#and life is so fleeting so what if you do something out of anger or injustice or pain you regret forever ?

[queernarchy]

biggest lesson learned this week is how much of a nightmare and an inevitability it must be to be defined by a horrific ending to your life

[lizziesangel]

RAFE CAMERON ⟢ changes

x FEM!reader ⟢ MASTERLIST

SUMMARY: based on this request

WORD COUNT: +3.5k

GENRE: angsty

CONTENT WARNING: mentions of alcohol abuse!!

rafe cameron’s transformation hadn’t been instant. it wasn’t like he woke up one day and decided to leave behind the drugs, the fights, and the reputation that shadowed him everywhere he went.

it was gradual—painful, even. he hit rock bottom when his father, had finally given up on him, staring him down with disappointment so heavy that it left rafe feeling like nothing. adding that to the constant whispers on the island, the mounting legal troubles, and his own body screaming for something—anything—to numb it all.

and then he met you.

it wasn’t love at first sight—nothing that neat. you weren’t the kind of person who’d fall for the version of rafe cameron he was back then, and he knew it. still, something about you made him try harder to keep your attention, even if it was just in small, fleeting moments. you didn’t seem afraid of him, but you weren’t charmed by the bad boy act either. that made you different.

you saw through him, though he didn’t realize it at first. the easy smirk he wore, the sharp edges to his personality—you didn’t buy into any of it. and for reasons he couldn’t explain, that only made him want you more.

at first, you were just a distraction from the chaos of his life. Aabright spot in the mess he couldn’t seem to untangle. but the more time he spent with you, the more he realized he wanted to be the version of himself you deserved—the version of himself he’d buried beneath years of anger and regret.

you didn’t push him to change. you didn’t lecture him or try to fix him. instead, you simply existed in his world, your quiet strength and warmth enough to make him question everything.

for a long time, rafe tried to balance it all: keeping you close while still sinking into the same destructive habits. but it became harder and harder to look you in the eye after a night of doing blow or waking up in a jail cell. he could see the worry in your expression, the disappointment you tried to hide. and though you never said the words outright, he could feel the weight of your silent plea: be better. you’re better than this.

the night everything changed was one he would never forget. you had stayed up waiting for him after one of his infamous benders. he came home bruised, reeking of alcohol, his eyes bloodshot and unfocused. you didn’t yell or cry. you simply asked, “how much longer do you think you can keep this up before it kills you?”

it wasn’t a threat or an ultimatum—it was a genuine question, asked in the softest voice he’d ever heard. and for the first time, he didn’t have an answer.

he wasn’t proud of how far gone he’d been. the cocaine, the countless nights drowning in whiskey, the explosive temper that dragged him into fights he’d barely remember starting. he’d been pushing away everyone who had ever cared about him, and for what? empty bottles, bleeding knuckles, and a rap sheet that could rival a career criminal’s

that was the moment rafe realized he didn’t want to lose you. and more importantly, he didn’t want to lose himself.

the road to redemption wasn’t easy. he stumbled more times than he cared to admit, but he kept going. for you, at first���but eventually, for himself too.

from that day on, rafe worked to pull himself out of the mess he’d created. it wasn’t easy. the withdrawal was brutal, the temptation constant. the whispers didn’t stop, and the pogues certainly didn’t forgive and forget overnight. but he stayed the course, because for the first time, he could see a future where he wasn’t defined by his worst moments.

what he didn’t see, as he fought to put himself back together, was the way you were starting to come undone.

rafe had been too consumed by his own chaos to notice the way it was spilling over into your life. in those early days, you tried to be there for him, to anchor him, even as he self-destructed. but being close to rafe cameron back then meant standing too close to the fire. he didn’t mean to hurt you—he didn’t even realize he was doing it—but his recklessness burned everything in its path, including you.

there were nights when you’d wait for him, staring at the clock long past midnight, your stomach twisting with dread. was he passed out somewhere? in a fight? in jail? the worry gnawed at you, clawing deeper with every unanswered text and phone call.

and when he did come home, he wasn’t the person you knew he could be. he was drunk, high, and distant, his words slurred, his temper sharp. you tried to reach him, to remind him of the person he used to be, but it was like trying to hold water in your hands—it all slipped through your fingers.

the worst part wasn’t the yelling or the silences. it was the absence.

slowly, without realizing it, rafe had left you alone in a relationship that was supposed to be a partnership. you stopped counting the days between when he’d actually look at you, really see you. you were there, holding him up.

but no one was holding you.

at first, you told yourself it didn’t matter. you were strong; you could handle it. but cracks began to form, little fissures that grew wider with every broken promise and sleepless night. and in those moments, when the loneliness became unbearable, you turned to the only thing that seemed to quiet the ache: alcohol.

it started small—a glass of wine to help you sleep, a glass of vodka to steady your nerves. but as the nights dragged on and rafe stayed out later and later, one drink became two, then three, until you stopped counting altogether.

though the irony wasn’t lost on you. you were drowning yourself in the very thing that was destroying him. but at least when you were drunk, the pain didn’t feel so sharp, the nights didn’t feel so long, and the loneliness didn’t feel so suffocating.

rafe didn’t notice. how could he? he was too busy stumbling through his own haze of drugs and liquor to see the way you were crumbling. you both lived in the same house, but it felt like you were in different worlds—his world of chaos and yours of quiet despair.

by the time rafe began to claw his way out of his darkness, the damage had already been done. he was so focused on getting clean, on staying out of trouble, that he didn’t notice the way your hands trembled in the mornings or the way you poured your drinks a little too full at dinner.

you told yourself it was fine. he was trying to be better, and you didn’t want to burden him with your own problems. but deep down, you resented him for it—resented the way he seemed to be moving forward while you were still stuck, sinking deeper into a hole you didn’t know how to climb out of.

for him it seemed to work. you were supportive, always cheering him on, always proud. but the more he healed, the more he started to notice things he hadn’t before. things about you.

the way your hands trembled when you reached for your coffee mug. the red-rimmed eyes that never seemed to fade, even after a full night’s rest. the way you poured yourself another glass of wine at dinner before you’d even finished the first.

and the smell. faint, but unmistakable. alcohol lingered on your breath, on your clothes. he knew the scent all too well.

the realization hit him like a punch to the gut. at first, he tried to brush it off, convinced he was overthinking. but the signs were there, clear as day. and tonight, as you reached for yet another glass of wine, he couldn’t keep quiet anymore.

“how much have you been drinking?”

the question hung in the air, heavy and unyielding.

you froze, your fingers tightening around the stem of your glass. “what?”

he leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his brows furrowed in concern. “i’m serious, y/n. how much?”

you laughed, but it was hollow, bitter. “why does it matter?” you asked, taking a sip as if to prove a point.

“because i’m worried about you,” he said, his voice trembling slightly. “i’m not stupid. the glass is always full, there’s always another bottle. your hands shake in the morning, baby. i know the signs.”

you set the glass down with a sharp clink, your chest tightening. “don’t do this, rafe.”

“do what?” he asked, his tone still soft but laced with desperation. “care about you? ask what the hell’s going on? you think i don’t notice the way you’ve been slipping?”

and just like that, the dam burst. the emotions you’d been bottling up came flooding out in a rush of anger and sadness.

“you don’t get to judge me!” you snapped, your voice shaking. “not after everything. do you know how many nights i spent waiting for you to come home, praying you weren’t dead in a ditch somewhere? do you know what it’s like to watch someone you love destroy themselves and not be able to do a damn thing about it?”

rafe’s face crumpled, his guilt visible in every line. “i’m not judging you,” he said quietly. “i know what it’s like. i know how it feels to want to drown it all out, to make it stop.”

“no, you don’t,” you shot back, your voice breaking. “you don’t know how it feels to lose someone before they’re even gone. to... to feel like you’re screaming for help... but no one hears you because they’re too busy pulling themselves out of the mess they made!”

“angel,” rafe said, reaching for your hand, but you pulled back.

“i know i’m a hypocrite,” you continued, tears threatening to stream down your face. “i know i’m doing the same thing you did. and maybe i’m weak. maybe i’m pathetic!” sobs came out of you as you tried to form your words.

“but i needed you, rafe. i needed you, and you weren’t there! you were never there,” your voice cracked.

he flinched like you’d struck him, but he didn’t argue. he didn’t try to defend himself, because deep down, he knew you were right. “i wasn’t there,” he admitted, his voice thick with emotion. “i wasn’t. and i’ll never forgive myself for that. but i’m here now, and i’m begging you—please let me help you.”

you shook your head, anger and heartbreak swirling in your chest. “i don’t need your help, rafe. i don’t need you to fix me.”

he reached for you again, desperation written all over his face. “i’m not trying to fix you. i just—i love you. i can’t watch you go through this alone. please, angel, let me help.”

but you couldn’t. the pain, the anger—it was all too much. you stood abruptly, grabbing your coat.

“where are you going?” he asked, panic flashing in his eyes.

“out,” you said, your voice cold and final.

“please don’—”

“i can’t do this right now,” you cut him off, walking to the door. “i just—i need to breathe.”

rafe stood frozen, his heart pounding as he watched you slip on your shoes and grab your keys.

“baby, don’t go,” he said, his voice breaking.

“please, don’t leave like this.”

you didn’t look back. the door closed with a slam behind you, leaving rafe alone in the silence, his heart splintering into pieces.

but he didn’t try to wait. the moment the door closed behind you, he grabbed his jacket and followed, his heart pounding with equal parts fear and determination.

you were already halfway down the driveway when he caught up, your keys clenched tightly in your hand as you marched toward your car.

“y/n,” he called, his voice desperate, but you didn’t stop.

“just leave me alone, rafe,” you said, your tone sharp, though it cracked at the edges.

“i can’t do that, angel,” he said, quickening his pace until he was just a few steps behind you. “i’m not letting you walk away like this.”

you spun on your heel, your eyes blazing with a mix of anger and pain. “you don’t get to follow me,” you snapped. “you don’t get to tell me what to do, not after everything!”

he stopped in his tracks, holding his hands up like he was surrendering. “okay. fine. but at least let me drive you.”

you scoffed, turning back toward your car. “i don’t need you to drive me, i’m fine.”

“you’re not fine,” he said softly, his voice laced with concern. “you’ve been drinking. i can smell and see it. please, just—don’t do this. if you need to get away, i’ll take you. just let me drive.”

you hesitated, your hand on the car door. deep down, you knew he was right. the alcohol was still humming faintly in your veins, and the last thing you needed was to get pulled over or worse.

“i don’t need a babysitter,” you muttered, but you let the keys dangle loosely in your hand.

“i know you don’t,” he said, stepping closer, his voice gentle. “but i need to do this, okay? just—let me do this for you.”

“i need to know you’re safe.”

you looked at him, his face etched with a raw kind of desperation that made your chest ache. for a moment, you considered pushing him away again, but the exhaustion was too heavy, and the fight was slipping from your grasp.

“okay,” you said reluctantly, tossing him the keys. “but don’t talk to me.”

rafe nodded, catching the keys midair. “yeah, okay,” he said quietly.

you climbed into the passenger seat, crossing your arms and staring out the window as he slid into the driver’s seat. the silence between you was thick, heavy with unsaid words, but he didn’t press. he simply started the car and pulled out of the driveway.

as the streetlights blurred past, you pulled a flask from your coat pocket, unscrewing the lid with shaky hands.

“y/n, don’t,” rafe said softly, glancing over at you.

you ignored him, lifting the flask to your lips.

“please,” he said, his voice breaking. “i’m begging you. just—don’t.”

“it won’t help, it never will.”

your hand hovered midair, the weight of his words pressing down on you. for a moment, you hesitated, but the familiar ache in your chest won out. you tipped the flask back, the burn of the alcohol momentarily numbing the pain.

rafe gripped the steering wheel tighter, his knuckles white. he didn’t say anything else, but the hurt in his expression was unmistakable.

as the car sped down the road, the silence between you grew heavier, suffocating. rafe was struggling to keep himself together, but he knew one thing: no matter how far you tried to run, he wasn’t going to let you go through this alone.

the red and blue lights flashing in the rearview mirror brought rafe’s heart to his throat.

“shit,” he muttered, gripping the wheel tighter as he pulled the car to the side of the road.

you shifted uncomfortably in your seat, clutching the flask. “you were speeding, weren’t you?”

rafe’s jaw tightened. “yeah, i guess i was. just—stay quiet, alright?”

the flashlight beam hit the driver’s side window before either of you could say anything else. when rafe rolled it down, the familiar voice of shoupe made the tension in the car skyrocket.

“well, well, look who we have here,” shoupe said, leaning down to get a better look at rafe. his tone was casual, almost amused, but there was a sharp edge to it. “rafe cameron, speeding down my roads. what’s the rush tonight?”

rafe forced a tight smile, though the discomfort was written all over his face. “sorry, officer. i wasn’t paying attention to my speed. just trying to get my girl to a friends’ house,” he said, nodding toward you.

shoupe’s flashlight swept across the interior of the car, landing squarely on the flask in your lap.

“uh-huh,” shoupe nodded, his tone shifting as he focused on you. “and uh… what’s that? you two drinking and driving tonight?”

your stomach dropped, and you froze, unable to find the words to respond.

rafe jumped in immediately, his voice firm but a little shaky. “it’s mine,” he said quickly. “the flask—it’s mine, shoupe.”

shoupe raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “yours, huh? and yet, it’s sitting in her lap?”

“she just—she was holding it for me,” rafe lied, his voice steady despite the panic brewing in his chest. “i wasn’t thinking, i shouldn’t have had it in the car. that’s on me.”

shoupe straightened, sighing heavily. “c’mon, son. you’ve been doing so good lately. now i’m supposed to believe you’re back to this? open containers in the car? speeding? what’s going on?”

“it’s not what it looks like,” rafe said quickly, desperation seeping into his tone. “just give me a ticket for the speeding, and i’ll take care of it. i’ll dump the flask right now.”

shoupe glanced between you and rafe, his sharp eyes narrowing. the tension stretched, the air in the car thick and suffocating. finally, he sighed and shook his head.

“look,” he said, his voice softer now, “you’re lucky i know you’ve been trying to straighten out, son. but i don’t want to see you slipping, especially with her involved.” he gestured toward you with his flashlight.

rafe nodded quickly. “understood. i’ll get it together. promise.”

shoupe studied him for a moment longer before stepping back. “slow down. and get rid of the flask. i better not catch you with it again.”

“yes, sir,” rafe said, his voice tight.

shoupe gave you both one last look before walking back to his car. as the flashing lights receded into the far distance, rafe leaned back in his seat, letting out a shaky exhale.

you stared at him, your emotions swirling in a chaotic mess. “why the hell did you take the blame?”

rafe turned to you, his eyes weary but determined. “because i’m not letting you deal with this bullshit, y/n. not you. never you.”

you opened your mouth to argue, but the words wouldn’t come. instead, you looked out the window, your grip on the flask loosening as rafe started the car again.

the silence between you was heavier than ever, but you could feel his eyes flicking to you now and then, filled with concern and a love you didn’t know how to handle anymore.

the car stayed silent except for the low hum of the engine as rafe drove. his eyes flicked toward you every few moments, filled with worry and guilt.

you sat stiffly in the passenger seat, staring out the window, the flask now abandoned in your lap. the weight of everything hung heavily in the air, suffocating and thick.

“y/n,” rafe finally said softly, his voice tentative, testing the waters. “can we just—can we talk about this?”

his words broke something in you. the wall you’d been desperately holding up crumbled, and a choked sob escaped your lips.

“i’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice trembling as tears began to stream down your face. “i’m so sorry, rafe.”

rafe immediately pulled the car over to the side of the road, his heart clenching at the sound of your broken voice. “baby, no,” he said, turning to you, his own voice shaking. “don’t do that. don’t apologize. you don’t have to—”

“i was so awful to you,” you cried, covering your face with your hands as your shoulders shook. “you didn’t deserve that. you’re trying so hard to be better, and i—i just lashed out at you.”

rafe reached for your hands, gently pulling them away from your face. his eyes glistened with unshed tears as he looked at you, his expression raw and vulnerable.

“no, angel,” he said, his voice thick. “don’t do that. don’t blame yourself. i’m the one who messed up. i wasn’t there for you when you needed me. i let you down, and now you’re—” his voice cracked, and he turned his head away for a moment, blinking rapidly to keep the tears at bay.

you shook your head, tears spilling freely. “i just—i don’t know how to fix this, rafe. i feel like i’m drowning, and i don’t know how to stop.”

his hands tightened around yours, his own tears threatening to fall. “you don’t have to do it alone, angel,” he said softly. “you don’t have to carry this by yourself. let me help you, please. let me be there for you.”

you looked at him, his eyes filled with nothing but love and desperation, and the weight of it all was almost too much to bear.

“turn around,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“what?” rafe asked, his brows furrowing in confusion.

“turn around,” you repeated, a fresh wave of tears spilling down your cheeks. “let’s just go home, rafe. please. i don’t—i just want to go home.”

rafe exhaled shakily, nodding as he wiped a hand across his face. “okay, baby,” he said, his voice cracking. “we’ll go home. whatever you need.”

he put the car in reverse, pulling back onto the road. as he drove, his hand reached out to rest on your knee, a silent promise that he wasn’t letting go—not this time.

[mayxxday]

how bakugou would react to his child telling his mom to shut up?

Katsuki has always had his doubts when it came to parenthood. However the first day he held his baby boy to his chest after his birth, he felt all his fears disappear in thin air. The comfortable weight of his tyke somehow was enough to silence his fears of being a good father.

When he found his little brat inherited the same quirk as him, he was over the moon. Their bond only grew stronger and stronger through their endless training and practice at his agency. After all, if Katsuki was anything, he was a family man.

With his son growing in a young adolescent, Katsuki could see only more of himself in his boy. The same brash attitude he once strutted around the campus of his middle school. Their mannerisms hardly differed as they sat discussing on the couch, his sweet little wife tucked under his arm.

"This is heaven" He couldn't help but think. There he was, living a life his younger self could never have imagined. Yet this was all he needed. The most important two people of his life, right here with him. The explosive pro hero's train of thought was rudely interrupted however by the loud sneer of his son.

"Shut it mom- we're busy"

The words that left his son's mouth in a fleeting moment, left a bitter look on Katsuki's face. How could Katsuki ever miss the way his wife tensed under his arm, a look at her and he would have seen the tears that rushed to her lash line. However he didn't know if he was strong enough to see that at the moment.

Had he not been holding his wife to his side, he would have flown into a rage. Katsuki loved his boy to pieces, but his wife had been the one to teach him how to love. His wife had stuck out his explosiveness, all the crude remarks and his constant hot and cold behavior throughout his UA years, and made herself a home in his heart. So no matter who it was, Katsuki wasn't gonna have it.

"What did you say, brat!"

Katsuki snaps back, his voice dangerously low as if daring his son to try to repeat himself. Holding his wife protectively to his side, his thumb subconsciously rubs circles on her arm in an attempt to comfort her, while his teen could only look at him dumbfounded. Frozen still in place for Katsuki was never like this at home, his anger never directed towards him especially.

"Dad I-"

"Apologize. Now."

Katsuki said coldly. He wasn't the one for any dumb excuses and his son's malicious tone towards his wife wasn't something he was just gonna tolerate.

"Katsu, it's okay"

He could hear his wife mumble softly, her warm hand pressed his chest, coaxing him gently to let go of the matter. He was only a teenager after all, isn't this what they do, his wife believed. Katsuki however, didn't believe the same. Had the remark been directed towards Katsuki he would have let go of it, getting back to him a crude comment of himself, but this was his sweet little wife. He couldn't even remember one instance of her raising her voice to discipline their son, she's always been kind and gentle in her parenting methods, offering only the utmost support. So no, it wasn't okay in eyes Katsuki's eyes.

"I'm sorry mom... I shouldn't have done that. I didn't- ..mean to"

His son replies, his head hung shamefully as he takes a moment to reflect what he had just done. Katsuki had raised him to be gentleman through and through. Every step of the way, reminding him how his mother deserved only the best in the world. So for him to snap at his mom was out of character for him, but he would say the stress of school and preparing for UA was getting to him, resulting in him snapping at the only person his heart trusted not to hate him for it.

"Try that once more and we'll have long talk about it. And I can promise you the next time we train you won't have it easy"

Katsuki threatens lightly, knowing he had the little smack to his chest coming as his wife chuckled shyly as his protective instinct. Maybe he meant it, but his wife didn't have to know that he wasn't kidding. Of course he would never hurt his own son, but of course he could tire him out until his body had no energy to snap at his own mother of all people.

His wife's chuckle however was enough to lighten the air around them. The little bakugou earning a little tug on his ear to make sure he understood his lesson. All the while he smiled sheepishly, moving to sit on the floor in front of his mother, burying his head in her lap as a silent apology, seeking her reassurance.

Katsuki could have been the strongest damn hero to exist, but again, he was only a family man after all and the sight was enough to soften his iron heart. His wife tucked under his arm, rubbing the head of his now teen boy.

"brat"

Katsuki mumbles softly, tucking his wife's under his chin as he starts his earful lecture for his son about his wife being 'the most damn amazing woman on earth' and how he needs to do better he's gonna be a true bakugou, because in this family, we love our only woman.

That night, Katsuki slept with his head tucked in his wife's neck, whispering sorry's for not being a good father enough for this to happen in the first place. His worries however were soothed with an array of kisses on any skin his wife could reach, all pressed with a "you're the best father our baby could have had".

p.s. thank you soooooo much for the ask! I had so much fun writing this. I hope you like it <33

[oaksgrove]

A Life Left Behind

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x ex!Reader, John Price x Reader

Synopsis: When Price accidentally lets it slip at a pub that he has a missus waiting at home, Simon never suspects it could be you. That is, until a snowy Christmas Eve, when fate leads him past a warmly lit window, where the life he could’ve had reveals itself in full, devastating clarity.

Warnings: Heavy angst, themes of regret and break up, bittersweet holiday vibes.

Word Count: 1214

a/n: I’ve had this idea swirling in my head for a while—it’s pure heartbreak with a festive backdrop. English isn’t my first language, and this was witten in a rush, so thank you for your patience and all the support on my writing!

Manchester, UK. october | 9:20PM | 8°C

The vanilla scent of your favorite candle hung in the air, bittersweet against the tension suffocating the room. It reminded Simon of softer nights—of the evenings you spent curled together on the couch, your laughter filling the silence he’d grown so accustomed to before you. The thought was fleeting, a warm ember snuffed out by the cold reality that now stood between you.

You stood by the kitchen counter, arms crossed defensively, your eyes a mix of anger and hurt. Simon loomed near the window, his shoulders hunched as though bracing himself for a blow.

“Say something, Simon,” you demanded, your voice raw with emotion. “Anything.”

He didn’t move at first, his gaze fixed on the street outside. His jaw tightened, the cords of muscle twitching under his skin. “What do you want me to say?” he finally asked, his voice low, restrained—like he was holding back a flood.

You stepped closer, forcing him to meet your gaze. “I want you to tell me this isn’t real. That you don’t mean it when you say it’s better if we break up.”

For a moment, his mask slipped. The conflict in his eyes was like a storm on the horizon—rage, sadness, and guilt all warring beneath the surface. Then he shut it down, closing himself off again. “It is better,” he said, his voice faltering before he hardened it.

“For who, Simon?” Your voice cracked, frustration mingling with the ache in your chest. “Because it sure as hell isn’t for me.”

“For you,” he replied, firmer this time. “You deserve someone who can give you more than this—more than me.”

You could only stare at him, disbelief giving way to anger. “You don’t get to decide that for me! I knew what I was getting into, and I’m here, Simon. I chose you!”

His hand went to the back of his neck, a frustrated gesture you’d seen countless times. “I can’t keep doing this to you,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “You don’t see it now, but you’ll be better off without me.”

Your mind flooded with memories—of Simon’s quiet presence grounding you after bad days, of his rare, unguarded moments of laughter that felt like secrets shared just between the two of you. The way he would silently slip your favorite mug into your hands during cold mornings, the weight of his arm around you as you fell asleep.

“Do you even hear yourself?” you whispered, desperation creeping into your voice. “You’re pushing me away because you think it’s what’s best for me? You’re not even giving me a choice.”

His silence was deafening, his eyes locked on the floor like he couldn’t bear to meet your gaze.

“I hope you believe that one day,” you said, grabbing your coat.

Your feet carried you to the door, and your hand hesitated on the knob. You wanted him to call out, to fight for you, to prove that this wasn’t just another wall he was building. But he didn’t.

You glanced back, and for a moment, he looked as though he might break—his fists clenched, his body taut with tension. But then his gaze dropped, and the words that could have saved you both never came.

“Goodbye, Simon.”

The door clicked shut behind you, and the cold October air wrapped around you as you walked away. Your legs moved on autopilot, but your mind stayed trapped in the warmth of the memories you were leaving behind.

The time he stayed up with you after your first fight, awkwardly holding your hand as he whispered, “I’m not good at this, but I’ll try.” The way he watched you with something close to wonder the night you wore his hoodie, laughing at his terrible attempt at making pancakes. The rare nights he let you in—told you stories of his childhood, of the people he lost. The first time he said, “I don’t deserve you,” and you kissed him before he could finish.

The sound of your own footsteps became unbearable, each one taking you further away from a man who couldn’t see that he was already everything you needed.

The Old Wellington - Manchester, UK. 1 year later, august | 9:45PM | 10°C

The pub buzzed with life, the comforting chaos of clinking glasses and laughter filling the air. Simon sat in the corner, detached, his untouched whiskey warming in his hand. His team’s voices faded into the background as his thoughts wandered to the edges of places he’d been avoiding.

Soap’s voice boomed above the noise, mid-story and gesturing wildly. “And then, just as the guy thinks he’s outsmarted us, the bloody fence gives way and—bam! Flat on his arse!”

Gaz burst into laughter, his grin wide. “You’ve got to be making that up.”

Price leaned back in his chair, chuckling. “It’s true. I was there.”

Simon stared into his glass, barely hearing the conversation. Soap nudged him with an elbow. “Oi, Ghost, are you alive in there?”

Simon glanced up, forcing a faint smirk. “Listening to you lot’s more entertaining than talking.”

“Sure it is,” Soap teased, raising his glass.

Price set his drink down, a rare smile tugging at his lips. “I’ve got to go. It’s already late, missus is waiting for me at home.”

Soap nearly choked on his beer. “Wait a minute. You’ve got a missus? Since when?”

Gaz leaned forward, grinning. “Yeah, Cap. You’ve been holding out on us!”

“She likes her privacy,” Price replied with a shrug, a soft edge to his voice. “But yeah, I’ve got a missus.”

Simon’s grip on his glass tightened. The word missus hit him like a shot, sharp and precise, leaving a dull ache in its wake.

“What’s she like?” Soap asked, clearly intrigued.

Price’s expression softened as he thought about her. “She’s… everything, really. Smart, kind, funny. Keeps me on my toes.”

“She sounds like a saint, putting up with you,” Soap teased with a laugh.

Simon’s chest tightened at the word saint. The thought surfaced before he could stop it. My girl was a saint too…

He swallowed hard, his grip on the glass like a lifeline. He pictured you in his mind—your patience, your warmth, the way you’d look at him like he wasn’t the sum of his mistakes. He’d told himself a thousand times that he’d let you go for your own good, but here he was, haunted by memories he couldn’t shake.

“She is,” Price admitted with a rare smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

Simon looked away, draining his whiskey in one gulp. The burn was nothing compared to the hollow ache in his chest.

“You good?” Price asked, his tone casual but his gaze sharp.

Simon straightened, forcing himself to appear calm. “Just remembered something I’ve got to take care of.”

He stood abruptly, tossing some cash on the table. “Catch you later.”

He left before anyone could question him, stepping out into the cold night air. The sharp chill bit at his skin, but it wasn’t enough to distract him.

She was a saint, wasn’t she? The thought lingered, twisting the knife. But he didn’t deserve saints. He never had.

Manchester, UK. 2 years later, december | 9:45PM | 6°C

Christmas had arrived, cloaking the streets of Manchester in a pristine layer of snow. The world felt hushed, the crunch of Simon’s boots against the frozen ground the only sound in the quiet night. His breath puffed in soft clouds, dissolving into the still air.

He hadn’t planned to be here—hadn’t even realized where his aimless wandering had taken him until he found himself on a familiar street. The glow of your living room window caught his eye, and before he could stop himself, he was standing there, looking in.

The scene inside was alive with warmth. Golden light spilled over the living room, illuminating a Christmas tree laden with ornaments. You stood beside it, a delicate bauble in your hand, your laughter bright as it mingled with the joyous chaos of two young boys crawling around the tree.

Simon’s gaze shifted. Price was there, standing close to you, his arm resting comfortably around your waist. The easy intimacy between you spoke volumes—a language Simon once knew but had long forgotten.

His chest tightened, the ache sharp and familiar. He stood frozen, his breath catching as a memory surfaced unbidden: you, sitting beside him on a cold night like this, your hand in his as you talked about the future. A future he’d convinced himself he couldn’t give you.

Now, here it was, vivid and real—but it wasn’t his.

You turned then, your eyes meeting his through the frosted glass. The moment stretched, fragile and heavy with unspoken words. Your expression softened, a bittersweet smile forming as if you understood everything he couldn’t say.

Simon’s gloved hand brushed the glass, the chill biting through the leather. For a fleeting second, he let himself imagine what it would feel like to step inside, to join the warmth instead of watching from the cold.

But he knew better.

He nodded once, a small, almost imperceptible gesture, before stepping back. The snow crunched softly beneath his boots as he turned away, his silhouette fading into the quiet night.

The ache lingered, but as he walked, it shifted—no longer a weight that dragged him down, but something softer, bearable. You were happy. That was enough.

The falling snow blurred his footprints behind him, erasing the path he’d taken to get here. Simon didn’t look back, his lips twitching into a faint smile. For the first time in years, he felt the beginnings of peace. Because some losses, though painful, could eventually feel like victories when love found its way to where it belonged.

[temilyrights]

in the darkness (open your eyes)

melissa schemmenti x fem!reader

summary: melissa and reader are angry with each other over reader's dating life. who will break first? or will someone need to intervene to get them to pull their heads out their asses and make up? inspired by prompt 31 “Let’s just say that if I saw you bleeding out on my kitchen floor, I’d act like I hadn’t seen you.”

word count: 4.6k

warnings: arguments, swearing, hurt/comfort, insecure!melissa, age gap, reader is referenced as being under 30.

a/n: hello friends, this has been a long time coming. i've wanted to write for this queen for ages and when i finally sat down to do it the words didn't stop spilling out of me. i haven't been able to write like this in years, so i think i've found my passion again in melissa <3 it's good to be back. it's a long one and i hope i managed to capture her correctly. enjoy :)

For twenty years Barbara Howard has arrived at Abbott Elementary at 5.50am on the dot, just in time for her to park her car, take a stroll to the staffroom and make herself a coffee before Action News started at 6 sharp. Now, the walls of Abbott were never calm, but for 30 minutes every morning, while she sipped her coffee and listened to the soothing tones of Jim Gardner, everyone around her seemed to be able to keep themselves together. Even in her first year of teaching Janine had never tried to disturb her, maybe for once able to sense the importance of these moments for a successful teaching day. 

Barbara can tell it will not be a normal day in Abbott the moment she pushes past the green doors into the building. The energy is high in the air and she fears if she touches anything an electric shock might meet her. Still, she sends a prayer to God and pushes her way through the building.

No one was stopping her from getting her 30 minutes of peace. 

She finds the culprit for the upsetting energy the moment she crosses the threshold of the staff room and is not slightly surprised. Melissa sits in her usual chair, her face murderous, eye’s dark and tongue in cheek as she stares pointedly at the wall with her arms crossed tightly against her chest. Jacob sits on the couch, eyes on his phone and leg bouncing anxiously, he shoots a look around the room and when his eyes land on Barbara his body sags in relief, thinking he’s found safety. 

Whilst Barbara’s got no idea what has happened, she also notes that the room is empty apart from the three of them and although Melissa’s anger making people scram is not an uncommon occurrence, it has never, in the last two years since you joined Abbott, made you flee a room. In fact, Barbara had watched you calm Melissa down with a simple touch to her arm, something she has never been able to do. 

You did not fear Melissa, which means this anger was likely related to you. These moments were normally quick and fleeting and yet Melissa was so upset it was going to disrupt Action News. Definitely not a regular morning. 

“Would you like a coffee, Melissa?” Barbara asks, starting simple as she enters the room and makes her way to the coffee machine, barely sparing Melissa a glance.

Melissa stands and takes the coffee mug from the table beside her and throws it on the floor, shattering it into tiny pieces, making Jacob yelp. She stalks from the room, muttering angrily under her breath something about ‘betrayal’. 

Barbara sighs tiredly, pressing her fingers to her temples. Today was going to be a long day. 

She considers going after the redhead but as a simple question had produced such a ferocious reaction, she decides it is best to let her cool off before work starts and sits down with Jacob to catch the reminder of Action News. 

She was determined to not let today become a complete lost cause. 

Later, on her way to her classroom to set up for the day, she finds Melissa with her head buried in grading, probably a good idea and a way to calm herself down after this morning's fiasco. However, you’re completely missing from your classroom, very unusual. 

A complete disruption to your routine this morning it seems, Miss L/N.

Barbara lays eyes on you for the first time that day when she’s walking her class to their music lesson. You offer a smile and “Good Morning, Miss Howard,” but the bags are obvious under your eyes. You did not sleep well last night. 

“Good Morning. Your class is in an excellent mood this morning. Gym class?” She asks, looking behind you to the excited third-graders who stand in lines of two, well-behaved but talking in a low excited chatter. 

You chuckle, “I’ve never known a class to love it more.”

Barbara hums, waving goodbye as you turn off down the corridor towards the gym. She drops her class off with the music teacher, making sure to remind them to be well behaved before she heads back down the corridor, stopping at your classroom. 

You look up from your desk, surprised. “Can I help you, Barbara?” 

She’s never seen the point beating around the bush, and she was not about to start now. “I ran into a very angry Melissa this morning. Do you know something about that?” 

Your entire body tenses, your smile going rigid and tight on your face. Barbara can see the anger simmering behind the surface. Unusual. You were always more calm, more open to reason. “I’d be more surprised if you’d said she was in a good mood. Now I’ve actually got work to be doing, if you don’t mind.” 

“Y/N,” Barbara sighs, giving you the pointed look that always works on students and teachers alike. 

You shake your head, “I really respect you a lot Barb, but you’re not gonna be able to fix this one. Please just leave it alone.” 

Barbara stands there for a long moment, staring at you, before she releases a sigh. “Fine. But one of you needs to fix this because Abbott barely has enough mugs as it is.”

She gives you one last pointed look before leaving the room. You sink into your desk, hands capturing your head to stop your head from slamming against the desk and adding to your already growing headache. 

Fuck Melissa Schemmenti. 

Fuck everything about her. 

She had no right to be angry. You’d done nothing wrong. You felt bad for blowing off Barbara, you knew she was just trying to help. And usually a pointed look from her had you confessing your darkest sins, but not this time you couldn’t. She couldn’t fix it. Melissa was the one in the wrong and you were gonna keep a wide berth until she bloody well realised that. 

Although knowing Melissa, you’ll be on your deathbed before that happens and maybe even then she’ll find something scalding to say. It’s what you get for trying to have an honest conversation with a red-headed cancer. 

She was more ill behaved than your worst students. 

 ——

You dismiss your students for lunch minutes before the bell rings, hoping you’ll be able to run to the staff room and grab your lunch and run back without facing the redhead. It’s not that you’re scared of her, you simply don’t have the energy to deal with her attitude so eating in your classroom was the best option. 

However, your plans are foiled when Ava stops your pathway talking about a new tiktok challenge that she wants you involved in. “You’re the only teacher that won’t embarrass me and show off that this place has at least some fit, young teachers.” 

“Sure, whatever. I need to go.” You say, not really listening as you put an end to the conversation and move past her. 

“Rude!” She yells back at you, “But do your thing, girl!” 

By the time you make it to the staff room everyone is already there. Jacob is telling an over the top story about something uninteresting to Janine and Gregory. And Barbara and Melissa are talking quietly at their usual table, where you usually join them. Melissa looks calmer than when you’d spoken to her this morning, she even smiles at Barbara, however the moment you step into the room it all fades away. Her eyes land on you and her eyes harden and her shoulder tense. She jabs the salad in her tupperware harshly. 

You can’t contain your eye roll and don’t bother to say hello to anyone as you make your way through the room to the fridge. 

Janine picks up on the tension in the room, drawing her away from Jacob’s rambling that appears to have gotten more anxious. “Woah, what’s going on guys?” 

“Nothing.” You say.

“Y/N’s a snake.” Melissa gruffs at the same time. 

You slam the door to the fridge before you can grab your lunch, swinging around to glare at her as Barbara releases a horrified, “Melissa!”

“You’re a child. Just grow up!” You growl. 

“Rich comin’ from the girl that isn’t even thirty yet.” 

“Well that wasn’t a problem for your sister when I went on a date with her last night!” 

The gasps in the room are instant. Even Gregory breaks out into a coughing fit as he struggles for breath. And okay, yeah. So you went on a date with Melissa’s sister, but in your defence you hadn’t known she was her sister until half way through the date and then you’d fucking ended it because you knew Melissa would get her panties in a twist. 

And you thought you were being a good friend coming clean, that it would be a funny story. But no, classic Melissa flipped her shit talking about betrayal and schemes. 

“Kristen Marie?” You hear Jacob mutter horrified under his breath. You don’t bother to correct him but no, her you knew. It had been Toni, Melissa’s youngest sister. You’d matched on Tinder and apart from both having green eyes there was nothing on her profile that gave away they were siblings. Toni was tall with short brown hair. You hadn’t even known she was from Philly until you showed up.

Melissa pushes herself up from her chair, her eyes dark and murderous as she stalks over to you. “I want nothin’ to do with ya.” 

The hurt you’re feeling is shoved down. There’s no place for it when she’s angry. “Fine by me. If you’re this upset over one date I left early then maybe it’s a good call to bring this friendship to an end.” 

“Guys-” Janine tries to interrupt.

“No,” You state hardly, eyes never straying from Melissa’s cold ones, “Schemmenti finally knows what she wants.” 

“Yeah I do, and it’s you far away from me. In fact, so it’s clear for everyone just how I feel about this traitor, let’s say that if I saw you bleedin’ out on my kitchen floor, I’d act like I hadn’t seen ya.” 

More horrified gasps. The words hit you in the chest but you barrel forward, your words scalding as you see red. “Wow, Schemmenti. It’s real no wonder you’re alone, is it? Determined to run anyone out your life that shows you any kindness. I’m surprised Joe lasted so long.” 

Barbara shoots up, lips pursed and hands signalling a sharp line. “Enough! That is enough!” 

Your shoulders slump, tired and drained. Everyone looks on edge, Janine close to tears although the words hadn’t been directed anywhere near her. Barbara was right. 

You sigh, turn around and grab your lunch from the fridge while Melissa storms back to her chair. 

“I’m sorry for the disruption. Enjoy your lunch.” You say to the group as you head for the door. 

“Yeah, and don’t come back.” Melissa grunts. 

“Oh, fuck off.” You snip, sending her one last glare before you storm back to your classroom where you close the door with perhaps too much force behind you. Which works in your favour because it’s a great deterrent in case anyone gets any unwise decisions to follow you, luckily they don’t. 

Over the course of the next week you try every mindfulness trick in the book but still end up going home most evenings and screaming into a pillow. Everyone for the obvious reason that they weren’t shit scared of you had started coming to you begging you to fix the relationship between you and Melissa, like she wasn’t the one to burn it down in flames in the first place!

You don’t care how many times Janine comes to you crying about Abbott peace needing to be restored, or Jacob complains that he’s running out of crockery because Melissa keeps smashing it, or even Barbara’s pointed looks (which you know Melissa will be receiving as well) you refuse to give in. Not this time.

Ava’s pointed, “Fix this because I’m not starting doomsday with a fighting crew so I will have to pick, and it’s not looking good for you.” definitely hurts a little because you thought you were friends. 

“This is the end of the world, Y/N. Friends get you killed! I need a crew with skills to make sure I survive.”

You walk away from that conversation and miss Melissa not for the first time that week. She’d say something kind to cheer you up like, “Doomsday ain’t happening, but if it does I’m not anyone’s patsy. Me, you, Barb and her family are all headin’ up to my timeshare and I’m keeping youse safe.”

As you walk the hallways of Abbott you hear her voice through the open door of her classroom. You pause, leaning against the wall where she can’t see you, and listen to her teach. You haven’t heard her voice void of hate all week and it was draining you. For a woman set on wanting nothing to do with you, she seemed to be around every corner shooting you a glare or scorching remark. 

You melt into the wall, and listen to her lead her class through a grammar lesson, her voice gentle as she praises and encourages students. You miss the days you could drop in to her class on your free periods and bring her a cup of coffee just to see her eyes light up and receive a warm smile before leaving her to teach. You miss sharing food over lunch, you hate not having anyone to try your new recipe’s on. You miss every little soft touch she’d give you throughout the day, a hand on your arm, on your upper back, on your shoulder. You didn’t realise how much you relied on those moments to keep you steady until they were pulled away and suddenly you didn’t feel safe in your own body anymore. Ridiculous. You lived many years before Melissa Schemmenti your body and brain just needed to get the memo that it was happening again. 

You needed to get over yourself because your friendship with Melissa Schemmenti was dead. Those kind comments weren’t coming and you needed to stop yearning for them if you wanted to survive at Abbott. First things first, maybe stop wistfully waiting outside her classroom. 

You’re back in your classroom at the end of the day, packing up after dismissing your kids, when Ava’s voice rings through the intercom, “Miss Schemmenti and Miss L/N report to Miss Howard’s classroom immediately.”

What the hell?

You frown and place the books in your hands down before you head towards the kindergarten's teacher’s room, curiosity getting the better of you.

Melissa runs into you in the corridor, her brows drawn together in confusion. “You know what this is about?” She asks gruffly.  

“Not a clue.” You sigh. 

You let her lead the way into the classroom. Her walk signalling her preparation for battle. The protective streak in her simmering under the surface, you’d be dumb to think it had anything to do with you. 

The kindergarten classroom is empty and in perfect order. Barbara Howard stands poised perfectly beside her desk, her head held high. “I’d like both of you to sit down please.” She says in her sickly sweet voice. The one you know means danger if you don’t comply so you perch on a desk near the front of her class. 

StIll, Melissa doesn’t follow orders. Instead, hovering by the door. “Barb, what’s going on?” 

Barbara holds her gaze, eyes flashing, even as her voice drips with honey, “Melisssa, dear. Sit down.” 

She grumbles but this time complies, choosing the desk on the other side of the aisle to you. “Happy?” 

“Wonderful.” Barbara clasps her hands together and starts making her way to the door. “Now, you two are going to fix what’s happened between you-”

“I’m not talking to that-”

“Barbara-”

“I do not want to hear it!” She cuts you both off. “I’ve had enough of the temper tantrums and sulking. You’re worse than the teenagers. So pull it together and admit you miss each other so people can stop walking on eggshells and poor Janine’s hair stops falling out.” 

Thoroughly told, you slump further in on yourself as Barbara strides out of the room. The door shutting behind her and the unmistakable sound of a lock clicking into place.

You chance a glimpse of Melissa from the corner of your eye. Surprised she wasn’t up, ready to kick the door down to escape you. It’s then you notice just how tired she looks. Her makeup has begun to fade, revealing the dark circles under her eyes, her face was drawn and pale, her eyes lacking their usual sparkle. She looks exhausted.  

“Melissa, what’s it going to take for you to forgive me?” You ask plainly. 

She shoots you a glare, eyes full of fire again. The tiredness hidden and slammed up behind shields. “You know this ain’t a forgive and forget sorta situation.”

You push yourself off the desk and walk closer to the woman of your torment, “What so we don’t listen to Barbara and Abbott continues to be an awful place to work because everyone is uncomfortable whenever we’re in the same room.”

She shrugs, “I’ve worked with enemies before.” 

“I’m an enemy now? Come on! It was one lousy date! You wanna throw away years of good friendship for that? I’ve apologised multiple times and I’ll do it again. I’m sorry Melissa. I wouldn’t have gone on the date if I’d known. You must know that.” You say incredulously, watching the hard-headed woman in front of you. “Why would I wanna jeopardise my closest relationship here? You really think you mean that little to me?” 

She wavers, the words touching her, but she doesn’t soften. Instead, she pushes herself off the desk, making herself taller. 

“You talk the talk. But if that’s all true,” she jabs a finger in your direction, “why’d you send goddamn’ nudes to my sister, Y/N!” 

Your eyes widen, jaw dropping in shock. “What the hell are you talking about? We went on half a date. Why would I have sent her nudes? Do you really think I’m that sort of person?” 

She crosses her arms against her chest, “I saw her last Sunday, before your date. She told me about this ‘young thing’ she was messagin’ and receivin’ risky photos from. You tellin’ me that weren’t you?”

“Firstly, ‘young thing’ is disgusting.” You protest, and Melissa winces in agreement. “But more to the point, no it was not me. Not that it would be any of your business if I did decide to send those types of photos to someone because I’m an adult and it’s my choice, Melissa. I get she’s your sister but I told you I left the date when I found out and that I had no interest in seeing her again. So I just don’t understand what the problem is.”

She sighs, and takes a step back. “You really tellin’ the truth?” 

“Yes!” 

“Fuckin’ hell,” She grumbles.

Her gaze drops from yours as she kicks her shoe into the ground, a frustrated grunt leaving her lips. When she looks at you again, her gaze softens, the anger melting away leaving her vulnerability exposed.  “Look, I hated the thought of her seeing youse like that, alright? I love my sister but she’s not got the best track record of treatin’ women the way they ought to be treated and I didn’t want you messed up in that. If you were sharin’ those photos it should be with someone that respected ‘em, respected you. Not someone that treated you like her latest play thing.”

“So you took it out on me.”

“Well you still went on a date with my sister,” She says with an eye roll, “but I guess I got a second wind of anger when I connected the dots and It was easier to blame you. I’m sorry.” She shrugs.

You smile tenderly. The calm good, hope settling in your stomach that everything might actually be okay. She cared about you being treated right, that was something, at least.

“I’m sorry too. For everything I said in the staff room. I didn’t mean it.” You respond genuinely. You’d regretted the words as soon as your anger had faded. 

“All’s good.” She shrugs again, with a smile. And you know you’re forgiven, even if you don’t feel like you quite deserve it. 

She tilts her head, fingers tugging on the belt straps of her jeans - which doesn’t make your heart skip a beat at all. “Let me ask one thing ‘nd then we can move on for good.” 

You clear your throat, “S-Sure.” 

“Why her?”

“Mel-” You shake your head.

“Come on, there’s gotta be loads of women on those apps, but ya choose to meet with Toni, why?” She asks, watching you closely, eyes guarded, like she’s scared of your answer.

You sigh and contemplate lying or refusing to answer, especially with how new the calm is and how quick she can be set off again. But you also don’t want to refuse her and you can see the vulnerability she’s desperately trying to hide.

“Honestly?” You shrug, unable to hold her gaze, “I liked her eyes.” 

“Seriously?” She chokes, eyes widening in surprise. She ducks her head and shifts on her feet, “People have always said we got the same eyes.” 

“Similar. Yours are lighter, bigger, prettier.” The words are out your mouth before you can stop them and you kind of want the ground to swallow you up whole. 

Melissa smiles, her cheeks dusting pink, as she laughs and rolls her eyes. “Yeah, okay, hon.” 

The compliment hadn’t been intended and leaves you feeling exposed, but still you hate her immediate refusal. A trend since you started at Abbott. Apart from compliments on her teaching, which she accepts, she’s always quick to dismiss the kind words that come from your mouth. Any compliments on her hair, her outfits, her personality are all quickly laughed off. You hate it, and what’s worse, you really don’t understand it. She accepts everyone else’s nice words, you know she’s so confident in herself, so it doesn’t make any sense. 

“Why do you do that?” You ask, sighing. 

She furrows her brows, “Do what?” 

“Always reject the compliments I give you.” 

She huffs, eyes averting yours. “I don’t.” 

“Oh, come on,” You chuckle, “You’re gonna have to do better than that.” 

She crosses her arms against her chest, shrugging, “You’re a kid, whats it matter if I accept your compliments or not?” She challenges

“I’ve told you not to call me that.” You say firmly, eyes narrowing. 

You had this conversation a few months after you started working together and she promised she’d stop calling you that. You were aware of the age gap, but that doesn’t mean you need to be patronisingly called ‘kid’, especially by Melissa. She knew better. 

Her eyes narrow as her hand comes out to wave at you, “But you are, alright? Ain’t even thirty. Why are we kiddin’ ourselves with nice conversations and stupid compliments that mean nothin’.”

“You don’t honestly believe that,” You breathe, voice calm even as your heart beats rapidly. 

“You should be hangin’ out with kids your own age, not me.” 

“I do, you know this. I have out of school friends and I’ve got Ava and I join the after school crew sometimes.”

She stares at you, her eyes hard even as her hands shake. You reach out and place a gentle hand over hers and watch as her whole body relaxes. 

Her eyes squeeze shut and she drops her head, a deep sigh escaping her lips. 

“Mel, this is me.” You whisper. “My favourite part of the day is sneaking into your classroom and giving you a coffee because it makes you smile. You have no idea how much I’ve missed it this last week. It just so happens that out of everyone you're still my favourite person to be with. What’s so wrong about that?”

Shining green eyes meet yours, “I ain’t good for ya.” 

Your brows draw together, heart aching as you step closer to her. “That’s not true.” 

She’s so close you can see the brown specks in her green eyes. You want to reach out and cup her cheek, hold her close and help somehow. 

“Isn’t my opinion what matters?” You prompt. 

Her eyes gaze back into yours, pained and tormented. 

“You’re a terrible idea.” She breathes, voice so quiet you barely hear it over the sound of your thumping heart. 

“Mel,” Your heart thuds, your voice shaking as you're guided closer by an invisible force. Your hand rests on her upper arm, hers perching on your waist and all your thoughts disappear in an instant as your eyes squeeze shut and you try to remember how to breathe. 

Her eyes track your face, memorising every detail now she has you so close. The slight furrow of your brow, your delicate eyelashes, your open mouth.

“Fuck it,” She sighs, her hand coming up to cup your cheek, fingers cool against your overheated skin. Your eyes open and Melissa’s darkened ones stare back at you. Your teeth dig into your lip and her eyes follow the movement. 

You can’t find your breath as Melissa guides you towards her, her mouth slowly moving closer to yours. Your fingers grip into the cotton of her t-shirt the moment her lips tenderly brush against yours. You melt into the kiss, a mew escaping your mouth as you kiss her back. All thoughts gone as you give into the sensation of her lips against yours.

It doesn’t last long but you still can’t find your breath when Melissa pulls back, a nervous smile on her lips. 

“Wow,” You breathe.

She chuckles affectionately, her eyes warm as she watches you. “That’s all you’ve gotta say?” 

“Uh…Kiss me again, please?” You offer

She chuckles again, her smirk victorious as she rolls her eyes. “Come on, tell me what you’re feelin’” 

“Oh, isn’t that obvious?” You squint, “I’m obsessed with you. I have been for ages. You’re the one that was keeping it all close to the chest, Schemmenti.” 

She shrugs, “Dunno. I might’ve suspected you had a thing. Wasn’t sure though, and with those dates you’ve been going on. I was gettin’ mixed signals.” She rolls her eyes. 

She’s been going on dates as well but it seems pointless to point that out. “Melissa, I’m crazy about you.” 

She grins, “I kinda have a thing for ya too.”

Your heart thumps at her words, like the kiss wasn’t enough confirmation. Her smile and warm eyes, matching your own goofy smile. “That’s good to know. How about you let me take you out for dinner?”

She rolls her eyes, “What the same place you took my sister? No hun, I’m takin’ you out.”

Your teeth dig into your lips as you try and fail to suppress your smirk, “Oh, was that the real issue? Jealous that your sister got to go out with me first?”

“Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.” She grumbles.

“Oh yeah, is that so?” You tease, leaning in close. 

Melissa’s eyes darken, “I’d watch it if I were you.” 

“Why’s that?” You ask, excitement rippling down your spine.

“‘Cause you’ve got no idea what I’m capable of.”

“Is that a threat?”

“A promise.” 

Your body heats up. All the air leaving your lungs as Melissa laughs. 

“This is gonna be fun.” She grins. 

She pats your hip, “Come on, hon, let's find a way out of this room and then I’ll take you on a proper date.”

You nod, unable to form words as you follow her blindly.

But with Melissa Schemmenti, you know you’ll always be okay, even if she does have a dangerous impact on your ability to regulate your breath.

You think it’s worth it. 

For a woman that beautiful, just about anything is. 

[capuccinodoll]

Honey love, dark eyes

♡ Chapter eight ♡

Summary: After being with Joel again, you're back home. Caught in a whirlwind of emotions, you're determined to finally talk things through with him. But just as you're ready, life throws more obstacles in your path—and so does Travis, apparently. WC: 15.3k A/N: Well, It’s been two long weeks since I last updated the story, and I can't even begin to tell you how much I wish I could have written this sooner! But the good news is, I’m officially on vacation now, and all my finals went well. So, I’m hoping to update more regularly from here on out <3 Please remember that i no longer use the taglist, so if you want to receive notifications you can follow me on capuccinodollupdates!

When the door clicked shut behind you, the sound felt final, heavy in a way that made your chest tighten. You leaned against the door, the cool wood steadying you as a flood of emotions rushed in, each one colliding with the next. Surprise. Anger. Helplessness. Pain. And somewhere in the tangled mess, something softer—love? Desire? Whatever it was, it caught you off guard, made your knees buckle. You slid down to the floor, your back scraping against the doorframe as you went, until you were sitting there, small and folded into yourself.

The first sob escaped before you even realized it was coming, a fragile sound that cracked in the quiet of the room. Tears followed, slipping hot and fast down your cheeks, and you wiped at them instinctively, as if erasing them would make the moment less real, less unbearable. Your knees came up to your chest, and you buried your face there, trying to make yourself small, trying to disappear.

What were you supposed to do now? How could you fix this?

The first time with Joel had been a mistake—or that’s what he’d called it, anyway. A lapse in judgment, a moment of weakness, a thing that shouldn’t have happened but did. And you’d told yourself to believe him, even though every nerve in your body said otherwise. But tonight, it was different. This time, you had been the one to lean in, your lips the ones that crossed the distance, your hands the ones that sought him out. And he hadn’t stopped you. He hadn’t hesitated. No, he’d kissed you back, fiercely, his hands gripping you like you were the only thing keeping him steady.

Did he need you as much as you needed him?

The thought spiraled through you, looping and tangling until it became something you couldn’t unravel. You sat there for what felt like forever, unmoving, the weight of everything pressing into you. When you finally pushed yourself to your feet, your body felt heavy, your muscles tight with the ache of holding too much. Your shoulders throbbed as you rubbed at them absently, trying to knead away the tension, but all you could think about was the weight of Joel’s hands there just moments ago.

His touch had been deliberate, slow, like he was memorizing the shape of you. You could still feel it, the way his fingers had mapped your skin, his warmth sinking into you. And his eyes—dark, searching—had felt like they were seeing more of you than you were ready to show.

For a brief, fragile second, it had felt right. Like you were exactly where you were meant to be, like he was meant to be there with you. But the feeling didn’t last. It dissolved into something bitter, something sharp that stabbed at the edges of that fleeting joy.

What was happening to you?

Despair bubbled up in your chest, sharp and consuming. You wanted to run, to escape, to leave this house that suddenly felt too small, too stifling, as if the air itself had turned against you. But running wouldn’t help, would it? No matter where you went, Joel would follow—in your thoughts, in the way your body still hummed with the memory of him.

Names darted through your mind like unwelcome guests: Joel, Travis, Sarah, Sienna, Clara. Each one tugged at you in a different way, their presence reminding you of what you’d done, of what you couldn’t take back, of what had happened during the last few weeks.

You pressed a hand to your chest, where the ache was sharpest, right beneath your ribs. Your breathing was shallow, uneven, your lungs struggling to keep up with the storm inside you. Inhale, exhale. You forced yourself to slow down, to count the breaths until they came easier, but it wasn’t enough. The tension stayed, coiled tight in your body, refusing to let go.

When you caught sight of yourself in the hallway mirror, the reflection startled you. Your eyes were glassy, rimmed red, your face pale and unfamiliar. You looked like someone else—someone fragile, someone lost.

Calm down, you told yourself, the words hollow even in your own head. Just calm down.

In your room, you undressed methodically, peeling off layers that felt heavy with his memory. The air was cool against your skin, but even that wasn’t enough to erase the warmth of his hands, the way they’d lingered like he was afraid to let go. You closed your eyes and exhaled, but all you could see was Joel—his hesitant voice, his uncertain eyes, his body golden in the light spilling through the window.

His gaze lifted to meet yours, and the intensity in his eyes was like a physical touch, hot and almost unbearable. “It’s not my case at all,” he said, his voice quiet but heavy with emotion. “Not a single day has gone by where I haven’t missed you. Do you have any idea how empty this house feels without you? How empty my life feels?”

He had looked at you like he was waiting for something—waiting for you to leave, maybe. Like he’d already braced himself for the sight of you walking away again. And yet, in his eyes, there had been something else too: fear. Like he wasn’t sure if he could handle it this time.

Joel had hurt you in ways he would never fully understand. Ways you weren’t sure you could articulate, even if you wanted to. What had all of this been for? Why had he done it? Was it out of boredom, selfishness, some unspoken need you couldn’t possibly fulfill? He had a girlfriend. Sienna. He was still dating her, wasn’t he?

And then there was Clara. He’d made you believe there was something there, too. He’d admitted it outright—he’d used her. Said it with a kind of brutal honesty that had stung more than it soothed. The worst part was that you had valued his honesty, that it had felt like a gift even as it tore you apart. You knew him well enough to believe he hadn’t lied, not about that. His words had been sincere, and that sincerity only made it harder to bear.

The truth was a weight in your chest, heavy and immovable: one of the most important friendship of your life was gone, and it wasn’t coming back. Even if you and Joel managed to untangle yourselves from this mess, to salvage whatever was left, it wouldn’t matter. Nothing could undo what had happened. His kisses, his sharp words, the way his touch had lingered—they had left marks you couldn’t erase, scars you weren’t sure you wanted to hide.

You stepped into the bathroom, shedding your clothes in silence. The room was cold, the tiles biting at your feet as you turned on the shower. The water sputtered, then poured hot and steady, and you stepped under it, letting the heat soak into your skin. You closed your eyes and tilted your head back, imagining the water washing him off of you, carrying away his touch, his scent, the ghost of his hands.

But it wasn’t that simple.

*

Later, cocooned in a pile of warm blankets on the couch, you finally began to feel your body relax. The ache in your muscles started to fade, but Joel was still there, present. You felt him in the tender bruises on your hips, where his fingers had gripped you too tightly, as if holding on for dear life. You felt him in the hollow ache inside you, the space he seemed to occupy without even trying.

For a moment, you thought you could smell him on your skin—a faint trace of cedar and salt, something earthy and him—but you shook the thought away. It was impossible. Wasn’t it?

You pressed your head deeper into the couch cushions and closed your eyes, forcing yourself to focus on sleep, on anything but the way he had looked at you tonight.

Your body was still. Your mind was anything but.

*

When you woke, your back ached in protest, the sharp pull of poorly positioned sleep making you wince. The dry taste in your mouth felt like a rebuke, and your eyes were heavy with the kind of exhaustion that lingers even after hours of rest. A dull headache crept in as you pushed yourself upright, the blankets slipping off your shoulders.

The clock on the small side table blinked at you from under the soft glow of the lamp you’d just switched on. 9:23 PM. You’d been asleep for nearly three hours.

You groaned softly, rubbing at your lower back with one hand as you stood, catching a glimpse of yourself in the living room mirror. Your reflection stared back at you, disheveled and weary. Puffy eyes, tangled hair, pajamas that had twisted in your sleep. You looked like the physical embodiment of a bad day. God, you needed a break.

Your thoughts drifted to Cassie, miles away in Rome, likely fast asleep in the early morning hours. Even if she were awake, you weren’t sure you could unload everything on her tonight. You made a mental note to call her tomorrow, when the guilt and exhaustion felt less immediate.

The kitchen was cold and quiet as you opened the fridge, hoping for something—anything—that might resemble comfort. But of course, there was nothing. The emptiness on the shelves felt like a metaphor you didn’t want to unpack. You sighed and shut the door, leaning against it for a moment.

It was times like these when you missed your mother most, her gentle hands brushing your hair back, the way she’d kiss your temple and tell you it would be okay. Living alone meant there was no one to do that for you. No one to soften the edges of your sadness. You had to pick yourself up, take care of yourself, even when it felt impossible.

There had been a time when Joel was that person. And Sarah, with her quick wit and bright smile, had been the distraction you needed. But not anymore. You couldn’t lean on them now. Not after everything. You owed Sarah a make-up evening, though. The memory of her hopeful face when she’d invited you to dinner today made the guilt twist in your chest. Tomorrow, you promised yourself. You’d make it up to her tomorrow.

Resigned, you tied your hair into a loose bun and started chopping vegetables for a salad. The repetitive motion was grounding, if nothing else, but it didn’t stop your thoughts from drifting to darker places. When your phone buzzed on the couch, the sound startled you.

You washed your hands quickly, drying them on your t-shirt as you hurried to pick up the call. Travis’s name lit up the screen, and for a second, you hesitated.

Your chest tightened as guilt surged through you. Ignoring the call wasn’t an option; Travis didn’t deserve that. You swiped to answer, your voice coming out softer than you intended.

“Hello?”

He said your name with a kind of warmth that made you pause, like he’d been waiting to hear you for hours.

“Good to find you awake,” he said, his voice gentle but edged with something unsure. “I felt bad leaving your house earlier without saying goodbye properly.”

“You left a note,” you reminded him, sitting back down on the couch and pressing a hand to your forehead. “It’s fine, really.”

“Still,” he said, a faint sigh on the other end. “It felt… a little abrupt. Evasive, maybe?”

You hummed in agreement, not trusting yourself to say more.

“Is everything okay?” he asked, concern creeping into his tone. “You sound… off.”

You pulled the phone away from your ear, covering the microphone as you exhaled shakily. He was right. You did sound off. You felt off. Lately, you felt like you were failing everyone, yourself included.

You and Travis weren’t serious. Nothing had ever been defined. But he’d been kind, patient, more understanding than you probably deserved. And you cared for him, in your way. He’d even told you earlier that he’d wait, that you could take the time you needed to sort things out with Joel. And yet here you were, complicating things further by falling back into Joel’s orbit.

“I think I’m getting sick,” you lied, your voice too even, too practiced. The guilt made your stomach twist.

“Still feeling that hangover, huh?” he teased gently, his laugh light and familiar.

“Probably,” you said, smiling faintly at the memory of last night—his exaggerated grimace as he’d crouched over the toilet, the surreal shade of blue in the bowl.

“Well,” he said after a pause, his tone softening, “tell me you haven’t eaten yet.”

“I was… trying to make a salad or something,” you admitted, glancing at the half-chopped vegetables on the counter. “I don’t really feel like cooking.”

“Good,” he said, and you could hear the smile in his voice. “I was thinking about ordering pizza and bringing it over. If you’re up for some company, that is. No pressure. Just friends.”

His voice faltered slightly on the last words, and the sweetness of it made you ache.

You hesitated, but only for a moment. Turning him down would feel worse than whatever strange guilt was already weighing on you.

“I like pizza,” you said finally, a smile tugging at your lips. “Definitely better than salad.”

“Way better,” he agreed, laughing softly. “No offense to the salad—or the salad maker.”

You laughed despite yourself, the sound lighter than you’d expected. 

*

On the television screen, Vida Boheme radiated elegance, her black-and-white ensemble tailored perfectly, her nails immaculate, and the glint of her pearl necklace catching the soft light. The scene unfolded with Vida sitting at a table surrounded by the women of the village, Noxeema, and Chi Chi, all leaning in as if she were about to reveal a profound secret.

“You know what we should have?” Vida said, her voice lilting with certainty and charm.

The camera cut to Noxeema, dressed in a vibrant orange outfit, her expression deadpan, gesturing as though the answer was obvious.

“A day with the girls,” Noxeema declared, turning to the elderly woman beside her with a conspiratorial smile.

You smiled at the screen mid-bite, the warm glow of the TV casting soft shadows across the room. Turning to Travis, you shook your head, half-indignant, half-playful, a hint of laughter in your voice.

“I seriously can’t believe you’ve never seen this movie,” you said, your words slightly muffled by the bite of pizza still in your mouth. You quickly swallowed, grabbing your glass of soda for a sip before continuing. “Cassie and I used to watch this one all the time. This or Riding in Cars with Boys. Classic.”

Travis, lounging beside you with his socked feet propped up on the coffee table, gave a casual shrug, glancing at you with a smirk. “Wait, you mean the Drew Barrymore one?”

“Obviously,” you replied, rolling your eyes and nudging him with your elbow. “Please tell me you’ve at least seen that one.”

He grinned, as if sensing the trap you’d set for him. “I have,” he said slowly, the corners of his mouth twitching. Then he dropped the bomb. “But it’s kind of a downer, don’t you think?”

You froze mid-reach for another slice of pizza, your head snapping toward him. “A downer?” you repeated, your voice laced with disbelief. Your eyes narrowed as though he’d just insulted your favorite family member. “Are we talking about the same movie?”

Travis held up his hands defensively, his expression a mix of sheepishness and amusement. “Hey, don’t look at me like that. I didn’t say it was bad! Just… I don’t know, it bums me out.”

He paused to finish chewing a bite of pizza, clearly weighing how to explain himself. You leaned back, arms crossed, waiting.

“Okay, hear me out,” he said finally, his tone quieter now. He shifted slightly, sitting up straighter. “The first time I saw it, I was twenty. It was right after my dad passed away.” He hesitated, glancing down at the pizza in his hand. “Not that I was close to him or anything. Honestly, I barely knew the guy. But my mom… she was wrecked. And watching that movie, seeing all the family stuff, all the pain... It just hit a little too close to home.”

His words hung in the air between you, the weight of them settling quietly in the space you shared. You studied him for a moment, caught off guard by the sudden honesty that had slipped into the conversation. It wasn’t the direction you’d expected things to take, but there was a kind of openness in him now that you couldn’t help but appreciate.

“I had no idea, Trav,” you said softly, your voice gentle as you shifted on the couch to face him more fully. “That makes so much sense.”

He nodded, the corners of his mouth twitching upward in a small, self-conscious smile. He seemed almost reluctant to hold your gaze, his fingers idly picking at the edge of the pizza crust in his hand.

“Yeah, well…” he started, his tone lighter now, as if shaking off the vulnerability he’d just shared. “That aside, you gotta admit—the movie’s kinda heavy. All that stuff with the dad? It just plain turns my stomach.”

“With her son’s dad or her dad?” you asked, leaning forward slightly, curiosity getting the better of you.

“Oh, Lord, her dad,” he groaned, throwing his head back against the couch as if even the memory of the plot exhausted him. “I’d almost forgot ‘bout him. But yeah, both, I reckon. Still, her son’s dad takes the cake. What a piece of work.”

You laughed lightly, the sound bubbling up as you thought back to the first time you’d seen the movie. “I watched it for the first time when I was ten,” you told him, your grin widening as the memory surfaced. “And I’m not kidding when I say it terrified me. I was so scared of getting pregnant as a teenager that I wouldn’t even let my first boyfriend hold my hand.”

Travis let out a warm chuckle, the sound drawing a smile to your lips. He tilted his head toward you, his hazel eyes glinting with mischief. “I hate to be the one to break it to you, but I’m pretty sure that ain’t how babies happen.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you felt your cheeks flush. “Hey, I was young and ridiculously innocent,” you shot back, holding your hands up in mock defense. “It didn’t matter anyway. The poor guy dumped me before I could even think about trying it.”

Travis laughed again, a deeper, more genuine laugh that sent a pleasant warmth spreading through you. The way his face softened when he laughed, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners, it tugged at something deep inside you. You found yourself watching him for a beat too long, taking in the quiet tenderness in his expression. There was something different about him tonight—something that felt steady, comforting.

On the television, the women of the village were parading in colorful dresses, their laughter and movements filling the screen with life. Stockard Channing’s character stepped into the frame in a stunning red gown, her hair slicked back, adorned with a sparkling appliqué.

Travis gestured toward the screen with his pizza slice, his voice pulling your attention back to him. “Now, that’s somethin’. She’s got, what, maybe ten minutes of screen time? And she just about steals the whole dang movie. I like Vida too. Amazing."

You smiled at his observation, appreciating the way he could shift gears so seamlessly, from quiet reflection to casual banter. “Right? She’s iconic. Cassie and I used to try to copy her attitude, but, uh, let’s just say it didn’t land.”

Travis raised an eyebrow, his grin crooked. “You? Tryin’ to act all high-and-mighty like that? I’d pay good money to see it.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing softly as you reached for another slice of pizza. “Let’s just say I wasn’t exactly convincing. Cassie, on the other hand… she nailed it. She had the whole icy glare thing down.”

Travis chuckled, leaning back into the couch with an easy smile. “I can’t picture you doin’ icy. You’re too warm for that.”

His words caught you off guard, and for a moment, you weren’t sure how to respond. There was something so matter-of-fact in the way he said it, like it wasn’t a compliment so much as a simple truth.

“Well,” you said after a pause, your voice quieter now, “I guess I’ll just have to stick to being me.”

“Can’t imagine that’s a bad thing,” Travis said, his soft tone softening the edges of his words. He glanced over at you, his gaze warm, steady. 

The moment passed as quickly as it had come, and Travis broke eye contact, reaching for another slice of pizza, and you shifted your attention back to the movie.

“Back up, Virgil,” Carol Ann said, her voice firm, her gaze unwavering as she confronted her husband. “I’m a drag queen.”

Virgil, the abusive husband, looked at her surprised.

“Stupid fucker,” Travis muttered under his breath, the words slipping out almost by accident.

You couldn’t help it—you burst out laughing, the sound startling in the quiet room. His comment felt so unfiltered, so distinctly him.

The clock on the wall read almost 11 PM, and as the minutes stretched on, you felt the weight of the day settling over you. Your body ached for rest, your eyelids heavy as you stretched your arms above your head.

Leaning back against the couch, you let your head tilt, the soft warmth of Travis’s shoulder inviting as your body gave in to its exhaustion. He didn’t seem to mind, adjusting slightly to make your position more comfortable.

On screen, the movie carried on, but the details blurred as sleep began to pull at you. For a moment, the day’s worries faded, replaced by the quiet hum of the TV, the soft sound of Travis’s breath, and the steady rhythm of your own heart.

For Travis, this was just as complicated as it was for you—maybe even more so in certain ways. He liked you too much, too deeply for how short a time you’d been together. He’d grown accustomed to the way your presence softened the sharp edges of his days, to the ease of your laughter and the subtle ways you tried to hide how much you cared. He’d started to imagine a version of his life with you in it, a version that didn’t feel as far-fetched as it probably should have.

But Joel.

Joel was the immovable obstacle, the thing he could never quite get around. Not because of just jealousy—although there was a trace of that too—but because Travis knew that whatever existed between you and Joel, it was bigger than him. It was bigger than you, even. And he knew, with a sinking kind of certainty, that no matter what he did, no matter how patient or kind or present he tried to be, he would always be standing in Joel’s shadow.

What made it worse, though, was that he accepted it. He wasn’t proud of that, but he had made his peace with it, or at least he thought he had. If being with you meant living with the ghost of your best friend, then fine. He’d find a way to make it work. And if you decided you couldn’t be with him at all—if all you could offer was friendship—then he’d take that too. Hell, he’d even try to like Joel, which would be an uphill battle considering the guy had never mattered much to him before.

Travis dropped his gaze to you, watching in silence for a moment.

He had noticed right away that you’d been crying—your eyes were still a little red, the skin beneath them slightly swollen despite your attempts to hide it. Whatever had happened earlier, he knew it had nothing to do with him and everything to do with Joel.

But he didn’t ask. He wouldn’t.

He had promised you time, space, no pressure. And Travis was a man of his word, even if it hurt to keep it.

Still, the thought of Joel had his jaw tightening. For a guy who usually avoided conflict, the idea of punching Joel square in the face had crossed his mind more than once since you’d told him everything. How could Joel have done that to you? How could he have looked at you—you—and treated you with so little care?

Travis didn’t understand.

He knew Joel was stubborn, strong-willed, the kind of guy who seemed charming and generous until the moment he decided otherwise. Joel could be kind, sure. He could be thoughtful, maybe even sweet when he wanted to be. But he could also be cold, sharp-edged, someone who wielded his words like weapons.

“I don’t think that’s true.” His voice was calm, steady, as if he’d already thought this through. “I think Joel has... feelings for you. And I think it scares him so much he doesn’t know what to do with it. That’s why he’s defensive. That’s why he can’t stand me. That’s why he kept watching us at the barbecue like I was committing some kind of crime.”

“Travis—”

You had looked at him then, your expression unreadable, and Travis had felt a small, selfish flicker of hope. You didn't seem to believe him.

Maybe you wouldn’t go back to Joel. Maybe you’d leave him behind for good this time.

He hated himself for thinking it—for the way relief had bubbled up in the pit of his stomach even as you wiped at your eyes, trying to keep your composure. It wasn’t fair to you, and it wasn’t the kind of man Travis wanted to be, but the truth of it was there all the same.

Because as much as he wanted to be the one you chose, he wanted you to be okay even more. And he meant it. Even if it made him feel pathetic. Even if it meant giving up the small, selfish hope he’d been holding onto.

When Travis left your house earlier that day, he entered his own feeling like his chest was a tightly wound spring about to snap. His emotions churned in ways he hadn’t anticipated. First, there was confusion—a sharp, disorienting kind of bewilderment. He hadn’t planned on feeling so strongly about you. He had always liked you, sure, but he never expected it to grow into this. This sharp, aching attachment that felt impossible to let go of. Losing the possibility of discovering what you could be together felt like a quiet kind of devastation, one he wasn’t entirely ready to admit to himself.  

And then there was jealousy.  

Jealousy that burned hot and ugly, coiling itself tightly around his insides until it became hard to breathe. The thought of Joel—his presence, his history with you—sliced through him in a way he couldn’t rationalize. All the interactions he’d had with Joel over the last few weeks replayed in his mind on an endless loop. The veiled comments, the pointed jabs, the little ways Joel had gone out of his way to provoke him, to make him feel small.  

The worst part was the anger that followed. Not just at Joel but at himself. For not saying something. For not standing up for himself, for you, for whatever it was that had been building between the two of you. He should have fired back. He should have said something—anything—to cut Joel down to size. But he hadn’t. He’d swallowed the insults, keeping his composure because that was what he did. Because that was who he was.  

By the time he made it to his bedroom, Travis felt drained. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to force the tension out of his shoulders. Getting angry wasn’t worth it, he reminded himself, pacing the length of the room as if he could walk off the weight of his emotions. This wasn’t his fight to have; it was yours. Yours and Joel’s.  

Still, the thought brought him little comfort.  

In an effort to shake off the heaviness in his chest, he went for a walk, letting the brisk evening air sting his face. Later, he stood under the scalding spray of the shower, letting it beat against his skin as if it could scrub away the swirling thoughts that had taken up permanent residence in his mind. By the time he reached for his phone, hoping for a reply from you, the ache in his chest had dulled but hadn’t disappeared entirely.  

Hours later, as your soft breaths fell against his shoulder, Travis felt the tension ease slightly. You were asleep, completely at peace, and he was struck by how delicate you seemed in that moment. How your face, so often animated with sharp wit or quiet determination, had softened in sleep. He thought briefly about staying like that all night, letting you rest against him, but the ache in his neck was becoming impossible to ignore.  

Just as he was trying to figure out how to move without waking you, there was a knock at the door. Three sharp, deliberate raps that shattered the quiet of the room.  

You didn’t stir, not even a little. Travis glanced down at you, then gently slipped out from under your weight, careful to cover you with the blanket you’d neatly folded on the other couch earlier that day.  

The hallway felt darker than it had before as he made his way to the door, his mind spinning. Should he wake you up? Probably. He hesitated, hand hovering over the doorknob. Was opening the door himself crossing a line? Maybe. But before he could talk himself out of it, he tugged the door open.  

And there, standing on your doorstep, was Joel.  

For a split second, Joel’s expression betrayed him. His eyebrows lifted, eyes widening slightly as if he hadn’t been expecting Travis to answer the door. The surprise vanished almost as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by something steadier, harder. His gaze flicked past Travis, scanning the interior of the house before landing back on him.  

Travis could feel the storm brewing inside him again, all the resentment and frustration he’d tried to let go of earlier crashing back in full force.  

Joel didn’t say anything at first. Neither did Travis. The two men stood there, the silence between them thick and unyielding, charged with everything they weren’t saying.  

Travis clenched his jaw, forcing himself to stay calm. He wasn’t going to let Joel get under his skin—not again. Whatever reason Joel had for being here, it wasn’t his business. Not really.  

"Travis," Joel said, his voice firm and clipped, the kind of tone that brooked no argument. "Can you call—"

"Joel," Travis interrupted, his tone sharp but with a thin veil of politeness that neither man believed. "How's it going?"

Joel’s jaw tightened, the movement barely perceptible. If Travis hadn’t been watching so intently, he might have missed it.

"Fine," Joel replied, his impatience cracking through the surface of his calm demeanor. His dark eyes met Travis's with the kind of intensity that felt like a challenge. "I need to talk—"

"She can't right now," Travis interrupted again, his voice firmer this time, leaving no room for debate.

Joel’s eyebrows flicked upward, just a twitch, but enough to betray his irritation. His mind whirred, questions piling up faster than he could address them.

"Is she okay? Did something happen?" Joel asked, his voice low and measured, but laced with something more—an edge of concern that Travis couldn’t fully place.

Travis leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms as though settling into the moment. "Oh, she’s fine," he said, feigning nonchalance. "She just had a long day. A really long day." He tilted his head, letting the words linger. "She’s sleeping now. Needed it."

The knot in Joel’s stomach tightened, a slow burn starting to spread through his chest. Something about Travis’s tone—the deliberate drawl, the smug edge—rubbed him raw. "Was she upset about something?"

"You could say that," Travis replied, completely unaware of Joel's concerns, shrugging as though the details were inconsequential. "She was wound up earlier, but I helped her relax."

Joel’s eyes narrowed, his gaze cutting through the smugness Travis wore like armor.

"You helped her relax," Joel repeated, his voice low and dangerous.

"Yeah," Travis said, straightening a little, his smile sharpening. "She needed someone to be there for her. Lucky for me, I was."

Joel’s nostrils flared, his composure cracking slightly. "What are you trying to say, Dunn?"

"Nothing at all," Travis said, his smile widening. "You know how it is. Just statin’ the obvious, you know? Folks like us—we step up when someone needs us. You’d do the same thing, wouldn’t you?”

The words hit Joel like a punch to the gut, an unanticipated blow that left him reeling. A knot began to form in his stomach, twisting tighter with each second of silence.

He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he stood there, looking at Travis, digesting the words as if they were a meal gone bad. His face felt hot, his pulse heavy in his ears.

"Anyway," Travis continued, his tone light but with an edge of something smug, "it's kind of late, isn't it? She had a long day. Poor thing was so tired she fell asleep on me and everything." He smiled, leaning against the doorframe like he didn’t have a care in the world.

It was a deliberate smile, one Joel recognized instantly for what it was: a taunt.

If this conversation had been happening under different circumstances, Joel might have enjoyed hearing such words. Might have smirked at the irony of some guy bragging about holding his girl, oblivious to the fact that she'd been in Joel’s arms earlier that day. But now, standing there on your porch, the words felt like nails in his chest, sharp and unbearable.

“I see,” Joel said finally, his voice tight, each word sounding like it had been carefully measured before leaving his mouth. His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his gaze flickering to the floor for just a second before snapping back up. His eyes locked on Travis with an intensity that couldn’t be ignored. “I just think it’s a little strange, that’s all. You answerin’ her door like that.” His tone shifted, gaining a sharpness that hadn’t been there before. “Pretty sure she needs to talk to me too, don’t you think?”

Travis chuckled softly, the sound low and disarming, though his smile didn’t reach his eyes. "Why? Did something happen?"

Joel straightened, squaring his shoulders as he inhaled slowly. The action made him seem bigger somehow, more imposing, as if the weight of his presence alone could force Travis to back down.

"None of your business, Dunn," Joel said, his voice gravelly, the words biting.

"Maybe. But today she told me she wasn’t sure she wanted to see you," Travis added, his voice quieter now but no less pointed. "She seemed pretty certain about it. Said she wanted space, and honestly?" He tilted his head, his expression almost pitying. "I think that’s a good call."

Joel stepped forward, his body tense. "You don’t know a damn thing about what’s between us," he said, his voice low and gravelly.

Travis didn’t flinch. If anything, his smirk deepened. "Yeah, maybe," he said, his voice light. "But I know what she wants. And tonight? Certainly not you."

The words hit their mark. Joel flinched, barely, but it was enough for Travis to see. Enough for Travis to know he had scored a point in whatever unspoken battle they were waging.

Joel’s lips pressed into a thin line, his jaw tightening as he fought to keep his composure.

"Again, none of your damn business," he said, his voice dropping low, rough with frustration. He stepped forward, just an inch, but the movement carried weight.

Travis met Joel’s gaze head-on, his jaw clenched, his body tense. For a brief moment, he considered saying more—letting loose all the things he’d held back in the past. But something in Joel’s expression stopped him. Something raw and heavy, something that mirrored the storm Travis had felt earlier that day.

"Sure," Travis said, raising his hands in mock surrender. "None of my business. But hey, I’ll let her know you stopped by."

Joel let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head as he took a step back. "Right," he muttered, his voice laced with derision. "Don’t bother. No need."

He lingered for a moment longer, his gaze fixed on Travis, a mixture of disdain and something else—something softer, almost mournful—flickering behind his eyes. Then, without another word, he turned and walked off the porch, his steps quick and purposeful.

Inside, Travis closed the door with a quiet sigh. Leaning against the door for a moment, he let his head fall back, staring up at the ceiling as he tried to shake off the lingering tension. It had been childish, he knew that. But Joel had treated him like this before, made him feel small and insignificant, and for once, Travis had enjoyed turning the tables.

He moved quietly down the hallway, stopping briefly in the bathroom before returning to the living room. You were still lying on the couch, curled under the blanket he’d placed over you earlier. Your face was soft in sleep, peaceful, and he felt a pang of something he couldn’t quite name as he looked at you.

Instead of heading to the guest room or leaving altogether, Travis grabbed the remote and settled onto the other end of the couch, careful not to disturb you. He flipped through the channels aimlessly, the soft glow of the TV casting flickering light across the room.

This time, he wouldn’t leave. He wouldn’t scribble out a note or disappear before you woke up. Tonight, he’d stay.

*

Travis leaned against the kitchen island, watching you with quiet amusement as you poured sugar into your coffee cup. The soft hum of the morning settled around you, the slow ache in your back from sleeping on the couch a reminder of how little sleep you'd gotten. You glanced over at him—he was still there, still here, though you hadn't expected him to stay the night. His presence surprised you, though there was a comforting weight in it, one you hadn’t quite prepared for.

The coffee, when you finally tasted it, was perfect—rich, balanced, like it knew exactly what you needed to start the day. You closed your eyes briefly as the warmth spread, savoring the sensation. Travis chuckled softly from behind you. "Is it good?"

You smiled to yourself, the corner of your lips curving slightly. "Like you have no idea," you teased, letting the moment stretch just a little longer before breaking it.

“Well, let’s do this again sometime," he said, pushing himself off the stool. He straightened his coat with an exaggerated gesture, his voice light, almost playful. "Smells good.”

You didn’t respond immediately, just took another sip of coffee and turned to the toaster, waiting for the bread to pop. The quiet felt like a small luxury, one you weren't used to, but savored nonetheless. 

“Well, I’m off,” Travis said, his footsteps echoing faintly as he moved toward the door. "I’ll see you later, okay?"

You glanced over your shoulder, the cup still cradled in your hands. "Sure, I’ll text you," you said, as his lips brushed against your cheek in a quick, lingering kiss. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

His eyes softened for a moment, a promise without words. “Of course,” he said, and then he was gone, the door closing quietly behind him.

Alone, you turned and reached for your phone, which sat untouched on the coffee table. It had been the first thing you'd done when you woke up—texting Cassie. Her response had been as you expected: she was home, curled up in bed, eating ice cream and watching TV. It was 4 pm in Rome.

“Aw, look at you,” Cassie cooed, her smile lighting up the screen. She tilted her head, examining you with playful scrutiny. “How cute do you look this morning? How’d you sleep?”

You exhaled slowly, leaning back in your chair as you tried to find the words to describe the chaotic whirlwind of emotions you’d woken up with. “It was... okay,” you said finally, your voice hesitant. You paused for a moment before adding, “Travis came over last night.”

Cassie’s eyebrows shot up, and her face practically filled the screen as she leaned closer to her phone. “Ooooh, Travis,” she teased, dragging out his name with a knowing grin. “Well, well, well. Did something finally happen? Don’t leave me hanging.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, albeit nervously, as you reached for your coffee mug. The warmth of the ceramic grounded you, but the bitterness of the coffee didn’t do much to mask the knot tightening in your chest. “No, nothing like that,” you said after a sip, shaking your head as you spoke. “In fact, I don’t think anything is ever going to happen between us.”

Cassie’s playful expression faltered, replaced by a look of concern. Her brow furrowed, and she tilted her head slightly. “Wait, what? Why not? Did he do something?” Her tone softened, but her curiosity didn’t waver. “C’mon, tell me.”

You hesitated, staring into your coffee as if the swirling liquid might somehow hold the answer. The truth had been sitting heavily on your chest all morning, and you knew you couldn’t keep it in much longer. “He didn’t do anything wrong,” you said finally, your voice quieter now, almost apologetic. “It’s just... I—”

Cassie leaned in closer, her eyes wide with anticipation. “You what?”

The weight of what you were about to say made your chest tighten. You hadn’t spoken it aloud yet, and the words felt sharp and foreign on your tongue. But there was no other way to get it out than to just... say it.

“I slept with Joel.” The words tumbled out in a rush, and the moment they left your mouth, your heart started pounding like it was trying to break free.

Cassie froze, her jaw dropping as her eyes went wide with shock. For a moment, she just stared at you, her face a mix of disbelief and intrigue. “Wait, wait, wait. What?! When?!”

You swallowed hard, your hands trembling as you set your mug down. “Yesterday,” you admitted in a whisper, avoiding her gaze. “And, um... on his birthday.”

Cassie’s mouth fell open even wider, her hands flying to her face. “No. You are not serious right now.”

“I am,” you said, sighing as you ran a hand through your hair. “It just... happened. I don’t even know how to explain it, Cassie. I should’ve told you sooner, but... everything’s just been so complicated.”

She leaned back, shaking her head slowly as if trying to process the bomb you’d just dropped. Then, without warning, her face lit up with wild excitement.

“Oh my God,” she gasped, her voice rising a few octaves. “I knew this was gonna happen! I totally knew it! Tommy and I used to joke about it all the time—like, ‘When are they gonna stop being so stubborn and finally admit it?’”

You blinked, looking at her with a mix of confusion and amusement. “Wait—What? You guys were talking about us? What, like a whole secret conspiracy or something?”

Cassie burst out laughing, her grin widening. “Oh, honey, it was not a secret. Tommy was basically on a countdown. We’d be sitting there, sipping our beers, and he’d go, ‘Any day now, he’ll cave. We just need to wait for the stars to align.’”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the absurdity of it all making your head spin.

“I’m over here thinking I’ve been doing a pretty good job at keeping my feelings in check, and meanwhile, Tommy’s plotting my love life like some kind of matchmaking genius?”

Cassie shot you a teasing look. “Oh, he’s not a genius. More like an overenthusiastic amateur. But he’s not wrong, was he?”

You rolled your eyes, trying not to laugh. “This is ridiculous.”

It took a while for her to collect herself, but then she zeroed in on the more important question.

“How was it? Does Travis know?”

“Yeah, he knows... about the first time,” you said, a sigh escaping your lips as you rubbed your forehead, exhausted. “I... Well, it wasn’t planned.”

Cassie raised an eyebrow, the hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “I assumed as much.”

You exhaled slowly, gathering your thoughts. "So, on his birthday... we had this massive argument," you started, your voice a little shaky as you remembered how everything had unfolded. "He’d been hiding this thing from me—he's been dating someone... Sienna, that's her name. He didn't tell me, not even once. I had to find out from Sarah." You paused, shaking your head in disbelief. "And then, he actually asked Tommy not to say anything. Can you even believe that? Like, really? I thought he trusted me."

Cassie’s face tightened as she processed your words, her lips pressing into a thin line.

"Shit," she muttered under her breath, the concern in her voice palpable. "What the hell is wrong with him? He couldn't even be honest with you?" Her gaze darkened slightly, her brow furrowing. "I swear, some people... men."

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head.

"Exactly. That's exactly how I felt. He didn’t even tell me, so I confronted him about it. And we fought—big time. He actually told me I was just jealous. Said he knew I had feelings for him, that I liked him. And I—I just snapped. I told him no, I didn’t. That he wasn’t my type. That we were just friends." You rubbed your temples, trying to remember how you felt in that moment. "I was so mad, Cassie. So pissed off that he’d kept something like that from me."

Cassie’s expression softened a little, though there was still a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“You totally hit his ego, didn’t you?” she said with a raised eyebrow, leaning forward slightly. "Come on, admit it. That had to have been part of it."

You couldn’t help but laugh awkwardly.

"Yeah, I guess I did," you admitted, rolling your eyes in a mix of embarrassment and frustration. "I didn’t mean to, but I couldn’t help myself. It just came out."

"Well, I’m sure it worked," Cassie mused, leaning back into her chair with a sigh. She paused, her lips curling up into a grin. "So, then... you kissed him, huh?"

You closed your eyes at the thought of it.

"I did," you said, your voice a little more distant as the memory replayed in your mind. "And it was... God, it was the best kiss I’ve ever had. No joke. The best." You let out a breath, feeling the weight of your words. "And the best sex too. Sorry, but it’s true."

Cassie gasped in dramatic disbelief, her hands flying to her face.

"Joel Miller," she whispered, almost in awe, shaking her head as if she couldn’t quite process it. "Who would've thought? You’re killin’ me here. This is too much."

You nodded slowly, still lost in the vividness of the moment.

"Yeah, but here’s the kicker," you continued, your voice quieter now, a trace of sadness creeping into your words. "When I woke up, he was gone. Just... gone. No note, nothing. It was like he’d disappeared into thin air. Then, when he came back to talk to me, he said it was a mistake. That we should never have crossed that line. And he... he looked at me like I was the one who’d messed everything up. Like I was the one to blame. And we fought again, Cassie. I don’t know what to do anymore. I just don’t."

You felt the weight of everything you’d said—the confusion, the regret, the pain—and let it hang in the air. Cassie sat silently, processing it all, her eyes soft but intense, focused on you as she tried to understand your tangled mess of emotions.

You didn’t realize how long you’d been talking until you finally took a breath (an hour, maybe?), looking up to find Cassie watching you with a quiet expression, her concern clearly etched in her features. You shifted uncomfortably.

"I don’t know what to do, Cass," you said, your voice small, the heaviness in your chest like a brick pressing down. "I feel like I’m losing my mind over all this. Like I’m... I don’t even know anymore."

Cassie stayed quiet for a moment, her eyes narrowing slightly as she processed everything you’d told her. Then she let out a soft sigh, sitting up straighter.

“Well,” she said, her tone calm but firm, “it’s pretty clear to me what’s going on.” Her voice softened just a little, but it was certain. "Do you want me to tell you what I think?"

You looked at her, the uncertainty swirling inside you, but you nodded, desperate for some clarity.

“Please,” you whispered, your voice filled with so much tension, you felt like you might snap.

Cassie didn’t hesitate. “You love him. And he loves you,” she said simply, her words hitting you like a wave. “It’s been obvious from the start, hasn’t it? You both tiptoe around it, but the signs are all there. I even asked him once, you know.”

You blinked, caught off guard. "You asked him?"

She nodded, her gaze unwavering. “Yeah. It was a while ago—on your birthday, I think, when you were turning... twenty-eight? I asked him straight out, just to see what he'd say. He denied it, of course. Told me he only saw you as a friend. But, honey, I saw through it. He was nervous as hell. You could practically see the feelings swimming under the surface. It was obvious.”

Your breath caught in your throat. "What do I do, Cass? What the hell am I supposed to do now?"

Cassie exhaled slowly, her expression softening as she looked at you with understanding.

“You need to stop running from it,” she said, her voice gentle but full of conviction. “You love him, and he loves you. If there’s nothing standing in your way, you’ve got to go for it. You can’t just keep pretending it isn’t there.”

You swallowed, your heart heavy in your chest. "But what about Travis? He’s... he’s... And Sienna, Joel doesn't even—"

“That woman he’s dating, Sienna, isn’t an obstacle, I mean, it's obviously not serious. He's just going to break up with her and that's it. And Travis, well, that isn’t serious either,” Cassie said, her voice firm with conviction. “So really, what’s stopping you from going to talk to Joel and figuring things out? Nothing. There’s absolutely nothing in your way. Besides, he told you himself, didn’t he? Yesterday, he admitted it—that he misses you, that he’s sorry, and that he feels terrible about everything. I’m not saying you need to forgive him right away or pretend that everything is fine, but—come on, in my opinion, he deserves a chance to show you how sorry he is.”

You shifted uncomfortably, the idea of confronting Joel still sitting heavy in your stomach.

"This makes me nervous," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

"What?" Cassie asked, her voice tinged with concern.

"Talking to him... I don't know, God, it makes me nauseous just thinking about it," you admitted, your hands shaking slightly as you placed them in your lap. The thought of confronting Joel about everything, of peeling back all the layers of confusion and regret, felt like a weight that would crush you.

Cassie’s laughter was soft but genuine, amusement dancing in her voice as she took in your panicked expression.

“Easy,” she said, trying to soothe your nerves. “Just take it one step at a time. Talk to Joel first, then you can figure out what you’re going to do with Travis.”

You shook your head, the knot in your stomach tightening. “No, Cassie, I’m telling you, Joel never actually said he wanted to be with me. In fact, he was pretty clear that he was willing to accept Travis... and—” 

"Jesus Christ," Cassie cut you off, her voice rising with frustration. She leaned in, her eyes narrowing as she locked onto you, as if trying to break through your fog of doubt. "Are you even listening to yourself right now?" she asked, her tone a mix of exasperation and impatience. "He told you that because he’s terrified, okay? He’s scared of what might happen between you two, but trust me, he wants you. Deep down, he’s desperate to be close to you again. He said all that because he wants to convince you, but it's clear as day. He’s not trying to shut you out; he's trying to gain you back. He needs you, and you need him. That’s the truth." 

She let out a breath, her face softening for a second. "You need to stop overthinking everything and just see it for what it is. Trust me."

You exhaled slowly, trying to process her words, but the doubt still clouded your mind.

“Okay, I trust you, Cass, I do, but... what if I go talk to him and he tells me that I’m wrong, that he doesn’t want anything, that I’ve misunderstood everything? What if it’s all just one big mistake on my part? I couldn’t stand the humiliation. I just couldn’t,” you said, your voice rising with the tension. “If that happens... I’ll move out. I’ll leave. I’m serious. I don’t think I could live with myself after that.”

Cassie groaned loudly, her frustration palpable. She covered her face with both hands, groaning again before dropping them dramatically. When she finally looked at you, her eyes were sharp, her gaze unwavering.

“You’re being way too dramatic,” she said, her voice tinged with exasperation. “That’s not going to happen. He’s not going to shut you down like that. But if you’re really that insecure about it, then just... take it slow. Go talk to him. See what he says. Don’t try to rush it, okay? You’ve already done the hardest part, just by being honest with yourself.”

You rubbed your eyes, a mix of frustration and exhaustion settling in.

“Okay,” you said after a long pause, your voice quieter. “I’ll do that. I wanted to invite Sarah over anyway, so I might as well start there. I’ll take it one step at a time.”

Cassie’s face softened with approval, her lips curving into a smile. “Sounds perfect to me. You’ll do fine.”

The conversation shifted then, easing into lighter topics as you both chatted aimlessly for the next couple of hours. It was around noon when Cassie started telling you about the small chaos in her life. She vented about a fight she’d gotten into with the guy who lived below her, the constant tension over thin apartment walls. Then, there was her boyfriend—how he’d been acting strange, how she’d found some unsettling things on his phone that made her question everything. You listened, nodding along as she vented her frustrations. 

Then, she shared something that took you by surprise.

“I really need to get away from Rome,” she confessed, her tone suddenly more serious. “I’m thinking about coming to Austin for a bit. A change of scenery... I just need a break from everything, from the stress. I need to recharge.”

You grinned at her, feeling a sense of relief and excitement bubble inside you. The idea of seeing her, of having her nearby again, was like a lifeline. You wanted her here, now more than ever. And you couldn’t help but celebrate inwardly that her need to escape Rome stemmed from conflict—something that meant you’d have her to yourself, even if just for a little while. 

At one o’clock in the afternoon, you heard the familiar rumble of Joel’s truck engine, a sound that seemed to make your heart skip a beat. You hurried over to the window, your pulse quickening as you pressed your hand against the cool glass, watching him. Joel’s truck backed out of the driveway, and there she was, Sarah—her smile wide and easy as she climbed into the passenger seat. They drove off together, the sound of the engine fading as they disappeared down the street.

You didn’t know why you felt the need to watch so closely. Maybe it was just to reassure yourself that he wasn’t avoiding you or that whatever had happened between you the night before wasn’t as messy as it seemed in your head. But there they were, together, and you couldn’t shake the knot tightening in your stomach.  

Half an hour later, the engine rumbled back into your consciousness. You pressed your ear to the window, straining to catch the sound of his truck once more. When you saw them return, your anxiety flared up again. They weren’t gone long, and that gnawing feeling of uncertainty crept back in, latching itself onto your chest. You knew what you had to do. You couldn’t wait any longer, or it would just get harder to face him. To face this. To face everything.

Taking a deep breath, you rushed upstairs. You threw on a thick white sweater over your T-shirt, pulling it down quickly over your hips, the fabric brushing against your skin. You stood in front of the mirror for a moment, running your fingers through your hair. It was wild, messy—just like everything else—but you managed to smooth it into something presentable. A little makeup, just enough to make you feel like you weren’t about to crack under the weight of this conversation. You didn’t want to look like you were out of control. You needed to feel in control.

When you went back downstairs, your heart raced, and a part of you wanted to turn back. To hide. To not deal with any of it. But then you remembered. He came looking for you yesterday, right? He wanted to talk, and he had been honest with you. You could do this. You just had to go to him. No more games, no more hesitation. You had to find out where you stood. You couldn’t keep putting it off, not without making everything feel even more tangled and complicated. 

The door swung open in front of you as if the universe was pushing you forward, or maybe it was just the weight of your own feet propelling you. The cool air slapped at your cheeks as you stepped outside, the breeze sharp against your skin. The sun, bright but low, kissed your face in a way that should’ve been comforting, but instead, it made everything feel more vivid. You walked quickly, every step pulsing with nervous energy, your body moving faster than your thoughts.

When you reached Joel’s door, you stopped for a moment, staring at the old, worn wood. Your fist trembled as it hovered over the surface, then you knocked, three quick, tentative raps. 

Silence stretched for a few seconds—seconds that felt like hours. You almost knocked again, your resolve faltering, but just as your fist was about to make contact, the door opened. 

There he was. Joel. 

His figure filled the doorway, leaning slightly, the faintest hint of exhaustion in his eyes. He was dressed simply—black pants, a black long-sleeved T-shirt, Converse shoes. Casual, effortless. His hair was the usual mess, tousled and rebellious, little spikes jutting out as if the world had no business asking him to tame it. It should have been familiar, comforting, but something about the way he stood there, looking at you—neutral, unreadable—shifted the air around you. 

Your heart stuttered. His eyes weren’t soft like they had been the night before. They were guarded, intense, fixed on your face, as though he were waiting for you to speak first. There was something in that expression, something you couldn’t quite place. Maybe it was the uncertainty or the confusion or the way his jaw was set, like he was preparing for whatever was about to happen. 

"Hi, Joel," you said, your voice barely above a whisper, and you could feel the warmth creeping up your neck, flooding your cheeks. It was ridiculous, how shy you suddenly felt in front of him, but you couldn’t help it. "How are you?"

He let out a sharp sigh, as if the sound itself was an effort, and his gaze shifted past you, looking out into the distance like something on the other side of the street had become suddenly fascinating. His eyes briefly flickered back to you, and for a split second, they dropped to your neck, then to your lips—lingering there a moment too long before quickly darting back to your face, as if he was consciously avoiding something. A pang of disappointment struck you, sharp and immediate. You swallowed, your pulse quickening, suddenly aware of the closeness between you both. You just wanted him to look at you the way he used to, to see something familiar in his eyes again.

"I'm kinda busy, actually," Joel muttered, his voice colder than you'd ever heard it, the words clipped and distant.

“Oh… what are you doing?” You asked before you could stop yourself, your curiosity slipping out before your thoughts could catch up.

Joel shifted his weight against the doorframe, making the subtle move of pulling himself back, like he was creating even more space between you. His eyes flicked to you, briefly scanning you from head to toe, before he looked away again, almost as if the idea of meeting your gaze was something he wanted to avoid.

"Need somethin'?" he asked, his tone flat, almost uninterested.

The words hit you like a slap. The detachment in his voice was like ice water thrown in your face, and the coldness of it left you reeling. You felt a tightness in your stomach, your heart stuttering in your chest, as you tried to steady yourself. Something had shifted—something was off, and you could feel it, heavy in the air between you.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do," you said, shifting nervously on your feet. Your voice was quiet, but firm, the question you’d been holding back finally slipping out. “Can we talk about what happened?”

He raised an eyebrow, his face unreadable, cold.

"What for?" he asked, his voice clipped, hard. His gaze flickered over you again, and it almost felt like he was sizing you up—like you were nothing more than an inconvenience to him. 

You stood there, completely thrown off by his coldness, the harshness of his words catching you off guard.

“What for?" you repeated, your voice softer now, almost vulnerable. "Well, to… to clear the air, Joel,” you added, the words barely coming out, as though saying them made the weight of the situation even heavier.

Joel shifted, crossing his arms tightly over his chest, his posture defensive. His eyes roamed over you briefly, then locked onto your face. The movement was so subtle, but it felt like a barrier being put up between you both. Your chest tightened as his presence seemed to grow colder, more distant. You felt a knot twist deeper in your stomach.

“There’s nothing to clear up,” Joel said, his voice now cutting through the silence, blunt and sharp. 

You inhaled sharply, a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, and you took a small step forward, your body moving without thinking. But even as you did, you could feel it—the growing chasm between you, the space he’d created between you that seemed impossible to cross. His arms remained firmly crossed, his body language locked tight. 

"What's wrong with you?" you asked, your voice softer now, laced with confusion and hurt. You could feel your heart aching, the raw emotion creeping into your words despite yourself. “Why are you acting like this?”

Joel’s jaw clenched, and for a moment, he looked away, the tension in his face so palpable that it almost felt like a physical barrier between you. His eyes darted to the side, catching the fading light of the afternoon, and his profile was so perfect, so effortless in its intensity, that it made your chest ache with something you couldn’t name. He didn’t have to look so goddamn beautiful when he was angry, when he was pulling away like this.

“I ain’t actin’ in any way,” he finally muttered, his voice low, rough, and weary. It was as if the words didn’t even belong to him, like they were just something he was forced to say. “I’m just tellin’ you that you and I ain’t got nothin’ to talk about.”

The words hit you like a slap. The frustration bubbled up from your chest, burning in your throat, and you couldn’t hold it in anymore. You exhaled sharply, trying to control the tremble in your voice.

“God, Joel,” you muttered, your words heavy with exasperation, frustration, and the kind of confusion that felt like it was cracking your heart open. “Why do you always do that? What the hell happened yesterday? What the fuck is wrong with you? Can you just stop confusing me for one damn second?”

Joel scoffed, the sound like a knife scraping against stone, a sharp, sarcastic laugh that didn’t even reach his eyes. He turned his head, looking past you, anywhere but at you, as if trying to escape the weight of the moment, as if you were somehow the one making this harder than it had to be.

You stood there, watching him, your heart racing in your chest, trying to understand what was going on in his mind. But the more you tried, the more it felt like the pieces just wouldn’t fit. When he finally looked back at you, there was something in his expression—a cold amusement, a bitterness that didn’t belong. It made the pit in your stomach twist painfully.

“I confuse you?” he asked, his voice now laced with amusement, as he pointed at your chest with his index finger. His eyes glinted, but the expression didn’t reach his face, not really.

You crossed your arms, mimicking his stance, as if somehow it would make you feel less vulnerable.

“Yes, Joel, you confuse me.”

He shook his head slowly, still smiling that bitter little smile.

“I’m done with this conversation, darlin’,” he said, his voice colder now. “And with all of this.”

Frustration bubbled up again, and you took a step back, feeling the familiar sting of unshed tears behind your eyes. You tried to hold it together, but the pressure in your chest was too much.

“What the fuck is wrong with your head, Joel?” you asked, quieter now, but the words still packed a punch. “Seriously, because it’s not normal to act this way.”

He didn’t answer. He just stared at you, that same unreadable expression on his face, the silence stretching between you like a thick wall.

“Can you say something, at least?” you asked, the words slipping out before you could stop them, desperate for something, anything, to break through.

“I think I was pretty clear,” he said after a long pause, his voice clipped. “I’m done with this conversation.”

You laughed, incredulous, the sound bitter on your tongue. “It’s ridiculous,” you muttered to yourself.

Joel’s gaze turned hard again, like stone.

“And if I recall correctly,” he continued, “I expressed myself quite well yesterday. I don’t intend to waste breath repeating somethin' that serves no purpose.”

You stared at him, stunned, the realization sinking in.

“You’re mad because I didn’t come to dinner last night, is that it?” The words came out before you could stop them, and part of you hated yourself for asking it, but you couldn’t shake the feeling.

Joel paused, his gaze narrowing slightly.

“Ah, no,” he clarified, shaking his head, his tone sharper now. “I think you had other plans, didn’t you?”

You stood there, frozen, trying to make sense of what he was saying, of what this all meant. But as he stood there, waiting for you to speak, you realized there was no clear answer coming. You didn’t know what to say anymore.

“What are you talking about?” you whispered.

"I think it's pretty obvious," Joel replied, his voice tight, as he pushed away from the doorframe. His hand waved dismissively toward the door handle, an almost casual gesture that only made your frustration grow. "But it's all good, don't worry."

You blinked, trying to make sense of his tone.

"Is this about Travis?" The words left your mouth before you could stop them, a bemused smile starting to form as you processed what might be happening. Was Joel really making some kind of jealous scene?

Joel sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping in that familiar way you knew meant he was worn out, defeated even. He took a half step back, gesturing toward the door like he was dismissing the whole conversation with a simple movement. The air between you was thick, and you could feel your neck heating with the anger that had begun to coil tightly in your chest.

"No," you said, your voice low but heavy with irritation. "You're not gonna do this."

You didn't back down, not this time. You stepped closer, closer than you ever had before, your body moving almost instinctively. Your hand found his, gently but firmly pushing it away from the door handle. 

Joel’s eyes flicked to yours, surprised, but there was a hardness in his expression that only deepened the tension between you. His jaw was clenched, his brow furrowed. He wasn’t used to being challenged like this, and it made something inside of you feel a little less afraid.

“Stop acting like that and talk to me,” you said, your voice quiet but urgent, the words hanging heavy in the air between you. You were so close now that you could feel the heat radiating from his skin, see the subtle flicker of something—anger, maybe, or something deeper—behind his guarded eyes. You almost wished he’d let it out. Anything, just to break this suffocating silence.

Joel’s jaw tightened, and he let out a sharp breath, as if trying to calm the storm inside him. He turned his face away briefly, looking out into the distance like the world outside was more important than what was standing right in front of him. When he finally met your eyes again, it was like a wall had been erected between you, the tension in his gaze so thick it made the air feel heavier.

“What’s the use?” he shot back, his voice rising, rough with frustration. "What’s the use of me talkin’ to you? Tell me, what’s the fucking point of it?"

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat. You had no idea what was happening between you anymore. 

He didn’t wait for you to speak. “I was clear with you yesterday,” Joel continued, his voice growing more intense with every word. "I told you everything. Everything. What do you want to talk about now? What fucking sense does it make?”

His words stung, but they didn’t scare you. You took a step closer, your chest tight with both anger and desperation.

"Yes, you did," you replied, your voice steady now, despite the pounding in your chest. "But we didn’t solve anything, did we?"

The laugh that left Joel's lips was harsh, bitter. It echoed in your ears, making your stomach drop.

“I confuse you," he muttered, sarcasm lacing his tone. "You say I confuse you, don’t you?" He shook his head, an empty laugh leaving him. "But I’m not the one who throws himself on top of you, takes you to bed, and hours later spends the night with someone else.”

Your breath hitched in your throat. The words hit you like a physical blow, and you stepped back, your pulse racing in your ears. You stared at him, unable to form a sentence, your mind struggling to process the accusation. 

“What?” you whispered, your voice barely audible, trembling as the word slipped from your lips before you could stop it. The space between you felt like it was closing in, thick and suffocating, every breath becoming harder to take. You wanted to step back, but your feet wouldn’t move.

Joel stood frozen, his posture rigid, eyes dark with frustration and something deeper—something raw—that you couldn’t quite name. The tension hung between you like a heavy fog, and every second that passed felt like an eternity. His gaze locked onto yours, intense and unwavering, and it was like he was trying to see right through you, into everything you’d tried to keep hidden.

“You say you can’t be my friend,” he started, his voice rough, like every word was being dragged out of him. “That you want me gone.” He paused, his breath hitching, and you could see the weight of it in his chest, in the way his fists clenched. “I... I had to sit there. Day after day. Watching you walk around with him—watching you laugh, watching you pretend like it was all fine, like none of it mattered.” His voice cracked, the emotion too much for him to contain. His eyes darkened, and the hurt in them felt like a punch to the gut. “But it wasn’t fine, was it? It never was.”

You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, the words slicing through you. You wanted to say something, anything, but the truth was, you didn’t know how to answer. How could you explain the mess that had been brewing inside you for so long? The confusion, the guilt, the longing, the fear.

Joel’s breath quickened as he continued, his words gaining momentum, each one a little sharper, a little more painful.

“And then, when I finally decide to take control of my feelings—when I finally decide to be honest with you, to lay everything out, to tell you how I feel—you just shut me down. Just like that.” He gestured sharply with his hand, his voice rising, cracking under the weight of his frustration. “And then you sleep with me again. For what? Was it even real? Did you even think about it, or was it just another damn impulse?”

“Joel—” You tried to speak, but the words caught in your throat. The rawness in his voice, the way it trembled with pain, made it impossible to breathe.

“And I don’t give a damn that you didn’t come to dinner,” he cut you off, his tone now biting, hard like steel. “That’s not the problem. Not really.” He took a step forward, his eyes never leaving yours. They were searching, desperate, like he was trying to find something in you that made sense—something he could hold on to. “You kissed me. You kissed me and made me think maybe, just maybe, you were starting to feel the same way. But I guess I was wrong, wasn’t I? I guess that meant nothing to you.” His voice wavered, breaking on the last word, and you could see the pain written all over his face. “So why the hell did we do it?”

The words hit you like a blow, sharp and heavy, but it didn’t stop something inside you from snapping. The frustration, the anger, the hurt—it was all too much to hold in anymore. You opened your mouth, and the words rushed out before you could stop them.

“Yeah, it was an impulse,” you shot back, your voice thick with frustration, raw and unfiltered. “But that doesn’t mean I didn’t want to do it, or that I regret it. You, of all people, should know that.” The words were sharp, but they were true. You weren’t going to apologize for wanting him. For needing him. For feeling something real that couldn’t just be swept away. “Don’t you dare be a hypocrite.”

Joel’s eyes flared, and he took a step closer, his body tense with rage. His face was a mask of fury, and the air between you seemed to crackle with the force of it.

“I don’t give a shit,” he spat, his words bitter, venomous. They landed between you like daggers, each one cutting deeper. His gaze burned into you, dark and endless, and you could feel the heat of it searing through you. “You think you can just walk away from this without any consequences? You think I’m just some damn fool you can toy with?” 

You didn’t back down. You couldn’t. Every part of you ached, but there was something inside you that refused to let him see how much he was breaking you.

“No,” you whispered, your voice quieter now but filled with a quiet strength. “But I’m not the one who’s been playing games here.”

The silence stretched between you, thick with everything left unsaid. Joel’s breath was heavy, his chest rising and falling like he was fighting to stay in control, to hold onto something, anything. But you couldn’t hold onto anything anymore, not when he was looking at you like this. Not when you both knew everything was falling apart.

Finally, Joel exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

“I don’t know what the hell you want from me no more,” he muttered, shaking his head slowly. “I really don’t. I’m done. You can go on and tell that to your doorman.”

“What the fuck are you talkin’ about?” you shot back, your voice sharp, cutting through the tension in the air.

Joel’s expression twisted with anger, his eyes narrowing.

“I’m talkin’ about that damn idiot you like,” he snapped. “Stop actin’ like you don’t know a damn thing.”

The words hit you like a slap, and for a second, your vision blurred, the sting of his anger biting into you. But you weren’t about to let him see you break. You bit down on your lip, forcing back the tears that threatened to fall. 

You glared at him, your hands balled into fists, trembling with the effort to control yourself. Stepping forward, you shoved the door open, the force of it leaving a crack in the silence.

“You’re full of shit, Joel,” you shot back, your voice low but fierce, the tremble in it only adding to the weight of your words. “You’re a fucking asshole.” 

Determined, you turned and walked quickly, your steps carrying you away from him, away from everything that had gone wrong between you. But you didn’t get far. As if by some cruel twist of fate, you heard him behind you—his long strides eating up the distance in seconds. 

“I’m not doing this again,” you said, your voice shaking now, but you kept your back to him, gripping the door handle with white knuckles, holding on like it was the only thing keeping you grounded. 

You didn’t want him inside. You didn’t want to face him, not like this, not with everything so broken between you. You opened the door wide and turned, positioning yourself between him and your entrance like a wall. 

Joel stopped at the edge of your space, standing there for a moment, silent. His eyes—his entire face—betrayed a chaos of emotions. He looked at you like he was struggling to breathe. Slowly, carefully, he moved a step closer, his face so close to yours now that you could feel his breath, the warmth of it. His voice cracked when he spoke again. 

“I was honest with you,” Joel whispered, his voice barely above a breath, thick with emotion. His words trembled as if they carried the weight of something unbearable. “I told you everything, every damn thing I’d been holding inside for so long. I didn’t wanna do that—hell, it’s damn near impossible for me. But I did it. I laid it all out for you. For you, damn it.” His voice cracked, the rawness of it hitting you harder than anything. “I was ready for anything, anything you wanted. I’d do whatever it took, even if it meant beggin’. I'd take whatever you threw at me, no matter how much it hurt. But then..." He paused, and you could feel the weight of his words hang in the air, thick and suffocating. “Then you kissed me. You fucking kissed me. And for just a minute, I thought maybe... maybe you didn’t hate me that much. Maybe this could be somethin’. Maybe we could be somethin'. More than just... whatever the hell we’ve been lately, you know?”

His voice faltered, cracking at the edges, and you could see the pain behind his eyes, raw and real.

"But what was it for?" he asked, the words bitter on his tongue, as if they had burned him just to speak them. “What was it all for?”

The tears started to fall before you could stop them, hot against your cold skin. You stood there, silent, the air heavy between you two. His anger was palpable, the frustration, the hurt, everything he’d been holding back pouring out in waves. You didn’t know what to say, you were terribly confused, but you didn't have the strength to ask the reason for his discomfort, for this sudden anger.

Joel took a breath, his chest rising and falling with a kind of desperation that made your heart ache.

“You tell me,” he said, his voice rising now, tinged with something like pleading, something you hadn’t expected. His teary eyes were glowing in the daylight. "What was it for? So you could turn around, go back to him, and not even wait a damn day before you’re back in his arms? Gettin' his fuckin' dick wet like nothing happened? Is that what this was all for?”

His words were harsh, cutting into the quiet, and you could hear the anger, but also the heartbreak in them, in him.

You opened your mouth in disbelief, a gasp escaping your throat as if the words he’d just thrown at you had physically wounded you. The pain in your chest was sudden, sharp—like something had cracked open inside you. Your hands trembled as you raised them, and with whatever strength you could muster, you shoved him away, hard. Joel staggered back, his breath coming quick, his chest heaving in frustration. But before he could say anything, you took a step toward him, your palms pushing against his chest again, this time with even more force.

“I never slept with Travis, you fucking asshole,” you choked out through your tears, the words tumbling out like you were trying to expel something suffocating. “Never. Not once.”

The change in Joel’s face was instant, a shift so sudden it was almost imperceptible. His expression softened, confusion flickering behind his eyes, his mouth opening slightly, as if he was about to speak but couldn’t quite find the words. But you weren’t done.

“I can't fucking believe it,” you whispered, your voice trembling. The hurt in your chest felt like it was pressing down on your lungs, making it hard to breathe.

He took a step back, eyes searching yours, almost like he was looking for some sort of explanation, but you didn’t have one.

“That's ridiculous, you were pretty obvious at the barbecue, right?” he started, his voice strained.

“I fucking lied to you, Joel,” you said, your voice cracking. The admission felt like it tore something open inside you. “I was angry, and I wanted to hurt you. I… I don’t know, I just wanted to make you feel bad. So I fucking lied about it, just like you did with Clara, remember?"

His face twisted in disbelief, his eyes narrowing as he processed your words. But before he could respond, you rushed on, the anger bubbling up in your chest again, the pain mixing with something else—something darker.

“You really think I’m capable of sleeping with you, and then doing it with him?” You shook your head, unable to believe the distance between what he was thinking and what had actually happened. “What kind of person do you think I am? You don't know me at all.”

His jaw clenched, muscles tightening like a coil ready to snap, and his eyes—God, his eyes—flashed with something so intense you couldn’t quite place it. Anger, maybe? Or was it something deeper, something darker? Fear? Desperation? You couldn’t tell, but the way his gaze hardened, like steel being forged in fire, made you want to crawl out of your own skin. You couldn’t breathe under the weight of it.

“And what the fuck do you want me to believe?” Joel demanded, his voice rough and jagged, cracking like a man at the end of his rope. It was raw—like he hadn’t just been hurt, but betrayed. “When I came to see you last night, he—he was pretty damn clear with me.” His words punched the air, heavy with the weight of something he’d been holding back, but his frustration was impossible to ignore. "How the hell can I believe a damn thing you tell me now?"

“How?” you asked, your voice rising in disbelief. “How the hell? I’m your damn best friend. Have I ever lied to you? You act like you don’t even fucking know me anymore.”

“Well, I don’t know,” he started, his voice strained with a false calm. “According to Dunn, he seems to know you better than I do. Maybe he's right. And clearly, you didn’t wanna see me last night, did you?”

The world seemed to stop spinning for a moment. You froze, trying to make sense of the jumbled mess of emotions swirling inside you. His words didn’t fit together in your mind. What was he talking about? Your pulse quickened, but your throat tightened, like you were choking on your own confusion.

“What... what are you talking about?” The words slipped out in a whisper, barely more than a breath. You wanted to understand, but nothing made sense anymore. Everything felt like it was collapsing in on itself. "Please explain it to me."

Joel exhaled sharply, his breath heavy with exhaustion, like the very air was too thick for him to breathe. He rubbed his face with both hands, dragging them down slowly, as if trying to wake himself up from some twisted nightmare he couldn’t escape. The frustration, the hurt—he was wearing it on his skin now, like a second layer. 

"Ask him," Joel muttered, his voice tight, strained. "I’m done. I’m fuckin’ tired of all of this. I can’t do it anymore, damn it." His shoulders sagged as if the weight of the world was on them. 

And then, as if the final shred of strength he had left had finally snapped, he let his hands fall to his sides, defeated. A short, bitter laugh broke from him, harsh and empty, echoing in the silence. It cut through you, making your heart ache in a way you couldn’t explain. His eyes, filled with unshed tears, glistened in the light filtering through the leaves above, the sunlight casting shadows that seemed to mirror the pain in his expression.

“Apparently, I can’t get anything right,” he said, his voice thick with defeat. The words were coated with the kind of resignation that made your stomach twist. He looked at you for a moment, his gaze filled with something you couldn’t name—pain, maybe? Or was it the last flicker of hope slowly fading away? You could feel your chest tighten with every passing second, and that damn ache in your throat started to burn. “I can’t take it anymore.”

Your mind raced, but you couldn’t make sense of any of it. What did Travis have to do with this? What the hell was going on? Everything felt like it was slipping through your fingers, and the harder you tried to hold onto it, the faster it seemed to unravel.

“I think you should go,” you said quietly, your voice barely audible. The words felt like they were being ripped from your chest. You didn’t want to be cold. You didn’t want to hurt him more. But you didn’t know what else to say. Every word felt like a betrayal, and you were drowning in the confusion, in the pain of it all. You needed space. Distance. You needed to breathe without feeling like your heart was being crushed. "I just... I need some time."

The silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating.

Joel didn’t move. He stood there for a long moment, just looking at you, his face a mixture of hurt, frustration, and something else you couldn’t place. His lips parted like he was going to say something, but no words came out. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he nodded once, his eyes still locked on yours, and without another word, he turned away. Each step he took felt like it was pulling him farther from you, and you hated how much you wished he would just stop. But he didn’t.

You watched him walk away, feeling like you were watching the last thread between you snap. He disappeared inside his house, and you stood there, staring after him, your mind a whirlwind of emotions. You didn’t even realize you were still standing there until you felt the cold air on your face, and then you moved into the house, slowly, mechanically.

Inside, the silence was overwhelming. It felt like everything had shifted, like the ground beneath you was unsteady. Your heart was still racing, your chest tight with all the words you hadn’t said. You couldn’t make sense of it. You couldn’t understand why things had gone the way they did, why everything always felt like it was about to fall apart. And now, there was Travis—what did he have to do with any of this? Why did Joel keep bringing him up?

That night, as you lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, sleep was as distant as it had ever been. Despair clung to you like a second skin, making it impossible to close your eyes for even a second. You tossed and turned, but it was useless. The weight of everything was too much, too heavy to ignore. You couldn’t keep carrying it.

Your phone sat on the nightstand, and after a while, you reached for it, fingers trembling as you unlocked it. You opened the chat with Cassie, the words spilling out in a hurried, frantic rush. You couldn’t think too much about it. You just needed to get out of here, to escape, to breathe.

“I need to get out of here. Now.”

You hit send without a second thought, then stared at the screen, waiting for her reply. The silence in the room was deafening, and you felt your breath catch in your throat. 

[4vanaa]

WHILE YOU WERE SLEEPING, rafe cameron, 06

summary: y/n left the outer banks years ago, determined to build a life far from the memories of her childhood love, rafe cameron. now a botanist, she's moved on-though a quiet part of her still clings to the past. when an event brings her back to OBX, she's forced to confront the one person she never truly forgot.

cw: mature language, slight angst | masterlist | 05 | 07 |

❀ ❀ ❀ - indication that the chapter takes place in the past!!

yourusername

liked by rafecameron, kelce2fye, and 97 others

rafecameron wouldn’t have taken these photos if ik you were gonna post them

rafecameron seen them, so you can delete now!!

rafecameron are u having trouble finding the delete button?

rafecameron ok jokes over delete it now

yourusername i’m going to block you

rafecameron oh so your phone does work

The bonfire crackles under a star-scattered sky, casting a warm glow over the crowd. Laughter mingles with the sound of waves crashing against the shore. The Outer Banks feels alive tonight, a place where memories are made and shattered in equal measure. Your surrounded by familiar faces, friends who’ve known you forever, and for a few fleeting moments, everything feels right.

Rafe stands a few feet away, a beer clutched in his hand, watching you with hawk-like intensity. His jaw is tight, the vein in his temple pulsing. You laugh at something Pope says, and your smile radiates through the night. When Pope leans in and gives you a brief hug, Rafe’s grip on his bottle tightens until his knuckles go white.

You don’t notice at first, lost in conversation. But when you finally turn toward Rafe, his eyes are dark and stormy, barely restrained. He motions with a tilt of his head for you to come over. You hesitate, sensing the simmering rage behind his gaze.

“Hey, I’ll be right back,” you say to your friends, forcing a smile.

You walk toward him slowly, your sandals kicking up sand. The bonfire feels too far away now, its warmth slipping away with each step. When you reach him, his jaw clenches, eyes flicking to the group behind you.

“What the fuck was that?” he growls, voice low but sharp enough to cut.

Your brow furrows. “What was what?”

He takes a step closer, his face just inches from yours. The heat rolling off him isn’t the kind that makes you melt; it’s the kind that makes your spine stiffen.

“That little hug,” he spits. “With Pope. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

You scoff, incredulous. “Are you serious right now?”

“Yes, I’m fucking serious!” His voice rises just enough to draw a few curious glances. He doesn’t care. His eyes are wild, a storm you’ve seen too many times before. “You let him put his hands all over you like that, and you think I’m just supposed to stand here and smile?”

Your hands clench into fists at your sides. “It was just a hug, Rafe. You’re blowing this out of proportion—”

“Blowing it out of proportion?” he interrupts, his voice dripping with bitterness. “You’re always so fucking friendly with everyone. Everyone gets a piece of you, and I get to just sit here and watch.”

You glare at him, your voice shaking with fury. “I’m not a piece of property, Rafe. I don’t owe you explanations for who I talk to.”

His eyes flare, his lip curling into a sneer. “Yeah, well, maybe if you didn’t need everyone’s attention all the fucking time, we wouldn’t have this problem.”

Your mouth falls open, disbelief washing over you. The hurt seeps through your expression, and for a brief second, regret flickers in his eyes — but it’s gone as quickly as it appeared.

You take a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself. Your voice is tight, barely containing your anger. “You’re being a jealous asshole.”

He laughs darkly, running a hand through his hair, the strands falling messily over his forehead. “Maybe I wouldn’t be if you didn’t make me feel like I have to fight for you every damn second.”

“Fight for me?” you echo, eyes glistening. “Rafe, I’m here. I’ve always been here. You’re the one pushing me away with your insecurities and this—this fucking control you think you have over me.”

His fingers twitch at his sides, wanting to reach for you, to pull you close and fix it, but his pride holds him back. Instead, his voice comes out sharp and venomous. “You know what? Maybe I should just stop giving a shit.”

Your breath catches in your throat. The words are like a slap, stinging more than you care to admit.

“You know what?” you say, your voice trembling. “Maybe you should.”

Turning on your heel, you feel the weight of his gaze burning into your back. He doesn’t follow. The distance between the two of you grows with each step, the crackle of the bonfire swallowed by the roaring in your ears.

By the time you reach the light of the fire, your friends’ laughter feels like another world — one you’re no longer a part of.

Your phone vibrates in your pocket as you sit by the bonfire, the warmth of the flames doing little to quell the cold knot twisting in your stomach. You try to ignore it, but your thumb betrays you, pulling the phone out of your pocket. His name lights up the screen.

11:47 PM

Rafe: So this is how it is now?

You don't reply. Your thumb hovers over the keyboard, heart pounding, before you shove the phone back in your pocket. You force yourself to focus on your friends, on their laughter, but it all feels distant. Another buzz.

11:50 PM

Rafe: You just gonna walk away like that? Cool. Real fucking mature.

Your jaw clenches, and the hurt in his words stings like a slap. You don’t even know what to say. You just keep your phone in your pocket, your hand tight around it like you’re holding onto the last bit of control you have.

12:02 AM

Rafe: Bet Pope’s loving this. Bet he’s been WAITING for you to be single.

Your fingers tighten around the phone, a sick twist in your stomach. This isn’t Pope’s fault. And it sure as hell isn’t yours. But still, the jealousy in his message burns. You don’t respond.

12:10 AM

Rafe: I know Pope likes Cleo. I know I’m being fucking ridiculous. But I can’t help it.

Your heart aches as you read his words. It’s not even about Pope, not really. It’s about you leaving, about the distance growing between you. You close your eyes and try to steady your breath, but it feels like it’s all unraveling. You don’t know how to fix this, or even if you should.

12:15 AM

Rafe: You always wanted to be everyone’s favorite. Well, congrats. You win.

His words hit harder than any of the others. You feel like you’ve been slapped, and the sting is so raw you can’t stop the tears that threaten to spill. You wipe them away quickly. Cleo looks at you, her concern palpable.

“You good, girl?” she asks.

“Yeah,” you lie, forcing a smile. “Just tired.”

Your phone buzzes again. You know it’s him. You don’t want to look, but you do. You can’t help it.

12:32 AM

Rafe: Fuck. I didn’t mean it.

12:34 AM

Rafe: Why do I always fuck this up?`

You suck in a breath. His self-loathing is so intense, so painfully familiar. You wish you could hold him, reassure him, but it’s not that simple. He’s not the only one who’s hurt, and you’re tired of carrying it all by yourself.

12:45 AM

Rafe: Come back. Please.

Your stomach churns at the desperation in his words. Part of you wants to cave, wants to go back to him and forget about everything. But you know you can’t. Not like this. You can’t keep walking in circles around him, hoping that one day it’ll all make sense.

12:50 AM

Rafe: I need you.

Your throat tightens. You’re choking on the ache inside you, the words that you can’t take back and the love that you’re not sure how to handle anymore. He’s always needed you, but you need more than that. You need to be seen, to be loved in a way that doesn’t hurt.

You squeeze your eyes shut, hands trembling. And just when you think it’s over, your phone buzzes again.

1:05 AM

Rafe: I know I’m not good enough for you. But I don’t know how to be without you.

a/n: the next few chapters will all be set in the past, and then no more past chapters!!

tags : @xoxo-ada @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @sleepiibunniiii @urbrunettebombshell

[syluslnd]

hello! can i request heavy angst with sylus and mc? like them never officially being in a relationship but clearly belonging to eachother, keeping a love-hate slowburn dynamic so it's nothing knew when they fight, but one day they get into a really bad, heated argument. out of anger sylus says something he immediately regrets and mc leaves (also out of anger) but something happens and they don't come back. (you can decide if it's happy ending or not)! thank you in advance!

house of cards

word count 5.6k

tags- angst no comfort,verbal insults ,death,dead dove,grieving

──── ୨୧ ────

The night was cool and the dim streetlights of Onychinus cast long shadows over the pavement. You waited outside one of Sylus’s known hideouts, a secluded bar where his lieutenants often gathered. It had become routine—waiting.

You leaned against the rough stone wall, arms crossed, trying to calm the growing frustration. He hadn’t reached out in days and when he did, it was for one thing—hooking up, nothing more, nothing less. Every time you tried to talk about something real, something deeper, he deflected with that arrogant smirk or one of his quick dismissals.

It was driving you mad. You wanted more than the casual, heated exchanges. But how could you demand more from someone who wouldn’t even admit what you were to him?

Footsteps echoed behind you and you straightened, turning to see Sylus approaching, his tall frame cutting through the dim light like a shadow. He looked as composed as ever, eyes sharp and calculating. You couldn’t deny the way your heart raced at the sight of him but the growing anger inside kept you from softening.

“You’ve been busy” you muttered as he stopped in front of you, crossing your arms tighter over your chest.

Sylus raised a brow, his expression unreadable. “What can I say, sweetie? I run an empire. It keeps me occupied.” His tone was casual, indifferent, like he wasn’t fazed by your clear annoyance.

“That’s the problem” you shot back, your voice edged with frustration. “You’re always ‘occupied.’ When was the last time we spent more than an hour together without it turning into some… thing? It’s like you don’t even care unless we’re in bed.”

He chuckled softly, though there was a sharpness behind it. “You’re upset because I’m busy? You knew what this was.”

His dismissiveness was the last straw. “Is that all this is to you?” you asked, your voice rising. “Just something casual whenever you feel like it?”

Sylus’s expression darkened slightly, his calm demeanor still intact but there was something colder in his eyes now. “You’re making this bigger than it is.”

Your chest tightened. How could he be so dismissive? You weren’t asking for the world just… something more than this half-life with him. “Bigger than it is? Sylus, you barely talk to me unless you want something. I’m tired of feeling like an afterthought. I deserve more than that.”

For a moment, his expression softened but it was fleeting. He stepped closer, his hand reaching for your chin, lifting your gaze to meet his. “What do you want from me?” His voice was low, almost dangerously calm. “I’m not the kind of man who makes promises. You know that. But you’re still here.”

You pulled away from his touch, the sting of his words echoing in your mind. “I don’t know how much longer I can be” you admitted, your voice quieter now, the weight of it hitting both of you.

Sylus watched you pull away, a flicker of something passing through his eyes—annoyance maybe or something deeper that he wasn’t about to show. He sighed, running a hand through his hair before dropping it back to his side.

“Fine” he said, voice laced with irritation “I’ll make it up to you. Let’s go out. Will that make you happy?” His words felt more like an obligation than a genuine apology, as if he were doing you a favor by even suggesting it.

You scoffed lightly, the apology clearly lacking any sincerity. “Really, Sylus? An apology and an offer to go out, just like that? You think that’s enough?”

He rolled his eyes, the sharpness of his usual calm starting to crack just a little. “You’re not making this easy. I’m trying here.” There was a slight edge to his voice but his gaze softened for a moment. “So, where do you want to go?”

You bit back the retort that almost escaped, knowing pushing too far too fast wouldn’t get either of you anywhere. “The arcade. I want to go to the arcade” you said, watching him closely.

Sylus’s expression shifted and for a second, the irritation returned. He didn’t hide the slight frown tugging at his lips. “An arcade?” he repeated, like the idea was absurd for someone like him. “You want me to take you to a place full of flashing lights and teenagers wasting time?”

A small smile crept onto your face despite the tension. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I want. It’s fun, Sylus. Or have you forgotten how to have fun?”

His eyes narrowed, clearly not amused by the teasing. But then, after a pause he sighed again this time more resigned. “Fine. If that’s what you want.”

It wasn’t much of an apology and you could tell he was annoyed but there was something in the way he relented that caught you off guard. Sylus was many things—cold, ruthless, always in control—but every now and then you caught these small moments where it seemed like he was trying, even if he didn’t fully understand why.

“Thank you” you said, keeping your voice soft but not letting the gratitude carry too much weight. You didn’t want him to think everything was forgiven just because he agreed to one date. “We’ll go tomorrow, okay?”

He glanced at you, something unreadable in his gaze. “Sure. Tomorrow.”

You nodded, the awkward silence hanging between you like a thin thread. You didn’t know if you should say more or if this was one of those moments where you just let things settle. Sylus turned away but just before he walked off, his hand brushed yours—light, almost hesitant. It was a fleeting touch, gone before you could react but it lingered all the same.

The neon lights from the arcade spilled out onto the busy street, reflecting off the windows as people moved in and out, laughing and shouting over the sound of the games inside. You stood near the entrance, arms crossed, glaring at your phone. Sylus was late again. It wasn’t like this was a surprise—he was always late—but today, it stung more than usual. You had put effort into this. You wanted to have fun, just once, without all the complications. But, of course, Sylus had to ruin that by being Sylus.

You checked your phone again. 30 minutes late.

Your jaw clenched, anger boiling just beneath the surface. This wasn’t just about tonight—it was about all the other times he brushed you off, made you wait, or treated you like something he could pick up and drop whenever he felt like it. You were tired of being patient, tired of pretending it didn’t bother you when it did.

The sound of footsteps behind you caught your attention and you didn’t need to look to know it was him. Sylus always had a presence—a certain energy that shifted the air around him. Still, you didn’t turn right away, letting him stand there for a moment while you seethed in silence.

“Sorry I’m late, sweetheart” Sylus’s voice came smooth as ever, carrying that casual arrogance that drove you mad. You could feel his gaze on you, waiting for you to respond. “Business, you know how it is.”

You slowly turned to face him, the anger barely contained as you stared him down. “You’re thirty minutes late, Sylus.”

He tilted his head, his smirk teasing. “I thought you’d be used to it by now.”

That infuriating smirk—it was enough to make you want to scream. But this wasn’t the place. You were surrounded by kids, teenagers, people who didn’t know the kind of world Sylus lived in. You couldn’t make a scene, not here, even though every nerve in your body begged you to let loose.

“I’m tired of it” you said quietly, your voice sharp but low, careful not to draw too much attention. “You’re always late. It’s like you don’t even care.”

He stepped closer, his height casting a shadow over you but it wasn’t his size that had your heart racing. It was the way he looked at you, like he could see through every wall you put up and worse like he found it amusing. “You’re cute when you’re mad.”

You narrowed your eyes, refusing to let him distract you with his charm. “Don’t start with that. You think showing up late and calling me ‘cute’ is going to make this better?”

Sylus’s eyes glinted and he leaned in slightly, his voice lowering just enough that only you could hear him. “You’re still here, aren’t you?”

There it was. That casual confidence the way he twisted every situation in his favor and the worst part? He was right. You were still here. But it wasn’t because you didn’t have enough self-respect to walk away—it was because, despite everything, some part of you still wanted this. Wanted him.

“You think I’m just going to let it slide every time?” you shot back, your voice barely above a whisper, trying to maintain your composure in public.

He chuckled softly that rich, deep sound that sent a shiver down your spine despite your anger. “You’ll let it slide because you want to be here with me. Don’t pretend otherwise.”

Your pulse quickened as his words hit deeper than you’d like to admit. He wasn’t wrong but that didn’t make it any less frustrating. You swallowed, trying to keep control of the emotions that were bubbling dangerously close to the surface.

“I wanted us to have a normal night” you muttered, glancing away to avoid his piercing gaze. “Just one night where we didn’t have to deal with your… business. But you couldn’t even show up on time.”

For a brief moment, something shifted in Sylus’s expression—something softer, almost like regret. But it was gone just as quickly, replaced by that familiar teasing smirk. “I’m here now. Isn’t that what matters?”

You looked at him, searching for any sign that he really cared, that he wasn’t just saying what he thought you wanted to hear. But Sylus was a master at hiding his true feelings. He could be teasing one second and dangerous the next, always keeping you guessing.

“You don’t get it, do you?” you said, shaking your head in disbelief. “It’s not about you being here now. It’s about everything. About the way you treat me like an afterthought, like I’m only here when it’s convenient for you.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unbothered by your words. “You’re making this way too complicated, sweetheart.”

You clenched your fists, taking a deep breath to calm the storm brewing inside. “Maybe it’s not that complicated to want someone who actually gives a damn.”

Sylus smirked again, stepping closer until there was barely any space between you. “I give enough of a damn to be here, don’t I?”

His closeness was overwhelming, his presence suffocating yet intoxicating at the same time. You hated how easily he could pull you in, how his words—no matter how frustrating—always had a way of making you second-guess yourself. But you couldn’t let him win this time.

“Being here isn’t enoug” you whispered, your voice tense with emotion. “I need more than that.”

He studied you for a moment, his gaze lingering on your face, as if considering his next move. Then, with a soft, almost mocking chuckle, he brushed a stray piece of hair from your face, his fingers barely grazing your skin. “You’re something else, you know that?”

You didn’t respond, biting your lip to keep the tears that were building up from spilling. You weren’t going to cry—not here, not in front of him. But the way he looked at you, like he could see every crack in your armor, made it hard to keep your emotions at bay.

After a long pause, he sighed, though it sounded more like annoyance than sympathy. “Alright, fine. I’ll make it up to you. We’re here now, let’s just enjoy the night,okay kitten”

You wanted to scream at him, to tell him that ‘enjoying the night’ wasn’t enough to fix what was broken between you two. But instead, you just nodded, knowing full well that this wasn’t the time or place for a real argument.

“Yeah” you muttered, your voice hollow. “Let’s enjoy the night.”

You stood in front of the claw machine, gripping the joystick harder than necessary, your eyes narrowed in concentration. The bright, colorful stuffed animals inside were taunting you, mocking your every failed attempt to grab one. You had already wasted several coins and each time the claw just slipped off the prize at the last second, your frustration only grew.

Sylus leaned against the machine behind you, his arms crossed and a smirk dancing on his lips. You could feel his gaze on you and it wasn’t helping your mood. You were still pissed—at him, at his nonchalant attitude, at the whole situation.

“Having trouble sweetie?” Sylus asked, his voice laced with amusement.

You didn’t answer, your jaw clenched as you maneuvered the claw over a plush toy that looked easy enough to grab. You hit the button, watching as the claw descended… only for it to fumble and drop the toy yet again. You cursed under your breath, stepping back from the machine in frustration.

Behind you, Sylus chuckled softly, clearly entertained by your struggle. “You know, you might be better at this if you weren’t so mad.”

“Shut up” you muttered, glaring at the machine like it was somehow responsible for your anger.

Sylus pushed himself off the wall, coming to stand beside you. “Let me try.”

You hesitated, not wanting to give him the satisfaction, but eventually stepped aside with a sigh. Sylus slid a coin into the slot, his movements slow and deliberate, as if he wasn’t in any kind of rush. He tilted his head, studying the plush toys inside with a cool, calculating expression—like this was some kind of challenge he needed to win just to prove a point.

He moved the joystick with ease, barely paying attention and then pressed the button. You watched as the claw descended, grabbed a stuffed bear and successfully lifted it up, dropping it neatly into the prize chute without a hitch.

You stared at the bear in disbelief. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Sylus grinned, reaching in to grab the prize. “What can I say? I’m just lucky.”

You rolled your eyes still too annoyed to let it go. “It’s not luck when you don’t even care.”

He handed you the bear, his smirk softening just a little. “Here. Something to remember me by when I’m not around.”

You took the bear reluctantly, not sure whether to be touched or even more irritated. There was something in the way Sylus looked at you in that moment, though—a fleeting softness, like he was enjoying being here with you, even if he didn’t say it outright.

For a few minutes, it was almost… normal. You grabbed some drinks from the concession stand and you found yourself relaxing—just a little. The arcade lights, the sound of people laughing and playing games and even Sylus’s teasing remarks all blended into a strange sense of calm. Maybe it wasn’t perfect but it was something.

You took a sip of your drink, glancing at Sylus. “You think you can beat me at air hockey?”

He raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Sweetie you really want to challenge me?”

You shrugged, smiling for the first time since he showed up. “I’m just saying, you won’t win twice in a row.”

Sylus chuckled, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

The banter felt easy, natural even and for the first time in a long while, you were actually having fun with him—laughing, teasing, almost forgetting how mad you were earlier.

But just as you were starting to think the night might turn around, Sylus’s phone rang. You watched as his playful demeanor vanished, replaced by that familiar cold detached look that always came when something serious was happening.

He answered the call, turning away from you slightly but you could still hear bits and pieces of the conversation. It was business, obviously—Onychinus business.

You sighed, already knowing where this was headed.

After a few minutes Sylus hung up, his jaw tight. He didn’t look at you right away, as if he was bracing for your reaction.

“Let me guess” you said, your voice bitter. “You’ve got to go.”

He ran a hand through his hair, glancing at you apologetically. “I’ll make it up to you.”

You stared at him, your earlier frustration flooding back in an instant. “Make it up to me? You said that last time and the time before that.”

Sylus opened his mouth to respond but you cut him off your anger spilling over. “You know what? I’m done hearing your excuses. Every single time we try to do something, you end up bailing. I’m not an afterthought, Sylus.”

His gaze flickered but he remained calm, almost too calm. “It’s not like that—”

“Then what is it like?” you snapped. “Because it sure as hell feels like I’m just something you deal with when it’s convenient.”

He sighed, his patience clearly wearing thin. “You know how this works. I don’t get to choose when I get called.”

“You don’t get to choose?but you also don’t seem to care how it affects me” you shot back. “You always have time for business but never for me.”

Sylus’s jaw clenched and for a second you thought he might snap. But instead he just took a deep breath his voice low and controlled. “I’m trying to keep you out of this. That’s why I don’t bring you into my world more than I already have.”

You laughed bitterly. “Oh, so this is you protecting me? By making me feel like I don’t matter?”

He stepped closer his voice dropping even lower. “You do matter. But I can’t always be there when you want me to be.”

You looked up at him your anger mixing with something else—something closer to hurt. “I don’t need you there all the time, Sylus. I just need you to act like you care.”

For a brief moment his expression softened and you could see something flicker in his eyes—guilt, maybe or regret. But just as quickly as it appeared it was gone, replaced by that same cold distant look he always wore when things got too close, too real.

“I’ll call you later” he said, his tone clipped.

You stared at him in disbelief. “That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”

Sylus hesitated but eventually turned and walked away leaving you standing there your heart sinking as the sound of the arcade faded into the background.

It had been a week. A whole week without so much as a call or a message from Sylus. Each day that passed made your frustration grow until it morphed into a bitter, burning anger.

You knew this wasn't a relationship-he had never promised that. But still, the silence gnawed at you, his dismissive attitude felt like a slap in the face. All the excuses about his work, his responsibilities-none of them felt like enough anymore.

So when you heard a knock at your door and opened it to see Sylus standing there like nothing had happened you felt your blood boil.

“Hey kitten” he said casually, as if the past week hadn’t happened. He leaned against your doorframe his sharp eyes scanning you with a cool detached air. “Haven’t heard from you in a while. You could’ve at least called.”

You stared at him your anger simmering just beneath the surface. How could he be so nonchalant? So unaffected?

You tried to stay calm to hold it together but the way he stood there acting like everything was fine like he hadn’t disappeared without a word set you off. “I could’ve called?” you repeated, your voice shaking with anger. “Are you serious right now?”

Sylus shrugged, his usual smirk playing on his lips. “Yeah sweetie I’ve been busy.”

“Busy?” You felt the anger bubbling over and before you could stop yourself you stepped closer your fists clenched at your sides. “You disappeared for a week, and now you just show up like it’s no big deal? Do you even realize how pissed off I am?”

His gaze flickered with mild amusement as if your anger was some sort of game to him. “You’re always pissed off.”

You glared at him your chest tightening. “Because you give me every reason to be! You act like you don’t even care.”

Sylus chuckled, his eyes softening just slightly as he watched you fume. “You’re so adorable when you’re angry.”

His words were the final straw. You felt tears welling up in your eyes and you hated it—hated that he could make you feel like this, like your anger didn’t matter, like you didn’t matter. He had come here for one thing, and you knew it. That much was obvious by the way he was already moving closer his hand reaching for your waist as if he could just sweep all your anger away with a touch.

But you stepped back, stopping him in his tracks. “No.”

Sylus blinked, surprised by your sudden resistance. “No?”

“I’m not doing this” you said, your voice thick with emotion. “I’m not just going to let you walk in here and act like everything’s fine.”

He stared at you his brow furrowing as if he didn’t quite understand why you were so upset. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the fact that you don’t give a damn about me” you snapped, your voice cracking as the tears finally spilled over. “You show up when it’s convenient for you, when you want something and I’m just supposed to go along with it? I’m not some toy you can pick up and put down whenever you feel like it, Sylus!”

For the first time Sylus didn’t have a clever comeback. He just stood there his smirk fading his expression hardening into something unreadable and for a moment, just a moment, you thought you saw a flicker of guilt in his eyes.

But then, his phone rang.

Of course.

You watched in disbelief as he pulled out his phone, glancing at the screen with that same detached expression you had grown to hate. He sighed, running a hand through his hair as he looked back at you. “I have to take this.”

“No.” Your voice was low, trembling with barely-contained rage. “You’re not doing this again.”

He paused, his hand hovering over the phone. “I don’t have a choice.”

“You always have a choice” you spat. “You just never choose me.”

Sylus’s jaw tightened but he remained silent his fingers gripping the phone as if it was some kind of lifeline. The phone kept ringing the sound filling the tense space between you like a countdown to something inevitable and that was it. That was the moment you snapped.

“You’re a cold-hearted bastard, you know that?” you said your voice rising as your anger reached its breaking point. “All you care about is your damn job, your stupid mafia game and yourself. You don’t care about me. You never did.”

Something in Sylus’s eyes darkened at your words but you were too far gone to stop now. “You act like you’re so untouchable, like nothing and no one matters to you. Well, guess what, Sylus? You’re not untouchable. You’re just a coward who can’t handle real emotions. You’re pathetic.”

His hand clenched around the phone, his calm exterior cracking just enough for you to see the anger brewing beneath the surface. “Watch it” he warned, his voice low and dangerous.

But you didn’t back down. “No, you watch it. I’m done pretending like this is something it’s not. You show up when you feel like it, you leave whenever you get a call and you expect me to just wait around for you like I don’t have my own life. Well, I’m done. I’m done being your damn convenience.”

Sylus’s eyes narrowed, his voice a deadly whisper. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I know exactly what I’m talking about” you shot back. “I’m talking about how you treat me like I don’t matter, like I’m just here for your amusement.”

The tension in the room was thick, suffocating and for the first time Sylus didn’t have his usual cocky, unbothered expression. He looked… furious.

And then, in a moment of weakness, you said the words that changed everything. “You know what’s worse? We’re not even a couple. We’re not anything. I’m nothing to you, right? Just some girl you hook up with when you’re bored.”

Sylus’s expression turned cold, ice spreading through his gaze. His voice was quiet but sharp as a knife. “You’re right.”

The air was sucked from your lungs. You stared at him, feeling like the ground had just been ripped out from beneath you. He didn’t even hesitate. He didn’t deny it. He just… confirmed it.

“We’re not a couple” Sylus continued his voice brutally calm. “We never were. You knew what this was from the start.”

You took a step back, your heart pounding in your chest. His words cut deeper than any knife ever could. You had known of course you had known. But hearing him say it out loud, hearing the cold finality in his voice—it broke something inside you.

Tears welled up in your eyes again but this time they weren’t from anger. They were from heartbreak. You couldn’t even look at him anymore. “I hate you” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Sylus flinched, just slightly but he quickly masked it. “Go ahead, hate me all you want. It doesn’t change anything.”

You stared at him for a moment longer then turned on your heel and stormed out of the apartment. You didn’t care where you were going. You just needed to get away from him, from the pain, from everything.

The night outside was dark and cold the streets of Onychinus dangerous as ever. But you didn’t care. You were too hurt, too broken to care. You just kept walking, your tears blurring your vision as the world around you faded into nothingness.

And Sylus… didn’t follow.

Sylus had been drowning in work. The weight of Onychinus bore down on him heavier than usual. One of his trusted men had been leaking information—details of transactions, routes, even the inner workings of their operations. It was enough to shake the entire foundation he had built over the years.

He couldn’t afford to let this weakness show. Weakness in his world meant death. So he buried himself in the chaos, his mind constantly racing through strategies to tighten his grip on Onychinus, to snuff out the traitor, to keep his empire from crumbling. It consumed him, and every decision he made carried the cold, calculating precision of a leader who couldn’t afford to let his guard down.

But amidst all the chaos, one thing gnawed at the back of his mind—he hadn’t heard from you in days.

Two days. It wasn’t like you to be completely silent, not after the argument that had ended with you storming out, leaving him standing alone in your apartment. At first, he chalked it up to your stubbornness. You were angry.

You had every right to be. He hadn’t cared enough to check in, hadn’t thought to chase after you when you left. After all, that was how it had always been. You would blow up he’d brush it off and eventually things would return to the way they always were.

But something about this time was different. It lingered in the back of his mind like an itch he couldn’t scratch. Something was off.

On the third day, he finally caved. He sent Mephisto, his crow, to find you. It should’ve been easy—Mephisto never failed him. But when the bird came back, empty and restless a knot of dread settled in his chest.

His irritation mounted. He called his men, ordering them to find you. You couldn’t have gone far. He didn’t doubt your ability to survive but Onychinus wasn’t the kind of place you wandered alone for long without catching the wrong kind of attention.

As hours turned into days, his frustration grew. His men scoured the city, checking the places you frequented, talking to the few who might have seen you. But each report came back the same—nothing. No sign of you. No trace.

Until that first discovery.

The message came late in the night. One of his men, pale-faced and visibly shaken approached him in the office. Sylus didn’t look up from the mountain of paperwork, his pen scratching across the page.

“Sylus… we found something”the man stammered.

Sylus’s eyes flicked up cold and unbothered. “Spit it out.”

The man hesitated, shifting on his feet. “It’s… her fingernails, sir.”

A sharp silence followed those words. Sylus stopped mid-sentence his pen freezing in place. Slowly, he set it down, his jaw tightening. He didn’t like what was being implied. He refused to acknowledge it.

“Don’t play games with me” he said, his voice dangerously quiet. “What are you saying?”

The man swallowed stepping forward with a small bag in his trembling hands. Inside, nestled among dirt and blood, were pieces of fingernails—yours.

Sylus stared at the bag, his expression unreadable. Something dark flickered behind his eyes but he didn’t move, didn’t react, except for the faint tightening of his jaw. “This doesn’t prove anything” he said coolly, his voice sharp as glass. “She could’ve broken them off herself.”

The man flinched. “Sir… you know that’s not—”

“I said” Sylus cut him off, his eyes narrowing dangerously “it doesn’t prove anything.”

The man fell silent but the air in the room shifted, thick with unspoken dread. Sylus’s mind raced, the tension creeping into his chest. He refused to believe it. You were too strong, too smart to fall into something like this. But doubt gnawed at him. He crushed it buried it under layers of ice, refusing to let it take root.

Days passed, and more pieces were found. Little by little, pieces of you scattered across Onychinus like breadcrumbs leading to a nightmare he didn’t want to face. A lock of your hair. A fragment of your skin. The reports kept coming and Sylus’s temper grew colder, sharper. He snapped at his men at anyone who dared to mention what they all knew but didn’t dare say out loud.

“She’s fine” Sylus would say whenever another part of you was found, his voice as hard as steel. “You’re all idiots. She’s playing a game. She’ll show up.”

But he knew. Deep down, he knew.

Then came the day they found your head.

The moment Sylus laid eyes on it, something inside him snapped. Your lifeless face, pale and bloodied, with a twisted smile carved across your lips, stared back at him. His hands clenched into fists, trembling with a fury so raw it threatened to consume him. His men stood back none daring to approach knowing full well the storm that was brewing inside their leader.

And then they found the message. It was simple, scrawled in blood across a torn piece of your clothing:

“I’m always watching.”

One of his enemies. The very traitor he had been hunting lurking in the shadows had taken you from him. They had taken the one weakness he never admitted out loud not even to himself. But now, looking at your head—at the cruel mockery of your death, the message taunting him, daring him to act—he couldn’t deny it anymore.

You were his weakness. The one thing that made him feel something other than cold, ruthless control.

And now… you were gone.

For the first time in his life, Sylus felt guilt. Genuine, gut-wrenching guilt. Regret settled in his chest like a poison, choking him, making it hard to breathe. He had pushed you away. He had let his pride, his work, his goddamn arrogance get in the way and now, because of him, you had suffered. You had died. Alone.

His blood boiled, the rage building inside him, so powerful it felt like it would tear him apart from the inside. He wanted to scream, to tear the world apart with his bare hands. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Sylus couldn’t afford to show that kind of weakness.

Instead, he stood there staring at the message, his jaw clenched so tight it hurt. His fingers twitched, longing to crush something to destroy the people who had done this. But he didn’t move. He was still. Cold. Dead inside.

“Clean it up” he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper but it held a lethal edge. “and get out.”

His men moved quickly, gathering the remains and clearing the area their eyes downcast, none daring to look at him. They knew better.

Sylus stood there, alone, his hands still trembling. For the first time he didn’t feel in control. He didn’t feel like the unshakable, unstoppable leader of Onychinus. He felt… lost. Empty.

He had always told himself that you didn’t matter. That you were just a fling, a distraction. But now, staring at the empty space where your head had been, he realized how wrong he had been.

You had mattered. You had mattered more than anything else in this godforsaken world and now… you were gone.

And it was his fault.

Sylus’s fists clenched, his nails digging into his palms until they bled. His vision blurred with rage, the weight of his mistake crushing him from all sides.

He would make them pay. Every single one of them. He would tear them apart piece by piece, just like they had done to you. He would make them suffer. But no matter how much blood he spilled, no matter how many bodies he left in his wake, it wouldn’t change the truth.

He had lost you and he would never forgive himself for that.

[justasecretflower]

HIII!! ermm this is my first time requesting something so idk if I'm doing something wrong, but I saw the Ticci Toby dating before he became a proxy can we pretty please have one where we meet him after he became a proxy? Tyyy!!! (You can just ignore this if you're already making something similar or you just don't want to do it) 🤍🖤

Hi chérie! I love this idea hon:)! When requesting creepypasta you put the “🥀” emoji if you wanna request more :). Love you sm!

🥀- Meeting Ticci Toby! Again after dating him before he was a proxy 🤍

Synopsis- you meet ticci Toby in the woods after you haven’t seen him for years. What’s his reaction?

~fluff.

____________________________________________.

- seeing the boy you once loved years ago, now a hatchet in his hands with somebody’s blood smeared on his clothes is certainly a tough sight.

- you were out for a walk in the woods expecting it to be quiet, not expecting to see him..

- his eyes would soften, his shoulders slump and letting go of the hatchet as it slipped out of his grasp.

- he scans over your body head to toe, examining the slight changes within you. He soaks up every bit of it.

————————————————————————

The crickets hopped through the thick blades of grass, fireflies popped out occasionally, lighting up a tiny patch of darkness throughout the forest. It was peaceful, just the way I liked it. The peace coddled me and made me feel snug, like I was wrapped in a quilt.

Hearing some footsteps my eyes quickly snap to look where the source of the sound was, my heart thumping and my body tensing with goosebumps decorating my skin. Then I see him, face to face with a man I used to love. That I mourned when he went missing, that I cried millions of raging oceans of tears for. He had changed tremendously. He grew a good couple of inches / a foot on me (depending on how tall u are.) his face got severely scarred, like his face got cut into, and he had blood splattered on his coat, hands, and hatchet that he was carrying. I didn’t know what happened, I don’t even wanna picture it, but the thoughts telling me I knew what happened, and throwing pictures into my head of my Toby taking someone’s life make me slap a hand over my mouth and take a shaky breath in.

His hazel eyes go through a mix of emotion. Anger, confusion, realization, then landing on a softened look of affection, like our memories together are just now hitting him. I can’t speak. Even if I want to. “Y-Y/n..” he whispers my name like a prayer, soft spoken, promising, gentle, honest.

My hand shakily reaches back down. “Toby.” I echo back. My voice almost a fleeting breath, just barely a whisper. He keeps getting closer, and my breathing keeps getting more shallow with every crunch of the fiery leaves under his boots.

We’re just a couple inches to a foot away from each other now. I can see his dark hazel eyes, that I used to look into before kissing him, the messy brown hair I used to thread between my fingertips , the lips I used to laugh into a kiss on, he pulls so many strings on my heart by just looking at me. Like he’s playing a heavenly harp and I’m just standing here, soaking up his presence.

“I m-missed y-you.” And the walls crumble down, the strings break.

____________________________________________

- he stalks you for a bit, deciding to leave small things he found like pinecones and wildflowers at your porch.

- he makes it clear that he’s sending it.

- eventually, he starts giving them to you in person, starting to talk to you more and more.

- you learned about what happened, and what he does. You’re not thrilled, but you can’t stop what you’re feeling.

- whenever he’s with you, he goes back to a time when he didn’t have any blood on his hands, when he looked up to the stars and kissed you under them, when there were fleeting kisses under the covers and comforting snuggles.

- you’re his warmth.

- unlike him, you didn’t change for the worse, And you’re doing amazing in life, which makes him so happy.

- he knows you find his killing distasteful, so whenever he goes out to kill, he comes back and just.. grips onto you, sinking on his knees and mumbling stuff about how he loves you, he missed you, and how much he’s sorry that he ended up like this. Clothes all bloody and dirty, dirt caking his face with somebody’s blood on his hands.

- his love language is touch..WOAH!!

- his hand is always in yours, finger tips to finger tips, nose to nose, forehead to forehead, kissing softly, tight hugs, loving embraces.

- refuses to get you involved with slender. You’re the only thing in his life that doesn’t revolve around killing, the creeps, and gruesome settings, you’re what brings him back to simpler times, he 100% preserves that.

- “Angel” because you saved him yet again in hard times.

- “sunshine” because you’re the only thing that shines in his horribly dark life (corny but true.)

- cares about your safety and gets you like a thousand locks for your doors and windows, even gifted you a hatchet to match his right next to your bed if something happens while he’s gone.

- he doesn’t mess around when it comes to you. No one touches or hurts his angel.

- sometimes he’ll just..come behind you, interlace your fingers and kiss your lips softly, telling you he loves you.

- he’s so little spoon core.

- he lays on your chest, curls his whole body into you.

- you’re his whole world<3…

___________________________________________

If you guys want more creepypasta make sure to use the “🥀” emoji with your request!!

Tags

[yvannile]

Thinking of when you and gumi get into a fight... 💭

⊹　 ︶︶　 𖹭᪲　 ︶︶　 ⊹

Bf megumi! Who had been slipping further away each day, his gaze colder, more withdrawn, like he’d buried himself in shadows. Every time you tried to offer comfort or a gentle touch, he seemed to resent it. He acted as though your presence was a burden, something weighing him down rather than helping. You started to wonder if he even cared about what you were trying to do for him, you wondered if he even cared about you anymore.

Bf megumi! Who one night, after another icy silence, you found the courage to ask, “Megumi, what’s wrong? Why won’t you just talk to me?” He stopped, barely even glancing your way, his tone biting. “Why do you keep asking?” he shot back, anger creeping into his voice. “Do you really think you’re helping? Just stop—stop acting like you know anything about what I’m going through.”

Bf megumi! Who’s words stunned you, but you pushed back, telling him you were trying to understand because you cared about him. He scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “Care? You care because it makes you feel better. It’s like you need to feel important, like you’re actually helping. But the truth is, you’re just in the way.” The words hit like a slap, tearing down every effort you’d made, making you feel small and out of place in his life.

Bf Megumi! Who you looked at him, trying to hold back the pain, but he only grew colder. “Honestly, it’d be better if you just stayed out of my life,” he muttered, his voice harsh and unrelenting. “All you’re doing is making things worse. I don’t need you hovering around like you’re some savior. You’re only making this harder for me.” His words cut deeper than any blade, and you couldn’t help but feel your heart splinter under the weight of his indifference.

Bf Megumi! Who just when you thought he’d said it all, he looked you straight in the eye, his gaze empty and unfeeling. “You don’t belong here—you don’t understand anything about this world. You’re just… useless to me.” His voice was a final blow, shattering whatever pieces of your heart you had left. You swallowed back tears, giving him one last look before you turned and walked away, leaving him behind in the shadows he seemed to crave.

Bf Megumi! Who’s months passed, and as his anger dissolved, guilt took its place. Megumi couldn’t shake the image of your face, the pain in your eyes as his words had ripped through you. The silence he’d wanted so badly now felt suffocating, the emptiness left by your absence a constant reminder of what he’d destroyed. He didn’t understand why he said those things to you. He loved you dearly, is what he thought.

So imagine Megumi when he finally sees you from afar, a lighter smile on your face as you talk with someone else, a friend or perhaps something more. His chest tightens as he realizes you might be moving on, leaving behind the hurt he caused. For a brief moment, your eyes meet, but there’s only a fleeting recognition before you turn away, leaving him in a silence that now feels like punishment. He watches as you disappear into the crowd, haunted by the memory of all the things he said, and the reality that he may never get the chance to make it right. Because at the end of the day, he can only stand there, the bitter truth settled in—his cruel words had not just pushed you away, but had severed the fragile thread that held your hearts together, leaving him to drown in the unbearable silence of what could have been him and you, together forever.

≿————-　ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🌷་༘࿐　————-≾

[almostwisegalaxy]

I take care of you

Lee Eun-hyuk x f!reader

..................................................................................

In a completely destroyed city, Lee Eun-hyuk finds himself captivated by his former love. Wherever she goes, he discreetly follows, watching her every move with admiration. Y/n, unaware of her secret admirer, goes about her daily business while Lee Eun-hyuk stays close by.

As the days pass, Lee Eun-hyuk continues his silent shadow behind Y/n, lost in his thoughts and dreaming of one day having the courage to speak to him. One evening, as Y/n leaves the nearly collapsed green house, she feels a familiar presence and looks up to meet Lee Eun-hyuk's deep gaze. Their eyes meet, and in that fleeting moment, a special bond is created between them, uniting their souls in an inexplicable way. In a way that Y/n Emma can't understand, but she doesn't dwell on it too much and continues on her way.

Through chance encounters and exchanged glances, Y/n begins to feel a strange familiarity with Lee Eun-hyuk, as if her heart had always followed his in silence. Finally, one starry night, as Y/n wanders aimlessly around the building, she hears footsteps behind her. When she turns around, she sees Lee Eun-hyuk.

"Why are you always following me? "she says without any emotion in her voice.

Eun-hyuk just smiles at him. He can't blame her, after all, a neo-human isn't supposed to feel emotions. He approaches her, but keeps a distance between them so as not to scare her away.

"I'll take care of you," Eun-hyuk finally says.

Ever since Y/n woke up, he's always been close to her. When she came out of the cocoon, he dressed her and made her comfortable before she regained consciousness. Even in the cocoon she had felt his presence, and he had left her only when necessary.

She stared into his eyes, not really knowing what to think. Of course, she remembered their past together. How they'd confessed their feelings to each other that winter night. That night when Eun-hyuk had promised to find her and her sister Eun-yu with Hyun su safe and sound, but never returned. Her conscience told her to scream at him or just run into Eun-hyuk's arms and kiss him. But being reborn, she didn't feel the urge.

"Why would you do that?" Y/n said.

"Because I want to."

"Why?" To Eun-hyuk, she sounded like a child who always asks her mother why. It was cute.

"Why would you do such a thing. You're a neo-human like me, so why do you act so irrationally?"

"Because I wouldn't be Lee Eun-hyuk if I went home without you. Princess, my world is pretty empty when you're not here."

Y/n looks at her sheepishly.

"I care about you. And caring for you gives me a reason to hold on, a reason not to live without a purpose, because my purpose is you".

"But you gave up again..." she says, disappointment clearly in her voice. Regret paints Eun-hyuk's face. He approaches her, his arms slightly raised in a gesture of appeasement. "I made mistakes and failed to keep my promise."

"Forgive me," he asks without anger. He knows he can't erase what he's done with a few words, but he feels the need to apologize anyway.

I understand your reasons, but that doesn't erase the suffering we went through waiting for you. You didn't see your sister cry. You didn't feel the fear we feel every day in a hostile world.

Lee Eun-hyuk said nothing, but continued to walk toward her.

"You're telling me that taking care of me is your reason for living," Y/n murmured, her eyelids fluttering as if she had to absorb what he'd just said. She clenched her head slightly, frowning with a hint of confusion.

"I... I don't understand. How can I be your reason for living?"

Eun-hyuk smiled slightly, his gaze tender.

"It's simple," he replied, as if explaining something absurd. "My life is empty without you. When you're here, when I see you, when I know you're okay, everything seems to make more sense. It's like the world regains its color."

"I can't love you on the road. I don't... I don't know how to do it," she says.

"I will teach you," he says now in front of her. He tenderly strokes y/n's cheek. At first she flinches from his touch, then she comes back under his caresses. She looks at him sheepishly, not understanding why this gesture warms her body.

"Did I scare you?" She nods.

"Well...It would be a shame to scare the person I love " and he smiles.

Y/n looks at him fascinated.

"Will you teach me that too?" She refers to his smile.

"I'll teach you anything you want."

Then Eun-hyuk took him in her arms. The longer the moment lasts, the more Y/N feels that this is where she belongs. In Eun-hyuk's arms.

Every touch of skin resonates with infinite softness. Hands search for each other, find each other, squeeze each other with infinite delicacy, as if each caress whispers a silent "I love you". Hearts draw closer, synchronize, and in that intimate moment, the whole world fades away to make way for their vibrant, eternal love, sealing their bond in an embrace that transcends time and space.

..................................................................................

Bonus :

Y/n is sitting on the roof when Eun-hyuk comes to sit next to her

“do you have any plans for today?”

"yes, world domination"

"ok, that’s ambitious” a silence settles between them before y/n continues

“you are my world”

Lee Eun-hyuk took a while to understand "oh... OH"

She kisses him on the cheek, smiles at him before finally leaving him alone blushing

[anyamaris]

Morning Glory

Summary-Your best friend comes over after an unexpected visit from your cheating ex, and a night of comfort produces something unexpected.

Pairing-BFF!Yeosang x F!Reader

Genre/Trope-Smut, non idol au

Word count-4.5k

Warnings-Mentions of cheating (ex), some emotions due to break up, vulgarity, adult language, unprotected sex, dirty talk, creampie, some iffy touching while you're both half asleep, NSFW 18+

A/N-This is for the Language of Flowers event for CultofDionysusnet! I hope you enjoy, I've been struggling a bit with writers block so I'm happy to put something out for this event! Make sure to check out the other entries!

Tags- @cultofdionysusnet @ksmutsociety @wooyoungmybelovedhusband @yoonguurt @shinestarhwaa @stardragongalaxy @kpop-stories-21 @starlitmark@millennial-fangirl @ericssmile @wooahaeproductions@changbinslovelylegs @yeosxxx @millennial-fangirl @starillusion13 @duchesskaren @minki-moo @woosanbby

@cafekitsune Thank you for banners and dividers! 🤍💜🤍

It’s been three months. 

Three whole months…

Three months full of shock, pain, sobbing, anger, guilt, and finally, acceptance.

A quarter of a year of your life spent lamenting the almost two years spent with someone who threw away everything without a second thought.

They say time is all you need to move on, but what they don’t tell you is the amount of regret that is left lingering.

How the hindsight can hurt you more than the breakup itself.  

How you blame yourself for the time wasted, for the signs you never saw.  

How you start to rethink the things you thought you knew.  

Words like, “I love you” and “I promise” become both fleeting and weighted.  

All of these thoughts swirl in your mind as you stare into the face of the man who caused this turmoil.

No, that’s wrong.

All he did was cheat on you, lie to you and walk away without batting an eyelash.  

Suppressing a cynical laugh, you just stare into the face of your betrayer.  

His eager smile doesn’t evoke the tickle in your tummy like it used to.

His handsome, sheepish face doesn’t make you want to rush into his arms like before.

“Hi.” 

Once upon a time, that simple line would have you opening the door further and inviting him in, your deceitful mind telling you that he must have a good reason.

Unfortunately for him, the you that used to cave to his ridiculous lies and excuses doesn’t exist anymore.

“What do you want?” Your voice is harsh, a frown tugging at your lips.

You’d be lying if you said he didn’t evoke any emotions in you.  

You feel the hand on the door shake as you grip it harder, anger coursing through you.

“I…I missed you.  Can I come in to talk?” He asks, the arm behind his back slipping around to present you with a small bouquet of flowers.

“Look, I brought your favorites.”

Frowning at the offering, you can only blink at them. 

Not once has he given you flowers. 

Not one time.

Scoffing, you stay where you are, blocking the entrance.

“My favorites? Do you even know my favorite flower?” 

Though they are pretty, the roses are far from your favorite flower.  The very fact that he chose red roses too was so cliche.  

You wince at the rage making your voice shake.  

Dear god, please don’t let him think I’m getting sad over him.

“Uhhh…flowers are flowers, right?” He asks, shrugging a shoulder and brushing his hair back.  

“Look, I don’t know why you came here of all places.  But you’re not welcome.” 

You begin to close the door in his face, but he lunges forward, stopping you before you can escape him.

“Wait-I know we didn’t end on the best of terms-” 

Your laugh halts him momentarily, rolling your eyes at his choice of words.

“-look…all couples take a break-” he’s continuing but you’re done listening.

“Stop. One, we are not a couple.  We broke up.”  You hold your hand up to halt his retort.

“Two, you cheated on me.”  

He frowns at your fingers as you hold them up, counting his mistakes.  

“But-”

“Three, there is nothing you could possibly say or do that would have me opening this door to you.  I suggest you find someone else’s door to go knock on, because you’re not welcome here.” 

You give him a good shove to remove him from the doorway and slam the door, leaning back against it as you hug yourself.

Jumping at his loud pounding, you can only let out a shaky sigh.  

“Go away, seriously.”

“Look, I made a mistake, we love each other-” 

You snort at his words, cutting him off. 

“The only person you love is yourself, so fuck off.”  

Walking away from the door and his ridiculous protests, you make your way to your shower to wash off the ick from seeing him again.

Emerging from the bathroom, you listen for a few and smile as silence greets you.  

“Finally.  Idiot.” you mutter, but you sigh as you feel your body shake from the encounter.  

The sheer audacity of him, showing up with roses like that would immediately evaporate all of the pain and hurt he caused-

Your mind whirls as you clench your fists.

Your thoughts are interrupted by a ding from your phone.

Hesitant to check it, you slowly make your way to look at the screen.

Letting out a soft sigh, your body relaxes slightly as you read the text from your best friend. 

“If Wooyoung asks, I have absolutely no idea what happened to his favorite hoodie.” 

Your lips curl as you shake your head, drying your hair as you remember the fate of said hoodie.  

“Sure, you definitely didn’t use it as a mop when you spilled that drink last week.”

“I have no idea what you mean.” You get back and you just sigh, tossing on some pajamas. 

“Sure thing, no idea.” you respond, chewing your lip as you ponder if you should tell him about your unwanted visitor.

Yeosang had been there through everything, through the relationship, through the breakup, through the aftermath.  

He’d been your rock, and now….

Now you selfishly wanted to vent at him, to have him comfort you and calm you down.  

“Is everything okay?” he sends and you blink at the text.  

“I swear, he reads my mind.” you hum as you stare at the phone.

Giving in to your instincts you just send him one word.

“No.”

A moment passes, then your phone lights up, ringing with the familiar song you have set to him.

Before it can ring twice you answer, holding the phone to your ear without a word.

“What happened?” His voice washes over you like a warm blanket, the deep tone seeming to uncork the stress, the distilled pain you’ve been holding in.

Instead of answering, when you open your mouth, all that comes out is a sob.  

“Hey-hey-what happened? Are you hurt?”  His words are laced with panic and you collect yourself enough to reply.

“No…I’m okay, I think.  He showed up.  At my door.”  

Silence greets you from the other end, and a slight rustling is heard as you do your best to try to calm down, covering your mouth with your free hand.

Before the call cuts out, he utters a simple phrase that has relief flooding through you.

“I’m on my way.”

“Shh, it’s okay.  It’s okay to cry, really.” Yeosang is saying, his hand rubbing your back as you both sit on your couch.  

He’d gotten over to your place in record time, so quickly that you thought the pounding was him coming back.

“I’m sick of crying, Yeosang.” You get out, leaning into him as he nods at you.  

His eyes are full of concern, and what you hope is care and not pity.  

Of everyone, Yeosang was the last person you wanted to pity you.  

He meant far too much to you for that.

“What the fuck did he even want? Showing up at your door-” he blurts out, clenching his fist on his thigh.  

“He…I think he was trying to crawl back here, his other girlfriend must have kicked his ass out.” You tell him, wiping at your nose with the tissue in your hand.

You smile as you watch Yeosang purse his lips, not saying a word.  

He’d never truly expressed what he thought of your ex, and you had a feeling he’d never actually liked him much.

At least one of you was smart, you think.

“He even brought flowers.  Fucking roses, like they would fix everything.  Fucking asshole.” 

Yeosang just listens, taking the tissue to replace it with a fresh one.  

“The first time he ever brings me flowers, and he brings me roses after three months of silence and cheating and-” you just shake your head, irritated at the whole situation.

“He said they were my favorite too.  I wonder if he even remembers anything I like.”  You continue, finally feeling a bit of relief after venting to your friend.

Yeosang just sighs, reaching out to brush a tendril of hair back, holding up the glass of water he’d gotten for you when he arrived.  

As you drink, he just watches you, finally speaking after you set it down.

“Come on, let’s watch something.  It’ll help you relax.  How about your favorite? Princess Bride?” He asks, grabbing the remote to scroll through your many apps on the television.

“You’re sick of that one, aren’t you?” Eyeing him, you can’t help but smile.  

A small stirring of your old crush on him teases your mind, but you push it down.

Must be my stupid emotions, you think, watching as he puts the movie on.

He holds out his arm, allowing you to snuggle against him as you normally do.  

“If it’ll make you smile, I’ll happily watch it twenty more times.”  He grins, tossing a blanket over you as you make yourself comfortable on him.  

Watching the beginning scene, you look up at him.

“How come you never say anything about him when I complain? It must get old.” You ask, blinking at him.

Yeosang just looks at you, his honey brown eyes studying you as he seems to think about his answer.

After a moment, he just shakes his head.

“I want to hurt anyone who hurts you.  So anything I have to say isn’t going to help what you’re going through. Now pay attention, Buttercup.” 

He boops your nose as he gestures to the screen, smiling as you let out a soft laugh.

His words have an effect on you that seeing your ex doesn’t and you push them down as you get lost in the movie with your best friend.

The first thing you become aware of is the distant rumble of thunder.  

Then, the soft pattering of rain upon glass, soothing you as you inhale deeply

Stirring, you adjust as you try to get comfortable.

The blanket over you is soft and warm, as is the body underneath you.

With your eyes closed and sleep hazing the edges of your brain, you snuggle deeper into the strong arms around you.  

Drawing your leg up, you nuzzle your face into the soft material beneath it.

A familiar scent tantalizes your senses as you inhale deeply. The light scent of blackberry, bay leaves and sandalwood soothes you, and you can’t help but cling to the fabric of his shirt as you bury your face into his chest.

Yeosang.

Your sleep addled brain whispers the name as you press closer to him, your body moving instinctively before you can think anything through. 

Was he always this…built? Where did these muscles come from?

Your hands seem to have a mind of their own as they skim down his side, splaying out over his stomach.  

A soft murmur greets your ears, a deep humming stirs beneath your cheek as his arms tighten ever so slightly around you.  

Was he awake? 

Your hand stills, feeling your cheeks heat as the fog slowly clears from your brain.  

Slowly, you take stock of where you are, how you ended up here.

You’d fallen asleep on the couch watching the movie, you realize.

You were laying half on his chest, his arm wrapped around beneath you with your leg draped over one of his own.

His other arm was tossed over your side, your cheek pressed to his chest above his heart.  

The rhythmic thump under your ear is calming, and your lips twitch as the soft sigh that escapes him as he slumbers.  

Pervert, were you really trying to feel up your best friend? You think to yourself.

In his sleep, no less.

It’s been far too long since you’ve been intimate with anyone, and your body seems to have a mind of its own.

Traitor. Perverted, horrible traitor.

It’s fine, just errant thoughts.  Nothing you hadn’t thought before of him.

As long as they were just thoughts.

But it was different right? Being pressed so close to him, feeling the way your bodies fit together. 

How if you just slipped your hand down-

Your mind takes a moment to command you to stop, freezing you as his breath hitches.

You close your eyes, trying to calm the racing thoughts in your mind, the throbbing need that seems to be increasing the longer you lay like this.  

You stiffen as he shifts slightly under you, his hand splaying out on your side.  

A heat flushes your cheeks at how he lifts his leg, his thigh pressing between your legs as he adjusts, drawing out a small involuntary whimper from your throat.

Dear lord, you think, this is NOT helping your plight.

It didn’t help that the sleep shorts you were wearing had shifted slightly during your sleep. 

Not to mention that you weren’t wearing panties… 

Now the thin fabric was riding up, the way you were laying on them teasing at your core as your hips instinctively rock against his thigh before you can stop yourself.

Your heart seems to beat in your throat as you glance up at him, the angle you’re at allowing you to see his pretty lashes in the moonlight.  

Was he sleeping? Did he know how you were reacting to his innocent movements in his sleep?

Did he know what a bad friend you were, thinking about getting off on him as he slept beneath you?

You study him as his lips part, his tongue darting out to wet them.

At the way his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.  

At the curve of his pectoral muscles…

Your gaze just slowly takes him in, raking down his body.  

You just need to extract yourself from him, make a quick exit to your room.  

To take care of this aching need that is driving you to these depraved thoughts.

Decided, you shift to pull back from him, slipping your hand up his chest to find the outside of the couch, intending to crawl over him.  

Before you even find a spot for leverage, his hand slips down the curve of your side, your hip, grasping your ass gently.  

“Mmm…” he murmurs and you freeze as he shifts again, causing you to bury your face into his neck.  

“Yeosang?” You manage to squeak out, inhaling sharply as his hips tilt.  

“Uhh…?” His sleep rasped voice brushes in your ear as he seems to come around.

Dear god, he’s not even awake and he’s-

The sharp intake of breath is paired with his hand slipping along your ass as he hikes your thigh up over him.

Fuck…you were straddling him.  

Double fuck, you were definitely very aroused from this and you needed to get away quickly before-

Suddenly, as his hands grip your cheeks to rock you against him, you realize how very hard he is.  

“Fuck-” He hisses as you draw back, your lust clouded brain screaming for you to wake him completely, to tell him that it’s you; that he’s-

Every thought following flies from your mind as his hand slips between your ass from behind, his fingers taking advantage of the way your shorts have shifted to expose your very wet core.  

There’s no time to muffle the moan that leaves your lips, no time to stop your legs from parting eagerly; no time to stop your hips from jerking against him, rubbing your naked sensitive nub against his rough jeans. 

Your cheeks burn with a mixture of lust and shame, knowing his body is likely reacting instinctively.  

“Yeosang-” You try again, pulling back slightly to see if you can wake him, to stop this-

His dark brown eyes meet yours in the dim moonlight, his lips parted as his fingers slip further down, fingertips dipping daringly into your now clenching cunt.

For a moment, all you can both do is look at one another as you hold tight to him, his eyes searching yours.

The silence is broken by your shameless whimper, your hips grinding down against him as he gives you a little grin.

“Should I stop?” He asks, his voice hoarse from sleep, though he continues to tease at your hole with shallow dips of his fingers.  

The hand on your ass squeezes gently, making it extremely hard to think.  

“Yeosang, I-” you try to say but then one of his fingers slips further into you, causing you to moan softly.  

“Is this because of me…or were you having a wet dream?” His eyes dance as he watches your face, seeming to enjoy the fact that you can’t form proper words.  

“You-but…oh god…” you whine as the hand on your ass slips over to yank your shorts farther from your crotch and you can hear a slight tearing noise as the material gives.

Something about the hungry look in his eyes, the soft rip of your flimsy shorts, the way his finger curls as your walls pulse around him tips you over the edge. 

His eyes widen as your mouth smashes against his, but they flutter softly as his tongue meets yours eagerly.

Your fingers twist up into the soft strands of his hair, tugging gently as a small growl leaves his throat.  

“No-don’t-fucking-stop-” you manage between breaths, your free hand slipping down to tug at his shirt.

Desperation suddenly takes over, and before you know it, his fingers part from your aching cunt and he’s lifting your hips, both of you clawing at the button on his jeans.  

You watch him as he watches both of your hands, his chest rising and falling rapidly.  

Following his gaze, you can’t help but bite your lip as he manages to finally unzip, then push down his pants.  

You can’t help but reach eagerly for his thick, rigid length as he tugs his boxer briefs down.  

All logical thought is gone as you hear his low, deep groan as your fingers slip along the silky skin of his cock.

There’s nothing slow or tentative about the way he grabs your hip, the way you guide him to your throbbing entrance.  

The way you cry out as he pulls you down, the way you stretch deliciously around him.

The quiet room fills with the combined sounds of your moans, the slapping sound of your bodies meeting as his hips tilt and thrust, guiding your own as you reach up to grab his shoulder.

“That’s it, that’s it baby,” he groans, and you can feel the material of his underwear gathering your arousal as you leak down on them.  

You shudder as one of his hands yanks up your shirt, awkwardly trying to help him shed the offending garment.  

Tossing it to the side, his lips waste no time latching onto your nipple, his teeth scraping the sensitive flesh as he licks and sucks.

“Oh my god-” you cry out, feeling the tight knot in your abdomen ache. 

His mouth leaves your breast with soft pop, his breathing harsh as he looks up at you, his hips never faltering to meet yours.

“Yeah, baby? You like my cock?” His voice is deep and shaky, his pupils blown from lust as he grips your hair to force you to look at him as he thrusts even harder up into you.

“Fuck-Yeosang, I fucking love it-please-!” your brain fogs as his arm slips around your waist, holding you tight as he begins to set the pace.  

“Please what? Hmm?” He rasps out, his own moans peppering his speech as his fingers dig into your hip.  

“Tell me, baby.  Tell me what it is you want, hmm?  I’ll give you everything you want, you just have to ask-”

His words pause as he dips down to take your other nipple into his mouth, sucking harshly at the bud.

“Harder-” you cry out, “Feels so fucking good, I’m gonna-” 

At your words, he suddenly sits up, tipping you onto your back as he follows, guiding your legs around his hips.  

He somehow manages to keep himself deep inside of you, his form hovering over you now in the dark room.  

He tears his own shirt off before he’s pressing himself against you, your breasts squashed between you both.

“As you wish, Buttercup-” He growls, slipping his hand under your ass to tilt your hips up, his own setting a pace that leaves you breathless.

The sight of him above you, the feral gleam in his eyes as his cock seems to drag your quivering walls in all the right ways has your vision blurring at the edges.

Crying out, you rake your fingernails down his back and the way his eyes roll at the sensation has you rushing quickly towards alleviating the ache slowly bubbling within you.

“Yeah? Right there? You look so fucking good taking my cock, baby.” His deep voice paired with those words begins the first quiver of your impending orgasm.

“Right fucking there, harder-please-don’t stop, Yeosang!” You scream as you feel his body react to your words, to your slick walls pulsing around him.

“Come for me, that’s it-” he moans, the motion of his hips beginning to stutter, each thrust punctuated by a word. “Let me-see you-come around me with that-tight little cunt-” 

Your mouth opens on a long wail as you clamp around him, your entire body stiffening as you quake under the sensation.  

Your fingers grasp at his back and shoulders frantically as you chase your high as his pelvis grinds down into your clit, every nerve ending in your body seeming to fire all at once.

“Fuck, you look-so fucking beautiful-” his erratic breathing and moans suddenly hitch as he thrusts hard and deep, a long whimper escaping his throat.

His body stiffens as you feel his cock pulse over and over as he spills hot come within you, your name falling from his lips like a mantra.

Slowly, all of the noises die down as the early morning silence creeps back in.  

The thunder and rainfall from before has quieted.

Only the sounds of your labored breathing, of his muted pants and grunts as he slowly collapses on top of you hang in the air.

Bringing a shaking hand up to comb through his damp locks, you lean your cheek against his.  

“Yeosang?” You murmur, greeted with only a small whine in reply.

“Don’t say it.” He finally whispers, burying his face into your neck.

Confused, you pause your movements through his hair, your hand stilling on his back.

After a moment you merely reply, “Say what?”

“That this was a mistake. That you’re sorry.” he responds quickly, pulling back to look in your eyes, his own shifting and studying you.

“But I-”  you start, frowning but he cuts you off.

“I don’t care if you need comfort, I don’t care if you need to get your ex out of your head.” his eyes are pained, and you can only listen as he rambles.

“It doesn’t have to be anything if you don’t want it to be, but I’ve-” 

His throat works as the morning sun starts to illuminate his beautiful brown strands, kissing the honey of his skin and making him appear as glorious as any fictional god.

“-I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember.”

His words take your breath away, and you can feel tears pricking your eyes as you blink in shock.

Brushing back his hair, you swallow back  a small sob as you bring his lips to yours, reveling in his confession.

The soft yellows and oranges start to light the room even as time seems to stop, the night's events culminating in this wonderful revelation.

By the time you part, the day is fully upon both of you.  

Clothing litters the area around you and you can feel the mixture of your releases leaking out from where he’s finally slipped out of you.  

His brow is furrowed as he takes you in, and you can see the hint of worry in his eyes as you begin to speak.

“The only thing I’m sorry about…” you say, feeling your cheeks heat, “...is getting touchy with you in your sleep….”

The silence lingers between you for a moment before it’s broken by his silly little giggle.

He leans down to peck your lips, rolling you both to the side as he cradles you in his arms.

“Is that all?” he asks, his voice deep and low as he nuzzles your cheek.

You close your eyes, your heart surging as his words finally seem to actually hit you fully.

“You…you love me?”  you ask him, pulling back to look at him fully.  

His cheeks stain with a hint of red as he nods, his eyes darting away.  

Cupping his cheek, you tilt his head back so his eyes meet yours once more.

“My ex has nothing to do with anything, Yeosang.  Long before him….it was you.”  

He blinks as he processes your own confession, then his lips are on yours once more.  

Not many words are spoken after, throughout the day and into the evening as you both finally express the long held back emotions for one another.

When you get a delivery of morning glories the next day at work, you swear everything you’ve gone through has been worth it.  

Of course, you think, wiping your eyes.  Of course he knew your favorite flower.

Pulling out the card, you can only let the tears roll down your cheeks at the words that stir your very soul.

“From the moment you came into my life, I knew it was always going to be you.  From your favorite food to the way your eyes dance when you laugh, I’ve memorized every aspect of you.  The good, the bad and everything in between, it’s always been you.  I’ve weathered the dormancy of winter while I waited for you; now that the spring has begun, let’s tend this garden together and watch our love bloom. As the flower implies, this is my promise.  Whether your petals are open to warm yourself in the morning sun, or withered by the evening, you will forever be my morning glory.”

[whitedarkmoonflower]

Little Seer

Pairing: Sihtric x reader(female) x Finan

Authors note: there was something in the air again 😅 Brainstorming and writing together with the talented and amazing @little-diable is an absolute pleasure. Thank you so much for co-writing this little story with me! 💖💖💖

Warnings: SMUT 18+, a bit of angst, the usual things

Summary: as if being Skade's sister wasn't challenge enough, you are faced with an impossible choice between two warriors, competing over your heart

Word Count: 4,8 K

You closed your eyes and inhaled the cool, crisp morning air. A fleeting aroma of freshly baked bread wafted toward you, evoking a vivid memory of work-worn hands kneading dough on a high table, so tall that your nose barely reached its surface.

"Go fetch your sister," a soft voice urged, and you giggled as a finger touched your nose, leaving a white flour mark on it.

"Skade, Skade, where are you? Mom is baking bread," you called out cheerfully, your voice ringing through the yard like a bright, joyful stream. Your small feet carried you from one building to the next.

"Shhh, what are you doing? Stop yelling! You just scared all my spirits away," an irritated hiss made you freeze in your tracks as your lively, smiling eyes met two stormy, piercing blue ones. Your face twisted into a mocking grimace as you stuck out your tongue at your sister. Her giggle was soft and sparkling, reminiscent of a tiny bell's chime, as she took your hand and you both skipped joyfully back to the house.

Long before the big wooden gates of Dunholm creaked open to welcome the small traveling party, you had already known she was approaching Dunholm. The runes never lied to you. Bound by the same blood and the same divine gift, your destinies were intricately woven together in a delicate tapestry of love and hate. You knew you couldn’t escape each other and  no matter how hard you tried to defy this fate, you had always failed.

Your palm tightened around the shaft of the Nithstang you had crafted tonight, wet and sticky with the warm blood dripping down your fingers, as you forced your eyes open. Your steps, steady and resolute, carried you to the small paddock across the inner yard, now a makeshift prison.

"Release him!" Your voice, edged with a metallic tone, carried a hint of the anger simmering deep within you. Something stirred in the shadows at the back, and a silhouette began to move closer to the bars. Two familiar, deep pools of dazzling blue met your gaze.

"You know I won't," a challenge danced on the plush lips curved into a smirk. "You should know me better by now, little sis."

"Don't make me use my power against you," you warned, your breath forming small clouds of mist as you spoke, casting a shimmering, translucent veil over your sister's face and giving it a mysterious glow.

"You wouldn't dare," Skade smirked, tilting her head defiantly.

"You leave me no choice," you replied, not with anger but with a surge of resolve. With a loud cry, you swung the Nithstang high into the air, driving it deep into the ground to face the place where your sister was imprisoned.

Your love for her was deeply rooted in every fibre of your being, yet you despised the monster she had become, transformed by power-hungry men who sought to use her for their own ascension. It was this profound care for her, this need to protect her even from herself, that had driven you to carve the ancient runes into the wood under the cover of night. The power of love was stronger than the power of hate, yet your sister, as mighty as she might be, still failed to recognize this simple truth.

Fear and caution had long been your constant companions, often mingled with respect, but genuine fascination and appeal seldom visited your life. You struggled to suppress your smile as you constantly felt two pairs of eyes almost burning into your back each time when you turned away.

The dark brown eyes exuded warmth, strength, and protectiveness, creating a comforting presence that seemed to envelop you each time you entered the great hall. The peculiar, mismatched eyes sparkled with mischief and curiosity, radiating a sense of possessiveness. They darted around the room, absorbing every detail, as if laying claim to every word you spoke and every move you made.

An Irish-accented voice, rich and booming, reached you near the stream just as you were about to lift the heavy buckets brimming with water. "May I help you?"

"Thank you, that's very kind," you replied with a smile, watching the sturdy, well-built Irishman effortlessly lift your load and nod for you to lead the way.

To break the somewhat awkward silence, you inquired, "How's Lord Uhtred?"

"He's well, thanks to you, lady. On the way here, I had my doubts he'd even make it," the warrior replied, his voice thick with genuine worry and care. The soothing quality of his words made you turn and cast a warm smile back at him while noticing his shoulders straighten and his eyes light up with a friendly glow.

Having seen him spar before, it was clear that beneath his somewhat soft and pappy shell lay a core of steel, marked by agility and resolve.

"Lady, I was looking for you..." greeted a cheerful voice accompanied by a bright smile at the steps before your hut. "I... I was riding out the horses, and there, in the meadow, I thought of you when I saw these," stammered the young, handsome Dane, revealing a bouquet of wildflowers he had been hiding behind his back. His gaze quickly shifted to his feet.

The bouquet was not a mere haphazard cluster; it was artfully arranged—a vibrant swirl of colours with bright yellow flowers at the centre, gently transitioning to soft pink and white ones around the edges, framed by green leaves.

"They are beautiful, thank you so much, Sihtric," you said, your eyes widening in surprise. Your fingers lightly brushed against his as you accepted the flowers, inhaling their sweet scent. A muffled scoff from behind made you bury your face deeper into the bouquet to hide your amused smirk upon seeing Finan roll his eyes in annoyance.

"Lady, let me..." Sihtric hurriedly ascended the few steps and swung the door open for you, you stepped inside and Sihtric followed you, letting the door close just before Finan could enter. You turned to him with a surprised smile and, hearing Finan’s disgruntled curse behind the door, Sihtric quickly opened it again to let in the visibly annoyed Irishman.

"Please put the buckets there," you directed, pointing to a wooden bench in the corner while turning to fetch a vase for the flowers from the cupboard.

The sound of shuffling feet and muffled murmurs behind you indicated that both warriors were hesitant to leave. As you turned to face them, Finan spoke first, "I... I placed the buckets on the bench... I..." He scratched the back of his head, his eyes darting around the room, seemingly searching for something to say.

"Oh, your door is half ajar; it needs fixing," Sihtric suddenly exclaimed. "I'll fetch some tools and be right back."

"You've never held a hammer and nail in your life, you don’t even know what they look like, and now you want to pretend you can fix a door?" Finan scoffed, clearly upset he hadn’t noticed the issue first.

Sihtric hurried off to fetch the tools, leaving Finan behind, still bristling from the earlier mishap and determined not to be outdone by the young Dane. “I can fix that just fine without his help,” Finan muttered, eyeing the slightly ajar door as if it were a direct challenge to his capabilities.

When Sihtric returned, he clumsily carried a bundle of tools wrapped in cloth. Finan was already examining the door, squinting critically. “Here, let me show you how it’s done,” Sihtric announced with a confident swagger, setting the bundle down with a thud.

The two warriors stood side by side, peering at the assortment of tools, which included a couple of misshapen awls and a few worn hammers. “This one looks about right,” Sihtric said, picking up an awl with an uncertain glance.

“That’s not how you hold it, give it here,” Finan scoffed, snatching the tool and holding it upside down. You watched, amused, as they fumbled, each trying to outdo the other with bravado that was clearly unfounded.

“Here, you need to tighten the hinges,” Sihtric suggested.

“No, the alignment’s off. It needs a new hole,” Finan countered, eyeing the frame as if he could will it into compliance.

Sihtric attempted to use a hammer, gently tapping around the hinge as if coaxing it to tighten by itself. Meanwhile, Finan, now wielding an awl, tried to carve a new hole in the wood, his efforts resulting in a crooked and unnecessary indentation.

The result was a door that hung even more awkwardly than before. 

“You know, maybe we should just ask the carpenter in the village,” Sihtric finally conceded, stepping back to examine their handiwork, which looked worse than when they started.

Finan, though reluctant to admit defeat, nodded in agreement. “Let’s just say woodworking isn’t our calling,” he said, chuckling awkwardly.

You couldn’t help but laugh at their earnest but bungled efforts, appreciating the entertainment, if not the craftsmanship. “I think that’s wise,” you agreed, still smiling. “But thank you both for trying. It’s the thought that counts, right?”

Everything went quiet suddenly, with just shy glances and nervous shuffling of feet filling the air. It was getting awkward, but it was obvious neither warrior wanted to leave. The question in their eyes was so clear and so charming that this time, you couldn't help but let a grin slip.

Their fondness for you was apparent, neither attempting to conceal it, as they'd been playfully fighting for your attention for a week now, and you'd be lying if you said you weren’t enjoying it. The two warriors were as different as fire and water, their contrasting energies sparking against each other with every word and gesture. 

You really appreciated how Finan always looked out for you, always there to lend a hand, careful and attentive. His support was rock solid, his eyes always warm, and he never missed a chance to gently tease you.

Then there was Sihtric, with his wild, spontaneous streak that drew you in just as much. He’d show up at all sorts of odd times with flowers, or suddenly appear at your hut with a huge smile and a basket full of goodies, just because he’d found the perfect spot on a nearby hill to catch the sunset. No matter how tired you were, his laughter and sheer joy were contagious, always managing to sweep you up in another adventure.

Both warriors truly brightened up your life, even helping you momentarily forget the deep worry your sister's presence constantly evoked. As time passed, it was clear Uhtred was committed to his decision to stay with his brother, which only seemed to make the boys more hopeful whenever they looked your way. But what really amazed you was something quite rare, something you hadn’t seen before—even with their ongoing competition for your attention, their friendship didn’t waver—not even a bit.

They were both waiting for you to make a choice between them. And honestly, as much as you wanted to decide, making up your mind just seemed impossible.

Stars were twinkling in the sky as you rolled your head back, letting the river run through your hair as you took your bath. Darkness wrapped itself around you like a veil, hidden from the drunken men you didn’t want to cross paths with, the nosy fighters who’d give a lot for a good look at your naked frame. 

Your body had ached as you found your way down to the river, desperate for some moments alone, away from the confusion of being close to Sihtric and Finan pushed through you and the confusion your sister managed to push through your veins with every rising of the sun. It was a steady back and forth you should be all too used to by now. 

“Here’s good!” The raspy voice echoed through the air, dripping with his Irish accent while forcing your eyes away from the sky to watch the two men walk closer. For a moment, you didn’t move, letting your curious eyes watch the two as you waited for them to notice you. But Finan and Sihtric kept undressing, not picking up on your closeness just now.

“It’s not very honourable of you to disturb a woman’s bath, now is it?” Humour flushed through you as you spoke the word, chasing the protection the dark water offered. Only your head and throat were visible, hiding the body both Finan and Sihtric had been imagining the past days, chasing highs with their minds solemnly focused on you. 

“Apologies, lady.” SIhtric stumbled over his words, drawing a loud laugh from you as you kept on watching them. 

“Would you mind some company?” It was a bold question the Irishman asked, knowing that this could take an ugly turn. Perhaps it was the mead flushing through your system, perhaps it was the thrilling coldness of the river, whatever it was, it forced your mouth open once again, giving room to your words rolling off your tongue. 

“If you can behave, I wouldn’t mind your company, no.” The hum leaving Finan seemed to snap Sihtric out of his trance, averting his gaze as the two kept undressing. For some more seconds, you allowed yourself to study their muscular frames, a sight that left you trembling with heat pooling between your thighs before you eventually let your eyes wander back up to the sky. 

“It’s a beautiful sight, aye.” Finan’s voice wrapped itself around you as he moved closer, marvelling at the starry sky. Even though you kept your eyes focused on the sky, you couldn’t help but focus on the heat he emanated – a heat that only grew stronger as Sihtric also stepped towards you. “But we are fortunate men, us two, we don’t have to look that far for a beautiful sight.”

The words left you laughing, unable to bite down your smile as you turned towards the two men. Mischief was swimming in their pupils, it seemed as if whatever back-and-forth they had felt between one another had found some end, a compromise perhaps. Whatever it was, it drew them even closer, giving you the chance to pull away before overstepping any boundaries 

“Others may no longer respect your honour if they see you here with us, lady.” Sihtric’s husky voice was about to draw a moan out of you, reminding you of the words you had imagined them to speak as you had chased your high just this morning, thinking of these two warriors now caging you between their bodies. 

“And why is that?” Slowly, you rose, exposing your naked chest to Finan, who was standing in front of you. You felt Sihtric tugging himself against your back, with his tensed abs pressing into your soft skin, with his hardening cock pressed against your behind. An unfamiliar heat took over, guiding your every moment – you were about to slip up, about to give in while your mind was silenced. And for the first time, you were alright with letting go, diving head-first into an adventure you had been dreaming of for days. 

Sihtric’s hands found your waist, keeping you pressed to him as Finan’s warm hand cupped your cheek. You could feel their breaths teasing your skin, making you feel as if you were their sacrifice, one with the fire they were about to toss you into, leaving you trembling and aching – all because of them. 

“Once you lose your honour to us, we won’t let you go again, little lady.” You scoffed at the nickname Finan used for you, a sound that was turned into a moan as Sihtric’s fingers danced down your stomach, finding their way to your pulsing bundle. The moan that clawed through you had nothing human-like to it, torn between a warrior’s cry and an animalistic growl. A sound so sinful, you felt both men chuckle; a chuckle of victory; a chuckle of excitement. 

Tonight you were theirs. Tonight you wouldn’t break free from their grasp. Not tonight. 

“Oh, gods.” The words clawed through you as Sihtric’s fingers began to move in circular motions, rubbing your bundle of nerves just enough to make the hairs at the back of your neck rise. It felt as if you were trapped by some kind of spell, chaining you to these two men who explored your body with their lips. Finan’s beard scratched your skin as he kissed your throat, dipping his head down to find your hardening nipples, all while Sihtric’s teeth teased the spot where your shoulder met your neck. 

“No gods will answer your prayers tonight, pretty lady. For now, you’re ours to play with.” Sihtric’s raspy words were about to push you over the edge, chasing your release without feeling either one of them buried deep inside of you yet. You were desperate for more, torn between different sensations that left you trembling and aching for more. 

“I want you, please.” It was pathetic almost how needy you were, too far in to pick up on the sly grin tugging on Finan’s lips, wordlessly communicating with Sihtric. 

“How do you want us?” Finan’s lips teased yours, not kissing you fully, as if he was giving you a chance to pull away. But nothing could pull you from these two, not tonight at least. Sihtric tightened his grip on you as you kept quiet, adding more pressure to his moving fingers, toying with your pulsing bundle. 

“Speak when you’re asked to, don’t play any games.” You choked on your gasps at Sihtric’s demanding command, leaving you shuddering between them. 

“Both of you, I don’t care how, I just need you.” Within moments you were shifted around, pressed down on a nearby stone to balance your body as Finan positioned himself behind you. You were close to passing out, letting your racing heart guide you as your glassy eyes wandered down Sihtric’s muscular front, straight to his twitching cock. The Dane positioned himself in front of you, fingers pulling your hair together to draw your mouth closer to him. 

“Who are we to deny a pretty lady’s wish, huh?” Finan pushed into you without another warning, tearing another moan from you that was silenced by Sihtric’s cock. Your mouth engulfed him, lips wrapped around his tip to suck on him. His taste stuck to your tongue, a taste you’d forever remember, just like the feeling of Finan finally fucking you. The Irishman didn’t grant you any mercy, he fucked you as if the Devil himself was chasing him, a sensation so strong your walls kept fluttering around him.

“What a devilish mouth for such a sweet seer.” Sihtric’s praises shot shudders down your spine and drew sounds from you that vibrated on his cock as he pushed further down your throat. You were close to seeing stars, close to letting the darkness that called your name swallow you. Tonight you didn’t care about what may happen to you. Tonight you didn’t care about losing yourself to these two handsome warriors. Tonight you were simply theirs. 

“You feel divine, lady.” Finan groaned his words as he fucked you even deeper, pressed down on the cold stone that would surely leave its marks on your body. This night would leave its bruises on you, bruises you’d forever remember, while silently hoping that they’d leave some more on your body in the upcoming days and weeks. 

Tears ran down your warm cheeks, tears of desperation and lust, drawn from your eyes by the feeling of Sihtric’s cock nudging your throat, by the feeling of Finan’s calloused fingertips rubbing your overstimulated bundle, pushing you over the edge within moments. 

Finan fucked you through your high as Sihtric groaned your name, painting your tongue and cheeks white with his release. You didn’t dare break eye contact with the handsome Dane as you swallowed, not even as you felt Finan stain your behind with his cum. It was a moment so intimate that you were sure neither Finan nor Sihtric could ever forget about it, just like you. 

The three of you were heavily panting as silence wrapped itself around you, drawing a laugh out of you as you rose back to your feet. You couldn’t help but shake your head as you studied the two for another moment, trying to accept what had just happened. 

“What’s so funny, lady?” Finan pulled you against his broad chest, grinning in success as you clung to him, wordlessly telling the two that you weren’t planning on running anytime soon. 

“I’m just happy, I think.” Your eyes wandered towards Sihtric, grinning at the man who looked at you as if you had hung up the stars in the sky yourself, a true masterpiece only a few were fortunate enough to take in. 

“We won’t let you go again, we stay true to our words.” As much as you wanted to give in, to let this dream suck you into its grasp for some more moments, you couldn’t, breaking out of your hazy trance. Carefully you stepped away from Finan to sink back into the cold water, cleaning yourself for one last time that evening. 

“Don’t make any promises, Irishman. You don’t know what’s coming upon us, it will be cruel, guided by my sister’s hands.”

The clang of weapons and the wild shouts from the crowd echoed off the walls of Dunholm, deafening you with the force of a thunderstorm. You had always been certain of the foolishness and recklessness of men, yet they continued to surprise you.

Your decision to serve Ragnar was based on his ability to listen and consider matters without letting emotions cloud his judgement—a rare trait among men. But this time was different.

Your eyes shifted, catching a glimpse of Skade at the far end of the square. How had you missed it? Distracted by a fuzzy haze of love and admiration, you hadn't noticed the spider spinning its web behind you, the viper weaving its venom into the hearts of men. Now, you were forced to watch as arrogance and false pride shattered the fragile peace you had so carefully helped to nurture.

"Are you satisfied? Do you really think this will bring you anything?" you hissed into Skade's ear.

"I’ve won, little sister. I always win, whatever it takes. There’s no turning back. Uhtred is mine. He will come to rule all Danes and Saxons; he’s been born to lead. I’ve seen that. And I'll rise with him. He's bound to me, and there's nothing you can do about it," she whispered back, her words slicing through you like the sharpest knife, reopening old wounds you had struggled to heal.

“This is no game, Skade. Stop this madness. You’ve gone too far. You took a life that wasn’t yours to claim, just to replace her. This will have consequences, and you know it. Release him and stay here with me. Please, sister,” you pleaded, knowing deep down it was likely futile, but you had to try.

There was a subtle shuffle of feet before your sister finally turned to face you. Your pleading gaze met her icy stare, the chill from her eyes almost freezing your words in midair.

“Did you enjoy the company of those two fools, calling themselves warriors?” she asked coldly, her chin lifting slightly as she tilted her head to the right, scrutinising you through her long lashes. “Tell those two hounds to stay behind, or if they're foolish enough to follow their master, tell them not to interfere with me. You know better than anyone what happens to those who get in my way.”

You couldn’t remember how you got home, the sound of the door, shutting behind you with a loud thud as you slammed your back against the gnarled wood, startling you. You slid down the door to the floor, elbows on your knees, cradling your head in your hands.

Sobs wracked your body, starting quietly and gradually becoming louder and uncontrollable, until you threw back your head, releasing a loud, desperate cry that tore through you. Yes, you knew all too well what happened when someone interfered with your sister. You knew the agony of feeling like your heart was being ripped from your chest, leaving a wound that wouldn't heal, a wound that lingered for years.

She had taken everything from you once, and without a moment’s hesitation, she would do it again. Of that, you were certain.

"Come with us," Finan urged, his large, rough palm reaching out for yours while his thumb gently traced circles on your skin.

"We will care for you, protect you," Sihtric added, his two-coloured eyes searching for yours, but you stubbornly refused to meet his gaze. You pulled your hands away from Finan’s gentle grip and, needing something to occupy them, began nervously adjusting and straightening your clothes. You shook your head, tears welling up in the corners of your eyes. 

"Stay here, both of you, stay with me," you countered, finally lifting your head, your eyes pleading as they moved between Sihtric and Finan.

Silence stretching between you, Finan stepped forward first. He enveloped you in a strong embrace, his arms a fortress that for a brief moment, warded off what was about to come. As he pulled back, his hands cupped your face, and he leaned in to place a tender, lingering kiss on your lips

Sihtric, his expression a complex tapestry of regret and resolve, moved closer. His farewell was quieter, more restrained, as if he feared that any show of passion might crumble his resolve. He took your hands in his, holding them between you both, his gaze finally locking with yours. Slowly, he brought your hands to his lips, kissing them softly, his breath warm against your skin.

Words were superfluous; everything that needed to be said shimmered in the air around you, poignant and bittersweet.

“Be careful. Don’t underestimate my sister,” you finally broke the silence, “She can turn Uhtred against you.”

You saw the disbelief in their eyes and sighed deeply. “You have no idea of what she is capable of. This is just the beginning.”

Comment or write to me if you want to be added to the tag list.

Tags: @sihtricfedaraaahvicius @hb8301 @zillahvathek @alexagirlie @gemini-mama

@verenahx @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @willowbrookesblog @thenameswinter99 @ellabellabus07

@mcbuckyyyy @kirtseinw @siimonesvensson @sigtryggrswifey @ladyinred2248

[fireya-x]

you could be the death of me

【 AO3 Link (full tag list) || masterlist 】 ✦ John Price x Reader ✦ Disobedience has consequences, especially when it comes to John Price. ✦ 1.4k words ✦ tags/cw: smut, dom!price, brat taming, degradation, oral sex, piv sex, bondage, gagging, consensual kink, (consensual non-con if you squint)

The click of the lock echoed through the quiet apartment, followed by the familiar jingle of keys – a sound that usually signalled comfort, but tonight you felt a wave of unease travel down your spine. The thud of heavy footsteps vibrated through the floorboards. You nudged the pan containing the charred remains of what was supposed to be chicken dinner to the back of the stove, a nervous flutter rising in your stomach, mixed with the feeling of guilt. You had ruined dinner, and his arrival amplified the already simmering anxiety.

“I’m sorry, I got distracted and burnt the chicken. I can order us –”

The apology died in your throat as a hand clamped hard on your hip, spinning you around with a force that stole your breath. You stumbled, your lower back hitting the cold, sharp edge of the countertop. John’s grip tightened, the force of the movement expelling the air from your lungs. Your breath hitched, held captive in your chest as you found yourself mere inches from his face. His jaw was clenched so tight; the muscle ticked visibly, a vein throbbed in his temple, and his face masked barely controlled fury. He was pissed. And you were suddenly very nervous. 

But the wine you’d enjoyed while trying to cook dinner (you really had tried your best) turned that nervousness into a hot coil in your belly. The sight of him riled up like that was intoxicating. It was undeniably and incredibly hot.

Daringly, you reached for your half-full wineglass, needing another sip before whatever was about to happen unfolded. But his hand shot out, gripping your wrist with a harshness that made you wince. He plucked the glass from your fingers, setting it back on the counter with a loud clang. The force could have easily snapped it in two. 

“What the fuck did you think you were doing today?” Each word was punctuated by the tightening of his grip on you, each finger digging into your skin.

You tilted your head slightly, feigning nonchalance. “What do you mean? I got us the intel.” Your voice was trembling despite your attempt at defiance.

He let out an indistinct sound, something between a growl and a groan. “You risked our position –” He paused, his gaze softening for a fraction of a second, his hand momentarily loosening its hold on your hip. You swore you saw a fleeting glint of worry in his eyes before his grasp tightened again, his expression hardening into the mask of anger again. “– risked your life and disobeyed my bloody orders.” He pressed you harder against the counter, his body a wall of muscle that left no room for escape.

“I saw an opportunity and took it –”

“You made me look like a bloody fool during debriefing.”

“I’d apologise,” you breathed, trying to struggle against his grip to no avail, “but I got the job done, John.”

His hand left your wrist to snake around your neck, his fingers settling against the sensitive skin at the nape. The touch, possessive and firm, made you gasp, a shiver tracing its way down your spine. He pulled your head back, exposing the delicate skin of your neck, his thumb brushing against the skin of your throat. You felt small and helpless, like a kitten dangling from its scruff, caught misbehaving.

His face was so close you could feel the heat of his breath against your skin. You fought to maintain eye contact, your heart a frantic bird trapped beneath your ribs, while a treacherous wave of arousal pulsed through you, a secret language spoken only between your bodies. You couldn’t let him see it, not now, not like this – the intoxicating way his anger, his dominance, was turning you on.

“You are such a fucking brat,” he spoke through clenched teeth.

“A brat?” You met his gaze then, a thrill shooting through you, the alcohol burning away any lingering fear that you should be having. Your pulse hammered against his grip on your neck. “And what are you going to do about it?”

The words were out before you could stop them.

Fuck. 

Why did you always have to push him?

His nostrils flared, and anger warred with something else in his gaze, something hot and predatory, raw and undeniably hungry. Before you could decipher the complex emotions, he shoved you hard against the kitchen table. He pressed your thighs against the unforgiving wood of the tabletop, then shoved your upper body forward, the thin fabric of your sports bra doing little to cushion the impact against the cold, hard surface. “You think you can do your own fucking thing,” he hissed, his voice low and menacing, “risk everything, and there won’t be consequences?” His hand slammed down on the table beside your head, the force of the movement making you flinch.

His body pressed against yours, moulding you against the hard surface. “Shut up,” he growled.

You hadn’t even made a sound.

His hands moved to your leggings, tugging them down your legs, followed by your panties. You held your breath, as best as to not make any sound as he ordered, and nearly failed when the cool air on your exposed skin made you shiver. His hand settled on your asscheek, the heat of his palm a reminder, as always, no matter how sassy or defiant you pretended to be, of who was truly in charge, of who owned you.

An unbearable heat pooled between your legs, a treacherous tide rising despite your mind’s efforts to repress it, a purely instinctive response to his touch, his hand drawing it forth effortlessly up to the surface.

“Do you know how close I was,” he murmured, the words punctuated by the clink of his belt buckle and the rasp of his zipper, “to doing this in the debriefing room? In front of everyone?”

Before you could disobey again – before you could even open your mouth to utter a single word of protest – he yanked you back by your hair, his fingers tightening painfully against your scalp, spinning you around with a dizzying force. One hand remained fisted in your hair, the other settled on your shoulder, guiding you, forcing you down to your knees. The impact stung your joints, a fleeting discomfort instantly forgotten as you caught sight of his cock, hard and throbbing, dangling in front of you like the forbidden fruit, begging to be tasted.

It was a beautiful sight, and you barely bit back a moan when his hold on your hair guided you exactly where you craved to be: one rough movement, making you take him all the way down to the root. You gagged around it, involuntarily fighting against the sudden intrusion. The growl that ripped from his throat drowned out any discomfort and replaced it with a thrill that shot straight to your core. 

Your walls clenched around nothing, and oh, you were wet. Drenched. It had started as soon as you were pushed against the table, but by now, the floodgates had opened. 

He could feel your eagerness, the way you relaxed around him, taking him deep, as if he belonged there, nestled in your warmth, cradled against your tongue. Your nose brushed against the dark hair at the base of his erection, a soft touch that drew another tremor through his body. His hand settled on your scalp, his fingers threading through your hair, possessive and protective. It was a sight he would burn into his memory – a private picture of your surrender. He’d love to keep this moment, but that would mean another punishment was due. Sometimes he wondered if you did it intentionally, because, of course, you loved it. He’d never treat anyone else this way, but with you… It was different, as if there had always been an understanding. 

Your safe word had been discussed long ago when you’d begged him to tie you up and fuck the frustration of the day, of a gruesome, long mission, away.

You swallowed a mixture of your spit and salty pre-come, the movement tightening your throat around him, drawing a guttural, almost animalistic growl from his chest. He was a predator; you, his willing prey. 

He pulled back slightly, allowing you a small gasp of air. “Look at me,” he commanded, tightening his grip on your hair to tilt your head up. His pupils were so dilated that the dim kitchen light reflected in them, making his eyes look like liquid fire. “Think you can run that annoying mouth whenever you want? Going against my orders, thinking you know better than your bloody Captain?”

Your mouth ached, lips stretched tight, your hands finding purchase on the hard muscles of his thighs. His free hand grazed your cheek, a fleeting caress before returning with a light slap. “I’ll just have to fill it to shut you up, hm?”

The shove forward was relentless. He thrust back in, fucking your mouth hard and fast, each thrust a declaration of his dominance. Your jaw was tired, and tears were running down your cheeks. You looked like a mess, and it drove him wild. On your knees for him, so submissive and in control of you, something you’d never admit you’d love out in the field. There, you were your own person, strong and independent. With your own strategies, your own tactics. But here? You were for him and him alone, for him to use and control as he wanted. Oh, if anyone knew how much you fucking loved to take orders from him. How obedient you were as soon as his cock was in your filthy mouth. No talking back, no objections. 

He saw when your hand crept towards your folds, desperate for a touch. Immediately, he pulled back, leaving you gasping, eyes wide and watering. He grabbed your wrist, yanking your arm up, his knee nudging your head. His gaze, hard and unforgiving, would have terrified anyone else. “Can’t even keep your hands to yourself? Bloody, insufferable brat,” he spat, his teeth clenched. He tightened his grip on your hair, making you whimper. 

A smirk touched his lips. “What was that?” He released your arm, grabbing your chin, his thumb pressing into your lower lip. You’d made a sound, forgetting his orders, lost in the moment. He pulled you to your feet and pushed you back onto the table. You felt his hand hold your wrists together, only to be replaced by soft cloth binding them, a punishment for trying to touch yourself. You couldn’t move, pinned beneath him, your hands tied. But the truth was, you didn’t even want to. The anticipation was too thrilling.

“This is to teach you a lesson,” he growled. “Brats don’t get to feel good.” Yet, he slid a finger inside you, finding the slick heat that betrayed your enjoyment. He wasn’t giving you pleasure, though; he was taking it for himself. 

He withdrew his finger, lining himself up, the head of his cock teasing your entrance. The heat was unbearable. “Look at me,” he commanded again. You turned your head, as best as you could, to meet his gaze over your shoulder. His expression was intense, and you knew why he wanted to see your face as he pushed into you, agonisingly slow, stretching you, filling you. For a moment, the world vanished, leaving only the two of you. His eyes softened, fixed on yours, and for a second, there was nothing but love and pure lust. Your velvety walls were his heaven, his mind empty except for the blissful feeling of you around him. The perfect ‘O’ of your lips as he bottomed out almost made him spill right then and there, but the sight of your bound hands, your disobedience, brought him back to the present.

He pulled back, then thrust in, one powerful stroke, the punishment returning in an instant. Your head hit the table, a choked cry escaping your lips as you felt the rhythmic slap of his balls against your folds.

A hand clamped around your throat, his beard scratching against your ear. You realised your mistake. You’d made a sound again. “Quiet,” he warned. “If you make another sound, I’ll stop.” He gripped your chin, his cock still buried deep. “I’ll pull out, fuck your sorry mouth until I come down your throat, and mine’s the only release you’ll feel tonight. Got it?” 

You nodded frantically, your cunt clenching around him. You squeezed your eyes shut, fighting the urge to make a sound. Suddenly, a tea towel was shoved into your mouth as a makeshift gag.

“That’s better. Isn’t it nice when you can’t talk?” He released your throat, your head falling forward as his hand moved down your spine. He gripped your hips, followed by thrusts, hard and fast, his frustration fueling his movements. A shudder ripped through you. Your mind was fucked blank, and you might as well have drooled on the table if the towel wasn’t stuffed into your mouth. 

It didn’t take much longer before the pleasure built and built, a crescendo reaching its peak, and your body convulsed so intensely that you lost control over any movement entirely. The world dissolved; there was only him, only you, endless oblivion. Wave after wave of sensation crashed over you, pulling you under, drowning you in a thousand little deaths — yours and his — a mantra pounding in time with his thrusts.

Your knee hit the table, your other leg shot out to kick John’s shin, and your walls fluttered around his cock like a thousand tiny butterfly wings.

Then, just as suddenly, the tide receded, leaving you gasping on the shore, reborn in the exquisite echo of euphoria.

You felt everything and nothing, caught somewhere in some blissful limbo. 

He’d never seen you come so hard, your body arching and bucking against his hands. If he hadn’t held you steady, you would have bruised your hipbones against the wood. 

He stilled, letting you ride out the crest of your climax, the raw intensity of it a breathtaking spectacle:

A wild siren caught in the throes of ecstasy, your muffled cries a melody of pure, untamed desire, even against the towel. You were a creature of the depths, your pleasure a turbulent ocean, each wave crashing against him, pulling him down into the swirling vortex you created. He was drowning in your song, a Liebestod you whispered against his senses, luring him to the precipice, the edge of the world where only you existed – a haunting melody weaving its way through his bones, binding him to your rhythm.

He forgot the mission, the disobedience, the simmering frustration; all that mattered was the urgent need to join you in this oblivion, this sweet, shared death. 

He swayed, fell, surrendered to the music, the intoxicating pull of your release. He couldn’t stay still any longer, couldn’t bear to be separated. 

Driven by the desperate need to bridge the distance between yours and his release, he moved inside you again, thrust once, twice, then pulled back, his fist clenching around the base of his cock as he shuddered, emptying himself across the expanse of your back. His come a molten brand, hot and slick, seared into your skin. An offering poured onto the altar of your love, a sacrifice he willingly made, his guttural cry the final verse in a song of endless deaths, forever binding him to your melody.

He held still for a moment, chest heaving, and he hadn’t even realised the force of his climax had pushed him forward, hands on either side of you, holding himself closely above your back.

He gently removed the gag, loosened your wrists, and then, bending down, pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder, his lips lingering against your heated skin. He watched you for a moment, your chest rising and falling in slow, even breaths, your face relaxed, a soft smile playing on your lips. You were utterly spent, blissfully fuck-drunk, and lost in the afterglow. 

Your breathing slowly evened out, the tremors subsiding into a lingering warmth. After a while, the silence alerted you to his absence. He’d left you there, exposed and vulnerable on the table. It was a strange feeling, yet you realised you could free yourself if you wanted to. But you didn’t.

Your eyelids fell heavy, and you drifted off.

When John returned, his gaze went to your still form. You hadn’t moved. Worry creased his brow as he approached, his footsteps soft. He touched your shoulder. 

“Love? Are you okay?” His voice was laced with concern. The scent of noodles and spicy, not burned chicken filled the air. 

He hadn’t left.

“Felt… t’good,” you mumbled, voice thick with sleep. You blinked, the familiar white takeout containers the first thing you saw. Then you felt the cloth disappear from your wrists, followed by the warm, wet pressure of a towel against your skin, gently cleansing your back. 

He gathered your discarded clothing and began to dress you, lifting you gently from the table and turning you around, his fingers lingering against your skin. The intimacy of the gesture made your breath catch in your throat. He pulled your panties up between your legs, standing between your thighs. “Maybe I should disobey you more often,” you murmured, a small, teasing smile playing on your lips.

He paused, his eyes meeting yours. He held up a finger, a silent warning. “Don’t.”

Then, standing up, he added, “I was worried. You can’t just do things like that.”

“I’m just kidding,” you whispered, your smile fading. “I know. I’m sorry. I was reckless.” You looked at him, really looked at him, seeing the lines of exhaustion etched around his eyes and the lingering concern in his gaze. “And… thank you,” you added. “For the food.”

“Just for the food?”

You scoffed. “What, want me to thank you for your dick?”

He hummed thoughtfully, a mischievous grin spreading on his face. “Don’t think you have before.”

“Oh, shut up.” You swatted his arm playfully, but he caught your wrist, his fingers tightening around it. He yanked you against his chest, his other arm wrapping around your waist. He planted a soft kiss on your forehead, his lips lingering. 

“Thank you,” you murmured against his chest, your voice muffled. “For putting up with me.”

[astraystayyh]

Invisible Thread- two.

This is the second and final part of Invisible Thread. Here is the link to part one.

pairing: minho x reader. pre-established relationship. reader has she/her pronouns.

genre: fluff and domesticity. angst. healing. characters trying to become better. humans being humans.

cw: parent death. grief. talk about death. allusion to sex but no smut. suggestive at one tiny part but it's for the plot.

summary: In which Minho rewrites your entire relationship with love.

word count: 17k

a.n: this is, i hope, a gentle reminder to always be kind to yourself, and to the people surrounding you. this one is pretty personal because i see myself a lot in yn, but it was also challenging since i wrote about things i have never experienced either. so i hope you'll enjoy reading, and that the second part will live up to your expectations. it took me a long time to write this but it's okay!! English isn't my first language and this was also a reminder to be patient with myself. thank you. i love you all. truly. feedback is highly appreciated, as always <3

(here is a Spotify playlist i made for this second part, you can listen to it while reading if you'd like :))

Love. How lucky yet cursed we are to ever experience it.

The fear attached to this singular emotion seems ridiculous. Because we aren't afraid of experiencing anger, sadness, or nervousness. They might overwhelm us, but we accept them, we recognize them as they are and then we cope with them. Whichever way we know best.

But when love comes knocking on our door, we stray away from it, we try to shape it into something else- much gentler on the soul, less devastating if it were ever not reciprocated.

So, we name it a crush, attachment, infatuation; anything but the cursed four-lettered word- anything but love. As though merely acknowledging it would morph it into a sharp-edged sword, eternally wedged within us, making our blood dribble away slowly and with it, our souls awash.

You are no exception. Love has terrified you for the better part of your life. There was a time when the word did slip easily from your mouth, back when you were a child and your view of the world was still naive, undisturbed by what you now know. You loved ice cream, you loved candy, you loved your teacher who braided your hair.

But then the once light word grew heavy on your tongue. Because love is what made you crave your mother's warmth, only to find coldness awaiting you. It is love that made you seek shelter elsewhere, in the fleeting opinions of the people surrounding you, hanging your entire worth on the words they uttered about you- ones they forgot within hours but you carried for years.

But this view of yours got dismantled, slowly, day by day. You’ve come to learn that it isn't love that had hurt you, it was rather the lack of it.

It cannot be love that wound when it is the emotion swimming in your eyes, whenever they rest on Minho. You didn't dare say it to him, to name the feeling out loud. You were petrified that if it was ever out in the open, then the love would materialize into something tangible, and the universe would snatch it away, as it has done before with everything you've ever wanted.

But although you didn't say it, you felt it, deep within each one of your atoms. It spilled from you like infinite ink, rewriting your entire relationship with love, dismissing every wrong notion you've once established about it.

Love cannot hurt because you love Minho, and you'd hurt yourself before ever hurting him.

But maybe none of you would have to hurt. Maybe for once, you'd both be okay. That's what you'd like to believe as Minho's shoulders brush against yours. You are sitting at your usual table at Limbo, a gray cat sprawled on top of your laps. Finals ended three weeks ago. Summer break is here, the one time you've been dreading since you came to college. Because everyone is going back to their homes, but you don't have one to head back to.

"What will you do this summer?" Minho suddenly asks, putting down his iced americano. You scratch the cat's ears beside you gently- Lilia you've decided to name her. "I don't really have plans."

"Would you like to go camping?"

"With you?"

"I mean, unless you have another secret boyfriend, then yes, with me."

"Shut up," you giggle, swatting his arm playfully. "I'd really like that," you smile softly at him, to which he nods. "Oh, and we still need to celebrate your win this term."

"Mm. Let's just call it a date this time," he grins, taking a spoonful of the salted caramel cheesecake and bringing it to your mouth. "I need to go visit my family for a few days, and then we can go," he adds.

Sudden guilt floods your being. He had a family he could go to. It was selfish for you to want him to stay, to strip him from this privilege you weren't granted with.

"I don't want you to cut your time short with them for me," you mumble, eyes fixated on Lilia soundly dozing off on his lap. It still astonished you how all animals seemed at ease in Minho's presence. As if they could sense his gentle soul, carefully hidden behind his sarcastic retorts, and cheeky smiles- one you were lucky enough to have been touched with.

"I'm not. I just really wanna go camping," he says nonchalantly, but his hand raises to squeeze your shoulder lightly.

"You should go with them."

"I have a two-person tent in mind, it won't fit the three of us. And I want to come back to you."

His words painted a sweet picture- of him returning home after a long journey, and you were that haven he sought to rest. The idea that he'd discover such solace in you when you struggled to find it within yourself, seemed unfathomable to you.

So, you bite your lower lip slightly, before squeezing his knee in gratitude. "Okay. I'll be waiting."

✹✹✹

Blue and orange flames surge higher under the wind. You watch, mesmerized as their light dances upon Minho's skin, painting him with glistening, golden hues. Every feature of his face is chiseled to perfection, as if a sculptor spent hours perfecting his face, down to the tiniest detail. He looked in his element here, setting up your tent and grilling the meat and now looking up at the sky, a chilled lemonade in his hand. You should go camping more often.

Minho places his empty can of cola on the ground, before tapping his lap. "Come here," he smiles and you oblige, rising from your chair and settling on his thighs. You tuck your knees to your chest, curling yourself entirely in his hold. His arms encircle your body, making sure you don't slip down. You close your eyes, as Minho gazes up at the night sky before you. You are comfortable and safe. It is that safety that you've craved for so long. To be held and not fear the threat of a knife behind your back.

It still surprised you, how you came to crave Minho's presence. But it went beyond just being near him; you felt as if you needed to touch him, as if verifying his existence, ensuring he wasn't an ephemeral specter slipping through your fingers like grains of sand in an hourglass. Yet, even more surprising was Minho's own yearning for you. His hands were always drawn to you, subtly grazing your face, resting on your palm, skimming your shoulders. Each tentative touch filled an echoing void within you, slowly diminishing it until all that remained were faint whispers of it.

Minho has cared for you, long before he understood you. He saw snippets and fragments of you, and he cared for the patched-up version he made up in his mind. And when you unlocked your heart for him, he only cherished it even more, silently molding his behavior so he wouldn't cross any of your boundaries.

He was hesitant at first, in holding your hands and kissing your lips. He still asks for permission, in that gentle voice of his, to touch you, in case you’re uncomfortable. Which you aren’t, because his hands on you are infused with care, fingertips dripping with unguarded attention and softness, for you.

You sigh contently, nuzzling your face in the crook of his neck as his arms tighten around you. Comfortable and safe.

"What's your favorite word?" he suddenly inquires and you giggle slightly. He often asks you these random questions, as though he wished to understand you in the most ordinary of ways and to care for you in each.

"I think it's the word soft. Whoever thought of the word really nailed it. Nothing else could have depicted softness like this one."

"The word does sound really pillowy, and gentle."

"See, I really love gentle too! Why is the word gentle so gentle? Does that make sense?" Laughter tings your question as he grins, his nose brushing lightly against yours.

"It does. They both remind me of you, actually."

"Really?"

"Mm. You're still so soft and gentle, despite it all... If they ever tell me there is one kind person left on this earth, I'd come looking for you."

Sudden tears flood your eyes as a shaky exhale leaves your lips. It felt rewarding, in a sense, to have someone acknowledge the strength it takes to be kind, in a world that had dealt you nothing but harshness.

"Can I tell you something?"

"Anything."

"Sometimes..." you pause, racking your brain for the best way to word this. "Sometimes it scares me how much I've come to care for you. How you make opening up not sound as daunting as before."

You grab his hand into yours, fidgeting with his fingers. The familiarity of their touch helps you calm down. "I'm not saying you'll hurt me. I just... I can't help this tiny voice in the back of my mind telling me to be cautious. It's gotten quieter, but it's still there."

"That's just your past selves trying to protect you," he smiles softly at you, brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear. "When I told you I'll be here, for as long as you'll have me, I meant it. Doubts and all."

"But I don't want to be closed off anymore," you admit. "It's very lonely that way."

"I know it is, love. But it's what you knew best back then, hm? You shouldn't feel bad about it, you did what you had to do to protect yourself. I'm just here to protect you too now."

"You think I can no longer do it myself?" you tease, your hand threading through his silky hair.

"Of course, you still can. But two shields are better than one. Also, this is exactly why I work out."

"Will your muscles protect me from my mind?" you giggle and he nods proudly. "Have you seen these?" he flexes his arms, before snorting, a bit shyly, eyes squinting closed. He's saying nonsense to make you laugh, and it's warming your heart beyond belief.

"I think these should just stay wrapped around me," you grin, guiding his arms around your back once again.

"No complaints," he smiles, as you settle against his chest. He places a soft kiss on the top of your head and you close your eyes. Safe and comfortable- Minho.

✹✹✹

Summer has been kind to you. Or maybe it was you who has been kind to summer, your laughter filling its air until it could do nothing but mirror your happiness.

Summer tasted like love with Minho by your side. In clementines he peeled for you, feeding you each slice with a soft smile on his face. In spontaneous bike rides at six am, to chase sunrises you've never witnessed before him. In numerous books he bought so you’d read them to him, his head on your lap, a tranquil expression coloring his face. And although the months have all been sweet, there are two days that you remember particularly.

You don't mark up the time with dates, but rather with the new feelings Minho bestowed upon you- the first time you wanted someone to stay, and they did.  

"Baby?" Minho’s hand brushes against your shoulder and you startle, turning around to look at him. "Are you okay? You zoned out."

"I’m fine," the rehearsed lie slips from your mouth, long before you could think about it. A ping of guilt swarms your heart, you’ve promised yourself that you’d tell Minho about your true feelings, even if he couldn’t help you with them.

"Are you sure? You haven’t said a word since I came over..." He quickly glances at his watch, "Three hours ago."

"I’m sorry," you mumble, your thoughts swarming your head once again. You felt horrible for wasting his time. He had better things to do than sit with you in silence.

"I’m not asking you to apologize," he says cautiously as if he’s aware he’s threading along a dangerous line. You stay silent and he shuts his eyes closed, hand reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "I just want you to be honest."

"I am."

"Are you, really?"

"What do you want from me?" you ask a bit breathlessly. You don’t know what you are saying, but you can sense your walls building up, higher than you could ever reach them.

"You’re clearly not fine and I-"

"I am trying, okay? I’m trying, please." You plead; you’re unsure for what exactly. For him to stop prodding, because you don’t have answers for him, not yet. Not when you haven’t understood it yourself.

"I'm going for a walk," he says, abruptly standing. You stay frozen in your place, as he quickly slips his shoes on, before leaving your apartment. You’re trying and it isn’t enough for him.

You don’t move from your place as time slowly trickles by. The seconds morph into minutes and suddenly it’s been an hour and a half since Minho left. There is a tantalizing fear making you stay put as if you ever dare to move a limb, then the stillness would be shattered and Minho wouldn’t come back.

It’s hard to reroute your brain entirely- old habits creep up on you swiftly, and suddenly you’re pulled back into the old you, woven into the web of horrible thoughts stitching all around you. Change feels sweet, with Minho, it feels like hope and the taste of a new beginning, but it is scary and different. And the familiarity of what you were before him calls your name from time to time. It was horrible and lonely, but there were no surprises in it. You knew what to expect at all times.

You could’ve told him that you weren’t feeling good, that you didn’t feel like talking and Minho would’ve understood. Because this isn’t the first time this happened, and it happens to him too sometimes. So, he understands, more than anyone you know. But instead, you lied and denied and Minho left. And you can’t blame it on anyone but yourself.

You grab your phone, its sudden light burning your eyes. You blink repeatedly, as you dial Minho’s number. It rings and it rings, then it goes to voicemail. You try again, through blurry vision. It doesn’t even ring this time- straight to voicemail.

Minho’s left. He’s had enough. You can’t blame him.

Three swift knocks resound loudly on your door. You don’t remember reaching the doorknob, your body’s moving on autopilot, but you pull it open. Minho. Your hold on the handle tightens until your knuckles turn white. You can’t look at him, you don’t want to see his face as he leaves you.

"Why are you crying?" he whispers, dainty fingers gently wiping away your tears.

"Don’t go. Not you too," you manage to utter, and you hear Minho suck in a deep breath, before pulling you tightly to his chest.

"What are you talking about?" he says, as he buries your head in the crook of his neck. The familiar scent of his cologne washes over you- you’ve memorized its earthy notes by heart now, easily recognizable between a thousand smells.

"You've been away for two hours and I called and you- you didn’t pick up. I thought you wouldn’t come back."

"My phone died while I was outside and I lost track of time, and- please don’t cry. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry." He leans away, cupping your cheek delicately. "Im here, you see? Let’s go on a walk, hm?"

"You were just out," you mumble and he smiles at you. "I wanna go with you."

Minho takes off his jacket, draping it over your shoulders. He leads you outside, still clad in the bunny slippers he randomly bought you a week ago. His hand is warm in yours. His hand wouldn’t be warm if he was leaving you.

You walk in silence to the park near your home, and Minho sits you down on an empty bench. Your tears are dried up by now, cheeks cold from the night breeze; and his hand is still in yours.

"Chan didn’t leave our dorm for three days." He starts, clearing his throat. "He’s overworking himself, doesn’t even eat the food I make him. And I tried to tell him to take a break today. But I couldn’t… I couldn’t convince him. He’s probably still working on his music right now," he chuckles, but there is no trace of humor in the sound. "And then I come to you and you’re not okay. And I want to help but suddenly I’m pressuring you. And you’re trying, so hard and you’re doing so well and I’m pressuring you instead of helping. And I failed at being there for you both. What good I am if I’m not there for the people I lo- care about?"

"Don’t say that, please. You are good enough. More than enough," you cup his cheek, pressing his forehead on yours. "You’re always here. Don’t ever doubt that. I’m sure Chan appreciates everything you do for him."

"And you?" he asks, tone coated in such raw vulnerability that it knocks the breath out of you. At that moment, Minho was a plain hill, devoid of hidden nooks and crannies- nowhere for him to guard his emotions from you.

"Do you remember that night, when I asked you how I can help you feel yellow?" you ask after a while, and he nods, repetitive blinks rythming his silence. "I used to think that happiness was yellow, that sudden joy that drowns out the world around you. And I wanted to always feel yellow, the highest of highs. But that could only lead to another low, another extreme. I’ve since learned that true happiness is feeling peace when you lay in bed at night…  And for your heart to beat soundly from contentment."

"I remember feeling this way only once, a long time ago. I woke up to see the sunrise, but I was a bit late to it, so I missed the orange and the pink," you chuckle slightly, as the distant memory floods you. "But I saw the blue, this really soft blue, and as I looked at it a strange sense of serenity washed over me. As if, as long as I looked at that pastel blue, I’d be alright. And now…" You smile softly, your thumb delicately grazing his cheek, Now, I can just look at you. You are my blue."

Minho’s eyes glisten with unshed tears as he looks at you, mouth slightly hung agape. You giggle quietly, before patting his head gently. "Thank you for staying," you whisper, and a sudden smile breaks out on Minho’s face. It’s so radiant- as if every star in this galaxy was ground to fine dust and then sprinkled into it. You can’t admire it for long since Minho crashes his mouth on top of yours, drawing you in for a kiss that leaves you breathless afterward.

"You know I had a really nice dream yesterday," he finally whispers against your lips, a newfound lightness in his voice. "I think this is the first time where my reality is much sweeter."

✹✹✹

The first time you felt loved, truly.

It’s a couple of days into August when Chan tells you that he has signed up with a producing agency- it’s a huge step for him, one he’s been rambling about each time you met him for the past few months. So now you’re over at his and Minho’s dorm, attempting to bake a congratulatory cake for Chan. It was Minho’s idea, one he mumbled into your ear nonchalantly, as if he didn’t wake up really early to scout all the ingredients you might need.

"Why is baking so much harder than cooking?" Minho whines, burying his head dramatically in the crook of your neck. You giggle, patting his back in faux sympathy.

"So, you're admitting you're not good at everything?" you tease and he straightens up instantly, brows furrowed as he looks at you.

"I didn't say I'm not good at it. I said it's harder than cooking," he drawls out and you hum in reply, a teasing "sure, sure" escaping your mouth.

"Do you know how to crack an egg with one hand? That's the cue that you're a great baker."

"Why would I when I have two hands?" you chuckle and he smiles cheekily, raising his eyebrows at you. "Well, I can do it."

"Fine," you huff, grabbing an egg onto your hand. "Teach me?" you smile sweetly and he grins satisfied, "Of course."

"Here, you just need to crack the egg gently into the side of the bowl. And then lodge your finger inside, slowly pulling the shell apart. Like this," he demonstrates and you nod in understanding.

"Your turn," he smiles and you follow his instructions, tongue poking against your cheek in utmost concentration.  

"Min look! I did it" You grin widely, turning around to show him the egg now dropped into the bowl.

"You did! I’m proud of you," he smiles, placing a tender kiss on your temple. You pause, the egg’s shell still tightly clutched in your hand. You didn’t drop it into the bowl, and someone’s proud of you for it.

 It’s late into the night, and your stomach is aching from laughing for hours on end. Your plates of cake are on the ground, with only crumbs left on top of it. Minho invited two of Chan’s closest friends over- Felix and Han, so now you’re all playing rounds of Uno, and the poor freckled boy is losing each time.

"This isn’t fair," Felix whines, before stealing a bite of the leftover cake on the table. "This is really good by the way," he compliments and you giggle, turning around to point at Minho, only to find him already looking at you, a soft smile on his face.

"It’s all him," you say, and Chan gets his face impossibly close to your boyfriend’s, a teasing smile on his face. "You love me so much."

"I don’t. Get back," Minho pushes his face away, but you can tell he’s lying, from the fond smile threatening to spill over his mouth.

"Sure," Chan sing-songs, before turning to look at you. You wink at him and he ruffles your hair affectionately, as he always does when he wants to tease you. "Thank you for the cake, yn."

"You’re welcome," you grin as an unfamiliar warmth spread through your chest. Is this how it feels to have a family? People you care for and who care about you in return?

Minho notices the sudden bittersweet expression etched on your face, so he grabs your pinky in his hand, squeezing it slightly. You turn your palm around, before blindly intertwining your fingers with his- something you’ve gotten much better at lately.

"We’ll get going," Han announces when it’s nearly midnight, as he and Felix both get up from the floor. "Sure you don’t want to come to the party?" Chan asks, eyes trained on you and Minho.

"Yeah, we’ll stay the night."

You stand up as well, following Chan to the door and stopping him before he leaves. "You don’t mind me staying the night, right? It’s your dorm too, so I should ask."

"Of course not. You can come over whenever, even if Minho isn’t here. You don’t ever have to ask me, okay?"

"Okay, thank you, Chan," you beam at him, relief coursing through you at his words.

Soon enough, the dorm is silent, and it’s only you and Minho once again. You go to clean up but Minho pulls you by your hand, ushering you toward his bedroom. "Let's leave it to tomorrow," he says, and his voice sounds like warm candle wax dripping down on you. You can’t say no.

You find that he’s already prepared a pair of pajamas for you, spread out nicely on the bed- his grey shirt and a pair of shorts he has apparently overgrown.

"You'll find a box there, under the sink, it’s for you," he announces, as you walk into the bathroom to change. It’s filled with anything you might ever need, tissues and makeup removal and pads and medicine, and your cherry shampoo.

"When did you prepare this?" you ask as you open the door wide for him. He peeks his head inside, eyes softening when they take a glimpse at your figure - wearing his shirt, in his bathroom.

"A month ago, or so. Just in case you ever needed to stay the night." He's so thoughtful, you're starting to believe that the word was molded after him. "Is it enough? do you need something else?" he asks tentatively and you shake your head, squeezing his hand lightly. "It's perfect. Thank you."

"Of course. let's brush our teeth?" he smiles and you nod, grabbing the blue toothbrush he bought for you. He squeezes some toothpaste into it, and your eyes meet in the mirror. You can feel a blush creep up your face, to match the tip of his ears turning pink. It felt innocent to blush at the mere act of brushing your teeth together- at the domesticity of it, and the future hopes that lay within it.  

Minho washes his face with his cleanser and you do the same. He suddenly hoists you up the bathroom counter, before standing between your legs. his arms cage your body, as his doe brown eyes look up at you. "Do my skincare for me," he pouts and you giggle, diligently taking the moisturizer and applying it to his face.

You take your time, massaging it into his skin, rubbing soothing circles on his cheeks and the tender skin under his eye. His eyes close at your touch, body leaning forward and pressing onto your legs. You grab his lip balm, applying it evenly to his puckered lips, and then you kiss him. Softly, tenderly, hands going up and down his arms. His own find your waist, encircling it, thumbs skimming your sides.

You lean away, a giddy smile on your face. "Thank you for the lip balm," you say, before kissing the tip of his nose.

Minho's room smells like clean laundry and vanilla, courtesy of the candle he lit up. You've been here before, but this is your first time sleeping on his bed. He goes in first, before beckoning you in. You lay down on his silky pillow, your hair fanning all around you. Some strands of it go into your mouth, and you giggle faintly as you pull them away.

"Here," he says, leaning over your body and opening the drawer next to you. He takes out a hair tie, and a faint memory dances around in your mind- you tying up his hair at the convenience store near Limbo.

"You kept it?" you question incredulously, voice coming out in a faint whisper.

"I did," he says simply as if it's ridiculous for you to expect otherwise. "Can I tie it up for you?" he asks and you nod.

His fingers gather your hair, making sure no strands of it are escaping. They're magical, relieving every tension you have in your body. You feel him twisting the tie around, securing your hair in a low ponytail.

"All done." his voice is quiet, and so is the kiss he presses onto your shoulder.

You both lay down, facing each other. It's silent but it no longer scares you. Not when your fingers are grazing Minho's palm, tentatively, the way one dips their toes into the water to test its temperature. Your hands are dancing around one another, not yet holding each other, as if engaged in a dance only your body understands. His eyes are locked on yours- a brown shade so mesmerizing you wish you could paint the entire universe with it.

His gaze is always soft when it comes to you, pupils slightly dilated, eyelashes fluttering with each blink. They're so quick you almost can't catch them, as if he unconsciously wants the time in which he looks at you to last longer.

Minho's hand reaches behind you, before pulling the slipping comforter over your body. He tucks it in your sides, and warmth surrounds you everywhere; from him mainly. He's been so attentive to you tonight- a silent care you only truly appreciate when you've experienced a lack of it. It's as if he's pouring years' worth of missed love back into your life, and in return all the love you've held within, never bestowed upon anyone else, has found its sole destination in the man by your side.

Your hand circles his once again, and you watch intently the way your fingers graze one another, delicately, as if skimming on the edge of holding one another. You give in first, intertwining your fingers with Minho’s and squeezing them gently. They fit his perfectly, this is where they're supposed to be.

"I don't know what you’re doing to me," he whispers, his eyes locking onto yours once more. There is a newfound emotion gleaming in his gaze- incredulity, at the depth of his feelings.

"What do you mean?" you question, nuzzling closer to him. Your head finds its rest on his arm and he responds instantly by patting your hair.

"I want to keep buying toothbrushes for you." His voice is hushed and yet it resounds loudly within your being, as if shouted from a sky-high rooftop.

You exhale softly, curling your hand around the back of his neck, and pulling him down gently to your face. You press your lips on top of his, and they move slowly, deliberately, like a painter's careful strokes. Each touch of his lips against yours is there to make you feel something- things that he can't bring himself to say, so he shows.

You finally break apart, dazed from the raw emotions barging into your heart. You then lift your head slightly, planting a tender kiss on his forehead. Minho closes his eyes, as your lips linger in there far longer than necessary. They remain closed even after you pull away, and it is the look on his face that pushes you over the edge. The serenity painted across his features, but particularly, the trust. As if you could mold him however you want and he'd be grateful you ever touched him to begin with.

"I love you," you confess so suddenly, and the words feel foreign yet familiar as they stumble out of your lips. You expect a shift in the universe, a disastrous change as you verbalize this sentiment that's long haunted you. And yet, all that happens is Minho's eyes shimmering as they look at you. And you realize that you aren’t scared he'd twist the words and stab you with them. You know he'd cherish them, even if he didn't feel the same.

"I love you," he says back, a radiant smile lighting up his face, coloring each of his features in unadulterated happiness. Hearing those three words from him made your heart leap in your chest. There is so much more of what you feel that you wish to express. You’ve told him, but you want to show, to press your body to his so the feeling would emit from your heart to his own.

Your hand trails across his chest, and you feel his muscles constrict under your touch. "Can I?" you ask, gazes flickering between his eyes and the hem of his shirt. It's always about permission to you both- permission to touch, to feel, to kiss and the answer is always yes. Yes, yes, yes.

"Please," he whispers, and you tug his shirt quickly over his head. You are a goner after that when his hands caress your skin like you're delicate porcelain. He’s hovering over you, the candle's shadow dancing across his body. Your fingers are tracing every inch of his skin graced by the flickering light, which meant your hands were everywhere, and every touch of yours was mirrored by him. Every kiss he returned ten times fold, every gasp he drank in hungrily, only eliciting a louder one in return.

"Tell me if you’d like to stop," he smiled tenderly down at you, his nose nuzzling against yours. You never felt the need to. And as the night marched forward, you gradually grasped what the poets meant by ‘making love’. You felt as if you were truly making love, as if your every move conjured love in its purest essence between the two of you. The ebb and flow of your bodies served as a spell, heightening your emotions into a raw fervor. It was love that orchestrated your moves, binding you both in a cacophony of sweet sounds, meant for you only to hear.

Minho's gaze remained fixed on yours, as he uncovered parts of you you've never dared to show anyone. It only cemented every feeling you harbored towards him. And the safety. The safety of being in his arms. To be as bare as one could possibly be, and yet to still feel blanketed by his soft eyes on you. 

✹✹✹

Dainty snowflakes coat the outside world in a pristine white blanket. It’s a mesmerizing view, one you’ve grown to be grateful for these past few weeks since it signaled the return of winter, and with it, Minho’s birthday.

It's hard to resent snow when it welcomes the existence of the person you’ve fallen in love with.

The outside might be cold but you wouldn't know, not when you are nestled close to Minho, his legs thrown over your lap. You stare fondly at his figure, too engrossed in eating the birthday cake you’ve prepared for him- a vibrant green frosting and a picture of his three cats printed on top, just like he requested some time ago. You lean in a bit, wiping away a trace of whipped cream from the corner of his mouth. He smiles at you tenderly, angling his head to press a soft kiss on your thumb pad.

There is a growing lump in Minho's throat, but it doesn't suffocate him, since it's formed by your love for him- you remembered what he said about the birthday cake. He was joking, obviously. But the fact that you brought his ridiculous wish to reality warmed him beyond belief.

You rummage a bit in your place, hands tucked under the pillows, and then you take out a purple envelope. "Open it," you say as you place it on top of his lap. Minho puts his plate down, straightening out in his place before looking at you, a curious smile on his face.

"More surprises?" he asks, referring to the gift you’ve already given him- a pair of t-shirts, all with cats and silly scriptures imprinted on them.

"Mm," you hum, as Minho finally opens the envelope. He pauses, as his eyes rack furiously over the content of the letter. "What's this?" he asks dumbfounded, trying to fully grasp the meaning of what he's reading.

"Because of constellations, people often think that stars always live together in a cluster. But oftentimes, they are alone. Or... if they're lucky enough, they get to roam the universe with a partner. They call them a binary star. Like you and me." Emotion simmers beneath your words, and you continue, your voice a gentle undercurrent.

"It's comforting to know that other versions of us are going through this world side by side too. To know that long after we're gone, there would still be two stars discovering the universe together, orbiting around one another. A token of the love we lived." You lift your gaze to meet his, to find him staring in awe at you. You take a mental picture of this moment, adding it to the collection of the ones you already captured of him.

"Our love may not be revolutionary, we're only two humans out of billions that have adored before us. But our love is grand to me. I try..." you bite your lip, reaching out for his hand- it will guide you as you try to speak. "I always try to find the words to describe how much you mean to me, to tell you how much you do to me. I used to always hold my hand out, in the hopes that someone would grab it. But no one did, so I curled it into a tight fist. And I thought it'd stay this way, for the rest of my life. Until you came, and you unclenched my fingers gently, one at a time, and then you grabbed it into yours." Tears are trailing out of your eyes now, but you show no effort to wipe them. Happy tears shouldn't be swept away.

"Thank you for existing, my Minho," you smile softly at him, and he nods, tears brimming in his waterline, cheeks flushed pink at your words. "Thank you for kissing my finger pads and reminding me that there is still softness in this world, all embodied in you." You cradle his cheeks tenderly in your hands, trying your best to let your love seep through your fingertips into his soul.

"I think you've carved yourself into me, carved your name into my heart. Your roots intertwined with mine, and thanks to you, I managed to crack through the hard earth and bloom again. Thank you for making me feel the warm sun again. I was so so cold before you." You whisper the last part, like a sinner's confession, eager for it to be carried away, forgotten.

Minho brings your body to his, as he buries his face in your chest. You can feel slight tremors shaking his body, and you place soft kisses on his shoulder blade- soothing, calming. You are safe in my love for you, they spell out.

"I can't believe you’ve named stars after us," he mumbles against you, and your fingers thread through his hair gently, flattening out stubborn strands of it. "It's nothing," you smile and he shakes his head vehemently. "It's not- it's not nothing to be loved by you. It's everything to me."

He leans away, bringing your head down to press his lips into yours. It tastes sweet from the cake and salty from his tears. It tastes like healing. You both kiss for mere seconds and yet it feels like an eternity to you. As if your mind stretches out time with Minho, knowing how valuable it becomes with him. He presses his lips onto yours one last time, before exhaling softly, melting completely in your hold.

"As long as you're with me, I don't ever need to look at the sky," he whispers. "There are enough stars in your eyes for me."

✹✹✹

It’s late December and the fragrant aroma of hot chocolate fills your apartment. You’re preparing two cups of the cozy drink in your kitchen, while Minho watches you fondly, leaning casually on the doorway.

"Are you just gonna stare at me?" you giggle, turning around to toss him a sly smile.

"Do you need my help making hot chocolate?" he raises an eyebrow, a mischievous smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Yes, I wouldn't say no to a bit of emotional support."

"Ah, my bad," he playfully bows, walking over to you. Minho gently wraps his arms around your waist, leaning his chin on your shoulder. His bangs tickle the side of your face, akin to the brush of a butterfly’s wing, and a soothing sense of contentment washes over you as he holds you close.

Minho places a soft kiss on your shoulder blade, and the touch sends shivers along your spine. "This is for warming up the milk," he mumbles, adding another kiss to your neck, "and this for mixing in the hot chocolate powder," and a final one to your temple, "and this is for pouring it in cups."

"Why thank you," you giggle, turning around to hand him his cup. "Do you remember what episode we stopped at?"

"37," he replies instantly.

"I think you love this anime more than me," you pout jokingly. "I plead the fifth," he answers solemnly and you chuckle as you both make your way to the couch.

Merely one episode in and you can already tell that Minho is no longer focusing on the show. He’s absently swirling the drink in his hand, his gaze lost within his cup.

"What did the poor hot chocolate do to you?" you smile, a beacon of curiosity piercing through his daze. His head snaps up at the sound of your voice, turning around to look at you sheepishly. "Just zoned out."

"I noticed. What's on your mind?" you ask, lowering the volume of the TV to fully focus on him.

"There is an upcoming dance competition. It's at a regional scale and I'm just... wondering if I should participate."

"You should!" you fervently reply, "You're such a talented dancer. You deserve recognition for your hard work."

"I'll become very busy, though. It's already hard enough to manage this degree," he speaks softly as if he's not fully convinced of this excuse himself.

"I've never seen you as happy as you are when you're dancing. You'll handle it, and I'll be there for you too."

"I should do it, right?" he asks, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"You really should," you echo, your hand rubbing reassuringly across his arm.

"Okay. I will," he nods, and you beam at him, before pulling him in for a comforting hug.

"On second thought... Everyone will now see how talented my boyfriend is and they will fall in love with you," you playfully muse as you hold him close.

"But everyone's already in love with me," he says in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Mm, the heartthrob of campus."

"People throw themselves right and left at me, it's exhausting," he sighs, the giddy smile easily heard in his voice.

"Okay, now you're overdoing it," you giggle and he further buries his head in your neck, inhaling the scent of your perfume. "Don't worry," he mumbles quietly, "I'm only ever yours."

As weeks meld into months, your days become a whirlwind of preparation for the dance competition; where each participant is required to create a choreography from scratch, for a song of their choosing. You witness firsthand the immense effort Minho pours into this, just as he does with everything he undertakes. He spent hours upon hours in the university's dance studio, and you were often there with him. While he practiced, you sat in a corner, working on your laptop. He only paused to kiss the top of your head before diving back into his practice.

He chose a song you've never heard before, called Taste. It was mesmerizing to witness him become a vessel for the melody, like an instrument attuned perfectly to the emotions the song tried to convey. His body moved sensually, flowing like fluid water, perfectly controlled by him. Every beat in Taste was matched with a move of his, powerful enough to capture you, gentle enough not to overwhelm you, like the ebb and flow of the waves brushing against the shore.

The first two months slipped through the hourglass of time in a breeze. And although Minho grew busier, you still both managed to carve out time for quick dates. Strolls by the ocean and spontaneous trips to the cinema- outings that helped you recharge fully once again. But the third month coincided with your midterm exams, casting a heavier cloud over both of your lives.

Minho became overwhelmed, quickly, bearing the weight of his two worlds. He was smart, immensely so, he could handle his classes with ease, retaining knowledge faster than anyone you knew. But the day only had twenty-four hours in it, and he couldn't possibly do it all- finding time to practice, study and take care of himself. So, you tried to handle the last part, as best as you could anyways. Exam seasons always took a heavy toll on you- both physically and emotionally. It also didn't help that you went down with a strong flu for two weeks, making your energy levels plummet to zero.

It was only three days before the start of your exams when a soft knock resounded on your door. You opened it to find an exhausted Minho. He’s fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, beads of sweat glistening on his upper brow.

"I'm tired," he whispers, eyes looking absolutely devoid of emotion as they align with yours. You smile softly, grabbing his hand and pulling him inside, "I know."

You lead him to the bathroom and he follows silently. He's so compliant in your hands as if all the energy in his body was sucked out of him. "Bad day?" you ask, as you peel away his blue hoodie.

"Very." He says, voice barely above a whisper.

"It's okay. You're here now," you try to keep your voice just as quiet as you take off the rest of his clothes. You undress quickly as well, before pulling you both to the shower.

Minho rests his forehead on your back, as you check the water temperature. When it's warm enough to feel soothing on his skin, you pull him underneath the jet, and you both stand in there for a while. His head hung low, now buried in the crook of your neck; his breaths growing slower, more even.

"You did well, my Minho," you say, voice threatening to get lost in the sound of the water hitting the tiles, but Minho catches it. He tightens his hold on you in response.

Minho can feel you reaching over and grabbing something from the rack behind him. He recognizes the smell of your shampoo as you pour it in your hands, before lathering it gently on his hair. He almost starts crying right there and then, as your fingers skillfully massage his scalp. You are everywhere, pressed to his body and your hands in his hair, and your cherry scent that’s washing all over him. And the outside world suddenly seems so far away.

You rinse off the shampoo, before grabbing your conditioner and threading it through his hair, making sure that every strand is evenly covered. He shuts his eyes closed, as your hands move to his neck and start massaging it. He's so sore from all the dancing, tired from the studying he has to catch up on. But you’re making him feel okay now, as you unravel his nerves without uttering a word. How do you do it? He wants to ask; how do you always paint his world blue?

Your hands are trailing over his body now, not sensually, just easing the knots in his muscles. You're spreading body wash all over him, and his eyes are still closed, as he feels you place tender kisses on his soapy skin. ‘I love you', your voice reaches him like a faraway lullaby, 'you've been working so hard', 'I'm proud of you'; and your comforting words morph into hot tears lodged into his waterline, begging for an escape.

You finally turn the water off, before pulling him outside and wrapping a towel around his waist. He sits idly on the edge of the bed, as you quickly put on your clothes, before walking over to him. You help him wear his pajamas, the ones he's left in your apartment since he often stays the night. He can't move a limb, but you're doing it in his place- as if the life in you was blown into him, and he's only breathing thanks to you.

Once you’re both fully clothed, you sit behind Minho on the bed, legs on either side of his body. You grab a towel you warmed in advance and begin to gently dry his hair with it, patting each strand with care. As soon as you're done, Minho turns around, nestling his head against your stomach. You let him, hands rubbing soothing circles on his back.

"I already told you, but I'm very proud of you," you say, head lowered so he'd be able to hear you. "I'm so amazed by your strength and hard work. You inspire me a lot, Min. Just keep on going, and if you need a break, you can rest by my side, okay?" You place a gentle kiss on the top of his head.

"I love you," you add softly, and Minho tightens his hold on you. And then he crumbles. Completely.

He falls apart in your arms, painful sobs racking through his body. You panic, as the unfamiliar sounds knock your breath away. You've seen Minho cry before, single tears that managed to escape from his eyes, trailing on his cheeks. But you've never seen him so shattered, so consumed by his pain that he could no longer contain it. You’re caught in his storm, as uncharted waves of his hurt crash against your shores. Has he been hurting all along? Were you this oblivious to the pain brewing inside him?

Your body’s shaking as you press your chest to his back, your arms cocooning his curled-up figure. You try your best to shield him; you don't know from what exactly, but you know it has to go through you first to get to him again.

"I'm so- sorry you have to see me this way," he hiccups, his words digging their claws deeper into your chest.

"Don't say that, baby, please. It's okay, you can cry as much as you want. I'm here."

"I'm sorry," he repeats, voice quivering, and you can feel your heart slowly cracking, hurting in depths you haven't thought existed before.

"Minho, I don't- I don't only love you when you're happy. I love you when you're angry and frustrated and when you're sad. You deserve kindness and you deserve to be kind to yourself because you are still Minho. My Minho. No matter what emotion you're feeling."

"Please stay with me," he pleads softly, and you bite your lower lip, as traitorous tears escape your eyes and land on his shirt. "Where would I go, love? You're my home. I'm here."  

✹✹✹

Selfish. Selfish. Selfish. 

The thought that's been reverberating within your mind, echoing since the moment Minho crumbled in your embrace.

Selfish. 

Of course you are, since you remained oblivious to his own struggles as he slowly chipped away, until he shattered unexpectedly. Akin to a seemingly sturdy building, struck by a minor vibration and suddenly reduced to ruins.

Selfish. 

Each time you sought solace in him, you failed to realize that he was stripping away his layers to shelter you. You took and took from him, each time you called, each time he came over to brush away your tears. Your endless bad days didn't leave room for his struggles, unperceived amidst your turmoil.

Selfish and horrible. You weren't made to be loved. 

Minho is sleeping right next to you. He looks peaceful, endearing bunny-like teeth peeking through slightly parted lips. He's undisturbed, like a placid river, until someone selfishly decides to skip some stones in it- you. 

His chest rises and falls, erasing all remnants of his previous breakdown, like a scripture on sand washed away by the waves. You could almost forget it ever happened if it wasn't for the persistent echoes of his sobs. Raw pain had seeped through him, yet it could have been different. If you had asked more, he might have unraveled slowly. He would have talked and he would've never had to explode. 

Selfish and guilty. There's a bitter taste in your mouth. It doesn't go away when you hastily gulp down water.

You'll keep your problems to yourself. There is enough for him to bear already. By sharing your load, you aren't diminishing it, only adding more to his. 

You can't let your mother be right. Not about this. Not when it comes to Minho. You can't ruin his life too. 

✹✹✹

You are being distant. 

Minho notices it straight away when you stop coming over to his dorm. When you find excuses to not come to Limbo anymore, accounting it for the exams you're both taking. But he knows it's just excuses. You are straying away from him. Your light that shone on him every day suddenly turned into a distant lighthouse beam. 

And it's his fault. 

He's embarrassed by his outburst. How he broke down right in front of you. How he clung to your arms, counting on your words and touch to stitch him back together. How he wasn't enough for himself, but you were. 

Guilt floods his being, making you sadder when you're already dealing with so much. He recounts your tears dripping into his hair, as you hugged him tightly to your body. He made you cry; he shouldn't have broken down. That's why you're staying away. He can't blame you. 

He misses you. He saw you this morning and yet he misses you. Because you weren't there with him, you were somewhere else, in a faraway place in your mind. What if he can't reach you anymore? He wasn't sure what to do with himself without you. 

It's 11 pm, and he's knocking softly on your door. You open it and he smiles tightly. You smile back. 

He hovers around the entrance of your apartment, hands tightly clasped behind his back. You unclasp them, interlocking your fingers with his and leading him to your couch. You are warm, he missed you. You are here and he misses you. 

You both sit down, and you're looking at him curiously. His eyes fall to your lips, pillowy and rosy and he can't help pressing his mouth onto yours. It'll give him the courage to speak. 

"I'm sorry," he whispers against your lips and you lean away, confusion clearly written across your features. 

"For crying the other day," he clarifies. "I've made you uncomfortable and you feel like you have to be cautious around me, and I'm sorry, I won't do it again." 

"What are you saying? You didn't- you never..." you suck in a deep breath, inching closer to him.  "Minho, don't ever apologize for that. please. You should never apologize for being human."

"But you are being distant," he says in a small voice, avoiding your eyes. 

"Minho, I..." you bring your hand to his cheek, locking your gaze with his. "It's not what you think. I promise."

"Then what is it?"

You bite your lip, sighing loudly before speaking again. "You sobbed. And I had no idea you were hurting that much inside. I am so reclined on myself that I didn't notice. And I tried to distance myself so I'd sort my thoughts out. So, I could be there for you, fully. You're always here for me, and I feel... As if I failed you." 

It's now his turn to cup your cheek, his thumbs gently brushing against your skin. 

"I felt so loved by you that day. That's why I cried. because I've never felt that way before," he's quick to explain. "Yes, I was stressed and overwhelmed but it's not your fault. You were there for me when I needed you most. You didn't fail me; how could you think that?" 

"Because it should've never gotten that bad. If I had noticed before, then I would've helped you and it wouldn't have gotten that bad for you. You don't deserve to feel sad, not when you’re... You. Someone like you shouldn't feel sad." 

"Didn't you say we're humans? Isn't that what humans do? They fall down and they get up, I can't always be fine. It's not your fault." 

"Minho you don't understand... How much more of yourself can you give to me, without hurting yourself in return?" You're so sure of these words you're uttering, as if you've drilled them into your mind by now. You couldn't be more wrong. 

Minho blinks repeatedly, trying to gather the words in his mind properly. You weren't distancing yourself from him, because he had hurt you. But rather, so you wouldn't hurt him anymore. So, you'd be there for him more. A sudden relief floods his being. He isn't losing you. 

Minho can't help the chuckle that escapes his mouth. He shakes his head slightly as he brings you to his chest. You're so warm as you wrap your arms around his waist. He still misses you but you're here, you aren't going anywhere. 

"You memorized my coffee order. And my favorite pudding. You always bring me one when you come over. When you find a new flavor, I haven't tried, you always buy it for me. You look at me so excitedly when I try it. As if me finding a new favorite pudding brings your personal joy," he's talking softly, slowly, in the hopes that you'd understand what he means. 

"You love spicy food, but you always cook without it when I'm with you. Because I can't handle it as well as you. You put snacks and water in my bag when I have dance practice, and then you come to check on me, even when you're busy too. You bought me an umbrella, and you placed it near the entrance of my dorm, so I wouldn't forget it. You give me the opened chopsticks package first, and you blow on my food so it wouldn't burn my tongue. And you let me pick the movie, every time. You let me pick it," he places a soft kiss on your shoulder, tightening his hold on you. 

"You brush my hair away from my eyes when you think I'm asleep. And you make sure the blanket covers my body entirely, even if it means it doesn't cover you. I've never had that. Never had someone care for me this gently. Even when I'm not awake and I can't give them anything in return." 

He leans back, smiling softly at you. There is a new palpable emotion in the air- love, in its most unconditional form. It smells fragrant and sweet- like you and him. 

"I notice everything you do for me, every way in which you love me. You're here for me in more ways than you can ever imagine. And I love you. Please don't stray away from me. Promise me," he pouts slightly, nudging his pinky toward your face. You giggle in defeat, before wrapping your pinky with his. 

"Didn't you think pinky promises were silly?" 

"Nothing you like is silly."

"Not even that cheesy drama I watch?" 

"Okay. Maybe that one is. But it makes you laugh," he trails off. "If it makes you laugh then I like it too." 

"You'll talk to me more, right? About whatever's bothering you? When you're not feeling black yet?" 

"I will, I promise. You too, right?"

"Mm. I will too." 

"Good," he smiles, pecking your cheek softly. "I've missed you. And I don't mind feeling all the colors of the rainbow, as long as you're near me."

✹✹✹

The voices of your friends singing you happy birthday reaches you like the distant chirping of birds, fading away in the back of your mind with each passing second. You know that Mina is smiling at you, her head resting on Jeongin’s shoulders. And that Chan, Han and Felix are all clapping excitedly, their voices blending together in a somewhat harmonious melody. But you can’t seem to focus on any of it. Your eyes are set on Minho, who’s walking over to you, a vibrant pink cake in his hand. The surface of it is covered in candy- marshmallows and macaroons, and a dozen of lit candles. Their light flickers on Minho’s face, casting an ethereal glow on him.

And as your widened eyes meet his, he knows that it all just clicked in place for you.

Four months ago.

"What did you like to do, when you were younger?"

You stay quiet for a few moments, mulling over Minho’s question. The waves crash softly at your feet, the sound of them and Minho’s arms around you serving as a perfect cover to thread through your childhood once again.

"I had a bunny plushie. My aunt gave it to me one day when her daughter didn't want it anymore. She was going to throw it out, but I took care of it. We took care of each other, in a way. I used to stay alone at home a lot, and Caramelo would keep me company."

"Caramelo?" he giggles and you pinch his arm playfully. "I was six when I named it, sue me."

"Mm, and where is Caramelo now?"

"I left it in the house. I packed in such a hurry and it didn't fit in my suitcase. But I really wanted to bring it," you smile sadly and Minho can sense a shift in your tone, so he trails his hands across your arms gently, pulling you even closer to his chest.

"What else did you like?" he asks, placing a kiss under the shell of your ear.

"Playing in the playground, there was one really near home. I'd sneak out and go play in the swing, but there was no one to push me higher there," you chuckle slightly, burying yourself further in Minho's embrace. 

"Oh, but I met a girl there when I was eleven, Lydia, I think. She was our neighbor, and she invited me to my first ever birthday party. Her parents prepared this huge cake for her, it was all pink with so much candy on top. I kept dreaming about having a similar one for my birthday. We also painted each other's nails and put on facemasks, and then we watched a movie. It was really fun," you recall, a wave of nostalgia washing over you. You were really shy and didn't talk to the other girls present, staying away in a corner. But Lydia grabbed your hand and pulled you next to her. She didn't let go during the entire movie.

You hoped she was okay, wherever she might be now.

"And... my mom took me one day to a hill near our home. We sat on a bench there, overlooking the city's lights. We didn't talk but she braided my hair since it kept getting in my mouth. That's my favorite memory with her."

Your voice is carried away with the wind, drowned in the waves. You hoped that one day your childhood memories will come back to you, like the sea foam dissolving at your feet. Gentle, incapable of hurting you anymore. 

"You know what I really want now? A big cake for my birthday too," Minho suddenly whines and you giggle, turning around to look at him.

"Want me to bake it for you?" you tease and he nods, cradling your face between his cold hands. They warm up once they rest on your cheeks.

"Yes. I want the cats’ pictures printed on it, and..." he trails off, looking up at the sky. "I want it to be green.”

"Green?" you chuckle. "Isn't that a bit weird for a cake?"

"Are you questioning my vision?" he wiggles his brows at you, his hands coming to your sides.

"I am," you laugh, as he starts to tickle you, unwaveringly. You fall to the sand, and he's on top of you, hands roaming your body as loud laughter erupts from you.

Minho’s eyes soften as he gazes at your laughing figure, but he doesn't stop, not until you tap his arm multiple times, happy tears trailing from your eyes.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Green is perfect, you are a genius!"

"Why thank you," he smiles, before leaning down and kissing your tears away. You shiver slightly, from the cold and the feel of his soft lips on your skin. He notices.

"Come on," he outstretches his hand and you grab it, standing up and dusting your pants. Minho squats slightly in front of you, and you giggle before climbing on top of his back.

"Don't you ever wonder who was the person who invented tickling? They were just sitting down and then they touched someone and they started laughing,” he suddenly muses.

"Right! And then they decided this was something they should keep on doing, and it stuck around for centuries."

"I think it's really cute. It says I love the sound of your laugh so much that I will sit there and tickle you just to hear it."

"And you just tickled me," you trail out. "I know," he mumbles, the tips of his ears suddenly turning pink.

"I like your laugh too, Minho."

"Just like?" He teases, in a futile attempt to diffuse his shyness. 

"I love it. I love it so much I could pay my entire life savings just to keep on hearing it again."

"Stop," he whines and you giggle, swinging your dangling feet in the air.

"Have you ever heard your laugh? No other melody can compare. At this point, musicians should just retire."

"You're insufferable," he finally laughs and you sigh, melting into his back.

"And you like me."

"And I love you."

Present time

The realization dawns on you like a floodgate- Minho is recreating your happiest childhood memories.

From the pink cake of your dreams. To the obnoxiously glittery nail polish he brought home three days ago, spontaneously, you foolishly assumed. He insisted on having a pampering night, where you both applied face masks to one another, bunny headbands tucking your hair out of your face. You giggled as he painted your nails with the utmost concentration, and then begged you to paint his in return. He didn't explain why he wanted pink nails suddenly, you should've known. 

You should've known when he suddenly knocked on your door at midnight, taking your sleepy figure to the playground near your apartment. "Why are you here so late?" you questioned, rubbing your eyes tiredly. 

"We are sneaking out," he whispered in your ear, and you didn't question his flawed logic- who were you sneaking out from exactly? But all was forgotten as he pushed you in the swing, fueled by your growing high-pitched giggles. "Higher?" he shouted and you laughed loudly, the sound of it echoing around the park. "Yes, higher!" Until you felt as if you were close enough to touching the stars. 

You should've known. 

Minho places the cake on the table, his warm hand finding your lower back. He rubs it soothingly, as you mouth a heartfelt "thank you" to him, hot tears prickling at the corner of your eyes. You couldn't speak, afraid of bursting into sobs in front of all your friends. He understands what you're referring to.

It's far later into the night when your friends finally leave Minho's dorm. You've all cleaned up the place, soft music emitting from the speakers. You didn't need songs to fill the silence, the conversations flowing easily between you all.

You gather all the gifts you've received and take them to Minho's room- a pair of shoes you've been raving about from Mina and Jeongin, and new headphones from Chan, Han, and Felix, since your old ones stopped working not too long ago.

"You're okay?" Minho asks, pressing a chaste kiss to the top of your head.

"Better than ever," you beam at him, cupping Minho's neck and meeting his lips in a tender kiss. 

"I'm still not done," he smiles secretly, brushing his lips against yours once more, before pulling away. You watch, curious as he heads towards his closet and takes something out of it. Your eyes grow wide as they settle on the gift in his hands. You can feel your lip quivering as you walk hastily over to him. 

"Is this...?" you ask incredulously and he nods, a happy smile on his face. "Your Caramelo."

"How... When?" you stammer, as happy tears blur your vision, "How did you do it?"

"I have my ways," he smiles assuredly at you. "Do you like it? I'm sorry if I overstepped by bringing it to you," he adds softly, a hint of vulnerability in his words.

"No, Minho, this is the sweetest, most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me. I can't believe it- I... I don't even know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything," he smiles, his hand rubbing your arm affectionately. "I figured this plushie should be in a loving home, with you. It helped you back then and now you're strong enough to help it in return."

There are overwhelming emotions that we can't quite express with words- like sorrow, sadness, or in your case, happiness. That's why touch was invented, you believe. As you pull Minho for a bone-crushing hug, Caramelo snug between your chests, you hope that he can feel everything you failed to express through words. That your soul will speak to him in a way your mouth couldn’t. 

"When you told me there is a friend of yours, who lived in my town. There was no friend, right?" you mumble into his neck.

"No, I just wanted to know your address," he whispers, arms tightening around your waist.

"Did you meet my mom?"

"Yes. She's the one who gave it to me."

"Did she tell you anything... about me?" you ask cautiously.

Minho remembers snippets of his conversation with your mother- the indifference she showed towards you, as if it wasn't her daughter, her flesh and blood that she discarded away so easily. 

"Nothing of importance. I promise you."

"Thank you," you whisper, voice caught up in your throat, bound by the ropes of your overflowing emotions. "Thank you for healing me."

Sleep didn’t come easily to you that night, and as Minho snored quietly next to you, you untangled your limbs from his, before heading to the kitchen to retrieve a glass of water. 

You find that the lights are already on and that Chan is working on his laptop, eyebrows furrowed as he gazed at his screen.

"Hey," you greet softly, careful not to startle him. 

"Our birthday girl," Chan grins and you chuckle quietly, before settling next to him on the couch. 

"What are you working on?" you question, taking in the different settings displayed on his screen.

"Just a new song," he shrugs sheepishly, "I'm almost done with it." 

"That's nice," you mumble, tucking your knees into your chest. 

"I suppose Minho already gave you your gift," Chan speaks softly and you startle, turning around to look at him. 

"He didn't tell me what it is, don't worry. But I assume he pretended as if it was no big deal, that he got it." 

You nod silently, fearing that speaking would stop Chan from talking. 

"I told him that he should just walk up to your house, present himself, and then ask your mom if he can take some of your stuff for you. But he said it’s too risky, and there is a chance she might say no. So, you know what he did?" Chan chuckles softly, and you feel the breath slowly escape your chest. "He spent weeks researching all the moving companies that work in your town. And then he bought us uniforms that looked like one of theirs. With the name tags and all. We rented a truck and we drove there, so we’d pretend as if we were moving the rest of your belongings. Your mom didn't question it thankfully, and I've never seen Minho as relieved as when he climbed back into the truck."

An overwhelming need to cry threatens to consume you, and you bite your lip harshly to stop it from taking over. Not in front of Chan.

"For him to go these lengths for you, means that he loves you a lot. But also, that he feels really loved by you. So, thank you, for loving Minho. I'm very happy you guys are together now." Chan smiles softly at you, before getting up and ruffling your hair slightly. 

You quickly go back to Minho's room, before bringing his body tightly to yours. And as soon as you touch him, he mumbles your name in his sleep before throwing an arm over your waist.

"Thank you for loving me. I love you so much too," you whisper into his back, as your tears dampen his shirt. You wished that the words would reach him in his dreams, making them sweeter for him.

You didn't make a wish that day, as you blew the candles, foolishly believing that everything you've ever wanted was already around you. But you should've.

Maybe that would've stopped the anguish to come.

✹✹✹

There is a bad feeling nudged into the space between your ribs. You rub a soothing palm across your chest, in the hopes that it will calm your spiking anxiety. But you only feel your heart growing more erratic in your chest, and the sound of it only makes you panic ten times fold.

You’ve just woken up. You can hear the water running in the shower. Minho has stayed over since you both studied late into the night. You listen intently, a small breath of relief escaping your mouth when the water turns off. He’s okay.

You drag a hand tiredly across your face, before shaking your head left and right. You’ll have a good day, you’ll open the blinds and the golden sun will stream through your windows, and you’ll feel okay.

You don’t.

The dread lingers in your being throughout the day, making the simple act of walking weigh heavily on your bones. You try to distract yourself, by focusing on your classes and listening to Mina’s rants about her latest date with Jeongin. But to no prevail. So, you surrender to that feeling, today’s a bad day, but tomorrow doesn’t have to be. You’ll make sure of it.

It’s five pm when you finally walk up the stairs of your apartment. Minho went to grab you both something to eat since you’ll be studying again tonight. You wish he’d come home quickly, so you wouldn’t attach your anxiety to him. As long as you see him, then he’s okay.

You open the door, pausing by the front entrance. Something in you tells you to flee, to turn back, and never set foot inside. You don’t listen to it. If you paid attention to everything your mind tells you then you’d never truly live.

You quickly change out of your clothes, before turning on the TV. You mindlessly scroll through the show suggestions, and settle on one you haven’t seen before. You turn up the volume, making sure that the voices of the characters would drown the ones in your mind.

But then, your phone rings. It vibrates from the coffee table, the name of your aunt illuminating your screen. She calls you from time to time, but why is she doing it today? You don’t want to answer, not when there is a bulge in your throat suffocating you.

You watch numbly as the phone call seizes. You breathe out a shaky exhale. You’ll call her tomorrow.

The phone rings again.

You bite your lip harshly, hands shaking as you bring the device to your ear. You’re overreacting, you tell yourself. Nothing’s wrong. Minho will be home soon.

"What’s going on?" you ask immediately, the question slipping out of your mouth before you even thought about it.

Your aunt sighs softly, and then her voice floods your being. It sounds hoarse like she’s been crying. "Look, I…" another sigh, and you imagine her fidgeting with the hem of her dress. She always wore dresses. All seasons mingled. With pretty flowers sewed into them and sometimes even-

"Your mother died in a car accident."

Silence. You can't hear anything after those words are uttered. You know that your TV is still playing in the background and that your aunt is still talking on the phone. But it's completely silent. For five seconds. Where the world stills, as if to allow you a brief moment to process what you just heard.

Your mom. Gone.

But then, sounds crash upon you like a relentless wave. The shatter of the characters in the background, the ticking of your clock, the dull buzz of the refrigerator. And your aunt, she's still talking, telling you about the funeral and when it will be held and you can't believe what you are hearing.

It's all too overwhelming, everything surrounding you is too much to bear so you simply hang up.

You put your phone down on the table. And then you turn it off. That's one sound dealt with.

You turn the TV off and dismantle the clock from your wall so it wouldn't tick anymore. You then unplug your refrigerator. Has its buzzing always been this loud? You wonder. But it doesn’t matter anymore. Now it’s silent. It's what you crave.

Minho will come home soon. You should make him something to eat. You think to yourself. A fruit salad. It's warm outside and the fruits are refreshing.

So, you grab a knife from your drawer, and then you start peeling an orange. Then an apple. It's rugged, and half the fruit is wasted with the peel. You've never really known how to peel the skin properly. So, you put the knife down. The blade is slightly red, you notice. There is blood oozing from your finger. You cut yourself. But it doesn't hurt, so you leave it be.

Light floods your apartment, a stark contrast to the shadows within you. But you want it to be dark, and silent. You already took care of that last part. So, you pull down all the blinds and turn off the lights one by one. Now it's pitch black. Now it's quiet.

You sit on the floor, running your hand across the tiles. You count them, one, two, three. When is Minho coming home?

The floor is cold underneath you, the sensation heightened since your every other sense is muffled. You can't see, you can't hear, but you can still touch. You wished you couldn't anymore. The smallest sensation overstimulates you.

The front door unlocks, but you don't hear someone coming in. You imagine Minho standing by the door, looking around in the dark. It's okay, he'll find you. He always does.

"Honey?" he calls out and you reply from the living room, "I’m here."

You don't have to yell, it's quiet enough for your voice to be carried around your home with ease.

Minho has his flashlight on, you notice. He's looking for you and he finally spots you on the ground. You move a strand of your hair behind your ear, and you feel something warm smear across your cheek. You forgot about your cut- a reminder of the pain lurking beneath the surface, waiting patiently to consume you.

"Baby?" His tone is soft and careful, and you can see the worry brewing in his brown eyes. Why was he worried? You're okay. Nothing happened.

"I made you a fruit salad. It's in the kitchen. Can you please turn off the light?"

"Okay." His voice is calm, and you don't mind him talking. You could bear it. He was different after all, to you.

He’s pulled into the abyss with you, as he sits down next to your rigid figure. His hand rests on top of your pinkie, but you recoil from it. Not because you hate it, but his hand is warm and the floor beneath you is cold. That's a contrasting sensation. You don't want that. You just want a stillness, to feel like a straight line. Straight lines are always sure of themselves, of where they're going. You were tired of feeling like a bent one at the hands of the universe.

"What happened, baby?"

"Nothing."

"Okay. What did you do when I left, hm?"

"Nothing much. I was watching this new show, I think you’ll like it. And then my aunt called. She told me my mom died in a car accident. And then I went to the kitchen and I cut up some fruits. But I didn't know how to peel them. Can you believe it?" you giggle, your voice suddenly high-pitched. "I mean who- who doesn’t know how to peel the skin of an apple? Isn't that such a basic skill?" You're laughing now, you don't know what's funny, but you're laughing.

"And I cut my finger, but I didn't feel anything, Minho. I don't- I don't feel anything," you're still giggling, hot tears trailing down your cheeks rapidly. "My mother died and I don't feel anything. Why- why can't I feel anything? Minho, I can't- I can't-" You're hyperventilating, words straining to come out of your mouth. The breath is knocked out of you and white spots cloud your vision, like the stars that dance around Minho’s eyes. They seem kind enough so you don't fight them. You want to welcome them in the hopes that they'd take this unbearable weight off of you.

"Yn, yn, breathe for me, baby. Listen to my voice," Minho calls out and it's as if you're pulled in two opposing directions. He sounds scared, so you try to do as he says. You don’t want him to worry about you.

"You're doing so well, breathe with me, okay? Breathe in... Breathe out... Perfect, let's do it again," he instructs and you try your best to follow suit. You can feel yourself shaking, your hands moving as if they have a mind of their own. You are cold, too cold, and you can't help but wonder if it's how your mother is feeling right now too.

The thought seems to drive you over the edge and you let out a guttural sob. It racks from within you, reverberating from the depths of your splitting soul. It's a pain unlike any you've ever felt. You try to find something to compare it to, a sensation you imagine must hurt the same. But you can't find any. You can't find a metaphor to make the pain more bearable.  

So instead, you let out a heart-wrenching scream, slicing through the silence you tried desperately to maintain. Your throat aches from the strain on your vocal cords but you pay it no mind, not when there is a pain bursting open every seam of yours, undoing every thread you so carefully stitched back into your soul.   

Amidst your pitch-black apartment, you see yourself quivering in the corner, head buried in your hands. And then it’s thirteen years old you sitting there, the one who wished for something so horrible to happen on the birthday she spent alone, yet again. Your wish came true, you want to tell her. You tried to take it back, but it came true.

Minho gathers you in his arms, and you clung to him. You know he's trying to wrap you up the best he can, his arms around your back and his legs pressed on you. He's trying his best to stop you from falling apart. From breaking beyond the point of no return. And you think to yourself that you've passed it. You've passed it and he's clinging helplessly into your remains now.

✹✹✹

The funeral went by in a blur, its details elusive in your memory. At times it felt like a fever dream, a mirage conjured by your mind. And sometimes you tried to believe it, to lull yourself into a comfortable thought. Where you don't talk with your mom and she doesn't know how you are doing, but she's still alive. On the other side of the country. She's still breathing.

But this fleeting comfort is quickly shattered. The thought barely lingers, like a whisper in the wind, never staying long enough for you to finally draw in a full breath. Because the grief clings onto your skin, and you carry it with you everywhere, like a stench that won’t quite leave you. You wonder if other people can smell it on you too.

Minho hasn't left your side, once. He's always next to you. His hands are resting on your back or brushing your cheek tenderly. They are always near. And you hold them tightly. You practically memorized the lines etched on his palm. It's all you stared at during the funeral.

It felt wrong and unjust to be somewhere where everybody knew your mother, except for you. You felt as if you were left out, robbed of happy memories to mourn as well. So, you remained silent, gaze fixed intently on Minho's palm. And he didn't mind; he never does when it comes to you.

He's gentle with you, he's always been, but he's particularly gentle with you these weeks. The countless times he's cared for you blur together- his soapy hands skimming your body, massaging the shampoo into your hair when your limbs felt too heavy to move; the meals he cooked for you, making sure that each bite was cool enough before feeding it to you. How he always told you he was proud of you, at random times throughout your days. ‘What for?’ you wanted to scream, ‘I'm barely alive as it is’. "For breathing," he'd add as if he heard the thoughts swirling in your mind. "For being here. For waking up today." 

He did your laundry and he folded your clothes. Sometimes he even picked your outfits and dressed you in the morning. Leaving pecks all over your face after each worn clothing. You wanted to smile, to tell him how much you loved him. How his love felt like a sun ray peeking through the cell hole of a prisoner. But you couldn't speak. So, you hoped he knew.

He unburdened you of all these mundane tasks, so you'd focus on other ones. Like attending classes and taking notes and writing essays. Because as much as you wished for it, the world did not pause for your sorrow. In the grand tapestry of existence, where did you stand exactly? You were nothing but a mere speck of light. Your emotions, as profound as they were to you, did not hold the power to halt the world's march, to compel universal mourning.

But Minho made your world stop, just like he promised, almost a year and a half ago. When you finally found your voice, he'd listen to you talk, your head on his lap, his fingers weaving through your hair gently.

"I feel like I’m mourning two people. The person I knew and the person she could have been," you told him one night and he hummed, listening intently to you.

"The what-ifs are killing me Minho. It feels like I’m suffocating each time I think of what could have been. She left so suddenly. But she should've stayed. Maybe our relationship would've gotten better."

"Maybe… or maybe not, you can never truly know. And it’s not your job to find the answers to the questions she left behind. Maybe she didn’t even have them herself."

You appreciated how his hand never left yours, as you journeyed through seas of uncharted emotions. The anger- that came with her leaving so abruptly, leaving you behind with a heavy baggage to dissect. The sadness- from losing the woman who will always be part of you. Because we don't kill our hopeful past selves, we simply bury them and they remain just under the surface of our souls, a testament to everything we've been through.

The nostalgia- that creeps in from time to time, conjuring rose-tinted memories in your head. Maybe her voice was softer here. She did ask about your day one time. Wasn't that her sitting on the benches in your musical play? But it wasn't, it was just your brain trying to soften the harshness of losing her.

It is how our minds cope with grief, your therapist says. Minho convinced you to go see one. Because love doesn't mend everything. And he needed you to be okay again, for yourself.

He's always waiting for you after your sessions end. With coffee and a fresh pastry. You didn't eat them at first, because they tasted bland and you'd rather not waste them. But one time you bit into the strawberry muffin and it tasted sweet and citrusy. And you smiled at Minho.

He stared at you in awe that day, and then he kissed you softly, pressing his pillowy lips against yours. His eyes mirrored galaxies, tears tracing constellations down his cheeks. "You look so pretty when you smile," he whispered tenderly and you felt emotion bubbling within you, stuck in your throat. But you didn’t want to cry. So, you only smiled more brightly at his words, and you kept his compliment stored safely within you, right beside every sweet gesture of his since that day.

Minho didn’t have the answers to all your questions. He didn’t always know what to say to make it feel right. But he stayed there, he tried his best, to heal parts of you that you never knew could be bruised.

You tried one day, to go through the day normally. You woke up, opened the blinds, and then you made Minho breakfast. You ate lunch with Mina, making some jokes here and there. And when you saw Chan in the line of the coffee shop, you went up to him to talk.

And then you got home and showered, put on makeup, and waited for Minho to come to you. As soon as he opened the door, you were on him, hands busy unbuttoning his shirt, your lips pressed wildly on top of his. You missed him, missed the way he made you forget as he touched you, everywhere. As he showed you how much he loved you.

"I want you, please," you whispered, your lips grazing the shell of his ear, your hands roaming across his chest. Your tone was begging and Minho could feel the urgency in it, so he nodded, he could never say no to you. He watched as you guided him to the couch, as you straddled his lap. You kissed his neck and he tilted it back to give you more of an opening. His hands were on your thighs, cautious. Your lips on him felt heavenly but he couldn’t allow himself to get lost in the pleasure, he had to keep an eye on you.

You were urgent, with the way you sucked the tender skin above his collarbones, how you grinded your hips into his. As if you were on borrowed time and you had to make him reach his high as fast as possible.

"Tell me you’re mine," you muttered, between the kisses you imprinted onto his chest. He could see the lipstick stains you left behind as if you needed to mark him up for everyone to see.

"I'm yours," he says, his hand smoothing the top of your hair. He could sense that something was wrong now, because your eyes were glazed over, and your kisses were getting sloppy, as if your mind was somewhere else. So, he grabs your hips to pause you. "I'm yours, angel. You hear me?"

"Tell me you won’t leave, tell me you’re staying," you take his hands away from your sides, clasping them in a tight hold. You capture his lips in a desperate kiss, and Minho can feel the tears streaming down your face. "Tell me you’ll stay, please, I can’t- can’t lose you too."

"Hey, hey, love. It’s okay, calm down," Minho easily frees his hand from your grasp, bringing you closer to his chest. It’s all it takes for you to start sobbing. "Who said anything about losing me? I’m still here, I won’t ever leave you," he shushes, his voice sounding like honey to your ears. It manages to muffle the sound of your erratic heartbeat.

"I'm so so tired Minho, so tired," you sob, burying your head in his chest. You felt as if there was pain igniting the end of each of your nerves. You couldn't run away from it because the pain became you. "I try to be strong, but I can't. It hurts to wake up and- and to try to go on as if nothing happened. The thoughts in my head don't ever stop and I can't- I can't do this anymore. Please make it stop. Make it stop hurting," you press your palm onto your chest, a useless attempt to soothe the burn within.

 Why did it feel as if in your attempts to put out the fire raging within you, you only ended up fueling it even more?

"I would- I would if I could but I can't do that, I wish I could-" his tone is desperate, raw pain dripping from it.

"What if I'm not strong enough to do it myself?" you cut him off, finally asking the question that's been haunting you. "What if I can't fill this hole within me and it keeps on growing until it swallows me whole?"

Minho tightens his hold on you, rocking you gently in place, trying to lull your heart to sleep, so it'd stop hurting, even for a moment, even for a second. You know it's selfish to expect him to have all the answers, but he's all you have. He's the only voice you can bear listening to.

"I can't promise you that you'll ever fill the void left by her absence. It will keep on bleeding and throbbing, begging for a temporary patch-up. But one day it'll stop, it can't bleed forever. And around that hole flowers will bloom, like a sanctuary, watered by your overflowing love. Because it is your love that's hurting you, not your anger. Do not kill your heart to stop feeling, please. It will do that on its own, it won't hurt more than it can bear."

"It will take time. And if you run out of your time, I'll give you mine too. You aren't alone in this, we are a binary star, right?" he smiles softly and you nod slightly against his chest. "I read that to the invisible eye, they look like a singular star. I hope that to the universe we'd look like one person too, so they'd pass some of your pain to me."

✹✹✹

It’s been a few months since your mother died. You didn’t like the term passing away, because it entails that it was gentle, in passing, as if you were expecting it. But her death was sudden and it made your entire world flip upside down.

"Would you like to talk to her?" Minho suggested one night, his knuckles brushing against your cheek softly.

"Will you come with me?" you ask quietly.

"Of course. If you want me to, that is."

"I can try."

Minho drove you to the graveyard the following weekend. It felt weird to see her name etched on the grave, a reminder that this was all real and not a figment of your imagination. 

"I'm not a daughter anymore." You speak after a while, tone coated in sadness, and acceptance. "But I think I’ve never truly been one, since you were never a mother to me."

"Is it weird, that I miss you? I don't even know what I miss exactly since you were never there. But I miss you. I miss having a mother. And I'm sorry, that you were so angry at the world you couldn't find it in you to love me." You pause, blindly reaching out to hold Minho's hand. He grabs it instantly. "But I won't carry your anger anymore. I don't want to be mad at you, for leaving so suddenly. I want to be happy. I deserve to be happy. And I hope that you are too, wherever you are now."

You turn around, a small smile gracing your lips, and Minho wastes no time in wrapping you in his arms, your cheek resting against his shoulder. He's proud of you, the emotion shines clear as day in his eyes. 

"I wanna take you somewhere," he tells you and you nod, wrapping your arm securely around his waist.

The drive is short and you recognize the place fairly easily. It's the hill you told him about a long time ago, the one that held your happiest memory with your mother.

You both sit on the bench, your head finding solace on his shoulder. The view unfolding in front of you is still as breathtaking, and with each passing moment, the tightness in your chest seems to ease. Memories of your mother and this serene spot intertwine like delicate vines, bringing you a bittersweet sense of comfort. Because mourning someone isn't straightforward, not when humans are this complex, never strictly good or bad.

"Cold?" Minho asks and you shake your head no. "You're a human heater."

"Only near you," he smirks and you giggle slightly.

"I remember your hands used to be so cold."

"So, I could find an excuse to hold yours."

"Are you flirting with me?" you chuckle and he nods, a proud smile on his face. "Is it working?"

"I haven't run away yet, so I suppose it is." There is a newfound lightness in your voice, one you’ve been achingly missing for the past months.

"Come here," he taps his lap with his hands and you promptly lay your head on it.

"Look at the sky," he instructs and you do as he says, squinting your eyes. "What am I supposed to see?" you giggle, but then you feel it, the faintest snowflake falling on your nose tip.

"Go away, I don't want to watch the first snow with you," you tilt your head towards Minho, who's watching you, a soft smile on his face.

You giggle at the distant memory, when you both left Limbo, two years ago. The first time Minho rewrote your memories.

"As if I could ever love you, that'd just be signing a death warrant," you repeat your words from that night, a knowing smile on your face.

"How's that death warrant going?"

"Horrible, so so horrible," you say as you intertwine his hand with yours, squeezing it lightly.

"Mm. I suppose we can't be the exception to the superstition."

"How unfortunate," you smile as he leans down to press a kiss on your forehead, before looking back at the sky again.

He looks perfect from your view. You can clearly see the mole on his nose, the pucker of his rosy lips, and his long eyelashes framing his eyes. You are overcome by a feeling of love for the man beside you, and you stand up from your place to pull him in for a deep kiss.

"What was that for?" he smiles once you lean away, his fingers gently grazing your lips.

"Thank you, for today and for every day since I've met you."

"Of course, my love. You took a big step today, what color are you feeling right now?"

"Whatever color loving you is."

✹✹✹

Hills covered in verdant hues, rows of flowers bursting with vibrant colors, stretching before your eyes. The birds are chirping somewhere near, intermingling with the faint melody of the wind brushing against your skin.

"Here," Minho comes from behind, placing his knit jacket on top of your shoulders. Its warmth seeps through you, and you lean your back against his chest, melting into his embrace. His arms encircle your chest, resting comfortably on top of your heart as if guarding it from harm.

You feel your breathing slow down as you both look out the window. You are somewhere far from the city and its buzzing lights, a small white cottage surrounded by nature, where only you and Minho exist.

Minho nuzzles his chin on your shoulder, placing a chaste kiss under your ear. A light giggle escapes your mouth, as goosebumps rise upon your skin. Your body still reacts as sweetly to Minho, proofs of his love imprinted all over you. His touch is familiar to you but still as soothing, never losing its effect on you. You believe it never will, even when you're both withering down; his touch will still be the only thing making you bloom.

"This is nice," he whispers, sighing softly and you nod against him, raising your hand to settle on top of his. His fingers instinctively find your wedding ring, playing with it as they've done for the past two years.

"It's always nice with you," you say and he smiles softly, squeezing your hand lightly. You remember how it felt when he held it for the first time. How he hasn't let go since. It was only ever his to hold.

"We did well, don't you think? For our first time being alive."

His words make a gentle warmth stir within you. It is your first life, and you're lucky enough to spend it with him.

"We did," you turn around, to find him already looking down at your figure, a fond smile on his face. "To think we probably wouldn't be together if it wasn't for our law classes."

"No," he shakes his head, hands gently cupping your cheeks. "I would've found you. On a random evening when you'd stumble onto Limbo. In the supermarket where you'd buy your cherry shampoo. In the park you used to play in as a kid. I would've found you."

You've once read that when humans are about to pass away, a film of their happiest memories plays in front of their eyes. You know that many years down the road when you're on the brink of going away, you'll remember this moment clearly in your head. You'll remember the cicadas chirping far away, and the zesty smell of the lemon muffins you made earlier today. You'll remember the cold breeze ruffling your hair, and Minho’s warm hands on you. And you'll sigh contently, from having lived a life filled with love.

"My soul is dipped in yours. It will always find you too."

[k-nayee]

Live For Me Chainsaw Man

wc: 4.4k

Traveler M.List

ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ

The house is quiet. Too quiet.

It's the kind of silence that creeps under your skin, reminding you of what’s missing.

The walls still carry the warmth of your parents' presence, their voices echoing in your mind even after all these years.

Sometimes you swear you can hear them—soft murmurs, whispers telling you that not all demons are evil. That they can be good, kind even.

But you know better now.

Your parents had been wrong and they paid the price for it. They died because of that naïve belief. No—because of you.

That demon chose to hunt you that day. And yet your parents had thrown themselves in its path without hesitation, shielding you from the blow.

Your mother’s hand reaching for you, your father’s eyes full of fear and love as he shielded you with his body, the look on the devil's face as it tore through them without a second thought...

It's a sight that’s burned into your memory, a nightmare that replays itself whenever you close your eyes.

Days blur together now—one after the other, all the same. The same silence, the same emptiness, the same weight pressing down on your chest.

An exhausting feeling that never goes away. You can’t run from it, can’t escape it. So you stopped trying.

The only thing that keeps you going is the anger. The hatred that burns under your skin, keeping you alive when you’d rather be numb.

Your parents might have believed in peace but you don’t. Not anymore. Not after what you saw.

They were killed without mercy, and so in return, you’ve never show any mercy either.

Every time you hire a hunter to take down a devil you tell yourself it’s revenge. You do it in their name.

It doesn’t matter if the devil is dangerous or harmless. It doesn’t matter if it hasn’t even attacked anyone. They’re all the same to you.

Monsters.

Monsters that deserve to die—every last one of them.

There’s a small flicker of satisfaction every time you hear of another one taken down, but it’s fleeting. It’s not enough.

The anger never really goes away; it sits in your chest, gnawing at you.

Your parents wouldn’t approve. They’d be horrified if they knew. But they’re not here to stop you, nor were they the ones left behind to drown in this darkness.

The house you live in—their house, the monthly allowances, a future trust fund...all of it seems meaningless now.

The yen you’ll inherit can’t bring them back. It can't fill the hollow ache in your chest. No amount of money can replace the hole their deaths carved into your life.

Every day blends into the next, the routine of your life mechanical—wake up, eat, hire another hunter, wait. 

You don’t know what keeps you going. Maybe it’s the promise of revenge or maybe it’s just habit.

Either way, you live in this quiet bitter limbo, waiting for something—anything—to make you feel alive again.

But nothing ever comes.

Until today.

It had started like any other—another walk home through the familiar streets, your mind numb and disconnected from the world around you.

You weren’t paying attention, not really. And then out of nowhere it happened:

A devil emerged from the shadows like some terrible nightmare come to life, its bloodlust fueled gaze on you.

It released a snarl that chilled your blood before lunging toward you. And as its grotesque form neared, claws outstretched—you weren’t afraid.

You didn’t scream. You didn’t run.

You just stood there.

Maybe it was fear or maybe a twisted part of you thought This is it. That the universe had finally decided to let you follow your parents.

After all, what was left for you here?

But then you heard it—the unmistakable roar of a chainsaw reviving to life cuts through the air.

Before you can even process what’s happening, a blur of movement flashes in front of you.

The devil screeches in pain, its body split open as blood sprays across the alley walls.

You blink, your heart skipping for the first time in what feels like years as you take in the sight before you.

A boy no older than you. He was scrappy-looking and wild with a wide sharp grin plastered across his face.

In his hands he held what looks to be a chainsaw—no not just a chainsaw, a creature. A devil. One that looks like a dog with a chainsaw blade sticking out of its head.

They move together in a seamless brutal dance as the boy tears through the devil with reckless abandon. It's messy, chaotic, but somehow it works.

You watch in awe as he makes quick work of the creature, the devil's body collapsing in a heap at your feet.

Blood splatters the ground and pool around your shoes, but you barely notice. Your eyes are on him.

The boy with the chainsaw-dog. He wipes his face with the back of his hand, panting heavily but still grinning like it’s just another day.

For a moment all you can do is stare. There’s something about him—about the way he fights, the way he carries himself.

It’s different. He’s different. And the creature at his side...a devil, fighting alongside him. Not against him, but with him.

The sight stirs something deep inside you, something you thought had been buried long ago. This...this is what your parents used to talk about, isn’t it?

Harmony between humans and devils. A partnership.

The boy looks at you still breathing hard, eyes bright with a kind of excitement that feels foreign to you.

"You alright?" his voice is rough like he hasn’t spoken much that day.

You don’t answer. You can’t. You’re too busy staring at him and the devil at his side.

He doesn’t seem to wait for your response. Without a second thought he bends down and grab something from the devil's corpse before turning away, muttering something about needing to collect his payment.

Then just like that, he disappears down the street, the strange dog-devil whirring quietly as it trots along beside him.

You’re left standing there alone in the alley, heartbeat racing as your mind raced with questions.

Who was he? What kind of person teams up with a devil? How can they fight together like that?

And why—why did seeing them, even for just a moment, make you feel...alive again?

It’s the first time in so long that your chest feels lighter, that your heart has awoken from its slumber.

The image of the boy and his devil replayed in your mind over and over.

They remind you of what your parents believed in, what they’d always talked about that you had never been able to see.

But now you have.

And suddenly you want to know more.

════════════════*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═════════════════

The days after that faithful encounter passed in a haze. You can’t stop thinking about him—the boy with the chainsaw-dog.

You don’t even know his name, but the image of him cutting through that devil has burned itself into your mind. 

It’s like a puzzle you need to solve or a mystery that refuses to let you go. So you follow him.

It’s not hard to track him down. He’s not exactly subtle. You'd catch glimpses of him in the streets and alleys where devils lurk, always fighting, always surviving.

You'd trail him from the shadows, keeping your distance as you follow his path, watching from a distance as he hunts with that same reckless energy with his devil by his side.

He’s a enigma—this boy with the chainsaw devil. You wonder how someone like him can fight without fear, without the hatred that burns inside you.

There’s an almost carefree way he moves, like he’s fighting for something other than revenge or anger. It confuses you but at the same time draws you in.

After enough trailing and asking around, you figured out where he lived—a rundown shack on the edge of town.

It's barely standing, the roof is caving in at the corners while the door barely hangs on by a thread.

You stand there for a while, staring at the crumbling structure. Part of you wonders if you should just leave.

He doesn’t even know you. Why are you so obsessed with this boy?

But then there’s a stronger part of you that part refuses to let go, the part that hasn’t felt this kind of pull in years.

The next morning you find yourself packing a basket. You don’t know why you’re doing this.

Maybe it’s because he saved your life, or maybe it’s because he’s the first person in a long time who’s made you feel something.

Maybe it’s both.

With the basket in hand you make your way to the shack. This time you’re not hiding.

You walk up to the door with a racing heart and knock. It’s a soft, uncertain as though you’re not sure if the door will even hold up under your hand.

For a moment there’s no answer. Maybe he’s not here. Maybe you should turn around and—

The door creaks open and there he is: standing in the doorway staring at you with wide eyes, a confused expression etched on his face.

He looks just as scrappy as he did the night he saved you—even more so—as his mouth dropped slightly as if unsure what to say.

“Uh... can I help you?” he asks cautiously.

You give him a small nervous smile.

“I uh...my name is ____. I don't know if you recall, but you saved my life the other day,” you lift the basket. “Just wanted to give my thanks if you don't mind...”

His eyes flicker from your face to the basket and back again.

"....My name's Denji..." You can see the confusion deepening in his expression. “Excuse me, I'm sorry. But why are you doing this? I mean you don’t even know me.”

“Well...it’s not every day a cute boy saves me,” you say, watching as his eyes widen and face flush red almost instantly.

Denji stares at you, his mouth hanging open completely caught off guard. It’s like the words short-circuited his brain.

“W-what? Cute? Me?” He sounded like he can hardly believe it.

"Yeah with you, " you say with a teasing smile. You’d heard passing rumors about how girl-crazy he was, and it seems they weren’t wrong. He’s practically melting under your words.

He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, his cheeks still burning. "But...w-why? Why are you doing this?"

You shrug, still smiling. "Why not?"

He hesitates. You can see the gears turning in his head, but eventually he steps aside and lets you in.

The inside of the shack is even more run-down than you imagined.

The walls are cracked, the roof looks like it’s barely holding on, and the floor is littered with old newspapers and empty cans.

Denji watches you nervously, clearly embarrassed by the state of things.

"It’s uh... not much but..." he mumbles, rubbing the back of his neck as he tries to explain away the mess.

"It’s fine," you set the basket down on the floor. You can feel Pochita’s wary gaze from the corner, his little chainsaw head twitching slightly as he watches your every move.

Denji notices too and he gives the devil a gentle nudge with his foot. "Relax, Pochita. She’s cool."

You kneel down, ignoring the dust and dirt as you begin unpacking the basket. It’s nothing fancy—just some sandwiches, meats, fruit, and a couple of blankets to sit on.

The blonde shuffles over and sits down across from you.

“I mean... thanks,” he mumbles, glancing at the food. “But you really didn’t have to. I’m...I don’t got much to offer y’know?”

You wave off his concerns with a smile. “It’s fine. I just wanted to say thank you.”

You fill in the silence as you continue to unpack, talking about whatever comes to mind—how the weather’s been weird lately, the news about devils in the city, little things to keep the conversation going.

Denji responds here and there, mostly with short answers, his eyes flicking between you and the food in front of him.

And then he starts to eat.

He tears into the food with a hunger that makes you realize just how little he must be getting by on.

You watch him without touching the food yourself, simply letting him eat as much as he needs.

You wonder how long he’s been living like this—surviving off scraps, fighting devils just to make it through another day.

The two of you talk a little more as the afternoon sun starts to fade into evening. The conversation is light—nothing deep, just small talk to fill the space. 

Realizing how late it was getting, you begin to start packing up the empty containers.

Denji watches you, his mouth still full of food, looking content for once. Just as you reach the door, he suddenly speaks up.

“Wait...You didn’t eat anything.” He frowns, looking between you and the now-empty basket. “You brought all that and didn’t eat?”

You turn back to him with a casual shrug. “I wasn’t hungry.”

Denji stares at you, his expression unreadable for a moment.

His eyes flick to the pile of folded blankets and leftover food you’ve intentionally left behind. You’d brought far more than one person could eat in a single sitting.

Before he can ask any more questions you wave goodbye and walk out the door.

He watches you go, dumbfounded, the blush still lingering on his cheeks.

Two days later, you find yourself standing outside the shack again with a basket in hand just like before.

And just like before, Denji answers the door with that same surprised expression. You don’t even need to ask this time—he steps aside without a word to let you in.

It becomes a routine after that—bringing him food, sitting together in the dim light of his shack, making small talk while he devours everything you bring.

Each visit is the same but somehow different. The awkwardness starts to fade, replaced by a quiet comfort.

Sometimes you don’t even talk—you just sit there, watching the sunset through the cracks in the walls while Denji eats beside you in contented silence.

And each time you visit you take something back with you—a pile of dirty clothes or a blanket—and return it the next time, freshly cleaned and mended, smelling faintly of the detergent your mother used to use.

Denji never asks why you keep coming back. Maybe he doesn’t want to know or maybe he’s just grateful for the company. 

Pochita, however, is still slow to warm up to you. He keeps his distance, his distrustful gaze following you whenever you’re near.

But you don’t mind. You smile at him anyway, offering him bits of food now and then in hopes that one day he’ll stop seeing you as a threat.

════════════════*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═════════════════

It’s a bright, sunny afternoon when you and Denji find yourselves sitting in the quiet meadow where he often brings Pochita.

This place is different from the shabby shack—more open and peaceful, like a brief escape from the world you’ve both grown so used to.

You sit with your legs crossed, hands resting lightly in your lap as you gaze out over the field while Denji’s lying back on the grass basking in the sunlight.

Pochita sits nearby, eyes closed as if he too is enjoying the day.

For a long time there’s nothing but quiet. It’s a comfortable silence, the kind that feels natural after so many weeks of your growing routine together.

But something in you has been building, words you’ve been holding back, unsure of how to say them.

Today feels like the day to finally let them out.

“...I’ve never really told you about my parents...have I?” When you finally speak, your voice is barely above a whisper.

Denji opens one eye lazily, looking at you. “Not really. I mean, it’s not like we talk about stuff like that.”

You nod as your gaze drop to Pochita. The sight of him reminds you so much of what your parents used to believe in—the harmony they talked about humans and devils.

You’ve never had the chance to tell anyone this part of you. Until now.

“My parents,” you swallow the lump in your throat, “they believed in peace between humans and devils. They always talked about how there could be a world where we coexisted, how not all devils were evil and that some were good—harmless, even. I didn’t really believe them. And after they died... I hated them even more.”

Denji is sitting up now, his eyes widen a little as he listens.

“They died protecting me,” your voice trembled. “That devil was coming for me and they...they just stepped in without a second thought. After that, I couldn’t see devils as anything but monsters.”

Your fists clench in your lap as you stared hard at the ground.

Looking back up, you meet Pochita’s gaze. “I thought killing every devil I could was the only way to make it right. Avenging them by making every last one suffer.”

Pochita tilts his head slightly. The wariness is still there, but something in his gaze softens.

"But then I saw you two. You and Denji," you continue. "And for the first time I didn’t feel that hatred. I saw something different. I saw what my parents believed in—the kind of bond between human and devil they always talked about."

Your hands tremble slightly as you bow your head deeply toward the chainsaw devil, eyes focused on the grass at your feet. "I hated you. All of you. I wanted to destroy everything you were. But I was wrong. I’m sorry."

The meadow falls into a thick silence, your words hanging heavy in the air. For a long moment nothing happens.

You keep your head bowed, waiting, not sure what kind of response—if any—you’ll get.

Then something brushes against your cheek, warm and gentle. You look up to see Pochita standing right in front of you.

His big round eyes meet yours, and with a soft nudge he presses his little body against your face, his chainsaw blade awkwardly resting on your shoulder.

Then, before you can react, he gives you a quick wet lick on your cheek like a dog offering a kiss.

 It’s the first time Pochita’s shown you any affection.

A shaky breath escapes you as you reach out tentatively, your hand hovering over Pochita’s head for a moment before you gently rest it on him.

He doesn’t pull away. Instead he leans into your touch.  

Denji, who’s been watching the whole exchange, looks completely baffled.

He’s blushing, his face tinged pink as he scratches the back of his head. “Whoa...Pochita's never done that before. He usually hates everyone but me.”

You manage a shaky laugh, wiping at your eyes with the back of your hand. “I guess he forgives me.”

He chuckles at that, a strange tenderness in his eyes as he watches the interaction

Meeting his gaze, the lightness of the moment fades, and the weight of what you need to say next settles over you.

"Denji..." Your voice shakes causing his expression to immediately change, his eyes narrowing slightly with concern. "I need to tell you why I’ve been coming to you."

Full attention gathered, you swallow hard, forcing the words out before you lose your nerve. "I want you to kill me."

Denji’s reaction is instant. His eyes widen in shock, whole body going rigid as he stares at you.

"What?!" His voice cracks with disbelief. "No way! What the hell are you talking about?!"

Even Pochita seemed confused by your words, his little body pressing close to your side in concern.

You don’t look at them. You can’t. The knot in your throat tightens and you feel your hands start to tremble, but you push forward.  “The day I saw you two—when you saved me—it was the first time I felt anything in a long time. I watched you fight, saw the way you and Pochita worked together...and I decided then that if I was going to die it had to be by your hands. You two represent the peace my parents always believed in.”

Denji looks like he’s been slapped, his face pale as he tries to make sense of your words. "I...no. No way. I’m not doing that! Why would you even—"

"Please." You feel the tears welling up in your eyes. "I have nothing left. But you...you’re different. You have something good inside you. If anyone should end my life it should be you."

Your hands tremble as you reach into your backpack and pull out the documents that you’ve carried with you—the deed to your house, your bank information, anything of value you could think of.

Your tears blur your vision as you lay it all out in front of him, desperation clawing at your throat. “It’s all yours. The money, the house, everything. Just...just use Pochita and end it for me.”

Denji stares at the papers in disbelief, his gaze flick back to you as if he’s trying to figure out if this is some kind of sick joke.

But when he sees the tears streaming down your face, the way you’re practically begging him, he realizes that you’re serious.

"You’re not dying," he says firmly, his voice almost angry now. "I’m not killing you and neither is Pochita."

You lower yourself, your body shaking as sobs wrack your chest. Head bowed, your hands are clasped together in a silent plea. "Please Denji..."

You feel completely vulnerable, broken as if your entire being is unraveling in front of them.

Before you can beg any more you feel a hand on your head.

You freeze, looking up through tear-blurred vision to see Denji standing over you. His face was soft, gentle in a way you’ve never seen before.

His hand is warm against your scalp and his expression is filled with something that makes your chest tighten.

“No amount of money will make up for your life,” he says quietly. “Your parents wouldn’t want this. They’d want you to live. I mean...that’s what parents want isn’t it?”

You feel his hand shift slightly, his thumb brushing lightly against your hair.

He hesitates, his face reddening. And then, in a voice so unsure it barely makes it past a whisper, he adds. “And if you can’t live for them then...”

You watch him closely as he struggles to get the words out, the flush in his cheeks deepening.

“...then live for me.”

His words hang in the air between you and for a second neither of you move.

He's furiously blushing as if realizing just how intense that sounds, looking anywhere but at you. “I mean...you’ve kinda already been livin’ for me haven’t you?”

You stare at him, your heart pounding in your chest.

“What?” is all you could manage. But Denji doesn’t stop, his words comes out in a ramble.

“You’ve been cooking for me, doing my laundry, fixing my clothes...” His voice is rushed like he’s trying to make sense of it all as he goes. “You even took care of me that time I got sick. And— and Pochita,” he adds quickly. “You’ve been lookin’ after him too even when he used to growl at you all the time. It’s like...you’ve been doing all this stuff for me without even realizing it.”

You shake your head in denial, your pulse racing as his words sink in. “No that’s not...” You trail off, your mind scrambling for something—anything—to explain away his point.

But every example he gave was true. You had been doing all those things for him.

Your face flushes with warmth and the words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them. “I-if anything I was just doing what my mom did for my dad...like a wife to her...”

The moment those words leave your lips both of you freeze.

Your heart stops and you feel the weight of what you’ve just said slam into you like a train.

Wife?

The silence stretches out heavy as the realization of what you’ve just said crashes over both of you.

Your breath catches in your throat and you can’t bring yourself to look at Denji.

“W-Wife?!” He exclaims, eyes growing wide in disbelief and something that looks suspiciously like pure joy. He clutches his chest dramatically like he’s just been struck by lightning.

“N-no I didn't mean it lik—!” you start to protest, but the words die on your tongue as you realize what you’ve just admitted.

The domestic routine you’ve fallen into—the cooking, the cleaning, the way you’ve tended to him—it all fits, and you can’t deny it.

You have been acting like his wife.

Your face feels like it’s on fire now as the embarrassment overwhelms you. You shake your head again, trying desperately to explain yourself. 

But Denji is oblivious to your inner turmoil. He’s too busy reveling in the idea with a giddy sort of excitement.

 “I’ve got a wife,” he mutters to himself as if testing the words out loud. Then he glances back at you, his smile growing even wider. “I’ve got a wife!”

You groan, burying your face in your hands as the full weight of the situation sinks in. You hadn’t meant to say it like that. You hadn’t meant to imply—Oh, God.

Peeking out from behind your hands you can’t help but let out a shaky laugh.

The sheer ridiculousness of the situation starts to break through your embarrassment, and the sight of Denji nearly floating off the ground in joy is so over-the-top it’s almost funny.

Denji looks at you, his grin widening as he hears your laughter. “Well I’m not complainin’.”

You roll your eyes, the awkward tension between you beginning to fade to instead be replaced by something lighter.

The sun is starting to set, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you can breathe easily.

You glance over at Denji who’s still smiling like he’s won the lottery. It’s not the future you ever imagined for yourself, but somehow it feels...right.

Maybe this is what living really means. Maybe this is what your parents would have wanted for you after all—a reason to keep going, a reason to live.

Maybe Denji and Pochita can be that reason.

Denji catches your eye and grins, his face still flushed but full of hope. “Guess we’re stuck with each other huh?”

“Yeah,” you say with a soft laugh. “I guess we are...husband.”

Denji collapsed in happiness this time.