#— « fade touched. » || ooc

[blightoath]

not me starting a self indulgent fic where feyn and lucanis [checks notes] hold hands

[fatedmuses]

//at some point I need to write up my concept for Alea being fade touched, since thanks to Drayden (sp?) in vows and vengence we know that really is a thing in da

my reasoning for this is she shared a womb with a mage for 9 months, and I know technically you don't come into your magic until you're older but I think it would still effect things lol

[piningpercussionist]

*The bunny grabs the drink and lets it dangle for a second, before stuffing it into her inventory*

Maybe we could as Ramona about it :0

She’s knows a buncha stuff about subspace I think :D

Plus I wanna try out some of these trinkets before I give some to Scott :3 (it’d be safe for Scott to have some of these… right?)

-🐇 (Shes sprawled out on Kim’s head and very relaxed)

*Kim hums thoughtfully for a second.*

... Yeah, she is the most knowledgeable about that place... at least, so far as I know.

*Kim frowns, squinting. Something still doesn't feel right, and it's getting a little... worse- like there's this cold itch creeping over her. She pulls her hands from her pockets and rubs them together, trying to get rid of the phantom sensation creeping in. It seems to work, a little, until she stops, and it sets back in, creeping up her arms and neck. Her eyes narrow as she keeps up the wringing of her hands.*

... I was thinking I might give Scott the bandanna? Or letting you give it to him from me?

*She looks up briefly, then focuses back in on her hands. Something about this feels familiar to her, as it hits her head, and she begins trying to rack her brain for the memory, brow furrowed.*

... I can probably give it to him myself. I'm not quite sure why I suggested that...?

*She looks confused before slightly shaking her head, brushing it off.*

And maybe the knife to Ramona. I don't know if she likes them or anything, but she could definitely examine it and the capsule at least. Maybe come up with some solid answers.

[rindreamery]

let's sugar talk !

itoshi rin has never really liked the flavor of strawberry shortcake, but you do. that'll never stop him from kissing you, though. itoshi rin x reader ─ fluff, suggestive, w.c. 700+ ─ content: kissing/making out, once again ooc rin

note. i gave myself a little break from writing the event fics to write this out, forgive me👩‍🦯 i was listening to your eyes only - enhypen, and that song inspired me to write this

strawberry shortcake is simply too sweet for rin. 

the dense cake, with sugary layers of whipped cream in between and all over, and the drizzle of syrup on top makes his head spin with each bite. the sickeningly sweet aftertaste, and the way the frosting lingers on his tongue, always makes his face scrunch up into a grimace. he doesn’t see the appeal in it, he doesn’t get why other people enjoy it so much, why you enjoy it so much. 

rin doesn’t like strawberry shortcake, and he's sure that not even you (persuasive, with the ability to make him change his opinion on anything) could change his mind.

but there’s something about you that makes it look so delicious. irresistible. like he wants to get a taste for himself.

or maybe, it's just you.

something about the way you look when you’ve just had a bite— the way your eyes flutter shut as you savor the taste, the way your brows relax and a look of euphoric satisfaction washes over you, like that strawberry short cake is the best thing you’ve ever tasted. but really, nothing beats the way your pink lips shine just a little more from the excess syrup, delicately glimmering under the sunlight, and the way the fluffy frosting lingers on the corners of your mouth. it makes you look sweeter, maybe even enchanting.

that’s the only way he could reason with himself on why he can’t tear his eyes away from you; you must’ve cast some spell on him and woven it deep into his mind.

because there’s no words to explain how he feels, the way he’s drawn to you each time. it’s like a pull he can’t ignore, like his eyes are cursed (blessed, in his opinion) to travel down to your lips after each delectable bite.

it’s after your fifth forkful (he doesn’t know why he started counting) when he loses to his desire. he can’t think, he can’t stop himself— the way he’s leaning across the table, finger hooking under your chin, brushing his lips against yours in a ghost of a kiss.

tickling. teasing. barely there. enough to get the remnants of syrup and cream that lingered on your pout. 

rin’s pulling away before you can even respond, and he’s right back on his seat in a matter of seconds. he licks his lips slowly; the slow drag of his tongue reminds him that it’s as overwhelming as ever, just like he remembers. yet, oddly enough, he doesn’t dislike it. it tastes different— as if, in his mind, the combination of your lips and the cake makes it taste better, like the sweetness of the cake has faded and all he could taste is you. 

it drives him crazy, in the best way possible. it’s addictive and he wants more. 

“your lips taste good,” he states it like it’s a matter-of-fact. he relishes in the blush the blooms on the surface of your cheeks, and the way your fingers trace the outline of your bottom lip as you reel from surprise. you’re looking at him wide-eyed, and his lips curl into a barely-noticeable smile. (his heart throbs at the sight, he thinks you’re cute like this. you look sweeter than the cake in front of you.)

but then you laugh, soft and airy, and the sound ripples through the air and into his ears.

“you sure it’s not because of the cake, rinnie?” you ask with a sly smile on your face. you drag the syllables of his name in that honeyed tone of yours, and you’re lifting a fork full of the cake towards him. "give it another try." he contemplates, and he thinks of whether he’ll bite. 

and he does. rin catches your wrist as the dense cake touches the corners of his mouth, his slender fingers wrapping around it, and he stops you. he holds you there, he keeps you rooted in your spot as he takes the bait, and he looks into your eyes as his lips wrap around the fork. it's dizzying, overpowering, all in unpleasant ways.

(your lips would never make him feel this way, he thinks to himself.)

the regret is evident on his face as he pulls away, slightly frowning at the taste. he thinks about drinking water, to flush out the flavor and pretend he never did that. but he takes one glance at you, and he realizes there’s a much better way to get rid of it.

the distance between the two of you becomes short-lived.

he’s leaning forward, and he’s pulling you by your wrist, all at the same time. he meets you halfway over the table, pulling you into a saccharine-filled kiss, and your gasp of surprise is quickly swallowed. it's nothing short of deep, it's fervent. he's focused on you, his mind intent on drowning out the unpleasant flavor that hangs onto his tongue. 

rin kisses you until he forgets about the frosting, until all he can think about and taste is you. his lungs are starting to burn, sending signals for air— he kisses you until he needs to pull away, and only then is he satisfied with himself. 

“it’s your lips,” he says breathlessly, confirming it to himself. “not that disgusting thing.”

tags. @choccorin @etoiile

© rindreamery, 2024

[tojirights]

❛ you taste like heaven. ❜

Alastor with angel!reader omg. I imagine that reader was Alastor's wife back when they were alive, but didn't see eachother again after death because Alastor is in hell and reader is in heaven. I imagine that after Sir Pentious got redeemed, Sera sent reader (because she has experience with demons(? Ur choice) and Sera trusts her a lot) down to hell to investigate this 'hazbin hotel'.

a/n: AHHHH i almost didnt want to write smut into this because it was so precious 😭 ooc alastor again but its so CUTE. i added my "alastor speaks french" agenda to this as well lol.

buy me a coffee? 😇

tags: 18+ smut nsfw, fem! receiving oral

heaven was in shambles after the last extermination, no one knew what would happen next now that souls could be redeemed from hell. it was then that sera approached you in private, all but begging you to go be an "ambassador." you were hesistant at first, not only thinking that this was a lot of responsibility, but also that your... husband had to be down there. he wasn't a "good man" after all, but your heart still fluttered at the thought of seeing him once more. with a sigh, you accept sera's plea and prepare for your trip down to the hazbin hotel.

there to greet you, was charlie morningstar herself, bright eyed and bubbly just like you heard all about. she leads you into the foyer of the hotel before you stop dead in your tracks. charlie is still speaking a mile a minute in your ear, trying to welcome you as best she can, but you're not listening. your eyes meet alastor's, immediately recognizing him even in this new form of his. and when his smile almost fades, you know he recognizes you too.

there's another brief pause before you're running towards him, your wings unfurling on their own as you're quickly wrapped up in his embrace. the other inhabitants of the hotel watch, confused, seeing as alastor hasn't really let anyone but niffty get close enough to touch him, let alone embrace him. your wings fluff up and cover your faces as you lean up to kiss your estranged partner. "oohh, sweetheart.." he sighs against your lips. "its been..."

you smile between kisses, your heart racing in your chest. "too long." you finish his sentence, earning a chuckle from the demon. his lips kiss a trail to your ear, a low growl to his voice as he whispers to you. "you taste like heaven, darling." your cheeks go red, not quite prepared for such a comment, especially in front of company. "alastor!" you hiss, hitting his chest gently but he just pulls you closer in response.

finally, he addresses the group behind you who are all standing with their jaws hanging open. "now, if you're all done gawking, i believe my wife needs to be shown around..."

husk spits out his drink as alastor speaks, covering angel in alcohol. "your WHAT!?" you hide your face as calamity ensues, everyone trying to speak over eachother at the insane news. "your wife... is an angel?" charlie asks gently, trying to get to the bottom of this. "well, i couldn't have known for sure but she was always more a saint than i." alastor hums, running his hand down your back. you shudder when he touches your wings, to which he notes in his head for later.

"o-oh! well then! i guess you should show her around, yeah?" she smiles bashfully, still taken aback by everything happening since your arrival just a few minutes ago. you look up at alastor, your cheeks aching from smiling so wide. "i think i'd like that." you whisper to him, enjoying the way he pulls you closer to him. "hold on tight then, my love."

you're not sure what he means by that until you're slipping into the shadows with him. its an odd feeling, but you don't think much of it until you're reappearing in what you assume is his bedroom. alastor is careful with you, like he's afraid the wrong touch will burn you, but he craves the feeling of your bare skin against his hands more than he can admit. you smile, reaching your hands up to cup his face. "touch me, al. i'm not fragile..."

your words light a spark deep within him, forcing him to restrain himself from ripping your pretty clothes into tatters. he groans inwardly, large hands reaching around to pick you up before fumbling his way to the bed. "corrupting an angel wasn't on my bucket list until seeing you again, my dear." his tone, its not what you're used to hearing, but that gravelly undertone shoots straight through you. "oh please, you can't corrupt me more than you already have." alastor's lips find the sensitive skin of your neck and you feel him smirk.

"i hope that's not a challenge." he tests, tugging at the hem of your dress. you all but giggle, lifting up so alastor can free your body of clothes. "and what if is it?" you challenge, knowing full well that alastor wouldn't let your teasing continue without proper punishment. his eyes darken red, and there's a tinge of fear in your gut. because this may still be alastor, but its been quite a while, you don't know how he's changed.

but as he kisses down your stomach, you're reassured that the man you married is still there somewhere, underneath this 'radio demon' persona. "your lips tasted of heaven, mon amour, does this taste so sweet as well?" alastor's words alone are enough are enough to make you whimper, then the feeling of his hot breath against your clothed cunt makes your core pulse.

your hands naturally fall to the top of his head, feeling the softness of his ears and the rough points of his antlers. "c-can i..?" you start, timidly holding onto the horns. alastor's body shudders as he shoves his face into your thigh. "yes, ma chérie. please do." he breathes, tugging on the thin fabric of your panties until they rip in half.

alastor wants to be patient, wants to treat you like the angel you are, but he is a demon after all. and he hasn't gotten such a delicious meal in far too long. after he feels your grip tighten on his antlers, he lets loose his self control. his first taste of your sweet pussy sends him into a frenzy, eating you like a man starving. his tongue swipes up your slit before circling your clit in quick flicks. your legs are shaking already, breathy moans leaving your lips with reckless abandon.

there's a part of you that is concerned to be getting your cunt ate by a demon, but this demon was your husband, after all. sera made you come down here and you might as well enjoy yourself, right?

your hips arch up, craving more and more, and alastor is happy to oblige. "this is heaven, my dear. not some palace in the sky, but here, between your legs." your eyes well with tears, overwhelmed in more ways than one. every pass of his tongue has your release teetering on the edge while his sweet words make your heart flutter. its almost too much, and when alastor sucks on your clit, your walls burst.

"a-alastor i'm..." you mewl, every nerve on your body screaming as your orgasm rolls over you. you're almost sure you're hurting him by how hard you tug at his hair, but alastor doesn't stop. the intensity is something you've not experienced in many, many years, and the tears stream down your cheeks. alastor coaxes you through it, licking slow and soft circles around your sensitive bud until your shaking stops.

he's quick to climb up, wiping the tears from your puffy eyes. "such a good girl, mon amour. there's plenty more where that came from."

[seneon]

ALWAYS BEEN YOU ──── racer¡kaiser × fem racer¡reader.

about. you have always been the only woman famous racer michael kaiser has his eyes on. suggestive. romance. kaiser is kinda ooc. wc of 700+

notes. written for @kaiser1ns my fav freak, in celebration of kaiser FINALLY animated. gosh he's so majestic ...

silence hung in the air, the only sounds echoing to the corners of the ceiling are steady breathing and the fading sounds of the cars beneath the city.

this clearly isn’t supposed to happen. you’re in a world-class racer’s luxurious penthouse, his expensive velvet blanket clinging to the curves of your body which rise and fall with each slow and even breath.

michael kaiser's lips brushed against the skin of your neck, all so playful and teasing that it bears hundreds of eerie spiders to crawl down your spine.

“shouldn’t you hate me?” kaiser asked in a soft whisper, his lips still pressing against your skin as his eyes flickered to your face. “i’m an official racer, and you’re a street racer.”

your eyes glued to the windows. they were so large you swore the city below could get a cinematic view of the heated moment you and kaiser spent together just a few moments ago. his fingers moved to trace along your arm in sweet caresses that you forgot you even carry a speck of hatred for the man whose name ran down your tongue like a repeated prayer.

neither of you knew what twisted fate this is, for him to stop seeing you as another of those measly, rebellious and illegal racers which he despised and loved crushing to the ends of the earth. kaiser’s eyes still gazed over your facial features before they averted to your neck, pressing one last soft and rather chaste kiss.

his fingers are on your neck now, tracing over the love bites he had left. you are like his canvas as he draws on them, leaving his artwork all over. his touch is so gentle in a motion so slow and reverent.

it was almost as if he was trying to imprint his bites onto his own fingers, a sense of pride in his tainted heart when he knew you'd be the one walking around in daylight with all these marks. a special mark only michael kaiser could commit to the best street racer in the underground racing community.

“do you hate me?” the german man asked again, forming a different sentence compared to his first ones, words holding such a different weight to them that it makes you glance at him, eyes locking onto his piercing azure ones.

truth to be told, he wouldn’t want to listen to whatever that is about to slip down the tip of your tongue. for some reason he despises your answer already. it didn’t sound good to his pride and his soul, for he fear it might be a speckled with paint to taint more of him.

when he sees that you shook your head, a little smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. it seems his pride wouldn’t be torn away tonight after all.

“and here i thought you hated me,” he softly said, voice holding an unspoken tone before he shifted closer to you, arms snaking around your waist to pull you close to him. “it’s hot when you hate me, y’know? the look you gave me when i’m inside you. could almost kill.”

you let him hold you close. you allowed because you’ve grown to appreciate his warm touch, his body that envelopes you like a fuzzy little bridal veil that keeps you safe and content. it was almost like the verse where they say you are drawn to one like a moth to a flame.

kaiser presses one soft kiss on your shoulders. then many more around your neck area.

“i don’t hate you, michael. sure, you’re a cocky racer and you look down on street racers, but i can tell you deep down respect them and their independence. and as for me…”

“i fucking love you,” the man finishes for you, his hands trailing up to your chest to rest his palm against your breast, giving it one light squeeze. “it’s always been you who’s cracking my view on street racers. if anything, you’re my favourite street racer, schatz.”

a smile crept up your cheeks at his words. kaiser has a way with his words, even if they were normal phrases spoken to others. he coats his words with a fine layer of honey, but whenever he’s with you, it’s nothing but pure, sweet poison that you’re willingly absorbing.

“i love you too,” you softly said, feeling his lips curled into a smile against your skin as well before he pressed his bare chest against your back.

“now that’s better than hate,” murmured the emperor of the road before he nuzzles his face into your neck and both your souls fell into a tranquil slumber.

© SENEON 2024 ♰ do not repost, alter, or translate.

[awearywritersworld]

men are so quick to blame the gods

ryomen sukuna x reader summary: your boyfriend is a heavy sleeper, leaving you to form an unlikely relationship with the curse occupying his body during the late hours of the night. w/c: 2.6k tags/warnings: enemies to lovers. angst/fluff. aged up!yuuji. sa is mentioned but it's pretty much just sukuna saying he doesn't condone it. heavy kissing. obvi features yuuji x reader but it's not at all the focus. cursing. sukuna calls you kitten. i'd like to think he's not too ooc in this but im probably delusional. not canon compliant. fem!reader. no use of y/n. no manga spoilers. a/n: am i rehabbing our handsome vicious psychopath? yes<3 loosely inspired by this post (features manga spoilers) of him being v beautiful and poetic series masterlist // masterlist

humans have always irritated the king of curses— pathetic little vermin scurrying around, utterly oblivious to their own weakness.

so it came as quite a shock to him when he awoke after over a millenia, only to find himself trapped inside the body of some teenaged brat.

nearly 7 years later and he's positive there isn't a person he despises more in the universe. not even the cocky six eyes wielder can elicit sukuna's fury the way itadori yuuji so easily does.

that's why he resolved early on to kill his vessel's pretty little girlfriend, an act he hopes might satiate his spite. he's positive nothing would devastate yuuji more.

luckily for you, life has a funny way of working.

you and yuuji are standing at an intersection in the city, the pink-haired man staring at his phone as he tries to piece together the directions to a new sushi restaurant you've been wanting to try.

when the pedestrian sign on the other side of the street blinks, you step out onto the pavement without checking for oncoming traffic.

"what the-" yuuji's confused voice fills your ears just as a rough hand wraps around your wrist, yanking you backward violently.

a car barrels through the spot you'd just been standing, the driver clearly not paying attention to the traffic signal. you look back just in time to see harsh black marks fading from your boyfriend's arm, though the rest of his body has seemingly remained unblemished.

it's an odd sensation for yuuji because he's never lost control to sukuna in such a manner. he doesn't dwell on it long though, as anger blossoms in his chest.

"do not touch her," he scolds the curse occupying his body.

a mouth appears on his cheek and scoffs. "sure. i'll just let her die next time."

"it's okay, yu," you interject before he can retaliate. "thanks, sukuna. i, uh, appreciate it."

he grumbles something incomprehensible, his mouth quickly disappearing. your boyfriend looks at you bemused, but you only shrug. the fact that yuuji had lost control to sukuna doesn't make you feel nervous or threatened. you're grateful that he kept you from being run over, albeit a bit surprised.

as you continue your walk to the the sushi restaurant, you find yourself not quite able to meet yuuji's eye because... well... you haven't exactly been forthright regarding your relationship with the king of curses.

the first night it happens, you're laying in bed eagerly finishing the final volume of a manga you've been reading. yuuji is fast asleep and has been for hours, though you're used to being the night owl in the relationship.

you keep wiping at your eyes, the cheerful ending tugging at your heartstrings and tying the story together in a beautiful way.

"can you stop with your incessant sniveling? this idiot's brain is so rarely quiet and you're ruining it."

you look over to see the eye beneath your boyfriend's is open, staring at you scornfully.

"can you fuck off?" your tone is obviously meant to mock him. "i'm finishing one of my favorite mangas and you're ruining it."

"need i remind you of your place, brat?" he sneers. "it's dreadfully wretched, crying because you don't like the ending to some stupid story."

"since you're so clearly invested, i'll have you know i'm crying because i do like it."

"..and here i thought you couldn't get any more pathetic."

your eye twitches in annoyance. "just because you're mad about being stuck in 'some idiot human's body' doesn't mean you have to go around projecting your feelings of inadequacy onto other people."

you move your hand to cover the mouth on your boyfriend's cheek before sukuna can respond, hissing out in pain just a moment later.

"oh my god, you actually bit me." you inspect the teethmarks on your palm in disbelief.

"just wait until i win control of this body— the punishment you deserve for such insolence. you'd better hope you're miles away, but even then—"

"holy shit, enough already. i'll go to sleep. enjoy your peace and quiet," you growl angrily, flipping off the lamp and turning away from him. for some reason, you still find yourself mumbling, "good night."

sukuna's eye widens before promptly closing, the silence hanging in the air heavily. it's the longest conversation he's had in years and the first casual pleasantry he's heard in a millenia. he tries to feel satisfied that he got what he wanted in the end, before returning to his quiet solitude.

over the next few months, your late nights are graced somewhat frequently by the king of curses. he mainly complains— the friends you hung out with earlier were annoying, the tv's too loud, it took yuuji twenty minutes to exorcise a curse that sukuna could have dealt with in seconds.

it doesn't bother you nearly as much anymore and he's no longer able to get under your skin like he did that first night. it seems as if he's losing his touch, or perhaps he just isn't trying as hard.

it's around one in the morning, a book resting in your lap while your boyfriend snores softly beside you. sukuna's eye pops open, peering over at the text. "you're reading homer?"

your body jerks, startled by his sudden question, but you recover soon thereafter. "yeah, were you two friends or something?"

"no, you fool," he derides. "he lived far before my time."

though you don't comment on it, you find it amusing that your sarcasm had gone over his head. "oh, you're right. how silly of me to think you had friends."

"such profound witticism. i can hardly contain myself."

you sneak a glance over to find he's narrowed his eye at you and you actually giggle. "sorry."

it doesn't dawn on you how bizarre the interaction is, but sukuna abruptly realizes that something feels different. not once before tonight had he made you laugh.

he pushes the thought from his mind. "i did, however, indulge in his works during the heian period."

"really?" you perk up. it's not often you give him your full attention. "what'd you think?"

"i suppose i liked him well enough. one of my favorite lines comes from the poem you're reading."

you motion your hand for him to continue. "well don't be shy. i'm sitting here with bated breath."

he rolls his eye, but speaks nonetheless.

"men are so quick to blame the gods— they say that we devise their misery..." you realize for the first time how gruff his voice is, the deep reverberations sending a shudder down your spine. "but they themselves, in their depravity, design grief greater than the griefs that fate assigns."

his eye flickers between each of yours before you look back to your book, fiddling with the corner of the page. you're suddenly feeling rather shy. "does that mean you think humans are even crueler than you?"

he muses over your question briefly.

"if i recounted how men would flee the villages i burned, leaving their families behind in a selfish attempt to save themselves.. who would you find more revolting?

you swallow nervously. "i.. i don't know."

"what if i told you of the men who would eagerly offer their wives and daughters to me, hoping i'd spare them.. who would you deem more wicked?"

you're so busy avoiding his gaze that you don't see the way he carefully regards you. a question you're unsure you want the answer to tumbles from your lips before you can stop it. "did you accept? the.. the husbands' offers—"

"no," he responds. "i have little interest in unwilling partners."

"oh. well that's, um, good."

he hums in response, leaving you to process everything he's told you.

"you should stop," you blurt out eventually.

"stop what?"

"being nice to me." you wouldn't normally consider discussing literature then reminiscing about the egregious stories of his past life particularly kind, but then again, it is sukuna you're speaking with. "it's weird."

he rolls his eye again. "you're hardly in any position to be giving me orders, you insufferable brat."

"see? that's much better."

"why are you crying?" his tone is even, conveying neither annoyance or concern. truthfully, he has no idea what compelled him to ask in the first place.

you don't answer, hoping he'll leave you alone. you really don't have it in you tonight, even if sukuna's been much more tolerable recently. it's been weeks since you finished reading homer's epic poem.

the moon is already setting and it's just a few days before your date at the sushi restaurant.

when you sniffle again, he calls your name. you don't register that he doesn't say brat or idiot. it's the first time he's used your actual name.

"w-what do you want?"

"i seem to recall asking you a question."

you're laying on your side, facing away from yuuji and by extension, sukuna.

"i'm not crying," you declare.

sukuna briefly wonders why he's stuck dealing with you while yuuji sleeps, but his inward 'annoyance' is half hearted. "you're an awful liar."

you exhale and turn to look at him. the only light in the room is coming from the tv, but it's enough that he can see you clearly. "sometimes.. i can't help but worry about the execution."

yuuji has told you countless times that gojo has a plan, that he won't let anything happen, but you know what the higher ups are capable of.

and while it's down right shameful, you know that much, it's not only your boyfriend you worry about these days. sukuna's become so commonplace in your life, you almost look forward to talking with him at night.

"the thought of losing yuuji... of losing.. you.. it scares me," you murmur.

your words stir up feelings he's never once experienced and it's confusing to him. "i'd have figured you'd at least be pleased to be rid of me."

"well, i-i kind of thought we were friends now," you share without thinking.

"don't flatter yourself."

he regrets the words as soon as they come out of his mouth and the guilt he feels as he watches your face fall is unbecoming of a being so powerful. you apologize meekly, shifting (too late) to hide your hurt.

he can't remember a moment in which he's hated being trapped in his vessel's god forsaken body more. he wants to reach out to you, even if the idea feels entirely foreign to him.

but he can't, so he just sighs. "if you think i'm going to let a few feebleminded sorcerers execute me and the brat, you're even more foolish than i thought."

you peer at him, the smallest smile gracing your lips when you realize that's probably as close to an apology as sukuna would ever get.

"promise?"

for fuck's sake. he feels utterly pathetic. completely deplorable. laughable, even—

"yes," he states impassively. "now go to sleep."

"okay." your smile is just a little wider as your fingertips brush the spot below his eye and above his mouth. you wonder if he can even feel it. "good night, sukuna."

"...night, brat."

less than a week after sukuna saves your life at the intersection, yuuji kisses you goodbye as he heads out to a mission. he assures you he'll be early tonight, as he only has to exorcise a semi-grade one cursed spirit in roppongi.

though things don't go quite as planned because in addition to the semi-grade, he finds himself standing before two special grades. he manages to defeat one of the special grades, but the other two leave him badly hurt, his breathing labored.

he has to beg sukuna to switch out with him. the king of curses hasn't forgotten his promise to you and he's no fool— it's clear this is an ambush by the higher ups— but he'll be damned if he wasn't going to have a little fun with the brat first.

he makes quick work of the curses, each of them going rigid with fear as soon as he appears, and it soon becomes apparent that yuuji is too weakened to take back control of his body just yet.

at last, sukuna has his long yearned for freedom and a new world at his fingertips, but there's just one problem... all he wants to do is find you.

when the lock to your apartment clicks, your eyes shift to the door, an excited grin on your face. you can't hide your shock when it isn't your boyfriend that steps inside.

you don't say anything at first, simply following his frame across the room as he approaches you. he leans against the wall a few feet away from where you're sitting on the couch, folding his arms across his chest.

"seems your concerns about the execution weren't unwarranted."

"w-what?!" you exclaim, rising to your feet and taking a step toward him. "what happened?"

he relays the story to you, emphasizing how 'unimpressive' yuuji's power was and how 'terribly simple' it was for him to finish the job his vessel couldn't.

you narrow your eyes at him, only half joking when you ask, "what are you doing here, then? shouldn't you be off pillaging tokyo or something?"

he chuckles. "such a dark mind you have. it wounds me to hear you assume the worst of me."

you bite your lip to hide your smile. "just figured it'd save time."

he closes the space between you and though you can feel the heat radiating from his body, you don't shy away from him. instead, your eyes trail over the dark lines adorning his face and chest.

he reaches up and your breath catches in your throat when the back of his fingers ghost over your neck. his nails graze your skin and a sly smirk forms on his face. "aren't you frightened? it'd be all too easy to kill a little thing like you."

"but you won't."

he can't tell if your assuredness pisses him off, but it certainly makes his heart rate pick up. his hand now occupies the space where your neck meets your shoulder, his touch surprisingly gentle. "what has you so convinced?"

"well you saved me, didn't you? and.. and you kept your promise."

he hums in response and your hand seems to act of its own accord when it reaches up to rest atop his. any lingering sense of amusement is gone in an instant, the air now fraught with tension.

"so why are you here, sukuna?" you murmur.

the king of curses has never known goodness. he's wrought untold destruction and misery, his name inspiring fear even after millenia. he's a legend— a god, even— yet here you are staring up at him and he swears the look in your eyes is almost tender.

"i don't know."

"and you had the nerve to call me an awful liar."

you know you're taking a risk when you lean up and press your lips to his. he freezes for a moment before his mouth begins to move against yours tentatively. his arm stays at his side, so you grab his hand, moving it to your waist.

it's as if that flips a switch in sukuna. he backs you up against the wall somewhat roughly and you can feel him smile against your lips when you let out a squeak of surprise.

he uses the opportunity to take your bottom lip between his teeth, tugging at it before moving to your neck with the intention of leaving a trail of marks across your delicate flesh.

you know you should care, but you just can't bring yourself to tell him to stop. you're too preoccupied with the feeling. he revels in the little gasps he's pulling from your throat, in the way you grab weakly at his biceps.

"you are divine, kitten," he growls. "been waiting so long to touch you."

just as he finishes speaking, he pulls back a few inches and his body stiffens.

"damn it. not now, you stupid brat—"

the words die in his throat as the black lines begin to fade and you're met with the perplexed face of your boyfriend. he breaths out your name, clearly worried. "what.. what happened?"

[writerbugg]

𝕭𝖚𝖗𝖓𝖊𝖉

Yan. Viktor x Reader

Word Count - 9.3K

Some notes. This story should NOT be romanticized, this is one of my darker stories so please read the warning.

The timeline of this oneshot is a bit distortated, I'm spreading some of the events out a bit farthen then they happedn in the og storyline.

The reader is mid-twenties (25-26) in this so there's around a 5 year age difference.

!!Warnings!! - Yan. behavior, Mentor and Apprentice Relationship, OOC, Smoking, Violence, Gaslighting, Manipulation, Unwanted Physical Touch, Guilt-tripping, Panic attack, Mentions of Blood, Injury

Pt.2 (Feat. Yan Jayce) Coming soon...

━━━━━╝✹╚━━━━━

And the world screams,

'Kiss me, Sun of God.'

━━━━━╗✹╔━━━━━

Your breath fogs the window as you rest your head against it. The sun hasn’t risen, yet sleep eludes you. Outside, the world is a mix of cold and silence, but your mind churns ceaselessly.

Three years since you began your apprenticeship under Jayce. In that time, Hextech has advanced beyond anything you could have dreamed.

Piltover has become the heart of progress, its Hexgates connecting nations, "The Center of Trade and Evolution," as Mel once called it.

Yet, for all its brilliance, Hextech remains a paradox to you—a marvel you can admire but never fully understand, much less touch.

Your gaze drifts to the blue orb resting beside you, its pulsing aura whispering a melody you can’t quite discern. Hesitantly, you reach for it, your fingers twitching as the air around the gemstone hums with energy.

You barely graze the pristine blue gem before a sharp jolt shoots through your fingers.

You yank your hand back with a hiss, cradling it to your chest. Blowing on your fingertips does little to soothe the sharp, lingering sting. An exasperated sigh escapes you as you look down at your slightly blistered fingers. This result was expected but still maddening.

For reasons you could not understand, touching Hextech directly always left you burned.

“No progress, hmm?”

The clicking of a cane echoes behind you. Panic flickers across your face as you quickly tuck your hand behind your back and turn around, but it’s too late.

Looking up, you’re met with the unimpressed stare of your mentor’s lab partner.

A nervous chuckle escapes as your cheeks flush with shame. Viktor hobbles closer, stopping in front of you. With a pointed expression, he silently gestures for your hand.

Reluctantly, you reveal your hand from behind your back. Viktor takes it carefully, his touch firm but gentle as his eyes trace the small burns along your fingers.

“You know,” Viktor begins, “it seems counter-intuitive for Jayce to appoint the one person in Piltover incapable of safely handling the Hexcore as his apprentice.”

He presses lightly on one of the burns, making you wince and yank your hand back. You glare at him, but he ignores it.

“Why are you up so early?” he asks. “And meddling with Hextech alone? Jayce has told you many times—it’s reckless, given your condition.”

You shrug, offering no real explanation. The ambiguity earns you a disapproving look, though you catch a glimmer of amusement in Viktor’s expression.

“Jayce is rubbing off on you,” he mutters. “Both of you are hardheaded to a fault.”

Viktor turns and gestures for you to follow him. You comply, trailing him to his cluttered desk. Notes are scattered everywhere, buried under odd trinkets and prototypes.

Reaching over the mess, Viktor grabs a small ceramic jar. Carefully, he removes its glass lid, revealing a clear green liquid swirling inside. Dipping a piece of cotton into the liquid, Viktor takes your hand again, dabbing the burns with a precision that’s almost meditative.

The burns will heal in a few days, fading as if they were never there. Still, this ritual has become a quiet tradition, a bond between you and Viktor—something unspoken yet meaningful.

The door swings open, shattering the tranquility. You immediately sit up straight, pulling your hand away from Viktor.

Jayce enters, his smile as bright as ever, and your stomach flutters as his gaze meets yours.

“Good morning, you two!” he says cheerfully, earning a grunt from Viktor and a wave from you.

“Today’s the day—Progress Day!” Jayce announces, his excitement contagious. “We’re finally going to showcase everything we’ve been working on.” Even Viktor’s lips twitch into a faint smile.

Jayce crosses the room to retrieve the crystal you had touched earlier, carefully placing it back in its case. “We need to get ready. Heimerdinger will be here any moment.”

He turns to you, pulling out a pair of gloves from his pocket and handing them over. “My mother made these,” he admits. “For the presentation. I need my apprentice up there with me, after all.”

You take the gloves, admiring the craftsmanship. “Wait… you want me on stage?” you ask, startled.

Jayce chuckles. “It’s your last year of apprenticeship, Y/N. You’ve proven yourself time and time again.” He places a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “It’s time you made your debut.”

━━━━━━━━❪❂❫━━━━━━━━

“The gemstone is gone.”

❪❂❫

“I have come before you to recommend that we suspend all Hextech operations.”

❪❂❫

“I propose that a new chair be brought forth and that House Talis be elevated to the august body.”

❪❂❫

You lay on the rooftop, staring at the stars above. The events of the day whirl in your mind like a storm. The attack, the stolen gemstone, Jayce’s abrupt decision to shut down Hextech operations without consulting you or Viktor, and his election to the council. It all feels surreal, a cascade of chaos.

“The stars are lovely tonight, no?”

The sudden voice draws your attention. Viktor stands nearby, his gaze fixed on the heavens. Though calm, his posture betrays exhaustion.

He sits beside you, gesturing toward the horizon. “Do you see them? The lights of the Undercity.”

You nod as faint glimmers come into view. “You’re from the Undercity, right?” you ask softly.

Viktor inclines his head. “And that’s why you want to use Hextech,” you continue, “to help them.”

“Yes,” he says, conviction threading through his voice. “I wish to end the suffering of the Undercity. To use our technology to evolve humanity—beyond its limits.”

You place a hand on his shoulder. He stiffens at first but relaxes as your words cut through the quiet.

“Your dream is beautiful, Viktor,” you say, admiration clear in your voice. “And I can’t wait to see you and Jayce bring it to life.”

His golden eyes linger on the Undercity before flickering to you. “You believe in us,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “In me.”

“Of course I do,” you reply without hesitation. “You see possibilities where others see obstacles. How could I not believe in that?”

A rare softness touches his gaze. “Thank you,” he says earnestly. “Your faith… it means more to me than I often let on.”

The silence that follows is comfortable, the two of you watching the stars and the faint lights of the Undercity. Yet, a shadow passes over Viktor’s expression. His fingers tighten around his cane, his thoughts veiled but heavy.

“The night grows late,” he says finally. “We should rest. Tomorrow will bring more challenges.”

━━━━━━━━❪❂❫━━━━━━━━

You stood silently behind Jayce, your gaze darting between him and Viktor as the tension between them thickened.

"This is a misuse of our work," Viktor muttered, eyes fixed on the enforcers tinkering with the Hexgate. His voice carried the sharp edge of frustration. "What happened to our promise to improve lives? To help those in the Undercity?"

Jayce let out a sharp breath, shaking his head dismissively. "I’m a Councilor now, Viktor," he replied, his tone clipped. "My priority is ensuring the Hexgates are secure. That has to come first." He turned to you, raising an eyebrow. "You understand, don’t you?"

Caught off guard, you hesitated, shifting your weight. "Maybe you should’ve... included Viktor in your plans," you murmured carefully. "You know, since you’re supposed to be partners."

Jayce scoffed lightly, his humor paper-thin. "Aren’t you supposed to be my apprentice?" he quipped, offering you a half-smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Across from him, Viktor gave you a small, almost imperceptible nod. A flicker of genuine gratitude. You returned it with a faint smile before Jayce’s attention shifted elsewhere.

Marcus entered the room, and Jayce moved to speak with him, leaving you and Viktor by the railing.

"I just don’t understand," Viktor murmured as you leaned on the edge beside him. "This should be all the more reason to push our research further. The Undercity needs us, and the longer we ignore them, the angrier they’ll grow."

His gaze flicked to your hands, lingering briefly on the smooth skin where blisters had once marred the surface.

"...Thank you," he whispered, his voice soft but sincere. "At least you understand my frustrations better than Jayce does."

You shifted awkwardly, rubbing the back of your neck. The quiet critique of your mentor made your stomach knot, but you kept silent. It wasn’t your place to interfere in the growing rift between them.

"—Have you made any progress on the stolen Gemstone?" Jayce's voice cut through your thoughts, snapping your focus back to him.

You noted the strain in his posture, the faint shadows under his eyes. He looked overwhelmed, and a pang of sympathy tugged at your chest. His new role was a heavy burden, but selfishly, you wondered how it might affect your time together. Would he place your training on hold, as he had seemingly done with Hextech?

The thought left a sour taste in your mouth.

Shaking it off, you turned to Viktor, who had gone quiet. His gaze was fixed on the Hexcore, its faint glow reflected in his eyes. There was a distant, almost hypnotized look in his expression.

A chill crept up your spine.

"Viktor?" you called softly, stepping closer. Your heart jolted as you noticed the blood trickling from his nose.

"Viktor!" You grabbed his shoulder instinctively. The touch startled him, and he tensed briefly before relaxing as he recognized you.

“…I’m fine," he muttered, brushing your hand away with a quiet sigh.

Jayce, alerted by the commotion, hurried over. His eyes darted between you and Viktor, narrowing when he saw the blood.

“Viktor, are you all right?” he asked, placing a firm hand on Viktor’s shoulder. The gesture forced you to step back, though you remained close.

“It’s... just a headache," Viktor replied tersely, shrugging off Jayce's hand. "I need to get back to the lab."

He turned away, cane tapping against the floor in an uneven rhythm. Halfway to the exit, he hesitated and glanced over his shoulder, gesturing for you to follow.

You cast a quick, uncertain look at Jayce, who stayed rooted in place, his gaze troubled.

After a brief hesitation, you complied, following Viktor into the corridor.

The walk to the lab was steeped in silence, tension radiating from Viktor with every brisk step. His jaw was set, his frustration evident in the stiff line of his posture.

Suddenly, he stumbled, his cane skidding against the floor. You lunged forward just in time to catch him as he collapsed against the wall, coughing violently.

"Viktor," you murmured, adjusting to support his weight as he leaned heavily on you. His breaths came in labored gasps, but he didn’t resist your help.

"Maybe we should call it a night," you suggested gently. "You’re not well. I could make you some soup—tomato basil, maybe?" You offered a tentative smile. "It’s the only thing I can cook without setting a stove on fire."

Viktor didn’t respond, his focus elsewhere as you guided him to the lab. Once there, you settled him into a chair and pulled up one beside him.

For a moment, the quiet hum of machinery filled the air.

"When I lived in the Undercity," Viktor began suddenly, his voice subdued, "I knew a man—a teacher of sorts. He once told me that loneliness was the burden of a gifted mind." He turned to you, his expression contemplative. "Do you ever feel that? The isolation, simply because you see the world differently?"

You considered his words, offering a faint smile. "Honestly? No. My parents were... eccentric, to say the least. Borderline mad scientists, but they understood me. Every phase, every crazy idea—I always had them."

Your smile softened. "And now, you have me. And Jayce. Even if we don’t always agree, we’re here for you, Viktor. Right behind you. Always."

His lips curved into a faint, bittersweet smile, though his eyes flickered briefly toward the Hexcore.

━━━━━━━━❪❂❫━━━━━━━━

Hours later, you had gone home, leaving Viktor alone in the lab to finish working on the Hexcore. The day’s events weighed heavily on him, the anger and disappointment still clinging to the air like smoke. His hands ran through his hair in frustration.

Sending you home had felt like the right decision at the time, but now that he was alone, a pang of creeping guilt settled over him. He hated that you were caught in the middle of his and Jayce’s ongoing conflict, forced to navigate between them because of your apprenticeship.

Your apprenticeship under Jayce.

The sudden acknowledgment twisted sharply in Viktor's chest. You were bound to Jayce—the Council’s rising star, Piltover’s golden boy. Jayce, who’d leaped into his new role without considering the ripple effects on those tethered to his orbit. On you. On your work. On your future.

If Viktor were your mentor—

He cut the thought off sharply, jaw tightening. It wasn’t his place. But the resentment gnawed at him, clawing at the edges of his resolve. You deserved a mentor who saw your potential, not someone too blinded by his own ambitions to nurture it.

Viktor’s eyes flickered to the porcelain pot sitting on his desk.

Perhaps…

The Hexcore hummed faintly, its glow pulsating in uneven rhythms. Viktor rose, but a sudden wave of nausea pulled him back, his knees buckling as he gripped the desk for support. The fit came hard and fast, wracking his body until crimson droplets sprinkled onto the scattered notes on his desk.

The air thickened, whispers curling like smog around him. His blurred gaze fell to the Hexcore, now spinning in erratic spirals, its light carving shadows that seemed to breathe.

A promise hummed through the static—a tantalizing whisper of hope, of salvation, of Evolution.

━━━━━━━━❪❂❫━━━━━━━━

It was early morning when you got the news.

Your breath was labored as you raced past Jayce who had just exited Viktor's room, not sparing him a single glance.

“Viktor!” Your voice jolts the frail man awake as you burst into the room.

“I came as soon as I heard,” you murmur, setting your bags on the chair beside him and diving into them. “I stopped by a few places to pick up things I thought you might need—”

Your words tumble over each other as you pull out a mismatched assortment of elixirs, fresh food, and little trinkets. You barely notice his faint, amused smile as he watches you, his chest rising and falling with labored breaths.

“You’ve brought half the city,” Viktor rasps, his voice weak but carrying a faint warmth.

You pause, finally meeting his gaze. “I’d bring the whole of Piltover if it meant you’d get better,” you say softly.

His smile lingers, though bittersweet.

You feel tears well in your eyes as you stare at your friend. "...How long?" You whisper shakily.

"...A few months," Viktor answered, his voice quiet.

The words hit like a blow to the stomach. Without thinking, you step closer, wrapping your arms around him. Viktor stiffens at first, surprised, but slowly, he returns the embrace.

You cling to him as sobs wrack your body, your tears soaking into his thin shirt. “I can’t lose you,” you choke out.

For a moment, his hand hesitates, then rests lightly against your back. His voice is a faint murmur, “You won't,” Over your shoulder, he gazes at the sketches of the Hexcore, a stark reminder of what it promised him.

The tools are in his grasp now.

The faint smile on his lips remains, but its sweetness curdles, twisting into something spoiled, something unlike himself. His grip tightens—almost imperceptibly—as if tethering himself to you.

"I haven't given up yet,"

━━━━━━━━❪❂❫━━━━━━━━

“You should be with them.”

Jayce glances up at Mel, her calm expression a contrast to the weight of his own guilt. She’s right, as usual. Viktor was his partner. You were his apprentice. He should be with you, especially after this morning.

That look on your face this morning... The desperation, the panic. He’d never seen you so raw, so vulnerable, and it made him feel helpless. Useless.

Mel’s hand moves gently through his hair as she speaks, breaking the quiet. “How is Mx. L/N? I haven’t seen much of them lately.”

Jayce stiffens, glancing away. “They’re fine, I think—why?”

Mel shrugs, her tone nonchalant but her gaze sharp. “No reason, just an observation. They seem... distant. Did something happen?”

Jayce falters. Had something happened? You and he didn't talk as frequently as before. He searches his memory but finds only fragments—moments where your attention seemed elsewhere, your words clipped.

“I don’t know,” he admits. A quiet befalls the two of them, only a soft breeze interrupting the silence.

“Maybe I... should be there more. For both of them.”

Mel hums thoughtfully, her fingers stilling. “Perhaps you should. Before it’s too late.”

[OML I LOVE MEL KJENFKJSEDF]

━━━━━━━━❪❂❫━━━━━━━━

Jayce hesitated at the door, his hand hovering over the knob. The dim light spilling from under Viktor’s door made his stomach twist. He knew he should have come sooner.

The door creaked softly as he pushed it open, revealing Viktor sitting upright in bed, a sketchpad balanced on his lap. You were slumped in a chair beside him, fast asleep, your face turned toward him with exhaustion etched in every line. Viktor’s hand idly brushed through your hair, his movements slow, almost reverent.

“Jayce,” Viktor greeted, his voice hoarse but carrying that sharp, sardonic edge. “Burning the midnight oil, I see.”

Jayce stepped into the room, his gaze flickering between you and Viktor. “I came to check on you,” he said after a beat. “On both of you.”

“How thoughtful,” Viktor murmured, though there was no mistaking the faint sting beneath his words.

Jayce’s chest tightened. “I didn’t know it was this bad,” he admitted. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Viktor’s smile was razor-thin. “And what would you have done, Jayce? You’ve been occupied. The Council, your reputation, your ambitions—so many pressing matters. Where would I fit?”

The words struck like a blow, and Jayce flinched. “That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” Viktor’s voice softened, a chilling calm threading through his words. “When was the last time you worked with us in the lab? When did you last look at them and see what this has cost?”

Jayce’s gaze fell to you, the subtle furrow in your brow even in sleep telling him everything he needed to know.

“They’re loyal,” Viktor continued, his hand stilling briefly in your hair. “More than I deserve, perhaps. Certainly more than you’ve earned.”

“Viktor…” Jayce’s voice cracked under the weight of guilt.

“They need someone who sees them. Not someone torn between a dozen different obligations.” Viktor’s hand resumed its slow, deliberate motion, his gaze settling back on Jayce with unsettling clarity. “Loyalty has its limits, after all, and it frays under neglect.”

Jayce opened his mouth, searching for a rebuttal, but found none. Instead, he swallowed the lump in his throat and turned toward the door.

As it clicked shut behind him, Viktor glanced toward the Hexcore sketches. His fingers curled through your hair as he murmured, “You’ll see. Progress waits for no one.”

━━━━━━━━❪❂❫━━━━━━━━

Jayce stared at the envelope in his hands. It felt heavier than any paper had the right to be. He had agonized over this decision for days, and yet it still felt like a betrayal.

When he opens the door, the soft clink of tools fills the air. You’re at the workbench, hunched over a half-assembled gadget. The sight reminds him of all the times he would stand over your shoulder and critique you.

“Hey,” he calls gently, but the sound still makes you jump.

You turned, your expression softening into a smile—until you saw the look on his face.

“Jayce?” you asked, worry lacing your tone. “What’s wrong?”

He hesitates. Only for a moment, but still, it felt like an eternity.

“I need to talk to you,” He held out the envelope, his hand trembling slightly. “...about your apprenticeship.”

Your eyes darted to the envelope before back to him. “What about it?”

He hesitated, then forced the words out. “I— Viktor and I thought this might be... better for you.”

You take the envelope, your fingers brushing his briefly. The contact sends a brief flicker of warmth through you, but it’s quickly extinguished by the growing knot in your stomach.

“What is this?” you ask, your voice quieter now.

Jayce rubs the back of his neck, his eyes darting anywhere but your face. “It’s... a transfer of mentorship. To Viktor. He’ll take over as your mentor from now on.”

The silence in the room was deafening.

“It’s for the best,” Jayce said quickly as if the words might soften the blow. “Viktor can give you the attention you nee—”

“Why?” The question escapes before you can stop it, laced with disbelief and hurt. “Did I... do something wrong?”

Jayce winces, shaking his head, “No, it’s not that. You’ve been incredible, really. It’s just Viktor… He’s better suited for this.”

“Better suited?” you repeat, your voice cracking.

“That’s not what I meant." He defended, stepping forward, but you recoiled, the distance between you widening in more ways than one."You deserve someone who can focus on you, who can... help you grow. And with everything going on, I just—”

“You just what?” Your grip tightens on the papers, your heart pounding in your chest. “You don’t want to be my mentor anymore?”

Jayce clenches his fist, but doesn't say anything, unable to look you in the eye.

“I thought...” Your voice wavers as you look down at the transfer forms. “I thought I mattered to you. That this... this partnership mattered.”

“You do,” Jayce says quickly, stepping closer, his hands hovering as if he wants to reach out but can't. “You matter, I promise. This isn’t about that, it’s about what’s best for you.”

“Then why does it feel like you're only doing what's best for you?”

The question hangs in the air, and Jayce flinches as if struck.

Clutching the papers to your chest, you quickly begin cleaning up your station. “Fine,” you whisper, your voice trembling as you jam your now broken gadget into a random drawer. “If this is what you think is best, then, fine.”

Turning away, you leave Jayce standing there, his fists clenching at his sides. The door closes softly behind you, but the weight of what just happened lingers in the room, heavy and suffocating.

Jayce sinks into the nearest chair, burying his face in his hands. “I’m sorry,” he whispers to the empty air, though he knows the words won’t reach you.

━━━━━━━━❪❂❫━━━━━━━━

The lighter flicks in your hand, the flame sparking briefly before you bring it to the cigarette perched between your lips.

The faint burn in your throat as you inhale almost distracts you from the knot tightening in your stomach, replaying the conversation in your mind.

Leaning against the railing, you hold the cigarette loosely between your fingers, smoke curling upward in thin, fading wisps that vanish into the night. Your chest tightens, your gaze slipping to the envelope sitting beside you on the ledge.

You thought you mattered to him.

The sting of rejection mingles with the acrid sting of smoke, and your eyes water. You tell yourself it’s the cigarette.

You take another drag, longer this time, the embers flaring faintly against the darkness.

“Am I interrupting?”

The voice cuts through the stillness, accented and soft. You startle, choking on the inhale, coughing as you fumble to regain composure.

Turning, you find Viktor standing a few feet away, a faint smile teasing the edges of his lips as he watches you struggle.

“Geez,” you rasp, rubbing your throat. “Knocking’s a thing, you know.”

He steps closer, his gait deliberate, his eyes flickering to the cigarette now on the ground. “You smoke?” he asks, voice tinged with curiosity.

“Not often,” you mutter, shifting uncomfortably. “Old habits and all.”

Viktor hums, leaning on the railing beside you. The air between you feels heavier than the night itself. “I heard what happened,” he says, his tone subdued, “I’m sorry.” His hand finds your shoulder, the touch hesitant but grounding.

“You don’t have to apologize,” you reply, toeing the discarded cigarette. “It’s not your fault.”

His hand lingers for a moment before withdrawing. “Perhaps not. But I cannot ignore the role I’ve played in this... shift.”

A bitter laugh escapes you. “Shift. That’s one way to put it.” Your fingers tighten on the railing, the city’s lights blurring slightly as you focus on the ache twisting in your chest. “I don’t even know what I did wrong.”

“You did nothing wrong,” Viktor says firmly, his voice uncharacteristically sharp. It draws your gaze to him. “Jayce’s decision was misguided. Shortsighted.”

His conviction catches you off guard. “You think so?”

“I know so,” Viktor says, his voice softening. “He is distracted, burdened by expectations he barely understands himself. He likely believed this was best for you, but in doing so, he failed to see how much he’s hurt you.”

The words settle heavily. “Maybe,” you murmur, “but it still feels like he gave up on me.”

Viktor’s expression darkens, his hands curling faintly at his sides. “Jayce does not understand the depth of loyalty you’ve shown him. Nor the potential you hold. It is his failing, not yours.”

You swallow thickly, his words cutting through the lingering haze of doubt. “I just... I thought I mattered to him. As a mentor, as a...” You trail off, the word left unspoken, though it hangs in the air.

Silence stretches between you, filled only by the hum of the city below. Viktor’s voice, when it comes again, is quieter but no less steady. “You still matter. To me, at least.”

Your head lifts, his words sinking in. He meets your gaze, his golden eyes steady and sincere. “You are... remarkable,” he continues. “Your dedication and ingenuity should be nurtured, not cast aside.”

Heat creeps to your cheeks, and you glance away, unsure how to respond. “Thanks,” you say softly, the word inadequate but all you can manage.

His lips quirk into a faint smile. He glances at the crumpled cigarette. “Perhaps next time, a cup of tea instead?”

You laugh quietly. “Yeah, maybe.”

With a slight nod, Viktor steps back, retreating into the building, leaving you alone once more. The crisp night air fills your lungs as you take a deep breath.

━━━━━━━━❪❂❫━━━━━━━━

You’re standing beside Viktor, the air in the lab thick with tension. Heimerdinger’s voice carries a weight you haven’t heard before as he stares at the glowing Hexcore. “What is that?” he asks, his tone grim.

Viktor’s lips twitch into a smile, seemingly oblivious to the Yordle’s concern. “I call it the Hexcore,” he says. His golden gaze flickers to the device, its pulsing glow reflected in his eyes. “An adaptive rune matrix. Hextech that evolves.”

The Hexcore radiates a heat that makes your skin prickle, like standing too close to an open flame. The sensation grows, an almost oppressive wave of intensity washing over you.

“It’s groundbreaking,” Jayce adds, stepping closer, his voice animated. His words blur, drowned out by the dryness in your throat and the heat clawing at your senses.

The room wavers, the edges of your vision distorting. Viktor’s voice cuts through the haze. “You alright?” he asks, concern threading through his words. His gaze sharpens, catching the sheen of sweat on your brow.

“Fine,” you manage, your voice hoarse. “Just… not used to this.” You force a weak smile, but his eyes linger, unconvinced.

Before he can press further, Heimerdinger speaks again, his tone firm. “You must destroy it.”

Viktor’s head snaps toward him, disbelief flashing across his features. “What?” he asks, his voice almost breathless.

The Yordle’s expression hardens. “If ever you’ve trusted my guidance, trust me now. I’ve seen nations crumble from a single spark, and this—this is no different.”

Jayce moves to block Heimerdinger’s advance. “No. I won’t let you,” he states firmly, his stance unyielding.

The Hexcore pulses faintly, its glow intensifying for a moment. You step back instinctively, the heat becoming almost unbearable.

Heimerdinger’s gaze shifts to Viktor, his voice softening. “You’ve changed, Viktor. What have you done?”

Viktor hesitates, his focus flickering between the Yordle and the Hexcore. “I… I don’t understand.”

Heimerdinger’s eyes narrow, his voice heavy with warning. “That thing must be destroyed.”

The Hexcore flares again, forcing you to take another step back. Jayce and Heimerdinger exchange heated words, their voices rising over each other. Viktor remains silent, his gaze fixed on the device, distant, almost entranced.

As the argument crescendos, Heimerdinger turns to leave, pausing briefly beside you. “Trust your instincts,” he says, his voice low but firm. “And remember, sometimes your abilities are all you have. Don’t let this be your tragedy.”

His words linger as he departs, leaving a strange tension in his wake. You stay stuck in your spot, not listening entirely to Viktor and Jayce’s hushed conversation.

Viktor’s voice pulls you back. “I want you to come with me, to Zaun,” he says, his tone decisive, Jayce had already left the room, leaving just the two of you. His hand rests lightly on your shoulder, the touch steady despite the faint prickling heat. “It will be... enlightening.”

Your eyes widen at the offer. “To Zaun?” you ask cautiously. “Does Jayce—”

“Jayce isn’t your mentor,” Viktor interrupts, his tone brooking no argument. “I am. Prepare yourself. We leave tonight.”

━━━━━━━━❪❂❫━━━━━━━━

“I understand now,” Viktor said, his voice steady as he stepped closer to the shadowy figure of his old mentor, Singed. The faint flicker of light from a nearby apparatus illuminated his sharp features. “And I need your help.”

Singed didn’t look up immediately, his hands busy calibrating a device on his cluttered workbench. “And you came alone?” he asked, his tone calm, though a tinge of curiosity threaded through it.

Viktor shook his head. “No. My apprentice waits outside.”

Beyond the lab’s cracked door, you leaned against a ruined wall, exhaling a long-suffering sigh. The stale, chemical-laden air was getting to you, but boredom was the real killer. You kicked a pebble at your feet, muttering, “Some ‘important errand’ this is...”

“An apprentice?” Singed finally turned toward Viktor, his pale eyes narrowing with intrigue. “You’ve grown much, my boy. Why not bring them inside?”

Viktor’s gaze swept over the lab, lingering on the glass capsule at the far end. Inside, the still form of Rio floated, suspended in eerie silence. “They’ll... need time,” he replied, a faint unease creeping into his voice. “Like I did. I don’t want to rush things.”

Singed shrugged, his movements deliberate as he set aside his tools. “What is it you’ve brought to me?” he asked, smoothly shifting the conversation.

Viktor stepped forward, handing over a stack of meticulously prepared notes and a sealed vial. Singed accepted them, scanning the pages with practiced efficiency. “Fascinating,” he murmured. “Your work has matured, Viktor. I would very much like to see the device—this Hexcore.”

Viktor tensed, his gaze flickering back to Rio’s capsule. “That... may be difficult to arrange,” he admitted.

Singed’s expression didn’t change, but there was a weight to his silence. Viktor sighed, stepping closer to the capsule, his voice low with frustration. “I’ve tried every combination of runes. Adjustments. Iterations. Yet the result is always the same: the subject withers. It rots.”

Singed’s brow furrowed slightly, his hands resting on the workbench. “Perhaps,” he said slowly, “the fault does not lie with your calculations.”

Viktor’s head snapped toward him. “Then where?”

“With your subjects.” Singed reached for a vial of shimmering, violet liquid, its glow cutting through the dimness. “Nature has made us intolerant to change. Fortunately,” he added, holding the vial aloft, “we have the capacity to change our nature.”

Viktor stared at the vial, unease rippling through him as he took a half-step back. “And this is... shimmer?”

“A variant,” Singed confirmed, walking toward him with measured steps. “It will provide everything one needs to survive a violent transition.”

The vial’s glow reflected in Viktor’s eyes as he hesitated. The liquid pulsed faintly, almost as if it were alive. His cure. His key to evolution, so close he could almost feel its weight in his hand.

“I must warn you,” Singed said, his voice quiet yet deliberate. “If you take this path, they will despise you. Love and legacy—these are sacrifices we make for progress.”

Viktor’s fingers hovered over the vial, his breath shallow. “They will understand,” he said finally, his voice a whisper. “They always have.”

His hand closed around the vial, the glass warm against his palm. For a moment, he studied it, the shimmer within swirling as if in anticipation. He slipped it into his pocket with a flicker of resolve.

“And if they don’t,” he added softly, more to himself than to Singed, “then I will teach them to.”

Without another word, Viktor turned and strode out of the lab. The faint clinking of the vial echoed in his pocket as he stepped into the ruins, the cold air biting at his skin. His eyes quickly scanned the area, finding you crouched by a crumbled wall, lazily tossing rocks into a shallow stream.

He approached and tapped your shoulder, drawing a startled yelp from you. Spinning around, you glared at him, hand pressed to your chest. “Seriously? Can you not?”

“It’s time to go,” Viktor said, his tone clipped, brooking no argument. “I have what I came for.”

You scrambled to your feet, brushing dust off your clothes. "Uh— yeah, right— sorry," you muttered, falling into step behind him.

As you trailed after him, curiosity got the better of you. “Soo... how’d it go?”

Viktor’s stride didn’t falter. “It went... well,” he replied evenly. “I believe I’ve found a solution.”

Your face lit up with excitement. “Wait, really? Does that mean—”

“Not here,” Viktor interrupted sharply, his voice low as his gaze darted to the shadows. “It’s not safe.”

Chastened, you nodded, your excitement dimming as silence fell between you.

The city’s bustle greeted you as you passed into a more crowded district, its vibrancy pulling you from your thoughts. The chaotic energy of Zaun seemed to pulse with life, unlike anything you’d seen before.

“Wow,” you murmured, marveling at the neon-lit chaos. “This is the Undercity?”

Viktor slowed slightly, his expression softening at your wonder. “Yes. It may lack the polish of Piltover, but it is... alive in ways they cannot comprehend.”

You nodded, your gaze darting between the glowing lights and towering structures. “It’s nothing like the stories. It’s... beautiful.”

A faint smile touched Viktor’s lips. “Zaun thrives despite the shadows it’s cast into. Ingenuity flourishes here, even amidst adversity.”

You glanced at him, a grin tugging at your lips. “You’ve got stories about growing up here, don’t you?”

He chuckled quietly. “Zaun teaches resilience, but it is not a kind teacher. Every invention, every triumph—it was survival, not progress.”

“Explains a lot about you,” you teased lightly.

He arched a brow. “Oh? And what does that mean?”

You shrugged, smirking. “You’re like... the world’s most intense puzzle. But lately, I think I’m finally starting to figure you out.”

He chuckled again, a rare warmth in his voice. “And you, my apprentice, remain delightfully open-minded.”

The two of you shared a quiet smile before continuing your journey, the glow of Zaun fading as Progress Bridge loomed ahead.

━━━━━━━━❪❂❫━━━━━━━━

Jayce walks through the smog on the bridge, glancing over the aftermath of last night's attack and the protests. A frown prints itself on his face as he spots two familiar figures near the edge of the bridge.

Anger bubbles just beneath the surface, but he forces his jaw tight, trying to leash it. As he approaches, his boots scrape against the grit of the stone. Viktor is the first to notice him.

“Jayce?” Viktor’s voice is tinged with confusion, his brows knitting together as he gestures toward the blockade. “What is this?”

You sit beside Viktor, a gnawing dread coiling in your stomach. From Jayce's expression, you knew you were in trouble.

Jayce’s voice is low, but it cuts like glass. “Do you two have any idea how this looks?” He glares at Viktor, his words clipped and venomous. “I order a blockade, and my partner violates it, dragging along my- his apprentice? Are you out of your mind?”

Viktor straightens, the weariness in his frame offset by the defensiveness in his voice. “You ordered this?” His tone is incredulous, his gaze searching Jayce’s face. “Why?”

Jayce’s voice rises a bit as he struggles to remain calm. “There are people down there who seem hell-bent on destroying us. And you—” Jayce turned his fiery gaze towards you, “—you just went along with this? Knowing how dangerous it is? How reckless?”

Viktor’s lips press into a thin line as he exhales, shaking his head. “I was consulting a friend about our quandary,” he says, “I brought Y/n along because I’m their mentor, and I thought it’d be a good teaching opportunity.” his words deliberate and firm. “I told you I knew someone.”

Jayce’s eyes widened in disbelief, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “You didn’t tell me they were from the Undercity.”

Viktor’s gaze sharpened, a flicker of something dark passing through his eyes. “What difference does that make?” he asked, his voice quiet but loaded.

“They’re dangerous!” Jayce hissed.

The words hang in the air, as Viktor’s gaze hardens, glaring into the other man, “I’m from the Undercity.”

Jayce's expression melts, a donning look mixed with regret appearing on his face. “Viktor, I didn’t mean—” He reached out, but Viktor batted his hand away, leaning on his cane as he stood.

Sighing, Jayce lowers his hand, "Sorry... Was your friends able to help?

Viktor pauses, glancing back at Jayce, "No," he answered, “No, he said nature was resistant to this sort of..." His grip on his cane tightens, "tampering."

The silence hung heavy as Viktor turned, his back rigid. You follow closely behind, ignoring the feeling of Jayce's stare on you.

━━━━━━━━

The walk to the lab felt endless, the silence between you thick with unspoken tension.

Once inside, the quiet lingered, broken only by the faint, unsettling hum of the Hexcore. You sat across from Viktor, watching as he wordlessly pulled out a notebook, scribbling away as if nothing had happened.

Your gaze drifted to the two plates of food waiting on the desks—Sky must have brought them earlier. Reaching for one, you broke the silence. “Have you eaten?” you asked softly, though you already knew the answer.

Viktor didn’t look up. “We’ve been occupied,” he murmured, his focus unwavering. “I need to figure out how to…”

He trailed off, and you frowned. Setting your bags down, you approached with one of the plates. “You won’t get far on an empty stomach,” you muttered, setting the food beside him.

His pen paused as his gaze flickered to the plate, then to you. “You care too much,” he said quietly.

“And you care too little,” you counter, leaning back in your chair. “Someone has to make sure you’re taken care of.”

He chuckles dryly, placing down his notebook and pen as he turns to meet your gaze. "I thought you were my apprentice, not my caretaker."

You shrug, "Aren't apprentices supposed to help their mentors? Plus,” you leaned against the desk, “after 3 years of working together, I figured I earned the friend title.”

“Perhaps,” he said, his voice quieter now, his gaze fixed on you. There was an intensity in his eyes that made you falter.

The hum of the Hexcore permeated the atmosphere, a subtle yet resolute drone. It reminded you of flies, their incessant buzzing heralding decay, drawn to what was already doomed. Like a song, featuring a strange, almost living rhythm, curling around your thoughts. You made an effort to ignore it, but the unease it evoked inside of you persisted, a whispered omen through static.

Your gaze stayed locked with Viktor’s, his amber eyes glinting with an intensity that made your chest tighten. For a fleeting moment, you wondered if he heard the hum too— 

“Though,” Viktor murmured, his voice low and measured, “perhaps I view you as something more.”

—or if it had already consumed him.

The quiet stretched, your pulse quickening as you tried to process his words. Then, without warning, he leaned forward—lips brushing yours.

His touch was gentle, careful, but it felt wrong. The room shifted, the walls closing in as the Hexcore’s hum swelled into an unbearable crescendo, like flies buzzing over decay.

Your mind screamed at you to move, to pull away, but shock froze you in place.

You didn’t know what to do, or how to react.

When he finally drew back, the space between you felt impossibly vast and suffocating all at once. Viktor stared, wide-eyed, as if he couldn’t believe what he’d done. You mirrored his expression, stunned.

“I don’t know,” he cuts you off, his voice quiet but strained, like a violin string pulled too tight. He looks down at his hands, now trembling slightly. “I... I shouldn’t have.”

Your chest tightens as the silence between you grows unbearable. Every instinct tells you to say something, to demand an explanation, but words fail you. Instead, you grab your bags and retreat toward the door, the hum of the Hexcore growing louder in the stillness.

Viktor doesn’t move to stop you.

The door clicks shut behind you, and the faint sound feels deafening. Outside the lab, the air is cooler, but it did little to soothe the burning of his touch.

Inside, Viktor sat motionless, staring blankly at the plate of food. His lips pressed into a thin line, the weight of his guilt suffocating. But it wasn’t guilt over the act itself—no, the guilt came from something far worse.

I don’t regret it, the thought whispered like a vulture circling prey.

His gaze drifted to the Hexcore, its ominous glow pulsing faintly in the dim room. “I’m losing myself,” he murmured to the silence.

The Hexcore’s hum deepened, an almost living response, vibrating through the air like whispered agreement.

━━━━━━━━❪❂❫━━━━━━━━

You lean over the sink, droplets of water sliding down your face and dripping from your chin. The coolness of the water clings to your skin, but it does little to wash away the lingering sensation. His touch. His words. The suffocating hum of the Hexcore.

Your hands grip the porcelain edges of the sink, knuckles white, as you stare at your reflection in the mirror. Your reflection betrays you, every ounce of feeling lingering on its face. The towel wrapped around you feels heavy, suffocating, as though it might drag you under.

You don’t know what to feel.

Three years you've worked with him, learned from him. Even when he wasn't technically your mentor.

You admired him.

You owe him so much. The opportunity he gave you, the trust he placed in you. His unrelenting dedication and care, even as his body betrayed him.

The memory of his lips on yours lingers like an oil slick, something you can’t scrub away no matter how hard you try.

That bond felt scorched, twisted by the memory of his lips on yours. The Hexcore’s hum still buzzed in your mind, incessant like flies, circling something already decaying.

You press your palm to your lips as if to smother the burning sensation.

You splash water onto your face again, desperate for clarity, for some release from the sickening tangle of emotions pulling at you from every direction. Disgust coils deep within you, heavy and unrelenting. Disgust with him. Disgust with yourself.

How did it come to this?

Your breaths come in shallow gasps as your mind races. Could you have done something differently? Said something? Stopped him? But the guilt gnaws at you, whispering that perhaps you’d allowed this to happen, that your care had somehow blurred the lines between what was right and what should never have been crossed.

The buzzing from earlier won’t leave your mind, an ever-present phantom in the background of your thoughts. Flies, their relentless hum circling something already rotting.

You press the heels of your palms to your eyes, willing the image away. You want to cry, but the tears won’t come.

Instead, you exhale a shaky breath and straighten, staring at yourself in the mirror once more.

━━━━━━━━❪❂❫━━━━━━━━

"You can't be serious." Viktor seethed at Jayce, "You aren't actually considering using Hextech as a weapon, and against the undercity!?"

The past two days away from the lab weren’t nearly enough. The noise, the tension—it’s relentless. You find yourself yearning for a simpler time, back before the council, before the Hexcore began to feel like a living, breathing entity between you all.

"I can't—right now—I can't deal with this," Jayce sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I have a council meeting in a few hours. Y/n," he turned to you, his voice softening, "Could you go over these tests while I’m gone?"

You nodded, distracted, your eyes briefly locking with his.

Before you could reach for the files, a sharp voice cut through the tension.

"No."

You and Jayce turned, surprised by the sudden interruption. Viktor stood at the edge of the lab, his gaze locked on Jayce with an intensity that chilled you.

"They are no longer your apprentice, Jayce," Viktor continued, his voice rigid. "Any work they receive will be through me. And me only."

Jayce froze, eyes narrowing in frustration, but Viktor didn’t seem to care.

"Fine." Jayce scoffed, shooting Viktor one last glare before exiting the lab, the door slamming shut behind him.

The tension between you and Viktor hung in the air as silence settled in. Viktor turned back to his work, fiddling with some mechanical components. You returned to your notes, the scratching of your pencil filling the void between you.

The stillness was deafening. Only the clinking of Viktor’s tools against metal and the faint hum of the Hexcore filled the space.

"Shit, where—" Viktor muttered under his breath.

You lifted your gaze, curious, but the irritation in his tone was unmistakable.

"Y/n," he called quietly, "Do you think you can find my needle nose pliers?"

You nodded, mumbling a soft "yes" as you rose from your desk.

You glanced around, quickly spotting the pliers resting right next to the glowing Hexcore. Unease settles in you once more as you stare at the Hexcore.

Did it always look like that?

"Y/n?" Viktor's voice cut through your thoughts, forcing you back into reality.

"Oh— uh, found them."

You mutter, going over the the desk to pick them up. The moment your fingers brushed against the tool, the air seemed to crackle.

The Hexcore flared, and before you could pull away, a tendril of magic lashed out, striking your hand.

Pain seared through your palm, sharp and relentless, making you gasp and stumble back. But it was too late.

The Hexcore surged, and agony radiated up your arm like wildfire.

"Y/n!" Viktor's voice was frantic now, his chair scraping sharply against the floor as he rushed to your side.

Your skin sizzled as the glow of the Hexcore intensified.

A yank on your arm forces your attention away from the burn, Viktor grasped your hand tightly, inspecting the burn. It looked... worse than all the other burns you had received.

"You... You should have been more careful," Viktor murmured, his words shaky, but they felt distant, disconnected like they were coming from somewhere far away. His face was pale, his lips pressed into a thin line as he stared at your burned hand.

Slowly, he drags you away from the Hexcore over to his desk. Viktor grabbed a familiar porcelain pot, its surface cracked but still holding strong. He removed the glass lid, the faint scent of herbs wafting into the air as the greenish liquid within shimmered under the lab’s dim light.

For a moment, his hand hovered over the pot, hesitation flickering in his eyes. He dipped a piece of cotton into the liquid, his movements precise, almost mechanical. Then, with a gentleness that felt strangely out of place given everything, he took your injured hand in his.

The burn throbbed as he dabbed the cotton over it, the cool liquid soothing the worst of the sting. His touch was deliberate, almost reverent, as though he were trying to erase the damage through sheer force of will.

“This isn’t permanent,” he said softly, breaking the tense silence. “It will heal in a few days. You’ll hardly remember it.”

You winced as the liquid seeped into the wound, biting your lip to keep from crying out. “I’ve heard that before,” you muttered, your voice tight.

Viktor stilled, his hand pausing over yours. He stared at the burn for a long moment before he spoke again, his voice quieter this time. “Do you remember the first time this happened?”

You didn’t answer immediately, the memory tugging at the edges of your mind. It was years ago now, back when the lab felt like a sanctuary instead of a battlefield. Back when Viktor’s smile held warmth instead of shadows, the Hexcore was just an idea, not a force that seemed to breathe and pulse with its own twisted life.

“I remember,” you said, at last, your tone guarded.

Viktor nodded, his lips curving into something that was almost a smile but didn’t quite make it. “You were shaking. I thought you might never come back.”

You glanced at him, caught off guard by the faint flicker of nostalgia in his voice. “I didn’t want to. Not after that.”

He hummed, the sound low and contemplative. “And yet you did. You always came back.” His eyes met yours, and for a fleeting second, they softened. “Even when you have every reason not to.”

The words hung between you like a fragile thread.

“I came back because I trusted you,” you said quietly, the weight of the statement pressing down on your chest.

Viktor flinched, the softness in his eyes hardening into something darker. He lowered his gaze, focusing intently on your hand as he wrapped it in a clean bandage.

“You still can,” he murmured, but the words felt hollow like he was trying to convince himself more than you.

The silence stretched on, heavy and oppressive. Finally, Viktor broke it, his voice barely above a whisper. “About… before.”

Your breath hitched, and your stomach churned at the memory. You didn’t want to talk about it, didn’t want to relive the wrongness of his lips on yours or the way it had made your skin crawl.

“I shouldn’t have…” he began, his tone strained as if the words were being dragged out of him against his will. “It was—” He faltered, his grip tightening ever so slightly around your wrist. “A mistake.”

Viktor didn’t meet your gaze, his focus fixed on the task at hand. But there was something in the set of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders, that made you doubt the sincerity of his words.

“Do you regret it?” you ask.

His hand froze mid-motion, and for a long moment, he didn’t respond. Then, slowly, he looked up at you, his amber eyes burning you.

“No,” he admitted, the word barely audible. “I don’t.”

The air between you seemed to shift, the weight of his confession pressing down like a physical force.

You pull your hand away from his grasp, and he lets you.

━━━━━━━━❪❂❫━━━━━━━━

You wandered the dark hallways, muttering curses under your breath. In your rush to leave earlier, you had forgotten something important in the lab, and now you were back. The sun had long set, casting shadows that made the corridors feel even more oppressive. Every step felt heavier as you neared the lab.

Your hand rested on the door, but you hesitated. A strange purple glow seeped from beneath it. Frowning, you pushed the door open just a little more.

What you saw inside froze you in place.

Viktor stood at the center of the room, clutching the Hexcore as energy surged from it. The room was alive with chaotic power, papers swirling violently in the air. The air crackled with an intensity that almost felt suffocating.

Viktor’s grip on the Hexcore was inhumanly tight, his body convulsing as energy ripped through him. His screams echoed a twisted mix of pain and something darker.

"Viktor!?"

Without thinking, you rushed forward, grabbing his arm in an attempt to pull him away. But the Hexcore seemed to resist, pulling back with a force that threatened to tear you apart.

A searing pain coursed through you, starting from your hand and spreading through your body like wildfire. You gasped, the sensation of your skin sizzling almost audible as you fought to stay on your feet.

An opulent light flared around you, the burns climbing up your body halting and healing quickly but leaving deep, raw scars in their wake. You could barely keep your vision clear as they spread, scarring your face and limbs, only for the wounds to heal just as quickly—leaving deep, jagged scars behind.

Viktor’s strained gasps filled the air as he looked over his shoulder, horror donning in his eyes when he recognized you. He saw the burns, your face raw with the damage, but before he could speak, the Hexcore pulsed again.

A final surge of energy erupted from it, throwing you back, your body slamming against the wall with a sickening crack. The lab was plunged back into silence, save for the distant hum of the Hexcore still glowing ominously in the center of the room,

Viktor gasps, catching his breath as he writhes on the floor. Desperation claws at him as he searches for your body, wi9dening once he sees it on the other side of the lab, blood smearing the wall behind you, a stark red against the pale stone.

“Y/n—” His voice cracked, hoarse and trembling. He dragged himself toward you, his movements slow and unsteady, his desperation palpable.

“Y/n!!”

━━━━━━━━❪❂❫━━━━━━━━

Jayce stood motionless, staring at the still form in the hospital bed. Half of your face was unmarred, a ghost of the person he’d known for years. The other half was ravaged beyond recognition, the skin deeply scarred, a stark contrast that was hard to look at.

Beside him, the doctor spoke, her voice calm but grave. “There’s a spinal fracture. If they wake, they’ll be paralyzed from the waist down.”

“Stop,” Jayce whispered, his voice barely audible. He closed his eyes, as if shutting out her words could make them untrue. “Just... stop.”

The doctor hesitated, then nodded, her expression softening. “I’ll give you some space.”

As she left, Jayce remained rooted by your bedside, his gaze never leaving you. How had it come to this?

You had been more than an apprentice to him—his confidant, his partner, someone who believed in him even when he doubted himself. And now, you were here, teetering on the edge between life and death.

He gently reached for your hand, clutching it as though his grip alone could anchor you to this world. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “No more of this. No more council. I’m done with them. We’ll fix this. I’ll fix this.”

But his words felt hollow, and deep down, he knew he couldn’t undo what had been done.

━━━━━━━━❪❂❫━━━━━━━━

“No one could have predicted this tragedy. Today marks six months since Zaun’s devastating attack on Piltover—”

The radio droned on in the background, but Viktor wasn’t listening.

He stood silently beside the hospital bed, his gaze fixed on you. Your face, marked by the scars left behind, was peacefully asleep. Machines beeped softly in the background, monitoring your condition.

Viktor’s discolored hand hovered just above yours, trembling slightly. His expression was unreadable.

“Soon, my dear,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Soon.”

To be continued...

TagList:

@marcyyywukinnie

[literaila]

are you stupid?

gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary: you come home injured and satoru isn't cool with it

warnings: literal hurt/comfort, descriptions of a wound bad enough to warrant stitches, little angst, fluff, slightly ooc satoru

last part | next part

*

year six.

“are you stupid?” 

your hands are frozen to the touch, barely able to grasp the doorknob when his voice comes from nowhere at all. 

you almost don't notice it when satoru opens the door. you have to blink to focus on him, but by the time you do, you're already falling against the empty space in front of you. 

satoru is quick to catch your arm, righting you before you break your nose on the hardwood.

“that’s my line,” you tell him, slightly coughing--it sends shocks down your spine and you shiver. you shake his hand off of you, trying to walk forward, but there's a wall of a man standing there. you blink at him. "hey, satoru. would you mind moving?” 

“i could smell the blood from down the block,” he says, his voice rougher than usual, completely still. “what did you do?” 

you roll your eyes, waving a hand (even though it makes you a bit woozy). “there’s no way you could smell that. it’s not even that bad.” 

“it’s dripping down your shirt.” 

you pout, looking down. "i just washed this, too.” 

it is a lot of blood, you realize suddenly. you would definitely get some looks if you were walking down the street in public. 

still, you don't feel all that banged up. it's not really your fault that you were slightly distracted when that curse snuck up on you... or at least, you're pretty sure it's not. 

satoru, shaking his head--maybe finally realizing that you're fine--moves out of the way, holding the door open for you. "what did you do?"

you step through, using the wall to keep you steady. “how do you know i did anything?” 

you finally look at satoru, even though he's fading from your eyeline, in and out of focus. he's not wearing his blindfold or his glasses, and he's got a frown that rivals one of megumi's at the moment. 

it makes you laugh, just a little, as you try to shake the shoes from your feet. 

he was probably sleeping, you think. usually, you'd probably feel... at least slightly bad. but right now? you don't even care. 

you're just happy to see him, right in front of you like your own personal greeting card. you've only been gone a day, but satoru feels much further away than that. 

especially with his frown and his furrowed eyebrows. he's in a mood, you remember, frowning. 

“why are you bleeding, y/n?” 

you cough again, tapping his chest as you move past him. “jeez, lighten up, satoru. i’m good,” you say this as you limp down the hallway, wincing with every step. 

you don't get to watch satoru's eye roll, but it takes less than a second for an arm to wrap under your shoulders, satoru forcing your weight onto him, and he practically carries you through the house until you reach the kitchen, where he sets you on the countertop. 

he's looking at you like you're a fragile baby bird. 

and he doesn't bother to ask--of course he doesn't--before he lifts your shirt from your abdomen, it slightly sticking (due to the blood) before it rolls up. 

satoru's eyes widen as he inspects you. "woah," he whispers, paling just a little bit. 

you don't look down with him--because that's a terrible idea--but you watch satoru. 

you can barely feel it, actually. it's basically just a minor cut, nothing too--

you try not to gasp when satoru presses a finger near your ribs, not directly touching the wound, but far too close to it. it would be embarrassing to double over in pain, wouldn't it?

“is it bad?” you wonder, breathlessly, feeling a bit light-headed. 

satoru’s head snaps up, “you didn’t look?” 

“i was a bit distracted. the curse wasn't gracious enough to give me the chance to grab a couple of bandaids, the bastard."

“how did you even manage to do this?” 

your eyes trail down unconsciously, but all you can see is your bunched-up shirt--drenched in blood. yeah, you'll probably have to burn it. 

satoru is looking up and down, his face entirely disgusted, nose scrunched up and eyes avoiding your own. 

it makes you laugh a little--because you're very familiar with satoru and his opposition to anything humanly--which then makes you wince with him. 

it doesn't hurt that bad, really. 

“can you get the first aid kit?” you ask him, pushing his hands away from you and your cut. but as soon as satoru isn't right there to lean on, you begin to tilt forward. 

satoru immediately resumes his position as your pillar. “are you kidding? i’m calling shoko.” 

“i know how to do stitches, satoru. it’s late.” 

“you need, like, a stomach replacement for that.” 

you roll your eyes, leaning even further into him. at least when you're pressed up against his chest, you don't have to breathe. “you’re so dramatic.” 

satoru is still frowning. “doesn’t that hurt?” 

“nope,” you lie, sitting up and pushing his hands away again. “i’m running on adrenaline. it’s not that deep, anyway.” 

he gives you a hard look. 

you sigh. “what’s wrong with you? you can drop the act.” 

“what act?” 

“the ‘i’m the caretaker’ act.” 

“what if i came home with a hole in my stomach?" satoru's jaw is clenched. "what would you do?” 

“i can't think about hypotheticals right now, satoru,” you whine. “please get the first aid kit?” 

“should i get megumi too? might as well teach him how to stitch you up, he's getting to that age, you know.” 

“funny,” you say, dryly. “do you want me to bleed out on our counter, or…?” 

satoru sighs, but he walks out of the kitchen a moment later. hopefully to save you from dying. 

you exhale, feeling your chest tighten. you can't feel much, for the most part. but then there's that feeling every couple of seconds, a memory of the whole thing playing out-- except your head is fuzzy, and everything looks sort of… colorful right now. 

you can’t even remember how you got here. or the last time a curse managed to actually injure you. 

it feels a bit juvenile, really. 

especially because you’re in no position to be taking care of yourself—but in no world would you wake up shoko in the middle of the night for this. in no world would you wake up anyone, except for satoru, to deal with you, with your blood and your stubbornness. 

god, you hate pain. you hate having to wash blood out of your clothes, and you hate sitting here by yourself. 

you slump down. only seconds have gone by, but it feels like so much more than that. the wound burns, you think, in an unnatural way. 

you probably got poisoned and you're probably going to die and satoru is going to stomp on your grave, and--

“do we even have enough gauze to cover that up?” satoru is asking you when he walks back in. he's wearing nothing but a t-shirt and shorts, you realize, watching him. 

his eyes are stern, focused, and the rest of him is morose. you should be able to gaze at him, to stare--but you can't because your vision has spots in it, and everything about satoru is too hard right now. 

he’s been like this for days. casual but stuck—like he can’t find it in him to laugh about anything. his face has been a field of lines, with no breaks in between, and his eyes have been greyer than they should be, a sort of dim color that you hate. 

satoru's eyes are wild, usually. they are blue fires and the vast expanse of the universe. 

but not right now, when he's looking at you like this. and not this week--because he's barely been looking at you at all. 

and it's unfortunate not just because you miss him, but because you're not as good at casting it all away as he is. you can't shove things aside and make light out of the darkest situations. 

you can't fill his role, and yet you keep trying to. 

it's an inevitable cycle of failing and never being enough. 

“i’ll just cut up your shirt if there’s not enough,” you tell him, putting on a smile so he can’t tell how badly you want to start crying.

is this real pain, you wonder, or a dream? 

“use your own shirts.”

you pout. “but yours are the best quality.” 

satoru rolls his eyes, again, and begins to wipe off all of the well-used tools you have. a needle you've had for years, stolen from jujutsu high, and thread you can't remember taking. 

“what are you doing?” you try to grab the instruments from his hands, clumsily, almost cutting yourself again in the process. 

satoru is quick to hold them away, keeping them up and out of your reach. not that you were going to try very hard anyway. 

“i’m going to stitch you up," he says, like he's scolding you. 

“you don’t know how.” 

“please,” satoru scoffs, shaking his head. he gets a cloth wet under the facet, and then holds it towards you. “i probably learned how to do this before you were even born."

“when you were nine months old?” 

“clean it.” 

you listen, holding the cloth to your wound and still not looking down. it feels sort of ticklish, and also like you're being tortured. 

“you don’t have to,” you tell satoru after a moment, breathing through the nausea that comes with the pain. “i know you’re squeamish around blood.” 

“i am not squeamish.” 

you grin at him. “sure.” 

satoru looks up, and finally, his face relaxes, just a little bit. you can even see the workings of a smile on his mouth—the first you’ve gotten in days. 

he shakes his head. “i’ll be fine. sit up.” 

“seriously,” you say, again, catching his hand just as he’s about to touch you. “i can do it.” 

“seriously, i’m not letting you. your hands are shaking.” 

you look down, releasing his wrist. “oh.” 

“yeah, oh.” 

satoru kneels so he can see your cut properly, his face narrowed in concentration. you focus on him as he touches the tender skin by the wound, featherlight fingertips trailing across your skin.

you shiver and apologize under your breath. 

he hasn't been this close in days. 

“does it hurt now?” he asks you, voice so quiet that it almost echoes through the house. 

“not really,” but you look up towards the ceiling. somehow you know it’s going to be worse if you watch. 

“i can call—“ 

“no, satoru. i already told you, if you don’t want to do it then i—“ 

“okay, i’m doing it. i’m doing it.” 

you close your eyes when he punctures your skin, waiting for the feeling to subside. it's just a prick, but you still have to think about getting the mail, going to the store, taking a shower after this, or maybe just crawling out from your own skin and becoming a spirit.

but satoru seems to recognize this, maybe from your face, and he asks, “what kind of curse was it?” 

“dunno?” you breathe out, mapping a picture on the ceiling in your mind. 

“what do you mean?” 

“i can't remember.” 

satoru looks up. “what?”

“it’s all a blur,” you say, wanting to shove his hands off of you. you've been trained to kick people away, so it's really not your fault. “i think i won though.” 

“i don’t think this is winning.” 

“keep going,” you tell him, instead of arguing. “i’m fine.” 

satoru tsks but does as you say, resuming the smooth movements of suturing. any normal day, you'd probably want to watch his hands work, want to inspect his job and make fun of him for the way he holds his breath while looking at an open wound.

“how were the kids?” you ask him, after a moment. 

satoru breathes out, nodding. his hair is messy, his face slightly wrinkled from sleeping still. “they missed you.” 

“it was only a day. did megumi get that book report back yet? he was worried about it before i left, but i told him—“ 

“i missed you.” 

you look down, forgetting about pain or blood. “what?” 

“i miss you,” he says, this time, like it’s any different. satoru keeps his eyes down, his hands moving. but there's a guilty look on his face--something that tells you he didn't mean to say anything. 

“satoru…” 

“are you still mad at me?” 

you tilt your head. “mad? why would i be mad at you?” 

“you haven’t been coming to bed,” satoru answers, obviously.

your eyes widen. “satoru—“ and there’s a sharp pain in your side. 

“sorry,” he murmurs, softly, at your flinch. 

“i’m not mad at you,” you tell him, trying not to double over. your voice is high-pitched and breathy. you feel like a child—ridiculous and foolish—but it doesn’t stop you from speaking. “i was never mad at you.” 

“you weren't?” 

“you asked me for space. i was just giving it to you.” 

satoru pauses, looking up at you. 

“i… i didn’t want to push you into talking to me. i thought—i don’t know, that maybe things had changed. i mean, we don’t have to…” you wince, and it’s not because of the pain this time. “to sleep together. or in the same room. if you don’t want that anymore—“ 

“no." 

"no what?" 

he shakes his head. "i want that."

“satoru, you’re not going to hurt my feelings—“ 

“i was wrong," he cuts in, voice rough. you don't think you've ever heard him say those words before. "i don’t want space, i never did.” 

you blink at him, brows furrowing. “then why did you…” 

“i—“ he stops. looks around. “does it hurt?” 

and you know, just as you know most things about satoru, that he can't continue. that the truth is going to cut just a little bit too deep--deeper than your injury--and he can't bring himself to say it. 

so you only take another deep breath, pushing away the feeling of your skin being patched back together, and nod. 

“a little,” you say softly. 

an unspoken understanding passes between the two of you, and breathing gets a little bit easier all of a sudden. 

maybe it wasn't the pain. maybe it was just the tension, the build-up of days apart. 

it makes sense, even to your slightly fogged-over mind. 

and then the two of you sit there while satoru patches you up, sharing a glance every couple of seconds—a glance with so many words, so tender and feeling that it succeeds in making you even dizzier. blood loss has nothing on the way satoru makes you feel. 

you can't see his hands--don't dare to--but you can feel the softness of them, the care he's taking in stitching you up. 

if it were any day, you would laugh at him for it. but right now, you just accept it. bask in it. 

“how’s that feel?” satoru whispers to you, after he’s tied it off and wiped the blood from your skin. 

you don't bother to look down. really, you don't want to see the freshly sutured line on your abdomen, but also, you just want to keep looking at him. 

it's much more gratifying, at least.

“good," you say, voice stronger, easier. "is it going to scar?” 

satoru scoffs. “if you wanted untouched skin then we should’ve called shoko—“ 

“shut up,” you interrupt. “i’m not listening to the medical advice of someone who’s never gotten a scratch in his life.” 

“i let you scratch me.” 

“well, obviously, i’m the exception,” you smile at him, exhausted and sweaty and still a little out of it—but home. with him. 

and this time satoru actually smiles back. 

it’s a bizarre thing, his smile. the first one you’ve gotten in days and it wakes you up immediately. almost like realizing you’ve been in the dark for weeks, just getting a glimpse of the light. 

he's a peek into something more--unearthly. if the closest thing you get to divinity is satoru, then you won't complain.

“you okay?” you ask him, but you’re only teasing. 

“that’s my line,” he says. 

“you sure?” 

satoru leans towards you, forehead against yours. “i’m sure.” 

you sit there for a moment. satoru is usually the one clinging to you, but tonight you feel like if he moves away you might never get him back. 

so you sit there, make sure to hold him to you, secure with your hands wrapped around his biceps, his arms grazing against yours as he leans against the counter. 

you're probably a mess right now--your skin stained with blood that shouldn't be outside your body, your face covered in dirt, your hair and clothes drenched in sweat and rain. but satoru doesn't seem to mind, so you don't think about it too hard. 

he deserves it, at least, for making ridiculous assumptions. you have to get him back somehow, after all. 

after a minute, or two, or maybe even three, you clear your throat. “great. i’m alive, you’re… less annoying than usual. let’s go to bed.” 

“‘less?’” satoru gapes at you, but his laughter is unmistakable. 

“yeah, i know," you say, feigning shock, "i was surprised too.” 

he flicks your forehead but you’re still smiling at him. 

“okay,” satoru whispers, leaning back. “bedtime.” 

you rub at the spot around your wound one more time, already feeling the days of sore skin and itchy muscles, and then you push satoru so you can hop off of the counter. 

“hey,” he says, suddenly, stopping you. his voice is quick, almost lost. but his hands wrap around your wrists, keeping them between the two of you so you can't escape. and satoru's eyes are on your face, flickering between the different points of your skin, looking like he's just realized that he's lost something.

you raise a brow, but don't push back against his chest or try to pry his hands away. “what?” 

satoru swallows, still watching you. 

his eyelashes are long enough to touch his skin, and his eyes are blue enough to take up the whole world. you want to grin at the saturation of him--so much brighter than you've seen him in days--but you refrain. you don't want to scare him away. 

but you're not so eager to move. it's easy to wait on satoru, really--to wait for his words, to let him collect his thoughts--because you've only spent nine years studying his face. you've only admired the slope of his nose and the tilt of his chin since you were sixteen, and there's much more to be discovered. 

so staring at him is simple. especially when there's so much to look at. 

you have plenty of unmarked territory you need to take over. 

you keep a slight smile on your face while you wait, and eventually, satoru groans, hanging his head back. 

“what?” you repeat, laughing just a little. 

“can you stop looking at me like that?” 

“like what?” you nudge your head against his chin, and satoru glares at you. 

“i’m trying to be serious.” 

“oh, okay,” you try to push away your smile, but you can't. it's glued where it is. “i’m serious.” 

“you’re not.” 

“what is it, satoru? i’m listening.” 

his eyes meet yours, again, and you almost flinch. 

everything about satoru is forceful, except for the way he looks at you. the way his eyes relax, his entire face falling when you're both eye to eye. it's a look you've only observed on one person, in only one particular moment. 

and, you think, all of a sudden, it might be your favorite look. 

but you're still fed up with waiting. you're tired of his consideration, his contemplative eyes. you want satoru back--with his ridiculous laughter and stupid jokes. you want him irritating the sanity out of you and simultaneously bringing you to life. 

you don't tell him that though, because in this moment you'll take what you can get. 

any version of satoru is better than none at all. you’ve learned that the hard way. 

“hey,” he says, one more time. his smile is unusual, a frightened little thing. “i love you.” 

you freeze. 

your face falls flat, thinking of the words in a million different ways. you might've misheard him--but you're so locked in on him that it seems impossible. 

at once, you consider exactly what he means, so many different variations of the same thing. 

does he love you like your parents did, always too much but never enough?

does he love you like you love megumi and tsumiki—like your life depends on it? like you’d be wrecked without them? 

or does satoru love you like you love him? does he love you like it’s breathing? like there’s never been a choice in the matter? 

but, it's simple. a beat passes, three seconds of contemplation--just enough for the words to ring true throughout your body. 

the way he’s looking at you is enough to answer any question you have. 

satoru loves you like a promise, and nothing less. 

“you idiot,” you say, a sudden, day-breaking smile on your face. “don’t you think i know that?"

*

"should we wake them up?" tsumiki asks, walking up behind megumi, staring down at you both. she's rubbing her eyes, her hair slightly messy.

megumi considers it for a moment.

neither of them have woken up like this in a while. you and gojo are getting better at falling asleep in bed instead of on the couch.

but, at this point, megumi thinks that it's probably a habit. or just to annoy him.

gojo's face is shoved into your chest and your hands are tangled in his hair. the both of you have silly smiles on your faces, and seriously. how do you both manage to fall asleep in such uncomfortable positions.

"no," megumi whispers, yawning. "i can make breakfast. mom probably got home pretty late."

"okay," tsumiki says, still staring.

megumi rolls his eyes and walks away. honestly, what did he do to deserve getting two idiots for parents?

*

next part | series masterlist

[andvys]

Dancing with our hands tied | S.H.

Chapter three ⭐︎ So if you need to be mean, be mean to me

Warnings: angst angst angst! mean!Steve, bitchy!reader, slight allusions to unrequited love, mentions of Vecna and the upside down, argument, Steve being a dick to reader. and before anyone comes at me with the 'but your Steve is so ooc! he isn't mean anymore' this is a fic, this is enemies to lovers, you see the mean!Steve warnings, you know what you're getting yourself into.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Summary: Steve had buried his past self, King Steve was dead, but all it took was a little push for him to make a small appearance again, to rain nothing but chaos upon his already weak 'friendship' with you. You pushed him, and you did it a little too hard.

Word count: 5k+

Author's note: Big big biggest shoutout to my bestie @hellfire--cult for helping me and writing those evil evil lines, you're the best

Series Masterlist ⭐︎ Previous Chapter ⭐︎ Next chapter

♡

He regrets waking up that day.

He regrets saying yes to Robin and the kids to hang out.

He regrets picking up Max’s phone call. 

If he wouldn’t have done any of these things, he wouldn’t be where he is right now. 

Parked in front of your house so he can drive you both to Robin’s. 

It’s been a week since the day at his place, a week since you had stormed out of his house, a week since he had last seen you. It almost feels weird. He can’t even remember the last time he had gone without seeing you this long. If you’re not hanging out with the group, he sees you going into the coffee shop across from Family Video every afternoon. Sometimes you even run into each other at Bradley’s Big Buy, but since last Saturday, he hasn’t seen you anywhere – it’s almost as though you had disappeared. Maybe he would have worried if it wasn’t for Max and El gushing over your shopping trip to Indianapolis the other day, he panicked when they told him that, thinking that you were driving again when you still weren’t allowed to, but El had calmed him down, telling him that you used the train. 

With a sigh, he gets out of the car. He runs his fingers through his hair out of nervousness. He rings the doorbell and takes a step back, staring at the wooden door. 

How will you even react to seeing him here? 

You’re surely expecting Eddie, not him. 

The door opens after a moment, revealing you on the other side, looking as beautiful as always – unfortunately. You’re wearing a white top, the soft pink stripes matching the color of your glossy lips, your skin looking soft and glowy as the sun shines into your house, the fading bruises are almost all gone, finally. The scent of your perfume, something sweet and flowery invades his space, and he can’t help but inhale it, feeling warmth blooming in his chest. 

He takes you in, the way you look beneath the sun rays, the way your dainty necklace lies so prettily on your chest, the way your lashes touch your skin as you blink at him. 

The smile on your face instantly fades away when you lock eyes with him, the usual grumpy frown takes over instead, that pulls him back into reality. 

“The fuck are you doing here?” 

Yeah, you’re only pretty and cute when you keep your mouth shut. 

He clenches his jaw, trying not to show how annoyed he is already. 

“Picking you up.” 

You furrow your brows at him, “what? Where’s Eddie?” 

“He forgot about his Doctor’s appointment, he had to rush out. Max called me and told me to pick you up.” 

“Oh,” you nod and you stare at him for a long moment before a smile appears on your face, “she told you, huh?” 

Caught off guard by the smile on your face, he stays quiet, only nodding at your words. 

You chuckle to yourself, turning away from him to pick up your jacket and your keys. Surprising him by not fighting him, you step out of the house and close the door. You look him up and down, eying the keys in his hand. 

“Can I drive your car?” You ask, tilting your head, “I promise I’ll take better care of it than you ever could.”

He snorts at your words, looking at you with an expression that almost makes you laugh. 

“With that head injury? Yeah, not a fucking chance, Blondie.” 

Rolling your eyes, you brush past him, already making your way over to his car. 

“It’s been like what… a month? I’m all healed, I’m feeling peachy.” 

“A month and you still get dizzy and don’t even lie about it.”

Once again, you keep quiet instead of throwing a smartass remark back, it makes him furrow his brows at you. Instead of opening the door, he leans his elbow on the roof of his car, looking over at you curiously. 

You open the door and put one foot in before you halt when you notice him staring. 

“What?” 

“Did you fall on your head or something?” 

You shake your head at him, scrunching your face up. 

“You’re not fighting me, are you feeling okay?” He smirks. 

Scoffing at his words, you flip him off before you get into the car without a single word. 

He taps his fingers against the car, looking up at the blue sky with a smirk that turns into a content smile, he thought the bickering would start the moment you opened that door. Maybe today won’t be so bad. 

Though when he gets into his car and he glances at you, you’re already staring back at him with that certain look in your eyes, the one that tells him everything he needs to know. Your eyes are glimmering with that smugness, the one that’s always there when you’re about to tease him with something that you know will annoy him. 

“Is Nancy gonna be there?” 

“Huh?”

You blink at him innocently as you fasten your seatbelt. 

“Nancy, is she gonna be there? You know, since you only get the chance to be around her during these group hangouts,” you smirk. 

He squints his eyes at you, biting back the bitter words that he was about to throw at you. He turns away and starts the car. 

He backs out of your driveway and without a single word, he starts driving. 

“Must suck being in love with someone who doesn’t feel the same, huh?” 

He stares at the road ahead, blankly. He could swear there was a hint of hurt in your voice. He doesn’t look at you, despite feeling your eyes on him, he doesn’t look and only grips the steering wheel tighter.

“But what would I know,” you snort and he hears you leaning back in the seat, the leather squeaking a little as you try to get more comfortable. 

Yeah, what would you know? He thinks. 

You’re cold and you’re mean – he is certain that there’s not a single trace of love in your heart. How you care that deeply for Max will always remain a mystery to him. 

“Are you a grandpa or something or where is the music!?” 

“You make enough music for us.”

He turns to you for a brief second, to see you scrunching up your face at him, shaking your head in confusion. 

“What’s that supposed to mean, Lego head?” 

“Your yapping and whining is enough for me.”

“Oh, so you’re saying my yapping and whining is music to your ears?” You smirk. “Just say that you love hearing my voice.”

“Shut up,” he murmurs, glaring at you. He clenches his jaw and flicks the button to turn on the music. 

Material Girl by Madonna starts playing and he instantly feels his heart dropping, his cheeks start glowing red – at least, that’s what it feels like. He grows flustered underneath your stare the moment you start laughing. 

“Oh wow, I knew you were a girly girl, Harrington.”

He changes the song, calming down when some Duran Duran song starts playing instead, but you are still laughing, and he can only groan in annoyance, pointing his finger at you, “shut up, Blondie.”

Your face only grows more amused, and this is where the teasing begins and the drive to Robin’s house becomes a torture for him and he practically starts counting down the second till he can finally get out of the car that he usually loves being in. 

He bites his tongue, not saying a single word while you yap away the way you always do. 

What a fool he was for thinking that this day could have been good, you manage to ruin every day of his. 

He can only stay quiet for so long. 

“Do you ever shut up or do I have to make you!?” 

That seems to shut you up. At least, for a moment. When he glances at you with angry eyes, he notices the smug look on your face that still didn’t stray away from you, not even after his words. 

“And how would you do that?” You ask, mockingly. 

He stares at your lips for a moment, clenching his jaw and gripping the gear stick tightly. He looks away as he turns left, pulling up in Robin’s driveway, he parks the car. 

“I have an idea or two,” he mumbles and gets out before you can question him. He almost thinks that his words have stunned you, when you take a moment longer to get out of the car, but when you do and your eyes meet his, you smirk again. 

He starts walking backwards, taking in the sight of you as you walk towards him. Your jeans hug your hips and your legs so perfectly that he begins to hate them. He almost feels ashamed for wanting to see them from the back. His eyes move up to your top, without intending to stare at your cleavage but he does.. and fuck, he hates how attracted his body is to you. 

“So cocky and for what?” You chuckle as you brush past him, not noticing his staring. 

Steve’s cheeks are red, his eyes instantly fall down to your butt when he turns around to follow you onto the porch. You move your hips and he has to clench his jaw.

It’s really a shame that he can’t stand you. 

You ring the doorbell and patiently wait for Robin to open, you don’t spare him a glance, you don’t even turn around to tease him any further, he doesn’t mind it though, it gives him the chance to keep looking at you. Your skin looks soft and he sometimes catches himself wondering what it would feel like to touch you, it’s glowing and he can’t help but ask himself whether it’s because of the body cream that you put on or if it’s just this pretty on it’s own – not that he ever imagines you putting lotion on your body after a shower, definitely not. 

“Oh great, you didn’t kill each other!” Robin’s voice pulls him out of his thoughts and he quickly looks away from you, clearing his throat. 

Robin grabs your hand and pulls you into her house, only throwing a glance over her shoulder at him, “come on in Dingus, you know the way.” 

“Yeah,” he mumbles as he walks in, watching the way his best friend pays more attention to you than to him. Not only did you nestle your way into his friend group, you had also seemingly nestled your way into Robin’s heart. He watches the friendship between you slowly blossoming and he can’t help but feel jealous of that. 

He stays back in the hallway for a moment, preparing for a long evening with you. 

He hears Robin talking your ear off already, Max and Lucas are in the kitchen too. But no one else is around. Nancy and Jonathan are on a date, he knows that, Jonathan gushed about it to Argyle before he left the other day and Steve couldn’t help but eavesdrop when he heard them talking about Nancy. The other teens are off doing god knows what. So much for the weekly group hangouts. 

He hears your laughter and he can’t help but roll his eyes. It’s not the kind of laugh that he ever gets, no, whenever you laugh with or at him, it’s like you’re mocking him or making fun of him – not that he cares, he does the same to you. It’s your thing. 

But for some reason it bothers him to hear and see you laughing like this with the others. 

You get along with Robin, you get along with Eddie, you get along with the teens – hell, you even get along with Nancy even though you glared daggers at each other that day at skull rock.

With him, you’re either grumpy and rude or you’re just a snappy smug brat – which seems to be the case today. 

Steve walks into the kitchen, putting on a smile to greet Max and Lucas with. 

“Hey,” Max mumbles grumpily, only shooting him a brief and very forced smile before she goes back to her deep conversation with you. 

Another grump, he thinks to himself. It’s not a surprise that the snappy teen likes you so much, you’re both the same person. 

Lucas greets him with a handshake and a friendly smile, something that two of the three girls in this room should learn. 

“Are you coming to my game next friday?” 

“Yeah, of course,” Steve nods. 

“You can bring her,” Lucas wiggles his brows at him, gesturing to you with a wink, “as a date,” he whispers.

Steve scrunches his face up, as though he is disgusted by the thought of it – like he wasn’t just checking you out on the porch. 

“You’re joking, right?” He mumbles as he looks over Lucas’s shoulder, glancing at you. 

“No,” Lucas crosses his arms over his chest, shaking his head, “you are awfully mean to her, which means that you must like her.” 

Steve’s eyes widen and he looks over at you again, in sheer panic, hoping that you didn’t just hear the ridiculous words that have left Lucas’s mouth. You’re too distracted by whatever story Max is telling you though, looking back and forth between her and Robin. 

He looks back at Lucas to see him staring smugly. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Isn’t that what you said to Dustin when he asked you for girls advice?” He snorts, shaking his head once again, “‘the key with girls is acting like you don’t care’” Lucas mocks quietly, chuckling after that. 

Steve sighs, putting his hand on his hip, “he told you that?” 

Lucas leans closer, “he sure did,” he smirks as he turns his head to glance at you before her turns back around, “I remembered it the other day, and it had me thinking–”

“Alright,” Steve interrupts him, he places his hands on his shoulders, “stop that, Sinclair.”

Lucas laughs, eying the flustered look on Steve’s face, who shoots him another glare before he steps away. He clears his throat, looking at the kitchen island where Robin had already prepared all the snacks. 

He grabs two bowls, glancing back at Lucas, “help me carry the snacks over to the living room, man. These ladies are too busy gossiping,” he says, expecting you to turn around and throw a comment back at him, but you don’t. 

Robin squints her eyes, nodding at him, “don’t give us the sass, Dingus.”

Lucas chuckles at her, he walks over to the kitchen island, reaching for the bowl of sour gummies and the M&M’s, “when is Steve ever not sassy?” 

At that, you finally turn to face them, a smirk tugging at your lips, you don’t have to say anything to show him that you agree with Lucas. 

He only rolls his eyes at you, no further words needed as he leaves the kitchen, stepping into the living room with Lucas trailing behind.  

“Wow, you didn’t even say anything to her.”

Steve has to roll his eyes again, the teasing in his voice isn’t very subtle. He opens his mouth to speak when the doorbell rings and Lucas rushes out of the room before he can even move or say anything. 

“Well, look at what the cat dragged in,” Lucas says after opening the front door. 

“Found him on the side of the road.” Steve hears Eddie’s voice. 

“Oh you two are such jokesters. You think I’d miss out on game night?” Dustin’s voice sounds through the hallway. “What are we even playing?” 

Robin replies enthusiastically as she walks into the living room with Dustin by her side and Eddie tagging along, greeting Steve with a grin. 

“Oh boy, the board’s definitely getting flipped today,” Dustin laughs.

Steve raises his brows, “you mean you will flip the board?” 

Dustin tilts his head as he looks at his older friend, his smile turning into a playful frown, “hello to you too, Steve.” 

“Henderson.” 

Dustin claims the loveseat before anyone else can, slumping down with a grin on his face, he reaches for one of the sour gummies in the bowl. 

“What’s wrong? Did your phone date not go so well with your girlfriend?” Steve teases. 

“At least I have a girlfriend,” Dustin winks at him. 

As you walk into the room, Lucas faces Steve again, with a teasing grin, “what do you mean, he’s got one too, she’s right there.” 

Dustin gives him a funny look before he turns around with furrowed eyebrows, confusion flashing in his eyes before they widen and he turns back to look at a very unimpressed Steve. 

“What!? You two are dating?” He shrieks loud enough for you to freeze in your spot. 

Steve closes his eyes, shaking his head at him. 

“Huh?” 

Eddie rolls his eyes at Dustin, “Henderson, I think that Sinclair might have a little too much imagination over there.” 

Lucas only shrugs, still grinning. 

“You’re playing matchmaker with the wrong people,” Robin laughs, looking between you and Steve. 

“Absolutely,” Eddie chuckles, sitting down on the couch next to her. 

“Can we just play the game now?” You ask as both you and Max sit down on the ground in front of the board game that Robin had already put out. 

“Ooh, we’re playing Ludo?” Dustin asks. 

Everyone nods, everyone except for Robin. 

“What?” She chuckles, cupping her cheek as she looks around, “that’s Wahoo.”

“Huh?” You tilt your head at her, “Wahoo?” 

“That’s what the game is called,” Robin says, pointing to the board. 

Steve watches the way you shake your head in confusion, slightly pouting as you stare at her. Fuck… you almost look cute. 

As Eddie reaches for the dice, he throws it up in the air, catching it between two fingers, “this game is called Sorry! my friends,” he smirks, cockily. “We only need four players so who goes first?” 

Lucas, who starts scarving down the snacks, waves a hand at Eddie, “I’ll sit this round out,” he says with a mouthful of chips. 

“Don’t talk with food in your mouth!” Max rolls her eyes at him. 

“Red, Dustin, Robin and Steve go first,” Eddie says. “The master has spoken, now let the games begin,” he says in his deep voice. 

Steve rolls his eyes at him, “this isn’t D&D dude, we don’t need a master.”

“Still.”

“Okay!” Robin claps her hands together, “let’s play!”

And as the game started, everyone laughed, everyone was having fun, everyone was joking around, it was all lighthearted. Dustin was throwing tantrums in his team with Robin, while Eddie snickered. Robin was a loser, and she accepted that she sucked at this game, competing against a bunch of stubborn teens. She was the first to sit out and stop playing. Max and Lucas preferred to stay out after the first few rounds, amused by watching the gameplay. 

And then, Steve and you were outright competing as if it were a championship. Neither of you even noticed that it was only you two left, everyone else stopped playing a while ago, watching this intense competition instead. 

While you took it all with ease, teasing him with a few jabs here and there whenever he was losing against you, Steve took it all a little more seriously. Because the moment he lost against you more than once, the anger in him started rising – not because of the game, but because of the looks you were giving him, those smug and cocky looks, the comments that weren’t even that bad – but everything, everything about you was pissing him off this day. 

Your attitude this morning, your comments, your jabs, your arrogance, you’ve been getting on his nerves from the moment you got into his car. 

And right now, he can feel his chest heaving, burning in anger and frustration. 

His jaw is clenched, his eyes are hurting from the intense glares that you start giving each other. 

Neither of you feel the eyes of the others on you two, the nervous glances, the warning ones because everyone knows what will follow after this. 

You both want to win against the other so desperately and currently, it’s a tie between the two of you. He won three rounds, you won three rounds – this apparently will be the last one, this one will decide who will win this very meaningless, stupid game. 

But Robin can’t take it any longer, she can’t keep watching the two of you getting angrier each passing second, knowing that this round will only lead to another, and both you and Steve could sit here all night, because you are both stubborn brats when it comes to each other – as it seems. 

“Okay!” Robin throws her hands up, snatching the dice from Steve’s hand that he was just about to throw, “can you two stop? It’s a tie, move on!” 

You and Steve look away from one another, raising your heads to look at Robin who glares at the two of you. 

“We’ll finish and then we’re done!” 

Steve groans at your words. 

“No!” Robin shakes her head, “because one will win and the other won’t, and then it’s a fucking mess, so stop playing! You fought interdimensional monsters together, for fucks sake!”

“Right, that doesn’t mean anything.” Steve rolls his eyes before he looks back at you, only to see your face fall. 

He almost feels guilty. You risked your life out there, not only for Max and Lucas but also for him. 

“That doesn’t mean anything!? Well aren’t you fucking grateful, Harrington.”

“Everyone fought, not just you, don’t think you’re all high and mighty,” he mumbles through the anger that he is still feeling.

A part of him is begging to just move on and keep his mouth shut, but he is frustrated, not just because of the game, but because of you, every small comment from you reminds him of how much he can’t stand you. 

“Hey, hey, hey, break it up,” Eddie says as he gets up from the couch, raising his hands up as he takes in the hurt but angry look in your eyes. 

You shake your head, “no, no, let him keep going! I want to hear what this bastard with his hero complex has to say to me.” 

Eddie can see the way Steve is fuming, the way the anger in his eyes gets stronger and stronger. He stands up, moving closer to you as you get up as well. 

“You fought with us once. Once! And you think that makes you equal to us!? You have no idea what we all went through, you have no idea the people we lost along the way, you know nothing!” He snaps at you, ignoring the way you draw back as your eyes fill with something he can’t read. 

Max straightens up in her seat, already reaching for her crutches as her eyes widen, seeing the way your lips twitch as blink up at Steve. 

“Steve, stop!” 

If he wasn’t so angry, he would have heard the fear in Max’s voice, something that normally would’ve made him draw back in an instant. 

You glance at her, shaking your head, yet again. “No, Max, it’s okay.” You turn back to face him, looking into his eyes coldly – that’s the only look he knows, that’s the one he cannot stand. “What does Steve Harrington know about loss!?” 

Steve feels his gut twisting, he clenches his jaw but doesn’t answer your question, he keeps staring at you. 

“What? Mom and Dad left you the whole house to yourself, and you consider that loss!?” You frown, lifting your arm, you gesture to the people in the room. “I see Robin alive, I see Eddie alive, I see all of the kids alive, so who exactly did you fucking lose, Harrington?” 

Behind the anger and the emptiness in your eyes, is sadness and pain, something he can’t see through the haze that he is in, right now. All he sees is something, someone he hates, someone who acts like she knows everything, someone who does nothing but bring chaos and anger into his heart and into a friends group that is so sacred to him. 

He never felt this angry before, not even when he found Nancy with Jonathan, not even when she cheated on him and left, not during a single fight with his dad, nothing had ever made him feel such rage. 

“You are so fucking horrible!” He snaps at you, not caring about anything, right this second. Everyone in the room disappears, Dustin, Max and Lucas are no longer there, and neither are Robin and Eddie, it’s just you and him now. “I hate the fucking day we ran into you at Skull Rock! You are the most despicable and cold hearted bitch I’ve ever met! I would be surprised if you ever loved somebody!” 

He can’t see the shock or the pain that nestles into your features. 

He doesn’t even hear the gasps from the others in the room. 

“Steve!” Max yells, reminding him of the fact that she is there, that everyone else is here too. 

The girl almost falls over when she jumps up. Lucas stands up as well, steadying her before she can fall. They both look at you, both of them see the hurt in your eyes, the way you helplessly stare back at the guy that you risked your life for. 

Robin and Eddie stare at him in disbelief, not knowing the Steve that they are looking at, right now. 

All that Steve can see is red though. 

“No, Mayfield, let me fucking finish because she needs to understand how terrible she is.” He practically spits in your face, not tearing his eyes away from yours, at all. “I-I mean, don’t you ever ask yourself why you don’t have anyone? Why no one bothers to stick around because I’d be really surprised if someone did – even more, I would be surprised if anyone ever loved you at all. You’re not someone easy to fucking love, Blondie. Trust me on that.” 

And the moment those words fall from his lips, the room falls silent, dead silent. His heart stops racing and his skin runs cold. Suddenly, he is brought back into the room, the haze fleeting away more and more and he can now see clear again. 

And as he looks at you, really looks at you, his heart drops to his stomach and every trace of anger is gone, replaced by a guilt he had never felt before. 

Your eyes are filled with tears as you stare at him with nothing but pain, not a single trace of coldness in them, not a single trace of anger or indifference or even hate for the man in front of you. All he can see is pain, pain, pain.. Your tears are welling up more and more, threatening to spill down your cheeks. Your throat bobbed up and down, like you are trying to gulp down the ball of nerves and sobs threaten to fall from your lips. 

For a split second, he can see through you and he sees something there never was before – something that tells him that you would let him do this, until he’d get enough of hurting you, that you would let him break you, little by little. But, he had enough. 

You look down as your bottom lip starts to tremble. 

As he sees that, Steve feels like the most horrible person on the planet. Worse than his dad, worse than the monsters he had fought, worse than Vecna. 

What had prompted him to throw such awful and vile words at you? 

The guilt that takes over almost feels unbearable and the moment he wants to take back those words, to apologize, you are already gone. 

Lucas calls out to you, but the slamming of the front door is all he gets back. 

Before Steve can even look around the room, his back is slammed against the nearest wall and he is met by the sight of an angry Eddie, his eyes darker than ever, nose flaring as he grips the collars of his polo, pressing him harshly against the wall. 

“I would fucking punch you in the face right now, Harrington. Don’t forget who was the first person to jump into the water to save your ass!” He yells at him, giving him one final push that knocks the breath out of him before Eddie lets go and leaves to go after you. 

Steve looks down, closing his eyes as he takes a deep breath. 

“Steve… what the fuck?” Dustin mumbles, softly, staring at his older friend in disappointment. 

Robin looks around the room, before her eyes lock on Steve, she looks at him in confusion, not understanding where all of this came from. 

“Dingus.. what the hell was that? Why did you–”

“Everyone leave the room.” 

It’s Max’s voice that sounds through the room, awfully calm. So calm that it takes everyone aback. 

Lucas stares at his girlfriend, completely confused. 

All it takes is a single look from her though and he and Dustin scatter out of the room. Dustin pulls Robin along who protests at first but follows when she looks back at Max, who only shakes her head. 

It’s silent for a long minute, and Steve doesn’t know what to feel. 

“That was fucked up, Steve.” Max says. 

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose, fighting the tears that threaten to build up. 

Not only did he hurt you, something he never thought was even possible. He also showed his friends a side of him he wanted to keep buried. A side that surely makes them feel less safe around him now. 

“I-I know, I don’t.. I don’t know what’s gotten into me.” 

Max purses her lips, looking down at the ground to avoid eye contact. 

“She may not have been with us from the start, hell, I wasn’t either. It doesn’t mean that she didn’t experience it just the same. She may not have fought monsters, Steve. But the monsters have gotten to her without her knowing about them.” 

You fought monsters, you fought the bats off of him. 

He snaps his head up, staring at her with a frown on his face.  

“Max I–”

The redhead shakes her head, anger and disappointment still on her face. 

“I’m not the one you have to apologize to. I will not tell you her story, I’m not allowed to do that. But you are wrong, you are terribly wrong about everything you just said about her.” 

She reaches for her crutches, giving him one final look before she leaves the room. 

He stares at the ground with a gnawing feeling in his chest, hating himself more and more as the seconds go by. 

The look you gave him will haunt him for the rest of his life. 

How could he ruin everything in the span of a few minutes? 

How could he not see the hurt in your eyes after only the first words that he threw at you? 

How could he not see the vulnerable side of you? 

How was he so blinded by the act you had put on? 

He judged a book by its cover, just like King Steve had done in the past. There is no excuse. No fucking excuse for what he had done to you. 

♡

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[parfaitblogs]

illicit affairs ❀ s. reid x reader

in which you want more than spencer reid can give you. 

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: angst (18+ for suggestive content) tags: relation(situation)ship. s7 spencer. mentions of past intimacy. unrequited feelings. spencer's not the best person ever. kinda fade to black & unhappy ending (welcome back june parfaitblogs). reader has kinda bad self-worth. word count: 2.5k a/n: soooo fucking cliche man chases the girl after she leaves. im sorry. except im not. so sorry for whatever ooc thing spencer reid does in this. except it isnt ooc. tell me he didnt have a whore phase in s7. u cant. im sorry this is soooo dialogue heavy LOL.

Fractured shards of your soul scatter this apartment. 

This Godforsaken green-walled, quaint apartment, that you had spent so much of your time in. Nights, not days, because his days were spent yearning for an engaged woman. His nights, however, were reserved for you. Most of them, at least. Some of them. A few of them. Not many of them at all, actually.

It was a little embarrassing; how much of yourself you were willing to disrespect for some attention from a man who probably didn't think much about you outside of your presence inside his walls. But then he would touch you, and he would kiss you, and all self-deprecation will go out the window. For he is so gentle, and he knows every single crevice and button to press on your body like he speaks its language. 

Embarrassing.

It started innocently. A night spent with him after you had been broken up with, resulting in one awful decision that led to the other. Crying in his arms, to kissing him, to having sex, which he was rebutting all up until it actually happened. Rambling about transference while still leaving open-mouthed kisses down your neck, shaking his head because you two should not be doing this. 

A week later you went back to him. You were sad, in your defence, and Spencer Reid was your friend first. He was good at distracting you, you learned. You would cry, and thus, he would make you come to forget about it. Like clockwork. 

At some point it changed from a coping mechanism, to an emotional necessity. You stopped thinking about your broken heart, and instead about how good Spencer was to you. Which might've been your biggest mistake.

You were not to him what he was to you anymore. 

And maybe he knew that. A laughable idea, because Spencer Reid, who could be slapped in the face with a poster that said I am in love with you in big bold letters, would still be oblivious to it all. But maybe he knew.

You had to ask this time to come over. Maybe pathetic, how much of your self-worth you relied on whether or not a man you weren't even dating wanted to see you. How much of your world had crumbled around you because it had been two weeks and he hadn't spoken to you outside of discussing a case. 

It was definitely pathetic how small you felt as you sat in the corner of his couch, a glass of water you didn't really want to drink encased in your palms, condensation seeping into your skin. In your defence, it didn't usually go like this. Usually, it took you all of three seconds to get insidehis apartment before he started kissing you. Why wasn't he kissing you?

You could hear the faint sound of shuffling behind you, glasses clinking together and ceramics settling on the marble countertop. The only other indicator Spencer was even there was his irregular breathing. Irregular from what, you didn't know. 

Another beat of silence passed, and with it, your patience. You set the glass down on the coffee table — something he would’ve scolded you over if not for the thick layer of tension between you two.

"Did you not want me to come over?" You regret the words the second they're out of your mouth, and they uncomfortably pierce the air, only to be followed by another thick blanket of fucking silence. You had already said it — you might as well commit. "Spencer?" 

You lifted your gaze from its fixated position on your lap to find him standing still in the kitchen, a bowl in his hands, still damp from its time in the dishwasher. 

"You know you're always welcome here," he replied when you had locked gazes. 

"That's not what I asked," you said, readjusting your body, chest pressed up against the back of the couch, chin resting atop its ledge. You watched as he dried the bowl and put it away, his shoulders deflating, before he turned back to face you. 

"I do want you here," he said, but even with the finality in his voice, you were sceptical. 

"Are you sure?" you despised the insecurity that seeped into your tone.

He stilled again, and even with the distance between you two, you could see gears turning behind his eyes, coming up with a response that wouldn't break your heart, probably. Because he knew.

He could lie. Say that yes, he is sure, and he does want you in his apartment right now, and he wasn't simply entertaining your own desires. Desires that he seemingly had grown tired of. But you would figure him out immediately, and maybe he knew that as well. Stupidly smart Spencer Reid thinking ahead, frustratingly so. 

Instead, he said your name, in an awfully cautious tone. Maybe lying would've hurt less. He took a step around the kitchen counter, ever so slowly closing the distance between you two. 

"It's okay if you don't want me here," you tell him, forcing a reassuring smile and stopping him in his tracks. "You're not forced to amuse me."

"Do you think that's what I'm doing?"

"Yes. You've hardly said a word to me, and I've been here twenty minutes," you rebutted. 

"I told you on the phone that I had some maintenance chores to do." Okay, true. "Once they're done, I'm all yours."

You shouldn't say anything. You knew that. The words on the tip of your tongue would cause an argument, and he had just technically promised to do what you both knew you had come to do, and after two weeks of hearing nothing, any attention from him was good attention. You shouldn't.

But you did. "Are you really?"

His eyes closed and a harsher breath of air expelled through his nose, his hands flexing by his side as he took a moment to respond. "What does that mean?"

"Are you really all mine?" you cringed even as you asked the question. And, you already knew the answer. 

"What do you want my answer to be?"

You could scream. "That isn't fair, Spencer."

"Do you want it to be yes?"

You didn't want to answer that honestly, too afraid of the rejection that was sure to follow. "Does it matter?"

"Yes, this is a relationship, and relationships need communication—"

"—A relationship?" you repeated back to him, incredulously. "You think this is a relationship?" 

Fingers dug into his eyes, and his shoulders sagged further. "What is it, then?"

"Convenient." The word stung even you, despite being the one to have said it. 

Or maybe it didn't hurt him. For he responded, in an achingly calm tone, "Explain that to me."

"Don't use profiling techniques on me," you countered, and he watched as your walls shot up around you. 

"Asking you to explain something to me isn't a profiling technique," he said, taking another step towards your residence on the couch.

"No, but the tone of voice you're using is."

"Would you rather I yell at you?"

"No—Spencer," you stammered so frustratingly in an attempt to come up with a response, emotions taking authority of your brain functions. "I come here when I'm sad, we fuck, I go home. That's all this is. That isn't a relationship."

"I could argue what a relationship legitimately is."

"Please don't."

"Okay," he agreed with a short nod. "Do you want more out of this arrangement, then?"

"Can you give me more if I do?"

His silence was answer enough, and so slowly but surely, you were untangling your limbs from themselves on the couch, and planting your feet on the floor.

"Where are you going?" he asked as you stood up.

"Home," you replied, curtly, and he watched in a still silence as you left. 

The slam of his apartment door was loud, and it echoed throughout the hall. Feet pattered against the stairs as you descended them, quickly, because your tears were forming fast and you were attempting to beat exposure to the outside world before they started to fall down your face. 

But the universe had other plans for you, and your named reverberated throughout the final staircase you had to descend. Your lips pulled into a line in an attempt to neutralise your expression, and you turned at the base of the stairs.

"You want more with me," he said, admittedly a little breathless from chasing you the way he did. 

"Glad you could deduce that one, Doctor."

A frustrated huff left his lips. "Stop shutting me out."

"I'm not doing this here," you replied, taking another step back — that he matched, stepping down a step. "Spencer."

"No, we are. If you are going to walk out of my apartment, then we're having this conversation here."

"I don't even want to have this conversation," you argued. 

"Yes you do."

"You don't know me."

"Yes I do." When you opened your mouth to argue again, he was quick to cut you off. "You want more with me, but you're too scared of me rejecting you, so you're brushing it off as something unimportant, in hopes that I'll forget about it so things can go back to what they were before."

"God forbid."

His lips pursed. "Can you be an adult about this?" 

Your heart stuttered uncomfortably in your chest, and he stared expectingly at you for minutes. Minutes that you let pass, your breaths shallow as you stared up at him, boring holes into his own eyes. Then, "Are you going to reject me?" 

"Yes, but—"

Oh.

Somewhere your name was said once, then twice, but it all sounded far too distant, submerged underwater, maybe. Your brain muddling with every single thought it had ever conjured up in all your years of living, to the point where you couldn't even figure out if the tears burning your eyes were actually there, communications in your brain on lockdown. 

You were detached from your own body as a hand was placed on your shoulder, your eyes flickering over to Spencer's face, which was an alarming amount closer than before. It was his hand, you figured, which meant he was watching you have this breakdown, and suddenly the thought of being like this in front of him was far worse than anything he could've said to you. 

"Okay," you said, almost breathlessly, stumbling back a few steps, nodding your head, and blinking away the tears all at once. "Which is fine, by the way. Because this isn't a relationship. And we agreed on casual sex, so really, you're not doing anything surprising, and I should've expected this. Yeah."

"Can you please look at me?" You hadn't even realised your gaze was flitting around the place until he said it, and you forced your eyes to rest on his face again. "Yeah, there you go. Hi. Deep breath."

You took in the gulp of air, despite it still being shallow from your onslaught of emotions, matching your rhythm with his own. He repeated the act a few more times, until you had settled into less violent gasps, and he was sure you were grounded with him again. 

"You back with me?" he asked just in case, his voice horrifically gentle, and you wordlessly nodded your head. "Can we talk about this, now?"

"In your stairwell?"

"I don't think you want to walk all the way up to my apartment again," he said, and he was correct; you didn't. "I would reject you. That's true."

"Which you're allowed to do," you answered, quietly. 

"I am," he agreed with a nod. "If that isn't okay with you, then tell me. We can call this off right now."

"And what?" you asked, ugly emotions clawing their way up your throat again. "Go back to how things were before?"

"Well, yes—"

"—No, Spencer!" you snapped, and he seemingly hadn't expected it. At all. "I can't go back to normal with you, not after this. Sex is fucking intimate, and it is scary, and you have seen me at my absolute worst and still slept with me these last few months. You have seen parts of me I refuse to share with anyone, because I trusted you."

"I didn't force you to do that," he countered. "You showed me every single side of you on your own accord. So do not paint me to be a villain."

"I'm not trying to," your voice was desperate, and if you weren't so busy using your hands to talk animatedly, you might be tearing out your hair by now. "I just—I don't get it. How was it so casual for you? How can you go back to what we had before all of this like it's nothing?" 

"All of this was never anything serious. We agreed on that."

"No. No, don't explain what this was to me. I know what it was. Answer the question."

How was he so calm? His eyes searching your own now tear-filled ones, but the crease in his brows was the only indicator of any emotion, for his body was alarmingly relaxed. 

He exhaled, "I don't know what to tell you. What do you want to hear?"

"The truth."

"I don't have feelings for you," he said, voice so curt you wondered if it was the way he said it, or what he said, that shattered your barely mended heart. Again. 

"Which is fine," you repeated the phrase, because maybe if you said it enough, you'll start to believe it. 

"So, do you want to call this off?" 

"We should."

He only nodded in agreement; a violent reminder that you weren't imagining the things he was saying to you. This wasn't a bad dream, and he was actually telling you the relationship you had built up in your head wasn't real. 

"I don't want to," you murmured, voice pathetically small, shrinking in your shoes beneath him. "I really like you, Spencer."

"Which is why we should call this off," he reasoned, and you wanted to scream.

"Are you going to be even a little sad if we do?" He parted his lips, and a beat of silence passed. And then you were stepping back, puffing out a strained breath of air, nodding your head in understanding. "I should go."

"You won't talk to me if we call it off," he said before you could get too far from him. When you turned to look at him again, he added, "Will you?"

"No."

"Then yes. I'll be sad."

"Because I won't talk to you?"

"Yes."

You stared at him for a beat longer. "Not because you won't have a fuck buddy anymore?"

"You were never just a fuck buddy," he said, exasperated, the phrase sounding foreign on his tongue. Sorry for exasperating you.

"No. But I'm not enough to like, right?" 

He said your name, and stepped off the staircase he had been residing on, lowering the height difference between you two. "You are enough to like."

"Not to you!" "I am not the only man in the world."

The bottomless pit in your stomach grew larger, only because to you he was. To you, he was everything. And you felt things far too big, and the realisation that he had never and will never see you that way was a world-shattering discovery. 

You sighed, lowering your gaze to the floor. "We never should have started this."

"I agree." 

"I'm gonna go."

He opened his mouth, then closed it, seemingly deciding against arguing with you any more. He merely nodded his head, and forced a smile. "Yeah."

"Bye, Spencer."

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated ♡

[hello-from-nrc-infirmary]

Vern's Hometown: Centennial Celebration

Book 5: Finale

Chapter 3: Sunset

Formal is irrelevant. The firelight gains prominence as daylight fades. More logs are added, allowing smoke to fill the air. The younger children slowly leave for their beds. Others stay, laughing with friends. Their joyful cacophony is almost drowned out by the rambunctious music.

Smoke and ash wisp into shadows. The kaleidoscope of prancing images twirl around them. An illusion of flowers dance underfoot. If any attempted to touch them, they would vanish.

Soot is kicked up with every step. Vern's stained skirts flare out on another spin. It's strange and comforting to have a partner. A familiar dance he can do in the deepest of sleeps now flutters anew with every beat. A few steps bring them back.

Sweat shimmers across their foreheads. The minutes and hours bleed together. One melody into another. An iridescent fish ballet weaves around the dancers. A bubbling laughter spills from Vern. Steel smiles, his own airy laugh joins in.

"What's... so funny?"

The sprite meets his gaze breathlessly, "I'm... really happy."

"Eh?"

Joined hands lift above to spin around. The area around them is barely a blurr. Focus returning to Steel, the sprite tries to calm himself. "I-is he still umm..."

"Yeah, on my six."

"... let's um... not think about him," Vern tries. His head feels light, a mild dizziness buzzes down from it.

".. okay."

He welcomes night's breath cooling his skin like autumn rain. Vern can tell when some musicians would take a break and join back in. A simple rotation, yet easy to get lost in. Forgetting the world is hard, yet indulging in a moment is effortless.

For this bubble in time, emotion vibrates the air. Colorful shapes morph to each beat. It has been too long since his muscles felt like a newborn foal finding it's footing. Who is keeping who from collapsing is unclear. The firm earth underfoot is the only certainty.

A gasp from the onlookers is nearly drowned by the rhythm. A string pulls at his mind. His eyes want to follow, yet a turn blocks his view. His brow creases as he attempts to see behind Steel. "Ver.."

Pink dusts the sprites cheeks. It's only one word, a fraction of his name. The syllables spoken softly warms him. Tearing his focus back to his friend, he tries to stay on his toes.

"Almost," Steel winks, "we have to finish this one."

"Y-yeah," Vern manages a dizzy nod. His amber eyes sting, but not from the smoke. A soothing wave rolls through his veins, easing his tension. He almost misses a familiar, icy crack.

Chapter 4: Dusk

A tight spin jostles his focus. Flashes of magic collide. The music falters as smoke billows through the remaining crowd. Vern squeezes his eyes shut against it. Tucking himself against Steel, he waits for the air to settle. He flinches, as a drop hits his cheek.

"Er.. sorry."

The sprite swears the liquid away. Checking his bandages, he finds an inky substance he's well acquainted with.

"It's alright, I um..." he pauses, ducking as Steel casts another counter spell, "don't mind."

Sparkling green mist flares from Vern's hands. Vines burst from the ground to restrain Victor. "Enough!"

Snowflakes drift around them. Citizens that stayed murmur in uneasy awe. The spring sprite trembles slightly, his muscles begging for rest. "Do you forfeit the challenge?"

There's a rumble underfoot. Stumbling, Vern's spell loosens as spikes of ice shoot out of the dirt. He's tackled. Air is knocked from his lungs despite the cushioned fall.

"You alright? Any injuries?"

Vern slowly blinks up at Steel, gasping while registering the questions. "U-umm... I'm fine... I think..."

"Why," Victor's voice rings out above the chaos, icicles forming in the air around him. "Why do you reject everything I do for you?!"

Ooc// Welcome to the final boss fight.

Tag List: @nrcbookclub @castaway-achlys @nightonthemountain

Songs for the dance:

There's Nothing Holding Me Back by Shawn Mendes

A Bar Song (Tipsy) by Shaboozey

I Don't Wanna Wait by David Guetta & OneRepublic

Roundtable Rival by Lindsey Stirling

Élan by Nightwish

Songs for Everyone vs. Victor:

It Ends Tonight by All-American Rejects

Liar by Jelly Roll

Ready For This by All Good Things

Trophy Hunter by Within Temptation

[4unnyr0se]

❥ sfw & n$fw headcanons - yuu nishinoya & morisuke yaku

warnings: timeskip! characters, fem! reader, they're sweetiepies, noya is actually a freak, roleplay, switch! noya, hickeys, spanking, mentions of unprotected sex, dom! yaku, slight breeding kink with yaku, cowgirl, doggystyle, they love you so much

MDNI | 18+ content

word count -> 2k

a/n: im sorry if yaku is ooc i wrote this at 2am and i do not feel like editing anything. n$fw is censored because i would like to keep my blog lmao

Yuu Nishinoya - SFW

❥ Absolutely whipped for you the second he lays his eyes upon you. You could be doing anything, literally anything, and he knew right then and there that he would die for you, no questions asked.

❥ He doesn’t really care what qualifies as a “date” as long as he gets to spend time with you. You could be folding laundry together, and he thinks it’s the most romantic date you’ve been on because you’re with him and you’re his entire world.

❥ Spontaneous. Gifts. He’ll send flowers to where you work, give you cool rocks he found while hiking or doing some other such thing, making you a care basket full of your favorite chocolates and snacks, contracting Sugawara to help him write love letters (writing is not his strong suit but he still wants to do it.)

❥ So much food, like…just so much food. You’ve been to every restaurant in town at least twice because that boy loves to eat. Even if you aren’t a big eater, he’ll still make sure you get three meals a day plus snacks. And if you struggle to eat, he’ll be so happy even if you only eat a little bit off your plate.

❥ Quality time and physical touch are his love languages, so expect to be getting kisses often. Pecks on the cheek in public, his arms wrapped around your waist from behind as you wash dishes in the sink. And if he’s jealous? He has no problem making out with you in front of people because you’re his, and the world should know.

❥ Speaking of physical touch, this man will not stop holding your hand. At least one part of him is touching a part of you at any given moment when you’re together as if he’s afraid you’d float away if he let go.

❥ Hella clingy, this man is incredibly clingy. If you get up to use the restroom when you’re cuddling, he’s waiting outside the door for you to come back so he can kiss those beautiful lips of yours. He just can’t get enough!

❥ Obsessed with you and everything that you do. Did you sneeze? He’s on the verge of tears because you look so fucking cute when you sneeze. Did you buy a new outfit? He’s throwing a tantrum until you model it for him so he can shower you with praise. Noya worships the ground you walk on and them some. 

❥ Lowkey possessive but in a good way. Deep down, he’s worried that you’ll leave him for someone taller or better than he is, so he gets a tiny bit jealous when he sees someone talking to you that he considers a threat. Of course, you’re free to do whatever you like. He would never tell you what you can and cannot do. He respects you too much for that. But he will talk to you about his feelings because he’s mature like that.

N$FW

❥ So. Many. Hickeys. This ties into the part of him being possessive. He wants to let everyone know that you’re his, and what better way to show you off than by parading you around town with your neck and chest covered in little red and purple bruises? You’ve nearly gone bankrupt on buying just concealer because once a hickey fades away, a new one will take its place in no time at all.

❥ Literally anything the two of you do will end in him fucking you or vice versa. If you bend down to pick something up, his hands are groping your ass, and he’s pulling down your panties and shoving his fingers into your pussy, all the while whispering the filthiest things in your ear. 

❥ This motherfucker whines and whimpers, and he’s so incredibly loud about it. The second he shoves his dick inside, he becomes a babbling, pussydrunk mess that’s only focused on you cumming all over his cock.

❥ Noya is 100% a switch who doesn’t lean towards being submissive or dominant. He just does whatever you want him to. Do you want him to fuck you stupid for hours on end? He’s down for that? Do you want to tie him up, blindfold him, and ride him until he can’t think. Also completely down for that. 

❥ Endless stamina. As long as you’re up for it, he can fuck you for the entire day. He simply doesn’t believe in a recovery period on his end. He’ll fuck you from sunrise to sunset. All you have to do is ask.

❥ Tits man 100%. Noya loves tits, no matter the size or shape. If you have huge tits, he’s fondling them as he takes you from behind. Medium-sized tits? He sucks on them as you ride his cock, relishing in the taste. Small tits? He plays with your pert nipples as he fucks you missionary. All tits are good tits in his eyes

.❥ Highly experimental in the bedroom. He’ll try anything and everything if it means you both get to feel good. From you pegging him to him filming your third orgasm of the night, he’s down for whatever. The only things he isn’t okay with are hitting you (impact play) and sharing you with others. He will casually slap your ass but that’s as far as he’ll go. He just can’t bring himself to hit you, even if it turns you on.

❥ Could eat you out for literal days and not get tired, not even for one second. He wants you cumming on his tongue and pulling on his hair as you beg him for more, and he’ll give it to you.

❥ Focuses on your pleasure, not his own. You’re his goddess and he’d do anything to serve you, anything to make you cum again and again.

❥ Has a whole index of kinks, but his top ones are roleplay and passionate sex. Dress up as a teacher, and he’ll cum in his pants, begging on you to punish him for failing your class.

❥ Loves to make love to you.

❥ “Yeah? You like it when I fuck you with my fingers, angel? M’gonna make you cum so fucking much for me, my perfect angel.”

❥ “Fuck, you’re so fucking tight. Can’t get enough of this dick, can you baby? Gotta fuck you stupid.”

❥ “More, I want more! I’ve been so bad, I deserve to be punished, ma’am!”

❥ “Talk to the camera for me, angel. Tell the camera how many times my cock made this pussy squirt all over the sheets.”

❥ “Gonna fucking cum inside, can’t pull out. Oh, fuck, baby, you’re fucking milking me dry, shit.”

❥ “Faster, fuck me faster! Wanna fucking cum so bad, please! I’ve been good, right?”

Morisuke Yaku - SFW

❥ Loves when you get an attitude with him because he also has an attitude. He loves when you talk back to him and when you tell him how you really feel, it’s just so refreshing. Honesty is very important to Yaku.

❥ You and Yaku basically continue to mother Lev well after you’re both graduated. Lev will call and text you for advice and you’ll gladly help him, even if Yaku gets a little jealous that you’re paying more attention to the oversized Russian than you are to your own boyfriend.

❥ Takes you on the most romantic restaurant dates ever. He has professional athlete money, so order whatever the hell you like! If you want five lobsters, get five lobsters. As long as his baby is happy.

❥ Spoils you rotten, but he won’t ever admit it. If you point out a cute necklace that you saw in a magazine, it’s there when you wake up the next morning. Yaku will pretend to not know how it got there, but he knows, obviously. Expect lots of expensive gifts when you’re dating, especially from designer brands. Half of your closet is Chanel and you sure as hell aren’t complaining.

❥ Not that big on PDA, but will wrap an arm around your waist in public. Since he’s a well-known libero in the Russian Volleyball League, he gets approached on the street sometimes. He doesn’t want to draw too much attention to himself (especially if you hate getting attention from strangers, so he holds off on kissing you until you’re in the privacy of his penthouse apartment.

❥ Pleads and begs until you adopt a cat together. He just wants a cat with you, any cat will do. It can be a cat you found in a dumpster or a cat that cost someone’s entire yearly salary, he just wants a cat to raise with you by his side.

❥ Wraps his arms around your waist as you cook and leave kisses on your neck. Whether you’re taller or shorter from him, get ready for hugs and kisses from behind.

❥ If you struggle with your body image, he’ll kiss away all your insecurities. His lips will be on yours for hours as he tells you how perfect you are, and how much he loves you. He’ll kiss away your tears as you start crying as well, because to him you are perfect.

N$FW

❥ Not very vocal in bed, but he does make plenty of grunts and groans. The only time you’ll ever really hear him moan is when you bite down on his incredibly sensitive neck, which will make him cum on the spot.

❥ Advocate for safe and healthy sex but prefers to hit it raw. He’ll use a condom if you want him to, he isn’t a monster. But the way you react when his cum fills out of your womb makes him want to wife you up and fuck you every single day.

❥ Designer lingerie is his weakness, especially the ones with garters that squeeze your thigh beautifully. If you wear red lingerie around him, be prepared to not be able to walk tomorrow because he will ruin your pussy.

❥ 100% a pleasure dom. Nothing makes him happier than knowing that he fucks you so good each and every night that you can’t even get off without his help anymore because that’s how much he loves to fuck you.

❥ Ass man. His hands will be on your ass all the time and you just have to accept it. He loves to fuck you from behind because he’s mesmerized by the way your ass moves as he fucks you. His favorite position is doggystyle.

❥ A weird turn-on for him is when you walk around wearing his jersey. He fucking loves it when you wear his jersey, and he can see your lacy panties poking out under the shirt, it drives him wild. If you wear his jersey, he gets an instant boner.

❥ Sit. In. His. Lap. Sit in his lap and dry hump him. He needs it so badly. He loves watching as you struggle to get off on his thigh. You look so cute when you’re desperate.

❥ Definitely a brat tamer. He loves it when you have an attitude because he gets to fuck it out of you later, spanking you as he tells you how much of a brat you are and how you need to learn your lesson. You never do.

❥ Mirror sex. He’s mesmerized by how adorable you look in the mirror as your pussy struggles to take his girthy cock.

❥ “Yeah? Look at yourself in the mirror, princess. Look at how your slutty little pussy is taking me. You’re such a little slut, you’re my little slut.”

❥ “Did you think you could just walk around in my jersey and nothing else? Bend over, princess, right fucking now.”

❥ “I’m so fucking close, shit. You want me to cum inside you, princess? Want me to fill you up and give you my babies? You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

❥ “Fuck, you know what red does to me. So fucking slutty for me, babygirl. Now get on the bed and spread those legs nice and wide like a good girl.”

❥ “Take it, fucking take it. That’s my good girl. I love it when you behave for me, princess. Can I get another one of you, my love? I think you can handle another orgasm.”

❥ “You look so pretty when you cum, princess. Do you like how your Morisuke makes you feel? Use your words, princess.”

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Look for the Soul and the Meaning

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Setting: Early Alexandria

Warnings: Depictions of illness

Summary: You’re sick. Daryl makes sure you’re not alone.

A/N: I have been uber sick this week and just needed some self indulgent comfort. Idec if he’s ooc this time.

*gif is not mine

Groaning, you rolled your head from side to side, even the soft cradle of the pillow intensifying the ache in your skull. Your throat was a tunnel of razor blades, your lungs trying their best to eject themselves over your tongue. Your body ached and protested, skin sensitive from fever. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to think.

“I feel gross.” You whimpered. You raised a hand toward your face but found it to be too much work, letting it drop to the mattress beside you.

“Know ya do.” His raspy whisper acted as a balm to your pain.

A blessedly cool cloth touched your forehead, remaining there for a moment before it was pressed against each cheek and then your neck. Your sigh came unbidden, shameless and sudden.

“That’s nice.” You croaked before being seized by a coughing fit. It was dry and unproductive, the mucus coating the inside of your lungs like slime, unmoving. It hurt. “Daryl.” You whimpered.

The flu hit Alexandria during your first autumn within the walls. Though some fell victim, just as they had at the prison, the community had medicines readily available. IV fluids, oxygen tanks, and fever reducers. This virus was different, thank god; a less intense influenza. That, however, was not a comfort when it came to feeling the symptoms.

“M’right here, Sunshine.”

The coolness left your skin to burn, but once his fingers began carding through your hair, his lips touching your forehead, you could no longer feel the heat. And for one moment, coherency filtered through.

“Daryl—Daryl, your bandana.” You wheezed, reaching for the fabric he had pulled down to hang around his neck. Looking at him, even your eyes felt like they would singe out of your skull. “You’re gonna get sick too.”

“M’gonna be fine.” He caught your hand easily—your movements too sluggish—and kissed the inside of your wrist. “Means ya gotta get better so ya can take care’a me.”

You chuckled weakly, triggering another cough. It jostled your sore body, earning a whine and a few tears. Your eyes had screwed shut to ride out the ordeal, but opened when something touched your lips. The bottle felt odd, warm and scratchy.

“Gotta drink for me.” Blue eyes flickered up to the bag of fluids hanging from the bedpost but didn’t linger. “Help them fluids do their job.” You reluctantly obliged, fearing the feel of the water against your already irritated throat.

Turned out, it was heavenly.

You drank greedily, not even thirsty but lost in the relief the cool liquid was providing. When it was suddenly taken away, you chased it with desperation.

“Gimme.” You pouted.

“In a bit. Ya gonna make yourself sick.” The cool cloth was back and the water was forgotten. With weak uncoordinated movements, you pulled the blankets up further, your entire form trembling with chills.

“Tell me a story, Daryl.”

The cloth ceased its travels. “A story?”

“Mhm. Don’t care what it is.” Sleep was standing in the corner, pulling at you incessantly, your eyelids growing heavier and heavier despite the heat and pain. “Tell me about your chupacabra.”

It was Daryl’s turn to laugh, a sharp exhale through his nose. “Nah, that ain’t no sickbed story.”

“Tell me—something.” You yawned, wincing when you could feel the pull on your inflamed throat. It was quiet in the room, your eyes closed and chest wheezing. But then:

“Once upon a time—”

You mimicked his earlier laugh, your eyes remaining closed. “So cliché.”

The man at your bedside scoffed. “Ya want a story or not?”

“Mhm. Sorry.” You whispered, already fading, the cloth pulling away to be replaced by his fingertips in your hair, ghosting over your face.

Daryl cleared his throat, the deep breath he sucked in was unsteady. “Once upon a time, there was a woman. She was a smartass. Pigheaded as all get out.” The corner of his mouth lifted when you began to snore, your stuffy nose making it impossible to breathe properly. “She met a redneck drifter, a real asshole.” Leaning down, he pressed his lips to your overly warm forehead, letting them linger there. Pulling back, he stayed close, just watching you sleep, stroking the hair on the crown of your head. “An’ somehow, she changed him.”

Sitting back, he grabbed the cloth and dipped it in the bowl of water, back to battling the flames beneath your skin.

“S’far from the end, Sunshine.”

[jaelvr]

Perfume

Home | NCT 127 masterlist |

Requested : no

Prompts ; 75 “I thought I didn’t miss you, but then I saw your photo.”  + 82. “i lost myself the day i lost you.”

Pairing : ex! Mark x fem! reader

Pronouns : you/yours

Type : little angst, fluff

Word count : 5.5k

Warnings : confused feelings, exes to lovers, idol! au, fluff, slightly ooc

Have a great day !! 

——————————

You sat on your bed, eyes sadly roaming over the photobook perched on your nightstand. Your name was called out in the hallway again, your band's leader ushering me to hurry. "Coming!" you responded, turning the album upside down and hiding it on the bookshelf before you left your room, heading out to meet your band members in your dorm hallway, and putting your shoes on. As you entered the bustling hallway, your bandmates greeted you with familiar grins, oblivious to the memories hiding in your room. The chatter and laughter filled the air as you gathered together, momentarily distracting you from the ache in your heart. The weight of nostalgia clung to you like a well-worn cloak. You stayed quiet, putting your coat on before following your bandmates outside, too tired and drained to be bothered to try and engage in whatever conversation they were having.

Sensing your mood, your bandmates exchanged concerned glances as they walked by your side. However, respect for your privacy kept them from questioning your silence. The cold winter air bit at your cheeks, matching the chilled emptiness you felt inside. "'m fine." you brushed off, noticing the look Minji gave you as you got into the car next to her. Minji, her astute observant eyes narrowing with concern, studied you intently. The silent understanding between the two of you filled the space. Though she sensed your inner turmoil, respect for your boundaries prevented her from delving further. As you sat beside her, a shared, knowing glance passed between you, signifying her wordless reassurance that she was there for you without intruding.

The journey continued in the dimly lit car, the hushed whispers of your bandmates' conversation faded into background noise. Minji's gentle touch on your arm provided a small comfort, a silent gesture of her unwavering support. The passing cityscape mirrored the emotions swirling within you, the world continuing its indifferent rhythm while you wrestled with your unspoken pain.

----

It was worse when you'd reached the company's building, the familiar scent almost feeling suffocating in the hallway, indicating you'd just missed him by seconds, maybe a minute. You hadn't even realised you'd been lost in thought until Minji was tapping your shoulder, the other girls already in the dance studio. Minji's touch on your shoulder snapped you out of your reverie, bringing you back to the present. You realized you had been lost in the haze of nostalgic thoughts, the scent lingering in the hallway reminding you of his presence. The realization stung, a harsh reminder that he was just out of reach, leaving you with a hollow ache in the pit of your stomach. "Sorry, I uh.." you murmured, clearing your throat as you avoided her stare.

Minji, perceptive as ever, understood the hint of discomfort in your voice. Concern filled her eyes as she watched you carefully avoiding her gaze. A momentary silence settled between you, the air thick with unspoken words and emotions. "It's okay," she said gently, her voice hushed and reassuring. "But…are you sure you're okay?" You hummed at her words. "Yeah, yeah, of course I'm fine." you brushed off, shaking your head. "Showcase is more important." you chuckled, gritting your teeth. Minji raised an eyebrow at your quick dismissal, unconvinced by your nonchalant response. The look in her eyes told you that she could see through the facade you were trying to maintain, but she respected your choice to downplay your feelings. In the end, she sighed softly, her concern for you apparent in the downturn of her lips. "I know you're focused on the showcase, but…just remember, you can talk to me anytime, alright?"

"I know." you murmured, heading into the practice room with your cheeks slightly warm, changing topic immediately and talking to one of the other girls. This was going to be a long day. Minji didn't push the subject further, even though the concern etched on her face remained. She knew when to give you space, and right now, you clearly needed it. The others in the room also noticed the slight flush on your cheeks but refrained from commenting, respecting your unspoken boundaries. Even so, their watchful eyes betrayed their concern, silently observing you as you conversed with one of your bandmates.

----

As soon as you heard 'break!' come from your instructor, you'd practically ran outside, choosing to take your fifteen-minute break out on the metal stairs, quietly watching the streets of Seoul. Your bandmates exchanged puzzled looks as you scurried out of the practice room, your quick retreat not going unnoticed. They glanced at each other, silently communicating their concern, but decided to give you some space for the time being. You found solace on the metallic stairs, the noise of the city providing a faint hum in the background. The cool air brushed against your skin as you stared into the hustle and bustle below, your thoughts racing a million miles an hour.

The footsteps echoed in the metal stairway as someone approached and settled beside you. You remained fixated on the distant cityscape, not needing to look to know who it was. In your peripheral vision, you noticed the familiar form, though your gaze remained fixed ahead. The silence between the two of you was filled with a myriad of unsaid words, each moment hanging suspended. "it must be bad if they've asked you to come talk to me." you spoke, a bitter chuckle leaving your mouth at the poor attempt of a joke. The figure beside you chuckled faintly, a weary sigh escaping their lips before they spoke. There was a tinge of understanding and a trace of sadness in their voice. "You know they're all worried sick about you. But they know you'll say you're fine, so they asked me to talk to you. You can't fool me though. What's going on in that head of yours?"

"I appreciate you coming to check up but I'm fine Taeyong-" you started, immediately being cut off. Taeyong cut you off mid-sentence, the firmness in his voice making it clear that he wasn't buying your façade. "Stop with the 'I'm fine' act. I know you better than that." It was clear it would be harder to persuade him that everything was fine - a lot harder. "it's nothing." you murmured, looking down at the group making noise, seeing Mark, Haechan and Johnny all coming back with bags of food, laughing about something as they walked along the street, to the entrance. Taeyong followed your gaze as it darted towards the street below, his eyes landing on the trio of giggling boys walking back with bags of food. He was silent for a moment, studying your expression before speaking softly."I know you too well. You might think you have everyone fooled, but I can see through it. It's not nothing, so just spill it."

The silence that hovered between you confirmed Taeyong's suspicions, and he let out a weary sigh as he took in your subdued demeanour. It was clear that your heartache was intricately connected to Mark, and the pain you were trying so desperately to mask was evident to someone who knew you as well as Taeyong did. He gently placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, his voice quieter now, a mixture of empathy and knowing. "You're not over him, are you?" You let out a sigh, rubbing your face as you debated answering. "No." Taeyong's grip on your shoulder gently squeezed in a gesture of understanding, his eyes reflecting the weight of the revelation. It was the truth laid bare between you, a painful reality that even time hadn't managed to erase. He paused for a moment before speaking, his voice gentle and understanding. "How long has it been since the two of you…split up?"

You shook your head, playing with your sleeve. "I thought I didn't miss him, then I saw his photo." you confessed, the favourite Polaroid you had of you and him on the front of the photobook he'd gotten you as a present, fresh in your memory. "We haven't spoken since. Guessing either he's avoiding me or I'm super unlucky and just keep missing him everywhere."  Taeyong listened intently to your confession, the memory of the Polaroid photo you described vividly in his mind. It was clear how much that photo meant to you, and it made sense that it would spark the resurgence of your feelings. He mulled over your words about not speaking to him. A part of him wondered whether Mark truly was avoiding you or if it was merely a matter of coincidence that you hadn't crossed paths. Still, he kept his thoughts to himself for the moment. "You miss him, don't you? More than you want to admit."

"it doesn't matter if I do, I can't do anything about it." you grumbled, trying to brush it off and fighting the tears welling up. Taeyong frowned at your bitter tone, his heart aching for the pain he knew you were going through. Your efforts to mask your feelings were obvious, and he could see the tears threatening to fall from your eyes. He shifted closer to you, his voice gentle but firm as he spoke. "Hey, it does matter. You can't just brush your feelings aside and act like they don't exist. And who says you can't do anything about it?" You groaned, trying to battle your tears. "I can't! The whole reason we broke up was-" you snapped, biting your tongue as you silently cursed, realising you'd said too much already.

Taeyong's eyes widened slightly at your sudden outburst, taken aback by the ferocity in your voice. His curiosity was piqued by your words. Realizing you'd let slip more than you intended, you cut yourself off mid-sentence, leaving an unfinished thought hanging in the air. Taeyong's expression shifted to one of deeper concern, and he was silent for a moment before gently prompting you to finish." "… because of what?" you shook your head, tears slowly starting to roll as you hid your face. "I've said enough, I-" Taeyong's heart sank as he watched the tears roll down your cheeks, the weight of your pain evident. He gently put a comforting hand on your back, silently urging you to speak more. He spoke softly, his voice filled with empathy and understanding. "It's okay, you don't have to hold it in. You've barely said anything. Whatever it is, you can tell me."

"They made me." you whispered, giving in as he hugged you. Taeyong listened intently as your words hung in the air, a mixture of surprise and anger rising in his chest. He instinctively wrapped his arms around you as you gave in to his embrace, pulling you closer to offer comfort. "What…what do you mean they made you?" he asked, his voice quiet but firm, a hint of protectiveness in each word. After a while, Taeyong broke the silence, his voice filled with a mix of anger and disbelief. "Who made you… and why? Was it the company?" You hummed quietly, a little fearful. "management." you whispered, legs pressed to your chest as you sniffed. "they told me if they didn't then they'd delay albums even longer or something worse." Taeyong's jaw clenched as he listened to your quiet confession, the anger and disbelief in his eyes hardening his expression. The revelation of management's involvement in your relationship sent a wave of hot fury coursing through his veins.

The audacity of the company to meddle in your personal life like that, threatening you with such drastic measures, ignited a protective rage within Taeyong. He tightened his hold around you, his voice barely a whisper when he spoke. "And Mark… he just agreed to it?" you shook your head "he…he didn't know." you mumbled, defending him. "said it was a bad image for him and his fans wouldn't like it." Taeyong's heart skipped a beat at your words, the realization sinking in. His anger momentarily flared as he thought of the company's actions, but then he saw the way you defended Mark, even in your pain. A bitter mix of relief and frustration coursed through him. While Mark's innocence was a small comfort, the manipulation of the company angered him deeply. He took a deep breath before speaking, his voice a little softer now. "So he had no idea about any of it…?"

You hummed in confirmation. "said if I told him there would be consequences." you informed, pain in your chest at the memory, squeezing your fist tighter. Taeyong cursed under his breath, the sound of your pain echoing in his thoughts. Anger and frustration burned within him at the manipulative tactics used against you and Mark, but he focused on staying calm for your sake. He gently released his hold on you, pulling away slightly to look into your eyes, his expression hard and determined. "Why didn't you tell any of us about this? We could've helped." A silence swept over as you thought about your words. "I couldn't. No one could know." you murmured.

Taeyong grit his teeth, the anger in his eyes growing fiercer. The thought of you being pressured to suffer in silence, to shoulder the burden alone, fueled the anger coursing through him. He let out a deep, frustrated sigh and ran a hand through his hair, attempting to calm himself before speaking. His voice was strained but firm. "They had no right to tell you to keep all this a secret. This is…this is ridiculous. You shouldn't have had to go through this alone."

He paused for a moment, trying to keep his anger in check as he looked into your tear-streaked face, the pain evident in your eyes. He felt a strong mixture of helplessness and fury at the situation, and an intense need to support you, and protect you from any further harm. "We should… we should talk to the others. They need to know. They need to help you." He gently took your hands in his, gently yet firmly turning you to face him, his voice laced with concern and determination. "s'fine. I doubt he wants anything to do with me." you shrugged, trying to act like the idea of that didn't pain you.  Taeyong's heart ached at the casual dismissal of your pain, the nonchalance in your voice only serving to deepen his worry. It was clear that the thought of Mark not wanting anything to do with you hurt far deeper than you were willing to show. He let out a deep sigh, his grip on your hands tightening slightly. His voice softened as he spoke. "You really think that? I don't believe that for a second. You know him better than that."

You didn't argue, a piece of you deep down knew he was truthful, that you were almost creating a false image of Mark in order to protect yourself from the pain and risk. He noticed the change in your demeanour as you stayed uncharacteristically quiet, and he knew he hit a nerve. Your reaction showed him how much you still loved and cared for Mark, even if you tried to hide it. "You still love him, don't you? It's written all over your face." He gently squeezed your hands, his voice gentle but firm as he continued on. "How could I not?" you confessed, voice small. The raw emotion in your voice struck a chord within Taeyong, the heartbreak and longing for Mark seeping into your words.

He squeezed your hands a little tighter, silently letting you know he understood the depth of your feelings. A tinge of sympathy flickered in his eyes as he spoke, his voice soft. "Then why not go and talk to him? You've been carrying this pain alone for so long…don't you think it's time to clear the air?" You shrugged, yet still found a reason not to. "Maybe at some point. I need to focus on the showcase for tomorrow." you excused, glancing at your phone as you saw your break was almost over, standing up in order to get ready to go back to dance rehearsals. Taeyong watched you stand up, a pang of concern and disappointment tugged at his heart. He saw the way you shifted the focus back to the showcase, using it as a shield to avoid dealing with your emotions.

He rose to stand with you, a mixture of understanding and worry etched on his features. His voice was measured as he softly commented on your deflection. "You're avoiding the issue, and you know it." You stood up, starting to head back in when you heard him softly call your name. Taeyong's voice halted you in your tracks, and you turned back to look at him. He stood quietly for a moment, his expression a mix of concern and understanding. He crossed the distance between you, a few steps bringing him just a few centimetres away from you. His eyes held a silent plea as he spoke, his voice softer than before "…He'll be at the showcase.." he started, holding up a hand, cutting you off mid-sentence when you tried to argue, his expression firm yet filled with care. He could see the way your body tensed at the mention of the showcase, and he knew your mind was racing with thoughts and conflicted emotions. "Just…listen for a second."

He took a deep breath, his gaze never leaving yours as he continued, his voice gentle but insistent. "You can't keep avoiding him forever. You need to face this… and the showcase is the perfect chance. It's just one night… one night where you two will have no choice but to be in the same room." He studied your face, watching the various emotions play across your features as you processed his words. The idea of being so close to Mark after all this time was clearly making you uneasy, but he knew it was a necessary step. He stepped even closer, his voice a little softer now. "You can't keep living like this, pretending like everything is fine when it's not. You deserve closure…and he deserves an explanation." you could see the hopeful look in his eye and sighed, nodding.

"Alright, I'll think about it."

----

You scanned the backstage area, looking for a glimpse of the boys. A few members of your group excitedly discussed the performance while others were catching their breath, the adrenaline from the performance still coursing through their veins. As you searched the crowd, your eyes finally landed on the group of 127 boys standing in a corner, chatting and laughing amongst themselves. You excused yourself, waving and approaching the boys with a smile.

The members noticed you approaching, and a chorus of cheerful greetings and compliments rang out. Johnny let out a whistle of admiration as you approached, grinning widely. "Hey there, superstar! You killed it out there!" Doyoung smiled warmly, gesturing for you to join them, and Yuta gave you a friendly wave. They all seemed genuinely impressed by your performance, the atmosphere light and celebratory. You laughed, shaking your head as you humbly accepted their praise. "Learnt from the best." Johnny chuckled and rolled his eyes slightly, playing along with the praise. "Flattery, flattery. But we love it." Yuta smiled and jokingly flexed his muscles, feigning a serious tone. "Well, if you're learning from us, you've definitely been paying attention to the right people." The others laughed playfully, indulging in the banter and lightheartedness of the moment.

You chuckled, listening to them all bantering and joking around with each other while you looked for a certain someone, noticing they were missing a member. As the banter and laughter continued, you couldn't help but notice the absence of a familiar face. One member was noticeably missing from their group, his absence casting a subtle shadow over the scene. Johnny, ever observant, noticed your gaze lingering, and his smile faded slightly as he followed your gaze. He leaned over and gently elbowed you. "Looking for someone?" You cleared your throat, nodding. "yeah, is..is he here?" you asked, cheeks a gentle pink. Johnny's expression softened as he saw the hint of a blush on your cheeks and the concern in your eyes. He knew exactly who you were referring to, and he glanced over at the other members, who had suddenly become quiet, their bantering now reduced to hushed whispers. Johnny turned back to you, the corner of his mouth curving up into a reassuring smile. "Yeah, he's here. He had to step away for a moment but he'll be back shortly."

Johnny watched you as you nodded, understanding the mixture of anticipation and anxiety you were feeling. He gently patted you on the shoulder. "Everything's going to be okay. Just hang tight, he'll be back any minute now." The other members nodded in agreement, offering silent support, each of them secretly rooting for the upcoming reunion. They continued chatting and joking, creating a facade of normalcy, but you could sense the underlying anticipation in the air. Several minutes passed, each second feeling like an eternity as you fidgeted and glanced nervously toward the door, waiting for his return. Every rustle of the curtains or shuffle of footsteps had you hopeful, scanning the surroundings for a glimpse of him. Finally, as the minutes ticked by, the door to the backstage area gently creaked open, and a familiar figure appeared in the doorway. Mark's gaze instantly landed on you, his eyes widening slightly as he took in your presence. The chatter around you seemed to fade into the background as you and Mark locked eyes, a mix of surprise and anticipation etched across his features.

The other members suddenly grew quiet, their conversations falling silent as they observed the moment unfolding. They glanced back and forth between you and Mark, their faces a mixture of tension and hope. Johnny watched discreetly, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of his lips, while the others tried to maintain a casual stance, pretending not to notice the charged atmosphere. Mark walked over to the group with Taeyong, who instantly greeted you with a grin and pulled you into a hug, praising your performance. As he approached, Taeyong immediately chimed in, giving you a tight hug and praising your performance. "You were amazing out there! We were all rooting for you." Mark smiled, his heart racing as he took in your appearance in front of him again. The sight of you, radiant and vibrant, made his chest tighten. He struggled to find words, his mind still racing with a maelstrom of thoughts and emotions.

Taeyong smiled back, his eyes flickering between you and Mark. He knew the weight of the moment, the tension in the air, and the unspoken emotions swirling around the group. He subtly moved away, allowing you and Mark some space, while the rest of the members quietly observed, trying to give you the illusion of privacy in the crowded backstage area. Mark stood before you, the rest of the world seemingly fading away as he focused solely on you. His heart thudded in his chest, the weight of unspoken words and emotions pressing upon him. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. Instead, he took a deep breath, his voice soft and laced with a hint of uncertainty. "Can we…can we talk? Alone?" You took a deep breath, playing with the hem of your shirt. "Of course. My dressing room might be free?" you offered, admiring his face but making note of how tired he also looked.

Mark nodded, silently signalling his agreement to your suggestion. At your mention of the dressing room, a wave of relief washed over him. Being in a quiet, secluded place would make it much easier to discuss what was on their minds. He managed a small smile, appreciating the gesture and how well you knew him. "Yeah, that would be perfect. Lead the way." you shot Taeyong a nervous look before walking, leading the way. The walk down the hallways was silent until you both reached the room, making sure no one else was in there before going in and shutting the door behind you. The silence between you and Mark felt thick and heavy, an undercurrent of tension and anticipation that seemed to grow with each step closer to the dressing room. As the door closed behind you, locking out the rest of the world and all its distractions, a sense of quiet isolation settled in the air. The only sound was the gentle hum of the air conditioner and your own breathing. Mark stood a few feet away from you, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, suddenly feeling uncertain about what to say.

He took a moment to collect his thoughts, his gaze shifting from the floor to your face and back again. After a beat of silence, he finally spoke, his voice soft and somewhat tentative. "You were incredible out there…I couldn't take my eyes off you." He cleared his throat, pushing his glasses up. "So was yours! I mean yours always are but-" you rambled, cheeks red as you avoided his eyes, realising what you were doing. "Your solo was amazing." Mark's lips curved into a soft smile at your quick response, amused by your slight awkwardness. He couldn't help but find endearment in your rambling. He chuckled lightly, shaking his head slightly, a hint of nostalgia in his eyes as he spoke. "You're not much of a calm and collected person, are you?"

"s'not my fault I get nervous around you." you defended, staring at the ground, heart racing. Mark's smile widened, his heart skipping a beat at your words. He took a step forward, closing the distance between you ever so slightly. His voice carried a hint of playfulness, but there was an underlying sincerity in his words. "You still get nervous around me, huh? After all this time?" he teased gently, a smug smirk on his face. "shut up." you murmured, a small smile on your face as you still avoided eye contact. Mark chuckled softly, a low, warm sound that filled the small space between you. He studied your face, noticing the slight upturn of your lips and the hint of a blush on your cheeks. He took another step forward, stopping just a few centimetres in front of you. He gently reached out and placed a finger under your chin, gently guiding your gaze up to meet his. "Look at me." you hesitated but followed, looking up at him.

As your gaze finally met his, Mark's breath hitched in his throat. The sight of you, looking up at him through fluttering eyelashes, sent a wave of emotions coursing through him. He studied your face, noticing the way your eyes darted around, the way your cheeks flushed with colour. He smiled a warm, genuine smile, his fingers still gently cupping your chin. Softly, he spoke, his voice a mere whisper. "I've missed you…" That seemed to be the tipping point. You latched on, arms wrapping around his neck before burying your face in his chest, fighting the tears. Mark's eyes widened slightly in surprise as you suddenly launched yourself into his arms, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face against his chest. He instinctively wrapped his own arms around your body, pulling you closer, holding you tightly against him. He could feel the slight tremors in your body, the telltale signs of tears brimming in your eyes. Without a moment's hesitation, he tightened his embrace, his chin resting on the top of your head. "Shhh…" he murmured softly, his voice gentle and soothing. "It's okay, I'm here."

"I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry." you whispered, clinging to him as if he'd disappear. Mark's heart ached at the sound of your choked apologies, the muffled sound of your voice against his chest. He ran his hand slowly up and down your back, a soothing gesture meant to provide comfort and reassurance. He pulled away slightly to look down at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of tenderness and understanding. "Hey, shh…it's okay." he whispered, gently guiding your head up to look at him. He gently wiped away the tears that had escaped your eyes, his touch gentle and tender. "There's nothing to apologize for." he reassured. "did Taeyong-" you asked, tears still streaming as you struggled to speak. Mark nodded, understanding the question you were trying to ask. He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts and searching for the right words to say. He sighed and let out a small laugh, more out of disbelief rather than amusement. He gently stroked your hair, trying to soothe you as best as he could. "Yes, he told me…everything."

He saw the flicker of shame and guilt in your eyes, the emotions that were all too familiar. He cupped your face gently, his thumbs gently tracing your cheeks, wiping away the remaining tears. "I'm not mad…" he whispered, his voice soft but firm. "I never was. I was just…hurt." He paused, letting his words sink in, his eyes searching yours for any sign of understanding or acknowledgement. "I promise I didn't want to do it, Mark, i lost myself the day I lost you." you whispered, rambling on with anxiety rising. "I still keep your sweater in my dresser in case I'm craving your scent and I still keep your toothbrush in my bathroom in case you come back again, and-" you rambled on.  Mark's heart ached as you spoke, your words tumbling out in a desperate plea to make him understand. He listened intently, soaking in every word, every syllable that spilt from your lips. He could see the pain and regret etched across your face, the guilt that weighed heavily on your shoulders. He gently placed a finger on your lips, silencing your rambling for a moment. He stared down at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of emotions - pain, understanding, and a hint of hope. "Stop…just stop…"

When you didn't, he took a chance and went for it, your eyes widening when you felt him cut you off with his lips on yours.  Without another word, Mark closed the remaining space between you, his lips capturing yours in a desperate, yearning kiss. It was a combination of tender and hungry, a mixture of all the emotions he had been holding back for so long. He held your face gently in his hands, his fingers lightly tracing the curve of your jaw. After what felt like an eternity, he finally pulled away, his forehead resting against yours, breath mingling.  He let out a shaky exhale, his heart racing and thrumming in his chest. "I-" he began, his voice soft and filled with a mixture of emotions. He took a moment to collect himself, his eyes staring into yours.* "I don't care about the reasons…or the circumstances…or any of those stupid excuses of why we broke up. I don't blame you…I never did. The only thing I care about right now is that you're here, right in front of me…and that I still love you." he confessed, eyes both a mix of love, fear and hope for your response.

----

"I'll go grab the drinks." you volunteered, getting up out of your chair already. "someone will need to help-" you started, a soft chuckle leaving your lips as the boys dibs not it. Mark watched as you stood up, a smirk playing on his lips. He leaned back in his chair, his arms folding across his chest, a hint of mischief in his eyes. He chuckled as the boys loudly protested, each of them declaring their unwillingness to help, almost as if they'd planned it out in advance. In the midst of the chaos, Mark spoke up, a cocky smile on his face. "Oh come on, I'll help." you grinned, following him back inside the boys' dorms and to the kitchen. As the two of you made your way to the kitchen, Mark kept a watchful eye on you, a small smile playing on his lips. He helped you gather the drinks, grabbing bottles and cans, his movements smooth and effortless. Once everything was ready, he closed the fridge door with a thump before turning to you, leaning back against the counter and crossing his arms over his chest. "what?" you murmured, eyebrow raised and a smirk on your face as you approached him.

Mark chuckled, his eyes flickering over your face, taking in every detail. Even the casual smirk on your lips was enough to make his heart flutter. He leaned back against the counter, a smug look on his face. "What?" he echoed your words defiantly, a playful glimmer in his eyes. "I can’t admire my girlfriend?" you hummed, smirking as you wrapped your arms around his neck. "Never said that." Mark's smirk widened into a full-blown smile as you wrapped your arms around his neck. He wrapped his own around your waist, pulling you closer, his body pressed against yours. He leaned in, his breath warm against your cheek as he spoke in a low voice, filled with playful mischief. "Oh yeah? And what are you gonna do about it then, huh?"

"You'll have to find out later."

[r4fe-cam3ron]

— YOU WERE THE BEST, BUT YOU WERE THE WORST. | ex-boyfriend!r. cameron x reader

warnings; this is not canon to ‘outer banks’! this will definitely be a slight ooc rafe, slight fluff (short lived, i’m so sorry), hurt, no comfort </3, angst this is so long i apologize.

an; starting off my exbf!rafe masterlist RIGHT (hopefully, maybe) with this piece. honestly don’t know where the plot came from </3 i was thinking of what to right and was listening to ‘i love you, im sorry’ and it popped up in my head thankfully. feel free to leave requests for rafe/ex!rafe as well! but again — i am only on the second season sadly (soon i’ll be on the third! i’m just bad about watching shows). so any rafe requests will pertain to s1 & s2 as of right now! okay, i am done ranting - apologies </3

Double date night - something that you rarely look forward to, even if it’s just once every four months. Especially since it’s still slightly awkward between John B and Rafe, though, you don’t mind the boy. And you love spending time with Sarah. 

Sarah glances at you from the other side of the table, lifting her brows slightly. “We’ll be right back.” She stands from her chair, holding her hand out towards yours. You take her hand, standing with a small smile. 

“You both have to go at the same time?” Rafe asks, brows pinched slightly as he glances between the two of you, crystal blues lingering on you. John B discreetly nods in agreement. 

“Yes,” Sarah answers before you could say anything. “You wouldn’t understand. We’ll be back in five,” She pulls you with her but stops and turns once again. “Try not killing one another while we’re gone.” Her eyes stay on Rafe longer than John B. 

“Mhm.” He waves his hand, slumping back into his chair slightly. Sarah grins and pulls you towards the bathroom once again, stepping inside. 

“So?” She drops your hand. You turn towards her. “Did you open it?” 

“No,” You shake your head quickly. “I don’t…” Sighing, your shoulders drop. “I don’t know how to tell Rafe I even sent in an application,” Sarah’s smile slowly fades and her head tilts slightly. 

“He thinks I agreed on staying here with him while Ward is giving him more opportunities. After a year,” You lean against the sink. “I don’t know if he’ll be happy about it. Especially with it being so far.” 

“It’s a six hour drive,” Sarah deadpans. You stare down at the ground. Sure, it wasn’t that far. But you’d truly be homesick. She leans next to you. “Who knows, he might go with you.” 

“Yeah, right,” You scoff. “His home is here. He’s made that clear already, Sarah. Besides, I don’t even know if I’m going to go.” 

Sarah stares at you - eyes narrowed. “This is your future,” She points at you. “Rafe…he loves you,” She nods, face softening. “And he wants the best for you. He’ll understand. But the longer you wait to tell him…” She trails off, lips pressing into a tight line. 

You sigh and nod. Rafe will be, well, angry - even if the anger would be unnecessary. “I’ll talk to him,” You nod. “But, it’ll only be just a…hypothetical question I’ll ask.” 

Sarah groans slightly, shaking her head. “Insufferable, I tell you,” She mutters, pushing her hair back. “Alright, let’s get back out there so they’re not alone much longer.” 

You nod and follow her back to the table, sitting back down next to Rafe. His arm slings around the back of your chair within a matter of seconds and you lean into the touch, goosebumps raising slightly from where the tips of his fingers trace across your arm. 

Fumbling with your fingers on your lap, you’re unaware of how zoned out you are. 

You’ve always wanted to go to college - prove and make something of yourself and not end up like another woman on Kildare Island who marries for money and then stays in an unhappy relationship with a man who could care less if she even went missing. 

Your mother and father as an example. 

You’re not unhappy with Rafe, and you also know he’d do anything for you if you asked him - the food on his plate, the shirt off his back, anything. 

But, again, this is a chance to prove yourself - especially after many demeaning comments made in passing by friends or family. They always burned even if you laughed them off, nodding in agreement, then cry yourself to sleep that night. 

University of Georgia. Sarah was right. It was only a six hour drive - you could come back on weekends and stay. Yet, you still weren't sure if you’d gotten in. The letter was on your desk, sealed, and waiting to be ripped open with anxious hands. 

“You okay?” You blink a couple of times, looking over to meet Rafe’s gaze, his face melted with slight worry. 

“Yeah,” You smile softly. Sarah watches quietly. “Yeah, I’m okay. Just tired.” You whisper softly. 

Rafe nods and takes that as his cue, reaching into his wallet. “Here’s our half,” He passes Sarah the cash. “I have work early in the morning, so we are gonna go ahead and head out.” 

Sarah nods and stands, pulling you into a hug as Rafe stands off to the side, waiting patiently, though his stance was awkward. “Text me.” She whispers. You only nod, pulling away. 

“Bye, John B.” You wave as Rafe’s arm wraps around your waist, pulling you towards the exit. John B waves with a soft smile. 

You shiver when you step outside. “Dude is so weird,” Rafe mumbles, shaking his head as he pulls open the door for you. “Didn’t even talk the whole time you and Sarah were in the bathroom.” 

You roll your eyes and look at him. “Did you even try talking to him?” 

His bottom lip pushes out slightly as he shakes his head. “Nope,” He shuts the door and you watch as he rounds the truck, getting into the driver's side, quickly starting the engine. “Seat-warmer? On or off?” 

“On, please,” You watch as his finger presses the button. “And how do you expect him to start a conversation when he doesn’t know what to talk about with you?” 

“He could’ve said or asked anything. I’m an open book - I’ll let you know if I want to talk about it or not.” 

You hum and nod, leaning your head back into the headrest as your eyes slowly close. 

“Hey,” Slowly opening your eyes, you peek over at him. “Are you okay? You seem…” He trails off, trying and thinking of a word that doesn't seem offensive. “off?” 

“Oh,” You nod, reaching your hand over to grab him. He grips softly three times. “Yeah. I’m okay.” 

Rafe stares at you quietly. He knows you’re lying but he’s not the type to push unless it truly affects him. You’ll come to him when you want to talk about whatever is on your mind. 

Nodding, he squeezes your hand back three times. A smile pulls at your lips as your eyes drop to your hands. 

—

“I’ll be back. I’m gonna go grab something to drink,” You step out of the bathroom, dressy clothes switched for one of Rafe’s shirts and some shorts - movie attire. “You want anything?” He shakes his head and puts his phone down on the nightstand. 

“I’m good.” 

Nodding, you walk down the steps, leaving Rafe alone in your room. You move quickly, grabbing a water bottle from the refrigerator and a pack of gummy’s that were still in the bag from the quick grocery run you both had made earlier. 

Jogging back up the steps, you smile and kick your door shut gently. “Did you find a—” You stop when you see Rafe closer than expected, standing by your desk with an envelope in his hand. 

He holds it up. “What is this?” 

You shift, gulping quietly and averting your gaze but quickly look back. “Uhm…a letter.” 

“Yeah,” He scoffs, stepping closer. “I see that it’s a letter. When did you even apply?” 

You lift your right shoulder - a quick shrug, eyes now looking at the envelope he now holds rather than his face. “F…four months ago?” You wince, peeking up at him quickly before looking back down. “I was going to tell you—”

“Oh, you were?” 

“Yes,” You quickly nod. “Yes, I was. I haven’t even opened it. But even if I did get in, I don’t know if I’d truly go, Rafe. You’re overreacting.” 

“You never even told me you wanted to go to college,” He shakes his head, fingers itching to either crumble the letter or rip it. He was trying to hold it together. “We had a plan, remember?” 

“What plan? The one where we stay here while you work and I stay home and do the same thing over and over everyday? Have a kid or two?” Your eyes now lift to look at him. 

“Yes! That one,” He holds his arms out towards you. “The one we both agreed too.” 

“I never agreed to that. You made that plan yourself and just filled me in on it - never once asking what I wanted,” You scoff, pushing past him. “If you truly believed that’s what I wanted, you don’t know me at all.” 

“Then tell me what you actually want.” 

“I want a life!” You drop the stuff in your hands onto your mattress, turning towards him. “A life! One where…where I get a degree in something I enjoy! Or even own a little shop and sell…antiques or food or whatever,” 

“I don’t even know if I want kids, Rafe. I want…” You trail off, looking at him as you feel your eyes begin to sting. Don’t cry, don’t cry, do not cry. “I want someone who wants to…move, explore, do something that they want instead of listening to their parents because they think it’ll make them happy.” 

“You think I’m working there just to make my dad happy? You don’t think working there makes me happy?” 

It doesn’t. He’s been more angry - even at the littlest things. He looks more drained, tired. He doesn’t enjoy it, but if it gets his fathers praise or attention, he’ll do it. 

“No. I don’t,” You shake your head. You debated on even answering that question, but you notice how his expression changes slightly, the anger wavering. You step closer, staring up at him. “I know you aren’t happy, because I know you,” You place your hands on his chest softly. 

“I know you. But you don’t even know what I want.”

Rafe is silent now. You notice he’s grasping at straws to find something to say. Something to fight back with. You wait patiently, allowing him to conjure up something. 

“Me,” He lands on, brows slightly pinching together. You notice how tears line his waterline. “Me. You want me. A life with me.” 

“I do…I do so badly, Rafe,” You whisper, hands lifting to cup his cheeks. The tears roll down his cheeks now. He rarely ever cries. “But I also don’t want a life like my mom and dad,” Your thumbs push away at the tears. 

“I can’t have you getting upset or angry with me because I want to do something with my life,” You drop your chin slightly to follow his eyes when he looks away. “Georgia isn’t far away and you’re acting as if it is.” 

“That’s not…” His jaw clenches and he pulls away from your hold. You drop your hands by your side, watching as his eyes shut and he forcibly shakes his head quickly. “No. You’re being confusing. I’m not…I’m not angry or upset with this,” He holds up the letter. 

“I’m angry that you didn’t even want to talk to me about it.” 

“I have,” His head quickly turns to look at you. “I’ve told you so many times, Rafe, that I wanted to go. Because of how many times I’ve been told I’m not even smart enough to get into a school like that - that I’ll end up just like them.” 

“That’s being hypocritical, don’t you think?” 

Your face drops into confusion, head tilting. “What?” 

“You want to go to college to…prove yourself or whatever,” He waves his hand in the air. “But…you’re telling me I’m working for my dad because I want to get his praise or attention.” 

“That’s different—”

“It’s not any different,” His voice raises slightly, your mouth quickly shutting and eyes darting away as your arms cross over your chest. “We both want to prove ourselves to our parents and whoever else has doubted what we could do,” It feels weird to Rafe to admit that out loud. 

He looks down at the letter and holds it out towards you. Your eyes glance at him before his outstretched arm. “Open it.” 

Your eyes quickly look at him once again. Hesitantly, you reach out and pull the sealed letter from his grasp. Flipping it over, you try not to seem too desperate when ripping it open. The envelope falls to the ground as you unfold the paper, eyes darting over the words. 

Congratulations. 

Congratulations. 

A smile pulls at your lips, eyes looking up at Rafe who stands there, watching quietly. “I got in,” You whisper. He nods slightly and looks down at the paper that shakes slightly in your grasp. “I got in.” You voice a little louder, looking back at the letter. The tears that finally break loose and slide down your cheeks, drop onto the paper. 

“Congratulations.” Rafe nods. You quickly look back at him, placing the paper on your desk, stepping closer. 

“You could come with me,” You nod quickly, smiling softly as your hands cup his cheeks once again. “Yeah. You could come with me. We could get a small apartment close to the college - I wouldn’t have to live on campus,” 

He stares at you quietly. “We could actually live together. Come down every two or three weeks to visit friends and whoever else,” Your smile would usually be contagious - now it just makes him angry. Your touch is making it feel as if you’re burning him. 

“We could also stay for the weekend since it’s only a six hour drive,” You let out a small laugh, dropping your hands to his shoulders. “Rafe, come on. Act a little more—”

“What, happy?” His tone causes the smile to slip from your lips. His hands lift to wrap around your wrist, pushing your touch away from him. 

“Well, yeah,” You stare at him. “I’m…I’m telling you we could actually live together in our own space and you’re not even…” You trail off. 

“Yeah, well, I’m not exactly too happy that you decided it would be okay for me to just uproot my life from here to go with you.” Oh, Rafe, shut up, shut up, shut up.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“That I’m not doing that!” He throws his hands up. “I’m not leaving everything behind here that I’ve slowly worked through! Dad would never let me hear the end of it.” 

“Is this about me or your dad? Do you not remember when you used to come here just because he would kick you out for weeks before even letting you come back home?” Your own voice begins to raise. “Do you seriously trust him enough to work with him or is it just for the money that he is able to provide?” 

His jaw clenches and he shakes his head. “I don’t have to listen to this,” He walks past you and grabs the duffle bag that sits on your chair. You turn and watch him, lips parting as he begins to stuff his things into his bag. “I don’t have to listen to your version of a ‘perfect life’ when I can have that.” 

It’s like he’s trying to convince himself that he would still have that perfect life when you decide to leave everything behind - leave him behind. 

“You don’t think we could build something up together and have that be perfect?” You walk over towards him as he turns. He stops and stares down at you. “You don’t think we could build our own home together? Something better than here?” 

His lips pull into a tight line so he doesn’t say something he regrets. He steps into the bathroom, removing his stuff before stepping back towards his back. 

“Rafe…” You watch him. “Rafe, please. Why are you being like this? I just want you to talk—”

“I’m angry because you can leave but I can’t!” He turns towards you. You stumble back slightly but quickly regain composure, eyes widened slightly. “You can leave everything behind and you’ll be fine. But if I do…” He lets out a laugh which sounds more like a scoff before shaking his head. “I’m not you. I care too much.” 

“You…” You watch as he zips up his bag. “You think I don’t care? Why do you think I wanted you to come with me?!” 

“Money.” 

The anger that builds in your chest makes you feel as if you’re sweating profusely. “I would never be with you just because of the money and you know it, Rafe,” You jab your finger into his chest. “I love you! That’s why I wanted you to come with me! This whole argument could’ve been avoided if you’d just understand me!” 

“Yeah, well,” He grabs his keys from your desk. “You said you didn’t want to end up like your parents.” 

“Rafe, don’t do this,” You step closer. “You’re being irrational for no reason.” 

He glances back at you one last time - watches how your lip quivers, eyes pleading with him. “Please.” You whisper. His eyes drift over towards your desk, the letter on top taunting him. 

He steps out of your room, slamming the door behind himself. You stand there, staring at the closed door waiting for the moment he steps back in, laughing in your face about how he got you and you’d punch him in the arm. The night would continue with a movie and sour gummy worms. 

Yeah. That sounds perfect. 

But the sound of the front door opening and closing downstairs and the start of his truck has that wish shattering. You rush towards your window, peeking out the curtains. His tires squeal on the pavement as he backs out and speeds off. 

Pulling back, you slowly walk towards your bed and sit on the edge. Your eyes stare at the floor as your hands rest in your lap. Your heart beats uncomfortably fast. 

You slowly reach for your phone, immediately texting Sarah to come over. 

After the texts she sent go unanswered, she’s there within ten minutes and running up the steps. Opening the door, her eyes dart around the room, before they land on you. 

You slowly look over at her. “I got in.” 

Her smile is immediately, mouth parting to speak but she quickly stops when she watches your face crumble, a sob leaving your throat. The door shuts and she quickly walks over, pulling you close to her.

You cry until your eyes are heavy and your throat hurts. You pull away slowly and Sarah looks at you sadly. Your eyes linger on her skin, reaching over and wiping away your tears that had fallen, making a slight face. “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize,” She shakes her head, reaching for your hand. “What happened?”

The explanation was hard to get through, some tears and pauses along the way but Sarah nods, face remaining morphed into sadness. 

“Then he left.” 

Sarah lets out a small sigh. “I mean, he was rejected from that college. Maybe he’s just…” Your brows furrow slightly, head tilting. “Maybe he’s angry at himself - which doesn’t excuse—”

“Wait,” You quickly cut her off. “What do you mean, he was rejected from that college? When did Rafe even apply?” 

She stares at you quietly. “Uh,” She shifts. She thought Rafe might’ve told you - she thought wrong. “He applied last year. He was so excited when he got the letter. He had me open it because he was so nervous,”

Looking down at the loose thread on Sarah’s shorts, you frown at the thought of Rafe being excited then learning that it wasn’t what he was expecting. “He thought I was being mean,” Sarah nods. “I actually felt bad for him. He was…Rafe is smart - when he puts his mind to it. He had the grades for it. Especially when you two started talking,” 

Your eyes lift and she smiles sadly. “He hammered down then,” She nods. “Dad offered to, uh…” She shifts uncomfortably and messes with the bracelet on your wrist. “He offered to pay the school a lump sum of money.” 

“Rafe told him no, because he wanted to get in without that kind of help,” Sarah nods. “Dad laughed. He told Rafe he wasn’t sure why he thought he would be able to get in. He left for four days after that.” 

Thinking back, you remember one time when Rafe had come to your home closer to his graduation. He seemed more sad than what he usually did. When he stepped in, he mumbled some excuse about Rose wanting him out. 

“I never knew any of that. He didn’t tell me.” 

“I know,” Sarah nods. “That still doesn’t give him any right to say and do what he did to you though.” 

You nod, looking towards the picture frame on your dresser, shoulders dropping slightly. “I don’t know if I can leave now.” 

“Hey, no,” Sarah grabs your face and turns it back, lowering them to your shoulders once you’re staring at him. “You’re not backing out on this. This is your chance to have a future. You can talk to Rafe, but do not let him change your mind about going.” 

“This could’ve been avoided, Sarah.” Your lip quivers and head shakes. 

“It could’ve,” She agrees with a small nod. “But him seeing that letter did not need to cause this,” She motions towards your face. Did not need to cause crying for almost an hour straight. “He has every reason to be upset or jealous - whatever he feels. But he should feel happy for you.This is a big accomplishment.” 

Nodding a bit, you smile softly. “I’ll try talking to him,” She nods. “Thank you for coming. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” 

She smiles. “Not a lot.” She teases. 

You laugh softly, leaning your cheek over onto her arm that remains close to you. “Do you mind staying?” You whisper. 

“Not at all.”

—

| FOUR MONTHS LATER. 

| I know you’re not speaking to me. But I'd really like to see you before I leave. 

| Say a proper goodbye. 

| Please come with Sarah. 

READ AT 12:30PM. 

Your heart breaks but it’s something you’ve grown used to over the four months away from Rafe. Quickly dropping your phone, you look over when the door opens. 

Your mom smiles softly when she sees you folding a shirt, stuffing it into a suitcase. You’re leaving some clothes home, in your room, but taking some with you. Your dad had given you a free range of spending after learning about getting accepted. 

That’s the first time you’ve ever felt as if he was proud of you. 

“I can’t believe you're leaving me,” You turn and send your mom a small smile. “I’ll be home every four weeks unless something important comes up. And for holidays. You could also come see me.” 

“I don’t like driving and neither does your dad, you know that,” There’s something that wavers in her voice that has a frown pulling at your lips and fingers gripping the material you hold. She steps closer and clears her throat. “Are you sure you want to leave early?” 

You stare at her quietly for a moment as you actually think about backing out of this whole thing. You wanted to leave a month early so you can explore a new place, maybe meet some new friends. But you also didn’t want to leave everyone else behind. 

But you wanted to leave everyone behind at the same time. 

A part of you felt bad for leaving your mom - although another part doesn’t. She never really showed she cared, but maybe that wasn’t her fault. 

“I’m sure. I want to make sure I know where everything is,” You nod, turning back to your bag. You finish with the shirt in your hand, zipping up your bag. “Sarah, John B, and everyone's on their way to say bye.” 

She doesn’t know about the fight with Rafe. And you did not want to tell her - she’d find some way to blame you for it. 

You also didn’t feel like crying once again. 

She nods and smiles softly. “Come with me. Your dad said he’d get your bags.” 

You're surprised, but nod and follow behind her down the steps. Your dad was in the kitchen, giving you a small smile in passing before he walked upstairs. 

You turn your attention back, eyes dropping to a box. “What’s this?” 

“A care package,” She nods. You eye it before looking at her. “Do you…remember those homemade cookies we used to make with one another?” 

“Oh, I don’t—”

“I made some,” She quickly cuts you off. You, of course, remember making those cookies. They were the best cookies you’ve ever tasted - nothing has yet to top them yet. You were smush surprised she even made them. “Last night. I was…I was up late making this with some of the other snacks you used to like as well.” 

You pull the box closer, opening it and peeking inside. Your heart stops for a moment before glancing up. “Mom—”

She circles around and grabs your biceps softly. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there the most when you needed me,” Your eyes begin to sting. “When you were older. I should’ve stuck up more for you and been there. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” 

She pulls you towards her quickly, squeezing you tightly. You can’t remember the last time you hugged either one of your parents. Not one of those side hugs, or hugs that you do for a family portrait and quickly pull away after the flash goes off. 

An actual bone-crushing hug. 

Your arms slowly wrap around her, before your eyes slowly squeeze shut, moving closer. 

“My baby,” She whispers, pulling away and pressing a kiss to your temple. “I’m so sorry.” 

You smile softly, shaking your head quickly. “It’s okay.” You whisper, breath shuddering slightly as you wipe your tears with the back of your hand. She reaches up and wipes at your other cheek. 

“I’m so, so proud of you, you know?” 

It’s strange. The words she says have your face crumbling and another shaky breath escaping you. You never knew if she was truly ever proud of you or not - you still wasn’t for sure, the words could just be in the moment - but it still renders you breathless all the same. 

You jump slightly when you hear a honk outside. Your eyes dart towards the front door before glancing at your mom. She nods. “I’ll get your dad to carry this out too.” 

You nod and start to walk out of the kitchen. You pause and turn back around, hugging her tightly. “I love you, Mom.” You whisper softly. 

Her arms tighten once more for a second before releasing slightly. “I love you, sunshine.” Suddenly, you’re a little girl again, beaming at her when you pull away. 

You quickly walk outside, smiling softly when you see the people who are standing outside, waiting by your car. Walking over, JJ is the first to see you. 

“Hello, Miss Georgia.” He grins, walking over. Everyone glances over. You embrace him in a hug, smiling softly. 

“Hello, JJ,” You laugh softly, pulling away. “Thanks for coming. Sorry that it’s gonna be a short goodbye too - I want to get going before traffic hits.” 

“Then we better get to it,” Topper says from the side. “There’s a concert going on today.” 

You hum softly and hug JJ once again, patting his back softly. “Don’t get yourself into too much trouble.” 

“No promises.” It sounds like he sniffles at the end, but you pull away to hug Pope next as JJ turns and fixes his hat. 

“Make good choices and study.” He reminds you. You pull away and stare at him, grinning. 

“You’re so studious, Pope.” 

He smiles softly and pulls you into another quick hug, patting your back before moving to stand next to JJ. You hug Topper and Kelce next - a side hug, but it was still nice of them to come tell you goodbye. 

You hug Kiara next, promising to text her and send her pictures of the sunsets - mountains, too, if you go hiking. 

John B gives you a small smile. Sarah pushes him slightly. “She doesn’t bite,” She shakes her head. “Well—”

“Hush, Sarah,” You warn, hugging John B. You lower your voice. “Take care of her, okay?” 

He nods and steps away. You smile at Sarah and hug her tightly, feeling her fingers grip at the material of your shirt. “I’m sorry he didn’t come. I tried.” She whispers. 

You nod. “It’s okay…” You whisper. Pulling away, you smile and take a look at everyone. 

“I love you guys,” You nod. “Thanks for being here. It means a lot.” 

“Anything for you,” JJ smiles. “But we can’t watch you leave. Otherwise, we will follow you.” 

Letting out a small laugh, you nod. “Then you guys better go. I’m about to leave after I tell mom and dad bye.” You motion over your shoulder. 

They all walk towards their cars, goodbye’s and ‘I’ll see you soon’ filling the space. You watch as everyone disappears before turning. You see both your mom and dad standing and waiting patiently. Walking over, you smile. 

“Okay…I guess this is the part where we hug and I promise you I’ll see you both soon?” 

The man chuckles and pulls you close. “Exactly,” He pats your back, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. You allow yourself to be selfish and indulge in his attention. “I love you. Text when you get there, okay?” 

You nod. “I will. Thank you, dad.” 

He presses another quick kiss to the top of your head, pulling away. You step towards your mom first, pulling her into another tight hug. “Call me whenever you need to. When you want to come back.” She whispers. 

You smile and nod. “I will. I love you.” You feel her nod and you pull away from the both of them, walking towards your car and slipping inside. You glance in your rearview mirror, watching as your mom lingers on the doorstep as your dad passes by, stepping inside. You frown slightly. 

The attention he had given you was short lived. 

Sighing, you turn on your car and hover your thumb over the START button on maps. Your eyes lift once again towards the house. The door shuts once again. 

Your eyes begin to sting as you look away once again, clicking the button. 

“In .3 miles, make a left…” 

Rafe pauses as he watches your car make a quick left, disappearing from his view. Rubbing at his face, he looks over at the packed bags in his passenger seat. 

He backed out. 

He packed his bags. Drove to your home to see if the offer still stands - to see if you still wanted him to go with you. Then he stopped before he even pulled into the driveway. 

He didn’t know why he couldn’t push himself to do it, no matter how many times he kept saying that’s what he wanted. He wanted you. He wanted to make a home with you. Have that perfect life that you believed in. 

He didn’t know what was holding him back. 

Starting up his truck, he stares at the mailbox in front of your house. He clears his throat and quickly pulls into the driveway, getting out and making his way up to the door. He knocks and waits. 

Your dad answers, brows slightly lifted. “Oh, Rafe,” He then pinches them together in confusion. “Didn’t you already say goodbye?” 

“No,” He shakes his head quickly. “I, uh…I was at work.” He lies. 

“Well, I’m sorry, kid. You just missed her,” He motions towards the end of the driveway. “I could call if you want—”

“No,” He quickly stops him. “No…I don’t want to hold her up if she had a timeline she wanted to follow. Thank you, though, sir.” 

He nods and begins to shut the door. “Wait,” The door opens once again. “This might be…” He trails off. It wouldn’t be weird. As far as they know - hopefully - you both are still together. “Would it be okay if I go up to her room?” 

The older man’s brows lift slightly, shrugging. “I don’t see why not.” 

Rafe nods and steps inside when he steps away. “Thank you, sir. I’ll be quick.” He makes his way towards the steps, quickly jogging up them and towards your room. 

He opens the door, stepping inside before closing it behind himself. He slowly steps in and stuffs his hands in his pockets as he looks around the room. 

Sitting on the edge of your bed, he smiles to himself softly. It did feel strange sitting in your room, without you. 

His eyes land on the photo on the nightstand, picking it up carefully. It had been moved from your dresser, closer to your bed. He didn’t know if that was good or bad. 

His chin quivers and drags his thumb across the dried flowers that had been stuffed under the glass. They were from your second date - Rafe had been late, Ward holding him up to do something that could’ve waited.

He wanted Ward's approval and put you last. He thinks that was the first time he ever did that. You never held it against him. 

Kicking off his shoes, he shifts around in the bed as he lies on his side. He holds the frame close to his chest, arms crossing over it protectively. 

He was never the one to get close to people. It was a surprise that he had even let you get close enough that you knew his little tics he would do when he was nervous, lying, or joking. 

Close enough that you knew him better than he knew himself. 

More than he knew you. 

The thought makes his eyes squeeze alongside the painful squeeze of his heart, the heel of his palm pressing in between his brows. His phone is weighing heavily in his pocket - his mind screaming for him to just call. 

But he didn’t want to hold you back. He knew you were meant for something greater than this place. Your friends. Him. You deserved to prove yourself in a way he never could or never will be able too. 

He loved you too much to hold you back. 

He loves you too much. 

His eyes grow heavier, the hold on the frame loosening as he slowly falls asleep to the scent of your sheets that smelled of both you and him. 

That smelled of home.

— tags; @starkeyvhs ; @clairoscharm ; @oceanblvd111

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