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drabblesandimagines · 5 months

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Dove (part six)

Leon Kennedy x female reader - the slowest, slow burn I swear Part one. Part two. Part three. Part four. Part five.

After the two of you had finished dinner, you’d began clicking through the channels in search of something to watch. It was far too early to go to bed, or even pretend to go to it - you’d just be staring at the ceiling, alone with your thoughts. Leon had insisted on taking the dishes to the kitchen despite your offer to help, said he’d leave them in the sink to soak. You know that’s a task you’re not going to be able to handle until your arm is free of the sling, fingers unsplintered. You want to say you’ll do all the cooking and cleaning when you can, but that implies that you think you’ll still be in the safe house, with him, in however long it’ll take to be free of the sling...

By all intents and purposes, Leon had planned to wait until you’d gone to bed to pull together his report, but the fact that Hunnigan hadn’t replied to his text yet was giving him an unsettled feeling in his gut. Maybe she was doing it on purpose, tit for tat - no information for him until he gave information to her.

After setting the dishes and pan in soapy water to return to later, he’d come back to the sofa and picked the laptop up off the coffee table, almost reluctantly.

“Er, I’m gonna start my report now, if that’s all right?”

You look at him, noting the laptop now tucked under his arm. The report, of course – he hadn’t typed it up yet, couldn’t have, not when you’d sobbed and then napped all over him.

It’s like emotional whiplash - the soft, almost domestic moments where you could pretend this whole situation was normal - it’s dinner and a movie with a friend, first date vibes but both of you too cautious to make a move.

And then there’s the startling reminder that, no, actually, you’re not even home, in a one-bedroom bungalow, no idea where you are in the state, or what state, with a man, a bodyguard you hardly know, after very nearly being murdered the day before and could possibly be murdered in the days to come.

You must’ve stared too long in response as he raises his arm to rub the back of his head – you wonder if it’s a nervous habit.

“It’s nothing to worry about, Dove. The report’s just a formality after the interview earlier, and it’s better that I submit today. It’s fine if you’d prefer not to be in the room, though. If you’re not comfortable, I can wait until you’ve gone to bed.”

“Oh… No, go ahead.”

“Are you sure? I’ll be listening over the audio again but I’ll use headphones, so…”

“Yeah. It’s fine – needs to be done, as you said.” You smile, turning your head back to the TV to end the conversation.

Leon had sat on the other couch, laptop resting on his knees, plugged in a pair of in-ear headphones. For over an hour, you’d heard him tap away at the keys, brows furrowed in concentration when you’d chance a look his way. The last few times his eyes haven’t been on the laptop screen but that of the TV, watching the dumb romance movie you’d settled on during your channel searching, hoping it would prove a good distraction.

“Leon…” You feel rude for interrupting his work, but he’d tugged out an earbud, hasn’t typed anything in a good while now, definitely not since the last ad break.

Not that you were keeping track.

“Mm?” He hums in response.

“Can I…?” He looks over as you clear your throat - start over. “Can I ask you something? If you’ve got a minute.”

There it is - the encouraging smile. “Of course, Dove.”

“It’s going to sound stupid, but those things – were they BOWs?”

“The Lickers?” The smile drops as he tugs out the other earbud. “Yeah, they are.”

“Lickers?” It sounds too cutesy for what they are, like a lollipop brand for kids and not indescribable monstrosities.

“There’s probably some scientific name that Umbrella would use, but that term came from a cop that first saw them in the Raccoon City Police Department. I guess we kinda kept the name as a weird tribute.”

“Right.” Maybe it was the cop’s way of trying to make them less terrifying on first sight.

“Why do you ask?”

“I didn’t think BOWs were actually…” You swallow, though you know it’s not going to dislodge the lump in your throat now. “..things, if that makes sense. Like, I knew we were trying to protect the public from biological warfare threats, but I thought it was man-made diseases, or poisoning the water supply… That sort of stuff.”

“You’re not wrong. Those things were once human, mutated by a man-made virus. I’ve had a fair amount of experience with different iterations of the virus over the years, unfortunately.”

“Mutated…?” You feel sick as the image once again flashes in your mind’s eye, the grotesque features of the Lickers juxtaposed with those of humans, your colleagues… “Fuck.”

“Yeah - fuck.”

“God,” you exhale, but it doesn’t feel enough. “I’ve been so naïve to what I’ve even been doing all these years - I didn’t know what we were actually trying to prevent.”

“You sound like you think you’ve been doing something wrong.”

“Well, maybe I have.” You protest. “What if I missed something that led to that the other day?”

“You did not miss anything.” He says firmly, closing the laptop – you’re not sure if he’s concluded his report or not. “Is that what happened to everyone - they were infected and then they mutated into those… those things?” You can’t bring yourself to say the identifier out loud.

“No, Dove, the… The bodies they recovered matched with the amount of people signed into the premises. Excluding you, obviously.”

“So, someone brought them there and set them on us?”

“Maybe. They’re still working on how they got in the building. They don’t exactly use doors, so…” He laughs, though it’s half-hearted.

The lump feels too big in your throat, tears burn at your eyes as you drop your head down but you know you’re not quick enough.

Leon stands, soft footsteps on the carpet as he circles round the coffee table and sits down a cushion’s width away from you.

“Sorry – it was a bad joke.”

You shake your head, sniffling a little, eyes fixed on your thighs. “No, it’s not that, or you. It’s so stupid, but I wish I could go back and stop it…”

“I know.” He places a hand down on the sofa, swivels his knees in your direction. “But it doesn’t help to think like that – trust me. And I know it’s hard, but you’ve got to keep going.”

“And you’ve faced those things before.”

“More times than I’d like to count.”

“How do you stop them?” You look up then, wiping away the tears from your cheek with the heel of your left hand.

“You couldn’t have done anything differently back there, if that’s what you’re thinking. A couple of gunshots to the head or an explosion is the only thing that’ll stop them.”

“You can’t… you know, turn them back?”

He shakes his head, looking solemn. “Afraid not.”

“Maybe for the best. I don’t think I’d want to be turned back if I’d…” If you’d ripped off your colleague’s head.

“Hey, that is not going to happen to you.” He leans forward, places his hand on your knee - having you fall asleep in his arms earlier has removed all sort of boundaries, it seems. “I promise.”

You shake your head then. “You can’t promise that.”

“I can. I am going to keep you safe.” He pauses – wind it in a little, Kennedy. “And if it makes you feel better, you won’t be the first. Want my credentials? I rescued the President’s daughter from a cult, got her home safe.”

“The President’s daughter?” You hadn’t heard about that, but then again why would you? Probably wouldn’t want it announced to the world that the leader of the free world’s daughter had been abducted.

“Mm. She had a codename and all – Baby Eagle.”

“But you would know her name.”

“Yeah, but still used codenames on official comms.”

“So, what would happen if I told you my name?”

“Er, well, I’d…” There’s the arm raise, rubbing the back of his neck again. “I’d have to report in to HQ that your identity had been compromised, I’d be redeployed elsewhere and you’d get a new security detail.”

“Why?”

“Part of your protection is that I’m not a risk of revealing your identity if hostile forces used… certain methods of interrogation if we were to be captured.”

Your stomach twists at the code. “Torture?”

“I suppose.” He shrugs, like he’s going to collect your mail or water your plants when you’re on vacation as a favour.

“No, you can’t… How can you shrug at the prospect of being tortured for me? You don’t even know me.”

Leon wants to say he does know you, not completely but there’s things he’s picked up over the course of the day that he feels reasonably confident on. You don’t do good with sitting idle, has the feeling you keep yourself busy when you’re not locked in four walls. He got the feeling you’re thorough and proud of your work, or you were before this doubt crept in.

You like coffee with a splash of creamer, honey in your oatmeal. You don’t have any close friends or family nearby that will be wondering why you’ve gone AWOL just yet… ..and you’re definitely single, because if you had someone waiting at home you would’ve mentioned it they spoke about whisking you away to a safe house, or when Hunnigan said she was going to search your place.

He smiles. “I know you don’t deserve any of what’s happened to you over the last 24 hours, and that’s reason enough.”

“How can you be so sure I don’t?”

“Experience, Dove. Been in this line of work for a long time and, more importantly, I’ve been where you’ve been, okay?”

“Okay.” You nod, relenting. “Sorry, my head’s just…”

He squeezes your knee. “I know.”

You leave the bathroom later that evening – Leon had ducked in at some point and prepared your toothbrush again – and find him leaned over the sink, scrubbing at a pan and a cloth draped over his shoulder. He’s left out the medicine – two painkillers, two sleeping pills - on the counter, next to a glass of water. It feels oddly domesticated again for what all of this is.

You walk over to the counter, slowly, as he continues washing the dishes.

“I forgot to ask earlier. Have there been any updates?”

He turns, gives you a sympathetic smile. “Not yet. But it’s only the first full day of the investigation, so I’m sure I’ll hear something soon, especially since I’ve sent the report over.”

He’d sent it whilst you were in the bathroom, half-expected Hunnigan to ring right there and then but his cell had remained silent, so he’d moved his attention to the dishes.

“Yeah, suppose other things will take precedence too.” Other things meaning families to inform… What would they tell them?

You take a swig of water before picking up the pills, swallowing them all down in one. Knowing how quick the sleeping aids helped yesterday, you’re aware there’s only a limited time before you’ll feel the effects kick in.

“Well, goodnight, Leon.”

“Wait a sec.” He pulls the cloth off his shoulders and hurriedly dries his hands as you watch on, curiously. He fiddles with the watch around his wrist, pressing a button on the side, then undoing the strap before he holds it out to you. “Here, so you can tell the time. I know there’s no clock in there, so…”

You stare at the offering, not raising your hand to take it. “But what about you?”

“Got my cell.” He pats his pocket, then holds the watch out again. “It’s yours, if you want it.”

You step forward to take it, gripping it a little too tightly in your fingers. It must be your imagination because it feels warm, but that can’t be right.

“Sleep well, Dove.”

Without another thought, you lean up on your tip-toes and press a kiss on his stubbled cheek.

“Thank you.”

You swivel on your heels and walk into the bedroom, closing the door without looking back, missing out on the sight of a flustered DSO agent in the kitchen.

If it wasn’t for the sleeping pills now coursing their way through your system, you would’ve been up for hours longer, heart pounding at what you just did. Instead, you climb into bed, close your eyes and it isn’t long at all until sleep washes over you, his watch still clasped in your hand.

Leon’s phone finally vibrates with Hunnigan’s caller ID as he enters back into the living area after finishing his perimeter check. Had to do two rounds of the building because he knew he was too distracted on the first by your kiss, admonishing himself for being so put out of joint by a simple gesture. After his second, more thorough check of the area and confident there was still no sign of any unwanted guests, he’d headed back into the building, making sure everything was locked up before he answered the call – placing the phone up to his ear on the opposite cheek that you had kissed.

“Hunnigan!” He answers, a little too jovial, would lower if his voice if he wasn’t confident you’ll be fast asleep by the amount of time that’s passed since you took your medication. “I was getting worried you’d forgotten all about me.”

“I’m sure.” Her voice is a little tense, but he can tell she’s tired. “Just finished your report.”

“And?”

“Well, it’s not exactly airtight.”

He rubs the bridge of his nose, holding in a sigh. “What happened to innocent before proven guilty?”

“That’s why I’ve put Dove in a safehouse with you, rather than in a cell.”

“So, restrictions remain?”

“Restrictions remain.”

He rolls his eyes, grateful it’s not a video call. “Did you search her place?”

“Unfortunately not. The President wanted the surveillance department back up and running ASAP, so all available manpower had been diverted to that. The tech analyst, however, has confirmed that the breach on the database yesterday wasn’t what you’d call successful.”

Leon walks around the sofa, drops on it a little too heavy. “You don’t sound particularly thrilled by that.”

“I’m not - the attempt itself was successful, but as soon as the system detected the forced entry, it wiped itself. Every subject that was still under surveillance has been lost.”

“Maybe that’s what they were trying to achieve.” He frowns. “Is there seriously no back-up server?”

“Analyst seemed to think it was their protocol, but it’s just a theory. Everyone who knew exactly how that division had their server set up is no longer with us.”

There’s a pause and he can hear Hunnigan tapping away at her keyboard as usual. “There is something I need to inform you of, though.”

“Right.”

“The tech analyst found the CCTV feeds have been tapped. They couldn’t trace where the feed was being diverted to, but it was definitely a system not within the DSO infrastructure. It’d been active since the attack, but they cut the connection when they discovered it.”

Leon frowns. “So, you’re saying that whoever orchestrated the attack could’ve been watching the cameras since.”

“Mm.”

“And if their objective was to leave no survivors…” Leon’s eyes focus on your bedroom door.

Hunnigan stops typing. “They’ll know they’ve failed.”

Part seven.

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Commissions/Ko-Fi

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youaremyhome · 11 months

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The Antimatter of You

Warnings: Dark!Rafe Cameron x Reader, 18+ NSFW, smut, HEAVY non-con/dub-con, drug use, possessive behavior, blackmail, manipulation, DARK. More to add. Read at your own risk!

Notes: 4.4k!! I did it!!! I promise now that it’s summer (and getting fired from my job) I’ll have more time to write/update. Hope it lives up to the hype lol let a girl know ok love ya ❤️

Taglist: @belcalis9503 @ACRAZYBIOTCH374 @fangirlwithlou @malfoytargaryen @RAFECAMERONSBADUSSY @takin-care-of-business @watersquirtpewpewboomm @magnificantmermaid @mk15x @abbybarnesstuff @lavenderhue @dirtytomatoedwrites

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist! (And I’m sorry if I missed you, I love you)

The scent of flowers is nauseating but with a knock on your door, Rafe ignores it as best as he can.

It’s been several days since he’s seen you, the longest he’s gone without any physical contact. His texts were met with one worded replies or none at all. Having done a stellar job of avoiding him. Taking new routes to your lectures, roommates answering the door saying you weren’t home, skipping your Ethics class, the seat glaringly empty beside him.

Rafe knew to give you some space – if only for this once. The incident with you, him and Topper had shaken you greatly, no one had ever seen such an argument between the two of you. His best friend had given him a thorough tongue-lashing that morning after your exit. A reminder from Rafe about Topper’s general creepiness towards his sister had him shutting up instantly.

Before, Rafe had believed you were slowly - but surely - getting used to him being a fixture in your life. He wasn’t stupid enough to think you were fully submitting, of course, but he knew you would be able to get there. With time.

He’s let you have your little tantrum of silence. It was a mistake to treat you so harshly, even if you had wasted a hundred dollars worth of good product.

You’re home alone today. He’s made sure of it. Camped outside your townhome for the past two hours. All your roommates had gone out for various things, filing out one by one. The only one left was the most annoying: Daniella.

While Louise and Andi gave knowing smirks whenever the group was together, Daniella always had a strained smile. As if she struggled to let him anywhere near you.

To ensure her absence, he had recruited the help of Carson. Telling him to lure his girlfriend out so Rafe could talk to his.

He rasps on the door again, calling out your name.

“Open the door. I know you’re home.” When there’s no response, Rafe fist hits harder. “Open the damn door.”

He repeats your name multiple times as he jingles the doorknob. After a few more tries, he sighs and gives up. It didn’t have to go this way.

The click of the door is quiet, Rafe soundlessly closing it as he pockets his copy of the key. Slyly walking through the foyer, the back of your head appears when he comes into the open living room. The crinkle of plastic as his hands squeeze the stems makes your head almost fall off from how fast you look behind.

“What in the actual hell, Rafe?” Pushing off the couch, you cross your arms. A faint line creased between your eyebrows and Rafe can’t help but notice you aren’t wearing a bra. “How’d you get in here?”

“Spare.” Rafe simply says. “Y’know, just in case of an emergency.”

“Or to sneak in here like a fucking creep.”

“No…for when my girl is ignoring me.”

Rafe lifts the bouquet up, savoring how you take in the view of your favorite flowers in white and faint pink. Taking a step toward you, a minute flinch ticks at your shoulders. Rafe stops.

“Well, you can throw them in the garbage on your way out.” Your ponytail swishes when you twirl back to plant yourself on the couch. “Go away.”

“Aw c’mon baby,” Groaning, he rolls his head back. He rounds the couch, standing in front of the TV. Extending his arm out, he presents the flowers again. “How about you find a nice vase for these, and I’ll make it up to you.”

The stupid comment grants him exactly what he wants, your attention on him. Eyes like needlepoints hoping to puncture him.

“You can do so by leaving.” You turn the volume up, and you focus back on the TV.

It’s the dismissal that has Rafe’s ire prickling his skin, his patience splintering.

“Alright, that’s enough. I gave you plenty a time to pout.”

Your lips puff with your incredulous. “Pout? Pout?” You swat at the bouquet. “I’m not pouting. I’m fucking pissed and tired of you.”

'Pissed off' he could deal with. The pouting is cute. Your tears are an intoxicating aphrodisiac. But to be tired of him?

Oh, no.

No, no, no.

Rafe squats down, supporting his forearms on his knees as he looks up at you through his lashes. Staring at the upwards angle of your face, he doesn’t have to wait long for your eyes to nervously meet his. Containing his anger has never been his forte. You simultaneously ignite his fire to a roaring inferno and wash it down until there’s only embers left. At the moment, he was between the two.

“I’m sorry, okay?” He blows out a breath. “I, I should’ve never gotten like that with you. Forgive me, angel?”

Leaning the flowers forward, the petals tap once against your bare knees. A deadlock between wills of opposing nature. Your facial expressions switch like the flipping of pages, the language of you becoming easier to understand the more time he spends with you.

“Apology unaccepted.”

Snatching the bouquet out of his grip, you stand and beeline for the kitchen. Rafe rights himself up, following you lazily. Playing his own game of shadow with each step and turn you make. Your slamming cabinets left and right until you find one beneath the sink, almost cracking the glass of a long vase with your force.

His gaze skims over the flimsy material of your sleep shorts, and the way your breasts slope beneath your tank top. Your hands busy themselves with arranging the stems and such, actively ignoring his presence. Hands in his pockets, Rafe takes measured strides until he’s a hairs length away from your back.

“…I never got my hello kiss.”

Your glare radiates so potently that Rafe doesn’t have to look to know it's there. Placing his hands on your hips, he walks the tips of his fingers inward and smirks when a quiver to your lower belly ripples across. Lips kiss at the tension in your shoulders, thumbs molding like dough into your sides.

“I’ve missed you…” His tongue peaks out, tasting the skin there. A hand travels down to play with the waistband of your shorts. “Missed this cunt, too.”

“Rafe – wait,” The hitching of your breath is so sweet he cups you in his wide hand in a fluid downslide. The pinching pain of your nails into his wrists has him stilling, lingering. Your neck stretches as you look back as your features pinch in. “I’m…I’m on my…y’know, period.”

He wants to believe you – truly he does – but lies spill from those pretty lips all the time so…

Frustrated whimpers break loose between your bitten lip while Rafe continues down, your head leaning on his shoulder in defeat. Swirling the tip of his middle finger closer to your hole, the touch of roped cotton has him pausing. A string.

Damn it.

Rafe sighs and trails up your slit to lightly stroke your clit once more before he’s slipping his hand out, keeping it low on your warm pelvis. It rises a rumbled chuckle from him, peering down at your weak glare. This close to your face, he can see all the small imperfections that add to the mosaic of your beauty. Gliding his other hand up, he passes a ghost of a touch to your chest before it lands with a curl around your throat. The addition of it pushes you fully into perfection.

Humming and eyes hooded, Rafe draws out a peck to your lips. The warm, soft contact is barely a kiss, just a need to feel you closer that has Rafe relaxing a fraction. “C’mon then.”

Leading you back to the couch, you resume your previous seat that looks more like a nest with a bundle of blankets, a heating pad, and candy there. Your eyebrows shoot up to your hairline when he lays the warmed pad on your lower abdomen, wrapping a fuzzy throw around you then tucking you under his arm, situated to lean against him. Propping his feet on the ottoman, Rafe focuses on the TV which plays some sort of reality show.

Your suspicion rises like steam, muscles strained with preparation for flight. It isn’t until halfway through the show does Rafe feel your body incrementally slacken and by the third, you’ve fallen asleep.

So, if the show happens to stay on there’s no one around to judge.

Rafe likes it when you’re asleep. Can freely stare at you without an icy sneer or bitchy remark to ruin the moment. Just a doll nuzzled deep into the side of him resonating a humming of snores.

His peace is ruined by the vibrating of his phone. He checks the screen.

Ward

With care, Rafe eases up from the couch and repositions your head so it’s against a pillow then heads into the kitchen.

Ward hardly calls him. The proportion of Rafe’s outgoing calls to him weighs heavily unanswered. Taking a deep breath, he picks up.

“Hey, Dad. What’s up?” There’s an eager edge to his question and Rafe hates it.

“Rafe, checking in to see how you doin’?” Ward’s deep timbre carries easily through the speaker.

“Good. I’m good.” Rafe looks at the back of the couch, smiling. “Yeah, I’m actually at my girl –”

“Listen, bud,” His father starts. “You got any plans for spring break? Wantcha come down so you can help me start up this new project. It’s a big one.”

Rafe pumps his fist into the air silently, excitement coloring his voice. “No, yeah, totally! I can do that. I’m up for it.”

“You sure? This is legit business and I need you to have a clear head. That means no…partying when you’re here, ‘ight? No funny stuff while we do this. Can you handle that, Rafe?”

It isn’t the serious tone of his father’s gruff voice that has his excitement evaporating. It’s the impending disappointment there like Rafe has already fucked up. Ward giving him a chance and still expecting failure in the end. A flash of hurt burns through but Rafe shakes it off, tells himself that he deserves it considering his track record.

“You can count on me, sir. I swear.”

A pause. Rafe thinks Ward might give encouraging words. A squeeze of a hand for support, words he’s heard him tell Sarah.

Only it’s: “See you soon.” And that’s that.

The dual beep from the phone lets Rafe know Ward’s hung up, just as a ‘love you’ was balancing off his tongue. He must be busy today.

“Who was that?”

Your voice rises from the couch before your head pops up, hair all fluffy and ruffled. Eyes are a bit puffy from sleep as you blink them open. The late afternoon sun creates a soft yellow hue through the windows, catching onto strands of your hair, soaking into your skin. Rafe is momentarily blinded by the view that it takes him a second to respond.

“My dad.” Carding his fingers through his hair, Rafe smiles as the thrill returns. “He wants me to assist with a new job. This is huge for me!”

Yawning, you stretch and get up from the couch. Rafe keeps his body angled to yours, head nodding along to his babbling as you fill a glass of water.

“If he could see that I’m ready – that I’m ready to get serious, I’ll finally be a part of the Cameron legacy. My legacy. It’s about time he’s bought me into the loop…sure I’ve been tagging along since I could remember but this time, he wants my input. I’ll be able to share my ideas and he’ll have to listen.” He sighs, winded. “It’s too bad I’ll be gone for spring break –”

“Really?”

You’re at the edge of the peninsula, hip leaning against the counter as you take another sip. Your eyes shift from his to elsewhere, fingers drumming an uneven beat. Adjacent to you and with his hands braced on the counter, Rafe slides closer. Spreading his fingers apart to reach out a pinky to stroke your own.

“Don’t miss me too much.”

Scoffing, you swipe your hand away. “As if.” Your face softens a little into curiosity. “What does your dad do again?”

Shock rocks at his heart and it's damn hard to keep it in. He can count on one hand the number of times you’ve shown genuine interest in conversation with him.

“He owns a development company. Operates daily with the construction of buildings and those type of things.”

“Oh.” Your eyes are open and inviting, the slightest tilt in his direction.

Rafe steams on ahead, wanting to keep your attention. “Yeah, he started it all on his own. Born on the other side of the island. Actually made something of himself… unlike those dirty pogues down there now.”

It’s automatic to sneer out the slur. He can’t help the disgust he feels just thinking about that side of town.

One of your eyebrows raises. “Aren’t you, like, fourth generation to attend UNC?” Your chin juts out. “Wouldn’t that mean your family has had, like enough money to go for so long?”

Rafe could crack a tooth from the grinding of his teeth. You’re not the first to connect the dots but you certainly are one of the few to vocalize it.

“Third.” Rafe sucks his teeth in. “The Camerons may have started out on the Cut, but they grew to be more middle class. Only the truly elite are on Figure Eight.”

It infuriates him to no end of that simple fact. That just before he was born Ward was making his way through the Cut and into Figure Eight, the right side of the island. Where he – they always belonged.

Your eyes roll with a tilt of your head. “So, not really a pogue, not really a kook. Just an ordinary man like the rest of the world. Y’know, stepping on that island is like being in a fucked up alternate universe.”

“Don’t be dramatic.”

“I am not!” The stomping of your foot says otherwise. “It’s the worst place I’ve ever been.”

“It’s the best place.”

It’s amusing to watch your cheeks puff in frustration. “Only because of the little notoriety your family has there.”

A slow smirk spreads out like elastic, leaning into you. “Well, of course, sweetheart.”

With anyone else, Rafe would be squashing them beneath his shoe like a bug for a comment like that. With you, however…he finds he wants to know all your thoughts regarding him, the good and the bad. Suck in all the information he can, leach off every emotion you hold for him. The anger, the disgust, the begrudging pleasure.

At the same time, Rafe doesn’t have to hide behind a polite smile or use his charm to peruse you. He’s his real self. The most based form of a soul he struggles to hold onto. Wants to lay the shreds of his soul at your feet like a sacrifice, irrevocably intertwined together.

A peculiar look morphs on your face. Like when you’re working through a difficult assignment. Unmoving, focused but this time on him, which is extremely rare. Usually, you shield yourself away in a layer of ice that solidifies you.

“What?”

“What?” You parrot back, lashes blinking rapidly to break your connected gazes.

“What are you thinking about?” He angles his head low to follow your eyes.

Rafe half expects the typical retort of: ‘You don’t need to know all my waking thoughts.’

“Just…Doesn’t everyone on the island think he was a true pouge?”

So, you have listened to his rants before.

“People remember and think what they want to. Ward doesn’t have to answer to any of them.” His eyes narrow. “Why?”

Your fingers begin to fiddle with themselves. Twisting fingers in knots, squeezing the tips in a random pattern.

Again, he asks. “Why’re you so interested?”

“What? Now you’re gonna be mad I’m talking to you?”

Sass is a defense mechanism you use often; one Rafe finds the most annoying but just as addictive to combat with. It continues in his silent stare.

“I guess… I’m just confused why you would want to work with him so badly?” Your tone goes from curious to condescending within a blink of an eye. “If my dad treated me like that, I’d want to be as far away from him as possible.”

The straightening of his spine is immediate. “You don’t know shit about my dad.”

“Just that he treats you like shit –”

“Shut up –”

“Bet he’d love to know his only son is a psychotic rapist!”

His eyes bulge. A moment of stillness that enraptures the both of you. The bickering was reeving him up to ravish you across the countertop. Now, his mind whirls from the total 180 you’ve pulled on him. Never has he heard you utter those condemning words before. Rafe didn’t think you’d succumb to that dark truth, let alone say it out loud.

A scoff hiccups deep from his chest. “What fucking proof you got of that, sweetheart?” Shifting closer, your face pinches in as Rafe leers, “Your wet cunt cumming each time I force it in?”

It’s a low blow you take with stride, a flinch before you're sneering. “What about that little coke problem of yours?”

There.

There it is.

The real reason you’ve gone down this path of conversation. Nosing your way into things pretty girls like you shouldn’t concern yourself with. Much less with the intention set in your shoulders.

“You trying to blackmail me?” The chuckle comes low, barely a sound of amusement. “Oh, honey,” Rafe mocks. “You didn’t know he already knows?”

The façade of your bravado crumbles, a half step taken back with weary eyes. He tsks and cocks his head back, disappointed. With a sudden swing of his arm, the back of his hand knocks your glass of water to the other side of the room. The shattering of glass and your shriek harmonize, creating the perfect symphony to his sudden charging to you, arms an unknown mix until he shoves you against the wall.

Both hands hold your throat. Nails pierce his skin and scratch along the length trying to find a better leverage. The squeezing doesn’t stop until your eyes are pleading and swimming in the dark waters of fear.

“I may be a fuck up but I’m still his son.” Jerkily releasing you, your head wobbles on your neck. Hands barricading you in, Rafe lowers his head until your noses touch. Your panting breaths feed his next ones in.

“Don’t threaten me if you can’t back. It. Up!” His final warning is yelled, vibrating against your lips as his palms smack beside your head with each pointed word.

Your tears have gone unnoticed until you curl to the side and his lips taste the salty moisture upon your skin. Normally, the sight of them would soften his anger and harden his cock, leading the situation to hot make-up sex.

It isn’t enough. Not today.

Not when his future is within his grasp, his for the taking. Not with the knowledge of you trying to get rid of him, the idea as pointless as it is terrifying. Going to desperate measures when you should be desperate for him.

With a practiced move, Rafe retches your hair between tightened knuckles and pulls until your neck is a long arch and facing him. He ignores the pain-filled yelp and weak hands patting his chest.

“You want me to force you? Is that it, baby, huh?” Rafe hisses.

He hauls you down until your knees fold beneath you. A sick delight like seasickness rolls down to his groin as he growls. Weak defiance lives in your eyes, frowning with his name on your tongue. It's a tug of war between Rafe’s hand and your struggle to rise, keeping your hair taunt. It’s the sight of him unzipping his fly that has you hitting his thighs with a renewed alarm.

“Rafe! Stop it –”

“Keep fightin’ and you’re only gonna make it worse f’yourself.” Rafe warns another yank just to hear you shriek.

Fisting the base of his cock, he pulls it out through the opening. He aims for your mouth, but you cringe making the tip smear on your chin. Rafe tuts, guiding your head right where he wants, and flexes his arm, sure to hold you in place.

“C’mon n’ open up,” he drawls. “Take your punishment.”

Stroking up to the tip, his thumb sweeps along the ridge and tilts his hips forward, hovering just above those plush lips. Tapping the red flesh on your closed mouth, Rafe splays his hand on your chin and squeezes on the delicate bones until your jaw unhinges with a wail to relieve the pain.

Like a serpent striking, he’s pushing in before you can react. Bumping against the roof of your mouth, the rigids of your hard palate make him jerk with sensitivity and envelop the next few inches. The hot, wet rush has sparks crackling up his spine. All that heat and anger spirals down to his cock, the need to claim brooding in his balls. Grunting your name with each gag you give, his thumb caresses the corner of your lip as he watches enthralled.

A part of him wants to take his time. Use gentle strokes to coax your mouth open, train you with patience to swallow his cock just right.

Instead with a mean smirk, Rafe plunges half his cock in. The clenching of your throat makes it hard to go in deeper, the constriction of your resistance inflames his pleasure. The underside of his dick feels the rippling of your tongue like a wave, chasing after it eagerly. Your high-pitched whines are muffled by the weight of him, gargles of air getting blocked as he teases the opening of your throat.

“Can’t believe I’ve gone this long without fucking that mouth of yours.”

Saliva accumulates, thick and slippery as his cock triggers your gag reflex, spit dribbling down your jaw. Your drool coats him to create a smooth glide, lower abdomen tensing, and stuffing further in. Such a pretty sight seeing you like this, gurgling and coughing between the space of your cheeks and his cock. Eyelashes clumped, a darkening hue on your cheeks, small fistfuls of his jeans. Your gagging clinches your throat, locking him in tight before it flutters open.

Rafe allows you to pull back far enough to catch a breath. Coughing out into shaky inhales, lips puffy from abuse and slicked with combined spit and precum. Standing above you like this gives him the most delicious view of your stretched neck. From the tip of your chin to the swell of your cleavage in an expanse of skin that should be carved into marble.

Words tangle as you stutter and gasp, Rafe hushing you with faux tenderness. “I’m going to fuck ya throat now…”

Weaving his fingers once more into your hair, Rafe pushes back into your avoiding mouth. Your fighting ignites a primal urge of take, take, take within him. A bloating want fills his void. Sticky and black as tar that he wants to pour onto you, anoint you with his devoted desecration.

There is little mercy with the pistoling of his hips, ass clenching in pointed thrusts. Mummering encouragements of that’s it, such a good girl and various pitches of your name, Rafe feeds you his length with a fevered urgency. The squelching of his dick opening your throat layers with his low moans, watching as each inch disappears until your lips are kissing his pelvis.

His hips jerk involuntarily as a tickling of pleasure jolts him, your wet bottom lip moving on the sensitive spot just below his base and above his heavy balls. It feels so good and you’re not even actively sucking on him. Just a soft wet home for him to press in farther, another place he has laid claim to.

Fringes of hair droop between his eyes, almost hunched over as he pulls his hips to ram back in. Wet spots glisten on your chest, staining your tank top. A relentless pace fueled by rage and an ache.

“Fuck – ah – I’m gonna cum.” Rafe says hoarsely and tilts his head back if only to starve off his orgasm by looking away. “My good lil’ slut…swallow my cum.”

Angling your head up, Rafe slides his cock down all the way to the root. Grip tightening on your head, he rocks side to side to wiggle in as much as he can. You're choking helplessly as he fucks so deep, it feels like he might reach your heart. One hand skates down to your neck and palms the bulge, holding it there to experience the swell of it. Minuscule thrusts nudge the back wall of your esophagus, his thumb rubs up and down where the head sits.

The scrunching of your eyes and difficult breaths boosts his ego but he needs to see you. Needs you to see him.

“Look at me.” His fingers press in painfully. Eyes flickering half open, the devastation set in your irises kindles his breaking point. “Ugh,” he grunts your name like gravel between his teeth.

Stilling in the depths of you, Rafe cums.

Your muscles intuitively constrict and swallow, suctioning him with hot, white pleasure. The wet of your cheeks is like velvet as you drink his cum.

Seconds or minutes pass before he loosens his hold. Loud choking fits break between your breathing once you're free from his cock, covered in a layer of drool and residual cum. Rafe pets your hair, trying to smooth out the knots he’s made.

You’re still crying as he calms down from his high, face nuzzling into his hip to hide. God, he’s going to get hard again with you looking so pathetic.

“Did you learn your lesson, pretty angel?” Dragging rough fingers through your hair, he bunches a handful and barely pulls, your neck like a snapped cord as your head flops back. An index finger tenderly traces down your cheek to your swollen lips.

“Any more empty threats and I’ll rape your mouth until you pass out.”

#rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron #pieces of the night #fanfics #fics #outer banks #dark!rafe cameron #rafe cameron smut #dark fic #rafe cameron x reader #tw #smut #outer banks smut #obx #potn

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myjealouseyes · 7 months

Text

Drabble request from an anon: in a world where Harry is a professional quidditch player and wolfstar daughter reader attending every game :,)

You can submit a Drabble request here.

Light flirting at the end.

You’ve always loved how Harry looked straight off the pitch. Windswept hair, reddened cheeks, and the adrenaline running off his body in waves as he rushes up to where you’re perched on the bench outside the locker rooms. (the one a few of his teammates had put there for you when they noticed you always leaning on the wall waiting for him.)

Harry quickly pulls in your face for a fierce kiss. You smile into the kiss as you wrap your arms around his neck, tugging the hair at the back of his head. He lets out a soft groan before pulling away from you. You grin and place a small kiss on the side of his mouth. “You did really good today.”

Harry snorts at you before pulling you down on the bench. “You say that every game, love.” You shake your head and place a kiss on the nook of his neck.

“Yeah, but you were better than usual! You caught the snitch in no time at all!” You stroke his cheek and he leans in on instinct. “I guess I just wanted the game to end a bit early today…” he trails off shyly as his eyes trail down form. You were wearing his old Gryffindor jersey. Seeing you with the word ‘potter’ printed over your back in bold letters made his throat run dry and his body run hot.

You notice his wondering eyes almost immediately; it brings a smirk to his face as you run your hand through his hair slowly. “What? This old thing? Found it in a box when I was going through some of our old stuff. There are a lot of interesting things in there.”

Harry takes a sharp breath and stands up. “I’m gonna go shower. Maybe after I’m done we can go home and we can show me what else you found.”

You nod smugly. “Alright then. Make sure you take a cold one.”

#professional quiditch player Harry is my truth 🙏🏾 thank you lovely Nonnie for requesting this #harry james potter x y/n #harry james potter x wolfstar!daughter #harry james potter x you #harry james potter imagine #harry james potter x reader

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centrally-unplanned · 1 year

Text

The Clarkesworld AI Spam issue is one of those stories that to me really highlights the limits of the tools that hype is obscuring. Clarkesworld is a well-established Sci-Fi publishing magazine that today had to suspend all of its submissions due to being overwhelmed by ChatGPT generated entries:

This inspired a lot of discourse around the idea of a ‘crisis of credibility’ on the internet, AI sweeping away the boundries of authenticity in a flood of forgeries. How can magazines even operate in this new environment, one might ask?

Which is weird because this environment isn’t new at all, as the editor, Neil Clarke, comments on in his blog post around the problem:

Since the early days of the pandemic, I’ve observed an increase in the number of spammy submissions to Clarkesworld. What I mean by that is that there’s an honest interest in being published, but not in having to do the actual work. Up until recently, these were almost entirely cases of plagiarism, first by replacing the author’s name and then later by use of programs designed to “make it your own.”

The issue isn’t that spam exists, its the quantity:

This is undoubtably a gigantic spike, and 100% it is induced by ChatGPT.

But hold on - is ChatGPT actually *better* at this that previous spam tools? Niel doesn’t think so, even if he is worried about the future:

I’m not going to detail how I know these stories are “AI” spam or outline any of the data I have collected from these submissions. There are some very obvious patterns and I have no intention of helping those people become less likely to be caught...

... What I can say is that the number of spam submissions resulting in bans has hit 38% this month. While rejecting and banning these submissions has been simple, it’s growing at a rate that will necessitate changes. To make matters worse, the technology is only going to get better, so detection will become more challenging.

And how expensive was the plagarism before to do anyway? It was copy-pasting text, automated word replacement programs, and done, that is trivial. Its a little harder than ChatGPT, sure, but you could make a thousand in a day no sweat, automated scripts randomizing names and jumbling nouns from a list.

The success rate also seems to be zero! Neither plagarism nor ChatGPT generates any story worth a damn, these aren’t being accepted. Neil is quite confident he is catching 100% of them and I believe him on that, these tools cannot write good fiction of any length beyond a paragraph.

So what is the ChatGPT’s advantage over previous, ‘dumber’ spam that justifies a 100-fold increase in spam usage? I am not seeing one, and I don’t think there is one besides marginally lower per-spam costs. Phrased another way, what was stopping someone from submitted 500 spam entries in one month in 2021? Nothing but interest in doing so.

Which is the rub of why this is happening - it isn’t because ChatGPT is good at this task, its because its the hype thing to do. Everyone is talking about it, everyone is trying it out, everyone is trying to find “delta” so they can ride the hype train. A bunch of people, some who may have even had axes to grind against Clarkesworld, have heard of this brand new fun tool and are flooding into the market to take advantage of it. But there might not be much to take advantage of; hype is fleeting, particularly in the face of no results as this effort is getting. As it fails, unless that axe really needs grinding above all else, spammers will move.

All of this to say that this story is, again, not a story about AI at all. AI is just the reason these already-bad parts of the system are being tested in the public eye.

#ai discourse

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urwhorecrux · 5 months

Note

hi!! I really love your writing :) I was wondering if you could write something about sub! draco with fem reader? Like something about him being needy

hi thank you so much i appreciate that a lot <3 and yes ofcc

ˏˋ°*⁀➷ 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘺 - 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘧𝘰𝘺

pairing. sub!draco x dom!fem reader.

summary. reader teases draco in an empty classroom.

warnings. smut, handjobs, praise, degrading, begging, overstimulation, sub/dom characters.

Many people never knew Draco had different sides, or even a softer side. It was something so special yet surprising to you that he could show you this, that he was so fragile around you and genuinely opened up to you, and knew it was worth trusting you.

The two of you had more than a formed bond, unlike anything else. He appeared as cold and emotionless to everyone else, but with you it completely different.

He had a huge soft spot for you, willing to do anything you asked. Wether he had to beg or even ask to be touched, he’d do it just for you. It was unexpected, yet, you weren’t complaining.

He’d been eyeing you all day, in class, during breakfast in front of his friends, everywhere.

You glance down the corridor, patiently waiting for draco to notice you standing just around the corner. You pull Draco in the empty classroom that was practically abandoned, holding his hand gently.

“What-” he started questioning as you shove him on a desk, until he lay almost flat.

“Draco”, you began, not quite sure of what to say, but you knew you needed him, needed to ruin him, to see how much teasing he could take as well.

“Love, I know you’ve been watching me today, I’m not quite happy with how you’ve been behaving” you said as draco looked at you, nervously avoiding eye contact.

“What have I done?” He asked, slickly lying knowing what he was doing.

“Teasing me, all day, I know you were staring with your pretty eyes, putting your hand higher each second at breakfast?” you gently cup his face with your hands, he practically couldn’t resist you for another second, forcing him to open his mouth and allowing your tounge in.

“ ‘M sorry baby..” he mumbles into your lips, as he grasps your waist and pulls you closer into him.

“Keep your hands to yourself love”, you warned. His eyes glanced around the room, then back to you. He noticed there was that same look in your eyes, the one that loves when he acts innocent and submits to you.

You slowly started teasing below his waist, down to his zipper noticing the tent in his pants.

“So hard already? I barely even touched you”

“Please baby” he whined, eager to take you in. “Please”

“Behave baby, we’ll get there” You slowly unzipped his pants, taking off the pressure of his boxers, his cock springing out.

“Hands behind your back love”, you whisper. you wrap a hand around his swollen cock, using your thumb and index finger carefully teasing his tip, glistening with beads of precum.

He whimpered at the sight of you teasing his roughened tip, smearing the sticky liquid all over.

His head tilts back, bucking hips forwards thrusting around your hand. He loved the feelings of you being in control over him, how you made him obey and be patient.

He feels his high near with slight whimpers getting louder, he knew what was about to come, moaning, knowing he was near the edge.

“Shh…” you whispered, plastering soft kisses along his forehead and neck.

“Please, please im so close”

“Look, you’re leaking already”, he quickened his pace hearing this, soon white thick ropes fall across his thighs and your hand, while his stomach curls in thigh knots in the pit of it.

His whole body begins to shudder, as he pants heavily processing what had happened. “Good boy”, you praise, pulling him in for faint kisses.

masterlist

#harry potter #harry potter smut #dating draco malfoy would include #draco malfoy x reader #draco imagine #draco malfoy #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy x reader smut #sub!draco #sub!draco malfoy #harry potter x reader #marauders smut #harry potter aesthetic #harry potter imagine

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goldielia · 3 months

Text

when will met ally

a part of: call it what you want au

to say will is in a hurry would be an understatement. realizing at 6:30 pm that he had an essay due at midnight wasn’t his smartest move and he keeps thanking the universe for the afternoon practice today because if it had been scheduled for the evening he’d be screwed.

to make matters worse, the whole student body seems to have to finish schoolwork today because there’s not a single free spot in sight in the library.

he wants to cry when he finally sees a single open chair at a secluded table that’s almost fully surrounded by shelves. it’s a small table, barely big enough for two workspaces and one is occupied. it’s not his favourite but it’ll have to do.

the girl at the table only looks up from her laptop short enough for him to silently point to the chair next to her to ask if it was free and to nod her head in it’s direction to confirm he can sit down.

as soon as he has his laptop and notes set up he’s fully engrossed into his essay until he’s done to the point where he only has to write his conclusion and submit it. when he looks up for the first time to straighten his back and take a breath he notices that the library is pretty much empty, only a handful of students are still scattered around the tables.

it’s only then he really notices the girl he has been practically sitting shoulder to shoulder with at the small table. she hasn’t moved either, her warmth a steady presence against his left arm. before he can even take a good look at her, his eyes catch onto her laptop to see if she’s also been writing up a last minute essay or why else she’d still be in the library at 11 pm on a tuesday.

instead of notes or a word document he’s met with a picture of a dead body though. his eyes widen and even though he feels like he shouldn’t ever see things like that, he can’t quite take his eyes off of it.

“that’s the black dahlia” he hears to his left. finally taking a look at the girl, he sees a cute brunette with freckles all over her face. her green eyes are set on him with a slightly amused look, a sly smirk on her lips and her headphones now pushed down around her neck. he only manages to choke out a “what?”, his voice sounding rough because he hadn’t spoken in a while.

“black dahlia” she says, “her name was elizabeth short. she was murdered in january 1947 but nobody’s been able to solve the case so it’s gone cold.” he nods, clearing his throat to say “okay. are you, like, writing about her? or should i be concerned you’ve been looking at pictures of a dead body all night?”

she laughs quietly. “no, i’m all caught up on my classes. just can’t seem to stop thinking about what happened to her. what are you writing?” and then will remembers, he’s supposed to submit his essay in less than an hour and still has his conclusion to write.

“uh, can i postpone this conversation until i’ve actually finished it? i may have forgotten this was due at midnight” he admits with a lopsided grin. “sure, i’ll probably stay here anyways”.

after he sends her a grateful smile and she pulls her headphones back on to continue working, he turns back to his essay.

he tries to get back into his flow, he really does, but now that he’s taken a proper look at the girl next to him, he can’t help but hyperfocus on the way their shoulders brush when she uses the mousepad. his eyes can’t seem to stay on the words on his document either. he feels like they subconsciously draw to the pictures and articles on her screen or the way her blue nails click quietly on her keyboard.

after finishing his conclusion a torturing few minutes later, reading the whole thing one more time to make sure he’s not written total bullshit in his trance and submitting it with about 10 minutes to midnight, he turns back to her. the headphones now hanging around her neck permanently for some time - he’s obviously only noticed because he felt her arm moving, not at all because he’s been stealing glances at her.

“alright, i’m done. had to write about leadership in modern competitive environments” when she raises an eyebrow he adds “basically if you had to lead a team in any sport, would you focus on tradition or be okay with breaking some to make sure your team does better and like, the whole significance of tradition in modern sports since they’ve become so commercial.” she nods in understanding.

“how would you lead a team?” she asks, and he’s surprised to see genuine interest shining in her eyes. he subconsciously launches in a rant, it’s what happens whenever he talks about hockey. when he’s finished with his point he takes a breath and focuses his eyes back on her. she turned fully towards him somewhere during his talk, pulled a leg up on the chair to rest her chin on her knee. “i’m so sorry, i didn’t want to unpack that whole essay to you just now” he apologizes with a slight blush to his cheeks. “no, you’re okay. i like to hear people’s thoughts on things they’re passionate about.” save to say his blush did not disappear after that.

looking back into her eyes, he finds a mischievous glint, and when she quips “so hockey, huh?” is when it clicks in his brain. “wait, you’re our equipment girl, right?” “and you’re really good with people, apparently.”

“oh my god, i’m so sorry” he groans. “that’s okay, just don’t recognize the girl that tapes your stick whenever you’re late, no biggie” and he instantly feels bad because she had taped his hockey sticks multiple times and he didn’t even remember her name.

“i’m actually really sorry, you’ve been taping my sticks just how i like them but i can’t fucking remember your name.” she grins at that. “i’ve never actually told you, though” and relief washes over him. “so, could i maybe get your name now?” he asks, slightly nervous because he doesn’t feel like he’s made the best impression ever.

sitting silently next to her for hours before striking up a conversation about a dead body, all before shooting it down again because he forgot about his work. then as soon as he’s finished he rants to her and then tells her he doesn’t even remember her.

to his surprise though, she doesn’t miss a beat, answering “you’ll even get my number if you take me to get food right now”. he blinks once before he starts hurrying to pack his things, only stopping when she giggles behind him, when he turns around though she’s getting ready to leave just as quickly as him.

when he gets back to his dorm around 2 am it’s no surprise ryan’s fast asleep so when he quietly goes to brush his teeth and get ready for bed, he takes his time in front of the mirror to recap his evening.

they went to mcdonald’s, and he insisted on paying for her food because he still felt really, really bad about not remembering her. although she chirped at him because “you drove us here already” and “the driver never pays” and “i’m an independent woman, you know. let me pay for my share at least”.

they sat in his car in the mcdonald’s parking lot for a while, at first quietly eating their food. “my name’s alaska by the way.” she couldn’t help but laugh at him as he looked up at her mid-bite. he took his time chewing, looking out through the window and into the night. when his eyes settled back on hers, he answered “suits you” and the honest look in his eyes tugged on her heartstrings.

they talked about school some more, he found out she’s majoring in criminology - he still doesn’t know if that makes her more or less creepy than just looking at pictures of a dead body for fun. he’s decided though that he doesn’t give a fuck, she might be a little creepy but she listened to him rant and she has those pretty green eyes and she tapes his stick just right and that’s enough for will.

he took her back to her dorm, noticed it’s not far from his own and filed that information away in his brain for later. before she left the car he recited his number to her as she typed it in her phone before she grinned at him tiredly, leaned over the center console to hug him quickly before she hopped out of the car and headed to the front door.

he watched as she fumbled her keys out of her pocket, opened the door and waved at him before closing it.

as he just finds that comfortable position in his bed, his phone vibrates next to him.

from: unknown

spotify.com/podcasts/truecrimemysteries/theblackdahlia

unknown was changed to alaska

to: alaska

thank you, i’ll make sure to give it a listen

sleep well, see you soon?

from: alaska

i’m at that table nearly every day. also, you have practice tomorrow :)

good night, will

willsmith2 requested to follow you!

even though the vibrations were nearly silent, ryan grumbles in his bed across the room. “what’re you doin’ dude? ‘s too late” “finished that goddamn leadership essay and got food”

“you do know the essay is due tomorrow, right?”

alaska_argent accepted your follow request!

alaska_argent started following you!

#will smith hockey #will smith hockey x oc #will smith hockey imagine #will smith hockey x reader #alaska argent #goldie's call it what you want au

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seokmthw · 1 year

Text

come back home | kim gyuvin

⇢ pairing: gyuvin x reader

⇢ warnings: fluff

⇢ word count: 1k

⇢ note: some soft lil gyuvin for you, i hope you all enjoy! he's the only member i don't have a request for so i decided to show him a little extra love <3

JOIN MY TAGLIST!

you knew what you were getting into when you got into a relationship with gyuvin. he would be away from your shared apartment for long periods of time and when he was home, he would almost always have rehearsal and only see you at night when he was dead tired and ready to go to bed.

but you were completely okay with that. he was living his dream and there was no reason for you to be upset over it. you just got lonely easily without his clumsy presence, whether you wanted to admit it or not. you often spammed him with texts and got replies a couple hours later, but he sent just as many back to you.

you weren’t sure why, but this stretch of time without seeing him felt different. you missed him a lot more than usual, craved his touch more than you could ever imagine, and wanted your late night conversations with him more than anything in the world.

you even caved and retrieved one of his sweatshirts from his dresser and engulfed yourself in his scent and his warmth. the fabric smelled of his cologne and faintly of your laundry detergent, and you would be a liar if you said you didn’t tear up a bit upon catching a whiff. it hung loosely on your frame and fell to the middle of your thighs, the sleeves going well past your hands as well.

you signed contentedly, settling down onto the couch with your laptop in front of you and your phone in your hand. you decided to shoot a quick text your boyfriend and set your phone aside and do some of your coursework to kill time while you waited for a reply from him.

hi love! i hope your schedules are going okay and you're able to rest once you get back to wherever your management has you staying. i love and miss you very much, reply to me when you have the time!

you locked your phone and put on the coffee table, focusing solely on the essay you had due in a couple of hours that you wanted to refine and make a little better with the time you had left.

and you did just that, finally submitting it and working on a few other miscellaneous assignments and deciding to call it a night once you submitted those as well. you finally moseyed your way into the kitchen to get yourself a snack and a glass of water after working for so long.

you almost dropped the glass cup filled to the brim with water on the floor when you heard your phone ding in the living room and you floored it to try and get to it as fast as you could. your heart was beating out of your chest from excitement that your boyfriend had texted you back.

hi my baby! we just got done with the last schedule for the day and i’m a little tired, but it's nothing i can't handle. i miss and love you too, more than you could ever know. do you wanna facetime tonight?

you quickly typed back an “i would love to! call me whenever!” - albeit maybe a little too quickly - and hurriedly exited out of your texting app to make it seem like you weren't hovering just to see his reply. you went back into the kitchen and grabbed your things before finally settling back down into the plush cushions of the couch.

his contact popped up on your screen and you slid it to answer, only being greeted with darkness on his end. hearing his voice about sent you into a fit of sobs, “hi, babe!”

“hi!” you replied, “why is it so dark?”

“i’m walking up the stairs to our hotel room,” he answered, the rustling of his things being the indicator that he was, “how was your day today?”

you began your sentence, but cut yourself off the moment your apartment door swung open to reveal his head nearly touching the top of the door frame and his bags smacking into the wall, clumsily as ever.

he was home.

before he could even realize what was happening your body was slamming into his, clinging onto him for dear life and soaking up his warmth like you’d wanted earlier on in the evening. he chuckled softly, setting his things down on the floor. he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you closer to him, leaning down to catch your lips in a soft kiss.

your fingers threaded into his hair and you felt like you never wanted this moment to end. it had been the first time in nearly three months you had seen him and it felt so right being back in his arms again.

he pulled away and nuzzled his face into your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he mumbled “there’s my baby.”

“god, i don’t think you realize how much i’ve missed you,” you countered, standing on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek lightly, “tonight was especially bad.”

“well i’m here now, and for the next few days, actually.”

he lifted his head and met his gaze with yours, his eyes forming into soft crescents from smiling so big at you. your body melted further into his and your willed yourself not to start crying out of happiness, “really?”

“yep!” he swayed your bodies back and forth, “the next four days are dedicated to just me and you.”

he peered down at you, eyes taking in the fact that you were wearing one of his sweatshirts, and he chuckled once more, “you raided my closet, i see.”

“i told you i missed you!”

“it’s okay, you look so cute in my clothes, you can take whatever you want,” he leaned down to kiss you once more, “how about we move my stuff to our room and spend the rest of the night cuddling?”

you smiled up at him, the realization that your apartment finally felt like home again, “i would love that.”

202 notes · View notes

h8ani · 7 months

Note

sky dearest!~~

might i submit a request for your event?!

#37 with one insufferable Hanma Shuji because i feel like he's suuuuch a good fit for that one 🤭

thanks and hugs and kisses xoxo 💜

Pairing: Hanma Shuji x Reader

Anime: Tokyo Revengers

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: mentions of the consumption of alcohol, slight cursing, nickname (pretty)

My first Hanma piece 🥹🥹 I hope you like this bby

Request A Prompt Here

You didn't expect to leave your apartment today let alone go to a party. You enjoy the time alone you get when staying in bed on a Friday night, most people are out and about ready to take on the weekend but you'd simply rather order in while letting your blankets wrap you up in a makeshift burrito as you watch the latest comedy that Netflix recommended. Yet here you were walking into a party that Hina & her boyfriend Takemichi dragged you to.

You're grateful for her you really are, she's always the one that's able to bring you out of your blanket fort of solitude, especially as of late.

Walking into the party your ears immediately catch the bumping of the music that was playing, bass incredibly loud where you could feel it in your throat. There were quite a few people in the house as well, which you expected as it was a Sano hosting the party. The environment was lively, everyone having a smile on their face and clearly having a good time.

First thing you know you need to do when arriving is beelining for the kitchen. You smile once you catch a glimpse of the kitchen's island. Alcohol. You smile and quickly pour yourself a drink before hearing a shout come from the other room. "Truth or Dare! Everyone sit your asses down!" Internally, you want to shrivel up into a ball, externally, you take two large gulps of your drink. You think maybe if you stay in the kitchen no one would make you play.

"There you are!" Hina says.

Nevermind.

You feel her small yet surprisingly strong hands grab your arm and tug you out to the couch where Takemichi was sitting. As you sit you take another sip of your drink, eyes scanning everyone who's in the living room and who's sitting on the couches that have been moved in an uneven rectangular shape. You see some of your friends, some classmates and some people you have no idea who they even are. As you scan around everyone you let a small gasp escape, you almost miss him, but honestly how could you? From his looks he hasn't changed much. His demeanor is still evident in the way he's leaning back against the couch as he sits on the floor, his hair that's usually styled up is now flat against his head which was why you almost scanned right over him as you waited to play this damn party game.

You can't lie and say you didn't find him still annoyingly attractive still.

As your eyes land on him you feel your own palms clam up, your own breath leaving your lungs as you look at him.

The memories flooding back all at once.

7 months ago

“It’s too complicated and that’s all you’re gonna get outta me. I’m done (y/n).”

You stand there in the doorway of his room, arms crossed and feeling like a knife was just stabbed in your chest. You couldn’t help the stunned look on your face from showing, although he couldn’t bother to look over to see how his words have affected you. “So that’s it?” You breathe out.

“That’s what I said, didn't I? Just leave.”

“Shuji-”

“God dammit! I said leave! Get the fuck out!” He yells, voice echoing through the walls of his apartment. You couldn’t help the tears that welled up behind your eyes threatening to spill any second. You turn on your heels, feet moving as quickly as they could until you are out of his apartment.

The second the door clicks you could hear a flurry of curses along with glass breaking. The screams of frustration from inside eventually faded until you got far enough away.

A sigh escapes you as you think back on him, you still couldn’t understand what his reasoning was, he was good to you, he never screamed, never hurt you in any way until that very day.

His eyes lock with yours, a subtle softness to his features showed when the smile you knew all too well formed on his face. Immediately, you look away, face feeling hotter almost instantly at just the small amount of eye contact you had. You sip your drink, allowing the alcohol the course through your system and disregarding what just happened.

You feel a nudge to your right causing you to turn. “Hm, what?” You say to see multiple everyone’s eyes on you.

“Truth or dare?” You hear from across the way. You look and see Yuzuha smiling devilishly.

“Truth.” You say quickly. You’d rather be safe than sorry. You still remember the time Baji and Mikey had to go streaking as a cause of Yuzuha’s dare from the last party you went to. The images of their bare asses still burned in your memory. You sip on your drink as she thinks of her question, once again that same devilish smile appears on her face.

“Out of everyone you’ve hooked up with, who’s been the best in bed?

You choke on the liquid that you swallowed once hearing that, coughing hard as you look at her. “Dare, I said dare!” You cough again.

“No take backs! Answer the question!” Mikey yells from the side laughing.

You couldn’t help the way you glance at Hanma, his eyes as well as everyone else’s was on you. A smirk lying in his lips as if he knew the answer.

A little embarrassment you could take, but this was on another level. It’s one thing cracking jokes but talking about your sex life? You can barely talk to your best friend who knows everything about you without feeling like your face is on fire. You tug on your sleeve as you look away, thinking of what to say.

“Um, can’t really pick a favorite if I’ve been with only one person.”

“You’ve only slept with one person.” Yuzuha states more than questions. “Seriously.”

“Yup.” You end the conversation quickly taking the last bit of your drink down and looking at her. You see a confused expression on her face as if she was piecing together some puzzle.

“But weren’t you with…” You see her looking around the room until her eyes land on someone else. You follow her eyes until you see who she’s looking at and your blood pressure spikes once seeing others following her gaze.

“I’ve been with one person okay?” You say quickly and louder to gather everyone’s attention back on you. “So if that answers your question it’s my turn to ask.”

“But you didn’t-”

“Mikey, truth or dare?”

It shouldn’t have bothered you as much as it did, sure; you didn’t like being stared at or embarrassed but in all reality it wasn’t that bad, what you didn’t like was being put on the spot with him right there.

You grumble to yourself as you reach for the bottle of tequila, finger tips barely touching the bottle before it’s pulled away from your grasp. You whip your head around ready to snap at whoever took the alcohol from you when all the words die in your tongue.

“Hey pretty.” Hanma smiled down at you.

You look up at him, trying to form a coherent sentence but all that’s on your mind is the last time you saw him.

He was so dejected, so distant, so not him.

He was looking at you with gentle eyes, the kind that you were used to, the kind that you missed looking into.

“Hi…” you finally say. You take in how he was smiling down at you, as if nothing between you had changed.

God, did you miss him.

He takes the solo cup from your hand and fills your drink, handing it back once he is done topping it off.

“Thanks…” You take a sip of your drink instantly regretting it. You couldn’t hide the grimace on your face. “Oh god how strong did you make this?”

He chuckles and takes your cup from your hands, taking a swig of it. “Strong enough where I know you won’t want it anymore.”

You pout and reach back for it but he lifts the cup just out of your reach. Damn him and his unnecessary height.

“Shuji, give it back.”

“So I’m the best you’ve ever had huh?” You didn’t have to even look at him to know he had a smirk plastered on his face.

You don’t bother looking up at him, allowing a sigh to leave you as you grab another solo cup and remake your drink properly. You take your time making it, allowing him to wait as you stay silent and have the feeling of your stomach doing flips go away.

Hanma was never good whenever you gave him the silent treatment, always being reduced to a baby but would deny punch anyone if asked. He’d always say he was a sucker for you whenever you’d be upset with him. You truly were his weak spot.

“What do you want, Hanma?” You turn back looking at him and see the smirk slowly fall from his face.

“It’s Shuji.” He says seriously.

“What?”

“It’s Shuji to you. It’s always Shuji.”

You feel your heart in your chest, thumping louder as he looks at you. A small smile creeping up on your face. “Then what do you want, Shuji?”

“You look good tonight. Haven’t seen you out in awhile.”

You scrunch your face at that. Where’s he going with this?

“What are you-” you begin but are quickly cut off by his voice speaking again.

“I miss you ‘s all, miss you a lot actually but I know better.” He looks away taking another swig of his drink. “And ‘m not drunk, just saw you and ya know, I had to talk to you.”

You don’t say anything, you can’t, how could you? What can you say to someone who you knew still had the broken pieces to your heart that you so desperately tried fixing because of him. You watch him carefully, the way his eyes stay off you and try to focus on the other party goers, the way he continues to drink out of his cup and especially the way his body slowly inches closer all the while.

“You miss me?” He asks, eyes still elsewhere.

You pause. Did you miss him? Of course you did.

“What do you think, idiot?

His eyes flash to yours, a smile graces your lips seeing at how quickly he turned to look at you.

He was complicated, you knew that before you even got together with him in the first place. His lifestyle, how he doesn’t express his emotions in the best way possible, don’t even start on his communication skills, but what wasn’t complicated was your feelings for him. He was your first everything and feelings like that don’t disappear no matter how much time you take.

You feel his hand slip into yours as he tugs you along with him, both drinks tossed and discarded into the nearby trash. “Where are we going?” You can’t help but ask while weaving through everyone at the party.

“We’re leaving, you think you can tell me you miss me and I not do anything ‘bout that? Hell no.”

@enchantedforest-network @bitchcraftinc

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zileans-big-cl0ck · 7 months

Note

hello ive never sent a request b4 not sure how this works pls bare with me too 😿😿 ive seen that u write for pyke and camille (my two fav characters) and i was wondering if u could write anything sfw/nsfw for one of them because theres barely any content for them, ty in advance 😸

✦–Pyke & Camille General Headcanons.✦ (SFW & NSFW)

✦I see someone’s taste never misses, Camille and Pyke as favourite characters!

✧ prompt: ✧ just feeling inspired today to actually write.

✧ champions: ✧ Camille, the Steel Shadow; Pyke, the Bloodharbor Ripper.

✧ reader: ✧ gender neutral.

✧ author’s note: ✧ I feel like Camille isn’t my champion to write tbh, I absolutely cannot caught her character; please pardon me. PYKE ON THE OTHER HAND- But, really, you don’t even know how I’ve been DYING to write something for my favourite boy Pyke. Ignore any mistakes; as much as I enjoyed writing this, I’m really tired :sob:.

masterlist

✦Camille, SFW:

Maybe she is a dominant, noble woman, but you still should valet her, treat he with the greatest respect. That amuses her.

Taking care of her well-being is your sacred order. The lady must be always pleased, cherished.

Of course she can treat herself right. She is a proud, self-respecting woman. But that doesn’t mean she does not enjoy making you submit, serve and obey.

Camille treats you, like you deseve to be treated - like an adorable pet that belongs to her.

And she rewards you generously, always making you accompany her, even if it means sharing with you and her wealthy co-workers the same secret informations of her important work. That is Camille’s way to bestow you with her trust, which is shared like a true gift, making you her little secretary and confidant.

She always keeps you near herself in case anything worrisome happened - or in case someone decided to profane her delicate belonging. Camille is a jealous and controlling woman who holds a firm border between her partner and anyone who may cross their path; she openly fears that the others, the vociferous people, may have bad influence on you. And you must stay as her property, and only hers.

Unfortunately, this entails with her sometimes treating you infantile, like you are not fully responsible. But don’t worry, it also means that she is always ready to do something for you, even if it is the hardest, most cumbersome work that requiers a professional. Because that’s who she is - a capable, deadly woman.

✦Pyke, SFW:

He always watches you from a distance. Pyke is a protective lover, but he desires to stay unseen by the others, all because of his well-known esteem as the Bloodharbor Ripper, the doom of captains. Even if you are not aware of his presence, he is alwats with you, stalking from the shadows, creeping around somewhere between the realms of the dead and mortals like a ghost, keeping an eye on you in case anything disturbed your peace. He would never stand anyone troubling you, which unfortunately can happen anytime in this perilous land. He is almost like a guardian angel, scared for your life and positive to take care of it, but cursed himself.

When he isn’t working, he likes reading. And I will not elaborate on that; Pyke has literally a Shakespeare quote in his own voicelines. He loves reading and you comming up with new book titles and recommendations for him, since he doesn’t have much time exploring this topic himself - his work consumes most of his sacred time, which he divides only between the ardous hunt for his victims and - you.

Though he appreciates your interest in his work, your questions about his day, even if their seem to serve no higher purpose than to start a conversation, he doesn’t want you to know all about his job. Not the things he has done to fulfill the meaning of his afterlife and cross all the names from the manifest. As Pyke came to conclusion, he might be unsure of your possible reaction to him being a killer, which you probably know either way, just never saw it on your eyes. At least he took care of it, to never commit such a dirty work before you. It’s not like he didn’t give you his whole trust, but you seeing his murderous persona might change your feelings towards him- that’s what he believes. And moreover, you might not want to see him how much pleasure he takes from killing.

He would never want you to risk your safety in order to try and get any information about his past, if you ever came up with idea so preposterous. Even if you were convinced that you might get into your hands a piece of knowledge that was out of reach for Pyke for years, maybe even decades. Of course he had shared with you the scraps of memories he still remembered, but there was never nothing solid, declaiming a consistent story. And he stopped caring about it long ago, entombing all the lost feelings in exchange for a new life (well, afterlife), new purpose, new emotions, even if they were ment to be irrelevant forever. Pyke befriended the truth - he, his new self, was never ment to meet with the man he was once before. Even if you were sweet enough, determined, to try and fight, he would turn you off - it didn’t matter if he couldn’t even remember it.

But he hoped it didn’t make you think that he didn’t trust you. He always answers your questions without keeping any bloody details to himself, just doesn’t tend to cover the subject by himself.

✦Camille, NSFW:

The first rule to obey: refer to Camille only as ”Ma’am”, ”My Lady” or, eventually, if she lets you, ”mommy”, so she could jovially call you her pet. A good, obedient little one, who can follow her around.

She would show you to her family, acquaintances, or co-workers with a proud, lustful look. She owns you not only so she could command you, but also to show a little off, to parade with her affable pet.

But you will always remain as her little one, the one under, the once she could crush, quite literally.

She loves the control she wields. Camille is a competent person who clearly deserves her position in the social hierarchy, same as under the cover of blankets. Or just thin walls of her office, where she also adores having you weak before herself.

She often wants you to wear revealing clothes, so the others could trace their lustful gazes, unnoticed as first, but over you. It is a perilous game - she always takes whatever she wants and her feelings are deep, sharp and adamant like blades, incandescent like fire. But you are tantalizing for her, especially when trying to get rid of woeful surrounding.

Camille would never let anyone else touch you, not even get close to you, but how she enjoys watching other people desiring you, yet not being able to ever caught your attention, as your heart belongs to Camille and only her.

Walking around her apartmnet nude, pitiful, with remorse in your eyes, is a sudden turn on for her. She knows you taunt her, tantalizing by the move of your hips, the place where she wants to dig her nails in while putting you in your place, right under her.

Her legs are obviously her deadliest weapon, but also the sweetest gift she can offer. She wants your head between them, squized and trapped in something between a full of pleasure, hot moment and a bewildering threat of her scissors-like blades.

Oh, how she enjoys crushing you under herself, sitting, rolling her hips just to make you squeak, beg and cry for more. And for a opportunity to breathe, as she toys with your fear.

Camille uses her voice to order you around, as she expects unquestionable obedience. The cybernetic, blue lights of her eyes never leave you, always scanning, petrifying, searching.

She never reaches her climax first. She can hold her pleasure back, just until your own release, just to see you succumb to her will and her orders. Only then Camille lets herself cum too, her moans being the sweetest reward you could get.

✦Pyke, NSFW:

What comes first, is that he is not needy at all. Even if Pyke desires touch, he would never willingly admit it, claiming that he is a ruthless murderer. He doesn’t need anything so prosaic.

So you are the one bestowed with the great honor to initiate sex.

And when it actually comes to it? He is absolutely melting, so quickly turned on. Though he wouldn’t admit that, again.

And what turns him on the quickest is probably you admiring him, tracing your fingers over his tattooed arms, your body near his chest, pulsing with pure life, so innocent in its vitality. Because it is something he lacks and therefore - desires with curiosity.

And though it might seem unusual for someone like him - bodyworshipping. An absolute lover for this one, especially when you praise or compliment.

He gets hot very quickly, which always makes him curse under his breath; especially whenever you test his patience. Because of his protectivness, it isn’t unusual of him to grab you with one of his hands onto his lap, always looking for an opportunity to touch you and to be touched, to have you really close. Just to have your beating heart near his quiet presence. Oh, and he is never immune to your teasing, even the slighest move of your hips, even your fingertips brushing his bare chest, is everything to make him grunt with approval.

The sensation of your soft skin, so different from the harsh world around, the fearsome depths, his disgusting prey made from men, intrigues him, alongside with the sick fascination with the contrast between you - a mortal that if he hurts, will surely suffer, and him - a shadow of the past, a revenant, whose heart doesn’t beat anymore.

But he fears you escaping him, like his victims always try. So he pins you, either to the bed below you or any other surface, making sure that you can not hide or run away. Maybe even ties you, but holding you by your wrists with his firm grip until you fully comprehends that you are trapped, usually works.

Despite Pyke’s protectivness, he is nothing close to being gentle in bed. He doesn’t even remember the word gentle anymore, therefore it is natural to treat you they way he thinks is satisfying. It's not like he is brutal, but he takes unimaginable pleasure from pinning your body, much smaller in comparison to his own, by his bare hands sculped with tattoos with force, to pull you hair and to have you whimpering into pillows.

Let him choke you. He is fascinated by the thrill of holding your life in his hands, the same hands that killed countless of men, now showing mercy to someone so dear to him, fragile and mellow. A person he could never harvest the life from, but still takes a sadistic kind of pleasure from playing with this idea. He could do anything to you, because you trusted him, but he won’t cross your boundaries - and he would never let anyone else do that.

Whenever you turn pale under him, white from fear, his gaze stalks covetously, devouring and claiming. But you can read nothing from his face, even if he takes his mask off, as he stays unmoved - but not stoic, he was never a philosopher. Rather in awe, like a conqueror having the key to his soul beneath him.

Your shaky breathing is tantalizing, when you struggle to inale, seeking mercy with your pitful eyes. Because he prefers them on himself, when gorgeous pupils trace his moves, fixed on his body, proudly towering over you.

Pyke is also well aware of the impact that his voice has on you. He is a wraith of his past self, yet he kept his deep, throaty voice that makes you shiver and obey.

Therefore he is suprisingly good at dirty talking, making the voice a great advantage.

Pyke can’t help himself and when with you - doesn’t hold back. Your presence, you squeezing around him, moaning, letting him do these things to you, doesn’t let him last for too long. Even with being the bloody killer, you are his only weakness and therefore - the ultimate form of pleasure, when he can do nothing against your charm, the muffled sounds you let out and the hot atmosphere. Often cums before you, which doesn’t mean he is done.

May be also a little egoistic becausae of the ignorance of your pleas to be more gentle. Just a little.

Also a fan of drunk sex, Pyke is a pirate after all. It’s probably in his blood.

#✦demosthenes writes #league of legends #league of legends x reader #lol #lol x reader #pyke #camille #league of legends camille #league of legends pyke #pyke x reader #camille x reader

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angiehasakitten · 2 months

Text

-`♡´- NOT A ROMANTIC PARADISE

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──────────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆────────

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ CHAPTER 2 ~ THAT'S A SHAME

{ WHAT TO KNOW }➤ This is HEAVILY inspired by the bl manhwa “No Love Zone” in which the main character ( fem!reader) is a newbie at the company. She has the worst luck in the romance department and always ends up heartbroken. That's when she sees Kamo Choso, who is her total type, but turns out to be her new boss and enemy…

{ CHAPTER MAY CONTAIN }➤ Language, use of alcohol, bit of angst

{ WORD COUNT }➤ 3.1 K

{ OTHER THINGS TO KEEP IN MIND }➤ I'll only be writing in 2nd person pov, so there won't be anything like y/n. Also this is based on my personal preferences so i'm sorry if it disappoints. Whenever something like “this is hsown” it indicates the readers toughts.

──────────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆────────

“ I think I just met the man of my dreams…” is all you can think of at the moment.

In whom you soon find out , Kamo Choso, also known as your new boss/ team-manager, requests a task from you. You get straight to work without hesitating. Once you have finished drafting, writing, and reviewing your sheet, you walk over to his desk with a soft smile as you hand him your assignment. “All finished mr. Kamo!” You say proudly. He briefly glances at the sheet before crumpling it up and tossing it into the trash, “Try it again, i don't like it,” He said, not even looking at you as he dismisses you away.

You sigh as you redo the sheet another time. The response was a simple, “Again.”

“Again.”

“I expected more from you.” He gives you a stern look.

You were on the verge of snapping at him, but ,thankfully, you controlled yourself.

His previous words replayed in your mind as he tossed the paper back to you.

You mentally scream, cry, rage, kill yourself even as you walk to your desk and sink right back into the chair you’ve been in for the past 5 hours working on the same thing.

Choso was already having you work overtime, not letting you leave until you finish.

“That fucking piece of shit!”

“Son of a bitch!”

“ I swear to fucking god im gonna murder this man’s handsome face in his sleep!”

“I'm quitting this useless shitty job!”

These are all the things you thought as you aggressively started typing away, cursing him from afar as you watched him smiling and laughing with the other employees while he had you working your ass off.

Mostly, you curse your own self for falling for handsome faces like his, for how your heart keeps fluttering each time he speaks to you.

What the hell is wrong with you? This guy is a total dick in his personality!

In a while, Shoko and Suguru walk over to you to say goodbye as they leave.

How the fuck was this fair when you were the only one having to work so late?!

Satoru already left a while back for another one of his stupid dates.

You were so frustrated that you didn't even realize you fell asleep.

𓍢ִ໋🌷֒✧ ༘ ⋆｡♡𓍢ִ໋🌷֒✧ ༘ ⋆｡♡𓍢ִ໋🌷֒✧ ༘ ⋆｡♡

Your eyes flutter open slowly, hearing the sound of your name being called out quietly in your ear, the feeling of someone shaking you awake ever so gently.

You grunt slightly as you sit up slowly, looking over to see who it was waking you up.

All you see is the most beautiful face right in front of you, just inches away as he speaks to you, his voice coming out lower than expected.

“You must be very tired. Are you alright?” He asked, having such a soothing look on his face.

You feel your face heat up as you stammer over your words “ o-oh, no.. I’m all good!”

“When did I even fall asleep? And isn't this a little too close?” You thought to yourself as you leaned away a bit.

He looks over at the half-done assignment he was making you do. “Are you still here because of the task I gave you?” He asked as his gaze returned back to yours.

You hum in response and nod. “ I’m almost done. If i finish it by today, I’ll be able to submit it by tomo-”

He then cuts you off. “Good work. This will do.” He says with a small smile.

“p-pardon..?” you ask completely caught off guard.

“You may go home now. You must be so tired from working so late.” He explains, as if he did a full 180 in his behavior in the matter of an hour.

He places his hand on your shoulder and gently pats it. “ I’ll tie up all the loose ends.” He dismisses.

All your brain could come up with was “huh?”

𓍢ִ໋🌷֒✧ ༘ ⋆｡♡𓍢ִ໋🌷֒✧ ༘ ⋆｡♡𓍢ִ໋🌷֒✧ ༘ ⋆｡♡

You toss and turn in your bed, rethinking back to a few hours prior where all the events happened with Choso.

“What the hell was that..?!” You huff as you grumble in frustration.

“Did that guy seriously make my heart flutter..?” You spoke to yourself. “Just because he was actually a little nice?”

You scream into your pillow and kick your feet as you let your frustration and confusion out.

You huff a bit as you continue your rant to yourself. “I mean… even if he is my type, still…” You mutter, a mental image of when previously his face was so close to yours appears in your head.

You shut your eyes as you roll around in your bed, squealing and blushing like some middle school girl.

“Okay, he is my type for sure!” You sigh as you think a little more.

“His face is no sin..” You mutter as you hug your pillow. “The problem with that crazy bastard lies in his personality..” You grumble.

“What am I even thinking? I’m probably just getting weirder because of how tired I am.”

You whine as you sink your face into the pillow you held.

“By the way… that little boyfriend of mine hasn’t contacted me in the past days claiming he is ‘busy’.“ You scoff.

“Does he expect me to text him first?! “ You grumble as your brows furrow.

“Whatever, I still have work in the morning, let's just not think about this.“ You sigh as you slowly drift to sleep.

It seemed that you forgot about one thing for a moment… you have the most rotten luck when it comes to realationships.

As you finally had a bit of free time, due to finishing all the tasks that were due, you were called over by Choso.

“What could he possibly need?”

“Did he realize that he is head over heels for me?”

“Is he gonna propose to me?”

“Is he about to bend me over his table and-”

You quickly shake off all those thoughts to compose yourself as you walk over to his desk. He looks you up and down before sighing and showing you the task from earlier this morning.

“The statistical data on this is very lacking..” He begins with a sigh. “Although this would’ve been great if you were doing a college assignment…” Choso looks at you in such a cold way as he hands your work back to you. “Please revise it again.’’

You put on a fake little smile as you nod, trying to control your emotions. “Okay…” You say with gritted teeth, and walk back to your desk, cursing him out in your thoughts.

“I must’ve been mad for falling for this guy’s stupid face!” You grumble under your breath.

𓍢ִ໋🌷֒✧ ༘ ⋆｡♡𓍢ִ໋🌷֒✧ ༘ ⋆｡♡𓍢ִ໋🌷֒✧ ༘ ⋆｡♡

“AARGH-! How come I'm the only one getting treated this way?!” You whine to Satoru and Suguru as they help hold up your drunken body.

“Do I look easy to ya? Huh? HUH?! Kamo Chose, you little asshole!” You start kicking your feet in frustration.

Satoru was recording your little stunt while laughing like a maniac.

“ We’re the same age, don’t you dare act all high and mighty over me!!!” You grumble in rage.

You hear Suguru say your name with a sigh, “She’s really drunk.” He then nudges your arm with a good amount of force, making you stumble a bit.

“I told you not to drink so much, didn’t I?” He scolds, “Snap out of it! I don’t have time to babysit you as well.”

Satoru finally puts his phone away as his attention now goes to you. “Alright, settle down. What’s your address?” He asked you, making sure you get home safe under his supervision.

“Home?” You pout. “I can still go for a round.. *hic* … 2!” You begin to try to drag them to a new bar. “I won't be coming back to work tomorrow!” You exclaim as you hiccup again.

Satoru starts laughing again. “What do you mean you're not going to work? C’mon! Let’s get your drunkass home~” He says as he pokes your side, making you squirm and giggle from the ticklish sensation.

“I told you, I’m not drunk!” You try to explain but your words slur as you feel your eyes dropping as well. “..and i'm not going to…work… ” You trail off as you come to a halt from the view before you…

Toji was walking side by side, smiling and giggling with another woman, as well as a baby in his arms that looked very identical to him and the woman…

You stare blankly at your computer the next day at work. The hangover headache mixed with the bad feeling of finding out your boyfriend was cheating on you, let alone potentially having a kid with a different woman? Let’s just say it didn't feel good for you at all.

“Seriously… why does this only happen to me?” you thought to yourself as you rested your chin on your palm.

You already assumed he was cheating, but seeing it right in front of you, just like that, doesn’t feel any good at all.

You snap back to reality as you hear Suguru’s voice calling your name. You turn to look at him with a raised eyebrow as you hum in curiosity. “hm?”

“What are you doing? It’s already lunch break, you coming with us?” Suguru asks as he points his thumb at Shoko and Satoru who were waiting for the two of you beside the door.

You give him a small smile for the acknowledgment as you decline by shaking your head. “I’m feeling a little nauseous. Go ahead without me today.” you say as you look back at your screen.

Suguru scoffs as he begins his scolding. “It’s because of how much you drank last night! I knew you’d feel bad the next day!”

You just roll your eyes at his nagging. “Yeah, Yeah, I get it.”

“You want me to get you a drink though?” He offers.

“Nah, don’t bother, I’m better without anything.” You dismiss as he nods.

“ Alright, see you later, call me if you change your mind.” He flicks your head before walking away.

You wait for them to completely leave before you exhale and clench your fist. “That fucking bastard! I should’ve known from the moment he started begging for my money!” You smack your head a few times.

“After using me, that fucking asshole dares cheat on me?” You scoff and shake your head, “Is it even considered cheating on me if he is cheating on a different woman with me?!” You plop your head down on your desk as you sulk. “To call him trash is an insult to garbage…”

You stare intensely at the screen in front of you, the search bar reading ‘How do I kill someone and not get caught?’. All google gave you was a service line to seek help. You grumble as you slam your hand on your desk.

“I should really just kill him and then kill myself! Wait- no I can't do that… What if there are hot guys out here that I haven't met yet?” You mumble to yourself.

Little did you know, Choso was standing behind you with an amused smirk as he watched you fume in frustration.

“What are you looking so intensely at?” He calls your name.

His sudden voice makes you quickly straighten your posture as you turn your chair to look at him. “Nothing! Nope! Nothing at all!” You say with a nervous smile.

He looks at you for a second before speaking. “You should really get some lunch, it isn’t healthy to skip meals.”

“Oh, no thank you! I’m not hungry mr. Kamo!” You say, shaking your head. You turn back to your screen to exit from whatever you were looking at.

He scoffs to himself and he walks closer to you and begins to lift you off your seat, making you gasp slightly as you feel your heart race.

“ S-sir?” You question, trying to get out his grip. “What the hell? Is he trying to show off how strong he is just because he might work out a little?”

“I said it wasn’t good to skip meals.” He said your name again as he dragged you out of your seat.

He finally lets go of you when you’re off your chair. You back up a bit from him.

“It.. it’s really fine-” You explain. “I had a good breakfast..” You add before you see the tiny frown on his face.

“You’ll come with me, won’t you?” He asks, it sounded more like a demand, but still.

Your heart literally felt like it was about to jump out of your body. How could you decline such a perfect oppertonity?

“Ah.. I guess I'm a bit hungry…” You begin, scratching the back of your neck awkwardly. “I suppose I'll go with you today.” You say with a small smile, which he returns back to you as he smiles as well.

“That’s great!” He says as he begins to walk out the office, waiting for you to follow behined.

𓍢ִ໋🌷֒✧ ༘ ⋆｡♡𓍢ִ໋🌷֒✧ ༘ ⋆｡♡𓍢ִ໋🌷֒✧ ༘ ⋆｡♡

You regret the desicion you made as soon as he led you into a fancy steak house. How the hell were you gonna pay for this ‘rich people shit’? You fidget with your nails as you look at the well prepared meals coming to your table.

Choso leans back in his seat as he analyzes you. “It’s quite nice weather today, isn’t it?” He decides to be the one to break the awkward silience.

You nod as you chuckle awkwardly. “Ah yes, it is quite warm, good weather to be outside!” You begin yapping.

“You look like you play sports, I’m surprised you’re sitting so still.” You add as you look at him and put on a forced smile. “Must be difficult for you then, mr.Kamo..?”

“And here I am on the verge of dying due to overwork because of you!” You think to yourself, crying mentally.

“It really does make me want to go somewhere.” He smiles. “On the other note, I apologize for all the hard work I've put on you!”

You quickly shake your head and wave your hands in front of you. “Oh no, no, don’t be sorry! It’s because I'm still lacking in many aspects!” You dismiss.

“Son of a bitch, so aware about giving me a hard time…” You grumble to yourself as you imagine how satisfying it would be to hit him repeatedly.

“I promise to work harder and do a better job in the future!” You say while clenching your fist.

He looks at you for a moment before slightly tilting his head, calling your name. “Can I ask you something?” His smile drops a bit, face now neutral.

You nod and look at him as if you were interested in what he had to say. “Oh please do!”

“Fuck off you bastard!” Is what you wish you could've told him.

He clears his throat and makes intense eye contact with you. “You look a little familiar, have we met somewhere before?” He asks, awaiting for an answer.

You instantly think of when you first saw him at the subway, he was talking about that moment, you assumed.

“Uhh… I’m not too sure about that..” You lie through your teeth, as if you weren’t gawking over the man the first time you laid your eyes on him.

He nods as he looks away from you. “I see… I guess I mistook you for someone.”

You gulp and nervously chuckle as you nod in agreement. “Was I being too obvious? Jeez, what a scary guy..” You think to yourself.

“Well that’s a shame..” He begins as he looks at you once more. “I was quite looking forward to it.”

“what…?” is all you could think of as your heart raced.

You lay in your bed as you hug your pillow and think about the previous event.

“What the hell was that? What does he mean ‘what a shame?” isn’t that a bit much to say just out of politeness?” You thought to yourself aloud.

Your eyes widen at a sudden thought. “N-no way…” You mutter as your face burns up.

“Does- He doesn’t like me or something, does he?” You scream into the pillow you held as you kick your feet, overwhelmed with emotions.

You sit up on your bed as you can’t help but smirk. “Childish bitch…” You begin. “That’s why he’s been giving me such a hard time.” You giggle.

“Looks like I haven’t lost my charm after all.”

You let out a relaxed sigh as you lay back down and happily drift off to sleep, replaying the moment with him from earlier in your head.

“Okay, let’s see what happens from now on, Kamo Choso.” You giggle.

“I’ll make sure you confess to me with that smart mouth of yours…”

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ CHAPTER 2 COMPLETE

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{ A/N }➤ I MADE THIS CHAPTER WAY LONGER THAN THE 1IST ONE OOPS!

Thoughts and opinions?

IDK IF I'LL BE WORKING ON ANYMORE TONIGHT OR NOT BUT I HOPE TO START RELEASING THIS FF AS SOON AS I FINISH THE NEXT CHAPTER BC I WANTED THERE TO BE AT LEAST 3 CHAPTERS UPLOADED RIGHT AWAY! ヾ( ˃ᴗ˂ )◞ • *✰

ANYWHO IMA GET GOING BC I GOTTA GET ALL PRETTY SINCE I'M ABOUT TO SEE MY MAN (he isn’t my man yet but still) BYEEEE!!! ( ＾◡＾)っ✂╰⋃╯

Also i got walked in on reading the bl while writing this ff 😭 sorry for spelling errors or if this was rushed 🙏

LOVE YOU MY LITTLE KITTENS !!!! (∗˃̶ ᵕ ˂̶∗)

──────────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆────────

last chap ~ next chap

#notaromanticparadise #angiehasakitten #jjk #jjksmut #choso kamo #jjk choso #choso x reader #choso smut #jujutsu kaisen choso #kamo choso #enemy #jujutsu kaisen #office #smut

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lilpunkrock · 1 year

Text

where you go (i will go)—part xiv

Summary: You are reminded that love invites vulnerability—for better and for worse.

AN: This is really the chapter and song that started this entire journey. Highly recommend listening to Taylor Acorn’s acoustic cover of Jamie All Over before reading the first half of this chapter. As for the second half—please don’t hate me.

masterlist

. . .

“Hey, please don’t tell me that I’m dreamin’,

When all I ever wanted was to dream another sunset with you.”

Jamie All Over (Acoustic), Taylor Acorn

. . .

Part xiv

‘Love can be scary. But that’s a good thing. Means you’ve got something worth being afraid of losing.’

‘You deserve to be protected.’

‘I remember you.’

When you open your eyes, you’re greeted by a sky full of stars. High above your head hangs a full moon, pale as a bowl of cream, bathing the beach in soft twilight. The tide is quiet tonight, its whisper no louder than the shuffling of the sand as you rise to your feet.

Your eyes track the dark path of the Milky Way overhead, a dappled stream of black, purple, and pinprick stars that trickles above you. When you turn around to follow its trail, you find that it arches down to meet a very familiar silhouette standing several paces away.

A soft huff of amusement escapes you at the sight. Funny how all paths are leading to him as of late.

Fake Dream watches quietly as you approach from where you came to on the beach. The light of the moon turns his skin luminescent, every beloved feature of his face set aglow. His blue eyes reflect the starry sky back at you. Though they lack the dark gravity that you witnessed in his gallery earlier today, something in those eyes still captures your attention, pulling you in. There’s a quality to them that you can’t quite place, an emotion within them that your mind struggles to put into words. A certain measure of tenderness.

‘Something within you was known to me from the moment we met.’

His words echo in your mind as you come to a stop before him. Oh, how that realization had cut you to the bone. A cure and an affliction, all in one. Keeping yourself from him in that moment had been almost impossible. Here in your unconscious, the compulsion to go to him is even more powerful. The knowledge that this is all an illusion wears on your resolve.

“Did you mean it? When you said that I deserve to be protected?” The question hardly feels real as it slips from your lips, a ghost in the saltwater air.

Fake Dream’s eyes watch you with an intensity that’s almost palpable. His gaze on you feels physical, a soft touch to your cheek. “Yes,” he breathes into the night air.

The sigh that escapes you is one of relief. “I’ve never had someone to protect me before,” you admit, your voice small and hesitant.

Fake Dream’s throat bobs at your words, a nonverbal response. You take one step closer to him, watch his eyes track your shift in position.

Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to submit, you think. To give in, just for a little while. To pretend that this was real, to pretend he wasn’t fake. To pretend that this was your Dream.

And if it did hurt…well, the only one you’d have to blame was yourself.

Your hands find his with tentative fingers. His skin is soft as silk as your thumbs trace the lines of his palms. Hands that had created, hands that had destroyed. When it came to you, all they had ever done was support, uplift, cultivate. You loved these hands.

The shift in the air when you touch him is tangible. A crescendo in energy, a symphony building. Coiled like a spring, and yet you know he won’t make the first move. He’ll entrust you with that decision.

“I’m tired of running, Dream,” you say, drawing a step nearer to him. Close enough that you can bring his hands to your chest, that when you raise your head to look at him, your nose nearly brushes his skin.

Dream’s voice is soft, betraying nothing of the pressure building within. “Then don’t.”

For a long moment, you don’t dare move. Not out of fear, but because the simple pleasure of allowing yourself to be this close to him, of allowing your guard to finally fall, is utterly intoxicating. Up close, Dream’s eyes are seas you could drown in. Happily, you might add. The warmth of his skin radiates from him, drawing a flush into your cheeks. His breath dances across your skin, a piece of him that you inhale, exhale. Your heart pounds in your ribcage like a bird’s wings, about to take flight. You wonder if he can hear it, too.

Breathing his borrowed breath is almost too sacred, too intimate to sustain. He could set your soul aflame at will. He could rip the air straight from your lungs and fill his own. He could crumple your paper heart in the palm of his hand. And yet, the fear of these fates is minuscule compared to your fear of the next moment never happening at all.

You had thought you’d been in love before. That was nothing compared to this.

When you lean forward, the universe sighs, ‘Yes.’

When you press your lips to his, it feels like, finally.

The two of you release a bated breath through your noses simultaneously, as if with the same pair of lungs. With the exhalation, the world around you stills. A moment frozen in time. Suspended within it, you’re not sure there was ever a world outside of him at all.

After a long moment, Dream moves. The glide of his lips against your own is soft as cashmere, smooth as silk. The pressure is sure and gentle. His bottom lip is full and round as it slips between yours, just as plush as you’d imagined. With each slow, savoring movement, a fuzzy warmth seeps into your toes, curling up into your stomach, unfurling in your chest. It feels like every attachment you’ve ever fostered–no, better.

What does it taste like to kiss dreams and stars? It tastes like milk and honey.

Only when your lungs burn for air do you reluctantly pull away. When your lashes flutter open, heavy with bliss, you find Dream’s eyes brimming with stars. Pouty lips parted and flushed red from your affection, he looks at you like a beautiful dream, a well-crafted nightmare. Like every ounce of gravity in the universe is pulling him toward you—a celestial body entangled in your gravitational pull.

He looks at you as if he doesn’t fear the inevitable collision. In spite of all that he now knows, he doesn’t look at you as if you’ll break on impact. He looks at you with awe, with reverence. It’s transcending and grounding, all at once. A rush of adrenaline pours through you, frazzling your thoughts, making you giddy.

When you press your lips to his again, it’s with fervor and a grin. Emboldened, your curious hands slide up his arms, fingers tightening around the sinewy strength beneath his cloak. Dream’s features were often so poised, so perfect, that one might expect him to be cold and stiff, like a statue. But the column of his throat is anything but inanimate as your fingers glide over it, eager and exploratory. His jugular tightens under your touch, his skin warm, his steady heartbeat thrumming into your palm.

As satisfying as this particular piece of him is, there’s something you’re even more eager to explore. Dream’s hair is lush and thick as your hand cards through it, the strands soft as cornsilk between your fingers. When they curl into the wild tresses at the back of his head, giving a soft pull, a delicious sound pours from Dream’s mouth into yours. You swallow it greedily, your bones turning to jelly. You want to pull that sound from him, again and again.

Your eagerness sparks a flame in him like steel to flint. In an instant, Dream is all around you—his chest pressed to yours, one hand drawing you into him from the small of your back, the other a cradle for your cheek.

You aren’t sure what you expected his touch to feel like. Dream was one of the most powerful beings in the universe, after all. Perhaps you expected a dominance in his touch, or a sense of power lurking beneath the surface of his skin. But this is neither. The press of his hand to your back is firm, but not forceful. His palm cups your cheek like a treasure, like a masterpiece. When his hands begin to move, searching, mirroring your own curiosity, every touch feels like worship, every nerve set aflame.

The press of his lips against yours, gentle and insistent, is everything. What need do you have of oxygen, of food, of water? None. All you require to remain is this.

“I’ve dreamt of this for so long,” you whisper as your back falls against the sand. Dream’s lithe form hovers over you, all long limbs and draping cloak. Grabbing him by the lapels, you draw him down toward you, unappreciative of the empty space between you.

Dream’s lips find your ear, a brush that sends a mind-bending shiver down your spine. His disheveled hair sweeps over your face, tickling your nose and cheeks. ‘’Dreamt?’” he echoes, lips upturned against your skin.

Your heart swells three sizes at the amused lilt in his tone. Maker, you didn’t know that love could feel like this. Like fire and ice, like a suckerpunch and the sweetest embrace, like a first and final breath, all at once. Your chest feels too small to hold it, and yet all you crave is more.

“You know what I mean,” you laugh, tilting your face to steal his lips again.

Time slips from your grasp as you lose yourself in each other. You had always known Dream to be attentive, a perfectionist, meticulous to a fault. You had spent countless days watching him observe dreams and nightmares in silence, making miniscule adjustments until each was just as he pleased. He shows the same attention to detail here–no curiosity left unsatisfied, no quiet gasp of yours left without follow-through. To be the sole focus of his attention is intoxicating, almost maddening.

You have spent your entire existence pouring love into others. For the first time, you understand how it feels to open your soul to another, to have them open their own in return. To see into the core of another and to be seen. To be thoroughly treasured, entirely engulfed, utterly loved.

You never want it to stop.

As Dream’s fingers drift over your skin, leaving fire in their wake, the rational part of you, the part you’ve been trying desperately to silence, reminds you that this is only a fantasy. You don’t know if the real Dream’s fingers would linger along the dip of your hips and the curve of your spine. Would the tip of his nose fit perfectly into the hollow under your ear, just as it did here? Would his lips quirk upwards each time his affections coaxed a soft hum from your throat, a smile you could feel, but could not see?

“I wish this was real,” you breathe when your lips part for air, leaning your cheek into the palm of his hand. Your fingers trail through the feather-soft hair at the back of his head, already eager to pull him back toward you.

Dream stills slowly above you. When he draws back, ever so slightly, his eyes are so clear you can almost see your reflection in them.

A confession shines in those blue irises, bright and earnest. Of what, you don’t know.

For several moments, all is still save for the rise and fall of your chests as you regain your breath. Then, slowly, Dream weaves his fingers through your hair, drawing your face into the crook of his neck. You press yourself deeper into his lean, slender form, burrowing closer, searching for more places to touch, more places to connect. Yearning to melt together until you can’t be distinguished apart. Until there is no place where he ends and you begin. Nothing less will do.

You remain that way for a long time.

Finally, Dream draws his lips to your ear. “May I?” he asks, barely more than a whisper.

You turn your face to his, nestling your nose into his unruly mop of hair, placing a tender kiss into the hollow under his ear. “Please.”

. . .

“Do we have to leave?”

There is a shift at the back of your head as Dream’s lips quirk against your hair. Damn that smile, elusive as ever. “I’m afraid so,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your scalp.

You heave a soft sigh, pressing closer to him. Dream’s chest is warm and solid against your back, his arms and legs encircling you as you sit together on the beach, watching the moon coax in the tide. Dream’s cloak is draped over you, shielding you from the seabreeze that skims off the waves. You draw it tighter around your neck as a new breath of wind tickles your cheeks.

“What if I just stay forever?” you ask, only half-joking.

Dream’s thumbs stroke your knuckles, his touch slow, thoughtful. “I suspect the world would become a very dismal, lonely place.”

Warmth blooms in your chest, turning you soft and sentimental. You lean your head back against his shoulder, peering up at his face. Mortal and divine vocabulary alike fail to describe the way he looks at you, to capture the feeling his gaze places in your chest. Like having your heart torn apart and sewn together over and over again. It’s a sweet kind of pain, an agony you know you’re blessed to carry.

“What I’d give to see the real you look at me this way,” you say quietly. “I don’t want to leave you.”

Dream watches you in silence for several moments. Finally, he draws one hand out of his cloak, smoothing the pad of his thumb over the wrinkle in your brow. Any sense of sorrow and bittersweetness fades at his touch, replaced by warm contentment.

“Do not urge me to leave you, or to turn back from you.” The words slip from his lips like a prayer, as familiar to you as the blue of his eyes. Instantly, they transport you back in time–back to Cathedral Grove, to the wedding you attended under the green and gold leaves, to the vows that were exchanged there.

That was months ago. Though you’ve heard these words countless times, even recited them to yourself, hearing them in his voice takes your breath away. “Where you go, I will go,” he continues, his voice soft.

The lump in your throat feels insurmountable. When you find your voice, it’s scarcely more than a whisper. “And where you stay, I will stay.”

Dream’s thumb trails down your cheek, favoring the curve of your jaw. “Where you die, I will die, and there I will be buried,” he murmurs, eyes bright with stars.

You can still remember the moment you looked up from the young couple’s glowing attachments, still remember the way he looked at you across that clearing. Was that the moment you’d started to love him? Or had it come sooner, later?

You honestly weren’t sure. It felt as if he’d always been yours. Life before him seemed like a strange and distant memory now. You didn’t even want to think of it.

“May the Lord deal with me, be it ever so severely, if even death separates you and me,” you finish quietly, eyes fluttering shut.

As you lean into him, savoring this moment, this togetherness, for as long as you can, you feel his warm breath over your skin. “What more could one want than to not go through this life alone?”

. . .

As you make your way toward Cliff’s coffee shop, you’re convinced that you’ve never seen so many mortals smiling on a Monday morning in the dead of winter.

Normally, Monday morning coffee runs are filled with tired eyes, whispers of plans for the Friday ahead, and faces glued to phones as everyone scrambles to organize their lives for the week. But today’s walk is filled with bright eyes, refreshed faces, and contented smiles. For once, everyone’s faces are turned up to the sky, or steeped in conversation with a friend. You barely see a phone in sight.

Must be something in the water, you muse with a grin of your own as you step into Cliff’s coffee shop. When the white-haired man affixes you with a toothy smile from behind the counter, you grin even wider.

“‘Morning, Cliff. The usual, please,” you say as you fish the cash out of your pocket, placing it into his waiting hand. “And add an earl grey to go, please.”

“Of course, miss.” Cliff is already pulling the container of milk from the fridge below the counter as he deposits the money into the cash register.

You can’t help the lopsided grin that warms your face as you watch Cliff set to work tamping the grounds, foaming the milk, brewing the tea. He’s always seemed agile for his years, but the way he moves this morning looks downright youthful.

When he twirls the long-handled spoon between his fingers before stirring the earl grey, you can’t help but laugh. “You’re in a good mood this morning.”

Cliff’s white beard frames his smile perfectly as he places the to-go cups before you, slipping lids onto them with nimble fingers. “Indeed, miss. ‘Suppose I got an extra good night of sleep,” he says.

Heat creeps up your neck as your own activities from last night come to mind. You hide a cheeky grin behind the rim of your coffee cup. “Glad to hear it.”

A mixture of excitement and nerves makes you impervious to the cold as you walk back to your townhome. Mind racing, you mull over possible phrases for the thousandth time since you awoke.

Hey, Dream. Do you mind if we talk in private for a moment?

That was as good a place to start as any. But what next?

Dream, what I’m about to say sounds crazy—

My unconscious mind is so enamored with you that it’s created a fake you that I’ve been hanging out with every night—

And we’re actually soulmates. Like, romantic soulmates—

You huff with dissatisfaction, taking a long drink of your coffee. That wouldn’t do. He’d think Matthew had fried your brain with a bad joke or something.

Dream, there’s something I need to tell you.

Balancing one to-go cup precariously atop the other, you dig through your pocket for the keys to your front door. Perhaps you could just wing it from there. Or perhaps you’d totally lose your nerve once you saw him in person. Right now, you were riding the high of your time with Fake Dream, drunk off the look in his eyes, the sound of his voice, the warmth of his skin. Would you be able to speak the truth when everything was real, when you were face-to-face? You weren’t really sure. After last night, all you knew was that you were tired of running, tired of hiding. Tired of not letting him know how you felt.

You were ready to make the leap. You could only hope and pray that you’d make it to the other side.

Your key slips into the lock with a resolute click. Warmth creeps into your cheeks as you step inside, locking the door behind you. When you turn to take your cups to the kitchen, the sight of someone sitting on the counter nearly makes you jump out of your skin.

“Maker, what is wrong with you Endless? Are you completely incapable of making a normal entrance? Is knocking a foreign concept to you?”

Desire of the Endless grins at you from their place on the kitchen counter, legs crossed, eyes flashing. “You sure know how to make a guest feel welcome, don’t you, darling?” they coo, all blood-red lips and bone-white teeth.

You shoot Desire a pointed glare, placing your to-go cups on the end of the counter furthest from them. “The term guest implies that someone is welcome, which you are most definitely not.”

Desire’s eyebrows perk up, making their golden eyes even wider. “So touchy these days. You used to cower in my presence. I must say, this is much more entertaining.”

Your jaw sets tightly as you drape your coat over a dining table chair. As much as it pains you to admit it, Desire was right. The helplessness you had felt in their presence had seemed inescapable once. The shift from fear to annoyance had been subtle. Looking back, you suppose that as your power had grown over the past few months, so too had your confidence, your willingness to stand up for yourself. In the past, your fear had stemmed from a lack of control over your circumstances. Now, you felt like you had a say in your future, a way to combat Desire’s interferences. Another blessing of Dream entering your life.

Desire’s gaze darts to the second to-go cup resting on the counter. ‘Earl grey’ is scrawled across the side in Cliff’s cursive handwriting.’ “Who might that be for?” they ask, voice sickeningly sweet.

Your fingers twitch at your sides, itching to snatch the cup from their sight. You settle for crossing your arms, instead. “That’s none of your business. Did you just come here to make idle chit-chat? If so, I really have better things to do.”

“Like what? Get back to your darling Dream?”

Something about the sense of knowing in Desire’s voice chills the blood in your veins.

Desire grins widely, leaning forward. “How was your night? Very eventful, I presume.”

Dread trickles down your spine, numbness creeping forth from the cracks it sews. You try your best to keep your expression neutral. When Desire licks their lips like a predator eager to feast, you suspect you’re failing. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you lie through clenched teeth.

Desire rolls their eyes, irritation pinching their feline features. “Come now, little goddess. You’re a terrible liar. Did you forget that all beings fall under my domain of desire? When I sensed your connection to the Threshold last night, I could hardly believe it. I thought, ‘Could she really be such a fool to place herself within my grasp again? Surely not.’”

The walls of your townhome pull away as darkness encroaches on your vision. One hand steadies yourself against the counter as numbness grips your knees.

The soft purr of Desire’s laughter meets your ears, followed by the sound of two feet hitting the floor. “That’s when I went to your quaint little realm to investigate. Imagine my surprise when I found that you and my darling brother share a soulmate attachment. And not only that, but eros, erotoropia, and pragma, as well. I swear upon my eldest sibling, you truly are a fool.”

Eros, erotoropia, and pragma? You hadn’t even known about those. The last time you’d been to the Realm of Attachment, only the philia had been present. Had the others formed last night? you wonder, mind racing.

“I must say, you did an admirable job of keeping it from me at first. A ‘B’ for effort if I ever saw one. But nothing could conceal what I felt last night.”

The feeling of hot breath on your face jerks you back to your senses. With a shake of your head, the darkness clears from your vision, revealing Desire’s grinning face mere inches from yours. “When I killed you all those years ago, I couldn’t have dreamt of the ramifications I’d see today. That toying with a mortal would lead to my brother’s undoing. I must say, you’ve surprised me, Love. And for that, I am quite pleased.”

Your fingernails grind against the countertop as you brace yourself against it. You fight the urge to run, force yourself to stand your ground. “What do you mean, ‘undoing?’” you ask coldly, trying to sound more assertive than you feel.

Desire takes a step closer, pressing in on you. Their close proximity, the adrenaline coursing through your veins, the dread weighing down your bones–it’s all too much. When Desire’s fingers cup your chin, you want to crawl out of your skin. You fight the urge to push them away, unsure of what they’d do if you did.

“Though it might be hard to believe, my brother Dream is quite the romantic. That lonely heart of his has gotten him into all sorts of trouble, caused him all sorts of pain. Some of it my doing, some of it not.” Desire flashes you a cheek-splitting grin. “Rome wasn’t built in a day, darling. Nor was my somber, solitary sibling. ”

You clench your eyes closed, repulsed by the sweet malice in Desire’s expression. Killala. Nada. Calliope. You can still remember the sight of their names in Dream’s book in your library. You can still picture how he’d looked at you when you’d asked what happened with them that night on the dock. ‘I am not entirely sure. Perhaps that is why the process continues to repeat itself,’ he’d said, his voice soft and sad.

Now, the truth dawns on you. The realization that, while he wasn’t entirely excused of blame for the outcome of his past relationships, their demise hadn’t entirely been his fault, either. How many times had Desire interfered with Dream’s relationships, and in what ways? How many times had they been responsible for Dream’s sadness, his loneliness, his broken, distrustful heart?

The thought makes you want to run to Dream, to throw your arms around him. It makes you want to tell him everything.

Your feet move beneath you as you resolve to follow through. However, just as you start to pull away, Desire’s voice makes you halt. “Dream’s falling out with Calliope left a nasty scar. Made him impassioned, turned him into a recluse. He’s walled himself off for a long, long time. But with you here, I finally have a way in.”

The world around you goes very, very still.

“My brother’s heart has always been his greatest weakness.” The feeling of fingernails pressing into your skin spurs your eyes open. Desire tilts your chin to meet their gaze with an agonizing slowness. When you lock eyes, you’re met not with malice, or anger, or annoyance. Only cold, hollow contempt.

The next words they say will haunt you forever. “Perhaps you really were made for each other.”

For a long moment, there is nothing. And then, like a loose thread, the world you know begins to unravel.

It’s a strange feeling, having the foundation of your life crumble beneath you. A war between emptiness and overstimulation, between immobility and urgency, between desperation and surrender. Sense of control slips through your fingers like tears. Surety flees with it, like a rug ripped out from beneath your feet. Your stomach bottoms out as you freefall, down, down, down, with no end in sight.

When would you hit the bottom? Was there a bottom to hit?

You had thought you held your life in your own hands. You had thought that the future was yours to create. You had thought you’d known what that future might hold.

You were wrong.

Your palms hit the trash can by the fridge with enough force to bruise. The acidic burn of bile and coffee floods your mouth as the sad truth crashes through you, again and again. As you realize what your future now holds.

Your gaze, hot and blurry with tears, rises to the cup of earl grey sitting on the counter just a few feet away. The one you’d bought for him. The one you wouldn’t be able to give him, now that your sorry heart had ruined everything.

The salt of your tears reminds you of the Dreaming’s sea. You heave into the trash can again.

Desire’s fingers rest on your shoulder in mock sympathy. You can’t bring yourself to pull away. “I told you I’d find what you loved and squeeze, darling. You should have listened.”

The trash can’s steel lid is cool and smooth against your cheek. You blink past the tears in your eyes, watching as Desire saunters toward the door. “You’ll regret this,” you choke past the vice that grips your throat.

Desire unlocks the door, then pauses. Slowly, they turn to look at you over their shoulder. For once, their lips are not pulled into a devilish grin. Their expression is devoid of emotion, their gold eyes hard with disdain. “Funny, the only one who looks like they have any regrets here is you.”

And without another word, they slip out the door.

. . .

You don’t go to the Dreaming that day, or the next day, or the next.

. . .

Once, spending your days alone had come easily to you. Though lonely, it had been preferable, really, to the painful possibility of having your trust betrayed. The painful possibility of losing something–or someone–you cared about.

Oh, what you’d give to return to those days now.

The Realm of Attachment starts to lose its beauty after so many days spent there without reprieve. The rainbow tapestry of the sky seems duller in color, the attachments between mortals glowing with less fervor than they used to. You’re not sure if it’s simply your imagination, or if your Realm is siphoning off the negative energy of its creator. You’re not sure you have the strength to care.

In spite of your homesickness for the mortal world, you spend as much time in your Realm as possible. You know the Dream Lord can’t reach you there. Only yourself and Desire are capable of traversing the realm freely.

Out of an abundance of caution, you don’t allow yourself to rest, either. Not out of fear of Dream finding you. You’re well aware that you can’t dream, that him contacting you in such a way is impossible. Rather, you don’t trust your unconscious to resist conjuring Fake Dream if you were to give in. You’re not sure what you would do if you saw him there. Fear that it would crumble your resolve keeps you alert at all hours, in spite of your mind’s pleas for rest.

It’s only when you need to grab your list of daily assignments from the Fates that you depart your Realm for the mortal world. Just enough time to grab your list, and nothing more.

It’s on one of these brief outings that he finally finds you.

When you walk through the front door of your townhome, you’re intent on grabbing your assignments from the kitchen and finding the nearest mortal to pass through without delay. At the sight of Dream standing in the center of your living room, however, all plans and intentions are thrown out the door.

Nothing could have prepared you for seeing him again. After so many days parted from him, it feels like it’s for the first time. The force of his presence, of how much you’ve missed him, of how badly you want to run to him, hits you all at once, knocking the breath from your lungs.

The realization that he must have been waiting for you here comes after.

Your mouth hangs agape, any semblance of coherent thought far from your reach. In spite of your mind’s protests, your body carries you forward, through the doorway. The front door closes behind you with a resolute click.

Silence.

“You have been avoiding me,” Dream finally says, his voice matter-of-fact, measured.

You draw in a breath to speak, only to come up at a loss. What is there to say? Any possible response feels like both too much and too little. You settle for closing your mouth, hands fisting anxiously at your sides.

Your silence is answer enough for him. “Why?” Dream asks, his dark brows furrowing.

Again, words seem to fail you. Your eyes slowly drift to the to-go cup sitting on your kitchen counter, still filled with earl grey tea. You haven’t touched it since that day, haven’t garnered the willpower to throw it away.

“I’m sorry,” you finally croak, barely more than a whisper.

Something in Dream’s expression shifts at the sound of your voice. He takes a step toward you, his long cloak sweeping the floor. However, when you step in the opposite direction, maintaining the distance between you, he stops. Confusion pinches his handsome features, darkening his eyes, forming new wrinkles in his brow. Knowing that you placed them there makes you want to tear your heart out and stomp on it.

“What is going on, Love?” he asks quietly, his voice softening around your name.

This is it. The moment you’ve been dreading. The moment you’ve been desperately trying to avoid.

You swallow thickly, steeling yourself for what’s to come. “I can’t see you anymore, Dream.”

Your words hang in the air, suspended in time. Perhaps they’ll never leave. Perhaps they’ll remain here even after you're gone, a permanent blemish upon this place you call home, like a scuffed wall, or faulty wiring.

When the weight of the silence becomes too great, you add a strained, “I’m sorry.”

Dream studies your face for a long time, his troubled gaze lingering on the furrow in your brow, the reluctance in your eyes. Finally, he shakes his head, just once. “What is the reason for this?”

A shaky breath slips from you. You’ve planned for this conversation for days, rehearsed it in your head over and over. Even still, you can’t conceal the hesitation in your tone as you answer, “I can’t tell you.”

Dream’s lips tighten in displeasure. Maker, how you’ve missed those lips. “You must.”

“I can’t.”

Dream’s mouth opens, then closes, throat bobbing as he swallows thickly.

You draw in another inhale, release another breath. Though it goes against every fiber of your being, against everything you want, you have to stick to your decision. That day in the gallery, you had told Dream that the war between you and Desire was yours to wage. In your heart, the sentiment still rings true. A battle between two Endless was sure to be catastrophic in ways you couldn’t even fathom. It would certainly rock the foundation of mortals’ lives as they knew it. Who knew how it would impact the universe at large. The only way to protect them was to wage it alone.

And then there was Dream. As long as you were with him, as long as the soul tie between you had the chance to fulfill itself, Desire would have a way into Dream’s heart. Dream would be vulnerable.

The only way to protect him was to keep him from you. You had accepted that now. Making yourself his villain was the price you’d have to pay.

Dream shakes his head again, a flicker of resolve flashing in his eyes. He begins to approach you again, each step swift, purposeful. When you begin to step backward, he opens his mouth to protest. Just as he does, your back collides with the wall, stopping you in your tracks. Though only a few feet stand between you, it feels like miles.

“I don’t understand,” he says again, his voice tight with an emotion you can’t quite place. “You told me that you were tired of running.You told me that you wished it was real.” He pauses, a thick swallow working down the column of his throat. “You told me that you wanted to stay.”

For a moment, there is nothing but the shallow hush of his breathing, a soft rush of air as the breath is pulled from your lungs.

And then, it all clicks.

‘I wish this was real,’ you’d breathed into Fake Dream’s skin beneath the star-lit sky on that honey-gold beach.

And he’d paused.

“Dream.”

At the sound of his name on your lips, Dream surges forward, closing the distance between you. He stops shy of touching you, instead clenching his hands at his sides. You wonder if he suspects that you’d run if he did. If only you could tell him just how desperately you wanted to do the opposite.

You shake your head, searching his eyes for answers. “How?” you ask, brow furrowed in confusion. “You said it yourself. Gods and goddesses don’t dream.”

“You are right,” he says, his voice gentle. “The divine do not dream. But you do possess an unconscious.” He pauses, considering his words, then dips his chin toward you. “I once told you that I contain the entire collective unconscious of the universe. Though I had never traversed the plane of a deity’s, I suspected that I could. I only needed a way to get there.”

Your hand slips into the pocket of your coat with a mind of its own. The cloth of Dream’s pouch of sand is soft and familiar against your palm. You’d carried it with you each day since he’d given it to you. Even now, when you’d been avoiding him, you couldn’t bear to part with it. It was a piece of him you carried everywhere you went.

It all made sense now.

As you hold Dream’s pale blue gaze, liquid warmth bubbles up in your chest. Slowly at first, and then spilling forth, overflowing, flooding everything.

It had been your Dream, all along. It was his fingers that had caressed the dip of your hips and the curve of your spine. It was his nose that had fit so perfectly into the hollow under your ear. It was his lips that had upturned into your kiss.

He had vowed to go where you went, to stay where you stayed. He felt the same.

He feels the same.

You almost wish you didn’t know. It makes what has to come so much harder.

With a shuddering breath, you steal your nerves, gathering courage. You close your eyes, unsure if you can find the strength to press on if you look at him. “Dream, you have to listen to me. You have to let me go. Please.”

“No.” His voice is firm, absolute.

You swallow, hard. “Then I’ll have to go,” you say, moving to step around him.

The touch on your elbow is immediate. “Wait,” he insists, stepping with you. In spite of the urgency in his tone, his touch is gentle, entreating. It makes you want to cry.

“Is that truly what you want?” he asks, his voice imploring. Asking you to open your eyes, asking you to look at him.

With reluctance, you do. Dream’s ocean eyes–always full of stars, full of thoughtfulness, full of intrigue–are soft, their edges red, their surface wet. They cut straight through to your soul as he holds your gaze, waiting for your answer.

It’s the most vulnerable you’ve ever seen him, this moment when you’re breaking his heart. The realization that you’ve brought him to tears before you’ve ever brought him to laughter hits you like a ton of bricks. The thought of it is suffocating.

In this moment, you hate yourself more than anything on this earth, or any realm beyond. Breaking his heart is the worst thing you’ve ever done. The worst thing you’ll ever do.

You ache to take him in your arms, to card your fingers through that wild hair, to cradle his face in the crook of your neck. One day, I hope I can explain everything, you long to say.

The bitter taste of copper fills your mouth as you bite your tongue. You don’t trust yourself to speak, or even breathe. Though you have a plan for what’s next, you’re unsure if you have any chance at succeeding. It’s entirely possible that you and Desire are doomed to maintain this cruel dance between you for the remainder of time. If that’s the case, you can’t bear to give Dream false hope.

Still, you can’t help but picture the bond between you, imagine it glowing white, vigorous, and radiant. You hope beyond all hope that he can feel it too, that he can hear the whisper of your heart against his, that he can sense your intentions.

Let me fix this, you think, holding his gaze as tears sting in your own. You drink in each thread of blue, each dark lash that frames those eyes you love, committing each detail to memory. Wondering if it’s for the last time. Let me protect you.

Dream takes your hands in his ever so gently. His thumbs skim across your knuckles, just as they had days ago on the beach. You can feel the request behind them, one last attempt to convince you. Please, they seem to say with each stroke.

You close your eyes as your heart cracks in two.

“As you wish,” he concedes quietly.

And in a breath, his touch is gone.

When you open your eyes, you’re alone. Your hands are outstretched in front of you, fingers still curled from where he’d held them. You can still feel the ghost of his touch against your skin.

Completely, utterly alone.

The first scream is torn from somewhere deep within you, a black, cavernous space you didn’t even know you held. Adrenaline rips through you, bright and painful, as you storm into the kitchen, throwing your arm at the pile of assignments sitting on the kitchen counter. The papers scatter in a flurry of white, flying across the floor, twirling in the air like snow.

The second shout is guttural, more animal than human. A howl of pain, a howl of longing. Your coat is ripped from your shoulders in rage and flung across the room. Other items follow–throw pillows, blankets, shoes, novels. Whatever is in sight.

It’s only when the cup of earl grey tea enters your vision that you finally stop. Chest heaving, skin slick with sweat, muscles caught between exhaustion and exhilaration. When your eyes settle on the cup, everything else fades away.

It’s only then that the tears finally fall.

As the sound of wet, choked sobs echoes through the room, you look at the wreckage around you. All of it mirrors the destruction you feel within–the pain, the chaos. None of it fills the gaping void that his departure leaves in your soul.

As the last vestige of your adrenaline slips away, you crumple to the floor, knowing that you, too, belong to the ruin.

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lightlycareless · 1 year

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First, it hurts— Chapter XXXI

Naoya Zen’in x Fem!Reader

While arranged marriages are not uncommon in the jujutsu community, it was strange to receive a proposal from none other than the Zen’in’s, nonetheless your clan accepted and before you knew it, you were married off to Naoya.

Your new purpose was clear: to serve and submit, to be seen and not heard. To forget any sense of individuality in favor of obeying your husband.

Will this marriage ever flourish into something else? Will it change…for better or for worse?

Chapter warnings: slight mentions of abuse (It’s Y/N reflecting on her relationship with Naoya most of the time) implications of infidelity (emotional, I suppose) fertility, and awkward interactions of two people that do not get along—and what other's think of it lol. This chapter is pretty light compared to others 😅

A/N: nothing much except... I'm back! I enjoyed that small birthday break heheh, thank you so much for your patience!!

Now, without any further ado, happy reading! 🥰

Masterlist ➸ Chapter 32

Ao3 link.

"Do you want to get something to eat?" Is a question that brings you an immeasurable amount of unsavory memories.

Beginning with Naoya's interposition.

He knew very well that by saying those words he'd be cornering you into a spot you would have no way to get out —at least not easily— effectively reminding you that he had you under his control, down to the smallest, insignificant details. In that matter, it was almost naïve to believe that today would end without further precedent after the doctor's visit. After all, the day was just beginning.

From there, the catapult of the actions that followed soon after. For some reason, perhaps wanting to avoid meeting anyone else, Naoya's past paramour is the first thing that comes to mind.

You'd like to say that you weren't affected in any shape or form by her existence and her role in Naoya's romantic life, but the fact that a woman who was no longer allegedly involved with him earned far more respect than you, his legitimate wife, hurt you more than you'd like to admit.

And that's without considering how you felt about his imprudent behavior, how Naoya allowed her to be beyond comfortable with him, followed by his unwanted instigation, intended to irk you into lashing at her for flirting with your husband, only to be angry when you didn't proceed as planned, derailing you into giving him a spoonful of your burning honesty, which lead you to the most painful moment of your life yet—One that made your heart sink, and your eyes water, just by even thinking of it.

Maybe if you'd fought harder, denied his invitation to get food, you wouldn't have bumped into his past lover, wouldn't have gotten into an argument with Naoya, and consequently, your survival wouldn't hand on a thread, one so delicate… that was to be broken simply for your ability to have children.

So no, all things considered, you did not want to go "get something to eat" with him.

You don't want to go through that same circle of hell just because he felt in dire need of a distraction. You didn't want to leave the estate in the first place, only doing so for the stated purposes of seeking the answer you needed relating to your health, the ones that the doctor was willing to professionally give anyways, and head back with this precious information to ease both the worries of those that genuinely cared for you, and your troubled mind.

Naoya was nothing but a step towards your goal, and now that that was done, you no longer need to pay attention to his demands…

But even when you already avoided what was to be the worst outcome, courtesy of his own father, it wasn’t enough to halt your husband from making the same decisions as before.

If anything, you hoped that the fear of repetition would’ve convinced him to halt the charade he was putting on with you, head straight back home, and go on with his life—but alas, that was not to happen, and it seems you’d have to take matters into your own hands.

"No, I’m not hungry. Thank you" is all that you say, diplomatically yet sternly as possible, to show that your answer was indisputable, as you continue towards the car, stopping when you are a few inches away from the door, eyes set on the handle waiting for him to unlock it.

"We still have the rest of the day" Naoya attempts to sway your decision, just as expected, but you react accordingly by ignoring his words and furthermore, denying him a reaction.

This stirs frustration inside him, but Ranta’s lingering presence in the back of his mind keeps him at bay. It’s true that he doesn't want to push you away, but having to avoid this specific possibility was, as stated before, far more difficult than he ever anticipated—partaking in a life of privileges made it possible.

Still, he’s proven to be quite the difficult man to break down once he’s set his mind onto something, and with previous preparation, he’ll attempt to make you reconsider his offer in a way that would’ve appeared relatable to you…

If he hadn't been so blind to his own mistakes.

"Come on, we've been locked in the estate for days, don't you want to do something different?” He needled “Besides, you heard the doctor, you have to eat more if you want to be healthier—and we both know that’s not going to happen with my vegetarian family. I, for once, been wanting to get a hold of some protein"

You hold back the urge to scoff, loudly at least.

Was that his attempt to get you to open up with him? Engage with you? By comparing himself with you, as if he were stuck in the estate for the same reason as you?!

Now that was worth all the humiliation in the world!

You wanted to laugh.

Naoya was not even remotely similar to your situation, he should know so since he was the one that made it possible! Yet, he refused (or perhaps couldn’t. Poor, ignorant Naoya) to see it.

You desired to confront him by asking whose fault that was, who was the one behind the fact that you were kept away from your family and friends, without any reasonable way to contact them, forcing to spend the rest of your days at the estate—and if that wasn’t enough, you were also limited within the availability of certain facilities.

It was his own damn fault that you didn’t want anything to do with him, and yet, he foolishly goes on by acting as if you were the one that decided to wake up one uneventful morning and just lose your marbles!

There was even a moment where you actually believed he’d gained a sliver of self awareness after you stood up against his father for his sake —something you’ll probably regret forever— thanks to the distance he’d kept from you.

But after remembering the manner in which he questioned your motives immediately after, his “caution” regarding his father’s untapped cruelty, instead of appreciating what you've done, and now, this… well, it’s safe to say you've long given up on that dream.

It's obvious that there will never be accountability on his part.

This his world, you were just unfortunate enough to be a part of it.

"I want to go eat with you" he insists once more after seconds go by and you have yet to answer, or even acknowledge him outside of watching his reflection on the car's glossy surface.

"I'll stay in the car. I’ll wait here while you go out and eat" you murmur back, the fingers from your right hand now gently clutching the handle, showing both your determination and urgency to leave.

The gesture catches Naoya’s attention, which was not able to leave your hand the first time he saw you pull the handle the first time, washing him over with a despicable current of emotions, starting with anxiety.

“I’m not leaving without you" he counters, powering through his emotions and taking a step closer towards you, which unwittingly causes you to frown and tense up. Maybe through the eyes of others this would’ve been a rather… moving gesture, somewhat romantic for a man to not want to leave without the companionship of their partner, feeling undeniably lonely without it.

Or even the determination of not giving up on them, showing how willing they are to go against all odds to stay by their side.

But for you, it was far from alluring—

It was horrifying.

Naoya was growing desperate, you could hear it in his voice… causing your survival instincts to kick in.

Shall you…. Hold your breath, and dive into the ocean of your tremors?

Is it worth suffering the physical strain of swimming against the tide, in hopes that it will be a quick venture, and before you know it, you’d be back with the people you care for?

Finally safe and away from him?

Or shall you take the higher gamble and run away?

You hate being pushed in these kinds of situations, but for a woman of your circumstances, what was there to do?

The last option is definitely worth considering for a change, but it was one that came with the most flaws: you had no money, knew nothing of this city, and if you took into consideration Naoya's technique, you'd be caught before you even took one step outside the building—you're not as impressive as your sister when it came to stamina, or strength as your brother, and with your now out-of-shape body… there was no way you could put up a fight against him.

Perhaps a call for help would be much better?

… No. It just circles back to the previous point.

Naoya will simply outwit you. He’s going to stop you as soon as he catches wind of your intentions, and you dread to even think what kind of punishment would follow.

Since your life is already on a deadline, the only thing left to do is make your life even more miserable, with the most obvious thing that comes to mind: hindering what little socializing you have with the rest of the estate—it was a short list of people in that realm, but important nonetheless.

You couldn’t permit that. It meant losing too much already. Thus, it was of the utmost necessity to keep a channel of communication —at least for your sanity.

You want to roll your eyes.

Could you really be considered his wife after describing what was to occur to you if you dared to go against him? Of course not.

What you just detailed was a slave, not a wife. Certainly not his wife, companion of the heir of the Zen'in clan….

There must be sin you haven’t accounted for to have your life go this wrongfully.

It's after revisiting all these points that you finally concede to his request—a decision that was already made for you as soon as you agreed to go to the doctor with him— releasing your grasp from the representative door of your freedom, and turning around to face him.

"Ok" you say, eyes briefly on him before landing to the ground, the sight that was to accompany you for the rest of the day so as to avoid him, while clenching your hands. "I'll go with you"

You're not sure of it, maybe it was a fraction of your imagination or you were starting to see things, but through the briefest of moments you were relocating your gaze somewhere else, you swear to have seen a smile on Naoya's face.

A mirage that rattles you down to your very core. A disgusting admittance of submission to his demands, trapped in a passage with no escape, just how you felt this marriage has always been, and will continue to be.

"The place we’re going to is at a walking distance, so I’ll just leave the car here" Naoya says immediately after —as if your consideration had any value towards his decisions— a hint of excitement behind his words. His golden eyes quickly dart to your face, longing to see your reaction.

It’s a habit of his since the beginning of the day, one that you battle with another habit of yours, which is to be your indifference.

At this, the heir's excitement rapidly diminishes and he can’t do anything else but press his lips together in a comforting gesture to push down his staggering disappointment.

"Let's go" Naoya then motions to the exit. And you, now too deep to back out, exhale whatever remains of your unwillingness and begin to follow him—down to the first floor of the building, out the parking lot and onto the city—all with the peculiar requirement of staying a few steps behind him.

He attempts to slow down with the intention of putting you in the front, or at least beside him, but whenever you seem to catch him doing so, you retaliate by slowing down, to the point where virtually neither of you are walking anymore.

The sudden cessation was both intriguing and embarrassing to him, which prompts Naoya to look back at you, pensive eyes wanting to ask if there was something wrong… but you never give him the opportunity for that since your attention remains glued the ground, as if it were the most interesting thing to be found in the streets of a city you’ve only been to once, ignoring him completely—as well as faulting to see the oddity of your actions.

This would be the first time Naoya would play the role of the “bigger person” and spare you unsolicited comments about what you’re doing and simply going on with his path.

He eventually stops at the corner of the street alongside the rest of a gathering crowd, presumably people that were finally heading to work or school, with you catching up just a few moments later.

The two wait for the light to change, observing how the counter goes on painfully unhurried, allowing cars to cross the street. It’s only until they begin to slow down that this impatience begins to lift, with the light blinking to yellow, and then red.

The surrounding pedestrians don’t hesitate to start walking as soon as the green figure appears on their designated traffic light, in fact, they do so with such urgency that engulfs both you and Naoya with apprehension, leading their minds to believe they were trapped in the middle of a growing, human stampede—where the only way out was by either stepping aside, or be carried away by it.

With this caution in mind, Naoya keeps a close eye on you, instinctively grabbing your hand as soon as he believes to have seen someone bump into you, tightly holding onto it while continuing to lead you across the road.

Unfortunately, even if you carried the same worries, you were not of the same mindset, so as soon as you felt his large hand inviting himself on your body once more, something inside you snapped. Bidding you to writhe and complain against his hold, attempts that grew stronger and stronger upon realizing he was not budging.

Adrenaline makes your heart pound heavily against your chest, echoing through your throat and into the ringing of your ears. This sentiment only pours into your brimming containment of frustration, a ticking bomb that goes off once you finally allow the words that had been circling your mind escape through your lips.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” You seethed, and as if you’d been suddenly blessed with the extraordinary strength of your brother, you managed to harshly pull your arm in his opposite direction and free yourself from his grasp.

The sound of your voice is, although mostly deafened by the environment, still stands loud enough for those near you.

Sufficiently so, that for some the priority of arriving to their destination is halted, and replaced with awe and consternation they now looked at the conflicting couple with.

Their eyes and murmurs fell on your shoulders as a ton of bricks, which also forcefully snaps you out of rampaging trance and into the remembrance of the points you went through prior accepting Naoya’s request, as well as the damning actions that led you to your imminent death.

You were supposed to remain under the radar, quietly concede, but instead you’ve let your emotions get the best of you—with a crowd to act witness to, in a place that you were nothing but unfamiliar with, alone.

It was the same story as before, and your mind, which knows this all too well, swiftly begins to portray the way you envision Naoya reacting at your transgression. Depictions that intensify once you remember him to not be shy of an audience.

These thoughts are enough to drain the color of your face, as well as the strength of your voice, vision becoming blurry as you scurry to recover whatever was left to save.

"Na—Naoya—" you quavered, lifting your gaze from the ground and to his back, which you guessed would soon begin to shift, making way for his reddening gaze. You had to stop him before it came to that point, for your sake, for those back at the estate, for family! “I— I didn’t—”

"Let's move" But instead, that’s all that he says. Retracting his hand to the side as he pushes through the crowd, which was in the lower quantities now that most of them have already crossed to the other side "Were hindering the crosswalk"

He doesn't attempt to reach out to you after noticing the passerby’s reaction, and the thought stops crossing his mind. Still, remains close to you, attentive so as to not lose you in the crowd, continuing to guide you into the next destination, and all while he tries to deal with the agony of this scene.

The tone in which you referred to him at that particular moment is one he wishes to never hear again in his life. And not because it was to be considered rude, unladylike, a strike against his enormous ego (as noted by other relatives), or out of place as his wife; but rather… because it was nightmarish to experience it.

He'd seen your kindness, your gentleness, the soft spoken matter you've treated others—regardless if they were staff members or his relatives. Naoya has seen what your good nature is capable of, even when it pertains to his father, and yet… all that he ever gets is the dark side of your persona—the animosity, the hatred, the repulsion.

It’s not a stab he hasn’t received from you before, however, he doesn’t remember bleeding this much, nor can he figure out why he was suffering this much—yet to realize that your actions were nothing more than the consequences of his own doings, a slow comeuppance which briefly forces him to reflect on himself and ask what is wrong with me?

…

Only to conclude that it was his brother the one to sharpen your knife—an extension of just how close the two have gotten with one another, even if nothing intimate had occurred yet.

Back then, he would’ve thought of Naoaki as being nothing more than jealous of his own achievements, of his belongings—he’d always been that way, so it was only expected he’d continue playing the part.

But the more he thinks of it, the less it makes sense.

Because in what world would a man be jealous of something… he already has?

The walk seems to help cool down the flurry of emotions inside one another, enough to arrive at the place he intended to get a small bite from without any further precedent, but not enough to stop their inner thoughts from lingering behind to that moment: With you wondering if Naoya allowed this “incident” to slip his mind in favor of dealing with it later, while he kept on prodding open the wound your harsh words had inflicted on his heart, and on a much lower level, why nothing he keeps doing today seems to work for in his favor—certainly all had been far different from what Ranta had envisioned! Is there something he has yet to realize?

The restaurant that he decided to take you to was nothing more than a couple of blocks away, 3 to be precise, from the parking lot. Found between a clothing store and an electronics shop—a location that some might think odd due to its industry being far different from those surrounding it, as well as the nature of said establishment: a sushi restaurant.

At the awe this peculiar observation brings you, you don’t take long to indulge in the calming mundaneness of making up assumptions. Maybe the owner seized the place from a prior failed business, taking advantage of the location by offering something a bit more… alluring for those passing by.

From there, the other thing that intrigued you, although to a minimum since everything pertaining to this specific person was irrelevant to you, was how Naoya managed to find such a place. Considering he was either away most of the time with missions (you doubt he was deployed anywhere near his home, so when would he have time to indulge in the city?) as well as his arrogant behavior and the desire to treat everything nearby as beneath him—if it wasn’t expensive, then it wasn’t of his caliber.

Lavish wasn’t a word that you’d use to describe this place, at least… from an exterior perspective. The ragged posters of past promotions, the somewhat unkempt wooden doors, and the faint yellow tint of time on what you supposed was the menu were certainly not helping its case—you only knew it was open (and in business) due to the flashing “OPEN” sign beside the entrance.

Well, regardless of what led Naoya here soon faded into the background when it came to serving your own curiosity, which sparked once more when you found your way into the establishment, waiting by the entrance for a host to seat the pair in one of the tables available, giving you a brief moment to admire the decorations.

“Please, take a seat wherever you’d like! A waitress will be with you in a minute!” From all the way back, one of the cooks greets, head peeking just behind the bar, his face wearing a wide smile that was all inviting; a sentiment that you unfortunately did not share after quickly remembering who you were accompanied by, thanks to Naoya’s expressive comment of wanting a booth, highlighted as well by the fact that you two were the only customers there.

The two walk towards the booth and slide into it, sitting just across one another.

Whether that was intentional, or perhaps a miscalculation from Naoya’s part, who you were sure hoped you’d sit by his side, neither would know. A mystery to persist when a waitress eventually comes to the table, laying down a pair of menus on the surface and warmly welcoming them once more.

“Alright now—what can I get you to drink?” she asks with a smile.

“Green tea” Naoya is the first to respond, reaching over for a menu “Cold”

“And for you, miss?” The woman’s head swirls in your direction, her kind gesture is another that you unfortunately, do not replicate.

“...Just water with no ice, please” you murmur and with a quick nod, the woman leaves.

Your eyes follow her for a few seconds after her departure, trailing her up to the moment she arrives with the cook, seemingly sharing with him your table’s order as she grabs a few glasses from nearby.

You eventually return to the table, but unlike Naoya, you have no interest of skimming through the menu, even when you were borderline starving—you didn’t even get a chance to eat dinner the night before due to the strict fasting requirements to perform an accurate blood test—so it had been almost 12 hours since your last meal.

Yet, even with this strenuous condition, you refuse to indulge in your necessities, for you wanted to avoid anything that came from him, and subsequently, do something that could be interpreted as (greater) acceptance.

Either way, you should’ve known at this point that Naoya has an unnatural talent for figuring out what your mind is being troubled with, evident by the way he begins to fill the silence between the two with senseless chatter.

“I heard the nigiri here is particularly good.” Naoya suggests as he lowers the menu to both look at you as well as point at the many pictures of the dishes offered there—the nigiri in question. You don’t respond nor look up, eyes now fixed on your lap. After noticing this, and just like before, he purses his lips. He’s undoubtedly disappointed, yet he continues on “We can try different dishes, so if there’s something you want to—”

“I’m not hungry.” you reiterate, only lifting your gaze when the waitress comes back with a pair of cups—one filled with crystal clear water, and the other a slightly green tinted beverage. Your drinks.

“Here’s your drink” She says as she sets down Naoya’s glass first, and then yours. Her hand then reaches into her pocket and pulls out two white straws. “And some straws. Now, would you like to start with some appetizers?”

“What do you want?” Naoya hastily redirects the question onto you, a smart move on his part for he rightfully assumed you didn’t want to interact with him—maybe the waitress will offer a better outcome.

But you’d also prove to be one step ahead by shooting the question back to him.

“Whatever you want” you say, and those words lead to, yet again, provide the innocent outsiders a glimpse of the dark and heavy atmosphere that has been haunting the couple since their departure from the estate—the first sign of this coming into effect would be the subtle way in which the waitress swallows and holds her breath, darting glances between the two as she anxiously wait for any of them to either snap out of their awkward trance and order something, or dismiss her.

Since it looks like the latter isn’t going to happen anytime soon, the woman decides it was her role to intervene “I’ll give you more time” she says, giving a curt nod and beginning her way back to the kitchen. But before she’s able to do as much as take another step, Naoya speaks up.

“We’ll get an order of gyoza’s” he says, gesturing at the item on the menu “and edamame too”

“Of course, I’ll be right back with them” The woman doesn’t even bother to ask if they want something more as she gives him another bow and finally heads back to the kitchen.

“You have to eat something” Naoya says as soon as he deems the woman out of earshot—and even if she were, this was too important to ignore— leaning a bit forward to take a better look at your face, as well as show the seriousness of his words. “At least something”

You don’t respond, and the way your eyes remain low, even with his approach, sparks another conversation somewhere else…

“Just look at her face” Your waitress, who was named Akari as written in her tag, whispers to the only cook present in the kitchen “She hasn’t even looked at the menu, less at him!”

“Think they had a fight before arriving here?” The cook wonders as he goes over to the refrigerator, takes out a small package of edamame and pours it into a small black bowl.

“Definitely” Akari agrees “It’s evident she doesn’t want to be there. Whatever it was, I’m pretty sure it was his doing”

“Why are we even assuming he’s the reason behind her attitude? Besides, that’s a pretty harsh accusation, we don’t even know what kind of relationship they have ” “They both have rings on their ring finger, Hayate!!” She dramatically gestures at her ring finger “They’re married! Which I don’t know if it makes it better or worse”

“It makes it irrelevant for us” he sighs “Unless… well, they get into an argument here—if that happens, would it be right to call the cops?”

“I… wouldn’t go to that extreme” she muses, crossing her arms “I’d just ask you to kick them out though”

“Of course you would” He sighs “Well, let’s hope it doesn’t get that extreme—still, it’s undeniably you’re getting the short end of the stick here”

“Huh? Why’s that?”

“You get to serve them, I can’t even imagine how tedious it would be to work with customers like that—Thank god I’m just the cook”

“I mean, I’d be pissed too if I was brought to a sushi place so early in the morning to “make up” for whatever it is that happened—like, who comes to eat sushi so early in the morning?”

“Our boss, apparently”

The two share a chuckle, and the noise manages to catch your attention.

You lift your gaze towards them, and the sight that receives you is one that you can’t emotionally describe quite well. You’re torn in between being bothered by it, for you wanted the waitress to come back to overall rush your stay here, or feel envious, because you wished to partake in that kind of happiness as well—although that sentiment falters for a moment once you realize they were talking about you, judging by the way they went quiet as soon as you gaze crossed theirs.

Well, this just served to confirm what you already suspected, especially after the way you lashed out a few moments ago in the crosswalk—Naoya’s and your tumultuous relationship was becoming more and more apparent to everyone around, and you couldn’t feel anything but ashamed by it.

«It’ll be over soon, and then, it won’t matter» you attempt to console yourself «It’s just a matter of him eating, just… ignoring him, and before I know it I’ll be back with my staff and Naoaki»

Your eyes dart back to him, and his face seems to brighten up when he notices this.

“Y/N” The way he enunciates your name always made you feel… disgusted, if not resentful. You wished to condemn him for having the audacity to call you by your given name, but you instead, opt to save your energy for your survival. “I hope you at least try something, you’ve gone hours without eating, you must be starv—”

“I ate something before I left” you interject with a… well, half a life. Mariya did give you something small before leaving, so as to not leave your stomach completely empty, saying that it wouldn’t affect your results as much as many liked warn—it was still far from a meal… but you were appreciative of it nonetheless “I’m still full”

“What?” Naoya blinks “You ate something before the tests? You weren’t supposed to do that, I specifically ordered your staff to let you know! That means your results were probably incorrect!”

“Would it make any difference?” you murmur. You don’t know what it was, probably the way Naoya’s freaked out response irked you, but something inside you pushes you to respond—and by the way you continued on, no one would believe you were trying to remain undetected. “My cholesterol or sugar levels weren’t precisely the things the doctor intended to check”

Naoya tenses his jaw, keeping quiet. He’s not particularly fond of your snappy attitude, less when he had to admit that you were right.

“Still, you have to be careful, it’s for your own good”

“Mine? Or your clan’s?”

Naoya’s chest burns at the truth backfiring at his face once more—if there was one thing that he hated the most, it’s how much his clan intervened in his marriage with you.

But it was just one of the many agreements he had to obey if he was to become their leader and use their assets.

“Even if it was” he adds, replacing the harshness of your words with what he thinks is his truth, and perhaps… show you another perspective. “That’s not entirely true. You are my wife, and I care for you. I have to, as your husband”

“...you don’t have to” you refuted “it’s just as easy as letting me go”

“And for what would I do that?!” he unexpectedly rages, slamming his hands against the table. The items on the surface rattle, and both the waitress, the cook, and you are instinctively shaken to stare at him.

It’s not a mystery for him to understand why he had reacted in such a way—there were many insecurities flashing across his mind ever since he was demoted from all he held in life. You were the only thing that still remained, but even then, you were starting to slip through his fingers

Thus, for you to openly confess you want to leave angers him. However, this emotion fades into the background upon seeing you tremblingly drawing further and further into yourself, a sight that slowly cools the flames of his errors, leaving nothing but the burden of the following consequences if he doesn't mend his mistakes.

Naoya retracts his hands back under the table, clearing his throat by taking a sip of his drink before moving on. “It’s not easy”

You don’t respond, gaze on your lap.

“There’s too many… things to consider” he adds, as if trying to rekindle some understanding from you—but didn’t he just startle you a few seconds ago? And besides, whose fault was that?

There isn’t much room for conversation after that once the appetizers were finally delivered to your table.

Well, it’s not like there was much to discuss anyways; not when his intentions were already clear: he was just trying to save whatever he thought was left for him to control—no genuine intentions of getting along with you or even accepting his perpetrating role in your misfortune and giving you a solution… he just wants to save his face.

“Let’s not talk about that anymore. Eat” Naoya says, his attempt of moving forward from this tense situation as he grabs a pair of chopsticks the waitress brought along and picks up a gyoza for him “Try one”

“No, thank you” you shake your head. Your throat had gone dry after this interaction, but as appetizing as the glass of water seemed, you couldn’t dare to reach for it.

“Y/N. I’m not going to let you starve, I know you’re lying about eating something before coming” He says, and his tone is… somewhat condescending to you, as if he were treating you like a child.

Being in the mere presence of your husband was conflicting in all possible levels—you stood there, unable to fix your emotions to either be afraid of him, or angered.

“Remember that you have to eat more” he emphasizes. “I personally wouldn’t let this pass, since you won’t get these at the estate. Believe me, I tried”

Add incredulous to the list.

“I thank you for your generosity, Naoya-sama, but really, I’m not hungry”

In the usage of those honorifics, Naoya is… bewildered.

Even when the general purpose of them was to refer to said person with the highest regard, coming from you, at this particular moment, they felt… wrong, misplaced. As if intended to mock his unfortunate position, or emotionally distance yourself from him.

No. That couldn’t be it, at least for the first. He’s seen you be crass, but it was never with these topics—or so he assumes since you get along with those he considered inferior.

So instead, he simply concludes what his heart already knows to be true: you did this because you don’t want to relate to him… and for the nth time that day, he wonders how could this relate to his brother.

And in a similar nature as yours, he too has enough of holding back the distaste of a crowded marriage, and he isn’t able to stop himself from allowing his thoughts to finally escape his lips.

“Do you speak to Naoaki like that?” He asked. “Treat him like you treat me?”

“Excuse me?” you breathe, caught off guard by his sudden question, as well as the terror that his mentioning might implicate. Fearing such a thing, you remain speechless, hoping to avoid breaking the thin ice he’d seemed to plunge you into any further.

“I asked if you speak to my brother like that” he reiterates and you feel your tortured heart sink deeper into your stomach. His words, far from presenting a genuine interest, seem to be the beginning of a scolding which could only trail to something worse. With Naoya you can never be too sure, so wishing to control any damage from spreading any further , you respond.

“I speak to everyone in your house respectfully” is what you carefully say, hoping that this statement would be enough of an answer to sway the topic out of his mind, but with the rumors that had been circulating the two you doubt it’ll be the end of it. You just have to look back at how he threatened you the night you denied him to expect the worst.

The conversation eerily seems to end when he refocuses his attention back on eating, and subsequently, ordering more dishes. He stops trying to convince you to try anything out.

The rest of the time goes awfully slow for the two, apparently worse for Naoya who concludes that all of his efforts in this stage of Ranta’s plan had been for nothing. If anything, it seems he just pushed you further away from him.

Doubling down on that statement when he notices the way the waitress had begun to approach them, a slight edge of caution in her words, a hesitancy apparent by the way her hands trembled when serving him, all thanks to the pulsating fear of being in receiving end of another one of Naoya’s belittlement.

Realizing this endeavor was to end in nothing short of failure, your husband decides to call for the check and leave.

As he’s taking out his wallet, his mind inadvertently takes him to the moment Ranta was explaining to him how to proceed after leaving the doctor’s office.

“—Everyone likes a good place to eat. Remember that one sushi restaurant we went to during summer? You can take her there! The food is good, it’s close, and is open early so… be sure to order the favorites, I’m sure she’ll be tempted to try them—who doesn’t like sushi after all?”

«Well, even if she likes them, it didn’t work» Is what Naoya says to himself as he slides the same card he’s been using to pay all of his expenses into the terminal (thankfully it hasn’t been canceled, although he presumes it’ll only be the next course of action if he dares do something that further angers his family) before quickly typing his PIN into it.

Once the machine signals its approval, he removes the card from the slot and stashes it back into his wallet.

The couple leaves the restaurant empty handed. He won’t say he didn’t think of buying something for you to eat on later, but he rightfully assumes you’re not going to eat it anyways, so why waste money?

Believing the day to be done, you begin to head back to the parking lot. You really couldn’t get this done any faster, go back to the estate, and just… stay away from everything that might remind you of Naoya.

It was a shame that you had to go through those emotional turmoil with him, but that was now over, and now, your interest was solely on the reactions you’ll have from your staff after you tell them what happened…

A sight that will be postponed once more upon hearing Naoya call you, as well as the irritation sensation of his presence obnoxiously close to you.

This change of events sends a jolt of concern and irritation through your body as you stop on your track, disdainfully wondering what he would possibly want to bother you with now.

“Y/N” he says, taking steps towards you, which you reinstate by taking one away from him. Your response falters him for the moment, but not enough to stop his words, which only show his determination to complete whatever plan he had assembled with Ranta.

If he was to lose, he’d rather lose trying.

“I was thinking we could go on a walk, see the city”

“It’s too early” you immediately respond “Most of the stores aren’t even open”

“Some are” he corrects “I don’t know how the activity is in your area, but this city is quite lively during early hours of the day so there’s a lot of businesses working already”

«That wouldn’t be the first thing you don’t know about me» you think «Do you even know who you married?»

“I’m tired” you excuse “It’s been a long morning for me”

“It’s been for me too” he says, and you hold back the overwhelming urge to snap at him. Why must it always be a competition between the two?

But having done so twice, and seen a glimpse of his anger moments ago, you accept the fact that whatever it was that Naoya already set his mind to was to be considered the law, thus, you reluctantly agree once more to his request, turning around and gesturing him to guide the way, as well as letting him know you are not taking any pleasure in accompanying him by the stern look in your face.

“I just want a distraction” he says, another one of his attempts to strike a conversation with you. “Away from the estate, from the elders, don’t you want that too?”

“No” you respond curtly. Contrary to him… “I have too much work to do I can’t simply ignore”

When he was once unsure of your capability to mock someone's social ranking, he’s now confident that your words were nothing more than a direct jab at his unfortunate disposition.

He’s used to being the punching bag of his family when committing mistakes, shaming them, but different to training, this is something he’s never grown immune to—certainly less when it comes from someone… different.

But just as he’s done in the past, Naoya will bear through it. He’ll push through the agony your indifference brings to him, as if it were the pain of his father’s vigorous training, and hopefully reap the benefits of a job well done.

The two begin to walk, or more likely dragged, towards the avenue you quickly identified to be the main street of the city, but there was rarely any sightseeing on your part.

As before, your eyes are glued onto the pavement, distracting yourself by indulging in the childish game of not stepping over the lines, or looking up to the people before you so as to not bump into them.

Not getting to see this part of Kyoto is not something you think will bring you regret in the future, since you’d always wanted to explore the country with your family. Wasting this opportunity only meant that you were saving it for the right moment.

And even then, if you don’t ever get to see this part with them, it’s ok. Because after you're gone from the estate, you’ll never, ever come back.

These were to be the reasons as to why you further ignored Naoya and his unrequited commentary about the surrounding stores—rambles of what he thinks of them, as well as questioning if there was one you wanted to check one out… as if he were a tour guide of sorts.

Naoya had always been talkative, that much you could remember, but you never thought of him to be engaging with you, always placing all of the attention on him.

It must’ve been nothing more than attempting to fix the poor outlook others were starting to have about the two. To appear well-grounded, healthy in their eyes or perhaps, it’s his mind trying to create this world where he’s not a piece of shit and he actually gets along with you—the waitress’s startled look must’ve pushed him to that.

It must be nice to only have to worry about what others are thinking of you, you conclude, and you wish you could be that delusional—maybe his actions wouldn’t hurt you so much.

“No, baby, you mustn't bother them” Suddenly, a low yet fretting voice of a woman interrupts your thoughts. “They’re busy”

“But mama…” a smaller voice, presumably the child of the woman, responds “I want to!”

“Sweetie, we’re going to be late…”

Your gaze follows the direction of this conversation, and soon after, is welcomed with the sight of said woman and young girl.

The two seemed to be completely engulfed in their conversation, until by some reason, as if sensing your eyes, the young mother lifts her gaze towards you, staring at you for a few seconds before the child mimics her mother’s actions, wasting no second to seize this opportunity as her cue to rush into your direction, stopping only when she was less than two feet away from you.

Now you and Naoya are staring at her, dumbfounded, with you wondering if you’re going to have to step in to prevent the daughter from running further away from the mother, while Naoya alarmingly attempts to seek the reason behind their approach, did you know them? If so, then he had to act accordingly.

But you did not. Yet, that wasn’t enough to sway the little girl away from you, not even after receiving the astonished stares of two strangers was enough to intimidate her away from following her desires, mustering all the courage she could find—looking up to you with big round shiny brown eyes, blushing chubby cheeks, and a pout—to say what she wants to say.

“You’re very pretty, nee-san” the little girl eventually chips “I like the butterflies on your hair!”

And her words, while it took a while for you to process them, are the only ones that manage to bring out a smile from you that day, a response that doesn’t escape Naoya’s, nor the mother’s, sight, while they continue to watch the unfolding interaction.

“Oh, thank you” you say, a soft smile on your lips “You’re very sweet”

“Ah, I’m so sorry!” the mother breathes once she catches up to her daughter's side, taking the young child’s hand and apologetically bowing before the couple. “I told her to not bother you, you seemed in a hurry—”

“That’s not necessary! It’s ok” you chuckle, reassuringly dismissing her regret. The woman already looked as if she were having a rough time herself, probably due to her free-spirited daughter, the least you could do is ease her burdens. “Your daughter was just being nice”

“Mama… I want butterflies just like hers….” the girl whines, now facing her mother while slightly tugging at her arm as to underline her necessity.

The woman presses her lips together, considering whether to indulge her daughter or just leave. But just like any mother, she succumbs to the view of her child’s adorable puppy eyes.

“If you don’t mind me asking, where did you get those clips?” The woman asks. Even when she was deeply ashamed for the seeming imprudence of her daughter, she was still capable of sharing her same sentiment and admit that you were beyond beautifully dressed. As well as the peculiar young man that seemed to accompany you—dressed in a minimal, tailored head to toe black outfit. With this, she could only assume the two came from a rich background.

It’s no wonder why the mother didn’t want to interact with them in the first place , she was probably scared that the two were to be nothing more than the stereotypical snobs to her daughter!

Thankfully, your kindness showed that her preconceived notions were nothing but that, which became another reason to allow her daughter’s question.

“I’m sorry to say that I don’t know, since they were a wedding gift”

“Oh” The woman blinks, a deep shade of regret burning her cheeks at the reveal, worsening when catching sight of the rings on yours and Naoya’s hand. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were with your husband! Had I known I would’ve done a better job at controlling my daughter!”

“It’s fine, she’s just a kid” you shake your head, chuckling. “And her words were nothing but uplifting, really. Don’t worry about it”

“You’re very kind…” The woman sighs “Well, I won’t keep you two anymore, thank you and have a nice evening”

And with that, the mother and her child give you and your husband a quick bow before continuing on with their path, with the young girl asking her what a wedding gift was and wondering if she would be able to get one, presumably thinking that was the only way to get your same hair clips. The mother tells her that maybe when you’re older she’ll get one, already thinking if she could do a quick visit to a nearby accessory store, or maybe those 100 yen shops to get her something similar and quiet the first wave of many questions she knows she’ll be getting in a bit.

As their voices begin to fade into the distance, you begin to return to reality. The delightful interaction with the young girl and her glistening eyes of admiration slowly disappear from your mind, returning to the shackling sense of dread brought upon by your companion.

In a way, you were thankful for the little girl’s intervention, even if it were for just a moment, it brought you a glimpse of genuine happiness you were sure to not have for the rest of the day, serving you a shot of determination to make it through this difficult moment.

You eventually wonder if he, contrary to you, was annoyed at the young girl. The only example of him interacting with other kids were his cousins, and he never seemed to like them (nor speak to them), aside from thinking of them as less—and you’re not even going to start about how little he’s done to defend their right to their own life.

So it was safe to assume he was less than thrilled by this interruption.

«Well, at least he had the decency to remain quiet before them» you say as you retake your aimless path back on the streets of the city «but probably for nothing more than appearances»

You weren’t that off when it came to assuming Naoya’s reaction, however, he wasn’t affected by their imprudence, but rather, from being in awe at your kindness which he thought unavailable for the moment, to the analysis of the compliments given by the family.

He was never one to entertain the words of others that did not relate to him in any shape or form, thinking that their points of view were rather… unprepared, to not say ignorant, and out of touch.

But for this occasion, he had to agree with their words, for it was the same sentiment he shared upon seeing you at the estate before leaving. He always considered you beautiful, and the clothes his family had given you only highlighted this fact.

He doesn’t think there’s anyone that would look better in such lavish garments, and this train of thought leads him to remembrance of the last attire you wore when out.

Naoya never said it out loud, but he particularly liked how you looked in that yukata. There was something about the contrast between yellow and blue, and your adorable face, that made it impossible for him to stray his eyes from you.

It pains him now to remember how he couldn’t enjoy the view any longer, cut unwillingly short due to a woman he couldn’t even remember what was her name, as well as his father’s—

Naoya frowns. He doesn’t want that to happen. Not again.

He wants to start anew, compensate for that day and all that could’ve been.

After all, you’re his wife and he’s your husband. And he wants you to know that.

“Y/N” he says, hoping to find some semblance of your kindness still lingering behind, at least enough for you to respond. But even if you didn’t, the nostalgia forces Naoya to continue on “I… I also think you look pretty today”

Your gaze is focused into nothingness, unwilling to look up to him as the two continue walking.

“And you did back then, too. The last time we went out” your husband quietly adds “Even if I didn’t say it back then, I mean it now”

Suddenly, you halt. And your husband who had grown accustomed to your silent treatment unwittingly flinches at the abruptness of your motion, hastily focusing a worried glance on you, whose head slowly began to turn to see him.

He wasn’t sure of what to expect from his genuine approach, outside of his own experiences: a smile, a blush, or even the coy act of humbly denying his words…

But anger, and the appalling way it took a hold of your features, was not one of them.

Your now frowning eyes, tense jaw, and the overall afflicted look on your face seemed to be asking him if his words were meant to be taken seriously—and he wishes to say that they were, but this desire crashes with another thought he can’t seem pinpoint (he realizes he’s been stumbling into that dilemma far more often than he would like) outside of confusion, leading him to blindly charge into this situation, oblivious to the context his “compliment” was perceived with.

“Did I say something wrong…?”

You no longer hold the urge to scoff before looking away.

His self unawareness was already on immeasurable lengths, and yet, it just kept getting bigger by the day! How is it possible that someone so repetitive still continues to baffle you?

Even when you thought it couldn’t be any worse than what it was, he’s like a never ending matryoshka—more just seems to come out of him!

How… How could he comment such a thing about how you looked on the day you were sentenced to death?!

It’s now clear to you that the perception of that day was vastly different for the two— while that was the moment your life was officially ruined, to him, it was just another weekday.

Just thinking about that awful day, no matter how many times you did, always reopened the wound in your heart.

From the faint memory of the doctor, the medicine you were forced to take, to that damned yellow yukata… it was nothing but agony.

You even recalled a time you couldn’t even glance at your closet because you knew that garment was stored there, tainted with the vicious way your husband had dragged you across the estate, followed by your pleads, forced on your knees, for mercy towards your innocent staff… ending with you rushing back to your bedroom after Naobito sentenced you to death—careless if it was ripped, dirtied, or dampened even more with your tears as you locked yourself away from the world.

Eventually, you presume, after noticing such behavior, Mariya decided to act, and one day that infamous yukata was nowhere to be found.

There's no leads as to what happened to it, if it’s stored somewhere else, in a room your staff believes you’ll never stumble into, perhaps already reintroduced into the market after Hitomi fixed it, or even… thrown away.

Well, wherever it was, you were glad it was gone.

It might not mean much, but it gives you a cathartic peace of mind to not see it in your room anymore. Managing to take, even if just a little, the pain of that horrible day.

If only it was possible to do the same with your wedding ring…

Circling back to his words, it comes to no surprise to you that Naoya would think so highly of that garment. After all, wasn’t that the day that you were crudely reminded of was expected of you?

It was like a… commemoration of such advancement.

Yeah, that had to be it—Everything provided by them was nothing more than a collection of warnings and trophies… to remind you of who were the new owners of your life and their capabilities.

Unaware of the turmoil in your mind, Naoya continues to see you in astonishment, processing the sight that is slowly pushing him to retaliate, seeking to understand why you’d been so dismissive with all of his thoughtful words, but Ranta’s memory stops him yet again.

“She’s not going to be very perceptive at your attempts, but keep trying” He warned “You have to show her that you’re better than your brother!”

It's ironic to say that his best friend knew much more of you and your feelings than your own husband… which makes Naoya wonder just how much actually went down when he was away, as well as to why Ranta decided to leave those alleged details out.

But even with these observations Naoya was yet to find the reason behind your animosity—struggling to understand that Naoaki was only a symptom, not the sickness—or a way to slow down the rift growing between the two.

He's tempted to declaring this mission as an indisputable failure… that is, just by the corner of his eye, he manages to see you momentarily lift your gaze from the concrete floor and onto a nearby small rack filled to the brim of products, analyzing it for a few seconds before trailing it down the store from which it supposedly originated: a record shop.

With its windows plastered with posters, from either the latest releases, merch announcements, and best sellers, these were all things that were intended to attract any passerby into walking in, but had remained undetected to Naoya’s mind.

Yet, it allured you, enough to snap you out of your tunnel vision of determined apathy towards him—and it’s with this new advancement that Naoya regains hope, as well as curiosity to find out what managed to catch your attention in the first place, which he pushes by heading towards the store.

He naturally expects you to do the same, even with your slight rejection, but unfortunately, it does not happen, which prompts him to stop and look back at you.

Naoya might not have the best of social skills, but he was still able to understand there was something else bothering you, aside from his words, that prevented you from following him, judging by the hesitant look on your face.

If your previous reaction wasn’t intriguing enough, this for sure was.

“I wanted to check something” is what he says as soon as his eyes land on yours, hoping to nudge you into the right direction. "It's going to be quick"

And after a few seconds of your consideration, that seems to do the trick. Lightly biting your lip, you push down the eerie sensation his sudden interest granted you, and you finally walk just right behind Naoya and into the establishment.

The first thing that catches their attention upon entering is the amount of album covers, from all kinds of artists and groups, decorating every inch on the walls. If the windows were not enough to show what they were offering, then this would.

Another subject of interest was the unforeseen size of the store.

If they hadn’t stepped inside, they would’ve never guessed the business continued on to the sides, as if taking the space of two establishments, with a set of stairs that hinted at a second floor.

From there, the shelves found across the floor, filled with cd’s and vinyl’s alphabetically organized for the customers to look through at their discretion—just as the one that caught your interest outside.

The couple thought to be alone, that is until at the far end of the room, to the left and just besides the stairs, a cash register was to be found, attended by a young man —presumably a part-time student, assumed by the fact that he looked not that older than you— made his presence known by dejectedly welcoming the couple into the store—a greeting that by some reason, went unanswered from both.

The silence engulfing the two is… suffocating—has been since they left the estate. However, contrary to the waitress, the young worker doesn’t seem to mind nor care as long as they don’t bother him more than necessary. It’s now evident that he doesn’t particularly strive to work there out of the goodness of his heart.

“Is there something you were looking for in particular?” The employee asks, stepping closer to the two—he might be uninterested, but there are still cameras to ensure he’s working.

“No” Naoya responds firmly. “We’re just looking”

“Well, if there’s something you need help with, don’t hesitate to reach out to me” he says before returning to his previous post immediately after.

From there, nothing seems to happen.

You don’t move, you don’t reach over to look at the albums, and you certainly do not talk. It’s almost as if this was his idea to begin with, and not the other way around.

Naoya is in dire need of a change from the constant demeanor you’re harboring towards him. There must be a reason why this store caught your attention, far from the other flashy stores he thought you’d be interested in.

And as the analytical man he is, a solution ultimately crosses his mind.

Perhaps (definitely) you’re not doing much simply because he’s present. Maybe, if he were to step away, you’ll be prompted to act on your own, and then, the reason behind your interest will unveil itself.

And that’s exactly what he ends up doing.

“I’ll go check upstairs, stay here” he casts as bait, and without time to waste, he hastily heads towards the stairs and onto the second floor.

But of course, he doesn’t intend to stay there. If there was a way for him to see what you were doing from his position perhaps he would’ve, but that isn’t the case; so after waiting out a few seconds to convincingly make you believe he was gone, Naoya tip-toes back down the stairs, stopping midway when he gets a clear glimpse of you, and observe if you’ve done anything new.

Which… you haven’t, not until you come to terms with an internal debate, considering whether or not to rummage through the discs, choosing the latter when you walk towards the other room —Naoya closely following you— and onto the many shelves, specifically those containing vinyl’s, to browse through them.

Your husband is discreet, presence undetectable, all while keeping a close eye on you.

He watches the nimble work of your hands riffle through the albums, separating them just enough to see the cover and decide whether you want to take it out to get a better look, or move onto the next one—he doesn’t distinguish a particular order on your decisions when you finally take one out, seemingly doing so by the eye-catchiness of the cover, although another mystery steps in, one that seeks to find out why you’d settled for vinyls instead of cd’s, since most were out of fashion and were only around for collectors to grab.

Was this a hobby? If so, he understands having them. He had some himself, but he can’t recall you ever talking about music in particular.

Would this be something you were previously starting to explore? Try out something new, contrasting from what’s usually found in the mundane home of the Zen’in?

Naoya certainly doesn’t think you’re finding interest in the boring books from his library, even when Ranta informed him you were there once, or even his father’s old records, so he presumes that must be it.

Well, if everything goes as planned, he’s confident he can share a bit of his own collection with you. Naoya has a rather impressive one that he harbored through many years, it’s definitely bound to—

“Um, is… uh, is everything ok?” The same employee from before, who had limited himself to simply observing the couple he already thought weird as soon as they set foot in the store, approaches, swiftly cutting through his thoughts.

As stated before, the young man didn’t ask that question out of the goodness of his customer service heart, he only did so because he was getting a bit freaked out by the way Naoya was intently staring at the young woman whom he thought had come along with him.

His behavior led him to believe otherwise, thus prompting him to step in.

But Naoya, who didn’t see how he was being perceived (not now, not ever) was all but annoyed by this distraction, evident by the way his head darts to glance at him, angered, setting him to be the unwilling victim of all the frustrations he’s been holding in.

“What?!” he breathes “Can’t you see I’m busy??”

“Well—I—” the man flinches. “I was just…”

“Asking? I see” Naoya gives him a mocking smile “Clearly, I’m looking at my wife?”

“Wife?” The employee blinks, perplexed. First of all, what kind of weirdo stares at their wife like that? And secondly, now that he knows that, he feels sorry for you.

In the end, he’s glad he doesn’t know them. He can only imagine how embarrassing it must be to hang out with them, or for you in that case, to be constantly caught in the middle of your husband’s buffoonery…

Unless you were the same, of course, which would make sense because you were purportedly married to him.

Well, that isn't his problem to ruminate on, and once the man understands that this is beyond his grasp, asides from not finding any real harm (if Naoya were saying the truth), decides to step away and go back to the register and finish inputting into the system whatever new product they got that day overnight.

Your husband is quick to jump back to his previous behavior, critically so, for he was worried this unforeseen interaction had alerted you of his whereabouts—dissipating the tension out of his shoulders with a sigh upon realizing you hadn’t.

However, you had stopped skimming through the albums, because your attention was now solely set on one of them, eyes fixed at the cover before turning it around and reading through the song list.

The way you stare at it with the highest of attention, before moving into another equally intriguing album per your discernment ignites a bigger flame of curiosity inside Naoya—and now, he genuinely wants to know the fascination behind your particular selection, as well as from the one album you can’t seem to keep your eyes from.

Determining you’d lowered your guard, he takes the following step by approaching you, all while silently pleading this will finally be the moment you’ll open up to him.

“Do you like that artist?” He asks, and caught off guard by his sudden return, you instinctively flinch and slam the album back into its place, a noise that catches the attention of the poor worker who can’t seem to catch a break and glance at two, wondering whether something had fallen off the walls—only to be sharply dismissed by Naoya.

You quickly return your hands to the side, as if trying to hide the fact that you were invested in your surroundings, letting your guard down for a second, when it was something you could not afford to do— you’re not safe yet.

Still, even when your conscience is telling you to do otherwise, your wistful gaze can’t sway away from the album you’ve just discarded. A sight enough to motivate your husband into ignoring your stinging reaction and pursuing the significance you’ve placed on it.

“I want to know” he reaffirms, now eyeing the same spot as you do “It looked… interesting”

You’re having your own doubts at this precise moment. More so because you don’t want to partake in conversation with a person that never did, and never will, cared for you, less of something so important to you.

But just as it happened to him, there’s something inside you that prompts you to do so. Urges you to indulge in the emotional significance that these particular albums bring you… perhaps due to the absence of those that this reminded you of, wanting nothing more than to bask in it and forget all that torments you.

So, you do. Against your better judgment, to regret in the future —that’s something that you’ll have to deal with later— carefully grasping the first album that caught your attention and pulling it out.

“Who are they?” Naoya asks once he gets a better look at the cover since they don’t seem familiar at all.

All that he can make out of it are the words of the album’s title, or what he presumes to be the title anyways, with each word accompanied by a portrait of young women whom he rightfully guesses to be the members of said group. Evidently, all foreign.

“They’re a group called the Spice Girls” you inform. “They’re English, but they were still pretty big back in the day.”

“I can… see that” Naoya raises an eyebrow, now analyzing the members.

He doesn’t think of any of them as particularly attractive, nor does he ever remember hearing about them. Well, he doesn’t listen to much that isn’t anime, or praises for him either way.

“Do you like them?” he continues.

“Not as much as Ren did” you add, and the memory of his fanaticism makes your lips curve upwards, a gesture that you’re quick to subdue as soon as you remembered whom you were with. “He… bought all of their records as soon as they were available. He liked them so much that he actually learned english”

You remember growing up listening to their songs, but that was nothing compared to your brother.

He was such an avid fan, to the point he would obsess over each and every piece of merchandise he could get his hands on. Ren owned all the VHS’ of their concerts, all of the albums, singles, posters and clothing—even the dolls. The only thing left was to attend a concert itself. Either way, he would have it all, which makes one wonder how did he even get the money for all that?

But his admiration didn’t end there. It continued on by affecting his personal life, starting by nicknaming you and Hinata with the same names the press had given them once they became famous.

Hinata was quick to decide, she was to be Sporty due to her fascination with training and whatnot. And she… Well, she didn’t really care. She actually liked the name for a while, until Gojo decided to mock her with it, or change it to what he considered to be a more accurate one: Scary. But even then, she didn’t find it in her heart to ask Gojo to stop calling her that because she knew how much Ren liked the group.

From there, Ren didn’t have to think that hard on who he wanted to be either, and that was to be Ginger, his favorite. He liked her assertive personality (as well as considering her to be the prettiest), which heavily influenced his behavior in his early years, preaching about girl power whenever he could, and even painting a streak of his hair blonde just so he could look like her…

So one could only imagine how inconsolable he was when her departure was announced, uncontrollably sobbing and wailing, spiraling deep into his sadness, to the point where he even refused to go to school.

Your mother managed to stop him from committing such an act, of course, doing her best to comfort him even though she knew she had no power to change what’s already written, still, that didn’t stop her from trying, or him from crying at school for that matter.

And finally, you. Another decision that was equally as easy as your predecessors due to your circumstances.

“Which one were you?” Naoya asks, and you sigh.

“Baby, because I was the youngest”

“And which one’s that?” He raises an eyebrow.

“The blonde one, this one” you say, pointing to the blonde girl posing in front of the “P”

“You don’t look like her.” he comments.

“I never said I did.” you frown.

“Right…” he frowns too “Well, did you at least like that nickname?”

His interest seems to be more of an interrogation rather than a conversation, but too deep into this rabbit hole, you concede.

“No. I always liked Posh better” The one you considered to be the cool one, now pointing to the brunette on the “S” “But it doesn’t matter, it’s was just a nickname”

It felt weird to admit that, out loud at least, since you’ve never done so with your brother before.

Well, it had been so long ago… it really doesn’t matter anymore. Ren had outgrown them either way.

“Well, you can still like it or not.” he says.

«How… ironic» you think. «Since when does my opinion matter to him?»

And with this new information, Naoya is… Well, he won’t say that he’s fascinated by the group. They seemed average at best. You certainly didn’t fit the mold when it came to be compared to them, you being much better of course.

And Ren didn’t have weight in his mind either, although it was kind of funny to hear that the man that was considered to be a monster in the physical sense of the word, used to endlessly obsesses for a girl group. No different from those that do the same over idols nowadays. Naoya ironically states that he could never.

Nonetheless, there was still a sense of sadness entwined with your voice when you spoke of these things, as if there was something deeper, bigger—more influential than you were letting on.

His assumptions grow stronger when he sees you return the album back into its place and reach out for the second album you were observing afterwards, the one you slammed back into place, and your eyes dim.

This one was of an entirely different person, someone he vaguely remembers seeing somewhere— but can’t put his finger on where just yet.

“Did your brother like him too?” He pursues these observations.

“No” you pause, nostalgically looking at the album in your hand; none other than Michael Jackson’s Thriller. “My mother did”

“Oh” Naoya muses, and he notes that this is the first time you mentioned her.

Now that he thinks about it… he doesn’t remember seeing her at the wedding, or even being mentioned. He’s heard rumors of her of course, but never… official statements, nor did he seek to find an answer. Thus, there’s only one safe assumption to make as to her whereabouts.

“I guess you heard a lot of music when growing up, hm?” he says, moving on from the topic.

That, you did.

Music was to be considered… highly influential in your life. The closest example is how you learned to speak what little you know of English thanks to your brother’s fanaticism.

But even then, that would still be miniscule compared to the impact it had on you in the bigger picture—because it also defined your existence.

After all, it's how your parents met.

#series: first it hurts—#naoya zenin #naoya zen'in #naoya x reader #naoya zenin x reader #naoya zenin x your #jjk naoya #naoya zen'in x reader

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