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meelusinee · 2 months ago

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NOW SHE HAS ME UNDER HER SKIRT | M.R x READER

word count \ 3.7k | fluff & stuff | slash / mattheo riddle x reader

in which mattheo is absolutely in love with you before you two even talk for the first time (part one to lovesick!mattheo) author's note at the end!

SECOND PART HERE - lovesick!mattheo christmas edition

NOW SHE HAS ME UNDER HER SKIRT | M.R x READER

Mattheo didn’t know much about love.

Between being raised by a dictator and his craziest follower, he already didn’t have a very good start. Especially whenever he would get in trouble, the Cruciatus Curse was definitely no joke. Not to mention everyone pestering him about the legacy he led. News flash to the Gryffindors who would try to pick on him, he found it quite obvious that he was Voldemort’s son.

Suffice to say that he didn’t know much about love. He never had a true showcase of it, never had an example of it to compare to anything. The closest he ever had being another stunted teenager by the name of Theodore that considered him his brother, but even then there was still distance.

That was until he met you.

You, the most beautiful person he had ever met in his entire existence on this Earth. Anything he lol looked at on you he would find absolutely perfect, from the color of your eyes to the way your hair bounced in the sunlight.

That alone made it hard to approach you. Your nice demeanor seemed to make it even harder.

So, he settled with admiring from afar. Mattheo knew your schedule, the classes that you would take and every time that it varied. He would subtly watch you in classes, hang around the same areas you did during your break periods, or even where you went for fun. And, to the best of his ability, he tried to avoid things that looked bad. No more fights or cursing, not unless he was truly provoked.

His mind also got its grubby hands on the idea of a journal. A place he could write about you freely, one he charmed so only he could read it. Entries, song ideas, anything he could think of. You made him an artist, you as his perfect muse.

And it all got even better when you two finally met.

You had just walked down to the courtyard, Mary Janes clacking along the rocks as you made your way over to a small pillar.

Recently, you noticed someone sitting by the pillars a lot more than usual. He was tall, his face usually covered by his brown curls as he wrote inna small journal he always carried with him. Said tall man with a face covered by his brown curls was your current potions partner, you had both been assigned to create a Liquid Luck potion.

“Hello?” you called out gently. face tilted down just a bit as you looked down at him. His eyes locked with yours when he looked up, the most beautiful shade of molten honey you had ever seen meeting your eyes. “Hi there, stranger.”

“Hello?” he whispered back at you, eyebrows furrowed as he spoke. His face looked rather cute when it was all scrunched up like that, a light blush covering his cheeks.

“I’m your Potions partner.” you said with a smile, flattening your skirt before moving to sit down next to him. “For the Liquid Luck project.”

“Oh,” he whispered, nodding as he closed his journal. It had a rather pretty leather cover, the pages aged and covered in ink from what you could tell. “Yeah, I remember. Y/N, right?”

“Yeah,” you smiled, nodding. “And you’re Mattheo.”

“Yes I am.” he said, a soft smile coming on his face as he heard that. He looked at you with something special in his eyes, eyes that carved themselves deep into your soul with the most intricate patterns you could think of.

The trance both of you seemed to be stuck in was broken when he cleared his throat, fingers tapping on his journal. “Did you have any ideas for the project?”

“Oh,” you whispered, nodding. “Yes, yes I do. I was thinking that we head to the library and research different potion methods and whatnot. Based on Slughorn’s instructions, I’m assuming that the instructions in the books won’t help much.”

“You’re a genius.” he whispered, barely loud enough for you to hear.

“What was that?” you asked him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Nothing,” he said, clearing his throat as he began to sit up. “Do you want to go now?”

Mattheo thought that he was dreaming, if he was being honest.

The girl of his dreams, the girl that he had wrote almost obsessively day and night about for almost six years, that same girl was currently sitting across from him. Laughing.

“You’re ridiculous,” she smiled at his joke, her voice sweet like a piece of cotton candy melting on your tongue. He didn’t even remember what he had joked about at this point, his mind turning to mush the moment he heard that sound pass your lips.

Those lips that haunted his dreams every single night, the image of them so plush and pure he wanted to worship them like one would a holy angel. They looked absolutely perfect.

“Thank you,” he whispered, smiling softly as he rested his chin on his hand. He probably looked like a lovesick puppy, but he didn’t mind.

“I found something really interesting in this book by the way,” you said, Mattheo’s eyes instantly darting to where your hands were resting on the page. “It says in the recipe that we need to juice a squill bulb, which most people just cut it for. But this recipe here notes that squeezing ingredients over a funnel gets more juice out.”

“That’s really interesting.” he whispered, his gaze looking at your face as you spoke.

“Isn’t it?” you asked with a smile. “And here it says that adding the entire Murtlap makes the potion last longer, rather than just growth.”

“That’s also really interesting.” he whispered again, gaze still stuck on your face. You looked so pretty whenever you were concentrating on things, the way your eyebrows furrowed making him think of a million different songs and rhythms.

“Is it?” you asked with a chuckle.

“Well,” he muttered, looking at you with a small smile on his face. “I always found Potions an interesting topic.”

“Always is not a word. It’s more of a concept.” you said, humming as you continued reading the pages. Mattheo chuckled softly, looking at you like a lovesick puppy.

“You’re lovely,” he whispered.

Theo was sitting in his bed reading a book, his curtains almost completely closed as he flipped between page to page. At least, he pretended to.

Recently, he had noticed Mattheo’s obsessive journaling habits. How his hands would be covered in ink by the time he was finished, or how he’d write until his new candle burnt out. Sometimes Mattheo would write even when the candle burnt out, instead opting for yet another one.

It was rather concerning to Theo, to say the least. Out of all of the things Mattheo could do, he was changing who he was. Self-improvement was one thing, but it seemed like he changed an obsession from fighting to writing.

“I can feel you staring at me.” Mattheo mumbled, looking back over at where Theo was sitting.

“I’m surprised you can,” Theo said under his breath, closing his book and standing up. “With how much you’ve been writing, I’d assume you get sucked in by a black hole sometime soon.”

“Oh hush,” he whispered, looking up from the journal. His hands were stained black and red with quill ink, the candle beside him still burning brightly. “Why do you keep staring at me? You’ve been doing it all week.”

“Your journal.” Theo smirked, walking behind Mattheo and placing his hands on his Mattheo’s shoulder. “What’s inside?”

“Why would I tell you?” Mattheo grumbled, continuing to write in the journal. Theo’s eyes squinted as they tried to read whatever was on the page, but the words were too jumbled to make any sense to him. No doubt a charm.

“You charmed the journal?” Theo asked curiously, looking down at Mattheo.

“Like you care.” he whispered under his breath, the quill scratching loudly against the paper. The room was quiet other than that, nothing but the quill scratching and the candle crackling.

“I do.” Theo said, his voice a bit more stern. He pulled up a chair next to Mattheo, resting his elbow on the table. “Mattheo, you’re pushing everyone away. Even me, and it’s not healthy. All you do is write in this journal, it’s kind of worrying.”

“I just like writing,” Mattheo whispered, moving his legs to rest his knees near his chest.

“About what?” Theo asked, his voice more soft than teasing.

“You’ll judge.” Mattheo whispered again, flicking the quill back and forth as his eyes glanced over at Theo. “Why do you want to know?”

“Because you’re my best friend.” Theo whispered. “I promise I won’t judge.”

Mattheo sighed before turning to the journal, pressing his wand against it as the words came into view more clearly. His handwriting was a lot more cursive than Theo first remembered, no doubt changing the more he wrote.

“It’s a journal about her,” Mattheo whispered, flipping through some of the pages. “Love letters, poems, songs and stuff.”

“Her?” Theo asked curiously. “Who’s her?”

“Her,” Mattheo muttered to Theo, picking at his fingernails as he spoke. He looked like a blushing schoolboy who found his first love, it was rather cute to watch. “It’s, like, she’s a girl I just really like. I think about her a lot, you know? And I’m just trying to improve myself for her.”

“What’s her name?” Theo asked, resting his head against his hand as he crossed his legs.

“Y/N.” Mattheo sighed, like the word itself was a part of some holy prophecy. “She’s so beautiful, you know? Like something from heaven, just beautiful. And I just can’t get her out of my head.”

“Have you ever tried talking to her?” Theo asked, a small smile on his face.

“We have this project together right now.” he said, chuckling softly as he spoke. He was so down bad. “She took me to the library to research more about potions. Merlin, she’s so smart Theo. She figured the reason why nobody could make the potion was because the instructions were wrong.”

“So you both started researching?” Theo asked.

“She researched, yeah,” Mattheo said, before chuckling again. His hand moved to scratch the back of his neck nervously. “I kind of just sat watching her the entire time.”

“Mattheo,” Theo chuckled softly, shaking his head.

“You said you wouldn’t judge!” Mattheo protested.

“I’m not judging.” Theo chuckled, looking down at the journal. “I’m just confused on how you think you’ll get your girl if you can’t even talk to her. Journaling can only go so far.”

“I know,” Mattheo whispered, looking down at his journal again. “But it still helps.”

Theo nodded, looking down at the journal again. “What are you writing about right now?”

“Uh,” he muttered, looking at the pages. “It’s a song. She said something at the library that made me think of a song, I haven’t been able to get it out of my head.”

“What’s it sound like.” Theo asked, leaning back in his seat.

“Uhm,” he whispered, picking at his nails again as he pushed the journal towards Theo. He hummed softly as he picked it up, eyes squinting as he tried to read his handwriting.

Darling, just calm with your voice

Let your heart sing, how I always enjoy

When you say “always” is not a word

You think love is a bit absurd.

“That’s really nice,” Theo said, looking up at Mattheo with a small smirk. “This is a lot better than I thought it’d be, to be honest.”

“What did you think I was writing about?” Mattheo asked confusedly.

“Dark magic or something.” Theo chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Like you were possessed by a ghost to figure out how to resurrect themselves.”

Mattheo chuckled at that, taking his journal back. “I think you’ll find someone like this, you know. It makes life really nice.”

“Being in love?” Theo asked, an eyebrow raised.

“Yeah,” Mattheo whispered. “In love.”

“Well, there’s always an opportunity for that. And when it happens, it’ll happen.” Theo said, patting his pockets and pulling out a box of cigarettes. “But until then, there’s cigarettes.”

“You know the way to my heart, don’t you?” Mattheo snickered at that, using the lit candle to light his own cigarette.

It had been a couple of weeks since you and Mattheo had started working on your project. You had figured out how to maximize the efficiency of your potion brewing, including changing methods of brewing and preparing ingredients. After about three different trials, you had finally found the perfect way to brew the potion.

“That’s perfect.” Mattheo smiled softly at you, chuckling softly as he scratched the back of his neck. In all honesty, it looked like a regular potion to him. “I think that’s perfect, right?”

“That is perfect.” you said, giggling softly as his reaction You found it rather cute, if you were being honest. He seemed rather nervous around you. “Thank you for doing all of this with me, the potion work and all. Most people would probably just leave it to me, you know?”

“Why would they leave?” Mattheo asked, eyebrows furrowing.

You shrugged, looking down at the potion still set in the cauldron as you spoke. “I don’t really know. I guess people consider me weird or something like that. Someone said that I was whimsical once, I don’t think it was a nice way though.”

“That’s absolutely ridiculous.” Mattheo spat. He couldn’t understand the logic of that. In his eyes, you were absolutely perfect. He would give anything in the world to hang out with you more often than he got too, and people gave that up for free? The thought was absolutely ridiculous.

You chuckled quietly at that, smiling softly. “Yeah?”

“Definitely. I mean,” he paused, looking up at you like that was the most absurd thing in the entire world. He had a small flush on his face, no doubt questioning what he was going to say. “I mean, you’re such a nice person. And I think that hanging around you is comforting.”

“And I think that you’re rather sweet.” you chuckled, looking at him with a soft smile.

“I’m being serious!” Mattheo said, looking you in the eyes. You hadn’t heard him talk this much in the entire time that you had been working with him, and you especially didn’t expect it to be him defending you. “You’re just, like, you. Which is really sweet, you know? I really like you and your whimsy, or whatever they try to call you.”

You giggled again, smiling softly at him as you scooted a bit closer. “You’re rather nice yourself, if I do say so myself.”

“Thank you.” he whispered, his voice raising a pitch as he looked at the potion. “Do we need to test this?”

“I think so.” she nodded. “Do you want to do it?”

Mattheo looked at the potion, a small frown coming on her face. If anything went wrong with the podcast, he wouldn’t want you to be hurt by it. Which led to him nodding, the best option for him obviously being him taking the potion himself.

“I’ll bottle it for you.” you said, grabbing the small ladle and pouring it inside the potion vial. “Here, one vial of Liquid Luck for you.”

Mattheo smiled softly as he took a sniff of it. “Is it meant to smell like something?”

“No, just air. I mean, clean air. Not like toxic air or anything.” you said, before ending your small speel. “It doesn’t smell like anything.”

Mattheo nodded again, taking a swig of it before coughing. “That’s definitely hot.”

“It did just come off the cauldron.” you chuckled, fingers fidgeting slightly. “Do you feel lucky?”

Mattheo looked up at you with a look you could only describe as a lovesick puppy, a small flush covering his face as he admired you. You could only assume the amount of thoughts running through his mind were plenty, some very hard to sort through.

“Yeah,” he whispered, blinking slowly as he looked at you. “Very lucky.”

You chuckled softly at that, your face flushing as you watched his eyes lock onto your lips. “Do I have something on my lips or something?”

“No,” he whispered softly, his Adam’s Apple bobbing as he spoke. “No, I just,”

“Something on my teeth?” you asked, shining your teeth to him.

“I want to kiss you.” he whispered.

Your mouth closed again as you heard that, eyes locking onto his after he spoke. That didn’t last long though, as his eyes focused back on your lips again. “You what?”

“I want to kiss you.” he said a bit more clearly, his voice hoarse as he spoke. “I mean, I don’t want to pressure you. But I really want to kiss you.”

“You can kiss me.” you whispered softly to him, scooting a bit closer to him in return.

Mattheo blinked for a couple of seconds, the shock of your answer plastered on his face. It filled you with a small sense of confidence, the blush on his face fueling your own. “I can?”

“You can.” you smiled.

Mattheo smiled brightly at that, the burn of it brighter than the sun sucking his lips in like a blackhole would. His lips immediately met yours, burning like fireworks against his skin. It was absolute bliss to him, burning through his skin and turning him into nothing but lovesick ash.

“Your lips are absolutely perfect, my love.” he whispered, his eyes boring into yours with a gaze full of adoration. “So perfect.”

“Was your luck to try and kiss me, Riddle?” you chuckled softly at him.

“This is the luckiest moment of my life.” he whispered.

“Theo!” Mattheo spat out, opening the dorm room door as he stormed in. His palms looked sweaty, and his face was absolutely covered in a bright blush.

“Mattheo.” Theo said his name back, closing his book as he looked at where Mattheo had stormed in. He looked absolutely wrecked, almost drenched in sweat. “You look like you just got your ass kicked on the Quidditch field.”

“I just,” he whispered, walking closer to Theo as he paced around the room. “I just kissed her.”

“Y/N?” Theo asked, a small smile crossing her face. “You kissed her?”

“It was so perfect.” he whispered, laying down on Theo’s bed. “Like, it was like her lips had a magnetic pull on me. I couldn’t stop for the next hour. A whole hour!”

“That’s wild, mate.” he chuckled softly, patting Mattheo on the head.

“It was just perfect,” he whispered under his breath, sighing softly. “Like, I don’t know how else to describe it. Maybe like looking at a supernova for the first time.”

“You are down bad, Mattheo.” he chuckled softly at that, continuing to pat his friend on the head.

“And then we, after that right?” he said, the smile on his face only growing larger. “We snuck off to this broom closet. You know the ones. And we did, we had,” he paused, sighing in frustration as his words jumbled in his head. “You know?”

“I know.” Theo chuckled.

“I have a song idea again.” Mattheo said, sitting up again as he rushed to the journal he kept so dearly to his heart. “I will be dead to the world for the next few hours.”

“You want me to go tell Y/N that, lover boy?” Theo smirked.

“She can come in whenever.” Mattheo said, dipping his quill in black ink. “I already gave her our dormitory password.”

“You what?”

“I have a present for you.” Mattheo whispered under his breath, a small smile on his face as he walked towards you.

It was the 6 month anniversary of one of the happiest relationships you had ever been in. There was communication and there was love. Small dates near the Black Lake at midnight, with breakfast you stole from the Great Hall earlier. Times where he’d take you into town and let you dress up however you wanted, all on the cards he stole from Malfoy. Or small get-togethers like this, hangouts at the top of the Astronomy Tower.

And the presents were always lovely. Small poems that he wrote for you, or love letters that he hand wrapped himself. A small blush or dress you had been eyeing for more than two seconds, or room decor that went with your forever indecisive aesthetics.

“You do?” you giggled softly, gasping softly as he pulled out a small guitar. “A song?”

“I’ve written a couple for you,” he whispered. “And I wanted to sing them to you. For our anniversary.”

“I love you.” you giggled, smiling as he sat down.

He cleared his throat as he made sure the guitar was in tune, strumming a few chords before eventually developing a melody. It seemed almost hypnotic the way his hands moved, his voice humming along as he figured out the rhythm.

“Yesterday, I was a word. Left with no voice to speak it,” he hummed softly, his voice and the guitar both vibrating through the walls. You smiled brightly as you heard his voice, not realizing how pretty his voice actually sounded.

“Now I am a happy song, placed on the lips of a woman.” he sang, winking at you. He continued for a few lines, a small smirk growing on his lips as he got to the instrumental part.

“What are you going to sing next?” you asked, watching him giggle softly. “Seriously!”

“Patience,” he whispered, chuckling as he strung the melody again, his eyes darting down at the guitar. “Now she has me, under her skirt,”

“Mattheo!” you flushed, slapping his arm and breaking the rhythm of his song. “My skirt?”

The both of you burst out into a laugh at that, the sound breaking through the cold night air that breezed through the alcove you sat in. Or maybe you just felt warm in his presence, a constant feeling of love rushing through your body.

“Can I finish my song now?” he smirked.

“I suppose you could.” you whispered, resting your head on his shoulder as he continued to sing.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

my second post oh my GOD this one took a hot minute to get through. beta-reading and proof reading is definitely not my jam, and there's definitely things that i missed in this. but i hope it still works out well, especially the whole lovesick angle i was going for. if you guys haven't already, please please please go check out tamino's music. it is actually so. good. if you listen to hozier or adrianne lenker, i think you'd really like his songs (my favorites are the first disciple and habibi)

if you would like to read the second part, click here!

as always, please like, comment, and reblog! it really helps out, and i really appreciate everyone who does! if you guys have any requests or something you can request in the ask box!

#fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #slytherin boys #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo x you #theodore nott #tamino #lovesick mattheo #fluff #extra fluff #mattheo & theo teasing

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gothcsz · 2 months ago

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part ten of the neighbors series. i hope everyone who has been reading so far enjoys this chapter, because i definitely shed a tear or two during the writing process. one of the more difficult things i've had to write because that writer's block hit me good and hard multiple times throughout this, but i am pretty proud of what came out of it! mwah, love you all... please come cry about this with me ok thank u 🖤 oh and a big big big thank you to @persephone-girl for always being there for me when i'm ranting about how i don't know what the hell i'm doing and for reading over the parts i was struggling with. ¡te amo, cleo!

javier peña x f!reader. ~10k word count. (oops) the angst we've all come to know and love, canon typical violence (please proceed with caution), feelings are confessed, anything procedural that occurs comes from the small knowledge i have and just pure vibes (let's suspend our belief real quick), translated spanish, mateo is a piece of shit, reader is going through it, any typos/grammar mistakes are of my own doing and i apologize in advance, if i missed any other tags pls let me know ok thx.

The sharp buzzing of your pager against the kitchen table jolts you out of your book. You frown, sliding a ribbon into place to mark your page before rising to see who’s paging you this late.

Mateo glances over from his spot on the couch, his eyes narrowing slightly as he watches you. “¿Quién te llama tan tarde?” (Who is calling you so late?)

“No se,” (I don’t know) you pluck the device from the table and squint at the screen. A number you don’t recognize flashes, accompanied by the name of a local hospital.

You blink in confusion, picking up the landline and dialing the number, tapping your fingers against the countertop as you wait.

A brisk receptionist answers, eventually redirecting you to someone who can actually help you in English.

Your Spanish is good but not that good.

“Javier Peña is here and you’re listed as one of his emergency contacts.”

Your heart drops into your stomach and your grip tightens on the receiver. “Is he okay? What happened?” Your mind races through a dozen worst-case scenarios.

“He’s alright,” the nurse assures you, “Much less intoxicated than when he was brought in. He was involved in an… altercation at a bar. We need someone to sign his discharge papers before he can leave.”

The knot of anxiety loosens slightly, but in its place comes a flare of exasperation. Of course. A bar fight? You rub at your eyebrow, closing your eyes.

You’ve done everything possible to create distance between you and this man, and still, somehow, he finds a way to pull you back in.

“Hello? Are you still there?”

You snap out of your thoughts and clear your throat. “Yes—sorry. I’ll be there shortly.”

Hanging up, you let out a sharp breath. Why do you keep doing this? Even though you tell yourself you’re just being a good person, there’s a part of you that knows better… that secretly wonders if you’re glad for an excuse to see him again.

You straighten up and head back to the living room where Mateo is lounging, and his eyes shift to you expectantly.

“¿Quién fue?” (Who was it?)

“The hospital downtown. Javier’s been injured and I need to go help him.” You move around the room, grabbing your things.

You feel the shift in the air when he mutes the television and stands, his brows furrowing. “Javier? Your neighbor? The one who nearly ruined our first date?”

You pause, bending to put on your shoes, catching the sharp edge in his tone.

“Yeah,” you admit, trying to sound nonchalant. “I’m listed as one of his emergency contacts, so…”

His body language shifts into something more rigid. “I don’t know how I feel about that.”

“What do you mean?”

“My girlfriend is being called out in the middle of the night to pick up some malparido who’s clearly into her. That’s what I mean.”

The snort that escapes you is involuntary. “You’re being ridiculous. We’re just friends.” Barely that anymore, you think. That word feels like a fragile label for whatever exists—or existed—between you and him. But Mateo doesn’t need to know the messy, complicated details.

You’ve deliberately kept it that way to avoid exactly what’s happening now.

“Friends,” he repeats, the word heavy with doubt. “No me gusta.” (I don’t like it)

“It’s a good thing I don’t need your permission.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?”

“You don’t see how strange this is?”

You let out a breath, straightening your posture as you meet his gaze. “I don’t know what to tell you, Mateo. All I have to do is sign his discharge papers and call him a cab home. That’s it.”

“It’s not your responsibility. He’s not your responsibility.”

You blink at him, taken aback slightly. He’s always been steady, easygoing, and this possessive edge is new—unwelcome. Jealousy, you realize. You understand it to a degree, but it makes you wary.

“I know that—”

“You don’t see me playing knight-in-shining-armor for some random woman I barely talk to anymore.”

“Javier is not just some random guy—” You cut yourself off with an exasperated sigh, hating how defensive you sound, feeling uncomfortable with the turn this conversation has made.

Mateo’s expression darkens, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Exactly,” he mutters bitterly. “He’s not some random guy. Y ese es el problema ¿no?” (And that’s the problem, isn’t it?)

You can feel the heat rising in your face, a mix of anger and guilt twisting in your gut. “We’re just friends.” You reiterate, trying to sound as resolute as possible. “You can believe that or not, but it’s the truth,” you retort, ending your side of this argument before grabbing your bag from the entryway table.

“Are you coming or not?” you ask without looking back.

There’s a long, agonizing pause that makes your heart pound in your ears. For a moment, you think he might refuse, that he might dig his heels in and escalate this further. But then he just sighs, shuffling to gather his own things.

“Yeah, I’m coming.”

The nurse ushers you through a brightly lit hallway and into a larger room lined with hospital beds, each one partially hidden by flimsy curtains that do little to offer privacy. At the very end, you spot Javier.

He’s perched on the edge of a bed, his broad shoulders slumped forward. His arm is wrapped in gauze, a deep gash on his eyebrow held together with fresh stitches. His lip is swollen and split, a constellation of bruises littering his face, one eye swollen shut.

He looks like he’s been through hell.

“Javier, oh my god!” Your voice comes out squeakier than you intended as you rush toward him. You stop short, your hands hovering awkwardly in the space between you, instinct screaming to pull him into a hug. But the injuries hold you back.

Even with the ache radiating through his body, the sound of your voice and the sight of you standing there softens the edges of his pain, offering a brief, soothing reprieve. He can’t believe you actually came.

“What happened?” You ask, your voice cracking with worry despite your efforts to keep it even.

Javier looks up at you, his gaze glassy but warm, a tired smirk tugging at the corner of his injured mouth. “Guys talkin’ shit at the bar,” he mutters, his voice raspy and slightly slurred. “I’m fine.”

He doesn’t mention how he courted the violence, drunk and bitter, until it exploded into a fight he couldn’t win. Three guys dragged him outside, taking turns landing blows.

The shameful truth is, he relished the pain. It was sharp, tangible—more real than the numbness he’d been drowning in with booze and meaningless sex.

It was a culmination of all the bad decisions, every scar his job had etched into his soul, and the emptiness he couldn’t seem to escape.

“You are not fine, Javier,” you snap, your frustration spilling over as you gesture to the mess of bruises and bandages covering him. “You got the shit beat out of you.”

That earns you a low chuckle, though it quickly morphs into a wince as he presses his uninjured hand lightly to his ribs. “Always so dramatic,” he teases, his gaze sweeping over you. “You look good.”

Your cheeks warm despite yourself. How he’s able to be a flirtatious bastard all the time is lost on you. You cross your arms over your chest. “Don’t laugh. I’m serious.”

“I know you are.” He grins wider, which only makes him wince again. “That’s why I’m laughing.”

You let out a sharp breath, your emotions roiling—frustration, worry, and relief that he’s fine.

“I handled everything up front,” you say firmly, needing to regain control. “We just need to go outside and wait for your cab.”

Javier’s expression falters, his brows pulling together. “You’re not coming back home with me?”

The casual way he says it makes your stomach flip. You bite the inside of your cheek, choosing your next words carefully. “I’m going home with Mateo. He drove me here.”

For a moment, Javier is quiet. Too quiet. You watch as his body stiffens, his bruised jaw clenching tightly.

“He’s here?”

“Yes,” you reply as you shift your weight from one foot to the other, dropping your arms to your sides. “He’s waiting in the lobby.”

Javier swears he’s never sobered up so fast.

The urge to tear through the room rises, and he almost gives in to the intrusive thoughts, but instead, he tamps it down, the only outward sign being the sharp scowl twisting his swollen, beaten features.

“Couldn’t leave him at home?”

“Excuse me?” Your brows shoot up.

“I don’t need an audience for this.”

“An audience? He’s my boyfriend, Javier. Of course he’s here. This isn’t even about him,” you’re feeling déjà vu from your argument earlier.

No one really prepares you for how dramatic relationships can be.

“This is about you—about you acting out and dragging me into it. You show up at my place drunk, claiming you miss me after ditching me for months, fall asleep at my door like I’m some kind of lifeline for you. You pull me in so many different directions, and it’s exhausting.”

Javier’s mouth opens like he’s about to fire back, but then he deflates. The irritation in his eyes dims, replaced by something that looks a lot like regret.

“I don’t know how else to tell you that I’m sorry.”

You roll your eyes, looking away from him, partially relieved that Mateo wasn’t allowed back here, or this confrontation would have spiraled into something much uglier.

“Try by being sincere. Every time you apologize it feels like you’re only doing it to save your own ass.”

“Because I was. For the longest time.” He admits, gingerly slipping off the bed, slowly walking over to you and you swallow harshly as the distance between you decreases. “Then I realized how much I took you for granted and I’ve been falling apart since.”

Why does he have to make everything so complicated? Why does the apology you’ve craved for months suddenly feel like the hardest thing you’ve had to hear?

You cross your arms over your chest again, trying to create some kind of barrier between you and the honesty radiating off him. You don’t even know what to say.

Javier inches closer, his voice softening further. “I’m sorry for treatin’ you like shit and for being a terrible friend. I just... I need you to know that I really mean that, and I will do whatever it takes to make it up to you… if that’s something you even want from me anymore.”

You look at him then, really look at him—the bruises, the stitches, the exhaustion lining his face. There’s no wall of deflection in his eyes this time, no trace of the usual excuses he uses like armor. Just unguarded sincerity.

You rub your temple, trying to soothe the headache forming.

“I appreciate your apology,” you finally manage to find your voice. “And that you recognize what you’ve done wrong. But it’s going to take more than just words to fix this.”

The admission feels dangerous, like opening a door you’re not sure you’ll be able to close.

Is it even a good idea to let him try to fix this? The memory of the argument earlier replays in your mind, and you know without a doubt there will be more fights like it if you allow Javier back into your life.

Mateo made his feelings about him abundantly clear.

But beyond your boyfriend’s disapproval—and that glaring red flag of jealousy you haven’t entirely processed yet—there’s the deeper question: can you handle this? Can you handle being just friends with Javier? The last time you tried, it nearly destroyed you.

And if he does follow through? If he becomes the person you’ve wanted him to be this entire time? That might be worse, because you don’t know if you’ll be able to keep your feelings in check.

The storm of thoughts threatens to overwhelm you, so you silence them, focusing instead on the immediate task: getting him home safely.

Javier’s expression softens at your words. Relief flickers in his eyes, subtle but unmistakable. “I know. I’ll be better.”

You let out a heavy sigh, toying with the pendant around your neck as you try to ground yourself. “Come on,” you say after a beat, resigned. “Let’s get you out of here.”

He follows you out of the room, each step betraying just how much pain he’s in.

When you step into the waiting room, Mateo is standing by the entrance, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. His dark eyes sweep over Javier, taking in the full extent of his injuries, before landing on you.

There’s no mistaking the irritation simmering beneath his calm facade.

Javier straightens despite the visible discomfort it causes him, his sore muscles screaming at him. His dark gaze meets Mateo’s, and for a moment, the two men size each other up.

You can practically hear the things they’re not saying. Mateo’s scorn is written all over his face—This is the guy? The one who’s causing all this bullshit? And Javier’s defiance is just as clear—Yeah, I’m the guy. What are you going to do about it?

“Mateo,” you say, your voice cutting through the charged silence, “this is Javier.”

“I remember.” Mateo’s tone is clipped, his eyes narrowing slightly as they linger on Javier’s injuries. “You look like hell.”

“Thanks.”

“Let’s wait for the cab outside.” You quickly add, anything to keep these two and their manly, dick measuring competition at bay.

As you lead the way, the two men follow like a shadow, heavy and unavoidable, their stares burning into your back.

“Oh—I forgot to grab your meds. Wait here,” you quickly pivot back toward the sliding glass doors before either of them can protest.

The moment you’re out of earshot, Mateo takes a step closer to Javier, his gaze hard and unyielding. “No sé cuál es tu obsesión con mi mujer,” (I don’t know what your obsession with my girl is) he begins to confront him, “but that shit ends tonight. Basta con estas tonterías de ser contacto de emergencia o de andar con ella, fingiendo ser su amigo. I can see right through you.” (No more of this emergency contact bullshit or hanging around her pretending to be her friend)

Javier’s jaw tightens, and a muscle twitches in his cheek. He’s already had his ass handed to him once tonight, but the temptation to go another round—this time with Mateo—is almost too good to resist.

He tilts his head slightly, his eyes narrowing. “Yeah? Then maybe you should be the one hittin’ the road,” he retorts, his tone like gravel. “Keepin’ her locked up at your place like she’s some fuckin’ doll that doesn’t have a life of her own to live. Eso no es amor, es control.” (That’s not love, that’s control)

Mateo snorts, a humorless sound that sets Javier’s blood boiling. “Locked up?” he echoes, his lips curling into a sneer. “Le doy todo lo que necesita. Está feliz conmigo—ya no es el desastre que era cuando andabas por aqui. Cree que no me doy cuenta, pero no soy idiota. Desde que desapareciste de la faz de la tierra, está contenta. No necesito que regreses y me lo arruines. Stay the fuck away from her.” (I give her everything she needs. She’s happy with me —no longer the upset mess she was when you were around. She thinks I don’t notice, but I’m not an idiot. Ever since you dropped off the face of the earth, she’s been content. I don’t need you coming back and ruining it for me)

The words hit Javier harder than any punch he took earlier that night. He knows there’s some truth to them. Hell, he’s been kicking himself for months over how he left things with you.

But Mateo’s entitled delivery makes his fists clench, his chest puffing out in barely contained fury. It takes every ounce of willpower not to lunge forward and break his fucking nose.

Before either of them can escalate the situation further, you reappear, a white paper bag in hand. You stop short, glancing between them, your brows furrowing at their postures.

“Instructions are on the bag,” you say, handing it to Javier. “Your cab should be here any minute.”

Javier takes the bag, his eyes darting to you briefly before landing back on Mateo. His fists relax slightly, but his shoulders remain rigid.

You shift uncomfortably, the atmosphere heavy and you wonder what you just walked in on.

Mateo steps closer to you, sliding his hand into yours and pulling you to his side. You let it happen, not fully grasping that this isn’t just affection—it’s a display of dominance. He’s making a point, staking his claim on you in front of Javier.

Javier notices. Of course he does. It burns him up inside, but he bites down on the simmering anger, knowing now isn’t the time to say anything. He’s just been given a sliver of hope to fix things with you, and he’s not about to jeopardize it by getting into it with your asshole boyfriend.

Moments later, the cab pulls up to the curb. Javier exhales slowly, steeling himself as he moves toward the car. He tries not to wince as he slides into the backseat, his body protesting every movement.

“I’ll see you around,” you tell him softly, still standing at Mateo’s side. His arm has snaked around your waist now, and Javi’s stomach twists at the sight.

He doesn’t respond, just nods, his expression unreadable. The door closes, and as the cab pulls away, Javier’s head falls back against the headrest.

He knows this isn’t going to be easy. Fixing things with you, proving he’s deserving of your friendship—it’s going to take a lot of fucking effort.

A nagging doubt then creeps in: has he set himself up for failure?

The room is stifling, the warm glow of the desk lamp barely cutting through the haze of cigarette smoke and exhaustion. Papers are strewn across the table, maps, routing numbers, and satellite photos spread out like the world's most maddening puzzle.

Javier leans back in his chair with his eyes closed, pinching the bridge of his nose while Trujillo flips through pages, his brows furrowed in concentration.

“I keep seeing the same routing number attached to some of these shipments,” Steve mutters, ashing his cigarette into an overflowing tray. He leans forward, his tone carrying a spark of determination. “Something’s telling me we should check it out.”

It feels like it’s been months of running after ghosts while Escobar and his men continue to outpace them. “Half of these are fake accounts set up to throw us off,” Javi states. “Even if there’s drug money in ‘em, they don’t give a shit. It’s collateral. They’ll make that back in days.”

“It’s still worth checking out,” Steve counters, unbothered by his partner’s irritation. He taps the paper. “Could be our needle in this fucked-up haystack.”

Javier exhales heavily, rolling his neck like he’s trying to shake off the weight of his own weariness. He has no desire to chase another dead end tonight. “You handle it. I’ll stay here with Trujillo, see if we can find another angle.”

Steve shrugs, already slipping on his coat. “Fine by me. Need some fresh air anyway. Smells like ass in here.”

Trujillo snorts, his laughter muffled behind his fist, but Javier doesn’t even crack a smile. His focus is already back on the satellite photos sprawled across the table—grainy images of the barrios where Escobar’s operations are most active.

He traces the outline of one, his coffee mug dangling precariously from his other hand, its contents spiked with enough liquor to numb the ache of his lingering injuries.

The hours stretch thin, blending into each other, the occasional sound of shuffling papers or Trujillo’s half-snore the only break in the silence. Javier barely notices, remaining focused to find anything that could give them the upperhand.

When Steve returns, the sound of the folder slamming onto the table jolts Trujillo awake. He blinks blearily, mumbling something incoherent, while Javier looks up, his expression more bored than curious.

“What’d you find?” he asks, his tone flat, tired.

“Open it,” Steve says, a sly edge in his voice.

Javier grabs the folder with little enthusiasm. But the moment his eyes land on the photo inside, his entire body stiffens. His jaw tightens, and his chest constricts as a surge of panic bolts through him.

It’s Mateo.

Steve keeps talking, his words distant and muddled as Javier stares at the picture. “Just like that account is attached to the shipments, he’s attached to the account. The bank he works at is owned by some powerful and shady people. I’m almost certain he’s on Escobar’s payroll. At this point—who isn’t?”

The rest of Steve’s explanation fades into background noise as Javier processes what this means.

For months you’ve been involved with someone who has ties to one of the most dangerous men in the world.

It can’t be a coincidence. Mateo sought you out. You work at the American embassy—not in a high-ranking position, but enough to get the attention of the wrong people.

That night at the hospital… it wasn’t just jealousy. It wasn’t just him ‘staking his claim’, telling Javi to stay away. Mateo knew. He knew that if Javier got too close, he’d find out.

Now all of the violence, the lies, the endless cycles of chasing men like your boyfriend have spilled over into your life, staining the one good thing he’s tried to keep untouched.

“Javier.” Steve snaps his fingers in front of his face, jolting him back to the present.

“What?”

Steve narrows his eyes. “What do you think we should do?”

Javier exhales through his nose, rubbing his lips together as he stares down at the photo again. His mind is already spinning with strategies, balancing the need to act against the risk of tipping Mateo off too soon.

Then he thinks about how you’ll react when he tells you. He knows you’ll need more than just his word. He’ll need proof. Otherwise, you’ll think he’s doing this just to sabotage your relationship.

“Tail the guy,” he finally says, his voice steadier now. “Follow him around, gather intel. We need to be sure we’re not just jumping the gun because it fits the narrative we want it to fit.”

Steve nods, but Javier barely notices. His only priority now is making sure that you remain safe while they think of a plan to bring this man in.

“Cariño, hold up.” Javier’s voice cuts through the cool night air as he jogs toward you. You’re halfway to the entrance of Mateo’s building, keys in hand, when you stop and turn, startled to see him.

“Javi?” Your brows furrow, confusion flickering across your face as you take in his familiar figure—black button-up shirt, jeans, and those scuffed boots that have somehow become as much a part of him as the shadows he carries. “What are you doing here?”

Things between you two aren’t as strained as they were, but they’re far from how they used to be. Those easy conversations and shared meals feel like a distant memory, replaced by brief, polite interactions at work and the occasional glance that lingers too long.

At least you’re acknowledging that he exists again.

Javier hasn’t pushed, though. He’s been careful, letting things progress naturally, giving you space while silently yearning for the warmth you once offered so freely.

But right now, his usual restraint is gone. “There’s no easy way to say this, so I’m just going to tell you.” He glances around the semi-populated area then gently takes your elbow, guiding you away from the open street to a nearby alleyway.

Your heart sinks. You don’t know what he’s about to say, but the hardened look in his eyes tells you it’s not good. “What’s wrong?”

He reaches behind him, pulling out a stack of folded papers he had tucked into the back of his jeans. He holds them out to you, his expression unreadable, as if bracing for impact. “Mateo is working for Escobar,” he says bluntly.

For a moment, all you can do is blink at him, your mind scrambling to process. Slowly, you take the papers, your hands trembling slightly as you unfold them.

The photos hit you first: Mateo in various locations, surrounded by men you don’t recognize. Beneath the images are detailed reports, routing numbers, bank transactions—a web of evidence you don’t want to believe.

“I’m sorry—what?” You let out a laugh, but it’s strained and hollow, a defense against the disbelief clawing at your chest. “Are you serious?”

“The bank he works at launders money for Escobar’s operations,” Javier explains, his voice steady but tense. “Fake accounts, hidden transfers, branches overseas—he’s tied to all of it. We’re building a case now, but—”

“Stop.” You cut him off, shoving the papers back into his hands. Your head shakes instinctively, refusing to entertain the possibility. “No. No way. Mateo would never. He’s always talking about how much he hates those men, how they’ve ruined this country. He wouldn’t work for them, Javi. He hates them. And honestly? I’m kind of hurt you’d even accuse him of this.”

The man Javier is describing—some slimy criminal playing a dangerous game with the cartel—doesn’t resemble the Mateo you know, the Mateo you’ve spent nearly a year forcing yourself to feel something for. And now that some feelings are sticking, here comes Javier with this metaphorical anvil, dropping it right over your head.

Your brain scrambles, frantically searching for some explanation that could make it all untrue.

You’ve seen his disgust at the violence that plagues this country, the way his jaw tightens when the news shows another bombing or assassination. You’ve heard his impassioned speeches about wanting to see real change, about how the corruption needs to end for there to be any hope.

Your chest tightens as the thoughts contort inside you: What if you’re wrong? What if Mateo’s perfect facade is just that—a facade? It feels impossible, a cruel betrayal by the universe itself.

Because if it’s true, then you’ve let yourself fall for a lie. And you’re not sure how you’ll cope with the weight of that.

Javier’s face hardens, his frustration nipping at him. He says your name firmly. “This isn’t about some petty rivalry. I’m not making this up. It’s real. He’s dangerous.”

But you shake your head again, denial eclipsing reason. “You’re wrong. This is just…” You exhale sharply, the words tangled on your tongue. “It’s absurd. You don’t like him, so now you’re trying to drag him into this?”

A flicker of pain crosses his face at your lack of acceptance, but it’s gone in an instant, replaced by sheer exasperation. “This has nothing to do with how I feel about him,” his voice rises slightly before he reins it in.

He steps closer, his hands gently gripping your forearms to stop you from walking away. “I’m not lying to you. You have to trust me. Mateo isn’t who you think he is.”

“Much like you, right?” The words escape before you can stop them, cutting deep and twisting in the space between you.

His jaw twitches. “Cariño, por favor—”

“Let go, Javi.” Your voice wavers, but your resolve doesn’t.

He wants to shout, to demand you reconsider, to tell you how these things usually end. But he doesn’t. The thought that you’re safer because of your government ties is the only thing keeping him in check.

He stares at you for a long moment, his grip loosening before he finally lets go. “Fine,” he says, “don’t believe me. But you’ll see soon enough. Just…” He swallows hard, “be smart. Be safe. If something happens to you…”

He trails off, looking down, his thoughts drifting elsewhere. You don’t know about the ghosts that haunt him, but you can see the weight of them now, heavy in the lines of his face. “Por favor, cuídate.” (Please take care of yourself)

You straighten your shoulders, masking the turmoil inside with a veneer of indifference. “I’ll be fine. Goodbye, Javi.”

Turning away, you walk back toward the building without a backward glance. Your steps are steady, but your chest feels hollow, your mind buzzing with too many thoughts to make sense of any of them.

Behind you, Javier stands in the shadows of the alley, watching until you disappear through the doors of the building.

His hands curl into fists at his sides, frustration and dread curling in his gut.

What happened earlier with Javier clouds your line of thinking as you lie naked beneath the silk sheets of Mateo’s bed, his lips lazily dragging across your shoulder before finding their way to your mouth, kissing you passionately.

“Join me in the shower?” He mutters, his large hand massaging your thigh before it trails up to cup your breast.

You offer him a tight-lipped smile, hoping it disguises the unease you’re beginning to feel. “Yeah, just give me a second and I’ll be there.”

He doesn’t think anything of it, kissing you again before slipping out of bed. You listen as the bathroom door shuts and wait for the faint hiss of water hitting the tile.

Wrapping the sheet around yourself, you rise quietly, your pulse pounding in your ears. The small voice in your head that’s screaming at you to stop is drowned out by the rush of adrenaline as you start rifling through his belongings.

Nothing stands out—just the neatly arranged trappings of his life, curated to look perfect. But perfection doesn’t leave room for secrets.

If he’s hiding something, it wouldn’t be here. Your gaze shifts to the hallway where the closed door of his office is.

Tiptoeing down the corridor, you push the door open and slip inside, the sheet still wrapped tightly around you.

The air in here feels heavier, like the room itself is holding its breath. You move quickly, sifting through drawers and shelves, your heart a riot in your chest as you search for something—anything—to prove or disprove Javier’s accusations.

Then you find it: a loose bottom in one of the desk drawers. Your fingers fumble as you pry it open, and there it is—a leather-bound ledger, hidden away like a dirty secret.

You bite your lip, hesitating for just a moment before flipping through it. Familiar initials, dates, and sums that match too closely with what Javier showed you earlier. Names you’ve heard on the news, men associated with violence and destruction.

Your stomach turns as the realization washes over you—Javier was right.

You’re so caught up in the revelation, that you don’t hear when Mateo curiously cuts his shower short after you failed to join him, padding down the hallway until he’s at the door of his office, catching you red handed with the ledger in your possession.

“What the hell are you doing?”

His voice slices through the air like a whip, and you flinch, clutching the damning item to your chest. Turning slowly, you meet his glare, the heat of his anger so palpable it makes your skin prickle.

“What is this, Mateo?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady, heat flooding your face, panic building at the base of your spine.

He steps into the room, his wet hair dripping onto his shoulders, his eyes dark and dangerous. “Why the fuck are you going through my things?”

“You need to explain yourself right now,” you demand, though your hands tremble. “Or else—”

“Or else what, lindura?” His voice drips indignation as he closes the space between you in an instant. “You gonna call your friend at the DEA? Snitch on me?”

Before you can answer, he crosses the room in two long strides. The ledger is ripped from your grasp, and his hands are on you, shoving you roughly against the wall. Your cheek presses against the cool surface, and he yanks your arms behind your back, his grip on your wrists unrelenting.

The cool silk of the sheet clings to your skin, but it does nothing to shield you from the shame burning through your body. His breath, hot and sharp with fury, ghosts over your ear as he leans in close. “You had no right to go through my things.”

“You lied to me,” you spit back, struggling against his grip. “You’re working with those monsters—you’re just like them!”

He laughs bitterly, the sound lacking humor. “You don’t know shit about how this works.” He presses harder, keeping you pinned. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“I understand enough to know what you are,” you hiss, your voice breaking. “That ledger proves everything. The accounts, the shipments—everything Javi said was true.”

At the mention of Javier, his grip tightens painfully, and you let out a soft gasp. “Javier.” The way he spits the name sends a shiver down your spine. “Of course, this is about him.”

“You’re deflecting,” you accuse, though your body betrays you, trembling against the wall. “If you’re innocent, explain it to me. Tell me I’m wrong.”

Mateo lets out another harsh, humorless laugh. “Wrong? Wrong?” He releases one of your wrists, only to grab a fistful of your hair, forcing your head back until your neck strains and you wince. “Do you have any idea what you’ve just done? Sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong? You’ve put both of us in danger.”

“I’m not the one working with murderers!” Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall, refusing to give him the satisfaction. “You lied to me, Mateo. You’ve been lying this whole time.”

His jaw clenches, and for a moment, you think he might actually hurt you. Instead, he yanks you back from the wall and spins you around to face him, his hold on you still bruising.

“This world isn’t all black and white like you think it is. People like me—we do what we have to, to survive.��

“Survive?” you repeat, disbelief lacing your words. “You chose this. You chose to work for men who ruin lives, who destroy families. You’re just as bad as they are. You’re profiting off the misery and destruction of others. That’s not survival—that’s greed.”

Mateo’s face twists with fury, his hand flying up like he’s about to strike, and you brace yourself for the hit, but he stops himself, his chest heaving.

For a moment, the room is filled with nothing but the sound of your ragged breaths.

He steps back, releasing you abruptly, and you stumble, clutching the sheet tightly against you.

“You know too much. I can’t risk you running off telling them everything, especially if they’ve already been tipped off. Fuck!” He swipes at his desk, sending a glass trinket flying and shattering against the hardwood floor.

You try not to let fear swallow you whole, but it’s hard not to—especially when you know how brutal these things can end.

You remain silent, watching Mateo pace the room with a towel wrapped around his hips, not daring to say anything because you don’t want to be on the receiving end of his anger again.

He doesn’t let you leave his apartment for three long days, the hours stretching endlessly under his watchful gaze.

Being held in his penthouse—perched high above the city like a gilded cage—only amplifies the suffocating isolation.

The thought of trying to escape crosses your mind repeatedly, but you know better. Running would make things worse. Right now, staying put and waiting for Javier to come through is your best, and only, option.

You can’t stop replaying the moment he tried to warn you, the worry etched into his face, the edge of desperation in his voice.

You’d brushed it all off, blinded by your need to believe Mateo was different. That he could be something good.

You should have listened to him.

Now you see the truth. He wasn’t special; he was just another man playing a role. You hate yourself for letting your heart cloud your judgment so easily.

Calling in sick to work is a delicate operation. Mateo looms nearby, arms crossed, glaring at you as you speak to your supervisor. You carefully mask the tremor in your voice, saying all the right things to ensure no suspicions are raised.

He keeps his own phone calls confined to the balcony, speaking in rapid-fire Spanish that’s too muffled and too quick for you to decipher. You strain to catch even a few words, pressing your ear to the glass, but it’s futile. The conversations are long, tense, and only heighten your paranoia.

You’re not sure what his plan is, but since the initial explosion of anger and aggression when he caught you with the ledger, he’s been disturbingly composed.

His calmness is almost off putting.

He finally approaches you one evening, the sun dipping low behind him, his voice is unnervingly steady. “You can go.”

You blink, sure you’ve misheard him. “What?”

“You’re not a threat. Too low-level for anyone to care about. By the time you’re home, I’ll be gone.”

His nonchalance unsettles you, and you hesitate as he disappears down the hall. When he returns, he’s carrying your shoes and bag, as though this were a casual parting.

“So that’s it? You’re just letting me leave after keeping me here like a hostage?”

“I had to make sure everything was in place first,” he explains. “I couldn’t have you running your mouth before things were handled.”

His packed suitcase in his closet flashes in your mind, along with his endless phone calls. Maybe he really is more worried about disappearing than dealing with you.

But the cartel doesn’t let loose ends walk away. Your heart pounds as you weigh whether this sudden freedom is genuine—or a trap.

You slip on your shoes and sling your bag over your shoulder, the need to escape drowning your caution. Still, you pause, unable to shake the uneasy feeling settling in your bones.

“What?” Mateo’s eyes narrow as he studies you. “You don’t believe me? Want me to drop you off myself?” He steps toward you, and you instinctively retreat.

“Why were you even with me?” you ask, the words spilling out before you can stop them. “Was it my job?”

He tilts his head, his gaze cold and calculating. “No,” he replies, his tone devoid of emotion. “I was attracted to you. Then you mentioned your job, and I figured, why not? But you turned out to be useless for that. Didn’t mean I didn’t enjoy the perks—companionship, a warm bed…”

The insinuation in his voice makes your stomach churn. “So you used me.”

“As much as you used me,” he counters, a ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips.

Your chest tightens and your gaze flits down to the floor. His detached demeanor cuts deeper than any heated argument could. When he says your name, it pulls your attention back to him like a leash.

“Leave.”

The word releases you, your body moving before your mind catches up. Stumbling toward the door, your trembling hands barely manage to turn the lock. The moment it opens, you bolt, refusing to look back.

Your necessities are in your bag, everything left behind purely materialistic.

You know you can’t go back to your apartment. They know who you are now, and no matter how insignificant Mateo says you are, you can’t risk staying.

Your fingers dig into the strap of your bag as you mentally map out an escape plan. You’ll go straight to Javier. He’ll know what to do. He’ll keep you safe.

Upstairs, Mateo leans against the window, the burner phone pressed to his ear. “Ya se fue,” (She’s gone) he says, his tone devoid of emotion. “Hagan lo que quieran con ella, pero no le disparen.” (Do whatever you want with her—just don’t shoot her)

Javier has been restless all night, unable to shake the weight of worry that had clung to him since returning from his assignment in Medellín.

The information about your sudden “illness” hadn’t sat right with him. Too convenient, too vague. He hadn’t pressed his team tailing Mateo for more than the facts—they’d seen nothing suspicious—but the absence of evidence did little to calm him.

So when the muffled sounds outside his door reach him, he’s on his feet in seconds.

He swings open the door to find you struggling to unlock yours, your entire body trembling as you fumble with your keys. Relief washes over him so suddenly, it nearly buckles his knees. “You’re okay.”

The second his voice cuts through the silence, something inside you begins to break. It’s soft, concerned, carrying a weight of relief that only makes you feel heavier.

The ache that has swallowed your body whole now reaches your chest, blooming into something sharper. You feel like crumbling right there in the hallway, letting the floor catch you because you don’t think you can hold yourself up for much longer.

This pain is a hum that pulses through your entire being, dull in some places, jagged and relentless in others. It numbs you in strange ways, yet it’s all you can feel, consuming every fragile thread of strength you have left.

You don’t even know how you made it back, how your trembling legs carried you through shadowed alleys and along dimly lit streets. Survival instinct? Perseverance?

It all happened so fast.

You stepped off the bus from Mateo’s place, unaware of the storm waiting to meet you. A few minutes of walking was all it took. They came out of nowhere, grabbing you roughly and dragging you into the shadows. Two of them—large, brutal—landed punches and kicks like you were nothing more than a punching bag.

The pain blurred into one endless wave, but their words cut even deeper. They spoke mockingly, almost laughing, about assaulting you in ways that made you wish they would just pull a gun out and end it all right there.

When you finally fell limp under their blows, you heard one of them mutter something. A boot nudged your side—testing, checking—but they didn’t bother to confirm. No pulse, no breath. Just assumptions. They left you there like discarded trash, their shadows disappearing into the night.

It took minutes, maybe hours, before you could even think about moving. You waited, your breath catching on sharp pains that confirmed what you feared—broken ribs.

The air burned in your lungs, and your head spun so violently, it was hard to tell if you were standing or lying down.

Eventually, with no other choice, you dragged yourself upright, ignoring the protests of your battered body.

The world tilted as you took your first step, and then another. Every ounce of strength you had went into putting one foot in front of the other.

When you finally reached your apartment door, you were shaking so hard it was nearly impossible to hold your keys.

Trembling hands fumbled with the lock, missing again and again. Your vision swam, blurring the keyhole into an indistinct smudge.

And then there’s Javier.

You can’t bring yourself to look at him. He says your name, but you don’t respond, your focus locked on the useless, agitating hands that can’t seem to do anything right. How could you possibly move on from this?

You’re just standing here, struggling to breathe, struggling to exist, as the weight of everything presses harder and harder on your broken soul.

His relief is short-lived. Something’s wrong.

The second his voice reaches you, your whole body seems to collapse inward. You clutch the door frame for balance, your breathing ragged.

Javier’s stomach twists as he takes in your state—your disheveled hair, the cuts on your hands, the way your shoulders slump as if the weight of the world has been dropped on them.

He steps closer. “Hey,” he says softly yet firmly. “Look at me. Mirame.”

You don’t. Your head shakes faintly, and the motion makes you wince.

It’s not purposeful ignoring; you’re hurt. He notices it now, the stiffness in the way you hold yourself, the shallow rise and fall of your chest like every breath is a struggle. His jaw clenches. What the hell happened to you?

His plea is more urgent now. “Cariño, please. You’re worrying me.”

Your lip quivers, and slowly, you start to unravel—one tear falls, then another, then another until they’re streaming freely down your cheeks.

He can’t hold himself back anymore. In two strides, he’s in front of you, slipping between you and the door, his large frame a protective shield.

Still, you refuse to meet his gaze, your silence loud and barbed.

Javier’s jaw tightens, his hand twitching at his side. It is taking every ounce of restraint not to reach out and cup your face, tilt it upward, make you look at him.

The tension is unbearable, the space between your bowed head and his searching eyes buzzing with unsaid words.

“Please,” he whispers, his voice cracking. “Look at me.”

Finally, you do. And it breaks him.

Your face is battered—one eye nearly swollen shut, a deep gash across your cheek, your lip split, nose still bleeding.

The vulnerability in your gaze hits him like a freight train, and he fights to keep his rage at bay. His nostrils flare, his entire body tensing as red creeps into the edges of his vision.

Every mark on your face feels like a personal attack.

This isn’t the time to lose control—not when you need him steady. Not when you’re crumbling right in front of him. You’re here. You’re alive. And right now, that’s all that matters.

His grip is careful, as though you might shatter beneath his touch, as he gently cradles your face into his hands. “Did he do this to you?” He has to know, though the answer seems to be glaringly obvious.

The sob tears from your throat like a wounded animal’s cry, raw and unrestrained, echoing down the hallway. It shakes you to your core, unraveling the fragile composure you’ve been clinging to.

Before you can hit the ground, Javier is there—solid and unyielding—catching you in his arms and pulling you carefully against his chest then guiding you into his apartment.

“Shh, it’s okay. I’ve got you,” he whispers, his voice cracking under the weight of his anger and helplessness.

The pain hits you all at once and you cling to Javier like he’s a lifeline, allowing him to move you until you’re sitting on his couch and he’s crouching in front of you.

Through choked cries, you manage, “Two men... they pulled me into an alley and did this.” The words spill out in fragments, each one more pained than the last. Your whole body quivers, and your heart races so wildly that you feel like you’re about to have a heart attack.

“We need to get you to a hospital.” He is woefully underprepared to deal with you in this state, you need proper care and he needs to deal with the fury that’s engulfing him by finding this piece of shit to beat his teeth in for what he’s done to you.

Your eyes widen. “No,” you croak, your voice hoarse from crying. “They’ll know they didn’t kill me. I can’t, Javi. I can’t.”

This is the hardest thing he’s ever had to do–remaining calm and fucking collected right now, suppressing the rage that’s clawing at his chest and threatening to spill out in a way that would terrify you more than you already are.

His mind spirals, circling back to that same godforsaken question: Why does it always come to this? First Helena, now you. This job—this life—it’s a parasite, sucking the light out of anything worth a damn.

Why can’t his penance be his own? Why must it reach everything he loves?

Fuck, maybe Connie knows enough to help you in the time being. If not, he’d find a way to make sure you got the care you needed while flying under the radar.

He’d tear down the goddamn world for you if he had to. Move heaven and hell, break every rule in the book—none of it matters if it means keeping you safe.

He looks at you again, seeing the fear trembling on your lips, and something solidifies within him. No hesitation. No second-guessing.

I won’t let them take anything more from you, he swears silently, his gaze softening despite the storm raging inside him. “I’ll take care of it,” he says aloud, his voice steadier now, resolute.

He starts to rise, intent on getting help, but your hand darts out, catching his wrist with trembling fingers, even though the motion sends a fresh wave of agony through your ribs. “Please,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “Don’t leave me.” The sheer terror in your eyes is enough to tear him up from the inside out.

“Never again.” He promises, reaching over for the phone on the end table with one hand while the other stays on yours, dialing the familiar number.

Javier leans against the kitchen counter, his arms crossed and his jaw tight, listening as Connie explains your injuries.

The words feel like punches themselves—broken ribs, bruises all over your body, stitches across your cheekbone, but nothing that needed immediate intervention.

When he finally forces himself to ask, his voice is gruff, barely above a whisper. “Did they…”

Connie’s face softens, the professionalism in her demeanor giving way to quiet sympathy. “No,” she says firmly, meeting his eyes. “I asked her. I didn’t see any bruising or signs of trauma around her pelvis. She says it didn’t happen, but we won’t know for sure until she gets a kit ran.”

The tightness in his chest doesn’t ease, even with her answer. The mere thought of those men doing that to you has his fists clenching so hard his knuckles ache. His fury simmers low but steady, like a kettle on the verge of boiling over.

He nods curtly, his voice rough with gratitude. “Thanks for coming, Connie. I owe you one.”

She waves him off, already heading toward the door with her medical bag slung over her shoulder. “It’s the least I can do. You make sure my husband gets home safe all the time. Just… make sure she rests, takes the pain meds. No heavy lifting, no unnecessary stress.” She glances back at him, her eyes full of meaning. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

When he closes the door behind her, he exhales slowly, trying to shake off the weight pressing down on his chest. The apartment feels too quiet now, and his eyes drift toward the closed bathroom door where you’re still inside.

He hesitates, rubbing the back of his neck before knocking gently. “You good?” he asks, his voice softer than usual, almost tentative.

There’s a long pause before he hears your voice, quiet and weary. “Yeah… you can come in.”

Pushing the door open, Javier steps inside, his boots scraping softly against the tile. The sight of you in the tub stops him cold.

You’re hugging your knees to your chest, your arms wrapped tightly around them despite the obvious strain it puts on your ribs. The water is cloudy, tinged slightly pink from where Connie had cleaned your wounds. Steam curls faintly in the air, the room heavy with the scent of lavender soap.

His chest tightens again, a mix of anger and something else entirely. You look so small, so vulnerable, your face drawn with exhaustion and pain. Your head tilts slightly, your damp hair sticking to your cheeks as you glance up at him, your expression guarded.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m broken.”

Javier’s throat works as he swallows hard, dragging a hand down his face to mask the guilt flashing across his features. “I don’t think you’re broken,” he says finally, his voice rough but steady. “I think you’re strong as hell.”

You huff a soft, humorless laugh, resting your chin on your knees. “Doesn’t feel like it.”

He takes a careful step closer, his hand brushing against the edge of the sink as he leans back against it, his eyes never leaving you. “You survived,” he says quietly, his voice thick with conviction. “That’s strength.”

For a moment, you don’t respond, your gaze fixed on the water as if it holds answers you can’t quite find. Finally, you sigh, your arms loosening slightly from around your knees. “You don’t have to stay.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Javier says firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

The silence stretches between you like a fragile thread until your voice breaks it, soft and raw. “I’m sorry for not believing you.”

Javier’s head snaps up, his expression hardening—not with anger, but with the kind of fierce protectiveness that has become second nature to him. “Don’t,” he says sharply, the words thick with conviction. He shakes his head, his voice softening but no less intense. “Don’t you dare apologize, cariño. None of this—none of it—is on you. This is on men like them, who run through life hurting innocent people for their selfish, fucked-up reasons.”

Your face crumples, and you press your trembling lips together, trying to stave off the tears threatening to spill over again. “I was stupid,” you choke out, the words a blade against your own heart. “I thought—God, I thought he was just going to let me go. He made it seem like… like I was nothing but a minor inconvenience. And then…” Your voice falters, the memories clawing at you, and you shut your eyes tight, forcing a deep breath the way Connie had just taught you.

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

Seeing you like this does something to Javier that he’s never quite felt before.

He’s seen grief, fear, and pain—hell, he’s caused more than his fair share—but this? This helplessness, this guilt? It’s a hollowing thing, gnawing at his insides with ruthless efficiency.

He thought what happened Helena had broken him, but this is different. This is you. You. And he’s here, but it feels like it isn’t enough.

“What’s going to happen now?” you ask, barely above a whisper, as though afraid of the answer.

He doesn’t answer right away. His gaze drops to the tips of his boots, jaw tightening.

The logical answer is simple: those bastards who hurt you should be found, arrested, and thrown behind bars to rot. But he’s not naïve. Justice doesn’t always come cleanly. More often than not, it doesn’t come at all. And the thought of leaving it up to the system? Doing nothing would be more beneficial somehow.

Ever since Connie showed up to treat your wounds, an idea has been gnawing at the back of his mind.

He could visit Berna… one of his more resourceful informants, and get everything he needs to track those motherfuckers down. Handle things his way.

But he can’t tell you that, especially if he decides to follow through with it.

“You’re going to stay with me until I can guarantee that you’re safe,” he says finally. “Or, I can arrange for you to go to a safe house—”

“No.” The word comes sharp and immediate, your eyes snapping open to meet his. Despite the pain radiating through your battered body, you sit up slightly, holding his gaze with surprising resolve. “I’d rather stay here. With you.”

He exhales a long breath, nodding slowly as he scratches at his jaw, considering his next words carefully. “Do you remember that night you got drunk with Maria from HR and almost threw up in my car?”

The memory hits you, sharp and vivid. It was after you and Javier had mended things following the night he stood you up for Helena. You cringe a little at the thought of how self-deprecating you’d been then, how you’d spilled your guts—both figuratively and literally—once you got home.

This unexpected shift catches you off guard. For a moment, the ghost of a smile tries to tug at your lips, though it’s swallowed quickly by the weight of the night. “Yeah,” you murmur. “One of the worst hangovers I’ve ever had.”

Javier chuckles softly, the sound low and warm. “Tequila’ll do that…” His voice trails off as he thinks about the confession you’d made that night—about your discomfort in your own skin, your doubts about whether you even belonged here. He remembers how, in return, he’d told you then how much you meant to him, how much this job weighed on his conscience.

“I should’ve told you then. That I loved you.”

The confession rams right into your heart. Tears spill freely, and you bury your face in your arms, your entire body shaking.

As tender and sincere as it is, his profession doesn’t soothe you.

You want to feel comforted, to let his words wrap around you like a shield against the horror of the night, but instead, they do the opposite.

The timing feels wrong, the weight of his love pressing down on wounds too fresh to bear it. It feels like trying to breathe through shattered ribs—too much, too soon, and it hurts more than it heals.

Fuck. shouldn’t have said that—not now, not when you’re at your most vulnerable. He stands frozen for a moment, unsure if he should move closer or stay where he is. His hands grip the edge of the sink so tightly his knuckles turn white.

Finally, you lift your head, your face swollen and red. “Don’t say that just because of what h-happened,” you stammer, your voice cracking. “I don’t need you to feel obligated to feel some type of way because of it.”

“This has nothing to do with what happened tonight,” Javier says firmly, your name falling from his lips. He pushes off the sink, crossing the room to crouch beside the tub.

Neither of you seem to care about your state of undress—it’s not about that. His gaze locks on yours, steady and sure.

“It’s how I’ve been feeling for so long now,” he continues, his voice low but full of conviction. “And I’ve fucked it up so many times along the way when I should have just been honest. But I was so scared—scared of hurting you, of not being able to give you all of me. Of not being the man you deserve.”

You blink at him, your mind swimming in the gravity of his words.

They hit you like waves, powerful and unrelenting, pulling you under even as you struggle to stay afloat in this overwhelming moment.

Javier loves you. Despite the scars he carries, despite his mistakes, he’s offering you a truth that feels too big to hold right now. It’s not just one-sided; it never has been, and that realization aches in a way you weren’t prepared for.

“Javi…” you whisper his name, a sigh that escapes like a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

One of your arms unwinds from around your body, trembling as you reach out and rest your hand on his where it clings to the edge of the tub. The warmth of his skin against yours feels grounding, even as everything inside you is unraveling.

His gaze locks onto yours, those soulful brown eyes glinting with hope and desperation under the soft bathroom light. He leans closer, as if every ounce of him is hanging on what you might say next.

“Do you mean that?”

“With all my fuckin’ heart.”

Your heart lurches painfully in your chest, conflicting emotions tearing you apart. “I can’t even begin to fathom that right now,” you admit, your voice breaking.

“And I’m not expecting you to,” he says quickly, his grip tightening on the porcelain edge of the tub. “I just needed you to know. I guess what happened tonight finally put my ass in place. Made me realize how much of a dumbass I’ve been. Te amo, cariño. If you don’t feel the same way, that’s fine. But I couldn’t keep it in anymore.”

You want to tell him everything—how you’ve carried feelings for him from the very first day you met, how his mere presence lit up spaces you didn’t know were dark. How you’ve loved him in ways that scared you, in ways you tried to push down. But the words stay trapped, locked behind the barricade of pain you’re still trying to process.

“I wish we could have had this conversation before all of this.” Your thumb brushes over the back of his hand in a tentative, instinctual show of affection, and his whole body seems to soften under the touch.

“Me too,” he admits, “But we can’t change the past, as much as we want to. Whatever happens after this… we’ll get through it. Together.” His voice lowers, a quiet promise lingering in the air. “I meant it when I said I’m not leaving you.”

For the first time tonight, you feel a fragile flicker of safety, of something unbroken, even if you’re not ready to hold it just yet.

You nod, biting your lip as tears spill over yet again, and Javier’s hand shifts slightly beneath yours, his fingers brushing against yours in silent reassurance.

For now, that’s enough.

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niallhorxns · 7 months ago

Text

Niall Horan x Reader: Worth Fighting For

Prompt: The distance while he's on tour is difficult, you and Niall try to make it work.

Word count: 3.2k

Warnings: none

A/N: Hi all!! So excited to be writing again. Please enjoy this slightly angsty, short fic. And please feel free to send any / all Niall requests my way :)

Niall’s contact photo pops up on your phone. The ringer interrupts the song you were playing through your car speakers, but before you even slide to answer, you already know the sound of his voice is going to be way better than whatever poppy tune had been on.

“Hey babe,” you smile widely, trying to balance your phone between your ear and shoulder as you drive home from work. The fact that you would be seeing Niall tonight has been the only thing keeping you smiling throughout the day. Not even the heavy traffic can interfere with your good mood.

Since you’ve been together, you’ve dealt with Niall spending long hours at the studio– and occasionally taking long weekend trips to Ireland or New York. But this tour was so much more difficult than any of that.

When Niall left for his latest tour, you both were dedicated to making things work. You planned FaceTimes and phone calls and flew in to see him whenever you could. However, the last few months had been harder than you could have ever anticipated, and the distance had definitely taken a toll on your relationship.

But right now, none of that mattered, because Niall would be home tonight.

“Hey there,” Niall says back. You can hear chatter in the background and briefly wonder if he’s landed yet.

“Are you almost home?” You ask, hopeful.

There’s a brief pause, then Niall sighs. “That’s actually what I was calling about—“

“Oh no,” you interrupt. “Was the flight delayed?”

“No…” he clears his throat, “I’m actually still in New York.”

The moment he says the words, your coffee canister slips from your hands, spilling over your lap and car. The heat immediately seeps through your skirt. You’re lucky you don’t crash as you try to wipe it up with the napkins stuffed in your cup holder.

“Shit,” you gasp, your thighs burning from the hot beverage. “Shit, shit, shit—“

“Baby?” You hear his worried voice through the line.

You flip your blinker on and pull over on the side of the road. You wipe up the remainder of the coffee, ignoring Niall asking if everything was okay on the other end of the line.

Once your legs no longer feel like they’re on fire, you pick your phone back up, and already on the verge of tears resume your conversation.

“Are you serious?” You ask. “I thought you had three nights off.”

“I know– I do, but we got the opportunity to play on Fallon, my agent booked it–“

You can tell he’s trying to dodge a fight, which you’ve been doing a lot of lately. Last week you were mad when he canceled your FaceTime date to go out with bandmates instead. The week before that, he was frustrated that you declined his offer to fly you out to Denver with less than a day's notice.

Seeing each other today has been what you were both holding onto. Or at least that’s what you thought.

“Why do you have to play Fallon, Niall? It’s not like you’re desperate to grow your image–”

“I know, but it’s a good opportunity to expand to other listeners–”

You sigh, and without raising your voice say, “I just… We’ve had these dinner plans for so long— I mean my parents have been talking about this for weeks.“

“I know, I know, I know—“ he says frantically, “I’m so sorry, believe me, I’d much rather be there than here… this place is nuts.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, and close your eyes, listening to the sound of traffic rushing by your parked vehicle.

“Okay,” you sigh, feeling so defeated and drained all of a sudden. “Okay, well, we’ll miss you.”

“I know, tell everyone I say I’m sorry for not being there.”

“Yeah, alright,” you agree.

“So we’ll just talk later then?” He asks, the noise in the background getting louder.

“Okay,” you say before hanging up.

You can’t help but notice that the “I love you’s” were skipped.

You drive the rest of the way home with your fingers tightly clutching the steering wheel. Your knuckles are white by the time you pull into the driveway. You drag your bag and coffee-stained self into the house to change and get ready for dinner with your family.

You try convincing yourself that the night will be fun, regardless of the fact that Niall bailed. But the moment you sit around the table at the restaurant and count that you are in fact the ninth wheel of the family, you know things are doomed. Plus you can’t shake the achy feeling inside your chest that makes you fear for your relationship with Niall. You’d been holding onto this weekend together with everything you had. It’s kept you grounded, and reminded you that this distance between you and Niall won’t last forever– that this tour will eventually end.

Except now, you have nothing to hold on to.

“Where’s Niall?” Your mother immediately asked. Of course she does– because your family loves Niall.

Without even thinking, you lie, “His flight got delayed. Bad weather. Tornadoes, I think—“ you’re not sure why you don’t tell the truth. Denial, maybe. Embarrassment that his job would always come before you.

“Bad weather?” Your brother asks, “Where is he?”

“New York,“ you say quickly.

Your brother pulls out his phone. After a moment his brows furrow. “Huh, weird. The weather app says it’s sunny and clear there.”

Instantly you feel your face turning red. “Yeah… weird,” you say.

Your brother opens his mouth– probably to ask more questions, but his girlfriend elbows him, indicating for him to shut his mouth. You give her a soft smile in appreciation.

You stay quiet for the majority of the meal, and you don’t feel much like eating. You try to listen to your dad talk about golf, but all you can focus on is how Niall might chime into the conversation. You try to listen to your older brother when he complains about his meal, but all you can imagine is how Niall would nudge your leg and offer you a sly smile, knowing how much that annoyed you.

You can’t be present because all you can do is think about how much you miss him– you miss his laugh, and the smell of his aftershave. You miss how warm hands always are, and how they’re always touching you– every chance he can get. You miss the way he can always lighten the mood, and how safe you feel just knowing he’s around. You miss him with everything inside of you– and his absence tonight only makes you miss him more.

All-in-all, you’re relieved when everyone is ready to head home.

“Hey,” your brother’s girlfriend catches up to you before you can head to your car.

“Hi,” you smile.

“Is everything okay? I just— I wanted to make sure, because you do know New York doesn’t really have tornados, right?”

You nod and let out a shaky laugh. “Yeah, I know. And Niall’s flight never got delayed,” you take a deep breath, “I guess that just sounded better than the fact that he didn’t even get on his flight. Got caught up at work,” you explain.

She sighs empathetically. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, I just—“ you feel the tears starting to fill your eyes and you wipe them away, embarrassed. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Oh no,” she says empathetically.

“The distance is just, really, really hard. Way harder than I ever thought—“ Even you can tell how choked up your voice sounds. “And I just don’t see it ending anytime soon. I mean, sure, this tour will end. But he loves his job, so I know there will just be another one. And another. And can’t ask him to give that up. But I can’t compete with it. I just don’t know if I can do it—”

“Maybe you should talk to him about this,” she suggests, as she soothingly rubs your shoulder. “Tell him how much it’s bothering you. Be honest.”

You nod. “Yeah you’re probably right.” You wipe your runny nose on your sleeve.

“Let us know if you need anything, okay?”

You nod, thanking her and hugging her goodbye. She’s right. You do need to talk to Niall. But that’s a conversation you wish you could just keep on the back burner, ignoring until everything ignited. You dreaded it the whole way home.

When you did finally arrive home, you puttered around the house– put the dishes away, washed your face, got into your pajamas, all as an effort to stall. Finally, you curled up on the couch. With no more excuses to delay the inevitable, you pulled out your phone and clicked on Niall’s contact. You hated this– everything about it. You hated that you hated it– hated that you were dreading calling your favorite person in the entire world… the only person who made you feel whole.

The phone rang three times before Niall answered. “Hey baby,” he said cheerfully. “How’re you?”

“Okay,” you said quietly. “How was Fallon?”

“Not bad– that guy from the TV show you like… the one on HBO? God, I can’t remember the name of it now. But he was there. Made me think of you. The crowd was fun– a few people actually knew the words. How was dinner?” He asks.

“It was fine—“ you lie, not really wanting to fake small talk. “Everyone missed you.”

“Yeah, I wish I could’ve been there.”

You clear your throat as you anxiously pick at the skin around your thumb.

“Listen, Niall. We need to talk—“

“Babe,” he protests, like he knows where this is going. “I already apologized for not being there— I wanted to, but I couldn’t say no after they booked the gig–”

You don’t want another fight. You’re too tired, too drained, too sad to fight. You love Niall– so much so that you wanted him around all the time– needed him. And you know Niall loves you too. But Niall also loves music, and touring. One was always going to interfere with the other, and there was absolutely nothing you could do about it. And suddenly, the realization that this just isn’t going to work hits you like a ton of bricks.

“I know…” you say as non-confrontational as possible, “I know it’s your job, I understand that, but I— I need you here, Niall. And maybe that’s selfish of me, or whatever, but it’s true. I need you here. And I don’t know if I can do this distance thing, I thought I could, but I don’t think I can. It’s… Honestly, it’s killing me.”

“What do you mean you can’t do it?” Niall asks. “I mean, what do you want me to do? Quit? Do you want me to quit the tour?”

You squeeze your eyes shut in anticipation of what’s about to happen.

“No, I don’t want that,” you say, your voice becoming thick with tears. You could never take performing away from Niall– you wouldn’t be the thing that came between him and his passion. “I hate that this is through the phone, but I don’t think we should do this anymore. I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

A long, heavy silence settles over the air. It sends waves of blood pumping to your ears. It’s deafening.

You begin wondering if you should provide more of an explanation, but then Niall speaks.

“Baby—“ he pleads, his voice suddenly full of desperation. “Please, I know you’re mad about tonight but I can fix this—“

“I’m not mad,” you tell him honestly, pushing the emotion in your voice down and trying to muscle through. “I understand that you couldn’t say no. I know you wanted to be here but couldn’t. But I come second to your job, Niall. And I always will. And that’s not your fault. But it’s not my fault either. And I– I just think that I need more than that.”

He’s stammering incoherently on the other end, and you imagine what his face looks like right now. Is he crying? Are his eyebrows all scrunched up?

He tries protesting again, but you can’t think about anything other than getting off the phone.

“I’m really sorry this isn’t in person, you deserve that. But I just can’t keep doing this,” you explain. “When you’re back in LA, shoot me a text and I can get your stuff together.”

“Baby–” he pleads.

But you cut him off. “Goodbye,” you whisper, hitting the end button before he can convince you to change your mind. As soon as the line goes dead, you break out into uncontrollable sobs. The weight on your shoulders that you thought would be lifted only felt heavier as you let yourself fall back against the cushions of the couch you bought together.

Your chest aches. Desperately, you clutch your arm around yourself, trying to hold everything together.

It hurts like fucking hell.

It’s the kind of pain you know will leave lasting scars– the kind you know you’ll carry with you forever. And the only person you’d ever want to call to help you through it is the one you just broke up with.

Broke up.

You and Niall broke up.

You cry harder.

You cry and cry and cry– until there’s nothing left inside of you, until you’re pretty sure if you cried anymore, you’d need an IV to replace all the fluids. You cry until finally, you drift off into an uneasy sleep, curled up on the couch with Netflix playing on the TV, the screen lighting up the otherwise dark living room.

The clock below the TV reads 7 am when you wake to the sound of the front door opening.

Your first instinct is to scream, but you catch a glimpse of the familiar, dark haired man crossing the room before that can happen.

“Niall?” You say groggily, rubbing your tired eyes. “What are you doing?” You feel like you might still be dreaming.

“I know you probably don’t want me here,” he says, he’s out of breath, panting, even– like he ran across the country overnight to be here. That’s when it hits you that Niall is really here– not across the country in New York, but standing in your shared living room in LA.

“Just hear me out—” He begs. When you don’t protest, he continues. “I love my job,” he states. “Playing music has always been my dream, and then that dream came true. I love touring– I love performing.I love being able travel around so much—“

You let your eyes wander to the floor, wondering where this all is going.

“But none of that compares to how much I love you,” he says, his shoulders finally deflating. “And I’ll quit in a heartbeat if that’s what it takes. Please, please don’t be mad– I’ll do whatever it takes to make this work, I swear.”

It had been so long since Niall had told you he loved you, that you feared it might no longer be true. But as soon as he says the words with such honesty and passion, your face scrunches up and the tears start to fall, because you immediately believe him. For a moment, you forget that you’d practically broken up with him over the phone.

All you care about is that he’s here. Niall is here, standing in front of you in real life for the first time in so long. As soon as he sees your face crumple, he’s crossing the room in two quick strides. Before you can protest, he’s kneeling in front of you on the couch.

Your knees– you think. But then one of Niall’s hands is cradling your cheek softly while the other rests on your thigh, and all you can think about is how grateful you are that he’s home.

“I’m not mad, I just… I– I miss you–” you sob before leaning forward, arms winding around his neck while you crash into him. “I miss you so much, all the time.”

His arms wind around you tightly. He smells so familiar, and when he tightens his grip around you, you immediately feel safe and secure and whole again– the way only Niall can make you feel.

You’re not sure how long you stay like that. But you’re afraid that the minute you let go, things will fall apart again.

“I miss you too,” he whispers, hand coming up to stroke through your hair. “God, I missed you so much.”

You lean into his touch, try to memorize the feel of it. Then, you sigh into his neck. “I could never ask you to quit your job. You love your job more than anything. You’d be so unhappy and I’d hate myself for making you unhappy.”

Niall pulls you away from himself– holding you out in front of him. “You come before my job, okay? It’s not even close. If I quit music, I’d miss it. Of course I would. But I can write songs here– play my guitar here. Eventually, it’d feel okay. But if I lost you–” Niall shakes his head, like the thought alone is too unbearable. “I don’t know if I’d ever be able to be happy again. You come first, okay? Always.”

You give Niall the best attempt at a smile that you can come up with, enough to show him that you appreciate his gesture. It’s nice actually hearing how much Niall cares for you. He smiles back, it’s weak and doesn’t reach his eyes, but it’s a smile all the same. And it’s Niall’s.

But then it’s gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a slight frown before he says, “What if you came with me?”

Taken aback, you immediately shake your head. “What? On tour?”

He nods, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “Yeah, why not?”

You open your mouth, presumably to list the reasons why that would be such a bad idea. But your mind is blank.

“You can bring your laptop– work from the bus, or hotel or whatever. We could travel around, see things. Just be together.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “You’d get sick of me–”

“Are you kidding? I’m sick of being away from you.”

“Niall– there’s no way. I have work– what about the apartment?”

“It’s an apartment, not a dog. It doesn’t need food or water. Plus, I won’t be touring all the time. Just for a few more months. We’d get through it, then figure out what to do next. But we’d be together.”

The more he talked, the more you realize that maybe it isn’t such a bad idea. Like he said, it’s only a few months. Maybe it really could work.

And in that moment, on top of admiration and love and endearment, you feel hopeful– hopeful for the first time in a long time. Because even though things between you and Niall are far from perfect, you love him and he loves you. And that’s worth fighting for.

#niall horan #niall horan fanfiction #niall horan fanfic #niall horan imagine #niall horan angst #niall horan fic #niall horan x reader angst #niall horan x reader #niall horan x reader fanfic #niall horan x reader imagine #niall horan x reader fic #niall horan x reader fanfics #niall horan x you

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daengtokki · 4 months ago

Text

Kim Seungmin/gn!reader

wc: ~2.7k

rating: mildly angsty cheesy fluff (idiot enemies to lovers)

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ happy (belated) birthday to @thackery-blinks and our Seungmo ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

“I don't wanna see him...I don't like him, I think I hate him”

you what?

If anyone were in the room with you, they definitely would have heard her booming voice coming through the phone. You have to pull it away from your ear for a moment, but that’s all she has to say. For now.

“I said…” you rub your ringing ear and turn the volume down. “I said I hate him.”

hate is a big word, I'm not sure he deserves that

“He’s arrogant, and he's rude to me. Don’t pretend you’ve suddenly forgotten.”

you’re hyper-fixating…and maybe a little jealous because he’s cute and funny around everyone else. and he’s not rude, he can’t be rude if he never says anything to you

You can hear her laugh even though she moves away from the phone.

“Are you trying to piss me off? I’ll stay home tonight, and you know that’s not just a threat.” You will. You hate going out at the last minute almost as much as you can’t stand Kim Seungmin. “...such an asshole.”

excuse me??

“Not you, shut up”

he has a weird sense of humor…c’mon, you know what this is, right?

“Yeah. A congrats slash going away party for our favorite touchy kissy couple. Is it awful that I’m relieved I won’t have to be subjected to any more of their over-the-top pda?”

no, I won’t miss it…but you’re also chronically angry and single, so you might be more relieved—but that’s not what I was I referring to

“I’m ready, are you on your way?”

yeah, this lights been red for ten minutes, I swear…what’s with the selective hearing tonight? I’m coming in to make sure you’re dressed right so don’t wait for me outside

“I hear you, I just don’t wanna listen to your ‘Seungmin actually likes you’ theory again”

my hypothesis…I need more evidence

/ / /

She’s quiet for the first ten minutes of the drive, only because a perfect string of songs pop up on the playlist, but as soon as it ends, she turns the volume down…

“Are you ready to hear this?”

“No”

“Alright, so there’s literally no reason…none at all for Seungmin to not like you, or be weird around you, or less talkative, or just walk away when you enter the room”

“But he does all of those things”

“Right. Do you not read romance novels? Fanfiction?”

“What kind of fanfiction are you reading?”

She’s already exhausted of your aloofness…or just your refusal to accept anything more than what’s already in your head. But you’ve known him, known of him, for a few months now. He doesn’t give you anything aside from what you catch when he’s with others. You’re invisible when he’s in the room, and the more you think about it, the shittier you feel.

“Hello, you good? You might not read fanfiction, but you’re staring out of that window like the protagonist in very sad story. No, antagonist. You’re my antagonist.”

“I am not,” you sigh. Everything suddenly feels very heavy, and maybe it’s because you know you’re almost there.

“There wasn’t much fight in that. You better perk up, we’re almost there.”

/ / /

The first thing you see is him, and it’s not because you’re looking. Seungmin is leaning against the staircase bannister, arms folded loosely over his sweatshirt. He’s less than ten feet away when the two of you walk in the door, but he doesn’t move, and he doesn’t turn his head out of curiosity. You’re surprised he doesn’t sense your presence and walk away.

“Sorry we’re late,” she says, making sure to gently shove you forward in his direction. “But we brought gifts!”

Now Seungmin looks at the two of you. First his eyes land on her, but they quickly dart in your direction, and they linger much longer than you expect. As much as you don’t want to scare him off, you take the rare moment to look at him from such a small distance—just his eyes, though.

“It’s us, we’re the gifts”

Seungmin clears his throat and takes his leave, just like you expect.

“Well, go after him”

“Why would I go after him? Please, give it a rest…I’m already tired.”

“Okay, okay…I’m sorry. Are you good?”

“No.” They’re angry tears, but nobody else knows that. "Not really." To the other eight people in the room, tears are tears, and you don’t want them seeing you, but it's too much to hold back. “I need a minute.”

You shove through her and the next arriving couple on your way outside, but you didn’t really think beyond this. It’s cold out, and you’re not really dressed to sit around by the water, but that’s where you head on instinct. It’s empty back here, which is what you need right now, and the cool air on your warm, red, tear-streaked face. Why are you even crying? Nothing has happened, not really. Seungmin looked at you, and his stupid brown eyes sparkled and grew as they watched you for far too long. Why did he have to look at you like that?

The gazebo is what you typically claim when you’re back here. That’s where you go. It’s not exactly comfortable, but it’s pretty, and it keeps you mostly hidden from anyone looking out from the house.

A text message buzzes, but you take your time pulling it out and checking. All it’s going to be is someone, your friend, looking for you.

come back inside

“I’ll think about it” …you reply.

he never came back in the room, if that makes you feel better

“It doesn’t”

You get a few more minutes of peace and quiet, but you’ll admit that you’re already getting cold sitting out here. The wind is coming off of the lake and right at you, and every time a stray tear falls, it feels like it might freeze. This won't accomplish anything, you know that, but hiding from everything is so much easier. You might hate yourself for it later, but right now you feel good in the chilly air.

And then there's a crunch of footsteps. You ignore it. Someone has found you, but that doesn’t mean you’re getting up and going with them that easily. You've already decided this is where you belong right now, and you'll stick to that until you're dragged back inside. The footsteps stop...whoever it is doesn’t speak, though. There's only the sound of something being dropped close to you ear, and the footsteps start to retreat almost immediately.

It’s a coat, draped neatly on the railing. A black cotton one that looks vaguely familiar, and when you turn a little more, you remember when you saw him wearing it last.

“Wait!”

You almost trip as you get to your feet, and you’re glad he hasn’t turned to see you yet. But he does—he stops and turns. He looks like he wants to keep walking, though, and he does…Seungmin takes a few more slow steps backward as he watches you grab the jacket and hold it against your chest. His scent reaches your nose. You’ve never been close enough to him to know it, but now you do.

There’s nothing to say, though. You have nothing to say to him, or you do and you just don’t know how to put the words together.

Seungmin stops, and then takes two steps toward you. Is he having fun? Is he just playing with you? Tears start to brim again, and luckily he’s not close enough to see it. If you don’t figure out your next move, he’ll turn and leave and you might not get this much attention from him again.

“Did she make you come out here?”

“Make me? No, nobody makes me do anything.”

You’re glad he’s not close enough to see you roll your eyes. “Then what’s this for?” You look at his jacket, and when you look back to him, he’s taking two more big steps toward you.

“It’s cold.” He says flatly, and maybe waits for your response that never comes. “I saw you walking out from the bathroom window. By yourself.”

“And?”

Are you making him uncomfortable? He looks like he doesn’t know how to answer for his actions, and maybe he doesn’t. He’s never concerned himself with your actions before, but you also never do anything to bring attention to yourself. This was an overreaction on your part.

“And…"

Uncomfortable, maybe. Confused…probably. Maybe you should kick him while he’s stumbling over himself. “Why are you concerned with how cold I am?”

Two more steps, and now he can definitely see your puffy face. “Sorry, I'll leave you alone."

He can’t be serious. Does he want you to explain this to him? The look on his face does seem a little helpless, and you’ve never seen him look anything but sure of himself.

“This is the second time you’ve spoken to me in months.” This is also the first time you’ve been alone with him for more than a few moments.

“That's because you always seem to be pissed off. You always look angry when I see you. You don't right now...you looked upset when you walked through the door a little bit ago.

Your eyes drop to the ground in front of him, and you have to work hard to relax the scowl on your face. “I’m not angry.”

"So I never tried talking to you. I assumed you didn't want to, since you never spoke to me, either."

The first time the two of you met, you exchanged a brief hello, and that was that. You remember it very well. Seungmin took your hand in his and squeezed it so softly. His eyes were intense, but warm, and now you’re wondering if you were wearing your scowl when you first looked at him. Why could you have?

“Put the coat on, please”

You’re shivering. So is he. Seungmin takes one more step and grabs the baluster, and you think he’s going to come up here with you, but he doesn’t. You let go of the coat and finally swing it around your shoulders. The scent coming from it makes your knees weak.

“Thank you”

This time he steps up, and he’s at your level. Above it, actually. He’s looking down on you, and every bit of space closed between you makes you feel even weaker. Stupid, so stupid. Nothing is even happening. He’s just standing there, looking at you drowning in his warm jacket. You could curl up on the ground and fall asleep in all this warmth, but his stare is making you anxious.

“You look mad again”

“I’m not,” you pounce, and you force yourself to relax again. “I’m not mad. I…I’m just...”

“I have witnessed you smiling and laughing…not with me, but I always wondered why I couldn’t do it. I can never get anything from you.”

The conversation doesn’t feel real, but it’s real enough for the party guests—a few of them peer out through the kitchen window, thinking they’re being discreet.

Seungmin has made you laugh before, but only in your head. And he’s made you smile, too…as you’re drifting to sleep and thinking of him doing exactly what he’s doing right now.

“You do make me laugh”

“I do?”

“Yeah, don’t tell anyone I said that”

You make him laugh—Seungmin actually laughs, genuinely, and it sounds so much nicer than any laugh you’ve heard from him before.

“That’s not fair. They see you making me laugh right now.”

They do. Three people are by the patio door, probably wondering why he isn’t in there charming everyone. You managed to steal him away, and you wonder how long you can keep him out here with you despite your numb face.

“We should go back in, it’s cold. You’re cold.”

“I’m fine. I really didn’t wanna come tonight anyway, so being out here is better.”

“You’d rather stand out in the cold by yourself than hang out with everyone?”

“I’m not by myself”

He laughs under his breath, but his smile is a little bit wider. “So you’d rather stand out here with me than enjoy the party?”

Yes, you don’t say it out loud. How could you? The way you’ve played up your hatred for him to others, and your indifference to his face since you’ve met. It’s a little embarrassing. But it’s painful being around Seungmin…pretending you’re not upset every time you’re dragged to group outing is exhausting.

“I’m gonna take that as a yes unless you say otherwise”

Perfect. Saying nothing should be easy, but this time you open your mouth. “I can’t pretend I’m happy when I’m not.”

“You don’t have to”

“But I put on a mask when you’re around and make everyone think I’m unhappy, even when I’m not”

“You’re not?”

“I mean…I am, because you leave the room every time I walk in. But I’m not, because you’re still around, somewhere…and maybe I still have a chance.”

“A chance. So you don’t hate me?”

“No, but I don't want to get my heart broken," why are you spilling your guts to him? "So we should just go back to how things were before.” The words are just falling out of you, and looking at him like this and being with him, finally alone, makes you want to keep going until there's nothing left.

“No, we shouldn't. And I don't want mine broken, either.”

Seungmin is in front of you now, blocking you from everyone still hanging around the window. They seemed to be getting bored watching the two of you talk and do nothing else, so you at least feel like you’re alone with him again.

He reaches toward you, and you jump.

“Sorry,” he whispers and pulls at the collar of the jacket, “but if you’re not going inside,” and bends to connect and pull the zipper until it’s closed up to your chin.

You’re sure you look ridiculous in it—it’s already a little bit big on him. And no, you don’t want to go back in, because the thought of everyone staring at the two of you as you finally return…

“No, I’d rather go home”

“I can take you home”

“Everyone is in there waiting for you”

“The party will still be here when I get back”

“I don’t know you very well.” You pull the zipper down a few inches. “At all, actually.”

“Oh, you don’t want me to take you home?” He smirks. “That’s very smart and safe of you. I could be a serial killer for all you know.”

“I mean I don’t know enough about you to…ya know, like you as much as I do”

He laughs again…just a sweet, maybe a little embarrassed giggle. “So you do?”

“What?”

Seungmin is blushing. You’ve seen him do this before; the blush, the giggle, and the smile so big you thought his face would crack every time a someone flirted with him. It was hard to hide then—that horrible sinking feeling in your gut when you thought he might leave with one of them. But now he’s blushing for you, and nobody else.

“You've been skirting around the words the entire conversation, and you have to spell things out for me sometimes. I didn’t wanna make a move until you said it."

“Said what, that I want you?"

“Wow…yeah, if you wanna put it like that. You want me,” he laughs again, “I guess I want you, too.”

“Make a move, please.” You whisper through your chattering teeth, and turn your head as your heart threatens to jump right out of your chest.

“Please?” Seungmin smirks pulls the zipper down a bit more, enough that you catch the cold breeze on your neck and chest. And then he’s there, lips an inch from yours, and he stares. “Please.”

You close the space between you, cautiously press your lips to his. His return is just as hesitant, and you’re surprised at his shyness. The zipper comes down even more, and Seungmin doesn’t stop until the coat falls open again—now he has somewhere to put his arms. They disappear inside, and he squeezes tight and deepens the kiss. He kisses like you expected him to, mouth open, tongue gently asking to be let in, and you let him in. You’re finally warm again, and you’d like to be even warmer.

“Seungmin?” You touch his neck, and his skin is hot against your cold hands, but it doesn’t faze him. His mouth quiets you when you think of speaking again, and it pains you to pull him off of you.

“What is it?”

“I don’t want an audience”

He turns and sees the group of guests gathered near patio doors; his friends, yours…all either watching or pretending not to watch the show you two are putting on.

“You just want me, yeah?" His eyes sparkle as if he can do it on command.

“Just you.” Your teeth chatter again, no matter how hard you try to stop it.

“I don’t mind ditching them for a few hours”

“You don't?”

“Not if you wanna get warmed up"

#kim seungmin x reader #kim seungmin fanfic #kim seungmin fluff #skz x reader #skz x gn!reader #skz fluff #stray kids x reader #kim seungmin x you #kim seungmin angst #enemies to lovers

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lovelyyandereaddictionpoint · 1 year ago

Note

Can we get the obey me boys(the brothers + dia, barbs, solomon, and simeon) reacting to mc having severe period cramps? Would they get all demon-y at the smell of blood?

Love your stuff btw!

Signed, a yandere junkie~

I'll do two for now 🖤🖤🖤🖤

Period | Yandere Obey Me

For those in the devildom having a draw for chaos and mortal pain it’s quite normal for blood to bring about a different kind of reaction. But to the surprise of no one period blood and the whole menstrual cycle is a complete bafflement to all who catch a whiff. Don’t worry though, you have the brother and your various friends. This surely won’t strike any of them to have an unusual streak in emotion and self-control, right?:

Lucifer

“It’s that time I’m suspecting?”

“Yes.”

“Understood rest easy, take your time to rest my dear.”

“A-are you sure?”

“Of course I'm sure. Do you doubt my promise to keep you?”

One of the most casual about it

He absolutely has done research for this exact occasion

But nothing is like experience in taking care of you himself

As well as the compulsion that has him being just as reactive as you

“You seem a bit different today Lucifer…”

“Am I? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oooh is that a gift from (Y/n)--”

“dON’t ToUCh tHaT!”

“...”

“Sorry, I don’t know what’s with me this week.”

You’re not with him that’s what

For all the necessities he delivers he’s been keeping his distance

Taking the advice of the human care books he gave you your space

After all who better to deal with the human-female innerworkings than a human-female herself

But something feels wrong more than usual

And it only seems to stop when he returns to your side at the end of the day

“Perhaps the hormones that are at work in you create a…guardian of sorts…out of me.”

He doesn’t really understand, all he knows is that when you were preparing to go to RAD he frantically calmly decided you’d not be attending

His excuse reasoning? That he would hate for any lesser demon to feel what he’s feeling

That and he’d actually try to kill anyone who shows such similar inclination to protect you

“If anyone should stay to soothe you in this great time of need. I’m not above massacring any threats to you while you’re at your most vulnerable..”

Generally he’s quite tame

…compared to his brothers

Diavolo

“Hey (Y/n) why’d you run off like that I thought we were having a good time.”

“Diavolo!?”

“Oh…hey (Y/n) if you’re hurt it’s okay to tell us we have tons of things that help heal humans.”

“Ugh! No that’s not what’s happening here!”

“Don’t be embarrassed here i’ll help!”

“Aghghgh!!!! Barbatos! Barb–Ah! Don’t you dare!”

A scolding and prompt lesson from Barbatos is very much in order

For someone so adamant on urging the blending of their worlds he doesn’t really know about this side of humanity

And unfortunately he’s never been one for backseat learning

“(Y/n), we’ve spoken and Diavolo would like to propose a hands-on-lesson with you about your menstrual cycle.”

“Uhm what kind of lesson?”

“One that will require he familiarize himself with all aspects of this process. Something that would preferably stimulate the five senses.”

“....”

“....Lucifer!!!! Solomon!!!”

Even better it has to do with you

What better way to strengthen your bond by having to monitor you

Not only for your safety but for all of humanity

“Hey later on we should definitely watch that movie together!”

“Oh yeah I thin–”

“I’m sorry but she cannot!”

“What why not?”

“Because she’s coming with me! The best place for a woman on muenster cycle is with me at the royal palace.”

“Uhm that’s not tr-”

“Here I’ll take you now!”

He’s going to be hard to teach

But once you sit him down or snap at him one too many times

He’ll decide listening to you is the best course of action

In turn it will definitely build a relationship between you two

It may not be as romantic as he planned

But he’ll take it….for now

After all there’s one every month

“That was fun! I can’t wait until the next time!”

Because he’s actively testing for it he might find some demons and creatures that react to it

But he won’t actively experiment with you in danger

Because it’s just not a good look to brutally murder every other subject of his that has a reaction he doesn’t like

“Next month I’ll have to convince them to let me get a swab or whole container full that’d be really hot.”

#yandere obey me #yandere x reader #yandere x you #lovelyyandereaddictionpoint #yanderexrea #yandere #yanderes #obey me shall we date #yandere obey me lucifer #yandere lucifer #yandere lucifer x reader #yandere diavolo #yandere diavolo x reader #yandere obey me diavolo #yandere obey me shall we date

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teaboot · 8 months ago

Note

I have a question for u

It is maybe a very cliché question but I am sincerely looking for the answer because it feels like most other people know it and just I don’t understand

So here we go: what differentiates love from friendship?

I can recognize friendship. All explanations given to me what others told me makes the distinction to loving someone (romantically?) didn’t make sense to me mostly because it always included some people that fall into the definition of friends

So yeah.. I’m having difficulty with relationships (apparently)

Thank u for ur thought! Ur blog always brings me happiness!

I hope u have a wonderful day with some quiet time to watch the fluffy creature

-🥬

Personal opinion?

Friendship is love. Love is friendship. Kissing is friendship and holding hands is love. Sex is friendship and washing laundry is love.

I've had crushes on people I'd never want to date. I have friends I'd be comfortable kissing. I don't think I've ever been attracted to sexually, but there are people I think are beautiful who make my heart race. I don't know if I've ever felt romantic attraction, but there are people I want to spend my life with, and others I'd rather admire from a distance, and others I want nothing to do with.

I think that honestly, really, words like "Husband", "Wife", "Partner", "Friend", "Queerplatonic", "Soulmates", "Life Partner"... I think they're useful tools to describe specific experiences, more than they are rigid boxes to sort and divide our experiences into.

I'm not sure if I understand tge difference between platonic affection, aesthetic attraction, romance, and friendship, but I find my best relationships so far have been, "We like being around each other, and we work together to find what kind of intimacy we want from each other".

Sometimes that intimacy is physical, like kissing or sparring. Sometimes it's emotional, like sharing feelings. Sometimes it's just good, quiet company, or doing things together.

I can't speak for your own experiences, but in mine, idk. Just kinda letting things happen.

(It is hard when you feel lonely, though, and don't know how to describe to most of the world what it is you want.)

Long post, but uh. Same boat, I suppose?

afraid I don't have a better answer right now, but if anyone else figures it out, I'd love to know.

Thanks for the ask, and I hope you're having a great day too!! ♡

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clanwarrior-tumbly · 1 year ago

Note

Spooky season needs spooky stuff.. >:3

So can I request the digital circus cast (minus Caine)meeting a Child Spirit Y/n headcanons,who like Kinda possesed/went inside the game to find they’re killer for some reason? They are eerily quiet and like to stare but if talked to very sweet but quick to snap in distrust because..well trust is what got them killed in the first place? They’re a bit bloody..and a eyeball sometimes hangs out?? Like vhs horror stuff

Sorry I’m being so descriptive,I hope you are a nice day!

OOOoo yes time for more spooks!

Also I am having a nice night, thanks! (and I hope you are having a nice day/night too!)

......

Pomni

To make a long story short, you got murdered while wearing the headset, and that tethered your spirit to TADC.

As expected, you lost memories of who you were--except for the knowledge that someone killed you because you trusted them too much, and you believed the answers were inside this very game.

Your character ends up looking like a child's ghost costume: a white bedsheet stained in blood and one of your eyeballs occasionally wanting to pop from its socket.

Caine (who was very much bewildered at your arrival) declares that you're part of an "exclusive Halloween update" and changes up the tent and grounds to have more spooky flair.

But Pomni clearly wants no part of it, and she can tell you don't either.

You're clearly a kid who is (somehow) handling the situation of being stuck in this game better than her, yet when she tries asking you about it....all you do is stare back.

She swears she can hear static noises and whispers she can't decipher--all in all getting a...very creepy vibe from you.

Initially she decides to keep her distance, afraid you were secretly some virus or Abstraction underneath that sheet.

But that changes when you're walking by the rooms one night, and you pass by Pomni's door, hearing her quietly crying.

Although you weren't inclined to get close to anybody here, you were concerned. And since you weren't actually coded into the game, you didn't have to follow any of its rules--and that allowed you to enter her room without a key.

At first you scared the shit out of her, but after realizing it's you, she lets you sit beside her, eventually venting about how badly she missed her real home.

"Everyone keeps telling me "oh this place is so much better" or "get used to it"...but what if I don't wanna do that? I don't care if my old life was bad...I-I can't take anymore of this.." Her sobs grow louder. "I wanna wake up in my own bed knowing my real name!!"

"...I miss home, too," is all you say in response. Yet it's more than enough to calm her down.

For once, you're not trying to brush her off or force her to "cheer up" and accept her reality. You made her feel heard.

"Yeah..me, too....sh-should I thank you for agreeing..?" She sniffles, seeing your subtle nod, before you leave her be, not wanting to get too attached.

Ironically, she was able to sleep a little easier after talking to you.

Jax

From the get-go, he's gonna be real nosy and curious.

Since not even Caine himself expected your arrival and found out that you don't follow the "rules" like everyone else...Jax is gonna try his damnedest to understand you and see what makes you tick.

But he's gonna be disappointed quickly since you don't respond much to him (or anybody in general).

"So...ya like Halloween?"

"........"

"....thought so. Good talk, new kid."

You definitely act like a legit ghost--doing nothing but stare, move things around, and pop up unexpectedly.

Eventually, his curiosity leads to him visiting your room (which has no key), and he discovers many drawings on the walls.

Most depicting a dead person wearing a headset.

What he found most disturbing was a journal that contained his and the others' names..

From what he's gathering...you're suspecting one of them of murdering your real world-self.

But he doesn't get much time to ponder this as you show up, angry at him for intruding.

You make yourself look even bloodier and scarier, with both of your eyeballs hanging from their sockets and staring at him.

"Get out."

Those two simple words put the fear of god in him.

Jax runs out faster than a jackrabbit, colliding with Gangle in the process. Her comedy mask falls off again, but he catches it and looks at her.

"J-Jax..?" She realizes his fur is standing up on all ends, and he looks terrified....even more than he did after realizing the circus was his forever home.

But he just shoves the mask back into her hands and leaves without saying a word.

He never speaks of what he found in your room that day.

Kinger

He thought his eyes were weird...until you came along and periodically had to put your own eyeball back into its socket.

"It's good to know I'm not alone!" He nervously chuckles, only to be met with your eerie silence.

Sometime later, he suggests showing you his insect collection, and it does pique your interest.

You did love all things "creepy" and "crawly".

Yet you're adamant about going to his pillow fortress after he invites you.

It reminds you of the ones you used to build all the time, up until...

Fortunately, Kinger recognizes your reluctance and just brings one of his bug boxes to you so you can look at it.

He could infodump about the various critters for hours, with nothing but nods and quiet "mhms" from you, and he's happy.

In general, he doesn't mind your quiet personality.

Although you still sometimes jumpscare him unintentionally like Gangle often does.

Tbh he's a good father figure and recognizes that you're just a kid who got trapped in this game unfairly.

Even so, you try to keep your distance and looks at him suspiciously if he starts acting too nice.

He was quiet aloof, and you weren't sure how he would act on any given day.

Gangle

After accidentally spooking her (by simply existing in the same room as her), she breaks her comedy mask off.

But immediately she feels guilty for screaming and tries scrambling to fix it, hoping you weren't mad at her.

Yet all you do is stare, not looking angry or anything at all (it's hard for any of the performers to see your expression in general, aside from your hanging eye, but still).

Poor Gangle is just afraid you'd turn into a scarier version of yourself.

When she keeps cutting her ribbon fingers(?) on the ceramic pieces, you come over and clean it up for her, taking it away despite your own hands bleeding.

The implications that you were able to shed blood and nobody else were a little disturbing to her..but she's glad you're not offended by her screaming.

Although she wonders where you're going with her mask..

Later on, you knock on her door and present it fully fixed.

Except...it looks more Halloweenish with an evil smile painted on it, messily glued together.

'Oh god I hope this doesn't turn me evil or anything..' She thinks, putting on a smile as she takes it anyways.

Yet you remain where you are, staring and clearly waiting for her to try it on.

And so she does, and it turns her into a very chaotic Halloween lover, acting even more mischievous than Jax and allowing her to finally get her revenge for all his pranks.

In the end, you gain a decent friendship with her, subtly protecting her from Jax's bullying.

Ragatha

Seeing that you're so distant from the rest of the gang has her worried.

Some of them might consider your loose eyeball creepy, but she's not gonna judge you on that (besides, she's missing an eye altogether so she can't say much anyways).

Howeve,r she's the first to find out how strong your distrust of everyone is.

"[Y/n]? I don't think it's good to be isolating yourself like this. I know you hate being here and Caine's a weirdo..but...we're all in this together. You can trust us-"

"Don't." You warn, putting on a frightening display of anger that sends her tumbling to the ground, sending chills up her spine.

"Trust" became something you didn't take lightly, as the last time you put your trust in someone....you ended up dead, turning into a literal ghost in the machine (that was your gaming system).

Despite this, Ragatha doesn't run away.

Like Pomni, she understands that you're just a kid who's confused and lost.....and clearly had serious trust issues.

But she's determined to help you through that, even if you keep scaring everybody away.

She's got motherly instincts, and she hopes that in due time you'll learn to warm up to her.

Zooble

"A bedsheet worn as a costume? That's a classic."

She's seen weirder things during their time in the circus, so you don't faze her too much.

Only when you snap at Ragatha or somebody who was trying to be nice to you does she raise an eyebrow.

Honestly, they 100% understand that you just wanted to be alone sometimes, and she respects that.

It's suffocating trying to act all cheery and go along with every damn activity Caine tries to get everyone involved in (but lucky for you, he can't make you follow along).

Especially since she believes he made up that stupid "Halloween update" as lazy way to explain your sudden arrival.

The only time you do interact with Zooble is after she yanks Jax by his ears, and they hear this eerie-sounding giggle behind them.

When she turns around, you're just standing there motionless, staring at her.

Somehow, they just know you were smiling underneath that costume, which makes her smile, too.

"Maybe I should pull him out a hat next time, huh?" She jokes after letting him go, and you giggle once more as he hits the ground.

#clanask #anonymous #tadc x reader #the amazing digital circus x reader #tadc pomni #tadc ragatha #tadc kinger #tadc gangle #tadc jax #tadc zooble #ghost reader #child reader #tw body horror #platonic #headcanons #halloween

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foreverisntenough · 4 months ago

Text

‘Act II’

Summary: Attraction is like a gravitational pull that is undefinable and unavoidable. Unbeknownst to you, Jude had been keeping an eye on you since he caught a glimpse on his best friend’s girlfriend’s Instagram but he’s been loving his single life. You always were independent and know how to swim on your own but maybe you have been just treading water. Could the tides change on a holiday in Greece when you finally meet? It might get a little rocky but maybe you could be his paradise.

Index

Warnings: This series is 18+ MDNI

Extra Warning! This chapter touches on Whitney's serious mental health struggles. It’s brief but dark so if that is at all potentially triggering to you please be advised and DNI. <3

Note: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to like, comment, or message me what you think of the series! ‘Act II’ is interconnected to the 'You’re Mine' and 'Ours' Series but can read it independently.

Chapter 18 - 'Long Distance’ | ‘Act II’

word count - 11.2k

Winnie had just arrived in Madrid, buzzing with excitement about being there to see you and yeah, sure maybe for Jude’s match but lately boyfriends, fiance’s whomever's games weren’t all that exciting anymore, they’d lost their novelty. You headed straight to her hotel, practically skipping through the lobby to meet her. When you got to her room, she was already sprawled out on the bed, unpacking her things. You flopped down beside her, grinning from ear to ear, barely able to contain your giddiness.

“Alright,” she said, her voice full of mischief. “Spill. How’s this boy of yours doing?” Winnie gave you a knowing look, propping herself up on her elbows. “Still handsome? Almost your husband yet?” She giggled.

“Oh, gorgeous as ever. Definitely far from my husband though.” you laughed back, throwing her a playful glance. You leaned back into the pillows, your smile only growing wider. She rolled her eyes. You had gone to her hotel ahead of the match to gossip or as you two would call it ‘get ready.’

“Please, the way you talk about him, he might as well be! You live here now!” She teased. “I had to change time zones just to hang out with you. You and Whit have me racking up my fight miles. You two should give me a promo code to be your friend. You’ve both ditched me for all these English men. Surely, they can't’ be that good.” She smirked.

“I mean…” You laughed, nudging her with your elbow, a shrug, and a raised eyebrow. Winine did know in fact. She’d given a few of Trent’s friends a go. “Also, we didn't ditch you! I’m home all the time. Plus, you’re here, aren’t you?” Winnie shot you a sarcastic look but couldn’t hold back her own laughter.

“Yeah, yeah, sure. But still. You and Whit are so wrapped up in your men, I’m starting to think I need to find myself a British lad to keep up!” You both burst out laughing, the sound filling the room, the kind of giggles that come when you’re in the company of someone who knows you better than anyone. For the next hour, you spilled everything to her—the ups, the downs, the dreamy parts, the sluttier moments, and the messier bits of your life with Jude. You told her about the quiet nights in Madrid, the ridiculous inside jokes you shared with him, the sweet minutes, and the awkward ones too. The whole time, Winnie listened intently, throwing in jokes here and there, but you could see the warmth in her eyes, happy for you.

“So, let me get this straight,” Winnie said after you’d finished. “You’ve been living this fairy tale, in love with a footballer, dream life, and I’ve just been…there, back in New York, missing all the action without my two best friends?” You laughed, shaking your head.

“You’ve definitely been having your own fun.” You teased. She raised a brow, smirking knowing well she has had some fun. .

“Well, fine. But you’re still out here living with your superstar husband in Madrid.” She poked fun at you a bit more.

“He’s not my husband, Winnie.” You corrected her with some cheek.

“Yet.” She winked, and you burst into laughter again, your heart feeling full. Being with her like this, joking about everything, made you realize how much you missed the simplicity of your friendship, even if your life had shifted dramatically. But as you sat there, wrapped up in the warmth of the moment, you knew you didn’t want to trade it for the world. You both were lying on Winnie’s hotel bed, tangled in fits of giggles as you filled her in on the plans for the evening.

“So tonight, just the match…little night out after with their friends. I think you’ve met Jobe and then you’ll like the Real boys. They’re sweet” you said, excitement and nerves mixing together. You’d been looking forward to it for a bit. Just having a girlfriend back with you but there was always that undercurrent of tension when it came to these events with Jude, especially with all that had been on your mind lately. Winnie propped her head up on her hand, giving you a knowing look.

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll have a fucking night out, and then tomorrow morning when I’m hungover and met a sweet spanish boy I will fly off to England to see Whit and Teddy girl,” she said, her tone softening from cheek when she mentioned them. “I haven’t seen them in so long, I miss that chubby little girl… and Whit too.” She smiled. You smiled at the mention of Whitney and Teddy, but that smile faltered when you thought about the gallery event you had to attend soon, the one that would take you away from Madrid, leaving you to miss the match in England.

You know I have to be at the gallery so I’ll miss the match as well,” you confessed, sighing heavily. “It’s this big opening, I can’t miss but I don’t know, Win. I don’t know how long things can keep going like this.” You sighed. Articulating your fears aloud made them all the more real.

“I know. I’ll be back in time for it, probably straight from JFK but it’s okay. What makes you so worried? You and Jude are fine, you’ll sort it out. It’s just some travel.” Winnie sat up slightly, raising her brow. You shook your head, your smile fading.

“It’s more than that. I’m always flying back and forth. We keep missing these big moments. How long before it all just…falls apart? Like how many matches, how many openings, how many holidays before you start to question the whole thing.” Your bottom lip quivered. Winnie’s expression softened as she studied your face, seeing how much this was weighing on you. But she, being Winnie, always knew how to keep things light, even when the mood was heavy.

“Well, the flight here was great! He’s not exactly flying coach, is he?. And honestly, in addition to just how great you are… he’s getting sex out of this so really… he’s a lucky lad, all three of those things are wonderful,” she joked, nudging you playfully. You couldn’t help but giggle, but the laughter was tinged with sadness.

“I know, but…” you trailed off, your voice quieter now. “It just feels like…it might be doomed, you know? Like there’s no real way to fix it.” You mumbled. Winnie grabbed your hand, squeezing it.

“Hey, stop. It’s not doom. It’s just life. You and Jude…you’ll figure it out. Relationships are hard, yeah, but you love him, right?” She asked, knowing the answer.

“Of course, I do.” You nodded, biting your lip.

“Then that’s what matters,” she said firmly, her voice full of that sisterly wisdom. “Take it one step at a time. Tonight, enjoy the match, enjoy being with him. Stop worrying about all the ‘what ifs.’” You sighed, leaning back into the pillows, grateful to have Winnie there, but still feeling the weight of it all.

“I just don’t want to lose him,” you admitted, your voice small. “I don’t want to be this deep to lose it.” You frowned. Winnie smiled at you, soft and understanding.

“You won’t,” she said, confident. “Not if you keep being honest with each other. And hey, if it makes you feel better, at least you’re getting this weather versus New York shit right now and you’re getting sex with a pretty boy, it can’t be so bad, right?” she teased again, making you laugh despite yourself.

“Yeah,” you said with a small smile. “At least there’s that.” But deep down, the uncertainty still lingered, and as you got ready to leave for the match, you couldn’t shake the feeling that the future was more fragile than you wanted to admit. Moments later when you pulled the Bellingham kit over you and tucked it up into your bra to crop it. You inspected your toned torso in the mirror with a pout as you buttoned up your jeans. Winnie tilted her head back dramatically, laughing.

“What happened to my party girl? Who is this?” she teased, nudging you with her elbow. “Down so bad for a boy? You giggled, burying your face in your hands for a moment before looking back at her.

“I dont knowwww. I don’t know. Right? I’m just as surprised as you are,” you admitted, shaking your head in disbelief. “But…it’s different, Win. It’s so different with Jude.” you cooed. Finally buttoning the last one of your jeans.

“Different how?” She raised an eyebrow, leaning in with curiosity. You thought for a moment, the words forming slowly as you tried to put the feeling into words.

“I used to be so scared of being vulnerable. You know me—I was always the one keeping things light, never letting anyone get too close.” You paused, fidgeting with the edge of the bedspread now as you walked back over to her. “But with Jude…it’s like that vulnerability doesn’t make me feel weak. It makes me feel stronger. Like, being open with him makes me feel more protected, more myself than I ever thought I could feel. It reminds me of how you feel when you’re young like a naive bliss.” You cooed. Winnie listened intently, her playful smirk softening into a genuine smile.

“That sounds…kind of beautiful, actually,” she said, her teasing tone gone, replaced by something more sincere. She smiled. You let out a sigh, though it was followed by a small, nervous laugh.

“It is, I guess. But it’s also kind of scary, you know? It’s one thing to be vulnerable, but when all that trust is in someone else’s hands… It's terrifying. It’s like handing someone your heart and hoping they don’t drop it.” You cooed sadly.

“Listen to you! You sound like Whitney talking about T.” Winnie shook her head, grinning. You both laughed at that, and you ran a hand through your hair, still shaking your head in disbelief.

“I know, right? When did I become that girl?” You cooed confused but with a bit of enjoyment. Winnie gave you a soft shove.

“Hey, don’t knock it girlie. You sound happy. It makes me happy.” Winnie said.

“I am,” you said, your smile growing a little wider, more certain. “It’s just…new, you know? Trusting someone… Trusting Jude.” You sheepishly asked.

“I get it,” Winnie said, squeezing your hand. “But if anyone can handle it, it’s you. And Jude? He’s lucky to have you, party girl or not.”

As you walked hand in hand with Winnie through the bustling crowd at the Bernabéu, the energy was electric, every inch of the stadium buzzing with excitement. The final game of the season always brought out the most die-hard fans, and tonight, the sea of Bellingham jerseys seemed endless. A year ago, this sight would’ve made you feel smug, the thought that some of these women were here for the man you gotta go home with. But now, as Jude's girlfriend, that same sea of jerseys stirred something different—a twinge of jealousy you hadn’t expected. Winnie gave your hand a reassuring squeeze as you glanced around, noticing groups of girls whispering and pointing, no doubt hoping to catch a glimpse of the Real Madrid star or his inner circle. You could hear their giggles and murmurs, and though you tried to ignore them, it was hard not to feel a little protective, knowing Jude was the object of their affection.

“Hey… who is this person?” She felt your energy shift. “Y/N… Don’t let them get in your head,” Winnie said softly, leaning close so only you could hear. “You’re his one. They’ll know it eventually. When you guys want.” She smirked. Winnie had been inquiring about your relationship being public earlier. You said you hadn’t really thought about a launch. Which was sort of true so you just smiled gratefully at her, appreciating her unwavering support.

“I know,” you murmured, though the flutter of nerves didn’t quite settle. Winnie’s presence was a comfort, but you still felt that underlying tension— seeing Jude’s family and friends tonight added an extra layer of pressure, especially with all eyes on you. As you finally reached the box, Denise greeted you with her warm, welcoming smile. She gave you a quick hug, and you could tell she was happy to have you there. Standing just behind her, however, was Jude’s brother Jobe, who smiled a bit shyly and a bit slyly. You’d met him briefly before in Greece, but tonight was different. It wasn’t just a casual family gathering; you were stepping into Jude’s world in a much more public way. Winnie, as always, brought her usual infectious energy, waving at Jobe and immediately breaking the ice with everyone. It helped lighten the mood, and soon enough, you felt yourself relaxing into the group, even though the nerves hadn’t completely left you. But as you stood there and scanned the stadium, your gaze fell back on the crowd of girls below, you felt like many of them dressed to impress, hoping to catch a player’s attention. They were wearing his jersey with pride, their faces filled with admiration, and while you understood their love for him as a player, a part of you couldn't help but feel territorial.

"Girl, stop. They wish they were you," she teased, flashing you a knowing smile. "But they’re not, and they’ll never be." Whitney leaned over, sensing where your thoughts had drifted. You chuckled softly, but the truth was, being Jude's girlfriend came with a lot more than just the title. You feared officially entering this uncharted territory. One where you felt so apprehensive, so nervous. One you’d heard about from Whitney filled with the constant scrutiny, the attention, and the understanding that every game wasn’t just about football—it was about navigating the world that came with being tied to someone so famous. As the match was about to begin, you found yourself watching Jude on the field, his focus sharp, his movements effortless. He was brilliant, and it was impossible not to be proud of him. But tonight, standing alongside his family and friends, surrounded by all these women who him from afar, the reality of it all hit you. You weren’t just dating any man—you were dating *Jude Bellingham*. And while you knew he was yours in every way that mattered, there was no denying the subtle weight that came with being by his side in the spotlight. When Jobe’ greeted you his hug lingered a moment longer, his embrace comforting in the way only a sibling’s could be. When he pulled back, his wide grin made it impossible not to smile in return, and you felt an immediate wave of relief. You had been apprehensive about seeing Jude’s younger brother, about how Jude’s friends and family would see you, but Jobe’s warmth quickly erased those worries.

“Haven’t seen you since Greece, you look good,” he teased, his tone light. “But I feel like I see you all the time.”

“Yeah?” you asked, confused but curious. Jobe’s grin widened mischievously.

“Well, I’m not the one telling you….don’t tell Jude I said anything, but… since you guys started dating, it’s like he can’t stop talking about you. Every day, it’s another photo, another update.” Jobe smirked.

“He sends your family photos of me?” Your heart fluttered.

“All the time,” Jobe nodded, trying to suppress a laugh. “It’s like, every other day in the family chat. There’s always a picture from dinner—he sends them across the table when you aren’t looking. Then there were photos of your gallery; he was really proud of those. And there was a ton from the Grand Palais—he sent it the day he was going to ask you to be his girlfriend, asking us if it looked good enough as they got it set up.” Jobe smirked, loving the opportunity to expose Jude. Your cheeks flushed as you processed what Jobe was telling you. Jude had shared all these intimate moments with his family, the moments you hadn’t even known were so significant to him, you assumed he cared but to know he had shared them with his parents, with Jobe openly. You could feel the flutter of butterflies in your stomach, realizing just how much you meant to him.

“The Grand Palais?” you murmured, still in disbelief. “He sent that?” Jobe nodded enthusiastically, clearly amused by your reaction.

“Yep, he was stressing out about everything being perfect. Even sent us a picture of that shit painting he made with you. He wanted to make sure it was good enough.” Jobe dramatically and facetiously pouted, making fun of Jude’s behavior. Your breath caught as you remembered the painting he’d done at your chateau, the care Jude had taken with it, the thoughtfulness behind every brushstroke. It had meant so much to you at the time he was even trying but now, knowing he’d been so nervous about it, about asking you to be his girlfriend—it made your heart swell even more.

“I didn’t realize…” you began, your voice soft, feeling suddenly overwhelmed by the depth of Jude’s affection.

“Yeah, so maybe the girls in section 102 might not know your name but…” Winnie cooed. “I think the people who do are the ones that matter.” She giggled while finally hugging Jobe hello.

“Yeah, Y/N, our family definitely knows. He doesn’t shut up.” Jobe said, his tone shifting to something more serious. His words struck you deeply. The image of the girls in the stadium, all wearing Bellingham jerseys, their adoration for Jude evident, had momentarily made you feel invisible. But now, hearing how much you meant to his family, that Jude had been showing you off to them in a way more personal than any public declaration—it made you realize that those other people didn’t matter. What mattered was how deeply you were cared for, how loved you were by the people that meant the most to Jude.

“Thanks, Jobe,” you said quietly, feeling the weight of his words sink in. “I didn’t know he was sharing all of that with you lot.” You told him. Jobe chuckled, nudging you again.

“Yeah, he’s obsessed. But honestly, we’re glad you’re with him. Even if it means he’s clogging up the group chat with photos of you.” Jobe teased. You laughed, the sound bubbling out of you before you could stop it. Jobe’s teasing felt like an unspoken seal of approval, and that meant more than anything. There was something about being accepted by Jude’s family that made the whole relationship feel more real, more secure.

“So, I’m the reason for the constant notifications?” you joked, trying to wrap your head around the idea of Jude sending photos of you to his family.

“Pretty much,” Jobe smirked. “But hey, at least they’re good photos. You’ve got him all soft, you know. He’s never been like this with anyone.” Your heart did a little flip at his words. Jude had always been sweet with you, always shown you his affection, but to hear it from Jobe, to know that even his brother could see how much he cared—it was everything.

“Really?” you asked, your voice quieter now, the gravity of what Jobe was saying sinking in.

“Really,” Jobe confirmed. “He’s mad about you. A right melt.” He laughed. You felt a warmth spread through your chest, a deep, undeniable sense of love and belonging. The girls in the stadium, with their jerseys and their signs, didn’t have anything on what you shared with Jude. You might not be plastered all over the tabloids, but you were woven into his life in ways that really mattered—in the family group chat, in his moments of vulnerability, in the small, private snapshots he sent when he thought no one was watching.

“So, really don’t worry about things. Don’t need to. Embarrassingly, Jude’s all yours. And we all know it.” Jobe’s voice broke through your thoughts. You smiled at him, feeling lighter than you had in days. “Now c’mon, got to find mum. I think she’s already started the pre-game nerves.” He grinned, slinging an arm around your shoulder in that casual, brotherly way You laughed, falling into step with him as you both made your way through the stadium. As you walked, you couldn’t help but glance at the sea of jerseys again, but this time, it didn’t bother you as much. You felt maybe you had something more—something real, something lasting. The energy in the stadium was electric, but despite the excitement of the game on going, you couldn’t shake the weight sitting in your chest. It should’ve dissipated when Jobe told you those things about Jude. Instead you stood anxiously in the box with Denise and Winnie as the match stood stuck in a stalemate. Jobe was sat with a few of he and Jude’s hometown friends. A group of boys that were visiting. They were tight enough to be up here but not close enough to be going out with you later or staying at the house. As they were watching the match unfold, they were talking shit and unfortunately you heard more than you cared for but they got bolder when Jobe stepped away for a moment. As the match went on, Jobe joining you and his mum, the comments from Jude’s hometown friends continued to gnaw at you. They were louder now, more confident as they joked amongst themselves.

“Can’t believe he’s cuffed now,” one of them said with a chuckle, looking at you between quick glances sideways.

“Yeah, I thought Jude wouldn’t settle till he came back home. Bet he’s not gonna last with her though. He can’t be serious,” another added, laughing as if you weren’t standing right there, your stomach twisting with every word.

“Maybe it’s an image thing. Think they met through TAA.” One quipped. You kept your eyes on the field, trying to block it out, but the insecurity settled deep in your chest. Were you just some fleeting thing in Jude’s life? It was like what Jobe just said dissipated. Surely, Jude couldn’t be that devious. Just another girl he could casually show off for a season or two before moving on? The thought haunted you, and it was impossible to shake.

“Is she really his girl, or is she just another one?” one of them whispered, glancing at you with skeptical eyes.

“Maybe she’s just the end-of-year trophy,” another joked under his breath. It stung more than you wanted to admit. It wasn’t really about you specifically, it could've been about any girl, but that was the problem. You had been with Jude for a while now, and though things were progressing, there were still moments when you felt unsure of your place in his world. The casual teasing from the boys wasn’t anything malicious, just the usual banter they probably shared amongst themselves, but it felt like a direct attack on your insecurities. They had no idea you could hear them. Jobe had clarified when they first asked, casually confirming that you were, indeed, Jude’s girlfriend, but that didn’t stop their snide remarks. You wanted to brush it off, but it was hard when those doubts already lingered in your own mind. Was this all it was to them? Was that what Jude and Jobe’s ‘friends’ saw when they looked at you—someone temporary, disposable? You tried to focus on the match, but your thoughts kept circling back to another time you were at one of Jude’s games, and he had dismissed you in front of everyone. That memory haunted you. Now, you were standing there, waiting for him to come up after the match, terrified of how he’d act. Would it be the same? Would he brush you off like you didn’t matter? Every minute felt like an eternity as you stood near the entrance to the box, eyes glancing toward the door, waiting for Jude to come up after the final whistle blew. The crowd had begun to thin out, and Denise and Winnie were still in good spirits, chatting away post victory, but you felt like you were on edge, balancing on a fine line between calm and panic. When you finally saw Jud cutting through the crowd, your heart raced, a wave of anxiety crashing over you. He was in his joggers, his face glowy from the post game. Your hands clenched at your sides, and for a brief moment, all the worst-case scenarios flashed through your mind. You remembered the way he had casually dismissed you as a friend, and it terrified you to think that it might happen again, especially after what you had overheard. Jude’s eyes scanned the entire box, and when they landed on you, your breath caught in your throat. Would he be distant? Cold? But then, a smile spread across his face, genuine and warm. He jogged over to you tiredly but with a happiness behind his eyes, his arms opening wide as he pulled you into a tight hug, burying his face in your hair.

“My angel. Mmmmm” He hummed. “Hi baby,” he murmured into your ear, and just like that, the tension in your body started to melt away. You wrapped your arms around him, clinging to him a little tighter than you normally would. He didn’t pull away. Instead, he kissed your temple softly, and in that moment, it didn’t matter what his friends thought. It didn’t matter that they had made jokes or questioned your relationship. Jude was here, and he was making it clear that you weren’t just some passing fling. But even as his affection calmed some of your fears, you couldn’t help but feel that nagging insecurity. Getting deeper into this relationship with Jude meant that your emotions were more vulnerable than ever, and you wondered if you’d always feel this way—wondering if you were enough, if you were truly seen. It was the first time in your life you really questioned if you were enough for someone. He cupped your face and moved you to give him a kiss, a real kiss. And though his face had lit up at the sight of you, and he kissed you sweetly. His lips were soft and familiar, but instead of the usual warmth that flooded your body, you felt a strange hollowness. It wasn’t enough. You weren’t sure why—it was Jude, the man you loved, but it felt like something was missing. How many times had he done this? How many girls had stood in your place before, waiting for him after a game, only for it to eventually fizzle out? How many friends had been there long before and long after these relationships. You wanted to feel secure in his arms, but all you could hear were his friends’ snide comments, their laughter echoing in your head.Jude pulled back from the kiss, his eyes scanning your face with concern. “Angel, what’s up with you?” he asked softly, sensing your hesitation.

“No, nothing.” You shook your head, forcing a smile. He frowned, not buying it.

“Please talk to me,” he urged, his voice gentle but insistent. You didn’t want to—didn’t want to voice the swirling thoughts in your mind. But he wasn’t letting it go. “Come on, baby. Talk to me,” he pressed again, his hand resting on your waist as if trying to anchor you. You hesitated, your chest tightening. Then, almost without meaning to, the words slipped out.

“Are you really sure?” you asked, your voice small. “Are you really sure you want me when you have all of this?” You nodded outwards.

“What do you mean?” His brow furrowed, clearly confused. You gestured again vaguely to the room, to the crowd, to the friends and the girls in Bellingham jerseys who were still lingering around.

“All of this… all these people, all these options. Why would you want me when you have everything?” You muttered. If you told yourself that you would be asking a boy if you were enough from him before you met Jude you would’ve laughed in your own face. You would’ve shook yourself by the shoulders and told yourself to get it together. But the way Jude’s face softened, and without missing a beat, he cupped your face in his hands reminding you that things had changed. You had changed.

“All of this is nothing… Don’t want it if I don’t have you. Game’s not nearly as fun if I don’t get to see you after. Dedicating goals to you, angel. You’ve changed the game for me.” His words were firm, unwavering. But before you could respond, he took your hand and, without a second thought, turned and led you out of the room. You barely had time to process what was happening as you left the box’s lounge, leaving everyone behind. The suddenness of it caught you off guard, but he didn’t stop until you were both in the quiet of a hallway, away from prying eyes. Jude led you out from the lounge, past the stands, down the halls and onto the pitch. You hadn't expected him to keep going, but before you knew it, you were walking across the hallowed turf of the Bernabéu. The stadium was massive-empty now, but the weight of its size pressed in on you. It was surreal. You were standing at the center of the pitch where history was made, where Jude played his heart out in front of thousands upon thousands and millions on tv. Your eyes were wide, taking in the vastness of it all.

"This place is huge, oh my God..." You almost gasped but Jude wasn't letting you finish.

"Kiss me," he said, his voice low but insistent, pulling your attention back to him.

"What?" you asked, giggling nervously.

"Kiss me," he repeated. His gaze was steady, unwavering. "If you want to know that I'm serious about us, kiss me. Right here." You blinked, caught off guard by the intensity of his words.

"No," you teased with a playful smile. "You kiss me." You taunted. Before you could say anything else, Jude grinned and silenced you with a kiss. His lips met yours with a hunger that sent a spark through you, making the enormous stadium feel like it was just the two of you. His arms wrapped tightly around your waist, pulling you closer as the kiss deepened. Your body melted into his, the world around you disappearing for that moment. When you finally pulled away, you couldn't help but laugh, a little breathless, filled with disbelief. You were standing in the middle of the Bernabéu, making out with Jude as if it was the most normal thing in the world. The absurdity of it hit you all at once. Then, from above, you heard loud booing echo across the field. You looked up and saw Jobe, Toby, and Winnie standing in one of the boxes, playfully jeering at you both. You laughed, burying your face in Jude's chest as he chuckled along, his arms still wrapped around you.

"Ignore them," Jude said, holding you tighter. He looked down at you with a playful glint in his eyes. "I'd kiss you in front of this place packed full if you'd let me." You raised an eyebrow. smirking.

"Oh, yeah?" you teased with some mocking. He nodded, his cheeky smirk making your heart race.

"I would've done it when the crowd was still here," he said, his tone teasing. "But, y'know, I was kinda busy... in the middle of a match and all. I had the game winner, slightly occupied but…"

You couldn't help but laugh again, shaking your head as you wrapped your arms around his neck. Jude leaned down, pressing another kiss to your lips, softer this time, as if to tell you without words that no one else mattered — just you.

And after your makeout at the center of the pitch the night turned to be one for the books—full of laughter, drinks, and carefree fun. You, Winnie, Toby, Jobe, and their friends went out in Madrid, the energy light and joyful, everyone basking in the post-match glow. You found yourself taking shots with Aurélien. Winnie watched relieved to see your mood shift from tense to carefree.

“Looks like you haven’t taken the party girl out of her yet!” She teased Jude pinching his arm. You laughed, feeling lighter, like everything was just as it should be, with the music thrumming through your body, the night full of possibility. But then Jude was right by your side, and in the heat of the night, you two couldn’t help yourselves. Your lips met, and suddenly, you were kissing like you were the only two people in the room. The music faded into the background, and for a moment, it felt like nothing else mattered. But of course, your moment was interrupted by a chorus of groans from Jobe, Toby, and Winnie, and co.

“Booo! Get a room!” Jobe called out with a teasing grin.

“Grossier.” Aurelien added with a laugh. .

“I did not fly across time zones to third-wheel this!” Even Winnie joined in, mockingly covering her eyes. You pulled away from Jude with a laugh, feeling the high of the night, the warmth of his arms still around you, and the carefree joy of being surrounded by friends. It felt like you were living in a bubble of happiness, everything and everyone in sync, no worries about the future. But the next morning shattered that illusion.You woke up with a hangover, but it wasn’t just the physical pain in your head that hurt—it was the sinking realization that today, you had to say goodbye to Jude. The high from the night before was gone, replaced by a heavy feeling in your chest. It was like a slap in the face, a punch in the stomach, the reality of your situation crashing down all at once.

You had to leave. Jude had to stay. And the uncertainty of when you’d see each other again gnawed at you, making every moment feel that much more bittersweet. The morning you were to leave Madrid felt like the longest, yet the shortest. The hours slipped away, and before you knew it, you were staring at your open luggage, dreading the final moment when you’d have to zip it shut. Jude sat on the floor beside you, silent, arms around your waist as if he could anchor you here with him. The weight of his embrace, usually so comforting, felt unbearably heavy today. Every few minutes, Jude whispered, ‘I love you.’ His voice was soft, as if saying it aloud might keep the inevitable at bay. You wanted to say it back every time, but your throat was tight with emotion, and all you could do was nod and try to focus on folding the last of your clothes. The silence between you wasn’t peaceful—it was thick, oppressive, like both of you were holding your breath, afraid that speaking too much would shatter the fragile moment you had left. When you finally closed your suitcase, you realized you had packed away the sweatshirt you wanted to keep in your carry-on for the plane. A small inconvenience, but in that moment, it felt like too much. You sighed, defeated, and before you could even ask, Jude was already pulling off his own jumper, offering it to you.

“You’ll just take mine, angel” he said quietly, his eyes searching yours. You took it from him, holding it close to your chest, and the familiar scent of him—something you hadn’t even realized you’d grown so accustomed to—hit you all at once. It was like a punch to the gut, and suddenly, everything came crashing down. The dam broke, and tears welled up in your eyes before you could stop them. Jude didn’t hesitate. He reached for you, pulling you into a hug so tight it was as if he was trying to fuse you to him, like maybe if he held you close enough, you wouldn’t have to leave. His arms were secure around you, but there was a sadness in the way he held you, a desperate need to make this moment last. You buried your face in his chest, feeling the sobs rising up in your throat, trying to muffle them as you cried into him.

“I don’t want to be apart,” you whispered, your voice breaking. Jude’s breath hitched against your hair, and you felt him tighten his grip on you, his own emotions barely under control.

“I know,” he breathed, his voice rough, thick with his own unshed tears. “ I know… I….I said I’d be strong for you, for us and I will be, but…” He pulled back just enough to cup your face in his hands, his thumbs gently wiping away your tears, though his own eyes were wet now, too. “I don’t want you to go. I love you too much. This hurts too much… bening apart” Hearing those words—seeing the pain in his eyes—made your heart twist painfully in your chest. You had always known long distance would be difficult, but this felt like so much more. It wasn’t just about the physical distance, it was the emotional chasm it threatened to create. The thought of being apart from him, of not waking up beside him, not sharing the mundane moments of life, felt unbearable. You leaned into his touch, your forehead resting against his.

“I know,” you whispered back, your voice trembling. “I don’t want to go either. I’m sorry.” You apologized and for a brief moment you weren’t sure why. For a moment, the two of you just stayed like that, foreheads pressed together, sharing the same breath, as if that could keep you connected even after you left. Jude’s hands slid down your arms, pulling you into his lap, and you curled into him, feeling the steady beat of his heart against your own. It was in perfect sync, like the two of you had always been. But that made it even harder. How could you leave when everything felt so right? When every fiber of your being was telling you to stay, to fight against the pull of time and distance? You clung to him, your tears soaking into his shirt. “Why does it have to be this hard?” you whispered, more to yourself than to him.

“Because I care so much, we care so much,” he said softly. “Because this matters.” Jude pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his lips lingering there as he tried to find the right words. The room was too quiet now, the ticking of the clock on the wall a cruel reminder that time was slipping away. You could feel the weight of the goodbye pressing down on you, heavy and suffocating. Jude’s hands ran through your hair, slow and deliberate, as if memorizing the feel of you one last time before he had to let go. You pulled away slightly, wiping at your eyes, though the tears wouldn’t stop.

“I’m going to miss you so much,” you choked out, your voice breaking again. Jude’s own tears were finally falling, despite how hard he had been trying to hold them back. He looked at you with a sadness that broke your heart all over again.

“I’m going to miss you more,” he whispered. “Every second.” He kissed you then, gently, tenderly, as if trying to pour all of his feelings into that one moment. His lips were soft against yours, and for a second, it was as if the world stopped spinning, like time itself paused just for the two of you. But it was fleeting, and when you pulled away, reality crashed back down around you. There was nothing left to do but say goodbye. No matter how much you wished you could stay, the world outside of this moment was waiting. Long distance wasn’t just a part of your relationship anymore—it was a reality you had to face, whether you were ready or not.

When you left Jude’s house in Madrid, you were holding back tears, trying to be strong as he walked you to the door. He had offered to come with you to the airport, but you knew it would only make things harder.

“Text me when you’re there, yeah?” Jude said softly, his hand resting on the small of your back as he leaned down to kiss you one last time.

“I will,” you whispered, your voice shaky. You could feel the weight of the impending distance between you, already missing him even though you hadn’t even left yet. Just as you stepped out, Jobe’s voice echoed from the living room.

“Text me too!” he yelled, teasing as always, trying to lighten the mood. You both chuckled, but Jude’s laugh was bittersweet. His heart wasn’t in it, and you could see the sadness in his eyes. As you drove away, Jude stood at the doorway, hands shoved deep into his pockets, watching the car pull out of the driveway. He lingered there for a moment before returning inside. He collapsed onto the couch beside Jobe, forcing a smile, but the silence between them was telling. After a while, Jude reached for his phone, pulling up a message thread. Denise came into the room not long after, a concerned look on her face.

“Has she made it to the airport yet?” she asked, glancing between the boys.

“We need Y/N actually in the family group chat to keep tabs on her.” Jobe, ever the joker, chimed in. Jude grinned, but an idea sparked in his mind. Without hesitating, he created a group chat with all of his family members and, at the last second, added your number too. He sat there for a moment, staring at the screen, before typing…

‘Bellingham's checking in to make sure you’re all set.’

When your phone pinged with the message, you were sitting at the airport gate, trying to compose yourself for the flight. Seeing the notification light up your screen, your heart squeezed at the message. It wasn’t just a casual check-in—it was an inclusion, a subtle way of letting you know you were now part of them, of the Bellingham family. And even though it was just a text, it felt like more than that.Your heart ached, and you typed back a response…

‘Sadly taking off in a few. Thanks for having me. See you all soon xx.’

Almost immediately, your phone vibrated again, but this time it was from Jude’s number.

‘Hope you don’t mind, angel. You being a part of the chat felt right. They miss you already, but couldn’t possibly as much as I do.’

You smiled, but tears pricked at your eyes. You stared at the screen for a moment before typing back,

‘About time I was added! xx' 'Miss you too, more than I can say.’

As the plane taxied down the runway, your thoughts lingered on the warmth of his family, the connection you felt—not just with Jude, but with all of them. Being welcomed into their circle, however informally, made the impending distance feel less daunting. But nothing could quite fill the ache of being away from Jude.

The gallery opening felt like a disaster waiting to happen. Every small detail seemed wrong, and nothing felt like it was coming together. Every day since you left felt disastrous. You’d paced your apartment for hours, rifling through your wardrobe, tossing dresses and outfits onto the bed, convinced nothing looked right. Even your apartment in New York felt stale, disconnected from the life you’d been living with Jude, as if the distance between you both had grown with each day since you left Madrid. You slumped against the closet door, still half-dressed, feeling a sense of frustration bubbling up inside. A sharp knock at the door startled you. With a sigh, you padded barefoot to the door, swinging it open to find a delivery man standing there, a massive bouquet of flowers in his hands. The scent hit you immediately—vibrant, fresh, and full of life. It felt like someone had swung open a window, letting fresh air into your dull space.

“Delivery for Y/N L/N,” the man said with a smile, handing over the bouquet. Your breath hitched as you took the flowers, realizing instantly who they were from. You placed them on the counter, your fingers quickly reaching for the small card nestled within the petals.

“Sorry I can’t be there tonight, Angel. So proud of you. Love you always xx Judey.”

A smile tugged at the corners of your lips. You knew it was meant to be playful. The fact that he signed it Judey a nickname he loathed but occasionally would let slide if you said it. A subtle reminder that he was always there, even when he couldn’t physically be by your side. His thoughtfulness, his support—it was a lifeline you hadn’t realized you needed today. You stared at the flowers for a moment, feeling the tension slowly melting away. You had tucked back into your wardrobe to continue on your mission when Winnie barged into your apartment, all business and energy, having flown back to the city for her own work, she had a pit stop in England to see her niece and even though she might’ve missed the England game, she was determined to make it to your show. Her eyes immediately fell on the extravagant bouquet, and she let out an exaggerated pout.

“Ughhh, Judeeyyyy,” she sighed dramatically, plucking the card from the flowers. “He’s so sweet it actually hurts.” You heard her overzealousness and you laughed softly as you stepped out from your wardrobe, half-dressed and still frazzled.

“He’s very sweet and very far away,” you said with a smile, shaking your head with a frown. You spun around to show her the undone zipper of your black asymmetrical mini dress for her to help with.

“Got yourself a good one.” Winnie gave you a teasing smirk, waving the card before she helped. “You and Whit bagged two bestie teammates just leaving me out to dry here.” She joked. It was lighthearted, you both knew that, Winnie currently had her own lovelife saga playing out. You chuckled, but your heart felt lighter, the weight of the day lessened by the presence of Jude’s flowers and Winnie’s unrelenting support. You stood there for a moment, taking in the warmth that came with their love and friendship, realizing that maybe everything wasn’t as chaotic as it seemed. The days leading to the opening to it had been spent scrambling, catching up on everything you had left behind while you were away. The weeks spent working from your laptop were not enough. New York had its pace, and after being gone for so long, it felt like you were out of sync with the city’s rhythm. You barely had time to breathe between finalizing the last touches, overseeing installations, and fielding endless calls from the gallery team. It was all a blur. The actual gallery opening was a whirlwind of frantic activity. And then, in the midst of the chaos of the opening, you heard the familiar hum of the door. You turned, half-expecting another guest or buyer to bombard you with questions, but instead, you were greeted with a smile that made you pause. Louis stood in the doorway, a calm presence in the storm of your evening. His smile was warm, comforting, his toothy grin that reminded you so much of your father. He had RSVPed, of course, but in the frenzy of preparing for the opening, you had completely forgotten. For a moment, you were just happy to see him, your shoulders relaxing ever so slightly.But then, you noticed the figure standing beside him. Gabriel. In truth, Gabriel just happened to be in town, this wasn’t meant to be like a swindling but the sight of him knocked the air from your lungs. You hadn’t expected this. Not tonight. Not ever, really. It had been ages since you had seen him, and in all the chaos of your life recently—your relationship with Jude, the long-distance struggle, your art—you had pushed Gabriel from your mind since Louis used him as a reference point of who’d be better suited for you at the chateau. Yet here he was, standing beside your brother, looking just like he did when you last saw him. That old, familiar pull of history, the memories you’d long since buried, resurfaced in an instant. Your brother, oblivious to the sudden tension tightening in your chest, almost forgetting his suggestion to you in France, walked toward you, his arms outstretched for a hug. You smiled, though it felt tight, your eyes flickering from him to Gabriel as they approached.

“Ouah, you didn’t think I’d miss tonight ma cherie, did you?” your brother said, his voice teasing as he embraced you. But your gaze remained locked on Gabriel, who stood back a little, waiting, watching.

“Non, bien sûr que non” [no, of course not] you managed to reply, forcing your attention back to your brother, hugging him tightly, trying to ignore the weight of Gabriel’s presence just steps away. But when your brother pulled back, Gabriel stepped forward. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, you were frozen, caught in a time warp where the past and present collided. You couldn’t tell if the feeling in your stomach was nervousness or something deeper, something unresolved.

“Salut,” Gabriel said, his voice soft, a stark contrast to the loud buzz of the gallery around you. You swallowed, trying to steady yourself. It wasn’t that anything happened between you two, fine, maybe a messy make out at a cotillon, but then you grew up, he ventured more in a straight edged life and judged you for your own path but there was something bizarre that lingered. Maybe it was the intersection of your two families, it was more the idea of you two. Let’s just say Louis wasn’t the first person to suggest the pairing.

“Hi, hi, thank you so much for coming” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. The room felt too small, the noise too loud, and the world seemed to close in around the two of you. “c'est bon de te voir.” [it's good to see you.] Your brother, sensing none of this, launched into conversation, but you could barely focus. All you could feel was the weight of Gabriel’s eyes on you, his presence pulling at something you thought you’d left behind, like your youth or a possible path you could’ve taken in your life. If you were with someone like Gabriel… he’d be here supporting you. This night, this gallery, wasn’t intended to be so reflective of your life ahead. It was about celebrating your present, your art. And now, the past had come back to stand right in front of you.

The night had stretched far beyond what you anticipated. The room, with its artfully arranged displays and soft lighting, blurred around you as the champagne coursed through your system, leaving you slightly tipsy and far too loose in conversation. You found yourself in a tucked-away corner of the gallery, speaking to Gabriel, of all people. You hadn’t intended to spend so much time with him, but once he’d started talking about his mum, the familiar empathy you had for him pulled you in. It wasn’t about you and him—not anymore. There was solace between you two, you thought, like you knew what could’ve been, but you didn’t want that—not anymore. You could tell he was struggling at the party, and maybe, in some subconscious way, you wanted to help. But then again, the champagne made everything feel softer, easier, even this reunion you hadn’t expected. As the conversation deepened, you caught sight of Louis moving through the crowd. His expression was unreadable, a quiet calm masking something far more intense. You didn’t think much of it at first, but then you saw his stride quicken as he made his way toward you and Gabriel. Without a word, Louis slid beside you, draping his arm around your shoulder in a way that only a brother could—protective, almost territorial.

“So, what time’s the kick-off for Jude’s match tomorrow? ”His voice was light, casual, but the undertone was sharp as he asked you. At the mention of Jude’s name, a soft smile tugged at your lips. You couldn’t help it. Even across an ocean, he was still the center of your world, the one person who grounded you amidst all the chaos. But Gabriel… Gabriel hadn’t expected that. He misread the entire situation, and you could see it in the way his posture stiffened, in the way his eyes darkened with confusion. Louis had seen it too, and that’s why he was here.

“Pourquoi? Why are you asking?” you replied, slightly amused, but still a little tipsy, playing along with Louis’s sudden curiosity.

"Oh, je fais juste en sorte que tout le monde ici sache que Jude est ton petit-ami.” [Oh, just making sure everyone here knows that Jude is your boyfriend.] Louis’s voice became more deliberate as he emphasized, almost too casually. He lingered on the word, each syllable dripping with purpose as his eyes flickered to Gabriel.Gabriel blinked, caught off guard, and quickly excused himself. He mumbled something about needing to speak with someone else, but the message was clear: he didn’t like the mention of Jude, and the awkward tension of the moment was enough to make him retreat. Gabriel stepped away feeling like he’d officially lost a battle he hadn’t even known he was in. And the moment Gabriel was out of earshot, you spun toward Louis, incredulous.

“What the fuck was that?” you hissed, not sure whether to laugh or be angry. Louis looked down at you, his brow furrowed.

“Quoi? I didn’t do anything wrong. You were flirting with him.” He explained like it was incredibly obvious. You threw your hands up, exasperated.

“Flirting? With Gabriel? Louis, come on, you know me better than that. I wasn’t flirting—I was just talking to him.” Your voice softened, a mix of frustration and confusion. “And why do you even care?” He crossed his arms, his defensiveness rising.

“Because he’s a twat. He’s not good for you. Jude’s good for you.” Your heart sank at the mention of Jude again, this time not in a happy way, but in the way that reminded you of the ache of missing him. You stared at Louis, searching for an explanation, and after a moment, his expression softened. With a sigh, Louis became sentimental.

“Look, I haven’t seen you this happy in years. Not since grand-mère was alive.” His voice broke slightly, and you could see the sincerity behind his tough exterior. “You’re at peace with Jude. You’re happy in a way you haven’t been in so long, and I…I just don’t want you messing around with someone like Gabriel and forgetting what you have.” The words hit you like a wave, and suddenly, everything felt heavier. You were silent for a moment, caught between understanding and frustration. Louis pulled you into a hug, and you could feel the guilt in his embrace. “I’m sorry Jude’s not here tonight,” he murmured. “But, for what it’s worth, I kind of wish he was. At least then I’d have someone more interesting to hang out with than Gabriel.” Louis smirked. You couldn’t help but laugh at that, though it was bittersweet. You pulled back, looking at your brother with a mixture of affection and exasperation.

“C’est impossible.” [You’re impossible.] You whined through a giggle. Getting Louis’ approval was everything you didn’t know you needed.

“Yeah, well, so are you,” he teased, his smile returning. But you both knew the underlying truth—that Jude wasn’t there, and his absence made everything feel just a little bit off. The night had gone as well as you could have hoped.

The gallery opening was a success, and despite the exhaustion that followed, you went to sleep with a quiet sense of accomplishment. But even in the midst of your personal victory, you missed Jude. It was like an ache just beneath the surface, a longing that tugged at you no matter how proud you were of yourself. When morning light peeked through your curtains, the first thing you did was reach for your phone. Groggy but smiling, you called Jude. His face appeared on the screen, already awake, with that familiar cheeky smirk that always sent butterflies through you. He looked like he was up to something, and you immediately felt a flutter of curiosity mixed with nerves.

“What’s going on with you?” you asked, squinting at the screen, your voice still thick with sleep. He leaned back a little, tilting his head to the side as if showing you something just out of view.

“Angel,” he said in that teasing tone that made your heart skip. “What do you think?” Your eyes widened, taking in the sight of a fresh, small tattoo on his skin—a delicate pair of angel wings, thin and simple, just barely etched into his tanned skin. You blinked, disbelief flooding you.

“Are you fucking nuts?!” you shouted with a grin so wide you couldn’t suppress it. Jude’s smirk only deepened, clearly enjoying your reaction.

“Nah,” he said casually, as if it wasn’t a big deal. “Just want you with me all the time.”

“Oh my god…” All you could manage was breathless shock. He laughed softly, shaking his head.

“If we break up, I’ll just have a nice little reminder of the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met.” He teased and you rolled your eyes at his poor joke breaking you out of your state of disbelief. You laughed, your heart racing, a mix of emotions flooding you.

“You’re joking, right? It’s not actually real?” You questioned his authenticity. Something about it felt so ludicrously insane.

“It is,” he said confidently, his grin unwavering. You blinked again, processing the weight of it.

“I love it,” you giggled, “I love you.” Your jaw left still slacked.

“Good. You’re stuck on me now, you know.” He chuckled, his voice softening, Your smile faded into something softer, more serious.

“It’s not though, right? Like, you’re not serious?” You tried to circle back to if this was actually real or not. Jude raised an eyebrow, leaning closer to the camera.

“Dead serious. It’s real, Angel. You’re with me, wherever I go now. Taking the pitch at Wembley with me now. You gonna watch your debut tonight?” He asked with a smirk. You stared at him, still in awe, the reality of what he had done settling in . You weren’t sure whether to laugh, cry, or both. You were only able to nod with a smile. As your FaceTime with Jude ticked by you started to gain a bit more of reality back, he tilted his head to show you the tattoo once over and your mind raced with a million questions.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were doing this? When did you decide? Did you think it hurt?” You fired them off in quick succession, your voice full of excitement and disbelief. Jude chuckled at your barrage, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

“I’ll answer all your questions, promise, but I really have to get going. Got to get ready for the match later.” His eyes softened as he added, “I just wanted to say good morning, tell you I love you, and… show you this.” He tapped the fresh tattoo with a small grin, almost shy about the whole thing. You couldn’t stop giggling, your heart swelling with every word.

“Well... a good morning, an I love you too, and a… wow,” you said, still processing the image of those delicate angel wings etched into his skin. It felt surreal. You laughed, but it was the kind of laugh that bubbled up because you didn’t know what else to do with the rush of emotions you felt.

“Jude, you’re fucking nuts!” you finally said, shaking your head in disbelief, your cheeks hurting from smiling so hard. He grinned, knowing you well enough to recognize that your laughter was a mix of awe and affection.

“Yeah, well, you make me a little crazy, Angel.” As the call neared its end, you could feel that familiar ache, the distance between you two weighing heavier. But seeing those fine, simple angel wings—his way of keeping you close—made your heart ache in a different way. It wasn’t just sadness; it was love. Pure, brash, unapologetic love. Being apart stung, but knowing Jude had taken such a bold, permanent step to close that gap, to hold onto you even when you were miles away, was more than you ever expected. It was a gesture that meant the world.

“Alright, I’ll let you go,” you said, your voice softening. “But… Jude, seriously—thank you. It’s so sweet, and I… I love it. I love you.” you cooed gently.

“I love you too, Angel,” he replied with a smile that lingered on your screen long after you hung up, leaving you sitting there, still giggling, still in awe of how deeply he loved you. After your call with Jude, you sat in stunned silence for a moment, processing everything. He really did it. He really got a tattoo—for you. Without thinking, you immediately FaceTimed Whitney, your heart still racing with excitement and disbelief.

“Whit, I need you to do me a favor.” As soon as her face popped up on the screen, you blurted out,

“What’s going on?” Whitney raised an eyebrow, sensing the urgency in your voice.

“You cannot tell anyone. I swear to God, he got a tattoo… for me,” you said, your voice filled with a mixture of awe and disbelief.

“He what?!” Whitney shrieked, causing Teddy to let out a little annoyed yelp in the background.

“Mama! No!” she groaned tiredly, clearly disturbed by the sudden outburst. Whitney let out a soft laugh and an apology to her little girl but her attention was fast back to you.

“I swear,” you repeated, trying to calm your own voice.

“Jude? With a tattoo?” Whitney asked again, her voice laced with confusion as if trying to reconcile the mental image of Jude with ink. “Are you sure?”

“I swear, Whit,” you confirmed, nodding emphatically. “It’s for me…”

“Where?” she asked, now fully invested in the details. A smug smirk formed on your lips.

“Right behind his perfect ear. You can’t really see it unless you’re looking for it—it’s faint, just these little angel wings.” You explained. Whitney leaned closer to her phone screen, almost as if she could see the tattoo through your words.

“And you’re sure it’s there?” she asked, sounding doubtful, not because she didn’t believe you but just out of the pure shock that you were also just in. “I haven’t heard him talk about getting one.”

“Whitney,” you said seriously, leaning in as if to emphasize your point, “Listen to me. Look for it tonight, yeah?” You asked. She let out a breath, still trying to process everything.

“I mean… I’m still stuck on Jude with a tattoo. For you.” She laughed.

“I know,” you agreed, still half in disbelief yourself. “I can’t tell if it was like… a stupid joke, or if he’s actually serious.” You told her with a stupid smile on your face. Whitney’s expression softened into a grin.

“Honestly? I’m shocked but Jude’s kind of impulsive like that, isn’t he?” She shrugged, finally wrapping her head around the whole thing. You nodded, but the thought of him actually getting permanent ink to remind him of you—of how much he cared—left you feeling a little overwhelmed.

“I mean, we talked about tattoos before. It’s not like a huge* surprise he’d get something… Denise has some, Toby, I have some…” You tried to rationalize his decision or downplay it in your mind.

“But you didn’t think he’d get one for you,” Whitney finished for you, her voice laced with teasing.

“Exactly,” you said, biting your lip with a mix of giddiness and uncertainty. “But it’s there, Whit. I saw it.” Whitney let out a laugh, still shaking her head.

“Well, I’ll be sure to keep an eye out for it when I see him.” She confidently smirked ready to do whatever job you were asking of her.

“Thanks,” you said with a soft laugh. “But seriously, don’t tell anyone. Not yet, at least.” Whitney’s smile changed into one more conspiratorial.

“I won’t. But fuck, this is big. Jude Bellingham with a tattoo for his girl? That’s next-level.” She told you with mischief lighting behind her eyes. You giggled, the reality settling in deeper now.

“Yeah… it kinda is.” You admitted. Whitney’s face twisted into a playful grin as she teased,

“I mean, my fiancé doesn’t even have a tattoo for me or, you know, the child I birthed for him, but yeah, sure, good for you. Pussy’s bomb I guess ” she giggled, rolling her eyes in mock indignation. You couldn’t help but laugh along with her, shaking your head.

“Okay, okay! I get it.” But as your laughter subsided, the familiar twinge of insecurity crept in, and you hesitated before speaking again.

“Whit…” you started, your voice dropping a little. “When you go to the game later, can you—” You hesitated, biting your lip. “Will you let me know if there are, like, girls there? Like old girls from Birmingham?” Your question hung in the air for a moment, and Whitney burst out laughing again, though her laughter soon softened into something more sympathetic. She pouted, her eyes softening as she saw the anxiety creeping into your expression.

“Wait, Y/N… come on. Hold up,” she said, shaking her head with a teasing grin. “You’re telling me this boy might have a tattoo for you, and you want me to check for other girls?” She mocked you in an exaggerated tone, mimicking your sheepishness.

“I know! It’s ridiculous,” you admitted, still laughing but feeling a little shy about how transparent your insecurity was.You let out an embarrassed laugh, covering your face.

“Okay,” she said, nodding. “I’ll do both for you. I’ll look for the tattoo and check if any girls are hanging around.” Whitney gave you a softer smile, her teasing easing into reassurance.

“Thank you,” you sighed, grateful but still feeling a bit silly.

“But seriously, you’ve got nothing to worry about. Jude’s all about you, annggell.” Whitney gave you a playful glare, her tone light but firm as she sang the pet name

🪩🫶❤️‍🔥🍹🌞🍒 Thank you for reading! Please like, comment, or message what you think of the chapter 🍒🌞🍹❤️‍🔥🫶🪩

Next part - Chapter 19 - Judey xx

#jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham #jude bellingham fanfic #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham smut

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whtepony · 2 months ago

Note

hi!! i love ur work !

so random request but i was wondering if you could write how denki or sero would comfort you if you were clearly going through something, like distancing , sleeping all day, being overly quiet, the whole thing. ive been going through alot lately and it would be greatly appreciated if you could! completely understand if not!!

✮ that funny feeling

ft. denki kaminari x gn reader

warnings: depressive themes

notes: anon i’m so sorry it’s taken me forever to get to this 😭 i hope you’re doing better!!! also yeah bo burnham title bc i cannot EVER title things ugh (divider from @cafekitsune)

denki kaminari is observant when he wants to be, meaning that he notices almost immediately when you start to distance yourself. at first, he kind of assumes he’s done something to hurt your feelings. it starts with cancelling your plans once, then twice - taking hours to respond to his texts, then avoiding them all together. choosing to eat dinner alone in your dorm instead of with him. when you skip class for the third day in a row without so much as a “hey, won’t be there today” text, he thinks he’s really fucked up. how could he possibly fumble you this hard and have no clue how it happened?!

when he realizes no one has heard much of anything from you lately, denki resolves to find out what’s going on asap. he’s knocking on your door before he even considers that you might prefer a check-in over text, but you crack open the door anyway. if he’s shocked at your appearance he doesn’t show it - from the looks of you, that’s probably the last thing you need right now. he smiles big and his shoulders relax a bit seeing that you’re at least alive although in a brief panic, he definitely did worry about that for a second or two. “you mind if i come in?”

you sigh deeply and open the door wider for him, your face flushing in embarrassment as he steps inside and closes the door behind him. there are clothes strewn about the floor, papers and trash littering several surfaces, and probably a dozen empty water bottles on your nightstand. “i uh, just wanted to come check on you - i’ve been worried, y’know?” and you do know, and you feel awful about it, on top of everything else. you fiddle with the hem of your hoodie, sitting on the wrinkled edge of your bed. you nod, clearing your throat a bit before speaking. “i dunno,” you shrug, the bed dipping under his weight next to you, “guess i haven’t felt that good lately.”

denki tilts his head to the side, offering you a small smile. “really? you could’ve fooled me, you look incredible!” his voice is tender and you know there isn’t any underlying insult - he genuinely just wants to make you laugh. you do, although it’s more like a sharp exhale, but his smile grows wider at the small success. he gently pulls you to his chest, wrapping his arms around you securely. you sigh and busy your head into his chest, instantly feeling lighter than you had in weeks. “you want me to order us something to eat while you go have a shower?”

“…yeah, that sounds nice.”

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the-oblivious-writer · 8 months ago

Text

Let the Light in |One-shot [1]|

Tara Carpenter x Fem!Reader | Dewey Riley and Fem!Reader

One-shot: A Classic Whodunit

Summary: Moving to Woodsborro was certainly not your willing decision. Change has always been hard for you, so what better way to cope than to make everyone else's life almost as miserable as yours?

Warning(s): Swearing, & mentioned family issues (?)

Notes: Finally got around to re-writing this and I definitely prefer this version. There's more Tara x Reader stuff and a little more details regarding R's past. Still based off this scene from Gilmore Girls and takes place when R just moved to town. This'll still be the last thing I'm able to post for one my stories for a bit, but I'm glad it's still something

Masterlist

The fall breeze hits you as you walk out of the school building. You continued reading from your book as you walked with your head hung low paying no mind to your surroundings, too engrossed with the words you read. That was until you caught a glimpse of a familiar figure in the corner of your eye, your brief suspicions immediately being confirmed when the person spoke.

Dewey—who was previously leaning against a pillar with his arms crossed—began to follow you, uncrossing his arms. “Hey,” he nodded at you and you didn’t reciprocate, only turning your head to look at him briefly before turning your attention ahead of you while putting your book in your back pocket. “How was school?” Dewey immediately followed with.

“Great,” you couldn’t help the blatant disinterest in your tone.

“Learn anything good?” You could already tell he was amping up to something. There was a certain eagerness in his voice. An eagerness to segway into what he truly wanted to talk about.

“Oh yeah, tons of things. I got gold stars plastered all of my forehead,” you remarked with as much sarcasm you could muster at the moment.

“I got an interesting call today. Wanna know who it was from?” He asked and you couldn’t care less.

“Not really,” you answered honestly, your tone still showing anything but amusement.

“So Mr. Collier—you know he owns the local market?”

“If you say so.”

“Said you came in today.”

“He did?” You rhetorically asked; you looked both ways before you and Dewey now walked alongside a road.

“And he said you took some money out of a little donation cup to help repair the roads. I told him he was crazy, you wouldn’t do that, you weren’t a thief, that he was just trying to start trouble and then I hung up on him.” Most of what Dewey was saying was going in one ear and out the other. You’ve grown good at tuning people out, intentional or not. Still Dewey continued. “Now don’t get me wrong, I enjoy hanging up on Mr. Collier. The guy’s nothing but a jerk—and he is crazy. But I was just wondering, if maybe, any of the other things were true.”

“What do you think?” You questioned with annoyance at the edge of your voice. You were starting to grow more and more impatient as he continued to yammer on.

“I think if you tell me that what he’s saying is not true then I’m going to believe it’s not true,” he elaborated.

“Okay. It’s not true.”

“That doesn’t sound very convincing—”

The two of you were now on a dirt path as you stopped in your tracks and finally turned to face Dewey. While one hand moved as you spoke, the other one was clenched into a fist to your side. “—Look, what exactly do you want from me? First I get forced to move here, now I’m stuck with you most of the time. I’m put in this place—now in a school that has us doing the pledge of allegiance in six-different-languages! I’m supposed to be this happy-go-lucky person after being taken away from my home, my friends—and now you want what from me?!”

You didn’t need this. You were fine living in a crappy apartment. You were fine knowing the city you lived in like the back of your hand. You were fine having your best friend within walking distance.

It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair. Your father had no right to ship you off just because he couldn’t take his precious image being ruined. He was on the verge of sending you to military school before your mom stepped in. Their marriage had been falling apart for some time but this was definitely the nail in the coffin.

“I’m just trying to help you,” Dewey sighed as his own patience was beginning to grow thin. Dewey knew about your complicated relationship with your father. He knew what led to you ending up in Woodsborro. He knew things about you before you even knew them. He just wanted to protect you, shield you from harm. Even if he knows where that has gotten him in the past.

“Well stop trying. Stop talking to me, stop following me, and stop asking me questions! Just stop!” You waved your hands in aggravation as you spoke, your temper and annoyance taking over you with each second. You were pissed and upset with every aspect of your life. Unfortunately, Dewey found himself being on the receiving end of your frustration.

“That’s what you want?”

“Yes!”

“That’s what you really want?” He wasn’t yelling but his voice grew louder with his second question to match your own tone.

“Yes,” you spoke with more conviction.

“Fine. You got it, kid!” Dewey said as he threw his hands up.

“Thank you!”

“You’re welcome!”

You both continued walking, both of you walking tensely as you stepped onto the bridge that went over the lake that was not far from where you two were previously standing. You each refused to look at the other as you walked along the bridge. When you were halfway on the bridge, you suddenly felt yourself being shoved. In a blink of an eye, you go from standing on the bridge to standing in the lake soaking wet. You pushed your hair back to look at Dewey who was still walking with his back facing you. He didn’t pay the person he just shoved into a lake any mind.

Great.

By the time you successfully lifted yourself up and got back on to the bridge, Dewey was gone. Nobody liked soggy socks but maybe you deserved it. Maybe. Even if you were far too stubborn to admit it.

—

The next day people were crowded around Mr. Collier’s store. He was ranting about something with his hands going up and down as he spoke angrily. When Tara walked closer she finally saw what all the ruckus was about.

Apparently someone had drawn the outline of a body right outside of his store and put up caution tape. It was obviously just a prank. If there was actually a murder, the police wouldn’t let it hit daylight. Let alone bring attention to it by drawing an outline of the body with white chalk. They weren’t living in the interwar period. But Mr. Collier refused to see this as he argued with Sheriff Hicks, eyes flickering back and forth from the sheriff and the outline as he yelled.

“What am I supposed to do?! I have a dead body right in front of my store!”

“No. You have a chalk outline of a dead body in front of your store,” she said as a matter of fact. “One of my guys is doing a headcount to see if anyone is missing. Until then just sit tight? This is probably just some prank done by one of the highschoolers.” She sighed before walking away from the dramatic man.

Tara couldn’t help but laugh as she looked over at the outline again. Nothing good ever happened in Woodsborro. Other than the fact that a few murders from the 90’s are practically a part of their school curricula, it was a boring ass town. So one should never take entertainment like this for granted.

Sheriff Hicks came back just a few minutes later and informed everyone—mainly Mr. Collier—that everyone had been accounted for and it really was just a prank.

“But it looks so real! Where’d they get the police tape?” The man was still in disbelief if his tone was anything to go by.

“Kids have their ways,” Hicks shrugged, resting a hand on her hips. She had gone through ghostface before and even her ptsd wasn't flaring up from what was in front of her. The man needed to relax.

“Who would be depraved enough to pull a stupid prank like this?!”

As if on cue, Tara’s eyes found you leaning against a light pole across the street as you wore a devilish smirk. It shifted into a small smile when you met her eyes. You looked away for a moment then back at her before you walked away.

Of course it was you. This had your name plastered all over it. You might as well have been posing at the scene of the crime. She should have known better. You have been wreaking havoc from the moment you stepped into town. Nothing good ever came from that stupid smirk she’s become all too familiar with. Everything about you annoyed her to no end. There was just something she couldn't put her finger on. It was driving her insane. You were going to drive her insane.

—

The next day, Tara returned to the market so she could fulfill her duties as the snacks retriever for tonight’s movie marathon with the others. After seeing that everything—your mess—was cleaned up and Mr. Collier was less frantic, she made her way inside the market. While inside, she bumped into Wes. They talked for a few minutes as she continued shopping. Wes was nice, but romance wise? Tara didn’t know how to feel. Wes is kind, good looking, a gentleman—what was stopping Tara from going out with him?

“I’m going to ring these up but I’ll meet you outside?” Tara said to Wes and he nodded with a smile. Tara returned it before checking out the things she bought and waited outside the store for Wes with her plastic bags full of snacks in hand. She suddenly felt a light tap on back before she turned around and saw you.

“Should you be standing around here all alone? I heard this is a pretty dangerous corner,” you teased while emphasizing the word ‘pretty’ by motioning with your hands. Tara looked at you then immediately looked away as she crossed her arms.

“I’m fine,” she said—trying in a nonchalant tone.

“Feeling succinct today?” You looked her up and down, noticing her tense demeanor.

“Pretty much.” She refused to give you anymore than that. She was not going to buckle. She was not going to fall for your witty remarks or snide comments.

“Hm,” you said while lightly nodding. “Did I do something to offend you?”

“Me? No.” Now she was finally looking at you, meeting your eyes.

“Good.”

“You might wanna ask that same question to Dewey though.”

“Meaning?” You raised your eyebrows as if you didn’t have a single clue.

From your facial expressions to your tone—how were you so unbothered? How could you be so clueless? So dense? Fuck it. Maybe she was going to buckle and fall but you were just too irritating to resist the temptation. “You’ve got this whole town coming down on him,” Tara’s voice became more defensive.

“Reeeally? How’d I do that?” You feigned a look of surprise and concern, matching your conceited tone

She was going to punch you.

“You know how you did that,” she replied because you couldn’t be that dull. You just couldn’t.

“I’m quite familiar with the bluebook laws in this town so you’re talking about a lot of things. Dropping a gum wrapper, strolling arm and arm with a member of the opposite sex on a Sunday,” you satirized with that vexing voice of yours.

Maybe you were that dull. Tara pointed down with both her arms at the chalk you both stood on. They were able to clean up the police tape no problem, but the chalk was going to take more elbow grease.

You looked to where she was pointing before saying, “Ah.” You moved your feet off of the outline before continuing, “What about it?”

“You did it,” Tara said. “Everyone knows you did it. They had a meeting about it.”

“You actually go to those bizzaro town meetings?” You couldn’t help but laugh at the thought. You shook your head, “God those things are so To Kill A Mockingbird.”

“My friend’s mom is a sheriff, so she’s the one who went. And Dewey went. When he got there everyone ganged up on him. They all want you gone,” Tara told you with no remorse.

“Wow. Bummer.”

“And he’s standing there, yelling at everyone, and defending you—now he’s a pariah for the shit you’ve caused in just a month of being here.” You looked down to the side, processing what you were just told. You wore a look Tara wasn’t able to read. “Of course you don’t care about any of this,” she rolled eyes.

“I didn’t say that,” you said.

“Go away. I don’t want to talk to you anymore,” she waved you away with her hands, shooing you, before looking away.

“Fine…” You started to walk away but Tara’s frustration got the best of her and you stopped and turned back around when you heard her speak again.

“You’re an asshole!”

“Got a second wind, huh?” You tried to hide the displeasure you suddenly felt.

“You’re making his life hard. And for what? For your own amusement? You’re sadistic.” You could tell she had been holding that in. You also wouldn’t comment on how you found the pout she was wearing a little cute. “Second wind over.”

“I didn’t realize they were coming down so hard on him…”

“Funny, I never pegged you as clueless,” Tara remarked, annoyance still evident in her voice.

“I get it…” She gave you a look. “No no no, I do, I get it,” you lightly nodded at her. Contrary to your previous tone, your voice now held interest and understanding—and so did the look you gave her. Your eyes flickered between her and the chalk outline before asking the question that’s been in the back of your mind, “Did you at least think it was funny?”

Tara tried to fight the smile on her face as she rolled her eyes, but this time rolling them in a more playful manner. “That is so not the point!” She hoped you didn’t hear the laugh that threatened to come out.

“Yeah… you thought it was funny,” you said proudly.

“Shut up.” She could no longer meet your eyes, now looking back at the ground.

Before either of you could say anything else, the door to the market opened and Wes walked out with a few bags of his own. “I got the—oh hey,” Wes cut himself off to greet you.

He didn’t know you personally, just that you already had a few run-ins with his mom in just a month of being here. Did that make him weary of you? Sure. But you weren’t the first kid at his school to have run-ins with his mom. Your reasons were just more… creative.

“This is Wes,” Tara introduced the two of you. Looking between you both as you two made eye contact.

“Boyfriend?” You asked without looking away from Wes.

“No! I mean,” she cleared her throat. “No. Not boyfriend. We’re just friends.”

“Right,” was all you said as a reply while you continued to stare him down. “How you doin’?”

“Good. Yeah I’m good,” Wes responded with a tightlipped smile.

“Okay see you around,” Tara quickly cut in before this awkward interaction could go any further.

You finally turned your attention back on Tara, looking at her. “Seems to turn out that way. Doesn’t it?” Your tone was underlined with something Tara couldn’t place. Before she could respond, you turned around and walked away to who knows where.

You were truly something.

—

You let Tara’s words sink in as you made a detour to Dewey’s trailer. Deep down you knew Dewey didn’t deserve the way you were coming down on him. Especially when you could probably say he’s done more shit for you than your father has.

Moving to Woodsborro was definitely not at all ideal. You hated change and everything that came with it. All it did was bring more anxiety into your life. So when your mother informed you you would be leaving Brooklyn to move to some town in California, you didn’t handle the news well. You still weren’t handling it well. There were a few reasons as to why you moved, your father being the root of each one. But although you understood part of it, what you didn’t understand is why you had to move so far away. Maybe that’s part of why you’re so hard on Dewey. If your mom was moving and starting fresh, it makes sense she would want to start it surrounded by close friends. But did she have to pick one that lived so far away?

You didn’t know a bunch about her dynamic with Dewey other than the fact that they met in 1998 during the ghostface attacks. They eventually got close and became friends. They must have been great friends considering she made him your Godfather.

You also knew Dewey was a former Sheriff. A former Sheriff that’s aware of your trip of a track record. He always made sure to keep an eye on you and it was extremely annoying. A nunsense really. It’s like you couldn’t breathe for five seconds without him hovering over you.

Your mom was a nurse, you didn’t get to see much of her. She always took as many shifts as she could, more shifts meant more money. More money is definitely something your family could use. Since your mom was always working, you often found yourself stuck with Dewey. You quickly grew sick and tired of him. But now here you were, making your way to Dewey’s trailer as you went over everything in your head. You knew you were the asshole in all this. Dewey was just trying to help you. He didn’t need you making it harder for him than it already was.

You knew what you had to do, even if it meant forcing out the words. Apologizing was not one of your specialties. You went over the exact words you wanted to say, sighing, before knocking on the door to Dewey’s trailer.

Dewey answered the door, already knowing who it was. “Hey, kid,” he greeted just a second after he opened the door for you.

“Hey. Mind if I…?” You pointed to the inside of his trailer with raised eyebrows and he nodded before letting you inside. “So uh…” You shoved your hands in your pockets as you looked around as if you have never been in his trailer before. As if you hadn’t already spent most of your nights sleeping on the beat up mattress that was now leaned up against the wall. Dewey looked at you with his arms crossed and expression warm. You felt like he always wore a warm expression no matter what. “Hey,” you finally said once you realized you lost your train of thought.

He chuckled a bit before saying, “You already said that.”

“Right, well I wanted to…. Apologize,” you said while looking at the ground, playing with the fabric of your pockets.

“Okay. I’m listening,” Dewey replied as he took a seat on his futon.

“Oh, that was actually the apology.”

He hummed before inquiring, “For…?” You didn’t need to look at him to know he was enjoying this.

You exhale, tilting your head back as you look at the ceiling. You finally looked back at him before saying, “I’m sorry for making things harder than it needs to be.”

“Thank you, Y/N. I appreciate that,” he looked at you with a soft expression. You didn’t get a lot of those.

“No problem,” you give a brief smile before you begin to turn around. But before you’re able to leave Dewey’s trailer, you hear his voice again.

“Why don’t you stay for dinner? I know your mom’s working tonight and Stephen’s off at a friend’s house. What do you say?” His offer caught you off guard. You certainly weren’t expecting that after all that you’ve put him through. But you also didn’t feel prone to declining it like you usually would be.

“Uh, yeah. That sounds nice, actually,” there was still a bit of reluctance in your voice but it still held honesty. You were feeling something indescribable. You don't think you have ever felt it before, or maybe you just never felt it often. Dewey cared about you. He wanted to be there for you. It was a strange feeling, but not a dreadful one.

You spent the remainder of your night in Dewey’s trailer; you talked and joked with one another as you ate leftover pizza with the television playing in the background. You always ate dinner alone. No one was ever around to eat with you and it didn’t take long for you to get used to it. It was different eating dinner with Dewey. To have someone to share a meal with. It was just a matter of whether it was a good or bad difference.

Maybe for once you shouldn’t dread on your spiraling thoughts and enjoy the moment.

The next morning, you woke up to Dewey cursing at his toaster. You lazily pushed yourself up by your elbows, leaning forward and rubbing your eyes with one of your hands. “Damn toaster!” You heard Dewey curse before you heard something clattering. You pushed your blanket off of you before rolling off of the mattress and onto the floor then got up to see what was going on.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” He asked once he saw you before continuing to whack his toaster.

“No. You’re good,” you yawned. “But—uh, why are you assaulting your toaster?” You looked between him and the toaster with raised eyebrows.

“I’ve had this hunk of junk for ten years and suddenly it just stops working,” he answered with a huff as he continued to hit the toaster's side.

“I don’t know if ten years is suddenly.”

He waved his hands up in the air, purposely dropping the screwdriver he had on to the counter in the process. He let out a defeated sigh as he said, “Forget it,” pushing the toaster away from him. “I have to grab a few things. Are you going to be fine here or do you want me to drop you off?”

You looked at the toaster as you thought to yourself. “I”ll be fine,” you said and he patted your shoulder as he made his way towards his keys.

“Breakfast is on the table—I shouldn’t be out long!” He called out before leaving through the trailer door. As soon as he left, you went for his tool box. You remembered seeing it the first time you came over. After grabbing the tool box, you grabbed the toaster and got to work. It actually wasn’t that bad. There was just some tightening and cleaning that had to be done. By the time you finished, you had a little over ten minutes to spare before Dewey was home. It wasn’t until later that night he noticed something was different about his toaster.

“My toaster works,” he said with shock. This toaster was complete garbage just a few hours ago. What happened? He looked over to see you with your nose in your book, not paying him any mind. Then it dawned on him and he couldn't help the smile that grazed his face as he looked at you. “Thanks, kid.”

“Didn’t do anything,” you simply replied before getting up from your mattress and grabbing your light jacket. “I’m going for a walk,” you reached for the handle before pausing. “I'll be back in a few,” you then added before leaving.

Dewey was still admiring his toaster when you returned.

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A/N: tara and r are both sarcastic little shits in different fonts

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#tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x y/n #tara carpenter x female reader #tara carpenter x you #tara x reader #tara carpenter #jenna ortega x reader #scream fanfic #let the light in au

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