#so bad he cannot even pretend anymore

[roominthecastle]

[ellecdc]

mother!!!! that recent poly!marauders + lily fic had me WEAK. if you please, could you write a part two where shy!reader finds out remus is a werewolf? I could see rem really not wanting her to find out bc he doesn’t want to scare her, but maybe severus(or somebody) spills the beans thinking she already knew, or she overheard a conversation between the boys. she’d be accepting of course, but remus freaks out when she finds out. just a lot of comfort and reassurance.

hope that gives you some inspiration, also, totally don’t have to write it if you don’t want to, of course!!! ilysm 🖤💚

I took this in a bit of a different direction but the ending's just the same! thanks so much sweets <3 <3

pt 1 // pt 2 // pt 3 // pt 4 // pt 5

4.6k words

poly!marauders + lily x shy!reader who learns about Remus' furry little problem

CW: miscommunication trope, insecurities, angst [with a happy ending], reader is feeling incredibly insecure in this fic, James cries, Sirius cries a little bit too but they all pretend not to notice for his sake

You felt terribly foolish; no, you felt worse. You felt absolutely humiliated and you had no one to blame but yourself.

And now that you were here - ‘here’ being rushing to the dungeons to lock yourself in the Hufflepuff dormitories for the next foreseeable future - you aren’t sure how you had convinced yourself that this was going to end any other way. 

It was a pipedream at best, thinking you had any place amongst the infamous Marauders and the princess of Gryffindor, and it was delusional at worst. 

Of course they’d grow weary of you, of course they’d find your nerves and anxiety tiresome, of course they’d wind up bored of accommodating you when they were all so much more than you. 

What had you been thinking? How did you manage to allow yourself to believe that this was anything but a phase for them - they saw you as a challenge, they beat the challenge, and now they were through with you. 

You thought that the sweet looks, the kisses, the affection, the effort all meant more than it obviously did.

At least to them.

To you, it meant the world.

To them, it was a chore.

You were a chore.

Foolish girl. 

You had been on your way to the library to meet up with the boys and Lily to study for the upcoming Herbology test. It was the first real group ‘date’ after the sketchiness that usually followed Remus about once a month that no one else seemed inclined to comment on, so neither did you.

Except…except, this time, some lingering tension seemed to follow the bout of sketchiness. 

And still, no one seemed particularly inclined to comment on it.

And you couldn’t help but feel like you were out of the loop somehow, but you chalked that up to being a newer addition to the dynamic, and not living with them in Gryffindor tower.

That is until you happened to be walking out of their view behind the stacks of books that their table was situated by when you overheard their conversation. 

“You’re going to have to say something to her, Rem. This is getting out of hand.” You heard Lily say solemnly, earning her a pained groan from Remus’ lips, causing you to pause behind the stacks so as to not interrupt their conversation.

“Can’t we just ignore this? Just for a little longer?” Remus bargained. “I mean, it can’t be that bad?”

“It’s worse, Moons.” Sirius corrected. 

“Y/N’s so sensitive though.” James added. “I mean, how would that conversation even go? How do you tell her something like that?”

“It has to come from Remus.” Lily stated matter-of-factly. 

Remus let out a long-suffering sigh. “And how do you suggest I go about this?”

“Listen.” Sirius asserted. “I don’t bloody care how we tell her, but we have to say something. I cannot keep living like this; it’s exhausting.”

Lily made a tsking sound and placed a consoling hand on Sirius’ shoulder as Remus let out another sigh.

“I know, I know; I’m sorry you guys. I thought we could ignore it but…I don’t think we can anymore.”

Lily, Sirius, and James all made a hum of acknowledgement.

“I think we ought to just rip the bandaid off and hope she understands.” Lily said.

You felt your stomach migrate to your throat as you turned on your heels and fled the library.

Is that what all the tension was about? Is that what this library study date was? Just a ruse to sit you down so they could break up with you?

Of course it was, idiot. You scolded yourself.  They were foolish to entertain the likes of you for any amount of time. 

So now you were here - ‘here’ being rushing to the dungeons to lock yourself in the Hufflepuff dormitories for the next foreseeable future - and you aren’t sure how you had convinced yourself that this was going to end any other way. 

“Do you think I should do it tonight?” Remus asked Lily as she finally sat down. 

“I think it would be best if we did, sweetheart. I just can’t help feeling like we’re keeping her at arms length by keeping it a secret, you know?”

“I agree.” Sirius said quickly. “It feels like she’s more of a guest than actually part of the relationship whilst we’re keeping something so big from her.” 

“I just don’t want her to hate me.” Remus admitted in a whisper.

“Remmy.” James cooed from the other side of Sirius. “Our sweet little Puffle seems completely incapable of hatred. But you know we’ve got your back 110% if she’s not accepting of you, right?”

The other two nodded in agreement but Remus only grimaced. “It just feels like I’d be ruining the relationship for all of you if the only person she has a problem with is me.” 

“Impossible.” Sirius replied emphatically. “Anyone who has a problem with you has a problem with us, Moons.”

“Even if we weren’t dating, Rem, if someone didn’t respect my friend - or anyone, for that matter - because of their lycanthropy, I wouldn’t want them around anyways.” Lily agreed.

“I don’t think we’ll have a problem, though.” Sirius continued. “Like Prongs said, she’s our sweet girl; I’m sure she’ll handle this fine.”

“Where is she, anyway?” James said, flipping his wrist to check his watch. “She was supposed to meet us like twenty minutes ago.” 

The other three shared a look of bemusement. 

“Do you have the map?” Sirius asked.

James quickly pulled the map from his book bag to scan the parchment for your name. “It says she’s in the Hufflepuff common room?”

“Maybe she forgot?” Lily mused.

“I spoke to her at dinner; she said she was going to change out of her uniform and then meet us here.” Remus replied, feeling his heart rise to his throat with nerves. 

What if she knew? What if she already found out? What if she hated him? 

“Rem, it’s alright.” Lily placated, clearly seeing his concern etched onto his face. “Maybe she wasn’t feeling well, or got caught up with something else.”

“She’s never bailed on us before…” James admitted, looking just as worried as Remus was. “Maybe we should check on her?”

“Why don’t we give her tonight; I think after all the shite we put her through this week, she’s allotted one missed date.” Sirius decided, opting to keep his tone light as he teased Remus for his ‘pre-moon angstiness’ as his partners call it.   

“We’ll catch up with her tomorrow.” Lily decided; and Remus and James shared a look of concern as they relented to study for the upcoming Herbology test without you. 

You weren’t really mad at the Gryffindor’s for their decision to end things with you; at least not at first.

People were allowed to change their minds, and you supposed that was the purpose of dating, right? To see if the person you’re interested in is someone you want to keep around indefinitely?

So, people were allowed to change their mind, and that was okay.

You also couldn’t particularly blame them; you were shy, quiet, timid, awkward in most social settings and certainly not as adventurous as them, it was only a matter of time before they grew bored of you. 

So you hadn’t been mad at them, not at first. 

But you were growing increasingly annoyed at their attempts to force themselves within your space. 

You had opted to sit at the Hufflepuff table for breakfast the next morning; there was no sense sitting at the Gryffindor table with them anymore.

But then you couldn’t handle the feeling of your heart splintering every time you heard Sirius’ bark of laughter or Lily’s giggle at something Remus said or that James did. So you quickly scarfed down your toast and grabbed a muffin to shove in your bag before fleeing from the Great Hall.

What you didn’t notice was James noticing you only as you were leaving, looking incredibly worried.

You nearly shrieked when you exited your Astronomy class that you had with the Ravenclaws and slammed into Sirius’ frame.

“There you are, dolly! We missed you this morning!” He proclaimed as he pressed a kiss to your cheek. 

You quickly collected yourself; heart racing from the scare and then quickly migrating to your throat out of embarrassment and hurt at this familiarity you had with him only to be about to lose it.

“Sorry, I had been running late.” You said quickly as you headed for the stairs; the long-haired boy quickly keeping up with your steps. 

“Were you feeling alright?” He asked you.

“How do you mean?”

Sirius tilted his head slightly as he considered you. “Well, you didn’t show up to the library last night, and then you were running late this morning; that’s not like you.”

A hot frustrated emotion burned in your chest that you weren’t completely accustomed to feeling. 

Wasn’t he the one to say he couldn’t live like this anymore?

It wasn’t fair of you to be frustrated though, which frustrated you even more; he didn’t know that you had shown up to the library last night, nor that you had gotten to the Great Hall on time.

They hadn’t even noticed you this morning. 

And that’s why they were ending things; you were forgettable, ignorable, unnoticeable. 

“I’m fine, Sirius. Thank you.” You said simply, and quickly headed for the girl’s loo in order to shake him off. 

Remus had approached you in Care of Magical Creatures as well, which somehow hurt more.

Perhaps it was because you knew he was going to be the one to tell you that things were over; though you had thought he’d be better than to break up with you in the middle of class. 

“Hey, dove.” He said as he gently nudged your arm with his elbow; watching as you groomed the puffskein on your table. 

“Hey, Remus.” You said quietly, not removing your eyes from the Beast you were working with.

“I missed you last night.” He admitted quietly. 

Did you? You thought petulantly. 

“Sorry.” You murmured instead. 

“You don’t have to be sorry.” He said as he leaned his elbows on your workbench; if it had been any other student, you’re certain Professor O’Brien would have scolded him for not handling the beasts with adequate caution, but Remus seemed to be allowed certain privileges and the puffskein “Kujo” didn’t seem to mind him much. “I just missed you is all.” 

And he was smiling that sweet, soft smile at you and he seemed like he actually meant it which only further contributed to your ire. 

What happened to ripping the bandaid off? Why keep up this affectionate act if it was only going to end?

Remus looked like he was going to say something when the Professor announced the end of class. 

“I’ll catch up with you later.” You offered quickly before you all but threw Kujo back into his pen and took off towards the castle.

The final straw had to be Herbology, though.

You shared Herbology with the Gryffindors, and because you were a new addition - your the four Gryffindor’s all shared a potting bench whilst you worked alongside another Hufflepuff.

Today, however, it appeared that James had other plans.

Before Sadie-Jane could take her seat beside you, James had plopped himself - rather carefully for the notoriously boisterous quidditch chaser, mind you - on the stool beside you.

“Hey, angel.”

Again, with the pet names. 

It felt torturous at this point; part of you wanted to rip the bandaid off yourself.

But you looked over at the sweet, warm, inviting face of James Potter and any resolve to tell him to shove it completely dissipated. He was all messy curls, round frames, and warm eyes.

And you might have been [must have been] mistaken, but you felt you could see anxiety and worry painted in his features.

You supposed breaking up with someone could do that to a person, though.

“Hi Jamie.” You whispered back as you opted to ready your supplies for today’s lesson.

“I was wondering if you were going to come to the game tonight?” He blurted then, looking slightly embarrassed at his outburst. 

Right…the game. The game against Slytherin. The game that would have you sitting between Remus and Lily as they cheered for James and Sirius. That game. 

“I...uhm, well…”

Rip the bandaid off. 

But it was James. 

And you were in class.

And you could see Lily and Remus trying - and failing - to not look like they were watching you and James whilst Sirius had no such qualms and was actively staring at the two of you. 

“Yeah, I’ll…I’ll see.” You offered James, mustering up what you hoped was a convincing enough smile.

You could tell by the divot that appeared in James’ brows that you were not convincing in the slightest.

Thankfully Professor Sprout appeared then, instructing everyone to take their seats for class to begin, and Sadie-Jane came to claim her seat from the Gryffindor. 

You didn’t go to the game that night.

Gryffindor lost. 

And though you didn’t know at the time, James cried, but it wasn’t about losing to Slytherin. 

“So, why are you hiding in the dorms?” Caroline asked as she rolled away from her open magazine on her bed, clearly preferring potential drama you could offer her than whatever was in this week's Witch Weekly. 

“I’m not hiding.” You muttered back, not looking up from your cross-stitch you were working on instead of, you know, dealing with your problems. 

“Right.” Caroline agreed, not sounding like she agreed with you at all. “That’s why you’ve started and quit several hobbies over the weekend and have been going to the kitchen’s to grab food instead of eating in the Great Hall like a normal person.”

You looked over at your half finished gem ‘paint-by-numbers’, the scarf you’d crocheted that looked more like the skin of a messed up snake that had a terrible time shedding, and the guitar you had borrowed from Fenwick and nearly broke in a fit of rage when you couldn’t get it to sound the way you wanted it too.

“I just…can’t face them right now.” You admitted dejectedly.

“I don’t blame you. Helga, have you seen the lot of them? If I’d known they were accepting more I would have made my shot.” She mused as she laid back on her bed.

Grief and jealousy intertwined within you as you thought about them dating anyone else but you.

But you supposed that was their prerogative; they were allowed to change their minds. 

��Yeah well, you may still have a chance.” You muttered, capturing Caroline’s attention.

“What?” She asked quickly, but you didn’t have a chance to answer before there was a knock on the door. 

“Were you expecting anyone?” She asked with a salacious wink, causing you to glare at her.

“If it’s them, I’m not here; please.” You practically begged your roommate as she rolled her eyes and moved to the door to your dorm room. 

“Oh, hello Evans.” Caroline greeted, causing you to scrunch your eyes closed from your place currently hidden from view of the door. 

“Hi! Erm, is Y/N around?” Lily asked, sounding uncharacteristically awkward.

“Uh…no, she’s not in right now. I can let her know you stopped by, though?” Caroline offered.

You heard Lily thank her before Caroline closed the door again. 

“You sure you don’t want them? ‘Cause those Gryffindor’s are fine.” She sighed as she returned to her bed.

She let out a squawk when your pillow made contact with her head. 

Lily stepped out through the barrel to find Sirius and Remus exactly where she had left them (albeit far more tense) as James came running from down the hall where he had been pacing nervously. 

“Well?” James asked.

Lily pursed her lips. “Her roommate said she wasn’t there.”

Remus looked down at the map to the place where your name was etched beside your roommate’s in the seventh year Hufflepuff girls’ dormitory. 

Either the map was faulty [fat chance], or you were avoiding them.

It was official. 

For whatever reason, they were losing you. 

You had somehow managed to avoid the Gryffindor’s all Monday; taking a moment to thank every deity that you only had Divination with the Gryffindor house, and none of your Gryffindor’s had opted to take it.

You wondered if you could call them your Gryffindor’s anymore…

You had run over to the kitchens - all but a hop skip and a jump from your common room - to grab dinner and were stepping back out through the portrait of the pears when you came face to face with Sirius.

“So nice to see you, Y/N; I’d almost forgotten what your face looked like.” He said; his tone taking on a harsh tone you weren’t accustomed to hearing directed at you causing you to wince.

“Pads…” Remus warned from behind him, though he was looking at you just as warily as Sirius was.

As was James and Lily.

Shit. 

“I’m glad to see you’re still eating…” Remus commented dejectedly as he nodded towards your smorgasbord of a plate that Winky had helped prepare for you that now looked horribly unappetising. 

“I…yes. Erm, what are you guys doing here?” You tried.

It had, apparently, been the wrong thing to say.

Sirius let out a derisive scoff. “Cut the bullshit, Y/N. What the hell has gotten into you?”

“Sirius.” Lily warned.

“Would you guys stop?” He barked back at them before returning his burning gaze back to you. “I’m tired of this; of running around the school looking for you, of being disappointed every time you bail on us, of having to hold James whilst he cries because you’ve let him down, of being lied to. So I’m going to ask again - what the hell has gotten into you?”

“Nothing has gotten into me…” You tried to argue, though it sounded feeble even to your own ears. 

James had cried? You made James cry…

The disappointment in Remus’ eyes, the concern in Lily’s, the anger in Sirius’, the sadness in James’... it was too much, too much, too much. 

“You’re going to stand there and lie to my sodding face?” Sirius asked incredulously.

“Sirius, stop it.” James ordered; his voice far more severe than you have ever heard from him. “Angel, please. Just…just tell us what’s wrong. Tell me what I can do to fix this.”

Any sadness that had settled in your chest bubbled into anger at his word choice.

“Fix this?” You repeated back to him. “Why? Why bother fixing anything if you’re all just going to leave me!?” 

The four Gryffindor’s stood staring at you with different levels of bemusement; Lily and Sirius at your words, Remus and James at you having raised your voice for the first time…well…ever. 

“What do you mean ‘leave you’?” Lily asked cautiously, causing you to scoff. 

“I heard you guys - in the library.”

“In the library? But…you never showed?” James asked.

“Yes, I did - and I heard you guys talking about me, so I decided to stay out of your way thinking that maybe I’d make it easier on you all. But then you’ve spent the past week absolutely torturing me; showing up at my classes, trying to sit beside me, showing up to my dorm room like you weren’t just biding your time.”

“Y/N, what exactly did you hear us say in the library?” Remus queried.

“That you couldn’t do this anymore! That someone ‘had to tell me’ because it was ‘getting out of hand’. That you couldn’t possibly live like this anymore and hopefully I’d just understand. And I do! I do understand; but what I don’t understand is what the point of chasing me around the bloody castle is if you-”

“Whoa, whoa. Okay, alright just breathe, darling, I’m sorry.” Lily attempted to placate, holding her hands up as she approached like you were some kind of feral cat.

You sort of acted like one when you swatted her hands away from you.

“No! No, it’s not fair! I’m sorry if I’m too much, or if I’m not enough; I get it, okay? I do; sometimes it doesn’t work out and that’s fair but if that’s how you feel then just leave me alone!” You shouted back, feeling the tears trailing down your neck at this point. 

“Y/N, please, listen okay? Just relax and we can talk this out.” Lily tried again as James let out a pained breath that sounded awfully close to a sob. 

“Remus, please.” He begged, turning his pooling hazel eyes to his scarred boyfriend who was looking at you in abject horror. “Please.”

“Y/N, you’ve misunderstood, dove. I-I’m sorry, It’s my fault, but what you heard…that wasn’t us talking about breaking up with you. I… It was about me.”

You wiped angrily at your face and set your now cold plate on the ground - you weren’t hungry anymore anyways. “It’s not you, it’s me?” You sneered half-heartedly.

“No, no…Merlin, Y/N I- I’m a werewolf. Okay? I have lycanthropy, I was bitten when I was four; that’s where I go once a month and why I get…weird. We were talking about the fact that I needed to tell you because it was hurting us to keep it from you. Dovey, I’m so sorry you’ve been so upset. Please, please take a breath for me.” 

You held your hands over your eyes as you tried to control your breathing.

Sketchiness…tension…disappearances… 

“You’re going to have to say something to her, Rem; this is getting out of hand”

“Can’t we just ignore this? Just for a little longer? I mean, it can’t be that bad?”

“Y/N’s so sensitive though… How do you tell her something like that?”

“It has to come from Remus.” 

“I don’t bloody care how we tell her, but we have to say something; I cannot keep living like this, it’s exhausting.”

“I’m sorry you guys. I thought we could ignore it but…I don’t think we can anymore.”

“I think we ought to just rip the bandaid off and hope she understands.”

“I’m a werewolf. I have lycanthropy…that’s where I go once a month.” 

“Please…baby, please say something. I-I’m so sorry.” You heard Sirius plead quietly; his shaky voice in stark contrast from the way he’d been barking at you just moments before. 

You pulled your wet hands away from your eyes to see all four of them looking at you with nothing but worry and heartache on their faces; though none looked quite as vulnerable as Remus did. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” He whispered.

You sucked in a shuddering breath as more tears fell. “So…you don’t hate me?”

Remus let out a disbelieving laugh when you heard what sounded suspiciously like a sob from James.

“No! No, no dove, that- I’m rather quite in love with you, you know?” He pressed, daring to step closer to you. “Do you hate me?” He asked then, tone turning vulnerable once more.

“No.” You whined emphatically. 

“Oh my poor girl.” Sirius whined sympathetically. 

“Can I hug you? Please?” James all but begged, stepping in front of you with his arms open already; poised for you to say…

“Yes.”

You’re not sure he even waited for the affirmation to leave your lips before he had you encased in his arms.

You shoved your face into his chest and fisted his shirt in your hands; pulling him as close as you possibly could to your person. 

You weren’t sure how long you’d been standing there - directly in front of the kitchens and awfully close to your own common room - sniffling into James’ shirt as he sniffled into your hair, but you heard a sniffle come from beside you.

You turned to see Sirius’ grey eyes shiny and red as he looked at you imploringly. 

“I’m so sorry I yelled at you, sweetness. I’m such an arse I just…I-”

“It’s okay.” You whispered.

“No it’s not.” Sirius argued immediately. “I…I get like that sometimes; just horribly defensive and then I go on the offensive first. I didn’t even give you a chance to talk to us before I was attacking you; I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, Siri.” You offered again, holding a hand out to him which he took readily. 

“I can’t believe you’ve spent this whole week believing we wanted nothing to do with you.” Lily whined from your other side. “I’m so sorry we left you feeling like that, darling girl.”

Though you were quite content in your muscled hideaway, you pulled away from James’ chest to wipe at your face again, feeling awfully self-conscious of how blotchy your face must look from your tears.

“I shouldn’t have assumed.” You admitted shamefully; voice scratchy from both the shouting and the crying.

“The way you described it, I can understand how our conversation sounded to you, babygirl.” Sirius contended. 

“So…you’re really not leaving me?” You asked again.

“I feel like I should be asking you that, dove.” Remus replied.

“Why would I be leaving you?”

Lily shared a knowing look with Sirius and James who in turn moved their gazes to Remus with expressions reading “see?”. 

“Not everyone would be accepting of a werewolf.”

You felt your eyebrows furrow as you looked at the others as if saying “are you hearing this right now?” 

“But…I love you? I…I don’t even know what else to say…I just… love you so, that’s fine.”

“I just love you so that’s fine.” Sirius repeated as he looked at Remus arrogantly. “I knew I should have placed a bet on how she’d respond; I’d have made five galleons!”

“We were not going to bet on how our girlfriend would respond to Remus’ furry little problem, Sirius.” Lily chided as she playfully swatted at his shoulder. 

“Besides,” James added, pulling you closer into his side again. “You would have lost because I don’t think any of us would have bet that she’d misinterpret our disastrous conversation as us trying to leave her and then spend the week believing we were waiting for the perfect time to break up with her only for us all to shout and cry when we realised what happened.”

“No, that's true.” Sirius agreed readily, looking back at you with sympathy. “I really am sorry, baby.”

“Me too.” Lily continued.

“Me most of all.” Remus added.

“I knew we should have gone looking for her that night.” James mused aloud mostly to himself. “Could have saved us all a lot of heartache.” 

“Yeah, yeah Prongs. You’re right again; I’m sure we’ll never live it down.” Sirius said with a playful eye roll. 

“How can we make it up to you?” Lily asked as she placed her hand at the juncture of your neck and shoulder and traced shapes along the column of your neck with her thumb.

You shook your head shyly and looked at your feet. “It’s not necessary guys.”

“Nonsense.” Sirius scoffed.

“Let’s start with some dinner, yeah? And maybe a cwtch in the boys’ dorm upstairs?” Remus offered to the group, though he seemed to be waiting for you to answer.

You nodded at him and he opened his arms in invitation which you accepted readily.

“I’m sorry, dovey.” He whispered into your hair.

“I’m sorry too, Rem.”

“Let’s never fight again.” James decided enthusiastically as Lily and Sirius stepped through the pear portrait into the kitchens.

“Sounds good to me, bubs.” Remus agreed as he bent down to press a kiss to James’ lips whilst keeping you secured to his side.

You were sure that after this week, these four wouldn’t be letting you out of their reach.

After this week, you weren’t sure you minded that at all.

[gotta-winwin]

OT13 Reaction -- when you ask them for an absurd amount of money as a prank

SCOUPS:

will transfer you the money, no questions asked. unless it's like an insane amount of money - like enough to buy a car - then he'd be concerned and ask why you need it. are you in trouble? are you being blackmailed? what can he do? he's ready to assist you in anyway possible and will be sulky when he finds out it's a prank. relieved, but a little sad that you'd even feel the need to test his loyalty to you.

JEONGHAN:

his immediate reaction is no. have you guys seen that interview where one of the members (i think it was dino? mingyu? my memory is so bad) said that jeonghan doesn't play when it comes to money and it lowkey stingy? yeah that. he'll definitely be hesitant and might even just flat out say no. extremely proud when you reveal it was a prank all along. i knew it was a prank, baby~ the student can't fool the teacher~

JOSHUA:

his immediately worried something terrible has happened. it's uncommon for you to ask him for money, usually its small enough sums that you don't even have to ask - you have his card anyways. stressed and annoyed when you tell him its all a prank. ai~ you know my weak heart cannot take you stressing me out.

JUN:

a little confused why you're asking him for money. he's the type to not catch on, you being in danger isn't the immediate thought when you ask him for 300 thousand dollars. will not react when you tell him it was a prank, the request for the money hasn't even properly computed in his head yet.

HOSHI:

he's going to complain he doesn't have that much money even though we all know he does. he'll agree to transfer it to you, but will whine and nag the whole time that this is his hard earned money! he loves you but why are you taking it away! another type to get sulky when you tell him its a prank and you don't actually need the money.

WONWOO:

ummm...why? he'll ask a shit ton of questions before agreeing, he needs to know why, when, what, where, who? all the details. this is his money after all, he needs to know where its all going. it gets to the point where you give up, just telling him its a prank cause his questioning isn't making it fun anymore. he tsks and asks if you have too much time on your hands to be pranking him.

WOOZI:

the money is in your bank account before you even finish asking. he's lowkey surprised you haven't asked sooner, he's always open with how much he's making and constantly tells you he'd just rather you guys have a joint bank account so he can spoil you. refuses to let you return the money once you admit its a prank. he makes more than enough anyways.

MINGHAO:

another one that's immediately worried. money's never been a topic you guys have ever talked about so he knows there must be something wrong. asks a boatload of questions trying to make sure you're okay and not getting scammed online or something. ends up just chiding you for even falling into a trap where you need that much money and narrows his eyes at you when you tell him its a prank. he thinks you're crazy and has too much time on your hands.

DK:

poor baby's scared. sure he makes a lot of money but he's never needed that much. eyes are popping out of his head when you tell him the sum of what you need. he agrees, of course, anything for you, but his hands are shaking as he reaches for his wallet. dramatically flops onto the floor when you tell him its a prank, begging you to never do that again - he might be rich but in his mind he's got like 5 cents in his bank account.

MINGYU:

blinks. pretends to think about it, but really he's been waiting for this day. the only possibility in his mind as to why you need the money is only for good things, and who is he to not spoil his baby? begs you to take his card anyways when you tell him its a prank. it's literally the only reason why i work, baby. just take my card.

SEUNGKWAN:

he's dramatic, screeching about how that's an insane amount of money and that he wouldn't even drop that kind of money on himself- and he loves himself very very much! calms down and genuinely sits your ass down to ask why you even need it. feels extremely betrayed when you tell him its a prank and vows to get revenge.

VERNON:

he sighs. he knows this trend and he's not having it. baby, you know i'd do anything for you right. you've got me like wrapped around your finger. you literally don't need to test my loyalty. apologizes when you get sulky over him already knowing the prank and offers to let you try again - this time he'll play along. ohmygod that's a lot of money are you being blackmailed? shopping in the black market? getting us a house in Bali? shrugs when you complain about his reaction being ingenuine and over the top. there is only so much he can do.

DINO:

his jaw is dropping at how large the sum is. yeah, he's got that money, and he'll show you his bank account just to prove it. but he'll start listing out what everything is for. that sum's set aside for our house, that one's to send our kids to school - we never said how many we'd have but i set aside enough to four university tuitions, and- you'll cut him off cause he's going to make you cry with how thoughtful he is. scolds him for ruining your prank. prank? he's confused. what do you mean prank? he got so invested in telling you everything he's saved up for your shared future he kinda forgot the original question.

[bokutosbabe]

It Always Leads To You

( bllk boys as situationships )

a/n — girl whose never had a situationship writing about them? what could go wrong? (they progressively get longer lol)

content — some nsfw but not explicit, pining, GN! reader, some characters repeated, all characters are 18 or 18+

synopsis — what kind of situationship the bllk boys would be

⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆ ' and the heart i'm breaking is my own ' ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ the... ' but you're best friends! '

you'd rather spend money on a hotel than stay at home 24/7 for the next week. how could you walk into your house when you knew he'd be there, chatting with you family as if nothing had changed?

maybe you should've pretended you had to work.

that would have saved you the grief of having to see, who was supposed to be, your best friend. how could you face him when the last thing you two talked about was being a couple and that...not going as planned.

well, maybe that wasn't the last thing you two talked about with each other. however, does defiling your families bathroom really count as 'talking'? ( most awkward easter ever afterwards ) you didn't really think so.

whatever, he was a pro-soccer player now, he may not even be at home this christmas. you'd just have to put up with his family, who you'd always loved, and then you could go home and avoid the situation until the next big holiday.

but of course, when you stepped into your childhood home you realized that you'd never get that lucky. there he was, just as handsome as ever, sitting on your families couch.

in your eyes, he looked like he belonged with your family more than you, but you supposed he earned that. he came home every holiday, unlike you who continuously came up with different reasons to stay as far away as possible.

if you left now, maybe no one would know you'd even shown up-

" woah, y/n! it's you! " or...maybe not. " i haven't seen you in forever, what have you been up to? " the voice that plagued your every waking thought crashed its way into your ears.

your best friend ( could you even call him that anymore? were you still his best friend? ) got up from his spot on the couch to come wrap his arms around you in a hug that felt more like home than home did.

" i've missed you, ya know? " he whispered in your ear, hands caressing your back in what felt like much more than what a 'friends' hug would be.

just a week. you could survive and coexist with him for a week. your resolve to never sleep with him set in stone now.

you just wished your resolve wouldn't have crumbled only two days later while your family was downstairs watching christmas movies.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ REO MIKAGE, isagi yoichi, AIKU OLIVER, rensuke kunigami, TOBITO KARASU

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ the ' you cannot date them '

you’re a good person... or at least, you want to believe that. But how can you when your best friend sits in front of you now, talking about their ex?

she’s raving about how much she misses him, how everything fell apart at the worst time, how she’s still holding onto the hope that maybe they can fix things.

you try to smile and nod, pretending that you’re not dying inside. how can you even look her in the eye when he’s blowing up your phone right now? when you know exactly how he feels about you?

“it’s just so messed up, right?” she laughs nervously, like this is all just a bad breakup, nothing that can’t be smoothed over. “i’m not even sure what I’m supposed to do anymore.”

she doesn’t know that you already did something. You already did the one thing that could ruin everything. the one thing that she told you you could never do.

your phone continuously buzzing while she's talking, hoping she wouldn't notice you reach for it to silence it while she takes a sip of her drink.

your phone vibrates again, and you try not to look at it. you’re not sure if you’re worried that she’ll see, or that you’ll see what he’s saying. you’re scared of both.

him <3 ; are we still on for tonight? can’t wait to see you.

that familiar ache forms in your chest, and you can feel the betrayal to your friend, the confusion about your own feelings, but worse—there’s nothing you can do about it. you keep smiling, even though it feels like your heart’s sinking with every word your friend says.

" god, if you don't want to listen to me, just say so. " your friend says coldly. " i would have turned off my phone if it was you crying right now. "

" sorry, it's just my mom...talking about some new present she wants to get my brother. " you apologized. "oh, okay. is your brother a cutie?" you didn't even have a brother, showed how much she knew about you.

“whatever, what should i do?" your friend asks, her eyes bright with hope (or maybe delusion). "do you think I should text him? do you think we could still fix things?”

you want so badly to tell her the truth.

you want to be honest, to say what she needs to hear so that she doesn’t get her hopes up.

you want to tell her that he is already texting you, that maybe you are the reason he won’t talk to her.

but instead, you bite your lip and offer a shrug. "i don't know, honestly. maybe he needs time to figure out what he wants too."

"he doesn't need time. he needs me." she mused, staring at you like your answer was just the stupidest thing she'd heard all day. "no wonder you've never dated anyone, who'd like a ditz like you?"

The whole time, your phone is buzzing, buzzing, buzzing, like a constant reminder of your lie.

you; see you tonight :)

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ OTOYA EITA, ikki niko, RANZE KURONA, reo mikage, RYUSEI SHIDO

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧the... ' you'll never be first '

he's leaving soon, and you feel like you're dying.

you’d known for a long time that ‘casually’ seeing a pro soccer player would only lead to being left alone, especially someone like him—someone whose work always came first, and whose heart was as unreachable as the trophies he collected.

he’d said it more times than you could count: “love doesn’t come before soccer. It never will.” and you’d laughed, maybe even agreed at some point, understanding it was just the way things were.

so why does it feel like you’re drowning now, with him leaving just around the corner.

it doesn’t make sense. you’d known the deal from the start.

still, here you are—sitting in his bed, in the quiet of his room, the familiar hum of the city outside reminding you of how little time you really have left with him.

his suitcase is by the door, already half-packed, his jersey draped over the chair where he’d left it, as if he couldn't get out of here fast enough.

you’re almost sick to your stomach at the thought of him walking out that door in just a few days, never looking back.

you’ve spent enough time with him to know that when he leaves, he doesn’t look back. he doesn't look back at stadiums once he walks out, and he wouldn't look back at you either.

"it’s only a few months," he’d said, trying to make you feel better when the topic of him leaving first got brought up. “i’ll be back before you know it.”

but that’s not the point.

it’s never been the point.

you know he’ll be busy with games, traveling, sponsors,...women, all the things that make him too far to reach.

and yet, here you are, sitting in his bed, heart pounding, overwhelmed with the thought of it all ending. you thought you could handle this.

you thought you could be just another notch in his belt. but the truth is, you’ve been fooling yourself. you care too much. you’ve fallen for him, hard, and the worst part is—he doesn’t even realize it.

or maybe he does. maybe he’s known all along, and you were too scared to admit it.

the sound of his voice pulls you from your thoughts.

"hey, you okay?"

you glance over at him, watching him fiddle with his phone, one hand propped up on the headboard. his eyes meet yours, something in them that almost makes you believe he could stay. maybe, you're enough of a reason for him to stay where he is now.

but he won’t. you know that. his life is bigger than you. bigger than this city, this bed, and every memory you’ve shared together.

you nod, forcing a smile, trying to keep the strange bitterness from slipping into your voice.

"yeah, just thinking."

"don’t think too much." his lips curl up into that calming grin that’s made you feel better on several occasions. how could something that used to calm you make you feel like your heart was in your throat? “you’ll drive yourself crazy.”

it’s easy for him to say that. he’s used to moving on. he’s used to leaving. you? you're used to him being here.

his fingers tap absently against the screen of his phone. you can see the notifications lighting up—his agent, a few teammates, probably his parents, all reminding you of the inevitable: he’s leaving soon.

you want to scream. you want to ask him why he doesn’t care. why it’s so easy for him to slip away from everyone who loves him.

but instead, you pull your knees to your chest and keep your eyes fixed on him, as if the longer you look, you could magically gain telepathy to make him want to stay with you.

"how’s your flight looking?" you ask, hoping his answer would be that he cancelled it.

"all set."

and you can't breathe.

the casualness in his voice is what stings the most. the way he talks about leaving as if it’s just another day at the office, another game to be played.

he doesn’t get how you feel. maybe he can’t. maybe he’s just too busy not feeling anything.

The silence is deafening.

"do you... do you ever wish you could just stay?"

It’s a question you didn’t mean to ask, but it escapes before you can stop it.

You wish you could take it back the second it leaves your lips.

he looks up at you, and for the briefest moment, his eyes soften. for one second, he looks like he is completely and utterly yours.

he sets his phone down, sliding it onto the bedside table, then turns his full attention to you.

"i told you, didn’t i? love doesn’t come before soccer."

The words hit you like a train, but it’s not the truth that hurts—it’s the way he says it, like it’s not up for debate. as if it’s always been this way, and it always will be.

why can't he just try? just try to come home every so often...to you.

you feel like a fool. as if you've put your heart on display for him just to not even glance your way.

you know where you stand, even if it’s tearing you apart.

he doesn’t lie to you, doesn’t promise you things he can’t give, and maybe that's why you fell for him in the first place—he was the first person who didn’t play games with you.

"i’m gonna miss you," you say quietly, knowing that admitting it aloud makes it even worse.

his eyes flicker with something, but it’s gone as quickly as it came. he shifts, pulling his knees up to match yours, as if to say he’s close, but still so far. he rests his head back against the headboard.

and for a moment, you almost forget he’s leaving. you forget about the suitcase by the door. you forget about the plane ticket he has. you forget that in just a few days he wont be yours anymore.

"i’ll miss you too," he says softly.

but that’s it. that’s all he says. it’s not a promise, not a declaration. just another passing remark to fill the silence.

he doesn't mean it. it's more of a kindness thing for him to say it back.

you can feel the weight of everything unsaid.

you realize—he doesn’t know how much you care. He can’t understand you.

he’s never been asked to stay.

you’re not even sure you’d want him to. you can’t ask him to change his life for you. and you couldn't keep up with the lifestyle he lives.

the idea of him walking away—of losing him to something bigger, to something you’ll never be able to keep—feels like it will break you.

so you just lie down on his bed, for the last time, you tell yourself.

'after tonight, he'll be free of me'

after tonight, you'd walk out that door and not look back.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ITOSHI RIN, nagi seishiro, SAE ITOSHI, isagi yoichi, RENSUKE KUNIGAMI

⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆ ' to leave the warmest bed i've ever known ' ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

[ + your faves ! ]

again, i've never experienced this, so i hope the research i've done (looking up different types of situationships) has done it justice!

likes, comments, and reblogs appreciated!

[moonstruckme]

i was wondering if we could have some roomate!james where him and reader have a disagreement over something and reader feels like james don’t want her there anymore but he comforts her??

Thanks for requesting!

cw: reader feels financially insecure

roommate!James x fem!reader ♡ 1.2k words

“James.” You run your fingers worriedly over the small tears in the doorframe. Look to your roommate in the kitchen. “This is getting out of hand.” 

“What is?” 

“Juniper’s been scratching on the doorframe again.” 

James tsks. “Junie-girl,” he coos, little reprimand to be found in his tone as he looks down at the orange cat currently winding through his ankles, “what are you trying to do to us, huh?” 

You’re not quite so amused. Since James had agreed to look after his friend Lily’s cat while she’s traveling, Juniper has knocked down and broken two of your glasses, scratched up a corner of the couch, and pissed on the carpet in James’ room. You’re lucky you don’t have to deal with the smell of that last one yourself, but you doubt your landlord will be pleased if James can’t get it out by the end of your lease. 

“She’s got to stop,” you say, oddly unsure if you’re trying to reason with James or the cat. “It’s getting really noticeable.” 

“I’m not sure what else to do.” James shrugs. His pan sizzles as he turns over the chicken he’s cooking. “I’ve already moved her favorite scratching post over by the door and sprayed it with the catnip Lily gave me.” 

You cross your arms and sit down on the couch, chewing the inside of your lip. “I’m worried about the security deposit,” you admit. 

“Oh, don’t be.” James waves a hand vaguely in your direction. “My last apartment was way worse than this when I moved out, and they didn’t charge me for anything.” 

His unconcern nettles you. Of course, why would James be upset about a security deposit? He likes to pretend at independence, but you know his parents will always give him funds if he’s in a bind. He doesn’t worry about money the way you do. 

 “Yes, but that was a different landlord, wasn’t it.” There’s a bit of bite to your tone, and you try to soften it. “Maybe someone else could take her for the rest of Lily's trip?” 

James turns, eyebrows lifting as though he’s surprised you’d even ask. “She couldn’t get anyone else to take her in the first place. Mary’s visiting her family, Marl’s allergic, and Sirius would have a cow.” You’re not very inclined to find the last one a spectacular excuse, but you keep your mouth shut. “I agreed to take her,” he says, somewhat firmly, “and I don’t want to go back on that.” 

Heat prickles over your skin. “I just—listen, I can paint over the small things,” you say. “I’m going to try to cover up as many damages as I can, but when your friends come over and break the handle off the microwave” —true story— “or you let their cats tear up the apartment, I don’t know what to do.” 

“I told you I’m going to fix the microwave,” he says without turning around. 

“When, James? That was months ago, and—” 

“And if my friends coming over is a problem for you, it’s not like you didn’t have plenty of opportunities to mention it when we first moved in.” Now James is growing agitated too, his posture stiffening over the stove. “I don’t get where this is coming from. I told you before we moved in that I’d want to have friends here often. When I asked if Junie could stay here, you said it was fine!” 

“I didn’t know it’d be like this!” You feel ridiculous, nearly shouting at him in your mostly lovely apartment. James really isn’t a bad roommate overall; you know you could do far worse. But the small things have begun to add up, and you really cannot afford not to lose your deposit. “I like your friends, and I like Junie, but this is—it’s too much.” 

“You shouldn’t have lived with me if you couldn’t deal with it.” 

James flicks off the stove, turning around to speak to you directly, and you see the moment he sees the glossy sheen in your eyes. His expression pinches. 

“Sweetheart—” 

“No. Do not feel bad for me right now,” you hiss, blinking furiously. “Just because I’m not good at arguing doesn’t mean I’m not still mad.” 

Your anger is rapidly fading, though, as his words reverberate around in your head. You shouldn’t have lived with me. Does he really think that? There are certainly things upon which you don’t see eye-to-eye, but you love living with James. You love spending time with him, sharing things with him, just being around him. The idea that he doesn’t feel the same about you starts spiderweb cracks going through your heart. 

“I’m not good at arguing either,” he says with a hefty sigh. The tension seems to go out of his shoulders with it, and he starts toward you with heavy steps, plopping down on the couch. “Can we just talk, please?” 

You sniffle, working hard to suppress your tears. “Do you think it’d be better if we didn’t live together?” you ask. 

James' eyes widen behind his glasses. His brows hook up in the middle. “No. Why would you say that?” 

You shake your head, not quite looking at him. “I honestly do like your friends. I don’t mind them coming over or helping you do favors for them, and I get that—that sometimes things happen.” You take a shallow breath. Ignore the way James’ hand twitches in his lap. “But you’re right that I didn’t consider all of this when we moved in together. I’m okay with trying to get past it, but if you want me to move out—” 

“Oh my god, no.” James leans forward, trying to catch your gaze. You don’t let him, because just then a small droplet of water squishes out of the corner of your eye and begins a slow trudge down your cheek. “Sweetheart, I don’t want that. I like living with you.” 

Juniper hops up onto the couch, plodding onto your lap and rubbing her side against your stomach affectionately. A wet laugh bubbles out of you, more tears cresting your cheeks as you scratch awkwardly between her ears. 

James makes a sound so soft you think you’ll dream about it. “Can I hug you?” 

You lean toward him in answer. He meets you halfway, needling his arms under yours and folding you into him. You press your face, hot with embarrassment and upset, into the crook of his neck and shoulder, and James’ hand rubs your back in big, sweeping circles, before it stops moving at all, pressing flush to your spine, easing you closer. Junie hops off your lap. Evidently, she considers your comfort taken care of.

“I don’t want you to pity me,” you mumble. When you blink, your lashes leave wetness like the strokes of a paintbrush on his skin. “If you want me to move out, it’s okay.” 

“I don't,” he promises, squeezing you until it almost hurts. “I was being rash. I was only being defensive because you were angry. About very reasonable stuff, if I’m honest. I can pay for your half of the security deposit if we lose it.” 

You shake your head, shifting your body to hug him harder. James meets you a hundred percent. “You don’t need to do that.” 

“I do, it’s fine. It’s my mess. Just don’t talk any more about moving out, okay?” 

You mumble your agreement into his neck. It tickles, and James squeaks, but he doesn’t let you go.

[akajustmerry]

I love assad's performance as armand!! how he's always trying to be so small but can't manage it like "oh I'm just a little guy I'm just a little dude who's soooooo sorry :(((" and how he's so artful in the way his resentment simmers beneath that like, "I'm so sorry that, really, you being angry with me is soooo unfair of you when you chose to react that way. have you considered that?" like. he's always teetering on a BUT on a SUBTEXT he can't bare to surrender. It's so fun how even though he stopped pretending to be rashid, he's still pretending be the man Louis loved but he's broken character so many times at this point he can't remember how to play the part right anymore. And he thinks if he can control the externals of the performance (the interview, Daniel, Louis), it will make up for how unconvincing he is, but it only magnifies his folly like a spotlight. a spotlight the old theatre troupe leader, who always directed from the shadows, cannot STAND to be in. I just love how Asssad portrays Armand as being in constant discomfort because he's ultimately a director who's lost control of a play and to make matters worse he trapped himself inside a role he was never right for and is in denial about all of it. the way Assad essentially plays armand like a Bad Actor™. splendid tv <3

[nakahras]

᯽ one more hour • chuuya nakahara

synopsis • you finally find out who chuuya is after months of him lying to you. unfortunately, for chuuya, you’re not the only one that figures out the identity of your boyfriend and that makes you a target.

warnings • intentional lowercase, angst, fem!reader, mild/medium language, verbal arguments, depictions of violence/gore, mentions of guns/knives, depictions of panic/anxiety attacks, hospital setting, mentions of injury/blood, chuuya’s an idiot

wc • 6.2k

a/n • i’ve been in the biggest writing funk. ofc this loser ginger was the one to drag me out of it wiriwiieiwieiqi

“how long did you plan on lying to me for? were you ever going to tell me the truth or were you going to hope i just never figured it out and let me live in complete ignorance?” you pace around the ginormous penthouse you find yourself in for the first time since your relationship with chuuya had started.

that was almost 7 months ago now. you can’t believe the amount of times you’ve almost said ‘i love you’ to the man standing a few feet away from you in just the last month alone. it’s comical, actually. chuuya isn’t even that person to you anymore, you don’t no longer even know who he is. you knew him as this above average guy that was an executive for some sort of multinational conglomerate. the adoptive son of the ceo. some form of a nepo-kid. that’s how you rationalized him being so successful at such a young age. 

you didn’t even know he had an ability.

you were delusional to think that this relationship was going so well because you had found the perfect guy. the perfect guy doesn’t lie to you about being a mafioso executive.

you stop pacing. you’re the most idiotic person on this planet. you can’t believe this is your reality.

“god, i cannot believe you hid something like this from me, chuuya. i cannot believe i fell for it.”

you have to give chuuya some credit. while you’ve been pacing and practically yelling at him he has annoyingly kept his composure with a straight face. unfortunately for him, that pissed you off even more. you turn to him finally and stare at the man in silence. his composure doesn’t budge. he gazes back but it’s as if he’s looking right through you. you don’t think you’ve ever seen him this emotionless before.

you’re desperate now, trying to rationalize your relationship even after finding out he isn’t who you thought he was. because, for better or for worse, even though you haven’t outwardly said the words to him you had, in fact, fallen in love with chuuya nakahara. 

you feel your stomach churn and waterline burn, you needed him to say something, anything. “are you just going to stand there like a fucking statue all night? or are you going to explain to me what the hell is going on?”

“how did you find out?” his voice is tight but unfeeling, expressionless and cold.

how frustrating of him. instead of answering your questions he asks one of his own. you shouldn’t give him the satisfaction he clearly wasn’t going to give you. you shouldn’t. but you have a bad habit of reacting before thinking about it fully.

“you attacked the armed detective agency at the hospital i work at? how do you think i found out, chuuya? you know how many times you’ve picked me up from there? just because i don’t work in that wing doesn’t mean my coworkers don’t know who you are. they sent me videos of what happened. i had to pretend that wasn’t you. i almost convinced myself of it.” your breathing is becoming erratic and uneven, only shallow and short breaths escaping you.

chuuya looks to the side as if he’s thinking something over then he looks back to you, gaze unchanged. “so other people know?”

“yeah, i’m sure not everyone believed me that it wasn’t you.” you let out a frustrated sigh, “why does that even matter? you should be focusing on the fact that i know.”

“it matters…” the ginger doesn’t give you any further explanation as he pulls out his phone and starts typing. 

you want to pull your hair out. he’s ignoring you almost — actually, you think him ignoring you would be less frustrating. he’s completely dismissing your concerns, questions and feelings on the matter. and now he’s texting someone?

that’s it. you were done with this conversation and you were done with him. maybe for good. you walk away to your belongings. chuuya clearly notices your movement and watches intently as you put your coat back on. 

panic finally settles deep within his chest and his voice cracks with desperation as he asks, “where are you going?”

you notice the change and look back at him from the elevator doors. his face is still expressionless, however, your eyes wander down to his gloved hands and take note of the way he’s gripping his phone just a bit too tightly. you shouldn’t, but you give him one last chance to explain himself, he just needs to give you anything to make you stay. it doesn’t need to be big, it could be the most vague explanation. just something enough that you can grasp onto.

“i’m leaving, unless you plan on answering any of my questions?” you look at him with wide and expectant eyes — they’re hopeful even.

chuuya just stands there, again. his bicolored eyes are filled with regret but he keeps his mouth shut. you let yourself sit in the silence that’s been created for a few moments. letting yourself get worked up. he was really willing to let you go, rather than just tell you what’s going on. 

you let out a shuddered and wet breath, tears welling up in your eyes and lips trembling. “i didn’t think so…”

with that you leave his apartment with a tight chest and damp cheeks.

that was 4 days ago and it has been radio silence on your end. chuuya tried calling you later that night but you didn’t answer. since then, there has been no further attempts on his end either. you weren’t sure if he was giving you space or still didn’t know how to answer your questions, but you think you’d prefer him blowing up your phone with no answers as opposed to nothing at all. you’ve been crying over a quart of ice cream all afternoon. you felt pathetic, sitting on the couch in pajama shorts and a hoodie of chuuya’s that you’re pretty sure was left behind on purpose. 

you lean over to set the now empty ice cream container down on the table of your kotatsu. a whine is heard from your lap and you look down to see your previously sleeping cat glaring up at you with an accusatory look in her eye. your movement had clearly disturbed her umpteenth nap of the day. you look at your little companion with an apologetic smile and pet her as an sorry for moving around so much. the torti is quick to be appeased as she starts purring loudly.

mochi, your cat, was the only thing that got you through this entire debacle. without her, you think you may have let yourself wither away into an empty shell. 

mochi’s ears perk up and suddenly she’s on high alert. the cat leaps off of you and investigates something in the kitchen. you hear her hiss and then a sort of bang. your brows furrow and you let out a sigh, thinking about how she probably just made a big mess in the kitchen as she scurries back in the room to hide underneath the kotatsu, bushy tailed and, oddly enough, growling. 

you shimmy yourself out from under the warmth of the kotatsu yourself and get up to investigate the mess you probably had to pick up. as you near the kitchen you feel a draft — funny, you distinctly remember closing the window in the kitchen. 

᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•

chuuya isn’t even pretending to listen to what’s happening in this meeting. he could feel the concerned gaze he’s getting from kouyou but his nerves are far too shot for him to even pretend to care. all he cares about is you. how you desperately wanted him to open up and be truthful, how betrayed you looked leaving his apartment with tears running down your face, how you wouldn’t answer his phone call that night and how you still hadn’t contacted him to make another attempt at getting him to explain.

chuuya would answer the phone in the middle of this meeting if you called at this very second. he had made up his mind when he finally came to his senses later that night. he always seemed to be one step behind when it came to relationships. being one step behind may be enough to ruin yet another relationship that he cherishes deeply.

the executive can’t comprehend what you’ve done to him. he’s felt on edge since the moment you left the penthouse. his fingers twitch in irritation, his skin crawls, his breath feels constricted. it’s like he’s coming down from a long lasting high. he was having withdrawals. he hasn’t felt this tense and unfocused since he tried to quit smoking a few years back when gin got on his ass about finishing a whole pack in one day.

actually, a cigarette sounded damn good right about now. mori would have a fit though, of course he’s always been a doctor to the core. so, the ginger falls back on tapping his foot incessantly and checking his phone obsessively. 

this meeting feels like it’s dragging, time moving in slow motion almost. it’s only been 30 minutes but to chuuya it feels like 30 hours. it’s agonizing to sit here when what he needs is a distraction. a mission where he can let out his frustration on some opposing force. he’s never been one to complain about meetings but it’s never too late to start.

the executive is ready to leave, literally 30 seconds away from standing up and walking out, but then something happens. one of kouyou’s subordinates urgently walks in and makes a beeline for her. an emergency, clearly, because everyone knows not to disturb an exec meeting otherwise.

kouyou’s eyes widen and flit to chuuya. this worried glance is different from her previous ones. it makes the ginger’s blood run cold and hairs stand on end. if he thought he was on edge before — that was nothing compared to this. 

kouyou wastes no time in reporting the issue as she shoos her subordinate away. “there was activity from one of our many opposing organizations. my people are working on pinpointing which one but… they broke into and vandalized several apartment buildings in the naka ward…” 

kouyou looks at chuuya again. her brows are furrowed in concern, it makes his stomach churn. why is she looking at him like that? what did she even say? chuuya wasn’t focused. he was on the verge of getting up to leave just two minutes ago. 

he was going to leave.

he needed a better distraction from his stewing thoughts of you. the longer he sat here the more time he spent thinking about how he should really just show up at your apartment door. surely, you wouldn’t turn him away if he was willing to finally explain things, right?

“they were all within a 2 kilometer radius of the yokohama city minato red cross hospital-“

mori interjects, “you mean the one you all took the liberty of storming while i was ill due to that cannibalism ability?” 

if chuuya wasn’t paying attention before, he is now. he thinks a knife to the eye would be better than this. physically: the executive is composed and stoned faced — but internally? chuuya is sinking in his seat wishing he would simply disappear. they’re all used to mori’s snide comments, his tongue always being quick and made of silver. sometimes, like today, his comments hit a little harder. 

so, even though they all try to stay composed, chuuya doesn’t miss the way kouyou flinches and once again her eyes flit over to him. 

“yes, mori-san, the same hospital…” the woman sounds almost pained as she talks, her internal panic slowly seeping out through the cracks. “most civilians were unharmed… but there were a couple women who were targeted and are now in critical condition at the same hospital. one of them was pronounced dead by the time she got to the hospital.”

mori hums, eyes cutting over to chuuya. “interesting. chuuya, don’t you have a little friend that lives in the same area?”

there it was. the reason kouyou was so concerned and fidgety. chuuya’s heart sinks and stomach drops to his feet. everything unfocuses, his vision going blurry and swirling. the ginger visibly turns pale and his blood runs cold. his whole body twitches, the need to get up and leave far too strong.

chuuya feels physically ill. how had he not thought of you the second kouyou said what ward it was? he was so busy thinking about himself and wallowing in self pity that he didn’t even think to second guess the information he was being fed. kouyou’s glances tell him it was bad too, or worse, she had no information on your status. 

this was chuuya’s fault. he has this sinking feeling that you were the target. he should’ve known you weren’t safe when you told him people at your work had connected who he was. he should have been more insistent on talking things out. he should have had you come over to his and stay over until he knew you were safe. hell, he should have at the very least set up a detail in your neighborhood.

this was all his fault. 

chuuya abruptly stands up, hands slamming on the table. “i should check on the situation. may i be dismissed, boss?”

“i don’t see why you shouldn’t. report back when you’ve got a handle on…the matter.” mori raises his eyebrows, not bothering to hide his obvious amusement at the executive’s reaction.

chuuya doesn’t notice, he doesn’t even give any of them a second glance as he practically flies out of the room to find the nearest exit to this god forsaken building. he finds an open window and easily hurls himself out of it, using his ability to hurdle himself through the sky. chuuya didn’t even think twice about, maybe, taking a vehicle. his mind was far too muddled to even register what he was doing.

this was all his fault.

he wasn’t looking for practicality right now anyway, he was looking at what would get him there the fastest.

“there” being your apartment. he didn’t want to assume you were attacked. maybe it’s just wishful thinking on his part. chuuya makes it to the average looking building in record time — which he’d boast about in any other situation, but now was not the time.

the gravity manipulator is about to circle your apartment to get to the front but notices something odd. the window at the side of your kitchen was wide open. you never did that, you only left it cracked open when you were cooking. chuuya enters your apartment the same way he left the port mafia building: through a window. 

what he sees next confirms his deepest fears. he’s had actual nightmares about this — or at least he thinks he has, having never actually been able to dream. but he’s woken up in cold sweats, throat raw from screaming, and a pit in his stomach with you on his mind. this was more like a waking nightmare, he imagines this is what the ones he can’t recall are filled with. 

there’s blood on the floor and also splattered across the walls and kitchen utilities. broken kitchenware is scattered across the wooden slats, your oven and fridge are out of place too. an obvious sign of a struggle. you clearly fought back. of course you fought back. chuuya had tried to teach you some self defense but with further observation he had learned that you grew up taking mixed martial arts classes. something about letting out your bad temper in a healthy way.

all the fighting skills in the world couldn’t save you from a bullet though. there was one lodged in your fridge and wall. as chuuya nears the other side of your kitchen he notices the front door is also wide open, two holes in it indicating more shots were set off. 

then chuuya sees it. his stomach churns violently, so much so that he almost doubles over and retches at the sight. a trail of blood that ends at the front of your apartment and then…

a bloody handprint.

your bloody handprint.

chuuya would recognize it anywhere. he’s memorized every detail of your hands from the size down to the swirls in your fingerprints. you had to have dragged yourself out of your home for help. 

chuuya is glued in place. he feels like his whole world is crumbling around him. the edges of his vision going white as the color falls from his grasp. his ears are ringing, the white noise becoming louder as his mind runs wild. 

you weren’t here.

there was so much blood.

the smell of iron stuck to his nostrils.

where were you?

did someone take you to the hospital?

the hospital.

one of the women that was brought there was pronounced dead. even if that wasn’t you… all of the other women were in critical condition. he couldn’t imagine you being okay after seeing the scene laid out before him. 

chuuya was going to be sick. a wave of nausea crashes over him. he feels the bile clawing up his throat. he scrambles over to your kitchen sink, almost slipping on your blood. he doesn’t let anything out at first, just gags and dry heaves. then his eyes sting and what little contents he had sitting in his stomach are released. this time he really does vomit. 

the executive's breathing is shallow and labored. he looks down to where his hands are gripping the sink and realizes they’re now covered in your blood. he holds them up and his breathing quickens. his stomach churns and he shoves his gloves off. stumbling back as he stares at his trembling hands. it was too much. this was different from all of the gore and violence that comes with being in the port mafia. 

it was you, you were in danger and he wasn’t there. he couldn’t help you. he should have been there to help you. he should have kept you safe.

the only thing that brought chuuya back to reality was a high pitched mewl that came from further inside your apartment. chuuya would recognize that little noise anywhere. mochi. he whips around to find the small feline peeking out from under your kotatsu. the orange glow indicating that it was still on. chuuya lets out a sort of wet and shaky breath. 

the ginger gently approaches the clearly spooked creature. he’s never been particularly fond of cats but for some reason yours took a liking to him and he couldn’t help but fall head over heels for the torti. much like he couldn’t help the way he fell for her mother. chuuya reaches out a finger and mochi hesitantly sniffs it. her eyes light up at the gravity manipulator’s familiar scent and nudges his finger with her nose. 

after getting the clear go ahead from the cat, chuuya leans in and picks her up. the torti nuzzles into him and she was still shaking — or maybe that was chuuya. he reaches down and turns the flammable item off before straightening himself and greet the small feline.

“hey, sweet girl, you scared for your mama too?” chuuya’s voice cracks and he knows he needs to get to the hospital but he feels a little guilty just leaving mochi here in this disaster of an apartment.

chuuya sighs and let’s the torti down. he pulls out his phone and sends out a quick message to kouyou, asking her to send a cleaning crew and to pick up the small creature and take her back to the gravity manipulator’s place. her response is sent mere moments after his own. he doesn’t bother responding. 

the ginger strides over to the front door. he makes sure to close it behind him so mochi doesn’t get out then makes a beeline for the hospital.

᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•

”i’m sorry, sir, i pulled up her chart but you aren’t on her contacts list. unfortunately i’m unable to give you any further information.” the patient services rep behind the counter holds firm on her statement by giving the man a tight lipped smile.

chuuya’s bicolored eyes narrow in frustration. he knows, he knows, that the lady is just doing her job but she’s doing it so infuriatingly well. he’s desperate to know your status and his sanity is slowly losing its grip on him, he’s slipping away with each obstacle. as if answering a silent plea, a tap on his shoulder catches his attention.

the executive swivels around and is met with the sweet old lady that lives next door to you. she was always checking in with you. making sure you had enough to eat and were getting enough rest. you once compared her to your own mother, who is no longer with you but even when she was it was nothing like what the older woman does for you. when you introduced the woman to your boyfriend she was awfully judgemental of him at first, she was making sure he was good enough for you. he didn’t think so but apparently your neighbor thought otherwise, seeing something in him he didn’t see himself.

her usual smile is replaced with a furrowed brow and downturned lips. she was frowning at chuuya, something akin to scolding. the ginger felt oddly accosted by the woman standing before him. she’s never looked at him with so much contempt before.

she folds her arms across her chest and she lets out a huff, “what are you doing here, boy?”

chuuya flinches at her tone like she had just physically slapped him in the face. the ability user quickly recovers though, realizing if she was here that would mean…

you had to be here and you had to be alive, if not your neighbor wouldn’t be standing here in front of him scolding him. no, instead her face would be filled with grief. this was a good thing. 

you were still alive.

“where is she? i need to see her.” chuuya lets out a breath he’s been subconsciously holding in. 

the old lady bristles at his blatant disregard for her own question. “and why should i tell you? y’know, she’s been miserable the last few days because of you? she wouldn’t tell me you were the reason but i could just tell. what did you do to her? is this all your fault?”

chuuya actually takes a step back at her words. he felt like the woman had just punched him in the gut. the older lady packs quite the punch for how small she is, not even standing at 5 feet tall. she’s right, of course, this was all chuuya’s fault. 

it was all his fault.

”i didn’t mean to… she was supposed to be safe. i didn’t tell her anything to keep her safe.” he was rambling now, desperation seeping into his voice. “i just need to see her. please, please, ma’am, you have to tell me.”

the old lady falters, her scowl dropping and a pang of pity spreads across her chest. it doesn’t last long though. the implication of chuuya’s response, meaning he did have something to do with the fact you were in emergency surgery and would be in there for a few more hours.

you’d been rushed to the hospital. thanks to your neighbors, you assailants were scared off by the ambulance and police they called. after the first gunshot went off they were quick to make the call. 

you were brought in with a plethora of injuries. blunt force trauma to the head, 3 gunshot wounds (2 of which were still lodged inside of you), and several lacerations littering your entire body. all of which resulted in severe blood loss and unfortunately for you, since you weren’t the only one to sustain these kinds of injuries, the hospital was on a low supply of blood by the time you came in. 

the old woman is winding up to scold chuuya some more but she’s interrupted by a nurse walking up to her. the woman in scrubs looks exhausted, she must have been in the operating room with you. the nurse also looked worried, she must be a close coworker. 

“nakamura-sama? the surgeon wanted to give you an update…” the nurse’s eyes trail over to chuuya and her demeanor goes from concern to nervous, she nods at chuuya quickly, “please excuse us… nakahara-san…”

oh. she knew who he was. had she been one of your coworkers that he knew? chuuya’s guilt grows as he thinks he should remember who this woman is. this was all so frustrating. no one would tell him anything even if they knew who he was. the executive desperately wants to argue, to stand his ground and find out what was going on.

something occurs to him in that very moment. is this how you felt that day? when chuuya wouldn’t budge, wouldn’t tell you anything. shutting himself off. this was some sick and twisted karma. the universe was laughing in the ginger’s face and he only has himself to blame for it. 

a man’s voice speaks up, “the boy can stay. now why don’t you tell my wife and i how our dear granddaughter is doing?”

the nurse hesitates, looking to the older woman for guidance. mrs. nakamura squints at her husband for an uncomfortably long moment. however, the older man doesn’t seem bothered at all, he must be used to this type of scrutinizing glare from his wife. if chuuya wasn’t so distracted by your status he would be able to acknowledge that he wants that. he wants a future with you and he may be willing to give anything up for that.

mrs. nakamura clicks her tongue. “fine. the boy can stay.”

the nurse eyes chuuya for another moment before explaining your situation. she explains the injuries you sustained. that you’re still in surgery and probably would be for at least a couple more hours. you were doing surprisingly well, a fighter. of course you are. a warmth pools in the ginger’s chest. it was pride. 

“we have hit a small road block. due to the multiple victims being brought in… the blood supply is in the reserves. we have contacted other hospitals in the area and they’ve agreed to deliver us their extra supply. but it’s a process and it may take hours to receive any of it. do any of you know if you’re a match or a universal donor?” the nurse looks at the 3 of them hopefully, her gaze drifting to chuuya more than the other two.

chuuya freezes. he knows that he has type b blood, that’s not the problem. the problem is that he has no idea what your blood type is. he should know that, right? he’s sure you know his, sure you’re in the medical field but it’s common to know your partner's blood type. he should know this. 

he should know this. 

hanged, drawn and quartered. maybe a firing squad or even the guillotine. chuuya lists the ways he thinks he should be executed in his head. he’s had his head so far up his ass with trying to keep you in the dark about who he is that he hasn't even learned the most basic things about you. does he even know your favorite color? your favorite meal? your favorite song? 

this was the most criminal act he’s ever committed and that’s saying something considering the horrific things he’s done for the port mafia. this was bad. unforgivable even. this was all his fault and he couldn’t even tell the damn nurse if he was a match for you or not. 

what the fuck.

what the fuck?

what the fuck was wrong with him?

what does he even say? how does he tell the nurse and the old couple standing next to him that he has no idea if he’s a match for you? he supposes he can play it off. plainly state what his blood type is and leave it to the nurse to figure it out. maybe that could work. it would have to, he doesn’t have another choice. 

but before chuuya can even open his mouth the older man speaks up first. “i'm a universal donor, young lady. you can take some of my blood, i can’t possibly be using it all, i’m sure i have some to spare.”

the older man tries to lighten the situation as he chuckles at his own joke. his wife isn’t amused and even whacks him on his bicep with the back of her hand while clicking her tongue again. the nurse let’s out an uncomfortable laugh and looks to chuuya one last time. of course she would want to take a donation from a healthy young man. 

chuuya shakes his head and hopes to god he’s right when he says, “no, i’m- i’m not a match.”

”i see. mr. and mrs. nakamura, follow me please.”

᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•

your head feels light, like a morning fog had somehow managed to roll in and settle in your mind. everything was so numb and heavy, your entire body felt like lead. you wanted to keep sleeping. you wanted this annoying light behind your eyelids to go away. who the hell left the lights on?

did chuuya forget to turn them off again? why were they so bright? these weren’t your lights at home, they couldn’t be.

where were you? 

why did you feel like you got hit by a bus?

most importantly, where was chuuya?

…chuuya…

oh. 

you remember now. chuuya was an ass. he told you a sugar coated version of his truth. twisted who he was to fit your ideals even though you had never asked that of him. then he ignored you, refused to tell your anything and left you to the solitary confines of your apartment. and then…

your eyes fly open and you gasp for air. you were assaulted in your own home. someone had broken in and attacked you. they had guns and knives. you were shot. 

where were you?

did they take you? no, they were trying to kill you. you’re sure of that. if it hadn’t been for the sirens that scared them away, you’re sure they would have finished you off.

mochi. your poor mochi. she must have been terrified. oh god, they wouldn’t have…she hid right? she was safely under the kotatsu. she had to be unharmed physically. she had to be. you couldn’t be here right now, wherever you were. you had to get home and make sure she was okay.

distantly you hear this annoyingly incessant beeping and… someone's voice? what is it saying? are they speaking to you? your name. they’re calling for you but- 

who is it?

no. it wasn’t anything intelligible, it was screaming. it was your screaming. you were screaming. why were you screaming? 

a wave of fatigue crashes down on you, drowning you in darkness as you sink back into the depths of slumber.

the next time you wake up, you’re less confused. whatever anesthesia you were previously under obviously had worn off by now. the fog was certainly lifted and you were thinking much clearly now.

you haven’t opened your eyes yet but just by hearing the beeps coming from the monitors next to your bedside, you could piece together you are in the hospital and therefore you are safe. more importantly you’re alive. you try to bring your hand up to rub at your eyes but there’s a weight holding it down.

your brows furrow at the restriction. you stir only slightly, any movement you made right now was agonizing. you let out a grunt as a shooting pain courses through the entirety of your body. this wasn’t good, something like this was going to take a lot of time and physical therapy to recover from. 

how frustrating-

“are you awake?” his voice is gruff, filled with exhaustion but it was clear who was speaking to you.

you could pick out his voice from millions others. even worse, his voice never fails to soothe your soul. instantly your body relaxes from whatever tension it’s been managing to hold onto. traitor. you’re supposed to be upset with him. you should yell at him, kick him out. 

but… he stayed. he was here, he found you and stayed. how unfair. you’re tired, too tired to deny yourself the comfort he brings you. because despite everything, it’s still him. 

you think it will always be him.

so instead of crying or yelling or getting upset you simply give in. “yeah. i’m awake.”

you open your eyes, finally, to look at him. he looks like shit, it would be funny under any other circumstance. his hair is a mess, clearly he had been tug at it, nervously running his fingers through it. his usual under eye bag had bags. the dark circles a stark contrast against his porcelain complexion. 

if it weren’t for the fact that you were the one in the hospital bead, you’d think you two were here for him. after you examine him you look at his expression. it’s grim, he looks truly pathetic. you can only describe it as being akin to a wounded puppy. 

you let out a sigh but before you can even get another word out, he’s speaking. “i should have told you. i wasn’t thinking about you- i know i wasn’t but i convinced myself i was. i convinced myself that i was keeping you safe by not telling you but- i was a damn fool for that. this is all my-“

”chuuya, shut up.” this was so painful, you didn’t want to hear any of this. 

you are tired. you just want him to be there for you. you want him to comfort you. you just want your boyfriend. at this point you couldn’t care less about the bullshit he kept from you. at the end of the day it was his character you’ve fallen in love with and that was more than enough for you.

chuuya looks at you stunned. his words catch in his throat and he thinks he might actually cry. it’s been a while since he’s had the urge to cry like this. was this it? he almost lost you to death. now he was going to lose you in another way and he only had himself to blame. 

the ginger can’t even blame you for your decision. 

after all, this was all his fault.

“i don’t give a shit about who you are. tell me. don’t tell me. whatever. you found me and you’re here now. i just need you to be here. i-“ you choke on your words, you hadn’t realized but you’d started crying and it hurt. “i love you. i need you to not blame yourself for this because you need to be here for me and show me you can do this. please show me you can do this, i wont ask for anything-“

you can’t finish your thought. your lungs are constricted as you're held in his vice grip. you missed him. god, you missed him so much. his embrace is home. he’s your home and that’s terrifying. despite what you said you still have so much to learn about him. chuuya scares you but only because you feel so incredibly safe with him. 

you’ve never had that before and something tells you he’s never had that either. 

“i’m here. hell and back, i will always be here for you.” it wasn’t a direct admission but you don’t question it. this is the closest you’ll come to a declaration of love from chuuya for now and you’re okay with that. truthfully, you didn’t expect him to say anything.

you try your best to return the hold chuuya has on you. you get an arm around him loosely and rest your forehead on his shoulder. you’re still crying, like a baby. it would be embarrassing if it was anyone else. his hand is holding your head gingerly. it’s comforting and you manage to calm yourself down. you pull back, still sniffling but eyes no longer producing tears. 

your eyebrows furrow, something pressing returning to the forefront of your mind. “did you stop by my apartment? has anyone checked on mochi? is she okay?”

chuuya finally smiles for the first time in what feels like days — it might have actually been days since he last did. he pulls out his phone and produces a picture of the torti that kouyou had sent him. he hands the phone to you and you smile fondly as you let out a small puff of air, relief spreading throughout your chest.

“i asked kouyou to bring her to my apartment for the time being. i think she’s taken a liking to it.” 

you look at the picture then back up at chuuya, entirely unamused. “have you seen your apartment. i could fit like five of mine in it? of course she likes it there.”

something warm spreads across chuuya’s entire being. this scene is oddly familiar. reminiscent of the older couple from earlier. this was pure happiness, this is what it felt like. 

chuuya was going to make sure to cherish it deeply and keep it safe at all costs.

[hedwig221b]

Not the same anon but your fav jealous and possessive Derek fics? I’m talking toxic possessive, Stiles always in sight and scented and being touched cuz Derek just CANNOT STOP 💞💞💞😌👆🏼🙂‍↕️

Hi, hello, here you go 🔥💖 (p.s. we need more obsessed borderline toxic Derek pleek)

As it Should Be by KuroKitty (HaleYes)

Stiles comes home from his 18th birthday party at the bowling alley to find a surprise waiting for him in his room.

Or, the one where Derek has no chill.

Assume I'm just An Asshole by mannersmakethmine

the pack always finding Stiles and Derek in coupley situations and assuming they're fake dating because there's a new threat in town, and Stiles and Derek because the shits that they are just go along with it.

Deflowered by astrugglingstoic

In which there is a prince, a knight, sequential sword fights, and an anecdote about pressed flower petals.

Feral Formalities by Aleandri

"There was silence as no one seemed to breath at the table. Derek had just gifted Stiles, an unmated Omega, with food. Right in front of another Alpha. Who he was on a date with. To discuss being heat partners…." In which, Stiles presents as Omega, and everyone wants a piece of the alpha-baby-making ass!

five times derek is protective of stiles and one time it's the other way around

Yeah, okay, so maybe Derek was a tad too protective of Stiles. So what? Sue him for worrying about his best friend, whom he totally does not have a raging crush on.

Okay, so maybe he does.

Shut up.

Hung The Moon by BurnItAllClean (nrnyx)

Slowly Stiles got control of himself again. His heart calmed. His breathing evened out. The anger was gone. In its place, a bone-deep weariness settled. He couldn’t do this. He wouldn’t survive this.

Might be a Predator by churkey

Derek's mom once told him they were predators. It never occurred to him to ask, 'If werewolves are predators, what do we hunt?'.

Oblivious Misadventures, and Other Such Tales by Little Spoon (JaydenNara)

Going to college was exciting and new, a chance for new friends and a fresh start, and the best part was, there was a supernatural fraternity on campus, meaning Scott finally had the freedom to be himself.

Then he met the resident human who came with a stalker alpha. What was the point of a supernatural fraternity if he still had to pretend to be human. And seriously, did Stiles ever fall asleep somewhere normal?

of gods & monsters by Dexterous_Sinistrous

“I’m not the best at conversation. I’ve been told I have no finesse for it.”

Stiles took a step closer to Derek, pushing the billowing silk out of the way. “And what would you say if you looked at me now?”

Derek looked up, startled for a moment when he realized he was now looking at Stiles’ unveiled face. He was silent for a beat, taking in Stiles’ features for the first time, convinced he would never see such beauty unveiled for him alone.

Oh my (let me look at those eyes) by Gorgeousgreymatter

A few months ago, he might’ve been able to solve this with some force—a little man-handling, a snarl, a glimpse of teeth. But he looks at Stiles’s broken face, knows he’s seen too much horror and blood and evil, the whole Big Bad Wolf routine is just going to fall flat. Because Derek looks at Stiles and he doesn’t carry himself like a teenager anymore. He carries himself like a soldier.

The Alpha and his Spark by sandyde03

Stiles is pregnant. Derek is perpetually horny and possessive. Stiles is confused. Not by Derek sexing him up. He loves that. It’s the fact that ever since he started to show that he was with pup everyone has been avoiding his eyes.

The Boy Is Mine, You Bonkers! by frownypup

It turns out that the words ‘a painfully smart and brave unclaimed human who is stupidly unutilized in Beacon Hill’s pack’ became the hottest gossip in werewolf underground. Yes, what the hell. Stiles’ existence has changed from a plankton to a rising sun.

Derek Hale has something he needs to say about it.

Three Little Words by Chloepioneer

“Oh god,” he whines, slapping a hand over his mouth to quell the vomit that boils the back of his throat. “Derek, is that the mailman?”

or Derek has a bad habit of killing people that take an interest in Stiles. Stiles might like it a little bit.

won't you torture someone else's sleep by redeyedwrath

I love you, Derek thinks, but he doesn’t say it, just watches Stiles throw his head back in laughter that isn’t for him and never will be. I love you, I love you, I love you.

Maybe if he thinks it hard enough, Stiles will hear him.

you are an obsession (i am your possession) by EvanesDust

Once Derek catches that tantalizing scent, he can’t stay away. Stiles. Derek’s completely enthralled by him. Obsessed. But all he can do is stand in the shadows, watching and waiting. Until he can make Stiles his, that is. And when that happens, Derek will never let him go.

Pack nights are not for getting laid by igotdamn

Stiles goes out clubbing, Derek doesn't like that very much.

Obsession by Rae666

Derek gets hit by a witch's curse and is confined to his loft as his uncle searches for a cure and Isaac stands guard. But as the curse grows worse and Derek's obsession with a certain pale skinned person becomes increasingly intense, how long can the team keep Derek and Stiles apart, especially when Stiles decides to take matters into his own hands?

Other fic recs: pack mom!Stiles | angsty fics | historical AU | baby/mpreg | outsider POV | smut | mafia | hurt/comfort | magical!Stiles | Stiles gets kicked out of the pack | BAMF!Stiles | omegaverse | witch!Stiles

[etherealstar-writes]

I WANNA BE YOURS | LIONESSES X READER | PT 12

pairings: lionesses x reader

summary: in which you're accidentally added to a random group chat, not knowing they're all actually famous footballers, and obliviously end up having many of them competing for your love and attention.

part: twelve

part one here

✦ ——— ✦ ——— ✦

THE NATIONAL DIVING TEAM

the REAL karate kid HOLD ON I FELL ASLEEP AND THIS IS WHAT I WAKE UP TO Y/N BAE WHAT IS THIS 😭

elton OMG LESSI MY MEMES SKILLZ ARE FINALLY RUBBING OFF ON YA

stairway still cannot believe this tho y/n 😔

neev neither 😔

willybum the betrayal 😔

the REAL karate kid y/n just so you know, we are not okay 😔

lotte 😔

the imposter aka y/n ❤️ so um ....

neev Y/NNN YOU'RE ALIVE HOW WAS THE DATE

the imposter aka y/n ❤️ he never showed up got stood up 😔

elton oh

stairway that is so sad

willybum that truly is terrible to hear

the REAL karate kid very sad

neev that really sucks

meado you idiots! atleast be nice and pretend to actually feel bad! ignore them y/n i'm really sorry to hear that he didn't deserve you at all

the imposter aka y/n ❤️ thank you beffy 🥺 it's fine gonna thrive in my single life forever i guess 😔✊

stairway well y/n i'm free tonight 👀

the imposter aka y/n ❤️ so am i 👀

willybum absolutely not we have our semis tomorrow you're not going anywhere

the imposter aka y/n ❤️ that is very unfortunate georgia 😔 maybe one day

stairway 😔

the imposter aka y/n ❤️ you know now that i'm getting better at my woso knowledge do a few of your teammates just not like messaging? bcuz there's a few not on this chat

neev hold on a sec you're right! chloe, esme, kirby, turner and zelem aren't even in the chat

staiway you forgot to add them ??

the imposter aka y/n ❤️ and you guys just realised 😭😭

elton shhhhh i'll add them now

elton added ona batlle

elton oh nuggets

the REAL karate kid HELP

elton i am walking and eating a donut and i accidentally clicked on the wrong person

willybum added katie

willybum do not trust ella to add people to this chat anymore

the imposter aka y/n ❤️ omg hey ona!

kie oh my days

ona batlle hello! :) i am not on the england team?

earpsy you qualify to be here anyway don't ya worry

the imposter aka y/n ❤️ ona, may i just say you are very peng

stairway Y/N.

neev peng 😭😭

ona batlle i am not sure what that means but i can only assume that it is good so thank you!

the imposter aka y/n ❤️ do you think i'm peng?

ona batlle yes sure! of course!

stairway 😐😐

katie ur ugly

elton hey katie! nice to see you too

katie i was talking to you

elton that is not nice

katie neither is being friends with you

elton i am not sure where this attitude has come from

willybum i love this new zelem

katie i hope you fall in the shower

willybum i take that back

katie HAHAHA HELP

neev WHY ARE YOU LAUGHING

katie HAH WILLYBUM THESE NAMES 😭😭 and i'm not katie zelem

meado i cannot believe how you guys keep doing this you added katie mccabe not zelem

elton OMG IT WASN'T ME IT WAS LEAH I DIDNT DO IT THIS TIME

rusty metal you literally added ona earlier ...

willybum changed the name katie to mccard

mccard was that name really necessary? really?

willybum yes.

the imposter aka y/n ❤️ OMG THE KATIE MCCABE ILY

mccard hello y/n ❤️

willybum absolutely not stay away from our y/n mccabe

the imposter aka y/n ❤️ OMG CAN WE ADD STEPH CATLEY TOO I LOVE HER

the REAL karate kid HUH

stairway hey hey hey you're supposed to be the lionesses' biggest fan what is this betrayal

neev yeah 😔😔

mccard added steph

meado STEPHYY hey girl!

the imposter aka y/n ❤️ OMG OMG NO ONE MOVE

steph katie did you add me here to get attacked bcuz i'm aussie? and heyy beffy!

mccard not this time :)

steph national diving time?! help 😭😭

the imposter aka y/n ❤️ omg hi!! ily you're amazing

steph aww thank you y/n!!

stairway look toone what have you done everyone's stealing y/n away from us now

elton how is any of this my fault?!!

the REAL karate kid it is

neev it is

lotte it is

willybum it is

earpsy it is

brightness it is

daily it is

stairway it is

rusty metal it is

meado it is

mccard it is

elton

i hate you all so much

✦ ——— ✦ ——— ✦

part thirteen here

[beloved-child-of-the-house]

Harry is an orphan, so nothing has to be more important to him than his own sense of what is right. And having always had to rely on himself to get through life, he is self possessed and self directed enough to have a very strong sense of right and wrong. And he holds himself to that scrupulously. He always does what he sees as the right thing; he will not be talked out of it. There isn’t anybody he wants to make happy more than he wants to do the right thing.

For Draco, his obligations to others, his family specifically, is the sum total of his idea of the right thing to do. From his perspective, his social and even moral obligations are limited to safeguarding the wellbeing (and when possible the prestige) of his family.

People think of Draco as a bad boy, but he’s actually very conventional. He’s a dick, but his views are not at all controversial in his social circle. When Draco realizes that toeing the party line has brought him to a place where he has to face MUCH more violence than he is capable of tolerating, he has to start thinking for himself and. Well he gets his shit absolutely rocked.

He’s working his ass off trying to protect and uplift his family, but they didn’t show him the same courtesy, not in the ways that matter. Like he got seven top of the line broomsticks when he was twelve, but also. His parents brought home a mass murderer to live in their house and taught him that this was a consummation devoutly to be wished.

And once he meets Voldemort and gets put to work for him, it’s clear that Voldemort is volatile and capricious and his goodwill cannot be counted on as reliably as his explosive anger and vengefulness. And if Draco can see it now, he must think that his parents had to have seen it before.

He has to confront the fact that his parents will cheerfully witness and participate in a level of violence and destruction that he cannot countenance. He can’t be directed by them anymore. He can’t be like them anymore. So what’s his guiding star? Who can he be? What is he supposed to do with his life if not what they’ve asked of him?

There is such an interesting contrast between the two of them! Their characters are at odds in such a fun and fascinating way! After the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry has discharged his most significant and pressing obligation, and it’s time for him to heal and regroup and figure out what he wants to do with the rest of his life. And Draco is in the same place but arguably with an even more significant blow to his sense of self. Neither of them can go back to the way things were, but for Harry that’s a huge relief, and for Draco, it’s terrifying.

Harry is an extremely empathetic and generous person, and I think he would see himself in Draco’s rudderlessness and feel impelled to commiserate. And I think Draco would no longer have much reason to pretend that he hasn’t always found Harry incredibly magnetic, before he even knew who he was.

[ardensregias]

SEEING AVENTURINE IN THE LIVESTREAM MADE ME THINK ABOUT MEMOKEEPER! READER WITH HIM :o

I mean since he have such a tragic past, it would be very interesting to see someone who can look into his memories as a Sigonian

I'm so happy you like him too (⁠ ⁠╹⁠▽⁠╹⁠ ⁠) hope I'm not troubling you

not at all :3 this will contains some leaks and fanarts i've seen about his past! may not be 100% accurate. also memokeepers can choose who they want to be visible to, but i'm not sure about the fortune telling part. this still looks bad despite being in my draft for days goddamn.

the first time he met you was when you're passing by ipc's pier point, only to spot an exhausted aventurine splayed on his million-credit couch.

since memokeepers are able to become invisible, you curiously approach his room, intrigued by his wealth. and out of kindness, you carefully moved him into his bed, before finding his 'aventurine' stone—which indicates his importance to the corporation.

your growing curiosity led you to pry into his past, watching all the hardships and suffering he had to go through during his childhood, which was supposed to be filled with joy and laughter. instead, you watch as they place thick and heavy chains around his neck and wrists, left him with little to no food, marked his neck with the word 'slave', and force the poor boy to work tirelessly. scene after scene plays out like a film, as a proof of just how cruel the ipc can be.

you stopped looking into his memories, tears forming in the corner of your eyes. you would never guess that this easygoing and arrogant man hides such a past.

eventually, you start following him around—watching him gamble, standing in the corner when he sleeps, even sneaking into the ipc's annual meeting just to make sure he's safe. you find him fascinating, the way he can acts so haughty while having experienced so many things he should never have gone through.

until one day, aventurine's guts tell him to catch this strange, mysterious creature that has been stalking him. but you're so hard to catch, so hard that he has to pretend to sleep to make you lower your guard and make yourself visible.

"snooping around again, little memokeeper?" he chuckles the moment you turn around in surprise. you do want to show yourself to him, but not this early! and when you tried to escape, he caught your hand just before you could teleport, pulling you closer, "since you already know so much about me, i can't possibly let you roam freely anymore,"

so now you live with a rich senior manager of the largest corporation in the cosmos, always stuck to his side—aventurine wouldn't like it if you were to use the knowledge about his past for something that'll ruin his business!

he spoils you, of course—while ignoring the weird look he gets from his subordinates and acquaintances when they saw him talking to the air. so you take care of him in return! comforting him when he has a bad day and making sure he did not forget his meals.

this is a memokeeper's love language me thinks: you also create light cones of the moments when he's the happiest—which are usually when you're around, and you bring them to the garden of recollection to make sure you have something to remember him when the fated day comes. aventurine also keeps some of these rectangle objects in his room, and he probably gaze at the pictures when you're away collecting memories.

bonus: imagine aventurine asking you to reveal his luck for today before he went to gamble, to which you refuse, since memokeepers cannot use their powers for self-indulgent reasons—congrats, now you have earned yourself a pouty aven!

[syoddeye]

the warren, part seven - call

price x f!reader | 4k words | series page | ao3 tags: background ghoap, multi pov, animal death, mentioned oral both f! and m!receiving, manipulation a/n: new friend next chapter; had to split this into two since it was getting way too long. shout out to gemma and tats <3. mdni banner by @/cafekitsune. 🔪

Bonnie. Bunny. Rabbit. Skittish thing. Brave thing. 

Hasn’t met her face-to-face yet, but he likes her. Her scent carries. The sillage of her floral soap drifts through the air, lingering just as vividly as it does on her pillow. She reads a lot of books. Admirable. He doesn’t have the patience anymore. She must be clever.

From what he’s seen, her work isn’t half-bad. Rough around the edges but better than the shite he’d cobble together. Couldn’t pay him to pretend to care about some dead cousin or happy bride. She doesn’t know a thing about pay rates, though. Strangers robbing her blind. Makes him angry.

John orders him to sabotage the laptop. Says if he manages it, he’ll earn a spot on the boat. So, of course, it’s done. He slips in with Simon and works his magic. Doesn’t take much given the computer’s age.

He leans into it when Simon drags his nails from his scalp to his nape. He should’ve known then, when Simon called him a good boy, that he’d be sent below to check the rabbits. He sulks into the dark.

The reward for good work is always more work.

The air turns eldritch and metallic in the back of his throat the further he travels, a thick miasma prone to clinging. After all this time, he hasn’t grown accustomed. It fills his mouth with a heavy, sour tang, and swallowing doesn’t get rid of it. He should’ve stolen a pillowcase.

His nose twitches at the notes of an unfamiliar scent cutting through the fog. A faint, sickly-sweet rot, like meat left too long. The smell gradually envelops the passage.

A lantern illuminates the edges of the twin hutches. There is no movement in the shadows beyond, but that isn’t what stops him in his tracks. There is no sound. No rustling or thumps. The rabbits do not gather in their nervous, curious way to greet him.

Treading closer, his vision adjusts, and he spots the first rabbit. Unnaturally still with its limbs bent at strange angles. Milky-white eyes tinged red, blood seeping from every orifice.

Fuckin’ grand.

He fucking hates it when this happens. Always puts John in a foul mood.

Huffing loudly, he rolls his sleeves and slips on the gloves jammed into his pocket. Stomping toward the hutches, he mutters a string of curses.

The reward for good work is always more work.

~~~~

You wake with a start, your heart thrashing against your ribs. Beside you, John’s chest steadily rises and falls in stark comparison to the shudder of your own. Squinting, you latch onto his hand flat over his abdomen as a focal point, coming down from whatever nightmare you must’ve had.

Though as your breathing evens out, the vague scent of brimstone and iron tickles your nose. It drifts over the bed and disappears as quickly as the remnants of your dread, with no trace lingering behind when you sit up and take deep breaths.

You wince at the hour on your phone, and recheck the unknown number. No update.

>> F741 >> hold

> Who is this?

Cryptic, to be sure, but you’ve received a message by mistake. It’s likely a pocket text.

You return your phone to its place, and John stirs. His eyes remain shut, but he reaches for you, his voice rough with sleep.

“You alright?”

“A bad dream,” you almost laugh, because of how silly you feel. Old houses have their sounds. Odors, too, you suppose. In response to his rumblings, you let him pull you down, and trace a soothing line over his chest, hoping he won’t notice the tremor in your touch.

As you cozy in, already sweating from the furnace that he is, you cannot shake the feeling of something unseen, a shadow or a specter, hiding just out of sight. 

~~~~

Romance.

John snorts derisively at the garish covers depicting happy couples. Some far-fetched nonsense called Museum Muse and Just Sign Here. She is right. He’s not inclined to read them. However, it is reassuring to know she craves it, even if she’s wary of it—love.

She certainly fantasizes about it. She’d deny it if asked, but considering the collected evidence, that isn’t necessary. All her gasping and whining. The shame is the cherry on top, something to savor each time she smothers her noises, even when alone.

Hearing the shower across the cabin, the sound of its stream breaking against her body is enough to make his cock twitch. He’s half a mind to intrude, but after waking her up on his tongue, he reckons she needs a break. Instead, he double-checks Soap’s work and thumbs through the borrowed titles toward a bookmark, curious about her salacious stories. To see if there’s anything useful to—

His thumb catches heavy cardstock. He cracks the spine and his eyes narrow on official letterhead.

Phillip Graves.

That man is swiftly climbing his list of problems. A biting fly buzzing around the ears of the populace. He glances from the card to the bathroom, tongue swiping over his teeth. She’s proving to be quite the crafty liar, too, though it’s more from fear than intent. A wound that makes her flinch, learned from that ingrate husband of hers. That particular man’s one more bump in the road, but simpler to handle than a fed. Everyone knows what to do with rats.

His ears perk when the water shuts off. He makes an impulsive decision.

She doesn’t notice, padding from the bathroom to the bedroom in a towel, but she does when she’s dressed.

“Feelin’ better?”

The poor thing gawks, her big eyes not on him, but the novel. She fidgets. “I thought you didn’t like those sorts of stories.”

“No, sweetheart, you assumed,” He corrects, twirling the improvised bookmark in his free hand. “Don’t worry. I remember your place.”

That gets her moving. She closes the distance, hovering at his side, hands twitching and clearly caught between snatching up the book or card.

“It’s stupid to use as a bookmark, but it’s what I had after Phil gave me his card at the diner.”

“Phil?” What a peculiar familiarity. “I don’t recall him giving you a card.”

“Oh.” She falters. There it is. “That’s right, he…may have stopped by the other day.”

“May have?’ What was he after, darl?” He pats the arm of the chair for her to sit, and snakes an arm around her. His fingertips skim just under the hem of her shirt, her skin soft and smooth from bathing. Her vellus hair stands on end beneath his fingertips. He’s always found it curious that the human body knows before the brain. A narrow wire to walk, but he’s had practice.

“He…he wanted to know about those boys who came into the store. The ones who…”

“Crashed their car?” 

Fucking rats. It sets his teeth on edge. ‘Phil’ could’ve asked any number of questions. John doubts she will tell him everything. He needs to install audio as soon as possible. 

John grins. “Is he trying to claim we’re in trouble because we sold them beer?”

“He hasn’t contacted you?”

“No. That’s rather unprofessional, don’t you think? He’ll badger my lovely employee but not me?” He pauses, then hums as if he’s made yet another discovery. He rubs her hip, putting on a slightly dejected air. “Oh, I see.”

“What? What is it?”

“He came onto you, didn’t he?” He casts his focus elsewhere as if he physically cannot look at her. “You’re not seeing him too, right?”

Predictably, it pushes her buttons. “What?! No!” She angles toward him. A hand lands on his shoulder, journeying shyly to his face to cup a cheek. “No, John.”

He leans into her palm and kisses its heel. Such a lovely creature. “Sorry, sweetheart. It’s not you, it’s me.” He sighs. “It’s happened before. Two-timin’. Makes me paranoid. Nothing puffs up my chest faster than another buck sniffin’ around.” He slips his fingers under hers, minding how easy it’d be to hold on and never let go.

“Loyalty is everything to me, y’know. I may know just about everyone in these parts, but my inner circle’s small. I’ve lost a lot of folk over the years. Some ties severed by my choice, others, not so much. Fate’s been cruel, so I’m quite protective.”

John tilts his head, relishing the softness in her face. Romance.

“Sometimes, I think there’s a greater force at play. That I must’ve done something right to have found you.” He squeezes her hand. “Rather, you found me, didn’t you? Could’ve run to any corner of this earth, but you chose this slice of Eden.”

Her smile is a balm for the weary spirit, his most restless of all. 

“Maybe it’s luck,” she suggests, then adds, “Or something. I certainly feel lucky, with everything you’ve done for me…” 

Ah, this old refrain. 

He says nothing, just watches as she shifts her weight, her eyes flitting down before she slowly moves, as if testing her decision prior to committing to it. Then, to his surprise, she lowers. Kneels. It tests his restraint, every fiber of his being baying for suppliance. Her palms nervously fit over his knees.

It’s only polite to ask. “You sure?”

She reaches for his belt with a nod. “I want to.”

He forces his mouth into a shape passable for humility and studies her expression. Devotion practically radiates off her, and an eagerness to show it. That’s something the others lacked. This is a start. Initiative and promise. Love.

A contentedness spreads through him, rolling down his spine in sync with the descent of his zipper. Rich and heavy as honey, warming him with a satisfaction he’d longed to taste. 

He remembers her place. She’s learning it.

~~~~

When John leaves, you brush your teeth. You stare into the mirror, faintly disbelieving, as if your eyes belong to a stranger. Didn’t think you’d do that any time soon, but it must be growth. The months away from the desert have reshaped you, revealing a gentler line to your mouth, a brightness to your gaze, and an ease to your brow. The thought of being a little happier feels dangerous. Fragile and premature. And yet, you cannot deny the woman in your reflection. Soap’s words ring clear.

Love’s got a way of changing people.

A phantom weight presses on your tongue the longer you look, and your face grows hot. 

Still. You smile and like what you see. 

~~

Days pass, and the number never texts back. John doesn’t mention Phil again.

The peace is an uneasy one, but you’ll take it.

There’s a lull at the store after the holiday, a return to the usual pace. John’s business takes him around the area, leaving you to staff the counter for a few afternoons. However, you suspect Soap’s loitering outside is no coincidence. He doesn’t bother you, but you wish he would. He was friendly enough at the boat before Simon’s interruption.

Lover’s quarrel, John had said, but Simon’s face suggested otherwise.

You can’t help the twinge in your chest, a trip cord wrapped around your heart. Though Soap admitted he was scared of Simon, he didn’t seem frightened. You grapple with the urge to reach out, the impulse caught in your throat like a stone, weighty with your own memories.

When you finally work up the nerve to ask if he wants to chat while you close, Simon’s with him, a helmet tucked under his arm. 

Through the window, you watch the men, Soap’s face aglow with excitement, swaying foot to foot. You don’t interrupt, familiar with the possible consequences. You decide to wait and ask Soap to walk you instead.

Of course, you’re not so lucky. 

“I’ll take you. Johnny’ll wait for Price.” Simon thrusts a spare helmet into your hands the moment you step outside.

There’s no discussion or debate. Simon watches you shove the helmet over your head with a look of rancor, a harsh set to his jaw, then swings a thick leg over the ATV. He doesn’t help as you climb on, slotting awkwardly behind him. You try to leave space, but he reaches back, curls a hand under your knee, and hauls half of your body forward. Tilting nearly off-balance, you grab his waist, swiftly bracketing your other leg to his.

“Be good, Johnny.” He barks as the ATV roars to life between your legs.

Your hands slide around him as he backs up, burying into his shirt to feel a slab of muscle. A short, surprised cry bursts out when he abruptly accelerates, cutting off a car in the road as he peels out. You clutch tighter as the ATV jerks around the bend and forward, pulse revving alongside the machine as Simon throws it against the incline.

The ride itself is, thankfully, brief. The cats scatter as Simon veers sharply and sends a spray of gravel flying as he lurches to a stop. You clamber off, legs unsteady, and thank him as evenly as possible.

Simon does not immediately take the helmet from your outstretched hand. He stares with his mitts wrapped tight around the handlebars. Hard to believe hands the size of spades are dexterous enough for a trade like taxidermy. When he finally takes it, you flee with a shaky gait.

“Be good, rabbit.”

Laughter follows you to the door.

~~

Night presses in on the cabin. You tuck into the armchair with your book, grimacing at the business card. Such a stupid, stupid mistake, letting John find it. How close you’d been to spilling. Disappointing John worried you, but crossing Phil terrified you. His cryptic manner of speaking, all his dancing around what he meant. It didn’t inspire trust, nor did his badge. At least he’d gone silent. Not a word since his visit.

The agent lurks in your subconscious. You have some notion of how investigations work. If he’s run your name and if he’s discovered anything, wouldn’t he have dragged you back by now? Could he do that? Would he?

Eventually, you concede. Your mind keeps drifting and catching on everything else you’ve tried to avoid thinking about. You toss the book onto the coffee table with a huff and rise to prepare for–

The library’s label, clean and laminated, sticks out on the spine. The letters 'P', trailed by a line of digits.

Realization as cold as lakewater washes over you. 

>> F741 >> hold

It’s a call number. A book. 

~~

You reach for the phone as soon as the hour turns reasonable. Dialing Nikolai with one hand, you rub your eyes with the other, feeling hollowed out. You didn’t close your eyes all night.

To your relief, he answers. A jarring clang accompanies his greeting, underlaid by a rhythmic crank and humming.

“Nikolai, sorry if I’m interrupting, but I was wondering if there are any updates?”

“Ah, rabbit, darling, a moment.” It’s clear he’s set the phone down by the sound of footsteps and a distant grunt. His humming evolves into whistling, culminating in a faint rumble in Russian. What follows, erupting through the receiver, is a cacophony of mechanical sounds, jagged and violent. Something thrums with a relentless chorus of metal grinding against metal, punctuated by deep, resonant clunks and crunches that make you pull the phone from your ear and hold it at arms-length. 

It’s a minute before Nikolai returns, and the terrible noise grows quieter. He cuts you off before you get a word in, providing a non-answer about your car and a reminder about the cost of towing it to the nearest city. It is sorely beyond your budget.

“So impatient. Where are you trying to scurry off to? Do you need transport?”

“No, it’s nothing urgent,” Your jaw aches from clenching it. “I simply don’t want to bother John.”

“Why not? He’s your man.” He almost sounds annoyed. “Listen, rabbit, I’ll do you a favor and tell John you need a ride.”

You freeze. “Oh, no, you don’t need to do that–”

The line goes dead with an unceremonious click.

~~

“Why didn’t you come to me first?”

The truck bounces along the road, the warm air through the window merging pine and with John’s tobacco. You rest against the frame, watching the forest.

“I was going to.” A white lie or two can’t hurt. “I’m just anxious about my car. It’s been weeks, and Nikolai keeps dodging my questions. I’m close to threatening to tow it if he can’t fix it by the end of the month.”

John snorts. “Good luck. He does not like ultimatums, speaking from experience.”

You glance at John out of the corner of your eye. Lying to him stings, especially after he poured his heart out, but you know he’ll think you foolish about the mystery text.

“Did you…know there’s a closed mine shaft behind Nikolai’s shop? When we were there, I followed one of his shop cats and saw it.”

John’s lip quirks around his cigar. “You follow every cat you meet?”

“They haven’t led me astray yet.”

“S’pose so. And I do know about the mine shaft. The area’s full of them. Folk used to say Mount Grouse is hollow from the silver rush.”

The smile slips from your face. Silver. The West’s full of it—silver and promises. Dusty whispers in your ear from hundreds of miles away, from years ago. You pinch the bridge of your nose and breathe.

“You alright?”

“Think I’m getting a headache.”

Guilt flares when John tosses his cigar, turns the radio off, and slides a comforting hand over your thigh. Why his affection is offered to you, of all people, a liar, you don’t know. Certainly don’t deserve it.

For the remainder of the drive to the library, John keeps his hand on you and his mouth shut. Only letting go to park the truck.

“I’ll let you get your books. Gonna return a missed call.” John leans against the tailgate and nods at the entrance, dismissing you with a playful pat to your ass.

Your face burns all the way to the doors.

“Back so soon?” The librarian asks with a big smile. “Already finished with your selection?”

“I’m finished with two, yes, but I was actually wondering if…”

“If I have the book on hold courtesy of Mr. Graves? I was wondering when you’d come in for it.”

>> F741 >> hold

Phil. Your stomach falls like a torn, wet paper bag. “Yes.”

You absolutely cannot tell John about the text—or this—now.

“Come with me.” She crooks a finger over her shoulder as she meanders toward the circulation desk. “He picked a good one. Locally authored. However, although we classify it as nonfiction and shelve it with our regional materials, it’s an anthology of transcribed oral histories and diaries from mining camps, so take it with a grain of salt.”

Your vision swims as you process. “Really? That’s good to know.”

Jeanne retrieves the hold and it is thinner than you expected, wrapped in a worn, brown cloth cover. Veins of Blood and Metal: Mining the Silver Valley. Grim yet hokey, just like the man who picked it.

“Would you like a reading room?”

Your eyes snap up. “Can’t I check it out?”

“Oh, no. We don’t check materials from the local collection out.”

“Could you make an exception? I’m in Grouse Bay and I don’t have a car of my own, and I hate to be a burden on my…” Several terms collide and tangle like a rat king. “To my boyfriend. I promise I’ll take care of it. I don’t dog ear or annotate. I won’t even keep a glass of water near—”

Jeanne’s face softens. She pats your hand, bracelets jingling. “Sweetie, it’s alright. I’ll bend the policy. You seem like a good kid.”

If only you knew.

“Oh, thank you.”

“Just promise to take good care of it. It’s already a little damaged.”

“Yes, ma’am. And, uh, do you happen to know why Mr. Graves left this for me? Did he say anything?”

She puckers her lips in thought. “I believe he said that you would find it ‘enlightening’.”

Your fingers itch. You’re tempted to call, tired of his enigmatic nonsense, just to demand why he bothered masking his number if only to leave his name. If this is his way of operating, it eases your worry over his capabilities as a fed.

“Right. Thanks, Jeanne.” 

You stow the book from Phil in your bag and meet John outside as he hangs up. 

“Ready to go, darl?” He asks with a strained smile.

“Yes. Everything alright?”

“Right as rain. Need to make a couple of stops while we’re in town.”

Thankfully, he doesn’t ask about the library, but he’s unusually reticent again. After you stop at the depot and an outdoor supply shop, it’s back to Grouse. He grips the wheel tight and gazes at the road with a flat, distant focus. It’s impossible that he knows, but doubt sticks between your ribs.

Dust seeps in.

You remember how it felt with Dusty, that weight in the air, thick with the silence he would settle into for days. You’d wait, always, for some change in his facial expressions and the tension in his body, but somehow, it never felt like you were meant to know. It afflicted you with the need to both placate and pry.

You lick your lips and look at him through the rearview. “Are you sure everything is okay?”

“Nothing for you to worry about. Just a minor problem.”

The question rises in your throat, uninvited, like it’s pushing its way out despite the warning signs flashing. Curiosity runs headlong into self-preservation and makes it impossible not to ask. It’s not as if it’s outside the realm of possibility.

Your hand finds his knee in a bid to soften it.

“Is it at all related to those boys? To…Phil?” 

His attention flickers to meet yours in the mirror, a slight furrow to his brow. You wonder if he’s thinking the same thing you are—whether asking was a mistake. A millisecond later, he huffs and grins, shaking his head.

“Still worried about him? Oh, sweetheart. Didn’t I tell you? Must’ve forgotten, what with all the running around I’ve had to do.”

“Tell me what?”

“I had my own tête-à-tête with Mr. Graves. Answered his questions and sent him on his way. Said he’s going to Kellogg to continue his little investigation.”

“Oh, that’s a relief,” You swiftly assure, despite that revelation piling atop all your questions. “I was worried. He seemed dogged.”

A hand drops from the wheel to cover yours. “Not our problem anymore.”

Despite the strange book in the bag between your feet, despite Phil Graves’s odd behavior—you settle into a calm, a boat gliding into port to avoid a storm. John’s happy. You’re happy. The book can wait, especially after he sweet talks you into staying the night at his place for the first time. 

On the drive, you talk about nothing, mostly. The trees, the towns, how the road is barely wide enough for two cars. John teases you for holding onto the handle at every bend, and you laugh in your defense. There’s a gentle warmth, easy and growing familiar. It’s more organic, more natural, than what you had before.

You’re still giggling when he pulls around back. You hop out of the truck and pause, spotting a large patch of blackened, dead grass. The gears turn in your head until they click into place. 

“Where’s the hutch? The rabbits?”

You nearly walk into him with his abrupt stop. John’s face twists, and he sighs and rakes a hand down his face, then coaxes you into his arms. “This week put me through the wringer. Yet another thing I neglected to mention…It’s terrible, sweetheart. A rabbit got sick. It was infectious. Had to do the humane thing. Then I burned the carcasses and the hutch to avoid it spreadin’ to anything else.”

John’s grip shifts to your waist to lead you inside, but your gaze returns to the charred earth, and you stumble at sulfur wafting past your nose, brief and sudden but unmistakable. It plucks at your memory like a harp playing a discordant note.

His lips find your temple, his voice in your ear. “I’ll have fresh does, soon.” 

[hatsukeii]

think fast / childhood bsf!tsukshima kei x reader

genre(s): childhood best friends x soulmates???? past lives and normal people by sally rooney coded im a sally rooney MEATRIDER!! angsty, gut-wrenching longing, bittersweet / hopeful ending so it's not all bad!! nostalgia is going to carry this fic so hard it's going to be a fun, fun time...

warning(s): eventual smut!! all characters are aged up to 21!!MDNI (at least up until the observatory)!! unprotected sex here remember to wrap it before you tap it!! (sorry kids), female leaning anatomy because smut but pronouns are gn all throughout and honestly you could read it as gn anyways:)) dead dad warning (my dad is NOT dead this was just convenient to kick off the thing), i fw the timeline of the world??? pretend flip phones were still in use in like 2012 or something idk

wc: ~6.3k

tldr; time has a way of reminding Kei of its presence, and its escape. you are the reminder it has been sending to him for six years.

Fate: A power believed to cause and control all events, so that one cannot change or determine the way things will happen. 

It is a sunny afternoon when you step foot into Sendai, Miyagi. A beautiful day of golden warmth beaming onto petals of pink, red, and white, wrapped in coffee-stained newspapers and tied together with a spool of twine. The bouquet lies on browning grass, a contemptible reminder of the time that has passed since your last appearance here, six years ago, and you crouch down to the ground. Now face to face with the engraving of a full name on a slab of polished granite, you hesitate. Your father lived in a language that you can no longer speak, died in a country you no longer call your home. When you whisper blessings and apologies at the gravestone in broken Japanese and slurred syllables, you sound like a stranger. A stranger who sits in a graveyard at noon, with nothing but a bouquet from the nearby florist in hand, and a promise, stuttered out in half-decent Japanese, to return again the next year. 

When a second bouquet falls to the ground behind you, and you turn around, Tsukishima Kei thinks this is what English speakers like you would call fate. He’s a little taller now, and bulkier too, and you have to crane your head higher than you remember just to meet his eyes. You don’t recognise the glasses he dons anymore, the black rectangles from his teenage years swapped out for rounded squares and silver frames. But he has a towel in his hand, a towel that has his initials poorly stitched into the corner with red string. You wonder if the matching one he made you, eleven years ago, is collecting dust somewhere in your dormitory, halfway across the world. 

“You’re back.”

“It’s been a while, Kei.”

You can no longer differentiate Japanese syllables clearly, and your statement jumbles into nonsense in your head. Kei hears the English woven into your accent in the way you roll your tongue like foreigners do, and in the odd intonations that don’t exist in your mother tongue. You don’t even remember your father’s dislike for white flowers. London has truly done a number on you. 

“Why? Why now?”

You bite your nail, a persistent habit that Kei frowns at. He picks up his flowers, and steps towards the gravestone, just close enough for your knee to brush against him for a moment. The bouquet in his hand is wrapped in plastic and filled with red and pink, the white from your own sticking out like a sore thumb when he places his flowers gently on the grass beside yours. He tosses the towel in his hand, opening it up against his palm, and you take it from him. If you cannot get the language right, or the flowers, this is the least you can do. Cobwebs stick to the fabric as you sweep at the granite slab, watching soot and dust fall to the grass. The curves and dips of the gravestone are familiar once again, and you dig the towel into every nook and cranny. You feel Kei’s body shift, before his knee is touching yours and his face is finally level with your peripheral vision. He glances at you, waiting. His knees bounce in anticipation. 

“Never had the chance, college has been a lot.”

Your phone rings as you finish cleaning. The ringtone is familiar, unchanged from when you used to have a flip phone, in fact. Kei hums along to the jingle for the four seconds that the call is left unanswered, before it cuts off into a flurry of English. He catches something about research, and a thesis, his shabby English unable to fill in any more than that. He’s never known you were interested in research, let alone what it is that you’re researching. All he’s known is your aspiration of becoming a librarian when you were six, and his promise to borrow books from you for the museum that he swore he would one day work at. Now, he works at the museum, sorts antique scripts and yellowed books into cabinets and display shelves. He does not borrow books from you. Now, you talk, but nothing makes sense to him.

You end the call, mumbling foreign curses as you shove your phone back into your pocket. Clicking your tongue, you turn to Kei, who stares at the flowers on the ground. He pushes his glasses up when they slide down his nose, and you resist the familiar urge to nag him about buying the right frames for his face. 

“Yeah, college has been mostly phone calls like that.”

He nods, a half-hearted chuckle huffing from his nose. He’s forgotten what it’s like to sit at a graveyard with somebody else, the annual reminder of a lonely death replaced by another this year as you dust off his towel, and drop it onto his thigh. He swipes it from his leg, folding it into quarters and sliding it into his pocket. 

“So you choose to come now, without a word? Not even a heads up? Six years after leaving?” Kei’s voice rises at each question, the same way it did six years ago when you broke the news of leaving Japan to him. This hurts him to ask, that much you can still recognise.

“I would have come sooner if I had the chance. I’ve missed everyone so much.”

You pluck a petal from a white flower in your bouquet, then another, until all that remains is the naked bulb, and scatter them onto the ground beside you. Perhaps the next person that’s been buried under six feet of dirt used to have a liking for them. Kei remains unmoving, throat bobbing as he swallows thickly. His knee stops bouncing. 

“How long will you stay for?”

“Today, then Friday and Saturday too. Flight back is Sunday night.”

Six years of waiting, and this is what it amounts to. A weekend and a bit. Despite that, Kei still thinks this must be fate, in all the languages that it exists in. Six years of life, and love, and hurt, all to be condensed into four measly days. Yet as Kei pushes himself off the ground, dusting his trousers off, he still thinks that this unlikely, yet conveniently timed visit must be the answer to his pleas for your return. That this must be some heavenly reward, good karma for visiting your father’s grave annually on your behalf. You watch him turn to leave, and he calls out to you as he walks away from your father’s grave. 

“Everyone’s at Hinata’s old place tomorrow. You should come by if you can.”

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Change: to replace (something) with something else, especially something of the same kind that is newer or better; substitute one thing for (another).

All it takes is one coincidental exchange of panicked glances at the first throw up of the night for you and Kei to leave together. Hinata slurs a drunken farewell, tries to embrace you as you slip your sneakers on at the door, and you make a note to yourself that you really do not miss most of the people here, spare for the volleyball team. Kei waits at the door, holding it open for when you finally shake Hinata off of your back, and step through. The night is chilly, the warmth in your skin from the indoor heating system emanating into the midnight air. You kick rocks along the pavement as you walk, scattering pigeons that remain awake and active at this time, and Kei smiles at your antics. You still hate birds, and you still remember the trick he taught you when you were nine for chasing away pigeons that flocked around you for food. 

“Who are you staying with?”

“My mom’s.”

The road leads the two of you to a high school. Kei has not come back to Karasuno since graduation. You squint in the dark, scanning the school, and you don’t recognise the new building that stands in place of the old auditorium. He watches you crouch at the plaque next to the front gate, tracing the letters engraved on it with the pad of your thumb. Some part of him blames Karasuno for being a bad place to you, the other parts blame himself for not being good enough to outweigh it.

“It’s changed.”

“Everything has.”

You rattle the locked entrance, the chain and padlock hitting against cold metal. It won’t open, so you look up through the gap of the gate. Six years ago, on that rooftop, was where you stood over a cold lunch box and emptied convenience store drinks, back against the wire fence, saying to Kei, I’m leaving tomorrow. On that day, you had packed yakisoba for his lunch, and nothing for yourself. He could barely respond to your announcement, only dropping his chopsticks and asking you, why? You told him something along the lines of being an expat, and a better school for what you wanted, all in the fluent Japanese you once spoke. Nothing made sense to him anyways. 

When you turn back to him, his hands are in the pockets of his jacket, and his nose is red from the cold air. You stand beside him, staring aimlessly at Karasuno from outside its barriers. 

“Do you still play volleyball?” 

“Yeah, Sendai Frogs.”

You hum, and then wonder why you only asked tonight, and why you’re surprised. He shrugs, clouds of white puffing from his mouth when he breathes out. He tries to blow a wisp of hair away from his face, and you suddenly realise that his hair has grown too, along with his height. It fails, and he tries again. You reach up to swipe at his bangs, before running your fingers backwards through his hair. It parts itself as you lift your hands from his head, and falls into place neatly. A cold breeze whizzes by, and undoes your work, sending strands of gold into his face once again. You snicker a little.

“You know, you could ask my mom to trim it for you like she used to.”

“Nah, I prefer this.”

It isn’t until you turn to look at him properly that you see how much time has passed. He likes his hair longer these days, the choppy hairdo of his teenage years now nothing but an old preference, and you wonder if he is still a loyal customer of your mother’s salon. When he pulls his hands from his pockets and blows hot air into them, calluses line the bases of his fingers, the blisters of his high school years hardened by trials of time and effort. There are bags under his eyes, eyes that are now a little rounder, and softer too. When he speaks, monotone and tired, you realise his snarkiness has dissipated into general frustration. You stare until his eyes dart to you, and turn away quickly, ashamed. Leaving Karasuno has taken your hand and led you to a purpose that you never knew you were capable of. You wonder what the hell it has done to Tsukishima Kei. 

“It looks good.”

He breathes in sharply, then exhales with a huff, shoulders relaxing as he stuffs his hands back into his pockets. You suddenly realise that your fingers have gone numb from the cold of the night, fingertips tingling like a million frost-bitten needles poking into your skin. You also stuff your hands into your pockets, rubbing your fingers against each other to generate some heat. Then, Kei’s looping his arm around yours, and pulling you away from Karasuno High School. He keeps on his straight path, and you stumble along behind his leaping steps. When you round a corner, the night breeze grows into something less imperturbable, and more vicious, pushing the two of you forward from behind in slashes of cold. The sea is near. 

“Is this the beach we used to go to?”

“You still remember it.”

He drags you down a flight of stairs to Fukanuma Beach, and the misty sea air rushes to your head. When he leads you to the shoreline, you hesitate. The sea has been off limits since the two of you were five, a regulation put in place in remembrance of the Great Sendai Earthquake. An earthquake that saw Kei and yourself hunched beneath the same table in the middle of class, huddled next to each other as you cried for your parents. Now, in your final years of college, as the water slips beneath the soles of his shoes, pushing and receding in layers of aqua and bubbles of white, it seems that time has slipped by just as easily too. Time, that saw the fading of the earthquake’s devastation, despite the loss of thousands, including your father. Time, that frayed the string connecting yourself to Kei as you moved through life halfway across the world from Japan. Time, that passes through you like sand spilling between your fingers on a beach you once thought you knew, but has changed like the unprohibited water that seems to push further up into the shore at each tidal wave. 

“They lifted the ban?”

“A few months ago, yeah.”

You step into the next wave that fizzles into foam, and the water crashes into the toe of your shoes. Crouching, you push mounds of wet sand into a cylinder, flattening the top and pushing divots in equal intervals. Kei joins, moulding shorter ones beside your own and drawing windows into the side. You finish, and he stands, smiling at the creation. You cover the top, afraid he will stomp on it, a trademark of Kei’s whenever you built sandcastles with him in childhood. Instead, he laughs, and walks further into the water. When you get up to join him, the hems of his trousers are soaked, shoes also covered in a sheen of wetness. You hop over the castle, and the next wave that comes sends its foundations crumbling back into the sea. 

“We used to do that. You’d destroy it every time.”

Kei chuckles, and looks back to see the half destroyed castle. Clicking his tongue, he returns to the rubble, and you watch his hands push mounds of sand towards what is left standing. 

“I’d always build a better one for you afterwards though.”

He dusts his hands off when he finishes, and the waves fizzle out just before they hit the two-tiered sandcastle. You sniff, holding your arms close to your chest. When Kei looks up, he feels like the summer of being seven years old again, smiling at you with his missing front tooth when you sniffle and laugh at the improved castle he’s put together for you. Now, it is winter. He only grins with the corners of his lips. You only sniff because it’s cold. 

“Kei.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s really been a while. How have you been?”

He steps over the castle towards you, careful not to break it. Your hair blows in your face from the beach breeze and your eyes squint from the sand that flies into the air, and Kei takes it all in when you’re face to face with him. When he opens his mouth, some selfish part of him thinks about casting his words into shackles of regret, so heavy that they weigh you down and keep you in Japan, in Sendai, on this beach, somewhere close to him.

“Do you want to stay the night? Like you used to?”

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Nostalgia: A sentimental longing, or wistful yearning for a return to or of some past period or irrecoverable condition.

Kei does not take you to his family house. He leads you up stairs that make no sense, and hallways that stretch on forever, until you finally reach his flat. He wipes his shoes on the doormat, throws his keys into a glass bowl upon entry, and hangs his jacket on a hook mounted to his front door instead of the coathanger that used to stand beside it. You look around, searching for the shells you once collected in a jar for his tenth birthday. When your eyes land on a jar filled with conches and cowries, you let go of a breath you were unaware of holding. They sit on the top of his bookshelf, above textbooks and file organisers. A knot forms in your throat at the realisation that the jar sits alone in its compartment, with nothing beside it. You’ve done the same to the jazz vinyl Kei gifted you at the airport before your departure. You don’t realise that he’s disappeared somewhere as you stare at the shells, until a shirt and a pair of shorts are thrown into your chest. He stands at the entrance to a hallway, donning sweatpants and an old hoodie, one that’s clearly a size too small. The pocket is lousily sewn on, a result of a mishap that occurred when you had borrowed it once. He doesn’t know that you spent the night learning to sew fabric just to fix it.

“Change. It’ll be more comfortable.”

You scurry through the hallway to his bathroom, pulling the shirt and shorts on hastily, before balling up your clothes and returning to the living room. Kei sits at his couch, now bound in leather instead of fabric, and clicks at the television. You join beside him, legs splaying across his own subconsciously. He doesn’t move. He stops at a movie, one you’ve seen hundreds of times before at his old house. It drones on in the background as he watches in silence, his arms now draped over your knees. The first time he watched this movie, it was in his old home, cross-legged on the carpeted ground with you on the couch behind him. Your hands used to press into his shoulders from above, shake them whenever your favourite scenes came on, squeeze them when you laughed until tears rolled from your eyes. Now that his new flat lacks a rug, he’s willing to settle with your legs on his own. Flashing lights illuminate the dark room in sequences that you can still recall perfectly from memory. He watches the movie. You watch him. 

“Have you been doing good, Kei?”

Turning to you, he pushes his glasses up into his hair, leaning further back. You shuffle closer, legs bending as your shoulder digs into the leather couch. A strand of blond falls into his face, and you lift his glasses to tuck it back, before smoothing your hands over his mess of hair, combing and pushing with your fingertips.The words from the television melt into gibberish when he hums in satisfaction, what is unspoken between you two is more glaring than ever.

“I’ve been okay.” He cuts off, then finds himself thinking of what to tell you first, amongst the recollections of life that rush through his head. “Started working at the museum a couple years ago.” He wishes that you still remember the building, where the marble floors squeaked beneath your slippers, and glass panels lined the walls, hiding away treasures and artefacts that have withstood centuries, maybe even eons of erosion and weathering.

You nod, mind filling with the many museum visits you had with him there. He’s always liked the dinosaurs more than the shells. When you breathe out a chuckle, he knows you’re recalling the time he almost pissed himself at a life-sized, moving tyrannosaurus rex model. 

“What about you?”

“Research. I’ve been doing research about…” you sign in the air, searching for the Japanese words that have slipped from your mind. Surrendering, you whip your phone out, searching for a translation. 

“Archaeology?”

“Yeah, that. No more librarian dreams for me. More dinosaurs, though.”

A smile finds its way onto Kei’s face, one that softens his cheeks and flattens his eyes into crescents. He wonders if amongst the silver plaques and digital displays, your work is engraved in there somewhere. If each time he explains something to some bright-eyed child, who scuttles around the museum as you and him once did, he is unknowingly speaking in your language, translated until he can decipher the thoughts that run through your mind in your research, your memories, your dreams too. 

“Maybe it’s in the museum somewhere. I’m willing to bet.”

“I hope it is.”

Your conversation fizzles back into silence, and the characters on the television do too. The two on the screen sit in a field, mere inches apart. The two of you look at each other, your knees now leaned into Kei’s chest and one of his arms draped along the back of the couch. When he pulls his glasses back to his eyes, and studies you all over again, it hits him that you really haven’t changed all that much, even after your six year separation. Six years older, with the exhaustion of a functioning adult, but you still gnaw on your cheeks, and tilt your head as you ask questions. Six years apart, and you are still you, who taught him to build sandcastles, and introduced him to his favourite movie, and fixed his hair whenever it stuck up in stubborn peaks of gold. When you let your eyes close, and drop your head onto his shoulder, you wait for lost time to tick backwards, until you’re on the rooftop with him once again. In this version of time, you blush when you tell him that you’ve chosen to stay in Japan instead. Pushing your head further into the crook of his neck, Kei’s chin reaches over to rest on the top of your crown. The credits of the movie roll in the background, and you mumble into the skin of his pulse. 

“Can you take me there? I’ve missed it.” Your words send vibrations down his spine, sending his head into a frenzy as he pushes his hands against the couch harder. 

“The museum?” It will be closed for the weekend, but Kei nods anyway. He’s sure he can find his way in through the back. Maybe he’ll take you to the fossils again, let you run your fingers along smooth amber and stone engravings. Perhaps he could show you the new exhibitions, ones that you won’t miss this time, as you have for the past six years. For now, he thinks he will let you sleep on his shoulder, listen to your soft snores, tremble at every hot breath that fans onto his neck. 

The credits roll to the end, and come to a stop. Kei removes his arm from the couch to grab the remote from his coffee table. He rewinds the movie to the start.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

思慕 [しぼ, shibo]: yearning; deep longing, especially when accompanied by tenderness or sadness.

On the final night of your stay, you learn that Kei still giggles when he breaks rules, as he drags you through the back entrance of the closed museum. He maneuvers through hallways of antique paintings and repurposed junk, slips into dark stairwells illuminated by the flashlight of his phone, traps your wrist between his fingers and chuckles to himself, shaking his head as he takes you higher, and higher, and higher. You’ve lost count of how many flights of stairs have gone by when he taps his keycard against a sensor by a backdoor, and pushes it open. The museum observatory, once a mess of bamboo scaffolding and green covers, now allows silver moonlight through its glass dome, boasting billions of iridescent stars nestled in a blanket of hazy midnight. A decade of your anticipation has resulted in a circular space, hundreds of plush recliners lining the circumference of the room, and you wonder how many eyes have watched the stars from those seats before you ever had the chance to. When Kei leads you further into the observatory, you step foot onto the north star plastered on the ground in the centre of the room, where nothing but a telescope remains in a ten-foot radius. He takes a spot on the ground, back pressed against the cushioned edge of a seat.

“I figured this is the best spot. Better than any of the seats, actually.” He plants his feet on the ground, bending his knees and spreading them just wide enough for you to sit in between. You cross your legs, wagging them up and down as your hands hold your shins, and he lowers his legs, stretching them out in front of him. Leaning back, your spine hits a spot between his ribs, the same way it did when you were thirteen, and fourteen, and fifteen, staring at stars from the grass of his backyard. You pity the visitors that have yet to discover the simplicity of stargazing from the ground, hands pushed into the ground for stability, dirt and moisture seeping into the fabric of clothing. Pushing further into him, his breathing is heavy against your back, chest rising in rhythmic ups and downs. For what feels like hours, you sit in silence, eyes trained on your fingers that pick and fiddle. At the realisation that you haven’t looked at the stars in years, something bubbles in your stomach, pervasive, relentless. When you finally loll your head backwards to fall on his shoulder, and the tip of Kei’s nose grazes your cheekbone, you wonder how long he has not looked at the stars for as well. 

“Why’d you stop calling?” His sudden question sends a haze rushing into your head.

You swallow thickly. If the passage of time were a sin, you’d burden it with all your explanations. Telling him that now would seem like some lousy excuse.

“It stopped going to your line a year after I left.” You pause, searching for the right words to use amidst the sea of Japanese and English that you must now sort out. “I only stopped trying after another month, the voicemail just said your number was no longer in use.” 

Kei wishes he could dig his fingers into his chest and rip his heart out. If only he hadn’t stupidly broken his phone that night, five years ago during volleyball practice. If only he had checked his pockets before entering the court, just as he has done hundreds of times before. If only he had this, if only he had that, he might just torment himself for the rest of his life. His breath hitches, shoulder freezing rigid. Time does not differentiate between the knowing and oblivious. It slips and leaks beneath the noses of all that it encompasses, and it is but the cautious few that know to grab it, and join in on its journey. He knows now that he is not one of them, not after he’s cursed at the passage of time over and over and over for his own blunder.

“I broke my phone in a game. Got a new one so the number changed as well, fuck me.”

You laugh dryly into the empty observatory. The occasional twinkling of the stars above do nothing to make his explanation any easier. You think you’ll blame it all on doomed fate that you’ve spent five years trying to find somebody that felt the same as Kei did, to no avail. Blame it on cursed luck that you’ve clawed and grabbed at anything familiar enough, archaeology, jazz vinyls, old DVDs of the movie shared between two, all to remind yourself that he too, was once within grasp. You say nothing, because you don’t see a reason to. Instead, you push your head into his neck, drown in the scent of his cologne, ease yourself into his now grown body. You don’t see him wipe a hand across his mouth, then rub his eyes with pinched fingers. 

When Kei decides to speak again, it is what feels like another hour later. He’s readjusted his posture about fifty times by now, arms removed from the ground and draped over your shoulders. The sensation of your hair against his skin is suddenly more prominent than ever when your hands find his own, holding them closer to yourself.

“If I didn’t find you at the grave, would you have looked for me?” His question is heavy, weighing his chest down as the words leave his throat in a hesitant cluster. You turn to look at him, and your eyes linger on his own when you squeeze his hands once, twice, then a third time. 

“I’ve been looking for five years. Nobody else could take me home.” Your heart rushes to your mouth at your confession, and the bob of Kei’s throat does not go unnoticed. One of his hands comes up to hold your shoulder, pushing it towards himself until your body twists, rubbing against his. You let go of him, pressing your fingers into the ground between his legs instead, and he breathes out shakily, his windpipe suddenly cleared of its uncertainty.

“You’re leaving tomorrow.”

“Yes, I am.”

His fingers slide down to grab your wrist, before going numb completely. His unoccupied hand peels itself from the floor and settles on the side of your waist. Your mouth goes dry when Kei breathes, hot and heavy, his eyes travelling to every inch of you. A bout of heat rushes from his chest to his head, and his legs, and his arms too. The air between the two of you is thick, and it sends your head into a feverish blur. The ground collapses beneath your knees as they shift to press into the floor, and you come face to face with Tsukishima Kei, who prefers his hair parted in bangs on the sides of his face, and wears silver frames instead of black ones. Tsukishima Kei, who has been visiting your father’s grave on your behalf for six years, and still plays volleyball even in his adulthood. Tsukishima Kei, whose eyes are finally finished with their ventures across your figure, that is pushed up against him on the ground of an observatory, and is learning whatever he can about you when his fingers tighten around your wrists and he kisses you without a warning. 

Once, at the young, innocent age of seven, Tsukishima Kei kissed you in this museum. You had run a little too fast, stepped on your loose laces and fallen onto the ground face first. You sulked at a bench facing some random painting of melting clocks, red dots scattered across a purple patch right beneath your eye. When he kneeled in front of you to grab your face, and pressed his lips onto the bruise for a fraction of a second, he must have kissed the pain away, mending the leaking capillaries beneath your skin as he separated from your cheeks with a pop. Now, he pulls against your wrists to push himself closer, traps you in the embrace of his legs around the back of your thighs, wheezes and stutters against your lips at the lack of oxygen in his lungs. His head is running in circles instead of straight paths, and everything is spinning. When your hands reach to grab at his shirt, and palm at his chest, he pulls away only to rip his glasses off and toss them to the ground. Beneath the glow of the moon from above, everything but your flushed cheeks and swollen lips is a blur. You take half a breath in, before it is interrupted by Kei’s palms pulling you in by the sides of your neck, and his mouth on yours again. At seven years old, he ripped bruising pain away from your face with a kiss. At twenty-one, he forces his pain, and grief, and regret rushing into your heart by pushing himself against you, fingers tangling themselves into your hair as he kisses you, desperate, almost distressed. Every tug at your lips is a confession left unspoken, every time Kei opens his mouth apologies spill out into you in choked groans and sighs. At the sensation of his hand leaving your neck, your arm searches for him aimlessly, before he’s palming at you through your pants. He swallows your sudden gasp, and your fingers grip his wrist until your knuckles go white. 

“Did you ever like me?” You can do nothing but choke out a question against his lips, one you’ve pondered about, day in and day out, since your departure from Japan.

By the way that Kei nods frantically, you’re certain that this is what six years of separation has amounted to. 

Sparing no time, your fingers tug at the hem of his boxers, pulling them down just enough to release himself from the fabric constraints. He does the same, hands roaming until they find the waistband of your pants to push them down, fingers tugging your underwear to the side with a flick. He grabs you by the waist beneath your shirt, yanks your body towards him until something feels right and he can’t help but let out a trembling sigh into your shoulder. And when you finally begin to sink yourself onto him, agonisingly slow, you wish that you had never left Japan in the first place. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, and you wish that you could spend the rest of your life in this observatory with Kei, your hands wrapped around the back of his sweat-slicked neck. 

When he pulls you down to push further, more pervasively, you fall into him, head hanging over his shoulder and arms squeezing around his neck. His inexperienced hands rock you back and forth against his hips, pulling a flurry of gasps and moans from your throat. He lets himself learn how you taste when his teeth tug at the hem of your shirt, pulling it down to expose your bare shoulder. His lips latch onto your collarbone, biting and sucking a trail of red marks up to the side of your neck. You shudder at his advances, and he studies the way your walls flutter around him, the erratic pulses that draw stars around his head, how your nails dig into his shoulders, and send his mind into a senseless orbit. 

When he pushes and pulls at you a little harder, you whimper his name into his ear, reduced to nothing but a babbling mess that nibbles at his neck and kisses up his jaw feverishly. First friend, first kiss, first love. The notion that this is another first that Tsukishima Kei has brought upon you sends your mind spiralling. He should have been your first prom date, first roommate, first dance too. If only you hadn’t left him first. You push your head off his shoulder, hands moving to hold his face instead. A wave of pleasure washes over you when his palm presses against your stomach, and you hang your head low again, a shaky sigh released from your chest. 

When you look up, there are tears in Kei’s eyes. He rolls his head back onto the plush seat behind him, hands lifting you off himself fully, just to push you back onto him again. You collapse into his body, palms pressing against his heaving chest. 

“I- fuck! I fucking loved you! I still do!” He speaks it into the glass ceiling as one hand reaches for his face. He wipes his palm across his eyes, only for more tears to form. They are uncontrollable, relentless as he turns his head away from you. He isn’t sure how he will live again tomorrow, not when he’s finally come to a reckoning with the pang in his chest at every thought of you. He thinks he could die the second you step onto that flight back to London, ripped away from him once again. The reality that he cannot stay buried inside you for any longer than the next couple of minutes haunts him to no end, the idea of being separated from you a second time unbearable to even imagine. When he turns back to see you, head on his chest and fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt, he decides that reality can wait until he’s finished with you. 

“I love you too- shit, Kei! I never stopped!”

You rut against his hips senselessly now, chasing some unfamiliar high as your vision fades to black and you scream his name until your throat goes hoarse. Kei barely gives you time to breathe, before he’s coming undone from right beneath you, shuddering and groaning as you relax against his body and go limp. He holds you against him, one hand pushing your head against his chest and the other wrapped around your back. He tucks your damp hair behind your ears, places kisses along your temple so he can hear the hums of satisfaction that sound from your curled lips. 

“Can you stay forever?” He mumbles into your hair, and you turn to press your ear against his chest. His heart pounds as he pushes his cheek into the crown of your head, and your hands crawl up his chest to wrap around his neck. When he looks up through the glass ceiling, the stars have not moved one bit.

“I’ll find you again, wherever you are.”

Time may slip away from Tsukishima Kei like petals that fall off the buds of flowers, water that seeps beneath the soles of his sneakers, stardust that hovers above the atmosphere. Yet he has learned that it has a way of always coming back to remind him of its presence, and its escape. You are the reminder that it has been sending to him for six years.

author's note:

ERM! never writing nsfw again that's for sure but this piece defs had some stuff that i was very, VERY proud of coming up with!! sorry to my minor moots who probably won't read this in its entirety bc of the big MDNI warning... but I honestly don't know how to feel about this piece as a whole... i was super excited to write it but i think i got a little impatient towards the end esp since im always writing at like 3am LOL but i hope you guys liked it anyways!!! i tried really hard to make the dynamic work and i hope it did!!!!!

also ps they exchange numbers again js a little extra bonus that i didn’t get to put into the actual thing

anyways tags!!

@staraxiaa @chuuya-brainrot @akaakeis @laughingfcx @writingsofanomnivore @t0rchknight @bailey-reeds @wyrcan @hiraethwa @fiannee @catsoupki @anonymity-222 @wishi-selfships @kuroppiii

ok love u guys thank u for being patient

[horuslupercal]

ranking the primarchs as boyfriends

Lion: honestly I can't see him dating cause he doesn't like women and Caliban homophobia but let's pretend. he is better than you. you both know this. makes no particular effort to pay attention to you. bad at social cues. will take care of you, kind of. will tell his astartes to guard you in a dangerous situation at least. uncommunicative. 2/10 loveless political marriage

Fulgrim: canonically emotionally tapped out. okay boyfriend in public, does not really interact much in private. RSD.Primarch. decent amount of gifts. might actually catch feelings for you and then pull away even more. 1/10 are you really dating

Perturabo: also RSD.Primarch. it's difficult to make him happy and very easy to upset him. you will end up on life support when he kills you in a fit of rage and then panics about it. if you tell him you like his artsy endeavours he WILL shower you in them so there's that. you cannot fix him. 3/10 more unstable ground than eggshells

Khan: knows what he's about (sexual). writes very pretty letters but this does not quite make up for him being gone all the time. more interested in his friends. emotionally mature primarch. pretty good at interacting with mortals like he respects them. not a guy who's good at (or likes) commitment/being "tied down". 5/10 you should just be fwbs

Leman: well groomed. likes to feed you good food. more interested in his friends than you. braggart. surprisingly good at remembering important things and dates. 6/10 a thoughtful frat boy

Dorn: primarch most likely to indulge in a "shut up" ring. has emotions about you and literally tortures himself about it. claims he's controlled or whatever but he is an emotional time bomb. won't engage in relationship conversations. knows he's better than you. 3/10 dime a dozen in a philosophy class

Konrad: well fuck if he doesn't love you. believes in thought crime and possesses some moral OCD qualities. will trail bits of guts home. might accidentally kill you during a vision. he really does love you. swinging between obsession and apathy very quickly. 2/10 you knew what you were getting into

Sanguinius: afraid of you? (or of hurting you). half the time he has no energy for anything he gets off work (campaign) and lays down on the couch and doesn't answer his texts. impulsive. kind of incapable of turning "off". sad. tries to be sweet. 4/10 is he really interested in you?

Ferrus: throws tantrums. knows he's better than you and his legion knows it too. jokes about your weakness with a little too much regularity for it to feel like a joke. won't fix this if you express being upset about it. 1/10 /fit/ (4chan) regular

Angron: will kill you in his sleep. will cry about it. doesn't really think of himself as a complete person anymore and makes it the problem of everyone around him. doesn't want to date you and ruin you. won't even tell you his newest scheme for glorious combat based suicide. 1/10 he's not in a good place

Roboute: arrogant. busy. "I was a TA for a logic class-". says he's willing to communicate but leaves halfway through because something happened and doesn't pick it back up. will bring you to beautiful cliffside locales and spin you like a movie. 5/10 you are a side project

Mortarion: unwashed. kissing him will poison you. doesn't come to bed on time. appreciates you from a distance but does not pay much attention to you. would be very upset if something happened to you. his legion definitely thinks you're stupid. 1/10 he doesn't you he needs SSRIs

Magnus: knows better than you. horror movie protag's boyfriend who says it's just a joke as he reads the ancient texts from the creepy book. flaunts you around, he's very proud of you. either constantly asking what you want or completely dead to the world distracted in some project. 5/10 he will get you killed

Horus: lovebombing: the primarch. knows what he's about (sexual). more than a little self absorbed. occasionally loses his temper and then is very good about explaining it away until you feel bad. you are spoiled to hell. 4/10 emotionally abusive boyfriend with a magic aura

Lorgar: you are his world. his light. his life. he knows best and you should just do what he says. you will no longer be human but something higher (socially) (literally). gets so invested he lets other things fall to the wayside and it's kind of disastrous. 5/10 at least you're god

Vulkan: trying his best to actually respect you. occasionally fails. means to spend time with you and then gets wrapped up in duties and projects. cuddlemaster. cute relationship gestures. 7/10 your best option

Corvus: won't communicate. ghosts away when things get awkward. really random, overly intense opinions and he will slay you on those hills. busy. hypocrite. 1/10 teenager

Alpharius Omegon: either they're both in on this so they can use you or only one of them is in on this and the other one is plotting your death because this wasn't the plan. 1/10 actively dangerous

[almond-tofuuu]

Actions speak louder...

so I'm pretty sure we all agree that Zayne's love language is acts of service, so here are some random head cannons I have about small ways he shows you he cares ❄️💙

Warnings: none except that it's not proof read

Because he's often called into help with emergency cases and surgeries, you find yourself waiting for him in his office a lot. After coming back to find you asleep on the sofa in his office on several occasions, Zayne now keeps a pillow and blanket in his office for you. (sweet man feels bad about you waiting for him and wants to make you as comfortable as possible)

Similarly to the last point, Zayne also has a drawer in his desk that is always well stocked up with your favourite snacks. He tries to act like it's his snack drawer for when he doesn't have time to get lunch or dinner, but one day you tell him about a new candy you've been enjoying recently and the next day you find said candy has appeared in "his" snack drawer (bonus points if it's a flavour he doesn't like but buys it anyway bc he wants to make you happy)

Good morning and good night messages are a given. No matter what he's doing this man will never forget to wish you a good morning or good night, it's just a habit atp. (The first few times you were the one who initiated it bc poor boy was too awkward to do it himself, but after you tell him how much you like it and that it makes you smile as soon as you see his message, my mans will not hold back anymore, always wants you to start and end your day with a smile on your face)

He will also send you little texts or pictures of things he thinks you'll like or that remind him of you:

(*sends pic of a flower you like* "looks like they're blooming already, if you have time we should go see them together")

Zayne Is the kind of man who would be happy just to sit with you by his side, both of you doing your own thing but enjoying a comfortable silence and the closeness between you.

This man NEEDS you by his side to be able to sleep. Like he cannot get a good night's sleep anymore unless he's holding you in some way, be it cuddling with your head in the crook of his neck, or hugging you from behind so he can breathe in the comforting scent of your hair. (Secretly loves to sleep with his head resting on your chest so he can listen to your heartbeat, finds it so soothing and also adorable if your heartbeat gets faster with how close he is)

PLAY 👏 WITH 👏 HIS 👏 HAIR 👏 please he will absolutely melt! Pretends to be indifferent but you can visibly see his body relax and the tension leave his face and shoulders. (If you do this after he's had a long shift/surgery he will 110% fall asleep on you)

Zayne worries about you constantly! He respects your choice to be a hunter and he knows you can protect yourself well but that doesn't stop him from feeling a knot in his stomach every time you leave for a mission. Asks you to let him know as soon as you get back from a mission so he knows you're okay, checks in with you to see if you're injured and need any medical care. If you are injured, even if it's just a bruise or small scrape, he's ready with all the bandages, pain killers and anything else you could possibly need. (Might scold you for being reckless but that's just because he's so worried about you and isn't sure how to directly say it)

[novaursa]

I've been LOVING your cregan work and wanted to see if you were doing requests. I was thinking something like the reader (velaryon) was previously married to aemond had a kid with him and something happened to the kid, reader escapes aemond and is with cregan but is still morning the life she previously had and feels bad about it. Maybe she's just given up on everything and cregan just wants to help. I'm so sorry if this makes zero sense 😭

Winter's Solace

Requests are closed!

- Summary: Specters of the past came back today once more to hunt you, but Cregan holds them back.

- Paring: velaryon!reader/Cregan Stark

- Note: The reader is bonded with a dragon Grey Ghost.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @daeryna @melsunshine @21-princess

The cold wind howls through the ancient halls of Winterfell, but inside your chambers, the fire crackles softly. The warmth from the hearth does little to pierce the chill that’s wrapped around your heart. The North was supposed to be your sanctuary, the place where you could forget. But the past clings to you like a cloak you cannot shed.

For days now, you’ve sought solitude, slipping from the bed you share with Cregan before the dawn, curling yourself into the furs by the window, watching the sky but not really seeing it. You barely eat. Every mouthful seems to turn to ash on your tongue. The memories—the life you had before, the life taken from you—haunt your every waking moment.

The son you lost, taken by blood and treachery.

Your breath trembles as you draw it in, eyes falling to the grey stones below. You told yourself you would never cry again after that night, but the tears threaten to spill all the same.

A quiet knock at the door stirs you, though you do not answer. You know who it is, and part of you wants to tell him to leave. To let you sit here in silence, to let the grief eat at you until there is nothing left. But he’s stubborn, like the North itself. He enters without waiting for your permission, the familiar sound of his heavy boots crossing the threshold.

"Cregan…" Your voice is barely a whisper, hoarse from lack of use. But you don’t turn to face him.

He doesn’t say anything at first. He knows better than to rush you. Instead, he stands in the doorway for a moment, his presence filling the room with a quiet strength. Then, slowly, he crosses to where you sit, his broad figure casting a shadow over you.

"You haven’t eaten," he says gently, kneeling beside you, his eyes dark with concern. His hand finds yours, rough and warm against your cold skin. He squeezes it, hoping to ground you, to pull you back from the abyss you’re teetering over.

You pull your hand away, though it’s not from any anger toward him. It’s because you’re ashamed. Ashamed of the broken thing you’ve become, ashamed that even now, after all this time, the past still holds you so tightly in its grip. You think of Aemond, of the life you once shared with him—however brief and painful—and the child you lost. You think of the vengeance that Daemon and Rhaenyra sought in your name, a vengeance that tore at what little remained of your soul.

"I can’t…" Your voice breaks, and for a moment, you press your lips together to stop the flood of words that want to spill out. "I can’t pretend anymore, Cregan."

Cregan’s eyes, soft yet strong, search your face. He understands. He’s always understood, more than anyone else ever could. When you fled to the North on the back of Grey Ghost, seeking an end to the torment, it was Cregan who saved you. He didn’t ask for explanations, didn’t demand that you be strong. He simply gave you space, gave you time. But now, the time has come to face the wounds that refuse to heal.

He moves closer, sitting beside you, pulling you gently into his arms. At first, you resist, stiff in his embrace, but the warmth of his body, the steady beat of his heart, begins to melt the ice that’s hardened around your soul.

"I don’t need you to pretend, Y/N," he says, his voice a low rumble in your ear. "Not with me."

You close your eyes, leaning into him, allowing yourself the comfort he offers. His hand strokes your hair, gentle and slow, as though he’s trying to calm a wild animal.

"I left them to die," you murmur, the words slipping out before you can stop them. "Aemond… our son. I should have stayed, should have fought harder—"

"You were never meant to stay with him," Cregan interrupts, his tone firmer now, as though he’s reminding you of something you’ve long forgotten. "The life you had with him was built on lies and violence. It wasn’t your fault, Y/N. None of it."

"But it was my mother…" Your voice breaks again, the bitterness of it burning your throat. "It was Rhaenyra. She sent them—Daemon sent them—to kill him. To take my son."

Cregan holds you tighter, his breath warm against your hair. "You’ve carried that guilt too long, my love. What your mother did… that’s on her. Not on you. You didn’t ask for their blood to be spilled."

The tears come then, hot and heavy, spilling down your cheeks as you sob into Cregan’s chest. You hate yourself for it—hate how weak you feel. But he doesn’t let go. He doesn’t pull away or flinch from your pain.

"I loved him once," you confess, voice barely audible. "Aemond… I loved him before all the bitterness and rage. Before the war tore us apart."

"I know," Cregan says softly. "And you loved your son. That’s why you grieve. But you can’t let it destroy you. You can’t let the ghosts of the past steal the life you have now."

You’re silent for a moment, listening to the crackling of the fire and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. His words are true, but they don’t erase the pain. Nothing ever will.

"I don’t know how to move forward," you admit.

"One step at a time," Cregan says, pulling back slightly so he can look into your eyes. His gaze is steady, filled with a determination that gives you something to hold onto. "I can’t take the pain away, Y/N. But I’ll be here, every step, until you find your way."

You look into his face, seeing the man who saved you when you thought there was nothing left to save. The man who offers you not just comfort, but a future, if only you can let yourself reach for it.

"I don’t deserve you," you whisper, guilt still gnawing at the edges of your heart.

"Deserve me?" He smiles, a soft, crooked smile that warms you in a way the fire never could. "I think it’s the other way around. You’re a Targaryen, a Velaryon, bonded with a dragon. And yet, here you are in the North, sharing your life with me. If anyone is undeserving, it’s me."

You shake your head, tears still glistening in your eyes. "No… you saved me."

"And I’ll keep saving you," Cregan says, his thumb brushing away the tear on your cheek. "For as long as you need me to."

For the first time in days, something like hope flickers in your chest. It’s faint, fragile, but it’s there. You lean into him again, closing your eyes, letting his warmth and strength anchor you. The grief will always be there, lurking in the shadows. But with Cregan by your side, you feel like maybe, just maybe, you can face it.

Tomorrow, you’ll eat. Tomorrow, you’ll take another step forward. But for now, in this moment, you allow yourself to simply be held. And for the first time in a long time, that feels like enough.