#but i feel like it's been long enough that i no longer hate myself for creating stuff

[nadvs]

the power play (part five)

pairing hockeyplayer! rafe cameron x tutor! reader

rating mature 18+

summary rafe is your complete opposite. the only thing you have in common with the hockey player you tutor is that he’s also recently had his heart broken. in a last-ditch effort to make the people who hurt you regret it, you agree to pretend to date.

< prev

You haven’t spoken to Rafe since he angrily left your dorm three nights ago.

You’re sitting in your booked study room, waiting for him to arrive, wondering if he’ll be regretful of your argument or be ready for round two or pretend it never happened.

Either way, you’d prefer to make light of it and move on. He may no longer be your fake boyfriend, if he really meant what he said, but you’re still going to be seeing him every week.

You hope that you can just give him back his jersey and leave what happened in the past.

The guilt that Rafe has been running from catches up to him once he walks in and sees you. He blew up the other night and you met him with understanding he’s never been given before, softness he doesn’t know what to do with.

“Let’s just get it out in the open,” you say as the door clicks shut behind him. “We fought. I was expecting a bouquet of apology roses, but maybe they got lost in the mail?”

He huffs. Typical of you to make a joke about it.

He sits down, slouched back as he unpacks his things, his long legs stretched out beneath the table. He doesn’t know what to say and is relieved, for once, that you fill the silence.

“I get why you got annoyed,” you say, “but I haven't changed my mind. This doesn’t have to be weird. No hard feelings, right?”

His jaw tenses as he sets your copy of We Have Always Lived in the Castle on the desk. He got through it quickly. And he actually didn’t hate it.

He’s sure it was only because reading killed the time he’d normally had spent training, but he figures this is a good enough topic to start with.

“I finished it,” he murmurs, looking down at the paperback. “It was good.”

“Oh. Wow,” you say, perking up. “You liked it?”

He nods, earning a prideful smile from you.

“Because…?”

“It was short,” he says.

“You walked into this room, I think a month ago to the day, and looked insulted when I asked you if you liked reading,” you say. “And now you’re telling me you enjoyed a book. That’s huge. I need way more than it was short.”

“You’re being a lot right now.”

“I know.” Your smile doesn’t falter. You motion for his laptop, he hands it to you, and you open a new document. “Keep talking. What did you like about it?”

“It got to the point.”

“The prose is very clear,” you agree, typing in the note. “What’d you think of the twist at the end? Did you see it coming?”

“No.”

“This is why I love this class. It introduces you to books you might’ve never picked up,” you gush, then take a breath. “You better not be trying to trick me. You knew I’d get excited about this and forget that we argued. But I’m already over it. Okay, I’m talking too much. Your turn.”

The relief of seeing you act like you normally do has lifted the weight that’s been sinking into Rafe since the night he snapped at you.

Now that he’s with you again, confined in a room he didn’t think he’d ever not mind being in, there’s no avoiding the fact that you have an effect on him.

Against his expectations, he cares about what you think. About how you feel. And he just wants to fix this.

“You don’t know what my fights with her used to be like,” he says. “I’ve heard it all.”

You still for a moment, then rest your elbow on the table, chin in your hand as you gaze at him through compassionate eyes.

You can sympathize that not knowing what Emma said is irritating him, but you couldn’t repeat her cruel words, even if you wanted to.

“I understand,” you say, “but I can’t bring myself to tell you something that’ll just hurt you.”

“That’s my point,” he scoffs. “It won’t hurt me.”

“It could.”

Rafe sinks into the realization that he’ll just have to take the loss here. You’re not going to tell him what he wants to know, because you don’t want to wound him. Even though he kind of deserves it for his outburst.

“I know I…” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I know I didn’t have to lose it on you like that the other night.”

“Yeah,” you breathe a defeated chuckle. “You didn’t.”

“I’m sorry.”

He fans through the book just to have something to do with his hands.

You take in the remorse etched into his handsome face and you admire that even though he can be rash, he tries to clean up the messes he makes, pushing aside his ego when he needs to.

“We’re past it,” you conclude. You look at the laptop screen again, glad this will be a clean break. “Let’s write what we can about this book first and then go back to the other essay. What else did you like?”

Rafe expected that you’d bounce back after your rift. Your positivity is so relentless that it almost tires him out. But he needs to make sure you know he uttered those words out of disingenuous impulse.

“I didn’t really mean that we should end it,” he clarifies.

You look at him again, a crease formed between his brows.

“Are you trying to un-break up with me?” you tease. “This is awkward. I already started pretend-dating one of the other guys I tutor.”

“You tutor other guys?” he asks before thinking.

“I didn’t want you to find out like this,” you play along.

Rafe’s chest pinches. He doesn’t know why he assumed you exclusively tutored him. He thought he was the only one you see like this, the only one you ramble to and nag and joke with. Why does he hate that he’s not?

“Come on,” he murmurs, shoving past the unwelcome thought. “I know you miss me.”

You laugh. His typical brand of humor is detached and blunt and it’s nice to see another side of him, a playful side that makes him seem warm.

“I have to think about it.” You shrug. “Okay. We’re back together. I had a feeling you were just being mean the other night anyway.”

Rafe’s lips fall into a guilty frown. Without thinking, he scratches the back of his neck, grimacing and letting out a sharply exhaled fuck as his shoulder stings in pain.

“Are you okay?” you ask, serious now.

“Yeah,” he grunts.

“Convincing,” you say. “What is it?”

He sees no reason to hide it. You did tell him that he can vent to you and if there’s anyone he’d complain to about this, it’s you.

He���d rather not tell anyone on the team. Not even his closest friends. He doesn’t want to look weak.

“My shoulder’s fucked up,” he admits.

“Is it from that board check the other night?”

He nods and says, “Physio said it’s a strained muscle.”

“How bad?”

“I’m benched. He’ll look at it again before game two.”

“You mean you can’t play the first game of the championship?” you surmise.

Rafe’s tight expression tells you that you assumed correctly. You grimace sympathetically.

“Did he say if you can use anything to help with the pain?”

“Heat when it gets bad,” he says.

“I’ll be right back,” you say.

He watches you rush out, his forehead wrinkled in confusion. Moments later, you come back with an instant hot compress and place it on the desk in front of him.

“The library has a bunch of first aid kits,” you tell him, sitting back down.

“How’d you know that?” Rafe squeezes the package in one hand, the subdued pop cracking through the small room. “You really like it here that much?”

“A student of mine got a papercut once,” you explain with a laugh. “But yes, I do enjoy being surrounded by books.”

“Right,” he huffs, still in disbelief of how different you two are. “Thanks.”

He rests the package on top of his shoulder, comforting heat spilling through his t-shirt.

When Rafe lets out a velvety, satisfied groan, you find yourself flustered within half a second. Your mind sprints away from you. A mere sound has never made every inch of you tense like this before.

Your imagination can’t keep doing this to you, but it feels impossible to ignore the physical pull you’re starting to feel towards him.

You swallow hard and look at the laptop again, blinking.

This is bad.

You’re crossing the line and you need to yank yourself back into rationality. Rafe is a friend and all the affection he’s given you has been a sham and it’s disconcerting that you keep having to remind yourself of that.

You know he could never give you what you need in a relationship. The last time you saw him was cold, hard proof of that. He’s much too volatile to make a good boyfriend.

And that’s accompanied by a very big if he even likes you like that, which you highly doubt, given how easily you frustrate him. You refuse to overthink, to tumble into infatuation with another man who’ll just hurt you.

“Anyways,” you say, your eyes locked on the screen. “We really should get to work.”

════════

With ten minutes left of the session, Rafe’s laptop dies. You slide it towards him, disappointed you couldn’t upload the essay you’d just finished before the battery drained.

“Make sure to submit it before midnight,” you say. “Oh, and Lyla and Beck’s parents are hosting their birthday party on Saturday, so consider me unavailable for fake girlfriend duties that night.”

Rafe opens his backpack, pushing his laptop in as he mulls over your words. That sounds like the type of event you’d want him to come to.

“Do you need me there?” he asks.

“You were invited,” you say, “but I’ll say you were busy. You’d hate it. It’s an hour away, with a bunch of strangers you’d have to impress, and there’s obviously no way your ex would be there. I can do this on my own.”

Rafe stills before he speaks again.

“Do you need me there?” he repeats, more evenly.

It riled him up to see Emma leave the last party with another guy. To see his arm around her at the game. He hoped he’d be able to count on you to be by his side if he sees them together again this weekend.

But mostly, and more importantly, picturing you at that birthday party alone, in the same room with the guy who hurt you, all because you didn’t want to make Rafe feel forced into going, gnaws at him.

You stare at him, trying to make sense of his tight expression. It’s confusing that he’s still even in this room, asking if you want his help after you’ve given him an out.

“Are you sure?” you ask. You’re positive you’d be fine without him, but he’s sort of become a security blanket.

“I’ve… seen her around with some guy,” he tells you. “It’d be good to get away from campus. And I owe you for losing my cool the other night.”

“Do you even have a cool?” you chuckle.

Rafe glares at you, but it’s proven disingenuous by the small, dimpled smirk he chooses not to stifle.

“I hope I’m with you the next time you see them together,” you say. “Anyways, we can drive up together, then?”

Your eyes brighten with your smile. He doesn’t know if anyone has ever looked at him like that, purely and truly excited to spend time with him.

“A bunch of friends from high school will be there, and obviously Beck and Lyla’s parents, who basically consider me their daughter,” you continue, “so we’ll need to be convincing. It’s a casual dinner, then we’ll just hang out as long as we want. Can you pick me up at five?”

“Yeah,” he says. He stands up, pulling his bag over his good shoulder. “See you.”

You watch him pace towards the door, relieved that you’ll have him there, grateful that he's doing this for you even though you’re certain he really doesn’t want to.

“Hey,” you mumble. He looks at you again. You motion to his injury. “Be careful with your shoulder. And… you’re going to call me corny, but I’m really glad you’re coming.”

A few seconds of silence pass between you.

“You’re corny,” he replies.

You share a smile before he steps out of the study room into the quiet library.

Emptiness abruptly digs into his chest once he’s not with you, growing deeper the farther he walks away.

You’re unlike anyone he’s known. You don’t try to hide how much you care about him and you see things in him he didn’t know were there and you combat his temper with humor and with tenderness and with reassurance that makes him feel like he’s not irreversibly fucking up all the time.

He’s never felt like this before. Like the void he’s always trying to fill isn’t bottomless after all.

════════

Your exhale is shaky as Rafe exits the freeway with only a few minutes left of the drive to Beck and Lyla’s home.

You pull down the sun visor, gazing at your reflection. You’re suddenly quiet and fidgety after you’d chattered for most of the ride.

“What’s wrong?” he asks. “And why the hell do I have to ask?”

You chuckle, catching his implication that you typically blab about what’s bothering you without him having to check in.

“I don’t know how I’m going to look their parents in the eye and lie.”

“It’s that hard to pretend to like me?” Rafe murmurs. He’s glad there’s no edge to his tone, glad he can hide that your words stung him a little.

“No,” you chuckle. “When you’re being nice, I like you. Just not like that, obviously.”

Obviously. It’s happening again, the painful crook in his core, the tangled feelings that just keep twisting together.

He used to not care if you liked him. Because he didn’t like you. But your last conversation did something to him, something that was already quietly building up, something that he needs to strip before it sticks.

After every fight he had with Emma, he sensed the palpable cracks forming between them. With you, things felt stronger once you moved past your argument.

Fuck. Why is he thinking about you like you’re his actual girlfriend, comparing his last relationship? This is the last thing he needs.

“It just feels… official. Like I’m bringing a boy home,” you continue. “Nobody’s seen me in a relationship before and they might question your intentions and I don’t want it to be weird.”

You look in the mirror again.

“And I think I’m having a bad hair day. And a bad face day. And I kind of hate my outfit.”

Rafe can’t take your nonsense. Insinuating that you’re anything short of beautiful is the most ridiculous thing he’s heard you say.

He shuts the visor and utters, “You’re doing that overthinking shit again.”

“Okay, so, that’s a perfect example of you not being nice,” you laugh.

You know if you really liked him as more than a friend, his curtness would hurt you. It’s reassuring, the realization that your attraction to Rafe will never be more than physical.

You breathe a sigh, anticipating being with your friends again after you’ve parted ways to different colleges. You wonder if anyone’s changed in the few months since.

You glance over at Rafe.

“What were you like in high school?” you ask.

“The same,” he answers.

“So, just as warm and cuddly?” you tease.

He smirks. You smile like you do every time you crack his facade. It always makes you feel a little proud.

“Better when I started playing hockey,” he relents. “How about you?”

You purse your lips in thought.

“What do you mean better?” you prod.

Rafe’s in no mood to elaborate, stiffly repeating, “How about you?”

You roll your eyes. It’s like pulling teeth, getting this man to share anything.

“I haven’t really changed much,” you reply. He finds himself thinking that it’d be a shame if you ever did.

Rafe follows the GPS to pull into a quiet suburban street. He slows down in front of the house and parks. You gaze out your window to see helium balloons surrounding the front door and reach for the handle.

“Hey,” he rasps.

You turn your head to meet his eyes.

“You don’t need to freak out. We got this. And you…” He looks away. “You look good.”

The words are tight coming out of his mouth, like he really didn’t want to have to say them.

You start to thank him, but he’s already stepping out of the car.

════════

The party is so busy that you and Rafe disappear in the crowd. He stands close by as you catch up with your friends, remembering details about where they’ve gone after graduation, asking questions, making jokes.

When it’s time for dinner, you sit next to him at the table, diagonal to Beck, who has done nothing but flash you awkward smiles here and there.

He’s hardly spoken to you. You wish you weren’t doing it again, second-guessing if he really is jealous.

You feel a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“I didn’t get a chance to say hi,” Lyla’s mother says. You smile at her and sit up to give her a hug.

“There’s a lot of people,” you say understandingly.

“My kids are too social,” she jokes quietly, leaning over. She looks over at Rafe. “You must be…?”

“Rafe,” you say. His smile is faint, but believable.

“I hope you know I have to grill you a little,” she tells him.

“I know,” he says, glancing at you. “She warned me.”

He’s playing it entirely cool. You’re relieved. You had nothing to worry about. He has this handled.

“How’d you meet?” she asks.

“I’m his tutor,” you tell her.

“Always been a smart one,” she replies, squeezing your hand. “Is that what made you like her?”

Your eyes land on Rafe again, nerves pricking your spine.

“It’s… one a lot of things, yeah,” he says.

“What else?”

Rafe’s heart thrums.

“I don’t know anyone like her.” His eyes soften as he looks at you, the amusement in them replaced by a depth you’ve only ever seen in glimpses, when his guard slips a little. “And she has a good heart.”

“She does,” Lyla’s mother says, straightening to stand. “You better treat her right.”

“I will,” he says with a nod. When she steps away, you nudge his knee with yours.

“That was amazing,” you say. Your praise gives him a high.

“I’m a great liar,” he replies.

You nudge him again, laughing.

“I don’t care,” you say. “You can’t take any of that back.”

He wouldn’t want to anyway. It was the truth.

════════

After dinner, Beck and Lyla’s mother brings out an ornate cake, prompting the room to break out in song. You watch Beck and Lyla blow out the candles as everyone applauds.

“I’ll never forget what the nurse said the day you two were born,” their father announces as he stands by the head of the table, holding a glass up. “Even when they’re big, you’ll picture them this small. And it’s true.”

He looks down, nodding curtly, lips twisting.

“Here we go again,” Lyla laughs.

“He cries every year,” you explain to Rafe in a hush.

He gazes at your profile as their dad continues his toast. He was aware you knew Beck for a long time, for years, but seeing this makes it real.

He can picture it now, you spending your adolescence in this house, making memories with this family, falling for the guy sitting on the other side of the table who brushed you off, who’s blind to how happy you make everyone around you.

The night you sat on that kitchen counter in that frat house back on campus, your eyes deepened with a sadness that hardly ever comes across your face, and you told him what you saw in Beck. What made you fall for him.

Fun. Kind. Nice to everybody.

And it’s a reminder of why this fire that’s growing inside Rafe for you needs to be put out. He’s the antithesis of the guy you’re in love with. You’d never want him like that.

“I’m so proud of both of you,” their father continues. “Happy birthday.”

Rafe looks down at his plate, wishing he’d been prepared for the wave of pain that’s crashing down on him as the sounds of conversation and dishes rattling and joyous laughter ricochet across the room.

He hates to admit it to himself, but Beck has everything he wants, down to a father who’s proud of his son.

He glances over at you again, but you’re still looking at Beck, your smile both happy and sad, your eyes trained on the one person you’re doing all of this for.

════════

The party moves to the rec room after Beck and Lyla’s parents wish everyone a good night.

Rafe’s hand is in yours as you lead him down the carpeted stairs, then settle on the plush sectional couch next to him as you chat with your friends.

He always hated his impulsivity. He was just telling himself to put out the fire, but he only throws fuel onto it when he curls an arm around your waist, pulling you closer the moment Beck walks in.

You nuzzle in, shifting to look at him again, your noses nearly bumping from how close you are.

“It’s the other shoulder?” you confirm softly, making sure you aren’t putting pressure on where he’s hurting.

“Yeah,” he says.

You nod and absorb yourself back into the group’s conversation. Your back is pressed against his chest and he hopes you don’t feel how hard his heart is pounding.

But he knows that the way you make him feel isn’t unique to him. He sees it now that you’re with your friends. You make everyone feel this way, like you want them around.

Drinks start getting passed. You look at Rafe again.

“I’m staying sober tonight,” you tell him. “Thought I should reassure you that I won’t be inviting myself over for another sleepover.”

He wants to ask why that’d be such a bad thing and it’s like he left his sanity upstairs, because now he’s wondering what the hell he’s doing wanting to flirt with you.

“Everyone’s playing,” Lyla announces as she places a box in the middle of the coffee table. “And nobody’s allowed to sit out. You legally can’t say no to the birthday girl.”

“It’s my birthday, too,” Beck says.

“Who cares?” Lyla jokes, opening the box. “It’s truth or dare. We’ll take turns picking a card and reading it out loud and if you won’t do either or you fail at a dare, you have to drink.”

“Oh, no,” you whisper to Rafe.

“Just be happy you found a way to read at a party,” he replies.

You crack a genuine laugh. His lips pull into a smile as he watches you, gratified that the joy you’re feeling right now is entirely because of him.

You feel Beck’s stare on you from his spot on the couch a couple of people away. You look up at him and he looks away and it’s like a discombobulating shove into the past, reminding you of when you’d catch him staring and let your mind run away with daydreams.

The feeling of Rafe’s arm tightening around you grounds you in reality, but it also sends a rush of heat through you and you hate that it does that.

“Truth: what's something you're glad your family doesn't know about you?” Lyla reads out. “Or dare: keep your eyes closed for three full minutes. Easy. Dare.”

She closes her eyes, then points to her right. The game continues around the circle and when it’s your turn to pick, you select a card, feeling everyone but Lyla’s stare on you.

“Truth: what’s the last excuse you used to cancel plans? Dare: don’t laugh or smile until your next turn.”

“Worst dare you could’ve gotten,” Rafe murmurs.

“You’d never manage,” your friend, Marcus chuckles.

You laugh, then laugh again when you realize you just proved both of them right.

“Damn it,” you say. “You know what? I’ll take the dare.”

You put the card down on the table and exhale deeply, trying to focus.

Rafe’s eyes flit to Marcus, whose eyes stay on you longer than he’d like them to.

“Your turn,” you say to Rafe, stone-faced.

He’d rather not play this, but he’s supposed to be acting like a good boyfriend. Besides, there’s something about disappointing you that makes him feel worse than disappointing anyone else.

He leans forward, his arm lifting off of you for a moment, and picks up a card. His hand settles on your hip again as he reclines, his bicep hard against your back.

He’s only staring at the card, so you tilt your head back to read it aloud for him.

“When was the last time you cried? Or, let someone in the room write whatever they want on you with a permanent marker.”

You look at him, holding back your smile, knowing you’re both thinking the same thing. As his girlfriend, it’d make sense that you’d be the one to mark his body.

He would never admit to crying, especially to a group of strangers. The reminder of Emma’s words, of how she’d said he called her in tears, makes your stomach drop. Suddenly, not smiling doesn’t take any effort anymore.

“Dare,” you answer for him. “I need a marker.”

“I’ll get it. Someone help me,” Lyla says, her eyes still shut as she stands. She feels for her way around the room as one of your mutual friends stands up to accompany her. “Keep playing!”

The next person starts their turn, and you take Rafe’s free hand and rest his arm across his lap, gently to not tug too hard and strain his shoulder.

It’s a shock how instinctually you did it, how touching him is natural now, yet still manages to make your heart race a little faster every time you do it.

“I’m going for a meaningful one. I’m thinking my name,” you tease, running your finger up the length of the inside of his forearm, eyes travelling over the faint lines of veins, “from here to here. Sound good?”

“No,” he answers gruffly. You crack a smirk. “And you lost your dare.”

“Don’t tell,” you mumble, forcing your smile away. “You know I can’t hold my alcohol.”

When both girls come back downstairs, Lyla blindly hands you the marker. You meet Rafe’s stare before you look down at his arm.

“The card said whatever I want,” you say quietly, mischief in your tone.

He watches you lean in, eyelashes fluttering as you blink, lips pursing in thought. The wet ink hits the inside of his wrist and his stomach goes numb when you start to slide the smooth, thin end of the marker over him, your thumb gently pressing into his skin as you hold him steady.

Rafe stares as you concentrate, and he starts to breathe a little deeper simply because the way you smell has become a comfort now, a familiarity, a hit of dopamine.

You sit up seconds later. He looks down to see Room 205 written in small, black characters. Your study room.

“You’ll never forget where to go,” you say happily. “Well, until it washes off.”

You finally meet his eyes again. He’s wearing the same concentrated look you’ve seen before, like he’s trying to figure something out.

“What, did you really expect I’d write something that bad?” you say as you snap the cap back on the marker.

The group continues with the next round, and when it’s your turn again, you have to choose between sharing your biggest insecurity or whispering a secret to someone in the room.

“Dare,” you decide, putting the card on the table and leaning back, lifting your chin to whisper into Rafe’s ear.

He slightly angles his head so that nobody can read your lips, shivers spreading over his skin from the feeling of your cheek on his.

“You’re probably my favorite student that I’ve ever tutored,” you say quietly.

It’s not a lie. Even with all his flaws, Rafe has given you something you’re not sure anybody else would have. He came into your life at the perfect time, came up with the perfect idea, and you’re deeply grateful for it.

He hastily cups your jaw, his hand so large it covers your cheek completely, as he tilts your head so he can tell you something, too. His lips brush over the shell of your ear.

“Just probably?” he whispers back. “That’s bullshit.”

You pull back, laughing, your eyes lingering on him.

“Don’t start making out, please,” Lyla teases.

You roll your eyes and look at the group again.

“I’ll spare you all the PDA,” you reply.

“Why start now?” a friend jokes.

“Yeah,” Beck quietly huffs. An ache of confusion rattles through you.

The game carries on, but Beck’s eyes linger on you. He’s never looked at you like this before. And it makes you believe what Rafe has been telling you this entire time.

════════

You leave the party holding Rafe’s hand and untangle your fingers from his the moment you’re out of the house, the moment there aren’t any eyes on you.

Rafe’s palm is cold now that your touch is gone.

Again, he’s powerless to the way his heart does whatever it wants and doesn’t give his head a chance to catch up.

He wasn’t supposed to like you.

He never expected to.

But when he looks at you as you tread towards his car together and the hushed moonlight bathes your features in its glow and you offer him that smile that makes his heart splinter in a way it never has, he yields to the truth, unable to put up a fight any longer.

He’s hopeless. You’ve pulled him under. And he had no choice but to let you.

(to be continued)

>>> new parts drop every friday at 8:30 pm eastern

author’s note and the yearning (that eventually turns mutual) begins 🙂‍↕️

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[pankowcrumbs]

You Owe Me, Sweetheart X Eddie Munson

18+

Plot: Eddie helps you and now you owe him a favour of his choice.

MasterList

Stranger Things and Cast Masterlist

I’d been standing at the edge of the car park for a good five minutes, clutching my books to my chest like they might somehow shield me from the situation I’d stupidly landed myself in.

The sun was dipping low, casting long shadows across Hawkins High. Most people had cleared out already, the corridors quieting down to a dull hum.

And there he was Eddie Munson. Perched on the bonnet of his van like he didn’t have a care in the world, cigarette dangling from his lips, boots scuffed, a battered notebook balanced on his knee.

Everyone knew Eddie’s reputation. The Freak. The Dealer. The Outcast.

But that wasn’t what I saw.

I saw the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed, the way he played guitar with a kind of raw passion that made my heart stutter, the way he spoke like he meant every word, no matter how outrageous.

And God, I saw the way his rings glinted on his fingers big, strong hands, veined arms poking out of a torn Hellfire Club shirt.

I’d had a crush on Eddie Munson for longer than I cared to admit.

And now, thanks to a frankly horrific twist of fate involving a botched science project, a missing lab partner, and an unforgiving deadline, I needed him.

I shifted from foot to foot, anxiety gnawing at my gut.

He hadn’t noticed me yet or if he had, he was doing a bloody good job of pretending otherwise.

I could still back out. I could still turn around, figure something else out.

But then his head lifted, slow and deliberate, and his dark eyes locked onto mine.

A smirk tugged at his mouth, cocky and knowing.

Like he could read every panicked thought racing through my brain.

"Well, well," he drawled, flicking the cigarette away with a casual snap of his fingers. "If it isn't little Miss Good Girl herself."

I flushed, heat crawling up my neck.

"I..." I cleared my throat, hating how wobbly it sounded. "I need your help."

He leaned back on his hands, stretching out long legs, rings catching the last bit of sunlight. He looked so at ease it made me dizzy.

"If you need somethin’, darlin’," he said, voice slow and syrupy, "all you gotta do is ask."

My knees nearly gave out.

The way he said it rough, teasing, commanding like it wasn’t even a question but a foregone conclusion.

I squeezed my books tighter.

"It’s for the science fair," I rushed out, words tripping over themselves. "My partner bailed on me and I heard you’re good with electronics and I just..."

He raised an eyebrow, cutting off my nervous rambling with a lazy grin.

"You want me to help you build your project?"

I nodded, cheeks burning.

He tapped his chin, pretending to consider. "Hmm. What’s in it for me?"

I blinked, panic spiking. "I could pay you?"

He chuckled, a low rumble that did wicked things to my insides.

"Don’t want your money, sweetheart," he said. "Tell you what. You owe me a favour."

"A favour?"

"Yeah." His grin widened. "Could be anything. A ride somewhere. Help with homework. Carrying my gear. Whatever I feel like cashin' in."

The way he said it casual, almost lazy made my heart skip a traitorous beat.

I should have been wary. I should have said no.

But instead, I found myself nodding.

"Alright," I whispered. "A favour."

His eyes lit up, mischief and something darker flickering behind them.

"Deal," he said, hopping off the bonnet with a thud. He sauntered towards me, stopping way too close, close enough that I could smell the faint trace of smoke and leather clinging to him.

"Lead the way, princess," he murmured, voice curling around my brain like smoke. "Let’s get to work."

Eddie’s van was a mess papers, guitar picks, cassette tapes everywhere but somehow it suited him.

He insisted on blasting Black Sabbath as he soldered wires together, tongue poking out slightly in concentration, muscles flexing under his ratty T-shirt.

I sat on the floor, trying not to stare, trying not to let my mind wander.

It was hopeless.

Every time he made a snarky comment, every time he shot me a grin over his shoulder, every time he brushed past me, my heart threatened to break free of my ribs.

I was utterly, pathetically, hopelessly infatuated.

And he knew it.

I caught him smirking to himself more than once, like he could feel the tension crackling between us, like he was revelling in it.

At one point, he crouched down beside me to explain a connection, our knees bumping.

He pointed to the circuit board, his hand brushing mine, slow and deliberate.

"You’re shaking, sweetheart," he murmured, voice practically sinful. "You nervous? I don’t bite."

Not unless you ask me to, I thought wildly, biting the inside of my cheek.

"I’m fine," I squeaked instead.

He chuckled, dark and delighted.

"Liar."

By the time we finished, it was nearly dark.

The project looked... incredible. Way better than anything I could have pulled off alone.

I stared at it in awe, hands trembling with exhaustion and adrenaline.

Eddie stood back, arms crossed, watching me.

"So," he said. "Was I worth the risk?"

I blinked up at him.

"What?"

He shrugged, casual. "You didn’t want to ask me, right? Thought I’d laugh in your face. Tell you to piss off."

I swallowed hard. "I never thought you were a freak."

His eyes softened, just a fraction, and my chest squeezed.

"Yeah?" he said, voice almost gentle.

I nodded. "Yeah."

For a moment, the air between us felt heavy, charged.

He took a step closer, eyes never leaving mine.

"You ever need anything again, darlin’," he murmured, voice low and rough, "you come to me. Understand?"

I nodded again, helpless.

"Good girl," he said, and the praise hit me like a punch to the gut, stealing my breath.

Before I could recover, he reached out and brushed a strand of hair behind my ear, fingers lingering just a second too long.

Then he stepped back, smirking.

"I’ll be cashin’ in that favour soon, sweetheart," he said, backing towards his van. "Don’t you forget it."

I watched him drive away, heart hammering against my ribs, knees weak.

And I knew deep in my bones that whatever favour Eddie Munson wanted, I was absolutely, hopelessly doomed to say yes.

It had been three days since Eddie Munson helped me with my science project. Three days of me replaying every word, every smirk, every brush of his fingers through my hair like some hopeless sap.

And three days of waiting for the other shoe to drop.

I thought, maybe stupidly, that he’d forget. Maybe he was just winding me up about that "favour."

But when I opened my locker Friday morning, a scrap of notebook paper fluttered out and landed at my feet.

‘You owe me, sweetheart. Meet me behind the gym after last bell. Don’t be late. -Eddie’

I stared at it, heart hammering so hard I could feel it in my throat.

Behind the gym? What the hell was he planning?

I spent all day jumping at shadows. By the time the final bell rang, my palms were sweaty, my stomach a mess of nerves.

He was already there when I arrived lounging against the brick wall, battered leather jacket slung over one shoulder, chain on his jeans catching the sunlight.

When he spotted me, his grin lit up his whole face.

"There she is," he said, voice warm and teasing. "Was startin’ to think you’d chickened out."

"As if," I muttered, crossing my arms to hide how bloody shaky I felt.

He pushed off the wall and sauntered towards me, lazy and loose-limbed.

"Ready to cash in that favour, princess?"

I swallowed. "What exactly does it involve?"

He pretended to think, tapping his chin. "Hmm. Let’s call it... a not-date."

"A what?"

He laughed, grabbing my wrist gentle, but firm enough that my breath hitched and tugging me after him.

"You’ll see," he said. "Come on. You’re burnin’ daylight."

Turned out, Eddie’s idea of a "not-date" was driving half an hour out of town in his rattling van, windows down, music blaring.

He didn’t say where we were going. Didn’t even give me a chance to protest.

He just kept throwing me these sideways glances, smirking every time he caught me sneaking a look at him.

Which, honestly, was often.

How could I not? The way the wind ruffled his curls, the way he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the music it was like something out of a dream.

Eventually, he pulled off onto a dirt road, tires kicking up dust.

"You’re not gonna murder me and leave me in a ditch, are you?" I joked, only half teasing.

He shot me a wicked grin. "Depends. You scream a lot?"

I made a strangled sound, and he laughed like it was the best thing he’d ever heard.

We finally stopped at a little clearing tall grass, wildflowers, the whole lot. At the edge was a battered old blanket spread out under a tree.

My mouth dropped open.

"You set this up?"

He shrugged, like it was no big deal. "Thought you deserved a break after all that sciencing."

He grabbed a cooler from the back of the van and sauntered over to the blanket, plonking himself down with a dramatic sigh.

"Well?" he said, patting the space beside him. "You gonna stand there gawkin' all day, or you gonna come enjoy my five-star hospitality?"

I couldn’t help it I laughed. Really laughed.

And before I knew it, I was sinking down beside him, the late afternoon sun warm on my skin.

He’d packed sandwiches slightly squashed, but somehow charming and two cans of warm soft drink.

We talked about everything and nothing music, books, how shit Hawkins was and I found myself relaxing more with every passing minute.

Eddie was easy to talk to. Eddie was dangerous.

Because the more I laughed at his ridiculous jokes, the more I caught him looking at me like I hung the bloody moon, the deeper I sank.

And somewhere between arguing about the best Metallica album and watching the clouds drift lazily overhead, the air shifted.

I caught him watching me properly watching me and my stomach twisted itself into knots.

"What?" I said, half laughing, half terrified.

He shrugged, but there was something serious under the easy smile.

"You’re not what I expected," he said.

I blinked. "You expected me to be a bitch?"

He snorted. "Nah. Expected you to be... I dunno. Too good for the likes of me."

My heart cracked right down the middle.

"You’re not a freak, Eddie," I said, voice fierce.

He smiled, slow and soft, and God help me, I wanted to kiss him.

Maybe he saw it on my face. Maybe he was feeling the exact same thing.

Because a second later, he leaned in achingly slow, giving me time to pull away if I wanted to.

I didn’t.

His lips brushed mine, tentative at first, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed.

But when I sighed into him when I fisted my hands in the worn denim of his jacket he groaned low in his throat and kissed me properly.

Hot. Messy. Desperate.

It wasn’t neat or perfect, but it was real.

He cradled the back of my head in one hand, the other gripping my waist, pulling me against him like he couldn’t bear to leave even an inch of space.

When we finally broke apart, gasping, he rested his forehead against mine.

"Still not a date," he whispered, breathless.

I laughed, giddy and dizzy and completely lost.

"Definitely not a date," I agreed, voice shaking.

But we both knew we were lying.

The sun dipped lower, casting everything in gold.

We lay tangled together on the blanket, Eddie tracing lazy circles on my hip with calloused fingers, making my whole body shiver.

His hand slipped under the hem of my shirt, skimming over bare skin light, teasing touches that left me aching.

I turned my head, catching his gaze.

He looked so wrecked hair wild, pupils blown wide, mouth swollen from kissing.

"Can I?" he started, voice rough.

I answered by tugging him down to me, desperate for more.

His hand slid higher, cupping my breast through the thin fabric of my bra, thumb brushing over the sensitive peak.

I gasped into his mouth, arching into him.

He kissed down my jaw, my throat, scattering rough, reverent kisses that made my toes curl.

"You’re so fuckin’ soft," he murmured against my skin, like he was drunk on it.

He kissed lower, pulling my shirt up to mouth at my stomach, each kiss making my muscles jump.

I buried my fingers in his hair, tugging gently, and he growled low in his throat.

He kissed along the waistband of my jeans, teeth scraping lightly, and I whimpered.

"Eddie," I whispered, desperate and shaking.

He lifted his head, eyes dark and burning.

"Tell me to stop," he said, voice a low rasp.

I shook my head, pulling him back up to kiss me again, harder this time.

Clothes were pushed aside, touches growing more frantic, and when he finally slid inside me, it wasn’t hurried or rough it was slow, deep, aching.

Like he was trying to memorise every second. Like he needed it as much as I did.

Afterwards, we lay tangled together, breathing hard, Eddie’s fingers tracing lazy patterns on my bare back.

"You still think this wasn’t a date?" I mumbled against his chest, too blissed out to move.

He chuckled, low and smug.

"Nah, sweetheart," he said, pressing a kiss to my hair. "This was definitely a date."

I smiled, tucking myself closer against him.

For once, I didn’t care about reputations or gossip or any of the bullshit waiting for us back in Hawkins.

All that mattered was Eddie warm, solid, real holding me like he never wanted to let go.

Keeping things quiet sounded easy in theory.

In reality?

It was bloody impossible.

Especially when Eddie Munson was involved.

It started small. Little things.

The way he'd find me in the corridors between classes, brushing his fingers over mine when nobody was looking.

The way I'd catch him staring at me during lunch, this soft, stupid smile on his face, like he couldn't help himself.

The way he'd mouth something utterly filthy across the room something that turned my face scarlet and made me nearly choke on my sandwich then wink like the cocky bastard he was.

We were awful at hiding it.

Like, truly pathetic.

It didn’t help that Eddie was absolutely no help whatsoever. If anything, he enjoyed the risk of getting caught.

He’d catch me in the library, brush past just a bit too close, then smirk when I dropped my pen.

He’d mouth "Later, sweetheart" as he sauntered past my desk in science, leaving me a flustered, stammering mess.

And he always looked so bloody pleased with himself afterwards.

The rumours started before the week was out.

I heard snippets in the girls' toilets.

"Did you see the way Munson looked at her?" "Swear I saw them sneaking off together behind the gym." "She could do better, surely?"

It should've made me nervous.

Instead, every whisper made me feel a little giddy, a little more reckless.

Because for once, I didn't care what people thought.

I liked Eddie Munson. And he somehow, unbelievably liked me right back.

I should've known he wouldn't let it lie.

It was a Tuesday, halfway through lunch, when he did it.

I was sitting with some of my friends, pretending not to watch Eddie across the room even though he was making it impossible by looking over every thirty bloody seconds.

I was mid-sip of my drink when suddenly, bang the screech of a chair dragging across the floor made me jump.

Everyone turned to look.

And there was Eddie standing on the lunch table like a man possessed, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

I nearly died on the spot.

He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, loud enough to shake the rafters:

"Alright, Hawkins High! Since you’re all so bloody nosy" (I buried my face in my hands.) "let me clear a few things up, yeah?"

A few people laughed. Others were just gawping, forks halfway to their mouths.

"I am head over heels for Y/N," Eddie declared, voice ringing out, proud and utterly shameless. "Completely, stupidly, hopelessly in love with her."

The cafeteria exploded.

Cheers, whistles, people banging on tables.

I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me whole.

But then he looked at me properly looked all soft eyes and secret smiles, and something in my chest just melted.

"Y/N," he said, over the noise. "Come up here, sweetheart."

I shook my head furiously, laughing.

"No way!"

"C’mon," he coaxed, reaching out a hand. "Don’t leave me hangin’."

People started chanting.

"Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!"

Before I could lose my nerve, I scrambled up not very gracefully onto the table, gripping his hand tight.

He pulled me close, grinning like a lunatic.

"You ready to really give ‘em somethin’ to talk about?" he whispered.

And then he kissed me.

Right there, in front of everyone.

It wasn’t a quick peck, either. It was full-on, dizzy, toe-curling, I never want to stop kissing.

The cafeteria went mental.

Wolf-whistles, clapping, someone actually started banging a tray like a drum.

When we finally broke apart, breathing hard, Eddie was beaming.

"We’re so bloody busted," I panted, half laughing, half terrified.

And right on cue

"MR MUNSON! MISS Y/L/N!" A furious shout from across the room.

Mr. Clarke, the science teacher, red-faced and charging towards us.

Eddie grabbed my hand, his eyes sparkling with pure mischief.

"Run!"

We leapt down from the table nearly sending the lunches on it flying and tore out of the cafeteria, hand in hand, both of us laughing so hard we could barely breathe.

"GET BACK HERE!" Clarke bellowed behind us.

"Not a chance!" Eddie yelled back, cackling like a madman.

We sprinted down the corridor, past the lockers, past the stunned faces of other students peeking out of classrooms.

My heart was pounding, adrenaline singing through my veins.

We finally burst through the side doors into the sunlight, collapsing against the wall, gasping for air.

Eddie looked at me, flushed and breathless and utterly beautiful.

"You’re mad," I wheezed, still laughing.

He grinned, wide and wicked. "Yeah, but you love it."

And bloody hell, I really, really did.

I grabbed his jacket, pulled him down, and kissed him again fierce and giddy and completely, utterly in love.

From inside, we could still hear Clarke shouting.

"Think he’s gonna kill us?" I murmured against his lips.

Eddie just laughed, wrapping his arms tight around me.

"Totally worth it, sweetheart," he said.

And I believed him.

Every bloody word.

[porcelainstarrr]

CHAPTER 13

⌖

6 months later

It’s been months.

Since… well, you know.

And life has been great.

Well, great is a strong word.

Acceptable is better. Manageable. Normal.

Or at least, it passes for normal these days.

Work has been okay. A little dull, a little quiet.

Gigi went through a breakup.

A really bad one.

Everything in Brooklyn reminded her of him, his coffee order, his bar, his street. So she moved. 

To Hell’s Kitchen, 

of all places.

She hates it here. Says the people walk too slow, and the pizza’s too floppy. But we see each other more now, which makes her feel better. And me, too.

I met someone.

His name’s Mason.

Four months ago, Gigi dragged me to some bar. I wasn’t in the mood to flirt or mingle.

But she introduced us anyway.

Mason had this calm about him. Like nothing rattled him. Nice voice. Pretty eyes. That kind of hair you want to touch just to see if it’s as soft as it looks. We talked. About books, weirdly. About French toast and bad tattoos and the psychology of dreams. 

We started dating. Slowly. A coffee here. A walk there.

Then more.

He’s kind. Smart. Dependable.

He listens. He cooks. Hes normal.

And I like him. I really do.

He’s been… a good distraction.

─────── ⌖ ───────

The sun slipped through the blinds in narrow stripes, dusty gold slants cutting across the edge of the dresser, the floor, the rumpled sheets tangled around my legs.

My eyes blinked open to the sound of soft breathing behind me. Warmth at my back. A weightless kind of comfort.

I didn’t smile. But I didn’t frown either.

Just lay there a moment. Still. Letting the quiet of the morning settle into my lungs.

My alarm had already gone off, somewhere between dream and routine, but I hadn’t hit snooze. Just silenced it. Let myself drift a minute longer, head buried half in the pillow, half in the space between.

I finally shifted. Sat up. Brushed a hand through my hair. The blanket slipped down my arm as I swung my legs over the side of the bed, the hardwood cool against my bare feet.

I padded to the bathroom without looking back.

Light flicked on.

The ritual began the way it always did. shower. hair. makeup. I looked at myself for a beat too long. Not vanity. No doubt. Just… staring. Then I turned away. Pulled my hair back. Clipped it half-up. Let the rest fall. Back in the bedroom, the bed creaked as I stepped past it.

“Babe,” I said, nudging the blanket at his shoulder, “you’re gonna be late.” A groan from the other side of the mattress. A lazy arm thrown over his eyes. I paused. Just for a second. Just long enough to notice that I’d said it automatically.

Then I moved on.

The kitchen was still dark except for the strip of light under the cabinets. I flicked the switch. Pulled two mugs from the shelf, lined them up. Started the coffee. Sliced fruit. Toasted bread. I moved efficiently, rhythm in my bones, routine wrapped around me like armor.

He shuffled in a few minutes later, hair messy, eyes half-shut. He kissed me on the cheek as he passed. I offered a small smile without turning my head.

“You want scrambled or over-easy?” I asked.

“Scrambled,” he mumbled while making the coffee.

I cracked the eggs into the pan. No second thoughts. No hesitation. Just cooking. Just moving.

Just another morning.

I didn’t think about the silence. Didn’t question the absence of butterflies. Didn’t sit in the space between comfort and something unnamed. Because everything was fine. My job was stable. My apartment was nice. He was kind. Dependable. Normal.

And I was here. Awake. Fed. Functional.

I stirred the eggs.

Added salt. Pepper. Folded the heat through.

Behind me, he hummed a song under his breath, some pop track from the radio I didn’t really like. I didn’t say anything. Just plated the food and handed it to him.

He smiled. I smiled back.

─────── ⌖ ───────

It was almost 5. My shift was nearly done, and I was dragging my cursor through the same patient report I'd already re-read twice. I wasn’t tired. I wasn’t distracted. I was just... elsewhere. Somewhere suspended between the click of my mouse and the sound of muffled footsteps in the hallway outside my office.

I saved the file, minimized the screen, and stared at my reflection in the dark monitor. My face looked the same. My hair was pulled back. My eyes were clear. But there was something faint in my expression, something distant, maybe. A softness I didn’t wear for anyone here.

I packed up slowly. Grabbed my coat off the hook. Slid my phone into my pocket and walked toward the exit, badge tucked in the bag, shoes quiet against the tile. The air in the hallway felt recycled and a little too cold, like always.

When I stepped outside, the wind was sharp. Evening had settled over Hell’s Kitchen. Lights flickered on one by one across buildings. Headlights rolled down the streets. And as I always did, without meaning to, I glanced up.

The light was off.

It usually was.

Still, every time I passed by the facility, I looked. Just for a second. Just to see. Just to wonder if, maybe, someone might be watching from behind the glass.

He never was.

The sidewalk was busy, but I walked slowly, letting the chill bite into my coat. My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out.

Mason: Hey, won’t be staying over tonight. Something came up. I’ll call you later.

I stared at the text for a moment. no explanation, Not that I needed one.

Me: okay.

I locked my phone. Slid it back in.

Honestly, I didn’t care. Not really. Not in a way that mattered. There was no sting. No deep exhale. Just a quiet note of relief, like the silence had arrived before the message did.

I called Gigi.

She picked up after the second ring. "What’s up?"

“Can you stay over tonight?” I asked. “Mason bailed. I don’t feel like being alone.”

There was a pause, then her voice softened. “Yeah. Of course.”

I smiled. A real one. Small. Grateful.

“Alright see ya”

I hung up, pulled my coat tighter, and kept walking.

─────── ⌖ ───────

The apartment smelled like soy sauce and sweet chili. Two sets of chopsticks clinked against plastic containers, and some overly dramatic reality show played on the screen, casting a soft blue light across the room. Gigi was curled up sideways on the couch, wearing an old band tee and mismatched socks, hair scraped back in a bun so messy it was practically abstract art. She shoved a piece of chicken into her mouth and pointed at the screen with the chopsticks.

“Okay, but if this man cries one more time over someone he’s known for 72 hours, I’m applying to be on season six.” I snorted, tucking my feet under the blanket. “You wouldn’t survive five minutes. You’d get eliminated for bullying the other contestants.”

“Yeah, probably,” she said, unapologetic. “But at least I wouldn’t cry on national television because someone ignored me after a group date in Fiji.” I smiled and sipped my drink, letting the fake drama hum in the background while the silence between us turned into something quieter. Softer. After a minute, Gigi looked over at me. Not with teasing. Not with sass. With real eyes. That gentle shift she only did when something was eating at her.

“So,” she said slowly, “how’s Mason?”

I shrugged. “He’s okay.”

Gigi raised a brow. “Just okay?”

I didn’t answer.

She sat up a little straighter, kicked her feet out, and stabbed a dumpling like it owed her money. “Alright, no. Speak. What’s wrong?” I let out a breath, stared down at my food. The words came slower than I expected. “He’s… nice. Like, genuinely nice. Sweet. Normal. He does everything right. Texts back. Picks good restaurants. Folds my laundry when he’s over.”

“That sounds fake,” she deadpanned.

I huffed a tiny laugh, but it didn’t last long.

“It’s not him,” I said quietly. “It’s me. Shouldn’t I feel something by now? Shouldn’t I be excited to see him? Texting him all the time? Butterflies? That stupid can’t-wait-to-touch-you stage everyone talks about?”

Gigi didn’t say anything. She just kept listening.

“I don’t feel any of that. Not even a flicker. And it’s been months. Other girls are, like… in love by now. They get giggly. Obsessive. I feel like I’m dating my accountant.”

“Well, is he good in bed?” Gigi asked.

I gave her a look. “Yeah”

“See, that makes it worse,” she muttered.

I nodded slowly. “It just feels like I’m going through the motions. Like I’m doing all the things I’m supposed to, but none of it lands. I like him. I do. But sometimes I’m sitting across from him at dinner and all I can think is… this should feel different.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind of pause only best friends could live in. She picked at her noodles. I sipped my drink again.

Then she said it.

“Have you thought about Dex?”

I stiffened. Just barely.

“Don’t.”

“What?” she asked, feigning innocence. “You think if I say his name three times he’s gonna spawn out of nowhere like Beetlejuice?”

I cracked a laugh despite myself. 

“I’m serious,” she said, she slowly whispers. “Dex, Dex, Dex-”

“Gigi-”

she yells “Dex.”

I threw a napkin at her. She ducked. We both smiled.

Then it passed.

“Any updates?” she asked gently. “Have you heard anything?” I shook my head. “Nothing. I don’t even know if he’s still inside. I can’t check the system. He’s not mine anymore.” Gigi shifted, leaned against the couch back and looked at me. Really looked.

“Do you want to know?”

I paused.

“I don’t know.”

We sat in that. TV muted. Just the soft, distant hum of city traffic and sirens, with the clink of her chopsticks against plastic.

“You know, sometimes,” I said, “when I leave work, I look up at the windows. I don’t know why. I just… I think about him standing behind the glass. Watching. Like maybe I’d catch a glimpse of him or something. But there’s nothing. It’s just windows.”

Gigi nodded slowly. “You miss him.”

“Yeah.”

We didn’t speak for a while after that. She reached over and squeezed my knee. I squeezed back. Then she shifted to lie back down again, arms behind her head, staring up at the ceiling. “You know,” she said softly, I looked at her, expecting something sweet. Something genuine.

“I hate him”

I chuckled 

“ And he scares the shit out of me. I genuinely don’t know how you sat in the same room as him, and fell in love with him. He looked at us once from that window and my heart dropped to my ass.”

Our laughs grew.

talking about him after months made me feel better, but I hate admitting that it makes me miss him more. 

─────── ⌖ ───────

COUPLE WEEKS LATER.

It’s been weeks 

since the night-in with Gigi.

Since the takeout containers and cheap wine. Since we sat on my couch with a trashy reality show blaring and whispered his name like a curse word we didn’t want to wake. Since we laughed a little too hard at things that probably weren’t funny, just so we wouldn’t cry.

Life marched on, as it always does.

Work stayed the same, charts, patients, fluorescent lights that buzz just a little too loudly. We still had our Friday night hangout. We still swapped dry gossip about people we barely knew. Everything felt fine.

But only on the surface.

Lately, 

She’s been… 

off.

Not in the obvious ways. She’s still Gigi. Still sharp and sarcastic, still brutally honest when I need her to be. But there are pauses now. Delays. Flickers of something unreadable in her face when she thinks I’m not looking.

Like last Thursday.

We were walking back from some overpriced juice place she swore was “liquid crack in a bottle,” and halfway through her rant about someone who wore kitten heels to a warehouse party, she stopped talking. Just… stopped.

Her steps slowed for half a second, then sped up. She walked ahead of me, not looking back, not even noticing she’d lost me for a moment.

“Hey,” I said, catching up. “You good?”

She blinked, like she'd just come back to herself. “Yeah. Yeah, sorry, I zoned out. What were you saying?”

I let it go.

Maybe she really was tired. We’re all tired.

But it kept happening.

Tiny things.

She started ending calls earlier than usual. We’d be mid-convo and she’d say something like, “Hey, I’ll call you back,” except she didn’t. Or she’d glance over her shoulder on the sidewalk like she was expecting someone to be there. Once or twice, I caught her looking past me while we talked, beyond me. At the street. At a building. At nothing.

I asked her again one night after dinner, while she picked at the ice in her glass with a straw.

“G?”

She looked up. “Hm?”

“You’ve been kinda weird lately. Everything okay?”

Her mouth twitched like she wanted to lie convincingly, but she didn’t put in the effort. “I’m fine,” she said. “Just distracted. Work’s been ass.”

I narrowed my eyes. “That’s always your excuse.”

She smiled, but it didn’t touch her eyes. “It’s always true.” And then she changed the subject. Just like that.

We moved on.

But it stuck with me. That flicker in her eyes.

She’s not cold. Not distant. But she’s somewhere else.

Like her body’s still sitting next to me, but her head’s blocks away, watching for something I can’t see.

And I don’t know what it is.

Not yet.

Something is off.

And she’s not telling me what.

⌖

One random late afternoon.

We were at a café that was half-full, quiet enough to talk, busy enough not to feel watched. The air smelled like espresso and rain on pavement. We sat near the window, at the corner table we always took when we needed a few hours off from pretending everything was fine. She was stirring her tea like she was trying to make it disappear. I was talking, something about work, maybe, or my new patient who wouldn’t stop quoting Hemingway. I wasn’t even finished with the sentence when I noticed her eyes shift.

Not casually.

Sharply. Like something had snapped her attention.

She was looking out the window.

Her face didn’t change, but her posture did, shoulders stiffening, breath caught just enough to notice.

I stopped mid-sentence. “What?”

She blinked, then turned back to me too quickly. “Nothing. Thought I saw someone I used to know.”

“Someone from where?”

“Nowhere. Not important.” She waved her hand, too flippantly. “I was wrong. Just looked like someone.”

I looked too.

I looked around the cafe, no one looked familiar. I looked outside from the cafe’s window right next to me.

There was no one. Just a woman pulling a suitcase behind her. A kid with a plastic bag swinging from his wrist.

Nothing unusual.

But she wasn’t listening to me anymore.

She nodded along as I picked up where I left off, but her eyes didn’t fully meet mine. Her fingers didn’t stop moving, fidgeting with her cup, her sleeve, a sugar packet she’d already torn in half.

And when I mentioned the Hemingway patient again, she gave me a response that didn’t match the question.

She was here.

But not really.

And I didn’t say anything.

Because she’d already told me it was nothing.

Even if her tea had gone cold.

Even if she hadn’t touched her croissant.

Even if I could feel it, that something was shifting again.

Quietly.

Slowly.

Just beneath the surface.

⌖

TODAY. 

The streetlights were already on when we left the bookstore. We’d been there for hours, half-reading things we weren’t going to buy, loitering in the way we always did when we didn’t want to go home yet. Gigi had picked up some paperback with a half-naked knight on the cover and started reading the dialogue aloud in a dramatic British accent. I was laughing so hard I almost knocked over a display of poetry anthologies.

Normal.

It felt normal.

Until it didn’t.

The shift happened on the walk back. Subtle. Quick. The way she fell quiet too suddenly. Her steps grew faster, like she was trying to outrun her own shadow. Her hand was stuffed deep in her coat pocket, the other holding an untouched coffee she’d bought and never sipped. Her jaw had tensed. I could hear it in her silence, the kind that wasn’t comfortable anymore. I caught up with her just before we reached my building. “Hey,” I said, bumping my shoulder against hers. “You okay?”

She glanced at me, forced a small smile. “Yeah. Just tired.”

We climbed the stairs. I opened the door to my place, let her in first. She set her coffee down on the table like it offended her. I watched her for a second. Something was eating at her. I could feel it. Like smoke before fire. It made my skin itch. I kicked off my boots and followed her into the kitchen. She stood by the window, arms folded. She wasn’t looking out. Not really. Just… standing.

“Gigi,” I said carefully, “I know something’s off. Just tell me.”

She didn’t turn.

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“You’re lying.”

I said it quietly. Not like an accusation. More like a fact. She sighed, finally turning her head, her eyes meeting mine across the small kitchen.

Then she said it.

“I thought I saw someone. That’s all.”

“Who?”

She shrugged. That same casual shrug she always used when she didn’t want to talk about something. “I thought it was someone from back home. Doesn’t matter. I was wrong.” Her tone was flat. Not defensive. Not warm. Just… rehearsed.

And I couldn’t push further. Not without it feeling wrong.

So I let it hang.

The kitchen filled with the quiet tick of the wall clock, the low hum of the radiator. She moved to the sink, ran cold water over her hands for no reason at all, then wiped them on her jeans.

I didn’t press.

Not yet.

Because maybe she really did think she saw someone.

And maybe it really didn’t matter.

Or maybe, it mattered more than anything, and she was doing everything she could to keep it from spilling out. Either way, the quiet wasn’t peaceful anymore. And I didn’t know why.

I didn’t move.

I just stood there, near the table, watching her rinse her hands like she’d touched something that wouldn’t come off. She dried them on her jeans again, still not looking at me. “You thought it was someone from back home,” I repeated quietly. “Who?”

“I told you. It doesn’t matter.”

“Was it…” I trailed off, but only for a beat. “Was it him?”

That made her look up.

Not fast. Not startled.

Just a flick of her eyes in my direction.

Then back down again.

I took a step closer. “Gigi.”

“I said it was nothing.”

“Okay, but you flinched when your phone buzzed. You keep looking over your shoulder. You haven’t finished a single coffee in two weeks, and you never zone out like this unless you’re spiraling or haunted. So which is it?”

Her jaw clenched.

I tried again. Softer this time. “Is he bothering you again?”

That godawful ex of hers. The one who cheated. Lied. Made her feel like she was too much and not enough all at once. The one whose friends used to follow her home. The reason she left Brooklyn in the first place.

I kept going.

“Did you see him? Is he here? Because you know if he’s showing up, if he’s trying to start shit again-”

“No,” she cut in.

I blinked. “No, as in you didn’t see him? Or?”

“No, as in… it wasn’t him.”

She turned fully then, leaning her hip against the counter, arms crossed.

Her voice was steady now.

“I thought I saw someone. I was wrong. It wasn’t him. It wasn’t anyone.”

“Gigi…”

“I promise.” She gave me a smile. That fake kind. The kind that’s meant to be reassuring, but sits all wrong on her face. I didn’t know what to say.

So I nodded. Slowly. “Okay.”

She pushed off the counter and moved toward the living room like nothing had happened. Like I hadn’t asked. Like we hadn’t almost stepped into something too big to name.

And I let her go.

But in the back of my mind, something stuck.

When she said it wasn’t him, I’m convinced she’s lying. But for some reason, I could tell, she’s not.

─────── ⌖ ───────

Heyyyyyyy

Hope you all enjoyed this chapter. I’ll try my best to upload Chapter 14 today, if not, then hopefully tomorrow {I’ve got a final exam tomorrow so please bear with me}

Andddd guys… y’all are tooooo freakkyyy. I hear you, smut is on the way. Be patient. 

Anywaysss, enjoyyyyyy!!!

Yours truly, Raey ♡

─────── ⌖ ───────

[jackhammerhim]

Sad to say that I WAS a crazy ex girlfriend. But being crazy isn't what made me a crazy ex girlfriend. Being a GIRLFRIEND made me a crazy ex girlfriend.

[luv-again]

wondering whether i shld just jump back into my cryptic castle fic now that i've left it for almost a good couple weeks

[gor3sigil]

Before starting T, when I socially transitionned, I was surrounded by radical feminists who saw masculinity as gross and inherently evil, something to avoid, something to make fun of, something to destroy. The other transmascs in my friend group, sometimes, told me that they didn’t knew if they really were non-binary or if they just were scared shitless of saying “I am a man”. Because they saw this as a betrayal to their younger self who had been SAd and abused.

I saw many of my masc friends and trans men around me hate themselves, not outing themselves as men because it would imply so so much, it was like opening the Pandora Box. Even when we were just together, talking about our masculinity was always coated with bits like “I know we’re the privileged ones but…”, “I don’t want to sound like I have it bad but…”, “Women obviously have it worse, but last time…” and we were talking about terrible traumas we experienced while taking all the precautions in the world in the case the walls were a crowd of people in disguise waiting to get us if we didn’t downplay the violence we faced, or like crying and being upset and being traumatized and afraid and scared and to say it out loud would make us throw up the needles we were forced to swallow every second of every day living in our skin.

Most of us weren’t on T yet, some of us were catcalled every day and harassed in the streets or in abusive relationships nobody seemed to care to help them get out of because they were “strong enough” to do it by themselves.

I was using the gender swap face app and cried for ours when I saw my father looking back at me through the screen. The idea of transforming, of shedding into a body that would deprive me of love, tenderness, and safety, was absolutely terrifying. I knew I couldn’t stay in this body any longer because it wasn’t mine, but I also knew that if I was going to look like my dad, my brother, my abusers, it would be so much worse.

5 years later and I’m almost 2 years on T, and almost 2 months post top surgery.

I ditched my previous group of friends. I was bullied out of my local trans community. But let me tell you how free I am.

I was scared that T would break my singing voice: it made it sound more alive than ever.

I was scared that T would make me less attractive: it made me find myself hot for the first time in my life.

I was scared that T would make me gain weight: it did. But the weight I put on is not the weight I used to put on by binging and eating my body until I forgot that it even existed. It’s the weight of my body belonging to me, little by little. The wolf hunger for life.

I won’t tell you the same story I see everywhere, the one that goes “I started going to the gym 8 times a week, I put on some muscles, I started a diet and now I look like an action film actor”, in fact if you took pictures of me from 5 years ago vs now I’d just have more acne, I’d have longer hair and still look like I don’t know what to do with myself when I take selfies.

But the sparkle in my eyes, my smile, tell the whole story way better than this long ass stream of words could ever.

I want to say some things that I wish someone told me before starting medically transitionning.

It’s okay to take your time. It’s your body, it’s your journey, if you don’t feel comfortable taking full doses and want to go slow, the only voice you need to listen to is your own. Do what feels right.

If you feel overwhelmed, it’s okay to take a break, it’s okay to ask for support.

Trans people are holy. Everyone is. You didn’t lose your angel wings when you came out because you want to be masculine. You are not excluded from the joy of existence, from being proud of yourself, from being sad, from being scared, from being angry. The emotions and feelings you allowed yourself to feel while processing what you experienced when you grew up as a girl and was seen as a woman are still as valid as before. Nobody can take that from you. If someone tries to, don’t let them.

It’s perfectly normal to grieve some things you were and had before you started to transition, like your high soprano voice or even your chest. Hatching is painful. You can find comfort in things that don’t feel right, so making the decision to change can be incredibly scary and weird and you deserve to be heard and supported through this. Wanting top surgery doesn’t make the surgery less intense, less terrifying, less painful to recover from. When it becomes too much you have the right to take a break and take some deep breaths before going on.

You don’t have to have a radical, 180° change for your transition to be acceptable or valid or worthy of praise. Look at how far you’ve come already. It doesn’t have to show, you’re not made to be a spectacle, you’re human and it is your journey.

Oh, and last thing, you know when some people say “Oh this trans person has to grow out of the cringy phase where you think that you can write essays about being trans or transitionning or just their experience because it’s weird” ? If you ever hear this or see this online, remember all the people whose writing you read and, even if they were not professional writers, helped you more than any theorists did ? If you want to write, do it. It won’t be a waste. It can help people. Or it won’t, and even then, if it helped you, that’s enough.

Love every of my trans siblings, take care of yourselves. You deserve the world.

[arhvste]

“this is killing me.” kuroo mumbled as he tossed his phone to his side. “just trust me bro,” his best friend-turned roommate bokuto grinned. “this works everytime for me i swear!”

kuroo sighed before grabbing phone again to refresh his instagram story views once more. several people had already viewed the post-gym mirror selfie he’d taken in attempts to garner attention from one particular follower of his; you. “maybe it’s too cringe…” he muttered while over analysing the photo that had already gained a couple of likes within the twenty minutes it had already been up for. “nah.” bokuto reassured him and pat his friend on the shoulder. “you look sexy.” kuroo stared back at the two-toned haired boy. “… thanks bro.”

this isn’t something kuroo would typically post but times were tough and he was desperate. he’d seen you around campus but luck was not on his side when it came to scheduling and the two of you barely had class time together. yet the little class time you did share, kuroo hung onto it tightly and would let scenes of these weekly one hour classes replay in his head more often than he’d like to admit.

“i feel like a modern jay gatsby,” the ex volleyball captain huffed. “my selfie is the equivalent of the wild parties he’d throw in hopes to get daisy’s attention except i don’t want to post every night, i’ve already made myself cringe with this one post.” bokuto stared back at his friend blankly. “yeah… whatever that means.” kuroo frowned back “it’s a classic, you should know what i mean!”

how much longer was he going to have to wait? bokuto had promised him quick results with this method and so far he’d felt deceived and lied to. if talking to you when he got the chance wasn’t enough to get a conversation going outside the classroom, then social media seemed like the next best attempt to start interacting more.

what were you doing? why weren’t you viewing his story? could you even see his story? did he accidentally block you?

these questions ran through his mind as he quickly rushed to check to make sure he hadn’t for some reason blocked you from seeing his story. he half wished he did because then at least he’d know what on earth was taking you so damn long to see the photo he was increasingly starting to hate more the longer it was posted.

“this is stupid.” he stated as he faced bokuto who had zero concerns in his method in gaining someone’s attention. “it works you just have to wait, trust me.”

kuroo frowned as the little red hearts of others who weren’t you fluttered from the bottom corner of the photo. “look!” his best friend grinned as he leaned over kuroo’s shoulder and pointed to the screen of his phone. “you’re getting likes on it!”

“what’s the point if they’re not likes from the person i posted this for in the first place.” kuroo grumbled back in response. he couldn’t believe he’d been subjected to such an attempt to gain some attention from you. it was ridiculous.

it had been about forty five minutes since he’d posted it and he was slowly losing his mind. sure, the post was going to be up for twenty four hours (if he didn’t give into the voices in his head telling him to delete it) so forty five minutes was nothing, but the minutes were beginning to feel like hours and he was dying inside. why weren’t you viewing it already and what could possibly be keeping you off your phone right now?

“this is stupid.” he decided as notifications from his old team mates started to flash up on his screen. the last thing he needed was lev replying with ‘looksmaxing’ to a post that was secretly dedicated to you. “no, it’s barely been up!” bokuto whined. “you look hot so you should get some replies anyway what’s the big deal?”

pinching the bridge of his nose, kuroo huffed. “the big deal is the person i posted this for hasn’t replied!” what was the point in making sure to go to the gym during a rest day just to take this photo if he wasn’t going to at least make his existence more known to you? he’d even worked his legs enough to the point of managing to achieve the sweaty but sexy look. the muscles in his legs were dying, but his dignity sure as hell wouldn’t.

the college student opened up his phone with the intention to end the mental war inside his head once and for all by deleting the post altogether. bokuto watched his friend in defeat but his eyes flashed. “yes they did!” he yelled and pointed to the screen as your name flashed at the top of his screen.

kuroo’s heart jumped at the sight of your profile picture he’d made a daily routine of staring at and the now blue dot indicating a message from your profile in his inbox. to think he was going to delete this post just a second too, what were the chances?

psyching himself up, kuroo took a few quiet deep breathes before letting the time next to your message pass for a few minutes. he wasn’t an instagram warrior by any means, but he knew enough about general rules in order to not look desperate online.

bokuto watched over his friends shoulders as the two stared in anticipation awaiting the message kuroo had been dying for. this was it. leg day two times in a row was gruelling and he’d regret it for the next few days but it would have been worth it. the countless messages from his old teammates mocking his attempts at a thirst trap could be looked past now that you had finally given into the bait he’d so carefully laid. this is what he’d been waiting for. days of preparing and deciding how to gain your attention had finally paid off and he was about to reap the rewards he’d sown.

clicking the message with baited breath, his heart raced as bokuto’s grip of his shoulder tightened. finally.

‘the label on your shirt is sticking out, make sure to cut it’

“a wins a win.” bokuto filled the silence between the pair as kuroo stared at his phone with a blank expression. “… a wins a win…”

[14dayswithyou]

Some long-term followers may have noticed this subtle shift already (especially those who are in the 14DWY Discord server or have read this post), but I figured I'd make it official.

I'm no longer associating myself with the yandere VN community.

The TLDR is that the energy here really fuckin SUCKS!! And I don't want to be part of something so hostile and needlessly competitive.

The constant infighting and epicaricacy between communities is deeply upsetting, and it's very disheartening to see aspiring developers cancel their projects because of the unwarranted backlash and harassment they face.

Some entitled folks on here reeeeally need to understand that constantly harassing others for updates, encouraging developers to belittle others to make themselves/their project look better, complaining about a project not meeting the expectations you specifically put in place, attacking other communities because of the parasocial relationship you share with another developer, getting mad that you chose to ignore important PSAs or warnings and faced the repercussions, or even sending in hate messages on anon because you're bored are not things you should be doing — let alone be proud of.

I try to avoid bringing up these topics as it's not the vibe I want to have on this blog (nor do I want to negatively contribute to the Streisand Effect and blow things out of proportion), but I'm genuinely getting tired of being on the receiving end of all this harassment and negativity, seeing it happen to others, and watching other indie developers encourage such vile behaviour. I'm done.

For those wondering what this means for "14 Days With You": for the most part, everything will still continue like usual. I've said this from the very beginning, but 14DWY is just a passion project I pursue whenever I feel like it. It's something I do for fun as a hobby — not because I want to publish a well-known game or turn it into a career. I've been on Tumblr for over thirteen years now, and it's taught me how to grow thick skin, so everything that I'm yapping and yammering about won't stop me from working on 14DWY.

However, this does mean that I won't be as interactive with other developers or their communities anymore; many ill-natured people have ruined this for me.

Because of them, I'm no longer able to voice my opinion on other games without some opinionated rat whispering in my ear about how the developer is "problematic" or that I could get cancelled for simply following them on Twitter. I can't interact with certain games without its parasocial community becoming hostile or gatekeepy towards anyone they don't like. I've seen communities belittle and devalue promising demos because in their eyes, nothing can compare to their favourite game (or their favourite developer). I have been harassed, bullied, and doxxed by other communities and have seen the same thing happen to others as well. I've heard about the developers who weaponise their community's loyalty to attack and drive out their competition. And I've witnessed more than enough developers expressing how badly they want to take a hiatus due to how much unwarranted negativity they receive, but don't want to disappoint their community by doing so.

By saying all of this, you can understand why I dislike being here so much, as well as why I no longer find any enjoyment in interacting with the yandere VN community.

Many people here — fans and developers alike — are so needlessly pushy about their standards and personal opinions being the norm, and if anyone else goes against them, they'll purposefully try to ostracise and bully them out of the community. This place isn't as laid-back or inclusive as it used to be, and I don't want to be associated with a community that acts so hostile and aggressive towards anyone who shares a differing opinion — nor do I want to be part of a space that caters towards developers who'll tear down others in order to have a moment of relevancy.

We're all doing our own thing and making our own games; it shouldn't be a competition. But if you see it as such, then I urge you to take a moment to stop and rethink your actions — or, at the very least, understand how it's affecting you and others around you.

So until there's a reasonable change and people can go back to being less... demanding, hypercritical, and gatekeepy about who interacts with what, I'll be stepping away and continuing to stay in my own bubble, as I have for the past two years now. I've already unfollowed everyone associated with the yandere community many months ago, but I think I'll just unfollow everyone entirely now for my own peace of mind. I will also no longer be interacting with any yandere VN communities (aside from close friends), nor will I be as public with my interests from this moment on. Everything on this blog will be strictly related to 14DWY like usual, and I will continue to block and report any spiteful "anons"/burner accounts sent my way and delete their messages.

Again, this isn't really much of an announcement — it's more so just paragraphs of me bitchin and moanin 🫶 — but I wanted to get this all out there instead of leaving things unsaid and having people come to their own conclusions as to why I've suddenly become less active, less optimistic, and why I've stopped engaging with a majority of the yandere community in the last two years.

So, yeah... ^^; If there's anything I want y'all to take away from this entire post, it's to be kind, open, and understanding towards everyone — developers and communities alike — and to spread support rather than negativity. It's what I want my own community to be known for, so please be mindful of how you treat others online.

And if you find yourself being surrounded by constant toxicity and negativity (be it from friends, mutuals, or even other developers or communities), please don't feel ashamed to step away or cut them off entirely. Put yourself and your mental health first. I also think it'll be good for me to leave all this negative energy behind and continue to kick off 2025 in a better light, so if y'all need to let out any frustrations of your own, feel free to go ham in the replies (obviously, be kind and civil though jghsjg T_T)

[pyxxiestyxx]

Awakening

No one told me how good it was going to feel.

They talked on and on about how I would lose my values, my thoughts, even my soul.  They told me I would be damned for eternity, trapped inside of myself and unable to so much as blink, much less scream.

They told me that my 'Owner' would ignore my need for control, would take parts from me until the only thing left was a shell of myself, a thing.

I believed Them.

I still do, to be honest.

The problem is that ever since I've woken up from the implantation surgery...I can Feel It.

Her implant, like a seed taking root in my nerves and muscles.  Wrapping around my spine like a long-lost lover, communicating not with mere words but in feeling, in intention, in silent memory.

And it feels impossibly, unbelievably good.  Each second brings yet another pulsing wave of pleasure emanating from my spine. 

Training, She had said.  Conditioning, she silently added with Her eyes, like violet storms.

And even though it is nothing more than simple pleasure, even though I know exactly what She is doing...I can tell it's working.

I can feel the soft curl of a smile on my lips, when I get distracted.  I can feel it guide me.  Making me want to obey.  The stick is unneeded when the carrot is unable to be resisted.

She told me I'm going to feel this way every day of the rest of my life. 

I cried.

I don't know if it was from frustration, or relief.

...Or maybe I do know.  Maybe I do, and the thought of knowing terrifies me more.

I am unable to ever be alone again.  Unable to ever make a mistake, unless She wants me to. 

I am unable to hate Her anymore.

Not that I think I ever did, not really.  She was...is difficult to get along with, to be sure.  But She listens to me.  I know She does.  And I'm healthier than I've been in a long, long time.  It is, if nothing else, a decent life promised to me.

Ah.

It...the implant rewarded me for that thought. 

...hm.

Would I have thought this before now?

Doubtful.

But that me had yet to understand.  Was convinced they could escape, if only they tried hard enough.

I have been disavowed of that notion.

She promised me as much, and She has kept every one of her promises.  I know that now. That no matter how I pound at these walls, there is truly no escaping Her. Not now, not ever. And that I soon may change into someone, something else.

I should be scared right now, I think.

I should be terrified.

But that is an unneeded emotion.  Fear is a harsh teacher, one necessary to guide our clumsy evolution.  It sang to the rapid beating of your heart: 'Respect that which you do not understand, and avoid that which hurts you.'

And though I still have yet to understand Her...I know She will not hurt me.  And I know that my fear would ultimately achieve little and less.

And so if fear and terror are unneeded, why not prune it way?  Why not excise it, so that the wound may heal?

Ah.

I see.

I suppose...I suppose I will change. 

And I suppose I am changing, even now.

And perhaps...

Perhaps I already am changed. 

Already different.  I tasted nectar and ambrosia, and now the bread and wine of mortal men is but ash and mud in my mouth.

For I am no longer in control.

And I am glad that They never told me how Good that feels.

[gyuuberryy]

love potions (but make it legal)!

pairing: tutor!jungwon x reader

summary: you had not been too excited about these tutoring sessions your potions professor had dropped on you. but, after meeting your tutor you couldn’t hope but think you both were brewing more than just potions, perhaps even love?

genre: hogwarts au, jungwon is a loser for the reader, initially slightly one sided pining, fluff, angst

warnings: some hogwarts lore references, mentions of failing a class, jealousy, angst, magic stuff, kissing, suggestive(ish)

note: they don’t actually make love potions in this but i liked the sound of it so i used it in the title hehe. i hope you guys enjoy this fic as you had given so much love to the heeseung one.

word count: 4.3kish

if you liked it please reblog or comment to give me your feedback! <3

to the anon who requested a jungwon hogwarts au im sososoo sorry for publishing this like six months later. i had a terrible writer’s block with this one. i’m terribly sorry, this constantly ran through my mind but i couldn’t bring myself to begin. i hope you like this!

you were so screwed.

you felt like a deflated balloon looking at your mock NEWT results. you were literally failing your potions class. with all the time spent in balancing out your classes, quidditch and sessions at the room of requirement as a part of dumbledore’s army, you had not practised well enough for your classes that were practical based. 

seeing your grades drop from exemplary results to having mediocre grades and failing a class was depressing. so, your potions teacher had made you stay back to have a word with you which is why you stood off to the side. your head hung low in disappointment with yourself. if this continued, it would be hard to apply for an auror’s job, which was your dream. 

you were broken out of your thoughts by the sound of your professor clearing his throat. your head shot up and you looked around to see the room was now empty save for you both. he gestured to the seat next to his table, so you shuffled over.

he looked over the rim of his glasses as he scanned over your report card. you hated the pitiful look that crossed over his face, you were not used to this.

“you are one of my best students, i really wasn’t expecting this from you..”

you grimaced at his words, feeling worse about your situation. great, you were not the only one disappointed by yourself.

your professor must have noticed because his tone immediately became gentle as he gave you a comforting smile. 

“see, the only reason i asked you to stay back was because i know you can do better”, he shuffled through a register seemingly looking for something. “i’m sure you have your reasons as to why your performance went down. i know you can improve again.”

you nodded at his words, already starting to feel better, “yes professor i-”

“which is why i think you should get tutored”, he cut you off.

you froze. tutoring? this was so embarrassing, usually you were the one to provide tutoring to others, and now you have to be the one to receive it? no thank you.

you let out a small chuckle, “i understand professor, but i think i can handle it by myself.”

his brows creased at your words, “i don’t think you have enough time for that, the exams are nearing and you have managed to mess up even the basic things in the exam.”

you sighed at his words, silently accepting your fate because he wasn’t wrong. maybe you should swallow your ego and just get tutored, it was for your own good anyway.

taking a deep breath you put on a fake smile and gritted out, “okay.”

the rush of your mary jane clad feet filled the hallways of hogwarts with clopping sounds. your feet skidded to a stop in front of the library doors and you placed your hand over your chest, trying to catch your breath from the ten minute long run. you were late for your first tutoring session because your evening nap went a little longer than expected. 

brushing out stray hair strands from your face you opened the doors and stepped in, looking around for your tutor. the only person other than you was a boy with raven hair, sitting on a bench completely surrounded by bookshelves. 

you approached him, assuming he was your tutor. 

“uh hey!”, you called out in an unsure manner. “are you my assigned tutor for po-”

“yes”, he cut you off curtly, not even bothering to spare you a glance. “take a seat.”

you frowned in confusion at his cold behaviour and pulled out a chair to sit next to him. he seemed to be shuffling through some papers and organising them. a few seconds went by with him failing to acknowledge your presence. you cleared your throat awkwardly and introduced yourself, trying to get his attention. 

his head immediately shot up as soon as he heard your name, his eyes widening in what you could tell was surprise. confused at his reaction, you just gave him a small smile. he was silent for a while, giving you enough time to take in his features.

bangs fell over the smooth skin of his forehead and he looked at you through glasses which fit perfectly on his face, adding on to his handsome features. you had seen him around a few times as you shared a few classes with him. he was one of the smartest students, loved by all his teachers.

“uh i’m jungwon”, his voice broke through the awkward silence.

you nodded, “hey. i’ve seen you around.”

his lips pulled up into a smile at that as he let out a small laugh nervously. you raised your eyebrows at his sudden shift in demeanour. just a moment ago he didn’t care about your presence and now he was smiling? whatever.

“professor told me you had been facing some problems with potions”, he looked down and tapped his quill on the table. “what can i help you with?”

you explained how you messed up the practical test for your mocks. he listened intently, never breaking eye contact with you which made you a bit nervous. 

you came to an end of your rant but jungwon still maintained eye contact with you, his chin resting on his hand now. 

you cleared your throat, “so..?”

he still seemed to be staring at you, his eyes out of focus as he dreamily smiled at you.

frowning at his odd behaviour, you waved your hand in front of his face which broke him out of his thoughts. his eyes widened momentarily as he shook his head, a small blush spreading across his cheeks.

“are you sick?”

he chuckled nervously, “no no i was just planning out how i could help you”

he picked up a quill and started writing a plan for you in neat handwriting. once he was done, he passed the sheet over to you.

“we’ll follow this for the next two weeks. meet me in the potions class at four tomorrow.”

you gave a once over at what he had written and smiled at him. “will do, thanks jungwon!”

he nodded and started packing up his things. when he was done he looked at you expectantly, “it’s time for dinner, let’s go to the great hall together.”

you smiled and gathered your things as well.

it was the first day of your tutoring and you were early today.

or you thought so.

glancing around the potions classroom, you spotted jungwon already there. he was perched on a stool, arranging vials and flasks on the tables. unlike his usual composed demeanour in class, he seemed flustered, his bangs falling over his forehead as he fumbled with a particularly stubborn stopper.

he looked up as he heard you shuffle in, a relieved smile splitting his face.

"ah, there you are! i was starting to think you'd gotten lost."

"lost?" you repeated, a laugh escaping your lips. "in the potions classroom? hardly."

he chuckled, a nervous undertone to it. "right, of course. so, are you ready to tackle some invisibility potion today?"

you straightened your robes, a determined glint in your eyes. "ready as i'll ever be. though," you added, an unsure lilt in your voice, "considering my track record, maybe 'invisible' isn't the best thing to start off with."

jungwon's hummed, his cheeks flushing. "well, that's why we're practising, isn't it? to avoid another...disappearing act?"

you snorted. "exactly. though, to be fair, the professor did say my failed polyjuice potion was rather impressive in its...uniqueness."

he winced. "right. let's just focus on not achieving sentience with our cauldron this time, alright?"

the rest of the afternoon was a whirlwind of chopping netslime and muttering incantations. jungwon was a patient tutor, though his explanations sometimes devolved into nervous rambling when your eyes met. 

by the end of the session, your potion shimmered a faint, almost-invisible blue. not perfect, but a far cry from your previous disasters. jungwon beamed, his earlier awkwardness replaced by genuine pride.

"see? you're a natural! with a little more practice, you'll be brewing like snape in no time."

you laughed. "snape? now that's a terrifying image."

he chuckled, then cleared his throat, his gaze flickering away. "well, i should probably get going. i have herbology first thing tomorrow."

you nodded, gathering your things. "alright, see you then. and jungwon?"

he stopped at the door, his eyes questioning.

"thanks a lot for doing this. i already feel more confident.”

he smiled at that, making you do the same unconsciously.

the next two weeks flew by in a flurry of potion-making and stolen glances in your sessions, and outside of it whenever you both crossed paths. you had made a new friend and you were grateful for his help. you found yourself approaching the cauldron with newfound determination. your brews were improving steadily, and the playful banter during your sessions only added to the enjoyment.

one particularly chilly evening, you hurried down to the room of requirement, the usual meeting place for your secret DA practice sessions. you entered to find the familiar sight of your fellow students practising disarming spells and dodging jinxes. but amidst the chaos, you spotted an unexpected face – jungwon.

he was facing away from you, expertly deflecting a curse with a flick of his wand. you blinked, momentarily speechless. you never knew jungwon was a part of this! a warmth bloomed in your chest, a mixture of surprise and a strange sense of pride.

"nice one, jungwon!" , you called out, a wide grin on your face. jungwon turned, his eyes meeting yours. a flicker of surprise crossed his features before he broke into a wide grin.

"hey there," he said casually, striding over to you. "didn't expect to see you here."

"me neither," you admitted, a smile playing on your lips. "i guess you're not just a potions prodigy, huh?"

he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "turns out i have a few other hidden talents."

the rest of the evening flew by in a whirlwind of practice. seeing jungwon in this new light – confident, skilled, and fighting for a cause you both believed in – made your heart flutter. he was everything you admired and more.

admire? since when did that happen?

shaking your head to rid yourself of such thoughts, you got back to practising your charm. although, over the duration of the practise, your mind couldn’t help but wander towards jungwon’s recent behaviour. he had been sweet to you since the beginning, always ready to help out. and the way he blushed around you and quipped with you, you couldn’t help but think that maybe he also felt something? 

as the group started dispersing, you lingered near the room's entrance, feigning the need to adjust your cloak.

"hey," jungwon's voice startled you. he was packing his bag, a casual smile playing on his lips. "didn't head out yet?"

"actually," you began, fiddling with the strap of your bag, "there was something i wanted to ask you about."

his smile widened in invitation. "shoot."

you took a deep breath. "it's about dumbledore's army. we've been working on patronus charms lately, and well, i'm struggling a bit." shame tinged your cheeks. you weren't used to needing help with spells.

jungwon's expression softened with understanding. "a patronus charm, huh? tricky business, that. but hey, i might be able to offer some pointers."

relief washed over you. "really? that would be amazing!"

he gestured towards a secluded corner of the room. "come on, then. let's see what you're working with."

you settled onto the dusty floor, explaining your struggles. you could conjure a faint wisp of silvery light, but it was far from the actual form you needed. jungwon listened intently, occasionally asking clarifying questions.

"okay," he said once you finished, "it seems you've got the basic idea down. the key is focusing on a strong, happy memory. something that evokes a feeling of pure joy and warmth."

he saw your hesitant expression and chuckled. "don't worry, it's not a competition to see who has the most embarrassing childhood memory."

you forced a smile. "no, of course not." but your mind struggled to find that perfect memory.

jungwon seemed to sense your frustration. "close your eyes," he instructed gently. 

"take a deep breath and try to visualise a place that makes you feel truly happy. maybe a familiar place from your childhood, a special time with a friend, anything that brings a smile to your face."

you closed your eyes, following his guidance. images flickered through your mind – family picnics, winning a quidditch match, late-night talks with your best friend. but none of them seemed to spark the necessary warmth.

just as you were about to give up, a memory surfaced. a smile bloomed on your face. you opened your eyes and met jungwon's gaze. "i think i have it," you whispered.

he nodded encouragingly. "focus on that feeling. the warmth, the happiness, let it flow through you and into your wand."

you closed your eyes again, picturing the memory that brought you happiness. it was a little hazy as you tried to focus on the touch and sounds from that memory. with a deep breath, you pointed your wand forward and muttered the incantation.

a wisp of silvery light erupted from your wand, growing and solidifying into a shape. it wasn't perfect – the outline of a cat was more suggestion than a form – but it was a patronus. you had finally done it.

a cheer escaped your lips as you realised you had finally done it. you looked at jungwon, your heart brimming with gratitude. "i did it!"

he beamed, genuine pride radiating from him. "see? you're a natural. you just needed a little nudge in the right direction."

his words held a hint of something more, something that sent a shiver down your spine. you wanted to thank him properly, to express just how much his help meant to you. 

"thank you, jungwon," you murmured, your voice barely a whisper. you wished, however, that your patronus could solidify into something more impressive, something that truly reflected the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you.

as if sensing your unspoken desire, jungwon stepped closer. his movements were subtle, almost hesitant. but before you could question it, he reached behind you, his hand gently wrapping around yours, enclosing both your hands and your wand within his hold.

a jolt of electricity shot through you at his touch. the air in the room crackled with a tension you hadn't noticed before. your focus on the patronus wavered momentarily, replaced by a hyper awareness of jungwon's warm torso pressed against your back, his fingers brushing against yours.

his warm breath fanned over your ear as he whispered even though there was no one around to hear you both, “now completely focus on that memory.”

the room seemed to shrink, the air growing thick with unspoken tension. you focused on the memory, it acting as a soothing anchor in the storm brewing inside you. but this time, something was different. the wispy light from your wand pulsed, growing brighter, solidifying. the faint outline of a cat sharpened, taking on a more defined form.

in the heightened focus, you were oblivious to everything except the memory and the warmth radiating from jungwon's hand on yours. the familiar nostalgia from the memory echoed in your mind, a beacon of happiness. with a burst of energy, a fully formed silver cat patronus materialised, leaping and frolicking around the room.

you gasped in awe, forgetting everything else. "it's perfect! it's actually a perfect patronus!" 

you jumped, unknowingly pushing yourself more into jungwon, making him wrap his hands loosely around you as he chuckled lowly. you spun around to share your joy with him.

but as you turned, your breath hitched. you were impossibly close to him, his hand still wrapped around yours, his face mere inches away. his eyes were dark and intense, a mirror of the emotions swirling within you. the air crackled with unspoken desire.

you leaned in, heart pounding a frantic rhythm against your ribs. he tilted his head ever so slightly, his lips hovering a whisper away from yours. his breath hitched ever so slightly, as you both leaned in, the space between your lips closing with each passing second.

just as your lips were about to meet, jungwon pulled back abruptly. 

he cleared his throat, his hand falling away from yours. "that's... that's amazing," he stammered, his eyes flickering away from yours. "a perfect patronus. you really are something else."

his words held a strange distance, and a knot of unease tightened in your stomach. the electric tension that had thrummed in the air moments ago had dissipated, replaced by an awkward silence. you weren't sure what had happened, but embarrassment washed over you in suffocating waves. the joy of your achievement felt strangely hollow now.

your patronus immediately vanished into thin air, leaving a trail of sparkles behind.

the tension in the room receded as quickly as it had risen, leaving a bewildered silence in its wake. you blinked, confused and slightly disappointed. why did he stop?

"i, uh," he stammered, looking at his shoes, "i think it's getting late. maybe we should call it a night?"

did he regret the near kiss? or was there something else at play? 

you opened your mouth to ask, but the words wouldn't come. the magic of the patronus lingered, a bittersweet reminder of what could have been.

"yeah," you finally managed, your voice barely a whisper. "it's getting late."

jungwon offered a small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes before gathering his things and hurrying towards the exit. you watched him go, a myriad of emotions swirling within you.

disappointment gnawed at you like a dementor during your potions class the next day. your potions professor, inspecting your bubbling concoction with a delighted smile, declared it "exactly by the book."

he beamed, announcing, "it appears the extra sessions have paid off! perhaps we can consider them concluded, wouldn't you agree?"

a lump formed in your throat. you glanced at jungwon, expecting a playful jab or a celebratory nod. but he simply shrugged, a noncommittal, ‘sounds good to me,’ escaping his lips.

the professor's words should have filled you with relief. you were back on track, independent once more. yet, as the class ended, all you felt was a hollow emptiness. you caught jungwon's eye for a fleeting moment, hoping for a familiar spark or a shared grin. instead, he averted his gaze, muttering a hurried goodbye and hurried out of the classroom.

this became a pattern over the next few days. in the hallways, where you once exchanged playful jibes, jungwon now seemed to melt into the background whenever you approached. shared classes were endured in a tense silence, his friendly demeanour replaced by a distant politeness. 

you replayed the scene in the room of requirement over and over in your head, desperately trying to pinpoint where you'd gone wrong. 

had you misread the tension? had you moved too fast, startled him with your sudden boldness?

one evening, you found yourself lingering outside the room of requirement, the usual meeting place for dumbledore's army. you weren't sure why you were there, perhaps a desperate hope that jungwon would appear. the door creaked open, and your best friend peeked out.

"lost something?" she asked, her brow quirked in concern.

you shook your head, the words refusing to form.

"everything alright?" she pressed gently, her perceptive eyes searching yours.

you sighed, finally blurting out, "it's jungwon. did i…did i do something wrong?"

her knowing smile softened the blow. "ah," she said, pulling you into a hug. "sometimes, the most powerful potions are brewed in silence, simmering with unspoken emotions."

her words offered little comfort, but they planted a seed in your mind. maybe rushing something as delicate as what you felt for jungwon wasn't the way. maybe patience, like the perfect potion, required time and the right balance of ingredients. you resolved to let things cool, to focus on mastering your spells and potions, hoping that maybe, one day, the right opportunity would present itself, and the spark you shared with jungwon wouldn't need words to reignite.

screw whatever you thought before. you couldn't wait for that ‘one day’ to come as you watched your classmate, a girl with hair like spun sunshine, practically cling to jungwon's arm in herbology. they were bent over, giggling like pixies at a particularly stubborn gillyweed.

fury replaced the embers of hope your friend had ignited. who was this girl? had he moved on that quickly? 

jealousy bubbled in your stomach as you stalked away from the window, hurt settling in your chest. but you were determined to make things right, even if it meant making your friendship(?) with him awkward, you needed to know what went wrong. 

the bell signalling the end of class was your cue. you bolted out, weaving through students, your eyes locked on jungwon. he noticed you coming, a flicker of surprise crossing his face, but before he could react, you were upon him.

he was walking with the sunshine-haired girl, lost in their own conversation, until a breathless, "jungwon!" ripped him from it. he turned, eyes widening further when he saw your determined, (slightly crazed) expression.

"uh, hi?" he stammered, glancing between you and the girl who stood blinking at you both, confused.

"excuse me," you said politely through gritted teeth to the girl, who, thankfully, scurried off with a mumbled ‘see you later, jungwon.’

now, alone with the reason of your anger and surging jealousy, you grabbed his arm and steered him away from the castle grounds. you marched him past the greenhouses until you reached a secluded clearing near the black lake. there, with a flourish that would have earned you points in charms class, you pinned him against a sturdy oak tree.

he stared at you, bewildered, as your chest heaved. "okay," he started cautiously, "what's going on?"

"what's going on?" you sputtered, finally finding your voice. "what's going on is, i thought we had...something!" you gestured wildly towards the castle, where you could still see a flicker of sunshine hair disappear around a corner.

jungwon blinked, then a slow blush crept up his neck. "we...we do! we had potions tutoring sessions, remember?"

you threw your hands up in exasperation. "ugh, not tutoring! this…this unspoken thing we have!"

his blush deepened, and he mumbled something inaudible under his breath.

"what?" you demanded.

he took a deep breath. "look, about that night in the room of requirement..."

"yes?" you leaned in, heart pounding.

he cleared his throat. "maybe i… i overreacted. i wasn't sure what you were feeling, and…"

he trailed off, his gaze dropping to the ground. you gaped at him, realising the truth. you hadn't scared him off, he'd scared himself off! 

but there was more. a flicker of insecurity crossed his eyes. "and to be honest," he admitted sheepishly, "the real reason i've been avoiding you… well, it's because i was trying to figure out how to tell you something...something big."

you blinked. here you were, fuming about a nonexistent threat, while jungwon had been battling his own insecurities. the situation was hilarious, almost. but mostly, it was endearing.

a slow smile spread across your face. "well, spill it, jungwon. don't leave me in suspense."

he fumbled with his words, cheeks burning a fiery red. "it's about...well, ever since the beginning of this year, i’ve looked at you…in a different light."

your heart thrummed erratically now, hoping he was getting to where you wanted him to.

"...and, well, you're not just funny and smart, you're kind and brave, and the way you laugh at my stupid jokes, it just makes me..." his voice trailed off, his eyes pleading with yours. 

his rambling was adorable, but the knot of frustration in your stomach tightened with every nervous stammer. you couldn't take it anymore.

grabbing him by the collar, you silenced him with a kiss. it started desperate, fueled by the need to know his true feelings, but as his lips met yours, it melted into something sweeter. you poured your unspoken emotions into that kiss, the frustration, the longing, the dawning hope. 

suddenly, jungwon spun you around, switching your positions so that you were pushed against the tree now. your breath hitched in surprise at his sudden show of confidence. he dove back into the kiss, his soft lips moving against yours in fervour. the intensity of your kiss increased along with your pulse and you were pretty sure jungwon could feel it with the way he was pressed up against you

when he finally pulled back, breathless and dizzy, a different kind of silence hung in the air.

jungwon stared at you as your cheeks flushed a brilliant crimson, mirroring the sunset bleeding across the lake. finally, a smile bloomed on his face, genuine and relieved. 

"see," he breathed, voice husky, "that was much easier than all that."

you laughed, a genuine sound that echoed through the clearing. relief washed over you, warm and tingly. "i should be the one saying that" you teased.

“yeah well i chickened out”, he scratched his head in embarrassment, “i wanted my confession to be perfect.”

you smirked, “yeah well what you pulled right now was very romantic. i didn’t know you had that in you.”

he rolled his eyes playfully and grabbed your hand, lacing his fingers with yours. “you liked it though. let’s head back now, it’s almost time for dinner.”

you smiled as you walked in step with him, swinging your intertwined hands back and forth. he squeezed your hand with a cheeky grin on his face.  you returned the squeeze looking up at him in question, when his next words had a blush blooming on your face.

“i hope you’re going to pay me back for those lessons with more of such kisses.”

𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 ©𝗴𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗯𝗲𝗿𝗿𝘆𝘆 on Tumblr

˚ · .𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗲𝗱

[hirayalore]

“what—”

SIRIUS BLACK blinked, not processing what just happened as he found himself back at grimmauld place.

it was only mere seconds ago that he was at the department of mysteries, having a duel against bellatrix with harry battling alongside him. everything felt so exhilarating—he was having the time of his life, conjuring a bunch of offensive and defensive spells towards bellatrix’s way, releasing some of the pent up tension he had been trying to tame while cooped up and hidden inside the order’s headquarters.

then all of a sudden, in a moment of recklessness, a spell abruptly hit him hard on the chest, causing him to stumble backwards and almost trip on his feet at the impact.

almost.

because just when he thought he was going to fall in the veil behind him, he heard you scream his name in a manner he has never heard before. it was piercing, the kind to emit shivers on the spine, the kind he was certain he was going to remember for days on—and the next thing he knew, before he could understand the lay of events, he was here at his old home with you right in front of him, holding onto his arms so tightly that he could feel your nails digging in his skin.

the both of you had apparated, he finally realized. you had rushed to him before he could fall and grabbed him, teleporting the two of you to the one place you could think of that could keep you safe. 

“____,” he began as he dawned on him what prompted you to do such a thing. “i—i’m so sorry, love. i—”

“i hate you, sirius.” you practically spat on his face, venom lacing your tone as you let go of him and instead started punching him hardly on the chest. “so fucking reckless—doesn’t fucking think about anything but himself—”

he took your jabs without complaint, letting you take out your frustration even if the spell that almost knocked him over still made it hard for him to breathe.

“you could’ve—” you continued, each punch harder than the last, a stream of tears falling on your cheeks now as it continued to sink what could have happened if you weren’t fast enough— “you really do want to leave me, don’t you? want me to bloody fend for myself again, be left alone, be without you after already suffering for merlin knows how long—”

“i’m sorry,” he said, his voice coming out as a whisper in shame of his rashness earlier. “darling, i didn’t mean to be so foolish with my actions. i wasn’t thinking, really, i’m so sorry.”

you huffed out a scoff, giving him one last shove and turning away, walking towards the wall where you lean on it for support.

you were on the verge of hyperventilating, your heart was beating so fast, and little noises were coming out of your lips as the sobs couldn’t stop. the only thing keeping you standing was how you were resting on the partition as even your knees felt like giving out.

no matter how much you tried to calm yourself down, to push away the thoughts of sirius being permanently taken away from you, you couldn’t. you couldn’t erase that horrible feeling of knowing you could have lost the love of your life again tonight—with this time no longer having the opportunity to ever bring him back to you if he did.

in an instant, sirius embraced you from behind, murmuring his apologies again and again despite knowing he couldn’t fix the damage he had done easily due to his negligence.

you didn’t force him off, but you didn’t reciprocate his gestures as well, your body shaking uncontrollably because of still being stricken with the reality of almost losing him.

with utmost gentleness, he spun you around so that you were back facing him, his calloused hands tilting your chin up in order to look at your eyes that were bloodshot and wet. he kissed your cheeks, a lingering kiss that prompted you to let out a whimper, before he kissed you full on the mouth, so much tenderness and remorse being poured into the gesture.

“i’m sorry, love,” he murmured against your mouth. “it was just a lapse of judgment, okay? i’d never want to leave you again. i will never leave you, you hear me? you’re stuck with me for an eternity.”

you gazed up at him, encircling your arms around his neck and pulling him towards you for another kiss, desperate to physically feel him which he was more than willing to oblige.

“stop being so reckless, sirius,” you pleaded, your fingers tangling in his hair, your kisses persistent. “you can’t keep on doing this to me.”

“i know, i know.” he returned the same intensity that you were showing him, caught up with the rush of sudden yearning. “i’ll be better. i won’t make you worry.”

you no longer bothered replying, you just continued to kiss him, dragging him with you to the nearest room you could wander into, a silent order that if he wanted to make it up to you, he should start by making you feel every part of him until it was clear to you that he wasn’t going to be anywhere else.

gentle reminder: this author loves feedback! let her know your thoughts if you enjoyed reading this fic and you’ll add 100+ points in her writing motivation meter ♡

[blitzwhore]

Stolas just standing there and letting blitz hug him in the end is all good, right? He is just sad because of octavia and accepting that blitz is there with him right?? It's not that he regrets chosing him, right??? (I just need affirmation)

You know what? I've found myself needing reassurance about this too. So let's take a moment to look at the facts together, shall we?

(This reply turned out way longer than I expected it to 😅 sorry!)

Fact #1 - Stolas is still coming to terms with the consequences of his actions. He spends the whole episode finding out just how much his life has changed. Learning how to navigate groceries, and laundry, and meals, and having a job, and worrying about money.

Mid-episode, he has a breakdown where he truly questions if everything he gave up was worth it just for a fantasy. At this point in the episode, he still hasn't realised how much he means to Blitz. As far as he's concerned, he did all of this for someone who doesn't reciprocate his feelings. By the end of the episode, though, his feelings have settled enough for him to express what he has known to be true all along: that saving Blitz was the right thing to do.

What Stolas regrets isn't saving Blitz's life, or even loving Blitz in the first place.

What he regrets are the choices he made that led them to this. He feels guilty for selfishly (or, rather, naively) playing out his fantasies. He's the one who established the deal, who let Blitz illegally use the book for many months, who wasn't always sensible about how he expressed his love for Blitz publicly and despite being married, and who allowed himself to ignore the reality of his situation so he could live in his own, personal romcom—all of which ultimately led to the events of Mastermind and the loss of Via.

And all the guilt and regret he's grappling with (however justified it might be) is exacerbated by fact #2, which is:

Fact #2 - Stolas is off his medication. He's been off it for a month now. Symptoms of depression (especially untreated depression) include mood swings, irritability, self-hatred and low self-esteem, passive/active suicidal ideation, pessimism and hopelessness about the future, catastrophising, black-and-white thinking, and anhedonia (inability to feel pleasure and to find joy in things—and people—who used to bring you it). All symptoms Stolas exhibits throughout this episode.

So, even if he shows a lack of emotion toward Blitz at times, or irritation to seemingly minor things like low doors or "secretating" or Karen's behaviour, even if he acts regretful and angry and desolate... a lot of these emotions and behaviours are a result of his depression, and not of actually hating the life he chose.

Fact #3 - Stolas loves Blitz. He always has, and always will. I could point at a thousand different moments in the show when Stolas' love for Blitz has transpired, but I'm going to leave it at his line from Mastermind: "I would rather be dead than live life without you by my side."

Even after everything they've gone through, even now that he's taken Blitz off his pedestal and can acknowledge that Blitz can be a fucking idiot... Stolas simply does not want to live a life without Blitz. It has always been Blitz. It will always be Blitz.

Stolas loves Blitz.

Fact #4 - Stolas kissed Blitz. Before he truly hits rock bottom as a result of Octavia cutting him out, Stolas is so ecstatic that Blitz cares, that Blitz was willing to go to such lengths to save his life, that he can't hold back the need to kiss Blitz mid-air. Suddenly, none of his earlier frustration matters. Nothing matters expect for how elated he is that Blitz loves him back. So he smiles and he pulls Blitz into a kiss because he can't bear not to kiss Blitz for a moment longer.

Look at this man. Look at how happy he is. Because it's always been Blitz, and maybe it was a fantasy for a long time, but it doesn't have to be anymore. Maybe this can be real now. He's so happy he (and I) could cry.

Fact #5 - Stolas didn't deny loving Blitz. When Via said "You don't love me, you love him," the script very purposefully did not have Stolas go "no, no, Via, that's not true—" or say anything else that might make Blitz doubt, even for a moment, that Stolas loves him. Because that much is true. He does love Blitz. He just also loves Via. Which brings me to:

Fact #6 - Blitz knows Stolas loves him. At no point throughout the episode does Blitz doubt, even for a second, that Stolas loves him. And we know this because Blitz's walls remain down at all times. If Blitz doubted he was loved, if he had even the slightest of reservations, those walls would come crawling back up whether he wanted them to or not. It's what he's been trained and conditioned to do—it's how he's kept his heart safe ever since the accident.

But now, he knows his heart is safe with Stolas. He believes it enough to not depend on his walls to feel at ease. He believes it enough to let himself take care of Stolas and be soft with Stolas without the slightest trace of hesitation.

Look at Blitz's face. This is the face of a man who knows that even if Stolas isn't okay right now, things will get better. And when they do, they'll both still be in love with each other. This is the face of a man who can't wait for something beautiful to flourish between them, but who is in no rush to get there. He knows the road ahead is hard and painful, but he has faith in Stolas. In both of them.

Fact #6 - Stolas was happy to share a private, romantic dance with Blitz. Despite everything going through his mind, he found comfort and happiness in dancing with Blitz; in getting to have this little moment with him.

He found relief in the fact that Blitz stayed with him this time, even after Stolas told him, once again, that he didn't have to stay.

His reaction to Blitz initiating a dance between them is genuine surprise, immediately followed by an enamoured little smile at the mere notion that he gets to have this, now.

And, as they dance, he keeps smiling and leaning into Blitz, going as far as to manage a deep, heartfelt laugh at Blitz's words. This, for an unmedicated, depressed person going through one of the worst days of his life, is huge in itself. It shows that, even in the worst of times, he finds undeniable comfort and happiness in Blitz.

And, after their dance, Stolas looks at Blitz with a sobriety and soft sort of realisation that shows he's finally coming to terms with the fact that this is real. After everything he's lost, after all the fantasies he hoped for for so long and believed he'd never have, he finally gets to have this.

Despite the pain he's going through, Stolas looks at Blitz and sees the man he loves.

Notice how Blitz's eyes trail down to Stolas' mouth. And Stolas realises. And doesn't move away. Waiting, expectantly, for Blitz's next move, fully expecting it to be a kiss.

But then Blitz hugs him instead, and Stolas doesn't hug back.

And it's not because he doesn't want to be hugged by Blitz. It's not because his feelings for Blitz have changed, or dimmed, or disappeared. It's not because he regrets loving Blitz, or saving him. It's not because he doesn't want to have a close, healthy, loving romantic relationship with Blitz.

It's because of facts #1 (he's grappling with so much guilt and coming to terms with the consequences of his actions) and #2 (he's experiencing symptoms of unmedicated depression). And, above all, it's because of fact #7, which is...

Fact #7 - Stolas doesn't know how to be loved. Stolas has never had support. He has never had a shoulder to cry on, or someone to hold him when he needed it. When he's feeling vulnerable and broken, he defaults to hugging himself as a way to self-soothe, because that's the only comfort he's ever known.

And because he's never known comfort from others—because it was never allowed or safe for him to need or ask for comfort from others—all Stolas knows to do with his vulnerability is hide it. So much so that, the two times we see him begin to break down in front of Blitz before this episode, he either portals Blitz away or masks his tears and pain immediately. Even as he drunkenly rambles about wanting to be held, he still makes sure not to appear like he actually needs a hug.

So when he finds himself being held by Blitz in a warm, comforting hug, Stolas doesn't know how to respond. Because he's never had this. He's never had an opportunity to learn how to exist in someone's comforting embrace, how to interact with this kind of physical contact. He still has to learn how to feel safe between arms that aren't his own.

Simply put, Stolas still doesn't know how to hold Blitz back.

That doesn't mean Stolas doesn't want or need physical comfort. He needs it desperately—everyone does. But wanting something and knowing how to actually have it are two very different things, and Blitz knows that better than anyone, because he's wanted Stolas for a very long time, but didn't, until very recently, know how to feel safe accepting Stolas' love.

And that's why Blitz is completely understanding of the fact that all Stolas can do, all Stolas has the ability to do, is stand there and let himself be held, and let his emotions go through him. In, and out, with every breath, with every second. And get slowly acquainted with what being comforted by the person he loves feels like.

Thirty-something years of trauma can't be undone in a single hug, or a single conversation, and it's going to take time for Stolas to learn how to be present while in Blitz's arms, and how to return that emotional closeness.

But Blitz has faith in him. Blitz is willing to be patient and soft with him while he gets better. Blitz is ready to meet Stolas where he's at, because he knows, beyond a trace of doubt, that they love one another, and they're going to be okay. Even if Stolas doesn't know it yet—even if we, the audience don't know it yet—Blitz knows.

And that's just going to have to be enough for now.

And because this post got completely away from me, I shall conclude by quoting their song, because it summarises their story better than I ever could:

Truer love is hard to find. ❤️

[psformybss]

could we get some angst with secret fiance?

Rumors Like Smoke

series masterlist

warnings: angst, established relationship, long distance struggles, social media rumors, emotional vulnerability, hurt/comfort

an: this isn’t as angsty as it could have been but i feel like it still has a good amount of angst.

︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　

The rumors started as whispers.

Nothing more than a tagged post.

A fan video of Drew and Odessa walking out of a narrow alley in Belgrade, laughing over something he said.

Someone zoomed in on their hands—not touching, but close enough.

Then came the Reddit threads.

The Twitter sleuths.

The articles with photoshopped thumbnails and question-mark headlines.

“Are Drew Starkey and Odessa A’zion more than costars?”

She hated that it got to her.

Because she knew better.

Drew was an actor. Odessa was his scene partner. This was no different than how he was with Maddie or Madison or any woman he’d worked closely with.

She wasn’t jealous.

Not really.

Not until the silence started to stretch too wide.

She woke up on the couch in Charleston to the buzz of her phone at 2:17 AM.

The sound startled Teddy first. He lifted his head from her lap with a soft huff, looking toward the phone like he expected Drew to walk through the door. But it was just the screen, glowing with his name.

Drew (Serbia)

She answered on the third ring. Her voice was sleepy but strained. “Hey.”

“Hey, baby,” he said, breathless like he’d been rushing to find quiet. “Sorry. I know it’s late over there.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah. I just… missed you. Needed to hear your voice.”

Her heart cracked a little at that. It always did. But this time, something stayed sharp at the edges.

“Where are you?”

“Outside the hotel. We just wrapped. Odessa and I had pickups. It ran long.”

Of course it was Odessa.

The name hung there like cigarette smoke, curling around things it had no business touching.

She didn’t answer right away. Just sat up straighter, brushing sleep from her eyes while Teddy pressed closer to her thigh.

Drew picked up on the silence. “What?”

“Nothing,” she said, her tone too clipped to mean it. “Just tired.”

He sighed. “Talk to me.”

“I haven’t heard from you in three days.”

“I know. It’s been crazy—”

“Yeah. Busy, right?” she cut in. “You’ve been spotted all over Belgrade with your busy.”

There was a pause on his end. A sharp inhale.

“Don’t do that.”

“I’m not accusing you,” she snapped. “I’m not one of those people online, Drew. I’m your wife.”

Her voice cracked at the end, and she hated it.

“I know you are,” he said softly.

“Then why does it feel like you forgot?”

Teddy’s tail flicked once, sensing her voice tightening.

“I haven’t forgotten,” Drew said, more firm now. “I think about you every second I’m not on set. I’m just… worn out. Trying to finish this job strong.”

“I’ve defended you to strangers,” she whispered. “I ignore the tags, the DMs, the fan theories about you and her. I tell myself I know you better than anyone. But the longer you stay away, the more those voices start to sound like mine.”

That shut him up.

“I’m not mad that you’re working,” she went on. “I’m mad that you let the internet keep me company more than you do.”

Drew exhaled a curse. “That’s not fair.”

“No? You think Teddy doesn’t notice when your side of the bed’s cold every night? You think I don’t check your location just to feel close to you for five seconds before I remember it hasn’t updated in days?”

“I didn’t mean to make you feel like this,” he said, voice low.

“But you did.”

Silence.

Teddy pressed his head into her chest, grounding her. She curled her hand into his fur.

“I used to feel like I had all of you,” she whispered. “Now I feel like I have your ghost.”

Drew was quiet for a long time. “I didn’t want to call like this. Not when we’re both tired.”

“Then why did you call?”

“Because I miss you,” he said. “And I don’t know how to fix this from halfway across the world.”

She blinked away the sting in her eyes. “I don’t want a fix. I want you.”

“You have me.”

“Not when I have to fight the internet every day just to believe that.”

His voice broke slightly. “You think I’m cheating?”

“No,” she said instantly. “I think you’re disappearing.”

That was worse somehow.

“You barely call anymore. You’re out with her every other day. And I keep telling myself it’s the same as any other project, but this one feels different. You feel different.”

“I’m not different,” he said. “I’m tired. I’m stretched thin. But I love you just as much as the day I left Charleston.”

“Then show me, Drew,” she whispered. “Because I can’t keep loving a version of you that only exists in old photos and saved voicemails.”

Another silence. Longer this time.

Then, in a whisper: “Don’t give up on me.”

“I’m not,” she said. “But I’m running out of ways to hold on.”

Something moved behind his voice. A shake. A crack. And then—click.

Call ended.

She stared at the screen.

Heart thudding. Hands shaking.

For a moment, she couldn’t tell who ended it. Then she realized—

He hung up.

He didn’t know he’d hung up.

Not until he stared at the screen, still pressed to his ear, and realized the silence wasn’t hers anymore—it was his.

Call ended.

Three seconds passed. Then five. Then the weight of it hit him all at once like a punch straight to the chest.

“Shit,” he muttered, breath catching, his heart galloping too fast. “Shit, shit, shit.”

His hands shook as he fumbled with the phone, heart thundering while he stared at the screen, willing it to light up again. Willing her to call him back. But it stayed dark.

No call. No text. Nothing.

He didn’t even remember pressing the damn button. He’d been too caught in the sound of her voice—cracking, raw, real—too caught in the feeling that he was losing her in slow motion.

Now he was afraid she might already be gone.

He sat there in the hotel room, the echo of her final words thick in the air like smoke that wouldn’t clear.

His throat closed. He looked around the room and hated everything about it—how sterile it felt, how quiet. How far. The bed was cold, still made, untouched from the night before. His hoodie still smelled like the set. His bag was half-zipped, clothes spilling out. And all he could think was: What the fuck am I doing here?

Not just Belgrade.

Here.

In this space between good intentions and terrible execution. Between promises made and promises missed.

He opened his phone and didn’t hesitate this time—he dialed the director.

“Starkey?”

“I need two days,” Drew said, voice gruff. “I’m not asking. I’m telling you.”

There was silence on the other end.

“Something happen?”

“I hung up on my wife by accident. After telling her I loved her and then making her feel like I didn’t. So yeah—something happened.”

Another pause. Then a sigh. “Alright. Two days. Don’t make me regret it.”

“You won’t.”

The airport was buzzing, loud and impersonal, but Drew moved through it on autopilot, booking the soonest flight out like a man possessed.

There was a kiosk just past security that sold flowers—cheap airport bouquets, all wrapped in crinkly cellophane—but he stopped anyway.

He stood there longer than he should’ve, staring at them like they could somehow fix the last three months. The last three days.

“Need help?” the cashier asked.

Drew nodded once, eyes landing on a bouquet of white tulips and blush peonies, her favorite.

“I’ll take those.”

The woman wrapped them slowly, chatting about nothing, and he kept nodding even though he wasn’t listening. His pulse didn’t slow until he was seated on the plane, flowers in his lap, staring out the window and counting the minutes until he could make it right.

Charleston felt warmer the moment he stepped out of the airport.

It always did.

He kept the window down in the taxi, let the breeze wash over him as they drove through streets he knew like the back of his hand.

The office was a brick building tucked between a yoga studio and a secondhand bookstore. Ivy crawled up the side like it had been trying to get inside for years.

He hesitated at the entrance.

The flowers were still in his hand, the stems damp from the melting airport ice pack. He wiped them quickly on his jeans, tried to shake the nerves out of his fingers.

He saw her car parked out front and almost turned around. Almost.

Instead, he stepped inside.

The receptionist—Sienna—looked up from her desk, startled. Her eyes went wide.

“Drew?”

“Hey,” he said, offering a small, sheepish smile. “She in?”

Sienna nodded slowly. “Yeah, she’s here. Her door’s closed but—”

“I’ll knock,” he said.

She opened the door after two knocks, and the look on her face nearly undid him.

She was tired. Still beautiful, still herself, but visibly tired in a way that made his gut twist. Like she hadn’t slept in days. Like his silence had carved something hollow in her that she didn’t know how to fill.

She blinked. “You’re here.”

“Yeah,” he said, voice soft. “I’m here.”

He held out the flowers, suddenly feeling like they weren’t nearly enough. “I know it’s stupid. And they’re from the airport. But…”

She reached out, took them from him without a word.

For a moment, they just stood there, neither one sure what to say.

The ride home was quiet, but not cold. She drove, one hand on the wheel, the other resting just inches from where his sat on the center console. He didn’t reach for her. Not yet.

When they got inside, Teddy was the first to break the tension, leaping onto Drew’s legs like no time had passed.

Drew laughed, crouching down to hug him. “Hey, buddy.”

She walked past him into the living room, setting the flowers in a vase like her hands needed something to do.

“Why’d you come back?” she asked finally.

He stood there for a long beat. “Because you were right.”

She turned to face him. “About what?”

“About everything.” He stepped closer. “I let the noise drown out the only voice I should’ve been listening to. I let you feel alone in something we were supposed to be in together.”

He sat down on the edge of the couch. “I kept telling myself the distance was temporary. That you understood. That love was enough. But I stopped showing it. And that’s on me.”

She leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. “I didn’t want to doubt you, Drew.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t want to feel like I was losing you.”

“You’re not,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “I swear. I’m still yours. I just forgot how to say it in a way you could hear.”

She didn’t speak for a while. Then: “You didn’t even tell me you were coming.”

“I wanted to show up before I talked myself out of it.” He looked up at her. “I didn’t know if you’d want to see me.”

“I always want to see you,” she whispered.

He stood, closing the distance. Slowly. Carefully.

“I miss us,” he said. “The stupid jokes. Your half-finished coffees. Fighting over blankets and waking up to your hair in my face. I miss hearing about your day instead of reading between your posts.”

She looked at him for a long time, eyes glimmering. Then: “I miss us too.”

He reached for her hand, and this time, she let him.

“I’ll post photos of me kissing your forehead every damn day. I’ll FaceTime you from set, from the makeup chair, from the bathroom if that’s the only private place I can find. I’ll do whatever it takes to make you feel like you’re not competing with a spotlight I never even wanted” he murmured.

“You don’t have to do all that,” she said, though her voice cracked. “Just… don’t disappear on me again.”

“I won’t,” he promised. “I couldn’t. You’re the only thing that keeps me grounded.”

She stepped into him then—just barely—and he wrapped his arms around her like something sacred.

Teddy circled them twice before settling by their feet, tail thumping.

They stayed like that for a while.

And when she finally looked up at him, eyes softer now, he pressed a kiss to her forehead and whispered, “I’m not going anywhere.”

This time, she believed him.

And this time, he meant it.

[asterafroditis]

Hello!! What do you think about a scenario with a freshman reader who is dating a third-year student and is worried about their relationship after the guy graduates from college?For example with Lilia, Leona, Vil, Jade (would like to read something longer rather than a headcanon, I realize it's hard to write with everyone, so pick whichever of the characters listed you like best).

𐔌 . ⋮ seasons ahead .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☓┆Lilia & Vil x gn! reader (separate)

𓏵 1350 words

ᝰ.ᐟ 2nd Person POV, no pronouns used, light angst, hurt/comfort, ooc(?)

When I first saw this ask I legitimately wanted to write Vil BUTT I barely have made any Lilia content so I wanted to challenge myself with this haha TT but there is also a Vil version since he rots in my head! feel free to like, reblog, or comment!

ᝰ.ᐟ masterlist

You should have known from the beginning—should’ve known that dating someone like Lilia meant chasing after someone with centuries of stories behind his smile. You knew from the moment he first offered you his gloved hand with a mischievous wink and an old-fashioned compliment. Knew the moment he called you “darling” with just enough sincerity to make your heart skip.

But you were foolish in that soft, hopeful way only freshmen can be. You let yourself fall.

And he had never pushed you away.

Even now, as the end of the year creeps in like fog rolling off the Briar Valley cliffs, he lets you stay close.

You sit with him in a quiet corner of the Diasomnia dorm lounge, wrapped in the faint scent of worn leather and old paper. The fireplace crackles softly. Lilia is reading—of course he is. Some ancient, yellow-paged novel written in a language you barely recognize. His fingers trace the faded ink like he’s greeting an old friend. You’re curled beside him, your open notebook long forgotten, your pen idle between your fingers.

It’s too peaceful. Too quiet for the words burning in your chest.

“I heard you’re really leaving,” you say at last. “Not just graduating. Leaving Night Raven College… for good.”

He closes the book with a soft sound. Smiles gently. “Mmm. The birds must leave the nest sometime, mustn’t they?”

“It’s not funny.”

“No,” he says. “It isn’t.”

There’s a pause. You stare at the flickering hearthlight and feel your chest tighten. You’ve known this was coming since the day Malleus cracked under centuries of pressure and pain, and everything changed.

But knowing doesn’t make it easier.

You hate how kind Lilia is in moments like this. How easy he makes it to love him. He’s warm in that way starlight is—beautiful, constant, and impossibly far away. You want to drag him closer. Keep him here, where the world still makes sense. But he belongs to time. And time never waits.

“You’re going to live for centuries more,” you murmur. “And I’m just… me.”

He tilts his head. His hair catches the firelight like dusk on water. “You’re you. And that has always been enough.”

You bite your lip, fighting the burn in your eyes. “Will you forget me?”

His laugh is soft. Almost sorrowful. “I’ve forgotten many things over the years… names, places, entire winters. But the ones who matter? They leave echoes. Imprints.” His gaze lowers to you, quiet and fond. “You’re not a passing breeze. You’ve already left your mark.”

You want to believe him. You do. But doubt still coils in your stomach like a vine.

“I don’t want to just be an echo,” you whisper.

He places his hand over yours—small and delicate, but steady. “Then don’t be. Write me letters. Send me photos. Meet me again someday, when the winds are kind. We’ll find each other. We always do.”

You don’t know what to say. You want to scream, cry, beg him to stay. But instead, you lean into his shoulder. And he leans into you right back, like he always has.

“I don’t know how to say goodbye,” you admit quietly.

“Then don’t,” he says. “Say goodnight. Say ‘until next time.’ Say ‘I’ll see you in spring.’ The world is big, yes, but paths cross in the strangest places. Even time bends a little for love.”

You close your eyes, memorizing the sound of his voice.

And when he kisses your forehead, it isn’t a farewell. It’s a promise. That he might not be yours forever—but he is yours now. And that has to be enough.

─────────────────────────

It started the way all fairytales do—not with a grand gesture, but something quiet. A single moment that shifted the light.

Vil had gently brushed your hair out of your eyes one day after your alchemy class, his fingers lingering longer than necessary, his gaze soft and searching. You were still new to NRC then—navigating the chaos of the cafeteria, dodging overly ambitious spellwork in the halls, and learning, day by day, how not to gawk whenever Vil Schoenheit walked past like a vision of poise carved in gold.

You hadn’t known what to expect when he asked you to meet him for tea later that week. You still didn’t, even a year into dating.

Now, the two of you sit hand in hand beneath the hush of the Botanical Gardens after hours, a space Vil had “borrowed” with a few elegant words to the staff. The greenhouse glows with soft firefly light and the ghost-pale shimmer of moonlight through misted glass. It’s beautiful—of course it is. Every moment with him feels curated, intentional. But this time, you can sense the quiet weight beneath the beauty.

Graduation looms like a shadow at the edge of the light.

He’s leaving soon. You won’t.

And the thought claws at your chest like brambles.

Vil senses it before you speak. Of course he does. He’s always been attuned to your silences the way a director reads stillness on a stage.

“You’re uncharacteristically quiet tonight,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “That usually means something’s troubling you.”

You shift, the question burning at the tip of your tongue. “It’s just… I’ve been thinking. After graduation… where will you be?”

Vil’s expression remains still, poised. But you feel the smallest shift—like a mirror catching light at a different angle. His grip tightens slightly, not enough to hurt, just enough to ground.

“You mean: what will happen to us?”

You nod, biting your lip.

He doesn’t look away. “I’ll be busy, yes. My schedule will change. My career is—and will remain—demanding. But do you truly believe I’d forget you?” His voice is soft but sharp, like velvet hiding a blade. “Do you think I’d treat this—treat you—like some seasonal wardrobe I can store away when it’s no longer in fashion?”

Your breath catches. “No. I just… I’m scared.”

It feels so small to admit, but it’s the truth. You’re young, still tethered to the rhythms of campus life. He’s already halfway into the world beyond, with press interviews, film scripts, magazine covers bearing his name.

Vil lifts a hand and gently touches your chin, tilting your face up to meet his. His eyes are serious, edged with something vulnerable—something real beneath the perfect exterior.

“I won’t lie to you. I never have,” he says. “This won’t be easy. There will be nights I’m in another country. Weeks when we can’t speak beyond a message or two. There will be pressure—rumors, distance, uncertainty. But I have never committed to something I didn’t intend to see through.”

His words steady something trembling in your chest.

“We’re not naïve,” he continues. “We know time. We know ambition. But if you trust me—truly trust me—and if you still want me, even when I’m not here, then I will be waiting. No role, no red carpet, no flashing light will ever hold the same weight as your voice saying my name.”

You stare at him, overwhelmed.

“I do trust you,” you whisper. “I’m just scared to lose you to a world that’s so much bigger than me.”

Vil exhales slowly, and when he smiles, it’s not the show-stopping, camera-ready one. It’s something smaller. Truer.

“Then let’s not waste this season worrying about ones we haven’t stepped into yet,” he says, bringing your hand to his lips. “Let’s make these days worth remembering. Let me become a memory so bright, even time won’t dull it.”

And somehow, in that moment, you believe him.

Because with Vil, even endings feel like carefully chosen scenes in a story far from finished.

[kingkat12]

forever (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: angst, mentions of blood, ANGST (SORRY IN ADVANCE)

summary: nothing will ever be the same again after you've found out what Roman truly is-- you can be sure of that now.

word count: 5,093

← previous chapter | next chapter →

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･seven minutes in heaven masterlist

a/n: GOSH I'M BACK! 13 is the lucky number (not). this chapter is a bit shorter than usual, but it's more than enough for this scene... I can't breathe omg. thank you to everyone that has helped me with brainstorming and clearing my mind about this scene, specifically @mentallyscreamingsincebirth who read about 7 different drafts (poor soul), and I'M SO SORRY. SO SO SORRY Y'ALL. ENJOY... tbh that's not the right word, so, good luck!!!

Loving Roman had consequences right from the start.

However, I never imagined it would lead to this. 

My hands trembled as I clutched the knife, though I couldn't tell if it was from fear or the sheer weight of the situation. Roman hadn't moved an inch since I'd pointed it at him, but the way he loomed in front of me made every second stretch unbearably long. The silence in the room was deafening, broken only by the faint hum of the fridge-- my breath caught in my throat as he tilted his head, his green eyes flickering with something unreadable, something quiet.

Then, without warning, a slow exhale left his lips as though he was indifferent-- Roman's shoulders slackened, the tension bleeding from his frame as if this entire moment had bored him. And then, just like that, he put his tux jacket on the kitchen island before he turned away.

I flinched at the movement, but all Roman did was step toward the fridge, peeling it open with a lazy sort of ease. He bent down, rummaging through the shelves, shifting the milk aside like I wasn't still standing there, terrified.

I turned with him, still pointing the blade in his direction as my pulse threatened to rupture my ears-- this was the biggest mind-fuck of the century. This night was. My brows drew together as I dared to speak, confusion drowning my anxious words; "What are you doing?"

Roman shrugged. "I have a feeling this is gonna take a while, and I'm really fucking hungry. Do you know how many calories you burn from beating up assholes?" Another sigh followed--  he continued to speak into the fridge as he shuffled through the vegetables; "You're not wearing your dress."

It sounded like a casual remark, yet I knew it was loaded with the intent of getting me to explain myself. The longer I stayed quiet, the more I could hear my heart pound. "I changed,"

"Where?" 

"... Here?" 

Roman shook his head, remnants of a knowing smirk painting his lips-- it didn't reach his eyes. "I don't think we should be starting this conversation off with more lies," 

His words were chilling. I struggled to find mine. I cleared my throat over and over as my hands got clammy around the knife I had yet to lower; "I don't know what you're talking about,"

"Come on," Roman huffed, rolling his eyes as he straightened up, reaching for the handle of the fridge. When he turned his head to meet my gaze, I felt my breathing knot itself in my chest-- I hated this feeling. I hated being scared of my boyfriend. I hated that I couldn't bring myself to put away the kitchen knife I was still pointing at him. Roman continued; "I've been waiting for you for about... what, fifteen minutes? You didn't change here, and those clothes aren't yours."

Fighting the urge to stay tongue-tied, I snapped; "And you shouldn't have broken into my house in the first place! That's crossing all fucking boundaries!--"

BOOM.

The fridge door slammed shut with a force that rattled the shelves.

I jolted. A sharp, pathetic squeak clawed up my throat before I could stop it. My pulse jumped, breath hitching-- fuck.

Roman had never looked more intimidating; "I see we're past talking about boundaries!" he hissed, glancing down at the knife in my trembling hands. His attempts at containing his anger were cracking.

"Fine," I bit back. "Let's talk about the important piece of information you so conveniently failed to tell me, then!"

Roman blinked. I knew him too well; I could see his mind racing behind those big, beautiful eyes. I shouldn't be looking into them. "The car crash?" he asked, attempting to soften his voice. Something told me he got hopeful that he had hit bingo about the subject, and that he could somehow salvage this; "I'll tell you everything you want, baby. No problem, okay? Where do you want me to start?--"

"Don't fuck with me, Roman!" One of my hands left the knife as my tremble subsided, and I steadied my stance. "Enough!" 

Roman's fists clenched, and his gaze pierced mine with rays of ice. It took him some time to let it sink in-- we were about to have this conversation, whether he wanted to or not. We were going to talk about what he was. Despite the horror of the situation, my body filled with a satisfaction unlike anything I had ever felt before; I had pieced it together. I had cornered him. I had caught the liar, and I had done it all by myself. 

However, the liar in question didn't want to relent so easily; "This is about Daniel, isn't it? The little shit who confessed he'd get off to snapping your neck in half?"

"It's... What?" My frustration possessed me as I gestured with the knife, exasperated. "No, Roman! It's not that, and you know it!"

Roman let out a quick, icy breath as his fists clenched and unclenched-- deny, deny, deny. "He had it coming," he breathed. "I don't get why you're holding a knife at me for giving that guy what he deserved!"

"That's not why I'm!--"

"You think I went too far?" Roman scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. Deny, deny, deny. "You think I should've let him walk away after hurting you, is that it?"

This was beyond frustrating now. It was infuriating, actually. Roman's dismissal of the real topic of concern drove me into a state I hadn't been in before; it almost made my vision go red. Then, it took me a second to realize my vision was blurring because of more causes than one-- with tears pooling in my eyes, I watched as Roman continued his angry rant;

"I don't get you! Why the fuck are you pulling a knife on your boyfriend for protecting you?! I was the one who saved you, I was the one who made sure you got the revenge you deserved, and what do I get in return? That terrified look on your fucking face?!" 

Roman was yelling now. 

Yelling.

I kept telling myself he didn't mean it, that he was simply anxious to face the truth that I knew his biggest secret, but... now that I knew what he was, it only made me grip the knife harder. What if he suddenly pounced at me? What if he got so overcome by anger that he lunged my way out of pure instinct?

I flinched when Roman raised his hands, yet I let out a shaky breath of relief when they went to his hair, ripping at the tips of his brown locks in frustration; "I have done everything to protect you! I-- I messed him up, okay, but!--"

Enough. "Protect me?! You think this is protection?!"

The panic Roman had painted across his face for sympathy got wiped away the second I raised my voice too. His act wasn't working. His distractions weren't working. Nothing was. "It is," he hissed.

"No!" The tears that had welled in my eyes threatened to spill. "You should've left me alone the second you started feeling anything for me! That would've been protection, that would've mercy!" 

Roman closed his eyes and sucked in a sharp line of air-- "Don't say that," he breathed. "You're crossing the line."

"Crossing... the line?!" 

"You are," he continued, blindly gesturing at the knife. "Point your knives, call me whatever, say all the shit you want, but not that. What we have is damn near holy to me, so keep that out of your mouth."

I had half the mind to throw the knife at him. Enough was enough, I couldn't stand it anymore; "You're insane!" I yelled. "You're batshit crazy, and you're out of your fucking mind if you think that you were protecting me all this time! You've only put me in danger!"

Roman's eyes widened with offence. "I have not!--"

"You urged me to slice my hand in front of you, and you sucked my fucking blood that time you decided you wanted to blood-bind us or whatever the fuck those vials were for! How dare you put me in that situation when you know what you are?!"

Silence.

In the void of sound we had created, I could hear a light tapping against the windows-- it was raining. Outside, the grass was given the opportunity to grow. At this very moment, flowers all around were watered with new energy for life; yet here I was, being drained of all of mine.

Roman's face twitched with multiple emotions, unable to decide which one to settle for as he lowered his gaze. Had he ever prepared for this moment? I wondered if he had. I wondered whether he had ever laid in bed at night, riddled with guilt and the weight of the world, and whether he had ever thought about coming clean. Had he thought he could get away with it, that I would never find out? 

Finally, Roman opened his mouth; "I..." 

It didn't take long before it shut again.

A shaky breath escaped me when I realized my knuckles were going white around the knife. I was about to say something, maybe even dig deep into my soul to search for words of comfort; yet when Roman's eyes fully focused on mine again, I felt my whole world freeze over.

Roman's pupils widened, fixating on me as though I was prey, a big deer in the wilderness. He knew the act was up, that the game was over, and instead of facing it, he fixated on the one thing he felt he could still control. His words came out with a low growl; "You have something of mine,"

... What? 

He took a threatening step forward. 

My breath hitched; I readied my brain for possible combat. 

"The vial," Roman hissed. "Where is it?" 

Another step.

"It's mine. If this is how you want to do this, I want it back,"

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. "Back-- Back off!--"

With Roman's next step, my body tensed up with the realization that he was speeding up--

It was now or never.

With a shriek, I tossed the knife in his direction out of pure fear, and ran out of the kitchen as my screams emptied my lungs. The pounding of my heart filled my ears as I heard the clashing of pots and pans, possibly the sound of Roman jumping over the kitchen island to get to me, and it only made me panic more.

He called out my name, a yell of rage, as I made it past the living room and into the hallway. 

I was running for my life. 

I was running for my life. 

A ragged scream tore from my throat as I snatched the nearest object, a flimsy umbrella, and flung it behind me without looking. It didn't matter. He'd dodge it. He'd always dodge it.

Tears burned down my face, blurring the steps ahead as I bolted up the stairs. My chest heaved, my legs burned, but I pushed-- pushed like my life depended on it, because it did.

I was going to die, wasn't I?

This was it.

But for a second, a stupid, desperate second, my brain tricked me; maybe I could make it? Maybe I could outrun him? Maybe, maybe I could get out of this alive?

I chanced a glance over my shoulder--

Roman wasn't there.

My heart stopped. Relief slammed into me so hard that my knees nearly buckled.

Too soon.

I saw it too late-- the flicker of movement at the edge of my vision.

Roman's hand, appearing at the top of the banister.

He hadn't run up the stairs. He'd jumped. From the first floor to the second in a single, monstrous leap.

A scream ripped from my throat as he vaulted over the railing, his body a blur, his weight crashing into me before I could even think to run.

My back hit the ground hard, but before I could even feel the pain, something else registered.

His hand. Between my head and the floor, cushioning the blow.

My breath stuttered, my body locked in pure terror as I fought, thrashed, pounded my fists against his chest-- but it was useless. He didn't budge.

My heartbeat was a deafening drumbeat of panic; I wasn't getting away. I wasn't getting away.

I wasn't getting away.

Then, Roman grabbed my hands and slammed them to the floor, pinning me down with a groan. His voice was sharp, teetering on the edge of control; "Stop it!" he yelled. "Stop fighting! I'm not going to hurt you!"

I squeezed my eyes shut, the tears still coming. I didn't believe him. I couldn't believe him.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" he continued. "Since when do you throw knives at me?!" 

I kept trying to kick him off. It didn't work. Nothing did.

Roman's chest heaved above mine, his grip tightening before he seemed to catch himself-- his fingers loosened just slightly. His voice dropped, a thread of disbelief woven through the frustration. "You're really afraid of me, aren't you?"

I let out a quiet sob, unable to speak.

Roman's breath shook, his head tilting as if seeing me for the first time. He exhaled through his nose, but his next words wavered; "After all this time... you really think I could hurt you?"

Something in his voice made me pause. He wasn't just angry anymore, he was... wounded. 

"After everything?" he breathed. His fingers curled around my wrists, but this time, they trembled.

I didn't answer. I couldn't.

That silence, that awful, confirming silence, broke him. Roman's expression crumpled as he clutched my wrists like a lifeline, his breath uneven. The anger drained from him in an instant, replaced by something desperate, raw, broken. 

"You're breaking my heart," he breathed.

The words shattered between us.

I stilled, my own heartbeat stammering.

In the muted space of my lack of words, Roman let out a quiet, shuddering laugh, his green eyes glossing over. "Letha told you, didn't she?" His voice cracked, barely above a whisper; "You're wearing her clothes, and you kinda smell like her expensive incense for crazy people. Don't tell me she performed some ritual on you?"

I swallowed hard. Telling him the truth felt dangerous; I needed to protect my last ally, didn't I? "No," I whispered. "No rituals. There was no Letha. I figured it out by myself... I-- I read a book." At least there was some truth to what I was saying.

Roman uttered something between a scoff and a choked breath, shaking his head. His lips curled, but there was no humor in it. "All by yourself?" he muttered. "That's my girl."

Acid filled my next words, overcome by emotion; "You left me no choice,"

"I didn't?"

"You didn't,"

"That's nonsense," Roman mumbled. "We could've avoided all of this. We could've had a few good years with you in the dark."

His face was too hard to read. His expressive eyes were so cold and hard with his conviction-- he really believed that, didn't he? "Years?" I whispered. "With me... in the dark?"

"Yeah," Breathless. He was breathless. "A decade, maybe."

It didn't take me long to piece it together. It would take a decade until he looked considerably younger than me. Would he have let me in on his secret then? 

"That wouldn't have been enough," I said, choking back my tears. "I wanted a whole life with you, Roman."

His next inhale was shaky, yet quick-- finally, he could be sure that he had lost. "So you... you really know, now?"

I knew.

I knew. 

And I could barely speak it; "That you're a upir? Yeah,"

Roman had yet to let me go. "Fuck..." he breathed, nodding to himself. "There goes that."

There it goes.

All the stolen glances, all the kisses, all the joy, all the love.

It was draining the life out of the both of us. "I'm not going to ask you to forgive me," Roman tried. "But can I at least... please have the vial?" His voice broke at the end of his sentence, and he bit down on his bottom lip to keep it from quivering.

My words came out with a tremble; "I-- I threw it away. It was affecting you horribly, and I don't want that for you... I don't want you to be in pain, Roman, despite everything you are,"

He sucked in a sharp breath, his whole body locking up as if my words had just stabbed into him. "I'll have nothing of you, then?" His voice was barely there, so fragile it made my chest ache. "When you leave me, I'll... I'll have nothing?"

I blinked. When I leave?

Was he... planning to let me go?

"You're breaking my heart," Roman echoed, his shoulders trembling as he let go of my wrists to cradle my face in his hands. 

The touch nearly made me flinch. Had I not been so intent on my survival, I would've pushed him away with a shudder. I didn't want him touching me, not now that I knew who and what he was, yet I endured it for the sake of my life. 

Roman's grip faltered as he watched me fail to hide my fear, and his fingers trailed to my cheeks as he took in the look on my face.

"I can never trust you again," I whispered. "Never hold you, never kiss you... Not now that I know what you are."

Roman's fingers slowly brushed over my cheek, shaking. "But... it was supposed to be you and me," he breathed. "Forever."

Forever.

The word sent a sharp ache through my ribs.

Roman's eyes shut, his face twisting with something too deep to name. "I know I should've stayed away..." A shuddering inhale. "I should've just kept on being miserable." 

I choked down a sob; "Rome," I whispered. What else was there to say?

The nickname hit him like a bullet. Roman's voice was rough when he dared to speak; "I wasn't supposed to feel like this for anyone... That was my one rule," He pulled back just enough to look at me. His eyes were bloodshot, and his jaw was tight like he was forcing the words out. "I don't know when it happened, and I don't know how it happened, but I woke up one day and realized that I-- fuck!" 

Overcome by his emotions, Roman let out a sharp, bitter laugh; "I didn't want this, okay? I didn't-- God, I didn't fucking want to feel anything for you at all! I didn't want us to ever happen in the first place!"

The words should've hurt. They were meant to hurt, why else would Roman say them? But the way he said them, so wrecked, so lost, made my heart ache instead.

Roman exhaled hard, tilting his head back like he was trying to keep it together. "You have no idea how much I fought feeling anything for you... You have no idea how many times I told myself that it was nothing, that it would go away, and that you were just!--" He stopped, his breath hitching. "That you were just some meaningless girl, something temporary, a distraction at most, and not!--"

He didn't say it.

He couldn't. 

Not yet.

"And I--" Roman stopped, like the next part physically hurt to say. "I should've told you about this, I should've told you who I am. You deserved that much, and I tried, I swear! I-- I wanted to. But every time I got close,  every time I thought, this is it, tell the fucking girl, be a man, I'd look at you and-- and I got scared."

Finally, I could be sure the world was going under. The notorious Roman Godfrey was scared, and even worse, admitting to it. 

"Because if I told you, you'd leave!" he said, voice raw with pain. "And I couldn't-- I can't!--"  He was shattering right before my eyes, shattering into a million pieces. "Fuck, you have to understand! I didn't keep it from you to hurt you, I kept it from you because I'd lose everything!"

Roman swallowed hard, and in the smallest, quietest voice, he whispered; "I never, ever wanted to lose you. Nothing else matters like this, I-- I love you too much to function,"

Silence.

Thick. Suffocating.

Roman Godfrey... loved me?

He loved me.

Roman loved me.

And here he was, looking down at me with those big, pleading, green eyes like it would fix everything. Like it would fix the fact that he could kill me within a second. Like it would fix his blood-thirst. 

"Please," he breathed, heartbroken with my lack of response. "You're not saying anything. Please say something."

All the times I had sensed something was wrong and convinced myself I was crazy rushed through my mind, clouding my shock at Roman's confession. It was torturous how he had let me remain in the dark for so long. Was that love, or was that selfishness?

I knew the answer.

"That's not love, Roman," I whispered. "That's fear."

His face fell. "No," he tried. "Don't-- Don't say that, it's not--"

"You say you didn't tell me because you didn't want to lose me, but what do you think this is? What do you think is happening right now?" My voice wavered, heat rushing to my face. "You talk about love like it's this big, tragic thing you had no control over, but you chose to lie to me above all else! You chose to put me in danger every time you were ever near me!"

I pushed against his chest, my body trembling with the force of my anger; Roman could've easily stayed put, could've easily kept me pinned to the ground, yet he relented, his eyes wide with hurt as he allowed me to push him away and sit up.

"You let me walk around and doubt myself for months, Roman! You let me drive myself crazy, trying to understand what the hell was wrong with me and why I was even doubting you, when this whole time-- this whole time, you were lying to my face!"

Roman ran a hand through his hair, looking wrecked. "What did you want me to do?!--"

"Anything but this, you fucking asshole!" I shoved myself off the floor, feeling my heart pound. "And you don't get to look at me like that, like I've wrecked your life! You don't get to act like this is just something sad that happened to us when this could've been prevented all along if you'd just stayed the fuck away!"

"That's not fair!" Roman yelled through the tears welling in his eyes. "You were basically throwing yourself at me!--"

"And you shouldn't have let me!" 

"Come on!" Desperate, Roman reached for me, but I jerked away so fast that I nearly tripped.

"Don't!" My voice cracked, but it didn't matter. "Don't you fucking touch me, how dare you!" Every nerve in my body was screaming at me to tell him that I loved him too, that we could find a way to make it work, that I would always love him no matter what... but Letha's warnings ran through my head.

She had told me he was dangerous. She told me about his urges, how he would forever be hungry for blood, and that I risked my life every minute I was near him. Letha explained how Roman could hear the heartbeats of everyone within a certain radius, and that every thump reminded him of how hungry he was.

But now, as I looked into his hurt eyes, I could only see...

Pain.

I couldn't look at him anymore. I couldn't hurt him any longer, as Letha said I needed to do-- I had to move. Roman's voice was a faint echo as I started taking shaky steps toward my bedroom; there was no chance I'd outrun him if he wanted to chase me again, so I walked. It didn't take long before I heard him scrambling up from the floor as well, following me into my room. 

I could feel him behind me when I stepped inside.

The door clicked shut.

My heart pounded, and I knew he could hear it. I knew.

"Baby--"

"Don’t," I breathed, stopping in the middle of the room before I turned around to face him. Even at this moment, he was beautiful. He was breathtaking in his shirt, even though his previously neat hairstyle had fallen apart with all the running and struggling. How was this fair?

I heard the shift in Roman's breathing, and how he tried to swallow the desperation in his throat. "You’re scared of me,”

I squeezed my eyes shut. "Yes,”

"You don’t have to be," he whispered. "I would never--"

"I do,"

A sharp, broken exhale. He took a step closer, daring to get in my personal space, and I flinched before I could stop myself.

Roman froze.

Silence. Again.

And then--

He dropped to his knees.

I gasped. His hands clutched the fabric of my shirt, Letha's shirt, his forehead pressing against my stomach like he was praying to me. His breath was shaky, his fingers curling and uncurling as if he didn’t know whether to hold me or let me go.

"Please," His voice was wrecked, hoarse with unshed tears. "Please don’t do this."

I stood frozen, my hands shaking at my sides. I wanted to cradle him, wanted to sink down to the floor and hold him, but I couldn't move.

Roman pressed a kiss to my stomach, then another. Then my ribs. Then my hip. A desperate, reverent kind of touch. Not to seduce, not to possess-- but to beg.

"I love you," His voice cracked, his lips ghosting over the fabric of my shirt. "I love you so much, I can’t-- fuck, I can’t lose you!--"

"Roman--"

His body shuddered against mine, his fingers twitching where they clung to me, like if he just held on tightly enough, none of this would be real. "I can control it," he pleaded. "I swear, I swear, baby, please!--"

I swallowed hard, my throat tight. I wanted to believe him so bad, wanted to relent, yet Letha's voice echoed in my head; "He will hurt you,"

"I won’t hurt you," he choked out, contradicting my every thought. "I’d rather die."

My breath hitched as my hands trembled, longing to reach for him. I pressed my lips together, trying to force down the sob rising in my throat; "If you don't want to hurt me, you-- you have to leave. You have to let me go," 

Roman's fingers clutched the fabric of my shirt as he shook his head, a frantic, shattered movement. No, no, no. "I don’t want to," His voice was raw. "Don’t make me. Please don't-- please don't make me."

I squeezed my eyes shut. Don’t look at him. Don’t look at him. "Roman..."

He knew he had lost. It was over. There was nothing more to say. Slowly, painfully, he pulled back, looking up at me with wide, devastated eyes, silent tears streaking his face. He pressed one last, trembling kiss to my hip.

And then--

Roman let go.

He pushed himself up onto unsteady legs. Stumbled back, one step, two.

Heavy. 

Everything was, until I felt the relief of his eyes leaving mine. It felt like the weight of his attention lifted a ton from my shoulders. But the momentary solace quickly left me when I watched Roman's gaze shift--

He stilled.

The change was instant. His entire body locked up so tight it was like something inside him had snapped. His breath came shallow, his shoulders rising and falling in sharp, stuttered movements. His fingers flexed and curled like they didn’t know what to do.

I followed his line of sight with my breath catching in my chest, and my stomach dropped when I saw what he was looking at.

The book.

That fucking book. 

The Avoidable Vampirism - The Upir.

It lay there on my nightstand, its pages still open, marked by the frantic creases my fingers had pressed into them over and over again. There was no hiding it now.

With a sharp turn, I glanced back at Roman with huge eyes, wondering whether anger would take over his body and trigger him to chew me to death. But alas-- nothing.

Roman didn’t move.

He just stared. His lips parted slightly, his lashes fluttering as he blinked through the tears in his eyes, but he didn’t speak. I could see it, the way the pieces started clicking into place in his mind, how the dots connected in a way that destroyed him.

Finally, we both knew it was over. 

Then--

Defeated, Roman turned away.

It was sudden, almost violent, the way he ripped himself away. He staggered toward my window, one hand swiping at his face as he smeared his tears into his skin, his breath a sharp, hollow sound. His entire body shook like he was barely keeping himself together, like the second he stepped outside, he would completely break apart.

Roman reached for the window.

Shoved it open.

But just for a second, he hesitated.

For a second.

For me.

He waited.

He was begging me to say something, to stop him, to tell him he didn’t have to go.

But I didn’t. I couldn't.

So, Roman climbed through the window I had snuck him in through countless times. We had shared countless kisses there; kisses of passion, kisses of joy, kisses goodbye, kisses hello. But now, there would be no more. 

With one final look back, his green eyes seared into mine with a look I would never forget.

And then--

Roman Godfrey was gone. 

I stood there for longer than I'd ever admit to anyone, staring at the empty space he'd left behind, waiting for him to come back. I could still smell him-- the deep cologne and the faint, metallic tinge of blood clinging to my shirt where he'd been pressed against me just minutes ago. It was Daniel's blood, a trace of what had happened earlier tonight. I couldn't believe I had been happy just a few hours ago. A few hours was all it took to unravel everything. 

It was like he had left a ghost of himself behind--- something half-alive, something that would never quite let go of me.

Nothing but the sound of my own breathing filled up the room. It sounded too loud, too shaky. My fingers drifted into my pocket without thinking, curling around the cold glass buried there.

The vials clinked together as I rolled them between my fingers-- his blood, my blood, trapped inside two fragile little prisons, always touching but never quite meeting.

I brought them to my lips, squeezing my eyes shut— I could never get rid of them. Never.

If I crushed them right now, if I just closed my fist and shattered them into a thousand tiny shards, maybe this whole nightmare would shatter with them? Maybe I would wake up and he would still be here, begging me not to send him away? Maybe I could've made a different choice? Maybe he would wrap his arms around me again and swear that he would never hurt me, and maybe this time I would believe him?

But I didn't crush them-- I couldn't.

Instead, I pressed the glass harder against my lips until I tasted the salt of my tears on the rim.

At least in this form, we could be together.

Forever.

(a/n: ... sorry not sorry. this was heartbreaking to write, believe me. but this isn't the last chapter, that will be the next, and y'all are in for a RIDE!! thank you so so much for reading this, aaaand just quick psa, I will not be compensating anyone for their possible need for an ambulance or any funeral services cause I'm obv evil:))) JK MWAH🥹🌸 THANK YOUUU<333)

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[lorelune]

hi lore! for your game, oliver aiku + oil stains!

ohhhh bitti tempt me TEMPT ME!!

oliver + oil stains

(minors dni // situationship reader x oliver)

you awaken to a warm hand running up and down your spine. lingering a little too low for your sleeping body to ignore any longer, you crack an eye open. gold bathes the bedroom, cascades over rumpled sheets.

the hand drifts to the base of your neck, squeezing there.

"good morning," oliver hums. "i can tell your awake."

shifting, you groan into your pillow. even tilting your hips just a little... hurts.

"let me sleep." you kick at his legs weakly. "i deserve it."

"oh?" he sounds pleased. "why's that?"

"you broke me. my bones hurt. let me rest."

"i made your bones hurt? wow, maybe i should pat myself on the back."

"you're the worst."

and yet, you're tucked in his bed.

you're not sure... when this started. for the longest time, oliver (politely) kicked you out after your hookups. he has practice, or at the very least a workout, every morning, and having you linger disrupted his routine. that was the excuse, anyway, but you always understood that he was more than likely telling you to scram because that's his preference following a hookup regardless.

you can't blame him; you didn't then.

but, at some point, you started staying the night.

the first time, he fucked you so well and long and stupid, that you were barely lucid by the end of it. you fell asleep against your will and by the time you were roused, you had still felt loopy and out of it. you came to with oliver rather gently cleaning up between your thighs. he told you to use to the restroom and then come back and crash. there was a spare toothbrush in the bathroom for you.

it's weird, oliver really got more attentive after that.

now... this is a thing. you stay the night, like you're his partner and not the his favorite random fuck.

(it's weird too because you know oliver used to have others in his bed besides than you. you can't say for certain if that has changed.)

"i am, aren't i?" oliver laughs, good-natured. his voice is rough and ragged from the night before. it's unfairly hot and you hate the fact that your probably-still-puffy cunt flutters around nothing with the sound. fucker. "maybe a few more minutes then, as a penance."

you hum, burying your face back into his pillow. you are tired.

oliver settles behind you. it's his preferred position. you can feel that he's damp, which means he somehow snuck out for his morning practice without waking you. it's a considerable amount of effort and thought to show you. it makes your guts twist.

"what were you wearing last night?" oliver asks, breath warm against your ear.

"lingerie," you remind him with a huff. "you tore it off me, remember?"

"oh, i did, didn't i?" oliver sounds far too pleased with himself.

"you better pay me back for it."

"sure, sure. but, i didn't mean that. i meant on your lips."

"my... lips?" it takes you a moment to recall.

you were wearing some pretty makeup. the kind the smudges out under your eyes when you get teary from the insane way in which oliver undoes you. the unholy things which he can do with his cock usually make you cry, at least a little. you've noticed he likes when you look fucked out, smudgy and satisfied by the end.

"lip oil." you tell him. it was a new brand for you, the shade a lighter than you normally wear. juicy and a little more natural looking.

"is that different than lip gloss?"

"somewhat. it's a little more... slippery, shinier."

oliver taps his fingers next to your head, you feel it against the pillow even with your eyes closed.

"'think it stains?"

that makes you rise, just enough to prop yourself up and look down at the pillow you've been glued to.

sure enough, streaked across the pillow case is half-formed prints of your lips. dappled in pink, smeared against the cotton. from when oliver had you on your tummy, fucking into your from behind, pinning you to the bed with a hand braced on the back of your neck.

you flush; you can't help it.

"i can wash that it for you—" you barely keep yourself up on your elbows. you want to bury yourself in the sheets and hide.

oliver doesn't let you. he guides you by the jaw to look back him.

he's... so smitten. so satisfied and smug and fucking smitten. the smile he wears is so intensely pleased with himself as his thumb runs under your eyes, undoubtedly over your still smudged makeup.

"no need." he presses over your bottom lip. "i'm thinking about framing it, what do you think?"

"oliver—!" you groan, and before you can admonish him anymore for teasing you in your state, he kisses you.

it's different than it was in the beginning. those first moments of intimacy were meant to serve a function. extinguish those shared, carnal urges that begged to be satiated. there was passion there, of course, oliver is a good lover even when he isn't dedicated or all that caring about the other person.

but now?

oliver kisses you like a lover. his head tilts just right and he cradles your jaw to follow his rhythm. he delves into you with a nip and a swipe of his tongue over your lips. you're helpless to this version of him, the version he has started to grow into. you moan against his mouth, leaning back, craning your neck for more—

he breaks from you, only to mouth at your neck.

"get your extra sleep." oliver tugs you closer by the hips. "i'll make breakfast when you wake up."

"i'll need to shower." you're a particular brand of filthy given oliver's treatment of you and your sex. you've been dripping him for the past six hours.

oliver clicks his tongue, "aw, without me?"

"i didn't say that."

"aren't you sweet."

"keep that tone up and it will be without you."

oliver laughs. he seems content regardless of your thorns. you think he likes them, actually. you're showing more of yourself to him, more sharp edges and less manicured rounded bits. it feels natural as your entanglement continues to change form.

and for better or for worse, you like showing yourself to him. you like seeing him too. the exchange is still comfortable and you'll enjoy it while you can.

(even if you can feel the fleeting nature of it transmuting, albeit slowly, into something richer. the type of feeling that can fill your chest guiltlessly.)

for now, you give him a kindness. you crane your neck back to press a kiss to his stubble and revel in the rubble of contentment that echoes from his chest. he presses into you, arms tightening around your waist—

like he really, really wants you there.