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mphountitled · 8 months

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𝘽𝙧𝙖𝙞𝙣 & 𝙃𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙩

: ̗̀➛ Mattheo Riddle x Fem!reader | Brief!Harry Potter x fem!reader

: ̗̀➛ Summary: Jealousy makes the heart grow fonder.

: ̗̀➛ Warnings: Alcoholism, Dark!fic, Ravenclaw!reader, Bullying, Unrequited Love, Shy!reader, Toxic Relationship, Jealousy, Narcissism, Weaponizing!Harry (sorry boo), Fluff, A bit of Angst, Smut +18 (Minors DNI), DubCon, Semi Public sex, Unprotected Sex, Oral Sex, Masturbation, Dom/Sub, CNC, humping, Spitting, Degradation, Dacryphillia, Choking, Gagging, Subspace, Slapping, Sadism, Breeding Kink

5k words

A/N: Hell truly is empty. I apologise in advance.

You have made peace with the incomparable fact, long ago, that if the muggle God existed - if he is known to shepard Muggles and Wizards alike, then he was far too busy to attend to you. There is just too much going on all at once. The wizarding world is caught in its archaic intolerance of Half-Bloods. On the mortal side, you were informed from your private tutoring with Professor McGonagall that their smartphones are threatening devolution.

“It’s the closest thing they’ve got to a wand, Lovie, so we can’t really fault them on that, can we?” 6 years into your schooling at Hogwarts and you would continue to shadow Professor McGonagall, hoping you might one day soar to her heights of academic prestige in the wizarding world. You needed to be a Professor as much as a mortal needs to breathe….

You cannot let him, of all people, ruin things. Your reputation is a fragile, flammable thing - and he is freaking Kerosene.

It's difficult to pinpoint when it started or how your sensibilities rushed away from you so swiftly. One moment you’re planting your textbook on the face of a wooden desk - the sound reaching the rafters in the highest peak of the deserted classroom…

“A Guide To Advanced Transfiguration.” Mattheo read the title aloud with a tedious uninterested drawl. “Seems a bit presumptuous to shove this down my throat so early on. Shouldn't we be starting from the beginning?"

You ignored him promptly, using the silence to arrange your colour coordinated stationery on your desk beside Riddle's,

“I had no idea," You began, brushing off your blue lined robes and flattening the invisible creases on your skirt, "-That the person residing under my tutelage would be a first year."

Riddle stabbed the inside of his mouth with his tongue, while his eyes rolled to the back of his head. Your face remained passive as you continued, "You are a sixth year, correct?” You asked with a snide tilt of the head before planting yourself on the desk beside him.

“You are a big boy capable of understanding big boy books,” Unbeknownst to you, your words managed to stir something foreign within Mattheo but he conceals it with his usual veneer of arrogance as he swings his head lazily in your direction.

"May we begin?" You asked, with your back straightened - inches away from his hand now hanging on your chair.

"In a bit…" he says, "Just..." his voice trails off as his eyes scan over your visage, likely assessing it like an unseen tapestry. The truth is, Riddle did not know you prior to being forced under your tutelage. His droopy brown eyes appeared even more so as he broke the distance between you two and studied you closer. A tense silence grew pregnant in the ancient classroom, and your resolve was beginning to slip. Only one thought inflated a puddle of anxiety in your stomach:

Could this be your first kiss? Is this what first kisses looked like? Could this be your very first brush of intimacy overall?

Your brain failed to rationalise and compartmentalise his attraction, but your heart pushed your head closer.

"Call me a big boy again..." He had whispered… which evidently led you here.

Your lesson had ended with your hand covered in his release and a breathless smirk painted across his face. "This goes without saying," he breathed out with a satisfied smirk, "But tell anyone about this, and you're dead."

Ever since that day, your tutoring has been but a veneer of something much more sinister. When you were thrusted into the light of day, Mattheo overlooked you as did lots of his Slytherin friends. Besides the occasional threat and vague insult, you mean nothing to him.

When you two are alone, however, as you are right now, he would enchant you into servitude, lightly pushing your head down while he kissed you silly until your knees were planted on the hardwood floor.

Mattheo briefly opens his eyes to peer down at you. It is then when you notice the fresh bruise dotting the side of his face, and his pillowy lips split by a small incursion. He had very clearly gotten into another fight..

“Your mouth feels so fucking good when you're not using it to be a smart ass,” His words illicit a bubble of heat inside you.

Despite all this, you are clearly aware of the fact that you should not be enjoying this at all. Not one bit. For starters, you can feel the old wooden floors digging into the meat of your knees and the crisp winter chill is unkind to your scantily dressed state. Your shirt is unbuttoned because Mattheo was like a moth to a fucking flame when it came to your ample breasts and his hand is buried tightly in your kinky curls, forcing his cock even further down your throat. The very bones of Hogwarts seem to be in vehement protest of your blatant whorishness.

3 silver chains hang from his neck as he plants his other hand against the wall behind you, blocking your kneeling frame between both him and cold, hard stone. You crane your neck back, keeping a half lidded gaze on the jewelry that drives you feral with lust. You are content imagining that perhaps, when he is getting ready in the slytherin common rooms, he wears the silver for you. A fanciful thought but one that consistently has your intestines weaving themselves into knots.

That, paired with his striking, jet black blazer, which is discarded somewhere in the abandoned classroom, has you keening and fighting to take even more of him into your mouth. Perhaps you were peacocking a little - flatting your tongue so his cock slid seamlessly to the back of your throat while you fought to ignore the pain blossoming on your scalp. He had turned you from an inexperienced nun to something you're not quite ready to examine yet.

"You're finally putting this head of yours to good use…" Despite his feigned arrogance you're utterly delighted knowing that only you can bring Mattheo to such an utterly restless state. He does not really know what to do with himself.

Not when you took so much of him, so well.

You clench your toes.

Feeling himself get too close, Mattheo eases his cock fully out of your mouth, languidly stroking himself but still assuming a firm grip on your scalp. He is operating on that very specific plain of narcissism that was special to Mattheo. He is aware of your presence, physically, but his words are spoken into the open air, like you are an inanimate object. A glorified toy.

"Are all Ravenclaws as compliant as you are?”

You bring a crisp white sleeve up to your lips, wiping away the excess drool as you remain kneeled in front of him, knowing he has yet to finish.

"If you ever think of finding out," your voice is hoarse, "this will be the last time I offer you any free study sessions."

"Is money all you seek?" He attempts to feign composure, continuing to languidly stroke his cock. "How utterly greedy. I thought- fuck… - I thought you were far more philosophical than that"

You watch hungrily as Mattheo bites on his pillowy bottom lip. He is prolonging the release, taking his time as he usually did... "If you plan on edging yourself in my mouth instead of actually finishing the job, I do have other commitments to attend to-"

He ignores you... his brows furrowing and smoothening at odd intervals as he continues to touch himself while studying you.

"We may not be studying… but I still intend to pass Transfiguration, hope you're aware." He punctuates his sentence with an breathless laugh- it blossoms across his usually stoic visage, raising his buttercup cheekbones towards his smiling eyes.

As he talks, you examine his scars and feel the slow essence of admiration seep into the pit of your stomach. An arguably pathetic feat, given that your feelings will not ever be reciprocated.

Brewing inside you is the need to take care of him. You knew the rest of the student body viewed Mattheo as a glorified parasite. Something that is only capable of thinking within the capacity of its own means. Something that takes, and takes, and occasionally jokes around, and takes. But how could he know anything different? You suspected that his home life was built on the foundation of survival, on needing to be the loudest, and proudest, and worst of them all.

"What the fuck are you doing?" The sharpness of his words slice through your thoughts, bringing you back to yourself. Mattheo's gaze is placed firmly on something down below. Throughout his mindless tirade, your hand had taken to rubbing soft, comforting circles against the leg of his pants, quite literally on its own accord. Mattheo is bent over, head tilted as he watches you questioningly. Seconds stretch to a minute, and your stomach sinks as time passes.

Eventually, he dismisses you. He shakes his head. "Whatever," He says, tilting your head back and lining your mouth with the head of his cock once more. His visage darkens into a cruel sadistic grin. "Tell me you want me to come in your mouth."

Almost instinctively, you do as he orders and like clockwork, you swallow his cum, wondering if he knew how deeply and truly your words actually were. There was a moment, perhaps imagined, in which his fingers gripping your hair, melted to the side of your soft, supple cheek. It stays there for longer than necessary, leaving bits and pieces of your composure scattered in its wake.

Mattheo soon straightens his posture, stuffing his flaccid cock back into his pants before making himself as presentable to the student body as they know him to be (which admittedly is not a lot) And before he turns to walk away, he leaves you stranded on a glacier with his ice cold words cutting deep into your beating heart.

"Tell anyone about this-"

"And I'm dead," You interject, "I know."

And with that, you pull your ruffled collar over your lint-free school jersey and check your reflection to assess the damage Mattheo and his iron grip might have left. You needn't wait for an extension on the conversation because your job here was done, (pun so malevolently intended).

As far as Mattheo is concerned, you are an easy conduit to release his frustrations through because your unpopularity makes you so incredibly inconspicuous. You blend into any given crowd at any given moment, your name seldom reaching the heights of ridicule among his group because you are so unforgettable… There had been no reason to point out your flaws, not because you did not have any, but because you were simply invisible.

It is particularly strange to have any social interaction beyond the bounds of group projects and class discussions… so Harry Potter gifting you even a sliver of attention had been violently unorthodox. So unorthodox, in fact, you failed to look up from the weathered pages of your novel when his gentle voice wafted in your direction during a rare free period in Study of Ancient Runes. Your professor has been summoned quite promptly by the headmaster and has yet to return. The class has been in a state of havoc ever since.

"I don't know if you're aware of this but…" A deep shadow over the pages alerted you to his presence, "They both die at the end."

It was incredibly rare that Potter, who sat at the desk directly in front of you, ever felt the need to strike up conversation that was not purely academic. Gryffindors made use of Ravenclaws as often as Slytherins.

So naturally, you peer curiously up at him…

"Sorry?"

"Y-Your book. It's a muggle book, isn't it? I haven't seen anything with a cover like that around here. It's refreshing. Everything in the wizarding world is ancient and leatherbound." He mumbles as his index finger slides into the collar of his red quidditch jersey. He finds himself suddenly overcome by a wave of embarrassment even though there was nothing at all to be embarrassed about… he turns his chair slightly in your direction, his eyes darting to the door and the empty teacher's seat before meeting yours once more.

"'They Both Die At The End." He says, pointing towards the title.

"Oh…" You affirm, rocking your head back and forth, "You were making a joke?"

"No," Harry snickers before waving a large hand in dismissal, "Evidently, the only thing I 'made' was a complete and utter fool of myself."

You're not sure when it happens but you feel the lower half of your face melting into what you suspect is a smile. You can feel your shoulders relaxing and your novel lowering imperceptibly.

"Work on your delivery next time and maybe we'll be getting somewhere."

"Is that how it is!?" Harry asked, pleasantly surprised by your banter, "- I could've sworn I had a shred of dignity before the start of this conversation. Now I'm not quite sure where that went."

Mattheo's feet pass over the threshold as soon as the sound of your laughter rushes past him. It is almost charming in its familiarity but incredibly curious in its rarity. He can't recall ever seeing you with your head thrown back while the instinctive sound of amusement races through your throat. He does not know he's staring until Draco shoves past him, to get to their own seats in the front of the class.

His eyes remain on you as he makes his way to his desk, hoping, perhaps, that you would turn your head infinitesimally, in acknowledgment of his presence.

You do nothing of the sort, and it not only fills him with a weird sort of dissatisfaction but it bubbles into full blown vexation when he realises who is capturing your attention so viscerally.

Mattheo has never prided himself on his patience or tolerance.

Overthinking is something he consistently lives without.

Most of his actions were spurred from things he felt in the now, and he was really fucking uncomfortable with what was happening now.

His glances at the front of the class before finding you once more in the very back corner of the class. He notices that Harry is stationed in front of you but the seat beside you is completely deserted.

Did you not have friends?

And more importantly; how did he never notice until now?

What if…

Perhaps if he…

"You didn't let me know we were having a picnic," The sound of a chair scraping against the tiles had both you and Harry rallying into silence. Mattheo appears at your side, pushing the chair against yours so he, too, sits facing Potter - who suddenly appears incredibly uneasy. Gone is the comfortable atmosphere cooked by easy and amicable conversation. Mattheo injecting himself into your little bubble created a suddenly charged and suffocating atmosphere. You cannot keep your wide eyes off Mattheo as he lowers himself to his chair beside you with his legs spread as he slouches down, like he always does.

"Don't stop on my accord," He exclaims, completely oblivious to the fact that your professor might walk in at any minute. "What were we talking about?" Your heart wrestles in your chest as you see him turn to address you. His slouching puts him a level lower than you, but it does nothing to lessen his intimidation.

"Maybe I should ask, Potter?" Mattheo turns his attention to the front, "What were you lot talking about?" There is not a trace of friendliness present in Riddle's tone. In fact, it's the very opposite. Your nerves, swelling with anxiety, only escalate into full-on panic when you feel him place a large hand on your skirt under the table.

Harry's voice is low and his eyes are trained on the floor, "Books-"

"Books!" Mattheo cuts him off with sarcastic fervour, "How utterly fascinating!" The hyperbolic wonder in his tone is utterly rude and unbecoming, but you look down at your desk in blatant anger. Refusing to be a part of whatever this is.

"And tell me, Potter, how many books have you read so far?"

It is then that Riddle's once stationary hand begins the faintest trace of movement. He begins slow and tame, his callouses barely registering on the soft fabric until his fingers prod the lining of your skirt…

Your breath hitches in your throat.

Never had Mattheo ever displayed a desire to touch you. Not in the way he made you touch him. It was made explicitly clear that only he would benefit from your secret rendezvous' and so you were left to deal with your aching cunt alone, with the image of the face he made when he came, still burned into your mind. It had never been about you.

"A couple,'' says Harry, fighting to show this bully that he was unaffected by his intimidation. If only he knew that with every advance Mattheo's palm made, you were slipping farther and farther away.

"A couple books?" Asks Riddle for clarity. He remains lax and languid on the inside, but the nature of his wandering hand underneath the desk tells a new story.

He finally slips under your skirt.

His palm connects with the softness of your thighs and he seems utterly pleased by it. His hand is immediately restless to explore how far you would let him go. Which isn't very far.

Not at all.

If he thought he could suddenly touch you after myriad occasions of using you like a discarded toy… he had another thing coming.

The tips of Mattheo's fingers make gradually increasing strokes along your thigh until his fingers prod the stretch marks on your inner thigh. It is there when you stop him, clenching your legs together, blocking his hand from any further movement.

Mattheo's voice is strained as he says, "And you like reading, Potter?"

Sensing something brewing between the two of you - your withdrawn, hazy gaze, staring directly through the desk and Mattheo's overabundance in questions, has Harry reeling backwards.

"I asked you a question, Harry."

"I like reading."

"Good! That's really good!" Quite suddenly, Riddle tilts the ends of his half-moon nails into your thigh. His nails bite into your skin, forcing them to weaken and unclamp. Before you're even able to think, his palm is cupping your cunt through your panties- forcing an indecent yelp from your throat which you quickly (and very badly) disguise as a cough.

Mattheo is utterly pleased while he continues mindlessly stroking your cunt. Not for the purpose of any glorious stimulation. His hand is just there to show you (and perhaps maybe himself) that he has access to the most private part of you.

That thought alone has an unforeseen and sudden wave of lust coursing through his veins and surging straight to his hardened cock. He thinks of all the things he could have done to you but failed to do. He thinks about how, up until this point, he had ever been satisfied with using your mouth alone, not when he was denying himself the softness of your pussy all along.

He felt angry with himself, for being so fucking stupid, he is angry at Potter for seeing whatever it is he saw in you, way before he did and, possibly most harrowing of all is the fact that he is angry with you. And he can't help but be angry at you. How easily you whore yourself out to any and every man. If this thing with Potter had gone far enough, would you replace him? Had you even fucked Potter before?

You bite down on your lower lip as your head bows even further into your book. The words blend into one another, and all you can feel is a rise in temperature and Mattheo's suddenly restless fingers, pressing rudely against your clit - for the sole purpose of ripping an orgasm out of you right then and there, at the very back of an unsupervised classroom, with Harry Potter still very much a part of the conversation.

"You've got so many books to read in your lifetime," Says Mattheo. He sits up slowly, likely spurred on by the dampness seeping through your panties. "Don't cut your long life short by trying to entertain other people's girlfriends, yeah?" Gone are any traces of feigned friendliness. "Fucking Mudblood,"

Your skin feels like you are bathing in magma and you hope Potter could not see the slight tremor in your hand as you gripped the sides of your book with more force than necessary.

Mattheo's words… they have you shifting forward and widening your legs minutely. You crave for nothing more than to roll your hips in tandem with the circles he's pressing against your clit.

"Understood?"

Your orgasm is dangerously close, with the promise of sheer, disgusting shame and embarrassment if he continues. You feel Harry give you one final curious look, perhaps pleading for an interjection of denial at some point but you've taken to bouncing your knee under the table, hoping the vibrations might create enough friction to aid Mattheo's hands. He is keeping you trapped in a space of wanting. So much so, that this almost feels like a punishment.

Once Harry is turned back around and facing the front of the class, Mattheo lowers his lips to your ears. The damp smell of firewhiskey floods your nostril and you realise that he is completely drunk. In the second lesson of the day.

However, you're so completely stimulated, even the warmth of his breath as you fight the urge to hump into his hand like a lost little puppy until you make a mess all over his hand.

"You're such a fucking slut, you know that?" Your book drops to your desk - muffled by the sounds of the classroom cacophony. "You like being humiliated like this?" He asks, almost in complete awe. It takes everything in you not to moan outright.

"Fuck," You whisper to yourself, blinking your eyes shut, warding off the need but to no avail. His fingers are long and limber, and they have you nearly cumming right there, in front of your entire fucking class. Had it not been for your Professor's haphazard arrival into the class, and the swift removal of Mattheo's fingers from between your legs… you might truly have become the slut he labelled you as.

Instead of moving to his designated seat, Riddle raises his hand for the professor… the very same hand that has previously been in between your legs.

"Yes, Mr Riddle?" Asks the Professor, his voice as lacklustre as his appearance.

"May we be excused? We were excused by Professor Slughorn to assist him in-"

"Fine, fine," Says the professor with a wave of dismissal before turning his attention to the rest of the class. "The rest of you, open your textbooks to page 56."

Riddle's hand is clamped around your forearm, already leading you swiftly out the door in a long and wide stride. Had it been any other teacher at all, they might have recognized this for what it so clearly was.

"Here," you have barely made it fully into the boy's bathroom before Mattheo is stuffing his fingers down your throat, making you gag and yelp at the sudden intrusion. "Tell me how good you taste." He doesn't even bother to make sure you're truly left alone in the bathroom before pushing your front against the bathroom sink.

"Is that good?" His voice is as sweet as honey as he forces his fingers deeper down your throat, causing you to cough and gag around them.

Mattheo has half his sense to pull his wand from his back pocket, and without turning around, whispers "Colloportus," and the heavy doors snap shut.

You're supposed to be afraid because you've never seen him like this. Mattheo is always a ball of sarcastic energy between trysts, but it's usually an energy he can somewhat contain.

You don't know what to do with him, not when he's watching you choke on his fingers through the mirror, while his other hand fondles at your breasts and rips your bra down until your nipples are poking through your school shirt.

The figure in the mirror distorts as your eyes begin to water. Thick beads of tears grow pregnant at the ends of your eyes before rolling down the side of your face.

"My girl," Mattheo presses his face into your hair, breathing you in, pressing his body into your side. His hard cock in unmistakable through his school pants, "My messy little girl,"

You finally moan candidly while your fingers grip the countertops and your hips buck into nothingness. Your eyes plead with him in the mirror, hoping they relay how utterly useless with lust you have become. It would not take hard work to make you cum, you're sure one more flick against your material-clad nipples might send you over the edge.

"Fuck, why didn't I think of this sooner,"

This is all new, even for the two of you.

"Spread your legs." He commands, even though his feet are already kicking them apart.

"Come here," you break eye contact in the mirror to face the boy behind you. Mattheo removes his fingers sitting in your mouth, leaving a trail of sticky saliva in its wake before replacing it with a long and messy kiss- one that has his tongue forcing itself inside.

Mattheo weaponizes your distraction to reach around and slide your panties to the side with one hand while he rubs your soft nub with his other, spit-coated hand.

You break away from the kiss, neck craning back and mouth hanging open while your eyebrows dissolve into crescents. You cannot look away from him, as you hump his hand.

"You wanna cum?" You nod enthusiastically. "And what if I told you, you can't cum until I've fucked that little pussy of yours? Hm? What then?" His words have you mewling from the sheer pleasure they bring and your orgasm threatens to snap once more.

"Fuck," He hisses, feeling unable to remove his hand from your wet cunt but needing to, in order to undo his belt and pull his aching cock out. "Don't you dare fucking touch yourself," He says in a deadly quiet voice before bringing his hand up to your mouth. "Spit." You don't ever think of disobeying him, not when you're swimming so deeply in your subspace, not when he's the one to bring you here.

Mattheo collects every bit of saliva you offer him before coating his cock in the stuff.

Deciding not to waste anymore time, he does what his body is screaming for him to do: he bends you over the bathroom sink and pushes cock right through your slippery folds. It's tense and painful and your voice is hoarse from doing all that screaming but the sudden contact strokes a deeply sated part inside yourself. His curved and pretty cock rams your insides with reckless abandon, all while he delivers small slaps against your cheek. Riddle keeps a firm grip on your throat. His mouth is inches away from you while his hips rut into yours. His words are being delivered through clenched teeth.

"You think you're so fucking smart but you're just my little whore, arent you? A little whore thst fucks anything that gives her the slightest bit of attention?" It doesn't even register that Mattheo wrongfully suspects that there had been something between you and Harry but you keep your mouth shut. For all his indifference in the past, this is how you would make him pay.

"Oh~ fuck." His cock bruises your cervix, leaving him balls deep and feral inside you. "Fucking Potter?! You wanna give what's mine, to fucking Potter?!" His voice is utterly depraved and animalistic and it has your orgasm cresting.

He is panting, while he mumbles into your ear.

"What would Potter think? If he saw you like this? What would he think? Would he still want your slutty pussy knowing I've been inside it? Knowing that I've cum so deep inside you? Completely ruining you for anyone else, huh?"

"You…" The tears threaten to spill, "It's only ever been you, Mattheo -oh my god! I'm so fucking close!" You fight down tears as the lava begins to bubble at the pit of your stomach.

"S-Say it again. Tell me you want me!" He exclaims, "Tell me you fucking need me."

"Oh my God, Mattheo, I fucking need you." You push your hips back to meet his thrusts.

His voice wavers after your confession. His strokes became sloppy. His mind is flooded with the tightest of your cunt around his cock- how someone so smart could possibly ever say they need him. It has a flood of heat pooling at the base of his cock. "You're so fucking pretty… my pretty girl - my pretty whore," He nods to himself while his heavy cock finds purchase in a specific clump of sensitive tissue inside your cunt. It has you clamping your own mouth shut, your arms wavering while your back arches towards him, only allowing him better excess.

"I need you," You say once more, swallowing a ball of saliva as you nod towards him through the mirror, "I need you to cum inside me."

"Oh my fucking god," Mattheo's eyes soften in their desperstion, "M'gonna fucking breed pussy right here- fuck!" His grip on your throat grows tighter until you're wholeheartedly cut off from your air supply. You hump his cock until you feel it twitch inside you.

"Y-Youre making me cum, baby- fuck-" You feel his hot cum spurting inside your walls, triggering your own orgasm that has you gripping his cock like a vice.

"So… so pretty" His hips stutter against yours until you've completely drained him of his cum. A sharp tremor settles over your bones and you gasp in vague increments, waiting for the overwhelming state of euphoria to subside… but it never does.

The weight of what you had done comes crashing back down but you are unable to feel anything besides an immense wave of satisfaction at having your deepest need satiated.

"I think I nearly killed Potter today." His voice is a hoarse echo within the school bathrooms.

"There is no Harry Potter," You say, watching him through the mirror, "In my whole world, there is only ever you, Mattheo."

And a part of him believes you, but he refuses to affirm something as emotionally stifling as that. Instead, Mattheo's eyes flutter shut as his nose finds your hair once more. His cock is still buried inside you, and you hiss as he moves his hips slowly, almost insitinvely. He loves being so wholly enveloped by you. He loves feeling you everywhere.

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kookslastbutton · 1 month

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Guilty Pleasures ༓ jjk, kth (m) | chapter ii

✒ Summary: Three years of being Seoul's power couple earns you nothing but a big fat divorce settlement and your face plaster on every gossip column around town. You're angry, hurt, and desperately want to move on, but worst of all? You're still in love with the man who started the whole mess, even though the most he can ever see you as is a friend. The renowned actor you've hired to be your company's new endorser seems to have a soft spot for you though. He's easy on the eyes, you'll admit, but who actually wants a divorcee like yourself? It's unrealistic really.

pairing: ex-husband ceo!jungkook x ceo!reader, actor!taehyung x ceo!reader

genre/AU: angst, smut, fluff, loverstoexesto ?, coworkers2?, unrequited love

Word count: 4.5k

Warnings: oc and jk are both 30, Taehyung is 32, swearing, fighting, confrontation, tornado of emotions, mentions of alcohol consumption, mentions of sexism in the media and business world, public shaming (both direct and indirect), morally grey characters, mentions of toxic relationships, mentions of abandonment issues, mentions of therapy, attempts to self-regulate but reader is pissed, mentions of self-blame though oc knows its not entirely her fault, mentions of defamation charges, JK is just 🤬 while KTH is 😇

playlist: Unkiss Me, Apologize, Hate That I Love You, etc.

a/n: Woah okay....so had I fun writing this, even though it took me a hella long time to decide whether to continue the story as a series or not 🫣 Anyway I altered the summary slightly from chapter one (and updated for consistency purposes), but it doesn't change my overall plans! As you read this chapter, I hope you will be able to see my vision (I'm nervous af! haha)! Enjoy 🥰 (edited but pls forgive me for any oversights...my typos are ridiculous)

series masterlist | next >>

You’re seated in a wide sofa chair, surrounded by four blank walls, and the gentle sound of water tricking from a faux rock waterfall. Every element of the space is carefully integrated as a means to calm you. Yet it doesn't calm you in the slightest. Your hands are clammy. Muscles tense with the adrenaline spiking through your veins. It doesn’t help that you’ve been running on nothing but black coffee all week either, refusing to eat until the first promo shoot with your company’s new endorser was launched.

A natural in front of the camera, Kim Taehyung was able to speed the process up, yet it didn’t stop the massive dark circles from forming under your eyes. This morning, he'd told you they were unnoticeable but you've seen how you look in the mirror, and they're anything but unnoticeable. Still, you find his gesture to soothe sweet. Thankfully, your new partnership has been smooth sailing which is quite a blessing considering the disaster he nearly walked into.

Yes. You’re referring to that disaster in particular. When, in some desperate last-minute attempt for validation, you threw yourself into the arms of your ex-husband.

More like fixed the collar of his shirt and whoops, slid right on his dick…again.

What is wrong with you?

You’ve been asking yourself the question far too many times. You’d think being a hot-shot CEO of a million-dollar tech company would make you like titanium, resilient as finely pounded steel but no; you're just barely keeping yourself together. You regret your rash decision that day, you regret ever marrying Jeon Jungkook, and you regret ever giving in to your stupid feelings.

That’s why you’re here now, waiting in the office of your therapist’s private practice, hands restless in your lap. You’ve been seeing Melody for just over two months since your divorce was finalized, ready to move on; trying to, more like.

‘JeonX CEO Jeon Jungkook’s ex-wife compensated $1.8 billion in divorce’

‘South Korea’s Golden It couple split with ex-wife taking half the company revenue’

These are the lovely words that greet you from your phone screen.

You have the urge to grab your special red ballpoint pen from your bag and scribble out the entire paragraph, except it’s not a printed gossip magazine— it’s a newspaper column on the internet. Instead, you close out the pesky tab on your phone and reply to its sender.

Chim 🐥: can you believe this crap they’re saying about you?! It's no shit you were given a hefty divorce settlement. You brought in half the income! They’re making you look like some kind of gold digger. I swear if I ever lay my eyes on that pretty ex-husband of yours, I will end him! 😡 [sent at 5:06 pm]

Park Jimin, your childhood best friend, sends you a follow-up text when you don’t immediately reply to the news articles he forwarded over. He’s been extremely overprotective of you lately and especially pissed at how the media’s been portraying you, while Jungkook is seemingly getting a free ride. He’s always had an axe to grind with your ex-husband, to be honest, the divorce gives him only more reason to hate him.

You: Thanks for your concern Chim, but nothing they say surprises me anymore. If you don’t mind, can you stop sending these to me? [sent at 5:12 pm]

You hope your message doesn’t read as cold or dismissive. Jimin’s concern for you is a light in a dark place, but you don’t really want to be reminded of the amount of slandering articles still targeted towards you.

Gone are the days when the public saw you as a powerful woman in business, the one to watch, or the CEO of the fastest-growing startup in the last ten years. You're now simply Jeon Jungkook’s conniving ex-wife; as if you’ve merely seduced him for his money and ran when the going was good.

Of course, the whole situation is skewed to his side; half the world is in love with him after all, and that includes the few lingering reporters who've been practically salivating three feet from you at any given chance, hoping to get an exclusive “inside look”. Your marriage was a sham, you wanted to scream, a mutual business transaction.

Too bad rather than an increase in status, resources, and market share, you gained a pile of twisted, unwarranted emotions and regrets.

“I apologize for the wait Ms. __."

The door swings open as your therapist rushes into the room. She stops at her desk to retrieve last week’s session notes, then takes a seat in the chair adjacent to you with crossed legs.

“It’s okay,” you assure, straightening your posture. “I understand how crazy busy the day can get. It wasn't a long wait anyway."

Melody gives a small smile and jots a few words on her notepad. “Thank you for understanding. How are you doing this week?”

You take a deep breath. "Tired," you respond, "especially this week at work. It's like as soon as I wrap up one project, there's another jumping out from nowhere." You used to be ahead of the game. Now you're barely surviving.

"That's right," she hums. "Last week you mentioned having to attend a charity gala soon. Would you like to start there today?"

Crap, you're suddenly reminded that you have to pick up your gown by 7 pm tonight. You entertained the idea of not going to the gala at all, but that would do you no favors in the end. Given your situation, you can't skip out on such an important charity event.

"Sure," you nod. "The Winter Gala's tomorrow night, actually. It's funny how I used to look forward to it every year, being an opportunity to network and catch up with my peers. I can't say I feel the same thrill this time around."

"Because of the divorce you mean?"

"Exactly. Being the CEO of one of the largest software corporations in the world, my ex-husband's influence far exceeds my own. So whether out of loyalty or political agenda, anyone who's anyone will be on his side of the room. I'm gonna end up being that one awkward person in the corner in a far too expensive Dior gown who no one wants to dance with." You nervously chuckle out the last sentence.

Melody opens her mouth to respond, yet stops when she notices you're not quite finished.

"It'll be the first time seeing my ex-husband after months of no contact too. I guess that's what I'm looking forward to the least."

When you think about it, the most you've seen of Jungkook is his face appearing on the massive screens downtown. He's been featured in at least a dozen interviews lately, teasing a brand-new product his company's planning to release in the spring. Seems he's doing well.

"What you feel is valid Ms. __." Melody seeks to assure you. "In the past, you used to go to these events with Jungkook right? He provided you with a sense of safety, as you did for him, no doubt. I wonder if it's a lack of consistency and belonging that worries you, more than it is about seeing your ex-husband and your peers. Companionship too, of course."

"I suppose that makes sense, but it never used to be this way." Your voice raises to match your sudden argumentativeness. "I used to be very comfortable in my own skin. I used to be confident going to these events alone, long before Jungkook came into the picture."

You pause to take a breath before continuing.

"When Jungkook became CEO of his family's software company, JeonX, he was steps away from being bought out by both our competitors, so a partnership was proposed. We married at 27 as nothing more than two ambitious, rising leaders in business. Neither of us was after love or romance when our careers were at stake."

"But then that changed for you," your therapist carefully observes. "Combined, you both held the largest share of the tech market. You and Jungkook were also in an extremely intimate relationship, yet treated it as a business contract. Unfortunately, those don't always come out clean in the wash. It appears to me that while you gave him three honest years of your life, he stole those three years from you."

The words take a moment to sink in; Jungkook stole three years from you. It conflicts with what you want to believe, though from the bottom of your heart, you know she's right.

"I feel so...guilty. I hate that I fell for him, and I hate that I'm struggling this much to let him go." As you tear up, Melody hands you a tissue from the side table with an empathetic gaze. You mouth a thank you and gently dab your eyes with the soft fabric.

"I'd give yourself some grace Ms. __. But if I may ask, what about Jungkook?" she gently probes. "Do you think he feels the same?"

"No...," you say with remorse, shaking your head. "He's moved on."

Melody remains silent for as long as you need in the moments following, cautious to follow your lead. The last thing a therapist should do is rush their patient through the session, so she sits patiently and waits for your go.

"Sorry," you finally say. "We should continue."

"No need for apologies," she replies. "Take your time."

It takes a good minute or two longer of sitting in your car before you can fully compose yourself. As usual, your session with Melody was intense and insightful, but it was far too short. You're gripping the wheel with both hands when her final words of the session echo through your head: "Give yourself some grace; blaming yourself won't do any good."

Seemingly simple advice, yet tough to follow when you constantly feel responsible for the mess you're in. Yes, even though Jungkook has the bigger end of the stick, you made your share of mistakes too. You should have looked into other options when you found out your competitors were looking to buy out JeonX instead of eloping with their CEO.

Just what were you thinking __? you harshly scold yourself. You were trying to protect your company. You both were. Too bad you placed the cart in front of the horse.

Forcing yourself to take a slow, deep breath, your eyes widen in alarm when you catch the time on the clock— 6:38 pm. Fuck! The boutique that's holding your gown for tomorrow's gala is closing in twenty minutes. Without a moment to spare, you yank the seatbelt and slam your foot on the gas.

"Good evening Ms. __." A young woman, fitted in a black pencil skirt and white blouse, greets you with a faint bow as soon as you step foot into the posh boutique.

"Hello, Hana," you refer to the young lady by name with a smile. "I'm terribly sorry to be coming in this late. I came by to pick up the gown I sent in for alterations two weeks ago. The event's tomorrow and I know the shop will be closed for the day."

Knowing the exact dress you're referring to, Hana responds with a soft tone, "Please don't worry Ms. __. We have the gown ready." She disappears to the back of the shop to retrieve it.

As you wait, your mind drifts to memories of last year's gala. You had worn a vibrant, gold gown that evening, slightly risky with a low neckline. Jungkook liked it though, as he wore a matching gold vest himself. You can imagine how crazy the press went when you both set foot on the scene, arms linked and appearing to have coordinated your attire perfectly.

Every investor at the gig wanted to be your friend that night, anxiously pushing through the crowds to speak to you. One of them nearly split your dress in two, as he had accidentally stepped on your gown after one too many drinks. You recall Jungkook scolding the man before turning his full attention to you, making sure you were alright. You consider this to be the first time you truly started looking at him as your husband, a feeling of warmth blooming inside you.

How foolish you were to let that feeling grow.

You're attending the gala alone this year, without him.

Possessing no desire to call attention to yourself this year, you've chosen a rich, navy blue gown instead. It's subtle yet sophisticated. Made out of the finest silk, its silhouette is sleek and falls straight down to the floor without any extravagant frills. The neckline is simple too, paired with a tasteful open back. There are no flashy accessories or embellishments, just a straightforward, classic design. You find the gown beautifully elegant, and nowhere near as bold as your previous one.

"Here it is Ms. __," Hana chips from afar, her heels clacking against the polished floor tiles. In her hand is a generously sized garment bag, your dress flowing underneath.

"Thank you so much, Hana," you say, taking the gown from her hand. "Again, I'm sorry for my tardiness picking this up. I hope you have a wonderful night."

You leave the boutique, the sun having already set.

The Winter Gala takes place on the top floor of Seoul's most luxurious hotel, specifically in its grand ballroom. The walls are adorned with gold trim, and its floors are elegantly lined with polished black marble. Above, a magnificent glass chandelier glimmers, catching the moonlight filtering through the surrounding glass windows.

Despite being a private event, the gala attracts a whole slew of press and locals who eagerly gather on either side of the hotel's front doors, treating it as a prime spot for viewing the red carpet.

Physically, you're ready; dressed to the nines, and makeup done just right. Mentally, you're absent; secretly sipping a margarita at the end of the earth, wherever that is. The day finally comes for you to make an appearance at the Annual Winter Gala and it's clear, you're not prepared in the slightest.

Your nerves consume you as you sit in the backseat of your limousine. You protested against being dropped off at the front entrance. Hell, you hadn't even wanted to arrive in a limo. However, your PR team insisted you be seen arriving, happy to be supporting a charitable event for the eighth year in a row.

Reluctantly, you complied.

Chim 🐥: I wish I could be there with you tonight 😞 No matter what, don't let those snobs get into your head. You look stunning and you have nothing to be ashamed of! [sent at 6:23 pm]

"Thank you, love," you whisper to aloud upon reading your best friend's endearing message. Before you can craft a reply, your door is flung open, with harsh flashes of cameras blinding you. When you step out of the limo, you hear a mix of passionate cheering and interrogative remarks.

"Ms. __, could you share with us your experience of attending the gala without Jeon Jungkook by your side for the first time?"

"Ms. __, it's unexpected to see you here this year, especially considering your recent separation from your ex-husband, who is also on the guest list!"

"Ms. __, how do you plan to navigate the evening's festivities without the familiar presence of your former partner?"

Just keep walking __. If you can just get inside the building and tune out the noise, you'll be fine. You coach yourself with every step, but make little progress with the amount of discomfort only skyrocketing. Your photos are being taken, and questions barrage you from all angles. To top it off, you feel a strong migraine coming on and oh fuck— is that the devil now?

You don't have to glance back to guess the sudden increase in cheering is due to the arrival of another hot A-lister. It has to be Jungkook with a new woman by his side. You think he wouldn't bring a date to an event like this, even if she were a hire? You'd be horribly mistaken.

You fight against the urge to turn around and confirm if your suspicions are true.

"__!" a voice calls out, which you ignore.

But wait a minute.

You stop in your tracks—that's not Jungkook's voice at all; it’s far too raspy.

Peeking over your shoulder, your jaw falls open as you see Kim Taehyung steps behind you wearing a boxy grin on his face. He's dressed to the hills with a shiny maroon, Louis Vuitton suit hugging his slim waist. Quite handsome, per usual, but what is he doing here?

Taking the initiative, Taehyung strides next to you and waves to the crowd charismatically. “My movie shoot wrapped up early so I thought I’d swing by and see what all the excitement’s about,” he says.

You observe how easy it is for him to appease the crowd, a skill you’re still working to sharpen.

“Tae-” you begin.

He then turns to you and looks straight into your eyes. You shiver at from the sudden intensity.

“I got an invitation too, and the gala happens to support a cause that I find close to my heart.” His voice lowers for the next part, allowing only your ears to hear. “I also didn’t want you having to be alone this evening, __. I hope I didn’t overstep my boundaries.”

Taehyung’s words manage to coax you away from your previously frazzled state, comforting you as the chaos quiets around you.

“Thank you, Taehyung. You didn’t, don’t worry,” you reply, giving a tight-lipped smile. “It’s actually a good thing you came since you’re basically the second face of my company after all.”

“I’m happy to hear that. We’ve been working so well together recently, and I don’t want to ruin it. May I?” He offers you an arm.

“You may.” You slip your arm into his and continue towards the hotel entrance. You admit you’re glad to see him.

With Taehyung nearby, your apprehensions of the night start to subside. He’s not always beside you, slipping away to mingle often, yet his mere presence relaxes you. You haven’t even thought about Jungkook to be honest. Well, maybe a little bit.

You take a sip of the drink in your hand and casually scan the ballroom until bingo, you spot your ex-husband by the bar in the middle of half a dozen people. Figures he’s the center of attention, effortlessly tethering people to himself. Jungkook loves the spotlight, and the spotlight loves him. As you continue watching him from across the room, a whirlwind of conflicting emotions swirls within you; longing, sorrow, anger. You haven't seen him in over two months, it feels surreal.

Memories of your time together come flooding back all at once—both the good and the bad, yet mostly bad. It's strange how someone you were once so close to can suddenly feel like a stranger. You allow your gaze to linger a moment longer, curious to conclude a date is nowhere in sight. Perhaps you’re mistaken and they’ve merely slipped away for a second. You’re positive he would’ve brought someone.

Bitterly, you gulp down another sip of your drink. When you place your glass down, you nearly choke at the sight of Jungkook's dark eyes burning holes at you. You avert your gaze immediately, silently begging that he didn’t just witness you staring at him and take it as an unsolicited invitation to come over.

“So,” a provocative voice unexpectedly slides next to you. “Looks like you just traded one bachelor for the next __. I’m shocked to see you’ve shown up to our little soirée.”

Oh god, you roll your eyes, recognizing the owner of the slithery voice like the back of your hand. You do not have the stamina for this tonight.

“Kathy," you greet with the fakest, yet sweetest smile possible. "Nice seeing you again. I haven't seen you since last year. How's the baby?"

"Oh please," she scoffs. "Don't try to deflect, sweetie. We both know it's you who is of far more... intrigue. If you understand my gist."

You want to hurl at this woman's condescending tone. Nothing gets under your skin more than someone your age calling you sweetie. It's not endearing in the slightest, especially when it's Kathy Lee, Director of CommaTen. You despise each other, likely because you both hit it big in the industry at a young age. Meeting someone who reminds you so closely of yourself isn't always a blessing.

“Anyway, as I was saying," she continues, brushing her hair behind an ear. "I have quite the bone to pick with you about stealing that actor from me. Kim Taehyung was mine first, you know."

Hers? She speaks as if a person can be owned. You won't lie, you're surprised Taehyung agreed to partner with you at a time when most of Seoul's elites have turned against you. You're naive to assume that his support wouldn't backfire on his reputation. On the other hand, he's been your endorser for two months now and his following remains fully intact.

“To be frank, I didn't know the two of you were talking business at all," you respond to the accusations with composure, though burning up inside. "But of course, he's free to make his own decisions, can't he? Whatever the reason, something must have enticed him."

“You—" Offended by your insinuation that your offer was better than hers, Kathy doesn't stop what comes next. "We both know the only reason why Kim Taehyung's with you is because Jungkook left you! And you need the extra publicity, isn't that right?"

Fuck. Well, now you're really fucking embarrassed because, at that moment, everyone in the room shifts their attention your way. A pin drop could be heard in the entire ballroom since even the live band ceased their playing.

This is why you didn't want to come. Your fingers fumble with the fabric of your gown.

“Don't act like you're above me just because your company might be worth more than mine, __. We'll catch up with you soon," Kathy spits her final words before spinning around and triumphantly walking away.

Don't cry, you tell yourself. Everyone's staring at you; the press, your peers, Jungkook, and Taehyung. Don't you dare cry.

As the murmurs of conversation gradually resume around you, you force yourself to take a deep, steadying breath. Kathy's words were nothing but a feeble attempt to save her own face. Besides, what company doesn't have at least one endorser?

"Are you alright?" Taehyung's low, gentle voice catches your attention as he swiftly returns to your side, no doubt influenced after witnessing Kathy's verbal jab.

You manage a tight-lipped smile, nodding faintly as you attempt to push back the overwhelming wave of humiliation. "I will be," you reply, though the words feel hollow even to your own ears.

His gaze lingers on you for a moment longer, a silent understanding passing between you.

"I hope you don't take her words to heart, __," he mutters. "I chose to become your partner because I genuinely believe in your product. I'm selective about who I support, so please trust me when I say it wasn't because of material gain or pity."

You're on the verge of responding to his reassurance when you catch sight of your ex-husband from the corner of your eye, striding his way over to you for the first time tonight. His expression is unreadable, so you brace yourself, unsure of what to expect.

"__," he starts, his voice low but carrying an unmistakable urgency. "Can we talk?"

You and Taehyung share a quick glance before you follow Jungkook out of the ballroom, seeking privacy.

As soon as you're out of earshot, Jungkook turns to you, his features softened by a hint of concern. "Hey," he starts. "I meant to get over to you sooner but got tied up. You know how it is."

"Yeah, I know," you respond, though you'd rather he didn't come over at all, especially after being dragged into the spotlight in front of all your peers and colleagues.

The two of you share an unsettling silence before he speaks again.

"You-You look good." He allows his eyes to rake up and down your body, causing you to cross your arms in discomfort. There was a time when his gaze brought a flutter of excitement, but now, you're not so sure it brings you the same pleasure.

"I'm sorry for what happened in there," he says. "You okay?"

"What?" you repeat, your eyes wide with surprise, stunned by his unexpected apology. "Am I okay?"

Where was this concern when he handed you the divorce papers nine months ago? Or when he willingly took advantage of your vulnerability that time in your office, only to disappear afterward, as if he hadn't just torn your heart out of your chest? You clench your fists, trying to contain the rising temperature of your anger.

"Yeah, about what she said about you," he clarifies. "It was uncalled for, and I feel horrible about it." He reaches out to touch you, but you instinctively step back, as if his touch would scorch you.

"Please, don't," you sigh, a trace of weariness in your voice. "It's fine."

"I'm serious __, I can have her charged with defamation for that. It wouldn't take much!" His insistence is unwavering, and it strikes your last nerve.

"You don't need to fight my battles for me, Jungkook," you suddenly snap, voice stern. "I'm not completely helpless now that you've divorced me!"

Jungkook's expression darkens, regret flickering in his eyes. "I'm not saying you are. I'm just trying to help."

"Help?" you repeat, doubtful. "How do you think that's going to look for me in the media? Jeon Jungkook slaps another high society member with a defamation charge for ex-wife. Thanks, but no thanks. I get enough of that as is."

He sighs, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "I know they've been difficult on you recentl—"

"Difficult?" you interject, your anger bubbling to the surface. "In case you haven't noticed my face is on every gossip magazine, billboard, press release, and anything else they can use to scorn me with. It's unbearable, especially since I still have a business to run."

Jungkook winces, clearly stung by your words. "Then let me help. I'll get them removed for you. I still care about you, __."

You scoff. "You care about me? Is that why you made me sign our divorce papers three months after you found out I wanted more than a fake marriage?"

His jaw clenches, gaze dropping to the floor guiltily. "It's not like that, __. I'm not trying to be an avoidant asshole. I want you to-"

"Find someone else. Yeah, I got it," you mutter bitterly, feeling a fresh wave of hurt wash over you.

"I'm sorry, __. I am."

You stare at him, torn between resentment and a lingering ache for the connection you once shared. Now, he's apologizing?

"So am I," you say, slowly backing away from him. "You don't have to do anything, Jungkook. I'm fine."

You then turn on your heels to return to the ballroom where Taehyung still waits for you, leaving your ex-husband standing in the hallway, alone.

a/n: A much-needed confrontation between oc and jk eh? But... *laughs evilly*..this is not the end...LMK what you think! 🤔🤍

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loveindefinitely · 4 months

Text

༊*·˚ FOREVER WINTER (IF YOU GO) — task force 141 x reader

01 — TOO YOUNG TO KNOW IT GETS BETTER

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price + (non-endgame phillip graves)

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, fmmmm, enemies to lovers, slow burn, polyamory, ghostsoap, pricegaz, alerudy, heavy angst, requited unrequited love, graphic violence

series masterlist. read on ao3. fanfic playlist.

<- previous part | next part ->

You almost worshipped him.

It wasn’t because of his status – although, that certainly played a role in it all – and it wasn’t because of his bank statements.

No. Phillip Graves was one of the best men you’d ever known.

Or so you had thought.

Turns out, no matter how well he looked after his men – his ‘girl’ – and no matter how charismatic he was, that wouldn’t, couldn't change his roots. And, at those very roots, was decay. Evil in its most purest of forms; a tantalisingly devastating mix of every sin.

The most prevalent one?

Greed.

He was a greedy, greedy man, and he would stop at nothing to have it all. Even if he knew the fall out; even if he knew that he could never go back to the man he once was.

Phillip Graves didn’t care. Not in the slightest.

And it was you that would pay the ultimate price.

Rain beats down your back in heavy sheets as you stand, the harsh night littered with flashlights and car sirens.

It’s cool, just this side of too cold, and it has the hairs on the back of your neck rising with the temperature.

The temperature, and…

“Yup-yup,” the two men to your right call into their comms. You remain silent, but it goes unnoticed. Your eyes are trained to the paved street, rippling with the rainwater, littered with streaks of red.

Blood stains this town, and you haven't done anything to stop it.

“Let’s go.”

Raising your head, you meet the eyes of the operative who, ranks-wise, is below you. Really, you should be reprimanding him for his quip, but you understand the annoyance. You’re being quiet – something quite unusual for your normally direct and authoritative nature.

Tightening your grip around the shiny, water-slicked gun in your hand, you give him a sharp nod in response.

Seemingly satisfied, he turns, and you follow him along the sidewalk of the narrow, stone streets. Shops line either side of the area, their front-windows smashed and the products inside thrown about.

It’s like your heart has launched itself into your throat, the constant thrum of it setting your nerves alight.

“Three-zero, I want you and your two to find those Brits. We’ve got the cops. Copy?”

That once reassuring, adoring voice is now cold, void of any emotion he used to have. It makes tears burn at the back of your vision – if you were a weaker woman, they’d have fallen. Instead, you press down the button for your comms.

“Copy, Sir. Three-zero out.”

The fact that you manage to get those words out is a feat in and of its own.

It feels as though you’re lost at sea, with nothing to hold onto. Buoyant, but barely – every wave threatening to pull you under for good. To smother your silent cries for help, for guidance, for something to keep you grounded.

But there is no sea, and there is no support.

“You two go up ahead, I’ll search the house here,” you say, voice thick with demand. You didn’t have to decide anything right now. You just had to be the leader you were, and do what you’ve always done.

“Copy,” your two subordinates say, moving up further.

With their absence, you find that you can breathe – as if a weight has been lifted off of your chest, and you can finally fill your lungs.

You’re alive. You’re alive. You’re alive.

The mantra helps, surprisingly, and you hold onto those two words like they’re your only lifeline.

Through the thick of night and rain, you can see the door to the house on your left. It’s been left open, which means that either it’s already been searched – which you doubt – or… Someone else has been in there.

Gun secured in your grip, you move to the door with soft footing, quiet enough to not be heard over the shouts of other shadows just a few ways away. The constant pattering of the overhead storm clouds slow, just the slightest, allowing for a bit more sight.

Using your shoulder to further open the door with a creak, you take note of your surroundings immediately.

There’s a flickering light to the room on your far right, a living area, most likely. To your left is a short hallway, but none of the doors alert you of any occupancy. The place has been torn apart, pictures scattered along the wooden floor, shards of glass decorating the space along with it.

It sends a pang of guilt through your chest.

These were families being torn apart by your commander, your company. And for what? What was Graves’ angle here?

You’d been left on base to keep things running smoothly while Graves and unit one worked with the 141 and Las Vaqueros. You knew very little about any of this, and when you’d been called out to Las Almas, to aid with this?

This wasn’t what you fought for. This wasn’t what you would ever support, not in a million years.

But going against direct orders was going against your commander, and your livelihood. Shadow Company was all you’d known since your childhood. Having been hired when Graves was merely a young-upstart with big dreams, you were quickly swept up in the community of it all. They were your family, and Graves was the only semblance of a ‘loved one’ you had.

And now?

Now, he was sending you on a bounty hunt, for two men who, from your limited knowledge, didn’t deserve death. They were the good guys, and although most of your existing bias towards the two was due to rumours back on base, your intuition said that they were good men. And your intuition had never steered you wrong, not once.

Your mind feels like a never ending turbine as you move through the house, eyeing the barren walls and smashed vases.

Exhaling a low, deep breath, you tighten your hold on your weapon. It’s more of a comfort, at this point. Which is odd, considering that its sole purpose is to kill and destroy.

Through the dim light, you manage to find a set of stairs. They’re dingy, and the patterned carpet is mildew-riddled as you make your way to the next floor with slow, careful steps.

You’ve decided to keep your flashlight off, just in case it brings any extra attention to you.

As soon as you make it to the last step, a sense of… wrongness settles in your system. Something’s off, and it’s almost as if there’s an alarm ringing in your ears at the realisation.

Someone’s here.

Grounding yourself, both mentally and physically, you prepare to push through the hallway.

Setting aside your mental dilemma, you remind yourself that the physical battle is far more vital to your life right now. If you lose that, you lose your life.

If you lose your morals?

You just suppose you lose yourself.

The sound of a radio switching on has your senses alerted like a switchboard completely alight.

Stepping into the hallway, your chest constricting, you snap your gaze to both of your sides. With the little-to-no light, you can barely make out your limbs, let alone your surroundings. Your spatial awareness was solid, but with conditions like this? Near impossible.

The entire corridor is shrouded in shadow, the incessant rain outside and the screams of the cartel’s policemen ringing in your ears.

It reeks of death and despair, and your skin is coated in a thin sheen of chilled sweat.

The third door to your left is creaked open, just the slightest sliver, but it catches your attention like a moth to a flame. Keeping your frame encased in the darkest of the shadows, you move with patient, skillful steps towards the door.

A moment passes, tense and nerve-wracking in a way no other mission has ever been.

A breath in.

A breath out.

You push open the door, gun raised, ready for anything –

Nothing.

Quickly checking over the room to your right, you see nothing but bashed up mattresses and blood-stained carpet.

Just as you’re about to turn to check behind the door, two things happen at once.

One, you get slammed to the ground, your head knocking against the hard flooring and sending a burst of pain through your temple, your gun skidding across the floor to your left.

Two –

“Fuckin’ Christ!”

A man – scottish, that much is prevalent – whisper-shouts. You squint, the pain of the sudden fall throwing you off.

Not a second later, however, you manage to roll, shoving him off of you with a grunt. Your eyes struggle to adjust to the darkness, but you manage to make out the impossibly muscled frame of the man who’d just fallen on top of you.

He’s tall, not as giant as some of the men you served alongside with, but tall nonetheless. That’s all of the visual information you manage to gain before he sends an elbow to your gut, evoking a hiss through your gritted teeth.

You wriggle away, kicking out with your right foot and hitting what you think is his chin, considering his pained grunt.

“You bloody bastard,” he snaps, hand wrapping around your ankle and pulling you.

Your responding squeak is likely the most undignified sound you have ever made in your life, but it gives the man pause. Enough of one so as to allow you to wrench your leg back and careen it back into his face.

“Shut the fuck up!” You hiss back, all too aware of the likelihood that your men will show up and shoot first, ask later.

“Are you feckin’ stupid, lass?” He retorts, although his tone is dutifully lower as he scrambles to grab your legs once more, his fist finding your belt and pulling you towards him.

Your attempts to dig your heels into the ground to prevent yourself from being pinned by him are fruitless, his strength undoubtedly superior to yours. That was a fact all too common when it came to your hand-to-hand fights, but luckily, it was just one factor of many.

“Are you?” Your shock is palpable as he gets his other hand around the other side of your belt, using the grip to pull himself over you.

His torso is pressed against your own as he goes to pin your hands, but with one quick manoeuvre, you wrap your legs around his waist and turn.

Utilising your lower body strength, you’re able to reverse the position, your hips pinning his to the ground. In one sweep of your hands, you collect both of his wrists and force them into the carpet. The room fills with your harsh, panted breaths, the outside commotion only a distant soundtrack.

“Yer supposed to kill me now, Shadow,” he says, a torment, a threat.

You swallow, once, an unsure thing.

He’s right, of course. He should be dead by now, bleeding out onto the floor. You should be comming to your fucking Commander, and telling him that one of the men he’s after has just been reported KIA. That’s what should be happening.

So how come it’s not?

“I know,” you say, the words falling through your lips despite the internal conflict in your head. “You should be dead.”

He mirrors your confusion with raised brows, and it’s then that you can feel the blood trickling onto your hand. He’s bleeding down his arm, you realise with a start. He’s wounded.

Flitting your gaze to the floor up ahead, you catch sight of your gun, only a few steps away. One shot is all you’d need. One second, and that mouth of his would never open again.

The sole window in the room flashes with a burst of lightning, and that short second of light lets you catch sight of his features. Blood coats his jaw – from your kicks, maybe – and he’s got dirt caked onto his cheek. His stubble has clearly missed a few shaves, and his mohawk isn’t gelled.

“Still waiting, Shadow,” he says. And although he’s quiet, the words feel like a yell in the tense room. Like a shout directly into your soul, screaming for you to sort your shit out.

You go to respond – with what, you’re not sure – when the man underneath you manages to rip his hands from your grip and swing them around the back of your neck. He pulls you forward, your neck fitting into the crook of his elbow as he squeezes.

When you try to inhale, you end up choking on a cough. He’s strangling you, you realise, with his fucking biceps.

There’s mere moments for you to make a decision before you pass out, or he breaks your neck. Moments for you to decide what the fuck you can do.

Balling your right hand into a tight fist, you punch into his nose, a sickening crack making your teeth slide together. He swears, rapid-fire, a few Gaelic-sounding words slipping out along with them. It’s enough of a distraction to let you wrench out of his hold with a cough, wincing when you claw at his arm and draw blood. Thank fuck for fingerless gloves.

Crawling forward as he brings a hand up to his now-bleeding nose, you’re just a breath away from reaching your gun when his hand grabs into your hair and pulls, eliciting a cry from you.

It’s a dirty move, but this is a dirty fight.

“Fucking – let go!” You grit out, the pain of the tightening on your scalp unique and not at all tolerable.

He just pulls tighter in response, and as you try and reach the gun, your fingers fall just millimetres short. It’s maddening, your emotions out of whack and your mental compass skewed beyond belief.

He should be fucking dead. He should be fucking dead.

So why wasn’t he?

You realise that he’s using his grip on you for leverage, to move himself closer to the weapon. Reaching towards his bare arm, you manage to catch your hand around it, nails digging into his wet skin.

He lets out a pained groan, and it becomes quickly apparent to you that he’s been shot in that arm. Moving your fingers, your index finger pushes into the open wound.

His grip on your hair goes lax, and he stops moving towards the gun long enough to allow you to move on top of him once more, pinning him underneath your weight. You’re both evidently weaker than the last time you were in this position, and you’re about to do something, something, something –

“Johnny? How copy?” An urgent, oddly panicked voice echoes around the room. It’s crackled, in only the way a radio’s can, and the two of you stun yourselves into freezing. His communications have been dislocated, and now they’re loud and clear for both of you to hear. “Johnny, what the fuck is happening?”

“Shit,” Johnny curses, head falling back against the ground in exasperation.

You’re not sure when you’d laxed your grip from his wound, your hand loose around his arm. You’re not sure when you’d subconsciously started avoiding fatal moves.

At this point, you’re not sure about anything at all.

Although it’s hard to see, you’re sure that the two of you make eye contact.

Neither of you make a move.

“Soap!”

Slowly, Johnny moves his hand to the communicator in his vest, pressing the button to allow for his voice to carry over to the man on the other end.

“A little occupied, Sir,” he murmurs, tightly.

If you move your hand to his throat, or use this as a distraction, you could have him dead before the other man could even register his words.

“I can’t get a visual on you,” the other man quips back, voice laced with thinly-veiled worry. “Johnny, if you die, I’m fuckin’ killing your ass.”

You bite back a slightly crazed chuckle at that statement, and by the shift in Johnny’s chest, he does too.

Johnny doesn’t turn off his communicator. The other man – Ghost, if you’re correct – will be able to hear everything you say.

Ghost and Soap.

Jesus H. Christ. Soap – Johnny MacTavish – the 141 operator you heard whispers about throughout your unit – he was underneath you. He was on the run from your commander. He was the man you were assigned to fucking kill.

He’s alive.

You’re alive.

“Shadow Three-Zero, what’s your status?”

Oh, fuck. Fucking hell.

Both you and Johnny’s eyes dart to your own communicator – the earpiece scattered along the floor just as his had been.

Graves’ voice. It sends a shiver down your spine for all the wrong reasons, and the lump in your throat doubles in size. If it’s at all possible, the rain outside grows louder, and more gunshots echo in your ears.

“Shadow Three-Zero. Have you got ‘em? Don’t go two-timing me now, babe.”

How he’s – how he’s being so light, so carefree while storming these streets and murdering fathers, brothers, sons in cold blood – it cements a thought in your head. Out of the storm of them, the endless noise of them all, one becomes concrete. Factual. A single truth in your world of lies.

You press down your communicator button.

“Haven’t found them yet, sir. Wouldn’t dream of going against you.”

“Atta girl,” he responds, a light chuckle carrying over the radio. “After this is all done, we can have a celebration of our own, hey?”

Your mouth is barren of moisture, your tongue a heavy weight that feels all too useless as you reply once more. It doesn’t go unnoticed how neither Soap, or Ghost over the comms, say a word.

“It’ll be my pleasure, sir.”

You rip off your communicator, throwing it across the room. It sets the course of the rest of your life, you’re sure. You still do it.

All the while, you hold Soap’s gaze.

He hasn’t killed you. He could’ve, you realise, he really could’ve. He had the opportunity. Still does.

But.

You’re alive.

And so is he.

“What’re you doin’, Shadow?” Johnny finally asks, equally suspicious and curious. His tone is tight, almost as much as his body is against your own.

You’d almost forgotten that he’s underneath you. Weaponless, and bleeding out. Wounded.

On the run.

Your eyes are wide, manic, maybe, as you say with shaky breaths;

“This isn’t right. I – I don’t fight for this. You guys, you,” squeezing your eyes shut, if only for a brief moment, you continue, slower, “This isn’t the Graves I know. I’m not going to be on the wrong side of history. I’d rather betray him than stand by his side with blood on my hands.”

Soap must sense your conviction, your wobbly words holding such truth and capability in them, because he nods, sharply.

“Johnny,” the radio chimes in again, the man’s tone a warning. “Don’t.”

Soap works his mouth, a crease forming between his blood-stained brows. If you were at all a poet, you’d akin his blue eyes to a storm-brewed sea. But you’re a soldier, so they’re merely obvious in the window’s scarce light, a stark contrast to the reds and darkness all around you both.

You’re not sure what’s wrong with you. You’d clearly hit your head too hard when Soap had crashed into you, or you’d been drugged earlier.

“I have intel,” you blurt out, like a crazed lunatic. That description is, unfortunately, a little too fitting to your current state. “I’m – I’m a fucking good fighter. You help me, I help you.”

“We don’t need your help,” Soap quickly, almost automatically, retorts. But his words seem weak, his certainty nowhere on your own.

“You’re shot and on the run with no weapons,” you reply, slowly. Words. You were good at words, at debates. You could survive this. Maybe. “I know Graves. I know my men. And I know that I’d rather be a traitor than a war criminal.”

That’s maybe the most true thing you’d thought, or said, since you’d first been asked to head to Las Almas with an order to kill.

There’s silence.

A few beats pass before you open your mouth once more, tone just this side of pleading, “I’ll help you guys survive this. If you help me take down Graves, and support me – if you give me the assets I need. That’s all I’m asking.”

“We don’t trust you,” Soap says, and you nod.

“I don’t exactly have faith in you either. But it’s this or we all end up dead.”

Ghost inputs something, this time. “If you two make it to the church, we’ll consider it.”

That’s the most you can ask for. The best possible outcome from you being the biggest fucking idiot to walk this earth. You were lucky that Soap was… merciful. Which was, all things considered, the weirdest component of this entire, messed up equation.

It seems like agreement passes through you all, like a sort of handshake. An invisible one, but a symbol of truce nonetheless.

“Get yer ass offa me,” Soap groans, breaking the tension of the room.

Scrambling off of him, but keeping your wits about you, you realise that you’d virtually been laying on the man your entire conversation. Your ears burn in embarrassment.

“...Right. I’m taking my gun,” you murmur.

Which is, obviously, the worst thing to say.

“Are you feckin’ serious? Dinnae wanna work with an idiot, Jesus,” Soap immediately hisses out, getting up with a hand on his knee, bringing his other to press against his bullet wound with a wince. You think that Ghost says something similar, but it’s drowned out by Soap.

“I’m best with close-range, and I’m not the one wounded,” you immediately bite back, hand wrapping around said weapon and holding it to your chest, checking over the room for any more supplies. Luckily, unlike the man in front of you, you still have all of your supplies and gear. His top is thin, you think, and soaked through with both rain and blood. Your standard Shadow Company uniform still fits you like a second skin, and although wet, doesn’t soak into your bottom layers. Your tactical knife, still strapped to your thigh, is secure and perfectly in place.

How you’d not used it in that fight was a testament to your mindscape more than anything.

“How do I know ye won’t just shoot me when my back’s turned?” Soap shoots back, his tone a weapon in its own right.

You raise a brow, and you hope that he can see it. “I would’ve done that already if that was my plan. And you’re calling me an idiot.”

“You’re a right ass,” he retorts, not unlike a petulant child.

“And you’re a right dickhead.” And, alright, you realise that you’re not much better, but it’s deserved.

“And you both need to hurry the fuck up.”

You and Soap both have the decency to wince at the man’s words, and you both shut up as you finish checking over yourselves. You, focusing on checking your straps and belt, and Soap, hissing about his wound.

…If this camaraderie lasted the night, you’d think about apologising for that move.

Checking over your gun, you move to slowly open the door as Soap fixes up his radio, putting his earpiece back in its place. You are, admittedly, a bit annoyed that you won’t be able to hear Ghost’s callouts, but again, you had a gun.

“Let’s go,” you softly say, tilting your head towards the door. Soap nods, clearly ready to meet back up with his Lieutenant and get out of here.

As you slowly open the door, guns raised and eyes alert, you let the reality of your situation settle over you like the world’s coldest blanket. You’re going against everything you’ve ever known, all because of your morals that had always been slightly off-centre. Came with the job, you supposed.

But this was uncharted territory. Directly betraying your unit, your men, your Commander, and helping the men you’re assigned to kill? Asking them for their help in return?

“Clear,” you softly report to Soap, who acknowledges your order with a low noise. Following you with silent steps down the stairs, you keep your gun raised as you check over the bottom floor, before signalling for him to exit through the front door with you.

As the two of you enter the laneway once more, your breath catches in your throat as you assess the damage.

You spot several bodies littering the streets as rain hits you once more, the presence of it oddly comforting throughout it all. A truck up ahead has its lights on, the red of the brakes shining against the wet pavement like the pools of blood not three metres away from it.

“Steamin’ Jesus,” Soap murmurs from behind you, and you can’t help but agree with his sentiment.

This was pure bloodshed, at the hands of the one man you thought you could trust.

Betrayal tastes oddly sour in your mouth. Betrayal like this, on all sides, it’s like being suffocated by two cloths at once. Two very bloody, very assaulting cloths, at that.

Soap seems to be communicating with Ghost as the two of you make your way down the street, considering the back-and-forth whispers from Soap. He seems almost. Flirty. Which is a stark realisation, and truly, the least of your worries right now.

“If you can find bandages, or something close to it, I’ll get that arm of yours fixed up.”

You keep your tone low, careful of your surroundings as you see Soap nod, albeit almost in shock, in your periphery. Keeping your gaze forward, you move along the sidewalk.

The beauty of these shops, and this community, has been tarnished by the massacre of your Shadows. Your heart aches, seeing it all – the smashed windows, the blood, the distant sound of screaming and crying.

You and Soap make it about a block in silence, before flashlights ahead have you grabbing onto Soap’s shirt and pulling him into the open door of the shop to your left, heart beating rapidly in your chest.

“Shadow Three-Zero’s gone silent,” you hear a familiar voice say. Your subordinate – one of the two you’d sent to check the houses up ahead. “Reckon she’s dead?”

Soap, for his part, is silent where he’s been pushed up against the wall, your head meeting his collarbone.

“Nah. She mighta slept her way to the top, but she’s good. Probably gone dark so she can suck Graves off on the side or something.”

Your breath comes out in a sharp exhale, your fists tightening unknowingly onto the fabric of Soap’s shirt. He doesn’t even breathe in response.

The other chuckles. “Fuckin’ slut. Can’t believe she gets to order us around when we all know why she’s here.”

And, oh, does that make your stomach turn. You were many things, but you were not one to abuse a position like that. They knew nothing of your struggles, or your relationships, or –

“Fuckin’ cocksuckers,” Soap grumbles, and that shocks you. For a man in the military to recognise misogyny like that was, really, unheard of.

You ignore that thought.

“Shut up.”

He does.

The two Shadows continue walking down the street, and you quickly peer out of the front window to watch them head down another sidealley, taking their thoughts with them.

“Come on,” is all you say, and Johnny follows tightly behind you as you continue down the way you were heading.

You find an alleyway to your left, and you decide to follow it. You can see a flashlight scanning over the street further down. Shadows were everywhere, but they were pushing forward like a tsunami over a coastal town, leaving nothing but destruction in their wake.

Soap follows you without question, which is odd, but you’re not about to complain.

“Ghost says that there’s underground tunnels – we can get to the church through ‘em,” Soap murmurs as he taps your shoulder. You nod, not looking back as you search for any telling of where the best route would be.

After a few minutes, the two of you find yourselves nearing the tunnels Ghost had spoken about.

It’s when you’re about to head into the deep end – quite literally, considering the flooding – that an all too familiar and bone-chilling voice yells out from the right of you both, down another street.

“She’s gone dark – you will find her alive, and if she’s dead, you will be too!” Graves roars, and your heart skips a beat. “She could be hurt, or captured – she is your top priority now, Shadows!”

There’s a chorus of agreement, and if you look down, you’re almost certain that you’ll find your stomach laying at your feet.

A greedy, greedy man. That was what Phillip Graves was – now, more than ever.

If you were a weaker woman, a civilian, maybe, instead of a seasoned soldier, you’d have vomited by now.

Instead, you shoot Soap a look.

“Ghost still at the church?” Is all you ask.

Soap nods. “Yeah. Lt’s talkin’ my ear off,” he says with an eye roll, but his lips quirk into a half-tilted grin more resemblant of a satisfied pup.

“Didn’t think the 141 was so close,” you reply, and you could slap yourself for how nosy you sound. You’re not, not in the slightest – all you cared about was surviving both Graves and them.

Soap’s eyes hold an indecipherable gleam to them when he responds, a touch domestically, “You have no idea.”

You itch to delve deeper, to unpack that statement that seems to hold so many layers, but you keep your mouth respectfully shut.

And you prepare to meet Ghost at the end of the tunnel.

a/n. cutely drops this and hides!! jk but umm idk man this fic idea has been nibbling at my brain and GAWDDD smth about it just. got the juices flowing. this is my personality now thanks gn. if you guys enjoyed please comment or reblog or follow!! ty so very muchly ily all <3

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shadebloopnik · 1 month

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Unrequited/One-sided Radioapple but it isn't treated like an angsty end of the world thing.

Imagine they slowly get closer after all the banters, and eventually becoming close friends. Lucifer ends up catching feelings for him, and after a long while, decides to confess and ask Alastor if he felt the same.

Alastor admittedly does not feel the same.

He's getting uncomfortable, struggling to keep his composure because he's DONE this before. He KNOWS how this ends. He remembers Vox and all his insistent declarations of affection and desperate pleas for Alastor to reciprocate; the possessive entitlement. He remembers how all those sickly sweet words morphed into something venomous when he didn't give the lowlife what he wanted. He remembers the anger, the ridiculous notion that it was Alastor's fault why he was so mad, that Alastor led him on and that he obviously deserved something in payment for it all-

So yes, Alastor knows how this ends.

It doesn't mean he isn't disappointed though, because he actually LIKES Lucifer, far more than he ever did Vox. Perhaps not in the way the king might have wanted, but he did. He treasured their little talks, their drinking sessions, their shared love for their instruments, Lucifers singing, their little duets, the banter, the playful jabs, the sparring.

He'd even slowly grown accustomed to the other's touches, not feeling the same surge of disgust and discomfort whenever the shorter man would grab at his arm in excitement, forgetting his usual thoughtfulness of Alastor's touch aversion for the short moment of whatever distracted him. Alastor even enjoyed it at times, relaxing at the feel of soft feathers beneath his claws, or the sensation of gentle scratches against his ears.

Difficult as it was to admit, Alastor had grown to care for the angel, the same way he had for Rosie orv Mimzy.

But no matter how fond Alastor was of Lucifer, it didn't change the fact that he didn't feel the same way romantically, or even sexually. No way in the 7 rings of Hell was he going to lie to Lucifer about either, not going to even entertain the idea of pretending he reciprocated for Lucifer's sake. He respected his friend too much for that.

So a clear, direct rejection it is. It was a shame, but nothing could be done. He said his piece concisely, and waited, shoulders set, back straight, smile and eyes a careful blank canvas as he prepared for the inevitable.

Lucifer nodded, a normal soft smile still in place, "Thank you for your answer, it means a lot."

Which......what? Alastor expected an outburst, or at the very least sharp words.

What he did NOT expect was....acceptance? And not just that but, a happy one? Contentment?????

"You're....alright with that?", he had to ask, he had to. Lucifer was clearly just very good at masking his upset.

But the damn angel just smiled?? And it didn't even look fake, just as bright and soft as his normal smiles, albeit a little confused?? Lucifer smiled at him, his brows furrowing in a bit of confused disbelief, as though Alastor is being the weird one here.

"Uhh, yeah??? Why wouldn't I be??? Yeah I may have some feelings for you but its not like you're obligated to feel the same. Above anything else, we're friends first and foremost and i'm alright with that..."

Then he seemed to have reached his own little conclusion as his words trailed off, because suddenly Lucifer's eyes widened in realization of something, and his words picking up with a sense of panicked urgency.

Alastor would really like to know what Lucifer's supposed realization was about himself because he had absolutely no clue.

"I mean, we ARE still friends right?? I don't- I- I hope this doesn't like- change your opinion of me. You're not- oh gosh I'm not making you uncomfortable am I? I- I won't mention it! You can even forget this whole confession ever happened! We can just go on as before! I don't feel any different or would act any different! Honest! I mean, I don't regret confessing because you deserve to know and I'm not ashamed of my feelings, but I don't want you to be uncomfortable! It doesn't change the way i'll treat you! Or change any aspect of our relationship! I don't even think I like you more as a lover than as a friend! I really, really do love our friendship, it matters more to me than any thoughts of being in a romantic relationship with you! So please just forget it all-"

Alastor let the word vomit wash over him, every word leaving him more confused by the minute.

Because yes, there's the desperation he expected, but...it was more about, convincing Alastor to remain friends?? Reassuring Alastor that nothing has to change?? That their friendship is the most important thing here??

(If anyone asks, no Alastor's heart didn't swell. Only lesser beings would have had the urge to cry, and Alastor is anything but.)

Lucifer is unknowingly reassuring Alastor of every single one of his insecurities about the situation. Because Alastor DID want to remain friends, he cared too much about the man to let it go so easily. It was rare to find people who treasure friendships above romantic relationships.

"I don't tend to forget easily, nor will I forget this one in particular.", he spoke, finally finding his voice. At Lucifer's defeated, pained expression( is their friendship really that important to him?), he continued. "But....yes. I'd like that.. To remain...friends."

He didn't often say the word out loud, being comfortable enough with each other that it need not be reassured with the label. But with Lucifer brightening up like his namesake, relief and happiness palpable, Alastor felt no qualms at declaring their friendship out loud.

So life went on as usual. True to his word, Lucifer remained basically the same. The following weeks were a bit stilted for Alastor, as he put some rather painful distance between him and the angel; limiting their interactions, their usual touches.

Anytime now, Lucifer would break and show his true colors, Alastor would think, waiting for the boot to drop. Lucifer would end up angry, and dissatisfied, and that was that.

But it never happened. Lucifer never expressed discomfort when Alastor avoided him, seeming to be understanding of the others need for space. He was just as affectionate as before, though initially a bit held back, as though gauging Alastor's comfort.

Months would pass, and the king never faltered. Their friendship remained strong, if not growing ever closer than before. Alastor found himself even growing more comfortable with the man. Affectionate touches were becoming common, hugs and head pats and cuddles being a welcome thing, with the reassurance that the shorter king would never disrespect his boundaries.

Lucifer seemed genuinely happy about it, despite being clearly told that none of Alastor's actions hinted at anything romantic. In fact, he seemed ecstatic that Alastor was getting more affectionate towards him as a friend. The embarrassment the radio demon felt at having Lucifer basically tear up (no really, he was crying so hard, full on drama sobbing) with joy in front of him was intertwined with the sheer incredulous fondness he felt for the man at that moment.

They were sitting at a couch one night, more than a year passing since that confession. Lucifer was leaning back, resting against the cushions, while Alastor had his head on the smaller one's shoulder, nuzzling at the crook of his neck, legs tucked close to his body. Both had a book in hand, two nearly empty cups of tea on the table in front of them. Every so often, Lucifer would flex his fingers that rested on Alastor's head, running a digit against the other's ear, often prompting the demon to lean into the touch. White wings enveloped the two, blanketing them against the chill of the night.

As Alastor turned the page of his own book, relaxing into the touch of his dearest friend, he wondered how he ever got so lucky in hell.

#this may have gotten away from me lmao #this was supposed to be a rlly short prompt of 'Unrequited love but overbrimming friendship' but instead i typed out this word vomit-#i don't know if im labeling things right here??? this may not look platonic tk others but ig im sort of projecting here #bc i want friendships like this soo badd. i mean this is still platonic right??? this is normal friendship behavior like come onnn #I've been teased about being ace bc of this mindset but i always just go RIGHT this is how friendship works y'all blind😭😭😭#bloopnik writing #bloopnik rambles #radioapple #appleradio #platonic radioapple #platonic relationships #aroace alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor hazbin #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin alastor #alastor #duckiedeer #unrequited feelings #BUT NOT UNREQUITED LOVE HELL YEA #one sided radiostatic #lucifer morningstar #hazbin hotel #THEY LOVE EACH OTHER SO MUCH AND ITS BEAUTIFUL #queerplatonic #i think #fic #fanfic #radiosilence

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zg0nuwa · 3 months

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colors ; lin kuei trio

you guys are not going to like me after this one

cw ; angst, hurt&no comfort, character death, unrequited love, this is a song fic (personally i’m not the biggest fan but damn does this work so well with these three), might be a little ooc, i would like to sincerely apologize to tomas enjoyers, NOT PROOFREAD!!!

bi han

“ You're ripped at every edge but you're a masterpiece ”

you knew him from the start, you were there when his father presented him the title of the future grandmaster as he was the firstborn of the family, you were there when he screamed and yelled how it’s not fair that his brothers don’t have to endure the same training as him.

you were there when his mother, the only figure in his life he could consider a parental one, died and you were there when he finally got granted the title of the grandmaster of lin kuei.

you were always there, no matter his failures, small mistakes and fits of rage as something didn’t go the way he wanted. no matter how ragged he seemed to be you saw the same little boy that strived to make everyone proud, strived for perfection.

“ And now you're tearing through the pages and the ink ”

who would’ve thought that the same boy you so admired for his commitment, for his determination would be the cause of your downfall. of course you loved him, how could you not? he tore through your thoughts like spilled ink through paper.

day and night, dawn and noon, sunrise and sunset it was about showing your worth to him. and of course it didn’t matter. he was so oblivious, so engrossed in his goals and ideas that he didn’t even consider spending his time on foolish matters like love.

he believed a person in love is a fool, an idiot, a naive moron that believed anything the loved one said. and he was right.

“ Everything is blue; his pills, his hands, his jeans ”

after the betrayal you tried so hard to rid yourself of the color of his vest. the blueness spilling everywhere from your walls, your clothes, the sky outside your window during exhausting days and sleepless nights. it was like a ghost was following you, eyes playing tricks and your brain showing the so dreaded color in the corner of your eye.

so when he actually arrived at the doors of shirai ryu you didn’t believe it. it was like a fever dream, they way his eyes gazed at you with pure hatred and resentment. you stared hoping to see something deep in there, like a confession, that he wished he didn’t have to do it, that he did it because he cared about you, that he loved you.

but there was nothing there, just the endless pit of rage.

“ And now I'm covered in the colors, pulled apart at the seams ”

you knew you wouldn’t stand a chance, not because you were not a warrior, you were, a great one even but even Achilles had a weak spot right? the only difference was that while Achilles had his heel you were standing face to face with your weakness. and he knew how to use this advantage.

“ you were supposed to be on my side. what a disappointment you are. ”

the hunting blue about to drown you, his clothes, the dark sky, the ice forming around his forearms, the color that now represents the clan which brought so much destruction to your home, the same color you once could even said you loved to death, just because it belonged to him.

“ And it's blue… ”

he stood above you with the bloody ice spear in his hands, directed perfectly at your beating heart. the heart that beat of him, at the pace he played. and of course he struck right where he wanted. he just couldn’t be more perfect, right?

tomas

he thought he lost everything he could, two families torn apart and he couldn’t comprehend what sins he must’ve committed to deserve such thing. but even with that he never lost hope, he didn’t care how childish it sounded. he still had kuai liang, he still had you.

“ Everything is grey “

you know what they say right? how everything has its end? good or bad, things will always end one way or another. and tomas knew, but oh how he wished things never ended. not now that you finally setteled in together at the shirai ryu he thought things will finally go the right way for him.

not everything was picture perfect, he still felt the immense guilt for “separating” the brothers and dragging you just by affiliation into this mess. sleepless nights spent with silent tears while you slept peacefully. harsh trainings and to top it off clumsiness from lack of sleep.

bruises and cuts becoming a normalcy for him. and so did become this far away, clouded look on his face.

“ His hair, his smoke, his dreams ”

you tried everything to get him out of that state, but if there’s one thing he shares with both bi han and kuai liang it’s the god damn stubbornness. you loved each other dearly, theres no denying that but the wall he created between you was becoming too much. for both sides.

the last time you confronted him about all the nights you spent alone or the times he ignored you during the day it ended in a screaming match. even if for him it was like a nightmare come true he couldn’t help but think he deserved you walking out on him with a loud and heart-wrenching scream.

“ i’m tired tomas, i cannot take this anymore! ”

oh how he wished it had never come to this.

“ And now he's so devoid of color ”

and now as he holds your body close to his chest, both your faces covered in blood, he understood that if there was someone to be deserving or undeserving of something, it’s you. you deserved better than him, better than what he had put you through, and you certainly didn’t deserve for your life to end this way.

“ i’m sorry, i’m so so sorry, it wasn’t supposed to be like this. ”

he didn’t know what hurt more. the sight of your face slowly losing color, eyes slowly losing life, and the hold on his cheek becoming less and less firm or the fact that after all this, you still forgave him. it felt like someone had just shot him in the face, right between his eyes…

…and the scar stayed, for a long time. just like the shades of gray in his eyes and heart after losing the only source of color in his life.

“ He don't know what it means ”

the hope was all lost now.

kuai liang

“ You were red and you liked me 'cause I was blue ”

‘childhood sweethearts’ was what a lot of people described you two as. friends from day one, that’s what comes with being a child of the grandmasters closest friend. you did everything together, all of your firsts were with the other one present.

“ But you touched me and suddenly I was a lilac sky ”

a sweet reality, truly. your best friend being your actually first ever friend, being your first handhold, your first kiss, even your first time. but isn’t it somewhat normal? teenagers exploring their possibilities, their sexuality, their bodies. it all seems harmless until feelings come in the way. they started after the kiss and only got worse.

it would be normal to consider that he liked you too, right? so when he asked you to meet up in your secret spot because he had something important to tell you? oh boy you were losing your absolute mind.

choosing your best clothes, doing your hair, you obviously wanted to be your best in that moment. waiting in the spot was becoming an agonizing activity, you came over half an hour earlier then you were supposed to because of excitement.

“ And you decided purple just wasn't for you ”

it was supposed to be the best day ever for you until you saw him leading a girl you recognized. harumi, of course you knew who she was. you were always jealous of her, her stupid perfect face, her stupidly beautiful hair, her stupid smile. and yet here she was, standing in a place you wanted so badly to occupy.

and kuai liang stood proudly in front of you, a smile on his face, his chin held high in pride. he looked happy, maybe even happier then he ever been. happier than he has ever been when with you.

“ i wanted you to be the first one to know, harumi is my girlfriend ”

because best friends since childhood always share their firsts. and it’s so sweet.

feeling a bit silly tbh :3

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spooky-bunnys · 5 months

Note

I have this angsty haikyuu request if you’re alright with writing it

So (name) has a crush on Ryu but the problem is that Ryu doesn’t return the feelings for (name) instead Ryu has his heart set on kiyoko which would send (name) in a unrequited love situation and trying to forget and get rid of his feelings for Ryu even though it pains him to see Ryu being happy with someone else. (name) knows he and Tanaka would never be together he struggles with dealing with it

The sound of volleyballs hitting the gym floor filled the gym. Sugawara frowned softly at site of his oldest friend looking so upset. (Name) had asked Tanaka if he wanted to hang out after practice, unfortunately he was ignored again.

Sugawara slowly placed a hand on his shoulder. "Why do you keep doing this to yourself?" (Name) didn't answer, just stared as the male he's grown to love, chase after the other manager. (Name)'s heart breaking more and more. He'd grown to love the rowdy male with everything he has.

Sugawara sighed and softly grabbed (Name)'s arm. Pulling him away slowly. Trying to get him away from the scene. Most of the other players watched in pity. Except Tsukishima who huffed and rolled his eyes. He was gettig sick of tired of the situation. Everyone knew how (Name) felt about Tanaka. Well everyone except Tanaka apparently.

He was tired of seeing this everyday. So when practice finished Tsukishima made his way over to where (Name) was picking up the volleyballs. "Why do you keep chasing that idiot? We all know he doesn’t like you back. So why? Why keep trying when you know you won't succeed?" (Name) dropped the volleyball and stared at him.

(Name) opened and closed his mouth a few times, but didn't say anything. He turned and looked at the said male who was chasing after Kiyoko. Yet again. (Name) sighed and looked back at the male in front of him. "I don't know. I've liked him for so long. I honestly don't know."

Tsukishima sighed. "Well find someone else to fawn over then. I'm tired of seeing this everyday. Just move on already." (Name) flinched and looked down. Playing with his shirt. "Move on to who? Nobody would want to be with me." Tsukishima frowned more before sighing. "I-I like you."

(Name) froze. Had he heard that right? "What?" "I said, I like you idiot." (Name) looked so confused. "Why?" Tsukishima blushed and looked away. "I just do!" (Name) frowned. "That isn't an answer Tsukishima." Tsukishima clicked his tounge and took a deep breath. "Y-You're a good guy." (Name) held his breath. "You're always helping the idiots. You don't give up on them, even if others tell you to."

"You always have a smile and you always make my day better. You've helped me find a reason to enjoy volleyball. You make me enjoy playing and you make me not want to give up." (Name)'s eyes filled with tears. By now the whole gym was watching. Tsukishima pulled (Name) into a hug, and whispered into his ear. "So give me a chance please?"

Its been a month since (Name) and Tsukishima got together. Almost everyone was happy for them. Well everyone except Tanaka.

As a laughing (Name) entered the gym, Tsukishima followed behind him. An arm wrapped around his waist and a soft smile on his face. Sugawara entered behind the two clutching his sides. The other third and first years followed through. The second years had already been in the gym. It looked like they were having a great time.

So why does Tanaka's heart hurt so much seeing how happy his is? Noya raced towards the new happy couple. Jumping around the two. Momentarily frightening (Name) who stumbled back into his boyfriend. Sugawara started laughing again along with everyone else. Tanaka couldn't move his eyes fro the scene.

When was the last time (Name) even talked to him? Much less even looked in his direction. Tanaka frowned. Grabbing at the shirt were his heart was. His chest ached at the scene. Tanaka went to talk to (Name), but was interupted when his uncle grabbed (Name) by the back of his shirt.

Kenshin gave Tsukishima a look to release his nephew. Which he reluctantly did, not wanting to run laps. Like he had to do last time he refused to give up his boyfriend. (Name) laughed at his boyfriends pouting face. He was so glad he gave the taller male a chance. He was so happy, the most happiest he's ever been.

Tanaka watched the scene with pain filled eyes. Ennoshita gripped his shoulder softly. "I kept telling you to stop ignoring him, and to give him a chance. Look where that got you. Kiyoko is dating Yachi. (Name) got with Tsukishima. This was your own fault you know." Then Ennoshita made his way over to the group and ruffled (Name)'s hair. Earning a groan and pout from the said male.

Tanaka thought for a moment. If he had given (Name) a chance, could he had made him this happy? Would (Name) still light up the gym with his smile and laugh? Tanaka's frowned deepened and he looke away from the scene. He should be happy, so why is he so sad and hurt?

#male reader #x male reader #haikyuu #haikyuu x male reader #tsukishima kei #tsukishima x male reader #tsukishima kei x male reader #tanaka ryunosuke #tanaka ryunosuke x male reader #tanaka ryuunosuke #tanaka ryuunosuke x male reader #tanaka x male reader

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wqnwoos · 11 months

Text

on idiocy, bugs and the prospect of forever.

idiots 2 lovers & best friends to lovers / minor minor angst? bc oc is losing their mind / unnecessary use of bugs as plot progression (it will make sense i swear)

you and vernon have been dancing on the cusp of friendship and something more for too long now.

at least, that’s what you think. you’re not entirely sure what he thinks, given how quiet he can be sometimes. maybe you’re just misreading the whole situation! maybe your big fat crush on him is completely unrequited and he sees you as nothing more than a best friend! a best friend he likes to watch movies with and make soup for and brush hands with and look at for unnecessarily extensive periods of time!

which is exactly why you’ve been so — silent around him, lately. usually, you’re comfortable enough with him to babble his ear off about whatever you feel like. trains. worms. cats. the flaws in the schooling system which are leading to the collapse of true education. anything you want, you know vernon will listen. but these days, your weekly movie nights are starting to descend into quietude, as you become more and more flustered with trying to hide your feelings.

unfortunately for you, vernon is observant.

“okay,” he speaks suddenly — sudden enough to make you jump — pausing 20th century girl on screen. “enough,” he continues, turning on the sofa to face you. “talk to me.”

slowly, you blink at him. “about something in particular, or…?”

he frowns. “yes. about whatever’s been bothering you for the past… few weeks.”

ah. you bite down on your lower lip, immediately dropping his concerned gaze.

“you know, i tried to,like, give you space, because usually after a week or two, you just let it out. in your own time. but this just keeps going, so i’m asking you instead.”

heat is rising to your cheeks, creeping up your neck. you don’t know what to say. how do you tell him — i think i may be crushing on you harder than anyone has ever crushed before? you can’t.

“are you mad at me? did i do something?” vernon questions, his eyes going wider at the thought.

“no!” you splutter quickly, shaking your head for emphasis. “no. i’d tell you if i was mad at you.”

vernon nods then, and waits.

you look away. the open sincerity and concern in his pretty brown eyes is only making this harder — because all you want to do is fling your arms around his neck and kiss his face off. and you shall not let these thoughts win. you refuse!

your best friend sighs at your continued silence, and he scoots closer, so you guys are practically touching. “look at me,” he says softly.

despite your vows, you listen to him immediately, your eyes tentatively flickering up to meet his. you’re so close to him that you can feel the warmth radiating off his body — you can see the way each eyelash rests gently against his skin — the way his lips part ever so slightly.

a small sound escapes him, like his breath has gotten caught in his throat; just when you think he’s going to speak, his mouth closes, and he just… gazes. directly into your eyes — the most tender, heated gaze you have ever felt in your life.

you suck in a breath. “vernon —”

“just a sec,” he whispers, and one hand comes up to — ever so gently — brush against your face.

you jolt backwards, blinking fast and horrified. “oh my god. there’s a bug on my face, isn’t there?”

vernon startles at your sudden movement, barely registering your words, but you’re gasping and moving closer, with wide, pleading eyes. “vernon! get it off!” you demand, tipping your face in his direction.

when he doesn’t move, you grow increasingly frantic. “vernon! can you please — oh!”

and you cut yourself off with a noise of surprise; because vernon takes your face carefully between his hands, lips colliding with yours in a firm, bruising kiss — one that leaves you gasping with its intensity.

he pulls away too fast.

“shit,” he breathes, closing his eyes for a long second. “i didn’t mean to — well, i did, but — ” he pauses for a moment, and sighs. “god, you have no idea how long i’ve wanted to do that.”

then his eyelids flutter open — eyes wide, fixed on yours to gauge your reaction, hands slowly leaving your cheeks.

you, on the other hand, are gaping wordlessly at him. like a goldfish. the only thing you manage is a squeak — which may possibly be the most humiliating sound you’ve ever made.

just before his hands retreat fully, you grab them in yours, opening your mouth — before you pause. “there was no bug,” you say breathlessly.

vernon’s head tilts to the side, a slight smile tugging at his lips. “there was no bug,” he agrees.

“you were pulling a move.”

“i was, indeed, pulling a move.”

“okay,” you nod slowly, still breathless. “just… give me a moment here. i think i’m processing.”

his smile grows, his eyes soft and fond. “okay.”

your eyes fall on your interlaced hands, noticing how his thumbs gently caress your skin. “wow. wow. that was — that was good.”

“oh?” he raises a brow. “you liked?”

you nod a little too quickly. “are you kidding? i’ve wanted to kiss you for like, fifty billion years now!”

a snort escapes his mouth, and he squeezes your hands. “i can make up for that,” he promises softly.

the beam you give him in return is half your answer; the other half comes in the way you wrap your arms around him and pull him in for another kiss. this time softer, sweeter — slower. like forever is stretching out in front of you.

an / a bit of a longer one this time (sorry) !! they’re idiots and i love them. love u guys (and thanks for well over 200!! idk where you all are coming from but i love u 💗💕💞💓💘)

#vernon fluff #seventeen fluff #vernon x reader #seventeen x reader #seventeen fic #seventeen imagines #vernon comfort #vernon scenarios #vernon x y/n #vernon angst #seventeen fanfic #seventeen vernon #vernon fic #vernon fanfic

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astupidweeb69 · 4 months

Text

Unrequited (Yandere! Ticci Toby x Reader) Part 9

Links to Previous Chapters: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8

Author’s Note: I've been rereading this chapter for about a week trying to edit it, but decided I'd just go ahead and post it. Happy holidays everybody!

Cross-posted on my Ao3 account, which I update more frequently.

Warnings: Swearing. Descriptions of Gore. Some threats of violence. (2,070 words)

____________________________________________________________

Leaves crunched underneath heavy boots, ragged and irritated breaths came out in clouds against the cold.

Toby was not pleased.

Not pleased with how things were going with you.

And not pleased with being texted by Tim.

Apparently there was some work to do and he had to ‘get his lazy ass over there’. The young proxy didn’t even know the details of what needed to be done. A supply run? Some more random campers in the area? Either way Toby was itching for a fight.

He could feel anger in his system bubbling and ready to boil over. Just imagining Tim’s smug face waiting for him, probably ready to spat some nonsense about how ‘he’s late’ or make a snide comment on his appearance. His face twitched furiously at the idea, and if anyone was unfortunate enough to see the way he walked through the woods now, they’d surely run in the other direction. There was murder in the man’s eyes.

It wouldn’t take long for Toby to find his teammate. That’s how things always worked though, they had a connection to find each other when they were supposed to, all he needed to do was walk mindlessly in a direction and let the forest guide him.

“Someone’s in a pissy mood.”

The smell of smoke let him know he found who he was looking for. Tim leaned on a tree, a wry smile on his face, a lit cigarette burning away at his fingertips. It was practically an extension of his hand at this point, the fucking chainsmoker. Toby learned to hate the scent of tobacco.

“Where’s Brian?” Toby frowned, ignoring Tim’s comment.

“Had something he needed to do.”

Tim looked disinterested in the conversation. Getting him to actually tell Toby what was going on was like pulling teeth. And Toby knew first hand how hard that could be.

“Suh-so? Why’d you cuh-call me out here?” The younger proxy fidgeted with the ends of his gloves.

Tim sighed, letting the last part of his cigarette drop to the ground, putting it out with his boot. “There’s been some weird things happening out here. Brian said you should come with me to investigate.”

Toby made note of how he said ‘Hoodie’. Tim’s way of hinting that he didn’t want him there. Typical.

“Wuh-what do you mean weird things?”

Tim motioned with his head for him to follow, walking away into some bushes, Toby raised one of his eyebrows before complying. There was a rancid stench in the air when he started following him, like something died. Not uncommon in the forest, but it was hard to stomach even for the most experienced woodsman.

They followed the smell of rotting flesh, down a small embankment. The dead leaves on the ground made it hard not to slip and fall, and Toby snickered when Tim lost his footing a couple times, making the older proxy shoot him a dirty look.

“There up ahead.” After walking a few paces, Tim pointed to a mangled pile of fur splayed out against a group of pine trees.

Toby’s eyes narrowed at the bloody mess in front of him, turning to the other man in irritation.

“You dragged me out here for a duh-dead deer?”

“Take a closer look, Rogers.”

Toby shoved past Tim, making a point to bump into his shoulder for using the nickname he hated. He pulled up the mouthguard hanging from his neck to cover his nose, but it didn’t block out the smell nearly as much as he’d hoped. It took a lot of willpower not to gag.

He scanned over the remains noting different sized bite marks and scratches that tore through the animal's belly, viscera pooling out and its black lifeless eyes staring up at the sky. A swarm of maggots had already started the process of decay.

Toby could see the red of Tim’s flannel out the corner of his eye.

“Well?”

“Okay, it’s a luh-little strange. I’ll give you that. The bite muh-marks look like they came from a human.”

“Anything else, detective?” Tim mused, clearly noticing something else but liked toying with the kid.

“Just fucking spit it out.”

The older man kneeled down, motioning to two different spots on the deer's hind legs. “They’re all different sizes, meaning more than one person did this.”

“Cuh-cool.” Toby deadpanned. “So what does that mean for us?”

“It means we need to keep an eye out for groups of ravin’ lunatics.”

“Don’t we already duh-do that?”

Tim rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean. This is the second animal we’ve found like this in a week.”

“And yuh-you only thought to tell me now?”

“I was busy.” Tim shrugged, the corner of his lip curling up slightly. The man did not give two shits about warning Toby sooner. Probably didn’t even want to tell him now. If anything, Brian most likely had to convince him to.

The younger proxy scowled at him, tempted to escalate things, to cause another one of their fights ending with the two trying to claw the others' eyes out. Not that it would hurt him, and Toby always got some sick amusement seeing Tim in pain. But it would be dark soon, and he was itching to get back home. The thought of you back there tied up on his bed was making him scratch at his scar.

He needed to spend more time with you. The look in your eyes as he paced around the cabin…. The look of fear and hatred. It wasn’t unexpected, but it still bugged him. You were… a bit more of a firecracker than he’d hoped. And level-headed unfortunately. You were catching on a little too quickly, to just how…. Temperamental he could be. The memory of you staring at his hatchets came back to him. He needed you to see his softer side, needed you to warm up to him before the truth, the real truth, about what he was came out. Maybe if he stole an old TV and got some of those movies you liked….

“Rogers!”

A finger snapped inches from his face. Toby blinked.

“Wuh-What?”

“I told you we need to get goin’” Tim pushed Toby forward impatiently. “It’s almost night time. Come on.”

He could hear Tim muttering “Fuckin’ useless kid.” under his breath as he led the way.

Toby’s stomach twisted. That phrase got to him. Was something he’d heard a lot, from somewhere before, something in his past. Something familiar. Tim taunted him in ways that sparked a deep resentment, like an itch he could never fully scratch. A scab that wouldn’t heal.

They walked back the way they came in, up the hill and through the thick bushes, without saying a word. One thing they could agree on was the less they talked, the better.

Luckily Toby’s cabin wasn’t too far. Fiddling with the ends of his jacket, combing his hair, absentmindedly, he was glad to be rid of the old fucker finally and get back to what was important.

But things never worked out the way he wanted.

Toby felt a hand on his arm. Tim lit up another cigarette, his eyes narrowed at Toby, before taking a long, deep, drag into his lungs. .

Smoke billowed from the man’s mouth, surrounding him in a thick cloud as he spoke.

“Before you go, I need somethin’ from your cabin.”

Fuck.

Toby stared at him for a moment. His mind went blank, before finally speaking up.

“Wuh-what do you need?”

He’d just act normal. It wouldn’t be a big deal. He could figure something out.

“Hoods and I are running low on some supplies. We know Kate keeps some of her stuff in your basement. Figured we’d borrow some things.”

The boy twitched and fidgeted under the pressure, trying to come up with ways to get out of it. If Tim saw you… Toby didn’t even want to think about what he’d do. He honestly didn’t know.

“What… kuh-kind of things-sss?” Shit. His stutter was getting worse.

Tim raised a brow. Likely annoyed by how standoffish the other proxy was being at something simple.

“Like food n’ ammo. We’ve been too busy to go into town.” Tim paused, and looked almost accusingly at him. “And I know you’ve been leaving the forest a lot recently.”

Toby chewed on the side of his cheek. Of course the other proxies sensed his disappearance. He’d been too preoccupied with you to even think about that being a possibility. That didn’t mean they cared when he was gone, they weren’t his babysitter. But now Tim had him over a barrel. There was no way he could deny him supplies now, without admitting the reason he went into town was for… something out of the ordinary.

“Fuh-fine.” He sighed, trying to collect his thoughts. “Just duh-don’t touch any of my stuff.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

______________________________________________________________

The cabin was just up ahead. Toby kept glancing back at Tim who seemed too preoccupied in his own thoughts to notice.

“Whuh-wait outside for a second. There’s suh-something I need to take care of first.”

Tim eyed him carefully. They both stood on the porch, tension rising, Tim’s body stiffening and his hands balling into fists for a brief moment. Toby fully expecting him to lash out.

Tim always thought the boy was weird. Fucked up in the head. Overly-emotional, unstable, obnoxious, and he’s seen the worst of Toby’s manic episodes. He was almost certain the kid engaged in some light cannibalism, from the way he mumbled to himself in his delusional states. He was so fucking glad they didn’t live under the same roof anymore.

Finally, after a few moments of staring the other down, Tim relaxed. “Whatever, just don’t take too long.” The older man decided he’d do whatever it took to get the fuck outta there, even if that meant having to obey. Despite how much that bruised his ego, he just wanted to go home and sleep.

Toby quickly went inside, slamming the door behind him, and Tim sat on the steps of the porch with a reluctant grunt.

Twitching anxiously, he ran into the room where you were tied to the bed. You jumped, obviously startled, by the door aggressively being opened. Normally he’d mock you, wanting to give a fake ‘awwww’ at how freaked out you were by his presence. He was still mad about how you've been treating him. But he didn’t have the time for that right now.

He opened the drawer to his nightstand, getting out an old t-shirt.

“Wha-” You started to question, but he cut you off by shoving the cloth in your mouth painfully. He tied it around your head, a little too tight, but he needed to make sure you were properly gagged and wouldn’t be heard.

Toby leaned down to your ear, speaking in a low hiss. “You nuh-need to be fucking quiet. I have a guest. He’s dangerous, so don’t get any ideas. No one’s coming to save you.”

He gripped your jawline tightly. “Do you uh-understand?” You stared back at him. Toby narrowed his eyes, tightening his hold on your face even more, until you finally nodded your head.

He released his hand and exited the room, mentally preparing himself to interact with Tim again, and with a deep breath, opened the front door.

“Okay, you can cuh-come in now.”

Tim groaned as he got up to follow him inside.

Toby couldn’t help letting his eyes dart to his bedroom door when they walked past. He led Tim down the hall where the basement stairs were, which he started keeping locked the day he captured you. He didn’t need you to see what was down there. Hopefully not ever.

After Toby unlocked the door and showed him the various backpacks stolen from victims, Tim rummaged through a couple before collecting the items he needed. Mostly food, a couple old boxes of ammo. Nothing special.

His heart was pounding when they climbed the stairs again, so close to getting this over with. Wanting nothing more than to have him out of the house. Away from you.

But without warning, Tim stopped in the hallway,

It was so sudden Toby almost bumped into his back.

“Whuh-what is it?”

There was a dangerously long pause, before Tim’s head turned to look behind his shoulder. Toby's eyes widened in fear.

“Did you hear that?”

#ticci toby #creepypasta #ticci toby x reader #toby rogers #yandere creepypasta x reader #yandere ticci toby x reader #unrequited #yandere #fanfiction #my writing #masky creepypasta #ticci toby creepypasta #ticci toby x you #yandere creepypasta

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hyunnows · 6 months

Text

A LOVE SO BEAUTIFUL | YJI

In which Jeongin watches you chase after Seungmin over and over, waiting for his turn to have your heart.

PAIRING(S) | Jeongin x reader, Seungmin x reader

THEMES | angst, fluff, unrequited love (two of them), best friends to lovers, high school!au, best friend!Jeongin, lots of background characters, based on a love so beautiful (inspired by both versions), embarrassing and slightly humiliating scenes, crying, heartbreak

WORD COUNT | 10k+

RATING | pg

NOTE | I’ve been working on this for so long, I don’t even know why it’s taken so long. Literally like a third of Sugar Sugar written in 10x the amount of time. Anyway, I love the dramas this fic is based on (especially the k ver bc the main lead was more likable imo) and I really hope I did this au justice. Alos, its not meant to be a direct copy of the drama, more like inspired by a few episodes/scenes (you'll be able to tell which ones if you've seen either version of the drama). Anyway, I would like to thank my beta reader @that-crazy-five-foot-two-chick, thank you so much for your help, I really did find all your feedback useful <33333 i hope you all enjoy this! Love you all, ty for all the support <3 have a great day/night!!

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“Hey, Seungmin~!” you call in a singsong voice, cheeks tinted pink as the tall, quiet boy stares at you nervously.

“Hey [Y/N]…”

Shuffling closer to his ear, you gesture for him to lean down so the other surrounding students wouldn't hear. When he does, you cup a hand around your mouth and whisper. "I like you,” you giggle softly as you back away from him.

Seungmin scratches his neck awkwardly. "No offense, but I don't like you…sorry.” His face drops as he rejects you in the kindest, bluntest way.

“O-oh,” you rub your arms as you giggle again. "It's fine!” This time, your bright smile dims, and nobody notices how it doesn't reach your eyes.

Nobody other than Jeongin, that is.

Jeongin can see how there's no crinkle beside your eyes or nose as you play your confession off, laughing with Seungmin in an oddly offbeat way. He notices how your shoulders are slumping more now than when he'd encouraged you to confess, and how your head hangs as you shuffle back over to him.

“So…?”

You frown, biting your lip to hold back your tears. Jeongin doesn't need any more confirmation than that to pull you into a tight hug. He caresses your head as you blink away your tears, an artificial smile on your lips. "It’s fine, I just have to win him over!”

He frowns but bites his tongue. You can’t help who you love…

And neither can he.

He sighs, "Okay then, but don't be upset when it doesn't work out,” eliciting a shove from you that makes you smile softly as the light fades back into your eyes.

——

“…and one teaspoon of pure vanilla extract,” Jeongin finishes reading to you, swinging his legs lazily back and forth as they dangle off the counter. He watches you with adoring eyes as you rush to find the vanilla extract, hastily measuring it and mixing it into the cake batter with big eyes. He pretends you’re his girlfriend, scrambling to make him a treat for a date—but as the tangy citrus scent fills his nostrils, it's hard to stay in his trance. He doesn’t like oranges that much, but Seungmin does—and that’s who the orange upside-down cake is for.

You spoon the batter in dollops onto the oranges in the cake pan, doing your best to evenly cover them without disturbing their positions too much. And once you’ve smoothed the top—as Jeongin had directed you—you’re baking the cake, pulling it out fifteen minutes later to check its consistency and rotate the pan, fully concentrated on your self-assigned task.

Jeongin continues his loving gaze, taking in your messy flour-covered bun and shirt, butterflies filling his stomach at the view. Something about the dim, warm lights and your adorably focused pout was making his stomach do flips—although it always did that when he was with you.

When the first cake burns, he offers to help, smiling dumbly to himself every time your hands accidentally graze each other’s and mixing badly on purpose so you’ll come and help him. It’s a wonder how you manage to miss the endless flat-out doting grins he gives you.

“If you keep putting the icing on my nose, we're going to run out of it for the cake,” you giggle every three words as you swipe it off.

He flashes you his braces, leaning closer to you as he dots another glob onto your nose. "Oops, I did it again,” he teases, not minding what he’s sure is a prominent blush on his cheeks every time you playfully push his chest.

It's only when you're handing the cake to Seungmin that he wishes the whole scenario had never happened, because you two are blushing, and everyone around you is cooing (although he takes the wish back quickly because it was one of his favorite memories)...before being disappointed when he kindly rejects the cake after a quick spoonful, claiming to be full.

“I know he just didn't want to embarrass me because I'm a horrible baker, but it still hurts,” you mumble against Jeongin’s shoulder, your thumb tracing the outline of the cake box you'd bought earlier. “It must taste awful…”

Jeongin takes the box from your hands gently, pulling a fork from his pocket—don't ask—and stuffing a large bite into his mouth. Truthfully, it wasn't the worst cake he’s ever tasted, and knowing you made it with your own two hands during that wonderful afternoon with him that ended in cuddling on the couch and watching baking shows… oh, he’s prepared to scarf the whole thing down.

“It's not bad [Y/N], look,” he says, taking another bite and wiping a bit of the caramel onto your nose fondly like he'd done that afternoon, “If he doesn’t want it, it's his loss.”

You flush as he asks to have the entire cake, and of course, you say yes. Honestly, if Jeongin liked it, that was enough. At least it wasn't going to waste.

“Hey! Stop putting the cake on my nose!”

——

Your tongue peeks out your mouth as you put all your attention on the beads and clear string in your fingers. “Innie, can you help me pick the bead colors?”

“Sure, but doesn't that take away from you making it?” he says bluntly as he taps his cheek and stares at the different hues of beads organized neatly in Hyunjin’s jewelry-making box. “Red and orange.” His newly freed pearly whites sparkle at you in the natural sunlight.

You scrunch your nose. “I was thinking of a color palette with more purple tones, y’know, because Min likes purple,” you mumble, unaware of his downturned lips at the mention of the older boy's nickname.

Nevertheless, he's your best friend, so he thinks hard on what would look good with purple, picking out a dull blue and a brighter one, along with a glittery and a glossy purple, deciding it's all worth it to see your dazzling smile. He carefully picks them out in even groups, holding your hand in his as he pours the beads with his other hand, noticing how your breathing gets caught in your throat for a second when your palms connect.

“Thanks.”

“Anything for you,” he whispers, not daring to say it loud enough for you to hear. His eyes disappear in his gleeful expression, his mind in a delightful daze at the thought that maybe he had some effect on you. You wonder if he can see the blush in your cheeks, but shake the thought away when you realize his attention redirected to cutting his own piece of string, picking out pink, blue, and white beads that he laces quickly and strategically. By the time you've managed to thread barely half of your—Seungmin’s—bracelet, Jeongin’s already tying the knot on his. He stretches it gently to check durability, then tugs at your wrist gently to slip it on, a small sun charm dangling from it.

In reality, he's just not the type to say such things and do such actions at the same time—he’d much rather tease you—so he puts on a fake serious face and shrugs. “It's nothing, I just didn't want you to pick something ugly.”

Your cheeks warm, smacking him as you whine for a moment. You bring your arm to your eyes to admire the pattern, smiling and hugging his neck happily. "You're the best friend I could ask for,” and he grins back, satisfied with the position.

“You're the best,” he whispers under his breath, quickly making a matching necklace for you to wear. As he pulls the craft onto you, his cheeks warm at the feeling of your neck just grazing his fingertips.

With a teasing smirk, you eye him happily. “Did you just say something nice to me willingly?” A giggle interrupting you with every other word as his cheeks tint brightly.

“And it's never happening again.” His face in his hands as he tries to tame the blush on his face.

The two of you stare at each other for a moment, before you both burst into laughter, you're hopping over to pull at his face-fat teasingly. “You're secretly a sweetheart, aren't you, Yang Jeongin? You probably say nice things in your head all the time,” drawing embarrassed groans and weak attempts at pushing off of him whilst he laughs, blissfully.

He groans, “I don’t,” trying to sound serious while you pinch at his cheeks.

Your hair perfectly frames your face as it tickles his, an almost halo effect outlining your figure. He doesn't know if it's just him, but all he can see is you, everything else dimmed out into the background as his eyes rest on only you.

Then you pull away, laughing, with a look he has grown tired of seeing in your eyes when you look at him.

Friendship.

——

You’re bright and bubbly when you slip your gift into Seungmin’s desk, excited to see him sport a [Y/N]-original accessory and hopefully fall for you.

Unfortunately, fate had another plan.

“Sorry [Y/N], I’m not really a jewelry guy…” Seungmin trails off, handing you back the box you’d given him earlier that day, all the bracelets inside and bundled. He tries to ignore his friend’s snickers, rubbing his neck nervously whilst handing you the small cardboard box, cheeks red in embarrassment.

You take it with two hands, barely gripping it at all with your shaky hands and blurry vision. They were laughing at you, and he didn’t like the bracelets. A quiet, "Oh, o-okay,” is all you manage to get out, biting your lip harshly as you tuck your hard work away. "Sorry.”

Seungmin gives you a guilty smile, wiping his sweaty palms on his thighs, giving you an awkward wave, and running back to his group, who tease him loudly about you. He cringes at their jokes, hiding his face from you and walking away.

You think you should be crying by now, seeing as he rejected you, but you’re more ashamed because not only was Seungmin embarrassed by being around you, but his friends seemed to think you were a joke as well. How mortifying.

You hear a shuffling pair of feet approach you before you’re wrapped in the long, strong arms you call home. “They teased him and laughed. Laughed, Jeongin…” your voice shrinking in sadness. You turn to him, eyes watering. "Am I that unlikable?”

Of course, Jeongin tells you no. "You’re the most likable person I know,” in a reassuring, uncharacteristically sweet whisper. You sigh, causing him to hold you tighter to his chest. "They just… they need glasses,” evoking a light snort from you.

Turning into his chest, you wrap your arms around his waist, drawing an “Ew,” from Jeongin, although he had been the one to initiate the hug in the first place. You mutter a shut up at his faux disgust. After a tight squeeze, you release him, pulling out the now squished cardboard and handing it to him, a light tint in your cheeks as your hands brush against each other’s. “What’s this?”

“He, um, isn’t into jewelry, so I thought you could have them. They’re too big for my wrist, and I’d hate to waste Hyunjin’s nice beads,” beaming hopefully at him. You open the box, pulling out your favorite and sliding it on Jeongin’s wrist, blind to the pure puppy-love expression the brunet was giving you. Cringing slightly, you frown at the fact that you hadn’t even asked him if he wanted the bracelets. "You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to—”

Before you can pull it off him, he yanks his hand back, holding around the bracelet tightly. There was no way he wasn’t going to wear a bracelet you gave him. Granted, you’d made it with the intention of Seungmin wearing it, but he’d take what he could get. "I-um, I’ll wear it. It’s a neat bracelet,” awkwardly releasing his wrist and dropping it to his side.

“Neat?”

“Leave me alone. This is why I’m not nice to you,” he mutters, face flushed red.

You feel your heart flutter, but you assume it’s out of general happiness and not the fact that Jeongin wanted what you’d made. It wasn’t as if you wanted Jeongin’s approval or anything—you cared about Seungmin’s because you like him, and you definitely didn’t like Jeongin.

Then why aren’t you able to stop the way your heart quickens around him these days?

——

Jeongin isn’t the most talkative, especially when it comes to girls. Despite that, here he is, spilling everything he feels about you to Chan and Hyunjin. He’d explained the bracelet when they’d originally asked, and somehow he’d ended up in a rant about how lucky Seungmin was to be the target of all your affection.

“Why don’t you just tell her?” Chan asks, confused. Crushes couldn’t be that difficult, it should be even easier when you’re their best friend, right?

Hyunjin stares at Chan dramatically, causing the elder to lift his hands in a sort of confused surrender. "Are you serious? You don’t just tell your best friend of four years—who’s already in love with someone you agreed to help them win over—that you’re in love with them!I swear, it’s like you’ve never read a book.”

Shrugging in uncertainty, he elaborates his former opinion. "It’s just, this all seems way too serious for a high school crush. And anyway, don’t you tease [Y/N] all the time?” Making Hyunjin roll his eyes.

“It’s his first love, it’s very serious!” Hyunjin argues, sweeping his luscious blond locks to the side. "And he teases her because he likes her! Plus, it’s not like he can stop, and it wouldn’t be weird, he’s always teased her. I’m ninety-eight percent sure she likes it.”

“Okay, since Love Expert Hyunjin seems to have all your answers, I don’t think I’m needed for this anymore,” the shortest sighs, standing from his seat on the bleachers and onto the field for some soccer. Chan may love Jeongin like a brother, but he’s not the best option when it comes to love advice.

Jeongin stares at the field, watching you as you cheered for Seungmin in the street-style free for all soccer game, wishing you were half as enthusiastic when he was participating. “I don’t want to try to win her over or anything, being her friend is enough… I just wish she’d dedicate herself to someone who cares for her at least as much as she does for them. I bet Seungmin doesn’t even know her favorite color…”

Jutting out his bottom lip in a pity-filled pout, Hyunjin soothes his hand on Jeongin’s back, nodding in understanding. "Y’know, she’s really lucky to have someone like you to always be there for her,” and he genuinely means it. He’s seen how gentle Jeongin was with you, even if he used a teasing front because no matter what, Jeongin’s always at your beck and call. You two could have just argued, and Jeongin would be the first to apologize and make sure you were okay, not expecting anything in return. His love was admirable and pure, and you got it all. “I’m sure she’ll come around.”

Jeongin nods, frowning as you hug Seungmin, making the boy cringe and gently shove you off. He wonders how Seungmin could so easily brush off your love, jealous and wishing you would hug him like that. He might jokingly shout “Yuck!” but he knows he’d hug you back even tighter.

——

“[Y/N], I don’t like you back.” Seungmin didn’t mean to sound so mean, but you’d once again smothered him in front of everyone, flustering him for the last time. Even as you began to tremble and tear up in front of him and everyone else, he stood his ground, keeping a stern face. "I tried really hard to let you down gently, but you seem to have missed the hints. Please stop giving me gifts and hugs and asking me out. I don’t see you that way.”

Blinking back your tears, you nod, hiding your beet red cheeks behind your hair and staring at the ground. Taking back the scarf you’d crocheted with your own two hands, you hug it to your chest, pressing it against your thumping heart in the hopes it would calm down the erratic beating. When that fails, you try to block out the murmurs from bystanders, and run for your home, your safe place.

While your best friend was never keen on you trying to make someone love you back—not when he was waiting patiently in line—he’s never wished you listened to him more than he does now

Jeongin’s surprised to see you outside his door, knowing Seungmin had baseball practice today, and because it was beginning to sprinkle. Regardless of your damp attire, he pulls you inside, hurriedly running to get you a towel. "What are you doing here? It’s starting to rain, and it’s cold as heck out there!” His concern raw, too lazy to try to mask it with a joke. "Are you crying?”

You throw your arms around his neck, cheek pressing against his strong yet soft chest as you nod, your tears dripping into his shirt. “He… he rejected me in front of everyone. He said he didn’t like me that way, and then asked if I would leave him alone. I made a fool of myself,” your words becoming incoherent as you squeak through your snivels.

He clenches his fist tighter with each weep, and he’s sure that if you weren’t holding him so tightly, Seungmin would be six feet under by now. But since comforting you is more important than whooping some scholar-soccer player—not that he could do much damage, the boy’s six centimeters taller than him and he plays sports—he cradles your head as gently as he can with one hand and pets your hair with the other. “He’s an idiot.”

“No, he’s not, I am. I don’t know why I thought I had a chance…” You sniffle, shaking your head against him.

Jeongin tilts your face up to look at him, frowning at your glistening cheeks and shushing the voice in his head that’s going on about how you somehow managed to look beautiful even though you’re heartbroken. “Don’t say that, you’re amazing,” uncaring about how he’s probably the color of that ugly sweater Seungmin’s older brother somehow managed to rock.

You can’t bring yourself to believe his words completely, but the fondness in his eyes makes you want to because you knew Jeongin wasn’t the type to throw words like that around. Still, you nod, hoping you could one day be worthy of those words.

——

Jeongin jumps when you slam the papers on his desk in front of him, a bright smile on your lips as you eagerly wait for him to ask you what you’re so excited about. He raises a brow, and you point frantically at the papers. “The school play? What about it?”

“I want to sign up for auditions!” You cheer, making jazz hands at the announcement. “They’ll be doing a romance play based on a student’s submission. I heard it’s really good.” Your best friend gives you a concerned look, forehead creased and mouth pursed. Well, that’s not the reaction you were hoping for when you told him. “Why are you making that face?”

Sighing, the black-haired boy stares up at you. “It’s just… are you sure you want to audition?” When you nod happily, he has no choice but to play the role of supportive best friend. “Okay, I’ll cheer you on.”

Your teacher comes in before you have the chance to elaborate on your idea, scolding you for not being ready for his class and eliciting a bit of laughter from your classmates—minus Jeongin, of course.

Your teacher seems to be on the same page as you, though, pulling out one of the fliers. “Today we’re holding auditions in the auditorium during lunch, drama period, and after school, as well as staff signups. Anyone who participates in the school play’s production gets extra credit. If you have any questions, see me or the drama teacher after class.”

You shoot Jeongin a knowing look that he returns with a confused pout. He doesn’t know what’s up your sleeve, but he’s sure it’ll end badly somehow.

Well, he wasn’t entirely wrong. You definitely had a scheme up your sleeve, and this wasn’t the desired outcome of your plan, but Jeongin wouldn’t necessarily file it as a ‘fail’.

Originally, you planned on auditioning for the lead female part, while Seungmin would take the lead male, a part that everyone wanted him to play. You two would play as lovers, and eventually Seungmin would fall for you too and everything would be sunshine and rainbows. That was the plan.

You knew that you needed someone to audition with, since they were allowing pairs to audition, and you already knew Seungmin would most likely refuse to audition with you. That’s why you brought Jeongin along. You hoped they’d see your star talent and recruit you to the cast while telling Jeongin he just didn’t make the cut—which he’d be fine with, once he understood your plan. That’s how everything was supposed to go down.

And somehow, everything is going according to plan.

You auditioned with complete confidence, and you did well. Acting’s one of your talents—not that you had an abundance of them, you just had a knack for pretending to be different people and characters—at least, you thought so.

Mr. Kim—the drama teacher—reads the casting aloud, so far, Seungmin got the lead male, Jeongin was cast as a random villager, and now it was your turn. “[Y/N]... you’ll play villager three and be in charge of the music…”

He continues to read out everyone else’s parts, but you can’t hear him. You didn’t get the part? But you did so well, right? Why didn’t they pick you?

Jeongin watches your crestfallen face, sighing inwardly because he knows nothing would be worse for you than watching Seungmin pretend to be utterly in love with another girl. He knows why you didn’t get the part, but he also knows that you put your all into that audition because you wanted to be Seungmin’s partner, so he feels bad. After all, his feelings for you only made him wish for you to be happy, and being the lead would’ve made you happy. Still, he can’t help the tiny bit of relief he feels because you won’t be playing the part of Seungmin’s lover.

Someone hands you a recorder, you don't know who, as well as a sheet with different sound effects and songs for you to gather listed. Great. Not only do you play an unimportant side character, you're also in charge of putting together the romantic soundtrack and sound effects. Why did these things always happen to you?

“Don't worry [Y/N], we can have fun getting the songs and music together.” Jeongin smiles comfortingly, just enough to ease your stress, but you’re still upset at today’s outcome. Sensing the irritation in your stature—the way you furrow your brows and chew your nails are dead giveaways—the boy sighs, pulli by you along with him to collect a script. “Besides, it’s not the end of the world, there will be another play in a few months anyway.”

You nod, but honestly, you’re too bummed to pay him any real attention right now. Jeongin, sighing inaudibly, picks up your backpacks and pulls your sulking figure along towards the school’s exit.

Pouting, you lean your head on his shoulder. “I thought I did so well…”

The brunet ruffles your hair affectionately, giving you a small smile. “You did, it’s their loss they didn’t pick you.” His words make your lips quirk up.

Turning to face him, you lift a brow at him. “Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?”

He rolls his eyes, shaking his head. “Carry your own bag,” he mumbles, handing over your backpack with an amused grin dancing in his lips.

You pout again, only this time there’s joy in your eyes instead of disappointment.

Something about that smile makes you feel better.

——

“You must tread into the woods, find your true love, and ask for her hand. She’s who you belong with, your hearts destined to become one. Now forget about that other miller’s daughter and begin the journey!” You read, trying to put some sort of passion into your voice, but you can’t. The only lines you have pertain to Seungmin finding his love and marrying her, while forgetting about the poor second lead who you couldn’t help but relate to. And just to rub salt in your wound, you have the golden line. “Kiss her, and make her your wife. You have my blessing, to have a long, lovely marriage and life.”

Jeongin claps for you from your bed, his long limbs sprawled across the mattress. He doesn’t have any lines other than quiet repetitions of your words—for dramatic effect, but he doesn’t care too much for them anyway. Extra credit is extra credit, right? “That was great [Y/N], but you really should start recording the sounds and music. They’re going to want them for rehearsals.”

You slump, nodding. You needed to recreate horseshoes hitting the ground, birds chirping, water running and the crumpling of leaves, and then download the songs the production team had already chosen. How fun.

“Jeongin, grab those rocks and that rug for me please.” He nods, reaching for the two large stones as you start muttering, upset. “Why do I have to bless their union though? Out of every part I could’ve gotten, I had to get the part where I encouraged Seungmin to marry another girl…” You groan more, shutting up only to record the rocks hitting the rug in an offbeat pattern to mimic horse hooves.

Jeongin rolls his eyes, because you only have to encourage Seungmin’s character, while he has to support you every time you scheme to get the older boy to fall for you. It shouldn’t be a competition, but he can’t help but feel that his situation is a tad worse.

——

“[Y/N], where’s the audio recording? We need it now!” Hana, the girl in charge of putting the music and sound over the play, calls urgently. The play’s about to start, and because of your constant sulking, you only just finished recording everything.

Luckily you still have about ten minutes before the play begins, so you’re safe from being scolded. “Sorry, here it is.”

She takes it from you happily, readying it in a way you don’t exactly understand—hence why you aren’t one of the techs—and sending you off to get into your costume.

The play’s going smoothly, everything’s in order and running perfectly. You’ve said your lines, Jeongin’s said his and Seungmin is absolutely killing his role. And then your voice booms through the speakers.

“Why do I have to bless their union though? Out of every part I could’ve gotten, I had to get the part where I encouraged Seungmin to marry another girl…”

The familiar statement falls upon the crowds shocked ears, and you feel all color drain from your face. That…that recorded…?

Your drama teacher glares at you, murder bright in their eyes. You can almost see the steam coming out of his ears.

The crowd erupts into laughter and boos when the echoes of your words finally fade from the auditorium. All the staff and students behind the curtains are staring at you, some pitying, others angry and some disappointed. But that isn’t the worst of it.

Someone in the audience spots you hiding behind the curtain on the east wing, “Hey! [Y/N] that was you, wasn’t it? You must really be in love with Seungmin, huh?”

You loudly shush him, hoping he’ll stop and the play will continue peacefully, but the odds aren’t in your favor. Someone behind you shoves you onto the stage, and you’re suddenly in the spotlight, frozen in front of dozens of people laughing. Your friends and teachers stifflong their giggles at your pathetically embarrassed state.

You want to stand up for yourself, tell them to shut up and put their pointing hands away but you’re too mortified to do anything as a stray tear escapes your eye and your lip trembles. You’re hardly able to scramble off stage, muttering dozens of apologies to everyone watching.

It’s hard to even be upset when all your mind can think of is Seungmin’s face of embarrassment—shame, because of you.

It’s not long after the fiasco Jeongin finds you crying in a storage closet, and he shoos off some students who are teasing you far too much for his liking.

“[Y/N]? Are you okay?” He asks gently, kneeling in front of you to see your face that’s hidden in your knees. You nod, burying it further and wrapping your arms tighter around yourself. He can’t help but think you look adorable so small, but he’s more focused on comforting you.

Pulling off his jacket—he remembers how much you always say you love his clothes—and taps you with it. You don’t notice at first, but after he pushes it against your shoulder a few more times, you slowly peel yourself out of your [Y/N]-cocoon. Your face instantly lights up, just a bit when you catch sight of his jacket and you don’t hesitate to wrap yourself in it and scoot over for him to seat himself beside you on the step stool.

He takes the spot, and you immediately lean on his shoulder as his large, lanky arm wraps around you in a comforting embrace. “You wanna talk or just stay here quietly a bit longer?”

“Just stay quiet for a bit…” your shaky voice mutters, heavy eyelids struggling to stay open.

The storage closet opens again, only this time Seungmin stands in the doorway, face blank and eyes void of anything other than disappointment.

He lets out a deep sigh before mumbling quietly. “Why do you ruin everything? Couldn’t you put your feelings aside for once and get your job done once? You embarrassed us both, all because you have a stupid crush on me. I told you I’m not interested, get over it, please.”

Jeongin’s about to open his mouth, fed up with Seungmin’s ass of an attitude toward you when you kick the door closed, shoving Seungmin out so you can sob into the younger boy’s sleeves in peace. You don’t want to see him, not now. You don’t really want to see anyone.

Except Jeongin.

——

“You need to apologize to her,” the shorter male demands, feet making squishy sounds with every step from the wet grass he chased Seungmin through. Jeongin may not always be the most affectionate or sweet friend, but he’s your best friend for a reason and he’s determined to keep you happy at all costs. Which includes making Seungmin apologize for his harsh words after the play.

The older boy rolls his eyes. “Why should I? I was giving honest, helpful criticism. Plus, she’ll get over me faster if she hates me.”

Jeongin has no clue why you like him so much.

Seungmin seems just about done with this conversation, turning to walk away, when he hears Jeongin huff under his breath. “And here [Y/N] said she liked you for your kindness. I don’t know where she got that idea from, you’re obviously a jerk…”

Seungmin doesn’t care about people’s opinions of him, but something about Jeongin’s word choice (specifically the word jerk) strikes a chord in him. .

Which is how he finds himself in front of your door, Jeongin beside him with a semi-smug look as the older boy knocks on your door.

“Who—Seungmin…? What-what’re you doing here…?” You shrink slowly, not in the mood for more insults. Not to mention that you’re just a bit traumatized from last week’s fiasco and that you’ve been skipping school to avoid the mental and emotional torment you’re sure is to come.

He feels genuinely bad when he notices the tremble in your lip whilst you slide the door closed just a bit more to hide behind it. Handing you an envelope, he bows. “I’m sorry about what I said [Y/N]. I didn’t mean to be so rude and insensitive. There’s a longer apology in the envelope, feel free to read it or throw it away. Have a good night and come back to school soon. All of your classmates miss you.”

You doubt that last statement a bit. As far as you know, the whole school hates you, but you appreciate the idea that someone missed your presence. You give Seungmin a small bow and mouthed thank you just before he leaves. For the first time, you think he genuinely smiles at you. It's small, but real.

Rushing Jeongin inside, you melt against the door, clutching the envelope to your chest. “Did Kim Seungmin just… apologize to me…?”

In all the years you’ve known Seungmin, he’s never been one to apologize. He’s usually not in the wrong, so most of the time there’s no need for him to. Still, on the rare occasion he is on the wrong side, he almost never takes the initiative to own up to his mistakes. He’d much rather let time do its thing and wait for the incident to blow over and be forgotten.

So you can’t help but feel both shocked and even a bit special to have a written apology from the brown eyed golden boy.

Jeongin nods triumphantly. “Yep.” He wants to tell you that he’s the reason behind this, but he can’t ruin the way you must be feeling. If thinking Seungmin apologized completely of his own accord made you happy, then he’d allow you to believe that.

As long as you’re happy, Jeongin doesn’t really care about anything else.

However there are times when he wishes he could put his own feelings first.

Slowly since the play, Seungmin had accidentally begun to sneak into your friend group. Suddenly he hangs out with you and Jeongin during lunch. He’s in the library with the two of you, making sure you’re actually studying. He’s even invited the two of you out to eat and hang out a few times over the past three months. It should be odd—the way he wormed into your group, but it happened so gradually that by the time either of you had noticed, he’d become part of your duo-now-trio.

So it’s only natural that when your annual trip to Chan’s lake house rolls around, you invite him.

While Jeongin’s fine with Seungmin—there are times where they seem to have been best friends since birth—he can’t help but feel almost possessive of the time he’s supposed to have with you. As much as he hates it, he knows Seungmin will effortlessly steal that time from him.

“So you’ll come?” You giddily ask the taller boy, bouncing on the heels of your feet.

Please say no. Please, please, please say no. For once, Jeongin wants Seungmin to reject you, wholeheartedly too. You do it all the time, don’t make this different!

The older boy thinks for a moment, typing something into his phone a moment before it lights up again, and nods silently with a small, almost unnoticeable grin. Flashing his screen, Jeongin realizes he’d been asking permission—which unfortunately, he was given.

Fantastic.

Don’t be fooled, since the incident, Jeongin has come to find that Seungmin is actually a great guy and wonderful company that he thoroughly enjoys on most occasions. They’ve completely warmed up to each other. But he knows that you’re still utterly in love with Seungmin, maybe even more than before, and he doesn’t think he can stand being around you two in a casual setting for more than a few hours.

Still, he bites his tongue. If you’re happy, he’s happy.

At least that’s what he tells himself during the car ride whilst you stare in awe at the older boy for most of the ride, trying and managing to convince him to let you sleep on his broad shoulder. He repeats this in his head over and over during the board games you all play where you beg Seungmin to let you be in his team—which he grants you after a bit of friendly teasing. By dinner time Jeongin has a headache from the mantra, almost disgusted by just watching you feed the sophomore by spoonfuls. He’s ready for bed before nine-thirty.

However, his plans for sleeping—and evading Seungmin and you—are halted when Minho—a mischievous friend of Chan’s—decides to play some party games. You all play twenty questions, an age-appropriate few rounds of never have I ever (Chan and Hyunjin would have your heads if you or Jeongin were exposed to any sort of adult materia) and now you’re playing a game of secrets.

Everyone gets a strip of paper and a pencil for them to write their secret on. Once everyone’s done, the strips are put in a bowl, mixed around, and picked out at random. You can’t tell anyone what you wrote or picked from the bowl, regardless if it's your own secret.

Somehow it’s simultaneously harmless and filled with potential drama. You give props to Jisung (Minho and Hyunjin’s friend) for bringing up the game, so long as you pick Seungmin’s secret.

Though it’s not exactly a secret, you haven’t confessed to Seungmin since before the incident, and you think you’ve been subtle about your feelings since then, so you pick that as your secret. In your tidy handwriting, you spell out “I’m in love with Kim Seungmin.”

Beside you, Jeongin contemplates what he wants to write for a moment longer than you do. He can reveal anything he’d like. That he’s jealous of Hyunjin’s height, that he actually looks up to Changbin more than he’d like to admit, that he failed his last English quiz, or that…

He likes you as something way more than friends.

He’s sure about half of his friends already know, and that Seungmin is probably suspicious of it, so it wouldn’t be much of a surprise. And plus, they’re anonymous… So what's the harm?

He ponders his decision a bit more, before essentially saying fuck it and professing his feelings for you with a short, “I have a crush on [Y/N].”

After about another minute or so, all the paper strips are stuffed into a glass bowl Jeongin thinks looks an awful lot like a fishbowl, and mixed around violently by Han. Then, everyone reaches in and pulls out one strip each.

You can’t contain your curiosity, immediately unfolding the strip and reading its contents. Your eyes widen and you struggle to hold in your gasp of disbelief.

Your cheeks burn as you reread the sentence. “I have a crush on [Y/N].”

Too focused on the secret you picked, you fail to see how Jeongin’s soft smile of excitement falters into a slight frown. Your handwriting spells out: “I’m in love with Kim Seungmin '' on the slip of paper in his hand.

After he’s done reading his strip, Hyunjin reminds you of the rules. “Okay, nobody can say anything about the secret they got, okay?”

You all nod, but your eyes gravitate to Seungmin, who seems oddly calm compared to the rest of you. You don’t blame him, he probably got something boring—or your confession. The only reason you’re so excited is that you’re pretty sure you got his proclamation of love.

Yet, in the back of your mind, I can't help but think that the handwriting doesn’t look like Seungmin’s.

——

“I got my own,” Seungmin pulls out the piece of paper from his backpack, handing it over to you with a shrug. “Why?”

As you read “I’m tired of school” in Seungmin’s handwriting, your brain strains to find an explanation as to why you just convinced Seungmin to break the game’s rules and show you his secret. I thought… “Oh, I was just curious!”

As always, he shrugs it off.

If it wasn’t Seungmin… then who was it? It couldn’t be Chan, he’s too brotherly, and Hyunjin is always talking about who he’s in love with that week, you would know if it was him. Which leaves you with only one person you can think of.

Jeongin.

To be honest, you wouldn’t be mad if Jeongin had a crush on you. But if he did, you couldn’t return his feelings.

Right?

You think back to all those times your eyes have locked with his, when you’ve ignored the pounding in your heart at the slightest graze of his touch. You can’t deny he’s the one who can always make you feel better, no matter what. That you would rather sit and argue with him then go have fun with someone else.

To be honest, you can’t exactly say you’re not in the same boat.

But, he’s your best friend, he couldn’t have a crush on you. You flush as you try to reason with yourself. There’s just no way. Plus he likes—

You stop. Come to think of it, you’ve never known Jeongin to have a crush on anyone. He’s never once confided in you about girls. “Maybe he just doesn’t like anyone…” you mumble, thinking of reasons why he can’t possibly have a crush on you.

“Who doesn’t like anyone?”

You jump at the sound of Jeongin’s voice. “N-nobody!” you internally slap yourself at your stuttering.

He doesn’t seem convinced, but opts for being concerned more than curious, “Why are you so jumpy?”

“I-I’m not,” you protest, trying to sound calmer. It seems to fail though, since he quirks his brow in confusion at you.

With a shrug, he continues walking beside you towards your house. “You’re weird.”

“And you’re mean,” you scoff, immediately forgetting why you had–in fact–been so jumpy only moments before. However, it's not too long before you are reminded of your tiny predicament when his eyes sparkle in amusement and your heart stops momentarily. “Hey Jeongin, what secret did you pick from the game the other day?”

You notice him slump over a bit, “I got yours. Unless someone else in our group has a crush on Seungmin,” the glint in his eye diminishes. “Why?”

“It's just… I think I got your secret…” He freezes up besides you, a tinge of pink in his cheeks you fail to see as you stair at your toes. “Do you have a crush on me, Jeongin?”

Clenching his jaw a few times, he panics. Think brain, think. He stands there awkwardly for a moment. “I-”

Cutting him off, you start apologizing, “You don’t have to answer that, actually. I’m sorry for putting you on the spot–I get it if you’re mad at me too, since you know I like Seungmin–” Some quiet chuckles leave his lips, making you stop in the middle of your words, confused. “Why are you laughing?”

He ruffles your hair, pushing you playfully. “You think I would write a real secret there? No way. I just thought it would be funny if Hyunjin were to get that one and start some rumor or crazy quest to find out which one of us had a crush on you.”

Your shoulders drop from their tensed position as you relax, beginning to giggle a bit at the thought of the gossiping teen losing his head in order to find out just who had a crush on you/ Even if you didn’t know him well, everyone knew Hyunjin was a huge drama queen who always needed to know everything about everyone. “Oh that makes so much more sense!”

Ignoring the pain in his chest that your apparent relief brings him, he keeps his small smile displayed for you. “So that's why you were all anxious. You’re so odd, [Y/N].”

You glare at him, pushing his shoulders jokingly. “You really are mean, you know that?” Eliciting a gentle laugh from the boy. He shrugs, continuing his path beside you to what he assumes is your home.

He can’t help but wish he had written something different on that paper, though. Maybe then, his chest wouldn’t ache so much.

And secretly, you wish it was a real secret. Maybe then, you wouldn’t feel like you’d been tricked.

—-

Jeongin finds it hard not to notice the way you’ve started retreating from Seungmin these days. As your best friend, the one who was always there to help you in your plans to win over the upperclassmen, it's impossible to not realize how you haven’t asked for his aid in such schemes. It's almost concerning at this point, the way you haven’t attempted in a month or so to woo the older boy in any way.

He doesn’t mind though, not at all. In fact, he’s enjoying watching you spend your time on your hobbies and making new friends rather than pining over the boy who had broken your heart so many times.

“Hey, can you help me take these papers to Mr. Young’s classroom?” Seungmin stops at your desk, staring at you.

Since finding out the paper wasn’t Seungmin’s, your feelings for him have slowly dimmed. Over the last few weeks, everything you felt for him just dissipated. He doesn’t like you back, and now, for some reason, you don’t seem to care too much about who or what he likes anymore.

However, that doesn’t mean your attention hasn’t shifted somewhere else.

“I’ll help.”

Your head shoots up to look at Jeongin, who’s already standing up and grabbing half the stack of papers, bringing the rest of Seugnmin’s face into view. “Can you watch my food for me?”

You nod at him as he walks out of the cafeteria with Seungmin. The silence between them is awkward, but not too awkward. They enjoy each other’s company enough to get along. However, with your odd behavior towards Seungmin, the two haven’t hung out much.

The walk is quiet for a while, until Seungmin says, “Why did you stop [Y/N] from answering me?”

Jeongin shrugs, “She didn’t look like she wanted to. Why? Do you like her now?” he says less than playfully, failing to hide his disapproval if Seungmin did indeed like you now.

“No, I don’t like her like that. I was just wondering if you were trying to keep her away from me since you like her,” the older boy tells him nonchalantly.

Jeongin almost drops his stack of papers at that, “What?”

With a slight eye roll, Seungmin continues. “You like [Y/N], don't you? Even if you say no, or don’t answer, I know you do. It's obvious. It is kind of weird you helped her ask me out so many times though.”

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

“Right,” the older boy sighs, “We’re here.”

After dropping off the papers, the two have a silent walk back, both of them uncomfortable with the energy in the hall. Jeongin couldn’t stand the thought of Seungmin playing with your heart, not again.

Before the two reenter the cafeteria, Seungmin places a hand on Jeongin’s shoulder, holding him to a stop. With a sigh, Seungmin starts, “I consider us friends, and as a friend, I’m rooting for you. [Y/N] was never right for me, and I was never right for her, but I think you two would be right for each other.”

The older boy releases him, pushing through the metal doors and joining your small circle, leaving Jeongin with his thoughts.

And his thoughts agree with Seungmin.

—-

“Did you hear? The school chose another romance novel to base the play off of!” You cheer in excitement as you set your school bag under your seat. “Maybe I can get the lead this time, I think I’ve improved a lot since last time.”

Jeongin looks at you as if you’ve grown a third head, plopping down into his own desk. “Why do you want the lead? Do you think Seungmin is going to play the male interest?”

He ignores the little green monster that rages at the thought.

“What? No, I just want to be the lead, maybe redeem myself since last time I messed up so bad,” you flush. “Hey, you should audition too! It would be cool if we were both in the play!”

“I don’t think so, I’m not really into acting.”

You pout at him, shaking his arm as you plead, “Please Jeongin, please please please–”

“Fine! Stop whining like that,” he huffs, pulling his arm away from you. You gleam at him, making him roll his eyes with a gentle smile. “What a dork.”

You stop smiling at that, launching towards him, “You jerk!”

Just then, Ms. Lee walks in, a scowl on her face at your figure lurched over Jeongin’s desk. “[Y/N]! Sit down right now young lady!”

You hear your classmates–including Jeongin–snicker at you. He makes an L with his fingers under the desk at you, making you glare at him. Silently, you mouth, I’ll get you back for this.

He mouths back, Sure you will, like the menace he is.

Once again, reading your mind, your teacher begins the class announcements with the play. “We’re holding auditions later today in the gym during your lunch period and after school. Please feel free to audition, those who do will be exempt from the next pop quiz.”

Jeongin watches from the corner of his eye as you hunch over your desk, scribbling something down, then pop up again. Snapping, you get him to look over at you and see the message written messily on your notebook. “You could really use an exemption from a pop quiz…”

He sighs, grabbing a sticky note from his notepad, and writing back, “I already said yes, stop bugging me.” (He doesn’t actually want you to stop, he would prefer if you never stopped bugging him, actually.)

You stick your tongue out at him with a grin, turning back to face the teacher.

It's not long after that lunch time rolls around, meaning you’re dragging Jeongin away from his friends.

“Where are you two going?” Hyunjin asks, a far too devious smile playing on his lips.

“We’re auditioning for the play!” You smile, to which the older boy’s eyes sparkle.

“I wanna watch!”

Jeongin groans at the three voices, he really doesn’t need Hyunjin, Chan, and Changbin all watch him embarrass himself. “Too bad. If you guys come I won’t audition.” At that, they all groan, sitting back down on the lunch bench with frowns on their faces.

——

“Jeongin, I got the part~!” You all but sing, looking at your lines highlighted in the script. “How about you?”

He purses his lips, ears slightly red. “They gave me the lead.”

You stop in your place, staring at him wide eyed. “You mean, we’re going to play lovers?” He nods. “Oh…”

“I can take back my audition if you want–”

“No!” You stop him, a bit too quickly even, “It's fine! It's just acting,” your face as red as his at the thought of playing his love interest. You’re just friends–best friends–and it's just a play, it shouldn’t be that weird. Right?

Wrong. So wrong.

You both can’t help but feel so stiff around each other as you rehearse your lines. Chan, Changbin, Seungmin, and Hyunjin can’t help but be oh so entertained by your awkwardness. Seeing the two of you bright red as you stumble over your lines to each other is just gold.

“Stop recording us!” You frown with red cheeks at Hyunjin, who’s phone is pretty much inches from your face. “Hyunjin c’mon.”

“No can do, you two are so cute,” he wipes a fake tear, putting a dramatic hand on his chest, “They grow up so fast.”

You all stare at him like a madman. Then, Changbin counts down backwards, yelling action for you and Jeongin to start the scene from where you messed up.

“I can be fun, if you want… pensive, uh, smart, superstitious, brave, and uh, I could be light on my feet,” he pauses, staring at you intensely, a nervous–but sweet–smile dancing on his lips, “I could be whatever you want. You just tell me what you want and I’ll be that for you.”

Jeongin tries not to think about how true that is.

With a lightly contemplative look on your face, you recite the next line. “You’re dumb.”

His smile grows as he nods, “I can be that.”

You mirror his expression as you turn around, skipping away and pretending to get into a car as he calls behind you. “C’mon, one date, what’s it gonna hurt?”

“I don’t think so,” you tease in an almost sing-song tone.

His smile falls a bit, as he stands there looking disappointed, “Well what can I do to change your mind?”

“Guess you’ll figure something out,” you grin, silence filling your ears for a moment before Changbin loudly yells cut!

They all praise you two’s acting skills, Seungmin included–though his praise is much less enthusiastic than that of the others. However, you don’t pay any of them much attention, your gaze fixed on Jeongin as your mind replays the way he’d looked at you just moments before.

You almost wished this wasn’t a play, but try not to think about it too much as you ready for the next scene.

——

You know your best friend is good looking–everyone does, it seems. Every rehearsal, there are students hiding in the back row of the school’s theater trying to catch a glimpse of his acting. You’re thankful for Hyunjin, who dramatically shoos them out of the room whenever he catches them.

It's not that you don’t want people watching the rehearsal, it's just…

Why are there so many girls with crushes on Jeongin?

It shouldn’t bother you, really. He’s just your best friend but even he is starting to feel the energy shift whenever someone comes up to talk to him. He doesn’t want to get any ideas, but he doesn’t deprive himself of enjoying your attention.

He watches as you shuffle over to Hyunjin in exhaustion after thirty minutes of the same scene, laughing as the boy fawns over you theatrically, giving you water and a pillow to get comfortable with. It's comedic the way you two have grown closer recently, Hyunjin seeming to take the role of your mother almost.

Needing to get away from the dark room and hot stage lights, Jeongin sees himself out, getting a drink from the water fountain. Straightening up, he leans against a post, silently reading over his favorite scene–not that he would ever admit that he had a favorite scene. He can’t help but imagine you telling him what you want in your home, saying you wanted to be a part of his life like that.

Doing this play, it's not good for his heart.

He heads back in for rehearsal not too much later, finding it too easy to get into character.

Maybe it's the way you look into his eyes as you practice your lines, or how cute you look flustered saying these romantic words to him of all people. Whatever it is, it's really, really not good for his heart.

Or yours.

——

“Hey [Y/N]!” Jeongin calls after you, his jog slowing to a walk as you turn the corner too quickly for him to reach you. It seems this is how you two are now–Jeongin tries to talk to you, you run away from him before he can.

He wonders if it's because of the play–specifically, because of the kiss scenes he’s sure you're dreading.

He didn’t think you would be so worked up about it–it wouldn’t be your first kiss, or your second, or even third for that matter. But you’ve been avoiding him like the plague since the last time you rehearsed the scene, the two of you staring at each other intently rather than kissing since it was just rehearsal.

Maybe doing this play was a mistake, he thinks, frowning to himself. A few moments later, a large, thin hand rests on his shoulder, and he meets the eyes of his personal cupid, “What do you want?”

“Well that's not how you should greet your big brother,” Hyunjin whines with a pout. He chooses to dismiss the younger boy’s you’re not my big brother, instead opting to talk about the real reason he sprinted after Jeongin. “So, how are you feeling? The play is next week, when you’ll finally kiss your true love.”

The shorter teen chokes on air at Hyunjin’s words, filled with embarrassment. “Be quiet!”

“Sorry! But really, how are you guys? I’ve noticed [Y/N] dodging you like she dodges her vegetables.”

Jeongin shrugs, “I don’t know. I think auditioning was a mistake, it's probably too weird for her, especially since she doesn’t like me like that.” He completely misses the look on Hyunjin’s face, continuing, “I’ll have to apologize after the play I guess.”

The taller boy facepalms, stepping in front of the freshman, “Don’t apologize–it's not your fault. Plus, that’s weird.”

Jeongin wants to argue, but decides against it ultimately, nodding in agreement with Hyunjin’s words.

——

“What do you want?” Jeongin stares at you intensely, leaning against the cardboard car behind him. “What d’you want?”

You shake your head vigorously, tears in your eyes, “It's not that simple!”

He interrupts you, his voice more stern than the last time he uttered these words to you, “What. Do you. Want?” Lip quivering, you watch him ask you once more. “Damn it, what do you want?”

Eyes filled with emotions and tears, you finally get out a weak, “I have to go.”

The set workers are quick to cover the stage as they change the set to show you talking to your character’s fiance as Jeongin hides off in the wing, watching your incredible performance. He doesn’t know how, but you really did develop a talent for acting since the last play the school put on.

Soon enough, you’re by Jeongin’s side, the two of you watching as the teachers playing the older versions of your character play out their scenes beautifully, bringing everyone–especially Hyunjin–to tears with their performance.

“You did a great job, really,” Jeongin mutters, almost too quietly for you to hear him, but you do.

You grin at him, “Has nice Jeongin finally made a reappearance?”

“Nevermind, this is why I don’t say nice things to people,” he scowls, turning away from you, only to be stopped by you turning him back to you. “What?”

“Do you want to get something to eat with me after this?”

He’s confused, flustered, and excited if he’s being honest. But he keeps up his nonchalant attitude and nods. “Sure,” fighting the tender expression ghosting his face at your happiness.

After a few minutes of watching the final scenes, everyone emerges from the stage wings, taking their places beside one another, Jeongin and you in the center as the leads. Joining hands, you all bow, taking in the praises from your parents, classmates, and anyone else who watched the play. Then you’re dragging him to your bikes, the two of you freshly out of costume, still sweating from the under-conditioned theater you had just stood in for hours.

“Do you even know what you want to eat?”

You nod, beginning to pedal down the street towards the small food stand that always lingers by your school–a student favorite. You’ve already ordered two corn dogs, waiting by the stand as Jeongin pulls up. “What are you? Some secret speed cyclist?”

“Maybe,” you hand him his corn dog, “Can we go sit over there?”

He follows your finger to look at a lonely bench underneath a tree that's only a few meters away, a small, dim lightbulb just barely illuminating the area. “Are you sure? What if there are spiders?”

“Stop trying to scare me and move your butt,” you command, strutting forward to the bench. He follows with a sigh, dragging his feet and bike behind you.

As the two of you eat in silence, Jeongin finds that he doesn’t agree with Hyunjin’s advice once again, speaking up awkwardly. “I’m really sorry if the kissing scenes were weird for you, I tried not to put a lot of pressure or anything into them, if that makes you feel better.”

You cough, laughing at his awkward apology. “It's fine. Don’t worry about it,” your words are muffled by the food in your mouth and your laughter–which triggers some sort of embarrassment in your best friend.

“Why are you laughing at me? I’m obviously nervous and apologizing because I thought that’s why you were avoiding me, and you’re laughing,” he can’t hide the bit of irritation in his voice, or the pink hue covering his face as your laughter grows, “And you’re still laughing. Why are you laughing at me?”

Taking a few deep breaths, you turn to him, “It's just, I was avoiding you because of the kiss scene, but that’s not the only reason why,” a weird grin on your face, “I spent so long, ranting to you about one guy who kept rejecting me, and there I was, unable to face you because we had to kiss for a play. And you’re apologizing for it, even though you didn’t even know if that was why. It’s just really funny seeing how this all turned out?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ll tell you in a second, if you tell me something first,” you lean towards him, a strange glint in your eye, “Yang Jeongin, do you have a crush on me?”

He starts genuinely tweaking at that, choking on his food, chunks flying out of his mouth from the sheer and utter shock of your question. “What? Why are you asking me that?” He coughs again, his face becoming a shade of red that rivals that of a strawberry, “What the fuck why can’t I stop coughing?”

“I’m sorry! Are you okay? I didn’t think you would start dying if I asked you!” You apologize, rubbing his back and offering the half-drank bottle of water in your bag. “I just needed an answer!”

“Why?”

“Answer and I’ll tell you why!”

“Why do you need to know? You’re so weird sometimes!”

“Jeongin,” you pause, hands on his shoulders as you look him directly in the eye, “Do you like me?”

He avoids your gaze, closing his eyes and mumbling an inaudible yes.

“I can’t hear you~!” He mumbles it slightly louder.

“I still can’t hear you,” you tease, your hands still on his shoulders as you push them back so he has to look at you.

“I’m not doing this. You heard me and you still didn’t tell me,” he groans with a pout in his voice, “And you say I’m the jerk.”

You laugh at his aggravation, finding it hard to take him seriously when he looks like a red crayon threw up on his face. He gets up from the space beside you, sitting on his bike and getting ready to ride home when you come up beside him.

“Hey,” you say quietly, making him look at you. You hold in the urge to laugh at his annoyed expression. His eyebrows are furrowed, and he’s obviously fed up with being embarrassed for one night. With all your courage, you whisper,

“I like you too.”

"I like your eyes, you look away when you pretend not to care I like the dimples on the corners of the smile that you wear I like you more, the world may know but don't be scared ‘Cause I'm falling deeper, baby be prepared" ― Translation from Ysabelle's English Cover of "I Like You So Much, You'll Know It"

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kunikukitty · 7 months

Text

Unrequited?

✐wanderer x gn!reader

✐angst, hurt/no comfort

Falling in love with someone incapable of feeling love is one of the worst hardships you encountered.

At first you thought you already had a chance on him because he indulge in a conversation with you and lets you hang out with him even if it's something trivial— which is unlikely for him to agree unto.

It sparked a hope inside you. He even admitted it to you that he could tolerate your presence at least, which is why he lets you get close.

But that's it.

You tried what you could— from subtle flirting to direct flirting. Yet nothing changes, he treats you the same way he always does. Although he sometimes match your humor, he do not return the same vibe.

No matter what you do, there are no openings that lets the both of you to take it more than a mere friendship.

You are ready, you've already come to the terms that you're in love with him. But he doesn't.

He do not blush at your advances, he do not feel butterflies around you. Worst yet, he feels no emotional attachment with you.

You thought that if you tried harder, you'll be able to melt the ice around him. But still, nothing happens. Years began to pass by, it is still the same.

You had directly confessed to him six times and indirectly confessed more than that. But whenever you do, you're always met with rejection.

You don't know what keeps you going. You don't know why you haven't given up yet despite the clear rejection you always receive. Perhaps it is because you're forcing yourself to find hope upon the warmth in his eyes, or because he never lets anyone get close to him aside from the archon of dendro herself and you— or maybe you just love him so much you refuse to accept that he would never love you back.

But maybe now... is time to give up?

As a human being, you can't help but to crave intimacy. Maybe because you're exposed to romance novels, but you wish to encounter a fate like that too.

Forcing yourself unto him and believing on a false hope that you'd experience it with him is hurting your fragile heart.

Why does he has to be someone... like that?

You don't understand.

He prefers solitude, that you can understand. He has a dark past, which you accepted wholeheartedly— making you eager to let him feel loved even more. Despite being a puppet, he experience having intense emotions.

So why... why is he incapable of loving someone?

If he could feel human emotions, why can't he feel what's it like to have romantic love for someone?

Despite being able to get close to him, you feel like he's still further away. Just like everyone else, he still shoves you away. He still prefers spending his time alone than waste it with you.

You are outside of the wall he built, away from evoking a feeling inside his non-existent heart.

You once thought before that maybe he's just scared on indulging in such a feeling, maybe he's just scared to commit in a relationship.

But no. Although you try your best to ignore it, his eyes tells. The look in his indigo orbs is something distant, something you're unable to reach. You sometimes sees it soften, but never in a way that is similar to yours.

It was never the same.

You walked through the busy street of Sumeru, and you were quick to notice someone. Your eyes always craves to see him, so a sight of his figure would never go unnoticed by you.

Your felt your chest tightened.

With each passing moment you watch the Wanderer, chatting away with the traveler and Paimon in the Puspa Cafe, you could feel something sharp stabbing your heart.

There was a heavy, hollow feeling in your chest, like the abyss has just swallowed your heart whole. the world around you grows cold and distant, as if it has lost its color and vibrancy. There's a knot in your stomach, like a void that can never be filled. Every emotion is muted and dull, as if your mind is filled with fog instead of thoughts.

He's treating them the same way as he does with you. He stares at them with the same look in his eyes that you've grown accustomed to.

As the sharp feeling claws its way deeper into your heart, its piercing claws scrape and scratch against your fragile spirit, tearing it apart.

Ah, you really aren't anyone special to him, it appears.

355 notes · View notes

aislinrayne · 1 month

Text

[𝔐𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱] [𝔖𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔐𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱]

𝔖𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: Anthony Lockwood makes it through a late and relaxed morning, a leisurely afternoon well suited to reminiscing, and the earliest part of a normal evening before his luck runs out.

ℜ𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤: M

𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: They're idiots, your honour, unrequited pining (it's requited, they're just stupid), language, canon typical violence, only proof-read while sick

𝔄𝔲𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔯'𝔰 𝔑𝔬𝔱𝔢: I love me a good miscommunication trope, and coming up with ideas on how to make long-term mutual pining work is way too much fun, so finally figuring out both angles of what these two lovebird's dynamic was going to be was a major driving force behind this re-write hehehe I'm not sorry This chapter fought me every step of the way, and I had to split it into two parts so it wasn't outrageously long, but in the end I'm incredibly happy with the result! Chapter three will take place only a few minutes after the end of this.

Since this is where the 'slight au' part comes into play, I'm curious to see what you guys think of the world building in this one! Please feel free to leave any comments or questions if I was a bit vague on something, or if you just want to know more about this little headcanon universe of mine

𝔚𝔬𝔯𝔡 ℭ𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 5.17k

⇠ 𝔓𝔯𝔢𝔳𝔦𝔬𝔲𝔰 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯

The sun has only just begun its descent towards the horizon, but the chill on the wind already cuts to the bone. In spite of the numerous layers of suit and coat, it bites into Anthony’s flesh.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” a woman calls out to him, loud enough to be heard over the chorus of cafe patrons hiding from the cold behind steaming cups of tea and coffee.

“I think I’d be better off not doing anything you would do, Luce,” he shoots a wink at her over his shoulder, holding the door open with his elbow to shoot a two-fingered salute at the ginger woman beside her laughing unabashedly at their playful bickering.

Lucy mutters a retort under her breath, a particularly colourful string of insults if the swat on the arm it earns from her girlfriend is anything to go by.

The door swings shut behind him, abruptly cutting off the sound of Norrie chastising her partner about ‘publicly decent language’ and leaving him with a pep in his step as he wanders towards Regent Street in the general direction of his favourite rapier shop.

Something about afternoon tea with his best friend and her girlfriend always leaves him feeling reminiscent, the water-colour splashes in soft shades of orange across the horizon only serve to heighten the feeling. His short walk to Mullet and Sons allows him some time to indulge.

A lot had changed in the six years since Lucy had joined himself and George at Lockwood & Co.. For one, they’d gained quite the reputation. Fittes and Rotwell were still most people’s first choice, but now you’d be more likely to hear their little agency recommended than Bunchurch or Tendy’s. He’ll admit, initially it seemed as though they were going to become infamous rather than renowned; between the disaster at Sheen Road, the disaster at Combe Carey, the disaster at–

Well, you get the point. It hadn’t looked promising.

Their luck had begun to change with the case of the Bone Glass, then eventually Aickmere’s, but it hadn’t felt like nearly enough. Those days had been filled with anxiety. Worst of all was the fear of his Talent fading, the uncertainty of what his life would look like without the thing he’d based every choice he’d ever made on. How was he supposed to survive in a world in which he couldn’t See? He’d been terrified of running out of time to achieve his dreams, petrified he would fail his family by never achieving anything worthy of their name. It was safe to say he hadn’t been in the best headspace.

The fear almost overwhelmed him as time rushed on towards his eighteenth birthday, made all the more unignorable by his experience watching Quill Kipps lose his own Sight. And while they’d found a solution for the retired Fittes agent in the form of Fairfax’s Ghost-Vision goggles, there was no replacement for the real thing.

And then the daunting milestone had come and gone with no discernible difference.

George was the next oldest. Over the course of that year his Talent faded slowly, then all at once. He hadn’t minded overmuch, the library had become preferable to being in the field somewhere around their fifth arson-related-incident. In his defence, Mrs. Manfield flying across her lawn like a bat out of hell screaming about her antique doily collection being smoke-stained would have been enough to traumatise anyone.

The following year had gone quite flawlessly, if he did say so himself. With George as their dedicated researcher, and Lucy and Anthony’s competitive spirits driving them to never fall behind each other in skill, they were capable of taking on a significantly larger number of cases. If they needed additional hands in the field for any particularly challenging jobs they’d enlist either George or Kipps with the aid of the goggles.

But by her nineteenth birthday, Lucy actually seemed upset that her Talent refused to fade. The boys had been confused by this at first, and while Lockwood had the sense to leave it alone, George had continued to question her. They’d found out the full story of how she’d come to be an agent when she’d finally broken down. She’d never chosen this life, and even though she loved her time with Lockwood & Co., she’d always been comforted by the notion that this life of fighting and fear had an expiration date. In contrast to his own relief and excitement at the prospect of never losing his Talent, she felt nothing but trepidation. George was watery eyed by the end of her confession, his lips pressed tightly into a thin line to prevent them trembling. Anthony felt like he might be sick. By the light of the numerous mismatched candles on Lucy’s lopsided birthday cake, they made a pact to pretend as though her Talent was fading, and phase her out of the agency within a year's time.

A few short months later, the first headline popped up in a small gossip rag. It wasn’t even one of his top five. Someone had taken notice of his remaining Sight at his advanced age, but hadn’t yet noticed their attempts to fake Lucy’s waning Listening.

In the days after the first article's publication, the obnoxiously loud business phone began ringing more often. Then, another article in a larger paper. Followed by another, then several more.

Anthony had to restrain George from ripping the phone’s cord out of the wall after one too many interrupted naps. The researcher moved in with Flo not long after, but still kept his room mostly furnished for the evenings he worked far too late to make it to their flat safely.

By the time their story had been told often enough for the media to lose interest, they had gone from having enough cases to keep them busy to too many to keep up with in what had to be some kind of record time. In light of the extra attention they had considered hiring another agent, but their options were slim and the thought of bringing in a child to fight their battles was surprisingly difficult to stomach. Anthony made a mental note to apologise to Barnes after that realisation, gaining some perspective on the man who’d tried so desperately to keep them away from the front lines.

Time felt more like an undefeatable foe in the six months that followed than it had at any previous point in his life. How was he supposed to keep taking on cases without anyone to watch his back in the field? Would he end up alone in this bloody house yet again? Despite the thoughts that haunted his darker moments, he knew he would let Lucy leave without any fuss. Even in the last weeks of her employment he knew he could never be selfish enough to ask her to stay. Though, had he known–

A street sign reading ‘Half Moon Lane’ interrupts him from his stroll down memory lane, heralding the end of his journey. The old building slumps under the weight of time. Even the paint on the window is chipped, almost removing the ‘Sons’ in Mullet and Sons. Although the storefront's outward appearance borders on decrepit, they have undeniably the highest quality rapier’s in London. The hinges shriek as he pushes the door open, alerting the proprietor to the presence of a customer.

“Ah, Mr. Lockwood! A pleasure, as always. How can I help you, my boy?” emerging from the back room, the white haired old man beams upon recognising him.

“Mr. Mullet, please, the pleasure is mine! I believe one of my agents placed an order with you recently? I’m here to pick up for her.”

After confirming her name and the details of the order, the old man teeters his way back into the room he’d just come from. When he emerges again, he does so with empty hands and a deep frown upon his face.

“It appears one of my sons has caused a touch of a mixup and sent your employee’s rapier home with another agent. I can place another order with our supplier, but I’m afraid it won’t arrive until the end of the month,” his tone is apologetic, but Anthony still has to fight the urge to groan in frustration.

“Mistakes happen, Mr. Mullet. We’re only human after all,” thankfully, he’s had plenty of practice schooling his tone over the years, “that being said… we’ve made commitments for this evening. I can’t very well ask one of my agents to walk into a haunted house unarmed.”

“Of course, I understand completely. Since you’ve been doing business with us for so long, I’m willing to offer a percentage off of any of our in stock models as a token of our apology.”

It’s a gracious offer, one Anthony is happy to accept. He defers to the expertise of the older man, allowing him to lead them from option to option within the dimly lit store.

Trying to choose such an essential tool for her without her input is a surprisingly daunting task, and he finds himself quickly overwhelmed. Searching for something to distract him until he can ground himself properly, he lets his eyes wander freely over the different kinds of metal glittering from mahogany shelves before they fix on a single standing display across the room. Driven by curiosity, he approaches the case to inspect its contents. What he finds nearly steals the breath from his lungs. Laying on a scarlet velvet cushion is the most beautiful rapier he’s ever laid eyes on. It has a fine silver blade, connected to an intricate swept hilt inlaid with gold leaves that wind around the counterguards and down the central ridge. When his eyes travel to the pommel and find her birth stone caged within golden vines, he begins mental preparations to re-mortgage the house. Thankfully, when Mr. Mullet wanders over to find him staring transfixed at the weapon, he gives him a knowing smile and cuts the younger man a deal he almost feels guilty accepting.

When he departs the shop, rapier tucked safely into a cloth wrap, the sun is dangerously close to the horizon.

Uttering a quiet prayer to the powers-that-be, he scans the area for a payphone. Luck is on his side today and he finds one rather quickly, tucked into a nook beside a cafe a few shops down. As he makes a beeline for it with purpose, he comes aware of the hairs on the back of his neck standing slowly to attention. At first it’s easy to brush it off as a result of the temperature, but the closer he gets to the booth the more the sensation builds. It feels like someone’s watching him. Stepping into the silver-glass encased rectangle, he lifts the phone from the receiver before pausing. Thinking quickly, he puts on his best thoughtful expression, pretending to have forgotten the number he needs to call as an excuse to let his eyes wander his surroundings. The droning of the phone waiting for input makes the entire situation feel even more unnerving.

Nothing glaringly obvious jumps out at him; no nefarious stalker in a trench coat peers at him from some dark alley, no one stares at him over the top of an upside-down newspaper. All his eyes can find is folks hurrying into their vehicles before the threat of darkness grows, shop workers locking their doors and flicking off their lights.

Scoffing at himself for allowing his paranoia to get the best of him, he dials a night cab. Though he’s quite certain he’d imagined the threat, he still refrains from mentioning his destination out loud. He hadn’t made it as far as he had by throwing all caution to the wind. Just… most of it. Before he can waste too much time chastising himself any further, he slams the phone back into place and turns with purpose to wait for his ride in the safety of the cafe.

Honestly, it’s a good thing he’s so dramatic. If he hadn’t insisted on doing the most theatrical spin, complete with the billowing of his coat as he exited the box, he wouldn’t have startled the man watching him from behind the corner of a nearby bookstore. The balding head disappears as the body it’s attached to ducks behind the brick wall. Anthony has several options, but very few of them are good. He quickly decides his best course of action is to pretend to be unaware of the man’s presence, electing to continue on to grab himself a tea whilst he plans his next move.

Watching the brilliant orange and scarlet glow of sunset, Anthony finds himself observing the comings and goings of vehicles outside the shop window. There’s an unusual amount of traffic for this time of day. He’d expect to see a large number flocking to their homes, seeking safety from the threats that come with darkness. But to see even two or three vehicles stop to park alongside the road this time of night was unusual.

The arrival of his cab shakes him from that train of thought, jumping the tracks straight to figuring out how to make it to Mrs. Roland’s house in decent time without being followed. He hadn’t seen another sign of the man since, but he’s not convinced the danger has actually passed. With a huff, he draws himself out of the comfortable chair. The cold air is no more forgiving now than it had been before. Allowing the warmth of the night cab to envelop him, he instructs the driver to begin a complex route to their destination in the hopes of losing those tailing him.

The sky is pitch black by the time they arrive, but his efforts seem to have been successful. While he’d thought for a moment one of the cars that started up as he’d exited the cafe might have been following them at first, there’s no sign now of anyone suspicious following behind.

Stepping out of the cab onto the curb, he takes a deep breath and tries to sort his thoughts before he dares to step foot into the house. Why, precisely, would somebody have him under observation? For once in his life, he can’t think of anyone who would have reason to. Pulling up the sleeve of his coat to check the watch on his wrist, he curses under his breath at the time. There’s going to be a lot of grovelling in his very near future. It’s nearly thirty minutes past six. She’s going to kill him, and he can’t even fault her for it.

He’s about to rush into the house when a set of headlights comes into view at the top of the street, nearly blinding him before cutting to blackness at the sight of his silhouette.

Bloody hell, that is the final straw. He’d done quite a fine job feigning ignorance until this point, but he has to draw the line at this level of obviously shady behaviour. If they’re this incompetent he can get to the bottom of the matter without the need for secrecy or strategy. He straightens to his full height, setting his jaw and turning to walk with confidence towards the sleek black car now parked roughly a hundred feet ahead of him.

The sound of glass shattering fills the quiet night air before he can make it more than halfway, stopping him dead in his tracks as he listens for any further sign of danger. Usually, the thought of his associate in any form of peril is more than enough to send him spiralling into an – admittedly unnecessary – protective frenzy. However, considering all elements of the present situation, he finds himself torn. Their interview with Mrs. Roland prior to the acceptance of the case had left them both confident the Visitor is a Type One, which she’s more than capable of handling herself, and if he doesn’t chase this lead down now–

An unholy shriek echoes down the street, sending chills down his spine.

Sketchy stalker-mobile be damned.

He turns on a dime, long legs carrying him across the lawn as if chasing his own shadow as the headlights behind him reignite and light his path. The golden beams veer away, the car pulling a sharp u-turn to flee the scene. If he wasn’t so worried, he’d probably be frustrated. He almost can’t stop fast enough to prevent himself from running face-first into the door when the handle refuses to turn. Swearing loudly, he jiggles it again to ensure it isn’t just stiff before he risks causing property damage. The screaming is making it hard to think, but he can’t quite put his finger on what about it is making him feel so unnerved. When it finally hits him, property damage is the least of his concerns. Barely audible beneath the unnaturally shrill sound, her scream is hoarse and pained.

He takes a full stride back, rocking his weight back on his left leg and lifting his right. His foot hits its mark directly beside the lock, the full weight of his panic-aided-strength sending it flying open. He can’t help but wince at the crunch of drywall, likely from the knob on the far side embedding itself in the wall, but he doesn’t waste any further time on it before striding into the house. Dead ahead, an electric lantern sitting on the kitchen counter bounces light off of the shining tiles covering the majority of the space. To his left is a small dining room with only a mid-sized table, four chairs, and a plethora of obnoxiously colourful paintings on the walls. Deciding having both hands free will be more conducive to survival, he dumps the cloth bag containing her new rapier on the table and rushes towards the commotion.

Between his relief at seeing her unharmed and the sheer comedic value of the expression on her face as she slides around the corner with arms flailing, he almost bursts into hysterical laughter. Thankfully, his self preservation instinct is strong enough to encourage him to duck behind the wall while he gets himself under control. Under normal circumstances he would let her exit the house rather than practically jumping out at her, but he can’t be sure there isn’t someone still waiting outside. And as a small bonus, if she’s already mentally signing his death certificate, he can’t make it any worse by making an entrance. He feels a grin spread across his features despite a valiant effort not to enjoy this too much.

“Sorry it took me so long, darling. Traffic was atrocious,” he has to bend to wrap an arm around her middle, but that doesn’t stop him. Instead of lashing out or screaming again, she catches him off guard by completely relaxing into his hold. A spark of protectiveness flares beneath his breast as the back of her head falls to rest on his collarbone and she lets out a shaking breath. In stark contrast to her usually unflappable nature, she trembles like a leaf. There’s no way a simple Type One put her in this state.

It takes all of his willpower to peel his arm from her waist, to offer her the only shield he can by tucking her safely behind him. He takes a deep breath in through his nose, exhaling slowly through pursed lips and drawing his rapier. It’s not enough to eliminate the intoxicating effect of her proximity, but it dampens it enough he can think clearer.

“Anthony John Lockwood, you fucking asshole! The sun set half an hour ago!” the rage in her tone fills him with relief, not even the impact of the flat of her hands against his back can take away from it. He’d obviously prefer if she were calm, but he’ll take anger over despair any day.

“Any idea what kind of Visitor we’re dealing with? Or what the Source could be?” he breezes past her outburst, not having to look over his shoulder to know if looks could kill he’d be dead on his feet.

He knew this routine like the back of his hand. She’d be angry at first, call him every name in the book, and then they’d move past it and get the job done.

Except there’s no scoff, no retort, no rapid fire insults, no reply of any kind. The silence is deafening. Taking back every scathing remark he’s ever made about Orpheus’ lack of restraint, he caves to the impulse and glances over his shoulder. He’d been right about the look, at least. The incredulous fury painted across her face might have been comical in another place, on another day. But there, just beneath the surface, was something he hadn’t expected to find; betrayal.

Shit. He’s really fucked up this time.

“Y’know what? Figure it out yourself,” the venom dripping from her tone feels like knives in his chest, “you would have had to if you’d been a minute later anyways.” Time comes shuddering to a halt. His pulse is deafening as it thunders in his ears. If he’d put her life in legitimate danger – regardless of the circumstances – he’d never forgive himself.

“What do you mean? What happened?” he manages to choke around the lump in his throat that feels suspiciously like his heart, turning to face her fully and reassure himself by searching every visible inch of her for any sign of injury. The urge to reach out and touch her, to feel her body beneath his hands and know for sure she isn’t being stubborn enough to hide some kind of fatal wound from him, is so strong his fingers burn.

After a few incidents involving him turning into a lovesick moron at the slightest touch from her early on in her employment, she’d gone to great lengths to avoid any form of contact with him. He’d come to terms with this, resigning himself to the idea of a life spent admiring her from arms length. So while she hadn’t seemed too opposed to having him in her personal space tonight, he had no intentions of pushing any farther and making her uncomfortable.

That was the plan, at least. But when screaming pierces the air once more, the colour drains from her face, and he watches her cave in on herself in an attempt to hide; he feels like this counts as extenuating circumstances. He takes a single large step forward, arms reaching towards her in unison. Her hands are over her ears, head tucked into her chest, elbows tight to her ribs. He allows his upper body to curl at the edges and cage her against him, hugging her head to his chest to muffle the noise.

Then, it stops. It’s hard to decide if the ghostly howling or ensuing silence is louder.

“You okay?” he murmurs the question, reluctantly releasing her to rest his hands on her shoulders and leaning down to try to catch her gaze in the low light. There’s merely inches between their faces when her unfocused eyes finally lock with his own. It’s hard to breathe without acknowledging they’re breathing the same air, but he files that thought away for later. He concentrates instead on tracing every one of her features with his gaze, every tensed muscle and line that may offer him some insight into her condition. She squeezes her eyes shut, blinking like she’s just woken up. When she finally focuses on him, her pupils blow wide as dinner plates. Her lips part, her small gasp the only disturbance in the air as he involuntarily holds his breath.

A sharp stab of heartbreak courses through him as she steps back abruptly, raising her palms in surrender. His poor heart stops dead for the umpteenth time today when he spots the dark spot on her hand. She tries to drop her arms, to move to put more distance between them, but his sense of urgency outweighs his better judgement as he grasps her tightly by the wrist. The chill of her skin beneath his does nothing to assuage his concerns as he pulls her across the kitchen to the light, ignorant to her protests through the haze of his anxiety. Their proximity to the light confirms his fear, and the crimson red of fresh blood staining her skin has his stomach rebelling against him. As soon as he drops her wrist she pulls it away and clutches it to her body, glaring daggers at him. He makes a mental note to beg for her forgiveness later, reaching for her face and watching shades of red begin to decorate her flesh as she reaches new levels of infuriation. Her skin is sinfully soft beneath the fingers that turn her towards the light and brush against her cheek, tucking the hair behind her ear to give him a better view. A cold blanket of righteous fury settles over him at the sight of the narrow crimson river running sluggishly down her neck, using his thumb to swipe it away. Murderous thoughts fill his head at the sight of the stain left in its wake, doubling in intensity at her expression when he shows her the smear of red highlighted by its contrast against his pale skin.

“Now will you tell me about it?” any attempt at a playful tone is harshly undercut by the tremor of rage in his voice, but she still laughs with less nerves than he’d expected.

She studies him closely, but he stares right back, too focused on making the bloody thing pay for hurting her to be self-conscious under her scrutinous gaze. After a short minute of this, understanding blossoms across her face.

“Through the living room, down the hallway - mind the runner, it’s slippery - the primary haunting is in the bedroom. Husband’s name was Harold Roland. There’s a painting on the left wall, initialed ‘H.R.’, psychic imprint like I’ve never seen. Twenty quid says that’s the Source,” she pauses, lost in thought with her eyes fixed on the ground, “Oh! And it’s probably obvious by now, but it’s definitely a Screaming Spirit.”

He can feel the corners of his lips quirking up as she drops the stubborn attitude.

‘Good girl,’ he wants to say.

“Your rapier is on the table,” he says instead, turning his back on her under the guise of watching the direction they’d heard the screaming from. In reality, he’d just needed an excuse to hide his blush and re-centre himself.

He’s so busy shaking the offending thoughts from his head and cursing himself out for allowing his mind to wander into unsafe territory that he’s completely blindsided by the burst of other-light lighting up the living room like a flash bang. He’s still blinking the blind spots from his eyes when rapid movement in his peripherals alerts him to the potential danger. The ringing of iron fills the air as he draws his rapier, muscle memory taking over despite his still spotty vision as he slices clean through the centre of the spectre mere inches from his face.

Behind him, the sound of her drawing her own blade drains anxiety he wasn’t aware he’d been feeling. As she takes her place beside him he admits to himself that nothing in this world feels more natural than having her at his side, trusting him to keep the Visitor at bay whilst he trusts her to strategize.

Despite being the newest member of their agency, Anthony trusts her instincts more than even his own most of the time. He’d figured out not long after she’d joined that she had a particular balance of empathy and intelligence - and a sixth sense he couldn’t really explain - that made her an asset in the field. Of course he’d never been dense enough to phrase it like that to her face, not after sticking his foot in his mouth with Luce all those years ago.

Her posture shifts almost imperceptibly, but it’s enough to tell him she’s finished piecing together a plan. All he can do now is hope she’s feeling generous enough to let him in on it.

The crisp clean sound of her new rapier sliding into its sheath suggests he might be out of luck. He’s considering whether or not it’s worth asking her directly when his brain sputters, then stalls. She steps back far enough he has no warning of her proximity until she presses herself completely against him, the surface area of her chest displacing against the back of his ribs in a way that leaves him feeling a little dizzy. As much as he really, really enjoys her hands dancing along his sides and hips, he can’t help but question her truly terrible timing as he fights to keep his blade in the air to ward off their ‘friend’.

“Follow my lead,” she says. It takes a while to filter through the dial-up connection that is his mind at that moment. He regains his composure just as she hurls the salt-bomb over his shoulder, realisation dawning on him in a flash similar to that of the silver fulminate as it collides with the ghost before him. So that’s what she’d been up to.

She’s off like a bullet the second the apparition dissipates, shooting past him and into the other room. In a rather impressive manoeuvre, she tucks and rolls to land on her side parallel to a horrifically sunny loveseat before shoving her arm beneath it as though searching for something. Of all of the things he could possibly expect for her to retrieve, a silver-net was not one of them. He adds that to the list of questions he has for her once they get this situation under control.

She’s back on her face and hurdling across the house like a bat out of hell when Mr. Roland decides to make another appearance in the form of a pair of ghostly arms emerging from the white walls. A stone drops in his gut when he realises there’s no way he can reach her before the grasping arms of the apparition wrap around her shoulders.

“DUCK!” he hollers, an iron taste filling his mouth. She immediately dives for the floor and–

He loses sight of her past the walls of the hallway.

The pounding of his heart drowns out the noises that follow, his legs carrying him across the house on autopilot. The cold air stings every inch of exposed skin as he closes the distance to the active haunting, but it’s not nearly as cold as the blood in his veins when he spots the telltale sparkle of silver on the rug outside the bedroom. He ducks to grab the net and sweeps through the doorway just in time to watch her body fly across the room.

Even the brutal screaming had paled in comparison to the sound of her head hitting the bed frame.

𝔑𝔢𝔵𝔱 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 ⇢ ℭ𝔬𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔰𝔬𝔬𝔫…

taglist (if your name is in bold, it wouldn't let me tag you!): @tessas4 @chloejaniceeee @shakespearseclipse @ettadear @kassandra1000 @stardust611 @ell0ra-br3kk3r

𝔉𝔬𝔯 𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔞𝔤𝔢𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱, 𝔱𝔞𝔭 [𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢]

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acupofqueercoffee · 7 months

Text

“Caught in a web, drunk on love”

Shutara Senjumaru x Reader

wc : 3100

cw : not really unrequited love // jealousy // misunderstandings // a sprinkle of drama // fluffy floofs

well what can i say. she’s so mommy and i’m a hoe for mommies so i couldn’t help it. always wanted to write something for her but i was just needing that little push which obviously her bankai gave me 😩

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Spider. A creature you have never been too big of a fan of. Those creepy crawlers with their beady eyes and fuzzy limbs are, and will always be the genesis of your nightmares. Simply the idea of the word will forever have dread burgeoning within you and ice cascading down your spine, or so you have believed. Why, then, are flowers blooming inside your chest as you watch the bane of your existence weaving a web? In other words, you are atrociously, irreversibly, positively, and utterly fucked.

In the Soul King Palace, you are one of the less important guards under the direct command of one Shutara Senjumaru. Less important of course than the esteemed Royal Guards, but certainly on par with the strongest of shinigamis. Although there is no official title to it, your position beside your lady is an equivalent of a Lieutenant down in Seireitei.

Ever since the beginning, the divine general of the north, with her onyx hair and golden halo, eyes oozing with mesmerism, and lips a delightful red, but the most arresting of all, her spindly automatonic limbs sprouting from her back like six unworldly wings, has reminded you of a spider: one that is elegant and teeming with splendour. The lady’s introduction into your life has seeded in you a habit of conjuring up her face whenever you see or even think of your once-dreaded friends. In fact, when you think of an eight-legged crawler, you are rarely thinking of one and very much thinking of the six artificially limbed stunner. Hence, you are decisively fucked.

In pursuit of comfort, your hand, as if having a mind of its own, glide towards your waist where a knitted red charm dwells, the tassel of which dangles from the white sash of your uniform. Running delicate fingers along the intricate patterns of fine silk, your lips flourish into a smile.

From socks to scarfs and whatnots, your lady, the great weaver as her name suggests, has tailored many a thing for you. Not only has she remedied a great many holes in your battle worn uniforms, she has also graciously showered you with a miscellany of pristine garments. After all, artisanship is your lady’s forte, occurring as naturally as breathing to her, and her six hands are either sewing, knitting, embroidering or doing all three of it at the same time. She does it with such great finesse and dexterity that she may as well be carving a statue of herself out of your heart, for it worships the very ground she walks on.

When you notice her presence, you smell it before you hear it. Delightfully floral with a touch of dark undertones, heavenly, mysterious and so undoubtedly her.

“It was my understanding that you have a strong dislike for them, no?”

Comes the mesmerising lilt of her voice, glazed with a trickle of tease, and you smile a little, knowing smile, bringing your gaze from the spider to its human counterpart.

“I’ve steadily started finding them charming I’m afraid.” The little blossom of a smile on your lips once you search her eyes is that of softness. Your lady regards you coolly with a barely noticeable smile, drenched in enigma by her siren-eyed gaze, the caress of which is well-nigh tangible on your face. It does a quick travel to your waist, and upon finding the gift that you carry on your body since acquiring it, a hum spills forth a pair of bewitching, blood-red lips.

“Walk with me.”

You take the hand that she offers, smooth, spindly and rather ample in size that you are only truly able to grasp two of her lithe digits.

“With pleasure, my lady.”

“Am I allowed to wonder what exactly is the architect of your change in impression of arachnid? You of yore would flee the site if she so much as catches a glimpse of an itsy-bitsy one, I’m sure.”

You love that she remembers things about you the way you do things about her. She fancies her tea with a drizzle of honey. Not unlike a spider, she does have eight arms, the two of which are of her own flesh and blood, and because she keeps them hidden under her cloak at all times, only a handful of people have witnessed them. You have, during a visit to the hot spring in Kirinden. Nobody has given her a gift personally hand crafted by them, so when you have made for her a braided charm, a very clumsy attempt at that, she has told you that she would cherish it, and cherish it, she does. Despite it being faulty, it has found its forever home tucked safely in the red sash of her outfit, the tassel of it peeking out from under her haori with every elegant step she takes. Playful banter is her favourite pastime and it amuses her greatly that you indulge her. So once again, you do.

“You have every liberty to wonder, my lady. The decision to answer lies in my hand after all. I will say this though, it’s who rather than what.”

“My,” So she drawls in a tone that deliciously tickles your spine, and when she stops, you do too, watching as lips reveal teeth in a kittenish smile. “is that so?”

You have an inkling that to an extent, she knows of your fondness for her, evident in the way she humors you. Judging from her behaviors, she does not appear entirely opposed to it, and you might even go as far as saying that there is a good chance of her considering you should you confess.

Suddenly, a droplet touches your cheek. In the small interval of time that it takes for you to look up, your lady has expertly woven an umbrella out of thin air, all the while her one hand holds onto yours. By the time a drizzle escalates to a downpour, you are well under the protection of your lady’s masterful craft. However, your heart is going haywire, for the space between the two of you has considerably narrowed when your eyes meet. Leaning forward, a cool pad of a thumb presses a delicate kiss onto your cheek, caressing the wetness away from your face which inadvertently leaves a pink tinge in its wake.

“Let’s call it a day, shall we?”

At your nod of approval, she adjusts her hold on you, slipping her fingers just so that your hands are intertwined together. The tips of her robotic digits easily reach your wrist, and when the cool pad of her thumb gingerly traces the hummingbird flutter of your pulse, the little creature coos inside your ribcage.

Roses are red.

The sky is blue.

And oh how you love Senjumaru.

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“Yoohoo Shutara, look who I found dilly-dallying around!”

The guffaw of Hikifune jolts Senjumaru out of her bath induced reverie. Her head tilts, propped up by her fist, the dark waterfall of her hair swaying slightly as her eyes lazily search her friend.

Think of the devil and the devil is here.

A ghost of a smile graces her lips, for she finds you tucked under the arm of the ruler of grain. It has been a while after all since the two of you have spent time together.

“Can you please unhand me?” More laughter ensues, louder this time, and your request is effectively nipped in the bud. Ruffling your hair, she tugs you closer to the point that you are smothered by her generous bosoms.

“Lady Hikifune, you- you’re-”

Killing me with your breasts! You wanted to say, but instead, you are left a sputtering mess.

“My my, haven’t you bagged yourself a cutie, Shutara!”

Granted, Senjumaru would find the sweet strawberry shade on your cheeks ridiculously charming, that is, if it had been a product of her doing. Certainly not after you have just been called a cutie by a woman who has her breasts shoved into your face.

And so, she rises with all the grace of a nymph, droplets on her body twinkling like little diamonds in the soft light.

“Why Kirio, I thank you on behalf of my girl for escorting her to me,” Meanwhile, she has effortlessly drawn you into her arms, one of which is slithering across your waist. Alas, the little wasp has been caught in a spider’s web. “but if I do recall, you have matters to attend to, have you not? By all means, do not let us hinder you.”

“Ugh now my mood is spoiled, thank you very much Shutara.” The divine general of the south’s voice drips with sarcasm, and that of the north replies just as sarcastically. “Of course.”

“On another note, I smell ya later cutie!”

With a wink thrown towards your way, the cheery general is gone.

“Wild woman.” Murmurs Senjumaru as two fingers pinch the bridge of her nose.

You on the other hand, through the flimsy fabric of your robe, can feel her body pressing into your back; all the ridges and the valleys, every dip and dent, and lord is she so wonderfully soft.

Suddenly, along with a ghost of a breath on the shell of your ear, her voice greets you. “Hello there, my girl.” Like a dollop of butter on a pile of warm, fluffy pancakes, you melt, all giddy and toasty inside. “Now that you’re here, could I trouble you to give my hair a wash?”

“It’s no trouble at all. I’d be delighted to.” You do not dare turn lest your legs fail you, and in a desperate need of a moment of reprieve for your sorry little heart, you chance a glance at her. “Why don’t you go relax in the water, my lady. I’ll be right with you.”

There is a beat of silence before you feel hands on your hips and a delicate touch of lips on your nape.

“Do not keep me waiting for too long.”

The milkiness of her skin practically glows in the warm water while her luscious mane, like the finest of silks, effortlessly slips through your fingers. The urge to bury your nose in her silky smooth strands is strong, but not as strong as the urge to nuzzle your face in the exquisite beauty of a neck that is captivating you from beneath those onyx mane. Lost in a daydream, you do not realise that you have paused amidst your task until your lady turns towards you. Without so much as a warning, she pulls you into the pool. The sorry excuse of a cloth on your body gives way to water, and you mirror your lady in that you are now thoroughly soaked and bare.

Her gaze roams, and you notice the exact moment that the warm mischievous glint in her eyes goes glacial. She has seen your body, or rather the marks peppered across your neck and chest in varying shades of red. Her face is unreadable, the very picture of aloofness, and although it stings, although it seems as if a chasm has suddenly appeared between the two of you, you try to bridge it, take a step, an olive branch of sorts. It is your darkest nightmare comes true however when she avoids the hand that reaches for her, a look of, dare you say, disgust etched onto her face, and without so much as a word, she takes leave.

What have you done wrong, you do not understand.

All you know is that you feel discarded as though you are but a stale meal.

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To have been branded by this enchantress of a woman and afterwards carry the very traces of herself on your body, even with a good chance that she will no longer have any recollection of your little moment together, has filled you with bliss as much as having her mouth on your flesh did.

Although her mien has betrayed nothing and she was the very picture of poise, you knew she was drunk as soon as endearments fell freely from her lips. “My darling sweetheart” so she has called you, and you have been too naive, too lovesick to believe that, albeit being under the influence of liquor, she has peppered you with kisses while thinking of you, while still being aware that it was on your body that she was leaving her traces. Alas, it has never crossed your mind that you would turn out to be a cheap substitute for the one she truly desires.

“Oi oi Lady Senjumaru has brought a girl to her palace.”

When you have heard such murmurs amongst the guards, as selfish as it is, you were hoping it to be a falsehood.

Your little glimmer of a hope is crushed into smithereens once you are summoned to her chambers only to have your heart join the pile of dust on the ground. Nestled in your lady’s arms like a baby bird, a naked girl mewls and trembles whilst red lips leave messy kisses along her jaw and down the length of her neck.

The spider is making a show of devouring its prey, but instead of fear, you fall victim to pain, oh wretched, unforgiving pain. She is being deliberately cruel because ultimately, you are an audience to this play only due to her invitation.

“My darling little sweetheart.” And you watch, drenched in melancholy, as your lady savours the lips of someone who is not you.

Oh.

“You.” Comes the voice, indifferent unlike the loving coo that was just uttered to the girl cradled close to her chest. “I want you to tidy up my place while I take my darling home.”

Oh.

A nod, or rather, a bow is all you can manage so as not to bare your features that is now marred with an endless cascade of tears.

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Peeved would be a horrible understatement. It does not bode well with Senjumaru that while you were all she could think about, you had been cosying up to another, who, for all she knows, could have been one of her friends. Judging from the little display the other day, it could very well have been Kirio. How laughable she must have appeared, being all overly defensive for naught.

She admits however that she was unnecessarily cruel with her reaction, and that her little act of revenge was childish at best. Essentially, she has only herself to blame, misinterpreting your innocent admiration for her to be something else, something sacred. And now, with that calloused display of hers, she might have even ruined the bond that the two of you have shared.

No matter how she reasons with herself, it still perturbs her after all, and once again, something ugly rears its head when she finds more of those lingering hickeys on your body while she crosses paths with you in Kirinden.

Good and evil play a tug of war, and evil emerges victorious.

“Back from another fun, I presume?”

“Why do you care?”

“My, what gives you the impression that I do? I’m merely curious which one of my comrades’ bed one of my guards is diligently warming every night.”

“Curiosity kills the cat, Lady Senjumaru.”

Rising out of the pool like a predator on a hunt, she corners her prey. Whereas her spindly arms manipulate you so that you are facing away from her and then, trap you against the wall, her two hands find home in the dip of your hips, pulling you until your back fits into the curve of her body.

“And oh does it pounce!” Growls the hunter as lips find your nape, teeth bestowing bruises and tongue soothing stings, all the while you shake like a leaf in her bodily confine.

Her hands wander over to your ribcage, holding you there, thumbing the soft underside of your breasts. It has your back curving into her body.

“Swift work is my biggest selling point, you understand. Do not underestimate the name of Senjumaru.” The sinking of her teeth directly into the throbbing vein on your neck triggers your fingers to dig into the flesh of her thigh. “Shu- ngh- Shutara.”

Senjumaru remembers a dream, an all too tantalising dream. In it, her charming little prey was deliciously caught in her web, and the great weaver has taken her sweet time savouring the delectable creature. What a divine little thing her prey was, squirming in her grasp and panting her name, ambrosia to her ears, while her mouth has mapped as many inches of skin as she could manage, committing everything to memory. It stays with her even when dawn breaks, except that, the dream she had was all but a dream, eluded Senjumaru.

Amidst her arm twining round your chest, she hears it, a broken little sound that is but a tiny whisper.

“Why are you doing this to me?”

The lady turns you in her arms. With gentle fingers, she tucks a few wayward strands behind your ears to reveal more of her colourful works, which she gingerly traces with a delicate digit.

“These were my doing.” It is not a query, merely a statement.

“I understand that you have mistaken me for someone else.” You release a sigh, eyes slipping shut when a thumb presses onto a particularly sore spot. “So please, just let me be.”

“Is that what you want of me? To let you be?”

“What I want doesn’t matter.”

“Why doesn’t it matter?” Your attempt to flee from her gaze is effectively put to an end by a hand cradling your jaw. Mindlessly, a thumb bestows soft caresses to the apple of your cheek. “Answer me.”

“It just doesn’t, alright? Because I’m not- I’m not what you want.” When you look into her eyes, she finds in yours the first dew of tears, and before they could escalate into a cloudburst, she pulls you into her six-armed embrace, your face safely tucked into the nook of her neck. Along with a soft lingering press of a kiss atop your temple, she breathes her words into your skin. “Though I have a penchant for darning, it seems I’m superb at tearing the one thing I want perfectly weaved.”

“I hate you, my lady.” By the way your hands are fisting into her flesh as though your life depends on it, she begs to differ, though she only indulges you, a ghost of a smile hanging loosely on her lips. “Do you now?”

“Very much so. I hate that I love you.”

“Oh, but my dearest, how I love that you love me.”

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#shutara senjumaru x reader #senjumaru shutara x reader #senjumaru x reader #character x reader #shutara senjumaru #senjumaru shutara #squad zero #royal guards #bankai #bleach women #bleach x reader #bleach x you #bleach tybw #mommy mighty fine 😮‍💨#wlw #fluffy #angsty

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440mxs-wife · 1 year

Text

Written in the Stars

Pairing: Dr. Leonard “Bones” McCoy x F!Reader. Other Characters: Jim Kirk, Nyota Uhura, Cmdr. Spock, Christine Chapel (mentioned).

Word Count: 8029

Warnings: Soulmates, show-level violence, Away Team member injury, mutual pining, a smidge of angst due to perceived unrequited love, but FLUFFFFF

Summary: When Dr. McCoy got married, he knew she wasn’t his soulmate, but it didn’t matter to him. After the divorce, he figures he’s missed his chance, due to his age and previous marriage. The Reader joins the crew as the new Science Officer aboard the Enterprise, assigned to Cmdr. Spock’s team. She hasn’t met her soulmate yet, but she seems drawn to a particular member of the Enterprise crew. Could these two lost soulmates have found each other at last?

A/N: If you’ve been tagged here, it’s because you’ve interacted one or more times on a McCoy story of mine, or we’re moots. Whether you like or reblog, I am eternally grateful for your support. If anyone else would like to be tagged on any future Karl Urban character postings, please let me know. Thank you, and enjoy the show!

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Dr. Leonard McCoy joined StarFleet and was assigned to the Enterprise after a few unfortunate events. He left for the five-year mission right after his divorce, having known full well that the woman he married wasn't his soulmate. It didn't matter though, because Leonard didn't believe in that stuff. He was impatient, not interested in living alone anymore, therefore not waiting to find his soulmate. At the time, he'd loved Jocelyn enough to marry her. Only she didn't love him enough to want to stay married to him, or so she'd said.

Of course he had his soulmark, just like everyone he knew had one, with his shaped like a starburst and visible on his wrist. At his age, though, he felt that he should have met his person by now, the one he was destined to be with forever. So after the fiasco with Jocelyn, he'd stopped looking, figuring he'd missed his chance. Which is precisely when his soulmate appeared, and where he least expected it.

The Enterprise was making a scheduled stop at Starbase 42 to pick up supplies and some new crew members. Capt. Kirk had sent over the files, which Dr. McCoy decided to review before the ship reached its destination. Most of them looked pretty routine, a couple of ensigns for Engineering, three for Security. Then there was your file.

According to your bio, you were to be assigned to the Science Department, under Cmdr. Spock. You had been in StarFleet for a bit longer than the average crew member, and had risen to the rank of Lieutenant-Commander (LCmdr.). However, to Dr. McCoy, that only meant you carried a wealth of life experience with you. The only family you had left were your two brothers, each with their own families, and a best friend who became more like your sister.

Leonard glanced at the clock and noticed it was time to head to the transporter room to greet the new additions to the crew. Though the information in your file was fairly standard, Leonard couldn't help but give yours a bit more attention than the others. It was like he was drawn to it, wanting to dive into it and find out all there was to know about you. He arrived at the transporter room and walked in, finding Capt. Kirk and the other officers waiting. "All right, Jim. I'm here, so let's get this show on the road," he grumbled.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

As the shimmering light-particles of the transport beam disappeared, you had re-materialized aboard the Enterprise. It was your dream assignment, to be on StarFleet's flagship, and you looked forward to working with Cmdr. Spock. And of course, you were excited to be serving with Capt. James T. Kirk, one of the most decorated and colorful captains in StarFleet. But almost as soon as you appeared on the pad, you felt a pull in another direction, something you hadn't experienced before.

Once everyone had arrived, the captain introduced himself and the other commanding officers. Your companions handed over their orders, then exited the transporter room to be shown to their quarters. You stepped forward and handed your paperwork to Capt. Kirk and introduced yourself in the process.

"At ease, Commander," Kirk smiled. "We're a little less formal and bit more family around here, not that I don't run a tight ship," he explained.

"Of course not, Captain, and thank you. I'm honored to be here," you responded.

"Your credentials are impressive, Commander," Spock commented. "I am looking forward to working with you."

"I'm fortunate to be on your team, Cmdr. Spock. Thank you," you acknowledged before turning your attention to the dark-haired man in the blue medical uniform. He was standing off to the side, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. As you took in his appearance, his furrowed brow seemed to relax and you felt that same pull as when you first arrived.

Your silent observance of the man by the door did not escape Capt. Kirk's notice. He walked over to where the man was standing and clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Commander, this is our Chief Medical Officer, Dr. Leonard McCoy. Bones, say hello to our newest crew member," Kirk grinned.

You stuck your hand out in greeting. "Pleased to meet you, Dr. McCoy," you remarked.

"Likewise," he replied as he took your hand and shook it. The instant your hand touched Dr. McCoy's hand, a jolt of electricity shot up your arm. It surprised you, but you kept your hand in his. What the hell was that? he thought. Instead, he inquired aloud, "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, sure, everything's fine, Dr. McCoy. I'm kind of a little nervous. May I be shown to my quarters, please?" you asked.

"Right this way, Commander," Spock gestured with his arm for you to precede him out the door.

When you reached the doorway, you popped your head back inside and caught Dr. McCoy's attention. "By the way, hope to see you around, Dr. McCoy," you winked and left the transporter room.

"So, that was inter--" Kirk started.

"Jim, no comment necessary," McCoy muttered. Despite his gruff reply, there was the ghost of a smile on his face, thanks to the Enterprise's new science officer. Interesting indeed, he thought.

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Once inside your quarters, you started to unpack your bags. You hung up your uniforms in the closet and arranged your toiletries in the bathroom. The rest of your personal items were placed throughout your room. You were surveying your work when you heard a chime at the door.

Your visitor introduced herself as Nyota Uhura, Communications Officer. While you unpacked, she perched on the end of your bed and you got to know each other. She brought you up to speed on herself and life on the Enterprise.

The topic came around to your personal lives, Uhura mentioned that she and Cmdr. Spock discovered they were soulmates a few years ago. "What about you? Have you met your soulmate yet?" she asked.

"Sadly, no, not yet. But I hope my posting here will put me closer to finding out who it is," you replied, thinking back to your electrifying encounter with Dr. McCoy.

"Oh, really?" Uhura was leaning forward, her curiosity piqued. "Who do you think it is?" she wondered.

"Hmm, not sure, but I've been having this certain feeling, like whoever it may be, he's here onboard this ship. Add that to one of the many reasons I'm glad I'm here," you chuckled.

"Well, we're glad to have you. There's a 'Welcome to the Enterprise' party going on later in the recreation area. It's a chance for us to get to know you all, and for you to mingle with the senior officers," Uhura mentioned.

"Sounds great, I'll be there. Um, about what time?" you inquired.

"I believe the captain said it'll be getting started at 1900 hrs.," Uhura replied, then checked the time. "Oops, I'm supposed to be meeting Spock in a few minutes. See you later at the party?" she asked.

"You bet, I'll probably see if I can take a quick power nap before then. Want to be well-rested before meeting up with everyone so I don't say the wrong thing," you replied nervously.

"I understand that, but don't worry. Everything will be fine, and I already have a feeling you and I are going to be great friends," Uhura remarked as she walked to the door.

"Thank you, and I'll see you later," you called. Once Uhura left, you crawled into your bed and settled in for a nap. You made sure to set an alarm to give yourself time to get ready for the party, then closed your eyes and drifted off to sleep.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Back in his quarters, Dr. McCoy was reviewing some information on his PADD when his door chimed. At first, he ignored it, because he rarely had visitors and didn't want to be disturbed. When it chimed again, he rolled his eyes and strode to the door. He opened it, only to find Capt. Kirk on the other side, grinning from ear to ear. "What do you want, Jim? I was in the middle of something important when you interrupted me," he bristled.

"Hey, Bones, good to see you," Kirk replied as he breezed past his friend and plopped into a chair.

"Make yourself at home, Jim, by all means," McCoy stated dryly. "Whatever it is, the answer is no."

"Wanted to drop by and let you know there's a 'Welcome to the Enterprise' party for all the senior officers to mingle with the newbies. Now I know none of them are medical, but it would be nice if you'd put in an appearance. By the way, that new one on Spock's team was pretty cute, wasn't she?" Kirk asked.

"Jim, I haven't got time for this. Besides, what are we, in high school?" McCoy retorted.

Kirk shrugged. "Looks like the two of you shared a moment in the transporter room, that's all," he remarked.

McCoy rolled his eyes at Kirk's observation. "There was no 'moment', it was an introduction. Stop trying to make something out of nothing. Except it didn't feel like 'nothing' when our hands touched, he thought. "Look, I'll try to swing by, if I get a chance. Good enough?"

"That's the spirit, Bones! See you later," Kirk hastily replied, clapping a hand on his friend's shoulder before bolting out of the room.

McCoy shook his head, then went back to where he'd left his PADD. He picked it up, intending to read, but instead stared off ahead, deep in thought. What would it hurt to show up for a drink or two? I suppose that would count as 'putting in an appearance', he reasoned with himself.

His mind made up, Leonard changed into a more casual attire of jeans with a hole in the right knee and a navy-blue Henley. He left the top two buttons undone and pushed the sleeves up to his elbows. He slipped on his well-worn dark brown cowboy boots and dabbed on some cologne before heading out the door to the rec area.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

You entered the rec area a little after 1900 hrs., when Uhura said the party would be starting. As soon as you walked in, your eyes scanned the area for her or anyone else you recognized. Fortunately, the captain soon spotted you and waved you over to his table.

On your way to meet him, you wandered past a beautiful mahogany pool table with clawfoot legs. It was covered in blue felt and had leather nets under each of the six pockets to catch any one of the fifteen brightly colored orbs. Hmm, wonder who might be up for a game or two later, you thought as you ran your hands along the rails.

There were two open chairs on the captain's left side, one putting you next to him or, the other, Lt. Uhura. You chose to sit next to Uhura, who immediately stood to give you a hug and raved about your outfit. You were wearing jeans with a pastel purple, off-the-shoulder peasant blouse, along with your black suede ankle boots. Around your neck was a teardrop pendant of your birthstone on a delicate silver chain.

You were about halfway through your first margarita, when you heard a deep voice behind you ask, "Is this seat taken?"

Turning around, you were pleasantly surprised to see Dr. McCoy standing behind you, a glass of bourbon in his hand. "Um, n-no, Dr. McCoy," you stammered. Way to go, you berated yourself with a mental facepalm.

"Relax, Commander," McCoy chuckled. "Please call me Leonard."

You gave him your name in return, stating it was better than being called "Commander" all the time. "Especially with so many of us around," you joked.

The captain finally noticed that Dr. McCoy had joined the table and taken the seat next to him. "Bones, you made it after all. Good to see you!" Capt. Kirk exclaimed.

"Why thank you, Jim, I was beginning to wonder if you were even going to notice," McCoy replied.

The doctor's nickname used by the captain did not escape your notice, but you filed it away to ask about later. "So, Leonard, tell me about where you're from," you started.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Your conversation with Dr. McCoy stretched far into the evening, the two of you asking questions to better get to know each other. Eventually, your Q & A transitioned to the pool table for a friendly game of 8-ball. One by one, the others left the recreation area and returned to their quarters. Neither you nor Leonard noticed you were the only ones left until you were deep into your third game of pool, with you lining up your shot.

Standing up after watching the #15 roll into the corner pocket, you looked around at the empty recreation area. "Leonard, what time is it?" you asked.

He checked the time and was surprised at the hour as well as the deserted room. "It's after midnight. Guess time really does fly when you're having fun," he grinned. "Your shot, darlin'," he drawled. You noticed his Southern accent was a bit more pronounced after a few rounds of bourbon.

"Okay, but after I knock in this #12, I'm on the 8-ball," you smirked. You took your time to survey all the angles before settling in to take your shot. With a smooth, fluid stroke, the cue ball connected with the object ball, which went in the side pocket. The 8-ball was of little challenge to you as well, sailing into the exact pocket you intended.

"Well, I guess that's the game, then," McCoy remarked. You gave him a small curtsy before placing your cue stick on the table and returning to finish your drink. "Where'd you learn to play like that?" he wondered.

"Had a pool table in the basement growing up. I used to spend quite a few hours a day, practicing until I was good enough to win against my brothers and all their friends. Then I met my best friend at the Academy, and we took turns, um, how shall I say this? Oh, yeah. Separating the new recruits from their money," you grinned sheepishly.

Leonard threw his head back and laughed. "You are full of surprises. Which leads me to my next question, and feel free to punch me for it if you want, but I have to know. How is someone as lovely and fascinating as you are still single?"

You felt your cheeks grow warm with the compliment. "Well, I won't punch you for asking a question like that. The simple answer is, I haven't found my soulmate yet."

McCoy gave you a sideways glance, one eyebrow raised. "You believe in that? One person, one heart, all that?" he wondered.

"Sure I do, don't you?" you replied. "I mean, a person as handsome and charming as you isn't attached to anyone either. Why is that, if you don't mind me asking?" you quizzed.

"I don't mind you asking, darlin'," he replied, then took a sip of his drink. "I was married once, but it didn't take. At the time, I loved her, and even though she wasn't my soulmate, I didn't care. I was too impatient in my youth and didn't want to be alone the rest of my life, so we got married. When I came onboard here, I was fresh off my divorce. When I met Jim, I told him that my ex got everything, and 'all I got left is my bones'. Probably why he calls me that," he muttered.

"Hmm. And here I thought it was because you were in the medical field. You know, a doctor used to be called a 'sawbones', I figured that's where it came from," you quipped.

"I guess it could go either way, although your explanation is a little less depressing," Leonard conceded.

You reached over and covered his hand with yours, trying to ignore the small spark at the contact. "Your soulmate is still out there, waiting to be found. I'm just sure of it," you remarked.

McCoy gave you a hopeful smile. "You think so? I guess I figured that with my age and jumping the gun and marrying Jocelyn, that I missed my chance," he replied.

"What do you mean, 'with my age', you're hardly an old man, Leonard. Besides, I'm betting that you haven't missed your chance, so keep the faith," you winked. "Come on, Doc, it's late. Walk me to my quarters?" you asked.

McCoy drained the last of the bourbon from his glass and stood up from the table. His grin grew wider as he held out his elbow for you to take. "Shall we, shweethahrt?" he said in his attempt at a Bogart impression.

You laughed as you looped your arm through his, and he tucked it in closed to his side. "Leonard, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship," you answered.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

And it was. At first it was you and Dr. McCoy, two friends sharing breakfast together on most, if not all, mornings. Sometimes the captain, or Spock and Uhura would be there, which made for lively discussions. But you were most content with the days it was just you and the good doctor enjoying each other's company.

It wasn't just the mornings, you took turns hanging out in each other's quarters, watching old movies or reading together. Other times, it was sharing stories about your lives, your families, even your Academy days. Being with Leonard was a comfort for you, a natural and easy friendship to fall into.

The first time you noticed your thoughts wandering from friendship to more was one night you were cooking dinner in McCoy's quarters. Your room was not equipped with a kitchenette, only a replicator, so Leonard offered to let you in to his to make dinner. He had some last-minute duties in the MedBay, but said he would join you later.

You were putting the finishing touches on your Cheesy Chicken and Broccoli casserole to put into the oven, when Leonard strode through the door. He stood behind you, put his hands on your shoulders and glanced down at the dish. "That looks amazing, sweetheart," he grinned and gave your shoulders a squeeze before heading to the showers.

As you watched him walk away, you couldn't help but notice how domestic the whole scene was, and how comfortable it all felt. Leonard coming home to you after a difficult day in the MedBay, to see you making dinner. Of course, it could also just as easily be the other way around, with him in the kitchen, waiting for you to come home. Then you shook your head to clear those thoughts. Although the two of you had become best friends, that still kept you in the "friend zone", right?

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Leonard reached for his towel to dry himself off after his shower. Coming back to his quarters to see you in his kitchen was a comforting sight to see, not to mention how natural it felt. Like it had been that way for years instead of the months since you'd gotten to know each other. Lately, there was many a night he'd lain in bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering if you were having as much trouble sleeping as he was.

Ever since he met you in the transporter room, Leonard knew there was something different about you, but couldn't put his finger on it. That night the two of you spent in the rec area at Jim's "welcome" party was one of the best he'd had in a long time. Sitting and talking with someone, finding out you had like interests and similar values was refreshing for him. You were sweet, intelligent, and you made him laugh, something his friends thought he needed more of in his life.

Most of his time was spent in the MedBay, caring for others, but there were times when he wanted someone to care for him. You certainly fit the bill for that as well, such as when you stopped by with a coffee for him on one of your breaks. Or when you sneaked into his office to hide scraps of paper with jokes written on them to make him chuckle. And your home cooking was some of the best he'd had since the last time he visited his ma on Earth.

There were dozens of reasons why and multiple occasions when he wished there was more than friendship between you. However, after his experience with marriage to Jocelyn, he was a little hesitant to pursue anything beyond friendship with you. Jim would probably say he was "spooked", whereas Leonard would counter that he was "protecting his heart".

Early on, you'd admitted to him that you believed in soulmates and were still looking for yours. He'd been down the road once where he ignored the concept, if only to avoid being alone for the rest of his life. You deserved that one person, that one heart that Fate had decided truly belonged with you. He'd never want you to settle for a life with him if he wasn't your soulmate. Thus, he continued to keep things with you in the "friend zone".

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A couple of weeks later

"You want me to do what, now?" you asked the Captain.

"I know you heard me, Commander," Kirk replied. "It's a few weeks until Valentine's Day, and I think it would be a great idea to have a celebration. Music, food, drinks....and you dancing with a certain country doctor would certainly be all the entertainment I'd need for a while," he smirked.

You, on the other hand, rolled your eyes at his obvious matchmaking attempts. "Jim, we're just friends. And I resent your insinuation that Dr. McCoy would want anything to do with me beyond that," you retorted.

"Why is that so hard to believe, that Bones would be interested in you as more than a friend?" Jim persisted.

"Because...." you murmured, your gaze dropping to your hands in your lap.

"'Because....' why?" he gently prodded.

You huffed in exasperation. "Because I'm me, and he's....handsome, witty, fascinating, charismatic and could have any woman in the universe he wants. I've seen him at those diplomatic functions, Jim. Women more or less throwing themselves at him, hanging all over him and what does he do? He just smiles at them and turns on the Southern charm. Soulmate or not, what chance do I have," you whispered.

"Wait, he's your soulmate? How do you know? More importantly, why haven't you told him?" Kirk peppered you with questions.

"You're just full of curiosity today, aren't you?" you sassed. "I saw his soulmark on his wrist, and it matches mine here." You tilted your head and pulled your hair back to reveal a matching starburst behind your left ear. "I've been in love with him since that 'welcome' thing you arranged, when we talked and shot rack after rack of 8-ball till after midnight. But I want him to love me for me, not due to some pre-destined, matching tattoo on our bodies."

Kirk stepped out from behind his desk and took the chair next to you. "Listen. I've been friends with the man for a long time. I've seen him at those diplomatic galas, and let me tell you that I haven't seen him look at any of those women the way he looks at you," he explained.

"Now I know you're out of your mind," you snorted. When Kirk tried to protest, you held up your hands. "Stop. Okay? I'll do as you ask, plan your little Valentine's Day party for the crew. It's a nice idea, and I think we're due for some fun around here. Just please quit trying to push me and Dr. McCoy together, huh?" you pleaded.

Kirk reached over and sandwiched your hand in his. "Although I know I'm right, I will honor your wishes and stop forcing the issue with you and Bones. Fair enough?" he asked.

You nodded and stood up from your chair. "Yes, thank you, Jim. I appreciate it. If anyone needs me, I'll be in my quarters, trying to figure out how to put this thing together," you replied. You gave him a weary smile before exiting his Ready Room.

Jim waited until you were out of his office before voicing his thoughts. "I may have agreed to honor your wishes, but that doesn't mean I can't go at it from Bones' point of view," he vowed.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The following week, you were busy transforming one of the large, rarely-used conference rooms Jim set aside for you into a sea of red, white and pink. There were pink paper hearts attached to the walls, along with red cutouts shaped like Cupid with his bow. The long conference tables would be used for food and drinks, and were set up along the outside edge of the room.

You were scanning through the food and drink list on your PADD when Leonard walked in. A bright smile graced your face at the sight of your best friend. "Why, hello Len! What brings you here?"

Leonard scanned the room before answering. "So this is the 'secret project' you've been working on for the past week," he replied. "I've been looking everywhere for you. I started in the lab, then I checked your room. Had to ask the ship's computer for your location," he remarked.

"Yeah, sorry, Jim put me in charge of this, so here I am. And it's not a 'secret project', as you called it. We have all these decorations and the tables will be full of drinks and all kinds of foods," you explained. "While we're on the subject, I have something to ask you, Leonard."

"Oh? What's that?" he wondered.

"Well, this is going to be kind of a formal, dressing-up kind of thing. And there'll be music and dancing, so I was wondering....if you'd like to go with me....as my date?" you asked.

Leonard froze. A date? he thought. His heart wanted very much to take you up on your offer to accompany you to the party. He could picture you all dressed up in a formal gown and your hair perfectly styled, a veritable vision of beauty. His next mental picture was of the two of you walking into the party with your arm safely tucked into his side. His brain, however, reminded him that this was a Valentine's Day dance, and you two were not romantic partners, only friends.

You must have heard his brain's internal reminder loud and clear and interpreted his hesitation as a decline of your invitation. "You know what, never mind. It's all right. Forget I asked," you backpedaled. "I'm sure you have much more important things to do than go to a stupid dance with me," you muttered as you gathered your PADD and other supplies.

"Wait a minute, where are you going?" McCoy implored.

"Uh, I forgot I told Cmdr. Spock that I would come into the lab later and see if I can make some more progress on my assignment," you explained. "So, I'm sorry, but I can't meet you for dinner tonight, Dr. McCoy," you added, then hurriedly left the room without a backwards glance.

Leonard stood gazing at the floor, hands on his hips and shaking his head. As he stood in place, he was trying to figure out what just happened and how he knew he had to fix it. Uhura was watching your interaction with Dr. McCoy since he joined you, so she walked over to him. She placed a hand on his arm to get his attention. "Dr. McCoy, are you all right?" she asked.

He looked over to see the concern in Uhura's eyes. "I....I don't know," he rasped. "I think I made a huge mistake with her and I may need your help."

She led him over to one of the chairs, where he filled her in on his conversation with you. Uhura listened intently, waiting for him to finish providing as much information as he was willing to share. When he finished, she was silent as she thought about her response. "I'm going to ask you a few questions, and I want you to say the first thing that comes to your mind." McCoy nodded. "Are you in love with her?"

"Yes," he immediately answered.

"As a friend, or more than a friend?" Uhura asked.

"More," McCoy hastily replied. A startled look crossed his face at the realization. "I'm in love with her," he whispered. "But she said she was still looking for her soulmate, and I don't know what her soulmark looks like or where it is."

"Dr. McCoy," Uhura gently chided. "Do you really need visual confirmation of her soulmark to know that you belong together? From that first night, everyone could see it, based on how the two of you looked at each other, how you interacted. How long did it take you to realize that everyone had left?" she giggled.

McCoy grinned. "We didn't really notice much of anything outside of ourselves until after midnight. She'd just beaten me two games out of three at 8-ball," he chuckled ruefully. "I have to find her and tell her," he declared as he hastily stood up.

"Whoa, whoa, wait a minute. I don't know if now is the best time to tell her," Uhura warned, taking his arm to stop him.

"Wha--why shouldn't I tell her right away how I feel about her?" McCoy asked, confused.

"She may not be in the right frame of mind to hear it right now. Think about, Dr. McCoy. She gathered up her courage to ask you to be her date to the dance. When you hesitated to answer, her brain told her not only was your answer 'no', but that you didn't reciprocate her feelings. That's why she bolted out of here, she was trying to protect herself from embarrassment, from her heart being broken any further. Give her some time, then try and talk with her again," Uhura advised.

"How long should I give her?" McCoy asked.

"Try again after a couple of days, Doctor. She should be ready to talk by then," Uhura replied, gently patting his arm.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

You checked your notes again, frustrated that the data was not matching up with the results. Irritated, you pushed away from the table and flopped onto a chair. You closed your eyes as your fingers massaged your temples, trying to stave off the impending headache.

"Are you all right, Lieutenant?" Cmdr. Spock asked. "It is late, and I have observed that your evenings are usually spent with Dr. McCoy. May I ask why you are here instead, working?"

You took a deep breath. "I'm fine, Cmdr. Spock. Just trying to keep my headache at bay, that's all," you replied, managing a weak smile.

"If you are feeling a pain in your head, I am certain Dr. McCoy can relieve it with a hypospray," Spock suggested.

"Not when he's the cause of the headache," you muttered.

A puzzled look crossed Spock's face. "I do not understand. Is there some sort of problem in your relationship with Dr. McCoy?" he inquired.

You took a deep breath before explaining the events of the afternoon, beginning with Capt. Kirk's assignment of the Valentine's dance. Then you told him about asking Leonard to be your date for the dance, and how mortified you were when he declined your request. "The only relationship I have with Dr. McCoy is one of friendship. Though my feelings for him have gone beyond the friend level, I should have known better that his do not, and likely never will."

"To assume that Dr. McCoy does not think of you as more than a friend without his express verbal confirmation is not logical," Spock replied. "You must ask him how he feels about you."

"Since when are the human heart's desires logical? Anyway, I'm sure I've already embarrassed myself enough for one day. Permission to return to my quarters?" you asked.

"Permission granted, Lieutenant. I sincerely hope that your personal difficulties with Dr. McCoy will soon be resolved," Spock offered. "It is also not logical for two people as compatible as the two of you to be separated."

"Thank you, Commander," you remarked. "For your counsel and your understanding." You gave him a small smile, then left the lab.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

You had almost reached your quarters when the captain requested you to come to his Ready Room. "On my way, Captain," you replied, tapping your communication badge. In your head you grumbled that you hoped his request had something to do with real work and nothing to do with Dr. McCoy.

In the captain's office, you were briefed on an upcoming Away mission, in which you would play a part. A fairly routine mission, you were tasked with gathering soil and mineral samples that would be catalogued upon returning to the Enterprise.

The area where your team would be working had been declared as deserted. That meant you would not be at risk of encountering any difficulties from any local inhabitants of the planet. All in all, a good mission to help me gain experience as part of an Away Team, you thought as you stepped onto the transporter pad.

You also hoped that going on this mission would also help you sort out your feelings about Leonard and figure out your next move. As much as you didn't want to, you were going to have to distance yourself from him. It'll only be for a couple of days, you reasoned. When I get back, Len and I should probably have a talk about what happened and what it means for us going forward. Decision made, you picked up your PADD and reviewed the parameters of the Away mission.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

For the past two days, the MedBay environment was not the most pleasant place to be. Dr. McCoy had been more demanding and grumpier than usual. His staff had no idea that his thoughts revolved around you and how badly he needed to talk to you. He was trying to do as Uhura suggested, by giving you time to yourself. When he could no longer wait to speak to you and confess his feelings, he put Dr. M'Benga in charge and left the MedBay to find you.

He checked your quarters first, but when there was no answer, he figured either you weren't there, or you knew it was him and didn't want to answer. He left and headed down to the conference room, but no one there had seen you for the past couple of days. Finally, he tried the lab, praying to find you there. When he asked Spock where you were, nothing could've prepared him for the answer he received.

"What do you mean, she's on the Away Team?" McCoy demanded.

"I should think my response is fairly self-explanatory, Doctor," Spock replied.

McCoy rolled his eyes. "She's not ready for an Away mission yet, anything could go wrong down there!" he exclaimed.

"On the contrary, the Commander has proven to be more than competent in performing her duties. The captain and I felt that this relatively low-risk mission was the perfect one to introduce her to this aspect of her duties," Spock explained.

"Since when does something deemed 'low-risk' ever turn out that way? You don't understand, Spock, I can't lose her," McCoy implored. "Not before I've had a chance to tell her I love her," he whispered.

A faint smile graced Spock's features. "It appears I was correct in my theory regarding your feelings towards her," he answered. His tone that could almost be considered smug, if not for the fact that he was half-Vulcan. At the confused look on Leonard's face, Spock relayed the conversation the two of you had after he'd found you in the lab working.

"So she cares about me like I care about her," McCoy murmured. "What time are they scheduled to be back? I have to be there right when she gets back so I can tell her how I feel. I've already wasted too much time," he muttered, then jumped up from his chair. Before he could walk out of the lab, Capt. Kirk was at the door.

"Good, you're both here. The Away Team is returning to the ship ahead of schedule. It appears that they ran into some problems on the planet's surface. Something about a run-in with a band of native inhabitants," Kirk explained. "Possible weapons discharges and there may be injuries," he reluctantly revealed.

"StarFleet's report stated that the area in which the Away Team would be working was declared as deserted," Spock pointed out. "There should have been no reason for any discharge of weapons."

"You see?? This is exactly what I was talking about, Spock!" McCoy exclaimed, his arms waving in the air. "How could you send her down there, Jim? She's not ready for something like this," McCoy snapped.

"I chose the team based on their skills and how it matched the intel we were given. Do you really believe I like putting people I care about in harm's way??" Kirk retorted sharply. "I have a job to do, but so do the two of you. And right now, the Away Team is depending on you to carry out those duties to the best of your ability. The personal stuff can be sorted out later, all right?" Kirk barked. "For now, let's just get everyone home and safe."

Spock and McCoy nodded and each of them went their separate ways to begin assisting in the missions aftermath. Kirk was on his way back to the bridge, while Spock was gathering his equipment. "Captain?" McCoy called out before Kirk had fully exited the lab.

"What is it, Bones?" Kirk asked wearily.

McCoy walked over to join his captain at the door. "I'll be in the MedBay, standing by for any casualties," he replied, then started down the hall.

"Thank you, Doctor. And Bones?" Kirk added, causing McCoy to turn and catch Kirk's gaze. "She'll be all right. Besides, you probably owe her a dance, right?" he smirked.

"Among other things, Jim," McCoy admitted before finally resuming his path to the MedBay.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

When McCoy returned to the MedBay, it was a flurry of activity. The casualties had already arrived, only three of whom were being worked on by multiple teams. Head Nurse Christine Chapel met him near the entrance to give him a PADD with a rundown of the injuries. He had just started scanning the list when he heard, "DOCTOR!! Dr. McCoy, we need you over here!!"

McCoy all but sprinted to BioBed #3 and was shocked at the sight before him. You were the injured party, with a stab wound to your left shoulder that had seemed to stop bleeding. There was a moderate head laceration near your hairline, but its bleeding also looked to be under control. However, it was the 6-inch gash across your stomach that was of utmost concern, because it was still steadily leaking blood.

"Oh darlin'," McCoy whispered as he pushed your hair back from your face and tucked it behind your ear.

"Hey, Dr. McCoy," you rasped, which sent you into a minor coughing fit.

"Shh, take it easy, sugar. We're going to take good care of you, get you all patched up good as new," he soothed.

"Len....'m sorry....about earlier," you wheezed but were thrown into another coughing session. "Ow, it hurts," you whimpered.

"Hold on, sweetheart, I'll get ya something to take away the hurt," McCoy promised. One of the nurses promptly handed him the hypospray containing the pain med. Leonard gently rolled your head to the side for better access to your neck. He pushed your hair out of the way and pressed the hypospray to your skin and delivered the pain medication.

When McCoy withdrew the instrument, he was startled when he saw your soulmark behind your left ear, a starburst that matched the mark on his wrist. It was you. You were his soulmate, the one he should've waited for and he was the one you were waiting for. As he stood next to you, he felt the bond between you grow, as it sent a wave of warmth through his body.

You somehow found his hand and took it in yours, giving it a gentle squeeze before dropping it. The movement and seeing your hand hang limply at your side was enough to snap Leonard back into action and tend to your injuries. "All right, let's get this bleeding stopped so we can close up this gash and clean up these other wounds," McCoy ordered, getting back to the task at hand.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

For some reason, you couldn't move your right hand due to some sort of weight on top of it. You were having a hard time opening your eyes as well, though you did manage to crack them open halfway. There was an IV in your left arm and as for your right side, you smiled when you saw a familiar crop of dark hair. Leonard was hunched over the edge of your bed, his head resting on his elbows and covering your hand. You could only imagine how tired he must be after the events of the past few hours.

The Away mission was your first since you came aboard the Enterprise, and not exactly the low-risk scenario as mentioned in the file. The briefing said the area had been declared uninhabited, but the natives you encountered proved otherwise. Some of their weapons were rudimentary by StarFleet's standards, while others looked confiscated from other unsuspecting visitors.

You were the first to be attacked, by a stab to your left shoulder and blow to the head, then all hell broke loose. The wound in your midsection was caused when you stepped in to defend a fellow crew member. You were relieved when you saw the familiar surroundings of the MedBay, and even more relaxed when Leonard's face appeared. However, you'd have given anything to take away the pain and worry you saw in his eyes as he hovered above you, assessing your injuries.

Gingerly, you felt around on the bed for the call button, not wanting to disturb the doctor sleeping at your side. Your slight movement caused him to lift his head and for his eyes to immediately zero in on yours. A sleepy yet relieved smile graced his face as he slowly reached up with his right hand to cup your cheek. "Hi," he whispered.

"Hi," you whispered back. "How long have I been out?"

"About twelve hours," he answered. "You had me worried there, sweetheart," he murmured. "I thought I wasn't going to get the chance to tell you something very important."

"I'm here now, though. What is it you wanted to tell me?" you asked. You shuffled around in your bed, trying to raise yourself to a more upright position. Leonard saw what you were doing and helped to rearrange the pillows and angle of the bed to where you wanted it.

Leonard returned in his chair and pointed it so that he was gazing directly at you. He brought your hand up to his lips and kissed the back of it. "Ever since Jim handed me your file, I knew there was something special about you. I felt it when we shook hands in that transporter room, and I think you felt it too," he replied.

You nodded. "Felt like electricity shooting up my arm," you smiled.

"Exactly. The more I got to know you through the time we spent together, the more I believed in the idea of a soulmate. I only dared to hope you were mine. I saw the mark behind your ear, so now I know you that are the one I belong with in this life. Even without that, darlin', I fell for you anyway. Your kindness, generosity, your gentle spirit and so many more reasons are why I love you," Leonard remarked.

You could've been knocked back unconscious with a feather. Of all things you thought would happen when you woke up, a love confession from Leonard wasn't anywhere near the list. Although it made you happy to hear that he loved you in return, there was also a part of you that was having doubts.

Leonard mentioned that he'd seen your soulmark, and that he'd fallen for you anyway. Jim knew about the matching marks, and how you wanted Leonard to love you for who you were, not some cosmic tattoo. You'd put your heart on the line once when you asked him to the dance, and it didn't end well. Did you dare take that kind of chance again?

"Sweetheart, please say something," he implored hoarsely.

"Guess this means you owe me a dance?" you replied with a watery smile, as you decided to take the leap. "Len, of course I love you, and not because of some mark put on us by Fate. You are the one I've been searching for, and you're well worth waiting for."

That was all the confirmation Leonard needed, and more. He stood up from his chair and walked around to the left side of your bed. You scooted over a bit to leave room for him to sit on the edge of your mattress. Leonard placed a hand on either side of your face and tilted your head up to meet his gaze. As his left thumb gently caressed your cheek, you latched your hands to his wrists, with your finger tracing over his soulmark.

Leonard leaned his head towards you, tenderly brushing his lips over yours at first, then returning with more passion. His soft yet insistent lips moved with determination, expressing the depth of his emotions for you. When he nipped at your bottom lip, you gasped in surprise, creating the perfect opening for him to slip his tongue in to explore your mouth. Your sweet sound of pleasure that escaped seemed only to spur him on.

The kiss broke before the alarms could be set off on the BioBed for your elevated heart rate or any other escalated vital signs. Leonard leaned back slightly to give himself and you a chance to catch your breaths. He gingerly brushed the hair back from your face and tucked it behind your ear. "So beautiful," he whispered.

"And all yours," you whispered back. Your hand drifted up for your fingers to run through his dark locks, your nails scratching his scalp. The gesture earned you a deep sigh from him and he closed his eyes in contentment. "Have been for a while now, you know," you added. "I love you, Leonard McCoy."

Leonard opened his eyes and smiled softly. "And I'm all yours, my body and soul belongs to you. I love you too, sweetheart," he remarked as he touched his forehead to yours.

The two of you stayed like that, holding each other, until the sound of a throat being cleared broke the silence. Leonard turned his head slightly then rolled his eyes at seeing Capt. Kirk and Cmdr. Spock. The captain wore a look of smug satisfaction at seeing his two friends finally getting together. On the other hand, Spock's face held a look of concern about your recovery from your injuries.

"Guess you can't outrun Fate, can you, Bones?" Kirk crowed. "Seriously, though. I'm happy for you two," he winked.

Spock turned to you. "It would seem that you have received sufficient confirmation of Dr. McCoy's feelings towards you, correct?" he asked.

"Complete confirmation, Spock," you answered. "Did you come to gloat too, or was there something else you needed?" you inquired.

"Vulcans do not gloat. I am merely checking up on the health of one of my team members. It is fortunate that Dr. McCoy was able to successfully treat your injuries and put you on the road to recovery," Spock observed.

"Fortunate indeed," you concurred. Off to the side, you spied Uhura making her way to your bedside under what looked like quite a head of steam.

"I leave you two alone for five minutes, and you're down here causing trouble. Hi there honey, Dr. McCoy," Uhura greeted you and Leonard. Her words to you and Leonard were in direct contrast to those she aimed at Kirk and Spock. "All right, these two need their rest, so off you go. Bye sweetie," she winked. After your friends exited the MedBay, you and Dr. McCoy breathed a sigh of relief.

"Never want to be on her bad side," Leonard quipped. "Alone at last," he murmured, brushing the back of his knuckles on your cheek.

"Just the two of us now," you replied. You shuffled over further in your bed to make room for Leonard. He settled in next to you, curling his arm around you and guiding your head to rest on his shoulder. You slung your arm around his midsection and snuggled into his warm embrace. "Sweet dreams, Len. I love you," you mumbled.

"Goodnight, my love," he whispered, kissing your temple and closing his eyes.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Tags: @marvelouslytrekking @spacedancer1701 @anna-phora @hailbop1701 @writercole @lassie-bird @huffle-pissed @phoenixisred @wayward-dreamer @erindiggory @strangesgirl @dumpsterhippie @genevablog26 @lokis-deares @medicatemedrmccoy

#leonard mccoy x reader #leonard bones mccoy x reader #bones mccoy x reader #bones x reader #star trek aos #karl urban character x reader

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melancholysway · 1 year

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Hello! So I saw TMNT 2007!Raph x GN!Reader: The Confession, and it got my brain pumping, Could I request an Angsty Unrequited 2007!Leo x GN!Reader, where Leo has a crush on Reader, that he didn't acknowledge or think too much about, and he only realises the full depth of it when he left (absence makes the heart grow stronger) but does comes to accepts it as a truth and plans to grow closer to them and pursue his feelings when he returns, only to find out Reader is dating Raph, they're a perfect pair and are so happy together, and Leo isn't sure how to respond but it sure hurts.

This can be as Long or short/formatted as you like, sorry if this is extremely wordy, thanks for reading!

Omg omg I’m so excited for this one!?!?!? btw, this is over 4,000 words long, so I hope this isn't too much! this was a great request and I wrote the entire thing just now lol

I hope you enjoy!

TMNT 2007!Leo x Reader: Unrequited

(also a 2007 Raph x reader, BUT ITS NOT A POLY FIC!)

Chapter key:

~ = time skip

--- followed by italic text = flashback happening

--- followed by normal text = flashback ending

+++ - scene change (minor time skip)

________________________________________-

It started small, very small

Because you’re just a person to him in the beginning, a sorry sucker that got dragged into the depths of a New York City robbery in a small convenience store.

You get out (kind of,) but it lands you being chased by the big guy who decided to point the gun at the cashier who noticed you left when he ordered everyone to stay put

But you’d rather run than get shot, so, there’s that.

Thus, you unknowingly run into an unknown savior of the city you resided in, and though you thought you’d die a sorry death in the back alley of a street you couldn’t recall the name of, you’re saved.

You thank your savior, to which, he with a slightly raspy yet calm tone answers you from the shadows.

“You’re welcome.”

And that’s it. But, who was he?

“Um…I’m not exactly sure where I ran to, do you happen to know which street I’m on?” You didn’t know Manhattan like the back of your hand at all. Not only that, but you were just…running. Though the city never sleeps, fate just so happened to make this new area you came to empty. This side was asleep. It had to be the gentrified area of Manhattan, huh?

And that’s how you meet Leonardo. Sort of. He gives you directions to your apartment complex, but you didn’t feel safe going alone.

So, when he steps out of the darkness, he’s covered in a brown hooded cloak where you can’t see his body shape or face.

He takes you home like that. But oh, here goes fate once again, and there goes this sudden gust of wind that catches him off guard, and his face is revealed.

He’s a…

“Turtle. Mutant turtle.”

And THAT’S how you meet Leonardo. He’s surprised at how well you take it, but, in all honesty, you really could use a friend in this crazy city you just moved to not too long ago.

Time goes on, his brother (Mikey) gets nosy as to why he sometimes goes solo during patrol going a direction, not in their usual route, and follows him quietly (kind of, he falls a couple of times, but meows so his older brother thinks it’s just a clumsy cat)

He watches as Leonardo stops on a fire escape and knocks on the window, the light from inside getting more intense as the window is opened, revealing why Leo goes off on his own sometimes

He watches as you rub your eyes, slightly tired as you greet his brother, only to be a little startled as another turtle…mutant turtle, lands right beside him

“Dude! Another human!? Hey!”

And THAT’S how you meet Michelangelo.

Word goes around, Mikey just can’t keep his mouth shut, plus, he accidentally set off the emergency button on his T-Phone, so Raphael and Donatello are tracking him together. Suddenly, two more mutant turtles are at your fire escape.

“Ya jokin’ right? THIS is tha emergency?” Piercing golden eyes engulfed by a red bandana look you up and down confused, then back at Mikey. You’re the threat?

“Mikey…are you harassing another human again?” A purple-banded turtle, who appears to look identical to Mikey, begins apologizing on his baby brother's behalf.

And THAT’S how you meet Raphael and Donatello

After inviting Leo and his brothers inside your apartment, you introduce yourself properly. Donnie takes it well, and Raph is always the warier one. But, he trusts his older brother. With his life, even. So, if he trusted you, Raphael felt obligated to do the same.

Plus, he thought you were cute.

Come to think of it, Leo also thought that, too.

And thus, begins Leonardo’s small crush on you.

It’s platonic. At least, that’s what he tells himself. He doesn’t act on it, and you show no signs of having a crush on him, so, why risk it?

You progressively become closer with Leonardo’s brothers, and soon- after knowing them for almost two months- they introduce you to their sensei.

He loves you, by the way. How accepting you are, how sweet you are to his sons, and he can sense the hidden affection his eldest son has for you.

Time goes on, but time is a thief- waiting for an opportunity to steal the happiness of those who take it for granted.

To: Y/n

I miss you. A lot, actually. I didn’t think I would miss you and my family so much, but, I do.

Sometimes when I’m sitting in this dark cave, I feel like you’re going to run up behind me and try to scare me like you always did when I was around. I always knew you were there, but sometimes I would fake it just to see you smile. You pouted whenever I told you that you didn’t startle me.

My training period is almost up, but I don’t feel any different than when I first landed. Are 3 months really enough to turn me into a better version of myself?

Anyway, I hope you’re doing well. I hope you’re keeping the others in line, lol. Donnie is easily overwhelmed, and I know Mikey and Raph together are nothing but trouble.

~ L

That was the first letter you had gotten from Leo where he showed his feelings towards you. The very first letter was much more lighthearted with an exciting tone to it, and you could hear Leo’s voice in your head while you read it.

You begin a collection of all the letters Leo has sent you so far in a blue folder. To look back on them when you miss him.

It’s almost been 3 months already. That’s how long Splinter made Leo’s training period. But, he was doubting himself and venting to you through this letter. Was it enough for him? No, Leo’s a perfectionist. That’s not a lot of time for him.

So, you wait, wondering just how long Leo is planning to potentially stay in South America.

Back in the city, everything is doing fine. Sure, the 3 remaining turtles miss Leo, but he’s supposed to be coming back. As long as he keeps sending his letters to them, they’ll know that he’s safe and alive. The jungle is a dangerous place, and who knows what types of threats Leo is facing over there?

You come around the Lair more to spend some time with Leo’s brothers while he’s gone. Raphael seems to be the most stoic about his absence, and upset about the fact that they can’t go up to the surface and fight crime. Mikey does his own thing, and for some reason, wanted to do something crazy and get a job. You had no idea how he was going to pull it off, but you were excited to see the outcome. Donatello is keeping both of them in line while trying to fix things in his free time. He starts to tell Mikey to break the toaster as Leo did so he has something to fix weekly. Yes, Leo broke the toaster weekly.

You were already close with Leo’s brothers, but now? You found yourself gravitating towards Raphael. The topic of Leo was on his mind, and he worried. He always did, even if he tried to hide it. Though his expression was always a straight face when it came to his older brother, on the inside, he cared. He cared so much.

And as 3 months come to a close, Leonardo isn’t back.

To: Y/n

I tried to write this particular letter so many times. Especially to you and Raph. I know it’ll be a lot for you.

I’m staying here. I can’t go back yet, not when I have so much more to work on.

I’ve already discussed with Splinter back and forth with these letters, and he thought it would be best if I wrote to you and the others in the next letter I sent.

I keep everyone’s letters. I try to keep track of the conversations we’re having. Right now, I’m having a debate with Mikey over whether the Earth is flat or not. Spoiler: It can’t. Ask Donny.

So, I guess I can ask you as well for a third opinion, do you think the Earth is flat? I mean, the Earth turns, does it not? Is that not some indication of time passing? Time passes as the world turns. Time goes on, right?

I want to keep this as light-hearted as possible, but for some reason, it’s hard to write this letter to you. I don’t want to bombard you with my feelings, but I can’t help but wonder if you think about me as much as I think about you. I’m not sure what that entails, but you are such a great friend to me, that I’m forever grateful for you.

Just a few more months. That’s it. Just a few more months and I’ll be finished. I want to come home and see you and the others again. I’ll be a better me in that time. Swear it.

~ L

He swore it.

He swore to you he would be back in a few more months.

When this round of letters comes to the Lair, Raphael is livid.

Livid because, well, he doesn’t take promises lightly. Leo promised he would come back in a few months in his letter. But Raphael was more upset that he wasn’t coming back after these 3 months. And even MORE upset about the fact that just because Leo is gone, doesn’t mean crime left with him. If anything, it’s at an all-time high. He can’t keep sitting here and watching it all happen on the news, either.

“It’ll be a few more months, okay Mikey?” Donnie tries to soothe his baby brother, as Mikey was visibly hurt by the news. He wanted his older brother back. Now.

“Don’t give Mikey false hope, Don.” Raph glares at the brown-eyed turtle, “It ain’t good fa him. Mikey, Leo ain’t comin’ back right now, God knows when he is, alright?”

That’s what Mikey needed to hear, according to Raph. He didn’t want to sugarcoat anything for Mikey. Hell, he was never good at sugarcoating anything for that matter.

It’s been almost a year. Almost a year without Leonardo. A year without your best friend, and a year without the person you cared for immensely.

You and Raphael get closer during this time. He’s the only turtle that rebels against Splinter and begins to stop crime on his own, and you appreciate him for it. You tell him that one day before you leave the Lair.

---

So as Raphael sits up from his position on the couch, he can’t help but smirk at you.

And good God, that smirk got you hooked.

By this point, the city had created a vigilante name for him: The Nightwatcher. You remember seeing a news article online in which the title photo had been a blurry shot of the vigilante, which was just Raphael in metal armor. Though the rest of the family was oblivious to this, you sure weren’t. Mikey becomes a Nightwatcher fangirl, and Donnie becomes a Nightwatcher hater.

“Wanna take Betsy out wit me tonight?” Raphael asks as he stands at your fire escape. Funny, he always gets deja vu when he stands there, it reminds him of when he first met you. How he was standoffish at first, but he found out that you weren’t so bad after all.

“You think Betsy can handle two crazies on her back this time?” You joke, looking down your fire escape and onto the street, seeing sleek and shiny ruby Betsy parallel parked in between two ivory Hyundais.

The last time you went on a bike ride with Raph, Betsy- the name you gave to it- sort of broke down. But, thanks to Raph’s fix-it skills (thanks Donnie,) she was up and running.

He chuckles at your response and puts his helmet back on. He motions you to follow him down the fire escape and hands you the spare helmet you used for all bike rides.

This one was different.

Why? Well, the others didn’t end in a kiss.

Raph let you do donuts around in an empty parking lot with his motorcycle, and he couldn’t help but smile at how happy you looked. How you wore your smile so well, and how he thought about other ways he could get it to appear over and over again.

He always thought you were cute.

But as the night went on, you find yourselves rendezvousing all across Manhattan on ol’ Betsy, letting your frustrations out about Leo’s extended absence on the highway, going 65…80…85 miles on the interstate. You lost count, you were having so much fun. You both spill your feelings about the current situation with your best friend and Raph’s brother. You’re hurt. But, can you blame him? You find it in your heart to forgive Leo after that. Raphael doesn’t. It’ll take more time for him.

When it was all said and done, you wind up falling asleep on the ride back, something that never happened. But there goes fate, again. Coming at the most unexpected times. Raphael carries you back up to your apartment- to which you tiredly ask if he stays with you. You knew- as tired as you were that Raph would get questioned by Donnie when he got back at this ungodly hour. The sun was damn near starting to rise, and sleeping over at your place is one hell of an alibi.

And then it just happens. You comment on how tired he looks, but it just makes him look even more attractive to you. THIS wakes him up, and as he wonders if he heard you right, you plant a kiss on his cheek as a thank you for staying.

Raph tests the waters a bit and takes a risk.

He kisses you. But, not on the cheek.

And that, dear readers, is how your first kiss with your now boyfriend went.

---

Raphael was right, it’s been an entire year. And now? There’s word from April that Leo is very much alive in South America. Though, you knew he was just fine. Despite the letters stopping completely, you knew in your heart Leo was okay. He knew how to take care of himself on his own.

So it’s no surprise when April gives you the news.

Your boyfriend is angry at him. Raph misses him, he told you that much, but he had this burning hatred for his brother for scaring the rest of the family like that. I mean, Mikey thought he was dead somewhere in the jungle miles and miles away.

You think about the last letter Leo sent you.

You wonder what his next letter would have been to you had he not stopped all those months ago. He sure would have had a lot to say in response to yours, anyway.

To: Leo

To answer your question, of course not. The Earth is NOT flat.

But Leo, time is a thief. You of all people should know that. You were always the philosophical type. The world turns, yes. It’s an indication of time, yes. But it matters not how much time has passed, but what you did with said time.

To answer your other question, I do think about you. I wonder what you’re doing, if you’re swinging on vines like Tarzan or something. I care a lot about you, and that hasn’t changed one bit. This time away from you has been difficult on everyone, but getting these letters every 3 weeks helps.

You can never bombard me with how you feel, your feelings are always valid to me. I want you to know that all those feelings you have for me are reciprocated.

~ Y/n

Maybe it was a miscommunication? You thought that for a while. You thought you had read his last letter wrong. Did he mean he had feelings for you? Because you had also developed a small crush on him. Before he left, you liked him.

But, what if you read it wrong? Did he just mean his feelings toward you as a caring friend who missed the yin to their yang?

Maybe you were thinking a little over your head. You weren’t even sure if he got this letter, anyway.

You never knew. He stopped writing after that. Not just to you, but to the others as well. It was simply a thought of what once was.

A few days after April comes back from her business trip, Leonardo seems to follow. It’s unexpected as hell. After spending the first half of a warm Saturday working and getting ready to head down to the Lair for the second half, you get a text message from Raph.

Raph, 8:00 pm

Babe, lmk when you come down, okay? There’s a surprise for ya

You start to think about what it could be. Maybe Mikey had a party gig earlier and got to take a slice of your favorite cake home. You always liked being surprised with a slice of cake wrapped in tinfoil when you went down to see your boyfriend.

But only it’s not cake.

You come toward the entrance of the Lair a few moments after you messaged Raph you were close, and there he was, giving you a quick kiss and covering your eyes.

“Ya might like it more than I did,” His gruff voice comments. As you’re helped by Raph into the Lair, you sense something you haven’t in a long time.

It’s Leonardo.

You knew it from the moment Raph took his hands away from covering your eyes. You were face to face with someone’s plastron, and judging by the arm muscles you knew it was Leo. He was the only one who wasn’t as bulky as Raph, yet not as small as Mikey or Donnie. He was right in the middle.

“H-hey.”

You thought a lot about how you would react to Leo if he came home. Would you cry? Would you not forgive him anymore? Would it go back to the way it used to be? You could only predict how your brain would react but failed to predict how your heart would.

You hug him first.

You always did, anyway.

Leo wished he had hugged you first right now, though. But, it’s a sweet moment between you two.

“I missed you, jerk.” You say into his plastron. On the surface to everyone but Leo, it’s two best friends reuniting after a year of not seeing each other. But deep down, it’s Leo hugging the person he’s grown to love. He loves you.

Raphael- as much as he despises his older brother at the moment- calms down for the time being since Leo stepped foot in the Lair an hour earlier. He knows that you and Leo were close before, and how much you missed him as a friend. You never told Raph about what you last sent Leo and what you thought of it. It wasn’t relevant, and it was sent MONTHS before that night you became a couple. It was sent way before you fell for Raph. And once again, it just wasn’t relevant. Leo never bothered to send you a letter that confirmed your feelings were friends or more than that. So, it had to be just friends. He saw you as just that, and you had to accept it. Which, you could. You could accept being platonic with him, and just be the good friends you were.

Once you break away, you and the others sit down in the living room like old times. Mikey’s asking Leo all these questions about South America, and Donnie’s asking about the native wildlife. You and Raph on the other hand, ask the harder questions.

“Why’d ya stay longa?”

“Did ya forget us?”

Raphael asks him these questions, and Leo’s honest about each one.

He stayed because he needed time. He never- not for one second forgot about you guys. He missed you all. He knows he fucked up.

“Why did you stop writing?” You ask.

This is a tough question. You look at him with concerned eyes, and Raph puts an arm around you.

“I um…I got caught up in my own world, and…” Leo trails off as if he was thinking of what to say. But, he lost it. That’s when it hits him. He doesn’t say anything. He’s so fixated on the way his brother is touching you, and how you let him. Almost as if it’s an afterthought.

“I ran out of ink.”

“You couldn’t like, buy any?” Mikey asks, earning an eye roll from Raph and Donnie.

No. No, he couldn’t.

+++

As you spend your evening down in the Lair and hanging out with everyone, you notice Leo going to Splinter’s room, and you hear indistinct chatter coming from upstairs. Leo had spoken to his father when he first got back. In fact, nobody even knew Leo came back until Raphael overheard them talking from the cracked sliding door.

Though it wasn’t your business, you wondered what they were speaking about.

You weren’t one to eavesdrop, but the bathroom just so happened to be across from his room, so you heard their conversation for a few moments anyway.

“The best you can do is let them be happy, my son. Which they are. You cannot reverse time when things do not go as planned.”

“I…I know, but…I realized how much I liked Y/n when I was out there. I just…I was too late.”

‘Using the bathroom could wait,’ You thought. As you continue listening. You listen to the pain in Leo’s voice as he describes how his heart shattered when he realized Raph found his way into your heart. He wondered if you noticed. Splinter says no, you wouldn’t have noticed. You would be oblivious, as Leo never took that chance to send you those letters when he was away.

He saved them and brought them home to give to you. Well, he was going to give them to you.

Leo lied earlier. He never stopped writing. In fact, that’s all he did in times of loneliness. He wrote. He wrote until his hand was cramped or he had to start over because he felt he wasn’t conveying his emotions well enough. He had as much ink as a turtle could have.

That hug meant more to him than you could think. He planned on getting you alone and giving you the unsent letters to take before you went back to your apartment. But he couldn’t anymore. He couldn’t ruin the relationship you had with Raphael. He wouldn’t- no- couldn’t be that selfish. It just wasn’t in his nature.

So what did happen with those letters?

This burning curiosity seems to take over. You take a wild guess and enter Leo’s room- seemingly untouched for the past year. There’s a small pouch on his bed, the same one that he wore when he said his goodbyes before leaving way back when. You open the front zipper, it feels flimsy from all the wear and tear. Your senses were correct, and there was a folded yellow paper in the compartment. The same color paper that Leo wrote letters on.

You lock yourself in Leo’s room and sit down on his bed to open up this folded mystery.

You’re surprised to see that upon opening, 3 more letters fall out in a crinkled mess on your lap. After sorting them by date, a part of you wishes that he sent them sooner. But then another part of you disagrees- the part that loves Raph. You were happy with him, so fucking happy. You were a near-perfect match for each other. He saw you at your lowest and was there to help you out. He was always caring, even if he didn’t always tell you- he showed it.

Not only that, but you couldn’t go back and change the past.

7/10/2007

To: Y/n

You always were so good with words. It’s the one thing that I always admired about you.

I’m glad you feel the same about me as I do about you. You’re always on my mind, Y/n. I thought it was just a little crush at first but…gah, I’m not sure. I think it’s more. I’ve never had a crush before. Haha, I’m pretty good with unintentionally rhyming, huh?

You’re absolutely right, time is a thief. I hate myself for not realizing that with all the time I’ve taken up. I write little by little, and I apologize for taking so long with this one, but I wasn’t sure how to write that I feel like I’m falling in love with you.

And I know it’s a lot to use the word love- but I’m positive that’s what it is. As I sit here and think about you, I always go back to the first time I ever laid eyes on you. How gorgeous you looked despite the situation. How you were so sweet when fate got the best of me and revealed my true self to you. How you were sweet to me even after, and how you were warm and welcoming. The average person would have run to the hills, but you stayed. You stayed all this time, and I think that’s one of the reasons why I’ve come to love you. How accepting you are of those who are different.

7/20/2007

To: Y/n

It was selfish of me to leave you all. I know that if I send this letter and the others I wrote to you months after I received yours, there’s a chance that you don’t have those same feelings anymore. And there’s also a chance that I’m completely taking what you said the wrong way.

But, if I didn’t, and you truly feel those feelings for me- the “more than friends” kind, then please, read on. If not, take what I say with a grain of salt.

I guess the saying is correct; absence does make the heart grow stronger.

With that being said, I have a rather…odd request. I know it’s a lot, I know it is.

I want you to wait for me. I should have told you this before I left, but it was just a small crush back then. I wasn’t sure if I should tell you.

I know, it’s extremely selfish to ask you to lock your heart and throw away the key until I return, but we all get at least one selfish pass, right? If you can’t, I understand. I hope you find someone that loves you the way I would have when I came back home.

But a small part of me hopes you don’t find someone, and we get to be together after all.

Then again, I can’t control anything. I can only wish. Wish upon the millions of stars that scatter the South American sky.

8/1/2007

To: Y/n

I was always the philosophical type, and I’m glad you noticed. If this is the world where I get to be with you, I’ll cherish it. I’ll cherish you. I’ll cherish us.

But, if the cards aren’t in our favor, then I know there’s a parallel universe where I get to be with you.

Perhaps all I had to do was choose to write back to you instead of waiting and getting caught up in my training. Or maybe I choose to never go to South America. All of these decisions happen in the multiverse--I just so happened to get the short end of the stick in this one.

+++

Your eyes, welling up in tears, fold the slightly worn papers back up and into the pouch, zipping it back up. Curiosity didn’t kill the cat, but ignorance sure did. And right now, as sad and torn as you are, you feel relieved that you read these. Leo would have had to suffer in silence, without ever telling a soul but his Sensei.

As you exit Leo’s room, feeling a sense of confusion and uncertainty. you ask yourself the grand question, despite being in a daze:

Taglist:

@bee-1n-space @ducky-died-inside

Masterlist

#tmnt #tmnt 2007 #tmnt x reader #leo x reader #raph x reader #2007 raph #2007 leo #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt fanfics #tmnt fanfiction #2007 tmnt #leonardo #raphael #donatello

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