#2 type A's in the same room what will they do?

[azsazz]

Over Ice (Part 9)

Hockey!Rhysand x Reader

Summary: Anon Req: She’s walking around Campus and BOOM right smack dab into Broody McBrooder!! She THEN finds out he’s the tutor for one of her hardest courses (personally Psych would be a good one) and they become super duper close with him and the team!!!

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 3178

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7) (Part 8)

Notes: ughhhh. i don't like this part. fml

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Annoyance courses through your veins when Rhys’ phone buzzes against the tabletop again. The devilish device has been blowing up with messages since before your tutoring session had even begun, as soon as Rhys walked into the room with a mumbled greeting, fully immersed in the device.

Each vibration has slowly chipped away at your feeble concentration. You quickly lost focus on studying, and you’ve had to re-read the same paragraph three times over, restarting every single time he received a new message. Not a single fact has clicked in your head, and the urge to collapse in defeat is all too tempting right now.

Rhysand is in no way phased by your unpleasant aura and blatant glares. His laptop is open, eyes glued to the screen as his fingertips fly across the keyboard. He has a paper due at nine in the morning, and although he’s known about it since the end of last week, between tutoring you, the Halloween party, hockey practices, and games, he’s up to his ears busy.

But he wanted to see you.

He’d spent all week thinking about you. During practice, he’d found himself glancing up into the bleachers, looking for you, hoping he’d catch a peek of you in that sinfully butchered jersey of his. That reminds him, he needs to get you a new one because you’re more than distracting in that scrap of fabric.

He’d searched for you the same way at the away game the Bat’s had this week, even though he knew you weren’t in the building at all, weren’t even in the same city.

And psychology is fucking ruined for him. He thinks about you the most when he’s sitting in class, staring at the lecture slides he should be copying down. It’s a good thing that the information comes so easily to him, otherwise he’s pretty sure he’d be fucked with the amount of time spent daydreaming about how your lips felt on his, soft, shy, intimate.

“You know, if I’m keeping you from something,” you finally say, snapping Rhys from his paper. It’s hard to keep the annoyance out of your tone but the surprise on his face, the way his brows knit together in confusion has a pang of guilt stabbing you in the chest. Clutching your pen in your grasp only helps a little. “We don’t have to do this tonight.”

You refrain from admitting that you really do need his help tonight due to the quiz you have coming up later this week. It’s the only night he’s available to tutor you, with his hectic schedule. Right now, his presence is more distracting than it is helpful, and from where you sit across the table, you can tell that he’s stressed.

It’s in the way that he runs his fingers through his jet-black hair, tugging on the roots when whatever he’s typed doesn’t make sense. You know this is his tell because it’s followed by the prominent clicks of the backspace key for each letter he removes. Clack. Clack. Clack.

You can fully see the exhaustion written on his face, the circles beneath his violet eyes, and how every so often you’ve caught him rubbing his fists into his eyes. The bruise on his jaw looks better than it had the last time you saw him, splotches of yellow-green dust the area instead of the deep purple coloring it was when the injury was fresh.

He must see your frustration on your face because his shoulders drop in shame.

“What? No, I’m here,” he insists, shoving his computer away from him. Yeah, maybe a break is what he needs. Shame crawls up his throat. He’s supposed to be your tutor, and he’s been so caught up in his own work that he forgot that he’s supposed to be helping you.

Rhys frowns when his phone jolts against the desk again. You take a calming breath, closing your eyes, but they still prickle with frustration. You’re just as frazzled as he is. If you don’t pass this quiz, you’re not sure there’s hope of salvaging your grade.

You’re arguably just as exhausted as Rhys. Your other classes are also on the verge of kicking your ass, and you can only blame it on the fact that you actually have a semblance of a social life this year and aren’t holed up in your dorm room 24/7 outside of your classes, studying your ass off. No, you’re hanging out with your roommates more, meeting new people, going to hockey games and parties, both of which are things you never thought you’d be into.

And trying to keep up this façade as Rhysand’s fake girlfriend isn’t easy. Amarantha seems like she’s everywhere. You can barely count the number of times last week Rhys messaged you about her. You meet up with him when you’re close and able, in the commons, the food halls, you even met him between the stacks of bookshelves in the library while she pretended to peruse the non-fictions, but you can’t be everywhere at once. It’s a lot. Just last night, Amarantha was at the hockey house when Rhys arrived home. She had sunken her blood-red claws into one of the freshmen who’d been invited over for a few beers with a small group of players. Azriel had warned him of the devil under their roof, and Rhys had showed up at your dorm with a sheepish smile and a box of cookies from the convenience store he passed on the way over.

If he didn’t have those sweets in hand—and if your roommates hadn’t gone to a movie that you wanted to see but couldn’t because of the amount of studying you had to do—you would have slammed the door in his face.

You spent the night studying alright, but it wasn’t the words in your psych textbook. You couldn’t help but examine Rhysand, who sat across from you on your couch, the way that his hair fell from his brow when his chin tilted down to his own work. The way that he held the chocolate chip cookie in his mouth between his teeth as he wrote in his notebook. The zip of excitement you felt when your fingers brushed against his rough ones in the cookie box.

Your cheeks warm at the memory. You swear you can still feel his touch, the sheepish smile he gave you when he pulled his hand away, letting you pick whichever cookie you preferred. You wanted to lean over and taste that soft smile against your lips. You managed to find the restraint, offering him a gentle smile in return before stuffing a bite of the chocolatey goodness in your mouth as you ripped your gaze from his.

“No, really,” you try to insist politely. “If you need to go, you should. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine.” It’s difficult to hide your cringe. You really do need his help.

Rhysand stares. He doesn’t know what he’s done wrong, and when he opens his mouth to ask what has you so on edge tonight, his phone pings with another message, and realization sets in like a boulder in the pit of his stomach at the way your gaze drops back to your book.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes, snagging his phone from the table. It’s Cassian, again. His roommate won’t let the fuck up in the group chat, demanding mandatory attendance from every single member on the team at the party he’s hosting at the hockey house the night before team plays the Springview Wolves.

Rhys would be worried about the potential jinxing Cassian’s text puts into the universe if he didn’t know that this is the one superstition his defenseman has. The past two years, the entire hockey team had attended one of Cassian’s pre-celebration parties. It was the last party before their meet with the Wolves, who they’d then slaughtered in a 6-2 game. The following year, they’d beat them in nail-biting overtime with a snapshot that could’ve broken the plexiglass had Azriel missed. Safe to say that this party has become as much as a tradition as it is a superstition, and Rhysand needs to be there.

But right now, he needs to be here, focusing on you and the psych class you’re bombing.

“Look, if you’re too busy to tutor me I’d rather you tell me now so that I might have a chance at finding a new tutor before this quiz.” It’s difficult to mask the disheartened etch to your voice. Who are you kidding? There’s no way you’ll be able to find a tutor when the quiz is two days away.

Yep, you’re officially screwed.

“I’m not,” Rhys protests, shaking his head. Something about the idea of another person tutoring you has annoyance flaring in his veins. He silences his phone, something he should have done as soon as he walked over the threshold of the study room. “It’s just Cassian, anyway.” Rhys slides his chair around the corner of his table so close that your knees knock into each other. The touch sends a shockwave up your thigh and you try not to recoil at the surprising feeling. “Sorry. I’m done texting. Remind me what you’re working through, and I can help with any questions you have.”

You’re apprehensive to let this tutoring continue. It’s become very clear that Rhys has other priorities. He’s the captain of the hockey team for fuck’s sake; he probably has more on his plate than you think he does.

At your hesitation, he questions, “What?”

You shrug, feeling completely defeated. All you want right now is to crawl home with your tail between your legs and curl into a ball in your bed. You’ve pretty much accepted that you’re going to fail this class, tutor or not. There’s no way you’re going to admit any of this to Mor’s cousin right now, so you deflect, lamely. “I don’t know Cassian that well, but he doesn’t seem like the kind of guy that likes to be ignored.”

Rhys rolls his eyes, and your breath hitches as the corners of his mouth twitch in amusement. Sadly, a grin doesn’t break through, but it lights a fire under your ass. You want to see that smile, and you’ll do just about anything to make it happen.

It’s sad, almost, how much effort you’d put into earning that grin, but not apply that same energy toward studying.

“He’s going through our roster in the group chat, calling every single person out by name to make sure their schedules are cleared for the party we’re throwing this weekend.”

You catch yourself before your eyes roll into the back of your head in what might possibly be the most dramatic, epic eyeroll ever.

“Wow,” you feign an amused laugh. “That sounds dramatic.”

“That’s Cass for you,” Rhys says, amused. He crosses his arms and places them on the table. It takes effort not to watch the way his muscles pop beneath his t-shirt as he leans in closer. You’re only a foot away from each other. If you wanted to recreate the kiss you shared on Halloween, all you’d have to do is angle forward, tilt your head, and his lips would be on yours. You wonder for a fleeting moment if Rhys was as thrown over the kiss that night as you were. If he still thinks about it, can still feel the phantom sensation of your lips pressed together.

You remember that you shouldn’t be thinking about the kiss at all, and you sit back in your chair.

“You know,” Rhys starts, and you don’t like the telltale signs of a scheme that lines his tone. You almost groan out loud but settle on shooting him a warning look. “Since you’re my girlfriend—”

“Fake girlfriend,” you correct instantly.

Rhys rolls his eyes and tips back onto the back legs of his chair. “Fine. Fake girlfriend,” he mimics and you toss your pencil at him. He catches it against his chest and the smile you’ve been waiting to see finally cracks his face. Fuck, he’s gorgeous when he does that. You’re even gifted those pearly white, straight teeth of his. You’d keel over in your chair like one of his many conquests if it wouldn’t give him an ego. You almost miss the end of Rhys request with how entranced you are. “You should probably make an appearance at the party.”

“Yeah,” you sigh. Realization strikes you like a fist. Rhys all but preens in his seat. You blink as his words settle, frows knitting together. “Wait, no, I can’t.” His face immediately falls. Rhys’ face scrunches adorably and you’d really like to reach out and smooth the crease between his brows right now.

There are more than a handful of reasons that you should not show your face at the hockey house party, the most prominent being that you’re his cousin’s best. She doesn’t want you anywhere near him, and you can’t break that promise even more than you already have.

Well, I won’t tell anyone if you won’t. His words echo in your head and you shove them away as quickly as they arrive.

The second reason you shouldn’t be going to his party is that you’re barely even friends, you’ve somehow been sucked into a mess of a situation, pretending to be his girlfriend in exchange for tutoring. Tutoring that right now isn’t helping improve your grade at all.

“Why not?” He challenges. “What if Amarantha shows up?”

“Because I have other plans,” you answer plainly. You don’t need to give him a reason. You press, “I can’t be your buffer between Amarantha forever, Rhys. You’re a big boy; you can fight your own battles.”

He looks awfully like he doesn’t want to fight his own battles, with his lips pressed into a pout. If you thought that he was distracting before, this is an entirely new level of diversion. A much better kind, to be honest.

“You’re seriously not coming to the party?”

“No,” you respond, packing up your things.

“But what if she corners me and tries to kiss me or give me a hand job or something?” He asks.

Your eyes almost bug out of your head. “Then you tell her no, Rhys,” you state. “It’s really that simple. And don’t guys enjoy hand jobs? When was the last time—” He opens his mouth and you shake your head. “No, nope, I don’t even want to know.” You glare until he shuts his mouth, but the amusement lingers in his eyes.

He huffs. “Those nails are sharp,” is all he offers.

You wince. Amarantha does keep her nails long and pointed at the tips, crimson red, like blood. You almost look down to admire your own hands but catch yourself at the last second. You do not need to be thinking about how your fingers might look like wrapped around Rhys’ eight inches.

Your cheeks burn and Rhysand raises a brow in question.

He must read the plea on your face because he thankfully changes the subject. “What could you possibly have going on that’s better than free booze, good music, and seeing yours truly?”

“Wow, Rhys,” you scoff. “Your ego is unbearably suffocating tonight. Did you get your dick sucked recently?” You ask sweetly, then busy yourself by turning to a fresh page in your notebook.

His answering grin is fucking smug.

The muscle of your jaw twitches with how tightly you clamp it shut.

“Hoping it happens at the party,” he answers, suggestively.

You fake gag. “No way.”

“Didn’t say it was going to be from you,” he teases. “But if you want to, you’ll know exactly where I’ll be.”

Gods, this boy and his fucking filthy mind. You certainly haven’t forgotten that he’s your best friend’s cousin, but the fact that you’re his cousin’s best friend has either slipped his mind, or he doesn’t care.

Either way, this isn’t a good situation to be in.

You divert, pulling your focus back to the books splayed out on the desk. Studying. Right, that’s what you need to be doing instead of whatever…this is.

“I told you; I can’t go.” You try and reach for your pen that’s in Rhys’ grasp but he pulls it out of reach, ignoring the glare you send his way. Fine. You search your backpack for a backup but come up empty. Ugh.

“Can’t, or won’t?” He shoots back.

“Both,” you sigh, checking the time on your phone. It’s well past nine o’clock in the evening, and you really thought that you’d be back at the dorms already, curled up on your bed with your laptop overheating on the sheets as it played a movie. “Can we get back to studying?”

“In a second,” Rhys assures. Why does he want you to come to the party so badly? Besides the obvious. Amarantha surely can’t be that much trouble. She is a little bit of a nightmare and you could see how Rhys wants her to take the hint that he’s moved on, but if he’s that worried about her in the first place, why doesn’t he tell her that she’s uninvited? Or make the hockey team aware that she’s not allowed in the party? Why is flaunting you around the only answer? “What if I said please?”

“That wouldn’t magically cancel my plans.”

“What plans?” You frown. You wonder why he’s pushing this so hard.

Studying for this quiz is going to be impossible. You and Rhys might as well pack up and vacate the room so that people who are actually trying to study can use it. You’re almost positive that the group lingering by an overcrowded area of the library keep shooting you scathing looks every time you open your mouth.

“Gwyn is turning twenty-one and since Mor and I don’t turn twenty-one until next year, we’re planning on ordering in and getting a little tipsy at the dorms.” Rhys gives you that seriously? look that makes you glare. “Not that I care about your opinion, like, at all, but is there something wrong with that?”

“Only the fact that you’re ditching a party whose halls aren’t patrolled by snitches?” He explains, and he would think that the resident assistants live for getting college kids in trouble. “It’s the dorms! How freshman of you.”

“Whatever, Rhys. Some people don’t want to drink until they can’t see straight in front of a bunch of strangers.”

“I’d be your eyes for you,” he winks, as if what he said was comparable to a knight in shining armor defending a princess.

“Good,” you retort. “Because I’m about three seconds away from gouging them out if you keep hassling me about this. Come on, I really need to study.”

Luckily, Rhys relents. His shoulders fall and the feet of his chair meet earth again.

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” he says, and cranes his neck to see what you’re reading about. “Let’s get you nice and ready for your quiz.”

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Over Ice Taglist:

@saltedcoffeescotch @acourtofbatboydreams @mrsjna @velarisdusk @bionic-donut @tenshis-cake @eleganttravelercloud @lilah-asteria @serena05 @bwormie @soph1644 @house-husband-of-castlemurdock @tothestarsandwhateverend @topaz125 @judig92 @se7enteen--black-blog @thecraziestcrayon @cherry-cin @itsinherited @justafictionalnerd @bookishbroadwaybish @405rry @w0nderw0manly @bbykaixx @marina468 @taechvita @marigold-morelli @esahintzkanen @miakxn @ssmay123 @webvics

[bisexualmcqueen]

may i offer this thought for the feral racers hc

racecars are like loyal little guard dogs (not little at all. those are metal beasts) with the people they love. they just kinda like. imprint on people and its like an immediate switch to feral mode when they perceive threat and danger to loved one. and they do that thing where they try and make themselves bigger to intimidate enemies.

idk if its something similar like this has posted about or discussed before but uh yeah. the feral racers hc just kinda read to me as racecars being like dogs. wolves. instinctually wild animals. i like how strip and doc being particularly old veterans translates into them being Extra Dangerous or Extra Feral, something like that. though i dont even think racecars get normaller the newer/younger. i think the next gens are just a different flavor of freak (i.e. chewing, zoomies) like they're domesticated sort of in a way

YES YES exactly

ok many thoughts. lets see here

so ive been thinking about this and. the thing is. that part of what makes this headcanon so fun is that theres actually canon precedent, in a way.

Lightning for example. is crazy protective. like instantaneously. zero forethought, action only, putting himself between the Danger and the Friend.

some examples:

in cars TVG, Chick hires the DRH to rob Mack so Lightning will be without supplies for the upcoming race. when Lightning hears that Mack was very upset about it from Sheriff, he gets so pissed off he takes to the streets, tracks the DRH down, and proceeds to spend all night chasing and beating the shit out of them until they drop his stuff. not because he was Robbed, but because they Upset Mack.

i think its funny that Sheriff doesnt say Anything. he just nods in agreement. ...not that i think Sheriff could have stopped him though. Lightning is sort of Insane about Mack. Mack is the greatest. [two quality versions. one oldschool for nostalgia and one more HD]

in the comics (admittedly ive only read in sections), Mater was beefing with Bubba, Lightning also started to get pissed off at Bubba being rude + protective of Mater:

i dont know if Lightning would be good at fighting or get his ass beat terribly. either way, i want to watch.

next up is my favorite example: the thunder hollow crazy 8 race. Lightning LEAPS in to help Cruz several times. it is my fucking Favorite.

HERDS HER BACK OUT ONTO THE TRACK

and then he jumps in front of a speeding attack-bus and takes a metal sawblade to the drivewheel for her. NO thoughts, head empty, protect Cruz. love this man. apparently, type-c school busses can be between 10-20,000 pounds. crunch.

and my last example on this topic: the radiator springs 500 1/2:

these racers show up in town looking for trouble. its supposed to be a silly little western parody, but in terms of this headcanon it comes off as territorial as hell imo. wdym other racecars show up at his house to fight him. hello. and then they insult Stanley, which deeply upsets Lizzie:

cue getting their asses kicked by mcqueen. that is HIS freaky old woman.

[i love this short]

so yeah. my terrible guard-dog-horse-thing-car.

Doc is largely The Same:

14 billion KEEP OUT signs. shooing Lightning away from his friends family because he is A Perceived Danger. another racecar standing in his lawn barking. yeah. you territorial old wet rag.

I agree with what you said its very in line with the vibes of the headcanon yes. true and real. def like dogs/wolves, and i personally try to throw some cat/horse stuff in there too. again, i blame being an x-men/wolverine fan.

a few other tidbits from source material for funsies:

^that ones wallpaper, apparently. for like a Room. in a house. my cars wallpaper merch thats 2018 xrs drag racing diecast merchandise.

Doc was so amped to do racecar stuff again he wakes Lightning up in the middle of the fucking night to run around in circles with him the moment he shows back up in town.

they lost Guido in the fucking sand.

Cars Origins: Struck By Lightning quick aside: "everyone's going to think something is wrong with me" Lightning these are not mentally stable thoughts im so sorry.

second topic: generational/evolutionary differences.

first of all i would like to point out that my basis for strip especially being some sort of craazzy toothy freak is entirely the headcanon of @youhavehitawall that i adopted out of coolness. non has some lore about the weathers that explains it, but basically it boils down to a repeated expression of racecar genes getting more pronounced the more generations it travels down (so long as its an expressed gene).

now for the nextgens (funny calling them that in 2025. theyre all in their 30's lmfao. not saying thats 'old', but they arent rookies anymore, damn does time fly). [disclaimer: dont quote me on this, my knowledge is an approximation] in real life NASCAR, they used very old technologies right up until about 2012. carburetors, leaded gasoline, 4-gear h-box frontend transaxles, reticulating ball steering, etc. most of these things vanished from the dealership road cars between the 60's and the 90's. Meanwhile cars like Lightning and Cal are still running this stuff in the mid-aughts. so when the nextgens came along, they showed up with fuel injection, e85 15% ethanol fuel, 5-speed sequential rear-mounted transaxels, rack-and-pinion steering, bigger aluminum wheels, bigger calipers, and less ground clearance/more areo, there was a very sudden and massive shift in what sort of technology was being run in the piston cup. tech-wise, Lightning +co were very similar to cars like Chick and even Strip. the change in tech could be a good marker for other genetic shifts too. cars change much, muuuch faster generation-to-generation than mammals. its Moore's Law in a way: theyre machines. add that to the incredible 12-week turnaround in which every team booted their driver and replaced them with a 'nextgen', and ive had to spend some time wondering Why? why??? thats brutal! Doc certainly warned us, but goddamn. imagine if that happened mid-season in any real sport! holy shit! (i still want to know more about the fan's reactions to this...) in the context of this headcanon, i Also wonder about what you said, the nextgens being feral in a little bit of a 'different' way. maybe theyve got easier-to-handle temperaments; an added bonus to their overall higher speeds+better track times. uhm. Jackson being the temperament-outlier here, maybe.

to be fair, he did get fired after throwing too many fits.

Cars Origins: Storm Chasing

But yes... racecars!! they are a lottt to handle. the driver AND the incredibly powerful machine mashed into one?? hooo boy. honestly i am a bit fearful of racecars irl. very loud, very fast, smell bad, they breathe fire, etc. why not reconcile that by making the talking ones into Beasts. theyre already crazy, already quadruped, my brain just starts assigning horse/wolf to them. and some of it comes down to me loving logan-wolverine tropes. protective growly little guy with pointy teeth. yeah can i get 5 more of these little fanged bitches.

ok i have to stop yapping now this turned out quite long, but i still have Things to Say about this headcanon/worldbuilding. i didnt even get into the amazing bonds racecars seem to have with their teams/families (the 'imprinting' thing you mentioned!). very fun!!

thanks for the ask!!

[00valentina-writes00]

hi! I really love your writing, especially the Sevika ones. Do you mind writing a part 2 to the Accidental Death Wish story? thank you so much!

(I’ve never done this before so I hope I did it right)

✞⛧ Accidental death wish (part two)✞⛧

(Link to part one)

Warnings: Social awkwardness that might make your skin crawl, sevika is sevika, highschool au sevika

The next few days were a blur of self-inflicted embarrassment and a growing sense of dread. You were pretty sure the entire school knew about the “incident” with Sevika—her friends had made sure of that. You could hear their snickers whenever you walked by, and the way some people would glance at you, whispering behind their hands, made you feel like an alien in your own school. Every time you walked past her, Sevika’s piercing gaze would catch yours, sharp and unforgiving, and you’d instinctively shrink under the weight of it. You had never felt so small.

But the real problem was lunch. Or, more specifically, the fact that you had agreed to buy Sevika lunch for the next month. Your stomach churned at the thought of it, but what choice did you have? She had made it clear from the start that there was no escaping the deal, and when she said she had “eyes everywhere,” you believed her. You could barely hold eye contact with her during the brief moments you passed in the hallway, let alone stand up to her.

So here you were again, tray in hand, walking into the cafeteria. The lunchroom had a different atmosphere now. The chatter was louder, the whispers sharper, and every now and then, you’d hear a snicker from the corner of the room. The weight of the situation was getting to you, but what else could you do? There was no way you could back out now.

Your eyes scanned the room for Sevika, and you spotted her right away. She was sitting at her usual table, her back to you, flanked by her friends. They were all laughing about something, and Sevika was leaning back in her chair, hands behind her head as she casually surveyed the room. Despite the casualness of her posture, there was something intimidating about her presence. Even from across the cafeteria, you could feel the weight of her stare, like a pressure that made the air thick.

Taking a deep breath, you made your way over to the table, every step feeling like it took a year. When you got closer, Sevika turned her head and looked at you with that same calculating gaze, her lips curling into a smirk. You tried to ignore the way your heart skipped a beat at the sight, but it was hard to. She had that effect on you.

“You’re late,” Sevika said, her voice low and a little teasing. She didn’t look at you directly but seemed to be inspecting her nails, as though you weren’t worth her full attention.

“Sorry,” you muttered, setting the tray down in front of her. You couldn’t bring yourself to make eye contact. “I had to wait in line.”

“Uh-huh,” she replied, giving you a dismissive wave. “Whatever. I’m hungry, so hurry up. You know the deal.”

You nodded quickly and sat down across from her, trying to keep your focus on the food in front of you. But the tension in the air made it almost impossible to eat. Sevika wasn’t the type to let things go easily, and you could feel her eyes on you, even if you refused to look up.

The silence between you stretched, thick and awkward, and just when you thought you might suffocate from it, Sevika finally spoke.

“You’re not getting off that easy, you know,” she said, her voice casual, but there was an edge to it. “A month’s a long time, and I don’t want you thinking you can just slide by and forget. You’re gonna make up for that mess you made—big time.”

You swallowed hard, trying to push down the nervous lump in your throat. “I know,” you replied softly. “I—I’m just… not used to this.”

Sevika raised an eyebrow, a half smile playing on her lips. “Used to what? Being a doormat?” she asked, her tone teasing but with a bite of something else. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those people who tries to avoid trouble.”

“I just… keep to myself,” you muttered, your gaze fixed on your tray. “I don’t like drawing attention.”

Sevika leaned forward slightly, her smirk turning into something a little more dangerous. “You’re already drawing attention, sweetheart,” she said, her voice low and teasing. “What makes you think you can hide? You’ve got a target on your back now.”

You flinched at the words, the reality of your situation sinking in. There was no going back now. Sevika was right. You couldn’t avoid her, and you couldn’t avoid the eyes that were on you. It was as if you were a piece on her chessboard, and she was deciding when to move you, how far, and whether or not you’d even have a say in the matter.

The tension in the air was palpable, and for a moment, it felt like the whole cafeteria was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen. You felt exposed, vulnerable under Sevika’s unwavering gaze.

“Look,” she continued, her voice softening ever so slightly. “I don’t actually mind you. You’re… interesting. A little quiet, but not bad.”

You blinked, surprised by the shift in her tone. Sevika wasn’t known for being warm or considerate. She was tough, unyielding. People were scared of her, and for good reason. Her reputation was built on intimidation, on strength, and on always being the one in control. So hearing her speak so casually, almost… gently, caught you off guard.

“Thanks?” you said, unsure of how to respond. Your mind was spinning, trying to make sense of what was happening. One moment she was threatening you with the wrath of a hungry lion, and the next, she was acting almost… normal?

Sevika just shrugged, clearly not expecting a big reaction. “Whatever,” she said nonchalantly, grabbing a fry off her tray and popping it in her mouth. “I’m not gonna bite your head off or anything. Just don’t forget who’s got the upper hand here.”

You nodded quickly, not trusting yourself to say anything else. The last thing you wanted was to piss her off again.

The next few days went by in a blur of awkwardness, as you tried your best to follow through on your promise to buy Sevika lunch without causing more problems. The cafeteria became a minefield you had to navigate carefully, each step and every interaction with Sevika feeling like it might be your last. You never knew when she’d decide to push you too far, and yet, as the days wore on, something strange began to happen.

Sevika’s presence, once terrifying and overpowering, became… a little more familiar. Sure, she still had that tough exterior and the ability to make anyone within a ten-foot radius feel like they were walking on eggshells, but there were moments, fleeting moments, when she’d look at you and her expression would soften—just a fraction, but enough for you to notice.

One day, after you had dropped off her lunch at the table, she surprised you by speaking to you outside the cafeteria, away from the eyes of her friends.

“You’re doing better,” Sevika remarked casually, leaning against the lockers. “I expected you to screw it up by now. But you’re still here, still bringing me lunch every day.”

You glanced up at her, unsure of how to respond to the compliment. Was it a compliment? Or was she just mocking you? “I don’t want to make things worse,” you admitted quietly.

Sevika’s gaze softened, and for a moment, you caught a glimpse of something beneath her tough exterior “It’s not about making things worse,” she said, her voice quieter now. “It’s about knowing when to keep your head down and when to stand your ground.”

You met her eyes then, and for the first time, you felt like you understood her a little better. Sevika wasn’t just a bully, wasn’t just the fearsome hockey player everyone whispered about. There was more to her than that, and maybe, just maybe, there was room for you to be a part of that story.

“So,” Sevika continued, her smirk returning. “You still think you’re just some quiet nobody? Or are you starting to figure out you’re more than that?”

You blinked, unsure of how to respond, but one thing was clear: Sevika was no longer just a threat. She was someone you couldn’t ignore anymore. And, for better or for worse, that meant your world was about to get a whole lot more complicated.

It had been a week since you’d first entered Sevika’s orbit, and while the awkwardness was starting to fade, the underlying tension was still there. Every day, you brought her lunch, trying to keep your head down, avoid making waves, and maybe—just maybe—earn a little peace. You’d managed to survive the first week, but you had no illusions that you were safe from Sevika’s sharp tongue.

Today, as usual, you were tasked with buying her lunch. You’d thought maybe getting her Dairy Queen would be a small way to mix it up—plus, you were craving it yourself, so it worked out. You hoped the familiarity of the gesture might somehow break the tension between the two of you, even if you didn’t fully understand what was going on between you and the intimidating hockey jock.

When you approached her table in the cafeteria, her friends immediately took notice of the bags of ice cream in your hands. Sevika’s gaze, as sharp as ever, flicked up from her phone, and a small, amused smirk tugged at the corner of her lips. The others at the table didn’t even try to hide their snickers.

“Didn’t think you’d be dumb enough to actually get me Dairy Queen,” Sevika said, her voice dripping with mockery. She sat back in her chair, her arms crossed, the leather of her varsity jacket creaking slightly as she stretched out. “You really are a sucker.”

You slid the bag toward her, trying not to let your anxiety show. “It’s—uh—what I got for you today,” you mumbled, glancing down at your tray. Your body felt stiff, but you forced yourself to remain standing instead of sitting across from her, feeling the weight of all eyes on you.

Sevika raised an eyebrow, then grabbed the bag and ripped it open. “Guess I’ll let this one slide. For today,” she said, her smirk never leaving her face.

You nodded, grateful that she hadn’t made a bigger scene, though the uneasy feeling in your stomach didn’t go away.

The conversation around the table flowed naturally among Sevika’s friends, but you could feel the weight of her gaze on you. When you caught her eyes for a second, her expression softened for a split second, though you quickly dismissed it as a trick of the light. Sevika wasn’t the type to show softness—not around people who could witness it.

But then, as you took a bite of your own ice cream, you felt the familiar chill of the cafeteria air seep into your bones. The temperature seemed to drop by the minute, and your body couldn’t quite keep up with the coldness. You tried to shake it off, but your hands trembled slightly, betraying you.

It was nothing unusual, you thought. You were always cold—always shivering in the unrelenting air-conditioned cafeteria. But Sevika seemed to notice it immediately.

“What’s with you?” she grunted, narrowing her eyes. “Why the hell are you shaking?”

You froze, not wanting to admit you were just cold. “I—I’m fine,” you stuttered, hunching your shoulders in an attempt to make yourself smaller. “Just… a little chilly, that’s all.”

“Chilly?” Sevika scoffed. “You look like you’re about to start shaking apart. You okay, or are you just being dramatic for attention?”

You felt your face flush, and you wished you could disappear into the ground. “I’m not being dramatic,” you muttered, suddenly desperate to hide the fact that your teeth were now lightly chattering. “I’ll be fine.”

She didn’t respond right away, but you caught her eyes flicking over your body once more, lingering on your trembling frame. And then, to your surprise, something happened that you hadn’t expected—Sevika stood up.

You blinked in confusion as she unzipped her varsity jacket, revealing the faded black shirt underneath. Before you could say anything, she tossed the jacket at you.

“Put it on,” she said simply, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

You blinked again, not quite understanding. “What?”

“You’re shaking like a damn leaf. Put it on,” she ordered, voice laced with her usual gruff tone, but with an edge of something that felt… almost caring?

You hesitated, unsure whether you should accept the jacket or not. Sevika wasn’t exactly known for her kindness. Still, her unrelenting glare made it clear she wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

Slowly, you draped the jacket around your shoulders. It was warm, and it smelled like leather and something faintly spicy—probably the same scent that lingered around Sevika wherever she went. For a brief moment, the warmth seemed to push away the uncomfortable cold that had been gnawing at you. The jacket felt heavy and strangely comforting.

“You still gonna stand there and act like you’re not freezing?” Sevika’s voice broke through your thoughts. “Better? Or are you too proud to admit you were about to freeze your ass off?”

You frowned at her. “I’m not proud of it. I just didn’t want to bother you.”

Sevika rolled her eyes dramatically, making you feel even more small in her presence. “You’re really fucking dumb, you know that? Just take the damn jacket without making a scene. You’re not bothering me. You’re not bothering me at all.”

Her words didn’t make much sense to you, but you didn’t argue. You pulled the jacket closer around you, feeling the warmth spreading through your body.

“Well,” Sevika continued, her tone already back to its usual sharpness. “You owe me, remember? This doesn’t mean you’re off the hook. Lunch every day, for a month. Don’t forget it.”

“Right,” you muttered, too embarrassed to speak any louder. It was hard to stay focused with Sevika still watching you like a hawk, but you kept the jacket on, too grateful for its warmth to take it off.

Sevika leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms and giving you a once-over. Her sharp gaze seemed to inspect every part of you, from the jacket draped over your shoulders to the way you were still trembling a little. But she didn’t comment further. Instead, she tore into her Dairy Queen, completely unfazed by the silent tension hanging between the two of you.

The rest of the lunch passed in relative silence. Sevika didn’t speak to you directly again, but there was something about the way she kept her gaze on you that felt different. Less mocking, more… watchful. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it.

When the bell finally rang and lunch was over, Sevika stood up without a word and began walking away. You were halfway through taking off her jacket when she looked back over her shoulder, that familiar smirk tugging at her lips once again.

“Keep it. For now,” she called back, her voice as casual as if she had just asked you to pass the salt. “You’re lucky I’m feeling generous today.”

Before you could respond, she was already gone, leaving you standing there, her jacket still draped around your shoulders. The warmth of it lingered, almost as if she had left a piece of herself behind with you.

You exhaled slowly, trying to process what had just happened. It wasn’t exactly kindness, but it wasn’t cruelty, either. Whatever this was, it was something in between.

But, for once, you didn’t feel entirely terrible about it. Sevika’s rude behavior, her teasing, and her sharp words were all part of the same game. She had an odd way of looking out for you—whether you liked it or not. And that, you figured, was something you’d have to get used to.

[gdinthehouseee]

Neon Secrets - Part 2: KWON JI-YONG x READER

summary: after management scolding the two of you for sneaking out, you were both distancing yourselves from each other. so what happens when ji-yong finally lets his jealousy boil over after seeing another male idol get close with you?

word count: 6534

tags: angst to fluff; miscommunication, jealousy, alcohol consumption

ao3 link | part 1

Tension was thick in the stark white meeting room. You were sitting with your hands folded in your lap, your mind a whirlwind of thoughts you couldn’t quite process. Ji-yong sat beside you, his usual calm demeanor nowhere to be found, replaced by a deafening silence. Across from the both of you, a manager from YGE paced back and forth, his face a picture of frustration.

“Do you two have any idea how this looks?” The manager snapped, his voice tight with anger. “A viral video of you two sneaking out, running to a car like you're just out for a joyride? What on earth were you thinking?”

You felt the weight of his words hit you like a punch to the gut. You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out. What could you say? What could you even explain? Neither of you had meant for it to go viral; all you wanted was to get away for a few minutes—nothing more, nothing less. But clearly, you had misjudged how public your little escape would be.

Ji-yong finally spoke, his voice quiet, almost measured. “We didn’t mean for this to happen. It was just... spontaneous. We didn’t think anyone would notice.”

Their manager shot him a sharp, incredulous look. “Spontaneous or not, this is an image nightmare. You two are supposed to be setting an example, not acting like rebellious teenagers!”

“We didn’t even see anyone. How could we have known?” Ji-yong continued.

“That’s even worse!” The manager blew up, throwing his arms up in anger. Naturally, it made you flinch and Ji-yong noticed from the corner of his eye. 

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, you could feel your stomach knotting the longer you sat in the hard, wooden chair. You had never been the type to make waves or step outside the rules. The reality of what you had done was sinking in. In the same way you could feel yourself sinking under the weight of the manager’s gaze, but it wasn’t the manager’s disappointment that stung the most. It was the quiet tension coming from Ji-yong. He hadn’t said much else since he’d sat down.

As the manager continued to scold the both of you, the words blurred together in the background. All you could focus on was Ji-yong, who had become uncharacteristically silent. His jaw was clenched, his eyes lowered to the table. You had always known him to be confident, even cocky at times, but now? Now he seemed like a stranger. He was angry, maybe even disappointed in you.

When the manager finally stopped pacing and shot you both one last glare, he spoke in a more controlled tone. “This better not happen again. Lay low. The last thing we need is more negative attention. We’re on a tight schedule now, so you two better stay out of trouble.”

Ji-yong nodded stiffly, but didn’t say a word. The manager gave one last disappointed look before walking out of the room, leaving the two of you in suffocating silence.

The door clicked shut, and you just couldn’t bear it anymore. You glanced over at Ji-yong, expecting him to say something, but he just sat there, his face unreadable. You tried to meet his eyes, but he was looking anywhere but at you. This can’t be good.

Your chest tightened. This wasn’t just about the video anymore. This was about the distance between the two of you that had grown in the past few days—the distance neither of you could quite explain. He had always been so easy to talk to, so carefree, but now... he was silent, distant, and it hurt more than you wanted to admit.

You swallowed hard, your voice barely a whisper. “I’m... I’m sorry, Ji. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I didn’t want to get us into trouble.”

He didn’t respond, and that silence was louder than anything. Your heart sank, and a heavy, sickly feeling settled in your stomach. It wasn’t the first time you’d gotten into trouble, but this felt different. This wasn’t right: it felt like something was broken. 

Assuming he was mad at you, you pulled your hands back and looked away, feeling the need to distance yourself. You definitely didn’t want to make things worse, and if he was angry, it would be better to give him space.

Without saying another word, you stood up from your chair. “I think... I think I’ll go,” you mumbled, before turning and walking toward the door. You heard Ji-yong shift in his seat but didn’t wait to see if he was going to say anything.

You were already out the door before you had time to second-guess herself.

As the door clicked shut behind you, Ji-yong stayed rooted to his seat, his body frozen in place. The silence in the room was truly deafening now, the weight of the conversation pressing down on him. He had barely registered the manager’s words, too focused on the fact that you had distanced yourself from him—you had turned away without a second glance.

It was all his fault. He had wanted to say something, to speak up and tell the manager off for scolding you and making you flinch like that, but he couldn’t find the words. He was angry, yes, but not at you. It was never at you. He was angry at himself. Angry at the way he had let this situation spiral out of control, angry at how helpless he felt. He had been watching you from the corner of his eye, watching your shoulders tighten as the manager yelled at you, and it was eating him up inside.

The worst part was that he couldn’t even comfort you. He wanted to tell you how much he hated seeing you like this, how much it hurt him that you were apologizing for something that wasn’t even your fault. He wanted to reach out and say it didn’t matter what anyone else thought—he didn’t care about the viral video, the managers, or the consequences. All he cared about was you.

But he hadn’t said any of that. He hadn’t said a word. He had sat there in silence, fuming at the injustice of it all, and then watched you walk away.

Ji-yong ran a hand through his hair in frustration, his knuckles white from gripping the edge of the table. The anger he felt was like a knot in his chest, a mix of frustration at himself and something else—something deeper, something he hadn’t allowed himself to acknowledge until now.

He was angry because he wanted nothing more than to tell you how he felt. How much he admired you, how much he cared for you, how he couldn’t stand seeing you hurt. But he just couldn’t bring himself to say it. Every time he tried to open his mouth, the words caught in his throat. It felt too risky, too vulnerable. What if he ruined everything between the two of you? What if telling you how he really felt only pushed you away even more?

He exhaled sharply, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on him. He had wanted to keep things light, to pretend that everything was easy and carefree. But now... now he couldn’t deny it. There was something real between you two, something that had been building long before that night you snuck out together. And it was becoming impossible to ignore.

But he had waited too long. He had waited until the damage was done, until the silence between you had grown so thick that he didn’t know how to break it. Now, he was alone with his regrets, and all he could do was watch as the distance continued to widen. He wanted to chase after you, to tell you everything he had been holding back, but he couldn’t. He had already messed this up.

And maybe it was already too late.

The silence in your own room was suffocating. Staring at your phone, you sat on your bed, but your mind was elsewhere—lost in a whirlwind of guilt and uncertainty. Ever since that night, you had avoided Ji-yong, unable to shake the feeling that you had messed everything up.

You hadn’t seen him at all since that meeting, and honestly, it felt like the universe was conspiring to keep you apart. He hadn’t sought you out. And you? You couldn’t bring yourself to face him. Every time you thought about talking to him, the overwhelming fear of rejection crept in. What if he was angry with you? What if he didn’t want to talk at all? What if he never wanted to see you again?

The thought made your stomach twist, and you felt the familiar pang of regret.

Your phone buzzed in your lap, but you didn’t move to check it. Then, there was a soft knock at the door before it slowly opened, and Taeyang’s head peeked inside. “Hey,” he said gently. “You’ve been in here for a while. Everything okay?”

You didn’t have the words to respond right away. Your chest felt like it might close in on itself, and the thought of speaking to anyone about what was going on inside you felt too vulnerable for your liking. 

“I’m fine,” you said finally. Despite the way your voice was shaking, as if you weren’t just trying to convince him. 

Taeyang stepped inside and closed the door behind him, a slight frown on his face as he sat down next to you. He placed a hand on your shoulder as a casual, reassuring gesture. “You sure? You’re not really acting like yourself lately, and it’s hard to ignore. You’ve been avoiding everyone, especially Ji-yong.”

You bit her lip, looking away from him as your mind raced. The thought of Ji-yong made your heart ache, but there was something about it all that felt too complicated to resolve.

“I don’t think he wants to talk to me,” you admitted quietly. “I’ve messed everything up, Taeyang. Everyone here knows we both got in trouble with management, and I’m sure he’s upset with me for making him part of this mess.”

He sighed, a touch of frustration creeping into his tone. “You’re wrong, you know that? Ji-yong’s not angry at you. He’s just… he’s been trying to figure out how to deal with all this, just like you have.”

Unconvinced, you shook your head. “But he’s been avoiding me. I’m sure he regrets everything that happened. And now it’s like… everything is different. He probably doesn’t even like me anymore.”

There was a pause before Taeyang spoke again, softer this time. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself. You don’t know that for sure. If you keep avoiding him, it’ll only make things worse. You have to talk to him, and you have to stop assuming everything’s falling apart before you even try.”

Just as you were about to respond, the door opened again, and a manager stepped inside, clipboard and various papers in hand.

“Ah, good, you’re in here,” she began. “I’ve got some news for you. You and the girls are scheduled for a variety show tomorrow. You’ll need to be ready for the filming in the morning. I’ll send someone to get you for makeup and wardrobe early, so don’t be late.”

The manager didn’t wait for a response, nodding at Taeyang before leaving the room.

The door clicked shut, and for a long moment, the reader and Taeyang sat in silence.

“Good to know you’re not blacklisted from the media, I guess.” He joked, trying to lighten the mood.

“Tomorrow,” you murmured to yourself, still processing what the manager had said. Your thoughts were swirling, but ideas started to piece together in your mind like clockwork. 

You looked at Taeyang, seeming more uplifted now. “Okay, I think I know what I’m going to do.”

Taeyang raised an eyebrow, clearly curious. “What’s that?”

“I’ll talk to Ji-yong after the variety show,” you said, your voice more confident than it had been in days. “I won’t run away from it anymore. But… I’ll do it after we’ve gotten through the show. Once everything settles down, I’ll find him, and we’ll talk. I won’t leave it hanging any longer.”

He gave you a small, approving smile. “I think that’s a good plan. Just don’t wait too long, okay? And don’t let fear keep you from talking to him. It’ll only make things harder if you keep avoiding it.”

“I won’t,” you promised, feeling a weight lift off your chest. “Thank you, Taeyang. I needed to hear that.”

He patted your shoulder again, standing up to leave. “I’m glad I could help. Remember, we’re all rooting for you. And, hey. Things are gonna go better than you might think.” He gave you a friendly wink and dipped out of the room. Was there something else he hadn’t shared with you on purpose? 

As the door clicked shut behind him, you sat for a moment, your heart still racing. Tomorrow, everything will change. You would face Ji-yong, have that conversation, and—hopefully—clear the air. It wasn’t going to be easy, but it was the first step.

And for the first time in days, you felt like you finally had control over something.

The next morning, you stood in front of your mirror, applying light makeup in a daze. Naturally, your mind kept drifting back to the night the video had gone viral—the way it spread like wildfire across social media, the comments, the hashtags, the endless reposts. Everywhere you looked, there it was: a short clip of you and Ji-yong running to the car, pure happiness in your eyes, the excitement of your shared secret clear on your faces. To the world, it was just an innocent moment of two idols sneaking out for a bit of fun. But to you, it was the beginning of something much deeper.

You had been trying to avoid looking at the video, but no matter where you turned, there it was—fan edits popping up on your feed, reposted by fans who were obsessed with the idea of you and Ji-yong together. The captions ranged from lighthearted teasing to fans sharing their hope for you to “find happiness with him,” all with colorful hearts and bright emojis filling the comments.

But it was hard to ignore how everything felt so different now. The more you scrolled through those edits, the more the weight of it all sank in. You could feel the eyes of the world on you. In every edit, Ji-yong looked so carefree, so happy—something you hadn’t seen in days. Meanwhile, you felt the typical tightness in your chest, the shame that you’d somehow ruined whatever was between the two of you. Every comment that supported this ship felt like a reminder of the mess you had made.

As the final edit appeared—a slowed-down clip of the moment with soft background music—you quickly closed your phone, fingers trembling. There was no denying it anymore. This was bigger than just you and Ji-yong. The world had their eyes on both of you now, and the weight of it was suffocating.

When the manager from last night reappeared in your room to collect you, the other members of your group behind her, you got up with a newfound determination and followed them down to the car, desperately trying to ignore the way the boys watched you leave.

You had thrown yourself into your work all day today, your heart racing as the clock ticked down the time until you were ready to finally talk to Ji-yong again. With full transparency and honesty. What’s the worst that could happen?

You had barely thought about the hot, new male idol that was sitting a little too close to you during the shoot. 

Later that night, the room was dimly lit, the soft glow of the TV screen the only source of light. Seunghyun, Daesung, and Taeyang were scattered across the couch and chairs, lazily flipping through channels as they waited for the variety show to start.

Ji-yong sat stiffly on the couch, his arms crossed as he stared at the television screen. When today’s episode had begun playing, Seunghyun, Taeyang, and Daesung were watching with amused expressions, while Ji-yong barely paid attention to anything but you.

There you were, sitting among your group members, your smile as bright as ever—but he could see it. The difference. The way it didn’t quite reach your eyes. The way you laughed at the host’s jokes but it seemed just a little too rehearsed.

“She looks so good,” Daesung commented casually, but his eyes flicked toward Ji-yong with curiosity. “Don’t you think?”

Ji-yong didn’t respond. He just tightened his jaw, gripping his own arm to keep himself still as the scene changed—only for his stomach to drop when the male idol group appeared on screen, taking their seats beside you.

He sat on the edge of the couch, his posture rigid, his fingers tapping lightly on the armrest. His gaze was fixed on the screen, but there was no mistaking the way his jaw clenched whenever the camera cut to the reader on the show. The others noticed immediately, exchanging glances.

“Hey, Ji,” Seunghyun said, leaning back, trying to get his attention. “You okay?”

Ji-yong didn’t respond again. His eyes were still on the screen, but his lips pressed together in a thin line and barely blinking.

The camera zoomed in on you, showing a clip of you laughing with one of the male idols from the opposite group. The guy was leaning in a little too close, making you laugh with something he said.

Daesung noticed Ji-yong’s stiff posture, his eyes narrowing at the screen. He nudged Taeyang with his elbow. “Uh-oh. Someone’s jealous.”

Taeyang grinned but said nothing, watching as Ji-yong’s expression darkened.

Seunghyun raised an eyebrow. “You know, he hasn’t said a word since the show started. Something’s up.”

“I’m fine,” Ji-yong muttered, his gaze never leaving the screen.

“Uh-huh.” Seunghyun didn’t believe him for a second. “Are you sure about that?”

He opted to remain silent, even though his leg began bouncing with his anxiety truly kicking in, his knuckles white from how tightly he was gripping the armrest.

On-screen, the man put his arm around your shoulder, and you smiled up at him in a way that made Ji-yong’s chest tighten.

Taeyang leaned forward, raising his voice a little. “You’re really gonna sit here and act like you don’t care?”

Ji-yong’s gaze flicked to him briefly before going back to the screen. “I don’t,” he said flatly. “It’s just a variety show.”

“You’ve been pretty quiet, man. What’s going on?” Seunghyun leaned forward.

Daesung chuckled softly. “Yeah, Ji, you’re looking like you might implode.”

Ji-yong clenched his fists, his teeth grinding as the male idol leaned even closer to the reader, his fingers brushing against her arm.

“I’m not jealous,” he muttered, though he couldn’t even convince himself of that.

Taeyang took a moment to observe his friend before glancing at the others. “You know, you could use a break. You’ve been watching this show and stewing in your thoughts all night.”

Ji-yong shot him a confused look. “What are you talking about?”

Taeyang stood up, stretching his arms out. “Like Daesung just said, you’ve got that ‘about to blow up’ look, man. How about we head out for a bit? Get some air, clear your head?”

“I like that idea. You’re clearly not gonna calm down until you get this off your mind.” Seunghyun agreed.

Taeyang nodded, his expression turning more serious before he kept talking. “And once you’re not so wound up, we can help you sort things out, Ji. We’ll be here to back you up.”

He hesitated for a moment, eyes flicking back to the TV, where you were now smiling at the man, your hand resting on his arm. Ji-yong felt sick to his stomach.

“I don’t know…” he trailed off, but the way his friends were watching him, the concern in their eyes, made him finally sigh. “Fine. Let’s go.”

Seunghyun, Daesung, and Taeyang exchanged proud looks.

“Great,” Taeyang said, clapping his hands together. “Get your coat, Ji. Let’s get you out of this funk.”

Ji-yong stood, brushing off his jacket. As they left the room, his stomach churned again. But maybe, just maybe, getting out of his head for a bit was what he needed to figure out how to handle what was building up inside him. Finally, figure out how to break the silence between the two of you.

“We’ll help you with this situation when you’re ready, man. But you need to clear your mind first.” Seunghyun told him softly, he hated seeing his best friend so worked up over something that could have been easily fixed if it weren’t for his anxiety and the miscommunication that happened between the two of you. Ji-yong didn’t respond, but he appreciated it more than he let on.

Turns out, the club had been exactly what Ji-yong needed—at least, for a little while.

With the bass thrumming through his chest and a drink in his hand, he felt lighter than he had in days. The guys had been right—being out, laughing, and letting loose was enough to clear his mind, even if just temporarily. He wasn’t thinking about the variety show, the viral video, or the way you had been avoiding him. For the first time in what felt like forever, he was just Ji-yong, out with his best friends, not weighed down by the mess in his head.

He laughed as Daesung dramatically butchered the lyrics to the song playing, and he clinked glasses with Seunghyun, who smirked over the rim of his drink. Even Taeyang, who had been keeping a careful eye on him all night, finally seemed satisfied that Ji-yong wasn’t sulking anymore. For a moment, everything felt fine.

And then, it didn’t.

The second he turned toward the entrance, his heart jumped.

You.

You had just walked in, looking effortlessly stunning, your eyes quickly scanning over the crowd as you and your group made your way inside. Ji-yong felt the familiar warmth spread through his chest, a natural reaction he could never seem to control when it came to you. But just as quickly as it came, that warmth turned cold.

Right beside you, close enough that your arms nearly brushed, was him. 

Ji-yong’s grip on his drink tightened as he watched the same male idol from the variety show lean in, saying something in your ear. You laughed—really laughed—like he had just told the funniest joke in the world.

His night had just gone from the best he’d had in a while to completely ruined. Ji-yong’s stomach twisted. Up close, it was so much worse.

He could see everything now—the way the man leaned in just enough that your shoulders touched, the way he spoke to you with an easy confidence. But what made his heart sink the most was you. You weren’t brushing the guy off. You weren’t shifting away or rolling your eyes like you sometimes did when she was uninterested. You were smiling, laughing like you were actually enjoying his company. And for the first time, Ji-yong felt something ugly crawl up his spine. Was this what you wanted? Was this why you had been avoiding him? While he had been sitting around, overthinking, missing you, regretting every moment of silence between them, had you already moved on? His fingers curled into fists at his sides, an unfamiliar bitterness rising in his throat. He wanted to look away, wanted to pretend it didn’t matter, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t stop staring at you, couldn’t stop wishing that, just once, you would look up—look at him—and give him a sign that he hadn’t already lost you.

Taeyang must have noticed the shift because he sighed beside him. “Ji—”

“I’m fine,” Ji-yong muttered, downing the rest of his drink. But even he didn’t believe that. For the first time since you had started avoiding each other, he wasn’t wondering whether you were upset over him. Now, he was wondering if maybe you weren’t upset at all. And he hated how much that possibility made his chest ache.

“You’ve been staring at her for the past ten minutes,” Seunghyun said, swirling the alcohol in his glass. “Not very subtle, Ji.”

Daesung let out a low whistle. “Look at that. She’s laughing. At his joke.” He nudged Taeyang with his elbow, giving each other knowing, wary looks before looking back at Ji-yong. “That’s gotta sting.”

Ji-yong tore his gaze away long enough to shoot him a glare. “Shut up.”

He exhaled sharply, downed another drink, and set his glass down with a clink. “You know what?” He pushed himself up from the booth. “I’m done with this.”

Taeyang raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And what exactly are you planning to do?”

Ji-yong ignored him, already striding towards you.

The moment he approached, the male idol’s gaze lifted, eyes widening in recognition. “Oh, wow—you’re G-Dragon.” Ji-yong barely had time to speak before the guy extended a hand, grinning. “I’m a huge fan. Your music’s been a big inspiration to me.”

You tensed beside him, clearly picking up on Ji-yong’s mood shift. Your breath caught in your throat. It wasn’t just the fact that he was here—it was the way he looked. His usual sharp confidence was there, but beneath it, something was off. His dark eyes locked onto yours, unwavering and intense, but there was a slight unsteadiness in his steps, the telltale looseness in his posture that only came when he’d had too much to drink. Had he been drinking because of you? You hadn’t spoken to him in days, especially convincing yourself he was mad at you, that you had ruined things between the two of you. But now, standing under the flashing lights, you could feel the weight of his gaze like a burning imprint on your skin. He barely spared a glance at the idol beside her, his focus entirely on you, and for a second, the rest of the club faded into background noise. Your heart pounded against your ribs. Why was he looking at you like that? And why did it feel like, even in a crowded room, he was the only one who could make you feel like this?

After zoning out for a second, you noticed Ji-yong took the handshake, but his grip was too firm, his expression unreadable. “That’s nice,” he said coolly. His gaze flicked to you, then back to the guy. “But I think you’re getting a little too comfortable with what’s mine.”

The male idol blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“What?” You couldn’t help but blurt it out. 

But before you could say anything else, Ji-yong moved without thinking, casually draping an arm around your shoulders, pulling you in just enough to make his point clear.

The male idol awkwardly glanced between you. “Uh—I’ll catch you later,” he mumbled before making a quick exit.

Ji-yong smirked, watching him leave. Good.

But when he turned back to you, your expression was far from pleased. You stepped out of his grasp. “What the hell was that?”

Ji-yong shrugged. “Just making sure he knows his place.”

Your eyes widened in disbelief. “His place? You don’t get to do that, Ji-yong. You don’t get to act like—” You cut yourself off, shaking your head. “Forget it.”

“No, go on,” he said, tilting his head. “Act like what?”

Like you care. Like you still want me.

You huffed, clearly not willing to have this conversation here. Instead, you grabbed his wrist and yanked him toward the exit.

Seunghyun, Daesung, and Taeyang had been watching the whole thing unfold from their booth, amusement clear on their faces.

“Well,” Taeyang said, raising his drink. “This just got interesting.”

“Should we follow?” Daesung asked.

Seunghyun smirked. “Oh, absolutely.”

By the time you reached outside, the cool night air did little to calm the heat between Ji-yong and you. The moment you were alone, you turned to face him, arms crossed, frustration clear in your expression.

“You’re unbelievable,” you said. “You have no right to get jealous over who I talk to.”

He scoffed. “Jealous? You think I’m jealous of him?”

“Weren’t you?” You challenged. “Because that’s sure what it looked like.”

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what?”

Ji-yong stepped closer, his voice lower this time. “That I don’t like seeing you with him. That I hate the way he looks at you, the way you smile at him—like he actually has a chance.”

You froze. The words hung in the air between them, too heavy to ignore.

But he wasn’t done.

He scoffed, running a hand through his hair as his frustration spilled over. “Do you have any idea what it’s been like? Watching you act like I don’t exist, like what we had—what we have—doesn’t mean anything?” His voice wavered slightly, and for a second, he looked almost exhausted, like holding everything in had been weighing him down for too long. “I tried to stay away, I really did. I told myself that if you needed space, I’d give it to you. But then I see you with him, and it’s like—” He cut himself off, his jaw tightening. “It’s like I was stupid for ever thinking I could just let you go.”

Your heart pounded, but you forced yourself to take a step back. “Ji-yong, you’re drunk,” you said, shaking your head. “You don’t mean any of this.”

His expression hardened instantly. “Don’t do that,” he said, voice firm. “Don’t act like this is just the alcohol talking.”

You hesitated, forcing yourself to really look at him. He was tipsy, sure—you could tell from the way his movements were a little too loose, the way his emotions weren’t as carefully controlled as usual. But his eyes—his eyes were clear. Sharp with frustration, dark with something deeper. The weight of his words settled over you, pressing against the walls you’d tried so hard to keep up.

He meant it. Every single word. And that terrified you. 

So why could you practically hear your heartbeat? Your heart fluttered at the possibility of finally getting him back. The truth was, there had never been anyone else. Not even for a second. No matter how much you tried to convince yourself that keeping your distance from Ji-yong was the right thing to do, no matter how much you told yourself he was probably mad at you, that you had ruined things, it had never changed one simple fact—you were in love with him. You had been for longer than you were willing to admit, and nothing—not time, not silence, not even the presence of someone else—had ever come close to changing that. The male idol had been nothing more than a distraction, a way to pretend, just for a moment, that you weren’t still aching for Ji-yong. But standing here now, with him looking at you like you were the only thing that mattered, you knew there was no more running from it. There had never been another option. It had always been him.

Ji-yong could feel eyes on them. He glanced to the side and spotted the rest of the members from your respective groups watching from just outside the club entrance. Fantastic.

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Fuck it.”

Then, before you could react, he closed the distance between you.

An excited gasp echoed from the group behind them, followed by Daesung muttering, “Oh my god.”

Ji-yong didn’t care.

The moment your lips met, the rest of the world faded—the club music, the street noise, everything. It was just you. The way you tensed for half a second, like you couldn’t believe this was really happening, before you gave in, melting into him like you had been waiting for this all along. The way your breath hitched against his lips, your fingers instinctively gripping his jacket as if you were afraid he might slip away. 

His hands were steady, one cupping your jaw, his thumb brushing against your cheek as if memorizing the shape of you, the other settling at your waist, pulling you closer. His lips were warm, urgent but unhurried, like he wanted to take his time, like he had been starving for this but was determined to savor every second. He tilted his head slightly, deepening the kiss, and the heat that shot through you made your knees weaken. It wasn’t just a kiss—it was a confession, a plea, an apology, a promise all at once. And as your heart pounded against your ribs, matching the wild rhythm of his, you knew—there was no going back now.

When he finally pulled away, he searched your eyes, waiting for a reaction. You just stood there, lips parted, heartbeat hammering in your chest. Their groups stood frozen in shock, waiting for what would happen next.

Ji-yong swallowed hard. “Say something.”

Would you push him away? Would you yell at him? Would you—

Hands still gripping his jacket, you pulled him back in. 

The kiss lingers, but only for a moment longer than either of you intended. It feels like time slows down—neither of you rushing to pull away, as if savoring the shift in everything. Ji-yong's hand still rests at your waist, his thumb gently brushing against your skin. His other hand, however, seems unsure of where to go, hovering for a second before gently cupping your cheek.

You both pull away just slightly, your faces still close, and Ji-yong’s breath comes a little heavier than before. His eyes flicker to your lips, like he’s thinking about kissing you again, but he hesitates.

"Well," he says with a playful grin, "that was definitely not in the plan."

You can’t help but laugh, a little breathless, still trying to process everything. "Yeah, you don’t exactly follow instructions, do you?" You tease, giving him a playful shove on the chest.

He chuckles, taking a step back, but his eyes never leave yours. “Hey, it wasn’t just my fault. You were kissing me back, too,” he says, raising an eyebrow in mock offense. “I think we’re both in this mess together now.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “You really know how to make everything sound like it’s my fault, don’t you?”

He raises his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, I’m just stating the facts here. You're the one who keeps pulling me in. What am I supposed to do, huh?”

“You could’ve, I don’t know, not kissed me like that,” you say with a smirk and your arms crossed, playing along.

“What can I say? I’m a man of action.” 

“Clearly.”

“But seriously though…” he began, taking on a more serious tone again. “I don’t think either of us can pretend like we don’t have something going on between us. Something real.” 

"I thought you were mad at me," you admit quietly, still unsure of how to process everything that's happened. “You’ve barely said anything to me since... well, since everything with management.”

His expression softens. He steps closer, his hands resting lightly on your shoulders. “I was never mad. I was just... confused. And scared. I didn't know how to deal with what I was feeling. And I didn't want to mess things up.”

You raise an eyebrow, giving him a playful side-eye. "And kissing me like that just helps the confusion, huh?"

Ji-yong smirks, but it’s playful, the tension between you both easing. “Hey, if I had known that’s how you’d react, I would’ve done it sooner.” He winks at you, his voice teasing again.

You laugh, finally feeling like things are normal again. The weight of this situation feels a little lighter now, the tension slipping away with every teasing word. “You’re such a troublemaker,” you say, shaking your head but still smiling.

“Guilty as charged,” he replies with a wink. Back to his usual confidence, it seems. “But I think you like it.”

You certainly can’t argue with that.

“So, uh… what now?” You chuckled a little nervously, unable to ignore the way your heart was still pounding.

His smile widens, but this time, there’s no teasing in it. Just sincerity. He takes a step forward, his presence commanding as he gently brushes a stray lock of hair from your face. “Now… we figure this out, together,” he says softly, voice low. “No more running away.”

“Promise?” You held out your pinky, giving him a shy smile. 

“You’re adorable.” He laughed, before hooking his own pinky around yours. “Promise.” 

The two of you share another kiss, a quicker and lighter one this time, as if to solidify the promise. Your friends standing a little way from you almost forgot about until Taeyang piped up.

“Finally!” 

The others, who had been watching quietly, burst into laughter. Seung-hyun shakes his head. “Took you long enough. I was wondering if you two were ever going to stop pretending.”

“Right?” Daesung added, grinning ear to ear. “You’ve been dancing around each other for months, and all it took was a pinky promise?”

The two of you decide to join your group, hand in hand, and Ji-yong rolls his eyes but his smile betrays him. “You’re all just jealous.”

“Jealous?” Seung-hyun scoffs. “Nah, we’re just happy you two finally figured it out. Took you both long enough to stop being idiots.”

“Could’ve done this a lot sooner,” Taeyang teases, crossing his arms with a smirk. “We’d have saved you both a lot of trouble.”

You roll your eyes but can't suppress your smile. Ji-yong, now fully leaning into the teasing, shoots back, “Yeah, well, now that it’s done, are you guys finally done with your comments?”

“Of course not,” Daesung chimes in, laughing. “You two just gave us the best material for at least a week of teasing!”

One of the girls from your group chuckles and shakes her head. “I swear, the way you two acted around each other was like watching a soap opera. But I knew it was only a matter of time before it happened.”

Another girl smirks and adds, “We should’ve known. You two have been glaring at each other like you're ready to pounce for ages.”

You blush, feeling your face heat up. “We weren’t glaring…”

“You were,” the first girl teases with a playful grin. “And it was adorable.”

“Could’ve saved us the suspense if you’d just kissed sooner,” the third girl laughs, nudging you gently. “We’ve been waiting for that moment.”

Ji-yong laughs, a bit sheepish but still confident. “Guess I’ll just have to get used to it, huh?”

“I think we all will,” you respond, laughing as you nudge him back.

The guys continue to joke, but it’s clear that despite the teasing, the air around you both feels lighter. For the first time, you're not just surrounded by the laughter of your friends; you're wrapped up in a sense of belonging, of something real—and you're excited to see where it goes.

taglist: @thanosscrossmain @maskedcrawford @mirahyun @riddlerloveb0t

[hurtspideyparker]

For a request how about a fluffy winterhawk doing shopping to refill their first aid kit? I imagine between the two of them it sees a lot of use.

The pair walk at a leisurely pace in the 24 hour CVS.

There's a number of odd characters, including themselves, but that's what they get for shopping at 2 am. There's the goth cashier, a man in an oddly tall cowboy hat, a couple of teenagers messing around in the chip section, and of course the two Avengers with blooming bruises from the fight they just finished. Which is really not their fault. I mean, who does crime after midnight? Bad people, probably.

"Wanna get some ice cream?" Clint asks while tossing some frozen peas into the basket Bucky is carrying.

"I don't think we'll have enough room."

"Come on man, one Ben & Jerry's isn't gonna break the bank."

"One, really? For both of us? You threw a spoon at my head last time I poked in your pint. I just wanted to try the flavour."

Clint thinks on that.

"Hm, you're right, you're right. We'll do a wrap around at the end and I'll just carry it."

They leave the icy doors and head straight for the first aid aisle. They spot the gauze and bandages first, taking a moment to analyze the different brands, sizes, and types, before Clint takes an arm to the shelf and swipes the entire thing into their basket. Bucky nods approvingly before speaking up.

"This is your fault y'know, you procrastinate."

Clint scoffs, "I'll have you know it was your week to do the shopping."

"The first aid kit's been empty since last week, when you sprained your wrist. Remember when you tried using a compression sock as a wrap. Also, you're bleeding on the flyers."

Clint looks down at the paper. That indeed is his blood. Another drop falls from his nose onto the shelf, "oop, my bad." He grabs Bucky's sweatshirt and uses the corner to wipe up the blood.

Bucky rolls his eyes and grabs a box of band-aids off the next shelf.

"Just for that I'm getting you the hello kitty ones," Bucky pulls out an evil looking purple bunny and then tosses the box into the basket.

He peels it open and places the bandage with care over the bridge of the archer's nose.

"Joke's on you, Kuromi fits my colour scheme."

Bucky stares at him blankly for a moment.

"I speak 7 languages and yet I still manage to not understand you in your native one, which is honestly more impressive."

"Why thank you," Clint gives a cocksure smile.

They move along, tossing in some medical tape, 4 types of pain meds in giant bulk containers, and heat packs.

Bucky picks up a bottle of rubbing alcohol.

"Woah man, that stuff isn't right for you anymore. It's all about good ol' soap and water now. Don't you keep up with medical news?"

"No, and I doubt you do." he says with a raised brow.

"Okay fine, Bruce told me, but still."

While Bucky doesn't trust anything Clint finds online, he does trust Bruce Banner, so he puts the bottle down.

"Vaseline's in the beauty aisle, brb."

Clint jogs around the corner and Bucky calls out to his back, "stop saying abbreviations out loud!"

Bucky continues wandering on his own, collecting a few random things into the quickly filling basket.

"Incoming!" Bucky doesn't even react as a jar of Vaseline and some tweezers come flying over the shelving and land perfectly on the pile.

Bucky isn't even in his original spot anymore, how did—nope, not going there. If he asks, he'll just get told "because I'm fucking Hawkeye," with that stupid charming smirk that secretly gives him cuteness aggression.

Bucky Barnes does not get cuteness aggression.

He turns around the corner the same time Clint steps back in front of him.

"Hiya, did you miss me?"

"No," Bucky says, placing a little kiss on Clint's lips.

"Aw, you totally did." Clint fists Bucky's top and pulls him in for another kiss.

The man goes easily, melting into the familiar taste of copper and the sting in his lip from where someone hit him in the face with the butt of their rifle. The stubble is an even more familiar roughness, closer to a tickle. Clint pulls back with a salacious pop, bringing his thumb up to wipe away the spare saliva in the corner of Bucky's mouth.

They hear a strong tone of throat clearing nearby, looking up to see cowboy hat staring at them in disgust with a cart full of dog food.

"Evening sir," Clint waves, then gives a little tip of his imaginary hat. The man just shakes his head then needs moving.

"C'mon, get your ice cream and lets go."

Clint acquiesces, reluctantly pulling away from Bucky's warmth.

After getting the promised ice cream they head straight for the self checkout. The last time they went to a cashier-only pharmacy to restock their first aid they got stared at like they were planning on cutting up the cashier and selling her kidneys (the sewing kit really didn't help), so dumping the pile of gauze away from the employees prying eyes saves them from talking to the cops.

The receipt takes ages to print, Clint grabbing more and more of it like a magician pulling scarves from a hat.

"Babe, will you tie me up with the CVS receipt and do dirty, dirty things to me later?"

Bucky huffs out a laugh and pushes at the other's shoulder, "shut up freak."

Cowboy hat decides to pull up to a nearby checkout just at that very moment, freezing and sending the pair a look like he's personally casting them to the depths of hell.

Clint turns to him, a mischievous smirk that could mean nothing good.

"Sir, would you tie me up with this CVS receipt and—"

Bucky clamps a hand over the man's lips and forcibly drags him out of the building.

[whoops-all-jennas]

Final Duet pt 4. - c.s.

Cairo Sweet x fem!reader

"My thoughts will follow you into your dreams."

Summary: Winnie checks in on Cairo, where she finally answers after a year of isolation.

a/n: Inspired by Omori, if you haven't played it, do. The story is beautiful. There will be no spoilers in this so don't worry about that :)

Warnings - Bullying, Homophobia, Death

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4.

The hot summer sun bakes my skin as I pour a watering can over my white egret orchids. I take a moment to admire the wing-shaped flowers before putting my watering can away.

It has now been over a year since we missed our recital, gardening is one of the few things I have where I feel close to you again.

This past year I've been isolative, lonely by choice. I know it isn't healthy, but discovering your premature death had a strong impact on me.

It doesn't help that, even now, my parents are never home to raise their child.

When I enter my house, I hear a knock at the front door. I see Winnie's silhouette past the glass. My eyes are lost at the door, deciding if I should answer it or lock myself away in my room once again.

I turn the knob, opening the door to reveal Winnie on the other side.

"You actually answered." Winnie looks at me, shocked. "I was, just wanting to check on you, maybe go out and do something."

Winnie has been trying to get in touch with me ever since your funeral. I've been evading her attempts, I know it's mean, but I just wanted to be alone.

"I guess." I say, in a low tone. I know I need to get over your passing, but locking myself away isn't going to help.

"I wasn't expecting you to answer, I didn't really have any plans." Winnie stands, pondering ideas, while my mind stays blank.

There is something I want to do, but it's not exactly a fun group activity. "Can we visit Y/n's resting place? I haven't been there in a long time."

While of course, your tombstone brings me closer to you, I just see it as a reminder of what I lost. I feel mean for never visiting, but I just couldn't.

"That's fine, it's a nice first step." Winnie says with a patient smile, the same type of smile you'd always give me during practice. You were always so kind and patient with me, even during what I imagine to be the tedious process of teaching someone a new instrument from scratch.

"I'll be back." I say, turning to walk to my back yard. I open the door, approaching the orchids that I've put all my love and time into that I wished I could've spent with you. I pick a few of them, making a small bouquet of your favorite flower.

Winnie and I are walking on the side of the road, the wing-shaped flowers flowing in the breeze.

"Did you grow those?" Winnie asks as I find her eyes before looking at the bouquet.

"I did, they were Y/n's favorite." I say, numbly.

She stares at the flowers. "It looks like you did a wonderful job, Y/n would be proud."

My throat closes for a moment, it has been awhile since I heard anyone utter your name. I open my mouth to speak, but no sounds come out. I opt to replying with a mere nod.

I approach your grave with Winnie staying by the cemetery entrance, white egret orchids whole and hearty surround your tombstone.

I stare at your memorial, forgetting I planted those seeds a year ago. It's a miracle that such a delicate and needy flower as been able to even sprout on its own.

I place the bouquet in front of your tombstone, the flowers flowing delicately in the wind.

"Cairo?" I hear a masculine voice behind me, causing me to turn around. I'm met with one of your two bullies, hulling a small wagon with gardening supplies.

I stare quietly, unsure what to do. He grabs a full watering can, approaching the grave before he waters the flowers.

"These were Y/n's favorite." He says, taking a moment to look at the bouquet I left. "But it seems you already knew that."

He smiles at the small patch of flowers that decorate your tombstone. "I've managed to forgive myself for what I've done, managing to find peace with Y/n's death."

He turns, facing me. "Yet you, you have nothing to be forgiven of, but you still let the weight of her passing pull you down. Why is that?"

For the first time in a year, anger bubbles past my numb surface. "You forgave yourself? After everything you've done to her that is not your responsibility."

He looks away for a moment. "I don't mean how I treated her. I'll never be able to forgive myself for that."

I find myself lost in my emotions. "What do you mean then?"

He looks at me, shocked. "Do you really not know?"

"Not know what?" I ask, now more confused than anything else.

He goes silent for a moment, his throat restricting his voice. "Y/n didn't just trip and fall down the stairs..."

He slips through the backyard, sneaking into your house through the backdoor. His footsteps fill the empty, dark house as he navigates up the stairs.

The door to your room opens as he twists the knob, quickly searching all the bookshelves to find your book of memories. He hears the front door open as he pulls it off the shelf, leaving the room as fast as possible.

He heads towards the stairs, you halfway up them. "What're you doing in my house?!"

He took a step back, shocked to find you here. "Taking back what's ours."

You quickly ascend the stairs, anger in step. "Yours?! I made that! You abandoned me!"

"Abigail said you threw it away one night before she gave it back to your mom!" He shouts. "You don't deserve it!"

You grab the book, trying to yank it out of his hands. "You think you deserve it?! Please! As if your homophobic ass does!"

He resists, pulling back on the book. "Let go, Y/n!"

"No!" You continue pulling as sweat builds under your palms.

Your grip slips, causing you to fall backwards, your body tumbling down the stairs. The loud thunks of your body hitting the steps fill the silence of the house until you land on your head at the bottom, your neck contorting to the pressure.

He stood there shocked, looming over your body from the top of the stairs.

Suddenly, a loud knocking is heard at the front door. He pulls himself together, quickly descending the stairs, leaving through the back.

"I turned myself in a month after her funeral." He says, staring at the ground, guilt squirming through his body. "I couldn't stay silent anymore, the guilt of what I did was destroying me."

I stand there silently, feeling numb to the truth just like how I felt the past year to your passing. I turn around, taking my first few steps to leave.

"Wait, Cairo." I stop in place to his voice. "Do you think I deserve forgiveness?"

Even though he says he's forgiven himself, it's clear he hasn't. The guilt of your death eating him from the inside out.

"I don't believe I'm in the mental state to answer." I respond, truthfully.

I walk back to the entrance, thinking about his words.

'Yet you, you have nothing to be forgiven of, but you still let the weight of her passing pull you down. Why is that?'

I find Winnie by the entrance. "I know something else I'd like to do, if that's okay."

My violin case rests over my shoulder, the dust from lack of use falling onto the street with each step. For the first time in a year, I hum that familiar tune you loved so much as we approach the school.

The sun is beginning to set beyond the horizon, finding the rays of golden hour nostalgic to your presence.

We walk through the back entrance, closest to the music room. The silence of the hall deafening as we approach the forgotten room, it's as if I can still hear you playing piano, muffled through the wall.

Winnie opens the door, revealing a dark room before flipping the lights. The same fluorescent light in the corner flickering.

The room looks more abandoned than before without you maintaining it, cobwebs and dust litter the room.

"Is it okay if I'm here alone for a minute?" I ask, quietly.

Winnie nods, giving me a patient smile.

I approach a music stand, setting it up to be able to be read from standing. The zipper of my violin case tears through the silence of the room, finding the picture we took on the first snowfall of January. You have the widest, happiest smile while my face is flushed red, looking away from the camera.

For the first time in a year, a smile finds my face as I reminisce.

I take the sheet music out of the case, placing it on the music stand. I stare at the blank space where a title should be, noticing small writing in blue pen at the top of the page in your handwriting.

why don't you think of a title for me? you read a lot, you must know plenty of words

I stare at the words for a moment, seeing merely your handwriting having a clear effect on me. I grab my violin, admiring the flowers engraved in the glossy wood before I check the tuning of the strings.

I tighten the bow and apply the resin, before doing the warm up exercises you taught me.

My eyes find the sheet music, hesitating for a moment as I take a deep breath.

I close my eyes, feeling your presence behind me, sitting in front of a glossy black piano. I'm standing on a stage, facing a small audience I can't see through a spotlight being cast over me.

The beginning notes of a piano fill the stage, your fingers gliding over the keys. The notes descend from it's initial high notes until it reaches a deep, low note. You transition the notes back up an octave, finding the middle of the piano.

The last note is followed by a chord as the tempo increases slightly, creating a bright atmosphere.

I slide my bow across the strings of the violin, the note stretching across the concert hall.

As I play, I can't help but reminisce on all the times I spent with you. The hours we spent in the music room, your patient smile guiding me calmly as you teach me the instrument I'm performing now.

I remember your tears the first night we stayed at my house, staining my clothes the same way you pleasantly stain my memories. My arms lulling you to sleep as I hold you comfortingly.

I feel the cold on my hands as I roll a snowball on the ground near you, making the biggest snowman I have, or will ever make. After we had a little snowball fight we warmed up by the fire. There's hardly a better feeling than thawing out after a cold day, but doing it with you is the true experience.

My legs find the red and white quilt on the soft grass as you place a flower crown over my head. This was the day you gave me the violin I'm playing. I will never forget the excitement on your gleeful face when you revealed the recital we were performing at.

That flower crown you gave me resides above my bed, wilted, but the memories still intact.

I see the blank audience once again, the experience I'm living that never happened. I draw out the final note of the song, feeling your presence fading behind me. A bare piano lies in your place, yet still warm by the idea of you.

I open my eyes, the complete song branding into my memory for the first and last time. I'll never get to hear the complete song again, as I will follow your wish of it being our song that no one else will perform.

The abandoned music room settles around me, clashing with the clean and well-lit stage I was imagining. It feels as if a weight was lifted off my chest, even if your presence will fade, the memories will not, and I won't let my grieving tarnish my happy ones.

I find a blue pen, drawing it to the blank space. There's only one thing I can think of that suites your masterpiece, albeit a long title.

My Thoughts Will Follow You Into Your Dreams

a/n: The song that's linked in all parts is the song you made in the story.

[indycinders]

Meet my MC!

This sounded fun in my head, so I'm making it a ✨thing✨ and making my friends do it too. /silly

Tags: @zorethel @lavender-teardroplettes @papaziggy-devblog @sylus-little-meow-meow @turquoisesea01

Name: Cinders Snyder

Nicknames: Kitty, Cindy, Cincin, Cins

Canon age: 24 (outside of LADS, she's 28)

Pronouns: She/they (either is fine uvu)

Headcanons:

🌷She wears those glasses all the time but I won't draw them because I hate drawing glasses LOL

🌷She's sweet, compassionate, empathetic, anxious, depressed, impulsive at times

🌷She's a freelance artist in her spare time when not working for the Association.

🌷She can play the piano pretty well.

🌷When she graduated the Hunter's Academy, Caleb gifted her a custom sword uvu (have drawn this, can find under the #lads cinders tag)

Main Love Interest:

Zayne Headcanons:

❄️In present time, they're both the type to be content with parallel play and consider it quality time when they're doing their own things but side by side.

❄️He's constantly on her case about managing her low sugars, and often brings her a treat after he's off work.

❄️They're best friends before lovers uvu

❄️When Caleb "died", she sat on the floor of her bedroom for 3 days, missed the funerals, and Zayne had to break into her apartment. He took care of her for several days until she came out of her state.

❄️She exists in the Dawnbreaker AU, but they don't meet until her city is destroyed and she searches for another Evolver to handle the Wanderer crisis.

❄️In the Foreseer timeline, she is a mystical Fae deer responsible for keeping the balance between nature and humanity stable on the mountain where the Foreseer's tower is. She's also responsible for creating the Elysian Cervus Wanderers to protect the mountain.

❄️They have that dynamic and connection where they can share a look and know what the other is thinking. They often communicate like that in large gatherings to let each other know when they want to go home lol.

❄️He caters to her too much and lets her swap cards often when playing Kitty Cards 🤭

❄️They kissed once in high school but both were too awkward to do anything about it after. They had a silent agreement not to bring it up again but it didn't affect their friendship.

❄️She has never once forgotten his birthday and has always sent him either a message or a card wherever he was, even when he tried to distance himself from her when he left to pursue his degrees. Zayne has all of these saved in a shoebox.

Favorite Outfits:

🌷Likes: sweets, music, piano, dancing, rain, sunflowers, daisies, tulips, hiking, art, games, reading, crafts, snow, swimming

🌷Dislikes: heat, crowds, loud noises, confrontational people, balloons, bitter foods, sour foods, feeling trapped

Platonic / Other Headcanons

🩷 Her and Rafi often have painting sessions together and practice different techniques.

❤️ Sylus upgraded Mephisto with a glucose tracker and delivers snacks when he notices her sugars are low.

💜 Xavier has big guard dog energy and will always check ahead on missions even if it annoys her.

🧡 Caleb actively lets her borrow his clothes. He'll purposely leave his hoodies and shirts at her apartment.

🩷 Rafi takes her swimming in the ocean and they search for little treasures together. So far they found 2 bracelets, a pearl choker, 3 wedding bands, and a tiara.

❤️ She was terrified of Sylus because his intimidating demeanor made her anxious. After getting to know him through Mephisto, she considers him a close friend.

💜 Has fallen asleep in the weirdest places with Xavier. Once they both fell asleep at a meeting and the team thought it was so funny, they left them in the conference room. She and Xavier didn't wake up until the building was closed.

🧡 Caleb can't be in the same room as Zayne. Broken bro code and all that. LOL

~*~*~*~*~

Anyway, this was fun and it got long! Feel free to reblog and share your own MCs 🩷🩷🩷 I want to see everyone's qvq

[mixelation]

i read through part 2. spoilers i guess. also, again, if you can't handle reading critique of a professionally published book, don't read

so the reviews on storygraphs indicate a lot of people were frustrated with part 1 because zetian is basically confined to a room the whole time. i do think this whole section could have been condensed by a lot because it was pretty repetitive and filled with a lot of characters just explaining "laborism" (communism, basically) to each other and also with the nuance and vocabulary of the average twitter user, but i don't actually think it was a bad writing choice. it lets the breakneck speed of the previous book take a break and lets zetian orient herself to the next step in her... whatever her plan is. she is a uneducated 18 year old whose only talent is having a lot of qi, suddenly being handed a crown and betrothed to an emperor deadset on revolutionizing society. seeing her learn to navigate this new type of life is genuinely an interesting concept

so what is zetian's plan? one of my big criticisms of this series in general is that what Zetian is even trying to do at any given moment is frequently completely unclear. if you read my Iron Widow review, I said that the later ~2/3s of the book feel really unfocused because Zetian doesn't have a real goal or driving force. things just happen because the plot requires them to happen. Heavenly Tyrant is..... a little better about this. Zetian wants to kill the "gods" and get Shimin back. Qin Zheng, the emperor, also wants to kill the gods. This part is solid and the plotting revolving around making this happen while the gods can see their every move is easy to follow with clear action -> consequence.

but then there's zetian's other goals about making society better, especially for women. she doesn't seem to have.... any sort of real plan here? she has very few specific goals for improving the lives of women, and when she does come up with a goal (like getting more female pilots), it's often unclear how exactly she thinks her actions will lead to the outcome she wants or what the outcome will look like. then some outcome happens and it feels more like we just hit that part of the story outline rather than an organic consequence of characters' actions. and "zetian keeps doing shit despite being bad at planning" is a fine character trait, don't get me wrong, but the writing is not good enough to make this feel like it's what's happening instead of just a bunch of "just trust me bro" moments

another complaint i had about Iron Widow is that we get told all these worldbuilding details for qi and how the mechs work, but none of it is actually used to be plot relevant. this.... also gets a little better. but not a lot better. mostly we just see Zetian struggling in battle a lot, even though she should theoretically be more experienced and have all this special training from Qin Zheng, which made me wonder why she's the empress at all. she's bad at politics and she keeps flubbing her robot battles. oh, plus-- the fights are not written super well. i know Zetian can pull the tails off her nine tailed fox mech and form them into lances, but i still don't really know what a hundun looks like??? also what happens to the lances she drops? and they just gone? what's happening

we do slowly see her get better at politics in part 2, but it's slow going and also largely boring. the "laborism" theory as presented feels juvenile and a lot of the societal problems are just "telling" and not "showing." there's a few scenes where we actually get to see problems illustrated, but they're few and far between, and there's so much boring internal monologues and poorly written dialogue spaced between them.

and guys.... the dialogue. it's so bad. everyone speaks with the exact same voice, and that one voice does not adequately mimic how real humans speak. there's a line where "and/or" literally appears in the dialogue.* every other spoken sentence ends with an exclamation mark. i grew up reading fanfiction so more exclamations mark than usual seems fine to me, but it's SO MANY. plus a lot of descriptions are written like the writer is unsure of what things are actually called? i don't know how to describe this feeling but i don't like it. it's like a watered down version of when fanfics will say stuff like "an oven-like device"

*yes i KNOW some people say this irl. i say this sometimes. do you think an ancient emperor who speaks with a cockney accent** says this???

**I'M NOT MAKING THIS UP

i don't think i really talked about this in my Iron Widow review, but this series has a lot of characters that are there for structural support and nothing else. an example in Iron Widow would be Sima Yi, who's there because a strategist character is needed, but barely has a personality and zero interesting things about him. there's no point to him except that this specific type of role needs to be played by someone. and that's fine in small doses. some characters are just there to be the usher at the theatre. Heavenly Tyrant is better at making its side characters actual characters (like Wan'er and Taiping), but then there's still more and more named characters you have to keep track of who are barely characters. like in part 2, Qin Zheng has to go into quarantine for... almost all of part 2, so Zetian needs a new copilot and recruits two prisoners. one of them is basically not there, and the other is a guy named Di Renjie whose narrative job is to be there and occasionally lecture other people about prison reform to remind you that he is a person. he's barely present at all and has no emotional or narrative impact, so it doesn't feel like much when he dies. there's not enough room in the novel to flesh him out (it's not impossible to communicate a character quickly, but this book doesn't seem to be good enough at character writing to do this) or to explore the absolutely horrific situation zetian forced him into, even though this seems like it definitely should be explored because it's what happened to her. he's just there because the plot needs her to have a copilot who's not qin zheng. zetian does spare a few thoughts of guilt about di renjie, but he's very much a non-character

as for the quarantine thing..... qin zheng gets confined to a single "sterile" room because his 200 year old body supposedly has no immunity to modern pathogens. my educated scientific opinion was "that is bullshit evolutionary biology" so (SPOILERS) i was relieved when it turned out to be a lie. however i need you to understand that that is the tone of this book. i read a completely bullshit explanation, knew it was bullshit, but everything is so overexplained yet immature that I was just like "yeah, seems like that's real for this world"

i will say the Fake Quarantine Reveal briefly had me excited. but i have read the first couple chapters of part 3 and it's just about sex. these two do not have enough chemistry to make this interesting or spicy, and you guys know i love characters who hate each other so much they simply must have sex about it. nope, these two just regular hate each other and their interactions are largely unpleasant. please bring back the plot

their safeword is "private property" and once again i am choosing to believe this is a joke for my own sanity

i've been reading heavenly tyrant (the sequel to iron widow by xiran jay zhao). thoughts after finishing the first part below the cut.

note my impression is mostly critical so far, and so clicking will reveal negativity. i assume most people have control over their own ability to gauge if they can handle this or not, but i've been proved wrong before

bullet points:

i feel the writing has improved on a structural level, but frequently veers into strange twitter-esque rants about the evils of capitalism? and often there are very first draft vibes to descriptions

there is a scene-- i shit you not-- where zetian accuses qin zheng (a legendary emperor who was frozen for 200 years that zetian woke up) of treating her like he owns her, and then makes a quip about how a guy who's against private property shouldn't be like that. qin zheng then replies-- i shit you not-- by explaining the difference between private and personal property. then he says something like "i have to go reform the education system" and leaves. i choose to believe this is a joke for my own sanity, but it is genuinely unclear

one of my complaints about iron widow is that the last 2/3-ish of the book seem to lack focus because zetian doesn't really have a specific goal, she's just doing stuff. in the first third of this installment, she spends 85% of her time confined to a single room. so now she doesn't seem to have much of a goal (she keeps talking about learning how qin zheng became powerful, taking that power, and killing him... but it's unclear why she wants to do this or what she thinks will happen if she succeeds) AND she's not even doing stuff.

i do like qin zheng more than shimin or yizhi. probably because he is the only one in this book making any sort of decisions. that being said, his ~toxic situationmance~ with zetian isn't... like... fun? they just don't like each other

if you liked yizhi or shimin then bad news!!!! they're barely here!!!! i didn't really care so i'm having fun with this new guy. how are you going to uplift the common man but live in a palace, new guy? hmm?

also zetian has gone from "ridiculous but fun to watch break things" to just like. unlikeable. it's to the point where it's hard to feel bad for her because some of her problems really do feel like they wouldn't exist if she was just, like, polite.

ANOTHER complaint i had about iron widow was that there was too much telling instead of showing. i felt this had improved a little with heavenly tyrant, as we see zetian actually attempting positive interactions with women (one of her repeatedly stated goals in the first book was wanting to help girls, and yet we barely saw her give a shit about any individual woman) and the narrative actually gives itself enough room to have zetian and qin zheng interact. however qin zheng keeps giving speeches about new policies he's going to use to fix society and folks, we have not been shown all these societal problems. like at all. there's medical debt? educational debt? no named character has these problems. i did not know these problems existed in this society before this speech.

also his big plans really do read like a 16 year old on tumblr making up an imaginary government based on some posts they read and 0 real world experience. slay

a lot of the reviews on storygraph complain it's too slow but honestly i read the first ten chapters really quickly because like. what is happening here. we'll see if anything manages to happen in the next part

[brutermonger]

What’s going on over there on the Byrd app? 

Folks shipping Miguel O’Hara with Million Knives. *Pfff 😅

[r0zzk1ll]

"this man, is weird.. CRAZY weird.." "he was always very bright.."

[torchickentacos]

The pokemon anime subreddit fascinates and frustrates me on equally deep levels

[ayyponine]

not to be a milennial but harry potter and the prisoner of azkaban really is that bitch....

[citrusitonit]

thers this bitter passive aggressiveness between kids who secretly find a younger kid annoying and its really sad

[c0rpsedemon]

over here creating an extended web (hehe) of japan-based tma ocs bc of the fucking. entities as jfashion styles post.

[so-many-ocs]

practical writing advice

part 2

avoid writing in bed if you can. writing in bed is the mind-killer. writing in bed is the little death that brings obliteration. you may think "but i can write AND be cozy" you will get sleepy so fast. 98% of the time when i try to get a nighttime writing session done in bed i go to sleep. maybe 70% of the time if it's an afternoon writing session. also it fucking kills your wrists.

STRETCH before writing. stretch as many parts of your body as possible ESPECIALLY YOUR WRISTS! i have chronic tendonitis in both of my arms from not doing this and it is manageable but it is Not Fun!

plug your phone in on the other side of the room. better yet, plug it in and leave it in another room. better yet, power it off and leave it in another room. "i'll just check one quick thing" do not underestimate the power of the doomscroll.

do a warmup. look up writing prompts (i like one-word prompts or prompts that focus on a general theme as it's easier to integrate into my writing style), set a timer for fifteen minutes, or ten, or five, and go ham. make it shitty or incomprehensible, as long as you make it. create a dump document for all your warmups. i currently have two novels in the works that started as one of these fifteen minute little warmups.

pick your background noise ahead of time if you use it, and look for something long. i listen to 3-hour-long silent hill ambient mixes on youtube dot com.

take breaks. around every 45 minutes, as i'm noticing myself begin to lose focus, i get up, grab a drink, get my blood flowing, and give myself some space to breathe.

sometimes i sit down to write and i think "every atom in my body is averse to doing this right now. i would rather dance barefoot on a bed of nails than open my laptop and start typing." and you know what i do? i go do something else instead. don't force it! it will become a chore.

that being said! write as often as possible. try to write every day. try to write at the same time. don't beat yourself up if you can’t, BUT the more often you write, the more often you'll want to write.

if you're stuck on a scene or a page or a chapter, go back to the last place where you felt like you knew what you were doing and start writing from there. keep a copy of your other writing in case you want to reuse it or refer back!

i don't know if this is something that will be helpful for other people but i start mentally preparing myself for my writing session a few hours ahead of time. i will say to myself, "today, at this time, i'm gonna sit down and write that scene where mina walks out on her book club, and it's going to be awesome and i'm looking forward to it." then, by the time i actually begin, i basically have the whole thing written out in my head and can just put it down to paper. it's a good way to at least kickstart the session !

ok thanks bye

[temis-de-leon]

He has a nightmare where he rejected you

Characters: Lucifer and Mammon (x gn!reader, separately)

Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4 , Part 5

Main Masterlist

CW: very OOC since they'd never reject you to begin with, but hey, that's why it's a nightmare

A/N: the rest of the brothers, as well as the dateables, will have their own part too, but I'm writing the requests and the fics for the 500 followers event at the same time, so everything will take some time <3

.

Lucifer – You weren’t his first choice

Under the fear and the mistrust, you showed a clear interest in him since the beginning.

He couldn’t blame you; he was handsome, after all, and he knew his attitude was attractive to most.

And while he found you beautiful as well, you meddled too much in his family’s business and your defiance to him only felt irritable.

You were a nuisance. A threat to his Lord’s wishes.

He made sure to keep you at arms’ length except the few times he felt the need to threaten you.

Surprisingly, the more you forced him to know you, the more he couldn’t say no.

Your shared time turned enjoyable and you soon started to hang out in his office late at night or, if you were an early riser like him, in the morning during breakfast.

He should’ve expected your romantic feelings towards him, something he saw before you had the chance to tell him. The way you looked at him or blushed when he paid you attention, how you searched for his presence more and more.

He rejected you before you could even talk to him about it.

It was brutal, in a way, cold and straight to the point. He didn’t bother to pour his heart into his apology.

He had his duties to Lord Diavolo, to his family and the kingdom.

The attraction he felt for you, the love that could’ve been, wasn’t enough for him to stay.

There were two types of pain in his chest when he woke up: the pressure in his sternum caused by the sharp edge of the desk and the sting in his heart from the hurt in your eyes.

He didn’t do that, did he?

He accepted you, he accepted your love with open arms, gave his in return. Lucifer could remember the smile in your first kiss just as much as the sincerity in your voice each time you reminded him the depth of your feelings. He always opened his ribcage like you would with a book to show his reciprocation.

Staring at his paperwork in horror, the pool of saliva slowly drying under his distress, Lucifer searched for memories that could prove the existence of your relationship. Your weight on his lap, your scent in his clothes, the last message you sent him, the last time he treated you on a date.

When was that?

How many days ago?

Weeks? Months??

His fingers trembled when he pushed his hair back and he knew the sting in his eyes wasn’t due to fatigue. Now gasping, eyes wide open in panic, he got up and paced around the room, the false reality of his dreams thankfully fading away and letting him see himself pouring two drinks while you stared at him in adoration, setting you on top of the table to kiss you carelessly or letting you drag him out of the office for a good night sleep.

 “Dear Diavolo” he mustered to himself, taking his coat off and letting it fall to the ground before breathing deeply. “How stupid… Stupid…”

Although not entirely, the embarrassment of suffering such despair for a nightmare washed the panic away, making him thank everything that would listen that none of his brothers were there to witness his fear and desperation.

It was the last thing he needed.

However, still hating the oneiric sight of your heartbreak, Lucifer refused to stay in the office. Reading official documents and signing them with his beautifully practised handwriting seemed like proper torture now and he knew that going back to his work would only give him more suffering dreams.

Would you hug him for the rest of the night if he asked or would you rather have the roles reversed, as it usually was? Oh, what he would do to feel your fingers through his hair and your heartbeat under his cheek. He’d stay awake forever if that meant never letting you go the way he did in his dream.

.

Mammon – He wouldn’t admit the truth

He thought so lowly of you during your first week in the Devildom that once he caught feelings, admitting them was simply mortifying.

The second born, Avatar of Greed, falling in love with a human? It was embarrassing at best and pathetic at worst.

Yet, he followed you every step of the way. Going to classes, to the cafeteria, back to the house once the day was over...

As days went by, he even spent more time in your room than his; watching a movie, taking a nap, studying or just hanging out.

And when he wanted to do something else? Something more… illegal and underground?

Oh, you followed. You followed him just as blindly as he followed you.

It was painful, yet wonderful.

How full his chest felt whenever you smiled or even looked at him, the complicity in your conversations, the comfortable silence you shared.

The quiet sobs that closed his throat each time he insulted you because he accidentally showed too much of himself, the horrifying emptiness of his room that engulfed him when you finally had enough and wouldn’t let him visit you out of the blue anymore.

Your feelings for him were as clear as the ones he had for you, but none of them were spoken about.

Yours came and went, first hopeful and then neglected.

His stayed.

He still followed, you just didn’t look back anymore.

He woke up crying, body hyperventilating and sweating and mind still in the horror that his dream had created.

He recognized the sheets as the ones from his bed, but everything else looked blurry and too dark to pay attention to. However, Mammon could feel the spot next to him still warm and the silhouette of your figure was visible on the mattress. A quick glance at the door and the lights of the bathroom shining through helped set his heart in a steady pace.

You were there with him, unavailable for just a couple of minutes, but soon to return to the comfort of his arms. Your clothes were mixed with his on the sofa, he was charging his DDD with your charger because his was in your room.

Even if it was hard to say out loud, Mammon loved you too much to ever let you go, as did you.

There was no possibility of that nightmare ever being real.

“Did I wake you up?”

There you stood, above him, hair completely dishevelled, eyes half closed, either from grogginess or the temporary blindness from light exposure, and hands reaching out for him. Your fingers intertwined with his as soon as they found each other and your lips slowly came down to clumsily kiss the corner of his mouth.

“What was that?” he softly laughed, quickly forgetting about the nightmare.

“Shut up, I can’t even see you”

He could only observe in tenderness and relief as you climbed over him, ignoring your side of the bed in favour of his entire torso, but, just when you were settling in, you licked your lips and stared at him, even if you weren’t entirely able to see.

“Baby, are you crying?”

“No, I’m not” he immediately answered in a defensive stance, blushing in embarrassment.

How could you know being blind as a mole?? Did you taste his tears when you kissed him?

“Mammon”

You tried to look serious, but the exhaustion betrayed you, turning your glare into a pout. He could’ve laughed at you, and he would’ve in any other situation, but the feeling of being too late to freely love you still crushed his heart and the only thing he wanted to do was to keep you close and hope you were still there by morning.

“I’m not crying” he insisted, this time in a softer tone.

That seemed to reach whatever was left of your consciousness, so you finally let your head fall on top of his chest to continue your slumber, talking one last time only to say what he needed to hear the most.

“I love you, Mams”

“I love you too” he sighed.

He’d tell you again once you were awake. And once more after that, just to make sure.

.

.