#and then nothing comes of them when I reach out | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

shy9-29 · 3 days ago

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From Dare To You ★ 심재윤

“a part two to love, lies, and sim jake” - enhypen campus series

🌿 After YN found out about the bet, Jake apologized, revealing he ended it before asking her out for real. Though hurt, she played along, but his constant effort and genuine care slowly broke through her walls, and trust began to rebuild between them.

🏷️ - @kristynaaah @firstclassjaylee @sheseung @c9b7luv @bswrldd @kiikiisblog @memyselfandkoo @k1ttyjwon @bloomiize @titttuaf @sunghoon-cam @xnatqq @azzy02 @rairaiblog @chvconn3 @wonzzziezzzz @blvengene @gvtdoll @a3r4-for3ver @luvksnn @sunarin96 @aerispark @monoidol @starnaris @pinknjm @marimariiisblog @blckorchidd @pinknjm @melodiessvy @gyulune @marimariiisblog @bgyusgf @doririsstuff @enhastolemyheart @prkhoonlvr @miamoari @dearestdreamies

wc. 9.7k · masterlist · enha campus series · part one

You didn’t plan to see him again so soon.

But there he was sitting alone on the bleachers behind the field after school, hunched forward with his elbows on his knees, eyes cast downward like the weight of the past few days was finally too heavy to carry. He looked smaller somehow. Not physically, but… quieter. Like the version of him who used to light up every room had dimmed.

You hesitated. Part of you wanted to turn back, to leave things unfinished and avoid another scene. But your feet moved anyway, slowly, carefully, until you were standing in front of him.

He looked up, his eyes meeting yours. For a second, nothing was said—just the breeze brushing past and the silence between two people who didn’t know how to start again.

“I didn’t know,” you said finally, voice soft. “About the bet. That you ended it.”

Jake stared at you for a moment, jaw tense, eyes tired. “Would it have changed anything if you did?”

You bit the inside of your cheek. “Yeah. It would’ve.”

He gave a small, humorless laugh, then looked away. “Too late now, huh?”

“No,” you said quickly, sitting beside him before you could change your mind. “Maybe not.”

Jake didn’t say anything at first. Then: “I was an idiot, YN. For agreeing to that bet in the first place. For not telling you sooner. I thought I could control it—my feelings. Thought if I kept it casual, it wouldn’t mess everything up. But then it stopped being casual, and I didn’t know how to fix it without losing you.”

Your heart twisted. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“Because I thought you’d never believe me,” he admitted. “And I didn’t think I deserved a second chance. I’ve seen it happen to heeseung and it still keeps him up , I didn’t wanna take the chance with you.”

Jake stared ahead at the empty field, jaw tight, like he’d run out of words to say—or maybe like he was too afraid to say the wrong one.

You sat next to him, your voice low but sharp. “Then why did you come running back to me?”

His head turned toward you slowly. “Because I couldn’t stay away.”

You scoffed, shaking your head as a bitter laugh slipped past your lips. “Right. After everything. After the bet, after humiliating me in front of everyone, after pretending to care…”

“I wasn’t pretending,” Jake cut in, voice firmer now. “Not when I kissed you. Not when I asked you to be mine. Not when I stayed up all night hoping you’d text back.”

You looked away, jaw clenched. “You made me feel like I was something to win.”

Jake exhaled hard, like the guilt had been burning in his lungs. “I know. And if I could take it back, I would. All of it. The joke, the dare—everything that hurt you. But the way I feel about you now?” He looked at you then, eyes soft but intense. “That��s never been a lie.”

You didn’t respond right away. Your throat was tight, like the words wanted to come out but didn’t know how.

Finally, you muttered, “I don’t know if I can believe you.”

Jake nodded slowly, not pushing. “Then don’t. Not yet. Just… let me show you.”

And for once, he didn’t try to close the distance between you. He didn’t reach out. He didn’t beg.

He just sat there, quiet and waiting.

Like he finally understood that trust wasn’t something he could ask for—he had to earn it.

And so that’s what he did.

The next couple of days, Jake didn’t text you paragraphs or blow up your phone with apologies. He didn’t show up unannounced or try to corner you in the hallways. He didn’t force you to talk when you weren’t ready.

Instead… he showed up differently.

He waited outside your classroom after the bell, never too close, never pushing—just there. Quiet, patient, like a steady presence.

He started walking slower when he saw you down the hall, letting you pass instead of calling out your name.

He laughed a little softer when your friends made jokes, stealing glances your way but never trying to pull you in unless you wanted to be.

He wasn’t perfect. He still fumbled sometimes, caught himself staring too long, said your name like it was still his favorite word—but he didn’t try to take anything more than what you were willing to give.

And even if you didn’t say much, even if your heart still felt bruised and hesitant, you noticed. You noticed it all.

Because Jake Sim wasn’t trying to win a bet anymore.

He was trying to win you.

And this time, it wasn’t about pride.

It wasn’t about proving something to his friends.

It was about proving something to you.

That he was serious.

That he meant it.

That he’d stay—without the game.

It was subtle at first.

You didn’t even realize the way your walls had started to shift until you caught yourself smiling at something he said in passing. Something stupid—probably about his dog or how he nearly tripped over a soccer ball in gym. But your lips had curved before you could stop them, and when you realized he saw it, you quickly looked away.

Jake didn’t call attention to it. He just smiled too. A quiet, knowing one. And kept walking.

Later, you found a note in your locker. No big dramatic gesture—just a piece of notebook paper folded in half.

Hope today’s better than yesterday. That’s all.

— J

You stared at it longer than you’d admit. Kept it tucked into your sleeve. Didn’t text him, didn’t mention it, but the knot in your chest loosened—just a little.

At lunch, Yuna nudged you. “He’s trying,” she said gently, not with that sharp tone she’d used before. “Really trying.”

You didn’t answer. You just watched him from across the courtyard, laughing with Sunghoon and Jay—but every now and then, glancing your way.

Like he was making sure you were still there.

By Thursday, you found yourself slowing your steps so he could catch up.

By Friday, you sat next to him during study period and pretended not to notice when his hand brushed against yours on the desk.

He didn’t push. He didn’t ask. He just looked at you with those soft, unguarded eyes and smiled like that moment was enough.

And somehow…

For now, it was.

Saturday came, and with it, a text from Jake.

simjyn:

Hey. I was gonna go for a walk later. Clear my head. You don’t have to come but… if you do, I’ll bring snacks.

You stared at the message for a good ten minutes. No pressure, no “we need to talk,” no expectations—just Jake, being soft and careful. The kind of boy you weren’t sure existed weeks ago.

You didn’t reply right away. But a few hours later, there you were—hoodie on, hands in your pockets, meeting him just down the block.

He grinned when he saw you. “You came.”

You shrugged. “You said snacks.”

He held up a bag of your favorite chips with a lopsided smile. “I don’t lie about the important things.”

The two of you walked in comfortable silence for a while. The streets were quieter than usual, the air warm with the smell of spring. Every now and then your shoulders would brush, and each time, Jake would glance over, like he was still surprised you hadn’t pulled away.

“I meant what I said,” he said eventually, voice softer than usual. “About showing you. I don’t want to screw this up.”

You didn’t answer at first. The sidewalk was cracked and uneven beneath your feet, like your thoughts.

Finally, you spoke. “You already did screw it up, Jake.”

He flinched, just a little. But he nodded. “Yeah. I know.”

You turned to him then. “So don’t just tell me. Show me. Keep showing me. Not just this week. Not just while you feel bad.”

Jake stopped walking. “I will.”

You searched his face for any sign of hesitation, but there wasn’t any. Just him. Raw and real.

He took a careful step closer. “Can I—?” he started to ask, but stopped himself.

And for once, you closed the space between you.

Just a little. Just enough to let him know that maybe—maybe—this was the beginning of trust again.

Jake didn’t touch you. He didn’t try to hold your hand or pull you into some movie-perfect kiss. He just smiled, slow and genuine, like that one small step meant everything.

And honestly?

It kind of did.

The next week passed like the world had slowed down—but in a good way.

There were no dramatic declarations, no big speeches. Just… Jake.

Sitting next to you during free period, not too close, but close enough.

Sliding you a note in class with the dumbest doodle imaginable—your name in bubble letters with a little crown on top.

Sending you a playlist that started off upbeat and chaotic, but slowly drifted into soft, late-night kind of songs you didn’t expect from him.

Smiling like he had a secret every time your eyes met in the hallway.

And you?

You found yourself waiting for it. For him.

You told yourself you were being cautious. That you hadn’t forgiven him yet. That your heart was still bruised from what he’d done.

But when he laughed? It didn’t hurt.

When he said your name? You didn’t flinch.

And when you caught yourself smiling—again—you didn’t look away this time.

It was Friday afternoon when he found you sitting alone near the back of the school garden. The spot you always went to when you needed to think.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just sat down beside you and handed you an iced drink—your favorite.

“I like this,” he said after a minute, eyes on the sky. “Just… being here. With you. No pretending. No games.”

You didn’t respond right away. The breeze was light, the sun warming your face.

“I still don’t know if I trust you,” you said quietly.

Jake didn’t flinch. “I’ll wait until you do.”

You looked over at him. Really looked. And maybe for the first time, you believed it.

Not because of his words.

But because of how he’d changed when he stopped trying to win you—

And started trying to deserve you.

So you leaned back, sipped your drink, and said nothing else.

But Jake’s smile widened.

Because silence from you now?

Wasn’t rejection.

It was peace.

And maybe, just maybe… it was the start of forgiveness.

By Monday, the whispers had started.

It wasn’t just glances anymore—it was full-on stares, hushed giggles, and not-so-subtle side-eyes when you walked into a room.

You were halfway to your seat in homeroom when you heard it.

“Do you think she did something to him?”

“She had to. There’s no way Jake Sim just—changes.”

“Dude hasn’t flirted with anyone in weeks. Not even once. He’s not even posting thirst traps anymore.”

“That’s, like, unheard of. What did she do? Put a spell on him?”

You rolled your eyes as you sat down, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from saying something.

Apparently, the student body couldn’t comprehend that Jake Sim—the golden boy, the walking distraction, the school’s certified heartbreaker—might’ve just… grown up. Or fallen for someone. Or both.

You heard someone mutter behind you, “Honestly? Kind of iconic if she did. Like… imagine taming Jake.”

The seat beside you stayed empty. You glanced at it without meaning to.

Jake’s chair. Still untouched. Still waiting for him to come back.

And even though you weren’t sure what this was between you and him yet—or where it was going—hearing the way people talked made you feel something you hadn’t expected:

Protective.

Because sure, maybe Jake had been a reckless flirt once. Maybe he hadn’t been the safest person to care about. But he was trying. He was changing.

And he deserved the chance to do that without being a punchline.

Even if you weren’t ready to say it out loud, you knew it deep in your gut—

Whatever you and Jake were building… it was already real enough for people to notice.

Back home, everything felt quieter without him.

You didn’t realize how much space Jake had taken up in your day until he wasn’t there to fill it. His empty seat in class, the silence where his random texts would pop up, the way your phone didn’t light up with his name the second you unlocked it—it was strange.

You hated to admit it, but… you missed him.

More than you wanted to.

You found yourself hovering over his contact a dozen times, thumb lingering on the call button. What would you even say? You still didn’t know how you felt. Still didn’t know if you were ready to let yourself fully trust him again.

But that didn’t stop your heart from aching.

So, one night—when the silence in your room felt too loud and the thoughts in your head wouldn’t shut up—you caved. You tapped call.

It rang once. Twice.

Then—“Hello?”

His voice was raspy, low. He sounded half-asleep. You glanced at the time. 4:02 AM in Australia.

“Oh my god—Jake, I’m sorry,” you blurted. “I didn’t mean to wake you up. I’ll call you back later, just go back to sleep—”

“No,” he said quickly, voice still heavy with sleep but suddenly more alert. “No, stay. Please. I wanna stay on the call. For you? Always.”

You went quiet, swallowing down the guilt that rose in your chest.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” he breathed, a smile tugging into his voice. “Hearing your voice is already better than sleep.”

You let out a soft laugh, shaky and a little embarrassed. Then, without really meaning to—you started talking.

Not about anything huge. Just the little stuff. The rumors at school. How Kazuha almost knocked over a vending machine trying to get a free soda. How the cafeteria ran out of your favorite chips and it weirdly ruined your day more than it should’ve.

Jake didn’t interrupt. Didn’t talk over you. He just listened—soft, warm, awake only because you needed him.

And eventually, your words grew quieter. Slower.

“I didn’t think I’d miss you this much,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’s stupid. After everything, I should still be mad. And I am. But… I miss you anyway.”

There was a pause. Then his voice, low and soft through the speaker:

“I miss you too. Every second. Even the ones I’m supposed to be sleeping through.”

You smiled, curling deeper into your blanket, heart beating too fast for how calm your voice sounded.

Maybe this wasn’t forgiveness.

Maybe it was just… a step toward it.

But for now, lying in bed and hearing his sleepy breath through the phone—

It was enough.

The next day, the evening settled in quietly—soft rain pattering against your window, the smell of shampoo still lingering in the air as you curled up in bed in your oversized hoodie. Hair damp, phone warm in your hand, you finally gave in and called him again.

Jake picked up almost instantly, like he’d been waiting.

The screen lit up with his face, a sleepy smile tugging at his lips. His hair was a little messy, eyes a little puffy—he looked tired, but the kind of tired that made him look softer.

Then he paused.

You tilted your head. “What?”

Jake blinked, then bit his lip, trying not to grin. “Nothing,” he said, voice all low and lazy. “You’re just… cute like that.”

You rolled your eyes, pulling your hoodie closer. “Like what?”

He laughed quietly. “Like that. All soft and cozy. I dunno. It’s just…” He shrugged. “I’d like to see you in my hoodie one day.”

Your stomach did this stupid little flip, but you masked it with a scoff. “You’d probably never get it back.”

“That’s the point,” he said, eyes shining with something gentle.

You looked away for a second, trying not to let the smile win—but it crept in anyway. You hated how easy it was to slip into this, how warm his voice made you feel even when you were still trying to protect your heart.

Still… you didn’t change the subject.

Instead, Jake shifted the camera and suddenly, a golden blur popped into view.

“Oh my god,” you said, sitting up. “Is that Layla?”

Jake beamed, gently scratching behind the ears of his border collie. “Yup. She’s been sulking without me. But she likes calls with you.”

Layla barked softly, tail wagging, and it made something in you melt.

You smiled quietly. “She’s so pretty.”

Jake looked back at the screen. “She’d love you.”

You hesitated for a beat, watching him, the way his hand rested gently on Layla’s fur, the way his face relaxed when he looked at you like that—like you were something precious.

“I’m still figuring things out,” you said softly.

Jake nodded without hesitation. “I know. And I’ll wait, remember?”

Your walls were still there. But they were softer now, worn down in places.

And maybe… just maybe… you were starting to believe he really meant it.

The next night, you weren’t sure why your fingers moved so quickly to hit call.

Maybe it was the silence of your room again.

Maybe it was the way his name lingered in your head all day.

Or maybe… you just wanted to hear his voice.

Jake answered with that same smile—bright and sleepy and just for you.

“Hey, pretty girl,” he said, voice a little hoarse, a little teasing. “You always call me right before bed. Not that I’m complaining.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide the smile tugging at your lips. “Maybe I just like seeing Layla.”

Jake laughed, turning the camera to show Layla curled up at his feet. “She missed you too.”

You hesitated for a second. Your heart picked up.

And before you could overthink it, before your brain could yell no—you said it.

“I missed you,” you said quietly, voice softer than usual.

Jake blinked. His smile didn’t falter, but you could see something shift behind his eyes—like the words landed a little deeper than either of you expected.

“You… what?”

You swallowed. “I said I missed you. Don’t make me say it again.”

His lips curled into something warm and slow, something real. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that.”

You looked away, cheeks heating. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“I won’t,” he said, still grinning. “But just so you know… I missed you more.”

And just like that, something shifted.

Not huge, not loud—but it was there.

A new softness in the way you looked at each other.

A new kind of trust threading its way through the call.

You still weren’t all the way in.

But you were no longer holding all the way back either.

“Three more days,” Jake said through the screen, stretching his arms above his head with a groggy little yawn.

It was morning there, the sunlight barely creeping in through the curtains behind him, and his voice was still heavy with sleep. His hair was messy, sticking up in every direction, and you could hear Layla snoring faintly in the background.

You smiled at the sight, tucked under your blanket, phone propped up on your pillow.

“Not that I’m counting,” he added, eyes flicking up to meet yours through the screen with a crooked grin.

You raised a brow. “You literally said that exact thing yesterday. And the day before.”

“Okay, so maybe I am counting.” He shrugged, grin widening. “What can I say? I miss you.”

You rolled your eyes, but this time, you didn’t try to hide your smile.

Jake leaned closer to the camera, as if trying to get a better look at you through the screen. “What about you?”

“What about me?” you said, playing dumb even though your heart was already speeding up.

He tilted his head, voice soft. “You still miss me yet?”

You let a pause hang in the air for just a second longer than necessary before you whispered, “Maybe.”

Jake let out a low laugh, running a hand through his messy hair. “That’s all I get? A maybe?”

You bit your lip, trying to look annoyed, but the truth was written all over your face. You missed him more than you wanted to admit, and saying it out loud felt like giving up the last bit of control you had left.

But still, you added, “Three more days.”

Jake’s gaze softened. “Yeah… three more days, and I’m yours again.”

You looked at him, really looked at him—sleepy, sincere, and a little too perfect for his own good.

And in that moment, it hit you:

Maybe this was real after all.

And maybe… you were finally letting yourself believe it.

There was a soft knock on your door—three gentle taps, familiar and unhurried.

You peeled yourself off your bed, phone still warm in your hand from just hanging up with Jake. Padding over in your hoodie and socks, you opened the door.

Yuna stood there, arms crossed, an all-too-knowing smirk already forming on her face. “You’ve been on the phone every night,” she said, stepping inside without waiting for an invite. “I swear, I can hear you giggling through the wall.”

You flushed immediately. “I do not giggle.”

“Sure,” she said, plopping down dramatically onto your bed. “Just like how you’re totally not falling for him again.”

You shut the door behind her with a sigh, leaning your back against it. “He’s… different now. I don’t know, Yuna. I can’t explain it.”

Yuna looked at you for a long second, all the teasing melting into something more sincere.

“I believe he’s actually trying,” she said softly. “I do. I’ve been watching. He’s not flirting with every girl in sight. He hasn’t pulled one of his stupid ‘fuck boy’ games since the party. He’s… quieter. Focused. On you.”

You bit your lip, walking over to sit next to her on the edge of the bed.

“But I’m still pissed,” she added, voice firmer now. “What he did to you? The bet? The way he played it at first—that wasn’t okay. And I hate that you got caught up in it.”

“I know,” you said, eyes on your lap. “I hate it too. But it’s not like I didn’t see it coming. I just… didn’t expect him to change.”

Yuna was quiet for a second, then nudged your arm with hers. “You don’t have to forgive him all the way. Not yet. But you’re allowed to feel what you feel, okay? Even if it’s messy.”

You looked at her—your best friend, the one who always had your back even when you were being stubborn—and nodded.

“Thanks for not saying I told you so.”

“Oh, I totally told you so,” Yuna said with a smirk. “But I’m saying it with love.”

You laughed, and for the first time in a while, it felt real.

Later that night, after Yuna had left with a dramatic “Don’t stay up all night whispering sweet nothings,” you were back in bed, your thoughts buzzing.

You stared at your phone, thumb hovering over Jake’s name. It felt different now—not like you had to call him, but like… maybe you wanted to.

So you did.

The screen lit up, and after just one ring, his face appeared—eyes half-lidded, hoodie hood pulled halfway over his messy hair.

“Hey,” he said, voice all gravel and sleep. “Missed me already?”

You snorted, shifting under your blanket. “It’s only been a few hours.”

Jake smiled lazily. “Still counts.”

You studied him quietly for a moment—how tired he looked, how soft he sounded when he was with you. And for a second, it almost felt easy. Natural. As if things had always been like this between you.

“Yuna and I talked,” you said.

Jake blinked more awake. “Yeah? What’d she say?”

You shrugged. “She still doesn’t like what you did. But… she believes you’re trying.”

Jake leaned back against his pillows, hand dragging down his face. “I deserve that. I don’t expect anyone to forgive me right away.”

There was a pause. His eyes flicked back to the screen. “But you talked to her about me.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Don’t get cocky.”

“I’m not,” he said, grinning. “Just… glad.”

You rested your cheek on your pillow, watching him through the screen. “I don’t know what’s going to happen when you come back.”

“I do,” he said. “I’m gonna see you. And I’m gonna keep proving it—every day. No games. Just me.”

Your heart did that thing again—that annoying, traitorous flutter—but you didn’t stop it this time.

“Three days,” you whispered.

Jake smiled so softly it nearly knocked the air out of your lungs. “Yeah. Three days.”

And even with all the scars and hesitation…

You couldn’t help but feel a little bit like you were finally getting your heart back.

Two more days.

That’s what you’d told yourself all morning.

Just two more days and he’d be back. Two more days and you’d see him—really see him—not just on a screen.

But that night, something felt off.

Jake hadn’t called.

Not even a text.

Not a “good morning” or a sleepy voice note. Nothing.

You tried to brush it off at first.

He’s probably tired. Maybe busy with his family.

But the longer you stared at your phone, the more uneasy you felt.

You sent a message. Then another.

And when the little “Delivered” didn’t change to “Read”… you panicked.

You tried calling. Once. Twice. Then five more times.

Your fingers moved on their own—FaceTime.

The screen rang for what felt like forever before finally—

Click.

His face appeared, flushed and damp, water still running faintly in the background. Steam curled around the edges of the screen, and his wet hair was slicked back. He was clearly still in the shower, the camera only catching his bare shoulders and face, but—

“Y/N?” Jake asked, breathless. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

Your words came out rushed. “What’s wrong with you? Why weren’t you answering? I thought— I don’t know. I thought something happened—”

Jake blinked fast, clearly still trying to process. “Shit, I’m sorry. I was in the shower. I left my phone on the counter but it wouldn’t stop buzzing—I thought someone died.”

You breathed out a shaky laugh, rubbing your eyes. “You scared me.”

He frowned, guilt all over his face. “I didn’t mean to. I swear, I just— I was in the middle of shampooing and suddenly it’s like twelve missed calls—”

“I thought something happened to you,” you admitted quietly, voice softer now.

Jake’s brows knit together. He adjusted the phone slightly—still just his face and shoulders on screen—and his voice dipped low. “Hey… I’m okay. I promise. You’re not overthinking, alright? I should’ve texted you first. That’s on me.”

You nodded, but your heart was still racing.

He gave a crooked smile. “For what it’s worth… I’m kinda glad you spammed me.”

“Why?”

“Means you care,” he said simply. “That’s all I ever wanted.”

You looked at him, steam rising around his face, eyes tired but warm.

“Next time,” you muttered, “at least answer before I have a meltdown.”

Jake chuckled. “Deal.”

And even though the call wasn’t long…

And even though he was still in Australia, two days away—

You went to bed that night with your heart just a little more at ease.

The next morning, sunlight filtered through your blinds as you sat cross-legged on your bed, phone propped up in front of you. Jake’s sleepy face filled the screen—his hair a little messy, eyes soft and hooded from just waking up. It was night over there, but he still looked wide awake for one reason only.

You.

“Okay,” you said, holding up two options. “Sweater or hoodie?”

Jake squinted, rubbing at his eye. “Wait, wait, go back to the blue one. The knit one.”

You held it up again, amused. “This?”

“Yeah,” he said, already smiling. “That. With the jean shorts. You’ll look so good, I swear.”

You gave him a look. “You didn’t even see it on.”

“Babe,” he said, voice low and teasing, “I already know. Trust me.”

You rolled your eyes but tugged the sweater on anyway. It was cozy, a little oversized, sleeves dropping slightly past your wrists. Paired with your denim shorts and a quick glance in the mirror—you had to admit, he was right.

You turned back toward the screen to find Jake watching you with this quiet, lopsided grin on his face.

“What?” you asked, reaching for your mascara.

“Nothing,” he said. “Just… you’re really pretty.”

Your hand paused mid-air. “Shut up.”

“I’m serious,” he said, his voice softer now. “Like, stupid pretty.”

You bit back a smile and kept doing your makeup, feeling his gaze linger. He didn’t say anything for a bit, just watched you brush and blend and put on lip balm.

“I don’t care how jet-lagged I am tomorrow,” he said suddenly. “I’m staying up all night with you.”

You glanced at the screen.

He looked dead serious, head resting on his pillow but eyes locked on you.

“I’m gonna hug you so tight,” he said. “Like, refuse to let go tight. And kiss you until you tell me to stop.”

You pretended to be unbothered, but your smile gave you away.

He laughed gently. “That a yes?”

You shook your head, cheeks warm. “We’ll see.”

Jake yawned and nestled deeper into his sheets. “One more day…”

“One more,” you echoed, slipping on your shoes.

And as you grabbed your bag and headed out the door, you couldn’t help but feel the smallest flicker of excitement under your skin.

Just one more.

That whole day felt… weird. Good weird. Butterflies-in-your-stomach kind of weird.

Everything you did—walking through the halls, sitting through class, zoning out during lunch—had one repeating thought in the back of your mind: Jake’s coming back today.

You weren’t texting him much. Just a few updates here and there.

He sent you a photo of the plane window, captioned: Next stop: you.

And that alone had you stuffing your phone into your locker before you completely melted in front of everyone.

By the time school ended, your legs were bouncing nonstop on the bus ride home. You told yourself you were being chill. Normal. Totally not overthinking the fact that Jake Sim, the boy who once treated girls like trophies, who once made you a bet, was now someone you were waiting for.

And maybe even falling for.

You got home, changed into something a little more comfortable, and threw yourself on your bed—phone clutched in your hand like it was your lifeline.

Then, a text buzzed through:

@simjyn: Landed. Be at yours in 20. Don’t freak out.

Your heart immediately started freaking out.

You sat up fast, checked your reflection in the mirror, and tried to tell yourself it wasn’t that deep.

But it was.

Because this wasn’t just any visit.

This was the first time you were going to see him since everything—

Since the bet, the heartbreak, the slow rebuild.

Since the quiet confessions and late night calls and the I miss yous.

This was real.

And you were about to find out just how real it truly felt… when he was standing right in front of you.

The next twenty minutes felt like an eternity. You paced around your room, picking up and putting down random things—your phone, your makeup bag, your shoes—anything to distract yourself from the nervous energy building in your chest.

You had to keep reminding yourself to breathe. It’s just Jake. It’s just Jake.

But it wasn’t just Jake, was it?

It was the Jake. The one you’d spent weeks on edge about. The one who’d broken your heart and then somehow, miraculously, started piecing it back together. The one who told you things that made your stomach twist in ways you didn’t want to admit.

The doorbell rang, sharp and sudden, making your heart jump into your throat.

You took a steadying breath and headed for the door, barely holding it together. When you opened it, Jake was standing there, grinning like he owned the world. His hair was a little messy, his eyes bright, and there was a certain softness to him that you hadn’t expected.

“Hey,” he said, voice low, a little hoarse from the travel. “Miss me?”

You just stared at him for a beat before a small laugh escaped your lips. “Are you really gonna ask that after everything?”

Jake stepped inside, closing the door behind him as he swept you into a hug. The warmth of his body was instant—familiar, comforting—and for the first time in days, you felt like maybe this was right. Like maybe it wasn’t a mistake to want him around.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice quiet now, like he was finally ready to admit it. “I know I messed up, but I really meant it when I said I wanted to try. I’m here for you. I want this… with you.”

You pulled back slightly to look him in the eye, your heart still racing from the flood of emotions crashing over you.

“You’re not just saying that because you’re back now?” you asked, unsure if you were ready to hear the answer.

Jake’s hand cupped your cheek gently, his thumb brushing over your skin as if he was trying to memorize the feeling of you. “No. It’s not just because I’m here. I was never going to get off the plane without making things right. I wanted to be here. For you. For us.”

You couldn’t say anything, couldn’t form the words you needed to say. Instead, you stood there, eyes locked on his, and let the silence speak for you.

Finally, Jake leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours. “So, how about we just… try again? No games, no past stuff. Just us.”

You took in a shaky breath, then nodded.

“Okay,” you whispered.

Jake smiled, that familiar cocky grin back on his face, but there was something new in his eyes—something deeper. “Good,” he murmured before gently leaning in to kiss you.

It was soft, tentative at first, like he was waiting for permission. You let him, sinking into the kiss, and for that brief moment, it felt like all the tension and uncertainty of the past few weeks just melted away.

When he pulled back, he grinned again. “Tomorrow, I’m not jet-lagged. We’re going out. I’m taking you on a real date.”

You laughed softly, still in a daze from his kiss. “What’s a ‘real date’ to you?”

“Dinner, movie, some late-night snacks, maybe another kiss or two…” Jake shrugged. “The usual, but with less games.”

You smiled, the butterflies in your stomach fluttering in response. “I think I could get used to this.”

Jake just chuckled and pulled you close again, arms wrapping around you like he wasn’t planning on letting go anytime soon.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to relax into him, knowing that whatever came next, you were finally ready to let things unfold.

Jake stood by the door, his hands casually in his pockets, looking around your room like he was trying to make himself comfortable. His eyes settled on you, and there was that same soft look he always had when he wasn’t being cocky or teasing.

“So, uh…” he started, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly a little unsure for the first time tonight. “Is Yuna here?”

You blinked, glancing toward the empty bed across the room. Yuna was out with her boyfriend, which left you alone in the apartment for the night. You’d assumed it would just be the two of you hanging out, but the way Jake asked made your heart skip a beat.

“Uh, no, she’s out with her boyfriend for the night,” you replied, biting your lip. “Why?”

Jake looked almost shy for a second, before shrugging. “Well, I was thinking… maybe I could stay here tonight?” His voice was hesitant, and for a moment, you weren’t sure if he was asking because he really wanted to, or if it was just the most natural thing for him to do. But when his eyes met yours, there was a sincerity there that made your stomach flutter.

You froze, a nervous little laugh escaping your lips. Stay the night?

You’d never had a guy stay over, especially not someone like Jake—someone who had once seemed like the kind of guy who’d never do anything that serious with someone. The idea of him being so close to you all night, even after everything, made your heart race. You couldn’t lie—it made you feel… nervous.

“Uh… yeah. Sure,” you said quietly, looking down at your feet, suddenly feeling shy.

Jake smiled, a bit relieved. “You sure? I don’t wanna make it awkward or anything, I just… I’ve missed being with you.”

Your heart melted at his words, but the nerves were still there, fluttering in your chest. “It’s not awkward,” you replied, glancing up at him. “I just… haven’t really had anyone stay over before. It’s… different.”

Jake stepped closer, his presence suddenly overwhelming in the best way. He reached for your hand and gently tugged you towards him, his smile soft and comforting. “We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for, okay? I just wanna spend time with you. Just you and me.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words. “Okay…” you whispered, not sure what to expect, but feeling strangely calm in his arms.

Jake’s lips pressed softly to your forehead, his hand still holding yours as he led you to the bed. “Then, how about we just watch a movie? You pick.”

You nodded, still feeling that little wave of nervousness, but somehow comforted by the way Jake treated you. This wasn’t a game anymore, and maybe it wasn’t the big leap you’d both once imagined. But it was a step, and that was enough.

As Jake settled next to you on the bed, you grabbed your remote and flipped through the options. He leaned against the headboard, pulling you closer, as you snuggled into his side, your heart beating just a little faster than normal.

You weren’t sure what the future held, but right now, in this quiet moment with Jake, you were willing to let the night unfold however it came.

And, even if you were nervous, you didn’t mind that he was here. With you.

The bed felt a little too big for just the two of you at first. You were trying to settle in, but your nerves kept making it awkward. You told yourself it would be fine, but the reality of him being here—so close, sharing this space with you—was a little more overwhelming than you expected.

Jake, on the other hand, was perfectly at ease. He’d clearly been in similar situations before, and the way he moved around the bed, adjusting the pillows, grabbing the blanket to throw over both of you, was effortless. He wasn’t even trying to be cautious. To him, it was just another night, another moment to relax.

You, on the other hand, lay stiff beside him, your back to him as you tried to make yourself comfortable without being too aware of his presence.

Then, you heard him yawn. “So… not bad, huh?” he said casually, turning on his side to face you, his gaze sharp and mischievous. “I mean, I know you’re probably not used to me being here, but don’t worry. I’m a great bedmate.”

You snorted, rolling your eyes even though you couldn’t hide a small smile. “Yeah, sure. No more moving around, okay? I’m trying to sleep.”

Jake grinned, clearly not even the slightest bit tired. “It’s only like 6 AM for me, babe. It’s morning in Australia, so I’m wide awake.” He paused for a second before adding, “And don’t worry. I’m not that bad. I’ll let you sleep.”

But he didn’t.

The next few minutes were a blur of shifting blankets and restless movements. Every time you thought you might finally fall asleep, Jake would adjust, making sure you felt every inch of his presence next to you. It was like he was a human radiator.

He kept moving, lightly bumping into you, his arm brushing against yours as he stretched and shifted again. You groaned, turning onto your back, trying to get some space. But Jake had other plans.

“C’mon, you can’t be mad at me forever,” he murmured, his fingers trailing over your cheek as he pinched it, all while giving you that infuriatingly sweet smile.

“Jake, I’m trying to sleep,” you snapped, your voice more irritated than you meant it to be.

“I know. You’re cute when you’re grumpy.” He grinned and leaned in to pinch your other cheek. “You’re like a little puppy when you’re all sleepy and mad.”

You huffed, swatting his hand away, but Jake only laughed softly, ignoring your protests. He pulled you in closer, wrapping his arms around you tightly, so there was no escape.

“What are you doing?” you muttered, fighting the urge to squirm out of his grip.

“I’m cuddling you. Isn’t that what you do when you’re sleeping next to someone? Come on, you can’t be mad at me. It’s cute when you’re mad.” Jake’s tone was teasing, almost too playful for how much he was invading your personal space.

You gritted your teeth, pushing at his chest weakly, but the more you tried to get away, the more he pulled you in. Eventually, you just gave up, sighing in frustration, the warmth of his embrace making you feel a little too comfortable despite your annoyance.

“Seriously, Jake, I’m not in the mood for this,” you muttered, trying to wiggle free.

But instead of letting go, Jake’s hand rested on the top of your head, gently stroking your hair, as if trying to soothe you. “Shhh. Just relax, okay? You’ve had a rough couple of days. Let me take care of you.”

His words were soft and gentle, but the way he was treating you, so carefree and natural, made everything feel more intense.

You felt your face flush. God, why was he so affectionate?

Your body was tense, but Jake didn’t seem to care. He continued his little “babying” routine, pinching your cheeks again, running his hand down your arm. “You really are cute when you’re trying to act tough.”

You shoved his hand away again. “Stop!” you groaned, your face burning now, both from being flustered and from how absolutely done you were with his teasing. But even as you spoke, you couldn’t help but feel your frustration shift into something else. The warmth of his closeness, the way he kept trying to make you laugh—despite how embarrassed you were—it was impossible to ignore the fact that a part of you was starting to soften.

Jake seemed to sense that too, because his smile softened, and for a brief second, he pulled back just enough to look at you seriously. “Okay, okay. I’ll stop… for now,” he said, but there was a playful glint in his eyes that told you he was far from done.

“Good,” you muttered, turning to face the other side of the bed.

Jake’s voice suddenly broke through the quiet, whining as he flopped onto his back. “I’m bored!” he groaned dramatically, his arms thrown wide as he stared up at the ceiling. “This is so lame. Can we do something fun?”

The frustration that had been simmering inside you all night bubbled over. You were already feeling irritable from his constant moving around and messing with you, and now this? You turned on your side, facing him, opening your mouth to let him have it.

“What do you mean, bored? You’re the one who—”

Before you could even finish your sentence, Jake was already leaning in, his lips pressing urgently against yours, silencing whatever you were about to say. His kiss was sudden and intense, catching you completely off guard. The feeling of his lips on yours made everything in you freeze. You were mad, frustrated, confused—and yet your body couldn’t help but respond to him.

You pulled away, heart pounding, cheeks flushed. “What the hell, Jake?” you gasped, feeling a little more than just flustered.

Jake smirked, a glint of mischief dancing in his eyes. “Shh,” he murmured, his voice low and playful. “You were about to yell at me, weren’t you? I just had to shut you up for a second.”

Before you could even process what was happening, he kissed you again. This time, it was slower, deeper, and when he pulled away, your lips felt tingling, your mind a little hazy.

But Jake wasn’t done. His hands slid to your waist, and in one fluid movement, he was over you, his body hovering above yours. His eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your heart race, and his breath was coming out in soft pants.

“Jake, wait, we can’t—” you tried to protest, but your voice faltered as his lips moved down to your neck, his body pressing closer to yours.

“I’ve been waiting for this,” he murmured, his voice thick with something you couldn’t quite place. He kissed you again, more passionately this time, as his hands moved to pull you even closer. Every touch, every kiss, only seemed to stir something deeper in you.

And even though you were still mad, flustered, and unsure, you couldn’t deny how badly your body responded to his closeness. The kiss deepened, the air between you thick with tension and the weight of everything unsaid.

It was like you couldn’t breathe without him, even as your mind screamed at you to pull away, to think clearly. But all you could focus on were his lips, his hands, and the way his body made yours burn with the kind of heat you hadn’t expected.

And in that moment, everything else just seemed to fade away.

You pulled away from Jake just enough to catch your breath, your chest rising and falling rapidly. The heat between you was still lingering, and your heart was hammering in your chest.

“Jake,” you whispered, your voice shaky. “Don’t… don’t leave any marks.”

Jake paused, looking down at you with a mischievous grin. “What, are you worried someone’s gonna see? You know, it’ll just be our little secret.”

You felt the tension rise in your chest. “Jake, seriously. No marks.”

But he only smirked, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Too late,” he said softly, pressing his lips to your neck again. His kiss was soft at first, but there was a quiet intensity behind it, his lips leaving a trail of heat.

You gasped, a shiver running down your spine. “Jake…” you protested weakly, but his lips were already moving with more confidence, his hands gently pulling your body even closer to his.

“Shh,” he murmured between kisses, his breath warm against your skin. “You’re just too irresistible, you know that?”

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to focus, but the way his mouth was slowly marking the sensitive skin of your neck made it hard to think. He didn’t seem to care about your protests, and in a way, you didn’t want him to. The moment was too intense for you to pull back now.

“Jake, I said no marks,” you breathed, but your voice wavered as his lips pressed harder against the skin of your neck.

But Jake’s grin never wavered as he kissed you once more. “I’ll be gentle,” he whispered teasingly. “But you know you like it.”

And before you could say anything else, he placed another kiss on your skin, and this time, it was more than just a light touch—it was deeper, more possessive.

You couldn’t help but groan, your body reacting in ways you hadn’t expected, and all of your careful reservations melted away beneath him.

Jake pulled away for a moment, his eyes dark with something you couldn’t quite place. He gave you a slow, almost predatory grin before sitting up slightly. Without saying a word, he pulled his shirt off over his head, tossing it carelessly to the side.

Your breat caught in your throat as your eyes involuntarily roamed over his toned chest. It wasn’t like you hadn’t seen him shirtless before, but now… this felt different. The way his body moved, the way he stared down at you with that same confident smirk—something about it was making your pulse quicken.

He watched you carefully, gauging your reaction. “You okay?” he asked, voice low, teasing.

You swallowed hard, trying to collect your thoughts, but they were all scrambled. “I—yeah,” you muttered, not entirely sure if you believed it yourself. You wanted to look away, to regain some control over the situation, but your eyes kept drifting back to his chest, his body in a way you couldn’t quite pull yourself away from.

“Good,” Jake murmured, leaning back down toward you, his body pressing against yours once more. “Because I’m not done yet.”

You barely had time to process his words before his lips were on yours again, pulling you into another kiss that made it harder to think about anything else. The way his bare skin felt against yours, the warmth of his body, everything seemed to blur into a haze of desire and confusion.

Despite all the hesitation still lingering inside you, your body reacted instinctively, leaning into the kiss and feeling that undeniable pull toward him. And for a moment, everything else—your worries, your reservations, your doubts—faded into the background.

Jake’s kiss deepened, the intensity of it making your pulse race, and you could feel every inch of him pressed against you. Your heart pounded in your chest, and despite your earlier protests, you couldn’t stop yourself from responding. He was so close now, his body hovering above yours, the heat from his skin making you feel both excited and nervous.

His hands gently moved to your sides, his fingertips grazing the skin just beneath your shirt, sending a wave of electricity through your body. You wanted to pull back, to stop it before it went any further, but every part of you—every instinct—wanted to stay.

“You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for,” Jake murmured against your lips, as if sensing your hesitation. His voice was quieter now, softer, and you could feel the tenderness beneath the teasing tone.

You closed your eyes, trying to steady your breath. “I know,” you whispered back, your voice trembling slightly. But the tension was still there, between you both, thick and palpable.

Jake shifted slightly, lifting himself up just enough to look down at you. His hands gently cupped your face, his thumb brushing along your cheekbone. “I don’t want to rush you,” he said seriously, his eyes searching yours for some kind of reassurance. “But if you’re still unsure about anything… just say the word, and we’ll stop.”

For a brief moment, you felt the weight of your emotions, the confusion swirling inside you. You wanted to trust him. Part of you did. But then the doubt crept in—how much of this was him really caring about you? And how much was just him playing his usual game?

You tried to push those thoughts away, your hand reaching up to gently rest on his chest. “I’m just… trying to figure things out,” you confessed, your voice quiet but honest.

Jake gave you a small smile, his thumb now gently rubbing over your skin. “I get it. And I’m here, okay? Whatever you need.”

And for the first time in a long while, you felt like maybe, just maybe, there was a chance things could be different between you two. The trust you had been struggling to build was fragile, but it was there. And despite everything—despite how complicated things had gotten—you couldn’t ignore the warmth that spread through you when you were with him.

“Thanks,” you said softly, looking up at him. “I’m still figuring it out, but… I don’t want to let you go.”

Jake’s smile widened, his eyes softening as he leaned down to kiss you again, slower this time, as if trying to communicate everything he hadn’t said with his actions. It wasn’t perfect, and you weren’t sure where things were headed, but for once, you let yourself believe that maybe this could be something worth fighting for.

The air was heavy with the quiet aftermath, both of you lying side by side in the tangled sheets, the room still filled with the lingering warmth of the moment. You didn’t speak at first, unsure of how to break the silence. Your heart was still racing, the intensity of everything that had happened swirling in your mind, and a part of you felt vulnerable, exposed.

Jake lay on his back, one arm draped across his chest as he stared up at the ceiling, his chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths. He seemed calm, but you could see the subtle shift in the way he was holding himself, like there was more going on behind his relaxed exterior than he was letting on.

You turned your head to look at him, your heart still pounding in your chest. “Jake…” your voice was quiet, almost hesitant, like you weren’t sure what you needed to say. You wanted to ask so many things, to know where you both stood now, but the words seemed stuck.

Jake turned his head to face you, his eyes meeting yours with a softness that you hadn’t seen before. He smiled, though it was more subdued than his usual cocky grin. “You okay?” he asked, his voice low and gentle, as if he was giving you space to process everything.

You nodded slowly, unsure of how to explain what you were feeling. “I think so,” you whispered, but the words still felt hollow, as if you didn’t fully believe them yourself.

Jake reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his touch surprisingly tender. “You don’t have to say anything if you’re not ready,” he murmured, his thumb lightly grazing your cheek. “But I’m here. And I meant what I said. I don’t want to rush you into anything.”

You looked up at him, feeling the warmth of his words sink in, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt a little more grounded. Maybe you didn’t have all the answers, and maybe this wasn’t perfect, but you weren’t as afraid anymore.

“Thanks,” you said softly, your voice barely a whisper.

Jake’s smile grew, and he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “You don’t have to thank me. I just want you to be happy,” he murmured.

For a moment, everything was still, the only sound the faint hum of the night outside. It was messy, and maybe you weren’t ready to give everything over just yet, but you knew one thing—things with Jake were no longer the same. Whether that was a good or bad thing, you weren’t entirely sure, but for now, it felt real.

And for the first time in a long while, you let yourself believe that maybe that was enough.

The peaceful silence that had settled between you and Jake was abruptly shattered by the sound of a door creaking open, followed by the unmistakable click of a lock being turned. You both froze, panic and confusion flashing across your faces.

The door swung open, and to your horror, Yuna and her boyfriend, Mark, stood in the doorway, eyes wide with shock. Yuna’s face was a mix of disbelief and surprise, while Mark’s expression was one of utter confusion.

“What the hell?” Yuna’s voice was sharp, but still laced with the shock of what she was seeing. “It’s three in the morning, why the hell are you two—?”

You scrambled to sit up, suddenly feeling exposed in a way you never thought possible. Jake, always cool and collected, sat up quickly too, his face just as surprised. He looked at you, then back at Yuna and Mark, clearly trying to gauge the situation.

“Yuna,” you stammered, your voice betraying the chaos that was suddenly consuming you. “I… um, it’s not what you think.”

Mark looked between the two of you, eyebrows raised. “Y/n and Jake…such a weird combo. What’s going on?”

Yuna stood frozen for a moment, then slowly closed the door behind her, her eyes never leaving you. “This is… Wow,” she muttered under her breath. “We should’ve knocked.”

“Yuna, it’s… it’s not like that,” you said, your words coming out rushed, a little too desperate for comfort.

Jake was the first to break the tension, his usual cocky grin slipping back onto his face. “No, actually, it’s exactly like that,” he said with a shrug, leaning back against the headboard, his tone casual as though it didn’t faze him in the slightest. “But, uh, a little privacy wouldn’t hurt next time, right?”

Yuna’s gaze flickered between the two of you, her face still unreadable, but Mark’s expression turned more thoughtful. “Alright, well, we can talk about this later,” he said, stepping back toward the door. “But seriously, next time, maybe lock it, yeah?”

Before either of you could respond, they turned and walked out, leaving you alone in the room again. The door clicked shut behind them, but the silence felt deafening now, far more overwhelming than before.

You let out a breath, your heart still racing. This wasn’t how you imagined the night going, but then again, nothing about this situation had been how you expected.

Jake leaned over, a playful smirk on his lips. “Well, that was a nice surprise, huh?”

You shot him a look, still feeling a little dazed. “I think I just want to sleep now,” you muttered, pulling the covers up around you, your face flushed with embarrassment.

Jake just chuckled, his hand resting on your arm. “I don’t blame you,” he said softly. “We’ve had enough excitement for one night.”

But even as you tried to settle back into the quiet, the strange events of the evening felt like a reminder of how everything between you had shifted. Whether it was for better or worse, you didn’t know yet. But one thing was for sure: it wasn’t over.

enha campus series

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the-modern-typewriter · 3 days ago

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Hello! Big fan of your writing. Would you like to write a snippet about an evil vampire who is only soft to their human even though they swear that the human is nothing to them more than a convenient source of food .

"You are bleeding."

"I'm sorry. I've not-" The human gestured vaguely at the bowl. "I've not wasted any. I swear."

The vampire appeared at their side in a flash, and that would have been absolutely terrifying if the human wasn't so used to it. Well. It was still a little terrifying. Everything about them was always a little terrifying.

The vampire's cold gaze roamed between the large gash on the human's hand to the elegant mixing bowl tinged bloody, then to the knife left clattered on the counter. The remnants of dinner prep.

Their eyes went pinprick scarlet. That, and the slight inhale of a breath, was the only sign of the uncontrollable and insatiable thirst that so drove their species.

"Stupid accident," the human said. They felt a little woozy. "Sorry. I know it's not as good when it's not fresh but I- um." Well. The generous description was that they panicked.

They had no idea what the vampire would do if they wasted blood, even by accident.

"Hm." The vampire picked up the sharp kitchen knife, licking the wasted droplets from its wicked edge. "Have you considered trying to stem the bleeding?"

It took the human a second to process, to wrench themselves away from staring.

"Didn't get that far. I just sort of thought, 'shit, blood'. Catch it!"

"How considerate."

"You know me," the human tried for a laugh, "I aim to please and not die."

"Indeed."

The laugh had come out a bit strangled. The human cleared their throat. "Speaking of catching blood...would you like to be my receptacle instead of the mixing bowl, seeing as you're here now anyway? Hungry?"

Though that raised the question of why exactly their vampire had appeared. The forces of darkness and evil did not usually make themselves known before sundown, even if the manor was all tinted and sun-blocked windows. The smell of fresh blood must have woken them.

The vampire responded by reaching down and ripping a length off their no doubt expensive and very fine linen night shirt.

The human's eyes widened. "Uh..."

"Hand."

The human obediently surrendered their hand. They watched in mild astonishment as the vampire made quick work of cleaning and bandaging their hand, using their ruined clothes like an old-fashioned tourniquet.

"Didn't know you knew how to do that," the human mumbled. "You know we have a first aid kit in the bathroom upstairs?"

"A what?"

"A first aid kit. Medicine kit. With bandages and plasters and stuff."

"And yet you were bleeding into your mixing bowl."

"Well, the bathroom's a long way to go dripping blood on your floors."

"Hm."

"I'm sorry I woke you. It's - I'm okay. I really didn't waste any."

"Good. Your blood is precious. How is your hand? Does it hurt?"

"It's okay. I'm okay."

"You need to be more careful."

"I'm sorry."

"You're a fragile thing, you could have taken a finger off."

"Sorry. It won't happen again. I promise."

"Hm." The vampire's sharp gaze flicked over them again.

The human realised, belatedly, that the vampire was still cradling their hand. They flushed. The vampire let go.

"Sit," the vampire ordered. "What are you making? Tell me what to do."

"What?" They were sure they'd only cut their hand, not suffered some form of brain damage that caused hallucinations.

The vampire's eyes narrowed; ever disinclined to repeating themselves.

"Uh..." The human swallowed. "Chop the veg. Put veg in frying pan."

They watched the vampire get to work. It was bizarre. They'd never seen the vampire do anything around the house. Their immortality was a thing of hedonistic cruelties, tempered only by the fact that it was easier to pay someone to take the role of blood bag in the modern age than kidnap them.

"You really don't have to do that for me," they said.

"Are you suggesting that somewhere in the last thousand years I became incapable of chopping vegetables?"

"No. No, of course not."

"Then hold your tongue. I don't pay you to question me or for your opinions. You're a walking blood bag."

"Right. Right, yeah. Sorry."

The vampire made them dinner, following instructions in a way that the human truly had thought them too proud for, as the sun sank slow and pretty beyond the window.

"Thank you," the human said, nonplussed, when the vampire eventually loaded a full dinner plate. They were more nonplussed when the vampire didn't hand it over, though, simply holding a fork up to the human's mouth. "Er...my hand is okay. I can hold cutlery. I know I don't heal vampire fast but..."

"You're questioning me again."

"Right. Sorry." The human accepted the mouthful of food, then another. Their stomach did something weird and flipping beneath the vampire's strange care, their intent focus.

"Good," the vampire murmured.

In the aftermath of dinner, the night black and endless beyond the windows, they stared at each other.

The human's heart pounded. They were all too aware of the fact that the vampire could hear it. All of their normal, comfortable routines felt disrupted somehow.

They wet their abruptly dry lips.

"Don't hurt yourself again, pet," the vampire said abruptly. "That's my job."

Then they were gone.

#vampire #vampires #writing #writing snippet #story snippet #my writing #writeblr #blood bag #humans and vampires #fantasy #fiction #original fiction

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divinesangel · 3 days ago

Text

— 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲’𝐫𝐞 𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬 [𝐝𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐝]

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— 𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐚 𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞!

— 𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟏

they won’t always say they’re jealous out loud. not at first. it’ll show in small ways. like a sudden shift in their energy, their tone getting a little sharper, or them going quiet for just a second too long. their eyes will give them away before their mouth ever does. they’ll look at you like they’re trying to figure something out, like they’re watching too closely.

they’ll try to act unbothered at first. play it cool. brush it off like it’s nothing. but underneath, they’ll be thinking a lot. overthinking, honestly. wondering if they have to compete for your attention, even if you’ve given them no reason to feel that way. because when they care, they care deeply. and jealousy, for them, comes from that same place. it’s not about control. it’s about fear. fear of losing something they’re scared to admit matters that much.

they might get more affectionate. clingier in a subtle way. reaching for your hand more, showing up where you are, giving compliments that feel extra specific, as if they’re reminding you that they know you better than anyone else. and they do. they just get scared sometimes. especially if they see you shining or connecting with others in a way that makes them feel replaceable.

sometimes, they’ll get defensive. tease you a little too hard. make sarcastic comments that feel light on the surface but have heat underneath. and if they really feel pushed, they might pull back completely. not because they’re done. but because they’re hurt. they’d rather retreat than admit they’re jealous. pride gets in the way. they don’t want to seem weak.

but once they feel safe again. once you look them in the eyes and show them there’s no threat, no competition, no one else taking up the space they want to hold. they soften. they open back up. maybe even admit it. “i was jealous,” they’ll say, half embarrassed, half honest. and it’ll mean something when they do. because they don’t share that part of themselves with just anyone.

when they’re jealous, it’s messy in a quiet way. not explosive. not toxic. just very human. they want to be your favorite person, and when they feel like they’re not, it rattles them. but if you love them right. if you show up, reassure, and keep things honest. they learn to manage it. and they’ll love you even more for making them feel chosen. again and again.

— 𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟐

when your soulmate gets jealous, it’s not loud or obvious. they don’t yell, they don’t accuse, and they don’t start fights. instead, it shows up quietly. at first, they’ll act like everything is fine, maybe even go out of their way to seem extra calm or cheerful. they might smile the same way, say all the right things, but there’s something just a little off. something in their eyes, in the way they pause before answering, in the way they seem distracted when they usually give you their full attention.

they’re proud. they don’t want to be the kind of person who gets jealous. they might even feel silly for it. so they try to hide it, to bury the feeling under politeness and jokes and “it’s nothing, don’t worry about it.” they’re the kind of person who overthinks when they’re hurt. they’ll replay a conversation again and again in their head, wondering if they misunderstood, wondering if they’re being too sensitive. they don’t want to lose you, and that fear — no matter how small — makes them hesitate.

so instead of telling you right away, they pull back just a little. maybe they take longer to text you back. maybe they stop calling as often. maybe they stop asking so many questions about your day. not because they don’t care — but because they care too much, and they’re scared of what the answers might be. they’re trying to protect themselves from getting hurt.

and yet, at the same time, they’re still watching. still noticing. they catch every smile you give someone else, every time you talk about someone new, every inside joke they’re not part of. and it stings. not in a possessive way, but in that quiet ache of “i hope i’m enough.” they start to question things they never used to question. is this just a phase? are you drifting away? are they imagining it? they don’t want to ask, because they’re afraid the answer might confirm their worst fear.

but jealousy doesn’t mean they don’t trust you. it means they love you deeply, and that love feels a little fragile sometimes. it means you matter so much that the idea of losing your attention, your affection, your warmth — it shakes them. and when it gets too much, when holding it in feels heavier than letting it out, they’ll come to you. quietly, cautiously, with soft eyes and hesitant words. they’ll probably start with “this might sound dumb but…” or “i know it’s probably nothing…” because they’re not trying to start a fight. they’re just trying to be honest. they’re trying to say, “i care. i noticed. and it made me feel small for a second.”

and what they really want — what their heart is hoping for — is not an apology, not a promise, not even an explanation. they just want you to see them. to notice that they’re hurting. to hold space for their vulnerability. to say, even in a small way, “i’m not going anywhere. you still matter most.”

when they’re jealous, they don’t need drama or attention. they need tenderness. reassurance. a gentle hand, a kind word, a look that says, “you don’t have to worry. i’m still here.” because behind their quiet distance is someone who loves you more than they know how to say. someone who is learning, little by little, that love is safe here. and that they don’t have to hide their heart to keep it from breaking.

— 𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟑

they’ll try to keep it together on the outside. they won’t always say what they’re feeling. instead, they’ll pull back just a little, like they’re trying to hide what’s bothering them. they’ll overthink it, replaying the moment in their head. they’ll feel this storm of emotion — insecurity, protectiveness, fear of losing you — but they’ll try to keep it controlled. they might go quiet, seem more serious, act a bit colder than usual. they’ll retreat a bit, like they’re trying to get themselves under control before speaking.

jealousy hits them hard, not because they don’t trust you, but because they care so much it scares them. you’re someone they feel deeply for. and that depth comes with fear — fear of not being enough, of losing what they love. it’s not that they want to control you. it’s just that when they care, they care fully. and they’ve likely been hurt before. their past might make them wary, guarded. they may try to act like they’re above those emotions, like they’re stronger than that — but inside, it eats at them.

when they’re jealous, they’ll be more observant. they’ll notice everything. who you talk to. how long. the tone in your voice. they won’t say it out loud, but their body will — a clenched jaw, arms crossed, that slight shift in their energy. they’ll want to know they’re still the one you want. and when they feel threatened, they’ll battle with themselves: do they say something or stay quiet and seem strong?

but even with all that, the truth is: they don’t want to hurt you or start a fight. they’ll try to work through it internally first. they’ll think about whether it’s their own insecurities talking. but if it gets too heavy, they’ll eventually open up — and when they do, it’ll be honest and raw. they’ll tell you they just didn’t know where they stood, or that they got scared. because jealousy, for them, is really just a fear of losing something they’ve finally found.

you’ll also notice that when they’re jealous, there’s a strong desire to prove something. to reclaim space in your heart. they’ll show up more — not with anger, but with intention. they’ll remind you of your bond, of what you share. maybe through affection, maybe through effort, maybe through a little possessiveness that’s more protective than toxic. they’ll want to make sure you still see them, still choose them.

they’re someone who feels big emotions in quiet ways. someone who leads with strength but underneath just wants to be loved deeply and not left behind. jealousy won’t turn them cruel — it’ll make them ache. but with time, trust, and reassurance, they’ll learn that love doesn’t have to come with fear. and you’ll see the light come back in them, softer, more secure — because when they feel safe, they shine.

𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 !

hi! it’s daphne here.

i’m currently offering personal readings for €7 and soulmate readings for €14 so don’t hesitate to send me a private message if you’re interested!

thank you for being here!

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pitlanepeach · 3 days ago

Text

Radio Silence | Chapter Four

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren't quirks, they're survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, ableism, strong language.

Notes — They're ridiculous. The entire grid thinks the same. I love them your honour.

Want to be added to the taglist? Let me know! - Peach x

2019

The door to the motorhome clicked shut behind him, and Lando barely had time to grab a bottle of water from his mini fridge before he heard his name.

“Lando.” His dad’s voice was calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that meant he was either about to get bad news, or he was in a shit ton of trouble.

Lando turned, water bottle halfway to his lips. “Yeah?”

Adam was sitting at the small table in the lounge, one arm draped over the back of the seat. He wasn’t smiling. In fact, he looked more like the man Lando had watched negotiate million-pound deals than the easygoing dad who sent him memes and wore mismatched socks with his dress shoes.

“I spoke to Zak today,” Adam said. “About the two of you.”

Lando blinked, lowered the bottle. “The two of who?”

Adam gave him a look. “Don’t play dumb, kid. People are talking. Zak is… God, I thought he was going to collapse. He’s pissed off, Lando. Thought he could trust you with her.”

Lando felt his entire body go stiff. “We’re just friends.” He forced out.

“Are you?” His dad asked, and then sighed. “We both know how this world works, Lando. I’ve watched you work yourself to the bone for this since you were eight years old. Everything you’ve done, everything we’ve sacrificed — it’s all led you here. And right now, you’re risking all of it meaning nothing.”

Lando shook his head. “No. It’s not like that.”

“Maybe not yet. But it will be. The media will twist it. Her father is your boss. It isn’t just your reputation on the line — if this goes sideways, it could cost you your seat.”

Lando’s jaw clenched. “Zak isn’t like that.”

“No,” Adam agreed, wearily. “But other people are. Sponsors. Management. People who don’t know you. You think they’ll believe this isn’t going to cause favouritism? That you won’t start getting special treatment?”

Lando felt like he was being burned alive. “I would never—.”

“But that’s what it’ll look like.” Adam’s voice stayed even. “It doesn’t matter if it’s true.”

Lando looked away, glared at the wall. His hands clenched into tight fists.

“She’s not just… some girl,” Lando muttered. “She’s smart. And she’s… funny, in her own way. She always knows what she’s talking about. Knows how to make me feel better when I’m in a shit mood.”

Adam just looked at him, steady and quiet. “You like her,” he said. He sounded defeated.

Lando didn’t say anything. Because yeah. Maybe he did. Maybe he liked her a lot. Enough that it scared him a little. Enough that his stomach flipped weirdly every time he saw that rare smile of hers. Enough that he didn’t even know when it had started — just that it had snuck up on him and now it was everywhere.

Adam sighed, reaching a hand up to rub between his eyes. “I’m not saying you have to stop being her friend, mate. I’m just saying that you need to think long and hard about what you want; don’t think like a nineteen year old boy. Think like a world champion.”

Lando’s fingers tightened around the water bottle. The plastic crinkled.

“She’s Zak’s daughter,” Adam stared at him, like he was trying to drill the crux of the issue into him. “You really think that doesn’t come with consequences?”

“I didn’t… mean for it to be like this,” Lando said quietly.

“Sometimes it just sneaks up on you,” he said. “Doesn’t mean it’s always a good thing.” He stood up, gave Lando’s shoulder a light squeeze — the way dads do when they mean I’m not angry, I’m just worried — and then walked out.

The door clicked shut behind him.

Lando stayed frozen in place, staring at the floor, pulse still loud in his ears. He wasn’t even sure what he was feeling; just that it was too much, all at once.

He looked at the bottle in his hand. Still full.

Not thirsty anymore.

—

“She said it wasn’t a date,” Tracy said, leaning against the kitchen counter with a mug of tea. “They just got burgers.”

“After qualifying,” Zak pointed out. “He drove her to get burgers. Alone.”

Amelia sat at the kitchen table, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, utterly baffled. “I don’t understand how eating burgers together means that we’re dating. We didn’t even share our fries.”

Tracy snorted softly into her tea. Zak did not laugh.

“This isn’t about fries,” he muttered, pacing. “This is about perception. Do you know how many people saw the two of you together? In public? My phone blew up. There are photos all over instagram. And don’t get me started on how often you’re photographed together in the paddock. I— I was blind. Totally blind.” Great. He’d reached the spiralling stage.

“Well, I texted you where I was!” Amelia said, affronted. “That’s the rule, and I followed it!”

“Yes,” Zak stressed, eyes wide. “An hour after you left the paddock, Amelia! I would’ve stopped you, had I known that he was going to… to steal you like that.”

Tracy giggled. Zak, notably, did not.

Amelia just stared at him, her expression caught somewhere between confused and concerned.

She had never, in all of her nineteen years of life, seen her father act so out of sorts out over something so insignificant.

“Okay, look,” he took a deep breath, rubbing at his forehead like it pained him. “Amelia. Honey. You’re my daughter. And Lando? He’s my driver. If people think that something is going on between you two, it could become a very, very big problem for me. And for Lando. Do you understand that?”

Amelia blinked. She wasn’t stupid. She’d read plenty of romance books on her Kindle since getting it for her fifteenth birthday — and if she and Lando were in a book, she was pretty sure their trope would be “forbidden romance,” maybe even “opposites attract,” though she wasn’t entirely convinced she was Lando’s opposite. More like… Lando adjacent.

It was fun to think about.

But if her dad really believed this could negatively affect Lando’s career… maybe he had a point.

“Okay,” she said seriously. “So how do I stop wanting to kiss him?”

Zak made a sound. Like a dying animal.

Tracy full-on howled into her tea.

“I—oh my god,” Zak muttered, dropping his head into his hands. “No. Nope. I can’t do this.”

Amelia frowned at him, and then looked at her mom. “That wasn’t rhetorical. I would appreciate an answer.”

Zak didn’t respond.

Tracy, tears in her eyes from laughter, leaned over and gave Amelia a tight shoulder squeeze. “You don’t,” she said sweetly. “You just get very good at pretending that you don’t want to.”

“Oh, wonderful,” Zak grumbled into the table. “Great parenting. A masterclass.”

Amelia nodded, serious. “Okay. I can pretend.”

A beat passed.

Then, with total sincerity, she added, “But if he kisses me first, it’s not technically my fault, right?”

Tracy almost spit her tea.

Zak’s forehead hit the table with a thump.

—

Amelia wasn’t eavesdropping. Not on purpose.

She was just looking for her water bottle. She remembered leaving it near the PR area while charging her phone. The door was mostly shut, but not all the way, and when she reached for the handle, hearing her name made her pause.

“Amelia is becoming a bigger problem than I think anyone wants to admit.”

It was Lisa, one of the senior PR officers. She recognised her voice; had sat and eaten lunch with her a few times at the MTC. They only travelled to races with a small PR team, and Lisa was one of them.

Amelia squinted at the gap in the door. She should leave, but it felt like her feet had been glued to the floor.

“She’s sweet,” someone else said. A man she didn’t recognise. “I mean, she’s obviously harmless. It’s not like she’s pulling a Piquet.”

“No, she’s not doing anything wrong,” Lisa agreed, “but she's constantly in the garage, on camera, lingering around Lando like a girlfriend would, or an engineer, but she’s not officially anything. She's Zak’s daughter, yes, but that shouldn’t give her free rein. Should it?”

There was a pause. Someone clicked a pen.

“I know we’re not supposed to say it out loud,” Lisa continued, “but she’s… neurodivergent. There’s only so much control we have over how she’s perceived. She’s different, and I think people can tell.”

Suddenly, it felt a little harder to breathe.

“She, ah, fixates. And she paces. She’s terrible on camera, can’t speak to reporters at all. I saw a thread yesterday, talking about hor she has weird vibes, speculating if Lando’s only spending time with her because she’s Zak’s kid and he’s trying to be a teachers pet.”

“That’s awful,” someone said, though they didn’t sound shocked.

“I know. But if this turns into a tabloid story, it’s not going to be cute anymore. It’s going to look irresponsible. And nepotistic.”

There was a shuffle of paper. A sigh.

“Either we bring her into the fold properly, media train her, give her a title, have Zak back their friendship publicly, or we need to start distancing her. She can’t just float.”

Amelia stepped back, her breath caught somewhere sharp in her ribs. She didn’t realise she was shaking until she saw her own hands.

They hadn’t said anything untrue.

Not really.

But they’d said it like she was a problem to manage instead of a human being with feelings.

She backed away quietly.

She no longer wanted her water bottle.

In fact, she didn’t want to be here at all.

—

She found Lewis leaning against a wall near the back of the Mercedes hospitality unit, Roscoe sprawled on a cooling mat like a little lion in the sun.

He looked up and smiled when he saw her. “Hey, trouble. Wasn’t expecting to see you today.”

Amelia tried to smile back. It didn’t really work.

Lewis’s face changed. “What’s wrong?”

She sat down heavily next to Roscoe, crossing her legs, arms tight around her ribs. The dog lifted his head, gave her a sniff, then licked her knee. She didn’t react.

Lewis crouched. “Amelia?”

“I’m just,” She sucked in a deep breath. “I think I’m making a mess of everything.” She stared at the floor. “I didn’t mean to. I just thought—I thought that I was just being helpful and quiet and normal enough. But I’m not doing any of it right. I talk too much, or I hover, or I forget to look people in the eye, and apparently people think I’m weird.”

Lewis’s face darkened. She wasn’t looking at him, though, she was staring at her shoes now. At the last race, Lando had used an orange marker pen and written his number ‘4’ on the side of them.

“They were talking about me,” she continued, voice flatter now. “The McLaren public relations people. They said I might ruin things for him. For Lando. Because I’m too much and not enough at the same time.”

“They said that to you?” Lewis asked, his voice sharp.

She looked at him. He sounded angry. Her stomach twisted tighter.

“No one said it to me. But I heard them. I wasn’t meant to. I don’t think they knew I was there.” Her hands tugged harder at the cuffs of her sleeves, wrapping the fabric around her fingers until they turned pale. “And they’re right, really. It’s not personal. It’s strategic. I’m a… a flaw in the system.”

Lewis exhaled slowly, deliberately, like he was keeping something inside. “Amelia, you don’t get to say that about yourself, alright? That’s a rule now.”

She blinked at him. “Why not?”

“Because it’s not true,” he said, quieter. “I’ve raced with actual liabilities. People who don’t care. Who don’t try. You? You’re none of those things. You’re thoughtful, you work hard, and you pay attention in a way most people don’t. That already puts you ahead of half the paddock.”

She didn’t say anything. She pressed the heels of her palms to her eyes, like she could physically push the confusing feelings away, then leaned a little closer to Roscoe. The dog didn’t move, just let her run her fingers through the warm fur along his side like it was the only thing keeping her from floating away.

Lewis stayed close but gave her space. After a moment, he glanced down at his phone and the telltale *swoop* sound informed her that he'd sent somebody a message.

A few minutes later, footsteps approached from behind. Light. Quick. Familiar.

She didn’t even need to turn around.

“Hey,” Lando said, voice low and careful.

She closed her eyes for a moment. Just a moment.

“I’m okay,” she said automatically.

Lewis stood, brushing off his hands. “Take her for some air, yeah?” He suggested to Lando. “She needs a break. And someone who won’t let her be mean to herself.”

“I got her,” Lando said quietly, eyes on her the whole time.

Lewis gave him a look — subtle, but full of something unspoken. Then he reached down to ruffle Amelia’s hair, a brief and awkward brotherly gesture.

She winced.

Her shoulders curled up, recoiling slightly before she could stop herself. It wasn’t Lewis’ fault — she liked him, respected him, even — but he wasn’t Fernando. He didn’t know how to touch her gently. How not to startle her.

Lewis paused and immediately pulled his hand back. “Sorry,” he murmured. “Force of habit.”

She nodded once. She appreciated the apology more than the touch.

Lando sat down beside her, close but not touching.

“Tell me who I need to fight,” he said.

She huffed a breath. Almost a laugh. Almost.

He didn’t rush her. Just waited.

After a long moment, she looked at him. Her voice barely a whisper. “I think I might mess everything up for you.”

He shook his head immediately. “Nah. I’ll be the one who ends up doing that.”

She looked at him then, really looked at him. He looked serious, but she could never be sure.

He smiled at her, then. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s take a walk around, yeah? The sun’ll start setting soon.”

Without waiting for her to respond, he started walking, and after a second of hesitation, Amelia stood up and followed. She walked beside him, glancing at him occasionally. He led her around the paddock, moving past engineers and mechanics who were too busy to pay attention to either of them.

“My dad talked to me. About, uh, this. Us.” He glanced at her. She frowned at him. “Because we went for burgers.” He explained.

Amelia sighed. “Everyone is so obsessed with that. I don’t understand.”

Lando smirked. “Because you went with me, Amelia.”

She made a face at him that she hoped portrayed her frustration. “That doesn’t explain anything.”

“I like you,” he said slowly, his voice steady. Honest. She blinked at him. “I think a lot of people worked that out before I did — and definitely before you did.” He said.

She narrowed her eyes at him. Was he making fun of her? It didn’t feel like it. It… it felt a lot like he was teasing with her. Flirting with her, like the men in her books.

Her heart did that thing again. The one that felt like it skipped a beat, but not in the way she wanted it to. He was, wasn’t he? He was flirting with her. Because he liked her.

Before Amelia could say anything, Lando stopped suddenly, and she almost bumped into him. Looking up, she saw a camera swing toward them, one of the Sky cameras following the action around the paddock, with Ted Kravitz just a few meters away.

Her stomach dropped. A rush of panic hit her chest.

“Shit,” she muttered under her breath, instinctively trying to step out of the camera’s line of sight.

Lando’s hand landed gently on her back, guiding her in the opposite direction, but it was too late. The camera was already focused on them. Amelia could feel her face flush as heat spread up her neck. This was exactly what she didn’t want — being seen alone with Lando was only going to make everything worse.

“It’s fine. Don’t worry,” Lando said, his voice low and steady, reassuring her without a hint of panic.

But just as the camera zoomed in closer, Amelia heard a familiar voice.

“What do we have here?” It was Max Verstappen.

She blinked. Carlos Sainz appeared beside him, and Daniel Ricciardo wasn’t far behind. The three of them swarmed around her and Lando like it was something they did every day. Max slung an arm around Lando’s shoulders, and Carlos and Daniel positioned themselves between Amelia and the camera, effectively blocking the view.

“We were just on our way to get ice cream,” Daniel said with a mischievous grin, his accent thick and playful. “Warm evening, isn’t it?”

Amelia blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift in energy. Max gave her a wink, his smile wide and completely unbothered by the camera’s presence. Carlos just chuckled.

Lando shook his head, clearly amused, but his eyes didn’t leave her. There was something there, something that made her stomach flutter, and for a second, she forgot about the camera entirely.

“You guys are ridiculous,” Lando said with a smile, his tone light but grateful. It was clear he wasn’t at all mad at the distraction. In fact, he seemed oddly relieved by it.

“Only when it’s necessary,” Max quipped, and with that, the trio slowly started backing away, blocking the camera’s view like pros.

As they made their way toward the back of the paddock, Lando’s hand remained at the small of Amelia’s back, a silent reassurance that she was, for now, out of the spotlight.

“You okay?” he asked quietly, his voice just for her.

Amelia nodded. “Yeah. I’m fine. Just thinking about how many points you guys have combined.”

“In Formula One?” Daniel asked, raising an eyebrow, his expression a mixture of confusion and amusement.

She shook her head. “No, I mean, like, total points. From when you all started karting.” Her voice was mumbled, her thoughts swirling with a million numbers. “Give me a minute, and I’ll be able to tell you.”

Max raised an eyebrow at Lando. “Mate…”

Lando laughed, his eyes full of pride. “I know. Trust me, I know.”

—

iMessage — 5:09pm

Dad You okay honey?

Amelia Yes. I do not like Lisa anymore.

Dad Lisa who?

Amelia She works in public relations.

Dad What did she do? Did she say something to you?

Amelia I eavesdropped.

Dad: Amelia

Amelia She said that people say that I have weird vibes. Do I?

Dad No, you don’t. Your vibes are just fine. I’ll have a chat with Lisa about where her focus should and shouldn’t be. Are you okay, though? Did you feel upset?

Amelia It’s fine. Lando made me feel better :)

Dad: Amelia Brown. Where are you right now?

Amelia I am in Lando’s rental car.

Dad I can’t believe this. Tell him that I am going to murder him.

Amelia No. He hasn’t kissed me yet. He probably won’t do it tonight because we are with his friends.

Dad … Which friends?

Amelia Max Verstappen. Carlos Sainz. Daniel Ricciardo.

Dad I see. Have fun, sweetheart.

—

iMessage — 5:18pm

Zak Brown You told me you had a chat with him.

Adam Norris I did. What’s he done now?

Zak Brown Check Sky Sports. Your son’s created an Amelia army. A very expensive one. Looks like Max Verstappen’s leading it.

Adam Norris Just saw it. Never seen him like this with any girl before.

Zak Brown Look, he’s a great kid, but I’m trying to figure out how to handle this. It’s turning into a media circus.

Adam Norris I can talk to him again.

Zak Brown Maybe we just tell them they can’t see each other. Lay down the law. I’ll tell Amelia to stay out of the paddock for a bit, create some distance.

Adam Norris That’ll only make it worse, Zak. Lando’s young. He’s a bit of a party animal. Amelia seems like a good kid, but she’s not his usual type. Maybe this will blow over.

Zak Brown Let’s hope so.

—

Carlos paced slowly down the pit-lane, the cool morning air brushing against his skin. The soft hum of the paddock was building as teams made their final preparations. He adjusted his cap, squinting against the light creeping over the horizon, the sun just peeking out from behind the clouds, casting long shadows on the tarmac.

His gaze flicked to the pit-wall, where strategists were already setting up, even at this hour. His own crew were deep in race plan discussions, while other teams were doing the same. The calm before the storm. The last moments of peace before the full intensity of the race weekend took over.

Silverstone always had a unique energy. The fans here were different—almost like they had a special connection to the track. It was Lando’s home race, and McLaren’s too.

Carlos glanced over at Lando’s garage without thinking. He was already there, leaning against the back wall in a pair of matching grey sweats, smiling widely. Carlos followed his gaze. Ah. Of course. Amelia Brown, perched on the counter in front of the telemetry screens, animatedly talking, her hands moving as much as her words.

Carlos found himself wondering if the way her feet kept bouncing against the cabinet was a... stim, the English term. He had done his research when he learned about Amelia’s autism. It had helped to understand why she was so blunt when giving advice and never made eye contact. It also explained why his father's words had clearly hurt her more deeply than he would ever be able to understand.

The sound of Amelia’s laugh echoed across the pit-lane, rare and light, catching Carlos off guard. A few people turned to look, but he smiled to himself and resisted the urge to do the same.

All he could do was hope that his younger teammate knew what was at stake, and took great care in the meantime.

—

Amelia lingered at the edge of the McLaren hospitality, watching the crowds begin to surge toward the podium. The noise was already swelling; chants, cheers, announcers shouting over each other, and she could feel the pressure building in her chest, like the edge of a storm.

She didn’t usually go. Podiums were too loud, too crowded, too much. But this was Lewis, and he’d won his home race, and something just… tugged at her.

She turned, scanning the garage until she found Lando, who was mid-conversation with one of the engineers, still in his race suit, half-zipped down and tied around his waist. His face was flushed with post-race adrenaline, curls stuck damp to his forehead. But when he saw her staring, he excused himself and jogged over.

“You okay?” he asked, slightly breathless.

“I think…” She hesitated, glancing at the rising noise and the streamers already flying in the air. “I want to go to the podium. For Lewis. Just for a bit.”

Lando blinked, but then he grinned, and she stared. He was… he was all sunlight and softness. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.” He said.

She nodded once, but didn’t move.

Lando seemed to understand immediately. “Do you have your defenders?”

She nodded and pulled them out of her cross-body. “Yes.”

“Good,” he said. “Put them on. It’ll be chaos.”

“I will try not to freak out.” She promised him.

“I won’t let that happen,” Lando said, already turning to lead the way.

He didn’t reach for her, didn’t crowd her. Just walked a few steps ahead, carving space through the sea of people with casual ease, occasionally glancing back to make sure she was still following. She appreciated that. That he didn’t hover. That he didn’t try to fix, fix, fix. Just… made it easier.

By the time they reached the base of the podium, the champagne was already spraying. Lewis stood centre stage, beaming, arms raised in triumph. The crowd roared, and Amelia’s McLaren branded ear defenders did their job, muting the sharp edges of it until it was just a distant hum. She watched Lewis through the fog of smoke and sound, her eyes soft with pride. He deserved this. He always did.

Lando leaned slightly toward her, not close enough to touch, just enough that she could hear him clearly. “You glad you came?”

She nodded, eyes still on the podium. “Yes. It’s good.”

The following day, a picture of them would go viral on F1 social media. Lando, still in his fireproofs, race suit dragging slightly against the ground, standing just behind Amelia — who wore her noise-cancelling headphones like armour, her eyes fixed on the podium. She was smiling, wide and unguarded, the kind of smile people didn’t often get to see from her. Lando was looking at her; fond and sweet.

The photo would circle the internet within hours. People would say a lot of things.

But the overwhelming consensus?

Soulmates.

Whether they knew it yet or not.

NEXT CHAPTER

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obsessivevoidkitten · 1 day ago

Text

(I hope this is what you wanted ❤️ Not edited so I apologize for typos and mistakes)

Every night for months, a great horror has plagued your very dreams.

A shadowy mass of claws and tendrils. Red glowing eyes lolling around until they fixate, one by one, on you.

Then they just… observe you. Sometimes, a tendril made of shade will tremble as it reaches out and touches you.

When it does, you're filled with primordial fear.

Unlike most nightmares, the adrenaline does nothing to wake you.

You're trapped until the eyes have drank in your image enough.

Then you're free.

It's terrifying but easy enough to disregard. Just surreal nightmares.

But then the presence is there when you're awake.

Just glimpses on the edges of your vision. At first.

A flash of red in the dark. A tendril or claw moving in your peripheral vision. Always gone when you looked directly.

Then you felt it more deeply. A bubbling anxiety ever present as you went about your day. Horror that loomed just below the surface of seemingly safe water.

Flashes of true terror.

Then, a full vision of it while wide awake.

It was brief. Just a moment. But it happened several more times while you were alone.

The last time you could have sworn that he spoke, the words coming from inside your head.

"Almost mine."

You couldn't go on like this.

And then, as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped.

You had been ready to put yourself in a mental hospital, but then there was no sign of the nightmarish thing that had plagued you so thoroughly.

Very cautiously, you slowly began to get back to normal. To lose your fear of going to sleep. Of being alone.

Just when you were almost completely sure you were free, you were taken.

They gagged and bound you, waiting in your house after you got home from work. They put you in some kind of ceremonial robe.

They talked about how perfect you looked "for him."

But they didn't elaborate.

They hurried you into the back of a car, half carrying and half dragging you.

They took you into the forest. Deep into the woods. There was a clearing with a great fire pit.

The shadows around the fire seemed to dance. They did dance. It was the creature that haunted you.

Suddenly, you were wrapped in writhing tentacles as the figures that brought you there bowed silently.

The tentacles caressed you gently, removing your binds and gag, trying to calm you down.

You cried and squirmed.

No matter, you'd be making sweeter noises once he slipped into you. And he'd have an eternity to hear them.

#yandere teratophilia #yandere terato #yandere x reader #monster boyfriend #gender neutral reader #yandere boyfriend #yandere monster #male yandere x gn reader #anon ask #anon request #requested #yandere scenario #yandere imagines

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shaiyasstuff · 19 hours ago

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trace | sylus | finale

synopsis : You hadn’t just held a candle for him. You’d built entire constellations. content : angst, highschool!au, emotionally constipated sylus now playing : Slow dancing in a burning room - John Mayer(Live in L.A.), In the stars - Benson Boone and Those Eyes - New West toward the ending

part | one | two

“We’re coming to you live from the hometown of rising basketball star, Sylus—”

The TV buzzed faintly in the background, but you weren’t listening. Not really.

“Little Ziera~” you cooed, cradling the squishy eight-month-old in your lap. She giggled up at you, wide-eyed and drooling, her tiny hands reaching for your face like you were the funniest person alive.

You chuckled, gently pinching her fingers. “She’s way too cute to be your kid.”

Shaiya scowled, tossing a cushion at your side. “At least she’s mine. Where’s yours, huh?”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m perfectly content as a single, thanks.” You turned your attention back to the baby, who was now trying to eat your finger.

But then—quietly, like she was just thinking aloud—Shaiya said, “It’s because of him, isn’t it?”

Your hands paused for just a beat. Then you smiled again, letting Ziera curl her fingers around yours.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Shaiya scoffed. Again. Loudly.

Honestly, you were beginning to think it was her love language. “Sure. That good boy from college—Xavier, right? You dumped him outta nowhere, said you wanted to ‘focus on your career.’”

She gave you a look. “Y/N, I’ve known you since we were fifteen.”

You sighed, eyes flicking to her out the corner of your eye. She wasn’t wrong. “It’s not because of Sylus,” you said.

But your voice cracked on the lie.

Another scoff—Shaiya should bottle them by now.

“It’s been seven years, Y/N.” Her tone softened. “Aren’t you tired? Zayne and I… we worry about you.”

You clicked your tongue, a little sharper than you meant to. “Not everyone gets to meet the love of their life in high school, Shaiya.”

That came out harsher than intended.

But the truth was, you were tired. Tired of pretending the past didn’t claw at your chest every time you let yourself breathe.

Seven years.

That’s how long it’d been since you walked away. Since you packed your bags, left the town, the memories, him.

You had everything now—graduated with a degree in art history, landed a solid career at a museum, built a life.

You should’ve been proud. You were, most days.

But then the nights came.

Nights where you stayed late restoring paintings under soft lamplight, and something—always something—would trigger it.

A shade of gray, the exact tone of his hair when the gym lights hit it just right.

A cluster of rubies embedded in an old frame—the same red as his eyes.

You told yourself it was nothing. Just color. Just coincidence.

Until the night you couldn’t hold it anymore—drunk, curled up on Shaiya’s couch, sobbing into her shirt while she held you like she used in high school.

You didn’t even know why you were crying.

He was just a childhood friend.

Just a boy who made you laugh at the worst times.

Just someone who promised you the stars and gave you silence instead.

Just someone.

And maybe that was the worst part.

Because when it came down to it, he had looked at you—eyes you swore once saw your soul—and called you just someone.

And no matter how far you ran, how many museums you worked in, or how many masterpieces you restored…

The little girl in you still ached.

Still waited.

Still wanted to be held and told she wasn’t just someone.

She wanted to hear she was enough.

You sighed, pulled back into the present as you shifted Ziera into your arms. She settled easily against your chest, warm and safe, her tiny breaths brushing your collarbone.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, eyes fixed on some invisible point ahead. “It’s just—”

The words caught in your throat for a second. You hesitated. Thought about leaving it there.

But then, softly, “Maybe it’s because I’ve always held a candle for him, you know?”

You glanced at Shaiya.

She didn’t say anything—just nodded. The kind of quiet nod only best friends give, when they don’t need you to explain further.

“And it hurts,” you added, voice barely above a whisper, “because I really thought he felt the same.”

And for a moment, that truth just hung there—between the two of you.

Quiet, and heavy, and real.

That night, after Shaiya and Ziera had gone home, you sat by the window with a cup of tea, lukewarm and untouched.

The television was still on.

Static humming from a sports channel running a rerun of the same segment. His name blinked across the bottom of the screen.

Sylus. Local hero. Rising star.

You didn’t even have to look to know which footage they’d chosen—his college tryout game, the one where he scored at the buzzer, the crowd on their feet.

His smile had been blinding that day. And distant.

You reached up to close the window, but stopped.

The breeze carried something soft through the screen—a faint echo of summer air, gymnasium sweat, and old laughter.

It was almost cruel how memory worked.

How your body still knew the sound of his laugh even if your heart had tried to forget.

Your fingers curled tighter around the mug.

You weren’t supposed to be here, still thinking about him.

You weren’t supposed to flinch every time you heard his name in passing—not supposed to feel like this.

You told yourself you’d moved on. That what happened in high school was just a chapter.

But the truth was, he’d never really ended. Just... paused.

Like some song you couldn’t stop humming in quiet moments.

Your phone buzzed beside you, dragging you back. A message from your museum supervisor—something about the new restoration project starting tomorrow.

You stared at it blankly for a moment before locking the screen again. You weren’t ready to return to a world where red paint made your breath catch.

Outside, the street was quiet. Not even the moon felt like it wanted to watch you tonight.

You leaned your head against the cool glass.

Seven years. And still somehow—

You missed him like it had only been yesterday.

“So, what do you like to do?”

The question echoed like a crack in glass—sudden, sharp, uninvited.

You blinked, and suddenly you weren’t sitting by the window anymore.

You were ten again, barefoot on sun-warmed pavement, fingers sticky with popsicle syrup.

He had looked down at you, taller even then, shadows of mischief in his eyes.

“Uhm… drawing. I like to draw dragons.” You’d said it softly, barely above a whisper, clutching your sketchbook to your chest like it was something sacred.

He’d grinned—wide, toothy. “Cool. I think that’s the first time you said more than five words to me.”

You remember blushing, shoving him lightly, and the way he laughed like it was the best thing in the world.

Back then, it was simple.

Back then, he made you feel like your shy little world—quiet sketches and messy water colours—mattered.

You blinked again, the present folding over the memory like a sheet pulled over a bed.

Your tea had gone cold. Your heart, colder still.

It was stupid, how one memory could unravel you. How one boy could still live in all the soft places you thought you’d outgrown.

You curled in tighter by the window, knees pulled to your chest, eyes fluttering shut.

You hadn’t just held a candle for him.

You’d built entire constellations.

The morning was gray.

Muted light filtered through your window as you pulled your coat tighter around you, bag slung loosely over your shoulder.

The streets were still quiet, the city not yet fully awake. Just the soft murmur of passing cars and the gentle hush of your boots against pavement.

You didn’t mind the silence.

It gave you time to think.

To breathe.

To feel the ache you kept neatly folded beneath your clothes.

Halfway to the museum, your phone buzzed. You glanced down—Mom.

You answered with a small smile already tugging at your lips.

“Hi, Mama.”

“Y/N, good morning, sweetpea,” came the warm voice on the other end, the one that always sounded like a hug, no matter how far you were.

You shifted your phone between shoulder and cheek. “How’s Dad? Is he still trying to fix the garage door himself?”

Your mother huffed out a laugh. “He refuses to admit defeat. Says retirement hasn’t dulled him a bit.”

You smiled to yourself, rounding a quiet corner as you neared the main avenue. “Tell him to be careful. Last time he nearly threw his back out.”

There was a pause. Then her voice softened, like she was already switching gears.

“Oh, I almost forgot. I bumped into Mrs. Qin the other day at the grocer’s. She said Sylus just got featured in some sports article—local paper did a full spread.”

Your smile faltered.

You didn’t say anything.

Your mother, oblivious, continued, “He’s doing so well, that boy. She says he’s still in town. Isn’t that something?”

You gave a noncommittal hum. “Yeah… something.”

“She wanted to pass along her regards,” your mother added. “Said she misses the days you two ran around like stray cats. Honestly, I don’t think she knows how to cook dinner for less than five people.”

You laughed—quiet, breathy.

Your mother didn’t know what happened between you.

No one really did.

And that was how you preferred it.

Because the moment you’d try to explain—really explain—it would sound pathetic.

Like you hadn’t grown past it. Like your heart hadn’t aged with you.

And how could you tell your mother, of all people, that the boy she still calls sweet had once looked at you like you were nothing?

So you didn’t.

You never did.

You let her memories live in peace. Preserved in the way all mothers choose to remember things—softer, warmer, easier.

“Anyway,” she chirped after a moment, “your father and I are settling just fine. It’s nice being back. Quiet. Familiar.”

Your breath hitched, almost imperceptibly.

Back.

You knew they had moved in recent months. Something about the coast getting too loud, too expensive. A small town would be better now that your father had retired.

Back to where it all started.

Of course.

You swallowed, the weight of those words pressing against your collarbones. “I’m glad,” you said quietly. “You deserve the quiet.”

“We do,” she agreed, and you could hear her smile through the phone. “Alright, darling, I’ll let you go. Be safe at work, hmm? And eat something. You sound too thin.”

“I love you,” you said softly.

“Love you more.”

The call ended, and for a moment, you stood still beneath the streetlight.

Sylus.

Of course you knew what he was doing.

You always knew.

You didn’t have to stalk his socials, didn’t have to ask around.

Your mother was more than happy to fill in the gaps. She thought she was doing you a kindness—keeping you connected, reminding you of simpler times.

But all it ever did was open old wounds in quiet, invisible ways.

He was doing great.

Of course he was.

Living his dream, chasing the future, smiling for cameras and shaking hands with people who only knew the part of him he allowed them to see.

Not the boy who once cried on your shoulder when his father got sick.

Not the boy who made you laugh so hard your sides hurt on rainy days.

Not the boy who said you were just someone.

You inhaled slowly.

Then you turned and continued walking, the museum finally coming into view through the morning mist.

It stood like it always did—still, ancient, beautiful in its faded elegance.

Your sanctuary.

Your second skin.

And even though your heart was still somewhere between yesterday and never again, your hands knew what to do.

They always did.

You slipped off your coat and tossed it over your bag, offering a tired smile as you greeted your coworkers.

A few nodded back, some mid-sip in their coffees, others too focused on their stations to look up. The usual.

Sliding into your spot, you pushed up your sleeves, snapped your gloves on, and leaned over the covered piece waiting on your desk.

“What are we working on today?”

Your colleague turned with a grin that said you’re not ready.

“The Great Red Dragon and the Woman Clothed with the Sun. The original.” His voice held a hint of reverence.

You blinked, processing. “Wait—the one? From the Brooklyn Museum?”

He nodded, practically bouncing. “Mmhmm.”

You stepped closer, the curiosity already pulling you in. “How’d it end up here?”

He shrugged like it didn’t matter. “No idea. Word is, the chief wants you on it specifically. Said he needed your touch.”

He nudged your shoulder, and you shook your head, amused.

When you peeled the cloth back, your breath caught a little.

There it was—delicate, dark, divine. The paper had aged, but the power in the strokes still pulsed like a heartbeat.

You leaned in, careful. “This piece is so light-sensitive. I don’t even want to know what they had to do to get it here safely.”

And yet, here it was.

Fragile. Faded. Still here.

Still waiting to be restored.

“UV lamp—now.” You flicked a hand toward the supply cabinet. Your colleague tossed you a mock salute and half‑jogged off to fetch it.

When the violet glow finally washed over the paper, you held your breath, moving the beam as delicately as a fingertip tracing silk.

Hairline fractures spider‑webbed beneath the surface and the varnish had yellowed into the color of old honey.

“It’s a miracle it’s still holding together,” you murmured, shoulders tense. “I’m afraid to even breathe on it, let alone touch.”

You set to work with that quiet, unwavering focus people always praised—steady hands, breath held soft.

Outside, daylight bled into twilight, then into ink.

One by one the overhead lamps clicked off as colleagues drifted home, until only your desk lamp burned, a lone circle of gold in the cavernous studio.

By the time the last door shut, you were alone with the Dragon—brush poised, silence thick, night pressing its palms against the windows.

You sighed, stepping back from the table, eyes sweeping over the painting with a tired kind of pride.

It was still far from whole, but something about it already breathed easier.

A quick glance at your watch made your stomach drop. “Shit,” you muttered. It was late—too late.

You peeled off your gloves, fingers stiff, and tied your hair into a loose bun as you moved around the room, quietly packing up your tools, storing everything with the care you always gave your work.

On your way out, you ducked into the bathroom, intent on washing the day from your face before heading home.

Back in the dim studio, the painting remained where you left it—battered and beautiful, raw in its incompletion.

Like it was asking the world to see it.

Look at me.

Even like this.

Especially like this.

You were halfway out the studio when you stopped cold in the hallway.

“My phone.”

Of course. You’d left it on the desk again.

With a sigh, you turned back, your steps echoing softly in the empty corridor.

The room was quiet when you re-entered, humming with the silence of things left unfinished.

You spotted your phone easily enough, tucked near your sketch pad.

But just as you reached for it, something tugged at you.

Your gaze shifted.

To the box.

To it.

Just one more look.

You told yourself it wouldn’t matter.

But it did.

Because the moment your eyes found the painting again, the breath left your chest.

The Great Red Dragon and the Woman Clothed with the Sun.

And suddenly, you were thirteen again—flat on the pavement after tripping over your own feet, and him, Sylus, standing above you with that crooked grin.

“You’re so clumsy,” he’d laughed, offering his hand. “But damn if you don’t fall like it’s poetry.”

It was bright that day too.

Sunlight catching in your hair.

His shadow falling over you.

And you, smiling like the world wasn’t heavy yet.

Your fingers hovered above the paper now, inches from the Dragon’s wings. They curled like tension incarnate, massive and wild.

The red used in his form was so vivid it almost bled—rage, desire, hunger. He loomed over the woman below, poised to consume.

And yet the woman—radiant, untouched—was bathed in golden light, her figure fragile but unyielding.

Like hope.

Like the kind of faith that doesn’t flinch even in the face of ruin.

Your lips twitched slightly.

Funny.

It almost looked like the two of you—how he was always the storm that never quite swallowed you, how you were always the light that refused to dim, even when it hurt.

You stepped closer, eyes drifting from the Dragon’s horns to the space where the woman stood, untouched but watched.

Desired, but distant.

Blake had painted divine conflict—man’s hunger for purity, the beast’s need to possess what it could not reach.

And maybe that’s what it was with Sylus, too.

He had looked at you like that once.

Like you were something too sacred to hold, too precious to keep.

And still, he let you go.

You pressed your hand lightly to your chest, heart aching in that slow, familiar way.

Maybe that was the tragedy.

You had always wanted to be chosen.

And he had always feared breaking what he loved.

—•

"Hey, you made it, man. And I don’t just mean the trophies or interviews.”

His friend grinned, throwing an arm over Sylus’ shoulder like no time had passed at all. Like they were still in high school, ditching practice to watch sunsets on cracked bleachers. “Look at you. Big shot.”

Sylus huffed a quiet laugh, head tilting just slightly. “Sorry. I’ve been... busy.”

His friend gasped, hand flying to his chest in mock betrayal. “Damn. You sound like an adult. Since when do you apologise, Sylus? What happened to that brooding teen who quoted Nietzsche during suicide drills?”

Sylus smirked, eyes glinting with something dry and familiar. “He still quotes Nietzsche.”

“Thank god,” his friend exhaled dramatically. “Thought for a second you grew out of your villain arc.”

“Don’t get your hopes up.”

Sylus bumped him lightly with his shoulder, the kind of nudge that said I missed this without having to say it at all. The rooftop party carried on behind them—music floating into the night, glasses clinking, the occasional cheer breaking through.

But up here, tucked just slightly out of reach, time felt slower. Softer.

“You’ve changed, though,” Sylus said after a moment, watching him from the side. “Less of an annoying gnat.”

His friend snorted. “Marriage does that to a man. That, and budgeting spreadsheets.”

Sylus laughed—just a breath of it, low and worn-in. He leaned against the railing, city lights flickering against his jaw, casting him half in gold, half in shadow.

Then came the silence.

The kind that wasn’t awkward. Just familiar.

The kind that curled in the spaces where memories lived.

“You ever think about those days?” his friend asked quietly. “Before everything?”

Sylus didn’t answer right away. His eyes were still on the skyline, but it was clear he wasn’t really seeing it.

“Sometimes. When it’s quiet enough,” he said eventually. “Not often. It hurts.”

His friend nodded, something softer settling over him. “You always carried more than you let on.”

Another pause.

“You ever think about her?”

Sylus stilled—not noticeably. Just a flicker. But his friend noticed. Of course he did.

“Yeah,” he said, voice barely above the wind. “More than I should.”

His friend didn’t push. He just let the quiet stretch, like the space between heartbeats.

“Do you regret it?” he asked, gently.

Sylus was silent again. Long enough for the city below to change shape. Long enough to feel like the answer wasn’t easy—because it wasn’t.

“Yes,” he breathed. “But it’s the kind of regret you learn to carry. Like it belongs to you.”

His friend looked at him for a long second, then sighed.

“Damn. You really did grow up.”

Sylus smiled faintly, still watching something only he could see. “Don’t tell anyone,” he murmured. “I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

His friend leaned against the railing beside him, shoulders just brushing, the wind curling around them like the edge of a memory.

“You ever think about that day?” he asked, voice quiet. “Back of the school. When you pulled her aside.”

Sylus didn’t look at him. He didn’t need to ask which day.

Of course he remembered.

“It was quiet,” he said, after a moment. “She looked at me like she believed—just this once—I might choose her out loud.”

His fingers curled around the railing, knuckles whitening.

“And I almost did.”

His friend said nothing.

“I wanted to,” Sylus continued, voice low, fraying at the edges. “She was standing there, waiting. Not saying anything, but… you could see it in her eyes. She just wanted me to say something. To give her a reason to stay.”

He paused. Let the ache stretch.

“And then Colin showed up. Laughing like he always did. Loud enough for the whole world to hear.”

He exhaled, bitter. “And suddenly I felt it—all their eyes on me. Watching. Judging. Waiting to see if I'd cave.”

A humorless laugh slipped through his teeth.

“So I did what I thought would protect me.”

He stared up at the sky, like the stars might offer penance.

“I let her go. Stepped back. Said she was just someone.”

His friend winced but stayed silent.

“Colin was always watching,” Sylus said, quieter now. “Picking at me. ‘You’re too soft, man.’ Like caring made me something less. And I let him in. Let his voice sound louder than hers.”

His jaw clenched.

“I was seventeen. Thought being loved was a weakness. Thought wanting her made me small.”

The rooftop pulsed faintly with music behind them—voices, footsteps, laughter—but it all felt far away. A different world.

“I watched her walk away,” Sylus said. “Again and again. Every time I didn’t say the truth… I lost her a little more.”

His friend glanced at him, gentler now. “And what was the truth?”

Sylus turned, just slightly. His eyes were far-off, distant with the weight of what-ifs.

“That she was never just someone,” he said. “Not even close. She was… the only thing that ever felt real.”

His voice dropped to something hoarse, something wrecked.

“And I buried it. Smothered it. All so I could look untouchable to a boy who hasn’t mattered in years.”

His friend studied him for a long moment, then asked, softly, “Do you regret it?”

Sylus didn’t speak at first. The silence said enough.

Then, at last—

“Every version of me that failed her still lives inside me.”

He breathed out slowly, shoulders heavy beneath the weight of it.

“And when I dream of her…”

His voice broke, just faintly. “It’s always the same. She’s standing there, waiting. Same look on her face. And I still can’t say it. Still can’t move.”

His friend swallowed. “And if you could?”

Sylus looked out at the skyline, eyes softening like dusk.

“I’d tell her I’m sorry—for every moment I made her feel small. For every time I let silence answer when she needed something more.”

A pause.

“I’d tell her I loved her. That maybe I still do.”

Another breath.

“That she was the only thing I was ever sure of. And I let her think she was forgettable.”

The wind shifted.

The city lights blinked on like stars waking up too late.

But you were gone now, weren't you?

Gone in the way people leave when they’ve waited too long.

Gone in the way things break—not with a sound, but a silence too deep to fix.

And the boy who once stood behind the school, heart in his throat, was still here.

Only now, he finally knew what he should’ve said.

His words faded into the wind, swallowed by the quiet hum of the city.

For a while, neither of them spoke.

Then, after a long pause—

“I did try to warn you,” his friend said, nudging Sylus with his shoulder. “Told you back then you were a dumbass. Pretty sure I said it with love.”

Sylus huffed out a breath—almost a laugh. It caught in his throat.

“You said a lot of things,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“Yeah, well, I was a genius ahead of my time.”

Sylus gave him a look, dry and unimpressed.

His friend grinned. “Come on, you remember. I told you, straight up—‘One day she’s gonna walk, and you’re gonna hate yourself for letting her.’ What did you say back? Something moody and dramatic, probably.”

Sylus stared out at the skyline, jaw tight, but the corners of his mouth pulled upward—just slightly.

“I think I told you to shut up,” he murmured.

“Classic.” His friend laughed. “And then you probably quoted some depressing philosopher about how love is a social construct and solitude is eternal.”

Sylus exhaled, almost smiling. “I was unbearable.”

“Oh, completely,” his friend agreed. “But she loved you anyway. That was the miracle.”

The words hit gently, but they landed all the same.

Sylus went quiet again, the ghost of that almost-smile fading.

“I didn’t deserve it,” he said.

His friend shrugged. “Maybe not. But she gave it to you anyway.”

There was a pause.

“And that’s the thing about love, man. It’s not about earning it. It’s about not running from it when it’s right in front of you.”

Sylus didn’t respond.

He just leaned forward on the railing, eyes following the moving lights below, the wind tugging softly at his sleeves.

“You think she’s happy?” he asked, so quietly it almost got lost in the noise.

His friend didn’t answer right away. He didn’t pretend to know.

“I think,” he said, “she found a way to live without you. Doesn’t mean she stopped carrying it.”

Sylus nodded, once. Like he already knew.

“Then I hope,” he whispered, “she’s carrying it gently.”

His friend looked at him—really looked—and for a moment, he saw not the man Sylus had become, but the boy who once stood behind the school, paralysed by fear, and too proud to say stay.

So he softened his voice.

“You’re not that kid anymore, you know.”

Sylus let out a slow breath.

“No,” he murmured. “But the damage he did still follows me.”

His friend clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Then stop walking in circles. Say what you needed to say. Even if she never hears it.”

Sylus closed his eyes.

And for the first time in years, he let the words rise to the surface—not for you, not for forgiveness—

But for himself.

“I loved her,” he whispered. “Not the way people write about in books. Not in fireworks or storms. Just… the kind that stays. The kind that never leaves.”

His friend didn’t speak again.

And they stood there together, in the silence that followed—

Two boys who had grown into men.

One of them still learning how to hold a love that had already slipped through his fingers.

The bus rumbled to a halt outside the stone-fronted building, its tall archways casting long shadows across the pavement. Sylus stepped off last, his duffle slung over one shoulder, hoodie up, the curve of his jaw set in quiet disinterest.

He barely looked up as his teammates filed out in front of him, laughing, stretching, nudging each other like boys who had never had to carry silence the way he did.

He didn’t want to be here.

Team trip, they said. Something educational. A museum visit arranged by one of the girlfriend’s contacts—some kind of PR move, a filler day in the middle of the travel schedule.

He had tuned most of it out, earbuds in and hood drawn. The only reason he’d come was because the coach had raised an eyebrow and said, “It’ll look good on your record.”

So he came.

And then he stepped inside.

The museum was quiet in the way sacred places always are. Light pooled in through high skylights, catching in the stillness of glass displays and the matte sheen of aged canvases.

Footsteps echoed softly across the floor. Voices were hushed.

He thought it’d be boring. Forgettable.

Instead, something in the air caught him off guard.

It wasn’t anything big. Just a shift—like walking into a dream already in motion. Like he’d been here before, in some other life, though he knew he hadn’t.

He stayed at the back of the group, hands shoved deep into his pockets.

The tour guide was saying something about Renaissance anatomy studies, but Sylus wasn’t listening. His eyes moved slowly across the walls, the halls, the corners.

And then—

He saw you.

By accident. Through a pane of glass.

He hadn’t even realised where he was standing until his gaze drifted beyond the sculpture in front of him, to the adjacent exhibit room across the way. The angle was odd, warped slightly by reflection.

But—

It was you.

Or someone who looked so much like you that his heart stopped, just for a second.

You were focused on something—framing a sketch beneath a mount, your gloves brushing delicately along the edge of paper. Your hair was tied back, slightly messy, like it always was when you worked.

You weren’t speaking. Just moving with that quiet kind of precision you’d always had.

The same posture. The same shape of your hands.

His chest pulled tight.

He blinked once. Hard.

But you were still there.

He hadn’t imagined it.

It was you.

You didn’t see him. Of course you didn’t.

You were half-turned, too busy with whatever task had your attention, the same way you’d always been—losing hours in careful work while the world spun unnoticed around you.

He hadn’t seen your face in seven years. Not in real life. Just fragments. Photos he couldn’t stop from surfacing online. Sketches. Dreams.

He stood frozen, barely breathing.

He wasn’t ready for this.

Wasn’t ready for how much it would undo him—just the sight of you.

You looked... the same. Not in the literal sense, maybe. But in the way that mattered. Like memory hadn’t gotten it wrong. Like time hadn’t eroded who you were.

His teammates had moved on without him, rounding the corner toward the next room, oblivious.

He remained rooted, eyes fixed on the sliver of you he could still see.

Something ached deep in his chest—sharp and quiet and familiar.

He had no idea you worked here. No one had told him. No one had mentioned the city, the museum, the chance.

It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t fate in some grand, poetic sense.

It was accident.

Cruel. Perfect. Unbearable.

Eventually, you stepped out of view. Just like that. Gone again.

And Sylus was left standing there, feeling like seventeen all over again—like he’d let something slip through his hands before he even had the courage to hold it.

He didn’t follow.

Not then.

He walked the rest of the tour like a ghost. Nodded when his name was called. Laughed, once or twice, when someone elbowed him in the ribs.

But his thoughts were somewhere else. Still trapped behind that glass, in the brief glimpse of someone he thought he'd never see again.

When they reached the front entrance, the team began to pile toward the waiting bus. Some were still talking about the exhibit. One had picked up a souvenir book. Someone else joked about stealing one of the miniature busts.

Sylus was the last to approach the doors.

He hesitated.

One foot on the step. One hand on the bar.

This was the part where he walked away again. Quietly. Predictably. Like he always had.

But his hand dropped.

And without another word, he turned around and ran.

Back through the glass doors. Back through the marble halls.

He didn’t know where you’d gone. Or if you’d even still be there.

But this time—he couldn’t walk away.

Not again.

Never again.

He pushed through the glass doors, barely registering the startled glance from the staff at the front desk.

The museum had begun to empty out, the soft lull between exhibits settling over the air like dust. The quiet made every footstep echo too loud. Every breath sounded like it didn’t belong.

He didn’t know where you’d gone.

Only that he’d seen you. That you were real.

That maybe—maybe—this was his one chance to say something before silence caught up again.

Sylus ran.

Through the corridor lined with oil portraits, past the faded sculpture garden, around corners he didn’t recognise, past velvet ropes and signs that blurred as he passed them.

He didn’t care where he was going.

Only that you were here.

Somewhere.

His hood had fallen off. His breath hitched in his chest, fast and ragged. The air was cool but it burned in his lungs.

You couldn’t have gone far.

He skidded around a corner, nearly colliding with a display of 17th-century ceramics. A few heads turned. He didn’t look back.

She was here. I saw her. It was her.

His thoughts were fragmented. Uneven.

Memories bled into the walls as he ran—your laughter echoing behind him like the sound of shoes on tile, your voice layered over faint museum ambience.

He half-expected to see you every time he turned a corner. Half-feared you’d already left.

What would he even say?

I’m sorry?

I never stopped thinking about you?

You were never just someone?

None of it felt like enough. But he ran anyway.

He turned another corner—too fast this time—and his shoulder clipped the edge of a glass panel. He winced, stumbled, righted himself.

Still nothing. Just walls. Art. Names that didn’t matter.

Until—

There.

Down a narrow hall, where the light fell in soft gold, you were standing in front of a newly installed piece, clipboard in hand. You were scribbling something. Focused. Calm. Unknowing.

And suddenly, he couldn’t move.

His steps slowed. Each one heavier than the last.

You hadn’t seen him yet.

But he saw you—fully this time. No glass. No tricks of light. No doubt.

Just you.

You were older now.

But there was still something achingly familiar in the way you tilted your head when you studied art. In the crease between your brows. In the gentleness of your hands.

His chest rose and fell, breath uneven.

He stood a few feet behind you, like he had all those years ago—too afraid to cross the distance. Too afraid to speak.

But this time…

He stepped forward.

The sound of his shoes made you stiffen slightly, sensing someone behind you.

You turned.

Your eyes met his.

And for the first time in seven years, Sylus looked at you without hiding.

He didn’t say a word.

Just stood there, chest heaving, heart loud in his ears, as everything he should’ve said a lifetime ago swelled in the silence between you.

And this time... he wouldn’t run.

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livingformintyoongi · 2 days ago

Text

Undeniable Temptation | Min Yoongi

Summary: It's three in the morning and you're still awake. The clock keeps ticking, and Yoongi still hasn't called. There were never any promises of love in your marriage, but even so, the thought of him being with another woman tears your soul apart— and the fact that he doesn’t feel the same way you do only makes it worse. Author’s note: Hi again!!! I know it’s been weeks since I last took a Valentine’s request, but in my defense, I really wanted this one to be as good as possible because it’s for my dear @ktownshizzle — so it took me a little longer, oops! Anyway, I finally finished it, and here it is! I hope you enjoy it 💗 Pairing: CEO!Yoongi x Fem!Reader AUs: Bad Boy!AU Word count: 7.8k (I'M SO SORRY) Warnings/tags: Smut (MDNI), Yoongi acts like a jerk at first, but then he’s a total sweetheart <3, mentions of fighting (not between them!), arranged marriage, unprotected sex (DON’T do this, it’s dangerous!!) Permanent Taglist: @thunderg @minjianhyung @queenv1997 @yoongtism @lizzymizzy-blogg @superbbananananana @drpepperobsessed @themwordsblog @taekritimin123 @bluecloudss @yooglefics @tan-veee @angellekookie @meadowsweetskoo You can join the taglist here! Dividers by @omi-resources

The soft ticking of the living room clock echoed through the silence, each beat pushing your nerves closer to the edge. You stared at the clock hands for a moment. 3:05 a.m.

Three in the morning… and Yoongi still wasn’t home.

You rose from the couch for what felt like the hundredth time, pacing across the room with restless steps, biting down on your thumbnail in a poor attempt to settle the unease bubbling in your chest. It wasn’t the first time Yoongi had come home this late, but tonight felt different. He always let you know ahead of time—always. Whether it was work or hanging out with his friends, he never forgot to text. But tonight? Nothing. Just silence.

And yet, here you were. Awake. Waiting. Because you couldn’t fall asleep without knowing he was safe.

Your marriage might have been arranged, but that didn’t mean you didn’t care. And he cared, too… in his own quiet, distant way.

From day one, you’d both made it clear—there were no strings attached, no expectations. It wasn’t love. Hell, you barely knew each other. But after living together for over a year and a half, after countless public dinners hand in hand, after he’d—thrown—his jacket over your shoulders to keep you warm, after he’d shown up with comfortable flats so you could change out of your heels… after all of that, somewhere along the way, you’d grown fond of him.

Too fond.

It wasn’t love. Of course not. You just… cared. As one human to another. That was all.

You exhaled sharply, dropping back onto the couch—again. The weight of your thoughts pressed down harder with each minute. You hated this—hated the complicated mess of feelings Yoongi stirred in you. Hated that dull ache in your chest, the one that twisted painfully at the thought of him being with someone else. You hated feeling anything at all. Especially when you were just the wife he was forced to tolerate for the rest of his life.

Was this what marriage was supposed to feel like? Was every couple haunted by this constant fear? Or were you the only one clinging to something that had never even been real?

God. You weren’t even his real wife. Why did it hurt this much?

Pathetic.

You reached for your phone, your fingers moving slower than usual. You winced when the harsh brightness of the screen hit your eyes, cursing under your breath as you fumbled to lower it.

And then you saw them—three new messages. Yoongi.

You sat upright, heart stuttering in your chest as your eyes scanned the short texts he’d sent… thirty minutes ago.

> I’m coming home.

I’ll be there in about forty minutes.

Don’t wait up.

You read them again. And again. And again.

Seriously? That was it? He messaged you at two-thirty just to say he was on his way? Couldn’t he have told you earlier? Couldn’t he be a halfway decent husband and text you after work, let you know he was… doing something?

“Unbelievable,” you muttered, tossing your phone onto one of the throw pillows with a bitter scoff. If he meant what he said, he’d be home in about ten minutes. Forty minutes… that was the time it took to reach the outskirts of the city.

His office was just fifteen minutes away. His friends lived nearby. There was no reason to be that far out unless…

Unless it wasn’t work.

Unless there was someone else. Someone hidden, tucked away just far enough that you’d never find out.

Screw your earlier mental speech— If he was cheating on you, you were absolutely capable of breaking his damn nose.

The soft sound of keys jingling briefly pulled you out of your thoughts, causing every inch of your body to freeze in place. He had arrived. Yoongi was home, and you had no idea what to do or where to hide because, even if you hadn’t done anything wrong, you felt like you’d just committed a crime and the police were about to catch you red-handed.

Despite the fear and anxiety that screamed for you to retreat to your room, crawl under the covers, and force yourself to pretend to be asleep—ignoring the fact that your husband might be cheating on you—your body didn’t seem to want to obey your mind. Your feet felt glued to the floor, and your eyes were fixed on the hallway leading to the living room, where you’d been pacing for hours, waiting for him.

It only took a few seconds before you saw him step through the door. His shirt more wrinkled than when he left, his tie in disarray, his jacket hanging off one arm, and his face… his face looked so different from when he left the house.

The left eyebrow had a bandage crossing it from top to bottom, his left cheek was bruised, a dark blue mark that would probably swell by morning—or in a few hours—and his lip had a small cut on one corner.

You knew Yoongi sometimes got involved in dangerous things, but never, in the year and a half you’d been living together, had he come home looking like this.

The thought of infidelity quickly evaporated as you processed what you’d just seen. You rushed toward him, cupping his face in your hands, studying him more closely to see if there were any other injuries you’d missed the first time.

“Damn, Yoongi, what the hell happened to your face? You look terrible,” your voice came out higher than you intended, but you didn’t care. You ran your hands over the bruise on his cheek, making a face when you heard Yoongi hiss quietly. He never complained unless it really hurt. “Did you get into a fight with someone? No, wait, it’s obvious you got into a fight! Why the hell did you get into a fight with someone?”

You followed him as he walked away, confused, watching him fill a small glass with whiskey and drink it in one go.

“I’m not in the mood for your stupid questions, Y/N,” he murmured softly, sounding more tired than annoyed. That didn’t stop the pain that twisted in your chest when you heard him say that.

Yoongi never called you by your name. He always used the nickname “Sweetheart,” he said, just to annoy you. You’d gotten used to that stupid nickname that made your cheeks burn and short-circuited your brain. You’d forgotten that to him, this was nothing more than a stupid arrangement, with no emotions involved.

Yes, you were sad. You wanted to cry. You wanted to scream. You wanted to hit yourself for being stupid enough to think that he actually felt something for you.

But between the sadness and the anger, anger was what won out in this moment.

“Stupid questions?” you murmured, clenching your fists at your sides, feeling the heat rising in your chest, making its way up to your face as your anger started to grow. All the emotions you’d felt in the last few hours were now flooding to the surface. “You think my questions are stupid?”

Yoongi turned to look at you, his brow furrowing slightly, confusion marking his features—the same features you’d once found so charming. Now you just wanted to punch him in the balls and scream at him for being a complete idiot.

“You think it’s stupid that I’m worried about you after not hearing from you for the past seven fucking hours?” You watched in silence as his eyes widened at your question. You’d never spoken to him like that before. Normally, it was him who acted like this—him who ignored you, who teased you, who lightly tapped your forehead with his finger. He was the one who got to be rough with you while you just took it because—damn it—you liked it. You liked his little games, his teasing, the cute nickname he had for you. You liked him, and that’s why you always acted shy.

Well, now that shyness could go to hell. Yoongi had crossed your line, and now you were going to cross his.

“Y/N—”

“No!” You shoved your index finger into his chest, using all your strength to push him back. Your breathing was erratic, your teeth clenched so tightly that your jaw ached. You wanted to grab that stupidly beautiful hair of his and yank it until he apologized for treating you this way. “Don’t you dare throw out some dumb excuse, don’t you dare say my name like it’s going to make whatever you say next carry more weight!”

You shoved him again, enjoying the control, at least for once in this entire messed-up relationship. He wasn’t the only one with a bad reputation before that damn wedding was even in the picture.

“You walked out on your job to go God knows where, you were gone for seven fucking hours with no word, sent three damn texts saying you'd be late, leaving me alone in this house, running through a million scenarios in my head of why you were so late, wondering if you were with some other woman while I sat here waiting for you, and you come home with a bruised face— and you still think my questions are ridiculous?” You grabbed his shirt, pulling him closer so you could see him better. Normally, you'd be nervous, maybe even thinking about kissing him... but now, the urge to slap him was a lot stronger.

“Are you serious? You’re the one who imagined all this shit, and somehow I’m the problem? It’s not my fucking fault you’re so insecure you think I’m gonna cheat on you with someone else! Damn, you’re not even my real wife, why the hell do you care who I sleep with?”

That comment dropped both of you into silence.

You let go of his shirt, not sure what to do with your hands now. Your lashes fluttered quickly, fighting back the tears you refused to let fall, not in front of him. Not after what he just said.

Even though, deep down, you knew he was right. He didn’t owe you any explanations. You were the one who got your hopes up, the one who thought there was something more. He had every right to be with whoever he wanted, and you… you couldn’t deny him that. After all, nowhere in the contract did it say anything about exclusivity.

“Hey, sweetheart, wait, I didn’t— I didn’t mean that, okay? You know I didn’t?” He reached out to take your hand, but you flinched away, as if touching you burned. “I-I’m sorry, it was a stupid thing to say, it wasn’t thought through, it was just… just an impulse.”

You clutched the silk robe wrapped around you. It was the only thing stopping you from feeling the sting that came with trying to breathe. Why did you have to fall in love with Yoongi? What was it about him that made you risk everything, knowing it was going to end like this? You were angry with him, but more than that, you were furious with yourself for allowing him to hurt you. You knew the only one who would be left broken was you.

“No,” you whispered after a beat. Your gaze dropped to the floor, your shoulders slumped, and your hair shielded your face, hiding the tears that were threatening to spill. It was the perfect pose for a breakdown. You wanted to break down, “You’re right. It was stupid to care about you when we’re nothing.”

“No, wait, let me—” He cut himself off when he noticed a single drop of water hit the floor, and your shoulders started to tremble. You were crying. He had made you cry. He wanted to blame the idiot he fought with at the bar, wanted to blame the alcohol for making him act without thinking, wanted to blame anyone other than himself because he didn’t want to be the one who made you cry.

But he had.

He should have just answered your damn questions and been done with it, not gotten defensive.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered softly, his hands gently resting on your shoulders, unsure if you were going to push him away again or lash out. But you did nothing. You let him pull you in and wrap you in his arms. It was awkward, you felt awkward, he felt awkward, but he needed to do this. He needed you to hear him so that at least you’d stop thinking he was out there with someone else.

Yoongi might be a complete jerk, but he would never, ever cheat on you.

“My brother came to my office just before I came home,” he said, his hand softly brushing through your hair, fingers threading through your strands as if to offer some kind of silent comfort. “He asked me to go for drinks at a bar nearby. I forgot to text you. I’m sorry.”

You stayed quiet for a few moments. You were still a bit tense under his embrace, but you let yourself wrap your arms weakly around his waist. It was your way of showing that, at least, you were listening, that you were open to hearing him out. Were you being stupid for trusting him? Probably. Did you care? Not really. You knew that hearing him out was a hit to your ego and dignity, but you still wanted to listen, wanted to hold on to whatever little hope was left inside you.

Being in love really did turn you into a mess.

“You were right. It’s my fault. I did things that made you think that way, and I know I shouldn’t have said that, but I just… I got so frustrated thinking that you actually believed I’d be with someone else, someone who wasn’t you.” He softly licked his lips, feeling them uncomfortably dry all of a sudden. At least now he’d cleared up the one thing that had been bothering him.

Now, all that was left was for you to believe him.

“Why does your face look like that?” you asked quietly, your face still hidden in his shoulder, your hands still on his waist, this time clutching the fabric of his shirt as if trying to push out the anger and pain building up inside you. Hearing him out and wanting to forgive him didn’t just erase your anger.

Yoongi was quiet for a moment, enough to think through his answer and not make the atmosphere any more tense than it already was.

“I got into a fight with some guy at the bar.” You could feel his hands tighten, his hold on you becoming stronger. It felt like he was trying to protect you from something, like remembering the fight only made him want to keep you closer.

And that only made you more confused.

“Why?” you asked, your voice calm as you waited for his answer. You wanted to understand why he’d gotten into a fight after all this time. You knew he used to get into fights when he was younger, but you thought that part of him was behind him now. After his dad left him in charge of the company, you believed he’d grown out of that. Now, you weren’t so sure.

“Because no one’s allowed to talk shit about my wife.” He buried his face in your neck, relaxing slightly as he breathed in the familiar scent of your perfume, that something that was uniquely you. The memories of the bar fight came rushing back—his anger flaring again as he recalled how one of his coworkers, a guy who’d been to several company parties with you two, had told his friend how badly he wanted to fuck you in a hotel room, how you had the face of someone who was easy, how you always smiled at him like you wanted something more.

He was out of his mind if he thought he was going to let that guy walk away without getting a beating. You deserved more than a sleazy hotel room that charged by the hour. You deserved respect—not because you were his girlfriend, but because you were a person, just like him, and far more respectable than the idiot he’d fought with. You deserved to be happy and to be kind to other men without them thinking you wanted something else.

Yoongi would fight that guy a thousand times over if it meant defending your image, because you deserved that and so much more.

And yet, here you were, still tied to someone like him, someone who couldn’t even express his feelings without saying something that hurt you in the process.

“You fought… for me?” You watched as Yoongi’s face, usually so pale, flushed a soft pink. His eyes darted around the room, anywhere but you.

It was the first time you’d ever seen him like this. The first time he’d shown you any real emotion when it came to you.

He was embarrassed because he’d just confessed he fought for you.

You both stayed quiet. You, watching him, feeling a heat rise in your chest, your hands starting to sweat, forcing you to rub them against your robe. Him, running a hand through his messy hair, keeping his gaze fixed on the floor, biting his lower lip.

Yoongi didn’t know what to say. You had a million questions running through your mind.

“Why did you do it?” You took a step closer to him, feeling a small ache in your chest when you saw him pull back slightly, almost instinctively. You were crossing a line, one he had set from the start of your relationship, an unspoken rule—he didn’t want you getting too close, didn’t want the emotions between you to grow any stronger. Didn’t want the attraction you both felt to turn into something bigger, more serious.

Your step didn't just cross a physical line—it crossed an emotional one too. And that set off every alarm inside Yoongi.

“Answer me,” you insisted, louder this time, your brows furrowed, fists clenched. You had respected his boundaries all this time, constantly convincing yourself this was one-sided—that your feelings were nothing more than something you'd imagined, something you should keep buried until the very end.

But now that you knew that wasn’t true, you weren’t about to stand back.

“Y/N, I—” Yoongi licked his lower lip, letting his head fall back. His hands—now with slightly reddened knuckles—covered his face like a child hiding from the world, as if that could magically make everything go away. “I don’t know why I did it, okay? It just… happened.”

“You’re lying!” you cut him off the second he finished. This time, you pushed him a little harder—just enough to make him step back. You could hear the shake in his voice, the uncertainty in his tone. You could see how his eyes dodged yours like they were poison.

You wanted him to tell you the truth. You needed to hear him say that you mattered to him as much as he mattered to you.

You wanted to hear him say he loved you, the same way you loved him.

“Shit, what do you want me to say? That is the truth!” Yoongi’s voice rose a little, but you didn’t care—not when he finally looked you in the eye after admitting he got into a fight. His clenched jaw and dark eyes might’ve scared someone else, might’ve made them back down.

But you knew him too well for that—unfortunately for him.

His glare, despite the anger, wavered constantly. You could see a flicker of insecurity there—and something else, emotions you knew better than anyone Yoongi didn’t want to feel. He fought tooth and nail to keep them buried. But you wanted to drag them out of him.

“Stop lying to yourself, Yoongi!” You tried to push him again, but his hands quickly grabbed your wrists, pulling you close until there were only inches between you.

Your breaths were ragged, tangled in the storm of emotions swirling between you. His grip on your wrists loosened, but his hands never left your skin. You watched as he ran his tongue over his lips, his intense gaze locked on you the whole time.

“Stop pushing me,” he whispered, holding the distance even though something deep inside him screamed to get away from you—that this would only make things worse, that he wouldn’t be able to control himself with you this close, with your skin burning against his palms, with the way he craved more and more.

But apparently, that voice wasn’t persuasive enough.

You didn’t say anything. You just stood there, feeling your heartbeat race so fast it thundered in your ears, feeling the heat rise from your toes to your ears, your stomach twisting uncomfortably from the sensation of his touch.

You wanted more of him. You wanted everything he could give you and more. You wanted to feel his lips on yours, his hands on your body, his nose against your neck, his voice in your ear.

And this was your chance to have it.

So you grabbed the collar of his shirt and yanked him down until his lips crashed into yours. Only then did you feel like you could breathe again.

You thought this would be the end of everything—that he’d take it as the final excuse to sign the damn divorce papers you were sure he’d wanted from day one. But no. He didn’t shove you away. He didn’t yell. He didn’t demand answers or accuse you of doing something reckless without his consent.

Instead, he cupped your cheeks, his tongue tracing your lower lip, turning your clumsy, desperate kiss into something wildly intense—a kiss that stopped being one-sided the moment he decided to kiss you back.

Your hands tangled in his hair, tugging whenever your body threatened to lose control. You could feel his desperation match yours, like you were both fighting a war with no winner, because in the end, you were both going to enjoy the outcome anyway.

His touch grew needier, more frantic, and you nearly gasped when you felt his cold fingers against your thighs, lifting you off the ground without bothering to break the kiss. He didn’t care if your teeth clashed or if you let out soft moans and gasps between breaths.

He’d gone months without touching you like this. Now that he could, he wasn’t going to waste a single second.

You both got lost in the smell of each other, the touch, the way your hearts beat in sync—fast, unrestrained, chaotic. The kind of heartbeat that only happens when you've waited for something your whole life, and when it finally arrives, it exceeds your expectations so much that everything else just stops.

There was no one left to fool—because there was no one else in that room.

You moaned against his lips when his hand slid up your back, slipping under your nightgown, exposing more of your skin with every inch. You felt him smile against your neck as your body shivered from his touch.

“If I’d known you were this sensitive, I would’ve done this months ago,” he whispered against your skin, leaving light bites and marks along your neck. Something about the blank canvas of your skin bothered him—it made him want to cover it, to claim it, until it was unrecognizable.

To him, your skin was a blank canvas, and his lips were the brush to turn it into a masterpiece.

You gasped when he dropped you onto the bed, quickly settling between your legs. The pressure in your chest tightened as he hovered over you—lips swollen and shiny, tongue lazily brushing over them, his hair a mess from your hands, his dark eyes watching you like you were the most stunning woman he’d ever laid eyes on.

And in this moment, you felt that beautiful—just from the way he was looking at you.

So intense. So suffocating.

It was exactly how you imagined it.

Even with both of you breathing heavily and your pulses racing, the intensity of the kiss had faded, leaving a silence thick with tension—tension that had been building between you from day one.

“Are you sure about this?” he whispered, resting his forehead against yours. That messy, heated passion from a moment ago was gone now, replaced with something quieter. “It’ll never be the same between us.” His hand gently caressed your waist under your nightgown—not in a lustful way, not to change your mind—just because he needed to feel you, to know this was real. “We’ll never be the same.”

You placed your hand on his cheek, gently tracing his features, your touch filled with quiet longing. You’d made your decision months ago. You’d been waiting for this longer than you cared to admit. You wanted to be his—and you wanted him to be yours. You wanted your marriage to stop being a contract between parents and start being something real. Something you both craved.

“I know,” you whispered, wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, closing the last bit of space between you. It was torturous having him this close, brushing lips but not quite kissing, feeling his breath mix with yours. It was painfully sweet. “But I don’t care.”

“You don’t care?” he let out a breathy laugh, his hands gently removing the robe from your shoulders. In his eyes, the same passion from moments ago was still there, steady and present. It reminded you that you had just kissed, that he was ready to take off his clothes and claim you, just as you were ready to claim him.

But there was more.

You could feel it in the way his touch was firm yet gentle, in the way his lips curved into a smile you’d never seen before—not like this, not while you were watching him. Whatever was happening between the two of you was more than just the pent-up desire of a contract marriage. Deep down, you both knew it.

“No,” you replied, your voice shaking more than you intended. His hands had already finished removing the robe, the only thing left between his touch and your skin being the nightgown you wore. “I want this, Yoongi. I want you.”

And that was enough to completely unravel him.

His lips crashed into yours again, kissing you with a sweet, addictive hunger. The movement of his hips against yours drew soft moans from both of you, urging you to go further, to strip away every last piece of clothing and make this moment last as little time as possible.

But neither of you wanted it to end quickly, even if your bodies demanded release.

Yoongi lifted the hem of your nightgown slowly, making you squirm in place. You shivered as the cool air brushed against your bare skin, a sharp contrast to the heat building in your chest. His gaze lingered on every exposed inch of you, taking you in as if he were savoring the view.

A moan escaped your lips as he straightened up, positioning himself between your legs, giving him a perfect view of your body—the way your thighs trembled, the way your lips parted slightly as you fought to hold still, trying not to show how much you needed him right then.

He flicked the inside of his cheek with his tongue, his hands moving to his belt, unfastening it with deliberate slowness, only to toss it aside. There was no comparison between his fantasies and the reality of his touch, and his body knew it.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, baby,” he whispered, his voice low and husky, sending a shiver down your spine. His eyes never left you as he tossed the belt into a corner of the room, his gaze hungry yet reverent, as though he was seeing you for the first time, letting go of the walls he’d built up until now. “And so... mine.”

He gripped your waist, pulling you toward him in one swift movement, his hips pressing against yours. A grin tugged at his lips as he felt the slight tremor in your legs and heard the soft squeak that escaped you.

He leaned in, nipping at your lower lip just enough to make you gasp.

“Why do you look so shy now?” he murmured against your mouth. “We both know how much you’re going to enjoy this.”

His hand slid down your back, cupping your ass shamelessly, squeezing hard before giving you a playful spank. The sound was dry, but the heat that spread across your skin was electrifying. You looked up at him, surprised, but his smile only widened as if he had won something.

“Why did you do that!?” you asked, your voice breathless.

You couldn’t pretend you didn’t like how things were unfolding. You’d imagined this moment a thousand times, but this? This was beyond anything you had dreamed.

“I had to get you to open that pretty mouth of yours somehow,” he said, his thumb stroking the spot where he had just touched, but the tenderness lasted only a moment before he returned to squeezing your ass, making you squirm.

You weren’t sure if you wanted to kiss him, smack him, or beg him to never stop.

Maybe all three.

You were about to voice your frustration, to call him out for making this whole situation even more torturous than it already was. But then he started moving. This time, it wasn’t slow. He made you feel him, guiding your hips against his erection, his hands roaming over your curves as if he were memorizing every detail of you. His lips trailed down your neck, to your collarbone, leaving a mark you’d notice tomorrow.

“Tell me you want me again,” he said, his voice almost a command. “Do it trembling, like before.”

You hesitated, not because you didn’t feel it, but because your mind couldn’t form the words, couldn’t force your mouth to say what you knew was true. You weren’t sure if it was the touch of his body, the rawness in his eyes, or the fire in your veins, but you couldn’t speak. Your hands moved instead, trailing down to the waistband of his pants, awkwardly trying to push them off as he grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head.

He clicked his tongue, shaking his head as if he were disappointed in you. “Words, baby. I want words,” he murmured, his voice laced with a teasing grin.

You stirred under him, feeling an electric current run through your body. You'd never been held like this, never had your hands been held like this, and you couldn't help but be grateful that you could experience this for the first time with Yoongi because, fuck, there was nothing more exciting than seeing his arm on you, seeing the veins in it mark as he applied force to yours, the way your heartbeat quickened and being aware that he could feel it, that he knew how nervous that gesture made you.

You licked your lips, your eyes fixed on his, expectant, alert, ready for anything he was willing to give you because that’s the level of madness you had reached, to that point you would stoop if it meant being able to feel him inside you.

“I want you,” you managed, your voice shaky but firm with the truth in every word.

You watched as his lips formed a lazy smile, one that seemed too sure of itself, too aware of the state you were in; he knew, if at this moment he asked you to get down on your knees, you would, all to have a little piece of him, and he definitely wanted to give you more than a little piece of him.

He undressed completely, never breaking eye contact. His hot body, his rapid breath, every part of him screamed there was no turning back.

He spread your legs, a deliberate, almost lazy motion, as if he enjoyed every second of seeing you surrender to him. He leaned down, planting soft kisses on your stomach, leaving a trail of kisses that made you arch against the sheets. He moved up slowly, brushing your skin with his nose, with his lips, with his teeth. You felt as if every part of you was being discovered for the first time.

“Do you know how many times I’ve thought about this since we got married?” he asked, his voice raspy, that kind of voice you'd only been able to hear on the few mornings you'd seen him wake up, or on those nights counted on the fingers of one hand when he drank enough to fall half asleep in the car. “Ever since I saw you at the restaurant... I still remember that red dress you wore. It highlighted every curve, those heels making your legs look perfect. The way you held the glass to your lips and stared at me... like you were daring me, provoking me.” His hand slid between your thighs, stroking where you needed it most, slow at first, knowing full well the effect he was having on you.

“Yoongi—” you whispered, voice breaking as you arched against him, feeling the coolness of his fingers add a perfect contrast to the fire within you.

“Fuck,”his fingers pressed your clit harder, playing with it as if it didn't make your legs tremble and the knot in your belly tighten. “My name sounds so good when you say it like that.”

Your hands jerked under his grip, desperate to break free, to grab something to keep you sane, to keep you conscious, but all you managed to do was bury your nails in his wrist, scratching his skin every time he touched a too-sensitive nerve, biting your lips every time a too-loud moan threatened to come out.

You could feel with what little sanity you had left as his lips devoured your neck, as his tongue ran along your collarbone, letting out gasps of satisfaction at the taste of you, at the feel of your pulse against his tongue, fast, strong, steady.

The movement of his fingers became faster, more and more excruciating, and the tremors in your body became harder to bear. Your hips began to move against his touch, desperate to reach that wonderful point where you would finally achieve release.

The pressure of his fingers increased, the rhythm intensifying, and your body was on the edge. You moved against him, chasing the release you needed so badly.

And just when you thought you were about to reach it, when the tension in your stomach was about to snap… Yoongi stopped.

“What the-?” You choked on your own saliva as you watched him hold his member in the hand he had just masturbated you with. It was big. Really big. In your head you had imagined what it might look like, how well he would know how to use it, how deep he could go, but this? Fuck, this far exceeded your expectation.

Your body froze, every nerve alive with anticipation as you felt him align with you. His lips found yours in a soft kiss, a calm before the storm. And then you felt him enter you for the first time, slow, deep, so intimately that you felt yourself breaking into a thousand pieces.

A low moan escaped his throat, one that merged with yours in the dimly lit room. He moved slowly at first, exploring your reactions, gauging the rhythm with which your body responded to his. But when he heard you release his name between gasps, as if you needed it more than air, he lost all restraint. At last he released your hands from his grip, but only to move them to your hips, to hold your body steady every time he gave a thrust.

You took that very instant to bring your hands to his back, scratching at his skin, clinging to him, needing to feel his body as close to yours as possible to remind you that this was real, that this was not another dream -deliciously realistic.

You hit your head against the pillow as you felt his movements become more rhythmic, deeper, as his mouth traveled down your neck and shoulders, leaving traces of his presence as if he wanted to mark you from the inside and out. You knew that the next morning your body would have marks of him imbued on it, but you also knew that you had left yours on his, and that only made the sensation more exciting. Those marks were proof that this night really happened.

“Shit,” he murmured, his voice low, husky, choppy with pleasure. “That's it, baby. You're taking me so good.”

Your toes curled, and you had to take it all from yourself not to lose your mind right then and there. Your whole body seemed to be on edge, every lunge, every touch he gave to your most sensitive spot, made you completely lose your mind, made you want to grab his neck and kiss him until you ran out of air, until the skin on your lips swelled.

You wanted all this and more.

The room was filled with gasps, skin against skin, that urgency that is only born when desire has been held back too long. His hands gripped your hips as if he feared you would fade, as if clinging to you could make all of this even more real than it was.

Your back arched one last time, pleasure bursting from deep inside your body in a warm surge that made you scream his name without thinking. Your nails marked his back, your lips sought his almost desperately, as if you wanted that moment to be etched on your skin, on your soul.

And he fell with you.

His hips moved a couple more times, desperate, until his body shuddered over yours, leaving him breathless, speechless, spilling inside you with a broken sigh that sounded almost like a wail. Silence enveloped you for a few seconds

Your foreheads met, breath mingling, his heartbeat loud and fast against yours.

“Yoongi,” you whispered, your hands caressing the marks you had left on his skin, “I love you.”

And he smiled—a tired, content smile, as if he had never expected to hear it. As if, in that moment, he finally understood that everything he had avoided feeling... was already too far inside him. And it was. He didn't understand how, he didn't understand when, but he was so fucking lost for you that he would fight all the men in the world just to have you by his side.

“I know,” he murmured against your lips, keeping his eyes on yours all the time. He wanted you to feel his honesty, to know that every word that left his lips was true, even if he had never been able to prove it clearly. “Because I love you too.”

His lips barely brushed yours, with a tenderness almost fearful, as if by kissing you, he admitted that there was no turning back, as if that kiss was a thousand times more meaningful than what you had just done. And perhaps it was. Perhaps that kiss was what truly marked you, perhaps that 'I love you' you had just said was the real mark that officially turned the both of you into something more than just a signature on paper.

When the vertigo began to subside and the heat between you both turned into a memory, your mind began to fill with doubts. With words. With fear. The memories of everything you had said just moments ago replayed in your mind, serving as a reminder that neither of you were thinking clearly, that there was a possibility that everything you had said was simply an instinct driven by the passion of the moment.

And that was destroying you inside.

With a lump in your throat, you asked the same question Yoongi had asked you moments ago; this time, both of you were lucid, this time neither of you were desperate to undress the other, this time you weren’t sure if your heart could handle the rejection after everything that had happened.

"This doesn't change anything, does it?" you whispered, your voice trembling with the weight of reality. "In a few hours, when you wake up, will things be the same as before?"

His hand stopped at your waist, his fingers tightening slightly at your question, and that only made your fears grow more real. Yoongi could say he loved you, but there was a big difference between admitting what he felt for you and letting you fully into his life, and that last part? That was exactly what you feared you might never reach.

But then he straightened up, looking at you with his brow slightly furrowed and his head tilted to one side, as if he had just heard the biggest nonsense in the world.

"I thought we made it clear that nothing would be the same after tonight," he murmured, resuming his gentle caresses on your waist. You could see his hair falling over his face, some strands sticking to his forehead and others tickling your face; you weren’t sure if it was that that made him look even more attractive or the fact that he calmed your fear with just one sentence.

"Yes, I know, but—" you stopped when you felt his index finger rest on your lips, his eyebrow raising as a smug smile appeared on his face. Now it was you who frowned.

"Sweetheart. You're tired. Go to sleep." he whispered, gently adjusting you on the bed, covering both of your bodies under the warm sheets of your shared bed. This time, the smile he gave you was softer, a little more sincere. "I'll still be here in the morning."

You both stayed quiet, the kind of silence that feels comfortable, that brings calm—the kind that lets you know what the other is thinking just by looking at them. Closing your eyes and thinking you might not see him when you woke up… it scared you. But the idea of trusting him, of truly seeing him next to you the next day, was so… exciting.

For the first time in your life, that excitement was stronger than the fear of all the “what ifs.”

So you slept. Finally. You trusted his words and let the fear slowly fade away, second by second, as your eyes grew heavier and sleep became harder to resist.

And yet, when you opened your eyes, the space beside you was empty.

Not cold. Just… without him.

For a moment, the knot returned to your throat, along with last night’s question. You began to wonder how you would ever look him in the eye again, how you could go back to talking to him like nothing had happened.

But then you heard footsteps. Soft, but steady—each step sounding louder than the last, as if someone was getting closer to you.

And then you saw him walk in.

His hair was still messy, his face still looked a little sleepy. The only difference from the night before was that he had thrown on a pair of sweatpants. That, and the cup of coffee he was holding in one hand.

He sat down on his side of the bed, as if you weren’t sitting there watching him with your mouth hanging open and your eyes nearly popping out of your face.

He set the mug on his nightstand and turned to you, using two fingers to gently push up your chin and close your mouth.

“I thought you—”

“I know,” he murmured, using his hold on your chin to bring your face closer to his. He only stopped when you were leaning into him, your faces just a few centimeters apart. “Your eyes have always been really expressive.” Then he raised his lips to your forehead, leaving a soft kiss there before continuing. “Tough luck, sweetheart. You’re stuck with me for life now.”

Masterlist.

#yoongi x reader #min yoongi smut #yoongi smut #min yoongi x you #yoongi x y/n #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi x y/n #yoongi x you #bts x reader #bts x you #bts fanfic #bts imagine #bts x y/n #bts x fem!reader #fanfic #fiction

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saintobio · 14 hours ago

Text

REVERENCE.

when months of restraint led to silly arguments and an unexpected addiction—and now you're left wondering if his bed comes with a warranty.

౨ৎ pairings. sylus, fem!reader

౨ৎ genre. explicit smut, pwp 18+

౨ৎ tags. dom!sylus, soft!sylus, profanity, teasing, sexual tension, possessive undertones, insecurity, emotional intimacy, virginity loss, little to no angst, banter, fast-paced smut

౨ৎ notes. happy birthday big bad boss-man <3 him and his damn private pool did things to me, sooo here’s a short one. reblogs/comments are highly appreciated!

The water shimmered like obsidian glass beneath the moonlight, glinting with each subtle movement of his body. Sylus cut through the surface with deliberate grace, every stroke fluid, every breath a display of absolute gorgeousness. His back arched with each pull through the water, muscles contracting with each move, shoulders broad and smooth, tapering into that ridiculous V-line that disappeared below the waistband of his swim trunks. God, and the soft illumination from the pool lights played against his skin, highlighting every dip and ridge of his toned body. Honestly, sometimes he looked less like a man and more like some Greek god or a myth carved from heavenly sin. And it certainly fit how one of his favorite classic records—Chaconne in G Minor, to be exact—was playing in the background, emphasizing what majestic god of a man was relaxing in the pool.

You were supposed to be reading. Or pretending to, at least.

Instead, you found yourself slouched in the lounge chair beside the pool, the chilled stem of a wine glass resting against your thigh, and eyes glued to the man in the water like he was a scene from a forbidden dream. You’d seen Sylus shirtless more times than you could count by now. Hell, you lived with the man. But there was something different about watching him like this. This raw, unfiltered sight of him like you were spying on a secret he never meant to share.

And yet, deep in the pit of your stomach, something churned.

Six months.

Six months of being his—whatever this was. Girlfriend. Partner. Possession, sometimes, when he was feeling particularly growly.

Half a year of stolen glances and hidden touches and shared beds. Of whispered sweet nothings in the dark, of his fingers memorizing the lines of your body like he wanted to carve them into his memory. You were his, and he made sure you knew it every time he held your jaw and called you kitten, every time he stood behind you in public with a hand on your lower back like a gentleman.

But every time things went too far, every time your back hit a mattress and you whispered that you were ready, he’d stop. He just never went all the way. And while his kisses were fire and his touches were thunder, you couldn’t shake the one thought in your head: Why hasn’t he?

Look, you didn’t want to ask. Not directly. Because maybe you didn’t want to hear the answer. It could be… restraint? Patience? Or was it disgust, after all? Maybe he hated the curve of your thighs or the way your stomach folded when you sat. Maybe he didn’t want to see you undone because, deep down, he didn’t think you were worth ruining.

Your grip tightened around the glass. You knew how he looked at you. You felt his hunger, even if he never let it tip over the edge. But still, that question lodged in your ribs like a thorn.

“I can feel you staring,” Sylus drawled from the water.

Your breath hitched but you played it cool by sipping from your glass. “I’m allowed to look.”

He moved slowly, swimming toward the edge like a snake slithering out of the dark. He reached the side, pulling himself up slightly with both arms braced on the ledge. Water streamed down his torso in glistening rivulets, his hair slicked back, not to mention the unholy sharpness of his cheekbones. “Then ask what you really want to ask,” he murmured, voice smooth as dark velvet.

You tilted your head, feigning nonchalance. “And what would that be?”

His deep, clearly taunting laugh reverberated in your ears. “Why I haven’t had you yet.”

Heat slammed through you like a wave, your fingers tightening around the wine glass so hard it nearly cracked. You refused to give him the satisfaction of flustering you. So instead, you lifted your brows and asked, “Is it some kind of twisted power play?”

His tongue ran along his bottom lip. Deliberately, if you may add. And he looked at you like he wanted to devour you. “Tempting,” said he. “But no.”

Your mouth went dry. “Then, what?”

And that’s when he leaned in closer, his arms flexing on the pool’s edge, voice dropping into something feral. “Because I know you can’t take me, kitten.”

You blinked, your entire body going still. Mind blank. Completely. When you regained your sanity, you later stood and walked over to him, bare feet silent on the tile until you were right in front of him. You leaned down just enough so he could catch the fire in your eyes, the defiance in the part of your lips, the way your swimsuit clung to every curve. You reached out and plucked a cherry from the dark chocolate cake, took a slow bite, and let the juice slip from your mouth, trailing down the curve of your neck.

“Well,” you whispered in true competitive you, watching as his lips formed an upward curl, “try me.”

“Haaah!”

He did.

“S-Sy—!”

That night, everything changed. Literally.

“Mmmh! R-Right there!”

If your moans didn’t already make it obvious, then believe this—the whispers about Sylus being incredible in bed weren’t just rumors. It was hell of a fucking truth.

He touched you like you were sacred. His mouth was reverent, his hands patient, tracing the slopes of your mounds like he was memorizing it. Every kiss was full of ardor, every sigh against your skin was likely an apology for all the nights he made you wait. He undressed you like you were something precious, something breakable, and still looked at you like you were the most dangerous thing in the room.

And, not to brag, but being his girlfriend had some of the best perks in the intimacy department, too. Because he was packing. You already knew he was, just by noticing the bulge that would show behind his boxers. But this time around, you finally had the front row access to actually see his manhood. And taste it, even. Just that, it didn’t fit your mouth. Not in the way you expected, because when you said he was big, you didn’t know he was that big. His cock, when fully grown and hard, was probably 8 inches at least. It had a very slight upward curve, thick veins, and a pinkish nude tip. It was hot and pulsing, angry and desperate.

When he finally entered you, it wasn’t rushed or desperate. It was slow. Painfully, agonizingly slow like he was afraid of ripping you open. The first entrance made you scream, not from pain, but from the first wave of ecstasy you discovered your body could draw out. Blood may have soaked his entire girth, but you didn’t care about that right now. You were too drunk from the mixing pain and pleasure, and could barely open your eyes as your lover went in and out of you, calling you a good girl, telling you your pussy was so tight it was squeezing him.

“Fuck,” he breathed against your ear, holding your hips steady as he pulled away to adjust his pace. It was the very first time you’d heard him cuss. “This… There’s no going back after this, kitten.”

“I-I don’t care.” You pulled him back, letting him dive his face onto your neck while you pushed your chest against his. Skin-to-skin, flesh on flesh. His toned chest pressing against your soft breasts. He was rocking his hips back and forth like he couldn’t get enough, rock-hard cock hitting your sweet spot with every thrust. He was deep enough that he had you folded in half against the mattress and your walls wrapped around his shaft so perfectly it must have felt like a lubricated glove.

And when he whispered your name against your throat like it was holy, something inside you cracked open.

“Aah—ah!”

Is it my cervix he’s hitting? Gosh, you couldn’t tell any more. Your legs were already shaking at that point and all you could think of was wanting to explode. To combust.

You had never felt more worshipped. You had never felt more wanted, desired.

“Mouth,” he growled on your lips, “Tits, or inside? Your choice, kitten.”

At first, you didn’t understand what he meant. You didn’t exactly have a book of how to’s when having sex, so it took you awhile to fully realize it amidst salacious moans and animalistic heat. And when you did, your cheeks burned a scorching 150°F.

“M-Mouth,” you managed to say while he bit your lower lip. He didn't stop ramming into you until your voice was hoarse and your body trembling, and even then, he kissed you softly like he was holding an angel in his arms. That was, until he started moaning—no, grunting, and his pace was increasing its speed. In one swift motion, he pulled out, moved to place his throbbing cock by your mouth, and jerked his shaft until white, hot seed spattered all over your tongue.

Sylus immediately grabbed your jaw, wanton ruby eyes staring down at you with nothing but perversion in mind. “Don’t spit it out, sweetie. Swallow it like a good girl.”

You did as told. Even sucked him dry to make sure no drop was wasted. And frankly, although the taste of cum was foreign, it wasn’t as bad as you imagined. All you could think about was the fact that it came from the love of your life, the man you only ever desired, after a pleasure-filled night. You got that out of him. It was you who released it from him.

And you didn’t really sleep that night. Not because he didn’t let you, but because you were still processing the experience and because he couldn’t stop touching you. Fingertips grazing your arm. Lips pressing against your temple. I love you’s in your ear as if losing your virginity was the greatest honor he had the pleasure of having.

But a week passed. Probably two.

And something shifted again.

Sylus still kissed you. Still touched you. Still looked at you like you were made of light feather. But he didn’t take you. Not again after the first time. Every time you leaned into him, heat in your eyes and want in your breath, he pulled back. Made excuses. “Busy week, kitten.” “Long meeting.” “You need rest, sweetie.” And more often than not, he distracted you with affection and whispered sweet lies of “next time” against your skin until the moment passed.

It wasn’t rejection. He was still soft with you, still attentive. But it was like there was an invisible wall he’d rebuilt, brick by silent brick. You didn’t press at first, but the doubt returned that maybe you weren’t good enough, maybe that night was a fluke and he regretted it. Maybe he thought your skills paled in comparison to other girls he had sex with before.

The thought ate you alive in the most bitter way, so naturally, you stopped trying. You avoided him in small, quiet ways. Stopped initiating. Stopped trying. You wore oversized shirts instead of lingeries, avoided his lap and chose the farthest corner of the couch. You kissed his cheek instead of his mouth. You smiled when he teased, but you didn’t force a chuckle out.

And what terrible boyfriend would Sylus be if he didn’t notice?

It was subtle, at first. Longer stares. More questions. Quiet, unreadable glances from across the room. Then, one night, he found you curled into the far corner of the couch, eyes glued to your phone, back turned to him. He walked over. Without a word, he picked you up and pulled you into his lap, wrapping your legs around his waist, holding you like you were the only thing anchoring him to this world.

“Alright. Tell me now. What did I do?” he asked quietly.

You froze like a deer caught in the headlights and refused to return his gaze. “Nothing.”

“Kitten.” That voice. Gentle command, cloaked in velvet. The one that always made you crumble. “You’re not fooling anyone here with that adorable grumpy face.”

You rolled your eyes. “Well, then why couldn’t you just spit it out? Everytime I asked if we could have sex, you kept making excuses. If you didn’t want to do it again or if you hated my body, you could’ve just said so.”

He went still. “What?”

“I’m not mad, by the way,” you clarified, a little too quickly, a little too defensively while you held onto that glare he found so damn amusing. “I’m not. And if that was all you wanted from me, it’s fine. I’m sure your other girls did it better before—”

He cut you off with a hand on your jaw, turning your face to his. “Stop.”

“What?” You looked up and he was staring at you like you’d just said something insane. It made you want to curl and bury yourself six feet under, then and there. It was embarrassing.

“You think I didn’t want to because of you?” He let out a ridiculous chuckle, one that he usually made whenever he found your antics a little too farcical. His thumb brushed over your cheek, then under your chin, lifting your face. “You think I don’t fantasize over this?” he added, hand trailing down to cup your breast before moving further to give your bum a playful squeeze, “You think I hate this?”

Swallowing, you looked away shyly. “Then, why do you keep rejecting—”

“It’s because when I get addicted… I can’t stop,” he whispered, pecking your lips tenderly. “And with you, kitten, I know I will. You’ll hate me for it.”

Blinking, you told him,

“Who said I wanted you to stop?”

The months that followed were, in two words, pure filth.

Sylus became a beast. His previous slow and sensual pace became history as soon as he discovered a preference for doing it hard and fast. Your nights turned into marathons. Mornings were a blur of sore muscles, bruised hips, and smug glances from across the breakfast table. You couldn’t keep up, and you didn’t want to. You liked seeing what he was like when he didn’t hold back. When he gave in. When he devoured.

In the living room. In his office. In the bathtub. In his car. On his motorcycle. On a bear skin rug by the fireplace. Missionary, doggy, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, standing up, against the wall. You name it. He became utterly, obsessively yours. Pulled you away from the Association mid-duty, muttering, “Come here. Now.” Dragged you back into bed after a shower just because he’d remembered how you looked the night before. He’d whisper, “You did this to me, kitten,” and kiss you until you forgot your own name.

Once, you joked that you hadn’t done actual cardio in a month. And the idiot grinned and murmured, “Good. Because you’ll be doing laps tonight.”

You did. Three times.

And tonight, the choice of place was the shower. The position? Well, you weren’t even sure what it was called anymore. All you knew was that you two stood under the cascade of water, your right leg dangling on his arm as he fucked you from the side. Your moans were louder than the sound of rainshower, even more as he slammed his cock inside you over and over, at a speed you couldn’t even keep up with.

“A-Aaah, Sylus—!”

His lips were on your neck, marking and mapping it with hickeys. His hands moved to squeeze your tits from behind, before he held your hips in place. With your ass against his cock, he made you lower yourself and arch your back a little, just so he could start pounding you from the back.

“Nghhh!”

“You said you can keep up with me, kitten.”

“I-I c-can…!”

And somehow, you didn’t remember how you ended up in bed, absolutely soaking wet, as you bounced against his hardened member. He made you squat, legs on each side, hands on his knees for support so you could move up and down his cock like a bunny. Because you two did, in fact, fuck like rabbits. Or in his very sophisticated words, “copious amount of coitus”.

In the end, you were sprawled over his chest like a limp noodle, hair a mess, thighs sore beyond recognition, you groaned into his collarbone and could still feel his warm seed leaking out of your entrance.

“I need a vacation from my own bedroom,” you quipped.

Sylus didn’t answer right away. Just kept stroking his fingers lazily down your spine, his breathing calm beneath you. His skin was still warm from everything he’d done to you until dawn, and his heartbeat thumped steady and smug beneath your cheek.

You tilted your head to glance up at him. “I’m serious. I think my body’s filing a complaint.”

“Let it,” he said, eyes still closed. “I’ll counter-sue for emotional damages.”

You snorted. “What damage?”

He opened one eye, ruby gaze dropping to your lips. “I told you I’d get addicted.”

“Yeah, well,” you muttered, snuggling back into his chest and feeling comfort from his scent, “this is the worst rehab program ever.”

He smiled into your hair, huge arms tightening around you. “There’s no rehab, kitten.”

“None at all?”

“No, I’m never recovering from you.”

#sylus x reader #sylus x you #sylus x mc #sylus smut #qin che x reader #qin che x you #love and deepspace smut #love and deepspace x reader #lads x reader #lnds x reader #lads smut

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katsu28 · 3 days ago

Note

oooh kait i love the list!!

what about lando + 50. putting a hand over the other's mouth where lando is yapping abt smth?

got a little carried away with this but fuck it we ball

lando norris x sainz!reader, 1.7k. request something from here :)

“Fancy seeing you here.”

You glance up from your phone to see a grinning Lando leaned up against the wall next to you, and you raise an amused brow. “It’s my brother’s wedding.”

“Yeah, I know, I was just—”

“Why would I not be here?”

“Jesus, I was just trying to be funny, you don't have to be mean about it,” He huffs, bumping his shoulder against yours with a roll of his eyes.

“Sorry, Lan. You’re just too fun to mess with.” You tease, reaching out to pinch Lando’s cheek.

He scowls, batting your hand away haphazardly. “Carlos said you were gonna be here early to help get everything settled.”

“Aw, were you waiting for me?”

“No, I wasn't.” You shoot him a disbelieving look. “Okay, maybe I was. I had to work with your great aunt, and lemme tell you, that woman is handsy.”

“Oh, you poor thing.”

“I know. All because you abandoned me.”

“I had to help Rebecca with some last minute adjustments. And besides, It takes time to look this good, Norris,” You tut, gesturing towards yourself. The bridesmaid dresses Rebecca had picked out are absolutely gorgeous. Hopefully gorgeous enough to get you what you want.

“You do look amazing,” Lando murmurs, eyes not-so-subtly raking up and down your body a little too long to be considered innocent. Mission accomplished.

“You don’t clean up too bad yourself,” You reply, letting your gaze do the same. His tailored suit fits him wonderfully, and his hair is styled to perfection. You fight the urge to run your fingers through his curls and ruin it by pulling him close.

Things between Lando and yourself are…complicated, to say the least. You were both young when you’d met, all the way back in 2019 when Carlos had done his time with McLaren. Since then, you’ve both grown up, kept in touch, and somewhere along the way, you’d come to a realization.

You like Lando. A lot. And you think he might like you back, but neither of you have done anything about it. You flirt with each other like people who have feelings for each other and tease each other like friends, dancing around the elephant in the room whenever you’re in the same vicinity.

It certainly doesn’t help that Lando is one of your brother’s best friends. He looks up to Carlos, respects him as a mentor, and wouldn’t dare make a move against his baby sister. But honestly, you wish he just would. This back and forth is starting to get a little old.

Now is as good a time as any, with Carlos distracted on his big day. And what was that again people said about weddings being the perfect chance for blossoming romance?

Someone with a headset and a clipboard comes up and whispers something in your ear, cutting your moment with Lando short. You stow away your phone in your purse, already prepared to follow them to attend to whatever needs doing.

“Duty calls. I’ll see you later, Lan,” You say, straightening Lando’s tie with a sweet smile aimed at him. “Don’t miss me too much.”

Lando chuckles, looking equal parts fond and amused. “I’ll try my best.”

The next time you see him is right before you're meant to walk down the aisle together. You take your mark right next to him, smoothing out your dress one last time before looping your arm through his.

He leans towards you, lips almost brushing your ear with his whisper. “Missed you.”

“Thought you said you’d try your best not to?”

“Guess it wasn't good enough. Listen, can we talk later?”

He sounds uncharacteristically serious, and it has you giving him a cautious sideways glance. “Of course,” You say. You nudge him gently with your elbow. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, it’s good. Nothing’s wrong, don’t worry.”

“Well, now that you tell me not to worry, I think I might,” You reply, brows furrowing.

“Then don’t.”

“Seriously, Lando? You couldn't have waited until after the ceremony for this? I mean, honestly—”

Suddenly his lips are on your cheek briefly, causing your outburst to die off mid sentence. You stiffen momentarily at the unexpected action. When you turn to gawk at him, he’s looking straight ahead, a satisfied little smile gracing his face.

You don’t have time to process anything any further before you're being guided towards the beginning of the aisle. Straightening up, throwing your shoulders back, you tighten your fingers around your bouquet of flowers.

Now isn’t the time.

The ceremony goes swimmingly. There isn’t a dry eye in the place at seeing just how much Carlos and Rebecca love and cherish each other. Every so often, you’ll catch Lando’s eye across the aisle and he’ll wink back at you, settling your nerves at standing up there in front of everyone.

You start to wonder what he wants to talk to you about. Your mind immediately goes to the worst possible thing, but surely it can’t be too bad. Right?

Lando doesn’t bring it up until well into the reception. He catches your eye from afar, tilting his head towards the nearest exit. Everyone is on the dance floor now, nobody would notice if you left.

He slips out of the large hall silently and you follow a few seconds later, only startling a little bit when he grabs your hand and leads you further down the corridor until you can’t hear the lively music anymore.

“What’s going on, Lando?”

He drops your hand in favor of starting to pace, rubbing his palms over his thighs nervously. “I’m gonna be really honest with you right now. Probably brutally honest. And it might fuck things up, but I think I might explode if I keep it in any longer.”

“Uh…okay. That sounds concerning,” You say hesitantly, shifting on your feet.

“It is. I mean, no, it’s not, it’s nothing but, I just…”

“Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

“I’ve wanted to kiss you all night, because you look absolutely stunning,” He blurts. “But not just today. I wanna kiss you all the time, and I know—I know I probably shouldn’t because Carlos is one of my best mates and you’re his little sister and he’d likely kick my ass if he ever finds out, but I don’t care, I—”

“Lando,” You interrupt, fighting to keep your voice level. Finally, finally, something is happening.

He continues on as if he hadn’t heard you at all. “—can’t keep doing this…this whatever thing we’ve been doing. I really like you, and I need you to know that even if it ruins our friendship.”

Normally you’d entertain his yapping tendencies, but you want to tell Lando you feel the same way and he just keeps on talking like he’s the only one in this conversation, so you’re left with no choice.

You push him back against the wall behind him with one hand splayed across his chest, the other hand coming up to cover his mouth. Lando’s ranting dies off the moment your hand touches his face, like you’ve just found his off switch and powered him down.

“Can you please just shut up for a second?” You say exasperatedly. He nods quickly, completely doe eyed under your palm. “You gonna let me talk now?” Another nod, this one a little slower. “Good. I like you too. Have for ages.”

Lando’s fingers curl around your wrist, prying your hand away from his mouth with furrowed brows. “You—you do? Really? Why’ve you never said anything?”

“Why haven’t you?” You shoot back, cocking your head.

“Because…because!” He says incredulously, wrinkling his nose. “You’re Carlos’s little sister, I—he’d have my head.”

You scoff. “Carlos isn’t my keeper, Lando. I’m an adult, I can make my own choices without having to consult my brother. If I want to date you, I can!”

Lando’s gaze sharpens, the edges of his mouth curving into a smug little smile, and you know you’re in for it now.

“Then let me take you out. On a proper date,” He proposes. It’s a bold move, considering you’ve still got him pinned against the wall with one hand, but his bluntness makes your focus flicker.

Lando takes the opening and makes his move, now suddenly you’re the one with your back against the wall and he’s pushed himself closer than you’ve ever been before. For someone who was just worried about Carlos finding out mere seconds ago, he seems quite confident.

“You’re sure you want to do this?” You ask softly, searching his face for any trace of doubt or uncertainty. What you’ve wanted for a long time is finally happening, but that doesn’t make you any less wary. If anything, it feels even more daunting.

Slowly, Lando’s hand comes up to cradle your cheek almost delicately, like he’s afraid you might disappear into thin air if he moves too fast. His tongue darts out to wet his lips just before he leans in, deft fingers shifting from your cheek down under your chin, tilting your head up just enough to meet him in a gentle kiss.

His lips are softer than you expect, tasting a little like the rum and cokes he’s been nursing all night mixed with something else sweet, and definitely living up to every dream you’ve ever had about this very moment.

Lando’s thumb rubs along your cheek, a soft smile playing across his face when you break apart. “Believe me, I’m more sure about you than I’ve ever been about anything in my life.”

You smooth out the lapels of his suit jacket from where your fingers had bunched into the material, beaming at him happily. “Always such a sweet talker, you.”

“Worked on you, didn’t it? I mean, it took years, but I’ve got you now, don’t I?”

“Depends on where you take me on our date,” You joke.

“Oh, I’ll take you anywhere you want, baby. Name it and it’s done.”

“A sweet talker and a smooth talker. That could come in handy for when Carlos finds out.”

“No, it—why?” His voice squeaks on the last word, eyes widening almost comically.

You give his chest a firm pat, ducking out from under his arm to return to the reception. “Guess you’ll just have to wait and see, hm?”

“Sweetheart, c’mon! He won’t try to fight me, right? Right?”

follow @katsu-library to be notified when i post a new fic :)

#requested!#lando norris #lando norris x reader #ln4 x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris fic #lando norris x fem!reader #lando norris fluff #lando norris imagine

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loucifersbitch · 2 days ago

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tw: mcd

"I can't do this."

Buck's hands tremble as he tries to knot his tie for the fourth time. It's so stupid. He knows how to do a half Windsor. He's done this enough times, it shouldn't be an issue.

But his hands shake, and his fingers slip, and the pieces of fabric fall to his chest again.

"I can't do this!" he yells, reaching out for the nearest object and chucking it across the room.

The ceramic otter figurine shatters on impact, the sound pulling him from his anger. He sits on the bed, dropping like a puppet with its strings cut. His hands are still shaky as he rubs at his face, the burning sting behind his eyes growing stronger.

"I can't do this," he whispers, lip quivering.

He refuses to cry over this. He has to be strong, has to be there for his family, has to make sure everyone else will be okay, has to -

"Evan?" Tommy's quiet voice comes from the doorway. He doesn't move any closer, though the concerned furrow in his brow and stiff posture tell Buck all he needs to know. "Are you okay? I thought I heard something break."

Thank God for Tommy. He's been there through all of it - Bobby dying, making arrangements with the funeral home and planning the funeral, and now joining the procession as a casket bearer - and he's never wavered once.

"I can't do this," Buck says again.

It's different saying it to someone instead of talking to himself and an empty room. His chest feels cracked open, a hollow shell where his heart and lungs should be. A sob works its way from his very core through his diaphragm and out his throat, despite trying to hold it back.

"I - I can't - Tommy, I -" he tries, but speaking through the heaving sobs that have overtaken him is nearly impossible, and his head his starting to hurt, and he can't seem to get enough air suddenly, and is he having a heart attack?

Then Tommy is there in front of him, kneeling on the hardwood floor in his own dress blues so he can hold eye contact.

"Evan, hey," he says, hands moving to cradle Buck's face, "breathe, sweetheart. You need to breathe. I think you're having a panic attack. Can you breathe with me? Inhale, one, two, three, four. Good. Now hold, two, three, four. And out, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight."

Tommy continues directing him through the breathing exercise, slowly moving closer until Buck can rest his forehead against Tommy's.

"Good, Evan. That's good," Tommy tells him, thumbs rubbing soothingly against Buck's cheeks. "You scared me, baby."

"Sorry," Buck hiccups, trying for a small smile. "I don't know why that happened. It just suddenly -"

"Became too much?" Tommy finishes. Buck nods, and Tommy continues, "You have nothing to apologize for. This is -" he looks around as if hoping the right words will magically pop into existence, "Losing a parent is hard. Especially when you're so close."

"He wasn't my biological father," Buck says, but Tommy scoffs.

"Biology doesn't mean anything right now. Bobby was your dad. Period."

Truthfully, Buck can't argue with that. Bobby had been everything Buck had wanted and needed in a father figure when he was growing up. He nods, acquiescing.

"You've never had to process a loss like this before. He was a huge part of your life, and now he's gone. You're going to feel a lot of things about that. Grief isn't simple."

"I have to hold it in just a little longer. I can't break down during the funeral, Tommy. I have to be strong, y'know? For Athena, and May and Harry, and the rest of the 118. I need to be there for all of them."

"Evan," Tommy says seriously, "you can't be everything for everyone. If you're there for all of them, who's there for you?"

Buck opened his mouth but found he didn't have an answer. He knows, of course, that the 118 will always have his back, but they're all dealing with their own grief.

"Let me."

"Hm?" Buck hums, confused.

"Let me be there."

"Tommy, you're already going to be there."

"Let me be there for you, smartass," he says, rolling his eyes. Buck almost smiles. "You need a shoulder to lean on? I'm there. You want someone to hold your hand? How convenient that I have two. You need anything, and I'm there, okay?"

"You don't have to do that."

"I know," Tommy smiles. "But I want to, if you'll let me."

"You're not even my boyfriend anymore." Tommy tries to speak, but Buck continues, "And I know that you said you want to try again, but then we had that fight, and I -" he pauses, blowing out a shaky breath, "do you still want this? Us?"

"Evan, I will be whatever you need me to be today. And yes, I do want to try again, but your emotions are compromised right now. If this is an impulsive decision you're going to regret, I -"

"It's not. I promise it's not," Buck assures him. "I've thought about it pretty much every second since you walked out my door. Again," he adds. Tommy huffs in amused disbelief. "But I know what I want, Tommy. I want you."

Tommy looks at him with a gentleness that sends a pang through Buck's chest.

"Okay," he says, one side of his mouth curving up into a smirk.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Of course, Evan."

When Buck kisses him, it feels like home. It feels like healing, like hope.

"We should go soon," Tommy murmurs.

Buck hums in agreement, "I just need to get this tie right, and then I'll be ready."

"Here," Tommy offers, making quick work of the simple knot. "You look great."

"So do you," Buck says, reaching out to straighten Tommy's tie. "Ready?"

"Almost," Tommy says, moving toward the opposite side of the room. "Just need to assess the damage."

"Yeah, sorry about that. I don't know why I threw it in the first place. I was just so mad at how unfair this all is."

"Grief," Tommy shrugs, bending down to pick up the larger shards of the ceramic.

"Jee will be so mad I broke that otter. She loved that one."

"You'll just have to take her to the zoo and get another."

"Yeah," Buck says, a small smile on his face. "We will."

Tommy chuckles as he leaves the room to throw the shards in the garbage. He returns a few moments later with a broom and dustpan.

"We're back together for two seconds, and you're already planning outings for us."

"Get used to it, honey," Buck says. "This time I plan to keep you for good."

"God, I hope so."

#911 abc #911 spoilers #911 speculation #bucktommy #the ally and the beast #tommy kinard #evan buckley #jules writes

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devotedsweetheart · 3 days ago

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・❥ SAY IT AGAIN

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 0:10

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ rundown :: you find out caleb had been logging into your phone at random times of the day to keep track of who you were texting. frustrated, you call him to yell at him only to question what exactly he was doing on the other end.

WARNINGS :: NSFW! 18+ , phone sex , sub!caleb (per usual) , masturbation , cnc , use of y/n

a/n :: highkey got this idea from that one scene in twk when cardans kissing jude & telling her to say she hates him..🌝🌝

he had absolutely no right to be invading your personal space. absolutely none.

you were so fucking angry.

caleb was away on a trip with gran. usually, he would simply ask to check your phone, and you'd happily give it to him- knowing he means well. but with the shit he has been pulling, you're starting to question whether or not he really does trust you like he says he does.

you had found out that he was hacking into your phone because the device started acting awfully odd. opening apps you didnt click on, siri turning on without any context, letters on the keyboard being pressed when you never tapped on them in the first place. confused (and frankly a little scared), you took it to a professional to get it checked out. when he asked if anyone else had the password to your socials, thats when the realization dawned on you.

you felt so stupid. utterly dumb. but how were you supposed to know? you had told caleb about the issue multiple times and each occasion you mentioned it he would always say the same thing: "thats so weird, pips.. maybe you should go get it checked out or something." feigning complete innocence.

you had enough.

driving home as fast as you could, you barely reach the front door before you're calling him nonstop until he answers.

"hey pips! i missed yo-"

"you fucking liar."

there's a beat of silence at that. your breathing is heavy, going right into the mic- giving caleb an idea of what he's in for.

"um.. excuse me?" caleb manages, swallowing thickly. he knows exactly what you're going to yell at him for and he's praying to jesus christ himself that he can manipulate his way out of it.

"you know exactly what i'm talking about, don't try to play dumb. you've been going into my phone and looking through my shit. i thought you said you trusted me? what happened to that? i mean, seriously, caleb, i thought we had gotten over this." you say, voice pinched a bit higher than usual. you're pacing around the room in order to keep yourself calm, heart beating at a distressing rate as you don't like to argue with him.

"pips, i really don't know what you're talking about," he utters, licking his lips. "i know whats been going on with your phone has been messing you up, but you don't necessarily have to blame me for it. look, once i get back i'll help you figure out what's wrong with it just to prove that it's not me. deal?"

you can tell that he's trying his best to soften his tone to make his lie more believable, but you aren't gonna buy into it.

"no. no, caleb, just quit the act already. i'm so tired of this. i'll give you two choices," you say, sitting down on the couch; elbows on your knees. "either you stop with the whole hacking thing and we stay together, or i cut things off with you and we never talk again."

for a moment, there's nothing being said. pure silence. he's absolutely speechless on his end of the phone, mouth agape and eyes wide. every few seconds, he'd attempt to say something but nothing would come out- resulting in something that resembled a stutter.

"well? what's it gonna be?" you asked, becoming to grow impatient.

"y/n.." he whispered. "you.. you can't do that to me. i-.. i'm sorry for doing all that crap. i didn't do it because i don't trust you... it's other people that i don't trust. please believe me, baby. i can't stop doing it, it's just my way of keeping you safe."

aaaand now it's your turn to be shocked.

"are you fucking serious?" you yell, and you swear you can see the look on his face regardless if he's visible or not. eyebrows raised up, cheeks as red as roses, eyes backed up with tears. you know how much he hates being yelled at by you... but he deserves it. "you can't be serious. please tell me you're pulling some joke."

" baby, please. i-"

"enough. just quit it. i fucking hate you, caleb."

he swallows. no, practically gulps. he shouldnt be turned on by the sound of that. he really shouldnt. he knows he should be terrified by the threat of you leaving him... but the tent growing in his pants is getting undeniably uncomfortable that he just can't seem to care.

unzipping his jeans, he gently lays his back on his bed, being carefully quiet to ensure you don't hear.

"you're fucking insane and no matter how much i try to talk to you about it you never change. it is draining, caleb. you have absolutely no idea how fucked up you are."

he's nodding against his phone, murmuring small 'yeah's here and there to let you know that he's listening. what you aren't aware of is the fact that instead of really listening, he's actually moving his hand at an insane speed on his dick. it gets to the point that he can't even respond, the pleasure taking over. all he needs is for you to tell him how bad he is and how much you despise him for him to be able to go over the edge.

the fact that you don't even know whats going on keeps him going for even longer.

"...-is so frustrating, caleb! you don't even care for me and... wait, are you even listening? hellooo?" you shout, expecting an answer.

he picks up his phone from where it was sitting on his pillow and takes it off speaker phone to reply. "y-yes, baby? 'm sorry.. i'm, um, listening. keep talking." he responds, stuttering over his words.

you roll your eyes, thinking he simply just doesn't care. "my god, you're so fucking annoying. i hate you so much, y'know that?"

he nods hastily, even though you can't see it. "y-yes. say it again. please." the last word comes out broken as he was embarrassingly close to cumming.

you stop in your tracks, both eyebrows furrowed. "um..." you utter, confused at what he was playing at. "i... hate.. you..?"

"f-fuck!" he whisper-shouts, hips thrusting into his hand as he drops the device back onto where it was initially. he brings his previously free hand down to his cock to stroke the tip, twisting his wrists. biting his lip, hard enough to draw blood, he makes his best effort to keep little whimpers inside of his mouth. it works for the most part... but you already knew what was happening. he does it too many times for you to not know.

"caleb." you warn.

he doesn't answer, he can't answer, mind is too hazy from the force of his orgasm. he's practically like putty on his bed, half asleep and half awake.

"text me in the morning." you say before hanging up and throwing your phone on the bed.

he will not ever learn.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace caleb #lads caleb #lads #lnds caleb #lads boys #caleb x reader #lads caleb x reader #caleb lads smut #caleb x you

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h1biscusgal · 1 day ago

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The hypnagogic state : how to reach it.

The hypnagogic state is a state where we naturally go into before sleeping, a sweet spot moment before sleeping and still being awake, a state where it is so powerful to be able to shift, get in the void, or basically do anything.

Now it requires NOTHING, it only requires one small thing that might sound tricky.

Staying awake long enough for it to come by on it's own, and actually on average it takes 10-5 mins from each person to enter it aware.

The steps:

Lay flat on your back (not needed, but many results come from laying on the back)

Do. Not. Care, just go with what you usually do to fall asleep, but one thing? You're not falling asleep, you're watching your body fall asleep, that sweet spot where your body is about to fall asleep? That's hypnagogia

Actually don't move, it may give your mind signs you're still not sleeping, now just lay there and try not to sleep while focusing on the blackness behind your eyelids.

You will start seeing flashing images or swirly things or even just flashing lights and imagery, this is the hypnagogia and you managed to reach it in just 10 mins of pretending to be asleep (acc it takes me 4)

Bam, that's the sweet spot, now affirm slowly for the void, or just sense your surroundings for shifting or maybe you can try your shifting method here! This state cannot argue back, you'll be immediately shifting in no time, and slipping in the void is so easy from it.

So really the whole steps is just "lay down, don't move, watch your eyelids, color seen? Hypnagogia reached, method or void procedure done, bam."

I managed to find a post on Reddit on how to keep your body awake, you can try 2 or 3 of them to keep yourself entertained, FULL CREDITS TO THE ONE WHO POSTED IT ON REDDIT (calaie_iscoolio):

"1. Looking in the darkness behind your eyelids

Basically what it says, when you close your eyes, just focus on the darkness until hypnagogic imagery begins to happen i.e. colors, shapes, literally anything that will show. When images begin to show up, do not interact or acknowledge what you are seeing, you can look at it, but don't try to control it and just let the images flow until you feel that the state is induced enough to where it won't disappear because you are "too" awake/aware.

2. "Forearm Up" Method

Another technique that basically helps with people who tend to fall asleep to quickly, basically lay down on your back like usual, lift your hand up in the air where your elbow is resting on your mattress, keep it there and as it slowly falls down that's where you'll begin to fall asleep, it'll drop and basically awake you back up.

I had also seen a shifter mention that they prefer to lay on their stomach and lifting their foot up in the air and basically do the same thing. This technique basically just wakes you back up.

3. Thomas Edison Method

Very similar to the "Forearm Up" Method, basically what Edison had done was he had held a steel ball in his hand, and when he began to fall asleep, the ball will drop and alert Edison awake, another technique to help with people to struggle to stay awake.

4. Imagine Constant Motion

Basically imagining something whether that be an animal or an object constantly moving like a horse galloping, a dogs tail wagging side to side, etc. (Pretty simple, for people who find it much easier to visualize).

5. Tire your body through out the day

During the day, you could do any tasks that would just tire your body out that leads up to your attempt to induce the state, it'll make it much easier for you to get into the state and induce it since your body is already tired enough to relax.

6. Repeating "hypnagogia"

This will mean you have you just repeat the words "hypnagogia" to yourself till you get tired enough and then hypnagogic imagery will eventually appear.

7. Counting

Basically just like regular shifting methods, you could focus on counting up to how much you want to until you begin to get the hypnagogic hallucinations, to keep yourself from falling asleep you could give yourself simple math questions just so it's enough to focus to answer it.

8. Imagining Randomness

Imagine literally anything that isn't related at all, i.e. horse, roof, apple, pen, desk, etc. Visualize and filter through random objects or animals that have no correlation and that will induce the hypnagogic imagery, randomness is key.

9. Focus on breathing

Similar to any shifting method, basically focusing on your breaths is another technique to induce the state. Literally just anything to keep your awareness occupied rather than letting your mind just shut down to go to sleep.

10. Sounds

Listening to anything in your environment, whether that be things happening outside, if it's raining listen to the rain, or if you've got headphones on listen to the music and focus that, keep your focus on the music so you don't fall asleep.

11. "Playing" a song in your head

Not necessarily listening to the song, but imagining the song playing in your head, whether that be your favorite song, if you know how it sounds like, imagine it playing and once you've entered the state, it will naturally play and you'll end up actually hearing the song.

12. Heartbeat

Basically just focus on your heartbeat. Listen to the amount of beats.

These are all the various of techniques you could use, you don't have to stick to one and can basicaally try them out, see which one you feel like works for you and go from there. A tip is also you could pick like 4 or 5 out of these 12 and just filter through the techniques if you can't just stick to one since you get uninterested quickly. (I get bored easily, do I normally do 8, 9, 7 and 4 just so I don't lose interest.)"

Good luck y'all!

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firewasabeast · 2 days ago

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Tommy has a nightmare, and Buck gives him some comfort. *implied mcd*

The clock shined a bright 2:17 when Buck blinked his eyes open. With a groan, turned onto his other side, reaching his arm out to wrap around Tommy. When his arm hit the bed, he felt around in the darkness until he could confirm that Tommy wasn’t there.

He didn’t panic, not at first. He figured Tommy had gone to the bathroom, or maybe to get a glass of water. He always got thirsty at night, and always forgot to put a cup of water on the nightstand.

He let himself doze back off, but when he woke again, Tommy still wasn’t there. He glanced back at the clock to check the time. 3:04.

That’s when the panic set in. He sat up quickly, throwing his covers off of him.

He walked out into the dark hallway, taking a deep breath before hesitantly calling out, “Tommy?”

No answer.

Once his eyes fully adjusted to the darkness, he continued down the hall and into the living room.

No Tommy.

When he got to the kitchen, he noticed the back door was slightly ajar, and suddenly Buck could hear his heart pounding in his ears.

“Tommy?” he called again, louder this time.

“I’m out here, Evan,” Tommy called back.

Buck sighed in relief, his shoulders sagging.

He pushed the door open, stepping outside. “Why are you out here?” he asked, opting to sit right in Tommy’s lap. He’ll never regret paying extra for the larger patio furniture.

As Tommy wrapped him up, one arm around his back and the other resting over his thigh, Buck laid his head on Tommy’s shoulder.

“Just couldn’t sleep,” he replied.

“You said you were exhausted when we went to bed.”

“I know.” Something in Tommy’s voice was off, Buck could tell. “Overly tired, I guess. Made it so I couldn’t stay asleep.”

Buck lifted his head. “Hey,” he said, bringing a hand to Tommy’s face. He stroked his thumb over Tommy’s cheek until Tommy turned to look at him. “You gotta talk to me, remember? What’s wrong?”

Tommy’s eyes were red-rimmed. He stared at Buck, taking a shaky breath before responding. “I had a nightmare,” he admitted. “It… It felt very real.”

“What about?”

Tommy tightened his grip on Buck’s thigh, pulling him in closer. “Evan…” his voice trailed off and he shook his head, staring down towards the ground.

“If it has you sitting outside in the middle of the night, I- I know it’s gotta be pretty bad. What happened?”

Tommy pursed his lips. He took the hand that he had on Buck’s back and ran it up under the hem of his shirt, pressing right up against Buck’s skin. He needed to feel him, needed the closeness.

“You were in that building,” he started, “and I couldn’t get you out.”

Buck felt his breath catch. “Oh.”

Tommy hadn’t talked much about that day. He’d spent most of his time consoling Buck, and listening to him as he cried.

“I- everyone else was walking out. They were crying and yelling, but I kept waiting for you, and then… you didn’t come out. So I tried to get to you, and I- I could see you through these glass doors, but I couldn’t break them. I had t- to watch you, you were struggling to breathe.” Tommy’s leg shook, his voice breaking as he spoke. “Then people were pulling me away, and I was screaming to get to you but they wouldn’t let me. I just…” he wiped a tear from his eye, sniffling, “it felt so real. Once I woke up, I- I couldn’t close my eyes again.”

Buck felt heartbroken. And so, so stupid. In his own grief, he hadn’t stopped to think about how this all affected Tommy. It’d been three weeks since Bobby’s funeral. Nearly a month since he died. In all that time, Buck had just let Tommy take care of him.

“Tommy, I… have you had this nightmare before?”

Tommy blinked away more tears before nodding his head. “A few times.”

Buck maneuvered them until he was able to get his arms around Tommy for a proper hug. “I am so, so sorry,” he said, feeling the way Tommy’s muscles tensed at his words.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” Tommy replied, confused. He pulled back slightly to look at Buck. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I think I did,” Buck disagreed. “I’ve been so focused on m- my own grief, I- I wasn’t thinking about yours. I’ve just been letting you take care of me-”

“I like taking care of you,” Tommy interjected.

“I know you do, but sometimes I need to take care of you. I’m sorry I haven’t been.”

Tommy breathed in slowly, his eyes drifting over Buck. “I know it’s our jobs,” he said, clearing his throat, “but when you went back into that building, I worried I might not see you again. And it felt like a lifetime before I saw you come back out. Those seconds in between were… they were terrifying. Then to find out Bobby was- wasn’t coming back out.” He shook his head. “I don’t know, I just keep thinking about it.”

One of Buck’s hands made their way to the nape of Tommy’s neck, scratching soothingly up into his hair. “When I woke up, I was afraid you were gone. For a second I wondered if I had dreamt everything a- and you were the one that had... that died. I felt like my head was gonna explode.”

“I didn’t mean to worry you, Evan.”

“No, I know. I’m just saying, I- Tommy, I don’t know what I’d do without you. The thought of losing you- it scares me too. Like you said, it comes with the job sometimes, but… I don’t wanna know what it’s like to be without you. Never again.”

“I don’t want that either, Evan.”

Buck leaned in, pressing a kiss to Tommy’s lips. “I love you,” he whispered in the space between them once they separated.

“I love you too.”

“Next time you have a nightmare, will you wake me up? Please?”

Tommy nodded, giving Buck a small smile. “I’ll wake you up.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

“Okay, good.” Buck snuggled as close as he could to Tommy, laying his head back on his shoulder. “You wanna go back to bed?”

“Mm,” Tommy hummed, thinking it over. “Not yet. Wanna keep holding you a little longer.”

Buck closed his eyes, a hand drifting down over Tommy’s heart, feeling the steady and soothing thump, thump, thump. “I won’t argue with that.”

#bucktommy #tommy kinard #evan buckley #911 abc #911 #911 spec #911 spoilers #<- just for the character death #tw: mcd #also why are they doing so much with their hands?? chill guys!

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soldiersgirl · 9 hours ago

Text

TIDE AND TRIGGER.ᐟ

summary ⭑ a century long bet and a determined winchester; you want to be up where the people are and he only wants to be drowning in you. cw ⭑ mermaid!reader x season one dean winchester. 18+ smut (mdni). mentions of death. mentions of john winchester. mentions of kidnapping. fighting. swearing. inaccurate and accurate mermaid lore. light manipulation. kissing. fingering. oral (f receiving). begging. unprotected p in v (wrap it up). missionary, riding. kind of subby dean. slight dirty talk. sweet nicknames (baby, sweetheart, angel). word count ⭑ 5,617 words

"4 men found dead – washed ashore at beach" read the front page of the newspaper that rested on diner table as the brother's finally settled down and ate their first, proper meal in two days after relentless driving, phone calls and gas station hot dog's that didn't sit right with either of them. dean's meticulous eyes skimmed over the page, scouring it for details, anything that could hint at what they were dealing with as the younger winchester added his salad dressing, eyes darting around the unfamiliar diner that looked like every other diner they'd ever stepped foot into it. they all meld and mould together at some point; the cutlery stained, the lukewarm coffee and the somewhat-edible fried food. the brothers had been after each other, small digs and hidden insults between each hunt and stolen naps in the leather passenger seat of the impala. but this was finally different, finally they had found themselves in a warmer state; a sunny town filled with life rather than the usual desolate and gloom-filled states. a welcomed difference. but a warning of what was to come.

"any ideas?" sam hums as he digs his fork into his salad, pushing around the dressing to hide the disappointing mix of greens underneath.

"could be another drowner spirit, like that kid in wisconsin." dean hums in response as he bites into his burger with a sigh. the meat somehow soggy and dry at the same time. "could be a kelpie. siren?" he throws down his burger and raises his shoulders in defeat. "must be something in dad's journal." sam shakes his head.

"nothing that hints at what this could be." sam sighs as dean lifts the newspaper once again as his eyes scan the article, just one more time. signs of choking, blunt force trauma. followed by reports of singing heard late at night by the beach, some men wandering lost, schools of fish left half-eaten and discarded. dean curses as it all clicks. "what?" sam's head shoots up as he eyes the newspaper from across the table as dean pinches the bridge of his nose.

"i think i know. but if if i'm right, and that's a big if, then dad owes me five bucks... when we find him." he mumbles the last part before reaching for a limp fry and wiggling it about in front of sam, who shoves his hand down with an unimpressed grin.

"what could you possibly be betting with dad about?" sam grunts, pushing his bangs aside to reveal his puppy-dog eyes silently admiring his older brother, as he looked proud of himself.

"mermaids." dean leans back with a shit-eating smile and sending a wink towards his younger. sam lets out a laugh of disbelief.

"you and dad were betting on.. mermaids? i was at college and this is how you spent your time."

"no, no, lil' bro. you got it all wrong." dean leans back forward and hunches over his half-eaten burger, setting the scene. "it was just after the little mermaid came out, right? and i asked dad why we had never found one, why it was only those crazy-ass sirens. the old man said they were extinct. gone." dean jabs his finger down onto the front page of the crumpled paper. "until now. the singing, the choking? classic mermaid lore, sammy. it's what the pirates wrote home about."

"i just thought being out on the ocean made them crazy. didn't they confuse sea-cows for women?"

"desperate times call for desperate measures, but whatever. sammy. this is the real deal and we're gonna catch her and prove it. no sense killing her, we're gonna be revered! finding an extinct species." dean runs his worn hands over his face before slamming down an assortment of dollars on the diner table and grabbing his trusty leather jacket.

"wha-?" sam immediately gets cut off by dean grabbing him by the hood of his hoodie and dragging his lanky brother out behind him as he heads for the impala and sets course for their motel. it was time for prince dean to find his very own little mermaid.

for the next 3 nights, sam and dean would lounge around the beach during the evenings watching as families grilled, teenagers played volleyball and couples walked along the shore, giggling into one another's shoulders and holding hands. as the numbers dwindled and people made their way home to rest was when the real work began for the two brothers. as the moon hung low, the tide came in and the stars played in the vast, navy sky, the brothers sat and intently listened. each splash of water examined, each washed ashore fish bagged for evidence, with a grimace, whilst trying to keep each other awake with ridiculous games and keeping unsuspecting young men off the beach, for their own safety.

"i swear to god, dean, if you chose 'c' again for i spy, you're getting drowned." sam would complain as dean only sniggered and gave the same reply.

"get it? c, sea?" he would point out, lie back in the warm sand and laugh out loud before sam reminded him to be quiet, reprimanding dean for maybe scaring away the mermaid.

on the fourth night, they were getting desperate. dean's freckles had sprouted and multiplied across his rosy cheeks as sam's hair had gone a tone or two lighter while basking in the sun, enjoying the mundanity of the moment. an earned vacation among the chaos. dean fiddles with his necklace as he gazes out, thinking this was something he could get used to, the serenity of the night enveloping him and brushing away all his worries, like the sand that flies across his outstretched legs.

SPLASH!

dean whips his head, his trained eyes scanning the surface for a hint of something, anything. he goes to turn to sammy and sees his younger brother passed out on his worn-out brown hoodie. his bangs swept across his forehead, his hands resting on his chest and his mouth in a slight pout as light snores rumble in his chest.

SPLASH!

another. dean tears his eyes away and stares out again. it was coming closer, almost beckoning him. this felt different. the air grew colder and everything grew quieter as dean's senses heightened as small splashes rang out across the shore line. dean was too slow to catch the culprit each time and his anxiety grew with each. he decides against his better judgement and leaves sammy as he shoots up, grabs his leather jacket that he was sitting on and his hunter's bag before trudging across the beach. until he hears it. the indisputable sound of a woman's voice singing. her soft tones and gentle notes are carried in by the waves as they lap against dean's feet, like wanting fingers trailing against her lover's skin. dean's instinct cloud over for a second, he should walk into the ocean. he should get deeper. find her.

"no.. no!" he whispers to himself before digging around in his jeans pocket and pulling out his earplugs and shoving them into his ears. just like he suspected, her voice calls men to the ocean, like a moth to light and they have no choice but to follow. but dean was smarter and prepared. as he travels along the beach, he spots a cove in the distance and a smile spreads across his tanned face. "i got ya now.." he mutters as he hikes up his bag and heads straight for, what he suspected, was the mermaid's lair.

each droplet echoed throughout the desolate cove. the walls damp and the floor covered in trodden barnacles and washed-up seaweed. each of dean's steps had to be calculated as any could lead to a fatal mistake and he wasn't about to let anything get in his way. your humming and soft tones bounced off the walls, flowing over dean and greeting him like a long-lost over as he pants and gasps, desperate to prove himself right and his father wrong. he had lost all sense of direction and time as he continues climbing further and further into your grasp, your voice becoming his only compass.

dean falters, dropping his bag and leather jacket from his grasp, as he finally reaches an opening, wherein a glittering, untouched inlet lapped at the edges. dean scrambles forward, his jeans scraping against the rock floor as he dives his hand into the cold tide pool and moans with relief as the cold water touches his lips. he rests his heated cheeks against the edge before splashing some water on his face and securing his ear plugs further. disorientation was your play; it was how you got even the strongest of men at their weakest, scared, desperate.

"you're not like the others." dean's emerald eyes fly open and he throws himself back away from the edge, away from you. you treaded the water gracefully as you intently watched him, the tide caressing your soft skin. your hair was slicked back revealing each intricate detail of your face in the dimly-lit cove. beads of ocean running down your cheeks bones and gliding over the soft pillows of your lips. how could something so beautiful, be so deadly? dean shook his head as he laid frozen, his breathing quick and shallow.

"the others?" his deep voice a contrast to the delicate setting.

"you know which ones." you say nonchalantly with a small shrug of your shoulders, as if you hadn't killed them. you swim forward and fold your arms over one another as you rest your chin on top, a small smile playing on your lips. "pathetic and entitled. stupid." you laugh, running your tongue over your sharp canines. teeth made to tear men to shreds. dean finally sits himself up and tries to shake his fears of him. he came here for a reason and he wasn't going to leave empty-handed.

"entitled?" dean asks, eager to learn from their mistakes.

"they thought they deserved me, as if i was something to own. so i showed them the truth." you cock your head as if the answer is obvious but dean only lifts his brows in confusion which got a sigh from you. "the ocean can't be owned or tamed, neither can a woman."

"you're not a woman." dean says pointedly, receiving a sneer from you. "you're a mermaid. you're meant to be extinct, haven't been found in hundreds of years." dean regurgitates what his father told him all those years ago.

"that's what we wanted you to think."

"who?"

"men, hunters, sailers. anyone who wanted to harm us. we dove to uncharted depths, but after a while, you get that craving. that yearning." you sigh as you trace your finger over the shell-speckled edge. "are you here to hurt me?" your eyes meet his, challenging him.

"no." truth.

"are here to capture me?"

"no." lie.

"then why are you here? you seem to know a lot about mermaids." you furrow your brows in suspicion as you lift and point your finger to his ear. "i can spot the plugs from here. smart." you pull yourself more out of the pool and lean yourself over more across the cold, cove bed. seaweed tangled around your chest and stretched out over your shoulders, as opposed to the sea-shells that dean was expecting, whilst your kept your shimmering tail submerged still, playing with the waves.

"my dad... was a hunter. told me all about you. said i'd never see one like you, that i was stupid to think i would." dean admits, his heart clenching at the thought of his dad's harsh words. he was only a child.

"you smell like a hunter." you state, propping your chin on your palm. "is that why you've been sitting on the beach all those nights, just... waiting for me?" you tug your soaked hair behind your ear with a small giggle. one fact that john had also mentioned was that mermaid's were gullible, too gullible for their own good.

"yes, yes. of course! anything to see you." he eagerly nodded, playing to your weaknesses. "i just had to see you."

"wow..." you feel your cheeks heat up as you throw yourself backwards into the water, did a small back flip under water and spraying water all over a surprised dean. with you distracted, he took the opportunity to grab his bag closer to him, getting a grip on the fisherman's net he had stashed in it as you return to your original position with a wide smile plastered across your face. "you're the sweetest man i've ever met. and i've been around for a long time." you reach out your webbed hands to dean as he notices the small, iridescent scales running down your arms to your fingertips. he reaches out with a sweet smile and when you expect to feel the shake of his hand, you feel a harsh tug as you're pulled out of the water and enveloped in a tangled mess. you thrash your tail, try to scratch with your clawed nails and let out a shrill call, but to no avail. as you struggle against the net, a tear rolling down your cheek in disbelief, dean watches. frozen. he had done the impossible.

"let me go!" you call out, grabbing onto the net to shake it but yelping out in pain as the net burns your hands. you hiss and pull them back, eyes darting between the on-edge dean and the knotty tangle of rope.

"don't move too much." his voice stern, but he catches himself and softens his tone. "silver has been woven into the threads, it'll hurt if you move too much." dean whispers, your short sobs echoing off the salt-kissed stone. you pull your tail up to your chest and curl it around yourself like the comforting hold of a mother as you shiver, from the cold and fear.

"p-please. don't kill me. i'll go. i'll go anywhere else, i'll go back to the depths. whatever you want." you beg, your brows upturned. dean can't even look at you, knowing one look in your hopeful eyes would mean letting you go.

"i'm not going to kill you, i swear." he rustles around in his bag and pulls out the familiar leather bound journal of john winchester, flicks through a few pages and clicks the pen that came along with it. "we want to study you, show other hunters that you're back from extinction." dean hums as his eyes dart over your body, noting down the details he had noticed and the information that needed to be updated.

"if– if i help you, will you let me go? go back to my sisters?" you wipe your nose. "they'll get worried if i'm gone for too long, come searching for me."

"yes." dean lies, against his better judgement. he'd rather keep you calm and talkative, than panicked and silent. as expected, you fall for it, his tone assuring and confident and you nod as your breathing slows. dean had to wait for you to fall asleep to be able to get you out of the cove with the help of his brother, but for now, you both sat in a tense silence that was interrupted by dean's occasional questions. all the way throughout, you were honest but your eyes never left his face. you enjoyed his human tendencies. the scrunching of his small nose as he wrote, nibbling on his bottom lip and end of the pen as he continued to avoid your gaze.

as the last sea-water droplets roll of your skin and your hair slowly dries, you feel a shiver run deep, down your spin as you start to gasp for air. your webbed hands fly up to your throat as your scratch at your chest, panicked. dean throws john's journal to the side, leaping forward, holding his hands out in confusion.

"wh–what do i do? what's...?" is all dean can mutter as he watches the scene unfold it front of him. your tail unfurls and falls in front of you, the seaweed that clung to your chest falls into your lap, your scales shivering and peeling off. you watch in horror as your majestic, opalescent tail transform into water and revealing legs underneath as it cascades down and into the cove pool. as the ordeal washes over, you sigh and silently curse yourself, bringing your new-found knees to your chest and covering yourself from dean's look of disbelief and shock. "what?!" he half-yells, not understanding your calm demeanour.

"i forgot this happened, honestly." you stare in awe at your human form, wiggling your toes and fingers in sync and enjoying the feeling of your rounded teeth against your tongue. "i... i haven't been out of the water in a few centuries. yeah, when the sea-water dries, we return to our original form. how we looked before we drowned by angry sailors and were saved by sea foam. for men, the sea is terrifying and unruly. but for us, scorned women, it's a sanctuary."

"that's how mermaids are created?" dean has forgotten all about the damn journal and let's himself be taken your words.

"that's how some are created. not everyone has the same story. all we know is that the ocean, she saved us. made us." you nod with a small smile. "i... i have to be back in the water within the hour or i turn to sea-foam... just so you know." it was dean's turn to nod with a smile of defeat. there goes his plan. a silence covers you both like a blanket but a small cough from you pulls dean out of his thoughts as he tries to come up with a new plan, but fails to do so. "can i at least take the net off? i'll... i'll answer more of your questions, i won't try to leave. i swear."

"oh, yeah. let me just..." dean shuffles forward as you lift up your arms, freeing you from the net but catching a glimpse of your chest in the process. he holds his breath as he keeps his gaze skyward, blindly grabbing at twisted threads and throwing them to the side. he reaches behind him and pulls forward his oversized leather jacket to you. you giggle as you reach forward, your fingers gliding over his before pulling it on and wrapping it around you. dean gazes at you out of the corner of his eye and sighs with relief at your covered form as he stretches and rubs the back of his neck. he pulls out his earplugs, fearing you less now that you had become human right in front of him.

"you're quite the gentleman, aren't you? looks like your father taught you well." you comment, your eyes filled with admiration. despite your human form, your mermaid traits still shone through.

"my father taught me no such thing." dean bites, his head whipping to the journal and tucking it back into his bag. you rest your chin on your knee and immediately realise that you hit a nerve.

"but he did give you a name. you still haven't told me yours." you point out, as you fiddle with your fingers.

"dean." he coughs, turning back around and facing you again. his shoulders relaxing and his gaze softening. "dean winchester." you hum and smile at him, sharing your name in return.

"dean. well, dean. if you're not going to ask me any more questions, how will we fill the time?" a suggestive smile plays on your soft lips. "i can't remember the last time i felt the loving touch of a man." you cock your head as dean's mouth gapes, taken aback by your honesty. you lean forward on all fours with dean's jacket hanging off your naked body and crawl forward. you mirror his position and kneel in front of him, your knees touching, the jacket sliding off your shoulder and your chest barely concealed. you reach out, grab dean's hand and lift it up until it rests against your breast, his hand instinctively cupping it in his large palm. eyes locked on one another's like the tension might snap if either of you blinked. his thumb runs over your nipple and a gasp escapes you as he slowly circles it and rubs it between his two digits. "dean, please." you mutter breathlessly as you lean in and brush your nose against his, your lips hovering over and grazing his. a small tug on your nipple and a unison of hisses before he carefully presses his lips to yours. you tentatively kiss, tongues slowly gliding against each others as his other hand reaches up and palms your other breast with the same level of care as before.

"can i...?" dean whispers against your lips, his hands reaching up and grabbing the edges of his jacket and as you nod, he slowly slides it off your shoulders and it falls with a heavy thud. you reach out and tug on his t-shirt with a smirk and dean quickly gets the hint by yanking it over his head and chucking it to the side. you both raise up onto your knees and let your hands and his explore each others bodies. groping, gliding, grabbing accompanied by soft kisses and high-pitched whines. your arms settle around his neck as he holds you by your waist, pulling you as close to him as possible. chest to chest. heart to heart. his fingers digging into your supple skin as your nails drag across his scalp, tugging on his short locks and nipping at his lips as he hisses. your lips travel down his neck, licking and leaving open-mouthed kisses against his pulse-point. "oh fuck..." his groans echo throughout the cove as you melted into his touch as he holds you tight against him, like two lovers reunited. nails scratching against his back and teeth grazing the tender skin of his neck as he mewls under you. the sweetest sounds you've ever heard.

"please, touch me. i need it so bad." you mutter against his shoulder before lightly biting down, just enough to leave indents speckled across his broad muscles. you drag your lips across his skin and back up to his lips which eagerly meet yours in a frenzied kiss. "please, dean." you whisper into the kiss and dean only replies with a short laugh before letting his grip fall from your waist and find his way between your legs. his fingers caress your inner thighs as you flinch and twitch. the light brush of his fingers a welcomed change from the harsh pulls and tugs of the ocean, restlessly beating against your skin. they continue to run and brush over where you need him most, where your wetness is pooling and slowly dripping down onto dean's soft fingertips. he smiles into the kiss and lets out a satisfied moan as he meets your juices and finally lets his fingers dive into you. they slip between your folds and move up to meet your clit, where he rubs your arousal all over it. your legs falter and your breath stutters at the foreign sensation as your moans rumble in your chest.

"like that, sweetheart?" he mumbles and all you can do is nod as he increases the pressure, circling your engorged bud before going back into your folds and teasing your opening. you latch onto him for support and throw your head back as your hip stutters before slowly rocking in sync with his rough fingers playing with your clit. "god, you're soaked, angel." he sighs as he admires you, the way your body reacts to him. he quickly pulls away and you groan in defiance before you hear him shuffling around before slowly guiding you to lay down. instead of the damp, cold stone against your bare back, you're met with the soft satin of the inside of dean's leather jacket. dean goes on all fours in between your thighs and continues torturing and teasing you with fleeting touches and featherlight kisses starting from your knee, past your thigh and up to your abdomen.

"deeeaan..." you whine as you writhe and grab onto the jacket, your desperation for dean becoming overwhelming. just as you open your mouth to complain, dean complies with a wicked smile and watches your face in awe as his fingers finally indulge you and pushes past your folds. his middle finger, with an aching slowness, drags itself in and out of your entrance, taking his time with you before adding another. his thick fingers gradually work you open and you groan as you stretch around his digits. a harsh suck and a kitten lick to your clit forces you to lift your head and meet a smirking dean. you settle back, leaning on your elbows as dean puts on a show for you. moaning and humming with content as he buries his tongue into your folds and bumps your clit with his shaped nose as his fingers continue their torture on your spongy walls. pleasure that you had sought out for years was finally years and you couldn't help but roll your eyes into the back of your head and let him feast on you like a starved man.

"mmmhm, nghhhn– mmm..." dean's moans were obscene and only added to your pleasure. you feel him stop and you lift your head to protest, but his glistening chin and slick lips stop you in your tracks. you hadn't seen something as breath-taking as him in aeons with his messy hair, hooded emerald eyes and a knowing smile. he leans back down and trails kisses from the top of your mound to the valley of your tits, before capturing your neglected nipples in between his glossy lips. your legs spread further apart as his pace quickens, his fingers massaging your g-spot with precision. you gaze down at him and the desperation on your face is clear as you slowly rock your body and meet his fingers in a frantic rhythm. "gonna cum, baby?" he hums, his lips still latched around your nipple, before switching to the other. a whimpered "mhm" slips past your lips as the pleasure builds, like a firework rearing to explode. a mess of garbled moans and whimpers escape you as you cum all over dean's fingers, unashamedly groaning dean's name as he admired the sight of you falling apart in his hands. he pulls out his two fingers and pulls back to marvel at them, your arousal covering and dripping down his hand. your chest heaves and heart almost stops as with a wide smirk and eyes centered on you, he presses them to his flattened tongue and sucks them dry with a barely-controlled moan. "delicious." he mutters and before he can say another word, you lean forward and try to undo his trousers with shaking hands.

"i want to touch you, feel you. please." you whine, but dean only pats your flushed cheeks and carefully tucks your hair behind your ear.

"every second i am not inside you, is a second wasted." you're pushed back down and in a matter of seconds, dean is stripped naked and in between the comfort of your thighs, hoisting your legs up to rest comfortably around his waist as he pumps himself once, then twice. he drags his cock through your folds a few times, stopping at your pulsing entrance before teasing again. he pauses and holds your gaze before pushing himself into you and the newfound sensation has you gasping underneath him. "so fucking tight, my god." he falls forward, encircling you tightly in his arms and nestling his head into the crook of your neck as he slowly rocks his hips. your nails rake down his back and your pleas for "faster, harder" are obeyed by him. he drives himself into you, pushing your thighs further apart to go deeper, to fully bury himself. your limbs clung around him like seaweed tangled in the current.

"oh my god, dean...!" you harshly whisper into his ear before tugging on his lobe with your teeth, pulling a hiss from him as his momentum wavered before pulling himself back, lifting your right leg as the other stay curled around his waist and hammering into you. all you could think about was dean. dean, dean, dean. his quiet gasps becoming raw, echoing groans as your pussy clenches around his length, nearing another climax. the pleasure trickled down your spine like an escaped bead of water before pooling in your core and you let yourself be drowned in the pleasure. as the pleasure crescendoes and peaks, dean grabs onto your hips whilst tipping back and making you straddle him. you immediately take over and ride dean's thick cock whilst his hands on your body like an octopus; everywhere, all at once, impossibly urgent. one rests on your hip and the other finds it's way to your clit, rubbing messy circles against it. you bounce, thrust, grind as your hands rest on his solid chest. he thrusted his hips up to meet yours, his balls slapping up against the base of your ass.

"gonna c-cum, baby." he gasps and your pussy involuntarily flutters around his cock as both hands are now guiding your hips. "gonna cum so fucking hard." he pants, struggling to keep his breath under control. you clench your jaw and bite down on your lip as your hips grow tired, your pace hitting its final peak as dean finally releases himself inside of you. with his final finishing thrusts, you gush around him for the third time and then collapse onto his chest in exhaustion. you lay together in silence for a minute or two, before peeling yourself off of him and wiping his sweaty forehead with the back of your hand. you climb off him and settle back with your knees to your chest and pulling the leather jacket over you as dean slowly gets dressed, eyes drifting over to you and quickly darting away again.

"will i ever see you again?" you ask with hesitation, already knowing the answer. dean lets out a short laugh before kneeling down in front of you and placing a soft kiss against your dry lips.

"i hope so. i want to." foreheads resting against each others. "but i'm not sure how we can." a low sigh and saddened eyes.

"me neither." your heart clenches. "but i won't ever forget you, dean." your hand finds his and gives it a soft squeeze.

"yeah?" he raises a brow and you assure him with a nod. "i want to make sure of that." he leans away for a second, pulls off his amulet and places it down around your head. a smile that reached his eyes grew as he peered down at the small golden trinket. "but i'm gonna be needing this back." he peels the jacket off you, hooks his finger into it and places one last kiss against your forehead as he rests on it his shoulder.

"be careful, my trigger man." you whisper as he grabs the forgotten journal and stuffs it into his bag. a breathy laugh followed by a longing gaze.

"i'll see you around. don't go causing more trouble." he warns with a wink as he watches you wave and slowly immerse yourself back into the cove pool. with the blow of a kiss to dean, you fully submerge yourself and feel yourself return to your former self. the cove grew silent once again, except for the drip of droplets and a heavy sigh from the older winchester.

"where the hell have you been? i've been looking for you for like," sam peers down at his watch." half an hour!" sam complains as dean comes sauntering back with his bag slung over his shoulder and jacket dragging in the sand.

"don't get your panties inna twist. can't a guy just go for a walk? admire the sunrise?" dean points out at the ocean and the orange glow that was cascading down onto the beach, bathing the brother's in a growing heat. sam scratches his head.

"since when have you ever watched a sunrise?" he sneers, before sighing as dean sits down next to him and pushing sand onto him.

"often. mind your business." dean retorts before fixing his gaze over the horizon.

"hmph." sam furrows his brows at dean before joining him at gazing out over the tide that slowly rolled in. "did i miss anything?"

"no." dean answers almost too quickly. "it's been silent all night." sam groans and runs his hands through his shaggy hair.

"that means one more night sitting on this fucking beach."

"no, i... i think it was just accidents, sammy. dad was right, mermaids are extinct, don't exist." dean pulls out his mobile and waves it in sam's face. "plus, bobby texted me with a new case. something we can actually hunt." dean's tone convincing, convicted. sam almost didn't dare question it, so he just nodded and started to gather his things. as the brother's walked away, sam peered down at his shorter brother and cocked his head.

"where'd your amulet go?"

"must've lost it when i went swimming." dean's lack of panic and cool composure shocked sam more than anything had in a while; that amulet meant everything to dean. sam just nodded and continued to march on towards the impala. dean hung back a little, gazing one last time over the ocean and seeing the tip of a familiar tail travelling to the unexplored depths alongside the torn pages from his dad's journal. you were his secret to keep.

a/n: my dean debut!! ahhh!! i had so much fun writing this and really let my imagination flow. fun fact: when i was a child, i always wanted to be a mermaid so this was fulfilling for me, hehe LIKES, FEEDBACK & REBLOGS are appreciated, support your creators. ⭑ millie's masterlist ⭑ -`♡´- tag list: @0ccvltism @adoredawn @angelically-yours @barnes70stark @bittersweetfig @bejeweledinterludes @blossomingorchids @bluemerakis @briiverse @cowboysandcigarettes @daylighted @deansbeer @deanspookiebear @diawinchester217 @emeraldcrs @faiszt @frank3nfag @h8aaz @honeyyxxbee @insensiblelimerence @jasvtsc @k-slla @kamisobsessed @lanasgirlfr @legalmente-loca @littlesoulshine @lunaleah @mads-ackles @maneaterarabella @marvelgeeka @missus-ackles @mostlymarvelgirl @nperoconelcositoarriba @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery @samslovebug @sl33pylilbunny @soldierboysdoll @sugardean @sunnyteume @sunsettsam @supernaturaldoll @tinas111 @titsout4jackles @vmiina (comment or inbox me to be added/taken off)

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moonlitstoriess · 3 days ago

Note

Could I request an angst to fluff fic for Cassian? The plot can be whatever you want, I can’t think rn

Make It Right- Cassian x fem!reader oneshot

Summary: On Y/N’s birthday, Cassian forgets the special day, caught up in the chaos of the world around them. Hurt and disappointed, Y/N tries to hide her feelings, but Cassian soon realizes his mistake. What follows is a heartfelt apology, and a love that reminds them both that sometimes, making things right takes more than just words.

A/N: Tomorrow is my birthday, yay!! 🥳 This is a little early birthday post I'm sending your way, hoping that you will enjoy it<3 Thank you for the request anon!

See masterlist

Warnings: Angst at first, cassian being an idiot

Y/N woke with a soft stretch, the warmth of sunlight streaming through the window and brushing her face. Today was the day—her birthday. She had woken up with a fluttering excitement in her chest, a smile already forming as she thought of the plans, the laughter, the quiet moments she might share with Cassian.

Her fingers brushed against the empty side of the bed.

Furrowing her brow, Y/N glanced at the space beside her. Cassian wasn't there, and for a moment, she wondered if he had gotten up early for training. But no, that didn't seem right. It wasn’t like him to leave without a word.

Her gaze wandered to the small table beside the bed, where a piece of parchment caught her eye. Cassian’s familiar handwriting sprawled across it, and her heart fluttered. Maybe he was just up to something… maybe it was a surprise.

With a little smile, she reached for the letter and unfolded it carefully, her eyes scanning the words.

My Love, I’ve gone up to the Illyrian camps for a few hours to speak with the warriors about some new strategies we need to implement. You know how it goes—these things are never quick. But I’ll be back before you know it. I know you’re probably still sleeping, so I’ll let you get your rest and will see you soon. I love you more than words can say. I can’t wait to see you later.

Yours forever, Cassian

Y/N blinked at the letter. There was no mention of her birthday. Not a single word about the day that should’ve meant something special between them. Her heart sank just a little, the fluttering excitement slowly replaced with an unfamiliar heaviness. She sat there for a moment, staring at the letter, wondering if she'd missed something, if she was misreading it.

But no, there it was in black ink—nothing about today.

Sighing quietly, she set the letter back down and ran a hand through her hair. Maybe he had something planned. Maybe he was just working on a surprise. Cassian always had a way of doing things in his own time, in his own way. He wouldn’t forget, right?

It was only a few hours, after all. He’d come back, and they’d spend the day together. Maybe he was just setting up something grand for later. Maybe he was waiting to make the moment perfect.

She took a deep breath, pushing the little pang of disappointment aside. He loves me, she reminded herself. He always does.

With that, Y/N stood, smoothing the wrinkles from her clothes and moving toward the window. She still had hope. Cassian was always full of surprises, and she knew, deep down, that he wouldn’t let today slip by without showing her just how much she meant to him.

Right?

The morning passed in a blur of warm wishes and gentle laughter, but still, Y/N couldn’t shake the nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach. The Inner Circle had been kind—so kind—and she was deeply grateful for their love and friendship. Rhys and Feyre had, without hesitation, invited everyone to the River House for a breakfast celebration in her honor. It was a gesture that spoke volumes, and it made her heart swell with affection. The beauty of their bond—of how they all looked out for one another—was something she cherished deeply.

When she’d arrived at the River House, she was greeted with warm smiles, hugs, and laughter. Nesta, for all her quietness, gave her a genuine hug, and even smiled at her, a rare moment that made Y/N’s chest tighten with appreciation. Amren had actually let out a small compliment—something about Y/N’s hair looking especially “charming today,” which made Y/N laugh.

The table was filled with an array of foods, a spread fit for royalty, and there was an undeniable sense of warmth in the air. Feyre had gone out of her way to make sure everything was perfect—her usual artistic flair evident in the way the food was arranged, the flowers placed just so on the table.

But even as the smiles and laughter surrounded her, as they all joked and ate together, there was an ache within her that refused to fade. She couldn’t help but feel a little hollow without Cassian by her side, his absence growing more pronounced as the day wore on. She couldn’t push the thought from her mind—why hadn’t he been here to wish her a happy birthday? Why wasn’t he here now?

Her eyes kept drifting over to the window, the soft breeze moving the curtains gently as though calling her attention to the world outside. She had expected him to show up at any moment, maybe swooping down from the skies in his usual fashion, grinning like a fool and pulling her into his arms, apologizing for being late with a cocky smirk. But no. He hadn’t come. And worse yet, he hadn’t even checked in through their bond, hadn’t sent even a whisper of a thought to her. It was unlike him, and it stung more than she cared to admit.

She tried to focus on the joy of the moment. She really did. She was surrounded by people who loved her. Her friends, her family—each one of them expressing their joy for her in their own unique ways. Nesta had even offered her a gift, something she’d made herself—woven from fine, shimmering strands of thread—and Y/N had been touched beyond measure. Amren’s usual sharp smile seemed more genuine today, her eyes glinting with something softer than usual. And Feyre, as always, had a way of making her feel special—her quiet words of gratitude and love making Y/N’s heart swell.

Azriel, ever the quiet and observant one, had given her a rare smile when he raised his glass to her. His dark eyes held a warmth that she didn’t often see, his gruff exterior slipping just a little in the presence of the people he cared about. Y/N couldn’t help but feel a sense of comfort from the shadowsinger, his support steady and unspoken, as always.

Elain, with her gentle kindness, had hugged her tightly when they first arrived, speaking softly about how much she admired her strength and how happy she was to be a part of the day. The warm sincerity in Elain’s words had made Y/N’s heart ache—she could always rely on her to brighten any room with her peaceful presence.

And then there was Mor. A force of nature in her own right, the bright, bold smile on Mor’s face never seemed to fade. She’d given Y/N a gift, a beautiful piece of jewelry that shimmered with a kind of magic. Mor’s exuberance was infectious, pulling everyone into her orbit, filling the space with laughter and light. She had gone out of her way to make Y/N feel like a queen today, fussing over every detail and making sure Y/N knew just how much she meant to the entire Court.

Each one of them had done their best to make today feel special. They were all here, surrounding her with love and light, and yet... Cassian’s absence loomed over it all, a shadow she couldn’t shake.

She reached for her glass, taking a sip, but her thoughts kept drifting. Maybe he’ll come back soon. She told herself again and again, trying to quell the disappointment. But the longer she sat there, the more she realized something: He wasn’t here. And he wasn’t even thinking about her. The bond between them was silent. No whispers, no gentle pull on her heart. She kept waiting for a flicker of warmth, some kind of connection—but there was nothing.

She pushed the thoughts aside for a moment when Mor raised her glass, calling everyone’s attention to make another toast in her honor. The cheerful clink of glasses around her made her smile, and she tried to focus on the love and laughter in the room. He’s not here right now, she thought, forcing herself to believe it. But I’m still loved. I am loved.

Azriel’s low voice cut through her thoughts, his words aimed at her but spoken with that quiet intensity only he could manage. “Don’t let today be overshadowed by his absence. You’re not alone, Y/N. We’re all here.”

Y/N met his gaze, his deep, steady eyes holding hers. She felt a little lighter, the weight of her worries lifting just slightly. You’re right, she thought, her heart grateful for his reminder. And yet… her mind couldn’t help but wonder, Why wasn’t Cassian here to remind me himself?

As the morning wore on, the atmosphere in the River House felt warm and alive with chatter, music, and the clinking of glasses. Y/N continued to do her best to push away the dull ache that kept settling in her chest, trying to enjoy the celebration for what it was. It wasn’t as though she didn’t appreciate everything her friends were doing for her. They had all been kind and thoughtful, their efforts unmistakable.

But still, she couldn’t quiet the little voice in the back of her mind. Cassian’s absence. The unanswered questions.

It was when Rhys approached her, a gift in hand, that her thoughts were interrupted. He gave her a knowing smile, his eyes gleaming with that familiar warmth. “Happy birthday, Y/N,” he said softly, offering her the small, beautifully wrapped package.

“Thank you, Rhys,” she replied, her smile sincere as she accepted the gift. She’d always adored Rhys’ sense of humor and his ability to bring light into any room, but today… her mind wasn’t fully there. She carefully unwrapped the present, revealing a small, intricate bracelet—crafted from what appeared to be moonstone, its pale light catching the sunlight in a way that made it shimmer like stars. “It’s beautiful,” she murmured, touched by his thoughtfulness.

Rhys smiled, watching her with a quiet kind of affection. “I thought it might remind you that even when it feels like someone’s missing, you’re still a part of something bigger. The stars will always be there, just like us.”

Y/N’s heart swelled at his words. “Thank you, Rhys.”

He leaned in a little closer, his voice dropping to a softer tone. “I’m sure Cassian is preparing something extraordinary for you today. Don’t let the silence fool you. He’s up to something.”

Hope bloomed in her chest, delicate at first, like a fragile flower testing the air for warmth. “It wasn’t you who sent him to the Illyrian camps, was it?”

Rhys chuckled, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Oh, definitely not. Why would I send him away knowingly on the day of his mate’s birthday?”

Y/N’s pulse quickened. Could it be that there had been a misunderstanding? Had Cassian been caught up in something unexpected? That seemed likely, didn’t it?

Rhys continued, his smile shifting to something more teasing. “He told me that the Illyrian camps had requested him—one of the commanders asked him personally. And I’m sure you know how those requests work. You don’t just say no to an Illyrian commander, especially when they come with an urgent matter. He also told me that he didn’t want Azriel to go since he already has too much on his plate.” Rhys paused, giving her a pointed look. “You know how it is. The more people you have, the more work piles up.”

Y/N nodded, still uncertain but feeling a spark of relief. So it wasn’t Rhys...

“But that’s not the only thing,” Rhys continued, his tone taking on a more knowing edge. “You know as well as I do that when you go up into the camps, you can’t come back before atleast a full day because of all that is going on there. He told me he’d be back by late afternoon. And trust me, he’s never one to be late when it comes to something important. Especially when it involves you. He’ll be here, Y/N. I’m sure of it.”

Y/N’s chest tightened as she processed his words. Cassian wouldn’t miss today. He wouldn’t let me down, not like this...

She looked up at Rhys, who was watching her with an intensity that told her he understood her internal struggle. “I know it’s hard, Y/N. But you have to know this: he’s coming back. I’m sure he’s planning something incredible for you, just like he has every year since you have been mates. It’s just not the way you expected it.”

Her thoughts swirled. I should trust him. I should trust that Cassian loves me enough not to forget today... But her mind kept circling back to the letter. Maybe he really is just caught up in something. Maybe he’s doing everything he can to get back to me.

“Thank you, Rhys,” she whispered, feeling a little lighter. She hoped he was right, hoped that Cassian would return with the grand gesture she was waiting for.

Rhys gave her a wink. “Anytime, Y/N. You deserve all the love in the world. Don’t let today slip by with doubts.”

As Rhys moved back to join the others, Y/N let the words linger in her mind. He’s coming back… he has to be.

But still, a part of her remained uncertain. What if there was more to this than just a simple delay? What if he’s forgotten entirely?

For now, though, she’d wait. She’d trust in the love they shared, in the bond that had always connected them, even when the distance felt unbearable.

As the hours passed, the River House buzzed with life and laughter. Y/N tried her best to keep her smile in place, to enjoy the company of those around her, but it was hard to ignore the absence of the one person she had been waiting for all day.

The birthday breakfast had come and gone, and now the afternoon stretched out before her, warm and full of promise—yet empty without Cassian’s presence. She was surrounded by friends, all of them who cared for her deeply, but somehow, it all felt incomplete.

Azriel and Mor had spent the afternoon lounging outside, talking quietly about their latest missions, their voices low and private. Nesta had wandered off for a while, clearly needing some time alone, but she’d made sure to hug Y/N tightly before slipping away. Feyre had suggested a walk through the gardens, a calm, peaceful escape that allowed them to chat more privately, and Y/N was grateful for the distraction. They’d discussed everything and nothing—how Feyre was adjusting to being a mother, how Y/N had been feeling about the latest changes in the Night Court—but the whole time, her thoughts kept drifting back to the empty space beside her.

Her eyes had lingered on the door, half-expecting to see Cassian come striding through it, his laughter booming in that familiar way, his arms wide to pull her into his embrace. But each time, her hope was met with nothing but the quiet hum of the house.

By the time the afternoon sun began to dip toward evening, Y/N had retreated to a corner of the house, seated in a comfortable chair by the window, looking out at the vast expanse of the world beyond. The river glittered in the fading sunlight, the gentle lapping of the water against the bank providing a quiet soundtrack to her restless thoughts.

She absentmindedly fiddled with the bracelet Rhys had given her, tracing her fingers over the smooth, cool surface. It was a beautiful gift—something she’d treasure forever—but right now, it felt like a reminder of how little she truly had today. She had expected so much more.

She was no stranger to the chaos of Cassian’s life, to the unpredictability of his role as General. She knew that sometimes, his responsibilities pulled him away from her. She’d always understood that. But today… today felt different. Today felt like it should’ve been the day—the one where he set aside everything else to focus on her. To remind her how much she meant to him.

Her thoughts drifted again to that damn letter from the morning. She could still picture the simple words, how they hadn’t even mentioned the significance of the day. Was he really too busy? Was it just bad timing?

A soft, familiar presence appeared at the edge of her thoughts, and she felt the lightest flutter through their bond—a tiny whisper, like a fleeting breath in the back of her mind. It was just a brush, a flicker. But it was enough to make her heart race, enough to make her wonder if perhaps Cassian was finally reaching out.

But no. It was gone almost as quickly as it came.

“Y/N?” Feyre’s voice broke through her reverie, and Y/N turned to find her standing at the edge of the room, watching her with gentle concern in her eyes. “You okay? You’ve been awfully quiet.”

Y/N forced a smile. “Yeah, just thinking.”

Feyre stepped closer, sitting on the edge of the windowsill beside her. “I know it’s hard, waiting for Cassian. But you have to know he’s going to be here soon. He wouldn’t miss today for the world."

Y/N nodded, but the words felt hollow. She appreciated Feyre’s attempt at reassurance, but it didn’t change the emptiness that had settled into her bones.

“I’m sure you’re right,” Y/N murmured, looking down at her hands, where the bracelet rested against her wrist. “I just… I expected more today, you know? More of him. It’s hard not to feel like I’m being forgotten.”

Feyre reached over, gently squeezing Y/N’s hand in hers. “Cassian doesn’t forget. Not about you, not about your worth. I know you know that, deep down. But his responsibilities… they take over sometimes.”

Y/N didn’t say anything, but her heart felt heavy with the truth of Feyre’s words. She knew this. She had always known how demanding Cassian’s work was. Yet, in this moment, none of that seemed to ease the ache in her chest.

They sat in silence for a moment, the quiet of the room thick between them.

“Well, if it’s any consolation,” Feyre said after a beat, “Rhys and I were talking earlier. He’s certain Cassian is planning something spectacular. He wouldn’t let this day go by without making it up to you, I promise.”

Y/N gave a small, shaky smile. “I hope you’re right.”

Feyre patted her hand. “Come on, let’s go join the others. The day’s not over yet, and I’m sure Cassian has something up his sleeve. Just you wait.”

Y/N nodded again, standing with Feyre and following her back toward the main part of the house, though her heart still felt heavy. She tried to lose herself in conversation with the others as they discussed plans for the evening, but every time the door creaked open or a breeze brushed past, her hope flickered once again.

Cassian would come, wouldn’t he?

-----

Cassian stood at the edge of the Illyrian camp, his eyes scanning the horizon, watching as his warriors trained, sparred, and carried out their duties. It was the sort of day he dreaded—endless, relentless, and filled with the tension of an impending conflict that threatened to boil over at any moment.

It had all started about a month ago, when he’d received the urgent message from one of the northern commanders. At the time, Cassian delayed coming over himself, choosing to send his trusted men instead. It was also because the communication had come at the worst possible time—just as he was looking forward to a few days of peace, maybe even a quiet evening with Y/N.

However, everyday the commander had kept asking for Casian himself, being very clear: the camps were on the brink of full-scale warfare, and they needed someone who could keep things in order before the situation got worse. And so, Cassian had packed up quickly, his mind focused only on getting things under control. The sooner he got in, the sooner he could return. He had promised himself that it would only be a few hours—perhaps a day at most. After all, how bad could it be?

But of course, as it always did, the situation had escalated.

In the last month, every plan he’d tried to set in motion had been thwarted by a new complication. A new leader from one of the factions had challenged his authority, a skirmish had broken out on the eastern border, and just when Cassian thought things were settling down, word came that another territory was in dispute.

Now, here he was, surrounded by the sounds of clashing metal and the low hum of warriors calling orders, his hands wrapped tightly around the hilt of his sword as he surveyed the chaos. His mind was elsewhere, though—not with the men around him or the reports he was reading—but with her. Y/N.

He hadn’t forgotten her—he could never forget her. She was always in his thoughts, even now as he stood in the midst of battle preparations. But the more he thought of her, the more his frustration built. Damn it all, he thought to himself, running a hand through his dark hair. He was supposed to be with her, not stuck here in this endless mess. He had no idea how things had gotten so far out of hand, but there was no turning back now.

He’d hoped the day would be simple. He’d figured, a few hours at most, handle the worst of it, and then be back with her. Maybe they could have a quiet dinner, talk about the quiet things. But now, that hope seemed like a distant memory.

His mind drifted back to the report he’d just received. The situation with the northern factions had worsened. They were demanding reinforcements, and not just a few. This was the kind of situation where Cassian’s presence was absolutelynecessary. He couldn’t just leave it to the others; he had to see it through. The men under his command needed him.

But what about her?

A growl rumbled low in his throat, his frustration turning into a simmering rage. Cassian had thought that after a quick intervention, he’d be back to his mate, back to the woman who kept him grounded and whole. But that had been a naive thought, one that now felt like a cruel joke.

“General,” one of his commanders approached, his voice low and serious. “It’s not just the northern borders. We’ve got problems in the southern territories too. The peace talks fell apart. We’ll need to send someone there immediately.”

Cassian gritted his teeth. Three days. At least three days now. What the hell was he supposed to do? There was no way he could leave things in this state—not when things were this precarious.

“Dammit,” he muttered under his breath, pacing away from the group. He couldn’t even bring himself to speak to the commander again; his thoughts were too clouded, his anger too sharp. The worst part? No one here seemed to understand. They were all too focused on the battle, on the logistics of war, to see the way his heart was breaking with every passing second.

Cassian growled under his breath, his frustration boiling over. He had to stay for the next few days. There was no other option.

But Y/N would understand. Right?

----

Y/N did not, in fact, understand.

When she saw Rhys leave and come back with a letter in his hand, his expression serious and slightly sorrowful as he headed straight for Azriel, she knew something was wrong.

Feyre and Elain were beside her, their soft laughter and conversation swirling around like a gentle breeze, but Y/N barely heard any of it. Her eyes were fixed on the two males standing by the doorway, voices hushed but movements tight with frustration. Rhys’ brow was furrowed as he handed the note to Azriel, and Az ran a hand through his hair as he read it, wings twitching slightly behind him.

Her stomach sank.

It was the way Azriel’s jaw clenched. The way Rhys’ hand dropped to his side, fingers curling into a fist. The kind of body language that meant bad news. And neither of them had looked her way.

Feyre nudged her gently, drawing her back. “Y/N? You zoned out for a second there.”

“Oh—sorry,” Y/N murmured, blinking and trying to force a smile. “I’m listening.”

But she wasn’t. Not really. Because now Azriel had started speaking, fast and low, and Rhys wasn’t looking at him—he was looking at her.

That told her everything she needed to know.

She stood slowly, the movement enough to draw the attention of both males. Azriel glanced down at the note in his hand, then up at her, his expression unreadable. Rhys looked like he was preparing himself for something—his lips pressed together, a crease forming between his brows.

Y/N didn’t wait for them to come to her.

She crossed the room silently, her heart pounding louder with each step. She kept her voice steady when she stopped in front of them, even though it felt like her lungs had been replaced by lead.

“What is it?”

Rhys hesitated. Azriel looked to him, clearly unsure if he should speak, but then Rhys sighed quietly and extended the letter to her. “It’s from Cassian.”

She took it with slow fingers. The seal wasn’t the one he usually used for her—no wax in her favorite color, no scribbled heart in the corner like he sometimes added when he was feeling particularly smug or sweet. Just plain parchment, a rushed signature.

Her throat tightened before she even unfolded it.

It wasn’t long. A few brief sentences. A quick explanation. He’d been pulled deeper into the situation than expected. The camps were at each other’s throats. He couldn’t leave—not yet. Not for another few days. I will send news soon. Take care of Y/N for me.

No mention of what today was. Not even a line.

She didn’t realize how tightly her fingers were gripping the paper until Rhys gently reached out, his hand brushing her elbow. “Y/N—”

“It’s fine,” she said quickly, folding the letter with practiced calm. “He’s needed there. I get it.”

Neither Rhys nor Azriel looked convinced.

Feyre and Elain had gone quiet behind her. She could feel their concern, the heaviness in the room like a sudden shift in air pressure.

Y/N took a slow breath and looked out the window, blinking back the sting in her eyes. She had waited. All day. Told herself he was coming. That this wasn’t like him.

And maybe it wasn’t.

But the letter in her hand said otherwise.

Because it didn’t even say happy birthday.

And no matter how many times she told herself that Cassian loved her—that his duties were important, that Illyria needed him—there was a sharp, echoing silence in her chest where he should have been today.

Where his voice should’ve whispered through the bond, where his arms should’ve wrapped around her, where his presence should’ve reminded her that she mattered.

She swallowed tightly and turned away, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“I’m tired,” she murmured. “I think I’ll head home.”

“I don’t understand. How could he forget?” Rhys practically growled, pacing in the center of the room now. “Cassian has never—not once—missed her birthday. Every godsdamned year, he’s gone all out. The male made her a sunrise flight over the Sidra last year because she said she liked the color of the sky in the morning—”

“He always remembers,” Azriel cut in, his voice dark and tight with frustration. “He’s never been like this. Not with her.” His shadows curled tighter around his shoulders, restless and tense.

Feyre, standing near the window, arms folded, nodded slowly. “It’s not like him. Something’s not right. And even if he’s overwhelmed, even if Illyria is falling apart, there’s no way he doesn’t know what today is.”

“I’ll go to him,” Azriel said abruptly, already half-turned toward the door, his voice quiet but deadly. “I’ll tell him myself. I’ll show him that fucking letter and—”

“That idiot,” Mor muttered, appearing from the hallway with a sharp look in her golden eyes. “That idiot. She waited all day, Az. He should’ve been here. At least a godsdamned message.”

“I will make him listen,” Azriel continued, shadows snapping around his fists. “I’ll fly to him right now and—”

“Stop.”

Y/N’s voice was quiet, strained—but no one heard her. Or maybe they didn’t listen. The air was thick with indignation, protective fury, confusion.

“Stop,” she said again, a little louder, stepping further into the room. Still nothing.

Rhys was muttering about how he should’ve known, how he should’ve sent someone else to the camps. Feyre was pacing now. Even Elain, sweet Elain, had a worried furrow in her brow.

“Stop!”

The word cracked through the space like thunder.

Everyone froze.

The silence that followed was deafening. Y/N stood in the middle of the room now, chin high, fists clenched at her sides. Her breathing was steady, but the tremble in her fingers betrayed the storm inside her.

“No one,” she said, voice low but unyielding. “No one is going to say a word to him.”

Rhys opened his mouth to protest.

Y/N’s gaze cut to him with sharp precision, a warning that stopped him cold.

“I mean it,” she said firmly, looking at each of them in turn. “He needs to realize this himself. If any of you go running to tell him, if you scold him or guilt him or push him into some half-hearted apology… it won’t mean anything. He has to see it. He has to feel it. Not because you reminded him. Not because someone handed him the truth. Because he looked around, realized something was missing, and knew it was me.”

Azriel stepped forward, his jaw clenched. “Y/N, he loves you. He would never—”

“I know he loves me,” she said, gentler this time. “But love doesn’t excuse neglect. Love doesn’t mean never making mistakes. And I’m not mad that he’s busy. I understand his duty. But today? Today he forgot me. Not just the celebration—me.”

Elain opened her mouth, but closed it again with a sympathetic frown.

Y/N took a slow breath. “Please. It’s my birthday. And this is my wish. That none of you mention this to him. Let him come home on his own. Let him see the damage on his own. Let him fix it on his own.”

The silence returned, heavier now. And then, after a long pause, Rhys finally let out a breath, raking a hand through his hair.

“Very well,” he said quietly. “I will give him a few days to realize his mistake. But.” His violet eyes locked on hers. “There is no way in any world that I am letting you spend your birthday alone.”

Y/N’s lips parted, already forming a protest. “Rhys, really, I—”

“But nothing,” Feyre cut in, already taking Y/N’s hand. “We listened to you. Now you listen to us.”

“We’re your family too,” Elain said softly, stepping up on Y/N’s other side. “And you don’t deserve to sit in silence when there’s still joy to be found today.”

“The others will be back soon,” she added, already moving toward the doors leading to the terrace. “And we are not letting this day end with you hiding in a corner feeling forgotten.”

Before she could argue further, Feyre gave her hand a gentle tug. “Let’s go outside. Breathe. Laugh a little. Even if it’s just for a moment.”

Y/N nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. She wasn’t sure she could laugh—not right now—but the way they looked at her, all of them, she knew they wouldn’t let her fall apart alone.

So she let them lead her toward the open doors and into the golden light of the setting sun, the scent of flowers on the breeze and the soft murmur of the Sidra below.

And even as she smiled for them, even as she tried to be present, there was still that hollow space inside her where he should’ve been.

Where Cassian should have been.

She didn’t even notice the tears at first. They came suddenly, soundless, slipping down her cheeks like they’d always belonged there. She was seated on a bench between Elain and Feyre, hands curled tightly in her lap, when it hit her again.

She didn’t speak. She just cried.

And neither sister said a word. Feyre looped an arm gently around her shoulders, drawing her into the curve of her body while Elain wrapped both hands around hers. They didn’t offer empty reassurances or tell her to cheer up. They didn’t need to. They simply sat with her, and that was enough.

Later, as the garden lights blinked to life and the air cooled, Nesta returned from Valkyrie mission—sharper than usual, but her expression softened the moment she saw Y/N. No questions. No demands. Just a nod of acknowledgment as she took the seat across from her and quietly passed over a little parcel wrapped in silver cloth. A gift she’d made herself—something small, personal, and thoughtful.

Amren appeared not long after, her hair swept back in a polished twist, the edges of her black coat fluttering around her like shadows. She sat beside Nesta with a huff, muttering about “tedious Court matters” and “being dragged into babysitting lesser fae politics,” but even she leaned over to ruffle Y/N’s hair with an uncharacteristically soft, “Happy birthday, girl. Don’t let the bat’s absence ruin it.”

And just when Y/N thought the night was over, Elain insisted they all follow her inside.

There, on the kitchen table, sat a cake.

Beautiful and slightly lopsided, covered in sugared wildflowers and soft frosting that shimmered faintly under the faelight. Elain had made it herself—had spent the past two nights sneaking time in the kitchens, hiding it from even Feyre. “I wanted to do something just for you,” she said shyly, and Y/N had nearly cried all over again

The rest of the day passed like a slow, strange dream.

They dined together after that. A warm, chaotic, makeshift dinner, thrown together by a dozen helping hands. Everyone gathered—those who had come and gone through the day returning for the final hours. They drank and toasted and teased one another with ridiculous, affectionate banter. Rhys told a story from centuries ago involving Cassian and a very unfortunate tree, and even Y/N had laughed until her ribs ached.

There were moments—fleeting ones—where she forgot the ache in her chest. Where the comfort of those around her dulled the sting enough that she could pretend everything was okay.

But only for a moment.

Because the ache always returned. It pulsed behind every laugh, every sip of wine, every flicker of candlelight.

Cassian hadn’t come. He hadn’t sent a message. He hadn’t said happy birthday. He had completely forgotten.

And no matter how kind the others were, how hard they tried to lift her up, his absence sat heavy on her chest like a stone.

Eventually, under Rhys and Feyre’s gentle insistence, she agreed to stay the night. They wouldn’t let her go home alone. Not like this. “Just take the guest room,” Feyre said softly. “Sleep. You don’t have to pretend anymore.”

Y/N agreed.

She closed the door behind her as quietly as she could. The room was warm, cozy, with soft throws and a little vase of fresh flowers on the nightstand—typical Feyre. Thoughtful to the end. She changed into the clothes someone had folded at the foot of the bed, washed her face slowly, and went through the motions of settling in.

She told herself not to cry again.

She had cried enough.

She folded her dirty clothes. Brushed out her hair. Lit a small candle with a flick of faelight. Tidied a nightstand that didn’t even belong to her.

She did everything except lie down.

But eventually, her limbs couldn’t carry her anymore.

Y/N slipped beneath the covers, curled onto her side, and stared out the window. The moon hung low and silver, casting light across the bed in quiet streaks.

And that was when her heart finally gave in.

The tears came again, thick and silent, slipping down her cheeks and into the pillow as she clutched it tighter to her chest. Her throat burned. Her ribs ached. She didn’t sob, didn’t make a sound—but the pain was all-consuming.

How had he forgotten her?

How had the one person who knew her better than anyone not felt how much this would break her?

She thought of his arms. His scent. His laugh. The way he always kissed her temple before bed. The way he used to whisper goodnight into her soul through the bond.

Tonight, there was nothing.

No whisper. No warmth.

Only the sound of her own quiet, broken breathing.

--------

Cassian ran a hand through his hair, muscles aching, exhaustion carved deep into every inch of his body. He hadn’t slept more than a few hours in the past three days—not with the Illyrian warbands breathing fire down each other’s throats. He’d been everywhere. Breaking up fights. Mediating screaming matches. Holding war councils that felt more like babysitting sessions for ancient, prideful warriors who couldn’t see past their own egos.

The tensions weren’t just high—they were explosive.

What had started as a two-camp territorial squabble had now grown into something far more dangerous. Old rivalries, wounded egos, unspoken grudges—everything was bubbling to the surface. Cassian had tried, Gods he had tried, to get ahead of it. But every solution he carved out only gave birth to two more problems. Every ceasefire threatened to collapse under the weight of centuries-old hate.

Still, he pressed on.

He was the General of the Night Court. This was his job. His burden.

And yet…

He had thought about her. Hundreds of times.

Y/N’s smile. Her laugh. The way she scrunched her nose when she read something she disagreed with. The way she always tucked herself into his side like she belonged there—because she did. Her warmth, her scent, the quiet weight of her in his arms every night.

But now, that warmth felt so far away. And worse, she was… closed off.

He had reached for her through the bond multiple times since arriving in the camps. And every time, it was like pressing his hand against a locked door. Her walls were up, impenetrable in a way they hadn’t been since the earliest days of their bond.

That had set something cold and uneasy in his chest.

So, he had reached out to Rhys.

“Is she alright?” he’d asked through their mental link, concern thick in his tone.

Rhys’ response had come slower than usual. Clipped. “She’s fine. She’s staying with us.”

That was it.

No warmth. No elaboration.

Cassian had tried to rationalize it. Maybe Rhys was just busy. Maybe Y/N was tired. Maybe she didn’t want to worry him. But it gnawed at him—sharp and growing. She hadn’t answered any of his letters, either. He’d written three. All of them long, thoughtful—pouring out everything he couldn’t say across the distance. And still… nothing.

He frowned now, standing just outside the camp’s central tent, the icy wind biting at his skin despite the thick armor.

He didn’t understand. What was going on?

What was he missing?

He didn’t have the chance to spiral further—because a voice cut through the wind behind him.

“The Shadowsinger is here.”

Cassian blinked, turning immediately, his brow furrowing. “What?”

The young Illyrian warrior bowed slightly. “He arrived moments ago. He’s waiting for you near the ridge.”

Azriel? Here?

Cassian was already moving, striding across the frostbitten field toward the overlook, confusion swirling in his chest. What in the Mother’s name is Az doing here? He would’ve known if something had gone wrong at the River House. Rhys would’ve said something—surely.

And then he saw him.

Azriel stood with his arms folded, his expression unreadable, shadows curling languidly around his form as he stared out over the mountains.

“Az,” Cassian called as he approached. “What the hell are you doing here? Did Rhys send you?”

Azriel didn’t turn. “I came on my own.”

That wasn’t normal. Not with Azriel.

Cassian stopped a few feet away, arms outstretched in disbelief. “Okay, what is going on? Rhys is cold with me, Y/N’s got her walls up so high I can’t even feel her, and now you show up like death himself—what did I do? Did I commit a fucking massacre and forget about it?”

Azriel’s jaw ticked, but his voice was cool as ice. “You might as well have.”

Cassian’s stomach dropped. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Azriel finally turned to face him, his gaze hard. “You’ve been so wrapped up in this godsdamned chaos that you didn’t even realize what day it was.”

Cassian blinked. “What?”

Azriel shook his head, sighing harshly. “Go back. I’ll take over from here.”

“What—? Why?” Cassian stepped in front of him, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. “Does Rhys need me? Did something happen—?”

Azriel shrugged his hand off with practiced ease, brushing past him without another word.

But as he walked away, his voice drifted over his shoulder.

“Your mate needs you.”

Cassian stilled.

The words hit him like a punch to the ribs.

Y/N.

Something snapped into place—something instinctual, primal. Protective.

His body straightened, his heart roaring in his chest as dread crashed over him like a tidal wave. His wings flared, already preparing to launch him into the skies.

Something had happened.

She was hurting.

And he hadn’t known.

Didn’t feel it.

His mate needed him—and he was not there.

Cassian didn’t waste another second. He turned on his heel, barked a few quick orders to the nearest commander, and took off into the sky, wind slicing around him like blades.

What happened to her?

My wife needs me.

The sky was clear, painted in soft shades of spring blue with faint wisps of clouds drifting lazily across it. The garden smelled like lavender and sun-warmed stone, and a gentle breeze tugged playfully at Y/N’s hair. It was, by all accounts, a beautiful day.

She barely noticed.

Feyre sat beside her on a picnic blanket spread out over the grass, barefoot, a smudge of green paint on her cheek as she carefully filled in the petals of a wildflower on her canvas. She looked peaceful, serene even—and Y/N had tried, Gods she’d tried, to match that energy. To find something resembling calm.

Feyre had said painting would help. That it had always helped her.

A good distraction.

And maybe it was. For the first few minutes, dipping her brush in soft hues, dragging color across blank canvas, she’d managed to escape the haze of disappointment clinging to her.

But the relief never lasted long.

Three days.

It had been three entire days since her birthday. Since that night she’d cried herself to sleep in a guest room that wasn’t hers. Since the cake Elain had made. Since the weight of it all settled into her bones like something permanent.

Cassian still hadn’t realized.

Not even a whisper through the bond, though she wouldn’t have heard it if he had tried—because she hadn’t opened herself to him. Not once. She couldn’t. Not when every second of silence felt like proof that he had simply... forgotten.

She hadn’t even touched his letters. They sat in her nightstand unopened, their presence mocking her more with each day that passed. She told herself that if she read them, it would mean she was ready to forgive him.

And she wasn’t.

A shaky breath escaped her as she dipped her brush again—only to knock over the small pot of blue paint beside her. It spilled onto the grass, soaking into the roots like a spreading bruise.

“Oops,” she mumbled, reaching for a cloth.

Feyre chuckled softly beside her. “That was my favorite shade too.”

Y/N huffed a laugh, but it was empty. “Of course it was.”

Feyre leaned back on her hands, eyes soft. “You’ve been quiet again.”

Y/N kept blotting at the grass. “I’m trying not to ruin your peaceful moment.”

“Y/N…” Feyre’s voice lowered, all teasing gone. “You’re allowed to feel what you’re feeling.”

“I don’t even know what I’m feeling anymore,” she muttered, finally sitting back. “It’s like—I’m angry. I’m sad. I miss him so much it physically hurts, but then I remember he still doesn’t even realize what he’s done and—” She stopped herself, swallowing hard. “It makes everything worse.”

Feyre reached over, brushing a bit of paint off Y/N’s arm. “He’ll figure it out.”

Y/N shook her head slowly. “And what if he doesn’t? What if this is just who he is now?”

Before Feyre could answer, a voice shattered the moment like glass against stone.

“Y/N!”

Y/N’s entire body went rigid.

The brush dropped from her fingers.

That voice. That voice that lived in her soul, in her every memory, every dream—rough and deep and warm like a storm in the distance. She turned slowly, heart thudding so loud she could barely hear anything else.

And there he was.

Cassian.

Striding toward her from the River House doors, wind-blown and armor-clad, broad shoulders moving with frantic urgency. Behind him, Rhysand stood, arms crossed, mouth pressed in a line, expression unreadable. Feyre had frozen beside her, eyes wide.

But Y/N couldn’t stop staring.

Gods, he looked the same and yet... not. Exhausted, eyes bloodshot, hair wind-tangled. But his face—his face lit up the second their eyes met.

Her Cassian, this was her Cassian.

“Y/N,” he breathed again, and then he was in front of her.

Cassian dropped to his knees, his arms wrapping around her tightly, protectively, one hand cradling the back of her head as he pressed his face into her neck.

“Thank the Mother,” he whispered, kissing her cheek, her jaw, her temple. “I thought—I thought something happened to you. I couldn’t feel you, you weren’t answering, and Rhys wouldn’t tell me anything and—”

Y/N was frozen in his arms.

She hadn’t realized how much she missed his scent. His warmth. How much she’d been craving the weight of his embrace, his voice breaking apart with relief.

But then she looked up.

Feyre was staring in wide-eyed shock. Rhys was watching coldly, a muscle ticking in his jaw.

And suddenly the pain returned.

Y/N pushed against Cassian’s chest, slowly at first—then more firmly.

He pulled back, blinking, confusion flickering across his handsome face.

“Y/N?” he said softly, voice catching.

She stood, brushing off her skirt, not daring to meet his eyes.

“Go back to your job, Cassian,” she said, her voice quiet but sharp. “It’s far more important anyway.”

The hurt that flashed across his face nearly undid her.

He turned toward Rhys, clearly seeking answers, but Rhys just shrugged—cool and unapologetic.

Feyre opened her mouth, stepping forward, about to say something—

But Rhys gently nudged her back with a warning look, stopping her mid-breath.

And Y/N didn’t wait.

She pushed past Cassian, her heart hammering, vision blurring as she made her way down the garden path without looking back.

Behind her, she heard Cassian curse softly—and then the sound of footsteps as he ran after her.

“Y/N—” Cassian’s voice rang behind her, hurried footsteps following as she stormed back into the River House.

She didn’t stop.

He cursed behind her—something muffled and sharp as he bumped into a low table near the hallway. She heard the crash of something ceramic hitting the floor.

“Y/N, please—wait, just—talk to me—”

She marched deeper into the house, hands trembling, her vision hazy from the heat of unshed tears. Her name kept falling from his lips like a prayer, desperate and confused. But she wouldn’t stop. Couldn’t.

Not until he caught up and grabbed her arm.

Not harshly. Just enough to pull her to a stop.

“Y/N—”

She spun around, wrenching her arm from his grasp with more force than necessary, her breath ragged as she shouted, “What?”

The hallway echoed with her voice, the sharpness of it slicing through the air like a blade.

Cassian took a step back, blinking at her, stunned. “I—why are you acting like this? What is going on?”

She let out a humorless, choked laugh, folding her arms as her eyes flashed. “Oh, I don’t know, Cassian. Maybe I’m just a little emotional. Maybe I’ve just lost my mind.”

His brow furrowed. “Y/N, don’t—”

“No, you don’t!” she snapped, pointing a finger at his chest. “You don’t get to walk in here after three days like everything’s normal, like you haven’t been ghosting me while I’ve been drowning in confusion and—hurt.”

Cassian’s wings flared, frustration bleeding into his voice. “I haven’t been ghosting you! I’ve been at the camps! I tried reaching you, you had your walls up and Rhys wouldn’t tell me anything and I—Mother above, Y/N! What?!” His voice rose to a thunderous echo, his hands thrown up. “What is it?! Why have you been acting this way?! What the hell has gotten into you?!”

Y/N stared at him, her lip trembling as the words tore out of her like a storm breaking loose.

“IT WAS MY BIRTHDAY!”

The world seemed to stop.

Cassian’s mouth parted, eyes widening as her voice echoed down the hallway. He stood frozen in place—watching her like he didn’t understand what he’d just heard. Like it didn’t make sense.

She saw the realization dawn on his face slowly. The shift in his eyes. The disbelief. The guilt.

Tears streamed down her cheeks, hot and fast, as she went on, her voice shaking with fury and grief.

“It was my birthday, and you left. You forgot. You didn’t send a letter. You didn’t say anything. No note. No kiss. Not even a godsdamned Happy Birthday, Cassian!”

She laughed bitterly, choking on her own tears. “Forget gifts or celebrations. I would’ve taken one sentence through the bond. One single thought. But there was nothing. You left me behind like I was—nothing.”

He opened his mouth, eyes already glossing with tears, but she kept going.

“And I waited,” she hissed, voice cracking. “I waited all day thinking maybe—just maybe—you were going to surprise me. I made excuses for you. Told myself it wasn’t your fault. But it’s been three days. You never realized. You didn’t even remember me.”

Her voice dropped then, just a whisper.

“Do I even mean something to you anymore?”

Cassian’s face crumpled.

“Do you even love me?”

A tear slid down his cheek.

“Y/N…” he whispered, stepping forward, voice raw. “*My love—*of course I love you. Of course I do. You are my everything. My soul is bound to yours—how could I ever stop loving you?”

He ran a trembling hand through his hair, jaw clenching as he cursed himself under his breath. “I’m an idiot. I’m the worst kind of bastard. I should’ve remembered—I should’ve—Mother, I hate myself for this.”

He tried to reach for her again, but she stepped back.

“No,” she said sharply, holding up a trembling hand to stop him. “Don’t. I can’t—not right now.”

“Y/N, please—”

“I think it’s best,” she said, quieter now, broken. “If we stay apart for a while.”

His face twisted. “No, you don’t mean that—”

“I do,” she whispered, shaking her head, more tears falling. “I don’t think I want to see you right now.”

“Just let me explain—”

She turned away.

Cassian took a desperate step toward her, but stopped when she didn’t pause, didn’t look back.

And with one final breathless, shattering beat between them, Y/N climbed the stairs—leaving him standing there, alone in the hallway, heart split wide open.

-------

Cassian sat hunched over on the plush River House couch, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. He didn’t move. He barely breathed. The only thing keeping him grounded was the faint buzz of his own heartbeat in his ears, and the way his eyes were locked on the floor—unblinking, like if he just stared hard enough, he could turn back time.

The silence was tense. Suffocating.

And then—

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Rhys snapped, his voice sharp enough to slice through steel.

Cassian didn’t flinch. He didn’t even lift his head.

Rhys paced in front of him like a caged beast, his power a rolling storm beneath his skin, his violet eyes sparking with fury. “You forgot. You forgot her birthday, Cassian. The one day that’s about her. The one day she deserved your whole world without question—and you gave her silence.”

Cassian remained motionless.

“She cried for hours,” Rhys went on, each word like a dagger. “She didn’t even open your letters. Do you know how fucking heartbroken she had to be, to shut off your bond like that?”

“I tried to reach her,” Cassian rasped.

Rhys didn’t let up. “Not hard enough.”

Feyre, from where she stood leaning against the wall, arms crossed tightly over her chest, said quietly, “Rhys…”

But Rhys was too far gone.

“She waited for you. Defended you. Hoped. While we all sat there trying to keep her smiling, trying to fill the space you left behind.”

“I should have gone to the camps myself,” he seethed, starting to pace again. “Azriel shouldn’t be there, either. I’m the High Lord. I should’ve handled it. Godsdammit, I should have known this would happen. I knew something was off with her and I—”

“She didn’t want you to know,” Feyre cut in gently, but even she sounded like the weight of it was pressing too heavy.

Cassian still hadn’t moved.

Not until, in a hoarse, barely audible whisper, he said, “I hate myself.”

That stopped everything.

Rhys stilled. Feyre’s breath caught. The room went deathly quiet.

Cassian slowly lifted his head, eyes glassy but burning. His voice was louder now, rough with barely restrained emotion. “I hate myself for what I’ve done to her.”

His fingers curled into fists against his knees.

“I keep thinking about her face,” he growled. “When she turned around and shouted at me. When she looked at me like I was a stranger. Like I didn’t even know her anymore.”

He looked up at them, jaw clenched so tight it trembled. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Rhys’s face was unreadable. “She didn’t allow us to,” he said quietly. “She wanted you to realize it yourself. Said it had to be you.”

Cassian let out a low, agonized sound and collapsed back into the couch, throwing his head against the cushions and staring up at the ceiling like it held answers. “Of course she did,” he muttered. “Because she’s better than me. Because she deserved someone who would’ve remembered without being told.”

Feyre crossed the room and gently sat beside him, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Cassian,” she said softly, “you messed up. But this… this doesn’t have to be the end of everything. She’s hurt, yes. But she’s still your mate. You can fix this—but not with words. Not with apologies. With actions.”

Rhys added from the corner, his voice calm but firm now, “Sitting here sulking won’t do you any good. The damage is done. The only question now is: what are you going to do about it?”

Cassian sat up slowly, his chest rising and falling with a deep, steadying breath. His eyes still glistened—but now, there was something steely behind them. Something solid.

“You’re right,” he said, voice low, determined.

He stood, cracking his knuckles, the gears in his mind already turning.

“I’m going to prove to her just how much I love her. I’m going to make this right, no matter how long it takes. I’ll grovel. I’ll bleed for her. I’ll get on my fucking knees if that’s what she wants.”

He looked between them, eyes fierce.

She’s my mate. My heart. My everything. And I will not lose her over this. Not without fighting like hell for her.

And as he stormed out of the room, the weight of his promise followed him like wings in flight.

--------

The moment Y/N had turned her back on him, the realization hit Cassian with the force of a war hammer. The words she’d thrown at him — the tear-filled accusations — echoed in his mind. It wasn’t just her birthday that he’d missed, but the very core of their bond. The trust that had always been between them, the connection that held them together, had been shattered.

For hours, he sat in the silence of the House of Wind, a pit of guilt consuming him. The only thing he could do was write.

The first letter was simple.

“Y/N, I don’t deserve your forgiveness. I didn’t deserve the trust you gave me, and I failed you. I’ve failed us both. I hope, one day, you’ll let me try again. Yours, always, Cassian”

He left it at her door with a small gift--a basket of her favourite flowers--, knowing she wouldn’t open it, but hoping the gesture would be enough. He left, retreating to the gardens to stand in the silence, his thoughts only of her.

Every morning after that, Cassian woke up before the sun, writing a letter. And then, as he left it at her door, he went back to his watch over the House, always close, but never too close. Each letter was more desperate, more vulnerable than the last, with a gift beside it.

“Y/N, Do you remember when we first met? I was a fool. I didn’t know then that it was you who would change everything. I didn’t know that one day, I would come to love you in a way I never thought possible. But I should have remembered you — every day, always. And I failed you. Please, don’t shut me out forever. I’ll wait for as long as it takes. With all the love I have, Cassian”

The gift next to this letter was a set of the books she wanted to buy for a while.

And the next.

“Y/N, I remember your laugh — it was always the highlight of my day. Every time I heard it, I thought I had everything I ever needed. But that laugh is silenced now, and I know it’s because of me. I’m sorry. I’ll keep saying it until you’re tired of hearing it. But I will keep saying it. Yours, in regret, Cassian”

The gift was an exciting array of her favourite sweets from the bakery nearby.

But still, nothing. Not even a glance in his direction. He kept his distance, his heart heavier each day, knowing that he had done this to himself.

A week had passed since Y/N’s birthday. The house was quiet, the laughter from before now distant and hollow. Cassian had spent every minute of those days trying to find a way to fix this, to make it right.

But he knew what he had to do.

The night before, he worked — with the help of Elain for the food, Feyre for the decorations, and Amren for the music — to set up the garden. He had been there before, countless times, but this time it felt different. The air, the atmosphere, the quiet, heavy regret weighing down his every step.

It wasn’t perfect. The cake was a little lopsided, the candles not quite the right height, the wine too sweet, but it was the effort he’d put into it.

Cassian stood under the arch of flowers, staring out into the empty garden, waiting for Y/N.

And he waited.

But she never came.

Well, that was expected. Time to grovel some more.

Each day, he wrote more. His words were no longer just apologies, but reflections of the bond he had with her, a bond he could never again take for granted.

The next letter arrived, tucked neatly under her door.

“Y/N, I thought I knew what love was before I met you. I thought it was strength, something built on the battlefield. But love with you — it’s quiet moments, tender glances, it’s all the things I never knew I needed. I won’t ever stop fighting for you. Not until you know just how much you mean to me. Cassian”

the gift beside the letter was a beautiful ruby glass heart container that stored a small vial of perfume, infused with the essence of the lavender blooms from the cliffs of Velaris — a scent that reminded him of Y/N’s laughter, the way her presence filled any room with warmth and joy.

The days dragged on as Cassian poured every ounce of his focus into making up for his mistakes. Each day, he sat in his favorite spot by the window, gazing out at the skies, thinking about the next moment he could make it right. He knew he couldn’t fix the damage he’d done with mere words — it would take action, sincerity, and time.

On the sixth day since the argument, Cassian finally gathered the courage to present the gift he had so carefully crafted. It had been almost impossible to get any sleep these past few days, his guilt and love driving him to the brink. He had even considered getting down on his knees to beg for forgiveness, but he knew it wasn’t enough to simply ask for her love — he had to show her.

Cassian stood in the heart of Velaris' gardens, a place where he and Y/N had spent so many peaceful moments together—under the sprawling canopy of ancient trees, surrounded by blooming flowers that burst with vibrant colors. He had chosen this spot on purpose. He knew that their love had always been nurtured here, where the earth seemed to echo the beauty of their bond, and the breeze carried whispers of memories.

He hadn’t expected her to come. After everything that had happened, he had resigned himself to the idea that Y/N might never forgive him. The ache in his chest was unbearable as he stared at the perfect arrangement he had created—a table set for two, draped with a soft, silk cloth that shimmered in the light of the setting sun. Candles flickered in delicate holders, casting a warm glow, while the scent of jasmine and lavender filled the air—flowers Y/N had once told him reminded her of serenity.

He wasn’t sure if she would ever forgive him, but he had to try. He had to show her that he had learned. That he was worthy of her love.

The gift he had chosen for her sat at the center of the table on a velvet cloth, a small, intricately carved box.

Inside it lay something special: a silver locket. A locket that held a tiny, hand-painted picture of Y/N, done in beautiful detail, her smile captured perfectly by the artist who had worked tirelessly to get every little detail right. The locket was attached to a delicate silver chain, with intricate swirls of magic carved into the edges. Inside, it also held a piece of stardust—a glowing reminder of their bond, a symbol of the magic that connected them, no matter how far apart they might be.

The locket was something personal, something Cassian knew would mean the world to her. He hoped she could see it as more than just a gift, but as a promise—of his love, his regret, and his dedication to never again make her feel forgotten.

He wasn’t sure if she’d come. The hours passed, the sun beginning to set, casting everything in a golden light that felt both beautiful and heavy with the weight of his regrets.

But then, just as he had almost resigned himself to the fact that she might never return, the soft sound of footsteps echoed through the garden.

Cassian’s breath caught in his throat. He turned around slowly, his heart pounding as he saw Y/N standing in the entrance, her eyes cautious but filled with something he could not yet name. She wore a soft, flowing gown that shimmered in the fading light. The sight of her took his breath away, but the sadness in her eyes made it impossible to smile.

She stood there, frozen for a long moment, her gaze lingering on the table and the gift. Cassian felt his chest tighten. Was she here to yell at him again? To push him away? Or was there a chance, a small hope, that she might forgive him?

"Y/N..." His voice was a low rasp as he took a step toward her, his heart beating painfully fast.

She still didn’t move, her eyes fixed on the gift and the flowers. The moment stretched, the silence heavy and filled with everything unspoken.

“Cassian,” she whispered, her voice so small, so unsure.

Cassian stepped closer, as if compelled by an invisible force, his arms trembling as he slowly reached for the small velvet box, his heart in his throat. He placed it in her hands, his voice barely a whisper. “I know I’ve hurt you… and I can never take that back. But this is for you. To show you how much you mean to me. Please, Y/N. Please just let me try.”

Y/N stared at the box in her hands for a moment, the tension between them palpable, before she carefully opened it, revealing the silver locket inside. Her breath caught, and Cassian watched the flicker of emotion pass across her face—surprise, confusion, and something softer that made him ache.

He’d prepared himself for rejection, for anger, but the quiet sorrow in her eyes cut deeper than any of that.

She gently ran her fingers over the locket, her touch reverent, as if she was trying to make sense of it. The garden around them seemed to hold its breath in that moment, the flowers swaying in the soft breeze as if waiting for her words.

“Cassian…” Her voice was a mere whisper, fragile like glass, and it sent a ripple of pain through his chest. He watched her carefully, wanting to hold her, but knowing she wasn’t ready for that yet.

“I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know how to fix this. I…” He trailed off, his own words failing him. What could he say to make her understand the depth of his regret? The weight of the mistakes he had made? “I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone in my life. And I—I know I’ve failed you. I’ve hurt you in a way I never should have. But please, just know that I would never, ever do it again especially not knowingly. I would burn the world down for you, Y/N.”

Her eyes flickered with emotion, her lips trembling as she finally looked up from the locket, meeting his gaze. “I know you love me, Cassian.” The words were quiet, but they were enough to shatter some of the walls around his heart. “I know you do. But love isn’t just in the words. It’s in the actions. It’s in showing up when it matters the most. And when you didn’t even think of me on my birthday—when you didn’t even check in—I felt... invisible. Forgotten. Like I didn’t matter to you.”

The pain in her voice stung, and he took a step closer, his own voice strained as he spoke. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I wish I could take it back. I wish I could have been there for you. But I didn’t—”

“No.” She shook her head, cutting him off. “It wasn’t just that you weren’t there. It was that you didn’t even remember. It wasn’t about the gifts or the gestures. It was about you—the one person I thought would never forget, never let me feel alone.” She swallowed hard, her eyes beginning to shimmer with unshed tears. “I needed you. And you weren’t there.”

The words were a dagger to his chest, and he couldn’t breathe for a moment. “I don’t deserve your forgiveness, I know that. But Y/N… I’m here now. And I’ll spend every single day making up for it. You mean the world to me. I’m nothing without you. You’re my heart. My mate. My everything.”

Her gaze softened, but the hurt was still there, lingering like a shadow between them. She took a deep breath, her fingers tightening around the locket as she held it close to her heart. “I was so angry, Cassian. I didn’t even know if I could forgive you. I couldn’t understand how you could forget me like that. But...” She paused, her breath shaky as she wiped away a tear. “But I love you. And I can’t just hold on to that anger. I don’t want to. I want to forgive you. I need to forgive you.”

Cassian’s breath caught in his throat. “Y/N… you mean it?”

She nodded, her tears now falling freely as she took a step closer to him, her voice soft but unwavering. “I mean it. You’re my mate, Cassian. And I know we’ve been through worse. I can’t lose you over this.”

Before he could say anything more, she closed the distance between them, throwing her arms around his neck and burying her face into his chest. Cassian’s arms instinctively wrapped around her, pulling her close as if he never wanted to let go. He buried his face in her hair, inhaling the familiar scent of her, the feel of her against him filling the empty space in his soul.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m sorry for making you feel like that. I never want to hurt you again. You’re everything to me.”

Y/N pulled back slightly, her eyes still glistening with tears, but the softness in her gaze was undeniable. “Don’t do that again. Please.” She punched him lightly in the chest, her laugh shaky but genuine. “Don’t you dare forget me like that again. Not on something so important.”

Cassian chuckled softly, the sound like music to his ears after the storm they had just weathered. “I swear to you, I’ll never forget again. You’re my heart, Y/N. And I’ll spend the rest of my life proving that to you.”

She smirked, shaking her head. “Better. Now, let’s sit down and eat. I’m starving.”

Cassian grinned and, with a gentle but firm hand on her back, guided her to the table he had prepared. The soft flicker of candlelight illuminated their faces as they sat down together, the world around them quiet and peaceful. The only sounds were the soft crackle of the candles, the rustling of the leaves in the breeze, and the occasional clink of silverware.

He smiled at her, that same playful grin she loved so much, and poured her a glass of wine. “You sure you’re not just hungry for an excuse to avoid the subject of my deeply regrettable failure?” He teased, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the smile that tugged at her lips. “Maybe. But you’re lucky I love you, idiot.” She picked up her glass, clinking it gently against his. “To us, Cassian. To love. To second chances.”

“To second chances,” he echoed, his heart lighter than it had been in days. He leaned forward, brushing a soft kiss against her lips before pulling back and saying softly, “I’ll spend my entire life proving to you that I’m worthy of the love you’ve given me. I promise.”

They spent the evening together in the garden, talking, laughing, and simply being with each other. The night was soft and full of promise, and though the pain of the past few days still lingered in the corners of their minds, it was no longer all-consuming. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Cassian felt peace settle in his heart. He had his mate back. And that was all that mattered.

As the stars twinkled overhead, Cassian knew one thing for certain: he would never let her down again.

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