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after-witch · 1 year ago

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The Driven Snow [Yandere Coriolanus Snow x Reader]

Title: The Driven Snow [Yandere Coriolanus Snow x Reader]

Synopsis: You're a District 2 school graduate who comes to the Capitol with her father before the 11th Hunger Games. You don't expect to meet anyone kind, especially not someone named Coriolanus Snow who offers you his arm, his smile, and treats in secret.

Word Count: 5270

notes: yandere, abusive relationship, non-graphic descriptions of torture and death (not against reader); uses a mixture of book and movie canon

The Capitol was not as dazzling as your father described it but then, he had seen it before the war. Though perhaps it was your own bitterness that made you ignore the signs of returning prosperity that sets it above everywhere else.

The repaired elaborate buildings, the fresh pungent smell of plaster and paint. The cars pumping exhaust fumes into the air. The low rumble of garbage trucks that pick up bright green garbage cans, some of which are actually teeming with plastic trash bags. Such waste was unheard of, even in the oh-so-loyal District 2, where only the lowest of the low find themselves starving.

Although not-starving didn’t mean that everything was plentiful.

You, though, were lucky enough to avoid the lima bean heavy diet that some of your classmates (now former--graduation was months ago) lived on. Or were you? The meat that graced your family’s dinner table, the pats of butter on toast, were all courtesy of your father’s immense talent in building creative weapons that allowed the Capitol to stamp out every last bit of rebellion in the Districts. That allowed them to regain control. That allowed them to create the Hunger Games.

Which is why you were in the Capitol now. Oh, not to participate in them. Your father’s status in District 2 had seen to that; it would be a scandal if the name of his beloved daughter were to ever be pulled.

You were there because your father had been given a lucrative contract, one that was sure to cement your family’s wealth for generations: a contract to build high-tech weapons for the Hunger Games themselves.

They would still be killing. But on a much smaller scale, you supposed, than the weapons your father designed during the war.

Still. Blood was blood. And if it had to be spilled, well, there was nothing you could do about it except hope they died quickly. Especially the ones from District 2.

Last year’s Games’ had been awful enough. Your family had watched the Games on a modest television set in the privacy of your living room, sent courtesy of the Capitol.

You wondered if you would ever get the sight of Marcus’ battered, bloated face from your mind; if you would ever unhear the way his body thumped to the ground when that girl had killed him, out of mercy. If you would ever stop imagining what it must have felt like in those last moments.

But it wasn’t all horror. You’d liked Lucy Gray well enough, even though she was from 12. She had a wild way of dressing and the singing--it was practically theatrical, compared to what you’d heard about the previous games.

Maybe that was why your father got this contract: theatrics. Maybe the games would be more dramatic from now on. Maybe they wanted tributes like Lucy Gray, who sang and spit and poisoned her way to Victory. It was strange, really, that there’d been hardly any talk of her since her win.

“Father?” You asked, quietly as you could.

Both of you were standing in the foyer of the grand university in the Capitol. The outside was still a little ravaged, but inside, it was perfectly lovely. Walls lined with books--perhaps some of them were fake--and marble floors and marble busts dotting the sight lines.

“Mm?” He replied, eyes scanning over his clipboard. He flips it, here and there.

“I was just thinking. About last year’s games. About Lucy Gray, and how the Games--”

Your father rounded on you, eyes suddenly serious and blazing.

“Quiet. Weren’t you paying attention on the way here?” Admittedly, you were not. You’d been daydreaming about what you might do now that you were done with school. There was no university in District 2, and your father hadn’t even mentioned a job. “You’re not supposed to mention--”

“Not supposed to mention whom? Ah, ah, ah. Lucy Gray Baird?” called a voice, almost in sing-song.

Your father stood up stiff, and the life seemed to drain from his face.

Both of you look towards the sound of the voice, and now it’s your turn to stiffen. The voice came from a woman standing in the doorway of the very office that your father was waiting to enter. She was wearing an elaborate jacket made of what looked like rainbow snake scales. Her hair was gray and curly. She had, you realized, two different colored eyes.

Your father swallowed, and you could see the apple of it bob up and down. It made you think, abruptly, of suckling pigs.

“Dr. Gaul,” he said, in a voice far too tight to be relaxed. “I apologize for my daughter’s insubordination, I assure you, she meant no--”

Dr. Gaul waved her hands at him and approached you.

“Did you like last year’s games?” She didn’t look angry. No, she looked delighted.

“I…” It was your turn to swallow, your turn to feel that tightness. “It-it was the first time I’ve watched them, ma’am.” You want to ask this woman: do you think I liked watching someone from my District 2 so horribly? Or any District, really? Did I like it?

Her smile grew wider.

“I’m glad. You’ll be watching them every year from now on, I hope. We have big plans.” Her eyebrows raised high. “Big changes. Thanks to men like your father.” She glanced at him and you saw disdain flicker across her gaze.

And then another door opened, and you heard the sound of polished shoes on the marble floor. Dr. Gaul’s attention dropped away from you like you were nothing at all. She turned to meet the sound of these footsteps, and you did too.

It was a young man. Probably your age, you thought, with light blonde hair and eyes that your mother would have described as “baby blue.” He didn’t look at you, or your father. But that was nothing new. You’d only been in the Capitol for 2 days, and you’d already gotten used to being treated as lesser than. Though, at least, you were not so far down on the food chain that you lost your tongue.

“Ah, my protege,” said Dr. Gaul, giving the young man a grin. The smile on her face almost looked warm, which was somehow far more terrifying than her manic smile from earlier. “Ever the earnest student. Aren’t you supposed to be enjoying the day off, Mr. Snow?”

The young man, this “Snow,” chuckled and lowered his gaze. “I couldn’t stay away once I heard you were discussing some of the new prototypes for this year’s games.”

He finally looked at your father, and then at you. But only briefly.

“Can I assume that this is…?”

Dr. Gaul nodded.

“Yes. My little designer from District 2. And his daughter.” Her voice dropped a few octaves when she referred to you. She probably didn’t want you here, you thought. You weren’t supposed to come, but your father had begged the Capitol for a pass; it would probably be your only chance to see it, he said, so you may as well take advantage of the chance.

Snow nodded to your father. It was a surprising gesture, almost respectful. But cold, too, like it was done from necessity rather than anything else.

Your father stammered a bit and nodded back, and you felt shame begin to creep into your bones. It wasn’t fair, to be lesser-than. But weren’t others lesser-than you in your own District, where you ate better food and never worried that your name would get picked, that your blood would be spilled?

Everyone

But when Snow turned to you, he smiled. It gave him dimples.

It was the first kind smile anyone in the Capitol gave you.

“My name is Coriolanus Snow. I doubt you’ve heard of me, but if Dr. Gaul’s teachings have anything to say about it, perhaps one day you’ll know me as a Gamemaker.”

You didn’t know what to say. Congratulations, one day you’ll be coordinating Games that kill people? Instead, you gave your name, voice squeakier than you meant it. But it was fitting, you supposed. Here, you were a mouse, hoping you would get a bite of cheese and make it home unpoisoned.

Dr. Gaul’s face seemed to react slowly, as if she couldn’t decide what she thought about his words or your interaction, but a small smile grew on it, eventually. “I do have high hopes for you, Mr. Snow. Now, shall we?”

She gestured for your father to follow, face once again impassive with a sprinkle of disdain, as she led the two of them into her office.

Snow gave you a smile and a nod before he left.

You waved, stupidly.

Your father didn’t even look back.

I’m dead. I’m dead. I might as well be dead.

Your heartbeat kept time with your racing thoughts as you went up and down corridors, begging your shoes to be silent, wishing your breath would catch and stop coming out in terrible pants.

You were lost. You weren’t where you were supposed to be. If someone found you, if the wrong person found you, they would think you were running, trying to get lost in the Capitol; they’d think you were a rebel. They’d shoot you.

Just when you thought you might collapse and die from your own nervous exhaustion, you heard the most wonderful sound in the world.

Your name.

It was only the moment after that you realized it didn’t come from your father’s mouth, but the lips of--what his name--Coriolanus Snow. The young man who was a Gamemaker-in-training, or so your father said. But that’s all he would say. He kept tight about anything that went on behind closed doors.

But this Coriolanus Snow smiled at you, and didn’t look at you like you were some kind of insect he might want to pin on a board, and so when you whirled around to look at him you were smiling.

Ah--for a moment. For just a moment, you saw his muscles tense. You saw the expression on his face falter in worry. Like he thought he was about to miss a step on a staircase, and corrected himself; like he thought you were a wolf and you were only somebody’s dog, off their leash.

But it wasn’t too surprising. You knew most people in the Capitol thought anyone from the Districts wanted to rip out their throats.

Well, the worry was mutual. Except in your case, you were forced to walk around with the living proof of that worry--all those “Avoxes,” they called them. Without tongues, without freedom.

But you swallow all that. Because he smiled at you. Because maybe it wouldn’t hurt to make a friend. Especially right now.

“I’m--I’m lost,” you tell him, giving a shaky smile. “I was waiting for my father, but you see, I got to thinking, and I started to wander around and now I’m… well. I don’t know where I am, actually.”

His smile wasn’t very deep, was it? It was like the gloss of paint on the outside of the Capitol buildings. Pretty to look at, but there must be more underneath.

You expected him to lead you right back to where you’re supposed to be.

Instead, he asked you something.

“What were you thinking about?

You couldn’t tell him. Could you? But something about

“About… the Games.”

You don’t tell him that you were thinking about Lucy Gray and all those snakes, and the way that Dr. Gaul’s outfit that first day made you think of them. Because your father had slapped you across the face when you got back to your lodgings that night, and told you to never, ever bring up Lucy Gray Baird or the 10th Games unless you were directly asked. And you would probably never be asked.

Coriolanus gave a little snort through his nose. You liked it. It was nice to know that even Capitol people could seem a little dorky.

“They aren’t for another 3 months. Are you that eager to see them?”

You didn’t know what expression you made, exactly. It was so instinctive and fast that you didn’t have time to control it.

You only knew that it made him shake his head and offer you a sympathetic look.

“I apologize. That was rude, wasn’t it?”

And then he did a strange thing.

He offered you his arm.

Like you were Capitol, like you were a real person, and not some visiting District wench walking on the coattails of her arms-dealing father.

“Let me walk you back to the waiting area.”

And the stranger thing?

You took it.

You and your father were quickly moved into a small apartment within the university, once it became clear that he would be staying in the Capitol through the duration of the Games. It was best, he said, because ordinary people in the Capitol didn’t really want to see new faces from the Districts mingling around unless their tongue had been cut out first. It made them nervous. The rebel bombings, and all that.

You didn’t mind, because it meant you didn’t have to be flanked by Peacekeepers on the streets.

And, well.

You got to see Coriolanus more often. Sometimes he greeted you, sometimes he didn’t. He did it less often when Dr. Gaul was there, unless she was talking to your father and it gave him an opportunity.

He asked you things, too, when he caught you walking back to your father’s little apartment. Like what you did back home. What you liked to do. Whether you went to school, and what you planned to do now that you have graduated.

This morning, he caught you drawing while you waited in a chair outside Dr. Gaul’s office. Sometimes you waited there--you would admit to no one that it was to catch a glimpse of the kindest person you’d met in the Capitol--and other times you stayed in your temporary home.

“What are you drawing?” He asked. But he had a way of speaking that you’d quickly clocked into. He can make a demand sound like a polite little question. Oh, he wasn’t mean about it, but it reminded you of the way your father talked to his underlings back in District 2. On his home turf, he was far smoother than he was here, where his voice stammered and sweat beaded on his neck.

So you handed it over, even though, to your greatest embarrassment, you’d drawn… him.

“Why me?” He had a smile on his lips. His smiles were nice. Kind. The kindest you’d seen since you came here. But they always felt like that fresh coat of paint; like you didn’t know what he really meant by them, and that was how he liked it.

“You’re… important,” is all you could come up with. You felt small, then. He would dismiss and probably never want to talk to you again. What a stupid answer from a stupid girl.

But he just smiled. It was like paint peeling a little. You could see underneath that he liked what you said, although you weren’t exactly sure why. And his expression tightened up so quickly, protecting what you’d seen, that you weren’t entirely sure if it was real or not.

“I’m just a humble student at this university. Not so important. Not yet.”

You were really going to die, now. This wasn’t some panicked imagination gone wrong, some flight of fancy that took a wrong turn.

A pair of stony-faced Peacekeepers had walked up to where you sat in the waiting area near Dr. Gaul’s office and ordered you to come with them.

You asked to talk to your father. They said no. You asked where you were going. They yanked you up.

And now they were leading you down hallways that you’d never seen before, where there weren’t even Avoxes roaming the halls with brooms and dustpans.

They didn’t even answer, just spun around and walked back the way they came. You pushed the door open reluctantly--what the hell was going to be on the other side?--and it was--it was--

It was Coriolanus. Standing there in a nice suit, eyes downcast on a book. Until the door creaked and he looked up.

“What--why did you bring me here? Did I do something wrong?” The thought went through you, that perhaps this had all been a test, to see if you were loyal to the Capitol and he’d found you wanting.

“No,” he said, simply enough. He set the book down and gestured for you to step inside. You did, because what else were you going to do, in some strange room in a Capitol University where you’d been forcibly brought by Peacekeepers.

Snow studied your face. Your eyes darted around, from him, to the room, to the door.

“I wanted to see you,” he said, a little softer. “In private.”

“Me?” You furrowed your eyebrows. “But… why?”

He smiled. “Come now, you’re a smart girl, even if you aren’t in university.”

You really didn’t know. Not at first. But then you watched the way his expression softened, and you remembered it, or glimpses of it, that he’d given you before. When he complimented your drawing. When he said your name. When he escorted you back from the maze of hallways. And his smiles, all his smiles, although you were never sure how much they meant coming from home.

He took a step closer. You didn’t dare step back. You weren’t sure if you wanted to step back, but it didn’t matter, either way.

He pressed his lips to yours and took your first kiss, in a secluded little study in the heart of the Capitol University.

Your days became routine, although the routine was strictly forbidden and could have probably gotten you executed or at best, gotten you a one-way ticket to a tasteless existence.

You wake up. You stay in your apartment. You wait for the Peacekeepers. You get summoned here and there, always private rooms, secret rooms, rooms out of the way. You meet Snow--Coriolanus, he said, call him that--and you talk (well, mostly him) and kiss and sometimes a little bit more. He gives you gifts. Trinkets, necklaces that you can only wear under your shirt. Food, flaky pastries made with mountains of sugar, sandwiches made with cream and cucumber.

But how much longer could it go on? The Games were going to start soon. As soon as they were over, you were going back to your District. There would be no more meetings, no more kisses. No more wondering how far he wanted to go or why he liked you or even if he even liked you as anything more than someone to keep him busy.

You didn’t dare talk about the Games, but you did talk about this. In the kindest way you knew how for such a sensitive subject.

“I’ll miss you,” you told Coriolanus after one meeting, when you’re both sitting on a sofa and he’s got your fingers tightly wound in his. He squeezed them tight.

“Miss me?”

“After the Games,” you clarified. “We’re being sent home right after.”

He squeezed your fingers until it hurt a little. Then he looked up at you. To see if you would say something? Or did he not know how strong he was?

“Oh, that. I can arrange for you to stay.”

Your chest began to feel sick.

“Stay? In the Capitol?” You were torn about Coriolanus, but you didn’t want to stay here. You couldn’t.

“Yes,” he said, as if it was the simplest answer in the world. “You wouldn’t be the first person from the District granted such an extreme privilege. I’m sure I could--”

“But I don’t know if I want to stay.”

His gaze narrowed and you felt your stomach clench. He looked at the necklace you’d pulled out as soon as the door was shut, at your lips where a dollop of strawberry cream still rested.

“I treat you so well, and you don’t know if you want to stay with me?”

His voice was calm, and that scared you. It would have been better if he flew off the handle.

Instead, he simply stood up and gently sent you out the door, and called the Peacekeepers to bring you back to your apartment.

Every night for the last week, you have cried yourself to sleep. Because every day for the last week, Coriolanus Snow has not sent for you. Not even once.

What if he told someone? What if you got sent back early, and your father was shamed? What if they broke his contract? Or--worse, worse, worse. There were so many worse things than merely being sent back to District 2.

And then he sent for you, and it was the longest walk of your life, though it was no farther than any of the times you’ve been escorted to your secret meetings.

This time, when you pushed open the door, Coriolanus was not alone.

There was an Avox in the room.

It was someone from District 2.

You didn’t know her. Not personally. But you saw her, before. She worked in one of the munitions factories and you watched her walk to work from your classroom window sometimes. Then she stopped showing up, and you thought perhaps she got married.

That delusion was shattered the moment you saw her, eyes downcast to the floor, wearing a simple gray tunic.

It’s not until Coriolanus tells you to hurry up and come in that you’re able to move. Even then, you weren’t sure how your body did it; how your arms managed to gain the mobility to shut the door, to twist the lock; how your legs moved, one foot in front of the other, until you were standing stiffly in front of him.

The Avox--you wish you knew her name, but she couldn’t give it to you now, even if you asked--moved seamlessly to a table set up nearby. There was tea and sweets. The sort of thing that you and Coriolanus had been enjoying together for the past few weeks. The sort of thing that you were sure would sit sour in your stomach, now.

The cup shook in your hands when she handed it to you, and your tears dripped right into the tea.

Coriolanus glanced at the Avox and waved his hand. She left obediently. She would never tell the secret she witnessed in his room, that much was certain.

And then he looked back at you.

“Don’t cry,” he said. Soft but firm. A command, not a coo. “You shouldn’t cry here, in the Capitol. You should be grateful to be here. You should be grateful that I’ve arranged all this for you.”

“I am,” you whispered.

“Then show me that you are.”

And you did.

You said what he wanted and looked to him to show you how he wanted you to act, and did just that. You didn’t argue, even to lightly banter. You kissed him and nodded along when he told you about how things would be after the Games, when he had arranged for you to stay.

All you had to do was keep him happy until the Games were over, and then you could go home.

Bitterly, all of this made you realize just how much of your father is in you; he knew how to appease the Capitol. You could do the same with Coriolanus Snow. At least until the Games were over. Just keep him happy until the Games were done and the blood was spilled, and you would go home.

They wouldn’t let him keep you here after the games. You were sure of that. You’d overheard some of Dr. Gaul’s assistants murmuring how glad they would be to send the District profiteers like your father home once the Games were over. And you? You’re just his useless daughter, an appendage he brought like an unwelcome suitcase. Why would you be allowed to stay?

The Games were over. The winner was from District 1.

You were going home any day now. Just as soon as your father finished tinkering with the designs, gave his notes on improvements that might be made for next year.

The thought gave you a delightful bounce in your step. It was like having a pat of sweet butter in your shoe on a day when you needed good luck-- District 2 superstition, although the strict rationing meant most people didn’t have even a pat to slip into their shoes anymore.

The sweetness didn’t even disappear when the Peacekeepers showed up to bring you to Snow. It was going to be a bittersweet farewell, you were sure. He might be angry. But you would kiss him and tell him that there was nothing he could do, and how sorry you were not to be able to stay, but that was how things had to be.

Except they didn’t bring you down a maze of corridors that led to a secluded room.

They brought you right into Dr. Gaul’s office.

Breakfast threatened to evacuate your stomach with every step. Not just because of nerves, but because of what you saw. Rows of experiments in glass tubes; some of them move. You walk by a room with a half-open door that showed someone strapped to a gurney, face contorted in a silent scream as they fought against restraints. You almost did lose breakfast, then.

But somehow you made it to the desk of Dr. Gaul without a dribble of vomit to show for it.

The Peacekeepers left with no fanfare and you stood there, ramrod straight. Did she know? Was she going to tell you that you were going to be strapped to one of those gurneys, now?

“I’m keenly aware,” she said, keeping her hands primly folded, “on how much you’ve enthralled my star pupil.”

Toast. That’s what will come up first, you thought . The toast.

“I don’t know what you mean, ma’am.” Your voice was so thin and tinny that you didn’t even believe yourself.

And then the prim facade cracked, and Dr. Gaul threw her head back and grinned.

“You really think I don’t know everything that goes on within these walls? I know every time one of my lab assistants runs into the bathroom to throw up after a particularly nasty experiment. I know every time one of our university professors sneaks into a closet to down a vial of morphling with a student. And I certainly know when my newest protege is having an adorable little District girl brought to him for… canoodling.”

You weren’t even embarrassed. No. You just felt terrified to the bone. You only hoped that you’d be killed, shot against a wall, instead of made into an Avox. Let there be some mercy in this world.

”He’s asked to keep you, you know.” Her voice was low, almost a drawl. She tapped her fingers on her desk rhythmically.

“My Coriolanus Snow wants a bird of his own.” Her smile turned darker. “Not a songbird, though. Oh, no. I think he’s had enough of those.”

Her gaze bored into yours, each color magnified by her intense expression. “I think if I let him have his pretty caged bird, he’ll be happy. He’s more productive if he’s happy.” She smiled. “I like productivity. It keeps the Games more interesting.”

She looked you over one more time, and then waved you away.

“I’ve granted his request. You’ll be staying here indefinitely, courtesy of one Mr. Snow. Your father has already been told.”

You were wrong.

It was not the toast that came up first, but the sweet butter you’d patted on top.

You still had your tongue, but you felt as though it was useless, stuck to the roof of your mouth, as Coriolanus fussed over your outfit. Or rather, as he directed an Avox to fuss over it for you. He could afford his own personal servant, now, he told you. He’d almost flinched after he said now, and you didn’t dare press him on it. Had he not been able to afford one before?

“We can’t walk arm-in-arm in public,” he said, walking around you, making sure the outfit was just-right. “But you can stand by me if I stop and direct you forward.” He reached over and fixed one of your buttons. “Don’t speak to anyone unless I’ve told you to, or they speak to you first. Always address someone older as ‘sir,’ or ‘ma’am.” He pointed at your hair, and the Avox began to fuss with it, eventually covering it in a colorful wrap that Coriolanus said was popular right now. “Address someone our age by the last name and Mr. or Ms.”

When he was satisfied with your appearance, he sent the Avox away. You liked it better that way, it was one last reminder of the horrors in the Capitol, even for someone “privileged” like you. You’d only been without your father for 3 days, but you felt like your nerves were continually on fire. You wanted to go home. You wanted your family. You wanted out of this place.

But that wasn’t going to happen.

For now, you were still living in the small university apartment the Capitol had given your father. Coriolanus insisted on it, until he could figure out how to move you into his own sprawling apartment that he shared with his cousin, Tigris (who, at least, genuinely sounded lovely) and his grandmother, Grandma’am. She was the sticking point, or so you were told, with a thin smile. She hated Districts, and she ought to, he said. They killed her son. His father.

She would hate you, too. Even if Coriolanus wanted you enough to make you stay with him; wanted you enough to keep you. But for how long? And would he change his mind, if you couldn’t fit in?

He said your name, and you snapped yourself out of your thoughts. He held you by your shoulders. Gently. Like one would an unruly child that hadn’t yet learned that there were such things as salad forks and dinner forks, as polite conversation and etiquette.

You got the feeling you wouldn’t have long to learn all of those things and more, to make him happy.

“Remember,” he said. “You’re District. You’re here because the Capitol has recognized that your loyalty can benefit us in some way. Be grateful.”

“I am,” you said, reflectively.

“Be happy..”

“I am,” you said again, your chest hitching.

He smiled at you. Was it real or not real?

You smiled back, regardless. And he liked that, evidently, because he leaned forward and kissed you. Then he scrutinized your face and wiped at your lips with his thumb--the kiss had smeared your lipstick.

“Good.”

He gestured towards the open doorway. This time, he didn’t take your arm. There would be too many people lingering in the university hallways, all making their way to the soiree held to celebrate the end of this year’s Games and discuss what improvements might be made for the next year.

You dutifully walked behind him, just like he said. And you would do exactly what he said in all respects. You would stay quiet unless you were spoken to, you would certainly never bring up anything confrontational or controversial, and you would make a good impression. You would be a loyal, grateful District citizen who was given the opportunity of a lifetime thanks to the graciousness of Coriolanus Snow.

Of course you would.

Your life depended on it.

#yandere coriolanus snow #yandere hunger games #yandere #yandere x reader #afterwitch writes #/slaps trunk #this baby can fit so many references to the books & movie in it.#... well not SO MANY #but enough

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sukirichi · 5 months ago

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[ DUSK ‘TILL DAWN : 017 ]

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

cw. angst. infidelity. manipulation. lying. defamation.

notes. we are finally at the anti-iris article drop!

wc. 11.5k

series masterlist

[ SEVENTEEN ] i think i loved you in another life, where i was the sea, and you were the shore. like the tourist comes back to the beach, i come back to you for more and more and more.

The world outside was drenched in a relentless downpour, its heavy pit-patters mimicking the unsteady, erratic beating of your heart. The sky, a somber canvas of gray, mirrored the confusing emotions that gripped at you.

By the Gods, you thought to yourself, I actually kissed him.

You were now walking beside Kiyoomi, your footsteps muffled by the soft, wet earth. Meanwhile, Belleview Manor loomed ahead – a place you now reluctantly had to call home, its enigmatic marble pillars darkened by the rain.

The kiss still lingered on your lips. And your heart, and your mind. You’d only been kissed by Rintaro, but it’d been a hundred, if not more, breathtaking and passionate kisses.

But kissing Kiyoomi had felt different. You couldn’t fathom yet what kind of different, although it was most definitely the good kind. The softness of his lips would forever be etched in your memory. The moment, however shocking and unexpected, sparked warmth all over you amidst the cold, but one that left you more confused than before.

You’d long harbored affections for Kiyoomi, that was no secret. And who wouldn’t, truly? His quiet strength and unwavering kindness had always drawn you in. Being around him… you felt light. Like you’d morphed into an aliferous creature, and the sky was within reach. Yet, as much as you cherished that stolen kiss that you knew would forever change everything, a part of you wondered if this path you treaded in had no return – a path that was akin to the betrayal and lies you’d suffered at Rintaro’s hands.

Rain cascaded down your face, mingling with the tears you refused to shed.

You were both drenched, your clothes clinging to your bodies, and Kiyoomi’s curls plastered at his forehead. Somehow, underneath the storm, you managed to share shy, uncertain smiles.

Use me. If you need me to forget him, if that’s what it takes... then use me. I am yours.

Kiyoomi’s words echoed in your mind, a promise that hung between you like the heavy air. He’d wait for you to love him back, utterly willing to be whatever you needed him to be. A selfless declaration of devotion, a vow that was simultaneously comforting and unsettling.

Truthfully, you couldn’t bear the thought of using him, or treating him as a mere consolation for your own pain. Kiyoomi was too precious, too kind-hearted. Princely as he may be, a pure soul like him didn’t belong in the heartless walls inside the castle. Your feelings for him, admittedly, were genuine, but they were also tangled in a web of guilt and uncertainty. You didn’t want to become what you hated most – to be a reflection of the infidelity that had shattered your own marriage.

The mere thought of being an “adulterer” gnawed at your conscience, even as your own heart yearned for the solace Kiyoomi happily offered.

But is truly so wrong to want love when you needed it most?

Nearing Belleview Manor’s entrance, the warmth of the building beckoned you, a stark contrast to the deadly chill of the night. You looked up at Kiyoomi as you reached the first steps, his eyes soft and understanding, as if he knew the battle raging within you even without you saying it. He’d always been this way – a little too perceiving, a little too observant, a little too loving. There was no judgment in his gaze, only an invitation – a very tempting one – to find comfort in each other’s presence. To let love be as it is regardless of the nuances. To simply breathe in one’s air, and hold each other’s heart with the utmost trust the other would not break it.

Such was not something you could promise to him.

Finally, the manor doors opened, welcoming you into this new chapter you’d been forcibly thrust in. As you stepped inside, the confusion blanketing you never ebbed away. Here, under this roof, you would be forced to confront the delicacy of your newfound relationship – all while trying to discern what was right and what was wrong.

What was love, and what was a desperate grasp for affection in the face of betrayal?

Nothing was ever that simple. You knew you had to move forward, to make choices that would define not only yours, but the entire Kingdom’s future. In that moment, however, all you could do was take one step at a time. Your heart was too torn between the familiar embrace of pain and the tentative hope that perhaps, with Kiyoomi, you could find a new beginning. A better beginning.

Even if you knew, deep down, that if you chose this kind Prince, you would have to say goodbye to the person you loved first.

As you entered the manor’s warmth, the child of the rain faded. You exchanged brief, lingering glances with Kiyoomi – the both of you eerily aware of the unspoken tension of the kiss you’d shared. You suddenly felt too small under his gaze and the manor’s grandeur. You felt odd, like you stuck out like a sore thumb, like the Manor knew you were merely a visitor and never its owner.

The place you hoped to make your second sanctuary now felt like a stage for you to perform in, a graveyard for your deepest fears and desires.

With chattering teeth, the both of you decided to part ways, agreeing you needed to shower and dry off before you caught a cold. Silently, you watched Kiyoomi disappear down the corridor towards his room, your heart a tangled knot of emotions. You couldn’t tell if watching his figure fade away was comforting or numbing. Then, the echoes of his footsteps faded, and the deafening silence welcomed the barraging voices in your head.

You stepped into your own bathroom, stripping your drenched dress and tossing it aside. The warmth of the water pouring down on you did little to soothe the trouble in your mind.

You couldn’t stop thinking about the gravity of the situation. It was a kiss that happened in the heat of the moment, birthed from your desperate urge to soothe away his doubts that you didn’t love him. But did you? Could it be possible to have a heart so big you could love two people at the same time? And if that wasn’t the case, then did that mean your heart was so small and you had to push someone away to make space for the next?

One thought remained constant: you’d probably ruined everything.

The kiss you shared, however mutual and filled with want, loomed like a threatening shadow over your already fragile friendship with Kiyoomi. Had you finally crossed a line that could never be uncrossed? You couldn’t do undo it, and neither did you want it. And was it selfish to hope for more, to want to kiss him again, when so much was at stake?

Pressing your head against the cold tiles, you let the steam from the shower envelope you. You stood there numbly, letting the water wash away the rain and the remnants of all your darkest fears – yet the uncertainty clung to you like a second skin that was impossible to shed.

What if Kiyoomi felt the same way – that it was going too fast, that none of you had meant to kiss the other? What if your friendship was now tainted by your affections made known?

The thought of losing him, not just as a lover but as a dear friend, was unbearable.

You’d already lost Rintaro. You couldn’t lose Kiyoomi, too.

With your heart far more troubled than before, you emerged from the shower, wrapping yourself in a plush robe that smelled of the same fabric conditioner Kiyoomi used. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for whatever might come next. You told yourself no matter the outcome, you’d bravely accept it.

Stepping out into the hallway, your eyes widened – stumbling back to find Kiyoomi already standing there, waiting for you outside his bedroom door. He remained a few arm’s length away, his expression sheepish. He must’ve seen it written all over your face and wanted to give you space – as if silently saying it isn’t too late. He isn’t cornering you. If you regretted the kiss – you didn’t – then you still had room to walk away, turn around, and tell him to stay where he was at. You didn’t doubt for a moment he would if you’d told him to.

His presence was a quiet reassurance, a gentle reminder that not everything was lost. Just by giving you the space you needed, without you having to ask for it, the difference is crystal clear now.

Kiyoomi isn’t Rintaro.

He looked you at with a soft smile, his eyes warm and kind. “Goodnight,” he says softly, as if afraid any louder and you would flinch from it. And his voice – deep and calming – slowly soothed the punctures to your soul. “Make yourself at home. My place is yours, too.”

A wave of relief washed over you, overwhelmingly enough that tears glossed your eyes once more. Kiyoomi’s simple, kind words held with them a promise of something more, a silent vow that your bond was not broken, merely… changing. Evolving. You’d been so afraid of things not staying what it was because you’d seen it firsthand with Rintaro – how he loved you one day, and couldn’t bear to be with you the next. But Kiyoomi isn’t Rintaro. Change with Kiyoomi didn’t have to be daunting; it could be something you embraced with open arms.

You realized that despite the torrent of your emotions, through the uncertainty and fears, there was a foundation of trust and care between you that could withstand any storm.

This is Kiyoomi, after all. When had he ever let you down? In your darkest moments, he’d ensured you were never lonely. Whenever you cried, he always offered his shoulder. And when you felt like everything had been taken away from you, he humbly offers his heart – silently pleading you would take it.

The weight on your shoulders suddenly seemed to lift, replaced by a fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, everything would be okay.

“Goodnight, Kiyoomi,” you return his smile – quietly hoping it conveyed more than words ever could.

You walked towards your room, feeling the faintest sense of tranquility settle over you – the first in what felt like an eternity. Already, being apart from the suffocating hands of the Queen made you feel like a newborn taking its first gasp of air.

Ahead you, the road was filled with ambiguities. There would undoubtedly be more challenges to face, but for now, you allowed yourself to be selfish enough to hold onto the small, precious kiss you’d shared. The memory of his gentle goodnight, the warmth of his hands against your rain-soaked skin… Kiyoomi would be your anchor. You would cling to the hope that your connection, whatever it may become, would be strong enough to weather the trials ahead.

It had to. You couldn’t say goodbye to another person.

And so you lay there in your new bed, the manor silent around you. Outside, the rain poured still, each droplet knocking against the glass panes of the windows. It kept you awake and comforted, burrowing deeper into the blankets as you watched the expanse of Inarizaki Palace beyond.

Odd, you thought, how you always dreamt of freedom, fantasized about being released from the chains of a loveless marriage every night. And here you were, offered a divorce. Rintaro had made the difficult decision for you. You stood on the precipice of that liberation you longed for, yet you found paralyzed by a new kind of fear.

Kiyoomi… with his warm eyes and huge heart, offered everything you’d craved for. He was the epitome of a fresh start, a beacon of hope in the murky waters of your past. With him, you could build a life free from all the deceit and betrayal. You could be in Itachiyama right now, riding alongside Kiyoomi with the wind whipping past your cheeks and your carefree laughter echoing in the open spaces. He was the better option, that came with no argument, but were you?

Could you truly give him the love he deserved, the life he, too, had a right to live?

Could you offer him a heart unmarred by the scars of her past, a love untainted by your lingering hurt and doubts?

That moment you ran away from Rintaro, you told yourself you were ready to let go. You could finally leave your marriage and the pain it brought you far, far behind. But now? With the revelation of your husband’s life being in grave danger, how he’s being used like a puppet to be toyed with, your resolve wavered.

Rintaro was a man you once loved, still love. Just as he was the man who had hurt you deeply. The thought of leaving him to face such dangers alone, to be burdened with the knowledge the Crown intended to utilize him like a tool, to know he was being treated inhumanely – it tugged at your heart. It wasn’t just guilt, or conscience. It was obligation. Could you truly walk away now, knowing if you abandoned him, not only would this Kingdom fall into ruins, but Rintaro would disappear, too?

The decision was impossibly cruel – to choose between protecting the one you had once loved, or to safeguard your own bruised, and battered heart.

The pull of duty and the promise of new love were forces tearing you apart to pieces. You felt tired, so tired, of this endless cycle of heartache and confusion.

All you wanted now was a moment of clarity, a sign to guide your weary soul.

You could choose to protect Rintaro, to honor the love you once shared. Or you could choose to protect your own heart, to seek solace in the arms of another. Each choice came with its own sacrifices, its own cost.

As the night wore on, you found yourself staring at the ceiling, accompanied by the quiet ticking of the clock. You knew whatever decision you made, it would shape the course of your life, defining the path you would walk from this point onward. The road to freedom and the road to duty were intertwined, and you stood at the middle of it, the harsh whispers of your past and the hopeful promises of the future converging into one, impossible feat.

And so you lay there, waiting for the dawn to break. You hoped that with the light of day, you might find the strength to make your choice, and embrace your fate. When sleep finally arrived at your doorstep, and your eyelids grew heavy, one more thought crossed your mind.

Rintaro, are you sleeping better now that she’s next to you?

After what felt like forever, the next day arrived.

The morning light stretched its fingers through the tall windows of your new chamber, its golden glow bouncing off the fabrics off your bed. The room, despite being lavishly adorned, felt oddly cold and distant – as if it knew it was a place meant for two, and a room too big for one. Stirring awake, the remnants of last night’s memories came flashing into memory. The softness of Kiyoomi’s lips, the tenderness of his smile… you sighed to yourself, eyes fluttering with a lingering sense of unease.

It wasn’t moments later when the doors to your room opened. The attendants of Belleview Manor moved silently around you, their presence an unfamiliar routine. They were efficient and precise as they tip-toed, their movements almost mechanical as they announced they were to prepare you for the day.

You sat quietly and allowed them to do as they pleased.

It was… a suffocating routine, to say the least. Not even in the main Palace halls were you ever treated like this – ushered into the bath, with two lady servants lathering soap all over your body, and another pair to dry you off. In the main Palace halls, you had more freedom to move about. You could share your bathroom with Rintaro, and even shave his day-old stubble for him. Sometimes, he’d take it upon himself to choose your lotion for you, but here in Belleview Manor, they operated differently. They moved with a clear goal in mind: to perfect the Princess of the Manor before they stepped foot outside.

Toweled and dried off, and smelling like roses half an hour later, you glanced at your reflection from the mirror. Was this how Iris’ daily life had been ever since she married into the royal family?

Although you said no word, your eyes betrayed your inner exhaustion. The weight of your responsibilities, the constant scrutiny, and the unending cycle of keeping lies had all worn you thin. The price of losing your privacy in exchange of being pampered was almost worth it. That’s how tired you were.

The servants dressed you with practiced hands, each layer of clothing a reminder of the role you were expected to play. The dusty rose dress they selected was nothing short of exquisite, but as they draped it over you, it felt more like armor than a garment. It felt heavy on your shoulders; a barrier between your true self and what you were supposed to be. The jewels they chose were also dazzling, each piece carefully selected to complement your outfit – and each one just as heavy and cold against your skin.

Throughout it all, not a single soul spoke a word. The ritualistic nature of it, the lack of personal agency even in the simplest tasks, struck you as deeply inhumane. Everyone here was detached, like dolls without their own thoughts.

Weren’t you the same?

You were a Princess now, a symbol of grace and elegance. Yet, in moments like this, you weren’t that different from a doll – meticulously adorned and presented for the world to see.

You gazed at your reflection one last time. The image staring back at you was flawless, the epitome of perfection. It’d be impossible to tell you merely wore a mask, hiding the turmoil and desperation boiling beneath. It was even harder to tell which was the heavier on your shoulders – the weight of your shoulders, today’s agenda, or the dress.

Allowing the attendants to finish their work, their hands deftly adjusted your attire, perfecting your appearance. They took one last glance, nodded at each other, and promptly left the room.

You let out a breath you’d been holding.

In front you stared back the sealed letter the attendants had brought in. It was an official order from Her Majesty regarding today’s plans – visit an orphanage sponsored by the royal family, smile and wave at everybody, look like a happily married couple, and show camaraderie with Princess Iris. A damned unfortunate event, if you were to be asked.

Nevertheless, a duty had to be performed. Kiyoomi, too, was already gone from Belleview Manor by the time you’d finished breakfast. Something about a sudden, emergency meeting with the Queen and her Council, no doubt about Iris’ pregnancy now that the sudden… relocation of spouses had caused quite a stir within the walls. You could only hope the Queen wouldn’t corner him, too.

Stepping out of Belleview Manor, you headed straight for the Palace. You were supposed to rendezvous with Rintaro there, but your husband was nowhere to be found. A kind servant led you to his study and asked you to wait there, reassuring His Highness would come around soon.

As you entered the study, you were immediately engulfed by a familiar scent – a subtle blend of sandalwood and something uniquely Rintaro. The room was an intimate reflection of him, his essence woven into every detail. Even without him in the space, you felt and saw your husband everywhere – from bookshelves lined with his favorite novels, to historical tomes of the grand, yet dark history, of Inarizaki. His desk, a sturdy piece of polished wood, bore the marks of his diligent work – stacks of paperwork lay half-done, his favorite pen perched on top as if awaiting his return.

On the desk, your eyes landed on a framed photograph of the two of you, a moment from your days of courtship frozen in time. You were both smiling, carefree – a time when laughter came easily, and the burden of the crown hadn’t touched you. Rintaro stood behind you in the photo, his arms around your waist as he pulled you flushed against his chest. He was whispering something in your ear that made you laugh, your smile perfectly captured just in time.

A pang of nostalgia hit you. You wondered… did he look at this picture and reminisced about those simpler times? He’d been so happy, youthful, and so unlike the way he was now.

It truly was hard to believe that none of it was real.

But could there have been instances where he thought of you often, as he sat here in this very room, surrounded by the things that defined him? Was there ever a time when being a Prince got too hard on him, and he leans back on his seat, exasperated, before he stares into the picture of you?

You shake the thought of it away. Before you could stop yourself, you’d already reached over the photograph and flipped the frame down.

He doesn’t need to look at us. He doesn’t need to remember it all.

Deciding to pass the time, you explore the study more closely, your fingers grazing the spines of books and the smooth surface of his desk. Eventually, you settled into his chair, finding comfort in the leather that bore the imprint of his form. As you sat, you let your eyes and hands wander at everything it would touch. Eventually, it lands on a small velvet-covered journal, bound with twine stings, tucked away in one of the desk’s drawers. Your curiosity piqued, you opened it, feeling the soft texture of the pages beneath your fingers.

What you saw was inside – you could never be prepared for it.

The journal revealed itself as a treasure trove of his most private thoughts and feelings, penned in his unmistakable handwriting. And each entry, each page, was about you. As you read, your breath hitched. Rintaro wrote of your first meetings, saying your laughter was a melody he wanted to hear endlessly, and even admitting how your beauty captivated him so completely that he sometimes forgot to listen to what you were saying.

I don’t know if love’s a feeling, he writes, everyone talks about love at first. In that case, is love not more about seeing rather than feeling? I have all these thoughts, and wonder to myself when I can say if I feel that way over her. Because if love’s a feeling, then it is with a heavy and most regretful heart that I admit that I do not feel such for her. I do not ‘feel’ for her. But I see her. I see her when she smiles, the way she throws her head back when I utter a lame attempt of humor. I look at her in her most unguarded moments, when she thinks no one is looking. I remember her sitting on her garden at the Yuzuru Estate, her book cradled in her lap, as her eyes widen and she makes tiny, little gasps at each page turned. I see her, and I see beauty. I see kindness and light within her, which makes me often wonder if I chose to pursue a lady, or a fallen angel. Today, I can’t help but think about it once more: is love a feeling, or is it seeing? Because when I look at her, I think I get a little closer to the answer.

Tears brim at your eyes. Hastily, you wipe them away, fearful that it might stain and blot the words he’d written. Your fingers grow heavy with hesitation as you turn to the next page.

The world is filled with noise I am not fond of hearing. Here in her arms, there is none of that. There is only the steady sound of her breathing, the lulling rhythm of her heartbeat. It makes me want to carve myself under her skin and remain there. I know she will hold me enclosed in her warmth, and safe from the world. But then I tell myself I am a man and I am a Prince. It is quite shameful to admit I yearn so much for her to hold me again.

You giggled despite yourself. That was true; Rintaro was quite the cuddler.

She haunts me even in my sleep. She visits me in my dreams, when the lights have been shut off and the curtains have been drawn. Her perfume sticks to my skin, and I don’t wash it off. I close my eyes and inhale her scent, wishing, praying, hoping for time to go by faster to when I can have her next to me again. It is with this thought I have come to the realization that I am greedy. She is the first thing I seek when I wake, and it is not enough. It never could be. In my dreams, she is still here next to me, and I never had to watch her walk back to her parents with each ending night.

A mix of shock and flattery consumes you. Your heart swells with emotions you’d kept at bay – all the hatred, this crumbling resolve. Rintaro had always been reserved in his own way, but here, in this pages, he was painfully honest, vulnerable, and profoundly affectionate. Was this how his mind worked when he thought no one was watching? Was this not the truth, the rawest point of one’s love bleeding like ink onto paper?

With a trembling lower lip, you dared turn onto another page. Your heart dropped when you realized it was the final entry, and Rintaro was only a few pages away from filling it up.

I am afraid. All I have ever loved eventually slips from my grasp like sand falling through fingertips. I am afraid a time will come I will love her, and she will be taken away from me. I am afraid to love and to have something to mourn. But if I do not love her, then I will lose nothing. Therefore, I should be on guard and ensure she does not steal away what I treasure most. I will not let her take my heart from me if it means she will run away with it on her person someday.

But I want to love her. By the Gods, I do.

I wish I had met her first.

His journal clutched between your hands, you bent over the desk. It was becoming difficult to breathe, your dress impossibly tighter than it was moments ago. Even your vision blurred as tears formed again.

“Is she here already?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Your head snapped up. Rintaro’s voice drifted outside the hall, sounding as if he were speaking to an older man whose words came slow and careful. Outside, you heard more footsteps, one rushed and the other angry.“Why didn’t you tell me earlier? I would’ve wrapped up my meeting sooner.” It was Rintaro.

“My apologies, Sir. Her Highness said she was content to wait-”

“She’s a Princess, you fool. You don’t make a woman like her wait.”

“…Yes, Sir. I will do better next time.”

Shooting up from your seat, you make quick work of tying the twine around his journal, and shoving it back to the drawers. You had only a minute to compose yourself before the doors swung open. Rintaro entered, and the sight of him broke your heart. His hair was a disheveled mess, with dark circles lining under his eyes. He hesitated upon seeing you – standing at his desk, hands clasped behind your back, and your framed photograph facing down the table.

His lips flattened into a thin line. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to take so long,” he grumbled, his voice barely audible. “Have you been waiting a while?”

“No, I just arrived here.”

“Okay,” he nodded, more so to himself than you. “Shall we? The orphanage is waiting for us.”

As Rintaro moved further into the room, you started seeing him in a new light, remembering the words he’d written about you – his candid confessions of affection and admiration. It was so greatly different from the compliments he’d said out loud. And it was wrong, it felt wrong, having such knowledge over something he clearly didn’t want to be known. But it was getting harder to forget and ignore him now even more, not when the room was filled with his presence and embraced you. The faint scent of his cologne, the scattered papers on his desk, the photograph, the journal.

You could feel the weight of the unspoken truth between you, daring you to reach out and confront it. Your heart ached even more now that you’d glimpsed a part of him that he had kept hidden.

It must’ve been written all over your face. Rintaro approaches you, a hint of concern in his eyes as he took in the trembling of your hands. “Are you alright?” he asked, his voice gentle but probing.

You nodded, your smile softening. “Yes, just… thinking,” you replied, attempting to keep your tone light. “It must have been a stressful meeting.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It was. But seeing you here makes it better.”

His words, though simple, carried a weight. You felt the stirrings of hope, a fragile thread that connected you despite the complexities of your situation.

In that moment, you realized how much you had both been holding back, how much you needed to communicate and heal. What if… he’d just said it all out loud? What if he had told you, that he did mean it, and he did harbor affection for you? It wouldn’t change anything, of course. The past couldn’t be done. His mistakes couldn’t be forgiven. You weren’t enough of a saint to wake up one day and forget everything.

But it could help you move forward – together.

He just had to tell you. I love you, and you would say it back. As quickly as that thought crossed your mind, however, a certain Prince with soft lips and genuine promises flashed in your head.

You took a step back, putting some distance between you and Rintaro as you realized.

If Rintaro said he loved you… you wouldn’t say it back.

The soft music playing in the car does little to alleviate the tension.

Rintaro sat beside you in the back seat, a pronounced distance between the two of you. His restlessness was evident; he kept shifting in his seat, fingers lightly taping on his knee, and his gaze flickering to the window and back at you again. He knew today was such an important event, that he should’ve gotten some sleep, but it was damned near impossible. How could he when the very room he shared with you, and the bed he’d only slept in next to you once, was now overtaken by a woman whose presence he could hardly stand?

Sure, it’d been his idea. He’d practically dragged an unwilling Iris to the main Palace, all with the hopes of upsetting you – and breaking your heart further – the day you returned. Not that he’d wanted to, but he had to. It was the only way he could succeed in his plans of pushing you far away.

Looking at you now, however… He wasn’t quite sure what to feel.

You looked beautiful. Well-rested, even, as if you’d had the best sleep of your life. Even in the privacy of the vehicle, your posture is ramrod straight. Head held up high proudly. Moving with the careful elegance and grace that came naturally of being born into wealth. And he realized a a part of him loathed it – loathed how you looked… better without him. Loathed how your eyes were bright, your shoulders relaxed, as you gazed out the window and hummed to yourself.

You didn’t look heartbroken as he’d hoped. But it should make him rejoice, should it not? If there was no need to hurt you, and you would already be this detached from him…

Rintaro turned away from you. Of course, he thought to himself, Kiyoomi would’ve taken better care of you.

As you neared the orphanage, Rintaro took a deep breath, steeling himself for the day ahead. He moved to open the door when you suddenly reached out, your hand brushing his arm. He glanced at you in question, your eyes meeting briefly. A flicker of something unspoken passed between you. Apprehension, confusion – he couldn’t quite read your face. Only that you were touching him, and he flinched away from the contact. He knew that beneath those gloves, your hands were smooth and soft, unscarred and unmarred by the hardships of life. It only goes to show how you truly were worlds apart.

But today, your worlds converged into one. He had to be the Crown Prince this Kingdom looked up to, no matter how much of a false pretense it held. Today would be the first day he’d have to touch you again, to show the world how much he loved you. And he would – he’d rather the world know he adored you than you realize this for yourself.

Stepping out of the car, you were bombarded by flashing lights and the cheering hoots of your people. Rintaro ignored them all. He simply moved to your side in an instant, his hand finding its place in the curve of your arm as he helped you exit the vehicle.

A smile instantly lit up your face. Raising a hand, you waved at everyone, and he followed, though his smile was more forced than pleased. Soon, you were ushered inside the orphanage by a throng of guards.

“What?”

“Why are you staring?” you lightly tapped his chest with your hand, frowning down at yourself. “Is there something wrong with my outfit?”

“Not at all. I was just…” Rintaro gestured down to your outfit. “You’re wearing heels and a skirt, and the pavement is rough. I was making sure you wouldn’t trip.”

“Oh.”

His eyes flickered back to yours. Your shock was unmasked; eyes wide and red-painted lips slightly pulled apart. It made him match your previous frown. You didn’t have to look too shocked that he was capable of concern, though he couldn’t blame you. He hadn’t been the greatest husband so far, and neither was he going to become one anytime soon. And as if the universe wanted to remind him of that, Iris finally appeared – rounding the corner and speaking softly with the orphanage caretakers.

Today, she wore a white, loose and flowy dress to hide her baby bump. White to signify purity, another one of the Queen’s careful schemes to fool the public. Just the sight of her was enough to make Rintaro’s stomach twist.

“Hey,” you spoke beside him, your voice small yet firm. “We will be okay. It’s all just for show.”

Right. For show. He supposed he had the Queen to thank for this public event, then, otherwise you would have no other reason to touch him and smile at him this freely.

Later, the three of you entered the orphanage, greeted with smiles and waves from the children who had all been eagerly waiting your arrival. The children sang songs they had prepared, their voices rising in a sweet, joyous chorus that filled the room with a warmth that momentarily distracted them from the harrowing truth.

Princess Iris moved gracefully among the children, her eyes lighting up in genuine delight as she shared the baked goods she had brought. Her laughter rang out, soft and melodic. She wiped cookie crumbs from the corners of their small mouths, her touch somewhat awkward yet gentle. It almost made Rintaro snicker, seeing for himself how… unaffectionate Iris was.

Across the room, you sat with a group of children, your posture far from being regal as you read stories aloud. You’d taken off your heels to sit cross-legged on the ground, your skirts puffed out underneath you. On your lap sat a little girl with pigtails as she sucked on her thumb. Each time she squealed in delight, she would thump her spit-covered fists onto your blouse – not that you minded. From the looks of it, everyone was enamored with you. He observed the children, their eyes wide with wonder, captivated not just by the tales you spun, but also your beauty.

He caught the giggles of young boys whispering in awe amongst themselves, saying it was their first time encountering a real-life princess.

Seeing everyone’s joy made him feel out of place. Desperate to not appear useless, Rintaro approached a caregiver, who was gently rocking a sleeping baby in her arms. Seeing her weariness, he offered to the take baby so she could rest. The caregiver smiled gratefully, handing over the child with a nod of thanks and reverent bow. Holding the baby in his arms, Rintaro tested out how to balance his weight in his arms before walking over to where the children were gathered around you. He sat down, positioning himself just on the periphery of the circle – close enough to hear your soothing voice as you read, yet far enough to avoid your gaze.

He couldn’t stop himself from watching you, a soft pang in his chest as he imagined a life that might have been. One where he hadn’t strayed, where your bond had remained unbroken.

In his daydreams, he envisioned the exact same family scene – you, his wife, reading stories to your firstborn, while he held your youngest, a picture of domestic bliss. There’s cookie dough smattered all over the countertops from a failed baking attempt, and the children are running around chasing each other to wipe the dough on each other’s cheeks. You would chase after them, wet wipes in hand. And Rintaro would hide in a corner, signaling to his children to come running into his arms to escape their mother’s cleaning. The house would be filled with laughter, and he would have grown old with you.

The thought filled him with a melancholic longing, a vision of happiness that felt achingly out of reach.

Looking down at the baby in his arms, a small smile was tugged at his lips. The child’s face was so innocent, so naïve. Rintaro gently caressed the baby’s cheek, the soft skin beneath his fingertips urging from him a protective desire. To have such a tiny thing in his arms, so helpless yet so trusting… it was hard to imagine he’d been like this at one point. It filled him with sadness and shame, knowing that the life he imagined could never be.

He was not a true Prince, just a puppet in the Queen’s grand design. His wife didn’t know this truth, a secret that further deepened his sense of inadequacy every time he stood next to you.

He knew, too, that if he’d never been taken away from his parents, he could’ve never had this life. You would’ve never noticed him, as he’d just be somebody far in the background, blurred and insignificant. But you would remain pristine and glorious, sitting prettily in your estate’s living room as you entertain the next lucky man whose smile you would grace with.

None of it could’ve been real. There were no hopes for in another life, or dreams of maybe in another universe. In all the universes that existed within now, you could never be his.

Rintaro felt like an imposter in his own life, undeserving the love and loyalty of someone like you – a noblewoman who had a great future ahead of her. A future that he’d ruined by marrying you. His gaze flickered towards you, finding that you’d already looked up from your book and smiled at him, and the baby in his arms. It was a gesture he couldn’t bring himself to return. He looked away quickly and focused on the baby instead, wondering if his own beginning had been as uncertain and lonely.

He’d been this innocent, once. Left behind, only to be picked up and molded into a puppet to lead a throne that wasn’t truly his.

He remained distant, physically present but emotionally removed from today’s duty. He was unable to shake the weight of his insecurities, the doubts of why he was even here in the first place. He stayed silent and held the baby close, as if the small warmth in his arms could somehow anchor him amidst the raging torrent of his regrets.

“Your Highness,” the caregiver appeared beside him, a smile on her weary, wrinkled face. “I hope our little one hasn’t been too fussy?”

“He’s a precious baby,” Rintaro reassured, swaying the baby in his arms to show he was peacefully asleep. Gently brushing his soft hair, he turned to the caregiver with a small frown. “Where are his parents? He’s too young to be alone.”

The caregiver’s crestfallen face told him this happened more often that they would like. “He was given up for adoption, Sir. His parents couldn’t afford to raise him, and they thought it was best to secure his future by… giving him up. It was the only thing they could do to give him a good life.”

Rintaro nodded, unsure of what to do with the information.

The call for snack time suddenly echoed through the orphanage, the children eagerly scampering toward the kitchen and their caretakers. Reluctantly, Rintaro had to let go of the baby. Iris had joined them, too, her lilting voice blending with the children’s. She was especially contrived today, all jovial smiles and eager agreements to anything the children wanted.

Choosing solitude over the cheerful chaos, Rintaro wandered out into the orphanage’s garden.

The garden was a carefully tended sanctuary for the children, with lush greenery and vibrant flowers that painted the landscape. Stone pathways meandered through beds of roses, lilies, and lavender, all leading to wooden benches nestled under the shade of ancient trees. The place vaguely reminded him of his first date with you, when he’d taken you into the Palace Gardens. Such a time was only two years ago, and it’d already felt like forever had passed.

With his head down, Rintaro walked, letting the serenity of the garden seep into him. The air was cool and fragrant, which he gladly inhaled with deep puffs of air.

Lost in contemplation, he failed to notice your approach until you were suddenly beside him – your presence a gentle intrusion to his momentary solitude. You’d moved so quietly, as if aware he needed this silence. Still, you were unwilling to leave him alone in his thoughts. Together, you walked alongside him down the winding paths, your steps slow and unhurried with each clack of your heel.

The world around him seemed to pause and hold its breath in anticipation.

Rintaro glanced at you from the corner of his eye, enamored with the way you carried yourself. The way your dress flowed like liquid silk with each step, and the way your constant, barely audible humming made him feel serene. There was a softness in your expression he knew he didn’t deserve – one that both comforted and pained him. And with each step you took, the garden seemed to come alive. The colors grew more vivid, the air sweeter with your rosy scent, as if nature itself responded to the sweet calls of your song.

Lilies, he remembered now. He’d once likened you to lilies – delicate and ethereal, with a beauty that was timeless. Its pure white petals and gentle fragrance had always evoked a sense of tranquility within him.

But now, gazing upon you, he realized that lilies no longer fit the enigma called you. You’d become more like a rose, with its layer of deceptively soft petals, entrapping its prey under its perilous smiles. You had the sweetest of fragrances and yet, with your thorns, served as a reminder to him of the pain that your love could bring. Gone was the serene lily of his early affections now that it was in full bloom, vibrant and strong. Gone was the delicate lady he danced with on that night. But he had you – his wife who he craved to embrace, even if it meant he’d bleed out to death.

The two of you reached a secluded corner of the garden, where a bench stood beneath a flowering arbor. You paused there, your gaze distant, yet your proximity to him felt like an unspoken promise, a silent tell how you always kept to your vow – that you would stay, and wait for him, even if he could not bring himself to reach for you.

Rintaro briefly closed his eyes, allowing himself to relish in this fleeting moment – the warmth of the sun on his skin, the scent of roses in the air. You stood there, side by side, fingers shy from brushing against each other. It was a battle of who would drop their pride and speak first, a battle that, it seemed, you would surrender to each time.

“You’re a natural with the children,” you finally speak, rocking back on your heels as you smiled at him. He didn’t like that smile – like you knew something he didn’t, like you chose to be kind to someone who didn’t deserve it.

“I like children,” was all he responds with, content to stay under the shade of the arbor.

You nodded, your gaze dropped at your feet. Beside you, he could see you fiddling with your fingers, trying to find the right thing to say. “How was uhm… your first night? With Iris staying at our – your – room, I mean.”

Rintaro raised a challenging brow. “Are we going to argue about it?”

“No, I was only curious.”

“Why do you wish to know? Are you some sort of masochist?”

You sighed in defeat. “I’m just trying to make small talk, Rintaro. You’ve been avoiding me like I carry the plague each time no one is looking.”

“Isn’t that what you would prefer? Why would I need to put up with the happily married act when there is no need?” he rolled his eyes, suddenly feeling hot under his suit. “It’s just us here. There are no cameras for you to perform in front of. You don’t ‘need’ to initiate conversation with me. There’d be no purpose.”

Your lips twitched in irritation. “Can’t a wife be curious on her husband’s well-being?”

“You can, although I would advise that you don’t.”

He can tell you were doing your best to hold back. He’s courted you long enough to expect the clenching of your fists, the heavy rise and fall of your chest. And there it was – you spin towards his way, shoving your face so close to him that he’s forced to step back. You smelled a little too nice, and he didn’t want to forget his purpose: to make you hate him.

“Why are you being so difficult, Rintaro? I just want to talk.”

“I don’t.”

“Well, I do,” you jabbed a finger at his chest. “I barely slept, if you must know. All I could think about was how… how you’re probably sleeping better now that you don’t have to be in the same room as me. How you ran away when I kissed you at my parent’s estate, how you’re always just – just running off. Like you can’t stand another second of being by my side, and I understand you don’t love me, but why do you avoid me? What have I ever done to you, Rintaro? Why do you push me away?”

Because I love you, is what he wanted to say, but he settled for the next truth instead. Clenching his jaw, Rintaro grabbed at your wrist, effectively stopping you from pushing into him again. “Because I don’t want you getting close.”

“Why? I know all your secrets already. You have nothing to hide. I’ve seen you at your worst, and I stayed, and I’m trying-”

“Trying to what?”

“Trying to make it work,” you snapped back, freeing yourself from his grip. And this was the part he hated the most, when you began sniffling and hastily wiping at your tears. It made him want to reach out for his handkerchief folded in his breast pocket. To reach over and wipe those tears away, and promise that he wouldn’t make you cry anymore. But he doesn’t – it’s a promise he couldn’t keep. He didn’t want to tell you another lie. So he lets you cry and remains his distance, watching as your lower lip wobbles, “Trying to make us work. Trying to understand why you suddenly did not want me anymore. Because I married you, and regardless of what you’ve done, I’m still your wife just as you are my husband. I don’t… I don’t want to keep hating you.”

Rintaro sighed. “It’d be best if you did There is no point trying to make our marriage work. We’re getting divorced.”

“I never agreed to that!”

“You don’t know who you married, Y/N. I told you before, and I’ll say it again,” gritting his teeth, Rintaro gave you one last glare. “This union is a mistake. And I intend to correct it, whatever means it may take.”

The remnants of your argument faded into the stillness of the garden. Silence stretched between you as he saw the pain in your eyes, the hurt you tried to mask with a forgiving smile. You’re stupid, he wants to tell you, offering him yet another chance to mend what was broken. Your kindness knew no bounds – but isn’t that why he’d chosen you? He’d known you would be soft, and now this softness soothed all his aches, serving as another reminder you gave him the kind of love he felt unworthy to receive.

With each step he takes away from you, it becomes harder to ignore the voices. The ones screaming at him to apologize, to turn back, to make things right.

How could you still be so forgiving after everything he’d done? You had given hope, made him believe, if only for the briefest moments that this marriage could be salvaged. And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to bare the truth – that he was a pretender, a man with no noble blood, a nobody. The fear of you finding out, of seeing the disappointment in your eyes, was a burden too great for him to bear.

Your anger because he’d loved another? That, he could stomach.

Your disappointment over him leading you on? That, he could endure.

But he could never stand the thought of you looking down on him, or worse, pitying him for the lies he’d been led to believe. In his mind, it was much better for you to see him as the flawed prince rather than a worthless impostor. Better to let you cling to the illusion of his nobility than to destroy it with the harsh reality of his origin. Because he feared that once you knew, you would regret being with him – regretting that you’d wasted your time on a low-life like him.

And so Rintaro did what he had always done. He ran.

He ran from the truth, from the shame of confessing his deepest insecurities, from the possibility of your rejection. In the end, it wasn’t your forgiveness he feared, but the realization that he was not the man you thought he was.

The royal visit to the orphanage, much to the Queen’s delight, had been a success.

Photographs captured you and Rintaro smiling, your hands lightly touching as you interacted with the children. The press was generous with its praise on your apparent reconciliation, the headlines brimming with approval for your ‘undying love and commitment to one another.’

“The Crown Prince has never looked more in love,” they’d written, perfectly capturing the moments where his gaze never strayed far from yours, as if you were the only person in the room. Even the supposed ‘rift’ between you and Princess Iris, his ‘alleged mistress’, were dismissed as nothing but measly rumors. Your public display of holding babies and children with the already pregnant Princess shushed all whispers of a scandal.

Despite the event’s success, the troubles never left you. The ride back home was spent in utter silence as Rintaro closed himself off from the world. And when you’d arrived at the Palace, he walked back to the main hall with Iris, hand-in-hand.

That was enough to make you return to Belleview Manor.

As soon as you’d opened the doors, you were met with a crushing embrace. A small ‘oof’ came out of you when Kiyoomi swept you up in his arms, his nose buried in your neck as he mumbled ‘miss you’s’ at the crook of your neck. It’s wholly sweet, and has you weakening in the knees. Shyly, you reciprocate the embrace – your cheek on his shoulder, and your arms wrapping around the broadness of his back. He’s warm, and smells like mint. He feels like home, too, and you let him guide you back inside the manor as you exchange small talk on how the other’s day went.

The simplicity of the evening with him was comforting; Kiyoomi had prepared dinner, and brought out two glasses of wine. He’d suggested watching a movie to end the day, an attempt to escape into a world where the Crown couldn’t touch you for the next few hours.

But as the images flickered on the screen, you found yourself undeniably distracted.

Rintaro’s hidden journal weighed heavily on your mind, its paged filled with heartfelt confessions and confusing desires. That journal had revealed a side of him you’d never known, his want both startling and softening you around the edges. The realization that he had always held affections for you – even when he couldn’t realize it – made the world feel more unsteady than it already was. It was a truth that cut through the façade of your strained marriage, making you question whether you were truly ready to leave everything behind. To leave him behind.

The answer doesn’t come even as you sit beside Kiyoomi, the prince you’d kissed the night before, the one who’d shown you kindness and love when you needed it most.

The warmth of his presence at your side, the ease of your companionship – it all made your history with Rintaro seem bleak. And yet, the thought of walking away from your marriage felt like severing a part of yourself, a decision fraught with consequences you weren’t strong enough to face.

It wasn’t an easy dilemma to be caught in – the prospect of a new beginning with Kiyoomi, who cherished you, or to brave through the storm of rebuilding a life with Rintaro, who’d hidden his true feelings behind his walls of silence.

The journal had given you a glimpse into a love you thought you’d forever lost, a flicker of hope lit in the distance that perhaps you could find your way back to each other. But there was also fear – the fear of repeating the past, of making the same mistakes, of investing in a relationship that might never heal. Didn’t they say it was only fools who kept doing the same thing, over and over again, and expecting different results?

Before you realized it, the credits had begun rolling as the room fell into darkness. The prince beside you reached out, his fingers playing with the hem of your sleeves. “You’re distracted.”

You winced, allowing yourself to be scooped up effortlessly in his arms. “Is it that obvious?”

“Yes, painfully so,” Kiyoomi’s chest rumbles with laughter. He holds you there in his lap, one of his hands circling around your hips, and the other caressing your cheek. You lean into it, seeking his warmth, and sighing at the smoothness of his palm. “There’s something troubling you.”

“Yes…”

Leaning back against the couch, Kiyoomi offers a tender smile. “I’ve been told I’m a great listener. Comes with being a representative of two countries, I believe. You become exceptional at solving people’s problems.”

His words pull a smile from your face. Still, it isn’t easy to tell him everything, but you found yourself doing so anyway. It was hard to keep secrets around Kiyoomi. And so you recall the conversation you’d had with Her Majesty – to choose between making this marriage work, letting Rintaro become King, or doom this Kingdom by letting it all fall to ashes, or let Atsumu reign free. At the mention of the blond twin, Kiyoomi’s grip on your hips tightened, showing his silent disapproval. Somehow, you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him about Rintaro’s origin. It was… your secret, for now. A secret that you’d kept locked away in the recesses of your heart, with the key thrown at the edge of a metaphorical cliff.

It was the one thing you’d keep from Kiyoomi.

“I think…” Kiyoomi’s brows furrow in thought, “…you should do what you think is right.”

You frown at him. He’d looked displeased the entire time you’d told him of the Queen’s desire to prevent the divorce from happening, but otherwise kept his lips sealed. “That is a very basic answer.”

He shrugged. “It’s the only right one.”

Silently agreeing with him, you decided to let it go. The two of you remained close to each other like that, your bodies naturally leaning into each other. He was close enough that you could feel the gentle rise and fall of his breathing, the steady rhythm like a lullaby to your troubled mind.

In the quiet that followed, Kiyoomi moved closer, his arm slipping around your shoulders in another tender embrace. There was a hesitancy to his movements, a shy uncertainty that belied his obvious longing. His touch was gentle, his fingertips tracing delicate patterns along your arms as if afraid you might pull you away. But you never did.

Instead, you sunk into the comfort of his embrace, finding solace in the affection he never withheld.

Kiyoomi leaned in slightly, his breath warm against your skin as his lips brushed against your temple. It was a chaste kiss, a question wrapped in tenderness – asking for permission in the most subtle of ways. His large hand moved to cradle your face, his thumb lightly brushing against your cheek, and you could the faint tremors in his touch.

There was a need in his eyes – a deep, unspoken yearning that mirrored your own. Yet, the respect he held was clear in his gaze, a silent plea for your consent, for you to guide him through the boundaries you had yet to define.

You felt a warm flutter in your chest for this man. It made your mind go back to your debut ball, when you’d first danced with Kiyoomi and had him as your last.

If he’d called on me then, would things be different?

You knew, without a doubt, the answer was yes. If he’d called on you, you would’ve fallen in love with him instead, and eventually got married. Perhaps now you would already have a son or a daughter wreaking havoc here in Belleview Manor. Or maybe they would be quiet and reserved like their father, choosing to rest in his lap as Kiyoomi teaches them the right pronunciation of bigger words. He would’ve been yours, and you would’ve been his.

… And Rintaro would’ve never been in the picture as anyone significant.

As Kiyoomi drew closer, you felt the warmth of his lips hovering near hers. His hand remained cupping your face, his thumb tracing the curve of your jaw, and with that touch alone you felt a promise – a promise of gentleness, of care, of a desire that was as much about your comfort as it was about his yearning. A silent promise of I love you and It will always be you. Then, the air between you seemed to crackle, this moment shared with bated breath and unspoken confessions.

“Can I touch you?”

A small nod was all Kiyoomi needs before he’s moving.

Slowly, impossibly slowly, Kiyoomi closed the distance between you. His lips grazed yours in the barest feather-light touch, testing the waters and seeking a connection. It was a kiss that was as gentle as his touch, a delicate dance between lovers who hadn’t rehearsed their movements. But the sensation of kissing him felt like sunshine after a rainy day, like coming home when you’d been away from it for too long. He was familiar, yet new – a rediscovery of a long-forgotten comfort. You never thought that something so wrong could have felt so right.

The kiss deepened, and Kiyoomi groans into your mouth. Each touch of his lips, each gentle caress, felt like a revelation – peeling away the layers of uncertainty and revealing the undeniable, simple truth that you’d both wanted this, had thought about it more times than you’d like to admit.

Kissing Kiyoomi was like falling in love for the first time, when you’d still been unafraid and bravely jumped off – knowing he’d always be there to catch you when you did.

The kiss was sweet and unhurried, neither moving more than what was necessary because you had all the time in the world. It also held a promise of more to come, and you couldn’t wait to get there.

As you finally pulled away to catch your breath, your foreheads rested against each other. Kiyoomi’s lips are swollen and red from your passionate kiss, and he smiles – the sight beautiful enough to make your heart stutter. “I never thought I had to remind you, but if it’s any reassurance… you don’t need to worry about me. I will wait for you,” he promises, turning your wrist inward to place a kiss right at your pulse, his gaze not once leaving you. “As long as it takes, Princess. As long as it’s you.”

You reciprocate his smile and lean forward, resting your head on his chest contentedly. There, you breathe in his scent, sleepily mumbling, “I heard the Queen called you over this morning to talk about the baby… what did she say?”

You felt Kiyoomi sigh above you. “It’s just as I feared. We are to make a formal announcement soon on the pregnancy. Her Majesty hopes that if I declare we’re having a baby, it’d make our marriage look more…”

“Real?”

“It has always been real,” he corrects, and you wince at his brutal honesty. “But Her Majesty hoped it’d send across the message that it was marriage of love, I meant.”

You snorted. “Now that is unreal.”

“Very unreal.”

“I won’t let it happen,” you lift your head to shake it at him, vehemently refusing. Just… the thought of Iris parading around with Kiyoomi on her arms… it made you feel sick. “That child isn’t yours. You don’t need to take responsibility for it.”

Kiyoomi merely smiles, unaffected by this whole ordeal. “Don’t fret about it, Princess. I don’t plan on playing house with her soon, or anytime for that matter. I’m yours, remember?”

You tried not to melt at his words. “But… if duty calls, you will have to act like you’re in love with her. You’re going to go out pretending that you’re a happy family, and how you’re ecstatic about this pregnancy. I can’t watch it happen, Kiyoomi. I can’t.”

“Then would you rather Rintaro play father of the year?”

You rear back, flinching as if you’d been slapped in the face. “That is very unfair.”

“Forgive me. I was only teasing,” he reassured, his voice light yet husky as he stares at you. Desire pools in the darkness of his eyes once more, his grip around your body hardening. “I like you like this – in my home, and smelling of me. I like seeing you so… concerned over my fate,” he says, smirking at you as you laid with your legs sprawled around him. “Is it bad I am thoroughly enjoying the fact you are upset for my sake right now?”

“You are one odd man.”

“A man is never normal when he is in love.”

When night time arrives, and Kiyoomi has retired to bed, you finally make the decision to make the phone call. He answers at the third ring, and even without speaking, you could already picture the smug grin the journalist is wearing. He’d been waiting for your call for months – a call you never made at the mercy of not adding more burdens to Rintaro. But now?

Now, you had to save Kiyoomi, just as he’d save you.

“Finally made up your mind, Princess?”

“Yes, Kuroo,” you sighed, glancing at the serenity of the Inarizaki Palace at this time of the night. It wouldn’t be long before that said peace would be disrupted. “It’s time.”

𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋 𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐒 𝐀𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐈?

In an unprecedented revelation that has sent shockwaves through the courts of Itachiyama and Inarizaki, the true identity and motives of Princess Iris Amari are called into question. Known hitherto as a paragon of virtue and a beacon of diplomacy between the two nations, the princess’s ascent from humble origins to the heights of royalty is now under scrutiny.

What hidden truths lie beneath her polished facade? Is her marriage to Prince Kiyoomi a union of love, or a calculated bid for power?

Who indeed is Princess Iris Amari?

Born to Kate Amari, a woman of modest means and erstwhile personal assistant to Lady Sakusa Kanami, the princess’ path to prominence appears less the result of serendipity and more a tale steeped in mystery and intrigue. Lady Sakusa and Kate Amari were known confidantes, their bond solidified amidst the scandals of the King’s many indiscretions. It was amidst this turmoil that Kate Amari mysteriously resigned, relocating to Inarizaki under circumstances as unclear as they were sudden.

The revelations continue to unfold as we delve deeper into the shadows of this royal narrative. Despite her close ties to the Sakusa household and her loyalty declared to the Queen, Kate Amari conspicuously absented herself from the King’s funeral, her departure raising more questions than it answered.

Could this have been an effort to obscure a more sinister involvement? Her daughter’s subsequent enrollment at the prestigious Inarizaki Private Royal Academy and her close association with Crown Prince Rintaro only add layers to this mystery.

Reports suggest that Princess Iris, far from being a passive participant, may have played a more active role in influencing the young and impressionable Crown Prince. Confidential photographs show scenes of reckless behavior: smoking, drinking, and attending unsavory gatherings. Such actions raise the question – was the princess’s influence benign, or was it a calculated effort to destabilize the Crown Prince’s future?

The clandestine marriage of Princess Iris to Prince Kiyoomi, conducted without the customary fanfare and devoid of public engagement, has further aroused suspicion. In contrast to other royal nuptials, this union was marked by an unusual degree of secrecy.

What compelled the royal couple to eschew tradition? Was there something they sought to hide from the prying eyes of the court and the public?

Despite her esteemed position, Princess Iris’s commitment to her official duties has been found wanting. Her infrequent visits to Itachiyama and reported attendance at a controversial private party, accompanied by Crown Prince Rintaro, have further tarnished her public image. These events, allegedly involving illicit substances and scandalous behavior, paint a picture of a royal figure embroiled in activities unbecoming of her station.

The most damning revelation comes from the past of Kate Amari, whose conviction for murder and was imprisoned in a foreign land casts a long shadow over her daughter’s current position. This disclosure raises grave concerns about the character and intentions of Princess Iris.

Is the royal family, revered and respected by the populace, harboring a member with such a tainted lineage within its hallowed halls?

As the public reels from these revelations, the image of Princess Iris as a figure of unity and grace is shattered. Is she merely a pawn in a larger scheme, or the mastermind behind a carefully orchestrated rise to power? The people of Inarizaki and Itachiyama, loyal subjects of the crown, now find themselves questioning the very fabric of their beloved monarchy. The presence of a murderer’s daughter – a woman implicated in deceit, adultery, and scandal – within the royal family challenges the sanctity of the throne and the trust of the nation.

The truth, long obscured, demands to be unveiled. As the court and the public alike seek answers, one question remains: What lies beneath the veneer of Princess Iris Amari, and what fate awaits the royal family in the wake of these revelations?

The eyes of the world are upon Inarizaki, and the unfolding drama promises to redefine the very nature of royalty itself.

#suna x reader #suna rintaro x reader #suna x you #suna x reader angst #haikyuu x reader #kiyoomi x reader #kiyoomi x you #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #sakusa kiyoomi fluff #kiyoomi fluff #suna rintaro angst #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x reader angst #rintaro suna x reader #rintaro x you #kiyoomi x reader fluff #kiyoomi x reader angst

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chasingyuyu · 30 days ago

Text

To Light a Candle - J. YH

Masterlist

Featuring Jeong Yunho as father!stefano

Title : To Light a Candle

Year : 1937

Location : Bologna, Italy

Word Count ~ 9.8k

Genre : drama, romance

Pairing : father!stefano x atheist!reader

Summary : Y/N, an atheist woman hardened by life’s hardships and disillusioned by love, doesn’t believe in fairytales or happy endings. The universe seems to mock her when she stumbles upon Father Stefano, a young Catholic priest whose unwavering faith and compassion are everything she’s spent years rejecting. As their paths cross, the tension between her cynicism and his gentle belief grows, Y/N's life taking an unexpected turn.

Warnings : anxiety and mental health struggles, religion and faith conflicts, past trauma, themes of self-worth and identity, slow-burn romance with emotional tension.

Notes : This work is not read proof. Requests are open. Hope you enjoy!

The rain hit the cobblestones like applause, steady, relentless, drowning out the noise of the world. Y/N’s shoes squelched with every step, her coat soaked through to the bone as she staggered down the narrow alleyways of Bologna. She didn’t care where she was going. The streets all looked the same in this city–gray, ancient, indifferent.

She stopped in front of a pair of massive wooden doors, the intricate carvings half-hidden by the shadows of the night. A church. Of course. The universe had a sick sense of humor.

Y/N hated churches. She hated the smell of incense, the cold judgment of the marble saints, the way the silence pressed on her ears like a vice. And yet, as the rain showed no signs of letting up, she muttered a curse under her breath and shoved the door open.

It creaked like a beast stirring from sleep, echoing through the cavernous interior. The scent of wax and damp stone hit her first, followed by the flicker of candlelight that painted the walls with a golden hue. Y/N paused, dripping on the polished floor, glaring at the crucifix as if daring it to strike her down.

“You’re late for Mass.”

The voice came from somewhere to her left, low, warm, with the faintest hint of amusement. She turned sharply, her wet hair plastering itself across her cheek, to find a man in a black cassock standing by the pews. He wasn’t what she expected. Too young to be a priest, she thought. Or maybe just not tired enough.

“I’m not here for Mass.” She snapped, her voice sharp enough to cut through the quiet. “And you don’t need to tell me I don’t belong here. I already know.”

He raised an eyebrow, stepping closer, his shoes making soft thuds against the stone. “This isn’t a nightclub, signorina. You don’t need a membership card to enter.”

She let out a hollow laugh, the sound ricocheting off the high ceilings. “Well, aren’t you a modern priest? What’s next, a cocktail hour after confession?”

“Not a bad idea.” He said lightly, though his eyes studied her carefully. She was trembling, whether from the cold or something deeper, he couldn’t tell. “But I’d still prefer to know why you’re here.”

“Because it’s raining!” Y/N shot back, wrapping her arms tightly around herself. “And I needed a roof. Happy?”

His lips curved into something resembling a smile, but it wasn’t patronizing. It was soft, patient, like he was letting her win a game he wasn’t interested in playing. “The rain has a way of leading people to unexpected places.” He said. “I’m Father Stefano, by the way. And you are?”

“Leaving.” The girl replied, though her feet remained planted. Her defiance faltered as her eyes darted to the flickering candles. For a moment, her expression cracked, just a flicker of vulnerability before she pulled her walls back up.

“Alright, Leaving...” Stefano said, the humor in his tone just enough to disarm her. “You’re welcome to stay until the rain stops. No sermons, no strings attached. Just a dry pew and a bit of quiet.”

Y/N hesitated. Quiet wasn’t something she was used to. Her mind was usually too loud, a relentless cacophony of doubt, anger and the kind of loneliness that gnawed at her ribs. But the warmth of the church, the steady glow of the candles and the calm presence of this infuriatingly unbothered priest... it wasn’t the worst place she could be.

“Fine.” She muttered, brushing past him and collapsing into a pew at the back. “But don’t get any ideas. I’m not confessing. And I’m definitely not praying.”

Stefano didn’t respond right away. He simply nodded, his gaze lingering on her for a beat longer than necessary before turning back toward the altar.

“Stay as long as you need.” He said over his shoulder.

Y/N leaned back against the pew, arms crossed, trying her best to ignore the warmth seeping through her damp clothes. She wasn’t staying because of him, she told herself. She was staying because the thought of stepping back into the rain felt like a punishment she didn’t deserve.

Her eyes wandered across the high ceilings, where painted angels gazed down at her with pity she didn’t ask for. The candles flickered at the altar, their soft light dancing in the shadows, but it wasn’t enough to distract her from the weight pressing on her chest.

“You’re staring at the ceiling like it owes you something.”

His voice broke through her thoughts, startling her. She glanced over to see Stefano standing near the altar, his cassock flowing as he moved. He wasn’t looking at her, not directly, but there was something about his presence that felt... intentional.

“Maybe it does.” She replied, her tone sharp enough to keep him at arm’s length.

He paused, tilting his head as if considering her answer. “And what might that be?”

She didn’t respond immediately, her gaze dropping to the marble floor. “I don’t know. An explanation, maybe. For why things are the way they are. For why it feels like... like I’m being punished for something I didn’t do.”

Her voice cracked at the end and she hated herself for it. She wasn’t here to bare her soul to some priest with kind eyes and too much patience.

“You think you’re being punished?” Stefano asked, his tone gentle, but not pitying. He stepped closer, keeping a respectful distance. “By God?”

She laughed bitterly. “I don’t believe in God, Father. But if He’s up there, He’s got a cruel sense of humor.”

Stefano didn’t flinch at her words. Instead, he took a seat on the edge of a nearby pew, his hands resting loosely in his lap. “It’s okay to be angry.” He said quietly. “Even at God. Especially at God. I think He understands better than we give Him credit for.”

“Wow...” Y/N said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “You’re really selling this whole ‘faith’ thing.”

“It’s not about selling anything.” he replied simply. “I’m just listening.”

That caught her off guard. She had spent her entire life around people who either wanted to fix her or fixate on her problems. Stefano, it seemed, wanted neither. He just sat there, waiting, as if the silence didn’t bother him at all.

For a moment, Y/N considered leaving. Walking out into the rain and disappearing back into the chaos of her life. But something about the way Stefano sat there, calm and steady, made her stay.

“What’s your deal?” She asked finally, breaking the silence.

He raised an eyebrow. “My deal?”

“Yeah.” She nodded, gesturing vaguely at him. “You’re not like... the others. Most priests would’ve either shoved a Bible in my hands or kicked me out by now.”

Stefano smiled faintly, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. “I guess I’ve learned that people aren’t usually looking for answers. Sometimes, they just want to be heard.”

“Sounds like something they’d teach you in priest school.” She muttered.

“Not exactly." He said, his tone softening. “I had to learn it the hard way.”

Y/N looked at him, really looked at him, for the first time. There was a sadness in his eyes, something deeper than she had expected. It wasn’t pity—she could handle pity. No, this was something else.

“What happened?” She asked before she could stop herself.

Stefano hesitated, his gaze dropping to the floor. “That’s a story for another time." He said, standing and brushing off his cassock. “But for now, you’re welcome to stay as long as you like. The rain doesn’t seem to be letting up anytime soon.”

And with that, he walked back toward the altar, leaving Y/N alone with her thoughts.

She hated how curious she felt. Hated how his quiet presence made her feel something she couldn’t quite name. But for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel like running away.

The rain pounded against the stained-glass windows, each drop a reminder that the storm outside was far less intimidating than the one raging within her. Stefano didn’t push her to talk, didn’t offer any sermons or platitudes. He moved around the church quietly, lighting candles, adjusting books on the pews and straightening the altar cloth. It was almost annoying how at ease he seemed, as though the world wasn’t falling apart around them.

When the rain finally slowed to a drizzle, Y/N forced herself to stand. Her legs felt stiff and she could feel the eyes of the carved saints watching her every movement.

“I’ll go now.” She said, her voice sharper than she intended.

Stefano looked up from where he was kneeling near the altar. “The doors are always open, signorina.”

“Yeah, well, don’t expect me back.” She shot back, turning toward the door.

“I won’t." He said simply.

That stopped her in her tracks. No argument, no insistence that she should come back, no promises of salvation. She turned her head slightly, just enough to catch him watching her, his expression unreadable.

“Good.” She muttered, pushing the door open and stepping into the damp night. "Oh, and Father?" She turned to look back at him. "I'm Y/N."

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

It had been weeks since Y/N stumbled into the church. Weeks of telling herself she wouldn’t go back, that the moment was a fluke, an accident born of rain and bad luck. But no matter how far she wandered through the city, she couldn’t quite shake the memory of Stefano, the way he had listened without judgment, the calm steadiness of his presence.

She told herself it didn’t matter. She had more important things to worry about, like finding her next meal or a place to sleep that wasn’t a park bench. Yet, when she found herself walking past the church again one crisp autumn afternoon, her steps faltered.

The doors were wide open, sunlight spilling into the dim interior like a hesitant guest. She hovered at the threshold, torn between curiosity and pride, when a voice interrupted her internal battle.

“You don’t need an invitation to come inside.”

Stefano’s voice was warm, familiar and it startled her. She looked up to see him standing in the doorway, his cassock swapped for a simple shirt and slacks. He carried a basket of fresh produce, his sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms dusted with flour.

“I wasn’t going to.” Y/N lied, crossing her arms defensively.

“Of course not.” Stefano said, a hint of amusement in his tone. “You were just... admiring the architecture?”

“Something like that.” She muttered, her gaze flickering toward the basket. “What’s with the groceries? Thought priests lived off bread and wine.”

He laughed softly, a sound that caught her off guard with its ease. “I help cook meals for the orphanage down the street. Today, I’m making minestrone. Would you like to join me?”

Her stomach growled at the mention of food, betraying her. She clenched her jaw, hating how transparent she felt under his calm gaze.

“I don’t need charity.” She snapped.

“It’s not charity.” He replied evenly. “It’s dinner. And I could use an extra set of hands in the kitchen.”

For a moment, she considered refusing. She didn’t want to owe him anything, didn’t want to feel like a stray dog he was taking pity on. But the memory of her last proper meal)–stale bread and half a bruised apple–made her hesitate.

“Fine." She said finally. “But I’m not peeling anything.”

Stefano smiled, stepping aside to let her in. “Deal.”

The church kitchen was small but warm, the scent of fresh basil and simmering vegetables filling the air. Stefano handed her a knife and a cutting board, instructing her to chop carrots while he stirred the pot.

“You’re awfully trusting for someone who just handed me a weapon.” Y/N remarked, eyeing the blade.

Stefano chuckled. “I have faith you’ll use it wisely.”

“Big mistake.” She muttered, though the corners of her mouth twitched upward despite herself.

As they worked, Stefano didn’t pry or ask questions. Instead, he told her stories–about the children at the orphanage, the elderly nun who ran it and the stray cat that had made itself a permanent resident.

“You talk too much.” Y/N said at one point, though her tone lacked its usual bite.

“Do I?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes. It’s exhausting.”

“Noted.” Stefano said, his lips twitching into a smile. “Would you prefer silence?”

She paused, the knife hovering over the cutting board. “No.” She admitted quietly.

They finished the soup in companionable quiet, the kind that didn’t feel oppressive or awkward. When it was done, Stefano ladled a generous portion into two bowls and set one in front of her.

Y/N hesitated, the steam rising to meet her nose. “This doesn’t mean I’m coming back." She said.

“I know.” He replied, taking a seat across from her.

“And I’m not peeling anything next time either.”

“Understood.”

Despite herself, she smirked, picking up her spoon. The soup was warm and comforting, the kind of meal that felt like a hug you didn’t know you needed.

For the first time in a long time, Y/N didn’t feel like running.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Y/N didn’t intend to get involved with the orphanage.

In fact, she tried her best to avoid it. After that evening in the church kitchen, she made a mental note to steer clear of Stefano, his kind eyes and his frustrating way of making her feel seen. But it was hard to avoid someone who seemed to know the streets better than she did.

The next time she ran into him, it was on a narrow cobblestone alley near the bakery where she scavenged day-old bread. Stefano was crouched beside a small boy with dirt-smudged cheeks and mismatched shoes, tying a loose shoelace while the child babbled about something Y/N couldn’t quite hear.

She paused mid-step, her instincts screaming at her to turn around and disappear, but Stefano looked up and spotted her. His smile was as warm as the sun peeking through the clouds.

“Y/N.” He called, straightening up. “Perfect timing.”

“For what?” She asked warily, keeping her distance.

“This is Luca.” Stefano said, gesturing to the boy. “He’s one of the children at the orphanage.”

Luca grinned at her, his two front teeth missing. “Are you the lady who helped Father Stefano cook soup?”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard. “How do you—”

“He told us.” Luca interrupted proudly. “He said you’re very good at chopping carrots.”

Her lips twitched, though she fought the urge to smile. “Is that so?”

Stefano shrugged, the picture of innocence. “I might’ve mentioned it.”

Before she could reply, Luca grabbed her hand with surprising confidence for a boy his size. “Come with us! Father Stefano is taking me to get a new book. I want to show you my favorite one!”

Y/N glanced at Stefano, who looked like he was trying very hard not to laugh. “He’s persistent.” He said, as if that explained everything.

“I noticed.” She muttered, but Luca’s grip was firm, and before she knew it, she was following them down the alley.

The bookshop smelled of old paper and ink, a comforting blend that Y/N hadn’t realized she missed. Luca darted between the shelves like a whirlwind, pulling out books and chattering to Stefano about each one.

Y/N hovered near the door, feeling out of place among the neat rows of novels and the quiet hum of conversation. Stefano didn’t push her to join them, but every so often, he would glance her way, a silent invitation in his gaze.

Eventually, Luca ran up to her with a battered copy of 'The Adventures of Pinocchio'. “This one’s my favorite.” He announced, holding it out to her.

Y/N took the book hesitantly, running her fingers over the worn cover. “Why?”

“Because it’s about a boy who makes a lot of mistakes, but still gets a happy ending.” Luca said matter-of-factly. “Do you like it?”

She stared at the book, her throat tightening. “I... I haven’t read it.”

Luca’s eyes widened. “You should! Father Stefano can read it to you if you want. He’s really good at the voices.”

“I’ll keep that in mind." She said, her voice softer than she intended as she glanced at the priest.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

By the time they left the bookshop, Y/N had somehow been roped into visiting the orphanage.

“It’s just for a quick tour.” Stefano said as they walked. “No pressure.”

“Sure...” She said dryly. “Because you’re not the least bit manipulative.”

He smiled, unbothered by her sarcasm. “Not manipulative. Just persuasive.”

The orphanage was a modest building tucked away on a quiet street, its walls painted a cheerful yellow that stood out against the gray stone surrounding it. Inside, the air buzzed with the sounds of children laughing, arguing, and running down the halls.

Y/N stood awkwardly near the entrance, unsure of what to do with herself as Stefano greeted the nuns who ran the place. Luca immediately disappeared into a crowd of kids, holding up his new book like a trophy.

“Would you like to help serve dinner?” Stefano asked, turning to her.

Her first instinct was to say no, to bolt for the door and never look back. But something about the way he asked–like it wasn’t a big deal, like she wasn’t some project to fix–made her hesitate.

“Fine.” She muttered. “But don’t expect me to be good at it.”

The evening passed in a blur of noise and activity, leaving Y/N more drained than she expected. When the children had finally scattered to their rooms and the last of the dishes were washed, she found herself lingering in the quiet kitchen, unsure why she hadn’t left yet.

Stefano was at the table, carefully folding a pile of napkins. The room was lit by a single oil lamp, casting soft shadows across the worn wooden surfaces.

“You’re still here.” He said without looking up, his voice steady but not surprised.

“Yeah, well... I didn’t want to walk home in the dark." She muttered, though she wasn’t entirely sure it was true.

Stefano nodded, finishing his task before meeting her gaze. “Fair enough. Sit down for a bit, then.”

She hesitated but eventually sank into the chair across from him. The silence stretched between them, not quite comfortable but not unbearable either.

“Why do you do it?” She asked suddenly, her fingers tracing patterns on the tabletop.

“Do what?”

“All of this.” She said, gesturing vaguely. “The orphanage, the soup, the... whatever it is you do every day. Don’t you ever get tired of trying to save people?”

Stefano leaned back in his chair, studying her with that infuriatingly calm expression. “Sometimes...” He admitted. “But it’s not about me. It’s about them.”

“That’s such a cop-out answer.” She said, rolling her eyes.

He laughed softly. “Maybe. But it’s the truth.”

Y/N frowned, picking at a loose thread on her sleeve. “I don’t get it. You don’t even know me and yet you’re–” She stopped, searching for the right word.

“Persistent?” He offered.

“Annoying.” She corrected, though her tone was less sharp than usual.

Stefano chuckled, folding his hands on the table. “You remind me of someone I knew once. Someone who thought they didn’t need anyone, that they could carry the weight of the world on their own.”

“Let me guess.” Y/N said dryly. “You swooped in and saved them too?”

“Not exactly.” He said, his gaze softening. “But I helped them see that they weren’t as alone as they thought.”

Y/N’s throat tightened, the words hitting closer to home than she wanted to admit. She looked away, her eyes landing on the flickering flame of the lamp. “I’m not looking to be saved, you know.”

“I know." Stefano said quietly. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t care.”

She swallowed hard, the weight of his words pressing against her chest. “You’re really bad at minding your own business.”

“It’s a terrible habit.” He agreed, his lips curving into a faint smile.

Despite herself, Y/N felt the corners of her mouth twitch. She quickly masked it by standing up and reaching for her coat. “I should go.”

Stefano stood as well, but he didn’t try to stop her. “The doors are always open, Y/N.”

She paused in the doorway, her hand resting on the worn wood. “Yeah, yeah. I know.”

But as she stepped into the cool night air, a part of her wondered if maybe, just maybe, she didn’t mind the idea of coming back.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The rain came back with a vengeance two nights later.

Y/N hadn’t meant to end up on the church steps again. She’d sworn to herself after that evening at the orphanage that she was done with Stefano and his relentless kindness. But as the storm rolled in, soaking her to the bone and turning the streets into rivers of filth, she found her feet taking her there anyway.

By the time she pushed open the heavy wooden doors, she was shaking from both cold and exhaustion. The church was dimly lit, the flicker of candlelight casting long shadows on the walls. She hesitated just inside, unsure if she was intruding, when a familiar voice cut through the stillness.

“You’re drenched.”

Stefano stood at the altar, his cassock loose and his hair slightly mussed, as if he’d been running his hands through it. His expression was unreadable, but there was no mistaking the concern in his eyes.

“I didn’t come here for you.” She said defensively, though it sounded weak even to her own ears.

“I didn’t say you did." He replied, stepping down from the altar. “Come on. There’s a fire in the rectory.”

“I’m fine!" She snapped, but her trembling hands betrayed her.

Stefano didn’t argue. He simply waited, his calm presence somehow more infuriating than if he’d tried to insist. Finally, with a defeated sigh, she followed him through a side door and into the rectory.

The small room was cozy, with a crackling fire and a simple wooden table cluttered with books and papers. Stefano handed her a dry towel and gestured for her to sit by the hearth.

She hesitated, hating how vulnerable she felt, but the warmth was too tempting to resist. She sank into the chair, wrapping the towel around herself as she stared into the flames.

“Do you want tea?” He asked, already moving toward a small kettle.

“Why do you care?” She muttered.

Stefano paused, his back to her. “Because someone has to.”

The words hit her like a punch to the gut. She bit her lip, refusing to let him see how much they affected her. “I don’t need your pity.”

“It’s not pity." He said, turning to face her. “It’s just... care.”

She laughed bitterly, the sound sharp and brittle. “Care? You don’t even know me.”

“Then help me understand.” Stefano said softly, his eyes locking onto hers.

For a moment, she wanted to run, to throw up every wall she’d spent years building. But something about his voice, his presence, made her stay.

“I don’t need anyone to save me." She said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I know.” Stefano replied. “But that doesn’t mean you have to carry everything alone.”

The dam cracked, just a little. “You don’t get it.” Her voice cracked, her hands tightening around the towel. “I’ve tried. I’ve tried to fix things, to be better, but it’s like every time I get close, something pulls me back under.”

Her voice broke again and she hated herself for it. She hated that she was falling apart in front of him, of all people.

Stefano didn’t speak right away. Instead, he pulled a chair closer and sat across from her, his presence steady and unshakable.

“It’s not about being perfect.” He said quietly. “It’s about trying. And letting people help when you can’t do it alone.”

She shook her head, tears burning in her eyes. “I don’t even believe in God. What am I doing here?”

“You’re here because you’re tired.” Stefano said simply. “And that’s okay.”

The honesty in his voice, the lack of judgment, made her chest ache. She looked away, the firelight blurring in her vision.

“I don’t know how to stop running.” She admitted, her voice so soft she wasn’t sure he’d heard her.

“You don’t have to figure it all out tonight.” the priest said gently. “But maybe... maybe you don’t have to run alone.”

Y/N closed her eyes, letting his words sink in. For the first time in years, the thought of staying still didn’t feel like a trap.

And as the rain pounded against the windows, she let herself believe, just for a moment, that maybe Stefano was right.

As the minutes ticked by, the warmth of the fire and the rhythmic patter of the storm lulled her into a strange stillness. It was as if the world had quieted around her, leaving only the soft crackle of the flames and Stefano’s steady presence.

Her body betrayed her exhaustion, sinking deeper into the chair as her eyes grew heavy. She fought it at first. After all, sleep was a dangerous thing, a state where her defenses crumbled and memories had a habit of sneaking in uninvited. But here, cocooned in the unexpected safety of the rectory, her resistance faltered.

Stefano hadn’t spoken in a while, but she could sense he was still nearby, perhaps reading or praying silently. That thought, oddly enough, didn’t irritate her. If anything, it anchored her, the knowledge that someone else was awake, someone who wasn’t asking anything of her.

Her lashes fluttered shut despite her protests and her breathing slowed.

Stefano looked up from his place by the table, his gaze softening when he saw her. She was curled in on herself, her knees drawn up slightly as if to shield herself from a world that had been too harsh. He noticed how her face, always so guarded, had softened in sleep, the tension melted away by the fire’s warmth.

For a long moment, he simply watched, his own thoughts a quiet murmur of prayer and questions.

Rising silently, he fetched a blanket from a nearby shelf. With the same care one might show a fragile relic, he draped it over her, tucking the edges gently around her shoulders. The gesture wasn’t calculated or deliberate; it was instinctive, driven by a need to offer comfort where it was so clearly needed.

When he returned to his seat, he found his gaze drifting back to her. She had mentioned she didn’t believe in God, but there was something deeply sacred about the vulnerability she showed now, even if unintentionally. Stefano wasn’t sure what to make of it.

The storm outside began to ebb, the rain now a faint drizzle. The room was quiet save for the occasional crack of the fire, and Stefano leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes for a moment.

He told himself he was only staying awake in case she stirred or needed something, but a part of him knew it was more than that. He wanted to be there, wanted her to wake to the same calmness she’d fallen asleep in.

And for the first time in a long while, Stefano found himself silently asking a question he couldn’t easily answer: Was this where he was meant to be?

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The storm had passed by the time morning arrived, leaving the world outside washed clean and glistening under the early light. The rectory was quiet, the air carrying the faint scent of burnt wood and something earthy, like rain-soaked stone.

Y/N stirred first, the blanket slipping slightly from her shoulders as she blinked herself awake. For a moment, she was disoriented, her surroundings unfamiliar. But then the memories of the previous night came rushing back—the fire, the storm, Stefano.

She sat up quickly, her eyes darting around until they landed on him. He was sitting by the table, head bowed, his fingers lightly gripping a rosary. The beads glinted faintly in the sunlight streaming through the small window.

She froze, unsure what to say. She wasn’t used to waking up in places like this, under blankets that didn’t feel like shields or traps.

“Good morning." Stefano said softly, not looking up.

Her breath caught. It wasn’t his voice—it was how calm it sounded, like he’d been waiting for her to wake but didn’t want to rush her.

“Morning." She muttered, her voice thick from sleep.

He glanced at her then, a small smile tugging at his lips. “There’s tea on the stove. It’s still warm if you’d like some.”

She shifted awkwardly, clutching the blanket tighter around her shoulders. “I, uh... I should probably go.”

Stefano nodded, but he didn’t look disappointed. “If that’s what you want.”

His response threw her off once again. She'd expected an argument, some polite insistence that she stay longer. Instead, he rose from his chair and moved to pour a cup of tea, setting it on the edge of the table nearest to her.

“No one’s keeping you here." He added, his tone light. “But you don’t have to leave right away."

Her heart betrayed her, skipping a beat at his words, causing her cheeks to flush. Stefano chuckled softly, his laugh warm but not mocking.

“Fine.” She grumbled, standing and letting the blanket fall back onto the chair. She crossed the room and picked up the teacup, avoiding his gaze as she took a tentative sip.

The tea was earthy and slightly sweet and it warmed her from the inside out. She hated how much she liked it.

They sat in silence for a while, Stefano returning to his seat by the table and Y/N perching on the edge of the chair nearest the fire. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t quite easy, either.

“I’m sorry." She said abruptly, the words spilling out before she could stop them.

Stefano looked up, surprised. “For what?”

“For... falling asleep here. For... last night.” She said, stumbling over the words. “I didn’t mean to–”

“There’s nothing to apologize for." He interrupted gently.

She frowned, her fingers tightening around the teacup. “Why are you like this?”

“Like what?”

“Like... you don’t expect anything in return.” She said, frustrated. “Like you’re just... good.”

Stefano smiled faintly, leaning back in his chair. “I’m not as good as you think, Y/N. I’m just trying to be present. For you, for anyone who needs it.”

She shook her head, setting the cup down with a little more force than necessary. “It’s not normal. People aren’t like that.”

“Maybe they should be." He said simply.

His words hung in the air, and for once, Y/N didn’t know how to respond.

Stefano watched her for a moment longer, then stood and began tidying the table, giving her space to think. She watched him out of the corner of her eye, his movements calm and deliberate.

Y/N sat with the empty teacup in her hands, staring into its depths as if it held answers to questions she hadn’t dared to ask. Stefano, now occupied with clearing the table, moved around the room with an ease she found infuriating. He wasn’t awkward or stiff, even in her presence and that calmness unsettled her.

Her stomach suddenly betrayed her, growling loudly in the otherwise quiet room. She winced, clutching at her midsection as if that could silence it.

Stefano glanced up from where he was folding a dishcloth. His expression was neutral, but there was the faintest hint of amusement in his eyes. “Hungry much?”

Y/N’s cheeks burned and she looked anywhere but at him. “I... maybe. Just a little.”

“Good.” He said without hesitation, moving toward a small cabinet. “You should be.”

She blinked, caught off guard by his easy response. “Why is that good?”

“It means you’re comfortable enough to admit it.” Stefano said matter-of-factly, pulling out a loaf of bread and a small tin of jam.

Y/N opened her mouth to argue, but no words came out. She watched as he set the bread on the table, slicing it with practiced precision. The smell of fresh bread filled the room, making her mouth water despite herself.

“I don’t need much.” She said quickly, as if to justify her earlier confession.

“You’ll get what you need.” Stefano replied with a small smile, handing her a plate with a thick slice of bread, a smear of jam glistening on top.

She hesitated, eyeing the plate warily.

“It’s just bread." He said lightly, taking a piece for himself.

“Yeah, but you’re weird about bread." She muttered under her breath.

Stefano chuckled, a genuine, warm sound that made her feel both exposed and oddly at ease. “Not all bread is sacred. Sometimes it’s just breakfast.”

Her lips twitched despite herself and she finally took the plate. The first bite was tentative, but as soon as the flavors hit her tongue, she realized how hungry she really was. She devoured the slice in quick bites, her appetite overriding her self-consciousness.

Stefano didn’t comment, eating his own piece at a leisurely pace. When she finished, he handed her another without a word.

“Thanks." She said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

“You’re welcome.”

The simplicity of the exchange felt... odd. Not uncomfortable, exactly, but foreign. She was used to everything being a transaction, even kindness. But here he was, giving her bread and tea as if it were the most natural thing in the world, expecting nothing in return.

“More tea?” He asked after a moment, his voice light.

She nodded, a tiny smile tugging at her lips despite herself.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The days after the storm had passed were quieter, filled with the usual calm that Stefano had long been accustomed to. Y/N, though still uncertain about what she had felt the night before, had started to come around more often. She wasn’t staying in the rectory, but she would stop by to help him with small tasks, trying—unsuccessfully at times—to hide the anxiety that always simmered beneath her calm exterior.

That afternoon, Stefano had asked her to accompany him to the market to pick up supplies for the upcoming week. It had seemed harmless enough, a simple errand—but as soon as they left the quiet of the rectory and entered the bustling streets, something in Y/N snapped.

The noise was too much–the crowded squares, the chatter of vendors, the clatter of carts, the children laughing too loudly–it all felt like a wall pressing in on her, suffocating her. She kept her head down, her breath growing shallower with each step.

Stefano, walking just a few paces ahead, didn’t seem to notice, his attention absorbed in the details of the market: the bread, the vegetables, the vendors waving at him in greeting. His calmness, the easy flow of his movements, made her feel even more out of place.

"Y/N?" Stefano's voice pulled her out of her spiraling thoughts. He turned back to her with a soft smile, a basket in his hands, his eyes warm with quiet understanding. "Are you alright?"

But the warmth in his gaze only made the pressure in her chest worse.

"I'm fine." She snapped, her voice sharper than she intended. The words tasted bitter in her mouth, but they were already out. "Can we just finish this? I don’t need your... your pity."

Stefano’s expression faltered, his brows furrowing ever so slightly. He stepped back toward her, but this time, his hand didn’t reach for her. Instead, he gave her space, his eyes studying her carefully.

“We've had this conversation before. I’m not pitying you, Y/N." He said, his tone gentle but firm. “I’m trying to help.”

"Well, I don’t need help." She said, her voice rising now, the words spilling out faster than she could stop them. “I don’t need anyone’s help! I don’t need your help! You think you can just... be kind and it fixes everything? It doesn’t! It doesn’t make me feel better! It doesn’t make the noise go away or the emptiness inside me go away! It doesn’t change anything!”

Her chest tightened as her words tumbled out, her face flushed with frustration and something darker, something deeper that she had been burying for far too long.

Stefano looked at her, his expression unreadable for a moment, and for a terrifying second, Y/N thought he might just walk away. But he didn’t. He just stood there, his gaze softening.

“I... I’m sorry.” She said, the harshness in her voice fading as quickly as it had appeared. She wanted to take back the words, wanted to swallow them down before they could do any more damage. She didn’t want to be angry with him. She never did.

But she had no control over it–no control over the feelings, over the panic, over the way everything felt like it was closing in around her. She took a shaky breath, her hand reaching for her hair, tugging it behind her ear as if the motion could ground her.

"I didn’t mean that." She whispered, her voice trembling.

Stefano said nothing, but he reached out to her. This time, it wasn’t with the gentle touch she had come to expect–it was an offering of space, a quiet permission to fall apart. He gave her a moment.

Y/N closed her eyes, trying to steady herself, but the panic was rising again, making her heart beat faster. She could feel the edges of her thoughts blurring, the familiar sense of losing control creeping in. She couldn’t breathe.

“I’m sorry.” She repeated, her hands trembling now as she clutched at her sides. “I don’t... I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don’t know how to stop feeling like this, like I’m just... always about to fall apart. It's so exhausting."

Stefano stepped forward, his presence solid and steady. He didn’t say anything at first. Instead, he just stood there, waiting. His silence wasn’t uncomfortable, it was the kind that allowed her to breathe without pressure, as if he were giving her space to be broken without judgment.

“I don’t... I don’t know how to fix it.” She said, her voice breaking now, the tears that had been threatening to spill finally falling. “I just want to be normal, Stefano. I just want to... feel like I’m not falling apart every day.”

Her breath caught in her throat as she struggled to hold it together, but the sobs came anyway, wracking her body with the force of emotions she didn’t understand.

Stefano’s hand was on her arm before she even realized it, guiding her gently into the alcove of a nearby building where they could be out of sight of the bustling street. The smell of fresh bread and fruit was muffled in the space and the noise of the market softened, like a distant hum.

Y/N let him guide her, her head spinning as her emotions overwhelmed her. She hated how much it hurt, how raw it all felt, how much she wished she could just close herself off and pretend she was fine.

“I didn’t mean to...” She gasped, her chest tight with emotion.

Stefano didn’t interrupt her this time. He simply reached out, pulling her gently into a hug, his arms wrapping around her with a tenderness that made her want to collapse. His chest was warm against her cheek, his heartbeat steady and calm, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Y/N let herself lean into him, let herself just... break.

“I’m here." He whispered against her hair, his voice calm but full of unspoken strength. “I’m not going anywhere, Y/N.”

Her sobs quieted in the circle of his arms, the storm of emotions inside her beginning to settle. She didn’t know how long they stood there, the world outside continuing on without them, but eventually, she pulled away, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

“I’m sorry.” she whispered again, feeling the weight of her words. “I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

Stefano looked down at her, his eyes soft. “You don’t have to apologize. You’re not broken, Y/N. You’re just... struggling. And that’s okay.”

Y/N shook her head, the tears still fresh on her cheeks. “I don’t deserve your kindness. I don’t deserve anything.”

“You deserve more than you know.” He said, his voice unwavering. “And it’s okay not to be okay. You’re not alone in this.”

Y/N stared at him, her breath still uneven. “But... I’m just a burden, Father. A waste of space and air. I—”

Her voice cracked as the words tumbled from her lips, the self-loathing that had been building for so long spilling over. She could feel the weight of her shame and pain crushing her chest, suffocating her with each breath. She looked away, not wanting him to see the cracks in her carefully built façade.

Stefano’s eyes softened with a mix of concern and understanding, his hand gently reaching up to touch her face. His touch was tender, almost reverent, as if he was afraid that even the slightest movement might break her further. His fingers brushed the dampness of her cheeks, wiping away the last of her tears with a tenderness she couldn’t comprehend.

“Y/N.” he murmured, his voice so soft, so sincere. “You’re not a burden. You’re not a waste of anything.”

His words weren’t just comforting. They were a lifeline, pulling her from the depths of her own mind. His hand stayed on her face, his thumb brushing across her skin in slow, soothing circles.

“I know it’s hard to believe...” He continued, his voice steady. “But you’re worthy of love. You’re worthy of kindness. You’re worthy of more than you know.”

Her breath hitched, and she could feel the tightness in her chest loosen just a fraction. For a moment, she allowed herself to close her eyes, to let his warmth wrap around her, the security of his presence grounding her.

“But I don’t know how to be that person." She whispered, her voice barely a breath, like the admission of a secret she had kept buried for far too long. “I don’t know how to stop feeling broken.”

Stefano took a step closer, his body just inches from hers, but it wasn’t overwhelming. It was like he was offering her the space to feel, to breathe, without rushing her. His eyes, soft and full of patience, never left hers.

“You don’t have to be fixed, Y/N." He said, his voice quiet but intense. “You don’t need to be anything other than what you are. You’re enough, just as you are.”

The sincerity in his gaze made something shift inside her–a crack in the wall she had so carefully constructed around herself. She felt her heart beat faster, not from panic or fear, but from something else–something unfamiliar, yet not unwelcome.

“I don’t deserve your kindness." She murmured, her voice trembling as she struggled to keep the emotions at bay. “I don’t deserve anything from you.”

His thumb continued to stroke her cheek, the motion gentle, almost reverent, as if he were memorizing the curve of her face. “You deserve everything, Y/N. Everything good and beautiful.”

The tenderness in his voice was like a balm to her wounds, and before she could stop herself, she reached up, her hand covering his, pressing it more firmly against her cheek. There was something about the way he was looking at her, something in the way he was holding her gaze, that made her feel... safe.

Safe to feel. Safe to be weak. Safe to be vulnerable.

For a long moment, they stood there, not speaking, just breathing. Her heart fluttered in her chest, the feeling of his touch making her head swim with confusion and something deeper—something she didn’t want to name, but couldn’t ignore.

She wanted to pull away, to step back into the comfort of her guarded self, but she couldn’t. His presence was magnetic, drawing her in, offering her something she hadn’t realized she needed: connection.

His eyes never left hers as he leaned in, the space between them growing smaller with each breath. When he spoke again, his voice was lower, almost a whisper, as if the moment was too delicate to disturb.

“You don’t have to apologize, Y/N. Not to me. Not ever.”

And before she could say anything else, he did something that took her completely by surprise–he gently cupped her chin and tilted her face up toward him, his eyes soft and full of unspoken emotions. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he pressed his forehead to hers, his breath mingling with hers, both of them standing in the quiet intimacy of the moment.

Y/N felt her heart skip a beat. The simple gesture of his closeness, the warmth of his skin against hers, sent a rush of heat through her. Her pulse quickened, and she was suddenly acutely aware of everything—the faint scent of his cologne, the rhythm of their breathing, the slight tremble in her hands.

“I’m here." He whispered, so quietly that she almost didn’t hear it. “You don’t have to carry this alone.”

The words hung in the air, hanging between them like a promise, and for the first time in a long time, Y/N felt something shift inside her. Maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t as broken as she had believed. Maybe she wasn’t beyond saving.

Slowly, she leaned into him, her forehead pressing against his as if she were searching for something–something she hadn’t even known she needed until this moment. His warmth, his kindness, his unwavering presence, it all felt like a lifeline.

“I don’t know what I’m doing.” She murmured, the words escaping her before she could stop them. “But when I’m with you... I feel like maybe I could be okay.”

Stefano remained still, his breath steady as his arms slowly circled around her, pulling her closer. His embrace was warm, comforting, and it felt like home.

“You don’t have to know, Y/N.” He said, his voice soft and full of promise. “You just have to be. And I’ll be here, no matter what.”

She closed her eyes, allowing herself to fall into his embrace, the world around her fading away. For the first time in a long time, Y/N didn’t feel so alone.

And for a fleeting moment, as she stood in his arms, she allowed herself to imagine what it would be like to live without the constant weight of her anxiety, without the chains of self-doubt. What if, just for once, she could allow herself to feel love without fear?

As the rain began to fall again, soft and steady, Y/N let herself believe just for a moment that she could be worthy of it.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The days after Y/N's moment of weakness were a strange blend of quiet moments and growing anticipation. Y/N found herself slipping into a new rhythm, one that was defined not just by her own inner turmoil, but by the space Stefano had carved for her in his life. It wasn’t just his kindness that touched her, but also the way he seemed to understand without asking, the way his mere presence soothed her like a balm on an open wound.

But with that soothing presence came a tension she couldn’t ignore. The simple moments started to hold something deeper–a current of attraction neither of them spoke aloud, but both felt in the space between them.

One evening, after a particularly long day of helping him organize church materials, they found themselves alone in the library. The evening sun cast a warm, golden light through the windows and Y/N stood by the bookshelf, tracing the spines of old books without really seeing them. She was aware of Stefano just behind her, but she couldn’t bring herself to turn and face him. The air between them felt charged, like the calm before a storm and it made her heart race in a way she wasn’t prepared for.

Stefano was silent for a moment, watching her. He hadn’t said much since they’d finished their work, but his presence was undeniable, always just a step away. Finally, his voice broke the silence, low and soft, but with an edge that made her turn toward him.

“You’re distant tonight.” He trailed off, his eyes dark, scanning her face. “What’s on your mind, Y/N?”

She didn’t know how to answer. The truth was, she wasn’t just thinking about her usual turmoil–she was thinking about him. His hands, his voice, the way he stood so close without ever overstepping. She couldn’t deny the pull she felt toward him, an attraction that seemed to grow stronger each day. But it terrified her too. She wasn’t ready to let go of the walls she’d built around herself and yet, being near him made those walls feel like they were crumbling.

“I... I’m fine." She replied, her voice betraying her, soft and uncertain. “Just... tired.”

He didn’t buy it. Of course he didn’t. Stefano stepped closer and his gaze softened, as if he was seeing through her carefully constructed exterior. His hand moved to the side of her face, his thumb brushing against her jaw in that same tender way he always did. But this time, the touch lingered. She could feel the heat of his skin through the fabric of her blouse and it made her breath hitch in her throat.

“You don’t have to hide from me, Y/N." He said, his voice thick with an emotion she couldn’t place. His hand slid gently to the back of her neck, his thumb massaging the skin there, sending a shiver down her spine. “I’m here. You’re not alone.”

Her breath caught in her chest, the closeness between them making her heart pound. She had never felt like this with anyone–this mix of comfort and desire, of emotional need and physical yearning. It was overwhelming and it took everything in her not to pull away.

“I...” She started, but the words didn’t come. She couldn’t make herself speak.

Stefano’s hand tightened slightly, his thumb pressing into the sensitive spot just below her ear, a gentle but firm pressure that sent a jolt of electricity through her. His gaze lowered to her lips and the world seemed to shrink down to just the two of them.

“Y/N...” His voice was barely a whisper, his breath warm against her face. “Is this okay?”

Her heart thudded in her chest, every inch of her body screaming at her to step back, to run, to preserve the safety of her emotional walls. But his touch was gentle, patient, as if he was waiting for her to choose. Waiting for her to admit that maybe, just maybe, she didn’t want to keep running anymore.

With trembling hands, she reached up, cupping his face in her palms, feeling the warmth of his skin against hers. Her fingers brushed the edge of his jaw, his skin awfully smooth against her fingertips and it made her breath catch. She could feel the weight of the moment, the tension between them thick and palpable, like a rope being pulled tighter with every passing second.

“I’m scared.” She admitted, her voice barely audible, the words slipping out before she could stop them. “I don’t know if I can... let myself feel this.”

His hands moved, wrapping loosely around her waist and pulling her gently toward him. His forehead rested against hers and for a moment, they just stood there, the world outside slipping away, leaving only the two of them in the quiet of the room.

“You don’t have to be scared with me." Stefano murmured, his voice low and soothing. “I’m not going anywhere, Y/N. I've said this before, I'm saying this now and I'll say this as many times as needed." He whispered softly. "I’m not going to hurt you. Just... let yourself fall and I'll be there to catch you."

And with that, the last of her defenses cracked.

She leaned in, her lips brushing against his in a kiss so soft, so tentative, that it almost felt like a question. But Stefano responded with the same quiet intensity, his hands pulling her even closer, deepening the kiss, his lips demanding more without words. It was slow, reverent, as if he was savoring the moment, letting her take the lead as much as he was.

When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathless, their hearts pounding in their chests. Y/N felt light-headed, as if the very air around her had shifted, become heavier with something more. Something dangerous, yet exhilarating.

“Do you trust me?” Stefano asked, voice husky, his eyes dark with a hunger that mirrored her own, a hunger she's never seen in his his eyes before.

Y/N hesitated for a moment, searching his face, looking for any sign that this wasn’t real. But all she saw was the sincerity in his gaze, the warmth in his touch. And for the first time in what felt like forever, she realized that maybe, just maybe, she could trust him.

“I do.” she whispered, the words slipping from her lips like a secret. And with that, the space between them dissolved, and the rest of the world faded away.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Weeks passed and the seasons slowly shifted. The once oppressive weight that Y/N carried seemed to lift, not because it had vanished entirely, but because it no longer felt as unbearable. Stefano had been her steady anchor, his unwavering patience and tenderness guiding her through every storm, whether in her own mind or in the world outside.

They spent countless hours together–quiet mornings at the church, long walks through the fields when the weather allowed and nights where Y/N found herself curled up against him, talking about everything and nothing, her heart finally beginning to find peace. There were still moments of doubt, moments when she wondered if she was deserving of the love she was being given, but Stefano’s presence was a constant reminder that she was worthy, just as she was.

One evening, as the soft glow of twilight bathed the rectory in golden light, they sat side by side on the bench in the garden. The air was cool, the scent of blooming flowers mingling with the earth. Stefano had his arm around her shoulders, and she leaned into him, her head resting against his chest. There was no need for words—only the sound of their breaths, slow and steady, as if they had found a rhythm together.

“I never thought I could feel like this.” Y/N whispered, her voice soft but certain. “Like... like I belong. Like I matter.”

Stefano smiled, his thumb gently stroking the back of her hand. “You always mattered, Y/N. You just needed to see it for yourself.”

She looked up at him, her eyes filled with something raw, something tender. She had never imagined that this–a simple, quiet life, filled with love and understanding–was something she could have, but here it was. Here he was.

“I... I love you.” She said suddenly, the words spilling out like a secret she had been holding onto for too long.

Stefano’s breath caught in his throat, his eyes searching hers, as if to make sure she truly meant it. His hand gently cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing her skin. “I love you too, Y/N.” He replied, his voice thick with emotion.

It wasn’t the grand declarations of love she had once imagined, full of fireworks and dramatic gestures. It was quieter, more profound, something that had grown in the small moments, the shared silences, the understanding that passed between them like a silent promise.

Y/N felt her chest tighten with emotion as she gazed into his eyes, seeing the depth of his affection reflected back at her. The love wasn’t perfect, it wasn’t the stuff of fairy tales, but it was real. It was grounding. And it was exactly what she had needed to heal.

With a small laugh, she shifted in his arms, her hands resting on his chest. “I’m sorry for all the times I pushed you away." She said, her voice tinged with regret. “I was scared... and I didn’t know how to let someone in.”

Stefano’s fingers gently traced her jaw, his touch light. “You never had to apologize, Y/N. I never wanted to force you into anything. You’ve come so far and I’m proud of you. I’ll always be here, no matter what.”

The sincerity in his words hit her deeply. There was a security in his love that she had never known before. For the first time, she allowed herself to fully embrace the love he offered, without doubt, without hesitation.

As they sat together, the last light of the day began to fade, leaving only the soft hum of the evening around them. Y/N nestled closer into Stefano’s embrace, a sense of peace settling over her. She had learned, through him, that love wasn’t just about the grand moments or the promises made under the stars. It was about the quiet presence, the steady hands, the shared silences and the understanding that no matter the storm, they would face it together.

And so, as the night embraced them in its quiet beauty, Y/N and Stefano knew, without needing words, that this was only the beginning of their story. A story that had been born from pain, but had grown into something stronger, something full of hope, healing, and the kind of love that would last, no matter the challenges ahead.

For once, Y/N didn’t feel like she was just drifting. She wasn’t alone, and for the first time, she believed in the love they shared, the love that had healed her, that had shown her what it truly meant to be loved.

And in that moment, as she looked into Stefano’s eyes, she realized she was exactly where she was meant to be.

The end.

107 notes · View notes

jubshead · 9 days ago

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𝐒𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐞-𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬

Parings: Lithario (Established Vidarkness x Lilia) | Bloodpotion (Alice x Jen)

Summary: Yule traditions aren’t always a rule... unless it's a green witch playing with mistletoe magic.

A/N: Big thanks to my beta @yourbasicqueerie for reviewing this!!

AU: There’s no road. The coven is drawn by destiny. In this universe Teen was adopted by Agatha a little before she and Rio had Nicholas (he’s around 4yo).

Content: Found family, domestic fluff, bickering, mistletoe magic, established relationships, comfort

Date: Dec 30, 2024

Comments are always welcome and if you don’t wish to be identified my inbox is open!

Masterlist

Tag list: @live-laugh-love-lupone @amethyst-bitch @greek-freak101 @crescendoofstars @multixfan @im-a-carnivorous-plant @thoroughly--confused @kukikatt @aggieharkness @sunshine-makes-flowers-grow @diorrxckstar @liliastriangle @cowboykya @czl4t @daddyriovidal @maevaofendora @thecavalrywife @welmelsblog @nctxrejects @bravewithacapitalb @cupofsapphics @darkangelchronicles @confuseuniverse @yun4-st4rx

─────── ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ───────

The knife hits the wooden board and the chopping sound is loud on the otherwise silent kitchen. The apples are cut into small pieces before being dumped into the boiling water, the smell of roasted meat wafts through the house and the gray-haired witch sings a soft tune under her breath.

The snow is piling up outside and the sun shines a lazy light through the window. In her stay at home robes, Lilia works on Yule dinner. Jen and Alice are out, buying presents. Agatha is begrudgingly in charge of the cookies and nowhere to be seen, avoiding her baking duty as much as she can while Rio is fixing last minute decorations, apparently the house needed more vines.

“Agatha.” The divination witch calls out, drying her hands on the towel that adorns her waist.

Surprisingly, the woman does appear, eyes dancing with malicious mischief and a smirk plastered on her face.

Lilia narrows her eyes. “What’s with that face?”

“Nothing.” She replies, smile widening.

The older witch lets out a disbelieving hum.

“I’m practically done here. I need you to start working on the ginger snaps.”

“They are done.” She gasps fakely, raising her eyebrows and parading around the counter to grab a hidden metal tray.

“When did you…?” Lilia mumbles, cutting herself off as she picks up a cookie and bites into it.

The divination witch had given Agatha a written step-by-step recipe, there was no way she could get it wrong, and yet she did. The dough was dry and chewy, sticking to every surface of her mouth and leaving a rough feeling in her throat after she swallowed it. It was hard as rock.

“This is awful.” She coughs out, still chewing on the lodged remains.

“Rio and I made them.”

“Clearly.” The older woman’s eyes widen and her face turns to the side, throwing the ruined dessert onto the flour-covered counter.

Light footsteps are heard and a small head of brown hair runs behind the marble. Lilia bends down and opens her arms, knowing the boy's movements by heart. He throws himself at her and she stands up with him on her hip.

“Mommy and I finished decorating, can you come see?” Nicky asks, playing with Lilia’s curls.

➙ continue

#agatha all along #agatha harkness #rio vidal #lilia calderu #teen agatha all along #jennifer kale #alice wu gulliver #nicholas scratch #agatha harkness x rio vidal #lilia calderu x agatha harkness x rio vidal #alice wu gulliver x jennifer kale #vidarkness #lithario #bloodpotions #agatha all along fanfiction

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hannyoontify · 11 months ago

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my lighthouse - yoon jeonghan

member | jeonghan x reader

genre | fluff. hurt/comfort

word count | 1.9k

synopsis | on your darkest, most gloomy days at sea, jeonghan becomes your lighthouse

warnings | reader is feeling very big (bad) feelings, allusions to a depressive episode, reader is kinda mean to jeonghan BUT for good reason (i think) but jeonghan is very understanding (bless his soul)

notes | completely absolutely self indulgent. i’m not even embarrassed about it anymore. not proofread

Today marked the fifth consecutive rainy day. The highways were jam packed and the dull concrete sidewalks were flooded, preventing any unlucky pedestrian from being able to trek across the muted, gray city. The streets warbled an unfamiliar melody and thunder rumbled like a choir of grand pianos falling downstairs.

You love the rain. The peace and serenity that came along with the dark clouds had always been a favorite for you. Rain meant a hot cup of chamomile tea in your special Snoopy mug that you had set aside just for days like these. It meant sitting on your special chair, your arm resting on the windowsill as you stare out the window that was opened just enough for you to smell the crisp air and enjoy the sound of rain, as you wait for your tea to cool down. Rainy days meant enjoying the gentle aroma of chamomile surrounding you and your eyes fluttering shut as the steam from your drink floated and danced around you. It meant breathing harshly against the glass until it fogged up, then drawing silly cartoons as fast as you could before the condensation on the cold surface disappeared.

But you just couldn’t do it anymore. Drinking hot chamomile tea and drawing the same initials ‘YJH + Y/F/N’ for four days straight became a bore. The constant sound of rain against your window roof became a bother and you hated the traffic that came along with it.

Jeonghan’s ears perked up at the sound of a low thump on the floor, followed by a string of low mumbling as you shuffled through the entryway and into the kitchen. He sat up from where he laid on the couch and watched as you grumpily sauntered to the kitchen while shrugging off your wet coat, trailing it behind you.

“Baby?” Jeonghan called out. You let out a loud huff and continue to mumble something under your breath as you set down a pack of ramen very aggressively on the marble counter. Scared for your safety (and the ramen’s), Jeonghan pushed to his feet with a quiet groan and made his way towards your side. His sock-covered feet padded along the hardwood floor.

He silently stood by your side and took the second pack of ramen from your hands before you absolutely demolished it on the counter, similar to its kin that now probably laid in pieces on your kitchen island.

You grumbled and angrily threw a frozen pack of meat into the sink. “Woah, woah, baby. Let’s calm down.” Jeonghan reached over and gently grabbed your hands, his thumbs gently rubbing over your wrists as his eyes searched your angry, teary ones.

Wait, tears?

“Angel, what’s wrong?” Jeonghan asked. Your pupils shook and you bit down on your bottom lip, but he still noticed the slight quivering that you failed to hide. Your hair was wet and it was sticking to your forehead and he noticed a slight shiver in your body as your wet clothes annoyingly plastered themselves onto your shaking skin. Jeonghan reached out and rubbed his hands up and down your arms, trying his best to warm you up. “Did something happen?”

You pushed his hands off of you and grabbed your wet coat that still laid on the floor before storming off into your bedroom. All with wet, red eyes. “It’s nothing.”

Jeonghan watched you disappear and sighed when the door slammed shut. Deciding to give you some time, he turned around and began to put away the rest of the groceries, handling them with much more gentleness and care than what you were doing before.

After putting the groceries away, Jeonghan pulled out your special Snoopy mug that you always set aside for rainy and snowy days and reached for the teabags only to find the chamomile portion completely empty. Jeonghan frowned. That wasn’t possible, since chamomile was both of your favorite teas, and he had accompanied you to buy a whole new pack of tea bags just last week after you heard about the rain forecast. You had gleefully grabbed his hand and dragged him through the tea and coffee aisle with a bright, child-like grin on your face the entire time.

Thinking of your smiling face made Jeonghan even more upset that you weren’t in a good mood, and he peered into the trash can to spit out his gum when he noticed a mound of unopened chamomile tea bags dumped inside, along with wadded up napkins and Cheeto bags. Jeonghan’s frown only deepened as he tried to connect the dots.

It was raining, your favorite kind of weather and yet, you were in a bad mood. You threw away all the chamomile tea bags you had left, although they were your favorite. You were being aggressive and you were never aggressive when you were-

He heard a strangled yell from your shared bedroom and Jeonghan looked up at the closed door with a worried look in his eyes. Against his better judgment, Jeonghan walked over and opened the door and took a peek inside. You were sitting on the closet floor with your back towards him, your knees propping your arms and your head buried in between your legs as you quietly sobbed. From behind, Jeonghan could see your silent sobs wracking your body in small waves.

Jeonghan felt like someone had just stabbed him in the gut and twisted the knife. He silently watched for a few more seconds before he closed the door, physically unable to watch you cry anymore. He desperately wanted to join you by your side and comfort you, but Jeonghan knew that that wasn’t what you needed as of now. Right now, he knew you needed space.

When you came back out of the bedroom in a pair of baggy sweats and an oversized shirt (that was probably Jeonghan’s) with red, swollen eyes and a sniffly nose, Jeonghan didn’t say anything and simply pushed your special Snoopy mug in your direction, across the kitchen island counter.

Seeing that ceramic cup made something in your stomach twist, and you were ready to push it off the counter and let it shatter along the hardwood floor when you noticed a new sweet aroma permeating your senses.

“Noticed you threw away all the chamomile we had, so I opted for something sweeter. I hope that’s okay,” Jeonghan said gently. He distanced himself from you, watching you intently with gentle eyes as you nursed the cup of hot chocolate in your cold hands. “If you don’t like the cup, I can put it in another one and-”

“N-no,” You quietly interrupted. “It’s okay… Thank you.”

Jeonghan smiled and watched as you lifted the mug to your lips and took a sip. The sweet drink was the perfect temperature, not too hot but not too cold. The taste was dark, rich and the thick consistency coats your tongue before it flows down your throat, leaving a warm, tingly sensation throughout your entire body. The top is swirled with white whipped cream and spotted with cocoa powder and mini marshmallows. You choke back another sob before you take another sip and you’re transported back to your childhood.

You suddenly remember one rainy day in second grade, you and your siblings huddled up in front of the hearth. The fireplace crackles as you and your siblings push and shove as you're seeking enough warmth from the small fire that burned in front of you. Your mother approaches you, her arms full with a tray with steaming hot chocolate and all the children cheer. You’re clapping your hands together in glee as your mother makes a big show out of counting the big marshmallows out loud and dropping them into each mug. Two for each, it’s always been like that.

You set down the cup and Jeonghan panics when he sees tears silently streaming down your face. He circles around the kitchen island hurriedly and still slightly unsure of whether he should approach you or not, Jeonghan stands in front of you and awkwardly pats your shoulder until you glare at him. Through your tears, you manage to hiccup out, “Just hug me, you- *hic* -idiot.”

“I’m your idiot.” One teary-eyed look from you and he shuts his mouth, but your idiot was happy to comply.

Jeonghan wrapped his long arms around your shoulders and let you cry into his shoulder like a baby. He made soft soothing noises as he rubbed his hands on your back, slightly rocking you back and forth on your feet. You pressed your face further into him, as if burying yourself within your love would somehow prevent the pain you were feeling. When you had finally pulled away, the entire shoulder of his shirt was damp, but Jeonghan didn’t mind.

He looked into your eyes. They were glassy and bloodshot, glistening and glinting in the dim light of your kitchen light as you hiccupped to try and catch your breath. Jeonghan cupped your face with his hands and wiped a stray tear away with his thumb.

Jeonghan rested his forehead on yours. “How are you feeling, love? Do you need anything?” He whispered. From where he stood, he could see a stray tear lingering on your lashes that streamed down your face once you blinked.

“Can you please hold me?” You asked in the meekest voice Jeonghan’s ever heard from you. “I just… had a really bad day and-” You let out a shaky breath and your boyfriend quickly pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“I understand, angel. Do you want to talk about it?” Jeonghan gently guided you to the couch, the cup of chocolate in one hand, his other hand guiding your waist.

You settled down into the couch, your body melting into the comfortable mold of soft pillows and pressed your face into Jeonghan’s chest, inhaling the homely scent of him and you swore you felt yourself relaxing just through his smell. “No… I think, I just need to be with you right now.” You muttered.

Jeonghan didn’t say anything in response. He simply wrapped an arm around your shoulder to bring you closer, resting his lips atop of your head. His other hand traced small, unintelligible shapes on your thigh as you sat alone with your thoughts.

“You don’t have to do that, you know,” Jeonghan mumbled into your hair.

“Do what?”

“All that thinking by yourself. If there’s anything you want to talk about or need to get off your chest, you can always tell me. Is there someone you want to cuss out? We can cuss them out together.”

You felt another sob clawing its way up your throat and your eyes burned.

“Thank you, for everything.”

Jeonghan was your lighthouse. He stood tall and strong at the end of a lonely pier, shining his bright light into the dark and empty abyss of an ocean called the world. His beacon of light was sometimes the only thing that got you through the rough waves of life that often tried to tug and pull you under into the cold, harsh oceanic waters. His bright light pierces through the rainy night and offers you refuge after a long, horrible day. Jeonghan’s words of encouragement, his selfless acts of service, and his constant reminders of why you deserved to be loved was what helped you stay afloat. He was your safe place, your home.

And you were so so grateful to have him in your life.

reblogs and feedback is always appreciated ^-^

#hannyoontify.works #caratlibrary #seventeen #svt #jeonghan #seventeen fluff #jeonghan fluff #yoon jeonghan #seventeen oneshot #jeonghan fic #jeonghan oneshot #yjh

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steveslevis · 1 year ago

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delicate - chapter two

is it chill that you're in my head?

pairing: steve harrington x reader

chapter contents: not a lot happening in this one, just the two of them being awkward

wc: 3.6k

a/n: hope you guys enjoy!!! sorry it took so long, hopefully ch3 won't take me as long

Everything that comes after your so-called interview at Ralph’s happens in what seems like a matter of seconds. Before you know it, you’re standing on Fifth avenue with Eddie the next day, your two large suitcases, one duffle bag and backpack being the only things you needed to tow across the city.

Eddie had been the opposite of excited for you, in all honesty. He told you damn near a thousand times over a span of 24 hours that you should just move in with him and Alexander, and that you should try to negotiate with him about still working for him until you can save for your own place. Much to his dismay, you ignored your best friend’s concerns, shaking your head with confidence every time he tried to ask if you would stay. You had a good feeling about this, the voice in the back of your head telling you to go for it, that it would be a good growth opportunity, that you would never heal by spending your time rotting on Eddie’s couch.

So that’s how you ended up here, walking into one of the most expensive luxury housing buildings in the entire city with your weary best friend in tow. The two of you had made the mile and a half long trek across the city instead of using one of the Harrington family’s chauffeurs – you had insisted to Steve that it wasn’t necessary for the little amount of belongings that you had.

“Holy shit,” you hear Eddie mumble behind you while you push open the heavy glass door and walk into the lobby.

The lobby is grand, with white marble floors, sleek black walls, gold accents, and arguably the biggest crystal chandelier you’ve ever seen hanging from the ceiling in the middle of the room. There’s two gray leather couches sitting in front of a modern fireplace on one side, while a black granite front desk is on the other, with a young, blonde woman standing behind it.

“Hi there!” The woman calls to you from behind the desk, bearing the fakest smile you’ve ever seen as she eyes you and Eddie up and down, likely judging how out of place the two of you look in such a luxurious area, “can I help you two?”

“Yeah, we’re looking for the Harrington residence,” you say while approaching the desk with an equally fake smile plastered on your face, “are we in the right place?”

The woman, whose name is Carolyn according to her nametag, immediately turns off the fake niceties once you say who you’re looking for. The fake smile falters for a moment and you see her furrow her brow while looking you over once again. She looks down to the desk in front of her for a moment, reaching for an envelope that’s off to the side.

“You must be the new nanny,” she says, and you almost swear you hear a hint of jealousy in her voice as she speaks.

“Yes, that’s me.” you say with a small chuckle to yourself, raising your brow at her when she nearly frowns at your response.

Her lips fall into a thin line at that, her hand coming up from behind the counter to shove the envelope onto the granite in front of you.

“Here’s the access card and key to the apartment,” she says to you as you grab the envelope, inside is a glimmering golden card and a silver key that’s attached to a small tag with your name on it, “you have to scan the card in the elevator to get to the top floor, then use the key to open the door. Don’t lose them, or you’ll have to pay for them.”

She turns back to the computer in front of her without a word as you nod. You turn to Eddie once she does, exchanging a confused look before making your way towards the elevator on the other end of the lobby. You scan the key card and the elevator’s doors automatically close as the circular button with a large “P” at the top of the pad lighting up as it begins its ascent.

“Jesus, the fucking penthouse?” Eddie scoffs under his breath in disbelief, shifting your duffle bag on his shoulder.

It only takes a minute for the elevator to reach the top floor, the door of the elevator sliding open to reveal a short hallway with only one door at the end. The two of you step out and make your way over to the large front door, you look over to Eddie once you stand in front of it. The look on your face is filled with nervousness and excitement, but mainly nervousness.

“Should I knock?” you question, staring down at your key.

“You have a key for a reason, don’t you?” he quips, raising an eyebrow at you.

You shoot him a quick glare and sigh, flipping the key in your fingers a few times as you try to compose yourself. Eventually you reach for the door, sliding the key into the lock to open it. The door swings open and you’re met with arguably the nicest apartment – penthouse, rather – that you’ve stepped foot in while living in the city.

It’s much more cozy and less grandiose than you had expected, a stark contrast from the marble lined, golden and glittering lobby you had just entered from. You step into the living room when you first walk in, a large olive green couch and two matching chairs face a fireplace on the far wall, a comically large TV hanging above it. Everything is clean and definitely luxurious, but also feels lived-in, much more welcoming and warm than the rest of the complex.

The kitchen is to the left through a wide archway, but you don't have time to explore, as your thoughts are interrupted by Steve bounding into view from the kitchen. There’s a welcoming smile on his face as he steps into the living room, wiping his hands with a kitchen towel before tossing it over his shoulder to free his hands. He’s wearing a pair of slacks and a navy button down. His hair is a little more disheveled than it was last time the two of you met, but still looked perfectly put together somehow. You could tell that he had recently gotten done with work for the day, partially from the fact that he had two buttons undone on his shirt, and partially from the air of remnant stress that he was carrying.

“Welcome! Please, come on in.” Steve says with a smile as he watches Eddie close the door behind him. “Thank you for coming on such short notice, again. I really appreciate you starting so soon.”

“It’s no problem, I’m glad to help.” you say, shifting the backpack on your shoulders.

Steve extends a hand to Eddie to introduce himself, and Eddie gives him a reserved introduction in return, still hesitant about everything as he scans the penthouse.

Steve looks between you and Eddie once more, eyeing the four bags between the two of you before asking, “Is this everything you had to bring up, or is there still more downstairs?”

“Yeah, this is it, actually.” you laugh, knowing the amount of belongings you had was quite underwhelming, “that’s why I said we could just make the hike with the bags instead of taking one of your cars.”

“Oh, it would’ve been no problem either way.” he says while shaking his head, reaching for the suitcase that was by your side, “C’mon, I’ll show you to your room.”

Steve guides the two of you to a room off to the right on the first floor, explaining that the people who owned the penthouse before him had used it as a place for their in-laws to stay. He opened the door to the room, letting you and Eddie walk in before him. The bedroom was much nicer than you had expected in all honesty, with a queen-sized bed in the middle adorned in obviously expensive cream-colored linens, a sitting area equipped with a stocked bookshelf (perks of being employed by the CEO of a famous publishing company), and a desk for you to work on school during your time off. There was an en-suite bathroom as well, which looked larger than the entire living room of your previous shared apartment.

“Wow, this is–this is so amazing.” you gasp, looking over to Steve gratefully. “I wasn’t expecting anything this nice, to be honest.”

“Gotta make sure you’re comfortable so you stick around,” he says with a wink, which instantly sends your stomach into a fit of butterflies. “Go ahead and get settled in, I’m gonna go check on Amelia and the food.”

Before you could thank him, Steve was through the door and back in the nearby kitchen. You could tell why he needed your help, his mind worked at a thousand miles a minute, like he always had something that he needed to be doing.

“You still sure about all this?” Eddie implores, breaking you from your thoughts.

You look over to your best friend to see a face contorted with genuine concern and hesitancy, unsure of if he should leave you here alone or if he should tote you out over his shoulder regardless of your wishes.

“I am one hundred percent sure, Eds.” you assure him with a soft smile, pulling him into a hug.

Eddie wraps his arms around your shoulders with a sigh, finally giving up his fight on your decisions. He knew you were too stubborn to listen to him and deep down he could tell that Steve meant well, but he was just so unsure.

“I just want you to be safe.” he says finally, resting his chin atop your head.

“And I will be,” you state confidently, pulling back to look up at him. “This place might be, like, one of the safest places to live in the city. And besides, anywhere is safer than where I was.”

“You mean on my couch?” Eddie says, feigning an insulted look as he speaks. He knew you were talking about living with Luke, but he also knew you didn’t want to talk about him.

“I appreciate everything you do for me, Eds, but your couch is the second to last place I would like to sleep tonight.” you say with a teasing smile, watching as he rolls his eyes playfully.

“Alright, alright, but don’t come crying to me when sexy Mr. CEO Harrington turns out to be crazy like I said,” he replies, and you shoot him a glare. “What? There’s gotta be something wrong with him, he’s too hot and too perfect on paper to be normal.”

“I think you gotta stop obsessing over my ‘hot’ boss before you get me fired before my first day has even started,” you laugh, shoving his shoulder after using air quotes when saying hot – you didn’t think Steve was hot at all, right?

“Okay, fine I’ll stop tormenting you.” he chuckles, “as long as you promise not to fall in love with him or some shit like that.”

You immediately laugh out loud at the thought, shaking your head immediately. “That’s not gonna happen, Eds. He’s my employer and I’m only here to take care of his daughter. Besides, I’ll probably barely see him since he’ll be working all the time.”

Eddie gives you an incredulous look before pulling you in for another quick hug.

“Please, just call me if there’s anything you need and I can be here to get you, okay?” he says and you nod.

The two of you walk out of the bedroom shortly after, saying your goodbyes at the door with one last hug (that Eddie almost doesn’t let go in) before you make your way to the kitchen, where you know Steve is.

Unsurprisingly, the kitchen is just as nice as the rest of the penthouse that you’ve seen, but is currently in a bit of a state of disarray. Steve is standing next to the stove, and he’s serving what looks to be a pasta dish onto plates on the counter. Amelia is sitting at the long, dark dining table on the other side of the room. She’s zeroed in on two dolls in front of her, mumbling a conversation between the two of them to herself.

“Food’s done, sweetheart.” Steve called out to his daughter, grabbing a pink plate from the pile, presumably for her. “Why don’t you put your dolls up on the counter while we eat so they don’t get dirty, okay?”

The little girl nods, grabbing her things from the table to put them up, clearly excited for the dinner her dad had prepared, “want butter on my bread, please Daddy.” she requests, a smile on her face when she spots the pink plate atop the counter.

“I’ll get you some once I sit down, love.” he replies, smoothing down his daughter’s hair when she comes to stand next to him.

There was something so sweet and so domestic about the situation unfolding in front of you, a father and daughter busy in their own little worlds, but not too busy to share a kind interaction.

“Just in time, I was just gonna come see if you guys were hungry.” Steve says, peering over his shoulder to meet your eyes when you take another step into the room.

“Oh, sure!” you reply, “it’s just me though. I’m sorry to disappoint, but Eddie left just a second ago.”

Steve laughs in response, shaking his head at your words. He quickly serves up some penne alla vodka, extending the plate and some silverware to you once he does. You follow him to the table as he carries his and Amelia’s plates, setting one in front of his excited daughter, who almost immediately digs in.

“Well, I’m sad your boyfriend couldn’t stay for dinner, but it was very kind of him to help you move over on such short notice and be so understanding of the situation.” Steve says once you both settle at the table.

You had just taken your first bite of food when Steve started to speak, and the suggestion of Eddie being your boyfriend nearly makes you choke on the pasta. A small laugh escapes your lips as you play off your near-death experience with a cough, shaking your head at the thought.

“Are you alright?” Steve questions, setting his own fork down as he watches you carefully, making sure you’re not actually choking.

“Yes! S–sorry, I’m fine!” you stammer quickly, shaking your head, “I just–Sorry, I thought that was funny. Eddie isn’t my boyfriend.” you reply with a nervous smile.

“Oh?” Steve retorts, raising an eyebrow at you.

“He’s just my best friend, I–I was actually sleeping on him and his boyfriend’s couch for a few days so he just wanted to make sure where I was going to be living was safer than that.” you say, cheeks flushing red at the admission of couch surfing less than 24 hours prior to ending up in this penthouse, of all places.

“Sleeping on his couch?” he implores, “I thought you said you lived in a small studio in Yorkville?”

“I did, with my ex. That is where I was but we–well, we had a nasty breakup a few weeks back so that’s how I ended up on Eddie’s couch. It all happened so fast that I keep forgetting I don’t live there anymore –” you blurt out, stopping yourself when you realize how much you’re sharing with this man you barely know. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be telling you all this, you’re my boss for God’s sake, I am so sorry, Steve.”

“Hey, no, no, you’re fine!” he replies quickly, shooting you a reassuring smile. “I’m, uh, I’m sorry you had to deal with that.”

You give him a small, sad smile in return, choosing to focus your gaze on the food in front of you so you don’t embarrass yourself any more than you already have.

“I know it probably doesn’t mean a lot coming from me since I don’t know what happened, but I’m sure that you didn’t deserve to be the one left on your best friend’s couch without a place to live.” Steve was rambling now, “and I’m sorry for assuming that Eddie was your boyfriend, I just didn’t think it was possible for someone like you to be single.”

There was an awkward beat of silence after Steve finished his nervous ramble, leaving you with a million thoughts that you couldn’t process in the moment, all being ones that made your stomach flutter. You didn’t really have time to process any of it though, as your thoughts were interrupted by Amelia tugging on her dad’s sleeve.

“Where my butter bread?” she questions, giving her dad a very stern look, clearly impatient from not getting her bread with the meal.

Steve opens his mouth to retort, but you’re up from the table and grabbing the plate with baguette slices and a pad of butter Steve had forgotten on the counter next to the pot of pasta. You give the little girl a smile, swiping some butter on one of the slices before reaching across the table to hand it to her. She grabs the bread and hastily takes a large bite, giggling to herself in satisfaction.

“What do you say?” Steve says to her, giving her a knowing look.

“Tank you,” she says to you, mouth full of bread as she grins over at you.

The once awkward moment quickly resolved after Amelia’s interruption, and dinner went by smoothly after that. You discussed what you would need to do to help Amelia throughout the day and night, and what days Steve would be around to help out. He let you know that you wouldn’t have to cook dinner, as he insisted on sitting down with her almost every evening for the meal and making it on his own. After dinner, you insisted on helping Steve clean up, but he insisted against it, that he would finish up. Instead, you opted to get Amelia ready for bed, getting her showered and cleaned up before reading her one of the dozens of children’s books that she had littered around her bedroom.

It was around 9 by the time you finished getting her to bed, leaving her room with the bedroom door cracked slightly. Both her and Steve’s bedrooms were upstairs, along with Steve’s office that he used to work from home on occasion. You passed the office, noticing a small light flooding from the doorway as you did. Before you could walk down the stairs, you heard a voice from inside the office call for you.

Steve was sitting in the dimly lit room, at the large oak desk that sat in the middle of the room. He looked up from his computer when you came in, there was a tired look on his face that changed when he locked eyes with you. Thin rimmed glasses sat on his face that you hadn’t seen before, and he was freshly showered, his hair still drying and the collar of his gray t-shirt was slightly damp. He looked exhausted, but still managed to look extremely attractive and that made you want to crawl into his lap and – no, stop it. Your mind was wandering, it had been too long of a day already.

“She went down okay?” he questioned, breaking you from your trance.

“Yeah, she was fine. She made me read Goodnight Moon twice before she fell asleep, she said I read it wrong the first time around.” you say with a laugh.

“That sounds about right,” he chuckles in reply, shaking his head. There’s a beat of contemplative silence, then Steve looks back up at you, “also, before you head to bed. I just wanted to apologize for earlier, I–I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable by asking too many questions or anything, I’m sorry if I did.”

“Don’t apologize, you’re fine. I’ve been asked worse things, don’t worry about it.” you say with an assuring smile, earning one back from him in return that makes your heart skip a beat. “Goodnight, Steve.”

Steve says goodnight in reply and you turn on your heels to walk back downstairs. Exhaustion hits you all at once when you make it to the bedroom that you now call your own, throwing yourself onto the bed with a sigh.

It’s in that moment that you’re thankful for changing and getting ready for the night before you made your way up to put Amelia to bed, because now you can just cuddle into your new bed with no worries. Well, that is until your mind starts to wander.

All day you had brushed off the thoughts you’d had about Steve, the remarks Eddie had made about Steve, and the remarks Steve had made to you at dinner about being surprised that you were single. There was no reason for you to be overthinking it all, you told yourself. There was no reason for your stomach to flutter at the thought of Steve, your new employer, winking at you jokingly. There was no reason for your mind to wander when you saw him with wet hair and glasses, but you couldn’t help yourself.

What did it all mean? You shouldn’t even be thinking about anyone right now, you just went through a disgusting breakup with an even more disgusting man, you should be thinking about nobody but yourself.

You weren’t sure what any of it meant, and were truthfully terrified to find the real answer.

But that was for another time, as sleep overtook you not long after you set an alarm, mind still running as you drifted into slumber.

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#steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #stevis writes

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aviawrites · 1 year ago

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may the sun dawn on panem (tbosas)

𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥!𝘵𝘪𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥!𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘶𝘴

𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: 𝘊𝘢𝘴𝘤𝘢 𝘏𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘰𝘮’𝘴 𝘥𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘳, 𝘊𝘰𝘻𝘢𝘩, 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘸 𝘶𝘱 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘛𝘪𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘊𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘶𝘴 𝘚𝘯𝘰𝘸. 𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘊𝘰𝘻𝘢𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘊𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘰 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘣𝘶𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘰𝘳, 𝘊𝘰𝘻𝘢𝘩 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘊𝘢𝘱𝘪𝘵𝘰𝘭 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘢 𝘮𝘢𝘯. 𝘌𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘰𝘯 𝘢 𝘚𝘯𝘰𝘸. (2.6𝘬)

𝘢/𝘯: 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘶𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘢𝘯’𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘦 𝘪 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴, 𝘪 𝘤𝘢𝘯’𝘵 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘢𝘥𝘢𝘺𝘴. 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘪 𝘴𝘢𝘸 𝘈 𝘉𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘢𝘥 𝘢 𝘧𝘦𝘸 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘨𝘰 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘩! 𝘢𝘭𝘴𝘰 𝘪𝘮 𝘳𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩��𝘯 𝘺/𝘯 𝘳𝘯😎 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘸𝘢𝘺, 𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴, 𝘶𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥, 𝘪𝘭𝘺<3

𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺, 𝘺𝘯 𝘪𝘴: 𝘤𝘰𝘻𝘢𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘰𝘮 (𝘤𝘰𝘴𝘦-𝘶𝘩)

Your eyes, wide and tear filled, are glued to the screen. Lucy Gray looks down at your tribute, stroking his face as foam continues to flow from his lips. All of your naive hope is lost as Jessup’s face is replaced with the Hunger Games title card and Lucky’s eccentric voice breaks you out of your trance.

“Annndddd that is it for Jessup Diggs and mentor Cozah Highbottom, a hard sight to see indeed but not hard enough for you to turn off your televisions, am I right?” He delightfully laughs, his artificial smile being a stark contrast to the knot that’s tied itself in your stomach.

You slowly look over to Coriolanus, the man who’s supposed to be your partner. His eyes are just as wide as yours as he stares back at you. He begins to speak, placing a hand on yours. There’s no time for him to get in a word before you shove him off of you and storm out of the hall, throwing your Academy pin on the marble floor.

The fresh air outside of the school does little to calm you, an angry snarl plastered on your face as your walk begins to turn into a jog. You were stupid to ever think you could trust Corio. The boy you grew up with has changed. The games changed him, Lucy Gray Baird changed him. He’s turned into a Capitol elitist who will clearly stop at nothing to make sure Lucy Gray wins. Not even murder was below him.

The footsteps running up behind you are ones you recognize, though, they don’t make you turn around. If anything, they make you walk faster. Nevertheless, they quickly catch up to you and expectantly, a hand pulls on your shoulder.

“Cozah-“

You snap around, unable to keep your composure at his touch.

“I should’ve never sent that water. I should’ve never trusted you.” You sneer, your unique and oddity of a District 12 accent growing thicker the more emotional you become.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think that he’d-“

“You knew exactly what would happen but you let me send it anyway.”

“What- No! I meant for it to scare him not to…” He trails off.

You step closer, staring up into his saxe eyes; though you’re only seeing red.

“I know you, Corio.” You assure him, “I should’ve known better.”

His brows furrow, his frosty hair softly blowing in the cool front. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“‘Snow lands ontop,’ Right?”

He rolls his eyes as the silly phrase he says suddenly becomes fuel for fire.

“Come on-“

“You knew about the drones. You knew I hadn’t seen when Pliny sent his and you knew I thought they functioned perfectly fine. You wanted Jessup to die so your little Songbird can win and you’ll get your stupid money.”

He shakes his head, “How can you say that? I would never do that it’s- That’s not who I am.”

You shake yours, unsurprised that he hasn’t seen how he’s differed yet.

“You’ve changed, Corio. ‘Cause now that’s exactly who you are.”

➵ ➵ ➵

You sit beside the rest of the shunned mentors at the back of the hall as Dr.Gaul’s snakes slowly glide across every part of Lucy Gray’s body. She continues to fearfully sing as the reflective serpents continue to slither, but never bite.

“It must be her singing!” Corio stares at the screen.

The mentors have all risen to their feet, looking intently as the seemingly docile snakes seem to sway around her.

“Get her out!” Tigris shouts, the rest of your class agreeing with her in a loud chant.

Dr.Gaul finally gives the order. The crowd erupts in applause and smiles as a helicopter is sent to her. You only stare at the live feed, stone faced as you reminisce on all of the innocent children that lost their lives. But that’s not the only thing that takes your attention.

When Clemensia disappeared, reportedly to the flu, you and Tigris were the first people Coriolanus ran to to tell the full truth. And with that truth came some knowledge on Volumnia’s snakes. You’ve only seen them once or twice in your life when you were allowed into Gaul’s office. But from those few visits you were positive those slippery things weren’t going to bow down to just any old girl. Especially not because they want to gather around and listen to her song. There’s only one way those snakes wouldn’t be biting Lucy Gray.

Coriolanus holds Tigris close, laughing as the cheers slowly die out and the hall clears. Soon after, it’s only you and them left. Though, you’re not sure they notice you after their big win.

You take a breath, aware of the flood gates you’re preparing to open.

“How’d you do it?” You ask, your voice echoing through the bare command center.

Both Tigris and Coriolanus jerk their heads around, startled.

“Coze.” He smiles, not hearing your question.

You don’t smile.

“First, you deceive me. Then, you kill my tribute. And now you cheat so that his ally can win the games for you.” You lay it all out, looking down at them from the stands. “That’s low, Coriolanus.”

The cousins look at each other before looking back to you.

“Wh- What are you talking about?” He inquires.

“You know, your father died to this same poisonous power. These games are a goddamn virus. They’re serpents who have already slithered their way around you.” You scorn, finally being able to say what you need to say. “Those snakes don’t calm easy, Coriolanus.”

He stares, warily tilting his head at you. “…It was her singing.”

“And snow falls beneath grass.” You highlight his ridiculous and impossible implication with your own. “Singing wouldn’t work worth a damn and you know it. We all know it.”

“He didn’t cheat, she’s calmed a snake before.” Tigris defends, holding onto his arm.

“You haven’t seen ‘em, not how they really are. Theres only one way they’d allow her to live-“

“Coze-“

“And it’d be a damn shame if my father connected the dots and they led back to his own student.” You stare dead in his face, his glance faltering.

“He didn’t cheat.” Tigris claims once again.

“They only keep from biting if they know your scent. Do you really think Lucy Gray has been within 10 miles of them in her life, Tigris?”

She stops, doubt now in her eyes as she stares from you to Coriolanus, who can’t stop staring at you. You can’t tell if it’s fear or hate in his eyes but it seems to be burning him from the inside and seething onto you.

“Who have you become, Cozah? You’d never do this before the games.” He deflects in an angry whisper.

“I didn’t know you were a cancer before the games. Now you kill kids for money.” You coldly reply.

He says nothing. You can almost see him physically accept his fate as he looks at you once more before walking out. Knowing what he wants, you begin walking down from the stands, you and Tigris following behind him.

The silent walk seems to last hours before the three of you are walking past the old zoo, and Coriolanus finally decides to speak up.

He walks toward the bars, softly running his fingers along them.

“This is where I first properly saw Lucy Gray. From the moment I met her I knew she was worth meeting. Worth saving.” He nods as if he’s reliving the memories for himself.

He turns to you, “I had her equipped and prepared to win fairly. It wasn’t until Dr.Gaul aired her announcement that my plan changed.”

Both you and Tigris listen intently. She has an expression of confusion while you have one of knowing. A blue bird chirps, landing above the bars.

“The night of the bombs I visited her here. I did all I could but she was so scared…” He reminisces, slightly snapping out of it as you wait for the part you want to hear. “I wiped her tears. It was a cloth my father gave me. When I found out it was the snakes I just…” He shrugs, knowing that both of you knew what came next.

“It had her scent.” You finish for him, wanting him to admit it a little more concretely.

“It had her scent.” He nodded, his head down.

You sigh, “It was a good move. Better than what I could’ve thought of. Though of course, I had no such chance as to devise a plan to save my tribute. He was dead the second Lucy Gray was in danger.”

“Coze, Jessup would’ve never made it-“

“Think hard about what you’ll say before you speak his name again.” You advise him.

He backs down, both him and yourself momentarily looking over at Tigris. Her pale hand is covering her mouth as tears fill her eyes.

“Oh, Tigris…” Coriolanus whispers sympathetically, grabbing her free hand and holding it tight.

“They’ll kill you, Corio. They’ll hang her and then you just to show what happens.” Her voice trembles.

He rubs his lips together, knowing she couldn’t be far off. He looks over to you, knowing his life is now in your hands.

“Do you want me to hang?”

You pause, for the first time in your life genuinely contemplating if you want your best friend dead.

“You won’t hang, Coriolanus.”

He badly hides his sigh of relief before nodding in what he thinks is a mutual agreement. You do the same, though you know he is far from out of the woods.

➵ ➵ ➵

“They’ll kill you, Corio, They’ll hang her and then you just to show what happens.”

“Do you want me to hang?”

“…You won’t hang, Coriolanus.”

You stop the Jabberjay tape, having shown your father all he needs to see.

You sit across from him, tightly squeezed on the other side of his desk in the middle of the lecture hall.

“What will you do?” You ask him.

“Well, we could never hang them. Lucy Gray has already won over the Districts.”

“And Corio’s in the 24, it’d be too bad of a look.”

He twiddles his thumbs, examining the situation.

“What would you have done?”

“Me?”

“Well, yes.” He nods, “You got the crime, you had to have something in mind for the punishment.”

You think for a moment, unsure of what the appropriate consequence is for cheating a government issued activity.

“I just want him to pay.” You shrug, “One way or another he has to pay for what he’s done. Not just for Jessup but for everything. Lying to me, incentivizing the games, all of it. He has to know that it’s wrong and he can’t get away with it.”

“Well…” Your father begins, “The Plinth money he’s meant to be rewarded for his victor hasn’t been issued yet. That’s all he really wants. But with this evidence, he won’t see a dime.”

You don’t even have to think on it before you agree to the punishment. Taking away what one never had is much more telling than taking away what they’ve already enjoyed.

➵ ➵ ➵

Your father confronted Coriolanus last night and you can’t help but think about it. It’s not exactly worry, certainly not guilt; you know what a man like him can turn into. It’s more an eerie feeling of him once being the closest friend you had and now being an enemy.

Attempting to distract yourself, you aimlessly walk through the Capitol. You’ve ended up in the penthouses, the ones you and the Snow’s used to run through the halls of all those years ago.

You’re passing their very door when you notice a white and red slip on it.

‘EVICTION.’

You stare, a highway of thoughts racing through your mind. The core emotion of feeling like you’ve lost some of your morale creeps in. Indirectly taking their home from them. But you quickly push the thoughts from your head, remembering that what you did was right. You continue walking, only making it a few feet before you see a familiar face resting on the wall of the wide hallway.

Tigris, face and hair as bland as you’ve ever seen it, waits for you to come near her. You keep your distance.

“You told.” She states.

You only look at her.

“We can’t pay it off, now” She points to the slip on her door. “You know, they’re sending him away because of what you did.”

Your brows furrow, “What I did? Your cousin killed people.” You remind her. “He cheated the games.”

“Games that your father made!” Tigris snaps, truly raising her voice at you for the first time. “How could you really be angry at him for doing what he could to win? It’s win or die, that’s how it always is.”

“My father may have made the games,” You keep your voice low and calm, “But Coriolanus is who turned them into what they are. They would’ve fizzled out and became a thing of the history books had he left them be, Tigris. But now…” You pause, “Every single death for decades to come is no longer on my father’s hands. They’re on Snow’s.”

She shakes her head, “You know he’s not a monster, Coze.”

“If you really believe that you’re more ill than I thought.”

“God, we used to be friends, Cozah! Not even a month ago!” She urges, attempting to keep her voice as leveled as possible. “Since we were children it was me, you, and Corio. We played in this same penthouse, we made board games in the dirt during the dark days. When we lost our parents we went through it together. Does that mean anything to you?"

Contemplation absorbs your mind, but nothing she’s saying is something you haven’t thought about before. The last few days have been a few of your hardest, no matter what it seems like. But you, unlike many, know how to put morals and what’s right above money and power and the godforsaken games.

You step toward Tigris. The gloss in her eyes chips a part of your heart away. Through all of it, she was innocent. You didn’t want to hurt her.

“See, that was before, Tigris.” You begin. “But you and I know Coriolanus more than anyone does. And you know I'm right when I say he's different. You can follow him into madness if you'd like but I won't do it. The snow will melt one day and all that'll be left is the ashes of the fire. I won't go down with him and I don't want you to either, I really don't. Time is running out and I've made my choice. Now, you can fight with snow and ice, sure. But when the sun finally dawns on Panem, your choice will have already been made.”

She gawks at you, her mouth hung open but no words escaping.

“I know Corio; But I also know you, Tigris. You’re good. The most good I’ve ever seen in my life.” You admit. “So for the sake of yourself, Panem, your brother, and me…choose good. Choose to tell Corio he was wrong and uproot his corruption before it’s too late.” You grab both of her hands, kissing her knuckles, “You’re the only one who can.”

Gently releasing her hands, you exhale in relief. Now you’ve truly said all you can say, it’s up to the Snow’s what history they want to write. You place a sympathizing hand on her arm before walking away, having faith that your words got through to her.

All you have now is the hope that Coriolanus stops himself from his free fall and Tigris be his net. If not, the chips will fall where they may. You just pray that the odds are in your favor.

#hunger games imagine #hunger games #a ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #tigris snow #abosas #hunger games prequel #hunger games fanfiction #lucy gray baird #hunger games spoilers #president snow #tbosas #tbosas imagine #the ballad of songbirds and snakes

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her-power · 11 months ago

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Last Chance to Dance (Part Six: Rockstar! e.m x fem reader)

🚨🛑🔞18+++ MINORS DNI - YOU WILL BLOCKED🚨🛑🔞 TRIGGER/CONTENT WARNING (For entire series): Rockstar! Addict! Sweet! Mean! Eddie, smut, unprotected p+v, fluff, fingering (f receiving), masturbation, oral (m+f receiving), heavy drug use, descriptions of IV drug use, swearing, talks of anxiety, panic disorder, mental illness, talks of suicide

Eddie Munson Masterlist

Last Chance to Dance Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five

Summary: Full Summary on Part One

Word Count: 8k

Fifteen years ago… “Fuck.” You mutter after poking yourself in the eye with your black eyeliner. You press your finger under your eyelid and smudge it, so it looks like you were doing it on purpose. You were renting a room close to your college; your roommates were two older women in their mid-seventies, both widowers and they made you feel like you were a part of their family for years. Your mother had got a new boyfriend, who had tried to make advances on you, and it got to the point where you punched him in the face. Your mother took his side naturally, and you had to do everything you could to make sure Eddie didn’t go back there to finish the job.

You were getting ready to head to the Hideout; Corroded Coffin had a small gig. Robin and Steve would be there, you haven’t seen them since you all graduated. Thunder was rumbling in the distance; there was supposed to be a rainstorm later tonight. You check your phone, no text messages from Eddie. He had been acting weird the last few days; weirder than normal, and you noticed it after the gift you had given him. He had lost his favorite guitar pick a few months ago, it was a dark red, with red flakes in the design that made it look like marble. You had found one that looked exactly like it when you had gone into the city, and you knew you had to give it to him. You had attached it to a necklace, and when you had given it to him, he immediately put it on, but there was something in his eyes that didn’t sit right with you. He stopped telling you he loved you, and that also didn’t sit right with you. Not that he needed to tell you it every day, but every time you would say it to him, he would just smile, and kiss you.

You tried not to think too much of it, you were excited for tonight. You threw on your black ankle combat boots, a dark gray dress, and an oversized denim jacket over it. You let Millie and Sandra know where you were going, they were on their way out to Bingo, and Millie had made a comment that she was trying to look her best for George, who had asked her on a date. They had given you a spare key, and you place it in your pocket as you laugh overhearing Sandra tell Millie that she better make sure she cleared the cobwebs from her “undercarriage”. The Hideout wasn’t far from where you lived, you still needed to drive. The thunder and lighting was still booming in the distance, something about this night made you feel like something was off.

The Hideout was full, bodies on top of bodies. You, Robin and Steve had found a little corner near the stage where the three of you could sit and chat comfortably. Robin could sense something was off with you, and with Eddie. Eddie barley kissed you when you walked into the Hideout, it was just a graze on your lips. You had knocked back a few shots to settle your nerves, the overwhelming feeling was too much for you to bear. The show was amazing as usual, the stage presence from the three of them was always such a treat to watch. You knew that one day, they would go somewhere, and their faces would be plastered on every magazine, their songs on every radio station. You just knew it.

Steve invited everyone back to his house after the show; the rain had started, and you felt relief knowing that you could just walk to Steve’s from where you lived. Eddie had met you there, you could already smell the booze on his breath as he kissed you. Kissed you. So much passion was behind that kiss you forgot how to breathe, and you were so confused. It was almost like he was a different person, someone who wanted to be in your presence, and so many questions swirled in your brain, but you couldn’t find the right words. So, you kissed him back with that equal passion, stumbling up the stairs to Steve’s spare bedroom, locking the door behind you. He had pushed the front of your body into the door, his mouth was on your neck, his hands gripped your thighs over your dress from behind. You didn’t know what had gotten into him, but you didn’t stop him. His hand tightens a hold on your hair, pulling your neck back into his shoulder, his mouth meeting yours as his other hand reaches down to finger you over your underwear. You moan at the sensation, the slight pain from his hair pulling, the roughness of his hands, the feeling of his tongue on your neck. You feel him lift your dress up, and you adjust your palms on the wall in front of you as he goes down to his knees and you feel his hot breath on your pussy. He buries his face into your folds and your head falls back in pleasure, his tongue lapping you up, tasting and devouring every inch of you. You grip the wall, moaning loud as his tongue fucks your dripping hole. His moans vibrate your entire body, and you feel him slide his way up your back, hear his zipper on his jeans, and the feel of his velvety cock as he pushes into you with ease. You both moan loudly, he holds on to your hips as he fucks you from behind, angling your ass up to get better friction. Broken moans were escaping your lips, and you were happy that Steve kept the music on loud downstairs. The tip of his cock was hitting you at the right angle; he pulls your face back to his by your hair again, his tongue licks your lips, begging for entrance and you massage his tongue with yours. He pulls out slowly, and then slams back into you. You cry out, the sensation and euphoria was causing your very core to tingle. He does it again, and again until you're practically begging for him to fuck you on the bed. He pulls out of you, turning your around, crashing his lips into yours, he grips the back of your head, groaning as he drags you over to the bed. He pushes you on your back, pushing up your dress, exposing your full naked breasts. You hear him growl under his breath, and he takes your nipple into his mouth, biting and sucking as you squirm underneath him. He pulls away from your breast, looking up at you with those big brown eyes.

“You want me to fuck you?”

You nod.

“How bad do you want me to fuck you?” He says, sticking his tongue out, tracing circles around the skin of your nipple. You groan at how fucking hot he looked, and your pussy got even wetter. You open your legs wider for him, and an almost sinister smile graces his lips. He glances down, smiling big. “Mmmm, looks like you want me to really bad.” He crawls up your torso, catching your lips in a kiss. He moans against your lips, and he grits his teeth, he slams his cock into you, so fucking hard you think you go cross eyed. He pushes your leg up by your ears in a Vulcan like grip, his fingers bruising the skin, but you loved that feeling, you needed it.

“Unnnnnnghhhh, want me to go harder baby?” He asks you, biting his bottom lip as he continues his fast pace with the roll of his hips. You feel like a magical being, something that was sent down from the cosmos, you didn’t want this feeling to go away.

“Ohhhh my god…” You moan hoarsely, he was hitting you there, that sweet, sweet spot. “Faster, Eddie…ohhhh!!!”

“Yeah?” He growls, his pace quickens, the headboard slams against the wall as animalistic grunts and whimpers spill out of him. “Fuck…ungh you’re so fucking tight.”

You felt the pleasure build in your lower belly; you meet his lips in a passionate kiss as he thrusts into you faster. You feel your orgasm approaching, you moan loudly into his mouth, and he pulls back from you, watching as you cry out, your orgasm rocking your entire body. He comes right after you, exploding inside you as his entire body trembles and he holds onto your hips for support. He pulls out of you, resting his head on your chest as you both catch your breath. He cups your cheek, leaning up to kiss you softly.

The two of you had hung out a little longer at Steve’s, you and Robin had beat him and Steve at beer pong and when it was getting late, Eddie said he’d walk you home. The rain had stopped but the ground was wet. The two of you walk in silence, you had glanced up at him as his face was scrunched in concentration. You continued walking but realize he had stopped, you turn to him, pulling your jacket tighter.

“Are you okay?” You ask him.

He’s looking down at his feet and then meets your eyes. You didn’t like the look he had in his eyes. “I need to talk to you about something.”

“Okay…” you say softly. Your skin prickles with nervousness, your stomach was in knots.

He stares into your eyes, trying to fix his eyes on both of them, and you notice they are glassy and sad. “Me and the guys had made contact with someone in the east coast. He has managed a few pretty well-known bands; he wants to meet us. Get us a few gigs. We leave tomorrow.”

A smile forms on your lips. “Eddie, that’s amazing!” You had wrapped your arms around him in a hug but feel him stiffen, you pull back as if he electrocuted you. “Eddie, what’s going on?”

You stare up in his eyes, you see them fill with tears. “I can’t do this anymore.”

You move back a step, your stomach clenches. “Can’t do what?”

“Us…this. I can’t do it anymore.”

You stare at him, trying to process what he just said to you. Can’t do this anymore? What the fuck? What the actual fuck? Your eyes narrow and a laugh escapes you.

“Okay, I get it. You’re leaving tomorrow, probably for good…so you’re breaking up with me because I’m sure you’re gonna be looking for brand new pussy.” It’s out of your mouth before you could stop yourself, you were seething.

His eyes widen. “No…that is not why, I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“Then why?”

He doesn’t answer you, and you feel hot tears sting your eyes. You stare up at him, and you shake your head. “What the fuck was that then up at Steve’s? A goodbye fuck?!” He still doesn’t answer you and you swear it feels like bug are crawling under your skin, you whimper, looking away from him. He goes to reach for you, but you step back from him. “Don’t fucking touch me. You’re disgusting.” Your eyes are wild, and he moves towards you again, you shove him away.

“I’m sorry.” He says, tears streaming down his face and the rain starts up again.

“No, you’re not.” You shake your head; the rain pelts your hair, and you stare up at him. Your anger seething. “You just threw away a lifetime of fucking friendship. A LIFETIME. I should’ve known this would happen. You never loved me.”

He whispers your name and shakes his head at you. “No…no…that’s not…”

“Fuck you.” You scream at him. “FUCK YOU!”

You stand there in the rain, and he just stares at you. “I’m sorry…”

“STOP SAYING YOU’RE SORRY!” You cry, tears streaming down your face. “Stop. Just stop. Get away from me, I can’t believe I’ve let you touch me…do all those things with you…you’re fucking FILTHY. I hate you. I fucking hate you!” You shove him hard by the chest and shove him again. He grabs you by your wrists hard pulling you to him, he looks angry now, and tears continue to spill from his eyes as you squirm against him.

“Believe what you want to believe but these last few years fucking meant something to me, and you can hate me all you want but don’t stand there and say that I didn’t love you.”

“You didn’t.” You sneer, pulling out of his grasp and you walk backwards away from him. “Enjoy your life, Eddie Munson. I hope you never feel the pain I’m feeling right now, and if you do, I hope it fucking destroys you.”

You turn from him, walking the opposite direction of your place and the rain comes down harder. You speed walk towards Lover’s Lake, laughing at the irony. You go towards the water, the rain pelted harder against you, and a loud boom of thunder cracks as you scream at the top of your lungs.

(Eddie’s POV) I jump awake when I hear the sound of a car horn. I had pulled off onto a rest stop in Vermont at three o’clock this morning. I rub my eyes, tossing the fleece blankets off of me from the backseat of my truck. It was almost seven in the morning; and I wish I had more blankets. The temperature gauge read that it was 14 degrees outside when I started up the car, I blow warm air into my hands and zip up my leather jacket, throwing my jean jacket on over it. I had double checked your return address on the letter about sixty times, making sure I had the right one. The gps said I would be getting to you in about four hours.

I needed coffee.

I had found a Dunkin Donuts a few miles off the highway and had ordered myself some food. The young girl at the drive thru immediately recognized me and had asked for a selfie. I was happy to, she was very sweet, and didn’t want me to pay for my coffee. So, I gave her a one-hundred-dollar tip that she had tried to give back to me, but I had smiled and drove off so she couldn’t chase my truck.

A sudden thought crosses my mind.

The girl from the meet and greet. Who had the cancer. I pulled over again into a parking lot, scroll down until I find Gareth’s number. He answers on the first ring.

“Dude, where are you?” He sounds panicked. “I can back to your house and you’re not here, but your door is unlocked and there’s shit everywhere.”

“I’m on my way to Maine, listen…”

“Maine? What is in Maine?”

I close my eyes, leaning my head against the seat, waiting for him to make the connection. “Oh…oh!!! Dude why are you calling me?! Go to her! Drive!”

“I’m trying to, but can you listen to me for one fucking second please?” I laugh into the phone. “Remember that girl we met who had the terminal cancer, do you have the email of her mother?”

“Uhhhhhhh, hang on.” I hear a shuffling as the line goes quiet. “Wow, I actually do. Do you need it?”

“Can you email her? I just need to know how she is…attach my number to the email.”

“Eddie…that was almost a year ago and she was really sick when we met her,,,I don’t want to get your hopes up.” He was right and I knew that.

“Just…please. I just need to know.”

He sighs on the other end. “Okay. I will. Be safe driving please, there’s supposed to be a snowstorm hitting up here in a few hours. I’ll make sure your house doesn’t blow away.”

“Appreciate that, man.” I chuckle.

“Go get her, man.” He says teasingly.

I laugh loudly. “Shut up, Freddie Prinze Jr.”

I hang up the phone and start my journey towards you. I had no idea what I wanted to say, or what I could say. I knew you didn’t reach out to me because of pity, deep down I knew that. But I remembered how bad I hurt you. How you looked when I told you I couldn’t be with you, the anger in your voice, the sadness. And I thought you were just trying to hurt me, but why would you? You don’t have that in your character. You’re too good.

You’re just a fucking moron, kid. Ted’s voice echoes in my head and I bite back a smile.

“Yeah, yeah. I hear you, dead man.” I turn on the music and drive on the stretch of highway. I was trying to think about what I wanted to say to you. How every moment these last few weeks have been nothing short of wonderful. How I fell more and more in love with you; how I should’ve just married you all those years ago. How I should’ve just listened to my gut and let you in.

How you saved me.

In more ways than one.

Even when I was at my worst, you were there. Somehow, in some way.

That’s why I never take the necklace off. Not anymore at least. When I got high, I think maybe I didn’t want you apart of that, it was like I thought your own eyes were watching through the necklace. I feel the shame when I think back to how bad it was for me, to how I didn’t care about anything, how getting high was the only thing that mattered to me. I didn’t care who I hurt, who I fucked.

I didn’t care what happened to me. But now, I actually did care about myself. I was too young to give up now, I was too stupid to give up on us. Not when it mattered, not when someone who cared about me so deeply, wanted to see me survive a disease so horrendous, and brought me back to you. I probably should’ve called you, but the way we left things, I knew you wouldn’t answer. I needed to prove that I was in it for the long run, that I was willing to commit and love you for the person you’ve always been.

(Reader POV) You tug at the snarls in your hair. The fluorescent lights in the bathroom did nothing to help your tired features. You were on your third day in a row at the hospital, maybe slept five hours in between that time. You were able to shower, which was nice, but it still didn’t help the pure exhaustion you felt.

The utter sadness you felt in your gut.

You weren’t sure if you were sad or angry at Eddie. Maybe a little bit of both, but you couldn’t blame him for thinking the way he did, for assuming. But fuck him for assuming, he should know you better, if you didn’t want to reach out to him, you wouldn’t. You grip the porcelain sink in front of you, closing your eyes. Every time you closed your eyes, you felt the feel of his lips against your skin, the callouses on his fingertips, the way he said your name. All of those feelings that you kept buried for so many years came flooding back the second you locked eyes again. You hated how he made you feel, he still had that chokehold on you, and you knew you had some sort of grip in him.

You open your eyes and groan at your reflection. You had to get back on the floor. You already had three new patients in the span of twenty minutes: an elderly woman who had broken her hip from a fall, a seven-year-old boy who had split open his chin from falling off his bike, and a middle-aged drug addict who had to be restrained once he awoken from the help of the narcan. He was a stubborn son of a bitch, and he was mean. Meaner than most patients you dealt with, but for some reason, you were the only one that could calm him down. You tie up your hair and places her stethoscope over your neck. You walk to the room where your addict patient was, he was scowling at you.

“What’s going on, Ben?”

“They won’t give me anything for the pain.” He says through his teeth.

“I can order you Motrin.” You smile at him and check his IV bag.

“Sweetheart, come on.” He groans.

“Honey, you told me you were an addict. Withdrawing from opiates and you want to get clean. I’m not getting you anything stronger.” You say with a raised brow and a smirk. “I can get you chocolate.”

He grumbles. “Fine.”

You grin and he tries to hide his smile. “Cake or ice cream?”

He actually smiles at you. “Both?”

“You got it.” You say with a smile, typing away on the small computer screen. “I’ll get you that motrin too.”

He groans and you laugh. “Ben, work with me here.”

“You’re lucky you’re beautiful.”

“Aww, don’t make me blush.” You wink at him and exit the room. You hear a commotion in the hallway as one of the doctor’s calls your name, you stop what you’re doing and start running. The paramedics are wheeling in a young man, a mask over his face, and his shirt ripped open. He was strapped to the bedrails by the rubber restraints, fighting and screaming through the mask to be set free.

“What do we got?”

“Twenty-eight-year-old male, found outside a local bar. Friends said he had drunk a copious amount of alcohol, and had found him vomiting blood on the sidewalk. Four narcans have been administered and he is becoming violent. His stats are abnormal.”

“Get me the fuck out of here!” He screams. “I will blow this place up!”

“Calm down, sir, we’re trying to help you.” You shout at him, holding his shoulders down.

“Fuck you! I don’t need any help.” He yells at you, his voice muffled through the mask. The coloring on his face was concerning you, he was almost ashen, with yellow tints and you realize with the vomiting of blood and the skin coloring, he was in full liver failure.

“He’s going into liver failure; we need to get acetylcysteine in him now.” You say to the doctor, and they immediately wheel him into the ICU. You had put in an order for the medicine, had checked for his next of kin, because deep in your gut, you didn’t think this man was going to be making it out of this hospital alive. The only relative he had listed was a sister who lived in Portland; you were dreading making the call, but you had to.

Once they had got the patient settled and stabilized, he had calmed down a lot. It was almost seven o’clock in the morning, and you could feel the delirium settle in your bones as you gently go through his belongings. He had everything in his pockets: cell phone, wallet, keys, a capped needle.

A loose bag with a white substance.

You suddenly realize you’re not wearing gloves, and the powder is on your hands. Fuck. You back up slightly, and bump into someone’s chest. You turn.

It’s Eddie.

You look up at him, your heart was racing. You blink a few times…

“You shouldn't…be here.” You tell him, but your voice sounds weird.

He says your name, confusion on his face.

You felt dizzy…something was wrong…

What did you touch?

You smile when you look at Eddie. “I should’ve worn gloves.”

Everything goes black.

(Eddie’s POV)

I had made it into your town; you were right when you said you lived in a cabin in the woods. There was a small dirt road that led up the way to your house. I was lucky I was in my truck; the rocks were a pelting my tires and the wheels were spinning because the ground was icy. The snow looks so beautiful here, it made everything seem still, silent. I drive a little way and I saw your house approach my line of sight. I’m amazed at how gorgeous your house is. It was very quaint, with a small wraparound porch and a small garden. I didn’t see your car.

“Dammit.” I mutter to myself; I get out of the car and jog up the steps to your front door. I knock, I don’t know why I’m expecting an answer because you’re clearly not home. The hospital, the one I passed on the way here. That has to be the one you’re working at. I rush back into my truck and turn around in your driveway. I don’t know why I was rushing, maybe I was afraid I was going to lose you forever. That there would be no turning back from it at all.

I see the tall building come into view as I pull into the parking lot; I remember you saying you worked in emergency department and ICU. I realize that if y0u were actually inside the department and not the waiting area, there is no way they’d let me in. So, looks like I had to be creative and go back to who I was when I was teenager.

I still knew how to break a lock. I park near the emergency entrance and see the doors that lead to the ambulance drop off. I had to be quick and careful about it, because if I was caught, I would most likely be going back to jail. It would look like I’m breaking in to steal drugs; but little did they know, the hospital had the shitty stuff. I jog towards the back, peeking my head behind the brick, seeing an ambulance but not seeing anyone outside. The doors were automatic, I realize. I had maybe about ten seconds before someone came out and saw me.

This is the stupidest thing I think I’ve ever done.

I pull my hood up and immediately take it off, like that wouldn’t cause suspicion. I scoff at myself and go into a sprint towards the automatic doors and let out a breath once I’m inside and I see no one. I had to keep going, because I knew my luck was gonna run out.

Because well, it’s me.

I hear a commotion coming through a doorway, and I see people running. I follow the crowd, make myself blend in, and I’m in the emergency department. I push past a few medical personnel, it was so chaotic in here no one passed me a second glance. I’m looking up and down the hallway, trying to see if I can spot you. I had no idea where the fuck I was going but something was pulling me to just walk.

I freeze when I see you rush out of a room, you’re holding a pair of men’s jeans in your hands and I watch as you go through his pockets. I walk towards you, and you stop what you’re doing, I see your shoulders heave and you begin walking backwards. Your back collides with my chest and you turn around, your eyes meet mine and your hands are upright.

Your eyes look weird.

“You shouldn’t…be here.” My heart was racing, something was wrong. I say your name, and you look down at your hands before looking back up at me.

“I should’ve worn gloves.”

I don’t know what’s happening but one second, you’re standing in front of me, the next your eyes are rolling in the back of your head and you’re collapsing into my chest.

I shout your name, my knees buckling underneath your dead weight. Your eyes were half lidded and your lips were turning blue. I hear a ringing in my ears. This can’t be happening. This can’t be fucking happening. A nurse came over and asked me questions I wasn’t sure I answered, and I felt bile rise in the back of throat when I see the nurse pick up a baggy with a white substance in it, along with other belongings I assumed belong to a patient. I feel tears sting my eyes and suddenly you’re lifted out of my arms.

I stand, my eyes wide. The nurse looks at me, snaps her fingers in front of my face asking me who I was. I tell her I’m family, and they’re wheeling you on a gurney into an adjacent room. I kept hearing the word carfentinal…what the fuck was that? Did you do that? Did you touch it? I don’t even realize I’m walking, but I’m following closely to the room you’re in. Your shirt is ripped open, and I see them give you narcan, once, twice, three times.

I flinch.

Ted’s dead face, bloody mouth.

No please.

It feels like my body is dying. I can see the bloody foam pool from my mouth.

I can’t move my legs.

Your face is bluer. Or am I just imagining things?

“Clear!”

I watch in the doorway as your chest rises with the shockwaves.

Ted’s dead. Dead. Am I dead?

You’re dying, aren’t you?

No. No. No. No. No.

“Sir, you need to step back!”

I try to speak; I taste my own tears. What the fuck?

Ted won’t wake up. Neither will you. I feel my legs start to buckle as they give another shock to your heart; your skin was almost ashen. A nurse grabs my forearm so I don’t hurt myself, I can’t see her, or hear her. I’m just staring at your form, unmoving, just like Ted’s. Just like mine when Gareth found me in my hotel room. Except I survived. Ted didn’t.

Where did they put those drugs? I need them. I’m dying with you; I can’t live without you.

No. NO ONE is dying today.

You’re still flatlining.

No. Please don’t go.

I think I’m yelling now.

No.

I’m wailing.

“PLEASE! PLEASE DON’T GO!”

There are warm hands on my shoulders, comforting me. I’m still wailing, and sobbing, and my throat keeps closing. I can’t see you anymore, you’re just a blur. Something hurts inside me; what is that feeling?

Oh, it’s pain.

It’s unbearable, fucking gut wrenching pain. You’re dying…you’re dying. You’re the one leaving me. This felt worse than my withdrawals. This felt worse than Ted dying.

Ted…why did you bring her back to me? She would still be here…

No one is dying today. Ted’s voice.

I can’t breathe. I’m hyperventilating. I shouldn’t have let you go, I should’ve ran after you when you left my house, I should’ve told you that you were everything and more to me.

No, please don’t leave me.

Please don’t leave me.

Don’t leave.

Please…please, baby…please come back to me…

A sound reaches my ears, a long, deep, gasp for air and suddenly nothing is blurry anymore, and I see you jolt up, vomit projectiles out of your mouth onto the floor. I can’t move from where I was, I’m convinced my eyes are playing tricks on me and you’re actually dead, your beautiful body and mind just a shell, your soul gone.

“Eddie…” Your voice hits my core, spilling into the vessels of my heart, pumping more blood, vibrating my skin. Your voice sounds raw, pained.

I scramble to my feet, and before anyone can stop me and I’m by your side. I can see you; you’re looking up at me, your beautiful eyes staring into mine. “I’m here.” I say, my voice trembles. I take your hand, it’s cold and clammy.

“You came back.” Your eyes are still half lidded.

I nod, a small sob escaping me. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

“I saw him…he told me to turn back.” You swallow hard, tears falling down your cheeks, I could tell the drugs were still taking affect.

“Who?” I stare into your eyes and your head slightly nods to the side. I squeeze your hand. No. No. No. Don’t go.

“Ted…he looked…he looked so good.” Your eyes full close and they put an oxygen mask over your face.

I begin to panic again, and confusion settles in my gut. Ted? What?

“Baby? Sweetheart…sweetheart, wake up.”

“Honey, she’s stabilized, but she’s gonna be going in and out of consciousness from the drug effects. We’re gonna move her to recovery.” A nurse tells me, and I don’t take my hand away, afraid if I do, you will be gone forever. I stare at your face, not moving from my spot. The nurse gently cups my forearm. “She’s okay, love. I promise you.” She gently pulls me back, and I let go of your hand and watch as they wheel you out of the room.

“I’ll bring you to the waiting area. Is there anyone we can call?” She asks me and I just stare at her. My eyes are still wide, the tears are still hot.

“When can I see her?”

“Soon, just walk with me. Let’s get you some water.” She says kindly and I nod, following her to the waiting area. I asked her what had happened, and she told me that you were exposed to carfentinal, which is a drug that is strong enough to take down an elephant. She believes that when you were going through your patient’s pockets, you had touched the plastic baggy with the substance, and since you weren’t wearing gloves, it had absorbed into your skin faster, causing the overdose. I didn’t know what to think when she told me and left me sitting in the waiting room. I had just witnessed you teetering on the line between life and death, and in one instance, you could’ve been dead. And I had teetered on that line for years, I played with death, I welcomed it.

What kind of monster was I back then? My friends, my family…they saw me choking on my own vomit, blue lips, flatlining and I continued on with my habit after that. Because I thought I was invincible.

I’m not invincible.

No one is.

A pain hits my chest and I groan. I’m thinking about the what ifs. What would I have done if I watched you die in front of me? Would I leave the hospital, go find a dealer and shoot into my veins enough heroin to kill me? Probably. The first time I lost you, I knew you were safe, living your life, like I knew you were still thriving. But watching you, a few minutes ago, so close to death, I felt something in me snap, like a rubber band. A tether that held us together for our whole lives was snapped the second I heard that machine flatline, a tether that kept my heart beating.

And I lost that.

For a moment.

A small moment that had dictated the rest of my life. A small moment, and I would’ve been dead hours after you.

Love is wild.

I must have fallen asleep, because when I come to, the same nurse is gently shaking me awake. “She’s asking for you.” She tells me. I rub the sleep from my eyes and quickly get up from the seat, my legs feel like jello. I follow her to a set of double doors, and she presses her name badge to the lock, and it opens with a beep. She stops outside a room and looks up at me.

“I didn’t get your name.” I tell her; she has been nothing but kind to me, and I feel like I owe her my gratitude for making sure I didn’t fly off the handle.

She smiles at me. “Kelsey. You’re Eddie."

I smirk, raising my eyebrow and she laughs. “She has talked a lot about you. I honestly didn’t believe her when she told me she grew up with and dated a famous rockstar, but she proved me wrong.” She looks through the doorway, towards you I’m assuming, but I couldn’t tell. “She’s my best friend here…and when I saw…it doesn’t even matter, because she’s okay, but I feel like if you weren’t here…she wouldn’t be. So, thank you.”

“I should be thanking you.” I tell her softly.

She smiles. “Not necessary.” She nods her head to the door. “It was nice meeting you, Eddie.”

I nod at her, watching as she walks away, and I sigh. I walk into the room, and I see you curled up on the bed, hugging a pillow to your chest. You were hooked up to two IVs; you still looked pale, but when you heard my footsteps, you open your eyes. I can’t stop the noise that comes out of my mouth when I see you smile. I go towards you, taking your face in my hands and I press my lips to yours. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…” I cry against your lips and your fingers curl through my hair. I press my forehead to yours, caressing both your cheeks. “I thought I lost you forever.”

You peck my lips gently; your eyes look tired. “It was my fault for not wearing gloves. I forgot.” You shrug and let out a sigh, wiping my tears away. “You came back. Why?”

“Because I was stupid for letting you walk out of my house that night.” I smooth back your hair; I couldn’t stop touching you. “Because the thought of you being completely gone from my life, killed me more than the drugs did.”

You lean your head back on the pillow, listening to me, tears filling your eyes.

“I spent so many years of my life chasing something that had been right in front of me for so long. So many years of filling my body with poison when I should’ve been filling it with love. Love that I didn’t think I deserved.”

“Do you think you deserve it now?” You ask me, entwining our fingers. I stare into your eyes, and I smile.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.” I sit near your legs, leaning my arm over you. “I promise you; I am never letting you go again.”

You lean towards me, kissing my lips, you smile. “If it weren’t for Ted…”

“I know.” My voice trembles and I squeeze your hands. “I know.”

“I think he saved me.” You whisper, and I let out a small sob.

“Yeah, yeah baby I think he did too.”

I meant it when I said that I was never letting you go again; because a month later, I moved into your house, our house now. I had sold my cabin; it was time. There were too many dark memories there. I needed a fresh start, and Maine was now my home. We were still working on the new album, after your overdose, I had written about four songs, two of them were heavy with the music, and since I stopped using drugs, I was able to scream again.

Gareth wrote a couple after Ted’s death, and Jeff had overcome his fear of singing, and had sung the most beautiful rock ballad I have ever heard. I didn’t know why he kept that voice away; it was smooth like Hendrix, and soulful like Miles Davis.

I loved my new solitude; I spent all morning today watching a black bear and her cubs roam around the front yard. I never realized how beautiful the world was. I spent so many years shielded by darkness and pain, I never bathed in the sunshine.

I sit in my office, my hand cramping from all the writing I was doing in my notebook. I was done with mandatory therapy, but I kept Dr. Ryan on twice a month. The bing of the email notification goes off on my desktop; I place my pen down and open my email. My brow scrunches, it was from a name I didn’t recognize. I click the message, and as soon as I read the first sentence, I’m weeping.

Dear Mr. Munson, Can I call you that? Is that weird? Eddie? Hi! It’s me, Caitlin. The girl who was dying. Guess what? I’m not dying anymore. Two months after your show, I had a routine appointment, and they said the cancer was almost gone. They didn’t understand how it was possible, because a month before your concert they told me I only had six months to live. Now I’m in remission. Isn’t that crazy? Gareth, your drummer had reached out to my mother a few months ago and had given her your phone number. I didn’t want to call because I’m still nervous and star struck over the fact that I had met you. And I’m better at conveying my thoughts with words anyway. I still remember what you said. And I never stopped thinking about it. Not only did your music save me, but you saved me that day. You got me to keep fighting, to keep that strength inside me brewing because my story wasn’t over yet. Thank you, Eddie Munson. Thank you for brightening a girls day with just your kindness and your words. I’ll never forget it.

Love, Caitlin xx P.S. Look! I have hair now!

I’m laughing and crying all at once as I stare at her picture. Her eyes are bright, her beautiful red hair was curled just above her shoulders, and her smile was glowing. She was alive, she fought it, and she won. I wipe the tears from my eyes just as you’re walking into the room with a coffee in your hand.

“What’s wrong?” You ask me and I tell you, I tell you everything, and you’re hugging me, telling me that even in my darkest days, I still made a difference in someone’s life. And you were right, I’m finally able to see it now.

We have dinner with Julie about once a month; Nellie will come with the kids sometimes, and every time we are laughing over something Ted had done or said, and just reminiscing about him.

I miss him. Man, do I miss him. I wish I could tell him how grateful I was that he had reached out to you, that he had brought you back to me. I wish he could see me now. Could see that I’m approaching a year of sobriety, that I plan on starting a foundation in his name that helps youth and musicians who are struggling with addiction, to get access to resources, housing, help and therapy when needed.

Rolling Stone had done a long interview about my addiction, and I was surprised they didn’t make me out to be a monster. I had so many social media messages from fans saying how they related to everything I said, how they were struggling, how brave I was. Even Nikki Sixx from Motley Crue reached out to me, I couldn’t believe it.

I wasn’t brave though. I was human.

A real life human, with real life flaws and trauma.

I’m looking at you now; I’m leaning against our doorframe of our bedroom, just watching you do your nighttime face wash routine in front of the bathroom mirror. You had on one of my t-shirts, naturally, and your hair was draped in waves passed your shoulders. You catch my eyes in the mirror, and you smile at me. “What are you staring at?” You smirk at me, flirting.

“You.” I say, walking towards you. “All of you.”

You pat your face with the washcloth and turn to face me, leaning back against the his and hers sink. You smile at me, and I pull you by your waist, pressing my lips to yours. You drape your arms around my shoulders, deepening the kiss and I lift you onto the bathroom counter. You squeal with delight, and I laugh, curling my fingers through your hair, feeling you wrap your legs around my waist. I knew you could feel how hard I was through my sweatpants, and like some sort of magnetic pull, you’re using your legs to pull me closer to you and I groan. Your fingers dig into my back like talons, and I move my lips to your throat, nipping your skin. You gasp and I run my tongue along the bite, moving my hands up your sides, cupping your breasts. Your nipples harden under my touch and your head falls back in pleasure. I peel off your shirt, quickly moving my lips to your breast, tasting your skin, pulling your nipple with my teeth. You push my face to yours hard, kissing me with so much passion and desire I almost forget to breathe. I lift you up by your ass, carrying you off the sink, and towards the bed. I lay you on your back, and I slide my way down your form, until I’m on my knees on the floor, pulling your legs towards my face. I hold your thighs, leaving soft kisses on the sensitive skin by your sex, and you arch your hips, helping me pull off your underwear. You lean up on your elbows to watch me, your chest heaving, your face flushed, and I spit right on your clit, burying my mouth into you. You groan, pulling my hair as I move my tongue in circles around your little bud, tasting your sweetness, moaning at the sounds you were making. You start grinding your hips against my face and I bring my hand down to my cock, fisting myself as you ride my face.

"Ohhhh, fuck…Eddie…”

I pull away from your cunt, looking up at you with a smile. “Keep riding my face like a good girl, but don’t come yet baby.”

You cry out as my lips suck on your clit, biting on it gently, my tongue lapping at your hole like I was a starved animal. You tighten your hold on my hair as you continue to grind against my tongue. Your breathing was picking up, and I keep tasting you, I’m not stopping, not yet.

“I’m so close…oh god…baby…please…”

“Please what?” I mumble against you.

“Make me come, please…make me come.”

I growl at your words, I take your clit into my mouth, suck hard and I’m moving my way up to your mouth, kissing you passionately. I push myself into you and you cry out, I grip your thighs, rolling my hips into yours, feeling every inch of you, moaning at how amazing you felt, how you just molded into me. My head falls back as I groan, and you let out a sob, whimpering and moaning as I feel you tighten around me.

“That’s it, baby.” I coo in your ear.

“Oh, oh my god…ohmygod…unghahhahhahh, Eddie…Eddie…fuckkk.” Your orgasm shatters through you, and I moan loud with you, feeling you clench around me as I come inside you at the same time. You hold onto my back for dear life, and I’m holding on to your waist, your thighs so tight, afraid if I were to let go, it would be over, and we would be no more. My lifeline, my love, my reason to keep going, the reason why I wasn’t dead at thirty-four, or thirty, or twenty-seven, or eighteen. The little girl who befriended me over a pack of Power Rangers trading cards, the girl who made me watch Titanic seventy-five times, the girl who wiped my tears away when I thought about my mother, the young woman I fell in love with, the woman that was living, breathing, right in front of me.

You, it had always been you.

fin.

A/N: Thank you for reading and being on this journey with me! So many of you have given me such wonderful feedback and support and I cannot thank you enough. This is has been so amazing for me and if I can make a difference in someone's life with just my words, I have done my job. I love you all. THANK YOU FOR ALL THE CONTINUED SUPPORT FROM MY TUMBLR FRIENDS, seriously, you guys are amazing.

Special shoutout to: @fearless-wretch-insanity - girl...I literally feel like I've known you forever. Yay internet Tumblr friends! <3 Thank you for being my muse.

New series posting in a few weeks!

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fluff #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x smut #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things #eddie munson fem!reader #eddie munson comfort #Spotify

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