#they share a mind a soul and body but they hate each other. each one wants to tear the other out of their lives. the pain. the suffering. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

starsofang · 6 days ago

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CALL OF THE SEA / PART EIGHTEEN

pirate poly!141 x f!reader tw: NSFW, MDNI, violence, fire, illness, depictions of death, be warned as always masterlist

When a group of unhinged pirates invade your small village, you're whisked away from your peaceful home and thrown on to a voyage out at sea. Forced to obtain a new role as their medic, you have no choice but to accept your fate as you join their forces and aid them in their treacherous travels.

Rest didn’t come easy, nor did waking up with agonizing pain flashing through you like a beatdown on repeat with no stop button. Sometime during your rest, you recalled Soap and Gaz returning with the promised pillows, carefully cushioning you in between to ensure you as much comfort as possible, but the memory was fuzzy.

Everything felt a bit surreal, as if you weren’t truly present and the events that unfolded never actually happened. You figured it was your mind attempting to protect you, repressing the pain of the new memories, but it always came back in the form of anguish, your shattered bones shifting beneath the surface of your skin with every subtle movement you dared to make.

There was no use in pretending. It was pure hell, and up until now, you played the role of a strong woman with no fear of walking along a path unknown. You played long enough. The pain was far too much to muster an act of strength.

The room was empty when you woke for the nth time, the barest of sun rays peeking through the small windows and casting the room in a dim glow. The Captain nor the others were nowhere to be found, most likely manning the ship as promised or in their own beds to earn the rest they deserved after seeing a ghost of their past.

Your eyes remained on the ceiling, vision blurring then focusing, in and out. No matter how hard you blinked, the fuzziness wouldn’t relinquish its hold, nor did you have the strength or courage to lift a fist to frantically rub it away.

You hated being alone. After Price left last night, it had felt peaceful��now, it felt torturous, listening to the distant waves clash among each other and having no way of taking your time to breathe in the salty air as they fought against the sides of the ship.

Had he slept last night? Had he rested at all?

You went to open your mouth, to call out for him in hopes of being loud enough, but all that left you was a heavy wheeze, your mouth dry to the bone. You were parched as much as you were weak, and it showed in the way you attempted to inhale a deep breath, only for it to come crashing down on you in the form of an extreme sharp clash to your ribcage.

Everything hurt. The euphoria of your shared kiss with the Captain had long worn off, leaving you sober and miserable.

You were nothing more than a skeleton, or perhaps even an undead from those of the stories you’d heard about as a child. Alive, but not living. That was surely how it felt.

You felt utterly helpless as you laid there, unmoving. Even the lift of your finger felt as if you were lifting the weight of the world. It was all so heavy, your body, mind, and soul.

While you were one to cure the sick, you were never on the other line. There was no one there to coddle you in the way you knew to do with others, nor any treatment that could fix you the way you wanted to be fixed. An immediate recovery was out of sight, and it only grew you more restless, an itch burning beneath your skin.

It was only by a miracle of the universe that just as you were beginning to fight within yourself that the door to the quarters opened, Soap stepping inside with a bowl of something warm, the steam faintly radiating up. He looked surprised to see you awake, making haste in shutting the door and hurrying to the bed.

“Dove,” he chirped, throwing you a smile. You knew immediately he was trying to bring you some light, and for that, you appreciated it. “Yer up early today. Was just bringin’ ye some breakfast to start the day with. Ye hungry?”

Your eyes fluttered at the sight of him, then down to the bowl in his hands. You had no desire to eat, your appetite shot the moment you woke with no relief. Despite the faint grumbling in your stomach, the sight made you nauseous, mouth watering in ways considered unpleasant.

Soap noticed, frowning at your pained expression. He set the bowl down, coming to your aid. “Ye don’t look well. Did ye sleep at all?”

All you mustered was a small hum, lips turning down into your own frown. Your body ached, begging to be stretched from its stiff knots, but you truly felt exhausted. It was taking everything in you to resist moving, fearing more flare ups along your side.

Soap’s hand lifted, carefully resting his knuckles on your forehead. Your skin was clammy and warm, something he took note of, and the skin around your eyes appeared darkened, bags already beginning to form.

“M’sorry for what ye had to deal with,” he apologized sympathetically, brushing a knuckle along your brow bone. “Price has been bustin’ ass to figure out where to take ye. Been out there all night.”

You deflated at that, guilt pulling your heart strings. The last thing you wanted was for them to exhaust themselves for the sake of you, and the helplessness only grew.

“Ach, don’t look so grim, lass. We just want what’s best for ye, can’t have ye all banged up and broken, can we?” he attempted to tease, his smile fading into defeated pout when you gave no reaction. “Does it hurt?”

You let out a heavy sigh through your nose, feeling the tension in your rib cage as you excelled your lung’s usage. You offered a short nod, Soap’s expression only turning more apologetic.

“Can I see?” he asked, and when you threw him a weary look, he corrected himself. “I won’t hurt ye, dove, swear. I’ll be gentle.”

You stared at him long and hard, before ultimately agreeing, lifting a heavy hand to paw away at the sheets. The dress was pulled back over your figure, but with Soap averting his eyes respectfully, you worked with all your strength to tug at the fabric to pull it up enough as you did the night before.

You released a frustrated noise when you were unable to get it past your hips, your arm failing you. You hated how weak you’d grown in only mere hours, feeling as fragile as glass, and you knew it would only grow the longer you remained unattended to from a doctor.

“What’s wrong?” Soap asked, voice slightly muffled from him facing the other way. You huffed.

“I can’t get it,” you mumbled, voice croaky from the dryness in your throat.

“I can help,” he tried, keeping his head turned. “I can see ye wantin’ to say no. I won’t make it weird, dove, but it needs to be checked. Let me?”

Your eyes bore into the side of his face, flickering across the rugged skin and stubble. There was no reason not to allow him to see, granted he already had last night, but alone felt much more vulnerable. Still, this was Soap you were talking about—he wouldn’t dare make you recoil.

You hummed approval, turning away from him to avoid his eye as he shifted towards you. His gaze dropped down to the bare skin of your legs, hand outreaching carefully.

Your warm skin felt even hotter when his fingertips grazed your thigh, trailing its way up to the bunched hem of your dress. He was cautious as he helped you lift it, seeming more focused on his own concern rather than anything lustful.

It made you relax, body slowly admitting defeat as the dress lifted past your ribs, the only thing keeping your decency being the thin sheet he had graciously pulled over your legs to provide you cover. It was as if he sensed your discomfort and was doing everything in his power to guarantee he meant no harm.

Your heart seemed to pick up its pace, pounding against your ribcage and shooting a different type of pain through you. You couldn’t put your finger on what it was. You just knew it hurt.

Once your injury was revealed to him, he couldn’t stifle the pained breath through his nose. His face contorted into one of hurt, as if he mirrored your pain.

“Is it bad?” you asked, voice cracking under the cottonmouth.

“Ach, it’s nothin’,” he attempted, though you could hear the burrowing worry in his tone. “Just a bruise, aye?”

You sucked in a careful breath, feeling your lungs fill then slowly release. “You’re lying, aren’t you?”

Soap grimaced, fingers lightly brushing along the aggressive bruising on your side. The blackened veins had only grown, spreading into ugly branches. Whatever was hiding within them was the sole reason you were so weak, even just mere hours after inheriting them.

“Would I ever lie to ye?”

“Yeah.”

A small smile broke out on his face, only falling when you whimpered a noise of discomfort as his fingers caressed the skin for too long. His expression morphed into one of deep thinking, eyebrows tugged together and teeth nearly gnawing his bottom lip. You thought he looked a bit silly, but maybe you were being delirious.

“No need to worry ‘bout it, birdie. We’re fixin’ ye up real soon,” he assured, a sign of a promise. Despite it, he didn’t sound so sure.

You only hummed, sinking further into the fluff of pillows surrounding you, eyes redirected to the ceiling.

“Do ye want to eat? Ghost fixed ye up somethin’ warm, figured it may lift yer spirits,” he tried, reaching for the bowl he set aside. The steam no longer rose, but the smell of it invaded your nose.

You didn’t think anything could make you feel better, and the reality was until you got true aid, you wouldn’t heal. Not with the Devil coursing through your veins.

But the look on Soap’s face was hopeful, and you felt a nagging guilt if you were to deny him. It wasn’t often you got Soap alone, and you knew he had been the one to take the food to you in order to spend time with you. It would be downright barbaric to deny.

That was how you ended up with Soap feeding a spoonful of warm soup into your mouth, burning your turn at first taste with him snickering in apology and you glaring daggers.

He chirped your ear off, rambling about everything yet nothing at the same time. You laid and listened, occasionally throwing in your own piece, albeit shortly. Speaking fully was hard, even when you wanted to, but the soup had done wonders to your throat.

You reminded yourself to thank Ghost later. Even if he wouldn’t accept it.

“Have ye ever loved anythin’, birdie?”

The question was sudden, nothing like the ventures Soap had been going on about in order to occupy your mind. It took you off guard and you shifted your head to look at him, noting his curious expression.

Love was a strong word, and you knew your answer. You had been alone up until this point, and even then, the act of friendship was something you were still on the path of discovering.

“No,” you murmured honestly. “I have never felt that.”

Soap hummed, tapping his finger against his lip. “The Captain was quite jolly this mornin’,” he stated suspiciously. “He was still actin’ like a hound dog, don’t get me wrong. Barkin’ us around like his li’l workin’ mice, but there was somethin’ different. Ye know somethin’ ‘bout that?”

The two of you stared at one another, Soap holding a grin behind his hand, you appearing stumped. He was playing a game, even with you bedridden and suffering. He truly was a boy at heart.

“Acting different like Ghost does with you?” you bit back, Soap’s face dropping. “You are barking up the same tree, Soap.”

“Ach,” he tsked, throwing a hand up. “Ghost always say I’m too nosy for my own good. Thought the little birdie would have somethin’ for me to hear.”

You didn’t know why, but you felt you could entrust your heart with Soap. He never held judgement towards you, even from the beginning when he fought for your right to be treated fairly. He was a boy at heart, but a man when he needed to be.

“I’m afraid I do not,” you dismissed, rolling your head back forward to stare at the ceiling.

“Tch. Liar.”

You fell silent, as did he. You could practically feel him waiting for you to break, knowing it was brimming.

“I do not think what I say will be very good,” you confessed, tone growing soft.

“I have never forsaken ye,” Soap replied cooly, unfazed by your reservedness.

You frowned to yourself, knowing he was right. At the end of the day, Soap had been your supporter, even from afar.

“Is it bad to feel for more than one?” you asked, keeping your gaze glued to the ceiling.

Soap grew surprised, eyebrows raising. It wasn’t what he was expecting you to say, let alone ask him. “Ye said ye have never loved anythin’.”

“Because I have not.”

“Then what’s this yer speakin’ of?”

“Forget it.”

Soap cocked his head, taking in the way you seemed to shut in on yourself. While he was an open book, he’d dealt with plenty of introverted feelings with Ghost. It was nothing he hadn’t seen.

“There’s nothin’ wrong with feelin’ for more than one person,” he assured, eyes flickering over the side of your face. You could feel the heat of seriousness in the stare. “Hell, who cares if ye end up with more than one? More love to go around, aye?”

You took in his words, allowing yourself to feel comforted by it. You didn’t expect Soap to find it strange anyway, but to hear it outwardly put your mind at ease from the torn battle being fought within it.

“I feel for the Captain,” you murmured quietly, as if afraid to say it. “Yet I feel for Gaz. I am trapped.”

“Is that so?” he hummed, encouraging you to continue, yet you had not much to say. Your own words felt like vomit with anything wanting to come out being trapped in your throat. “Is there anybody else included in that picture?”

You knew what he was insinuating, and it made you nauseous. To confess that your heart pushed and pulled towards each of them in a way that had you longing, it was too much to say. You feared for the path you were strung along, though you feared veering off of it more.

“No,” you replied, missing confidence in your answer. You knew you were lying—you were just too frightened to admit it.

Soap blinked, weighing your answer. It felt as if he was hiding disappointment. You wouldn’t have noticed if it hadn’t been for the slight drop in his shoulders. “S’not that bad,” he dismissed, trying once more to make you feel better.

It only made you feel worse.

You no longer had a reply, opting for silence instead of conversation. You knew you could trust Soap with the information you’d given him, but there was an underlying feeling of something missing from the conversation, something you weren’t quite ready to address.

Sensing the shift, Soap shot you a smile, clapping his hands on his knees to stand. “I’ll be back later, dove. Ye know to yell if ye need anythin’.”

You highly doubted you’d have the energy to yell, but you nodded nonetheless, frowning at his back as he receded from the room.

You worried you hurt his feelings, but you weren’t sure why they’d be hurt in the first place—your own strange inner workings towards him and the others were nothing bad. He’d said so himself. Yet, the way he left so suddenly had your stomach sinking, thinking that you gave the wrong answer.

You watched the door for the next agonizing hour, blinking away sleep in hopes of catching the next person to come in. When nobody came in, you caved in, disappointed, slipping back into a restless sleep, losing the fight with your own mind and body.

The world was distorted around you, as if peering through a dense lens. You weren’t sure where you were, but all around you was an unsettling darkness surrounding a vast, empty land where nothing there seemed to thrive.

The grass beneath your bare feet was dead and dry, poking into your soles like little needles. The trees, albeit what was left of them, were thin and brittle, branches littering the ground around them. Buildings crumbled in pieces, standing broken and tarnished, the homes of what once lived here now vacant.

The world felt void of anything but disaster, showcasing its ugly teeth and rearing them into you.

You couldn’t recall if you’d ever been here before. There was a sense of familiarity in it, something that struck a chord with you.

The air filled your nostrils, breathing in old ash and faint smoke. It made your throat tighten and your eyes water, the scent shifting the more you consumed it, something more rotten poisoning it.

When you looked around, you realized your loneliness. Nobody was near you—not even Graves. It grew confusion, wondering whether this was one of his nightmares he loved to toy you with, or if this was entirely on your own.

Your body felt weightless, as if the pain you’d been suffering had vanished and you were nothing more than a feather. When you lifted a hand to touch your side, there was no agony. It was like you’d never been injured to begin with.

The world around you was eerily quiet. While it had a nostalgic feel, it had your hairs on the back of your neck standing.

You dared to take a step forward, your feet burrowing into the straw-like grass. The moment your foot touched the ground, everything morphed. Rather than the quiet runes of an old town, your ears nearly bled from screams and cries of hopelessness that filled the air.

Villagers ran frantic, seeking shelter from impending death. Women, men, children, they all were succumbing to their own horrible cruelties. Mother Nature offered no mercy on their souls, taking what she wanted and whatever stood in her way.

The homes were no longer rubble but burning in flames, villagers running for safety, coughing and hacking from the smoke that clouded around them in a dome. You felt the heat singe your skin, warming you from the inside and out.

You stood, horrified, unable to do anything but watch.

You knew why everything seemed so familiar—this was your home. You were watching it fall apart just as you’d done before, but this time, you knew the outcome before it arrived. Everybody around you would be dead once again, and you would be the unlucky survivor.

You attempted to move, but as if your feet were glued to the ground, you remained frozen, locked in a nightmare of watching everything you’d ever known crumble to pieces for a second time.

Why? Why were you being shown this? Why did you have to relive it? You didn’t understand, and the more you fought, the more disoriented you became.

Your gaze darted everywhere, frantic as you searched. It wasn’t until you realized the small bookkeep of your village that it was the only building left standing, unharmed. The flames hadn’t slithered inside, nor had it succumbed to destruction.

You tried your hardest to understand, to think of any reason why your mind was reliving this horrible memory, but the flames began to slink its way towards you, tickling your feet. Its ember grew, and you cried as the heat embedded into your skin.

You’d hardly visited the bookkeep, only on the occasion your curiosity on a subject got the best of you. It held no significant meaning to you. All the knowledge you earned was from your own research. So why?

You watched the fire dance around the building as if it were untouchable, killing everything in its wake while protecting the bookkeep. It hadn’t even touched its grass, keeping it green and vibrant compared to the soot-covered fields around it.

You desperately searched through your mind for importance. Even as the flames at your feet rose, you tried with all your might, hoping that anything of significance would cease the torturous pain and bring you back to your reality.

They rose and rose, until you could no longer think of anything but your melting skin and scorching body. You burned along with the villagers and could do nothing but accept it until you were swallowed whole, engulfed in your own personal hell.

“She’s a furnace, Cap,” Gaz said wearily, the back of his hand pressed to your forehead. “Whatever Graves did to her, it’s not givin’ us a lot of time.”

The Captain paced his quarters, hand dug into his beard, tugging.

Upon Gaz returning to feed you dinner, he found you clammy and burning, your skin hot to the touch. Your forehead was covered in a sheen of sweat, the skin discoloring around your eyes to a meek gray. You were asleep, though God only knows for how long since Soap had left that morning.

“Captain,” Gaz tried once more, watching the man nearly rip his own hair out as he lost himself in his own muddled thoughts.

Price said nothing as if he hadn’t even heard Gaz. He was thinking up anything to stall your illness from whatever disgusting infection Graves mustered up, but he wasn’t a medic. That was your knowledge. He felt utterly useless.

“Price,” Gaz snapped, loud enough to garner the Captain’s attention. “Get a fuckin’ grip. Stress later, come up with a plan now.”

Price halted in his tracks, taking in a deep breath. He took the moment to calm himself, knowing Gaz was right in everything he said. He was a Captain, damn it, yet was falling apart at the sight of one of his own.

“We don’t have time for a professional,” Price stated, stepping up to your bedside where Gaz sat. He peered down at you, observing your sickly skin and pure exhaustion. “We’ll take her to a village doctor, a shrink, it doesn’t fuckin’ matter. The nearest place, we take her to.”

Gaz released a sigh, glancing back at your crippled form. Broken ribs seemed to be the lesser worry. It was the ugly veins that only seem to travel further under your skin. They looked worst than they had been the night before, far worse.

“Nobody leaves her alone,” Price continued. “One of us will be here at all times until we make landfall.”

“I’ll stay,” Gaz offered immediately.

Internally, Price wanted to protest. He was Captain, he should take the responsibility, but his responsibility lied with the helm and manning the ship until his body gave out. It was his heart yearning to stay.

“I’ll let Soap and Ghost know,” Price replied. His hands balled into fists at his sides, jaw clenching uncomfortably. “None of you leave her fuckin’ side. Am I clear?”

Gaz stared at the Captain, noting the tension he held. He glanced back at you, a poor sight to see, and he nodded in agreement.

“No man left behind, aye, Cap?” Gaz tried.

Price grunted, giving him a clap on his shoulder. He gazed down at Gaz with an unreadable expression before shaking it off, storming out of the quarters to inform the others of the plan.

Gaz sat quietly, focusing on you. His heart was pained, seeing you so distressed. He did what he thought may comfort you, grasping your hand in his, rolling a thumb over your knuckles. There was nothing for him to do but get comfortable for the night and ride out the storm that Graves stowed upon them once again, promising to whatever God was listening that he’d fight through hell and back if anything were to happen.

You didn’t wake that day, nor the day after. You relived the nightmare over and over until it was engraved in your head, festering itself deep. It took nearly three days to awake, forcing your eyes open.

Your mouth was dry as cotton, eyes crusted over with endless sleep. Your body felt heavy, as if molded to the cot, and it took all your strength to move your head. You would’ve shrieked in surprise if your throat was hydrated enough.

Price slept beside you, faint moonlight as well as a trusty candle illuminating his peaceful features. He laid on his stomach, arms curled under the pillow and cheek pressed into it. He looked almost boyish like that, the worry exhausted from his face and replaced with a quiet calm.

It was the first you’d woken in the middle of the night to the sight of him. The times you’d spent in his bed before were ones you didn’t wake up to, only waking to an empty cot or falling asleep alone.

You couldn’t help but stare, studying every smooth feature. You almost felt it wasn’t real, that maybe this was a new nightmare forming and was playing tricks on you with a subtle beginning. But when you stared long enough, reality formed and you knew you were awake.

Your body was still hurting, though from being so still in slumber, it was more stiff than anything. You weakly lifted a hand, pawing at the Captain in attempts to rouse him.

As if he’d already been on edge, his eyes shot open, meeting yours. His expression quickly morphed into surprise, then relief.

“Dove,” he breathed, sitting up. He made an uncomfortable grunt from the stiffness in his muscles but was quick to ignore it, laser focused on you. “Are you alright?”

You opened your mouth to speak, an embarrassing squeak coming out. Price noticed instantly, shooting up from the bed.

“Water?” he asked, and when you nodded, he dipped from the room, leaving you alone.

You didn’t wait long, and you would’ve thought Price was running a marathon with the haste he made. He sat beside you, carefully curling his hand on the back of your head to lift it. He placed the cup to your lips, and you nearly moaned in relief once the water hit your tastebuds, flooding them with hydration.

“Better?” he asked, watching you gulp he beverage.

Once finished, you sighed, blinking away the soreness of your eyes. His hand remained on your head as he stared at you, worry lines forming between his brows.

You knew you looked even more hellish than before, but he didn’t seem to pay any mind, only concerned about making sure you were alright. It warmed the coldness in you, melting away the icy wall you’d built from the reoccurring nightmare you suffered.

“We’ll make landfall tomorrow,” Price explained, smoothing his knuckles along your cheekbone with his other hand. The affection caused you to relax. “Get you all better, aye? I know how much it hurts.”

You sluggishly nodded, content with the change of scenery rather than angry flames that burned you to death over, and over, and over. Though it’d only been three days, it felt like years.

“Home,” you murmured, voice still shot from weakness.

Price appeared confused, cocking his head. His thumb brushed along your cheekbone as he spoke. “Home?” he repeated. “What’s on your mind, dove?”

“Need to go home,” you mumbled softly.

“I don’t understand—”

“My village,” you explained, frowning.

Price stared at you, trying to read you. His eyes flickered between yours, displeased with the sickly bags surrounding yours. You looked void of life.

“You want to go home?” he tried, and when you nodded, he hummed. He knew you had no home to go back to, and so did you. It was rubble.

Rather than question your reasoning, he merely took it in stride, nodding in agreement. “We can go home, dove—after you get better. Alright?”

You knew you sounded silly, but the nightmare kept flashing in your head. The bookkeep—something was there, even in the ruins of it. It called to you in your dreams, and it stayed unharmed during mass destruction. There was nothing else for you to believe besides its calling.

Price glanced down at the bare skin of your ribcage where it peeked out from beneath the blanket, your dress still pulled up from when you’d shown Soap. They all made sure you remained decent, never wanting you to feel uncomfortable.

Whatever was plotting beneath your skin in the rooted veins, Price could only hope it wasn’t making you delirious. Hearing you utter words about home had him stuck, but he knew better than to not trust you—it was something he did with his life, now that he had you.

If it was home you wanted to be at, he’d take you. He only prayed you made it long enough to see it.

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amyispxnk · 1 month ago

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Mi Niña Hermosa

Masterlist

Summary - Javier gets you pregnant, but then he gets scared, leaving you to raise your little girl all alone. One day, he sees you working at a brothel to try and make ends meet, and realises what he needs to do.

A/N: for this ask! i hope you like it pookie<3 also please excuse any bad spanish! i tried my best with it but it might not be 100% accurate.

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

Word count: 2k

Warnings: mentions of sex work and sex, violence, language, pregnancy/children, arguing, brief suicidal ideation, hurt+comfort, angst, men being men

DO NOT COPY THIS FIC IN ANY WAY PLS AND TY.

“Shh, shh, Carmen, mi amor. Está bien,” you plead with your baby daughter. She’s been up for the past hour because of yet another explosion a few blocks away. You think it was a car bomb this time, but does it really matter? All you know for sure is that Carmen is not going to let you sleep through the night because of it.

She’s almost 12 months old now, which means it's been almost 2 years since you last saw Javi. You hate yourself for it, but sometimes you look at your little girl and feel bitter. It’s not her fault, but she was the reason that Javi finally said goodbye to you.

You both knew it was a long time coming, but when you showed him a positive pregnancy test that night, you yelled at each other until your throats were raw and all your tears had been cried, before he slammed the door in your face and left you there. It was the final time you saw him.

Because of Carmen’s deadbeat father, you ended up in a brothel. It was one of the hardest decisions of your life, but you knew you had to do it for her.

“¡Muy bien chicas, salgan y ganen algo de dinero!” You want to jump out of this building, is your first thought. Crash all the way to the floor and forfeit this terrible life you’ve been ‘blessed with’. But you can’t. So you hold your head high, plaster on a smile, and walk out into the lobby of the brothel.

Your smile drops when you see him.

Of all the fucking brothels to go to, he chooses this one? The one you just so happened to start working at a week prior? That tenth-storey window looks even more tempting right now, especially when he locks eyes with you.

He’s with a man, blonde hair, blue eyes. You think that man’s name is Steve Murphy. Yes, you’ve seen them on the news. Who the fuck hasn’t? It just makes you even more frustrated. He left you and Carmen behind so that he could hunt down Pablo Escobar. He abandoned the two of you for fame.

Javi’s eyes dart back and forth between you and Steve, before he starts making his way towards you.

Hell to the fucking no. You turn on your heel and almost drag a man you noticed was ogling you for the past 5 minutes into one of the rooms, letting the curtains close behind you, separating you from Javi.

The time you share with that man is no different than any of the other men you’ve been with, all uncomfortable and gross for you, mind-blowingly good for him.

Sometimes you still think of Javi when you feel a man on top of you. He was the best you had, after all.

Outside, Javi curses loudly, drawing the eye of a few people and his partner.

“What the fuck was that, Javi? We’re here to question the girl, not chase after this random. Your dry spell that bad?” Steve laughs, clapping him on the back. Javi quickly shrugs him off, jaw clenched and gaze hollow.

“I know her.” He mutters. Yes, he knows you. He knows every part of you. Your smile, which he only saw on a rare occasion. Your eyes, which could always pierce him, see straight through his soul and see the worst parts of him. Your body, which you now sell because of him.

Steve is still yapping on about something or other whilst the storm inside of Javi swirls, growing and growing. You’re behind that curtain, selling your body. He knows why you’re doing it too, and it makes him feel even worse. He feels like he’s about to pass out as it all hits him at once.

What a piece of shit he’s been.

You don’t deserve this life. You deserve to be happy, supported and protected by someone, anyone who can help you. Not Javi though. He’s not fit to be a father. After what he’s seen, what he’s done, he could never care for something as precious as your baby.

But he knows what men are like. Knows that, somehow, he’s one of the better men in this country. It’s not a high bar to pass, this he knows too, but he figures that it must be why you have to work here to provide for yourself and his child. Fuck. He doesn’t even know the gender, the name. He wasn’t there for you at all, and he should have been.

It feels like there’s no going back though. How could he ever apologise enough or make it up to you? What he’s done is irreversible. Just from the way you reacted when you saw him now, it feels like it’ll be impossible to try to apologise to you.

He thinks of his father, his mother. How disappointed would they be? They probably already were, but with this? Abandoning a girl with a child he gave her?

They would surely disown him.

He feels like he’s been ungrateful too. After being raised by two loving and caring parents, how could he leave his own child without one? And with a life like this?

He runs a hand down his face, telling Steve to shut up. A loud shout from the man behind the curtain, surely finishing without giving you a moment of pleasure. He knows what you sound like when the sex is good. You barely made a peep in these past 5 minutes.

The man walks out, commenting on ‘how good that slut was’ as he walks past Javi and Steve, and it takes everything in him not to punch him square in the face there and then.

“I need to talk to her, Steve. 5 minutes.” Javi decides suddenly. He can’t let this go on.

“You better not be fucking on the job, Javi.”

He grunts in response, entering the room and letting the curtains slide closed behind him.

The entire world goes still, silent just for the two of you. Almost 2 years have gone by, and this is how you meet. The shame almost swallows him whole.

“I’m so sorry.” He says, before you can even register what’s happening, because he knows you’ll be ready to kick and scream to get him away from you when you do.

Unsurprisingly, your eyes well with tears, and your face twists into one of disgust.

“Why the fuck are you here.” You spit, holding your robe tighter around yourself.

“We were here for a job, and-”

“Do you think I actually care? You fucked off two years ago, I don’t want to see you back here now. Whatever it is you want, I don’t care.” You interrupt. Yes, this was going to be as difficult as he thought.

“Baby, please just-”

“Don’t fucking call me that! You don’t get to call me that!” You shout. He’s on borrowed time before somebody comes and escorts him out of here.

“Just listen to me, please. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He pleads, desperate for you to listen. He doesn’t know how to get his message across to you.

Your tears burst forth, fat droplets cascading down your skin as you turn away from him.

“Go away, Javier. I don’t want to see your face ever again. I see it in her everyday and it already haunts me enough.”

His baby is a girl.

“I’m here to talk about her. I… I want to help. I’m so sorry for leaving. I got scared. I thought- I wasn’t ready to take care of something as precious as a baby… I thought you would get hurt if it was discovered that a DEA agent like myself had a child.”

“Yeah. Agente de la DEA, Javier fucking Peña,” you scoff, “who abandoned his child in pursuit of fame. To catch a bad guy. Some fucking hero you think you are.”

He can’t get angry with you. He won’t. However wrong you are about what you just said. He won’t do it.

“I don’t want fame.” He grits out. How much of an asshole is he that you thought he would leave you for fame? “I’m trying to help this country. It was dangerous enough for me to see you regularly, you know this. If I was seen with a woman and a child, they wouldn’t waste a second trying to kill you both. I couldn’t let that happen to you. I care about you. Please understand, baby.” He begs you again, hand carefully reaching for your shoulder and turning you to face him. You’re still sniffling, silent tears falling down your cheeks as you refuse to meet his gaze.

“Mírame.” He whispers, cupping your jaw and tilting your head up so he can see your eyes.

“Please, I’m sorry.” He says. He’ll say it thousands, millions of times, it still won’t be enough, but he can see that you’re starting to understand.

“It’s been 2 years. I had to be pregnant and raise her all by myself. Not once did you check on me.”

“I was scared. I was being a coward, I know. I… I won’t be surprised if you tell me to leave again, but let me help pay for her. I don’t want you working here. It’s dangerous.” He murmurs, eyes shining with emotion as he looks into yours.

You shake your head, and he gets ready to argue about it, but you pull him closer, squeezing the air out of him and shaking with sobs again.

“I’ve needed you for so long. I- I don’t know how I managed this long. I need you, Javi.” You choke out, his heart shattering with every word until it’s laid out on the floor for you.

“I know. I’m sorry, baby, I’m so sorry.” He soothes, running his hand through your hair.

Over the next month, he helps you leave the brothel, gives you some money to get on your feet. You still live apart, despite his protests that you’d be safer living with him, you’re not ready yet.

Today you figure will be the decider of that. He’s going to meet Carmen.

You rub your eyes as the morning sun hits you, rousing you from your sleep. The clock reads 9:37. Just over 20 minutes until your daughter finally meets her father.

The 20 minutes are spent waking and feeding her, before a knock on the door stops you.

You exhale shakily and walk to the door, opening it slowly.

“Hola, Javi.” You say softly. He greets you, equally timid. You notice he’s holding a little teddy bear in his hands, almost making you laugh at how it looks being held by this big brooding man, but you just shake your head.

“Come and meet her.” You murmur, opening the door further so he can step inside.

There, messing around on your bed, is the most beautiful little girl he’s ever seen. He can definitely see his features on her face. The lips, the eyes. She got your nose, thankfully he thinks, and her hair is a unique blend of yours and Javi’s.

“She’s so beautiful.” He whispers, and you just nod, still unsure of your feelings for him right now.

“Carmen, baby, say hello.” You coo, picking her up and bringing her over to Javi. He’s quiet, scared, as always. But then she babbles at him, clapping her hands together and trying to reach for him. The teddy. He almost forgot about it.

“Hola pequeña, soy tu papá. ¿Quieres el peluche?” He says softly, waving it around a bit before handing it to her and letting her play. You and Javi talk for a bit while she sits on the bed, but then something happens. She gets tired, which is normal around 2pm, but instead of crawling to you, she goes to Javi. Carmen wraps her little fingers around one of his larger ones, curling up in his lap. The two of you still, and it shocks you to see tears appearing in his eyes as he strokes her hair, letting her sleep on him.

You decide to move in with him that night, realising that you don’t want him to be away from you and Carmen ever again.

TYSM for reading, I hope you enjoyed! Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated! 💞

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applejuicebegood · 7 months ago

Text

The Softest of Jason Todd HCs

Fem!Reader A/N: Some of these were originally conceived for the lovely, talented, wonderful @midnightorchids. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE FALLOW HER RIGHT NOW

Masterlist

Jason fell for you slowly. It was the kinda falling that took on the form of severe distraction and confusion during his patrol time. The only spot in his second life he had crafted into hours of precise control and expectancy. He hated how, as he was clicking a mag into his handgun, his mind would flash to your smiling, blushed face. He hated how you would unintentionally make him trip and stumble over the roof-tops of Gotham. He hated how recalling the chime of your laugh made his hands sweaty under his leather gloves. He hated how he had to take off his helmet in the seclusion of an abandoned wear-house because recalling how his hand slipped in to your on your last date made his face heat up to the point where he felt like he would pass out.

Once he realised that the nervous pounding in his gut whenever your shoulders brushed was in-fact caused from a growing crush on you, he panicked. The eventual confession was awkward and stumbled, him making it clear that he needed time and room to figure it out. He took your smaller hands into his, promising that no matter what, for now he would figure it out with you at his side. Of course you agreed, squeezing his hands in confirmation.

Ya'll are soulmates, period. Very big 'he is half of my soul' energy. Your bodies fit together like puzzle pieces. Your words have already been said by the other before you can string them together in your head. You share in each-others grief and rage. Five years into the relationship, Jason knew you so well (and being raised in a family of detectives) that you would never have to explain your frustration or annoyance - and on days like that he would always be ready to wrap you up in a weighted blanket, forcing a cup of raspberry tea into your cold hands and his headphones over your ears with one of his audiobooks already playing. Carrying you to your shared bed for you to fall asleep leaned up against his chest, his thick arms wrapped tightly around you.

Despite his availability of wealth and status, he keeps your date-night very low-key and personal. On his off days from Red-Hooding, both of you would have cooking nights. Where you would sway and giggle with the slow drift of music coming from the kitchen radio. You would make something hearty and filling. You wanting to see Jason sigh in the comfort of good food. You both would curl up with your steaming bowls on your couch, probably watching Tangled (at your request). It's all extremely cozy, Jason smiling into your skin as gratitude blooms in his chest for you. For having created this safe, hidden expanse of reassurance. All while the harsh Gotham wind whipped just outside your window.

This man is smitten- he worships you entirely. His is in awe of you, even as both of you grow old, his love and his care for you never relents or dwindles.

Ya'll would go to museums and art galleries and he would point at statues and paintings of goddess and queens and say 'you', under his breath. It's so horribly corny but it makes you hold his arm just a bit tighter every time.

After you both moved in together, he developed a habit of making your coffee alongside his and bringing it to you in bed in the mornings. This eventually just became your routine on weekends when you both had enough time to bask in the slow creeping of sunlight over each-others skin.

He's a romantic at heart, a part of him you had to slowly unearth under years of torment and blood. You were the one to force him out of his cave of isolation and into the reality of him deserving softness and joy. It's a dept you have assured him he doesn't need to pay back. That doesn't stop him from trying.

Giggles and smiles like a little boy if you kiss his forehead, specifically at the roots of his white streak. You think it's one of the prettiest things about him.

Unintentional scary dog when you guys are out together. He's got his hand laced with yours or floating somewhere on your hip or lower back. It's mostly due to his anxiety, constantly having his head on a swivel. It's all heightened due to the fact that he has the most precious, important individual standing next to him. Whether it's at one of his Dad's galla's or trips to the local library, he likes to have you near him.

Bitch has multiple playlists made about/for you (a lot of Noah Kahn and TV Girl)

Example:

A/N: I may be gay but I have a very special place for sappy Jason in my heart. Please send in any requests regarding our boy (or any of the bat boys or girls)- I really love writing for the people in this fandom.

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lottiies · 4 months ago

Text

SHARED MY BODY AND MY MIND WITH YOU

→ Leon broke up with you because of his emotional baggage, not wanting to drag you down into his trauma-induced misery. He didn’t usually date out of his line of work anyway, he hated himself for involving himself with someone so innocent. But when he gets a voicemail at an awfully late hour and listens to it, he nearly broke driving laws to get to your place. He still loves you, that much is certain. Your body and mind are like a second nature to him

CW: MDNI, fem!reader, pwp, one sided breakup, angst, description of leon’s self guilt and sabotage, heavy mentions of marriage, centered around Leon rather than the reader, reconciliation, lovemaking–gentle sex, crying, very small religious snippet, he eats you out, unprotected p in v, implied aftercare + implication of a better future

WC: 5.3k

Note: i think…this is my favorite fic that i’ve ever written. breaking my pink blog theme with this and actually capitalizing letters um…i had to set the tone okay. i actually started working on this in january to cope with some things, but i didn’t make much progress until recently!! the title’s a lyric from the song ‘cruel world’

BOT VERSION HERE MASTERLIST

Leon has a rule: never get emotionally involved with anyone who isn’t in his line of work. The reason behind that is self-explanatory. It's too difficult to accomplish. All his baggage holds him down, and he’s always away for long periods at a time and then returns back with body aches all over and has to hibernate for a while. What does he truly have to offer?

He did it anyway.

You managed to romance him, granting him a fleeting glimpse of happiness and a chance at self-love. Lingering caresses, meaningful eye contact, soulful conversations, an audience to his jokes, the key to your heart — you gave him everything.

Breaking up with you was painful, the second it was all said and done and you were out of his sight, he broke down crying. That was what he deserved, that’s what his mind told him.

It was easy for Leon to disappear from your life, just as quick as the snap of his fingers. He was never around that much to begin with. Your efforts in reaching out to him were futile if he was halfway across the world dealing with another abrupt assignment, or if he fell back into the habit of nursing a drink in some run down bar without contacting a soul.

But no amount of alcohol could make him forget about you these days. The memories of you were too strong to be diluted.

“What about this one?” Curiosity had dripped from your question, your fingers gently feathered across the healed up scar on his left shoulder.

Leon was almost an open book when it came to you, he truly cherished honesty in any relationship, whether romantic or platonic. Guilt weighed on him for having to limit certain answers to only the surface details. It felt wrong; it felt like he was keeping secrets from you and keeping you in the dark. But it couldn’t be helped, not when you weren’t in the same line of work as him. Most of the contents of his work were confidential.

After all, at this point the two of you had only been dating for half a year. How could he burden your mind with the harsh realities of everything that wasn’t known by the general public?

The two of you were naked, tangled under the sheets. No sex or anything, simply getting familiar with each other’s bodies and exploring with gentle and cautious hands.

“1998, shot on duty.”

The memories were still fresh in his mind. People say that forgetting a traumatic event is common, people dissociate to cope and shield their brain. It was the opposite for Leon. All the screams plagued his mind like a damn mantra, no way in hell would he ever be able to forget anyone’s voice.

Either that, or his mind made up fantasies about what could’ve been between you both. Domestic bliss. Buying a house together. Shy talks about how many kids you guys wanted. The memories haunted him. He wanted it back.

He even bought a ring. A beautiful one that he was meant to display to you when he sunk onto one knee and popped the question that would hopefully bind the two of you for life. The one that he was supposed to fidget with whenever he held your hand as the two of you planned your wedding, whether it be simple, grand, or to elope.

He kept it safe even after he broke up with you, he couldn’t bear to throw it away because of the sliver of hope that maybe one day he’d still get the chance of putting it on your finger. He felt like a fool. Sometimes he opened the box up to reminisce. It tugged at his heartstrings when he saw how rough his own fingers were in comparison to the smooth metal, from his years of physical exhaustion and training. God, he wished your hands would never get all battered like his.

He thought about you so much that you were the star actress in his nightly dreams.

The worst ones were the nightmares, though. Like the one that had him turning in his sleep tonight.

It all replayed in his mind. Your facial expression when he broke up with you out of the blue — the way the smile on your face had faded into a frown, your glimmering eyes contorting into that of disheartened ones. The way you looked at him with such a concoction of emotions. The pitiful chuckle that escaped your lips along with a nervously spoken ‘what?’ Or maybe it was the prolonged silence afterwards that killed him. It felt like hours until he got a proper response from you, one that was drowned out by the drumming of his own heart and the pulse that formed in his ears.

Usually he got to the end of it, but tonight he was abruptly woken up by the sound of his phone ringing. A blessing in disguise, maybe. Regardless, he was a bit irritated, he had always been such a light sleeper.

“You’re kidding…” Leon let out a heavy sigh, trying to rub the sleep away from his eyes. He didn’t even want to answer, too tired to even think about the possibility of being called to the field. No way in hell did he want to be met with Hunnigan’s voice and some intel he didn’t feel like remembering.

He let the phone ring, and eventually, blissful silence filled the room again. If it was dire, he knew he’d get another call soon.

Instead, he heard his phone vibrate not long after. He muttered out a curse before reaching for his phone, seeing that a voicemail was left. He didn’t bother reading whose number it was. Christ, the message was 5:06 minutes long.

Whatever. He played it aloud, resting his forearm over his face as he listened in.

“Hey Leon, it’s me…”

Fuck.

He fully sat up on his bed, so quickly it could’ve given him whiplash.

“I miss you. Still think about you every day. I don’t know what I did wrong…you probably aren’t even listening to this. I just…I don’t know.” a sigh. “The clock hit 12 and um, well today’s the anniversary of the day you asked me out. Maybe you don’t remember. I think you do though, you were always good with dates.”

Leon knew the voice of a broken person when he heard it.

No. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He was supposed to let you go and then you’d see how much life had to offer, how any other person could give you a better and more stable relationship.

How could you be hung up on a man like him?

It was instinctual. He shuffled out of bed, body reacting before his mind and reaching for a clean pair of clothes from his closet. He left the voicemail playing in the background, it filled his lonely house. His heart was racing so loudly he couldn’t even hear the sounds of the wind outside or the creak of the floor with every step. All he did was change and brush his teeth before he drove over to you.

Thankfully, the roads were empty and the highway was free of traffic or else surely he would’ve been pulled over.

Thinking rationally wasn’t necessary when it came to you, not when he just got punched in the gut with a load of nostalgia and gut wrenching heartbreak.

He has always been yours, even during the separation. His heart hammered within his ribcage when he pulled into your driveway, his body moving in a hurry out of his car and towards your door. No hesitation.

Knock, knock, knock.

Ten seconds felt like ten minutes, but eventually the door swung open.

Your pretty face filled the focus of his pupils, his expression softening. You looked like a deer in the headlights, gazing up at him with wide eyes.

Oh, my sweet girl. There she is.

His hands itched to reach for you, to hold you in his arms and spin you around, nuzzling his nose against yours like old times — like some romantic drama. He hadn’t watched one in a while, they reminded him too much of you. He shoved his hands in his pockets.

Leon's hair was messy. It was a sight you had seen many times: his bed hair. Those emotion carrying eyes of his were contrasted with the lifeless bags under them. He came over so damn quickly he hadn’t even taken the time to make himself look composed.

“Leon? What are you…” You couldn’t even finish your thoughts. You felt nothing yet so much at the same time, perhaps from the shock of it all. You brought two fingers to the pulse on your neck to make sure you were awake, and hadn’t somehow fallen asleep after your call and voicemail to him. The thundering pace of your pulse confirmed that you weren’t off in dream land.

“I got your voicemail,” He responded, sounding remorseful. “Had to make sure you were alright. Uh…can I come in?”

You continued staring at him like if he was some sort of supernatural being. If you reached your hand out to touch him, would he disappear? Or perhaps your limb would go straight through him as if he was transparent.

You snapped out of it and nodded. “Yeah, come on in.” Hesitation clouded your tone, not out of wariness but because you had no clue what the hell was going on. You hadn’t seen him in over a year, at least not in person, only through photos and videos you still had saved on your phone from when the two of you were dating (going through them was part of your nightly routine.)

“To be honest…I wasn’t expecting you to even hear my message.”

You stood there awkwardly as he entered, closing the door afterwards. Your apartment still smelled the same, a wave of comfort washed over him despite the circumstances, his eyes darting around at all your belongings. This was once his safe space, like his secret haven.

You sat on your couch, waving him over. Your legs felt like jelly, no way could you be standing for this. He followed, sitting on the couch cushion on the opposite side from you.

“My ringtone woke me up. I thought you were a coworker of mine at first but…I’m glad you weren’t.”

“Glad, really?”

“Yeah.” He gave no further context, at least for that minute.

Silence hung in the air, time became still. Either way, the shared glance between the two of you broke the tension, you were both thinking the same thing. Your minds were linked, seeking reconciliation, every circuit of neurons buzzing with your shared proximity.

He rested his elbows on his knees, running a hand through his hair, a nervous habit. Everything felt surreal, you couldn’t take your eyes off him, afraid he’d disappear.

“I’m…I’m sorry about the way I ended things.” There was a crack in his voice, he was so desperately clinging onto the ideology that he shouldn’t wear all his heart on his sleeve. He failed every time though, his words had wavered.

“I know.” You truly did.

“How?”

“Because I know you, Leon. It hurt, and I found myself wondering why you would just up and leave after what felt like such a meaningful time. But I didn't ever think you did it with mal intent.”

You should be demanding answers, hell, he could even take a few slaps to the face. Maybe his guilt ridden self preferred that to your sweet treatment. Did he even deserve to be met with your understanding? This self-pitying mindset he harbored is what had led to this in the first place.

“You’re right. I didn’t mean to hurt you, that’s the last thing I wanted to do.” Were his efforts in explaining himself getting across? “I thought it was better this way. I'm…broken.”

Trying to convince him that he isn’t ‘broken’ was futile, all you could do was beautify it instead. You scooted closer to him, clasping one of his hands between yours. “All you see are your faults, but I was seeing you entirely, not just for what you do in your job or the images that keep you up at night.”

His hands felt the same. Calloused in areas he couldn’t help like his knuckles and his palms, but well-kept in the nail department. He looked down at the physical contact, putting his other hand atop yours, his thumb grazing tenderly at your skin. Familiar territory.

“It’s hard not to.” He admitted, his eyes feeling glossy all of a sudden. “My job is my life, it drags into every other part of my life.”

“How did it drag into our relationship?”

He truly didn’t know how to answer that. The times he shared with you were the best experiences of his life. He finally got the chance to pull out his cardboard box full of romantic movies to watch with the lover he had been waiting for his whole life, you. Countless nights spent cooking together in your kitchen, full of laughter and playful bickering, and some harmless food fights. Grocery shopping together with laced fingers, just a sneak peek into domesticity. God, he yearned for its return.

“I don’t know. I constantly had to leave and got no vacation time either. Let’s see…I had to keep a lot of information confidential. It kinda screams ‘this’ll all make a girl run the other way.’”

How wrong he was, he ended up leaving before he could get abandoned, as if that would’ve happened, though, you never wanted him out of your life.

“That wasn’t true for me, Leon. I wanted to be with you. I just hope I wasn’t a burden on you.”

That hurt. A dull ache spread across his chest. He pulled you close, tucking you against his side.

“Don’t say that,” His instruction was soft spoken, his lips brushed against your cheek. You were never a burden, he always shut you out, thinking that his heart was full of thorns and you’d prick yourself if he let you get too close. That, perhaps his sorrow was contagious and his poison would flood your veins.

Words of comfort weren’t his strong suit, but he tried his best. He had to. “You weren’t a burden. Never were, and never will be, okay?”

It felt so good to have you against him, his gaze was set on you, searching for any indicator that you were uncomfortable. You leaned your shoulder against his shoulder though, nuzzling against him. Pensive silence followed.

Even with the somber undertones filling your apartment, your heart was bursting. He was here, back with you. Holding you like he used to do after you had a particularly stressful day at work, or when you had an argument with one of your close ones.

The long separation made familiar carnal desires spark to life, along with the itch to bring them to fruition.

“I’m glad you’re here.” You murmured to him, but your wavering voice caught his instant attention.

You were on the verge of tears, oh dear. If you started sobbing, he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to hold back from crying either.

Leon didn’t waste a second, pulling you onto his lap, one of his hands stroking the back of your head, his other arm wrapping around your back.

“What are you thinking about?” He needed to know. You had always been the most verbal, whereas his feelings usually showed on his face or body language.

“About how much I missed you.” You respond, running your hands up and down his arms, squeezing at his muscles. “And how unreal this feels. And…” Your eyes flicker down to his lips. “I wanna kiss you, Leon…and y’know.” Make love. “Like old times.”

Oh.

“Are you sure?” Leon hadn’t intended for the night to play out this way. He needed to make sure you were actually thinking straight with the pool of emotions you seemed to be drowning in. To be fair, he was drowning too.

It was midnight, your bodies burned for one another.

“I am.” You uttered those words with such finality, eyes set on him.

This wasn’t some impromptu longing for his physical connection, you had been craving it for as long as the two of you had been separated. To feel him in the purest and most tender way possible, nestled against one another and eliciting feelings no one else could.

The pads of his thumbs rub circles against the fat of your hips. He's looking up at you, his eyes are unable to hide a flicker of yearning and affection. Expressive, his pupils dilated and his eyebrows slightly raised. He blinked slowly, like a cat showing utmost trust to its owner.

He looks at you like he worships you (he does.) Get him on his hands and knees, he’ll mumble your name like you’re his god and he’s praying to you, all his sins out in the open and his scarred body for you to look over and judge. He’ll be vulnerable with you if that means you’ll forgive his wrongdoings and give him a second chance. You must be a merciful god, no doubt about it.

“Don’t look at me like that.” You murmured, cupping his face. His gaze was hypnotic, sending a wave of security down your body. It almost felt as if you traveled to the time before he shattered your heart into pieces of glass.

“Like what?” He couldn’t help it. Not like he had a mirror, anyway. His face was usually tense, brows permanently furrowed and eyes narrowed from being attentive all the fucking time, his lips a straight line, jaw anything but relaxed.

Not right now, though. Never with you. Everything in his body softened and loosened up around you. Well, with the exception of his dick but that was another matter.

“You know what I mean. Like…like you still love me.”

Leon didn’t know what to say. The words died in his throat while every fiber of his being wanted to say ‘I do.’ The same words he could’ve voiced out standing across the altar from you. His brain short-circuited.

His pause came across as ambiguous to you, to mask the pain, you kissed him. Like a chocolate on a hot summer day, he melted in an instant, turning to mush, holding one side of your jaw and matching your pace.

The two of you mingled like two puzzle pieces. Your chest was flush against his, one of your hands finding his hair and pulling on it, earning a drawn out groan from him. It went slow for the first five minutes, some occasional pull backs for breath, shy smiles in betweens, before going back in like the act of kissing was needed for your pulses to continue, your hearts beating as one.

“Mmph.” Your whimper made him shudder, oh how he had missed that noise. His other hand got a bit more confident, resting on the small of your back, moving up towards your ribs then back down, almost resting on your ass.

He felt a surge of heat settle in his groin, aching to give you all the pleasure you deserved, to make you feel cherished and known. To knock any misery out of your head and replace it with euphoric sparks and reassurance. To be one with you again, if you’d have him.

He pulled away from the kiss, his eyes fluttering open. “Bedroom?”

A nod from you was all it took. He didn’t let you get up, instead holding your ass as he stood up, his lips back on yours as he carried you to your bedroom like he owned the place. His mind still had the spatial layout, it worked out and he eventually placed you onto the middle of the bed oh so delicately.

You knew what was coming, already taking your clothes off in a haste as you heard his belt come undone, the sound of his taking his shirt off, and his boots being kicked off.

It wasn’t long until he was on you again.

Leon took his time to look at your body. He was all too familiar with it, knowing exactly where certain beauty marks were, or the places that were sensitive to even the slightest fan of his breath. His fingertips ghosted over your sides, sucking in a sharp inhale as his eyes roamed all over, studying you as if you were his muse and he was about to draw you. “So beautiful…”

His lips had traveled all across you once upon a time. Leon had a great memory, perhaps one of his best features, though also his downfall. At times like these, it comes in handy. It almost seemed like a hazy flashback to the nights he had you splayed on the bed, pressing his lips against your forehead and making it all the way to the sensitive skin of your inner thighs.

He wanted to mimic the memory. “Need to taste you. Can I?”

“God, yes.” You agreed in a heartbeat, body already feeling all tingly at the anticipation.

He littered open mouthed kisses from the middle of your chest, all the way down to your end of your stomach, making your body ignite with flames and mind flood with an overwhelming sense of nostalgia. What day was it? Month? Year? You couldn’t remember, just desperately hoping this wasn’t some realistic feeling dream. You’ve had those too often, and if you woke up without him by your side, you felt like you would die from heartbreak.

He hooked his arms underneath your thighs to pull you close. His fingers dug into your thighs as he took another look at his favorite pretty cunt. He missed this. Missed you. Missed having you grind yourself against his face until he couldn’t breathe. Missed having his heart race from the angelic noises you blessed his ears with.

His nose pressed against your clit, applying light pressure as his tongue lapped at your slit, gathering the dew there. Geez, he really got right into it. Your eyes rolled back, your stomach tensing and your back arching. You could die right now by your (ex) lover’s tongue, what a way to go.

On the occasion that he opened his eyes, he’d look up at you through his light lashes — he swore you looked like an angel from his perspective.

“What is this? Your last meal on death row?” You were joking, but god…he really was making your mind go blank, he knew just all the right buttons to press.

“Oh, so you think I’m a criminal?”

Like always, you reached for his hair, pushing it back and hearing him growl out of contentment. He gave your clit gentle sucks before flattening his tongue against it and flicking it, his head moving side to side, repeating the process again and again.

One thing about Leon? He always found a way to turn you on by being vocal. His noises were muffled and sloppy but you could feel the vibration of all his whimpers and growls against you as he took his time eating you out. He was getting off to pleasuring you, and that fact alone made it so much hotter.

Your thighs were trembling, threatening to close in and squeeze his head. Leon placed one of his hands over your lower abdomen, applying light pressure with his palm and coaxing you into your orgasm.

It didn’t take you long to get there, you hadn’t felt a tongue on you in ages, he was your last.

“Leon, I’m—“

He already knew.

“That’s it, make a mess all over my face.” It sounded like a demand but instead it came across as a pitiful and desperate plea.

How many times had he been in this position? Lying on his stomach, your taste on his tongue, chin dripping with his drool and your wetness, feeling your body trembling…he couldn’t even count how many. But it was enough for him to know your body like no other.

He kept going even after your thighs started squeezing in on him, even with the way you unintentionally tugged at his hair enough to have him rutting against your sheets. He made sure to make your orgasm feel good, lapping at you all throughout until he heard a whine leave your lips and he felt you weakly push his head away — he didn’t want to overstimulate you and hurt you.

He finally took a breath, one that filled his lungs with satisfaction as he propped himself up on his elbows before sitting up. He ran a hand through his hair, feeling his blood pump south with the way you were still composing yourself, your legs twitching all cutely and your torso rising and sinking with each deep breath you attempted to take.

“Do you wanna…” Your eyes flitted down to the prominent tent in his pants, feeling a stirring in your stomach already.

“Do you?”

“Yeah. I mean…only if you want to.”

With his belt already in some corner of the room and his fly down, all that was left was discarding his pants and boxers down. He fished his wallet out and pulled a packet from it before doing so.

You were too distracted eyeing his now exposed dick, gulping. It had been a while. But a certain wrapper noise caught your attention. A condom. You had always been careful with him in the past, but you wanted him inside him without any barriers. To feel him entirely, his skin against your insides.

“Don’t, please?”

“But–“

“I need to feel you, Leon.”

“Already being a bad influence on me? What am I gonna do with you?” His jest was met with your roll of eyes, but the corners of your eyes crinkled, happy he was already comfortable enough to bicker a bit.

He pet your head, gazing fondly at you as he awaited your response.

“I just want to feel you as close as possible. I don't know how to explain it. You can pull out at the end…I dunno.”

You didn’t need to explain further, because he felt the same. He kissed your forehead, whispering “okay.”

Getting in between you and in position for missionary, he continued peppering kisses all over your face. He couldn’t hold back, he had so much to make up for, he owed you at least a thousand more. He pushed into you, a breathy moan leaving his lips, it felt like he had just entered the pearly gates. And the way your jaw hung open in a silent gasp told him you felt the same.

“You alright?”

“Mhm, keep going.”

“God, I missed you…” His thrusts made the bed creak, adding to the assortment of sounds of two bodies joined as one: skin against skin, high pitched gasps and occasional throaty groans, nails scratching against Leon’s back and leaving red marks in their wake, a subtle noise, but there nonetheless.

“Yeah? How much?”

“Too much. Could never get you outta my mind.” He admitted, burying his head against your neck to leave open-mouthed kisses all over, smiling when he felt you squirming. “Dreamt about you every night. Every…every morning I woke up, I thought you’d still be by my side.”

His response knocked the breath out of you, God if you could have him closer than physically possible, you would. This was the closest you’d be though, his tip hitting your g-spot, his body flush against yours, it was just the two of you in this never ending universe.

“Leon…Leon…fuck.” You called for him like you needed him to prevent you from crumbling.

He pinned one of your hands to the side of your head and laced his fingers between yours, his head remaining against your other side, raspy grunts and incoherent praises rumbling against your ear. He gently bit your earlobe, tugging at it and sending a shiver down your spine.

Despite all his self doubts, Leon knew how to love, how to send another person to cloud nine and make their head fuzzy with sheer euphoria. He wasn’t fucking you, he was loving you, there’s a clear difference.

His lips trailed to your jawline, eventually reaching your lips and initiating an uncoordinated make out session, the sound of dazed out whimpers and quiet growls mixing together perfectly.

He was getting there, his pace more erratic than before, his hand squeezing yours tightly. “You’re so pretty.” He mumbled against your lips, speaking in between rushed pecks. “Prettiest girl in the world.”

You managed to smile at that. “Yeah? Well you’re the prettiest boy in the world.”

You could’ve said handsome. Or hot. Or cute. But Leon was pretty, that was always the first thing that came to your mind. He was like a model, surely some agency would have tried to recruit him if he were actually in broad daylight more.

“Mm.” He liked the compliment. No more words were exchanged after that, he was focused on feeling you. Feeling the way you took all of him like it was nothing, clearly the two of you were physically made for one another.

There was no going back from this, Leon couldn’t bear the thought of getting a taste of happiness yet again and then falling back into a hopeless pit. He wouldn’t push you away again.

You were already sensitive from the way he had made you cum on his face earlier. You pulled away from his kisses, your head thrashing side to side against the pillow instead, your hips desperately bucking to meet his.

“Leon…”

“Just let go for me, you can do it.”

Moans ripped from your throat, your nails leaving crescent indents on his skin as your body writhed underneath him. Leon couldn’t take his eyes off of you as you came, his own stomach feeling tighter and tighter until he followed suit.

“I love you.” He let it slip at the very end, his mind too dazed and his emotions for you running at full blast. You would’ve replied if not for the way you were in awe, watching the way his eyebrows furrowed, his head tilted back, his mouth let out the raspiest grunts as he pulled out and came. Fuck, he couldn’t be real.

It was only then that Leon’s head cleared. He felt his heart sink to his stomach, had he said something wrong? The moment died down, he felt uncertain about how you’d react. Regardless, Leon took a moment to admire you in your flushed state before leaning down to kiss your head, then lying down beside you and pulling you to his side.

You were all dazed with his confession lingering in your head.

He still loved you. Maybe it was obvious, but hearing it aloud was a completely different feeling.

All the suppressed emotions between the two of you were being put on the spotlight. Your eyes brimmed with unshed tears, you tried to blink them away, but you failed.

Leon wished your eyes hadn’t gotten glossy and that your lips hadn’t tugged into a small frown. It made his heart physically ache. Heavy hearted, that’s what he felt like, swallowing to try to alleviate just how sore his throat felt all of a sudden. Guilt bubbled in his stomach because he knew he was the source of your tears.

He kissed away your tears, welcoming the salty taste of them.

He couldn’t tell you not to cry, he wasn’t in the position to. All he could do was reassure you instead, curling his hand into a fist before rubbing soothing circles onto your back as he watched you curl against him.

“Hey…”

“Sorry. I didn't mean to start crying. I just…you still love me? Did you mean that?”

“It’s okay. Just let it out, I'm here for you.” He had your head tucked underneath his chin. “And yeah…I never stopped.”

“I love you too.”

He wasn’t leaving this time.

Maybe that ring he held onto would find its true owner soon.

You, his sweet girl.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x fem reader #leon kennedy smut #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut #leon kennedy oneshot #resident evil oneshot

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severinageto · 2 months ago

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Eternals (Or one year since the airport)

Can the body feel without the soul?

Suguru trusted that something awaited him beyond. Some days he believed it more than others, but few can boast of having unshakable faith. So, when he felt his left arm, observed his youthful body, and examined the place awaiting him, he knew his belief hadn't been in vain. There he was, in the waiting area. For what? What else could happen when the finality of life had already taken place? A vast ocean on an empty beach would have made more sense. Even the darkness of Hades' hell. But no. Something had brought him to a plane that he sensed would not be just his own.

It didn't take long for him to realize what that ethereal place meant. He would need more than a pair of hands to count the times they'd been there, watching the screens, counting landings, and checking departures. "I hate flying, Suguru." "Why?" "Because it's so common." A playful shove, the luggage on the floor, the Ray-Ban store. Dozens of countries, hundreds of flights, and thousands of caresses. So, there he'd be, just like in his youth, sitting, reading, reflecting, until his eyes deigned to appear. He'd probably arrive late, just like always; late to their first date, late when he needed him, late to snatch away his life.

He wasn't wrong. A year, exactly. However, when he felt his presence, he couldn't help but ask himself: *Why did I keep waiting for him?*

"For the same reason he chose this day," he answered, looking sadly to the north.

“Sleep a little longer, Satoru”, he whispered to the soul starting to take form.

Gojo had thought about the possibility of dying before facing the cruel king of curses. He entertained the idea behind all the others but never materialized it into wills or declarations. Arrogant as always, he concluded it was no more than a slight probability, existing only because he had the misfortune of being mortal. "Nah, I'll win," he said, sure that the day would pass like any other.

Those who loved him had the bad luck of believing him.

Satoru, upon falling, felt nothing. There was no requiem, no eulogies. His heart simply stopped beating, and his soul crossed the plane dividing them. As he looked one last time at the vastness of the sky, a cold air, unlike any he had felt before, invaded his body. Yet he welcomed it gladly. He narrowed his eyes and breathed in the scent.

“Finally”, he murmured as the pressure in his veins disappeared.

Neither of them imagined that beyond life, the senses would be as sharp as when their lungs could still draw breath. Yet that first embrace, strong, intimate, almost suffocating, convinced them it was true. It wasn't until they inhaled each other's scent that they internalized the importance of something so basic, so corporeal, so earthly to both of them.

Satoru, in life, had never really thought about what the owner of his soul smelled like; "People don't smell like anything specific," he thought. However, when he rested his nose on that manly chest, the images that flooded his mind took him back to that lush, unique forest, to the clearing where he had often laid on his legs. "Move a little, Satoru." "Which way?" "Toward me." The spring flowers, the summer grass, the damp autumn soil, and the smoke from winter stoves—all had their own essence, one intertwined with that hint of incense that accompanied his caresses. It was the scent of camaraderie, of security, of intimacy.

"Sleep a little longer, Satoru," he'd say while combing his hair with his delicate fingers.

Over time, that same scent became painful for Satoru. Whenever he caught it, in some place or in something left behind, he felt a knot in his stomach—a mixture of nostalgia, sadness, and perhaps, just perhaps, a twinge of betrayal. His scent was something that lingered with him even after he was gone, something that still made Satoru feel that, in some way, his beloved curse manipulator remained the same person with whom he had shared so many moments. That he was still, after all, his partner, his lover, and his best friend.

"Sleep a little longer, Satoru," his deep voice from the window, the bare shoulder, the moonlight, and the glow of his cigarette outlining his delicate profile. A pitying look and a slammed door. His last earthly memory.

Suguru, on the other hand, was always sure of the notes generated by the strongest man's hormones. No wonder he watched him intently, as if there were nothing else to do on earth. The countless verses he dedicated to those sharp citruses in the intimacy of his notebooks. Satoru's scent reminded him of the mandarins they shared. Gojo would throw them at him, and he would peel them, while they talked, while they laughed, or while they were silent, always looking at each other as if they could see through each other's pupils. After all, it was a scent very fitting for the bearer of the Six Eyes. It evoked his electrifying personality, always standing out, for better or worse, from the rest of mere mortals.

From time to time, especially in the heat of summer, the albino's movements brought with them the freshness of his wild ocean. Free, expansive, as if he were one with the sky. For Suguru, that scent was the ultimate manifestation of his limitless technique; the ability to encompass everything belonged only to him and the untamable ocean.

"Can I sleep a little longer, Suguru?" he would ask between sighs when the first rays of sunlight illuminated his pale complexion. His fingers searching for his, an alarm clock against the wall, a warm embrace.

Once time did its work, Satoru's fragrance began to confuse him. The love he felt for those long hands, for the warmth of his breath, and the softness of his hair mingled with the painful reminder of what he left behind, with the resentment for what was broken, and the deep sadness for all that could have been but never was. The possibility of waking up to his snores, of caring for him during his colds, of scolding him for his careless attitude. Ultimately, the possibility of navigating youth while holding those long hands.

"Can I sleep a little longer, Suguru?" closed eyes, a raspy voice, bandages on the nightstand. The feeling that everything that had happened between them was the embodiment of the worst sin. A blink, a grunt, covering up again.

They would start again.

By the time death came for him, the scent of his beloved Six Eyes was a chemical manifestation of everything he had chosen to reject: the system, the structure he couldn't change, and, ultimately, him; with his magnificent strength, his figure, and the central axis of the world that, when he needed him most, gave him so much indifference. His scent, the embodiment of his greatest weakness. The slightest hint of his scent, of his purple scent, was a door to the past, to the memories he preferred to forget. To the moments when the love for his manic laughter, his strange occurrences, and his incredible intelligence knew no bounds. That fragrance was the last thing his body processed.

"Can I sleep a little longer, Suguru?" a flash of purple light, his world fading to black. The question that no longer had an answer.

If the soul is incapable of feeling without the body, then why, when they crossed paths again, did the power of chemistry act as if they had never separated? Why did hunger, burning passion, and desperate longing for the other's body take over them as if it were the first day? Why was something as simple and earthly as a scent able to anchor one person to another?

Because perhaps it was more than that. Perhaps the presence of a curse manipulator was bound to the birth of the Six Eyes heir. Perhaps where the existence of one began, the other's ended. Perhaps something as profane as this world would never be enough to contain a love as eternally sacred as the one they intoxicated themselves with.

Or maybe they were always two bodies and one soul.

Their soul.

Gojo's nose sank into Suguru's neck. The curse manipulator's left hand slid over the albino's waist. Satoru's right knee touched Suguru's left. Their fingers intertwined, their lips met, their scents mixed, and they became one entity again.

Perhaps the earth stopped for a moment, surprised; the love that moved it had finally resumed.

“Can I sleep a little longer, Suguru?”, he asked, resting on his legs, smiling flirtatiously.

“Sleep a little longer, Satoru”, he replied, as his delicate and soft hands welcomed him, eyes brimming with emotion.

Who would have thought an airport could feel like home?

The eternal home.

———————————✈️

©️ by https://x.com/yu7272s

#stsg #stsg brainrot #jjk stsg #gojo x geto #geto suguru #satosugu #stsg fanfic #gojo satoru #satosugu fanart #I always make myself suffer writing thesw

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back2bluesidex · 1 month ago

Text

Slide - The Other Side - MYG (18+)

Pairing: Producer!Yoongi X Lyricist!Reader

Theme: Angst, smut, unplanned pregnancy. Fwb to ?

Word count: 1.6k+

Summary:

I shot back, then she told me I should speak up "I can't even hear you through the speaker"

Alternatively,

No matter how much Yoongi had been trying to compile his focus and pour it all on Gyuri, his mind kept reeling back to you.

Warnings: angst, yoongi is a dilemma, he is suffering quite a lot too.

Listened to Slide by Chase Atlantics

Minors do not interact!!

Series Masterlist | Masterlist | Patreon (for early access)

A/N: Very first Yoongi's POV.

Taglist requests are closed for now

Read the next chapter

It is a human instinct to seek for what we don’t have and try to get our hands on it.

Be it tangible or intangible - human beings will always run after what they don’t own and what they think they need.

Yoongi is a human.

So he, too, ran after everything he is not, everything he thought would fill the gaps of his soul, fit like a missing piece of a puzzle and make him whole.

Hence, he fell in love with Lee Gyuri.

Given the fact that Gyuri is everything he is not, he thought she would make him a perfect sphere. He thought his imperfectly titled earth would stand straight and spin round.

However, alarms of his mind set off very loudly whenever Gyuri brought forth the topic of marriage and kids and living together.

He himself came from a broken family. He witnessed how his father and mother were once so in love but then suddenly they were drifting apart.

A part of him believes that marriage ruins love. And he wanted to stay in love, without having to exchange vows and reproduce another life.

But to his dismay, Gyuri thought his idea of love was absolutely absurd and it doesn’t make any sense. In the end, she decided to leave him, saying that his cold shoulders are hard to take, his distant persona hurt her beyond measure and that she thinks she’s the only one who is keeping this relationship alive.

Hence, his four year old relationship came to an end just like that.

Gyuri walked away and she took the larger part of yoongi with her. The part that was left, was unable to fall in love, unable to feel anything concrete, just unable to process human connection anymore.

If Gyuri thought he never loved her properly, she should have seen him after her departure. Yoongi was devastated, broken, shattered beyond repair - and you only fall too hard when you climb too high, you only break too much when you love too hard.

Yoongi wished Gyuri knew.

For once Yoongi wished to be seen.

And Yoongi felt seen.

Yoongi felt the feeling of being seen in every corner of his skin, deep in his bones each and every time you looked at him with those knowing eyes.

Ever since that night you picked him up, you have always looked at him with kindness. There was no pity, no curiosity in your eyes to unsettle him.

If he dares to add then he has perceived affection in those eyes of yours. And by some magical force, you made him open up - something even Gyuri couldn’t do.

If he is honest enough to admit then he would say that he was afraid of opening up to his former girlfriend, what if she ran away (which she did regardless).

But somehow you felt like a safe space - he could show the real him, the one that is scared and weak, and you wouldn’t judge him, you would embrace him (which you did every single time).

And that is what kept him coming back to you again and again.

Those quiet nights of shared understandings soon turned into something more - skin on skin, hands on body, mouth on mouth. Yoongi hated none of it.

Yoongi started liking it all way too much.

Soon enough he realized, it’s not always important to fill up each gap, to seek for a person who is everything we are not.

Sometimes peace comes from alikeness.

Sometimes peace comes from someone very much like you.

And you are very much like him.

Just like him you, too, belong to a broken family, prone to close yourself up around people, you don’t laugh too loud, talk too loud, you don’t say things you don’t mean.

You like maintaining a distance.

You like to hide behind a facade.

Again, you are just like him.

Even after knowing his views towards commitment, you never questioned him once. You never asked why he thinks what he thinks. You never once asked for anything more than what he could offer. You never demanded recognition from him.

You never said anything but still Yoongi knew that you were falling in love with him.

And right on that moment he knew - you would have been the one for him. Only if you two could travel to a parallel universe, where he wasn’t so pathetically in love with Gyuri, he would allow himself to fall for you.

That day when Gyuri came back, when she gracefully stepped into his life again as if nothing happened - he didn’t know what to feel or what he was feeling.

He didn’t know what if he was more happy or more regretful that the sand castle he built with you was about to tumble down sooner than he expected.

He always feared waves but Gyuri in the shape of a wave - he both feared and loathed it.

His sense of fear and resentment heightened when he felt you touching his knee under the table. You are just too kind, way too kind for your own good.

You stayed in this arrangement even after knowing Yoongi wouldn’t be able to return your feelings and you were still trying to comfort him when you yourself knew things were coming to an inevitable end.

At that moment Yoongi wished he never loved Gyuri to begin with.

“I will not force you to do anything you don’t want, Yoongi. I promise, I will not fight. Let’s give each other another chance please. I- I have been missing you terribly.” Gyuri had said standing behind the closed wooden door of the meeting room.

Yoongi’s heart lurched inside his chest a bit.

But it’s not the flattering kind.

When he looked into her eyes, he found sincerity but he couldn’t see himself reflecting in them.

That is why he said, “I don’t know, Gyuri. I don’t think it will be ideal for us -”

“I know the damage is done. But please please let’s try once more. Three months, let’s try for three months, for the sake of old times, our memories, for our love. I love you, Yoongi. And I know you love me too. So, please.” Gyuri had cut him off desperately.

Yoongi thought then. Getting into this trial with Gyuri would mean leaving you behind. Leaving you behind would mean setting you free from his grasps.

If Yoongi sets you free, you can move on and find everything that he can’t provide you with - love, a lover, maybe even a home.

So he had said yes.

“I love you so much.” Gyuri murmured on his chest.

“I love you too.” Yoongi didn’t mean it.

“.... but the lyrics just won’t come out. I have been trying to write ….”

For a fleeting moment, Yoongi heard Gyuri saying something about the lyrics but his brain didn’t register anything solid.

He had been zoning out, staring at the door, waiting for you to come in with your notebook and ipad, give everyone a tight-lipped smile and a muffled greeting and settle somewhere near him. But you were nowhere to be found.

When the door creaked open, his heart creaked too, only to be disappointed when Namjoon slipped in.

A moment later his heart creaked and cracked even more when Namjoon announced you had withdrawn from the project.

He should have felt relieved then. This is what he wanted, he wanted to set you free from his painful grip.

But that didn't mean he wouldn’t feel an unexplainable pain in his chest.

That didn’t mean he wouldn’t feel something important sliding through his fingers.

At that moment Yoongi realized, he did the forbidden.

He got attached to you.

Every pore in Yoongi’s body oozed relief when he saw you for the first time in a month.

You look distressed but you look beautiful regardless.

He tried his best to appear nonchalant, stoic so that you don’t get a hint of the tempest that had been raging inside of him.

No matter how much he had been trying to compile his focus and pour it all on Gyuri, his mind kept reeling back to you - how you silently cried with him that night, how you didn’t hold him back when he left, how you didn’t object when he ended it all.

For once he wished you wouldn’t be so much like him.

For once he wished for you to ask something more from him.

“I can take care of it myself, Yoongi. You have a life to lead, you have better days ahead now, why would you even care about me? I was just a fleeting chapter anyway. Please- please don’t act like our time together meant anything to you. Please, I beg.” you broke down right before his eyes.

If he is reading between the lines properly then is that animosity?

Are you angry with him?

If he riles you up more will you confess? Will you ask for more?

Will you… will you ask him to come back? His thoughts swirled inside him making him feel dizzy.

“wasn’t it a given? A silent agreement that our time together wouldn’t mean much to any of us?” he pushed you more, even though he knew it wasn’t the right thing to say but he tried to pull the truth or the demand or whatever might it be, out of you.

And he didn’t even know why?

What does he even want?

Does he want you? Even the thought of wanting someone other than Gyuri scared him to death.

You nodded, “Yeah. You are right. Forget I have said anything. Bye.”

And with that you were gone.

For the second time in life Yoongi faced a loss.

However, unlike the first time, this time it was his fault. This time, he knew, a second chance would probably never come by.

He should have felt relief.

He felt a prospect of quiet, peaceful love sliding through his fingers instead.

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arminsumi · 1 year ago

Text

THE SPRING I MET YOU

GOJO さとる

He hates spring because of "allergies"; he blames his sniffly nose and red eyes on the season.

Warnings : angst (heartbreak)

Playme : First Love/Late Spring

SPRING 2006

You had met Gojo Satoru through a common friend — Geto Suguru.

Oh how many times had you heard him say, like a broken record;

"You really have to meet this guy, you're gonna click with him I just know it. You're like the same person."

You're like the same person.

Suguru'd nag you to meet Satoru ever since he entered Jujutsu High, because he thought he was... you know, just the kinda guy you'd fall in love with. And he hated to see you moping around, lonely and hopelessly seeking a lover that was certainly not "coming to you on a summer breeze" like your mother insisted.

So you met Satoru, by Suguru's demand.

And your first impression of him was: oh no; he's an idiot.

A loud-mouthed, obnoxious idiot. Inappropriate. Overconfident. Irresponsible.

And his first impression of you was: eh, she's too shy.

A put-together, attractive woman. Too proper. Too shy. Too responsible.

If you and him were words, then you were antonyms to each other.

But that didn't matter, it was just the peripheral view you had of each other; something still drew you into each other. Like the universe was drawing up a constellation especially for you and him.

What did you have in common? Nothing. What did you like about his personality? Nothing. But Satoru was always nobody but himself and you liked that. That's the thing about him that saved you from viewing him as an unworthy madman.

And you? He thought you were always trying too hard to be somebody else, someone you were not, someone you could never be — and he wanted to change that. To see what was beneath the diffidence, beneath the plastic sheet that you covered over the image of your self.

He wanted to provoke you more than anyone else, not for the purpose of eliciting a cheap reaction and feeling fleeting amusement, but because he wanted to get you out of your shell.

His heart was on his sleeve, and yours was wrapped up in winter layers even though it was a warm spring. Satoru peeled off the layers one by one, until finally he found his gold; your sweet, tender, loving heart. And once he found it he grabbed it in a way that showed he intended for no one else to steal it from him; his love, all his.

It was just beautiful from then on. You and him. Satoru and you. The two stars in the constellation that the universe specifically designed just for you and him. Only you and him.

How did the first date happen? It just happened. How did the first kiss happen? It just happened. How did the first slow dance happen? It just happened. How did the boyfriend girlfriend thing happen? It just happened.

Everything between you and him always just happened. Like Tetris blocks falling perfectly into place. Like puzzle pieces perfectly connecting. Like clockwork.

No friction, no tediousness, no miscommunication between your stars. You and him shared your minds, bodies and souls with each other.

Like you were the same person.

SPRING 2009

Satoru's face trembled and nose reddened as tiny tears rolled out of his eyes.

This was the first time he had cried in three years. And it was a first for having an emotional breakdown in public, in the middle of a busy train station.

"Satoru, I'm sorry." you said to him. "I have to start my life."

"But we've already started a life here, together!" he yelled with a broken voice, in the middle of that busy train station. People looked.

It was Spring of 2009; you were breaking up with a 20 yr old Gojo Satoru as sensibly and sensitively as you could, but he still acted like a child.

When you and him had gotten together in 2006, both of you were just simple-minded, carefree teenagers who had yet to be shaped by the hurt of life.

Oh him and his prismatic feelings, they spill out the edge at the right angle and show a display of everything you never thought he felt.

"Things have changed. I've changed, and so have you. We have to move on from each other." you said, and he shook his head and looked at you like he was falling to pieces.

"I haven't changed! I'm still your boy. C-can't we talk about this at the cafe—

"—Satoru, my train is here."

SPRING 2018

"—Sensei, the train is here!"

He was interrupted back then just like he's been interrupted now from his daydream of you.

"What's the matter?"

Gojo-sensei's blindfold soaks up his tears, but it can't muffle his sniffling or reddened cheeks and ears. His nose wrinkles up and wiggles to the side as he sniffles and runs the back of his hand under his nostrils.

"Allergies. This is why I hate spring." he chuckles.

"Aw, get allergy medicine."

"Yeah yeah, I will. You rascals catch your train before it runs off without you." Gojo

「じゃあ！」 Yuji raises a hand of goodbye to his teacher and boards the train with Megumi and Nobara.

He waves goodbye to his students, lifting his blindfold to catch a peek before the train carries them out of sight. His smile drops when they can no longer see him at all.

He stares for a long moment at the place where you once stood, and remembers two memories;

One late spring you were on your tip-toes kisssing him for the first time.

And one late spring you were waiting for your train, breaking his heart with goodbye.

I do not permit the copying/reposting/translation/plagiarism of my works. Do not steal what I've worked hard to create.

This is fictional work.

#tw: angst #angst #gojo #gojo satoru #gojo angst #jjk #jjk x reader #gojo x reader #gojo x fem reader #gojo satoru x reader #jjk angst #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x fem reader #jjk gojo #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n

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kissitbttr · 5 months ago

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insecure toji :(

—

toji is great at hiding his insecurities. best at it, even.

to be a man you are not allowed to showcase any emotion nor shed a tear in front of anyone. it would bring such great dishonor to family, especially to zenin.

that’s how he was raised by his father. he’s got the marks and bruises to prove it, hasn’t he?

but one thing that toji is very much insecure about is he knows how financially unstable he is.

by any means, he’s not poor. yet, he’s not enough either. and it’s never become a problem for him until he has you.

a beautiful woman whom he had met exactly a year ago at a dingy bar when he had just gotten off from his late shift,

he remembers vividly how you looked that night. sophisticated and gorgeous. a dress that fits your body too well and a voice that could make any man weak at their knees.

it was obvious you had eyes on you as a conversation was shared between you and a few friends, yet you paid no mind at first.

but you took that chance anyway and looked to your right, a small chuckle heaved from you as the man quickly averted his gaze down to his lap with a small blush upon his cheeks. embarrassed that he got caught.

“you came alone?” you asked, resting your chin upon your open palm with a small head tilt,

“y-yeah” he laughs, nodding at you. “just got off from a shift, figured a drink would be nice”

you hum, smiling at the handsome man few feet from you. “graveyard shift?” a little tease won’t hurt,

“something like that” he laughs again and you might be biased because he has the most cutest one you’ve ever heard, “all that and still not enough to treat myself somewhere nice”

a joke but you see how much pain he hides when he says that,

“eh—as long as you’re still alive, there are lots of things that needs to be grateful for” you shrug as you answer. “are you grateful, sir?””

never in his life has he ever heard someone asked him that question,

“very much so, ma’am” he nods yet again, lips stretching into a smile and you catch a glimpse of his thin scar adorning his lips. “or at least i try to be”

you listen well to what he has to say. “try” you repeat the word he just said. “exactly—it’s better to say that rather than completely give up everything—got someone back home?”

he chuckles, lacing his fingers together. “if you meant a three year old son, yes”

“he means a lot to you then?”

“i’d give him the world” he corrects your statement in seconds, thoughts of little megumi clouding his mind. “the only thing that keeps me going”

“well—“ you begin again before saying goodbyes to your friends and colleagues. “that makes him your purpose, then”

he hums, confirming everything what you had just said as the two of your continues to stare into each other’s eyes.

“why don’t you come over here? talk to me more about you” you offer,

“would hate to ruin your evening, ma’am—my shit is far too complex and boring” he chuckles,

you shake your head in disagreement, smiling at him. “every human’s life is complex—it just depends on those people around us who’s willing to sit and listen—and i chose to listen. so come here” you push a stool in front of you with your feet for him to sit on,

little did you know, toji immediately fell in love with you that night,

“i’m broke, angel” he admits out of the blue, earning a glance from you. “i don’t know why you wanted to do anything with me when i could barely give you something”

your brows are furrowed, “toji wha-“

“i saw those two men tonight who came up to you. very well dressed men” he swallows a lump, “they could probably fix your life. seeing the watch on their wrists? i mean” he chuckles with no humor laced in it and it concerns you even mode,

“who wouldn’t?” his eyes then move briefly to yours, whose eyes scanning through his features like there’s something deeply wrong about him. “you’re a beautiful woman with a the kindest soul i’ve ever seen and i’m just the lucky bastard who gets to be with you… I still question myself sometimes ‘why on earth does she wants to be with me?’ “

“they could provide you better” he ends the sentence with a small voice

“baby” you speak with tenderness, fingers quickly moving under his chin and get him to look at you when he refuses. “toji baby, look at me”

and it nearly damn breaks your heart when you see toji struggles to push back his tears,

“where is all of this coming from?”

he shrugs merely as a response, shyly looking down,

“I’m supposed to be the man of the house, treating you nice, getting you jewels and shit but i barely can cover up bills to pay” he admits,

and if silence was the only thing you could hear that night, then a chip of your heart could probably still be heard.

“i don’t fucking care” four words leave your mouth sharply. “what you-we” you correct, “have to go through—i will go through it with you—and i will not leave you behind”

toji releases a breath as your thumb pads against his skin, eyes staring contently into yours with a heart that beats softly for you,

“if i had to sit my ass all night, going through jobs applications, and waking up in the morning to drive you for hundreds of interviews then i will” you firmly state, both hands now cupping his face as you wipe away his small tears.

“i will not just sit and watch you fall” hearing your voice almost breaks is enough to make his heart clench too. “who bought megumi his favorite books yesterday?”

toji gulps. “i did”

“who bought the groceries this month because we wanted to have pasta for dinner?”

“i did” he answers again, hand holding your wrist,

“who made reservations at that crazy expensive restaurant on the South because his demanding ass wanted to treat me something?”

hearing that makes him chuckle, nodding. “me”

“yeah” you confirm. “you did, baby.” a small smile appears on your face. “so as long as you’re able to put food on the table, you’re okay. as long as you’re able to give megumi what he needs, you are not broke. as long as you have a roof over your head, treating me good, we are okay. you hear me?”

he nods once again, feeling his heart fails to finds a steady rhythm by how gentle yet firm you are with your words.

“but you mentioned about the dress—“

“ay, papi—enough” a groan escapes you. “i don’t give a damn about a 2,000 dollar dress knowing you’d probably rip it off of me anyway”

toji releases a loud laugh, his hands moving down to your waist. his forehead knocking softly against yours, holding onto you tightly as if he’s afraid that you will disappear.

it is at this moment that toji realizes at this point that no one would probably put up with him nor understand him like you,

because it is what it is. you love him for him not for the money he owns. you look at the whole landscape and saw a real man. that’s what made you fall in love

“none of that bullshit anymore, okay? please?” you beg with wavering voice, hurt that your boyfriend is feeling this way about everything,

“okay—i’m sorry, angel i just—“

“i get it baby, i get it” you nod, kissing his lips. “but you don’t have to be scared with me, yeah? i got you like you got me. and when shit gets too hard, i’ll still be here for you. for megumi” you promise,

“if that was your way of trying to get rid of me then you need to try harder—i’ve had worse and there’s no way in hell i’m leaving” a playful statement that brings another laugh between you two,

“i’ll put the ring on it one day, princess—i promise” and he will, he knows he will,

you know that too,

“i know baby—i know”

maybe lucky isn’t the only thing he’s feeling when he’s got you

—

not proofread so its probably a mess

#toji fushiguro #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro blurbs #toji fushiguro angst #toji fushiguro fluff

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pierregazly · 1 year ago

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in the mind of another ꨄ max verstappen

max verstappen x fem!soulmate!reader

warnings: mentions of sexual themes (no smut), pining/yearning for another, tiny bit of angst but hea! [wc is 5.4k]

in which soulmates always have a way of building the connection with one another. for you and max, you've always been the voice instead the others head, the one thing that has always been a constant presence. but will that voice inside your head, ever be the voice you hear from in front of you?

By legal terms, a soulmate was defined as “person with whom one has a feeling of deep or natural affinity. This may involve similarity, love, romance, platonic relationships, comfort, intimacy, sexuality, sexual activity, spirituality, compatibility and trust.” In today’s day and age, more often than not, your soulmate was that of romantic origin, a person you yearned for on a regular basis.

It was something instilled in you at an early age, that everyone had a soulmate, but not everyone met their soulmate. Everyone had a way of interacting with their soulmate before they met. You learned early on, very early on, that you could interact with your soulmate through your mind. Through words, pictures, even internal conversations. But sometimes those interactions would lead to nothing, and your parents tried to ensure you were aware of that in the fear that you would be heartbroken one day.

One thing you could never do was tell them your name, who you were, or where you were until it was time. It was like your mind would go elsewhere when you tried to tell the male on the other end who you were. He told you the same thing happened to him every time he tried.

The both of you spent a plentiful amount of time interacting in your shared youth. He would often ramble on about his day, about go-karting, and his dad who he kind of hated but obviously loved, about his mum who he missed, and his sister who he couldn’t wait to see when she came to visit him wherever he was in the world.

You would do the same, you’d tell him about the things you did that specific day, explain little things about your family, the things you looked forward to for the remainder of the week. It was something you both just got used to.

The both of you grew up together. Even if it wasn’t physical, you were an emotional tether for one another when either of you needed it. He was there for almost all of your firsts, your first graduation, your first familial heartbreak, your first crush, your first boyfriend (which he was eager to help you through when it ended).

Ever embarrassing to admit, he was even the one in your mind, more times than you can count, when you felt the butterflies in your tummy growing as your fingers explored different parts of your body. He always pushed you to continue, telling you exactly what he would do with his own fingers, or his own tongue; when he finally got the chance to make you feel the way you were making yourself feel.

It was something you didn’t speak about after it happened, but it didn’t change the fact he was usually the one your brain went to when you made yourself feel that way. He argued it was the soulmate connection, that your soul just simply wanted him to be the one to do it.

As time went on, the conversations dwindled amongst the two of you, both of you growing up and growing out of the fantasy that you would meet your soulmate one day, meet each other.

You still got glimpses into his brain occasionally, pictures of blue and red cars, racecars are what you presumed. His fingers on what looked like a controller, but turned out to be a steering wheel when you asked him what it was.

“Seems like a bit of an extravagant steering wheel, no?”

The silent laugh was loud in your mind, as if you could feel his body rumbling in its laughter at your words, “Pretty extravagant, yeah. Not everyone gets to use something like this, though.”

“Explain the steering wheel to me, there’s too many buttons and toggles,” you prompted him, knowing full well it would dive him deep into an explanation about the object you so often saw inside his head.

That was another thing you learned about him early on. He liked to explain everything. He used to spend hours describing the go-karts he drove every weeknight and weekend, putting as much detail and emphasis into his explanations so that you would better understand. As time went on, so did his explanations, explaining situations he’s found himself in around the world, explaining how his career was kicking his ass but how he loved it, occasionally getting drunk and explaining how soulmates worked and that it was inevitable you’d meet one day, even if it felt like that day was never coming.

Not wanting to be the one to burst his fantasy and ruin whatever hope he had, you would usually just nod along and silently hum to him when the conversation of eventually meeting one day was brought up.

You still shared nights together, even from thousands of miles apart, your brain yearning for him as his did the same.

There were moments in time, where you were positive you had almost met him, or perhaps had made eye contact with him. It was a small feeling inside of you, like everything you were looking for was in the same building as you, or around the corner, or even in the same city.

Usually just as fast as the feeling appeared, it was gone. It never lasted for long periods of time, it was like your soulmate bond was teasing you, pushing for you to reinstate your faith in the connection. He always argued that if you lost faith in the soulmate bond, it would lose faith in trying to push the two of you together.

Yet another thing you learned early on, whoever he was, arguing was in his blood. If he disagreed with you, with something you said, or with an opinion you had, he would go off into a whole explanation and argument about why he knew you were wrong, and how he knew he was right.

It was endearing, how passionate he was about everything in his life, and seeing how his passion for everything just continued to grow as he grew up.

Over the last 8 years, you had learned not to even attempt to communicate with him on Saturday or Sundays. He had told you that it was the busiest time of the work week for him, and that he couldn’t handle internal distractions on those days.

You would only speak to him when he spoke to you on those days. Usually it was a fleeting ‘have a nice rest of your weekend’ or ‘I can’t wait until you’re here with me, celebrating this with me’.

He never elaborated on the last part, and you never went out of your way to ask. Whoever he was, he was usually celebrating something on Sundays, at least that’s what you assumed from the raw happiness and elation that usually went through your connection on those days.

You hadn’t heard from him, from your soulmate, in weeks. Which wasn’t necessarily unusual, either of you could cut off the connection for weeks at a time if things were stressful in life, or if you just needed a break from the never-ending person that was inside your head at all times.

It didn’t mean you didn’t miss his dry sense of humour, the bluntness with which he said things to you, the never-ending arguments about the stupidest things. You would never admit any of this to him, though.

Ignoring the yearning-feeling from inside of you, you allowed yourself to think about how things would be if you ever met the person on the other end of the connection. Would it be instant happiness? Relief? Joy?

People always explained their own experiences to you, saying it was like love at first sight, but amplified so significantly, because it felt like your soul was complete, like everything was finally where it needed to be in life. They described it as meeting the one thing that made you whole, the one thing that made you continuously push to be your best self, to continuously push to be better at everything you did in life.

You truly couldn’t believe what they said, not that it sounded exaggerated or silly. It was just difficult to imagine anything causing a feeling so instantaneously and intense as what they described.

Your friends had disappeared earlier in the day, eager to try and find themselves different drivers throughout the entrances to get photos or autographs with. You really had no interest in any of it. Your soulmate had eagerly admired, and shit talked almost every single person on the grid to you, at least once or twice, so it really wasn’t worth trying to interact with any of them after that.

Your paddock pass sat heavily on your chest, the lanyard rubbing against your neck as the bright Sun shined down upon your skin. The cheering of the Tifosi could be heard throughout the entire fan sections. The Ferrari faithful were dedicated, especially at their own Grand Prix.

He had told you that Monza was one of the ones not to miss. That it was electric, regardless of who you drove for, even if the fans were booing your favourite driver, or your favourite team, it was a delight to drive in Monza.

You found yourself staring at the different drivers names that were wrapped around the seating section. Charles Leclerc, Carlos Sainz, Lewis Hamilton, George Russell... Max Verstappen.

He was handsome, that you could admit. With his pretty blue eyes, and his arrogant little smirk, and his annoying obsession with having to win.

“Oh, you think Max Verstappen has pretty blue eyes, huh?”

A small sound erupted from your chest as you listened to the words floating through your head from the man you hadn’t heard from in weeks.

“Look who’s alive! Thought you got lost with your little controller steering wheel.”

Laughing at your words, “You didn’t answer my question! You think Max Verstappen has pretty eyes?”

“I think Max Verstappen himself is pretty. Other than when he’s being an arrogant prick.”

That feeling had been eating at you all day, again. Like your soulmate bond was trying to force you to go in a direction you weren’t understanding. It was like it was trying to tell you that he was here, that he was so close you could almost smell him, almost touch him. You had been ignoring the little jabs inside of you all day, refusing to acknowledge the fact that maybe, just maybe, the person you were yearning for so heavily, was so close.

“My soulmate just called me an arrogant prick, without realizing she was calling me an arrogant prick.”

The Brit in front of him guffawed, his whole body moving as he gripped his side at Max’s words, “Mate, how did that even happen?”

Shrugging his shoulders as he looked at Lando, “Not too sure. I haven’t heard from her in a few weeks, figured she had shut the connection off for some time alone and all of a sudden, she’s thinking about how ‘Max Verstappen has such pretty blue eyes’ and then told me that I’d... or he’d be attractive all the time if he wasn’t such an arrogant prick.”

Patting his shoulder gently, all Lando did was grin at him, “Just think, mate. At least whoever she is, she thinks you have pretty eyes and that you’re good looking when you’re not being an arrogant prick.”

Max shoved him as he walked by, walking away in the direction of his driver's room. He had been having that feeling again, like his body was yearning for something that it couldn’t explain to him. He had tried to ask a few people about it, had asked Sebastian in the past if it was something he had experienced before meeting Hanna. Of course, Seb hadn’t been much help when one considered the fact that he and his soulmate had met in their shared childhood.

It wasn’t something he could ask either of his parents, both admitting long ago that they weren’t destined for one another and that they had never had a connection with their true soulmates, which allowed them to willingly marry each other. Victoria had met her soulmate and now husband when they were young as well, so she would be of no help.

He was almost embarrassed to ask Christian, or any other older person who had already met their soulmate. He was a grown man, he could literally just google it if he wanted to, but what exactly would he type in?

What is that weird yearning feeling I get every now and then, out of the blue, in random buildings or random cities?

Max was almost positive the answer would be ‘allergies’ or ‘hunger’. He figured that maybe it was soulmate related, it would make sense, but it wasn’t a feeling he had often. It wouldn’t make sense to only yearn so heavily for your soulmate in certain areas.

It was always the strongest when he felt like he was truly connecting with you. He noticed it for the first time when both of you had touched yourselves to the sound of the other, egging one another on, saying exactly what the both of you know the other wanted to hear. Max couldn’t deny how much he enjoyed that time with you, how intimate it was, how much he craved to be the one making you moan and whimper.

The feeling always grew after that, the yearning for the other person, the desire to have you there with him, the desire to have you underneath him after a night of celebration, the desire to have you wrapped in his arms, the desire to send you an unnecessary bouquet of flowers... if he could just figure out who you were, all of that would be possible.

But the yearning today was different. It was like his body was trying to tell him he needed to go somewhere, trying to encourage him to walk down halls he didn’t usually walk down, or trying to push him in directions that made no sense.

“You gonna tell me why you’re thinking of Max Verstappen so much today, and why you’re thinking so much about his pretty blue eyes?”

He could feel the involuntary smile reach his lips when he heard your soft laugh. He really tried not to be someone who was smitten with a person he had never met, but he couldn’t deny that he was in love with you, likely had been since the both of you were young.

You were the one constant in his life, the one person he could always turn to when he needed someone. You listened to all his ranting, dealt with hours upon hours of ‘Maxsplaining’, dealt with unnecessary outbursts and temper tantrums, but you never complained about it. You always eagerly pushed for him to continue, asking him more and more questions, prompting him out of his head and prompting him to get over whatever frustration had pushed him over the edge that day.

“If you must know. I’m at the Monza Grand Prix, and I had to get away from all the Ferrari fans for a bit, pretty sure they were going to blow my ear drums. Max Verstappen’s name is everywhere, so I, of course, had to internally acknowledge his attractiveness while grimacing at his name in front of me.”

Max felt like his heart was going to burst out of his chest. You were here? In Italy? At the Monza Grand Prix? The same place where he was, at this very moment, at this very second?

He could tell you were waiting for a response from him to your words. It was like he could sense the raise of your eyebrows from the silence that emitted between your connection.

“You’re in Monza?” He questioned eagerly, his hands sweating as he waited for a response

“Yes sir, just about to try and force myself to go find my friends and head back to the paddock so I can avoid getting trampled by any other Ferrari fans.”

Max knew almost instantly that, that had to be what the feeling was. The yearning. You were close by, and his side of the soulmate connection knew it.

He had tried to tell you who he was before, had tried to explain it to you in words that the connection wouldn’t muffle or meddle with. It never worked. Any time he tried to explain to you who he was, or what he did for a living, it was like his brain malfunctioned and he had to hotwire it back on.

You had told him the same thing happened to you every time you tried to explain to him who you were, or the easiest ways to find you in the real world. Every time either of you tried, it was like the connection was shutting it down.

Daniel had told him it was likely the bond, telling him it wasn’t the time yet, that the both of you had to wait until the bond was steady and ready for you to finally meet in person. Max had never believed it, until right now.

You had never been able to tell him exactly where you were before, at least, not that he can ever remember. You had told him the things you were doing in the past, had told him the people you were spending time with, even that you were getting dinner in certain districts. Any time you had tried to tell him the restaurant, or the city even, the connection would malfunction.

But you were just mentally able to tell him where you were, you were internally able to tell him where you were going in the place that you currently were.

“I’m... I’m in Monza too. At the Grand Prix, I mean.”

He could almost feel the instant shock and excitement at his words. Before he or you could get the chance to say anything else, he heard GP calling for him, the annoyed expression on his face an indication that he had been looking for Max for far longer than he actually wanted to be.

“I have to get back to work. Please, don’t leave before you hear from me again. Maybe this is a sign.”

You could practically feel the shock coursing through your body. Both of you were here. In Monza. At the Grand Prix. At the same time, together... but not together? You tried to contain the giddiness at his words, a silent hum in acknowledgement when he told you not to leave. How could you leave? Especially now that you knew he was here? And that he was working?

It gave you some indication as to why he was always so busy on Saturdays and Sundays, if he worked for a Formula 1 team, or for Formula 1 in itself. Their biggest days of the week were the weekends, especially during race weeks. It made sense why he could never talk on those days of the week, or why he always seemed so happy or moody on Sundays.

You couldn’t believe that both of you were able to tell each other where the other was, that the connection finally allowed you to give that little tidbit of important information to the other. Maybe it finally was time, maybe the connection was finally allowing you to meet the one person you had been yearning for, even if you tried to convince yourself that you weren’t.

The text message to your friends asking where they were garnered a response, which prompted you out of your train of thought. Letting them know that you were on your way to their location, your brain moved back to the previous thought your mind was on. He was here, like truly here. Within the same 10 kilometers as you. Probably the closest either of you had ever been to each other before.

Your friends greeted you eagerly when you finally found them, excitably telling you all about the drivers they had met, how Alex Albon even recognized two of them from previous Grand Prix and how they just knew Charles Leclerc was going to win today because the Tifosi were going crazy and how could you not win with all that support screaming for you?

Nodding along with a smile on your face, you had an inkling they were wrong. Max Verstappen was likely going to get his tenth win in a row, but you weren’t going to say that to them.

The drivers parade went by faster than you were expecting, before you knew it, the cars and their drivers were lining up in their respective places along the grid. Your friends eagerly itching for a better view of the upcoming race. You couldn’t even put the effort in to pay attention, wondering where he was right now.

Was he working? Was he one of the mechanics? One of the pit crew, eagerly waiting for their driver to pull into their spot? One of the engineers, hoping their instructions and their drivers did as they were supposed to? You tried not to let your mind wander to the other possibility, but it was hard not to.

What if he was one of the drivers? One of the 20 men now pushing themselves around the track at the fastest speed their car could take them? You tried not to stay on that thought too long, but your mind seemed to wander back to it.

It would make sense, really. Whoever he is, he had been karting since he was a boy. His father had been unnecessarily forceful with him about it, always pushing him even when he was down, telling him that champions didn’t cry and that if he wanted to win everything one day, he had to act like he wanted to.

He always made it seem like he was on top of the world on Sundays, like everything he ever wanted had happened that day. Would a mechanic, or an engineer, or someone from the pit crew consistently have that level of elation on Sundays?

You knew it was possible, if they were working for a winning team, or a winning driver, and that driver was making their lives as easy as possible, then you knew it was definitely a possibility. You just couldn’t shake the idea that maybe, just maybe, it was one of the drivers.

The crowd was cheering as eagerly as they possibly could, Verstappen had overtaken Sainz three laps prior after the Spainard had led for 15 laps straight. The Tifosi were relentless though, cheering as loud as they could for their two drivers. Your friends had resigned themselves to the fact that Verstappen was getting his tenth win in a row, which was slowly coming closer and closer as the time ticked down.

It felt like time was zooming by; the minutes on the clock trickling down as the stadium waited for that last lap to start. Sainz was battling to keep Leclerc in fourth, doing everything in his power to keep the third podium spot he had rightfully earned.

The checkered flag waved as the Red Bull car of Max Verstappen passed the finish line, a simultaneous cheer erupting within the crowd when the two red Ferrari’s passed the line with barely a second apart.

That feeling inside of you, the yearning, it had been getting stronger and stronger throughout the race. Strong enough that you had to rub at your chest with a grimace more than once, ignoring the signs that obviously your soul connection was trying to give to you.

The television in front of you showed Max Verstappen on the top of his car, both hands and 10 fingers up as he stared at the moving camera, an obvious celebration beginning as he ran towards his team. Verstappen jumped at them, right as you heard his voice in your head.

“Where are you right now? I want to see you. I need to see you.”

He sounded out of breath, but elated, as per usual on a Sunday. Must work for Red Bull then, you thought to yourself.

“I don’t really know how to explain where I am, I’m in the Paddock Club with my friends.”

Turning away from the screen, you tried to focus on the words coming through the connection.

“Come to the area where you can go towards the garages, I’ll have someone tell security to let you in. What are you wearing? I don’t think you’ll be able to tell me your name yet, and I don’t want to risk fucking this up.”

You had absolutely no clue how to find the area he was describing to you, explaining to him that you didn’t spend most of your time at Grand Prix’s unlike someone, apparently. All he did was laugh joyfully, explaining to you in simpler terms how to get to where he wanted you to go.

“I have to go do a few more things, but just wait for me, okay? I’ll come to find you, the moment I’m done. I swear.”

“I’ve waited for years; I think I can wait a few minutes more.”

He didn’t verbally respond, but you could still feel the happiness, the sense of something you could only describe as adoration come through the connection before he shut it off again. It was obvious he had commitments, but it was disheartening knowing you still had to wait a few more minutes, that he wouldn’t be there waiting for you, behind whatever security guard you were going to have to verbally grapple with to be let behind the barricades.

All you told your friends when you left was you had to go make a call, and that it may take a few minutes. They tried to argue with you, telling you the drivers were just about to do their post-race interviews and that it was always one of the best parts, but you simply brushed them off, eager to get to where you needed to be.

It didn’t take you long to find where he had told you to go, his explanations as thorough and necessary as they usually were. Before you could even get a word out to the security guard, a tall brunette in a Red Bull shirt lightly tapped your shoulder and gestured for you to follow her, flashing her entry pass at the guard and pulling you along.

“I’m Liv. I work in PR with Red Bull; I was told to wait for you. Sorry for just like... pulling you along. No one really gave me any explanation, just that I was told to look out for someone wearing the exact same outfit you are, and that it had something to do with a soulmate thing and I couldn’t get involved or ask questions.”

“This pass will get you in and out of pretty much wherever you need to be in the Red Bull garage and areas nearby,” the brunette rambled on as the both of you walked, pulling a second entry pass from her back pocket to give to you.

Both of you stopped in front of what only could be the hospitality lounge, if the plethora of food and drinks were any indication. You didn’t necessarily know where to go, or where to stand, so you looked back over at the brunette with confusion evident in your eyes.

“Just wait here! He shouldn’t be long. Feel free to snack, or make yourself a tea, or you know... drink whatever really. I have to get back to work. Just like, don’t leave. I’ll probably get in trouble for that. Anyways, bye! Good luck!”

Not giving you the chance to respond, Liv, as you learned previously, turned and basically ran out of the room. You were left alone in the hospitality area, everyone from Red Bull obviously still celebrating Max Verstappen’s tenth win in a row.

You didn’t know what to do with yourself, deciding to sit down on one of the couches being the only real option you could decipher. The television was on low, the interviewer speaking to Sainz, Perez, and Verstappen.

“You look eager to get out of here, Max. Big celebration planned for your tenth straight win?”

The Dutchman chuckled, a cocky grin prominent on his face, “I have something I have to do after this, of course, though, not the celebration right away. I’m sure the team has a celebration planned, but it’s a bit arrogant of me to be involved in my own celebration party planning, no?”

The interviewer laughed in response; you simply cocked your head at his words. Ironic that Max Verstappen would call himself arrogant, just hours after you had told him how arrogant you found Verstappen.

A few more questions zoomed by; your own thoughts preoccupied by the idea that your soulmate could be coming towards the room at any minute. The feeling in your chest, in your body as a whole, had grown substantially again since you sat down. What you didn’t notice was him grabbing his chest at the same time you did, rubbing it with a grimace as the yearning grew and grew.

It didn’t take long for the interview to end, the television going back to the reporters as the drivers evidently went to go do whatever it is they do after their post-race interviews.

You could hear someone walking down the hallway, which was strange considering how busy the Red Bull garage had to be right now. The steps grew louder as they got closer and closer to the room you were in, the door slamming open being the only thing to pull you out of your thoughts as you spun around.

Making direct eye contact with your soulmate for the first time was exactly how everyone described it. It was instant, the feeling that seated itself inside your heart, inside your mind. It felt like you were whole, like everything you had done in the past 24 hours, let alone the past 10 years, had led you to this exact moment.

You subconsciously moved off the couch, stepping in the direction of the man that was now eyeing your every move. You couldn’t tell what was going through his mind, whether he was happy, disheartened, you didn’t know.

He stepped in your direction, just as you put another foot towards him. You could see the corners of his lips turning up, a smile starting to edge itself onto his cheeks.

“I can’t believe you’re really here. In front of me. Like, a real person.”

It was the same voice that you’ve heard in your head for years, except the words were coming from the mouth of the man in front of you, coming from the mouth of the man with the prettiest blue eyes you had ever seen.

You barely had time to process anything before he had wrapped his arms around you, pulling you directly into his chest as you wrapped your own arms around his body.

He was real. Everything you had yearned for, for years was real, and Max was right there, holding you in his arms as he pressed his lips against the crown of your head, not wanting to let you go.

Max could barely contain his eagerness as he basically sprinted down the hall of the Red Bull garage after the end of the interview. Olivia had told him where she had brought you, telling you to wait in the hospitality lounge and that he’d be there to see you as quickly as he could get out.

He couldn’t believe that you were really there. After spending years of talking to an invisible force inside his head, years of having a constant companion who he could turn to for internal comfort, you were barely seconds away from him.

Max didn’t hesitate to throw the door of the lounge open, making eye contact with you just a second later.

Everyone was right, the feeling you get when you finally meet your soulmate, the person that’s supposed to complete you in the best of ways. It was instant love, instant happiness, a feeling better than any win he had ever accomplished, a feeling that could barely be explained in one million words.

He knew right then that he loved you, and when you smiled at him, he knew you knew it too.

i am obsessed with the soulmate trope so this obviously got out of hand and way more descriptive than i intended. im hoping you all love it as much as i loved writing it!! let me know what you think

my requests are also open :)

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#max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #f1 x reader #f1 x you #max verstappen x you #max verstappen one shot #max verstappen imagine #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 one shot #f1 imagine #soulmate trope #my writing #formula 1

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sukirichi · 3 months ago

Text

[ DUSK ‘TILL DAWN : 017 ]

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

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

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

wc. 11.5k

series masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Such was not something you could promise to him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kiyoomi isn’t Rintaro.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

After what felt like forever, the next day arrived.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Weren’t you the same?

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

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

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

You let out a breath you’d been holding.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I wish I had met her first.

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

“Is she here already?”

“Yes, Sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, I just arrived here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But it could help you move forward – together.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

“Oh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, I was only curious.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t.”

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

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

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

“Trying to what?”

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

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

“I never agreed to that!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was enough to make you return to Belleview Manor.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I touch you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Real?”

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

You snorted. “Now that is unreal.”

“Very unreal.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You are one odd man.”

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

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

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

“Finally made up your mind, Princess?”

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

𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋 𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐒 𝐀𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐈?

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

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

Who indeed is Princess Iris Amari?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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minus-plus-zer0 · 1 month ago

Text

Happy Accidents

♡ Genre: Fluff, lil suggestive ♡ Pairing: Bakugou x Fem!Reader

On one late night, you and Bakugou watched a delightfully scary movie in the dormitory common area.

Bakugou had long since draped a blanket over the both of you, with you cuddled up by his side. The boy could barely focus on the incredibly unscary move as you squirmed and squealed beside him, scared out of your wits.

“Quit screaming,” Bakugou said, wrapping an arm around you. He hoped you didn’t notice his own nervousness. “You’re safe, alright? I got ya.”

“Eeek!” You hid your face into the side of his chest. The movie ended on a cliffhanger and soon the TV displayed the movie’s credits. Still, you didn’t dare emerge from Bakugou’s chest (not that he really minded).

“I hated this movie…” you said, hands clinging to his shirt. “Hated it!”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Bakugou said. “The shitty effects make it less scary than it could’ve been.”

“Says you…” You gripped his shirt tighter.

Bakugou mindlessly stroked your back as the credits continued. He never wanted to leave this spot. He wanted to spend every night with you like this, but he couldn’t risk driving you away in case you didn’t return his feelings. The very thought scared him.

Your head poked up, doe-eyes peering into his soul. He wondered if you could see through his facades, and if you’d judge him if you knew about his true feelings.

“All better?” Bakugou asked, hand stroking your hair. “Or are ya gonna stay here scared forever?”

You rose, almost level with his face.

“I’m… better,” you said, wiping your eyes. “Now I’m just tired… Eek!”

There was a strange noise outside, probably just the wind. Your head turned towards the sound, looking every which way before calming down.

“You’re fine,” Bakugou said. “Was probably nothing. Besides, you got me here so you shouldn’t be scared.”

“I know… Thank you…”

Bakugou touched foreheads with you, like he always loved to do. Your lips were always too close yet still out of reach. He wondered what they tasted like, how they’d like his, and if you ever thought of him the same way.

“You wanna head to bed?” you asked.

He didn’t, but he couldn’t say so.

“Sure.”

You both moved to get up but you moved in the wrong direction. Bakugou’s lips clumsily fell onto yours and you both froze, eyes wide. Bakugou fixed his head so he wasn’t at an odd angle, but he didn’t remove his lips, his hand still in your hair.

You closed your eyes, moving your mouth against his. Bakugou exhaled through his nose, heart jumping with every new sensation. His eyes closed as he kissed you back, melding your mouths together in a beautiful trance born from much, much longing. Your hands found his chest as his hands pulled you into him, his free hand roaming around your cheek and down your neck to your waist to possessively drag you into him.

Your kiss grew heated, barely separating for air as Bakugou almost pushed you down from how hard he was kissing you. He didn’t know where this was leading but he wouldn’t let the moment go for as long as he had it. His sighs and little groans mixed into his clumsy but passionate handle on your body.

The dormitory elevator dinged and you both yelped, jumping back from each other. The doors slowly opened and you both hid underneath your shared blanket, face-to-face with what you’d just done.

“Are they still out here?” Kirishima asked.

“Yo!” Kaminari shouted. “Are you two there? We brought popcorn!”

“Those idiots!” Bakugou hissed, still face-to-face with you in the worst situation possible. “They’re hours late!”

“We can pretend we’re asleep together on the couch,” you said. “And hide our faces that way…”

Bakugou thought about it for a moment, but he didn’t have much time as the idiot duo approached. Bakugou pinned you to the couch, muttering an apology as he lowered himself to spoon you. The blanket covered your torsos as you both faced the back of the couch.

“This okay?” he asked.

“N-no, hold on…” You flipped over to hide your face in his chest. “Better.”

Bakugou willed himself to stop blushing, hiding his face in your hair and hoping that he could pretend to be asleep for as long as the situation required.

The idiotic duo soon found your couch where you two ‘slept’. Upon seeing you, they both became incredibly annoying.

“Awwwww!” they said in unison.

Kirishima shushed Kaminari. “We can’t wake them up! He’s never gonna get another chance if we interrupt!”

Bakugou frowned into your hair. You almost giggled but stifled it against his pecs.

“You think they kissed?” Kaminari asked. Both you and Bakugou tensed, gripping each other tighter.

“Hell no,” Kirishima said. “Bakugou doesn’t got it in him.” Bakugou muttered a death threat under his breath. “He’s been wanting a sweet little kiss from her for ages but he can’t muster up the courage to do shit. Try asking again when they’re 30.”

Both of them hovered over you two briefly for a half-second before moving away to lean on the couch.

“Well we can’t watch the movie now,” Kaminari said. “It’d wake the clingy lovebirds up.” Bakugou muttered several more curses and dark incantations under his breath. You wondered if Satan would really ‘get these motherfuckers’ as Bakugou so wished. “What should we do now? Prank ‘em?”

“Nah, leave ‘em be. Bakugou might actually get a girlfriend out of this. And after that, maybe pigs will fly!”

“Maybe they will, at the wedding Bakugou’s been planning. Ha!”

Bakugou muttered the cruelest, most violent curses you’d ever heard, and you barely contained your laughter until after the idiot duo left in the elevator. Once they did, Bakugou started screaming and you laughed your heart out.

“I’ll fucking kill them!” Bakugou said, holding your face against his chest so you couldn’t see his face. “They’re already stepping into their own graves.”

“But is it true?” you asked, wiping the tears from your eyes. “Have you always liked me? And the wedding planning? Was that–”

“DON’T LISTEN TO A WORD THEY SAY!” Bakugou grabbed your face and forced you to face him, squishing your cheeks. “You know them! They’re idiots! They couldn’t tie their own shoelaces in the morning! They’d get lost in a short hallway with no exits! They’re the definition of stupid. Fuck, maybe they knew we were awake and that’s why they were saying all this shit.”

“I don’t mind if it was the truth…” you said, face still squished. “Where’s the love in your heart, Bakugou?”

Bakugou groaned, pressing his forehead to your squished face. “Forget what they said. I wanted to tell ya everything myself. They fucking ruined it.”

“But it’s okay! I like you!”

That sentence lit Bakugou’s heart on fire. He finally stopped squishing your face.

“I love you,” Bakugou said. “Needed you to hear it from my mouth, not theirs. But yeah. Want ya to officially be mine after all that… making out and shit.”

You smiled shyly. “Thought that accidental kiss was your own way of saying it already, but yes. You’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” Bakugou said, grinning ear-to-ear at his first love. “Like the sound of that. Let’s ditch this couch for a real bed, yeah?”

“Take me, Katsuki.”

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christianbalesblueadidas · 2 months ago

Note

I have a prompt 🙋‍♀️👀 (a rlly long one). reader thinking noticing how Bruce always disappears/makes an excuse to leave at night (like on dates, events, or maybe while getting freaky (👀) he suddenly just gets up and goes like “oh sorry smth came up”) and he can never give a convincing enough excuse so she starts getting distant and cold coz she thinks he’s not rlly serious in the relationship and Bruce notices this and feels rlly bad but the reader only finds out why after she had to get rescued by him……. So yeah there’s my prompt yay!!!

I'm Sorry, Sweetheart

bruce wayne x f!reader

your boyfriend seems to hate being around you. it's time to give him a taste of his own medicine.

warnings: NSFW, minors DNI (18+), some smut in the middle, kidnapping, graphic language

word count: 3.4k

a/n: thank you for the request! i hope i did your idea justice.

Bruce Wayne is singlehandedly the most infuriating man you’ve ever dated.

Every week, you know him a bit more. Little by little, you get to know him — soul, mind, and body — more and more every time you meet. And it’s not the cute “let’s take this slow” type of getting to know each other. It’s the irritating kind, where you get to know more about him and his world and he suddenly takes it away from your hands.

Your first date goes smoothly enough, setting an expectation he can never reach since. Despite it being the bare minimum, you are happy he is there the entire time, physically and mentally. He never once looked at his cellular phone or his watch or a random clock in the room. It is just you and him and the company you share together.

On the second date, he starts off completely interested and later into the night, he inexplicably turns distracted — and almost anxious. He picks up his phone and says he has a call to make, he disappears into the corner of the room, then comes back to your table and tells you he has somewhere to go. Wayne Enterprises business. Ignoring your barely hidden disappointment and offense, you nod with a smile and tell him, “It’s alright, Bruce.”

Of course, he notices your hurt expression when he leaves. Even if you manage to hide your emotions well, Bruce is trained to notice it. To make up for that mistake, he invites you to a fundraising party. Frankly, it’s out of your league, but you can never pass up an opportunity to be with Bruce and to finally experience a fancy party.

Contrary to your expectations, it’s the most boring party you’ve ever been in, full of snooty millionaires and social climbers. You don’t know how Bruce endures this. You’ve read about and saw the models he brings — multiple at a time too — to his parties and you’re guessing that’s how. You push away the thought, not sure whether to be insecure that you can’t measure up to his models and actresses or whether to be proud that he chose you and only you to be his date tonight.

You stand in the far corner of the large ballroom at the top of his penthouse, subtly avoiding Bruce’s “friends” and thinking about him. And speaking of the devil, his arm snakes its way around your waist from behind. Despite him being so close and having his arm around your middle, his hand is flat and open, careful not to hold you in a way you won’t like.

“What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?” Bruce whispers to your ear and you can hear the smile in his voice.

You roll your eyes in amusement and turn your head to face his. Your breath hitches — a bit too obviously and embarrassingly so — as you realize that you’re so close to him. However, you quickly recover and reply, “Isn’t that line a bit too overdone for you, Bruce?”

He shrugs a shoulder playfully, his full glass of champagne sloshing in the flute.

“It always works,” he says. “If it isn’t broke, don’t fix it. But how about I try another line?”

With a charming smile that makes you weak in the knees, his open palm grips your hip, just right above the curve of your backside. His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes and his grip hesitant, almost like he isn’t very sure of himself or of something else. Nevertheless, you’ll fall for his charm anytime.

“You wanna get out of here?”

That single question brings you to his bedroom, which is almost the entire floor if it weren’t for the foyer to give him privacy from the elevator. You’ve never seen a bedroom quite like it. Floor-to-ceiling windows that display a view of Gotham, frosted glass panes around his bed for some semblance of privacy, and a sitting area beside it that looks over the city. It’s an apartment without a kitchen, which you’d be more astonished about if your breath weren’t taken away by Bruce’s slow kisses on your lips and your neck.

He has you on your back on the bed, silky taupe sheets like clouds under you. He hovers over you, his entire figure taking over your vision, his muscles hidden by a black Giorgio Armani suit and gray tie. His lips and tongue move languidly against yours like he has all the time in the world. He holds himself up by a hand beside your head and the other presses your thigh against his hip. His hand idly runs up and down under your dress, but never quite reaches anywhere near where you need him the most.

“Bruce, plea—“

You’re interrupted by his phone on the nightstand. Your head whips to the side, glaring at the screeching machine. Who the hell is calling during this time of night? Well, perhaps that’s what you get for dating a billionaire. Rich people are always eccentric.

He suddenly stiffens up and gets off you. A pang of hurt in your heart rings as you notice how quickly he gets up like he got burnt. Your brows furrow, confused and a bit offended.

“Who is that?” you ask and you can’t help the way you sound so jealous. You’re aware of the fact that you shouldn’t be — not yet — but the fact that you’re in his bed is making you more sensitive about your feelings for him.

“Uh,” he reaches for his phone. He looks at the screen. “It’s Lucius Fox.” Lie. “I have to take this. I’m sorry.”

He disappears into the bathroom to apparently take his call. In fact, it is just an alarm set with a ringtone to sound like a phone call. He feels especially bad about using you as an alibi, but his usual strategy to get out of parties that stretch on too late involve his dates.

Due to his playboy image, nobody questions when he leaves too early. He rarely sleeps with the women he invites to parties, and if he doesn’t, they never tell anyway because it hurts their pride to say that Bruce Wayne didn’t sleep with them. It never hurt him either. You, however, are different. He wishes he doesn’t have to use you.

He emerges out the bathroom with a regretful look on his face. You don’t know how much it also hurts for him to make you leave.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’ll have Alfred drive you home.”

“What is it?”

“Oh, it’s just work. But it’s urgent,” he replies and he almost winces at how uncharacteristically bad he is at lying to you.

“Oh, of course. It’s alright, Bruce.”

This time, you don’t hide your disappointment.

He tries his best to not abandon you every time you see each other. He scoots your meetups an hour or so earlier because Batman can’t adjust, not even for you. Then, he texts and calls you whenever he’s free and awake, giving you random updates that he doesn’t know make your day. His efforts reassure you eventually, and you’re no longer mad at his odd tendency to leave you so suddenly in the middle of the night or when it nears twelve. Now that you’re both content with how often you see each other and how often your nights don’t get interrupted, you’re both happy.

One day, you surprise him at his penthouse after work. It’s a random visit, to be frank, and you just wanted to watch television or do anything boring with him after you eat the dinner you have brought. What you don’t expect is that you’ll be on your back on his couch, stuffed full of his cock as the TV plays in the background, neither of you interested to watch it. No dinner yet either, but he's enough to make you full and wanting more.

Airy moans leave your lips as he thrusts into you, holding onto his broad shoulders by bunching up the fabric of his expensive shirt in clenched fists. It has never occurred to you that you’ve never seen him without his shirt off even during sex. You’ve always been too distracted to care.

Too distracted like right now. The stretch of him in your cunt is delicious, satiating your appetite in ways that no food or other pleasure could. His pelvis rubs against your clit and you cry out every time his tip hits that spot in you while your bundle of nerves grind against his firm body. With every grind of hips, you reach new heights on your way to orgasm.

Bruce is a sight to behold. His eyes half-lidded mouth parted, moans spill from his wet lips. His chocolate brown hair a mess on his head, a product of your hands mussing them up earlier while making out. His muscled chest heaves, pressing against your softer one when he inhales. When your eyes aren't rolling back, you love staring at him above you.

“I— 'm close,” you manage to mumble out despite being so cock drunk.

"Me too, sweetheart," he growls out, a lower register that sounds unfamiliar and familiar at the same time, considering that you've only heard this tone from him during intimacy.

Bruce has one ear for you and the other for the TV, even when he's already nearing climax. The television is now apparently showing the news. The reporter says something about a bank robbery organized by the Joker and—

His hips thrust roughly into yours out of instinct, shocking you and making you moan even louder. He doesn't go faster, knowing it doesn't quicken the job. He takes your legs by the crook of your knees and presses your thighs to your torso, essentially folding you into a position you never knew you can do. You let go of his shirt and tangle your hands into his already-messy hair. With this new angle, his cock reaches deeper inside of you.

"Bruce," you moan out, your eyes rolling back. "Oh, fuck."

You don't know that he's trying very hard to make this good for you while letting him have time to take care of the bank robbery. He doesn't want to leave you in the dust again, mostly because it'll be an asshole move and because you're both on the verge of orgasm and a hard-on isn't something to bring to a fight.

More importantly for him, he doesn't want to leave you hanging. He can't express his thoughts and feelings very well other than through gifts and sex, so he wants to show you how much he adores you, especially that he's leaving you again. He knows it isn't enough, but it's all he can do for now.

He leans his head down to kiss you, sloppy and all tongues. While you're distracted by his mouth and his cock, he reaches a hand down and rubs circles on your clit while he thrusts in and out of you.

He proudly watches as you unravel underneath him, masterfully played by him like an instrument made only for him. Your toes curl in the air as you stiffen up and relax. He swallows your moans with his kisses, eagerly drinking in your pretty noises. He helps you ride it out like the gentleman he is, still moving in and out of your pussy.

He follows suit, coming deep inside you and painting your walls white. A deep groan rumbles through his chest, eyes squeezed shut and jaw slack.

He internally curses when he realizes he didn't have a condom on and he's only lucky that you told him before you take birth control — and that you even allowed him to come in you. But still, he curses at his lapse of sensibility.

You come down from your high. Bruce is counting down the seconds and the minutes. He needs to be out of here as soon as possible to deal with the Joker. He slowly pulls out of you, come dripping down your flesh mixed with your wetness. But you can't even bask in the afterglow because of his urgent task.

"You alright, darling?" he asks breathlessly. He looks you up and down, surveying you.

You can only nod and hum in affirmation. Eyes half-lidded and gaze trained on him in a daze.

"You don't mind if I have to go now? Something came up."

Oh, how you hate that. Why does something always come up when you're in the middle of something?

"It's alright, Bruce."

That evening, Batman is too late to catch the Joker. When he gets there, he was already in his getaway car. He pursues him, leading to a high-speed chase around the city. However, the Joker has traps ready on the way. He should've known that he'd anticipate his presence.

Bruce comes home to you weary and frustrated. He takes it out on you, inexplicably being rougher than usual for your round two. You take it, enjoying it anyway. But still, something lingers in the back of your mind, a thought rearing its ugly head since the time he left — maybe even since a few months ago.

Is he not taking your relationship seriously? You should've guessed he wouldn't, you think, considering he does have a reputation. But you're optimistic enough to have thought that perhaps his reputation is mostly the work of the media. Even then, you can't deny the photos and videos you've seen of him. Perhaps it's true. He doesn't value you as much as you value him.

You don't talk to him since that day. You don't outright avoid him but when he doesn't reach out, you don't either.

He notices you distancing yourself from him. He figures that maybe you need some space, which is one of the worst decisions he can ever do when it comes to this situation. He has never been good with relationships.

It further upsets you. In your mind, he doesn't even care when you stop approaching him. He doesn't care that you're not seeing each other or even talking to each other much. He's only there if you want him first.

To Bruce, it's fine that you need space. It's fine that he doesn't get to see you as much as he wants to — at least, that's what he tells himself. Batman feels differently. His punches hit harder, the bruises he leaves much darker. Even though no one else knows about you and him, Gotham knows there's something upsetting the Bat more than usual.

He thinks about telling you his secret but that involves putting you in possible danger. No one else can know he is Batman. Not even you, not even if he cares for you so much. He'd rather distance form between you than tell you. He's got eyes on you, anyway.

You don't know how to go about this. It seems too presumptuous to barge into his penthouse. You're obviously not on that level of relationship to do so. A call is too impersonal. So, you don't go about it at all. You have never been good at communication.

You spend days constantly on the verge of tears, bottling up every drop of frustration you've felt ever since Bruce started acting suspicious around you. When you're at work, you stifle the urge to cry. When you're at home, you hold yourself back from calling him — and then cry. It's a vicious cycle and it hurts even more than when he leaves you.

Sighing, you insert the key into your car, more than ready to drive home after work. Suddenly, strong hands grab you into a beat-up black SUV parked nearby. You scream and flail, but nobody is around to help, or maybe they're too unbothered and selfish to care. This is Gotham after all; these things happen every day.

You can't see or speak, blindfolded and a duct tape covering your mouth. You can only hear what the kidnappers are talking about as they drive you to an unknown location. It's an isolatory experience and how you wish you were actually alone instead of tied up and blindfolded. Tears wet the bandana tied around your head as you quietly cry.

"Wayne would pay so much money to get that back."

"Would he? He has a new bitch every week."

"Lucky fucker."

"Hope not too lucky. I wanna get at least a mill from this bitch."

A loud bang from the roof of the car startles all of you. The driver slams the brakes, flinging you to the back of the front seat, a cry of pain ripping from your throat.

"Shit! It's Batman!"

"Fuck! I told you we shouldn't mess with Wayne! He has him in his payroll!"

The doors of the SUV open and the kidnappers hit you on the way as they rush out. You hear scuffling and punching and metal banging on metal and bones breaking. A sob escapes you despite you trying to keep your resolve.

"Don't let me see you again," a voice growls out. Then, what seems to be a body slams onto the side of the car.

Wait, that voice sounds familiar...

A rough material brushes your skin as — you assume — Batman rips off the tape on your mouth. A gasp leaves you, heaving in a deep breath. You hear metal ripping fabric and you can see again. You blink through your tears, adjusting to the light, which isn't much as you're in a lonely road in the middle of the night. Eventually, your limbs are free too, but you're still too weak to stand or walk.

Black surrounds his eyes due to his cowl and, with his armor and cape, he is completely shrouded in darkness. But you'd know those eyes anywhere. You'd know those lips anywhere. He can't hide even in darkness, his own domain.

"Bruce," you breathe out in relief.

Surprising him, you wrap your arms around his armored neck, pulling him close to you in an embrace. It's not the warmest nor most comfortable hug in the world, but the fact that it is him is what matters.

His eyes widen. How did you guess it was him so easily? Nevertheless, without missing a beat, his arms wrap around you protectively. His muscular form and dark cape warm you up and shield you from the world. He is relieved that his tracker works and alerted him at the right time. You're safe in his arms now.

"I'm sorry," you whisper, holding back another sob. You bury your face into the crook of his neck, the armor pressing onto your cheek.

Now, you understand. You understand all his sudden leaving, the odd hours he replies to your texts, his persistent drowsiness, and the random bruises. You feel like an ass for being cold towards him when he's risking his life every night for the city. Not to say that you like the idea of your boyfriend running around beating up criminals during the night, but the fact that he is so selfless while you aren't makes you feel terrible.

"No... I should be the one who's sorry," he says and there's a sense of hesitancy in it, like he has never said those words before in that order. Still, you detect his sincerity and accept it.

In a moment of impulse, you pull away from the hug only to rest your hands on his covered cheeks and to press your lips against his. You tilt your head, the hard nose of his cowl pressing against your cheek. The pain goes unnoticed, your mind more preoccupied with how much you've missed his lips on yours.

As his tongue runs through the seam of your lips, coaxing it open, he pulls away as though he remembers where you are. Almost to placate you for the loss of contact, he runs a hand down your hair, petting you like a doll, a faint smile on his lips. It's a peculiar sight seeing the Batman with an expression other than stony emotionlessness or rage. The fact that you're the reason why makes the butterflies in your belly flutter even quicker. It makes you feel special.

"I'm bringing you home. I'll be there when the sun rises."

For the first time, you're not dejected nor disappointed unlike the other times you've uttered those words as you reply with a small grin tugging at your lips.

"Alright, Bruce."

#bale!batman #bale!bruce wayne #bale!bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x reader #the dark knight #the dark knight trilogy #nolanverse

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viperify · 1 month ago

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Kinktober 2024 | 𝗼𝗰𝘁 𝟬𝟴: ᴛᴏᴍ ʀɪᴅᴅʟᴇ X ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

This is how brats get treated

Warnings: 18+! brat taming, degradation, sir kink, dacryphilia, SLIGHT cnc

wordcount: 2,4k

You knew he was boiling with rage.

Draco had asked you for help with his Transfiguration project. You being the kind soul you are, obviously could not say no to your best friend.

This is also how you ended up in the common room, Draco next to you and the rest of the boys chatting on the couch, watching the fireplace. The boys meant the world to you, always being there when you were in trouble or needed help with something. Then there was Tom. You two somehow ended up together after years of unconfessed love, the boys trying to play wingman whenever they could, but Tom never dared asking you out, too scared to damage the bond you two already had.

Then, at the night of the Yule Ball, when your date had completely abandoned you, not showing up at all (for whatever reason…) Tom obviously was there to comfort you. He told you he didn’t intend on going to the ball at all, but he couldn’t just leave you by yourself, right?

You two ended up dancing and enjoying yourselves like never before. The butterflies in your stomach seemingly increasing with every slight touch and eye-contact you two shared. When you decided to take a break, dragging Tom to the astronomy tower to watch the stars with him, it all changed.

He kissed you for the first time and obviously you didn’t object. In the morning, when you woke up in Tom’s bed, all cuddled up on his bare chest, you knew you had finally made it.

The boys celebrated you two like crazy, Tom did not have any of that. Especially when Draco hugged you. He could have killed him right there.

That’s how it had been going ever since, Draco had been your best friend since the first year at Hogwarts and you two had a strong bond, to the strong dismay of Tom. He didn’t like whenever Draco came too close to you or even talked to you for an extended period of time.

Just like today. You and Draco were laughing and giggling, teasing each other and all that stuff Tom despised. Now, you did not mean to make Tom mad, but him fuming in the corner, giving you the death stare definitely spurred you on.

As soon as you two were finished with the project, your boyfriend got up and dragged you away.

“I need to talk to you for a minute, do you have time?” He asked, all nice and polite. But by the look of his eyes, you knew you were in trouble. But today you decided not to let him have it that easily. “Sure Tommy” you smiled innocently at him, batting your eyelashes.

He hated when you called him that name in front of the others. Especially when they heard. “Aww yes Tommy, go talk to your girlfriend, we will be waiting right here for you, love!” Theo mocked, making the others laugh. “Count your days, Nott.” Your boyfriend sneered back.

You never looked away from Tom, his eyes returning to yours, almost burning through you. The two of you left the others and entered his dorm. As soon as the door was closed, he enchanted it with various spells, and that was when you knew you were in big trouble.

Tom approached you then but stopped when he stood right in front of you. “Strip and lie down. Now.” He demanded, gesturing towards the bed. “But Tommy I-“ he took off your cloak and then proceeded to rip open your blouse. One of your favourites, mind you. You shrieked at first and whimpered at the cold air hitting your bare skin, goosebumps rising all over your body. “I do not like telling you twice. From now on you will address me with Sir.” You quickly nodded, but did not intend on calling him that. For now, at least.

As soon as you were on the bed, he as well undressed himself and positioned you on the edge, ass in the air on all fours. “What do you say?” He asked, his voice unforgiving. “Please Tommy?” You questioned innocently. Tom just scoffed at that and after a quick pause he grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back, so you were pressed flush against his bare chest. You could feel his hot breaths on your temple, the tension between you two making the blood rush through your body.

“You are very brave today, darling. Being all touchy with Draco and after not following my orders. That attitude needs to be fixed. You are mine and no one else’s.” Tom whispered in your ear, his free hand reaching around your throat, pressing just tightly enough to make you feel lightheaded.

When you didn’t answer, he reached down to pinch your nipple, a yelp escaping your lips. “Understood?” “Yes Sir” you croaked, entering subspace already. If you liked one thing, it was Tom being all worked up and rough with you.

“Good girl.” He praised. “Now head down, hands behind your back. Don’t you dare move unless I say so.” When you did just that, a hard smack landed on your right ass cheek, making you squeal. “Stay still I said!” He muttered through gritted teeth, another harsh smack landing on your left side, which just made you have the same reaction as before.

“You are not giving me any other choice now, you brat.” With that Tom grabbed his wand, pointed it towards you and whispered an incantation, which resulted in your arms and legs being tied up, still in the same position. The ropes were tight, slightly burning your skin every time you moved even the slightest bit. “I am sorry Sir, I will stay still I promise!” You squeaked, in an attempt to make him loosen the binds.

“Too late now, darling. You will count each spank. If you fail to do so, I will restart. I am only going to stop when we have reached a sufficient number. Got it?”

“Yes Sir” Tears welled up in your eyes already, knowing Tom definitely won’t be holding back.

His hand met your delicate skin yet again. “One” you started counting, the stinging pain sending shockwaves straight to your dripping core. This went one until you reached 30, bruises in the shape of Tom’s hands forming on your skin. Your cheeks were hot with tears and you could barely keep up with counting. Only then Tom decided to have mercy. With a quick wave of his wand, he freed you from the binds, making you drop forward. He sat down besides you, softly caressing your tender, reddened skin, making you wince slightly. Tom then pressed a kiss between your shoulder blades, praising you. “You did so well, love. Such a good girl, finally obeying me.”

“m’ sorry T-Tom” you sobbed, your skin feeling like it was on fire. You were sure you wouldn’t be able to sit for days.

Another hard smack.

You cried out, completely overwhelmed. “What did I tell you?” Tom asked, rubbing the skin he had hit soothingly.

“I am sorry, I am sorry Sir” you corrected yourself frantically, realising the mistake you had made.

“Exactly. Move to the middle of the bed, but stay like you are, on all fours. Got it?”

“Yes Sir!” You did as he said, and soon Tom knelt behind you. “Arch your back, head down and arms behind your back.” He waved his wand yet again, tying your arms so tightly your fingers started tingling. “Stop whining and take it. Show me how much of a slut you are. Bet you would love this if it were Malfoy huh?” He spat, for the last part he grabbed your hair, forcing your head to the side to look directly into your reddened eyes. You could only shake your head vigorously. “No, no I wouldn’t. I am all yours, Sir please forgive me.” Tears started wetting your cheeks again, Tom scoffed. “Let’s see how sorry you are. If you are going to behave for the next part, I might have some mercy with you.” You nodded eagerly, sniffing.

Tom’s hands rubbed your inner thighs, travelling up to where you needed him most. Just the slightest contact with your dripping cunt made you gasp, bucking your hips backwards. “Dripping already? This was meant to be a punishment, darling. Pathetic.” He huffed, and with one quick motion he entered your aching hole. Tom picked up a steady rhythm immediately, not giving you any time to adjust to his size, making you hiss.

He set an unforgiving pace, hips snapping into yours like he needed to prove a point. That’s what you got for teasing your overly jealous boyfriend. Although the sex was very rough, you loved when he showed this possessive side of him.

He hit all the right spots and you could feel a knot forming in your stomach. Tom must have realised this as well, as he reached down to grab your hair, pulling you flush against his chest again. This allowed him to go even deeper than he had before, and when he reached down to circle your clit, you couldn’t hold it back any longer.

“Please can I cum Sir, please please!” You blurted out. “Yes, love. Show me how good this cock is making you feel. Who is making you cum, huh?” He questioned, going even faster than he had before.

“You Sir, only you!”

You could now feel him hitting your sensitive cervix, the pain finally pushing you over the edge as you convulsed around him, your walls gripping him tightly as you shivered and calmed down from your climax. Tom groaned, pinching your nipples which made you yelp. Your body was so sensitive, yet he didn’t seem to be done. He finally let go of your hair, and you immediately dropped down on the bed.

“What do we say after someone makes you feel good, doll?” Tom whispered sweetly, pulling out of you. “Th- thank you S-Sir!” You answered, cheeks stained with hot tears.

“You know you look absolutely gorgeous when you cry? Makes me want to come all over your pretty face, darling.” After he caressed your cheeks, he kissed your now bruised backside. Though, lovey-dovey Tom was soon back to his jealous self.

“And I am the only one who can.” With that he pushed back inside your sore walls, making you cry out. “Please Sir, no more.” You tried wriggling away from him, though his strong hands on your hips held you securely in place. Of course you had a safeword which you could use whenever you actually wanted him to stop, but for now Tom continued his brutal thrusts. “I made you feel good, now you make me feel good as well, no? That’s just fair, isn’t it? Or would you rather have Malfoy do this?” He sneered, reaching under you to squeeze your tits when you didn’t reply immediately.

“Wanna make you feel good only, Sir!” You whined, too overwhelmed to form a full sentence, slowly but surely becoming a blabbering mess. “Thought so. Now stop complaining and take it. You were made for this after all.”

His hands snaked their way to your throat, squeezing tightly as he roughly thrusted into you. You felt yourself become lightheaded, both from the pleasure he was giving you as well as from the lack of oxygen in your body. You knew he was getting close when he mumbled all kinds of things in parseltongue under his breath, his thrusts becoming more ragged and gasps escaping his mouth. Tom circled your oversensitive clit yet again, making you moan, closing in on your second orgasm.

Your mind went blank as your high hit you, making you shake, eyes rolling to the back of your head. Tom followed closely after, your pulsing walls milking him dry. He groaned as he slowly pulled out of you, cum leaking from your abused center.

“So pretty like this, darling. You did so well for me. I am proud of you.” He gave you a small peck on your spine and freed you of the ropes, your arms collapsing to your sides. When you only replied with a small whimper, he got worried. Tom was quick to take you into his warm embrace, a frown on his face. “Darling, are you alright? I wasn’t too rough, was I?” You finally looked up at him, eyes red from crying. “No, don’t worry. It’s alright. You do look really cute when you are worried, though.” You giggled, making him sigh. “I will be right back, is that okay?” when you nodded, he got up to return with a warm cloth a minute later, wiping sweat, tears and your mixed cum off your body. You exhaled and cuddled into his chest, almost dozing off.

“Don’t fall asleep yet, doll. I still have something for you.” He scooped you up, carrying your limp body to the bathroom. The scent of wild roses and raspberries hit your nose, the temperature pleasantly warm. Tom lowered you into the bathtub and joined in himself, positioning you between his legs so you could lean onto his chest. He ended up massaging and tending to all the sore places, planting soft kisses on your scalp, temple and cheeks. He even washed your hair oh so softly, giving you all the love he could.

When you two were done, he helped you get out of the bathtub and dried you off with a towel. You hissed when he dried your bruised skin, slapping his arm softly. “You know I won’t be able to sit through History of Magic like that, you twat!”

He laughed, kissing your shoulder. “I am sorry, doll. It was an adequate punishment for acting like a brat, though.” You rolled your eyes. “Whatever you say, Tommy.”

Tom tucked you under the sheets, joining you. Soon enough you two drifted off to sleep, and you surely wouldn’t dare even look at Draco the coming days.

#tom riddle #draco malfoy #harry potter #tom riddle x reader #slytherin #slytherin boys #kinktober #tom riddle smut

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