Summary: You have always had a crush on Tamsy, it’s hard to imagine why you ever wouldn’t.
Warnings: Gaslighting & manipulation, brainwashing, isolation, dark content in general.
Author's Notes: N/A
You have always had a crush on Tamsy.
Though you knew it was entirely inconvenient given your line of work, it wasn't dramatic enough to ruin your life. No, it was the embarrassingly ordinary kind—the kind that made you instantly correct your posture when he walked into a room and wonder if he would notice if you cut your hair.
Predictably, he never did.
Or maybe he did and he was just playing dumb. Tamsy was difficult to read sometimes.
He smiled at everyone, laughed at everyone's terrible jokes, and was so universally liked. Even his partner, Delmon, constantly boasted about how Tamsy was always helping him out. It was also unfair that someone that talented had to be annoyingly nice on top of it.
Because his Jinki was truly impressive, too. Tokushin manifested these fine, glowing threads that Tamsy used to lend you a helping hand. Instead of letting you snap your spine hauling heavy crates of salvaged gear or sprain a wrist reaching for a rusted wrench at the bottom of a chassis, he'd used the thread to loop around the tool and drop it right into your palm. Heck, when an entire iron beam had shifted dangerously over your head a few weeks back, his threads had snaked around your waist and yanked you out of harm's way, well before you realized you were in danger.
Which was probably why your stupid little crush refused to die.
As a Supporter for the Cleaners, your job was demanding, but being assigned to multiple missions with Tamsy made every grueling hour worth it. Take today afternoon, for instance. You were taking a quick breather in the back of the transport jeep after clearing out a particularly nasty sector. You were sweating through your uniform, utterly exhausted, when a wrapped pastry suddenly dangled right in front of your nose.
"Skipped breakfast again, huh?" Tamsy chirped, leaning over the back of your seat. Before you could even look up, he gave a stray rubber band a playful snap right next to your ear just to watch you jump.
"I didn't," you mumbled.
"Oh, please. I watched you," he laughed, his grin widening as he rested his chin on his arms. "A single cup of coffee is not a meal."
"It's bean soup," you countered, lifting your chin defensively. "It absolutely counts."
"It really doesn't."
You peeled open the wrapper of the pastry anyway, the sweet scent instantly making your stomach growl. "...But thanks."
He flashed an exaggerated thumbs-up, completely oblivious to the way your heart did an embarrassing flip every time he looked at you. That was the most frustrating part about him—he treated you exactly how he treated everyone else, just another face in his cheerful little orbit as he floated away to go pester someone else.
Later, while loading supplies into the jeep, one of his threads quietly snaked across the floor and hooked the screwdriver you'd been looking for.
It landed neatly beside your hand. Across the room, Tamsy wasn't even looking at you. He was talking to Delmon while absentmindedly winding thread around his fingers.
"You missed one," he called out across the noisy garage.
"You have a mouth, you know," you called back. "You could've just told me where it was."
"Yeah, but this is way cooler."
You rolled your eyes, but your face still felt warm. It was hopeless, really. Absolutely hopeless.
The last of the supplies disappeared into the jeep while everyone checked paperwork and mission schedules.
You opened your own logbook to make sure you hadn't forgotten anything, and your pen stopped.
"...Huh."
There were weird, empty gaps in your schedule. You stared at the page, blinking, trying to remember what you had done during the second week of last month, or the three days following. The logs were completely blank, as if those days had never existed. You couldn't explain it. A dull ache throbbed behind your eyes as you tried to force the memories to surface, but the timeline just... refused to make sense.
Maybe you'd been too busy.
Before you could spiral too deep into a headache, a shadow fell over you. You looked up into the chest of one of the newer Supporters assigned to the mission. The guy was casually hauling a pair of heavy iron equipment cases that probably weighed exactly as much as you did.
"Need a hand with those heavier crates?" He asked, wiping sweat from his brow.
"Wow. Yeah, actually," you smiled back, forcing yourself out of your weird trance. "You know, you're ridiculously strong. I usually have to use a pulley system just to budge those."
He let out a proud laugh, clearly pleased with the compliment.
Right on cue, Tamsy strolled up without missing a beat. Completely unbothered, he threw an arm around the guy's shoulder.
"Right? Isn't he a beast? We're so lucky to have him on the muscle detail," Tamsy chimed in, laughing off the compliment.
The guy laughed, elbowing Tamsy back playfully, but as Tamsy turned his head to call out to someone else, the Supporter leaned down slightly toward you. He leaned in just close enough so his breath tickled your ear, his voice dropping to a teasing whisper.
"You know," he murmured, a knowing smirk playing on his lips, "you should really just confess your love to him already. It's painful watching you blush every time he breathes."
Your face instantly caught fire. You swat weakly at his elbow while your eyes darted nervously to Tamsy's back, praying he hadn't heard a single word.
The joint mission with Team Eager commenced later that afternoon.
The desert wind was brutal, howling past the open-air jeeps as the tires kicked up choking clouds of dust. You ended up squeezed into the back beside a mountain of equipment cases and spare parts. It wasn't glamorous work, being a Supporter. Someone had to carry the replacement gears, the repair kits, the emergency batteries, the tools everyone forgot they needed until the exact moment they needed them.
Across from you, Delmon had somehow fallen asleep despite the potholes trying to launch everyone into the ceiling every few minutes. His head bounced against the window with every bump, and somehow he still didn't wake up. You envied that.
Tamsy, sitting beside the driver, was busy chatting about absolutely nothing. Something about whether pigeons counted as sky rats.
Delmon cracked one eye open just long enough to mumble, "Everything's a rat if you hate it enough."
Then he went back to sleep.
The conversation somehow lasted another fifteen minutes.
You tuned it out. The thoughts of those missing logs kept drifting back, a distraction that apparently made you sloppy. When you looked down, you realized your gear was a total disaster. Vials were knocked over, bandages unspooled, and loose tools clattered together at the bottom of the bag.
You sighed at your own incompetence. With several hours of driving ahead, you decided you might as well organize it now.
Your fingers hit something foreign buried beneath a stack of inventory clipboards. It was a piece of paper, crumpled into a tight, frantic ball.
Curiosity winning over your frustration, you smoothed it out against your knee.
The handwriting was yours, messier than usual. The strokes dug deep enough into the page that they almost tore through was a single message:
STAY AWAY FROM TAMSY.
You stared at the paper, then at the handwriting—then back again.
It was definitely yours.
You knew the exact slant of your 'S,' the sharp, hurried way you crossed your 'T's when you were stressed. But it made absolutely no sense. Why on earth would you write something so paranoid, so outright malicious, about the guy who had literally bought you breakfast a few hours ago?
And what were you supposed to do with this? March up to Semiu when you got back and hand over a wrinkled note? Look at this crazy warning I left myself, please interrogate our most cooperative teammate.
"Hey. Everything alright down there?"
You flinched.
Tamsy was leaning over the back of the driver's seat, staring down at you. His eyes were crinkled, but his head was tilted at a curious angle. "You look incredibly pale."
You looked up a little too quickly, and forced a weak shake of your head. "Yeah—yeah, just a sudden wave of motion sickness. The road is rough today."
His eyes flicked toward the paper in your hands. "What's that?"
"N-Nothing," you shook your head, folding the note into a tiny square and shoved it into your pocket before you could think about it. "It's just an old shopping list."
Tamsy looked at you for another second.
"Ah," he smiled, reaching out to lazily tap the top of your head. "Hang in there, we're almost at the checkpoint."
He turned back around, and the conversation about pigeons resumed.
Your eyes drifted toward Tamsy's back. Was this linked to the blank spots on your calendar? It felt like a conspiracy theory, but the mechanics didn't add up. Tamsy's Jinki was Tokushin, he manipulated threads. How could a guy who plays with string have anything to do with your memory?
You found yourself stifling a grim, dark laugh. What, did he have a second Jinki hidden in his coat that you didn't know about? Wouldn't that be something? One for thread, and one for ruining your life.
Is having two Jinki even possible? You had absolutely no idea.
Maybe you'd hit your head harder than you thought on the last mission. Or you have split-personality disorder, and your alter-ego was a bitter hater who hated nice guys.
The increasingly ridiculous explanations did a surprisingly good job of calming you down.
By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, the humor had thoroughly worn off. It was a grueling, long-distance mission, meaning the team had to pitch up at a dirt-cheap motel on the outskirts of the border town for the night.
The moment the jeeps sputtered to a halt, you hopped out. You spotted the Supporter from Team Eager—the one who had teased you about confessing earlier—was unloading equipment nearby.
"Hey," you called out, walking over with a weary smile. "Rough drive, huh? Need a hand before we check in?"
The guy didn't respond at first. When he finally glanced at you for a second, he immediately looked away.
"...I've got it," he said, grabbing another case and walking past you without a word.
That was… weird.
Maybe he hadn't heard you?
You called his name this time, but he didn't even turn around. The sudden coldness landed somewhere uncomfortable inside your chest. You stood there awkwardly until another case nearly rolled off the jeep.
"What happened?" a soft voice murmured beside you.
Tamsy stepped up to your side, his hands in his pockets, watching the other Supporters disappear through the motel doors. Delmon trudged past both of you, muttering something about finding a bed that didn't smell like mold, leaving you alone with the one person your own handwriting had warned you against.
"I don't get it," you admitted, glancing toward the Supporter again. "He was acting normal this morning."
Now he wouldn't even look at you.
"...Did I do something wrong?"
Tamsy looked down at you, his smile dropping into an expression of sympathy. He reached out, his fingers gently brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear—a gesture so entirely kind it made the chest ache with confusion.
"Aw, don't take it to heart," he murmured. "He was probably just tired from driving the entire day. Besides, you've still got me, right?"
Maybe he was right.
It's not about you, maybe you were overthinking everything today.
_
The next morning, the sun rose over the wasteland in a toxic yellow haze, but there was no time to sit and watch it. You didn't exactly have time to poeticize it, though, because the alarms started blaring before you could even finish a lukewarm cup of coffee.
By the time the jeeps roared into the canyon, the battle was already a chaotic mess of flying debris and screeching Trash Beasts. Delmon launched himself forward without hesitation, disappearing into a cloud of dust. You watched his silhouette fade into the gray haze, wishing for a fraction of a second that you could run after him instead. But you couldn't. You and Delmon weren't close like that; you didn't have a single thing in common. He was Tamsy's teammate, not yours.
As a Supporter, you forced yourself into your usual routine, setting up repair stations and emergency supply points with other Supporters while the Givers engaged the beast.
You tried. God, you really tried to just act normal. But the universe has a sick sense of humor, because every single time Tamsy drifted anywhere near you, your breath hitched. You couldn't help it. Normally, you'd be trailing after him like an eager puppy. But now you subconsciously stepped back, keeping a careful distance between yourself and him.
You wished you had never found that stupid, crumpled piece of paper.
Naturally, because your focus was completely shot, you missed the part where a stray piece of jagged iron pipe was sent hurtling straight toward your blind spot. Before you could even register the whistling sound of the air cutting open, a thread from Tokushin whipped out from the dust.
It wrapped tightly around your wrist and violently reeled you forward.
You stumbled, gasping as your boots skidded over the loose rocks. Tamsy caught you by the shoulder, his grip firm enough to bruise through your uniform jacket. He didn't let go. Even as the wind howled and the surrounding Cleaners shouted over the din of shattering metal, he leaned down, bringing his face inches from yours.
His smile was perfectly fixed. His eyes were crinkled, completely warm, completely terrifying.
"Hey," he whispered. "You're trailing behind today. Something on your mind?"
Your heart hammered against your ribs in actual, suffocating fear now. The blush that usually warmed your cheeks was entirely absent, replaced by a cold sweat. You forced your lips to stretch into a fake, trembling smile, your fingers twitching against the fabric of his sleeve.
"I'm just... just tired from the motion sickness yesterday."
"Ah," Tamsy murmured, his thumb rubbing a slow, heavy circle into your shoulder before he finally released you. "Make sure you stay close to me, then. Wouldn't want you getting lost."
The battle raged around you.
Tamsy stepped away as though nothing had happened, his hand releasing your shoulder as a fresh strand of Tokushin sliced clean through the creature's core without him even breaking his stride.
The moment the battle concluded and the team returned to the dirt-cheap motel, worse still was the suffocating silence. Other than the Supporter who had suddenly given you the cold shoulder yesterday, you weren't actually close to the other two Supporters on this run. Sure, you talked to them, but it had always been strictly work-related.
But today, even that bare-minimum professionalism was dead. Every time you tried to pass a clipboard or ask for a final headcount, the other Supporters completely bypassed you. One of them actively wrenched a logbook out of your hand without making eye contact.
So while the other clattered into the lobby to argue about room assignments and injuries, you slipped away.
You wander toward a gravel parking lot. A single security lamp cast a sickly amber glow over a rusted vending machine. The wind was colder out here, howling through the chain-link fence, a welcome distraction from the dull throbbing behind your eyes.
You pulled the square of paper from your pocket.
Unfolding it with trembling fingers under the amber light, you stared at the script again. STAY AWAY FROM TAMSY. The sheer impossibility of it weighed on you. How could you be terrified of someone who just hours ago had saved your life? And how could a guy who spun thread steal days from your life?
A sharp, microscopic tug snapped you out of your thoughts.
You glanced down and saw a thread shot out from the deep shadows. It wrapped perfectly around the slip of paper and yanked it right out of your fingers.
You gasped, your head spinning around so fast your neck cracked, and your heart instantly plummeting straight into your stomach.
Tamsy stepped out from the dark corner of the building, casually catching the flying note in his palm. He was wearing his usual relaxed smile, tilting his head at that exact same curious angle you used to find so charming.
"Thought I'd check on you," he said.
Your throat went completely dry. "Tamsy. Can you give that back, please?"
"You know, I was wondering what you were hiding in the jeep," he murmured, ignoring you as his eyes scanned the messy handwriting. He let out a soft, fond sigh—the kind of sound someone makes when a pet keeps making the same mess on the rug. "Wow. You really dug the pen into the paper this time, didn't you? You must have been so scared when you wrote it."
"I don't—I don't even know why I wrote that. It's a joke. I was just—"
You looked around frantically, suddenly realizing exactly how isolated you were. The occupied motel rooms were too far away, and the desert wind howling between the concrete walls was entirely too loud.
"What did you do to him?" you finally choked out, your voice trembling as you brought up the other supporter. "Why is everyone suddenly treating me so coldly?"
"I had to," Tamsy chuckled, waving a hand dismissively. "He was looking at you too much. Whispering in your ear, making you blush like that... I didn't like it. So I scribbled over those friendly little thoughts he had about you."
"That's impossible," you whispered, your brain flat-out refusing to process how someone who manipulates strings could just rewrite someone's mind.
You instinctively took a step back, about to bolt into the dark.
Suddenly, Tokushin's threads whipped out. They bound your wrists, pinning your arms ruthlessly to your sides. In the same breath, a layer of thread wrapped over your mouth, stifling your screams into muffled gasps. He stepped into your space, pushing your pinned body back against the cold, brick wall of the motel, hiding you completely in the shadows.
With you physically trapped and unable to make a sound, Tamsy leaned in close, his chest nearly touching yours. He looked down at your wide, terror-stricken eyes with an expression of pure adoration.
"You really are clever," he whispered, reaching up to gently trace the line of your jaw, completely unbothered by the way you tried to flinch away from his touch. In fact, he seemed to guide your face closer. "Everytime I thought I cleaned up all the scraps, you always find a way to leave yourself these little breadcrumbs. I think this is... what, the fifth note I've had to take from you?"
Your eyes widened further, tears of pure frustration and fear pricking the corners of your vision.
"Oh, you're so beautiful when you hate me," he murmured, his thumb brushing a tear from your cheek. His gaze was dark, heavy, and absolutely consumed by you. "Honestly, I don't care if you're blushing because of a silly little crush, or staring at me like you want to rip my throat out... you're still entirely consumed by me, aren't you? You aren't thinking about that guy. I adore you so passionate like this. Every single version of you, as long as you're right here."
He let out a short chuckle, leaning his forehead against yours. You thrashed against the threads, your muffled cries dying against the fibers over your mouth.
"But you look so miserable like this," he said, with his free hand, Tamsy reached into his coat and pulled out the heavy, ominous form of the Watchman Book. "Let's bring back that lovely smile instead. You liked me better when you just had a little crush, remember?"
Your eyes dilated in complete horror. He really did have two. One Jinki for thread, and one for ruining your life.
But before he opened the pages, Tamsy paused. With a flick of his fingers, the threads wrapping around your mouth and wrists slithered away.
He waited, as though granting you your last words.
You slumped against the brick wall, your breath coming in ragged, trembling gasps. You knew you couldn't run. You knew nobody was coming. So, looking up at the guy you had spent months pining after, you let out one final, broken question.
"Did... did you ever like me for real?"
"Of course I do."
His answer came immediately.
"No. 'Like' isn't the right word, is it? It's way more than that," he murmured, his smile turned incredibly tender as he corrected himself. He slid his hand from your jaw to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling into your hair, holding you in a mock embrace that felt sickeningly sweet.
"...I love you."
A twisted irony settled over you. Your stupid little crush had finally confessed to you. You had gotten exactly what you wanted, and this horror was the cost.
Tamsy flipped the Watchman Book open. In the pitch-black darkness behind the motel, the pages began to illuminate his smiling face like a beautifully twisted angel. The ink began to bleed into the air, and the world began to tilt. The dark bricks, the cold wind, the memory of his confession—it all began to blur, dissolving into heavy strokes of black ink that scribbled over your consciousness until there was nothing left but silence.
_
You blinked.
The vehicle hit a particularly nasty pothole, nearly bouncing your head into the roof.
You rubbed your temples, feeling a strange ache behind your eyes and a weird, empty gap in your thoughts from the night before, but you quickly shrugged it off. The roads were notoriously rough; you were probably just exhausted from the long drive.
Turning your head, you found Tamsy sitting right beside you in the passenger seat. He turned around, offering that warm, crinkly-eyed smile that always made your chest feel tight. He extended a hand, holding out a small, crinkling paper bag.
"Morning, sleepyhead," he teased playfully. "Brought you some of those sweet pastries you like from the lobby."
You felt your heart did that exact same little flip it always did whenever he looked at you. You cleared your throat, nervously straightening your posture, and wondered for the hundredth time if he would ever notice if you cut your hair.
Tw. insecure/introvert reader, angst(?), dark content, noncon kissing, implied noncon/dubcon at the end, jealousy, tension, mutual pinning, misunderstanding, hidden feelings, slow burn(?), stalking, toxic, sabotage, possessiveness, red flag, manipulation, dependency, no actual smut
***
Imagine being the childhood friend of the popular playboy in school.
He wasn’t just a typical playboy—he was popular for a good amount of reasons. He was, of course, hot, tall, with a pretty face, but he also had that effortless charisma. Easy-going, charming, funny when he wanted to be, and somehow still managed to keep decent grades. A good reputation wrapped in the kind of smile that made girls melt.
The only problem? His ongoing roster of girls. You honestly couldn’t pinpoint when or how he turned into such a flirt, it sort of just... happened. Maybe when high school hit, and puberty did him more favors than most. Whatever the case, he became that guy. The one you’d usually only see in dramas.
But it’s not like you had any business with that part of him. At least, that’s what you told yourself.
You two had always been close. Childhood friends. Neighbors. Playmates since you were practically in diapers. Your parents knew each other well, your families comfortable enough to arrange sleepovers that turned into routine. You grew up in each other’s houses, like siblings. Always “the duo.”
But while he bloomed into the guy everyone wanted to be around, you... didn’t exactly shine the same way. You were a little plain. A bit on the bland side compared to others, especially compared to him. While he stood tall, you were shorter than average, often overlooked in group photos. You didn’t have much of a figure either, which made changing in the locker room a quiet kind of dread. Flat and forgettable. You’d never say it out loud, but you noticed the difference.
He lit up every room he walked into. You were just... there. Next to him. Always next to him. Just not quite enough.
But it was fine.
You never made a big deal about any of it. It’s not like you wanted the spotlight anyway. You were comfortable being in the background, comfortable not having all eyes on you. Sure, sometimes you got a few questionable looks when you were with Mr. Charming, but you learned not to care. Let them wonder. You were used to being the quiet one beside the star of the show.
Though, truth be told, you sometimes wondered too. Why did he always stick around? Even when the popular kids were constantly egging him on to ditch you and join them, he never really did. He’d flirt and play around, sure, but he always came back to you. As if none of the sparkle out there was worth trading for late-night game sessions and instant noodles in your room.
"Geez, why’re you in my bedroom...? I thought you were about to go to the concert with them," you asked one evening, raising a brow as he sprawled across your bed like it was his.
“Nuh-uh. Don’t wanna,” he replied, eyes already glued to the game controller in his hand. “Plus, I wanna spend time playing games with you.”
You rolled your eyes at the time, but deep down, your chest tightened just a little. Warm and confused all at once.
It was things like that, small, innocent moments that led to the never-ending question you kept hearing from people.
“Are you guys dating?”
You always shut it down quickly, automatically, almost on instinct now.
“No. Definitely not. I’m not his type, we’re just friends.”
Because that was the truth, right?
Right?
***
He heard you say it all the time.
“We’re just friends.”
You said it so naturally, like breathing. Like it was a fact. Like it didn’t chip away at something in him every time those words slipped from your lips.
But damn, you didn’t make it easy to believe.
Not when you smiled at him like that. Not when you laughed at his dumb jokes, even the ones no one else caught. Not when you looked at him like he was just him, not the guy with a line of girls and a reputation he didn’t even care for anymore.
He told himself he was just being a good friend. That walking you home—even when it meant doubling back—was normal. That flicking some guy’s forehead for looking at you too long was harmless. Just a joke. Even if something in his chest burned every time.
And maybe he leaned in too close sometimes. Maybe he hovered near your space a little more than necessary. But he didn’t do it on purpose. Not at first.
It’s just... you never pulled away.
You made it feel like he belonged there.
And then there were the little things.
The way you always insisted you weren’t picky, but he still remembered how you liked your noodles with less broth. The way he always brought an extra hoodie because yeah, you always forgot yours, and he didn’t want you getting cold. The way he chose the seat next to you, even if the room was empty. Always you. Always your side.
You never questioned it.
Except that one time.
"Why’re you always hanging out with me? I'm not exactly a party."
He remembered how you asked it with a smile, trying to play it off.
But it hit him harder than he expected. So he gave you the truth. Or at least… part of it.
"Yeah, but you’re my favorite kind of quiet."
You laughed, of course. Brushed it off like it was nothing.
But he saw the way you looked down after. The way your cheeks went warm. And he carried that moment with him, filed it away with all the other things he never said out loud.
And when people asked if you two were dating and you laughed and said “No, I’m definitely not his type”—he never corrected you.
He should’ve. God, he wanted to.
But instead, he just smiled. That same tight, hollow smile.
Because you were wrong.
You were so wrong.
You weren’t loud, or bold, or flashy like the girls who chased him, sure. But none of them ever made him feel the way you did.
And you never saw it.
You looked at yourself and only saw “plain.” But he looked at you and saw home.
And he stayed.
He always stayed.
That part? You never really understood.
But maybe… he was just too much of a coward to make you.
***
It happened one weekend night.
Your parents were out of town for a wedding (you didn't want to go along), leaving you with the house to yourself. You’d planned to spend the evening curled up with snacks and a cheesy drama, nothing unusual. The house was quiet, comfortably so.
Until a knock came at the front door. Loud. Repetitive.
You opened it, and there he was, him. Tall, flushed, and very, very drunk.
“Heeeyyy,” he drawled, grinning lopsidedly as he leaned against the doorframe. “Youuuuuu. I missed you.”
You blinked, completely stunned. “Wait—what the hell? Are you drunk? Where were you?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he stumbled forward, and your reflexes kicked in just in time to stop him from falling face-first into your entryway.
“Oh my God,” you muttered, arms flailing as you tried to support him. “Jeez, you’re heavy, what did you drink?”
He giggled. Actually giggled.
“Dunno,” he mumbled, dropping most of his weight onto you like a sleepy sloth. “They gave me... stuff. Tasted like cough syrup. Missed your face though…”
You groaned, knees nearly buckling under him as you fumbled to drag his dead weight toward the living room. “You missed my face? Seriously?”
He made a noise that was suspiciously close to a whine. “Yeah… You didn’t come to the party. I waited. Got bored. Left.”
“You should’ve just stayed and sobered up instead of dragging your drunk ass here.”
But he didn’t respond. Instead, he slurred something completely incoherent and nuzzled into your shoulder.
You finally managed to guide him to the couch, huffing and trying to keep your balance. But as you bent to lower him onto the cushions, he suddenly shifted his weight and with zero warning, pulled you down with him.
“W-Wait—!”
You fell right on top of him with a muffled oof, and before you could scramble away, his arms lazily wrapped around you, holding you there like a living body pillow.
“Comfy,” he mumbled against your hair. “You smell nice.”
Your brain short-circuited. “Wha— I— Get off!”
But he didn’t budge. In fact, he snuggled closer, warmth radiating off him as he held you like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Y’know,” he whispered, voice thick with sleep and alcohol, “I don’t like it when you say you’re not my type.”
You froze.
“I hate it,” he added, softer now. “So dumb. You don’t even see how much I like being around you…”
Then silence. Deep, slow breaths. He was already half-asleep, completely unaware of the way your heart was trying to beat out of your chest.
You didn’t know what to say.
So you said nothing.
And stayed there, quietly listening to the sound of his breathing, with your face burning and your thoughts racing, wondering if he’d remember any of it in the morning.
Your heart was pounding like it wanted to escape your chest.
You could feel the heat of his breath against your collarbone, his arms still wrapped around you in a lazy hold. Everything about the moment was too much—the closeness, the weight of his words, the way he mumbled "I don’t like it when you say you’re not my type.”
It should’ve meant something. Should’ve stirred something deeper. And for a moment, it did.
But then, reality hit.
This was him—the same guy who’d flirted with three girls just last week, the same guy whose phone buzzed with messages from different names at ungodly hours. The guy who could have anyone he wanted with just a glance and a half-hearted smile.
Your brows furrowed, the haze of warmth in your chest beginning to cool.
Of course he was saying stuff like that. He was drunk. Sloppy. Blurry-eyed. Probably mistaking you for someone else, or worse, just saying the first sweet thing that came to mind because it was easy. Because that's what he does.
The warmth in your cheeks faded. Your eyes narrowed slightly as you stared.
You sighed.
“Stupid drunk,” you muttered, voice flat and unimpressed.
He didn’t react, already halfway to sleep, breathing soft and slow like a knocked-out puppy.
You stayed like that for a moment longer, caught between the ghost of his words and the bitter edge of your thoughts. Part of you wanted to believe what he said. But the other part? The part that had watched girl after girl fall for him and get tossed aside like it was nothing?
That part just wanted to roll its eyes.
Still, you didn’t move.
Because even if you didn’t believe him…
His arms around you still felt kind of nice.
***
You two acted normal after the morning of that. He probably didn't remember what he said, which was a good thing for you. Moved on, like nothing happened.
It's been a few days after that and you were talking about someone new—a guy from your class, apparently. You had that little spark in your voice, the one he usually only heard when you were talking about food or finding a cute dog online.
He didn’t like it. Not one bit.
“So yeah,” you said casually, biting into a snack as you scrolled on your phone, “he offered to walk me home the other day. I didn’t let him, obviously. But he was really nice about it. Kinda surprising.”
He sat beside you on your bed, leaning back on one hand, pretending not to care. “Oh? He did?”
“Yeah. I think he’s cool,” you said, voice light, unaware of how that single word stabbed into him harder than he wanted to admit.
He tilted his head, a smile pulling at his lips, one of those closed-eyed smiles he wore when he was being “harmless.”
“You do?”
You nodded, totally unfazed. “Mhm. He’s funny, smart. Kinda cute.”
There it was.
The trigger.
He sat up a little straighter, the smile never quite reaching his eyes now. “Funny, smart, cute?” he repeated, still with that casual tone. “Wow. Sounds like a real catch.”
You blinked at him. “Yeah, I guess. He’s easy to talk to.”
He snorted. “Right, right. Tall guy? Bit of a clean-cut look?”
You nodded again, chewing absently on your snack.
“Must be nice,” he muttered, crossing his arms. “Bet he’s the type to open doors and call you ma’am too.”
You laughed. “I mean, manners aren’t exactly a red flag.”
“Oh yeah, totally,” he said, voice picking up heat now, even as he smiled. “So polite. Bet he irons his shirts and rehearses compliments in the mirror.”
You gave him a look, amused. “What is with you?”
“Nothing. Just sayin’—guy’s probably all talk. Bet he folds under pressure. Can’t even kill a spider without screaming.”
You raised a brow, “That’s a bold assumption.”
He scoffed, throwing his hands up, still smiling but not meaning it. “I’m taller, better looking, and I don’t have to try so hard to impress people.”
Your jaw dropped a little. “What?”
“I’m just saying,” he said, raising his bottle in mock-toast. “If you’re gonna go for someone ‘cool,’ maybe aim higher. You know. Someone who’s taller, funnier, better-looking, less try-hard. Maybe someone who’s known you since you were five. Just throwing that out there.”
“Huh?”
“And I bet my dick’s bigger than his."
You choked on your drink, “What?!”
He blinked. “What?”
You stared at him, stunned, and he just gave a tiny shrug like oops, did I say that out loud?
You laughed, shaking your head, brushing it all off like it was just another one of his weird ego trips. “Okay, weirdo.”
He didn’t respond right away.
He just watched you, jaw tightening slightly as you turned your attention back to your phone, entirely missing the storm he was trying to hide behind casual smirks and crude jokes.
You didn’t get it, because you didn’t think he looked at you that way.
***
After that conversation, things didn’t exactly change—but they didn’t quite go back to normal either.
He still walked you home. Still flopped onto your bed like it was his own. Still stole your snacks and your charger and your last bit of patience on most days.
But sometimes, you’d catch him watching you a little too long.
Not in the obvious way. Not like the way other guys did, staring with boldness and intentions written all over their faces.
No—he did it quietly. Like he was trying to memorize the way you smiled when you thought no one was looking. Like he was trying to figure something out about you… or maybe about himself.
Then there were the little shifts.
He started texting back slower when you told him you were talking to that guy again. Didn’t say anything harsh, but his replies were short. Blunt.
And when that same guy approached you one afternoon in the hallway, he just so happened to slide in between you two, throwing an arm around your shoulder.
“Didn’t know you liked hanging out with traffic cones,” he muttered with a lopsided grin, nodding at the guy’s neon hoodie.
You laughed nervously, brushing it off. “You’re so dumb.”
But the guy left after that. Didn’t even try to keep the conversation going.
And when you asked him what that was about, he just shrugged.
“Didn’t like his face.”
You rolled your eyes. “You don’t like anyone’s face lately.”
He smiled. “Yours is okay, I guess.”
And then there were those times when you were on your phone, texting, and he’d lean over your shoulder too quickly.
“Who’s that?”
“No one.”
“Hmm. No one has a name?”
You sighed, brushing him away. “Why are you so nosy lately?”
But he’d never answer. He’d just flop backward onto the couch or your bed and throw an arm over his eyes like he was bored. Or tired. Or both.
But you felt it.
Something had shifted.
He was getting quieter about the things he didn’t say. Quieter about how he stayed so close but kept himself just far enough that you wouldn’t really notice.
***
You didn’t say anything about it to him.
Not when you got the number. Not when you exchanged a few late-night texts with the guy from class. And definitely not when he asked who kept lighting up your phone and you lied—said it was your cousin, or some stupid group chat.
Because… if he wanted to keep treating you like you were just his best friend, then fine. Maybe you’d stop waiting. You were plain ol Jane anyway, at this rate you'd end up alone. Not like anyone would like you if you don't even try or put any effort to yourself. Maybe it was time to try something different.
Someone different.
So you said yes to a date.
It wasn’t a big deal. Just a small place near the station, casual, low-pressure. You wore a little lip tint. Changed your shirt twice. Checked your phone four times on the way there.
You even left the house without telling him.
Which was rare.
Because somehow, despite how frustrated you were, you still felt a little guilty doing something like this without him knowing. Scrap that! You shouldn't feel guilty at all, it's not like you're his girlfriend or something. Plus, this was your first date, you shouldn't even think of him.
You got there early. Sat at the little table. Smoothed your skirt out. Sipped water slowly.
And waited.
Then waited some more.
Minutes passed. Then a half-hour. Then an hour.
No messages. No call. Just… silence.
At some point, you stopped pretending to check your phone like there was something new. You just sat there, hands folded, eyes distant. Trying not to let it sink in too hard, but it did anyway.
He didn’t show.
No explanation.
No reason.
Just a reminder that maybe you really weren’t the type to be chosen after all.
By the time you got home, it was dark. You kicked your shoes off a little harder than usual, holding back the pressure behind your eyes. The house was quiet. Your parents weren’t home. Just you. And the lingering ache of rejection sitting heavy in your chest.
Maybe you shouldn't gotten your hopes up.
And then you heard the knock on your door. You already knew who it was.
He walked in like he always did, with a lazy grin and a snack in hand. You stared at him like you hadn’t just spent an hour trying to convince yourself you were worth showing up for.
“Yo. You were gone,” he said, tossing a drink on your desk like usual. “Didn’t text me back. Something happened?”
You looked up from where you sat on your bed, your voice dull. “No. I just… needed some air.”
He paused. The grin faltered, but only for a split second.
“…Did you go somewhere?”
You forced a laugh, shaking your head. “Just errands. Nothing interesting.”
He didn’t question it. He trusted you too easily. Or maybe he didn’t want to push. Instead, he stretched out beside you, letting out a sigh. “People are exhausting. I don’t get how you deal with them.”
You shrugged, keeping your voice light. “Guess I just have more patience.”
He turned his head to look at you then—really looked. Eyes soft, searching.
“You okay?”
You smiled, quick and small. “Yeah. Just tired.”
And that was the thing with him. He’d always pull back just when he was about to see something too real. Like he was afraid of what he might find if he looked too closely.
So, he let it go.
He reached for the controller on your desk, tossing it in your lap. “Wanna game ‘til we pass out?”
You nodded.
Because what else could you do?
You couldn’t tell him your date never showed up. You couldn’t tell him that for a brief moment, you thought maybe—just maybe—you could be wanted by someone else. That someone else could make you forget the way he made you feel without ever touching you.
***
Of course, he knew.
He always knew.
He noticed the shift before you even realized it yourself—how you started texting a little less when he was around, how you smiled down at your phone and quickly locked it when he leaned over. How you’d hum that soft little tune you always did when you were nervous or excited.
It didn’t take much.
One glance at your screen while you left it unattended. One name. One stupid string of texts about Friday and coffee and maybe I’ll see you there? :)
And it pissed him off more than he wanted to admit.
Not because he thought you weren’t allowed to date. Not even because he thought the guy was anything special.
No.
It was because you thought someone else could understand you better than he did. That someone else could earn what he’d spent years protecting.
You didn’t know it, but he was the reason most guys never got near you in the first place.
He wasn’t exactly subtle—especially in high school. Any guy who so much as looked at you too long got “the talk.” A casual hand around your shoulders. A stare that went a little too cold. A whispered “She’s not interested” even if you hadn’t said it yourself.
He made it hard for anyone to approach. On purpose.
Because you were his.
Not in the possessive, boyfriend kind of way. At least, that’s what he told himself. But in the I know every part of you, and no one else ever will kind of way.
So when this new guy started sniffing around, he didn’t wait.
He caught the guy behind the gym after class, right where the hallway cameras didn’t reach.
The guy flinched when he turned the corner and saw him standing there—arms crossed, calm smile on his face like this was just another casual run-in. But his eyes… his eyes were cold.
“Hey,” he said smoothly, stepping into his path.
The guy hesitated, confused. “Uh. Hey?”
“You’ve been texting her.”
The guy blinked, caught off guard. “I—what?”
He took another step closer. “Don’t play dumb. You’ve been trying to take her out. Planning something for Friday, right? Café date?”
The guy laughed nervously, confused. “Yeah? I mean… she said yes.”
That smile widened, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
“Yeah. She’s nice like that.”
Then the smile dropped.
“But let’s get one thing straight.”
The guy’s brows pulled together. “What are you—?”
He grabbed the front of his collar, shoving him hard against the wall, voice dropping low and sharp.
“You’re not gonna show up.”
The guy froze. “What the hell is your problem?!”
“I don’t like repeating myself.” He leaned in close, breath calm and voice terrifyingly even. “You’re going to leave her alone. You’re going to block her. And you’re never going to speak to her again.”
“You’re insane—!”
He smiled again, twisting the guy’s shirt tighter. “No. You’re stupid. See, here’s the thing. I’m the popular guy. Good grades. Everyone loves me.” He tilted his head, voice dropping even further. “You? You’re a background character. No one’s gonna believe some awkward little shit over me. You tell anyone I threatened you, and all I have to do is smile and say, ‘Who, me?’ And everyone will laugh and move on.”
He let go with a shove, stepping back as the guy gasped, fixing his shirt.
“You can call it jealousy. Obsession. Whatever makes you feel better,” he said, brushing invisible dust off his sleeve. “But here’s what it really is, I’m not letting someone like you anywhere near her.”
The guy stared at him, chest heaving.
He walked away with a casual wave. “Don’t forget. Friday? You’re busy~”
The guy didn’t show up.
And that night, when he dropped by your room and found you curled up and quiet, wearing his hoodie like a safety blanket, something in his chest twisted.
You didn’t say a word about it.
But he knew.
He could see the flicker of hurt behind your eyes. The soft smile you gave him—fake, practiced. The way you brushed him off like it didn’t matter. He wanted to feel satisfied. Victorious.
But it just made him feel worse.
Because no matter how much he tried to control things… he couldn’t stop that sadness in your eyes.
You didn’t even know it was him. Didn’t even know that all this time, the reason you felt so overlooked, so invisible was because he’d made sure of it.
Not because he wanted to hurt you. But because he couldn’t stand the idea of someone else seeing what he saw.
You were his quiet. His warmth. His constant.
And if someone else took that away from him?
He didn’t know who he’d be.
***
It started small.
You noticed it when you caught him glaring at someone you’d only spoken to once. When your texts started mysteriously going unanswered. When people who used to be friendly now looked at you like they didn’t want to get involved.
At first, you thought you were just overthinking it. Paranoia, maybe. You were introverted, bad at reading people. You kept to yourself more often than not, maybe that just meant people naturally faded away.
But then there were moments.
Moments where you caught the sharpness behind his smile when someone mentioned another guy’s name. Moments where his “jokes” about being possessive didn’t feel so funny anymore. Moments where he looked at you too long, too quietly, like he was thinking something he couldn’t say out loud.
And then that night—everything shifted.
He was in your room again. Like always. Sprawled out on your bed, head resting against your pillow like it belonged to him. You were on your floor, flipping through old game cases, trying to ignore the heavy beat of your heart.
“You’ve been quiet lately,” he said, tone light but eyes tracking every move you made.
You shrugged. “Just thinking.”
“About?”
You didn’t answer right away. You didn’t really know how to. Your mind had been a mess lately, spinning with everything you didn’t understand. Everything you were starting to understand.
“Do you…” you hesitated, eyes on the case in your hand. “Do you ever think people avoid me because of you?”
He sat up. Slowly.
“Where’s that coming from?”
“I don’t know,” you muttered. “It just feels like… people don’t even try anymore.”
There was a beat of silence.
Then he stood. Walked over. Sat beside you on the floor, shoulder brushing yours. You didn’t look at him. You felt like you couldn’t.
You looked up at him, finally and your breath caught.
He was quiet for a second. Then he said, voice low, “Maybe I like it that way.”
And then he kissed you.
Because his eyes weren’t teasing. They were serious. Dark. Familiar in a way that suddenly felt foreign.
Just like that.
No warning. No permission.
His lips were on yours—soft, warm, dangerous. It wasn’t rushed, but it wasn’t gentle either. It was sure. Like he’d been waiting. Like he’d done it a thousand times in his head already.
You froze.
For a second, your brain short-circuited. Everything blanked. Your body didn’t know whether to lean in or pull away. Because you’d thought about this before. God, had you thought about it. Wondered, dreamed, ached over it. But now that it was real…
You remembered the girls. The rumors. The way he never looked twice at them after he got bored.
You pulled back, breath catching. “Don’t.”
He blinked at you, surprised, maybe even a little hurt.
You stood, fast. Hands shaking. “You should go.”
He didn’t move.
Instead, he gave you a small, crooked smile. The kind you used to find charming. The kind that now made your stomach twist.
“Why?” he said softly. “I wanna stay the night.”
You stared at him.
He tilted his head, like this was all just a game, “We can play boyfriend and girlfriend again,” he said, voice low, teasing. “Like we used to when we were kids. Remember that?”
You took a step back. “That was pretend.”
“So~?” He stood too now, closing the space between you. “Let’s pretend again. This time I won’t leave.”
Your chest tightened.
You want to push him away, your mind reeling with the memories of him being a playboy.
“I said you should go,” you repeated, trying to keep your voice firm.
And you hated that your heart skipped. That your body remembered the kiss more than your mind could process it. But your gut? Your gut screamed something was wrong. You took another step back, putting space between you.
He didn’t move. His eyes tracked you like prey, something unreadable flickering beneath the surface.
"You used to let me sleep over all the time," he said softly, like he was reminding you of a rule you were suddenly breaking. “What changed?”
Everything, you wanted to say.
But instead, your voice came out smaller than you intended. “That was when we were kids.”
A slow grin tugged at his lips—but it wasn’t his usual smile. It was something darker. Almost sad.
“You’re acting like I’m a stranger.”
You clenched your fists, unsure why your throat felt tight. “You are. Lately... I don’t know what you are.”
Something in his jaw twitched. The grin dropped.
And then, suddenly he stepped forward.
You barely had time to flinch before you felt his hands on your shoulders, gently but firmly guiding you backward. Your knees hit the edge of your bed. You stumbled. Sat down.
His body was close. Too close.
Your breath hitched.
“I don’t want you to be scared of me,” he murmured, crouching slightly so he could look you in the eyes. “I’d never hurt you. You know that, right?”
You nodded slowly, heart hammering. But the unease wouldn’t leave.
He placed a hand beside your thigh on the bed, leaning in.
“Then why are you shaking?”
You didn't answer.
Because part of you didn’t know if it was fear… or something else. Something even more dangerous—doubt.
You tried to stand again, but he didn’t move back. He was watching you too closely. Like he was trying to read your mind. Like he already knew what was in it.
"I know you're confused," he said. "But deep down, you've always felt something too. I just had the guts to do something about it."
You opened your mouth, to argue, to tell him to leave again but nothing came out. Instead, you whispered, "I don't know what you're doing anymore."
His expression cracked for a moment—something bitter bleeding through.
“I’m doing what I should’ve done a long time ago.”
ahhh do you write for gachiakuta?!! If I'm correct then...
so the concept of prince tamsy x knight! reader has been plaguing my mind lately heheheh...
Reader is tasked to protect tamsy but he falls in love with us and it's getting harder to stay professional around him 🥹
Have some food 🧃🍨🍖🥮
Torture of the Heart
Synopsis. It's hard to focus on your knightly duties when you've got a handsome prince whispering sweet words to you 24/7.
Pairing. Prince! Tamsy C. x Knight! Gn! Reader
Contains. Tamsy is considerably less insane than in the anime, this guy's a tease, reader is implied to be a bit shorter than Tamsy, very much forbidden love, might be ooc
a/n. FIRST GACHIAKOOTER REQUEST LETS GAURRRR
Working for Tamsy was nothing short of torture.
Well, in the sense that the annoying prince wouldn't refrain from teasing you every chance that he got. It didn't matter that you were his knight, and it wouldn't matter if you were some low-ranked villager, either. He was after you from the first time he set his sights on you.
At first, it was easy to be around him. He'd simply pass by you with a carefree smirk and saunter off to do whatever princely things he had to do.
Tamsy would say things like "Good evening, (y/n). Any plans for the day? Or do you plan on protecting my life 'til sundown?" while strutting past you with his hands folded behind his back.
His voice had a charming rasp and a slight accent that made you hang on every word. It didn't help that he had the most alluring mouth ever. I mean, have you seen that shiny silver stud below his bottom lip? Stunning.
Tamsy almost always had something to say to you as well. Whether that be a simple greeting or a string of gossip, he was always making sure you heard him. This prince had fallen in love with his knight, and he made sure you knew about it with not-so-subtle hints.
However, there was a clear downside to this: You were his knight, obviously. You were in charge of protecting him from danger and ensuring his safety. If you were to so much as look at him in a way that insinuated the adoration you felt for him, you would be putting your job at risk. It was that feeling of forbidden love that made Tamsy more drawn to you.
See, he liked the rush of testing your limits. He wanted to see how much he could say before you turn bright red from his sweet words in your ear. He wanted to test how close the two of you could get before another knight looked at both of you sideways.
That's how you found yourself leaning against the stone wall of an empty corridor with Tamsy snuggly at your side. You two weren't doing anything suggestive, but anyone who saw you two would've assumed that something less than innocent was going on...
"So, (y/n)-- May I call you that?" Tamsy whispered into your ear, looming over you as his golden eyes glimmered from the rays of sunlight.
He knew he was making you flustered. You averted your eyes from his, your knees already feeling weak. "Yes, your majesty, you may call me whatever you wish."
The smirk on his plush lips seemed to widen at your words. "Hmm, you're too professional, (y/n). Do you ever get tired of having such a stuffy job? Do you ever want to do..." He tilted your head up with the gentle press of his finger beneath your chin, "More?"
At this point, there was no use avoiding his gaze. Tamsy was forcing you to look at him, and while it was against your will, you weren't exactly opposed to gazing into his eyes... "U-um, well, I wouldn't say I'm tired of having this job. I enjoy working for you and your parents."
Tamsy clearly wasn't satisfied with the answer you gave him, leaning in closer until you felt his nose lightly brush against yours. "Really? Well, that's no fun. From being around you so often, I'd assumed you wanted to be more than just my knight."
The prince simply shrugged, turning away. "Well, it can't be helped."
You were more confused than ever, currently. You've known Tamsy to be such a mysterious person, but this felt like he was pulling back the curtain to his heart. It seemed like he was almost... disappointed. "What do you mean by that?" You whispered just above your breath.
Tamsy turned around with grace, his long, dual-colored hair swaying gently behind him. "Oh? Have I not been giving you enough hints? The way I feel for you is unlike any other."
It was almost too simple when he said that. So simple that it made perfect sense to you. Perfect sense for a prince to fall in love with his knight.
Maybe it was his cooing tone, or the fact that he was smirking, but you felt compelled to tell him that you felt the same way. You opened your mouth to agree, but you knew your place as his knight.
His eyebrow raised. It felt like he could read your mind. "Well then, I must be off. Duty calls, my dear (y/n)."
"Yes... Good day, your majesty." You bowed deeply, a hand over your armor-clad heart.
The prince snickered with his pale hand over his mouth.
"Hm? Is something the matter, your majesty?"
"No... But I'd prefer it if you called me Tamsy instead."
You didn't even get a chance to react before he was out of your sight. Running after the prince would be humiliating, and you didn't want to potentially disrupt any work he was off doing. You had your place as his knight, and you wouldn't overstep it... Well, unless Tamsy asked you to. In that case, who were you to disobey your prince's orders?
I’ve seen people shipping Eisha and Tamsy and a lot of people don’t know that Eisha is a minor. She’s seventeen guys 😭😭 Tamsy is twenty three, shipping them would be really really weird!!anyway I just wanted to let you guys know cause I doubt you do ahah
I do not want to read about being a struggling single mother while a man pathetically chases after me, telling me how he can provide for me and my child. That sounds like a nightmare. This is a joke btw yall im not bashing anyone’s fics, im just saying i hate this trope in general 😢
— tags: yandere, stalking, obsessed behaviour, obsessive tamsy caines, manga spoilers (ifykyk), oblivious! reader, slight breaking and entering lol
— word count: 1,922
— lowkey a writing exercise too (wink wink)
— came across this audio on tiktok and immediately clocked it to this beautiful man
─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──
TAMSY NOTICED YOU the moment you first stepped into the Cleaners' headquarters. He was being briefed by Semiu on his next mission, which coincidentally was the perfect opportunity to test a potential new Cleaner.
Of course, at first, he didn't care that much about you—hell, he even toyed with the idea of letting you take the heavy blows of the trash beasts just for funsies. It would've been amusing to watch you scramble about, or maybe even break a little from the pressure of the trial mission.
So imagine his surprise when you not only defeated the trash beasts with ease, but even managed to protect him from a surprise attack.
He stood still for a second, blinking slowly as he casually hid Tokushin back into the sleeves of his coat.
You were breathing rather heavily, adrenaline still rushing through your veins, eyes bright as you shot him a worried look. Rushing to his side, you inspected his figure, hands fluttering just an inch over him, eyes searching every part of his body as though expecting him to have been bleeding.
"Are you okay, Tamsy?" you asked, voice breathy but steady as you finished examining him.
For a moment, he just watched you, memorising the crease in your forehead, the tightness in your jaw, and the way your hands twitched at your sides, like it wanted to hover over him again. He then nodded, smiling as he guided you back with the others. "I'm fine," he said with an easy smile, brushing dust off his uniform. "Thanks to you, apparently."
You exhaled a shaky breath, relief immediately brightening your features. And then—you laughed. A small, breathless sound, but it rang like chapel bells in his ears.
Huh, how odd.
That... was nice.
You stuck close to him on the way back, practically glued to his side as rambled excitedly about the fight. "I can't believe I got there fast enough! I mean, I totally thought I would freeze, but I didn't! And you were so cool back there, Tamsy! You didn't even flinch when that trash beast jumped at you!"
Then, you paused, as if you remembered a crucial detail before flashing a big smile toward his direction. "Oh! And if I'm accepted by the boss, I might actually join your team. I mean, that's crazy, right?"
He hummed, nodding absently as he guided you up into the jeep, occupying the seat directly next to yours. He didn't mind being in the middle, just seeing how you were caged by him—how it only allowed you to talk to him—pleases him in a way he couldn't believe.
Outwardly, he looked calm. Relaxed and poised, not to mention, mildly entertained.
But inside?
He was replaying every moment that had led up to this.
It wasn't unusual for other Cleaners to cover each other's open spots—nobody really wanted to watch their teammates die, unfortunately. So, really, he shouldn't even be thinking about you and the way you saved his ass out there. It was the natural thing to do, especially since he was the one supervising your trial mission.
So why was he drawn to you?
There was only one way to find out.
His expression remained gentle, conversing with you while his thoughts sharpened with a quiet, eerie clarity.
If you joined his team, you'd be around him constantly. Training with him, going on missions with him, and most importantly, relying on him.
You would be close to him. Very, very close.
You kept talking, smiling brightly, oblivious to the way his eyes lingered on you a bit too long—not very Tamsy-like behaviour, if others were to see.
"You're really something," he said lightly, tone airy. "Most new recruits wouldn't be able to handle themselves that well."
You grinned proudly, leaning your shoulders to his. "Really? You mean that?"
He nodded, smile widening with deceptive warmth. "You're impressive. You'll fit in perfectly in my team."
And in his mind, he was already turning over possibilities. How useful you could be in his plans and how much fun he could have with messing with you.
────୨ৎ────
He studied you after that.
His eyes always lingered on you, watching with cold precision every movement, every word, every action, and every detail that you expressed in the headquarters.
Every detail mattered for Tamsy.
The way your shoulders relaxed whenever he smiled at you.
The way you leaned a little closer whenever you talked excitedly, head tilting forty-five degrees to your left.
The way you opened doors with your right hand and closed them by tapping the heel of your foot.
The way you always hum an ancient lullaby after you showered, wet hair wrapped in your favourite towel.
The way you read books about the Sphere, always searching and asking for answers related to it.
The way you do a little dance after beating other Cleaners during training.
The way you meticulously clean your jinki, leaving it on your bedside table before going to sleep.
The way you have a skip on your steps when you spotted him by the corner of your room.
The way you always picked the spot beside him when you two eat, walk, or sit in the jeep.
The way you were always by his side after fighting trash beasts, eyes searching for possible injuries.
And the way you scanned his expression after every mission, as if subconsciously seeking his approval.
Ahhh...
So, you were that type, huh? The kind who wanted to be useful; to be praised; and who always respond beautifully to his small cues.
His favourite toy to play with.
He'd set up moments where you'd coincidentally past him on your way down the hall, eyes immediately latching on his form as you halted to a full stop. And every time, without fail, you'd brighten up.
"Oh, Tamsy! I didn't realise you were here!"
He'd just smile gently before responding, "I was on my way to the garden. Want to walk with me?"
You'd always say yes.
Of course, you would.
You never noticed how his gaze lingered longer and longer each time, soft on the surface but heavy underneath.
You didn't notice the tiny curl of amusement at the corner of his lips whenever you got flustered.
You didn't notice how he always made sure he was always present in your mission, but not the other way around.
You didn't notice how the lock on your door loosened when someone jabbed it at the right angle.
You didn't notice the way he always seemed to know things you'd never told him. Where you'd been, who you'd talked to, what you'd been reading, and how late you'd stayed up.
You didn't notice how his fingers twitched whenever someone else made you laugh.
My, oh my. Weren't you just an oblivious teammate? Too trusting, too open, and just too easy to pull in.
He was having too much fun watching you wander so innocently, so blindly into his hands. And, well, he really didn't want to put a stop on this little adventure he was having with you.
────୨ৎ────
"What're your hobbies, Tamsy?" you asked him randomly while eating lunch with him and Delmon.
Tamsy pretended to think about it, relishing the way you inched closer in curiosity, almost too eager to hear his answer.
It was laughable how easy this all was considering you naturally gravitated toward him.
"I like listening to music," he said flatly, taking a bite of his food.
Delmon nodded aggressively. "Yes! He sometimes play it too loud in the morning, causing a ruckus!" he agreed, voice loud enough to shake the table.
Tamsy didn't look at him, but he felt a vein pulse in his forehead.
You snorted, covering your mouth as you swallowed a bite. "I like singing and dancing, though I'm not that good at it," you chuckled embarrassed, a tint of redness spreading on the nape of your neck.
I know, Tamsy nearly said. He could still picture you tripping in the west wing hallway yesterday, arms flailing as you tried to waltz with an imaginary partner, before looking around and sighing in relief because you thought no one saw it.
Instead, he smiled, lips tugging a bit too high.
"There's no need to be embarrassed," he reassured, tilting his head in the way you trusted him more. "You're not obliged to be good at your hobbies; as long as you like them, that's good enough."
Delmon nodded firmly, arms crossed over his chest. "Tamsy is right! Passion and effort matter most!"
You shrunk under their gazes, fingers tugging at the seams of your pants. "Yeah!" you mumbled, lips quirking to a small grin before you continued. "Oh! And I also like studying about the Sphere—"
Tamsy nearly snorted. That's too obvious, dear, he thought, mentally rolling his eyes. Everyone in the Cleaners knew you were curious about the Sphere and Ground. The archives were practically your second bedroom already—with a table set up just for you.
But then, you continued, "Did you guys know they have this thing called a 'God'? I just read about it the other day..."
Tamsy's eyes widen for a fraction of a second before he dulled it back to a neutral expression. Huh, now wasn't this interesting? This was new, even for him! He didn't know you'd wandered this deep into (forbidden) Sphereite knowledge.
Where did you learn that word?
How much did you know about the concept?
Were you aware of it's importance to the Ground?
Ah, weren't you just full of surprises today.
Tamsy's attention tunneled entirely onto you.
The tiny flick of your eyes. The nervous way you twirled your spoon. The way you kept stealing a glance at his direction.
You were clever, he knew that. But perhaps, there was something even you were hiding from him
Those types of people always ended up interesting.
"How'd you learn that?" he asked gently, carefully neutral on the outside, yet he was brimming with too much curiosity beneath it.
"Oh, uh..." you trailed off, teeth tugging at your lower lip as if debating whether to share the truth. Then, you leaned forward and crooked a finger, beckoning him closer. He didn't hesitate. Warm breath brushed against the tip of his ear the moment you spoke, sending a faint, involuntary shiver down his spine. "Don't tell anyone about this," you whispered, voice low and husky. "But I accidentally stumbled on old files in the west archive." Strands of your hair brushed against his shoulder.
Ah, that was interesting.
His smile widened, sweet and sickly, as he put a finger on his lips, promising to keep your secret. You lit up, face bright with pure trust, and immediately turned toward Delmon to ramble about something else entirely, leaving Tamsy sitting there with his hand on his lap, eyes following you with careful precision.
You were learning things you shouldn't, and seeing things you weren't meant to see. This might be troublesome in the future, especially with everything he had been planning. Especially with what he intended to do once he finally dragged Rudo down into the role he belonged.
Yes... troublesome indeed.
He needed to pay closer attention to you now, making sure that you weren't putting your nose where it shouldn't belong. You might become a problem for him... or an opportunity.
Either way, it made him inwardly grin. A quiet thrill curled in his chest, fluttering with delight at all the possibilities you were unknowingly giving him.
Yall need to stop spoiling under the Gachiakuta x reader tag. If ur not writing x reader don’t tag your rants under there PLEASE cause 9/10 yall are dropping spoiler bombs without any warnings and it’s pissing me off. This is the reason we have so many damn fake fans in fandoms these days, because people spoil and then the spoiled don’t want to read anymore so they just pretend they read it or watched it.
Beside that it’s just straight out inconsiderate, I should not have to comment under peoples post for them to put a warning and a shortener on their post. This is basic fandom etiquette.
If you feel called out maybe you should go back to those posts and edit them. No hate to yall, just be mindful xx
Tw. insecure/introvert reader, angst(?), dark content, noncon kissing, implied noncon/dubcon at the end, jealousy, tension, mutual pinning, misunderstanding, hidden feelings, slow burn(?), stalking, toxic, sabotage, possessiveness, red flag, manipulation, dependency, no actual smut
***
Imagine being the childhood friend of the popular playboy in school.
He wasn’t just a typical playboy—he was popular for a good amount of reasons. He was, of course, hot, tall, with a pretty face, but he also had that effortless charisma. Easy-going, charming, funny when he wanted to be, and somehow still managed to keep decent grades. A good reputation wrapped in the kind of smile that made girls melt.
The only problem? His ongoing roster of girls. You honestly couldn’t pinpoint when or how he turned into such a flirt, it sort of just... happened. Maybe when high school hit, and puberty did him more favors than most. Whatever the case, he became that guy. The one you’d usually only see in dramas.
But it’s not like you had any business with that part of him. At least, that’s what you told yourself.
You two had always been close. Childhood friends. Neighbors. Playmates since you were practically in diapers. Your parents knew each other well, your families comfortable enough to arrange sleepovers that turned into routine. You grew up in each other’s houses, like siblings. Always “the duo.”
But while he bloomed into the guy everyone wanted to be around, you... didn’t exactly shine the same way. You were a little plain. A bit on the bland side compared to others, especially compared to him. While he stood tall, you were shorter than average, often overlooked in group photos. You didn’t have much of a figure either, which made changing in the locker room a quiet kind of dread. Flat and forgettable. You’d never say it out loud, but you noticed the difference.
He lit up every room he walked into. You were just... there. Next to him. Always next to him. Just not quite enough.
But it was fine.
You never made a big deal about any of it. It’s not like you wanted the spotlight anyway. You were comfortable being in the background, comfortable not having all eyes on you. Sure, sometimes you got a few questionable looks when you were with Mr. Charming, but you learned not to care. Let them wonder. You were used to being the quiet one beside the star of the show.
Though, truth be told, you sometimes wondered too. Why did he always stick around? Even when the popular kids were constantly egging him on to ditch you and join them, he never really did. He’d flirt and play around, sure, but he always came back to you. As if none of the sparkle out there was worth trading for late-night game sessions and instant noodles in your room.
"Geez, why’re you in my bedroom...? I thought you were about to go to the concert with them," you asked one evening, raising a brow as he sprawled across your bed like it was his.
“Nuh-uh. Don’t wanna,” he replied, eyes already glued to the game controller in his hand. “Plus, I wanna spend time playing games with you.”
You rolled your eyes at the time, but deep down, your chest tightened just a little. Warm and confused all at once.
It was things like that, small, innocent moments that led to the never-ending question you kept hearing from people.
“Are you guys dating?”
You always shut it down quickly, automatically, almost on instinct now.
“No. Definitely not. I’m not his type, we’re just friends.”
Because that was the truth, right?
Right?
***
He heard you say it all the time.
“We’re just friends.”
You said it so naturally, like breathing. Like it was a fact. Like it didn’t chip away at something in him every time those words slipped from your lips.
But damn, you didn’t make it easy to believe.
Not when you smiled at him like that. Not when you laughed at his dumb jokes, even the ones no one else caught. Not when you looked at him like he was just him, not the guy with a line of girls and a reputation he didn’t even care for anymore.
He told himself he was just being a good friend. That walking you home—even when it meant doubling back—was normal. That flicking some guy’s forehead for looking at you too long was harmless. Just a joke. Even if something in his chest burned every time.
And maybe he leaned in too close sometimes. Maybe he hovered near your space a little more than necessary. But he didn’t do it on purpose. Not at first.
It’s just... you never pulled away.
You made it feel like he belonged there.
And then there were the little things.
The way you always insisted you weren’t picky, but he still remembered how you liked your noodles with less broth. The way he always brought an extra hoodie because yeah, you always forgot yours, and he didn’t want you getting cold. The way he chose the seat next to you, even if the room was empty. Always you. Always your side.
You never questioned it.
Except that one time.
"Why’re you always hanging out with me? I'm not exactly a party."
He remembered how you asked it with a smile, trying to play it off.
But it hit him harder than he expected. So he gave you the truth. Or at least… part of it.
"Yeah, but you’re my favorite kind of quiet."
You laughed, of course. Brushed it off like it was nothing.
But he saw the way you looked down after. The way your cheeks went warm. And he carried that moment with him, filed it away with all the other things he never said out loud.
And when people asked if you two were dating and you laughed and said “No, I’m definitely not his type”—he never corrected you.
He should’ve. God, he wanted to.
But instead, he just smiled. That same tight, hollow smile.
Because you were wrong.
You were so wrong.
You weren’t loud, or bold, or flashy like the girls who chased him, sure. But none of them ever made him feel the way you did.
And you never saw it.
You looked at yourself and only saw “plain.” But he looked at you and saw home.
And he stayed.
He always stayed.
That part? You never really understood.
But maybe… he was just too much of a coward to make you.
***
It happened one weekend night.
Your parents were out of town for a wedding (you didn't want to go along), leaving you with the house to yourself. You’d planned to spend the evening curled up with snacks and a cheesy drama, nothing unusual. The house was quiet, comfortably so.
Until a knock came at the front door. Loud. Repetitive.
You opened it, and there he was, him. Tall, flushed, and very, very drunk.
“Heeeyyy,” he drawled, grinning lopsidedly as he leaned against the doorframe. “Youuuuuu. I missed you.”
You blinked, completely stunned. “Wait—what the hell? Are you drunk? Where were you?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he stumbled forward, and your reflexes kicked in just in time to stop him from falling face-first into your entryway.
“Oh my God,” you muttered, arms flailing as you tried to support him. “Jeez, you’re heavy, what did you drink?”
He giggled. Actually giggled.
“Dunno,” he mumbled, dropping most of his weight onto you like a sleepy sloth. “They gave me... stuff. Tasted like cough syrup. Missed your face though…”
You groaned, knees nearly buckling under him as you fumbled to drag his dead weight toward the living room. “You missed my face? Seriously?”
He made a noise that was suspiciously close to a whine. “Yeah… You didn’t come to the party. I waited. Got bored. Left.”
“You should’ve just stayed and sobered up instead of dragging your drunk ass here.”
But he didn’t respond. Instead, he slurred something completely incoherent and nuzzled into your shoulder.
You finally managed to guide him to the couch, huffing and trying to keep your balance. But as you bent to lower him onto the cushions, he suddenly shifted his weight and with zero warning, pulled you down with him.
“W-Wait—!”
You fell right on top of him with a muffled oof, and before you could scramble away, his arms lazily wrapped around you, holding you there like a living body pillow.
“Comfy,” he mumbled against your hair. “You smell nice.”
Your brain short-circuited. “Wha— I— Get off!”
But he didn’t budge. In fact, he snuggled closer, warmth radiating off him as he held you like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Y’know,” he whispered, voice thick with sleep and alcohol, “I don’t like it when you say you’re not my type.”
You froze.
“I hate it,” he added, softer now. “So dumb. You don’t even see how much I like being around you…”
Then silence. Deep, slow breaths. He was already half-asleep, completely unaware of the way your heart was trying to beat out of your chest.
You didn’t know what to say.
So you said nothing.
And stayed there, quietly listening to the sound of his breathing, with your face burning and your thoughts racing, wondering if he’d remember any of it in the morning.
Your heart was pounding like it wanted to escape your chest.
You could feel the heat of his breath against your collarbone, his arms still wrapped around you in a lazy hold. Everything about the moment was too much—the closeness, the weight of his words, the way he mumbled "I don’t like it when you say you’re not my type.”
It should’ve meant something. Should’ve stirred something deeper. And for a moment, it did.
But then, reality hit.
This was him—the same guy who’d flirted with three girls just last week, the same guy whose phone buzzed with messages from different names at ungodly hours. The guy who could have anyone he wanted with just a glance and a half-hearted smile.
Your brows furrowed, the haze of warmth in your chest beginning to cool.
Of course he was saying stuff like that. He was drunk. Sloppy. Blurry-eyed. Probably mistaking you for someone else, or worse, just saying the first sweet thing that came to mind because it was easy. Because that's what he does.
The warmth in your cheeks faded. Your eyes narrowed slightly as you stared.
You sighed.
“Stupid drunk,” you muttered, voice flat and unimpressed.
He didn’t react, already halfway to sleep, breathing soft and slow like a knocked-out puppy.
You stayed like that for a moment longer, caught between the ghost of his words and the bitter edge of your thoughts. Part of you wanted to believe what he said. But the other part? The part that had watched girl after girl fall for him and get tossed aside like it was nothing?
That part just wanted to roll its eyes.
Still, you didn’t move.
Because even if you didn’t believe him…
His arms around you still felt kind of nice.
***
You two acted normal after the morning of that. He probably didn't remember what he said, which was a good thing for you. Moved on, like nothing happened.
It's been a few days after that and you were talking about someone new—a guy from your class, apparently. You had that little spark in your voice, the one he usually only heard when you were talking about food or finding a cute dog online.
He didn’t like it. Not one bit.
“So yeah,” you said casually, biting into a snack as you scrolled on your phone, “he offered to walk me home the other day. I didn’t let him, obviously. But he was really nice about it. Kinda surprising.”
He sat beside you on your bed, leaning back on one hand, pretending not to care. “Oh? He did?”
“Yeah. I think he’s cool,” you said, voice light, unaware of how that single word stabbed into him harder than he wanted to admit.
He tilted his head, a smile pulling at his lips, one of those closed-eyed smiles he wore when he was being “harmless.”
“You do?”
You nodded, totally unfazed. “Mhm. He’s funny, smart. Kinda cute.”
There it was.
The trigger.
He sat up a little straighter, the smile never quite reaching his eyes now. “Funny, smart, cute?” he repeated, still with that casual tone. “Wow. Sounds like a real catch.”
You blinked at him. “Yeah, I guess. He’s easy to talk to.”
He snorted. “Right, right. Tall guy? Bit of a clean-cut look?”
You nodded again, chewing absently on your snack.
“Must be nice,” he muttered, crossing his arms. “Bet he’s the type to open doors and call you ma’am too.”
You laughed. “I mean, manners aren’t exactly a red flag.”
“Oh yeah, totally,” he said, voice picking up heat now, even as he smiled. “So polite. Bet he irons his shirts and rehearses compliments in the mirror.”
You gave him a look, amused. “What is with you?”
“Nothing. Just sayin’—guy’s probably all talk. Bet he folds under pressure. Can’t even kill a spider without screaming.”
You raised a brow, “That’s a bold assumption.”
He scoffed, throwing his hands up, still smiling but not meaning it. “I’m taller, better looking, and I don’t have to try so hard to impress people.”
Your jaw dropped a little. “What?”
“I’m just saying,” he said, raising his bottle in mock-toast. “If you’re gonna go for someone ‘cool,’ maybe aim higher. You know. Someone who’s taller, funnier, better-looking, less try-hard. Maybe someone who’s known you since you were five. Just throwing that out there.”
“Huh?”
“And I bet my dick’s bigger than his."
You choked on your drink, “What?!”
He blinked. “What?”
You stared at him, stunned, and he just gave a tiny shrug like oops, did I say that out loud?
You laughed, shaking your head, brushing it all off like it was just another one of his weird ego trips. “Okay, weirdo.”
He didn’t respond right away.
He just watched you, jaw tightening slightly as you turned your attention back to your phone, entirely missing the storm he was trying to hide behind casual smirks and crude jokes.
You didn’t get it, because you didn’t think he looked at you that way.
***
After that conversation, things didn’t exactly change—but they didn’t quite go back to normal either.
He still walked you home. Still flopped onto your bed like it was his own. Still stole your snacks and your charger and your last bit of patience on most days.
But sometimes, you’d catch him watching you a little too long.
Not in the obvious way. Not like the way other guys did, staring with boldness and intentions written all over their faces.
No—he did it quietly. Like he was trying to memorize the way you smiled when you thought no one was looking. Like he was trying to figure something out about you… or maybe about himself.
Then there were the little shifts.
He started texting back slower when you told him you were talking to that guy again. Didn’t say anything harsh, but his replies were short. Blunt.
And when that same guy approached you one afternoon in the hallway, he just so happened to slide in between you two, throwing an arm around your shoulder.
“Didn’t know you liked hanging out with traffic cones,” he muttered with a lopsided grin, nodding at the guy’s neon hoodie.
You laughed nervously, brushing it off. “You’re so dumb.”
But the guy left after that. Didn’t even try to keep the conversation going.
And when you asked him what that was about, he just shrugged.
“Didn’t like his face.”
You rolled your eyes. “You don’t like anyone’s face lately.”
He smiled. “Yours is okay, I guess.”
And then there were those times when you were on your phone, texting, and he’d lean over your shoulder too quickly.
“Who’s that?”
“No one.”
“Hmm. No one has a name?”
You sighed, brushing him away. “Why are you so nosy lately?”
But he’d never answer. He’d just flop backward onto the couch or your bed and throw an arm over his eyes like he was bored. Or tired. Or both.
But you felt it.
Something had shifted.
He was getting quieter about the things he didn’t say. Quieter about how he stayed so close but kept himself just far enough that you wouldn’t really notice.
***
You didn’t say anything about it to him.
Not when you got the number. Not when you exchanged a few late-night texts with the guy from class. And definitely not when he asked who kept lighting up your phone and you lied—said it was your cousin, or some stupid group chat.
Because… if he wanted to keep treating you like you were just his best friend, then fine. Maybe you’d stop waiting. You were plain ol Jane anyway, at this rate you'd end up alone. Not like anyone would like you if you don't even try or put any effort to yourself. Maybe it was time to try something different.
Someone different.
So you said yes to a date.
It wasn’t a big deal. Just a small place near the station, casual, low-pressure. You wore a little lip tint. Changed your shirt twice. Checked your phone four times on the way there.
You even left the house without telling him.
Which was rare.
Because somehow, despite how frustrated you were, you still felt a little guilty doing something like this without him knowing. Scrap that! You shouldn't feel guilty at all, it's not like you're his girlfriend or something. Plus, this was your first date, you shouldn't even think of him.
You got there early. Sat at the little table. Smoothed your skirt out. Sipped water slowly.
And waited.
Then waited some more.
Minutes passed. Then a half-hour. Then an hour.
No messages. No call. Just… silence.
At some point, you stopped pretending to check your phone like there was something new. You just sat there, hands folded, eyes distant. Trying not to let it sink in too hard, but it did anyway.
He didn’t show.
No explanation.
No reason.
Just a reminder that maybe you really weren’t the type to be chosen after all.
By the time you got home, it was dark. You kicked your shoes off a little harder than usual, holding back the pressure behind your eyes. The house was quiet. Your parents weren’t home. Just you. And the lingering ache of rejection sitting heavy in your chest.
Maybe you shouldn't gotten your hopes up.
And then you heard the knock on your door. You already knew who it was.
He walked in like he always did, with a lazy grin and a snack in hand. You stared at him like you hadn’t just spent an hour trying to convince yourself you were worth showing up for.
“Yo. You were gone,” he said, tossing a drink on your desk like usual. “Didn’t text me back. Something happened?”
You looked up from where you sat on your bed, your voice dull. “No. I just… needed some air.”
He paused. The grin faltered, but only for a split second.
“…Did you go somewhere?”
You forced a laugh, shaking your head. “Just errands. Nothing interesting.”
He didn’t question it. He trusted you too easily. Or maybe he didn’t want to push. Instead, he stretched out beside you, letting out a sigh. “People are exhausting. I don’t get how you deal with them.”
You shrugged, keeping your voice light. “Guess I just have more patience.”
He turned his head to look at you then—really looked. Eyes soft, searching.
“You okay?”
You smiled, quick and small. “Yeah. Just tired.”
And that was the thing with him. He’d always pull back just when he was about to see something too real. Like he was afraid of what he might find if he looked too closely.
So, he let it go.
He reached for the controller on your desk, tossing it in your lap. “Wanna game ‘til we pass out?”
You nodded.
Because what else could you do?
You couldn’t tell him your date never showed up. You couldn’t tell him that for a brief moment, you thought maybe—just maybe—you could be wanted by someone else. That someone else could make you forget the way he made you feel without ever touching you.
***
Of course, he knew.
He always knew.
He noticed the shift before you even realized it yourself—how you started texting a little less when he was around, how you smiled down at your phone and quickly locked it when he leaned over. How you’d hum that soft little tune you always did when you were nervous or excited.
It didn’t take much.
One glance at your screen while you left it unattended. One name. One stupid string of texts about Friday and coffee and maybe I’ll see you there? :)
And it pissed him off more than he wanted to admit.
Not because he thought you weren’t allowed to date. Not even because he thought the guy was anything special.
No.
It was because you thought someone else could understand you better than he did. That someone else could earn what he’d spent years protecting.
You didn’t know it, but he was the reason most guys never got near you in the first place.
He wasn’t exactly subtle—especially in high school. Any guy who so much as looked at you too long got “the talk.” A casual hand around your shoulders. A stare that went a little too cold. A whispered “She’s not interested” even if you hadn’t said it yourself.
He made it hard for anyone to approach. On purpose.
Because you were his.
Not in the possessive, boyfriend kind of way. At least, that’s what he told himself. But in the I know every part of you, and no one else ever will kind of way.
So when this new guy started sniffing around, he didn’t wait.
He caught the guy behind the gym after class, right where the hallway cameras didn’t reach.
The guy flinched when he turned the corner and saw him standing there—arms crossed, calm smile on his face like this was just another casual run-in. But his eyes… his eyes were cold.
“Hey,” he said smoothly, stepping into his path.
The guy hesitated, confused. “Uh. Hey?”
“You’ve been texting her.”
The guy blinked, caught off guard. “I—what?”
He took another step closer. “Don’t play dumb. You’ve been trying to take her out. Planning something for Friday, right? Café date?”
The guy laughed nervously, confused. “Yeah? I mean… she said yes.”
That smile widened, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
“Yeah. She’s nice like that.”
Then the smile dropped.
“But let’s get one thing straight.”
The guy’s brows pulled together. “What are you—?”
He grabbed the front of his collar, shoving him hard against the wall, voice dropping low and sharp.
“You’re not gonna show up.”
The guy froze. “What the hell is your problem?!”
“I don’t like repeating myself.” He leaned in close, breath calm and voice terrifyingly even. “You’re going to leave her alone. You’re going to block her. And you’re never going to speak to her again.”
“You’re insane—!”
He smiled again, twisting the guy’s shirt tighter. “No. You’re stupid. See, here’s the thing. I’m the popular guy. Good grades. Everyone loves me.” He tilted his head, voice dropping even further. “You? You’re a background character. No one’s gonna believe some awkward little shit over me. You tell anyone I threatened you, and all I have to do is smile and say, ‘Who, me?’ And everyone will laugh and move on.”
He let go with a shove, stepping back as the guy gasped, fixing his shirt.
“You can call it jealousy. Obsession. Whatever makes you feel better,” he said, brushing invisible dust off his sleeve. “But here’s what it really is, I’m not letting someone like you anywhere near her.”
The guy stared at him, chest heaving.
He walked away with a casual wave. “Don’t forget. Friday? You’re busy~”
The guy didn’t show up.
And that night, when he dropped by your room and found you curled up and quiet, wearing his hoodie like a safety blanket, something in his chest twisted.
You didn’t say a word about it.
But he knew.
He could see the flicker of hurt behind your eyes. The soft smile you gave him—fake, practiced. The way you brushed him off like it didn’t matter. He wanted to feel satisfied. Victorious.
But it just made him feel worse.
Because no matter how much he tried to control things… he couldn’t stop that sadness in your eyes.
You didn’t even know it was him. Didn’t even know that all this time, the reason you felt so overlooked, so invisible was because he’d made sure of it.
Not because he wanted to hurt you. But because he couldn’t stand the idea of someone else seeing what he saw.
You were his quiet. His warmth. His constant.
And if someone else took that away from him?
He didn’t know who he’d be.
***
It started small.
You noticed it when you caught him glaring at someone you’d only spoken to once. When your texts started mysteriously going unanswered. When people who used to be friendly now looked at you like they didn’t want to get involved.
At first, you thought you were just overthinking it. Paranoia, maybe. You were introverted, bad at reading people. You kept to yourself more often than not, maybe that just meant people naturally faded away.
But then there were moments.
Moments where you caught the sharpness behind his smile when someone mentioned another guy’s name. Moments where his “jokes” about being possessive didn’t feel so funny anymore. Moments where he looked at you too long, too quietly, like he was thinking something he couldn’t say out loud.
And then that night—everything shifted.
He was in your room again. Like always. Sprawled out on your bed, head resting against your pillow like it belonged to him. You were on your floor, flipping through old game cases, trying to ignore the heavy beat of your heart.
“You’ve been quiet lately,” he said, tone light but eyes tracking every move you made.
You shrugged. “Just thinking.”
“About?”
You didn’t answer right away. You didn’t really know how to. Your mind had been a mess lately, spinning with everything you didn’t understand. Everything you were starting to understand.
“Do you…” you hesitated, eyes on the case in your hand. “Do you ever think people avoid me because of you?”
He sat up. Slowly.
“Where’s that coming from?”
“I don’t know,” you muttered. “It just feels like… people don’t even try anymore.”
There was a beat of silence.
Then he stood. Walked over. Sat beside you on the floor, shoulder brushing yours. You didn’t look at him. You felt like you couldn’t.
You looked up at him, finally and your breath caught.
He was quiet for a second. Then he said, voice low, “Maybe I like it that way.”
And then he kissed you.
Because his eyes weren’t teasing. They were serious. Dark. Familiar in a way that suddenly felt foreign.
Just like that.
No warning. No permission.
His lips were on yours—soft, warm, dangerous. It wasn’t rushed, but it wasn’t gentle either. It was sure. Like he’d been waiting. Like he’d done it a thousand times in his head already.
You froze.
For a second, your brain short-circuited. Everything blanked. Your body didn’t know whether to lean in or pull away. Because you’d thought about this before. God, had you thought about it. Wondered, dreamed, ached over it. But now that it was real…
You remembered the girls. The rumors. The way he never looked twice at them after he got bored.
You pulled back, breath catching. “Don’t.”
He blinked at you, surprised, maybe even a little hurt.
You stood, fast. Hands shaking. “You should go.”
He didn’t move.
Instead, he gave you a small, crooked smile. The kind you used to find charming. The kind that now made your stomach twist.
“Why?” he said softly. “I wanna stay the night.”
You stared at him.
He tilted his head, like this was all just a game, “We can play boyfriend and girlfriend again,” he said, voice low, teasing. “Like we used to when we were kids. Remember that?”
You took a step back. “That was pretend.”
“So~?” He stood too now, closing the space between you. “Let’s pretend again. This time I won’t leave.”
Your chest tightened.
You want to push him away, your mind reeling with the memories of him being a playboy.
“I said you should go,” you repeated, trying to keep your voice firm.
And you hated that your heart skipped. That your body remembered the kiss more than your mind could process it. But your gut? Your gut screamed something was wrong. You took another step back, putting space between you.
He didn’t move. His eyes tracked you like prey, something unreadable flickering beneath the surface.
"You used to let me sleep over all the time," he said softly, like he was reminding you of a rule you were suddenly breaking. “What changed?”
Everything, you wanted to say.
But instead, your voice came out smaller than you intended. “That was when we were kids.”
A slow grin tugged at his lips—but it wasn’t his usual smile. It was something darker. Almost sad.
“You’re acting like I’m a stranger.”
You clenched your fists, unsure why your throat felt tight. “You are. Lately... I don’t know what you are.”
Something in his jaw twitched. The grin dropped.
And then, suddenly he stepped forward.
You barely had time to flinch before you felt his hands on your shoulders, gently but firmly guiding you backward. Your knees hit the edge of your bed. You stumbled. Sat down.
His body was close. Too close.
Your breath hitched.
“I don’t want you to be scared of me,” he murmured, crouching slightly so he could look you in the eyes. “I’d never hurt you. You know that, right?”
You nodded slowly, heart hammering. But the unease wouldn’t leave.
He placed a hand beside your thigh on the bed, leaning in.
“Then why are you shaking?”
You didn't answer.
Because part of you didn’t know if it was fear… or something else. Something even more dangerous—doubt.
You tried to stand again, but he didn’t move back. He was watching you too closely. Like he was trying to read your mind. Like he already knew what was in it.
"I know you're confused," he said. "But deep down, you've always felt something too. I just had the guts to do something about it."
You opened your mouth, to argue, to tell him to leave again but nothing came out. Instead, you whispered, "I don't know what you're doing anymore."
His expression cracked for a moment—something bitter bleeding through.
“I’m doing what I should’ve done a long time ago.”
I need an escape from reality, I really can’t keep going on with life the way I’ve been doing it. I wish I could get isekaied into my favorite anime’s or shows. Like Gachiakuta, Jjk maybe even Steven universe..
I’d kill to be in Gachiakuta though. I wanna live a little bit cushy though, I need to have y/n prowess.
A/N: i love him so much, the way his arc was resolved breaks me. he deserves the world ♡
𝜗𝜚˚⋆ warnings : none 𓂃꩜ reader's gender not mentioned
cassim gravitates towards people with a fire in them, and he loves seeing how your face lights up when you talk about your favorite topics. whenever you stop your rambling because you think you’re doing too much, he’ll frown and shift closer to you, telling you to keep going. he tries his hardest to really get what it is you’re talking about, beyond just the surface level, even if he thinks it’s too advanced of a subject for him.
he would only go for someone who has some kind of passion for social justice—someone who’s very aware of world issues and takes up action. he admires that kind of advocacy and makes it a point to engage in serious discussions with you.
he feels like his s/o is better than him, but not in the way that causes resentment—the kind that makes him wonder why you even bother with him. he sees all your good qualities and he feels as though he’ll just lead you astray.
you’re aware of his history with alibaba, and though it took him a while to open up about everything—he’s supposed to be the charismatic, untouchable leader of the fog troupe; speaking about those kind of emotional topics always made him seize up and try to brush it off coolly—you made sure that once he did, you would always remind him of his worth and would do your best to help him get over his insecurities.
cassim doesn't do huge displays of affection. he mainly shows his love for you through gifts, acts of service, and gentle touches.
whenever him and his crew come back from a successful heist, he makes sure to keep some of their finds just for you, following you as you lead him eagerly to your bedroom and try on whatever jewelry or clothing he’s stolen this time.
the first few times cassim did this, you would insist that you didn’t need him to be so extra—you could just pick out a few little leftover baubles like the rest of the gang after everything was split! but he would push on, and time after time he’d make sure to get items he knew were perfectly your taste; nice enough that you’d look lovelier than ever adorned in them, but nothing too fancy lest someone try to cut your fingers off for some rings. at some point you gave up trying to be noble and simply let cassim spoil you, basking in his praise as he’d compliment you.
“god, you put all those statues and frescoes to shame. even the gold looks better when you’re wearing it.”
the other members of the fog troupe have varying feelings towards you; some are green with envy because of how close you are with their leader and his blatant favoritism toward you, while others fear ever upsetting you and be on the receiving end of cassim’s ire.
he likes to give and receive affirming words—any compliments you give him, he takes to heart, even if you don’t pay too much attention to them. the easiest way to get him flustered is to pull him into your lap, cupping his face, and shower him with loving words, telling him every little thing you adore about him—the man will try his damnedest to play it off but you can be sure that he’ll be putty in your hands.
cassim’s favorite places to touch are your arms, hands, and back. he’ll come back from a particularly nasty job and simply lay with you, face buried into your neck, muttering against your knuckles while kissing them with reverence. whenever you two are in a more dangerous part of town, he’ll stick to you like a shadow, hand resting on your back in a quiet reassurance. he often hugs you from the side, calloused hands brushing up and down your arms as he presses his lips against your temple.
this man is stubborn as hell, and he probably starts a lot of arguments, but he is ALWAYS the first to apologize. the second he sees the simmering look on your face, hears the way you spit out your words—his entire resolve crumbles, whatever retort he was about to fire back at you dying on his tongue. he doesn't care if he was right or wrong; he’ll do whatever he can to get back on your good side because he hates seeing his better half upset because of him, of all people.
he likes to take smoke breaks with his partner, and even if you yourself don’t smoke, he’ll simply light up his cigar and enjoy your company, your backs pressed against each other as you prattle on about whatever. he listens and takes note of everything; which subjects get you heated, what you get excited about, whoever it is you’ve been complaining about as of late, and he stores it away in his mind.
the more cassim likes someone, the less he talks and the more he simply absorbs everything they say, hanging on to their every word—but he knows how much you appreciate his feedback, so he makes sure to respond every once in a while, usually with a soft hum or noise of approval.
your name is always in that man’s mouth. at this point, everyone in balbadd knows about you, and whether or not they’re privy to you two’s relationship status, they can only guess just why the enigmatic and usually cool man is so fond of you.
cassim knows he should hide it; as much as he fully believes you can defend yourself, he still fears the day that someone will end up hurting you to get back at him.
but for all that its worth, he simply cannot hide how much he likes you—every day it’s a battle with himself to stop being such a simp for you. even without grandiose gestures, his mannerisms make it so abundantly clear; the way he looks at you like you’re better than any treasure he’s ever stolen, the way he says your name like it’s a prayer, the way he always positions his body to face you. thoughts of you fill his mind every waking moment.
hassan and zainab are so. sick. of. him. they’re not jealous of your relationship—in fact, they’re you’re number one supporters!—but man, cassim cannot and will not shut up about you. they tease the two of you to no end, making sure to groan dramatically anytime their friend mentions your name as if to say “AGAIN?”
“[name], whatever kind of magic you did, put an end to it and give us our friend back! this is the third time he’s brought you up in a conversation that had nothing to do with you!”
but even with their merciless joking at your expense, they’re still grateful that their friend has found someone he can show all his flaws and darkness to and still be embraced with love and acceptance. they can see that your presence has put a lightness in his step, and they find that cassim’s usual snide smirks are being replaced with genuine smiles.
cassim wants to be selfish about you, to get possessive, to be jealous, but he simply can’t bring himself to do that to you; he sees how brightly you shine and he vows that he will never be the one to block your light from anyone. he sets aside his own covetousness and understands that it would be a grave disservice to you if he were to let his feelings get in the way of your life and relationships.
there’s a part of him that pretty much no one has seen but you; his most vulnerable, sensitive, and purest self. he hasn’t shown anyone this side since he was a broken little boy being held together by his adoptive mother and siblings, and he never thought it’d resurface until you two deepened your relationship. you’ve seen him at his rawest and ugliest and the fact that you still didn’t turn away is something he’ll never forget.
“what, you think this is too much? please, i didn’t even have to kill any guards to get this! but you… the fact that i get to call you mine... that's a favor i can never pay you back for, even if i buried you in treasures for the rest of my life. nothing i give you could ever be more than that, so, please, [name]... just take it, okay?”
if he were to talk to anyone else the way he talks to you… illah, may the ground beneath him open up and swallow him alive. “please,” “i love you,” “you’re too good to me,” etc. you have this man saying vocabulary he hasn’t uttered to like, anyone ever.
tl;dr cassim is soooo fucking smitten. you are his better half and he thanks his lucky stars every day that he met you.
just read an amazing fic with the most horrific and disgusting ending imaginable. Like I shed tears because I was so fucking pissed, blocked the author and everything. Like, it was so bad and made me almost throw up, I couldn't even properly get through it.
How can someone write something like that and not give a proper warning in the caption of the story? I'd expect something like this from ao3 but not WATTPAD. I feel as if I missed a warning or something I'm not sure. Sigh, nothing I can do about it now.
I always wonder if anyone sees my post and thinks 'all this bitch does is complain', cause like, their not wrong. That's literally all I post about on here..
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