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willsdreamgirl · 9 months

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“morning mr. shelby.” — tommy shelby x reader ⋆｡˚

tommy shelby x fem!reader

you meet tommy as a nurse during the war, but happens when he realizes that he’s known you all along? (loosely based around some s1 plot points, but all set before the war)

18+ minors dni please! angst, fluff and smut

cw: mentions of war, shooting, stabbing, suturing, ptsd, friends to lovers, eventual smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!!), slight breeding kink

word count: 5.4k+ (sorry lmao)

a/n: ahh first fic alert!! i’m so excited for you guys to read this! don’t be a ghost reader and lmk if you want to be added to my tag list for future tommy/cillian stuff!! 💌

you met tommy shelby during the war. he was a soldier, you were a wartime nurse. before the war, you had obviously heard of him. tommy shelby, leader of the fucking peaky blinders. arrogant bastards.

you lived in small heath, and everyday you’d pass him on the street. and everyday, you’d smile and say, “morning, mr. shelby.” and everyday, he would barely look up at you. you were sure he wasn’t even aware of your existence. prick.

your parents had always told you to stay away from the shelby boys. your dad would say that “they’re dangerous and make whores out of innocent girls” and your mum would make some comment about “the shelby men and their stupid cocks and their stupid judgements”.

they were the most intimidating people in all of small heath, possibly in all of birmingham. truth be told, there was a certain charm to them that you couldn’t shake off. well, to one of them. tommy shelby. you couldn’t tell if it was because he was your age, or because he was powerful and strong, or simply because he was strictly off limits. or because of his piercing blue eyes.

everyone in small heath knew tommy. but you knew tommy. he didn’t know you, though. you could tell if was him by the way he exhaled or by the sound of his footsteps or by the way he held a cigarette in his hand, the peaked cap on his head, a hand in his coat pocket. you despised tommy shelby, but god, was he fucking irresistible.

when men were drafted for the war in france, it was common sense that they’d need someone to tend to their cuts and bruises. you’d decided to volunteer, and after a couple weeks of training, you were right there, in the field. practicing on dolls and bags of rice and flour was nothing compared to what you saw. what you heard.

your first day in france was… eventful, to say the least. some commander had led you to the medical tent, and you were welcomed by the screams of hurt soldiers, blood and panic. you were immediately assigned to a patient, who’d been shot in the chest. you tried your best, did everything you could have, but ultimately, he had just lost too much blood. you didn’t sleep that night, haunted by the bloodshed, by the pleas of the soldier to keep him alive, by the feeling of someone else’s blood on your hands. over time, however, you grew accustomed to having your pristine white uniform soiled with blood and mud.

a month or so after you’d started, you heard shouts outside the tent. “help! someone HELP, for FUCK’s SAKE!” this was a regular occurrence, but the voice the shouts came from didn’t sound wounded. you felt an instinctual need to go see what it was.

what you saw, though, was something you never expected to see. tommy shelby, with a comrade’s head in his lap, putting pressure on a wound in his shoulder. without hesitating, you helped tommy drag the soldier to a vacant bed in the tent. “what happened?” you asked, hurriedly. tommy was visibly panicked. “i- he- um, he got st-stabbed by… one of the germans… his name’s danny- daniel.” you looked in tommy’s eyes, trying to give him some semblance of comfort. “he’ll be okay.” you applied pressure on the wound, and luckily, the blood stopped flowing soon. you cleaned the wound up and looked to tommy. “i’m gonna have to disinfect the wound with alcohol, you might want to hold daniel down for this.” daniel was still delirious from the blood loss, but the pain would be excruciating. tommy braced himself. his hands firmly holding down daniel’s. you nodded before tipping the bottle over on the wound. danny thrashed around on the bed, screaming and cursing, struggling against tommy’s hold. you heard his voice over danny’s. “you’re alright, lad! y’er gonna be fine!”

tommy sat by his friend’s bedside as he came to. you tended to other patients in the meantime but eventually went over to talk to him. “i want to keep him here for the night, mr. shelby. make sure there’s no infection.” he looked at you, surprised you knew him. “you know who i am?” “of course i do, all of small heath knows you. what i didn’t expect was to have a run-in with you, here in france.” he scoffed at his own misery and spoke. “you don’t belong here. you should be home.” you rolled your eyes, even in his state, he managed to be cocky. “if i wasn’t here today, mr. shelby, who would save danny?” that seemed to shut him up. he was about to speak, before you heard your name from the other side of the tent. “y/n, we need you!” after having helped a soldier who looked like he had been mauled, you looked out to see it was nightfall, and tommy had left.

a couple days later, at about noon, john shelby, the youngest of the shelby brothers walked in, clutching his arm tightly. “do you need help, mr. shelby?” you called out. “yes, i-i’ve been shot.” he all but whispered. you rushed over with a tray of distilled alcohol, forceps and bandages. after an afternoon of agony and pain, you had finally managed to pull out the bullet form his arm, john’s face a clear representation of his relief. “oh my god love, if we were home, i’d marry you right now.” you laughed at the proposition. “mr. shelby, i think you’re still a bit delirious from the anaesthesia. besides, i’m your brother’s age.” he looked shocked. “what, you’re arthur’s age? really?? you look nothing like that old prick.” you couldn’t help but laugh yet again. “i’m not that old, jesus. i’m tommy’s age.” he sighed. “marry him then. lord knows he needs a girl.” you giggled as you gathered your things and walked away. “you amuse me far too much, mr. shelby.”

it felt like ages had passed before you saw tommy again. your back was towards the tent entrance but you knew who had walked in. his breath trembled and his footsteps felt a bit unsteady, but it was undoubtedly him. you waited to turn until he called out your name. “y/n, is it?” you turned around, to find his face and shirt covered in blood. “mr. shelby! what happened?” you rushed over to him, taking his hand and sitting his down on a bed. “i- i… killed a man today, y/n.” he looked down, he couldn’t bring himself to look at you. you didn’t respond, simply got up and grabbed a stitching kit and a bowl of warm water. “is all this blood yours?” was your first question. “no. most of it is his.” you sighed and searched his face to find a cut on his cheekbone, the source of his own bleeding. “i’m wiping away the blood now, okay?” tommy gulped and nodded, his eyes still trained on the ground. “mr. shelby, i want you to look at me.” it was as if he didn’t hear you. you spoke again, softer yet more authoritative this time. “tommy. look at me.” he finally brought himself to look into your eyes. in his eyes, you saw guilt, regret and fear. in yours, he saw compassion, love and a warmth that could engulf all his pain. “good.” you whispered. you wrung out a washcloth and began wiping the blood away from his face, using your other hand to hold his chin in place. his arms found themselves wrapped around your waist, in an attempt to ground himself. you didn’t say anything, but your eyes told him that you didn’t mind. in that moment, you saw a different version of tommy shelby. you didn’t see ‘tommy, the criminal’, ‘tommy, the gangster’ or ‘tommy, the womanizer’. you saw tommy, a good man, an honest man. you felt his arms tighten around your waist as you pulled your hands away from his face, as if he was afraid you would dissipate into thin air. “tommy.” you whispered. “i’m gonna have to stich that wound up. it might hurt.” but he didn’t mind pain, not if you were the one inflicting it. “okay.” he spoke, his voice deep. he rubbed circles into your skin with his thumbs, the pain making him hum. “sorry, almost done.” you finished the last stitch. “there. you’re all fixed.” tommy held you like that, his hands around your waist, icy blue eyes staring into yours. your arms rested on his shoulders and you leaned down to whisper to him. “tommy. people are staring.” “so? let them.” eventually, he reluctantly pulled away from you. “it’s time for dinner, and then lights out.” he smiled as he spoke, and slowly exited the tent, catching a glimpse of you as he left.

needless to say, you only grew closer over the next few weeks. you were inseparable. whenever tommy had free time, he’d make his way to the familiar tent, and talk to you. it was wartime. you were left hurt and traumatized and so was he, but you both found solace in each other’s company. you told him how you knew him, and how you’d wish him good morning every day, only to receive complete silence from him each time. he chuckled and apologized. he told you about the peaky blinders, what they did, how they ran their business. you bonded over your shared hunger for knowledge and stories. you told him everything you knew about art, history and literature; and he told you stories of fighting gangs in the streets and stealing contraband. his stories were always more thrilling than yours. you’d try to set each other up with people for fun. you’d introduce him to every nurse, telling them how he was fighting for his country, and of course, they fell prey to his charming eyes and dashing smile. they’d ask what he did back home, and as soon as you said the words ‘gangster’, they’d run in the opposite direction. he’d done the same for you. introduced you to other soldiers, and when you spoke to them, about art and literature, they’d call you ‘unladylike’ or ‘too ambitious for a man’. you both secretly liked it this way, it was like you were his and he was yours.

when he became sergeant major, you both celebrated together. he’d brought you a bottle of whiskey, and you spent the night, talking and giggling drunkenly. but soon, he was assigned to be a sapper and dig tunnels. you both knew that the germans were going to dig their own tunnels, and at some unfortunate point, the tunnels would converge. both of you realized the danger it held, but he had to do it. you tried to talk him out of it, though. “tommy, please!” “y/n, calm down.” “goddamn it tommy, think! you’re gonna get yourself killed! what the fuck are you doing?” “i’ll be alright.” “no, you won’t! what if you get hurt? what if they shoot at you, huh? i won’t be there underground to make sure you’re okay!” “y/n, i have to serve my country. i have to do this.” “tommy. i’m begging you, don’t do this.” he simply sighed and kissed your forehead and held your face in his hands. you held tightly onto his wrists as tears threatened to spill from your eyes. “shhh, i’ll be alright. in fact, i’ll write you.” you seemed to calm down at the idea of him writing you. at least you’d be updated on his condition.

the morning he went down to the tunnels, he came to see you. you were sorting gauze and bandages when you felt his presence near you. you turned around and ran to hug him. he buried his face in your neck and breathed you in. you could feel tears brimming your eyes. neither of you knew why you felt like this. you were just friends, right? “tommy michael shelby, i swear to god if you die, i’ll kill you myself.” you heard him chuckle. he took a step back and caressed your cheek. “you take care, darling.” you wished he wouldn’t leave, but in your heart, you knew he had to. a few hours after, you found a letter tucked under a book on your desk. you curiously pulled it out and opened it.

dearest y/n,

i know how much you hate that i’m going to be a sapper now. i want you to know, no matter what happens down there, i care for you, and i love you, unconditionally. i’ve loved you since the day i first met you. i can’t believe i was looking for love in whores and prostitutes when the love of my fucking life was saying the sweetest good morning to me every morning. i’ll protect myself, and i want you to protect yourself too since i can’t do that for the time being. if we survive this wretched war, i want to take you home, ask your father for your hand and marry you, sweetheart. you take care of yourself, alright?

all my love,

tommy shelby.

you couldn’t help but gasp at what you read. he loved you. tommy shelby loved you. the same tommy shelby that was too arrogant to say a word to you, the same tommy shelby that your parents told you to stay away from, the same tommy shelby was head over heels for you. you immediately looked for a piece of paper, a pen and some ink. you wrote a letter back and sent it with one of the workers heading down to the tunnels. you didn’t know what it was like down there, but you hoped your letters would keep him sane. meanwhile, tommy received your letter and opened it with the same enthusiasm you showed his letter. however, he was also filled with nervous energy. he had confessed his love for you, which was so incredibly out of character for him, but with shaky hands, he proceeded to open the letter.

dearest tommy,

to say that your letter was shocking would be an understatement. i never knew you felt this way for me. like i’ve told you on several occasions, my parents always told me to stay away from ‘your kind’ and as a good catholic girl, i obeyed them. but tommy, in these few months, i’ve seen a side of you i can’t ever forget. i love you too tommy, the real you. the honest, raw, genuine tommy that i get to see on late nights and in random moments on busy days. i’d love to marry you, just make it out alive of that damn tunnel, you prick.

only yours,

y/n.

tommy felt his eyes welling up as he read the words you had penned on the paper. it had been so long since he’d seen you, or heard your voice. he wanted you. he needed you. to keep him stable and sane. as the days passed, your and tommy’s letter exchange became more and more frequent, and you felt like even if you were in this goddamned lawless land of blood and chaos, you had tommy. and he was all you needed.

that was, until the letters slowed down. you kept writing him, but to no avail. he hadn’t sent you a letter in days, or weeks, you weren’t sure anymore. you’d almost lost hope, and spent entire nights grieving him. trying to remember the sound of his voice, the feeling of his hands on your waist, the smell of his cologne. you hadn’t heard his breath or felt his footsteps in a long time. the pain was almost unbearable, and some days felt like decades. but the only thought that kept you going was that you saw tommy in all the wounded soldiers you treated. they were someone’s tommy. and they needed to get home alive.

4 months. 4 whole months since you heard from tommy. you were convinced he was dead now. you spent your days bandaging and stitching wounds, yet you could never fix the wound tommy left in your heart. it was one of the hottest afternoons, the french sun blazing unmercifully. you were insanely busy with patients today, the war was almost ending, and the soldiers needed to be fixed up before they could go home. yet, no sign of tommy. you sighed, cursing yourself for holding out hope now for someone who would not return.

“can i have a nurse here?” you could recognize that damn voice anywhere. the deep voice that filled your ears, smooth like honey, you’d recognize that voice at the end of the world. you turned around. tommy. “hi, love.” he smiled. but his smile quickly changed into a frown when he saw your sobs. you took him to a quieter corner of the tent. you stepped closer to him. he went to put his arms around you. you slapped him across the face. “where. the FUCK were you, thomas michael shelby?!” he was incredibly confused. “l- love, what?” “i thought YOU DIED, YOU BASTARD. where were you?” the time you spent apart had changed you, and from his response, you could tell it clearly changed him. “i was TRYING to fucking STAY ALIVE for YOU.” he raised his voice at you. he never raised his voice. neither of you spoke for a while and tension filled the air between the two of you. “i should leave.” he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. he left, and you let him.

after a few weeks, news broke that britain had won the war, and everyone went home. five years had passed since you last saw the familiar streets of small heath, and you were no longer a girl, but a woman. a woman who needed to get a job to survive in this city. you walked around and saw a flyer on the doors of the garrison. ‘BARMAID NEEDED.’ you walked in to find harry. he looked up pleasantly surprised. “y/n! haven’t seen you in a while, eh? what can i do you for?” “i’m here to get the barmaid job, harry.” he sighed.” y/n, this job isn’t suitable for a girl like you. these men, they’ve just come back from war, they haven’t seen a girl, let alone a pretty one like yourself, in ages. they’ll have you up against a wall within the first hour of your shift.” you looked at him desperately. “harry, please. i need this job, otherwise i’ll be out on the streets, which are surely worse than this pub. i was a nurse in france, i’ve dealt with these men. please?” he sighed again before nodding. “alright then, you start tomorrow.”

your first shift consisted of the usual alcoholics, men with ptsd, everything that was to be expected after a war. you hear the bells at the door ring as the familiar footsteps walk closer to the bar. without turning around, you ask, “what do you want?” he replies, “whiskey, scotc- y/n?” you finally turn around at the sound of your name falling from his lips. “yes, mr. shelby. so, scotch? on the house right?” he leans over so that just the two of you can hear. “don’t mr. shelby me. come on, love, talk to me.” “i have nothing to talk to you about.” as you poured him a glass of whiskey, he held your wrist assertively. “y/n. come.” you rolled your eyes and went to the shelby’s private booth. “what is it that you want, tommy?” “what the fuck do you mean ‘what do i want’? you, i want YOU. i need you. did ya lose your fucking mind in france like danny whiz-bang?” you felt your bottom lip trembling and your throat choking up. “i… i thought y- you were fucking dead. i mourned you. for MONTHS. i grieved over the death of the love of my life. of my future husband. of my future children that i’d have with him. and then, just as i’m making my peace with it, YOU have the fucking audacity to show up? you have some bloody nerve, tommy shelby.” the look in his eyes softened as he took a step closer to you. “no. don’t you dare come any closer to me, tommy, i’ll kill you.” you said, holding up the bottle of whiskey as a weapon. he embraced you, holding you tightly, his fingers stroking your hair. you resisted the hug and tried to push him away, only to find his grip on you getting tighter. “g- get away… from me, p- please… i- just” your voice came out muffled between sobs. tommy felt hot tears rolling down his own cheeks. “shhh, sweetheart. i’m okay, eh? i’m fine. i’m here, with you.” you dropped the bottle you were holding and it shattered into a million pieces on the ground. you stood there in his arms, crying for what felt like an eternity. you finally pulled away from him, and he wiped your tears with his thumbs. you laughed, but then lightly slapped his arm. “you scare me like that again, tommy, i swear i’ll kill ya.” “i’ll hold you to it, sweetheart.” he kissed your forehead, and you rested your forehead against his. he tentatively closed the gap between your lips and his, and you pulled him by the collar and kissed him with enough force to make him trip and fall. he managed to stay steady and kissed you back with equal fervour. he spoke between kisses. “i *kiss* spent *kiss* every *kiss* second *kiss* thinking *kiss* of you.” you giggled. “i missed you too, tommy.”

he told harry that you’d be leaving the bar early that day, and dragged you out the bar while holding your hand, a smile on his face for the first time in a long time. “the great thomas shelby isn’t embarrassed to have a barmaid as his girlfriend?” you giggled. “never. and those who think i should be embarrassed can suck me cock.” he spoke proudly. he opened the car door for you, and you sat inside and waited for him to turn the ignition on. “where are we going, tommy?” “i want you to meet my family, love.” during the countless hours you spent together chatting, he told you about his family’s idiosyncrasies and stories about them. how arthur needed to be protected the most during fights because he was just as likely to hurt himself as he was to hurt someone else, how aunty pol’s instincts about love were never wrong, how john once fell in love with a prostitute and everyone laughed at him, how ada was the most rebellious and married a communist (who happened to be in of his best mates), and how finn always pretended to act like tommy, doing whatever his big brother did. you were excited to meet them of course, but anxious. they would be your family one day too.

he held your hand as he brought you in, everyone sitting around a table waiting for him. “does everyone just sit together like this?” you asked. “uh, no i called a family meeting for 3 pm.” tommy replied simply. “how did you know you’d be able to have me here by 3?” he winked at you. “i have my ways. and i know how much you love me.” he spoke in a singsong voice. you rolled your eyes at his schoolboy behaviour and waited for him to speak. “shelby’s, this is my girlfriend and soon to be fiancé, y/n.” he held his arm around your waist proudly, and you leaned up to kiss his cheek. you recognized arthur and john immediately from your time in the war. you assumed that the older woman was aunt polly, and the younger with the baby in her arms would be ada, leaving the youngest member of the family, finn. john came up to talk to you first, while tommy spoke with polly. “you know i didn’t really mean the ‘marry tommy’ thing?” you laughed as you replied, “i didn’t either, but fate works in weird ways, eh?” he agreed with you before talking to tommy. arthur was the next one to see you. “you and tommy, eh? if it wasn’t for the war, you two would probably never have met. i s’pose war isn’t all bad then.” “perhaps you’re right. i did find your brother to be arrogant before the war.” “that he is, y/n. that he is.” both of you looked over at him, engaged in conversation with everyone else. you fussed over the baby in ada’s arms. “awww, he’s precious! what’s his name?” “karl, after karl marx.” you shot her a look. “it’s unconventional, i know. but freddie really wanted it.” “it’s lovely.” finn rushed over to you and kissed your hand. you gushed exaggeratedly. “what a gentleman you are, finn!” “if tommy wasn’t here, you’d be my girlfriend, miss y/n.” you laughed at his childishness and ruffled his hair. “sure i would, finn.” the only person you hadn’t spoken to yet was aunt polly, arguably the most intimidating person of the family. “i have one question for you, y/n. how you answer it will determine if you’re fit for being a shelby. how do you think i kept this business up and running during the war?” you felt put on the spot but tried your best to answer. “um, well, to be quite frank, i’ve believed that women are better at business anyway. we know how to settle deals with whiskey and not fists or guns. and you seem like twice the man than most men i know anyway.” her lips twitched up into a smile as she looked to tommy. “oh, i like her already.” he held your hand in hers, and addressed tommy. “she seems like a lovely girl, do not fuck this up tommy.” tommy shook his head and laughed. “i’ll try, pol. i’ll try.”

you ate dinner with the shelby’s before you headed up to his house. “you sure you don’t want me to walk you home?” he asked for the hundredth time that night. “no tommy, i’m perfectly content spending the night with you. unless you’d like me to leave?” you questioned. “no no, stay, please!” he said, almost pleadingly. you looked around his bedroom when you reached his home. it was obviously a house, but it didn’t feel like a home. you frowned at your observation. “what’s wrong, y/n?” “this house isn’t a home yet, tommy.” “that’s because i want my first home to be with you. with our children. and as far as i’m concerned, you are my home.”

“care to dance?” he asked, holding out his hand. you looked at the gramophone in the corner. “that doesn’t look like it works, love.” you placed your hand in his. “so what? we can dance without music.” he said, holding your waist close to him, your hand on his shoulder. you leaned your head on his shoulder, both of you dancing in the silence, listening to the sound of each other’s breathing. “kiss me, tommy.” you whispered. he obeyed probably for the first time in his life and kissed your soft lips.

things escalated and you were now on tommy’s bed, tracing the sun tattoo on his chest, with him on top of you. “fuck me, tommy, please.” “your cunt wants this cock?” he growled. you moaned in his ear. “fuck, yes tommy, make me yours.” he stretched you out in the most blissful way. of course, you had used your fingers before, but nothing could replace the feeling of his cock. “god, please!” you moaned out, words slowly turning into incoherent sounds. tommy chuckled. “god can’t hear you now, sweetheart. not here.” he pistoned his hips into you just right and it wasn’t long before he found the spot inside you that made you scream. “t- tommy fuck! right there, please don’t stop!” “i wouldn’t dream of stopping, darling. my girl, so pretty all spread out for me. take it, love. take that cock.” the feeling of your impending orgasm coursed through your entire body, making you writhe in pleasure. “god, i’m so close tommy!” “good fucking girl.” his hand reached down to rub circles on your clit while he fucked you so good. “oh god, tommy, i’m not gonna be able to walk tomorrow…” “that’s the plan, sweetheart.” he spoke as he kissed hickeys on your neck, matching the ones you’d given him earlier. “come on love, make a mess on my cock.” as soon as he said that, you felt yourself falling apart, the tight band in your stomach snapping, uncontrollable moans of his name falling from your lips. “thank you tommy, thank you so much.” you moaned, drunk on the feeling of his cock inside you. “such an angel. who do you belong to, sweets?” he said, still pounding your cunt. “y- you, tommy. i belong to you!” “that’s right, sweetheart.” he whispered in your ear, “i love you, darling.” you moaned as you felt your second orgasm approaching. “tommy, fuck! i- i love you too!” “god i’m gonna cum inside you! you’d like that, eh? me getting you pregnant, all nice and round with my baby?” you felt your orgasm pulsing through you at his words. “yes, tommy! fill my womb up, please! i need it!” you heard tommy’s loud moans as he came inside you. “oh, such a good girl. took my cock so well, love.” tommy stayed on top of you for a while, his cock still inside you. “i’ve wanted to do that for five fucking years.” he spoke, voice muffled since his head was buried between your tits. you laughed, but the laughs quickly turned to moans as your sensitive cunt felt friction from tommy’s cock rubbing up against its walls. he pulled out of you slowly, watching his seed spill out of you. he eventually got up to get a warm washcloth and a glass of water for you. you drank the water as he cleaned you and himself up and pulled you into his chest. you pulled the covers over both of you, feeling your body flush against his. “that was amazing tommy, thank you.” “the pleasure is all mine, sweetheart.” he kissed your forehead.

ever since tommy came back from france, he had these recurring nightmares every night. of his time in the tunnels. the germans. his comrades. how he had to kill people with his bare hands. he could still hear the shovels digging the tunnels when he closed his eyes. when he was with you though, he could finally fall asleep. or so he thought.

you were awoken in the middle of the night by the sounds of a gasping tommy, suddenly sitting up. you felt groggy for a moment, having just woken up, but quickly sprung into action. you sat next to him, rubbing his back. “tommy, what’s wrong?” he didn’t speak. but he didn’t need to. you’d seen enough cases of ptsd from your time in the war to know what was happening to him. “you still see it, eh?” he only nodded. you laid back down and pulled him into your chest. he protested. “what are y-” “shut up.” you could tell, he was still a bit frantic, his breath still heavy. you spoke to him in a soft tone and you played with his fingers, his head on your chest. “listen to me. listen to the sound of my voice. feel my body against yours. you are home. you are safe. the war is over. the nightmares are just parts of your mind trying to scare you. but you’re stronger than that, eh? i’m here with you, and you don’t need to be scared. alright? i’m here with you, always.” he hummed, heavy eyelids slowly closing shut. being able to smell the scent of your perfume helped ground him. “good job, tommy. now sleep. i’ll be here with you when you wake up.” you managed to get him to go to sleep, but somehow convinced your mind to let you sleep light enough that if tommy were to have another nightmare, you’d be up immediately. fortunately, he didn’t wake up during the night.

he woke up to the sight of a sleeping you, the sun rays hitting you just right. he swore he could look at you forever. you felt his gaze on you and slowly opened your eyes. “how’d you sleep?” you asked. “like i hadn’t slept in years.” he replied.

“morning, mr. shelby.” you wished him, as you did, every day before the war. except this time, you were in his arms, in his bed. you kissed his lips softly. except this time, he finally wished you back.

“mornin’, sweetheart.”

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girlgenius1111 · 2 months

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all of my past i tried to erase it

part 3 of family line tensions are still high between Ingrid and her sister. Mapi tries to keep the peace. Solstråle tries to pretend she's fine. Ingrid tries to pretend she isn't going insane not understanding what is going on. cw: mentions of poor mental health / panic attacks. ingrid is pretty worried about solstråle and whether or not she is safe.

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It wasn’t really anyone’s fault. Mapi bringing her parents to the match shouldn’t have gotten to you the way it did. You didn’t really have an explanation for it, either. You saw Ingrid talking to Mapi’s mom and it felt like everything that had gotten marginally better in the last few days had miraculously disappeared.

You were 8 again, sitting in the office at school, fielding pitying looks from the office ladies. Both of your parents were busy watching one of Ingrid’s matches; at just 16, she was playing for Rosenborg. Your mom was supposed to bring you to watch, too. She��d forgotten.

You were 10 again, lying to the school nurse that your parents hadn’t known you’d hurt your hand. She said it looked broken, and you pretended that you hadn’t asked your mom to take you to the doctor the night before. You pretended your mom hadn’t told you to stop faking injuries when the attention wasn’t on you for one minute.

You were 13 again, sobbing into your pillow, while everyone celebrated just down the hall. Ingrid was leaving to play in Lillestrøm. 5 hours away. She was leaving you behind.

You were 16, having just been dumped by your first girlfriend. You’d come home in tears, and when you told your dad what was wrong, he told you it was for the best, that a girlfriend was just a distraction. He warned you not to bother your sister with this, because she was busy with much more important things in Barcelona.

You were 17, so drunk you could barely speak, walking home on a dark road in the middle of the night because neither of your parents had answered the phone to come and get you from the horrific party you already regretted attending. It was dark, a windy road you were walking along, and if a car came, you weren’t sure your reflexes would be quick enough. You were 17, stumbling over the smooth pavement, the depression you’d been trying to drown in alcohol making a reappearance. You were 17, thinking that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if it all ended there, just like this.

You were 17, standing in the airport with your parents, preparing to board the plane to Spain. You leaned in towards your mother for a hug. She avoided it, pinching your cheek lightly, and reminding your father that they had a dinner reservation to get to. You watched them walk out of the airport from your place in the security line. Your vision was blurred with tears, but you still could tell that they didn’t look back at you once. You were 17, and your mom hadn’t told you she loved you before you moved across the continent.

In a second, all of these memories that you’d fought so hard to keep locked away deep inside your head were flooding out. Tears were pricking your eyes, and you cursed yourself for being so stupid. Ingrid didn’t care. Mapi didn’t care. You weren’t worth caring about. How had you forgotten that? How had you let yourself forget that, after everything?

Ingrid didn’t see your expression change, too busy thanking Mapi’s parents profusely for coming to see her play. Mapi did, though. She watched as you caught sight of your sister talking to her mom, and she watched as you flinched like someone had swung at you. She watched as you slipped out of the crowd, speed walking into the building. Mapi was torn in 2 directions, Ingrid on one side, and you running off the other way. You needed Ingrid, most definitely but Mapi didn’t like the look on your face as you ran off, like all of the emotion had been sucked out of you, and all that was left was exhaustion.

Someone else had noticed your disappearing act, though. Caro stood, staring after you, before her gaze fell to Mapi, raising an eyebrow. The defender nodded, and Caro followed after you, while Mapi turned to her girlfriend. She pulled her away from her parents with an apologetic smile, appreciating that Alexia walked over and picked up the conversation where it had left off.

“Ingrid, vamos,” Mapi whispered urgently. Ingrid looked at her, confused and unmoving.

“What? I was in the middle of a conversation, María,” the Norwegian scolded.

“I know, it’s your Solstråle, though, she’s upset, come on,” Mapi insisted, pulling on Ingrid’s hand, who finally seemed to feel a sense of urgency, and let Mapi lead her into the building.

“Upset? Why? Did something happen?”

“She saw you with my mom and just looked really upset.” Mapi explained. A bit of understanding washed over Ingrid’s face, and now she was the one leading her girlfriend, rushing down the hall and beginning to open door after door in search of you.

Caro, meanwhile, had found you pretty easily. You were on the floor of a room she often came to when she was overwhelmed, although that happened much less these days. You knew Caro, obviously, and she knew you, had known you since you were pretty young. She had a calming presence, and the minute she sat next to you, and extended her hand in your direction, you took it gratefully.

“Mapi is bringing Ingrid.” She told you, but didn’t say anything else. She just sat next to your trembling form and held your hand. It was enough for now, enough until your sister arrived.

And when Ingrid did arrive, it was with a loud bang as she threw the door open, sighing in relief at the sight of you. Though, that relief quickly dissolved back into worry at the state you were in. She quickly took Caro’s place at your side, hesitantly wrapping an arm around your shoulders. Your sister was surprised when you turned and threw your arms around her neck, crying silently into her shirt.

“Jeg har deg, kjære. Det er greit, du er ok.” She murmured, looking worriedly at the other two women hovering in the doorway of the room. Mapi nodded at her encouragingly, and Ingrid refocused, rubbing a hand slowly up and down your back.

“Thank you,” Mapi muttered to Caro, as they both stepped into the hall to give you some space.

“Of course.” Caro said easily. “She having a hard time?”

“Which one?” Mapi asked wryly. “Yes. It’s… it’s a work in progress.”

“She’s a good kid.” Caro noted, Mapi nodding her head in agreement. “Well, Marta and I are around if either of you need anything.”

“Thank you, Caro. Really.” Mapi said, squeezing the forward’s shoulder. Caro just shrugged like it was no big deal, and headed back out to the pitch. When Mapi reentered the room, you were tucked perfectly into Ingrid’s lap, although you seemed to have calmed down some. Ingrid was speaking to you in hushed Norwegian, and something she said had you lurching away from her and to your feet, stumbling blindly to the door.

“Solstråle, wait,” Ingrid called, not really sure what she said to upset you, but well aware that it had been something. You fell right into Mapi’s arms, and though she looked a little startled, she easily pulled you close.

“Okay, it’s alright. We’re all okay.” She murmured, noticing the rather heartbroken expression on her girlfriend’s face at the fact that you had fled from her right into Mapi’s arms. After a few minutes, you said something quietly that neither girl could hear. “What was that, nena?”

“Can we go ho- back to the house?” You asked, correcting yourself quickly, and pulling away from the comforting embrace Mapi had you in. Ingrid felt like you’d stabbed her, honestly, when you didn’t let yourself call it home. You were stoic again, though, your face void of emotion, wiping roughly at your cheeks to rid them of tears.

“Kjære,” Ingrid said, hating the way you forced all evidence of your breakdown away. You’d been so upset, about something, but now you were acting as though nothing had happened. Your sister would have climbed into your brain if she could’ve, just to understand what was going on in there.

“Let’s go home.” Mapi said easily, shooting her girlfriend a meaningful look. Ingrid wasn’t supposed to push you, she knew that. It was just getting harder and harder to not do so, especially when she could see how much pain you were in. She couldn't understand why you wouldn’t just talk to her, and you couldn’t understand why she was so concerned or why she was so desperate to hear what you were feeling. And considering it was the two of you, the situation was bound to blow up into an argument. It was just a matter of time.

-------

Ingrid knew what was coming before her phone rang, but she still desperately wanted to avoid it. She was quite comfortable at the moment, curled up on top of Mapi in their bed, a show playing softly in the background. Mapi was scratching lightly at Ingrid’s scalp with one hand, and tracing lines over her back with the other. The movements made Ingrid’s entire body relax, which had definitely been Mapi’s goal, but it was all interrupted when her phone went off from next to her.

She sat up off her girlfriend, glancing at the screen, her expression hardening.

“Your mom?” Mapi guessed, pulling Ingrid back down into her when the Norwegian declined the call.

“Yes.”

“You haven’t talked to her since Solstråle’s letter, have you?”

“No.” Ingrid said. “I think I hate her right now.”

Mapi was surprised, only because Ingrid didn’t hate anyone. If there was going to be a person, though, it would be someone who had hurt you. Because Ingrid didn’t like to kill spiders she found in the house, but Mapi knew she would kill a person for you without a second thought. “That’s okay. You can hate her.”

“I miss her.” Ingrid admitted after another minute, her voice cracking. Her forehead was scrunched with sadness, and her hands gripped Mapi’s shirt tight in her hands.

Mapi sighed, wishing she could take Ingrid’s pain away. And yours too, for that matter. “You can miss her too. You can feel whatever you need to feel.”

“No, I can’t, not when Solstråle is so upset,”

“How your sister feels does not limit how you feel. You can be hurt, and sad, and frustrated too. It doesn’t take away from pequeña’s feelings. Just like her feelings don’t take away from yours. You are both upset. That’s alright.” Mapi said confidently. “This isn’t just happening to your sister. It’s happening to you, too, and you can be sad, mi amor. You can cry.”

Ingrid hadn’t even known she’d been about to cry until Mapi said that, but suddenly there were tears running down her face, and she was clutching tightly to the Spaniard underneath her, who did not seem surprised at all at the sudden emotion.

“I know, baby.” Mapi husked, pressing kiss after kiss to the top of Ingrid’s head. She knew Ingrid needed this, and was content to let her cry it out until she heard a sharp breath from the doorway. You were standing just outside the room, frozen and horrified.

“I’m sorry, Ing,” you mumbled, having come in to say goodnight, rather stunned to see your sister so distraught.

Ingrid could only cry harder, now furious with herself for letting you see this, but too upset to do anything but squeeze Mapi’s hand, wordlessly begging for her to do something.

“Ven aqui, nena, it’s alright.” Mapi said, gesturing you over to the bed. You looked skeptical, but you did so anyway, carefully sitting on the bed next to your sister.

“I’m really sorry, Ingrid, I don’t mean to stress you out.” You whispered. You were in a guilty mood, it seemed, not an angry one, and Ingrid felt that somehow, she preferred when you were angry to this.

“Don’t apologize, pequeña. You haven’t done anything wrong. Ingrid is upset, and you’re upset. It’s okay to be upset, and it’s okay to cry.” Sometimes, Mapi felt like she was teaching preschoolers how to identify and express their emotions when she talked to the both of you, though that might be an easier task.

“I’m not upset with you, Solstråle, I am upset with mom, and I am upset with myself. You don’t need to say sorry. Not for having a panic attack, for having a hard time, for any of it.” Ingrid managed then, taking your hand in hers.

“I’m doing my best.” You said. “I know I’m not making it easy, but I promise I’m trying.”

“We know you are. You’re doing so well, nena.” Mapi said enthusiastically, with so much excitement at you saying something remotely positive about yourself that you and Ingrid both cracked smiles.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Ingrid asked after a minute. At that, you withdrew, pulling your hand from Ingrid’s and rising from the bed. Both your sister and her girlfriend repressed sighs at your sudden withdrawal.

“No, I’m really tired. I came to say goodnight. I’ll see you guys in the morning.” You rushed out, before bolting out of the room at a speed that could barely be considered a walk.

Ingrid sighed once you were out of earshot, settling back into Mapi. “She’s so difficult.”

“She’s stubborn. Like her sister. She’ll come around, just give her time.” Mapi assured her.

Giving you time, though, was a lot harder than it seemed.

-------

Your whole life, you had been encouraged by your parents to be smaller, to take up less space. If you were upset, you should keep it to yourself. If you were angry, you should calm down. You were taught that your needs always came second to everyone else’s. You didn’t like to be vulnerable with people, and you didn’t like to put your emotions on others.

So when you woke up the next day, it was the feeling of intense shame swirling around inside of you. You’d ruined what was an impressive win for your sister, and a nice moment with Mapi’s parents. You’d upset Ingrid, so much so that she had cried about it.

Too much. You were being too much.

You resolved yourself to be happy today. If not happy, content. Mapi and Ingrid probably needed a day off from your ridiculous, all over the place, emotions. So today, you wouldn’t feel. You’d be perfect, you’d be small, and you’d cause as little trouble as possible.

What you didn’t expect, though, was for that to be the opposite of what Mapi and Ingrid wanted from you. They didn’t care if you took up space. They just wanted you to talk. More than anything, they just wanted you to be okay, no matter how inconvenient that process was for them.

It was a day off for both girls, due to the match the day before, and they were able to let you sleep in. Ingrid was worried you were sleeping too much, but Mapi assured her that angsty teens always needed a lot of sleep, and depressed teens going through a rough time needed even more sleep. Pair that with the intense panic attack you’d had the day before, you were bound to be exhausted.

When noon rolled around, though, and you’d yet to make an appearance, Mapi relented, much to Ingrid’s relief, who had half a mind to check you for a pulse. Mapi made a coffee to bring up to you, opening your door quietly to find you out cold under the covers.

With Snø clutched tightly in your arms, your nose pressed against the soft polar bear, you looked so young.

“Pequeña, despierta,” Mapi murmured, sitting on the edge of your bed and pulling the covers away from your face a bit.

You blinked up at her groggily, an adorably sleepy expression on your face, and Mapi couldn’t help but push some hair out of your face and smile down at you. You looked slightly suspicious, as you couldn’t remember being woken up like this in the entire time living in Spain, but Mapi just handed you your coffee, and settled on the edge of your bed.

“Morning,” you said after a minute and a rather large sip of coffee.

“Afternoon.” Mapi corrected, a little confused when your face turned red at the comment. “It’s 12:15.”

“That’s weird. Normally Ingrid comes to make sure I’m breathing if I sleep past 10.” You noted.

Mapi chuckled. “We’re working on some of your sister’s annoying habits.”

“Don’t get rid of too many, or there won’t be anything left.” You said, your lips tugging up into a smirk.

“Okay! I will just go through this chocolate croissant I made for you in the garbage!” Ingrid scoffed from the doorway, turning on her heel and marching back down the stairs.

If there was any surefire way to get you out of bed, it was to present you with a breakfast pastry.

Within 90 seconds, you had kicked Mapi out, thrown some clothes on and bounded down the stairs, in search of the promised croissant. It was sitting on a plate at the counter, waiting for you, next to your sister who was glaring at you slightly.

“Thank you, Ing,” you said sweetly, throwing her a charming smile. She rolled her eyes but smiled nonetheless.

You hit Mapi’s hand playfully when she reached for your croissant, and she withdrew it with a laugh. “You’re like breakfast pastries the way Ingrid is about coffee.”

“Reasonable? Reasonably attached to it? Is that what you mean, María?” Ingrid asked with a frown.

“Of course, mi amor.” Mapi said with a smile, kissing Ingrid’s cheek softly. You averted your eyes, but you couldn’t lie and say that it didn’t make you happy to see your sister loved so well.

The morning, or afternoon, was going exactly as you’d hoped. No attempts at conversation. No feelings. Of course, it couldn’t last. Once you’d finished eating, Ingrid perked up and seemed to prepare herself for what she was about to say, which instantly made you weary.

“We should talk about last night, kjære.” Ingrid said calmly.

You froze, slowly putting your mug back on the counter. Both other girls watched the way your whole body tense, the way every ounce of emotion was wiped off your face.

“I’m fine. There’s nothing to talk about.” You said stiffly.

“That is not true. Something upset you, and we should discuss it.” Ingrid argued.

“Ingrid, it’s fine. Just leave it. We don’t need to talk about that. We don’t need to talk about anything.” You replied defensively.

“It’s not fine!” Ingrid said, raising her voice, and shaking off Mapi’s gestures to calm down. “None of this is fine. We need to talk about last night. We need to talk about the letter you wrote. We need to get you in therapy. These are all things that need to happen, solstråle. We’ve given you time, now we need to do this.”

“I am not going to therapy.” You declared, standing up with a scoff and crossing your arms across your chest. “Ingrid, I am fine. I don’t need to talk and I don’t need help.”

Ingrid grew visibly more angry with you at that, throwing her arms up in the air in frustration.

“Amor, take a breath.” Mapi said quietly, sighing to herself when Ingrid did not do so.

“You don’t need help? That is the most untrue thing I have ever heard. You do not write the things that you wrote and then turn around and say you’re fine. You. Need. Help.”

“Ingrid. I am not going to therapy, and I am done talking about this.” You said, your voice dangerously quiet.

Your sister wasn’t phased, stepping closer to you with her eyes narrowed. “You will go to therapy if I say you will, and this conversation is not over until I say it is.”

In retrospect, even Ingrid realized that this was decidedly the wrong thing to say. You didn’t take well to being told what to do. Your reaction really should have been worse; Ingrid had gotten off easy.

“Jesus, Ingrid, do you hear yourself? You sound just like mom.” You spit back, feeling a bit of satisfaction at the hurt that flashed across your sister’s face. “I don’t want to talk about this, especially not with you.” You spun around and began stomping towards the stairs. “Don’t fucking follow me.” You warned over your shoulder, causing Ingrid’s jaw to drop.

“Do not-” Ingrid began, starting after you.

“Amor, leave her.” Mapi said, intervening before Ingrid got very far, and pulling her back.

“She is the most frustrating person on the planet.” Ingrid huffed, slamming a hand down onto the counter. Mapi looked unimpressed.

“She is probably thinking the same thing about you right now. I told you not to push her.”

Ingrid rolled her eyes. “Could you be on my side here for once?” She asked bitingly.

Mapi very calmly shook her head, opening her mouth to explain when Ingrid’s eyebrows flew up on her forehead. “No. I am on your sister’s side, and you should be too. No one has been for a really long time.”

The Norwegian deflated at that, sinking down into one of the stools at the counter. Mapi continued speaking, pulling Ingrid’s hair gently out of the bun it was in, and running her fingers through it. “You’re looking at this wrong, mi amor. She doesn’t need you to talk her into therapy. She’ll get there on her own, you just need to give her time. That girl has a long way to go before she admits she needs help, believe me.”

Ingrid sighed deeply. “Can you go check on her? She’s mad at me, I just need you to make sure she’s okay and she isn’t going to do anything stupid.”

“Of course.” Mapi said, delicately kissing Ingrid’s lips. “I love you.” She reminded the Norwegian with a soft, almost shy smile.

Ingrid wanted to cry at how sweet, how perfect, how helpful and kind and funny and beautiful her girlfriend was. “I love you, so so much.”

Mapi headed for the stairs, and Ingrid made yet another cup of coffee, a coffee she wouldn’t drink.

Because Mapi came running back down the stairs a minute later, an apprehensive look on her face as she approached her girlfriend.

“Mi amor, she isn’t up there.” She said carefully.

“What do you mean she isn’t up there,” Ingrid asked, rising to her feet and feeling panic rise within her.

Mapi just shook her head, putting her hands on Ingrid’s shoulders. “She isn’t up there. Her window is open, I think she snuck out.”

Ingrid felt like something inside of her was collapsing, leaving behind a chasm that was quickly filling with anxiety. “Where… what? She… she’s gone? She…we have to-”

What had you left to do? Only horrible, life shattering options of where you were and what you were doing were flying through Ingrid’s head, and she reached out, latching on to Mapi’s outstretched hands.

“Amor, breathe. Calm down. We’ll find her. Where would she go?”

Mapi hoped, with everything in her, that Ingrid had an answer. Because she had to be calm right now, for Ingrid, but Barcelona was a big city. And if you didn’t want to be found… Mapi didn’t know what would happen.

Ingrid’s mind was racing, but one thought pushed to the front of everything else. “The lake, there’s a lake in Melhus she would always go to when she was upset. She’d go to water, a body of water.”

Mapi nodded. “Okay, there are 2 beaches in walking distance, in opposite directions. We’ll go to one, and we’ll send Frido to the other.”

Privately, Mapi hoped Frido found you first. She wasn’t quite sure that you wouldn’t bolt away from Ingrid, but you wouldn’t be expecting Frido to pop up.

-------

A quick call to Frido later, Mapi was directing one very frazzled Norwegian into the car, and setting off for the beach. Ingrid was deep in thought, and Mapi kept her hand on her girlfriend’s leg, softly and soothingly rubbing her thumb back and forth. It was only a few minutes to the beach, and Mapi knew Ingrid would talk before they arrived.

“Do you think she’d do something stupid?” Ingrid asked anxiously, her hand covering Mapi’s and gripping tightly. The Spaniard didn’t need her to explain what she meant; she knew this question was coming, really.

“She said she wouldn’t.” Mapi said calmly.

“She said she wouldn’t ‘do that to me,’ that doesn’t mean she wouldn’t do it, especially now that she’s mad at me.”

“This is a little fight. She wouldn’t… do that. Not over this.” Mapi reassured her, but Ingrid remained unconvinced.

“I don’t know what she’s thinking, María, maybe she was lying before.”

“Ingrid, mi amor, calm down. You have to trust her. Even when you’re scared, and even when it feels like you should take her bedroom door off the hinges and implant her with a GPS chip. You have to trust her not to hurt herself.”

“But what if she does?” Ingrid asked softly, as if saying the words loud enough would somehow will it into existence.

“We can’t think like that. Promise me you won’t think like that, okay?”

“Okay.” Ingrid agreed faintly. Both of them knew she was lying. It was all she’d been worrying about for days, and all she would worry about for many to come.

--------

Frido found you first. When she drove by the beach and didn't see you there, she got another idea. There was a rock climbing place nearby; Ingrid had said you always used to go to a lake back home when you were upset. Though Frido didn’t want to say so, it had been a long time since Ingrid had lived with you, and it wouldn’t have surprised her if your habits had changed. And the Swede knew from your instagram that you spent a lot of time rock climbing. She told Mapi where she was headed, and sped over to the gym.

Sure enough, as soon as she walked in the building, she spotted you in the middle of the hardest wall, seemingly only using the smallest holds to get yourself up. You were breathing hard, and the worker belaying you looked a bit concerned.

Frido pulled her phone out, shooting off a quick text to Mapi. “She’s here, she’s okay. Let me talk to her, don’t let Ingrid come in. I’ll bring her out.”

Ingrid probably wouldn’t help the situation, if you were as angry as you seemed. The blonde spoke quickly to the front desk attendant, and headed over to where you were.

She stood, just watching you. You were a few feet from the top now, luckily for your hands, which you clearly had not put enough chalk on, and were beginning to really hurt. With only a bit to go, you took a risk, attempting an impressive, one armed pull to get your other hand to the next hold. You just barely missed, falling away from the wall.

“Fuck,” you cursed, swinging back towards the wall and smacking it with your hand. You were lowered down, clearly fuming, and Frido took the opportunity to step in front of you, giving the girl attached to the other end of the rope a look.

“Again,” you requested, avoiding Frido’s gaze.

She took your hand in hers, though, inspecting the tear in your skin, shaking her head. “No, that’s enough Solstråle.”

“Leave me alone, Frido.” You snapped, trying to pull away from her when you felt the rope fall slack. You turned, seeing that the worker had abandoned her harness in favor of going to help someone else, no doubt at Frido’s direction.

You rolled your eyes, quickly regretting it when the Swede raised an eyebrow at you. Ingrid could be scary sometimes, but she had nothing on Frido.

“Are they here?” You asked, loosening the harness and stepping out of it with an exasperated sigh.

“They’re outside. You terrified your sister.” Frido said, pulling you over to a bench and making you sit down, before handing you a bottle of water.

You looked unimpressed. “I’m 18, I can handle myself in the city for an hour.”

“She wasn’t worried about that, she was worried you were going to hurt yourself.” Frido said bluntly, sitting down next to you. She ignored how stiff you’d grown and how uncomfortable you seemed, reaching for your hand and looking at it critically.

“That wasn’t on purpose.” You said defensively, wrenching your hand away once again. “And I told her I wouldn’t do that.”

“Can you blame her for worrying, Solstråle, really? And maybe you didn’t do that on purpose, but you came here to push yourself instead of dealing with your feelings in a healthy way.”

You really hated that she was right. Frido was always right. It was simultaneously her worst and best trait.

“Are they mad?” You asked in a small voice, suddenly looking very much your age. Frido stood and held out a hand to help you up.

“Not right now. Just worried. Ingrid’s going to give you a hug and you’re going to let her.” Frido instructed. You supposed that was fair. And really, you could use a hug. Hugs from your sister always made you feel better, even if you’d never admit it.

As you exited the building, you instantly spotted your sister and her girlfriend by their car. Mapi was leaning calmly against the Cupra, while Ingrid was pacing frantically, speaking fast and gesturing wildly with her hands.

“Did I do that?” You asked quietly.

Frido laughed. “I think she was born like that.”

As you neared the car, Ingrid turned as Mapi pointed at you, her face melting with relief at the sight of you. It really hit you, then, how worried she must have been, to still be so anxious even after Frido had likely told her you were okay. You weren’t making this easy on your sister.

She practically knocked you over with the force of her hug. “You’re okay.” She murmured into the top of your head, leaving a kiss there.

“I’m okay.” You reiterated, letting yourself hug her back tightly, even if it was just for a moment. She felt you tighten your arms around her almost unconsciously, and made a note to hug you more often. Even if it seemed like you weren’t very interested. After a minute she pulled back, placing both hands on your cheeks and making you look at her.

“Next time leave through the front door? And tell me where you’re going? Please?” She asked. You appreciated that she didn’t tell you to do this, leaving it more as a request, although you knew it was a reasonable rule for her to put in place.

“Promise.” You said quietly. She nodded her head, satisfied, before pulling Frido into a hug that also looked to be too tight. Mapi was looking at you, rather unimpressed. You knew she was not happy with you for upsetting your sister so much, and though it annoyed you a bit, you knew it was deserved. And you appreciated that your sister had someone that was so protective over her.

“In the car, nena. I want to talk to you when we get home.” Mapi instructed. You got in the car with no argument, the fight having gone out of you a bit. It had nothing to do with the hug Ingrid had given you, nothing at all. Definitely not. Instead of anger, you only felt apprehension, because Mapi looked dead serious about whatever she wanted to talk about.

-------

You were nothing short of shocked when Mapi opened the door to the garage and gestured you inside upon arriving home. Ingrid watched on anxiously, and you pretended not to see the way Mapi whispered some reassurance to her and kissed her cheek, before pointing her towards the kitchen

You’d never been in the garage before; it was Mapi’s space. You were already invading her home, you wouldn’t invade the one place of the house that was really hers, too. You knew she worked something out there, knew there was a reason both cars parked in the driveway instead of in the garage.

Mapi followed you into the room and sat down on a stool next to the large motorcycle in the middle of the garage. It was clearly in the process of being restored. You hadn’t known Mapi rode motorcycles. Well, you hadn’t known that your sister let Mapi ride a motorcycle. You stood awkwardly in the door as Mapi inspected 2 different wrenches, until she pointed at the stool next to her.

“Ven aqui, nena.” She said.

You took a seat, not really enjoying the tense silence that washed over the room. “Are you mad at me?” You asked after a minute. For all your anger, and all your bravado, you didn’t like it when people were mad at you. Especially not people you looked up to, people you admired.

“No. Not mad, nena. Never mad. I wish you hadn’t snuck out your window, but I understand why you did. I wish sometimes you thought a bit more about how your actions affect me and your sister, but I know how hard that is to do when you’re as angry as you are.”

“I’m not angry.” You said defensively. Mapi rolled her eyes, handing you a couple of tools and beginning to tighten something on the bike.

“You are angry. You’re so angry that you feel like you’re going to explode sometimes. You’re so angry that sometimes you forget that you’re sad, too. You’re angry, and you’re hurt, and I cannot blame you for that. If anyone has a right to those emotions, it’s you.” You didn’t really enjoy being perceived so well, shifting uncomfortably in your seat. “I know angry, nena. Do you remember when I hurt my knee?”

You nodded. The first few weeks of Mapi's injury hadn’t been a fun time, your sister beyond stressed with dealing with Mapi’s injury and her new role in the team, and you’d tried hard to be on your best behavior.

“I started working on this bike a year ago, when everything happened with the Spanish federation. It was Ingrid’s idea, a way for me to distract myself. When I hurt my knee, it had been a bit since I’d worked on it, but suddenly I was back in this garage until all hours of the night. It’s nice to be able to control something like this, when everything else feels out of your control. That is how climbing is for you, yes?”

You relaxed a bit at the turn the conversation was taking, and Mapi wasn’t surprised. It wasn’t just the topic; it was the fact that she wasn’t staring at you, putting pressure on you to give her an answer she wanted to hear. You were just talking. Casually.

“Yeah. I’m in control, and I don’t have to think about anything else. It’s relaxing.”

“It’s good for you to have an outlet like that.” Mapi stated. “This bike was Ingrid’s idea, when we first got together. Do you know what her other idea was?”

You were pretty sure you did, and you grimaced at the thought. “Therapy?”

Mapi snorted, handing you the wrench she was using and taking the screwdriver from your hand. “Yes therapy. You don’t have to look at it like that, though, it doesn’t have to be a bad thing.”

“It’s not for me.” You said decisively.

Mapi just shrugged. “I didn’t think it was for me either.” She paused, knowing your curiosity would get the better of you, and you’d ask for more information.

“What changed your mind?” You asked after a minute.

“Your sister did. After the euros, I had a hard time coming back to Barça and playing. Those weeks were some of the hardest of my life, trying to find my rhythm again but trying to recover from the stress I’d been under that summer. I was a mess. And Ingrid was right there with me, through all of it. I’d had a really bad day, and I asked Ingrid to come home early from a lunch she had. She came home, calmed me down, and afterwards, she asked me if I trusted her. I said I did. And she said that she really wanted me to try therapy. That I didn’t have to feel how I felt, and I deserved help. I deserved to not be miserable. She asked me to try it, for her, just give it a try.”

“And you did.”

“And I did. Because she’d done so much for me, I couldn’t refuse her request. Not when I knew she just wanted the best for me. I gave it a shot, and it helped, more than anything else had helped. It wasn’t a fix all, but it helped. It made me feel like I was doing something to get better.”

Mapi abandoned her work on the bike, looking at you for the first time since you’d entered the garage. You could only see sincerity in her gaze. Not anger, but annoyance. Just sincerity. “You deserve help, Solstråle. No matter how you feel about yourself, Ingrid and I know you. And we know you deserve help. You’re a good person, and you deserve to be happy.”

María sounded so sure. So completely convinced. You looked away from her, blinking hard.

“You don’t have to agree to anything now. Keep an open mind about it. Think about it. Okay?”

“Okay.” You agreed quietly, grateful that Mapi didn’t make a big deal out of it, only nodding slightly.

“One more promise?” She asked.

“What?”

“Talk to us. Or just me, or just Ingrid. We’re a little lost here, nena. It feels like we were just kind of plopped down in the middle of this. We had no idea anything was going on, not really. And all of a sudden we’re reading that letter, and realizing we missed a lot. That’s on us; we should have noticed sooner. We don’t have the whole picture, though, and that makes it really hard for us to figure out how to help you. We’ll both worry a lot less if you talked to us, just a little bit.”

That was reasonable, you had to admit. When she put it like that. You’d spent so much time being annoyed that no one had noticed, then being annoyed when they finally did notice, you hadn’t really spent a ton of time thinking about how little they knew. There was no context to your behavior, aside from what you’d put in the letter. And that just barely scratched the surface. You supposed they deserved an explanation. At least a bit of one.

“I’ll try.” You promised.

Mapi grinned at you this time, an infectious smile. “Bueno! Come here with that wrench. No, that one. Put it on this bolt. Twist.”

And just like that, the conversation was over. Easily. You got the feeling that Mapi would have let it go if you’d insisted on it, but you miraculously felt better. Talking, listening had made you feel better. Mapi had made you feel better.

-------

You both emerged from the garage around an hour and a half later, when the smell of baking cookies became too strong to resist. Ingrid had clearly been stress baking, one of your favorite of her habits. There were at least 3 different types of cookies on the counter, some done baking, some still in progress. It smelled so distinctly of home in the house, it was almost overwhelming.

“I have something for you,” Ingrid said, drying her hands and stepping away from the counter when you walked into the room.

“I can see that.” You said, nodding to the cookies appreciatively, but Ingrid shook her head.

“No, something else.” Ingrid said.

“OH! I do too.” Mapi said excitedly, and they both disappeared in different directions. You stood bewildered in the kitchen, not quite sure what you were about to be given.

They returned simultaneously, each holding what looked to be 2 frames. “Mapi’s first.” Ingrid directed. “I haven’t seen it yet.”

You looked surprisingly at Mapi, taking the present and beginning to unwrap the wrapping paper. “What is this for?” You asked.

“Your birthday.” Ingrid said quietly. You froze momentarily, an unreadable expression flashing across your face. “I know it seems like we forgot, but we didn’t. We got the dates messed up, but we had presents, and we had dinner reservations, just… for the 25th. Not the 15th.”

“Oh. I thought you’d forgotten.” You said slowly, seemingly slightly emotional.

“Nope, just bad at remembering dates. Now open your present.” Mapi said impatiently, bouncing on her feet like an overexcited child.

You unwrapped it slowly, as if you were slightly weary of what it might be. When you pulled the frame from the wrapping paper, though, every wall you’d put up fell instantly, your jaw dropping open at the piece of art in your hands.

It was a map. Not just a map, but a map of all the hiking trails in Barcelona. It was textured, detailed, labeled. It was intricate, all neutrals and earthy colors. It was so you. From the contents to the design, it was like it had been made just for you.

“Mapi…” You whispered, staring, stunned, at the map. “Where did you… how did you… what?”

“Ale’s sister Fresa went to school with this girl that hand makes maps like this. I got her name from diablillo, and I told her what I wanted. Do you like it, do you like it?” Mapi asked excitedly.

Mapi got her answer when you handed the frame to Ingrid, and launched yourself the few feet between you and Mapi, wrapping her in a tight hug. Mapi beamed at Ingrid, who was trying very hard not to cry. She hadn’t even given Mapi any advice on the gift. It had been all her girlfriend’s idea, she executed it all by herself, determined to get Solstråle the perfect gift.

“It’s perfect, thank you María,” you mumbled. The ridiculous smile on Mapi’s lips didn’t falter at the use of her real name, only squeezing you tighter.

“Te amo, Solstråle.” She said back. For once, you believed it. When you pulled away from the hug, it was to see Mapi looking smugly at your sister. “INGRID I DEFINITELY WON.”

Ingrid rolled her eyes. “She hasn’t even opened my present yet.”

“Still. I won.” Mapi smirked.

Now it was Ingrid’s turn to hand you your gift. It was wrapped in the same paper, and you tore it off, almost cautiously, not quite sure what Ingrid would have gotten you.

You were, once again, speechless at what you saw. This time, your eyes filled with tears immediately. Ingrid wasn’t as excited as Mapi had been, instead looking at you anxiously.

It was a painting of a waterfall back home not far from your house. It was so distinct, you knew Ingrid must have paid a ridiculous amount of money to get someone to hand paint it. Each individual stroke was so precise, blending perfectly into the image it was supposed to be, but if you focused hard, you could pick out the greens and greys and blues and whites that you’d grown up with.

It felt like home. It felt comforting. You could almost smell the trees, feel the cool sting of wind on your cheeks. It was a little piece of home just for you, and it was perfect. So beautiful and artistic that you weren’t sure you were worthy of it, but you looked at it in awe nonetheless. You wiped at your cheeks, not able to control the tidal wave of emotion washing over you.

“Kjære? Is it okay?” Ingrid asked anxiously, her eyes searching your face, trying to figure out if these were good tears or bad tears.

You let out an incredulous laugh. “Okay? Ingrid… it’s the most perfect thing I’ve ever seen in my life. It’s… perfect. Thank you.” You said, turning to her with a look of complete shock. And even though it pained Ingrid that you were so surprised to receive a nice gift for your birthday, she pushed that feeling down. Instead, she pulled you in towards her, placing the frame on the counter so she could hug you properly. You were happy with it, now, and that was all Ingrid had control over.

After a few seconds, Ingrid moved to pull away and break the hug, but you kept your arms wrapped around her, not quite ready to let go yet. Maybe it was the homesickness, or maybe it was your sister making you feel so known, and so loved. Whatever the reason, you just wanted her near you for a minute more, holding you nice and tight and safe against her.

“I love you,” she whispered, hearing you mumble the words back, your voice thick with emotion. When you did pull away, a minute later, it was to wipe at your face in an almost embarrassed manner.

Seeing how desperate you were for the attention to be off your tears, Mapi spoke up, her voice light and easy. “You can put them up in your room, you don’t have anything on the walls.”

You looked at the ground, then, almost sheepishly. “I didn’t know I could put anything up on them.” You admitted.

The room fell quiet, but even though you could tell that what you said had hurt Ingrid and Mapi, they just shook their heads softly. “It’s your room, for good, you can do whatever you want to it.” Ingrid told you.

You were about to thank her, and try to move the conversation long when Mapi let out a dramatic gasp. Both you and Ingrid whipped your heads to look at her, confused at the mischievous grin on her face.

“Ikea. WE CAN GO TO IKEA AND GET FURNITURE FOR SOLSTRÅLE’S ROOM.”

“María, calm down. Maybe she doesn’t want to redo her room.” Ingrid looked at you hopefully, and you knew it had nothing to do with your room, and everything to do with her not wanting to take Mapi to ikea.

You simply smirked back at Ingrid, who sighed and shut her eyes for a minute.

“Okay. Ikea.” She said finally. You and Mapi cheered, comically loudly, completely ignoring the rules she was setting in favor of high fiving each other and going to get ready to leave. “María, you are not building anything. Solstråle does not need her bed to collapse under her in the middle of the night. And kjære, please, please, don’t let Mapi talk you into a loft bed, you’ll fall off of it and break your arm. Amor? Kjære? ARE EITHER OF YOU LISTENING!” Ingrid shouted after you, rolling her eyes at the chants of ikea echoing around the house.

Mapi in Ikea was a handful. You, too, were a handful at the store. Together? She was going to lose one of you, she was sure of it. It had been a long day already. And it was only set to get longer.

--------

fluffy engen-león family trying to put furniture together in the next part?

yes, that IS all i have to say about this chapter thank you for your time.

#woso imagine #woso x reader #barcelona femeni x reader #ingrid engen x mapí leon #ingrid engen x reader #mapi leon x reader #engen!reader #platonic reader #woso one shot #woso fanfics #sol☀️#🍓☀️

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moonlinos · 6 days

Text

A dwindling, mercurial high

♡ Pairing: Bang Chan × fem!reader

♡ Genre: Childhood best friends, angst

♡ CW: Explicit sexual content (minors dni!), cheating, both Chan and Reader are morally gray characters, mentions of smoking, drinking, fingering, hand job, unprotected sex

♡ Word count: 10.1k

♡ Synopsis: Despite his love for you since childhood, Chan silently watched from the sidelines as you fell in love with your mutual friend. Your happiness has always been his priority, even at the expense of his own. But he can only endure the pain with a smile on his face for so long. With your growing realization that your fiancé is no longer the man you once loved, his longing to finally escape his torment and confess his feelings becomes unbearable.

♡ A/N: Based off a request by anon! Thank you for requesting 🩷 Cheating is bad, kids, this is fiction. Sorry to my boy Changbin, I used a random wheel to decide who would be the other member 🥲 I’ll focus on lighter stories now ‘cause I feel like this one turned out heavier than I anticipated lol

Chan has known you since he was ten years old.

He’s sure he has been in love with you for just as long.

He wouldn’t be able to give an exact date; loving you has simply always been a part of his life. Your smile that’s engraved in his mind, your laughter he’s memorized, your mind which still fascinates him after so many years — it all wraps around his heart like a vice, making him a willing captive to this one-sided love.

For Chan, love is selflessness; sacrificing anything for the happiness of the one he loves. He doesn’t know anything but loving you, and his unwavering dedication to your happiness has led him to sacrifice his own for years.

Unbeknownst to you, Chan has been withering away slowly as you’ve grown happier.

But your happiness and his unrequited love never truly hurt him until the age of twenty.

It was Minho’s birthday, and he played the best friend card to convince Chan to buy fake IDs from a sketchy guy at their university. Your friend group drove to a deserted parking lot after buying far too much alcohol — Chan remembers the recurring thought inside his fuzzy mind was how much that situation would validate your parents’ scorching hatred for him if they were to find out.

You had your head on his shoulder, sitting on the bed of Minho’s truck, watching as the rest of your friends suffered the consequences of their indulgence. Chan’s face lit up with a smile at the sound of your giggle when Miyeon yelled at Changbin for being so loud, threatening to destroy his beloved girl group albums if he didn’t shut up.

Chan’s emotions always mirrored your own; so long as you had a smile on your face, he swore he could find joy even in the worst situations.

Even when you unknowingly shattered his heart into a million pieces, your happiness still brought him joy.

“I never got around to finishing my story,” you told him, words slurred and voice hoarse from singing at a noraebang earlier that night. “I only said I had a crush, but I never elaborated.”

Chan didn’t want you to elaborate.

But he knew how much you loved talking to him. Be it the weight of your indecision about your path in life or the lightheartedness of your romantic endeavors, you shared everything with him. You always said Chan was the best listener because he knew when his silence was better than any word. He knew that once your heart was set on something, there was no use trying to untangle your mind from the roots of that conviction.

So he hummed, prompting you to continue. “It’s been a while since you had a crush.”

“It sounds so lame, doesn’t it?” You scoffed, “Aren’t we too old for crushes?”

“No one’s ever too old for that,” he shrugged. “I think if you don’t allow yourself these light-hearted feelings, love will only become heavy. That’s never good.”

You placed your hand in his, playing with his fingers as a smile spread across your lips. Chan always hoped you couldn’t hear the way his heart thumped loudly against his chest whenever you touched him.

“You’re so weirdly wise for your age.”

“And you’re so weirdly avoiding the subject,” Chan pointed out. “Come on, you never hesitated telling me shit like this. Hell, you proudly admitted to your crush on that old ass teacher when we were sixteen.”

You sat up straight, groaning at the unwelcome memory, and Chan huffed a laugh at the pout on your lips.

“I know, it’s just…”

“Just?”

“It’s someone you know,” you offered, and Chan furrowed his brows.

“That wouldn’t be a first.”

He noticed the way your hands tensed up, their grip on his fingers tightening and fidgeting nervously. You were anxious, and Chan wasn’t sure he wanted to know the reason why.

“It’s someone from our group.”

The way he froze was obvious, and your hands stilled on top of his. To this day, he hates everything about that moment: how you were so apprehensive about sharing something so trivial with him, how he selfishly felt a twinge of jealousy, and most importantly, how he could tell you were upset.

Chan promptly put aside his own feelings, having mastered this skill to the point where he could effortlessly do it. You seemed happy whenever you mentioned this crush, and he didn’t want to be the reason that happiness faded away. He laced your fingers together and offered you a smile, hoping you would reciprocate the gesture. You did, and he felt his chest blossoming with a blend of relief and melancholy.

“It’s Changbin,” you confessed, and Chan’s face remained unchanged. His smile didn’t so much as falter at your words. It often scared him how easy it had become to feign something as significant as his own emotions when it came to you. “I don’t know when it started, but I just… I really like him.”

Chan had seen you go through a couple of short-lived relationships and countless crushes that usually led nowhere; the sting of seeing you infatuated with someone else was an ache he’d long grown accustomed to. He often struggled to understand why your heart had chosen to love the people it did. It was easy to tease you and cope with the hurt when Chan knew it was only a matter of time before you realized you deserved more.

But that situation was different. This time, he could understand. Changbin was one of his best friends, after all. How would he endure the hurt when he knew Changbin was practically a mirror image of your ideal type? He was always in a good mood, always fun to be around and never failed to make anyone laugh. Chan had no doubts about how he would bend his back just to care for his friends — the day he failed his first class at university, Changbin paid his bill at the bar and carried a drunken, crying Chan home on his back.

Unlike it had been with Chan for the past ten years, your parents immediately fell in love with Changbin.

As he heard you eagerly talk about your crush on your friend that night, Chan kept his facade of the perfect best friend. His laughter and words perfectly matched your enthusiasm. Among the rain of anguish, the drop of bliss that fell onto his heart as he saw you smile again, your worry thoroughly gone, was enough to soothe his aching heart.

Because Chan’s emotions mirrored your own, and so he made it his mission to make you happy.

Even if it was with someone else.

Chan never would have guessed that you and Changbin would go beyond a simple crush.

He never would have believed if he was told your relationship would evolve beyond just hooking up.

And never in his wildest dream did he imagine that you would become engaged to him.

Yet, here he sits, six years after initially finding out about your crush, helping you choose flower arrangements for your wedding.

“I think Bin would definitely want some pink flowers,” you comment with a hum, the florist nodding along with a smile. Chan holds back a sigh. “But wouldn’t that look weird with the light blue theme?”

“I think blue and pink go great together!” The florist assures you, her excitement palpable when she starts rambling about different shades and flowers that would beautifully complement your dream wedding dress.

Chan zones out, blurry eyes focused on a single red rose that rests on the wooden table. He was understandably taken aback when you chose him as your man of honor. Miyeon had always been your closest female friend, so it was only natural that he assumed you would choose her as the maid of honor. Despite disapproval from both you and Changbin’s families, you remained unwavering in your decision. Chan knew you better than anyone in the world, you argued, therefore he was the best possible choice. The sentiment was sweet, but it didn’t lessen the ache in his heart.

As if watching you marry another man wasn’t punishing enough, he now had to help you plan the ceremony.

Your laughter brings him back to the present moment, and he quickly rises from his chair, realizing you’re already heading towards the door. Chan clears his throat, shooting the florist a small smile before walking out with you.

As soon as you step onto the streets, you ask, “You were spacing out the entire time, weren’t you?”

Chan feigns offense, clutching at his chest. “What? Of course not!” He shakes his head, and you let out a chuckle. “I was totally paying attention. Blue dress, pink flowers. I got it all memorized, don’t worry.”

“So you noticed how she was shamelessly ogling you the entire time, right?”

Absentmindedly, Chan cocks his head to the side, furrowing his brows in confusion. You narrow your eyes at him, and his expression immediately shifts into a grin.

“Ah, that. Yeah, I noticed,” he shrugs. “It was your choice to have me as your man of honor.”

You bump your shoulders together, chuckling. “I guess I should’ve known. Since you’re not my fiancé, you’ll have to endure a lot of women flirting with you.”

As your words hit him, Chan clenches his jaw, suppressing the foolish pain that wells up in his chest. He is not your fiancé; he is well aware of that, but he can’t help the sharp twinge of hurt that washes over him whenever you remind him of that fact.

He silently drives you to the gym that he and Changbin opened two years ago. It was a last-ditch effort to create something that was their own rather than succumbing to a soulless office job. Starting out in a small rundown house on a sketchy street, with barely any money for proper equipment, they could never have predicted how perfectly everything would work out.

As Chan parks in front of the building, you beam while taking the notes from the florist out of your bag, eager to share them with Changbin. You two scour the gym from top to bottom, but he’s nowhere to be found. Upon asking their receptionist, they’re informed that Changbin had left a couple of hours earlier, not giving further explanations. Chan hates the familiar sight of your smile dropping, your excitement ebbing away as you carefully tuck away your notes into your bag.

Changbin has become unusually distant lately — not only toward you but everything in general. He rarely sets foot in the gym nowadays, only popping in to ensure everything is in order before hurriedly rushing off to who knows where. Chan hopes it’s only the pre-wedding nerves getting to him, and not something that will leave you shattered and heartbroken on what is supposed to be the happiest day of your life.

But that’s all he can do — cling to that hope.

Because, deep down, Chan’s mind is filled with worries that run deeper than he will ever let on. Changbin has always been an absurdly impulsive person. The fear that his friend might be regretting his decision to propose is always lingering in the back of his mind, like a persistent echo, tormenting him and gradually eroding his heart.

He doesn’t know if he can bear to see you hurt.

He certainly doesn’t want to think about what he would do if Changbin ever dared to break your heart.

Chan hates the way you easily brush off your disappointment even more, turning to flash a bright smile at him as soon as the notes are out of your sight.

“I’ll just see him at home later tonight anyway,” you simply say. “There’s no rush.”

Over the past months, Chan has seen you dismiss your own feelings regarding your fiancé countless times, so much so that he can’t even count them on one hand. From Changbin’s constant broken promises to his complete indifference toward anything related to his own wedding, the way it upsets you is evident. Still, your dismissal of it all makes him hesitant to even mention it.

Helplessly, he can’t do anything but watch, just as he has been doing for the past six years.

A week later, the sound of the doorbell jolts Chan awake at 2 a.m.

Right after getting home from the gym, he collapsed onto the couch and dozed off before he realized. All the work he had to tackle alone left him drained. It was yet another day when Changbin vanished in the late afternoon without so much as an excuse.

Chan rushes toward the door, expecting an emergency, only to find you standing alone in the dimly lit hallway. His initial reaction was confusion; you had a spare key, after all. But as the light from his apartment hits your face, red-rimmed, teary eyes meet his own, and Chan instinctively wraps his arms around you.

You two remain in a silent embrace for a while, with Chan selfishly reveling in the feeling of your body pressed against his. Despite your vulnerable state, he can’t help but run a hand down your back, savoring your warmth and intoxicating scent that surrounds him.

You used to hold each other frequently when you were young, thinking nothing of it and simply seeking comfort in each other’s arms. But as you entered your late teens, the tension between you became almost palpable. You no longer sought his arms solely for comfort, and that was obvious to Chan. It was obvious because he was the same. Innocent hugs evolved into wandering hands and limbs tangling in ways that were anything but platonic.

At that time, he almost thought he had stood a chance.

Until graduation day, when you two hid away inside an empty classroom, with you sat on a desk and Chan slotted between your thighs, holding you against his chest as you cried. You were always terrified of change, and school ending was an unavoidable one that had been looming over your head for a while until it snapped.

That day, you almost kissed him, your lips mere inches from his as he gripped your waist nervously, his eyes foolishly fluttering closed in anticipation.

But you pulled away, pushing him back with a whispered apology.

After that day, that habit Chan loved so much slowly faded away.

Chan hates how he has every curve of your body memorized, but rarely has the privilege of feeling you this close to him anymore.

You pull away abruptly, much like you did when you were eighteen, clearing your throat and entering his apartment without uttering a word.

Closing the door behind him, he joins you on the couch, where you sit nervously, bouncing your leg.

“What happened?” He asks, although deep down, he already knows the answer. Your only answer is a half-hearted shrug, so Chan hesitantly continues, “Is this about the wedding?”

He doesn’t miss the way your eyes well up, but you swiftly blink away any tears that threaten to spill over. Once again, Chan takes your dismissal of your own emotions as a sign for him to keep quiet.

Except this time, you don’t.

“Changbin asked to postpone the wedding,” you simply tell him.

A surge of anger washes over Chan like a tidal wave, pushing him to walk out of his apartment right now just to punch his friend in the jaw. You’re sad — Changbin made you sad. No matter how hard Chan tries or how much he sacrifices, moments like these always serve as a sour reminder that your happiness isn’t solely dependent on him.

He despises these moments.

“I feel like he’s so different. Even before proposing,” you murmur, lowering your head and focusing on your nails, nervously picking at your chipped nail polish. “We hardly ever go on dates and he never makes jokes or does silly shit to make me laugh anymore. I know it’s stupid and even a bit selfish, but I miss those things.”

You let out a heavy sigh and slowly looked up to meet Chan’s gaze. He silently wishes he could absorb all the hurt you feel.

“That’s the man that made me want to stay for six years, and he’s just… gone.”

Chan nervously gnaws on his bottom lip, as if that will consume the words in his throat before they slip out. But these words have been lingering on the tip of his tongue for over five months. Ever since you gathered your little friend group in your living room on a rainy Sunday evening, beaming as you and Changbin announced your engagement.

Tonight, these unspoken words finally escape his lips.

“Why did you accept the proposal, then?” He asks softly.

You let out a bitter scoff and sink lower into his couch.

“Guess I thought that man would magically come back the moment I said yes. But he didn’t,” you shake your head. “So I ignored it, assured myself he would come back once I said ‘I do’. Now, I’m not even sure…” You trail off, pursing your lips as the sentence dissipates into the air.

He remembers the early years of your relationship with Changbin. You would call Chan just to swoon over his charming personality and jokingly scold him for keeping your boyfriend at the gym until late at night. He recalls how you used to melt at his sweet gestures, like bringing you a cup of coffee after your shift or carrying you up to your apartment when you dozed off in the car. A few months ago, he noticed your avoidance whenever Changbin was brought up, and your usual long-winded stories about him were now replaced with short answers.

But he remained quiet, like he’d always done.

A few minutes pass before you speak again, and your words strike him like an unexpected left hook, knocking the air out of his lungs.

“I thought about ending things a lot,” you confess, “When I noticed this change wasn’t wavering, I was ready to leave.”

“But you didn’t,” Chan counters.

Your lips curl into a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes as you slowly nod. “But I didn’t,” you simply say. “I was afraid of what that would do to our friend group. It’s stupid, right?” You rhetorically ask.

When your gazes meet, your eyes are devoid of any emotion, a stark contrast to the usual spark he’s always loved. It’s as if you’ve abandoned any hope you had left inside of you, and his heart sinks.

“I didn’t want things to change because of me.”

Chan sighs. “You shouldn’t sacrifice your own happiness for the sake of others,” he tells you, and the irony isn’t lost on him. He inwardly grimaces, because isn’t that exactly what he has been doing for most of his life?

But it’s different, he rationalizes. It’s different because it’s you.

“You know me, Chan,” you huff out, wrapping your arms around yourself as frustration slowly consumes you. “I hate making people sad, hate knowing things are worse because of me.”

That’s just another of the many things Chan hates — how fucking similar you and he are.

“That’s why everybody says you shouldn’t date your friends, huh?” You let out a bitter scoff. “It never works out. Just fucks everything up.”

Chan bites down on his bottom lip so hard he swears he tastes blood on his tongue.

“That’s not always the case,” he’s quick to add. “Remember when Jun and Miyeon dated? They broke up and things were awkward for a while but—”

“They were together for a few months, Chan, not six years,” you interrupt him with a scowl. “If Changbin and I had broken up, our little group would’ve been just as affected as us. People would pick sides, try to place the blame on someone, and things would inevitably change.”

“Things are bound to change at some point,” he reasons. “We’re not in college anymore.”

Chan is certain there’s something more stopping you from ending your relationship, but he’s afraid you’re also unsure of that reason.

“I love Changbin,” you suddenly say, turning your body to face Chan. “This is stupid, I’m sorry I came here in the first place. He’s just stressed, he’s gonna come back one day—”

“Stop talking like that,” Chan cuts you off, voice louder than he intended. You slowly tilt your head to the side, eyeing him with confusion. “Stop talking like Changbin isn’t here, like he’s distant because he has no choice. He hasn’t gone anywhere. He’s still here, and he’s still distant.”

You divert your eyes, focusing on a spot behind Chan, making him wonder if he crossed a line. When the seconds tick by and you remain silent, he braces himself to watch you leave.

Instead, you whisper, “I know.”

“I would never treat you like this,” he absentmindedly says, his own eyes wandering aimlessly around his living room, looking anywhere but at you. If he tries hard enough, he can almost pretend that he isn’t saying these words to you, that he isn’t essentially confessing his repressed feelings to his best friend, who is already engaged. “Would never propose to you and have you plan the fucking wedding only to ask you to postpone it,” he lets out a scoff, his face contorting with disdain. “Fuck off. Postpone it? Changbin’s a coward.”

“I feel so alone,” you admit, seemingly ignoring his unprompted soliloquy. “You know I hate feeling alone. If I were to end things with Changbin now, after all these years, I know this loneliness would kill me.”

And you’re right; Chan knows better than anyone how much you hate feeling alone. Whenever your parents had to leave for business trips or vacations, you would seek refuge at his house to avoid being alone. When your roommate kicked you out of your dorm during university, you begged him to sleep with you in the study area so you wouldn’t be alone in the dark.

The thought of you spending your days alone in your apartment and sleeping by yourself at night makes Chan feel as if his heart is being trampled on.

“You’re not alone. I’m here,” he assures you, his eyes finally lifting to meet your gaze. “I’ve been here since we were kids, and I’m not going anywhere.”

A giggle suddenly escapes from your lips, and your hand rests on his arm. Your gaze shifts to where your fingers delicately trace patterns on the sleeve of his shirt.

“Remember when we were thirteen? We promised to get married if we were still alone when we were adults.”

Chan nods slowly, and an uneasy feeling washes over him. It’s been years since you’ve been this physically close to him, toying with the fabric of his shirt and saying words that foolishly make him think you might be flirting with him. Why must you bring this up now? Now, when you’re certainly not alone, but very much engaged to one of your mutual friends.

“I feel like every childhood friend makes that silly promise,” he tries to deflect, a forced chuckle leaving his lips. Nevertheless, the small smile on your lips lingers as you dismissively shrug at his words.

“It wasn’t silly to me,” you argue. “I meant it. Especially when I realized you were the only one who always stayed, even when everyone else seemed to leave me.”

He only now realizes how you’ve inched even closer to him, your foot softly brushing along his leg and your fingertips now delicately gliding along his arms, causing goosebumps to ripple across his skin. The small voice of reason inside his already clouded mind desperately urges him to back away, but his body refuses to move.

And then you gently intertwine your fingers with his and finally meet his eyes. Chan instinctively closes the small distance between you, his shoulder brushing against yours as you shift on the couch to throw your legs over his lap like you used to do when you were kids — except now, the gesture is anything but innocent, the air almost suffocating Chan with a looming sense of anticipation.

“Y’know, my mom was so happy when I told her I was dating Changbin,” you huff out a laugh at the memory, and Chan’s lips twitch into a small scowl. Although you speak as though this is news to him, he’s fully aware of what you’re referring to. He was sitting in your bedroom with you the day you told your mom. He knows what you’re alluding to, and he knows it’s wrong, but he finds himself simply nodding along to your words. “She was laughing about how scared she was that I would pick you. She was so sure we would end up together, and she hated it.”

It was never a secret how much your parents disliked Chan, although he never understood their reasons. Your mom always treated him with just enough feigned kindness that it wasn’t a glaring disdain, but you were quick to tell him all the things they would whisper behind his back.

Chan gently brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingertips then gliding along your face, tracing a path from the curve of your ear to your cheek. His eyes carefully follow his movements, and you suck in a breath, leaning into the touch.

“I also kind of hoped for that,” he mutters, barely audible.

“I’m so lonely, Chan,” you whisper back, and he feels every corner of his heart shatter into a million little pieces. The way your eyes glisten with unshed tears in the dim lighting of his living room finally has his resolve crumbling.

“You’re not alone,” he reiterates. “I’m here.”

Before he can stop himself, Chan closes the small distance between you and crashes his lips to yours. Just as guilt begins to course through his veins, you tug at his shirt, pulling him even closer until you ultimately climb onto his lap. Chan’s lips delicately brush against yours at first, but the kiss soon grows feverish. His hunger for you has been building inside of him for an eternity, and now that he’s finally tasted you, the all-consuming desire to have you overrides any remaining rationality in his mind.

His tongue glides along the seam of your lips before slipping into your mouth, and he all but growls at the feeling. Your fingers tighten their grip on his shirt, digging into the fabric while you let out the sweetest sound Chan has ever heard.

You slowly grind in his lap, and his hands grip your hips tightly, his cock twitching even at the soft movement. A surge of clarity washes over him, and he wonders how something this wrong can feel so good. Wonders why Changbin was lucky enough to have you like this whenever he wanted, while he was left to pine and yearn for years.

“What are we doing?” He asks between kisses, and you let out a shuddering sigh, shaking your head.

You whisper, “I don’t know. Just want you.”

A small part of Chan wants to push you away, knowing you’re simply seeking solace in him, desperately searching in him for what you no longer have with Changbin. But a bigger part of him has been yearning to have you for far too long to refuse your request.

He drowns out every faint whisper of reason in his head and slots his lips over yours once more, your soft moans traveling straight to his cock. Slipping your hands underneath his shirt, your palms raise toward his chest, nails lightly grazing his skin before trailing down the tense muscles of his abdomen. Chan whines when your fingertips brush against his clothed cock, already achingly hard in the confines of his pants. It was almost pitiful how effortlessly you made him desperate, his thoughts consumed with only you.

You break the kiss to pull down the straps of your dress, unhurriedly, eyeing him with a grin while he watches the thin fabric pool around your thighs.

“Y’know I always wondered what it’d be like,” you breathe out, and Chan’s lips fall open as you gently palm him through his sweatpants. “Always thought about what it’d feel like to have you fuck me.”

“Fuck,” he rasps out, cock swelling further in your hands when you squeeze his length. “Don’t say shit like that.”

You simply giggle, and Chan lets out a low groan, grinding his hips into your hand, desperately seeking more friction. He doesn’t want to think about the weight of that statement — not when your fingertips brush against his lower stomach, teasingly toying with the waistband of his sweatpants before finally pushing it down, gripping his cock in your hand. Chan hisses, his hold on your hips tightening while you glide your hand along his length, finding a slow, tantalizing rhythm as you begin to stroke him.

He feels as if his hands are tied by silent guilt, as if touching you any more will somehow make everything too real. But you press your lips to his like it’s second nature, swirling your tongue in his mouth just as your thumb swipes across his slit, gathering a drop of precum before smearing it down his shaft. It’s too much, and Chan groans into the kiss, finally allowing himself to touch you.

Carefully, his hands travel from your hips up to your stomach, caressing the soft skin. The way you feel underneath his fingertips has him drunk with lust, like a flood of long-awaited desire and longing finally being released.

“Touch me,” you whisper, words almost muffled by his lips. “Please.”

And Chan’s never been able to deny you.

His fingers skim over your breasts, trembling hands squeezing through the delicate lace of your bra. Your body eagerly responds to his touch, your nipples pebbling beneath his hands and a soft sigh falling from your lips. It feels like heaven to know that he’s the one coaxing these sounds out of you, and it’s enough to snuff out any trace of guilt Chan had remaining inside of him. As he pinches your nipples, rolling them gently between his fingertips, a surge of pleasure shoots through your body, making you jerk on his lap, your grip on his cock tightening.

Chan grins. “I thought about it too,” he admits, words softly whispered as he leans closer and presses his forehead against yours. “Thought about fucking you so much it almost drove me insane.”

These confessions are only half-surprising if Chan were completely honest with himself. He knew exactly where his mind wandered whenever you two got tangled up in his bed when you were teens, and he convinced himself you were the same. At that time, it was merely an attempt to alleviate the guilt he felt for having those thoughts about you.

But this confirmation was all he needed to truly surrender to his selfish hunger.

His hand slowly moves down your stomach, edging closer and closer to your panties. Your eyes remain locked on his, your heavy breathing brushing against his lips when his fingers tentatively slip beneath the soft fabric.

“Can I?” He whispers, and you nod, stroking him almost feverishly as your eyes become completely lust-clouded.

Chan’s fingers slide between your slick folds, a guttural moan reverberating through his chest, his cock twitching under your fingers.

“Holy shit, you’re soaking wet,” he groaned, his thumb softly pressing down on your clit, causing you to grind your hips into his hand.

“Chan,” you breathe out.

Your once deliberate strokes fizzled out into languid touches, but Chan couldn’t bring himself to care. Not when you were this fucking wet, all because of him.

“Tell me what you want,” he hums, pressing a small kiss to your open lips. He grins when your only response is a whine, rolling your hips forward once more. “Tell me.”

“Want you, Chan,” you choke out, “Want anything you wanna give me.”

Chan bites back a growl, slowly sliding a finger inside of you, your walls greedily clenching around it while your hips begin rocking in his lap, his thumb circling your clit. He can feel your arousal coating his finger, curling the digit before pulling away only to push back in again, two fingers now gently pumping in and out of you.

Pressing his lips to your throat, Chan grapples with the overwhelming need to mark you, bite and suck on your sensitive skin until it bloomed in hues of red and purple when you moaned so sweetly for him. The thought of Changbin coming home only to find you claimed by him had Chan groaning against the pulse of your neck, his cock throbbing in your hand just as your palm languidly circles the swollen head.

“Wanna make love to you,” he murmurs against your skin, leaving soft kisses up your throat until his lips are pressing against yours. Love — as if this was anything like love. “I need to,” he all but begs, and you hastily nod, tugging his shirt over his head and crashing your lips together.

Chan pushes your body down onto the couch, his heavy-lidded eyes dark like the shadows that covered his living room as he stares down at you. He’s wanted this for so long, dreaming and fantasizing about it to the point of pitifulness. Yet now, he hesitates. It’s almost as if everything else you have done tonight could be forgotten — maybe even forgiven — but the moment the images from his daydreams stumbled out into the real world, everything would truly be ruined.

“Chan,” your voice brings him back to the moment, his gaze softening at the way you looked up at him. “Don’t overthink this.”

He bends his face to yours, huffing out a breath. “It’s kinda hard not to.”

“Worry about tomorrow when tomorrow comes,” you whisper, and Chan smiles. He slides a hand through your hair, brushing a stray piece from your eyes.

His focus is quickly brought back to the scorching heat of his cock resting against your lower stomach, precum dripping from the tip and gathering on your skin. Gently brushing against your lower lip with the pad of his thumb, he fits himself between your open thighs, and you press a chaste kiss to his fingertip.

Chan effortlessly lifts you, blunt nails sinking into the soft skin of your ass as he watches you slide your panties down your thighs before he aligns your hips with his. He glides his cock along your folds, teasing your clit with each movement. The heat from your arousal coating him seems to sear into his skin, and he immerses himself in his desire even deeper. He carefully studies your features when you squeeze his shoulders, eyes tracing a slow path down your face, and Chan is certain he wouldn’t mind waging a war against every inconvenient obstacle that kept him from seeing that glint of bliss on your eyes every day.

His tip grazes your entrance as he pulls back, lips tracing along your skin before slowly pushing into you. As much as Chan wants to take his time, savor the experience and explore every inch of your body until it becomes seared into his memory, he knows he won’t be able to do that tonight. Years of yearning and longing finally came pouring out, consuming him with the want to selfishly chase this long-desired feeling.

When his hips meet yours, he takes your hand in his, guiding it to press on your lower abdomen. Your lips fall open slightly, the feeling of his cock pressing against your belly causing your eyes to flutter shut, and Chan’s arousal becomes almost unbearable. It was almost like a false testament, fooling him into believing you were finally one, even though it was nothing but a pretty lie.

“We’re a perfect fit. Shit,” Chan hisses, your inner muscles clenching around him at his words.

His thumb pressed firmly against your throbbing clit as he began rolling his hips, falling into a gentle and steady tempo. Your legs wrap around his body, hips rolling up and silently urging him to move faster, matching the rhythm of his unspoken longing.

“Chan, please,” your voice chokes out. You intertwine your fingers together, wrapping an arm around his shoulder, eyes looking at him almost pleadingly. “Need you to fuck me.”

He snaps at your soft plea, pulling back and thrusting into you harshly, barely retreating from your wetness before plunging back in. Your nails dig into his skin, scoring lines down his chest while your other hand squeezes his. Chan winces at the sting but revels in the fact that you’re marking him — something he could only ever dream of doing to you.

He reluctantly lets go of your hand to firmly grasp your ass, forcefully lifting your hips to draw you even closer to him, fingernails etching crescent moons into your soft skin in an almost petulant attempt at claiming you as his. At least for tonight. Chan’s thumb rubs circles around your clit, bringing you closer to the edge of your orgasm. His grip on your skin tightens, pulling your body toward him almost desperately. His thrusts soon grow sloppy, his once deliberate rhythm long forgotten as his control quickly ebbs away.

“Got no idea what you do to me,” Chan grunts, pressing his forehead to yours. “If you were mine— fuck,” He hisses when you clench around him at his words — at the idea of being his. “I’d be so good to you. Fuck you like this every night.”

You attempt to call out his name, but the sound dies at your throat with a whine. Looking for purchase among his forceful thrusts, your hands travel up his chest and clutch at his shoulders with a tight grip.

“Then fuck me like I’m yours,” you choke out, hooking your ankles behind him to keep him as close to you as possible. Chan’s only response is a low, guttural growl, which is soon swallowed by your sighs as he crashes his lips into yours.

You arch your back, breaking the kiss with a cry, muscles tightening while Chan continues to plunge into you at a merciless rhythm. Your cunt throbs around his length, the relentless pressure of his finger on your clit sending shivers of euphoria through your entire body, drawing out your climax. Chan feels lightheaded, the beautiful sight of your orgasm enough to drive him to the edge.

As his cock twitches inside of you, he reluctantly leans back, rising to his knees and wrapping his fingers around his length, stroking himself over your body while you watch him with half-lidded eyes. A low sound rumbles within Chan’s chest as his hips jerk against his fist. His release spills from his cock and paints your stomach with milky streaks of his cum, finally marking you as his.

At least for tonight.

Even though it’s nothing but a pretty lie.

As you wake up, the unfamiliar sensation of sunlight streaming through the window hits your tired eyes. Panic washes over you for a beat as you take in the feeling of an unfamiliar bed, but a familiar scent soon envelops you, instantly soothing you. Not waking up alone also feels unfamiliar, but it’s a welcomed unfamiliarity. You turn your body towards the person next to you, and you’re greeted by Chan, peacefully asleep with a small smile on his lips. A grin slowly spreads across your face too.

It had been so long since you were this close to him, even longer since you woke up beside him. Sleepovers were common during your childhood, but they naturally stopped as you grew older. You were nineteen the last time you lied next to Chan like this, drunk on cheap beer and cramped next to him on a worn-out couch of some fraternity house. You remember how his chest slowly rising and falling somehow felt like home, and how his soft snores lulled you into sleep.

Your love for Chan has always been greater than you’ve let on.

Your vicious need to please those around you hindered your ability to express how much you loved him. Your parents hated him since you were fifteen. Catching Chan smoking with a group of boys from your school behind the mall cemented their opinion of him. Despite his ‘bad influence’, they reluctantly allowed your friendship to continue, with the condition that you wouldn’t be swayed by his bad ways.

If only they knew what you did last night.

If only they knew how you were the one to incite him, letting your own bad ways tarnish him.

As your eyes flutter closed, memories of the night before flood your mind; Chan’s hands on your body, his hungry kisses, and the way he fucked you until you felt intoxicated. But the feeling of bliss swirling in your chest quickly dissipates, replaced by the weight of guilt, crushing your ribs and knocking the air from your lungs. Your eyes snap open, and you sit up on the bed with a shuddering sigh. Even the feeling of Chan’s clothes clinging to your body makes you feel dirty.

Beside you, Chan groans, your sudden movements having disturbed his sleep.

“What time is it?” He rasps out. The sound of his voice alone nearly makes you flinch. As his fingertips graze your arm, you instinctively withdraw as if his touch scorched your skin. Chan sits up as well. “What’s wrong?”

You almost scoff at his words.

“Nothing,” you lie, throwing the covers off your body. You frantically search his bedroom until your eyes land on your dress draped over a chair.

You take off Chan’s shirt in haste, spitefully throwing the fabric on the floor as though it embodied your every sin. As if removing it from your body would somehow absolve you from what you chose to do last night. Just as you reach to undo the drawstrings of his sweatpants, his touch lingers on your skin again. You can’t help but flinch once more.

“Hey, calm down. Please, talk to me,” Chan’s soft voice only intensifies the anguish in your chest.

“Don’t touch me,” you mumble, tears gathering in your eyes as remorse gathers in your throat until it feels as if you’re suffocating. Chan removes his hands from your arm but remains beside you. “What the fuck did we do? We betrayed his trust, we betrayed…” you trail off, because you can’t even bring yourself to say Changbin’s name out loud. Finally, you turn to face Chan, shaking your head in disbelief. “He’s our friend. He’s my fucking fiancé.”

Chan stays silent. Tears stream out of your eyes, cascading down your cheeks and onto the floor. Your shoulders tremble, and each breath you take cannot fill your lungs enough to ease the weight on your chest. Chan stands in front of you, his tear-filled eyes mirroring his own heartbreak, evident in every corner of his face. He reaches out to you several times, but his hands only clench into fists and drop by his sides every time.

He helplessly watches as your tears fall over something that was a choice. A momentary bliss, a whim that has proven to be unnecessary, even though your feelings for Chan have always gone beyond platonic. How you wish you could go back in time and prioritize your own happiness instead of constantly sacrificing it for the sake of others. But you can’t, and the once beautiful love you had for Chan now only feels tainted.

He watches you silently, unmoving until you finally swallow enough tears to choke out, “Please hold me.”

And Chan does, cold hands wrapping around your trembling body as fresh tears pour out of your eyes, cascade down your cheeks and onto his shirt.

You cry the entire afternoon, guilt becoming a ghost that haunts you as you pad around Chan’s apartment. Yet you can’t bring yourself to leave his side. Soon, his clothes stopped feeling like a vice tightening around your neck and transformed into a soothing embrace.

The only words you exchange are over cold leftover pizza. Chan says it’s best to just pretend the previous night never even happened. You’re quick to tell him you don’t want that.

“It was a mistake,” he quietly told you.

“It was a choice,” you corrected him. “And I’m happy I did it.”

And that’s the worst part of it all; you don’t regret having sex with Chan. You regret the cheating, the pain this would cause Changbin if he knew, and you especially dread the scrutiny you would face if people were to find out. But not even for a second do you feel any regret about Chan.

Before you know it, it’s already dark out. You find yourself staring out the window, pulling at the hem of Chan’s shirt that still hugs your frame.

You don’t want to go back home.

Four messages from Changbin apologizing for not coming home last night greet you every time you unlock your phone.

Changbin: hey baby, sorry Changbin: there was a huge fight at the bar, seungmin was bloody on the floor before i knew it Changbin: had to stay and take care of him after i took him home Changbin: i’m so sorry. i’ll make it up to you. love you

You ignore them every time. You don’t feel bad about it.

“I don’t wanna go back home,” you mumble to yourself. Behind you, Chan hums softly.

It feels like an eternity before he finally breaks the silence.

“Then don’t go.”

So you don’t.

Time slips away from your hands, and suddenly a week has gone by. You stay at Chan’s apartment, working from his computer, eating his food, and wearing his clothes. He makes love to you and you sleep in his bed every night.

You avoid every mirror and close every curtain as if that will shield you from your sins.

For so much time, it felt as if you were crawling through endless days, constantly brushing aside the things that upset you, things you fruitlessly wished you could change. All while forcing a smile that long stopped being sincere. This week, your smile was tightly bound to a warmth in your heart that had been absent for far too long.

Cooped up inside Chan’s apartment like a fugitive from your own mistakes, you were finally happy.

You have always lived a life driven by the desire to please others. From the university you attended to the man you chose to be with; everything was carefully thought out to ensure the happiness of those around you. Was it a wonder you were so soulless?

Is it a wonder you found bliss in doing something so selfish for the first time in your life? Every time Chan touched you, it was like a small light was ignited inside you.

Changbin’s messages sat unread in your phone; the only ones he sent you the entire week.

You chose to return home the day your mother called you to ask about the wedding. Chan drove you in silence while you clutched his hand.

As soon as you step into your apartment, it’s as if all the light Chan brought back into your life the past week is snuffed out. You glance around the dark living room, your eyes then traveling toward your bedroom, only being met by more darkness. Seems your fiancé still hasn’t come back.

Changbin going to that bar was the catalyst for your spiral of mistakes. He’s often gone to bars, and you never thought much of it, until he started prioritizing his time with his friends over time with you. That night, you had asked him to stay in for a change, suggesting you could watch a movie and order too much food like you used to do when you first moved in together. He said he would love that, but that night was really important. Apparently, Jisung needed help chatting up the bartender, and that was crucial in his road to getting over his ex. Apparently, that was more important than spending time with you.

You were arguing before you knew it. Although you did most of the talking, so it felt more like a helpless monologue than a proper fight. Changbin hated fights, and had mastered the art of dismissing things and never addressing them again. He was out the door right after nonchalantly asking you to postpone the wedding.

“I’m not in the right headspace to deal with shit like that now,” he’d said, and you scoffed at how he referred to your wedding.

“Flower arrangements, color schemes, guest lists… I’d rather do anything else but that right now. My friends need me,” Changbin continued after you remained silent, because you knew you would only end up arguing with him again if you were to speak. He spoke as if you didn’t need him.

“Jisung is finally taking the steps to get over that shitty ex of his and you know Chan can’t run the gym without me,” were the last words he muttered before pressing a kiss to your forehead and leaving you alone for yet another night.

The mention of his name was all it took for you to run out the door and into Chan’s apartment.

After dragging yourself toward your bathroom for a quick shower, you berate yourself for feeling disappointed in the feeling of your own pajamas against your skin. After a week of being enveloped in Chan’s scent, the smell of your clothes seems almost foreign.

Even as you lie in bed, it somehow feels even colder now than it did during all the countless nights when you were alone. Just as you had grown used to the empty space beside you, it now feels wrong not to feel the warmth of Chan’s body pressed up against yours.

You shudder at that thought.

It wasn’t just anyone you missed in your bed. It was Chan.

In a way, it had always been him.

As you drift off to sleep, the sudden shifting of the mattress jolts you awake. Changbin is home. You inwardly curse yourself, as you won’t be able to feign sleep after being startled by his presence. He chuckles softly, slipping under the covers and pulling you close, a strong arm tightly wrapping around your waist. The dim light of your bedroom hides your grimace as he pulls your body flush against his, but you can’t help but flinch.

It feels wrong.

Just as much as Chan’s body had felt perfectly aligned with yours, Changbin’s mere presence feels out of place.

“Didn’t mean to scare you, babe,” Changbin apologizes, planting a gentle kiss on your shoulder. You mindlessly nod. “Though I’m glad you’re awake. I missed you.”

His soft kisses soon travel up the column of your throat, and you bite the inside of your cheek. Changbin effortlessly moves your body so you’re lying on your back, a soft smile playing on his lips as he leans in to kiss you.

And it feels wrong.

His tongue swipes against your lower lip, soon pushing against yours, and his taste has you clutching your fists. He slots himself between your thighs like he’s done countless times, and the weight of his body on top of you has your face twisting into a scowl. He slips a hand underneath your shirt, and the feeling of his calloused fingers across your skin has you instinctively pushing him away.

Changbin looks stunned for a beat, but his lips soon curl into a playful grin.

“Not in the mood?” He simply asks, and it makes you want to cry.

Because Changbin has always been the perfect man. He was gentle, never demanding, and always so caring to you. Even after his sudden change, his only flaw was how distant he’s become.

He is completely unaware of how you callously hurt him in the worst way possible, and the weight of that realization erases any urge you had to cry. You don’t deserve that relief.

After pressing a quick kiss to your forehead, Changbin sits up on the bed. You remain motionless, focusing on how the moonlight casts shadows on the ceiling instead of how your heart twists painfully inside your chest. You only break out of this trance once he hums beside you.

“Your mom called,” he tells you, his fingers swiping across his phone screen when you face him. “Forgot to tell you. I had to tell her we chose to postpone the wedding,” he chuckles casually, and you tightly clutch the covers.

Fuck.

“I didn’t wanna tell her yet, but…” you trail off with a shaky sigh. “I guess it’s okay.”

Changbin shrugs dismissively. “Yeah, she told me you avoided the topic when she called you. She was upset, though I don’t get it,” he scoffs. “We’re still getting married, just not now.”

Those words are enough to have your heart shatter completely.

Sadly, the happiness your selfishness brought you that week is nothing compared to the sorrow that envelops you for disappointing your mother.

Chan gave you the space he knew you needed.

Even though you gave him the happiest six days of his entire bleak existence only to leave him alone and wondering, he gave you space.

The way he forgot about everything else during those days with you was almost like a fantasy. Inside the little atmosphere you created, it was just the two of you and the love he had kept hidden for so long. He needed nothing more.

And then you left, and he gave you space.

Until the days turned into weeks, and he watched as two months slipped through his fingers like sand. Even though Changbin hadn’t visited the gym in over three months, Chan’s heart still clung to the hope that he would show up, longing for the chance to ask about you. He also hoped you’d reach out, even if it meant you’d ignore everything that happened in your little world and simply talk about the weather.

Every day, his hopes are shattered into a million little pieces.

He’d take anything over your silence. He would take you as a friend over as a familiar stranger in a heartbeat, would take his heart being broken over not having you at all. He endured that for over a decade, and he would happily ruin himself for you every single day.

And so Chan finds himself knocking at your door, his shirt clinging to his chest after a relentless afternoon of punching the sandbag in his office, futilely hoping to escape thoughts of you. He eventually walked out of the gym, heart pounding in his chest as he sprinted to your apartment as if he was scared you would disappear. Because he was.

As you slowly open the door, he finally stands before you. Your eyes widen as you take in his appearance — his ruddy cheeks, labored breath, and shaky hands that fumble to fix his disheveled hair. But Chan swears you’re the sole culprit for his heart hammering against his ribcage.

“What are you—”

“I want you to pretend it never happened,” he exasperates, “Pretend we never said anything, never did anything, just pretend. We can pretend together, I don’t care. Just don’t cut me out of your life like this.”

“Chan,” you murmur, pursing your lips before continuing. “I don’t… I don’t understand.”

“You said you didn’t wanna pretend that nothing happened between us. You said that,” he argues, trying but ultimately failing his attempt at keeping his voice down.

Chan feels as if his mind is unraveling. Every emotion he kept nestled inside his chest for years had finally spilled out the moment your lips touched his, and trying to bury this love again felt like a cruel punishment.

“Back in my apartment, I told you we should just pretend nothing happened, but you…” his voice dissipates into a sigh, the words dying at his throat, replaced by a lump that swelled in his throat.

He feels pathetic, adverting his gaze simply to blink away the tears that have gathered in his lashes. But when he turns to look at you again, your eyes are already pouring.

“I’m sorry,” you bawl, fingers gripping the doorframe until your knuckles turn white. “Chan, I’m so fucking sorry, but I can’t do this.”

Chan gnaws on his bottom lip, his eyes fixed on you as you turn and walk away, leaving him alone by your door. As he watches your figure disappear into the hallway, he realizes he cannot bear the agony of only helplessly watching you any longer.

“You said you were happy,” he yells out, following after you like a phantom you carelessly disregard. The sound of his voice echoes behind you, ignored as you enter the kitchen and resume drying plates and cutlery. Chan continues, “You started it. You chose to cross that line, chose to stay, chose to keep letting me make love to you every damn night—”

You drop a plate on the counter with a scowl, the delicate porcelain chipping at the edge. “Love?” You scoff bitterly at Chan, shaking your head. “That wasn’t love. That was a mistake.”

“That’s not what you said,” Chan retorts, and your eyes soften. He breathes out a heavy sigh. At this point, he knows he’s gone beyond desperation. He still continues, “Tell me you weren’t happy.”

“Chan…”

“Tell me,” he insists. “Tell me and I’ll gladly pretend with you.”

“I was scared!” You blurt out, “That week with you was the happiest I had been in so long, and it terrified me. But maybe that’s love, huh? Being selfish, putting myself before everyone else and acting like a fucking teenager. That’s surely love,” you scoff, words dripping with sarcasm.

A heavy silence falls between you. Chan is back in that familiar place, watching you engage in a silent battle within yourself, distant eyes almost boring holes into the chipped plate in your hands. Deep inside, he knows you’re right. It is selfish to want you to abandon everything you built for a dormant love you both buried so long ago.

But maybe being selfish is exactly what you both need. Maybe love isn’t selflessness, maybe it’s the complete opposite.

“Maybe that’s the love we deserve,” Chan breaks the deafening silence, carefully stepping closer to you. “After all these years of stupidly sacrificing our own happiness, maybe selfish love is the kind of love we need.”

But you remain silent. Your eyes wander around, almost as if you’re taking in the life that reflects the choices you’ve made. The walls of your hallway, adorned with polaroid pictures telling your story with Changbin, from just friends to the night of your engagement. Your fridge, where colorful magnets hold up little notes from Changbin, filled with sweet nothings and inside jokes. Chan notices the date on the most recent one, realizing it was over seven months ago.

As the minutes tick by, Chan braces himself for your words. He’s ready to be called insane, for you to yell and rightfully reject any notion of continuing your friendship. He knows there’s no going back to the way things were. That possibility died the moment you stepped into his apartment that fateful night.

Instead, you gaze up at him and whisper four words that leave him completely stunned.

“Run away with me.”

And Chan’s never been able to deny you.

Before you two can even make sense of anything, you’re already in your bedroom. Chan packs your bags while you kneel beside your bed, hastily jotting down words on a piece of paper. Your sudden giggle has him biting back a smile that blossoms on his face when you wrap your arms around his neck, bringing him into a deep kiss. He sighs into your lips. Your love was unearthed, dirty and tainted, but still breathing. It was sinful and borderline cataclysmic, but it was yours.

Since you were both ten years old, it has always been yours.

Your letter to Changbin hangs alongside the love notes he’d left for you over the years; selfish words nestled between sincere ones.

Inside his car, Chan’s hand intertwines with yours, and he watches your lips curl into a smile that finally reaches your eyes. It’s the first time he’s seen that expression grace your face in years.

And Chan’s emotions mirrored your own, so he made it his mission to make that happiness everlasting.

Even if it was through a selfish love.

♡ taglist: @bloom-ings, @linocz, @farahia, @mirbokk, @jisunglyricist, @jazziwritesthings, @seungseung-minmin, @yourcvndx, @hynjinnnnnnnie, @vlctorriaa, @redstayrosie, @binniesbabygirl, @pynchkilledme, @chansbabygirlsstuff, @pheonixfire777, @yongbokkiesworld, @kiensecent

#stray kids #bang chan smut #skz smut #stray kids x reader #bang chan x reader #bang chan #bang chan x you #stray kids smut #skz #bangchan smut #bangchan x reader #bangchan x you

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steddieas-shegoes · 6 days

Text

not so different

for @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt ‘graduation’

rated t | 994 words | cw: mention of past character death, mention of alcohol, language | tags: childhood friends, friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, good uncle Wayne Munson

🍦🍦🍦🍦🍦🍦🍦🍦🍦🍦

Steve Harrington didn’t cry, not even when he fell off the slide at the playground and his knee bled for 15 minutes and his nanny had to call his mom.

But this was a special instance where he was allowed to be sad. His nanny even said so. He watched all the kids in his kindergarten class taking pictures with their moms and dads, uncles and aunts, grandpas and grandmas, and wondered why he didn’t have anyone here for him.

He found an empty classroom in the big kid hall as soon as the ceremony was done, sat behind the teacher’s desk, and cried into his knees.

“Did your daddy not show up either?” A voice asked from in front of him.

He lifted his head, vision blurry and face wet, to see Eddie.

Eddie had already done kindergarten once, but he had trouble with his phonics, so they kept him behind. He was the first kid to talk to Steve in class, but within a few days, Tommy and Carol and Heather had scared him away from Steve entirely.

“Um, no.”

“What about your mama?”

“She’s with my dad.”

“My mama is with God. Or that’s what a lot of people say. I dunno if she was friends with him or not, though. I think she just got buried in the ground and people are scared to tell me,” Eddie was sitting next to Steve now, his leg knocking against Steve’s.

Eddie didn’t sit still very well, and the teacher always said he had ants in his pants. Steve hoped he didn’t have them in there now; he didn’t want any ants on him.

“Where’s your dad?”

“He’s probably getting ‘rested again. He showed up being silly and my Uncle Wayne had to take him outside,” Eddie shrugged.

“Is he tired?” Steve asked, sniffling and leaning more against Eddie.

“No. Uncle Wayne says sometimes he has too much of the drinks in the bottles I’m not allowed to touch and it makes him act like he don’t got a brain,” Eddie didn’t sound that sad, but Steve still wanted to hug him. “So your daddy isn’t here?”

“No. I think he forgot.”

“Sorry he forgot. My Uncle Wayne never forgets. He even came to the lunch room for my birthday. He brought me a piece of pizza!” Eddie always sounded more excited than anyone else. Most of the kids in the class thought it was stupid, but Steve kind of liked the way his eyes got wide and his smile got so big it took up most of his face. “Maybe he can bring you a piece for your birthday next year.”

“He doesn’t even know me.”

“You can come meet him!”

The classroom door opened just as Eddie started to stand and reach for Steve’s hands to pull him up.

“There ya are, Ed! Been lookin’ everywhere. You want some ice cream?” An older man stood by the door, button up plaid shirt only half-tucked into his jeans.

“Can we bring Steve? He’s my friend.”

Steve’s head turned, shocked that Eddie would say that.

“We gotta ask his parents first, Ed.”

“His parents didn’t come.”

“Oh.” The man looked Steve up and down before seemingly settling on something. He gave a small smile and gestured for him to come closer. “What’s your favorite flavor, then?”

“I dunno. Never had anything except vanilla,” Steve admitted, afraid to look at the man who had to be Eddie’s Uncle Wayne.

“Well, that just won’t do, will it? Let’s go try every flavor at the diner. Benny just added a few new ones. Think there’s even a bubblegum one.”

Eddie clapped his hands and dragged Steve out the door by his arm.

“I bet you’ll like mint chip,” he said as Wayne followed behind them, fond smile on his face.

🍦🍦🍦🍦🍦🍦

Steve Harrington had only cried a few times in his life, but this was the second time it was happening in front of Eddie.

Eddie wasn’t conscious this time, though.

“If you wake up, I’ll take you to the diner and we can have ice cream. They’ve got a new raspberry white chocolate flavor that you’d like. I could use some mint chip right now,” Steve said around the tears.

Wayne had left the hospital an hour ago to freshen up and grab one of his crossword puzzle books. Steve had been crying for most of that hour, holding Eddie’s hand and quietly begging him to wake up.

Two days without hearing his voice or watching his smile light up the room was too long, especially after having it for the last 13 years.

“How’re you gonna walk at graduation if you’re still asleep here, huh?” Steve closed his eyes and wiped at his cheeks.

“You can walk with me.”

Steve’s head shot up at Eddie’s quiet, but surprisingly strong voice.

“Eddie!”

“Hey, Stevie. Heard you’re takin’ me for ice cream,” Eddie’s smile was crooked, the bandage on his cheek covering one of his dimples.

It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except for Eddie being awake, being alive, being okay.

“Yeah, Eds. Every day if you want,” Steve wanted to crawl into the bed with him, hold him close and feel him breathing and listen to his heartbeat, be sure he was there.

“Gonna hold you to that.”

“Soon as you can leave, that’ll be our first stop. Promise.”

Eddie closed his eyes, but the smile remained on his face. “You slept?”

“A bit.”

“So no.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “A bit.”

“C’mere.”

“Honey, you’re hurt-“

“Come here.”

Steve got in bed slowly, making sure he kept space between himself and Eddie’s injuries.

“Think I’ll graduate?”

Steve snorted. “They’d be stupid to hold you back after you saved everyone.”

“Yeah. ‘M a hero. Fuck Hawkins High.”

Steve could feel more tears trickle down his cheeks, but these were different.

These were relieved tears, happy tears.

“Yeah, honey. Fuck them.”

“Love you, though.”

“Love you so much.”

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddieholidaydrabbles #graduation #childhood friends #friends to lovers #wayne munson #hurt/comfort

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drudyslut · 9 days

Text

— summary: kook princess. kook prince. perfect match, right? wrong. you hated rafe cameron and everything he stood for. and he hated you. so when your fathers spring it on the two of you that they’d arranged for the two of you to be married, both of your worlds are flipped upside down.

— CW: strong language, forced/arranged marriage, kissing, slight sexual tension, alcohol consumption.

— note: so sorry for how long this has taken me. i’m still unsure how i feel about it but i refuse to scrap it again. feedback is very appreciated! likes, comments, reblogs!

prev parts: one, two

2 days later…

Y/N

It’s been two days since the encounter with Rafe at the Country Club, and it’s all I’ve thought about. He was drunk, that’s what I’ve been telling myself. He was drunk, and he didn’t actually mean any of the shit he’d said to me. Rafe hated me, just as much if not more, as I hated him.

I needed to shove his face, and the way he looked at me that night, down. I needed to get my head on straight, because tonight… Tonight I had to glue myself to his side and pretend to be happy. Pretend that I was madly in love with my future husband, pretend we didn’t despise one another.

But as much as I tried, I couldn’t. I couldn’t get the look of pure lust he’d had on his face that night out of my head. I couldn’t get the way his hands grabbed at my body out of my head. I couldn’t get the things he’d said out of my head. He was stuck there… Almost like he’d wanted to insert himself deep into my mind and make me trip over myself, wondering, waiting… Did he mean what he said?

I squeeze my eyes shut, hearing his low and raspy voice at the back of my mind.

“Baby, you’re going to be crawling on your hands and knees begging for me to touch you. To kiss you. To please you. You can act like you hate me now, Lord knows I can’t stand you. But even I can admit, you’re fucking gorgeous. And I know you find me somewhat attractive.”

Fuck. What is he doing to me? He is attractive, but I’d never admit that out loud. He’s a fucking douche, and he knows that. I just wish this could be easy, I wish I was being forced to marry someone I somewhat like… That would make this a whole lot easier, but no.. Of course my parents would set this shit up with the Cameron’s. My dad and Ward have only been friends for as long as I can remember.

Fuck them, and fuck Rafe. I-

A knock sounding on my bedroom door rips me from my thoughts, and I sit up fully on my bed, crossing my legs and saying, “Come in.”

My door is pushed open, and I’m met by my mother’s eyes.

“Hey sweetheart, you’ve been locked up here all day, are you okay?”

I fight the scoff that wants to come out, not in the mood to fight with my parents today. Instead, I put on a fake smile and say, “Yeah. I’m fine, just trying to keep my energy up for tonight s’all.”

My mother makes her way to the end of my bed, sitting down and placing a soft hand on my leg. I sigh, knowing this is about to be some long lecture I wasn’t in the mood for.

“Sweetheart, I know how you feel about Rafe.. But this is a good thing, okay? I’m sure the two of you can learn to get along, he’s not that bad of a person is he?”

I open and close my mouth a few times, trying to think of what to say, but my mind fails to think of anything. She has a point. He isn’t that bad. He’s just had a shitty life — Well.. To an extent.

His father was known to be a major ass. I’d personally witnessed the verbal beatings he’d given his son, not to mention the few times I’d seen Ward actually lay hands on him. Rafe didn’t know what it was like to be loved and in turn, didn’t know how to love. Maybe things would be different had his mother not passed when he was only eleven, maybe she would have loved him, and taught him how to love. But we’d never know the answer to that.

“Honey? You still with me?”

I lift my head, finding my mother’s worry filled eyes once more.

I nod my head, “Yeah sorry, mom. I’m just tired. How long do I have until the engagement party? I think I might take a nap.”

Standing from my bed, my mom makes her way to my bedroom door, opening it but stopping to answer my question. “You have about three hours, guests will begin arriving in two. Take you an hour nap, then get ready. Your dress is on the back of your bedroom door. I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

She closes the door softly behind her, and I throw myself back into my pillows, letting out a deep breath. I close my eyes, hoping I can take a nap and not dream about Rafe and his fucking hands on me, I don’t want him to have this power over me, but fuck if he hasn’t burrowed his way into my head.

RAFE

“Rafe, we’re leaving here in twenty minutes!”

I roll my eyes, looking myself over in my bathroom mirror once more and straightening my tie. I just have to get through tonight, and then I don’t have to deal with her again for another few weeks. I could do this.

She’d been on my mind for the last two days though… That night at the Country Club, and how good she’d looked, how her voice sounded. Fuck, how could I have never noticed her like that before? How could I have always overlooked her?

She was fucking beautiful, and fuck her attitude, and the way she looked when she was mad… It had my cock straining for days. I hated her though, and nothing would change that. Not even good pussy would change the fact that I fucking hated her.

I clear my throat, straightening my tie for the millionth time before finally turning away from the bathroom mirror and walking into my bedroom. I make my way over to my nightstand, opening the top drawer and grabbing out the flask I’d had hidden in there.

Quickly unscrewing the cap, I tossed it back, swallowing as much as I could before screwing the top back on and shoving it back into the drawer, closing it. Fuck, I needed to use some mouthwash before I got into a car with my dad. Last thing I need is him bitching me out for drinking before we arrived at the Y/L/N’s house.

After swishing around some mouth wash, i grab my phone, wallet and keys, shoving them all into my pockets before inhaling a deep breath and letting it out slowly. You can do this, Rafe. It’s just the engagement party.. You still have three weeks until you’re officially married off to her.

I make my way down the stairs with one minute to spare, seeing my dad, Rose and two sisters all standing by the front door waiting for me. I meet all of their eyes, one by one taking in the expressions on their faces.

“Let’s go. Don’t wanna be late right?” I say slowly, pushing past all of them and out the door.

We arrive at the Y/L/N’s house within five minutes, their driveway and the sides of the street already filled with cars and the yard all the way into the house filled with people. I swallow nervously, running my hands up and down my dress slacks.

“You okay?” I hear Sarah say from the right of me.

I glance down at her, narrowing my eyes. She never gives a shit about me or how I’m feeling.

“Just peachy, Sare. You don’t have to pretend to give a shit about me.”

She scoffs. “I’m not pretending, Rafe. I couldn’t imagine being in your position, I’m just-”

“Look, I’m fine. Can’t be that bad, right?”

Before she even has the chance to respond, I lean over her, opening the car door and looking at her, my face letting her know to get out of the car. She does just that, exiting the car and smoothing down the front of her baby pink dress.

“If you need anything, you can talk to me. I know we don’t get along, but I am your sister, and I do care.”

It feels like a thousand needles prick at my throat, my eyes stinging from tears wanting to well up, but I don’t let them. Fuck, I need a drink. I nod my head at Sarah, thanking her before climbing out of the Range Rover and slamming the door, slowly making my way toward the front porch steps.

As I enter the house, the sound of music and chatter fills my ears, and I can’t help but wince. I’m used to this sort of environment, lots of people, music, the works. But it’s always people my age, and we’re having fun, not celebrating the engagement of two people who could care less about one another. Every last person here is oblivious to the fact that Y/N and I do not want to be married, fucking ignorant bliss.

I make my way into the kitchen, finding various bottles of liquor on the counter tops. I settle for a bottle of Whiskey, grabbing a small glass from the counter and pouring two fingers, tossing it back and pouring another.

“Do not make an ass of yourself tonight, son. I swear to God if you embarrass our families..”

I roll my eyes, slowly turning to face my father who stands so close to my back I can feel his breath on my neck.

“Don’t worry, dad. I won’t embarrass us. I just need a drink or two so I can get through this shit fest.”

My dad’s eyes narrow, but he keeps his mouth shut, turning and storming off into the house, probably in search of Y/N’s father. Good, hopefully Mr. Y/L/N keeps him off my ass tonight.

I toss back the second drink, placing the glass into the sink before shoving my hands into my pockets and slowly working my way through the crowd of people. A lot of the older men and women stop me, shaking my hand and congratulating me. I guess some people already know why they’re here tonight, shocker.

I approach the foyer of the house, scanning the length of the room when my eyes land on her. She looks absolutely beautiful tonight, shit. She’s making it really hard to not notice her lately. Why? I’ve been around her since we were kids, grew up together, and I’ve never paid her any attention. Why now? Maybe it’s because I’m being forced to marry her, so she’s been consuming my mind, or maybe it’s because Topper hasn’t shut the fuck up about her the last five days, ranting and raving about how “hot” she is, and how I should enjoy her. Maybe he’s right, and maybe that’s why I’ve been so infatuated with her these last few days.

Without even realizing it, I make my way toward her. My soon to be wife. The soon to be Mrs. Cameron, mother of my children.

“Hey.” I say lowly, my eyes scanning the length of her body in the tight fitting white dress.

She flicks her gaze up to my face, her eyes searching mine.

“Hi.” she responds.

I swear I see a blush cross her face, and I don’t miss the way she shifts back and forth on her feet, her white strappy heels clicking against the tile floors.

“So, we’re supposed to stay glued together tonight, shall we?” I ask, holding my arm out for her to take.

She hesitates for a moment before finally linking her arm with mine. A weird feeling erupts in my chest, and I shake my head, trying to shake the weird feeling.

We begin walking through the crowd of people, all eyes on us as we try and find our parents, knowing they wanted to go ahead and announce the engagement and wedding date so everyone can enjoy the rest of their night mingling and drinking.

Finally finding our parents, we slowly step up the stairs and onto the landing, standing between our parents — Ward and Rose beside me, her parents beside her.

Ward clears his throat, clinking a small fork on the side of his whiskey glass and getting everyone’s attention.

Fuck, there are so many fucking people here.

“Thank you for coming out tonight everyone. We have a very big announcement to make.”

He stops speaking, turning his attention to Mr. Y/L/N and letting him continue.

Y/D/N places a loving hand on his daughter’s shoulder, clearing his throat and speaking. “We have invited you all here tonight to announce the engagement of our two eldest children, Rafe and Y/N. We wanted to throw this party in their honor tonight, to celebrate two people becoming one.”

I discreetly roll my eyes. Two people becoming one my ass, more like two being being forced together so two companies can become one…

“The wedding will be in three weeks. Saturday June fifteenth. We hope to see all our friends and family there.”

The room erupts in gasps and cheers. A fifty-fifty of mixed emotions throughout. I notice Y/N’s hand tighten around my arm, her eyes scanning the room quickly. I take note of a few girls I’d slept with in the past, glaring at her. Fuck. I need to do something, these girls will eat her alive, they’ll know this is all bullshit. I need to try and make it seem real, but I don’t think Y/N is going to like my plan very much.

I slowly unlink our arms, turning her so she’s facing me and I cup her cheeks in my hands. She sucks in a sharp breath, narrowing her eyes on me.

“Trust me, okay?”

Her chest rises and falls quickly, but she squeezes her eyes shut and nods her head.

Without a second thought, I dip my head down and capture her lips with mine. The kiss is slow and soft at first, but I quickly deepen it, shoving my tongue into her mouth and feeling her body tense up underneath my hands.

She kisses me back, her body relaxing and melting into mine as the sound of the hoots and hollers slowly fade. There’s no one but us in this room. Shit, she’s a good kisser.

She finally pushes me back, wiping the corner of her lips with her hand and staring up into my eyes.

“What… What was that for?” she asks.

I glance behind her, seeing Jessie and Caraline rolling their eyes but stomping away. I can’t help but smirk at that, Y/N is the only girl I’ve publicly shown any affection towards, and they all know that.

I shrug. “I was saving you from being eaten alive by the bitches of my past s’all.”

She rolls her eyes. “Well, thanks. But I think I can handle a few girls.”

I can’t help but smile at that. She’s strong, she’s tough, and in three weeks, she’s all mine.

“I bet you can, but, you’re welcome.”

Her eyes continue to search mine, her hands shaking at her sides as she continues to stare up at me. God, my cock is painfully hard right now. I just want to take her up to her room and ruin her innocence, but I won’t. I’ll wait until the wedding night, I can wait three more weeks.

“Now, let’s go enjoy this party. It’s gonna be a long night, baby.”

RAFE TAGLIST: @drewstarkeyslut @princessslutt @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @sturnioloshacker @starkeysprincess @rafescurtainbangz @atorturedpoetx @redhead1180 @jjsmarijuana @romaescapes @kisses4angel @lovelysturnioloos

series masterlist | rafe cameron masterlist | taglist form

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x kook!reader #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron series #arranged marriage #arranged marriage au #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron smut

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nanaminokanojo · 8 months

Text

Honey, Oh Sugar, Sugar

JJK men as your sugar daddies and what happens when you tell them you're breaking things off cause you've secretly fallen for them and "breached" the contract. Or me just being hung up on the whole concept of sugar daddies cause I don’t wanna work anymore and I need Nanami in my life.

MASTERLIST

NANAMI

'I can't see you right now.'

Those words glared at you, sharp black slashes that marred the white backdrop of your screen. They may not carry much weight without context, but they broke you a thousand times weighed on you like the sky had fallen over, crushing you as you heard the voice behind the words, making you regret every other choice you've made so far.

They blurred out as tears started to flood your eyes, falling on the device in your hand, but the pain they caused didn't fade in the least. If anything, you felt exponentially worse, enough to make you wish for death. It was more for the fact that you knew it was your fault, a result of your weakness and lack of prudence, your over-estimation of yourself and biting off more than you can chew.

Still, how were you to know back then? How the fuck were you supposed to know that things would end up making you feel as miserable as you did? How the fuck could you have been able to tell that you'd be wishing to tear yourself away from the only thing that seemed to make your life make sense?

If you were told that gods existed and walked in Prussian blue button-downs and khaki shorts as they surveyed their domain from the balcony of their private beach houses, you wouldn't have believed it. But Nanami Kento came into your life in that same exact form, a stoic, tall blonde, ten years your senior, successful in all his endeavors but always too busy for anything.

Nanami Kento was your best friend's neighbor – at least at their beach-front rest house. It was funny how he was supposed to be this well-known yet aloof individual in the community. And yet, the moment you were introduced to him, he purposefully made a way to be around you where you fell into easy conversation with him. Your friend told you their neighbor hardly ever stayed at his summer retreat for longer than two days, popping out one day only to be replaced by the caretakers who would then tell them that "Nanami-san had an emergency business trip." On top of that, he never really showed up when your friend's parents would invite him for whatever, consistently declining politely, but because of you, he finally honored one of their invitations.

However, it made you wonder what he found so interesting in a university student like you when his life was so much more exciting, being the founder of his own company. He was a bachelor at thirty two, and he's got everything figured out while you were in the final year of your higher education, and you still didn't know what to do with your life.

The reason became evident when you met him again after insisting that you should before you parted that evening at the beach, even leaving you his calling card.

How your conversation went from how his work was going and how your studies were to his proposition for you to be basically his sugar baby was something you couldn't fathom at that time. He just went on about coming clean and expressing his real intentions, then later asked you to think about it before dishing out a conversation about how the two of you should meet again to draft the parameters of your arrangement. Nanami later apologized, smiling apologetically for startling you – the biggest understatement of the century – adding that he wasn't one to beat around the bush.

"I hope I didn't scare you away," he said when dropping you off to campus.

A week later, you signed a contract with him, and then he kissed you, taking your breath away instead of shaking your hand to seal your pact. Everything went smoothly. It seemed a good idea back then. Boy you wished there was a time when you could have been more mistaken in your life.

You let out a mirthless laugh as you realized you were at the end of the rope regarding Nanami. You cannot handle it anymore when, for the past half year, you've been putting off talking to him about the state of matters from your end. You know you're breaching your agreement, which is a testament to the reality of your liaisons. You failed at keeping it emotionless, evidently, and every single time you think about coming clean and facing rejection, you felt like cowering in fear.

You already know how binding those agreements were. Nanami had been clear about what he wanted, and you also agreed because you thought you wanted precisely that – an arrangement without commitment, one you can easily get out of without issues. He would not want you if he knew the truth, and although it took far too much strength and courage to accept it, you managed. But now that you have finally decided to speak to him, he tells you he can't be there. Then again, you didn't even have the right to demand his time.

It came in a cocktail of emotions when you realized you didn't want his money or anything else he had to offer. You only wanted one thing: his heart. Too bad it was off the table. It's not something he offered to ever be in your contract.

You hated yourself for being weak, for opening up when you should have remained frozen even towards him. But you couldn't help it when your heart started confusing his caring side for actual feelings over his usual acts of reminding you that he was still the older one between you and actually had the responsibility to take care of you whether you've got an arrangement or not.

You sure as hell didn't regret the perks that came with it – trips to any place you could name, things you get with just one word, and the amazing love-making that came with it. Nanami was a great lover. It never just felt like sex in a transactional manner. It always showed how much of a sensitive soul he is, how much he cared for you. But it's not exactly in the way you wanted it.

"I like you, and I enjoy your company, but being me, this is all I can offer at the moment."

Those were his words, and though it's not explicitly written in the contract, you knew it was over when you started perceiving him as the center of your universe. That was no good, and maybe he knew, considering how he had been "too preoccupied" when you said you wanted to talk. Suddenly, he didn't have time for you, but you wanted to tell him of your decision to end matters in person. He deserved that, at least. Nanami was just too good, and you didn't want him to do the guesswork.

That same night, you walked out of the luxury flat he rented for you, packing a bottle of wine, which you ended up drinking at your best friend's house.

You woke up the next day, still groggy from all the alcohol you drank, to the sound of your best friend speaking angrily to someone in hushed tones. She was telling someone off and threatening them about answering if something ends badly, but then you hear your name.

"Y/N's a really sensitive person underneath regardless of what she says," she tells whoever she is talking to. You don't hear the response to her statement, but there was a long pause, and then you hear the front door open and close with her declaration to give this person their space.

It wasn't long before the guest room door opened, and you found yourself face-to-face with Nanami. You motioned to get up, but he shook his head and sat beside you on the bed.

"Why did you leave?" he asked, straight to the point as always. You didn't expect anything less, but you couldn't look him in the eye as you said, "I can't do this anymore."

Much to his surprise, you started crying the moment you spoke. It was so atypical of you to show him any kind of weakness, always so independent in your actions and words that he felt useless at times, so he found the need to reach out and hold you.

You flinched. "Please don't."

Nanami sighed, running his fingers through his usually perfect hair. For the first time, you notice how it's not fixed the way it should be and how he has dark rings under his eyes, his cheeks a bit sunken. He looked at you, expressions unfathomable, but you saw how he clenched and unclenched his fists.

"Why not?"

His question angered you, that much he could tell, and it was obvious how you were trying your very best to calm down. You sat up and he felt the need to brace himself for whatever you will say.

"I'm ending this...this..."

"Arrangement," he supplied for you, to which you nodded, the sting of that word evident on your face. "Yes, that."

He nodded in understanding, but he stared you down with a pensive look on his handsome face, and you wanted just to run before you fell even harder. "May I at least know why?"

You bit your lower lip, looking elsewhere but him as your eyes filled with fresh tears. You didn't know how on earth you were going to explain it to him in detail, but as he gave it to you straight and simple, you thought it best to do the same. It would be self-explanatory anyway.

Wringing your fingers, you all but whispered, "Kento, I'm in love with you." When he didn't speak, you started rambling on about how you knew things wouldn't change if you said it and that he's got more important things to deal with over your "childish feelings" but that you can't help it.

"Say that again," he told you.

"What?" You didn't realize he had moved closer, his face merely inches from yours and his other arm caging you on your spot.

"The first thing you said. Say it again." He sounded commanding as he was used to, but then he let his forehead rest on your shoulder, feeling defeated. "Please?" he said, sounding small, unsure.

You wiped the tears off your face, sniffling. You've resigned yourself to the bad outcomes of your actions. "I'm in love with you."

"If that's the case, wouldn't you want to be with me?"

"Because you said you could only offer me this arrangement."

At that, he looked up at you, cupping your face with his hands and staring you straight in the eyes, eyes you couldn't lie to. You were somewhat surprised that he didn't have a single clue as to what had been ailing you as perceptive as he was. Then again, maybe you were just too good at hiding it until you weren't, everything hidden behind the smokescreen of your physical intimacy and the pretty smiles you would offer his way.

"Be honest with me. Did it ever feel like it's just that?" he asked cautiously, groping for words.

This time, you couldn't hold back and began tearing up again, your anger finally rearing itself on the surface. "That's exactly the problem!" You pried his hands off of you and stood up. "I can't figure you out, and I don't want to be confused anymore. We had an agreement, I know that, and I'm sorry, but it hurts too much knowing you can give me anything I ask for but not what I want the most."

He also stood up, invading your space and pulling you towards him. He wasn't about to just lose you, not without a fight. Nanami made you look at him, his arm around your waist tight as he commanded your attention but still gentle and giving you your leeway to run if you wanted. You, on the other hand, didn't need much restraining nor convincing as you found yourself looking into his eyes and wanting nothing but to be close and be able to hold him, own him and all that he is, love him, and love him hard, love him over and over again, surrender your heart and let him have you even if you knew he could never give it back.

But all your notions were dispelled with a few choice words. "You never asked."

"I – what?"

"The thing you want the most that you claimed I can't give you. You never asked for it."

Ah. You chuckled without humor. Of course, it's on you for not asking. "Because I can't! That's not how it works. It's not my place to ask. I've no place of that nature in your life."

"Really now, Y/N?" Nanami looked stung, annoyed even, when typically, he wouldn't even show you a disapproving look at your worst behavior around him.

"It's okay. This is on me." You stepped back from him, resigning yourself to the idea of not seeing him again and saying goodbye. "And I know you're busy, so don't worry about me. I just really wanted to tell you personally, at least. I'll be fine."

"I won't be..."

"Stop it! You said so yourself –"

"I said 'at the moment' back then if I remember it correctly?"

You shrugged. "Kento, you don't have to hyper-analyze what you said back then. Don't stress –"

At that, his expressions changed, and he appeared manic, so different from his calm and composed demeanor. "This is stressing me out."

"I'm sorry."

"I love you."

You shook your head. Pity was the last thing you needed, and hearing those words in such a context, even less so. "No, you don't."

"Yes, I do. You can't just assume things like that. And though I detest confrontations like this, I'm prepared to be in conflict with you for it if it means you stay with me."

You smiled ruefully at him, coming closer to hug him, holding onto whatever you could while you still had time, taking in the way he smelled, the way his hair felt against your palms. "You're really too nice. Don't say things like that even if you feel bad for me. You don't have to."

Nanami sighed again, looking absolutely tired, but had it in him to smile despite your words. "Y/N, I just got the shovel talk with your best friend after I told her I love you – rather graphic, too – and you're telling me you don't have a place in my life? I would not even be here if you didn't matter to me. You, of all people, should know that I don't waste my time on things I don't find worthwhile, but I am here, am I not?"

You felt your heart thundering in your chest as you minced his words, unable to process everything at the moment, but you found yourself overwhelmed with joy that your feelings weren't one-sided. "You are."

"But you're right, so let's end this arrangement."

Swallowing hard, you nodded.

"Let's make this the real thing without agreements and roles. What do you say about that?" He tilted his head to have a closer look at you.

Everything be damned, but you were taking your chances. "Okay," you whispered.

"I love you. I'm in love with you, too. If it's my heart you want, you can have it. It's yours. All yours, my sweet."

You bit your lower lip, fighting a smile as you glanced at him from under your lashes, not trusting yourself to speak.

Nanami leaned his forehead against yours, closing his eyes as he held you closer. "I love you," he repeated.

"I know."

He chuckled. "Now you know. But that's not what I want to hear, Y/N. I said, I love you."

Instead of a response, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pulling him close as you stood on your toes to claim his lips with yours, your toes curling as he reciprocated in kind. This one felt different, not like some sort of transaction or a thank you for the things he provides for you. It felt like the real thing...like love.

"Then I love you, too."

TOJI

"She's an associate, Y/N. Stop being such a brat," Toji tells you the moment he arrived at the penthouse where he was housing you a good hour after you stormed out of the party he was hosting. You looked over your shoulder to find his tall, broad form leaning against the doorpost, arms crossed and...smirking.

"Or are you doing this on purpose 'cause you want daddy to punish you, hmm?"

You scoffed as you angrily wiped your tears, entering the walk-in wardrobe and slamming the door shut. You just wanted to be away from him, be able to think without him influencing your thoughts. If Fushiguro Toji was a drug, he'd most certainly be heroin – absolutely addictive with slim chances to none in terms of recovery, but you still wanted more, more, and some more. And you fell right into that trap, very much aware of it all.

You were a budding freelance journalist who got into a tangle with his organization after a wrong lead. He had been nice to you on the get-go, the understanding and very accommodating kumicho letting Miss Nosey off the hook. You kept running into him after that until one drunken evening at one of his clubs, where he had to rescue you from a guy who couldn't take no for an answer.

He drove you home, and instead of getting out of his car, the two of you got talking, and he started showing you pictures of his adorable son. And after fucking you senseless in that same car, he offered you an arrangement you thought you couldn't refuse at that time.

Slowly, you found yourself weaving into Toji's complicated life and seeing beyond just the ruthless gang leader who showered you with everything and anything he could give. The sky is the limit where Toji was concerned, and he was outrageous about the presents he would give you. But that always came with a catch. He took as much as he gave, probably more, and he was possessive of you. It wasn't healthy how he could do whatever the fuck he wanted while your rewards came with limitations attached to them.

Still, you stayed and got lost in the maze that was the workings of his mind and his personal life, which was just about his little boy. You instantly fell in love with Megumi and, in the process, with Toji himself. You know that now without a doubt, and it scared the living daylights out of you.

That realization came gradually. At first, you chalked it up to just a physical response, inducing chemicals in your head that gave you the illusion and delusion of emotional affection. What's love got to do with it, right? At first, it was little things like wanting to see him at the most random times of the day, missing him, and such. Then it escalated into incremental degrees of possessiveness, which you thought was fair given his inclination to call you his, be that in words while he's balls-deep in you or the way he would suddenly hold onto you with those large hands in the presence of others.

And quite frankly, you seemed to have picked up on that habit the wrong way, learning to reciprocate in the same way. It was messy business at best, but then again, it started just as messy.

The thought and reality of it hadn't felt as real as it did when you saw another woman clutching just as possessively at his arm. It seemed innocent, but seeing those blood-red nails brushing on his muscled arms as if their owner had any right to do it or had probably staked their claim made your blood boil, and your heart break. All the while, in your head, you were repetitively saying, "He's mine. I had him first."

You're in love with him, and that's a fact. Because why else would you be having such intense emotional outbursts over the fact that he was dangling another woman in his arms? It's a fact you didn't want to face anyway. He's supposed to be your sugar daddy, nothing else. It came with its perks, but you're human, and Toji is irresistible in more ways than one and never limited to just how he satisfies you physically. You loved him, his son and everything that he is included.

And you thought it had to stop. He didn't see you that way.

You emerged from the wardrobe, pulling a suitcase behind you, and suddenly, tension filled the air as Toji straightened to his full height, sapphire eyes shifting between you and the luggage.

"What are you doing?" he asked. Gone was his playful mood from earlier, replaced by something darker. He wasn't expressive, almost always looking bored out of his wits, and his facial muscles only rearranging in minute details to convey change, but it was enough to tell you to be on guard.

You walked towards him, mustering all your courage as you said, "I think we should end this."

"Because you're jealous?" He arched a brow at you. "I already told you –"

You shook your head, reaching up to touch his cheek, smiling as you traced downward before running your thumb against the scar at the side of his lips. While it made him look like a hooligan, you always thought it was a part of his charm. "That's hardly the issue here. As cliché as it is, it's not you; it's me. Thank you for everything, Toji. Give my love to Megumi."

At that, he chuckled. "And you expect me to just sit back with that sorry excuse? What do you take me for?"

Your eyes flashed in anger at the way he was undermining the circumstances. "Toji, I'm serious. It may be a sorry excuse for you, but it's not the same for me."

He stepped closer, looming over you. "So, speak up. Do I look like I'm playing here, sweetheart?"

"I...I can't..."

"What now?" He smirked, but you saw hurt cross his features, making you hesitate. It was too late when you realized you were stuck between a hard place and Toji, literally and figuratively. Your back hit the wall, and a second after, he slammed a palm just beside your head, staring you down. "I'm just a lowlife so I don't even deserve any proper explanation, is that it?"

"What? No! That's the last thing on my mind!" you retorted.

"So what? You're done writing your little reveal-all piece on me, so you're cutting me loose?"

How dare he, you thought. You were faithful to your agreement with him, and not once did you ever think of betraying him like that. Again, you were overwhelmed by the intensity of how you felt for him. You shook your head, trying to hold it in when your feelings were close to slipping out of your lips from the tip of your tongue. You didn't like the way he was looking at you as if you murdered his son and only family, but why were you making him angrier?

"If that's what you want to think, then fine."

"So fucking tell me, woman!"

"You should know by now that your intimidation tactic doesn't work on me," you told him dryly.

"You really are my woman," he says proudly, almost love-struck, but you weren't about to buy it.

"Let me go."

"And if I don't?"

"You wouldn't like what I will do, Toji."

"Oh, is that so?" Toji wasn't a patient man, but he always took his time with you, and that trait of his was proven to you for the first time when, in the next moment, you found yourself upside down after he hauled you onto his shoulder and easily carried you to the bed.

Before you knew it, you were on the mattress, but upon realizing what he was about to do, you started beating him on the chest with your fists, tears spilling out of your eyes. It was futile, you knew that, but you still wanted to get away from him. He easily pinned your hands down, silencing your protests with his lips as he took possession of yours. And just like that, you were docile as a kitten under his mercy and the heat of his touch.

"Do you still wanna leave me?" You just glared at him, your lack of response making him grit his teeth and tear the dress you were wearing off of you.

"Toji, what the – mmph!"

Again, he swallowed your words, his hands roaming over your now naked body. He pulled back only to say, "I'm giving you a chance to talk now, darling. Don't waste it." He then started kissing your neck, going lower and lower, the sounds he was making distracting you. "I'm listening, Y/N. And don't give me another bullshit excuse."

Your misery mingled with the carnal pleasure he was pulling out of you, coming in rivulets of tears as you half-sobbed, half-moaned at the way he was touching everything his hands could reach while he ground his crotch against yours.

"Toji, please stop," you pleaded, and he did, flashing you a pained look. For the first time, it seems that he was showing you the real person behind all the facade, the version of Fushiguro Toji exclusively reserved for Megumi.

He sat on his haunches, looking down at your vulnerable form as you covered your face with your arms and continued to sob. "I-I'm sorry..."

"No. I'm sorry," you answered between deep draws of breath. You weren't crying because of what he was doing. It was more for the fact that you were hurting him as much as your arrangement was hurting you. "But what the hell can I do?"

He hovered over you, prying your hands away from your face as gently as he could and peppering your face with kisses. "What is it, darling? Come on, tell me."

"I broke our agreement..." You looked away from him.

He eyed you quizzically. "And how did you do that?"

"By falling in love with you." You finally met his gaze. "I know you said our liaisons will not go beyond just what we really are to each other, but I couldn't help it. I care for you and Megumi, so much so that I want to be a genuine part of your lives. And it's not my place to ask, so I'm sorry."

To your surprise, he laughed, like really laughed, and you haven't felt so embarrassed in your life after pouring your heart out to him. You wanted the whole place to crumble into a pit and take you with it.

When he was calm enough, he said, "Fucking finally!"

"What?"

He sighed, leaning down to kiss you on the cheek. "Do you know how long I've waited for you to say that to me?"

You paled but at the same time, you felt your face getting hot, realizing what he meant. "You knew?"

"From the moment it happened, yes. You think you can just walk out on me like that?" He shook his head. "Don't act like you don't know me at all."

"Y-you –" You didn't know what to say, getting up halfway only to be met with a scorching kiss that left you breathless.

Toji undid his pants, letting his cock spring free, and then lifted you onto his lap, holding you close. "I knew you were made for me the moment Megumi's eyes lit up the first time he asked if you were gonna be his new mommy."

"He did?" you asked in muffled tones against the crook of his neck.

"So what do you say? 'Cause I was dying to say yes." He kissed your temple, and underneath, you could feel him preparing to align himself with you.

You pulled away, holding his head between your hands as you looked at him in disbelief. "You were?"

He rolled his eyes. He really wasn't good at this. "Yes, darling. Now, are you still gonna leave me? Us?"

You pouted. "You're not just using Megumi to make me stay, right?" You gasped when he nudged your entrance, knowing he's got you in the bag. "I won't even let you near my son if I didn't want you as much as I do. But I got the best wingman, no?"

You just stared at him in disbelief but he prompted you by thrusting upward and breaking you away from your reverie, a high-pitched moan ripping out of your throat.

"Come on, Y/N. Decide so I can love you as much as you want me to." He grinned deviously at you. "Not that I plan to do otherwise if you decide to go."

"And if I go anyway?"

He smirked. "I don't know, love. I'm yakuza after all."

"Is that a threat?!" You smacked him on the chest, earning you a chuckle and a kiss to your forehead. "Yes. Can I love you now?" he asked and you swore he looked just like Megumi when he would beg you for goodies. So, how can you say no to that?

~*~

GOJO

"Where have you been?"

The silence you expected to arrive to at the penthouse was broken the moment you walked by the vast living room. You almost dropped the red heels you held when you heard that familiar voice echo through the room, quiet yet deadly.

You visibly froze before turning around to see the owner of the voice. He looked upset, those usually bright orbs of aquamarine having turned into cold, hard gems as they regarded you. The darkness of the room that surrounded him like a miasma didn't help in quelling the tension in the room. If there was one thing Gojo Satoru hated, it's when he is disobeyed, and you flouting his orders and going out to party wasn't an exception. Sure, he doted on you and always showered you with gifts and affection, but being part of his world meant you needed to follow strict rules in exchange for the lavish life he provided for you.

You knew you should not have gone anywhere apart from your university and the place you called home. You knew you should not have given his men trouble by thinking you were at home after you snuck out, but you thought, why not? Gojo wasn't supposed to be back until the following day anyway, "Negotiations," he called them. You didn't want to feel alone in such an empty space, which was becoming more frequent as of late. You understood where he was coming from, but at the same time, you refused to and you wanted to act out.

Choosing to aggravate his foul mood further, you shrugged and attempted to walk past without saying anything, but you effectively stopped when he said, "Stop right there. We're not done talking."

Veering to look at him with the coldest expression you could muster, you retorted, "I went out with my friends. What's the big deal?"

He stood up from his seat, evidently pissed off at your attitude. "I thought I told you. It's dangerous, Y/N. I'm just trying to protect you. What if something happened to you?"

"They're your enemies, Satoru, not mine."

"It doesn't change the fact that they will hurt you if they can!" He had such a menacing look on his face when he was angry which you thought never belonged with those easy smiles and generally perfect visage of his. Someone so beautiful being shrouded in darkness was a violation to nature, and Gojo was just so.

"Well then, maybe I shouldn't have gotten together with you!" you shouted back, throwing your expensive shoes on the floor, imagining it was an extension of him you wished to hurt. "I could be in danger; I understand that. I'm not stupid, but I never cared for any of that as long as I have you, but you're never there! Why should I stay put when you tell me to?"

Gojo was evidently taken aback at your outburst, not believing that this was the welcome he gets after being away. At the same time, he felt guilty and deserving of your harsh treatment of him, feeling his heart sinking at your words. "You'll be safer that way," was all he could say.

You smirked at him, shaking your head. "And lonely. You forgot lonely." You shrugged, walking away from him. "I'm tired."

Having ended up in the bathroom where you found solace from Gojo, you leaned your arms and propped your chin on the rim of the huge tub, staring at the city lights through the glass walls. It seemed like a good idea to get tangled up with an older male who wanted to take care of you at your darkest moments, having been fired from your job and thrown out of your apartment which made you resort to sleeping in your car.

That's how you met in the first place, making the mistake of parking around the outskirts of the city, hugging a can of pepper spray in your sleep when Gojo and his men decided to make an exchange at the empty parking lot of the warehouse nearby. Safe to say, it went awry when men started to pull out guns.

He took you home after his right-hand man spotted you in the car when your phone lit up at the wrong time. At first, he was suspicious of you, thinking you were an asset for an enemy clan. You were probably traumatized or in utter shock when your first reaction to him after seeing him break someone's neck a few yards from your car was to tell him he was beautiful while also shivering at the thought of how easily those gloved hands could murder you.

Gojo had been straightforward from the get-go, never hiding his intentions the moment he thumbed at your chin, forcing you to behold his beauty in all its glory which was just a bonus with how gentle, kind and caring he was towards you. And you clung to the dark angel who offered you a comfortable life away from the dangers of the streets, even offering to pay for your studies when he found out just how well you did in them. It seemed you were embroiled in more danger than you anticipated, however.

To say that you didn't know what kind of life you have entangled yourself in would be a lie. You knew just what kind of person Gojo Satoru is, his pretty hands and his very name stained in blood. The tattoos that adorned his beautiful alabaster skin were a dead ringer of just what kind of clan he belonged to, and it didn't help that he was surrounded by ruffians like a lone rose in a sea of thorns all the time.

They called him The Prince, even his enemies, and what a fitting name, at least to you with whom he showed his better side and true self underneath the emotionally constipated yakuza overlord that he is. But that was the very thing that broke your heart.

You had an agreement. Blatantly put, you are his pet, and he is your owner who poured money on trinkets he thought would make you happy in exchange for favors. That's it. You give him your body, and you get to have him for all those moments he is available. You wouldn't deny that it was an economically good proposition and beggars probably can never be choosers as was the case for you, but you never anticipated just what a lonely existence it would be on top of it being dangerous when you were deemed his weakness.

What a laugh. You weren't his weakness, not even remotely close. It was all for naught when your life is being put in line because of stupid assumptions his enemies resorted to. You will die if you don't toe the line according to Gojo's standards, and for what? They'd probably think they hurt him, but really, they're just giving him an excuse to go on a rampage, which will be for reasons vastly different from their thoughts.

But more than anything, the most significant matter at stake was your heart, if not your sanity. Letting that information out during your outburst was a faux pas on your part, and you emotionally prepared yourself to leave the kind of life Gojo granted you in the first place. You've fallen for him, and that wasn't a good thing when he made it clear just what purpose you served for him.

The sound of water droplets from the faucet was suddenly interrupted by the glass doors sliding open to accommodate Gojo, who had already changed into a fluffy, white robe, shedding it off as he approached you. You didn't acknowledge his presence and merely watched his reflection through the wall. That didn't deter him from coming into the bathtub behind you and pulling you close.

"Would you please look at me, sweetheart?" he asked, his melodious voice making every fiber of your being tense. He wrapped an arm around you, his breath ghosting over your nape. "Did I make you that upset while I was away? I'm sorry, my pet."

His apology always came with a catch. You didn't have to enumerate them when you're only supposed to understand.

"Still mad at me? What does my Y/N want, hmm?" Gojo started placing kisses on your shoulder, moving upwards to your neck, but before it could cloud your judgment, you moved forward, gently taking his arm off of you, much to his dissatisfaction. He sighed, letting you have your space. "What's the problem?"

You hugged your knees to yourself, feeling the coldness of the air when you lost contact with him. "It's not something you could fix by kissing me." As if on cue, you absently scooped some soapy water and rubbed it over the areas he touched.

Being the brat used to having his way, Gojo scoffed. "Are you literally washing away my kisses?" It's just like him to ask about the trivial things when he feels like it. He reached out to touch you when you didn't answer but stopped when you flinched. He immediately turned serious, the air around you becoming charged with tension. "Y/N, will you please tell me what's bothering you?"

"You are."

"What?"

You leaned your forehead on your knees, feeling vulnerable to the whole world as you calmed your inner turmoil and tried to put in words how you felt, how things would end by your hand before he casts you away.

"I breached our contract."

Silence followed your words, and those mere seconds of pause felt like an eternity as you feared the worst. But then he said, "Will you elaborate on that?"

You lifted your head, throwing it back as you closed your eyes, taking a deep breath. "I know I don't have any right to be demanding things from you, least of all hold it against you when I miss you in your absence."

"You miss me?"

"But I have no control over how I started feeling the way I do, becoming more pronounced whenever you're not with me. We had an agreement, I know that, but because I broke it, I guess I'll have to take it upon myself to end this."

"End what?" He straightened up, his blue eyes filling with dread. "What – what are you talking about?" He sounded angry this time but like that of an animal cornered as opposed to being the hunter.

You looked at him from over your shoulder. "I'm leaving you, Satoru."

A mix of emotions started to take shape with every nuance in his expression, as if he could not make up his mind about how he would feel about what you just said. For a split second, he looked at you as if you had obliterated his whole being, but then he calmed down, massaging the point between his blue eyes.

"I'm sorry, but I can't do this anymore. I know my role, and I should just walk away before it gets out of hand."

"What role?"

You laughed without humor. "I am, in essence, just your sugar baby, Satoru. You give me things that you see fit. I don't get to demand anything from you."

"Is that how you see yourself?" His tone was scathing but calming at the same time. It makes things easier for you.

"Let's not pretend anymore, okay?"

"So what exactly are you telling me?"

"Do I have to spell everything out for you?" you asked in exasperation, your tears finally dripping from your eyes.

He let up on the harsh expression on his face upon seeing them. "Y/N, baby, don't cry. Please. I just need you to explain. I deserve at least that when you're telling me you want to –"

"I love you, Satoru." You smiled at him through your tears, the most sincere one you gave his way since you realized how you felt.

"You do?"

"I don't regret it regardless of the consequences."

"Y/N, I'm confused."

You didn't address that. Gojo was probably one of the most brilliant people you knew, but it was always easy to feign ignorance, regardless of that. Without addressing it, you motioned to get out of the tub, wondering where you'll start with packing, but then almost everything you owned was technically Gojo's. It would be easy, you thought.

"Anyway, you know now. I should go."

Gojo wasn't having any of it. He stopped you, pulling you towards him. "You just told me you love me, and you're leaving me behind?"

You blinked. "Am I...not supposed to?"

Gojo smirked at you. "What makes you think you can just walk away now that I know?"

You sank into the water, creating splashes in your wake. You didn't know how to feel about that. It was a choice between succumbing to that false sense of security you learned to accept during the three years you've been with him or relief over the possibility that he reciprocated your feelings. However, before you could even decide, Gojo chose to addle your brain by leaning in and taking possession of your lips, giving you no choice but to melt and submit to his touches.

It was passionate as usual, setting every ounce of your existence aflame while his hands roamed around every inch of your skin, marking his territory. You appreciated that about him, not holding back and giving you what you wanted without inhibitions, but you've always accepted that what you wanted the most, he could never ever give. You've resigned yourself to that fact, and yet, whenever he touches you, you are convinced otherwise because his actions always contrast his words. You hated how hope started to grow in your chest, and although he quickly turned you on, you fought against it and pulled away from him.

"N-no. Stop."

"Why?" He looked at you, kiss-drunk and dazed.

"I can't do this anymore. I'm not going to force you to be beholden to me." You inched backward. "Just let me go."

Gojo clucked his tongue, sighing profoundly and covering his face with his hands in utter frustration. "What have I done?"

You shook your head. "It's not your fault."

"No..."

It was your turn to reach out to him, forcing his hands off of his face as you kneeled before him. "Satoru, you can hardly be blamed for how I feel. It's okay. I am not mad at you."

"Yeah, but I sure as hell am mad at myself." He let you take his hands but immediately reversed roles and held your hand in his. "Oh, Y/N. My sweet, sweet Y/N." His broad shoulders drooped down. "It's my fault why you're doing this right now for making you feel like you had to toe boundaries with me where your emotions are concerned."

"We signed a contract..."

He lifted his hand to tenderly graze your cheek, his icy blue eyes showing that misplaced warmth you've become familiar with even when he made someone beg for mercy. Gojo Satoru always shone brilliantly amid the darkness that surrounded him. You gravitated towards that light no matter how twisted it was.

"This is my doing."

"No –"

"But it's true." He smiled sadly at you. "I know what I am, and I am so deep in it that nothing could right the wrongs I've done. That contract was supposed to be a shield for you against me, Y/N, not the other way around."

"What?" Now you're confused.

"The moment you called me beautiful despite seeing what you did all those years ago, I knew I had to have you with me to have someone to see past the fear I instill in anyone who crosses paths with me." He shrugged. "I didn't want you to feel like you had to feel for me, nor did I want you to feel responsible for anything that involves me. I'm not so cruel that I'll subject you to that, but it's too late, no? I put you in danger, and you don't owe it to me that I am protecting you or giving you everything I thought you would want while keeping a safe distance. Turns out I've hurt you more."

You were taken aback, to say the least.

"But I do care for you more than I can admit or fathom." He beamed disarmingly as he tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "I am in too deep, and maybe I should just accept that I do love you."

"Satoru..."

"I love you, Y/N. Words are cheap, and it may be too late, but I really do." He placed his head on your shoulder as he embraced you, holding you tight, skin on skin. "But if you want to leave, I will let you. I will not be selfish and ask you to stay with me. I want you to do whatever you think is best for you without thinking of me."

Laughter wanted to escape from your throat, not because of mirth but from relief. But with that came the realization that you weren't free anymore, not where Gojo was concerned. He's setting you free, but the lock to your prison wasn't his to hold in the first place. You held yourself captive to him in the first place, locked yourself in, and threw the key away. Knowing he reciprocated your affection towards him just sealed you in a reinforced vault, dunked into the deepest trenches of the ocean that was his warmth. How the hell were you supposed to leave him now when you mistakenly thought you were grasping at straws when he was shackled to you all along?

Shrugging, you wrapped your arms around him, shaking your head at your foolishness. At this point, saying you didn't know what you were getting yourself into is a big, fat lie, and it was probably one you will never make the mistake of doing anyway, unable to deny yourself of what you wanted...what you needed.

"You really are a piece of work," you muttered.

"What did I do?" he whined like a child. In such moments, you almost always forget he was shy of a year to a decade older than you.

You chuckled, returning his words to him. "What makes you think you can just walk away now that I know?"

Gojo's head snapped up, now wearing a cheeky grin as he regarded you, his hands climbing up the back of your thighs before cupping your bare ass. "Is that so? I'm letting you do what you want, Y/N."

You scoffed. He's back to his usual self, toying with you, but you see the subtle difference in how he deals with you. "I am doing what I want right now."

"Going once..."

You relaxed in his hold.

"Twice?"

"No."

His expression turned dark, eyes hazy with lust as he drew you closer, making you sit directly on his half-hard cock. "You can't complain after this, you are aware, my love?"

Ah, the sound of that endearment rolling out of his tongue was music to your ears. Winding your arms around his neck, you leaned forward and ground your hips against his, relishing the soft groan that escaped his lips at the pressure. "Where do I sign?"

He pointed at his lips. "It's a lifetime agreement, mind you."

You wasted no time sealing your new pact, crashing your lips against his, a kiss that was sloppy at best, excitement and a mix of love and lust heavy on your tongue as you sought his, reveling in the taste of him which felt like the first time. Gojo was almost always dominant, but he didn't seem to mind that you were taking the lead this time, asserting your claim over him, unable to resist now that you've both gotten what you wanted from each other.

"Lucky for you, I don't want out."

~*~

I had fun with these. Wonder if I should do Geto, Sukuna and Choso as well... A little treat to quell the time I'm taking off of writing my ongoing Gojo smau cause I lost all my fucking files. Yay, me!

PHOTO/IMAGE/GIF/FANART/ANY MEDIA CREDITS TO THE RESPECTIVE OWNERS.

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