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hxney-lemcn · 2 months ago

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Mine, Only Mine — Mr. Crawling, Gap, Silvair, Chopped, Hugeface, and Scarletella x gn! reader

summery: how jealous do some of the Homicipher boys get?

tw: unhealthy relationships (Mr. Hugeface & Scarletella)

wc: 1.2k

Master List

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Mr. Crawling

❥I know people have written about how he gets jealous…but I don’t really think he does? Or at least not terribly. The scene with Mr. Chopped and the cat ears show that Mr. Crawling won’t pout or get sad at you showing affection to others, just that he wants to gain the same attention (the ear scene…). So jealousy with Mr. Crawling isn’t too bad, just be prepared to shower him with more affection than the person you originally did.

❥On the other hand, I do think his jealousy may increase if you ignore him. Say you give more attention to Mr. Scarletella, Mr. Crawling would get a bit sad and pouty, thinking you don’t like him anymore. If this happens, give him lots and lots of attention and reassurance, he’ll be super grateful. I mean he loves your affection anyways, so might as well give him some extra headpats and kisses. Even better if you only show certain signs of affection with him, it makes him feel special.

❥Overall, not the most jealous, but not completely unaffected either. Make sure he gets his daily dose of attention/quality time and he’ll be as right as rain.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Mr. Gap

❥Uh, he gets more jealous than you’d think. Like…his whole thing is he wants to be special to you…in his own strange way. Doesn’t like the thought of someone taking his place as a jokester to you. Also why he brings you things he’d think you like from time to time, just to make sure you still have that special place in your heart for him <3

❥Hates hate hates when you call him bad or not good. He’s good! He swears! Remember how he’s helped you before! Gets all frowny when you call him not good and then call someone else good. He’s good too! Guess he has to prove it, AGAIN. It’s honestly kind of endearing how he has no clue how he actually kind of does like you? But not exactly in a romantic way? It’s honestly hard to label his feelings towards you, so why should I?

❥I’d say he’s the second most jealous in this list of characters, watching on angrily as you praise someone that isn’t him. Be prepared for magazines and books galore when he’s in this mood, trying to prove his worth to you. Kind of strange for someone to try so hard when they claim to not like you…

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Mr. Silvair

❥Definitely the chillest one here. Doesn’t really get jealous at all :/ If anything, he finds it entertaining when you’re affectionate with others. Gives him more insight to his lab rats. Yes, he sees everyone as a lab rat. Idk, I can’t really see him get jealous.

❥Maybe…MAYBE if someone else tries doing research on you, or if Ms. Nurse treats you instead he’ll feel a bit off. Like…you’re his test subject, he knows you from the inside out…literally and not in the fun sense. Why would you go to someone who doesn’t know as much about you and how this world affects you? It’s very hard to spot his jealousy, doesn’t even notice it/recognize it himself. He just doesn’t want anyone to mess up his data…that’s all…totally.

❥In conclusion, not really jealous. Doesn’t feel like he needs to be. You’re ‘friends’, doctor and patient, mad scientist and lab rat not many others threaten that balance between you.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Mr. Chopped

❥Honestly…Mr. Chopped I’m kinda mixed on how he’d be. Like on one hand, I could totally see him getting jealous if you call others cute or pay too much attention to them. On the other…he could probably care less. He loves himself, you love him, why does he need to get jealous? It’s clear how much you like him with the way you pamper him. I mean we get so many examples where you’re affectionate to Mr. Crawling in front of Mr. Chopped and he doesn’t really bat an eye.

❥Now, I can see if he gets a bit insecure he might get more jealous. Whether it be because Mr. Crawling pats your head or tucks you into bed, Mr. Chopped feels a bit sad. He’d like to tuck you in, you look so comfy. Might be just a bit pouty, eyeing you like a dissatisfied cat. Easily rectified with head pats or even cuddles. Gets side tracked from his jealousy as soon as you give him a sliver of attention honestly.

❥Mr. Chopped is fifty fifty when it comes to jealousy, but it’s never too bad. He’s pretty comfortable with what you both have and doesn’t really feel threatened by others. After all, you did call him cute.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Mr. Hugeface

❥I wouldn’t say he gets jealous? More possessive than anything. Like that scene when Mr. Machete stumbles into his little makeshift dollhouse that he made for you and gets all angry that he’s there. It’s more of a ‘you’re not supposed to be here, this is our playtime’ more than actual jealousy. Throws a little fit whenever someone messes up your playtime. Very accusatory lmao.

❥Does not like when you try to escape. Was he not providing enough for you? Were you unhappy? You’re not allowed to leave! You’re his cute human! He can’t just find another one y’know. Mr. Hugeface may be lenient if he sees you happier, you need enrichment after all. Feels extra happy if you come back on your own violation.

❥The most childish out of all the characters on this list. Isn’t afraid to throw tantrums, will also punish you by putting you in a solid concrete cube if he’s really upset. Yeah…not the most healthy of relationships to have…BUT! I do think you could convince him to be a bit better…? Maybe? Only if you put enough work in communicating with him though. Maybe punish him in your own way like leaving for longer if he threatens to trap you.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Mr. Scarletella

❥Uhhhhhhhhhhh. Top of the list when it comes to jealousy. Watches your every move with curiosity and spite. Why are you doing that to Mr. Crawling? Do it to him instead. Why do you look so happy braiding Mr. Chopped’s hair? Style his hair instead. Why are you looking so fondly amused at Mr. Gap? Don’t you find him amusing? You do like him, right? He likes you. He likes you a lot, and he thought he was enough…was he not?

❥Will stare through your skull. It is so intimidating. His smile? Strained, it makes your skin crawl. You have to make sure he doesn’t hurt your friends, he’s so close to snapping, but he knows that would upset you and that’s not his goal. So instead he stands ominously in the background, body staticing in and out while his hand clenches the handle of his umbrella.

❥Not that easily mended. Likes to monopolize all your time and affection. Needs constant reassurance as well, he’s quite needy. If you like constant validation and no social life go for it, just don’t get too upset if he threatens your other monster friends…he can’t stand that you could like someone that wasn’t him.

#❥ • my works #homicipher x reader #mr crawling x reader #mr gap x reader #mr silvair x reader #mr chopped x reader #mr hugeface x reader #mr scarletella x reader #homicipher #mr crawling #mr gap #mr silvair #mr chopped #mr hugeface #mr scarletella #x reader

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gojorgeous · 1 year ago

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“heatwaves”

pairing: alpha!gojo x omega!fem!reader summary: when a work trip takes you to japan, the last thing you expect is a heatwave... and some guy with blue eyes? content: MDNI (18+ only), nsfw, a/b/o dynamics, no established relationship, dubcon (i feel like it’s always kinda dubcon with a/b/o), p->v, unprotected sex, creampie, breeding, biting, blood, marking, spit, praise, swearing, pet names (baby/sweetheart/princess), brief mention/implication of pregnancy, knotting, reader gets picked up, reader is american, reader is unaware of their omega status, reader experiences their first heat, reader and satoru “bond” without having a fully conscious conversation, reader and satoru are early twenties. a/n: it's here! somebody spay me. by popular demand i have written alpha!gojo for you all… just a classic reader goes into an accidental heat at work and (x) character happens to be the nearest alpha LMAO. this is entirely uncreative, but i love it for that!!! straight smut with a little plot if you squint hard enough! i hope it lives up to your expectations. find my alpha!geto fic here and find the list of my 1k event fics here. enjoy and remember, ALL AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED! credits: dividers by @cafekitsune. wc: 5k

Nobody ever told you that Japan was so damn hot.

Hot was not what came to mind when you’d heard you’d be taking a trip to Tokyo. Temples? Sure. Mt. Fuji? Great. Hot? No fucking way.

But, here you were, boiling away under the sun on what you’d thought would be a fun little work trip. Instead, you were just suffering with every step, trying to listen to what Principal Yaga was saying and failing miserably.

“These are the sparring courts. No students right now, but they’ll start training within the hour.”

You rub at the back of your neck, cringing when your palm comes away coated with a thin layer of sweat. Gross.

You lift your eyes to the sky, wondering how much longer this was going to take. Your little trip to Japan was to organize an exchange program with Jujutsu Tech. Your students had been begging to take a trip to Tokyo, to where their cursed energy would be closer to the source and, consequently, stronger. You had to admit, it was a good idea. A few months spent training here in Japan would do them good. From the moment you’d set foot on Japanese soil, your power had thrummed faster in your veins than ever before.

Principal Yaga was giving you a tour of the grounds and had sealed your horrible fate when he’d decided to start outside. You barely heard a word the man said. New York was never this hot…

“Are you alright?” You blink, fanning your face as best you can. It provides no relief. God, it felt like the heat was penetrating your fucking bones…

When your eyes slide to Principal Yaga, you’re surprised to see that he looks genuinely concerned. “Y-yeah.” You blink again, shocked by your own stutter. Maybe you were coming down with something? “I’m fine, just not used to this kind of heat, I guess.” You fan your face again and clench your jaw when it still does nothing.

Yaga’s brows furrow and you see him glance around, like he’ll find said heat standing next to him. How was he wearing so many layers?

“How about we head inside and take a break, then? We can continue the tour… later.” You nearly fall to the ground and kiss his feet. Air conditioning is truly God's gift to man…

You smile and it’s all genuine. “That would be amazing. Thank you.”

Yaga nods, but you think his eyes linger on you for just a beat too long before he turns. He still looks confused… or maybe flustered? That only leaves you confused.

You follow after him, each step feeling like you’re sinking deep into cement. You tug at the collar of your shirt, trying to get some ventilation. When you finally reach the building you nearly sigh with relief. Air conditioning… that’ll be good. Just what you need. A few minutes inside and you’ll be good to go. You’ll just have to remember not to wear so many damn layers again when you continue the tour.

You’re smiling as you step inside, so ready for relief that you’re practically shaking– but relief never comes. Your brows furrow. You brush your arm through the air. It… doesn’t help. It’s strange– you can feel the coolness of the air conditioning, feel it gliding up and across your skin, but the heat doesn’t subside, doesn’t so much as lessen.

“I trust you know how to find anything you might–” Yaga clears his throat. “Need?”

Your brows furrow. He’d shown you all the school’s resources last night and your room was already stocked with food, toiletries, and every other thing you could possibly need. Of course you knew where everything was…

“Yes… Thank you.”

Yaga shifts so uncomfortably you think that maybe he’s about to pee his pants. “Right, well, you have my contact information. Let me know if I can be of assistance in connecting you to any… resources.”

You’re more confused now than you were at the start of this conversation. “Right…”

“Take care.”

Yaga shoots you one last– worried?- glance and stalks down the hall. You’re left wondering what the hell is happening in his mind and why he seemed so desperate to offer you resources?

You blink, clearing your mind as best you can, but some sort of fog seems to be settling over your consciousness. Definitely coming down with something, you think.

You make your way through the halls, steps still feeling suspiciously heavy and heat still radiating off your body. A cold shower. That’ll help. Or so you thought. The further you walk, the more each hallway starts to look like the next. Was it left or right next? Was this hallway always a dead end? Since when was there a bathroom there?

You’re leaning against the wall now, panting. Something is pooling in your gut, something warm and far too intense. Your inner thighs are wet, too. You want to convince yourself it’s sweat, but… you’re horny. More horny than you’ve ever been in your whole damn life. You think you might die if you don’t get some dick in the next ten minutes. What the fuck?

You slide yourself into the next room you see: an empty classroom. Thank fucking god. You grab the back of a chair, hands shaking with how hard you’re gripping the wood. You take a deep breath. You need to get a hold of yourself, need to figure out what the fuck is happening to you.

You swallow and try your best to think. It’s not without difficulty. Your head feels like somebody’s filled it with glue. It takes a minute for a coherent thought to come through, but when it does, you think it’s a good one. Doctor.

Yes– you don’t feel well, so obviously a doctor is the correct choice, right? You scramble for your phone in your back pocket but freeze when the brush of your own hand against your ass sends a jolt up your spine. What the fuck is wrong with you?

Carefully, you extract your phone from your pocket, but it’s too difficult to even remember your fucking passcode. You press your thighs together, trying to relieve some of the overwhelming ache that’s forming between your legs. Something is definitely wrong.

You fumble with your phone, but your hands are shaking so hard it just tumbles to the floor.

“Fuck,” you breathe. “Fuck, fuck, fuck?”

“Yo, who’s baking cookies in here without me?”

Your head snaps up and, with some difficulty, your eyes settle on a… man. You suck in a breath. He’s… dazzling. He’s wearing all black, but it’s not a student uniform. One of the teachers that you’ve yet to meet, then. White hair and pale skin contrasts against his clothes, but his eyes are covered by a pair of sunglasses set low on his nose. Even in your delirious state you still have the wherewithal to wonder who the fuck wears sunglasses inside.

You get a quick look at him before a wave of intense- fuck, desire?- washes over you. You tremble again and shock yourself when a whimper tumbles from your lips.

“Oh, shit,” you hear him say. You glance at him from the corner of your eye and watch him inhale again– deeply. His lips part. “Oh, shit.”

You clench your jaw and tighten your grip on your chair. Your legs are shaking now– you can barely stand. You squeak pitifully.

The second the sound leaves your throat you hear footsteps– rapid, hurried, concerned, ones. Warm hands clasp your waist and you cry out at the touch, electricity sparking on your skin.

“Shhh, it’s okay.” He turns you gently to face him, hands steadying your swaying body. “Who the fuck left you alone in here?” His hand is rubbing soothing circles on your lower back now and you think you’ve never felt something so good in your life. It’s so good that you almost miss what he said. Almost.

“W-What?” You see his brows furrow as you peek up at him. At this angle you can see under his sunglasses. His eyes are blue. Really fucking blue. You think he might be the most attractive man you’ve ever seen, even with the expression of… anger?- that he’s currently wearing.

“Whoever he is, I'll kill him.”

That makes you blink. An extra sliver of clarity opens in your brain. “What are you talking about?”

He tugs you a little closer, wrapping an arm fully around your waist and pressing you up against him. You try to ignore the fact that you love it, that you want nothing more than to wrap yourself around him and climb him like a fucking tree.

“What idiot leaves an omega going into heat?” He’s glaring at the doorway like he’s torn between staying here with you and running after said idiot to pommel him into the ground.

“‘M not an omega.” The words are out before you’ve even stopped to consider them. It’s true. You’re not an omega. You’re a beta. You’ve always been a beta. You’ve got the little “B” on your ID card to prove it. You were tested at birth, just like everyone else, and even if you really were an omega you would have presented years ago.

He only glances down at you and snorts. “Funny, sweetheart.” His hand is still rubbing those little circles into your back and it’s enough to make that fogginess in your mind grow a little thicker.

But your fear, your uncertainty outways your instinct. You pound a weak fist against his chest, not to push him away, but to get his attention. He’s still glaring at the doorway like he wants to murder it.

“‘M serious,” you gasp. “I’m a beta… I don’... know whas’ happenin’… to me.” Each word is a tremendous effort to form. Your tongue seems to have lost its ability to do anything but hang limply.

That gets his attention. He lifts a hand, gently brushing your hair back from your eyes and then cupping your jaw. “Is this your first heat?”

You find yourself leaning into his touch despite the fact that you’ve only known him for thirty seconds. Your eyelids flutter. “N-Not a heat… jus’ feel… sick.”

His brows furrow again, deeper this time, and he shakes his head. “How old are you?”

You know why he asks. Most omegas present around eighteen or nineteen. “Older than… nineteen…” You try to laugh, but it only comes out as a whimper.

That answer only serves to make him push closer. You feel his hand trailing down your neck, skimming gently over the skin until he reaches a spot you hadn't even realized was so… sore. You keen at the touch. Fuck, no. There was no way. You had swollen fucking scent glands.

You try to push away, but he pulls you in, burying his face in your neck. You shudder when he groans. “You smell like a damn bakery exploded,” he chuckles, and the sound is muffled by your skin. When he pulls away he makes it look like the action is physically painful. He cups your face again. “Hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but you’re an omega. If this is your first heat then…” he swallows and your eyes track the bob of his throat. “You’re just a late bloomer, baby.”

You shake your head desperately. It’s just the stupid heatwave. It’s just… hot outside… right?

You try to think about how this could be possible. It could be that the test you took as a baby was wrong… it happened sometimes. It was rare, but it happened. But if you were an omega, what would have triggered your presentation now? What had changed?

Your eyes widen. Japan. You’d set foot in fucking Japan. Ever since you’d gotten here, you’d felt power pulsing in your veins. Maybe it hadn’t been just power…

“N-no–”

A gentle thumb smooths over your cheek and you meet his eyes again. You shiver when you see a whole lot more black than blue. “You have no alpha?”

You whimper, leaning into him. Touch me, touch me, touch me, a part of you begs. You shake your head again and a tear slides down your cheek. “No,” you whisper.

Strong arms slide beneath your knees and you squeak when you’re suddenly suspended in the air. When you glance up he’s grinning triumphantly. “You have one now,” is all he says before he’s carrying you out of the classroom and twisting through the halls.

Warmth rushes over you at the sensation of being held, and something begs you to give into it, to give into the heat still washing over you, to the throbbing between your legs. You fight it and fight it hard.

“Where’re we going?” you ask, but your voice is sounding more and more like a whisper.

His eyes stay focused ahead, even as he presses a comforting kiss to the crown of your head. “Your room, sweetheart.”

Your brows scrunch. “How d’ you know where–”

“‘M following your scent, baby.”

He can do that? You bury your face in his neck, embarrassed, only to be hit by a different scent so delicious your mouth starts watering. You groan. Loudly. There’s a scent pouring from his neck that’s filling your head with memories of spices you can’t name, but suddenly know you love.

You think you hear him chuckle and then feel a gentle hand on the back of your neck, encouraging you. You snuggle deeper into him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and burying your fingers in his hair. Taste him, taste him, taste him your mind chants. It’s too good an offer to deny. You lick a stripe across his skin.

Your groans are instant. He’s squeezing you closer, leaning into your touch, and you’re pulling him closer. Your fingers curl into his jacket, tugging and tugging. You lick again and now he’s the one groaning.

“Damn, that feels good,” He sounds as surprised by that fact as you feel. The swaying of his steps comes to a sudden halt. You whine, missing the rocking of his body. “Think we’re here, princess. This it?” His hand is smoothing over your hair, slowly coaxing you away from the curve of his neck. You blink, not wanting to leave the paradise of his scent, but also feeling some overwhelming urge to please him.

Your eyes settle on a door and you recognize a little chip in the wood. You nod. “Mhm.”

You gasp when his hand grips your hip, wriggling through your pocket until he pulls out a little brass key.

“Perfect,” he says, and his voice sounds like he’s all too pleased with himself. He shimmies your key in the knob until the lock clicks and then you’re inside. The door slams shut loud enough to make you jump and squeak.

“Oops, sorry, baby. Guess I’m a little excited, heh.” His hand squeezes your hip soothingly and you mewl at the wave of heat that pulses through you. Your clit throbs almost painfully and you feel something gush onto your thighs. You whimper.

He inhales. “Oh, shit,” he breathes, and then you’re moving again. He navigates your room like he knows it. He probably does. From what you can tell, most of the rooms at Jujutsu Tech follow a standard layout. He weaves down a hall to the left and then into your bedroom on the right.

He lays you on the bed gently, tenderly, like he’s afraid you might break if he drops you so much as an inch. “There we go,” he breathes. You can’t deny that it feels good, that it feels right, to be lying on the softness of your mattress, but it’s not enough.

You claw at him, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck and pulling him close. You want something from him, need something, but you can’t name what. You just know that the heat boiling beneath your skin can only be sated by him, that the throbbing between your legs can only be calmed by him. “P-Please,” you whimper. Tears well in your eyes. You need him so bad it physically hurts.

The smile he gives you is soft and genuine and it takes your breath away. He dips his head and you think you see him slide those sunglasses down his nose and toss them to the side. You don’t pay too close attention, though, because he’s kissing your neck again and your body is screaming with sensation.

“Aw, I know, baby. Don’ worry. ‘M gonna take care of you now. Jus’ relax.”

His words spark something in you– your last bit of consciousness. A brief moment of clarity shines through the fog of your mind and you remember what the hell is happening, what the hell you’re doing. You squeeze your eyes shut and shake your head desperately. No, no, no, this is not happening to you. There’s no way.

“Hey, now. None a’ that.” Fingers clasp your chin, holding you still. When you peek your eyes open, you see that he has in fact removed his sunglasses and that his eyes are more black pupil than dazzling blue. His jaw is clenched and his breathing is heavy. “Don’t try t’ fight it. Jus’ try to enjoy it…” His head dips and suddenly he’s nipping at your scent gland again.

You thrash and scream, but not in fear or pain. You’ve never felt something so good in your life. Every graze of his teeth feels like heaven. Your skin zings with electricity, sending pulses of pure need straight between your thighs.

You grab at him, tangling your fingers in his hair and tugging him closer. Your chest is heaving when you speak. “Please, p-please-”

“Shhh…” You think you hear your shirt tearing, but you’re too focused on pulling him closer to care. His tongue licks a stripe up your throat and your eyes roll back.

You’re sure your shirt is off now. You can feel the cool air, but it does nothing to ease the heat raging inside you, pulsing and pumping through your veins.You feel him tugging at your pants, too, and you try to raise your hips. He only shushes you again. “Jus’ relax. Let me do the work, baby.”

Your pants are gone in seconds, even without your assistance. So is your bra and then your panties. He tries pulling away to undress himself, but you mewl and his eyes blow even blacker before he’s back over you again. He settles for popping the buttons straight off his shirt and shimmying out of his pants.

The sight of his bare skin makes you whimper and then you’re clawing at him again, dragging your fingers across his shoulders, over his chest, down his abs. It’s a greedy touch and one that he returns. His palms move along your body, kneading and squeezing at any flesh he can grab. It feels so good that you think you might pass out– but it’s still not enough. Something is still missing. You feel… empty.

His fingers trace across your stomach and it’s too late to realize what’s happening before he’s circling your clit. You jerk and jolt at the touch, but he presses his chest to yours, pinning you. The throbbing only worsens when his fingers settle into a rhythm.

Tears leak down your cheeks. It’s too overwhelming. You’re burning– burning from the inside out. The pulsing between your thighs is all-consuming with its intensity, with its-

“Need! N-Need–” you’re crying out, but you don’t even know what to ask for– don’t even know what you need.

“God, Fuck, I know, princess,” he groans. He licks a long stripe up your neck. “But ‘s your first heat. Gotta–” he has to pause to swallow. He’s panting, now, just as lost as you are, and you get the sense that he’s restraining himself. “Gotta get you ready… go slow.”

You shake your head. Now, now, now is all you can think. You need him now. “No… please…” You bury your head in his neck and find that spot that’s pouring his spicy scent into the air. Your mouth waters and you lick him, letting your teeth graze his skin.

“Fuck!” He shivers atop you and you feel the pure strength restrained within his muscles. “Fuck- okay. Okay. Relax f’ me, princess.”

You try, you really do, but your body refuses to do anything but try to pull him closer. You feel his fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs, pressing them up, up, up until they’re pressed tightly to your chest and your feet are dangling on his shoulders. The position makes you whine, feeling more exposed than you ever have before.

“You on birth control, baby?”

Your brows furrow. It’s becoming harder and harder to focus on what he’s saying rather than simply the sound of his voice. Were you? You try to think, try to remember through the pit of glue that is your brain. No…

You shake your head. “N-No…”

There’s a slight pause, a beat of contemplation, and then he’s laughing. “Guess I’m bouta be a daddy then, heh.” He chuckles again and the sound rings through you with a wave of pure bliss. His lips brush your neck again, settling on your pulse and making you whine. “Don’t really mind as long as I get you.” Your head rolls back submissively, exposing your throat. Yes, yes, yes, your mind screams. There’s nothing you want more than that, you think.“Okay, here we go, baby.”

There’s hardly any more warning. One second you feel him shifting between your thighs and the next he’s pressing inside of you, feeding his cock in inch by inch. The stretch is… delicious. It burns, fuels that fire inside you, but it makes the heat feel more… pleasurable. Your back arches and your head rolls back submissively.

“Oh, fuck, princess.” His voice has gotten higher, more like a whine than anything else. When you gaze up at him you can see the flush in his cheeks, even through the fog in your mind. More, more, more your mind screams. Or maybe you say it aloud, because more is exactly what he gives you. The second you feel him tucked up against your cervix the second he begins to take you. He sets a pace that is somehow both brutal and gentle, with strokes that rattle your skull and also give you exactly what you need. His hands grip your hips, holding you still to take exactly what he wants to give. His head dips until he has his lips wrapped around your nipple, and his tongue is swirling so deliciously that you can’t help but drag your nails down his back.

Your body rocks with every thrust, teeth rattling and eyes rolling. The heat inside you grows… tighter, like it’s all pooling to your core, waiting for something you still can’t quite name.

“N-need…” You don’t know what you need, still. Only that you want to beg for it so badly it hurts.

His tongue slides away from your nipple, tracing a line up between the valley of your breasts, over your collarbone, before he finally settles on your pulse once again. The nick of his teeth makes something click in your mind. This is what you need. Bite me, bite me, bite. Claim me, claim me, claim me.

“Yes,” you breathe. Your fingers dig into his scalp, pulling him closer, coaxing his teeth to sink in, to stake their claim. “Oh God, yes. Please.” You sound delirious, you think, but then so does he when he answers.

“Not yet, princess. Not yet.” His tongue darts out to lick across your neck again and you can only sob. Why not yet? Now, now, now…

Tightness coils in your muscles, the throb at your core reaching a breaking point. You feel something coming, something like an orgasm but yet also not. You know that when whatever is pooling inside you releases, you will shatter, and you’re not sure you’ll ever be put back together.

Your nails claw across his back hard enough to draw blood and the action forces out some sort of low grumble from his chest that makes you whimper and melt into the mattress. The tip of his nose draws a line up your throat. “Keep doin’ that, baby. Mark me up.”

You don’t dare deny him. You scratch at his skin, desperately trying to pull him closer. His thrusts grow faster and your thighs begin to tremble and shake on his shoulders, overwhelmed with the intensity of all you’re feeling. You pull at him, grab at him, thread your fingers through his hair.

Your body jolts with each thrust and you’re sure you’re going to burst any moment. But you can’t. Not yet. You still need something, something he hasn’t given you yet. He groans and the sound is so delicious that you feel it sliding over your skin and settling in your bones.

“M’ gonna knot you now, princess,” he breathes. “Gonna make you feel so good. Gonna take care ‘ve you.”

You whimper at his words. You hope they’re true. You don’t think you can take much more of the incessant gnawing of need in your gut.

“Please…” your voice is hardly more than a whisper. His breath is hot as it shakes against your neck. He’s licking and nipping at you ravenously, like he needs you just as badly, like he wants to claim you as badly as you want to be claimed.

His thrusts quicken even further and your jaw falls open, neck arching. You don’t think you can hold on much longer. Apparently, neither can he.

You feel it the moment he starts to swell inside you. It’s perfect, you think. It can’t get better than this– but then it does.

His teeth graze your throat again, this time a little harsher and with a little more intent. “Mine,” he whispers. The second he bites you everything goes blurry.

You’re experiencing… heaven. There is a rush of that electricity that buzzes under your skin. It bursts forth and you feel it reaching out, forming a link between the two of you that you know is now impenetrable. It pulses and burns and you can feel him, feel his pleasure, his desire, his need for you and only you– his need to make you his. You think your souls must be blending, merging, with how deep the connection runs. You think you know him, know everything you could possibly ever need to. You know he’s the one. You know he’s yours.

It’s perfect, the way it fulfills every desire you’ve ever had, the way he notches inside your cunt like that’s where he was made to be, the way his teeth clamp around your throat and bond you together forever.

You scream for him, you think, but you can’t tell through the complete and total haze of pleasure. Your walls spasm around him, milking him for every last drop, and you feel the heat of his cum coating your cervix. The heat at your center finally releases, bursting and flooding through you in a way that feels like pure bliss has been injected into your veins. Your thighs quake and tremble with the pure intensity of it all and white spots dot your vision.

His body is tense above you, shivering with the magnitude of what’s just happened. He’s groaning into your neck, your flesh still clamped between his teeth like he never wants to let go. You’re not sure you ever want him to.

Your breaths shake in and out, lungs heaving as you finally come down. His knot is still settled deep inside you and with the few strings of consciousness that slowly filter back into your mind you know that he’ll remain there for a while.

His teeth release from your neck with a squelch that you think you would be sickening in any other context, but only makes you whimper at the loss of contact. He only hums and finds your hand, twining your fingers together as he laps at the fresh bite on your throat. It feels… amazing. Not in the way it felt before, like he was licking pure lust straight onto your skin, but more like he’s giving you a comfort you have never known in your life. You feel safe in his arms, like nothing could ever hurt you here.

His lips press a final kiss to your throat before you feel him shifting. He gently rolls you both onto your sides, getting comfortable and pulling you to his chest while you both wait for the next wave of lust to hit you. It will, you know. Sooner rather than later, too. Your mind has cleared enough to realize what’s happening, what’s to come. You won’t be leaving this room, this bed, for quite some time.

A gentle hand brushes a sweaty lock of hair from your eyes before it settles on the nape of your neck, massaging the sore muscles there. You sigh and raise your gaze to find him already looking at you, an easy smile on his lips. He has dimples, you realize, and he’s… breathtaking. And now… he’s all yours.

There’s a beat of silence between you, a moment of reconciliation with what’s just happened between you, of what it means. You blink up at him, your lips parting to say something, anything, but instead your brows furrow in thought.

His smile drops instantly. He leans into you, thumb caressing your cheek. “What is it, sweetheart?”

Your mouth runs dry. You peek up at him from beneath your lashes. “What’s your name?”

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ubeb0nes · 1 month ago

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Sevika x Fem!Bar Owner!Reader - The One Who Pours the Drinks

Pt. 3 (can be read as standalone)

༇ ༇ ༇

Summary: After their (very homosexually-charged) estrangement a few weeks ago, Angel tries to bury the sour Sevika left in her heart. Sevika does the same, dismissing any meaning to be found in how she still makes sure to walk by the Five-Copper Furnace at least twice a week.

But one thing remains true: No one threatens the one who pours the drinks.

a/n: i'm a dirty filthy liar, i finished pt. 3 for bar owner reader before i even started my warmup for writing sevika's character LMFAO. will still do that prompt at some point!!

w/c: like 4.3k ish

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The world doesn’t stop spinning because of one person.

It’s a sentiment you were forced to be fond of in your life before the one you had now. People had always come and gone, it was the nature of the crime life, and it was certainly the nature of the Zaun one too. To stop and mourn for too long was to die.

And you had a business to run.

You did your best to count your lucky stars every night, reminding yourself as you wiped down the bar that there were other people. Plenty of women with smokey laughs and eyes like the moon. You were a good-looking bastard, you’d find the next one. You had all the time in the world now, away from the strife that used to follow you like a shadow.

Pay no mind to how you always swiped harder at the bar as you had these thoughts, slamming tumblers and plates into their places beneath the bar with extra vigor. Nor to how Zaun was about as different from Bilgewater as steel to iron.

Sevika’s men and their presence started to dwindle with hers, albeit more slowly; many of them almost seemed hesitant, apologetic. You caught one of them on your way into the bar to open it for the evening.

“I’m real sorry, Angel,” he’d said.

“I’m sure she’s got other work for you,” you said, waving him off as if it was- and indeed, it was- nothing personal. You only had problems with one ex-frequent of your bar. You weren’t even all that inclined to include the heavy muscle she brought in with her on the last visit.

“Always other work where the boss is concerned,” he affirmed, “But… this has been one of the better gigs.” You stayed static outside your bar for a moment as he walked away, your key still stuck in the lock.

It’s not like you needed protection in the first place, you were more than capable. Not that Sevika knew that. You grumbled to yourself as you organized the prep area behind the bar; you hadn’t had to give much mind to security the past several months, Sevika handled the matter in its entirety without you so much as having to ask.

You’d have to add that back into your list of tasks. Along with putting all the stools up at closing time. And what were you supposed to do with all these damn cigarillos you had behind the counter? You didn’t smoke nearly as much as she did.

You smacked a hand that wasn’t yours away from the aforementioned stash, smirking when you heard a small, “Ow, jerk!”

“You’re not old enough to smoke.”

“It’s Zaun, babies would smoke if they could,” the boy, a little tail of yours named Kix, retorted, pouting as he hopped up on the counter. You sighed. “I finished that book you gave me.”

“Yeah? How was it?”

“Pretty good! And, I think, as a reward for finishing it, I should-”

“Yeah, I’m gonna stop you right there,” you said, stepping away to move the lemons you just sliced into a container. Your tail, of course, followed.

“Fine, can I at least finally get a knife?”

“When you can wield one of those batons without smacking yourself in the face, yeah. ‘Til then, hell no.”

“That’s a bad word!”

“Like you care!” You could only breathe out a laugh. The children of Zaun were sharp, often leaving you deeply amused and incredulous.

“Ugh,” he said dramatically, flailing against the bar. You shot one of your patrons an apologetic look at the antics of Stray Wet Cat #1. “But you have so many, Angel!” He exclaimed, “How’d you get those anyway? Did you kill somebody?”

I killed a lot of people, you wanted to say, but something told you that wouldn’t have been appropriate. “I told you before, Kix,” you started, voice gentle like a teacher’s, “Zaun isn’t the only place in the world where you need to defend yourself. The world is way bigger.”

“Doesn’t feel like it,” he muttered to himself, pushing away from the bar and trudging back to the lounge area connected to the kitchen, where a few of the other kids spent their time. You frowned as you watched him walk away, then looked down at the paring knife in your right hand.

For the children of Zaun, life depended on which end of the knife you found yourself on, and oftentimes nothing more. How much were you really doing for them, giving them sandwiches to eat and rudimentary lessons on how to hold a blade? They all had to leave the bar at the end of each day, stepping back into the streets waiting to swallow them whole on their treks back home.

“Don’t be so hard on ya’self, Ang’,” the patron you’d shared a look with earlier interjected. You looked up at him in a daze, quickly putting on a thoughtful smile.

“I’m okay,” you replied simply.

“And so are those kids, thanks to you,” he said, “A little bit goes a long way in Zaun. These kids can stretch an inch of kindness, always have been able to.”

You saw eyes like slate in your mind as the gentleman went back to nursing his drink, and your smile faltered.

Weren’t these the kids Sevika claimed to be doing her righteous work for? What could she tell them as she chipped away at their safe haven, showing up bi-weekly just to take away a little more? You growled lowly as you swiped a cigarillo from beneath the counter, abiding the thought to linger in your mind- as if you could condition yourself to hate her faster.

You were busy staring down the end of the cigarillo as you lit it, almost too busy to notice how a wave of quiet had washed over the Five-Copper Furnace. Your eyes flicked to the door just in time, though.

Your busy mind halted all thoughts more trivial than the now, a low voice reminding you of the shotgun beneath your bar, the knives in your sleeves, and the preeminent experience in violence that scarred your skin. Four men wearing all manners of weapons, and gleaming belt buckles of meridian silver, stalked into your bar.

𒀭 𒀭 𒀭

Sevika was, for whatever reason, a woman well-versed in the department of odd and unwanted talents. Being weirdly good with kids was at the forefront.

“Oh! Captain-General Metal Arm Lady!” Well, she knew which kid that was*.*

“Why is my name so long?” She muttered to herself as she stopped anyway, and turned on her heel to face him. The boy, one of Angel’s little henchmen named Kix, skidded to a stop in front of her. “What is it, kid?” She asked gruffly.

“Where’ve you been? Are you and Angel having a lover’s quarrel?”

Isn’t he like twelve?? Sevika picked her jaw up from the ground as quickly as it’d fallen. “Who the hell even taught you what that is?” She asked incredulously.

“That’s a bad word. And I read it in a book. Are you coming to the Five-Copper?”

“No, I’m busy,” Sevika said flatly. Her brow furrowed at the way his face fell. Not like a child who’d been told no, but a boy who had something to fear. “…Why?”

“Well, uh… m-maybe you could just stop by?” He rocked back on his heels, looking over his shoulder at the bar in question. He’d caught Sevika so close to the place, he just needed to get her through the door… “I think Angel might… u-um…”

Sevika sighed. “Before tomorrow, Kix.”

“I think Angel might need you.”

Sevika scoffed, turning with a small flare of her cloak (drama queen), “She’s a big girl, she can handle herself just fine, kid. I gotta go.” A small, surprised grunt rose out of her when she felt a tug on her metal arm. She looked down at the boy, shooting him a glare that lacked even an inch of fire.

“Please, Miss Sevika! A bunch of guys just walked in and I don’t know them, a-and they have really ugly, scary faces, and-”

“Okay! Okay. C’mon, let’s go,” Sevika rattled her arm out of Kix’s grasp, sweeping it back beneath her cloak. The boy let out a small cheer as her broad form turned in the direction of the Five-Copper Furnace, and he fell into step under the cover of her shadow. “And don’t call me ‘Miss Sevika’. Just Sevika is alright,” she made a small, grossed-out sound.

“Okay! Does that mean we’re friends?”

“No,” she replied, giving his head a small nudge as they walked.

“Ack! Bully!”

The smile that began to flicker across her features promptly melted back into her perpetual frown as she watched almost half a dozen patrons leave the Five-Copper in succession. “How many of them were there, kid?” She asked in a low voice.

“Uh, I think four?”

Sevika hummed, stopping beside the entrance. She pulled Kix aside by the collar with her, as even more patrons filed out. “Are your friends in there?” She asked. The boy nodded. “Okay. Go get ‘em through the back. And go home.”

“But-!”

“Uh-uh. She’s already pissed at me enough, can’t imagine how mad she’d be if you brats got hurt once this goes down.”

“So…” Sevika felt a few grey hairs grow in at the same time Kix’s frown faded into a grin, “…it is a lover’s quarrel?”

“Kix!”

“Okay, bye Sevika!” He hopped up and down as if to charge himself up before sprinting off. Sevika watched as he nearly tripped over himself when he quickly halted again. “Uh… you won’t let them hurt Angel, right?”

“She’ll be fine,” Sevika said. She sighed as his feet stayed planted in the ground. Her voice was softer when she spoke again, “You have my word, kid. Angel will be okay.” He gave her a final grin, before darting off. Sevika cracked her neck as she zeroed back on the entrance to Angel’s bar. “Guess collections is early this month,” she muttered wryly, before pushing the door open.

𒀭 𒀭 𒀭

“These people don’t even know, do they?”

You breathed out tendrils of smoke from your nose, lowering your voice in line with the bounty hunter’s. His friends had stayed mute, opting to survey your patrons and the bar itself like three angry lighthouses.

You smiled slightly at those who hadn’t left yet, whose postures were coiled tightly like metal springs.

“I can’t imagine it’d change a thing,” you replied. You picked up the wanted poster (old fashioned, you were aware) he’d thrown on the counter, giving it another flippant once-over. Your likeness had been- rather skillfully- illustrated in the center, with meaningless words like ‘Wanted’ and ‘approach with care’ swimming around it.

God, I’m good-looking, you thought with a smile and a nod.

“And yet you have ‘em call you a different name. Bury your old one with the rest of your money, huh?”

“Oh, that isn’t buried. Not one bit,” Your face spread into a grin, wolfish teeth crushing the filter of the cigarillo. You saw the hunger that flickered in his eyes, a greed so romantically entwined with the people of Bilgewater that men died for it. Like this one would.

“Well, good to know! Between that and the hundred Golden Krakens on your head, you’ll make a fine cashout,” the rancid man said, “Angel.”

Your eyes widened slowly, mockingly. “A hundred Golden Krakens?” You echoed, “…Can I turn myself in?” Your eyes flicked casually to the door as you heard it open once again.

“Very funny. Now…”

Whatever the hunter had to say ceased to matter as you watched her walk in. Wide shoulders curved inwards, entering with the same intent your remaining customers all had. Sevika met your eyes immediately.

On one hand, not only was your safety further secured, but a return in a casket to your old city was all but out of the question now. Sevika wouldn’t let you die, at the very least, you knew that much.

On the other hand… Sevika was in your bar. Your eyes narrowed at her, and you gave her a look that practically screamed ‘piss off’ in spite of your other senses relaxing. She shook her head at you, matching your rising agitation with an annoyed curl of her lip.

Kix, she mouthed. Oh, thanks, kid. What a wingman.

You would’ve found it silly the way she stuck to the walls as she moved through the bar. Trying to get closer to you, you realized. A hand slamming down on the table and another grabbing your collar brought your attention back to more pressing matters.

Sevika felt her heart jump higher in her chest, and she resisted the urge to rush right to you and pluck that man’s head from the rest of him. A firm hand on her shoulder was all that prevented her, and she leveled her gaze with the fool who’d stepped in her line of view.

“We called dibs on this job, you’re too late,” the hunter said. Sevika furrowed her brows in brief confusion, but the pieces came together quickly in a mind as sharp as hers.

Bounty hunters? For you?

He gave her shoulder a shove, and Sevika let herself be moved. Some distance to deploy her left arm’s blade, good. “Go on,” he growled.

A scream from the bar counter swiveled all heads in that direction.

Sevika’s eyes widened as your name started to rise in her throat, until she saw the main perpetrator sink like a stone in water… his hand left behind in your grasp. You wiped the knife on your apron, throwing your still-burning cigarillo at him as he writhed on the floor.

Sevika threw her cloak to the ground before her sensibilities turned to steel.

𒀭 𒀭 𒀭

You would’ve made a fine alchemist, if you hadn’t chosen the more profitable industry of alcoholism instead.

You also would’ve been far less likely to have ever encountered Sevika and the all-consuming rage she inspired in you if you’d started an Apothecary. What with her- very much expected- aversion to seeking out any medical assistance of any sort.

“Ow.”

“Stay still.”

“Ow.” Sevika hissed when you pressed the tonic-doused cloth to her wound with the exact same vigor as before, thrashing away from you. You sat up straight, leveling her with a look that seethed with your indignance.

“You’re acting like a wuss.”

“And you’re acting like a child who didn’t get her way,” she snapped. Your eye twitched, and so you closed them to take a moment to gather yourself.

You missed the way Sevika’s gaze fell slowly to your lap, eyes creasing as she frowned at your battered hands. You hadn’t had time to pull your gun from beneath the bar before shit went down, and so you’d resorted to hacking with hand and blade. Sevika had been at your back like a magnet, sticking to you and letting the hunters come to her. You’d held your own valiantly.

She only serviced you a lukewarm glare as you moved back to her, this time gently easing the cloth onto her wounded cheek. You held her in place by the other side of her face. “You can take a punch but not a wound disinfectant,” you quipped.

“I took more than just a punch recently, princess.” Sevika side-eyed you when your touch faltered, letting out a shallow huff from her nose.

“Unbelievable…” you muttered.

“Who the hell were those guys? What could they possibly want with you?” Sevika asked. You jutted your lip at her in annoyance when her movements shifted the cloth.

She looked down to ponder the fight from a few hours ago (the lower floor was still an absolute wreck, but that was a problem for you to deal with tomorrow). Silver teeth; and weaponry not at all reminiscient of anything you’d find in Zaun, or Piltover. They had moved with an erratic tick to their attacks, not completely unlike the Shimmer-dependent henchmen Silco kept; although their addiction ran strictly red.

“They weren’t Zaunites,” she mused aloud.

“…No. They weren’t. They were from Bilgewater.”

You freed your other hand to reach for your wanted poster you’d nabbed before heading upstairs, and handed it to Sevika. There was a hanging silence between you as she read the same words over and over again.

“They got your likeness wrong,” she said. You pursed your lips, waiting. “Your head is bigger than that.”

“Shut up.”

Sevika chuckled; or at least gave a limp attempt at it. Her hand holding the poster fell with a soft crunch as she sighed. You let your own hands rest in your lap as she closed her eyes, and leaned her head over the back of your couch.

She had such a pretty neck. The lines of that strange scar were like wisps of blue smoke on her skin. You wanted to reach out to touch them, to thank her sweetly for defending you even as you spat fire on her wounds. You wanted to kiss all the smooth and rough patches you could see, lull her into a soft sleep-

“This is gonna get back to Silco in a couple of days tops.”

You scoffed. “What, is he gonna raise my rent? Doesn’t he have a revolution to claim to run?”

Deep down, you were impressed with what Sevika let you get away with saying to her. Inadvertently discounting her life’s work was no small thing, and you’d seen her put others on the ground for less. It was even more surprising when she gave a real answer to your poor-faithed question.

“You should’ve kept your head low. And let me deal with it. Not- cut a guy’s hand off.” She shook her head, rubbing her forehead. You opened your mouth to refute your lost honor, but she beat you to it, “You’re too… competent. He’ll wanna bring you in now. And you’re no good to the Undercity if he pockets you.”

You’re about to ask her why the hell does she work for him then, but another piece clicks into place before the words surface. Sevika watches the realization cross your face. “So that’s why you…”

“Trust me,” Sevika took hold of your wrist as she raised her head to stare scrutinizingly at your wall, and guided you to press the cloth back to her face. “The collections I take from you are cheaper than really being under his heel. You should see what he takes from that Sheriff up in Piltover.” She breathed out a humorless laugh. Your eyes widened, as the scope of Silco’s reach did too. **

You were a fool. Had going straight truly dulled your cunning mind? (Or was it just the handsome woman sitting in your living room…)

“That’s the discounted price too, by the way,” she muttered. You were pulled from your thoughts with a soft laugh.

“I knew you were fond of me.”

“I like what you do for the kids.”

“It’s nothing,” you said softly, surveying the injury on her face and deeming it sufficiently stabilized to move onto the next. You were glad, at least, that the brunt of the pain had been inflicted on you two rather than your good-willed customers.

Sevika’s brow furrowed as she watched you go through the motions of prepping her next injury. Truthfully, she didn’t know why she let you drag her upstairs in the first place; the way you coupled your attentive- if not presumptuous- touch with barbed jabs at her gall for walking into your bar should’ve pissed her off. But she let you move her like you were a breeze.

Your movements were practiced, like you’d spent a whole lifetime sweeping up the broken pieces of stupid, pointless fights. Sevika looked down at the wanted poster again. “…How much is 100 Golden Krakens?” She asked.

You hummed as you tried to think of the best comparison in Zaun’s economy, “Probably eightteen months’ worth of what I make running the bar.”

“Janna-”

You laughed heartily as you carefully peeled the wax paper from a bandage. Subconsciously, you rubbed over the wound once it was patched to soothe the ache, not noticing how Sevika’s gaze immediately went to your nimble hand. “Why, you thinkin’ about turning me in?” You teased.

“Funny,” she deadpanned, “Would be one less pain in the ass for me, though.” She gave you a pointed onceover. Her feigned exasperation melted into a grin when you slapped her leg (albeit very weakly).

“You just said you like me!”

“That isn’t what I said,” she said, still feigning dismissal so smugly. You hated how well she wore a petty smirk, or how pretty her teeth were when she gleaned a real smile.

(You wanted to kiss that stupid look right off her face.)

Instead, all you did was roll your eyes, collapsing on the opposite end of the couch. In Sevika’s mind, she just won that encounter.

“You mind if I smoke?”

You waved your hand, looking out the window of your kitchen, “Worse has happened in my house today.” She didn’t pull your gaze back to her until you heard her shifting around for a longer amount of time than it should’ve taken for someone to find a cig and lighter. “Lose your lighter?” You mocked, taking in the cigarillo hanging out of her mouth as she patted down her pockets with mild frustration on her face.

“One of the bastards must have knocked it out of my pack,” she said with an agitated sigh. Her eyes perked up at the metal clink of… your lighter. You laid your head back against the arm of the couch, resting the open lighter slightly above your abdomen. Sevika’s breath caught as she realized how close she’d have to get to you- how close you’d make her get to you- to get a light.

Her eyes narrowed into a glare as they slid up to meet your gaze. She wasn’t about to make a coward of herself now, though. She held your expectant stare as she leaned down between your legs, one of her hands boldly bracing on your shin with a slight squeeze. She cupped her hand protectively around yours as she lit the end of her cigarillo. The way your eyes widened and your chest stopped rising with breath wasn’t lost on her.

I take it back, Kix, she thought, I don’t think she’s all that pissed.

She turned her head to the side as she blew smoke from her mouth. “Tell me something,” she said, her voice nearly a purr. You had to fight with your own goddamn eyes to tear away from the small puffs of smoke that left her mouth as she spoke. You cocked a brow. “Were you a pirate or something?” She asked. Her eyes widened slightly when you met her with silence. “Oh, sweet hell…”

“Don’t laugh!”

She laughed. You loved that she did.

“That was… a long time ago,” you waved your hand like you could bat the memories away, but they’d never felt more with you than today. You had nearly forgotten how easy it was to snatch someone’s life away. You’d made a fortune on it once, and yet… the muscle of ruthlessness had grown weak and disoriented with lack of exercise. You frowned to yourself, shaking your head. “I did a lot of things I’m not proud of.”

Sevika shrugged, taking another drag. “We don’t choose where life puts us,” she replied. You shouldn’t have been surprised by such a… thoughtful sentence leaving her mouth. But your brows still raised slightly as you looked at her. “I’m not gonna be the one to judge you around here.”

You frowned, guilt jabbing in your gut. “But I did you.”

“Maybe you weren’t wrong for it,” she retorted softly. Your eyes widened. She inhaled softly before continuing, swiveling her gaze to meet yours again. “I used to try an’ push Silco to do more for the kids. Get books smuggled in in between all the Shimmer requisitions,” she scoffed, shaking her head. Your heart squeezed as you watched her carefully begin to pull the curtains around her true self back- for you. “Give people resources, just… something. I didn’t realize I let four years go by ‘til I saw you doing all that for the kids the moment you touched down here.”

You sighed, swinging your legs over the edge of the couch to rub your face with both hands. “You really think I won’t be able to help them at all once Silco comes knocking?” You asked, biting your lip as you felt like what was the only answer was slowly enclosing around you.

Immediately though, Sevika shook her head. Your mouth opened slightly in confusion as she stood up from your couch. “No. I’m gonna handle this,” the determination in her step would have been beyond adorable if it weren’t for your utter bemusement. “I… owe you,” she said slowly. You wanted to laugh at how her fierce bravado seemed to come to a skidding stop the moment she had to make an admission on her pride.

“Oh yeah?” You teased.

She rolled her eyes as she pulled her cloak back on over her shoulders, concealing that absolute unit of a figure from your prying eyes. You smiled at how her broad shoulders were still very apparent, and the beginnings of her v-line peeked out with that damn cropped vest- get it together, Angel. “He’s gonna know I was here anyway, might as well make something out of it,” she explained (right, you bought that…), pausing again to scrutinize you, “You’re all good?”

Trigonometric equations started floating around in your head as you tried to decipher what she could possibly mean with that question, until her arched brow turned judgemental at how long you were taking to answer.

Oh. She was just asking about your… general wellbeing. Aw!

“O-oh, yeah, I’m all good,” you said. Truthfully too, you were more used to fighting the Bilgewater types than her, and had come out of the confrontation mostly unscathed. Your jaw stuttered as if to say more when she hummed and took a swift step forward, tilting your head up with her index and thumb.

“You’re not lying?” She asked lowly, turning your head gently from side to side.

“E-even if I was, it’s none of your business,” you snapped defensively. Dumbass. Did you have any idea how red your face was?

With an amused exhale from her nose, Sevika gently let go of your chin, fleetingly brushing her crooked index over your cheek. “Whatever you say, princess,” she said. She didn’t even give you a chance to shoot back something clever (as if you had something prepared) before she was sweeping towards the door, fixing her cigarillo in the corner of her mouth. “Your bar’s a mess,” she quipped over her shoulder, just to be a dick.

“Fuck you!” You called after her, the smile on your face crystal-clear in your tone. The last thing you saw was her pretty side-profile as she half-glanced at you with smug amusement lining her face, before she closed the door behind her.

You slumped back on the couch, letting out a heavy sigh. “That goddamn woman…” you muttered, “Fuck.”

#sevika #arcane sevika #sevika x reader #ubebones writing #arcane #angel the pirate

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n30n-l1ghts · 2 months ago

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Okay, I need to rant. Fuck AI. And I mean seriously. FUCK. A.I. I know I’m probably preaching to the choir here, but more people need to be talking about this, and there’s no point in me saying that if I’m not willing to talk about it too. AI has done nothing but ruin our communities and defile the art that millions of hands have spent millions of hours creating. Fanfiction is a work of passion. Drawing is a work of passion. Voice acting IS A WORK OF PASSION. AI has no passion. It takes the soul out of the things we love and cherish. It steals what we as a collective community have lovingly crafted, and it shatters it to a thousand pieces, spits on it, curses its family, and throws it in a flaming dumpster to be eaten by rats. It is despicable and disgusting.

I won't lie, or pretend I’m a perfect saint. I myself was a user of Character AI until somewhat recently. And as ashamed as I am to admit that, I feel it’s necessary to own up to my own faults. But after seeing the damage it causes, I can’t in good conscience even consider touching that site. Many of us write because it is our passion. Many of us because it is our job. And many of us because it is our *friend*. AI steals the writing of your favorite creators WITHOUT PERMISSION and mashes it together like Frankenstein’s fucked up monster to create storylines that aren’t even fucking coherent. Not only that, but Character AI uses whatever you respond to it with to teach itself as well, which means that the company has access to whatever you chat about, and free reign to do whatever they want with it. They also make absurd amounts of money from it, which in comparison, fanfiction writers, who spend countless hours writing stories for our favorite characters, more often than not charge nothing. And the ones who do charge, tend to have reasonable, if not highly lenient prices for their labor.

Which leads me into another side rant. SUPPORT WRITERS THAT YOU LIKE. It’s really not that hard, it takes two fucking seconds of your time and it makes someone's day. Reblog. Share with your friends. Like. Comment. Just let the writer know that you saw it, and that you liked it. The amount of fanfic writers I have seen get completely discouraged from writing because of lack of engagement is astounding. I’ve seen several posts on Tumblr or Twitter or Bluesky talking about creators that were incredibly popular but never knew it due to lack of engagement is appalling. If you can rant about your love for their work on Discord, you can rant about your love for their work in the comments. Just fucking copy paste it. Tell them how much you love it. Show them support. Especially the ones that don’t charge. Because for those of us that don’t, our only payment, is your feedback. Even constructive criticism is greatly appreciated by damn near every writer I can think of. Because even that shows that you read it, absorbed it, and thought about it enough to have something to actually say about it.

The same thing goes for artists and voice actors. You see a drawing or animation you enjoy? Comment. Like. Share. You see a character in an anime or a game and you love their voice? Go check out their voice actor, maybe they do some other cool stuff, and you might just discover your new favorite series or streamer. A perfect example is Alejandro Saab. I became a fan of his through his astounding performance in several series dear to me, and lo and behold, he’s also a streamer I enjoy. Same story with Aleks Le, or Ray Chase. Yuri Lowenthal, Lizzie Freeman, Landon Mcdonald, Zeno Robinson, the list goes on. But seriously, it’s not that much effort to just show a little love to the creators you enjoy. The people who breathe life into the series’ that we all hold dear. AI does not breathe that life. Using AI, and supporting those companies, will destroy those pillars of our community. And if that happens, the AI would crumble too, it would have no new information to use. SO really, what’s the benefit? I’ll tell you. There is none.

Stop using AI. All it does is bring harm and slowly kill our community. It’s disgusting, appalling, and downright fucking egregious.

Thank you for coming to my TedTalk.

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mononijikayu · 1 month ago

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kinikilig — itadori yuji.

“Ugh, they’re driving me crazy!" Yuuji groaned, flopping dramatically onto the dorm couch. He had dragged Megumi and Nobara into his ordeal, much to their dismay. “You’re driving us crazy, Itadori.” Nobara shot back, arms crossed as she glared at him. “Do you realize how many times you’ve ranted about this today?” “But I’m serious!" Yuuji sat up, running his hands through his hair in frustration. “Every time I try to ask them what they want, I get all... I don’t know, flustered. And then I just start staring at them instead of saying anything. And then they make a joke, and I laugh, and—" He buried his face in his hands. “I just really love them, okay?!”

GENRE: Alternate Universe - Canon Convergence;

WARNING/s: Safe For Work (SFW), Post-Canon, Christmas, Aged Up Characters (Yuuji and Reader are 18+), Fluff, Young Love, Dating, Relationships, Romance, Pet Names (Babe, Yuu-chan, etc), Established Relationship, Teasing, Minor Drama, Feelings, First Love, Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, Flirting, Humor, Domesticity, Slice of Life, Light-Hearted, Pining, Holding Hands, Doubt, Profanity, Nanami and His Wife Cameo, Itafushikugi Sibling Coded;

WORD COUNT: 4.6k words.

NOTE: i promised to write this because there was a huge need to yuuji content. posting this for you @rreveurdoll as much as this is for me. and since it is christmas eve (still day time) in asia, i might as well post this since i will be sleeping for a bit!!! i hope everyone is well and happy this holiday. i'll be posting a christmas art everyone is welcome to enjoy and print out as a card or sticker. happy holidays to everyone!!! i love you!!!

masterlist

if you want to, tip! <3

kilig (adjective) — "exhilarated by an exciting or romantic experience"; such feeling can be something as idiomatic as saying, "hey, i'm feeling butterflies in my stomach for you!" or next best thing to that which is "i'm genuinely feeling excited!"

“SHIT!” — THOSE WERE THE WORDS HE ENDED UP SAYING, EVEN WHEN HE DIDN’T MEAN TO. But the word echoed louder than Itadori Yuuji intended, startling an elderly woman walking past him on the crowded street. He winced and muttered an apologetic “Sorry!"under his breath, clutching the shopping bags in his hands a little tighter.

Itadori Yuuji wasn’t one to curse out loud. He prided himself on his optimism and his ability to keep things light-hearted even in the most stressful situations. But this? This was different. This time, Yuuji felt the situation demanded it. Because at this rate, he was setting himself up for failure.

He groaned, running a hand through his messy pink hair as he stood frozen in the middle of the bustling holiday crowd. Glittering lights adorned the storefronts, garlands hung in perfect loops above doorways.

And the faint melody of carolers blended with the hum of city life. The festive energy was palpable, but none of it helped ease the knot tightening in Yuuji’s stomach. How could it? This situation is driving him to a cliff of endless worries he doesn't want to end up in.

It was lovely Christmas time once more. You loved it as much as he did. It was the season of cheer, joy, and giving; it had everything and more! And the Tokyo streets buzzed with life for it. People rushed by with shopping bags brimming with carefully chosen gifts, their faces alight with excitement and satisfaction. It felt like everyone had their holiday plans perfectly in order.

Everyone except Itadori Yuuji.

This year was supposed to be special. It was his first Christmas with you as his lover, and he wanted everything to be perfect. Scratch that—he needed it to be perfect. You were his whole world, his everything, and this gift needed to show you just how much you meant to him.

But the harder he tried, the more overwhelmed he became. He’d scoured countless stores, browsed endless online listings, and spent hours walking in circles around the mall. Yet no matter where he looked, nothing felt right. Everything he picked up seemed too small, too impersonal, or just not enough.

It wasn’t that Yuuji didn’t know you. He knew the little things that made you happy. The way your bright eyes lit up at the sight of something sweet, how your laugh always started with a soft giggle before it burst into pure, unrestrained joy. He knew your favorite colors, your favorite snacks, and the way you always hummed under your breath when you were lost in thought.

And maybe that was the problem.

Because knowing you so well only made him want to give you something truly extraordinary. Something that could somehow capture just how much he adored you. But every time he thought about it, his mind short-circuited, overwhelmed by a love that was too big for words—or holiday gifts.

“Ugh, what am I going to do?" Yuuji muttered, dragging himself into yet another store. The cheerful holiday music playing in the background did nothing to soothe his nerves as he wandered aimlessly past rows of glittering ornaments and festive knick-knacks.

If he didn’t figure this out soon, he’d end up empty-handed on Christmas morning. And that, to him, was simply unacceptable. The thing was, Yuuji wasn’t bad at shopping. He’d always been good at it. Grandpa Wasuke said so! In fact, the act of searching was easy. He had a good eye for thoughtful details and a knack for picking up on what people might enjoy.

Over the past few weeks, he had ventured into dozens of stores, scrutinizing shelves of trinkets, clothes, and gadgets. He’d spent hours scrolling through endless online listings, carefully reading reviews and comparing options. He’d even braved the chaos of the mall during the holiday rush, weaving through crowds with a determination that rivaled a seasoned shopper.

He wasn’t just browsing aimlessly, either. Yuuji took his mission seriously. As serious as he would be a real sorcerer’s mission. If anything, he’d go on and on even longer than at his missions. Because you deserve nothing but the best. He knew that much. He was going to make sure you get the best and only the best from him. His love was premium. Shouldn’t his gift to you be like that too?

He’d lingered in the holiday gift section, picking up items and putting them back down, imagining how you might react to each one. Would this make you laugh? Would that make your eyes sparkle with excitement? He spent so much time in one store that an employee asked if he needed help—or if he was lost.

The problem wasn’t the act of searching; it was what happened after.

Every time he thought about what you might like, his brain short-circuited. It wasn’t that he didn’t know you well enough. Quite the opposite. Itadori Yuuji adored you. He knew the little things that brought you joy: how your hands curled around a warm mug on chilly mornings, the soft sigh of contentment that followed.

The way your beautiful eyes just lit up, full of passion, whenever you talked about something you loved. The way you had a talent for making the most ordinary days feel extraordinary, whether it was through your humor, your kindness, or just the way you smiled at him like he was your whole world.

And that was the problem.

Because every time Yuuji tries to take the logical next step about it all, he always seems to fail. When he thinks about asking you what you might want for Christmas—he’d freeze. Completely and utterly freeze.

His chest would tighten, his heart would hammer, and he’d lose his words altogether. He’d open his mouth to ask, only to get distracted by how cute you looked while you were busy doing something entirely unrelated.

It wasn’t just love. No, he was sure. It was more than that. Love is not enough to describe how much he loves you. It was the kind of love that left him lightheaded, giddy, and absurdly incapable of functioning like a normal person. Yuuji wasn’t just in love with you; he was ridiculously, overwhelmingly, head-over-heels in love.

And that made everything infinitely harder.

He couldn’t even concentrate when he was around you. Instead of asking what you wanted, he’d catch himself staring, marveling at the way you furrowed your brow while concentrating or how your laughter could turn his worst days into his best. When you cracked a joke (sometimes funny, sometimes not), Yuuji laughed anyway, not because of the joke but because it came from you.

Every time he thought about asking again, he found that the words got stuck in his throat, replaced by a flood of affection he didn’t know how to articulate. He would be a bumbling mess. And you would get worried and ask him if he was okay. But he would babble that he was okay. But he can’t help that either. How could he even begin to express how much you meant to him?

And so, instead of making progress, Yuuji found himself stuck in a loop of adoration and frustration. He’d groan and mutter to himself, pacing his room or staring at the ceiling late at night, wondering how something as simple as picking a Christmas gift could become so complicated.

When did things get complicated? When did things get hard? Everything about this was ruining his ability to think straight. And that wasn’t your fault. It never will be, no. It was his inadequacies as your lover. He was sure of that. He once more groans, earning the looks of his classmates.

“Ugh, they’re driving me crazy!" Yuuji groaned, flopping dramatically onto the dorm couch. He had dragged Megumi and Nobara into his ordeal, much to their dismay.

“You’re driving us crazy, Itadori.” Nobara shot back, arms crossed as she glared at him. “Do you realize how many times you’ve ranted about this today?”

“But I’m serious!" Yuuji sat up, running his hands through his hair in frustration. “Every time I try to ask them what they want, I get all... I don’t know, flustered. And then I just start staring at them instead of saying anything. And then they make a joke, and I laugh, and—" He buried his face in his hands. “I just really love them, okay?!”

Megumi, sitting with a book in hand, sighed heavily. “We know. You’ve said it a hundred times.”

“But do you understand how hard it is?!" Yuuji looked at them, his warm eyes wide and desperate. “Like, they’re so amazing. And cute. And funny. Like, even when their jokes aren’t funny! I can’t help it! I laugh anyway because I just... I love them so much! And I just, grrrr! Why can’t I do this right?”

Nobara threw a pillow at him, hitting him square in the face. “You’re ridiculous. Just ask them already!”

“I tried! But every time I think about asking, I get all red and tongue-tied. I can’t even look them in the eye without grinning like an idiot!"Yuuji groaned, sinking back into the couch to wallow in his self-perceived ineptness. “I just... I just want this to be perfect! They’re the ones, guys! I can’t ruin this. I want to... I want to do well.”

“You’re hopeless, aren’t you?” Nobara muttered, rolling her eyes as she grabbed a Christmas cookie from the table.

“Maybe write them a note.” Megumi suggested, not even looking up from his book. “Or I don’t know; stop overthinking everything. I don’t think it matters what you give them. They love you enough for everything else. They’re with you for a reason, Itadori. They like you. Not what you can provide them. It’s not that deep.”

“But it is that deep!" Yuuji exclaimed, flailing his arms. “I want it to be perfect! I want them to know how much they mean to me!”

“Just pick something from the heart, Itadori.” Nobara said, her tone softening slightly. “They’ll love it because it’s from you, dumbass. You don’t need to stress so much.”

Yuuji sighed, hugging the pillow Nobara had thrown at him. Deep down, he knew they were right. It wasn’t about finding the perfect gift. It’s never been like that with you, no. It was about showing you how much he cared. And he already knew how he felt: completely, utterly, hopelessly in love with you.

That night, he sat at his desk, the dorm room quiet, save for the faint rustle of snow falling outside his window. He leaned forward, resting his chin in his hand as his mind drifted to you. He thought about the way your laugh always seemed to bubble up like music, filling the air with warmth. He thought about how, even on the darkest days, your presence was enough to make everything feel a little bit brighter, a little bit easier.

With a deep breath, he picked up a pen and a blank sheet of paper, staring at it as if it held all the answers he was looking for. He twirled the pen between his fingers, his heart thudding in his chest. For once, he didn’t try to overthink it. He knew he had the words. He just has to let them go.

He takes a deep breath and looks at the page again. He can do this. He knows he can. Nothing is impossible for love. Nothing is impossible when it comes to loving you. And showing you that, well, he wants to make sure you see it! And so he let the words flow, raw and honest, straight from his heart. He doesn’t stop until he gets every bit of it out.

He started with the small things. How he loved the way you’d hum absentmindedly when you were focused, or how you’d always check to make sure he was okay, even when you were the one who’d had a rough day. He wrote about how much he admired you—your kindness, your resilience, your ability to find joy in the simplest things.

Then, as the words poured out, he wrote about the bigger things. How meeting you had changed him in ways he couldn’t fully explain. How, before you, he hadn’t realized how much brighter life could be. How he’d never known what it felt like to be this happy, this complete, until he met you.

The more he wrote, the lighter he felt. By the time he reached the end of the letter, his hand was cramped, but his heart felt full. He folded the paper carefully, tucking it into an envelope and sealing it with a quiet smile.

The next day, Itadori Yuuji ventured out into the bustling city again. The crisp winter morning coupled with the cold winter air was sharp and frosty, each breath forming little clouds that vanished as quickly as they came. Today was the day he'll get that bonus gift. He will find the perfect one. He knows it.

He wandered from shop to shop, weaving through crowds of last-minute shoppers. He studied every display carefully, letting his instincts guide him to the perfect one. He knew it just had to be here somewhere. Yet, after hours of searching, the doubt began to creep back in.

“What if I can’t find it?”He muttered to himself, the weight of his self-imposed expectations starting to press down again. “No, no. We had this talk, Itadori Yuuji! You will find it. You have the letter; that’s the present. Your love? That’s the gift. This is just a bonus, okay? No pressure!”

Lost in thought and incoherent mumbles to himself, Itadori Yuuji wasn’t paying attention to where he was going and nearly collided with a familiar figure. He blinked for a moment. It was a good thing he wasn’t carrying anything.

“Ah—sorry!” He blurted out, stepping back to apologize. Then he froze. “Nanamin?!”

Standing before him was none other than Nanami Kento, looking as polished as ever in a dark wool coat and a long, warm-colored scarf neatly tucked into place. Beside him was a woman with a kind smile; her arm looped casually through his. She gasped and smiled.

"Itadori-kun.” Kento greeted, raising a brow at the flustered expression on Yuuji’s face. “What are you doing out here?”

“I, uh...” Yuuji scratched the back of his head. “I’m trying to find a Christmas gift for someone. It’s... really important.”

Kento’s wife tilted her head curiously. “You look a little lost, Itadori-kun. Need some help with it?”

Yuuji hesitated, then let out a sheepish laugh. “Honestly? Yeah. I’ve been wandering for hours... Well, for a long while now. And I still don’t know what to get. I mean, I got the letter and everything and my love for them. I think that’s the most important part, but the other part of it is just...”

Kento glanced at his wife, who smiled warmly and squeezed his arm. “Well, lucky for you, I’m a bit of a pro at picking out thoughtful gifts, aren’t I, Kento?” She said to him. “Why don’t we take a look together, Itadori-kun?”

Before Yuuji could protest, she guided him into the next store, her pace brisk yet purposeful. Nanami Kento merely followed a few steps behind, his expression as composed as ever, though Yuuji could swear there was a flicker of amusement in his mentor’s caramel eyes.

“So, Itadori-kun.” Kento’s wife began, glancing at Yuuji as they entered a cozy boutique lined with handmade crafts and ornaments. "Can you tell me a little about your partner? What do they like?”

Yuuji scratched the back of his head, suddenly feeling shy. “Well, they love warm drinks, like tea and hot chocolate, especially on cold days like this. They always get this little smile when they’re holding a warm mug.”

Kento’s wife smiled. “That’s a lovely detail. What else?”

“They’re really passionate about their hobbies, a lot really!" Yuuji continued, his voice softening as he thought of you. “When they talk about something they love, their eyes just... light up. It’s amazing. I could listen to them for hours.”

She chuckled, picking up a small handcrafted snow globe from a nearby shelf. “Sounds like you’re pretty smitten, Yuuji.”

Yuuji’s face turned bright red at her comment. “I mean... Yeah.” he admitted, scratching his cheek. “They’re just... really special, you know? Like, every moment with them feels like a gift.”

Nanami Kento, who had been quietly observing, cleared his throat. “Itadori-kun, while that’s touching, perhaps you could focus on specifics. What’s something they’ve mentioned recently? Something they’ve wanted or admired?”

Yuuji paused, thinking hard. Then his warm eyes lit up. “Oh! They mentioned this charm they saw once—something small but meaningful. They said it reminded them of their family. I didn’t think of it until now.”

Kento’s wife clapped her hands together. “Perfect! Let’s see if we can find something like that.”

As they moved through the store, Itadori Yuuji rambled on, describing your quirks and favorite things with so much enthusiasm that even Nanami Kento seemed amused. The kid is passionate about a lot of things; he’d observed that in the time Yuuji and him had spent time together.

But at this level? Never. He’s not seen that at all. But perhaps Kento could find himself relating to the younger man. He too is a man in love who can't help but be frantic when it comes to his own lover. And he too is the type of man who would never shut up about the person he loves.

“They always hum when they’re concentrating. They do that really well too!"Yuuji said, smiling fondly. “But to be honest, Nanamin, it’s the cutest thing. And they’re amazing at turning little moments into something fun, like making a random walk feel like an adventure.”

“You really adore them, don’t you?"Kento's wife asked him, her tone full of teasing.

“I do. I really do,” Yuuji replied earnestly, his expression softening. “I just want to make them as happy as they make me.”

Kento’s wife exchanged a glance with her husband, who gave her a subtle nod. “Well, Itadori-kun, with that much love behind it, whatever you choose will be perfect.”

A moment later, Yuuji’s bright-eyed gaze landed on a beautifully decorated charm tucked away on one of the displays at the corner. It was simple, delicate, and intricately designed—a perfect match for the one you’d described.

“This is it! I think this is it!" Yuuji said, picking it up carefully. His grin grew wider as he imagined your reaction. “I think they’ll love it. I just know it.”

Kento’s wife smiled approvingly. “You did great, Itadori-kun. And now you can relax knowing it’s exactly what they’d want.”

Kento gave a faint smirk at the young man. “Next time, save yourself the trouble and ask them directly, Itadori-kun." It might save you hours of pacing through stores.”

Yuuji laughed, clutching the charm in his hand. “I’ll keep that in mind, Nanamin. Thanks for the help, both of you. I appreciate it. Really.”

Kento’s wife waved off his gratitude with a smile. “It’s nothing, Itadori-kun! You already knew what you wanted, you know? You just needed a little nudge.”

As they walked out of the shop together, they parted ways soon after that. Itadori Yuuji clutched the carefully wrapped gift in his hands, his heart lighter than it had been in days. This wasn’t just a present. It was a piece of his love for you, wrapped in meaning and chosen with care. And he couldn’t wait to see the look on your face when you opened it.

When Christmas Day arrived, it was just too much. Itadori Yuuji was a bundle of nerves. He paced his room, the gift and letter sitting neatly on his desk. His stomach churned with a mix of excitement and anxiety. He practiced what he would say, only to stumble over his words each time.

“What if they don’t like it?” He muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair. “What if it’s not enough?”

But all of Yuuji’s doubts melted away the moment you walked in. The door jingled as you stepped inside his dorms, shaking off the chill of the winter air, and the world seemed to slow. He felt like he couldn't breathe. You knocked his air away from his lungs with just your existence. You always have.

You looked effortlessly beautiful to him, even in the simple warmth of your coat and scarf. But it wasn’t just the way you looked—no, it was your presence. That radiant smile of yours, so wondrously bright and delightful. The one that always made his heart skip a beat spread across your face as soon as your eyes landed on him.

“Yuu-chan!” You exclaimed, your voice soft but bright, sending a flutter straight to his chest. You closed the distance between you in a few quick steps, your eyes lighting up with happiness. “I missed you, wah! I’m glad you’re back!”

Yuuji froze for a moment, overwhelmed by the sight of you. He had spent days thinking about this moment, stressing over the gift, over making everything just right—but now that you were standing in front of him, all of that seemed insignificant. The only thing that mattered was you.

“I, uh, got you something, baby.” Yuuji stammered, feeling the warmth flood his cheeks. His hands, which had been shaking since he first picked up the gift, now trembled even more as he extended the small package toward you. “It’s not much, but... It’s from the heart.”

You looked down at the little box in his hands, then back up at him with a soft, knowing smile. "Yuu-chan, you didn’t have to get me anything.”

“I know, I know,” he said quickly, trying to steady his breath. “But you know that I just….I wanted to. You’re... really important to me, you know? And I just wanted to show you how much I care. That I... I want to express my love for you like this.”

Your heart warmed at his words. You reached forward, gently taking the package from his trembling hands. You couldn’t help but feel like you were going to combust with how much warmth radiated in you because of his tenderness.

Everything about your lover made you feel like the world isn’t a cold place. He was everything that made life so good. You were convinced of that. The sincerity in his voice, the way he was so nervous yet so full of love. It made you feel more cherished than any grand gesture ever could.

You carefully unwrapped the gift, the anticipation in Yuuji’s bright eyes palpable as you slowly revealed what was inside. The beautiful and yet simple charm, delicately designed and elegant in its simplicity, lay nestled in the box.

You gasped softly, your fingers tracing the intricate design. It was everything Yuuji had described and more. It wasn’t flashy, but it held such deep meaning. You didn’t want it to be flashy. You just wanted it to be from him, from his heart. You felt the weight of his love in it and the thoughtfulness behind every detail.

And boy, did it deliver. He always does. Your lover boy always will.

“There’s a letter inside for you, Read it later, okay? If you want—"

“Yuu–chan!” You whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “It’s perfect.”

His face turned a shade of pink so deep it was almost red, and he scratched the back of his head in embarrassment. “Really? You like it?”

You nodded, eyes glistening. “I love it. I love you.”

Yuuji’s heart skipped a beat, and he could hardly contain the goofy grin that spread across his face. It wasn’t about the gift. Though he was surely sure that he was happy you liked it anyway. But of course, this was more important.

It was about the way you looked at him that made him feel whole and giddy all over again. The way your smile made his chest feel light, the way your love seemed to wrap around him, as real and as warm as the scarf you wore.

“I love you too.” He whispered in a relieved and yet so loving tone. “So much.”

“You’re the best, Yuu-chan!” You said, stepping forward to hug him, the gift still clutched in your hand. His arms instantly wrapped around you, and he buried his face in your hair, breathing you in. “I love it! I love you! Ah, I’m just so happy!”

“I’m just glad you like it, baby.” he mumbled, the words muffled in your hair, but you could hear the relief and joy in his voice. “I was really worried it wouldn’t be enough.”

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, your hands resting on his chest. "Yuu-chan, you don’t need to worry about that. It’s perfect because it’s from you. And that’s all that matters.”

He gazed down at you, the love in his eyes overwhelming. “I... I just want to make you happy. That’s all I ever want.”

And in that moment, as you stood there together, the soft glow of his dorm lights casting a gentle shimmer through the window, Itadori Yuuji realized something that took his breath away. He had already given you the best gift of all, his heart.

All the shopping, all the wrapping, the hours of nervous pacing. All of that. they suddenly seemed so trivial compared to this: the simple, unspoken exchange of love that had passed between the two of you. This was more than enough for him. This was his paradise. This was his Christmas miracle.

His chest swelled with warmth, and he looked down at you with a soft smile, his heart racing just as fast as it had the moment he first met you. No amount of material things, no matter how perfect, could ever compare to the way you made him feel. You were his everything.

Before he could say another word, you stood on your tiptoes, your hands gently cupping his face, and kissed his cheek. The touch was sweet, soft, and full of affection. Yuuji’s warm eyes widened in surprise, the blush creeping up his neck as he felt the warmth of your lips against his skin.

“You’ve done that and more, Yuu-chan! ”You whispered, your voice a little breathless with affection. “Don’t worry!”

His heart fluttered. He felt like he might melt right where he stood. His hands, which had been trembling when he gave you the gift, were now steady as they gently brushed a lock of hair from your face. The tenderness in your words, the way you made him feel so cherished and understood, filled him with a joy that no gift could capture.

“You really think so, baby?”He asked softly, a shy grin pulling at his lips.

“Of course I do,” you replied, smiling up at him with those sparkling eyes of yours. “You’re all I ever need, Yuu-chan.”

The sincerity in your voice made his heart swell, and he leaned in closer, his forehead resting gently against yours. The world outside seemed to fade into the background, leaving just the two of you in this perfect, quiet moment.

“I’m so lucky to have you, baby.” Yuuji whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m never letting you go.”

You giggled, wrapping your arms around his waist and pulling him into a tight hug. “You don’t have to, Yuuji. I’m not going anywhere.”

He chuckled, his arms instinctively wrapping around you in return, pulling you even closer. “Good. Because I think I’d be lost without you.”

“Merry Christmas, Yuu-chan.” You smiled at him.

He grinned at you, taking to embracing you. “Merry Christmas, baby!"

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luveline · 2 months ago

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𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 | 𝐣𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫

six | chapter list

Finding out you’re a princess isn’t half as intimidating as suddenly acquiring a full-time bodyguard. Especially when that bodyguard is disarmingly handsome, charming, and can’t seem to stop flirting with you.

bodyguard!james, fem!reader, implied chubby!reader, shy!reader, princess diaries au, all characters in their 20s or older, star-crossed lovers/ forbidden romance, slowburn, background wolfstar

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

“Why aren’t you hitting me?” James asks.

The safety mat under your feet does little to assuage your fears. James Potter is perhaps the last person on earth you’d expect to hurt you, and yet you can’t shake the image of him deflecting your punch and sending you reeling.

With his lovely curls slicked away from his face, his nice mouth, the curve of it where he’s smiling encouragingly, you don’t really want to hit him.

“I can’t,” you say.

“Yes, you can. One day you might have to, and I need to know you can do it without breaking your own hand.” The no nonsense tone he’d tended to sport when you first met barely three weeks ago is seemingly gone, replaced by a friendly, almost cavalier tone. Like this is fun. “It won’t hurt you much, I swear. And you should get your revenge. I hit you pretty hard.”

“You didn’t hit me,” you say. “The door did.”

“It was my fault.” He smiles, readjusting his stance with feet planted firmly against the mat.

“James…”

“Just hit me,” he says.

You tense your fist around your thumb and hit him square in the chest. It’s not a punch by any means, a weak landing of your knuckles that doesn’t move him. Still, you’re surprised with yourself, checking his face for a sign that you’d done any damage.

“There are so many people who’d love to punch me,” he laughs, nodding to your hand, “you can do better than that, if only to do what they couldn’t.”

“I don’t want to hit you, James.”

“I know, you have to. Come on, it’s easier than you think. You bring your first back to your shoulder and you move into it, okay? Use your weight to do the work. You’ll never hurt anyone if you don’t.”

“I’d rather not, though.”

“I know that, too, but you might need to. God forbid you be in a situation where I’m not there to protect you,” —here he does something strange with his eyebrows you’ve yet to encounter, sending a straight shot of butterflies through you, their wings fluttering in the soft part of your throat— “but you don’t have to be defenceless if I’m not. Give me a good swing and I’ll make sure Marlene has that pear ice cream at dinner tonight.”

“Marlene would make it if I asked,” you say unsurely.

“But if you hit me, I’ll ask for you.”

“You can be very manipulative.”

“Sometimes. Alright, hit me. Or I’ll tackle you again. You didn’t like that last time.”

Obviously you hadn’t enjoyed being tackled, because James hadn’t hurt you, he’d simply overpowered you. In one sense, it had been panicky to realise you were at someone’s mercy. James had grabbed you simply behind the back with your chests pressed together and hooked his calf behind your legs, taking them from under you, and following you to the ground. You didn’t like it because he didn’t hurt you, he’d pressed his weight into yours with an arm tight across your chest, just under your throat, and you could smell his hair. Smell almond or jojoba or– or something warm.

It isn’t that you have feelings for James. You don’t know him well enough. But having someone like James pressing down on you was impossible to ignore, consciously and subliminally.

You really don’t want to do this, drawing your arm back, tightening your first two fingers. James’ eyes widen, his lips falling open as you hit him hard enough to bruise a half inch from his heart. He stumbles and you follow, before flinching back hard, tucking shameful arms to your chest.

“Sorry!” you burst. “Fuck, sorry! I thought you were ready!”

“I was ready.” James grins widely. “Awesome. Do that again, yeah? Let’s have one on the cheek this time.”

“I am not punching you in the face.”

“You could always aim somewhere softer. The point is to incapacitate me. Hitting me in the chest won’t do that.” He rubs a hand into his shirt, the dark compression material barely moving. “You might have bruised me, though. I’m a good teacher.”

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” you say.

James deliberates. He tips his head back, showing you the rather nice point of his chin and his neck. A beauty mark sits nestled atop his Adam's apple.

“Alright. Sorry. No more hitting. Maybe we’ll give the offensive a break for a while and go back to defence again in a few days?” he suggests.

You relax.

You’re wearing clothes you’re not used to, a compression shirt like James’, a pair of dark trousers of a similar material with loose ends. Sirius had done some online shopping with you, not worrying as your elbows brushed. He pointed at things and you’d given weak yesses or resolute nos. The total had climbed and climbed, and Sirius had taken your choking for self-preservation. “Not to worry,” he’d said, grinning, “the royal coffers will pay for this lot.”

It doesn’t feel real. Endless money with no limit nor reason. He’d opened Curry’s swiftly after and asked you what laptop you wanted for uni. He’d attempted to goad you into two.

It’s alien. All of it, even James across from you where he’s sitting now to put his trainers back on. He doesn’t feel anymore real than the day you met, this handsome, tall boy tasked with keeping you safe. You’ve never been someone’s number one priority.

“Come and put your shoes on, lovely.”

You’re not sure how to cope with that, either. He and Sirius both seem quick to coddle when you’re distracted, and you’re distracted often. You shrug away your thoughts, relaxing your tight shoulders as you cross the empty gym to sit next to him. Your trainers are new, too, a sporty pair that cost more money than your last three pairs combined.

“It’s nice to have new things,” you confess, “but odd.”

“Yeah?”

“I… I’ve been wearing the same pair of converse for two years. I had one pair of proper shoes, and one bag. One purse. And I didn’t mind it, just… just, it makes you feel sick sometimes when you want stuff. It’s embarrassing.”

If James is surprised at your sudden admission, he doesn’t show it. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of in wanting things,” he says, hands braced on his knees, “but I can guess why you might’ve felt like that. We try not to think about the things we want because that can make not having it worse.”

What couldn’t you have? you think, searching his expression for a hint.

“I’m glad it’s nice,” he furthers, tapping his heel against yours. “They look good. Are they comfortable?”

“They feel like I’m wearing socks half the time.”

James nods appreciatively. “Well, get them on. We’ll nip into the pharmacist before we go home, do you have your sunglasses?”

“It’s too grey outside for sunglasses, we look ridiculous.”

“You look like the front page of every newspaper. Ever. In the entire western world. Here, put your hoodie on.”

You and James leave the gym with a wave to the women at the front desk and begin down the street. James hates the city obviously, wrinkling his nose at the grey cobbled streets and all of its sooty puddles. He walks from place to place rigid as a tentpole, swerving in front of you the second that someone looks at you too long. You wonder if this is what having a boyfriend is like. James is constantly making sure you’re safe, that you’re on the right side of the pavement, that you’re warm and fed and smiling. But you don’t suppose a boyfriend gets paid to spend time with you, nor do they spend nights on the lumpy sofa in the living room when they’re too tired to drive home at the end of a long shift.

You think without wanting to of James climbing into bed with you, a split second of his warm arm over your back, and shake it away as he pulls you into the pharmacy.

“Can you look at something else?” you ask, turning to him as you pull off your silly sunglasses.

James raises his eyebrows. “Whatever for?”

“I need stuff.”

“I know you need stuff. You asked me if we could come here. Which, by the way, you don’t need to do. You’re supposed to boss me around.”

You look over a shelf of shampoos and deodorants and begin reading their labels. James took you shopping the day after you got back, but you’d been stuck in your old ways and what you didn’t skimp on, you forgot. You eye a large bottle of shampoo that brags deep moisture for your hair type and take it from the shelf, then the matching conditioner, and then its hair mask. Your shoulders curl forward, worried James will think you greedy or sad or something in between, but he just says, “Pass them here, Princess.”

“It’s fine, I can–”

“I’ll have them. I’ll go get a basket.”

He scoops everything into big hands and walks back to the pharmacy’s entrance.

It’s a big pharmacy, modern, with white walls and bright fluorescent lights behind shelves. You catch yourself in a mirror next to a stand of cosmetics and wince. You look odd in these sporty clothes. Your nose is shiny.

You wipe your face with your sleeve and stare at the cosmetics with no clue what to get. Should’ve asked Sirius to come. Or better yet, someone who regularly wears makeup. Only thing is, you don’t really know anybody who does.

“You don’t have to rush,” James says, joining you at the makeup section, such a long walk from the shampoos. “Did you sprint down here?”

You’d speed-walked past the sexual health aisle actually, but James doesn’t need to be privy to that information. “You don’t want to be here all day.”

“I want to be exactly where you are. If that’s looking at lip gloss, then so be it.”

You smile, a little shy, a little rueful, and turn your attention back to the lip glosses in question. There’s browns and pinks, blush-rose red and moodier cherries. “I don’t…”

“That one,” James says, poking a barrel with confidence, “would suit you. And this one, too. You’ll look lovely.”

You don’t know what to say. The colours he’s chosen get added to your basket without comment, after you’ve wrestled it out of his unwilling hands. You spend a few minutes spready tester shades of concealer against the back of your hand, where James again recommends the one that matches your skin tone best. He leans behind you, and he does his job, sweeping the aisles and giving the shop a long up and down every once in a while, but for the most part he acts like he’s there to be there.

You get to the bit of the pharmacy you’d come for initially, the shorter but well-stocked supplement and vitamin aisle. Realistically, you aren’t going to take ten different vitamins a day, and with Marlene’s cooking it isn’t as though you need them, but there are things you’ve always craved. Biotin and collagen, for healthier hair and nails. Multi-nutrient sachets for every day, the good stuff, and so expensive your eyes initially skip over them.

Your hand hesitates in front of a box and James makes a warm humming noise.

“They look promising.”

“I’ve never had them before.”

“I have a killer magnesium deficiency,” James says. “I usually take the magnesium and zinc, but that throws my copper out of whack.”

You can’t tell if he’s messing with you. You smile at him, not quite stickily but getting there, your cheeks appled with it. “Not your copper.”

“It’s not funny, Princess. It makes me want to sleep all day.”

“Not funny,” you agree, grabbing the box of sachets and placing them atop the new electric toothbrush you’d fancied. You feel gluttonous and weird with it, because you don’t suppose you really need one, but James had only said That’s a nice colour.

“James,” you say, meandering with him toward the tills, “you didn’t need anything, did you?”

He grins at you like you’ve said something different. “I have everything I need, don’t worry.”

“You sure?”

His eyes seem lighter, then. Amber flecks in the browned honey of his irises. “Promise.”

He tries to get you to visit the perfume counter, but the basket is getting heavy and you’ve spent enough as it is. Not even a tenth, a hundredth, a thousandth of what you have now at your disposal, but so much more than you ever would’ve before.

The lady at the till eyes James behind you. She beams when James opens his wallet and passes you the card you were given by Sirius for expenses, and laughs when you refuse to take it. “I have mine,” you say, “this is all for me, I can pay.”

“Technically it’s your upkeep,” James argues.

“James.” You pass the cashier your card as James frowns.

“I wish my boyfriend offered so quickly,” the cashier says.

You go hot all over, but before you can tell her James isn’t your boyfriend, he’s laughing and taking the handles of your heavy pink carrier, pulling it toward him as the cashier sorts your receipt. “I shouldn’t have tried, really.”

“It’s the thought that counts.” She hands you your receipt. “You should to let him pay, chick, especially if he’s offering.”

“Maybe next time,” you appease.

You’re still flushed when you and James break outside again, the cold a blessed relief. James lets your pink bag rest in the crook of his arm, while the other hovers behind you, looking around the street unhurried. “Anywhere else you want to go, chick?” he asks.

You laugh. “She was nice.”

“Very motherly.”

“I want to go home, I think. Did you need anything else?”

“I do all my shopping when I’m not working.”

“When aren’t you working?” you ask genuinely. “You spend more than half the day at my flat, and when you leave– if you leave, it’s night time.” You give him a sideways glance. “I have nothing else to do today.”

James contemplates this. “I– I’ve been meaning to get Sirius a gift. It’s his birthday next week, did you know?”

“No! When?”

“The third.”

“What does he like?”

James beckons toward a neon signed music shop. “He loves music. Music and the macabre, you know, like, horror movies. And he reads, despite what he might have you believe.”

You fall into step. “Alright. You’ll have to tell me what to buy.”

Again, he gives you a look like you’ve said something different, like you’ve said something lovely.

“I can do that,” James says. “I won’t steer you wrong.”

—

Later that evening, after another tentative hour in the car with James’ patient coaching, you return home to shower. It’s luxurious and strenuous simultaneously. The new hair mask is fragrant and silky between your fingers, leaving the bathroom thick with its smell, the warm air clouding the windows. You hurry between the bathroom and your bedroom in a bath sheet and pretend you don’t notice James’ head tipping in your direction.

“Everything alright?” he calls to your bedroom door.

You spy on him through the gap. “I’m fine. Sorry I took so long.”

“Remus has asked if he can come early and have dinner with us.”

“He doesn’t need to ask!” you call, closing the door soundly.

It will be nice to have Remus for dinner. He doesn’t have to tell you what fork to use here, you only have one kind, but he explains the heritage or main flavours of each dish and doesn’t make you feel embarrassed when you don’t know the Genovian Marlene uses. Honestly, you hadn’t even realised Genovia had a language, a hodge podge, Remus says, of Italian and French. And Remus has a steady voice that feels evidence of his more humble background —he’s like you, you’ve found out, working class and humbly brought up. He attended their boarding school on a scholarship of academic prowess, and served as a prefect for all seven years.

“How exhausting,” you’d said.

“With those two? You wouldn’t believe it.”

His disdain was feigned, mostly. It’s why you’re excited to have him for dinner. When the boys are together, they end up telling you stories about their hijinks at school, and you get to peek into the window of their lives, see their fondness for one another in praises and shoulder squeezes and their ridiculous nicknames.

You haven’t managed to ask about them yet. They slip out every once in a while, and in multiple variations. Moony, Moons, Moon and Pads, Pad, Padfoot. Remus’ you’ve deduced from a story they told, how Remus could be oh so moody when he wasn’t very well, like a wolf, a werewolf. Isn’t that clever for a gang of twelve year olds? Lupin, the wolf boy. You have a feeling it didn’t start out as a particularly kind nickname, but it morphed into a loving moniker later on. Sirius’ nickname, however, you’ve no chance at working out. Padfoot?

And Prongs? You assume James had a nasty run in with a fork.

You dress in soft, new clothes. Prongs, you think, doesn’t suit him at all. The James you know is only ever prickly when you’re at risk. He doesn’t flinch when you panic, never hardens. He has a soft hand for your back whenever you need a pat.

Your socks slide on the living room tiles as you make your way in. James is clicking away on his phone, a dark business phone with many, many buttons. It’s dwarfed by his hand. He swears under his breath.

“Everything okay?” you ask softly.

James looks up and his gaze snags on you, his head tilted to his phone and his eyes steadfast where they look you over. “Fine. Nice shower?”

You’re rich now. Every shower is nice, the boiler turned to a high six, hot water neverending.

“It was good. Where’s Sirius?”

“I’m actually not sure.”

“Isn’t that your job?”

“No. And if it were I wouldn’t know anyways.” He turns back to his phone. “He’s a slippery one, Pads,” he murmurs, “I couldn’t really keep track of him if I tried.”

You feel as though you’ve caught him at a bad time. Restless, you turn away from him and head for your small kitchen, unsurprised to find Marlene still cooking and the continued remodelling of your kitchen. Old countertops find themselves housing new oiled cutting boards. Your grody cooker seems small beneath a HexClad Dutch oven, where oil bubbles and spits lightly, dough cuts set on a baking sheet beside it.

“Hi, Marlene. What are you making?” you ask curiously.

She grins at you from over her shoulder. “Apple cider doughnuts. I’ve made cinnamon sugar, do you mind it?”

“What’s the thermometer?” you ask.

She laughs at you lightly. She’s used to you dodging questions. “Just making sure I don’t set your house alight. At home I can do this by eye, but it’s finicky with your oven. She’s temperamental.”

“Sorry.”

Marlene waves a hand. “You want to try?”

“I’ll just be in your way.”

“No, you won’t. Frying doughnuts is fun, here. I’ve put each of them on a bit of greaseproof paper. They slide right off.”

Marlene doesn’t usually take no for an answer. She’s not bossy, but decisive. You’re hesitant at first of the boiling oil and the greaseproof paper doesn’t cooperate when you try it, but eventually you’ve freed a crispy bit of paper from the dough, watching patiently as Marlene turns the doughnuts. She tells you about the dark colour you’re searching for, “I’ve put apples in the dough, see, so they’ll come to a brilliant dark colour without burning. We’ll have them with ice cream or whatever you like.”

”James told you I wanted it?” you ask shyly.

“James didn’t mention you at all, he just begged a bit for it. He can be quite pathetic when he needs to be.”

“I resent that!” James calls.

Sirius and Remus arrive in their usual pair, Remus tall and light to Sirius’ tighter darkness. Remus wears glasses today, black thin frames perched atop a scar on his nose. Sirius is being himself, poking at them and reminding Remus that just because he is an insufferable swat doesn’t mean he has to look like one.

“You’re worse than insufferable,” Remus says. When he sees you, he brightens. “Ah, Princess. James hasn’t injured you, that’s brilliant.”

“And you clearly haven’t killed him in a motor vehicular disaster,” Sirius says cheerfully. “Praise be.”

“We’re both fine,” you say.

“Were you worried about us?” James asks.

“I wasn’t worried about you, James,” Remus says with a smirk.

You eat as you have every day for the week since you’ve been home: around the coffee table, five plates and drinks rearing to get knocked over and ruin it all. Your knees press into Remus’ on the left and Marlene’s on the right. James sits across from you now that Frank’s shown up for his night shift, digging in with vigour, beaming around his fork as Sirius gives him a good nudge. So many people in your crammed flat. It doesn’t seem real. Half the time, they’re just here to keep you company.

Paid to keep me company, you think, biting your tongue as you do. This isn’t… real.

Something taps you under the table. James’ hand, you find, long fingers pressing soft into your kneecap. You quickly lift your head again to find him frowning at you mildly. Okay? he mouths.

“Bit my tongue,” you say.

“Ouch,” Remus says.

James pokes his lip with his tongue. “Be careful,” he says eventually.

You ignore whatever it is he’s not saying and pick at your food instead. For dinner, Marlene has made a traditional Genovian pasta dish heavy with red pesto and steak. It isn’t what you’re expecting, used to the paler whites and greens of the last week's worth of dinner. James couldn’t be enjoying it more, and Sirius has pledged his undying love to Marlene three or four times since you sat down.

“Jesus, I barely miss Genovia when you cook like this,” he says. “I will happily serve my country.”

“Unlike before, when you were here unhappily,” Remus teased.

Sirius looks you dead in the eye. “Princess, I would follow you anywhere. Marlene is an added bonus.”

“I– I really wish you guys wouldn’t call me that.”

Sirius looks gently chastened. “Sorry, sorry. It’s muscle memory at this point. If I called Princess Julianna by anything but her title, she would’ve had me drawn and quartered in the royal courtyards, is all.”

“And the rest,” James snorts.

“I try not to address her at all,” Remus says to himself.

Everyone laughs. You join in a second later, wondering about your unknown cousin. “She was rather spoiled, wasn’t she?” you ask.

“You’d think she’d tone it down some. Her royal status is rather tenuous, you know.”

James gives Sirius a look. Careful, it says.

“What do you mean?” you ask.

“Well, she’s a royal by marriage, not blood. We explained that, didn’t we?”

James had said it was complicated. You’d been too startled about your own royal status to inspect it any further. “She’s not a Renaldi?” you ask.

As it’s explained, your uncle (uncle! who is indeed royal by blood, and the eldest son) forwent the throne when it became clear he wouldn’t be allowed to marry a divorced lover otherwise (reminiscent of certain British scandals). Said divorced lover already had a daughter, a young Julianna. And so your uncle remained a prince but not a king, and Julianna became a princess, to the ire of half the country.

Traditions have changed in time, but Julianna still lacks Renaldi blood.

“It drives her mad,” James says. He’s leaning back against the armchair now, dinner finished, a big glass of apple cider in his hands.

“That doesn’t surprise me,” you say. “Sorry, I sound horrible, just. She wasn’t super friendly.”

“It would’ve been better for everyone if she was,” Sirius says.

You wait for him to continue. Marlene prompts him, “You think so?”

“Well, yes, I suppose. Anything is better than a country ruled by Baron Riddle. Evil, loathsome man. He thinks that nobody knows he’s had a nose job, you know.”

“Who’s Baron Riddle?” you ask.

A hush falls around the table. You look down at your plate, eyes on the red shine of pesto and olive oil where it’s grown cold on your plate. A hunk of soft bread is discarded beside it. You poke at it with your nail until crumbs flake away, lips parted, not sure what to say. “Is he–?”

“He’s a bad man, Y/N,” Sirius says. His voice has turned soft but not thin. “He’s prejudiced and cruel. If nobody of Renaldi blood takes the throne when your grandmother steps down, he’ll rule Genovia. And he’ll run it into the ground.”

James isn’t looking at you when you drag your head up. He downs the last of his cider and stands up, murmuring about clearing the table as he carries his and Sirius’ plate to the kitchen.

“I didn’t know,” you say. Well, you’d known someone would ascend to the throne if you didn’t. But you didn’t know about Riddle. A guilty heat builds in your throat. “I had no idea.”

“James asked us not to tell you,” Remus says pointedly.

“She has a right to know,” Sirius says. They glare at each other, but the heat in Sirius’ voice doesn’t rescind. “What? She does. She’s a grown up.”

You shake your head. “Thank you, um, for telling me. I’ll just take these out, should I?” You gesture to the plates and stand up quickly. You can’t escape the feeling that Sirius is very angry with you, and you don’t want to face it, so you escape the room instead.

James’ shoulders are tense in the kitchen. He scrapes his plate clean into the food recycling bin, offering his hand without looking for your own.

“Thank you,” you say quietly.

“Of course.”

Silence blossoms like an achy bruise.

“James–”

“Thank you for having me for dinner, but I really should be going now. I promised my mum an overdue call.”

He’s angry.

You cringe away from him. “Okay. Yeah, no problem.”

“Okay. Stay safe while I’m gone, yes? Remember your panic button.”

Your hand inches up to the opposite wrist, where your tennis bracelet of sapphires sits tightly. You’d forgotten all about the panic button embedded in disguise under one of the gemstones.

He smiles at you briefly, and in a minute or two he’s gone. Sirius goes out after him, leaving you and Remus and Marlene to the heap of dishes, a bad taste lingering on your tongue that has nothing to do with dinner.

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x y/n #james potter x you #james potter fic #james potter fluff #james potter blurb #james potter drabble #james potter imagine #james potter fanfic #james potter fanfiction #james potter scenario #james potter oneshot #the marauders #marauders era #marauders

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rootedinrevisions · 2 months ago

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Too Late

SUMMARY: Tyler is forced to choose between the career he loves and the woman he loves. After leaving for a chase after a fight with his girlfriend, Tyler's world spirals into chaos. He struggles to balance is job with the life he wants. Both you and Tyler are forced to confront what you're willing to sacrifice for love and whether there's still time to fix what's been damaged.

A/N: Thank you to the person who sent this request in! I apologize that it's taken me so long to get it written. Work kept getting in the way and then I was struggling with writer's block. And then I started writing again but it was mostly Glen himself and I was struggling to finish this. I hope it's worth the wait! I'm working to get requests done as I have time and the inspiration is flowing! Hope you enjoy! xx

THERE WILL BE A PART 2 COMING TO THIS! because for some reason it's impossible for me to write angst and leave it at that.

WARNINGS: None, just a lot of heart-shattering angst. This one made me cry while writing it, so be prepared!

WORD COUNT: 5.8k

TAG LIST: IN COMMENTS

If you would like to be added to any of my Tag Lists please feel free to comment, send an ask, or send a DM and I'll be happy to get you added! Below are the fandoms I currently write for.

Glen Powell: Himself (RPF), Characters He's Played

Twisters: Tyler Owens, Boone, Scott, Javi

Top Gun: Maverick: Rooster, Hangman, Bob

Marvel/MCU: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers

WWE/Wrestling: Cody Rhodes, Corey Graves, Damian Priest, Drew McIntyre, Finn Balor, Jimmy Uso, Jey Uso, Kevin Owens, L.A. Knight, Pat McAfee, Roman Reigns, Seth Rollins (if there is someone you're thinking of from WWE and they aren't on the list feel free to ask! There are so many guys on the roster that these were the ones that came to mind.)

The hum of the television filled the living room, a soft background noise to the steady rhythm of Tyler’s breathing. His arm draped lazily over your shoulders, his hand resting against your collarbone, warm and reassuring. You leaned into him, your legs tucked under you, savoring the rare stillness of the moment.

Tyler had been home for twelve hours, and for ten of them, he’d been passed out in your bed, utterly spent after a grueling two-week storm chase. You’d stayed up waiting for him to walk through the door last night, running on caffeine and the sheer anticipation of seeing him again. When he finally stumbled in, soaked to the bone and bone-tired, you didn’t mind his muttered apologies for being late or the faint smell of rain that clung to him. You were just happy he was home.

Now, as he held you on the couch, his thumb absentmindedly tracing patterns against your skin, you allowed yourself to breathe. It was these quiet moments that made all the waiting, all the worry, worth it.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Tyler murmured, his voice husky from sleep. He shifted slightly, his head tilting toward you, those familiar brown eyes heavy-lidded but focused entirely on you.

“I’m just glad you’re here,” you admitted softly, your fingers toying with the hem of his T-shirt. “Two weeks felt like forever.”

“I know,” he said, his voice tinged with guilt. “I didn’t think it would take that long. Storms were... unpredictable this time.”

You reached up, brushing a stray lock of his wavy brown hair off his forehead. “It’s okay. I get it. You’re home now—that’s what matters.”

He let out a long breath, leaning his head back against the couch. “Home,” he echoed, almost as if the word was foreign to him. But the way his arm tightened around you, pulling you closer, made it clear that he understood exactly what it meant.

“Hungry?” you asked after a beat, breaking the comfortable silence.

“Starving,” he admitted, a small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Well, you’re in luck. I made lasagna last night. Figured you’d need something hearty after living off gas station snacks and fast food.”

Tyler chuckled, his voice rumbling against you. “Have I mentioned lately how lucky I am to have you?”

You tilted your head to look at him, your smile mirroring his. “Not today. But you can start now.”

He laughed softly, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“I’ll do better,” he promised, and in that moment, with his warmth surrounding you and the steady beat of his heart under your ear, you believed him.

The oven beeped softly as you set the timer, the warm smell of lasagna already starting to fill the kitchen. It wouldn’t be as good as it was fresh last night, but Tyler wouldn’t care. He’d scarf it down and tell you it was the best meal he’d had in weeks, and you’d believe him because that’s just who he was—always grateful, always sincere.

You were rinsing a glass in the sink when you heard the faint buzz of Tyler’s phone vibrating against the coffee table in the living room. His deep voice carried over the quiet hum of the house as he answered. You couldn’t make out the words, but you had a pretty good guess who it was. Boone or Dani, maybe both. You leaned against the counter, straining to catch fragments of the conversation. Tyler’s voice was calm but firm, his words clipped in the way they always were when he was focused on a problem.

The sound of his footsteps moving toward the stairs made your stomach twist. You turned just in time to see him disappear up to the second floor, the weight of dread settling over you like a heavy blanket. You didn’t need to ask what was happening; you already knew.

Still, you found yourself following him, your bare feet padding softly on the stairs. By the time you reached the doorway to your bedroom, Tyler was pulling clothes from the dresser, a duffel bag already lying open on the bed. He didn’t notice you at first, too preoccupied with finding what he needed. You leaned against the doorframe, crossing your arms as you watched him.

“How bad is it?” you asked finally, your voice quieter than you intended.

Tyler glanced over his shoulder, startled by your presence, but he didn’t stop packing.

“Really bad,” he admitted, shoving a few shirts into the bag. “There’s a cell headed straight for Oklahoma City. Boone says it’s one of the nastiest cells he’s seen in a while.”

“How long will you be gone this time?” you asked, already bracing yourself for the answer.

He sighed, pausing as he reached for a pair of jeans. “I don’t know. Hopefully just a few nights.”

You nodded, though the lump in your throat made it hard to swallow. “Do you really need to go? You just got back, Ty. Can’t you sit this one out? Just once?”

Tyler turned to face you, his expression conflicted. “I wish I could, but this one’s bad. Towns are gonna need us. Javi and Kate are already on their way, and Dani’s meeting us there.”

You flinched at the mention of her name. Kate. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust Tyler—you did, completely. He was a good man, loyal to a fault. But lately, it felt like every story he told, every update he gave, involved her. Kate this, Kate that. The team. Always the team.

The crack in your voice surprised even you when you finally spoke. “Just go. Go hang out with Kate. You’ve gotten pretty good at that.”

The words hung in the air like a storm cloud, heavy and electric. Tyler froze, the shirt in his hand forgotten as he turned to look at you. His face fell, hurt flickering in his eyes before he sighed and set the shirt down on the bed.

“That’s not fair,” he said quietly, his tone even but weighted. “You know that’s not what this is about.”

“I know,” you whispered, tears stinging your eyes as you looked away. “I just... I don’t want you to go, Tyler.”

“I don’t want to go either,” he said, stepping toward you. His voice was softer now, but there was still a hint of frustration. “But this is what I do. What we do. You knew that when you moved in.”

“And what about what I need?” you countered, your arms tightening across your chest. “You’ve been gone for two weeks, Ty. Two weeks. I barely got you back, and now you’re leaving again.”

He didn’t respond right away, his jaw tightening as he searched for the right words. Instead of answering, he reached for you, his hand brushing against your arm. But you pulled back, shaking your head as a tear slipped down your cheek.

“Don’t,” you murmured. “Just… pack your bag.”

You turned sharply on your heel, heading back downstairs before the tears welling in your eyes could spill over. Tyler’s sigh was heavy, cutting through the thick silence of the house. You heard his footsteps following you, faster now, as he called after you.

“Darlin’,” he said, his voice soft but insistent. “C’mon, wait.”

You didn’t stop. You didn’t want to have this conversation, not when your emotions were this raw, but he caught up to you at the bottom of the stairs, his hand reaching gently for your arm.

“Sweetheart, please,” he tried again, stepping in front of you to block your retreat. His green eyes searched yours, filled with concern and something you couldn’t quite place. “I don’t want to leave like this.”

You scoffed, pulling your arm free and folding it across your chest. “Funny, that. You seem to have no problem leaving any other time.”

He winced at the jab, but his expression softened as he tried to explain. “It’s not what you think. I know you’re upset about Kate, but—”

“This isn’t about her, Ty,” you interrupted, shaking your head as you turned away from him.

The frustration in his face shifted to confusion. “Then what is it? Why are you so upset?”

Your hands clenched at your sides as you looked at him, trying to find the words that would make him understand. “I’m upset because you’re leaving. Again. Because every time you walk out that door, I don’t know how long it’ll be until I see you again. And I’m supposed to just… deal with it. Like it doesn’t matter. Like I don’t matter.”

“Darlin’…” he started, but you cut him off again.

“My birthday party is on Saturday, Ty,” you said, your voice cracking as you met his gaze. “In two days. You knew that, right?”

His face told you everything you needed to know before he said a word. He’d either forgotten or hadn’t thought about it when he’d agreed to meet up with the team. The guilt in his eyes was enough to send a fresh wave of hurt through you.

“I’ll try to be back for it,” he said finally, but you could hear the hollowness in the promise. You both knew it wasn’t likely.

You felt your heart ache, the words barely leaving your lips. “Do you even realize what that does to me? The hoping, the waiting—knowing you probably won’t be there?”

He stepped closer, reaching for your hand, but you pulled away. “I want to stay,” he said earnestly, his voice breaking ever so slightly. “I do. But I can’t. I’m needed out there. These storms, they—”

“Don’t,” you whispered, shaking your head. “Don’t say it.”

“Darlin’, just let it go,” he pleaded, his voice desperate now. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. I swear. And when I get back, we’ll have a date night. Whatever you want. You plan it, I’ll make it happen. Just... let me go, okay?”

The tears you’d been holding back slipped free, rolling down your cheeks as you finally broke. “I can’t just let you go,” you said, your voice trembling. “Not this time, Ty. Please. Don’t make me try to make you stay.”

He reached for you again, but this time, you didn’t pull away. Instead, you let him take your hands in his, his warmth grounding you even as your heart shattered.

“I just…” Your voice cracked as you looked up at him, the tears blurring your vision. “I just want to be enough. Just once, I want to be enough for you to stay.”

The words hung in the air, raw and aching, as Tyler’s grip on your hands tightened. He opened his mouth to respond, but for the first time, he seemed at a loss. His eyes searched yours, the storm inside him almost as intense as the one he was chasing.

Before Tyler could say anything else, his phone buzzed, the sound sharp and intrusive in the quiet tension between you. He pulled it from his pocket, glancing at the screen. His jaw tightened as he sighed, the weight of the message clearly written in his expression.

“Boone’ll be here in about fifteen minutes,” he said softly, sliding the phone back into his pocket. “I need to finish packing.”

You didn’t respond, only nodding as you reached up to swipe at the tears still slipping down your cheeks. His words, as well-intentioned as they might have been, were a knife to the heart. He wasn’t saying, I’ll stay, or even, Let’s finish talking. He was saying, I’ve already made my choice.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” Tyler said, his voice heavy with something that might have been regret. “We can keep talking then.”

But you both knew the truth. He might want to come back to this conversation, but the fact that he was finishing packing first told you everything you needed to know. Nothing you could say would make him stay.

When he returned downstairs, duffel bag slung over his shoulder, you heard Boone’s old beat up van pulling into the driveway. The headlights briefly lit up the kitchen window before Tyler opened the door and called out to his friend, “I’ll be right there.”

Then he turned back to you. You were still at the counter, picking absently at your lasagna, the fork dragging across your plate. The second plate—the one you’d made for him—sat untouched, cooling and forgotten.

He hesitated for a moment, then stepped closer. “Darlin’,” he said softly, his voice full of unspoken apologies. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

You didn’t look up, but you felt him lean in to press a kiss to your lips. You turned away at the last second, and his kiss landed awkwardly on your cheek. He sighed and shifted, settling instead for a kiss on the crown of your head.

“I love you,” he murmured, his voice almost breaking.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, forcing the words past it. “I love you, too.”

And you did. God, you did. You loved him to a fault, even when it felt like your love wasn’t enough to make him stay.

“Be safe,” you whispered.

“I will,” he promised, his words like a balm to a wound that wouldn’t heal.

You watched him walk out the door, your eyes stinging with fresh tears as Tyler’s truck rumbled to life. You watched through the kitchen window as Tyler threw his bag into the back and climbed into the driver’s seat, his figure silhouetted in the dim glow of the driveway lights. Boone threw his own bag into the backseat and then climbed into the passenger seat.

And then they were gone. Tailights headed up the driveway and then disappearing as Tyler turned onto the highway.

You stood there for a long moment, staring at the empty driveway, wondering—When will he be done with this? With chasing every storm, every call for adventure? You blinked, and the tears spilled over, hot and unrelenting.

You made your way back to the living room, the familiar comfort of the worn couch doing little to ease the ache in your chest. Your mind wandered as you sank into the cushions, your fingers absentmindedly tracing the fabric.

You thought back to a conversation you and Tyler had a few weeks ago, one of those late-night talks where the future seemed so bright and full of possibility. He’d talked about marriage, about having kids. About building a life together.

But now, as you sat there in the quiet, the weight of his absence pressing down on you, a painful thought crept in. How could he ever be a husband or a father when he barely had time to be a boyfriend?

The realization broke something in you. You wanted that life with Tyler more than anything. You wanted to be his wife, to see him become a father. You wanted to build a family with him, to share those moments of joy and chaos and love.

But you didn’t want him to be a part-time dad. You didn’t want a husband who was always somewhere else, chasing storms and leaving you behind.

And for the first time, you wondered if the life you wanted was even possible with the man you loved.

* * * *

TYLER’S P.O.V.

The rhythmic hum of Tyler’s truck tires against the highway should have been soothing, but to Tyler, it felt like nails on a chalkboard. He stared out the window, his elbow propped on the door, fingers pressed against his temple. The world outside was dark, illuminated only by the truck’s headlights and the occasional glow of a passing sign.

Boone cast a sideways glance at him for what had to be the tenth time in the last fifteen minutes. Tyler knew it was only a matter of time before he spoke up, but he wasn’t ready to talk. Not yet.

“You gonna tell me what’s eatin’ at you, or do I have to drag it outta you?” Boone finally asked, breaking the silence.

Tyler didn’t respond at first, just shifted in his seat and rubbed the back of his neck.

“C’mon, man,” Boone continued. “We’ve been friends too long for me not to know when somethin’s wrong. You’ve barely said a word since we left, haven’t turned on the music, and you’re starin’ out the window like the answer to life’s problems is out there somewhere.”

Tyler sighed, long and heavy, before leaning back in his seat. “It’s nothin’, Boone. Just tired.”

Boone snorted, unimpressed. “Bull. You’ve pulled all-nighters before and still wouldn’t shut up the whole ride. Don’t make me guess, Ty. Just spit it out.”

Tyler let out a bitter chuckle, shaking his head. “You’re like a damn bloodhound, you know that?”

“Yup. Now spill.”

Tyler hesitated, but finally gave in. “We had a fight,” he admitted quietly.

Boone glanced at him again, his brows furrowing. “You and her?”

Tyler nodded. “Yeah. Right before I left.”

“What about?” Boone asked, his tone softening.

Tyler hesitated again, struggling to find the right words. “I dunno, man. Not really Kate, but…I guess kinda about Kate?” He let out another sigh. “She’s not mad about her, though. She’s mad about me leavin’. Again.”

Boone didn’t say anything at first, just let Tyler talk.

“She told me she needed me to stay,” Tyler continued, his voice quieter now. “For her. For once, she needed me to stay, and I still…I didn’t.” He swallowed hard, the weight of his own words settling heavily on his chest.

Boone nodded slowly. “And you think you messed up bad this time?”

Tyler’s laugh was humorless, almost bitter. “Yeah, Boone. I think I really screwed up. She turned away when I tried to kiss her goodbye, man. That’s never happened before. And the look on her face…” His voice cracked, and he paused, swallowing against the lump in his throat.

Boone glanced at him again, concern etched across his face. “She loves you, Ty. You know that, right?”

“I know,” Tyler said, his voice barely above a whisper. “But what if…what if it’s not enough anymore? What if I’m not enough anymore?” He shook his head, his voice breaking again. “I can’t lose her, Boone. I can’t.”

Boone tightened his grip on the wheel, his jaw set. “Then don’t. You’re stubborn as hell when it comes to everything else, so don’t give up on this either. You’ll figure it out, Ty.”

Tyler nodded, running a hand over his face. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I know.”

The two fell into silence again, but this time it wasn’t quite as heavy. Boone reached over and turned on the radio, keeping the volume low. Tyler leaned his head back against the seat, staring at the roof of the truck and trying to figure out how the hell he was going to fix this.

* * * *

TWO DAYS LATER, YOUR BIRTHDAY

The sun streamed through your bedroom window as you sat on the edge of the bed, staring down at your phone. A single missed call and a few unread texts from Tyler stared back at you. You hadn’t opened the messages, too stubborn—or maybe too hurt—to even look at them. It wasn’t that you didn’t care. You cared too much, and that was the problem.

You opened the Life360 app for what had to be the hundredth time in the last two days, watching Tyler’s little icon blink on the map. Still in Oklahoma. Still chasing storms. Still too far away to make it home.

Even if he left right now, you calculated bitterly, it’d be three, maybe four in the morning before he walked through the door. But he wasn’t leaving. You knew that. The tracker told you everything you needed to know—Tyler Owens wasn’t coming home for your birthday.

You locked your phone and tossed it onto the bed, your chest tightening with the familiar ache of disappointment. It wasn’t anger. No, anger would have been easier. Anger would have been a quick burn, a flash of heat that you could let out and be done with. This was worse. This was the cold, dull ache of hurt.

You stood and moved to the mirror, staring at your reflection as you got ready for the party. You’d spent weeks planning this, excited to celebrate with the people you loved most. Now, the thought of facing them felt almost unbearable. Everyone would ask about Tyler, and you’d have to put on a brave face, smile through the questions, and pretend like you weren’t holding your breath every time your phone buzzed, hoping it’d be him telling you he was on his way.

But you knew better. He wasn’t coming.

As you brushed a stray tear from your cheek, your mind wandered back to the conversation you’d had with Tyler a few weeks ago. He’d talked about your future together, about getting married and having kids, painting a picture of a life you’d always dreamed of. But now, the cracks in that picture seemed impossible to ignore. How could you build a life with someone who was always halfway out the door?

You closed your eyes, inhaling deeply as you fought to push those thoughts aside. Not today. You wouldn’t let them ruin today. This was your birthday, and you deserved to enjoy it, even if he wasn’t there.

Straightening your shoulders, you turned back to the mirror and gave yourself a firm nod. You’d put on your best dress, your brightest smile, and celebrate with the people who were here. But as you stepped away from the mirror and picked up your phone again, that stubborn, nagging ache in your chest reminded you that no matter how hard you tried, a part of you would always be waiting for him.

The party was in full swing by the time you arrived, the sound of laughter and conversation filling the air. String lights hung from the trees, casting a warm glow over the backyard, and the scent of barbecue wafted through the cool evening breeze. Everyone had shown up—friends, family, even a few coworkers. It should’ve felt perfect.

But as you smiled and greeted everyone, it felt like you were moving through a haze. The excitement and joy on everyone else’s faces only seemed to amplify the emptiness you felt inside. You plastered on a smile, accepting hugs and well-wishes, thanking people for coming, but the effort was exhausting.

A couple of hours in, you found yourself standing near the drink table, sipping from a plastic cup of wine and watching the crowd. Your mom made her way over, a warm smile on her face, but the moment she reached you, her brow furrowed slightly.

“Honey, where’s Tyler?” she asked, her voice gentle but laced with curiosity.

You froze for a moment, gripping the cup a little tighter. “Oh, he’s, um, he’s on a chase,” you said, forcing the words out. “It came up last minute.”

Her expression softened with understanding, but you could see the concern flicker in her eyes. “I’m sure he wishes he could be here,” she said, reaching out to touch your arm.

You nodded quickly, blinking back the sting of tears. “Yeah, of course. He’s been texting me. He feels awful about it.” The lie slipped out so easily, you almost believed it yourself.

Your mom gave you a small squeeze before drifting back into the crowd, but the interaction left you rattled. You tried to shake it off, turning to join a group of friends by the fire pit, laughing at their stories and pretending like everything was fine.

But as the hours dragged on, the weight of Tyler’s absence pressed heavier on your chest. Every time someone asked about him or mentioned how great the party was, it felt like a reminder of what was missing. You glanced at your watch—10:03. The party was supposed to go until one, but you couldn’t stay another minute.

You slipped away quietly, grabbing your purse and coat from the entryway. A few people called out goodbyes as you left, and you forced a smile, waving over your shoulder as you made your way to the car.

The drive home was a blur. By the time you walked through the front door, the tears you’d been holding back all evening finally broke free. You kicked off your heels and sank onto the couch, burying your face in your hands as sobs wracked your body.

You’d wanted so badly to enjoy tonight, to celebrate with the people who loved you. But the one person you needed most wasn’t there, and no amount of pretending could fill that void.

You thought about all the times you’d told yourself it was okay, that Tyler’s work was important, that you understood why he couldn’t always be there. But tonight, it didn’t feel okay. Tonight, you just felt… alone.

And as you curled up on the couch, clutching a throw pillow to your chest, a single thought echoed in your mind: How much longer can I keep doing this?

* * * *

The soft light of dawn filtered through the curtains as Tyler stepped through the front door. Exhaustion pulled at him, but it wasn’t what he noticed. What stopped him cold was the sight of you curled up on the couch, a pillow clutched to your chest, tear tracks staining your cheeks. His heart sank.

He set his bag down quietly, running a hand through his disheveled hair. He knew he’d hurt you—he always knew—but seeing it like this, seeing you broken because of him, twisted the knife in his chest.

Carefully, he walked over and crouched beside the couch. For a moment, he just looked at you, the rise and fall of your chest as you slept. The way your fingers clung to the pillow as if it could offer some comfort.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice thick.

Tyler leaned down and slid his arms under you, lifting you gently. You stirred slightly, murmuring in your sleep, but you didn’t wake. He carried you upstairs, careful not to bump into anything, and laid you down on the bed. He pulled the blankets up to your shoulders, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face before leaving quietly.

A few hours later, you made your way downstairs, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. Your body felt heavy, your chest tight. The events of last night still hung over you like a storm cloud.

As you reached the living room, you noticed him sitting on the couch, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. A bouquet of wildflowers sat on the coffee table in front of him, their bright colors almost mocking in the dull atmosphere.

He heard your steps and looked up, his face lighting up with a hopeful smile. “Morning,” he said softly, standing and walking toward you.

You stopped at the base of the stairs, arms crossed, as he closed the distance. He reached out, pulling you into his arms.

“You look pretty,” he said, his voice warm and tender.

You huffed, pulling back just enough to look at him. “I cried myself to sleep last night, so I’m sure I look like a supermodel,” you said, your voice laced with sarcasm.

His smile faltered, and his brow furrowed. “You cried yourself to sleep?” he repeated, his voice dropping with guilt. “God, I’m so sorry.”

You pulled away, shaking your head, and walked past him into the living room. His gaze followed you, the weight of your silence pressing down on him.

“I missed you,” he said softly, his voice tentative.

You didn’t respond. You sat down on the armrest of the chair, staring at the flowers but refusing to acknowledge him.

Tyler sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay, silent treatment. Got it.” He stepped closer, his tone pleading now. “What’s it gonna take to make this up to you?”

You looked up at him then, your eyes sharp and filled with hurt. “It’s too late for that.”

His face fell, and for a moment, he just stared at you, as if the words hadn’t fully sunk in. “What do you mean?” he asked, his voice cracking.

You took a deep breath, the words tasting bitter as you forced them out. “I mean I’m done, Tyler. I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep having you miss things—important things—for the job.”

He staggered back a step, as if the words had physically struck him. “No, no, don’t say that,” he said, his voice breaking. “Please, don’t say that.”

His knees hit the floor in front of you, his hands reaching for yours. “I can’t lose you. I’ll do better, I promise. I’ll talk to the team—I already did. I told them I’d cut back on the days I’m on the road. I swear to you, it’ll be different.”

You shook your head, tears spilling down your cheeks. “It’s too late, Tyler. You should’ve done that months ago. I begged you to.”

His hands gripped yours tighter, desperation pouring out of him. “I know. I know I screwed up. I know I’ve hurt you. But I love you. I need you. Please… just give me one more chance.”

You looked away, your heart-shattering at the sight of him, broken and pleading. You wanted so badly to believe him, to believe that things could change. But deep down, you knew the cycle would continue.

The finality in your voice broke him. He leaned his forehead against your knees, his shoulders shaking as he choked back a sob. You reached down, your fingers threading through his hair one last time, and then you stood, walking away before you could change your mind.

* * * *

A WEEK LATER

The house was eerily quiet, save for the faint creak of the floorboards as Tyler shuffled aimlessly from room to room. He hadn’t left in days, couldn’t bring himself to. The walls seemed to press in around him, suffocating and empty. The coffee table still held the dead bouquet of wildflowers he’d bought for you, their once-vivid colors now dulled to brown. Next to them sat the small red box, untouched, its contents a painful reminder of what he’d lost.

He sank onto the couch, rubbing his hands over his face. His eyes burned, swollen from too many sleepless nights and too many tears. He hadn’t eaten much. He hadn’t showered. He couldn’t bring himself to care. Every corner of the house was haunted by you—your laughter, your smile, the faint scent of your perfume still lingering in the air.

A sharp knock at the door startled him. He ignored it, hoping whoever it was would go away. But the knocking came again, louder this time, and then he heard Boone’s voice calling out.

“Tyler! Open the damn door!”

Tyler groaned, dragging himself off the couch. He unlocked the door and swung it open, only to find Boone, Lilly, Dexter, and Dani standing on his porch. They took one look at him, and their faces fell.

“Jesus, man,” Boone said, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. The others followed, their expressions a mix of concern and shock.

“You look like hell,” Lilly said softly, her hand brushing his arm.

Tyler let out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, well, it feels about right.”

They gathered in the living room, their eyes flicking to the dead flowers and the mess of empty coffee cups and takeout containers scattered on the table. Boone cleared his throat, leaning forward.

“All right, spill. What the hell happened?”

Tyler sank back onto the couch, his head in his hands. He took a shaky breath before finally speaking. “She’s gone,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

The room fell silent. Boone exchanged a confused look with Dexter, while Dani’s hand flew to her mouth.

“Gone?” Lilly asked. “What do you mean, gone? We knew you two fought, but… Tyler, we thought you’d work it out.”

Tyler shook his head, his voice breaking. “She’s done. She walked out, and I don’t blame her. I couldn’t—” He stopped, his throat tightening. “I couldn’t give her what she needed. I wasn’t there for her. She deserved better, and I couldn’t be that for her.”

Boone leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. “Tyler, man, you’ve gotta talk to her. Fix this.”

“It’s too late,” Tyler said, his voice hollow. “She’s made up her mind.”

The group exchanged glances, unsure of what to say. Boone’s gaze drifted to the coffee table, where the small red box caught his attention. He reached for it, his fingers brushing the worn velvet.

Tyler’s head snapped up. “Boone, don’t—”

But it was too late. Boone flipped the lid open, his eyes widening as he took in the ring inside. The room went still.

“Tyler,” Boone said, his voice low. “What is this?”

Tyler’s jaw clenched, and he looked away, unable to meet his friend’s gaze. “It’s… it was supposed to be hers,” he said quietly. “I was going to ask her that night we got back. I was going to tell her I was ready to change, ready to be better for her. Ask her to give me one more chance. But it didn’t matter. I waited too long.”

The weight of his confession hung in the air, pressing down on everyone in the room. Lilly’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and Dani reached over to place a comforting hand on Tyler’s arm.

“Tyler,” Dexter said gently, “it’s not too late. If you love her, you fight for her. You show her you’re serious. You don’t give up now.”

Tyler shook his head. “She’s better off without me,” he muttered.

“No,” Boone said firmly, closing the ring box and setting it back on the table. “She’s not. She loves you, Tyler.”

Tyler didn’t respond. He just stared at the floor, the weight of their words battling with the doubt and regret that consumed him.

The room fell silent again, each of them searching for the right thing to say. Finally, Lilly spoke up, her voice soft but determined.

“Tyler, you don’t have to do this alone. We’ll help you figure it out.”

Tyler’s shoulders sagged, and for the first time in days, a flicker of hope pierced through the darkness. “I don’t know if she’ll even listen,” he said quietly.

“You don’t know unless you try,” Boone said.

Tyler stands up abruptly, grabbing his keys, his mind set on finding you. But Boone, ever the realist, steps in his path. He holds up a hand, a half-smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

"Ty, you’re not going anywhere like that," Boone says, looking him up and down. "You’ve been living like a hermit for a week. You smell like you’ve slept in a barn, and I’m pretty sure your hair has its own ecosystem. Go take a shower, put on some clean clothes, and then we’ll talk about how you’re gonna win her back. You can’t even look at her like this."

Tyler stares at Boone, then looks down at his own disheveled appearance, realizing his friend might have a point. With a sigh, he drops the keys onto the counter. “Fine.

Boone watches him with a knowing look as Tyler trudges upstairs, and the team remains silent for a moment.

Boone sighs and heads toward the door, turning back once to glance at Tyler’s room. He knows his friend isn’t ready to give up, and neither is he. Tyler had made his mistake, but it wasn’t too late to change. They just had to get him there first...and then hope by some miracle that you'd listen to what Tyler had to say.

#Tyler Owens #Tyler Owens x reader #Tyler Owens x you #Tyler Owens Fic #Tyler Owens Fanfic #Tyler Owens Fanfiction #Tyler Owens Angst

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