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freeabortionslol · 5 months ago

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don't marry him (quinn hughes x bsf!reader) ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

summary: angst, quinn talks reader out of engagement, unrequited love (kinda), reader is a lawyer, lots of flashbacks, italics mean flashbacks, not a single y/n used (yay!) warnings!! anxiety, panic attacks, cursing, intense argument a/n: okay so I rly didn't know what to do with this bc it honestly felt wrong to have him confess his feelings in this moment LMAO so I think I'm def gonna do a pt 2. anyways this was the fic from my drafts that the people voted for so here it is!! hope u enjoy :)

wc: 4.1k

“You lost.” Quinn said, staring out at the Lake, not making eye contact with you.

“What?” You asked, twirling your flashy engagement ring around your finger.

Max had come into your life at a time when everything felt uncertain. You were fresh off a series of career setbacks, questioning your worth and your ability to build the future you had always dreamed of. He was steady, charismatic, and above all, ambitious. Qualities you admired and felt you needed to anchor yourself. He made you feel secure in a world that often felt chaotic.

Quinn sighed, turning to face you slightly. “At life. You lost.” He mumbled out, taking a sip of his beer before turning back to the lake. Your face quickly softened with a hint of sadness.

“I-I didn’t lose. I’m happy and successful.” You said, your tone coming off with a hint of anger.

You and Max met at a work conference, one of those overly formal events where you spent half the time pretending to be interested in panel discussions and the other half networking. Max had approached you during a coffee break, his easy confidence setting him apart from the crowd. His suit was perfectly tailored, his smile sharp but not unkind.

Quinn took one look at you, shifting in his seat slightly. “Y-You…you don’t want this.” Your heart thumped slightly, cracking your knuckles to drown out the sounds of your own thoughts. “I’m scared for you.”

Max’s love came with conditions. He valued success above all else, and he expected you to do the same. Work always came first, even if it meant skipping family events or cutting vacations short for a meeting. He didn’t understand why you needed to spend time with Quinn, Luke, and Jack.

“Quinn, I love him. You know that.” Your brows furrowed in an attempt to make him understand.

The engagement came as a surprise, even to you. It was during a charity gala, one of those glittering events Max thrived in. He had pulled you onto the stage during his speech, getting down on one knee in front of hundreds of people. The ring sparkled under the chandeliers, and the applause was deafening. You had said yes because saying no didn’t feel like an option. Not with Max’s expectant smile, the cameras flashing, and the weight of the moment pressing down on you.

“But do you like him?” His words sent a shiver down your spine as you continued to fidget with the ring on your finger. The ring that was far too heavy to be wearing constantly, its band made of gold instead of your preferred silver. His words hung in the air, the weight of them sinking in your chest like a stone tossed in the still waters of the lake. His gaze remained fixed ahead, unwavering.

Max wasn’t a bad man. He wasn’t cruel or unkind. But he didn’t see you, not the way Quinn did. He saw your potential, your ambition, but not the person you were when all the noise fell away.

“I-I…I don’t- of course I like him. What are you getting at?” You stuttered, confused about your own feelings on the matter. Quinn glanced at you with a side eye, taking another swig from his bottle before speaking.

“Really?” He asked, his heart shattering at the sight of tears welling in your eyes. “I see the face you make when he talks. It’s blank, unreadable. And when he laughs? Your eyes scrunch up like when we would drag you out of bed to get on the boat.” Quinn lets out an uncomfortable chuckle. “You really want to wake up next to his mustache every morning for the rest of your life?” You roll your eyes, posture slumping.

“Don’t make fun of him.” You warned, your voice becoming stern. Quinn bites the inside of his mouth before turning away. “I’m successful, Quinn.”

“Yeah-yeah, that’s great. You have all the fuckin’ money you could’ve wished for.” He huffs out with a sarcastic smile.

“Don’t do that. Don’t make me sound materialistic-” You crossed your arms, Quinn cutting you off quickly.

“Well it’s kind of hard when all you do is work and work-” His voice raises significantly.

“This is my dream! If you can’t accept the fact that i’m happy-”

“Yeah! And you’re so damn caught up in it that you don’t have time for us anymore!” He yells, sending you a look of anger. One you’d never seen before. He breathes heavily, trying to calm himself down as he moves to the edge of his seat. His eyes soften when he catches your expression, scared. He sighs reluctantly before he speaks again. “Luke notices the way you brush him off when Max is around. He notices how you never fly out to Jersey to see him and Jack like you used to.” Your breath hitched as Quinn’s words pierced through the air. His voice had calmed, but the raw emotion in his eyes cut deeper than his raised tone ever could. You looked away, not able to face the weight of his gaze, and stared at the rippling water instead. The golden light of the setting sun shimmered on the surface, mimicking the perfection you thought you’d built.

“Luke said that?” You whispered, your voice barely audible. A lump formed in your throat, but you swallowed it down, refusing to let it show. You didn’t want this, not here, not ever.

“Yeah.” He replied softly. “Jack see’s it too. They miss you.” Quinn turned his head to face you, your gaze still not meeting his. “I miss you.” You turned to glance at him, tears bubbling as you brushed a strand of hair from your face. You continued playing with your ring, biting your lip to hold the cries.

You sniffled, wiping your nose with the sleeve of your sweatshirt. “This is my life. I won.” You croaked out. Quinn sighed, leaning back in his seat as he swirled the beer bottle in his hand.

“When we were kids, my Aunt Julia came over to visit us during christmas. Do you remember that?” He asked quietly, catching you off guard in a moment of vulnerability. You nodded your head, continuing to bite your lip. “She asked all of us- Me, you, Jack, and Luke ‘What do you want to be when you grow up?’” Your eyes softened quickly, bringing your knees to your chest. “Do you remember what you said?” He asked, his tone empathetic.

“Yeah, a lawyer-”

“A mother.” He interrupted. The words hit you like a punch to the chest, knocking the air from your lungs. You froze, staring at Quinn as the memories hit like a tidal wave.

“I…I don’t remember that.” Your voice barely above a whisper.

Quinn gave you a sad smile, his eyes softening. “You do. You just don’t want to.” He brought the bottle to his mouth, looking out at the lake again. The two of you sat in the thick silence. Quinn, knowing he was winning this conversation and you, overthinking every little moment from the past two years. Tears began to escape your eyes as you stared out at the lake, refusing to look at Quinn. He turned to you, seeing how hard this conversation was for you. He wanted to pull you into him, let you cry into his shoulder until all the pain went away, but that wasn’t his job anymore. It was Max’s. The pain burned deep into Quinn’s chest as he recalled every memory he shared with you at this house. Jumping off the boat together on hot summer days, neighborhood barbecues where you would wear those short little sundresses he liked so much, your first kiss while playing spin the bottle together, and of course every deep conversation you shared on this back deck, in these exact chairs. When he was thirteen, he was sure of the fact that he would marry you. He never expected to be sitting here, watching you fiddle with an engagement ring that he didn’t buy.

You blinked, wiping the tears from your face as you decided to face your fear of confrontation. “I-If I don’t work hard now, I won’t have anything left when I'm old and burnt out.” Quinn’s jaw clenched as he processed your words, his gaze fixed on the lake but his mind clearly elsewhere. He tilted his head back slightly, exhaling through his nose like he was trying to suppress his frustration. Your lip trembled, more tears falling by the second as you looked away.

“H-He um-” You paused, taking a long sigh as you looked over at Quinn. “He says there’s no time for children in our career.” Quinn whipped his head over to you, his expression softening as he got lost in your words.

“He’s a piece of shit.” Quinn mumbled, shaking his head as he returned his gaze to the lake.

You licked your lips as you rolled your eyes. “He’s not a piece of shit, okay? He’s a good guy, you just don’t know him.” You said, your tone growing in frustration. Quinn looked over to you, mouth open, brows furrowed as if you’d just said the most unbelievable thing.

He huffed out a small laugh before returning his eyes to the bottle in his hand. “You’re fuckin’ delusional.” He let out quietly, taking another sip. You whipped your head to him, your frustration quickly bubbling over.

“Excuse me-”

Quinn was quick to interrupt you, his voice raised slightly. “You heard me. You’re fucking delusional if you think that’s love.” He rolled his eyes, looking back at you.

You scoffed, licking your bottom row of teeth as you let out an uncomfortable laugh. “You’re an asshole, you know that?” Your expression had become serious, your tears stopping in their tracks. “This is love!” Your voice carefully rose in volume. “I fell in love,” You laughed slightly, letting a slight smile escape your lips out of frustration. “You’re just jealous.”

Quinn’s face turned bright red as he took in your words. He looked down at his lap, then back to you. He bit the inside of his cheek, letting out an uncomfortable chuckle before speaking. “Jealous?” He asked, brows furrowed. “My god, you're so full of yourself sometimes.” He didn’t mean that and he knew, but you didn’t. You bit your lip, trying to hold back tears as your best friend tore you apart. “You seriously think i’m jealous of him?” He asked, his voice just below a yell.

“No, of me!” Quinn froze, his beer bottle mid air as the words echoed between the two of you. “You’re jealous because I found love and-”

Quinn slammed the bottle on the wooden deck, the sharp sound making you flinch. “Don’t.” He snapped, his voice shaking with anger. “Don’t twist this into me being the bad guy for giving a shit about you.”

“You don’t give a shit!” You shot back, standing up as your emotions boiled over. “You just can't stand the fact that i’m not following you around like a fucking puppy anymore!” Quinn stood too, his frame towering over you, but his expression wasn’t filled with intimidation. It was filled with raw, unfiltered pain.

June 23rd, 2012

Dear diary, today was pretty good. In the morning, Jack and Luke jumped on my bed to wake me up which sucked, but when are they not annoying? Anyways, they dragged me down to the lake for a boat day. We went with their dad and their brother Quinn (my future husband). Jack and Luke were doing this wakeboard surfing thingy so I decided to stay close to Quinn. He’s just sooo perfect. His hair is amazing and he smells so good. I wanna be his girlfriend like literally so bad but I can’t tell if he likes me or not. He held my hand when we jumped in the water which was literally the best thing that has EVER happened to me. Anyways, that was the most important thing that happened today.

“What are you reading? You don’t read.” Jack’s piercing voice pulled Quinn straight from focus. He quickly turned around, shutting the book immediately.

“Nothing uh- just something for school.” He stammered out. Jack furrowed his brows, crossing his arms.

“It’s summer.”

“Yeah, summer reading.” Only it wasn’t summer reading. It was your diary, something personal and private. Quinn was only reading it to find out where you hid the hockey puck you stole, but he stumbled upon a catalog of entries about himself. Do you expect a thirteen year old boy to not read it?

“Okay well, dinner’s in five minutes.” Jack said before spinning on his heel to exit the room. You liked Quinn, like really liked him and now he knows it.

“You need to think about what you just said.” Quinn said, his voice low. “Think about that and then compare it to every time I talked you through your panic attacks, or every time I picked you up at three in the morning when we were sixteen because you were too drunk to drive home, or every time I offered you a place to stay when your parents were fighting. Then, you can tell me if you think I give a shit or not.” He stared you down, his eyes becoming tense as your bottom lip began to tremble.

“I didn’t-”

Quinn huffed out his breath, interrupting your speech. “Do you know how hard it’s been to watch you? To see you become someone I don’t even recognize anymore?” His voice became stern, raising in volume. “You don’t smile the same way anymore. You don’t laugh like you used to!” Your breath hitched, the weight of his words suffocating. You looked down at the ring on your finger, the glittering diamond that once felt like a prize but now felt more like a shackle. “You think I don’t care?” His voice was quiet, but the pain in his voice was unmistakable. “I’ve always cared. A-And seeing you like this, wearing that ring, in this life that’s clearly eating you alive? It kills me.”

You licked your bottom lip, tears spilling down your face as you looked up at him. You swallowed the lump in your throat, letting out a shaky breath as you gathered your thoughts.

“Hey, babe. You almost ready?” You heard Max’s voice shout from the living room as you finished putting your earrings on.

“Yeah, just a second!” You yelled back, fluffing your freshly blown out hair in the mirror. You took a deep breath as you looked yourself up and down in the dark green bodycon dress that Quinn had gotten you for your 21st birthday. You’d never put it on, but you assumed it was fitting for a work Christmas party. Was it too much? You thought to yourself as you ran your hands down the sides, seeing that the length was about an inch above your fingertips. You decided it was fine and made your way out of the bedroom, purse in hand as you walked to the living room. Max sat on the couch in his tailored Prada suit, a bit pretentious to wear to a work party. His legs were spread wide as he had one hand on his phone, and the other on the back of the couch. He looked up from the screen to glance at you in your dress. You gave him a soft smile, your shoulders tensing up as he furrowed his eyebrows.

“It’s a bit short, don’t you think?” He asked as he ran a hand through his blonde hair. You looked down at your dress, then back up at him.

“W-Well, I was thinking that a little. Should I change?” Your voice was shaky, filled with nerves at Max’s disapproval.

He shook his head, standing from the couch with his hands in his pockets as he made his way to the door. “No, no. We're already gonna be late with how long you took to get ready.”

There were little moments like that that clouded your mind as you stood in front of Quinn. Your breathing was shaky, your face now fully engulfed in hot tears as he stared into your eyes. “You don’t get it.” You let out, your voice just barely above a whisper. “I’ve spent my whole life trying to find stability. To feel…safe.” Your voice cracked on the last word, and you swallowed hard, trying to steady yourself.

“Safe?” Quinn repeated, his eyes locking with yours. “Is that what this is? Because it doesn’t look like it. You’re not safe. You’re trapped.” He gestured to the ring on your finger, his voice lowering at the depressed sight of you. Your lips parted, but no sound came out. You stared at him, your chest tightening as his words dug into the thoughts you’d been trying so hard to suppress. Quinn softened, stepping closer. “You deserve more than this.” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “And I think, deep down you know that.”

You bit your lip, sniffling your nose before wiping your tears with your sleeve. “I’m in too deep. I can’t get out.” You whispered, finally bringing yourself to the point to admit it. You weren’t happy, you knew that, but you couldn’t tell anyone. Well, you thought you couldn’t until Quinn finally pushed you to the point where there wasn’t another option.

Quinn let out a sigh mixed with exhaustion and a hint of relief. He sent you an empathetic smile as he absentmindedly grabbed your hand, rubbing his thumb against the back of it. “You can.” He said, his voice quiet. “You’re not alone. I’m here…if you need help. I’m always gonna be here.” Your breath caught in your throat as Quinn’s hand enveloped yours, his warmth cutting through the icy wall you’d built around yourself. His touch was steady, grounding, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt a flicker of hope. His words echoed in your head, soft and firm. You stared down at his hand, the calluses on his fingers brushing lightly against your skin as his thumb moved in slow, soothing circles. It felt so familiar, so safe, and the contrast to Max’s cold indifference hit you like a wave. You couldn’t help but let all the emotions running like a swarm through your head push you to the point of breakage. You began to sob, your eyes still looking at your hands intertwined as your breath came out in short, stammered increments. Quinn didn’t waste any time before pulling you into his chest, allowing your sobs to escape into his shirt as he wrapped his arms around your body. He held you tightly, his arms wrapping around you like a shield against everything that had been weighing you down. His chin rested on top of your head as your tears soaked into his shirt, but he didn’t seem to care. His hand rubbed slow circles on your back, grounding you in a way you hadn’t felt in ages.

“It’s okay,” He murmured softly into your hair. “I’ve got you.” You clung to him, your fists gripping the fabric of his shirt as if letting go would mean losing the only thing tethering you to solid ground.

The room began to shrink in an instant, reading the text from your mother. “It’s final. Dad and I are separating. You and I are moving to Gran and Pop’s when you get back from the lake house, so I need you to pack up everything.”

The tears came almost immediately, but that didn’t scare you. It was the feeling you got in your chest, like your heart was radiating pulses all over your body. Pounding over and over again, like the beating was the only thing you could hear. The sound of Quinn shooting pucks only made it worse, like each shot was another banging ache to your head. You tried to slow your breathing, but it felt like the most difficult challenge at that moment. Your breaths were short and hitched, gasping for air at any chance you got. Your hands shook as your phone fell out of them. You were terrified, you didn’t know what was happening. You couldn’t die, you were only sixteen. You still had so much to do in life. You tilted your head up, staring at the ceiling light, but that only made it worse. Quinn noticed when you didn’t say anything about the shot he’d just missed, immediately dropping his stick to run over to you.

“Hey, Hey. What’s wrong? Are you okay?” He said frantically as he leaned down to where you were sitting on the floor. You tried to tell him, tried to speak, but your head was stuck looking up, and you felt like you couldn’t move it. Quinn placed his hand on the back of your neck, pulling your head down to face him. Your face was covered in tears, completely red as your mouth parted slightly. “Talk to me.” He said gently. “Please?”

You licked your quivering lips, trying your hardest to breathe. “I-I…I c-can’t. I can’t b-breathe.” His heart dropped at your words, the panic in your voice cutting through him like a knife. His hands moved to gently cradle your face, his thumbs brushing away your tears even as more fell.

“Okay, okay,” He said softly, his own voice trembling but steadying for your sake. “You’re having a panic attack. You’re not dying, I promise.” You gasped again, your breaths shallow and uneven, your chest tightening with each attempt. “Look at me.” He instructed. “Breathe with me. In through your nose, out through your mouth.” He blew out softly, his eyes locked on yours as he repeated the motion.

You tried to mimic him, but your breath was quickly caught in your throat, sending you a fresh wave of panic. “I c-can’t Quinn, I can’t!” You cried.

“Yes, you can.” He reassured, his hands never leaving your face. “I’ve got you. I’m right here. Just take it slow.” You managed a small, shaky inhale, your body trembling as you followed his lead. “There you go.” He said, his voice laced with a small flicker of relief. “Now, out through your mouth.” Quinn stayed with you, guiding you through each breath as the pounding of the room began to dull. Finally, your breaths came easier, the crushing weight on your chest lifting little by little. You looked at Quinn, your face still wet with tears.

“Thank you.” You whispered, your voice hoarse.

His thumbs still traced circles on your cheeks as he sent you a soft smile. “I’ve got you. You’re not alone.”

You stayed, sobbing into Quinn’s shirt as his grip around you tightened. He listened to your breathing patterns, looking out for a sign of a panic attack. He’d memorized you at this point. He knew the exact time to jump in, and he knew how to calm you down.

“Quinn, I’m so scared.” You cried out, wrapping your arms around him to pull him closer.

Quinn moved his hand from your back to your head, running his fingers through your hair. “I know.” He whispered. “I’m sorry.” He leaned back just enough to gently tilt your chin up with his fingers, his blue eyes meeting yours. They were soft, but filled with an intensity that made your heart ache. “You thought you had to want this.” He said, speaking the words you never had the confidence to say. “Doesn’t mean it’s right. It doesn’t mean it’s what you deserve.” You looked up at him, not seeing Quinn Hughes, captain of the Canucks, but your childhood best friend, Quinny, who talked you through every panic attack, walked you home from every party, and gave you a bed through every fight between your parents. That’s what you deserved. Someone willing to give you that much dedication, not some pretentious lawyer who only loves you for your accomplishments. In a moment of determination, after wiping your tears, you dramatically pulled off your engagement ring, slamming it on the railing of the deck. The sound of the ring hitting the wooden railing echoed in the stillness of the night, sharp and final. Quinn’s eyes darted to it, then back to you, his lips parting in surprise. You stood there trembling, not from fear but from the sheer weight of the decision you’d just made. Your chest heaved as the tears continued to fall. This time they weren’t from sadness, they were from release. Quinn hesitated for only a moment before stepping closer, his hand hovering over yours as if to silently ask for permission. When you didn’t pull away, he took your trembling hand in his, holding it like it was the most fragile thing in the world.

“You-” He started, his voice breaking slightly before he cleared his throat. “You did it.”

“I did it.” You whispered, almost in disbelief yourself. You stared at the ring, gleaming under the soft glow of the porch light. It had once symbolized everything you wanted, but now it felt like a chain you’d finally broken free from.

#freeabortionslol #quinn hughes #quinn hughes x reader #fanfic #nhl fanfiction #nhl players #qh43 #imagine #hockey #hughes brothers

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aomiiine · 7 months ago

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BOSS’S WIFE

໒꒰ྀིっ˕ -｡꒱ྀི১ ─── 𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍!𝐑𝐀𝐍 w fem!reader who’s his boss’, Mikey’s, wife. warning(s) -> angst. nsfw. mdni. ran x reader + mikey x reader. infidelity obvly. a lil bit apathetic reader. dark themes(prostitution mention, drugs, murder). hints of lovesick ran. unrequited love from ran to reader. one-night stand vibes. near death experience. cheater!reader ig. alleged cheater!mikey. there’s some slowburn cs you’re stubborn. miscommunication between mikey and reader. endearments (darling, princess, etc.). car sex. praise. a lot of plot. i dont condone cheating whatsoever. not proofread. wc is 4.5k

author’s comment. mmyyeaahh so i def have a fav haitani now + urghhh not too happy w this BUT i liked exploring the idea

It was hours past midnight, the city cold and humid from recent rain that had stopped minutes ago. You sat beside your husband, Manjiro ‘Mikey’ Sano, on the couch of the isolated jazz club that he owned. He was talking business with some other yakuza men, something about delivery and drugs, perhaps a brief topic of prostitution exchange.

The unsettling environment wasn’t out of the ordinary for you anymore, not since you’ve known Mikey. You’ve stuck to him since middle school—more like he made you stick to him. But you never really made an effort to leave.

He satisfied you enough, your needs, emotionally and physically. Nothing made you feel better than the feeling of being needed, and your husband was the same. He needed an anchor, a reason to be. Coincidentally, you were willing to be both.

“You don’t have to stay here if you’re getting bored, baby. ‘Could always walk around the building or take a smoke outside. I’ll have someone guard you,” you heard your husband speak, snapping you out of your trance. Mikey held an arm around your shoulder, fingers rubbing up and down your arm comfortingly—the complete contrast of the look he had in his eyes. His dark depths gazing at you as if he couldn’t give a fuck if you lived or died the next few seconds. But Mikey never acted like that, of course. He was a great husband considering the lifestyle he led.

“Alright, I’ll do that then,” you nodded obediently, not finding the harm in accepting the given opportunity to leave the monotonous conversation. So you got up after leaving Mikey a quick kiss to his cheek, walking away from the table and walking over to the backdoor exit of the building.

As you did so, you walked past one of Mikey’s men, a familiar tall purple haired man. You recognised him from the corner of your eye, your peripheral vision doing you a favour by informing you who your guard for the night was. It wasn’t a surprise he followed you without having to be ordered, always doing such things involving you voluntarily.

“Shouldn’t stray too far from the building, darling,” you heard him call out to you, most likely, from behind as you stepped out into the window streets, road pretty empty save for the occasional passing cabs.

Your lips strained downward for a split second.

“You’ll be here to lead me back, Ran,” a breathy sigh left your lips, faint smoke leaving your lips from the cold. Your hands tugged on the white faux fur coat you had on, a vain attempt to keeping your tense torso warm. With a confident stride, you kept on walking ahead, paying no regard to the man who tagged behind you like it was his personal wish rather than a dull order from his boss.

“That doesn’t guarantee that I’ll lead you back healthy. You’ll definitely get a cold if you keep walking out here like this,” he retorted without much effort, his tone slight frustrated despite his matter-of-factly manner of answering you. It made your brow twitch, your lips pressed to a thin straight line.

You didn’t add another word to the exchange, letting it hang. Cars proceeded to drive past the road beside you, your legs bringing you further and further away from the jazz club you recently left. It was almost like you were running away. And you were almost determined to do so, though you long knew that was never an option anymore.

Ran noticed every change of your body language even though he only had the view of your back. The subtly tremble of your legs were enough to alarm him, narrowing his lilac eyes and fueling his resolve to keep an eye on you, not for his boss’s sake—for your sake.

Subtly splashes of water from the passing cars filled the atmosphere, faint engines and dim city building lights and with lamp lights setting the perfect atmosphere for you to envision your escape. Everything seemed so perfect, so staged, too good to be true. You were so focused on getting ahead, on heading away miles away from wherever Mikey was—until you were pulled out of it.

A sharp car screech filled the previously silent noise. Suddenly your ears were ringing, all the noise you cancelled out returning to you again. You turned your head, heels backtracking from shock. Ran’s hand held a nearly painful grip on your upper arm, pulling you back with reasinably strength.

“Are you trying to get yourself killed? If that’s what it is then I got a gun with silencer on it for ya to use, for fuck’s sake!” Ran was practically yelling, his voice raised and his expression contorted to one of anger and worry. His brows were furrowed deeply, vein on his forehead and neck practically bulging as he pulled back a bit more before finally releasing you.

“W-what?” was all you could utter, blinking up at him with wide eyes, a bit dumbfounded about the situation.

“You almost got yourself run over by a car, what’s gotten into you? Ya need sleep, or something?” Ran seemed to answer your confusion without hesitation, the realisation that you almost died making you turn around and take in your surroundings.

Shit.

A sports car was practically swerved over to the sidewalk, thankfully not crashing into a post light. The driver drove off after yelling crazy bitch out his window. The insult made Ran grit his teeth, head tilted in further annoyance. You stopped him with a hand on his arm before he could do anything, stealing his attention quite quickly.

“I’m fine. Really. Just tired, like you said,” you muttered with a soft sigh after, lowering your head to gather yourself. All the while you had your lids closed shut, you felt a warm arm circle your shoulders.

“C’mon, let’s get you back,” he murmured, almost trying to comfort you. And in a way it did, he did—his warmth did. You followed him silently, letting him guide you back to the jazz club where Mikey was again.

While you were mostly silent throughout the walk, you eventually spoke up when you realised you were gonna have to face Mikey again. You felt a bit guilty for feeling like this, for wanting to avoid your own husband. But it wasn’t your fault you needed some space, some air to breath away from the heavy atmosphere and tension that was always there with him.

“I don’t wanna go back yet,” you objected, halting your steps abruptly.

Surprisingly, or not, Ran doesn’t scold you. Instead, he stops with you, arm never loosening around you. He merely looks down at you, taking in every detail on your expression at that moment and taking a moment to think about where he could possibly whisk you away to.

“Fine. My car. Then we head back, you hear me?” Ran conceded with a soft huff, centre of his brows still slightly creased from his frowning. He exhaled a quiet okay when you nodded in agreement, hand squeezing your upper arm gently to urge you to keep on walking.

It didn’t take too long for him to find your way to his car parked a few buildings away from the jazz club where Mikey was still in probably. Ran unlocked the car, opening the door of the backseat before gently nudging you in, following suit right after you.

Ran didn’t bother moving to start the engine, knowing the last thing you needed was the AC making you colder than you already were. Speaking of which, Ran couldn’t help but notice your shivering self that quivered against him, the sight of you leaning into him so desperately making him feeling a heavy pang of affection, worry, and a whole bundle of emotions he knew he shouldn’t have, things that he kept buried in the depths of his heart. And yet being in your presence for a few minutes was enough to unravel all of it, every dark detail of it.

“You’re actually chittering, princess,” he muttered, leaning down to press a chaste kiss onto the top of your head, a soft chuckle leaving his lips too in an effort to lighten the mood.

“And you’re actually annoying,” you refuted, voice small yet breathy as you shifted yourself on the leather seats, nuzzling under his arm and into his chest. Your arms were folded over your chest, holding your fur coat close to you. “Hmph, so mean,” you heard him whisper back, sarcasm lacing every syllable.

You more focused on warming yourself up at the moment, but that didn’t mean you didn’t notice how touchy and warm Ran was being. All the questions popped up in your mind about him, until you started questioning yourself, your own actions. You allowed him to do everything he did. You followed him back and forth, allowed him to bring you close to him, hell you even agreed to get in his car when you could’ve suggested some random alleyway to get a breather.

At some point, your shivering stopped. Your arms were wrapped around yourself, eyes staring mindlessly at his lap with your expression awfully neutral—the opposite of your mind that spiralled.

But a few breathers was all it took for you to forget. To dismiss everything. It wasn’t unlike Mikey had done the same anyway, entertaining other people like you were. For all you know, he’s probably done worse considering the amount of clubs he’s went to without you.

Now you’ve somewhat rationalised your actions, you lifted your head from Ran’s chest, tilting your head up to look at him. It seemed like he was staring at you already with how your gazes locked immediately.

“What is it, princess?” He broke the silence with that hoarse yet gentle voice of his, smiling faintly at you as if you were a stray cat he was trying to coax closer. As much as he loved staring into your beautiful eyes, he knew if he allowed to moment to stretch any longer his lips would end up pressed against yours—and just maybe more.

“Just wondering why you give a fuck about me in the first place.”

Ran could feel his smile fade from his face, his violet eyes no longer making an effort to look lighthearted for you. Those downturned eyes of his shifted to a stern gaze, almost determined.

If you thought your mind spiralled, his was a whole damn hurricane now.

“That’s an easy question. Though the answer’s probably something you don’t wanna know,” he answered cryptically, hand on your shoulder squeezing you once.

“You’d wish you never knew,” you heard him add, voice low yet barely above a whisper. You felt your breath hitch in throat, eyes fixated on him still. You felt your mouth dry up and closed your lips, brows furrowing slight as you turned away from him.

“I want to know. I don’t care about some creepy consequence you’re so worried about, Ran. All I’m asking about is why you act so nice w—,” you were stopped between your rant, your attempt to persuade him to be honest with you backfiring.

In a blink of an eye, he had his hand push you back against the seat, lips parted from his persistent tongue. You mumbled something but the kiss muffled your words, previously widened eyes now turning half-lidded from his warmth and shortness of breath.

“R-Ran, get a hold of yourself,” you panted once he broke the kiss, your hands reaching up to his chest and shoulder, failing to push him off of you. He kept you corner between the small space of him and the backrest behind you, face inches away from yours still.

You caught your breath, hands pushing him growing weaker until you decided to let up. Your eyes flickered from your lap up to his face, the resolve in his gaze unwavering.

“What does this mean?” You whispered, quizzically looking at him. The confusion on you towards his actions almost made Ran smile, but all he could manage was a faint laugh.

“Means that I love you.”

The crease between your brows deepened at his confession.

You weren’t exactly pleased per se, but it did make sense. It made a lot of sense. Made his demeanour towards you logical.

You suspected his feelings for you before, though you never entertained the thought. Ran was busy beyond words being Mikey’s executive, and you on the other hand were married. Yet it seems like that didn’t seem to bother Ran much.

“How exactly am I supposed to respond to that, Ran?” You sighed, almost pleading, beautiful orbs of yours falling to your lap once more.

“That’s the thing. You don’t.”

Huh?

Before you could open your mouth, he sealed your lips in another kiss, needier this time. He wanted to shut you up, to take your mind off things—everything. You’d be lying if you said it wasn’t working.

How could you possibly think about anything else when Ran had a hand on your thigh, running up the thin pantyhose you wore under that dark red leather miniskirt. The force of his greedy kisses made you slump up the plush seat behind you, making you lean over to the side until your back was against the window of the car door. Ran had another hand on your waist, skimming under your coat to cup the flesh your side.

“You don’t have to say a word—I don’t want an answer from you. Just want you, baby,” the man grunted into your mouth, tongue swiping against yours and teeth tugging on your lower lip. His breath was as heavy, much like yours.

It was hard for you not to reciprocate his kisses, his touch, not when he had you cornered with little to no space to move or focus on anything but him. And that was exactly what he wanted—your undivided attention, even if it was just for the moment.

Ran was tired of just admiring you from afar, exhausted from having to settle with the women that kept throwing themselves at him in the clubs he went to after work.

What he hated most was having to imagine you and your stunning figure beneath him whenever he was fucking those girls, having to wish he could see you every day after work like his boss could. Ran wanted the real thing so badly, he fucking craved it. But he hid those desires so well that it would leave anyone in Bonten in shock if they knew he had the fattest, more ridiculous crush on you.

Like a student to his teacher. It was humiliating, yet so fucking thrilling. And that was just it with Ran. Nothing had him more addicted to something other than the excitement.

So while Ran had his hands all over you, lips kissing you everywhere, he made sure to savour it. To take his time suckling on your red tongue, nibbling and marking on your swollen bottom lips that he had damp with saliva. Ran had to make sure you enjoyed it too—‘cause fuck if you didn’t want him as much he wanted you—

“Wrap your legs around me, sweetheart,” he whispered through bated breath, shifting himself and grabbing one of your legs to lift on the car seat, wanting to be between your legs.

His demands were almost impossible to deny anymore. He’s made your mind hazy from the lewd, sloppy kisses he’s given you. The cold air only made it worse since it only made you crave warmth more than you should—his warmth.

“Good girl, that’s it,” you heard him praise you, his slender fingers running over the waistband of your leather skirt, unfastening the metal button and pulling down the zip. His violet eyes were sickeningly fixated on your lower-half, as if in anticipation to see your most intimate parts—more like anticipating what kind of panties you were wearing, what kind of lingerie you preferred.

You whined softly, still unsure what he was praising you for exactly. Was it for your cooperation? If so then he’ll have to keep on praising you for the next few minutes ‘cause you’d seriously consider acting up if he stopped. What kind of woman were you if you asked him to stop now? Sure, a woman with a moral compass. However, such a thing was discarded by you the first few seconds you entered his car.

Married or not, you didn’t know if there was any kind of woman out there that would resist Ran when he was like this—so attentive, so careful with touching you but gazing at you with predatory-like eyes. You almost felt naked under him even when you weren’t. It was like he saw all of you, inside and out.

And that was when you were beginning to truly be naked under him. Decisive fingers peeling off your leather miniskirt, then hooking under the waistband of your pantyhose to pull it down to your knees.

“Do you trust me?” The question threw you off for a moment, watching him move to sit on his knees on the carseat horizontally and carrying your legs over his shoulders, nearly folding you against the small corner he drove you in.

Your head was practically forced up against the window, back bent forward and legs held by Ran. Your lips quivered subtly, the discomfort adding to your anxiousness. Yet that question of his seemed to stem from that exactly.

With a meek nod, you mumbled a soft yes to assure him. Not a second later he slid his hand down your lifted thighs, rubbing and gently squeezing the inner flesh, cold fingers dangerously close to the apex of your legs. You followed his every move as best as you could, swallowing the lump of nervousness in your throat.

It was almost tantalising, the way he navigated his way down and up your body with such ease, such adoration. If you looked closely enough, you could have seen the gleams of mesmerisation in his violet eyes. And holy fuck, did that turn you on even more, thighs twitching close together with the wet patch on your panties growing bigger.

You could feel your heart skip a beat at the sight of Ran’s lips curling to a smirk. He clearly noticed your arousal, especially so with the view he had of you from that position.

“Ah-ah.. you don’t get to be shy,” Ran warned, hand gripping your thigh tighter to peel them away from each other when you subconsciously started to cross them to hide yourself.

“I’ve been so long for this, darling. So fuckin’ long,” he breathed, impatience evident in the way his gaze alternated between your heaving chest and your fat folds covered by the thing fabric of your panties. Without wasting a moment more, he moved a hand down to your pussy, slipping the long index between your folds, middle finger joining to find your clit with ease, rubbing the sensitive nub up and down in slow motions. You gasped sharply at the sudden pleasure, legs on his shoulders quaking from the stimulation alone.

“So damn soaked for me, baby. Did ya wait for me too?” He cooed, shifting the focus of his slender fingers to your aching slit, gently digging inside through your panties to give you a taste of what was to come.

The soft moans from you was enough to spur him on, half-heartedly fucking you with his fingers through the clothes. It reached a point where the tip of his fingers were soaked in your nectar, all sticky and lubed up to fuck you for real.

Low groans rumbled in his chest with every move he made on your cunt, dipping down your panties until he could feel your walls flutter around with need.

“Need me to fuck you, don’t you darling? Need me balls deep inside you,” you heard him grunt, fingers probing your wet pussy until he wasn’t. He withdrew his fingers, hand moving to his belt instead, unbuckling it to unbutton and unzip his pants with ease.

Ran found it adorable how engrossed you were in the scene of him tugging his pants and boxers downwards to pull out his cock, already hard and throbbing for you.

Bending down to you, Ran had your legs pushed up not from your chest, threatening to squash your tits for the soft jiggle effect he’d drool over.

“Gonna have to relax a bit more, darlin’. I gotta fuck you in the best angle,” he drawled, fastening your legs to his neck and snug on his shoulders. His cologne was borderline intoxicating, the intense scent inducing your lightheadedness.

“‘M not that flexible,” you grumbled, trying to relax your limbs like he said regardless. When you did, he folded your limbs further, adding a little bit of force to reach his desired position. “There ya go, angel,” he murmured just for your ears, earning himself a soft whimper from you.

Not a second later, Ran aligned his cock right up your entrance, the head leaking beads of precum smearing up your folds, pushing his hips forward until he slid up past your entrance. He had you reach up to cling onto his suit jacket, clenching your fingers around his arms while he dug his dick into your depths to the hilt, breath stuck in his throat as if you were choking his throat instead of his cock.

“Holy fuck—feels so fuckin’ good, you feel so good,” he crooned, staying still for a while to let you adjust to the intrusion before he started moving again, pacing it slow at first and subtly progressing to frenzied tempo, hips rocking uncontrollably.

Your lips hung open, eyes darting from Ran’s face to the mess that was your squelching cunt, the sound of his hips slapping against your ass filling the car along with.

“Ran—! Want you cum, cum for me,” you whine, heart hammering in your chest in sync with the seconds he drove his pulsating cock in and out of your gummy walls, the hold he had on your thighs turning desperate as he chased his orgasm, and yours. “Careful what you—fuck-wish for,” Ran stuttered, his arousal amplified with your constant moans and begging, the cramped space thickening the air and tension around your sweat sheened bodies.

“Cum for me, darling—fuck-ngh, cum with me,” he groaned with heavy pants, jaw clenched at the slick feeling of your juices dripped down his shaft to his tense balls, feeling it tighten along with the knot in his lower belly. A few short, frenzied thrusts was all it took for him to finally come undone along with you, your sopping wet pussy clamping down on his heavy cock triggering his orgasm.

Your features scrunched up in pleasure along with Ran, your legs quaking around his shoulders and your toes curled from the feeling of his semen spilling inside you in thick ropes. Ran stayed inside you even after your orgasm, basking in the afterglow with shared breaths and groans.

“I.. hate you,” was all you could breath out at the moment, eyes fluttering and threatening to close with your head rested on the mirror of the car door. Slowly, Ran withdrew his cock from your well-filled cunt, leaving a string of your mixed juices that soon broke to stain your inner thigh.

“Can’t say the same for you, princess..,” Ran chuckled half-heartedly, pulling away and shrugging your legs off his shoulders to lay carelessly on the carseat as he grabbed a tissue to wipe the mess on lingering on your skin.

Your eyes followed the movement of Ran’s hand, watching him clean you up so carefully unlike the roughness he had when he was fucking you earlier. Didn’t even need to glance at your thighs, you knew there were red welts everywhere on them from how much he was clawing onto your flesh desperately.

Silence filled the car for a moment, unspoken words kept deep within yourself as he helped dress you up again, sitting you up properly on the seat and asking if he went too rough on you anywhere.

It wasn’t like he was doting you either. Not too much anyway. He gave you space as much as he gave you his concern, probably aware he crossed some lines that he shouldn’t have. Despite that, Ran being Ran, he wasn’t ashamed, nor did he feel guilty for any of it.

“You know he’ll kill you, right?” your hoarse voice whispered to break the silence, illuminated only by the dim street lights around you.

“Only if he knows.”

“He’s definitely gonna fucking know.”

“He won’t really kill me,” Ran shrugged, stuffing a hand into his pocket to take out a packet of cigarettes, wanting to light one up to take a smoke as if none of it bothered him. And in a way, it really didn’t.

“Ran,” you warned, furrowing your brows and glaring at him in a sideway glance. Your arms folded on chest, head leaning back against the headrest as you turned away and sighed.

“Doesn’t matter. I got the fuck the love of my life—so if he kills me, I’m gonna die with a fucking smile, you hear me?” Ran spoke, his tone of voice clearly set as if he made up his mind when he turned to you, lit up cigarette held between the fingers of his right hand.

“Besides. You sure as hell enjoyed it, hm? Bet you haven’t had an orgasm like that in a while, have you?” he added, hints of teasing lacing his voice with his free hand reaching out to cup your face.

That playful mood of his was short lived when he felt you lean into his hand, eyes fluttering shut. He felt his heart being tugged on.

“You poor thing,” was all you heard him whisper lowly a moment after his lighthearted remark, hand on your cheek moving to the back of your head to pull you into him.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

A click echoed in the room and the beeping stopped.

“We got this from the bug we planted in executive Ran’s car, sir.”

A pathetic scoff left Mikey’s lips, his lips curling to a faint smirk before it faded to a straight line again.

The white haired man stared at the voice recording the device laid on the table by one of his men, hands curling to fists as he tried to quell the urge to destroy it—to destroy something.

Except he didn’t. Patience. That was what you taught him.

You taught him patience like it was the best thing in the world, calmness, since he always killed people on sight without hesitation. Mikey tried, for your sake. He worked on more negotiations rather than ordering his executives to go on murder sprees, and one of those negotiations happened tonight at the jazz club.

He thought maybe by now, that he’s got the hang of it. But Mikey doesn’t know if ‘patience’ was good anymore. How was it as ‘good’ as you said, when because of patience, he lost you.

Mikey waited, and waited, and waited for his chance to get closer to you. To open up to you more than the surface level relationship you two had. He wanted to be a real husband to you, to be your lover.

Maybe calmness wasn’t something he should practice anymore. Since you succumbed so easily to what Ran forced on you.

Well, at least you knew he’ll kill Ran.

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mydarlingclaudia · 5 months ago

Text

every word I meant to say

note : ermmmm hi. don't ask where I went for like almost a month work is eating me alive and I was sad. this was inspired by that the unsent project thing andddd idk if I really like this it's def ooc but I was thinking about it again today and this has been in my drafts since September so I figured why not

wc : 2.1k

tags : @luvrgreyy @clitorphosis @sonya-semyonova

desc : letters that went unsent. kind of unrequited love, angst (???), more Leon focused, re2r!Leon - DI!Leon, fem!reader, ooc, not proofread

"I meant to write sooner, I really did. I know it's been a year, my life is so different now, I don't think you'd even believe me if I tried to explain it. I hope you're doing better than I am, I'm happy you weren't able to move to the city with me."

Leon hasn't written a letter since, what, his first few years in the academy? Maybe the end of his senior year of high school? He can't really remember, but he knows that this letter is important because it's to you, his friend he hasn't seen since the night he left for Raccoon City. This isn't even an actual letter, he's scribbling out what he thinks might be good excuses as to why he hasn't talked to you in a year on the back of pieces of scrap paper he took from the office.

He's supposed to be asleep right now, same as everyone else in boot camp, but it's been a year since Raccoon City and he's wondering if you ever tried to reach him. Maybe you tried to go to Raccoon City to look for him, only to see the pile of rubble that stood in its place, sectioned off by the government. Maybe you thought he was dead, he wouldn't blame you.

You and Leon had stuck together all throughout high school, even managed to stay friends when he went off to the police academy and you moved a few hours away for college. He doesn't even know if your address is still the same, he really hopes it is, there's no phone-books in boot camp if he wanted to try and call you, you're supposed to have your loved ones numbers memorized.

The last time Leon saw you was the night before he was supposed to move to the city, before he got a letter in the mail the next morning telling him not to come in, he really wishes he had listened. You were so happy for him, starting out as a city cop was a big deal and he had worked so hard to get there, you and a few friends had thrown him a going-away-party, telling him not to forget you once he got to the city. Leon couldn't forget you if he tried.

You had talked about moving to the city with him for a short period of time, it was really just ramblings the two of you kept bringing up. "Oh, when we live in the city..." "I can come visit you at work..." "I'll handle dinner, you'll handle cleaning..." Nothing ever really came of those ideas, but it gave him a warm feeling in his stomach knowing you wanted to come to the city with him.

He hopes you’ve been well, that life has been kinder to you than it has to him. Leon hopes you got that job you were gushing about the last time he saw you, he hopes you still think of him on his birthday because he thinks of you often.

He shouldn’t have gone to Raccoon City, he should’ve stayed home the day he left and instead stopped by your house to bother you about going to see a movie. Or he should have taken you to lunch, anything would’ve been better than walking into a city that was beyond saving.

"I’m not really sure what I’m saying, but I know I miss you. How have you been? I hope I’m able to come and visit soon, everything’s been moving so fast, but I’ll figure something out. Maybe we can get dinner, or something. Whatever you want, I’ll pay for it, don’t worry."

Leon's hands shake a tiny bit when he thinks of you, it's that school boy nervousness that movies portray whenever there's a boy with a crush on a girl who he knows is probably too out of his league. You were friends, at least.

"You're done with school now, right?" He knows you are. "I wish I was there for the graduation ceremony, I know your parents are proud. Do you remember my graduation party? Someone spiked the punch and we both ended up passed out in the bathtub at your house, you looked really pretty that night. I hope your graduation was better than mine. This would probably have been better as a phone call, but I don't know, you said letters were always more thoughtful.

– Leon"

–

That letter never got sent. Every letter needs an envelope, Leon just never got around to finding one, but he kept that scrap piece of paper tucked inside his pillowcase on the odd chance that he got his hands on one. He had stricter rules to follow than the other recruits, being legally dead and all.

But even after he got out of boot camp, he kept the letter. It's hidden away in some drawer in his house, he's not sure where, though.

He didn't make it into the army, he's not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing, but being in the position he was in now wasn't much better. He's stronger now, hardened, more mature.

Leon's written a few more letters to you over the years, ones that still never got sent because he either deemed them unworthy or because he became unsure of himself halfway through writing it. But he hasn't thrown any of them away, he'll send them one day, he swears it.

Leon's not using you as a way of journaling, either, even though he should find some way to actually write down his thoughts to get them out of his head. What he writes to you is mostly memories, telling you that his life keeps changing and that he misses you. He knows you're different by now, too. You're both grown, no longer in high school, no longer in college or the academy. If he could turn back time, go anywhere other than Raccoon City, he would. He thinks that's selfish of him, him not being there would've left Claire and Sherry in that city, but how would he have even known?

"Me again, hope you're doing better than I am." Leon's way with words gets worse and worse by the week, not that he cares. "I met someone who kind of reminded me of you, she's a sweetheart, like you. You'd probably become fast friends if you were ever able to meet."

Leon's not allowed to tell you about his mission in Spain, or about the president's daughter. President Graham is putting more body-guards in place for his daughter once she steps foot in D.C. again, Leon's sure the president considered appointing Leon as one of them at some point since breaking the news that she was going to be coming back home safely.

Leon should stop thinking about you so much, it's not like you were his only friend in the world, you've probably forgotten him, anyway.

"My life is still different, but yours probably is, too. This probably sounds stupid, but I miss being in high school. You probably don't, your mom was up your ass all the time and you worked yourself to the bone. Has that changed at all?

I remember that one year I went to Thanksgiving at your house, your uncles were all drunk and your cousins kept trying to get me to come sit with them, your grandpa was trying to get me interested in football. I haven't had a holiday like that since then, your family was always really nice to me."

He's not sure what to say anymore, these letters always just end up dragging out, but Leon has a lot of memories and he hopes you think of them as often as he does.

"I'm sorry I haven't visited. It's harder for me to get time off of work these days, even though I could really fucking use it. I promise one day I'll come back, it's just not going to be for a little while. Just don't do anything dumb.

– Leon"

–

Those letters he's been writing you have piled up in the drawer of his nightstand.

He's definitely sure that your address has changed by now, you're probably not even in the same state anymore. He could always try to find you on Facebook, explain everything that's been building up over the years in a simple text, but there's still rules he's supposed to follow even in his personal life.

Leon didn't stop writing, though. The letters did eventually get shorter, he's not sure if you like the same things anymore or if you'd even be interested.

He writes now mostly about how different his life would be if he was with you, if he had just asked you out in high school or kissed you the night he was supposed to leave for Raccoon City. It almost feels real to him when he goes to sleep, but that might just be the alcohol numbing his brain, not the dream of you sleeping next to him or the feeling of your breath on the back of his neck, not even the little pitter-patter off tiny footsteps coming from down the hallway.

It does make him feel a bit pathetic, dreaming of a life with someone he hadn't talked to in years. Leon can't help but think of you, he always thought you were pretty, and the past always lives in the back of his mind, but it comes alive late at night.

You're an entirely different person by now, someone who he hasn't had the opportunity to meet yet. You're probably married, maybe you even have a few kids running around, Leon's jealous of that. That could've been him, but it's not. But he's not even sure if you'd recognize each other if you passed by on the street, so is it even worth it to dwell on all the maybe's?

"I'm not sure I'll get to visit you for a while, not without a lucky fucking twist of fate, anyway."

All these letters are starting to sound the same, but Leon clings onto the thought of someday sending them to whatever corner of the country you were hiding in and hoping that there's still room in your life for a stranger.

"Do you still want me over for dinner? You don't know what I'd give to just eat a shitty meal with you right now."

You don't know what he'd give to do anything with you, really. He knows that there's a lifetime worth of things he's missed out on and that maybe every once in a while you think about him in the same way he thinks about you.

"I don't know how to ask this, but are you married? I know you'd look stunning in a wedding dress." You probably are, you're a catch, who wouldn't want to put a ring on your finger? Your husband's probably a better man than he is, too. One who hasn't had years worth of trauma jammed into his brain with the proof of it marked across his body, your husband probably takes you out on a date every week, maybe even surprises you with breakfast in bed and kisses the nape of your neck to gross out your kids. "I really hope you're happy, in my head you are.

I wanted that to be us, I never told you, but I was a chicken-shit kid and didn't know how to say it. You show up in my dreams sometimes, you deserve nothing but the best. I meant to get back in touch with you forever ago, but I think it's probably too late.

– Leon"

–

Two years after his last letter and Leon's still thinking of you, seventeen years after Raccoon City and the image of you sitting across from him for the last time still loops in his mind. He doesn't really remember your voice but he knows that you thought handwritten letters were romantic, and he still reads over the ones he meant to send to you but kept avoiding.

He's done with the letters, hasn't written one in a long time. But he just got back from California and your old favorite song is playing on the radio, and he's remembering how in love he is with your memory.

"I don't know what I'm doing. I'm too old for this and I'm sure you'd tease me if we had somehow kept in touch. I don't blame you if you thought I died in Raccoon City, I hope you're still alive and that life is good to you.

You were always important to me, I think you've given me something to cling to over the years. This letter won't find you and I'm not even really sure if I want it to, but I hope you'd still call me if you were able to. You wouldn't believe the things I've seen, but I'm happy you never got to see them.

Love, Leon

p.s. I'd say I love you but it feels like something you'd say in person"

#leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #resident evil #resident evil x reader

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cialovesklopp · 4 days ago

Text

scene 1 ➺ exile

summary — the feeling of heartbreak was never swift. there were no clean breaks. and it was never heartbreak alone that hurt but rather the hope that refused to die and slowly killed you.

pairing — kylian mbappé x black! oc

warnings — divorce, heavy angst, unrequited love, mentions of infidelity, heartbreak, broken marriage

author’s note — here’s part one of fairytale. this one was inspired by a kylian Mbappe angst fic i read a year ago and somehow the idea fit for my beginning. if i find it again, i’ll link it because it was soooo good and it’s def one of my fave kylian mbappé fics. enjoy this one 🫶🏾

( series masterlist | masterlist )

there was something oddly soothing about a broken heart. a cruel solace coming from the ache that usually split the soul in two. maybe, in some kind of twisted way, some may even call it kindness. when you expect the breaking, when your soul can not rest and flinches every time in anticipation even though itself is only held together by thin strings — the shattering feels almost merciful. a relief that all that foreshadowing and anticipating of the worst was finally over because the heartbreak had finally happened. it was not the unexpected blow that destroyed — but rather the hope that lingered and refused to die — that made the fall so unbearable and painful.

as shakespeare had concluded in his tragical and controversial drama hamlet, “when sorrows come, they come not single spies, but in battalions”. heartbreak itself was easy but it never came along, it was everything else that came with it that hurt so badly and tore people apart as heartbreak was not just a singular wound. just like people died from organ failure that had started in a small ache as simple as coughs. heartbreak was a siege, relentless and unyielding. it did not just pass and go after some time but rather it lingered and consumed like a wound. the pain of it would disappear and new skin would grow over it but the scar would always stay.

there is no clean break, no swift undoing when it came to heartbreak. as shakespeare had found out very earlier and portrayed beautifully in his plays — heartbreak was not meant to be easy. even the easiest type of it, a mutual break up was not supposed to be easygoing. however the worst kind of a broken heart was the one that did not kill, but rather let you live in the past with recurring memories of what once was. that captured the beautiful moments but always reminded you that those did not exist anymore. the kind that turned love into a haunting, like a ghost wandering the hollow chambers of what had once been and could never be again.

perhaps that was just emery’s tragedy of heartbreak. the type that she was met with forced her to let go, the most cruel type of heartbreak for it combined grief and loss with love. because how could you let go of something that has intertwined itself so deeply into yourself, so thoroughly into your own identity that you did not know when you started and your love began? how do you sever the one hope that has been the very same thing keeping you alive and going forward?

the complexity of love was similar to that of humans itself. even with all the knowledge there was about it, no science could ever explain as to why love had this big capacity of being so cruel while it was also such a powerful feeling that made people lose all kinds of rational sense. love that had made juliet kill herself because she thought romeo had died and all of the sudden she did not find any sense in living anymore if it was without him. love was not always ending with big love declarations and it was not only beautiful and sweet. just like angels had their evil side with demons, love also had that part that was agonizing and made people wishing for death if that was the only way to stop feeling this way.

sometimes it died in a whisper, in the slow unraveling of a dream that had always been meant to cease to exist. and yet the cruelest of all? love’s death was never quick. instead in lingered long past its burial and dragged everything else with if six feet down the earth.

and maybe that was the reason why heartbreak sometimes felt like salvation. because it meant breaking free of the same love chains that were keeping one in a constant battle of pain. because at least when something shattered, there was no more pretending anymore that it was whole. like a plate having fallen down many times with the pieces becoming smaller and smaller — to the point that no matter how many times you fixed it, it would never be the same again.

emery’s heart had been the plate and it had simply fallen down too often, the pieces too small to ever rebuild it to its original.

the candles in the room had long gone out, burning down to small stubs with the wax pooling on the table. the scent of food still lingered in the room although the meals were cold, sitting untouched in their plates. all the hour she has spent cooking and preparing for this day lost their meaning, swallowed by the emptiness of the chair in front of her and of the apartment.

emery looked around as she sat at the head of the table, her eyes traveling the room before they set on the glass vitrine. she looked at the reflection and did not recognize the woman staring back at her.

the woman in the vitrine was someone entirely different. she looked beautiful, mesmerizing and yet unreachable in her own way. her dress was the shade of red that reminded people of small papercuts that resulted in little wounds. it hugged her entire figure, clinging to her body and her hair fell in soft curls even though it had already been pulled into a careless bun.

but her eyes were empty, soulless. the kind that haunted people into their deepest nightmares when they stared at their fears straight into the eyes. she could feel the weight in her chest, suffocating her because the reflection wasn’t her. it was the collateral damage of what was left of her after piece by piece had been torn apart. it was an empty shell of her to keep her breathing and alive while slowly withering away.

there was a funny irony in the way the eyes represented her entire being — because here she was waiting for a man she knew wouldn’t come. the eyes perfectly reflected the kind of girl she used to be, who had truly hoped that staying in this marriage was not the wrong decision. who believed she could love enough for the both of them till he learned to love her. but that girl was gone know. buried beneath a shattered heart and the agony of having to pretend for so long that she was fine.

perhaps this was the straw she needed to finally pick herself and let kylian go. to finally break free of that cruel agonizing hope that tormented her heart in ways past cruelty. it wasn’t truly the realization that he wasn’t coming that shattered her hold but rather the feeling of becoming aware just how little she actually meant to him.

she was his wife for god sake. and today was supposed to be their two year anniversary or at least the papers said it was.

and she had told him.

she had come across him that morning while he had been preparing to go to training. they did not speak much anymore but occasionally she would find him in the kitchen and prepare breakfast for him too. and in rare moments, he would smile at her again like he used to do before their entire relationship went down the drain and thank her.

he would leave small kisses on her cheek, little acts that emery clung to because they were so rare and it was all he would give her anymore. when it equaled out all the times she woke up alone in the bed that a husband and wife were supposed to share. when those small touches would make falling asleep to the moans coming from the other room more bearable and yet so heartwrecking, she felt like suffocating while she cried.

but she had hoped for this day at least they could put their indifference aside and at least celebrate this small achievement. because while it perhaps may not mean anything to him, it meant the world to her.

“would it be possible for you to come home from training earlier?” she had asked him this morning, her voice so gentle and soft as her heart prepared for rejection. “i wanted to do something special for tonight… a special dinner.”

that morning, under all the gentleness and warmth her voice carried, her voice had carried the kind of quiet plea and begging and portrayed some of the vulnerability she was hiding.

she had opened her heart for him for that small moment, put aside all those walls and glamours that hid her damaged soul. and he hadn’t even cared enough to notice.

all she had received that morning was a small “i’ll try,” that had sounded more like a child forcefully complying to a request their mother had given them. something not taken serious.

she had watched him leave that morning, her stomach twisting because one side of her was telling her that this time would be different. that he would show up while the other side of her knew that if he didn’t, that would be the final straw. there were only so many times she could pick up the pieces.

and the empty chair in front of her told her everything she needed.

her hands were resting on her lap, fingers twisting together so tightly that her knuckles ached. the clock on the wall ticked mercilessly, a constant reminder of how long since he had broken the last straw that kept her heart together. each second was itself into her heart. four hours had passed, she had called and sent messages and all of them had not been answered.

a part of her wanted to call again, to let herself hear the ringing and cling to the hope that maybe he was just busy with something small and would now take the call. it was a cruel type of thinking because deep down she already knew.

it wasn’t new knowledge but rather something she had hoped could still be demented. it was a truth she had carried in her chest for what felt like lifetimes, an ache so constant and yet so quiet. like dying of smoke, it suffocated quietly and gently and firstly took away your consciousness, lulling you to sleep before your body began to shut down. it was slow until you no longer remembered what it felt like to actually breathe. it was knowing that she had loved kylian for so long, with everything she had for the both of them — blindly, unconditionally with every piece of her being that she owned. when she stopped taking care of things she loved because she needed all that love to keep loving for the both of them.

she had poured her entire soul into a man who would never come to love her for more than she was. who would never meet her halfway.

she had constructed and build a life out of fragments, stitched a future from the silence between them and convinced herself it was enough when her heart yearned for more. but as the silence grew louder, he grew quieter till his voice was completely lost. she could see it in the way he hesitated or how he only held her in the public.

because that was all their marriage was in the end. a charade to fool the public.

perhaps the most heartbreaking part of that entire affair was that she would have kept loving him just as she did when she entered this lie. even when he was knowingly slipping away as the ground crumbled beneath her feet. for when you love someone that much, there is no button to just press stop — instead you unravel and hold on to things that have already deceased because you can’t stop. and all you can do is hope that they don’t notice how damaged your heart is.

emery had looked at kylian like he had hung the stars while he had never bothered to even see her.

she glanced at her wedding ring, the golden band that seemed to mean something everywhere except in her own home. even if it weighed nothing it still struck her down everytime she put it on her finger. like an additional weight to carry on her shoulders that are already so weak from having to carry all the love and effort for this marriage.

she didn’t notice when the first tears started to flow till suddenly she couldn’t keep them in anymore. her hands were trembling as she carried the untouched plates into the kitchen. where she was reminded again of how much time she had wasted into something so unappreciated.

the cake was staring at her in a mocking way, as if it was laughing at her for seriously thinking that he would actually remember. yet she still pulled out a fork and started to take bites of it while her vision became blurrier from all the tears.

a trembling sob left her lips as she took another bite but before she could actually eat it, she heard her phone vibrating.

was it cruel for her heart to hope that kylian had finally read her messages and a very reasonable explanation for his absence? very, but she was willing to take it, willing to be proven wrong if it meant her heart not falling apart completely.

however she wasn’t given that kind of relief. instead it was a notification from one of the many gossip pages that she actually liked. and the topic of the newest video?

kylian letting loose in a night club.

silence set around her as everything drowned out while she watched the video. it was the kind of stillness that came before something irreversible. something inevitable. the renowned calm before the storm.

the realization that he had truly forgotten hadn’t set in instantly. the pounding music, the laughter, the flashing lights, him dancing closely with another girl —it was all drowned out by silence as she took it in. there he was, his arm slung casually around a friend's shoulders, his grin wide and carefree. as if he hadn’t just committed the downfall of emery adije-mbappé.

he had truly never cared. not even when she had laid her entire heart on the table for him and begged him to care. to consider her. and he hadn’t.

t’avais promis, t’avais promis

A sob tore through her as she pushed back from the table, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. She clutched at the dishes, trying to clean, to erase the evidence of her hope, but her hands trembled too much. The sound of ceramic clattering against the counter was drowned out by her cries, sharp and broken.

the video was all that was needed for the final crack in what was emery’s being. she clutched at the dishes, trying to stay focused on her task but her hands and body were trembling. all of the sudden her body was overcome by violent sobs, intense cries with no one to offer solace to her. she did not realize how she broke down and collapsed on the ground as she poured her entire heart out.

how many times had she turned her wedding ring over between trembling fingers as if it replaced the warmth of his touch? as if telling herself time after time that he would come to love her would actually be true. how many nights had she stared into the void or cried herself to sleep because she was tired of her own failing marriage that she had never even wanted to be in? how often had she hoped that one day he would see her and for she was and what she felt.

how many times had emery dreamed that one day he would thank her that letting her heart break itself over and over quietly for the time that it had taken him to love her?

emery had loved kylian with a kind of ache that made breathing feel like a betrayal—because every breath carried the weight of a love unreturned, and every moment she stayed was a silent cry she didn’t know how to stop screaming. she had imagined whole futures and parallel universes in her mind where his eyes finally softened when they met hers, where his hand reached back, where love wasn’t something she had to earn or chase or shrink herself to deserve.

maybe that was the real tragedy. not that he didn’t love her, but that she had kept hoping he might. that she had let herself believe the lies she told herself for so long, it had started to feel like truth. and perhaps the cruellest thing of love truly was hope, for that hope had always been the sharpest blade — and it had cut her deeper than heartbreak ever could.

she thought back to the first time he had offered her to leave. the only reason the marriage had even been in place was for the reconstruction of a public image. to smoothen out all his flaws and make him the ideal boy so his upcoming transfer would be perfect. no one liked the idea of a womanizer on their team because that meant a lot of work for their pr-team — work no one wanted to deal with. and it was exactly that image that kylian had had to that time when the idea of an arranged marriage had been put on the table.

the marriage had worked miraculously in regards to his image. the public and his fans had immediately eaten up the idea of kylian getting together with his childhood best friend and in the end even marrying her, a true love story written for the books.

and once he had published his decision of not renewing his contract at paris, he had told her that there was no need anymore to keep the entire charade up. but she had refused and chosen to stay even when he had done everything that should have driven her away.

emery had stood at the edge of a cliff that day as they talked, when she had chosen him because she naively believed that he could grow to love her. that all those times they spent in private could not have been indifferent to him.

she had been in love with him since childhood — how could she just throw this away when it was the closest she had ever come to feel his love? she had gone back to the mind of her foolish sixteen year old past-self and had hoped that if she just held on for a little longer, he would finally love her.

i think i‘ve seen this film before, and i didn‘t like the ending

and just like back in bondy, it was the hope that killed her.

she took a deep breath and wiped her tears away. she glanced at the kitchen one last time before she headed for her bedroom. the air around her was thick as she recognized just how much of him lacked in their apartment. it should have hurt as she grabbed the manila folder but she had broken off every string that hope had held over her.

hope had been holding her back when her heart was still there, in pieces but still held together by tiny strings. but it had thoroughly fallen apart today and there was nothing whole for hope to pull strings between.

determined, she reached for two big suitcases. she concentrated on taking the most important things she could not live without knowing she would never step foot back into this apartment again. not when the events that had happened here would damage her for the rest of her life and every future relationship. kylian had ruined her and left her to pick up her own pieces.

as soon as she finished packing her things, she looked at the manila folder again and scoffed. there was no ounce of regret in her as she slipped the golden ring from her finger and put it on top of the envelope. she placed everything on the nightstand with a certain kind of tranquility and quiet finality. in some twisted way, she was watching the mess the affair had made even though she had been the one burning without ever deflagrating.

her removing the rings felt like finally stepping out of the burning house. she wasn’t the one burning anymore and could now watch the beautiful tragedy as bystander, not caught in it anymore.

she pushed her suitcases out the door and watched as the wedding ring caught the light one last time. there were no tears anymore. only a broken heart shattered into a billion little pieces.

i think i‘ve seen this film before so, i‘m leavin‘ out the side door

she turned off the light and walked out the door, simultaneously also walking away from him. and this time she wasn’t looking back.

— ✯

it was way past eleven when kylian finally took another glance at his phone, a lazy and yet content smile tugging at lips as scrolled on instagram. they did not make it an usual occurrence for those team gatherings but his team had won in training today and that just had to be celebrated. the club was loud, music vibrating through his ears and people crowding the dance floor. before him stood his third cocktail that he had yet to finish— he wasn’t particularly drunk but not sober either. enough to feel a buzz and yet aware enough of his surroundings.

the thought of emery hadn’t even crossed his mind once in that entire time and then it hit him when he closed instagram and saw all the missed calls and messages from emery.

realization struck him down with like a lightning bolt. he could feel every vein turning to ice and his body shutting down.

today was their anniversary.

she had asked him this morning whether he could find it in himself to come home directly after training. it had been just that — come home. and he had noticed that beneath the usual softness of her voice, next to its hopefulness, there had also been something else, an edge to her voice. something frayed and raw. her voice had carried a certain kind of brokenness and hesitation that showed just how vulnerable she had been this morning in front of him. as if she’d already resigned herself to being forgotten and her soul had already braced itself for disappointment.

it hadn’t even been a demand but rather a plea that someone made even if they knew that it couldn’t happen. like a wish made to the stars. a request wrapped in caution she feared even speaking it aloud would already diminish it.

but the worst part of it — what made his heart clench and made him want to throw up — was the fact that she had been right.

she hadn’t asked for much and he had still managed to give her less.

he had forgotten. not out of cruelty or carelessness but rather because it truly hadn’t meant enough to him. as if her trembling hope hadn’t mattered. perhaps that was the cruelest tragedy of the whole situation at all; not the forgetting itself but the fact of how she had been right that she did not mean anything to him anymore. that her heart, that already carried so many scars thanks to him, had completely shattered. as if he had cut the strings himself that held the fragile pieces of her heart together.

and in the silence that followed his absence, he knew that she wasn’t angry at him but rather at herself. she lived with the kind of sadness that kindly broke you, in a way so gently it was barely noticeable until nothing of your soul was left anymore.

he felt his heart drop into his stomach.

without missing another second, he called his driver and asked him to pick him up as quick as possible. he excused himself from his friends and made his way through the crowd, bumping against people left and right but he couldn’t get himself to care for that right now. he had to go home and save his marriage, no matter how fake it was.

he didn’t even know what he would say to explain himself. how he could even explain himself after dismissing emery just like that. no amount of groveling could excuse his behavior, nothing could make up for his treatment of her.

“we always walked a very thin line”

he arrived at their apartment within twenty minutes. once his driver had seen the state he was in, he hadn’t bothered to ask questions and had just pressed down on the gaspedal. during the drive all he could think about was emery.

he couldn’t pinpoint where exactly it had all gone wrong for them in a way there had been no route to return anymore. which excuse was more cruel? had he just simply ignored her for too long to not notice her brokenness and how she clung to the marriage like her last breath or had he simply not cared enough?

everything in him was a storm with conflicted emotions and thoughts raging through his entire body. guilt grew so deep and heavy it nearly choked him as it collided against his chest. he went through his memories, desperate to find out what he had overseen and where it all had gone wrong — searching for the moment where he had missed her breaking down and her soul dying. when her smile became simply too forced while her eyes begged him to finally see what could not hide anymore because it was too agonizing.

she had been unraveling right in front of him. slowly and gently, painfully. her soul silently collapsing inwards, flickering like a candle fighting to stay lit in the wind. and he— god, he hadn’t seen it. or maybe he had. except he then hadn’t cared enough. maybe a part of him had known it and recognized her slowly losing herself but it simply hadn’t bothered him.

he hadn't been able to reach her when she needed it most. and now he wasn’t sure what there was to save anymore or how he could.

on the pitch it was easy to fix things. coaches saw mistakes and made substitutions to gain control over the situation again and fix the mistake. that conceit wasn’t so easy to apply in real life because the mistakes were everywhere and there were not enough substitutes to rectify all the mistakes. mistakes he was the cause of.

when he stepped into the apartment, he picked up the faint smell of vanilla and cinnamon just as they were about to fade away. the lights were out and once he put them on, he saw the dining table set for two. there was food on the table, the plate carefully wrapped in foil and once he stepped into the kitchen he saw all the other dishes, emery had most probably spent the entire afternoon cooking, sitting on the counter also wrapped in foil. a cake with a big two on it that was missing a few bites but still looked delicious. everything was staring at him like it had waited for him. like she must have waited for him.

“emmy?” he called into the apartment but was only met with silence.

his voice cracked slightly as he called for her again. “emery?”

silence again.

he walked through the living room, his eyes landing on the delicate string lights she must have hung up earlier and the candles that had burned down to puddles of wax. there were golden napkins on the table — neatly folded into small roses and it was clear she spent a lot of time decorating them.

his throat became dry.

“emery?” again, no answer.

he pushed the door open to her bedroom, a place he had avoided while they had lived here because he couldn’t stand to listen to her crying herself to sleep knowing he was the cause of her sadness. of her agony that she could only show in the night when it was too dark for anyone to actually see the invisible scars she carried.

her bedroom was empty, her closet nearly void except for a few clothes that he recognized as gifts he had given her. apology gifts because more often than not, he had screwed up.

the bathroom was empty, no hair ties and perfumes lingering around or any of her thousand makeup products. any reminder that a woman had lived in here was thoroughly wiped clean.

and it was his fault that she had finally left.

“you didn’t even see the signs”

she had opened herself up to him when she couldn’t hide all the emptiness and pain anymore. she had revealed herself to him like a wound begging to be healed, time and time again, raw and fragile — and he had preferred to let her bleed instead of salvaging her.

not because he hadn’t loved her but rather because somewhere deep down, he hadn’t cared enough to fight for her pain and had simply been too afraid of his feelings for her.

but his fear had let to her ceasing to exist. all that was left of her were pieces she had dropped in front of him, praying that he would notice and gather them. but he hadn’t. instead he had stepped on them with his ignorance and watched as they became smaller and smaller, as her soul slipped through his fingers like sand and ended in a dark black pool in front of him.

because he believed that she would always stay.

his eyes continued to travel the room and found the nightstand where something glittered in the dim light. her engagement ring sag there, her wedding band beside it. and underneath a thick envelope and a letter.

he instantly knew what those papers contained for it was he who had had them drawed and had served them to her. how many times had he hoped that she would finally sign those papers? how often had he treated her so beneath her because he hoped that it would drive her away and make her sign the papers? but now that she had finally done, there was no relief. his heart did not feel like a stone finally fell off it. instead the pit in his stomach became bigger as the realization hit him.

she had left.

“you never gave a warning sign (i gave so many signs)”

“non…” he whispered, his voice trembling. “… non, non.”

he swallowed the lumps forming in his throat and grabbed his phone to call her.

the first call went to voicemail.

he tried again.

again, voicemail.

he dialed for the third time, his lips shivering while his eyes were already filled with tears threatening to spill.

“emery, please come back… i’m home now, i’m home. je suis desole, please,” he cried into the phone as his sobs became more intense. “please don’t give up on us. please come home emmy, talk to me. i’m sorry for not seeing the way you hurt, for ignoring it. i know it now.”

“i love you,” he whispered into the phone as if finally speaking the words she had yearned to hear for so long would make her reappear instantly. those three words she had killed herself over and over for because she hoped that if she stayed long enough, he would finally reciprocate her love.

and he had given her so many reasons to hope when she had been on the brink of giving up. he had been the one to supply the hope that had destroyed and killed her slowly. he may just as well be the person who constantly stabbed her with a knife and watched her bleed to death. he had driven her to a point where she could not hide her pain anymore, when tears were nothing but water anymore. he had given her a bit of his heart, watched as she valued it like it was everything she had to have her staying and then tore it away from her harshly, watching as another part of soul went with it.

it was all his fault. and that was perhaps the most tragic kind of heartbreak— the one born from absence, from negligence and indifference. the kind of heartbreak that happened due to your own failure of not showing enough that you loved the other. in a twisted way, both had thought they were not enough for the other.

kylian didn’t finish the message. he just ended the call, breath catching in his throat. he didn’t stop himself from crying, he did not wipe his tears away.

his knees gave out and he dropped beside the bed, fingers clutching at the edge of the nightstand like it could anchor him.

she was not there anymore.

and he was at sole fault for it.

his hand brushed against something under the table. a box, wrapped in gold. He pulled it into his lap with shaking fingers and peeled back the wrapping paper.

sneakers, custom-made. the kind he had desired for months. he’d only mentioned them in passing but she had remembered. his initials stitched on the side, they were painted in the colors of his old childhood team with a small drawing that represented him.

he stared at the letter but couldn’t bring himself to open it. his fingers hovered over the seal, and his chest ached like it might split open. had that been the constant agony emery had breathed everyday? here he was with not only a third of what he had caused emery and it was enough to pray to any higher power to make it stop.

kylian knew whatever words were written inside that letter—he had no right to read them now. not after all the silence. not after all the neglect.

she had loved him in ways he never asked for —but never stopped accepting. she held him when he was too tired to hold himself together. cheered for him when the world turned away. smiled at him even when her heart trembled at the seams, even when every beat of it was another plea he never answered. loved him even if he was the reason she couldn’t breathe and was also breathing.

emery had given and given until there was nothing to give anymore but void eyes and shattered souls. and he had taken it all with apathy and tried to push her away because he was afraid of his own feelings.

it had never been the absence of affection that broke her. it was the slow, cold starvation of hope. she had waited too long. loved too intensely and hoped too blindly that one day he would love her back.

but while his feelings were now clear, the day he admitted them to her never came. and it would have never come if it took her leaving for him to acknowledge how much he actually loved her.

what had shattered her wasn’t the rejection. it was the realization that he had never truly tried to love her at all.

because if he had… even a little… he never would have let her keep giving until she was empty.

the realization that she was truly gone and what he had lost hit him fully after two weeks.

two weeks of waking up alone in the apartment, no scent of vanilla lingering around. no breakfast and soft smile waiting for him as he prepared himself to go to training. there was no quiet humming anymore but rather coldness and silence when he came home. no warm hands to welcome him home anymore.

the first night after her departure, he had come home from training and had waited for her the entire night. waited for the sound of the front door finally opening and for her to walk into the apartment with a tired smile and an empty bottle of orange juice.

but she didn’t come.

so he waited the next night and she did not come again.

the emptiness of his apartment was haunting him. it was too quiet, too cold as if once she had left, she had taken the homey atmosphere of the house with her

he had started to sleep in her bed, grasping at the last few things he had of her. emery’s scent still lingered around her room but with each day that passed, it faded more and more till it remained a distant memory.

he had read the letter she had left him, crying the entire time that he went word over word in the letter that she had poured her heart out for him. he had pulled it into his drawer, next to copies of their marriage pictures that she had left back.

reading it had been hard. had made things final. he had seen the moment she had given up and felt what she had carried for so long.

it was emery leaving that had kylian realize for the first time that he’d fallen in love with her. that it had always been her, since forever.

but she was already gone.

with a heavy heart and tears down his face, he dialed his mother’s number and was relieved when she picked up. “maman, i— i… i screwed up. emmy’s gone. she left.”

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