glimpse: waiting for jungkook to love again doesn't guarantee you a permanent romantic spot in his life, even if you've been in love with him the longest.
alternatively, you promised yourself to keep confessing to jungkook, your brother's best friend, every year until you turn twenty-eight.
[ fluff, angst, Drastic Yearning that it's painful to watch, tangled with the take five universe yippeeee, slippery slopes, mentions of cheating (there's none in actuality), jungkook's a bit mean :(, lots of self-deprecation n the concept of having to deserve love, mentions of surgery (appendectomy if we r being specific), homage to agust d's 28 (i fucking love u yoongi i miss u), arguments, redemption ]
notes: bring back men who YEARN!!! 😑😑
as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback n love to my askbox anytime!!
There's a step in your childhood home's staircase that Jungkook always trips on.
Your dad, and even your brother, Yoongi, repeatedly vow to fix it whenever they hear the all too familiar sound of Jungkook tripping on it. The way he’d wince because of it every single time is comedic, if not extremely endearing, because Jungkook would always clamp his hand down on his mouth as to not disturb anyone.
Doing his very best each time, Jungkook would have to clutch the banister as he waits for the pain to subside. He wants to groan loudly with everything that he has, but he can’t risk putting your dad in trouble with your mom by yelling at him to stop hurting Jungkook from delaying the repair of the step.
He even wants to collapse in pain sometimes (Jungkook’s not joking when he says that he almost wiped out so hard to the point that he only saw white and started tasting colors), but he tries not to, because if he falls and makes a commotion, he knows you’d immediately stand up and forfeit the already limited computer-borrowing hours you have because of Yoongi.
“I’d fix the step for you, y’know?” you mutter under your breath as you try to keep your laughter at bay, once again serving as the crutch to your brother’s best friend who’d completely entertain the possibility that your family has it out for him, if not for all the warmth that you give him. “If only Yoongi would lend me his computer for more than an hour and I didn’t have a ton of requirements, I could really hack it out with a single video.”
“Of course you will,” Jungkook snorts under his breath, his inability to feel embarrassment over being critically profiled by your one (1) wooden step (because he’s just gotten hurt so repeatedly that it’s nothing new for him) being overtaken by his raging ability to feel shy, just because it always has to be you to pick him up.
It can’t be anyone else at this point.
It can’t be your brother, because all Yoongi would do is attempt to fix the step with his stock knowledge (to which there is none), and Jungkook knows he would be in further danger if his friend takes a crack at it. It can’t be your parents either, because your mom is a little too wired to the point that she’d want to replace the whole staircase if she sees a mismatched, temporary fix, and your dad is a little too lax to the point that he’s the type to ask Jungkook what color he tastes as his version of a pain scale.
It has to be you, because although everyone in the house has seen Jungkook at his worst at all his various points of life, you’re yet to lose your faith in him.
It’s not to say that your family has already lost respect for him (not even by a long shot), but Jungkook figures that it can’t be that bad letting you in because amongst everyone, the lowest point you know him by is him just being extremely upset over his girlfriend breaking up with him and that’s it.
While your parents know about him sleeping over in your house meant he fought with his very own and couldn’t stand staying in his room for another second, or how Yoongi knows that Jungkook’s strapped for cash because the latter keeps pacing in their dorm trying to panic-clean as he waits for callbacks from part-time jobs he applied for — the only low that Jungkook lets you see is him being distraught over his first love.
Jungkook doesn’t get idolized that much. He’s not a prized son like how your brother is, and neither is he known in college for being smart. He’s not actually a superlative like how he knows you think of him, and the realization of your crush on him makes Jungkook feel conflicted whether it rains or pours.
He doesn’t like you like that, but that’s never stopped you before.
You know about Sora and how first loves have this intoxicating, vice-like grip on everyone, along with the fact that even glancing at an upset Jungkook makes you upset, but that’s never hindered you before.
He wants to let you down as gently as he could, because the last thing he ever wants to do is make his best friend’s sister develop a complex from being rejected. Jungkook knows he’s handsome (read: he’s attempting to be humble), and kind, and maybe even charming on a good day; above all, he’s realistic.
He doesn’t want you to depend on him— he thinks definitively as you glare at him through the rear-view mirror from the backseat, because you mistakenly assumed that the extra can of coffee in the cup holder was for you instead of Sora whom he was tasked to pick up right after you, and Yoongi had to correct you with a snicker.
Jungkook doesn’t want you to depend on him— he thinks hesitantly as he hears you shriek from the bottom of the staircase.
“Shit! God, that fucking-…” you seethe, attempting to keep yourself stable in all fours right after tripping on Jungkook’s cursed step. It’s never hurt any of you before except him, and now that it finally does, you don’t get how he could’ve kept quiet all this time.
Jungkook rushes down and Yoongi comes after, the latter cussing under his breath as he heads back to his room to retrieve his first-aid kit and (hopefully) patch you up with what he’s learning in pre-med.
“What happened? Don’t tell me you were trying to break in your heels again,” Jungkook chastises you as he gets you to sit upright, the frustrated and pained tears cornering from your eyes immediately making him apologetic with his approach.
“I wasn’t! You sound just like Yoongi,” you spit, keeping in a sniffle with your arms across your chest, looking away to hide your tears because you don’t want Jungkook to see just how badly you’re torn over your ankles and knees burning.
He deflates at that, pinching his nosebridge as he tries to calm himself down with the sound of Yoongi bounding down the stairs with a first-aid kit and his notes like it’s some return-demonstration, except he can actually practice on you.
“I’m sorry. I just thought you were doing something-…” Jungkook apologizes, the word stupid being cut off from his lips, not only because Yoongi’s shooing him away, but because he can’t bring himself to stomach the gaze you have directed at him.
Jungkook does back away, with very little coaxing, as he disappears when Yoongi starts asking you if you’re in pain anywhere else with the most serious, professional voice you’ve ever heard him pull.
While your brother fixes your ankle up at the bottom of the stairs, Jungkook soon appears behind you with your dad’s toolbox and the most unreadable look to his face.
While Yoongi dashes to his room again to look for his camera to take a picture of the work he did on your ankle alone so he can reference it later, Jungkook washes his hands in the kitchen sink before patting a damp, clean towel to your knees.
Jungkook’s not in pre-med, and he doesn’t live in your house either.
What he is, is your brother’s best friend who’s extremely apologetic.
"Thanks. Love you," you mumble out of habit, meaning the words sincerely even if they leave your mouth every time someone does something remotely sweet towards you.
You still mean them nonetheless, and the prospect of repeating your sentiments doesn’t seem so bad when it’s him.
You’re eighteen when you first confess to Jungkook.
"I'm just patching your knee up...?" he trails off in confusion, later laughing when he finally sees the shake of your head that lets him know that you, too, felt embarrassed.
You still mean them regardless, even if you feel like taking them back.
You’re eighteen when Jungkook fixes the step in the staircase of your childhood home, not because it always trips him, but because you did that one time.
( ♡ )
Jungkook has a habit of coming over unannounced.
In between all your parents' insisting that your house is also his for him to run to anytime, to your brother realizing that being friends with Jungkook meant having to see him in unhealthy doses because he has no other choice, Jungkook effectively integrated himself to the quilt of your life.
He's a lived-in, well-loved shirt that's cut up and fashioned into a granny square, along with a hundred other versions of him that you've had the privilege of seeing; it's actually ironic because Jungkook's left a lot of his items, of himself, both in your childhood house and your shared apartment with your brother, and he's never batted an eye once about their whereabouts.
Jungkook doesn't question why your parents posted a picture of your old beloved dog wearing a shirt of his from elementary to Facebook, but he does save the picture immediately and make it his wallpaper.
He doesn't question either why Yoongi's cap collection is growing and why he keeps insisting that he bought it himself (even if Jungkook can still place the faint smell of his shampoo on it), but he does make sure every now and then to actually gift him one in exchange for the uncountable favors your brother's done for him.
Most importantly, Jungkook doesn't question you either when he sees his hairtie on your wrist when you open the door for him.
He knows not to bring up anything about your crush over him (not unless it's you starting the conversation about Your Feelings For Him, which practically happens only once a year), or how he really hates it when his hairties go missing. Even Yoongi isn't spared from his annoyance, because in Jungkook's defense, your brother's too rich to go steal from the godsend, usually-expensive ten-pack that he managed to buy on sale.
Jungkook doesn't point out the red elastic on your wrist. He ignores the starry-gazed look you only have for him, except now, your eyes are only narrowed and hollow over his sudden appearance.
That's the only thing he can't shake off.
"Is your brother home?" he asks his original intention for his visit, shifting his weight from one foot to another because of the lackluster, blank gaze you have on that keeps piercing him. "You okay?"
"Won't be home for another hour."
Jungkook laughs at your curt reply, eyes widening in sarcasm as he shakes his head, the snort that leaves him catching him off-guard too. He can’t place why he’s annoyed over the possibility of you being any less than delighted to see him, and truly, he’s trying not to sound like a narcissist; he’s only ever really cared about his image when you were concerned.
"That was a lot of attitude."
You and Jungkook don't really fight. You don't fight with each other because there's barely anything that you disagree about, but when you do fight with him (not if), it's unlike any of the fights you have with Yoongi.
You don't fight with Jungkook as if he's your brother, because he's not.
You don't fight with him either as if he's only your brother's friend, because you don't want him to be.
With Jungkook, there's guilt that settles in your bones when you don't reconcile before you go to sleep. There's an unspeakable force that actually makes you doubt yourself, when usually, you'd know to your gut that you were in the right every single time you fought with Yoongi.
With Jungkook, you don't get an unspoken promise that you'll just forget about whatever happened.
It's him, after all.
"Hey, woah. What's wrong with you?" Jungkook reacts with a frown when you refuse to grace him with a reply, following you into the apartment with a firm grasp on your forearm.
It's not the first time you've ever turned your back on because you didn't want to talk, and it's not the first time either that he's had to physically chase after you. Jungkook's been through this before: he's been through it as the occasional referee between you and Yoongi on your heated fights growing up. He knows how quickly you could shut yourself off, but he didn't know it would feel this weird being at the receiving end of it.
He didn't know it would feel this jarring.
"Nothing. Let me go," you mutter, jerking your arm away from him that only makes Jungkook huff.
He's supposed to be understanding, that much he knows. He's supposed to be the older, mature one between you both, but there's just something about you being short with him that makes Jungkook feel rewired, for better and for worse.
"So something is wrong with you," he insists, rolling his eyes when he follows you even into the kitchen, the two of you knowing well that you're just passively opening the fridge (and a hundred other cupboards) so you could lose him.
"Can you leave me alone?"
"You opened the door for me, sweetheart," Jungkook sarcastically hums, the smile on his face even more insufferable than your furrowed brows that have not loosened even once since seeing him.
"Because you're clearly here for Yoongi," you remind, the edge of your voice slamming harder than the last drawer against its base. Jungkook would wince about it if only he hadn’t spent the better part of your entire interaction loathing the way you talk to him, making his ears ring.
"Can't I be here for you too?" he offers, the sincerity coming across as half-baked pity into your system.
Jungkook didn't even look sure with his own question.
The roll of your eyes makes Jungkook even more annoyed, his irritation bordering on anger that he can't even place. He didn't even get this worked up over his fights with your brother, and the two of them have even went so close as to getting physical multiple times.
"What was that for?"
"You're clearly lying," you mutter, settling for folding your clothes angrily right in front of him. You’re not even fazed that you’re just three sleep shirts away from folding your own underwear in front of him because it’s the least of your concerns.
Now, the only thing you can think about is how Jungkook’s beyond clueless. For all you know, he doesn’t even care about why you’re acting the way you were because simply (and realistically, in your case) put, Jungkook just wants you to remain the same. He just wants you to remain as the mainstay, familiar figure everywhere he goes who makes him feel better just by giving him a default, love-sick glance and nothing less.
You’re not a dog waiting around for him by the front door.
You think you’re more of a mutt waiting to be seen at the porch when nobody else inside wants to do his tricks.
"What are we even talking about right now?" Jungkook nudges the laundry basket away with his foot, the scowl you give him making him shrink momentarily. "You're the one who's starting something and I literally just got here."
"I'm not starting anything."
"Then why won't you tell me what's wrong, huh?"
The simple and seemingly mundane question makes you dart up, unceremoniously dropping the same shirt you’ve been pretending to fold in the neatest, tightest rectangle as possible.
You should be relieved at the prompt because it meant you didn’t have to bring it up out of nowhere. You should be happy at the cue because whatever you’ll answer, it would mean that Jungkook asked for it.
You should be anything but the way you’re feeling now with the words scratching your throat from the inside, because with your feelings out in the open (even more than what you’ve already given time and time again), you feel even more tense.
"Why didn't you tell me you and Sora were back together?"
Jungkook expected everything but the simple, one-dimension question. He didn’t anticipate for you to ask something that he could give you an answer to but refuse to. He just sits beside you, eerily still with the dumbest look on his face that keeps pleading you to just drop this even if you barely even started, his wide eyes blinking with confusion.
"I didn't-..." he clears his throat, looking down on his lap briefly because looking at you the whole time, as he composes his words, would mean his defeat. He didn’t know exactly why or how he’d be losing by looking at you directly as he professes the truth, but all he knows for sure is that however he does it, you’d never be the winner. “I didn't think I had to tell you, Y/N," he laughs uneasily. "I know you're not exactly the biggest fan of her."
"Neither is Yoongi, but he still got to know," you chuckle dryly, the shrug of your shoulder being far too lax that it convinces neither of you that you were really okay with it.
"Because he's my best friend," Jungkook exasperates, the tired sigh that leaves his lips making you buckle by the knees despite being seated.
You never wanted to disappoint him. You never wanted to be looked down upon, most especially by Jungkook, because every little detail adds up into your head like an overtired piggy bank you don’t ever want to let go of, even if keeping it close to you means it would lose its value.
You’re keeping score, even if Jungkook never did. You’re more wired than he’ll ever be, and just the slightest slip of his attitude (even the tiniest upset sigh from his lips or a clench of his jaw) makes it known to you that he wouldn’t understand how it feels to be pathetically reliant over the slightest chance at love.
"Am I not?" you snap. "Will I just be Yoongi's little sister to you forever?"
"Stop putting words in my mouth. You know that's not what I meant," he spits defensively, brows knitting in genuine disdain because he can’t even think how a vile thought has ever crossed your mind.
"Then finish the sentence, Jungkook," you goad. “If I'm not your best friend, and if I'm not your best friend's sister either, what exactly am I?"
Jungkook sharply sucks in a breath, screwing his eyes shut as you mess with every last bit of his inhibition. He never liked fighting with you, and whenever you actually did, he’d be ridden with guilt even before said fight is concluded. He doesn’t like hurting you that way because Jungkook knows, truly, that he’d be more capable of inflicting it on you than you ever could for him.
Or so he thinks.
He knows he does it every time (even if he shoves the fact deep to the back of his memory) that he comes around. He knows he does every time he gives you either a carefree laugh or a sorry hand on the small of your back every time you confess.
He even knows he’s hurting you now.
"I didn't tell you because I know you would disapprove."
"When has that ever stopped you?" you scoff, the soft, lived-in quality of the hairtie on your person suddenly making your wrist itch. ”If I never saw her story, that's just it then? If I never asked Yoongi, you wouldn't tell me?"
"Why's it such a big deal?" Jungkook throws his head back in disbelief, briefly recalling the way he looked happy, content, in the picture Sora shared from last night. “Why does it matter so badly to you whether I get back with Sora or not?"
"Because you matter badly to me!" you exclaim, digging your nails into the palms of your hands to stop them from flailing and finding their way to Jungkook’s arms to hold him still, not because he’s thinking about leaving, but because you don’t want to leave and you want to be reminded of it. ”Are we not best friends, Jungkook? A-are we— are we just people who see each other practically everyday?" you swallow the lump in your throat. “When I see you, I tell you about how my day went. I tell you about what I'm thinking. I... I've never withheld anything from you.”
There was never a time you’ve hidden anything from Jungkook. He’d been the witness of everything, both significant and pointless, in your life. He’s your best friend. He’s your Jungkook, whether or not in the way you want him to be.
The only thing is that Jungkook can’t say the same for you.
"That's you, then," he rasps thickly, exhaling with his teeth grinding together from how tight his jaw is clenching. "Do you see me snooping about who you're with? Do you see me hounding you about your boyfriends and-..."
"I don't tell you shit because I don't have any of that," you interrupt. “What I only have is you and you know that!”
You’re barely getting into the thick of it when the front door opens and your brother appears like a lifeline for Jungkook and the complete opposite of it for you, the stupid, hopeful smile on his face with the accompanying words of "I bought chicken!" making everything in your chest seem forgotten.
You're twenty-two when Jungkook tells you that not only does he still not see you as a woman he’s in love with, but he also doesn’t see you as his best friend. You’re twenty-two when you throw a tantrum in the middle of dinner, ripping off Jungkook’s hairtie from your wrist and tossing it in the trash, right after he cuts up your favorite boneless chicken for you in front of your brother.
Back then, you were nineteen when Jungkook gave you the first slice of his birthday cake, even if you spent a month saving up for the expensive, heavy-duty hard drive for his gift and even longer writing up the letter that was saved as the only document in the device, only for him to spend less than five minutes to scan your letter and move on with cutting the cake that’s not even in the flavor that you liked.
You were twenty when Jungkook replaced your flat tire for you because you didn’t want to anger Yoongi who only warmed up to lend you his new car after incessant begging for three months. You were twenty when you held up the umbrella so the rain wouldn’t soak him and get into his eyes while he saved your life, the words “thank you, love you” slipping out of you from habit, only for Jungkook to loosen his hold on the wrench for the briefest second before resuming.
You were twenty-one when he gave you his shirt to wear after coming home drunk to your shared apartment with Yoongi, because surely, your brother seeing you in his best friend’s clothing would be far less concerning than seeing you practically blackout wasted. You were only twenty-one when you wore his shirt backwards and inside-out (because Jungkook refused to even look in your direction at the time), clutching to him tightly while letting it slip: “It should be me, not Sora,” you muttered, while Jungkook only tucked you into the couch and answered Sora on the phone, telling her that she has to babysit you for the night.
The only thing you have is Jungkook and he insists that he doesn’t know it.
He insists that the both of you are neither lovers or friends, but instead, something less and far worse.
You’re twenty-two when Jungkook tells you that he doesn’t get why he and Sora and the state of their relationship matter so greatly to you, and you’re also only twenty-two when you first block Jungkook’s number for just a few hours so he wouldn’t bother you when he’s on his way home.
You’re twenty-two when you realize that Jungkook didn’t even leave you a message in the first place.
( ♡ )
Little by little, everything’s looking up for your family.
For starters, your mom’s no longer accidentally misusing emojis and abbreviations whenever she texts in the family group chat. You don’t have to be choking over air when she texts KYS after you tell her that you had a bad day (she thinks it means Keep Your Smile), and Yoongi doesn’t have to wince when she sends a tombstone emoji after telling her that he had a difficult time with one of his patients (she thinks it’s a gray cathedral window, and it’s her way of telling him to look outside and take a breather).
Your dad’s also looking into being more of a handyman in the house, now that they’re practically empty nesters most weeks of the month and Jungkook fixing your step that one (1) time sparked something in him.
Yoongi’s even happier doing his residency, enough for him to not collapse face-down on your coach and talk to you through muffled yelling about who should order what.
Everyone who’s most important to you have things looking up for them and oddly enough, contrary to your own belief, it gives you a little hope. You don’t feel bitter seeing life treat them a little lighter (even if it’s still less than what they deserve) even if you think you’re the only one who’s not moving forward.
You never harbored any deep resentment for Yoongi being the smarter child. He’s the one who’s even more volatile between the two of you whenever someone even just so attempt to point out how you were falling short to him by just being fine. You weren’t incredible by any means, and you didn’t want to start being excellent now when everyone’s already complacent with the way you are.
It’s either you’re seen or you’re not, there’s no in-between. You’re either Yoongi’s pretty sister whom nobody knows what degree she’s even taking, or you’re nobody at all.
You’re either a best friend or something far less significant. You’re either a mainstay cast member who got to be that in the first place by repeating the same overtired lines on the same skit that had been relevant once and recycled ever since, or you’re a fleeting extra who worked her whole life only to be recognized by something downright insignificant and even insulting.
You’re either Yoongi’s little sister that gets to hang around with Jungkook, or you’re someone who’s known Jungkook for a long time and just happen to love him ever since — whatever it is, you wouldn’t be recognized the way you want to be.
You’re yet to maximize the freedom of your youth and the sheer realization that you don’t plan on being as booked and busy as your brother, but by whatever cosmic power and due diligence of being the youngest child, you opt out of partying with your friends from university to instead get groceries with Yoongi and Jungkook.
You willingly choose to do the mundane, not because you already know you’re mundane, but because you realize that the sooner you practice yourself going through the motions of life beyond what’s serving as your unparalleled distraction, the sooner you’ll accept that you’re not destined for greatness.
You know you’re not destined for greatness, but you know that you’re destined for something that’s a little better (even if you don’t know what) when you don’t check your phone and are fully enthralled just walking past the new products in the toiletry aisle.
You know you’re not destined for excellence, but you know that you’re destined for something that’s slightly brighter than the life you’re already living when you don’t ask Yoongi impatiently if he must really smell every fruit that he puts into the cart.
You know you’re not destined for anything remotely important, but you believe with everything in you that it’s not entirely wrong for you to be hopeful that you might be, when you come out of the grocery store, about fifty reusable bags in hand, just to see white pouring.
"It's the first snow," you gasp in surprise, the awe in your gaze able to be spotted from a mile away, but Jungkook wouldn’t know the distance because he’s already far too close to you now, a giddy laugh automatically rolling from his lips.
"I know.”
"You know what they say about that, right?" you giggle, your expectant gaze turning to him without any malice; just pure, unbridled hope like the past years and the past winters haven’t hurt either of you.
"I do," he affirms, laughing as he readjusts the other fifty reusable bags filled with all the groceries Yoongi’s gotten on a whim as the both of you wait for him to go around with the car.
You’re not meant for greatness, but Jungkook equates to it, and you’ve never wanted to strive to be something you’re not so badly in your life.
"Jungkook?" you ask softly, head tilting in deep thought as you paid no attention to the snowflakes grazing your cheeks and onto the ground, gaze only focused wholly on him and nothing else.
"Yeah?" he hums. Jungkook’s lips part at the way you look at him; like he’s some higher power on an altar that has forsaken you over and over again by not making his existence known when you need him the most, yet you’re a devotee who’s never lost faith, not even once, because you confuse your pain for hope. "I know, sweetheart. I know what you mean."
You stay silent at that, even when Yoongi arrives conveniently and takes the load out of your arms and gets you your favorite coffee and gives you the liberty to pick the music for the drive back home.
You stay silent in thought of the first snow and the first and only Jungkook in your life, but only until your brother interrupts your thoughts.
Jungkook’s been the only one to occupy your existence on every first snow you’ve seen and committed to heart, but along with that, he’s also every other natural calamity.
He’s every other freak occurrence, and he’s every other reminder that seasons never stay no matter how slowly you flip the calendar and realize all the other pages you tore out in the hope that it’ll be the piece wherein you get to cross out and marks as his and yours day alone.
"Hey, you mind if Jungkook and his girlfriend crash on the couch outside?" Yoongi asks, lingering by your doorframe as he tries not to grimace at the sight of all your sweatshirts piled at what’s supposed to be the chair to your study desk. “Sora's car battery died and all the shops are closed for the night."
“Oh,” you whisper. You didn’t know that the last time you’ve ever uttered Sora’s name willingly, which was just a year ago, would only be one of the several firsts of the many times that she and Jungkook would find their way back to each other. “They're back together. Again.”
Yoongi sighs, not in disappointment (he never would), but in understanding. “It's okay if you don't want them to. I can just make up an excuse."
You can see the exhaustion wearing down on your brother from medical school and somehow juggling you and everything in between. You can see the eldest child who’s meant for greatness and has just finished doing his grocery shopping and doesn’t have any time to referee any complaints you may have for your impending visitors.
You only see him and the tiredness that you deem is warranted for someone as great as him, and not the exhaustion you’ve accumulated for being anything less.
"It's okay. This is your place anyway."
"You pay half the rent too."
"But he's your friend,” you reason weakly, sitting by the edge of your bed as you’re no longer interested in resting at its very comfort.
"You're the one who loves him,” Yoongi mutters lowly (but loud and clear for you to hear), making you roll your eyes at the reminder.
It’s the first time he’s ever spoken of it to you, but neither of you flinch at the fact. He’s brought it up randomly on the first snow of the year but you don’t have it in you to address the raging fluctuations of what comes with loving Jungkook unrequitedly.
"He and Sora can sleep over. Just don't give them my room," you concede, sighing as you stand up with a newfound will, albeit concerning.
"What? Where will you sleep then?" he furrows his brows, eyes following you around your room as you fish out a backpack and just start throwing things in haphazardly.
"I'll just sleep over at a friend's. I.. I don't want to be here when they are," you answer briefly, the dimness in your gaze enough to make Yoongi back off.
It’s enough to make your brother let you go scot-free, but never enough to make Jungkook understand.
He’s perplexed, knocking at your door for minutes on end until he decides to open it slowly, only to see that you weren't there to begin with. Jungkook’s not even perplexed, probably, because perplexed would mean that he’d harbor some degree of amusement and he isn’t feeling that in the slightest — all he’s feeling is just pure, overflowing panic.
While Sora is in the bathroom, Jungkook practically crashes his entire weight as he opens Yoongi's door, even if he knows that the poor guy must be either studying or sleeping already.
"Yoongi. Yoongi wake up. Yoongi," he hisses, chest caving in as he shakes your brother awake. “Y/N’s missing. She's not in her room. We need to find her."
"The fuck?" Yoongi could only sleepily whisper, groggily rubbing his eyes. "She's at a friend's."
"Why?" Jungkook almost spits in confusion, eyes narrowed at the possible thought process.
Yoongi rolls his eyes, collapsing back into his pillow after having his shoulders basically rearranged by Jungkook’s sheer panic alone. "Beats me."
"Do you know this friend?"
"Relax. She's twenty-three."
"Do you know this friend?" Jungkook repeats, each word becoming more enunciated than the last. He’s getting angry by the sound of it (if Yoongi could pick it up correctly), the apparent ‘carelessness’ of your own family member irking him.
"I don't know. She doesn't like being hogged so I didn't ask," he groans. “Taehyung, probably? He lives nearby."
"What?" Jungkook grits, his hand almost collaring Yoongi’s shirt if not for his fist closing in on itself to remind himself that Yoongi’s the only way for him to get answers. “Your sister is sleeping over at a guy's house? By herself? Are you insane? Why would you let her?!"
"They're friends...?" Yoongi offers slowly but surely, his tone taking on the most obvious route to Jungkook’s otherwise unbelieving state. "God, Jungkook, can you let me sleep? I really don't want to talk about my sister's sex life with you right now."
"So she's having sex with her friend?!" Jungkook practically whisper-yells to his ear, the tremble to his breathing making Yoongi shake for the briefest second.
"What? No! No— I don't know...? Fuck! Just shut up and turn off the lights again. I have an early day tomorrow."
You’re twenty-three when Jungkook sends you a lengthy text about how it’s beyond disappointing that you’re being irresponsible, followed by the multiple, desperate messages for you to text him your location so he could pick you up so you could be safe at home.
You’re twenty-three when Jungkook loses sleep over you, despite Sora sleeping beside him in the living room of your shared apartment with your brother, his red, swollen, and fatigued eyes only settled on your contact photo that he took of you in his phone.
You’re twenty-three when you admit to Jungkook in your own way, once again, that you love him, and you’re also twenty-three when he lets you down in the best way he knows how.
You’re twenty-three when you spend the night of the first snow at a friend’s house to escape the existence of Jungkook and Sora in your very own home, along with the ghost of the weight that comes with settling for never knowing him at all so you wouldn’t be hurt like this — only to come back the next morning, seeing him holding his girlfriend in his arms.
( ♡ )
You were twenty-four when Jungkook gifted you a gold bracelet.
Normally, Jungkook wouldn’t even think twice about jewelry because for as long as he wore it, all he needed to make sure was that it didn’t turn his skin green and smell weird after being splashed under hard water (which is practically all of the running water in his place) for two seconds.
Granted that it was your graduation and just like every other overeager loved one, Jungkook was assumed (by your parents and Yoongi and every friend you’ve had in university that has an inkling about your dynamic), wrongly, to just buy a name-brand item and call it a day after writing a sincere letter for you.
You know he’s not well-off. You know that he rarely ever splurges on himself and so you didn’t expect for him to go out of his way to get you something. Unlike you, Jungkook isn’t big on giving gifts, and although that’s never been a problem for you before, it always has been to him.
He doesn’t exactly feel patronized when Yoongi gives him his “neglected things” that just turn out to be the brand-new, expensive items Jungkook only ever looked up fondly and as a pipe dream (he swears he’s seen this scene before in Bride Wars); it’s more of a haunting, raring feeling in him to get even and give something that’s more than his service.
Jungkook may tend to your mom’s garden with his green thumb and teach your dad how to use power tools without crying and even cook meals for Yoongi when he’s too tired to even lift his head up, but he didn’t just want to only be of service to you. There’s no amount of him driving you around and parallel parking in the most difficult spots, or even just being the constant figure in your living room that hums (and makes you feel less insane and alone) as you talk to yourself about your exam reviewers for a course that you’re barely passing could ever be enough.
Jungkook wanted to get you something real. Something tangible that you couldn’t only think back on like a distant, foggy memory every three years when a random thought crosses your mind about his good nature.
You were twenty-four when Jungkook gifted you a solid gold (none of that hollowed-out shit; read: ditching the aforementioned meant another solid two weeks of extreme budgeting) bracelet and a heartfelt letter on your graduation.
You were twenty-four when he dressed up in his best polo and gave you his gift with nothing but nervousness for you to actually love it, and you were only twenty-four when you hugged him the tightest that you’ve ever did, kissing his cheek in pure excitement.
You were only twenty-four too, when you realize that Jungkook’s a friend who perhaps really just wanted to give you something memorable and expensive on your special day and nothing more; because if he was more and he wanted to be more, then he would’ve stuck around for the afterparty.
If he wanted to be more and not any less than what you already were, then he wouldn’t have excused himself when you bounded towards him with the bracelet on your wrist and too much of your courage waiting at the back of your throat.
If Jungkook wanted to be more, then he would’ve let his lips graze your cheek for a millisecond longer right after you look up at him: “Thank you, love you.”
If he wanted to be more with you by loving you back, then Jungkook would’ve let his hand linger on your back for just another second more with more firmness instead of gentleness, because you’ve had enough of the latter; he wouldn’t have left, and he wouldn’t have reminded you of your place either: “Don’t make bad decisions tonight.”
You were twenty-four when you started to be resigned with Jungkook, yet you don’t know at what age would you grow to be sick of him.
You can’t tell when you’re going to move past his rejections due to the maturity you’ve always thought you harbored, enough to be the driving force to just settle for however you can keep Jungkook in your life and not ruin the friendship.
You can’t tell when you’re supposed to stop growing and stop being level-headed about your yearly confessions that in the long run, have never hurt Jungkook.
You don’t know if you’re ever going to yearn to be volatile and unforgiving; you don’t know when the weight of Jungkook telling you over and over again that he doesn’t see you that way will finally settle in your bones, permanently, instead of coming and going like a holiday that you grew to both anticipate and dread.
Jungkook’s not a shifty, aloof distant relative that you only get to see once or twice in a decade when an old relative from your extended family dies.
He’s not an overly proud alumnus you see in campus grounds every two weeks chatting up professors who are tired of seeing him.
He’s not anything specific in your life besides definitively being your brother’s best friend and your own, but only from a distance. You and Jungkook were close enough to hang out without Yoongi present, but the availability of the other was something you weren’t even eagerly seeking anymore just like the old times.
It’s you who’s adding to the space that Jungkook established himself, and you thought for the longest time that you’re fine with it; that for as long as you don’t get too emotional (read: resentful) seeing the gold bracelet on your wrist, then that would mean you and him are at the perfect distance away from each other until your inevitable, yearly confession happens.
Jungkook, too, thought that he’d been okay with the added space (or whatever it meant) despite seeing you almost every two days at this point, because he thought that you being less attached would make it balanced.
You know to yourself utterly and completely that knowing Jungkook more doesn’t lead to loving him less; it’s only what you hope to happen otherwise.
It’s what he also pleads to himself when he sees you tonight, sitting at the chairs by the parking lot of the hospital.
“Y/N?” he immediately asks out loud, barely shifting the gear to park when he walks (read: runs) to you with a gasp, eyes wide and concerned. “What are you doing here? Are you okay?”
“What are you doing here?” you return the question, unable to process why out of all the times, it just had to be now when you see Jungkook unplanned; it couldn’t have been at the subway yesterday or even at the convenience store this morning.
Out of all the times that he’d see you accidentally (heaven knows the two of you see each other far too much), it just had to be when you were clutching your abdomen, writhing and sweating in pain.
“I borrowed Yoongi’s car so I took it to the carwash and-…” Jungkook trails off for a preliminary answer, shaking his head to physically reboot himself. “Sorry, I really can’t care about Yoongi’s car right now. What the hell are you doing here?” he repeats, running his palm over your sweaty forehead that’s simultaneously warm and freezing, the lack of any ease in your face making him panic.
“It’s n— fuck, that hurts,” you seethe, growing breathless as your eyelids fall heavy.
“Y/N, hey, hey. What’s happening? Where does it hurt?” Jungkook asks firmly this time, worry etching on to his face as his hands unconsciously tremble as he tries to survey you the best he could yet he can’t even think straight with your whole body contorted in pain.
You gasp at a particularly sharp burning sensation, pointing to the right of your abdomen with your index finger barely even outstretched in pain.
Jungkook screws his eyes shut, throwing his head back as he paces in tiny circles, holding your clammy hand as he tries to not faint on the spot. “Oh my god. Oh my god. Holy fuck I don’t know what that’s called b-but you’re in pain and— a-and how did you even get here? Did you drive?”
The nod you give him makes him even more lightheaded.
“Why the fuck would you drive here? Are you insane? Y-you should’ve called me!”
“Kook, now’s not the-…” you wince, the pained gasp that leaves your eyes rolling to the back of your head being the last straw for Jungkook before carrying you bridal style into the emergency room, that realistically was just a few steps away from you, but more-on felt like a thousand yards.
The pain felt like torture for you, and seeing your pain felt like a living, breathing, writhing version of hell for Jungkook as he tried to get everything under control.
He trembled while filling out your information and waiting outside of the surgery ward. He shook when he called Yoongi to go downstairs and informed him about what happened.
Jungkook was nothing short of miserable waiting for you to be okay, but nobody told him that it wouldn’t get any better once he finally sees you awake.
He doesn’t believe you even when you’re up and are raring to go home. He doesn’t crack a smile when you tell him that you’re okay and he was just being dramatic.
He doesn’t let up the slightest bit when you try and be back to how you normally are with him, when just hours ago, Jungkook prayed to a god he only partially believed in and even offered himself to just for the betterment of your condition.
You swear up and down that you’re okay, but it’s not enough for him.
“Are you that upset seeing me in a hospital bed?” you mutter, the roll of your eyes only making you dizzy for a split second instead of a full minute this time.
“Think about it, genius,” Jungkook grumbles, crossing his arms on his chest but not before pushing your vegetables closer to you on your plate, gathering the leftovers of your pudding from the edge of your cup with a spoon.
“I’m not going to apologize,” you mutter, looking away from him and your tray and instead on a poorly-dubbed children’s show on the TV, just to shield yourself from the confrontation that you weren’t looking for.
The thing about Jungkook is that he didn’t pick a time or a place to get into anything with you, whether good or bad.
The thing is, Jungkook’s goodness and concern for you have never not went hand-in-hand with his overbearingness that friends shouldn’t have in the first place.
“Good. You shouldn’t,” he stubbornly punctuates.
“Then why are you mad at me?”
“I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at myself,” he groans, sneaking a glance at his watch which reminds him that he had paged a nurse ten minutes ago and that he needs to follow up. “What did I do to make you think that you can’t call me when there’s an emergency? Do you know how dangerous it was for you to drive at that state?”
Jungkook’s voice wavers at the question, not expecting you to answer with the way your jaw’s clenched and you’re still refusing to look at him.
“I-I get it. I’m trying to get it. Your parents aren’t in the city and you didn’t want them to fly out this late, I get it. Yoongi’s busy being a resident a-and you didn’t want to worry him, I get it a little bit,” Jungkook sniffles. “But you not calling me when you’re in pain? When you need someone to drive you to the ER? When you just need someone to be there with you, no questions asked?” he scoffs, shaking his head. “I don’t get it, Y/N. I don’t get it at all.”
“You really don’t get it,” you concede, gaze flitting over to him. Jungkook’s sat on an uncomfortable chair with his legs spread, still dressed in last night’s clothes and torment, the furrow in his brows inerasable. “I didn’t want to be a burden.”
Jungkook tolerates your mouth. He tolerates a lot of your words and sentiments and occasional callousness when you were emotional despite being mature, but this just cuts it.
He doesn’t tolerate you now.
“How will you ever be a burden? You were having an emergency and the first thing in your mind is that you don’t want to inconvenience me?” he spits. “It’s not like it’s traffic, o-or you eating my takeouts, Y/N. It’s you being in danger, don’t you get that? That’s not an inconvenience!” he laughs without any amusement. “If you still think it is no matter what I say, then you should’ve inconvenienced me. You should’ve bothered me. You should’ve known that I would’ve went out of my way just for you to consider inconveniencing me.”
“Well I don’t want to, okay? I don’t want to bother you, Jungkook!”
“What the hell do I have going on in my life that’s enough for me to not come to you when you need me?”
“You have everything going on!” you exclaim, throwing your head back on your pillow, inadvertently making yourself wince and make Jungkook apologetic. “Y-you have a job, you have Sora, you have-…”
“Wrong,” he tuts, sighing heavily as he adjusts your head on the pillow, grabbing one of his own from his chair to secure you from the sides. “I can have nothing or everything and I’ll still come to you.”
You purse your lips, ignoring the way his touch is more firm than it is gentle.
“You don’t have to come to me if you’re already with me,” you confess in your own words, the sigh that leaves you taking everything not to round up to a pitiful, watery smile that sums up your anticipated rejection.
“Sweetheart,” Jungkook answers simply, in his own way.
You’re twenty-five when you feel yourself surrender little by little.
"Okay," you roll your eyes, the snort that erupts from you making his brows raise in curiosity.
"Okay?" he echoes. "You're okay with it?"
"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"
"I don't know— I-... I mean I know this isn't the first time you confessed and this isn't my first time either turning you down, but-..." Jungkook trails uneasily, shaking his head softly as he tries to regain his bearings. ”…I don't know either why I asked if you're okay."
“My appendix did get removed a few hours ago, so that’s why,” you smile playfully, going back to your meal like nothing had happened.
Like Jungkook hadn’t lost his mind hours ago, and like you hadn’t confessed just minutes ago while you were laying in your hospital bed.
You’re twenty-five when you let yourself feel the hurt.
( ♡ )
It only occurs to you when you’re twenty-six, that Jungkook’s seen all your hardships, whereas the only suffering that you had to see him endure was the price of having Sora as his first love.
Every other difficulty and every other misstep Jungkook’s had in his life are only either retold to you or assumed by your conscience. Besides his turbulent on and off relationship with the only girlfriend he’s ever had, everything that wasn’t the good and the easy about him wasn’t known to you.
It’s as if despite having the privilege to grow alongside you, Jungkook deliberately went out of his way to ensure that you never see him vulnerable if it wasn’t for love. You realize at your age belatedly that you’ve lived this long and have never seen him feel so deeply for anything that wasn’t the matters of his heart.
You only know the big chunks and the bits and pieces of your closest friend’s childhood, but never to the extent that your brother knew him. You’ve questioned the lacking details about him over and over again, but in hindsight, you realize that you didn’t ask enough.
You never asked for any clarification as stubbornly as they expected you to, not because you were coincidentally proving Jungkook right that you were better off not knowing the seemingly unimportant details of his life, but because you were already content with what he gave you.
You took what Jungkook could only give you, but he can’t say the same now.
You’re twenty-six when you hear from Yoongi that Jungkook and Sora have broken up, for good this time, because she cheated on him and it had become his last straw.
You’re twenty-six when Jungkook learns that he only knows the hardships of your life and barely ever its triumphs (whatever the hell that meant in your book and not his), because when he sees you making out with Taehyung in your old childhood bedroom while your brother’s in the middle of throwing a party downstairs, he realizes that everything seemingly favorable in your life was only retold to him.
He should be relieved (right?) to see you at home instead of finding out through Yoongi that you were sleeping over at a friend’s he didn’t know, but none of the solace ever comes to his system. It doesn’t help that the guy who scrambles off you if the same guy that you had ran to all those years ago (Jungkook only knows after keeping tabs on Taehyung for literal years, it seems like).
It doesn’t help that you’re more angry at him than you are embarrassed of the entire situation.
"Do your parents know?"
"Know what?" you scrunch your nose, entirely lost to what Jungkook’s trying to get at.
"What you're doing," he details with narrowed eyes. “Who you're doing."
"What the fuck?" you spit with vitriol, in genuine disbelief whereas Jungkook remains stoic from where he stood. ”I’m twenty-six. I have my own place now. What are you talking about?"
Jungkook shakes his head at the reminder that you’ve moved out weeks ago from your shared apartment with Yoongi and he only got to know when he crashed at your (former) place after a particularly rough day, only to be genuinely confused at the sight of Just Yoongi At The Door, your own brother perplexed that Jungkook didn’t even know you moved out by then.
“I’m talking about how you're acting out like a teenager, getting it on with-..."
"Acting out?" you parrot.
"Yeah, that's what I said,” he grits, the sarcastic laugh that leaves his lips making your ears ring.
"What would I be acting out against? I'm not some teenager rebelling against curfew or-..."
"I thought you liked me, Y/N,” Jungkook enunciates word for word, making you stop dead in your tracks.
You weren’t planning on confessing tonight.
You weren’t even thinking of digging up your unresolved feelings for Jungkook because you didn’t want to be the bigger person about it; for once, you wanted to be the more vulnerable and volatile friend between the two of you.
"What kind of person keeps confessing to her brother's best friend every single year, yet still make out with another best friend of her brother's as if nothing she said was true?"
The ache that your chest molds around is far too big of a statue, concrete and rooted in its desire to let the pain seep into you.
"But you don't like me, Jungkook. That's the thing.”
"And you think that changes everything?" he asks, voice cracking at the edges. “What if— w-what if I lied awhile ago, huh? What if I-... what if I lied about not liking you, yet you're still out here letting Taehyung put hickeys on you? What then?"
You screw your eyes shut in utter disbelief of the possibilities that Jungkook springs onto you out of nowhere, tears pricking painfully.
“But did you lie?"
"That's not what I'm-..."
"Did you or did you not lie, Jungkook? That's what I'm asking first," you interrupt, fists balled in utter despair because if you don’t do something, anything to ground you, then you’d faint right in front of him and nurse the hurt like it’s the only thing keeping you alive.
"I didn't," Jungkook whispers, eyes steeling as he regains his composure. "B-but that still doesn’t-…”
"No. It changes everything," you swallow the lump in your throat. “I can have this stupid, teenage crush on you and still be hurt. I can be stupid by ignoring all your past rejections and still get tired," you waver. “I can look stupid liking you from afar, only for you to reject me year after year, and still do whatever that I want to do with Taehyung.”
"If I lied and told you that I liked you back, and we become this... w-we become this fantasy of yours that you never let go of," Jungkook argues, exhaling heavily. "What then, Y/N? If you could do this now, what else are you capable of doing if we end up together?" he gnaws on his bottom lip. ”What can you tell me that would make me trust that I can be your boyfriend without you doing whatever the hell you want?"
"You're asking me that?" you whisper in disbelief, vision spinning on the weight that Jungkook demands from you. “You're asking me to convince you that I won't cheat on you, even if you told me again and again that you'd never want to be with me?"
“Yoongi told you, didn’t he?” Jungkook replies, meeting your eyes but not where you stood, the stubbornness in his gaze making you bow your head in surrender.
"My god, Jungkook. You're fucking insane.”
He buckles by the knees at that, pointing to himself weakly as his eyes widen. "I am? I'm the one who's-...?" he pauses, jaw clenching angrily. ”I’m the one who's confused, Y/N. I'm the one who can't tell how I'd stand in your life if I give in-..."
Give in, like it's pity.
Give in, like it's charity for the needy and returning your feelings would be the one final thing that cements Jungkook’s goodness.
Give in, like you didn’t spend the better part of your life pining after him without any promise because you weren’t afraid to be seen trying; you weren’t afraid to be in love with him.
"Then I won't confuse you anymore! I'll make it easy for the both of us," you burst, pushing past him in your fit of anger. “You don't have to think about being cheated on. You don't— y-you don't have to think about the image of me making out with Taehyung behind your back while you're.. y-you're fucking conjuring this life with me in the future when you don't even want to be with me now."
Give in, like you were never the one for him in the first place.
"I'll stop,” you whisper.
"I didn't tell you to,” Jungkook grits, shaking his head in disbelief as his eyes track your direction towards the door.
"I don't need you to."
( ♡ )
You dream of getting over Jungkook on a random day.
The concept of it comes to you randomly after countless nights of losing sleep over your big fight with Jungkook that had instilled a rift in your friendship for months. You haven’t gotten over him (specifically on a random day that you so badly craved to prove that unlearning the ways of being attentive to him can happen in an as insignificant of a day as Wednesday), but you atleast attained your silent plea of being the one who’s more vulnerable.
Of being the one who’s pined after, not necessarily because Jungkook was completely in the wrong and there’s no basis for his fears, but because you wanted to know what it felt like being yearned for.
You didn’t have to be brave for the two of you because you were no longer grasping at straws to keep Jungkook whenever and however you can.
The only reason you dream of getting over Jungkook on a random day was because you want the feeling of the love you have for him to leave you when you're folding your clothes and you can ignore the fact that his shirts keep washing up into your basket despite not having stepped foot in your new place.
You want to get over him on a random day when you feel unsure of it the most, because only then would you prove to yourself that something as real and as tangible as your yearning is just as fundamental as learning to live without him in your life.
You want to get over Jungkook on a random day, even when you don’t want to, because the only way out for you is through.
You want to get over him but you can’t; you want to get over him even when he confesses his love for you at a time that you’ve stepped out of the middle, which was the only place you’ve been trying to coax him into to remind you that your yearning’s alive.
You’re twenty-seven when Jungkook first confesses to you.
“I’m in love with you and you don’t have to do anything about it,” he whispers, clutching a bouquet of your favorite flowers by your front door, left hand still trembling as he clutches the handwritten note of your address given by your brother who had promised to cut him off forever if he didn’t make things right with you. Jungkook isn’t doing this to get even with you, however — he’s doing this out of sheer longing. “And you don’t have to be in love with me for me to do everything about it.”
.
.
.
You’re twenty-seven, and you still know that Yoongi’s meant for greatness.
You know that he’s meant for greatness when he’s only a few years older than you and yet he’s already in the finishing steps of opening his own clinic, the technicalities of it amusing you because at his age, Yoongi’s acclaimed for his skill and his drive.
At your age, the hallmarks that you live with are that you’re going to join the family business (read: inserting yourself in Yoongi’s clinic) and make use of yourself to make up for the fact that you’re not particularly excellent at anything, and that finally, this is the second to the last year you’re going to be allowing yourself to confess your love to Jungkook.
Just because you allowed yourself to all those years ago, however, didn’t mean you were actually going to do it any longer.
You were freshly twenty-six when you and Jungkook had the fight that inexplicably changed your lives forever, more than growing up and witnessing each other change had ever did — you’re three months away from turning twenty-eight, and Jungkook’s never been more riddled with fear of loving you, but he does it anyway.
He’s more scared of losing you than he is with loving you, yet he knows he can’t forsake either in his pursuit.
Jungkook knows that he’s not meant for greatness, but you equate it, and he’s never wanted to strive to be something he’s not so badly in his life. He runs to you at full speed and he doesn’t care about the impact nor about the possibility that it wouldn’t bring him anywhere.
“You're not Sora," he utters when he sees you zoning out, gaze fixated on the first snow that falls right outside of the window of the clinic that’s still yet to be completed, hallowed out enough for his voice and his sentiment to echo throughout the walls. “And I don't want Sora."
"Nobody wakes up and just realizes that they don't love someone anymore, Jungkook," you murmur, following the way the bits of white patter against the ground helplessly because they have no choice but to fall.
Jungkook’s been nothing short of pathetic with his longing the entire year.
Even between him working as your brother’s contractor and even helping out the labor yet not ever running late from driving you to and from your place with homemade meals in hand, to him pulling his weight by being of service to you, by being anything that you asked and didn’t ask him to be — Jungkook, admittedly, can’t fill in the gaps of what longing for him in the past had instilled in you: doubt.
"I did,” Jungkook answers. “It happens."
"You spent the better part of your youth being in love with her," you remind him with a gentle roll of your eyes, ignoring the way he comes closer to give you his hard hat that you’ve always insisted on ditching out of stubbornness. “That doesn't just happen out of nowhere."
It’s daunting that you can talk about yours and Jungkook’s past out in the open.
It’s new.
"It happened because it wasn't out of nowhere," he clarifies. “I’ve been on and off with her in the first place because I— we, couldn't let go of the comfortable option which was each other."
“Just stop talking,” you murmur weakly, the lilt of your voice similar to the random days that creep up to you and remind you of the shade of the past, of Sora, that looms over you out of nowhere. "I... I-I must've had this conversation with you over and over again, Jungkook," you frown. "You're going to get back with each other like always."
"We're not," he corrects you, standing in front of you so closely that you could feel his warmth cling to your skin. “Sora and I are completely through."
"Whatever you say," you mutter, throwing your hands weakly, ready to call it a night when Jungkook grabs ahold of you firmly, undoubtedly, his eyes swimming in concern.
"Do you want time to prove it?" he tilts his head. "We could wait around for a lifetime and you'll believe me by then."
"I think I've done enough waiting,” you chuckle, drawing a laugh out of him.
You’re turning twenty-eight in three months, and Jungkook’s confessed his love for you more times than you’ve ever did for him in your lifetime; he’ll still love you under the weight of your shoe.
"You're meant for happiness, Y/N. You don't have to wait,” Jungkook murmurs. “And I need to work on being meant for you, so I have to wait."
RE-UPLOAD! The original post didn’t show up in the tags, sorry for the confusion :c
pairing ੈ✩: xavier x reader
summary ੈ✩: you and xavier had been best friends for years, nearly inseparable since the moment you met. But after one slightly drunken night, everything shifted: you became friends with benefits. You told yourself you could handle it, but as time went on, your heart began to ache. You had to end it, for your own sake. You were in love with him, but you couldn't shake the painful truth: you believed he’d never feel the same. Still, what if, all this time, while you were trying to push him away, he was quietly hoping to show you how perfect you two were together?
word count ੈ✩: 12k. omg. it’s LONG, long. grab some snacks and let me entertain you for a while!!
tropes ੈ✩: 18+, smut, best friends with benefits, miscommunication, unrequited love, not really tho, angst, angst with happy ending, plot with porn, love confessions, needy xavier, obsessed xavier, domestic xavier, i suck at giving tropes i swear i will get better someday, desperate xavier, everything is consensual, the consumption of alcohol mentioned, pet names, xavier was once in love with mc but the myths are not canon in this one!!
author’s note ੈ✩: GUYS this one’s IT. This idea was blooming slowly in my mind for quite some time. I really hope you’ll like it 🥹 also, please be gentle with me, i’m not a native speaker of english and I’m definitely not a writer. I like to think that everything i create is just fueled by my passionate delulu. please let me know if you liked it and if maybe you’d like to read part 2!! ♡ enjoy your reading!!
!!do NOT read if you’re not 18+!!
ੈ✩‧₊˚
It all started with the simplest of touches.
Your hands grazed, as if by accident. Then your eyes met. He grabbed you by your forearm, or maybe you grabbed him, everything was so blurry in your mind. A touch on a waist, a hand on a chest, and a sudden clash of your lips. You saw fireworks exploding in your mind, sending pleasant thrumming throughout your whole body.
Desperate touches. Rapid breaths. A whisper, maybe two. He said something. What did he say? The sound of your heart was the only thing you could hear.
Your dress came off. You felt lips. Lips marking every part of your body, leaving behind wet paths that made the exposed skin shiver due to the coolness of the air. He went down. Down. Down, and looked at you expectantly. Your head never nodded that quickly and it probably never will again. You saw stars. Millions and millions of them, shimmering under your closed eyelids. He grabbed your hand and put it into his hair. You caressed it gently, savoring the softness of it.
Then, you saw his eyes. Beautiful, deep blues that looked far too innocent for what he did and what he was about to do with you next. He kissed you again and again, and again, and he held you close throughout the whole night, making you shiver, moan, cry, beg — until you fell asleep from exhaustion right in the safety of his arms. He turned your world upside down.
And then came the next morning, when you began to question the entire ordeal. You panicked, thinking about your friendship that you valued the most and Xavier, whom you just couldn’t bear to lose. However, when you wanted to put it past you, to blame the alcohol consumed that night, act as if it was just a slip of your judgment, a mistake, a reaction caused by the need of intimacy after being single for a long time, he wasn’t having it. He said that he couldn’t forget about it, that it changed things, and you blurted out the first thing that came into your mind. You proposed the whole arrangement.
And that’s how, after several months, your relationship with Xavier stayed clear and technically uncomplicated. Friends with benefits. You thought that even if that night did change things, then in this way you could act as if it wasn’t a big deal to you. In this way, you wouldn’t have to lose him, wouldn’t make things awkward. You still acted normally in front of each other, you continued to spend time in almost the same way you were before that faithful night, but with one drastic change.
Almost every encounter since that night ended with you in his bed or the other way around. Hours and hours spent in each other’s embrace, touching and feeling too much, all at once.
And said feelings were what made you finally decide that you couldn’t do this anymore. You couldn’t continue sharing with him this intimacy, pretending that everything between you remained unchanged. You couldn’t do this anymore, knowing that it was all that you’ll ever get from him, despite being in love with him for so long.
You knew that he would never reciprocate your feelings. You knew that from the beginning, from the very first touch of your fingertips that night, but you foolishly thought that having him close for as long as he wanted you, would be enough for you. Even if he wanted you only for your body, because you were the easiest choice.
However, your heart was breaking every time you were reminded of one significant fact, a harsh reality that felt like a bucket of cold water in your face.
He will never love you. Because you were not her.
And you will never be.
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You already had a strategy to end the arrangement. You wanted to take it slow, step by step, with just a bit of pain on your side. You knew it wasn't your best plan, but it was a plan nonetheless. You wanted to end the friends-with-benefits arrangement in a way that would make you both slowly, almost naturally, drift apart—so subtly that he wouldn't even notice the change. As for you, you were ready to bear the painful consequences of your actions, if it saved you from the excruciating pain of a broken heart later.
You started with avoiding his kisses.
And it turned out to be a tough job to do, because you didn’t realize before how much of a kisser Xavier became during your friends-with-benefits situation. It never really bothered you before, you always accepted every single kiss with content. However, during your last meeting, you were trying so hard to avoid his lips, and noticed that he made it into an almost impossible task.
When you went out one night, he wanted to kiss you three times during hot pot, even though you were sitting across from each other. You thought that the sitting situation was enough of an obstacle, but you quickly learned that he always somehow managed to find a chance to try to steal a kiss. That not only bewildered you, but also made you blush so hard that you had to blame the spicy food for it to not look suspicious. Yet, you managed to stay your ground and ignored his needy attempts at capturing your lips.
You also avoided his lips while you were later watching a movie in his apartment, by pretending that you didn’t see or feel his constant gaze on you. You thought that maybe if he saw that the movie engaged you so much, he would finally drop the attempts. Unfortunately, your plan failed the moment his patience thinned, when he started kissing your neck while cradling your body to his. He was grabbing at you almost desperately and you really couldn’t escape from every single kiss he was giving you, no matter how much you tried to. And you really tried to.
“Why—why are you turning your face away? A-Ah… Let me look at y-you—mmm.” He said between his moans, and he never once stopped thrusting inside you. It was the day when he took you on a sofa between his soft, plushy pillows with the movie still playing in the background. Your legs were laying on his shoulder, his both hands holding onto them tightly while his hips thrust deep inside you, making you gasp in pleasure. When you didn’t respond and kept your head away, hoping that he would finally stop with his relentless kisses, his hand gently grabbed your face and turned it towards his so that your eyes met. He smiled softly, his cheeks pink and face damp. “Yes, there you are. You feel good? You wanna break?” He almost slurred and you adored how quickly he was loosing himself with you, how much he was losing his composure. When you squeezed your eyes, moaning at a harder thrust and shook your head no, he whimpered. Next thing you knew, he lowered your legs onto the sofa and lay between them, bringing his body closer to yours. Your chests touched and you could feel his rapid heartbeat, mirroring the rhythm of your own. He nudged your head, which was still turned to the side, with his nose.
“Give me a kiss, c’mon, starlight.” He kissed your cheek, slowing down his thrusts to a lazy, delicate ones. “I couldn’t get a kiss all day, I need it. Let me.” And when you saw his eyes, full of desperation and something that reminded you of adoration, you couldn’t keep denying him. Your lips touched his and he didn’t let go of them until you came, and later when he began growling straight into your mouth, chasing his own undoing.
It was the last time you met up, and after that you decided that you had to cut it off completely. You couldn’t continue being with him like this, not when you knew that he already loved someone else. Being with him this close messed with your head. You didn’t want to feel like a convenient second choice and you couldn’t help but feel that your meetings were slowly becoming more and more intimate. You had to constantly remind yourself that you weren’t together. You made sure to label the change in your relationship properly at the start of the arrangement — still on friendly terms, with occasional mutual pleasure. But the close proximity and constant intimacy started to make the lines blurry in your mind.
And your heart couldn’t take it anymore, it hurt every time you reminded yourself that he didn’t reciprocate your feelings, and that he never will.
After that movie night you decided that the next step to your goal would be to stop engaging in small talk with him, especially the one that occurred at work.
You worked together at the Hunter’s Association, he was one of the best Hunters out there, and you specialized in weapon modification from the safety of your own desk. You wanted to be a hunter once, but with your Evol involving micromodification you guessed that you could be needed in a position that involved working with weaponry. After working there for years, you were passionate about your work and elated to have a job you loved and where you thrived while helping others to the best of your abilities.
Thus, because of the shared place of employment, you saw Xavier almost every day. He was often near your desk, passing by it, putting snacks before you or teasing you with that soft smile of his. So, cutting the contact out there was one of the toughest jobs for you, but it had to be done.
When you knew that he would be free, you found a task that needed completion in other departments, so that you will not cross paths. Often, instead of others coming to you to fix their weapons, you proposed to make the trip instead. In this way you were always quick on your feet, going from department to department, back to the workshop and again to the others’ desks. You didn’t mind the extra activity, it made you think less about your breaking heart.
And when Xavier managed to catch you from time to time, because he always somehow would, you were trying to appear too busy even for a small conversation.
“Where are you rushing off to again? I didn’t manage to talk to you these past few days.” He said one day when he caught you by your elbow while you were going out of the bathroom. He must’ve seen you go in there and wait for you to come out. He brought you a little closer to himself and looked at your face so intently, that you got scared he could see right through you.
“Sorry Xai, I’m just really busy lately.” You answered, maybe too quickly, and were trying to calm your beating heart upon seeing him so close again. Too close. It didn’t help that he was in his hunter’s uniform, that made him look twice as dreamy. You were so close that you could also smell his comforting scent and see the small scar on his cheek that he got last year after you two tried ice skating for the first time.
The first and the last, for it appeared that you were much better at it than he would ever be, and you wanted to avoid him getting hurt again. It was also before your friends-with-benefits situation, when your friendship was pure and healthy. Your heart squeezed remembering how he grabbed your hand then, and how tightly he used to hold it throughout the whole activity.
“Xavier, are you sure you don’t want to go back home already? I’m afraid that your cut will scar if we leave it like that.” You said, looking at the band aid on his cheek, the only remedy for his small injury that you could provide at that time.
He squeezed your hand and still appeared sheepish after his fall. You secretly found him adorable, you never saw him doing something in which he didn’t excel in. It was as if he let you see a part of himself that no one had ever seen before. That thought made your chest warmer.
“No. I won’t let the ice defeat me.” He said surely and you knew that he won’t give up, even if his legs already visibly trembled from exhaustion. You let out a sigh. “Besides, you’re holding my hand now, so I feel much safer.” He looked at you, his voice soft and cheeks red, most likely from the cold air. Seeing him in such a vulnerable state made you completely overcome by the feeling of tenderness, and you send him a huge smile, thinking that it was the first time he relied on your protection, and not the other way around.
Little did you know that this smile would catch him by surprise so much that he slipped backwards, this time pulling you down with him. However, your reflexes slightly worked, because you managed to put your hand behind his head, shielding it from the impact with ice. You landed on him with a groan as his hands moved to pull your body closer.
“Oh god, Xai, are you okay? How did that happen?” You asked him, trying to lift yourself off of him. You felt him relax his head further into your hand, and when you raised yourself enough to face him directly, he sent you a wide smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. This sight made your heart melt.
“See, I knew you would protect me.” He replied, clearly referring to your hand behind his head. “My little savior.” He called you, and when you puffed the air out, annoyed that he could have hurt himself for real this time, his smile turned into a full laugh, his body shaking under yours. He looked so angelic, covered in snow, laughing in a way that was so scarce that you couldn’t help but join him in his moment of happiness.
And thanks to your mittens, your hand was left with only a purple bruise from the impact. Still, Xavier couldn’t let you forget about it up to the day it disappeared completely, expressing guilt for the minor injury, his sight chasing your hand every time it appeared in his line of vision. He often caressed it softly with his fingers, looking at it with a mysteriously thoughtful expression, whispering “My little savior.” under his breath. It made you wish that the bruise would never disappear.
You took a step back, suddenly overwhelmed by the memories and the closeness between you. He always invaded your personal space, stood so close that you could almost feel his breath on your face. This time, you had had to cut it out for your own good.
“S’okay. You’re always busy but I guess I just got used to meeting you near your desk. Just text me after work? Maybe we could meet up for our book club today.” He said and you swallowed the awful feeling of longing in your chest. Book club was the term you came up with when you both just wanted to sit and read together for hours. Unfortunately, you knew how book club sessions looked like since the beginning of your friends-with-benefits arrangement.
You were sitting together in silence, reading for hours, then talked about your books until you both lost your breaths. A wonderful experience, you adored your little reading sessions, but you knew that recently they always ended with his lips on yours, and with your clothes scattered around his bedroom.
You couldn’t let this go on forever. You couldn’t go back to being just friends now, and you couldn’t keep him so close, knowing that he will never fully be yours. You pitied your poor heart.
“Sure, will do. See you around!” You were aware how awkward you sounded, but before he could stop you, you were already off to another task of the day.
You didn’t text him after work, and neither did you reply to his message in time. The next day you send him an excuse that you were tired and fell asleep quickly, and you hoped that he believed it or didn’t care enough to question you further.
If the distance hurt you this bad now, you couldn’t even imagine how would it feel when he eventually would’ve left you for her.
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The next stage of your plan involved not answering his texts at all. You allowed yourself small replies from time to time, most often very brief, if the situation called for it. Replying excuses from left to right. Then, you incorporated not picking up his calls, especially on weekends, when he appeared to want to see you the most, because you were absent from the Association building and he couldn’t catch even a glimpse of you.
The distance you yourself put between you broke your heart, and you were getting more and more depressed by the day. Ignoring the person you loved wasn’t easy, when he was the one with whom you wanted to spend your time the most.
To distract yourself from the situation, you were trying to pass your time differently. You were meeting up with your family and friends, or you started doing things that you were putting off for ages. Everything and anything to fill the void in your heart caused by the absence of the one you loved. The absence forced by you.
It had to be done, you reminded yourself daily. You had to end this somehow, no matter how it hurt you. You had to move on. You couldn’t still be in love with him the day he would end up with MC. You knew it would ruin you.
Three weeks passed since your last meeting at the Association and you could feel that Xavier was getting impatient. His calls were more frequent. His messages longer. Sometimes while running away from him at work, you could catch how he was scanning the room in search of you. How frustrated he seemed to be. How upset.
You understood it. You were best friends after all, and he also probably needed someone near him to help him get his head clear of MC. You knew that it must’ve been hard for him. But you were sure you were doing the right thing, that’s why you kept avoiding him during the past month, and not only it was the longest period you’ve been away from each other since the start of your complicated arrangement, but also the longest time since the start of your friendship. Even when the times were rough, you managed to see each other at least once or twice a week.
You felt the pain of the distance too. Missing him almost every second of the day. But you had your reasons. You didn’t want to try to satiate the hunger he felt for another woman anymore.
So every time his name appeared on your phone screen, along with the picture of him shoving two muffins into his mouth at the same time, you closed your eyes, took a deep breath, and waited out the signal, simultaneously praying for and dreading the silence.
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On a quiet rainy day, after a month of ignoring almost every attempt to make contact from Xavier, you heard your phone ping thrice. You sighed and put the book you were reading down, deciding that it was a good moment to reply something short to him in order to slightly ease his worries, and make him feel less alarmed. You wanted distance, but you still sticked to responding from time to time, to appear casual. To let the connection break off less abruptly.
xavier: why cant I see U at all recently.
xavier: why are U not picking up my calls and not replying to my texts.
xavier: are U hiding from me?
you: Of course not, just busy.
xavier: busy for me but not busy for others I know U are going out all the time.
xavier: are U mad at me? did I do something wrong.
you: No, you didn’t, don’t worry. It’s just me. I have a lot of things on my mind recently.
xavier: could U please have me on Ur mind too? I miss U.
xavier: so bad it hurts
You let out a rugged breath, and decided to stop responding, but then another text came. This time, making your blood run cold.
xavier: going back from a rough mission right now i think i need help.
you: Oh my god, are you okay? Are you injured?
xavier: cant tell U why dont you come and see me for Urself.
you: Fine, I need to see if you’re okay. Do you need anything? Food? Medicine? I will pick something up on my way there.
xavier: i just need U
You closed your eyes and hid your face in your palms, then swore it would be the last time. You will go in, treat his wounds and go out. It had to be the last time you allowed yourself to be this close to him, and then you had to cut him off completely. A month wasn’t enough to heal your broken heart, and these small sightings won’t make your heart feel any less burdened.
It had to end today.
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When the door opened, he managed to take your breath away once more.
First, only figuratively. His beauty always managed to amaze you. He looked so handsome no matter the circumstances, his hair so fluffy and shiny, his face like that of an angel, with sharp jawline and soft, pink lips almost screaming at you to be kissed. When you met his eyes, you almost gasped at the intensity of his deep blue gaze. There wasn’t a thing about him you didn’t miss terribly after so much time apart.
Then, literally, when the first thing he did was grabbing your hand and hugging you tightly to his chest, that was still clothed in his hunter uniform. He pressed his face into the crown of your hair and touched the nape of your neck, holding it gently with his cold hand.
“Was the mission that difficult?” You asked, thinking that his reaction to you was mostly due to his need for someone else’s closeness. The need for security. “Were you in danger?” You asked quietly, fear bubbling in your mind.
“No. I lied.” He murmured and you felt him squeezing you even harder, inhaling your scent with content. His hand started stroking your back, slowly making its way under your thin coat. “Didn’t know what else to say to make you come see me.” He said and you hoped that he couldn’t hear, nor feel the sound of your erratic heartbeat.
He shouldn’t say things like these, it made you feel too hopeful. You tried to push that feeling down, knowing that’s how he normally acted with you, his best friend. You knew that he didn’t have a lot of people beside him, thus he treasured the ones that stayed. And that thought made you so incredibly apologetic that you had to swallow the tension in your throat. You hated that you fell for him so hard. You hated that you had to leave him because of it. You hated that you knew, that he would blame himself when you’ll leave.
And you started to hate yourself the most because of all of it.
“Did you miss me that much?” You teased, trying to calm yourself with a friendly banter.
“Yes.” The answer was immediate. The kiss he placed on your temple as natural as breathing. “Everything and everyone seems to be taking you away from me these days.” He said and you could hear him sulking. Your heart squeezed again, but you knew that you were doing the right thing. The distance was necessary.
Necessary for you to avoid breaking. You had to protect yourself first, you decided. You couldn’t remain in love with him forever. You had to move on and in order to do that you had to keep the distance. Which was impossible with him around, when he craved physical touch so badly.
You started to be so mad at yourself for breaking your streak today. You didn’t realize how touchy he will be after some time apart and it was getting to your head. You were so conflicted. You felt too much, and that was always the case when you were around him.
He was in love with someone else. Your head was screaming loudly, trying to calm the wave of unwanted emotions.
“I’m sorry.” You whispered. I love you, you thought. “But now I’m here, so maybe I can inspect you for any injuries? You always seem to neglect them as long as they don’t make you bleed out.” You managed to free yourself from his hold and missed how his hands went after you for a second. He didn’t want you to put distance between you two. Not yet, not ever.
He looked into your beautiful, shiny eyes and nodded without a thought. He couldn’t say no to you, not when he saw the still remaining hint of worry in them. Besides, checking for injuries always came with physical contact, and he was so starved. He needed to feel your body close to his. Your hands on him, somewhere, anywhere, everywhere. He felt addicted and craved some kind of relief. He looked after you like a lost puppy, following your footsteps closely, touching the familiar material of your coat that you left on a counter. The distance this past month made him feral, every part of his body screamed to hold you and don’t let go.
You sat down on his couch, and patted the place next to you, hinting at him to sit beside you. He was trying not to appear too eager while doing so, and also when he started taking off the upper part of his uniform. He was almost shaking with excitement knowing that you really came to see him. That you were worried about him. The distance was making him sick. Furious. Desperate. Hurt.
He suppressed a shudder when you touched his shoulder and peeled away the material off his back completely. Your hands were pleasantly warm, as always. He bit his lip trying not to gasp from the contact.
He needed more.
“Xavier.” He hummed, giddy inside upon finally hearing his name from your lips. He was bracing for your outburst. Couldn’t wait for it. “You said you lied about the mission being hard, while having a fucking gash on your back? I-I can’t believe you...” He heard your angry, shaky voice and smirked unintentionally. You were worried about him and he liked that. He liked the attention, when it was coming from you.
Yet, you didn’t know that.
You cursed under your breath and went to grab the first aid kit from one of his drawers, and proceeded to patch the man back up, having no idea that he allowed the Wanderer to injure him, to have an excuse to see you. To keep you with him for a minute longer, even if it was only under the pretense of tending to his injuries. He was ready to do anything at this point to keep you from slipping away from his grasp.
If you knew that, you wouldn’t be so adamant on distancing yourself.
But because you didn’t know, you also didn’t predict that after patching him up, he would propose you to eat dinner with him, making up an excuse that he didn’t want to be alone with his pain. Later, when you wanted to come back to your place, he mentioned he wanted to play kitty cards, the game you adored. You couldn’t refuse him.
During the next hours you spent at his place you both talked in the same way you always used to - about everything and anything, exchanging opinions, stories and everyday thoughts. You laughed together for the first time in weeks, and your cheeks hurt from how much he was able to make you smile. You always had so much fun with him; he was your favorite person in the whole world. You missed him so bad, despite knowing that you couldn’t back out from your plan fully. Yet, you allowed yourself a little break, telling yourself that it was in order for your distancing to not look suspicious. In addition, he was injured, and you felt the need to comfort him in any way you could. The gash on his back wasn’t that deep, but it worried you regardless.
The atmosphere changed drastically only when he managed to win the next round of kitty cards. You jokingly frowned at him, forging displeasure, and he looked directly at your pouting lips. The time seemed to stop when you noticed that look. He raised his hand to touch your collarbone, caressing it with his fingers, up to your neck and over your cheek. He looked deeply into your eyes, and you noticed how dark his became. You found it fascinating that his soft gaze could change so drastically in a matter of seconds.
His hand reached out to grab your chin and brought your face closer to his. And when he whispered: “Could I ask for a reward?” with that dangerous, needy voice of his, you knew that you couldn’t deny him anything.
When your lips touched, you decided that it will be the last time you let it happen. It would be your goodbye, before losing the feel of his touch. You thought that you could at least make the best of it, get lost in the artificial feeling of being treasured for the last time, before you started the last phase of your plan.
After that, you had to cut off the ties with him completely. No matter the measures. No matter the pain.
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“Xavier, m-maybe not today?” You asked when you realized how low he was going with his kisses. You knew what he was about to do, and you hated how much you couldn’t contain the sounds that were coming out of your mouth when he was doing it. Besides, it didn’t feel like a mutual pleasure anymore, it felt like an act of service and you were not sure you wanted him to pleasure only you.
He looked at you, having already dropped to his knees. He looked ruined, his hair already a mess from the touch of your fingers, lips wet and swollen, shirt off displaying his toned chest, bandaged in the center with caution. He was practically heaving. The sight made you blush.
“Why not?” His voice sounded whiny, his lips already kissing the inside of your thigh as if he couldn’t restrain himself. Every kiss sent electricity to your already wet core and you found it hard to think clearly. His hands were grabbing your tights possessively, relishing in their softness. “Please, let me eat you out. I’ll make you feel good, I promise.” The pleading in his eyes was so apparent. So unfiltered.
“Don’t you want to get to the point already?” You offered shyly and he huffed out a laugh.
“Where are you trying to run off to this time?” It sounded like a joke, but he appeared annoyed. “Relax, starlight and let me take care of you. Please.” You still hesitated. It made him pout. “I need it, please, star. I want to taste you so bad. I didn’t manage to last time.” He kissed your knee and put his head on it, looking for the answer in your unsure eyes. “Will you let me?” His pleading tone, along with his desperate gaze was what made you break. You whispered a soft confirmation and it was all it took before he quickly put his mouth on your core, licking vigorously, devouring you like the most delicious thing on the planet.
“Mmmm.” You heard him humming, before your own cries, along with the constant tremble of your legs, drowned out any other sound.
He was elated.
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“Mmmh— Yes. Yes. H—holy—” He whimpered at the same time with his thrusts and squeezed your waist harder, moving his hands up and down your back, caressing it affectionately. “You are s-so warm, so beautiful, fuck—” He moaned when you tightened on him. You stiffed a whimper and tried to commit to memory the touch of his strong hands.
He was taking you slowly from behind and the pace was almost unbearable for you. You needed more, and you couldn’t stand how romantic it felt when he was this gentle with you. However, at the same time you didn’t want him to strain himself, you were aware that the slow pace was reasonable due to the injury on his back. The slow pace did surprise you either way, you thought that after so much time apart he would be quick and rough, chasing his pleasure faster than he normally would. Instead, he acted even more passionately than usual.
The slow pace brought you so much pleasure that you couldn’t contain the sounds escaping from your lips. He kept pressing your most sensitive spots, his thrusts slow, deep and precise. His forehead rest on the back of your shoulder, and you could feel his hot, labored breath pressing against your damp skin.
He made you feel so appreciated, and so cared for, and that made you uneasy. More so, with the accompaniment of the things he was constantly saying to you, from the moment you allowed him to touch you today.
“Can you turn around now? Please, my star, I want to see you.” He half-whispered and started kissing your neck, then moving his mouth to every patch of your skin he could reach: your shoulders, back, arms. No place was left unkissed under his relentless lips. You shook your head no; you didn’t want to let this become even more passionate than it already was. You positioned yourself facing the headboard of the bed from the very beginning, and you were adamant to keep your stance up until the end. You feared that your eyes would betray you, displaying your feelings for him and that was what made you not lose your composure.
Upon hearing your refusal for the third time this night, he proceeded to voice his frustrations by grunting, and thrust into you a little harder. You moaned loudly, surprised at the sudden change of tempo.
“Please, starlight.” He begged; his voice achingly earnest. He picked up the pace and you almost choked with how deep he reached inside of you now. You thought that you could never get used to how big he was, his girth filling you up to the brim. “Turn around. T-turn around for me.”
“X-xavier slow down, I don’t want you to get hurt—” You managed to choke out, grasping sheets with your hands for some kind of stability. You closed your eyes when they were turning upwards, biting your lip in the process. He felt otherworldly, but you couldn’t help but think about the gash on his back. He shouldn’t strain himself.
“Then turn around and look at me.” He repeated and you shook your head again.
“I-I can’t, I—Ah—”
“W-why do you keep—Mmh—denying me?” His voice came out like a growl and he kept up the fast tempo. Then, he grabbed your shoulder and put his other hand on your lower back, making you bend over more. His thrusts got even faster, making you moan louder. “Like that. Yes.” You breathed quietly. So good. He was so, so good. “I just want to see your face. I need to kiss y—A—Ah—Kiss you so bad, so, so, so bad.” He thrust more deeply, making you involuntarily back out from the stimulation, your body almost collapsing, but he quickly grabbed you with his strong arms, and brought you even closer to him. You saw stars and touched one of the arms that held your whole body — from your waist, between your breasts, to your neck. His arm was so hard, so strong. He was huge compared to you. “No, n-no, don’t run away, star. You feel so good—G-God how I missed this—” He held you closer by the second, pressing more kisses to your shoulders, his thrusts becoming quicker, less deep. You were holding back your tears from how good he felt inside you. “I missed you. I missed you. I miss you.” He started babbling and that’s how you knew he was close.
To your surprise, he suddenly pulled out of you completely and grabbed you by your shoulders, turning you around to finally face him. Before you could show any signs of protest, he lowered himself onto his forearms, caging your head between his biceps so that he could have a perfect view of your face. He took his cock in one of his hands and he slipped himself into you again with ease. You shuddered and cried out softly with astonishment.
“Xavier—!”
“Yes. Yes, that’s my name.” He started thrusting into you again, this time much slower and more attentive, and looked deep into your eyes. You had nowhere to run, the only thing you could do was to close your eyes, but the sight of him so close made you want to never look away. “Say it one more time. Just once.” He looked ethereal, his silver hair wet from the perspiration that gathered on his forehead, and his cheeks painted a pretty shade of red. You could see how blissful he felt. “So p-pretty.” He finally kissed your lips softly. “So sweet.” He licked into your mouth, deepening the kiss. It made your toes curl, you loved when he kissed you this sloppily. When he released your already swollen lips, there was a string of saliva connecting you. It was all so intense.
“Why were you denying my kisses?” He kissed you again deeply, sucking on your tongue. His slow thrusts made you go insane. “You don’t like kissing me like this?” He sucked on your lips until they were red and swollen. There was so much saliva. He licked them and kissed them again. “I could come from this feeling alone. So soft.” You were shocked at how much he talked. Was he always this talkative? Or were you realizing it only now, when you knew that the closeness with him would soon come to an end?
“Am I making you feel good? Yeah?” You decided to nod at him truthfully, your moans short, resembling small hiccups. You were lost in the pleasure; you could feel the end approaching. He put his forehead against yours, breathing heavily. “W—wow, you—you sound so adorable, I won’t last long—” He moaned and grabbed your face in his hands, kissing your nose first, then softly your lips.
“Yes, yeah, let go. Let go my little star. My starlight, my treasure.” He whispered into your ear, feeling you clench down on him as you came with his name on your lips. You felt him reaching the end quickly after you, he shuddered, his mouth opened, and he released into the condom with a low moan. Still cumming, he took your face into his hands and kissed your forehead gently. When you both were still coming down from the high, breathing heavily, he began stroking your hair, pushing it out of your face, and kissing your cheeks.
What in the world was all that?
God, you couldn’t do this anymore. You couldn’t let this keep up, it felt too real, too romantic, and your heart really couldn’t take it. Not when every time you were together like this you keep thinking that he would like you to be someone else instead. Did he imagine her under him this time? You trembled, scared because of that thought, but the things he was saying made you feel that it really could be the case.
Your breath came out shakily and you took his muscular forearms in your palms and grazed them gently with your thumbs. You let yourself feel for the last time how warm his body was, how pleasurable his weight on top of you. You kept your eyes closed to not let him see your tears, but you couldn’t stop one from going down your cheek.
And of course, he saw it as soon as it appeared. He seemed to always look at you when you wanted him to ignore you the most.
He kissed it off, swiped the wetness with his thumb and proceeded to kiss your temple.
“Why are you crying?” He asked softly, his eyebrows furrowed. “Did I hurt you?” He appeared so concerned, and you felt the shivers going down your spine.
Yes, you wanted to scream.
“No, of course not.” You said instead. Because it was your fault for feeling too much. “I’m okay, just tired.” You lied straight to his face. He sent you a small smile and kissed your closed eyelids gently.
And when he shifted and pulled out from you slowly with a little hiss, you let out a sigh and knew that your time with him had to end now.
But before you could lift yourself up, he hugged you from the side and put his head on your chest. He was listening to the sound of your heartbeat, and you already knew that it had a soothing effect on him. His hand started caressing one side of your waist, his hair touching your chin, his scent overlapping you. You could feel his heartbeat on you, fast but steady. Another tear escaped from your eyes. You had to run away. You couldn’t take the closeness anymore. It was too painful.
“Xavier, I—” You swallowed the sob forming in your throat. Your voice came out rusty. “I really need to go.”
“Already? Stay with me for a little while longer.” He squeezed you harder to himself, showing no intention of releasing you from his hold. You hated that you needed to cut short such a vulnerable moment with him. “The night is still young. I thought we could maybe watch something together? Or bake these cinnamon cookies you like? I practiced, they taste and look almost perfect now.” You closed your eyes hard, moved by his thoughtfulness, and you almost sobbed audibly if it wasn’t for your hand quickly covering your mouth.
But he felt it, and it made all the muscles in his body tighten, as if he was struck.
“Star?” He loosened his hold on you and quickly studied your face. “What’s wrong?” His eyes became huge, filled with worry. And that concern on his features was what finally made you run.
You raised gently and pushed yourself from him, starting to pick up your scattered pieces of clothing. Your hands shakily put the panties and your sweater on your trembling body, not once looking Xavier’s way. He was waiting patiently for your answer.
“I can’t do this anymore, Xavier.” You replied, feeling more comfortable now that you had some clothes on. You couldn’t meet his eyes, but you heard him standing up from the bed.
“Do what?” He sounded puzzled. You heard him grabbing and putting on some pants hastily, clicking his belt in place. As if he was preparing to run after you. “Did I do something wrong? You didn’t like it today? Was I too intense?” You had never heard him speak so quickly, and the panic in his tone was a rare occurrence too.
“No, it’s— I am at fault here.” You answered truthfully, and you took a couple steps away from him. You wanted to run as fast as you could but for the love of God, you couldn’t locate any other pieces of your clothing. Your eyesight was clouded by unleashed tears. No, not now, you couldn’t let them fall until you were in the safety of your home.
“But you were perfect.” His voice carried more panic by the second. “We could change some things. You could tell me what to do differently, everything works with me as long as I do it with you.”
You suddenly remembered the beginning of your night, and rushed to his living room, were you finally found your pants.
“No. No, and please stop trying to persuade me. This—this friends with benefits thing, it ends now.” You uttered surely, now fully clothed. You turned around and finally laid your eyes on him, and saw him wearing only black jeans and a miserable expression on his face. God, he still looked perfect. He almost shined, the workout clearly visible on his face, his hair, his lips. Your resolution almost wavered.
“Okay. Okay, of course, I—I understand.” He answered quickly, and you felt a slight pang in your chest at how easily he took the news. This whole time you were so easily disposable. “But please stay. I want to spend some time with you, I haven’t seen you in such a long time.” He took a careful step towards you, and you wanted to bolt then and there. “Please, stay.”
“No, Xai, I—” You paused to take a breath, trying not to crumble in front of him. His worried expression felt like a knife to your chest. You were his best friend, yet here you were, clearly wanting to run away from him—how could you expect him to feel anything but hurt upon such a sight? You felt incredibly cruel. “I really can’t. I think I need a break from all—all of this.”
“You mean from me?” He didn’t wait for your answer, the thoughts in his head seemed to go quicker than lightning. “No, please, I swear that if you don’t like it then I won’t touch you anymore. I swear.” You hated how upset he sounded. You closed your eyes for a second and fresh tears slipped away. You couldn’t keep them from falling anymore. “You know how much you mean to me. Don’t make me stay away.” He looked as if you were tearing his heart out, his posture slumped, hands shaking. How you wished you could take them into your own and warm them up.
“I have to.” Your voice came out whiny. He stepped closer to you, keeping his arms in front of himself.
“But why?” His question was quiet, nearly a whisper. He couldn’t help but wonder, if you really wanted a break from him, then why were you crying as if you didn’t want to go?
“I—” You stopped yourself before going as far as to utter a confession. He couldn’t know. Not now. Not ever. “This— This situation, and how our friendship looks like right now it’s—it’s so wrong.” You opted for a response that was the closest to the truth.
“It’s not.” He replied immediately. “Not for me.”
“Well it is for me. Friends don’t sleep with each other, Xavier! We messed up so bad this time and I’m afraid we can’t let this past us.”
“Do you regret it that much?” His voice was losing its’ strength, and he seemed so utterly hurt. Meanwhile, you were just trying to protect yourself from feeling even more pain. How could you make him understand without confessing to him? You didn’t really know because you were always honest with him before. He was your safe place.
And to think that everything could be avoided, your friendship left unscratched if only you could control your feelings better. But you had no idea how to stop loving him so deeply, when he was everything that you’ve ever dreamed of.
“I should. I know that I should, it was never going to end well, I—”
“Stay. Please, starlight, stay. At least for one more night, let me hold you just for one more—” His arms went out to grab you and you flinched, taking a few steps back. His jaw tightened.
He was always afraid that he will see you run away from his touch. He felt as if his nightmare became reality - the thought of losing you too much for him to bear.
“Xavier, I can’t!” You trembled all over. Why did he make this so hard for you? “I can’t do this with you anymore, can’t you understand how much it hurts me?” The truth was at the tip of your tongue, craving to be spoken out loud.
“Why? Why does it hurt you? The only one who has a good reason to be hurt is me, you avoided me, ignored me, and for what? If you just talked to me honestly one time—”
“You are in love with someone else!”
The silence that followed was unbearable and seemed to last ages. Slow ticking of the clock was the only thing cutting through the tension, reminding you that the time didn’t stop, even if your heart seemed to do so.
You turned to him, the tears falling from your eyes in cascades now and your chest was coming up and down rapidly with how fast you were breathing.
The tears run down your cheeks quickly, making your vision less blurry. How you wished that they stayed in place, if that meant that you wouldn’t have to see Xavier’s pained expression, that quickly changed into one of utter confusion. You were shaking with how much you were feeling, your frustration pooling out of you in a form of shaking hands and bitten lips.
“I can’t continue being like this with you when I know that you’re in love with her! And I get it! I really do. She’s so wonderful, and so, so lovable. And I could never be her, no matter how much you would want me to be. I just don’t want to be a replacement anymore.” You continued, the desperation in your voice almost making you wince. You sounded pathetic and felt so embarrassed for it. You felt as if you were losing the ground beneath your feet.
“What?” He said completely stunned. He wasn’t moving a single muscle. “What on earth are you talking about?” He hissed, and took a step towards you, and when you shook your head and wanted to bolt through the door, he quickly grabbed you by your wrist and pressed your body close to his. You gasped at the contact, so sudden and forced. “No, stop running away from me!” He raised his voice, still holding your wrist tightly. You’ve never heard him sound so irritated. “Speak.” You kept your head low, when he was desperately trying to catch eye contact, but you couldn’t look at him right now. Not when your true feelings were basically flowing to the surface.
“About what? You really thought I didn’t know about your feelings for her?” You struggled to keep your voice from shaking. “Xavier, I know, and I knew from the very beginning, and you really don’t have to explain yourself to me. I really understand.” You tried to free your wrist from his grasp, but he held it too tightly. You needed to run, this conversation wasn’t supposed to happen, you didn’t even have a reason to be mad at him. You couldn’t blame him for not loving you romantically, nor for feeling this way towards someone else. You were only friends, and friends should be happy for each other when they find someone dear to them, not sick of the idea of losing the other to someone else.
“I’m afraid you actually don’t understand anything.” He sounded almost defeated. His voice back to its soft tone, but his hold on you unrelenting.
“It’s really okay, I—”
“No.” He scoffed. You finally gained enough courage to let your eyes meet his and you were instantly appalled at how furious he appeared to be. “It’s truly NOT.” He released your wrist and put his hands up to stroke his hair back. He breathed out loudly. “Who the fuck are you talking about?” He asked, confusion and irritation taking over his features completely. You never saw him wear that expression while talking with you.
“Oh, don’t make me—” You cut off, seeing his furious glare. You took a deep breath, stepped back from him and touched your cheek, trying to swipe the wetness caused by your tears. You failed, they were still coming down, one by one, making your efforts futile. “MC. You know that I mean MC.”
“You have to be fucking kidding me.” He groaned and let his head fall back. He covered his face with his hands for a second, and when he looked at you again, you couldn’t read his expression correctly. “Who told you about it? Where did you get it from?”
“Jeremiah.” That’s all he needed to know. And apparently it was enough for him to grasp the situation. He laughed humorlessly and shook his head, his hands squeezed tightly into fists by his sides.
“I will strangle him this time. I swear, I will—”
“Oh, please, Xavier, stop! What’s so wrong about me knowing? I was glad that someone finally enlightened me!” You couldn’t believe that he was so angry at you for knowing such an important thing. Not when from the moment Jeremiah said that he had a thing for MC for a long time, you wondered why he kept that a secret from you. “You never even said a word about it even though I thought we were best friends. I had to learn from someone else and that already hurt.” You wanted this conversation to be over. You wanted him to admit to it already and let you go away, with a broken, but at least free heart.
But he had different plans.
“Have you maybe thought that I never said a word about it simply because it wasn’t true?” He asked carefully, his voice still angry. “I just can’t believe you thought that I loved someone else—”
“What?” Your mind went blank. You needed a moment to collect your thoughts. “What do you mean it’s not true?” You sniffed quietly, confusion taking over your face.“B-But Jeremiah said that you had a past with her and—”
“I did. I had feelings for her once, but that was literal lifetimes ago!” His irritation didn’t ease in the slightest. “I had feelings for someone who looked similar to her. But she’s not the same person anymore, and even if she was, I couldn’t possibly fall in love with her. Not now, not ever.” You stopped in your tracks, trying to analyze everything he was saying to you and failing miserably at it. You looked at his face, your expression puzzled, searching for an answer there, hidden between his beautiful, soft features. It shocked you to see that now he started to calm himself down, gaze genuine, an image of complete transparency.
You couldn’t wrap your head around the idea that you were mistaken. All this time, when you thought you never stood a chance, when you thought that he loved another, when you wanted to let him go—
“You’re not in love with MC.” It wasn’t a question anymore, your voice quiet while you were trying to process that thought. He must’ve seen how you fought with the thoughts inside your head, because he released a groan and took a step towards you. You unintentionally took one step back. He frowned.
“Of course I’m not.” Voice sweet like honey, stance sure, his eyes searched desperately for yours. He looked at your face, covered in tears and his eyebrows furrowed deeper, hating how upset you seemed and didn’t know how to reverse it. “How could I ever be, when your face is all I can see, every time I close my eyes?” He uttered looking at you with such devotion that it almost made your knees buckle.
Complete silence took over your thoughts after his confession. You didn’t know what was happening.
But fortunately, his mind finally started to piece everything together in a picture, that although was beyond frustrating to think about, was giving him so much hope for something he thought he already lost.
He allowed himself to relax, took a deep breath and finally decided to drop his inner shackles, letting his emotions flow out of him without restraint.
“You are the one that I love.” He said clearly, not moving a muscle. He wondered if you could see the quick movement of his chest, with how hard his heart was trying to escape through it to reach you. Whereas, you felt as if yours stopped moving completely, along with the time around you, not ready to believe that this was truly happening. “It was you from the very beginning. I adored you since the day I first saw you.” He continued, his gaze piercing into your face, slight confusion visible on his features. “And I thought that was obvious? I wasn’t exactly the best at hiding my feelings, especially after I told you about them the first night we spend together.”
You blinked slowly. Once, then twice.
Your head hurt. You couldn’t wrap it around everything he was saying. Xavier was in love with you? And he already told you about it? You were so confused that the only way you knew how to react was with denial.
“You—You didn’t. I didn’t know, you are not being serious.” He shook his head in disbelief.
“I did. You really don’t remember?” His tone softened, and he waited a short second for your answer, but couldn’t contain his nerves. “It was the night I kissed you for the first time, thinking that would be the last. But you reciprocated.” His eyes gleamed in the moonlight, and you found yourself holding your breath, afraid even the slightest sound might interrupt the flow of his confession.
“You—You kissed me back, and let me do things to you I only ever dared to dream about before.” He took another step your way, a small smile grazing his handsome face. “And the confession slipped out of me so naturally before we even reached the bed.” He briefly recalled that fateful night, describing the conversations you forgot, but longed to remember since that very moment.
“You didn’t reply, but you responded nicely to my touch, so I thought that meant that you wanted me too, that maybe you’d accept me. As your beloved. Your soulmate.” You brought your hand to cover your mouth. You couldn’t believe it. “But then in the morning when you woke up, you were panicking. I tried to reassure you, but you weren’t listening to me.”
That part of the story you knew by heart, him telling you that he couldn’t forget, didn’t want to forget. Back then you didn’t connect it with anything close to confession, but more with the change in your relationship. You really didn’t want to jump to any conclusions, you didn’t even dream about him loving you, when you thought that he loved MC. Insecurities and false assumptions completely clouded your vision.
“And when you proposed staying friends, with the bonus of intimacy, of course I took the chance. I thought you remembered my confession and didn’t reciprocate my feelings, but I was so desperate that I would take anything you were willing to give me, even if it didn’t involve your love. I—” he cut off, blush flushed over his cheeks, up to the tips of his ears. He took a shaky breath. “I was clinging to the hope that maybe through the new shared intimacy I could show you how much you meant to me. And maybe, maybe someday you would start feeling the same, when you realized how good we are together and how good I can be for you.”
“Xavier—Oh my god.” You breathed, your hand still covering your mouth, your eyes never leaving his face. His beautiful, starstruck face, now so full of confusion and unspoken hurt. “Bunny, I’m so, so, so sorry. I had no idea, I—” Your voice practically a whisper, you were still coming to terms with the fact that your feelings were reciprocated. And that you were the one who complicated things between you. “I don’t remember anything you said to me that night. I couldn’t even hear you through the sound of my own blood thrumming in my ears, that’s how drunk I felt. How overwhelmed after our first kiss.”
The alcohol consumed that night also wasn’t of big help. You were a lightweight and you drunk only occasionally, so the few drinks you had already made you feel dizzy. Mixed with the intensity of your emotions, it overwhelmed you so intensely that his touch was all you could remember from that night. But now you could make it all alright.
“I only remember your touch, the things we did, and our conversation the next morning. I remember touching your hand and initiating the kiss, and my tipsy brain just thought that you went with it to forget about MC.” You said truthfully, letting it all pour out of you. Your cheeks burned with the embarrassment of admitting how desperate you were for him, that the thought he loved another didn’t stop you from having sex with him.
Then the blush deepened from the realization that from the very beginning the only one he was thinking about was you.
This thought made your head spin, the happiness slowly bubbling in your chest. Your whole body trembled.
“That’s— Fuck. You really don’t remember.” He shook his head again, realizing how deep the misunderstanding reached. “You didn’t initiate anything. I was the one who kissed you first.”
“No, I—”
“Yes. You touched my hand, smiled at me contentedly and said some things and I—I just couldn’t restrain myself any longer.” This time you were the one who started approaching him slowly. You needed him close. Always. And you realized that now you didn’t have any reasons to deny yourself that lack of distance. “You looked so soft, so open and kissable, and I just went for it. And then you reciprocated.” The light in his eyes started sparkling when he noticed that you were finally coming closer to him. He reached out his hand for you and you took it gently, still shaking from the unspoken emotions.
“I can’t believe it. All this time I thought that you were in love with someone else.” His hand was warm, the touch electrifying. You squeezed his hand and intertwined your fingers together. You saw how between your clasped hands, his Evol started shining brightly, shading soft light upon your features. It was a sign that he was excited. “I tried to put a distance between us, end this intimacy because I thought that I was just a second best for you. An easy distraction.”
“How could you think that? Almost from the moment I met you, I have loved you passionately—” He brought you even closer together, pulling you by your intertwined hands, and put his other hand on your cheek. He swiped the reminder of your tears with his fingers, looking into your eyes with a devotion so apparent that it took your ability to form coherent thoughts. How did you manage to miss the way he was always looking your way?
“X-Xavier.”
“I couldn’t even think about anyone else even if I tried to. You occupy my every thought. How could I ever find a place for somebody else in my heart when you fill the space out completely?” Everything that came out of his mouth was laced with impatience. He was trying so hard to make you understand him, and the intensity of his emotions. He couldn’t psychically hold it inside anymore, he restrained himself for so long that he felt as if all of his walls finally crumbled. He needed you to know everything.
“I love you, starlight. I’m so in love with you that I couldn’t contain that feeling inside anymore. I couldn’t even spend five minutes in your presence without trying to touch you, to kiss you, to hold you. My whole body longs for you constantly.” He said, thinking about the months after you started being friends with benefits. How at first, he wasn’t sure how much he could take from you, and then, when he noticed that you didn’t mind the affection outside the bedroom, he couldn’t contain himself. He kissed you every time he had a chance, he touched you everywhere he could, he was trying to stay away from you as little as possible. Despite thinking that you did not reciprocate his feelings fully, his love for you flowed out of him naturally, every look and every touch laced with unconditional devotion.
During the period of your silence and avoiding him, he thought that it was because he finally crossed a line. He let his feelings out too much, he finally made you uncomfortable. He was starting to act as you lover, not as your friend and it wasn’t what you agreed to. He thought you still didn’t love him and maybe that was a sign that you never will. And even if that could be the case, he still couldn’t let you go.
And it appeared that he didn’t have to.
That you were not uncomfortable, but unsure.
That it was all a huge misunderstanding.
And the words that came out of your pretty, little mouth next, almost brought him to his knees.
“Xavier. Xavier me too, I—” You stuttered, completely overwhelmed by how much you were feeling. You squeezed his wrists, and looked deep into his beautiful, hopeful eyes. “I love you too. And I fell in love with you long before our first night together. I just thought that it was wishful thinking, because your heart was already taken by someone else. And that I could just stay beside you as your friend and that would be enough. And then share your bed from time to time, if that meant that I could hold you close, be on the receiving end of your affection.” You said and raised on your feet to place a quick kiss on his lips. He chased after you instantly, despite appearing stunned. You noticed his hands were shaking.
“You really mean it?” He asked, leaning towards you, kissing your lips again, this time for longer. He had trouble keeping his mouth away from yours, especially now, that he knew that every one of your kisses was filled with love. “Am I not dreaming this time?” You smiled and stroked his hair affectionately, petting his head, wanting to convey your feelings in every way possible.
“Xavier, I love you.” You repeated, grabbing his head in your palms and looking deep into his eyes. Your voice was strong, leaving no room for uncertainty. “I love you so mu—” He didn’t let you finish that sentence, because he quickly picked you up and spun you around, holding you in his arms. You giggled and put your arms around his neck, holding him tightly, his face buried in your neck. When he stopped, he quickly found your lips again and that kiss felt groundbreaking.
He held you close to him, one hand squeezing you by your waist, and the other holding your jaw gently. His brows furrowed in desperation and his kisses were slow, sensual, sending pleasant shocks throughout your whole body. His tongue made an appearance, and he tasted you in a way that made your legs feel like jelly. He licked into your mouth, grunting lowly, his fingers placing a strand of your hair behind your ear, then tracing patterns on your warm cheek. When you opened your eyes for a second, you could see that the tips of his ears were red. The blush spread through his cheeks too, making him look so adorable.
“It does feel like a dream.” He breathed between kisses. “And sounds too good to be true.” He captured your lips again and you smiled into his mouth. Your heart was about to burst.
“I love you.” You repeated, basking in the feeling of finally being able to say it out loud, be open with your emotions. He released your lips and kissed your forehead. You looked up, and he placed his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, a wide smile adorning his face.
“Don’t stop saying that. You make me so happy.” He said quietly, and you whispered the confession once again, making him sigh shakily.
“I was so stupid. I should’ve asked you right from the start if what Jeremiah said was true.” You said and hugged him more tightly. “I should’ve told you sooner.” You placed your head on his strong chest, your ear touching his bare body, listening to his fast heartbeat. Your hands were hugging his waist, mindful not to touch his bandaged back.
“No, I foolishly thought that telling you once would suffice. I forgot that you drank that night and that could’ve clouded your memory.” He squeezed you harder to himself and started back away with you in his arms, until the back of his legs touched his couch. He fell into it, holding you close, making you sit on his lap. “To think that I could have you sooner—” He looked into your eyes, as if searching for something.
“You had me before, and you have me now. My heart, my body, my soul.” You positioned yourself more comfortably, placing your legs on both sides of his waist, and took his face into your hands. He closed his eyes at the contact, and started to caress your body, from your waist, down to your legs. He squeezed the plush of your tights and let his head fall against the couch pillows.
He couldn’t believe that this was happening. He prayed that this wasn’t a dream, that all of the things you were telling him were true. His chest vibrated pleasurably, incredible warmth spreading through it. His heart beat so quickly, and so loudly that he thought it was the first time he felt its’ beat so intensely himself. Your words made him feel drunk with emotion.
He opened his eyes to look at your face.
He almost choked with how beautiful you were. How divine, sitting on him, caressing his shoulders, smiling at him with the stars in your eyes. He looked at your lips, full and swollen, bearing the signs of his kisses. He looked at your neck, delicate and unmarked, and he stroked it with the back of his hand, wanting to change that fact immediately, knowing that now he was allowed to do that. He switched his gaze to your eyes again and drank them in, basking in their light, wishing that this moment could never end. Or maybe it should, so it could become your new beginning.
You were his treasure. His star, his light, guiding him through life, making his existence worth pursuing. You showed him that the world can be beautiful, despite its overbearing cruelty. You were his salvation, his safe place, his one and only, showing him every single day that he mattered, that he was not a lost cause, or a villain in disguise. You taught him that he was capable of loving so intensely and now, that he was loved as passionately in return.
He doubted his worth, but the only way he knew to prove his love for you was by protecting you with his very life. You had no idea, but his sword, now a symbol of your bond, was yours to command—and you were the only reason he continued to wield it.
“What are you thinking about?” Your voice was not more than a whisper, your eyes still looking into his starry ones, losing yourself in the deep blue. You loved them, how magnificent and expressive they were, and you swore to yourself to tell him about it every day.
He seemed to get out of the trace he was in, and his eyes softened, still taking you in. He smiled and took your hands into his, and kissed your knuckles, his kisses gentle and long-lasting.
“You.” He replied shortly, his voice gentle and reassuring. He put your hands on his shoulders, making you hug his neck with them. You complied and put your whole arms around his neck, bringing your bodies closer. One of his hands touched your waist, caressing it delicately, and the other one stroked your hair, admiring its’ softness. His eyes never left yours. “Always you, my starlight. Then, now, and till the end of my days. I will always carry you in my mind, and in my heart, to be able to reach you, no matter the distance.” You could feel his breath on your face with how close you were to each other, and he gazed at your open lips, which were already waiting to be kissed senselessly. “I love you, as I never loved anyone else in my life, and I never will again.” His lips captured yours in a kiss so soft, yet so desperate, and full of adoration, that you felt a single, happy tear escape from your eye. He deepened the kiss and held you throughout the night, kissing you and touching you, never wanting the moment to end, the warmth of your skin to become a memory.
It all started with the simplest of touches, and it never truly ended. The spark you ignited that first night has never faded. Since the moment you met, it has burned brightly between you both, a light so powerful that it could be seen across the vastness of deep space. Everlasting and exquisite, just like the different lifetimes you both had ahead of you, always finding each other, as if guided by its warmth.
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thank you for your time and please let me know if you liked it!! i was thinking of writing more for this au, maybe from xavier’s perspective? how they met and how he fell in love + how their first night really played out ♡
if u liked it, u can buy me a coffee here!: https://buycoffee.to/mochiwrites
So, here are the myg fics I've read so far in my one year in tumblr (these were not all, unfortunately, I can only trace back the fics from the blogs I follow, the random ones that I've encountered were not here but may be added soon if I ever encounter them again hehe)
••°••••
monachopsis by @personasintro (a,s) ♡
three tangerines by @kithtaehyung ♡(a,f,s_ brother's best friend au) [my fave yoongi fic so far ♡] ♡
minted by @kithtaehyung (a,s_gang au) [latest chapter is 🔥] ♡
Amor Vincit Omnia by @lubdubsworld (arranged marriage au, gang au)
Void by @btssavedmylifeblr (s_space au) [ot7, but the Yoongi in here is ughh] ♡
glimpse of us by @wolfvmin (angst_arranged marriage au, divorce au)
Friendcation by @kingofbodyrolls ♡ (f,s_f2fwb2l, camping au) ♡ [this is so cutesy and so romantic]
A Single Daffodil by @evangelical04 (a,f,s_arranged marriage) ♡
Steam Series by @hoseoksluna ♡ (s_bf!yoongi ft. jk)
The Ball of Light by @hoseoksluna (a,f,eventual smut_brother!yoongi ft jk/other members) ♡
summary: life was going well. better than you could have ever imagined. the whirlwind marriage between you and gojo satoru that started as an arrangement blossomed into something sweeter and more tender after you both fell in love. but that storybook life you've been living soon shatters when you're told that a bitter king wants you two to separate so gojo could marry his daughter. either that, or he promises a war to follow. you live between selfishness and sacrifice as the fate of the kingdoms rests in your, and your husband's hands.
warnings: 18+ mdni, angst with no comfort for a while, near-death experiences, gojo sometimes struggling to be reasonable, small panic attack, heavy making out, heavy smut, unprotected sex, loss of virginity, (reader's first time), creampie, (happy ending)
word count: 38k+ (sorry again)
note: act two is finally done! (nearly lost my fingers writing it) art credit: _3aem
jjk masterlist + series masterlist
One year ago you were told about an arrangement. The arrangement.
It offered you a chance of freedom, a lick of life. You didn’t have time to question why the most sought-after bachelor of the six kingdoms was asking for you to be his bride, and only a daft, bumbling idiot would seek out the answer when time was given. Gojo Satoru was the man you soon called husband, but the true act of having an actual husband didn’t come around till months later.
At first, the dinners you spent alone were now spent together. Albeit in silence, but sometimes you’d catch his stare from the other side of the long, mahogany table, and the two of you would quickly look away. On other days you’d walk around the estate only to catch him when he was training with his men, his loud voice booming around the walls as he commanded them. You’d watch them from the balcony, leaning over the railing as you rested your chin in your palm. Sometimes he’d look up and see you, not doing anything to hide his surprised expression, other times he tried puffing his chest out so he’d seem even bigger.
All of the unspoken feelings, lingering touches, and longing glances morphed into the two of you spurring out your thoughts to one another, elated and relieved to find that the other felt the same.
Months would pass and a part of you wondered if perhaps what he felt was only momentary. But those worries quickly seemed to pass the more you surveyed him. Because the most esteemed man, the most worshiped warrior destined to lead his lands to greatness, could not seem to survive apart from you for longer than five minutes.
“Love, we have to go.”
It’s your fifth time telling your husband about the urgency of getting out of bed, and the fifth time he’s tugged your squirming body closer to his bare chest to get you to stay in bed. His arms, which are the size of tree trunks, prove to work more than your pathetic flails, chuckling when you let out a deafening, annoyed whine.
Months ago you never entertained the idea of the two of you sharing a bed, let alone the man you married turning into such a leech. Seeing how you were first sleeping on separate sides of the estate, you always assumed you had ended up in one of those marriages in which the only time you two ever saw each other was during meal time (if that) and at gatherings.
But things took a turn, and after a while, that turn never stopped. And you found yourself here. With no complaints, of course.
The days when the two of you weren’t burdened with the life of being the Lord and Lady of the North, Gojo would whisk you away to wherever you pleased. Sometimes you settled to bake some sweets in the kitchen, other times you requested to go into town and look through the bustling markets. He would always oblige, taking you down to the epicenter of Northern life, watching as you carded your fingers through the fabrics and stocked up on your spices. And though you enjoyed prancing around with your husband attached to your side, most days, these were the moments you loved the most.
Other days you’d find yourself with newly made friends, women you had slowly gotten closer to the more you socialized. It took a while for you to move away from the quietness you had been accustomed to for so long, but you preferred walking around the town or the estate with them, arm in arm as you laughed about something minuscule.
Nights were spent with each other, skin to skin, sharing the warmth. Mornings like this would come and he’d awake before you, pulling you closer to his chest as he nudged his nose against your ears. He’d whisper how much he loved you, how pretty you were when you slept. It proved to be a nice and easy way to wake up, but on the days where you were particularly stubborn and wanted to sleep more, he’d bite your ear, chuckling when you would let out a fake whine. Afterward, you’d grumble about it, like now, but other times you’d laugh softly when you’d turn and see his blushing face.
“People might gossip if they hear you,” your husband muttered against your head, his lips pulled back into a large grin, “They might say I’m torturing you, leaving you unsatisfied.”
Your cheeks heat up at his implications and you wrangle a hand out of his hold to slap at his torso, rolling your eyes as you give up, going slack in his arms as you relax against him. You might’ve put up a tougher fight if this wasn’t a daily occurrence and your overall zest to equal the strongest man ever known was decreasing.
“You’re so lude,” you comment, and he just shrugs in response, knowing that you weren’t lying. If anything, this was him being more than tame. Sometimes he’d corner you in a hallway that had heavy foot traffic and kiss you senseless, his plush lips growing into a sly grin when somebody caught the two of you.
“You make me lude,” Gojo remarks and you sigh, pretending to find him annoying instead of endearing as you look away. In reality, you loved your mornings together. With how busy the two of you got throughout the day, these little blips of being alone together were heavily enjoyed.
You rub at your eyes, yawning a little bit as you stretch your legs out. You find yourself sleeping better than you ever have in this bed, and whether it be the fact that your husband was asleep next to you or that the bed was constructed of goose feathers, you didn’t care much to question it.
“We should go into town today,” Gojo says suddenly, and you turn your neck slightly over to him as you raise a brow. He mirrors your expression as if he isn’t riddled with duties that need to be taken care of.
“A ride into town alone takes an hour,” you argue, bringing his hand closer to yours so that you can fidget with his slender fingers.
“I’m well aware,” he says, “But you were saying last night that you need more cinnamon sticks and that your honeycomb stash is nearly gone.”
You try to hide your smile, try not to let him know how pleased you are that he remembers the little things you mention to him on a whim.
When you don’t say anything in excitement to his plan, he pours slightly, nudging at your shoulder with his nose.
“Have you grown tired of me?” His voice is slightly muffled against your skin and you laugh a little bit, the sound making him smile slightly, hiding it against your collarbones, “Do you wish to cast me aside and take on a different lover?”
Your mouth drops open in a loud laugh, shoving your shoulder upwards so that his chin would fall off and you look at him in shock.
But there’s a teasing grin on his face, one that truly just wanted to see you smile.
“I’m just trying to be sensible,” you say with a pout, craning your neck as you glance up at him, your legs sprawling out on his, “You have that meeting with your advisors and I have to pretend I’m not listening to your meeting with your advisors.”
Gojo’s eyes crinkle upwards, soft and gentle as he looks at you like you raised the moon, and pinches your arm slightly.
“I’ve told you if you want to join us you’re welcome to,” he says against the skin of your neck, his lips moving fast and you try to hide your bursts of giggles at the ticklish feeling, “I’d much prefer having you inside with me than standing alone outside.” You also try to hide the way you burn up wherever his fingers are, which at the moment are gripping at your hips.
“But it’s more fun when it feels like I’m learning state secrets,” you murmur teasingly, turning around a bit so that the two of you are face to face. So close that you could count the amount of eyelashes he had and the little dust of barely visible freckles on his cheeks. He was training more than usual now, spending more time in the sun. His pink lips pull into a wide smile when he finally sees you, all of you, and runs a hand under your calf and up to your thigh to hike it up over his waist.
Gojo’s eyes trail over your features for a silent second, admiring your appearance early in the morning, disheveled from a good night's rest. You feel like hiding, but admire the endless attention you receive from him at the same time. You feel foolish when you note how his features soften, his smile genuine and bright when his thumb traces over the hairs of your eyebrow.
A part of you never thought you would have a husband who looked at you the way he does. When you were younger you always assumed you’d end up a spinster or married off to an old man in need of an heir. This is why you so eagerly accepted the Gojo family’s initial proposal, but you never expected much to come from it. Never in your dreams did you envision the Gojo Satoru holding you close to him with such tender care, or that he’d gingerly run his fingers across the slope of your nose just to memorize your bone structure.
Never this.
Gojo Satoru was somebody who you had grown up with but observed from a distance. You always assumed that he and his family would prefer for him to marry a girl with a more…favorable background than you, but by a force of fate, you were the lucky girl they picked. You found yourself immensely lucky seeing that it was either him or evil incarnate himself, but some mornings you wake up and expect to blink yourself out of this dream. That you’ll turn around to find some other man than him, somebody with an oily smile and evil eyes. But just like this morning you woke up to fluttering kisses on the exposed skin of your shoulder and slender fingers trailing up your arm.
“You have that look,” Gojo murmurs gently, his eyes tracing the way your lips part, the way they do when you’re in your world, “The one where you’re deep in thought,” he says, his voice a little softer as your gaze settles back onto him.
You think a little longer, eyes squinting as you smile.
It’s been a while since the two of you have had a decent amount of time alone together. Mornings together, dinners, and then nights climbing into bed seemed to be the only blips of time when he wasn’t riddled with counsels and you with overseeing and trying to take care of problems the people of the neighboring towns were dealing with (last week you had to carefully settle a dispute with two farmers arguing over a goat, claiming it was their own.)
“I'm thinking….” you chew on your bottom lip a little bit, “I’m thinking I want to go away,” you say with a sigh, resting your back upon the headboard behind you as Gojo leans upwards, resting his weight on his arms.
His white brow cocks up, not confused, just curious.
“Where to?” He asks, and you know he could’ve asked something more extensive, but he’s gotten to know you and your strange requests, knowing you preferred simple questions instead.
You hum, crossing your legs across the bed as you bring his hand back to yours and play with the wedding ring on his finger. He lets you do it, his fingers curling a bit so that they can hold onto yours, limiting your movements just a little bit.
“Your summer home,” you say, tilting your head towards him, a gleam in your eyes, “The one near the ocean. Do you remember? The one where we all used to go when we were younger?”
Gojo nods a little bit, his pink lips and pink cheeks pulling upwards in a little grin. This was something he would very much be willing to fulfill.
“I think that’s doable,” he says and your smile widens, “We can invite-”
“No,” you cut him off, shaking your head, eyes flitting to his momentarily before they dropped back down to his large hands, which were freckles slightly as well, “Just us.”
Gojo nods a little bit, swaying his head from side to side as he thinks about how quickly he can put all of this together. Maybe if it were any other man he’d be taken aback by the strange and unexpected request, but he was your husband and was used to your nature by now.
“I’ll tell my men, I’m sure we’ll be able to pull some strings and be there by next week,” Gojo tells you after a minute of thinking and you grin, going to say something but get interrupted by a steady knock on the door.
“My lady?” One of the girls, Alina, calls out, and you look back at Gojo with a smile, knowing the slight angry pout that’s going to be taking over his face.
“Coming!” you respond after a beat, pressing a soft kiss to your husband's forehead as you brush the white strands of hair away from his face before pushing the blanket off of both you and your husband as you swivel your legs around the bed, sitting up as you stretch your arms above your head and yawn.
You hear the bed squeak as Gojo does the same, the wooden floor creaking as he stands up, walking over to your side as he leans his back on one of the pillars of the bed, waiting for you to stand.
When you finally do he leans down to press a chaste kiss to your lips, knowing how much you were averse to his breath in the morning, and another one to the tip of your nose. His hand rests at the back of your head, gentle and soft.
“I’ll bring up the trip to my advisors today,” he starts, and your eyes twinkle, “And I’ll see you at dinner,” he tells you, and you nod, running your hand up and down his sturdy arm. You pinch at the muscles and he yelps a little bit, looking down to where your fingers are and you can’t help but laugh, soothing over the spot.
“I’ll see you then,” you say with a smile.
There’s a little silent beat before he speaks.
“I love you,” Gojo’s voice lowers slightly, knowing that the women outside can’t hear him, but still wanting his words to only grace your ears.
You giggle, your cheeks pulling upwards as you smile brightly, your hands trailing upwards to tangle in the hairs at the nape of his neck.
“I love you more,” you reply giddily.
---
Once your maids came in and got you ready for the day, you bid farewell to Gojo, knowing that with how long his meetings with the advisors and counselors went you most likely weren’t going to be seeing him till later in the night.
You don’t miss the way the younger girls blush when they see him kiss you farewell on the side of your forehead or the way they stare longingly at his musculature figure as he leaves the room, but you don’t care much. They can stare as much as they’d like. You’ll stare at them. You know you’re the only one he looks at anyway. Especially when you catch the wink he sends your way before closing the door shut.
The five girls come bustling in as usual, helping you out of your sleeping garments, although you’ve told them countless times that you don’t need help to undress yourself. They help lace you up in your corset and bodice, helping you with your chosen outfit of the day. As usual, you find yourself in the plush chair as they dote over your appearance, swiping honey over your lips and dusting powder over your cheeks.
It was a routine you had slowly gotten used to. A far cry from your old life where you’d turn out of bed, get dressed in your sister's old clothes, and walk through the pantry and into the kitchens to find something to eat. But this was better, far better than that.
But despite those younger girls and their bubbly personalities, there was something off with the way your usual maids were acting. Alina, who usually was the most talkative out of the group, only met your eyes in the mirror a couple of times, her lips pressed into a thin line as she quickly looked away.
Two of the other girls, Maryam and Lilly, seemed to be whispering together in hushed tones. It was ineligible from where you were sitting, and you tried to make yourself seem as discreet as possible as you slightly angled your head towards them, but to no avail. Sometimes, when you could look up for them to clasp the gold necklace around your neck, courtesy of Gojo, you saw the way they glanced at each other and then down to you with pursed lips and downcast eyes.
When Alina went to dot some lavender oil on your wrists you saw how her hands were slightly shaking, her fingers cold and clammy.
“Alina?” You said with a little laugh, eyebrows pulled together in confusion, “Are you alright?” You pressed the backs of your fingers to her cheek and then her forehead. A couple of months ago she would’ve pulled away in shock, telling you how unorderly it was for a lady to get this close to her maid, but she’s gotten used to it, and she only pulled away after a few seconds.
The other girls around you pause as you speak, but you don’t notice how they seem to mirror Alina’s expression.
You watch as she swallows thickly, nodding her head down low as she places the glass bottle of oil down on the vanity. Her brown curls bounce a little bit with her movements, her large brown eyes wavering, as if she couldn’t bear to look at you.
A look of perplexity takes over your face. Had you said something?
“Is something wrong?” You press again, turning around in your chair as you look at the other girls who have now fallen silent. None of them seem to be looking at you.
You let out a curt laugh, arms resting on the back of the chair as your head tilts slightly.
“Alina?” You ask one more time, your voice dropping a bit out of genuine worry. But you can only watch as she takes a deep, shuddering breath, her head still facing downwards as if there was a weight on her shoulders.
You go to stand up but she quickly ushers for you to sit back down, though you see the way she brings her palms up to her eyes, trying to wipe something away.
Was she crying?
“What…?” You reach your hands out, trying to see what is wrong, but she looks up quickly and you’re taken slightly aback by the way her eyes seem bloodshot and wet cheeks, stained with tears.
She shakes her head again, lips trembling as she quickly bows her head to you.
“I’m s-sorry my lady,” she says in a choked voice, “We’re done. I’ll see you tonight.”
And before you can ask what was going on, to see if she was okay, you watch as she almost runs out of the room, leaving your other maids standing in a heavy, awkward silence. You look around to see what the other maids are looking like, surely as startled as you were, but if anything, they seemed to be struggling as equally as Alina was.
“What’s….what’s wrong? Do you know-”
“We have to leave, my lady,” Maryam quickly says, cutting you off unintentionally as the other girls mirror her movements and bow their heads down in respect, “I apologize.”
You sputter, trying to find something to say, but fall silent as you watch them file out in your room in the same hurry as Alina.
You stand still, staring at the large wooden door.
What was that?
—-
You try going about your day like normal.
You asked around, trying to see if anybody had seen where Alina or the rest of your maids had run off to, but nobody seemed to find an answer.
Not only that, but it seemed like the girl's strange behavior was reciprocated around the entire estate. Wherever you went, people would look at you for a second longer. You try not to make it obvious, and after years of being surveyed, you’ve gotten rather good at discretely listening in on what others are doing and saying.
Walking around the halls alone, you keep your head down and ears open. You don’t miss the way some of the servants murmur things to each other behind their hands, their stares never leaving your frame. You’re grateful that today was one of the days Shoko, who you had become good friends with, wasn’t able to join you. With her rapid talking you doubt you would be able to hear any of the gossip even if it was shouted in your left ear.
You felt like you had been transported back to your old home, with your father's wife and your sisters. The constant whispers wherever you went, the eyes trained on your back. It was benign and odd, something that had never, ever happened until today.
Something was wrong, and nobody was telling you what it was.
You had initially wanted to eavesdrop on the meeting Gojo was having with his advisors, but with the pit in your stomach and the dizzying feeling you were having everywhere you went, you decided to hide the rest of the day in the library, finding a little alcove where you could nestle away from everybody else.
Truth be told, you had known something was wrong for the past week. Although today was the first physical evidence of this hunch you’ve had, there’s been something off in the air and you didn’t have the heart to voice this insanity to your husband. You tried brushing it off after the first couple of days.
As somebody who grew up around maids and servants, cooks and cleaners, you were aware of how they were often the first to learn of any news. Words traveled fast with those who worked, and it didn’t take long to settle. You had been the subject of whispers and subjected others to being the victim of it, but either way, you saw firsthand how quickly gossip would and could spread. Especially when it was good. Even more so when it was bad.
You could only wonder what it was that was plaguing the mouths of everybody around you. Has somebody passed? Somebody you knew? Your palm grew sweaty at the thought. There were only so many people you were close to and one of them you saw alive this morning. It couldn’t have been your father, they wouldn’t drag it out like this. You chew your lips raw, thinking. If it wasn’t a death, then it must be regarding the social circle sphere that you’ve recently found yourself a part of.
You stare at the walls lined with books, blankly blinking as you rake your mind.
It had to be serious and it had to be important. But as much as you tried to think, you kept drawing blanks.
And so, as much as you tried telling yourself it was nothing, you knew deep down it was something. Today you had seen the people around you exhibit what you were more fearful of, but this past week you could pick up on hushed and worried voices. You could barely even read the first page of the book you had blindly selected from one of the many shelves, and when the sun set in the large window behind you, you had to remind yourself that there was still dinner to be had.
You begrudgingly made your way to the dining hall, knowing you could barely stomach a block of cheese let alone a full meal. You had spent the last couple of hours letting your mind run over all the horrible things that could be coming your way, and having to mull over all those horrible things over food might cause you to become sick.
The guards open the large double doors for you as you begin to enter, and you feel a part of you deflate seeing that Gojo isn’t already there.
You slowly make your way to your seat, moving in a trance as you pull your chair in, looking around to get a sense of the mood in the room. Heavy, from what you could tell. Perfect, you think to yourself.
The servants bring in different assortments of food prepared tonight, and had you had a better appetite you might’ve finished them the second they had arrived. But it felt like there was cotton shoved in your ears, barely hearing anything they were telling you.
You swallow your bile down, your head ringing as you look up from your plate and to the man in front of you, your forehead dotted with sweat. You like your chapped lips, fidgeting with the ring on your finger.
“Where,” your tongue feels heavy in your mouth, “Where is my husband?”
The servant blinks once, then twice.
He rubs the back of his head apprehensively, looking behind him to the closed doors, and then back to you. You could feel the way he was taking in your sick appearance, the way you seemed to be swaying side to side in your set as a means to help your queasy self.
“Lord Gojo won’t be joining dinner tonight, my lady.” The man tells you. You know his name and have seen him countless times, but you can’t think about what the first letter of his name even starts with.
“Did he say why?” You think your hands are shaking, and you grip the fabric of your dress to calm them down.
In all honesty, you don’t know exactly why you’re freaking out the way you are. It could be something simple that’s happened and Gojo’s only stalling to tell you because he doesn’t find it to be important.
But in all the time you’ve lived at this estate, have become the Lady of the North, you’ve seen things going right and things going wrong. You’ve observed the way the maids and servants act with one another and how they act with you when things aren’t going well. They’ve taken a deep liking to you, and respect you and your title. They care about you, which you still have trouble accepting given your past life, but they do things out of the goodness of their hearts. So if they were talking behind your back, it couldn’t be because they no longer care about you. It’s worse, and you can’t fathom what it must be.
“No…my lady, I apologize.”
You glance up at the man again and nod slowly.
“Thank you,” you chew on the inside of your cheek, “That, that’s all.”
He bows down, giving you a small smile, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes and exits.
You look down at your plate and heave out a breath.
—-
Dinner was spent in total silence, but that was a given seeing that Gojo never showed up.
You don’t know how long it took for you to walk up the stairs that led to your shared bedroom, but you know it took longer than usual with the way it seemed like your legs were weighing you down.
When you entered the room, all you were reminded of was this morning with Alina and the other maids, and it only worsened your already raving heart. You tried to sit at the edge of your bed and calm your breathing, but slowly you realized that you needed to be moving. Sitting was only going to worsen your condition.
You paced around the expansive room, fidgeting with your ring, moving it up and down your finger as you tried to busy yourself with taking off your other pieces of jewelry.
You had also requested for the girls to not come in tonight. You needed to be alone, not knowing what you’d do if you were to see their pale, fear-stricken faces again.
With shaky hands and multiple efforts, you were finally able to unclamp your necklace and take off your earrings. You tried to wet some cloth and drag it across your face, hoping the cool water would help. It didn’t.
A part of you tried to force yourself to think that you were simply overreacting. There was nothing to worry about. But deep inside, you knew that that was a lie. You felt this same way when you were a little girl and your father's men raided you and your mother's little home to take you away from here. This was the same feeling you had when you were informed of your marriage with Naoya Zenin. It was the same, deafening and nauseating feeling whenever you’d walk into a room and know that everybody there knew your secrets before you even knew them.
There was a moment in which you thought perhaps that part of your life was left behind, but it seemed like with every creeping shadow, it was still following you around.
Still, you did what you could to distract yourself. You were able to unlace the back of your bodice and corset, pulling your shaky legs out of your petticoat and skirt. You ringed around your wardrobe and found a shift that was suitable for the summer breeze.
There seemed to be only a few seconds where you wouldn’t look at the door, but you couldn’t help yourself. You’d glance at the old grandfather clock in the corner, feeling your blood roar in your ears as the hands ticked away later into the night. It was unusual for a meeting to take this long. And if it did, Gojo would’ve warned you ahead of time so that you wouldn’t worry the way you’re doing now.
It took nearly another two hours of your frantic effort to stay awake when your bedroom door creaked open and Gojo walked in. His white hair was messy, eyes sunken in. When he saw that you were awake his glare softened slightly.
You could only blink when you saw him, your nails digging into your palm, surely leaving little crescent moons indented into your skin.
There was an unwelcome silence that followed afterward. You watched as he shut the door, rubbing his tired eyes, and looked back up at you through furrowed brows.
“You’re not asleep?” He groggily asked as he began to take off his boots, his back rippling with muscles from under his tunic as you gnawed on your lips and he stood up from his position on the floor.
“I couldn’t,” you simply said, moving forward a couple of steps and slowly leaning into his outstretched arms as he pulled you into his chest, planting a tender, heavy kiss on the side of your head. One of his hands pressed tightly against your back, not moving.
There was another moment of silence, one heavy and unknown as you listened to the sound of his heartbeat.
“Is everything alright?” Your voice was muffled, but still audible, as you finally asked the question that was searing into your head.
There was another beat of silence, but this one was uncomfortable. Gojo hadn’t let go of you yet.
“Yes,” he finally said, but you had heard better lies from your sisters after they ate your pastures and said they didn’t than this.
Your brows furrowed as you looked up to him.
“What took so long?” You pressed, pulling away slightly as his lips formed into a thin line, and he dragged a hand down his face.
“Just…state affairs,” he turned away from you, against eye contact as he ran another hand through his hair.
You scoffed, rolling your eyes as you crossed your arms over your chest. You thought that he had at least begun to trust you enough not to lie this blatantly.
“Have one of the states suddenly terminated their subject's existence?” You tried to tease, but your voice was flat and you couldn’t hide the curiosity and hurt behind it. Gojo didn’t laugh, which hurt even more. You leaned back on one of the pillars of your bed and watched as he stood with his back to you, contemplating something in utter silence.
How you loathed silence.
“What’s wrong?” You ask again, your tone heavy, not leaving any room for him to stay quiet.
Your brows furrowed even more, arms tighter around your middle as he heaved a heavy breath, and when he finally turned you wished he would’ve just stayed hidden from you. Because there were spots of red in the whites of his shimmering eyes, and that was more fearful than the quiet.
You tilt your head, not knowing what to do, and see his breath in shakily. The only time you had seen him break was that night he confessed to you in the field. Never again. Not until now.
You take a tentative step forward, eyes searching his but he can’t bear to look at you.
“I know there’s something wrong,” you say shakily, taking a deep breath as you pinch the bridge of your nose, “Alina nearly broke down in front of me today and everyone around the house seems to be walking on glass. So…so please just tell me what it is.” You’re pleading with him at this point, and you don’t care if you’re losing a shred of dignity.
Gojo takes a deep breath, his hand searching for yours as you oblige. It’s warm, comforting. His thumb rubs up and down your wrist apologetically.
His nose picks up on the smell of lavender oil, one he’s come to associate with you. It’s calming, a gentle reminder of his home, the one thing he fights for. When he looks at you and sees the worried crease of your brow, it only tugs on his heart more.
“You’re…aware of how there’s been some conflict with the South for a while, right?” Gojo finally asks, though it seems like speaking is physically hurting him, “And how tensions worsened when my father stepped down?”
You nod slowly, knowing of this. After all, you might’ve been kept in the shadows in your old life, but you weren’t daft. You tried to keep up with the relations of the state as much as possible. Your father also did what he could to inform you of the North’s relations with the other tribes and nations before your wedding. Given its sudden nature, there were some things you weren’t able to fully learn until you got here, but it was common knowledge that the north and south were always teetering on an edge.
It was centuries of conflicts that dated well before your time. Bloody disputes over land, women, and coin often seemed to be the root cause of all the troubles, and however petty they might seem, they’ve mended themselves deep in the current rulers of the country. Gojo’s father, the previous Lord of the North, was a peaceful man, but there were tensions even he couldn’t solve. The Southern King often ruled with an ironclad fist that only grew more spiteful when the old lord stepped down and Gojo took his place.
You remember your father sitting in front of you with an ancient book spread out in your old home's library, a candle flickering in the background as he told you all this. And the final thing that you couldn’t forget he said regarding the current relations between the north and south were embedded in your mind.
“I know the king isn’t happy with this arrangement at all,” your father had said as you flipped through the crinkly pages, smoothing over the wrinkles on his forehead as you glanced upwards.
“Because of the Princess?” You asked, looking down briefly to read a passage on one of the northern wars that happened nearly three centuries ago.
“Partially because of that,” your father agreed, his eyes glancing over your features.
In the candlelight, when it was dim and nobody was around, he was allowed to look at you and see his daughter, not a bastard child everybody swore you were. Sometimes when you looked at him, he saw your mother. And when that happened, he had to look away.
“But because of you. Because of who you are. Never forget the blood that runs in your veins is the blood that old lords and kings fought over.”
Your eyes narrowed, trying to think back to your sister's history lessons you listened to behind closed doors.
“Me?” You parrot, confused. Your father nodded, his fingers scratching at the slight stubble on his chin.
“There are greater enemies than ones gained from lost land, and the South would never forget those who allied with the North to get them where they are now.”
So you knew that it certainly didn’t help that Gojo married a daughter of the Western ruler, a union that in its nature was egregious to the South.
“And before I married you, my,” he squeezed his eyes shut, breathing deeply, “My father had agreed for me to marry the Southern princess to mend our relationship.”
You knew of the women Gojo had lined up, some in his favor and some not. The Southern princess was one of them. You had seen her a handful of times at the old gatherings you were forced to go to when you were younger. There was always a circle of girls circling around her, their voices chirpy and pitched like canaries, and whenever she said something, loud laughter (faux) would fall comedically from their lips. Your sisters always tried to befriend her, but you knew it wasn’t your place. You’d observe them from afar, taking note of the ridiculous amount of jewels and stones that decorated her bodice, her neck, her wrists, her hair. The boys would stare at her from a distance, talking to each other, trying to decide who should approach her first. The princess was indeed a true beauty, perhaps the most beautiful girl you’ve ever seen, but that was the last bit of knowledge you had regarding her.
Much like you who was initially supposed to marry another man, Gojo was close to accepting the South’s proposal to marry him off with their only daughter. But something happened, and the former Lady of the North proposed for you to marry her son instead.
“So?” You shake your head in confusion, your stomach churning, “You’re married to me now,” you state the obvious, but you see the way he smiles softly at that, nodding.
“The Southern King wasn’t fond of our marriage,” you watch as he twirls his ring around, “They’ve been holding off on trade with the North and anybody who’s pledged allegiance to us. They’ve formed naval blockades around parts of our ocean that stop us from reaching our traders across the sea.” Gojo jams his palms into his eyes. For a moment he doesn’t look like the ruler he is or the warrior he’s always been but a scared boy who doesn’t know what to do.
You take another step forward, leaning into him as he deflates into you, one hand protectively going around your shoulders and the other around your waist.
“Well, surely there are ways to figure this out,” you say as confidently as you can, “We’ll ask for a smaller cut of their exports than usual….or offer another northerner of higher ranking for their princess,” you offer, looking up at him only to see his eyes wavering, the tip of his nose pink.
He swallows thickly.
“We did,” he mutters, “We did all of those things. All of those things and more. but…”
He trails off and you shake your head, eyes wide.
“But what?” You press and he rubs at his eyes, at his stray tears.
He goes to open his mouth but he can’t. You’ve never seen him like this.
“The Southern King, he-” your husband's voice cracks and you pull away in shock, in fear, in terror as he tries to control a sob. The most feared man of all the land fighting down a sob, and all you could do was watch in fear.
“He’s promised war if we don’t abide by his terms.”
Your tears have stung in your eyes, maybe because you were terrified of the response because a part of you knew that something good like this could only last for so long. That your moments of bliss were only to be cherished at an arm’s length, good, but not eternal. Perhaps you should’ve known from the start, should have braced yourself for something as terminal as this.
But war? You never could have prepared yourself for this. It had been years since the land had seen war of any kind. Minor battles and conflicts were impossible to avoid, but a declaration of war from a king was beyond what you could have comprehended.
Your eyes blink rapidly, your fingers twitching as they reach upwards to cover your mouth. There were only so many routes Gojo could decide to go down on. Depending on the conditions of the statement the king had set forth, there might be a way to avoid any senseless bloodshed. But you knew your husband, knew how much he cared for his land, for his people, for you, and if any one of those things were at stake…
“And,” your lips tremble, and how Gojo longs to kiss it away, if only his hands weren’t shaking and heart pounding, “And what are his terms?”
A grim look takes over his face, one that looks like a knife has been dug into his stomach and has begun to twist. He opens his mouth once, twice, and fails. He can’t speak. He can’t say the wretched words out loud.
“That,” Gojo’s voice is wavering, and it’s a strange, unnerving thing to hear, “That I uphold by the initial promise. That I marry his daughter. That I separate from…” he blinks slowly, his mouth closing and then opening, a little gasp of horror leaving your lips as you piece together what he was saying.
You’re shaking your head, lips trembling, moving away from him as you walk around the room until you’re standing near your vanity, your chest shaking with quivering breaths as you try desperately to keep your stinging tears at bay.
You can hear him shuffling, but with your back to him, you can only feel his presence come up from behind you as his hands try to grasp at your elbows, trying to move your hands away from your face. But it’s no use. It’s as if you’ve been petrified, turned into a stone statue. The only sign of movement was the way your chest heaved up and down with each gulp of air you were taking.
He’s calling your name, but you feel like a fish underwater. You can’t hear anything correctly, can only hear the pounding, shuddering beat of your dying heart. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to hold on to the cries that are threatening to spill from your lips. You realize now what it was that the maids were talking about, why Alina was crying. It was no surprise to you that they were able to get word of them before you did. And you were no longer confused by their sullen responses.
Because there truly was no answer. No good answer, at least.
You couldn’t justify a war over a marriage that didn’t work out. You couldn’t find it in yourself to allow Gojo to go through with it, despite knowing that was most likely what he was planning to do. An image of marching men, heading straight through a firey unknown, swords raised, and arrows drawn. You think of bloodstained letters finding their way home, wives crumbling upon finding the news of their husbands dead. Children left abandoned by their fathers and siblings. All of it in the name of a marriage. One marriage to survive while others withered away. Your eyes widened at the horrifying thought, trying to humor the other one.
The one that included your separation.
Separating from the only man you’ve ever loved, who you consider to be your other half seemed…barbaric. You couldn’t imagine a life where you wouldn’t wake up next to him, couldn’t think of a day where he wouldn’t sneak through hallways and corridors just to surprise you with some flowers he had picked from the garden. Your mind flashed, thinking of what separation truly meant. Banishment, for you. Your old life wouldn’t accept you, his new wife wouldn’t want you near. There was nowhere you could go that you had any familiarity with.
You felt your knees give out from beneath you, falling to the floor as you hunch over, cradling your thighs to your chest. You feel stupid, knowing how childish you must’ve looked to him. But you felt like you had been plagued by every sort of emotion, and it was tethering you downwards, down where you felt more safe.
Somewhere in the midst of this you could feel his guiding hands sprawl on your back, one slowly circling your shoulders. Gojo must’ve come down to meet you where you were, and you felt like a shell of a person as he gingerly pulled you toward his chest.
One of his hands moved upwards to cradle the side of your head, his thumb rubbing up and down your forehead, as he shakily tried to wipe your watery tears away. If only you knew how much it pained him to see you cry. He wished you knew that he’d rather be shot with a thousand arrows than see you cry tears of sorrow.
He was talking, you knew he was because you could hear muffeled noises from above you that mirrored his tone and voice. But you couldn’t hear anything, trying your best to focus on the pieces of woven threads of the carpet beneath you.
“...alright,” you think he says, making out some words, “...will figure…out…alright?”
You can only nod.
Alright?
—-
Nothing was alright.
You’ve barely slept ever since you got the news.
The people around you seem to have pieced together why you’re acting the way you are, and thankfully, they don’t push it. Alina doesn’t ask why you’ve suddenly grown so silent, none of your other maids jest stupidly when they feel you’re especially down, and even the younger girls don’t pretend to fawn over Gojo, gently applying rose water to your hair as they give you soft smiles.
Everybody in the estate knows what’s happening, and nobody dares to bring it up. Wherever you go there seems to be a darkness that follows you. People go quiet when you walk past them, and looks of pity and solemness are clear on their faces. You feel like a ghost that’s wading through the halls with nowhere to go. You feel like a dead body roaming the land of the living.
There were several of these meetings you went to, knowing that these ones should not be heard behind a closed door. You were told to come to more of them, but you slowly realized that the more you heard, the more sick you felt.
A part of you was screaming at yourself, begging to see what was truly at stake. A simple marriage was not worth the countless lives at stake. No matter how long this feud was going on between the North and South, you knew that using your marriage was just another scheme to worsen it.
The more you allowed yourself to think about the situation at hand, the more you felt yourself going mad. You knew that war wasn’t the right answer, and it wasn’t the one you wanted. You couldn't even begin to think about the piles of bodies, the smoke rising into the ashen sky as they were set on fire in Northern tradition. You think with a shudder about the homes raided, the women assaulted, just how much men turn to animals when war turns lawless. You think about the years to come, when there’s nothing left of you but bones. How you’d be remembered in the stories, as the selfish whore wife that wouldn’t separate from her husband and would rather watch lands be torn apart instead. So no, war wasn’t the option.
But separating from your husband? How on earth was the better choice?
Perhaps a while ago you wouldn’t have wanted to separate from him because you refused to go back to your old life. You didn’t want to go back to your old room that could only be accessed through the dingy pantry and a dimly lit corridor.
You didn’t want the constant reminder of your untrue blood, how much of a bastard reminder you were to your fathers life. Months ago you would’ve tied yourself to a tree and let a bear feast off of you then become the social outcast again because you had lived through it once and would rather wind up dead.
But now, you’d chain yourself to that tree because leaving Gojo might be the other thing that would tear you apart.
You never thought it would be possible to be loved by another person who you love just as much. You had forced yourself into believing that tender care and pure adoration wasn’t something you would ever receive in this lifetime. In all honesty, you didn’t expect to receive it from Gojo Satoru either. But you did, and living a life without it would be more than empty. You knew you could never have him the way you do now, casted aside as another woman takes your place. And perhaps he might come to love her just as much, even more. But another part of you, the part that’s been trying to claw its way out ever since you were a little girl is screeching. Screeching that you deserved that shot of happiness, of joy, that those moments you shared with your husband should’ve only been shared by you two alone.
A part of you wilts when you even begin trying to think of mornings without him. Without him pulling you into his chest, murmuring words of nonsense into your ear as you pretend to sleep. Your heart burns when you begin to think of him kissing another girl the way he kisses you, bringing her to parties and balls tied around his elbow. You know the ton would appreciate a princess with the lord of the north far more than you, and you can’t begin to imagine what would happen if Gojo began to prefer another union. One that benefited him more than it benefited his partner.
You weren’t a jealous person by any means. Sometimes you got snippy, and sometimes you glared when women looked too long at your husband. But this was more than simple jealousy. It was biting away at you, taking away from the brightness that once bloomed across your entire body.
Maybe deep down you thought you deserved that chance of a better life, and maybe that part of you was just too optimistic knowing the hand you’ve been dealt with up until now.
But gods would sooner fall out of the sky than you tell all this to Gojo. Not the latter, at least. But regardless, it seemed to brew more and more arguments between the two of you as of late.
“I don’t understand why this is something that still needs to be discussed,” Gojo bit out one night as he was undressing to sleep, taking off his uniform as he angrily hung it up.
You had one hand wrapped around the bedpost, fidgeting with your necklace, the singular pearl moving back and forth as you shook your head.
You knew it was a bad idea bringing up the war plans right now. It was one of the first nights where Gojo was actually free from his meetings, earlier than what had become the norm. But it was also the first time you had properly seen him in almost a week, and your mind was nothing if not still.
“I’m not saying we terminate the marriage,” you pause when he snaps his neck over to you, his eyes darkening with a glare, “But surely we can’t be thinking of war. ‘Toru there has-”
“There is no other way,” his voice is deep, his back to you as he takes off his bottoms, kicking his heavy boots off as the thud against the wall, “I’ve told you this countless times I’m not separating from our marriage.”
Your chest is heavy, your heart churning, and he can’t tell. You know there are thousands of other things that are riddling his mind right now, but you wish he could see what you’re begging him to see. If there was one thing you’ve grown to know about Gojo is that his stubborn nature was unbridled and steady.
You wanted him to take a second and understand, or perhaps he did understand but chose to see this as a black and white matter, the gravity of what he was suggesting. It had been years since an actual war had been fought. Years since men were sent in blind with only their swords and their wits to keep them alive. None of you had seen the true calamity of war, the sheer destruction that followed from it. Gojo was thinking as the cold hearted warrior he had been trained to be, but not like the man you had fallen in love with.
“What if you…gods,” you groan, exasperated and tired, “What if you take the princess on as another wife?” The suggestion itself tastes like poison, bitter poison on your tongue, and maybe it soothes you just a little bit when Gojo lets out a bitter chuckle, his hands gripping the table as his knuckles turn white.
“Do you want me to do that? Truly?” He spits it out and you let out a deep sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose as you shrug helplessly.
“No, fuck. No, I don't want you to do that! But what else can-”
He raises his hand upwards, something he does when he wants to interrupt you, and you clamp your mouth shut.
“We’ve declared war today,” he glances at you from over his shoulder and your eyes widen, “It’s final.”
You crumble against the wooden pole, fingers curling into the bed sheets as you choke on air. Final? Your fingers are trembling, your lips quivering as it feels like you’re struggling to breathe. No, you know you are. You feel lightheaded, the little bits of dinner you had surging upwards, bile filling your mouth.
He hadn’t told you about any of this, had silently refused to tell you the status of this situation because he knew how loudly and adamantly you would protest it. But it was done now. There was nothing else you could do.
Gojo looked over at you, his face that was once cold and unmoving shifting to one of worry. Moving away from the warrior he was forced to be this past month and back to your husband.
He moves to where you were, but you shake your head, not bearing to look him in the eyes as you shakily make your way over to your side of the bed, climb in without a word and watch as your shoulders shake with silent sobs.
His mouth opens and closes. He shuts his eyes, jamming his palms into his eyes as he clenches his fists.
“I love you,” he whispers finally, and the words seem to carry slowly between your two bodies that to him seem oceans apart, “So much,” he feels like he’s choking on your silence, it’s thick and settles deep in his throat. He’s been punched, hit, kicked, beat and thrown before, but none of them have knocked the air from his lungs much like you staying utterly quiet.
“I’m doing this for us,” his voice is wavering, why can’t you understand that he wants to yell, but won’t, he’d never raise his voice at you, “When this is all over we’ll go to the house near the ocean,” your heart cracks, “Remember how you wanted to go?”
Gojo watches as your shoulders stop shaking, the only sound in the room becoming your labored breaths.
“Please, darling, please say something. Anything.”
You’re the only person Gojo would beg to. The only human who could hear his desperate pleas, the way his commanding voice would crack and crumble and shatter all at your mercy. You sniffle quietly, pulling the blanket closer to your chest. You love him, gods above you love him. You don't know yourself how much you love him. Sometimes it frightens you how much you do.
But in this moment, the man behind you was the Lord of the North and not your husband, and so you stayed quiet, letting the only sound that he heard of you be your cries.
—-
You can’t seem to find reasons to leave bed most of these days.
Every time you look in the mirror, you feel like you’re staring back at a stranger. There are dark circles beneath your eyes, your lips chapped and cracking. Your cheeks have fallen, sullen and flat. Smiling has become a chore, laughing a rare occurrence. As the North was beginning to prepare and brace for the oncoming war, your home was starting to look more like housing quarters for troops rather than the place you used to adore.
You haven’t seen Gojo in a while, and each day it seems like he’s pulling away from you. At night, you barely see each other. He comes to sleep far later than you do and wakes up earlier and earlier with each passing day. Sometimes you’re awoken to the bed dipping when he climbs in, other times you pretend to be asleep even when he presses a lingering kiss to the side of your forehead, your fists balling up when he whispers a quiet I love you in your ear before he sleeps.
It’s not that you don’t love him. And you don’t fear him, you never have. Sometimes you curse yourself when you don’t mutter the words back, but you’re suddenly and crudely reminded that outside your bedroom walls, there were people actively preparing for a war being fought in your names, and it stills you from moving.
It was becoming rare sharing a meal with your husband, even rarer to see him anywhere but the counseling chambers, and it no longer felt like it did months ago. Every time you walked past him, you two were so busy and wrapped in your own minds that you didn’t even acknowledge each other until it was too late, your neck twisting as he walked on by, and his body turning when you rounded the corner to another hallway.
You wonder if this was truly the love that was fated to emerge from this marriage ever since the beginning. That the feelings you felt were mirrored in an act that Gojo was putting up with until this point, if this war was bound to happen and using the arrangement between you and Gojo as a catalyst for the chaos that was to follow.
The idea that was slowly planted in your head began to flower, and it caused you to see things for what they weren’t. Eventually leading to looking blankly at the wall when he walked into your bedroom one night, hours earlier than when he usually comes, and you don’t even spare a glance to him.
“I’m leaving tomorrow.”
Your head slowly turns to where he was standing at the door, eyes gradually making their way upwards to his face, lips parted. You were leaning on the headrest behind you, twisting and turning the ring around your finger.
In this moment, you allow yourself to look at Gojo. You take in his disheveled appearance, the white stubble that was dotting across his jaw. A couple months ago you might’ve felt your cheeks heat up at the sight, never expecting for him to look so ruggedly handsome looking like this, but now, all you’re able to think about was how much this cursed war was taking away from time he cherished being able to shave himself clean. He looks worn down, aged, no longer the youthful and cheerful man you remembered. How was this happening? How was any of this real?
You blink, shaking your head a bit as you come back to reality, biting your tongue for a few seconds before you speak.
“Leaving?” You finally ask, watching ashe nods, nearing where you were sitting on the bed, leaning down the untie the straps and leather clasps of his boots, letting out a sigh of finally being able to relax as he shrugs his coat off, running a hand through his white strands that seemed to be longer than from the last time you saw him.
He nods dimly, his lips pressed into a thin line as he looks you over, his eyes falling when he takes notice of your crestfallen state, the way the light that was in your eyes has seemed to die out.
“I have to go rally more allies across the West,” he explains, slowly making his way over to the bed as he drops down on the corner of it, his hand reaching out for yours but you don’t move, “Your father has promised us his troops but there are smaller cities scattered across that still need some convincing.”
Your fingers curl around your blanket, eyes pulled together in a furrow.
“Let me come,” you tell him but he stares at you for a few seconds, trying to see if you were joking.
When he realizes you're being serious he shakes his head, his blue eyes a dark color as he looks away for a second to stare at the wall.
“It’s dangerous-“”
“But I know the cities!” You cry out, the first time you’ve heard your voice be this loud in a while, and it takes him by surprise as well, “I can help! I’ve been sitting here feeling like a duck waiting to be shot! I…” you stop for a second, the stupid tears that have seemed to become a common occurrence burning your eyes.
You look away, biting your lip to keep it from shivering, hoping he doesn’t come near you.
“This is my fault,” you whisper, “Everything that’s to come, it’s all my fault. If only I didn’t…” your voice cracks, your chin falling to your chest as your eyes wring shut, wanting to keep everything and everyone away.
But Gojo, like always does, is drawn to you like a moth to a flame. You hear the sheets rustle as he moves across the bed and settles in beside you, his tall and lean frame shadowing over your body as you refuse to look at him, not wanting him to see how weak you’ve become.
You feel one of his hands reach for your jaw, his fingers curling around your ear and holding the back of your head as he gently turns you to face him.
You try desperately to keep your eyes somewhere else, focusing on his knees rather than him, but when you feel a tear escape and roll down your cheek, being wiped away by his thumb, you break, barreling yourself into his chest as you cry.
His hands circle your body, caging you to him as you feel your chest shake. It’s painful and it burns, but you can’t seem to stop. You can feel his heartbeat ratting against his chest, a faint smell of smoke clinging to his skin.
“None of this is your fault,” he murmurs against your head, “You’re not to blame for anything.”
“Satoru, I,” your hands curl as they rest on your thigh, a tear catching on the tip of your nose, “I’m s-scared,” you choke, the words slurring on your tongue, “I’m so terrified all the time. This…this war, these plans, the strategies e-everyone keeps talking about,” your hand curls against his tunic, gripping into the fabric as if it was tethering you to the earth.
Gojo takes in a deep breath, and you feel his lips pressing to the crown of your head, soft and warm. Oh, how you missed his lips.
“There’s nothing to be scared about,” his voice is slightly muffled, but it’s steady and sure, “Everything will be alright.”
But you shake your head, a fresh wave of tears sprouting.
“How do you know?” you’ve been asking yourself the same question over and over, “None of us have even lived through a war, l-let alone fight in one.”
“I,” Gojo sighs, and you imagine the pensive look on his face, “I don’t know. I have no idea how any of this is going to go. And,” he pauses, thinking briefly, “I’m scared too. I’m scared that all of our plans will go to shit and we’ll encounter a force we never expected. Everyday I examine different escape routes we should go through, creating different maps that might save us. I don’t know what I’m doing half the time,” he admitted with a solemn laugh, “But…but no matter what, I’ll still come back to you when all of this is over.”
Your breathing shudders, and you raise your head to look at him. You’re sure you look like an absolute mess, with tears staining your face, you’re constant sniffles to keep your nose under control, the reds of your eyes. But Gojo still smiles, his hands moving to either side of your face, his thumb moving back and forth across your cheeks.
“There’s my girl,” his voice is barely above a whisper, but he sounds proud, his blue eyes lightening up a little bit. You let out a little cry when you see his tender smile, the way he looks at you like you’re the most beautiful person he’s ever seen.
“P-promise, promise you’ll come back to me,” you say through broken sobs, wiping messily at your cheeks, your palm rubbing harshly against your chin so that the tears don’t fall against the sheets, “Promise me that you will come here again.”
He nods, his own eyes wavering when he understands just how much this has been tearing you apart. One of his hands moves to cradle your head, bring you closer to his and he rests his forehead against yours with a quiet thump.
His nose nudges yours, and his lips inches away from your trembling ones. Your eyes close shut, hands refusing to move away from his sturdy chest.
“I, Gojo Satoru, will come back to you,” his voice is clear but heavy as if he intended for his words to travel across the world and through different lifetimes to end up back here, “I promise this to you. As your husband, as your friend,” his voice slightly cracks, “And as the man who loves you most ardently.”
You don’t give him another second before you pull him a little bit closer by the collar of his tunic to slam your lips against his. You hear him groan instantly from underneath you, but you don’t care. Your teeth move cruising against each other, your tears mixing with your spit.
It’s messy but needed, an anchor that you’ve so desperately been craving.
Gojo’s large hands move from your back to under your ass, cupping the flesh as he grips your thighs, pulling you into his lap as his finger trails upwards to your waist, his favorite spot. His slight stubble scratches against your skin, but you’re surprised to find that you like the feel, like the way he feels.
He bites your bottom lip, slipping his tongue past yours when your mouth opens slightly and you moan against him, fingers curling tightly in his white strands of hair, tugging them harshly. It earns a deep groan from him, his fingers digging into the skin of your waist in a desperate attempt to keep himself steady.
Your back arches closer, nails raking his scalp as you tilt his head back upwards for your lips to capture his. He moves at your will, slotting himself against you, working in tandem as your chests rise and fall at the same pace.
You feel starved, needing to taste him, to feel him. You can’t remember the last time you’ve kissed him this feverishly, as if you’d die within moments if you didn’t have your skin melting against his.
The seconds seem to blur together, and before you know it, there was a loud knock at the door. You squeal, almost shoving yourself off of him as the two of you look back to see what it was.
“My, my lord?” The voice behind the door squeaks, most likely a younger soldier, “There’s been a slight shift in tomorrow's plans. The general wants to speak to you.” He clears his throat, most likely having heard your moans and you feel your cheeks heat up in embarrassment.
You look back to Gojo, and see the way his head falls and his hands curl into fists on his thighs.
Your hand traces the hot skin of his jaw, your thumb hooking underneath his chin to bring him back up to you.
“Go,” you say quietly, a small smile on your face. You try to hide your disappointment, knowing this is more important.
There’s a storm happening behind his eyes, swirls of blue and gray mixing together as his chest slightly heaves, his cheeks dusted with pink. One of his hands grips your waist, pulling you forward with no force as he kisses you once, twice more.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, kissing your cheeks softly, “I’ll come back tonight and I’ll wake you before I leave tomorrow.”
You nod, hoping he knows that you’ll be okay, and shift away slightly from his lap so that he can go.
“I love you,” he mutters against the side of your head, looking deep into your eyes before he presses his last kiss against your forehead, “Sleep well, love.”
Your smile cracks slightly, and you swallow the lump in your throat as you cross out a measly love you most and watch silently as he puts his boats and coat back on and leaves within seconds.
You stare at the messed up sheets and then to the door, accepting the fact that this would be your life from now on.
—-
Gojo left the next morning, before the sun was in the sky.
“It’ll only be three weeks at most,” Gojo assures you, and you look up to see his men preparing their horses, throwing saddles across them as they prepare their satchels of food and gear, “Two if I flatter my way through the cities.”
You giggle a little bit, rolling your eyes, the most you could muster yourself to do and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to your body.
“I’ll miss you,” you mutter, hoping nobody could hear the way your voice was barely surviving it’s need to break, “Come back as soon as you can.”
Gojo sprawls a hand across your back, tipping you up by the chin to meet his lips in another kiss. A while ago you might have felt shameful and scandalous for kissing your husband like this out in the open, but everybody was so distracted with their own tasks that they wouldn't bother to look at you right now.
You pull away slightly, cheeks heating when his pupils grow slightly, and place a hand across his sternum, rubbing up and down the vigil of the North that was pinned to his coat.
“I will,” he says, pulling you in for a tight embrace as you hug him with as much strength as you have, your cheeks pressed against his shoulder as his chin rests on the top of your head, “I’ll be back before you even realize I was gone.”
That was a few days ago, but with how little you already saw him before he left, it felt a little bit true to his words. You were so busy trying to help the war efforts around the estate that missing your husband happened in the quiet moments when you were allowed to have some silence to yourself, or in the late hours of the night when you hugged his pillow close to your chest.
When nights would come and you had had your dinner and were making your efforts to sleep, you requested to only have Alina help you get undressed and ready. She was the one you felt closest too, and the only one who never seemed to bombard you with sympathy. And after a grueling day, that was all you needed.
“Would you like some lavender oil?”
You look up from the counter, putting your necklace back in its case as your eyes meet her brown ones in the mirror.
“Not tonight, Alina, thank you,” you say and she nods, setting the glass bottle back down as she picks up some of the rose water, native to the North, and begins doting it across your neck, head and wrists.
There was a slight breeze that was wafting in through your open window. Fall was quickly approaching, but you were trying to hold on to the last bits of the cool summer air before the biting winds staked their spot until the next spring.
“Would you like me to close the window?” Alina glanced over to the rustling curtains, flowing freely, and you shrugged, taking off your earrings as you placed them down gently on the little plate Gojo had given you as a gift a while ago.
“I prefer the breeze,” you reply, wiping your face with a damp cloth, “Thank you, though,” you offer her a small smile, one that she reciprocates.
Alina finishes up some things, and the two of you work in comfortable silence. She knows just how much you need these little things to help keep you sane, and as much as she’s been trained to help out her lady in any means possible, as your friend, she lets you do some things alone.
After a few more minutes pass Alina clasps her hands on her hips, and you let out a small giggle, knowing she was done.
“I don’t see why you need me here,” she grumbles, pushing some hair away from her face and you snort, standing up from your chair as you flick her shoulder gently.
“You’re good company,” you simply say, moving around your room as you go to the little corner where you keep some of your books.
Alina pushes the chair back in and makes her way to the door, bidding you a good night before she pauses, looking back at the window.
“My lady?” She says, and you look up from the shelf, glancing over to her. You raise a brow, waiting for her to continue.
“I know it’s not my place, but my mother always told me to sleep with the windows closed. You never know how cold the night might get and I don’t want to see you waking up with a fever.”
You look back to the window and the rustling curtains and grin, nodding.
“I’ll close them in a bit,” you tell her and note how her shoulders ease and a smile makes its way onto her face.
“Goodnight my lady,” she tells you, and you say the same thing, making sure she’s all gone before you let the smile drop, your cheeks hurting, and look back to the bookshelf.
You’ve seen how worried she’s gotten as of late regarding your nature, so you’ve tried being a little more cheerful around her even if it pains your soul to act like nothings wrong.
Your fingers card through different books, reading the spines as you try to find something that might help put you to sleep. Finally you find a title of a book you’ve read before, maybe a few years ago, and pull it out, examining the cover.
You move around to your bed and place it near your pillow. You fill the glass on your stand with some water from your pitcher, setting down as you go to the vanity to blow out the candles that were lit.
There were only a few left, and you just wanted to save the one next to your bed so you could read. You move past the window, going to the corner of the room, blowing the third remaining candle out.
You feel the hair on your arm prick up from the sudden rush of cold air, goosebumps trailing in their wake, and you walk back to the window, pushing aside the long drapes as you reach your arms out to find the knobs that would pull them in towards you.
Until a sudden force knocks you down to the ground.
It takes you half a second to realize that you hadn’t tripped on something, and that the reason why your head didn’t hit the floor causing a thud to be heard was because something, somebody, was on top of you.
A man. There’s a man lying on top of you.
This can’t be happening.
You go to scream, but a hand flies to cover your mouth, pinning your legs and wrists down by a heavy leg and their other hand, effectively holding your writhing body still.
Your eyes are squeezed shut as you try to move, biting the hand that’s over your mouth but it doesn’t budge. You feel your heartbeat as fast as it ever has against your ribcage, your fingers trying to grab something, anything, that could help you.
“If you make any noise I’ll cut your tongue straight from your mouth, you hear me?”
Your eyes slam open, looking straight at the face hovering above yours.
A brute of a man is looking down at you. You yell again, but he presses his hand down even harder, his rough skin meeting your teeth as your voice becomes muffled.
He’s gigantic, looking more like an ogre than a man. His hooked nose and sly lips are pulled into a sleazy smile as he looks down at you, his greasy black hair pulled back behind his ears. His arms are the size of boulders, his legs looking like they were strong enough to push boulders. His teeth are yellow and crooked, and he lets you see them when he talks.
You feel something sharp press to your side, and in your frantic state you’re able to wiggle a little bit to tilt your head down to see what it is. Your eyes widen when you see the glimmering dagger, its edge serrated. Its tip was so sharp that you could feel it cutting into your skin and you knew he wasn’t pressing as hard as he possibly could.
“Stay. Still.” The man grunts again, licking his teeth as you shake, shaking your head as your hands open and unopened, not knowing what else to do.
“I’m going to move my hands from your mouth,” he says next, slowly and quietly, “There’s a couple things I need you to do for me. But I swear that if you make a single squeak, any fucking noise, I’ll gut you like a fish, hm?”
Your eyes are shaking, brows pulled taut as you try to move around but to no avail. The knee that was pressing down onto your thigh digs in deeper, his bone searing into your flesh as you whine in pain.
“Do you understand?” He whispers in your ear, his hot breath fanning over your skin. The knife is still pointed at your hip, and he presses it just a bit deeper, and you’re sure if he goes any more he’ll draw blood.
You look at the man, at the deep set scars that run all across his face. You take in the glint that shimmer in his eyes, the pure evil that drips from his grin. You can smell the blood drying on his clothes, and can almost taste iron the closer he gets to you.
You want to fight back, but you can’t.
Your mind races back to those days when you had asked Gojo to let you spar with him, wanting to know how to defend yourself. There were some moments when you felt like you could take him down, but he’d always find a weak spot of yours and bring you tum biking to the ground. But he would always help you up with a gentle smile, apologizing profusely as he kissed your cheeks. This man was far bigger than Gojo, and his smile wasn’t kind the way he was. You knew you couldn’t overpower him, not in the slightest.
So you slowly nod, your tears falling freely from the corners of your eyes, rolling back onto the floors as the man grunts.
Slowly and surely, he moves his hand away from your face, still keeping the rest of his body pinning yours. Your lips are trembling, your body almost convulsing as you wait for him to speak.
He gives it a second, making sure you weren’t going to pull anything before he decides you’re compliant enough, or rather not willing to die, to listen to his orders.
“Good job,” he mutters, his voice pricking at your skin like a thousand needles, his greasy smile making you want to hurl, “There’s three things I need you to do. Nod if you understand.”
You look back at him. He presses the knife into your hip, and your teeth dig into your lip, knowing that he for sure broke skin.
Your eyes squeeze shut in pain as you slowly nod.
“First, from here on out, be as quiet,” his voice is low, “Don’t let anybody outside think anything.”
He pushes himself slightly off of you, trying to get a feel of how loud the floorboards creaked. When he was satisfied that they wouldn’t make a sound, he moved his hulking body away from yours, carefully standing up.
You feel your heart lurch when you see him at his true size, nearly three heads taller than Gojo, and even more packed with muscles.
“Stand up,” he motions for you to do the same, not until he warns, “Slowly.”
You’re frozen in place, your arms and legs losing all function. The man looks down at you through his dark stare, seeing that it’s taking you too long, and bends down to loop a hand around your elbow.
He drags up upwards like you weigh nothing, your lungs refusing to work as you gasp for air.
When you're on your feet, you feel like throwing up, your head dizzy, nose wrinkling at his strong odor that reeks of onions and ale.
“Walk over to that table,” he nudges his chin over to the desk that is littered with Gojo’s maps and scrolls and your books, “And sit down at the chair.”
You can only stare at him, biting your tongue, hoping this was all a nightmare.
But the man just stares back at you, waiting. He flashes you the dagger again, it’s too stained with your blood, and your legs, however weak, seem to work faster than your mind. You feel like a newborn lamb learning how to walk as you somehow make your way over to the table, his presence never leaving from behind your back.
Your legs shake as you set yourself down on the wooden chair, tears biting at your cheeks as you wait for his next instructions.
Behind you, you hear something rustle. You don’t want to look to see what he’s doing, but you’re able to pick out a bag being opened carefully, some papers scratching against each other.
It takes a few more seconds but the sounds stop, and suddenly a piece of parchment falls down next to you.
“Write down on a piece of sheet that repeats what is written there,” he tells you, and your eyes dart down to the parchment, tears blurring your vision.
“W…” your words are slurring together, and you can’t hear your own voice, “What?”
You’re quiet, but the man hears you.
He just shoves the parchment closer to your face, saying nothing.
Your eyes fall down to the words scattered across the price, black ink staining its yellow color, and you blink your eyes a couple of times to read what it says. The handwriting is foreign to you, something you can’t recognize. You don’t know how, with everything your mind was going through, you were able to read properly, but you felt your stomach drop when your eyes scanned through the first couple of sentences.
My love, with a heavy heart I write to you, but there is no other way to break my thoughts to you. I can no longer sit and watch what you plan to do in my name…your eyes skim a further but down, the blood you’re willing to spill is unlike what I thought you to be capable of. You’ve become cruel and inhuman, and I refuse to have myself tied to a man that desires death the way you do…
Your mouth drops a little, your jaw slacking when you realize what the note was saying. This was a goodbye letter.
I have to leave. I could never, under any gods’ sky, pretend to keep loving a man as barbarous as you.
Your heart stops.
“Write that down girl,” the man’s gruff voice interrupts, “Here.”
He scavenged through the piles of discarded plans and strategies, finding a clean sheet of parchment that was untouched by ink.
You shake your head, looking over your shoulder as your tears drop from your chin.
“I,” you swallow thickly, trying to force down the vomit that was at the back of your throat, “I can’t…write…”
The man snorts, his arms crossing over his large chest as he shrugs.
“If you don’t write, I’ll gut that girl that you favor so much,” he twists the daggers handle in his large palm, “The only with the curls. Gods, it’d be a shame though. I might have a taste of her before…”
You tune him out, ears filling with water as you realize he’s talking about Alina, your fingers trembling against the wood of the table as you look down at the pre-written note and the blank parchment he had set in front of you.
Your mind was blanking as you try to ration what’s happening.
You look a little bit to your left at the pot of ink and the quill Gojo was always scratching away with. Before you can think any other thought, you feel cool metal pressing against your neck.
The man is right behind your chair, his daggers blade a breath away from your skin. He’s holding your jaw in place, forcing your head down at the table.
His fingers are rough and calloused, stained with blood and dirt, and you gasp slightly, eyes blurring once again as you turn still.
“Write.” He whispers thickly in your ear.
You don’t move, and the dagger presses down, your lips falling open in a silent cry as you feel it cut through some skin, blood beginning to stain your nightdress.
Mindlessly, your hand moves to the ink and quill. You feel like you've left your body as your fingers grasp the quill, dipping it into the little pot, and set it down to the paper.
You feel like you’ve left your own self as you look back to the note, chewing your lips raw as you write down the first word. The dagger is still against your throat, unrelenting as you begin to write. You don’t know how none of your tears have yet to stain the paper, but you don’t what the stranger would do if that were to happen.
A part of you blacks out when you write, your eyes open but not understanding anything in front of you no matter how hard you try.
Your quill suddenly stops, and you feel the man leaning in behind your shoulder, the dagger loosening away from you as he lifts the two pieces of parchment up.
You don’t know when you finished, or what you write, but in the silence that it takes for him to read yours through, you get the grasp that you must’ve done something correctly because he seems satisfied, setting your version down on the table.
He steps away from you, and you watch from the corner of your eyes as he takes the original piece to one of your candles, holding it over the flames as it catches fire. He watches as it burns, the ashes falling into his other hand. When it’s all burnt up, he scatters it out the window, the wind doing its job as it takes any remains of what it was away from here.
He looks back at you with a smile.
“Last thing,”
Your head sways.
“Fill this bag,” he holds up an empty satchel, “Fill it with things you’d take if you were to run away.”
You blink slowly at him, your mouth going dry.
You can’t speak, but he can tell you’re confused.
“We need to make it seem like, well,” he shrugs, his lips pursed together, “That you wrote that note and ran away. Pick out some clothes, jewelry, and coins. Make the room messy.”
Your heart beats slowly in your chest when you start to understand what it was he was asking you to do.
He holds up his weapon, its edges shining red with your blood, and he points it to the door.
“I know you’d hate to hear her scream,” he says, and you dimly nod.
You set the quill down gently on the table, moving carefully from your chair as you walk towards his outstretched hand. Your fingers tremble as you take it from him, walking slowly towards your dresser.
He’s right behind you, the knife pointed at your waist so that you don’t think of doing anything, and you quietly open the door, grabbing some hoods, slips, common clothes, nightwear and undergarments. You shoved it in until the bag was nearly full.
You did as you were told, taking the rest of your clothes and scattered it across the ground, throwing some things onto your bed.
He grunted behind you, most likely a little surprised with how compliant you were.
You drift to your vanity, shoving some necklaces and earrings in the satchel, not wanting to take all because it was actively killing you to do this.
“That’s good,” the man says after a couple minutes and you pause, your back still to him.
You set the satchel down and turn slowly around, hoping this would be enough. That your night was done and that he would let you go.
“Oh, and,” his eyes drop down to your empty hands, pouting the tip of the blade to your finger, “Leave the ring.”
Your eyesight goes blurry.
You feel lightheaded, gripping into the edge of the table as you heave for air. Leave the ring? Leave? Leave?
“We don’t have all night,” he explains, making that his reasoning for why he so suddenly takes your hand, his large fingers circling around yours as he roughly yanks off the piece of jewelry, throwing it next to some other pieces you had lying on the table.
You can only stare blankly at it as he moves around, stare as the gold glimmers in the soft candlelight. It looks the same way it did the first time you saw it, when Gojo had placed it on your finger when he was saying your vows. It was a simple ring, a gold band that didn’t have any stones on it. Gojo later explained that while he had told you earlier it was usual something he had picked out, his mother had gifted it to him.
You feel a force hit the back of your head and suddenly, everything goes black.
—-
Waking up hurt.
You blink once, twice and then for a final time before you feel like you can see accurately again. Your head was throbbing, a dull pain at the back of your skull. You go to rub it, but notice that your hands are bound together by rope.
Coming to your senses you realize that the rope wasn’t the only problem. The wobbling motion you first had wasn’t from your stomach ache, but because you were rocking back and forth on a horse.
You sit up a little bit in shock, but the motion causes you to wince, your body sore and aching.
“I wouldn’t move if I were you.”
That voice.
So it wasn’t a nightmare.
The wall that you felt behind your back wasn’t a wall, but was in fact the same man who had forced his way into your room at night, made you write that letter, packed your things and leave…
Leave home.
All around you was a sprawling field, no sign of life from as far as you could tell. You had no idea how long you were unconscious, or how long you had been on horseback, but the North usually didn’t get grass to grow this tall seeing how the cold winters usually killed them. There was a breeze, but it wasn’t as biting as it should be.
You were glad to see that your mouth was wrapped shut, but that also put a strike of fear through you. If the man wasn’t afraid of you screaming, then there surely wouldn’t be anybody around to save you.
You were alone.
A part of you was on the verge of breaking down, screaming until you coughed up blood and your throat became raw. But you knew that if you wanted to stay alive, if you wanted to go come, you had to keep onto your wits. It was either that or you froze, not moving, becoming a shell of a human, the same way you were that night when this all happened. And you had seen what it could do, had seen how your own body would betray you, and you vowed to never let that happen again.
“How long has it been?”
Your own voice shocks you. Your throat is dry, seeing how you haven’t opened it in a while, and the sentence comes out like a croak. You swallow some spit, hoping it would help with the scratchiness you were feeling. The horse moved slowly through the pasture, the sun shining but not beating down on your face in an unforgivable way.
The man clicked his tongue against his teeth, his hands holding onto the reins.
“Nearly six days,” he says gruffly, and your eyes widen, not expecting for it to have been almost a week that you’d been out, “Thought I’d killed you.”
Five days?
You try to do the math in your head. It had been almost six days since Gojo had left when the man came into your room, and with these five days, it would be almost a week since Gojo was gone from home. If the travel West took as long as it did for you, then he’d be almost there by now. But you didn’t know how mail would travel, or how long it would take till he’d come back home to figure out what the problem was.
Depending on which direction the man was going, it could take weeks until they found you. Fields like this weren’t uncommon in the North, but the weather wasn’t. It reminded you a bit of home, but Western nature was dry and glaringly hot. Even in the fall, you’d still break a sweat after being in the sun.
And given how prepared this man was, he surely wouldn't be heading there, most likely knowing that Gojo was there as well. You had seen enough maps and heard enough talk around the counsel to know that it would take almost two weeks to travel Westward, but almost three weeks to arrive in the Eastern nations.
Judging by the landscape you had seen on paper and that you’re surveying now, this man was taking you somewhere East.
“Did the king send you?” You ask, your head dipping downwards so that you could angle your ears to hear him better.
He pauses, and you wonder if you’d asked the wrong question, if he was going to make you suffer in some way for crossing the line. You still couldn't work out his motive. If he was truly sent by the king, then why wouldn’t he have killed you in your room? Why go through the hassle of making you seem like you had run away?
Killing you and showing the North your body would send a greater message than whatever this was. Taking you without making it seem like an abduction was strange, even for the South, and so you desperately wanted to know what it was that had put you in this situation.
“A friend of his did,” the man finally says, and when he falls quiet, you realize that this was all he was going to say.
So he was from the South. And he didn’t seem like he’d be a lying man, he’d have no reason for it. The more you thought about it, it made more sense that the king didn’t send direct orders to abduct you. But that made you furrow your brows in confusion. If the king was ready to wage war, why would an abduction be something he wanted hidden?
“Why didn’t you kill me?” you ask after a beat of silence, your body swaying in tandem with the horse. You could feel your dried tears crusting near your eyes, your lips battered, iron coating your tongue the more you spoke, causing the wound to open up.
“I will, but not here.”
You bite your cheek, your hands shaking.
“Will you take me up to your king to make a spectacle out of me?” You try to keep your voice from wavering, from showing him any signs of fear.
The man chuckles, spitting to the road.
“I’ll kill you somewhere where there’s a lot of trees, hide your body so that nobody can find it,” he explains, and you feel your heartbeat in the palms of your hands, “Make it seem like you ran away.”
You try not to let your lips tremble, instead, you try to piece the clues he was giving you together. If the king truly wanted to make it seem like you were running away, then it means that he would want your spot as Lady of the North to appear vacant. He would want Gojo to think that you didn’t care for him anymore, and that you wanted out of this marriage, which would make room for…
His daughter.
But if the king wanted his daughter to marry into the Gojo family, you wonder why he didn’t do this whole abduction in the first place. You sigh deeply through your nose, looking down at your hands, your fingers moving around slightly but to no avail. While you’re trying to see if there was any wiggle room, a thought runs through your head.
The king wasn’t expecting this…
You wonder if perhaps the king promised war in a way of bluffing, or hoping that Gojo would terminate the marriage and take on the princess to avoid any trouble. This wasn’t his first plan, you decide, but him trying to save the skin of his teeth. He wasn’t expecting the North to retaliate, to declare a war of their own. He didn’t see Gojo carrying this much for his arranged bride, and didn't think that the young lord would rather die than marry another woman. But the king underestimated Gojo, and sent this man to answer for his mistake.
If it seemed like you found Gojo repulsive, that you no longer loved him, then he could search all he wanted to, but if he never found you, or your body, then he would come to the eventual conclusion that you had run away. Either way, this would make it so that he would call off the war. Maybe in attempts to fix the now shattered relationship between the two nations, a marriage between Gojo and the princess might actually take place.
Your hopes deflate, knowing the letter you were forced to write might also be more realistic than some Southern scribes realized. With the way you had argued countless times with Gojo over the chance of ending the possibilities of war, he might read it as an actual goodbye.
The thought makes you sick.
So, you decide to busy yourself with trying to find an escape option.
Your wrists were chafing with how tightly the rope was tied, but the knot around it was tied in a way that seems to have shifted in the days you had been riding. The man behind you is tall, but sitting down, he can only see above your head, and he’d have to force himself up to peer down at your lap.
Slowly, over the span of a few minutes, you’re able to position the rope closer to the bottom of your palm, your thumb and pointer finger reaching for the knot. A small smile graces your face when you're able to pinch it between the two fingers.
You stop your movements, not wanting to make anything obvious, and then start back up after a couple minutes of silence passed.
With the knot now closer to your finger, you begin picking at it with your nail. You know your nail is dull and cut through it, but you think that if you nudge at it enough, you might be able to create a small opening that would allow you to slip your pointer finger through it and unravel it.
“I think it would be fair to share your name,” you say, not wanting the man to think anything of your silence, and you begin to execute your plan, fiddling away with the rope with your finger as you raise your head up, not wanting to keep your stare directed at your lap, looking ahead at the field.
Wind blows through your body, ruffling the nightdress that you were still wearing. The man at least had some decency to put a cloak over you, hiding your body from being entirely bare. The more you looked at the field, the more it reminded you of the one that surrounded the Gojo estate. You blink and see him sitting there, his back on the grass, an arm resting behind his head, his white hair sprawled out as he held you close to his chest, telling you stories from his childhood. You blink again and see nightfall, see him with his tunic off, telling you about the scar on his torso. You see him professing his feelings, telling you how much he loved you. You blink again and see the field, your nose twitching slightly.
“My name?” The man repeats with a slight chuckle, most likely shaking his head in disbelief. Out of all the people he’s taken, out of all of the people he’s been sent out to kill, you’ve been the weirdest behaving out of all of them.
You nod, your finger working away at the knot, and you cough to cover up the noise when you make a particularly loud scratch.
“My name changes based on the man who hires me,” he says after a minute, and you almost want to look back at him in confusion.
“What was the name you gave to the employer who sent you out to find me?” You ask, trying to wiggle some fingers around, bracing your thighs around the horse, trying to keep yourself balanced and upright.
The man breathes deeply through his nose, as if he was contemplating telling you. There’s no reason not to tell you, if his plan is to kill you anyways. But you plan to escape, and you want to know the name of the man who put you through this hell.
“Toji,” he finally says, and you commit it to memory, your mouth falling in the shape of the name, “But I’ll change it for my next employer.”
You go to say something else, but almost let your disguise slip when you feel your finger make its way through the knot. You move it in circles, moving it across, and slowly you feel the knot begin to unravel. You keep your hands pressed tightly together, but in a few seconds the rope has become undone.
You stare at it in shock, not expecting for it to take so little time to unravel, but you look ahead again, shifting a little bit as you begin to think about what to do next.
You can feel the sheath of his dagger digging into your back. You remember how it looked when you first saw it, and can confidently say that this was the thing that was there. It was large, but given how large his weapon was, you weren’t surprised to find it had an even larger cover.
You didn’t know how fast you could move, nor how fast he could. You didn’t know if there was a latch or specific way to take the weapon out, but as far as you could remember, that was the only weapon he seemed to operate with. If you were able to harm him in some way and get him off of the horse, you might have a chance of escaping.
Though there was the obvious challenge, he knew how to fight far better than you. What’s to say that you get the dagger but he doesn’t get it out of your hands even faster? And if you did manage to wield it, how fast would it take for him to understand what had happened, how fast his reflexes were? If he’s had multiple employers before, then he must be skilled in his trade, putting you at an immense disadvantage.
But you knew that if you didn’t try, you’d die at his hands. You knew you’d rather die fighting and on your own accord than at the merciless dagger of a stranger who was paid to kill you.
You let the silence grow, wanting the man to think that you had fallen asleep. You let your head hang down, your chin to your chest, and you slowly, quietly and gently begin the snake one hand out from the ropes.
The man grumbles to himself from time to time, spitting to the side every now and then, but from what you can tell, is still unsuspecting.
You know it’s a matter of seconds that gives you the advantage, and that any slight fumble or mistake will be catastrophic. You tell yourself that you have to twist your back quickly, pull the weapon out with your right hand, and strike him through the chest. You don’t know if one strike would be enough to take him down, but it would be enough to have you force him off the horse and take the animal for yourself.
You breathe deeply through your nose, calming your nerves.
And then, you turn.
You’re met with his face, your hand reaching for the weapon, and see the way his eyes slowly fall down to your fingers, and then to you, but you’ve calculated his brutish daftness enough to know that a moment of surprise would be his doom.
It doesn’t take much effort to get the dagger, but his hand quickly shoots for your throat, his fingers wrapping around your skin as he squeezes tight, restricting your airways. You choke, trying to cough, but with the way he’s seated on the horse you know you can’t falter. Your hold on the weapon weakens, but you still drive it forward, and are met with the satisfying sound of his groan.
His hand around your throat falls, and you pull out the dagger only to drive it further up his chest, into his ribs.
The man, Toji, grips the handle, but you push with as much force as you can muster at his shoulders. You wonder if he’s ever had people fight back, if he’s ever dealt with somebody striking him hard enough to draw blood.
With the way you’re positioned; your dress and robe still underneath him, he takes you down with him. You fall to the ground with a hard thud, wincing at the pain that shoots again through your head. Your vision has gone blurry again, but you can make out the man stumbling on the ground, grasping at his chest in shock.
You place your hands on the ground, forcing yourself up. Your head is spinning, swaying up and down, but you know you have to get back up on that horse.
He’s shouting at you, saying something but you stand up, almost falling back down with how your legs are shaking, but you hold yourself upright by the horse's saddle. You’re shocked that it hasn’t been spooked away, but don’t find time to question why.
You’ve ridden enough times before to know how to haul yourself up, but it’s a trying effort that takes a couple swings. The man is still on the ground, clutching at his wounds, and you can’t revel in your victory just yet.
When you’re up on the horse you feel your vision start to clear up a bit and your ears stop ringing.
You look down to the man, trying to make out what it was he was saying.
“...can’t go back,” he spits, blood coating his lips, staining them red as he coughs out more, “they’d never take you back.”
You stare at him, dazed.
“You committed treason,” his voice is hoarse, and he tries to grab at your foot but you kick it away, “That letter? Don’t you remember?” he smiles darkly, and his teeth as red, “And if you go back, the king,” he chokes, spitting out some blood, but he chuckles, a mad look in his eyes, “The king would kill every single person you care about. He’ll rip the throats from your maids, send an army of unkillable men to kill y-your dear lord.”
You look down, his words slowly making their way into your brain.
The letter.
You remember now. It wasn’t just a goodbye, but a confession of even further betrayal. You had denounced the North and its power, had said that the Lord of the North was an enemy of every state.
And even if you did go back to prove that you were forced to write it, what’s to say that his words weren’t correct? If he was able to spy on you long enough to know your schedule, your maids, when to attack, then the South was truly capable of sending in more assassins. And Gojo might be able to take them, but what about Alina? What if the king decided to target Gojo’s parents, your friends, people you’ve come to care deeply about?
The man grins cruelly when he sees the way you begin to understand his words, the threat behind them.
The man wasn’t standing up not because he was weakened, but because he knew that even if he didn’t kill you, you’d wind up dead anyways. He knew you’d give up and let him go through with his initial plan. Because in that case, only you’d be dead. But you returned back to the Gojo estate and would have you killed, alongside everyone else you loved.
But…but if you ran, ran away to somewhere hidden, it might be avoided. The war, the bloodshed, everything. You could actually be doing something good.
He laughs, blood falling from his lips, staining the floor when he sees the tears fall down your cheeks. You go to wipe them away, but it doesn’t matter anymore. In that moment you’ve made up your mind, have seen that there was no other way.
You’d be leaving behind the man you loved in return for saving his life, as well as everyone else's.
You think about his smile, the way his lips felt against your skin when he kissed you goodbye. You think about the way he laughs, a hearty sound that makes you laugh in turn. You think about the warmth you felt when wrapped in his embrace, the way he smelled like cinnamon after spending time with you in the kitchens. Your heart churns when you think about the love you hold for him, just how much it drived your everyday life. How you’d do anything to save him, even if it wasn’t a lot. You think about Gojo, and how for a little moment in time, you truly had the world in your hands. How he would do the same if the roles were reversed, knowing that the way you feel for him is just as intense as how much he feels for you.
And you finally think about how leaving might preserve those little things, even if not for your experience. If you were to disappear, this might all be forgiven. And that was a price you decided there that you had to pay.
You turn away from him, and maybe under different circumstances you might have gloated at the confusion that takes over his face, not knowing why you weren’t stepping down.
With shaking fingers and a shattering heart you look ahead, kicking the side of the horse as you send it running. You could hear his yells from behind you, calling for you to come back, but you kept repeating in your head that this was the only way.
Your eyes were blurring with tears from just how fast the wind was hitting your face, your cheeks and nose growing cold. You leaned forward, holding onto the reins with all the strength you had.
Please forgive me Satoru, your mind begged, please forgive me.
—
“Miss?”
You dream of a sound, a soft, gentle sound. It circles around you like a mothers tender care, making the coldest parts of your soul warm slightly. You smile a little bit when you imagine it again.
“Miss?”
A shower of icy water, colder than anything you’ve ever felt, washes over you, and your eyes sprout wide open, your mouth open in a loud gasp as you sit up as fast as you can, your chest heaving up and down with labored breaths. Your fingers jump to your face, trying to wipe off the freezing feeling away, and blink rapidly, trying to get a grasp of where you were.
“Miss?”
Your head swivels to the voice, and you feel your eyes burning. The voice is overshadowed with the burning sun behind them, but they crouch down over you, shoving you with a little force. You blink again, trying to make the spots go away.
A woman, you think. Not Gojo.
The last thing you remember was going to sleep, your stomach empty after multiple days of night finding any food, shivering your soul away as you curled up. The horse that you had stolen was set free a couple days ago after you felt bad for not being able to provide anything for it to eat or drink. Knowing that it had left somewhere for itself puts you in a better state of mind.
You couldn’t remember how many days it had been since you had run away. You lost track after the twentieth night. You had no map to guide you, nobody you trusted to tell you where to go. You walked around with a hood over your head, looking through different towns and villages, scrapping around for their garbage.
You were running both from the man that had been sent to kill you, but your old life as well. You didn’t know if Gojo believed the letter, if he had sent people out to look for you. You knew you just had to get as far away from the North as possible, even if it meant you die trying.
After a few days of doing this, your feet had given out, marked with blisters and scraps, and you fell in your spot, sleeping near a tree as you let the exhaustion finally settle deep in your bones. You remember closing your eyes, thinking of the time when Gojo woke you up with sweets from the bakery you adored. You could smell the sugar beneath your nose, your fingers itching to grab one, your mind not able to tell what was imagination and reality anymore. You would wager that hunger was making you do this, but you couldn’t care anymore.
You can only look at her, forgetting the words needed to form a proper sentence.
“Are ‘ye alright?” She asks you finally, and you can slowly begin to make out the crease in her face and the color of her eyes. You can see the wrinkles that adorn her forehead and cheeks, all scrunched up together in worry as she looks down at you.
Your hands pat themselves across your body, trying to make sure you weren’t dead. It had been a while since you had spoken to someone, especially when they weren’t throwing sticks at your head to get you to stop looking through their discarded piles of vegetables.
You swallow thickly.
“Can ‘ye hear me?” She asks louder, bending down a little closer to you as she rests her hand on your forehead.
She doesn’t seem too old, most likely a few years older than your father, but you feel stricken by her appearance. A part of you wonders if you truly have died and this was the afterlife; an old lady taking care of you.
But with how hard she’s jamming her finger into your ribs it makes you think otherwise.
“Are ‘ye hungry darling?” She continues to talk, her gray brows pinching together as she glances over your frail appearance, “Would ‘ye like something to eat?”
Your eyes widen slightly and she takes note of it.
A small smile makes its way onto her face as she eases back upwards.
“My husband and I own a small tavern,” she says, and with the sun framing her head she looks like a divine power, “I’ll take ‘ye there.”
You stare at her outstretched hand, look at her fingers, at the way they’re reaching out to you. You can’t remember the last time somebody offered you help, or looked at you like you were more than a common thief. You’d cry if there was any water left in your system.
But slowly you raise your hand, holding hers as she heaves you up. You show her your feet, and she tells you not to worry. She sits you on the back of her donkey, telling you that the animal looks stronger than you’d think.
You don’t have any will to argue, letting the old woman, who told you to call her Miss Murray, guide you and the donkey through a dirt road. You sway in and out of consciousness, blinking to find the scenery changed from what you last remembered.
Miss Murray talks to you, but you don't have any energy to respond. She checks behind her shoulder sometimes to make sure you were still alive, and would only look back to the road when she was satisfied you were.
It takes nearly another thirty minutes before you start seeing little homes begin to appear from over the hill. There’s a town in the distance, one that you see is bordering a vast blue ground.
The ocean?
You blink to make sure you were hallucinating.
You were only aware of larger cities that bordered the ocean, but this was a small little town at most. The roads were dirt and unpaved, the homes made of wood and layers of hay. The cities you were aware of were far richer, their structures made of sturdy stone and glass. And you knew that despite your delirious travels, you hadn’t rerouted and gone back up North, the only other place you knew that had cities near the water.
“Home,” Miss Murray says with a content sigh and you look at her, your eyes slightly squinted in confusion.
You swallow some spit, trying to wet your mouth.
“Where,” your voice sounds foreign to you, and even the woman looks back in surprise when she hears you trying to speak. Your fingers are at your throat, wanting to have your voice sound normal.
“Where a-are we?” You finally get out, and the woman smiles gently at you.
“As far east as ‘ye can get,” she replies and you look back to the ocean. The water is shining off of the sun, the cold air that’s biting at your skin is a reminder of the winter that’s about to come.
The color reminds you of a pair of eyes, the same eyes you often thought about before you went to sleep, not knowing if you’d wake up.
“I’d wager yer a far way from home dear, no?”
Your body sways with the donkey's gentle movements, and your mind is slow. You know you need food and water, but her question isn’t one that reminds you of this. It’s a cut that runs deep through your aching soul, one that hurts to admit.
So you only give her a little nod, one that she seems to understand quickly.
“D‘ye plan to stay here?” Her gray curls frame her face in a nice way, her plump cheeks pink and soft.
You look to the water and then to the town. It’s a far distance from the North, and hidden enough that nobody would recognize you or find you. It’s surrounded by a forest, a densely thick mass of trees that stretches as far as the eye can see. The town is quaint, at most a few hundred people inhabiting it. Even if the news of your runaway had heard their ears, it was doubtful that they’d recognize you. Especially now, that even without a proper mirror you’re sure your appearance has changed drastically.
“Yes,” you mutter, your throat raw and unused.
She hums, pulling you carefully down the grassy hill and closer towards the busting town. People were walking and shouting to one another, carrying trays of breads and pastries, flowers and fabrics from one place to the next.
“I’ll fix ‘ye up something to eat when we get to the tavern,” she promises, having surely heard your eager stomach, but you shake your head slowly in a form of protest.
“No, no coin,” you tell her, your eyes falling down in embarrassment, “I don’t have…any coin,” you say slowly, your tongue heavy in your mouth.
Miss Murray looks at you for a second before throwing her head back and laughing.
“Dear, I’m sure ‘ye need that food more than I need that coin.”
Your heart beats a little faster, your eyes glimmering slightly.
You want to tell her why you’re like this, that you weren’t this way a few months ago. That you had a husband who you cared very deeply for, people who you loved helping. You want to tell her that you would give her all the coins you and your name if you could, but you bite your tongue from doing so.
You no longer were the Lady of the North. You were married to Gojo Satoru, and you had no title, no coin, no amount to your name. But you still had respect and dignity, knowing you couldn’t lose every shred of yourself while trying to stay alive.
“I’d like t-to…pay you back,” you stammer out, “I want to pay you back, please,”
You watch as Miss Murray pauses, the donkey halting its movements as your body lurches forward slightly.
You watch silently as she observes your face, looks at the cracks in your skin, the stained clothes you were wearing, and your lack of proper hygiene. She feels something when looking at you, something that wasn’t right. There’s a certain stubbornness, a fight in your eyes, one that somebody only gets after surviving for so long.
She knows you won’t back down, especially after you’ve had something proper to eat.
“‘Ye need a job, no? Some coin?” She finally asks, and you look down at your torn up clothes and your bones fingers.
You look back up to her and nod.
She thinks for another moment before starting her walk again.
“‘Ye can pay me back by working for the tavern,” her fingers curl around the donkey's rein as she controls it through a winding road, “Aye, we’re in constant need of firewood. It will make us even for this meal, and every day after that I’ll pay ‘ye for yer help. Deal?”
You feel a little light shine down, maybe from the gods as she turns her head to look at you, raising a brow as she waits for your answer.
For the first time in a while, you feel your lips quirk upwards, a small, miniscule grin on your face. Miss Murray smiles at the sight.
You nod slightly before you murmur a quiet, “deal.”
——
Miss Murray took you to her tavern and fixed you a large meal, something even your old self would gawk at if served at the estate.
And she introduced you to her husband, the other keeper. She told him that she found you and knew you were willing to work, to which he took one look at you and decided she wasn’t going to budge on her decision.
The old man showed you after a week of rest what it was you had to do. He demonstrated how to use an axe, how to cut up the logs in a way that would fit into the tavern's fireplace. He showed you which trees would be easiest for you to cut down, and which ones to avoid.
The old man told you that his previous lumberjack had left town in search of a new life, and with how strenuous the job was, he couldn’t find anybody to do it eagerly in the short amount of time he needed. His son, who you slowly became familiar with, would do a majority of the workload, meaning you’d just have to bring in the smaller branches and twigs that kept the fire going throughout the night.
Miss Murray also showed you an old shack they had been using to store some equipment, saying that you could stay here for as long as you liked as long as you cleaned it out yourself. It was a little way away from the tavern, but still close enough that you wouldn’t have to drag the logs for a great distance. You were near trees and a few homes scattered around you as well so that you weren’t isolated. She told you she would’ve given you someplace nicer, but this was all she had.
It takes a while for this strange new routine to become normal for you, but you quickly decide that chopping wood and lugging it around beats the hunger and cold you felt for weeks before you found this little town. That the motions almost became therapeutic, and offered you a peace of mind, letting yourself try to forget about your previous life, your husband, Gojo, and focus on getting your job done.
You get the old shack as clean as you can, pleasantly surprised to find that underneath all the rubble and blankets there was a fireplace with a chimney still intact. You set a little bed up for yourself in the corner on the floor, made out of multiple sheets all piled on top of each other (all borrowed from Miss Murray) and a pillow that she had given you.
You never told Miss Murray of where you were running from, who you were running from. You didn’t tell her that you were married or that you were from the North. Though she asked about why you ran, you never gave her a clear answer. It hurt thinking about him, let alone voicing the fact that you had left a loving husband in hopes of sparing thousands of people their lives. Some days, the pain was so numbing that you didn’t know how to move. You would hear his voice in your thoughts, could see his smile when you closed your eyes. In these moments you wondered if he misses you as much as you missed him. If he still slept in the same bed, or had his room completely changed. Did he get rid of your books, your oils, your clothing? A part of you hopes he did, hoping that he didn’t have to be cursed with the memory of you after what you had done. The more time passed, you wondered if he had decided to forget about you, if the thought of you was something he decided was better hidden rather than called upon.
Slowly, you began to turn the shack into your home, delivering the firewood as your daily routine, and made the town that bordered the ocean somewhere that you considered safe.
But each night that passed and you went to sleep you dreamt of your old home, your old bed, the strong arms that wrapped around you, and you woke up, pretending the tears that had drenched your pillow weren’t there.
Though you knew that after a while, when the talks of the Northern soldiers died down, that you had to move on. And when Miss Murray excitedly knocked on your door, a month later, telling you that the war had been called off, you offered her a gentle smile, knowing that you had done the right thing. She showed you the papers that were making their way across the kingdoms, the ones that said the North had agreed to pull their forces out from near the Southern border, releasing their final statement of neutrality. You skimmed the page, your heart hammering when you read that The North credits their Lord for the sudden decision, claiming that after months of searching for his missing wife with no luck, he agreed that continuing war efforts were barbarous and unnecessary.
Your vision goes blurry for a moment.
He had been searching for you? For nearly six months?
It had been almost half a year, if you had done the math correctly, since you were first informed that a war would be happening. Six months of hardship, pain, tears, blood and half of your soul to end it all. Nobody in your little town knew of what you did, and you knew to keep it that way. Hiding your true nature was safe, no matter how much it stung when you realized that the North had most likely decided to forget you. That night you stayed in your little cabin while everybody was in the square celebrating and crying, not knowing what else to do. They were partially tears of joy, but mainly an accumulation of guilt and longing, wondering why your absence was what was needed to end a war.
Slowly, that pain began to seep into your bones, but you knew that you must go on with your life if you ever wanted to make it worth it. The days and nights turned into weeks, which then turned into months, and after some time, you no longer considered yourself the old Lady of the North. You melted into this life, and pretended that this was what you were destined to live from the start. You cut wood, collected pieces of dry bush and twigs to help keep the fire going at Miss Murray’s tavern. On the days when they didn’t need any fire wood, you helped her and her husband out with food and serving drinks. When she wasn’t busy, you found yourself listening to her talk, filling your silent moments with the gentle-hearted lady.
When a year had passed since you came to this town, you let yourself forget about everything. Everything your mind began to tuck away, all but for the lingering ache that longed for the man you loved so many moons ago.
—
Winters in a town near the ocean was something you never experienced until last year, and this year you knew how to prepare yourself.
The North was notoriously known for its freezing winters, but this town could rival it, you’d wager coin on this fact. The lakes in the woods nearby would freeze, snow piling on the ground, reaching a little bit below your knees in some areas. The ground was sometimes slick with ice, and if you didn’t have a careful eye to catch it you’d often come tumbling down, your cheeks heating in embarrassment when people nearby would laugh.
Last winter you had barely gotten on your own two feet before it had hit, but Miss Murray helped you out as much as she could. She spared some meat cakes from the tavern, bringing you what was left of their bread when the night was over. She lended you some of her old winter clothes, ones that she had outgrown, and you took it appreciatively. There were some nights you were sure you’d freeze to death, and other mornings when you weren’t sure you weren’t going to wake up. But you reminded yourself of all that you had been through, everything that you had survived, and pushed to open your eyes. So, in these past months, much like others in the town did, you prepared for this icy season, knowing this year you had to learn on your own.
You stocked up on breads and pastries in a corner of your home which was always keen on never staying warm. You kept jars of jams, pickled vegetables and potatoes near the breads, somewhere dark and away from the morning sun. You learned from other townspeople how to prepare for when the cold settled in your home, how to fight it off late into the night. You watched the baker as he explained how to keep your bread from going bad, and how to store it properly. When you were content with the amount of food you had accumulated over the summer and fall months, you then prepared your clothing.
You had learned over trial and error to begin with wrapping your hands up once with some gauze (this would also prove to help once you were using the axe and looking through the shrubbery for things that could easily burn, seeing that it provided a buffer zone) and a thick pair of gloves that Miss Murray knit for you. You always had a fire running in your own fireplace, tending to it from the moment you woke up till late in the night when you went to sleep. The tavern needed its delivery each night, so until then, when you weren’t chopping, you either bundled up with a couple blankets or walked through the town, looking through the bakery and small bookshop (those two stores always were toastier than the rest).
If you had some spare change you’d buy a couple of loaves of bread and see if there were any old books the bookkeeper was going to throw out, and in between your free time, this seemed to be the best way to go about the freezing months instead of wasting away in your little cabin.
When night came, you hauled the wood, leaves and twigs into the wheelbarrow Miss Murray had lended to you and headed for the tavern, making sure your scarf was tied around your neck multiple times before you left the warm retrieve of your home.
It was only a ten minute walk from where you were to the inn, and if you hurried enough you could finish it in almost eight minutes. The colder it got, the slower your joints would work, but you also reminded yourself that the faster you got there, the faster you’d be met with the tavern's overwhelming and comforting warmth. You had the hood of your cloak around your head, keeping your ears from freezing and your scarf wrapped tightly around your neck. It was hard pushing the handcart through the snow, but you had learned where to go over the past weeks, which roads were more forgiving.
It had become clockwork as you neared the oak doors, the windows lit orange from the amount of candles inside. You could smell the meat roasting and see the smoke from the brick chimney as you neared it. You were already hearing the loud boisterous laughter from inside, some from town natives, some from travelers making a stop at the place for the night. You knew to walk around back, follow the track that led to the stables and ultimately the smaller door that would lead inside the kitchen, open it with the key Miss Murray had given you. You make a note of a couple of men standing near the horses, the usually empty rooms now filled with the animal. They were most likely tending to them, trying to keep them warm.
You’re greeted with the familiar sound of the bustling kitchen; the cooks yelling at the other cooks about what to get ready, the loud roar of the fire, the sounds of knives chopping away their vegetables and meats. You can smell the usual pies and stews they made nearly every night. This night seems to be their specialty of chicken pie with potato gravy soup. If there was a moment you could slip away and taste some, you reminded yourself to do so.
Glancing around the large room you take in the sight of the visitors of the night. There are a few wooden beams that restrict your vision, but you don’t need eyes to know just how packed it is. The sounds inside are even louder than the ones you heard walking near the place, and you’d wager that there are far more people staying here than usual. You’d guess that with the recent and abundant snowfall, some travelers were forced to re-route, and by the looks of it, you see far more strangers than familiar faces.
But you don’t let that distract you, walking over to the fireplace as you crouch down, making sure your cloak and skirt weren’t bunched up under your boots. You set the cart down near the fireplace, taking your gloves off as you held it near the heat for a few seconds. The gloves did a great job with keeping the cold from your hands, but they limited your mobility, and when you had to unload the logs, the branches, twigs, and everything in between, you wanted to do it as quickly as possible. You place them all into the large basket, observing the flickering flames. It’s still going strong, but there are some embers of coal that seem to be dying out, and so you tug carefully the door of the fireplace open as you place some wood inside, fanning it so that it would grow a little more.
You brush your hands against your legs, getting rid of the spare bits of bark and wood, and hold it back up to the fire as you feel the tension in your fingers and wrists begin to melt away.
“We don’t pay ‘ye to keep up our space, y’know,”
You turn your head around to the voice, smiling when you see Miss Murray standing behind you with her hands on her hips, her apron stained with spilled ale and some food splatters. Her gray curls are pulled underneath her cap, her full cheeks red and rosy, her lips pulled into a slight frown.
She tries to look serious, but her act slips away instantly when she sees you, moving closer as she wraps her around around you from behind, her arms reaching your shoulders, just barely, as you crouch a little to pull her in for a hug.
It’s only been a night since she sees you, but this is always how Miss Murray greets you.
“Are ‘ye warm?” She asks, her eyes worried as she looks at your hands and your slightly runny nose.
You chuckle, nodding your head so that she doesn’t fret.
“I’m warming up,” you tease your brow slightly raised, holding your fingers up to her cheeks to show that they were no longer cold, wiping your elbow across your nose as you go back to holding your hands over the fire, “And dare I say it’s my right seeing how it’s my wood that’s burning?”
Miss Murray chuckles, pinching you softly on the side as you yelp, moving a little bit away from her as you giggle.
She stands next to you, looking over the crowd as she takes in who needs more beer and food, making a mental tally in her head. Once your entire body has finally thawed, you stand up straighter, turning around to look at the busy crowd, not a single chair going unused.
“It’s busier than usual, no?” You ask, crossing your arms across your chest as you look to Miss Murray, tucking your hands into your elbows to keep the warmth.
She nods, her eyes turning to yours slightly before she goes back to assessing each table.
“Aye,” her voice is slightly lowered, not wanting others to hear, “The storm caught many travelers by surprise. There’s a group of young men coming in from Lolygrad,” a Western town, you note, a name you remember from ages ago, “Said they wanted to go up ‘nor but their horses cannae walk through the snow.”
You chew on your lips, looking at the large group of men gathered near a corner, their beards and shaggy hair covering up most of their faces. Most of them had their backs to you, and the ones facing outwards were hunched, their shoulders sagging as they leaned their ears in to hear clearly what was being said. The rest of their features were pinched together as they let out howls of laughter, swinging their mugs of beer around as they listened to one of their members tell an animated story.
You slightly smiled at the hearty sound, against your own will.
“Oh, dear, before I forget,” Miss Murray suddenly turned around, gently holding your hands as you look a little bit down, “Ewan,” her son, another worker at the tavern, the poor fellow who was tasked with almost every job, including getting the hefty tree trunks cut into bits, “Said he saw ‘ye heaving that barrow through the snow-” you began to shake your head, knowing what she was going to say but she raised a hand midway to stop you.
“He told me to tell ‘ye to leave it near the stables. When the snow has settled and thaws a bit, he’ll bring it to ‘ye.”
Your brows furrow, lips parting slightly as you go to protest.
“But what about the firewood? I can’t lug it up on my own,” you joke a little bit, your lips quivering as Mis Murray smiles, patting your arm as she shakes her head.
“Ye’ve brought us enough wood to supply a week, maybe even more,” she says, and you look behind your shoulder at the overflowing bin, knowing there were at least three more filled with logs waiting out back, “Give yerself a rest dear.”
Her kind face looks at you in such a way that you can’t argue, sighing deeply through your nose as you debate it. You have enough coins to last you for a while, and seeing that you already have some bread and food prepared, it shouldn’t be much of an issue. So you nod.
You move to get your gloves, pulling them on as you head back out through the kitchen. You brace yourself for the cold, wrapping your scarf tighter around your neck and throwing your hood over your head as you open the door, quickly leaving and shutting it, knowing how much he cooks bickered when you let the air in.
You keep your head down, nose scrunching as your boots crunch as you walk through the snow, nearing the corner of the tavern, the one that rounds into the road that leads you back home before a yell catches your attention.
It comes from behind you, the sound slightly muffled with the hood and scarf slightly covering your ears, but you glance over your shoulder to see what it was.
In the distance, one of the men is waving over to you, his body illuminated slightly from behind from one of the lit torches that hang on the wall of the stables. Your eyes squint, moving a few steps closer as you try to make out what he was saying.
“...glove,” is all you make out, the wind roaring around you not helping. But he waves a red glove around, and you look to your hands to see that your right glove was missing. It had been so cold that you didn’t notice it had been blown away, the only thing covering your hand being your bandages.
You shake your head, rolling your eyes at the thought, and slightly jog back, bringing your hand to your lips as you blow some hot air on it. Your cheeks feel like they're on fire with how freezing it is, the tip of your nose about to fall off, but you’re able to muster up a thankful smile as you near the man.
“Thank you!” you call out, laughing a little bit at the absurdity of it all, boots scrunching and sounding like ice being shaved as you run a little bit closer to him, the man taking a few steps himself so that you wouldn’t have to go the full distance, and you squint your eyes more, trying to make out his blurry appearance that’s slightly coming to as he nears another torch, “It’s so cold that I didn’t even notice…”
You stop.
It seems like time has stopped.
The snow seems to have frozen in mid-air, not falling as it stops around you. The wind no longer howls, but has fallen silent. The snow on the ground doesn't glisten, the torches lit with fire slowing down.
Your lungs don’t work. You can’t feel any air coming in through your nose. It might be because your nose refused to inhale. You can’t feel your heart, can’t feel a singular beat to keep you alive. Your pulse has fallen silent, your ears hearing every sound but no sound at all.
Gojo seems to have stopped breathing as well.
His hand is still reaching out, your glove held tightly in his fingers as he stares,
And you stare back.
Your chest heaves out a single puff of air.
You blink once before everything suddenly goes black.
—
“...is it really…?”
“...never found a…thought she had…there must be…”
“..last time I saw him look like that…”
There are multiple voices that blend together, and you can’t tell what’s happening aside from the fact that you can’t feel your limbs and your eyes feel like they’ve been turned to lead. You can’t open them, can’t move, can’t do anything but try to figure out what is happening around you.
“...doubt he knew,” a voice, louder and more clear than the rest fills your ears, sounding a little less like it was coming from underwater, “...searched for months…looks like her…”
Her?
The conversations around you continue, and you feel your fingers slightly twitching, a good sign that you weren’t completely incapable of moving. You feel your lashes flutter, lips parting a little bit.
You try to listen more to the voices, but suddenly a loud slam happens from somewhere in the room. You nearly flinch, eyes moving back and forth between your lids and you will yourself to sit up, to do something.
The voices suddenly all fall silent, and your ears are becoming more in tune because you can pick up on the heavy thud that rings around the walls, loud but quiet at the same time, heavy and deep.
The sound nears your ears before it completely stops.
You feel a touch, light, barely there, but you feel it. It’s the grace of a feather upon your body, a fingertip that slightly moves across skin. Your pointer finger moves a little bit, but it’s so miniscule that you doubt the touch noticed.
It’s familiar, you think to yourself, you’ve felt this touch before. It wasn’t Miss Murray, for her fingers were more round and rough. It wasn’t foreign, because sometimes you still got off put by a stranger's touch. This was something you knew once, had carded somewhere in your mind when your skin felt raw and barren.
“Nothing?”
The voice, it’s even more familiar. You hear it not only settle deep into your eardrums, but it rattles around your head, flowing down into your blood, seeping into your bones. Your brows scrunch a little bit, and you feel like a little bit of life is flooding back into you. Your toes curl in your boots, fingers itching against the wooden surface you feel yourself lying back upon.
“Nothing at all?”
That voice. The touch. The feel of those fingers against your skin, the way the voice breathes.
Gojo.
Your eyes suddenly snap open, your chest concaving in as you take in a big gasp of air. You shoot upwards, your hands resting on either side of you as they balance you on the table, your chest moving up and down with big movements as you look around wildly.
The men that surrounded the table were the same men you saw earlier that night. But you know them all. Samson, Ren, Kenji, Declan, Koji. You remember now, how they all challenged each other to grow the longest hair and beard in the winter months, the winner taking the head of a hog they had hunted. Malcolm, Oisín, Shiro, Genji.
They all stared back at you, their faces clammy and pale, as if they were staring at a ghost.
Your body is shaking, your neck turning when you look to your side.
Gojo.
There’s a hitch in your breathing, your lips trembling when your eyes take in his face.
Those eyes, the same eyes that stared back at you the day you married him. A foggy storm, oceans clashing upon each other, dark and messy. His hair was as white as the falling snow right outside the window, slightly longer than what you remembered, but still the same shape.
His lips, red as the blood that stained the bandages around your hands. You take in the shape of his nose, the lashes upon his lids. The sharp line of his jaw, the slight twitch of his eyes. You take in the lifeless appearance of his skin, his cheeks lacking their usual pink hue. His figure looks even sturdier, more pronounced muscles around his shoulders and chest, the fabric around his arms tight. He looks exactly like you imagine him each night.
You had forgotten some little things over time; like the scar near his left ear or the mole above his brow. You don’t remember how there was a slight crook in his nose from when he had broken it as a child from falling down a tree, but it’s still him. It’s Gojo.
Your fingers itch to touch his face. Your nails dig into the wood.
You look at him. Look at the way his chest rises with each breath. This wasn’t a dream. This was him. He was real and staring back at you.
You had to get out.
It feels like a force pushes your body forward. You don’t know what strength it was that allowed you to swing your legs over the table, what power it was that allowed you to lurch yourself away and fall into him. He doesn’t budge, doesn’t falter, but you hear the others around you exclaiming some things in surprise at your sudden movements.
You don’t stay on him for too long, forcing your feet that feel like iron ore to take one step at a time. You limp and stumble your way through, blindly grabbing for things as you pick up your pace, not looking over your shoulders as your hand reaches for the door.
“Come back.”
It’s his voice. You feel yourself shiver at the sound.
But you don’t know what to do except escape, your palm touching the door knob.
“Come. Back.” His voice is steady, biting, warning, and he doesn’t say anything else because this itself is the extent of what he’s willing to say.
You pause, not looking behind you, your knees shaking as you support yourself upright on the door, one hand sprawled out on it as you heave. You feel like throwing up, feel like your head is about to burst.
This can’t be happening. This can’t be real.
You feel your body shaking, your arms quivering, your legs wobbling. Your shoulders are moving up and down as you struggle to breathe again, and you feel your legs slowly give out beneath you, and you crumble down onto the floor, your hand still on the door as the other one covers your mouth, trying to keep your broken soul contained.
“My lord, should we-”
“Get out,” Gojo says, barely above a whisper, but perhaps the most forward and heavy command you’ve ever heard him give.
There’s a confused silence that follows, his men faltering with the sudden order.
“But-”
“Out!” He roars, and you don’t make a move from the door, can’t find a bone in your body that has the ability to pull yourself away.
Thankfully, you think this is one of the more advanced rooms of the tavern, and when you hear the patter of footsteps and a door latch open from another side of the room, one that most likely leads to an office that has another door out to the hallways. It takes a minute, but the footsteps begin to slow and finally they cease, the door quickly clicking shut as the last man closes it behind him.
But there’s still one person remaining, and you could distinguish who it was by the sound of his breathing alone.
Your back is still facing him, your hands moving to hold your head as you fall sideways to the wall next to you, your hands moving down to hide your sweaty and clammy face from the one person you had convinced yourself you’d never see again.
He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t move.
You curl your legs up to your chest in an effort to hide as much as yourself away from him as possible. It feels like your heart isn’t working correctly. It rattles around at an odd pace in the limited space of your rib cage, bouncing around erratically, trying to warn you that something was wrong. Your hands grasp at your chest, fingers digging into the skin as you try to calm it down.
But you soon realize that that’s not your only problem. Your head was spinning in a way that made you see twos of everything, your forehead beading with sweat. It feels like you’ve lost control over any of your movements, your body working as one, your mind as a totally separate entity. You wondered if this was you dying, if your body had suddenly given up.
“Slow your breathing down.”
You falter, eyes looking above your direct line of sight which was staring at the wall adjacent to you, traveling upwards when you slowly looked up and saw muddy boots, then a familiar pair of black trousers, upwards till you landed on his chest and then his chin. You see his face, looking down at your form, his eyes dark but focused on your face, his lips pulled into a thin line. You hadn’t heard him come near you, but you also doubt you’d hear a canon go off in this state.
Gojo.
You shake your head, looking instantly away from him as your lips tremble, snot falling from your nose as you look anywhere else. It seems difficult to breathe, the simple but tiring task bordering on impossible.
You can’t see him, but hear a small thump sound a few seconds later. You glance from above your lashes to see that he’s taken a seat, resting his back on the wall that’s facing yours. His legs are sprawled out, long things that you used to tease him about, and the tip of his boots almost reach your knees.
“Reach your hand out,” he says after a beat of silence.
You almost scoff at the insanity of it.
But you look at him, truly look him in the eyes this time, and see that he’s being serious.
You look back down to your shaking hands, cold and still bandaged up, and then back to him. It feels unreal. You feel your hands shake even more when your mind computes again that it’s Gojo that’s two feet in front of you.
“One hand at a time,” Gojo says, his voice lowered, and he demonstrates by sitting up a little bit, leaning a breathe closer, still feet away from you as he lifts his hand up from where it was resting on his thigh, holding it up in the air, fingers sprawled from each other, “Like this.”
Your mind tells you to move, just a little bit, and your fingers twitch against your knees that were sitting close to your chest. It takes a few seconds but you will raise your hands upwards, slowly, gently, just like he did. It’s shaking, he isn’t, but he doesn’t say anything about it.
His eyes look over the bandages on your hand. Some spots are dotted with red blood from your most recent cuts. He looks at your fingers, the dirt beneath your nails and the way they’re cut at odd angles. He finally focuses on your fourth finger, lingering on its bareness, and you don’t realize in that moment just how much he was mourning the absence of your wedding ring.
“Bring it away from your body,” his voice is barely a whisper, thick with unspoken emotions that have plagued him for the past year and a half, his own eyes glossing over slightly when he takes you in, just as you were doing to him.
You find that in these last moments your erratic breathing has slowed down a bit, so you go the distance, gingerly stretching your arm out so that your hand is straight in front of you, still trembling just a bit.
“I’m going to hold your hand with mine. It helps, I promise.”
I promise.
Your teeth clatter against each other, your tongue laying flat and like a stone in your mouth. You can’t speak yet, but there’s a sharp look in his eyes. The same one that happened whenever he made his promises to you. Ones he’d never break.
So you slowly tilt your head down in a small nod.
He watches this, observing your behavior. He shows you his hand, never putting it down, just carefully outstretching his arm like you did, and he moves a little bit away from the wall to get a little closer to you.
You never blink as you watch his hand stretch out towards yours, fingers straight, and in a few seconds they hover above yours. He’s not wearing his ring, you note, but put your focus on the fact that in another moment his skin is touching your skin, his fingers curling slowly over yours. In another moment, his hand moves, gently holding yours in his. That touch, the same touch you feel like a lingering ache at night.
The two of you don’t say anything, looking at where your hands meet with bated breath.
The touch was grounding. You feel his fingers against your palm, long and steady, unlike your own. His skin is warm, comforting, inviting. It’s not soft, but it never was. Years of yielding swords, bows, spears, using his fists as means of destruction caused that. But when he held you, it never felt like the hands of a warrior, just of a man. Your own fingers stretch outwards, your tips gracing his large hand, slightly above his wrist, where his pulse point is. You try to forget that the last time you touched him was so long ago
“Better?” He asks simply, taking in how your chest had slowed its movements, the sweat on your forehead stopping. Your eyes are still glossy, but he knows it’s more than just an episode that’s causing that.
You swallow thickly, looking down at your hands and not to him as you nod again.
There’s a silence that follows, the only sound being the small exhale that you would give, and his slight inhale.
You’re the first to move, your hand going slack in his as you begin to pull away. His own finger twitches, not wanting to let go for a minute, but he falters and lets you move away, resting your back up against the wall as you cradle the hand close to your chest, as if it was searing.
Gojo moves back too, his shoulders square as his hands go to rest on his thighs again, letting out a large puff of air through his lips. After another moment his head dips, fists clenched as he pinches the bridge of his nose, his eyes squeezing shut as if he too can’t believe any of this. He runs a hand through his white hair, pushing it back, before he allows himself to open his eyes again and stare at you.
“I’ve looked for you for sixteen months.”
You look at him blankly, but inside something cracks.
“I thought you were dead after the first eight,” Gojo says, “So I've just been searching for your body.”
You look away from him, the sight of him here and speaking to you too much to bear.
He waits for you to say something, anything, a flash of anger crossing his face, his nose flaring and lips stretching thin as he tries to control himself. He had convinced himself for a while now that you were dead. He wondered what he’d do if he found you somewhere, not knowing how to prepare himself for the sight.
But in the beginning, when he was sure that he’d find you, Gojo wondered about what he might say to you if he ever saw you again. He told himself that he’d yell, he’d beg you to tell him why you ran away, why you never wrote back, but his anger faded and dissipated the minute he saw you. The anger, the frustration, the pain, hurt, breaking, everything that he feels now is from seeing you alive, knowing that you were alive this whole time and never once said anything. The tears and the bite in his throat he has to fight back being from the sole reason of how much he missed you.
He sees you here, alive, your chest moving with each breath. He sees the flutter of your lashes against your cheek, the plump of your lips. He sees your eyes, more tired and filled with unknown sorrow, but still that burning color he loved so much. He watches the way your arms wrap around yourself, the curve of your jaw and the way you try to blink away your tears. Gojo sees you and though there are small changes to your appearance, still remembers you being as beautiful as the day he last saw you.
His wife, Gojo thinks, his wife was alive after all this time.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” he thinks his voice comes out breathy, almost like he was trying to stop himself from cracking in front of you, “Why didn’t you send a letter? Or…or a sign?”
You bite down on your lip, your head turned away from him so that he couldn’t see your face. You feel yourself choking as he speaks, your eyes stinging with tears again. You can’t do this, you can’t.
You blindly walk back into the other part of the room, where he and his men originally were. You hear him move instantly behind you, as if he was fearful you’d try to make a run for it again, but you’re searching for a pitcher, your throat dry and aching.
You stumble around, wiping away at your wet cheeks, hands stiff as you turn desperately to find anything, something to just wash away the biting and choking feeling you had that was settling deep in your chest.
Your eyes almost light up when you see a pitcher, making your way through it as your fingers grasp the handle, finding a cup next to it as you bring it up. It’s heavy, filled with water, and although you’ve gotten stronger these past months lifting and carrying wood, you can’t seem to properly pour.
It must be from how your hands are still shaking. Water pours messily from the sprout, getting everywhere but the cup. You let out a frustrated cry, wiping the tears away from the corners of your eyes with your elbow as you try again.
Something stops you. You look over your shoulder to see Gojo, his hand hovering over your arm that’s holding the pitcher. Silently, he grabs it, fingers curling around the handle as you let go. He reaches for the cup in your hand, which you give him, and sniffles when he calmly pours some water for you, handing it back with the cup full.
You take it after a beat of quiet, bringing it to your lips as you chug it down. You finish it in seconds, wiping your lips as you squeeze your eyes shut, feeling his heat radiating off of him from how close he was to you.
“You have to leave.”
Your voice comes out frail and hoarse, and you're staring at him through tear stricken eyes, your lips pressed firmly into a little frown, one that you do to help you from crying even more. You cross your arms over your chest, wincing slightly when your bandage rubs the wrong way, but you refuse to drop your gaze from his.
“Y-you can’t know I’m here,” you’re shaking your head adamantly, stuttering as you think of everything that has happened and what it means, the repercussions that could come from it, all of your sacrifices amounting to nothing, “None of you can…please, gods, I…” You let out a gasp, hands covering your mouth as you frantically walk away from him, pacing around the vastness of the empty room.
You run your hands over your face, wringing your fingers, fidgeting with the fabric of your bodice as you shake your head repeatedly. They know you’re here, they know you’re alive. If anybody finds out, if word gets out of where you are and your true identity, gods, what if the king finds out?
You’re muttering words to yourself, tears catching on your cheeks, chin, falling into your lips, and you phase Gojo out. You act like he’s no longer there. It feels like what you’ve done for the past year, pretending like his ghost, the thought of him, wasn’t haunting you when in fact it was at every single second of the day.
“Leave!” You shout, your voice hoarse, “Get out! Leave! Please!” You’re pleading with the gods above to make him listen to you, to cast away his stubbornness and pride and make him listen to your words just this once.
“Leave?” He says with a stutter, a chuckle of disbelief falling from his lips, “What are you sa-”
“Get out!” You scream, cutting him off, pointing at his chest and to the door, “I don’t want you here! Go!”
He shouts your name, loud and clear, and you instantly stop.
Your brows are furrowed down the middle, a crease between them, and you feel like your eyes are slightly twitching. You must look mad to him, not the person he once remembered. You hope he feels disgust, wanting to leave as soon as he gets a few words in. That would be ideal. Maybe he despises you so much he doesn’t talk about you ever again, satisfied to see just how poorly you’re doing by yourself
But to be fair, he doesn’t look any better himself.
There are dark circles under his eyes. His skin seems flushed, but not in a good way. There’s a bead of sweat above his brow bone, his lips moving slightly as if he wants to yell, scream, cry, shout, but can’t figure out which one to do. The more you get a look at him the more you’re able to see the cracks in his usual appearance. The way he hides behind his strength but fails to use that strength to keep himself afloat.
But oh, how you wish to walk to him, run to him. How you long to collapse in his chest, to feel his heartbeat against our cheek. How you want to feel those sturdy hands wrap themselves around you, give you an embrace you’ve been chasing for so long. You want to feel his skin, taste his tears. You want him, all of him. But you can’t, you remind yourself. He’s not yours to have anymore.
“That’s it?” He bites out, his tone furious, “You haven’t seen me in over a year and that’s it? I have to leave?” He sputters, a bitter laugh falling from his lips as he rubs a hand across his jaw in disbelief, as if he can’t fathom the person that’s standing in front of himself right now is the person he nearly died trying to find.
You glance out the window, the snow storm still going strong. It’s as dark as ink outside, the only light that’s illuminating your faces coming from the candles lit that scatter across the room. You wish you were in the snow than in here, the freezing winds better than the hot and burning sensation you feel at the moment.
“You…you don’t understand,” you plead quietly, “This isn’t-”
“What?” Gojo snaps, cutting you off as your mouth clams up, “This isn’t what? Simple? Easy to grasp?” He’s cracking, his demeanor slipping from calm to angry, ”How you ran away without any fucking warning? How you evaded all my guards? How you wound up here? What can I not understand? Because I’ve spent a year and a fucking half coming up with every single theory that could explain this!” His voice bounces off the walls and you wince slightly, face cracking as you sniffle, “So what? What is it? What can I not get that’s so difficult to comprehend?”
A strand of his hair has fallen onto his face and his eyes have gotten as dark blue as they can get. You let out a little sob, covering your mouth as you turn away from him, shaking your head again and again as you try to think, try to will yourself out of this.
How could you explain any of this? How could you tell him without anything happening as a consequence? There’s no simple way. If you tell him the truth, who’s to say he’d believe you. And on the off chance he does, there’s no way he’d sit still and take it. All your efforts of keeping the two nations from war would break. If Gojo believed that his wife had been abducted due to order from the Southern king, a war was no longer the worst thing that could happen but full fledged destruction. Years of bloodshed and violence and everything you did would be for nothing.
But if you didn’t tell him? If you lied? You didn’t know what to do or say, not expecting or preparing for a moment like this because you never thought it would happen. You tried to live blissfully unawares, hoping that your past life had eventually faded away.
“Tell me,” he says again, his voice cracking, and his tone has fallen, it’s not angry, not the facade he was putting up because he could never be angry with you, could never yell at you and immediately regret his actions, “I’m here, I found you, so, so please, just…just tell me why,”
You jam your palms into your eyes, beginning to pace around the room again as you breathe deeply.
“I, I didn’t know,” you don’t know what to say, how to lie, what to do to make any of this make sense, how to satisfy sixteen months of questions, prayers, hurt, in the little time you had, “I can’t…” you sigh through your nose, looking at him apologetically, cheeks shining in the candlelight as your lips tremble and you shake your head, giving him a small shrug, “I-I can’t tell you.”
“Was it because I left?” He takes a few steps forward to get closer to you but falters when he sees how you take one back, his eyes confused, full of pain as he stammers, “Were…were you scared? Because I came back,” you let out another cry, hiccuping when you heard the tenderness and hurt in his voice, “I came back like I promised you I would.” And you shake your head to that and he pauses, hand clenching and unclenching as he tries to figure you out with your minimal words and even more limited movements.
“So…so why? Darling, please, just tell me why,” He’s begging you, and Gojo never begs. Not unless he needs to. Not unless it’s without anybody other than you.
“You don’t - don’t understand,” your voice cracks as you wipe away your falling tears, “It’s n-not that.” How could he think you didn’t believe him? The thought that he even believed that, using it as a hypothesis breaks you even more and your chest shakes, fingers itching to hold him and tell him everything that happened.
Gojo looks like he’s struggling to think, like he doesn’t know what to do as he throws his arms in the air, his eyes pleading with you. You see a slight sheen in them, see the way they quiver, how maybe he too is crying. Maybe from frustration, maybe because he just missed seeing your face.
“Then what?” He takes another tentative step closer and you don’t move, frozen in place, and he takes one more step to you, until he’s only a foot away, “Was it because of…because of the war? Because of what I did? Were you angry with me?”
You lick your lips as you pursue them, squeezing your eyes shut as you cry even more. A sound tears from your throat, a sort of wail that you can’t control, and it’s one that you don’t mean to let out. You furiously wipe at your face, your head hanging low as you cross your arms across your stomach. It doesn’t take another second until you hear his boots thump along the floor, bringing himself to you as he pauses. And slowly, before you or Gojo knows what’s happening, you feel one of his arms circle your shoulders. Unknowing, a movement he wasn’t sure of.
But then you break, falling into his chest as you sob, your arm flying upwards to grasp onto anything you could, fingers digging into the fabric of his coat, into his shoulders, around his waist. You can smell the faint lingering smell of smoke on him, the little hint of leather. You sniffle, fingers moving up towards his hair, wanting to feel it beneath your skin. You wanted to cherish it for a moment longer, like you should have all those months ago. You feel the sturdiness of his chest against yours, feel the buttons that engrave into your cheek. You feel him, all of him that there is to offer.
You don’t realize how he does the same as you. The anger instantly faded when he felt your body against his, when he wrapped his arms around your frame. He could feel the flesh of your cheeks as he moved his hands across your face, over and down your torso as he grasped onto your waist. He wanted to push you away, force you to feel the pain he had all those months, but he couldn’t. He had you now, and he didn’t know how much longer he was allowed to. His lips are a breath away from your forehead, and he presses them to the crown of your head, his chest shaking as he cries silently, his tears wetting your hair.
You don’t know why he holds you like he used to, why he comforts you like he still loves you. After all this time you thought that the only way he’d touch was if he were to touch you with a sword, banishing you from the North and from any of their territories if he saw you again. Not this. Never this.
If only you knew how upon feeling you, holding you close to his chest, he first took a breath of air in sixteen months. If only you knew how his heart started to pump, pump, pump, the way it was supposed to, and not the pathetic little beats it did just to simply keep him alive but wasn’t living until now. Because the truth was that he’d already forgiven you for what you did. He’d forgiven everything you had done up until this point and would forgive everything you do later, even if he wouldn’t be there to witness it.
“I’m s-sorry,” you cry into his chest, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you chant, your words slurring together in a mixture of apologies, guilt, longing, hurt, and every emotion you’ve bottled up and decided to put away, hoping you’d never have to touch them again.
It was a culmination of months away from the only man you had ever loved. Months of barely surviving, living through peoples scraps and trash as you tried to run away as far away from the only home you had ever known in a last ditch effort to be of some help to the people you cared about. It was a broken plea for Gojo to hear everything you had suffered in just two repeated words, knowing that he could never truly know what you had done and why you had done it unless you told him yourself. He just hugs you tighter, his arms caging you in as you bring yours close to your chest, your hand lying against his torso as your body shakes with cries. His hand rubs up and down your back, fingers curling into your cloak as he just nods, not trusting his own voice, just holding you with as much strength he could muster without crushing you.
Gojo waited for sixteen months, and he’d be damned if he let go of you now. Not after countless nights of staying awake and days riding across the four nations, through rain and mud, snow and storm, heat and desert, weeks spent without barely a blink of sleep, all in efforts to find you. And now he has. And he isn't letting you go. Not now, not ever again.
“Did you mean what you wrote?” He asks against your head, his lips falling open in a silent cry as his hands shake against your body. You squeeze your hands, balling them into fists against his chest. No, you want to scream, no!
“I have to leave. I could never, under any gods’ sky, pretend to keep loving a man as barbarous as you,” his voice is choked, the sentence falling from his lips at such a heart wrenching rate, and a part of your mind flashes to that fated night when the man put that knife to your throat and forced you to copy down those words, the same ones he’s saying now, the words that he memorized after reading your farewell letter over and over again, the letters searing into his mind, “Did you mean that?” You hear how Gojo’s voice cracks, as if hearing you admit to that would be a fate worse than death, as if he regrets asking the question that’s been plaguing him for months.
You feel your tears soak through his coat, your teeth biting into your lips as you control yourself, taking every part of your soul that wants to crawl out and scream, from shaking your head. So you just go limp against him, nails digging into your palms.
“Look at me,” he whispers, his hand trailing up from your back, floating over your side as it comes upwards to grab at the side of your head which was hidden away in his chest. You don’t fight him as his fingers latch under the skin of your jaw, or when he cups your face as gently as he possibly could, his touch like a feather as he angles you upwards to look at him.
When you see his face you let out a little shaky exhale, wet and messy as you feel his warmth travel from his fingers to your body, tingling everywhere, a certain type of warmth that you had been missing for a while and only came back because the other half of your soul did.
“Tell me you meant it, p-please,” his voice travels across the walls of the room, heavy, barely above a whisper but you hear every crack, every single way he breaks down, no longer able to keep himself strong, “That you ran away because you never loved me, and I’ll…I’ll leave,” his thumb rubs up and down your jaw, a movement he doesn’t even realize he’s doing, something that’s second nature to him and a tear falls from the corner of his eyes, his lashes fluttering as he tries to blink them away, “I’ll leave and you’ll never have to worry about me ever again.”
No, no no, no this can’t be happening all over again. You feel like you’re going insane, his thumb wiping away your tears as you stare silently at him, your lips chapped as you shake your head slightly, knowing the movement itself just cost you everything. You see the way a little spark makes its way onto his face and you shake your head even more at that, not wanting him to get any sort of idea.
“N-no, no, no,” you mutter, gasping for air, his hand falling a little bit but you chase after his touch, your head falling into his palm like it was meant to, “No, I…I didn’t want to, I m-mean I didn’t, I,” you’re stammering, words falling out like vomit and you can’t control them.
You press your cold fingers to your eyes, shaking your head as if it’s the only thing you can do.
“I,” you sigh, looking up at him with a breaking look, “I d-didn’t but,” he deflates a little bit and it hurts to see the most strongest person you’ve ever seen look so broken, “But I can’t,” you whisper the last word with as much strength as you could, “I can’t go back.”
Gojo lets out a puff of air, his shoulders rising and falling, his hand pulling away from your face, most likely thinking you didn’t want it there when it was the only thing you wanted, the only thing you longed for when you were alone and slept with one eye open.
He looks lost, confused, not knowing what to say to make any sense of this.
You take a step back.
“Then,” he runs a hand through his hair, something he does when he is stressed, not knowing what else to do with his hands, “Why did you write it? Why…why, why did you leave?”
You look away, your mouth opening slightly before you close it again, knowing your best option was to stay silent.
“Was…was there someone else?” There’s a slight tremor in his voice, no malice, no blaming, just curiosity, “Someone here?”
You quickly shake your head, hiccuping a little bit as your nose scrunches up, sniffing when you vehemently try to silently tell him no, that the only person you’ve loved and can ever love was him. That you’d rather stab a stake through your heart that makes room in your heart for anybody else but him.
“Y-you didn’t do anything,” you murmur, a tear slipping down your nose as you shudder, “It wasn’t because of you.”
“Then why?” He presses quickly, pleading, his cheeks red and flushes as he begs for you to talk, to say something other than the empty clues you’re giving him, “If, if not because of another person then…then what possible reason did you have for leaving?” Gojo pauses to catch his breath, glancing away from you as he tries to regain composure, “You left without any other reasons telling me why, coming to a random town on the eastern coast with nobody you know here. It’s,” he laughs to himself, shaking his head as he shrugs indifferently, “It’s not like you were forced to leave, so…so why, why darling, why?”
There’s a hitch in your breathing when he utters the simple words. It’s not like you were forced to.
Your mind flashes quickly with memories of that night, the man on top of you, the knife pressed to your throat, urging you to write that letter. You remember waking up on his horse, your hands bound, trying to piece together what was happening. You think back to his greasy hair, the oily smile, his cruel eyes. You can still hear his gruff voice in your ear, the way he ordered you around your own room as if you were his dog, doing whatever he asked you to to spare the lives of those outside the door. You remember his hot breath on your skin, the weight of his body on yours, the way his eyes raked over your figure. You remember him lying on the ground, bloodied, calling you names as you ran away with his horse.
Gojo calls your name, once and then twice when you don’t acknowledge him the first time.
He stares at your body with furrowed brows, taking in the way your chest heaves, your fingers digging into your sides as you stare blankly out the window.
Gojo takes a few brisk paces to where you were, his hands grabbing your elbows, not tightly, just to force you out of your busy mind, his head shaking in utter confusion at the way you suddenly left, and you slowly blink out of your stupor, looking at him and his questioning eyes.
There’s a strange look on your face, one he doesn’t recognize.
His mouth parts a little bit, eyes squinting together as he assesses you. He lets out a small laugh, a disbelieving, questioning one, one that he can’t control because you didn’t react like this to any of his other questions.
“You…” his hand falls from your elbow, hovering over the back of your head, gently holding your nape, and you feel like a magnet, drawn to him, your hands balled by your side to keep you from doing something you’d regret, “You weren’t…forced to leave…right?”
You just stare at him.
You count to five, trying to steady your breaths. You want to shake your head, to disagree with his question even though it was the only correct thing, but your body stops you from doing that. Maybe it was fighting back, begging for you to tell him the truth. You evade eye contact from him, your tongue resting on the roof of your mouth and you swallow thickly, forcing down the bile.
But Gojo knows you, knows how to read your quiet expressions and little ticks. You don’t do anything but stay quiet. Soon, after a few seconds pass and he stares longer at your face, your silence becomes your only answer.
His hand falls away from your head, taking a few steps back as if the air had been punched from his lungs.
It was one of the first things he thought when he was given your letter. Thought you had been abducted, and entertained the idea for as long as he could. But there were just no signs of a forced entry, your bags packed and missing some clothes. He read your letter over and over again, and when they never found you, he began to believe the words you had written down. Different ideas came to him, ones of a different lover, ones that made him believe you truly never loved him, ones that said you had run away on your own free will.
He covers his mouth with his hand, a tremor in his breath when you glanced at him with a sheen in your eyes.
“But…?”
There’s no answer, no need for one.
You shrug a little bit, wiping at your cheeks once again as you purse your lips together, sniffing as you try to keep everything at bay.
“I, um,” you swallow your spit back, biting your lip as you think for a second, think before the dam breaks and you realize it useless to keep any of this in anymore because Gojo knows and it’s worthless to keep it a secret, “A man came a few nights after you had left. Through my window.”
You peek over at Gojo and quickly glance away because the look on his face is too much to process. You keep your eyes trained on the corner of a carpet, at the fraying end as you decide to continue.
“He was huge, ‘Toru, like nothing you’ve ever seen,” you say with a small laugh, one because this entire situation is too much to handle, your hands moving away from your body as you show his width with the space between them, “He told me he’d cut my tongue out if I screamed, so I…I didn’t.”
You sniffle again, chewing on the inside of your cheek, pausing slightly as your jaw ticks the more you recall that night.
“H-he had this letter in his, uh,” you sigh, trying to control your breathing as you blink rapidly, brows furrowed as you motion to your chest, “In his pocket. He told me to write the same words down b-but in my own handwriting.”
Gojo feels his knees give out, holding onto one of the pillars of the bed next to him to keep himself upright, his eyes never leaving your lips, his head suddenly feeling like it was about to detach from his body.
“I was told to pack some b-bags and clothes,” you wave your hands around as if that wasn’t important, “And I think he, uh, hit me in the back of my head,” your hand rises to your head, as if you could still feel the pulsing feeling from when you had woken up days later, “So I was out for five, six? Six days, I think, before I woke up again and was on his horse.”
The words fell from your mouth like silk, things you had been wanting to see forever spilling like water from a pitcher, and you couldn't stop yourself, the only thing your mouth was willing to do was continue.
“He said that somebody had sent him. Some bidding for the king, I guess. I think sometime between his talking I realized he was sent to kill me, dump my body in the woods so you’d think I had left. So I knew I had to leave, fight my way out somehow. And…and I don’t know…how, but,” you chuckle to yourself, shrugging at the thought of you when you broke free from your restraints and overpowered him, the look of surprise in his gnarly face when you dug the knife into his ribs, “But I was able to get away from him. I might’ve killed him, I didn’t check.”
Your blurry eyes blink upwards to Gojo as your head tilts to the side as you give him a small smile, full of unsaid words and melancholy feelings.
“I wanted to go back, back home to you and - and everything but,” your teeth dig into your bottom lip as the two of you stare back at each other through tears and even more tears, “But he said that if I had committed treason of the highest degree, that,” your teeth rattle, “That you’d never take me back. And that if they’d send more people like him. To hurt people l-like you, like Alina, my friends, your parents, e-everyone I cared for, everyone that you care for,” you can’t control the little cry that escape your lips, your hand flying upwards to your throat as you give yourself a second, “And I thought to myself that…that maybe if I ran away, if you thought that I no longer wanted to b-be your wife then,” one shoulder lifts up in a sad shrug, “Then maybe everything would resolve itself. That there’d be no war to fight, no cause to die for.”
You wait for a second, air lodged in your lungs.
“I nearly ended up dead on the side of a trail,” you motion around you, to the tavern, the snow, the town, “A lady found me and took me here. I,” you swallow thickly, tears caught on your lashes, “I’ve been here ever since.”
You look at him but he isn’t looking at you. You want him to look up, just this once, but he doesn't and you allow him his own time to think. You gnaw on your lips, fingers fidgeting with themselves as you tilt your head a little bit.
“I…” Your head tilts down to your chest, your words dying on your tongue, but there’s a sudden warmth that takes over you and you feel your legs being lifted from the ground as strong arms circle around your waist, your body almost flying back with the force and speed you were picked up with. You feel your arm go to circle around your head, holding you close to his face as he hugs you to himself like he never has before.
Your legs wrap around his torso, your cheek pressing against his and you cry, you let yourself let go of the tears, let go of the lost time, let go of all the feelings you told yourself you aren't allowed to feel, and wrapped your arms tightly around his shoulders and neck, holding him as close as you could to you.
“I j-just wanted to help,” you murmur wetly, choking as you sob, “I didn’t want anybody else to - to get hurt,” you tell him in broken phrases, “I didn’t want you to get h-hurt…”
He shushes you, lips kissing the side of your face, the corners of your eyes, your cheeks, the crown of your head, your ears, everything he could reach, feverishly. You could taste the saltiness of his own tears on your tongue, could feel his heart beating quickly from the pulse on his neck.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers against your skin, his eyes squeezing shut as he shakes his head over and over again, “I’m so sorry sweetheart, I’m sorry,” his arms grasp onto you tighter, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, gods, I’m sorry, I’m sorry darling, oh gods, I’m sorry,” you laugh weakly at his muttered apologies, at the way it sounds like he’s praying and apologizing at the same time; for your forgiveness, for you to believe that he was more sorry than any man has been and could be in his life.
“I s-should’ve stayed,” he cries out, his lips trembling as he kisses your forehead, between your eyebrows, your lids, “I should never have left,” you shake your head, trying to stop him but you can’t, “I…I shouldn’t have left, shit, gods, it’s m-my fault, I should’ve-”
“It’s not your fault,” you murmur against his ear, kissing his jaw softly, pulling away a little bit so that you could look him in the eyes, shaking your head a firmly as you could, holding onto the side of his face in your shaking hands, “Don’t you ever, e-ever, say that...you couldn’t - you couldn’t have known.” You shake with cries as you try to smile, try to rake your fingers through his hair to calm him down, twirling his hair around like you used to when you’d wake up next to him. You unlatch your legs from his waist, slowly setting them down as you stand up on your own, your hands still tangled with each other in his hair.
“I never stopped loving you,” you whisper, watching the way his face crumbled upon hearing your words, “When…when I was starving and didn’t know if I’d make it through the night, I tried to pretend you were beside me. And,” your shoulders shake again, “And when I didn’t want to wake up I pretended I was in o-our bed, about to wake up next to you. Everything - everything I did was for you, and I…I know you might hate me for it, despise me for running away but…” you trail off, your thumb running across his cheekbones, his brows, his nose, “But I hoped that one day you’d understand why.”
You finish your words, staring at him as he stares at you, a storm happening behind those irises you loved so much. You deflate, knowing that this must be your final goodbye. That he’d never want to get back with somebody who’d ruin their life so easily, who’d break his heart so quickly and without any remorse. You try to cherish the way he looked, try to engrain the little features you had forgotten in your head for when he eventually pulled away and wasn’t yours again. You open your mouth, wanting to tell him that you understand if he no longer shares the same feelings.
“I’m-”
His lips slam against yours, his hand behind your head to keep you steady as you stumble a little bit. Your arms go up to hold onto his, surprised and taken aback by the sudden movement. He pulls away almost as quickly as he had moved in, an apologetic look flashing across his face.
“I’m sorry,” he mutters breathlessly, his lips shining with spit, “I-”
This time it’s you who cuts him off, reaching your hands upwards to tangle back into his hair as your lips slot against and move roughly against his, mixing your tears, spit, love and pain with one another as he eagerly meets you in the middle with another hand sprawled out across your back, pulling you closer to him.
You angle your head upwards, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as your lips press harshly against one another. They move in tandem, in perfect synch, as if you hadn’t spent one day away from each other but still with so much passion as if to make up for the months spent without one another.
You moan slightly, your lips opening as the sound escapes you, and he surges forward, his tongue meshing with yours as he licks into your mouth, wanting to taste you, to drink from you as if he hadn’t had a proper sip to satiate his thirst in over sixteen months. His lips are soft and plump, just like you remember, and your eyelashes flutter against your cheek at the feeling of him panting into you like a mad man who was suddenly becoming sane.
The hand that he had resting on your back moves upwards, grabign and kneading at your hips, cupping your waist as you whine at the spark his touch brings, feeling lightheaded when he pulls away slightly just to bite down on your bottom lip with his teeth, his nose nudging against yours as you try to catch your breath.
“I missed you,” he whispers against your lips, two hands cradling each side of your face, “So, so much. I never stopped looking for you,” you laugh through your tears, your eyebrows quivering as you hold onto him, “I could barely sleep since you’ve been gone and the only reason I did was so that I could dream of you.”
You pull his neck down to press one, two, three chaste and salty kisses against his trembling lips.
“I would have taken you back even if you had burned the entirety of the North,” Gojo tell you in a low tone, “I would have taken you back even if you carved my heart out,” he kisses the tip of your nose tenderly, “Which you damn near did with that letter.” You laugh softly, his thumbs on either side of your lips as he cradles your face in the palms of his hands.
“I wish I never wrote it,” you say quickly, scrambling, your eyes darting around, “I never…” but he hushes you, shaking his head as he bring your head forward to place a longing and slow kiss on your forehead, one hand at the nape of your neck to force you look him in the eyes.
“If he,” he pauses, his nose flaring at the mention of the man who tore you away from him, he controls the anger that boils and bubbles at his flesh at the thought of him touching you, threatening you, hurting you, taking you away from him, but he knows it’s not the time for that right now, he’ll deliver chastisement when he gets the chance, “If that man told you to kill me, to kill an entire group of my men so that he wouldn’t hurt you, I’d let you it in a heartbeat,” you feel him wipe a tear away, looking at your features, taking in everything he had been nearly dying without for so long.
“I’m so proud of you, my darling girl,” he says delicately and your eyes well up at his words, never hearing them before and never expecting Gojo to be the one to tell you after everything that you had done, “Going through what you did? Surviving on your own? Gods,” he lets out a little chuckle, dipping his head down so it could rest on your own, smiling at you through his own tears, “That’s what I’d expect from my wife.”
Your mouth parts a little bit and you sniffle, holding onto the back of his arms like he’s your anchor, a tether to reality, to show you that this isn’t a dream and that you’d wake up in your shack but that he’s here.
You feel his arms go lower though, grabbing your thighs from behind your skirts and petticoat, a sign that he wanted you to jump. So you oblige him, knowing he’d catch you regardless, and you silently wrap your legs around him again as his lips find yours once more, your chests moving up and down with labored breaths, but you don't’ need air, you just need him.
“Bed,” you murmur against his feverish lips, in between his dizzying kisses as your fingers slightly pull at his white strands, “P-please,”
Gojo pulls a little bit away, his eyes falling to your lips and then back up, almost in silent questioning. You nod once, needing for him to move, but he gets the gist, a smile, the first one you had seen that night, the first one from him you had seen in over a year, breaks onto his face, and he moves slightly back, nudging you with his nose to kiss him again and you do.
When his thighs hit the back of the bed you feel like a feather as he twists you around in his arms, your hands never disconnecting from his shoulders he gingerly puts you against the mattress, climbing over your body to resume his movements.
The two of you work in tandem, and you know when he’s growing restless, when he wants to explore the rest of your body. His lips trail from your lips to your jaw, pressing wet and splotchy kisses against the skin you have there before his lips move downwards, towards your throat.
You lift your chin a little bit, giving him more access as he sucks your skin into his mouth. You let out a little whimper at the feeling, his teeth grazing your soft skin, and one of your mouth slowly falls open in a little part.
Gojo feels like he’s finally taken his first breath of air when he sees the way he’s marking up your skin, and he knows that once he’s started, there’s doubt he’d ever stop. There’s sixteen months of his lips and touch and mark absent from your skin, and he wants to make up for that.
His hands are at your waist, but his fingers dig into the fabric covering it, frustrated with the barrier that’s still between the two of you.
Your eyes creep open when you feel him pull away, looking at his large body looming over yours with a little pout, one that disappear and melts into a little grin when you see him fumbling with the knot of your cloak, looking even more frustrated with trying to take off your bodice as quickly as possible.
“Here,” you whisper gently, your hand holding his as you move it away, sitting up on your elbows as you undo the knot, shrugging off the layer of warmth as you throw it to the side, “There’s a lace up in the back,” you say, about to twist your body around to show him how to undo the bodice before you hear a loud, almost animated riiip!
You stare down at shock, your chest completely exposed to him, naked and bare, and then to his hands, the culprits for tearing the fabric as if it was a piece of parchment and not heavily lined and stitched top.
Your mouth drops open, hands flying to cover your breasts, but he tsks, swatting your hands aside.
“H-hey!” You exclaim, laughing a little bit at the way his eyes look at you, his brow cocked, heat blossoming across your cheeks and chest, your nipples pebbling in the cold air, “You can’t just - just rip it!”
Gojo chuckles, rolling his eyes, moving up to get closer to your face as he leans down, pressing another searing kiss against your lips.
“I didn’t wait all these months just to be halted by lace,” he mutters, his voice thick and primal and your breathing hitches at the sound, the near growl he has in his tone, and you don’t have it in you to argue with him, desperately needing his hands on you as if you’d die without his touch.
His head dips as he looks down, his eyes finally falling onto your tits, your nipples, your chest that moves up and down with each exhale, and feels his mouth suddenly go dry. He remembers the first time he saw your naked top, remembers that night in the fields vividly, but now that he’s spent so long without being able to look at them, it feels as if he’s seeing you like this for the first time all over again.
“Wait,” you sputter out quickly, your hands going up to your chest again and this time Gojo moves away, quickly and giving you some space as you sit up a little bit against the pillows and backboard, chewing on your lip in embarrassment, “I, um, I might look different, from…from the last time you saw me.”
His white brows pinch together in confusion, but he lets you have the time to gather the words, no matter how much they make you want to see yourself aflame in shame.
The bandages around your hands had slipped off with all the movement, your skin riddles with small scars and bruises that came with chopping and hauling woods. You sometimes looked in your little mirror and saw somebody different.
“My hands,” you say, looking down at them, at the scratches from leaves and twigs, the coarseness on the pads of your fingers from wielding an axe for so many months, and you feel subconscious when his stare falls down to them, “And I…I don’t know, the rest of me, it’s not-”
He cuts you off, pulling your hands away from your chest, but not for the reason you’d expect. He brings them up to his lips, pressing a kiss against each knuckle, the backs of them, the bottoms of your palms, and the only thing you could do is watch with bated breath.
“Do you want to know what I thought when I saw you again? Just outside, in the snow?”
You shake your head, eyes peering at him with an air of curiosity.
“At first I thought that I had died,” he says with a chuckle, “But when I saw you, saw your face, your nose, your eyes, your eyebrows, your cheeks, your hands,” he saws with a little grin, squeezing them in his hands, “I thought that I was dreaming. You looked just like you did when I dreamed of you. And when you woke up, and I saw your eyes again, I felt the happiest I have since the day I last saw you.”
Your shoulders fall, the tension in them dissipating, and you smile gently at him. Of course Gojo would know how to ease your worries, even after a year and counting of not seeing you. And he pauses, a silent talk happening between the two of you, one where he wanted to make sure you were still comfortable. To which you nod, biting your lips a little bit in nervousness, good nervousness, as you do.
His large hands falter, fingers reaching to grab the soft mounds. You watch through your lids that were slightly dropping, the anticipation causing a heat to blossom in your core, and you bite your lip as you wait for him to move.
“You’re so beautiful,” he says in a hushed tone, wonder dripping from his voice as if he was seeing a statue come to life, a painting moving in front of him, “As beautiful as the day I last saw you,” his fingers rub soothing circles on your waist, “My beautiful girl,” he mutters, a small smile on his face that you mirror.
After another second of staring, Gojo makes his first decision, long slender fingers trailing up from your stomach, up your navel and to your left breast, cupping it, his thumb rubbing across your hard nipple as a small sigh escapes his lips.
“G-gods,” he stammers, squeezing the flesh, feeling like a teenage boy rather than the man he’s grown up to be, “Soft,” he chokes out, leaning his head down, “So soft,” he murmurs, his lips latching onto it as you let out a gasp, his tongue rubbing over your areola and your back arches up into him.
He sucks the tit into his mouth, his other hand moving upwards to squeeze and knead the other one, not wanting to leave her unattended. Your lashes flutter at the feeling, mouth dropping open in a quiet sigh when you feel his teeth scrape against your nipple, biting down on it a little bit as your fingers curl into his hair.
“O-oh,” you’re able to say, “‘Toru, oh, oh gods,” you can’t think, can’t formulate a thought as he latches off with a pop, his chin dragging across your chest, his eyes never leaving yours as wrapped his swollen pink lips around your other tit.
He smiles a little bit at the sight of you crumbling from his mouth, flicking your nipple over with his tongue, biting down on this one as well as he moves upwards, sucking the skin around your breast, watching in satisfaction as dark hickeys bloom in the wake.
Your nails rake against his scalp, tugging a little harshly, but his eyes roll back at the feeling, loving the sting.
His lips continue to kiss your chest, moving down from the valley of your breasts and goes down, his spit shining in the candlelight as he kisses the soft skin of your stomach, just above your belly button and then lower, where the tear from your corset ends and the loops of your work skirt begins.
You let out a whine, a keel as he sucks the skin into his mouth.
“You’re s-such a tease,” you stutter out, and he looks at you from his white lashes as his lips make another mark, his tongue moving as he licks the spot, lovingly, and you try to smile back, but your head falls back against the pillow no matter how hard you tried.
“I’m taking my time darling,” he corrects you, his hands moving the hem of your skirt, tugging it down a little bit but eyes eyes squint when he feels some resistance, “I need the woman I love to know just how much I cherish her,” he kisses your hip slowly, “Want her, “another kiss to your lower stomach, “Need her,” and he finishes by moving a little up to press a kiss to your sternum.
You catch your bottom lip beneath your teeth, one hand wringing into the sheets of the bed as you sigh shakily, the heat that’s in your core turning into a fire, one that is growing and burning you from inside out.
Before everything happened, the two of you were burdened with the ever impending need of consummating the marriage. Gojo’s parents were understanding, never pushed the two of you, but the outside world seemed to ponder why your belly hadn’t grown in the months you had been together. Truth be told, you were always nervous, not knowing how to do it, what to do, where things go, and so you’d freak whenever the two of you got close to having sex. So Gojo would always pull back, assuring you that your comfort was the most important thing to him. And though there were nights when he's eating you out, bringing you to ruin on his tongue and fingers, but that was it. But now, it feels different. There was a growing desire in you that felt like it was about to burst the longer you didn’t feel him inside of you.
You can feel the ghost of his touch on your legs, the way his fingers trail slowly up your calves and to your knees, not long before settling on the meat of your thighs, squeezing them as he feels the soft plushness beneath him.
It’s all so maddening.
“‘T-toru?” Your hands search for his, your chest moving with each labored breath, and you feel his hands move upwards, lacing his fingers between yours as his eyes search for what it was you wanted, “‘Toru, please, oh, please, I need you,” you murmur weakly, “Need you i-in me, please,” you beg, and see the way his pupils grow, his eyes barely even blue when you say the words inches away from his lips.
He lets out an animalistic grown, his eyes rolling back in his head as he plants a sloppy kiss against your lips, his hands falling down to the waistline of your skit, fingers fumbling to find the loop before he gives up, scrunching up the fabric between his fingers before you hear another rip. Looking down you see your skirt in tatters, the fabric looking like it had been mauled by a bear, and watch as he bundles it up and throws it to the side somewhere.
You go to argue but he raises a brow, wondering how you expected him to stay calm and put together when you utter such filthy words in his ear.
It takes you a second to find that you’re now completely naked beneath him, and while that doesn’t cause you to cover up the way you expected, you find yourself pouting a little bit, something that Gojo notices.
“What?” He asks, his hand immediately cupping the side of your face, worried, “Is everything okay? Do you want to stop?”
But you shake your head, hands pawing at his coat, nails scratching as you try to unloop the buttons.
“‘S not fair,” you mumble, pointing to his chest and then to yours, your lips quirking up a little bit as your pout deepens, eyes all wide and open for him, the way you know makes his words turn to slurred speech, “I’m all bare and you’re…not…s’not fair ‘Toru,” there a little whine in your voice, one that causes his cheeks to go pink.
He grins, kissing your cheek apologetically as he nods in agreement.
“You’re absolutely right darling,” he says, able to make quick work at tearing his coat off, swift finger fumbling to get his arms out of the sleeves, his hands going the either side of the tunic beneath him to lift it off and above his head, but the sudden touch of your hands against his skin makes him stop.
He looks down to where your fingers are lying, atop his neck, your eyes wavering when you hook something out from underneath the dress shirt.
How could you have forgotten?
You think to yourself, looking at the ring he had resting on the delicate gold chain. His wedding ring, the one he had told you ages ago he keeps around his neck so that it does fall off during training. Your fingers rub against it, feeling the cold sting of the gold, a familiar thing. But that wasn’t what caught your attention. No, your eyes fall to something next to it.
The matching ring. Yours.
You let out a little shaky gasp, looking up to Gojo to only see him staring back at you, trying to gauge your reaction.
“I…” he sighs, holding your hand in his, the one that was holding onto your ring, “I thought-”
But you don’t let him finish his rambling, pulling him down by the chain of the necklace as you slam your lips against his, a new set of tears sprouting in your eyes as you feel the rings dance around your neck.
Your fingers curl into his hair, digging them deep as your tears wet his cheek, your lips trembling against his as you hook a leg around his waist, your other hand holding onto the side of his face as you kiss him feverishly. You need him near you, need him to know just how much you have missed him, longed for him, need him.
But after a few seconds pass, he pulls away from you and your head moves up to chase him, but he sits up completely, your leg falling away from his waist as you watch him move his hands up to the necklace, tugging at it as it unclips from the back.
You watch silently as he slides your ring off of the chain, holding it in the palm of his hand as it shines brightly in the candlelight. His white lashes flutter against his cheek as he twists the ring around.
“May I?” Gojo says quietly, and you falter, looking down at your hand.
The hand that you’ve lived by for a while, using it for cutting logs and trees, to collect twigs and leaves. The hand riddles with scars and bruises, some fading, some new. The hand that always felt light, no matter how many things you were carrying in it. The reason you always knew, but never wanted to admit it.
You bring it closer to his own, watch as he turns the ring around to face your finger. You feel like the seconds have turned into hours, your mind flashing to when the last time he placed this ring on your finger, when you were a little bit younger and naive, not knowing he’d be placing it on your same finger nearly two years later, but this time out of love and not from an arrangement.
When it finally slides on you sigh a breath of relief, a tear escaping the corner of your eye, falling into your hairline as you hold the hand up, admiring its lost component that you’ve missed so dearly.
“My wife,” he whispers softly, almost to himself as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing, bringing your hand up to his lips as he presses a kiss that lays over the ring, holding onto your hand tight, giving it a squeeze as he gently set it back down on the bed. He places the necklace back over his neck, taking his tunic off with one fluid motion after it clasped into place.
You smile, full, content, and you lie back down against the pillows after a minute passed, your legs spreading a little bit to make room for him between them. His touch goes back up to your thighs, fingers searing in their place as his gaze finally, finally, drops down to your aching, burning core.
You watch as he undoes the buckle of his pants, his trousers being kicked off, his eyes never leaving your glistening folds, and you feel your heart rattle in your ribcage, waiting to just jump out.
Your eyes rake over his naked torso. Gods, he looked even bigger if that was possible. He riffs with even more muscles all across his chest, his arms, and his abs, looking even more pronounced from when you last saw him. His shoulders stand broad and sturdy, a thick vein running across the white trail of hair leading down, and you feel yourself growing wetter at the thought. You’re so busy staring at him you don’t even realize that he too has put his focus down. Down to where you need him the most.
Your mouth goes dry at the sight. It’s the first time you’ve seen it in its entirety. Sometimes you’ve seen the outline from afar, feeling the length from layers of his clothes, but never like this, never so raw.
It’s long, you think, and though you’ve never seen anyone else cock before, you know this must be above what was normal. It curved upwards, not fully standing up from how heavy it was. You wanted to guess that it was at least eight inches, and gods, he was thick. His cockhead spurted more precum, pink, almost red, and it looked like it was about to burst.
Little white hairs grow from its base, soft and plush, and your eyes almost blur from lust at the sight.
Gojo scratches the back of his head almost in embarrassment, a little flush to his cheeks as he snaps his fingers in front of your face to get you to look back at him and not his little friend downstairs. You gulp, slowly finding his gaze as you stare at his pink face. A blush had traveled across his cheeks and went to his nose and jaw. Your head tilted slightly, bottom lip caught underneath your teeth as you squinted a little bit.
Was he…shy?
“Are you…” You almost want to laugh, but stop yourself, a questioning look in your eyes as you sit up a little bit, resting on your elbows as you grin, “Are you blushing?”
Gojo rolls his eyes at your teasing tone, pinching your waist as you squeal a little bit, a fit of laughter falling from your lips when he refuses to answer. Though he tries to look tough, his demeanor cracks when he hears the musical sound of you giggling, a new noise that seems to bring a fresh wave of colors back into his dull grey colored life.
“I know you haven’t,” he swallows, his throat bobbing when he rubs a thumb slowly up and down your thigh, a comforting touch, “I know you’ve never done this before. And if you want to wait-”
“No,” you say instantly, shaking your head, “No, I want this. I want you. I…I need you, Saotru, I need you so bad I think I’m going to start going crazy if you don’t…” you trail off, swallowing thickly as you look back to his groin, and your fingers itch to hold it, to touch it, to feel the velvety skin beneath yours.
Gojo’s mouth goes dry, his lips parting as his pupils grow again.
You need him. You need him and oh gods does he need you. He thinks his heart will stop if he doesn’t have your warmth circling him, pulling him closer to you.
He nods slowly, gnawing on his lip as he continues to rub soothing circles on your thighs, scratching his jaw as he thinks about how to go about this. Though he hates to even think about it, this wasn’t his first time the way it was yours. But it was his first time with the woman he loved, and it felt like he was learning how to do it all over again.
“O-okay,” he says shakily, and here he looks like a young man in love, not the Northern warrior people forced him to become, just your Satoru, “I’ll go slow, okay? Hold my hands, squeeze them as tight as you want. If it becomes too much…” his brow furrow, heart lurching at the thought of hurting you.
“Then I’ll let you know,” you finish with a smile, a promising one as you lean up to rest your forehead against his, “And I’m a strong girl,” you say with a little tease, trying to relax the tension, “It takes a lot to bring me down.”
Gojo chuckles, nodding at your words as he leans a little closer to peck at your lips. You fall back down to the pillows, your legs spreading again as his hands move away form your thighs, going to your cunt, spreading some of his slick on them as he brings it to his cock, breathing slightly through his teeth as his fingers make contact with it, lubing it up as he lines it up with your entrance.
He looks at you once, and you nod, smiling, telling him you were ready.
He pushes the tip in, and feels your walls clench instantly around him. The stretch is there, and your eyes flutter shut, his hands traveling up through the sheets to grab at yours, your fingers lacing together as he brings them to your head, watching your reactions, fearful that it was too much.
But you nod again, wanting him to continue.
He pushes his way in little by little, your tight cunt fluttering and squeezing around him with each inch, biting down on your lips to keep the sounds in. It’s not too much, but you know that if Gojo heard he’d stop it immediately. Because while it does hurt a little bit, the sting is good, and the more he lets you settle in it, the more it actually becomes pleasurable.
Gojo lets his cock sink into, letting you take all the time you need to adjust to his size, squeezing his hands as your fingers dig into his skin.
“G-good? Do you want to stop?” He’s able to bite out, feeling like he was about to cum with the way you’re clenching around him. But his eyes are still filled with worry, not knowing what you were feeling with the way you were staying quiet.
You take a deep breath, biting the inside of your cheek as you slowly open your eyes, looking down to where your bodies were connected, and a little gasp escapes your lips when you see that he’s somehow managed to fit all of himself inside your tight walls, your cunt spasming around his girthy cock.
You moan, mouth falling open as you grip onto his hands again, quickly nodding, needing him to move.
And Gojo takes it.
He slowly begins to pull out, your cunt weeping wetly with his absence, and he gives it a second before he slams back in.
“Umph!” You whine, eyesight going white when his cockhead hit the spongy part of your cunt, nudging at it as you feel achingly full, a good full, “Oooh, oh, ‘Toru, it’s…ohh,” and he knew it was a good oh because you were growing wetter around him, your slick staining his dick and the sheets beneath you.
He pulls his hips back out before he goes back in, creating a steady rhythm that makes your legs feel useful, wrapping around him to keep him as close to your middle as possible. You can hear the squelch whenever he pushes himself back inside, and can feel the way you spurt around him.
“You’re doing great darling,” he says encouragingly, praising you as your finger clench and unclench, “Doin’ so great for me, you know? So perfect, my perfect wife, fuck, oh, s-shit,”
He pulls the back of your hand to his lips, kissing it before he lets go, bringing your now empty hand up to his shoulders, his own hand falling in between your bodies as his finger find your clit, rubbing and pinching at it with such a speed that you feel like you’re finally going towards the light.
“S-so tight,” he moans out, head falling down to your chest as he takes in a nipple between his teeth, sucking your tit into his mouth, needing something to with his tongue, “You’re s’warm, fuck, it’s so, so fucking good,”
You nod feverishly at his words, mewling in agreement, the ability to talk dying right in front of you, your walls turning to mush the more he slams himself inside of you.
It feels like lightning when his fingers continue their movements on your pulsating bud, his cock molding your cunt into its shape, your hot warmth trapping him inside like a honeypot, barely allowing him to move but pulling him back inside whenever he pulls away, needing to chase after the intoxicating feeling.
You feel like crying and laughing, never expecting to have this moment happen. You want to pinch yourself, to see if maybe you were dreaming. You feel all your emotions wash up as Gojo kisses your chest, feel the excruciating pain you first felt when you ran away, the lonely feeling when you were surviving on your own, to live by yourself, pretending that he’d be there to wake you up.
And sure, you dreamed that you’d see him again, but you never thought he’d believe you, let alone forgive you. You never thought he’d be like he always was, kind and caring, loving you with such tenderness that it feels like you never left. You never thought he’d fall in love with you twice, but maybe that was your biggest mistake. Because Gojo Satoru never stopped loving you just like you never stopped loving him.
You feel tears prickle as your eyes, your nose scrunching up to hide your sniffles, a sound that quickly catches his attention.
He looks up from your sternum, fear flooding through his eyes when he sees the tears that roll down the side of your face, the watery look of your eyes and the way you turn your head away so that he wouldn’t see you.
He instantly stops, pulling out of you as his hands quickly go to your cheeks, tapping your jaw, worried, anxious as he begs for you to look at him.
“Hey, hey,” he mutters quickly, his hands slightly trembling, thinking he had hurt you terribly, “We can stop darling, it’s okay, don’t worry,” but you shake your head, a tremor in your lips as you look at him, hands covering your face as you feel tears wet your finger.
“It’s not that,” you whisper, choking on a cry, “‘S not that, it feels good, really good,” you add, sniffing again as your nose scrunches up. Gojo falters, rubbing away your stray tears, eyes looking everywhere to figure out what was wrong. He lets you find your words, even if it takes a minute.
“I…I just,” you sigh, pushing your lips together tightly as you look at him, “I missed you so much Satoru, I m-missed you, and,” you feel his eyes gloss over, “And I’m sorry I didn’t write o-or tell you anything. I love you,” you tilt your head up slightly to kiss him softly, “I love you so much. I know this isn’t what-”
“No,” he interrupts, shaking his head to cut you off, knowing that you might spiral, “I don’t care about the time, darling, I don’t care how long it took to have you again,” a tear off his falls on your cheek, “Just that I have you again. That I have the woman I love back in my arms is enough for me,” he promises and you laugh wetly, rubbing at your eyes.
He kisses your tears away, balancing himself above you as he nudges his nose against yours, something he does when he wants to catch your attention, when he knows you’re lost in your own mind.
You smile again, your hand falling in between your bodies to line himself up again with your entrance. He stutters, going to stop you, but you shake your head, wanting this, wanting this more than anything, and let your legs wrap around him again.
“I love you,” you whisper against his lips, feeling his cockhead push a little bit again past your aching walls.
His head drops down to your chest, not wanting you to see him break. Not wanting you to see the way he cracks because he never thought he’d hear you say those words again, never thought he’d see your lips form around those tender words, to give him such a divine feeling.
“I love you,” he says huskily, gasping it out as he sink in a little deeper, “I love you so much, so so much,” he kisses your chin, “So much that even if it took a century to find you I’d still love you as much as the day I first loved you,”
You giggle a little bit, kissing him messily as you moan against his lips, your cunt stretching again to fit his size, cradling the side of his face in your hands.
“I’m…I’m never letting go of y-you ever again,” you stammer, a little moan escaping you when a vein scratches deliciously against the side of your pulsing walls, “‘M yours, S-satoru, all yours.”
He groans, hands finding purchase on your waist as his eyes squeeze shut, too many feelings, all good feelings, coursing through him.
“Everything I have, e-eveyrthing I am and will be is yours,” he says, his voice breaking, “I was always yours to begin with.”
Your nails scratch down the flexing and large muscles of his back, leaving red lines in their wake as he picks up his face, your own tears, spit, juices, everything, mixing together as you moan in tandem.
“So good!” You whine, toes curling, your arm wrapping around his neck to pull him down to your chest until you were flush against each other, kissing against him messily, licking into his open mouth as you moan even louder when he angles his hips a certain way to reach even deep inside of you, if that was even possible, “T-think…think I’m ‘gonna…!”
That same buzz grows, that feeling of an incoming orgasm approaching you quickly. You were warned that it was difficult for a woman to finish during sex, and some of your friends often told you how they usually lay there until their husbands finished. But it wasn’t like that with Gojo, not at all. You have no idea how much time has passed, but it feels far quicker than usual.
His fingers never give up their pace on your clit, and your walls clench around him, a new feeling growing inside of you.
“‘Toru, I think I’m ‘gonna c-come,” you hiccup, your orgasm building up, “I t-think…”
He nods, biting your bottom lip between his teeth, feeling his own release creeping up on him, feeling the white hot flash grow in his groins.
“I know darling, I k-know,” he mutters, kissing the side of your mouth as his motions quicken, needing to feel you come with him, “I know, let go, come on, I know you can, let go for me darling, there it is.”
You let out your last moan when you feel your orgasm wash over you.
It’s blinding, exhilarating, and for a second you think you nearly died from how good it was.
You spray around his cock, gushing with your release. It wets his balls, dripping down onto the sheets, his abs shining wet from the way you squirted all over him. You want to feel embarrassed, but quite frankly can’t because of how utterly spent you feel.
Gojo opens his mouth in a silent exhale when his own orgasm happens, spilling his cum deep inside of you, painting your walls white with his seed as he spurts, seeming like it was never ending.
You feel yourself clench around him at the feeling, your entire body feeling even warmer at his cum reaching deep inside of you. He came so much that it overflows from inside, coming out from the sides of your cunt, mixing with your own juices as the two of you try to calm down from your mind-shattering climaxes.
And despite how tired you feel, a giddy smile makes its way onto your face.
Your husband is right next to you. You could have only dreamed this moment happening.
Gojo looks down at you, smiling too, his head tilting to the side.
“W-what?” He asks with a quiet chuckle, his cock still nestled inside you, and the thought makes you feel even giddier, turning your face to the side, smushing it against the pillows to mute your bursts of laughter.
But it’s no use, because Gojo leans down to the side of your face, kissing your cheek and jaw gingerly as he smiles against your skin, wiping the excess tears away from the corners of your eyes.
“What’s got you laughing, hm?” He says, his voice slightly muffled against your cheek and you giggle even louder, unable to control it, his fingers not helping as they place tickling and fleeting touches all over our naked and sweaty skin. He can’t help himself and laughs too, the sound hearty and loud, bouncing off the walls as you squirm around, your lips pulled wide, a toothy smile etched permanently onto your face.
“S-stop!” You wheeze out, his fingers everywhere, your arms, legs, thighs, stomach, fast and unforgiving, trying to squeeze every but of the wonderful sound out of you so he could bottle it up and keep it forever, “S-satoru, s-stop! Please!”
You push at his chest, eyes bright and full of mirth, looking back at the man you loved, his smile bright and blinding. You want to have this moment forever, over and over again, never ending, and you never want it to end. He finally pulls away, looking down at you with such adoration and love in his shining eyes that you feel like you’re about to go blind.
He pulls himself out of your warmth, kissing the back of his teeth when you pulse around him again, and his limp cock hangs satisfied. He pushes the mixture of his cum and your juices back in with his thumb, something primal filling him seeing you full of his seed.
Your legs twitch, slapping his curious hand away when it starts to trail back up to your clit, and watch him send you a little wink, a little sign for what’s to come later. Not now, though, because he sees the way your eyes are drooping, your hands resting on your stomach as you pat the empty space next to you.
Gojo obliges, falling down on the rumpled sheets, turning to the side to look at you.
You sigh, happy, full, and breaking at the seams with love. He lets the same sigh out, his pink lips pulled into an easy grin, months of exhaustion washing away from his body as he loops an arm under your waist, tugging you closer to his chest.
The two of you stay there in comfortable silence, grieving the months you lost, celebrating the moments just spent together, finding each other over and over again even if it tore you apart in the process.
He kisses your hairline, your forehead, the corners of your eyes. You preen like a cat, humming when you feel him kiss your cheek and your lips, pressing his last kiss to the tip of your nose, something he used to do when you were about to go to sleep.
“Sleep now” he whispers against the side of your head, pulling the blanket to cover your bodies, his hold of you never letting go, “I’ll be here when you wake up,” he smiles, pausing before saying, “I promise,”and you smile softly, craning your head up to look at him.
You fight back the tears, at the thought of waking up next to him, just like you always dreamed you would.
“You promise?” You murmur, feeling one last tear fall, one tear of joy, utter joy, and he catches it with his thumb, his blue eyes wavering like a clear sky without a singular cloud, and you watch as his throat bobs, eyes roaming all over your face, still can’t believing you were real. He hums deeply, tipping your chin up to meet him in one last longing kiss, lips moving gently along one another.
summary: smoking outside the club, an old friend who drifted away, suguru, finds you and strikes up a conversation.
genre: heavy angst. light comfort. modern au.
word count: 3.1k
warnings: heavily depressive thoughts. mentions a lot of smoking and quitting. mature themes.
note: completely a self-indulgent fic. it’s 2am and i can’t really think of another way to feel better unless to write it out. uploading this raw on my phone before i sleep so i’ll probably edit (maybe even delete) the post and re-format it tomorrow after work. idk if anyone will read this lol but here u go.
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There was nothing to sugarcoat. This was it. You’re just another failure.
The puddle on the ground, a remnant of the rain that poured a few hours ago, reflects an image of a person that is foreign. Disgusted, you stare back at her with disdain.
You put the stick in your mouth, inhaling, and taking a long drag. The smoke curls around you like a cloak, shielding you from the chaos of the night. The bass from the club thumps faintly through the alley, vibrating the air but not quite reaching you. You exhale, watching the smoke dissipate into the cold, damp air, and for a fleeting moment, you feel like it could carry away everything you’ve been holding onto. But it doesn’t.
The reflection in the puddle shifts as you move, and you hate the way it looks back at you. Eyes heavy, makeup smudged, shoulders hunched like you’re trying to fold in on yourself. A version of you that you despise.
You take another drag, the heat from the cigarette warming your fingers as the nicotine buzz settles over your nerves. A voice in your head whispers that you should go back inside, but your legs don’t move. You can’t face the stares, the shallow laughs, or the weight of their questions.
“Got a spare?”
The voice is low, almost drowned out by the city noise. You glance up to see a figure standing a few feet away, their face obscured by shadow. For a moment, you’re too tired to answer. Wordlessly, you reach into your pocket and hold out your pack. He takes one, sliding it out with ease.
The man steps closer, just enough for the dim glow of the streetlight to catch their face—a mix of sharp edges softened by something you can’t quite name. They take the lighter you’re holding out from your hand with a quiet “Thanks,” lighting his cigarette with practiced ease.
For a moment, neither of you speaks. Just two people standing in the dark, sharing silence and smoke.
“How long has it been?” It’s him who speaks first, staring out into the bright moon.
You don’t answer for a while, contemplating if you’ll answer him or just stay silent and hope that he’ll leave you alone. After almost a minute, you decide on the former.
“Dunno. Like 3 years?”
“Wrong, it’s been four.”
“Four, huh?” you murmur, the words tasting unfamiliar on your tongue, like the cigarette in your hand. You flick the ash off the end, watching it dissolve into the puddle at your feet. “Feels like longer.”
He hums, leaning against the wall beside you. The air between you is thick with unspoken history, but he doesn’t push it—at least, not yet. You risk a glance at him, expecting the same boy you once knew, but what you see makes you pause.
Suguru Geto looks good. Too good. His black hair, once always falling in messy waves across his face, is now neatly tied back. His clothes are clean, tailored even, and the sharp edges of his face, once softened by youthful recklessness, now hold a quiet confidence. He looks like someone who has his life together—like someone who doesn’t spend nights outside clubs, smoking to forget.
The contrast is almost unbearable.
His posture is relaxed, but there’s a tension in his voice when he speaks again. “Didn’t think I’d find you here. Like this.”
You glance at him from the corner of your eye. He looks the same but not quite. Time has softened some of his edges and hardened others. The lines of his face are sharper, his frame broader, but there’s something familiar in the way he stands, hands in his pockets, like he’s trying not to take up too much space.
“And what’s this?” you ask, raising an eyebrow as you take a drag, trying to ignore how unnatural it still feels.
He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he watches as you exhale a slow stream of smoke, watching it curl into the damp air. “You. Out here. Smoking.”
The words sting more than you care to admit. You glance at the glowing tip of your cigarette, suddenly hating the way it feels between your fingers. “People change,” you say, but your voice lacks conviction.
“Yeah, they do.” He pauses, turning to look at you fully. “But this isn’t you.”
You snort, a humorless sound that feels foreign even to you. “You don’t know me anymore.”
“Maybe not,” he concedes, his tone quiet but steady. “But I used to. And the girl I knew wouldn’t have touched a cigarette, let alone ended up outside some club at this hour.”
You roll your eyes, the defensiveness bubbling up despite yourself. “Well, the girl you knew is gone. Life happened. People grow up.”
“Ha…”
His reaction hangs in the air, heavy and unavoidable. You don’t answer right away, staring down at the puddle again. The reflection staring back at you is a stranger, a reminder of all the ways you’ve tried to erase the person you used to be.
“You don’t get to judge me,” you say finally, your voice sharper than you intended.
“I’m not judging you,” he replies softly. “I just… I thought you’d have more faith in yourself than this.”
You laugh bitterly, shaking your head. “Faith doesn’t get you very far these days.”
For a moment, neither of you speaks. The sounds of the city fill the silence: the faint bassline from the club, the hum of passing cars, the drip of water from the gutter overhead.
“I thought about calling you,” he says suddenly, his voice breaking the stillness. “A lot, actually. But I don’t know why I didn’t. I thought—.”
“Thought what?” you reply, crushing the cigarette under your heel.
He chuckles, though it’s void of humor. “That you’d be better off without me.”
The words hit harder than you expect. You glance at him again, searching his face for pity, disappointment, anything—but all you see is regret.
“Why now?” you ask the question quieter than you meant it to be.
Why approach me now? is what you wanted to ask. You couldn’t get yourself to ask him directly but as if he knows you like the back of his hand, he answers the question.
“Because I saw you,” he says simply. “And I didn’t want to walk away this time.”
The honesty in his voice disarms you, cutting through the walls you’ve spent so long building. You look away, crossing your arms as if to shield yourself from the weight of his gaze.
“Maybe you should have,” you murmur, but your voice wavers, betraying the truth. And from the way he stays, you think he knows it, too.
He stayed silent as if he’s debating what to say. He looks like he wants to comfort you—or terribly ask what happened to you. Either way, you know that he can’t do it. He can’t get himself to open your wounds up so suddenly when it looks like it’s eating you alive.
For a while, neither of you says anything. The muffled bassline from the club fills the silence, blending with the distant hum of traffic. You sneak another glance at him, and that’s when you notice it—the cigarette in his hand, he hasn’t smoked it once.
The cigarette dangles between his fingers, the faint glow of the ember a stark contrast to the cold night air. He doesn’t bring it to his lips, doesn’t inhale. He just… holds it.
“You’re not smoking,” you say, your voice cutting through the quiet.
He glances at you, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s amused. “Nope.”
“Then why the hell did you ask for one?”
He shrugs, twirling the cigarette between his fingers. “Felt like the easiest way to approach you.”
You glare at him, annoyed at his nonchalance. “You’re wasting it.”
“Not really.” He flicks the ash with a practiced motion, his gaze never leaving yours. “I quit years ago.”
The revelation catches you off guard. “Then why light it at all?”
He exhales—not smoke, just a slow breath—and leans back against the wall, looking up at the faint glow of the moon. “I guess…” He pauses, turning the lit cigarette in his hand, his voice softening. “I wanted to remember what it felt like. Holding this. Being here. With you.”
You flinch, the memory hitting like a slap. Back then, Suguru was the wild one—the one who always seemed to have a cigarette tucked in his fingers or a flask hidden in his jacket. You were the good one, the one who didn’t drink, didn’t smoke, didn’t step a toe out of line. You used to lecture him about taking care of himself, about how much potential he was wasting. And now? Now you’re the one standing in an alley with a cigarette in hand, trying to feel something other than regret.
“Guess the roles are reversed, huh?” you say with a forced chuckle, gesturing at him with the glowing tip of your cigarette. “Look at you. Clean, polished.”
You glance down at your cigarette, suddenly hating the way it tastes, the way it feels in your hand.
“Why’d you quit?” you ask, the question slipping out before you can stop it.
He smiles faintly, looking down at the cigarette in his hand. “Mm… I didn’t want it controlling me anymore. Felt like every bad decision I made started with one of these.” He twirls the cigarette between his fingers, a ghost of the habit he once had.
“Good for you,” you mutter, rolling your eyes a little. You can’t help it. You were jealous.
“What about you?” he asks this time, turning to look at you. “When did you start?”
The question makes your stomach twist, but you shrug it off, exhaling a stream of smoke. “A while ago. Doesn’t matter.”
“It does,” he says, his tone calm but insistent. “You used to give me so much crap for this.” He gestures vaguely with the cigarette, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “What changed?”
You hesitate, the words caught in your throat. What changed? Life? Disappointment? Somewhere along the line, the lines you swore you’d never cross blurred until you didn’t recognize them—or yourself. If Suguru’s bad decision started with the stick in your hand, yours ended with it. Every bad decision you made piled up and up until all you could do was punish yourself in many ways possible. That included this… stupid addiction.
Failure—that’s what you are. And failures… they’re just that.
“Life. Me. You know how it is. One wrong decision after another and next thing you know, you’re exactly the disappointment you fear you’d be.”
“Hm,” he agrees, tilting his head slightly like he doesn’t agree with you.
You roll your eyes, the defensiveness bubbling up. You know what he’s thinking. “You don’t know me anymore, Suguru.”
“No,” he admits, his voice soft but steady. “But I don’t think you’re as far gone as you think.”
His words hang in the air, heavy and unwelcome. You glare at the ground, crushing the cigarette under your heel with more force than necessary.
“Cut the bullshit,” you snap. “I don’t need your words of wisdom.”
Suguru sighs, flicking his own cigarette into the puddle. It hisses softly, the ember extinguished, and he turns to face you fully. “I’m not trying to do anything,” he says quietly. “But I know you don’t need this.”
The honesty in his voice makes something in your chest tighten, and for a moment, you want to tell him to leave. To stop looking at you like you’re someone worth saving.
But he doesn’t push. He just stands there, hands in his pockets, like he’s waiting for you to let him in.
A new cigarette burns low between your fingers, the smoke curling up into the night air like a ghost of something you can’t name. Suguru stands beside you, quiet now, the silence between you stretching long and thin. You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, but he doesn’t say anything. Maybe he senses you don’t want him to.
The stillness lets your thoughts slip in, unwelcome and relentless.
You think about her—the girl you used to be. The one who would have hated to see you like this. That girl had big dreams and bigger expectations from herself and everyone around her. She thought she could take on the world, carve out a future she’d be proud of. Back then, it felt possible.
But somewhere along the line, it all unraveled.
One bad decision led to another. You chose the wrong major, convinced yourself it would work out. It didn’t. Classes you thought you could handle became impossible to pass. Graduation came late, dragging with it the weight of disappointment. Every failure piled up until it felt like they were suffocating you. It suffocated you until even doing the smallest tasks took too much of your positive energy.
There was so much anger and hatred for yourself that it was either you pull away from everyone… or you’ll have to see them disappointed in you. You chose the former everytime. And that’s why you failed at every aspect of life. Career, friends, family… love. All you feel now is an emptiness that is both heavy and light. Heavy in emotions. Light in meaningful weight.
Everything that was good about you was taken away from you. It’s like someone’s out to get you. It’s like someone’s punishing you to forever be painfully mediocre. Never good. Never bad. God, you feel like a non-playable character in your own life, watching yourself try and try over and over again but it’s like you’re destined to not be somebody. Not somebody’s best coworker. Not somebody’s best daughter. Not somebody’s best friend. Not somebody’s girlfriend. It’s like you’re cursed to not be able to hold on to something that makes you feel good.
You drag on the cigarette, the bitterness of it filling your lungs, but it doesn’t quiet the ache.
If you could go back, maybe you’d say sorry to her—the little girl who dreamed of being someone better, someone whole. She didn’t deserve this. You’d tell her you tried. You really did. But the truth is, deep down, even back then, there was a voice whispering you’d never make it.
That voice had always been there. Back then, you fought it. You told yourself it was wrong. But it had patience. It waited.
And now it’s winning.
The cigarette trembles in your fingers, the smoke curling upward in erratic spirals. You bite your lip, trying to steady your breathing, but it’s no use. The weight pressing on your chest grows heavier, like it’s trying to crush you entirely.
You exhale slowly, staring at the faint glow of the streetlight reflected in the puddle at your feet. For a moment, it feels like you’re staring at her, that little girl that Suguru knew, looking back at you with all her bright-eyed hope and wonder. You wonder what she’d say if she could see you now.
“You’re quiet,” Suguru says, his voice breaking through your thoughts.
You glance at him, startled, and realize how long the silence has stretched. “Yeah,” you mutter, flicking ash off the cigarette. “Just thinking.”
“About what?”
“Nothing important.”
He doesn’t believe you—you can see it in the way his brows knit together, the way he studies you like he’s trying to piece together a puzzle. But he doesn’t press.
“You know,” he says softly, “quitting wasn’t easy for me.”
You raise a brow, caught off guard by the sudden shift in conversation. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he says, taking what was left of the cigarette in your hand. “There were a lot of nights I thought about lighting one up. Not because I wanted to, but because it felt like I needed to. Like it was the only thing that made the rest of the world shut up for a bit.”
His words hit closer to home than you’d like. You look away, staring down at your own cigarette, now burned to the filter in his hand. “And what changed?”
Suguru shrugs, his gaze steady. “I realized it wasn’t fixing anything. It was just… giving me an excuse not to.”
You don’t say anything, but his words settle uncomfortably in your chest. He crushes the cigarette under his heel.
“You can still fight it,” he says after a moment, his tone soft but unwavering. “Whatever it is. You don’t have to let it win.”
You scoff, but it lacks conviction. “It’s not that easy.”
“I never said it was.” He shrugs, tucking his hands inside his pockets.
You don’t respond, the weight of his words mingling with the lingering taste of smoke in your mouth. Somewhere in the back of your mind, that voice still whispers, still taunts. But for the first time in a long while, it doesn’t feel quite so loud. Maybe it’s his presence, steady and familiar, or maybe it’s just the faintest flicker of hope. Either way, you don’t feel entirely alone. Not tonight.
You feel it before you even realize it’s happening—a tear slipping down your cheek, warm and unwelcome. You quickly turn your face away from Suguru, staring hard at the ground.
He doesn’t say anything, but you feel his gaze, calm and steady, like he’s waiting for you to say something first.
Another tear falls, then another, and before you know it, your shoulders are trembling as the quiet sobs escape you. You clench your jaw, swallowing hard, trying to hold it in, but it’s like a dam has broken.
Suguru shifts slightly, the faint sound of his shoes scuffing against the wet pavement. “Hey…” he says softly, his voice low and tentative.
You don’t respond. You can’t. If you open your mouth, you’re afraid you’ll break completely.
“I’m sorry,” he says after a moment. The sincerity in his voice makes your chest ache even more. “If I said something to—”
“No,” you manage to choke out, cutting him off. Your voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper. “Just… no.”
He doesn’t press further. He just stays there, silent and steady, his presence grounding in a way you didn’t expect.
Your tears fall freely now, mixing with the remnants of rain on the ground. You haven’t cried in front of anybody in so long. And yet, here you are, crying to some guy who was practically a stranger to you for four years.
“I ruined everything,” you whisper, your voice trembling.
Suguru shifts again, and this time, you feel his hand hover near your shoulder before settling there gently. His touch is warm, reassuring. Without a word, you lean in, wrapping your arms around him. He hugs you back with one arm, his hand on your head as he pulls you into his chest. You haven’t been held in so long. You’ve slept so many sleepless nights alone, wondering if the warmth of another person would make you feel better. It never did, not like Suguru’s.
The weight of his words settles in your chest, heavy but not unbearable. You don’t know exactly how this night came to be, but for the first time in a long while, the thought of waking up another day doesn’t feel entirely impossible.
Suguru stays quiet after that, his hand still caressing your hair, offering silent reassurance. He doesn’t try to push you further or tell you everything will be okay. He just stays, letting you cry, letting you feel.
Pairing: Jung Hoseok x gn!Reader
Type: Drabble // Fluff // Established Relationship AU
Rating: PG-13 — Minors DNI w/ my content, regardless!
CW: None 💕
Summary: It’s October 2024 and your life finally — finally — resumes its orbit.
WC: .5k
A/N: Deviating from my WIPs (ope) because I needed a fix-it fic for, like, reality? Nobody requested this lil baby blurb, unless you count… me. Dedicated to (m)y jihope-biased emotional support moot, @here2bbtstrash
You’d learned more in eighteen months than you had in over eighteen years of formal education.
The first lesson came on your second morning alone: hotteok tastes better when it’s made for you. Even if the cook gets distracted by the background music they themselves are generating. Even if the edges are crispier than they should be, and the centers are a bit gooey, or there’s pre-packaged mix dusting over your previously clean countertops. Even if that hotteok is cold by the time you stop kissing and start eating, you know now that few things in life are sweeter.
He is, of course, but the point still stands.
Showers, you’d learned, are colder when you take them alone. This was a surprise you grappled with for weeks and a confounding reality you still struggle to square. A scientific mystery, then and now.
All of the hot water was yours — exclusively — to use as you pleased. You didn’t have to scramble, soap-covered and squealing, for the prime spot under the shower head. Cold air didn’t nip at your damp skin when you lost territory because you didn’t have to compete for any in the first place. Still, without whole-chested laughter to echo off the walls, not much existed to separate your body from cold porcelain.
The absence of personal space isn’t something you intend to ever take for granted again.
Of all the things you’d realized in your uncharacteristically quiet apartment, one thing hit a little harder:
Love looks different every day.
Sometimes, it comes at an odd angle. It’s spending all thirty minutes of a daily allowance with a phone propped against a faucet. It’s staring up at someone’s chin, watching fondly as they brush their teeth, and smiling when they remember — without being told — to put the cap back on the toothpaste.
Other times, it looks like an Excel spreadsheet of pop culture news, fastidiously collected and organized so that no groundbreaking celebrity gossip goes unreported. It’s incredulous eyes and a scandalized mouth hanging open, interjecting occasionally with, “Wa, jinjja?”
Every now and then, it looks like handwritten letters with thick, black redactions applied after the fact with a far heavier hand. Though you couldn’t tell where in the Republic they came from, you knew — without question — that government censorship does not apply to hastily doodled hearts.
Today, however, love doesn’t look like much of anything because its hands are covering your eyes.
It sounds like clean spoons clattering back into the dishwasher you’d been emptying, entirely unaware that the door down the hall had opened and shut out of earshot. It smells like army-issued shampoo and Thai milk tea from that little spot near the train station, where surprise journeys home occur two days ahead of schedule. And it feels like the ground shifting beneath your fluffy house slippers; the Earth now back on its axis and ready to resume spinning like it should.
Tonight, love will taste like hotteok for dinner — and you won’t have to make it yourself.
WC: 15,691
Pairing: zayne x reader, subtle sylus x reader
Warnings: graphic depictions of illness
Genre: Angst, (Possibly) Unrequited Love, Hanahaki Disease AU
Summary: You escape Linkon to heal from the deadly Hanahaki Disease, your unspoken love for Dr. Zayne threatening to consume you from within.
Note: Hi! I had this in my drafts for a while since Sylus came out. Figured to finally post it. Here's my first LaDs fic. Hope you all like it. This is only a one-shot btw.
ao3 link
You don’t know when it started. Maybe it was over the meals you’ve shared, or when you began to know much more about him, how he loved sweets, how he graduated half the time it should’ve, or maybe it’s just how truly and deeply kind and caring he is. In the stolen glances you gave him whenever he was in your presence, you admired how beautiful he was. His raven black hair, hazel green eyes, and broad shoulders. Oh, his beautiful shoulders. It was your dream to have your hands running through them.
It was perfect. You two shared a history from your childhood and more than a decade later, you were brought back once again in your adult years. Like it was fated. Like stars have aligned for the two of you. Maybe it was the knowledge of the “you meet people twice theory” that made your delusion worse. Maybe it was when you began to think of scenarios of you and him before you went to sleep at night.
To make it short, you don’t know when you started falling in love with your primary care physician, Dr. Zayne.
It was fun at first, the idea of falling in love. He is your friend, no matter how busy he is, if he can, he gives his free time to you. In the midst of all of that, you began to question yourself if the way you see him was more than a friend.
Before you knew it, you found yourself blushing at every interaction, every text, every post and comment he made, and every doctor appointment whenever he would even slightly touch you. Your heart rate sped up and he probably noticed that too. You were practically transparent with how easy you are to read.
He was the total opposite.
He’s stoic and unreadable. Half of the time, you don’t know if he’s serious or joking. Most of the time, it’s the former. He would always find ways to scold you on how you take care of yourself.
Still, you hoped. You made yourself believe that underneath all that caring was an underlying emotion that comes as more than a physician and a friend. And so you let yourself fall into that deep abyss of longing. Love. It’s such a common word, one that is used lightly but holds the weight of the world and humanity.
But you couldn’t be more wrong.
You stepped out of the cab and onto the rain-slicked pavement of Linkon, the familiar hum of the city wrapping around you like an old friend. The night was young, but the streets were already alive with their own rhythm—flashes of neon lights, distant sirens, and the ever-present murmur of conversations blending into a cacophony that was both chaotic and comforting.
You tugged your leather jacket tighter against the cool evening breeze, your thoughts racing faster than your heartbeat. After weeks in the field—tracking elusive prey through shadowed forests and braving the bite of unforgiving weather—returning to the city was like slipping into a well-worn pair of boots. But tonight, the excitement in your step had nothing to do with the urban landscape you missed. It was all about the man waiting for you at the clinic.
Dr. Zayne had been a constant in your thoughts even while you were miles away, slinking through the underbrush and facing dangers of wanderers. Your encounters were always memorable, punctuated by shared glances and conversations that left you with a giddy sense of longing.
Your boots clacked against the pavement as you hurried down the street, the soft patter of rain masking her footsteps. You reached the glass door of the clinic, pausing for a moment to smooth your hair and then pushed inside.
The lobby was quiet, illuminated by the soft glow of overhead lights and the soft hum of a vending machine in the corner. You approached the reception desk, where a young woman was looking up with a smile.
“Hi, I’m here to see Dr. Zayne,” you tell her.
“Ah, Miss (L/N), right?” the receptionist asked. You’ve probably been here too many times to not be known. Is that a bad thing? Probably. But you don’t mind.
You nod. “Ah, I think Dr. Zayne stepped out for dinner,” she informs you. “You can wait here. He should be coming back soon.”
“Oh, okay. Thank you,” you replied, giving her a smile.
You cursed to yourself. You probably shouldn’t have tried to surprise him with your unprecedented visit and just texted him beforehand. It’s still pretty early for his usual dinner time despite it being dark already. With how busy and needed he is in the hospital, it resulted in him having inconsistent meal times, very much similar to your line of work. You hoped to catch him before he ate and ask him out for a meal like you always do. But that’s not happening tonight.
As you wait patiently in the lobby while looking through social media posts on your phone, a nurse you know well approached you and called you by your name. You look up to see Yvonne smiling at you. You gave her a genuine smile back, happy to see an acquaintance.
“Hey Ms. Hunter, you here for Dr. Zayne?” she asked.
“Yeah, I heard he’s out for dinner. I just got back from a mission and wanted to see him because I had to skip an appointment during the week,” you inform her.
She places her hand in the pockets of her scrub as she thinks, her eyes widening for a moment when she remembers. “Yeah, I think he ate dinner with Dr. Emma.”
“Dr. Emma?” The unfamiliar name rolls off your tongue in a bad way. This is the first time you’ve heard of her.
“Yeah, she’s a new doctor who transferred here a while ago. A genius doctor too, maybe that’s why she quickly hit it off with Dr. Zayne,” she pouts.
That’s when your heart sank. A dinner date. The words echoed in your mind, crushing the small spark of hope you had been nurturing. You forced a smile as Yvonne excused herself out of the quick conversation, dropping it as quickly as she fades from your view.
Just like that, your excitement bubbled down into an unknown pain. It was like humiliation but something else completely. You felt like everyone’s eyes were on you even if no one was watching you—like they knew you were here for Zayne but he was already with another woman. But they don’t know that. You’re just another patient here. Thinking of that truth should’ve comforted you. But somehow, it felt worse.
With a heavy heart, you went back to your apartment without seeing the doctor you were waiting for.
One sad dinner by yourself later, you found yourself lying on your bed, the exhaustion of the preceding mission finally dawned on you. The adrenaline of excitement has worn out, leaving you with a heavy feeling of disappointment and body ache.
Your phone dinged with a notification and yet you couldn’t find it in yourself to move a limb. It’s a wonder how you never felt this way after a mission before even if you were injured. It’s like something was weighing you down but you couldn’t pinpoint where.
The phone dinged a few times more and you ignored it, not wanting to talk to anyone at the moment. You guess it was just the group chat from work. Tomorrow and the weekend are your days off anyway. They can forgive you for not responding for a few hours.
It was then that your phone started to ring, indicating a phone call. Groaning in annoyance, you will yourself to reach for your phone by the bedside table, picking it up hastily while your eyes are closed.
“Hello?” you answer groggily.
“Are you alright?” The familiar deep voice asked without missing a beat, tone laced with concern. Your eyes widen, looking at the caller ID. It was Zayne. The messages were also from him.
“Oh, it’s you.” Everything felt lighter than it was, your tone involuntarily chipper than it was a second ago. It was like your body is uncontrollable when it comes to him. You sit up on your bed to speak to him more clearly.
“What happened?” He asked again, eager to get the point.
“What do you mean?”
“Why did you leave the hospital? The nurse told me you were here to see me and then left,” he asked further. You don’t answer for a moment, unsure on what to lie about. You can’t exactly tell him the truth.
“Oh… yeah. I just got back from a mission but you weren’t there so I left,” you explained.
There was silence from a moment like he was thinking and you wish that you knew what it was about. Like most of the time, you wished to enter his mind and see him wholly.
“...Are you hurt?” The eagerness dropped from his tone, replaced by the softness that you adored partnered with the deep concern that he showed you multiple times. It’s a softness that you found yourself used to, something that pertains to a relationship more than a doctor and his patient.
“I’m alright, Dr. Zayne,” you answer truthfully but your voice betrays you and you curse yourself in your mind, knowing that the attentive doctor would notice.
“You don’t sound alright,” he states the obvious, the subtle sarcasm noted in his answer.
“I really am, Zayne. I just felt bad about missing the appointment because of the mission,” you say as you pull and fold your legs closer to yourself, hugging them to your chest. You hear his soft sigh on the other line and you let out an involuntary chuckle, picturing his disappointed and crunched forehead while he sat on his office desk.
“Do you want to come in tomorrow?” He asked and your heart jumped at the question. The thought of seeing him tomorrow giving you a boost of serotonin.
“Do I need to? I really am fine,” you answer truthfully, pertaining to your physical health.
“Nevermind. You’re coming in tomorrow. That’s an order from your doctor,” he commands and you chuckle again and roll your eyes but enjoy his nagging nonetheless.
“Fine, Dr. Zayne. I’ll come in tomorrow.”
“Great, I’ll see you then,” and he hangs up.
That night, you sleep with a heavy heart no longer but the thought of another woman still lingers at the back of your mind. You push the thoughts away, focusing on the thought that you will see him tomorrow.
Just for tonight, you’ll dream of those green eyes. It wouldn’t hurt, would it?
You sit in front of him, legs crossed, your frilly skirt brushing against your knees as you try to ignore the butterflies fluttering in your stomach. Zayne flips through your chart, his brow furrowed in concentration, like every detail of your health is a puzzle he’s determined to solve.
“Everything looks fine,” he says at last, his voice calm and steady.
You smile, forcing a lightness to your tone that doesn’t quite match how you feel inside. “Told you. I’m a good Hunter.”
His lips twitch into a half-smile. “You are. But that doesn’t mean you should throw yourself at any wanderer that crosses your path.”
You pout, sticking out your bottom lip in mock protest. “I wasn’t throwing myself at anyone. You make it sound like I’m reckless.”
Zayne chuckles, leaning back in his chair. “You’re not reckless—just a bit too fearless sometimes.”
The playful back-and-forth between you has become so natural, but today it feels different. You’d dressed up a little for this checkup, abandoning your usual jeans for something more delicate, more thoughtful, hoping he might notice. Maybe today would be the day you’d muster up the courage to say something—anything—to let him know how you feel. But before you can respond, a soft knock on the door interrupts your thoughts.
Zayne glances up, his face softening instantly. “Come in.”
The door opens, and a woman steps inside, holding a small container in her hands. She’s striking, with short auburn hair that falls just past her ears and eyes that shine with quiet warmth. She’s dressed in a simple but elegant medical uniform, her steps confident and unhurried as she approaches the desk.
“Hey,” she says, smiling at Zayne. “I brought you something.” She sets the candy container down in front of him, a fond look passing between them.
Zayne’s face lights up—genuinely lights up—in a way you’ve rarely seen. He glances over at you, as if only just realizing you’re still in the room. “Y/N, this is Dr. Emma Lin. She’s—uh—one of the new doctors here at Akso Hospital.”
Emma gives you a polite nod, her smile warm but distant, like she’s already figured out who you are and where you stand. You manage to smile back, but your throat tightens painfully. You can feel the familiar weight of something blooming deep inside, a pressure building that you’ve worked so hard to suppress.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Emma says lightly, looking back at Zayne. “I just thought you could use a snack.”
“No, it’s fine,” Zayne replies, his tone softening even more. “Thanks for this.”
Emma lingers for a moment, her hand lightly brushing Zayne’s shoulder before she finally turns and heads out, leaving the room in an awkward, heavy silence.
You stare at the closed door, a pit forming in your stomach. So this is her.
“She’s nice,” you say, forcing the words out even though they taste bitter on your tongue. “Seems like she cares a lot.”
Zayne clears his throat, his gaze dropping back to the chart, though he’s clearly not reading it anymore. “Yeah. She’s great. We’ve been, uh… seeing each other.”
There it is. The confirmation you didn’t want but were already expecting.
“Oh,” you say softly, keeping your tone as casual as you can manage. “That’s… that’s nice, Zayne.”
He glances up at you, his brows knitting together as if he can sense the sudden shift in your mood, the hurt you’re trying so hard to hide. “It’s still pretty new,” he adds, almost as if he’s apologizing. “We’re just trying it out.”
You swallow, the familiar burn in your throat intensifying. You can feel the petals—sharp and brittle—pressing against your chest, but you can’t let him see. Not now. Not ever.
“I’m happy for you,” you lie, forcing a smile that feels like it’s cracking at the edges. “You deserve someone great.”
Zayne watches you closely, his gaze searching, but you don’t let anything slip. Not a single hint of the pain coursing through you.
“I should probably go,” you say abruptly, standing up a little too quickly. “Thanks for the checkup, Zayne.”
He stands as well, concern flickering in his eyes, but you’re already heading for the door before he can ask any more questions.
“Y/N,” he calls after you, his voice hesitant, but you wave it off, turning with a bright, practiced smile.
“I’m fine, really. Just… have a lot on my mind. See you next time.”
And with that, you’re out the door, your chest tightening with every step as you leave the clinic. The air outside feels cold against your skin, the pressure building inside you unbearable. You let out a shaky breath, but little did you know, it’s too late to stop it.
The days dragged on like you were on autopilot. Your feelings weren’t new. They’ve always been there. Since you had a tiny crush on him in your childhood, you actually believed that you had a chance.
The memory of Zayne's words, spoken only a few weeks ago, echoed in your mind. His voice, usually so warm and reassuring, had been hesitant, almost apologetic, as he shared the news. He'd told you about the new doctor he was seeing, her name a blur in your memory, her face a hazy silhouette in your imagination.
You hadn't meant to linger, to let the silence stretch into an uncomfortable void. You'd forced a smile, a laugh, even though your heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vice. You’d congratulated him, your voice a shaky whisper, but inside, you felt as though the world had been flipped on its side.
The world you’d been building in your head, a world where perhaps, just maybe, your unspoken feelings for Zayne could blossom into something more, had crumbled in an instant. You had been so careful, so cautious, not wanting to jeopardize the easy familiarity that had always existed between you. But now, the fragile hope you had clung to was gone, shattered into a million pieces.
The image of Zayne’s smile, reserved only for you, the way he’d always look at you with a warmth that seemed to encompass you entirely, now felt like a cruel mirage. The way his hand had lingered on yours, just a moment longer than necessary, had felt like a shared secret, a silent promise. Now, the memory of that touch sent a pang of longing through you, a sharp, unfamiliar ache.
You couldn't explain the sudden urge to avoid the clinic, the way even the faintest scent of disinfectant made you feel dizzy. You’d found yourself choosing the more dangerous missions, seeking solace in the adrenaline rush of battle, a temporary distraction from the growing unease in your heart.
You tried to push the thoughts away, to bury the hurt beneath layers of duty and responsibility. But it was a losing battle. The emptiness you felt, the ache in your chest, it was a constant companion now, a gnawing emptiness that refused to be ignored.
You couldn't ignore the growing fatigue, the way you seemed to be catching every bug that went around, the way your lungs felt tight, as though they were constantly filled with a suffocating weight. But you pushed it all aside, attributing it to the stress of your job, the relentless pressure of protecting the city. You were a Hunter, one with duties to protect the people from Wanderers. You couldn’t afford to be sick. Not when their threats are more rampant than before.
You need more distraction. You need to forget about Zayne.
The world felt muted, the colors drained.
The harsh fluorescent lights of the Hunter HQ buzzed overhead, casting a sickly glow on the cluttered desk where you sat, sifting through reports. A wave of nausea, unexpected and sharp, rolled over you. You clutched your stomach, a bead of sweat forming on your brow. This wasn't the usual post-mission exhaustion. This felt… different.
“Y/N? Are you okay?” Tara asks in concern as she sees you practically about to hurl.
You excused yourself, hurrying to the nearest restroom. The familiar scent of disinfectant did little to ease the churning in your gut. As you leaned over the sink, a wave of violent coughing seized you, racking your body. Something lodged in your throat, a burning sensation rising with each heave.
At first, it just worried you. Your protocore syndrome must’ve worsened. But that can’t be. You’ve gotten stronger since you’ve been in the N109 zone and you’ve been fine even before that.
Finally, you coughed up a small, crimson-tinged object – a delicate, blood-red rose petal.
Panic tightened your chest. Hanahaki. The whispered fear that had always lurked at the edges of your mind, now a stark reality. The illness that bloomed in your lungs, a physical manifestation of unrequited love, a slow, agonizing death. It was a rare disease, so rare that people even begin to question if they still exist. But they do. And now, you are an example.
Your world seemed to tilt on its axis. Zayne. His warm smile, his kind eyes, the way he always seemed to know just what to say, the way he’d gently patch you up after each mission, his hands tracing the scars on your arms with an unspoken tenderness that had always made your heart skip a beat.
You remembered the day he'd told you, his voice softer than usual, about the new doctor he was dating. The way his hand had lingered on the door handle, a touch of hesitancy in his eyes. The way he’d looked away as he mentioned the woman’s name. The woman he’d spent months, maybe even years, telling you stories about.
But this couldn’t be. You weren’t supposed to be sick. You were a Hunter, a soldier, a protector. You weren’t supposed to be felled by something as fragile and fleeting as love. You weren’t supposed to be… heartbroken.
The fear gnawed at you, a cold, sharp blade against your insides. Your vision blurred, the bright lights of the HQ fading to an almost unbearable white. You clung to the sink, your mind reeling, knowing that with each cough, each petal you coughed up, your life was slowly fading away.
The days dragged on, each one blending into the next, a constant reminder of your hidden struggle. Tara’s worried glances were becoming harder to ignore. She’d been your best friend since you started hunting together, and her concern was palpable, hovering like a cloud over your head.
“You need to take a break,” she pressed one evening after a long mission, her voice low as you both cleaned your gear in the dim light of the supply room. “You’re pushing yourself too hard. You’re not invincible, Y/N.”
You waved her off, forcing a laugh that sounded hollow even to your own ears. “I’m fine, really. Just a little tired. The last mission was tough, that’s all.” But deep down, you knew you were lying, and Tara could see right through it.
Your nights were plagued with coughing fits, sharp and painful, like a bitter reminder of the flowers blooming within you. Each cough felt like a warning, a desperate call for attention, yet you buried it beneath a layer of denial. You pushed through the pain, stubbornly refusing to let it slow you down.
But then Captain Jenna called you into her office, and you felt the weight of her piercing gaze as soon as you stepped inside. She was a force of nature—stern but compassionate, always demanding the best from her team. The moment she closed the door, you could sense the shift in atmosphere.
“Y/N,” she began, her voice steady but filled with concern. “You’re not yourself. I’ve noticed the way you falter during missions, how pale you’ve become. It’s like you’re a shadow of who you used to be. What’s going on?”
You met her gaze, your heart racing as you weighed your options. You could tell her the truth about your condition, about the Hanahaki disease that was slowly consuming you. But could you bear to reveal your secret? The love you held for Zayne, the pain of watching him with another woman—it felt too heavy, too raw to lay bare.
“It’s nothing, Captain. Just a bit worn out,” you said, your voice stronger than you felt.
“Worn out?” she repeated, her brow furrowing in disbelief. “This isn’t just exhaustion, Y/N. You’re struggling. I need you at your best. The team needs you at your best. If you can’t do this, I need to know.”
The pressure built inside you, and you fought the urge to scream, to let it all out. “I can handle it. I promise. Just give me a bit more time.”
Jenna studied you for a moment, her eyes narrowing. “You know where to find me if you need to talk.”
You nodded, though her words felt like a lifeline you were too proud to grasp. As you left her office, the walls felt like they were closing in. The facade you’d built was crumbling, and you were running out of places to hide.
The next few days were a blur of missions, each one feeling heavier than the last. Tara’s worried looks became more frequent, and you could see the doubt creeping into her expression. You tried to put on a brave face, but the more you pushed yourself, the worse you felt. Your coughs grew worse, punctuated by a metallic taste that clung to your throat.
One evening, you finally reached your breaking point. You collapsed onto your bed after another grueling mission, your body trembling with exhaustion. Your hands trembled as you brushed your fingers across the petals that had begun to manifest along your throat. Each one was a reminder of your unspoken feelings, a testament to the love you couldn’t bear to confess.
As you lay there, Tara knocked on your door before entering without waiting for a response. She took one look at you and rushed to your side, her eyes wide with concern. “Y/N! You look awful! Why didn’t you tell me you were feeling this bad?”
You turned your head away, biting your lip to keep from crying. “I’m fine. Just a little tired, that’s all.”
“Stop lying to me!” she exclaimed, her voice shaking with frustration. “You’re clearly not okay. You need to see a doctor. If you won’t talk to Jenna, then you’ll at least talk to someone else.”
At that moment, the walls you've built around yourself finally crumbled, and the truth began to pour out. “I don’t want to talk about it, Tara! I’m just… I’m just trying to keep it together.”
Her gaze softened, and she reached for your hand, squeezing it tightly. “You don’t have to do this alone. Let me help you.”
You felt the warmth of her support, and for the first time in days, you let yourself lean into it. “I… I don’t know how to explain it,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “There’s something wrong with me, and I don’t want to burden you with it.”
“You’re my best friend. You’re never a burden to me,” she said, her tone gentle yet firm. “Just tell me what’s going on. Please.”
With a shaky breath, you finally relented, the weight of your secret pressing down on you like an anchor. “I think I have Hanahaki disease. It’s… it’s because of Zayne.”
Tara’s eyes widened in shock. “What? How long have you known?”
“Since the checkup,” you admitted, tears spilling down your cheeks. “But I can’t tell him. I can’t let him know how I feel. And if I don’t have the surgery, the flowers will keep growing. I don’t want him to see me like this.”
“Y/N…” Tara began, her voice a soothing balm against your anxiety. “You need to take care of yourself first. If Zayne cares about you like you think he does, he’ll understand.”
The idea felt foreign, a small glimmer of hope amidst the suffocating darkness. But would he really care? Would it matter to him?
You shook your head, the thoughts swirling like a tempest in your mind. “I can’t go back to him. Not like this.”
Tara leaned closer, determination shining in her eyes. “Then let’s go to the hospital and get you the help you need. You don’t have to face this alone. We’ll figure it out together.”
For the first time in days, the thought of facing your illness didn’t feel as daunting. Maybe there was still a chance to reclaim a piece of yourself. Taking what Tara said by heart, you stood up, ready to fight the battle you’d been avoiding for too long.
You need to come up with a plan without involving Zayne. He doesn’t need to know and carry the guilt of you being sick. He’s a doctor, for fuck’s sake. How could he bear to treat you when he learns that he’s the reason for it? Or worse, will he have to be the one to surgically remove the plant growing inside you to completely remove him for life?
After a long period of silence, you turn to Tara with dried tears in your eyes, determined and decided.
“Tara, I need you to listen to me about what I’m about to do.”
Filing a leave of absence from the Hunters Association felt like the hardest thing you’d done in a while, but it was the first necessary step. You expected resistance—Jenna rarely let anyone take time off easily, especially not with everything happening in Linkon City. But to your surprise, she granted your request immediately, no questions asked. Maybe she’d seen more of your exhaustion than you realized. Or maybe she knew this was something you needed to do alone.
Once the leave was secured, you contacted Sylus, the only one you know who could help you get into the N109 zone safely, a place few dared to go unless they had business on the other side of the law. He was your last hope for hiding away from everything: Zayne, your disease, and the life you couldn’t bear to face anymore. You expected him to hesitate, maybe even refuse to help, but Sylus responded almost immediately, granting you safe passage to his home without a second thought.
“You look rough, sweetie,” Sylus said the moment you stepped through the door. His nickname for you, one you used to find annoying and mocking, now felt oddly comforting. But today, there was no mockery in his tone. Only concern.
You glanced up at him, feeling the weight of his crimson eyes studying you. He wasn’t just looking at you; he was seeing you, seeing how much you’d changed since the last time you stayed in N109. Your skin had lost its color, your lips were dry and cracked, and your once sharp, determined eyes had dulled with fatigue and the weight of secrets.
Sylus sighed, stepping aside to let you pass. “You know where your room is.”
You nodded weakly, mumbling a soft “thank you” as you dragged yourself through the dimly lit hallway. Luke and Keiran, Sylus’s trusted associates, were already by your side, taking the backpack from your shoulder and exchanging worried glances as they guided you to your room.
The room was exactly as you remembered it—small but cozy, tucked away in a quiet corner of Sylus’s house. It had been your safe haven once before, back when the pressures of the outside world had gotten too heavy. But this time, it felt different. You were running from more than just stress. You were running from yourself.
Luke placed your bag on the chair while Keiran hovered near the door, his usual mischievous demeanor replaced by concern. “Are you hungry?” Keiran asked, his voice unusually gentle.
You shook your head, barely able to muster the energy to respond. The truth was, you hadn’t felt hunger in days, the constant nausea from the flowers growing inside you making food seem like an afterthought.
Keiran exchanged a glance with Luke before stepping closer. “You need to eat something, Y/N. You’re looking… worse than usual.”
You couldn’t help but give a weak smile at his bluntness. “I’ll eat later,” you promised, though you knew you probably wouldn’t.
Luke stayed silent and didn’t press the issue. Instead, he handed you a glass of water, and you took it gratefully, sipping slowly as the two of them busied themselves tidying the room. You could feel their unspoken worry, the way they moved more carefully around you, like you might break at any moment.
“Anything else you need, just let us know,” Luke said quietly before they both left, closing the door behind them.
Alone at last, you collapsed onto the bed, the exhaustion finally catching up to you. The room felt too quiet, too still, and your thoughts began to spiral. You’d made it to N109. You were away from Zayne, away from the Association, from everything. But the weight in your chest—the flowers—remained. You could feel them growing, their roots twisting deeper with every unspoken word, every feeling you couldn’t voice.
You lay there for a long time, staring up at the ceiling, wondering how long you could keep running. How long until the disease consumed you completely?
There was a soft knock at the door, and you turned your head to see Sylus leaning against the frame, holding a tray of what looked like a warm bowl of noodles.
“Not eating, huh?” he said, his voice low. “I figured. Got you something anyway.” He walked in and placed the tray on the side table. You were right. It was one of your favorites when you stayed here before.
You smiled weakly. “You don’t have to do this.”
Sylus shrugged, his crimson eyes still locked on you, sharper now, as if he could see the weight you were carrying. He goes back to lean against the door frame, watching you like you were going to break at any second. “I do when you come back looking like death warmed over. What’s going on, Y/N?”
You wanted to tell him. You wanted to spill everything—the disease, your love for Zayne, the way it was slowly killing you. But the words stuck in your throat, and all you could manage was a tired, “It’s complicated.”
Sylus’s gaze didn’t waver. “Everything’s complicated. Doesn’t mean you can’t talk about it.”
For a moment, you considered it, but then the thought of Zayne flashed through your mind. The image of him with Emma, happy, unburdened by your love, and the flowers in your chest tightened.
“I’ll be fine,” you said instead, though you weren’t sure you believed it yourself.
Sylus stared at you for another long moment before sighing. “Well, you’re here now. Rest up. We’ll figure it out tomorrow.”
He pushed off the doorframe and left you alone again, but his words lingered in the air. We’ll figure it out.
But what if there was nothing left to figure out? What if the only solution was letting the flowers take you?
The silence of the room settled over you like a heavy blanket, pressing down on your chest until it was almost unbearable. Every breath felt strained, like the air itself was growing thicker. It has been a few days. You hadn’t told Sylus, or anyone for that matter, the full truth of your condition. But you could feel it—the flowers—growing stronger, more vicious by the day. Sylus has ordered a doctor to come to your room, just to check up on you. Just as you predicted, doctors are a bit hard to come by in this area. The doctor knows little about Hanahaki disease, so you told him it was your Protocore Disease accompanied by accumulated stress from work. He gave you suppressants and asked Sylus to monitor you for now.
Hours passed in a blur of restless half-sleep, until a sharp pain in your chest jolted you awake. You pressed a hand to your ribs, wincing as a violent cough wracked your body, more intense than any you’d had before. Panic surged through you as the pressure built in your throat, forcing you out of bed.
You stumbled into the bathroom, hands trembling as you gripped the edge of the sink. Another cough ripped through you, harder this time, and you doubled over, gasping. You felt something sharp and foreign rise in your throat—something too large, too wrong.
With a shuddering breath, you coughed again, and this time, something solid came up. You coughed repeatedly but it would just not come out. Tears stream down your face from the pain and frustration. You began to help it by pulling it out with your fingers. And finally, it came out.
You leaned over the sink, spitting out the mass into the basin, your heart pounding in your chest. When you looked down, you froze.
A stem of thorns, slick with blood, curled like a dark vine in the sink. Each thorn gleamed under the dim light, jagged and cruel. The petals had been bad enough, but this—this was something else. Something worse. You couldn’t ignore it any longer. The disease was advancing, and it was doing so faster than you’d anticipated.
Panic surged through you as you backed away from the sink, a quiet whimper escaping your lips. You pressed a trembling hand to your mouth, trying to stifle the sound, but it was too late. You hear that damn bird cawing outside the door.
The door creaked open, and Sylus stepped into the bathroom, his eyes narrowing the moment he saw you. He was still dressed fully like he just came back from outside. He must’ve had a meeting late at night, a normal occurrence in this place. Mephisto, sits by his shoulder, cawing like he was the one who led Sylus to you.
“Y/N?” His voice was low but urgent, the edge of concern sharpening his usually calm demeanor.
You turned, eyes wide, your hand still pressed to your mouth as if you could hide the evidence. But it was no use. His gaze flickered from you to the sink, where the thorny stem still lay, stark against the white porcelain. There was blood all over your mouth, dripping on your hands and neck.
“Sweetie…” His voice dropped, softer now, but laced with something darker. “What the hell is going on?”
You couldn’t speak. The words stuck in your throat, tangled with fear and shame. Sylus crossed the room in a few quick strides, his eyes never leaving yours as he reached the sink. He stared at the thorns for a moment before looking back at you, his face hardening with realization.
“You’ve got Hanahaki, don’t you?” It wasn’t a question. It was a statement, a truth you could no longer deny.
Tears welled in your eyes as you nodded, your hands shaking as you gripped the edge of the sink for support. “I… I didn’t want to tell anyone. I thought I could handle it,” your voice was hoarse, throat swollen as you tried so hard to speak.
“Handle it?” Sylus’s voice cracked, and he ran a hand through his hair, clearly trying to keep his frustration in check. “You’re coughing up thorns, Y/N, rose thorns. You do know that rose is one of the deadliest strains of Hanahaki, don’t you? This isn’t something you can just ‘handle.’ Why the hell didn’t you say anything?”
You swallowed hard, the taste of blood still lingering red in your mouth. “Because… because it’s because of Zayne.”
Sylus froze, his eyes widening in shock. “Zayne? You mean—”
You nodded, the confession spilling out like a dam breaking. “I’ve loved him for so long, Sylus, and I can’t stop. But he’s with someone else now. And I… I couldn’t tell him. I couldn’t put that on him, not when he’s happy.”
Sylus’s expression darkened, and he let out a low, frustrated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Darling, you’re killing yourself over him. You should have told me sooner.”
Tears slipped down your cheeks as you tried to catch your breath, the pain in your chest growing sharper. “I didn’t know what else to do. I thought… I thought I could live with it, but it’s getting worse. The flowers, they’re… they’re spreading.”
Sylus stepped closer, his hands gripping your shoulders gently but firmly. “You don’t have to go through this alone. We’ll figure something out. But first, we need to get you to a doctor. A real one, not some back-alley medic.”
“I can’t,” you whispered, shaking your head. “If I get the surgery, it’ll remove the feelings entirely. I won’t feel anything for Zayne anymore. And… and I don’t know if I’m ready to let go of that.”
Sylus’s expression softened, the anger fading as he saw the pain in your eyes. “I get it. But you have to take care of yourself first. This disease—it’s going to kill you if you don’t do something. I’m not letting you waste away like this.”
You met his gaze, feeling the weight of his words sink in. You didn’t want to die. Not like this. But the thought of losing your feelings for Zayne, of letting go of the love that had been a part of you for so long—it felt like a different kind of death.
“I’m scared,” you admitted, your voice barely a whisper.
Sylus nodded, his hands still steady on your shoulders. “I know. But I’ve got you, sweetie. We’ll get through this.”
You nodded, feeling the tears fall freely now. For the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to lean on someone else. To let Sylus’s strength carry you, if only for a little while.
“We’ll get you to a doctor in the N109 zone,” he said quietly. “Someone who can help, someone who won’t ask too many questions. But after that… you need to make a decision, Y/N. Whether you want the surgery or not, you need to choose. I’ll support you, whatever you decide.”
You nodded, knowing that the time for running was over. You couldn’t keep pretending this wasn’t happening. The flowers had taken root, and now it was up to you to decide how to survive.
Zayne sat at his desk, staring down at the empty appointment slot on his tablet. It had been weeks since you missed your first check-up, and at first, he didn’t think much of it—Hunters had unpredictable schedules, after all. But then you missed the next one. And the one after that. Now, weeks had passed without so much as a text from you, and an uneasy feeling had settled deep in his gut. You were never this irresponsible about your health.
He tried reaching out—texts, calls—but all had gone unanswered. That was when real concern started to gnaw at him. The you he knew wouldn’t just vanish like that, especially not from something as crucial as your medical check-ups. Something was wrong.
He didn’t like the feeling. In fact, it twisted in his chest, growing heavier by the day. He’d dealt with plenty of patients who disappeared on him, but you were different. You always kept in touch, always made an effort to keep things light even when you were battered from a mission. But now? Silence.
Sighing, Zayne grabbed his coat and decided to take matters into his own hands. He needed to check on you in person. He knew where your apartment was—he’d dropped off medicine there more times than he could count after your particularly rough assignments. His job required him to keep an eye on his patients, but with you, it was more than that. He hated the way his thoughts kept drifting back to you.
The streets leading to your apartment were quiet as he made his way over, the familiar hum of the city blending into the background. His mind raced as he walked up the stairs to your door, running over all the possibilities: maybe you were hurt, maybe you were sick, maybe you were avoiding him. That last one gnawed at him harder than the others.
When he finally reached your apartment, Zayne rang the doorbell, waiting for a response. Silence. He knocked this time, but there was no movement, no sound coming from within. His heart sank a little, and he tried the handle. Locked.
“Y/N?” he called out, pressing his ear to the door. Nothing.
He felt his pulse quicken. He checked the windows, walked around the perimeter, hoping for some sign that you were there. But the place was eerily still. It was clear you hadn’t been home for a while. The anxiety that had been simmering in the back of his mind began to boil over.
Zayne pulled out his phone and scrolled to Tara’s number. If anyone knew where you were, it would be her. You were inseparable as fellow Hunters, practically glued to each other on and off the field. If something was wrong, Tara would have noticed.
The phone rang, each buzz tightening the knot in his stomach, until finally, Tara’s voice came through.
“Zayne? What’s up?”
“Hey, Tara,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “Have you seen Y/N lately? She’s missed a couple of appointments, and I just went by her apartment. She’s not there, and she hasn’t been answering my calls.”
There was a pause on the other end of the line, and Zayne’s chest tightened at the silence. Tara wasn’t usually one to hesitate.
“Zayne…” Her voice softened. “She’s on leave.”
“Leave?” His brow furrowed. “Since when? Why didn’t she tell me?”
“She filed for leave about a week and a half ago,” Tara explained, her tone tinged with worry. “She hasn’t been herself lately. I mean, she’s not feeling well and went on sick leave… I figured she needed some time to recover, but I don’t know where she went.”
Zayne’s grip on his phone tightened. “Wait, she’s been sick?”
“I don’t know how bad, but it’s been getting worse. I tried to get her to rest, but you know Y/N. She’s stubborn. Always pushing herself too hard.” Tara sighed on the other end. “I haven’t been able to reach her since she left either. I thought maybe she just needed space, but… I don’t know, Zayne. She told me she’ll come back when she feels better.”
Zayne’s mind raced. Sick? That explained your recent absence from your appointments, but why hadn’t you come to him? Why hadn’t you said anything? And where the hell were you now? The idea of you out there, alone, battling something serious without any support—it made his stomach turn. He was supposed to be your physician. Who else could you trust more in this situation?
“Thanks, Tara,” he said quickly. “If you hear from her, let me know immediately.”
“You too,” Tara said, her voice growing softer with concern. “I hope she’s okay.”
Zayne hung up, his thoughts swirling in a storm of worry and frustration. This wasn’t just a case of missing appointments. You were sick, and you hadn’t told anyone what it is that you’re feeling. Not Tara, not the Association, and not him. The thought of you out there somewhere, getting worse by the day, hit him hard.
He took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. He wasn’t going to let this slide. He needed to find you, and fast. And if you were too stubborn to ask for help, well, that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to give it to you anyway. You didn’t get to disappear on him. Not like this. Not when it felt like something was so deeply, dangerously wrong.
The underground clinic in the N109 Zone was dimly lit, the scent of antiseptic and metal lingering in the air. Sylus sat beside you, his crimson eyes fixed on the makeshift doctor as she examined your condition. The doctor, a woman with worn hands and tired eyes, shook her head slightly, pulling back from the dim glow of her equipment. Sylus told you she’s the only one in the area who specializes in Hanahaki disease.
“It’s as I suspected,” she said quietly, her voice barely carrying over the hum of old machines. “The remedies I’ve given her will alleviate some of the symptoms—the coughing, the pain—but they won’t stop the disease. Hanahaki can only be cured one way.”
You knew what she was going to say before she even spoke the words. You felt it every time you coughed, every time a petal slipped from your lips, every time the thorny vines twisted deeper into your lungs. Hanahaki Disease was a cruel sickness. Only unrequited love could birth it, and only love returned could stop it.
Sylus stood, pacing the small clinic room, his fists clenched tight. “So what’s the point of this?” he growled. “You’re telling me she’s just going to keep getting worse?”
The doctor nodded grimly. “I’ve seen cases like this before. Without reciprocation, the flowers will continue to bloom. The disease will spread. It will choke her from the inside out.” Her eyes shifted to you, softening with pity. “She’ll have to make a choice soon. Either have the flowers removed surgically and forget her feelings entirely, or…”
“Or die,” you finished for her, your voice barely above a whisper.
The doctor didn’t respond, but the silence was enough.
Sylus slammed his fist into the nearest counter, rattling the tools scattered across its surface. “There has to be another way.”
The doctor said nothing. She’d already given her answer.
You shifted uncomfortably in the worn cot, feeling the sharp sting of another thorn scratching at your throat. You pressed a hand to your mouth, and when you pulled it away, you saw more petals—vibrant, soft, and hauntingly beautiful. The irony wasn’t lost on you: love, something meant to be pure and life-giving, was slowly killing you.
Sylus knelt beside you, his frustration giving way to concern. He grabbed your hand, his grip firm but gentle. “You can’t keep doing this, Y/N. You need real help.”
You met his gaze, seeing the worry etched deep into his features. You wanted to tell him that you were fine, that you could push through this. But the truth was, you didn’t know how much longer you could keep going. Each day, the flowers bloomed more aggressively. Each day, you felt your strength slipping away. And the one person who could save you—Zayne—was unreachable, tangled in a new relationship, unaware of the feelings you’d been hiding.
“I don’t want to forget him,” you whispered, your voice cracking.
Sylus’s expression darkened. “You’re dying for a man who doesn’t even know you’re dying because of him.”
You knew he was right. You’d seen Zayne’s smile when Emma came to his office. Zayne wasn’t yours to love, not anymore. Maybe he never was. But the thought of forgetting him entirely—of erasing every moment, every memory, every flicker of what could have been—was unbearable.
“I can’t,” you murmured. “Not yet.”
Sylus let out a slow breath, his frustration palpable, but he didn’t push further. He simply stayed by your side, silent but steadfast, offering the only comfort he could in this grim situation.
Days passed in a haze of pain and exhaustion. The makeshift remedies from the underground doctors kept the worst of the symptoms at bay, but they couldn’t stop the inevitable. The flowers continued to bloom, their roots digging deeper into your chest. You could feel them, a constant presence now, weighing down your lungs, stealing your breath little by little.
One night, as you lay in bed at Sylus’s place, you woke to another coughing fit. This time, it wasn’t just petals that came up—there were stems, long and twisted, covered in thorns. You pressed a trembling hand to your chest, feeling the flowers pressing against your ribs, desperate to grow, desperate to take over. You couldn’t stop them.
Sylus found you sitting on the bathroom floor, clutching your chest, petals and stems scattered across the tiles. He didn’t say anything at first. He just knelt beside you, his expression a mix of anger and helplessness.
“You don’t have much time left, do you?” he asked quietly.
You shook your head, tears slipping down your cheeks. You hadn’t realized how weak you’d become until that moment, how much the disease had taken from you. The once-strong Hunter now sat in a heap, broken by love that was never meant to be.
Sylus grabbed his phone, his voice tense as he called another doctor. “She needs real help. Now.”
But deep down, you both knew the truth. There was no real cure for Hanahaki—not unless Zayne’s love was returned. And that hope was slipping further out of reach with each passing day.
The dim lighting of Sylus’s home did little to soothe your nerves. After another coughing fit that left you weakened and breathless, you sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the bouquet of petals in your hand—pale, soft, and soaked in blood. The weight of your condition felt more unbearable with every passing day, the flowers pushing closer to your heart, the thorns digging deeper into your lungs. Yet, even after everything, you couldn’t bring yourself to agree to the surgery that would rip not only the flowers from you but also your feelings for Zayne.
There was a knock on the door. Sylus entered, followed closely by the underground doctor from the N109 zone. She carried a bag of supplies, her face etched with the same quiet concern you’d come to expect from her.
“Y/N, we need to talk,” Sylus began, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. He took a seat beside you, his crimson eyes meeting yours. “The remedies we’ve been giving you… they’re not enough. You’re getting worse.”
“I know,” you whispered, your voice hoarse. “But I’m not ready for the surgery. I can’t just… forget.”
The doctor stepped forward, glancing at Sylus before speaking. “Y/N, I understand your hesitation. But we’ve been talking, and there might be another option.”
You looked up, confused. “Another option?”
“It’s not a cure,” she clarified, her tone careful, “but there’s a treatment we could try. It won’t stop the disease entirely, but it could slow it down—buy you more time, at least. It would alleviate some of the more aggressive symptoms, like the coughing and the thorn growth.”
Your hope flickered. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
The doctor exchanged a quick glance with Sylus, then spoke again. “The treatment is experimental, and the resources here in the N109 zone are… limited. We don’t have the proper equipment to administer it safely. You’d have to go back to Linkon City, to Akso Hospital.”
Linkon City. The name sent a jolt of fear and longing through you. It meant facing everything you were trying to run from—Zayne, his new relationship with Emma, the memories you were desperate to hold onto. But it also meant the possibility of relief, of not feeling like you were drowning every time you took a breath.
“How does it work?” you asked warily, your eyes darting between the doctor and Sylus.
“The treatment will slow the growth of the flowers,” she explained. “It won’t cure the disease, but it’ll suppress the symptoms long enough for us to manage them. It’ll give you more time to decide what you want to do.”
Sylus crossed his arms, his gaze heavy on you. “It’s the best option right now, Y/N. Better than sitting here, wasting away.”
You hesitated, your heart pounding in your chest. Going back to Linkon meant stepping right back into Zayne’s world. You didn’t know if you could handle seeing him again, knowing that you still loved him and that he had moved on. But the alternative—letting the disease run its course, with no other options left—was becoming harder to endure.
“What if it doesn’t work?” you asked quietly, fear creeping into your voice.
The doctor’s face softened. “It’s a risk, I won’t lie. But right now, doing nothing is a bigger risk.”
You clenched the sheets in your hands, the conflicting emotions inside you swirling like a storm. You wanted to believe that this new treatment would help, that it would give you enough time to figure things out. But deep down, a part of you knew this was a gamble.
“I don’t know if I can go back there,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “Zayne… he…”
Sylus placed a hand on your shoulder, his expression firm but kind. “You don’t have to see him if you don’t want to. But you can’t die like this, Y/N. Not when there’s still a chance, even if it’s a small one.”
The doctor nodded. “I’ll arrange everything with Akso Hospital. They have the facilities and the staff to administer the treatment safely. You can be in and out, no one needs to know you’re there.”
You swallowed hard, the idea of returning to Linkon gnawing at you. But the weight of the disease was becoming too much to bear. If this treatment really could slow it down, even for a little while, maybe it was worth the risk. You didn’t want to die. Not like this. Not without trying something.
“Okay,” you said finally, your voice trembling. “I’ll go.”
Sylus’s hand tightened on your shoulder briefly, a silent show of support. The doctor nodded, already pulling out her comms to make the necessary arrangements.
“I’ll set it up for tomorrow,” she said. “We’ll get you to Linkon, get the treatment started, and bring you back here before anyone even knows you’re gone.”
You nodded, but deep down, a part of you wasn’t convinced. Something about this didn’t feel right. But you were too exhausted, too weak to argue. For now, you would hold on to the hope that this “treatment” would give you the time you desperately needed. Time to figure out what came next—whether you could keep running from the love that was slowly killing you, or whether you had no choice but to let it go.
As the doctor left to make the arrangements, you lay back against the pillow, the weight of the decision settling over you like a heavy cloak. You had no idea what awaited you in Linkon. All you knew was that whatever happened, it would bring you closer to the inevitable.
Zayne sat in his office at Akso Hospital, his fingers tapping restlessly on the desk. Something had been gnawing at the back of his mind for weeks—Y/N’s sudden disappearance from her regular checkups, the silence she’d maintained despite his attempts to reach out. She had always been stubborn, always tough, but this felt different. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong.
A message buzzed on his comm, interrupting his thoughts. It was from Greyson. Zayne opened the message, his eyes skimming over the text quickly:
“Heard a rumor. A Hunter suffering from Hanahaki Disease is being admitted to Akso. Thought you’d want to know.”
His heart stopped. Hanahaki Disease. He hadn’t heard of anyone in the Hunter circle suffering from it—no one except… No. It couldn’t be.
Zayne read the message again, his mind spinning. The only Hunter who had been coming to him regularly, the only one who had left without explanation, was Y/N. His mind raced, replaying every moment from their last appointment—the slight cough she tried to hide, the way she seemed distant, and the sudden leave she took from the Hunters Association. The pieces began to fit together like a cruel puzzle, one that painted a picture of her suffering in silence.
The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. Y/N had been in love with someone, and the disease had taken root because the other hadn’t returned those feelings. And now, because of that, she was dying. Why didn’t she tell him? There could only be one reason why she didn’t ask for his help, her only physician.
Zayne stood abruptly, knocking a few files off his desk as he scrambled to process what this meant. He felt an overwhelming sense of guilt wash over him—he had been blind to her feelings, caught up in his new relationship with Emma, while Y/N had been silently withering away. He was so in sync with Emma, so alike, that when she asked if they could try being more than colleagues and friends, he didn’t know why he actually agreed to date. He must tell you that. He must tell you that he…
Oh. He does. For so long.
He couldn’t waste another second. Grabbing his coat, Zayne rushed out of his office, his mind focused on one thing: finding Y/N before it was too late.
He tapped his phone, dialing a doctor from the network who was set to oversee the patient’s treatment. The voice on the other end answered quickly.
“Zayne? What’s going on?”
“I need to know about the patient coming in with Hanahaki Disease. The Hunter,” Zayne said, his voice tense, barely controlled. “When are they being admitted?”
There was a pause, then the voice responded, hesitant. “That’s confidential information, Zayne. I can’t just—”
“It’s Y/N,” Zayne interrupted, his tone sharp. “She’s the one with Hanahaki Disease, isn’t she?”
Another pause, this one longer, more telling. “Zayne… I don’t know all the details, but… yes. She’s scheduled for surgery tomorrow.”
His heart dropped. Surgery. Hanahaki Disease could only be cured in two ways—either by having her love returned or by undergoing surgery to remove the flowers. But the surgery came with a cruel price: it would erase her feelings completely. Y/N wouldn’t just lose the disease; she would lose her love for him, and all the memories tied to it.
Zayne’s grip tightened on the comm. “Cancel the surgery. I’m coming.”
“Zayne, you can’t—”
“Cancel it,” Zayne said firmly. “I’m not going to let her go through with this without knowing the truth.”
He disconnected the call, his heart racing as he stormed down the hallways of the hospital. His thoughts were a whirlwind of panic and guilt. He should’ve noticed sooner. He should’ve been there for her. But there was still time—he had to believe that. He could fix this, he had to.
Zayne made his way to his car, his mind already racing ahead to what he would say to her. He had no idea how she would react, or if she even wanted to see him after everything, but he couldn’t let her go through with the surgery. He had to tell her how he felt. Because the truth was, somewhere along the way, his feelings for her had grown too.
As he drove through the city, his thoughts lingered on Y/N—on her strength, her stubbornness, and the way she had always kept her distance, even when he tried to get close. He had been blind, wrapped up in his own life, too focused on the surface of things. But now, he understood. And he wasn’t going to let her suffer in silence any longer.
Zayne’s mind was racing as the car sped towards Akso Hospital, the weight of everything crashing down on him. He didn’t know if she would even listen to him. But one thing was certain: he couldn’t let her go through that surgery without knowing that he was ready to fight for her—for them.
For the first time, Zayne realized just how much he cared for Y/N. How much she meant to him, and how blind he had been to the quiet way she had always been there. He couldn’t let her lose that, not when he could still save her.
Tomorrow, you’ll be leaving for Linkon and you couldn’t sleep. Your mind is everywhere until you found yourself once again in the bathroom. The dim, suffocating air of the room wrapped around you like a cold embrace. Your breath came in shallow, ragged gasps as you hunched over the sink, your hands trembling as you help yourself hurl the white rose. The familiar metallic taste filled your mouth, but this time, it was worse—far worse than it had ever been.
When you finally dared to glance down, your heart nearly stopped. There, lying in the sink, was the largest bloom yet: a full white rose, its petals soft and fragile, but tangled in sharp, vicious thorns. Blood stained the delicate petals, your blood, and the sight of it sent a shudder down your spine. You clutched the edge of the sink for support, your vision swimming as pain tore through your chest.
This was it. The disease had progressed further than you had imagined. No makeshift remedy could stop it now. There was no time to experiment.
The thorns, tangled and sharp, had felt like they were tearing you apart from the inside out. The flowers—the symbol of love that you couldn’t escape—had bloomed in full force, reminding you of the feelings you had tried so desperately to bury. Every cough felt like a knife in your lungs, but it was more than just physical pain. It was the heartbreak of loving someone who would never love you back.
You stumbled back from the sink, collapsing onto the floor, clutching your chest as you struggled to breathe. The decision you had been avoiding for so long now weighed heavily on you, inescapable. You couldn’t survive this. The love that had rooted itself deep within you was slowly killing you, and there was no way to keep running.
Sylus found you moments later, rushing into the bathroom when he heard your weak cries for help. His crimson eyes widened when he saw you, his usual stoic expression breaking with a mix of shock and concern. He knelt beside you, his hand gently resting on your shoulder, his voice low.
“Y/N,” he murmured, his tone softer than you had ever heard it. “This… you can’t keep doing this to yourself.”
Your throat felt raw as you coughed again, tasting blood on your lips. You couldn’t even muster the strength to argue, your body finally betraying you in the worst way possible. Sylus helped you sit up, his eyes briefly glancing at the bloodied rose in the sink. He didn’t say anything, but the look on his face told you he understood.
“I can’t… I can’t fight it anymore,” you rasped, your voice barely audible. “I need the surgery.”
Sylus’s eyes flickered with something that almost looked like relief, but it was tempered by the knowledge of what the surgery meant. He knew the cost—the erasure of your feelings for Zayne, the love that had been such a painful part of you for so long. But he also knew there was no other choice now.
“You’re sure?” he asked, his voice gentle.
You nodded weakly, wiping at your mouth with a shaking hand. “It’s the only way. I… I don’t want to die like this.”
Sylus exhaled slowly, standing up and helping you to your feet. “Then I’ll make the arrangements. We’ll leave for Linkon as soon as you’re ready.”
Your legs wobbled beneath you, but you managed to steady yourself with Sylus’s support. The weight of your decision settled over you like a heavy blanket—stifling, but somehow also freeing. You would lose your love for Zayne, that much was certain. But at least you would survive. At least the pain would stop. And you could get back to work. You could see him again and act like nothing happened. It would be better for everyone if you just didn’t feel.
As you packed your things for the journey back to Linkon City, your heart felt strangely hollow. There was no going back now. You were going to let the surgery take away everything—the flowers, the thorns, and the love that had nearly consumed you. You would lose the part of yourself that had been tied to Zayne, but maybe that was for the best.
Maybe, in the end, forgetting him and his memories would be the only way to move forward.
With a final, shaky breath, you looked out the window, knowing this was your last chance to feel the weight of your love before it was ripped away forever.
The familiar, sterile scent of Akso Hospital greeted you the moment you arrived in your room. The journey back to Linkon had been long and exhausting, and your body felt more fragile than ever. Every breath seemed to rattle within your chest, the flowers pressing harder against your lungs as the disease worsened.
Sylus had helped you settle into the bed, his usual stoic demeanor faltering slightly as he glanced at you with concern. “I’ll check in on you later,” he said, his voice gruff but laced with an underlying care. “I can’t be seen much around here, you know that. If you need anything, let me know.”
You nodded weakly, barely managing to muster a response. All you could think about was the surgery—the thought of the flowers, and your feelings for Zayne, being torn out of you for good. The relief of that thought was tinged with sadness, a weight that settled heavily in your heart.
Just as you closed your eyes to try to find some rest, the door creaked open.
You didn’t even have to look to know who it was.
“Y/N.”
His voice—steady, but holding the edge of something raw—cut through the quiet room like a blade. Your eyes snapped open, and you turned your head to see Zayne standing in the doorway, his expression torn between worry and something deeper, something more desperate.
You sat up slowly, your body protesting the movement as pain flared in your chest. “Zayne… how did you—”
“I found out,” he interrupted, stepping further into the room. “I found out about your condition, about the Hanahaki. I—” He faltered, as if the words were too heavy to form. His eyes were wide with something you hadn’t seen before—panic.
You shook your head, cutting him off. “Zayne, it’s too late. I’m getting the surgery.”
He froze, standing still as his eyes locked onto yours. “You don’t have to do this.”
Your heart clenched painfully at the words, but you forced yourself to keep your expression steady. “Yes, I do,” you replied softly. “I can’t keep living like this. These flowers, this pain… it’s killing me.”
Zayne’s eyes darkened, his hands clenched at his sides. “You don’t have to lose your feelings for me. You can survive this without giving that up.”
You let out a bitter laugh, your voice trembling with the effort. “How, Zayne? You don’t return my feelings, and this disease… it only stops when the love is mutual.” You met his gaze, trying to convey the finality of your decision. “I don’t have a choice.”
He took another step closer, his face tight with emotion. “But you do have a choice. You don’t need to do this surgery. We can figure something out—together.”
You shook your head, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. “There’s nothing to figure out. I’ve already decided. This is the only way.”
Zayne’s eyes were stormy with conflict. You could see the guilt eating away at him, the pain of realizing what his absence had cost you. But you also knew he wasn’t here to confess his love. He was here because he cared, because he felt responsible. And as much as that hurt, you couldn’t let that be the reason to hold onto hope.
“Zayne, please…” Your voice cracked as you looked at him, your body trembling with exhaustion. “Just go. Let me do this.”
He moved toward you, his hand reaching out to gently cup your face. The contact was warm, his touch familiar and comforting, but you could feel the hesitation in him, the uncertainty that hung in the air.
“You don’t understand,” he murmured, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek. “I don’t want to lose you.”
Your heart clenched at his words, but you pulled away from his touch, shaking your head. “You won’t lose me, Zayne. You’ll still have me as a friend, as someone you care about. But I can’t… I can’t keep loving you like this.”
Tears welled in your eyes, threatening to spill over. This was it. This was the moment you had to let go, no matter how much it hurt. You couldn’t bear to love him any longer, not when it was destroying you from the inside.
Zayne’s expression faltered, his hand falling back to his side. “Y/N…”
“Zayne, just go,” you whispered.
“Y/N, wait,” he said, his voice low but urgent.
You blinked up at him, confused. “Zayne, please, don’t make this harder than it already is.”
But he wasn’t listening. His hand gripped yours as if it was the only thing keeping him steady, his chest rising and falling heavily with each breath. “There’s something I need to tell you,” he began, his voice strained.
You frowned, your heart sinking. “What is it?”
His eyes locked onto yours, and for the first time, you saw more than just concern. There was something deeper, something conflicted.
“About Emma—the other doctor,” he started, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not what you think. We’re not… It’s not as serious as you believe.”
Your heart skipped a beat, but you quickly shook your head, feeling a wave of exhaustion wash over you. “Zayne, it doesn’t matter. You’re with her, and that’s fine. I’ve already accepted that.”
“No, you haven’t,” he said sharply, stepping closer. His eyes flashed with frustration. “And I haven’t either. I ended things with her.”
You stared at him, trying to make sense of his words. “What do you mean?”
Zayne hesitated for a moment, his brow furrowing as if he was gathering the courage to say something he’d been holding back for too long. “I’ve been avoiding my feelings, Y/N. For a long time. I thought keeping things professional between us was the right thing to do, the smart thing to do.” He paused, searching your eyes. “But seeing you like this… seeing you suffering because of me…”
His voice trailed off, thick with emotion, and you could feel your heart pounding in your chest. This was a side of him you had never seen, a vulnerability you hadn’t expected. You opened your mouth to speak, but he wasn’t done.
“I didn’t want to face it,” he admitted, his voice softer now. “I thought that by staying focused on my work, on our roles, I could keep things simple. But I can’t anymore. Not when I know what’s happening to you. Not when I realize I’m the reason you’ve been hurting.”
Your breath caught in your throat as his words sank in, and you felt the familiar sting of tears building behind your eyes. “Zayne… what are you saying?”
“I’m saying that I don’t want to lose you,” he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been scared, Y/N. Scared of what it would mean if I let myself feel more for you. But I can’t hide from it anymore. I care about you—more than I should have ever let myself admit.”
The room seemed to shrink around you, his words sinking in deeper with every breath you took. Your heart was racing, your mind a whirlwind of emotions you had thought were on the verge of being erased forever.
“Zayne…” you whispered, your voice trembling. “You… you never said anything.”
He shook his head, guilt flashing in his eyes. “I know. I’m sorry. I should have been honest with you, with myself. But I’m here now, and I’m telling you that I don’t want you to go through with the surgery.” He squeezed your hand gently, his voice steady but filled with emotion. “Don’t erase your feelings, Y/N. Don’t erase us.”
You stared at him, your heart aching with the weight of his words. For so long, you had believed that he would never return your feelings, that your love for him would remain unrequited. But now, here he was, asking you to give him a chance. Asking you to believe that it wasn’t too late.
“I… I don’t know what to say,” you murmured, your throat tight with emotion. “I was ready to move on, to forget…”
Zayne leaned in closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “You don’t have to forget. We can figure this out—together. Please, Y/N… give us a chance.”
Tears finally spilled down your cheeks as you looked into his eyes, the weight of your love for him pressing hard against your chest. The flowers had bloomed so fully within you, so painfully, but for the first time, you felt a spark of hope.
“I’m scared,” you admitted, your voice barely a whisper.
“I am too,” Zayne replied softly, his thumb brushing away one of your tears. “But I’d rather face that fear with you than lose you because of it.”
The silence between you was thick, filled with the weight of everything unsaid, everything you had both been too afraid to confront. But now, in the quiet of the hospital room, with the flowers inside you on the verge of consuming you, there was a new possibility blooming—a chance for something real.
“I don’t want to lose you either,” you whispered, your voice trembling.
Zayne smiled, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly as he leaned in, his forehead resting gently against yours. “Then don’t.”
The decision still weighed heavily on you—the surgery, the flowers, the uncertainty of what the future would bring. But in this moment, with Zayne by your side, you allowed yourself to hope that maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t too late after all.
The tension in the room hung thick as you gazed at Zayne, his forehead still resting gently against yours, his hand holding yours like an anchor. You could feel the weight of your decision pressing down on you, the reality of your situation still swirling in your mind.
The surgery—the removal of your feelings and the flowers that had ravaged your body—was supposed to be your salvation. It was supposed to be your way out of the pain, the only option you had left to survive. But now, with Zayne in front of you, admitting the feelings you had thought would forever go unspoken, the certainty of that choice began to crack.
Could you really walk away from this now? From him?
With a deep, shuddering breath, you pulled back slightly to look into Zayne’s eyes, your hand still tightly clasped in his. The fear and confusion swirling in your chest didn’t vanish, but something else—a glimmer of hope—was beginning to take root.
“I can’t promise that this will work,” you whispered, your voice barely audible as you spoke the truth that trembled within you. “I don’t know if my feelings will ever go away, or if the flowers will stop growing…”
Zayne shook his head, his eyes softening. “I’m not asking for guarantees,” he murmured, his voice filled with quiet intensity. “I’m just asking for a chance. A chance for us. I… I like you, Y/N.”
Your throat tightened as emotion swelled inside you. For so long, you had been ready to let go, to numb yourself to the possibility of anything more. But now, with him sitting by your side, his touch grounding you in a way you hadn’t thought possible, the idea of walking away felt unbearable.
You didn’t want to let go—not of him, not of what could be.
With a slow exhale, you made the decision that had been forming in your heart ever since Zayne walked through the door. “I’ll… I’ll delay the surgery,” you said softly, your voice wavering but resolute. “Just for now.”
Zayne’s grip on your hand tightened, relief flooding his expression as his shoulders sagged slightly. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “Thank you for giving this a chance.”
You nodded, your heart still pounding in your chest, but the dread you’d carried for so long felt a little lighter, like a weight that was finally beginning to lift.
As the hours passed, Zayne stayed by your side, refusing to leave. He sat close, his presence warm and steady as he talked quietly with you about anything and everything—his work, your missions as a Hunter, the lives you both led before this moment. It was as if the space between you, once filled with unspoken tension, was slowly being bridged by the quiet understanding that had always been there but never fully acknowledged.
And as the evening settled over Linkon City, something unexpected began to happen.
The pressure in your chest, once unbearable, began to ease. The sharp, suffocating pain of the flowers pressing against your lungs softened. You coughed lightly, out of habit more than necessity, but there were no thorns, no petals. You touched your chest, almost disbelieving, feeling the absence of the usual tightness.
Zayne noticed immediately, his eyes widening as he watched you. “Y/N?” he asked, concern still lacing his voice.
You took a deep breath—a real, full breath—and felt the difference. “The pain,” you said slowly, your voice filled with disbelief. “It’s… it’s not as bad.”
Zayne’s eyes softened as he leaned closer. “The flowers,” he murmured, his thumb gently brushing over the back of your hand. “They’re withering, aren’t they?”
You nodded, still too stunned to speak. The flowers that had been blooming within you for so long, the painful manifestation of your unreturned love, were beginning to wilt. The thorns were loosening their grip, the petals curling inward, no longer feeding off the relentless ache in your heart.
For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt a sense of relief, of hope. It wasn’t immediate, and it wasn’t a cure—but it was a start. A small sign that maybe, just maybe, your heart was beginning to heal.
Zayne squeezed your hand gently, his eyes never leaving yours. He closes the distance between you, lips meeting the skin of your forehead.
Tears welled up in your eyes, and you let out a small, shaky laugh, overwhelmed by the unexpected turn of events. “I missed you so bad,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.
Zayne smiled, the warmth in his expression lighting up the room. “So did I.”
And with that, a fragile but beautiful sense of hope bloomed between you, far more powerful than any of the flowers that had once threatened to destroy you.
As the night deepened, you knew that the road ahead wouldn’t be easy, that your journey with Zayne was only just beginning. But for the first time in a long time, you weren’t afraid. You were ready to face whatever came next, together.
The flowers within you may have started to wither, but something far more enduring was taking their place—a glimmer of love, of possibility, of the future you could now dare to hope for.
Zayne sat on the side of your bed, looking at you. You’ve just now realized the bag under his eyes and how much his hair wasn’t as kept as it always was. He looks tired.
He holds your face again, looming close. You close your eyes and wait for him to close the distance. You can feel his breath on yours, slow and calming, until his lips softly land on yours.
Back in the dimly lit underground of the N109 Zone, Sylus lounged in his usual chair, legs crossed casually as he flicked through his papers of work. Mephisto, his sleek, mechanical crow, perched on the edge of his desk. Its dark metal feathers glinted under the low light as its red eyes glowed with an eerie pulse. The crow had just returned from its latest mission, flying back from Linkon City with an update Sylus had been waiting on. He leaned forward, his eyes narrowing as Mephisto clicked softly, a sign it had recorded new information.
With a tap on the crow’s head, Sylus activated the playback, listening intently as a holographic projection materialized in the air between them. It showed clips of Y/N, her once-pale face now regaining a hint of color, the dark shadows under her eyes starting to fade. She was walking through the corridors of Akso Hospital, slower than her usual stride, but there was an unmistakable strength returning to her movements.
Sylus smirked, leaning back in his chair. “She’s getting better,” he murmured, satisfied. His crimson eyes flicked over the scenes of Y/N interacting with Zayne, watching as she spoke with him, her body language more relaxed than it had been in weeks. He noted the way Zayne hovered protectively, never too far, a subtle guardian by her side.
Mephisto clicked again, relaying more footage from its surveillance of the city. Sylus took it all in, his mind piecing together what had unfolded. Y/N had made her choice—not to go through with the surgery just yet. Instead, she was taking her chances with Zayne, exploring what could be between them.
Sylus’ fingers drummed lightly on the armrest of his chair as he considered it. He’d always respected Y/N’s strength, admired her resilience even when she was at her weakest. That she had survived the Hanahaki long enough to make it back to Linkon—and now, was seemingly thriving—was a testament to her will.
“You made the right call, sweetie,” he said to no one in particular, his voice low but approving.
Mephisto fluttered its wings, a sound like the shifting of gears, and Sylus gave the crow a nod of approval. He was satisfied with what he saw. Y/N had her path now, and though Sylus knew better than to interfere too much in her affairs, he couldn’t help but feel a small sense of pride at her recovery.
“Keep an eye on her, Mephisto,” he muttered, his voice turning sharp again. “But let her be. She’s strong enough to handle things from here.”
The mechanical crow clicked in acknowledgment before it took off into the air, disappearing through one of the many grates in the ceiling, off to continue its watch from the shadows. Sylus watched it go, the flicker of a smile lingering on his lips.
Y/N would be fine. She had her own battles to fight now, and with Zayne by her side, she had a chance. That was all Sylus could have hoped for.
With a quiet sigh, he stood up and headed toward the doorway, his boots echoing against the metal floor. There were other things to handle in N109, but for now, knowing that Y/N was on her way to healing—both from the flowers and from the tangled feelings that had plagued her—was enough to put his mind at ease.
As Sylus watched Mephisto disappear through the grate, the flicker of satisfaction from Y/N’s recovery still lingering, a sudden tightness gripped his chest. It wasn’t the usual tension from a long day in the shadows of N109—it was sharper, more visceral. His brows furrowed, and before he could fully process the sensation, a sharp cough escaped his throat.
He doubled over slightly, hand instinctively rising to his mouth. For a moment, the metallic taste of blood made him grimace, but as he pulled his hand away, what caught his attention was the small, delicate object that had landed on his palm.
A petal.
The sight of it made Sylus freeze. He stared at the soft, pastel pink petal—a contrast to the dim, metallic world around him. His eyes narrowed, his mind racing. The Hanahaki Disease. He’d seen its ravages before, watched Y/N suffer under its grasp. But this? His own symptoms? He couldn’t quite believe it.
“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath, tossing the petal onto his desk. The sharp throb in his chest hadn’t fully subsided, but it wasn’t the same as what he had witnessed in Y/N. There was no choking on thorns or overwhelming floral invasion. This was... different. A strain less aggressive, yet unmistakable in its cause.
Hanahaki. Unrequited love.
Sylus let out a low, humorless chuckle, his crimson eyes darkening as the realization hit him. He was no stranger to matters of the heart, but he’d always kept those feelings locked away, never giving them enough room to grow—or so he thought. This was proof that something had taken root, something he couldn’t deny anymore.
And there was only one person who came to mind.
Y/N.
He didn’t need to ask himself why. Seeing her leave, watching her struggle to fight the same disease, knowing he couldn’t do more than offer her shelter and assistance—it had stirred something in him. A feeling he hadn’t allowed himself to acknowledge. He had helped her out of concern, out of duty, out of their connection—but there had been something more.
The petal on his desk was proof of that.
Sylus stared at the petal on his desk, its delicate form unmistakably belonging to a lily. The pristine white hue stood out starkly against the gritty backdrop of his desk, a contrast that was almost mocking. Of course, it had to be lilies—symbolic of purity and renewal, the very antithesis of his hardened existence in N109. He couldn’t help but scoff at the irony.
Lilies.
He picked up the petal between his fingers, turning it over as he examined it closer. Unlike the thorn-covered roses Y/N had been coughing up, these petals were smooth, soft, and almost harmless in comparison. But he knew better. They were far from benign.
The fact that he was coughing up lilies of all things wasn’t lost on him. They represented something gentle, something almost... fragile. But Sylus was anything but fragile, and yet, here he was, entangled in the same affliction that had nearly destroyed Y/N. He sighed, tossing the petal back on the desk, watching it flutter down like a weightless reminder of what had been growing inside him.
And now, there was no denying the truth—he had feelings for her. Feelings that he had buried so deep they’d only surfaced now, in this frustrating, blooming form. Unlike Y/N’s roses, his strain wasn’t lethal, but that didn’t make it any less concerning. He wouldn’t let it get worse. He refused to be bound by something as foolish as unspoken love.
He glanced at his comm device again, fingers hovering over the screen before he pressed down, confirming the appointment with Dr. Maren for the next day. He wouldn’t let this linger, not like Y/N had. Sylus didn’t like loose ends, and this, now that he knew, was a loose end he intended to tie up.
But the thought of Y/N remained in his mind as he sat there, the image of her recovery still fresh. She was doing better. The flowers inside her were beginning to wither, a hopeful sign that her heart was healing. That gave him some measure of relief, knowing she was on a path that might lead to happiness—whether it involved him or not.
As for him... Sylus wasn’t sure where this would end. He wasn’t the type to dwell on love or let emotions cloud his judgment. But the lilies said otherwise. They were there, quietly blooming inside him, pushing him toward feelings he hadn’t intended to face.
“Well,” he muttered to himself, standing up from his desk, “I guess we’ll see how this plays out.”
The mechanical whir of Mephisto’s wings echoed faintly in the background as the crow returned from its surveillance, landing quietly on its perch. Sylus spared it a glance, giving the bird a small nod. There was always work to do, but for now, he had to focus on his next move.
Tomorrow, he'll see the doctor. And then, maybe—just maybe—he’d figure out what to do about the lilies.
Sylus exhaled deeply, the weight of this new revelation pressing down on him. He couldn’t afford to let this disease grow. It wasn’t as severe as Y/N’s strain—he was lucky in that sense—but the fact that he had symptoms at all meant it could worsen if left unchecked.
He reached for his comm device, his fingers moving with purpose as he scrolled through his contacts. He needed answers, and he knew exactly who to call.
“Dr. Maren,” Sylus said as soon as the connection clicked. “I need to schedule a check-up. Something’s come up.”
There was a brief pause on the other end before Maren responded, the voice calm but attentive. “Sylus? I thought your plan to draw Y/N to Linkon worked. What’s the issue?”
Sylus leaned back in his chair, glancing at the petal again before he spoke. “It’s me. But it’s a mild strain.”
Another silence, this one longer, before Maren’s voice returned, more serious this time. “That’s not something to take lightly, even if it’s a mild case. How long have you had symptoms?”
Sylus closed his eyes, recalling the subtle tightness that had been plaguing him over the past few weeks. It hadn’t been enough to alarm him, but now it all made sense. “Not long. It’s manageable for now. But I need to know what we’re dealing with.”
“I’ll fit you in tomorrow,” Maren replied swiftly. “Come to the clinic. We’ll run some tests.”
Sylus nodded to himself, feeling the weight of his situation sink in. “I’ll be there.”
He ended the call and leaned forward, hands steepling under his chin as he stared at the petal once more. It was a strange irony, being caught by the same disease that had nearly claimed Y/N. But there was no time for self-pity. He was pragmatic by nature—he would handle it like everything else in his life: methodically, without hesitation.
Still, the realization that his feelings for Y/N had manifested into something so tangible made him pause. He had always kept his emotions buried, hidden under layers of cynicism and practicality. Now, those feelings were blooming—literally—whether he liked it or not.
A slow, grim smile crept onto his lips as he muttered to himself, “How funny.”
The next day would bring answers. But for now, Sylus remained where he was, staring at the petal on his desk, caught between amusement and resignation. His finger runs on his temple, looming over his crimson eye.
At least he wasn’t dying. And if he would have to take the surgery, it didn’t matter. He would always remember you. Because your connection knows no physical bounds. You’re always connected. The string of fate connecting the two of you cannot be cut that easily.
WC: 6664
Chapter Warnings: just angst again
Summary: Everyone in Levi's life knows he only ever dated one girl and that she left him wrecked, bitter, and heartbroken. Many years later, she's back in his life and he doesn't know what to do.
Note: Levi POV in this chapter !! ^^ Oh, and unfortunately, there will probably no update until after the 17th of October. I have uni exams and my study schedule is clashing with work so I probably won't time have time to write until then. See you until then! (We're gonna get more angsty and a little steamy(?) when I come back, I promise.)
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Over the next few days, you found yourself checking your phone more than usual, a small flicker of anticipation stirring each time you saw a new message. On Wednesday afternoon, Kuchel finally texted you the details of the dinner, and to your surprise, it wasn’t at the restaurant.
Would dinner at my place this Thursday be good? 7PM. Just us. Don’t bring anything—just yourself. See you then. —Kuchel
You stared at the message for a moment, blinking. Kuchel’s home? You hadn’t expected something so personal, but it made sense. After all, this wasn’t just any casual dinner. It was a reunion, an intimate moment to reconnect outside the hustle and noise of her now-bustling restaurant.
A mix of emotions bubbled up as you responded with a quick response.
Sounds perfect. I’ll be there.
As the dinner date drew closer, you found yourself thinking about Kuchel more than you expected. Memories from the time you worked at her small, then unassuming restaurant resurfaced—late nights closing up, chats over coffee while you helped her organize orders, Levi’s rare moments of humor in between his sharp instructions. It all seemed so distant now, like a chapter of your life that belonged to someone else.
A couple of minutes after confirming the dinner with Kuchel, another message buzzed on your phone, pulling you from the stack of legal documents you’d been reviewing. You glanced at the screen and saw Hange’s name pop up and you remember she has been pestering you about her bachelorette party. She kept sending the same message everyday for the past week.
Heyyy! Guess what? You’re invited to my bachelorette party! 🎉🎉 It’s going to be WILD. Be there, or I’ll hunt you down!! This Saturday at 8 PM. The details are attached here. Can’t wait to see you!!
You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head as you read the message. Hange hadn’t changed one bit. She always had this vibrant energy that could light up any room, and apparently, she was bringing that energy to her bachelorette party. The thought of attending the event tugged at something inside you—an old camaraderie, a time when things were simpler, messier, but undeniably fun.
The idea of being surrounded by familiar faces again—of slipping back into that old rhythm—both excited and unsettled you. But Hange’s invitation was impossible to refuse. She had a way of pulling people into her orbit, and you knew this wouldn’t be any ordinary night. Besides, Levi won’t be there anyway.
As the day unfolded, the prospect of Kuchel’s dinner and Hange’s bachelorette party loomed closer, each event pulling you back into the life you once had here. It felt as though the city, with all its memories and relationships, was welcoming you back in layers—one familiar face at a time. And you don’t even know if you deserved it.
—
When the evening finally arrived, you made your way to Kuchel’s home, which was tucked into a quiet neighborhood just a few blocks away from the restaurant. The walk there felt almost surreal, the streets of Stohess now familiar yet filled with memories. When you arrived, you found the house just as warm and inviting as the woman who owned it.
Kuchel’s home was modest, but there was a charm to it—plants lining the windowsills, warm lights glowing from inside, and the faint scent of cooking wafting out the front door. You took a deep breath and knocked.
The door swung open almost immediately, and there she was, smiling as though no time had passed at all.
“You made it,” Kuchel said, her voice bright as she stepped aside to let you in. “Come on in, the food’s almost ready.”
You stepped inside, taking in the cozy, lived-in feel of the space. Photos lined the walls, some of Levi as a boy, and others of what seemed to be old family gatherings. The warmth of the place wrapped around you, instantly putting you at ease.
“I haven’t been here in so long,” you said softly, looking around.
Kuchel smiled as she led you into the kitchen, where a simple but delicious-smelling meal was simmering on the stove. “I figured it’d be nice to have dinner somewhere quiet. We can talk without the restaurant noise, and besides, I’ve been meaning to catch up with you for a long time.”
As you took a seat at her kitchen table, Kuchel poured you a glass of wine, her movements graceful and familiar. “It’s been too long. You’ve done so much since you left, and I want to hear everything.”
You smiled, settling into the moment. “There’s a lot to catch up on,” you admitted. “But I want to hear about you, too. Kuchel’s has grown so much—I couldn’t believe it when I saw how busy it was the other night.”
Kuchel laughed softly as she joined you at the table. “Levi deserves most of the credit for that. He’s been the driving force behind the expansion. I never imagined we’d get this far, honestly. But enough about work—for tonight, let’s treat each other like the old times.”
You took a sip of your wine, feeling the warmth of the room and the comfort of Kuchel’s presence sink in. “It’s been a whirlwind,” you began, knowing that this evening would be one of reconnection, not just with Kuchel, but with the parts of yourself that you’d left behind when you moved away. You began to tell her what happened like how you tell it to everyone, how you left the city, moved your grandma, went to law school, how your grandma died, and how you began to work in Trost.
And as the night unfolded, with laughter and stories shared over a lovingly prepared meal, you realized how much you had missed this—missed her, and the sense of home that Kuchel had always provided.
As the dinner with Kuchel neared its end, the conversation had drifted from light-hearted reminiscing to more personal territory. You both shared a bottle of wine, laughter mixing with memories, but there was a point where the ease of the evening gave way to something deeper. Kuchel, always observant, seemed to notice the way your smiles didn’t quite reach your eyes, the way you hesitated before answering certain questions.
She set her glass down, her expression softening as the last bit of warmth from the meal filled the quiet space between you. “I’m really glad you’re back,” she said, her voice gentle but with an edge of seriousness. “You were with someone else when I first saw you but it’s been plaguing my mind so I came to ask you to meet me. I’m sorry, dear… I have to ask, how are you really doing?”
You looked down at your plate for a moment, the weight of the question settling in. Kuchel had always been able to read you, even when you didn’t want to be read. She wasn’t one for surface-level small talk—not with you.
“I’m fine,” you started, instinctively offering the answer you’d given everyone else. But Kuchel’s eyes didn’t waver, and the sincerity of her gaze made you pause. She wasn’t letting you get away with that.
She leaned forward slightly, resting her elbows on the table, her voice a little softer now. “I know it’s been a long time, and I don’t expect you to spill everything right now… but I can see it. You’ve been through something. So, how have you really been?”
The words hung in the air, and for the first time all night, you felt exposed. You hadn’t planned on opening up—not tonight, maybe not ever—but something about Kuchel’s quiet persistence, her maternal presence, made you feel safe enough to let the guard down.
“You know—and don’t tell Levi I told you this but… when the breakup happened, Levi didn’t take it well. And I never got to talk to you about it. But if Levi experienced that… it was probably bad for you too, wasn’t it?” She reached for your hand across the table, placing a comforting hand on yours, and caressing it with care and love of a mother.
It took all of you to control your emotions right there and then. For Kuchel to say this, the curiosity of what Levi endured during those times that you broke things off and what happened to everyone after you left only became stronger, accompanied with greater guilt that you have always been carrying. You look away and take a deep breath, setting your own glass aside. “I… it was hard for me too, I admit.”
Kuchel nodded, not interrupting, just listening in that patient way of hers. It encouraged you to continue.
“When I left, it was all I could think of doing. But it feels like I just ran. Away from here, from everything. And now that I’m back, it’s like… all of it is catching up to me, and I don’t know what to do with it.”
You hadn’t meant to be so honest, but once the words started spilling out, it was hard to stop. Kuchel listened intently, her eyes filled with understanding, but she didn’t say anything right away.
“I knew there was more under the surface,” she said softly. “You’ve always been strong, but sometimes it’s okay to stop carrying it all alone. I can see it’s hard to tell what really happened and I—we can wait. There’s still people that love you here. You can find your way back to them.”
Her words hit deeper than you expected, and for the first time in a while, you felt a small sense of relief—a release of the tension you hadn’t even realized you’d been holding. It was comforting, having someone like Kuchel, who knew you before the layers of adulthood and responsibility piled on.
“Thanks,” you whispered, your voice barely above a murmur. “I guess I just needed to hear that.”
Kuchel smiled warmly, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. “You don’t have to have it all figured out right now. But don’t keep it bottled up either. You’ve got people here who care, people who are still part of your life—whether it’s me, or Hange, or whoever else. Don’t be a stranger.”
You nodded, feeling the sincerity in her words settle over you like a warm blanket. There was something about the way she said it that made you believe it.
The evening ended on a note of quiet understanding, Kuchel walking you to the door with a promise to see each other again soon. As you stepped out into the night, the weight on your shoulders felt just a little lighter, knowing that at least here, in this corner of your past, you had someone who understood—someone who saw through the cracks and cared enough to reach out.
—
After saying your goodbyes to Kuchel and leaving her cozy home, the cool night air greeted you as you stepped out of the cab in front of your apartment. The streets were quiet, only the occasional flicker of distant headlights passing by, the buzz from your dinner still lingering in your mind. Kuchel's words played over and over in your head—her gentle insistence that you didn’t have to carry everything alone. You felt lighter, as if some invisible weight had been lifted, but also heavy with the realization that coming back to the city meant dealing with more than just the people from your past. It meant facing the reality that this is the present–your current situation, something you can no longer run away from.
As you rounded the corner of your street, something caught your eye—a familiar silhouette, leaning casually against the building. At first, you thought you were imagining it, the streetlights casting long shadows that distorted the figure. But as you approached, the figure became clearer, the unmistakable stance of someone you hadn't expected to see, but somehow weren’t surprised by.
Levi.
He stood there, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, his expression as unreadable as ever, but there was a tension in his posture that told you this wasn’t just a casual visit. His dark eyes flicked up as you approached, locking onto yours with the same intensity you remembered. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence between you heavy with unspoken words.
“What are you doing here?” you finally asked, your voice quieter than you intended, but firm enough to mask the sudden rush of emotions swirling inside you.
Levi pushed off from the wall, standing straighter as he took a few slow steps toward you.
"How was the dinner?" he asked, the words falling out more out of habit than genuine curiosity. He didn't need to know about the dinner, not really. He just needed to say something.
“You knew?” You blinked, surprised that he even knew about it. Then you remembered, of course—Levi was always aware of things, especially when it came to Kuchel. He probably knew you'd be seeing her tonight even if she didn’t tell him.
"It was nice," you said, carefully, as if you were trying not to give too much away. "Kuchel’s doing well."
Levi nodded, his gaze shifting for a second, as though considering whether to say something more. But instead, he settled on something simple. "Good."
Another silence stretched between you, longer this time. It was clear he wasn’t going to explain why he’d really come. Maybe you didn’t need to ask—maybe it didn’t matter. But the tension between you felt thick, almost suffocating. The years apart hadn’t erased anything. You can still feel the immeasurable amount of love he has for his mother. In honesty, you’d expected him to be angry that you reconnected with Kuchel. But of course, this was Levi. If it’s mother’s happiness or want, he would never question or fault her for it.
Levi nodded, staring down at the ground for a beat, shoving his hands back into his jacket pockets. There was no reason for him to stay, but he lingered, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. The streets were quiet, save for the distant hum of the city around you both.
"You didn’t have to come all the way out here," you said, breaking the silence, your voice soft but carrying a note of hesitation. You didn’t ask him outright why he was there, but it was implied.
Levi shrugged, his eyes meeting yours briefly before drifting off again. "Maybe I did."
You swallowed, not sure how to respond to that. For all of Levi’s usual bluntness, there was always something deeper that he never quite let show. Something that made it impossible to fully walk away from him, even when you thought you had.
“Get some rest,” Levi said after a moment, his voice quieter now, almost softer. “You look awful.”
He gave you a curt nod and turned to walk away, leaving you standing there, feeling like something had just shifted between you. Something unspoken, unresolved, and maybe destined to remain that way.
—
The night of Hange’s bachelorette party arrived with the kind of energy that made the air feel electric. You stood outside the venue, a trendy rooftop bar in the heart of the city, the neon lights of Stohess Street reflected in the glass walls behind you. The place had been transformed—streamers, lights, and enough champagne to fill a small pool. You took a deep breath before stepping inside, knowing that wherever Hange was, chaos was sure to follow.
As you entered, you were immediately hit by a wave of laughter, music, and the unmistakable sound of Hange’s voice ringing out over the crowd. The space was filled with friends, both familiar faces and new ones, all gathered to celebrate. You spotted her almost immediately—Hange was at the center of the room, a crown of flowers on her head and a glass of champagne in hand, already in full party mode.
“There she is!” Hange’s voice rang out as she spotted you from across the room, her face lighting up as she waved you over. She was wearing a sash that read “Bride-to-Be” in glittering letters, and her energy was contagious. “I thought you’d never make it! Come here!”
You smiled, weaving through the crowd of partygoers to reach her. Before you could say a word, Hange pulled you into a tight hug, nearly spilling her champagne in the process.
“I told you it’d be wild!” she laughed, stepping back to take you in. “Look at you! You clean up well.”
“Thanks, Hange,” you said, unable to help but smile at her infectious enthusiasm. “This is… a lot.”
“Only the best for my bachelorette!” she declared, spinning around to show off the venue. “We’ve got drinks, food, and games—oh, and don’t forget the karaoke later.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Karaoke?”
Hange grinned wickedly. “Oh yeah, it’s happening. And you will sing, my friend.”
Before you could protest, Nanaba appeared beside you, already holding a glass of champagne for you. “She’s not kidding about the karaoke. Start thinking of your song now,” she teased, handing you the glass. “Long time no see, girl.”
You took it, laughing softly. “Oh my god, Nanaba,” you greet her with a hug. She hugs you back.
Everyone began to greet you. Out of all the attendees, you only knew Nanaba who thankfully treated you kindly like it hasn’t been years since you’ve last seen each other. Tonight, it will all be about Hange, that’s what she said.
The party was in full swing, with drinks flowing and people chatting in every corner. You settled into the crowd, reminiscing about college days with Nanaba and meeting new girls, but the chaotic energy of the evening was starting to grow on you. Every time you glanced at Hange, she was in the middle of some new adventure—whether it was a game, making an impromptu speech, or trying to rope someone into a dance-off.
As the night went on, you found yourself at the bar, taking a moment to breathe. That’s when Hange sidled up beside you, a mischievous glint in her eye. “So,” she started, leaning on the bar, “I heard you and Levi ran into each other recently.”
You froze for a second, surprised she’d brought it up. Of course, Hange would know. “Yeah… he returned something I forgot in his car,” you replied, trying to sound nonchalant.
Hange raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying your casual tone. “Oh, just a handkerchief? Interesting.”
You gave her a look. “It was nothing. We barely talked.” While we were having dinner, that is, you thought.
“Sure,” she said with a teasing grin. “Well, just so you know, I mixed that drink myself.”
You stared at her, caught off guard. “Of course you did.”
She laughed, clearly enjoying your reaction. “What? It’s my party! I want everyone to have fun. Besides, it’ll be fun for everyone to let loose. Don’t worry, it’s not as dangerous as the ones I made from college. I’ve practiced a lot over the years.”
You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. Hange always had a way of stirring the pot, even when she didn’t mean to. Before you could respond, she was pulled away by a group of friends, leaving you to your thoughts for a moment.
The night wore on, and as promised, karaoke eventually took over the party. You found yourself dragged into a group rendition of some 90s throwback song, with Hange leading the charge and everyone laughing so hard they could barely keep up with the lyrics. It was chaotic, messy, and exactly what you’d expected from a night like this.
As you looked around at the familiar faces, the laughter, and the whirlwind energy of the party, you felt a strange sense of belonging—a feeling you hadn’t realized you’d missed until now. It was like stepping back into a part of yourself you’d left behind, and for the first time in a while, you felt like maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing to be back. Or maybe that was the alcohol in your system. You feel like you’re about to crash out soon.
The party didn’t start winding down until the early hours of the morning, when even Hange began to show signs of exhaustion. You were one of the last to leave, standing on the rooftop as the city stretched out beneath you, barely alive with the hum of nightlife. The reason you didn’t leave yet is because your alcohol tolerance betrayed you. You fear that if you go home alone, you’d pass out on the street and wake up god knows where.
Hange caught up to you once more as you stood, leaning on the tall railings. “Hey,” she said, her tone more serious now, though still light. “Thanks for coming. It means a lot to me, you know? Having you back here.”
You smiled, feeling the sincerity in her words. “I wouldn’t have missed it.”
“Good,” she said, giving you a lopsided grin before pulling you into one last hug. “Now get home and sleep. We’ve got more partying to do at the wedding.”
“Actually, can you grab me a cab? I don’t think I can book a ride on my phone at my state.” Your words are slurring off with a soft laugh as you talk, trying to pull out your phone out of your pocket only to find it empty. “Oh, other pocket,” you murmured incoherently as you finally had your phone in your hand.
You look up to already see Hange grinning at you, her cheeks flushed with the excitement of the night. “Oh, don’t worry about that,” she said, waving her hand dismissively. “Already taken care of.”
You furrowed your brow, confused. “What do you mean?”
Hange gave you a look that was somewhere between mischievous and knowing, her eyes twinkling with that signature glint she always got when she knew she was meddling in something. “I called someone to pick you up.”
Your stomach dropped, and a sense of foreboding crept into your drunken haze. “Who?” you asked, dreading the answer.
“For fuck’s sake, Hange.”
For one good second, you sobered up, chills filling your entire body when you heard his voice. You look in his direction, already walking up to the two of you. He’s wearing a black jacket and jeans, his hair a little tousled by the windy air of the rooftop.
“I thought you’d know better than drinking Hange’s mix,” he directly spoke to you now, arms crossed in disappointment. Him standing in front of you hit you like a splash of cold water. You blinked a few times, as if you don’t believe what you’re seeing in front of you.
“Levi? You called Levi?” is what you would’ve said if you could even make some words out of your drunken mouth. You let out a long sigh, feeling the weight of the situation settle in your already tipsy mind. The way Levi is seeing you right now—drunk, disoriented, and in this state—is too humiliating, but it was too late to argue. Hange had made her decision without consulting you, and there was no undoing it now, with him already standing in front of you.
Hange laughed, patting you on the back. “Welp, here’s your designated driver. Moblit’s on his way to fetch me so you two go on ahead.”
With that, Hange left the two of you alone by the railings. The two of you stood there in silence. The long-sleeved shirt you wore does nothing for the chilly night, you wrap your arms tightly around yourself as the cold night air sobered you up just enough to feel the awkwardness building. Your heart pounded in your chest as you leaned on the railing, trying to steady yourself.
He approached you closer, his usual unreadable expression giving nothing away. “You good to go, or do I need to carry you to the car?” he asked, his voice dry but not unkind.
You blinked, trying to pull yourself together, but you could still feel the alcohol buzzing in your system. “I can walk,” you muttered, feeling heat rise in your cheeks despite the cool air.
Levi’s lips twitched ever so slightly at your response, a ghost of a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “Sure you can.”
You huff, trying to walk away from him. You swayed slightly on your feet, your mind racing with a mixture of embarrassment and dread as you head to the elevator. Levi followed closely behind you. Whenever you feel like you’re about to lose your stance, you’d feel a slight graze of a hand on your back. He never touches you. But you’re awfully aware of his presence behind you.
The two of you waited in front of the elevator in silence. You don’t look at Levi. You feel like your face is going to be redder than it already is if you look at his handsome face. And what was he wearing? Did he go somewhere? Why does he look like that? It’s so unfair. He’s so hot. The all black fit always hits you differently, the alcohol is not helping either.
Just as the elevator doors open, something draped on your shoulders. Levi’s jacket. “Wear it. You look like you’re gonna freeze to death.”
As the two of you go in, due to actually feeling like you’re going to freeze to death, you don’t complain and wear his jacket. The smell of his cologne fills your nose and you bury yourself in the warmth of it.
"You look like you’ve had a rough night," he said, his voice flat but with a hint of dry amusement.
You huffed out a breath, leaning your elbows on the railing again. “It wasn’t supposed to end with you showing up.” You paused for a moment. “Thanks for coming… but you didn’t have to. I could’ve called a cab.”
Levi shrugged, glancing over at the view of the city in front of you. “You were drunk, and she called me. Simple as that.”
You sighed, realizing there was no point in arguing with him. “Yeah, I guess.”
He glanced at you, taking in the way you leaned a little too heavily against the wall, the faint pink flush on your cheeks. As the two of you stood there, the awkward silence between you grew. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but there was an underlying tension—one that neither of you wanted to acknowledge.
You made it to the lobby and then outside of the building, the cool air of the outside world hitting you like a fresh wave of another cold. Levi led the way to his car parked just outside, and you hesitated for a moment, feeling a strange mix of gratitude and reluctance.
When you reached the car, Levi opened the passenger door for you, motioning for you to get in. You do as he says, slipping into the passenger seat. The ride was quiet, the hum of the engine the only sound between you as he drove through the city streets, which had quieted down in the late hours. You stared out the window, watching the lights of the buildings blur as you passed by.
Levi finally broke the silence, his voice soft but steady. “Hange said you were having fun tonight.”
You let out a small laugh, still feeling the god-awful drink swirling in your veins. “Yeah, I was… surprisingly”
He glanced at you briefly. “Parties weren't really your thing.”
“Neither are late-night rescues,” you replied, shooting him a half-smile.
Levi’s lips twitched, the closest thing to a smile you’d seen from him all night. “Could’ve fooled me.”
The rest of the ride passed in comfortable silence, the weight of the night settling over you as your eyelids grew heavy. The rhythmic hum of the car and the gentle motion of the drive lulled you into a deeper state of relaxation. The alcohol in your system had finally caught up with you, and despite your best efforts to stay awake, your eyes grew heavier with each passing minute. You leaned your head against the cool window, the blur of city lights fading as your consciousness began to slip.
You barely registered Levi glancing over at you from the driver's seat. His expression, ever unreadable, softened slightly as he noticed your slow, even breathing. He kept driving for a few more minutes, but when he pulled up in front of your apartment building and turned off the engine, you didn’t stir.
—
Levi sat there for a moment, staring at you, your body curled up in the passenger seat, completely oblivious to the world around you. The faint rise and fall of your chest was the only sound in the quiet of the car. He let out a small sigh, looking around the area of your building as he considered his options. There were still some people outside in the streets. The underground never slept, filled with drunktards and no-good doers.
After a moment of hesitation, Levi made his decision. Getting you inside your apartment, trying to find your keys, and getting you up the steep and unpaved stairs—all of it seemed like too much for someone in your condition.
Without another word, Levi drove off your apartment and to his own home where you’ll be more comfortable. After he parked his car, Levi got out of the car and came around to your side. He opened the passenger door quietly and leaned down, carefully sliding one arm beneath your legs and the other around your back. You stirred slightly as he lifted you, your head resting against his chest as he effortlessly carried you out of the car. The smell of alcohol fills his nose but it didn’t bother him one bit. His movements were slow and deliberate, making sure not to wake you as he adjusted your weight in his arms.
You murmured something incoherent, your head shifting slightly as you nestled closer against him. Levi froze for a second, his gaze flickering down to you, but when you didn’t wake, he continued walking toward his building.
Once inside, Levi carried you up the stairs to his apartment. It was quiet and dark, the only light coming from the street lamps outside. He shifted you gently in his arms to open the door, then stepped inside, closing it behind him with a soft click. He made his way through the familiar space, heading toward his bedroom.
Levi laid you down carefully on his bed, pulling back the covers as he positioned you comfortably on the mattress. You stirred again, this time more aware, your eyes fluttering open briefly as you tried to figure out where you were. Your vision was blurry, your mind still fogged with sleep and alcohol, but you recognized the familiar scent of Levi’s apartment.
"Levi?" you mumbled, your voice hoarse with sleep.
He was already adjusting the blanket over you, making sure you were covered and comfortable. “Yeah, it’s me,” he said quietly, his voice unusually soft. “Go back to sleep.”
You blinked a few times, trying to make sense of the situation, but exhaustion pulled at you like a weight. Your body relaxed into the bed, the warmth of the blankets lulling you back to the edge of unconsciousness. “This isn’t… my place…” you muttered, but even as you said it, your eyes were closing again.
“I know,” Levi replied, stepping back slightly as he watched you. “You fell asleep in the car.”
You didn’t have the energy to argue. Instead, you let out a soft sigh, sinking deeper into the mattress. “Yeah…” you mumbled, your voice barely audible as sleep finally overtook you.
As Levi carefully tucked the blanket around you, making sure you were comfortable, he turned to leave the room. But just as he was about to pull away, he felt a gentle tug on his arm.
In your half-conscious state, your fingers had wrapped around his wrist, holding him in place. He froze, staring down at you, his heartbeat quickening unexpectedly. Your eyes were still closed, your breathing slow and steady, but your grip was firm—gentle, yet desperate, as though some part of you, even in sleep, didn’t want him to leave.
“Stay… please…” you whispered, your voice barely audible but enough to make Levi’s breath catch.
He wasn’t sure if you were dreaming or fully aware of what you were saying, but the soft plea reached him. You shifted slightly, your hand sliding up his arm as you pulled him closer, nestling into the blankets. “hold me…” you murmured, the vulnerability in your voice tugging at something deep inside him.
Levi’s body went rigid, his mind torn between his instinct to distance himself and the raw emotion in your voice. He had never been good with moments like this—moments that demanded more than what he was used to offering. But the way you clung to him, even unconsciously, made it difficult to simply pull away. It reminded him of old, easier times.
With a quiet sigh, Levi gave in. He gently sat down on the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb you too much. His movements were slow, uncertain, but deliberate. He stretched out beside you, keeping a small distance at first, though your hand never let go of him.
As you sensed his presence closer, you relaxed, instinctively shifting so that your head rested lightly against his chest. The tension in your body melted as you let out a soft, contented sigh, your hand still gripping his shirt as if afraid he might disappear.
Levi lay there, still and silent, staring up at the ceiling, his heart beating faster than usual. He didn’t know what to do with his free arm, but eventually, he let it settle around your shoulder, holding you with a gentleness that surprised even him. The scent of your hair and the warmth of your body against his was oddly calming, despite the whirlwind of thoughts swirling in his mind.
The room was quiet, save for your slow, steady breathing. Levi glanced down at you, watching the peaceful expression on your face, the way your brow had unfurled and your lips parted slightly in sleep. You looked vulnerable, and yet completely at ease.
For a brief moment, Levi allowed himself to relax, too. He wasn’t sure what this meant—this sudden closeness but as you snuggled into him, your body warm against his, he let himself be present in the moment.
Just for tonight, he told himself. Just for now.
As the minutes passed, Levi found himself unable to tear his gaze away from you. Your face was serene in sleep, the tension from the day and the alcohol completely dissolved. He hadn't seen you like this in a long time—peaceful, unguarded. There was something deeply comforting in watching you like this, something that stirred memories he had long buried. Only now was he able to stare at your face without fearing he’d crumble in front of you. The darkness under your eyes tells everyone that you’re tired but the years have painted a maturity in your face that didn’t take away your beauty.
His eyes traced the familiar lines of your features—the way your lashes rested softly on your cheeks, the subtle rise and fall of your chest as you breathed. The room was quiet, save for the faint sound of your breathing, and Levi’s thoughts seemed to drift along with it. He wasn’t one to dwell on the past, but here, beside you, he couldn’t help but think of everything that had happened between you two—what you had been, what you could have been.
He wasn’t sure when it happened, but a deep, unspoken longing began to rise in his chest, a feeling he had been trying to ignore ever since the night he had shown up outside your apartment without a reason. The closeness of you, the way you had unconsciously reached for him, pulled at something deep inside him.
His gaze softened, lingering on your parted lips, the way your hair spilled across the pillow, framing your face. Slowly, as if drawn by some invisible force, he found himself leaning in closer. His heart began to pound louder, an unfamiliar rush of emotions building within him, making his movements feel almost inevitable.
He told himself to stop, to pull back before he crossed a line. But as his face hovered just inches above yours, he was overwhelmed by the quiet intimacy of the moment. The warmth of your breath brushed against his skin, and his pulse quickened. You were so close, and for a brief moment, he allowed himself to imagine what it would feel like—to close that final distance, to press his lips against yours once again.
He hesitated, his breath hitching as his eyes traced your sleeping face. You looked so peaceful, so trusting, curled up against him. And yet, in that moment, the weight of what was unsaid between you—the unresolved tension, the memories, the regrets—hung in the air.
Levi’s hand, which had been resting lightly on your shoulder, twitched as he fought the urge to touch you, to run his fingers through your hair, to let his guard down completely. But just as he was about to give in to the moment, he stopped himself.
A faint sigh escaped him as he pulled back, his forehead creasing with conflict. He couldn’t do it—not like this. Not while you were asleep and unaware. It wouldn’t be fair to you, and he knew better than to act on fleeting impulses, no matter how strong they felt in the moment.
With a deep breath, Levi settled back onto the pillow, keeping his arm around you but maintaining the distance between your faces. He stared up at the ceiling, his mind racing, the weight of the unspoken emotions pressing heavily on his chest.
As you shifted slightly in your sleep, your hand still clutching his shirt, Levi closed his eyes, trying to push away the longing that had nearly overtaken him.
But the truth lingered, no matter how hard he tried to ignore it: after all these years, he had never really let you go.
He ran a hand through his hair, a mix of concern and something else flickering in his eyes before he carefully stood up from the bed, turned and quietly walked into his bathroom. He got two things, a cleanser and some cotton.
He walked back to the bed, seeing you sleeping soundly. Gently, he sat down beside you and began to wipe the makeup off your face. He’s careful not to wake you, not applying too much pressure. He’s seen you do this back in college, telling him that makeup should always be removed before bed. If he could change your clothes he would as well. But you looked comfortable enough in his jacket.
Levi walked back into the living room when he was done, his mind oddly restless despite the quiet of the apartment. He sat down on the couch, staring out the window at the city lights outside, knowing that tonight had been different. He didn’t know why he had brought you here instead of waking you up or why he had come to fetch you in the first place. He didn’t know why he didn’t refuse Hange’s call knowing that you were together. He didn’t know why he even dressed up and ran to your side without question. There were a lot of things he didn’t know and didn’t understand. Most of all, he doesn’t understand how you still have a hold of him like this all over the years you were gone. And to be honest, it angered him but mostly, it scared him.
But as the minutes passed and the apartment remained still, he figured maybe it didn’t matter. And whatever questions you have, he'll figure it out tomorrow. For now, you were safe. And that was enough.
WC: 7117
Chapter Warnings: no warnings for this chapter. unedited, as always.
Summary: Everyone in Levi's life knows he only ever dated one girl and that she left him wrecked, bitter, and heartbroken. Many years later, she's back in his life and he doesn't know what to do.
Note: Unfortunately, there's not much Levi in this chapter so I updated this fast so you don't have to wait a long time just for Levi not to come up lol. This chapter holds more of reader's life now and subtle clues on why she left.
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The campus was quiet, save for the occasional murmur of passing students and the rustle of leaves as a soft breeze swept through the courtyard. You and Levi were sitting on a low stone wall near one of the older buildings, the sun setting just beyond the skyline, casting long shadows over the worn paths crisscrossing the quad. The end of the semester of your second year was approaching, and with it, the inevitable questions about the future.
Levi, sitting next to you with his usual calm demeanor, was more quiet than usual, like he had something on his mind. After a few moments, he finally broke the silence, his voice steady but carrying a weight behind it.
“You ever think about leaving the city?” he asked, his gaze fixed on the horizon, watching as the last streaks of daylight began to fade.
The question caught you off guard. You glanced at him, seeing the faintest crease in his brow, like he was trying to keep the question casual but couldn’t quite manage it. You shifted on the wall, pulling your knees up to your chest, and thought about it for a moment.
“After we graduate?” you asked, already knowing that’s what he meant.
Levi gave a slight nod, still looking out at the skyline. “Yeah. You ever think about what’s next? Where you’d go?”
You looked down at your hands, fiddling with the fraying edge of your sleeve, thinking about the question. It wasn’t like you hadn’t thought about it—what comes after graduation, where you’d go, what you’d do. You know what you want to happen. But leaving the city? That hadn’t crossed your mind, not really. You and your grandmother had lived all your lives in Paradis. Her house is comfortable and the thought of leaving your grandmother at her old age is terrifying. Taking her with you is also out of the question because of that. Besides, your grandmother owned that house for decades. It’s the only thing she has to her name.
“I don’t know,” you said honestly, your voice quiet but thoughtful. “I guess a lot of people are thinking about moving away, starting fresh somewhere else. But… I’ve never really wanted that.”
Levi glanced at you, waiting for you to continue. You took a deep breath, trying to articulate what had always felt so clear to you but difficult to put into words.
“I’ve always liked it here,” you began, your eyes wandering over the campus—the familiar buildings, the cracked pathways, the way everything felt worn in, like it had its own stories to tell. “It’s not perfect. It’s far from it, actually.”
Levi’s gaze stayed steady on you, his expression unreadable but curious. You looked back at him, feeling the need to explain.
“This city…” you paused, gesturing vaguely around you, “it’s a mess. We know it’s also shitty, you know? It’s pretending to be perfect while the other side is The Underground. I know there’s kind of a stigma about them. And to be honest, living near The Underground scares me. But it’s not all black and white.”
You looked down at the worn stone beneath your feet, tracing the uneven texture with your eyes. “Not that I’m romanticizing it but I’ve grown comfortable with this city. I don’t really want to leave my home.”
It’s also where the people that matter to you are.
Levi was quiet, his expression softening in that subtle way he had when he was really thinking. You continued, feeling the words come more easily now.
“Everyone’s in such a rush to leave, to go somewhere new, somewhere shiny and perfect. It would be nice, yes, but Paradis is my home. Even if I one day leave, I know I’ll always come back.”
You paused, feeling a little self-conscious now that you’d said all of that out loud. But Levi didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he was looking at you with a kind of quiet understanding.
Levi nodded slightly, his eyes drifting back to the horizon, where the sun had finally dipped below the skyline, leaving the campus bathed in a soft twilight.
“I get that,” he said quietly. “More than you know.”
The two of you sat there in silence for a while, the weight of the conversation lingering between you but not in a bad way. It felt like something had settled, like an unspoken understanding had passed between you both.
Levi didn’t press further, didn’t ask if you wanted to leave or what your exact plans were. He didn’t need to. You both knew that the city—the imperfect, messy city—was more than just a backdrop to your lives. It was part of who you were. And even though Levi didn’t say much, you had a feeling he understood that better than most.
You leaned back in your chair, rubbing your temples to fend off the headache that had been building all afternoon. It had been a particularly difficult week—multiple depositions, court hearings, and client meetings, all bleeding into one another. But that was the life you had chosen. You thrived on the chaos, on the adrenaline of standing before a judge and making your case, on the satisfaction of winning for your clients.
Your phone buzzed on the desk, pulling you out of your thoughts. It was a notification from your calendar, reminding you of a meeting you had tomorrow with a potential new client. You sighed, glancing at the clock. There was always something more to do. But this work has always been like this. In these times, you even crave it, wanting to distract your mind off of a raven-haired man.
You glanced over at the window, where the skyline of the city stretched out before you, the tall buildings glinting in the setting sun. Paradis City. It’s a place you used to call home. Now, you feel like an outsider trying to fit yourself in.
As you returned your attention to the case file in front of you, your mind drifted for a moment to the version of yourself who had once walked these same streets as a student, full of ambition and dreams, before you had any idea what the reality of this life would look like.
A sharp knock on your office door jolted you out of your thoughts. You looked up to see Pixis, your boss, standing in the doorway with his usual relaxed demeanor, a slight smile tugging at his lips.
“Still buried in paperwork, I see,” he said with a chuckle, stepping into the room without waiting for an invitation. He was dressed in his usual dark suit and you even swear he had the faint smell of whiskey on him—though that was nothing new for Pixis. It was something that concerned you for a while but for the past two months you’ve known him, you realize easily that it doesn’t take away that he’s a great lawyer and person.
You straightened up in your chair, giving him a polite smile. “Just wrapping up a few things before calling it a night.”
Pixis raised an eyebrow, glancing at the pile of papers on your desk. “You always say that, but I’m beginning to think you never leave this place.”
“Well, that’s why I’m here,” Pixis said, settling into the chair across from you. “I’m calling for a ceasefire on work tonight.”
You blinked, surprised. “A ceasefire?”
Pixis grinned, leaning back in the chair as if he had all the time in the world. “You heard me. We’re going out. The team’s having dinner tonight, and I won’t take no for an answer. I’ve already told the others. You’ve been here for two months and you haven’t gone to a single get-together. Didn’t they teach you in Trost to socialize?”
You felt a pang of hesitation. Going out with the team was something you didn’t do often—not because you didn’t enjoy their company, but because your mind was always so focused on getting home and isolating yourself. Socializing wasn’t something that came easily to you these days.
“I appreciate the offer, but—” you started, but Pixis cut you off with a wave of his hand.
“No buts. You’ve been working too hard, and I can’t have Vanessa’s best burning out on me or she’ll have my poor old head,” he said with a grin. “Besides, it’ll be good for morale. And I don’t care how dedicated you are to your work—you’ve got to eat.”
You couldn’t help but smile at that. Pixis was always one to look out for his team, even if his methods were unconventional. And, truth be told, you hadn’t had a proper meal all day. The idea of sitting down to a nice dinner, surrounded by familiar faces, wasn’t entirely unappealing. And God, do you miss Vanessa and the others.
“Where’s everyone meeting?” you asked, finally giving in.
“We’re setting it up at some new place in Stohess,” Pixis replied, standing up from the chair with a satisfied look. “Good food, good drinks. Nothing too fancy. It’ll be sent on the group chat later.”
You nodded, appreciating his words more than you expected. Pixis, as Vanessa told you, had always been more of a mentor than just a boss, and moments like this reminded you why he commanded so much respect around the firm.
“I’ll be there,” you said, feeling a little lighter now that the decision was made.
Pixis gave you a final nod and a wink. “That’s the spirit. See you tonight, then.”
As the door closed behind him, you glanced at the clock. You had a little over an hour before the dinner, which gave you just enough time to finish the last few bits of work and maybe freshen up before heading out.
The idea of stepping away from the office, even for one night, suddenly didn’t seem so bad. You leaned back in your chair, closing your laptop with a sense of finality. At least now, you’ll be able to see Paradis in all its glory and see what Levi has been saying about its change.
The cool evening air brushed against your skin as you stepped out of your coworker’s car into Stohess Street, you couldn’t believe your eyes. This was the very same street where you used to spend your time after class, this was where Kuchel’s was located.
It was night time, and the street is filled with bright lights. What used to be a quiet, nearly forgotten corner of the city had transformed into a lively district, filled with bustling restaurants, trendy cafes, and stylish boutiques. The hum of conversations and the clinking of glasses filled the air, mingling with the scents of grilled meats and fresh-baked bread wafting from nearby eateries.
You paused for a moment, taking it all in. Stohess had been one of those streets you’d walk down during your university days, back when the sidewalks were cracked, and most of the storefronts were either closed or run down. It had been quiet back then—dull, even. Now, it was anything but. Strings of lights hung across the street, casting a soft glow on the crowds below, and every corner seemed to offer a new place to explore.
You spotted your other coworkers gathered inside one of the newer restaurants at the end of the block, already deep in conversation. You felt a brief flicker of nerves as you approached. It had been a while since you joined the team for anything social, and though you were close with your coworkers, you still found yourself feeling like an outsider in moments like this. You had always preferred the quiet of your office, the comfort of routine, but tonight, something about the vibrant energy of Stohess felt inviting.
You wonder if Kuchel’s is still standing? If it survived the enhancement of the street? Before, it was the only restaurant here. Despite that, she had quite a number of regulars.
“Look who finally decided to show up,” Pixis called out when he saw you, his grin wide as ever. “We were about to send a search party.”
You smiled, feeling the tension ease as you and the others joined the group. “Had to finish up some work,” you said, slipping into the circle.
“Finally, we’ve been wanting to hangout with Pixis’ new hire,” someone from the group chimed in. You gave them a smile.
“Thank you for inviting me here,” I replied as we sat down.
Everyone introduced themselves and their department. When the conversation began to drift away from you, you take the time to admire the establishment while eating.
The restaurant had an open, welcoming feel—high ceilings, rustic wooden tables, and an open kitchen where you could see the chefs at work. It was a far cry from the quiet, almost forgotten street it used to be. As you settled in, you couldn’t help but glance out the window at the street beyond, watching as people hurried by, heading in and out of the various shops and restaurants. It was hard to believe this was the same Stohess, the same place where you, Levi, Erwin, and Hange used to hangout in. It’s where Kuchel fed you meals that filled your stomach with love and motherly care.
The food came out in waves—plates of grilled meats, fresh salads, and dishes you didn’t even recognize but were eager to try. The noise of the restaurant faded into the background as you ate and talked, losing yourself in the warmth of the moment.
As the dinner continued, the lively hum of conversation filled the air, along with the clatter of silverware and the occasional burst of laughter from your team. You were halfway through a plate of roasted vegetables when the door of the restaurant rang open. A tall man in a neatly pressed suit stepped inside, his expression calm and composed despite the boisterous atmosphere.
Pieck, one of the paralegals that’s seated across from you, looked up and cheered. “Nanami!”
The tall blonde man—Nanami Kento, you presumed—acknowledged her with a polite nod in return before his gaze shifted toward the rest of the table. His eyes briefly met yours before he approached Pixis, shaking his hand with the same understated professionalism that marked his entire demeanor.
“Sorry I’m late,” Nanami said, his voice low and steady. “Got caught up with a client.”
“No worries, Nanami,” Pixis replied, patting him on the back as he gestured to an empty chair beside you. “We saved you a spot. Have a seat.”
Nanami moved with quiet efficiency, his presence almost subdued compared to the lively energy of your coworkers. He took the seat next to you with a nod in your direction, and you noticed how his movements were deliberate, precise—like someone who didn’t waste time or energy on unnecessary actions. There was something about him that reminded you of Levi, though with a bit more restraint and formality.
“You must be from the corporate law department,” you ventured, breaking the ice as he adjusted his tie.
He turned to you, his expression as composed as ever. “That’s correct. And you’re the new one from the family department, I assume?”
He turned to you, his expression as composed as ever. “That’s correct. And you’re from litigation, I assume?”
You nodded. “Yes, I’m working on the class-action lawsuit involving the stock manipulation case.”
Nanami’s brow lifted ever so slightly in recognition. “Ah, I’ve heard about that one. High stakes. I imagine it’s been keeping you busy.”
You chuckled softly, swirling the wine in your glass. “Busy might be an understatement.”
He gave a small nod of understanding. “Corporate’s been hectic as well. Mergers, acquisitions—there’s always something.”
The conversation between the two of you flowed naturally, despite Nanami’s reserved demeanor. You found that, while he wasn’t particularly talkative, he had a quiet intellect and a sharp wit that revealed itself in subtle ways. There was a calmness to him that was almost soothing amidst the more boisterous energy of the team dinner. You can already tell that you’ll be getting along well.
The conversation around the table continued, light and full of anecdotes about the latest cases, legal dramas, and a few well-timed jokes courtesy of Porco. But you found yourself intrigued by Nanami. Unlike many of the other senior lawyers, he had a quiet presence that demanded respect without saying much.
Eventually, you turned to him again. “Do you make it to these dinners often?”
Nanami shook his head slightly, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Not really. Usually, I’m tied up with clients. But Pixis can be… persuasive.”
You laughed softly, nodding in agreement. “I think that’s his talent. He has a way of getting us to take a break, even when we don’t want to.”
Nanami gave a slight chuckle, a rare sound from someone as composed as him. “It’s necessary, I suppose. Especially in this line of work.”
As the night began to settle, the conversation around the table started to thin out, with most of your coworkers drifting into smaller groups. You found yourself once again next to Nanami, who was calmly finishing his drink as the ambient noise of the restaurant hummed in the background. The light above the table cast a warm glow, making the lively street outside feel distant for a moment.
You tilted your head slightly, curious. “How long have you been in Paradis, Nanami?”
“I’ve been here for four years,” he replied simply. “I moved here for the job.”
“Do you like it here? The city? What do you think of it?”
Nanami glanced at you, his expression thoughtful as he set down his glass. For a moment, you weren’t sure if he was going to answer, but then he let out a quiet sigh, more out of reflection than fatigue.
“It’s… complicated,” he said, his eyes drifting to the window, watching the flickering lights of Stohess Street and the stream of people passing by. “When I first moved here, I thought it was overwhelming. The noise, the people, the constant movement. It felt… impersonal, in a way.”
You sigh, nodding in an understanding manner. “It didn’t used to be like this, you know?”
That intrigued Nanami and he raised a brow. “Oh? You were from here?”
“Lived here all my life until I moved out seven years ago,” you admitted, leaning forward slightly. “It’s crazy how the city’s changed. I remember when this street was basically dead. Now it’s the place to be.”
Pixis, having heard of the conversation, chuckled while taking a sip of his drink. “That’s the city for you. Always changing, whether you like it or not.”
“I didn’t know the city can change so much in seven years.” The tiny amount of alcohol must be getting to you, making you pout a little, something a bit out of character.
His words, simple as they were, hit you in a way that made you pause. The city had changed, yes, just as Levi said. And in many ways, the chaos of your life mirrored the transformation of Stohess—a once quiet, predictable space, now filled with complexity and vibrancy. But why was this information being fed to you lately? What is it to you that the city is no longer it used to be? This city that pushed you away?
“I used to work on this same street. On the only known restaurant here before,” I shared, feeling nostalgic and missing that time of my life again.
“Hold up,” Porco raised a hand with wide eyes. “You’re telling me you worked at Kuchel’s before?”
“Yeah, I worked part-time there during my college years,” I replied, confused as to why it’s a big deal.
“Wow, that’s kinda iconic,” Gabi, one of the interns, reacts.
You don’t hide your confusion, chuckling a little with furrowed brows. “What exactly am I missing here?”
Pieck, who had been mid-sip of her drink, nearly choked in surprise. “Kuchel’s? The same place that practically owns the entire block now?”
“So you probably know the Ackermans?” Pixis asked, his cheeks reddened and eyes fazed from the excessive drinking. It doesn’t look like he’s out of it though.
You blinked, even more confused now. “The whole block? What do you mean? And what of the Ackermans?”
Pixis nodded, equally astonished. “Yeah, Kuchel’s isn’t some small restaurant anymore. They’ve taken over Stohess Street. You’ve been away from the city, right? I guess you haven’t seen it but the Ackermans practically revamped the whole street, if not the whole city.”
You stared at him, genuinely taken aback. “No, I didn’t realize. I’ve been away for the past seven years. I didn’t know it had grown that much.”
It was just a small, cozy place. Kuchel ran it herself and had no intentions of making it as they were describing the business now. It had to be Levi. That would explain all the wealth he had. But it didn’t occur to you that he would be able to accomplish much in the past seven years. Not that you think he’s incapable of it. It’s just… surprising. It even makes you feel a little proud—a feeling that you quickly buried. You don’t really have a reason to feel that way.
Porco chuckled. “Well, times have definitely changed. Kuchel’s is the restaurant now. They’ve expanded, got two more locations across the city, and they’re practically a landmark here on Stohess Street. People come in from different cities to taste their food.”
“Tell me about it. I interned once from a company and they had me reserve a table. The waiting is for at least four months! It’s ridiculous,” Falco shared.
You couldn’t hide your surprise. In your mind, Kuchel’s was still that quiet, modest restaurant where you spent long nights waiting tables between exams. You remembered Kuchel herself—humble and hardworking, always talking about keeping the restaurant personal and authentic. The idea of her running an empire now felt surreal.
“I had no idea,” you said softly, glancing out the window at the bustling street. It now occured to you that this is what Levi meant when he said this city has changed more than you know.
Nanami, who had been silently listening from his seat next to you, finally spoke up, his calm voice cutting through your thoughts. “Seven years is a long time to be away. The city can change fast, especially a place like this.”
You nodded slowly, still processing the idea. “Yeah… I guess I wasn’t expecting it to change so much. I knew some things would be different, but Kuchel’s… it was like a second home back then. It’s strange to think of it as something so big now.”
Pieck gave you a sympathetic smile. “I bet it feels weird, coming back to a place that’s so different from what you remember.”
Pixis leaned forward, grinning. “Well, you should check it out. Who knows, maybe Kuchel remembers you. You might get the VIP treatment.”
You laughed, shaking your head. “I doubt it. I haven’t spoken to her in years.”
That and if Levi hates you now, she probably does too. You fear that even if it wasn’t you that reserved a table, she might even kick you the moment you stepped out of the restaurant. Even though you know that Kuchel wouldn’t have it in her heart to do that, your shame and anxiety gets the better of your thoughts as always.
“I actually have a reserved dinner table for the next weekend there given to me by a client after I won a case for them,” Nanami said suddenly, and you silently thank him in your mind for changing the topic. “Corporate people are wealthy people with connections,” he says with a face that doesn’t look arrogant but more of exhaustion. Although he carries himself with poise and professionalism, Nanami genuinely looks like he’s in dire need of a vacation. It seems like you found yourself another workaholic like you.
“No way! Are you going with someone?” Pieck asked, eyes wide with excitement.
Nanami thinks for a moment, tilting his head. “Well… the table is for two. But I plan on going alone.”
“You should definitely bring someone,” Pixis chimed in. “Go get yourself a date and relax, Nanami. Life shouldn’t be all about work at your age.”
The blonde stayed silent in deep thought but he did smile politely for Pixis. “Or if you don’t want to, why don’t you bring our new girl over here? You workaholics both need a breather.”
And just like that, it’s once again your turn to be put on the spot. Everyone at the table looks at you and Nanami in excitement. With widened eyes, you immediately refuse. “Oh, please, you don’t have to do that, Nanami. Pixis…” You almost plea with your boss using your eyes to take back his words.
Pixis opens his mouth again but Nanami interrupts him, shocking you. “That’s actually a good idea. Would you want to come with me?”
“I couldn’t possibly impose.” You start thinking about how to get out of this while wondering why Nanami actually agreed. You hoped he didn’t.
“Oh, yes, you could. Maybe you could even see one of the Ackermans and get your own reservation! Maybe get the team a table?”
The atmosphere at the table grew lighter, but you couldn’t ignore the weight of everyone’s eyes on you. Nanami had just thrown you into an unexpected spotlight, and you found yourself struggling to figure out how to respond. You blinked, your mind racing for a way to politely decline without making the situation awkward.
Nanami, sitting calmly beside you, didn’t seem fazed by the suggestion. His composed demeanor didn’t reveal whether he was truly interested in the idea or just going along with Pixis’ suggestion out of politeness. Still, there was a gentleness in his expression—no pressure, just a simple offer hanging in the air between you.
“I don’t think I could manage a reservation with the Ackermans,” you said, trying to shift the focus away from yourself and back to the others. “Besides, Nanami’s the one with the connections here, not me.”
Porco grinned, raising his glass. “Come on, don’t be shy. It’s not every day you get an invite to dinner at Kuchel’s.”
“You two would be the envy of everyone,” Pieck added with a playful wink. “I mean, imagine us mere mortals trying to get in there without waiting months.”
Pixis laughed. “You should definitely take the chance. Plus, it’ll give you both a break from work.”
You let out a small laugh, hoping to diffuse the attention. “It sounds tempting, but I’m sure Nanami has someone else in mind he’d rather take. I mean, who goes to dinner with their coworker when they can invite anyone?”
Nanami, who had been quiet during the back-and-forth, turned to you with a soft smile, his voice low and considerate. “I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t mean it. But there’s no pressure, of course. It’s just dinner.”
There was something so simple and straightforward in the way he said it that your initial hesitation began to wane. The offer wasn’t loaded with expectation; it was just an opportunity to share a meal in a place that held memories for you, and perhaps, as Pixis had suggested, to relax. You glanced back at Nanami, noticing the subtle tiredness beneath his composed exterior. In that moment, you realized you were both in need of a break—from work, from the pressures of the city, from everything.
“Alright,” you said slowly, almost surprising yourself as the words left your mouth. “I’ll go.”
The table erupted into cheers and light applause, with Pieck and Porco exchanging triumphant high-fives while Pixis gave you an approving nod. Nanami simply nodded, as calm and composed as ever, though there was a flicker of something warmer in his eyes.
“Great,” he said, his tone measured but sincere. “I’ll text you the time this weekend.”
Pieck leaned in, her voice teasing. “Well, now we’re all jealous. You two better enjoy it.”
As the conversation moved on to other topics, you sat back in your chair, still processing what had just happened. You hadn’t expected the evening to take this turn, nor had you thought about spending time with Nanami outside of work. He was a bit of an enigma—calm, collected, and quietly competent—but beneath that exterior, you sensed there was more to him. Maybe this dinner would reveal a side of him you hadn’t yet seen.
Either way, you found yourself oddly curious about how the evening at Kuchel’s would unfold. Maybe, for the first time in a long while, you’d allow yourself to enjoy the city again. Even if it was just for one night.
The following weekend arrived more quickly than you had anticipated, and before you knew it, you were standing outside Kuchel’s, the restaurant that now dominated Stohess Street. It had been years since you last stepped foot in the area, and the sight before you was almost unrecognizable.
Nanami stood beside you, looking as composed as always. His suit was tailored perfectly, and despite his usual calm demeanor, there was a subtle shift in him tonight. Maybe it was the change of pace, stepping out of the office, or the significance of the restaurant itself. He caught your glance and offered a small smile, as if sensing your quiet apprehension.
“Ready?” he asked, his voice steady but soft.
You nodded, taking a deep breath. “Yeah. It’s strange seeing it like this.”
As you walked into Kuchel’s, you were hit with a wave of nostalgia. Though the restaurant had expanded, its essence remained the same. The decor was more refined now, with soft lighting and elegant wooden furniture, but there was still a warmth to it. The scent of fresh herbs and cooking meats wafted through the air, a familiar comfort that made your shoulders relax despite the high-end surroundings.
The hostess greeted Nanami with a nod of recognition, leading you both to a private table near the back. It was quiet, away from the main bustle of the restaurant, giving the two of you some much-needed reprieve from the noise of the city outside.
“Thank you,” Nanami said to the hostess, who left you both with menus. He glanced at you once you were seated. “I hope this isn’t too overwhelming. I didn’t realize you hadn’t been back here in so long.”
You offered him a small smile, feeling more at ease now that you were inside. “It’s a bit surreal, but in a good way. I’m glad I came.” You paused, your eyes scanning the menu, then added, “And I appreciate the invitation.”
Nanami nodded, his gaze flickering across the restaurant before returning to you. “It’s nothing. I thought it would be nice to get out of the usual routine, and… I’ve heard a lot about this place from my clients. Seems like it holds some memories for you.”
You chuckled softly, placing the menu down. “More than I realized, actually. Back then, this was just a small family-owned spot. It’s kind of hard to believe it’s grown into something like this.”
Nanami’s eyes softened. “It must be strange to see it change so much.”
You nodded, leaning back in your chair, watching the patrons around you. “Yeah… I always felt like this place represented something simple. Quiet. Now it’s this buzzing, high-end place, and I’m not sure what to think.”
Nanami remained silent for a moment, giving you space to process. Then, he leaned forward slightly, his expression more thoughtful. “Places change. People do too. But sometimes, it’s not as different as it seems on the surface. There’s always something familiar, something worth remembering.”
You blinked at his words, surprised by the depth in them. He had a way of cutting through to the heart of things without much effort. “I guess you’re right. I didn’t expect to feel this way coming back here.”
You glanced at him, wondering how someone who always seemed so in control, so composed, could also carry a quiet sense of longing and understanding beneath that exterior. Maybe Pixis had been right. You and Nanami were alike in more ways than you had thought—both of you workaholics, both of you wrestling with the weight of your own expectations.
The waiter appeared, breaking the silence as he took your orders. You opted for something simple—something that reminded you of your college days here—while Nanami chose one of the house specialties. After the waiter left, the conversation picked up again, a little lighter this time.
“So,” Nanami said, leaning back in his chair with a rare, relaxed posture. “What was it like working here? I imagine it was a lot different than the law office.”
You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Very different. I mostly waited tables, cleaned up after shifts. It was exhausting but rewarding in its own way. I liked the people I met—the college friends I made here. They really helped me out during those years.”
Nanami nodded, his expression thoughtful. “That’s admirable. I’m glad you had people who were there for you. Being a working student isn’t an easy task.”
You smiled, appreciating the shared sentiment. “Exactly. I think they were what kept me going–what made the experience memorable.”
Nanami’s gaze softened, and for a moment, the two of you sat in a comfortable silence, simply taking in the atmosphere. It felt… peaceful. Different from the rushed, stressful energy of the office. Here, in this familiar but transformed place, there was space to breathe, to reflect.
When the food arrived, the conversation continued, flowing easily between work anecdotes and personal reflections. Nanami, despite his composed exterior, revealed snippets of himself—a man dedicated to his craft but aware of the toll it took on him. And as the night went on, you found yourself relaxing in his company, grateful for the unexpected invitation and the quiet camaraderie it had brought.
By the time dessert was served, you were no longer thinking about the changes that had happened to Kuchel’s or the city. Instead, you were just enjoying the present moment—something you hadn’t done in a long time. Besides, if the restaurant had grown into what they said it had, you probably won’t see any Ackerman in here.
As you finished the last bite of your meal, Nanami leaned back, his gaze steady on you. “I think Pixis was right. We both needed this.”
You nodded, a small smile playing on your lips. “Yeah, I think so too.”
As you and Nanami lingered over the last sips of your drinks, the warm ambiance of Kuchel’s seemed to envelope you. The clinking of silverware and the soft murmur of conversation filled the air, but your conversation had quieted into a companionable silence. It had been a surprisingly pleasant evening, one that neither of you seemed in a rush to end. Suddenly, the people around you turned more quiet, looking in one direction.
You looked up sharply, your heart skipping a beat. There, near the entrance, stood Levi Ackerman. His posture was relaxed but firm as he made his way into the place. You dropped your fork in shock, the utensil making a loud sound as it hit the porcelain plate. You curse yourself in your mind.
But before you can even hide yourself somehow, Levi turned, and his eyes fell on you. For a second, his gaze lingered before it shifted to Nanami beside you. A brief flicker of surprise crossed his face, but it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by his usual neutral expression.
He made his way toward your table, his steps quiet and deliberate as always. Unlike since you last saw him, this Levi looked different as you remembered—sharp, composed, with that ever-present air of authority that somehow fit him so well.
“Well, I didn’t expect to see you here,” Levi said, his tone even but laced with the barest hint of curiosity. His eyes flicked to Nanami again, sizing him up before returning to you. “Small world.”
Nanami, ever composed, offered a polite nod. “You must be the owner.”
Levi gave a faint nod in return. “Levi Ackerman. This place belonged to my mother.” His attention shifted back to you, and for the briefest moment, something softened in his gaze.
You blinked, still trying to process the fact that Levi was standing right in front of you. Memories from your time together—at university, at Kuchel’s, before everything had changed—rushed back, but you kept your voice steady. “Yeah, it has. I didn’t even know Kuchel’s had grown so much.”
Nanami’s eyes shifted between the two of you, picking up on the subtle history that lingered beneath the surface. “It’s a beautiful place,” he said, his tone respectful but distant, sensing the dynamic. “Thank you for the hospitality.”
Levi nodded once. “I’ll let you finish your meal.” He turned to leave but hesitated for a second, looking at you again.
With that, he walked back toward the kitchen, leaving you and Nanami in a silence that felt heavier than before. You could feel Nanami’s gaze on you, quiet but probing.
“Old friend?” he asked softly, though the question carried a weight of understanding.
You exhaled, glancing down at your empty plate before meeting Nanami’s eyes. “Yeah… something like that.”
Nanami didn’t press further, and you were grateful for his quiet understanding. The rest of the evening passed in a peaceful silence, the weight of nostalgia sitting comfortably between you both, until it was time to leave.
As you and Nanami stood up to leave, the night air of Stohess Street filtered through the open doors of Kuchel's, cool and refreshing against the warmth of the restaurant. You grabbed your coat, glancing at Nanami, who had already slipped into his usual calm composure. The evening had been unexpectedly pleasant, and the subtle connection you’d shared made you feel more at ease.
Just as you step out, you heard the faint chime of the entrance door swinging open. A familiar figure appeared in the doorway—Kuchel Ackerman herself.
She looked exactly as you remembered: graceful, yet with an air of quiet authority. Her hair was loosely tied back, a few silver strands woven through the dark, giving her a look of timeless elegance.
Kuchel stopped when she saw you, her eyes widening with recognition and surprise. For a moment, she stood there, taking you in, as if trying to place you in the timeline of the restaurant’s long history.
"You," she murmured, her voice soft with disbelief but soon warming with familiarity. "It can't be."
Your heart raced and your nerves are all over the place. It’s one thing to be seen by Levi but another thing to also see the other Ackerman that holds much of your heart.
Her face broke into a smile walking up to you with the same gentle but firm presence she had when you were younger. “I didn’t expect to see you here,” she said, her voice filled with both surprise and delight. “It’s been… what? Seven years?”
You smiled, taking a step toward her. "Kuchel. It’s been too long." You nodded, feeling the years stretch between you. “Yeah, seven years. I only just came back.”
Kuchel looked you over, her expression warm, though touched with nostalgia. “You haven’t changed much, except… you look more like you belong in one of those big offices now.”
You chuckled, shaking your head. “I guess a lot has changed. But this place…” You gestured around Kuchel’s.
She tilted her head, her eyes softening. “I’m glad you feel that way. It’s grown so much, hasn’t it? Levi’s been working hard to expand.”
“Yeah, I noticed,” you replied, thinking back to your earlier conversation with Levi. “It’s amazing what you’ve done here.”
Kuchel’s gaze flickered toward Nanami, who stood quietly beside you, ever the composed observer. “And who’s this?”
You introduced him, and Nanami gave a small, respectful nod. Kuchel returned his greeting with a knowing smile, her eyes flicking between the two of you.
“Another lawyer, huh? You sure know how to pick your friends,” she teased lightly, and you couldn’t help but laugh at the irony.
Nanami, ever polite, added, “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Your restaurant is exceptional.”
Kuchel smiled, clearly pleased. “Thank you. That means a lot.” She glanced back at you. “I should have guessed you’d find your way back here eventually. This place has a way of pulling people in.”
You smiled softly. “It really does. I’m glad I came.”
Kuchel reached out, placing a gentle hand on your arm. “Don’t be a stranger now that you’re back. This place is always open for you.”
You nodded, feeling a warmth in your chest that had been missing for a while. “I won’t.”
Her expression is softer now, with a smile that carried the warmth of an old friend. “Actually, Before you go… how about you join me for dinner sometime next week? Just us,” she added with a glance at Nanami, as if sensing this had been more of a business dinner. “I’d love to catch up properly. It’s been too long, and I’m sure there’s plenty to talk about.”
For a moment, you hesitated, feeling the weight of time between the last time you sat down with Kuchel and now. The thought of stepping back into that part of your life, of Levi’s life, even for a night, stirred something inside you—nostalgia, perhaps, or a little trepidation. But Kuchel’s invitation felt genuine, and you knew, deep down, that reconnecting with her might be exactly what you needed.
You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. “I’d love that, Kuchel.”
Kuchel’s face lit up, and she nodded in satisfaction. “Good. I’ll even be the one to cook something special,” she teased, though you could tell she wasn’t entirely joking.
Nanami, who had been standing quietly by your side, gave a subtle nod of approval. “It sounds like a perfect opportunity to reconnect.”
You glanced at him, grateful for his understanding, before turning back to Kuchel. “I won’t forget,” you promised.
“Good.” Kuchel smiled once more before retreating back into the restaurant, leaving you standing at the threshold of the bustling street, feeling strangely at peace.
As you and Nanami finally walked away from Kuchel’s, the cool night air wrapping around you, the quiet between you was no longer awkward or heavy. Instead, it felt comfortable—a shared understanding of the complexities of the past and the people who shaped it.
Nanami glanced at you, his tone measured but kind. “You’ve got a lot of history here.”
“Yeah,” you said softly, looking back at the restaurant, now glowing behind you in the night. “I do.”
WC: 7,120
Chapter Warnings: angst again ^^ (they need to communicate), also unedited
Summary: Everyone in Levi's life knows he only ever dated one girl and that she left him wrecked, bitter, and heartbroken. Many years later, she's back in his life and he doesn't know what to do.
Note: At least it didn't take a year this time?
story masterlist | prev chapter > next chapter
The morning sun filtered through the sheer curtains, casting a warm glow across your small apartment. You sat on the couch, Earl nestled beside you, his sleek black fur shimmering in the sunlight that streamed through the window. A bowl of Earl's favorite tuna-flavored kibble rested between them, and you carefully scooped a handful into his waiting dish.
"Here you go, Earl," you murmured, voice soft and soothing. Earl's green eyes gleamed with anticipation as he watched the kibble tumble into the bowl. With a gentle nudge of his head, he began to nibble contentedly.
You smiled, your fingers absently stroking Earl's fur as she watched him eat. It was moments like these that you cherished — quiet mornings filled with the simple pleasure of caring for your companion.
The kitchen clock ticked steadily on the wall, reminding you of the peaceful passage of time. It was Sunday, a day she reserved for leisure and relaxation. Outside, the neighborhood was bathed in the golden light of morning, with the distant sound of cars honking and people shouting. Despite the chaos that the neighborhood offered, it should be a peaceful day… if only you aren’t aware of a certain raven-haired man on the way to your apartment.
"You're going to have a good day today, aren't you, Earl?" you murmured, your voice tinged with affection. Earl looked up at her, his green eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief, as if he understood every word. “That man I used to tell you about, he’s coming.”
After finishing his breakfast, Earl stretched lazily, arching his back and then padding over to you. He rubbed against your leg, purring loudly, before settling down at your feet. You chuckled softly, reaching down to scratch behind his ears. "You're such a charmer," you whispered.
Together, they basked in the tranquil morning, you sipping you coffee as Earl curled up beside you. The sunlight danced across the room, casting playful shadows on the walls.
When the clock struck nine, you were agitatedly waiting for Levi to arrive. He hasn’t texted or called to follow up or confirm he was even coming, making you doubt if he was even aware of it. You’ve pondered just asking Hange for the address, but when you texted her, she assured you that Levi was coming.
You were aware that the appointment isn’t until the end hour but you were biting your nails, your nerves acting up all of a sudden. Should you dress up? Was it alright that you were just wearing jeans and a tight fitting top? For some reason, you feel like you should dress up. Hell, you even put on more makeup than your usual corporate look.
“Earl, do you think he’s coming?”
The cat purred, jumping to your side on the couch. You run your thumb on his head, petting him softly. Just then, your phone pinged with a notification. A two-word text from an unknown number.
Come down.
It’s no mistake that it’s Levi. You could almost hear his commanding and aloof tone through the pixels. Rushing, you take one last look in the mirror, you pat your hair and smile at yourself. But just like being dumped with cold water, your smile drops as you realize your action and your hand flies up to slap your cheek lightly.
What the hell is wrong with you? This is not a date or even a friendly get together.
You make sure everything in your apartment is in check before grabbing your coat. You bid your pet farewell and hurried down and out of your apartment complex.
Like it was on cue, the moment you stepped on the pavement, you heard the low but powerful hum of an engine approaching. A sleek black Audi glides into view. The car stops smoothly in front of you and you look around, a few people outside staring at the car with an odd expression on their face.
You don’t move. Instead, you take a step back. You don’t even know if this is Levi. The windows are tinted and you don’t know his plate number or car model.
Before you can pull up your phone to ask Levi, the car window rolls down, revealing the man himself.
“Get in,” he says curtly, his expression composed as ever.
You open the door and slide into the passenger seat, immediately noticing the immaculate interior. The leather seats are impeccably clean, and the subtle scent of expensive cologne fills the air. You wouldn’t expect less from Levi. He glances at you briefly before shifting the car into gear.
Although you want to look at him, you avoid doing that and avert your gaze beyond the car itself and to your surroundings. The people in your neighborhood still watched the vehicle even as Levi drove away. They don’t seem to be in awe of the car. Somehow, they looked wary… maybe even afraid? You found this strange but brush it away. Maybe it’s just weird seeing a different social class driving along The Underground. Maybe you were just reading into it too much.
Levi is silent the whole ride. He navigates the streets with precision, every turn and lane change executed flawlessly. The car’s performance seems like a natural extension of Levi’s own skills and discipline.
As you reach your destination, Levi parks the car with the same precision he’s shown throughout the drive. He looks at you, his eyes sharp yet calm. You stare back. He doesn’t look like he’s gonna say anything so you open your mouth to speak.
“Don’t,” he beats you to it. “If you’re going to say something about what happened in the elevator. Just don’t.”
You were taken aback and you remember his face when you left. Guilt consumes you once again but you don’t let it show on your face.
“I wasn’t going to,” you mumbled. “I was gonna say that you could leave me here. I know Hange probably forced you to come. I think I can find my way back from here.”
“Tch,” he responds with his usual expression.
He gets out of the car without a word for you to follow and yet you do so anyway. You gave him a choice to leave but he doesn’t look like he’s going anywhere. You wondered if it’s also his day off. What could his job be? Maybe an office job or managing the restaurant? Could Kuchel’s still be up and running? You hope it is. Although you want to visit Levi’s mother, you’re not sure if she would welcome you like before.
The wedding boutique’s interior is just as sophisticated as its exterior. Soft lighting illuminates racks of exquisite dresses, each piece more stunning than the last. The air is filled with the subtle scent of fresh flowers, adding to the refined atmosphere.
A sales assistant approaches, eyes shifting from you to Levi. “Good morning, ma’am and sir. Looking for a wedding dress?”
You and Levi take an awkward glance at each other before he clears his throat. “No. We’re here for the ten o’clock appointment. The refitting?” He states simply.
The sales assistant nods enthusiastically, apologizing for her mistake. “Ah, yes! For Ms. Zoe’s bridesmaid. Please wait here.”
She ushered you both to a waiting area. You sit side by side on the couch. There are racks of wedding dresses around you and on mannequins. You take your time to admire them while Levi scrolls through his phone.
You’re happy for Hange that she’s settling down. She looked really happy with Moblit and he seemed utterly in love with her as well. Although her personality hasn’t changed, there seemed to be some maturity around her that you weren’t familiar with.
At the moment, marriage isn’t something that you can see yourself in. But god, the dresses are so pretty. You don’t really get to wear gowns like that.
For a moment, you think about it, maybe as a result of you haven’t eaten breakfast. If a ring adorned your finger, what wedding dress would you like best? You think you’d like something with a petticoat, something that would make you feel like a princess. Your eyes caught one that you adored. It’s on a mannequin. You could picture yourself wearing it. In all honesty, this is the first time you’ve thought about weddings in years. And you do see the irony of doing that with your ex-boyfriend sitting beside you.
Your trail of thoughts were cut off when the sales assistant came out from the room she went into. “Miss, we’re ready for you here. Your boyfriend can accompany you inside.” She points to the room with a gesture of her palms laid outwards.
“Not her boyfriend,” Levi nonchalantly reacts and the disgust in his tone doesn’t go unnoticed by you. You give the girl an awkward smile. He wasn’t wrong and yet you can’t help but feel offended at the way he reacted so quickly as if he found the thought repulsive.
“He’ll stay here. Or leave… if he wants to.” You give him a glance to which he scoffed at. The sales assistant awkwardly laughs, seemingly noticing the tension in the room.
“Ah, I’m sorry again for assuming. Please forgive me. Do you need any refreshments as you wait here, sir?” She asks Levi while you stand up and sling your bag over your shoulder.
“No, thank you.” Levi stands up from his seat and you could see the sales assistant’s eyes wilter for a moment at his rejection. God, he’s rude.
“I’ll be coming inside as well,” he continues, shocking you.
“What? You don’t have to do that,” you whisper to his side.
He doesn’t take no for an answer, heading inside first and brushing past you. You look up at the ceiling, praying nothings above to give you enough patience for this time.
You stood in front of the mirror, tugging the waist of the dress. It was a tube top, which you don’t often wear. Sleeves accompany your arms most of the time and right now? They feel naked. Despite that, the dress is nice. The fabric hugged you in all the right places. But your nerves were more due to the fact that Levi was sitting just a few feet away, casually scrolling through his phone. You hate to admit that until now, he still makes you nervous.
Levi hadn’t even looked up when she stepped out of the dressing room. He was sitting straight up in the plush chair, legs crossed, looking for all the world like he’d rather be anywhere else. His dark hair flopped slightly over his forehead, and his posture was so relaxed it bordered on dismissive. And you were right, he is scrolling and typing on his phone like his mind is entirely somewhere else.
“Oh, it’s perfect. Magnifique!” The tailor clasped his hands, catching Levi’s attention.
He looks up and drags his eyes up and down your form. It took all of you not to show your nervousness at his reaction. And yet, like a child waiting, you look at the people in the room with a smile.
“How’s it look?” you asked, your voice trying to sound casual, but the weight of the situation made it come out more forced than you intended.
Levi doesn’t take his eyes off you as you asked, just for a moment, then back at his phone. “Looks fine,” he muttered, tapping at the screen.
Your smile faltered. You turned back to the mirror, adjusting the tube in the hope of distracting yourself from the pang of disappointment in her chest. You weren’t sure why you expected him to be more... invested. He was here as a favor to Hange, your mutual friend. Not to you.
“Is something wrong, madame?” The tailor asked.
Your eyes widened as your eyes shifted to the reflection of the tailor in the mirror and you shook your head. “Oh! Nothing, no. It’s just… I’m not really used to wearing tube top dresses. Don’t my arms look kind of awkward?”
“Nonsense, madame. You look beautiful!” The joyful tailor said flamboyantly.
You purse your lips, looking at your reflection again. This was all so sudden and you kinda wished you had more time to prepare. It’s been a while since you dressed up like this. It’s like seeing yourself in a whole different light. After focusing on your career and all, you guess you’ve neglected your appearance.
The tailor noticed your silence. “But if you’re uncomfortable, we can add straps or alter it to your liking. It’s no big deal.”
“Oh, please don’t. You don’t have to do that,” you tell her. “It’s perfect.” The thought of imposing more will only burden you and make you more uncomfortable. Anyway, you’ll only be wearing it for a day.
The tailor nods. “So this measurement is good, then.”
“Yes, I think I’m done here,” you said after a beat, your voice quieter now.
As you stepped back into the dressing room to change, you could hear him tapping away on his phone again, already checked out of the moment. You took a deep breath. You sighed quietly, fiddling with your hair as you stared at your reflection. You weren’t sure why you felt disappointed at his reaction. It was like he found it repulsive to even look at you. It made you wonder… does he still find you attractive? You hated that it bothered you this much.
It took you a while to change, carefully taking the dress off without misplacing the pins and all. When you emerged from the dressing room, Levi was nowhere to be found. It only made you feel worse. But at least your stomach was no longer in knots. It always felt that way when he was in sight.
You approached the sales assistant who was also in the room, obligated to give her an apology for how Levi reacted. She smiles when you reach her and tells you that the tailor began to work on the dress and had stepped out.
“Hey, I just wanted to apologize for what happened earlier. He’s rude but he’s not always like that,” you tell her but you know it’s half a lie. Levi doesn’t really do well with strangers, especially if he’s in a bad mood. You guessed he hasn’t really at all changed. There’s still that introvert inside him. Or maybe you just trigger it with your presence.
The sales assistant gives you a reassuring smile, a genuine one that you differentiated from her usual customer service one. “It’s fine, ma’am. I experienced worse…”
Her last words trail before she paused for a while, stopping herself as if she wanted to say something else. You tilt your head in curiosity. “What is it?”
“Nothing ma’am. It’s just… I thought you were a couple because of how he was looking at you when you weren’t looking,” she replied shyly, a hand scratching the back of her neck.
Your smile drops as you hear what she had to say, that fluttering feeling in your stomach that had gone dormant in years was alive once again.
“What?” you mutter, feeling your face heat up.
“I’m sorry. I think I overstepped once again, ma’am.”
“You’re not, don’t worry about it,” you assure her. You point at the door with your thumb. “Is he still outside?”
“He stepped out. But his car is still outside so I don’t think he left, ma’am.”
The sales assistant redirects you back to the waiting area. As she does, you take your phone out of your bag and pull out your messaging app to text the same number who called you earlier.
Where did you go?
Had something urgent. My secretary will drive you.
As if on cue, the front door’s bell dings, indicating it had just been open and boy probably in his early twenties walks in. He has a buzz cut and a shining glimmer in his eyes. He wears a polo shirt and slacks.
“O-Oh, you’re done, miss?” He says as his eyes land on you. Your mouth parts, unsure why this stranger is addressing you. He says your name as a question and you nod in confusion.
“Ah! Pardon me. My name is Connie. I’m Mr. Levi’s personal secretary. He asked me to fetch and drive you. He was needed there.”
Secretary? Not only does he have an Audi, he has an assistant running errands for him on a Sunday? And how could he just leave without telling you?
You smiled at Connie. Although you don’t find the stranger suspicious, it’s still a bit much to get in the car with him. It’s more of you thinking you’d be imposing. He could be doing better things.
“You don’t need to do that, Connie. I can get home by myself.”
Connie’s eyes widened and he brought his hands up frantically waving. “No, no, no. I have specific orders from Sir Levi. I also have breakfast for you ready in the car.”
That caught you off guard. Breakfast? He got you breakfast?
“Levi asked you to get me breakfast?”
“Yes, ma’am. He was very specific with what to get.”
“What?”
“Oh crap,” he mutters to himself as if it wasn’t information that he should’ve disclosed to you. “Can we go to the car now, ma’am?”
In a trance of thoughts, you nod aimlessly and follow the boy outside. He guides you to the car and even opens the door for you. He sits you on the backseat. Connie enters the car to the driver’s seat.
“How long have you been working for Levi, Connie?”
Striking up a conversation seemed like a good idea instead of sitting in silence and so you did just that. As you speak, Connie hands you a paper bag that rested from where you sat earlier in the morning, making you mumble a quick thank you as you accepted it.
“I’ve been working with Mr. Ackerman for years,” he said proudly, grinning.
“Years? He must really like you then,” you said, amused and chuckling.
“I really hope he does, ma’am. It was tough, if you know what I mean?” He gives you a mischievous look through the rearview mirror. “Don’t tell him this but I used to cry in the comfort room in the first month that I worked for him.”
A three-second silence in the car and he immediately takes back what he said. “Shit. Overshared. Sorry.”
You huffed and let out an amused chuckle that turned into laughter. Connie laughs back, bringing up a hand to scratch the back of his head. He did that twice already, you gathered by now that it’s a mannerism.
“I can see why he does, you know, why he likes you,” you shared. “He needs people like you,” you added.
Levi keeps people around his life when he likes them. Erwin keeps him in check. Hange pulls him out of his shell. And you? What was your purpose in his life? What did you have to offer him back when you had him?
Your eyes drift to the paper bag beside you. Peeking through it, you see a green drink and pastry. Matcha and Blueberry muffin. Your heart swells and you have to close your lids to stop the overwhelming emotions that threaten to come out. The smell is purely nostalgia.
The quiet hum of fluorescent lights was the only sound that punctuated the silence of the library as you huddled over her textbooks, your brow furrowed in concentration. The dusty scent of old paper and leather bound you in a cocoon of academia, the world beyond the heavy oak doors fading into insignificance.
In the middle of you losing yourself in a particular chapter of your reading, a soft but familiar deep voice broke through the stillness. “You’ve been here all morning?”
You looked up to see Levi standing there, arms crossed and giving you a concerned look.
He slipped into the chair across from you, his presence is warm and comforting, a disruption to your heavy mind and the coldness of the place.
“Yeah, I’m almost finished with this reading,” you whisper to him.
“Have you eaten, at least?” He asked, pulling out his laptop.
“Yeah,” you replied back, nonchalant and obviously lying. You know he doesn’t like it when you skip breakfast and always argues when you don’t. You were never really big on breakfast, you never felt the need for it. You don't like the feeling of being full in the morning. However, Levi lived a life with a cook for a mother, so having breakfast was a must in his vocabulary. Most of your life was spent hustling. Being fast. Mornings were made up of getting ready, having half a cup of coffee, and making your way to school early in the morning.
“You’re lying,” he states the obvious with disappointment in his voice.
“It’s almost 10. It’s just two hours before lunch time anyway,” you shrug.
“That’s bullshit,” he replied, shaking his head.
Erwin and Hange came by as he said it, following Levi like the trio that they are.
“Can you lovebirds not argue in the library?” Erwin whispered as the two of them sat down.
Levi slides out of his chair quietly while turning down his laptop screen.
“Get up,” he demanded straight at you. You look up at him, confused and a bit annoyed. You were almost done with the reading.
“I’m almost done,” you refused, burying your face back on the paper.
Levi sighed audibly, the kind of sigh that meant he wasn’t going to drop it anytime soon. You could feel his eyes on you, unwavering and expectant. The weight of his gaze was enough to break your concentration on the reading. It was like a silent battle, one you knew you wouldn’t win, not when it came to Levi and his insistence on taking care of you in his own stubborn way.
“Get up,” he repeated, voice firmer this time. He wasn’t budging, and you knew he’d stand there as long as it took for you to listen.
You glanced up at him, your expression caught between exasperation and defeat. He wasn’t about to let this go, and as much as you wanted to finish your chapter, you could already feel the familiar pull of his unspoken concern. Levi’s brand of care was persistent, never showy, but impossible to ignore.
Hange leaned over the table, grinning mischievously, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth. “Better do what he says, or we’re all going to hear about it for the rest of the day.”
“Come on, just humor him,” Erwin added with a slight smirk, though he kept his voice low in the quiet library.
Levi didn’t wait for your reply this time. With a swift motion, he closed your book gently but decisively, tucking it under his arm. His other hand reached out, hovering near you, but not touching—an offering, rather than a demand. He wasn’t going to drag you out, but his patience was running thin.
“Let’s go,” he said, more quietly now, his tone softening just a little. “Five minutes. We’ll grab something, and you can finish your reading after.”
You wanted to protest, but the look in his eyes—steady, unrelenting—told you it was a lost cause. It wasn’t really about the food. It was about him needing to make sure you were okay, even when you didn’t think it mattered.
With a resigned sigh, you stood up, brushing off the nonexistent dust on your jeans. “Fine,” you muttered, though the fight had gone out of your voice.
Levi gave a small nod of approval, turning toward the door without a word. You followed, casting one last glance at the table and the chapter you had been so close to finishing. Hange gave you a teasing wink as you passed, and Erwin, ever the composed one, simply smiled knowingly.
As the two of you stepped out into the crisp morning air, the library’s warmth replaced by the gentle chill, Levi’s pace slowed just enough for you to fall in step beside him. He didn’t say anything, and neither did you. The silence between you was comfortable, like slipping into something familiar, something safe. Despite his earlier gruffness, Levi’s presence was calming, grounding.
After a few minutes of walking, he broke the silence. “There’s a café around the corner. You’ll like it. They’ve got good tea.”
“Not coffee?” you teased lightly, trying to lift the mood.
“Figured tea would go easier on you,” he replied, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. His lips twitched, almost like he was trying to hide a smile.
You couldn’t help but smile back, a small one, but genuine. Levi always had this way of knowing what you needed, even when you didn’t ask. He was stubborn, but his quiet care ran deeper than words could ever express.
As you walked together, the tension from the morning dissolved, leaving behind a warmth that wasn’t just from the sun filtering through the trees. It was the kind of warmth that only Levi brought with him—steady, comforting, and constant, even when you didn’t realize you needed it.
You took a moment to breathe, the cool air outside replaced by the comforting warmth of the café. The stack of readings and the stress from earlier seemed to slip away, replaced by the calm of the moment. When Levi returned, he set a cup of matcha in front of you and a plate with two blueberry muffins.
You raised an eyebrow at him. “I thought we were just grabbing something quick.”
He slid into the chair across from you, his own cup of black tea in hand. “You need more than just tea. Eat.”
You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at his insistence but reached for a muffin anyway. The soft texture and burst of blueberry sweetness were enough to remind you just how hungry you actually were. You took a bite, and Levi watched you, sipping his tea silently, but his expression was lighter now, less tense.
“Better?” he asked, though it was less of a question and more of a check-in, like he needed to hear you confirm it.
“Better,” you admitted, taking another bite.
He nodded once, satisfied, and turned his attention to his tea. The steam rose from his cup, and he closed his eyes briefly as he took a slow sip, savoring the warmth. You watched him for a moment, appreciating how he could find calm in the simplest things—like the taste of tea or the quiet atmosphere of a small café.
“So, you’ve got me here, eating muffins,” you started, breaking the comfortable silence. “What’s the plan? Gonna keep babysitting me, or can I finish my reading after this?”
Levi smirked, setting his cup down. “You can finish your reading after this. Just didn’t want you passing out in the middle of it.” His tone was teasing, but there was a flicker of concern behind his words, subtle but there.
You laughed lightly, shaking your head. “I wouldn’t pass out.”
“Right,” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “And you’ve never done that before?”
You bit your lip, knowing exactly what he was referring to. That one time during finals week… but that was different. You’d been exhausted from back-to-back exams. Still, Levi wasn’t wrong. You had a habit of pushing yourself too hard.
“Okay, okay, point taken,” you conceded, taking a sip of your matcha. “Thanks, by the way. For this.”
Levi gave a small shrug, as if it wasn’t a big deal. “No need to thank me. Just don’t make it a habit.”
You smiled at that, though a part of you was still processing the strange dynamic between you two. Levi was always there when it mattered, even when things were complicated between you. He wasn’t the type to make grand gestures, but he showed up in these small, quiet ways—making sure you ate, pulling you out of your own head, grounding you when you didn’t even realize you needed it.
You nodded, taking another bite of your muffin, content to sit in comfortable silence as you both worked. Occasionally, Levi’s eyes would flicker up from his screen to check on you, a small gesture you pretended not to notice.
As the morning stretched into midday, the café buzzed quietly around you, but in this little corner by the window, it felt like the world outside didn’t exist. The warmth of the matcha, the sweetness of the blueberry muffins, and Levi’s steady presence beside you made everything feel lighter, less daunting.
Since then, it became a routine for the two of you. Blueberry muffins and matcha. The perfect way to start your day with your boyfriend, Levi.
In your apartment, you sat at the table, cradling a warm cup of matcha between your hands, the aroma of the freshly baked blueberry muffins filling the air. It was something familiar, something comforting. You absentmindedly pulled off a piece of the muffin, the tart sweetness of the blueberries mingling with the warmth of the soft pastry, and let it linger on your tongue. It was a flavor that always brought you back to him, to Levi.
For a brief moment, you missed the way it was—if the distance between you two wasn’t so carefully maintained. You wondered what it would feel like to feel his warmth again. But you pushed the thought aside. Whatever this was, for now, it was enough. And for once, you let yourself enjoy it.
The stillness of the apartment, the absence of his voice or the low, comforting rumble of him sipping tea across from you—these were the things that haunted the corners of your mind when you least expected it.
You sipped the matcha slowly, closing your eyes for a moment, letting its earthy flavor settle in your chest. You could almost hear him scolding you, telling you to eat something more substantial, to stop skipping meals. His voice was still so clear in your head, even though he wouldn’t do that anymore. You smiled faintly at the thought, more out of habit than anything else.
The muffin in front of you sat half-eaten, but you weren’t really hungry. Not in the way Levi always worried about. You picked at it absentmindedly, your mind drifting back to those mornings in the café, where everything felt like it was on pause—like whatever was broken between you two didn’t matter in that quiet space. You’d sit there, stealing glances at each other, filling the air with comfortable silence, pretending for a little while that nothing had changed.
But everything had.
You took another sip of your drink, eyes drifting toward the window. The city outside was bustling, indifferent to the quiet memories you clung to. Life moved forward, as it always did. It was more of a soft ache, the kind that settled in the background, always there but not overwhelming. You’d made peace with the fact that it had ended, but that didn’t mean you didn’t miss the way things had been—how easy it was to just be around him, how he knew you better than most people, even in the smallest ways.
Earl’s soft purr pulls you out of your thoughts for a moment and you watch as he jumps from the other chair to your lap. You pet his head and chuckle a little.
“Earl Grey, you were named after his eyes, you know?”
And then after the longest time, you let yourself drop a tear for him. Then came another. And another.
The day went by pretty quickly. It was late when the knock at your door came, breaking the peaceful stillness of your apartment. You were curled up on the couch, absentmindedly flipping through a book you had already read twice. Earl, your cat, was nestled on your lap, purring softly as he kneaded into your blanket. You weren’t expecting anyone, but a small part of you, maybe even hopeful, already knew who it was.
You stood up, setting the book aside and carefully placing Earl on the couch, his displeased meow following you as you made your way to the door. When you opened it, there was Levi, standing in the dim light of the hallway, hands in his pockets, looking as stoic and nonchalant as ever.
“You forgot this,” he said, holding up your handkerchief—the one you had carelessly left in the passenger seat of his car earlier that day. It was checkered pink with your name at the corner, one of the few your grandmother had embroidered herself for you.
You stared at the handkerchief for a moment, surprised he’d come all the way back just for that. “You didn’t have to come all this way, Levi,” you said, though you couldn’t hide the soft gratitude in your voice.
He shrugged, as if it wasn’t a big deal. “Figured you’d want it back.”
His eyes flickered past you, into the warm light of your apartment, where Earl was now perched on the back of the couch, eyeing Levi with a curious but lazy gaze.
Levi noticed the cat immediately, his expression softening just a fraction. “Didn’t know you had a cat,” he remarked, his voice low as he took a step inside, uninvited but not unwelcome. He quietly removes his shoes and puts them beside your outdoor shoes. Confused but accepting, you close your door and approach the two.
“Yeah, Earl,” you replied, following his gaze to the fluffy black cat now making his way down from the couch, padding silently toward Levi like he was sizing him up.
Earl stopped a few feet from Levi, sitting down elegantly and staring up at him, his green eyes narrowing as if judging whether or not this stranger was worth his attention. Levi, to your surprise, crouched down slightly, meeting the cat’s gaze without blinking. It was such a Levi thing to do—silent, direct, and somehow commanding without even trying.
“Earl, huh?” Levi muttered. “He’s got a lot of attitude for a cat.”
You chuckled softly, watching as Earl sniffed at Levi’s shoes before giving a satisfied flick of his tail and brushing against Levi’s legs. You didn’t expect Earl to warm up so quickly, but there he was, already purring as Levi reached out to scratch behind his ears.
“Guess he likes you,” you said, crossing your arms and leaning against the doorframe. “He doesn’t do that with most people.”
Levi glanced up at you, one eyebrow raised slightly. “Smart cat,” he said, standing back up. “Knows who to trust.”
The comment hung in the air for a moment, lingering with a weight neither of you wanted to address. You weren’t sure how to respond, so instead, you bent down and scooped Earl up, holding him close to your chest as his purring grew louder.
Levi handed you the handkerchief, his fingers brushing yours briefly as you took it from him. “Thanks,” you murmured, your voice softer now.
“Yeah, no problem.” He shifted on his feet, glancing around the apartment briefly, like he was trying to decide whether or not to stay longer.
“I apologize for leaving abruptly earlier,” he pauses for a while before continuing. “I had something urgent.”
“As you and your secretary told me,” you answer. You weren’t really holding a grudge about that. You don’t know why he came all this way to tell you that. “Thank you for the breakfast, by the way.”
He gave a small nod, his face unreadable as always, but there was something in his eyes—something soft and unspoken.
“Have you eaten dinner?”
For a brief second, the two of you stood there in the living room, the quiet of the apartment wrapping around you both. Earl wiggled in your arms, clearly done with the moment, and you set him back down, watching as he padded off toward his bed near the window.
“I… haven’t.”
“Do you want me to cook something?” It was a simple offer, but it felt heavy between you. Levi blinked, like the question caught him off guard, though he masked it quickly.
“To pay for the breakfast,” you add quickly with an awkward smile.
“Yeah,” he said after a pause, his voice steady. “I could stay.”
You felt a strange wave of relief, mixed with nervousness. It wasn’t like you hadn’t shared meals with him before, but this felt different now.
“Well, I wasn’t planning anything fancy,” you said, moving toward the kitchen, feeling a bit unsure of yourself. “But I could make us something quick. Pasta okay?”
Levi leaned against the counter, watching you as you opened the fridge. “Pasta’s fine,” he replied.
He didn’t respond, but you caught the subtle twitch of his lips. It felt almost normal—like slipping back into an old routine without realizing it.
As you started boiling water and prepping ingredients, Levi moved around the small kitchen, grabbing plates and silverware, his movements as efficient and familiar as ever. Neither of you spoke much, but the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. It was filled with the soft clattering of utensils and the rhythmic sound of chopping vegetables.
His attention is briefly on Earl, who had taken to watching Levi’s every move with mild curiosity. “Your cat’s a stalker.”
You chuckled, tossing some garlic into the pan. “He’s just making sure you’re not a threat.”
“You said he liked me,” Levi muttered again, though you could tell he didn’t mind Earl’s presence at all. In fact, it seemed like Levi was actually enjoying the quiet company of the little observer.
As you cooked, the kitchen filled with the comforting scent of garlic and olive oil, the sizzle of the pan a soothing backdrop. Levi set the table quietly, his movements almost instinctive, like he’d done this a hundred times before. The two of you worked in sync, no need for instructions or small talk, just moving around each other as if nothing had changed.
When the pasta was done, you brought the pot over to the table, serving two generous portions. Levi settled into the chair across from you, picking up his fork and twirling the pasta around it. The first bite was met with a small nod of approval from him.
“Still the same,” he said, and for a moment, you couldn’t tell if he was talking about the cooking or the way you fit so naturally into this space together.
You smiled, taking a bite yourself. “I had a good teacher,” you say, thinking about the raven-haired woman who Levi holds so dearly in his heart. You miss her in these kinds of moments, you wondered how she felt about you now.
“How’s Kuchel?”
“The same,” he answers shortly. “Everything in this city has changed except for her.”
You wondered what he meant by that. But in the sake of keeping up the small talk, you say the first words that pop up in your mind.
“You don’t look like you changed at all, either.”
You really didn’t mean it in a bad way. But it seemed to have triggered something in your meal companion. His jaw clenches before chewing faster. Your heart races when you notice it upset him.
“And you haven’t either,” he responds, a bitter malice in his tone.
“I don’t mean it like that,” you try to save the peace that enveloped you two a minute ago.
He doesn’t say anything else and you don’t either, afraid you’d say anything bad to upset him enough to leave with his meal unfinished. You don’t want that. In fact, you didn’t want him to leave. But you don’t want to admit that to yourself either.
The meal continued in a comfortable silence after, broken occasionally by the sound of Earl jumping down from the windowsill to investigate Levi’s shoes or the clinking of silverware against plates. There was something surreal about the moment—sharing a simple meal in your apartment, after everything that had happened, after the years of space between you.
Levi finished his plate first, as always, but instead of standing up to leave, he leaned back in his chair, watching as you took another bite, his gaze soft but unreadable.
“Thanks for dinner,” he said, his voice low but genuine. You nod in response.
For a moment, the air felt thick with all the things you hadn’t said to each other—the unspoken words, the history that lingered between you, and the quiet understanding that neither of you had been able to let go of entirely.
“Yeah,” you replied, setting your fork down and meeting his eyes.
For a moment, the air felt thick with all the things you hadn’t said to each other—the unspoken words, the history that lingered between you, and the quiet understanding that neither of you had been able to let go of entirely.
Levi broke the silence first, his voice quieter than before. “I should go.”
He shifted on his feet, ready to leave.
“Yeah, it’s getting late,” you agree, looking at the wall clock. It’s almost past nine.
You followed as he walked through your apartment. You watched how he put on his shoes and brushed his clothes straight. You open the door for him, heart racing as you stare at him quietly. For a brief second, the two of you stood there in the doorway, the quiet of the apartment wrapping around you both.
Levi took a step back, his eyes still lingering on you for a moment longer. “Take care of yourself,” he said, his voice low but carrying a quiet sincerity that you hadn’t expected.
“I will,” you replied, managing a small smile. “And Levi?”
He paused, looking at you expectantly.
“Thanks again. For today. And for coming by.”
He gave a small nod, his face unreadable as always, but there was something in his eyes—something soft and unspoken. “See you around,” he said, before turning and walking back down the hallway.
You watched him go, the door slowly closing behind him. Earl returned to your side, nudging your leg before jumping back onto the couch. You exhaled a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, the warmth of the apartment suddenly feeling a little emptier without Levi in it.
You settled back on the couch, Earl curling up beside you again, his purring filling the silence. You reached for the handkerchief in your pajama short’s pocket. The handkerchief in your hand, a small, simple thing, but somehow it felt heavier now—like it carried more than just the memory of your grandmother.
In the quiet, you wondered if this was how it would always be between you and Levi—brief moments, small gestures, and unspoken words that never quite filled the space between you.
“Your break up was messy and painful. All you want to do is to forget about him. His friends, who ever since you ended it with Yoongi see you as their bullying target, make sure that the memory of him stays fresh in your mind however, haunting you day by fucking day. While Yoongi makes it seem as if he gives no fuck about your situation. Until one night he is in front of your door. Drunk and fucking regretful.”
♥️ Requested by anonie ♥️
Pairing: Gangster!Yoongi x f.Reader
Genre: Exes!AU, Messy Break-Up!AU, Crime!AU, Cop!AU, Hurt and Comfort, Angst, Smut, a lil bit of Fluff
Wordcount: 15.9k
Warnings: lowkey they're bad for each other, but also somehow so right?, OC is such a people hater, I feel like she has mental health issues which are never addressed tbfh, she is quite the pessimist, unhealthy consumption of alcohol, smoking of cigarettes & weed (listen. i hate smoking and stand by that but it sadly fits their characters), Yoongi is kinda apathetic and cold, or is he??, IS HE???, implied violence and murder, corrupt cops & lawyers, policeman!Jungkook makes an appearance and he stole my heart tbfh :(, he is so cute that i almost sobbed, drugdealer!Hoseok makes an appearance too, there is also detective!Namjoon and smuggler!Taehyung because I love this vibe :); abuse of power, fuck Yoongi just fuck he is so ngngn, slightly protective & possessive!Yoongi, intoxicated sex, desperate!Yoongi, no foreplay, but she is not uncomfortable, choking (m.receiving), rough desperate sex, position change from sex against a sofa to missionary on said sofa, a lil bit of strength kink hihi, he cums too soon, dirty talk, tears :'), he is actually so emotional during the sex, the ending is so cheesy and cute <3, Spoiler: he is willing to change!! and he is a cutie actually, jsjsjsj sorry but i love yoongi a lot :(
Disclaimer: This is purely fiction and isn't like my usual stories. It does not portray how the boys actually are and it is not how I see them. This is a work of fiction with no correlation to real life. The type of relationships depicted in this story are far from how I normally portray my relationships and I do not advertise for such relationhips or staying in such relationships. This story is supposed to be twisted and dark & so are the relationships in it, as well as the characters. You have been warned. If you decide to continue reading, then it is out of your own free will.
a/n: now that the disclaimer is out of the way i can officially bark because woof woof fuckkcc anonie thank you so much for this idea. i had the worst and best time writing this story like nfnfnf her mental state was definitely very difficult to write, but their tension just got to me. i made the ending as cute and fluffy as possible just as you wanted hihi <3 also i love villian characters who would set the whole world on fire just to prove their dedication :) i hope this is what you imagined, because i kinda made it longer and with more plot than i planned to at first sjjsjs i couldn't be stopped jsjsj ALSO this is giving me the perfect opportunity to finally write a Kook request I got years ago ohoho
Yoongi collides with the wall, feeling the cold nuzzle of the gun press against his chin. He drops the keys and flowers he was carrying, lifting his hands in defeat.
“Careful, it’s just me”, he lulls.
“Get the fuck out of my house”, you spit, carrying murder in your eyes.
Three months prior
“So you’re breaking up with me?” he asks, gawking at you with widened eyes. He looks more surprised than he does hurt. Probably because it hasn’t actually sunk in yet.
“I am.”
“No, you’re not.” He laughs because he never takes anything seriously.
“Yes. I am.”
“Too bad, I won’t act like it.”
“Yeah, you will.”
He laughs, “you’ve had better jokes, but I still admire the commitment.”
“You see. That’s the problem with you. Everything’s a fucking joke to you.”
He is smiling. It reaches his eyes.
“Your job, your men. Me. Everything’s a fucking joke to you. If you would have taken Sukuna’s thread seriously, Soojin would still be alive. If you didn’t fucking insult Miss Mei, you wouldn’t have lost twenty thousand in drugs and you wouldn’t have to fucking kiss asses like a beggar.”
His smile doesn’t reach his eyes anymore.
“If you would have put any kind of effort into me, I wouldn’t be leaving now. You take everything as a joke, while in reality you are the biggest joke here.”
His smile falls. You stood up and that actually scared him.
“Wait baby, wait. Princess, we can talk about this”, he argues, closing the distance with his arms stretched open. “I’ll fix the issue with Miss Mei, I promise.”
“Doesn’t matter. I’m done talking. Soojin died because of your recklessness.”
Yoongi touches your hands. He holds them, clutches them. You have never felt such a touch from him before. As if he actually loved you.
“What can I do? Tell me and I’ll do it”, he offers, caressing your knuckles.
This is what you craved for months. Affection. Attention. You were always a passing thought to him. Something to fuck and possess. Something low maintenance like all his other shit. His current touch almost makes you want to stay because for the briefest moment, your breaking heart wants to believe that he finally changed.
But you know better. He doesn’t take you seriously and if you stay, you will one day end up like Soojin. Metaphorically or not, you will end up dead because of him.
“There is nothing you can do. Sorry.”
You slip out of his touch.
“Baby”, Yoongi follows you with panicked eyes, trying to touch you again.
“Goodbye, Min Yoongi.”
“Please don’t leave me.”
You close the door and run, finally letting the tears escape.
You love him.
You always have and perhaps always will.
You don’t want to leave, but know that staying will kill you.
One week passes. You spent it holed up in your small, shitty apartment, crying your heart out. Yoongi was the best and worst thing that ever happened to you and you miss him. You hate that you miss him. Because he was way worse than he was good.
He was never abusive. He was a violent man to anyone but you. You, he always touched with utmost care. At you, he never screamed. But he was still not good. He was cold and apathetic at times, then terribly affectionate at others, only to become cold again. And you couldn’t take it anymore.
You wouldn’t have left your apartment today if your fridge hadn’t been empty. It wasn’t always empty, but sadly enough, groceries don’t magically appear. Not even for an outlaw such as yourself.
The city is busy. The smell of street food, smog and body odor poisons the air. The weather is hot these days and people started sweating more. You can’t stand people. You pull the mask tighter around your nose, hoping to shield the stench this way.
You greet the clerk when you enter the shop, lowering your mask. It smells of grocery store in here. Fresh bread, produce and clean floors. It’s a welcome change to the rancid outside.
You spent fourty minutes in the shop and pay with cash. You never pay with card because it can be traced. Someone like you can’t risk being found.
“See you”, you say your goodbyes and leave the store. You plan on coming back in three weeks. You can’t stand being outside often.
The door just about closed behind you and then someone jumps you. Three people to be more exact. Two hold your arms while one rips the bags out of your hands.
“Let go! Hey, you fuckers!” you fight them off instantly, surprised at how easily it is to do. Way too easy. They let go of you as quickly as they grabbed you. At first you think that nothing happened, until you notice your grocery bags in one of the guys’ hands. They stole your stuff!
“You motherfuckers! Get back here! They’re mine!”
They run away, flipping you off over their shoulders.
You sprint after them, but before you reach them, they jump onto a tuk tuk and drive off, finally showing you their faces. Those were some of Yoongi’s underlings.
“What the fuck?” You stumble back in disbelief. “Did they fucking steal my food? What the fuck’s happening?”
It takes you a while before you finally come to the conclusion that you have to buy everything they stole a second time. And you do. And nobody jumps you. And you go home, make yourself shitty dinner and drink a bottle of soju all by yourself. It isn’t a good night. It’s a shit night. But then. All your nights have been shit for years.
You met Yoongi four years ago. It correlates with when your shit nights began. Okay, you are being unfair. The first two years with him were paradise and your nights were wonderful. You were an aspiring lawyer, while he was in the midst of getting a promotion to superintendent. You supported each other’s dreams, motivated each other and celebrated when your goals were achieved. Then the truth spilled out. The man you knew to love turned out to be a lie. Why you never left, you do not know. He gave you the chance to leave, but you didn’t. You made yourself low maintenance to him and your nights became shit. He pretended to be a proper policeman by day while you pretended to be a proper lawyer and at night he became what he hunted by day while you tried to hide whatever evidence about him flooded into the offices. You hated it at first, then loved it, then lost your job because of it and became dependent on him and started to hate it again. Well, at least working for him. You liked everything else. Having to work in the system and seeing how corrupt even the most eligible politicians or CEOs truly are, made you realise that perhaps stealing from them isn’t as bad as it first sounded. You liked being on the dark side of the law because the bright side was just as twisted. You just simply started to hate that it means being close to Yoongi.
It took Soojin’s death to finally make you realise that staying with him will end in your death as well. And so you finally left.
You will start a new life, make up a new identity, move to a different country and forget about him. Maybe. Who knows. You haven’t decided yet.
A letter comes five days after the grocery store incident. It is stuffed into an unsealed envelope and clearly delivered by the person who wrote it. You open it, feeling shit instantly. Whoever wrote this letter is calling you the most hurtful of names, telling you personal stuff which truly hurts. You throw it away and go back inside, opening a bottle of soju. It wasn’t Yoongi’s handwriting, but somehow you still think that it is connected to him. You try not to let it get to you, but you still end up rotting away in your bed for the rest of the week only leaving it to piss, shit and eat.
The next week your packages are missing. You never get them back. The culprit is never found. You curse the sky, knowing that it was fruitless. Yet again, you think that it was connected to him. To Yoongi, the man you wanted to forget, but who keeps haunting you day by day.
The city at night is a dangerous place. If you don’t know where to walk, you could find yourself in a rather messy situation. Especially as a woman. You are glad that most women are clever enough to stay at home once darkness greets the streets. Most women don’t know how to defend themselves though. Properly and without the law in mind. You killed before. Once. It was self defence. Yoongi took care of the body, you never found out what happened to it. He stayed with you the night it happened, even let you cry in his arms. He was gone the next day and never spoke of it again.
You clutch the big knife tightly in your bag, scanning the streets constantly. It isn’t far anymore until you are home. Hopefully the heavy rain clouds stay dry until you get there. You aren’t in the mood to get wet. Not tonight. You would have never left if you hadn’t ran out of fucking cigarettes. The kiosk was closed, so the journey was useless. Thunder announces that the clouds aren’t your friends. Mere seconds later, it starts pouring.
“Fucking shit, I hate this city.”
Rain in this city is always dirty and never really cold. You take it as a bad sign. Rain shouldn’t be warm. Not always, not constantly. Something’s wrong with this city. Something is rotting slowly until one day it will consume everything in its wake. You hope to have left before it can wake up.
The way home is too long for the amount of dirty rain it pours. You find refuge under a shop sign. There are no rooftops or canopies in sight and the only thing close to a safe place was the stupid restaurant sign. Authentic Asian Beef Noodles, it reads in bright red letters. The place is stuffed with people and the smell of beef broth mixes with the dirty scent of rain. You grind your teeth. What a shitty situation you find yourself in. You prefer being outside though. You know that once inside, the restaurant would be hot and stink of digested booze and body odor. You take getting wet over breathing in people’s air.
Except that you don’t really stay wet for long. The distinct sound of rain hitting an umbrella meets your ears. You look up. Black. You look to the side at the person holding it. Yoongi. Your stomach twists, your heart skips a beat. He is wearing a suit tonight. Black with a black tie. His hair is slicked back. He used makeup to conceal the scar running all the way from his forehead over his eye and down half his cheek. This is his work outfit. His police chief outfit. Yes. He is a chief these days.
Your instincts tell you to leave without saying anything, but it’s been six weeks since the breakup and you still love him. You hate that you do, but can’t stop staring at his face. He has his brows raised in a nonchalant way as he inspects the heavy rain. He doesn’t grant you eye contact, but holds the umbrella in a way which lets you know that he came out here after seeing you. His left shoulder is getting wet, while you stay dry completely.
“What are you doing here?” you hear yourself ask him.
“Work dinner. I have to pay ‘cause I’m the boss and all that shit. They’re eating like greedy pigs”, he scoffs, “fucking assholes.”
“I see.”
“You?”
“Buying smokes.”
He finally looks at you, studying from head to toe.
“The kiosk was closed”, you answer his question about your cigarettes’ whereabouts before he can ask it.
“I thought you quit.”
“Some things happened which made me start again.”
“Mhm”, he hums and takes out a packet of cigarettes from the inside of his suit jacket. He lights himself one and puts the packet away again, leaving you to stare at the smoke he blows out through his nose.
He isn’t actually serious, is he? It is like he is mocking you. It is already bad enough that he sends his stupid goons to terrorise you, now he is mocking you as well? You hate that you still love him.
You stay like this for a while. You staring at him while he holds the umbrella for you and smokes. You don’t know why you stay. You hate that you love him. You hate it so much.
Yoongi takes a long drag of the cigarette and exhales the smoke in an almost sigh-like breath. He lifts the cigarette, holding it closer to you.
“What?” you sound disbelieved, scandalised even.
He doesn’t say anything. He just shows you the cigarette as his eyes follow the endless rain. You hate that you love him. You hate it so much. But you still take the cigarette and put your lips right where he had his’ moments before. But you still smoke it as if it was the most normal thing to do. Because it once was. You and he shared many smokes in the past. It was once the most sensual, erotic thing to do between you and him. Barely clothed, intoxicated minds and high on the other, you often shared a joint as you got each other off. Fuck, it was always so fucking orgasmic to be with him that way.
“Wanna grab a bite?” he offers, pointing at the restaurant behind him, “one more mouth to feed isn’t gonna ruin me.”
You are hungry. You haven’t had a proper meal in weeks. Instant ramen, frozen food and snacks is all your body has to run on. You have no energy to cook and with how shitty you eat, it is a vicious cycle. Shitty food gives little energy, you already have low energy. The motivation to properly cook grows lower and lower each day. You dread the day you have only enough energy left to open a package of chips and eat it for breakfast, lunch and dinner.
“I’m not hungry.”
He glances at you. He knows that you are lying. Your eyes have greyed in starvation. He almost rips the cigarette out of your fingers and smokes it angrily, huffing out the smoke.
“I’m offering”, he hisses.
“And I’m declining. I can take care of myself”, you throw back and rip the cigarette from his grasp to smoke it angrily.
You may be starving, but you will be damned if you make yourself dependent on him again. You left him to finally prove to yourself that you can take care of yourself. You don’t need his help. Not anymore.
You take another deep drag, then hand the cigarette to him. He smokes it, glaring at you. You know that your stubbornness angers him.
“Tell your men to stop pestering me”, you say into the tense silence.
He looks over his shoulder at his police team. They are too drunk and caught in conversation to pay their boss any mind.
“They’re inside”, he says.
“You know I don’t mean them. Tell your other men to stop annoying me.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Yes. You do.” It is your turn to smoke. “It all started when they stole my groceries, but it’s been getting childish. My packages keep getting stolen, my internet cuts off, I find letters in my mail. Letters saying awful things about me. It’s getting ridiculous. Tell your men to stop terrorising me.”
“Stolen packages?” He takes the cigarette from you, brushing his fingers against yours as he does. The touch feels like the sweetest poison on your skin. “This doesn’t sound like my problem to solve. Go to the police.”
“Are you serious?”
He inhales, exhales the smoke into your face. You should be disgusted by it, but almost huff it in like an addict. Yoongi watches your lids lower and your chest raise in a greedy breath, finding it hard not to stare at your lips as he hands you the cigarette. You smoke it. His eyes are still on your lips, glued to the shape of them as his throat runs dry.
“Very serious”, he rasps.
“You are the police”, you throw back in disbelief, exhaling the smoke into his face that way.
“Mhm yeah, I guess I am.” He takes the cigarette, smoking it with half lidded eyes. He exhales, handing you the cigarette. “When are you going to come home again?” he asks, looking back at the rain.
You almost choke on the smoke, exhaling it in a cough. Yoongi glances at you from the corner of his eyes.
“Your farce is getting ridiculous”, he says coldly.
“My farce?”
This break up wasn’t the first break up you and he went through. You left many times before, always thinking that you were finally strong enough to forget him only to come crawling back again. You don’t blame him for doubting that this time will be different, but you still can’t stop yourself from getting angry.
“Did you even hear what I said?”
“I did. Go to the police. I have nothing to do with it.”
You drop the half-finished cigarette. It dies in the puddle on the ground.
“I was smoking this”, he says dryly, “besides, don’t litter.”
“Pick it up yourself if you care so much about these dirty ass streets”, you spit and turn to leave. You take getting wet over being with him any longer.
Yoongi watches you leave, shakes his head in disbelief and bends down to pick up the cigarette. He won’t run after you because you will come crawling back eventually. You always do.
“Sir?”
He turns his head. One of his officers. He is young and with sparkles of big dreams in his eyes. Yoongi pities him. This city is going to chew him up until there is nothing left of him. He had the same dreams once and knows what the viper nest, which is the justice system, is going to do to him.
“What do you want?” he asks him dryly, rolling the wet cigarette between his fingers.
“Who did you talk to right now?”
“Just someone important to me.”
“Shouldn’t we escort her home? It’s raining and there could be criminals on the streets. It’s too dangerous for a woman to be alone.”
“She’ll get home safely.”
“Are you sure, Sir? I stayed sober for cases like these. I could get the car right away.”
“You’re sober?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“But it’s a work dinner. You’ve been off work for hours.”
The young officer salutes, “I know, Sir but a policeman shouldn’t slack, Sir.”
Yoongi feels deep pity for the young man. He is so motivated, so proper and full of good spirit. Waking up is going to hurt like a bitch for him.
He pats him on the shoulder.
“You’re a good person, Jeon”, he says and swerves past him to get back inside.
The young officer follows him with pride glimmering in his innocent eyes. Yes, waking up is going to hurt like a bitch for him.
Yoongi wasn’t always living two lives. He was like his young officer once. Full of dreams and motivation. He dreamed of using his powers to do good, to help those who needed it most and then he woke up. He watched politicians and men in power ruin, rape and kill the powerless without ever getting punished for it. He felt helpless. If even someone in his position can’t change the world, then who will? His criminal work was honourable once. He slipped evidence money under the table to hand out to the powerless, he let proof disappear for people doing crimes out of desperation. One time he was supposed to put a starving mother behind bars because she stole diapers for her babies. Yoongi couldn’t do it and so he disobeyed the law for these kinds of people.
But then his criminal work became less about the powerless and more about him. Making money the illegal way was easy and it is fucking addicting. Especially when he could make sure that evidence about him never reached the higher ups. Yoongi fucking loved the sudden power he possessed and he was too blinded by it to see that he became exactly what drove him to criminality in the first place.
Yoongi tells his officer to check up on your place that night. The young officer rings the doorbell like he was told to do.
You open it, swaying from intoxication as you do. The stench of digested booze wafts off you. But you somehow seem to sober up when you see the police badges on his shirt.
“You’ve got the wrong person”, you tell him, trying to morph your face into an expression of sobriety.
“Don’t worry, Miss. I came here to check on you.”
“Check on me?”
“Yes, Miss.” He salutes you. “I have orders from my captain to make sure that you arrived home safely and that you received this”, he says with an innocent smile on his lips, presenting a plastic bag to you.
Authentic Asian Beef Noodles, it reads in red letters and inside, three big takeout containers of food are waiting to be eaten.
Everything clicks into place. This is one of Yoongi’s employees. Another young, hopeful spirit which will be crushed in the system. You pity the young officer. You had the same innocent sparkle in your eyes once.
Hesitantly, you accept the takeout food.
“Thanks”, you mumble.
“Any time, Miss.” He studies you for a moment. “Are you…are you okay, Miss?”
You bite back tears. His empathy is going to kill him one day. But it feels so good to receive. You haven’t been asked this question in so long.
You shake your head. He straightens up in worry.
“Should I call help for you, Miss?”
You know what he indicates.
“Thank you, no. I’m just going through some shit. Sorry, I’m being sappy tonight.”
“You don’t have to go through it alone, Miss.”
“I know. I’m just… I’m seriously alright, I won’t do anything stupid. You don’t have to worry, officer.”
“Yes, well I still see it as my duty to stay because you seem sad to me”, he says and tries to go inside your apartment. He still has a lot to learn. You know from his eyes that he has no bad intentions and that he truly wants to help, but you know how the city will treat such deeds. One day he will try to help the wrong person and end up with attempted sexual assault charges. And it will fucking destroy him because people like him only see the good in the world and can’t imagine that others would want to hurt people.
You stop him with a guiding hand on his chest.
“That isn’t necessary, really. My packages keep getting stolen and I guess it’s been annoying me.”
He pulls out a pen paper instantly, stepping closer to you without noticing, “your packages? Have you seen anyone suspicious? How many packages have gone missing? When did it start?”
“No, I… Thank you for your concern and the food, but I will get through the night safely.”
He steps back, cheeks reddened in embarrassment.
“Forgive me, I don’t know why I did that. My captain said that you were important to him and that I should make sure that you are well, so I wanted to do a good job at it.” He bows at you deeply. “Please forgive me, Miss.”
“He said that?” you whisper.
He nods his head, “yes, Miss.”
“Oh. Uhm. ” You clear your throat. “Thank you, I, uhm, tell him that I’m good.”
“I will, Miss. Here, my card. You can always call me when you need something” he hesitates, “or when you just need someone to talk to.”
“Thank you. This is so kind.”
“You are never alone, Miss.”
“Thank you”, you say, bowing at him. He is so kind. God, you want to grab him and tell him to run before it’s too late.
He bows as well, “good night, Miss.”
“Good night.”
You watch him leave. He gives you one last look out of the police car and a kind wave, then drives off.
You close the door with a curse. This just sobered you up. The young policeman’s kindness just sobered you up. You check his name on the card he handed you. Jeon Jungkook. Why someone like him? He never should have found his way into this field of work.
You look at the takeout food next, feeling your stomach twist. You are important to Yoongi. Holy fuck.
It’s been eight weeks since you left him. You don’t feel better. The cigarette you shared was two weeks ago and yet you still feel as if it was sticking to your lungs. Each time you breathe out, you swear you can taste him. It almost suffocates you and keeps you from relaxing. So you leave your depressing place for a walk to the kiosk. You read somewhere that walks are good for one’s mental health. You can’t agree. Walks force you to be outside where people are loud and fucking stink.
The vendor must be fucking with you. The day is bright, but the kiosk is closed again. You bang your fist against the closed door, cursing loudly. You want your fucking smokes is that too much to ask? This city is fucking shit.
You’ll just call someone who will always help. You saved him as Jay. His real name is Hoseok. You don’t say his real name in public. He doesn’t say yours. Yoongi sometimes called him his best friend, but what is such a title out of the mouth of the most apathetic man you know? You were his girlfriend too and look at where this has gotten you, living as an outlaw in the shit and dirt of this city.
Like always, Hoseok lets the phone ring four times then he picks up.
“Flames are hot”, he says.
“And the arsonist works hard”, you answer him.
“Hyacinth, it’s good to hear your voice”, there is finally a smile in his voice now that you answered the code correctly.
“The same goes for you, Jay.”
“What’s up? I haven’t heard from you in ages.”
“Nothing much. I’m out of smokes.”
“The corner in twenty?”
“Yeah.”
You and he end the call at the same time. Twenty minutes later you meet. He wears black overalls and smudged eyeliner. He says it keeps the char easier to hide. Like always, he greets you with a quick hug.
“What do you got?” you ask him.
“Whatever you want.” He opens his bag. “I’ve got cigarettes, but something stronger too”, he says, scurrying around the contents of the bag with his fingers. He always has burn marks on them, but somehow they are never dirty.
“What do fifty bucks buy?”
“For you? Two packs of cigarettes and two joints. That’s a steal.”
“Fuck dude, you’re getting expensive.”
“Yeah well, a man’s gotta eat.”
“Fine, I’ll take it.”
You and he exchange goods. He makes small talk.
“But why are you here with me? Did Suga run out of goods?”
Suga is Yoongi’s codename in public. The sound of it almost brings bile into your throat. You did such a good job in forgetting him and now the memory of him is as fresh as a new day. At least you like to pretend that you are doing a good job at forgetting him. Your heart knows better though.
“We, uhm…”
Hoseok exhales sharply, “again?”
You nod your head.
“When?”
“More than two months ago.”
“Damn, that’s long.”
“Yeah, I’m serious about it.”
He cocks his brow up.
“I am”, you insist just a little snappishly.
“Alright”, he closes his bag, “I gotta go now.”
“Already?”
He looks around nervously. Almost as if he didn’t want to be seen with you.
“Yup. Use the stuff wisely, I won’t have new stuff for a while.”
“Seriously?”
He nods his head and salutes you nonchalantly.
“See you around.”
“See…you?”
He turns his back to you and walks off quickly, soon disappearing into the busy crowd. Is this your fate? Even the people closest to you avoid you now that you aren’t Yoongi’s anymore? Were you truly only worth something as his little thing? You ball your hands into fists, bending the joints this way. You have to leave this fucking place. There is actually nothing holding you here anymore.
That night the phone terror starts. Numbers keep calling you over and over and over again. You pick up the first time, only to have to listen to the most hurtful things another human has ever said to you. The voice wasn’t Yoongi’s, but you still blame him. Now that you aren’t his thing anymore, you became free food to whoever had been waiting to make your life a living hell. You turn off your phone after an hour and go to sleep with the help of Hoseok’s joints.
The doorbell wakes you the next morning. You consider not answering because it’s probably just one of his goons wanting to terrorise you. But whoever is ringing the doorbell is stubborn, forcing you out of your bedroom. You look through the door cam first.
That young officer. He is in full uniform.
You open the door hesitantly.
“Good morning”, he greets you with a wave and a smile.
“Good morning”, you murmur. Your mouth is as dry as a fucking desert. You are also so hungry that you could throw up in his face right now.
“How are you feeling, Miss?”
“Good.”
“That’s good to hear.” He says and shows you a package which he kept hidden behind his back all this time. He smiles brightly and proudly. “Tada!”
“What’s that?”
“I caught the package thief, Miss.”
“Are you serious?” you gasp and your eyes instinctively drift to the car you have noticed parked outside your unit for days. The door is opened and someone is sitting in the backseat. He looked cuffed to the seat. You glance at the young officer and the shiteating, proud grin he is sporting. He has been watching you? Did Yoongi tell him to?
“Wait. You’re actually serious.”
“Very serious. For you, Miss”, he says and shoves the package into your face.
“Uhm, uh. Thanks”, you accept it, putting it under your arm. “Have you been watching me?”
“Did you notice the car? Sorry, I thought that I was better hidden. I’m still new to all of this. But I caught the thief, heh.” He points at himself with his thumbs. “That’s my first real arrest.”
He manages to drag an honest smile to your lips. He is kind of adorable in a way.
“That’s cool. Thank you for taking care of it. Now I’ve got nothing to worry about anymore.”
He grins and nods his head, studying your features afterwards. He opens his mouth.
“Jeon are you there? Over”, his walkie talkie interrupts whatever he wanted to ask you. He takes it off his chest harness.
“I’m here, Kim Sir. Over.”
“Come to the precinct. We need reinforcements. Over.”
“Coming right away, Sir. I caught a thief right now, Sir. Over.”
A pause where the higher officer is definitely baffled by his confession.
“Good job, Jeon. Over.”
The young officer giggles before he speaks again, doing so as seriously as possible.
“Thank you, Kim Sir. I am taking the criminal to the precinct. Over.”
“Understood. Over.”
He puts the walkie talkie back on its harness and gives you a sorry smile.
“That was my boss. My other boss, not your friend who is the boss of this boss. Anyways. I have to go now, duty calls. Are you going to be okay, Miss?”
“I am. Thank you for your kindness.”
“Anytime, Miss. Uhm, have a good day”, he says and leaves with a wave of his hand. He waves again as he drives off. You retort it, staring at his car until it disappears behind a corner. You sigh deeply. He is so nice. Why someone like him? Why does this life always find people like him?
It’s been ten weeks since you left him. You read somewhere that walks are good for your mental health. You still can’t agree. Walks force you to be outside where people are still loud and still fucking stink. But it’s better than staying in your apartment. You’ve got new neighbours since Monday. They keep fucking like actual animals. They fucked when you left your place tonight. You were this close to kicking their door in and slaughtering them like pigs. You opted for a walk in the end.
You walk for a while then sit down by an empty bench next to the river. It is quiet. Nobody is really here. At least nobody important. A couple, how disgusting. A late night jogger, clearly a man. A homeless person, who uses another bench as their bed. You hate looking at homeless people because you feel helpless seeing them. You stopped being on the bright side of the law because of people like them. You thought that maybe if you stole from the corrupt men in power often enough, you would be able to help the ones who truly needed it. But you never managed to actually achieve anything. The homelessness in the city grows, while the pockets of the politicians become fatter and fatter in wealth. You fucking hate this city. It is rotten to the core.
“Look who we have here. If that isn’t our pretty little Hyacinth.”
You aren’t quick enough to get up to leave and then you already have two men throwing their arms over your shoulders while a third is grabbing the back of your head from behind. You try to reach for your knife but can’t. Their grip on you is too good.
“What are you doing here all alone?”
Their voices are familiar and one look at them confirms your suspicions. It’s them. The same three underlings who stole your groceries months ago.
“Leave me alone”, you tell them.
“Why should we? You are all alone. If the boss knew we’re leaving you alone, he’d grow angry.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“Now, now don’t be like that. You’re just a girl and there are many dangerous men out there.”
You look to your side. One of them is licking their lips like a hungry animal.
“Yeah? And you’re being fucking inappropriate. Leave me alone”, you spit, shaking off their arms.
They let you. Just as they let you stand up and take your bag.
“Goodnight”, you tell them and leave. Quickly. You walk a good hundred feet until you finally dare to look over your shoulder only to realise in horror that they are following you. Quickly.
You can defend yourself. You know how to kill, but you also know when you are outnumbered. And three bigger men against a woman is sadly never going to end well for the woman. You hate this city and you hate this life. You know that their words were nothing but provocation. They know you aren’t with Yoongi anymore, that you aren’t under his protection anymore and that in some weird way, you sullied his honour. You also know how people who bring dishonour to the gangs of this city are punished. The men are murdered and the women, well, they are murdered too but not before being sullied themselves. You hate this city and you hate this life. This life which is going to fucking end for you soon.
You dare to look over your shoulder one more time. They are so close that you can see the hunger in their eyes. No. Nononononono. It can’t end like this. You were supposed to leave this city, start a new life, forget about Yoongi. You are not going to die here in this dirty, shitty park far away from your dream.
Thump.
You bounce back from the impact, letting out a blood curling scream. It was instinct. Just as it is instinct of the person you ran into to grasp you by your arms and pull you closer again.
“Let me go! Help! Help me!”
“Quiet”, the person hisses and shakes you. This voice sounded different. Familiar in an almost intimate way.
You dare to shift your eyes to them.
Yoongi.
“I, I, I”, you stutter, feeling delirious in both fear and shock. You grab his shirt, twisting it to get closer to him. The act is intimate and out-of-place but you are too frightened to think clearly.
Yoongi brushes over the state of your glassy eyes to look over your shoulder. There are three men suddenly scurrying away, using the darkness to hide. He managed to get their faces.
He looks back at you. Your eyes meet. A little bit of clarity returns to you. What are you doing? Your fingers soften around his shirt.
“I don’t…”
“Come on, we’re going home”, he say sternly and puts an arm around your waist, dragging you with him like this.
You follow him all the way to his car. You even let him sit you down on the passenger seat and you even stay seated when he rounds the car to get to the driver side. You think that you are in shock because you don’t protest when he starts the car, nor when he drives off. You simply stare outside with your knees turned to him because your body acts against your consciousness. The city passes you by in flashes of neon colours. His car smells like his cologne and leather. He has no music playing.
Yoongi glances at your face. You have your head against the window, squeezing your hands between your thighs. The neon lights illuminate your features each time he passes by another light source. He can see that you are trying not to shake.
He takes a deep breath, shifting his eyes to the road. He has to grip the steering wheel, otherwise his hands would shake in anger.
“Should we get dinner?”
His voice rips you from whatever trance you were in. You sit up straight, looking at him. He is gripping the steering wheel to the point his knuckles pale. His long hair is hanging into his face tonight. A turquoise varsity jacket adorns him. His scar wasn’t hidden behind concealer. He wasn’t working his day job today. What was he doing at the park? Why was he there?
“Take me home”, you order him.
“I am.”
“No. Home. Not your place.”
“My place is your home”, he gets out through gritted teeth.
“No, it isn’t. Not anymore.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Did you see what they were doing to me?”
“No.”
You are lost for words for a moment. The tears come afterwards.
“Stop the car.”
Yoongi looks at you because your voice was shaking. He holds his breath at the sight of your tears.
“What?” he makes sure.
“Stop. The. Car. Now.”
He laughs and shakes his head.
You pull the knife out on him. He swerves to the side on instinct, fixing the mistake so vigorously, you and he shake in the small space. You don’t let it affect you, holding the knife against his skin.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he hisses.
“Stop the fucking car or I’ll kill us both”, you spit, holding the knife against his throat.
“Fuck”, he growls and hits the steering wheel. The car rolls to a stop.
“Get out”, you threaten.
“I am. Fuck.”
He follows your orders because you have his life at blade’s end. He still slams the door closed. You leave the car instantly.
“What the fuck were you thinking? You could have killed us both” he tries to scold you, but you silence him.
“I’m talking now”, you roar.
Yoongi closes his mouth because he has never heard you like this before.
“You are such an asshole! Each day I regret the moment I met you! You are the worst thing that ever happened to me!”
Yoongi gulps.
“I had a life before you. I had dreams and ambitions and, and goals and…a chance. I could have had a good life. I was supposed to use my degree to help people but you ruined everything for me.”
He rounds the car in big steps, coming so close to you that you smell his breath. It smells like chewing gum.
“You could have achieved something? What exactly did you achieve as a lawyer? Mhm, what did you achieve? This city is fucked.”
“Yes, because you fucked it!” you hit his chest. He doesn’t budge, but also doesn’t stop you. “You fucked it and you fucked me and I hate you for it!”
“Don’t blame me for your decisions. I gave you a chance to leave me back then. You were the one who stayed.”
You inch closer until your lips are almost touching. Yoongi exhales shakily, placing his hand on your hip.
“And I will regret this decision till the day I die”, you whisper, breaking the closeness.
You slip out of his hold. He follows you in a small stumble and a trembling gasp.
“I never want to see you again. Are we clear?” you hiss at him.
“Don’t be fucking ridiculous, you don’t want this”, he hisses back at you.
“You’re wrong, I don’t want you. I thought I still did, but I don’t. You don’t care about me, it’s finally so fucking obvious to me. You don’t fucking care.”
“You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“They are terrorising me, Yoongi!” You finally scream. “I wake up to people ringing my doorbell in the middle of the night, I have to keep my phone turned off because the phone calls don’t stop. I keep getting my stuff stolen and, and I thought I was going to be raped tonight! They are terrorising me and you called it not your problem!”
“No, you-”
“I’ve been living in constant fear, our friends don’t even look at me anymore, I haven’t eaten in days and I can’t-”, you stop yourself. He doesn’t even deserve your anger anymore. “-you know what? Fuck this and fuck you. I’m leaving.”
You turn your back to him and leave.
He says your name and takes your hand. He pulls, tries to turn you to him. But you rip yourself free again.
“Don’t go”, he says.
You don’t listen.
“I’m ordering you to stay”, he sounds desperate, yelling your name, “I am ordering you!”
He can yell as much as he wants to. You don’t listen to him anymore. The subway station isn’t far. You will make an exception and take it tonight. Even if you hate it. It stinks. Just like the rest of this shitty city.
You are going to leave. Once you are home, you are going to start packing and then you are going to leave. You will call V. You don’t know his real name, but he can change your identity as quickly as others change their socks. You will call V and tell him to have your passport ready the day after tomorrow. You will pay him with the money you have under your pillow and then leave for somewhere clean. Maybe somewhere with lots of mountains. You always heard that the air at these places is breathable.
You call V the same night. He tells you that two days is too short and to wait another week. So you wait. Your bags have been packed. You live out of them in your own place. You don’t leave it. You are scared. With how little Yoongi cared about your situation, you doubt that he told his men to stop. You are scared that if you left again, they would finally go through with what they couldn’t finish back then.
The doorbell rings during a rainy, dark night. You flinch awake to the point where you feel sick to the stomach. The lights are turned on instantly eventhough you know not to do that in such a situation. You can’t think clearly. You just want this to be over. All of it.
You run to the front door because you suddenly feared that it was unlocked. It isn’t, but you can watch someone push an envelope under your door. The shadow blocking the light outside leaves the moment the letter is inside your apartment.
You don’t want to open it at first, staring at it as if someone had planted a bomb in your apartment. Fuck it, if that is how you die then so be it, you think in the end and bend down to pick it up. It feels different in your fingers. Sophisticated. Intimate. The envelope is glued closed as if someone licked the glue stripe and the faint smell of well-known cologne lingers on the paper. You open it with shaky fingers.
A letter. It is heavy and folded once. You open it, gasping when three photographs fall out of it and onto the ground. You don’t know what is on them because they landed on their face side. So you read the letter first.
“It has always been mine as well.”
Written in black ink and a familiar handwriting. This is Yoongi’s writing.
With even shakier hands, you pick up the pictures. You feel sick for a moment, gawking at the cruel pictures with your hand thrown over your mouth. The three men who terrorised you. Their mutilated corpses look back at you. He tortured them to death.
You rip the door open, stumbling onto the balcony. You look down at what tripped you. Two bags of your favourite takeout food and a six pack of water. Both clearly fresh. So it was him. Yoongi must be here somewhere. You look into the distance. The night is loud and blurry in a thunderstorm. The streets are empty. The ghost of your past is gone again. You squint your eyes. A person.
“Yoongi!” you call out, unable to realise that you are smiling and waving your hand.
The person moves. Oh. It was just the shadow of a tree. For just a moment you had hoped that the dark shape was him waiting for you. It was just a tree…and you were happy that if could have been Yoongi. The realisation hurts.
“Fuck”, you press out, going back inside. The lump in your throat makes it hard to breathe. You stumble back to bed, halting for a moment when you pass your suitcases.
It has always been mine as well. His words repeat themselves in your head. All this time, you thought that he didn’t care. All this time, you thought that your terror left him cold. Your eyes drift over the empty takeout boxes from the noodle place. You still haven’t cleaned them up. He made sure that you were properly fed for days back then. A glance at the new stuff he got tonight. He is still making sure that you are. Your eyes drift over the package next. He made sure that they stopped getting stolen. You look at the pictures in your hands. He made sure that they would never hurt you again. All this time, you were so blinded by your own anger that you missed how he had always looked out for you. You missed his way of showing you that you were important to him.
It has always been his problem as well.
Something inside you breaks and you scream. You don’t know what you scream for, but you scream. It hurts so much. It hurts so much because you will still leave. He will hurt you again if you stay. All his efforts healed your heart and it hurts so much because you will still leave. You were meant to stay broken hearted. Leaving would have been so easy this way. Now it hurts like a bitch. But you can’t sway. You have to leave this place. It will chew up what little is left of you until you truly cease to exist.
V comes to your place the next day. He rings your doorbell. It wakes you from the uncomfortable sofa you fell asleep on last night. You groan as you sit up and you barely want to open your eyes as you stumble to the door.
You open it without checking the camera first.
“Took you long en- you?”
Jungkook, the young officer, greets you with a smile.
“I swear I’m not stalking you.”
You have a headache today, so it is difficult not to snap at him. He is also not the person you wanted in front of your door today.
“I’m starting to doubt that.”
He laughs, “it’s not that. I talked to my boss. Your friend, the boss of the other boss. Sorry, anyways. I need you to come to the precinct with me.”
“What? Why?”
“Okay so, this is actually so cool and I shouldn’t even be telling you this, but you’re my boss’ friend so I guess it’s okay”, he begins with sparkling eyes, “turns out that the package thief is actually a serial thief and you aren’t the first one he stole from. Isn’t that cool? It’s like in those movies. Those cool cop movies.”
“Really? He stole from more people?” You highly doubt that.
“Yeah”, he laughs as he answers you, nodding his head excitedly, “now we’re calling in everyone who he stole from so we can take their statements. My boss says that we can’t keep the thief locked up for long otherwise.”
You know that this wasn’t really how the law works. After all, you were once a lawyer who was fucking good at her job. Is Yoongi trying to drag you back to him? First he tries to change your mind by killing your bullies and now he is trying to do the final blow by abusing his power as police chief? You check the time. Couldn’t the young officer have come later? You could have had your passport already and be far, far away from this place.
“Can I just give it to you here?” you ask him.
“Mhm”, he tilts his head to the side, “no, I don’t think that it works like this. I’m sorry, Miss. The captain said that it’s important that all the victims come into the precinct.”
You have to give Yoongi that. He is real clever about it. That means however that you can’t escape this situation. Any more resistance from you would make you suspicious.
You give up with a sigh. “Can I just change into something different?”
“Of course, Miss.”
The young officer lets you sit in the passenger seat. He is so new at all of this. With such naivety he tells you his entire life story. That he was from the countryside and that his dream has always been to be a policeman in the city. That he studied hard for years and that he completed his enlistment with honour just so he could be a proper officer. He sounds so proud of himself that each second with him makes you hate his presence more and more. He is so fucking stupid and it angers you. Why would he throw away his life like that? Why someone like him?
You are led to one of the precinct’s interrogation rooms and are told to wait there. The table is decked with different foods.
“What’s all that?” you ask Jungkook.
“Breakfast, Miss.”
“Did your captain tell you to do that?”
“He said that wanted to make sure you get your breakfast because we called you in so early. The captain really cares for the citizens.”
You stifle a scoff. Sure he does.
“Mhm, I see.”
“Either way, it won’t take long”, the young officer bids his goodbyes and leaves you in the interrogation room.
His words were a lie. You wait and wait and wait, but nothing happens. There are no clocks in this godforsaken room, but you still know that it has to be hours. You didn’t want to eat the breakfast at first, glaring at the two-way mirror because in your mind, Yoongi was behind it, watching you and making sure that you ate. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction at first, but had to in the end. The body begins working against one’s will when it is starving and the breakfast looked way too good. You eat all of it, then glare at the mirror again. You are still left alone and more time passes. It is as if they are trying to wear you down, as if you were the criminal in this situation. Granted, you are a criminal, but only Yoongi knows that and right now you are a poor civilian having done nothing wrong. You know that it’s Yoongi’s doing. That he somehow wants to terrorise you.
So when the door finally opens and he walks into the room, you almost throw the empty bowl at his head.
“Forgive the wait, Miss but something came up”, he says nonchalantly, flicking through some papers.
His second in command Kim Namjoon and the young officer Jeon Jungkook are behind him, which is why he is putting up this act. You grind your teeth.
“I already started to wonder if I’m in danger here”, you say way too sweetly.
“That depends on how you are going to answer our questions”, he says and sits down on the chair in front of you.
Jungkook stays by the door while Kim Namjoon stands a little to your side.
You look around yourself. He is trying to intimidate you.
“What’s that supposed to mean? I thought that I’m here to give my statement because of my stolen packages.”
Yoongi glances up from the papers. This is the first time your eyes meet after your fight and he killed your bullies. If only the others in this room would know how much blood he has on his hands and to which length he is willing to go to protect you. There were times where you would have dragged him over the table and kissed him senseless, but not anymore. You are stronger than your urges, even if it hurts your heart. You can’t give in again. If you do, he will take you for granted again. You won’t be happy with him. You finally have to fucking understand that.
“You’re right. You are here because of that”, he says dryly.
“Good. It started on May sixteen. I came home at around seven ten and noticed that my packages were missing. Two were stolen back then, but in total he stole eight packages”, you say and proceed to tell him the exact dates with the time as well as what was stolen.
“You seem to know how such hearings work”, he says after he wrote down what you said.
“I had a few hours to practice what I was going to say”, you say with a poisonous smile.
One Yoongi retorts with just as much poison and a deep hum.
“Apologies again.”
“Don’t worry, I know how hard the police works at keeping this honourable city safe.”
He tongues his cheek. You give him a victorious smirk. This cut. Good. He takes a deep breath and releases it through his nose, reaching into his suit pocket to pull out a cigarette. He gets as far as to put it to his lips and then Kim Namjoon already speaks up.
“Captain. Smoking is prohibited in this building.”
“Fuck”, Yoongi presses out and takes the cigarette between two fingers to tap it against the table instead.
“Smoking is bad for you either way”, you say.
He tongues his cheek again. You know that he wants to curse at you right now, but can’t. He has to put up a friendly act.
“I know, can’t shake the habit”, he says and studies your face, “so what now?”
“Sir?” Kim Namjoon is rightfully confused. Yoongi slipped up.
“I don’t know, I was never in such a place before. Do you still need to take my information?” you act oblivious.
“We already have everything.”
“Great. Then I can go?” you ask, fluttering your lashes innocently.
“I don’t know yet.”
“Sir?” “What? Why?”
Yoongi shifts in his chair until he manspreads like an idiot. He crosses his arms in front of his chest.
“What are you going to do now?” he asks you.
“Uhm…is this still part of my hearing?” you ask, glancing at Kim Namjoon.
“No of course not, Miss. Please, follow me.”
“Sit. Down.”
The room is silent for a moment. You glare at Yoongi while Namjoon and Jungkook gawk in complete confusion. Their captain acts out of character. There is no reason to keep the innocent lady here any longer. This isn’t like him at all. He has been fidgeting all day, barely drank his coffee, went for far too many smoke breaks and now this. The officers have no explanation for their captain’s sudden behaviour.
“What is the reason for this?” you ask him.
“Just safety precautions. We wouldn’t want our honest citizen to get into danger”, he says coldly, “now answer my question. What are your plans now, Miss?”
“I will go home.”
“Where is that home?”
“Sir, I don’t know if that is necessary.”
“Shut up, Kim.”
Namjoon gulps, exchanging a confused look with Jeon Jungkook. This is really not like their captain.
Yoongi straightens up and leans forward so he is closer to you.
“Where is that home, Miss?”
You lower your eyes in anger.
“I don’t know yet, I’m planning to leave this city.”
“What?” his voice shook as he spoke. His fingers close and break the cigarette that way. His eyes almost bore holes into yours from how deeply he stares into them.
“This city’s become too depressing for me. I plan on leaving it for good.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“Yes, I do. There is nothing holding me here anymore.”
“Yes, there is.”
“No, there really isn’t. I will leave.”
Bang!
You flinched back. Namjoon and Jungkook tense up as well.
Yoongi slammed his hand on the table, jumping to his feet.
“No the fuck you won’t!” he yells.
“Sir? What are you doing?!”
“Excuse me? It’s my right as an honest citizen to move”, you act oblivious as well.
“Keep her here”, he talks to Jungkook, pointing at him, “lock her up and keep her here.”
“Under what pretence, Sir?” the young officer asks with widened eyes.
“I, I, I don’t know. Refusal to, to, to cooperate or some shit like that”, Yoongi never stutters and he never paces, but he is currently doing both of those things.
“Sir…is…this legal?” Jungkook asks shyly.
Yoongi is by Jungkook’s side within a few steps, grabbing him by the collar.
“Do as you are told, Jeon! Unless you want to lose this job!” Yoongi growls, making Jungkook whimper with fear.
“Captain Min, you are stepping out of place”, Kim Namjoon speaks up, dragging him away from Jungkook, “and get off this poor officer’s neck. He is just doing his job.”
Yoongi whips around, now targeting his anger at Namjoon.
“If he was doing his fucking job, he would lock her up”, he hisses, pointing at you.
“I need you to step out for a moment, Captain”, Namjoon says and gestures Jungkook to open the door. The young officer obeys, holding it open as Namjoon shoves a protesting Yoongi out of the room. He closes the door again, muting the vivid fighting Yoongi was doing with Namjoon outside.
He meets your eyes, smiling awkwardly.
“Please forgive the Captain, Miss. He is very concerned about his citizens’ safety.” He is a terrible liar, but you don’t blame him. If you were in his situation, you would have no idea how to explain such a situation to a supposed innocent citizen either.
“Don’t worry. I, I’m just wondering if maybe I can finally leave? I’m sorry, this just really scared me and I just want to lie down at home now”, you act shaken up, looking at the young officer with pleading eyes.
“Of course, Miss. Our honest apologies again, Miss. Please follow me”, he says and leads you out of the room.
Yoongi and Namjoon are still arguing, but stop when they see you come out. You lock eyes with Yoongi for the briefest of moments.
He closes the distance and grabs your wrist, dragging you with him with such vigour that nobody truly gets time to act. Not even you know what was happening to you until you find yourself in his office with the door slammed shut.
“What are you doing?” you gasp.
“Shut the fuck up, you’re not the one asking this question right now!”
“Yoongi, lower your voice. This isn’t the place for screams.”
He steps closer to you, pointing at your face in warning.
“I have every fucking right to scream right now and you know that”, he presses out through gritted teeth.
“Why? Because I finally don’t need you anymore?”
“You can’t move. What the fuck are you thinking?”
“I’m-”
‘I'm not done”, he interrupts you, “I killed them for you. I did it. Just for you. Because your safety matters to me. I care.” He hits his own chest. “I showed you that I care and you’re gonna leave?”
You hate that you love him, but not for the usual reasons. You hate it because it hurts. You are going to leave despite not wanting to. You love him, perhaps you always will but you are also going to leave.
You nod your head.
Yoongi exhales shakily, taking a stumbling step back. He stares at you as if you were the ghost whose haunting hurts him the most. He huffs out air, rubs his hand over his mouth, then runs it through his hair and down the side of his neck.
“I’ll kill the thief”, he says in the end.
“What?”
“I'll make it seem like suicide. He’ll look like a pisser who couldn’t take prison and killed himself.”
“Are you out of your mind? He’s just a thief.”
“Well, what more do you need?!” he screams
“Nothing! I don’t need anything from you!”
“Why not? I can give you whatever you want!”
“Look at you. Now that you finally realised, I’m actually serious about the breakup, you wanna act like you care.”
“I care”, his voice broke, but you are both too angry to acknowledge it, “i-i-if I knew that you- I just-” He breathes in, breathes out, rubs his mouth, then his neck. “It can’t end like this. It can’t.”
“It can. I’m done begging you for everything.”
Yoongi steps closer.
“I can-”
“Sir? What is the meaning of this?”
Kim Namjoon and Jeon Jungkook are in the office. The rest of the precinct gawks at you and Yoongi through the doorway. The latter lifts his hands and steps back. His fingers are shaking.
“The captain just voiced his worries for my move. Don’t worry about it, Kim Sir”, you lie and turn to leave, “may I finally leave?”
Namjoon tells Jungkook to handle it with a nod of his head. The young officer points at the open door.
“Please after you, Miss.”
Yoongi says your name.
You look at him over your shoulder, despite knowing you shouldn’t. He takes a step closer, lifting his brows in pleading. Don’t give in. Don’t give in. Don’t give in. You ball your hands to fists and turn your back to him.
Yoongi tries your name again, hoping for another look. One which doesn’t come.
“Come back”, he tries, but gets stopped by Namjoon.
You can hear them talk as you leave.
“What the fuck’s your issue, man? You’ve been weird all day and now you’re screaming at citizens?”
“Watch your tone.”
“Hyung, I’m not here as your colleague right now. I’m here as your friend.”
“She’s gonna leave, she can’t…”
Jungkook leads you away from the office before you can hear Yoongi’s full answer.
“Are you crying, Miss??”
“Hm? Oh that, don’t mind them. It’s just…” Your heart is broken and you want to run back to Yoongi. “...forgive me, I’m just a little shaken from everything.”
“I’m sorry, Miss. The captain isn’t normally like this.”
“It’s alright. I know how Yoongi can be sometimes.”
“Yoongi?” Jungkook asks, glancing at the captain’s office. He wonders what kind of friends you and he are. Maybe Those kind of friends? Is that why you are important to the captain?
“I mean…sorry, I don’t know why I said that. I just wish to go home now.”
“Of course, Miss.”
“Oh god, I don’t even have money for a bus ticket with me”, you murmur to yourself, looking for your wallet. This is all a scheme to get Jungkook to drive you home again. You are worried that if he didn’t, Yoongi would somehow get to you before you could reach the station.
“Don’t worry about it, Miss. As a policeman, it is my duty to make sure that you get home safely.”
“Really? I wouldn’t want to waste your time.”
“Of course, Miss.”
And so he takes you home and you hate yourself because of it. So it began. You were the first person who used his kindness to her advantage. You were the drop beginning the inevitable filling of the tank until one day it will swap over. And once that happens, it is almost impossible to stop the leak. Fuck, you are just as terrible as everyone else in this city.
But the young officer is oblivious to what you just did, driving you home with a kind smile on his face. He even walks you to your door and stays as you unlock it. Your neighbours are fucking again. He glances at their door, then awkwardly at you.
“Yeah, I’ve got new neighbours. You can’t go over there and flash your badge and tell them to shut up, can you?”
“Of course I can, Miss. Just one mom-”
“No stop, I was joking”, you stop him, studying him with exhausted eyes. You are so sorry. You are so fucking sorry.
“Ah, okay. Please forgive me, I always take everything way too seriously”, he says, scratching his own neck shyly. He furrows his brows. “What’s the matter, Miss?”
“Can I tell you something?”
“Of course, Miss.”
“Run.”
“What?”
“Run back to your hometown. Run and never look back.”
“Excuse me?” he laughs in confusion, furrowing his brows harder.
“You’re a good person, Jeon Jungkook. This city will fucking ruin you.”
“I…uh…” He laughs nervously. “I don’t seem to follow, Miss. Sorry.”
“You don’t need to get it, just listen to me. Please.”
“O…kay? I uhm…”
“Thank you for driving me home. I’ll think of you sometimes in my new home.”
“Miss, are you okay?”
“I am. You don’t need to worry about me anymore. Just promise me to run.”
“I promise?”
“Good. Be happy, Jeon Jungkook.”
“Miss, I-”
You close the door on him and lock it. You don’t expect him to knock or ring the bell. He is too proper to annoy you this way. You check the camera. He stares at the closed door for a few moments longer, looking confused. He lifts his hand to knock, hesitates and turns his back to the door instead, leaving down the steps to drive off. You know that you confused him, but you had to. Please let it be enough to save him.
V arrives later that day. He is stressed and clearly in a hurry.
“What’s wrong? You look like you need to be somewhere or like you need to shit. Do you need to shit?”
“What? No”, he sounds out of breath as well as annoyed, “I’m risking my ass being here. I’ve got your stuff. It’s the only thing except mine that I managed to save. Give me the money, quick.”
“Save?” you probe, giving him the money.
He stuffs it into his boxers hastily, looking over his shoulder again.
“My place got raided by cops. I was at the market getting food, then came back to five cop cars in front of my place. I barely escaped. If I didn’t always carry my stuff with me, I’d have been fucked.”
“What?!”
“Sorry, Hyacinth. Gotta leave the city for a while. I wish you all the best.”
“V, what the fuck?”
“Here’s to never seeing each other again, aye?” he jokes, laughing nervously. It’s a good thing he said. Never seeing each other again meant that you and he managed to escape safely.
“Wait. Where will you go?”
“I can’t tell you. You know I can’t.”
“Yeah, just…be careful.”
“You too.”
He leaves and you know that he will be successful. If there is one person who won’t ever be found it is V.
You are in a trance for the rest of the day. Yoongi raided V’s place. He went as far as to betray his own people just to make sure that you wouldn’t leave. Carrying your new passport feels like a trophy, as much as it feels like a curse. Leaving this city won’t be as easy anymore now that he knows. You are so fucking stupid for telling him, but you didn’t want to miss out on his reaction when he found out. The small moment of satisfaction seems skippable now that you know how far he is willing to go to keep you close. And because V came as late as he did, your means of escape don’t drive anymore either. You have to wait for the earliest bus if you wanted to or not. Fuck, you did this to yourself. You stupid fucking woman. Look at you. You have this big, honourable degree and still manage to get yourself into shitty situations over and over again.
You go to sleep with a gun under your pillow. You won’t risk anything.
You don’t get a lot of sleep and then a noise wakes you. You heard it as clear as day. Someone unlocked your front door. He sent men to get you. Now he’s gone too far. You jump out of bed and grab your loaded gun, tiptoeing to a spot from where you could observe the apartment. You have to be strategic about it. First count the men, then calculate the fastest way to shoot them, then act. The door closes and locks again. Clever bastards, they want to make sure that you don’t flee. Oh, you are going to have a blast killing them. One last little thing to leave Yoongi before you abandon him.
The automatic lights turn on. Got you, assholes.
The first enters your vision.
“Hm?”
Yoongi. Clearly drunk, he is dragging his feet over the floor, using the wall as support. No one else follows him. So he came here alone.
Overtaken by anger, you jump out of hiding and at him.
Yoongi collides with the wall, feeling the cold nuzzle of the gun press against his chin. He drops the keys and flowers he was carrying, lifting his hands in defeat.
“Careful, it’s just me”, he lulls.
“Get the fuck out of my house”, you spit, carrying murder in your eyes.
“I can’t believe you’re still hiding your keys under the flower pot. Don’t make me so worried, anyone could enter.”
“I’m gonna count to three and if you haven’t disappeared by then, I’ll shoot.”
“Can we talk?”
“One.”
“I know I fucked up. I can’t stop thinking about you. Please, can we try again?”
“Two.”
“I promise I changed. You were right, I was a joke. But I wanna do better now.”
“Three.” “I’m sorry!”
Yoongi squeezes his eyes shut. His death never comes. He peels his eyes open again.
You are staring, panting heavily. Tears are in your eyes.
“I’m sorry”, he whispers.
This is the first time he is the one to say these words first. It feels so good, but you can’t give in again. You made up your mind to leave…didn’t you? You study the state of him. He is heavily intoxicated. He looks the way and reeks of it.
“You’re drunk.”
He nods his head, furrowing his brows. He touches your elbows, caressing them softly. Such touch you only get when he is drunk.
“I drank because of you. What you said today. I just…don’t move away, please”, he begs, eyes filling with tears.
“So now you care? I wasn’t important to you when I was with you and now that I’m leaving, I’m suddenly important?”
“You’ve always been important.”
“No, I haven’t. You took me for granted.”
“I did and I’m sorry. I never should have taken you for granted. I’ll do better now, please just give me a chance to prove it to you.”
“If I give you a chance again, you’ll just abuse it and hurt me.”
“No, I won’t. Please, I just.” He cups your face, running his thumbs under your eyes as gently as possible. “We were right once. We were so good together. We were a team and, and we had dreams and we made each other happy. I want this back, I wanna try to get this back again please.”
“I just want to be happy, Yoongi”, you press out.
“I’ll make you happy, baby. Please, I-I’ll make you happy again.”
“No, you’re drunk and talking fucking shit.”
“I’ll leave this city if you want me to.”
You falter. He would give up what he built just for you?
“You wouldn’t do that.”
“I would. For you I would. I’d set this whole city on fire and leave with you as it burns to fucking ashes behind us, please.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“Please”, he whispers and drops his forehead against yours, “please, I want to make you happy again.”
You hate that you love him. You hate that he made you addicted to him. This is so awfully him. He gives you enough affection that you get addicted to it then takes it away again. And once he feeds it to you again, you drink it up like an alcoholic. It is always the same.
“No, you won’t. You’re drunk.”
“Please.”
“Leave my place.”
He presses himself off the wall and grabs the nuzzle of the gun, guiding it right between his brows.
“You have to kill me if you want me gone.”
You gulp. He forces your finger to the trigger. Your airways close up.
“Kill me. Fucking kill me. I can’t live without you anyways.”
You could end it. You’ve got everything. Your suitcases, your papers, the keys of his car he drunkenly drove like an asshole. You’ve got everything you need to escape this place. You could end it, finally make sure that you have no temptation to return. You could end him and your addiction with it. He’s got your finger on the trigger, it needs just one flex and it would be over. But you never wanted him dead. No matter how much you wished for him to be gone, you never wanted him dead. Because in some fucked up way, all you really wanted was for him to put more effort into you.
“No”, you whimper, shaking your head.
He rips the gun from your fingers and drops it on your dresser.
“I don’t want to kill you”, you press out, sobbing softly.
He cradles your face, wiping your tears.
“I know”, he gets out, nodding his head, “I know you don’t, princess. I know.”
“Yoongi”, you squeak out, twisting his shirt.
“I’m here, princess. I’m here.”
He pulls you closer until his kiss is just one breath away, feeding on the shaky breath you let ghost against his lips. His drunken eyes gaze at your mouth, his heart is racing in his chest.
“Push me away”, he tells you.
“I hate you.”
“And I love you.”
“Yoongi”, you whimper, finally touching his chest instead of his shirt.
He moans and pulls you into a kiss. A deep, hungry kiss.
You pull at his hair to get him off of you as much as you pull him closer, fighting for air. You hate that you love…do you really? Do you really fucking hate it? Do you really hate it when his kiss makes you feel alive again? You spent months feeling out of breath and now it’s gone. You can breathe again. At least metaphorically, physically he’s got you very close to passing out. You push at him to get distance. Air. He lets you breathe, but not escape. He pushes you to your sofa until your legs collide with the back of it. Your shaky breaths intermingle, your shared moans follow. His right hand slides to your ass, his knee lifts to your middle.
You gasp, grinding down on him. You can’t protest because he kisses you so deeply it feels as if he wanted to consume your soul. He kisses and gropes, kisses and gropes until air is sparse. He gasps.
“Fuck. Fuck, I’m fucked”, he gets out and pulls your head back so he could drag his tongue up your throat.
It should disgust you, but it doesn’t. You moan, running your nails down his chest and arching your back. He lifts his head, looking at you with drunken, crazed obsession. His fingers just can’t stay still on your body. It is as if he wanted to touch everywhere at all times. The attention makes you short of breath.
“You’re so fucking beautiful.”
You touch his cheek. He leans into your palm, closing his eyes when you trace his scar. You were with him when he got it. It was during a fight. He fought with his fists, his opponent chose the cowardly way and pulled a knife on him. He was lucky that he didn’t lose his eyesight. He hated it at first, but you made him feel handsome. You always looked out for him that way.
“Do you…do you think I’m handsome?” he asks. Such questions you only get when he’s drunk.
“I do.”
His breath trembles as it leaves him. He drops his hand from your hips to take out his cock. He touches himself, gazing at you as if he needed the view of you to stay hard. And he does. He needs you. You are the only person who can turn him on.
You look at what his hand is doing, gulping heavily. He sighs, gazing at your face. You are as mesmerised by him as you were when everything was still good between you and him. His cock still has the same effect on you.
“Princess?” he tilts your head back up to meet your eyes, using only two fingers under your chin for it.
You meet his eyes, heart racing unbearably.
“Yes?” One little lift of his brows and you give him the answer he craved.
You part your legs, tilting your hips closer to him. You nod your head vigorously, gazing at his cock again.
He doesn’t bother to pull his pants down all the way, neither does he care about taking off your panties. He pushes them to the side and stuffs you full of him, gripping the edge of the couch and your right thigh as deep moans leave him. Your right leg is lifted like this, supported by him.
You gasp, tensing up. Your toes curl instantly, your fingers clutch his lower arms. His cock stretches you out and stuffs your walls. It’s not uncomfortable, but it is definitely intense. You gasp again, looking at him with widened eyes.
“I know baby, I know”, he breathes and bottoms out. “It’s been too long. Fuck.”
He moves, chasing your warmth in drunk, sloppy thrusts. You writhe and gasp repeatedly, scratching the back of his neck. You want to hate that you love him. He should feel like an intruder. You should want to kick and scream for help. But you don’t want to. You feel whole again. No preparation, but he doesn’t hurt. His kiss and touch was enough. Your addiction to him runs so deep that his cock is pure heroin to you.
“Yoongi”, you get out, grabbing his throat. Your thumbs are on his Adam’s apple, threatening to press down.
He smiles, “I love you”, he gasps out and drops his head against yours. His long hair tickles your face, his drunken breath swirls over your skin. He gulps and moans under your fingers, pumping into you with no signs of slowing down. You start losing strength in your calf, standing like this is exhausting, but if you were being honest, you don’t want it to stop.
“I hate you.”
“Fucking kill me then”, he rasps.
You close your fingers slightly.
“Harder. This isn’t gonna do it.”
“You first.”
“Fuck, baby”, he gets out and lifts you so he could round the sofa with you. He pins you down into the pillows, ripping the panties off of you and kicking his pants off. He pushes into you before you can truly realise what was happening, feeding you all of him until he can’t give any more. He twists the pillow next to your head as he takes on a punishing rhythm. His dark hair hangs into his face, his teeth are bared as he huffs like an angry animal.
“Yoon-”
“I know, baby I know. You already told me, baby. I know”, he whispers, wiping your cheek, “take me, I know you can. You’re my baby, you’re made for me.”
His praise is like medicine to you. This is all you needed. To know that he is still obsessed with you and that you still affect him.
You close your legs around his hips, keeping him with you this way. You need him to always stay like this. He moans your name, slipping his fingers from your cheek to hold the pillow instead. You told him that you hated him, but your body betrays you. Your eyes betray you. You keep him close, gaze at him as if he was your everything. Yoongi’s head is turning. Not only from the alcohol, but also from being with you again. And from knowing that you still loved him.
Because he loves you so much. He hates himself for taking you for granted. He never should have. You are his everything. The fucking reason why he does all of this. The last three months were torture for him. He started smoking again, drank too much, slept too little, worked too many hours. And if he didn't distract himself with work, he tried thinking up ways of showing you that he was still there for you. He ordered his officers to look out for you, sent food deliveries to your place, parked in front of your place somewhere hidden to watch you smoke on the staircase. He also followed you sometimes after you confessed to him that some of his goons were terrorising you. And each time he followed you, he wished for you to notice him just so he could get a chance at talking to you again. But you never did and Yoongi thought that you will come back again soon. Then you told him that you would move and Yoongi finally broke. He was truly losing you. Three months of hell, of lonely nights and heartbreak and he was truly losing you.
“I missed you”, he gets out, painting his name against your favourite spots. The eagerness with which you clasp him results in your hips to lift off the pillow, allowing your clit to grind against him each time he bottoms out. The necklaces he is wearing are tangling over your face. They were too long once, but Yoongi cut them to the perfect length so they wouldn't hit your face when you are underneath him. That was six months ago. During a time you thought he didn’t care anymore. You feel so stupid now. His way of showing you that he cared was always there. He was always looking out for you. You were just too blind to see.
You gasp and whimper, mewl and keen, looking up at him with teary eyes and your fingers closing around nothing. You can’t tell him that you missed him too because you are too overwhelmed.
“Did you miss me too?” but Yoongi is drunk tonight and when he is drunk he is needy for your affection.
You nod your head.
“Say it.”
“I missed you”, you get out, following it up with a sob.
“Baby, I love you”, he croaks, wiping your tears before dropping his forehead against yours, “I love you, baby, I love you. Don’t leave me again, please.”
“You’re so drunk.”
“Yeah, drunk ‘cause of you. Thought I’ll lose you. Baby, I can’t lose you”, he croaks and shows you his honesty with passionate rolls of his hips. Somehow he goes even deeper than before, he hits your favourite spots even better.
You arch your back and scream his name, throwing your head back as best as possible. This is electric. Holy shit, he makes you feel good. Your face scrunches up against your will, your feet shake on his back.
Yoongi admires you with a pounding head and racing heart, repeating what he did before over and over and over again. You react in mewls and moans and screams and he can’t get enough of it. He wants for you to lose your fucking voice because you couldn’t stop screaming for him. Because if you sound like this for him, he makes you happy. It has been too long since you actually screamed this way, so Yoongi is especially affected by tonight.
He laces his fingers with yours – again, he is drunk – and squeezes them needily. He thinks that he is crying too. He watches pearls of something drip onto your face sometimes. His eyes also burn. He doesn’t want it to stop. He is willing to carry his emotions on his sleeve if it meant you were happy again.
“Is this what you needed? Does this finally make you fucking happy?” he gets out, chasing the ecstasy as much as he helps you with your own pleasure trip.
You squeeze his hands back, making him moan your name.
“Ye-yes.”
“Argh”, he growls, trying so much harder to fuck you right. It feels so good. He has to tell you. He stayed silent way too often in the past. You want his efforts and he wants to give them to you. “You feel so good.”
The first confession was hard because he isn’t used to sharing his feelings. It was hard, but it was also ecstatic because your sounds of pleasure became louder and you tightened around him, squeezing his hands happily.
“You feel so good. You feel so fucking good. You feel so good, princess. You feel…so good”, he can’t stop now that he started, telling you over and over and over again how you make him feel. Good. So good. He feels so good when he is with you. “You are so good. Princess, fuck. I have to..I, I have to- ah!”
You open your eyes in time with Yoongi collapsing on top of you. He whimpers into the crook of your neck, shaking almost pathetically.
There are two things you always believed to be true about Yoongi. First: When he fucks, his moans are always deep, raspy and growly. Second: He has perfect control over his orgasms.
Both of these things are getting proven wrong to you right here and now as he whimpers and shakes and paints your walls with his unexpected orgasm. You want to blame the alcohol on it and maybe the months of abstinence, perhaps even the fear of losing you paired with the relief of having you again. Holy fuck, he actually loves you doesn’t he?
“I love you”, he sobs, hugging you close.
“Yoongi ah”, he breaks you with his confession and the tenderness with which he holds you. You swear that you can taste colours for a moment. You haven’t felt honestly good in your own skin in months. This right here is what feeling good is. This is it.
You don’t know who comes down first. You think it is Yoongi, but even if he does, he doesn’t pull out. He lets you shake and throb and clench around him until your moment of peak pleasure is over as well. He holds you silently afterwards, catching his breath in the crook of your neck. He missed your scent like nothing else. Truly, it leaves him so drugged out that he actually finds himself drooling as he smiles like a giddy boy.
You calm down with his weight atop your chest, his length still inside you and his hair between your fingers. It is still a little stiff and crusty from the variety of hair products he keeps in it during his day job. To think that mere hours ago, you were screaming at each other in his office. It feels so far away to you now. Like a memory of an unbelievable life.
You don’t hate that you love him. You really don’t.
“How.” He clears his throat. “How are you feeling?”
“Good.”
“Are you sore? Does anything hurt?”
“No, but I’m leaking.”
“Fuck”, he laughs into your shoulder, nibbling on it gently, “sorry, I just…am drunk and missed you.”
“You were pathetic doing that.”
He laughs harder. You and he have a peculiar sense of humour. He knows that you meant it fondly. You laugh as well. He lifts his head at the sound of it, cupping your cheek.
“If it means you’re laughing, I can live with being pathetic.”
Your heart flutters.
“What’s gotten into you?”
“Booze. Way too much booze.”
You laugh again. His eyes soften, he caresses your face.
“Definitely too much booze, yeah”, you agree.
“Mhm, fuck.” He cuddles into your shoulder again. “I’m sleeping here.”
“And you think I’d let you?”
He nods his head.
“Fuck, you’re the worst.”
“Am I wrong?”
“No, you’re not.”
You wake up alone the next morning. It hurts. So nothing changed. He got what he wanted, made you addicted again only to leave. Like he always did. And you are left feeling dirty and used and fucking awful.
You probably would have stayed in bed to cry the entire day if a very worrying noise hadn’t come from outside your door. Someone’s in your kitchen. You roll out of bed and leave the room. You don’t need weapons today. You are angry enough that you will probably be able to beat whoever is dumb enough to break in.
You cross the corner and stop, lowering your fists.
Yoongi.
He took a shower and tied all of his wet hair into a messy bun. He is shirtless, wearing a towel around his hips. Music is playing from his phone while on the stove, breakfast is sizzling.
“You?”
He turns at the sound of your voice, face lighting up instantly.
“Good morning, beautiful”, he says, closing the distance to take you into a hug. “Did you sleep well?”
You don’t answer him, you push at his chest so you could look at him. You can’t believe that he is still here and that he is making you breakfast.
“What’s the matter?” he asks.
“Why the fuck are you still here?”
He furrows his brows, “why not?”
“I, I don’t know. I just, just. I thought that…huh? You didn’t leave?”
He frowns in regret for a moment, before leaning in to kiss your cheek. He gives your left buttock an almost playful squeeze afterwards, stepping back to return to the cooking.
“I’m making your favourite. I also cleaned. Your place was a shithole, honestly.”
Still flabbergasted beyond relief, you look around your small apartment. He didn’t just clean up the garbage and tidy, he fully wiped the place down. You check the clock next. It’s way past one at noon. You slept for more than twelve hours. Damn. You never even realised how much sleep these last three months took from you until you finally fell asleep in his arms again and actually stayed asleep. You feel refreshed and not uncomfortable in your own skin.
Last, you look at Yoongi. He is humming to the music, switching between stirring the eggs in the pan and chopping up some pork belly.
At first you don’t want to accept that this is actually happening to you, but then the desire to be close to him gets too grande to bear. You almost run to him, colliding with his back in a passionate hug.
He stumbles and grunts, following it up with a fond chuckle and his big hands rubbing your lower arms.
“Please don’t make me regret this again. Please.”
He turns in your arms, caressing your waist. He shakes his head, looking at you in ways he hasn’t looked at you in ages. As if he honestly loved you.
“Can you promise me?”
“I promise you, baby”, he says in a soft voice and locks pinkies with you.
The gesture is so cute and honest, that you have to stifle a giggle. Your heart hasn’t fluttered like this in ages.
“I have an idea. How about I’ll take next week off and we’re leaving this city for a while? Maybe the mountains? You’d like the air there”, he suggests.
“Are you serious? Do you actually mean that?”
He nods his head. You and he began swaying to the music, looking at nothing else but the other.
“But first I gotta sort out the mess I made when I busted V’s place”, he says.
“Yeah true.” You slap his chest. “Fuck you for that. He didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I know, I know. I acted irrationally, I admit. But I’m gonna fix this. You know how easily I can make stuff disappear. He’ll be able to return again in a week or so.”
“I hope you’ll fix this, you idiot you.”
“Mhm, I will and then I’m taking you on a long vacation”, he says, kissing your forehead before hugging you against his chest.
You close your eyes, melting into his chest.
“And when we’re there, I’m gonna make you breakfast and make you cum and make you smile. Yeah?” he whispers.
“Yeah”, you snicker.
He smells like your shower gel today, but you don’t mind. He hasn’t shown such an actual desire to change in months and it feels so good to receive. You love that you love him. You really do.
“I love you, Yoongi”, you whisper, feeling him squeeze you for just a moment as your confession overwhelms him.
“I love you too, princess”, he tells you and he is sober for it because he swore to himself that he won’t need alcohol anymore to be able to show you his affection.
He is willing to better himself, he truly is and a week later, you and he are in his car on your way to a long vacation in the mountains.
⤷ summary. staying after hours with Yoongi for months proves to be a mistake when your heart falls for him.
pairing. fuckboy!basketball captain!min yoongi x fem!reader
genre. smut (18+), angst, fluff, fuckboy au, college au, unrequited love au.
» please don’t flag this post. if u don’t like it, just scroll. don’t be petty and flag creator’s posts, if u do that, ur not fücking cool 👎
warnings. fuckboy!yoongi, friends (more like aquaintences?) with benefits, major angst (it’s worse on the second part but there’s still a lot of it), fluff (weird, right?), unrequited love, yoongi is hot in this but he’s a bit of an asshole, basketball captain!yoongi, fuckboy!yoongi needs its own warning, explicit language (cursing, sexual talk, etc), reader suffers so much that i feel kinda bad, quite toxic friendships, yoongi is a teeeeease, bed !! sharing !!, yuri is a pain in the ass, everyone wants yoongi like damn, yoongi smokes cigarettes, smut, (oh boyyyyy), two s*x scenes, a LOT dirty talk, dom!yoongi, sub!reader, some dom/sub themes, dumbification, disgusting pet names (doll, baby girl, baby, y’all know the drill), äss play (f. receiving), n*pple play, humiliation, degrädation kïnk, cūnnilingus, rough sēx, yoongi lowkey has a begging k*nk, fīnger^ng, protected sęx (be smart like them), mentions of unprotected s*x and creampies, m^ssīonãry + c*wgirl pøsition, cúm swãllowing + eating, sn*wballing, semi-public sēx (they do it in the men’s locker room hehe), p*ssy eating, blowjob, face-fúcking, big d*ćk yoongi, wet n messy sêx.
word count. 25.3k 💌 (my finger slipped)
note. goddamn. i can’t believe this fic is finally out !! (part one only but still). I have literally put my blood, sweat and tears (lol) into this :’) after a lot of research on how basketball works bc i had never actually seen a basketball game and a fucking lot of drafting and re-writing, it’s here ahhhh !! this yoongi is the fucking hottest i swear and i am actually in love, even if he is a bit of an asshole :p hope u guys love this fic as much as i do and enjoy the ride <3 and a hugeeeee thank u to my love @jjkeverlast for beta’ing this fic !! love u so so much, ur the best ever 💌 part 2 will come out in about 2 weeks.
please leave feedback if u can <3 it truly motivates me to continue and i’d love to hear all ur thoughts on this fic so let’s talk about it 🫧♡
links. main masterlist ; taglist
You probably should have gone to the party that your best friend told you about.
But you were too emotionally drained from all the studying, and the last thing you needed was a social gathering you knew would only suck you out of your energy even more.
You’ve been so exhausted lately— your lectures have turned difficult, and your time has lately been consumed by either studying or your classes.
And so, you’re alone on a Friday night inside your shared apartment, watching some trashy TV romance while eating microwave popcorn and wearing your Spongebob Squarepants knee-socks.
Imagine your surprise once you hear the doorbell ring when you’re not expecting anyone tonight—your best friend is at that damn frat party, you didn’t order takeout just yet, and it’s not like you have a lot of intimate friends other than Yuri.
You reluctantly open the door, silently hoping no serial killer would be on the other side, but no, it’s even worse.
“Yoongi?” You ask, almost gasping, but you’re too tired for your body to show any signs of strong emotions when meeting the man you secretly longed to see.
“Are you okay?” Yoongi asks, and you’re almost sure you pick up something of concern in his smooth voice, but you know it’s only your hallucination. You know for a fact that Yoongi doesn’t care for his hookups, or in other words, you.
You first met him during a party, and you were enamoured by his captivating brown eyes the minute they met yours.
You had heard about him before. The notorious fuckboy slash basketball captain that caught many hearts in his hands and squeezed them to death.
You promised yourself you would never acquaint yourself with him. The stories you heard, makes him out to be the worst monster of them all inside your head, with ugly green eyes that were ready to eat anyone who had a pussy.
And who ate women’s hearts until there was nothing red left.
But who knew such a monster could be so incredibly beautiful in ways you had never dreamed of?
But maybe that’s why he was such a nightmare; why he had such ease in luring prey into his deadly trap.
You got tipsy from the beers that were passed around to your hands by your best friend, and you went from making many eye contacts with a certain basketball player to him fucking you hard on the back of his car, while your best friend, Yuri explored the whole house in search for the black-haired boy you were under.
At the time, you didn’t understand how his eyes fell on you instead of on your best friend, who was much prettier than you and looked at him through the rose-coloured glasses you would only months later after that night.
However, you now get why his eyes fell on you.
You had a ‘good girl’ image and anyone that laid their eyes on you could sense a sort of naiveness that Yoongi craved.
He lived for it.
And you were just another one of his prey. A piece of meat he would then soon discard after he sucked every last bit of the blood inside your system.
You swore to yourself you wouldn’t be like them. That you wouldn’t fall for his deadly charm like other girls did. You thought you were different from them, until a few months later, when you were grabbing some take-out after a heavy secret make-out session in his car.
When he flashed you his beautiful gummy smile. Your world stopped and everything came crashing down when you realised you were in love with the devil, that is Min Yoongi, and he caught your heart with his deadly hands just like other girls.
Knowing you are in love with another human is supposed to be euphoric, the poets say.
The sonnets describe how swelled up in sheer giddiness you must be from experiencing such a powerful, deep emotion for your significant other.
And you knew you were doomed because when you realised your heart only beats for Yoongi, it only made you hurt in ways that left you crying for days. So much so, that time became nonexistent and days bled into another as you grieved for the loss of your own heart that you stupidly let him take away from you.
You weren’t different from the others—you weren’t the one special enough to change Min Yoongi’s heart. To make him love you.
And you only push the dagger an inch more into your bleeding heart every time you continue to sleep with him, knowing you will never get his heart to heal you in ways you so desire.
No one knows of your affair, and you were the one who wanted to keep it that way. If anybody knew, you would be cast away in other people’s as nothing more than another one of Yoongi’s many hookups, and even worse, if your best friend found out she would have your head.
Yuri was always a jealous woman—the men she hooked up with, which was a very good amount, she got angry with the woman they would kiss a week later, and would always make their lives a living hell in the most subtle of ways.
And the ones whom Min Yoongi hooked up with were the ones that had it the worst.
“What are you doing here, Yoongi?” You put your mouth before your lips, yawning while talking, eyes blood-red from the exhaustion you feel.
Your sleepy eyes follow his frame up and down, and you can see he isn’t in his usual ‘asshole’ attire, as you would joke with Yuri—instead, he wears grey sweats and a simple, plain white tee shirt. You could even mistake him for a good guy if you didn’t already know the malicious intentions behind the fiery brown eyes you’ve regretfully grown to find beautiful.
But what catches your attention is the jewellery that stayed intact—two thin silver chains around his neck (he usually wears more extravagant ones), bracelets on his pulse, and his signature rings on his fingers.
If you hadn’t looked down to rapidly inspect his veiny, ring-filled fingers, you wouldn't be able to find one specific piece of jewellery that makes your lungs almost break and your breath to be taken away.
It’s the ring you gave him for his birthday a few months ago.
“What’s this?” Yoongi furrows his eyebrows as he slowly takes the small box out of the small plastic bag, and you feel your palms sweating from the anticipation and nervousness that swallows you whole.
“Um. Just something for your, uh, birthday.” You clear your throat, and Yoongi lifts his head to arch one of his eyebrows.
“My birthday was a week ago.”
You roll your eyes, “I know that, dickhead. Did you know I had to find out from Yuri, who heard from Mina, who had to hear after fucking Jungkook—“
“Alright, alright, I get it.” Yoongi chuckles, and you let out a heavy sigh as you watch him inspect the little plastic black box on his fingers.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” You cross your arms, and Yoongi chuckles. He can almost hear your pout while he slowly opens the box and places the lid on his lap.
“Didn’t think you’d care.”
You roll your eyes at his comment, and you scoff silently—could he be even more dense?
“Of course, I would care, idiot. I have to give a present to the man who’s made me come so many times. It’s the least I could do.” You scoff, and Yoongi laughs loudly.
It’s a laugh you don’t usually hear from Yoongi’s pretty lips. He usually only chuckles with you, never showing the smile you so adore, and now your heart flutters and your stomach turns at the sensation that overwhelms your chest when you watch such a rare scene in front of you.
He isn’t chuckling or smirking. But laughing. At something you said.
You couldn’t think your heart could fall even deeper into the depths of your doom, yet one smile from his cherry lips already has you even deeper than before.
You’re entering a rabbit’s hole by letting yourself stupidly fall for Min Yoongi, and at this point in time, you don’t know how or even if you can get out.
You clear your throat, your heart beating fast as you watch Yoongi observe the present.
It’s a ring, one you found in a cheap jewellery store that is beside the little coffee shop you work for, and you immediately thought of Yoongi when you saw it. You know he likes his jewellery and this one was much cheaper than the ones he usually buys.
You’re nervous, your erratic heartbeat pulsating in your ear as you wait for his reaction. Will he hate it? Will he discard it as soon as he—
“Shit. I love it.” Yoongi chuckles, putting the ring on one of his only free fingers, the middle finger. “Thanks, doll. I appreciate it.”
You can’t help the warmth inside your heart at his words, relief washing down all the previous anxiety on your nerves.
“Want a birthday blowjob, too?”
“Oh, hell yeah.”
Yoongi opens his mouth to answer you, but you cut him off, rubbing your sleepy eyes while trying to keep your mouth from yawning once again, “If you came here for sex, I really can’t do it tonight; I’m busy—”
“Studying?” Yoongi raises his eyebrows, and you sigh, nodding your head while groaning, “Well, you always say that, and next thing you’re begging me to make you cum.”
You cringe at his lewd words, “What the fuck, can you not say things like that? Pervert.” You roll your eyes, and Yoongi laughs, throwing the smile that never fails to make your stomach turn and your heart flutter in ways you only experience with him.
“And no, I’m not studying this time. I’m just watching some TV before going to sleep.” You grumble, and Yoongi fake gasps, dramatically opening his mouth to drag out the gasp more than it needs to, and you playfully roll your eyes.
“Oh, is Miss goody-two-shoes actually having time for herself, hm?” Yoongi teases, a small smile tugging on his lips, and you try to fight the butterflies that flap in your stomach with a small scoff.
You shouldn’t be feeling this.
You know Yoongi only sees you as another one of his hook-ups, one he doesn’t care for, only only when you have what he needs, when he needs it.
Your brain knows that, but your heart chooses to ignore it when it hopelessly flutters for him every time he kisses you as if you were his, and sinks to your stomach every time he leaves you that same night.
You’ve made many mistakes in your life, but falling for Min Yoongi must be the worst of them all.
Your everything sings for him, for the three words out of his lips, but his heart would never hear your melodies as you wish so much. And every day that passes a piece of you is taken away, a reminder of your fatal mistake that is loving a man that only sees you as meat and is blind for your soul that calls for his.
You should have never let your heart become such an open book, filled with unspoken words of affection for him, a man who never had the desire to open you, to read you in ways you so ached for.
And you still lie here, sinking in a sea of hurt, choking on your blood every time you accept Yoongi into your heart for the sake of having him beside you, for having the pleasure of touching him. Even if the fog of lust blinds his eyes and you can only wish for him to see you as clearly as you see him.
“I’m just too tired to study.” You yawn, and Yoongi leans in, barging inside your territory and into the uncharted waters of your hopeless heart—even if he doesn’t know it.
“Y’know what would make you relax?” One of his brows goes up, and he bites his pink lips, lust fogging his eyes in the way you already know.
He’s the diesel that ignites an unwanted fire in your heart, and he’s the only hazard that can make you hot with desire in mere seconds.
You put your index finger on his chest and push him away from you, and he only chuckles, amused by your response. “Nope. Not today, Min.”
“Alright.” Yoongi pouts slightly, putting his hands in his pockets—how can this man be so hot yet cute? He’s messing with your head, and you don’t like it one bit. “Can I at least come in to watch some Netflix? Or whatever you were watching.”
“Why the hell should I let you in?” You raise one eyebrow, challenging him, and Yoongi hums.
“Good question. Well, I’m fucking bored. I have nothing to do tonight.”
“That’s bullshit.” You scoff, and Yoongi furrows his eyebrows, “There’s a party at one of your friend’s frat parties. You could easily just go there.”
“I’m not in the mood.”
“The fuck? What happened to you?” You snort, and Yoongi sighs.
Yoongi was always at a party on or off campus. It was where he sought his next prey, one that looked innocent enough to fall for his charms. And, unfortunately, you were one of them.
“I told you, I’m not in the mood, doll.” Yoongi rolls his eyes, “I just wanna watch something to cure my boredom, and I saw you were online. But if you want me to go, I will.”
“And the first thought was to come here and annoy me?” You click your tongue, and when Yoongi playfully pouts again, your heart gives out like the weak woman you are. “Fine, okay. But no funny business, k?”
“Pinky promise.” Yoongi raises his pinky, and you scrunch your eyebrows, looking at his hand with uncertainty before you wrap your pinky around his.
“Alright, get in.”
It’s a mistake, you know it, the universe knows it—but your body can’t help but jump at any opportunity that opens where you have him for yourself. Where you’re alone with him, without the rest of the world yelling at you just how hurt you will be, just how wrong it is to have feelings Yoongi.
“Holy fuck. Are those Spongebob knee-socks?” Yoongi laughs, and heat covers your chest in embarrassment.
Oh fuck.
You forgot about those.
“They are very comfortable, okay? Shut up. You can go away if you’re just gonna annoy me like that.”
“Sorry, doll. They’re cute. Very you style.”
You pause at that, “Me style? What the hell does that mean?”
Yoongi shrugs, “They’re just very you. Dunno how to explain it.”
You give him a suspicious look before whispering a small ‘okay’, ignoring the butterflies that fly around the flowers that bloom inside your heart, and you can only hope they won’t be poison to your soul.
He follows you to the sofa after you lock your door, and once he sees what is on your TV, he can’t help but let out a little laugh.
“You’re watching the notebook?”
“Don’t you dare shame me. This movie is a fucking masterpiece.” You huff as you sit on the corner of the couch, and Yoongi chuckles, sitting on the other side, and you’re grateful for the distance between your bodies.
You wouldn’t even want to know how your night would end if he had sitten next to you.
“You got lucky. I literally just started watching it.”
The movie plays, and two hours go by like nothing as you engross yourself with the movie. You couldn’t help yourself to catch glimpses of Yoongi as you both watched the film, your eyes scanning every inch of his beautiful face, your heart screaming for his body to get closer to yours, for you to feel his warmth as if he were yours.
You were completely, utterly mesmerized by the beautiful features that adorn his face. His eyes, twin embers that completely take hold of your being, stop the breath of your lungs, and you can’t function.
You begin to wonder, entering the deadly waters that are to imagine—what would it be like if he were yours?
You yearn to speak, to unveil your heart and get rid of this burden that is carrying this love in silence.
Yet your words falter, and you can’t seem to find your voice in his presence.
How could you tell your heart beats for him when all he will do is slip through your hands when the words come out of your mouth?
You need more time with him until you have the courage to let him go.
The film finishes and you can sense your eyes and throat stinging from the last scene. Fuck, why did you choose such an emotional film?
“Doll, are you crying?” Yoongi teases with a chuckle, and you grab a pillow, throwing it on his face with all the force you have in your arms.
“Shut the f-fuck up.” You sniffle, and Yoongi continues laughing.
“Asshole.” You scoff, and Yoongi continues to giggle for a little while before you feel a sudden presence beside you. Arms wrap around your crying frame, and your head falls to a chest. His chest.
“I had no idea you were so emotional,” Yoongi chuckles, and you cry even more when you feel slow taps on your head.
The film is long forgotten inside your head, and silent tears fall to your cheeks as your heart pleads for this to be real, for this to last forever, for time to stop and for you to stay here, with him, just like this.
As if he were yours.
As if you were together.
“God,” You sniffle while rubbing your runny nose, “This is embarrassing. Ugh.”
“Nah, it’s not. It would be worse if you were an ugly crier.” Yoongi laughs lightly, and you smack his chest while letting out a small chuckle.
“I can’t believe you’re not crying.” Yoongi continues to pat your head, and you can’t help but feel this is oddly domestic. It feels natural, so right that your heart can’t help but ease into the fog of hope that everything will be okay.
It’s dangerous, to forget about the pain in your heart, and maybe you will pay the price later.
“I don’t cry, doll.”
You roll your eyes, “Yeah, yeah, you’re the cold fuckboy without feelings and all that.”
Yoongi snorts, “Yeah.”
“Y’know, crying doesn’t make you weak. Just saying. It can actually make you much more relieved. It’s therapeutic.”
Yoongi hums, “I just haven’t felt like crying in a long time.”
You should let go already.
Staying like this, under his arms when you’re so vulnerable is dangerous. But no sense of danger would ever compare to the feeling of letting yourself go, of falling without the fear of reaching the ground.
“What’s your favourite fruit?”
You furrow your eyebrows and almost laugh at the question, “What?”
“I asked what your favourite fruit is.”
“Uh, I heard it. Why? That’s so random, dude.”
Yoongi clicks his tongue, “I’m not good at dealing with people crying. I’m trying my best here, damn.”
You chuckle, “Aw, that’s cute of you.”
“Shut up and answer the damn question.”
“Jeez okay,” you snort at his defensiveness—maybe you should call him cute more often. “Hm, I’d say apples.”
“Ew.” Yoongi scrunches his face, “Tangerines are so much better.”
“I’m guessing that’s your favourite fruit?” Your lips tug into a small smile while you feel your small tears dry up.
“Fuck yeah, they’re the best thing in this world.”
“They taste disgusting.” You make a small gag sound, and Yoongi scoffs at your words. “Makes sense why you like them.”
“Are you calling me disgusting?” Yoongi stops patting your head, and you can’t help the smirk on your lips.
Teasing and getting on Yoongi’s nerves is your favourite pastime—he falls right into your trap, and you absolutely love it. Who would have thought a man with a reputation such as his could be so easy to lure onto your trap?
“Mmm, maybe.”
You finally have the courage to take your head off his chest, and when your eyes catch him, you feel the world stop. Time is nothing and the universe is only inside his eyes.
“Mm, I’m not so disgusting when you let me fuck you, now am I, doll?” Yoongi chuckles, and you bite your lip, your eyes never leaving his.
“You have a good dick, what can I say?” You shrug, trying hard to contain your smile when his tongue presses on his cheek.
“Fuck, doll. Can I kiss you?” Yoongi whispers, placing his hand on your cheeks.
Your heartbeat picks up its pace.
“You pinky promised no funny business, Yoongi.” You whisper back, eyes falling to his luscious mouth.
“But this isn’t anything funny,” Yoongi smirks lazily and you scoff.
“Fuck you.” Your hand grabs his black t-shirt, and his addicting lips are on yours in mere seconds.
Fuck you for making me feel this way. Fuck you for distracting me. Fuck you for letting me fall in love with you.
The kiss is hard, lust-filled and so passionate, you could even mistake it for two lovers who haven’t seen each other in so many years.
You’re so caught up in your lust-drunken haze, you don’t know how you’re straddling his lap, with lips devouring the skin of your neck, claiming what Yoongi doesn’t know is already, completely, secretly his.
“Fuck, you have no idea—“ Yoongi groans, and feel his veiny hands travelling down past your shorts, and all you can think of is the heavenly feeling of his fingers tracing your skin as he kisses you with all the fire in the world. “How much I missed all of this.”
Shivers run through your spine, and you throw your head back when you feel his index finger slowly rubbing your sensitive nub.
“What’s your safe word, hm?” Yoongi asks between wet kisses on your collarbone, and you mutter a small ‘purple’, a small smirk on his lips as he kisses all the way back to your neglected mouth.
“Good girl,” He whispers to your ear, and you let out a little yelp when he lightly slaps your clit, “Let’s go to your bedroom, hm?”
“I’m way too lazy for that.” You whisper through wet kisses, and Yoongi chuckles, one of his ring-filled hands finding your butt and squeezing it.
You gasp slightly, and Yoongi bites his tongue, a cocky smirk tugging on his lips, “Love this fuckin’ ass. Did you miss me, baby?”
“Nah, not really. Had my showerhead to keep me company.” You tease, and Yoongi bites his lip before kissing you so fiercely, your breath suddenly goes away.
“You’re such a bad liar, doll,” Yoongi whispers on your lips, and your heart surrenders once more.
You told yourself you wouldn’t fall for his charm again, that you would fight the desire that took hold of your body whenever you saw him.
And now, all you need is to be taken care of by the hands you so long for. Have yourself forget the pain that sinks your heart to the depths of the seas of unrequited love, even if just for one night.
One last night, you tell yourself.
Those words are almost a ritual in your mind now whenever you and Yoongi sleep together, always promising that it will be the last night you end up fucking, that you will move on and grab the heart from his hands that is rightfully yours.
Yoongi suddenly gets up and you immediately wrap your legs around his small waist.
You’re thrown on your mattress once you’re inside your small bedroom, and before you could even groan from the contact with your back, Yoongi’s red lips catch yours in a rough, demanding kiss.
You’re about to take off your knee socks, but Yoongi gently grabs your arm, restricting any more movement.
“Keep ‘em.”
“You sure?”
“I told you. They’re cute.” Yoongi smirks at your flushed reaction, and you clear your throat before whispering a small ‘okay’ and shifting to your previous position.
His hand is under your shorts once more, and you gasp once you feel two fingers taking a stripe of your slit, “Pussy is so fucking wet already, and you still had the audacity to say you didn’t miss me.”
“I did—didn’t.”
“Fucking liar.” Yoongi brings his hand to his red lips, sucking on them at a slow pace while never taking his brown eyes off yours. You can’t take the throb on your clit, so you rub your thighs together, but Yoongi pulls them apart once again.
“Lemme see this pussy.” He spreads your legs, and you gasp at how far apart they are, at how your pussy is on display just for him.
Yoongi licks his lip, as if a predator staring at his meal after starving for so long, “Wanna eat you out. Can I?”
“Fuck yes.” You moan, biting your lip, and Yoongi places a small slap on your clit.
You gasp, and Yoongi smiles smugly.
“Where’s the magic word, doll?”
You almost roll your eyes, but you are too fucking horny to take any more punishment and teasing from him.
“Please. Please eat me out, Yoongi.”
Yoongi lowers his head to your sex slowly, “Now that’s my good girl.”
Fuck. You could have folded right there.
“Can I take your shirt off first? Wanna see those tits,” Yoongi’s hand gropes at one of your breasts, and once you nod your head, he wastes no time in taking your top off and throwing it to the other side of your room.
Yoongi is quick to take one of your tits into his eager mouth, sucking harshly and letting his tongue flicker on your nipple. His other hand grabs your other breast, beginning to harshly knead it and squeeze it under his palm.
All you can do is whimper under his desperate touches, your body squirming in the sheer pleasure of having his touch on your sensitive nipples.
Yoongi takes his mouth out of your breast with a lewd pop, his hungry eyes looking deeply into yours as he whispers, “Always so sensitive for me.”
You bite your lips as he trails kisses down your skin, his tongue feeling up your skin, until he finally stops when he richest the end of your stomach. You inhale sharply, and Yoongi smirks before parting your legs as far as you can and taking a big stripe of your wet pussy.
You immediately shudder, a small moan slipping your slips, “Yoongi.”
Yoongi whispers a small “My good girl,” and you feel your stomach turning from the overwhelming butterflies that rapidly flutter their wings inside it.
Yoongi suddenly spits on your cunt, his saliva dripping on your pussy lips and onto your thighs. His tongue kitten licks all of your wetness, leaving you aching for more.
You know he’s only doing this to tease you, to break you, and if you weren’t so desperate for him, maybe you would have resisted longer.
“Stop f-fucking teasing.” You growl and grab a large piece of his black hair with your palm. Yoongi groans at the sharp pain, and you yelp once you feel a slap to your thighs.
“Patience, doll. You take what I give you, yeah?”
You clench your teeth and squint your eyes, only for you to break your character and moan once you feel his mouth suddenly sucking your throbbing clit.
“Oh—oh fuck.” You let out heavy breaths, your hand caressing Yoongi’s hair as your mind gets lost in the pleasure of Yoongi’s skilful tongue.
One thing you’ve learned about Yoongi is that he loves going down on you, no matter time or place. If you say you want him to eat you out, he’s doing it that fucking second and he won’t stop until you’re squirming helplessly under him.
Your whole pussy has never been exposed, and Yoongi thrusts his tongue into your hole while his fingers start to slowly run your swollen clit.
You can feel your orgasm coming, the stars are close and you’re ready to let go, but Yoongi suddenly pulls his tongue out, leaving you whimpering for his touch again.
“What—“
“Ass up, doll.” Yoongi is taken aback when you follow his instructions with no snarky remark, and you’re on all fours with your ass up like he asked.
His hands trace the curve of your ass, his pianist fingers kneading your skin as he watches you with fascination in his brown, eager eyes that are blinded by the almost suffocating lust for you.
“P-please—“
“Spread that pretty ass for me.” He orders with a sharp spank to your ass, which causes you to shut your eyes and bite your lip in pleasure.
You do what he asks and spread your legs, permitting him to see both your asshole and cunt clearly, and Yoongi bites his lips when he sees the wetness that stains your inner thighs. Yoongi takes off his sneakers and slowly gets in the bed, and you whine at the loss of his touch for such a long time.
You need him to fuel you with more of his addicting diesel.
“What’s got you so quiet, baby girl? Already too dumb to talk back, hm?” Yoongi chuckles, trailing your spine with his ring-filled fingers while calling you out for the lack of your usual brattiness and snarky remarks.
You groan in return as shivers course through your body. “F-Fuck you.”
“Ah, there she is,” Yoongi lets out a breathy chuckle, and you sigh on your pillow at his touch.
“C-Can you not be so rough today? I’m—I’m tired and I wanna get up tomorrow morning.”
If only he knew what kind of tired you really are.
Tired of having your heart stomped on every time you watch his indifferent eyes when he looks at you, tired of having a storm of emotions to a man who feels nothing but carnal desires for you.
Tired of painfully waiting for him to reach an endless deep sea of love instead of the shallow waters of lust whenever he looks at you.
Yoongi hums, trailing his wandering hand back to your butt and he places a small slap on one of your ass cheeks.
“You just wanna be my good girl tonight, then?” Yoongi almost coos at how cute you look when you slowly nod. “You mind if I play with your other hole a little, doll?”
You gasp at his question. No one you’ve ever slept with—which was not many people, anyway—had ever touched that part of your body, nor even came close to it. You never had the desire for it.
But being with Yoongi has made you discover and try many territories you never thought were possible, and how could you say no to him when he asks like that?
“Fuck. Okay. But go slow, or I’ll fucking kill you.”
Yoongi places a small, almost tender kiss on your spine before whispering, “Will do, baby.”
You could get used to these kinds of kisses.
His thumb goes up from your core ever so slowly, tracing the pathway to your asshole with care, and you mewl, digging your head into your pillow when his thumb starts playing with your rim, shivers coursing through every bit of your most sensitive nerves.
“You’re such a slut, aren’t you, doll? Letting me play with your pretty asshole. My little whore.” You mewl at his degrading words.
Never did you think you would enjoy hearing such words from anyone, but he makes it sound so hot when it comes out of his sweet lips.
“Where’s the lube, doll?” Yoongi whispers in your ear, and you let out a trembled sigh.
“It’s in the bathroom.”
Yoongi snorts, “Why’s the lube on the bathroom?”
You chuckle, “My roommate got fucked in the ass there. I had to hear all the details about it.” You roll your eyes at the memory. You couldn’t sleep that day because of your roommate’s screams inside the bathroom beside you.
Yoongi chuckles before slightly slapping your ass, “Be right back.”
Within seconds he’s back to his place from before rubbing the lube on two of his fingers.
“Fuck, you don’t know how obseesed I am with this ass, doll.” You almost scream when he slowly pushes two of his lubed up fingers inside your asshole with no warning, and Yoongi bites his lip to not let out a small moan as he sees you helplessly squirm underneath him. “Everything okay?”
You answer with a nod, and Yoongi hums, continuing the slow assault of his fingers inside your hole. You gasp at the calculated circles around your rim, and you moan into your pillow, “Yoongi.”
Yoongi smirks at his name as a form of a moan in your mouth, “Yes?”
“N-need….” You whimper your words out, your pussy burning with the almost unbearable need of his veiny fingers inside your cunt. For the release he neglected you moments before, “Need your fingers.”
Yoongi chuckles, placing a wet slap on your ass which causes you to gasp and lean your body forward at the sudden contact. You can feel your pussy dripping for him, the wetness staining your thighs.
All pent-up need for him.
“Hm, where do you want ‘em, doll? Gotta be specific.” Yoongi bites his lip, his fingers slowly thrusting on your asshole, and your hand is quick to travel to your lower region.
You spread your pussy lips apart, and Yoongi watches your motions like a hawk, his cock throbbing at the beautiful image of your fingers on your cunt.
His imagination runs wild once he starts thinking how pretty you would look while touching yourself and thinking of nothing else but him. Coming while whispering his name.
Yoongi bites his lip.
“Want ‘em here.”
Yoongi chuckles, his fingers leaving your asshole, “Do it for me, baby. Show me how you touch yourself.”
“What—”
“Come on, aren’t you a big girl? Let me see you touch yourself.” Yoongi slowly creeps his hand up to one of your ass cheeks, and you shiver under his touch.
Min Yoongi is a hazard to your existence, so much so that you’re already crumbling apart by his mere touch to your skin, and you know you won’t last long tonight, not like any other one of your encounters.
Tonight is different, and you’re terrified that your masked out vulnerability might fade away once and for all.
“Yoongi—”
The name of his lips is cut short when you feel his free hand grab your hair harshly, a gasp leaving your mouth at the pain mixed with pleasure that makes your clit pulsate.
“Do it.” Yoongi’s teeth grit, using the deep, raspy voice he knows leaves you weak on the knees, and shivers run from your scalp down every nerve in your body.
You will always be weak in Min Yoongi’s presence, won’t you?
Your hand slowly traces the skin of your stomach, trying to tease the man behind you as much as you can, and you can feel the deadly smirk on his pretty red lips, his cock twitching under his grey sweats.
Your fingers go to your clit, massaging the nub carefully enough to make you gasp on the fabric of your pillow.
You think of the man behind you, of his veiny, ring-filled fingers inside you, of his cock deliciously thrusting inside your pussy, reaching your cervix in the way he knows makes you fall apart.
Just for him.
You mewl, unsatisfied with your own fingers tracing your slit, but no imagination could ever compare to the real thing you want.
You need Yoongi.
His fingers inside you, him touching you in any way possible.
The fight inside you is gone as you fully submit to him, as you ache for him and his touch.
Yoongi can see your dissatisfaction as you continue to rub your clit fast, whines of desperation fleeing your mouth as you try to please yourself but can’t.
“Yoongi,” You whimper, and Yoongi almost closes his eyes from the sheer pleasure that travels down his body. “Your f-fingers. Need your, ah, fingers.”
“Too dumb to do it yourself, hm?” You nod while whining, your mind trapped in too much of a haze to talk back, to prove you aren’t another one of his dumb, fucked-out hookups who’d do anything he asks for.
You are too drunk in the pleasure of having him for yourself.
Too vulnerable to slip out of your daze as easily as you usually do, and you know Yoongi is claiming his victory with a wide smirk as he watches you fall apart before him.
Watches how broken you finally are for him.
“Yoongi.” His name is the only thing that can leave your mouth instead of moans and helpless whimpers.
You are dumb for him, aren’t you?
“You’re a dumb little cockslut, can’t even touch yourself properly,” Yoongi’s laugh is mocking, and you gasp loudly once two of his fingers start rubbing your nub in his expert way, the one which makes your whole body shiver in pure ecstasy. “You wanted this, doll? You wanted my fingers fucking that slutty cunt open?”
“Fuck, yes! Yes, Y-Yoongi.” You helplessly moan as his fingers scissor your pussy lips open for him to enter them inside you.
“Shit, babe, you’re soaking for me. I can fucking hear it.” Yoongi groans, precum staining his sweatpants as his cock twitches at the gushy, lewd sounds of your wet pussy.
His hand sparing no mercy for your cunt as he fingers you hard and fast. Your body shudders in pleasure, your mouth lets out pornographic moans when his thumb rubs your clit, and you clench around his slender, veiny fingers—your orgasm is coming.
And Yoongi knows.
“Does baby girl want to cum?” Yoongi bites his lip and continues his assault on your cunt, thrusting fast in and out of you, the cold metal of his rings hitting your warm walls, and all you can do is nod as you arch your back for him, drunk on his touch, his fingers, and everything that is him.
You’re too fucked out to answer, your toes already curling and your mouth fully open as you ache for the words of confirmation from his lips, which he happily grants.
“Cum for me, doll. You can do it.” Yoongi grunts out, and your mouth creeps up in a fucked out smile your abdomen clenches as your orgasm finally hits you, and you soak Yoongi’s already wet fingers with your cum.
Your mind escapes into a haze as your body unconsciously trembles from the oversensitivity as Yoongi slips his fingers to pinch your clit, testing to see how far you can take it.
“S-Sensitive.” You moan on the pillow, and once Yoongi takes his hand from your pussy, relief washes through your body.
Yet, you still long for them again.
“On your back for me.”
For some miracle, you hear his words under the fog in your mind, and your weak, already fucked out body slowly turns around, but Yoongi is an impatient man and doesn’t waste time by grabbing your waist and flipping you around himself.
Your tired eyes watch as he sucks the wetness on his fingers, moaning while tasting your release and you clench your thighs at the beautifully erotic scene before you.
Yoongi’s lips are suddenly on your jaw, kissing you gently, and you don’t even notice it until his deep voice speaks up during his kisses, “What’s up with you today, ___? You don’t usually end up this fucked out from just my fingers.”
“Told you,” You whine, gasping for any air your restricted lungs can catch, “I’m tired.”
Yoongi silently wonders what got you this tired.
You were always driving yourself crazy for your studies, and he could never understand why you would do it, but you would never get this exhausted. To the point where you completely fell apart for him after only his fingers. It usually took you some time until he could finally break you into his little cockslut.
“Still want to continue?” His tongue tenderly licks your skin as his hand rubs your tummy, a habit he picked up a few weeks ago, doing it after every time you were getting over your high.
And every single time he did it, your chest would find it hard to breathe from the fluttering feeling that crept up on your stomach that eventually found its way into your heart.
“I could just jerk off and call it a night. Whatever you want.”
“Whatever I want?” You let out a deep exhale of your breath, and Yoongi nods, placing the faintest butterfly kisses on your neck.
“Whatever you want.”
Your lips curve up in a lop-sided smile, “Fuck me, Yoongi.”
“Oh fuck.”
Yoongi is quick to pull his body off of yours, quickly taking off his sweats, his rock-hard cock springing out of the fabric, hitting his stomach and shirt in the process, and shit, you could have orgasmed again at that mere scene.
The chains on his neck stay, sticking to his slightly sweaty skin, and you feel your pussy throb and almost burn with aches at the sight.
Yoongi throws the grey sweatpants to the floor beside you, and you both flinch at the loud sound that erupts once it hits the floor.
“Oh shit, I forgot my phone was in there.”
“How can you forget that?” You can’t help but let out a snort, and Yoongi lightly laughs with you, your heart missing palpitations, stuttering at the sight of his gummy smile and relaxed shoulders.
Yoongi shrugs, “Too horny to care.”
You both laugh slightly and for a fleeting moment, you wonder if things could stay like this.
No outside world, only two people enjoying their time together, and the absence of the pain that shreds your soul of loving a man who will never love you back.
The laughter dies out, and instead, you find yourself at the loss of words as you mindlessly stare at Yoongi’s pretty cock. It stands proud before you, the tip stained with pre-cum, and pulsating from the pain of his erection, desperate for any stimulation that might lead to his release.
Yoongi’s big and he knows it.
He’s big, longer than the average dick, and he was cocky about it. When you first hooked up, you had to make him stop so you could adjust to the amazing yet slightly painful stretch his long, girthy cock gave you.
“You love my fat cock, don’t you, doll?” Yoongi says through a smirk, pride swelling on his chest as he watches you drool for him, your eyes wide, filled with fascination.
“Mhm,” You nod rapidly, your curious eyes watching his hands wrap around the slit, fingers brushing the vein that pops out of the skin, teasing himself for your hungry eyes.
“Where are the condoms?” Yoongi grunts, more pre-cum leaking from the tip of his cock and falling onto your sheets.
“Second drawer.” You point to your only bedside table, and Yoongi is quick to manoeuvre his body to open the drawer and get a condom from the small package.
Yoongi examines the condom and smirks, “You got a large one. Were you expecting this, doll?”
You immediately gulp, turning your head to the side to avoid his piercing gaze, “No.” You click your tongue, “Bought them, like, last week ‘cause my roommate used up everything.”
“Ah, I see.” Yoongi bites his lips. He can see through your lies. He can clearly see the small twitch on your lips twitch whenever you try to lie to him.
Yoongi opens the packet with his teeth, his eyes never leaving yours, and your clit throbs at his action.
He twists the tip and slowly puts the condom on while biting his lips, and you can swear that you’ve never seen something so fucking hot. Every movement has you entranced, and your heart flickers at the picturesque image of him above you.
The moon gracefully shines on his beautiful figure, his face shimmering under the soft light, like an angel that graces you, a mere mortal, with his ethereal presence.
Yoongi finally leans in and presses a slow, sensual kiss on your neck, “You ready?”
You almost moan out loud at his words, “Fuck yes. Please.”
Without any more words, Yoongi pushes inside you, and you moan at the delicious stretch his big cock gives you.
Yoongi grunts, squeezing the pillow beside you, “Shit, always so fuckin’ tight. I-I don’t wanna be rough, doll, but fuck—“
You grab his hair and place a quick wet kiss on his pouty lips, “Be rough. ‘S okay.”
“You sure? You told me not to be rough. I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable.”
Your heart glitters, and you have to clear your throat to not let out a whimper at the warm, fuzzy feeling inside your stomach, “That was before you made me horny as fuck. Now fuck me, Yoongi.”
“Whatever you say,” Yoongi whispers on your lips before thrusting harshly inside you. You gasp loudly, your hand unconsciously grabbing his black hair, causing Yoongi to groan and his dick to twitch inside you from the pain.
Yoongi pulls back before thrusting his cock inside you again.
You arch your back and moan loudly; he spares no mercy to your pussy and starts thrusting with a fast, almost animalistic pace that leaves you moaning like the desperate whore you are.
“So stupid for my cock.” Yoongi laughs with a lazy smirk, and you mewl at his words, nodding as his chains dangle in front of your opened mouth. “You act all high and mighty, but you’re just another slut for me, huh? Just another dumb whore for me.”
You shake your head, trying your best to form any words to contradict his claims, but your throat only forms moans as he pounds his cock into you while holding your legs close to your stomach.
“Mmm,” You squeal when his finger runs your clit as he deliciously thrusts into you, and you swear you’ve never felt so fucking good. So full.
So his.
You're drunk in the sounds of his groans in your ear, mixed with the wet, lewd sounds of your skins slapping on each other.
You suddenly feel a hand harshly grabbing your chin, and you finally open your eyes, your lungs freeze at the sight of his hungry, dilated eyes as he traces your lips, admiring the slight drool that slips your mouth.
Yoongi wastes no time and brings you to a messy kiss, your tongues lazily touching each other, neither of you caring for the saliva on your chins.
“Want you to ride me doll.” Yoongi whispers in your mouth, and you gasp slightly, “Can you do that for me?”
“Okay,” You rapidly nod your head, and you whine when he suddenly slips out of you and rolls your bodies on the mattress so you’re on top.
“Shit, love this view.” Yoongi licks his lips, his eyes never leaving your breasts while all you can do is stare intensely at his lust-filled eyes.
You couldn’t help but gaze into his ethereal form, bathed under the moonlight’s shine.
He looks oh so beautiful, and all you could imagine is how it would feel to have his sparkling eyes looking directly at you.
Shining for you.
Only for you.
But before you can dwell more on his beauty, you feel hands delicately tracing lines of your waist, “You good, doll?”
You giggle silently, your heart beating faster with each passing moment, “Yeah ‘m fine. Can I ride you now?”
“Was just waiting for you, baby.” Yoongi chuckles at your eagerness and gasps when you suddenly grab his length, rubbing the tip against your folds, all while holding a lazy smirk on your face.
You slowly sink into his cock, moaning at the amazing stretch it gives you, and Yoongi hisses at how tight you feel at this angle.
“So big.” You bite your lips, slowly grinding your hips forward, your body shivering at how full you feel. You’re so sensitive, you almost moan loudly when Yoongi’s ring-filled hand touches your ass, squeezing it harshly under his palm.
“Go on, ride that dick, baby.” Yoongi rasps, slapping your ass before you start jumping up and down on his cock, the littlest ‘ah’s’ leaving your mouth as you chase your high.
Yoongi groans loudly, his eyes hypnotized by the way you ride his length, looking so fucking slutty with only your knee socks being the only thing that covers a part of your smooth skin.
The gushy sounds of your wet thighs slapping onto his skin send his brain into overdrive as he watches you bounce, your slick shining on the condom under the moonlight anytime you go up, only to go down again faster than before.
Lust consumes him as he watches your beautiful breasts bounce as you ride him with all your strength, and Yoongi’s dick twitches at the melodic sounds of your high-pitched moans.
“You’re my whore, aren’t you?” Yoongi thrusts his hips up, causing you to gasp and grip his stomach so your limp body stays in balance.
Yoongi harshly grabs your hair, his knuckles going white and forcing your face to tilt up to meet your eyes with his devilish ones.
“Fuckin’ say it.”
With the way he looks at you, he’s ready to incinerate your whole being, and you’re afraid you are already destroyed when the words slip out of your mouth, “‘M yo-your whore, Yoon–Yoongi! Only yours.”
Yoongi smirks as you scream, continuing the animalistic thrust of his hips, faster than ever before.
You swear you can’t breathe with all the pleasure that overwhelms every nerve, every sense of your body.
“You can only think about my cock, hm?” Yoongi sloppily licks his lips, his abdomen contracting every time your thrusts meet, “No one wants such a slut, huh? That’s why you only come to me, yeah?”
“N-No, I—” You moan, your eyes rolling to your skull as his cock finds your g-spot, and Yoongi grins. He knows he found it, you only go non-verbal once he reaches that special spot of yours.
“That’s my fucking slut.” Yoongi chuckles, his hips sloppily thrusting upwards while your hand goes down to rapidly rub your clit, “I’m gonna ruin this pussy for anyone else. Gonna only think of my fat cock and you wo-won’t even dare to fuck other men. Gonna ruin you, baby girl.”
“Yoon—ah,” You scream out, your mouth open as you feel your body close to falling into pure bliss, “C-cum—please, I need to—“
“Come all over this cock baby.” Yoongi moans out, and you stop your movements, your body shivering at the euphoria that is released through your body.
Your body turns limp, and you weakly fall forward, your scrunched face now close to Yoongi’s. You immediately whimper as you feel Yoongi continuing his thrusts into you, sparing no mercy to your abused and sensitive pussy as he chases his own high.
“Yoongi, s-sensitive—“
“Take it.” Yoongi harshly slaps your ass, and you mewl loudly at the sharp pain. Yoongi grabs your chin, forcing your pupils to catch his starving eyes, and you could swear you see a glimpse of the devil himself inside his captivating irises.
Your lungs stop as you realise.
You’re finally his, body and soul.
And a small tear escapes your left eye.
“Wa-wanna f-fuck you raw someday, d-doll,” Yoongi’s face scrunches as he groans the words out, “Wanna fill this pussy with my cum. Gonna make you walk around campus dripping with my-my cum so everyone knows how much o-of a slut the good girl is.”
You gasp loudly.
Did he mean it?
No—he couldn’t. That was just the lust talking, and Yoongi did tend to like dirty talking during sex.
That’s all it is. Right?
Your mind chooses to forget, and you’re cut off from your daze once you hear pretty moans slipping his lips as he rapidly fucks himself into you. “Ah, fuck, fuck—I’m g-gonna come so h-hard for you. W-where—”
“My mouth. Do it in my mouth.” You take his dick out of your pussy, and quickly take off the condom, throwing it somewhere across the room, before connecting your mouth to his leaking length.
“Fuck, d-doll, ‘m comi–ah!” A few bobs of your head, and he comes inside your mouth with a loud, pornographic groan.
You feel your pussy throb as you watch with hooded eyes, his head thrown back and his cherry-red lips parted as he entered a state of bliss. And fuck, what a sight for sore eyes he is.
“Show me your tongue,” Yoongi demands through his deep pants, and you do as requested, opening your mouth and showing your tongue full of his sticky cum.
You’re caught off-guard when Yoongi grabs your hair, pressing his lips onto yours in a lazy, open-mouthed kiss. You moan as your tongues exchange his come with each other, bits of his white release mix with your saliva and run down your chin.
Yoongi slowly removes his lips from yours, a trail of spit connecting both your lips and then breaking, dropping onto your naked chest.
“Swallow,” Yoongi instructs with a rasp in his voice, and shivers run through your spine as you do as he says.
You swallow all the cum that still rests in your mouth with no hesitation, and Yoongi groans at the sight, trying his hardest not to bust another nut right then and there. You scrunch your face at the salty taste on your throat and sit in the space beside him, the mattress jumping at your action.
“Shit, that was good.”
You suddenly feel his lips placing the softest peck on your lips, and tingles run through your body once you feel his hands gently rubbing your tummy.
“Water.” You slowly let out, your throat burning.
Yoongi is quick to get out of bed and comes back in an instant with cold water in his hands.
“Here you go, doll.” Yoongi helps you to sit up to place the glass on your lips, and you slowly gulp the cold water, almost sighing out loud at the relief you feel.
“Shit, I was too rough, I’m sorry.”
Yoongi sighs, his veiny hand rubbing his stomach as he stares at your white ceiling while all you can do is stare at him.
You are caught up in a beautiful image, your eyes mesmerised by how picturesque he is as if crafted by the delicate hands of the goddess of beauty herself.
You quickly shake your head, your heart skipping beats at his concern “‘S okay, I asked for it.”
“You sure you’re okay?” Yoongi asks, his eyes catch yours, and you shift your face to the sheets beneath you, your chest heating up from having been caught lovingly looking at Yoongi as if he were your…..boyfriend.
“Yeah. That was, uh, intense. To say the least.” You chuckle, and Yoongi snorts, returning his hand to your stomach to continue the soft rubs.
“Never did that snowballing shit with anyone. Did you think I went too far with that?”
Your eyebrows shift upwards, and your heart quickens its already rapid pace at his words—did Min Yoongi do a first with you? You were Min Yoongi’s first for something?
Your heart couldn’t help but jump.
Min Yoongi already had many of his firsts when it came to sex. The man was an expert, to say the least.
Having fucked so many girls, you thought he tried anything and everything with so many different people.
But no, he had a first with you.
“No, no. I liked it. It was very hot.” You smile lazily, and Yoongi sighs in relief, his eyes closing for a mere second.
“Okay, that’s good.” You place your water on your bedside table, and Yoongi lies beside you.
You stare at him again. He looks peaceful with his eyes closed.
It’s a tender scene. One you don’t get to have much whenever you are with him.
His breathing and body stay relaxed as he lets himself go for a mere second, and you could only wish the stars that spread through the night skies that you could live this moment again and again.
Until you have nothing left to dream about.
You’re scared of this feeling, of wanting to spend all your happy days with someone, of falling for the sweet nothings he never promised.
You can’t control him, you can’t force him to love you back, and that’s maybe what you fear most.
Because Min Yoongi is unpredictable. He’s wild. He’s a hazard to himself and your sanity.
“Stop looking at me like that,” Yoongi snorts, and you furrow your eyebrows as you’re cut off from your daze once his deep voice speaks up.
“Like what?” You laugh.
“I don’t know. It’s just weird. You’re fucking weird.” Yoongi lets out a chuckle, and you sigh in relief. The last thing you wanted was for him to find out about the gleam on your pupils, the way your eyes form hearts whenever you look at his beautiful face.
“Well, you fuck this weirdo.” You click your tongue and chuckle lightly.
And Yoongi smiles, “Yeah, I do.”
Maybe these moments were the ones where all your walls crumbled down into ashes, fading into the sky and leaving your heart vulnerable to the stabs of love.
The moments where you both stand like this—raw, naked, not caring for anything else in the world, how it makes you feel light. As if you could conquer the world.
Your hopes and dreams are no concern. Your failures and regret are thrown away by the calm sounds of his breathing that sweep away anything and everything that lets you down.
It’s these rare moments, the ones that are only glimpses in your painful field of vision of the world, are what the sonnets mean when you let yourself fall for another.
And in an ideal world, written in the book of your mind, these moments would last every minute, every day, every year, for the rest of your ideal life.
But in the real world, outside the proses of love, of the idealizations of the feeling everyone, so wishes for, what the dreamers never dare to think—is that these moments never last for more than a second before you’re back to bleeding in pain from loving the only one who destroys you in every way, and every day.
But maybe that’s just you. Maybe that’s what you get for choosing to love a disturbance, an instability on your otherwise still life.
Maybe that’s what love is.
Maybe that’s just what loving Yoongi is.
“I should go pee.” You whisper, secretly hoping this won’t end, that his touch will linger on your skin forevermore.
“Yeah, go do that.” Yoongi hums, tapping your thigh lightly, “Can I have a smoke by your window?”
“Sure. Just try not to make the room stink or you’ll take care of it.”
Yoongi chuckles while slowly getting up from the bed, “Will do, doll.”
You slowly walk to your bathroom, trying your hardest not to trip because of your wobbly, sore legs. You shouldn’t have let him be so rough with you, but you know that your horny mind couldn’t resist him or his fucking dick.
You’ll have to spend your Saturday trying your hardest to make the bruises fade away because you know that if Yuri sees you, questions will come, and you don’t think you’ll be able to lie so easily.
Who are you kidding? You won’t be able to lie at all, and you still don’t know how you and Yoongi haven’t been found out by her yet.
You look deep into your own eyes, and bile burns your throat. Is this really who you are? Fucking the man who has your friend’s heart?
Loving a man who will never be yours to claim?
You can’t look at yourself anymore, and so, you quickly turn off the sink and return to your room.
You grab your PJs from the floor, and while you put your clothes back on, you can’t help but stare at Yoongi, who stands by your window with a lit cigarette in between his fingers.
You slowly walk towards him, your heart beating miles per hour as you watch his face taking in the shine of the moon, revealing each detail of his striking features, and your soul glimmers at the mesmerising sight.
It feels serene.
Your heart is calm as you watch him, and your soul is at ease; there is no bleeding, no begging for him to see you.
“Stop staring and come here doll.” Yoongi takes a puff of his cigarette and slowly lets the smoke out into the air.
You slowly walk towards him, and you look down, realising he must have put his sweats back on while you were in the bathroom.
“Hm, this reminds me of cigarettes after sex.” You whisper, your eyes finding the full moon in the night sky while your lungs find it hard to breathe once you feel his lingering gaze on your body.
“You like their music?”
You sigh, “Yeah. Kinda. I don’t listen to them all the time, though.”
“Mmm, I like their song ‘Sweet’.”
You shift your head to the side and furrow your eyebrows, while Yoongi takes another puff from the cigarette, “You listen to them?”
Exhaling the smoke, Yoongi says, “Yeah, I listen to some of their songs. Shit’s good. Kinda catchy.”
Your lips part, “Wow.”
“Is it that shocking?”
You giggle, turning your head to watch the moon again, “Kinda, yeah. Sweet is a good song, though. You have good taste.”
“No shit.” Yoongi laughs and you smile slightly.
Being here, with Yoongi by your side during the whispers of the night, you’re okay.
You’re not plagued by the thoughts that he isn’t yours, you can’t feel the venom running in your veins, instead, gold shimmers inside your heart from the love, the sheer calm in your soul you feel when you are alone with him.
“Hold on, I gotta get my phone.” You quickly whisper before running to your bedside table, grabbing your phone and running back to the same spot you were standing on.
You turn on your camera and zoom in to get the best view of the shimmering moon while Yoongi watches your every action with amused and intrigued eyes.
“What are you doing?” Yoongi laughs, bringing the cigarette to his red lips as he watches you take hundreds of pictures of the moon.
“Taking pictures of the moon, duh.” You roll your eyes and Yoongi snorts, exhaling the smoke inside his mouth.
“You can’t even see it clearly with your shitty camera.”
“But it’s still pretty, isn’t it? Sometimes, pretty things can’t be seen so clearly, Yoongi. But that doesn’t mean it still isn’t beautiful.” You click your tongue, “I also like to take pictures of the moon so I can record the moment and relive it. Sometimes memories aren’t enough, y’know?”
Yoongi smirks, “So you wanna remember me, doll?”
You give him a side eye before continuing to take your pictures, “Nah, not really. It’s just that the moon is really pretty today.” You can only hope he doesn’t see how flushed you are, and that he can’t hear the heart that rapidly beats inside your chest.
Truth is, you don’t want to let this moment go.
You want to use the moon as evidence that tonight existed, that it wasn’t just another one of your daydreams where he isn’t even real.
“Want some?” Yoongi offers the lit cigarette between his fingers, and you shake your head, putting on a disgusting face.
“No thanks, they taste awful.”
You turn your head, your stomach almost dropping as you watch the beautifully hot scene of Yoongi taking another puff from his cigarette, the smoke blinding the moon for a mere second.
Why can’t he be yours?
You scratch your eyes as you suddenly yawn. “I’m tired. Are you….”
You want to ask him, the words are on the tip of your tongue, but you know he won’t stay even if you beg him to. You know the unspoken rule—Min Yoongi doesn’t stay the night with his hook-ups.
You remember, two weeks after you started sleeping with Yoongi, how a friend of Yuri’s from her cheerleading team, Hayun, while you were gossiping in the cafeteria, told you she slept with Yoongi, and when she asked him to stay for the night, he harshly declined and said he never slept with one-night stands.
Two days after, you can still vividly picture you asking him to stay, to test if what Hayun said was true, and maybe to prove something to your ego that you weren’t like the others, that maybe Yoongi felt something else for you.
Yet, he declined.
Looking at you with bored eyes, you can remember how he harshly said no to your offer. It was the first time you realised you were never going to be unique in his eyes.
And as you fell for him, thorns wrapped around your bleeding heart the more you wished for the impossible—to be seen as more, as something you know you aren’t meant to be.
“I was thinking of sleeping here. I’m too fuckin’ tired to go to my dorm, and Hobi is probably still fucking that girlfriend of his.”
Your heart glitters and skips a beat as the words leave his mouth, and you clear your throat, trying to stop the stutter in your voice, “Is that why you came here?”
Yoongi hums before crushing the cigarette in his hand and throwing it out the window, “Yeah, I guess.”
Your insides burn as you feel the newly-bloomed, thornless roses die a second after encountering their life.
“Can I? Sleep here, I mean. I’ll take the couch if you want.”
“No, that couch is too uncomfortable. You’ll wake up with horrible back pain, trust me.” You gulp, eyes falling to the ground, “Let’s just…..”
“Share the bed?”
“Yeah….If that’s too uncomfortable for you I can sleep on the couch instead—“
Yoongi slightly clenches his teeth, “Fuck no. Who do you think I am?”
“Mmm, an asshole?”
Yoongi laughs, “Fair enough. But I’m not that kind of asshole.”
“Sure you aren’t.” You chuckle, “I’ll get to bed, I’m fucking exhausted.” You scratch your reddish eyes, while taking slow steps toward your bed, “Can’t even walk properly anymore. You’ll fucking pay for this, Yoongi.”
Yoongi follows you to the other side of the bed, and he chuckles while getting under the covers, “As if you don’t love it.”
You’re finally in your bed, under your covers, and you mumble with closed eyes, “Whatever, asshole.”
Yoongi chuckles lightly before turning to you, and closing his eyes, letting his consciousness fade into the dream world.
And during the night, like magnets, your bodies slowly gravitate toward each other as your skins glisten under the moonlight that shines through your window.
And when his arms hold you through the night, the moon smiles.
You wake up with your mind in a daze, and the light that shines through your window blinds your tired eyes.
‘Fuck’, you curse, ‘I can’t believe I forgot to put down the curtain.’
You shift to your side, squeezing your eyes from the uncomfortable pain on your sensitive eyes, and you gasp lightly when you feel an arm pushing you back into a chest after your body squirms.
You immediately turn your head to find Min Yoongi beside you, his eyes closed as he calmly breathes on your neck.
“Mmm, morning,” Yoongi says with a low, husky morning voice, his eyes still closed.
And even in your tiredness, your heart flies a million miles per hour, your mind questioning whether or not you are stuck inside a beautiful dream.
“Hey.” You whisper, your throat singing slightly, while you try your best to not show how deeply affected you are by waking up next to the man who holds a part of your everything.
When Yoongi slowly opens his eyes, his entire body squirms as he hisses, “Shit, why is it so light.”
You gulp, “Forgot to put down the curtain. Sorry.”
“‘S okay.” Yoongi rubs his eyes, and you find yourself admiring how cute his morning self can be.
You begin to wonder what would be like waking up next to him every day of your life, but before you can drown yourself more in the painful possibilities of what could be, Yoongi cuts your thoughts by getting up from the bed.
“Where are you going?”
Yoongi groans, stretching his arms as he slowly walks toward your door, “Gotta pee. I’ll be back.”
As Yoongi goes to the bathroom, you grab your phone beside you and immediately curse once you see Yuri’s messages lingering on your screen.
Yuri : fuxk. ykongi isn’y here.
Yuri : i puy on this red dreess just for him :(/
Yuri : y won’t he fuckk me again?
Yuri : i didn’y rven fuck jimin tonight bc i wanted ykongi. I DIBT FUVK JIMIN!!!!!!!!!!
Yuri : y does ONE dick have me like this? i hate gthis.
Yuri : but i want him again 😭😭😭😭😭 and he didn’t even show up wtF
Yuri : bet ir’s that whore Yena’s fault. saw thenm together last week. ew.
Yuri : he fuxked that bitch but not me again? WTF.
Yuri : men r trash.
Yuri : i need ur advice. where r u? :(((((((((((
You can’t think as you read your best friend’s drunk messages.
A storm consumes the peace of mind that harboured your body moments ago, the ugliest of emotions now washing all the serenity away.
You : hey. are u ok?
Yuri : holy shit. hi. i was so drunk last night omfg.
You : i figured loll
Yuri : wanna hang out? i need to talk to u :(
You : are u gonna talk about yoongi? 😒
Yuri is typing…
Yuri : duh. i need ur advice 😭 this man is messing with my head.
You sigh—of course, she would want to meet up to talk to him and ask you about dating advice or how to get Yoongi to notice her. It’s all she has ever talked about these past few months, and you are fucking over it.
Hearing your best friend talk about the man you secretly love, and ask you for advice on how to get him for yourself is never pleasant. Especially when you know she’s much more likely to win his heart that you so seek.
With a groan and a heavy heart, you answer.
You : sure. wanna watch a movie?
Yuri : come to my dorm then? i’m gonna have a lazy day today lol.
You : ok. be there soon.
Yuri : all right xo
“Hey, doll, is your roommate here?” Yoongi suddenly asks, leaning on your doorframe, and you almost let your phone fall to your face at the surprise.
“Shit, uh, I dunno. She kind of always comes and goes. Why?” You ask while Yoongi crosses his arms, and you fight the urge to not drool at the sight of him with only his sweatpants on and jewellery still attached to his half-naked body.
“Heard a lot of moaning from the other room. Maybe she’s watching porn or something.”
You laugh out loud, throwing your head back at his comment, “She’s not watching porn, Yoongi, she’s having sex.”
“At nine in the morning?!”
You giggle and you can’t help but coo at his opened lips and widened eyes. “People have morning sex, Yoongi. And my roommate is a bit of a sex addict.”
“Who’s your roommate?”
“Haneul—“
“___!” You hear a high-pitched voice coming from the other side of your dorm, and you immediately freeze on your spot once you see your roommate.
“Where are the goddamn condoms?! I’m trying to fuck here—Min Yoongi?!” Your roommate’s eyes widen, and Yoongi smirks before lazily waving at your roommate.
“Do I know you?”
Your roommate scoffs, “No, But I know you.” Haneul scoffs, scrunching her face in disgust as she eyes Yoongi up and down, “What are you doing in ___’s room—wait, what the fuck?!”
Your roommate’s eyes widen as she turns her head to you, and you only gulp thickly, your hands starting to tremble once you realise the situation you have been caught in.
You know Haneul doesn’t like Yoongi, she has vebalized her distaste for him countless times within the past month, and whenever his name slipped Yuri’s lips, she was fast to roll her eyes and fake gag.
She told you how Yoongi once fucked one of her best friends, and left her hanging the very next day, not even bothering to answer any of the texts she sent weeks later, something he commonly did with his one-night stands, and how devastated it left her friend.
Since then, Haneul can’t even hear his name and she’s already rolling her eyes or scrunching her face in disgust.
It’s a bit hypocritical of her, really, since she’s done the same thing to the men and women she sleeps with, but who are you to call on her shit?
“Um, it’s—it’s not what it looks like!” You immediately blurt out, your hands starting to shake and your lungs constricting when you catch her widened eyes, a drop of cold sweat threatening to run through your forehead.
You look to Yoongi, desperation inside your pupils when you stare into his calm eyes, praying that he understands you want him to lie for you, tell Haneul anything that denies her obvious suspicion that you two have slept together.
“Yeah. We had a project together and I accidentally slept in. As if I would ever do her.” Yoongi rolls his eyes.
Oh.
Your heart dies a little at his words.
You can’t stop the thoughts that take over your mind. Is it really what he thinks?
Deep down, you know it’s true—you and him aren’t a match, it was never even supposed to happen in the first place.
But the universe is harsh, promising a cursed future for your heart, destined to seek its destruction within a love not reciprocated. Cursed to deteriorate within the empty kisses of lust your soul thought to be the love you started to feel.
He’s everything, he’s the centre of everyone’s attention, he’s the moon every poet praises, and you’re nothing but the rain.
The one that everyone dreads.
“She’s too good of a person to ever sleep with you.” Haneul snarls, a look of disgust plastered on her face, and Yoongi’s lips twitch—you know he wants to smirk. To tease you and tell her he’s the one you meet after hours when you text her you’re doing a late shift at the coffee shop you work at, or that you’re staying late in the library to study.
“Whatever. I’m leaving, anyway.” Yoongi huffs, turning to grab his shirt from the ground, and then he turns to you, “Text me the final results, K?”
Yoongi gets out of your room, bumping his shoulder with Haneul, and she only scoffs, throwing daggers at his back as he walks to your dorm’s exit.
“What a fucking prick.” Haneul rolls her eyes, “It must be hell working with that bastard. Anyway, where are the condoms again?”
You point to your bedside table, “Second drawer.”
Haneul immediately opens the drawer, and gets a packet, examining it, “Hm, the dick isn’t this large but it’ll do. Thanks, babe!” You laugh, throwing your head back, and your roommate runs toward her room where her dick appointment—as she calls them—awaits on her bed.
You feel your phone vibrate on your hand, and your heart squeezes once you see the name plastered on your screen. You forgot about your encounter with Yuri.
Yuri : bitch where tf are you????
You : sorryyy, i got caught up on some studies from my last lecture.
Yuri : jesus you don’t have a life.
You : 😒
Yuri : whatever. if you don’t hurry up i’ll choose the movie alone…..
You : oh hell no!!!!
You : be there in ten
Yuri : that’s what i thought
You roll your eyes and put on a baggy grey sweater and the Radiohead shirt you stole from your older brother before grabbing your flip-flops and heading out of your room.
You know you don’t look flattering in the slightest, and if you went out in the wild, people would look at you with the most disgusted and judging faces, but Yuri’s apartment is not even two minutes from yours.
You pass through your roommate’s room, and immediately scrunch your face at the loud moans and loud squeak of the bed.
You’re grateful that your bed doesn’t squeak like Haneul’s, or else you’d be screwed.
You’re finally out of your apartment, and once you reach Yuri’s, you knock only once and she’s already opening the door for you.
“Bitch, I need your help.” You stare at Yuri—she’s just like you, with her hair a mess and baggy clothes, yet, there’s a difference.
She still looks amazing, and well, you look like a fucking witch.
Oh, how unfair is life, huh?
Yuri grabs your arm and leads you to her mini sofa, and your stomach twists as it awaits for his name to come out of her lips, the name you were chanting like a mantra at the devilish hours of last night.
“I need your help with Yoongi,” Yuri whines as she bounces on the couch, and you sit beside her, a sigh leaving your lips as you groan loudly.
“I know, I know. But, fuck, this crush on him might be getting deeper.” Your eyes shift to the ground as she continues, “Jimin asked to fuck me again, and I said no because I was waiting for Yoongi to appear. I said no to Jimin, ___!”
Jimin and Yuri had been in a ‘friends with benefits’ arrangement for many months now. You knew Jimin wanted something more, but Yuri’s eyes only shifted toward Yoongi, and he accepted it because if having sex was the only way to have Yuri, then he would gladly do it, even if his heart shattered in the process.
You remember when he told you this, you thought he was a fool, an idiot—who in their right mind would let themselves be hurt just to be close to the one who harms them?
“There are plenty of other fish in the sea”, you told him then.
“But she’s the only one I want.” He replied while sighing.
Oh, how you wish you didn’t understand Jimin today—how you wish you didn’t find stars in Yoongi’s eyes, ones that cursed you to find solace in them, when they didn’t even shine for you.
“I’m absolutely fucked. Why does one dick have me like this?” Yuri groans, grabbing her hair in frustration.
You ignore the burn in your throat, and try to give her the advice you usually would—you were always good with giving other people advice, even when you yourself didn’t really follow them.
“You gotta stop thinking about him too much. He’s a fucking asshole, dude. He’s probably out there fucking another girl right now, and you’re here whining because of him. You’re better than him, Yuri.”
You absolutely want to throw up as the words spill out of your mouth, you are no better than the the devil. How did you reach this point of fucking your best friend’s crush?
“Ugh,” She groans, passing her hands through her smooth black hair, “I kind of…..texted him yesterday, asking him to meet me at the locker room, and he didn’t answer yet. I bet it’s that bitch Yena’s fault. I should have kicked her off the team when I had the chance. She can’t even do a backflip properly.” Yuri scoffs, and your blood runs cold at her words.
So much information for your little, fragile heart, that aches at her words as you imagine Yoongi placing the hands that were on your skin mere hours ago, on another, better woman’s body.
“Can we just, like, watch the film and not talk about Yoongi? I-I don’t even know the dude and I already hate him.” You scoff, crossing your arms against your chest, and Yuri sighs, resting her head on your shoulder as she starts browsing Netflix’s catalogue.
“Fuck, sorry, I’m talking way too much about him,” Yuri sighs once more, “But what about you? Don’t you think Namjoon would be a good guy for you?”
Yuri lifts her eyebrows twice suggestively, and you roll your eyes, “You only want me and him to work out so you can get closer to Yoongi.”
“That may be partially true, but you and him make such a good couple! You both are nerds and love to study and y’know, you guys just match!” Yuri lightly hits your shoulder and you can’t help but scoff at her words.
Namjoon is an attractive guy, and maybe if you weren’t so caught up with the forbidden fruit that is Yoongi, you would see him in a different light—but you can’t, not when only one pair of brown, majestically beautiful eyes are the only thing in your mind.
“I don’t like him that way, Yuri, so just drop it, alright?”
Yuri groans, “All right, whatever. What movie do you wanna watch, anyway?”
“Scream?”
“Fuck yes.”
“Ugh, why are the options always fucking junk food?” Yuri groans as you both put your trays on top of the wooden table, and you can’t help but giggle at your best friend’s frustration.
“You could’ve gotten just the salad on the other side of the cafeteria.”
Yuri rolls her eyes as Yuri takes a harsh bite out of her mozzarella pizza, “Please stop making sense right now and let me put my anger on this uni’s horrible food options.”
You giggle, taking the softest bite out of your hotdog, “Jeez, what’s got your panties in a twist?
“Please, never say that again.” Yuri scrunches her face and you snicker, taking another bite of your hotdog as you wait for your best friend to stop her dramatic sigh before she talks again. “I saw that bitch Yena all over Yoongi today.”
Yuri scoffs, and you almost choke on your hotdog when the sentence slips out of your best friend’s mouth, “She’s such a fucking slut. She was basically flashing her tits to him, thank fuck he wasn’t even paying attention.”
The smallest sense of relief washes over your body when she tells you Yoongi wasn’t paying attention, and the smallest part of your heart hopes he wasn’t paying attention because his eyes were only set on you, but you knew that to be false.
You would never be the first he would ever really see, even if you so wish for it when the clock strikes midnight and tears threaten to fall down from your eyes as you remember his careless whispers.
“Aren’t you being a lil’ too harsh? It’s not like you don’t do the same thing….” You mumble through your food, and Yuri looks at you with widened betrayed eyes.
“You’re supposed to be agreeing with me, not being the voice of reason. God, you can be so fucking annoying at times.” Yuri rolls her eyes, and you sink into your seat.
Yuri was a good friend, she truly was.
You’ve been friends ever since you both met in your freshman year of high school, but you can always forget just how mean she can be when she doesn’t get her way or hears exactly what she doesn’t want to.
And you still can’t understand how you don’t fight back.
You know you’ve got the sassy comeback on your lips, you know how to shut her up in a second, and if it were anybody else, you’d spit it out with no hesitation.
And yet, you stand here, with your stomach burning in shame as you sink into your seat while silently eating your hot dog.
“Holy shit, Namjoon’s here!”
Your eyes widen as Yuri smirks, “Wait, Yuri, no—”
“Namjoon!” Yuri calls out, waving her arm with a smile on her face, and Namjoon visibly flinches, almost dropping his tray on the floor. He looks at your table with wide eyes, and you hide your face in your palms, groaning loudly at your best friend’s actions.
“Oh, hey ___, hey Yuri.” Namjoon flashes his smile, cute dimples appearing on each of his cheeks, and if your heart wasn’t so caught up in the forbidden fruit that is his friend Min Yoongi, you know your heart would have faintly flickered at his cuteness.
Yuri licks her lip, flashing her best fake smile to the man before you, the one that was enough to make so many men weak on their knees. “Doesn’t ___ look so pretty today?”
Your face heats up at her words, and you hesitantly look up to see Namjoon smiling at you, you could only wish it was his gummy smile in front of you.
“Yeah. You look cute, ____. Is that a new shirt?”
You slowly nod your head, a small smile tugging on your lips, “Yeah, actually. I bought it from—”
“So, Namjoon, do you know where Yoongi is?” Yuri flutters her eyes, ever so slowly tracing her nails on the man’s hand, and you internally roll her eyes. Yuri’s oldest trick in the book, and somehow, it works on every single guy.
Namjoon's cheeks turn into a faint pink, “U-um, I don’t know, I-I texted him today and—”
“Namjoon!” A deep voice calls Namjoon from the other side of the cafeteria, and your heart stops as you realise it’s just the man whom your heart bleeds for every day of your life.
Min Yoongi.
You watch with the heaviest heart as Yuri’s eyes glisten when the basketball captain comes into her field of vision, and bile threatens to burn your throat as you realise you aren’t the only one to feel so moved for the man.
“Oh hey, Yuri.” Yoongi greets your best friend and bites his lip once he turns to you—you know it’s tortuous for him to hold back his teasing whenever he sees you, but you glare at him, silently threatening him.
“Hey—”
“Oh, Yoongi! I don’t think you know her yet, but this is my best friend, ____.” Yuri giggles, and Yoongi smirks, putting his hands in the pocket of his jeans.
“Oh, I know who she is.” Yoongi licks his lips, “Hey, ____.”
You visibly gulp the lump that suddenly formed in your throat as he stares at you with those tempting cat-like eyes, and you feel the world stopping, your lungs failing to let any more oxygen in as you stare at each other for the fewest milliseconds before your best friend is talking again with her high-pitched voice.
“Oh, you do?” Yuri turns her head innocently, and you want to laugh at just how fake she can be. You always thought she should’ve been an actress with her amazing skills. “Well, that doesn’t matter. Do you guys wanna eat with us?”
“Um, I don’t think Yoon—“
“Yeah, sure,” Yoongi says, immediately cutting Namjoon off, who looks at Yoongi with widened eyes.
Namjoon slowly pulled a chair next to you as Yoongi got the chair next to Yuri, who silently squealed at his action.
Namjoon furrows his eyebrows as he stares at Yoongi in front of him.
He knows his best friend like the palm of his hand, and he knows Yoongi would rather be caught dead than be with anyone at this time of the day. The basketball player has no patience for anyone before his meal, and even worse before he has his first coffee of the day.
For fuck’s sake, the player had just shoved Yena off mere moments ago, and she’s notorious for being one of the campus’ hottest girls, with huge tits Namjoon would give up the world to be able to suck.
Yet, now he’s here, willingly sitting beside Yuri, his hottest yet most annoying hookup, before eating his lunch.
Namjoon waits for the scowl from his best friend’s lips, but all he does is bite it as he sits beside Yuri.
As Namjoon stares at his best friend and Yuri who stands before him with the sparkliest eyes Namjoon’s ever seen, something clicks inside the man.
A lightbulb. An epiphany.
Namjoon’s jaw drops to the floor.
Yoongi fucking likes Yuri.
Yoongi leans on his chair, crossing his arms on his chest as he stares at the woman in front of him, you and your heart beat so fast, that you could swear your vision almost starts to fall as you stare at the man before you.
“So, Yoongi, how’s practice going for you? Do you think you’ll win on Friday?”
Yoongi scoffs lightly, a familiar cocky smirk resting on his lips as he turns his head to Yuri, and a venomous feeling courses through your veins.
You can’t help but wonder what passes through his mind when he stares at her. Does he think she’s beautiful?
More beautiful than you?
You know that’s what everyone thinks, and not even you can deny it—Yuri is ethereal, the most angelic features adorning her face, and you know you could never compare to that.
“Of course, we’ll win. My team is the fuckin’ best.”
Yuri giggles, slowly placing her slim, almost angelic hands on top of Yoongi’s arm, “Of course you will! I’m training my girls to put on the best dance for your victory on Friday.”
You expect Yoongi to stutter, to fall like putty to Yuri’s touch, and yet, he easily withdraws his arm from her angelic hand.
Yuri visibly frowns at that, and you see the faintest glimpse of rage from her eyes before it’s back to the sparkles of admiration as she stares at the basketball player beside her.
You silently sigh as you take another bite of your hotdog.
You will always be invisible next to Yuri, won’t you?
Are you so cursed, that the man you so love, that your heart cries for every night, prefers your mesmerizing best friend over you?
You love Yuri, you truly do, but you could only wish that for once in your life, she wasn’t the one to be picked. That you’d for once be visible in the eyes you so want, but you know she’s the only one he will seek.
It’s always been like that. A cruel fate that is written by destiny itself.
It has happened so many times before.
Your crush from high school asked her out for prom and you stood there, watching the scene as your heart broke for the first time.
It happened too with your first lab partner whom you developed the smallest crush on during freshman year of college, who asked Yuri out on a date while at the same party where you decided to confess your slight feelings for him.
And the last time it happened was with your gym crush.
You thought this time, he wouldn’t fall into Yuri's clutches, since she didn’t go to the same gym as you—but what are the chances that she suddenly decides to join you for one of your workouts?
And the minute Yuri’s stepped into the gym, you saw your gym crush’s eyes fall on her, and it didn’t take long until he asked for her number, and the following week, she told you every detail about how thoroughly he fucked her, and she explained how she dumped him because he wasn’t Yoongi.
The worst part is, she knew you liked them all.
And you know Yoongi will fall for her charm. He will slip out of your hands so easily, all that will remain are the memories of him that will be as distant as mercury is to neptune.
Forced to watch destiny engrave their names together on the moon while you burn like the sun that is your love for the man that will never be yours.
You’re so caught up in your own little world, you almost jump once you feel your phone vibrating on your pocket, and your heart jumps from your chest once you read the name lingering on your screen.
Your cheeks heat up, and your eyes shift to Yoongi in front of you, who gives you the tiniest glance while his luscious lips form the devilish smirk you will never admit arouses you.
You quickly turn your head to Yuri, your fast heart pulsating on your ears as adrenaline rushes through your system, and the slightest relief washes through you when you realise she’s talking about herself to Yoongi, who doesn’t even pay attention to her hand on his arm, but instead, the phone on his hand under the wooden table.
Your eyes widen while your breath hitches at his lewd words—how could he have the courage to send such a thing when your best friend is beside him, trying her best siren-like tricks to seduce him.
“Hey, Yoongi. Are you listening?”
Yoongi turns his head up to your best friend, and his face is so cold and indifferent, it sends shivers through your spine.
“Sure.”
“Who are you texting?” Yuri asks with her best innocent voice, and Yoongi immediately shuts his phone off when your friend tries to get a peek of his screen. “Is it……Is it Yena?”
“That’s none of your business.”
Yuri’s face immediately falls, and your eyes widen at his sharpness.
It’s been some time since you’ve seen this part of him, you almost forgot just how much his words could cut anyone’s heart like a knife while his eyes held no remorse for it.
You’re an awful liar, aren’t you?
Of course you need him, but not in the ways he thinks—your heart needs him so your river can flow, so your moon can shine on your body, so your nerves can find the only calmness it needs, and that only happens when you’re next to him.
You sigh, and send another message, asking him to stop it, and he only texts back with a cold ‘K’.
You put your phone back in your back pocket, and when you shift your head, your eyes unexpectedly catch Yoongi’s brown ones, that hold a glint of mischief behind tem, and you know he wants to tease you, to whisper in your ear the many positions he will take you in, to make you flushed with his words for everyone to see.
But he knows he can’t, and when he shifts his eyes to your best friend beside him, your soul screams for him again, for his attention on you, because you know briefness is the only thing you, the invisible one, will ever get from him.
“I gotta go to my next lecture. See you, Joon.”
Namjoon awkwardly waves to Yoongi as he takes a big bite of his pizza, his mind wondering why his best friend had acted so strange, so unlike him.
Namjoon knows Yoongi never liked Yuri—he always complained how that girl couldn’t hop off his dick for the life of her, and how she’s the least favourite of his many hookups. And yet, now he willingly sits next to her?
Yoongi is known to not care for his hookups—he doesn’t even like talking to them unless he’s at a party or just horny.
Namjoon doesn’t blame his friend—Yuri, although incredibly annoying, is a beautiful, fucking hot woman.
“Uh, I’ll be going too. It was great seeing you two.” Namjoon gives you two his friendliest smile, and you wave goodbye as he steps up from his chair and leaves your table, leaving you and a fuming Yuri alone.
‘Oh fuck.’ You gulp when seeing your best friend’s eye twitch.
“He was totally texting that slut Yena.” Yuri clenches her teeth, and suddenly it’s hard for you to breathe while your heart picks up its pace once again.
You feel like a traitor in the court of friendship, a clandestine lover of the very person who had captured your heart, knowing he will squeeze its life out every minute that passes by while you love him so.
You knew how much your best friend liked him, how much she pined for him, and yet, you still chose to forbiddenly develop a storm of emotions for the same man that never chose to look you in the eye before that night.
And you became the secret villain in the story you never intended to write, the monster that fell for the same man your best friend held sparkly eyes for.
Your stomach burns with the guilt that swallows you whole as you stare into oblivion while Yuri shamelessly tears Yena apart, and you can’t help but wonder what she would do to you if she ever found out what you and Yoongi did after hours.
With a sigh, you swallow the tear of shame that threatens to slip out of your guilt-filled eyes.
“I don’t even understand what he sees in her. Besides her boobs, she’s just an ugly whore desperate for attention. I am so much better than her and he doesn’t even pay attention to me.” Yuri scoffs, crossing her arms against her chest as she lets all her anger out while you stand there absentminded.
“Are you even listening?!” Yuri growls, scoffing once more when she sees you flinch.
“Shit, sorry, I kinda dissociated there.” You chuckle nervously, and Yuri hums.
“Were you thinking of Namjoon?” Yuri smirks, and you roll your eyes.
“No, I was thinking of all the assignments I have due. You gotta stop trying to make me and Namjoon work dude, we’re both not interested.”
Yuri rolls her eyes and fake gags, “Lord, you’re so fucking boring. You need a dick to take that stick out of your ass.”
“I’m not interested, thanks.”
Yuri rolls her eyes, and before she can say any thing else, a voice cuts her off by calling her name.
“Yuri!”
Yuri slaps her face while groaning, and you turn your head to find a blue-haired man walking toward your table.
Park Jimin.
You snicker at Yuri’s state, and her groans get louder as Jimin gets closer to your table.
“Hey, Yuri.” Jimin smiles while taking the seat Yoongi was in before, and Yuri rolls her eyes.
“Jimin, if you wanna fuck, I can’t right now. Go ask Mina, or something.” Yuri grumbles while looking at her red nails, and your eyes fill with pity was you watch Jimin’s mouth turn into the slightest frown.
“I don’t wanna fuck, Yuri. Can’t I just come here and talk to you?” Jimin sighs, and looks at your before waving, “Oh, hey, ____. Sorry, I didn’t see you.”
You chuckle, crossing your arms against your chest, “Hey, Jimin. No worries.”
Jimin turns his head to Yuri, the oh so familiar shimmer inside his eyes as he stares at your best friend, “You look fucking beautiful—”
“Whatever. I have some boring math lecture now, so I gotta go. You wanna watch my training later?”
You shake your head with a sigh, and Jimin’s eyes shift to the ground, “Can’t, I have a shift at the cafe tonight.”
“Ugh, fine.” Yuri rolls her eyes and grabs her tray before stepping out of her seat, “Say hi to Taehyung for me.”
You chuckle lightly, “Sure. See you.”
“Bye, bitch.”
As you watch Yuri walk away, you sigh heavily, your heart heavier than a rock, guilt tightening its grip on your chest as you stare at your food.
“I’m so fucking pathetic.” Jimin groans into his palms, and you watch him with a clenching heart.
“You gotta give up, man. She’s not gonna change fo you.” You purse your lips, your stomach turning at the advice that comes out of your mouth, and Jimin sighs.
“I can’t, dammit.” Jimin slams his hand on the table, and you flinch, guilt eating you alive as your mind screams how much of a hypocrite you are.
“Why do you even love her so much?”
Jimin chuckles before letting out a deep breath, “I don’t fucking know.”
“Well, if you truly don’t know, then….”
Jimin gulps while looking at the ground.
You know the look in his eyes from a mile away—shame.
“Gotta go. It was nice seeing you, ____. See you later.”
You smile tightly while waving slightly, “See you, Jimin.”
As Jimin walks away, your fingers go to your throbbing temple.
Until when are you going to sustain the weight of guilt before you crumble?
“What’s up with you today?” Taehyung asks in a rushed whisper, and you hum while pressing the button on the machine.
“What do you mean?” You ask, never taking your eyes off the cup as it fills with coffee, and Taehyung sighs. You were always a tough one to crack.
“I literally saw you put whipped cream on an Iced Americano. You are clearly not okay. What the hell happened?”
“It’s none of your business, Taehyung.” You roll your eyes, and Taehyung scoffs, but he’s not taken aback by your rudeness, no, it only fuels the curiosity inside him.
You and Taehyung worked together in the cafe right beside your campus and he was a great colleague. Attentive, fun to be around, a little too bubbly for your liking at times, but nothing you couldn’t tolerate.
But Taehyung was always a curious guy, and although it could be funny at times to know some gossip during your working hours, it was never fun whenever he mingled in your business.
“Tsk,” Taehyung clicks his tongue, “Something’s going on, and I will find out, ____.”
“Whatever.” You roll your eyes, grabbing no lactose milk beside you, and praying Taehyung would leave you alone.
“Wanna hear some gossip to cheer you up?” Taehyung smirks, and you sigh while nodding your head—if this was going to let him get away from you, then, of course, you would hear a silly little gossip you would later forget.
“Y’know Min Yoongi?”
Your heart suddenly stops at the name that slips from Taehyung’s lips.
“Yeah. Who doesn’t?” You snort, and Taehyung chuckles.
“True. Anyway, there’s a rumour he’s fucking someone from the cheer squad. Just thought I’d let you know, cause, well…..your friend, Yuri…..”
Everyone on campus knows about Yuri’s obsessive crush on Yoongi.
She made sure to remind each girl she saw him hooking up with that he was hers. Rumours about the crazy head cheerleader spread like wildfire at the beginning of your sophomore year after Yuri ‘accidentally’ tripped a girl over in the hallway and hissed a loud ‘slut’ while doing so.
The girl later overheard you scolding Yuri for doing that to the innocent girl because she saw her and Yoongi having sex in his car after cheerleading practice, and she spread to everyone just how crazy Yuri is.
You never saw the girl again, rumours say she transferred to another university.
You gulp thickly, a burn suddenly forming on your throat, but before you can even answer, another one of your co-workers, Eunchae, rapidly speaks up, “Who’s fucking who? I smelled gossip from a mile away.”
You roll your eyes, both your co-workers are suckers for gossip, and you sometimes question your own sanity whenever you are near them.
Taehyung chuckles, “Oh, just a rumour that Yoongi’s fucking someone from the cheerleading squad.”
Eunchae chuckles, “Ah, Min Yoongi. Best dick I’ve ever had.”
Your eyes widen, and Taehyung’s mouth drops before he talks again, “What the fuck, he got you too?”
“It was, like, many, many months ago. That man fucked me so good I accidentally said ‘I love you’ while orgasming.”
Taehyung makes a dramatic gag expression, “Ew. TMI, Eunchae. That’s my friend you’re talking about.”
Ah yes, Taehyung is a basketball player on the college’s team, one that Min Yoongi is the captain of, and is part of the same friend group as Yoongi.
When you first started working in this little cafe months ago and you saw Taehyung for the first time, you internally groaned, thinking he would be a cocky shit like some of his teammates, but he surprised you by being an annoying cinnamon roll you learned to like.
You still can’t understand how he and Yoongi are even in the same friend group. You know they aren’t super close, not like Taehyung is with Jungkook, or Yoongi is with Hoseok and Namjoon, but they are still friends.
How could Taehyung, the sweet yet irritating man, even be in the same space as the cocky asshole that is Min Yoongi?
“You said I love you to him?” You laugh a little too loud, and Eunchae sighs heavily.
“Yeah. Haven’t talked to him since. I sometimes miss his dick, though.” Eunchae sighs once more, entering a daydream state, and Taehyung scoffs while crossing his arms against his chest.
“I don’t get it. He fucks literally everyone and has every girl after him. Like, what the fuck am I doing wrong?” Taehyung cutely pouts, and you fight the urge to roll your eyes—Kim Taehyung is a fun man to be around sometimes, but holy fuck, can he get on your nerves.
“Ugh. Taehyung, Stop acting like you get no bitches when I literally saw you fucking that girl at that party last week.” You hiss—you’re sick and tired of Kim Taehyung acting like he doesn’t get any women when the man looks like a fallen angel. You’ve heard so many people talking about how they had a crush on him, and yet here he is, acting like he doesn’t fuck a new girl every other week.
However, unlike Min Yoongi, Taehyung is known to be sweet to his hookups, and you still can’t understand how no one hasn’t fallen in love with him yet.
“Yeah, and she asked me if Yoongi was single after we had sex. She had all of this,” Taehyung points at his body, more specifically his dick, and both you and Eunchae scrunch your faces in repulsion, “And still had the nerve to ask about Yoongi.”
“Oh shit. What did you do?” Eunchae asks with a lifted eyebrow and Taehyung gulps.
His eyes shift to the floor, and he mutters, “I gave her his number.”
“You did what?!” Eunchae shouts while you sigh disappointingly, passing your palms through your face, and Taehyung pouts.
“I just—What should I have done? Tell her to go fuck herself after we literally just fucked?!”
Eunchae scoffs, “Duh, that’s what I’d do.”
“And she’d probably spread to everyone what an ‘asshole’ I am. I gotta keep my clean reputation, y’know?”
Eunchae snorts, and you can’t help the small giggle you let out, “What reputation?”
“You’re being mean, ____.”
“And you were dumb as fuck, Tae.” You shrug, and Taehyung whines.
“Whatever,” He huffs, “I still don’t get how every single woman is down bad for him. Your friend Yuri, the whole cheerleading squad, and every single woman I kiss talks about him. At this point ___ is the only one he hasn’t fucked.”
You almost let the coffee in your hands spill on your uniform, and you clear your throat.
Oh, if only Taehyung knew.
“And how do you know that?”
Taehyung scoffs, looking at you as if what you asked was the most absurd thing in the world, “You’re not his type.”
Eunchae squints her eyes, “And what is his type?”
Taehyung sighs, “Confident, annoying, kinda bratty, big ass, hot as fuck, maybe even a little slutty. Basically the opposite of our precious ____ here. And you’re just too good to fuck an asshole like yoongi.”
‘Why does everyone keep saying that?’ Your eyebrows scrunch, and your heart falls to your stomach at his words.
“I’d say your friend Yuri is the perfect example of his type. She’s fuckin’ hot—“
“Yeah, yeah, I get it.” You grumble, angrily putting your coffee on the counter, and Taehyung furrows his eyebrows in confusion while Eunchae mentally slaps her forehead.
You turn your head to your friends, your eyes starting to sting more with every second that passes, “Uh, I gotta go to the bathroom. Be right back.”
You quickly head to the bathroom, and you completely fall apart once the door closes. Your hand covers your mouth, hoping to muffle your small whimpers.
Your tears were a silent confession to the pain that had become your constant companion. You shouldn’t be like this, crying over a man that isn’t even close to being yours.
You know you aren’t his type, that people like you aren’t supposed to be with him—it’s against the law of nature, of the way life is written by destiny.
Taehyung is right—you aren’t his type. You are not Yuri; you were not even second to her beauty, you were the third, fourth, fifth, the one to hide behind the scenes as people like Yoongi and Yuri shined on stage.
That truth was a dagger, piercing through your soul with every heartbeat.
Yoongi doesn’t love you, his world doesn’t pulsate for you, his heart doesn’t flicker for your quirks.
You feel your phone buzz inside your pocket, and you grab it, only for your heart to sink even more when you see the name displayed on your screen.
‘Speaking of the devil himself,’ you think to yourself.
Yoongi 👎 : hey doll
Yoongi 👎 : what r u doing rn?
You sniffle, typing fast while drops of your silent tears stain your phone’s screen.
You : i’m at work
You : but i think i’ll be leaving early.
Yoongi 👎 is typing…..
Yoongi : everything ok?
You smile, your erratic nerves calming down as you wipe the drops of salty water on your cheeks.
You : i’m just not feeling too well
Yoongi 👎 : :(
You : why’d u ask?
Yoongi 👎 is typing…..
Yoongi 👎 : i’m bored as fuck. hobi and i were practising for friday but he left me here alone bc of some emergency with his gf.
Yoongi 👎 : i swear that woman is taking him away from me.
Yoongi 👎 : u wanna come here?
rest is continued on the reblogs of this post !! you can access it here 💗 tumblr is annoying with this 1k blocks thing, so i had to cut it off :")
Summary: In which you didn’t know who he truly was- until it was too late. Or in which he found heaven in you.
Warnings: Secret Identity, Yandere behavior, Obsessiveness, Possessiveness, Manipulative behavior, Violence, Mention of death, Disability, Sexual themes, If you’re not 18+ please, PLEASE, do not interact. Be mindful of the warnings. Let me know if I miss anything.
A/N: last two chapters before the end of season 1! Thank you for enjoying the ride with me 🫶🏻
Masterlist, Latibule VII
Jung Hoseok watched over the glass of whiskey he was was sipping from as the last living member of the group entered the room. He smiled at Kim Taehyung as he plopped down on the seat with an exhausted sigh.
“Well, don’t you look good, Tae,” Namjoon drawled, his eyes focused on his tablet as he was ever so busy.
“I have no time to remove my makeup, hyung,” he replied in annoyance as he pointed at the faux bruises he had on his face from taping his latest movie. “Someone insisted I’d be here at this exact hour.” His eyes shifted at Seokjin who hadn’t said a word since he arrived, merely looking at them with emotionless eyes as though they were under a microscope.
“So why are we here, then?” Jungkook voiced out the unspoken query they had between them,
Hoseok placed down his glass with a thud, leaning forward, his arms hanging on his spread knees as he eyed them with a smile on his face. “Don’t you think it’s time to elect a leader?” He inquired curiously, his head tilted to the side as though he was overtly concerned. “There’s only so much violence and chaos our Kookie can do before they start taking advantage of our current predicament.”
Namjoon’s eyebrow lifted as he paused his reading on the tablet. He raised his eyes to Hoseok, his intelligent mind running a mile per second. “And just in time for her death anniversary, hyung.”
Hoseok’s gritted his teeth, his eyes hardening at the mere mention of her, of the person he fucking lost, “It’s what she would’ve wanted, Joonie,”
“Is it?” He drone with tone dripping with boredom. “Funny, I remember clearly how she never wanted to be part of our world…or am I wrong?”
Jungkook looked up thoughtfully from his phone, “For someone who didn’t want to be part of our world, Noona sure did know her way around knives and poisons.”
Jimin clicked his tongue at the golden maknae, “Don’t speak ill of the dead, Kookie.”
“It was a compliment, hyung!”
Amidst the chaos of arguments between the two, Hoseok looked at their oldest hyung- the original prince of the underworld. “You’re quiet, hyung.” he observed dryly, his smile pleasant as though he wasn’t the traitor that he was. “Do you have anything in mind?”
Seokjin stared at him with coldness in his eyes, how he was raised as the mafia prince showing as he regarded him with apathy and calmness. If it was anyone, they would have ran from the hills and yet, running wouldn’t have saved them. Nothing could have saved them should Seokjin chose to end them. “I’m just thinking about the traitor. Do you think he’s sitting with us right now, Hoseok?”
—-
Dominant.
That was how you would describe his kisses. Your Suga never did once hesitate, his lips strong and certain. He kissed you like he was starved, like he had been in hell for far too long and you were his first and only reprieve. And in between his kisses, you could feel his lips stretched into a smile. What you did not expect was his hands- of how soft his hands were as they cradled your head closer to him. You didn’t expect to feel the tremble in his hands as though he was having a difficult time controlling himself. What you most didn’t expect was how gentle he was as he caressed your cheek as though you were the most precious thing in the world.
And you were too powerless from his kisses. You held on to his thick wrist as he rested his forehead on yours.
He was breathing as hard as you were, and when you opened your eyes, he was already looking at you with softness and sparkle in his eyes that you never saw before.
“Okay?” He asked. You smiled at him as you nodded twice. You closed your eyes and savored this moment, your hand tracing every part of his face, forcing yourself to commit how he was at the very moment to memory.
“Okay,” you whispered.
Perhaps, what you didn’t anticipate and never thought of in your wildest dreams was how clingy he could be, you meant, looked at him! He was the least person you’d thought of to want to cuddle from how you knew him. You meant, wasn’t he the person who valued his personal space that he once pushed you to the side when you walked an inch closer to him back when you barely knew him?
His arms tightened on your waist when you attempted once again to get up from the bed. Suga had your head tucked firmly on under his chin, his leg in between your legs which further secured you to him.
You couldn’t leave him without him knowing about it. Yet, this didn’t deter you from attempting to get up.
“You’re going nowhere today, Angel,” he ordered grumpily, his body inching even closer to you, his cheek rubbing on your head like the cat you thought he was.
“We need to get up. We have work-“
“No, we don’t. We’ll call in sick today,” he murmured stubbornly, his hand rubbing your back softly. “I just got you. I can’t let you go.”
You looked up at him, and you swore at this very moment he looked so at peace and content that you couldn’t help but agree.
And so, you two called in sick.
“Then what should we do today?”
“Let’s go to the beach.”
Beach was a two-hour travel by bus and it was so worth it. The weather was perfect, and everything was so bright except for your companion who you couldn’t comprehend why was wearing black. He had his long hair on a half-bun, his eyes emotionless as though he wasn’t the one who suggested going to the beach. When you asked him why he wanted to go to the beach, he said that it was what the internet said when he researched where to go with your special someone. He said it so unapologetically that you weren’t able to say anything.
But heavens did you love it here. Back when everything wasn’t as difficult, your family would always go to the beach. You weren’t exactly rich, but your parents did everything to provide for you and sent you to medical school. Your whole life was just ahead of you until the tragedy happened. You thought you would never be genuinely happy again, but seeing him walk alongside you, your hand secured in his and as the wind blew his dark hair and the sound of waves were the only thing that could be heard, you were so certain you were happy again.
Suga made you happy.
He watched you fondly with his hands in his pockets as you skipped on the fine sand, your eyes crinkled to the sides as you dipped your feet on the warm sea. The emotion he had a hard time naming was now apparent to him- he was enraptured by you. You absolutely looked like an angel, he thought. And he would do anything to not bring his hell on you.
And without you noticing, he took a photo of you with the phone you gifted him before. The photo turned out to be low-quality, the resolution grainy but despite all that, it proved to be his favorite photo of you.
You were happy with him, Suga thought. An angel like you was happy with him.
“Why didn’t we…” you trailed off, unsure on how to ask him. He looked up at you from his lunch. The two of you decided to eat in the quaint restaurant situated on the seaside, the locals and tourists alike swarmed the place.
“Why didn’t we what, Angel?” He questioned as he placed more meat on your rice.
“You know…”
“I seem to not understand what you mean, Angel,” he commented confusedly, yet when you looked up at him he was attempting so hard to hide his smile.
You glared at him, “Why didn’t we do it?”
“Oh, that,” he pondered with his fingers stroking his chin as though in thought. “I knew it. You find me irresistible and I can’t blame you-“
“I take it back. I take it all back-“
Suddenly, he leaned closer to you, his finger tilting your chin up to him. “You have no idea how difficult it was to stop myself from taking you last night,” he divulged, his eyes were serious. “But Angel, you deserve more than a quick night. You deserve to be romanced.”
Suga told you he would be right back after your lunch. He said that he saw something in the souvenir shop that Jackson junior would loved. You waited and waited, however, you thought he was taking a lot longer than he should have.
You decided that you would just go to the shop, after all it was near to the bus station. You walked out of the restaurant. The sun was about to set, making the place looked more ethereal. You found it both beautiful and sad. You wondered when you’d be able to see this again. You were about to cross the road when a strong hand pulled you back so swiftly that you had no choice but to slam your body to his, as his other hand guided your waist to him.
A strong, loud horn from the car reverberated on the otherwise peaceful street as it sped away, barely missing your form.
Fuck.
Holy shit.
People swarmed at you as they asked you if you were okay, but all you could hear was the sound of heart beating so loud. All you could focused on was the arms that saved you. You were both on the ground, his body beneath you after he saved you and you could feel his arms trembled against you.
All of the noise faded as you looked up at Suga, beside him laid the paper bag of what he bought the child. He was looking at you with alarm, the memory of you about to get hit by a car because you didn’t see it was still fresh in his mind.
“Suga-“
“I told you,” he started, his teeth gritted with panic and anger. “I told you I only got you. I told you I cannot fucking lose you- that I can never lose you. What the fuck were you thinking? Didn’t you see the car!?”
You didn’t.
That was the truth, you didn’t see much. Because if you did, you would have seen him walked to you just as you exited the restaurant. He was almost in front of you that time, and yet, you didn’t see him.
You feared your condition was near its extremity.
One week passed since your almost accident. You stared at the paper white walls decorated by several diplomas and certificates of him. The clinic was quiet, the only thing that could be heard was the door opening and your doctor seating in front of you. He sighed.
And you were used to this.
Initially, you were hopeful that there was a cure, that an operation was possible. But there wasn’t a cure- they could only prolong your eyesight for so long. And the operation was something you could never afford. You needed to go abroad for it, you needed to recuperate for months for it- all those things were out of your hands. Your condition started when you lost your parents at that tragic accident. Your father was the kindest and most hardworking man, and he had the moral of a saint. That, you thought, was his downfall.
It was late at night when your father witnessed a murder. It was a huge news, you remembered. A senator perished that night, and your father was the key witness to it all. Immediately, your whole world was flipped around. Your family had to go into a witness protection program, leaving the life you knew behind. The days were idle and quiet, but at night the three of you were in trepidation of what could have happened.
Until one night, the unthinkable happened.
Your father was on edge, saying that the three of you were no longer safe there, that the police was not all on your side. You remembered the car ride like it was yesterday. You remembered your father driving with urgency away from the safe house.
You remembered the sudden light aimed beside you, illuminating all three of your inside the dark car. You remembered your mother’s panicked scream, your father’s agitated movements as he tried to dodge the car all to no avail. And then you remembered a car slamming on your side.
You woke up a week later with a terrible news: your parents didn’t make it.
But you did.
It was another three months later when signs started manifesting. The impact from the car accident was so severe that it affected your eyes.
“Did you already prepare, Ms. Y/N?” The doctor asked kindly after several beats of silence.
You chuckled at his worried eyes. He had always been kind to you, offering you help, sending you pamphlets of where you could get help, even going as far as researching for a service dog. He had a fatherly concerned for you, and you appreciated him. “I’m going blind, Doc. Not dying,” you reprimanded him with humor in your voice.
He didn’t return your smile and instead, he sighed before pushing his glasses up. “Did you tell your family?”
A beat of silence. “I have none.”
“Do you have…anyone?”
It was dark when you arrived, your eyes focused on your feet as your conversation with your doctor played in your head. You had limited time. You were almost near when you looked up and saw Suga waiting for you outside your shared home. He smiled the moment he saw you, the sides of his eyes crinkled. He walked to you and before you knew it, he had his arms around you. Your face was buried on his muscular chest, inhaling his muscular scent.
He smelled like home, you thought.
Maybe you did have someone.
Maybe you had him.
“Affirmative, boss,” a man hidden in the shadows said in his earpiece, his eyes trained on the living leader of the mafia world. “Agustd is alive.”
pairing: chishiya shuntarou x fem!reader
genre: angst, fluff, unrequited love (but is it really), pining
wc: 30.8k (i know, i’m sorry)
warnings: violence, niragi, spontaneously written at 2am and under the influence, chishiya is emotionally constipated, violence, mentions of sex, making out, mentions of murder, suicidal themes, slightly obsessive banda, season 2episode 7, reader is reckless, mentions of torture, daddy issues, smut, dry humping, nipple play, oral (f and m receiving), fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before u tap it >:(), multiple orgasms, a little choking, doggy style, missionary summary: the final games of borderland are upon you. it’s up to you and chishiya to navigate where you stand in this world and to each other.
a/n: IM SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG,, and thank you for 515 followers!! <333 ily ily :((( i’m sad this is the last part. also i think the aib fandom has been thinning lately </333. i took too long in writing damn. if anyone wants drabbles of the hoc couple i’d be down to write them! i really enjoyed writing this story. thank u for reading it!
AO3 link ; Part 2 (Previous Part)
You still weren’t sure if you’d died in the Queen of Clubs game and hallucinated last night’s events. Neither of you was clear about what that kiss meant. Was it just in the heat of the moment? Was it Chishiya acting on his apology? Or perhaps a reciprocation of what you feel for him? You don’t know and you were too scared to ask.
The kisses ended as the song ended. Chishiya pulled away as soon as that record stopped spinning. Then he smiled at you. A small one where the corners of his lips were slightly turned upward. It was a smile that could mean many things if we were talking about that white-haired guy. To make matters worse, that motherfucker turns around and leaves you alone in the living room, confused and somewhat turned on, without saying anything.
The light seeps through your closed lids and you try to block it with your right hand, scrunching your forehead in annoyance. Your other hand glides over the other side of the bed, searching for the man who slept beside you last night. The material of his shirt is soft against your palms, indicating that he’s still next to you in bed.
With your eyes open now, you see Chishiya who is still sleeping beside you. He looks so peaceful like this. Although it’s not the first time that you’ve woken up beside Chishiya, it’s somewhat different to find something familiar in the real world.
You were sure you’d never see him again when you found yourself in this world. You’ve lost all hope to get back to your previous life. But he’s here. He’s real and beside you. Somehow, you don’t know if you’re lucky or misfortunate for this. Sometimes, you wish you never found him at The Beach.
“Get back to sleep.”
He still had his eyes closed, forehead scrunching while he said that. You chuckle, his morning voice ten times more attractive to you. Suddenly, the tip of his nose is the next thing you fixate on. Using your index finger, you booped it, making his nose scrunch up and catching your hand with his.
His eyes finally flutter open, staring at you intently. The only light in the room is from the sunlight seeping through the windows, you can see the reflection of it in his eyes. From this close distance, you can see his dark eyes’ irises in hazel brown. His skin looks a little bit rougher and his lips are drier than they did in the real world. Despite this, his lips still looked like it was beckoning you, whispering to be tasted as they did last night.
You turn on your stomach, leaning unto your elbows for support as you shift your body closer to his. The action was not easy, your body sore from all the fighting you’d done in the last game. His face is about an inch away from yours, so close that you can hear each other breathing. There’s a weight that is put onto the back of your neck and you quickly realize that Chishiya’s hand is there.
He doesn’t do anything. He doesn’t push your head down to finally close the distance. He doesn’t even move his fingers. His hand just stays still there as you slightly hover over him.
“Hey, Shuntarou. Will you marry me?”
A wide grin spreads across your face when you ask him. In answer, the man’s face drops into a frown, his eyes unamused. “What? You kissed me last night. You have to marry me now.”
“I don’t think that’s what that usually entails,” he replies with his raspy voice, lips tugged to an amused smirk.
“Can I kiss you again?” You ask, ignoring his sassy remark to your unserious question. Your gaze fell onto his lips once more. You were too scared of his answer to meet his eyes. So you wait.
Just like that, he finally uses his hand on your nape to push your head down, smashing your lips against his. Last night’s kiss was unexpected and serene. It was your first kiss with Chishiya and to you, it was perfect. However, this one right now is needy—like he couldn’t get enough of you.
You weren’t a prude. You've shared a bed with men even if your heart was Chishiya’s. It was mostly due to curiosity, loneliness, and simply fulfillment of needs. And if you were being honest, you don’t know if Chishiya was even interested in matters of sex. You never really indulged each other in your sensual lives. And to be frank, you’d rather not think about Chishiya being intimate with someone else.
However, as he kisses you right now and how he gently pushes your shoulder with his other hand to lay your head on the pillow, you know that Chishiya knows a thing or two about pleasing his partner. His body hovers over you as his knee is between your legs and his hand beside your head. Your hands clung to his shirt as if to prove to yourself that yes, Chishiya Shuntarou, the love of your life and the man of your dreams, is melting you in a heated kiss on a bed you shared.
You register the plumpness of his lips as you’re still in a bit of shock. Chishiya’s free hand slides to your waist and gives you a squeeze in order for you to fall back into the rhythm of his kisses. These lips that would often frown and smirk at you, how long have you imagined what they would feel like? They were warm, contrasting his cold exterior. Even warmer is his tongue as he darts it out to lick at your lips, asking for entrance. You let him in, pulling him even closer to you by grasping his shirt down.
It’s just so Chishiya to do things with ease and perfection. It seemed calculated and somehow erotic like he was communicating every word that he couldn’t say through his kisses. When he pulls away, it elicits a breathy gasp from you. Your eyes were wide open, blown out, and staring at him with glossy eyes.
You’ve only felt this way a few times in your life, a number you can count with your fingers. Happiness, is it?
It’s not high. It wasn’t addicting. You’ve experienced that a lot with fighting. But this… this feeling is so pleasing that it almost brings you to tears. This was the kind of happiness that brings you to disbelief. It makes you think, “Do I deserve to be this happy?”
“More,” you plead, begging like you were an addict.
Chishiya hums, his deep voice sending you straight to heaven right there and then. He doesn’t lean in. Instead, he taps your cheeks with three fingers. Twice in a fast motion.
To your disappointment, Chishiya removes himself from you and gets off the bed. He exits the bedroom and you were left on the bed, thirsty like a fish out of the water.
You’ve put on new gym clothes. It was a black sports bra and active jogger pants. Chishiya was in the living room, reading a book he found somewhere lying around. It seemed he found something too. “I’m going for a jog,” you inform him, already stretching to start.
Chishiya doesn’t even look at you. Typical. But you know he heard you and he wants you to be safe. It’s dangerous for both of you to keep going like this. Communication is much needed in every relationship, no matter what kind of relationship it is. You’re not sure if those kisses have changed anything in yours and you should really talk about it. However, what you really need right now is to sweat it out and gain some confidence to ask him.
Yesterday, you and Chishiya took the chance of having a long visa to lounge around all day. He never kissed you again and acted like how he was before. What he did do was not let you out of the bed, insisting that you should rest your injuries away for the day. You obliged. When have you not?
Now, it’s early in the morning and the sun has not even reached its highest. The apartment was near trees, you’ve gone just away from the center as much as possible. Chishiya said that after you join the next game, it’d be best to move out of there. He assumes that since the games would be going down one by one, the King of Spades would go around the edges of Tokyo to push everyone back into the center.
As you were running along the sidewalks, you remember having morning jogs and stretching like this with Usagi, bringing Usagi and Arisu into your thoughts once again. They should be fine. Kuina too. Still, you can’t help but worry for them.
You’ve gone a bit far from the apartment, jogging by a short tunnel under a bridge. Before completely going in, you stop in your tracks, hearing something other than the wind whistling and leaves rustling. You focused on listening, hiding on the side and pulling a dagger from a strap on your leg.
It was breathing. Difficult breathing. And sobs. Someone is crying.
You’ve become careful with your steps, readying for anything as you approach the sound. Slowly, you reach the voice. It was one man, leaning against the wall of the tunnel. It was dark but you could see the gunshot wound on his head and the gun in his hand. He could barely move his mouth, dark red blood all over it. When he sees you, his sobs get louder.
You stand near him but not approaching him closely. He raises his empty hand and points at something. You follow his gaze to your hand. He was pointing at your dagger.
Oh.
Your eyes darkened at what he was insinuating—what he was asking of you.
“P-Please… end it.”
This stranger was asking you to mercy kill him. Why? He was done for what he’d done. Why would he kill himself? You’re not sure he could even reply if you ask him.
His bloodshot eyes plead with you as tears and blood fall from them. You walk closer to the man, your hands slightly trembling. You wish you brought a gun with you. That way you wouldn’t have to use your hands for what you’ll do. You think about it first. Not if you’ll do it but how you’ll do it. You have a dagger. That’s all you have. You’ve brought it for emergencies but you didn’t think you’d actually have to use it.
It would have to be the most painless way possible.
“Lean forward,” you instruct the man in a low voice, completely dreading what you’re supposed to do.
The man, with all his strength left, removed himself from the wall. If you stab him repeatedly in the chest, he’d have to bleed out and die painfully longer. You have to strike somewhere else. His back was free for you to stab into. No matter how many deaths you’ve seen, it just doesn’t get easier. Especially if you’re the one to cause it.
This is the first kill. A mercy kill. You’re doing this man a favor but making a burden to yourself. You know that if you do this, you’ll have to remember him for the rest of your life and somehow regret it. You weren’t a monster. You have darkness inkling inside of you that you don’t understand but you were still human.
“T-thank you,” he was able to say as he spluttered blood onto the pavement. Tears well up in your eyes and your nostrils flare up as you take a deep breath.
Blocking your thoughts away, you strike your blade unto his back, just above his shoulder blade, severing the spinal cord. You remember this one lecture in med school where someone asked where would be the most painless way to stab someone to death out of sheer curiosity. This was the answer.
You watch as his body falls sideways when you pull out your dagger, his blood painting the cemented ground and your hand. You wipe your hunting blade on his clothes and put it back on the strap of your leg.
When death comes to collect him, his hands relax and their contents fall. Something scrunched up fell out of the hand without the gun, the one he pointed your dagger with. You pick it up and straighten it. It was a picture of him and a child. He was a father.
Does that mean that child is dead? A father wouldn’t kill himself knowing he has a daughter back home. But would he? It’s possible. You don’t even know the name of this man. You don’t know what kind of person he is, much less a father. Sighing, you pick up his gun next. It was a Pistol. You could keep it but it was useless. Where would you get—
Oh.
For the second time in a few minutes, you were dumbstruck. Even if it was pointless, you couldn’t help but check the gun just to be sure. And you were glad you did. This gun… still had bullets, meaning you didn’t have to do it yourself.
Your grip on the gun tightened, feeling a bit betrayed by this man. He hadn’t asked you to kill him because he was incapable and out of bullets. He asked you to do it because he was a coward to finish it himself.
Feeling a bit drained because of the revelations, you decide to head back to the apartment, carrying the gun in your hand.You push open the door, knowing you’ve left it unlocked.
“I’m back,” you announced to not alarm your companion in the house. Chishiya was already in your line of sight, sitting on the couch which can be seen directly from the door. He wasn’t sitting there earlier. Was he waiting for you?
Lifting his head from the book, he takes in your appearance. There was blood that splattered over you. Not to mention your hand that was still covered in blood and holding a loaded gun. He raises a brow as if waiting for an explanation. You shake your head, not wanting to talk about it.
“It’s nothing I couldn’t handle,” you press and head to the room to clean yourself.
When you’ve cleaned yourself and changed your clothes, you stare at the gun on your bedside table. You sat down on the side of the bed, slouching, and then completely lying down and staring at the ceiling. You shouldn’t feel this way. You still helped the man. But still, you couldn’t help but feel a little bit betrayed. Maybe that’s just how it is. This is how people are. In the end, he chose to die no matter who did it or how it happened. It’s fine to feel upset. But what happened already happened.
Chishiya strides into the room, standing beside you and looking down at you. You groan, turning to your side to not see him. “Go away,” you order weakly.
You’d rather not tell him what happened. This will go away in a few days. But for now, your heart is too heavy to do anything else. So, for now, you hope Chishiya leaves it alone.
“I’ll join a Diamonds game.”
You scoff. “I said I’m fine—wait, what?” You sat up on the bed in disbelief. That’s what he was going to say? He wasn’t even going to check up on you?
“You’re staying here. You need more rest,” he adds.
You shake your head. “What? Are you kidding? No!”
He stares at you, giving you that nonchalant expression again. This was non-negotiable. He really didn’t want you anywhere near the Diamonds game.
“I’ve won a Diamonds game once.” It was true. Your first game was a Diamond. You were capable of a Diamonds game. Just because you threw away medicine doesn’t mean you were not smart. “What if only one survives? That’s not limited to a Hearts game, you know?”
You couldn’t answer.
“I’ll go,” he repeats. “Stay here.”
“When?” You ask him, lips jutting out almost into a pout. Your frown and scrunched-up forehead should tell him that you still don’t agree with this. “Tomorrow.”
You put your head down. If he’s going to join a game, you couldn’t just wait around here for him to come home. It’s going to make you officially go insane, being alone here in Borderlands.
You’ve never been alone since you met Usagi. Ever since you met her, you couldn’t believe you found an actual pure person here. She was a good friend and just like she’s done for Arisu, she’s the reason why you’re still alive and fighting for yourself.
It was time to join a game by yourself again.
“Fine,” you say without looking at him, fronting how you’re just agreeing with him but already decided that you’ll leave once he’s out of sight.
He doesn’t say anything and just walks out of the room, finishing the conversation.
You gave Chishiya the silent treatment the whole night. Were you sulking? Maybe. But you can’t really blame him. You were just upset. Was that a crime? You can be upset right? A person doesn’t have to be understanding every time. When you woke up, he was still beside you, staring at you with those deep brown eyes. Why is he looking at you like this?
“What?” you deadpanned.
“I’ll come back.” It wasn’t to assure you. It wasn’t a promise. It was simply a statement. He’ll come back. He’s sure of it. You trust him, yes. But maybe the reason you’re upset was because of something else. Worry? But not just for him. For him and yourself.
What if you don’t come back from the game you’re joining? That would be a shame. He won’t even know and just find you gone. But he won’t allow you. So if you don’t allow him now, you’d be a hypocrite.
“I know,” you answer softly, laying your armor down, and giving up the fight. He sits up on the bed, tugging on his white jacket that was folded by his bedside table and wearing it. It was cute to you how he still wears it.
“We have many days left on our visa. Does it have to be today?” You ask him, sitting up too.
“I want to clear the games as fast as possible,” he answers.
You understand that he wants to clear the Diamond games himself. What for? Absolutely nothing but curiosity and interest. He finds them fun and challenging even if his life was on the line. Sometimes, you think you worry more about his life than he does.
He knows he’s clever. You know that too. But sometimes, he really needs to realize that he isn’t immortal or anything. You sigh. “A game could take days. What do I do here?”
“Rest. Did you forget you have an injured leg?” He was putting on his shoes now, turning his head for a second to give you a look.
“No. But it’s fine now.” You really did feel better about your leg. “I want to look for the others.”
“When I come back.” He refuses again and stands up, ready for his day. You poked your cheek with your tongue. He really doesn’t want you out of this house, does he?
The rest of the day goes by quietly. He planned to leave in the afternoon. So, you still had a meal with him before he left. Chishiya leaving was uneventful. He didn’t kiss you goodbye or offer you any words of assurance. He just… left. However, he did remind you to rest.
But rest, you didn’t.
You gave Chishiya 30 minutes before you left. It was 30 minutes for him to get far enough for you not to see him outside. It was getting dark and cold. You’ve decided to put on a hoodie, covering your sports bra. You slung the sword Kuina gave you over your shoulder and put your dagger back in its sheath that was attached to a wrap over your leggings. You figured that the gun might come in handy to you if you ever come face to face with the King of Spades. So, you took that too, putting it inside your small belt bag.
You head over to the nearest Spades game, knowing it will be a long walk.
You were about 45 minutes away from the apartment and looking for a working car. However, you were failing. Every car out here is trashed. Plus, you weren’t very knowledgeable about fixing them up.
So you had no choice but to walk.
Getting a bit tired, you decide to sit down on the sidewalk.
However, not even five minutes of your resting have passed, you hear a scream. And then gunshots. Not just any gunshots. Rifles.
You immediately stand up, hearing that dreadful sound could only mean one thing.
And then you see the woman screaming, running with a few people behind her.
The King of Spades was here.
You get on your feet, hearing and seeing his blimp in the sky. Your sneaker-clad feet pounded against the cemented ground, breathing steadily as your lungs pumped. Fuck. You can’t face him alone.
You just ran, always choosing the safest option of direction while avoiding the gunshots. One direction led you to another then another, until you lost sight of the Spades game’s blimp. You were forced to go the other direction to another game.
You ran and ran until you didn’t hear the gunshots anymore. Then you see it. A blimp for another game that wasn’t a Spades or Diamonds. It wasn’t your target but it also wasn’t Chishiya’s.
Can you do it?
You don’t know which is more depressing: you ending up in a Hearts game or the grey walls of Teio Prison.
PUT ON A COLLAR AND GO UPSTAIRS TO THE CENTRAL GUARDROOM
There were two collars left on the table. Shit. It’s the exploding kind of Heart game, huh?
With a frown, you get one of the collars and clasp it around your neck. It makes a blip sound and some kind of shuffling sound. What could that be? Whatever it is, you know it’s no good.
Sighing, you make your way to the central guardroom, taking all your time in the world and observing the dark penitentiary. It’s giving you the creeps. You thought about what might have you waiting here. A Hearts game in prison? You really should’ve joined a Spade game. Man, fuck the King of Spades. This is all his fault. You just hope that Chishiya is doing well at a Diamon—
Chishiya?
As soon as you lift your head from looking at the stairs you were climbing, your line of sight catches that damned white jacket and white hair. What was he doing here? Didn’t he say he’d join a Diamonds game?
You didn’t let the shock show through your movements or countenance. Instead, you turn to your right and lock your eyes with him as you stand over the nearest wall from the stairs.
Everyone was reserved and kept themselves at a distance from others. It wouldn’t look good if you just walked over to him like old buddies at a fair. It’s better to be strangers. But oh, he was mad.
With the way his brows were slightly furrowed and his jaw was clenched, you try not to avoid his gaze and cower right there and then. Beside him, the agitated man in overalls follows Chishiya’s gaze over to you and then he whispers something to him. This made you look away, afraid he’ll know of your relations. While you busy yourself with observing the other players, you’re sure Chishiya made up a lie about you.
You hear soft steps on the staircase and you know that the game is about to start. You notice that their feet were intentionally light. There was only one collar left downstairs. The person going up should be the last player.
He stops right at the end of the stairs, looking around at all the players who were avoiding his gaze. Well, except you and Chishiya. Lastly, his gaze lands on you who was right beside him. The corner of his lips curled up into a subtle sinister smirk. You raise a brow, tilting your head to the side. You already don’t like this guy. You poked your cheek with your tongue and crossed your arms, about to address his condescending stare when the screen attached to the wall lights up, indicating the game is starting.
DIFFICULTY LEVEL
Jack of Hearts
The odd man’s eyes stray from yours when the automated voice is heard. You both look at the screen and listen attentively.
GAME SOLITARY
CONFINEMENT
Rules:
Guess the card suit that appears on the back of your collar. However, you may not look at the symbol yourself. This game is about how much you can trust one another.
The time limit is one hour per round.
In the final five minutes, enter the cell and state your symbol.
When the time limit reaches zero, your collar will reset and change for each round.
Beware that your opponent, the Jack of Hearts is hidden among you.
Looking at your symbol through reflection is not allowed.
Players may not use weapons or violence to kill fellow players.
GAME OVER If you do not guess your correct symbol, your collar will explode.
GAME CLEAR
You win when the Jack of Hearts dies.
As the other players react to the rules and other details of the game, you are left to think for yourself. There’s no limit of hours to this game which means that betrayal is inevitable if we want to get out of these depressing walls. Someone has to lie to the Jack, kill him, and clear this game. Anyone could be the Jack, even Chishiya.
The game will now commence.
ROUND ONE
It’s complete silence as the buzzer rings throughout the penitentiary, indicating the start of the timer for an hour. The players are eyeing each and every one, probably looking for a trustworthy face to dictate their suits and fate. At least, now you know that Chishiya wouldn’t lie to you about your suit. Should you just go ahead and partner up with him? It shouldn’t look suspicious, right?
Some players began to partner up as you still stand like a wallflower, watching as they form groups.
“So, the 20 of us need to eliminate each other until we somehow figure out who the Jack of Hearts is.” A tall man in corporate attire speaks out loud, speaking to no one in particular beside the first two guys who decided to partner up. “What makes you think that anyone is trustworthy?”
The two guys who were just eager to tell each other’s suit began to grow wary, stepping away from each other hastily. Your brow furrows at this man. He was right but his aura exudes something dark and clouded, just like the man beside you who last joined the game. Could either of them be the jack?
An arrogant-looking bald guy in chains that previously stood in the middle of the guardroom makes his way in your direction. Your senses are heightened, alert for any cause of disturbance. However, he shifts his way to your right, heading to the nervous-looking man in a blue checkered shirt with a smirk.
He corners him, no doubt going to pressure him into telling him his suit. He’s a bully that found a mouse to play around with. That’s a wrong move. You watch from your peripheral as the man quivers and shakes from the bald man. “Tsk,” you couldn’t help but react distastefully. Thankfully, the bald man didn’t notice. It was taking everything in you not to intervene.
The man beside you, however, hears your displeased reaction. Unfortunately, this puts his attention back on you. So you speak, gathering it’d be better to speak to someone, at least. If he was Jack, then he’d want to hear your next words.
“This game…” you utter in a low voice, wanting him to be the only one who hears. “Isn’t going to be cleared through shit like that.”
The other players began to form a large group with the girl in a blue dress leading it. From the looks of it, this girl is also not to be trusted. Getting involved with a large group offers a far larger chance of betrayal. Especially with one person leading it and others blindly following whatever this person’s decision may be.
“Forcing,” you refer to the bald man who was still bullying the blue-checkered shirt guy into telling him his suit. “Control,” you refer to the girl who has now gathered most of the players. She’s only put herself more at risk now that she aimed for control. Things could easily turn around if they don’t like the way how she handles things. And you could already tell. From here, she reeks of being fake and two-faced. That group should be the last choice for you.
“This game is about trust.” You sigh. It seemed fairly easy but you could already tell that this game is going to be a messy representation of humanity. It seemed so fitting—a Hearts game of this difficulty being a face card.
It’s a clever game, you have to admit. By now, every player in Borderland knows that you should never willingly enter a Hearts game with someone you want to get out of this world with. But this one puts you in a position of needing to have that someone with you in order to survive this game. No matter what, as long as you have one player you have here who you know you can trust, you’ll be able to walk out of here.
You walk off, not waiting for the guy’s response. There was one hour for each round. You’re sure you can find a partner a little later if Chishiya won’t agree. It’s only the first round and you don’t think even the Jack of Hearts would start killing now.
For now, you really need to see the food supply they were so proud of. As you head downstairs, you realize that the guy beside you followed you as you register his footsteps when you snapped out of your deep thoughts about the game. You stop in your tracks, waiting for the man to address what the hell is he after. Did he want to be partners? Well, you don’t really think that that’s a good idea for you.
“You’re that L/N.”
You turn around, looking at the source of the voice and the person who seems to know of your heritage. Without the thought of Chishiya startling you, you’re able to focus clearly on the man in front of you. He looked not older than you and Chishiya, a little taller than the both of you too. He was wearing a blue long-sleeved shirt with an inner white shirt. His hair is dark and his eyes were tired, bags under them, and yet he did not look as tired. Instead, his eyes glimmer of malice and unexplainable darkness as he gives you a smirk.
“And who are you?” You question the man in front of you. You can’t quite put your finger on it but the man looked familiar—like you’ve seen him before Borderland.
“Banda Sunato.” Again, familiar. You’ve heard of it, you’re sure. Was he famous for something? A family friend? A rich person? You really should've paid attention to the television more.
Something tells you not to trust this man. This was a Hearts game, after all. No one could be trusted. Yet, if you partner yourself with Chishiya, who knows where that will lead? It’s unsafe and he’s a little mad right now. Truthfully, you are too. What can you say? You both are a stubborn bunch.
“Banda? It’s familiar,” you truthfully ask him for some reason.
“Should be. I was in the news for a while.” The smirk hasn’t been wiped off his face. From then on, you were sure. Just like Niragi, this man is bad news.
So you turn around again, ready to walk off and head to the food supply. However, a hand on your shoulder stops you. A glimpse of white flashes your eyes from above and you look up for a few seconds, meeting Chishiya’s eyes who were watching you from the floor above, leaning against a wall beside the man dressed in a yellow striped shirt and denim overalls. His jaw is clenched, lips tight, and even from his crossed arms, you see the tight fists forming from his hands. My, he’s almost making a frown too.
You don’t turn around to face Banda again but you break eye contact with Chishiya. You wait for him to speak and look at his frail hands on your shoulder. His hands are gentle, the perfect way to lure you in. You can see from the way his hands looked rough yet delicate—this man cannot fight. Worst comes to worst, you can take him down. But that didn’t matter. This is a Hearts game which means that most of these players are Hearts specialists, no doubt him being one too. You have to be smart about this. You can’t punch your way out of this one.
“I’m a serial killer,” he adds.
You raise a brow, slowly turning your whole body to face him again. How could he just throw that out of nowhere like it’s a well-sought and respected occupation? And then you remember. Banda Sunato. It was what? One or two weeks? He was all that the news held. He was known to have murdered about four people, specifically women. A real psychopath heading for death row. It gives you the chills, having a real-life murderer standing in front of you and taking an interest in you.
Does this man scare you? Maybe a little. Should you partner up with him? The normal and sane response would be no but there’s this irrational thought that keeps persuading you that maybe you can actually get through the game with this criminal.
If what Asaki said in the Queen of Clubs game was real then it really is up to the citizens to design games. A serial killer designing a game inside Teio Prison. It seemed to fit like a puzzle that he would be the Jack of Hearts.
That’s how you know that it’s possible that he might not be it. It was too easy and too obvious.
“Are you asking me to partner up with you?” You ask with a poker face, jutting your chin up to compensate for the height difference. It’s funny how a murderer was asking you to trust him. It has to be the most stupid insinuation you have heard in your life.
“I agree with what you said back there.” He answers, referring to what you said before walking off. “So I’m telling you who I am. It’s your choice, hospital princess. Will you trust a serial killer in this world?”
Right now, you badly wanted to look up at Chishiya who is no doubt watching from the floor above. You want him to give you some kind of advice or answer for you. But you know he won’t. You’re on your own for this one. You sigh, mirroring his smirk and tilting your head. Don’t let him think he bothers you. “Can I think about it? I’m really hungry.”
“Of course,” he replies. And with one nod, you walk away from him, still feeling the serial killer’s eyes on you until you get away from the center of the lower floor.
The cafeteria was indeed filled with shelves of food and drinks. As you stare at a wall of food, you are overwhelmed with the choices, not being used to seeing multiple foods that are actually still edible and you didn’t have to check their expiration date. You roam your eyes around, looking for something good to eat.
And then you spot that yellow bag of biscuits. Chishiya’s favorite. Seeing it made you grin to yourself. Oh, he’s gonna be so happy. Too bad you didn’t really like those cookies.
There were ramen cups and instant rice too but you figure that a snack would suffice so you grab yourself a packed strawberry cake roll and a chocolate drink. You missed sweets so much. You’re tired of eating instant noodles and whatever canned goods you could find in convenience stores.
There were a few people in the cafeteria. You didn’t like any of them as you stared at them. They stare at you too, probably working out if you were the Jack of Hearts. You give them a smile, one that is confident. Then you give them a nod, one that is out of respect. And then you leave the cafeteria.
You ate the sliced cake roll while walking around the penitentiary, observing the people and keeping the chocolate drink in your hoodie’s pocket.
No one seemed like a safe option. The big group, the bald man and his mouse, the couple in business attire, Chishiya, and Banda. These are your options.
And finally, you approach Chishiya and his partner who awfully reminds you of Minions because of his outfit. “Hey,” you talk to the overalls guy, purposefully ignoring Chishiya. “Do you guys have room for one more?”
The guy stutters, looking over to Chishiya for some kind of confirmation. Wow, he already trusts him this much?
“We’re part of this group already,” Chishiya answers for him and points at the blue-dress girl. So they joined the big group? Huh. You wonder why. You know he knows that big groups are dangerous. Once one person’s trust is lost, they’ll go down like dominoes.
It doesn’t matter, then. You only need Chishiya’s trust. But it seems that he doesn’t want you to join him here.
“Huh,” your reply now was for Chishiya. It’s crazy. He’s driving you insane. Is he still mad that you joined a game? If he cares so much about you then why won’t he just tell you your suit and—you don’t know, keep you alive?
You place the last roll of cake in your mouth, chewing in front of the two guys. You give a nod at Chishiya who stares at you with curled-up lips, anticipating your next move.
This is dangerous, what you’ve decided to do.
You could ask Chishiya again or his partner what your suit was and join their big group. But you don’t want to.
You take a step back and Chishiya’s smirk drops. He wasn’t expecting that. He thought you’d try and persuade him to let you join his partnership with Ippei.
A strange feeling tugs your heart as you walk away from Chishiya. His presence is comforting. It calms you down in this game. And yet, you are walking away from him—from both your safety.
You aim to find the Jack of Hearts yourself. And you won’t be able to do that hiding from Chishiya’s back.
As if on cue, Banda walks into the central guardroom with another guy behind him. He was tall and had this fringe covering almost half of his face. So he already found a partner after all.
“Replaced me so quickly?” You ask with a smirk as you punch your straw in the chocolate drink.
“So you’ve decided.” His voice is as sinister as his whole being. It scares you. A lot. But you think you can trust him. You think.
“They all seemed… boring,” you answer truthfully.
The man behind him watches you carefully and you give him a slight wave. “What’s up? I’m Y/N.”
“Matsushita,” he replies simply.
You turn around, pulling off your hoodie and hair away from your nape.
“Heart.” It was Banda who answered, then it was confirmed by Matsushita.
You ask them if you need to tell them theirs but they said there was no need. You shrug, they must’ve already told each other.
And so you were in Banda’s group. This is gonna be hella interesting.
You sit by the two guys as the hour passes, watching the other players interact and talk to each other. You don’t doubt that Banda told you your real suit. The killings won’t start yet. Not in the first round.
“Are you not going to doubt me?” Banda asks you as you sit next to each other against a wall. Matsushita stands beside you, no doubt listening to your conversation now.
This Matsushita—you don’t like him. He seemed quietly arrogant. Those are the worst kind of assholes.
“No,” you admit. “You’re not going to lie to me yet.”
“You still don’t trust me?” He asks but he knows the answer to that. “Then why would you join me? Your life is in my hands now.”
Your mind brings you back to a certain blonde-haired man. His smirks and his clever words. “I like my men a little deranged,” you answer with a shrug.
There was silence between you for a few seconds. The sound of your drinking is the only thing heard. Although you’ve long strayed your eyes from Banda, you still feel his eyes on you. He was thinking deeply, calculating you like a math problem.
“You don’t like your life outside Borderlands,” he concluded. You pause, turning your head to look at the psychopath. What was he saying? “You’re reckless but smart. You know what you’re doing here. And yet you still paired up with me knowing I’ve murdered for nothing but pleasure. What makes you think I won’t kill you?”
You scoff. “You won’t kill me in the first round. There needs to be some kind of push before the killing starts. Like a hand triggering dominos.” He listens to you and doesn’t answer for a while, thinking while a sinister smile spreads on his face. You know you’re right.
“Just as I thought,” he answers before standing up.
The timer turns zero as he stands up and the voice of the game speaks again.
“It is time to give your answer. Please enter a solitary confinement of your choosing.”
You walked side by side with Banda, stopping at a door next to his. From your peripheral, you could see that Chishiya chose a door two doors down from yours. You’re pretty sure you’re safe for the first round but you can’t help but panic.
You enter a cell. It’s small and even more depressing than the outside.
“Please give your answer.”
The speed of your heart beating rises, constricting the air in your lungs. An exploding neck should be one of the most gruesome ways to die in Borderlands.
You calmly close your eyes, tuning out the panicked thoughts in your head.
“Heart.”
Silence.
A rush of relief passes you. Just as you thought. No one is dying in the first hour.
You step out of the cell at the same time as everybody else does. Banda’s eyes were already on you when you looked at him, giving you the same sinister stare. You wink at him in return before walking off to follow the other players, not even staying to see his reaction.
“Round 2 begins now.”
In the center guardroom, the big group began to thank each other for being honest. You sat on your spot before, in the middle of a sitting Banda and a standing Matsushita.
“I wonder how long is this going to go on for?”
Matsushita verbalizes the question in your mind. If there’s no trigger, the real game wouldn’t start. But it has to be soon. If not and all the players really are going to be honest with each other, then soon we’d be stuck in this prison in an endless cycle. Even if the food supply is abundant, each round lasts an hour. It’d be exhausting. One can’t get much sleep in an hour. We’d go insane in these dry walls.
“Either the Jack will start to kill or someone afraid of the Jack will start to kill. As Y/N said earlier, until a trigger happens, this will never end.” Banda’s the one who answered Matsushita’s question.
Before you could give your thoughts, a body slams to the floor next to Banda. It was the boy in the blue-checkered shirt, being thrown off by the bald man in chains.
“I told you to give me the answer!” The arrogant man screams in frustration. Everyone goes quiet as they watch the situation unfolds. This man couldn’t be more stupid, thinking he would win by using his fists over his partner.
He was about to attack the man with a kick but you move faster than light, standing and throwing a kick to the man’s stomach before he could hurt the boy, sending him flying and landing on his bottom and away from you. You don’t know why you did it. You couldn’t stop yourself from saving him. Maybe it has become all too pathetic or too painful to watch. At times like these, you really miss Arisu and Usagi. You know they would’ve done the same. Maybe even better than you.
“What the fuck?!” The man reacts, staring at you with glaring wide eyes.
From behind you, Banda moves to the boy on the floor, whispering in his ear. You hear it all clearly. While he was asking if the boy was alright, he whispers that he should tell him his suit is a Club.
It was the wrong answer.
The man quickly stands up, glaring at you along the way. He heads for the boy again and you wanted to interrupt if it weren’t for you catching Chishiya’s gaze of disapproval and Banda holding your arm. You glance at Banda's hand on your arm and he lets go, walking back to his spot while the bald man begins holding the boy by his hair.
Don’t get involved, you could almost hear Chishiya’s voice in your head. It’s what he would say to you in this situation.
“Looks to me that you want another beating.” He punches the boy in the face and you put your head down.
“Give me the answer!” He raises his fist, threatening to throw another punch if the boy doesn’t speak.
“C-club!” The boy stuttered out an answer.
“Huh?!” The man wants him to repeat it louder.
“Club!” he answers, firmer this time yet he still closes his eyes, readying himself for another punch.
The fist doesn’t come. Instead, the man taps his face like he’s a good dog. “Don’t wait so long next time.” And he lets go of the boy’s hair roughly, making the boy lean on his palms to support himself again on the floor. Then he collapses his body on the floor, curling up and turning into a sobbing mess.
The man passed by Chishiya and his partner, walking through the other players and all of you could see clearly.
The bald man’s symbol is a Diamond.
“It’s the trigger,” Banda whispers in your ear, making the hair at the back of your head rise. Ah. That’s why he manipulated the boy into saying the false suit. It was to finally start the game.
It didn’t matter now. All is said and done. The boy lied in front of everybody by choice. The wall of trust is broken.
The game is finally starting… and you couldn’t help but think that it’s your doing.
Just as expected, the lies and mischief started when the bald man’s neck blew up. Everyone is scared, wondering if they’re going to be next.
To make matters worse, the big group recruited the boy who first lied. You can tell that Urumi, the girl in the blue dress, wanted to eliminate him in case he was the Jack. Having such a mischievous leader, that group is going to end up in flames.
“You’re no princess, after all.” You don’t know if Banda is talking about your eating habits or show of skill in the previous round.
Still, you glare at Banda as you eat potato chips this time around, craving something salty. There was silence as you two sat side by side in the central guardroom. Matsushita has gone to the cafeteria to get some snacks of his own.
You wonder what Chishiya was doing right now. He’s in the cafeteria with the big group. You’re incredibly bored.
“Underground fighter,” you suddenly say. Banda doesn’t answer but you know he’s intrigued and listening.
“I’m an underground fighter,” you finish your sentence.
“I see,” he replies as if that answers a lot of questions for him. “Blood, sweat, and glory. It appeals to you.”
You nod. “I’m a Spades player.”
“Then you’ve definitely fought harder here than back there in the real world.”
He was right. You thought back to the games you were in—all the games where you had to fight for yourself. It was life or death and yet it gave you that feeling of rush. To put your life on the line gives you an unexplainable feeling that you loved and craved.
“You crave death.” His sudden words make you freeze. “You’re not afraid of being hurt because you want it. You like it more when it’s about to kill you. Because you want it, don’t you? The reason you’re so reckless is that you have nothing to lose. It doesn’t matter if you die today or tomorrow. It’s why you partnered up with me. Because you’re more at risk with me.”
His face has become awfully close to yours, inches away. He hadn’t put on a smirk this time. Instead, he stares at your soul like he’s known you all your life or he can read you like an open book. Unlike Chishiya, you found nothing but an abyss in his soulless eyes.
Was it true? Is the reason why you loved fighting so much… because you’re suicidal? You thought about it a lot. That maybe one night, you might just meet your match and finally die in that ring. No one will know. You’ll just disappear into thin air. That was how the underground worked. It was a thought that scared you but somehow calmed you.
If this doesn’t work today, then you’ll just die. But every night, you prove yourself wrong. You win. Was it just a battle with yourself that you deserve to win with the risk of dying?
“What shall you do?” He tilts his head to the side. “I think I plan to keep you alive until the end.”
The shake in your eyes is probably noticeable now. So you furrow your brows. This man is not the Jack of Hearts. He wants to win this as much as you do. But why? You assume that this is just fun for him, seeing so many deaths.
Fine, you’ll play the game.
“I want to live,” you firmly say.
“Why?” He asks. “Why do you want to live?”
It was almost the same question Chishiya asked you back at The Beach. While Chishiya asked you what was so valuable about your life in the real world, Banda asked you why you want to live. It’s just two questions—two questions that are somehow related to each other. Unfortunately, you don’t have the answer to that yet. Life has never appealed to you. It brought you more bad than good and yet you want to live. Do you deserve to? Probably not. But you don’t care. As long as you can, you will fight to live.
“So I can live freely. Here.” A lie. But you sensed that that’s what he wanted to hear. It wasn’t much of a secret. If you’re a criminal on trial, which is a better world to be in? A boring, stupid world where you’re on death row or a cruel one where people die every day? Where everyone is equal? Where it doesn’t matter how rich or poor you are or what you’ve done or what you haven’t done? Where all that matters is you play the game and survive? You… what would you choose?
He seemed satisfied with your answer, pulling away and looking ahead with his hands on his knees again. “I think… this world is a perfect one.”
You couldn’t believe it. Did you just agree to an invitation to live in Borderlands? Maybe that’s really how this all ends. When you win the games, maybe it will just be your turn to make them. And then what? Maybe this is really Hell and you’re supposed to die here.
If you’re a citizen, then you would probably work on the Spades games. Banda would definitely be in charge of Hearts. What about Chishiya? He’ll be in Diamonds, for sure. Is it really possible? A world where you and Chishiya could rule and be free?
You shake the thoughts away. No. This can’t be it. If that were to happen, then you’re not free. You won’t ever be. Not here. You thought back to that man in the tunnel and what he made you do. You don’t want any of that any more than necessary. You won’t have blood on your hands anymore.
And just like that, an agreement is made between you and the serial killer.
You’ll work together to know more about the citizens. Meaning, you have to catch the Jack of Hearts and interrogate him into telling you more.
For the next round, the boy in the blue-checkered shirt did not survive the lies of the big group. As expected, he isn’t the Jack of Hearts.
You were getting some snacks in the cafeteria with Matsushita, even getting some food for Banda. You haven’t seen him eat at all the whole game. Are psychopaths incapable of knowing when to eat too?
You notice Matsushita getting the same brand of biscuits that he has been getting each round. Were those really good? You know you’ve tried them once before and there wasn’t really anything special about it. Nah. There was something off about it. How could he just keep getting the same snacks?
Chishiya’s group is mostly at the cafeteria during the rounds. Though, instead of sitting with them, he’s usually at a table beside them with the minion guy whose name you learned is Ippei. He’s just there, eating away his damned biscuits. Sometimes, he would even put four pieces into his mouth while staring into your eyes. Damn, he really missed them, huh?
From what you’ve eavesdropped on, things are starting to get messy with the big group. The blue-dressed girl is starting to turn on her members one by one. Now, you realize that the sole purpose of her making the group is to gain control over who dies first. As if she could get the Jack that way.
For the next few rounds, they fall like dominos. Their pictures are blacked out on the screen as if they’re players on a game show. They were visibly and loudly stressed, the members of the big group. Soon, they’ll be out like a light.
By round nine, you noticed that Chishiya and Ippei were somewhat separated from the group but are still there, opting to not include themselves in their arguments. He really just needs Ippei, you think.
Banda has been keeping you alive so far. And you don’t think he’s been lying to you so far in any of your conversations alone with him. However, it’s Matsushita that has been suspicious.
You have a feeling that he’s planning to eliminate Banda somehow. But you aren’t sure how. Does he think Banda’s the Jack of Hearts?
And those biscuits. You’ve figured it out by round six. He’s communicating with the girl in office attire, the one with the boyfriend who was keeping her away from all the other players for protection. Yaba and Kotoko are their names if you remember them right from the screen.
If the girl’s communicating with Matsushita then that means that she doesn’t trust her partner. From afar, Matsushita and Kotoko looked awfully submissive to their partners, Yaba and Banda. So, they’ve been scheming, acting like they’re being controlled.
Then it was just seven of you. You, Banda, Matsushita, Yaba, Kotoko, Chishiya, and Ippei.
Ippei has been distressed the whole game. Unlike the people here who have been tainted by the games, he was pure. You’re glad Chishiya found a partner like him.
But he’s wavering. And not in the way the others wavered into lying to save themselves. In fact, the boy looked disgusted with all the lies and killing. Just how did he survive all those games before?
“Y/N.”
An agitated beckoning whisper pulls you back from your worry for Chishiya’s well-being and partner. It was Matsushita, looking around like he was wary of someone.
Huh. He’s going to try and eliminate me.
“What’s wrong?” You ask, feigning worry.
“Did you know that Banda’s a serial killer?” He asks like it’s new information.
You raise your brows and freeze from getting a snack on the shelf, turning your head to the man acting like you are in pure shock. “W-what?”
“Before Borderlands. In the real world, he’s a serial killer. I think we should eliminate him. He may be the Jack of Hearts.” He explains distraught.
Before you can react to his acting, Banda strides into the cafeteria. You shift and give the entering man a smirk.
“Got that thing you brought me last time?”
You nod and reach for the snack and throw it in his direction. He catches it with ease as it lands on his stomach.
“Let’s go back to the guardroom,” Banda says to both of you, taking a swift glance at Chishiya and his partner who was sitting on one of the tables as well.
You follow Banda closely, wanting so badly to take a glance at the man in the white jacket when you feel his burning gaze following you and Banda.
Chishiya’s all alone for the next round. You gathered that maybe Ippei couldn’t handle the mental pressure and eliminated himself because you don’t think that Chishiya would’ve given him the wrong answer when he needed him so much. He’s probably in the cafeteria all alone right now. Matsushita’s heading there right now to get his biscuits, leaving you alone with Banda just right outside the hall of the cafeteria.
You don’t know why but you feel like this is the final round.
Oddly, Banda’s keeping a close eye on you. You wonder if it’s because of him seeing you and Matsushita talking.
He put a hand in front of you when you wanted to follow Matsushita into the cafeteria. You hope that he doesn’t think you don’t trust him anymore.
“It’s him, isn’t it?”
You break the silence with a mutter. And then he smirks, confirming your question. Matsushita’s the Jack of Hearts. He was right there beside you all along.
You don’t say anything more, knowing that Matsushita’s about to come back any minute. You notice that Yaba gave Banda a glance when he passed. Either he finds Banda suspicious or they’ve been communicating too.
By now, it’s you who’s not sure if you can still trust him.
“I won’t lie to you.” Banda is the one who speaks now, still not looking at you. “You don’t have to worry.”
It was oddly comforting that you almost forgot that you were talking to a psychopath who kills women, of all people. However, you stayed quiet and nodded.
Matsushita’s taking a bit long taking his biscuits and you know that Chishiya must’ve spoken to him in there somehow. He doesn’t have a partner, after all. Someone has to tell him about his suit. You want to do it for him but Banda’s keeping an eye on you.
When Matsushita appears again, Banda asks him what happened.
He fidgets on his biscuits packet and then answers. “The Jack of Hearts. I think that it’s that guy.” Then he points to Chishiya’s picture on the screen.
“I thought he was suspicious too,” Banda replies while looking up at the screen.
“Hm. He did seem quiet through all of this.” You add. There was no point in denying Chishiya being suspicious. You nod at Matsushita as if complimenting him on his observance. But honestly, you want to punch his stupid fringe away from his eye.
“Well, don’t worry.” He looks at you and Banda proudly. “He’ll die this round. I promise you that.”
“Good,” you tell him and give him a smile but your blood was boiling deep inside. You wanted to punch him. He definitely lied to Chishiya about his suit back there.
Fuck. How will you save him? How will you protect him? Think. I have to get out of Banda’s sight.
“Let’s tell each other’s symbol then,” you suggest. “I’ll go first.”
You turn around, lowering your hood and parting your hair from the back. Again, it’s Banda who first speaks up.
“Club.”
When it was confirmed by Matsushita, he turned around. With Matsushita’s back turned to you and Banda, Banda gives you a glance and smirks. It was time.
“Spade,” Banda says.
You nod even if Matsushita couldn’t see it. “Spade,” you agree.
Then it was Banda’s turn.
This time, Matsushita’s the one giving you a look.
“Spade,” Matsushita claims.
You nod at Matsushita. “Spade.”
Banda turns around and looks at the two of you as if assessing your faces.
“Hm,” he hums. “I’m going to the restroom.”
Finally, you’re free of this psychopath.
“I’m going to get some snacks while you’re at it,” you reply.
You watch as Banda walks away and turns into a corner. Just as you were about to walk off, Matsushita pulled you to the side.
“You’re a Heart. Banda lied to you.” He whispers in your ear.
So his plan is to kill all of you here.
You nod and thank him. “Good. Thanks.” You whisper back and head to the cafeteria.
However, just as you were about to leave the guardroom where Matsushita also is, Chishiya walks in. Fuck. How were you going to tell him his suit if he wasn’t there anymore?
You’re sure he still doesn’t know it. Matsushita lied to him and you’re sure Kotoko wouldn’t tell him anything. It’s up to you to give him some kind of sign.
You take a swift glance at his nape. Diamond. How fitting for him.
In the cafeteria, you got yourself some sweets and a chocolate drink again. There has to be some kind of sign you could give him. You look through the different kinds of snacks, wondering if you could sneak a tiny piece of paper into them. But that’d be too obvious. And you’d have to give him the snack.
Then Matsushita’s biscuits catch your eye.
Hm. You’re sure Chishiya would’ve noticed it too, right?
Hastily, you grab the pack of biscuits with the color of the wrap corresponding to his symbol and exchange it with your cake. Just as Matsushita and Kotoko have been doing.
Walking into the central guardroom, you munch on the cookies loudly and everyone turns their head to you, Chishiya included.
Please get it.
Banda’s already there beside Matsushita and he was staring at you like a hawk. When you approach them, you wave the biscuits in front of Matsushita’s face.
“Yo, I tried your biscuits and I can see why you can’t get enough of them,” you say and bring another piece into your mouth. “Hey Banda, do you think we can get some of these supplies if we win?”
“Maybe,” Banda actually replies to the stupid question.
You hum, nodding while you chew your food.
Your palms were cold inside the pockets of your jacket as you stand in front of the cell’s door. You’re a Club. Not a heart. It’s okay. You’ll be fine.
Banda gives you one last glance with his dark eyes before opening his cell door and getting in. When he’s out of your view, Matsushita takes your line of sight. He gives you a nod as if you’re really partners and has deceived Banda.
You noticed that he hasn’t even held his cell’s knob, waiting for you to get in. You sigh internally. You wanted to be the last one to get in and tell Chishiya his suit verbally.
However, Chishiya has already opened his cell and gone in. You close your eyes and lick your lips, suddenly anxious. The lights inside this penitentiary are starting to hurt your eyes. The walls are dim as the lights are. No doubt prisoners go insane.
Sighing, you open your cell and go in.
“Please give your answer.”
Who do you trust? Banda or Matsushita? The Jack of Hearts or a serial killer?
Well, if you die then you die.
“Club.”
A loud explosion is heard across the cells and your hands shot up to your neck. When it hits you that your neck is untouched and still very much attached to your body, you lean your back on the wall of the cell in relief. You’re alive. Banda hasn’t lied to you. Not even once.
Then who died?
Anxiously, you wait inside your cell as you hear a cell door creak open. You’re not getting out there yet. Not without knowing who’s out there.
A sinister laugh echoes through the halls and the cells. Matsushita. The Jack of Hearts. Has he thought he won?
Then another door opens. You wait patiently, hoping it’s Chishiya.
And then you hear that voice.
“I had a feeling you were the Jack of Hearts.”
Glee and relief rush through your veins and you smile with your head down. He’s alive, after all. That’s good.
“How did you—“ Matsushita is probably confused, thinking he successfully deceived everyone and won his own game.
“You teamed up with Banda from the start and he’s a murderer so it just made sense,” Chishiya continues.
“But Y/N teamed up with Banda too and she died,” he even tries to argue, thinking he really got you with his plan.
“Maybe. But Banda approached her first. You, however, approached him first and were moved by his little monologue. Still, I know you didn’t trust him. Not that fast.”
Then another cell opens. “Most people won’t even talk to a guy like me but you wanted to kill me. I could sense that in you right away.” It was Banda as you expected. “So I wanted to see if you were smart or just stupid or whether you were a true psychopath.”
“You mean…” You could sense the frightened tone in Matsushita’s voice, probably in disbelief. Still leaning against the wall and listening, you cross your arms and put a foot against the wall. You don’t want to come out yet. For some reason, it feels safer to be in isolation from those men.
“You thought you were controlling me this whole time but I was manipulating you into thinking that way. Ultimately, it was your huge superiority complex that gave you away.”
Banda’s voice got clearer by the last sentence which means he’s right outside your door.
“That kind of self-importance usually comes from being put into a special position—something that made you untouchable. In this case, it’s being chosen as the Jack,” Chishiya explains further.
And then your door opens, revealing you to the three men. You raise your head, finding that it was Banda who opened your cell. Banda gives you a proud look as you step out of your cell. Matsushita’s eyes widen at the sight of you alive and well. Behind him, Chishiya gives you a little wave.
“Sorry. We already exchanged symbols before the three of us did.” You tell Matsushita. Betrayal doesn’t feel so great now, doesn’t it?
“You guys are wrong. Banda’s the Jack of Hearts!” Matsushita points at Banda, looking stressed and agitated.
“Sorry, kid. It’s not Banda.” Yaba claims as he walks into the hall with his hands in his pockets. He must’ve slipped out of his cell as soon as the timer ended.
Matsushita’s lips tremble at the sight of another player he failed to kill. “You and Kotoko were communicating. I told Kotoko her symbol and yet she still died. Which meant that Kotoko was being manipulated by someone other than me.”
“Well then,” Matsushita nods, then points at Chishiya. “You should be accusing this guy.”
“Whenever I went to the cafeteria, you and Kotoko would be there, getting snacks at the same time.” Chishiya is quick to counterpoint. A smile spreads across your face. So he did notice. “And every time, you’d get the exact same kind of snack. You and Kotoko were secretly communicating in the cafeteria.”
“Both of you were just pretending that you were being controlled,” Chishiya concludes.
“There were four different flavors of the snack,” you add, inserting your hands inside your jacket pockets and pulling out the empty packet of the biscuits you’ve eaten for Chishiya. “You would confirm your symbols by checking the packaging, using those snacks as a code with each other.”
You shifted your gaze from Matsushita to Chishiya and smiled sweetly, waving the empty packet. “I knew you’d caught on pretty quickly, Shuntaro.”
Chishiya smiles back at you, raising a brow. “Yes. That’s how I got to know my symbol for this round. Thank you, Y/N.”
“W-what? You two knew each other?” Matsushita is yet again shocked at another deception. Even Banda raises his brow, gazing from Chishiya to you.
“Kinda. It’s complicated.” You answer with a smirk and then shrug, tilting your head.
Before the Jack of Hearts or Chishiya could react, Yaba speaks up again, reminding you to go back to the topic. “And then you told Kotoko to give me the wrong symbol. I really did trust her.” Yaba sighs. “Except at the end,” he finishes. He seemed really disappointed about it. Wow, he really planned to protect her till the end. It’s such a shame. But you understand Kotoko. You’d hate it too, the feeling of being controlled.
Matsushita is short of breath because of his anger. “When did the four of you start working together?”
“Well, the very first announcement said that this game is about how much we can trust one another. So we simply followed that principle.” As Yaba says that, Banda still has his eyes on you.
“In order to gain someone’s trust, you can’t control, manipulate, or guide them in any way. You can’t brainwash them or hypnotize them, lie to them, or instill fear.” Yaba states what you basically said to Banda at the beginning of the game as he walks and stops beside you and Banda.
“It’s called equality,” he finishes his monologue.
“Wait a second, how can you be sure that it’s me? The Jack of Hearts could easily be any of you guys.” He looks at each and every one of you. However, nobody listens to his attempt to save himself.
“Okay, maybe I did try to blame everything on you by setting you up, but look! That’s not enough. You don’t have proof that I’m the Jack of Hearts!”
“You sure about that?” Chishiya teases.
“Huh?” Banda bites his teasing, confused.
“Just think about it. If they suspected that you were the Jack, then why did you survive the last round? Why didn’t Banda and Y/N lie? Tell you the wrong thing? The reason that you’re still alive is that you’re the Jack.” As he explains, Chishiya walks closer to him. Matsushita’s eyes were drowning in realization.
“These guys planned to keep you alive because they decided they wanna get information out of you,” he whispers but it’s still loud enough for all of you to hear.
Matsushita turns to face the three of you in horror. Banda and Yaba begin to approach him. With Chishiya on his back and the two approaching him like predators targeting their prey, he was cornered.
“Round 14. Start.”
Stupidly though, he decides to run. He turns and pushes Chishiya out of the way, running in the opposite direction. It made Chishiya stumble but he was able to balance himself and stay on his feet. Banda looks over at you and you sigh.
You were obviously faster than the lanky arrogant guy, catching up with him before he could even get to half of the hall. You leap into the air and kick his back, sending his face to the floor. As he grunts in pain, you lift his head through his hair.
You drag him across the floor as he panics and screams. Pushing one of the cell doors open, you throw him inside, his body hitting the ground with a loud thud.
Yaba enters the cells first, taking off his coat and you stand on the side. Matsushita looks up at him, scared and weakened. Banda enters next, holding a shaver and a knife. You try not to react knowing what will happen next.
Banda gives you a smirk as you stand against the wall of the small confinement. “Thank you, darling.” He tilts his head while saying it and your face heats up, both a little frightened and surprised at the nickname.
“What are you doing?!” Matsushita cries.
Yaba began to tell him the reason why they were going to torture him. It was suddenly too crowded for four of you in one cell. Oh god. This is going to be gruesome. Do you have to stay here with them?
“Y/N,” Chishiya calls out your name from outside the cell. “Let’s go.”
You look at him and his face doesn’t look like it’s going to accept any answer other than yes. You look over to Matsushita who was shaking in fear. His eyes met yours and they were pleading for you to help him. You huff and look away.
“I’m sorry that we won’t be able to kill you.” Banda crouches down to become face-to-face with Matsushita. “But there are other ways to have fun.”
As Bands holds the blade against his face, you take it as an opportunity to slip out of the cell. Matsushita’s screams fill the halls of the penitentiary. You and Chishiya stood side by side outside the cell, listening to whatever information Banda and Yaba were getting out of him.
The splurts of blood and the scream for help by Matsushita made you squirm as you sat on the floor against the wall with Chishiya standing by your side. They didn’t get much out of him.
The torture lasted for an hour.
When it was time to give his symbol, Matsushita immediately said the wrong answer. Then, the game was cleared.
You and Chishiya walk together outside of the penitentiary, already having retrieved your weapons. It’s already morning. The two of you look up to the sky to see the Jack of Hearts’ blimp explode. This is the second game you’ve been in. How the hell did you even survive that without Chishiya telling you your suits?
Banda and Yaba were walking out of the penitentiary side by side before you and Chishiya could even get far from the prison.
Banda still had his eyes on you as he left Yaba and walked over in your direction. You stop, waiting for the serial killer, and see what he has to say. You grip the strap of the Katana’s sheath tighter to brace yourself for any attack, though you doubt that he would be able to attack you.
“My offer still stands.”
You don’t know what it is that makes you so intriguing to Banda but you were grateful that it kept you alive throughout the game. However, no matter how odd it may sound, you don’t trust Banda as much as you did inside the game. Outside the game, he still looked like a serial killer who would kill you in the middle of the day. He also said that he only planned to keep you alive till the end of the game. So what about after that?
It did not appeal to you, the invitation to rule this world along with him. He wanted to be a citizen. You feel like Yaba does too. But you? You know you don’t want to. But what if Chishiya wants to?
Before you could answer, Chishiya does it for you.
“No.”
You whip your head to the guy behind you, with his chin up and hands inside his pockets. “She’s with me.”
Banda doesn’t even look at him. His eyes are still on you. “She told me she likes her guys a little deranged.”
“And I’m assuming that’s you?” Banda finally looks at Chishiya, subtly sizing him up with his dark eyes and smirk. You don’t know what’s happening but you’re not a fan of it.
You step up in front of Chishiya, putting yourself in Banda’s line of sight. He shifts his eyes to you. You glare up at him through your lashes, brows furrowed and frowning like a lioness protecting her cub. It was a poisonous stare that made Banda’s lips curl up in amusement, the same strange gleam in his eyes sparkling like before.
There were no words you had to say as your eyes bore into his, fronting every confidence you have to make him get away from you and Chishiya without a fight.
“Such a shame,” Banda says. “If you change your mind, or if anything happens and you’re alone, I’m sure we’ll find each other.”
You nod, doing anything for him to get out of your sight even with his frightening last statement. He leaves with Yaba. It seemed he made a companion for the rest of the games anyway.
When you can no longer see their silhouette, you turn around to face Chishiya, he gives you an unamused look. You frown, already knowing what he’s thinking.
“You didn’t listen,” he scolded.
“You asked me to stay put!” You complain, throwing your arms around. “I can’t just do that.”
“So you go ahead and join a Hearts game? Really?” He starts to turn around and walk while speaking. You follow him hastily, grunting.
“I was supposed to go to a Spades game but the King of Spades showed up. You? What’s your excuse?” You cross your arms as you now walk side by side.
Chishiya had his hands in his jacket’s pockets. You sigh when you hear his answer. “The King of Spades too, huh? He really doesn’t rest.”
“Right. Do you think I can take him on?” You ask this time. If there weren’t guns involved. You think you could do it. Maybe. You don’t know. You’ve fought war veterans back in the underground. He seemed to be one of them.
“No.” Chishiya didn’t even sugarcoat it.
“Then, we have to find Arisu and the others. It’d be better to try and take him down with numbers.” You think out loud.
“Just leave it to them, won’t you?” Chishiya suggests. This makes you frown once again. You really didn’t want to do that.
“No. I want to try and face him. The King of Spades.” You declared.
Chishiya doesn’t answer anymore but you know he disapproves of it. You two were both doing it lately, just doing whatever the hell you wanted without caring about what the other might think. You’re starting to think that Borderlands is rubbing off on you.
And then you remember the game.
“Hey, you asshole. You didn’t even try to partner up with me during the game. What if Banda lied to me?” You huff.
He sighs. “I did try to tell you every round. It was how many cookies I ate.”
Oh… Oh! That’s why he was eating four pieces at a time.
“I slipped the meaning of each count in one of your favorite snacks and you took it. I thought you saw what I wrote. Idiot.”
“What the…” you were in disbelief, a hand over your mouth. You stop in your tracks, pressing your lips together dramatically and lifting your head as if you were preventing yourself from crying.
You point to Chishiya. “You’re telling me… I trusted Banda all throughout the game when I could have known my suit every round?”
Chishiya kept walking, not even bothering to look at your dramatic acting. However, you hear him mutter the word idiot one more time.
You can’t believe this. He still looked out for you. How much of a dumbass are you to not see that fucking note he left in your snack?
“What was the offer Banda made you?”
You know he’d grow curious about it. He was probably itching to ask about it the moment the murderer walked away. You’ll have to congratulate him for only asking about it now that you’ve found another place to stay at.
It was closer to the center of Tokyo. Now that you know that the King of Spades was roaming around the outskirts of the city, it’s safer for you to be here. Chishiya was right about his hunch as usual. If only you expected it to happen sooner.
“Banda… he wants to be a citizen.”
The thought of the psychopath still gives you goosebumps. He was scary. He’s the kind of man you’d rather avoid than beat up. You wonder what game he went to next. Did he go with Yaba? They seemed to get along after the game.
“And?” Chishiya presses.
“He thinks that I should be one too. He wanted me to join him in staying here. He said I was just like him.” It was funny. How could a psychopath compare himself to you? Somehow, it makes you think. Are you really just like him in some way?
“What a load of crap,” Chishiya muttered as he leaned on the wall of the room, arms crossed with his hood down. You’re currently staying at a condominium. Specifically, your home.
You were curious if it was still here. Surprisingly, it was. So is this world really just a mirror of the real world, just abandoned?
“What?” You barely heard what he said so you asked in case you heard it wrong.
You’ve just finished cleaning it to be habitable to the best of your abilities. You’re just staying here for one night anyway. You just wanted to see it for a while.
“Why are we here?” Chishiya answers your question with another.
You give him a glare before jumping on your bed. Your back hits the soft mattress, the exhaustion catching up with you. It just hit you that you were awake all night because of the game. “I missed my bed too much.”
“You can go back to your bed once you get back to the real world.”
When I’m back in the real world, huh? To be honest, your time with Banda is on your mind. What if… There really is no end to this? You need to keep your mind open and have no expectations. You need to prepare yourself for anything.
“How optimistic of you, Shuntarou.”
“How the tables have turned.” Chishiya chuckles in a low voice. “Tell me, has Banda gotten into your head?”
You scoff but let your silence answer his question. This made Chishiya sigh out loud. As you stare up at the ceiling, you feel the edge of the mattress sink, indicating Chishiya sat down with his back turned to you.
“It’s just… What if this is really it? What if we can’t go back? What if this really ends when we die? Like Asaki and Matsushita?” You were thinking out loud and indulging Chishiya in it. You’re sure he’s listening. He always was. Even if sometimes you didn’t feel like he was.
“He asked me why I want to live so much.” You were still staring up at the ceiling, your eyes focused on absolutely nothing. “And you asked me what was so valuable back in my life that I want to go back.”
You pause and think.
Let’s say that somehow, you are able to go back and finally leave Borderlands? What happens when you’re back in the real world? It’ll be the same. High heels, full-course meals, boring meetings, attending parties, drinking wine. Then, once in a while, you’ll risk your life in underground fights. When you win, you’re back at the hospital, chasing around a guy that you’re not even sure if he wants you.
And then there’s your father.
Knowing that piece of shit, he most probably doesn’t care that you’re gone. He never wanted you anyway. You were just a product of an unwanted pregnancy with a whore who chased him around. Well, that’s what he told you multiple times.
Your mother wasn’t a whore. She was just a girl in love. She loved him and he loved her too. However, he didn’t see a future with her because of her status. She was a nurse and he wanted someone better, someone more powerful. So, when he learned she was pregnant, he pushed her away.
It broke her heart so much that it killed her months after you were born.
Your father regretted it so much that he loathed you. You were only a reminder of what he lost—of his mistakes. Still, your father never married and you don’t know why when he would insult you and your mother any time he could. You wish he just did so he could look at something else other than you. He took you in, gave you a roof over your head, and fed you but never raised you. You were raised by maids, tutors, and your grandparents who were just as cold but at least they cared more.
There was never a person you could say that was your own just because they are. You never really felt alive. You had no family. Your friends never really felt like your friends. The money you spend away is never really something you earned. And the person that makes your heart race… was with you because he was after something else.
Maybe Borderlands is better.
Here, Chishiya is something else. He was still the same, cruel and selfish. But here, you tasted his lips. You don’t know if that’s just him being affected by the apocalyptic situation you’re in but you were still happy it happened.
You’re happy here because the people around you here, they’re reaching for you—actually you. They wanted you. They weren’t reaching for their past lover that birthed you, weren’t reaching for a few paid bottles of alcohol or food, weren’t reaching for social connections, weren’t reaching for wealth, weren’t reaching for a punching bag—weren’t reaching for anything at all but for some reason, their hands found you first.
And so they settled.
But here, you found Arisu and Usagi who relied on you and you relied on them. Here, you can feel that Chishiya cares about you. Here, he wore the jacket you gave him.
“Chishiya…” A tear fell out of your eye. You didn’t even realize that you were on the verge of crying. “I think I can accept it. If this is the end for me.”
Ice-cold skin collides with your laid out hand on the bed and you almost jump in shock because of the temperature.
Chishiya who still had his back turned to you, reached out for your hand… and held it.
You can’t see his face, not when he wasn’t letting you. Chishiya never liked skinship. He was always eager to push you away whenever you tried to initiate it. You respected it though. You would always annoy him only with your words but you always remembered to keep your boundaries.
But here he was, with his hand on top of yours.
Honestly, it was more awkward than comforting. Your hand is frozen in place, unsure of what’s happening. The room was dim and you don’t have a clue what his face looked like right now. Never has Chishiya ever shown you empathy in words or in actions. This is the first time he has ever touched you like this.
“Shuntarou?” It was a whisper, calling out his attention and at the same time asking him why he was holding your hand. “What’s wrong?”
Like a feather, his touch is soft and fleeting. Within seconds after your question, his hand lifts off of you as if it was never really there.
Before you know it, your bed dips on each side and you realize that Chishiya is now hovering over you with his hands on either side of your head and knees on either side of your legs.
Your breath hitches and heat immediately rushes to your face at the intimate position. The air is suddenly heavier as the atmosphere changes. You see his face through the moonlight coming from the window. Up close, Chishiya’s face is clearer like you can memorize every detail and be able to draw it like a portrait artist with a photographic memory.
His brow was slightly furrowed and his lips were parted slightly. He was staring you down right in the eye like he was trying to say something. They were blazing as if he was raging, his mind boggled into a million words but he couldn't speak of it.
You blink, confused as your gaze fleets to his lips, remembering your previous kisses.
And then his gaze finally softens and a hand that was digging the mattress beside you moves to your face. It caresses your cheek and you involuntarily lean into his hold. Then, it moves up to your head, pushing your hair back away from your face so he could see it more clearly.
Your eyes sparkle in front of him. The untied lower half of his white hair is falling in your direction. You always loved the length of his hair. Sometimes, you would crave to run your hands through them. However, that was just a fantasy before.
Longing. Comfort. Lust. Which one of these three is he trying to say to you?
His hand stops on your cheek, wiping away the tears with his thumb. Then, his hand moves to your lips, thumb pressing into the soft parted flesh, caressing it. It stops in the middle and presses further.
You decide to take things further, the hell with whatever he was trying to do. You parted your lips and encircled his thumb with your mouth as you stared up at him intensely. Your wrapped lips suck him in and you see his brows rise and eyes darken. You let your tongue run through his finger, sucking like you would another part of him. And finally, with a loud pop, you let his thumb go.
For a few seconds, all you could do is stare at each other with overwhelming lust in your eyes. Whatever the conversation was earlier, long forgotten. Right now, the need for each other is heightened, your core being awakened. His mouth finds yours immediately, smashing one another with a burning passion. His hips lower and you feel the hardening of his center on your abdomen. You lift your hips up as you gasp into the kiss, feeling the pressure of his clothed cock against your pulsing heat. Wanting to feel more of him, you grind yourself up to him once more.
As you do that, Chishiya pulls away from your mouth, buries his head on your neck, and moans. Oh, you were going to be addicted to that sound. You want to hear more of it.
“Do you want me, Shuntarou?” He was still littering kisses on your neck as you asked that question. This a bold question. What are you going to do if he says no?
And yet he doesn’t answer. He continues licking and biting your neck. However, his hand rises to your cheek and then he does it. Two taps with three fingers. The same as he did that one morning after sharing your first kiss. You hadn’t minded it then, thinking it was just some cute gesture that he’d do instead of showing affection to you. Well, it is. But it’s more than that. Specifically, you don’t know what it means. But it seemed like a yes. You just had to be sure.
“Tell me.” You hold his hand that was holding your face.
He lifts his head that was buried in your neck, finally looking at you in the eyes. “Yes.”
Then he closes the distance between you once again. You surrendered yourself to him completely, with him pulling you in with his hands beside your face. You grasp the sides of his shirt, crumpling it as you try to pull it up, wanting to feel his bare skin. He smirks against your lips, pulling away and kneeling on the bed. He pulls his shirt over his head, revealing his lean body to you.
You sit up, immediately drawn to his body. He lets you eye himself, picking up your hand and placing it on his chest. You look up at him through your lashes with enlarged pupils, pulse racing, and mouth agape. He looks down at you with equally as much emotion. You know this through the feeling of his heart beating in his chest. Chishiya wasn’t much one to show off his body. You admit that he wasn’t the most athletic but he did exercise as much as he needed. He wasn’t as fit but he was healthy.
You feel his body through your hands, running them up and down his chest and stomach, memorizing the feeling of his skin against your palms. You rarely see him topless so you wanted to remember this. He bends down to capture your lips again, caressing your cheek gently then down to your neck, to your shoulders, and then your waist.
You gasp against his lips as he lifts and spins you around, sitting you on his lap. You’re on top of him this time, legs folded on his sides while your heat directly sits on his crotch.
His lips are back on your neck, sucking and marking them. You rest your hands on his shoulders as he continues his attacks of kisses on your neck. His hands on your waist go lower and under the fabric, goosebumps forming from his touch. His hands roam around your skin under the shirt, inches away from the underside of your breasts. When he finally feels them, he freezes.
He pulls away from your neck and with a frown, he asks. “You aren’t wearing a bra?” He seemed a little pissed.
“Who the hell wears a bra to sleep?” You ask, dumbfounded and confused as to why this is relevant.
“You should always be ready to run.” He complains like an idiot, brows furrowed. “Do you always sleep like this here?” He raises a brow.
“Of course not, you idiot. Only with you.”
After you said that, the corner of his lips tug into a satisfied tight-lipped smile. You smirk back, hands on the hem of your shirt. You pull the clothing off of you, exposing your braless breasts to him. The cold air hitting your skin hardens your nipples instantly, catching Chishiya’s eye in the process.
Most of the time, you feel comfortable with your body. You like to think you looked sexy with your well-built body. Then again, Chishiya has never looked at you like this—not in this context.
It made you feel a bit insecure, not being one of the girls with perfect, unbruised skin and thin delicate bodies.
You cower in his gaze, not quite covering yourself but looking away to avoid seeing his reaction further. He notices this and uses two fingers on your chin to bring your face back in his direction.
“Look at me,” he orders. With glossy eyes filled with want and lust, you stare at his eyes, the beauty mark under his right eye, and his delicate lips. “Only look at me.” He repeats himself.
You nod, holding his gaze for a while before he leans to pepper kisses on your chest, not quite reaching where you want him most. His hands were on your ribs, thumbs tracing the underside of your breasts. Then his lips finally circle the curve of your breasts, sucking the skin and marking them as he did with your neck.
“Shuntarou.” You were pleading, whining, and asking him to place his mouth or even just his hands where you really wanted him to. You jolt when his hand comes up to pinch your nipple, earning a moan from you.
“Patience,” he reminds you.
He continued licking your skin, kissing your neck and chest alternately while holding one of your boobs in hand, massaging them. Your sensitive nipples were aching to be touched. You badly wanted to take his head in your hands and bury his face in your chest so he could smother them with his mouth.
When his tongue licks one nipple like a kitten as if testing the waters, you shudder. A soft whine slips from your mouth, not being able to control yourself and place a hand on the back of his hair as he fully envelopes his lips on your nipple, sucking it ferociously.
Throwing your head back in pleasure, you grind your crotch on his hardening one. The friction of your clothed regions goes directly to your clit and now you were sure that you were soaked. Deciding you absolutely wanted more, you place both your hands on his shoulder and ground yourself on his clothed cock repeatedly while he flicks, licks, and sucks your hardened buds. He was eager to taste every inch of your chest and you were drowning in absolute bliss.
Hands shot down to your torso, stopping you from your back-and-forth motion. You frown as he pulls away and stares at you with a smirk.
Before you can protest, he flips you over again, earning a squeal from you. He captures your lips again in a desiring kiss and your arms instantly wrap around his neck, making him press an arm to the mattress by the side of your head.
His other hand is still at your hips, thumb circling the skin just above the band of your shorts. It inches closer and closer until a finger is hooked under the soft material, teasing but not pulling it down quite yet. His hand goes under the material, feeling your underwear with his palm. You involuntarily clench as his palm goes directly to your clothed clit.
You feel him smirk in between the kiss as he feels your wetness, encouraging him to nibble on your lips. You were in dire need of him. You needed him to touch you, to mark you, to fuck you.
“Please,” you plead, breaking the kiss and looking up at him with hazy lustful eyes.
“Are you sure?” He asks, his hand going still under your shorts. You nod almost immediately and vocalize your consent.
He doesn’t wait for a second after he hears it and slides your shorts and panties down your legs. You slightly shiver when the cold air hits your bare center, feeling the wetness dripping from it. His hands parted your legs so he could see more of you, making you feel a little more conscious than usual with a rose tint on your cheeks. You were completely bare in front of him while he was still clothed from the waist down. You should be a little shy but you weren’t, something about the dynamic feels more erotic.
Chishiya’s hands are moving slowly from your thighs but not quite getting where you want them. Instead, his fingers dig into the flesh of your thighs, massaging them with a purpose: to tease you and make you wetter.
When he is satisfied, he bends downwards. Oh. You didn’t expect this.
He licks one languid stripe from your hole to your clit, gathering the wetness on his tongue to which he swallows with a hum, his cat-like eyes fluttering open after. You swallow the lump in your throat as you stare at him in the eye, wide-eyed at the erotic scene that Chishiya played out for you.
“Delicious,” he comments before diving in for more. Your hands immediately shoot down to make a home in his white hair as his head is buried between your legs, your back arching in pleasure as you gasp.
He presses open-mouth kisses to your clit and you don’t know what to do with yourself, feeling lost in the immense pleasure he was giving you. You tug at the strands of his hair but he doesn’t seem to mind, his ministrations to your cunt the only thing he’s focusing on.
Chishiya was like a man who suffered drought for years with the way he was eating your pussy. Half of his face is probably covered with your juices. You were only seeing the mop of hair between your legs but you can definitely feel his face mold against your heat.
He hums as he eats you out, sending vibrations and shock waves to your spine. You love Chishiya and you admit you thought about him naked from time to time. You also fantasized about this happening once or twice but hell, you didn’t know that it’d be the first thing he’d do and be so good at it.
He begins to catch on soon that it was clit stimulation that sends you closer and closer to that aimed high. The pressure begins to build in your abdomen, making you mewl and moan out his name to continue with whatever he was doing. It was a bit embarrassing how fast he could make you reach this point in only a few minutes. Was it because he was really good or was it because you held feelings for him that you hadn’t for anyone else?
The sound filling the room is obscene, his tongue lapping your wetness echoing your bedroom walls. Your clit is throbbing underneath his tongue.
The tension building up in your stomach rises with every flick of his tongue on your bundle of nerves and you feel it closer than ever to your most wanted high.
“Chishiya,” you sob, fingers tugging his hair. “Baby, please…”
The nickname slipped out in the midst of your begging. What’s funny is you don’t even know what you’re begging for. For him to not stop or for him to make you come already? Maybe it was both.
“I know,” Chishiya murmurs against your cunt and gives your clit one extended suck before practically lifting your bottom half from the bed and digging his head further into your pussy.
He’s quicker than ever and you can’t not appreciate seeing Chishiya’s blatant display of eagerness and lust. His nose is pressed against your pelvis, lapping up your cunt as if it’s the last thing he’ll do. Your wetness is dripping down your thighs, pussy providing more for him like a water source.
“Oh, ngghh… Shuntaro… Yes. Fuck!” You moaned incoherently while your hips involuntarily grind against his face. He doesn’t mind, his hot appendage flicking his tongue against your swollen clit and heating you up further.
You’re going insane, not knowing where to put your hands. They went from his hair to grasping the sheets, to feeling every inch of your naked skin, to groping your tits and pinching your nipples, to pulling your hair, and then back to his mop of hair between your legs. You were an absolute mess and it was all because of Chishiya’s mouth on your pussy.
You were a mess and your mind is blank, void of any thoughts except of the knowledge that you were about to cum. Your stomach is unwinding at a breakneck speed, your breathing heavy as Chishiya is working endlessly to get you there. He pushes and pushes until—
And then you came.
Your legs clasped around Chishiya’s head as you came, your moans in the form of screams. You can’t hear anything, too indulged in the sinking pleasure and gasping for air. He was still there with you, continuing to eat your pussy like you weren’t cumming messily under him.
You were trying to catch your breath when it subsided, finally releasing Chishiya from your legs by parting them. He gazes up at you to admire your face which was cherry red and wet with tears you didn’t even know were there.
You give him a lopsided smile, eyes content and chest warm.
You pull him from below you and he lets himself be carried to your face, lips meeting in a soft kiss. It’s a sight to behold, half of his face covered in your juices. It is seldom that Chishiya is caught in a mess and right now, it was all because of you.
His fingers are on your core again, not even letting your sensitivity subside. You don’t complain though, excited with what more he could give you.
He spreads your wetness around your pussy, careful enough to go around your sensitive clit to not hurt you. Your tongue explores his mouth, tasting yourself in the process.
His finger is prodding your hole, teasing the tip in and out or circling it. When he finally enters you with a finger, you gasp. He was already knuckle deep, not pulling it out but curling that finger until the pad of his finger felt that spongy spot inside you.
You grasp the bicep of the arm that was beside your head. He leans down to suck your nipple again, making you arch your back again. He adds another finger, navigating your pussy as if wanting to learn every crevice of your cunt.
He pistons his fingers in your pussy while overstimulating your sensitive nipples. The pleasure was immense and you abruptly sat up when his pace went faster, hitting that certain spot inside you that’s an instant gateway to your edge.
Contrasting your loud moans and constant citing of Chishiya’s name, your partner is not as audible as you expected. Unlike your other partners before, he’s more on actions than words, making sure you were enjoying, checking every sign of your pleasure or discomfort in your face.
He wraps an arm around your back, supporting your upper body slightly closer to his as his other hand is knuckles deep inside your cunt.
You were mumbling incoherencies as his fingers repeatedly hit that spot while his mouth worked expertly on your tits.
“Again,” he orders. “Cum for me again.”
He inserts another finger as he says that and the stretch burns so good. You often dreamed about his hands. God, his hands. Delicate and well-controlled. He was a doctor, after all. You don’t forget how in med school, you’d watch his hands as he demonstrates something and your mind would trail off somewhere. Now, those same fingers are where you want them to be.
What else could you do but comply?
Your orgasm gushes out and takes you off guard. His fingers don't stop, each thrust of his fingers making your cunt squelch. The sound is lewd and you don’t think you’ve been pleasured like this your whole life. It was so unfair. How is Chishiya handsome, intelligent, and good at sex?
You were panting when you came down from your high, staring at Chishiya with spent and glossy eyes.
“W-what the fuck,” you breathed out, unbelieving what just happened. He just made you cum two times and you haven’t even seen his dick.
“Are you tired? We can stop here.” He asks you out of concern. You’re already vigorously shaking your head as an answer.
“No. I want to feel you,” you say while palming his erection over his pants. “Want to taste you too.”
“You don’t have to.” He was serious about it, eyes soft and genuine. Men would often want a reciprocation when it comes to oral sex, that is, if they even gave one in the first place. But Chishiya, this man right here, the man you adored since the first day, he was different.
“I want to,” you say before wrapping your arms around him and pressing your lips against his. You pushed his body to lay down on his back and you trail your kisses from his lips to his neck to his chest and down to his pants. His legs spread, lying comfortably on the mattress.
Unlike Chishiya who liked to take it slow, you were impatient, tugging down his pants and briefs in one motion before completely removing them and throwing them somewhere on the floor. His cock springs out and it was already hard and leaking at the tip. You look at it with anticipation, basically salivating as you were eager to taste him.
You wrap your hand around the base and licked the tip with your tongue, making him hiss. You were sure to taste him first before anything else then you moaned as he did when he first tasted you, looking up at him dirtily through your lashes.
His eyes were shut close and his jaw was clenched, basking in the second of pleasure. You wanted more from him—to make him a mess under you as he did you.
You spread his pre-cum with your thumb and then spat, using both as lube as you slide your hand up and down his shaft. His face contorts into pleasure and hums.
Finally, you wrap your lips around his tip, swirling and sucking it as if it’s the last meal you’ll have. Chishiya was of decent length but the girth—oh god, the girth. It suddenly made sense why he used three fingers on you earlier.
You push your head down on him, taking him little by little. If he was good at it, then you’ll show him how great you can be at it too. You bobbed your head back and forth, taking more and more of him at every thrust. Your hands massage his balls as you suck his cock.
Chishiya’s head is thrown back when you glance up, his beautiful neck on display for you. This only motivates you more, fastening your pace, not minding as lewd sounds come out of you as you choke and gag on his cock.
Your eyes stay on him, waiting for his eyes to meet yours again. And it does. He glances down at you, teeth clenched together in an attempt to strain a groan from him. “Fuck,” he hissed.
You were probably a messy sight to behold. Tears on your blushing face, saliva leaking out of the corner of your mouth, and all high on pleasure and lust. Despite this, he looks at you in pure adoration in contrast to the sinful situation.
Freeing his cock from your mouth with a little ‘pop’, you breathe and give him a smile before sticking out a flattened tongue and running your tongue from the base to the tip. You take him in your mouth again, humming to create vibrations as you swirl your tongue and bob your head ferociously.
And then you hear it. He moans and mumbles your name.
You didn’t know that he wanted you to stop, taking the sinful sounds coming out from him as motivation to make him come. It was turning you on so much, having such a man writhing with the way you suck his cock. He practically pulls your head away from his cock for you to realize. “Need to be inside you,” he explains in a rush. Once again, he flips the two of you over. There was no warning, no second to prepare.
In one swift motion, his cock enters you, taking his cock inch for inch. You were so wet that he entered with ease, making you gasp and hold onto his shoulders for support. He doesn’t move for the first few seconds, taking in your warmth and tightness. His eyes are closed and his brows are furrowed when his entire length is inside you.
“Shuntarou,” you mewl. Just as you thought, he was on the thicker side, filling your cunt so well.
“Feel so good,” he mumbles against your neck.
The warmth goes straight to your chest, an unfamiliar feeling during sex. His cock is nestled inside your warmth but you wanted him to move so you grind yourself against him. The sudden friction makes him groan, digging his arms into the mattress as he raises himself just above your face. And then he starts to move.
He pulls out until just the tip of his cock is inside then he slams it back inside again, your sensitivity from previous orgasms doubling the pleasure and making you moan out curses. He starts building the pace, cock thrusting in and out of your heat. It stretches your cunt, every pound hitting your g-spot which he found with ease. Your body jostles with every snap of his hips.
You wanted to keep your eyes open and see every slight change on his face. The way his brows furrow, the way creases form on his forehead, the way his lips part slightly, and the way he pants. But it was all too good.
“Fuck! Oh shit. Please don’t stop!” You plead with shut eyes, tears leaking out of the sides of them as you clench your pussy just as he grinds his cock right at the spongy area of your cunt.
“All mine,” he grunts. “You’re all mine.” It was so lewd and vulgar. You were so wet and loud that you were sure that even the mattress is now soaked with your wetness, your sheets forever ruined.
“Yes,” you croak. “Only yours.” Your words give him some kind of encouragement, his pace going faster than ever. You’ve never seen Chishiya this energetic. He’s pounding into you with reckless abandon, his cock hitting all your nerves as you wail in ecstasy.
You both were chasing your high like madmen, you thrusting up your hips to meet his rhythm. Your cunt was clenching around his length and he let out a guttural growl every time you did it.
“On your knees,” he commands as he pulls out of you.
You get on your knees, hands digging into the mattress to support yourself. He hisses behind you, cock entering you once again in one swift motion. Your back instantly arches and his hands fly down to your shoulder and waist. The hand on your shoulder slides to your neck and then to your throat, wrapping around it lightly. You turn your head to him, catching his smirk as he looks at you while squeezing your hips. He starts moving his hips, cock hitting deeper than ever. He has you rolling your eyes to the back of your head, his hand gripping the sides of your neck and adding to the haziness of your brain.
You turn your head again, watching as he captivatingly watches his cock move in and out of you. It was good. So good. But it was painstakingly slow.
“Faster,” you beg, voice a little coarse. He complies, grip on your hip and throat tightening to anchor himself as he rams his hips into you faster and deeper, fucking you silly.
“Fuck!” You scream out, starting to get high on the bliss the sex was giving you. Your back curves to him as he finds his rhythm and thrusts in fast motion.
The hand on your hips slides down to your pussy, his finger stroking your clit in swift circles. You scream, his dick hitting that sweet spot inside your and his fingers overstimulating your bundle of nerves.
“Chishiya, I’m—“ Your voice hitches, putting all your strength on keeping you steady even if your whole body is turning into jelly. You were completely engulfed in his touches.
“Come,” he commands for the second time. For the third time that day, the coil inside you snaps, your orgasm coming down at you in full force. Loud and messy. Just as you are.
The fuzzy feeling rushes through your body, making your cunt tighten at your orgasm. Chishiya pounds harder to chase his own. Both of his hands snap back to your hips to avoid hurting you with overstimulation. His hips were stuttering, a sign that he was close too as your pussy cages him.
“Where?” He asked out loud while you were still coming down from your high. Your mind was hazy but it was clear enough to know what you wanted. “Inside,” you blubber. “I have an IUD.”
Just like that, he spills inside of you. Underneath him, you were a sobbing mess, sensitive to having three consecutive orgasms.
You take a glance at the man, his brows were knitted in pleasure, a few strands of his white hair sticking to his face. He was incredibly beautiful. Chishiya was a ravishing man and he just unveiled you. You wouldn’t want more for a while.
“Fuck,” he pants. His hands fall down from your hips and to his sides. He keeps his cock inside you for a few seconds after he comes down from his high before pulling out. Immediately, your body collapses on the mattress, your mixed juices spilling out of your pussy as your muscles all come loose.
With your head turned to the side and buried in the pillows, you can’t see Chishiya behind you. However, you do feel his hands come down to your ass as he spreads them apart, most probably watching his cum inside you. He collects them with his fingers, the tips of them brushing your sensitive clit in the process and making you shudder. Then his fingers enter your cunt again, pushing your mixed cum into you again. It was so erotic and vulgar, his fingers just ruining your oversensitive cunt. You squirm, the pleasure all too much.
“Ah…” you moan weakly. Chishiya chuckles and pulls his fingers out of you, the dip of his knees on the bed disappearing and you hear his steps on the floor. You were too tired to look at him but you do hear the water running in the bathroom for a few seconds before his steps return to the bed.
You jolt at the cold and damp towel meeting the skin of your thighs. He wipes you gently, hands working in favor of your sensitivity. He was so gentle that it almost felt relaxing. You let him do what he was doing and close your already droopy eyes.
When he’s done, you feel the bed dip beside you. Your hands immediately find his chest even with your eyes already closed, pulling yourself closer to him as you let yourself finally fall asleep.
When you woke up, Chishiya was gone. It made you nervous, finding the side of his bed cold and another canned food on the top of your bedside table. You reach for it, sighing and reading the label before putting it back down again.
You sat up, your blanket falling down from your body and exposing your naked breasts. It suddenly felt too cold and you notice the clean folded clothes sitting by your blanket-clad feet.
You get out of bed and decide to shower first. After cleaning yourself, you went back to your bedroom and started dressing up. Starting with the fresh underwear, you slip the panties on first and then the sports bra after. As the band below the sports bra snaps to your skin, you hear Chishiya speak.
“You’re awake,” he walks into the room and sits casually on the chair in front of your desk as if you weren’t half naked—as if you haven’t just had sex.
“Where were you?” You snapped, not looking at him and taking the yoga pants in your hands. You start slipping your legs into it as you wait for an answer.
“The King of Diamonds. Registration will start later.” You froze.
The two of you just survived a game together, and now he still wants to join another? Well, he is Chishiya after all. What were you thinking? Just because you two had sex, he’ll magically change overnight? You sigh, pulling the pants to your waist. “Okay,” you reply.
“Okay?” His voice sounded intrigued. He didn’t expect you to just agree like that.
“Okay,” you repeat, still not looking at him.
You sigh, grabbing the black dry-fit shirt. You pull it over your head as you speak. “I can’t really stop you, can I?” Besides, he hasn’t played a Diamonds game and you know he wanted to.
You pull the hem of the shirt, all done and dressed up. You know he didn’t want you coming to that game. And to be frank, you were all done with it. You had plenty of days on your visa and there were only a few games left. You have to put your trust in Chishiya. And if you will, a Diamonds game is where you trust him the most. He can do it, right?
“I’ll wait for you here,” you continue. “But only if you promise you’ll come back.”
You finally meet his eyes, staring at you intently. He was wearing his favorite white jacket, an oversized shirt, and pants. He was all ready. It made you sick how he did it all while you were sleeping soundly. He was to leave you. Did he fuck you because of this?
He stands up from his seat, walks over to you, and shortens the distance between you. He was inches away from you, pushing your hair to the back of your ear.
“I promise,” he answers.
You nod with a hard stare. “I won’t join any more games if I don’t have to and if you don’t come back, I’ll leave and start looking for the others. Deal?” You ask him, brows raising.
He was quiet for a few seconds as if he was contemplating an answer or if there was something else behind your words. But he answers anyway. “Deal.”
When you were content, you sat back down on the bed. “You haven’t eaten,” Chishiya observes as he stares at the untouched food beside you. “Not in the mood,” you reply blankly.
He hums, unconvinced by your answer. He sits down beside you on the bed. “Is this because of last night?” He asks you. So now he brings up what happened?
“No,” you lied through your teeth, aware that you were convincing no one but yourself. His kisses and now sex. Was this just how Chishiya did it? Just hook up and then go on as if nothing happened? Maybe that worked for any random person he did it with but he couldn’t do that to you. Not you.
He sighs, putting his hands in his pockets. He most likely knows that you were lying. “I didn’t have any motive if that’s what you’re thinking.” He takes a glance at you while he says that then looks in the other direction again.
“It’s hard to be sure with you,” you reply with a straight face but it comes out sadder than you intended.
He doesn’t answer for a moment, thinking. “I know,” he says. “I know.” His voice equals your saddened tone.
“Can’t we just be sure? I need you to be sure about me.” Chasing him around, you didn’t get tired of that. You always expected to get nothing in return. You thought that if you do someday get a reaction from him, you’d be content but unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. Him reciprocating your feelings without actually confirming anything, it hurts more than anything.
He doesn’t answer and tears well up in your eyes. You hold out your hand, the back of it touching your thighs. “This is hard for me too, you know?” You are your mother’s daughter, you realized. Loving a man that doesn’t even want you. You liked to think that Chishiya isn’t like your father but who knows? It’s hard for you to love too. But you’re trying. It just so happened that your heart chose him. It’s unfortunate but you’re hopeful.
“I know,” he answers the same thing.
“You know an awful lot of things,” you snort.
“I do,” he replies quickly.
You turn your head away from him even if you weren’t previously looking at him to express your aggravation. You don’t say anything else, sitting with him in silence and letting your anger marinate into something else.
“I do know a lot of things,” he continues a little later than a conversation should. “I know everything about you. More than anyone else I know. Your every habit. Your every favorite thing. Your thoughts. Your likes. Your dislikes. I know all of them. It’s not because I’m simply smart. I wouldn’t remember if it’s anyone else.”
A hand on your chin gently moves your face towards him, making you come face to face with him, faces only inches away from each other. His eyes were sparkling in the most expressive way they could be, boring into yours with a purpose.
“I know,” he says again. “I know because it’s you.”
A tear falls from your eye. Then from the other. Then another. Then another until they fall like waterfalls. He captures your lips into a kiss while holding your face, wiping your tears away with his thumbs.
“Stop crying,” he whispers when he pulls away. “You look ugly when you cry.” But like a child, you cry harder, hands covering your face. Chishiya chuckles, pulling your hands away from your face and you let him.
You wrap your arms around him. Words were still unsaid between the two of you, those three words that hang around your heart for years. You wanted to say them in case you don’t see each other again but you were scared. Why? You don’t even know.
“I—“ you stutter. “I have something to say to you when you come back.” He hums again and you feel the vibration of his throat in your touching bodies.
“So come back, okay?” You sniff. Chishiya exhales, bringing a hand on your back to tap it two times. “I will,” he promises again. “But don’t go out. Just wait for me. I’ll come back.”
What else were to do but trust him?
Chishiya didn’t come back.
The King of Diamonds blimp had fallen but there was no sight of the white-haired man. Agitated and feeling your body waste away inside the waste of a room he left you in, you worry for your acquaintance. Has he really lost the game?
No, impossible. It can’t be, right? This is Chishiya we’re talking about. Will he really lose a game—a diamond game out of all suits? This is unfair. You’ve kept your promise. You didn’t join any games and thankfully, there wasn’t any sign of the King of Spades. So why isn’t he back yet?
Your mind goes back and forth. Will you look for him and go outside or will you stay here, patiently waiting for him to come back? If you do go out, you’re breaking his promise and your trust in him but if you don’t go out, you think you’ll go insane out of worry. And what if the worst thing has already happened? Will you just waste away here in this room?
You decided that you won’t wait for him anymore.
Going outside, you mindlessly walk the streets of London without any destination, occasionally stopping by some places where you can loot some supplies and avoiding any people that come into view if you don’t know them.
As you are nearing Shibuya, an alarming sound pierces your ears.
Gunshot? But that’s just one. If it were the King of Spades, it should be much louder and followed by more running and bullets. You were near the main roads so maybe more people are there?
What if it’s Chishiya? or Arisu? Usagi? Anyone at this point. Just so you weren’t alone. You groan. You won’t allow yourself to be seen. If it’s no one you know, you can just walk away and run in another direction.
After you’ve decided, you begin to stealthily walk in the direction of the fire. As you hide from car to car, more gunshots come followed by a little bit of shouting. There were arguments, maybe. Really? In the middle of having only two games left? Are they really going to kill themselves when we’re so near our goal? Sighing, you pick up your handgun and prepare to use it.
Then it was quiet again as you neared Shibuya crossing. You were maybe two or three blocks away. Who could they be? You hope it’s not anyone you know. Wait, is that?
That shaggy hair and lanky tall build. That’s Arisu holding a shotgun. And who’s that on top of a car wrapped up like an onigiri—oh. That’s fucking Niragi. He’s aiming at someone. If Arisu is here then that means? Your eyes trail to where the gun is pointed and you spot the short-haired girl in a red athletic tank top. Your eyes watered in shock and happiness. You finally found them.
However, that bastard Niragi is just a pain in the ass until the end, isn’t he? That fucking asshole. Speeding up your pace, you raise your gun without being heard. Your eyes were focused on Niragi and how his finger is on the trigger. He’s gonna shoot. You’re gonna have to do it fir—.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
It was his shot that rang first. Then yours. Then Arisu’s that sent him flying off the car. Aware of another shot that wasn’t coming from him but his back, Arisu turns around hastily with his gun pointed at you. You immediately raise your hands, showing your defenselessness in order for him to stand down his guard.
His eyes immediately softened when they saw you, putting down his gun and exclaiming your name in relief. “Y/N!”
You run towards him and pat his shoulder before screaming Usagi’s name and running in her direction.But when your eyes shift to where she was, Usagi was still on the floor, and in front of her was… what? Where did he come from? Why are there blood stains on his white jacket? In two different areas, too? What? No. What’s going on?
“Chishiya!” Usagi’s scream was piercing as his body falls on the road. Arisu goes over to them and Usagi presses a hand on his wound in order to control the bleeding. “Why?!”
You, however, stood frozen in place, just a few steps away from the three. Usagi began asking him why he saved her. It was indeed odd. Even you know that it’s out of character for him. You’d never thought you’d see the day that Chishiya would take a bullet for someone. He always argued that if a person could take a bullet for someone, they would have enough time to move away from the shot.
Whatever they were talking about, you tune out. You couldn’t hear anything. You feel like your brain shut down and all you could feel inside your body is raging fire. Your heart has stopped taking in anything, overflowing with exuding unexplainable emotion.
You had shut down.
“I wanted to do something that was a bit out of character.” Chishiya chuckles as he sputters out the words behind the pain. He sighs. “I know it’s thanks to Y/N and the people I met here. Like Kuzuryu. Arisu, too.”
Usagi and Arisu were worried and Arisu even took a glance at you, wanting to check on you as you stared down at Chishiya with a lifeless expression. There were no tears in your eyes, only an unmatchable coldness burning them. No emotions. Your shoulders were relaxed and the lids of your eyes looked as if they were too heavy to keep open.
However, he focuses back on the man dying in front of him. “Hey. What were you gonna say before?!” He asks, pertaining to a few minutes before Niragi went and interrupted them.
Chishiya takes his time to take a breather before answering. “Honest people always seemed pretty stupid to me. I always loved messing with people who try too hard at life. I hated selflessness.” He pauses to breathe again, his voice raspier as his eyes stare up at the sky. “It’s probably because I was jealous. They all had something I was missing.”
He stares at Arisu for a second before looking straight ahead again. “It was like they could always see what a pathetic and small-minded person I really was.” Then his head turns to you who wasn’t even looking at him. You were gone inside yourself. “I was always afraid.” That I wouldn’t be enough for her too, is what he thought as he saw you.
“I understand you,” Arisu responds, genuinely with a nod. He doesn’t say it just because the man lying down on the ground is in a critical condition. He does understand what he’s saying and what he means. “I thought you would,” Chishiya replies with a bittersweet tone.
Usagi and Arisu look down at Chishiya with pity and understanding. They were betrayed by this man. He used and manipulated them in his favor. He had hurt Y/N a lot. But this man… is just a flawed human being. While that doesn’t excuse his actions, they do understand him a little bit better. They wished that somehow and one day, he can change and be a better man.
Usagi looks up at the woman standing quietly in front of them, her eyes widening at her lifeless state. “Y/N?” Arisu follows Usagi’s eyes and hurries to his feet, about to check on their friend who looked terribly off. They’d never seen her like this before. Hell, Chishiya has never seen her like this before.
“I guess hunting rifles aren’t as deadly as you thought.” Grunting at hearing the voice of his enemy, Arisu rushes to where he fell, ready to shoot him once again if he makes a wrong move. However, a hand on his chest stops him and he looks at the person with wide eyes.
Your eyes were still lifeless and blank. You didn’t even look at him, staring at Niragi’s body who was sprawled on the cement road next to the car. He was still laughing, his breathing uneven with all his injuries and shots.
“Whatever you do, don’t make me out to be the villain.” The man was dying, it was clear to anyone. But you didn’t seem convinced. “If there were seven billion of me, you guys would all be villains too. You’re pretty lucky you know. You guys are the majority.”
Arisu lowered his gun, knowing that the man had forfeited. His bloodied burnt face and the bullets in his body are enough for him to not be able to move. However, as Arisu looked at you, you didn’t look like you cared. “Y/N!” He couldn’t do anything but scream your name as you rush to Niragi, kicking his body, and sending him rolling on the ground.
Niragi coughs out blood. Plenty of it. He doesn’t even try to move or run. He couldn’t possibly do it. He was too weak and injured. You pick up the man by his hair, lifting his body off the ground. With blaring eyes, you throw a powerful punch across his face. His body falls to the ground again.
“What’s your pr—,” he tries to ask but you weren’t hearing anything. You pick him up by his hair again. But this time, you punch the other side of his jaw. He falls to the ground again and sputters out blood, spitting crimson red and a tooth.
Arisu and Usagi were too stunned to move or speak. You were merciless as you beat up Niragi, punching him multiple times and kicking his wounds repeatedly as Niragi cries out in pain. You weren’t hearing any of his protests. You were completely out of it. Arisu could see that something was wrong. He has never seen you like this before.
From the ground, Chishiya looks up at Usagi who was still pressing down his gun wound. “She’ll kill him,” he tells her, implying that the pair should stop you.
It’s not that he didn’t want Niragi to die. He wasn’t the judge of that, he learned. He also didn’t say that Niragi doesn’t deserve to be beaten by you. He most understandably deserved it. However, he knows that if you killed him, it'll leave a mark on you. You were a fighter but never a killer.
Usagi and Arisu pull you away from a curled up on the floor Niragi despite your protests and attempts to pull yourself free from their holding. You began screaming, grunting, and raging like a bull.
“Y/N! Get a hold of yourself! Please!”
Usagi pleads as she holds your arm tightly. Arisu holds your other one as they both struggle to pull you back.
“YN, stop!” It was Arisu who screams, having a much more difficult time than Usagi.
As the pair is still trying to hold you back, the familiar sound of rumbling puts them to a halt, frozen over what they know follows. This puts an urgency on Usagi, pushing Arisu from you and moving in front of you. She stops you by holding both of your shoulders in place, planting all her weight on the ground.
“Y/N!”
“Y/N!”
Usagi was in front of you, in distress as she squeezes your shoulders. She was holding on to you with maximum effort, her feet gripping the ground tightly and the force on your shoulders was vehement. Your face relaxes, releasing the tension that was once on it.
“U-Usagi?”
What was happening? Why is Usagi on the verge of tears? Why can’t you remember anything? Your knuckles are clenched and wet? You look down, seeing the blood and bruises forming on it. What’s the last thing you remember?
You feel Usagi’s hold loosen as you think.
You try to retrace your steps. You heard gunshots. You followed them. It was at the Shibuya crossing. You saw Arisu. Then Niragi. Then Usagi. Niragi was about to shoot Usagi. But Chishiya was shot instead.
Chishiya was shot. Fatally.
Your face morphs into a horrified one as you remember. You look up, finally processing what has happened and what was happening. The rumbling sound followed by a whistle indicated a blimp was near. Chishiya was shot and the King of Spades was about to come.
Snapping out of it, you turn around and run to where you know Chishiya is. Dropping to your knees beside him, tears began to sting your eyes as you try to press your bruised hand on his wounds.
He was fatal. There were two shots, one below the rib and another on the chest. You know you can’t carry him away to a safe shelter. He was too exhausted and he was losing too much blood. And you have to run now, quickly.
With your touch, Chishiya’s eyes open again but with struggle. He looks up at your face that had worry and devastation written all over it.
“H-hey,” he greets you with a corner of his lips curled up. He could barely keep his eyes open.
You broke into a sob, tears flowing down your cheek as you stared at the bloody mess in front of you. “Shuntarou. T-tell me what to do. Please. We can stop the blood. I can carry you to the nearest drugsto—“
He shakes his head, not even listening to your cries in an attempt to help him. “I-No. The jacket. I’m sorry.”
Your brows furrowed as you scrunch your forehead in confusion. “What?”
A hand lifts to the blood on his jacket. Was he trying to say sorry about ruining his goddamn jacket?
“Are you fucking serious? That doesn’t matter right now!” You scold him, fist slamming the concrete below you.
The man dying in front of you had the audacity to smirk in his condition. “T-the plant too.”
Your mouth drops open at his words, momentarily halting your sobs as tears continue to fall from your eyes. The plant? Could it be?
That’s when you realize that this man bleeding in front of you, unmoving and on the verge of death, is the same man who you met when you were a kid. This is the same man who would ignore you endlessly. This is the same man who pushed you away.
But this man… has always cared about you.
You wondered why he hadn’t gotten rid of it all this time. Back at the beach, you saw him wearing it. He had taken it off only one time—when you chose Usagi and Arisu over him. Then he mysteriously has it again when the games started. Had he always cared this much over that damn Nike jacket? Because of you?
You were about to speak again but a loud scream from afar interrupts you, indicating that the King of Spades is near.
“We have to go!” Arisu screams and runs to you and Chishiya. “We’ll hide them under the cars,” he says and you nod, wiping away your tears.
Arisu, Usagi, and you dragged Niragi and Chishiya behind the cars. However, you know that wouldn’t do much. But you have to run or be shot to death by the King of Spades right here with them.
“Come on!” Arisu beckons as he drops Niragi beside the car. You were still beside Chishiya, kneeling beside him and looking at him breathing and alive despite his exhausted and lifeless eyes. You place your hand on top of his and hold it, gripping it so tightly that your knuckles turn white.
You look at Arisu and then back at Chishiya, thinking about what could be the stupidest decision in your life. From the look on your face, Arisu begins to understand what you were thinking.
“Y/N, we need you.” Arisu pleads with you. You both know that if it ever comes down to taking down the King of Spades, three is better than one. Especially with your combat skills.
However, you stay on your ground, eyes focused on Chishiya who was now looking at you with confused eyes. “I want to be next to him. If I die, it’ll be next to him.”
Arisu and Usagi look at each other as if they’re communicating with their eyes.
Chishiya turns his head, looking away from your focused stare. “Just go,” he tells you, his hand that was in your hold pushes yours away.
You shake your head in protest. “No.”
The shouts got a lot clearer and the gunshots were louder. The King of Spades is nearing and you were giving Arisu and Usagi no chance to convince you to come with them. But you’re choosing Chishiya this time. As you always had.
Arisu places a hand on your shoulder and you finally look up at him with tears in your eyes. You give him one last nod and he gives you a stare and nods back. It wasn’t a look of pity but a look of worry and respect. This might be the last time you’ll see him and Usagi. Not all of you might actually survive this time.
“Be safe, Y/N.” Usagi crouches beside you to hug you.
You nod, patting her back. “Go. Now.” Usagi gives you one last look of determination and stands up in sharpness when you hear the screams and guns fired again.
And so you watch as Usagi and Arisu scramble away from you.
You finally plop yourself beside Chishiya, head down low in silence at the realization of what you’ve done. You don’t breathe or make a sound, only staying by his side as the shooting and running take place behind you.
Minutes passed by and there were still people screaming and being shot but a further distance. You were frozen there, not doing anything but sitting while everyone you meet here is dying.
Chishiya is breathing slowly but he’s alive. You can feel him looking at you in your peripheral vision but you don’t look back.
“Is this really what you want?” His voice was weak and soft, unlike the Chishiya you used to know. You don’t answer him, only staring ahead at the ruined buildings of Shibuya.
You remember walking here like it’s a chore. You remember seeing these streets alive with diverse people. Workers, students, tourists, and residents. It was a busy street. Now, what used to be a place that was never empty and filled with people, is littered with dead bodies.
“Y/N,” Chishiya continues in a warning tone, trying to catch your attention as your mind is drifting away.
You shake your head, headstrong on your decision. “No, I’m not leaving you.”
He sighs. “You’re so stubborn.”
You raise a brow, glaring at him. “And you’re fucking stupid. Look at where you’re shot.”
Why is it that the moment he turns things around he has to be in the line of fire?
He chuckles breathily, staring down at his wounds with raised brows. You frown when he literally does what he’s told. How can he be so sarcastic when he’s dying?
“What does my doctor think?” Chishiya raises a brow at you. You huff, looking away in annoyance.
“That you should shut up,” you snap. “Can you sit up? Let’s at least try to control the bleeding.”
“It’s no use.” You both know he’s right. Still, you’re not one to give up. You try to pull his arm but he winces, making you let go as you’ve accidentally touched a hot stove. You sigh, no choice but to sit in silence again.
It’s kind of odd how the King of Spades didn’t reach you behind the cars. The gunshots seem to have gone further away. Perhaps most players have decided to end the King of Spades now with Shibuya as his first and final arena. You thought about Banda and Yaba, were they in Shibuya too?
A cough pushes you out of your thoughts. You turn your head to your right and once again, your blood boils when your eyes meet Niragi’s who was barely leaning in front of a car. Sometimes, you really hate Arisu’s moral compass. He should’ve left Niragi for dead in the middle of the street for him to be shot dead and sure.
“What?” You spat.
He doesn’t even have the energy to answer. His face was all bloodied, having been beaten up. His burns haven’t been healing properly and he was shot twice by you and Arisu. He was in a more critical stage than Chishiya. You hope that he'll die soon.
Well, maybe not.
“Don’t die,” you tell the deranged man.
The corner of his blooded mouth curls up in the tiniest bit and you continue with a soulless voice. “Don’t die and let’s go back to the real world. When we’re back, just wait. I’ll find you and make you suffer so that you’ll wish you never lived and died here. I can atone for my sins in hell but you… I won’t let you. I want to be the one to punish you.”
You know a million thoughts are running through his head. He may be wanting to curse you or taunt you, or in the slightest of chance, regret all of what he’s done here. It doesn’t matter anyway. He was too injured to move his mouth.
You turn your back to him and face Chishiya again. He was staring at you with amused eyes, probably shocked at your cruel words for his enemy.
“What? I promised.” You defend yourself. “To protect you.”
“Why?”
“You know why,” you argue, brows furrowing.
If Chishiya isn’t answering because of his injury or simply because he didn’t have anything to say, you weren’t sure. You do know, however, that there is one thing weighing on your mind. There was no time to ask but now.
You open your mouth to speak and close it again, hesitating a little before finally speaking.
“Why didn’t you come back?” Your voice cracked. “I waited for you and watched the blimp crash. You didn’t come back.”
He stays silent for a moment, not even staring at you. His face looks troubled. It almost looks like he’s on the verge of crying. You’ve never seen him look like this. What exactly happened in his game?
“I—“ He finally answers, stuttering as if he’s unsure. “I don’t know.”
“You told me you will,” you bark. Were you angry? Maybe a little. Nobody wanted what happened to him to happen. It wasn’t his fault. Yet, you couldn’t not feel angry. If he just came back to you, would this have happened?
Sometimes, you wish you could get inside Chishiya’s mind just once. Just so you could be sure of what he thinks of you—of where you stand in his life.
“I know.” He chuckled bitterly. “And you told me you wanted to face the King of Spades.”
“Then I guess our words never really meant anything to each other.”
“So? Are you really going to stay here until they clear all the games?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“How is this ridiculous, Chishiya? You know how much I—“
“I know,” he pauses. “I know.”
“Why won’t you let me tell you that I lo—“
“Not here. Not now.”
“What if we never get the chance again? Say I do go out there and join them? What if I die?”
“Walk it off. Win the game and crawl. Then say it.” He presses on every word harshly. You frown, upset that he was pushing you away this way.
What now? He really wants you to leave him, huh?
“Listen, Y/N. I’m okay. I won’t be able to join the last game but I can stay here and be alive until it’s been cleared. You can go. I’ll wait for you here.”
You close your eyes, sighing as you rest your elbows on your folded knees. You place your head on your hands, frustrated.
Of course, you wanted to help Arisu and the others. You weren’t selfish. You wanted to help with the King of Spades. But Chishiya is always your dealbreaker. He’s always the priority for you.
The sooner the King of Spades is cleared, the sooner the Queen of Hearts could be entered. If you go now, maybe you can still find and help Arisu and Usagi. You sigh. It’s been a while since they left and the sound of gunshots and crashes has dwindled into a few now. Where will you find them?
“Shuntarou.”
Your tone was serious, venom dripping from your voice. Your head was still on your hands, covering your face.
“If I don’t make it—if I don’t make my way back to you, you’ll go back to the real world and try. Live better. I don’t know how you’ll do it.” As you ask the question, you turn your face to him. “Just try, okay?”
You don’t wait for him to answer, taking his face in your hands and smashing your lips against his. He kisses back almost immediately, taking a hand and placing it over your hair.
You pull away earlier than you wanted to, still holding his face. His eyes softened, half-lidded as they realize what was happening even if he was the one that pushed it.
“I’m gonna go.”
You rise to your feet, crouching. As you turn to leave, Chishiya’s hand tugs your hand back to him. Your eyes widened as your lips met his once again. This time, it was softer and moist, and you realize that it was because tears began falling from your eyes and had saltied your kisses. The softness of his kiss contradicted the harsh truth of the situation while the intensity of it matched it quite perfectly. His insistent mouth was parting your lips, palm now back at the back of your head, pressing you further to his face. He groaned softly, low in his throat and you felt it against your mouth. You chuckle against his lips, finding the irony in the situation.
“I promise,” he says when you two finally part.
Determined, you gave him a smile and a nod.
“Go.” His voice was hoarse from both his injuries and the kiss.
Then you turn around again, taking one last glance at your man before running off in the direction of where the King of Spades went.
Ruins welcomed you as you walked further, finally putting a visual to the people you heard were being shot as you hid with Chishiya. Against your will, you take a look at each and one of them, crouching and hiding once in a while and hoping that one of them wasn’t people you know.
You hear multiple gunshots from what looked like it came from an alley. Hastily, you run in that direction.
As you get nearer, you hear the familiar voices. However, they weren’t speaking, they were screaming in agony.
You readied your gun, cocking it, and stealthily walked into the alley. Usagi was shouting in pain. Kuina too. You walk faster, the lightest you could possibly go knowing that the King of Spades may know you’re coming.
You lean on the wall as you reach a turning point, slowly peeking further into the alley where you’re sure that’s where they are.
It was An you see first.
Her unmoving body sprawled out on the floor, her white shirt covered with blood. Next to her, was a crying Kuina, bleeding from what looked like multiple stab wounds.
Usagi was on the King of Spades’ back, trying her best to choke him but he brought out a knife, plunging it into her knees multiple times. They were moving too often and you cursed to yourself because you were not a great shot.
It was Usagi’s screams of pain that put you in overwhelming urgency. You take a deep breath, aim, and shoot.
Bang!
You press the trigger at the same time as the King of Spades throws Usagi from his back and onto the ground. You keep on shooting, revealing yourself from your hiding place at the edge of the alley and marching to him.
The bullets hit and some don’t, having been avoided by the skilled man. A veteran. Or maybe someone like Aguni. You can see his face unlike before and there were no longer multiple pieces of armor adorning his body.
He heads on straight to you and before he reaches you, you throw the gun far behind him. He only has a knife and you can’t risk him having a gun. It has to be this way for you to beat him.
You hear Kuina or Usagi mumbling your name as they realize that you were here.
Your opponent lunges at you with his blade and you run to tackle him, putting both your fists forward. As he swings his fist holding the knife, you misdirect him with what supposedly looked like a tackle and swiftly shift to the right and smack his face with your right fist while holding his left arm with your left. The impact makes him stumble to his right and you jump, kicking his waist with both feet to make him lose his balance entirely.
He didn’t. It didn’t work.
He stayed standing on the ground like a statue, putting all his weight on his feet. This made you clench your legs to his body to steady your hold on the arm with the knife.
He uses the opportunity to grab your leg and keep it there. You repeatedly slam his head with your fists while he, like a bull, runs and slams your back to the nearest wall. You grunt in pain, your other leg that he wasn’t holding falling and you use that leg’s foot and slam it against the wall so you won’t be pressed further.
You put all your strength into preventing him from using the blade and take the pressure of you against the wall to steady yourself. You smash your fist on his eyes repeatedly and repeatedly until his head is thrown back.
He growls. The hold that was on your leg tightens enough to hurt the muscle and you scream in pain while still slamming your fists into his face. The pressure of his hold was enough for him to lift you again and then throw your body on the ground.
You were quick to go back on your feet and he was already lunging at you but you spin, unsheathing the Katana on your back and pointing it at him. You put yourself in the traditional Kendo stance with both your hands on the grip, left foot behind the right, and hips straightforward.
This makes him step back enough but still hold the knife in his hands with conviction, ready to attack or counter at any given moment.
To be honest, you’re never very well versed in playing around with swords but… you’ve been carrying it around all this time, won’t it be a waste to not use it?
You attack first, swinging the sword which he blocks with his small blade. You swing to the other side and he blocks that again.
You back away again and thrust forward which he avoids by jumping to his right. He rushes with his knife and knowing you can’t block it with your long blade, you bend backward and go under his arm. Successfully, you avoid his attack then spin and turn to face him again, slashing your sword onto his back, creating a huge gash on his shirt, his bulletproof vest, and his skin.
Your eyes are wide as blood drips from your blade.
Wow, these things are really sharp, you think.
You attack again as he turns around, swinging the blade again and he backs away to the wall to avoid it.
You expected him to dodge but he didn’t. What he did catches you off guard as he quite literally holds the blade of your sword in hand and not minding as the skin on his palm is sliced open. Brows furrowed and eyes blazed, he holds the sword in place and then uses the blade in his other hand to stab you in the stomach.
The blade pierces your skin in one swift motion and your jaw drops, not even having the chance to scream in pain. He stabs you again. And again. And again. Harder and deeper at every thrust.
You grip the hand with the knife, pushing all your strength into both hands. He was so strong that you could barely keep his hand away from your stomach. You wanted to slam his hand on the wall but he was far too strong like a rock.
Tears well up in your eyes. You still have to go back to Chishiya.
But this was starting to look like a losing game.
From your peripheral, you see Aguni crawling in the direction of where you threw your gun. So he was still alive. Even if you lose, he can win. And where was Arisu? You doubt he left Usagi alone.
And then it hits you.
They have a plan.
You scream and push with all your might, overpowering the King of Spades’ hand and slamming the knife against the wall. You slam your head from under his chin while repeatedly slamming his fist against the wall until his grip on the knife loosens.
However, him losing the blade causes his hand to be free from anything and he uses it to overpower you again, slamming his fist against your face in one big punch. His fist was heavy and his punch was nothing like you ever received before. It caused your head to throb and everything felt blurry for a few seconds.
You realized that you were thrown on the ground from the impact and your sword was no longer in your hand. Your vision was still a bit fuzzy as you see him holding the sword but then hear it hit the ground from far away.
Seeing from your eyes opening and closing out of consciousness, his silhouette was picking something up and then he was on top of you.
Why can’t you move? Everything feels so strange. Will you really lose this time?
You felt a weight on your torso and a black figure hovering over you. He raises his fist, slamming it across your jaw. Fuck. Was that fucking personal?
Your hand shoots up to stop the King of Spades’ other hand from stabbing you again. You don’t know when you’ve reached for your hunting knife strapped to your leg but you somehow did and plunged it right into his side and drew it back.
His free hand that punched you gripped your hand hard, slamming it on the cemented ground. You grunt, tears forming in your eyes as you try and get out of his hold or under him.
You push yourself up as he keeps on pressing you down to the ground. You wrap your legs around him and scream with all your might to turn yourself, putting all your weight on him and turning him over.
His wounded back slams on the ground and you stare at his deadly eyes, seeing the hatred and the urge to kill in his eyes. It scared you, to be honest. You’ve encountered lots of fighters. Strong, weak, arrogant, psychopaths, assholes, whatever they are, they always got a reason to fight no matter how pathetic it may be.
This man right here, he has a reason too. And from the looks of it, it’s not because he simply wants to win the game. There has to be something like a personal agenda. That made him a lot scarier.
You’re not stupid. You know you’re not a match for this man.
But if by wounding him a little, you’re helping the others, then you’ll gladly give your life. You just have to go back to Chishiya after.
Maybe Banda was right after all.
Your eyes catch Aguni who was getting near the gun. You sigh and when you look back down, the King of Spades slams his forehead against yours, knocking you back distracted and he plunges his knife again into you multiple times, blood spurting out of your mouth as he does so.
You could no longer move, the force of the blade wrecking you back and forth, making you fall back on the ground with wide eyes. You even hear Usagi crying for you.
The King of Spades doesn’t stop assaulting you when you fall on the ground because you don’t stop fighting back. You scream and scream, kicking him repeatedly however you can. He pulls one of your legs and stabs the knife in your thigh, specifically where your previous gun wound is. This made you stop fighting, wailing in pain but you catch yourself quickly, stabbing the knife in your hand on his foot and on his leg. He kicks your knife out of your hand and steps on your palm. You scream as you hear and feel your bones break. He doesn’t stop, kicking your stomach and letting your bleeding out pace faster.
Eventually, you become unresponsive to his hits, having everything feel numb that you can’t move. Your hand was broken, there were about ten stab wounds on your body, and your leg was wrecked.
You didn’t realize you ended up beside Usagi who was holding out her hand to you while barely conscious.
You hear two gunshots and you don’t even know if that is Aguni or the King of Spades.
You were crying, face wet with blood, sweat, and tears. You have to get back to him. You have to tell him.
“Usagi… help me. Chishiya,” you plead with a hoarse voice. “H-have to go back.”
And then everything turned black.
Arisu screams Usagi’s name as she falls on the ground with you, her injured legs and the weight of you was too much to support. Usagi could no longer scream for the pain and you were completely out of it.
You were crying, face wet with tears. The sight was breaking Arisu’s heart. The two girls who saved him when he was dying inside himself—those two girls who always seemed strong, who always saved him, he was watching as you both crumbled on the ground, beaten up, and weakened.
He picked up Usagi first, seeing as she was the one still conscious or at least in the right mind to talk to him. He cradled her face in his hands, tapping it as she was being pulled and pushed from consciousness.
“Arisu…” It was barely a whisper, slipping past her dry lips. She calls for him, forehead scrunched as she tries to tell him something more but her body fails her. Arisu could only make out your name.
He looks over at you, sprawled out on the ground and bleeding from multiple stab wounds on your body. You were hysteric and sobbing, trying to crawl the ground and away from them as he heard that the registration for the Queen of Hearts game was starting. It was obvious what you were trying to do.
He doesn’t know whether to pity or admire your love for Chishiya.
Helping Usagi up, he let her stand on her own for a few seconds before reaching over to you and picking you up, hooking your arm over his shoulders and his hands on your back and under your thighs.
You groaned in pain at Arisu’s sudden hold, tears pouring down your face as Arisu’s shirt is soaked with your blood. Once he stabled his footing, he let Usagi hold his arm for guidance as she struggled to walk with her injured knees.
The two of them walk in the direction of the Queen of Hearts game with you in his arms. Thankfully, Chishiya was on the way to the game.
It was like a death march. Arisu seemed to be the only man standing to enter the game. If it was up to him, he’d rather join the game alone. But from the determination on Usagi’s face, it seemed that she wouldn’t have that at all.
He only wished that no one has to die any more after the last game. He wishes to finish the game as fast as possible, hoping that he could save everyone who tried their best so far and are still trying to keep alive. You, Aguni, Kuina, Chishiya, An, Heiya, and everyone who was still breathing here in Tokyo. No one should die anymore.
“Shun…” It doesn’t even seem like you were still conscious anymore. He doesn’t know if you know he’s carrying you to him. It’s like you’re only dreaming of him.
“It’s okay, we’re near Chishiya. Hang on, Y/N. Just hang on.” Arisu assures you but as he says this, your eyes finally shut close and your body goes limp against his hold.
As that rusted car came into view, Usagi and Arisu went quiet, dreading the news that they were about to deliver to the white-haired man.
They pass the trunk of the car, catching the attention of the injured man in the bloodied white jacket leaning on the car door. He turns his head, spotting Arisu first and then the person he was holding. There you are, eyes closed, beaten, and bloodied.
The hand resting on his lap drops to his side and he tries his best to sit up straight. Usagi lets go of Arisu’s arm and lean on the car’s trunk. Arisu carefully placed your body next to his.
Whatever Chishiya was feeling was incomprehensible as he stared at your color-drained face.
Arisu couldn’t even say anything to the man. He wanted to say sorry but what would that do? He wanted to tell him why he brought you here but he’s sure he already knows the answer. What he could do, however, is to finish the last game quickly.
Chishiya didn’t even notice as Arisu and Usagi left, still looking at you, breathing slowly and watching as your chest would barely rise and fall.
He always liked being right. It gave him a sense of security that he was doing things well. You were the only thing that never made him feel secure as you were always pushing yourself into danger. He knew from the moment he saw him that the King of Spades was far too strong for you. When he said to you that you were no match for the King of Spades, he wasn’t lying.
And yet when he pushed you to fight the King of Spades, he also believed in you.
He could only wish as the blimp crashed that you were still alive.
And here you are, lying beside him… and he is so proud of you.
He never understood why you liked fighting. He didn’t understand what rush you were feeling from blood and sweat. But you’d never understand how his intelligence excited him either. He guesses that you two were both different and the same that way.
Ever since he figured out that you went underground, he’d secretly sneak into every one of your fights. There were times when an opponent with an established name in the underground would come and challenge you. When those assholes of an audience would turn their back on you and bet against you even when they know what you’re capable of, he would still bet your name. Those were the only times in his life that he allowed himself to not be critical.
You never lost once.
He was kind of hoping that it’d happen one more time. But you did win. The King of Spades went down, didn’t they? But why does it feel like Chishiya lost instead?
“Focus.” Chishiya pushed the book you’ve pushed away in front of you. You glared at him and put down your phone.
He easily snatches the phone from the table and put it in his pocket. “Read,” he commands, eyeing the book the professor assigned for reading.
“But it isn’t due next week,” you mumbled angrily as you leaned your head on your palm while looking down at the book’s pages. Chishiya hears this but ignores you, all too familiar with your whining.
You began reading as he wished but after five minutes of learning about anatomy, your brain starts flying away from you and your eyes start to get droopy. Your head starts getting heavy and soon starts slipping from your palm.
Chishiya sighs and without even looking up from his book, he uses the end of his pen to push your forehead up.
“Ahh,” you groan as he forbids you to fall asleep inside the library again. How could you not? It was very cozy, cold, and quiet.
“If you’re not going to study just go home.”
He knows you don’t want to go home, finding nothing but an empty house there. You’ll definitely stay.
“But it’s boring.” You whine in a whisper.
He sighs, still not looking at you. “Not my problem.”
This time, it was your turn to sigh. “Why do you even want to be a doctor? And don’t give me that to save lives bullshit, Shun. We both know you’re lying.”
He shrugs. “Just because.”
“Because?” You press further.
He finally looks at you with a glare and repeats. “Just because.”
“Because your father was one?” You ask, tilting your head.
It was the reason. There wasn’t a particular humane reason why. He just wanted to see what was so great about it—saving lives. He had more than enough intelligence to do it and it was the same thing his father devoted his life to, so why not?
“Do you not have a reason?” You ask again, this time more seriously. He doesn’t answer this time.
You smiled, looking at your book now. “I think I’m too weak to be a doctor,” you admit, lips twitching.
“I mean, I’m physically strong but mentally, I don’t think I have it. But you, I think you’ll be a great doctor, Shuntarou. You’ll save a lot of lives and help a lot of people.”
You used to have so much hope in him. You still do. But whatever slight confidence he had in himself that he’ll understand and care for people once he becomes a doctor, he lost it when he actually started to practice medicine. It wasn’t all about saving lives. It was a profession driven by greed and power.
He thought that he could just ignore it. That if he just focused on his job, he won’t be included in their greed. It was pathetic of him to think that.
A man like him who came from his father and followed his father will eventually become his father.
Ever since realizing that, he didn’t have the guts to face you. Still, you kept on cheering him on, believing he was purely saving lives. You kept on visiting him in the hospital and gave him gifts. You didn’t know he basically killed Hayato and many more people.
It was just the way it worked for him. To be honest, he envied you. You were living a double life but you were happy with that. You had a breather. He didn’t.
If you married him, you’d be tied up to a man like your father and his father. You wouldn’t want to live like that. He didn’t want you to live like that. He used to say that you’d just be a burden to him but now he knows that he just wanted better for you.
He wasn’t enough for you.
He was always afraid that one day, you’ll see how much of a pathetic man he is and pack your bags.
After the King of Diamonds game, he couldn’t escape the heavy feeling on his chest and the boggling of his mind. He didn’t feel well enough to see you. He had to figure out what it all meant.
And so this happened.
“Chi…”
He wasn’t sure if he was hallucinating because he could barely hear it. But it did come from you. Even in your state, you were still mumbling his name.
“Y/N?”
He called your name, desperate to hear your voice again. Don’t you have something to say to him?
“I…”
“Y/N.” His voice softened. You need to hear his voice to let you know he’s beside you. That way, you can tell him.
Your face was pale and dried of both sweat and tears, dust and dirt all over it. Chishiya’s jaw clenched, turning his body to yours to face you. He held the gunshot in his chest as it ached when he moved again.
“Shunta…”
This time, you say it with a frown and a scrunched forehead, indicating that you were maybe getting a bit of consciousness.
“I’m here.”
Chishiya’s expression hardened, brows furrowing as he held your hand tightly.
“I’m here,” he repeated. He felt a finger twitch against his hold. He held his breath, not blinking as he stared at your face. The few seconds that he was waiting felt a hell lot longer.
And then you smiled.
You smiled.
You smiled and then your face relaxed.
The color drained out of Chishiya’s face as he realized what was happening—what he knows is happening but his mind, letting itself be controlled by emotions for the third time that day, was hoping for a different outcome.
He hoped you weren’t just hallucinating before your last breath.
“I…” It was coming from his mouth this time.
“I love you too.”
The skies turned dark and time was a concept that Chishiya lost track of. He was still holding your hand as they turned pale.
He had his eyes on the Queen of Hearts blimp the whole time, silently wishing that Arisu and Usagi would win the game soon. He had all hopes for him. He knows that Arisu could make it.
Congratulations.
All of the games have now been cleared.
The first explosion of the blimp made him realize that he was not breathing well the whole time as if anticipating something. He let out a sigh of relief as the explosion was followed by another and another as fireworks scattered the sky.
The whole of Tokyo is surrounded by fireworks and he stares at your face illuminated by them. It was done. What now? What makes the two of you?
All surviving players will be presented with two choices. Players must now decide whether to accept permanent residence in this country or decline it. Once again, players must now decide whether to accept permanent residency or decline it.
What do you know… you do get a choice.
His hand holding yours tightens. With his other hand, he pushes away the hair that got on your face, ignoring the searing pain from his wounds.
“We’re gonna have to decline… I think.”
You have to go back with him. And when you do, he promises to himself that he won’t let anyone hurt the two of you anymore. Not himself, not yourself, not your father nor his father. No one else.
It will be just the two of you.
The last thing he remembers is he was on his way to your date. It was the last thing he wanted to do that day. He’d rather work on some patient’s case. But it was his day off and he didn’t really have anything better to do other than work.
He was walking along Shibuya when something that looked awfully like a meteor passed in the sky. Everyone looked up in awe until they realized that it was coming straight near.
And then he woke up here on the hospital bed.
The man beside him had burns all over his body. The side of his face was also burnt, Chishiya assumes as half of his face is also bandaged. He was throwing a coughing fit.
“What do you want?” The man groans as Chishiya stares at him.
“It looks to me like you’ve experienced a cardiac arrest,” Chishiya answers, vocalizing his opinion as a doctor.
“What are you, a doctor?” The stranger asks.
“Well, I did too.” He answers instead, not really wanting to tell the truth for some reason. The doctor did tell him that his heart stopped for a whole minute when he woke up so it wasn’t really a lie.
“What a coincidence.”
“So we both almost died.” Chishiya raises both his brows before asking a question that relates to him as well. “You feel any different now?”
The stranger sighed. “I don’t know. I mean, I look a lot worse. What about you?”
Chishiya takes his eyes away from the man. “I’ve been thinking a lot about my life, the choices I had to make. Pretty sure I’m gonna be turning my life around.”
With the way he lived his life, he felt like he shouldn’t be one of the people lying here on the hospital beds. There were people much better than him—people that deserved to survive more…people like you.
“Or something like that.” He continues.
He was alone when the meteor hit. But he was on his way to meet you. He couldn’t help but wonder about you. Were you okay? Were you already in the area when the meteor hit? It was the first time in his life that he actually felt scared for you. He didn’t want you to be one of the casualties of the tragedy.
“You were a piece of shit too, huh? You fucked up?”
He thought back to his life choices, the way he is as a doctor, as a son, and as a friend to you. He did fuck up. He forgot why he was doing all of these in the first place. Him being here alive, it felt like he was being given another chance. He wanted to be better. To himself and to you.
“I did.”
Niragi scoffs and sighs, halting the conversation and letting the room fall into silence again, only the light vibrating sound of the air conditioner being heard.
Chishiya asked for your name when the nurse came in. There was a lot in need of medical care but she clearly remembered your name. When he saw the familiarity in her eyes, Chishiya knew that there could only be two reasons and one certainty.
The only certainty was you were definitely here and the reasons being one, your name was well known in the medical community in Japan, and two, you were in a critical condition. Doctors and Nurses at times of tragedies like this often have a hard time remembering their patients’ names unless they’re at the top of the list of people who need immediate help.
“Ms. Y/N L/N. Do you know her?”
“Yes.”
Chishiya pauses before continuing.
“She’s my fiancée.”
The doctor agreed to let Chishiya leave the room but not before realizing who he was. On a wheelchair, Chishiya wheels himself to the ICU where he was told you are.
He has only seen you a few days before but to him, it felt like there were missing pieces that he can’t seem to figure out. He had never craved to see you like this before. He had to see you.
Chishiya pushed the wheel to turn with his palms, slowly walking the hallway of the hospital, and observing the other patients he was passing by.
He stops by a man that catches his eye. His condition looked bad and seemed to be in a coma. He sighs, at least he was lucky with what he got.
Pushing his chair again, Chishiya realizes that one of the wheels is stuck.
“Fuck,” Chishiya curses, looking down at the wheel while trying to lean his body towards the floor without opening his stitches.
“Something stuck. Here, let me help you.”
Dreadlocks come into Chishiya’s view first as she leans down and grabs something from under his chair. “There we go,” she mumbles and lifts her head, giving him a warm smile.
Chishiya raises a brow, staring at the woman’s face. Her brows rise and her smile drops in return, slightly bewildered at his ungrateful expression. It wasn’t that he wasn’t thankful. It’s just that her face looked awfully familiar and he couldn’t quite think why. It’s unsettling how he feels this way since the tragedy.
“Thank you.” He quickly drops his face back to a nonchalant one and thanks her. She rises to her feet, throwing what looked like a small piece of crumpled cardboard in the nearest trash can with ease.
“Meteor too, huh?” She asks, scratching the back of her head. Chishiya nodded, looking at her from head to toe. It doesn’t seem like she’s in a bad condition seeing as she can still walk with her two feet.
“Yeah, it’s not that bad for me.” She quickly notices what Chishiya meant by his look. “Although they said my heart stopped for like a minute. I’m Kuina, by the way.”
“Chishiya,” he introduces himself. “They told me my heart stopped too. So did the one I’m sharing my room with.”
“Huh. That’s weird.” Kuina pursed her lips, crossing her arms. “So, ‘ya know anyone here?”
Chishiya nodded, a bit confused as to why he was keeping a conversation with a complete stranger yet he answers. “Yeah. I’m looking for my fiancée.”
Kuina evidently pauses, a little shocked by the information. That could only mean that his fiancée is in critical condition if she’s on this floor. She nods and asks. “Do you need help? I can wheel you to them.”
Oddly enough, Chishiya lets her. His new acquaintance pushes his wheelchair slowly as he eyes the names on the doors of the single-bed ICUs. The hospital they were in was quite large and no doubt owned by your father. He’s quite surprised you weren’t transferred to a VIP one yet. Was your condition that bad?
“Wait.” He stops Kuina as he sees that familiar name on the side of the sliding glass door.
Y/N L/N
“She’s here.”
He could see clearly from outside. You were there, on the bed enclosed by protective transparent curtains. A weirder feeling settles on his chest and then he finally feels it. He finally finds what he lost along the way—what he craved to feel again.
Care. Despair. Agony. He finally understands as a tear falls from his eye.
oh my god…? i usually quickly read through fics with a large amount of words because i’m a fairly fast reader, of course i still analyze and reread because there are so many extremely talented writers on this app. but this was an emotional and well thought and planned out masterpiece, so many different situations and parts of the plot that line up to the actual storyline and it all worked out extremely well. i’m in SHOCK at how well this lines up😭😭
I LOVE IT.
(it’s the fact i saw this because a mutual liked it and i read this without reading the other parts💀 MY BAD)
OMG. Thank you for your kind words. I really appreciate it. But WHAT. Did you just say you only read the final part? KHDAKHDKJA How was it? Was it not confusing? But really, thank you. I'm glad you loved this little story of mine and how it went!
Summary: Starting your second semester at one of South Korea’s most prestigious universities should be stressful enough. Between juggling classes, good grades and a social life, your plate was full. Hoping to spice up your academic career, you thought it was a good idea to enroll as an assistant for your literature professor, whom you've held a very secret and very forbidden crush on for the past several months. What will happen now that you’re forced to work closely together? And what if your crush isn’t as one sided as you thought?
Genre: Series, fluff, angst, smut, non idol au, university au.
Warnings: This series is part of the Hyung Line Daddy Collection. Mild age gap (not underage) where Yoongi is in his early thirties and Yn is in her early twenties, power play, since he is her professor, but it’s not toxic or abusive and Yoongi doesn’t take advantage of his position, daddy kink (eventually). Forbidden relationship. Cousin Jungkook, Best Friend Jimin (what is new), art student Tae, literature student reader and Namjoon. Side pairing: ?? and ??. This series has a LOT of smut, in almost every chapter.
WC: 108k total.
Updates: Every monday and every other saturday.
Taglist: Open. (Leave a comment or send an ask to be added 💜)
[Membership]
Teaser:
Yoongi’s car was clean and comfortable, nothing flashy or ostentatious, but he did have a built-in GPS and a very modern sound system. He kept a mellow R&B playlist low on the background as he drove and you couldn’t help but stare at the veins in his arm as he held the steering wheel with one hand.
In such a small space everything seemed heightened. From the sound of your own heavy breathing, to the rustle of the plastic bag with your leftover dinner resting by your feet. But it was Yoongi’s soft hums when he liked a song and the amplified scent oozing off of him that was making you go a little crazy.
When the car came to a halt a few stops away from your building, slightly hidden behind a large tree and away from the nearest street lamp, you wanted to find an excuse, anything to stay there and prolong your goodbyes. You wouldn’t have another class with Yoongi for a few days, since he liked to rotate his two assistants, and you didn’t know when you’d have a one on one session with him again.
The professor didn’t seem eager to let you go either, when he turned the engines off and cut the lights.
“I hope your wife won’t mind you staying out so late.” you heard yourself saying, heart beating quickly on your chest at the prospects of a confirmation you didn’t want.
Yoongi let out a breathy laugh, pushing his hair away from his forehead again. “Don’t have one.”
“Your girlfriend then?”
“Not that either.”
If Yoongi thought your questions were invasive or out of line, he didn’t show it. When you removed your seatbelt and let it slide back into place, the man turned slightly to the side. To stare at you. To wait for your next move. When you didn’t make any motion of leaving his car, he clicked his own seatbelt free.
Was he expecting you to invite him up? You doubted it, since he was careful enough to park so far away from the entrance of your dorm building, where it was safe from prying eyes.
“Yn.” he said, and you liked the way your name sounded in the solitude of his car.
“Yes, Professor Min?”
Whatever question he had seemed to die on his tongue and you basked in the way his gaze seemed to grow darker. You licked your lips out of habit, a movement that caught his sharp attention immediately.
You couldn’t tell when you started leaning into his space. Maybe it was before his warning call to your name, even. Your heart was pumping so much blood through you that your pulse was buzzing in your ears.
“Told you to not call me that when it’s just the two of us.” his tone was low, teasing almost, and it sent a pool of heat right between your legs.
“What do you want me to call you?” you were a breath away from whimpering, begging him to close the distance before you leaned all the way over the console of the car, you needed him to give you something. “Sir?”
pairing: levi ackerman x gn!reader
summary: a drabble of that fleabag scene but in levi's version
wc: 1,826
genre: major angst
warnings: fleabag (tv) and aot spoilers obvi
a/n: i was in my feelings sorry
“I love you.”
You know it wouldn’t end well.
You told yourself a million times, “Don’t expect. It will lessen the disappointment.” But as you sit there, side by side, shoulder to shoulder, and knees almost touching, with the one you need like water, there are no more expectations to break. It’s done. You’ve said it. You’ve let out those words that prick like thorns at the back of your throat, aching to be said longer than you can admit. Now, it hangs dead in the air, waiting to be caught—to be answered.
From the small distance between you, you can see his steel eyes glisten under the moonlight. You can see the dark lines under his eyes and the creases on his forehead. Life hasn’t been kind to the man you love. It never was to anyone. But if you could change one person’s fate, it would be his. You don’t know the extent of what you would give to lighten the load in his heart. You would give anything to have him smile, to have him laugh, and to have him live, that was your wish.
And yet, you know that by having done this, you’ve burdened his heart more.
His eyes bore into yours, a million words settling into his irises. Just like that, you were back to where it all started.
It started at stolen glances, cheeks heating up whenever his eyes meet yours. You tried to avoid his gaze, pulling yourself out of the trance it would give you. You wanted to get lost in them. But you know that having an eye for the Survey Corps soldier was a stupid idea.
There were things much bigger than the both of you, things that only he could do. Levi Ackerman is humanity’s strongest soldier. One of Commander Erwin’s greatest gambles in the war against the Titans. There was no room for you in it, a normal resident of Sina. You know that the expected fate for you is to accept a marriage from someone who can stay with you as long as you can live inside these walls while relying and waiting on the scouts’ mission to maybe end the suffering of the people in these walls. It’s what was taught to you for years. But as always, you weren’t one to listen.
You couldn’t help it. You couldn’t help but to shop on your own in the markets when you can have servants do it for you. You couldn’t help but to talk to the people there, asking them what new things they could offer you every time you were around. You couldn’t help but try out every new food and beverage you could find.
You couldn’t help but notice the timid and quiet man buying tea every third Sunday of the month. He would be there exactly at the time you first saw him and you would wait to see him, not even talk or be near him. You just want to see his face. He always looks tired. There were creases on his forehead that always seemed to be scrunched. His lips were either turned down into a frown or a straight line. Although he looked very neat with his long-sleeved white button and black slacks, his clothes don't seem to be of noble or great wealth. He doesn’t seem to be a servant or one of the workers from Rose.
He orders the same black tea every Sunday. The same one your father drinks every morning. It was rare and expensive, something about it being grown on a small plot of land protected here in Sina. You’ve tried it once out of curiosity but was not very fond of it. It was too bitter for your liking. But nonetheless, you thought that if the mysterious man had enough to spare for one canister of it a month, he must have enough of an income.
Eventually, he notices your stolen glances and thought you were suspicious. He cornered you in an alley one time on the way to the markets, having expected you to be there already. In fear and fluster that the man was finally in close distance, you sputtered out your apologies and told him the truth that you only found yourself being curious about him. He warned you not to do it again. You could only meekly answer an agreement.
In anticipation for the next time he came, you were fully prepared to offer another apology. Your next interaction would have to be better that time around, you thought as you have already carefully gone about your words and have been holding a canister of the same black tea he prefers. Unfortunately, he didn’t come by the next month. Still, you waited.
The month after that as you wait, it was running a bit late, and when you were convinced that you have officially run the man away from this market, you finally caught sight of the man you have been waiting for. He had the same tired expression on his youthful face, the same haircut that always seemed to be trimmed at the perfect length, and the same grey cold eyes. Except, this time, he wears a military uniform with an insignia you don’t see much on these walls—the wings of freedom.
You froze where you stood, just near the pop-up teashop. You see that someone strides closely behind him, towering over him with his upright posture and blonde hair. Of course, you know who that is. That’s Erwin Smith, the commander of the Survey Corps. People thought him to be the devil commander, ruthless and ambitious. And beside him is the man you’ve been following every month, a member of the military division that gets sent to their deaths every expedition.
But still, you approached them with a smile and introduced yourself. Erwin gives you Levi a glance after, one that you couldn’t interpret the meaning of. At first, you thought that Erwin didn’t particularly enjoy your presence there. But he gave you a smile and even pushed the smaller man in your direction. He even gave you a wink behind his back.
Since then, Levi, a wonderful name for a breathtaking man like him, continued to come back every month.
And here you are now, standing at the edge of a cliff from the pressure of accepting a marriage for convenience versus your feelings for the captain of the Survey Corps.
It was silent. Not even the sound of air whistling or the birds chirping can be heard in the dead of the night. You can only hear the sound of your heart beating. You can hear his heart in sync with his. You can feel his pulse as he closes a hand over yours. Not fast. Not slow. Perfectly balanced. His rough hands held your soft ones, caressing them with his thumb. Fond, caring, and comforting.
“It’s him, isn’t it?”
Carefully, he smiles. A painful one. If you knew that the first time you’d see him give you a smile like this, you would have never asked for it.
After spending a long time with Levi more than his monthly visits to Sina, you’ve come to learn more about him. You were his only friend outside the scouts and if he were to choose who he’s the closest with among them, you know he’d choose Erwin. He highly respects him and he told you how he vowed to follow the great commander to the darkness. And you know fully that what you’re asking of him will collide with Erwin’s decisions. He can’t be with you. He can’t love you.
Gently, two words come out of his mouth. “It’ll pass.”
They were not the three words you longed to hear. But you smiled back, holding back the tears with an accepting smile. He nods, smiling back as if he was convincing himself. It was there that you realized that he was saying it to himself more than to you.
There was another silence. But this time, it no longer holds the weight. And yet, you don’t feel any relief, no burden lifted, and no thorns plucked out of you. You could only feel his hand for comfort and you looked down on it once again, memorizing the veins on his skin as if it will be the last time you look at it. You trace your fingertips over them, blinking away the tears that seemed to fall without your consent. The blurriness in your sight that your tears caused is going against your purpose to capture his hand in your brain. You don’t want to forget him. Ever.
You would rather memorize his face and how he looked knowing one day, you might forget his face. But with his hand and the way he holds yours, you know that both your dreams and nightmares will be plagued by it. You want to see it. You want to remember how it felt to be loved like this—to be loved by him, even if he didn’t say it yet. You know. You always knew.
His forehead is close to yours and you can feel him trying his best not to make them touch, he’s hesitating—pulling away in fear that he might never want to break it. His lips are quivering and he draws them in tightly into a line to halt it.
You don’t know how long you sat there but somehow, Levi was able to pull away, mutter he has to leave, and stand up. He takes a few steps away from you before pausing, back turned on you.
You called his name, the ache in your chest intensifying as it rolled off your tongue.
“I’ll see you next Sunday.”
He turns around, the same pained expression on his face. The corner of his lips twitches up ever so slightly in amusement. Both of you know that things will never be the same again. You will never come to see him in the market and he will probably never come to buy tea personally again. But still, he nods and lets out an unexpected response to your statement.
“…I love you too.” It came out in a whisper but it was loud enough for you to hear. He looked into your eyes for a few more seconds before looking away entirely. Before he turned around, you see a single tear fall from his eye. You watch as he walked away until you could no longer see his form fade into the darkness.
It never passed. Not even as the truth about the Titans and the people outside was uncovered. Not even as you survived all that, somehow. Not even as you held your child from a man that wasn’t him, a gold ring adorning your finger. Not even as you saw him again, wounded, and being wheeled by two children. Not even as your eyes met his cold, gray one.
