pushed her away. You iced out one of the only true friends you have, and then left without warning. You know you two have more to talk about, but at least you're back on good terms. The last time Keira caught you in a compromising position with someone, it was the beginning of a trainwreck. The reason for your departure….A messy and convoluted tale of her. A name that causes so much pain your brain refuses to even whisper it. She remains nameless and faceless in your mind. That’s the only way you can push through it— if you erase her from your being completely. You don’t allow the feelings to encompass your heart, and in turn, you never allow them to heal your soul. Just a walking open wound, always bleeding out with sorrow. Lashing out and hurting the ones closest to you. Because after all– hurt people hurt people.

So you follow through with your teasing threat, and you dial Alessia's number. She agrees to let you stay with her for a while after you explain the flu situation. As the phone call ends the shame bubbles up and spills out of you. You run to the toilet to release the burning sense of disgrace tumbling out of your throat. You flush before taking a second to let the sick feeling in your gut subside.

You must take longer in the shower than you think, because soon Leah’s knocking on the door. “Hey you alright in there, darling? I’m starting to think you passed out and I need to kick the door down!” You laugh at her concern as you let the worries boggling your mind wash down the drain. Leah is a source of comfort...and you haven’t quite figured that out yet. You just know she makes you forget. All the pain, guilt, and memories…they all vanish when she's near you. Maybe that's why you always give into her advances; because the blinding pleasure brings a shield of solace in her embrace. "I'm fine, just needed a good ol’ fashion deep clean!"

You turn off the water before reaching for your towel, and the door opens just as you pull the curtain back. You're scrambling to cover up your exposed body as a surprised yelp leaves your lips, "LEAH!" Your cheeks heat up as she racks her eyes up and down your body. She keeps walking towards you, purpose pouring out of every step she takes. When she approaches the shower entry you back up until you feel the cold tiles strike a shiver down your spine. "W-what are you doing?"

She walks right in and cages you to the wall, still dressed in her clothes and all. She grabs the top of the messily wrapped towel around your body and yanks it down. Her hands are quick to slide from your hips up to your chest, playing with your nipples as you shutter from the feeling. Leah's getting on her knees now, leaving a trail of kisses as she does. "Y-your pants, Le!"

She growls out as she nips at the skin above your navel. "I don't give a fuck about my pants! Keira finally left and I'm starving. Now be a good girl, and let me have my breakfast, okay?"

She doesn't give you a minute to protest, diving her tongue straight through your folds. She doesn't even pull back when she speaks again, the words mumbled into your pussy. "Been too fucking long since I've got to taste you."

It makes you arch your back, pushing your cunt down onto Leah's face even more. "F-fuck! Please, Le— want your fingers!"

"No. This isn't about you right now. So shut up before you get nothing," it's like a switch flipped. She was being so nice, and now her grip is tightening on your chest. The stinging feeling running down to your clit as she pinches your nipples.

"But Le—" and with that she pulls away. An anger burning behind her eyes you've never seen before. "What did I say?"

Your eyes widen at that, mouth falling open as you stare at her like a deer caught in headlights. Your cheeks get redder as the silence grows between you two, falling victim to the fiery look ablaze behind her eyes. It's like diving into the ocean and being swept away by the tides; there's no use in fighting it. "Fine. If you don't want to listen," She's standing up now and pulling at the sweatpants around her waist. Her panties quickly follow the same path as she throws them both behind her. "Then you're gonna use your mouth for the only thing it's good for."

You can't help the way arousal seeps out of you at the thought. During this whole reunion of sorts, you've been the only one receiving. It sparks a passion in you to taste her cum, and after all like she said— it's been too fucking long. She grabs your hair as she forces you to your knees. It makes a whimper leave your lips from the force, but the pain in your legs only adds to your pleasure. She spreads her legs as she steps over you, and you moan as your hands go to run up her thighs. You feel the grip on your hair loosen and before you know it, she's on you. Her hands are pinning yours to the wall behind you, switching them to just one as she positions herself atop you. A light slap is sent across your cheek, and it makes a surprised moan fall from your lips.

Leah grabs your jaw after, forcing you to look her in the eyes. "You're just a selfish slut aren't you? Can't ever follow orders because it's not what you want, hmm?"

You go to defend yourself, but Leah's eyebrows raise as your mouth opens. You decide on closing your lips and shaking your head instead. A furrowed brow and a pout easily settling into your features. She just rolls her eyes at you, throwing your face out of her hold as she scoffs. "Oh, don't give me that look. It's not gonna save you this time. Now stick your fucking tongue out for me."

Your need to prove her wrong is stronger than your need to be a brat right now. So you swallow down the sassy remark in your throat and do as she says. Open your mouth as you lay your tongue out flat. She's so close you can feel the heat radiating off of her, and it takes all your strength to hold yourself back. Your eyes go to watch as she sinks herself down onto you, and they close as her taste hits your tongue. But the sudden reentry of her hand into your hair ruins that, and she yanks your locks. Just a bit, enough to make you whimper and shift your sights to her. "Keep your eyes on me. Understand?"

You nod as best you can, and it makes your nose nudge against her clit. Causing a sequence of moans to tumble out from her lips. She starts grinding down into the pleasure, keeping your head in place with the hand in your hair. You could cum just like this, but it's still a struggle to not rub your thighs together from the sight above you. Leah's not got her shirt off, but you can still see her hard nipples poking through. It makes you moan into her pussy, and her hips stutter from the vibrations. You miss seeing Leah's tits, but you miss sucking on them more. Every night in Ibiza she'd have you straddling her lap, your mouth around one of her nipples as her fingers buried themselves inside of your cunt.

Her hips grind into your face harder as she throws her head back. The muscles in your legs are burning now, and you know your knees will be bruised before the end of this. But you don't care, not when it's Leah. You'd stay down here till your legs went numb if that's what she needed. "Fuck me," she pulls on your locks, "Fuck me with your tongue, y/l/n."

You want to frown at the use of your last name. You like it when she calls you pet names during intimate moments like this— hell you even like it when she degrades you. But this seems more personal, like she's actually mad at you. Like that fire behind her eyes is more than just her dominant side taking over. So you do as she says, moving your tongue to slip into her hole as you try and prove yourself to her. You want to make up whatever it is you did to piss her off so bad. She starts moving your head along with her hand, adding extra force behind your thrusts. Her legs start shaking as the minutes pass by, her orgasm building with every flick of your tongue. Her juices are running down your chin, neck, and chest at this point. Effectively ruining the shower that turned your fingers and toes into prunes.

"Just like that, keep going!" She groans out as above you.

She spurs you on, laser focusing on keeping everything the same. You want— no you need to make her cum. Your jaw is beyond sore, but it doesn't deter you from your task at hand. How can you think about the pain in your jaw when you have a goddess placing her pussy onto your mouth? Easy— you don't!

You feel her legs start to close around your head a bit as she leans forward, bracing herself against the shower wall. Your head moves with her until you're pressed back against the tiles. Leah uses her newfound support to grind herself against you faster, sending a chorus of beautiful sounds to spill from her mouth. She's fucking your face as she has you completely pinned down and at her mercy. You're so exposed…so vulnerable. In your pleasure induced daze, you think about maybe— just maybe! Letting your guard down around her. You make the decision right then that you need to cancel your move to Alessia's, mentally writing a note to text her. You'll do it as soon as you two get done fooling around. Plus you'll both need a shower after this..and you guess she can join you this time.

It only takes about five more thrusts for her to let out a broken moan, the precious cum you've been working towards finally spilling out onto your tongue. You can't help but let out a moan, too, the taste of her casting a glaze to cover your eyes. You slip further and further into the spacey feeling as you lick up her arousal. Now that she's let you have a taste of her, how are you gonna stop?

You're pulled out of your thoughts as she pulls away from your body. She helps you up after she regains her strength, letting you cling to her as your legs wobble like a newborn foal. She sits you on the toilet as she goes to get you both some clean clothes. You smile to yourself as your fingers come up to collect some of her cum around your mouth, pushing them into your mouth as you clean them up. Even when she isn't looking— you're her good girl. You reach for your phone and click on Alessia's contact, but the door reopens just as you go to hit send. "Here, I put a few days worth of clothes in this. I washed your shorts and put them in there, too. Should keep you covered till you can swing back home."

She just turns around after handing you the bag, walking back towards the door. "W-wait! Where are you going? And do I really need my own bag while I stay here?" Your confused tone stops her in her tracks. You hear a scoff before she turns around, met with an infuriated Leah.

"The last time I checked you ran in here to tell Alessia to come pick you up. So stop the bullshit. But I guess that's all you're good at, huh? Being a bullshitter," she says it without an inch of comfort in her voice. You suddenly feel way too exposed for this conversation, covering your naked body as best as you can with your hands. You can feel the tears welling up in your eyes as you start shaking your head. "L-Le, no that's not! I'm not— please just let me explain!"

"You left me in Ibiza, you left your last crew, and so go ahead and leave again! Apparently it's the only thing you're bloody consistent at. You can't stay loyal to a god damn football team, so I don't know why, god forbid, I thought you'd stay for someone who actually fucking cares about you!" She's shouting now, her chest rising and falling with the anger brewing in her chest.

The sobs can't stay locked inside you anymore. They rock through your body, enabling you speechless as the shock of her words sink in. She just shakes her head before turning back around, slamming the door so hard behind her that it bounces back open. Once you've calmed down after a few minutes, you quickly change into a pair of the clothes from the bag she gave you. You cry a little harder when you smell hints of her scent on the fabric, but it only fuels you to get dressed faster. You grab your phone and the bag from Leah before walking out of the bathroom. You keep your eyes on the floor, avoiding her presence in the living room. You reach for the front door as you storm out, more tears blurring your vision. You end up bumping into a body before you push past them, a whimpered apology leaving your lips.

"Hey, y/n— what's wrong," Keira turns around to go after you, but Leah stops her as she approaches the door to watch you leave.

"Don't! Let her go. It's not like she ever stays, anyways."

#BMB.daph #woso fanfics #woso smut #woso x reader #woso writers #leah williamson smut #leah williamson x reader #leah williamson fanfic #leah williamson imagine #leah williamson angst #woso angst

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logos0 · 2 days ago

Text

Through the Storm

You had always hated storms. Not the ones outside—the crashing thunder and relentless rain were oddly comforting—but the ones that raged inside your mind. They brewed at inconvenient times, bringing doubt, anxiety, and an unbearable weight you could never fully describe. Being with Leah had always been your calm in the chaos, but lately, even she felt like a ship lost in the swell.

The rift started small—a disagreement over her schedule, a misunderstanding about a missed call. Leah was always busy. Between her training sessions and commitments to the England squad, it sometimes felt like you were just another appointment she pencilled in. You tried not to let it bother you, and at first it worked, but as time passed, you could not push down your frustration. Your feelings no longer simmered under the surface but started bubbling over at the worst moments.

It all came to a head one night after her return from an away game. You hadn’t seen her in weeks, nor had you been able to call her, and while you wanted to savour her presence, the frustration you’d been holding in came spilling out instead.

"You’re never here, Leah," you said, your voice trembling with both anger and sadness. "I get that football’s your life, but am I even part of it anymore?"

She stood in the doorway, her duffel bag slung over her shoulder, exhaustion painted across her face. "Of course, you are," she replied, her tone sharp with defensiveness. "You think I don’t miss you when I’m gone? You think this is easy for me?"

"Well, it doesn’t feel like it," you shot back, tears welling in your eyes. "You come home, and it’s like… I’m just a stopover before the next big thing. Like I’m not enough."

Leah dropped her bag and stepped closer, but you turned away, wiping your eyes furiously. "Don’t say that," she whispered, her voice cracking. "You’re everything to me."

"Then why doesn’t it feel like it?"

The silence that followed was deafening. Leah stood frozen, her eyes searching yours for something she couldn’t find. Those eyes which had pulled you into a ban so long ago and now were tormenting you. "I don’t know how to fix this," she admitted, her voice barely audible.

And just like that, the storm between you grew too wild to tame. Leah left that night, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the sound of rain pounding against the window.

The days that followed were agonizing. Leah texted you sporadically, but the messages felt hollow, as though she was trying to bridge a gap that words alone couldn’t mend. You left most of them unanswered, unsure of what to say—or if you even wanted to.

Until one night, a week later, when your phone buzzed with a message that was different from the rest.

Leah: I’m outside. Please, just… let me talk.

You hesitated, your heart battling between wanting to see her and wanting to stay angry. But the thought of her standing outside in the cold, waiting for you, tugged at your resolve. With a sigh, you grabbed a coat and opened the door.

Leah was there, drenched from the rain, her usually confident demeanour replaced with a vulnerability that caught you off guard. That reminded you of times long past. She looked at you with those piercing eyes, and for a moment, neither of you spoke.

"I know I’ve hurt you," she began, her voice steady but soft. "And I’ve spent the past week trying to figure out how to make it right. But the truth is, I don’t have all the answers. All I know is that I can’t lose you."

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat growing with each word. "Leah… I just feel so invisible sometimes. Like you’re here, but not really here. As if I am just another appointment, a chore."

She nodded, stepping closer. "I know. And you’re right—I haven’t been fair to you. I’ve let football take over everything, and I thought… I thought you’d be okay with that because you’re so strong. But I didn’t realize how much I was taking you for granted."

Her words hit you like a wave, and before you could stop yourself, you were crying. Leah reached for you, hesitating for a split second before pulling you into her arms. You let yourself melt into her, the warmth of her embrace cutting through the chill of the rain.

"I’m sorry," she whispered into your hair. "For everything. I don’t want you to feel like you’re not enough, because you are. You’re more than enough. You’re my everything."

You pulled back just enough to look at her, her face inches from yours. "I don’t need you to have all the answers," you said quietly. "I just need to know that you’re willing to try."

Leah nodded, her expression serious. "I’ll try every day for the rest of my life, if that’s what it takes."

Her lips brushed against yours, soft and hesitant, as if she were asking for permission to fix what had been broken. You kissed her back, the storm inside you finally beginning to settle.

The rain continued to fall, but for the first time in weeks, you felt like you could breathe again. Leah was here, and so were you—together, ready to weather whatever came next.

#leah williamson x reader #leah williamson #woso #woso x reader #leah williamson imagine

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blueberrypancakesworld · 3 days ago

Note

Hiii! I was wondering if I could have a Emperor Caracalla x reader where because of his disease he doesn't recognise her for a moment when they're about to make love and she has to calm him down

I am here and no one else

Emperor Caracalla x wife!reader

warning : hurt/comfort, kissing, choking and using knife, cuddling, crying

Summary : They had been together many times, they saw and felt each other. It reassured her that he was aware of her, that Caracalla was not lost in madness, but on the night of the full moon when they were in bed together, madness crept into his mind and next to him was no longer the woman he loved and had married.

info : Thank you very much for the request dear anon it is a pleasure to get another request for Caracalla, enjoy reading :)

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

His blue eyes had been so clear a few years ago, when the sun was above them and the people had cheered them both and his smile was sincere and honest.

The wedding of the emperor Caracalla and his wife the sun roms was cheered and no shadow had settled over the imperial family, it was a dream, a beautiful dream that seemed so far away when she looked at her beloved husband now.

His eyes clouded with madness, bloodied when he saw the battles in the colloseum and his temper erratic, she loved him, loved him through it all but with each passing day she feared for him, for his brother and herself. Because if madness prevailed, Caracalla himself would not stop at her and Geta, they were sure of that.

The whole day, however, he seemed like a miracle, but clear from breakfast he remembered what appointments were coming up today, ,,The ring is especially flattering to my sun” he had wooed her at noon on the way to the Senate.

Even in that he not only supported his brother but also ignored the lies of the senators, he seemed to clearly recognize what Geta was pursuing and stood up for his values. It was moments that brought tears to her eyes as she seemed to wander back into the past dream.

A ring he had bought her, it was small things, but it was these small moments that gave her and Geta hope that things would get better, even in the coliseum Caracalla remained relatively calm.

,,The credit goes to the victor!” he extended a rare moment of grace when even Geta would have decided otherwise and she saw in the older man's gaze that he was proud of his brother.

The day had been blessed by the gods it seemed from the moment the sun rose until now but such protection can be deceiving.

After dinner the three of them planned to keep to themselves, but keeping to themselves ended in togetherness for Caracala and her.

Kisses exchanged in the hallway, hands holding each other and clothes removed, ,,Such beauty,” he said, searching her lips a second time as they both changed from their tunics into those for the night.

Naked skin disappeared under silken fabric, gazes resting on each other, bright eyes looking at their bodies and seeing only pure beauty, ,,You are so beautiful,” he heard a giggle as she turned in her clothes and came towards him in another kiss that led them to the bed.

Soft fur and pillows caught her and she ran them through blonde curls, she loved him, loved his art, his laugh and giggle, his pretty eyes and golden curls, ,,You're more beautiful” she murmured and tapped the tip of his nose as they both let go of each other for a moment.

Reaching to the side table next to the table wine had been provided and grapes he held the goblet out to her and she placed the grape to his lips, it was a quiet moment, a moment between adults, a moment that was not possible in his madness, ,,Your flattery is both amusing and sweetening” he said eating the grape and savoring the sweetness on his tongue.

She put the goblet aside after a sip and ran her hands over his pale torso, the small scars and inconsistencies of his illness were not ugly to her.

She smiled at his words, circling his skin as he leaned over her, his lips searching her face, but in the darkened room where the torches provided light, his eyes saw the wine on her lips.

Dark...dark red...blood red.

A color that made him pause kisses that he continued to return but his fingers that touched her, from her neck where he heard her pulse to her soft breast became more and more strange.

Stranger and stranger with each blink her appearance became more distant, with each kiss she smelled and tasted less like his wife and he caught the scent of her blood.

Blood like at a birth, blood that no longer threatened to flow through him and blood of a madness that he had to stop in her, ,,You-you're not her!” he cried out, interrupting the kiss and his fingers wrapped around her neck, fingernails clawing into her skin and her eyes opened in shock.

Air that was drastically and quickly no longer inflicted on her his name came broken from her lips, her hands clutching at his wrist trying to gently reassure him at first.

,,It's me...it's your wife” she rattled fluttering eyes trying to find his gaze, to find her husband. Instead, he only squeezed harder, seeming neither to hear nor recognize her...and in that moment she realized that her nightmare that his madness would kill her had come true.

Her legs kicked, trying to throw him off her, but there was a power in him that she didn't know he had, a power that made her slowly see black spots.

Fear and adrenaline flowed through her body, ,,Cara-Caracalla” she gasped trying unsuccessfully to calm him, she looked around the flash of the knife caught her eye, tears ran down her eyes as he pushed her harder into the pillows the giggles were replaced by screams as she cut his arm with the knife.

Her fingers just managed to grab it, she would never have wanted to hurt him but if blood was what made him run away, maybe it was blood that brought him back.

His scream continued to echo through the chamber as he held his arm away from her as if he had been burned and she took a deep coughing breath, tears streaming from her eyes.

Caracalla rolled off the bed screaming and crying as he hit the floor and pressed himself against the wall as his gaze lifted and he began to scream again, ,,I'm sorry-I'm sorry-I'm sorry...what have I done!” he said over and over again as the sticky blood ran down his arm, staining it and he realized when he saw the desaturated state she was in.

Coughing and struggling to get air back into her lungs, she slowly got up from the bed, swaying, her voice failing as she tried to speak and coughing a gesture that only made him cry more.

She came slowly towards him, he pushed himself further away from her, ,,Stupid, a monster...a delusional one" he reproached himself as his face settled in his hands and she hugged him, holding him trembling as she slowly began to breathe regularly again, stroking his head.

She shook her head and took a piece of her robe to wipe the blood off his arm, ,,Not-it's not your fault. I'm alive you see I'm alive my king” she replied and clasped his hands, forcing him to look at her as she kissed his hands and looked at his reddish neck and saw his face, his hideous work.

Before he could cry again, she pressed him to her, kissed his forehead and his fingers clutched at her body, ,,You're still alive?” he asked the question so obviously that she laughed and nodded, ,,Yes! Yes, it's me here,” she said, putting his hand on her chest, his hand feeling her heartbeat, and he breathed shakily.

His smile just as pleased as hers as he engaged her in a kiss, holding onto her and the other way around as the two of them sat there on the floor bloody kissing, reassuring each other that they were still alive.

As he held her hand he told her, ,,Never again...I will never lose control like this again” he promised her, tapping the tip of her nose as she had gestured as the imperial couple remained sitting there holding and loving each other.

That despite the strangulation marks on her body and the blood on his, they loved each other no less than before and no madness would change such love and care.

They were bound by blood and love and they would be until the end of madness if they loved each other forever.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@potatoesenpaii , @cottoncandiescupcakes , @k-yurieee , @sigiismunda , @somepallings , @naysha140 , @abundance-of-fic-reblogs

#gladiator ii #gladiator 2 #emperor caracalla #emperor caracalla x reader #male x female #reader is female

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daisymbin · 1 day ago

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second chance romance 12. "every song reminds me of you."

woozi gets writers block after his breakup with y/n and realizes how much color and life had when they were still together. he would do anything to get back together 🥺

why does this already sound so heartwrenching :(( thank you for requesting this, lovely!! 🤍

request your own: full prompt list!

check out my masterlist! // jihoon's m.list

second chance prompt #12: "every song reminds me of you."

jihoon had spent weeks staring at his keyboard, fingers hovering but never pressing. the notes he usually heard in his mind came in fragments—disconnected and hollow. every song he tried to write felt incomplete, as if missing the heart it used to have. as if missing you.

he sat in his studio late at night, frustration burning in his chest. “why can’t i just—” his voice cracked, and he slammed his hand against the desk.

the memory of your laugh, your voice humming along with his music, filled his mind. he swallowed hard. you had been his muse without him realizing.

“why didn’t i fight for you?” he muttered under his breath.

a knock at his studio door startled him.

“you’re still here,” seungcheol said, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation.

“don’t start,” jihoon warned, leaning back in his chair.

“i wasn’t going to. i was just wondering how long you were planning to torture yourself.”

jihoon glared at him, but seungcheol didn’t flinch.

“you should talk to her,” seungcheol continued, arms crossed. “you’ve been miserable since the breakup, and it’s obvious she’s the reason you can’t write.”

“it’s not that simple,” jihoon snapped. “i hurt her, cheol. you don’t just come back from that.”

“it doesnt have to be this hard either. you don’t know unless you try. you always overthink, but this—this is different. just go. tell her how you feel.”

“and if she doesn’t want to see me?”

“then at least you’ll know you tried.”

jihoon clenched his jaw, his heart pounding as he weighed the possibility of facing you again. seungcheol’s words echoed in his mind long after his friend left, and eventually, he found himself standing outside your door.

the door creaked open, and your face appeared in the gap, your expression soft but full of unspoken emotion.

“hoonie jihoon?” you said his name like you couldn’t believe it, like you thought you might be dreaming.

his breath caught. “hi.” his voice was barely audible. “i… i know it’s late. i wasn’t sure if you’d even want to see me, but—” he faltered, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“what are you doing here?” you asked, your voice quiet, tinged with sadness.

“i don’t know how to say this,” he admitted, looking down at his feet. “but i couldn’t stay away anymore. i needed to see you.”

your lips parted, your eyes scanning his face for answers. “jihoon… it’s been months—”

“i can’t stop thinking about you,” he said, his voice breaking. “every song reminds me of you. every melody, every lyric… it’s all you.”

your lips trembled, tears forming in your eyes as you tried to keep your composure. “you can’t just show up like this after all this time. do you know how hard it’s been for me?”

“i know,” he said quickly, his own voice thick with emotion. “i know I don’t deserve another chance. i know i hurt you more than i can ever apologize for. but i’m a mess without you. i can’t write. i can’t think. everything in my life feels empty because you’re not there.”

you looked away, tears slipping down your cheeks. “why did you leave me, jihoon? you didn’t even fight for us.”

“i was scared,” he admitted, his voice shaking. “of how much you meant to me. of how much losing you would hurt. but i didn’t realize that losing you anyway would destroy me.”

you let out a shaky breath, your hands trembling as you wiped your face. “i don’t know if i can trust you again. you broke my heart.”

“i know,” he whispered, stepping closer but keeping a respectful distance. “but i’ll spend the rest of my life fix it if you let me. i’ll prove to you every single day how much you mean to me. just… give me a chance.”

you stared at him, his words sinking in, the raw desperation in his voice breaking down the walls you had built around your heart. he took a deep breath, his eyes glistening. “i don’t want to live without you anymore.

your tears fell freely now, your heart aching at the vulnerability in his voice. after a long moment, you nodded, the smallest movement, but it was enough.

jihoon’s shoulders sagged in relief, his eyes filling with tears. “thank you,” he whispered.

you stepped back to let him in, and as he crossed the threshold, he hesitated.

“i mean it,” he said, his voice trembling but steady. “i’ll spend every day showing you how much i love you. i won’t mess this up again.”

as you closed the door behind him, the weight of the past began to lift. it wouldn’t be easy, but in that moment, with jihoon standing in your home again, you felt the first flicker of hope.

and for jihoon, the music in his heart finally began to return.

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sturn5iolo · 23 hours ago

Text

THATS SO TRUE!

synopsis: you and chris broke up not that long ago, but still stayed friends. what if one day he brings his new girl to you and the triplets movie night?

pairing: ex! chris sturniolo & f! reader

warning: use of y/n, jealousy, anxiety attack!!, emotionally/micro-cheating

you sat on the triplets couch with matt right next to you. while scrolling on your phone you hear chris, “hey guys, is it okay if i invite amelia over?” he says walking down the stairs.

amelia is chris’ new girl, and she’s absolutely gorgeous. blue eyes, blonde hair and just everything you would want to be. you and chris broke up almost a month ago because he felt that he didn’t love you enough, but you continued to be okay with each other due to you still being friends with nick and matt.

“oh yeah that’s fine with me,” nick says as matt just nods. you turn your head to look at chris, just for him to be staring at you already. “i don’t care” you say to him.

but in all honesty, you did care. knowing how quickly he moved on from you hurt like hell. you physically could not believe that he found a new girl so quickly after being together for 8 months.

chris’ tongue glides over his teeth as he looks at you and walks away. matt taps on your knee, you look over at him and he mouths, “you okay?” you smile at him and say, “of course.”

a few minutes pass by, all 4 of you guys were just sitting on the couch until you hear the door knock a few times. chris sat up enthusiastically and basically ran to the door. when the door opens you hear, “hi baby!” assumingely enough it was amelia.

she and chris walk up towards the couch and stand in the middle of the living room. “amelia this is nick, matt and y/n. guys this is amelia.” he says with a soft smile on his face.

you sat at the end of the couch and of course, chris and amelia sat on the other end which had a clear view of them both. perfect, you thought to yourself.

chris looks straight at you keeping eye contact. his hands go up to her hair that was perfectly tied in a bun, his fingers wrap around the black hair tie while he whispers something in her ear. chris pulls the hair tie off and lets her hair free.

you bite your tongue and watch in silence. you knew he was doing this to hurt you, to get a reaction out of you. chris used to let your hair down the same way, and now he’s doing it with her. you knew exactly how chris thought. you knew what he was thinking while doing that.

your eyes shift over to amelia, her big blue eyes, pouty glossed lips, healthy blonde hair. does she know you and chris are exes? does she know you and chris broke up a month ago? how could anybody hate her? she’s so beautiful and cool. but for some reason something in you makes you hate her.

as you stare at amelia in awe, chris stares at you. he sees the way your eyes are glossing, the way your lip starts trembling and the way you play with the rings on your fingers from anxiety. suddenly, you stand up quickly turning around and letting out the softest, “i’ll be back.”

reaching the bathroom with tears slowly falling down your blushed cheeks. you close the door shut, both hands find the edge of the cold counter. you lean down looking at the white colored sink. breathing starts to pick up, your chest begins to move up and down at a rapid pace.

you try to wipe the tears rolling down but they would not stop coming out. tears after tears, the door is knocked on. you turn around trying to calm down your breathing, but nothing is helping. your hand reaches the doorknob and twists it open.

on the other side of the door stood chris. he looks at you with worry and pushes the door open fully, letting himself in. immediately, your pulled into his chest. chris runs his hands through your hair, “shh it’s okay.” he says to you trying to calm you down. you breathe in deeply smelling his familiar cologne and start to match your breathing to his.

a few moments pass by and you guys are still in the same position. as you find your breathing and started to calm down, you push yourself away from chris, “please don’t do this now” you beg him.

“what? what do you mean?” he asks confused. “stop trying to act like we’re okay, especially after doing that in front of me,” you say feeling tears build up once again. “do what?”

you scoff in his face wiping your tears which most likely caused mascara to smear down, “bringing your new girl over then staring at me the entire time! you can’t just do that chris?!” you start to raise your voice feeling irritated.

chris stutters, “well..sorry.” he says very unsure with his own words. “just leave me alone christopher.” you say turning around and facing the mirror, but chris didn’t move, he just stayed there behind you. watching as you broke in pieces

a/n - sorry if this is really bad..i wrote this high off my mind at 3am 😭😭

#sturn5iolo #sturniolo angst #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo smut #christopher sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #nick sturniolo #chris sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #that’s so true #gracie abrams #sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x reader

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taropotwrites · 2 days ago

Text

“I can’t speak!” Jason screams, but all that comes out is a gargled mess that sends the expression on Dick’s face plummeting into the icy depths of hell. It’s so pleasing. So, so pleasing to see the joy and humour wiped clean from the face of Dick Fucking Grayson. That’s right, the grief in Jason crows, feel just an ounce of the pain that you left me in.

“I—“ Dick can’t seem to speak either, but for a different reason. His own voice box, whole and unslashed and never silenced, bobs as he swallows. “How did this happen, Jay? S-Since when…”

‘Are you fucking stupid!’ Jason feels his useless larynx tear at the force of his rage, mangled vocal cords vibrating painfully, feeding iron down his throat, ‘Who do you think did this to me!’ And the knife in his heart demands more agony, so Jason tears the collar of his under-armour down.

Dick’s eyes go straight to where he wants it, to Jason’s neck, where his mutism is slashed across his throat in one vicious, horrible, line. Seven inches stretching perpendicular to his oesophogus. Six months healed, but forever an angry, jagged scar of raised tissue.

And Jason knows that Dick knows. He hears the sharp intake of air, and sees Dick’s eyes grow round enough that he almost looks like his younger self. The self that had taken one look at Jason wearing his colours and cursed him for it.

Jason waits for the satisfaction to hit, begs for the high of the pain when he finally gets to see the horror, the anguish, on the face of the Robin that Jason had once watched flying over rooftops with nothing but stars in his eyes. Now neither of them are starry-eyed. Jason’s are poison green, while Dick’s are a few shades away from sharing the riteousouness of their mentor. So Jason waits, for disgust, or fear, or— Or anything! Anything that he could latch on to instead of noticing the wetness in his eyes, or the beat of his lungs expanding irregularly.

But Dick disappoints him. Because there is no anger from him, only an overwhelming sense of grief. Only a sharp recoil, and a sound almost like a sob.

Suddenly, Jason is uncomfortable. And ashamed.

“Jaybird…”

‘Stop looking at me like that,’ Jason’s mind says. ‘Get the fuck away from me,’ his body language says.

Dick swallows hard, tripping backwards. Away from Jason. “I-I’m sorry, I need to—“ He bolts from the room and takes Jason’s rage with him.

Dick is shaking. He’s shaking so hard his brain mistakes the floor as a ship adrift at sea, his side hits the corner of the table as he drops to his knees. It probably hurts, but not as much as the engulfing, stuttering pumping in his chest. His heart is trying to leave him through his throat, his lunch is successful.

Jason will never make jokes at Dick’s expense again.

Jason will never wittily insult his opponents again.

Jason will never quote Jane Austen or reenact Shakespeare again.

Jason will never speak again.

Oh god. Dick couldn’t even remember the last time he had heard his brother’s laugh. Was it before Ethiopia?

He wipes the sick from his mouth and goes back. Jason looks… not fine, his eyes are near glazed, but his head tracks movement so Dick tries anyways. “Does he know the full story?”

Jason’s shoulders come up in a kind of half shrug. Then his hands come up, flipping and moving. Dick scrambles to keep up, his signing is functional but inferior. The first Robin didn’t learn how to sign until Jason, who sat on a fire escape of a crime alley apartment building every night for months just trying to make conversation with a young boy who was deaf.

“His batarang,” Jason tells him in sign, a condemnation. It’s an answer for a lot of things. Because, Bruce had sat at a workbench for years, Bruce could slice an apple from a branch without rustling the leaves. Bruce knew what his batarangs could do.

Dick trembles. Rage? Fear? He doesn’t know, but it forces him to open his mouth. “He won’t fucking come near you again, Jay, I swear it.”

And that smashes the floodgates to smithereens. Jason is heaving, a wretched, ugly, soundless thing of pain and betrayal. His fingers jerk, pressing a phantom trigger, aimed at nothing until Dick steps forward. After that, Dick can barely keep up with Jason’s fluttering hands. “He chose him over me. He chose him. He killed me and he chose him.”

Him. Jason’s killer. Joker.

“I know, Jaybird, I know,” Dick whispers uselessly. “Tell me what you need.”

A breath, two. Jason exhales and it sounds like a rockslide in a thunderstorm. Sinew tearing, blood gushing. Dick’s toes curl at the sounds but Jason makes his lips move, soundlessly, at first. Pointlessly. Then gravel forcing itself off his tongue.

“K…ill… ‘im,” Jason rasps, the effort staining his teeth red.

And Dick closes his eyes, and swears it on the universe.

Usually I don't really enjoy the 'deaf Red Hood' trope 'cause Jason goes through enough in canon without the added angst. But, I dunno, I just really wanted to write like a hurt!Jason type thing and what better than if Dick finds out that Bruce's batarang did some lasting damage.

#fanfiction #batman #jason todd #red hood #dick grayson #nightwing #writing #from my vault

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vezpr · 3 days ago

Text

corporal: ch 2 - expectations

SUKUNAxF!READER ☽☾ HEIAN ERA AU ☽☾ ONGOING SERIES ☽☾ AO3

☽☾ 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬: CH1: PUNISHMENT ▪︎ CH2: EXPECTATIONS

☽☾ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: You are such a menace that your father decides to offer your eternal servitude as a gift to the King of Curses.

Sukuna has not accepted such a tribute in years, more often opting to eat the young girls rather than put them to work, which is perfectly acceptable as far as your asshole dad is concerned.

Will the demon make an exception for you?

☽☾ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬/𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: 18+MINORS DNI, blood and gore, violence, abuse, true form sukuna, eventual smut (still not yet), references to cannibalism, angst, I suck at tags

☽☾ 𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @sodapop182 ; @moonchhu

☽☾ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: CH: 3.5k TOTAL: 7.7k

If you would like to be added to the taglist, please comment something to that effect. But please put an age in your bio so i don't have to block you. lmk if I'm doing this right, I'm an absolute virgin and open to suggestions. Thanks for reading. 🖤

Tearing through the woods outside of the shrine, you don't think about your sister, this time. You don't think of your father or his men, your mother, nothing. No memories, pleasant or unpleasant, swim up through the ink of night as the trees claw at your clothes and skin. Your mind is eclipsed with a fear as hot and red as the fire in your lungs.

You have not known fear like this for a long time, perhaps ever. All the running that you did from your father and his men was done more out of spite than fear. You had certain expectations of them. You were familiar with their cruelty and the limitations placed on it by society, or by your mother, perhaps. You father was not a kind man, by any means, but his eyes softened somewhat when they looked at her. The only power that you had was that of being able to put them through their paces. Here, you did not even have that. The comfort of expectations does not exist for the monster at your back, no more than the limitations of ordinary men.

So, you run, spurred by terror long after your rapidly depleting stamina should have forced you to stop. It feels like hours have passed when you finally come to a halt, hands on your knees, panting, muscles burning. Hyperaware of every sound, every sensation, even the trickle of sweat down the line of your back is enough to raise your hackles, but there is nothing but the ragged sound of your own breathing in the stillness.

As you try to slow your respirations, you ask yourself what it is you're so afraid of. Pain? You are overly familiar with pain. Your heart gradually slows as you come to the conclusion that Sukuna can only hurt you or kill you, just like any other man. Pain you can endure. And death? Well, if you are dead, then you won't be bothered, will you? You'll just be dead. What would wound you more is humiliation. Your mouth presses into a grim line as you ponder it.

Did the bastard confiscate your things and let you go, trusting that you would meet your own end in the forest without his help? Not the worst plan, you decide, as it occurs to you, for the first time, that you really have no place to go, no plan beyond running. Beyond escape. You've never had to plan beyond that because you've always been outnumbered, overpowered and dragged back.

Does he think you will return on your own? You scoff into the darkness at the thought. I'd sooner hang myself from one of these trees, you think to yourself as you look up at the branches, silver in the Autumn starlight. Still. Quiet. Unnaturally so, as if the earth itself is holding it's breath. Hiding.

Even before you hear it, you feel it, looming large and lethal at your back. Larger than Sukuna, even. Much larger. It shifts it's enormous weight, rustling the leaf litter. As you peer over your shoulder, your eyes widen and your heart hammers against your ribs like you never stopped running. A reptilian chittering sound blooms out of the dark: a bony whisper, a rattlesnake kind of warning. The moon outlines it's dark shape in indigo, a moving mountain that tears trees right out of the earth as it moves after you. How you didn't see or hear it before is a mystery.

Your feet slam against the shuddering ground with the slowness of nightmares as a scream claws it's way out of your throat. You don't make it very far before a root hooks your foot and sends you sprawling. A sickening snap followed by bright sparks of pain shoot up from your wrist as you catch your fall with your hand. When you look down to see splinters of bone jutting out of a ragged wound, a hysterical sob escapes your mouth. You clutch your injured limb against your chest as your heels churn at the dirt, propelling you backwards, too slow as the monster stops short in front of you.

It is too awful to look at, a twisted amalgamation of drooling faces and colorless eyes shining with idiot hunger as it prepares to stuff you into its many jagged mouths. You dig your chin into your shoulder, squeezing your eyes shut and baring your teeth as you feel it's hot, putrid breath against your skin. Thick, black saliva drips into the dirt between your feet and burns it like acid, white tendrils of smoke rising from the bubbling pool.

The chittering sound rises again, like a demonic chorus of cicadas. Distantly, you realize the effect is created by all of those throats babbling at once. You find yourself too breathless to scream as it's clumsy teeth try to find purchase in the flesh of your calf, only succeeding in lightly scratching and slobbering all over it. Perhaps in frustration, its crying slowly rises in pitch, high and keening.

Then, there is another, quieter sound, that cuts the wailing short. It is soft like a whip cutting through the air before it cracks, like the hiss of lightning parting the sky before the thunder of it crashing back together. Crashing like the quivering weight that descends upon your lower body as the monster inexplicably falls to pieces at your feet. You blink owlishly at the dismantled pile of flesh, hardly daring to believe that it is truly dead, even as its quivering breaths grow still.

Your legs throb under the lifeless weight of it. It is impossible to drag yourself out from under it with your one good arm, so you resort to wiggling on your back in the dirt, removing yourself inch by excruciating inch. You haven't yet had the time, nor the prescence of mind to worry about what lurking horror might have so effortlessly ended the dead thing that pins you to the dirt. That mystery is soon solved for you when a familiar voice comes out of the dark behind you.

"Tch. Pathetic."

You cease your struggles and crane your neck back, pressing the back of your head into the dirt to meet Sukuna's garnet gaze. He leans against a tree, as if he can't be bothered to hold himself up, looking only vaguely interested in the scene before him.

"Me, pathetic?" You spit, redoubling your efforts to writhe out from under the dead thing. "Was I not easy enough to kill? You had to sic your pet on me?" The thought had only now occurred to you, that Sukuna had unleashed this thing on you, but the notion already has your blood boiling with rage.

Sukuna snorts, "Not mine." His eyes leave you in favor of examining the corpse. "Hm. A grade two, this one," he mutters.

Your eyes follow his and you notice a jagged, black fang, about the length of your outstretched hand, lying in the dirt by your hip. Glancing back to ensure his eyes are still focused on the monster, you stretch out your good arm and wrap your fingers around it. The edges bite into your fingers, but you clutch it like a lifeline, headless of the pain.

"Well, do you intend to finish the job, or are you just going to stand there, blabbering nonsense?" You sneer, craning your neck to look up at him.

His eyes snap back to yours and he smirks, lazily peeling himself away from the tree and stepping towards you. "So eager to die, arent you?"

He lifts the bulk of dead flesh away from you with one hand as he hooks another into the pit of your injured arm and drags you to your feet.

Gritting your teeth, you swing your good arm, arcing your makeshift weapon to catch him in the back, but he snatches your wrist away with yet another arm. Now, you are leaning awkwardly against his chest as he supports most of your weight. You legs are not as useful as you might have hoped. They burn painfully and buckle at the knees as the blood rushes back to your cramping muscles.

He eyes the monster's tooth in your hand with mild interest. "You want to hurt me with that?" He asks with a mean grin. "Go ahead."

With that he lets go of you and takes a step back. You cry out in frustration as your traitorous legs buckle underneath you and you land on your knees at his feet. He throws his head back and laughs as you snarl up at him and swing your makeshift weapon at his legs, which dodge your clumsy blows effortlessly.

"For weeks you lived in peace with me and now all these theatrics, for what reason?" He muses as he steps this way and that to avoid your rageful attacks. It doesn't take long for him to grow bored of this game, and you are taken aback when he sinks to his knees in front of you. Even so, he towers over you so that you have to hyperextend your neck to see his face. His lower set of hands snatch you up around the waist while the upper pain pin your arms to your sides. You grunt at the pain in your broken wrist, but he takes no notice.

"I asked you a question," he snarls, holding you at eye level.

He huffs when you only writhe in his grip and scream in his face until your throat is raw and you are too breathless to continue.

"Fucking feral little rat," he mutters. "Is it because I touched your leg?" He asks, eyes dragging the length of your body.

You scoff. Of course it wasn't just that it's...

"Are you throwing a tantrum because I didn't ask permission? Hm? And what was the plan? Where will you go?" He cuts off your thoughts by echoing your own thinking from earlier. It has you subconsciously biting into your cheek hard enough to draw blood. Infuriating.

He smirks. "Just a spoiled little princess playing at running away. Well. Time to grow up, little girl, and realize that you will always belong to a man. Before, you belonged to your bitch of a father, and now, you belong to me."

No longer able to hold in your rage you shreik and slam your head forward in an attempt to split his smirking lips. Of course, he leans away and you only succeed in tossing your hair, drawing another cackle from his mouth.

"You want to hurt me? Try, brat," he bellows to be heard over your shreiking as he presses his forehead against yours hard enough to bruise. The moment he releases your good arm you sink the oversized canine into his temple and drag it down, flaying his cheek. A second swing and his larger, upper eye is reduced to a wobbling jelly running into the bleeding wound. Slick with gore, the tooth drops from your hand and Sukuna slams you down on your back with enough force to steal the air out of your lungs.

Then he is folded over you, hand on your jaw tilting your gaze to his wounded face. "Look at me," he instructs and your stomach lurches as the flesh bubbles and warps. Then it is takes its old, unmarred shape, as new and smooth as ever. You stare at it, blinking as if that brief interruption of sight might return it to ruin, as it was seconds ago. As if to dispel your disbelief another of his hands grasp your broken wrist, lifting your hand so that your fingertips brush his new skin. At the same instant, your injured joint transforms the same way his wounds had until it is new and free of pain.

Speechless you stare at your hand on his cheek until you realize that he is no longer holding it there. He leans in until his lips are nearly brushing your ear. "I can touch you however I like, whenever I like," he says, slipping a hand from your waist to trace the angle of your hip bone and the curve of your outer thigh through your ruined kimono. "I can break you and mend you, break you and mend you and never, ever let you die." His hand slips from your jaw to your throat where he squeezes briefly before, suddenly, he hauls himself off of you.

"So, brat," he says, standing over you haloed in the pink light of dawn, "if you are ever so lucky as to have me touch you again, try not to overreact."

All you seem to be able to do is slide your eyes stupidly from your healed wrist to his unblemished face until all the breath decides to leave your lungs at once. The sky, blushing with dawn and tattooed with skeletal branches, fades to black.

...

Emika, grinning, face tilted toward the dappled sunlight, laughter bubbling out of her throat. It is a musical sound until it changes, distorts into a horrible chittering, vacous and reptilian. Her mouth opens, impossibly wide, a poisonous womb that delivers a wailing many-faced blackness that swallows the world. Closer, the newborn horror leans in until all you can see is a single wet, red maw screaming its hunger and eager to feed on you. It is made of hunger and fear. Its tongue lolls out and begins to twist and warp. It pales and changes shape, grows four garnet eyes, a tattooed jaw, a laughing mouth. Sukuna's face leaning close to yours. "Look at me," he says, surrounding you, a universe that leaves you no choice. He is still laughing when he tilts away, falling out of orbit as gravity pulls your back into the dirt. He is replaced by a robin's egg sky seen in patches through the green leaves of spring.

Emika's face glides into view, a smiling autumn moon in the Spring sky.

Her bamboo sword taps your neck.

"Dead," she says.

Dead like the warrior she once daydreamed of being, with a katana on her back and a pretty servant girl at her side.

"Dead." She smiles, haloed in sunlight.

Your eyes blink open. Even as the nightmare fades you realize it holds too many parallels to waking life for comfort. Finding yourself suspended above the ground in an unfamiliar position, your body jerks, your legs inadvertently tightening around Sukuna's waist. He is carrying you like a child on his hip, his lower arm hooked under your backside while his upper one supports your back. Your chin rests over his shoulder, your cheek pressed into his neck. Finding this abhorrent, you squirm weakly.

"I can walk now," you mutter, but you are so tired. Your eyelids, leaden.

"Walking has caused you enough trouble, wouldn't you say?" He chuckles, a sound that is becoming increasingly annoying.

In any case, the dead weight of your body against his is enough to refute your claim.

Your eyes flutter closed, head lolling against his neck. He smells of smoke, blood and earth and he is warm against you. The effect is like a sleeping tincture.

"I want to know," you mutter against his skin as you struggle against your rapidly retreating consciousness. "I want to know what is expected of me."

You are too exhausted to think of your statement as an acquiesence, but that is what it is. Sukuna is taking you back to the shrine and you are accepting it. Perhaps that is why he laughs. Your eyes pop open at the hateful sound and you hope that he does not discern the increasing tempo of your heart with the way that your chest is pressed into him. Wouldn't want to give him the satisfaction.

"Expectations," he says. "You can't live without them, hm? How, then, would you rebel?"

You clench your teeth. He is unbearable. You hate him. God, you hate him. But you are just so tired right now.

"I have no expectations of you, rat." He continues after a pause, although he thinks to himself that you are really more of a mouse, at the moment, as you go limp again with sleep.

...

When you wake again, from a long sleep that is blessedly dreamless, there is nothing to greet you but silence and the shrinking light of early evening. You lie for a moment on the futon, staring at the dark grid of ceiling in your chambers.

Under the thinning haze of sleep that still clouds your mind, a flickering flame of rage persists. When you look down at yourself, filthy with mud, blood, and mystery secretions from whatever that thing in the forest was, it grows brighter. Cast off and forgotten like a broken doll. You flex your healed wrist. Why does it make you even angrier?

I have no expectations

You tear off your kimono and toss it aside, fuming.

Rat.

You tear the linens, ruined by your dirtiness, off of your futon and thrust them away to join your clothing on the floor.

"Maybe I will go around naked, then," you fume, stomping towards the door, but you stop there, losing your nerve. "Bet you wouldn't expect that. Bet you would find that you have some expectations after all."

spoiled little princess

"Maybe I will go around like this is my home and you are an unwanted guest," you hiss into the silence.

time to grow up and realize you will always belong to a man

You retrieve your dirty kimono and shrug into it, gathering the fabric loosely around your chest with one hand while you rip something clean out of the wardrobe with the other. The shoji door slams against the doorframe as you storm out of the room not bothering to close it.

now you belong to me

Uraume and Baba look up from their work, picking vegetables for dinner in the courtyard as you tear across it without sparing them a glance. You make quite a sight, blood-streaked and furious.

"He'll be getting his kicks with that one for quite some time, I'll say... yes," Baba croaks as her milky eyes track your movements.

"Baba!" Uraume scolds.

"It's the truth," Baba crows. "It is!"

...

The steaming water of the hot spring soothes the aching muscles of your legs. This makes encroaching on his territory doubly satisfying, even if he, being a morning bather, in your limited experience - doesn't find out. You close your eyes and hold your breath, sinking to the bottom on your knees. Your fingers rake through the matted mess of your hair, breaking loose the dirt and dried blood. You stay under until your lungs burn and then burst to the surface with a sharp inhalation.

"What the fuck do you think you are doing?"

You startle at the sound of Sukuna's voice booming over the soft gurgling of the water. He is standing at the opposite end of the spring, kimono pooled around his feet, hands frozen at his waist in the middle of loosening his hakama.

"Whatever I want, since you have no expectations," you retort, having recovered quickly from your surprise.

He snorts. "Alright."

You glare at each other through the rising steam.

You are the first to avert your eyes when Sukuna resumes undressing, unceremoniously dropping his hakama.

Your back is turned and you make a point of staying submerged to the shoulders as you make your way to the edge of the pool. You movements increase in urgency, heart thumping faster as you hear him splash into the water behind you. Unwilling to let him see your bare skin, you pull your clean kimono into the water and put it on while still submerged.

When you drag yourself over the lip of the pool in your dripping robes, he is laughing. Your skin erupts in goose flesh that cannot be entirely attributed to your soaked clothes and the chill in the air. Although it pisses you off to no end, you try to at least appear unperturbed. Chin held high, you make it a point not to look at him as you march back toward the shrine, as if he is beneath your notice. You hope he feels it.

"Come here, rat."

You pause, your back still turned to him.

"I said, come here." He repeats.

Vacillating between the desire to defy him and the desire to seem unafraid, you settle on the latter and make your way back to the water's edge. There is a deliberate slowness in your movements, to show that you are in no hurry to obey him.

Sitting on the lip of the pool, you let your calves dangle over the edge, lazily treading water.

"What do you want?" you hiss, meeting his crimson gaze.

#sukuna x reader #jjk fanfic #jjk smut #jjk x reader #fanfiction #true form sukuna #jjk sukuna #jujutsu kaisen #sukuna x female reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x y/n #sukuna x you #no use of y/n

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fulltimesapphic · 3 days ago

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So I have this headcanon/kinda fic idea that after Buck and Tommy get married (and/or have their daughter) Buck gets like really had anxiety. He can barely function sometimes because he is so scared that something is going to happen. It gets bad enough that Bobby has to start making him man behind and Tommy has to be constantly checking in and calling. Everyone is obviously worried but Buck won’t talk about what’s happening. Bobby and Tommy are the only people that Buck talks to about this but even then it’s only a little bit.

Then one day the 118 are at the station, the news is playing on the tv and they see a story about a house in the same neighborhood as Buck and Tommy’s house with a truck in the living room that killed two people and injured two more. Buck has a panic attack and struggles to breathe. After it passes, with help from Bobby and Eddie, for the rest of the day Buck can’t stop shaking. When he’s packing up to leave Bobby stops him and tells him that he needs to get help. When they’re at home Buck is still shaking and is quiet, Tommy can’t get him to say a word. At some point in the night Tommy wakes up and Buck isn’t in bed next to him.

Buck is in the living room, sitting on the couch, crying. Tommy crouches near Buck and it all breaks. Evan tells Tommy all the fears he’s gained, all the terrible scenarios that have been filling his brain, he tells Tommy about the panic attacks that he’s hidden, about the ones that he hasn’t, he tells him about being scared that he’s broken. And Tommy listens. When Evan is finished, Tommy wipes away his tears, kisses his head, and leads him back to bed. The next morning Buck doesn’t get out of bed and hardly eats. The next day Buck sets an appointment with a Dr Theatt from the department.

Buck slowly starts to get better, he’s still quiet and doesn’t smile as much. But he’s starting to get better. He starts taking antidepressants and anxiety meds, he starts going out on calls again and he survives a whole shift without hearing Tommy’s voice. Dr Theatt (who prefers to be called Max) says that he’s doing better, that he’s opening up more about his fears. One day, in the final hours of a 48 hour shift, Buck leaves the bunk room and finds himself in the kitchen. Bobby is in the living area and when Buck looks lost Bobby gets up and teaches Buck to make crepes. Buck smiles, a genuine smile, he laughs too, a full body laugh that can be heard echoing all throughout the sleeping station.

Buck is starting to get better. The longer he’s taking his meds the more they work. When he’s at an appointment with Max, they ask him if he was ever diagnosed for ADHD. So he starts getting better. Eventually, he goes two months without shaking hands or shortness of breath because he started thinking about a crashed helicopter. And then one day Tommy stops by the 118 house and sees Evan making everyone laugh and he himself is smiling while he pours the macaroni noodles in the pot of boiling water. Tommy thinks he falls in love all over again.

#saph says #bucktommy #buck x tommy #bobby is buck's dad #evan buckley #tommy kinard #911 fic #bucktommy fic #tevan #tevan fic #911 abc #911 spoilers #911 show #married bucktommy #buck has adhd #buck has issues #bucktommy fluff #kinley

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lostatsea-blog · 1 day ago

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Unexpected Setbacks

Mature Themes

18+

Alexia x Reader

Alexia's injury is not healing the way she planned it and reader has to find a way to comfort her

Alexia is still tense the whole drive home and that tension remains even after you are home. You have been fortunate to never experience the severity of injury that Alexia has been facing and so you feel a little out of your depth. You know a bath always helps, so while she is distracted you run the bath; filling it with bubbles and scents you know she likes. You wonder out into the living room and before you reach her, you can see the tear tracks that line her face. Despite the events of yesterday your heart aches for the pain she is in and it aches more because you don’t know how to take it away. You take her hand in yours and she startles at the contact. Without saying a word, you guide her towards the bathroom and she gasps softly when she sees the bath, candles and hot drink on the side next to it (it would have been a glass of wine but you don’t drink mid-season). Gently you begin to help her remove her clothes and you are startled by her shyness; she holds her arms like she is trying to shield her body from you. You place gentle kisses against her face whispering how beautiful she is and how much you love her. Once she is naked, you help her into the bath. You place one last gentle kiss to the top of her head and are about to leave when she grabs your hand

“Stay?” a single word request but you know there is no question of what your response will be. You are about to sit down besides the tub when she motions behind her and you don’t think you have ever removed your clothes so quick. You settle behind her in the steaming tub and no sooner have your arms wrapped around her, the damn breaks and heart wrenching sobs leave her body. You have been here before and you know that any words will fall on deaf ears, so you say nothing. Instead, you start to hum a gentle song and wrap your arms tighter around her wishing you had the power to take her pain away. You have a plan in your head, but that will have to wait for tomorrow. Right now, you continue to hold her tight while you gently wash her body hating the tremble you feel with every sob. Slowly, she starts to relax allowing herself to lean into you. In these moments of vulnerability, Alexia craves intimacy but you know after what happened last night, she won’t seek it out. You know you will have to be the one to initiate it. You settle her back against your front so that she is between your legs and slowly trace your fingers down her arm and over her hand allowing your fingers to tangle before moving back up her arm. You see the goosebumps that prickle her skin and feel the shiver in her body that has nothing to do with being cold. You place gentle kisses to the base of her neck while your hand continues to work drawing out soft sighs from your girlfriend. Feeling emboldened, on the next downward stroke you continue onto her thigh before stroking up grazing her sensitive area but not fully touching. Another shiver runs through her body. Your hand moves onto her toned stomach and continues its gentle stroke up, moving over the side of her breast and gently grazing a nipple. Alexia does not attempt to stop the gentle moan that leaves her lips or the louder one that escapes when your hand reaches her throat and gently squeezes. Tonight will not be rough but that small move does wonders to Alexia and you love the gasp she lets out.

“I’ve got you my beautiful girl and I am going to take care of you” you whisper in her ear. You feel her body go limp and you know she is submitting to you. This time you trail both hands along her collarbones and down towards her breasts; cupping them both gently before running your thumbs over her nipples. Your mouth is still busy working on her neck but you can both see and feel her clench her thighs together. While your left hand continues to play with her nipple, your right hand makes a slow journey south trailing over the hard muscles of her stomach and dipping down below the water. Your finger barely grazes her clit when her legs come together trapping your hand. You can’t help but let out a giggle at her eagerness. While you would love to drag this out, you know that tonight is not about that; it is about comfort. With your left hand still teasing her nipple you dip down further meeting a wetness that has nothing to do with the bath water and for the first time you let out your own moan. It always amazes you how wet she gets for you. There is no resistance as you slip two fingers inside but you feel Alexia grind down pulling your fingers deeper. Your left hand now moves to her right breast so that you can hold her against you and still give her the stimulation she wants. At the same time, you start a gentle rhythm between her legs making sure each gentle thrust is also accompanied by a gentle swirling of your thumb on her clit. You can feel her tension melting away as her pleasure increases and she grinds quicker against your hand. This is not the loud, rough frantic sex the two of you are used to; this is filled with love and comfort. Her moans are barely audible but each one sends shivers down your spine. You can feel the tension building in her body with each thrust of your fingers and know it won’t be long before she comes. You whisper gently in her ear how beautiful she is, how strong she is and how much you love her and you word seem to have as big of an impact as your fingers. The movement of her hips becomes more frantic as she nears her release. Instinctively you pull her closer to your body trapping her to you as your hand gives the final thrusts needed to send her over the edge. She comes with the softest moan you have ever heard but the clenching around your fingers reassures you that she has reached her peak. After the moment passes, her body falls limp around you and she grabs your arm keeping it where it has been holding her across her chest. She tip her head up so that her nose in buried in the side of your neck and she places a gentle kiss

“gràcies amor meu”

You know there is a long way to go but for now she is calm and you know she will rest tonight.

#woso #woso x reader #fcb femení #fcb femeni x reader #fc barcelona femeni #woso imagine #alexia x reader #alexia putellas one shot #alexia putellas

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shuastar · 13 hours ago

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ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴡɪɴᴇᴅ -- ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪɴ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ .4 (JWW)

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ᴀʀᴄʜᴅᴜᴋᴇ!ᴡᴏɴᴡᴏᴏ x ᴀʀᴄʜᴅᴜᴄʜᴇꜱꜱ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴡᴄ: 10.2k (oops) warnings: cursing? hot wonwoo, obsessed wonwoo, a lot of tears (this entire thing is more of an angst than anything); y/n acts kind of annoyingly but its all for the plot i promise ᴀ/ɴ: i'm flying back and forth to and from korean rn bc i'm done w midterms rn!! sorry for the delay!! ALSO IM SO PROUD OF SEVENTEEN FOR WINNING 2 DAESANGS OMG; im also trying to go through requests at the same time so if i like dont answer for a while i promise im writing it!! just wait!! anyways, ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴɴᴀ ʙᴇ ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ ᴘʟꜱ ʟᴏᴏᴋ ᴀᴛ ᴍʏ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ <3

ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ ; ɴᴇxᴛ

Wonwoo

Wonwoo would not consider himself a greedy or jealous man.

No, of course not. Why would he be when he could have everything he wanted in the palm of his hands? When he was the Archduke?

But the sight of her in the winter market roads, dressed too-thinly for the cold biting air of the evening pushes into his chest a stabbing sort of pain he cannot really place. And the sudden tension he feels from her presence, does nothing to ease the tsunami of emotions crashing into his chest.

The festive winter market of the Capital. The common festive winter market of the Capital. Never had he ever thought of bumping into y/n in the streets of the Capital – without a guard, no less. Although, he thinks, Mingyu serves more than enough of a guard for tonight. He knows that his thoughts are too bitter – too bitter, considering everything she has said, everything she has gone through because of him. Yet, he cannot stop the bile rising in his throat and his fists clenching by his sides as he only watches from the side.

The familiar, homey scents of warm cider and baked pies mingle with the cold evening air and sprinkles of snow fall around him, yet he can’t seem to pay attention to the stand owners who call for his attention.

He swallows as Y/n moves from the winter flower stall to a jewelry stall. He tries to ignore the way Mingyu laughs at her side, shoulder bumping hers and hand going up to pull her cloak over her head. He tries to ignore the unfamiliar flame of what seems to be anger, regret, or something in between, stoke the fires of his heart, as Y/n simply laughs. And it hurts. It hurts so much because she never laughed like that around him. At least, not since his return.

He cannot even begin to put into words how gorgeous she looks under the yellow lantern lights and the blinkings of the market stalls. He has just barely enough capacity to recognize how the deep greens and golds of her dress blend in rather unassumingly with the commoners also walking the snowy road. How different she looks when she is far from the palace walls that seem to have always guarded her independent spirit. How joyous she looks when she stares at a piece of jewelry in her hands, fingers running over the blue sapphire in the middle. The gem hangs from the thin gold chain delicately and he can’t help but think how pretty she would look in it.

He can’t hear the conversation, but he can see Mingyu lean down (curse him for his height), and also inspect the necklace that she is now holding up to his face.

When Y/n tilts her head, a soft smile gracing her features, Wonwoo’s heart clenches. Almost painfully. Painfully because he recognizes that smile – the smile that used to be locked away only for him when they shared late night tea in his parlor, when he gifted you a diamond-encrusted bangle for your eighteenth birthday, when he danced with you for your debutante, when he went boating with you on a random Thursday afternoon.

Painful because now you are staring up at Mingyu with the same look, some kind of unspoken familiarity in your eyes that he seems to have missed because it sure as fuck wasn’t there when he had left.

At your head tilt, Mingyu leans forward and says something too quiet to catch. But it makes you laugh – loud, brilliant, clear-cut like the most expensive of diamonds. It catches the attention of the people around you and they smile too. And he would if not for the twisting feeling of a knife in his gut because your carefree laugh he only ever heard in the privacy of the night, days ago, flows so naturally when you are with Mingyu.

What the fuck did he even say?

It’s a bitter sort of rage. More directed towards himself than anything. But he pins the blame on the prince, opting for an easier way to divulge it fully. It’s easier that way – anger to yourself is easier to let out when directed another way.

The knife’s presence exponentially sharpens and his throat feels weirdly scratchy when Mingyu gently touches your hand, taking the necklace out of your palm and placing into it a more extravagant piece. Your fingers brush. He can see it from where he is. And he can also see you look up at Mingyu in surprise at his sudden touch – no gloves, too. Were you worried about scandals with Mingyu? He wants to scoff at himself at being this ridiculous, but some shallow part of him wants to yell out your name and whisk you away. Away from Mingyu, away from the market, away from the Capital. To somewhere he can take a deep breath and just let you know. Let you know how much he-

“-Oh, I don’t know, Gyu,” you sigh.

Wonwoo is surprised at how close his feet had led him to you. If he takes a couple more steps, he can reach out and brush your hair from your shoulders.

Mingyu just smiles, canines biting down into his bottom lip. “What do you mean? It’s gorgeous. Matches your eyes ‘n everything, duchess.” He gives you a small little wink. It’s teasing, Wonwoo knows. It’s done in passing, which he also knows. But it stirs the pot of bubbling frustration (and jealousy) in his stomach like nothing had ever before.

And it doesn’t simmer, especially when you just laugh at Mingyu’s words, leaning into his presence to roam your eyes around on other jewels.

The only thing good to come out of that was your hand slowly letting the bracelet you were holding slip back onto the table.

Good. It didn’t suit you anyways.

You need something less flashy. More elegant and timeless. You are breathtaking enough.

He only watches, under the pretense of his hood and perusing through an antique stall, as Mingyu hands you another piece, fingers brushing. Again.

Wonwoo grits his teeth.

It’s something small – something that would have gone unnoticed by everyone else. But to him? To him, it feels mocking, almost patronizing and belittling.

You could have been in his place, it almost says. You could have been the one brushing fingers, tossing an arm around her shoulders, teasing her, laughing with her, buying her jewelry in the Capital night market. Buying her anything she wished for.

Mingyu’s ease with you, the natural way you just take up the space next to him, grates on Wonwoo’s nerves to the last degree.

Do you two even realize how you look to others? To him?

Do you realize how his heart clenches at the scene of Mingyu repeatedly suggesting jewelry Wonwoo knows you don’t like, only for you to laugh off his sulking comments about how you and he just don’t have the same taste in exquisite things?

Have you realized the meaning behind his flowers? His three words he had finally finalized in writing after countless sleepless nights’ worth of letters and love-essays?

The urge to step forward claws at him – to insert himself, force himself, into the situation – to reclaim some part of your attention he is vying for. But he can’t. He can’t bring his feet to move from their place nor his eyes to move from how you just glance back at your original necklace you chose, studying its gem and masterful metal work. He can’t. Not here. And definitely not now. Still, the thought of walking away feels equally impossible, as if leaving would signify some sort of defeat.

Wonwoo’s breath clouds the cold air, but he doesn’t notice. He has to force himself to take a step back – back and back and back until he has some reasonable amount of distance between you and Mingyu’s merry little party of two. His gloved hand raises to his chest and pressed hard, as if doing so would stop the chaotic, frantic beating of the muscle. His fingers curl into his coat and he desperately wants to hand you his jacket – wants to place the thick fur over your slightly shivering shoulders (something he tells himself Mingyu would not do, except he knows Mingyu would) – wants to wrap his arm around your waist and pull you close until your cheeks flush in embarrassment at the proximity. He wants to embrace you from behind, placing his chin on your shoulder as you ramble on about the kind of jewelry you like, without knowing that he already knows. He wants to kiss you dizzyingly under the soft snow and cut off your pure sort of laughter. He wants to make you smile and laugh and then smile again just because you were with him. He wants to buy you bouquets of flowers just because he thought of you and send them to your royal advisory meetings. He wants to do those things and more, yet he wills himself to keep composure.

Not the time, he repeats to himself. Not the time.

She deserves her laughter, he tells himself, though the thought is bitter. Even if it’s not mine to share yet.

And although he wishes it would, the pain does not fade. It lingers in his chest cavity, raw and all-consuming, all-knowing, as he stands there, watching your joy seep into someone else’s laughter. And as Mingyu leans in even closer (terribly ungentleman-like, Wonwoo convinces himself), offering you yet another comment that coaxes yet another bubbly laugh, Wonwoo finally forces himself to turn away.

He feels a tightness in his chest and a strange thudding in his heart as he stands there, fists clenching as he tries to forget.

Forget the pain, forget the tears building up, forget what your absence turns him into.

The crisp night air bites at Wonwoo’s cheeks as he and Soonyoung approach the royal mansion. He would have much rather preferred if Seungcheol had held the Charity Ball in the actual royal palace, but the king had decided to move the venue to a “less extravagant” area, which was only a street down from the palace. So Wonwoo wasn’t too sure what Seungcheol was trying to accomplish except to freeze his palace guests to death as they walked over to the mansion.

As the tips of the open arched gates could be seen through the winter night’s haze, a warm glow upon the two of them, the mansion’s many windows spillions beacons of golden onto the welcoming courtyard, frozen over with snow. Already, there were many footprints that lined the fallen white carpet, melting the small ice flowers into water again.

The manor’s golden warmth made the cold knot in his stomach twist further. Beside him, Soonyoung walks with an easy stride – seemingly unaffected by the wintry air or the tension Wonwoo knows he is radiating.

“You’ve been awfully quiet tonight” Soonyoung suddenly says, tone half-teasing, words hanging in the air for Wonwoo to jump and catch in his mouth. “Trying to strategize your grand entrance?”

Wonwoo doesn’t respond, focus already blurring at the edges. His fingers toy with the edges of his scarf.

Soonyoung casts a sidelong glance at him. “You’re impossible,” he mumbles as he simply flashes his royal knight badge at the soldiers guarding the gate, strolling along. The white of the falling snow blends in nicely with his blonde head of hair.

“Are you not looking forward to another night of forced smiles and silent judging on your part?” Soonyoung cracks a teasing grin, bumping Wonwoo’s shoulder.

However, when Wonwoo stays silent, face shadowed as his gaze locks on the mansion, Soonyoung’s grin falters.

“You okay?” A slant of worry in his voice does not escape Wonwoo and he feels almost guilty for worrying his closest friend.

Wonwoo swallows, shaking his head as if that would wake him from his trance. “Yes. Yeah, I am. Why would I not be?” He forces a laugh from the confines of his tight throat. It sounds almost hysteric to his ears – as if he was on his last straw. Soonyoung knows, too.

Soonyoung’s eyebrows furrow as he places a firm hand on Wonwoo’s shoulder, stopping him in his place. He turns Wonwoo to face him. “Why? Is it because of her?”

Wonwoo falters in his forced grin. Just barely. But it’s enough for Soonyoung to notice.

“Ah,” Soonyoung sighs, clicking his tongue, “so I’m right.” Soonyoung smirks, eyes lighting up in interest but it drops when he realizes the tightness on Wonwoo’s face. “Why the-” he cuts himself off with a gasp. “Wait, please don’t tell me you did something stupid.”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes, lightly shoving Soonyoung away. “Shut up, man,” he mumbles, running a hand through his hair. “If you don’t have anything useful to say, I’m going inside.” Wonwoo resumes his walk down the snow-ridden aisle, down the middle of the courtyard.

Soonyoung groans. “Wonwoo!” His footsteps are light against the snow as he jogs to catch up with Wonwoo’s wide strides. “You did something, right? What did you do? Huh? What was it? You were literally with me for the entirety of last week!” Soonyoung whines, almost hanging off of Wonwoo’s arm, earning another eye roll from Wonwoo. “Was it bad? How did she react, huh? Why, it couldn’t have been that bad, right?”

Soonyoung jabs his finger at Wonwoo’s ribs, repeating the same phrases over and over until they reach the entrance of the mansion, huge golden doors guarded by two valets.

Wonwoo sighs, massaging his temple. “Will you shut up, please? It’s nothing, okay?” To the valet, he hands two pieces of papers, written on them the required name and title announcements of the night.

Soonyoung stubbornly shakes his head. “You did something. What was it?” he presses as the valets swing open the doors.

Wonwoo is quiet as his name, along with Soonyoung’s is read out loud for the entire mansion to hear. From his position at the front door, he can see how Seungcheol had turned the entire first parlor of the mansion into a ballroom of sorts. Near the end of the welcoming hall are the charity auction items – the blue sapphire jewelry set and the gold-set ruby diadem. At the call of his name, everyone stops, briefly, before staring up at the entrance balcony where he and Soonyoung are.

“What was it?” Soonyoung hisses, jabbing an elbow at Wonwoo’s ribs. Wonwoo grits his teeth at the sharp pain, throwing a side-ways look at Soonyoung.

“Jewelry,” Wonwoo grits out, pushing Soonyoung to start walking down the stairs into the chamber.

Soonyoung gasps, as if Wonwoo had just said something more scandalous like lingerie or an estate. “When?”

“Last Friday.”

“It’s been a week?”

“I suppose.”

Soonyoung scoffs in disbelief. “Unbelievable,” he murmurs, almost to himself. He clutches his chest in faux astonishment, eyes blown wider than necessary. “The great Archduke Jeon gifting jewelry – and flowers, I imagine – to a woman he claims doesn’t even-”

“-I don’t need your commentary, thank you very much,” Wonwoo interrupts, voice hard as he and Soonyoung reach, almost, the bottom of the staircase. His eyes scan the open chamber for a familiar face that almost taunts him like a dream. He can’t even control it. It’s natural, instinctive, almost. He needs to see her. He needs for his heart to stop thudding in his chest, just in case this time, she leaves him. Like he left her.

From next to Wonwoo, Soonyoung lets out a rather loud sigh. “You’re impossible, you know that?” he mutters under his breath. “You send her gifts in secret, pine after her like a lost puppy, and then show up to events like this – which you don’t even like – expecting… What? That she’ll somehow tap into her telepathic reserves and read your desperate mind?” Soonyoung tuts, shaking his head, starting to part with Wonwoo. “Man up, Wonwoo, come on. If you want her that bad, do something.”

Wonwoo says nothing, his jaw tightening painfully as his teeth grit against each other and his fingers fist at his sides.

If Wonwoo had to see another fucking interaction between you and Mingyu that ended in laughter from your side, he was going to bust a vein. Most likely the one that was likely protruding from his neck. If he had to sit in the stupid fucking ballroom watching your gorgeous face scrunch up in delight at what someone else says to you, he was going to lose his shit. Here and now, no regrets.

Well, maybe a little regret. But mostly no regrets.

His eyes trace your figure as you return back to your table, draped in a rich crimson cloth, occupied by a small group (that deep-down, he felt hurt not being invited into): Joshua’s wife, laughing and fan fluttering in animated conversation with Seungcheol, Joshua, who simply leans back in his chair, arm draped over the back of his wife’s chair, you, with your dazzling twinkle in your eyes and the way the light reflected – refracted – off of almost every part of you, and Mingyu.

Mingyu makes him freeze. The prince leans in ever-so-slightly, a teasing smile dancing on the corners of his lips as he whispers something in your ear that makes you blush like a virgin, lightly slapping his upper arm in protest at his words. Wonwoo tries his best to not walk up and intervene because who was he to decide what you do with your life? He didn’t see you as a duty, thus he doesn’t need to intervene whenever someone is-

Mingyu leans back in his gold-draped chair, a casual arm thrown over the back of your. It’s not the act in itself that bothers Wonwoo (although it does), it’s the way Mingyu’s fingertips drum against your upper arm. Your bare upper arm. Your bare upper arm that should be clean of anyone’s touch (except for his). The prince reaches into his coat pocket, brandishing something akin to a box – neatly wrapped, twinkling under the low light.

Wonwoo can’t really see your face from where he is – on the other side of the shorter hall, arms crossed, and leaning against a wall – but he can see that you tilt your head, a scrunch of your brows as you probably ask Mingyu what he was giving you.

Mingyu shrugs, an easy grin on his face, and places the box in your hands, opening the top. Wonwoo sees your eyes widen in surprise, which makes Joshua, his wife, and even Seungcheol lean forward to see what it is that Mingyu had the audacity to give you.

When you bring it out of the box, Wonwoo has to admit the quality of the gift. It’s a handkerchief, embroidered with amazing detail and an intricate floral pattern. He can make out your initials on the corner and the studded pearls that line the other corner in small mother-of-pearl flowers.

For a while, you’re silent and Wonwoo thinks you’re going to shove it back in the box and place it back in Mingyu’s pocket. Because that’s what you would do – at least with him.

But then your lips slowly curve up into a soft, genuine smile – the whites of your teeth poking out – and you launch out of your seat, arms suddenly thrown around Mingyu. And Wonwoo can see all of this unfold in absolute slow motion. It’s all in slow motion — from the way you jump up with a small clap to the way you bring Mingyu in a hug that’s so unlike you that even Joshua’s wife blinks in surprise at your sudden movement.

Wonwoo can hear your delighted laughter and “Thank you!” even from where he is. Mingyu looks rather flustered at your sudden embrace but seems to brush it off with a quick laugh and a sheepish grin, mumbling something like “if I knew you would like handkerchiefs so much, I would’ve bought more, duchess.”

God. Wonwoo’s nails presses painfully into his palms when Mingyu leans in again and steals another bout of laughter from your precious mouth. Wonwoo’s chest tightens at the sight. The sight of your joy, so free and unguarded, so genuine, should have been more beautiful. And it is. He thinks you’re the most beautiful person to ever walk this planet and any other – your warm eyes, your pouting lips, your blushed cheeks, your gorgeous peals of laughter, the way you blush under any of his heavy stares. But this time, looking on at you and Mingyu, it filled him with such a shredding visceral sense of loss. A sense of loss at the time he willingly gave up – what you could have been – what you are to him now – what he is to you – what he wants to desperately shout out for the entire world to hear.

The undulations of the orchestra notes slowly faded out gradually as Mingyu stole more laughter from you. And Wonwoo barely even recognized Soonyoung standing next to him, a hand on his shoulder, saying something. But his voice sounds muted, almost like he’s underwater and she’s the only source of pure oxygen that he needs to inhale to live. All he can see is you. You, you, you, you, you. Just like always. Except this time, Mingyu’s next to you, elbowing you, bumping shoulders, brushing fingers, twirling your hair, gifting you handkerchiefs, for Christ’s sake.

And he suddenly finds himself pushing off the wall (and consequently Soonyoung’s arm and his concerned words of “Where the fuck are you going?”), and slowly walking over to the crimson table. He doesn’t notice the curious glances of the other guests as his growing presence becomes the source of whisperings between tables. All he can he is you. You, leaning towards Mingyu, the faintest of blushes barely visibly but fucking unmistakeable. You and red. Dark red as some carnal part of him – a desperate part of him drowning in jealousy – takes over, flashing warning signs across his brain.

With every step he took closer to the two, the room seemed to shift around him – air growing heavier and thicker with tension. Before he could stop himself, Wonwoo was two steps away, jaw clenched, head slightly tilted down, arms crossed. The table instantly falls silent when Joshua looks up and blinks, almost surprised at Wonwoo’s intrusion. Seungcheol straightens in his chair, throwing a questioning mouthing of words at Wonwoo (that he completely misses), and Joshua’s wife darting a glance between himself and Mingyu.

“Is this really necessary?” Wonwoo’s voice is low but it carries. Each word, though he means to not make it so, is clipped and sharp, precise knife points nicking parts of your plush skin. His stormy gaze flickers briefly to Mingyu before fixing on you. It’s easier like this. It feels like he can still reach out and know you’re there. He knows what he might look like – a man without a warrant. And technically, he doesn’t have one. He doesn’t have an extravagant excuse as to why he is suddenly intervening except for the fact that he felt jealous.

The only thing that falters his confidence is the way your face almost immediately drops at his words. Instead, your expression is replaced with something he can’t quite place – surprise, deliberate coldness, and maybe something sharper. Slowly, you rise, your silk gown flowing down your form. He wants to tell you how beautiful you look tonight – how the sage green suits you exceedingly well, how the pearl-drop earrings blend in perfectly with your braided hair tonight – but he notices the necklace that sits in between your collarbones – it’s small, but it’s there. The necklace with the crafted jade and pearl flowers. The one you had periodically gone back to at the Night Market. The one he had, after not-so-deliberate thought, gone up and bought before the end of the night and slipped under your door along with a single tulip.

“I am confused as to why any of this is your concern,” you say evenly, voice quiet but steady.

Those words threaten to crack Wonwoo’s composure. He can feel his jaw tighten because he doesn’t know why it is his concern. “This-” he sighs, raking a hand through his hair. He tries his best to swallow down the tightness of his throat. “This act, this pretense with him-”

Your laugh cuts him off. It’s nothing like the one you give Mingyu. It’s sharper, more combined with a set of unshed tears. Wonwoo wants to punch himself. “Pretense?” You whisper, voice cutting through his words like they were made of the thinest grass. It is sharper than the cold air outside, more biting with unsaid disbelief. Your eyes narrow and he can so clearly see the anger simmering inside of them that it takes him off-guard. You take a step closer. His breath catches.

“You are no one who should be talking about pretense, your grace,” you hiss. And Wonwoo tries desperately to keep his tormented eyes to rest on your eyes, but they flicker hesitantly to your lips, down to your necklace, and then back up to your eyes. “Is this-” you gesture vaguely to the entire group, “part of your duty too? Are you afraid of someone snatching up your convenient little wife before you can call it official?” Your voice slowly rises in pitch the more Wonwoo’s eyes wander. And he swears, it’s not on purpose, but he can’t bear to look at your glassy, tear-covered orbs because he knows then that he will break. He’ll break and bring you into a hug and start murmuring apologies for everything he’s ever done.

“What is your-” you stop yourself and he knows immediately that you’ve seen his eyes flicker to your lips. You scoff. It’s loud, haunting, taunting. “Fucking look at me,” you snap, hands balling into small fists by your side. Wonwoo looks up into your eyes and it feels like a part of his heart shatters at the sight of your faint dark circles and redness of your eyes. “Your grace, I’ve said this once and I’ll say it only one more time,” you whisper, stepping just one more half-step closer to him. He can feel your dress flutter against his skin and your expensive Capital perfumery perfume waft towards him. “If duty is all you care about,” you choke out, and he can see the way your bottom lip trembles as you continue, “get the fuck out of my life.”

The words hit him squarely in his chest. He can feel his constructed walls tremble under the weight and restrained emotion of your words.

He swallows down his own set of tears. It’s infuriating, really, having the one person you care about the most strike you down before you can even say anything. It’s frustrating when even he can’t decide to let you be or if he needs you – needs you the breathe, to sleep, to help the blood flow in his veins.

Around you, the ballroom almost holds its breath. Of course, the dancers still twirled, the string ensemble still played on, but in the one meter radius of you, every table feels frozen, watching a scene unfold that no one dares to interrupt.

“You still think you’re part of my-” Wonwoo starts, but the way you stare at him almost chokes him out of the rest of his words. He couldn’t even argue against the truth of what you said. On the probability that you had figured out the flowers and necklace were from him, it would have only worked against him in ways he had not properly thought out or even intended. He wishes he could just scream out the words.

You take a shaky breath, expression almost forcefully hardening as you lift your chin. “Don’t question me, your grace, when you’ve made it crystal clear that your reputation and your title mean more to you than anything else.” He can hear the wavering undulations of your voice, but your resolve, whether forced or not, held firm. It held the entirety of your sentences together. “So yes. I’m going to keep up with whatever it is you think is pretense and you…” you trail off as your eyes rake up and down his body, finally landing on the crest of his duchy by his shoulder. You scoff, “should stick to what you think is best for your Archduchy.”

Wonwoo feels almost wronged at your words. Is that really what you see him as? Did you really only see him as someone who would do something if it meant for a greater reward for his duchy? His heart thuds in his chest, except this time, it’s in dread. The sting of your words root him in place and the crowd blurs into a scene of motion and moving colors.

“Then why do you wear the necklace?” he murmurs, more to himself than anything, but you hear him.

Your hand flies to finger at your necklace, smoothening over the jade pieces. You look down. “A mistake on my part,” you whisper, voice shaking now. Your finger suddenly undo the clasp at the back and the necklace falls into your palm. The jade flowers sit there, like a dejected piece of artwork. Without any more words, you drop the necklace into his palm. The stones feel much heavier than when he bought them – as if they had absorbed some of the weight of your words. He looks up at you – mouth slightly open, eyes blown wide. He can’t even believe it. This feels as if you were finally ending everything. Because you knew the flowers, the jade, were from him.

“Wait-” he hurries, fingers clenching over the jade. But before he can say anything else, you turn around and Mingyu stands. Wonwoo can only watch as you turn away from him, back straight and head held high, as you walk towards Mingyu, who rests a firm hand on your shoulder.

“Perhaps, Archduke,” Mingyu says softly, though Wonwoo can hear – loud and clear – the unmistakable warning, “it would be best to just let her be.”

Wonwoo’s fists clench at his sides. He has to be trembling from the pure forceful restraint he held all night now fraying exponentially at the edges. His gaze lingers on Mingyu’s hand, on the easy familiarity between you and him, on the jealousy that gnaws at his insides.

Wonwoo can’t bear to speak. The faint scent of your perfume lingers in the air, almost like a cruel reminder of your presence even as you move further away from him. The orchestra swells with the tsunami of his emotion. The triumphant notes almost feel like mockery to the hollowness of his chest. The ballroom returns back to life but Wonwoo can’t seem to remove himself from his position, until he feels a warm hand on his shoulder.

“Wonwoo.” Soonyoung. “Wonwoo, come on. You’re making a scene,” Soonyoung whispers, pulling his arm.

Wonwoo stumbles after Soonyoung, feet not leading him in any way. He wants to scoff – to go back up to his room and cry. He had told himself that he could handle this – seeing you, being near you without tapping into any of the feelings he had tried so hard to suppress. But now, at your words, faced with the stunning reality of the depth of your scar, the realistic distance, of you being able to continue life without him, a tsunami of loss threatens to drown him. Because he can’t. He can’t live without you. Because he had underestimated, severely, the pain of it.

And for the first time, being pulled out of the ballroom by Soonyoung, he wonders if he has lost you for good. If he has no chance anymore of pulling you close to him and kissing you under the starlight again. If he has no chance anymore of you returning his deep-rooted affections.

y/n

It was kind of sad to see the royal gardens cloaked under both night and the snow. Your hands brush against the winter rose bushes as you walk along the path to the atrium, outfitted with a dying fire in a hearth and hot tea that steams under the wintry temperature. You smile softly at the memories flooding your mind of running through these very gardens when you were younger, laughing and tumbling with all your friends. Smiling during a time that seemed so carefree.

You wish you could go back. You wish you could go back and experience the carefree again. You miss it. You miss being able to fall asleep at night without trouble, being able to wake up in the morning without cold sweat in a nightmare, being able to go about your day without the constant plaguing thought of him wandering the confines of your mind.

A soft crunch of a branch startles you. You turn.

The sight in front of you makes you stumble back in surprise.

Wonwoo steps up to you hesitantly. It’s more so the expression – the emotions – clouded with something so raw it seems almost not humane in his eyes that stutter your breath in your lungs. Under the moonlight, way past the time both of you should be outside, he looks vulnerable. Much more vulnerable since the last time you saw him at that stupid charity ball two nights ago.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you say. It’s quiet but it rings through the empty garden. You want to laugh at how much your voice lacks the conviction you wish it had. You fidget with your fingers as Wonwoo stares at you with an unfamiliar intensity. The rosiness of his cheeks make you wonder if he’s slightly tipsy.

“I couldn’t stay away,” he rasps, voice a low murmur that carries to your ears, stabbing a long knife in your lung.

You want to scoff but the deep tenor of his voice stops you from actually doing so. Your arms instead cross over your chest. “Why?”

You’re not quite sure if you want to hear the reason, lest all of your walls come crumbling down, but you ask anyway.

Wonwoo steps closer, movements slow as if to not spook you. “Because there are things I need to say – things I should have said years ago.”

You swallow, head tilted up to look into his eyes. Behind his glasses, tears swim unidentified in his eyes. Rather late of you, you want to say. Instead, you opt on “Say them,” you whisper. “What is it?”

His jaw tightens. You want to reach up and kiss his worries away. You do, really. For a second, it seems as though he is regretting ever bumping into you, but then he speaks, voice trembling with the weight of all of his emotions.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes, hands reaching for yours. You give them up without hesitation – as if your body was acting on its own habitual wants. “I made a mistake. I left because I thought it was the right thing to do. Because I thought I could protect you by staying away – by returning to you with some sort of success.” He falters. “But I was wrong, y/n. I’ve been wrong about so many things.”

You can feel the foundation of your walls shaking.

No. No, stay with your resolve, y/n.

You look away, lips pressing into a thin line. But you don’t pull your hands out of his caress. “You’ve said enough. I want to be with someone who doesn’t disappear the moment duty calls.”

Wonwoo takes a sharp breath. You can almost feel the unspoken accusations swirl between you.

“Is that really what you think of me?” Wonwoo's words sound almost bitter. “That I left without caring? That I would risk everything just to avoid you for the time being?”

“What else am I supposed to think, Wonwoo?” You snap back, your voice rising. You wish desperately for him to leave. If you talk about this any longer, you were going to break. “You left without a word, without confidence in me, and then waltzed back into my life expecting everything to be as it was! But people don’t just fucking stand around waiting-”

“-You have no idea what you’re saying, y/n.” Wonwoo’s voice is dangerously low now. He steps even closer and you finally register something in his hand. “Do you think I do all of this because it’s convenient? Because it’s an obligation?” he asks. It hurts to hear your words used against you. It hurts even more to hear the pure anger in his voice.

“Isn’t it, though?” you whisper, stepping back defensively, hands slipping out of his hold. “Wonwoo,” you murmur looking down at your feet briefly, “ the only reason we’re even speaking is because of a scandal. We are simply solutions to each other’s inconvenient situations! What part of that do you not get?” You slam a hand on your own chest. Your breaths come out as puffs of white in the air. You can feel your tears welling up in your eyes.

Wonwoo stares at you in disbelief, as if he can’t believe he’s hearing you right. His hands curl into fists.

The next words he utters are low and full of just pure fury (at you or himself, you’re not too sure). His next words almost punch all the breath out of you.

“If you think I’d waste my fucking time, my life, on anyone I didn’t want – on anyone who didn’t mean everything to me – then you never even knew me at all.”

His words hit you square in the face. It’s so vulnerable, the most emotional you’ve seen him, that it incites another spark in your chest. “But you’ve never been here, Wonwoo. You always leave! You’ve left once and you’ll keep on leaving.” Your own words are a desperate attempt to keep your walls up. You can feel your tears poke and prod and threaten to fall. You can hear your voice shake and your bottom lip tremble at your words. Actually, more of his words. You want to keep arguing. You want him to leave – leave you, leave the Capital, leave your life, but you desperately need him to stay – stay with you, stay in the Capital, stay in your life until you die.

Wonwoo shakes his head as if he doesn’t agree with you. “You can call it duty all you want, y/n. But it doesn’t change my heart. It doesn't change what I feel towards you. You think I really wouldn’t have stayed if I could help it? You think I’d willingly let someone else have what I’ve always needed more than my next breath?” Wonwoo’s hand comes up to caress your cold cheek, thumb rubbing your cheekbone.

“Don’t say that shit to me,” you whisper, glassy eyes gazing up at his. You can see the tears that are welling up near the corners of his eyes and if you didn’t have the last remaining thread of resolve left in you, you wouldn’t have kissed his tears away.

Your shattered heart jackhammers in your chest as Wonwoo stares into what feels like your soul. It makes you feel bare – naked, almost. “Y/n,” he whispers, his voice breaking, “I came back for you.”

You don’t make a move to leave his warmth, but you look up at him with your own air of defiance. There’s a confusing sort of wreath of emotions that circle your bruised heart, and the words escape you before you can stop them. “You’ve left before. And I would be a fool to not believe you’ll leave again.”

Wonwoo’s hand stills on your face and he looks so pained for a moment that you wonder if continuing your facade is really a good idea. If it’s better to just give in. “I left to protect what matters, y/n, you have to understand,” he almost begs, desperate for you to just know, “To protect you.”

You bite your cheek, a single tear falling from your eyes. It’s immediately rubbed away by Wonwoo’s thumb. “And what do you want me to do, Wonwoo?” you whisper, voice bordering on hysterics. “Wait around until you leave me? Again? Do you know the pain of your heart shattering when someone like that just up and leaves?”

A few more tears fall from your eyes. You can’t even help it anymore. You feel the tightness of your lungs come back again. You can feel yourself start to choke up on your own tears. You can feel yourself start to break down – unwind completely under the softly falling snow.

“No, no, no,” Wonwoo murmurs, cupping your face, brushing away all your tears. “Y/n please, I left because I had to. But now I’m here. I’m here, and I won’t leave,” he whispers, breath fanning over your lips.

“I’m convenient, Wonwoo,” you suddenly cry, tears streaming down your face. “You need a partner, not me!” You want to look away, run away, but Wonwoo’s caress on your jaw holds you still.

Wonwoo’s face contorts painfully with hurt. And you wonder if you have finally pushed him out. But then his jaw sets, like every time he is ready to argue in the royal court. Like every time he is ready to prove his point. “If I had wanted convenience, I’d have chosen anyone but you. This,” he gestured between you two, “is the furtherest thing from fucking easy.”

You open your mouth, but you can’t find the words to express anything you’re feeling. The pain, the hurt, the resolve you are trying desperately to keep up. Wonwoo watches you with such sharp eyes it sends you into another spiral of being flustered.

“I’m giving you my heart, y/n,” he murmurs. One look into his eyes tells you everything you need to know. “It’s terrifying – more than any battlefield I’ve seen,” he admits, “but for you? For you, I’d face any danger, any fear over and over again, even if it means standing in front of the love of my life, knowing you don’t believe me. Even if it means standing in front of the one person I would give up my life for, knowing she doesn’t want me like I want her.”

Your eyes blow wide and a stuttered gasp of a breath feels punched out of your stomach. For a moment, it seems deathly quiet – even the winds seem to soften around you two. And then memories of the nights of your sobs, of your broken heart, scattered into the smallest of shards on the floor, taunt you like a haunted nightmare, circling over and over again.

“Maybe you should have given it to someone who wouldn’t have questioned it,” you whisper, placing a hand over his. “Do you think your proclaimed love is enough, Wonwoo, to erase my pain? My memories? That you can come here and confess and it’ll fix just about everything?”

You know. You’re being overly critical. You’re being annoying, you’re being frustrating. You know he means every word he utters because he’s Jeon Wonwoo. If he didn’t mean it, he would have not even said it. But even you can’t help the words that flow out of you, fueled with bitterness and pettiness.

“No,” he says softly, interlocking your hands together. You almost pull away. “I don’t even expect forgiveness, Y/n. Hell, I don’t even deserve it. But I can’t keep pretending I don’t fucking love you. Like I don’t want you by my side for every passing hour. That I don’t want-” his voice breaks and you flinch in surprise when a single tear rolls down his cheek. “That I don’t love you ‘till my last breath.”

His words hang in the air, heavy and suffocating.

You shake your head, pulling away from his reach, frantically brushing through your hair. “This is unfair, Wonwoo. You can’t just- just come back and say that you love me.” You sound desperate even to your own ears. You will for Wonwoo to stop there. Please.

“It’s all I have, y/n,” he admits, voice cracking at your name. The way he utters your name, it carries such unrestrained emotion that it makes you shudder. “It’s all I’ve ever had.”

Your knees give out, and you sink into your skirts, arms caging your body close to your legs. You rock yourself back and forth gently, eyes trained on the white snow beneath your feet. “What am I supposed to do with that?” You whisper, more to yourself than to him, but it catches Wonwoo’s ears.

He kneels in the cold snow, brushing hair out of your face. “I’m willing to wait, y/n, you have to know. There is no one else. There never was and there never will be. And when you are ready to believe that – believe me – I’ll be here. Always. I’ll wait. Even if it takes fifty years. I’ll wait.” He tucks the strands of curled hair behind your ear, fingers lingering on your temple. Another hand rubs your shoulder. “And I’m sorry, y/n,” he continues. “I’m so sorry for leaving you by yourself for all those years. I really am.”

You can’t bear to look up because you can already feel two warm teardrops on the back of your hand that Wonwoo holds close to his face. Because you know that if you look up and see his desperate, dejected eyes, it’ll haunt you forever. Because if you look up and then match his expression to his vulnerable words, laced with such truth, you’ll break.

“I don’t know if I can, Wonwoo,” you finally murmur.

“That’s okay. I’ll wait,” he responds. His words are full of such conviction they almost reassure you.

“Don’t say that.”

“Y/n,” he laughs, tears falling down his face. “I’m not giving up on us.”

“You should!” you sob, burying your face into your palms. “Wonwoo, just give up on us! Please!” You don’t mean it. Not even one bit. But you say it because you can’t live through him leaving again. Because if, in the chance that he does, leave again, you don’t think you can bear it. You know your heart won’t be able to bear the brunt force of it.

Wonwoo shakes his head. You know he knows. Or at least can tell. “I can’t, y/n. Not when you mean so much to me. Not when it doesn’t feel like living when you’re not close to me – when you’re not next to me,” he replies. His voice is much calmer than yours and holds to it a sense of firmness in his decision, like nothing could convince him out of it. He pulls you up by your arms, holding you at arms-length, almost inspecting your face for something. Some emotion he may be losing in the heat of everything.

“Wonwoo, please. Let me just forget,” you murmur, nails biting into your palms.

Wonwoo shakes his head again, tilting your face up. He swallows. Your red eyes, swollen from tears, close briefly at his warm hand. “You know I can’t, y/n. You mean everything to me.”

“You’re being selfish.”

“Maybe. But you should be too.”

“Wonwoo…”

“Y/n, I’m not demanding an answer right now. I know the pain I’ve caused you. I know the-” Wonwoo stops suddenly when he sees you biting your lips, teeth clenching down hard on the flesh until you can feel a thin sheen of iron against your tongue. His brows furrow and his thumb gently pries your lip from your teeth, letting out a small sigh. “You don’t ever have to say anything. I just needed you to know. I need you to know how much I love you.”

Wonwoo ends with a certain sort of flourish you remember from when he would conclude a debate in the National Academy, or when he would argue with his father. It was with a conviction that he knew the other person could not argue against. And you couldn’t.

“Don’t do this to me,” you mutter, rubbing your eyes as if to stop the flow of tears. Your heart clenched and you could feel the cold start to seep in.

Wonwoo’s eyes softened at your tears. You stare down at your feet as his hands work to unbuckle the fur cloak from his shoulders. In the next second, your body is engulfed in a familiar sort of warmth and the scent of a more familiar cologne. He adjusts the cloak around your shivering frame. Warm fingers brush your tears off your skin and your hair from your eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, angel.”

Your breath hitches at the nickname. The nickname that took you three years to get over – to forget and partially forgive. The nickname that felt so wrong coming out of anyone else’s mouth. You look up, warm tears pooling in your eyes again. “Don’t call me that,” you whisper and you know he can hear the pure pain in your voice. “Don’t-” you hit his chest with your fist, though lightly, “fucking call me that,” you choke out. Your forehead rests on his chest, tears falling freely down your cheeks, chin, and onto the snow. You can feel the gentle pressure of Wonwoo’s chin on your head and the way his hesitant arms encircle your waist, pulling you closer to his embrace – pulling you closer to his comforting warmth.

Wonwoo presses his lips together, inhaling a sharp breath. “I’m sorry, y/n, I really am. You don’t have to answer,” he confesses, more desperate this time. “I’ll wait. I’ll wait and wait until you’re ready for me, whenever that is. And if you accept only for one day, that’s okay too.”

Wonwoo’s fingers fix the cloak around your shoulders and they falter when they brush gently against your empty neck. There is a pang of guilt when you realize it’s because of how you shove the necklace he had gifted you back into his hands on that night. But he doesn’t linger, opting to pull away.

“It’s all okay, y/n. It’s okay. And I’m sorry,” Wonwoo murmured one last time, before he pressed a fleeting kiss – gentle, warm, so him – against your forehead. Before he turns away and steps through the snow-covered walkway, back towards the warmth of the palace, leaving you with your own bubbling thoughts.

There is a tightening sensation in your heart that travels along the arteries and veins and seeps into your lungs, then the rest of your chest, until you find yourself slumped on a bench, tears soaking your handkerchief and sobs echoing through the otherwise quiet garden.

Approximately two days later, Joshua comes to visit you in your Capital estate, hands laden with gifts sent up from his wife who had gone down early to their country duchy.

Your parlor is warm, lit by the steady glow and crackle of the fire that dances within the ornate hearth. Darkened drapes are tied back, letting the minimal winter sun seep into the room. A soft atmosphere of silence wraps itself around the room, broken only by the soft clinks of your cups as you and Joshua both sip on the tea laid out in the tea table in front of you.

Joshua sits opposite you in a high-backed chair. His usual easy demeanor around you belies the sharpness of his attention. You can see it just from how his brows scrunch and his eyes dart from your face to your wringing hands in your lap. His coat is draped over the arm of his chair, leaving him only in a simple waistcoat. He cradles his own teacup with the same kind of quiet thoughtfulness that seems to define his entire being in times like this.

The tension only grows as you slowly get more anxious at your senior’s silence and Joshua grows more wary of your wandering eyes – how your gaze flickers to the flames and then to the ceiling and then back to your hands, never truly focusing on anything.

“Do you have anything to tell me?” Joshua asks, voice gentle but firm, how it’s always been with you. Sometimes, you wonder if he actually saw himself as more of your father than your older brother.

You hesitate to respond. Should you tell him? No, you want to argue. But technically, if Joshua was already asking you if you had anything to tell him, that meant that he already knew something happened, or he already knew what happened and wanted to hear it from you. Either way, it leaves you with no choice but to answer him.

“Why?” you choose to respond, setting your teacup down.

Joshua shrugs, stirring his tea. “Just a hunch,” he hums.

You’re quiet. And Joshua indulges in your voluntary silence. But only for a minute, as it has always been. Joshua Hong is only patient when he wants to be.

“Y/n, what happened between you and Wonwoo?” he finally asks, ripping the coarsely-placed bandage off of your wound. He leans forward, elbows on his knees.

You sigh, slumping down in your chair. Your hand pulls at your hair. “What didn’t happen,” you mutter.

Joshua sighs, tapping your foot. “Not an answer. Come on, y/n. I need you to tell me so that I can help you or something.”

You falter at his words. It was curious, really, how Joshua knew exactly the perfect time to come and visit you. How he knew exactly when you needed help.

You finally give in.

“He said he loves me,” you whisper. You cringe at your own words. They feel foreign leaving your own mouth, and maybe it’s because you haven’t even given yourself the time to wrap your own head around it. But in any sense, you say it.

“So he finally confessed,” Joshua muses, as if he already knew your little tidbit. You wouldn’t be surprised if he did, really. He had a knack of finding things out before you could properly process what was happening. But it does annoy you, just a little bit. It’s the same thing, you guess, as Seungcheol asking you to weekly afternoon teas to see if everything in your life is okay.

“If you put it that way,” you mutter, crossing your arms, eyes fluttering over to the window.

There is a thick sheet of silence that lands heavy between you two as Joshua chooses not to respond. Instead, he sets his cup down on the small table between you with deliberate care. He studies you for a long moment and for a second, you think you have biscuit crumbs on your chin or something.

“I feel like I can guess what you said to him,” Joshua finally says, leaning back on his chair.

You nod hesitantly. “I just-” you sigh, sinking further into the chair, “-I don’t want to be the convenient choice so that he can fulfil his obligations. What if he doesn’t choose me if he had the option?” you ask quietly. An edge of bitterness and underlying hurt seeps into your tone even though you try to mask it. And you know Joshua picks up on it too.

“If that’s what you believe,” Joshua says, voice low and deliberate it almost scares you, “then you don’t know him as well as you think.”

You blink at his words. The certainty in his words – almost like he knows because he’s talked it over with the person in question – throws you off. It’s rather unlike Joshua to frequently give relationship or love advice, seeing as how his own marriage came to fruition.

You’re about to retort when Joshua continues.

“Wonwoo’s never taken the easy path,” he says, “Not once. Not in the National Academy, not in society, not in the knight corps, and definitely not when it comes to you. Actually, the man probably takes the hardest route whenever it comes to you.” His words hang in the air, laden with something akin to a heavy truth that makes your chest tighten. No tears though, which is good, considering the considerable amount of tears you’ve accumulated over the past couple of days.

The glow of the firelight lends a warmth to Joshua’s face that contrasts with the intensity of his gaze. You want to desperately argue, to push back against the certainty of his words, but the sheer conviction in them, as well as Joshua’s rare sure relationship advice, has you basically grasping for words.

“He’s struggling too, Y/n.” His words are quiet but firm enough to pierce the silence.

You laugh, tears stuck in your throat. “Oh, I bet,” you mumble.

“The weight of duty, of everything, it’s heavier on him that anyone else realizes,” Joshua hums, pausing for a bit when he sees your frown, “But you can-”

Suddenly, the doors to your parlor swung open, followed by hurried half-yells of your estate staff asking the prince to “Please wait outside, your highness!”

Both your and Joshua’s heads whip towards the sound, the tense atmosphere now conveniently broken. When you turn towards the oak doors of your parlor, Mingyu stands in the doorway, his wide frame taking up the entire doorway. He looks rushed, almost distressed – hair sticking out of his fur hat, cloak lopsided on his shoulders.

Joshua opens his mouth to speak but Mingyu beats him to it.

“Oh thank god you’re here,” he breathes, ripping his hat off of his head as he bends forward, hands on his knees as he tries to collect himself.

You turn your wide eyes towards Joshua as if he can give you an answer. Joshua only shrugs, confusion marring the space between his eyes.

“Your highness, what is this about?” Joshua asks, standing up as Mingyu makes his way over to the long couch, collapsing on top of it.

Mingyu heaves in another breath. “He left,” he states.

“What?” your voice is sharp with annoyance. Really, the men in this kingdom need to learn how to talk in full sentences. How is anyone supposed to understand who “he” is when the speaker doesn’t clarify it with any proper noun? “Speak properly, Mingyu.”

Mingyu looks up from his position on the couch, arm thrown over his eyes. “Wonwoo, Y/n,” he sighs, turning over to face the back of the couch. “He was commissioned to the north. Again. He left at dawn yesterday, apparently.”

Mingyu’s words are like a bath of cold water that is thrown on you. They crash over you like an unwanted gasp of air. It threatens to break you. You can’t breathe and you don’t know why. Your body suddenly feels like it isn’t yours. You feel like your lungs are caving in themselves and you can feel your heart punching at your ribs, threatening to break the bones. You clutch at your chair, gasping in inhales of oxygen like you are a fish out of water. Like you were some sort of broken machine that needed fuel. Like you had just heard a world-ending news.

He was gone.

“Left?” you croak out and a gasp of air follows, which clearly worries both Joshua and Mingyu because both men either stand up or sit up, heads whipping towards your weak voice. You don’t even realize that you’re crying until Mingyu’s eyes blow wide and he’s hurrying over, dabbing your tears off with his handkerchief. You want to push him away – let yourself mingle in with another set of tears – but the only thing that you can think is that his cologne is too strong compared to Wonwoo’s. The only thing that you can think of, while your eyes drift towards the open-curtained windows and watch the thick snow fall down from the dark skies, is that Wonwoo left. Again. Wonwoo left you again. And he’ll have to ride through the thick snow of the Capital and then ride again through the thicker snow of the countryside, and then fight in the thickest snow of the north. That he’ll face another battlefield – a battlefield you knew, from Soonyoung’s letters – that he hated with all his being. That he’ll most likely get injured while fighting for the king, for the kingdom, for you, apparently. That he might-

“Oh my god,” you breathe, shooting up and out of your seat with a speed that scares both Mingyu and Joshua, who are staring at you like you’re going through a life-changing crisis. “Oh my god!” you choke out, steadying yourself with your chair. The three words just fall from your lips like a mantra as you pace back and forth through your parlor, pulling at the ends of your hair and biting your lips. And through everything – Mingyu glancing over at Joshua and Joshua trying to get Nai to bring you some chamomile tea – the only thought in your head is the singular worry that gnaws and teeths at your entire soul: what if he dies?

: ̗̀➛ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴡɪɴᴇᴅ -- ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪɴ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ @syluslittlecrows @gaslysainz @meowmeowminnie @luvjichang @peachytokki @nicoleparadas @haneulparadx @venuszaa @lilylikesthat @ppaia @ameliamirabela @tearsdntfall617

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m4rv3l-girl · 2 days ago

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hi!!! I love ur fics sm and I was wondering if you could do one where the reader is struggling with either ptsd or depression or something and they self harm and bucky walks in on them and cleans them up and comforts them and basically tells them it's not their fault ❤️❤️❤️

The Weight You Carry

Bucky x Y/N

Note: Thank you so much for your request, it is so valued! The topic of this one is obviously heavy and I (very fortunately) haven’t had any close contact with a situation like this. Due to the sensitive nature of the request - I have made the decision not to include any scenes of self-harm. This is something I’ve chosen to do because I would hate to write something unrealistic, harmful or content that will contribute to misconceptions. It’s simply not a subject I am well enough educated or experienced in to do it justice in writing. I’ve tried to stick to what you asked as much as possible, it includes the hurt/comfort themes, some clear emotional trauma and ellusions to past self harm but I have deliberately not included it in this fic. Thanks again, I hope you still enjoy! 🫶

Warnings: Depression. Trauma. Hurt/Comfort.

The bathroom was silent except for Y/N’s ragged breaths and the muffled sounds of her quiet sobs. The kind of silence that felt loud in her ears, reverberating against the cold, tiled walls. The mirror above the sink reflected a warped version of herself—puffy eyes, tear-streaked cheeks, and a trembling lower lip she couldn’t quite get under control.

Her hands gripped the edge of the porcelain sink like it was the only thing keeping her upright, the sharp bite of the rim pressing into her palms grounding her in a reality that felt too heavy to bear. She was suffocating under the weight of everything she couldn’t name, couldn’t fix, and couldn’t stop. It was a storm inside her head, a mess of guilt, fear, and exhaustion, swirling endlessly, consuming every bit of light she tried to hold onto.

This wasn’t new. She’d been fighting it for months—years, even. But tonight was one of the bad nights, the kind that snuck up on her, blindsiding her after a day that had been so deceptively normal. That was the cruel thing about it; it never gave her any warning. One moment she was fine, and the next, she was unraveling.

She hadn’t meant to end up here, curled up on the cold bathroom floor, her knees pulled to her chest, her forehead resting against them as she tried to hold herself together. She’d told herself she was just going to splash some water on her face, to take a minute to breathe. But the second she’d locked the door behind her, the dam had broken, and she’d crumpled.

A quiet knock at the door jolted her.

“Y/N?”

The voice was soft, hesitant but unmistakably familiar. Her chest tightened at the sound of it, her tears momentarily forgotten as she froze in place.

It was Bucky. Of course it was.

She didn’t answer, holding her breath as if staying silent would somehow make him go away. She couldn’t let him see her like this—broken, weak, and barely holding on. He didn’t need to deal with her mess on top of everything he carried himself.

“Doll?” His voice came again, quieter this time but no less concerned.

The nickname made her chest ache. He always said it with so much affection, like it was his way of reminding her how much he cared, how much she meant to him. But tonight, it felt like too much—too heavy, too undeserved.

“I know you’re in there,” he said after a beat of silence. His voice was closer now, just on the other side of the door.

“Go away, Bucky,” she finally croaked, her voice barely audible and hoarse from crying.

There was a pause, and for a brief moment, she thought he might actually listen. But then she heard him sigh, the kind of deep, weary sigh that spoke of his own struggles, his own battles.

“Sweetheart, I’m not leaving you like this,” he said gently.

She buried her face in her hands, shaking her head even though he couldn’t see her. “I’m fine,” she lied, the words shaky and unconvincing.

“You’re not,” he replied softly. There was no judgment in his tone, only a quiet determination.

She heard the faint jingle of keys, and her heart sank. Of course, he had the spare key. She’d given it to him months ago when things weren’t as bad, trusting him to use it only if she really needed him.

The lock clicked, and the door creaked open slowly. She didn’t look up, too ashamed to face him.

Bucky stepped inside, his frame filling the small doorway. He hesitated for a moment, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on her. She could feel his gaze, heavy with concern, and it only made her want to shrink further into herself.

“Y/N…” he murmured, his voice breaking slightly.

“Please, don’t,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

But he was already moving, kneeling down in front of her with a slow, deliberate gentleness that made her heart ache. He didn’t reach for her immediately, instead settling onto the floor a few feet away, giving her the space she so desperately needed.

“I’m here,” he said simply.

Those two words unraveled her completely.

She shook her head, tears streaming down her face as she whispered, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” he asked softly, his brows furrowing.

“For being like this,” she choked out, her hands shaking as she wiped at her face. “For being so…broken.”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, he didn’t say anything. Then, with a steadiness that made her heart clench, he said, “You’re not broken, Y/N.”

She let out a bitter laugh, the sound hollow and painful. “Then why do I feel like I am?”

“Because you’ve been carrying too much,” he said simply, his voice steady and sure. “And you’ve been doing it alone.”

His words hit her like a punch to the gut, and she finally looked up at him. His blue eyes were filled with a quiet intensity, a depth of understanding that only someone who had been through their own hell could offer.

“It’s not your fault,” he said firmly, his voice unwavering. “None of this is your fault.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but he shook his head, cutting her off gently.

“Whatever you’re feeling, whatever you’re going through, it doesn’t make you weak. It doesn’t make you a burden. It makes you human. And I a human too, one that hurts just as much.”

Her tears came faster, harder, and she didn’t resist when he reached out, his hand brushing against hers.

“Let me help you,” he said, his voice softening. “You don’t have to do this alone, Doll. Let me be here for you, the way you’ve been there for me.”

Her resolve crumbled, and she leaned into him, letting him wrap his arms around her. His embrace was warm and steady, a safe haven in the midst of her storm.

“I’m scared,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I know,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “But can figure it out. One step at a time.”

And for the first time in a long time, she felt a little bit less alone.

——————————————————————————————————

Requests Open!

#bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes #marvel #bucky angst #hurt/comfort

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orions-choker · 23 hours ago

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Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Serial Killers, Murder, Obsessions, Yandere tendencies, more to be added.

Chapter Seven

A/N: I am still pissed that I lost this entire chapter and had to rewrite it but I finally did it. Rewriting this I realize just how stupid I made the reader in this story my bad folks I promise I dont think you guys are all this dumb <3

Her fault? Her fault? People were dying because of her, she didn’t…how, why? In a panic she grabbed the phone again, punching her fingers harshly into the buttons. Kirk’s voice crackled through the phone warmly, Like cold water to a fresh burn it was soothing. “Hello?” He asked. It was enough to force Y/N’s mouth to part, finally pushing out the words in a panic.

“Kirk, fuck, its me, I need.” She gasped out as she dropped to the floor with the phone in her hand. Her legs finally gave out as the tear spilled out across her cheeks. “I need you to come over here, please, please.” Y/N begged, unable to explain any further. She was left a babbling mess as she cried into the phone.

“Y/N?” Kirk asked, confused. “What? What's wrong, calm down and breathe.” He instructed her gently, but when her sob broke over the phone he responded. ‘Oh shit, I’ll be right there.” Even as the phone went dead she clutched it to her chest like a lifeline. She jumped as her front door opened. Then Kirk was there, his hands gentle on her shoulders as he pulled her in against his chest. He hadn’t even had the chance to change out of his own wet clothes.

She felt the phone being pried away gently from her hands and placed back down, the incessant ringing of a dead line finally being silenced. Kirk was cautious with her as he helped her to her feet from the floor and sat her down on the couch. Her kneeled before her his eyes wide with concern, hands heavy on her knees as he grounded her back in reality. “What happened?” He asked gently.

How could she describe the phone call that had just transpired, how did, how did the caller know she had just got home. It had hardly been minutes since she entered her front door. He was watching her, he had to be. Every gaze she felt on her back in the middle of the night had to be real. “I got a call…” She finally mumbled, the shock coursing through her system had her eyes glazed over. “It’s him, the killer, the one on the news he’s calling me.”

The way Kirk’s face contorted made her stomach since. He didn’t believe her, he was going to think she was crazy. His eyebrows raised, lips curled up awkwardly into some sort of astounded half smile. “What are you talking about Y/N?” He asked, his voice a little lighter than it had been before. “Are you serious?”

“Yes I’m serious, I wouldn’t fucking lie about this!” She hissed, curling her hands into the collar of Kirk’s shirt, dragging him up a little further so he was eye level with her. She watched the surprise take over his face, his eyes hardening into something serious as he soaked in just how shaken up she was about this. “Oh god I need to-” She looked around in a panic, she didn't know what she needed to do. “I need to call the police.. I think.”

As she reached over for the phone again Kirk’s hand suddenly stopped her. “No,” He said quickly, pulling her shaking hand back down into her lap. She looked down at him in shock, her eyebrows furrowing. She parted her lips to protest against him once more when he shook his head to continue speaking. “That's not a good idea Y/N, they're not going to believe you.” He ran his thumb soothingly over the back of her palm. “Think about it, you were just down there today giving a witness statement and now you’re getting calls? The police are gonna think you’re making it up or you have some sort of…mental problem.”

That made sense…maybe? Y/N was hesitant, sure it seemed like an unlikely turn of events but shouldn’t they still know? What happens if it escalates further? But when she looked into Kirk’s soft eyes she figured he wouldn’t lead her astray. “Then what do I do?” She squeaked out. “I don’t want to be next, I don’t want anyone else to die because of me.”

Kirk could physically see the burden weighing down on her. "What do you mean because of you, this isn’t your fault Y/N…we will figure it out nothings gonna hurt you when I'm here okay?” He leaned up, sitting beside her on the couch and tugging her down into his chest, her cheek pressed against the damp fabric of his shirt. “I’m gonna help you figure this out…”

She believed him, she had no reason not to. The fierce determination in his voice soothing her aches and worries if only slightly. She nodded slowly. “Okay, I…Just don't want to be alone, m’scared.” She mumbled against him. Her arms wrapped around his back to curl her fingers into his shirt. His regular scent was mingled with the damp smell of lake water, he was cold to the touch. She knew she was in a similar state and she shivered.

“I won't leave you alone baby don’t worry.” He assured her gently. “Why don’t you come stay with me tonight?” He asked, pulling back to look down at her assuringly. He watched the unease settle into her eyes. “I already promised you I’m not going to try anything, I mean it, I just want to keep you safe near me.”

Y/N hummed in thought. She shouldn’t. Every logical part in her brain was screaming to call the police about it, call her parents, stay put. But when she drowned in those sweet honey brown eyes she spoke only with her heart. “Y-yeah, okay, let me just leave a note for m’parents that I’m spending the night.” She whispered as she shakily stood up and grabbed the notepad beside the phone. She made her best attempt to still her shaking hand as she scrawled out a hasty note. “You sure you’re mom wont mind?” She asked softly.

With a shake of his head Kirk smiled at her, maybe a bit too easily considering the situation they had found themselves in. “Nah, it’s fine, come here.” He wrapped an arm around her waist as he walked her to her front door again. He noticed the way her body stiffened and hesitated as they stepped back outside into the night, her eyes darting around the darkness. “Calm down, no one's out here, I'm right here.” He soothed her.

Oddly it didn’t do much to calm her nerves. She could feel it prickling across her skin, like she could sense the very presence of this sick and twisted aura. It prodded the back of her mind, even as they entered Kirks house, all the way up to his room. It didn’t go away, faded maybe to a dull throb but she still felt on edge…and cold, really fucking cold. “Can I shower?” She asked barely above a whisper.

“Oh, yeah shit of course.” Kirk nodded quickly, his eyes widening in a cute way as he realized just how much she looked like a shaking wet rat. “Down the hall to the left, I’ll find you something to wear, kay?” His hand traced along the small of her back comfortingly as she stumbled past him on uneasy legs. He watched her worriedly before he heard the door click behind her.

The warm water against her skin did little to wash away the shock of everything that had transpired in the course of a short half hour. Her eyes glazed over as she stared at the unfamiliar tiling in Kirk’s shower. His water ran just a little hotter than her own, reminders that she wanted the comfort of her own home right now. But she couldn't bear the thought of being alone knowing her parents wouldn’t be home till late so she would have to suck it up and stay with Kirk. Which of course wasn't all that bad.

Even if she felt uneasy she was with someone else, he was protective of her. He was the only other safe option she knew. She didn’t know why she trusted him so wholly, how long had it been since they started hanging out? Had he given her a whole lot of reason to trust him actually? That weird moment with the knife in his glove box, the inconspicuous scratches he always seemed to be inflicted with, the very fact that they had been in that very alley a body was found in only a couple hours later. The more the thought swirled in her head the more a deep panic settled into the pit of her stomach. She hadn’t gotten that phone call until she had come home from being out with Kirk tonight, only a couple moments after he had left her at her front door. Why was he so insistent she didn’t call the police?

She blinked as the hot water began to burn her skin. She shook her head trying to shake the thoughts from her mind quickly. This was stupid it was just weird coincidences. Technically she had known Kirk since they were kids; he had always been her neighbor. He was a dorky awkward kid and not much had changed despite how pretty he was now. He didn’t have it in him to hurt anyways, it was just…weird coincidences.

With a creak the pipes halted the stream of running water, Y/N turning the knobs to off tightly until the soft dripping sound ceased. Her wet feet padded against the floor as she returned to Kirk’s room in the fluffy towel she had found. Kirk scrambled to his feet at the sight of her, grabbing a pile of clothes he had left on the bed. “Here, They’ll be big but they’ll fit, I’ll be right back okay? I’m just going to shower now as well.” He placed the bundles of fabric in her arms.

Dread filled her stomach at the thought of being left alone in his room even for a moment. “You said you wouldn’t leave me.” She whispered in a soft panic, her eyes darting to the open window of his room that faced her own. This creep could see into her room so he could definitely see into Kirks. She clutched the clothes to her chest as she looked up at Kirk wide eyed.

He frowned as he followed her gaze and quickly he pulled his own blinds down. “Just five minutes I promise you will be okay.” He assured her. “My mom’s in her room down the hall, no ones coming in here.” He placed his hands heavy on her shoulders as he held her gaze. She believed him oddly. With a soft nod she let him leave, the door clicking behind him and granting her the couple moments of privacy she needed to change.

Kirk’s clothes fit her mostly well, he was lean, not particularly bulky so she wasn't swimming in them. But they were a bit long. It was nice nonetheless, that warm scent of cinnamon and something sweet surrounded her. Just the most subtle trace of nicotine and smoke clinging to the fabric. Carefully she climbed into Kirk’s bed beneath his sheets as she waited for him.

She wasn’t timing it but she was pretty sure he had taken exactly five minutes before he was entering the room again, dripping wet with a towel tucked tightly around his waist. Her mouth went dry at the sight, even though just a few hours prior she had been swimming nearly naked with him, he still looked unfairly attractive at this moment. It served as a good distraction actually, soaking him in. “Eyes up here Y/N.” He said teasingly, snapping her out of her daze.

“Sorry,” She whispered sheepishly, her cheeks flushing as she brought her eyes back up to meet his. “You’re pretty,” She said honestly, enjoying the way he flushed at her compliment. Then she frowned again. “Seriously I don't…know what to do about all of this, I don’t want to die Kirk.” She ran her hands across her face in exhaustion from the whole ordeal.

Kirk matched her frown and nodded. “I know baby, I’m not gonna let you die. I promise you that, we’ll figure it out.” He nodded assuringly. His hands dropped down to the edge of the towel that was keeping him semi decent. “Close your eyes, or don’t it's fine either way.” He shrugged as he began dropping the fabric from his waist.

Y/N squeaked and covered her eyes quickly before she caught an eyeful. “Give me more of a warning next time Jesus.” She huffed as she listened to the soft rustling of fabric as Kirk got dressed again. “I’m already dealing with the shock of having my life threatened. I don't need a heart attack from seeing your…dick.” She hissed.

“Okay ouch,” Kirk said, offended as he pried her hands away from her face once he was covered once more. “Personally I think if you saw my dick it might solve some problems.” The icy glare she gave him after made him wince. “Okay sorry, not funny.’ He mumbled as he sat down on the edge of his bed. “I’m gonna work on some guitar shit, but you can sleep. I'll be watching.” He ran a soft hand across her shoulder.

It was a bit funny, she would have laughed in a better situation. Right now though her face was screwed up in annoyance. “You are insufferable, remind me not to come to you in a crisis again.” She groaned as she settled back against his pillows. “But yeah…okay, goodnight Kirk.”

“Night Y/N…”

#metallica #metallica fanfiction #metallica/reader #kirk hammett #kirk hammett x reader #kirk hammett/reader

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