#how times change!!! look where they are now!!!

[khioneee]

ORGAN THIEF

synopsis. you tell yourself caleb was never yours to have, so you let zayne get close. until caleb decides he doesn’t like to share. warnings. jealousy. mentions of violence. angst. pairings. caleb x reader (x zayne) word count. 7k. an. felt like crying tbh. might edit later.

when you were young, there was no such thing as distance between you and caleb.

you were always together, moving through life side by side, never questioning it. there were scraped knees from racing down the street, grass stains from summers spent lying in the backyard, and lazy afternoons where he let you steal food from his plate without complaint. nights meant whispered conversations under blanket forts, his voice always the last thing you heard before sleep took you.

you grew up together, side by side, pulling each other out of the awkwardness of childhood, shedding timidity like second skin.

caleb and y/n, y/n and caleb.

here’s y/n.

here’s caleb.

here's a bond that no one else quite understands.

your love for caleb hasn’t changed, but it’s grown into something you didn’t understand. can’t understand. not yet.

but caleb has grown. taller, sharper, still careless with his hair, but just as hopeless at tying his tie in the morning. there’s a natural ease to him now, a quiet confidence that draws people in without effort. he doesn’t just enter a room, he shifts the atmosphere, commanding attention without needing to say a word.

you hear the way the girls in the hallways whisper about him, their voices hushed but excited, their eyes lighting up when he so much as glances in their direction. he’s the kind of person people gravitate toward, like planets drawn to the pull of the sun.

kind. athletic. smart. golden.

the one who remembers names, who helps the new kid find their classes, who scores the winning shot and shrugs like it was never in question.

when caleb talks to people, he makes them feel important, like they’re the only one in the room, like whatever they’re saying is the most interesting thing he’s ever heard. he finds beauty in everything, in everyone, and in return, people can’t help but see the same in him. they admire him, look up to him, want to be close to him.

but they also fear him.

they don’t realize it at first. not until they get too close to you.

at first, you didn’t think much of it.

the way conversations with guys ended abruptly, how some hesitated before sitting next to you, or how your lab partner, who had been openly flirting with you just the day before, suddenly kept his distance. his easy confidence had dulled overnight, his laughter forced, his eyes avoiding yours.

maybe it was just a coincidence, a strange pattern you convinced yourself wasn’t worth questioning. but then it started happening more often. the brief glances, the quiet goodbyes, the way some of caleb’s teammates barely acknowledged you despite knowing that you were close.

still, you never questioned it. because, in the end, it never really bothered you.

caleb had always been like that.

like how he insisted you wear his jersey at his games. the first time, he tossed it at you casually, like it was an afterthought. ‘now they’ll all know exactly who you’re watching.’

you rolled your eyes but pulled it on anyway, ignoring how it smelled faintly of his cologne and sweat. after that, it became a habit. if you ever showed up without it, he’d pull it from his bag and toss it over. no words, no discussion.

or how he always left his jacket with you when you were cold. it didn’t matter if you insisted you were fine. if he caught you rubbing your arms or tucking your hands into your sleeves, his jacket would be around your shoulders before you could protest. warm, a little too big, and never once did he ask for it back.

if you returned it to his room later, he’d only shrug like he hadn’t expected it back in the first place.

and then there were the small things. how he always found a way to sit next to you, even when his friends were at another table. how he would drop by your class between periods, casually placing a snack on your desk before walking off without a word. he never explained why, and you never asked.

maybe you should have questioned it more.

but the thing that stood out the most was that caleb never introduced you as his sister.

it would’ve been the easiest thing to say. it would have explained the connection, the way you were always around each other, how naturally you fit into his life. but he never said it. not once.

until people noticed.

one day, after a game, one of his teammates finally asked.

‘so, she’s your sister, huh?’ the guy grinned, nudging caleb in the ribs.

caleb didn’t respond immediately, just looked at him, unreadable.

the guy smirked, pushing further. ‘should i start calling you brother-in-law, then?’

you expected caleb to laugh it off, maybe roll his eyes or shove the guy off like he usually would. but he didn’t. his response was smooth, controlled, and too even.

‘she’s off-limits.’

there was no room for argument.

his teammate hesitated, raising his hands in mock surrender before forcing out a laugh. ‘damn, man. didn’t know it was like that.’

you didn’t think much of it.

not until a few days later, when that same teammate got injured at practice.

a bad fall, they said.

a collision that left him with a bruised eye and a limp that lasted over a week.

accidents happen all the time in sports. it was easy to write it off as bad luck.

but when you glanced at caleb, standing on the sidelines, unbothered, indifferent with bruises along his knuckles, you felt something shift in your stomach.

maybe you should have been mad. maybe you should have confronted him, called him out, demanded an explanation.

not because it was unfair.

not because it was wrong.

but because you liked it too much.

you liked the way caleb made it impossible for anyone else to get too close. the way his hand lingered at the small of your back when he guided you through a crowded hallway. the way he always waited for you after school, even when you had nothing planned.

the way he looked at you sometimes. like there was something simmering beneath the surface, something unspoken and dangerous and impossible.

and that was the problem.

because he wasn’t yours.

because he was supposed to be your best friend.your family. the one person you shouldn’t want.

you understood now. the love you had for him has grown to fill the spaces you didn’t have when you were a child. it’s grown into longing and desire and jealousy, something so fucking powerful and essential that there isn’t a piece of you that doesn’t love him.

so you did the only thing you could think of.

you avoided him.

at first, caleb let it slide, pretending not to notice the way you pulled away. he let you ignore him in the hallways, let you skip out on lunches, let you slip past him at home without so much as a glance. maybe he thought you just needed space, that whatever was wrong would work itself out on its own.

but after a few weeks, the cracks started to show. he stopped lingering after class, stopped waiting for you outside your door, stopped trying to pull you back into his orbit. the easy confidence he carried dulled, his smirks a little less sharp, his presence not as loud. he wasn’t himself, and he knew it.

then, one day, he cornered you after the last period.

the hallway had mostly emptied, students filtering out in groups, their voices fading into the distance. but caleb wasn’t moving. he stood in front of you, arms crossed, blocking your path, his amethyst eyes sharp and unwavering.

‘you’re avoiding me.’

it wasn’t a question.

your stomach twisted, but you forced yourself to meet his gaze. ‘i’m not.’

his jaw clenched, his expression unreadable. ‘bullshit.’

you exhaled slowly, willing your voice to stay steady. ‘i’ve just been busy.’

he scoffed, shaking his head. ‘right. too busy to come out of your room? too busy to even lok at me? we live in the same house, y/n. you don’t just disappear on me.’

you swallowed, opening your mouth to say something, but nothing came out. caleb ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply, frustration radiating off of him.

‘so you win. whatever it is i did, i’m sorry. now will you please fucking forgive me and put us both out of our misery?’

the words hit harder than you expected. he thought this was about him. he thought he had done something wrong. and worst of all, he looked miserable. bruises under his eyes, the tell–tale signs of too little sleep. heartbreak seeping through the sunshine boy's skin and weaving its way through his veins and making rivers.

the weight of it crashed into you all at once, the lump in your throat impossible to swallow. before you could stop it, your vision blurred.

caleb’s face shifted the moment he saw the tears, his frustration dissolving into something softer.

his shoulders relaxed, his hands twitching at his sides before he finally reached for you, pulling you in without hesitation. his warmth wrapped around you, solid and steady, his breath slow against your hair. his fingers found their way to your hip, his lips pressing lightly against your forehead, his presence sinking into you in a way that felt painfully familiar.

and you didn’t resist.

because despite everything, despite the space you had tried to put between you, despite how complicated things had become, caleb still felt safe.

so you pressed into his touch, letting yourself breathe him in, letting yourself forget, just for a moment, that you had ever tried to let him go.

friends, friends, friends.

he held you close, his voice rough with emotion. ‘i’m sorry, pipsqueak,’ he muttered against your hair. ‘whatever i did or said, i’m sorry, okay?’

you didn’t answer.

you couldn’t.

because the truth was—

you were the one who needed to apologize.

because this was never about him.

it was about you.

and the fact that no matter how hard you tried, you could never, ever stop wanting him.

too much, too much. you wanted caleb too much, want too much always, but you are not together and you had to accept that.

caleb’s pinky locked into yours. you weren’t sure if it’s another apology or a source of comfort you need in your state, or just plain habit, but he’s touching you (friends, friends, friends) and that’s all you really need to know.

because despite everything, caleb still felt like home.

but home didn’t last.

caleb starts staying out late.

at first, it’s nothing. just a few nights out, a way to kill time.

you hear about it through his teammates, offhand mentions from gran when she asks if he’s home yet. It doesn’t bother you.

caleb has always been social, always had people orbiting around him, always found ways to fill the spaces in his life.

but then it becomes a habit. the late nights turn into early mornings, his weekends disappear into parties, and soon enough, it feels like he’s never home. he moves through the house like a ghost, slipping in while everyone else is asleep and leaving before anyone notices.

and you notice.

you notice the way he comes back smelling like perfume that isn’t his, how his lips are redder than before, how his amethyst eyes seem heavier, dimmer, weighed down by something you don’t recognize. you see the kiss stains on his neck, the scratches down his back.

you wish they hurt. you wish you left them there.

you don’t avoid him, not entirely, but you don’t talk to him the same way. your words are clipped, your tone indifferent. you stop waiting for him after school, stop lingering in doorways to say goodnight, stop reaching for him first.

when he nudges your shoulder, slings an arm around you, tugs on your sleeve like he always does, you pull away before he can get too close.

and caleb notices.

at first, he brushes it off, shrugs like it doesn’t matter. he teases you the way he always does, pokes and prods, waiting for you to roll your eyes and shove him back. but the space between you keeps growing, stretching into something neither of you know how to name.

he stays out later. comes home smelling stronger, marked up worse, his voice hoarse in the mornings like he’s been screaming into the night. he looks at you, waiting for a reaction.

but you don’t give him one.

and for the first time in your life, caleb stops trying.

the sky was falling weeks later when the door of your own room opens. blinking sleepily, you leaned over and flicked on the bedside lamp. he swayed against the wall, there is purple and green pressed all over his skin.

it’s caleb, whose lips are swollen again.

it’s late. too late.

the smell of beer clings to him, mixed with something sweeter. something that isn’t his.

his hoodie is loose, his hair messy, his steps uneven as he leans against your doorframe, eyes heavy-lidded but sharp as they land on you.

‘you mad at me, pipsqueak?’ his voice is lower than usual, playful, teasing, but there’s something behind it. something that isn’t entirely a joke.

your lamp lit up the dark bruise on his neck in a ghastly light. you could still see the fingertips, could feel the ghost of them pressing into his skin. friends.

your hand goes white–knuckled, gripping into the sheets. ‘go to bed, caleb.’

‘i’ll sleep in your bed,’ he mutters, like it’s obvious. like it’s true. like you’ll agree without doubt.

you exhale, shaking your head. ‘you’re drunk.’

‘and?’ he counters, stepping into your space, his smirk faltering just slightly. ‘you say that like it changes anything.’

you don’t answer.

because maybe it doesn’t.

he peeled off his hoodie without a word. there are red fingernail marks on the ridge of his spine and bruises on his hips, signs from the girl with perfume you smelled on him last night, the girl who gets to touch caleb in the places you can’t.

he watches you for a long moment, his eyes scanning your face like he’s trying to figure something out. and then, finally—

‘i don’t get it.’ his voice is quieter now, more serious. ‘what did i do?’

you settled back against the bed. ‘nothing.’

‘bullshit.’ he laughs, but there’s no humor in it. ‘you’ve barely looked at me in weeks, y/n. you don’t wait for me anymore. you barely talk to me. and every time i try to touch you, you act like it makes you sick.’ his jaw clenches. ‘so tell me. what the hell did i do?’

you should lie. you should push him away. you should say something sharp, something final, something that makes him leave.

but you don’t.

and caleb, drunk and tired and hurting, sees right through you.

when he reached your fingers, he thread them between your own, collecting all the pieces of your conscience and disappearing without a trace, all remnants of your soul in hand.

his expression shifts, something softer flickering across his face. and then—

his fingers graze your cheek, barely there, like he’s testing the distance between you. the touch is slow, hesitant, deliberate. like he knows he shouldn’t, but he’s never been the type to stop himself when it comes to you.

his hand moves to your hair, tucking it behind your ear with practiced ease, like it’s something second nature, like he’s done it so many times before that he doesn’t even have to think about it.

his thumb lingers, brushing over your cheek, tracing the frustration etched into your skin. it’s warm, careful, almost apologetic. like he’s trying to smooth out the anger, the hurt, the weight of everything unspoken between you.

then, softer than you’ve ever heard him, he murmurs, ‘how can i sleep if my favorite girl is mad at me?’

and when you look at him, really look at him, your breath stumbles in your chest. he knew how to do it. how to make you feel like the sun rises in his veins only for you.

because caleb doesn’t just sound tired. he looks it.

the dim light casts hollows into his features, emphasizing the exhaustion settling deep in his bones. his eyes, usually sharp and full of mischief, are duller now, heavier, shadowed by something that feels dangerously close to regret. there’s no cocky grin, no teasing glint.

just quiet, aching exhaustion.

for the first time, caleb looks small. like the saddest man on earth, like he’s holding onto something he doesn’t know how to fix.

you couldn't help but think of the amount of stars that had fallen with every step he took with a frown.

and it wrecks you.

you wanted to hold him, but you knew you’ll be left with burned fingertips and calloused heart.

because he smells like beer and someone else’s perfume. because there are scratches on his back that weren’t made by your hands. because he has no right to touch you this softly after spending his nights with people who don’t know him the way you do.

because no matter how much you wish you didn’t care. you do.

and so, despite everything, despite the weight pressing against your ribs, despite knowing you shouldn’t. out control, out of control, out of—

you kiss him.

for a tense, breathless second, he didn’t move.

his body stiff, frozen, caught somewhere between hesitation and something else entirely.

and then, you felt it.

his hands sliding up, fingers threading into your hair, gripping tight.

and then for a second. just a second. he kisses you back.

it’s desperate, reckless, a collision of everything you’ve been holding back. his lips taste like beer, and you don’t care. your fingers grip his hair, pulling him closer.

his lips crashed against yours, his tongue sweeping into your mouth with a hunger that left you breathless.

a quiet moan escaped you, swallowed by the heat of him, by the way his hands moved down, gripping, pulling, like he couldn’t bear the space between you.

then, he tore himself away from you. friends.

tepping back so fast it felt like the air had been knocked out of your lungs. the warmth of his mouth, his hands, his presence, gone in an instant, leaving behind nothing but the sharp contrast of cold in his absence.

your eyes snapped open, breath uneven, pulse hammering as you stared at him, trying to make sense of what had just happened. caleb stood right in front of you, his chest rising and falling too quickly, his disheveled hair messier than before, his lips still swollen from the kiss. his amethyst eyes were dark, unreadable, but something about them made your stomach twist.

because he knew.

he knew what this kiss meant. he knew what you felt, what you had been too afraid to say. he knew you had shattered whatever fragile barrier had been keeping this moment at bay. he knew.

and yet, he smiled.

not the kind that comforted, not the kind that softened his sharp edges. this one was different. it was hollow, something cold curling at the edges, something sharp enough to cut through you with ease.

‘had enough practice?’

his voice was light, almost amused, as if the kiss had been nothing at all, as if it hadn’t just unraveled you completely. you could only stare, frozen in place, his words slicing through you before you even had the chance to process them.

and you took it for what it was, a dagger to the heart.

then, with careful, deliberate movements, he stepped back, putting more space between you, widening a distance that already felt impossible to cross. his hand raked through his hair, a humorless chuckle escaping his lips, but there was no real amusement in it.

‘if you just wanted to get your first kiss over with, you could’ve told me.’ the words were effortless, thrown out like they meant nothing, but there was something in the way his voice faltered at the end that made your stomach drop. his gaze flickered over you for a second, lips curling into something that wasn’t quite a smirk, wasn’t quite anything at all. ‘guess now you’re ready for the real thing with whoever you actually want.’

your mouth opened, but no words came out.

it didn’t matter. caleb didn’t wait for a response. he exhaled sharply, his eyes lingering for a beat too long before he turned away. there was no hesitation in his steps, no second glance, nothing to suggest that this moment had shaken him the way it had shaken you.

and then, just like that, he was gone.

he doesn't think, doesn't wait, doesn't want.

he just leaves.

disappearing into the dark, leaving you standing there, cold, alone, and regretting everything.

and maybe that was the moment you lost him.

y/n and caleb, and it's hard to tell where one end and the other begins. there probably isn't a difference, and trying to draw the line would doom the both of you.

this time, caleb starts avoiding you.

and this time, you know exactly why.

it’s different now. worse. because he doesn’t just disappear at school. he disappears at home, too.

you hear him tell gran he has practice when you know he doesn’t. you catch glimpses of him slipping out late at night, hood up, car keys dangling from his fingers. when he comes back, it’s always late, long after the house has gone quiet.

you pretend not to hear the front door creak open, the careful shuffle of his footsteps down the hall, the way he pauses outside your door for just a second before moving on.

he doesn’t look at you.

not in the morning when you pass each other in the kitchen, not when you sit at opposite ends of the dinner table, not when gran asks him a question and he answers without ever acknowledging the weight of your silence. the air between you is thick, heavy with everything unspoken, but neither of you say a word.

at school, it’s even worse.

you used to know exactly where to find him: leaning against his locker, sprawled across the lunch table, laughing too loudly, always moving, always there. but now, he’s everywhere except near you.

and when you do see him, it’s only for a second. a glance across the hallway before he looks away. a flicker of amethyst eyes lost in a crowd. an almost-moment before he disappears again, slipping into someone else’s world, somewhere you don’t belong.

you should’ve expected this. you should’ve known that kiss, your first kiss, would wreck everything.

but somehow, it still hurts.

and what’s worse, what makes your stomach twist, what makes your skin feel too tight and your throat close up, is that you hate yourself for it.

you hate yourself for wanting it.

for wanting him.

you feel disgusted when you think about it, about how easily you caved, about how much you liked it, about the way his hands felt on your skin, his lips against yours. you hate that even now, when you close your eyes, you can still feel it, still want it, still crave the weight of him against you like a sickness you don’t know how to cure.

so you do what you can. you push forward. you stop waiting.

and that was when you met him.

it started with a name, called out in class like it meant nothing.

‘zayne and y/n.’

your biology teacher paired you together for a semester-long project, and you hadn’t expected anything from it. zayne wasn’t someone you had paid much attention to before, and when he pulled out the chair beside you, there was no hesitation, no awkwardness, just quiet acceptance.

‘looks like we’re partners.’ his tone was even, uninterested, like he was already calculating how much effort this would require.

‘looks like it.’you mirrored his indifference, expecting nothing more than a few study sessions and a forgettable final grade.

but it wasn’t just another assignment.

zayne wasn’t like caleb.

he didn’t overthink his place beside you, didn’t steal glances to gauge what others might think. he wasn’t loud, wasn’t overbearing, didn’t fill the silence with pointless conversation just to make his presence known. he was steady, self-contained, comfortable in the quiet. after weeks of feeling like you were walking on eggshells, that steadiness ws a relief.

at first, your time together was purely academic.

library meetings that were structured and efficient, an easy rhythm of work that never strayed beyond the boundaries of your project. but then, something changed. lunches became routine, neither of you discussing it but always sitting at the same table. walks to class happened naturally, steps falling in sync without effort. conversations stretched beyond assignments and deadlines, carrying into late-night messages about things that had nothing to do with school.

zayne told you about his love for the winter, and how he would sneak out during the first snow fall. you told him about the time you and caleb got caught sneaking out, how caleb had talked his way out of trouble while you stood there panicking.

unlike caleb, zayne didn’t tease, didn’t turn your stories into jokes at your expense. he just listened, nodded like he was actually picturing it.

too kind, too understanding, too much of exactly what you needed.

somewhere along the way, you became friends. and soon, you were always together.

dinners with gran started to change. it used to be the three of you. gran, caleb, and you.

but caleb started skipping them, claiming he was busy, always finding somewhere else to be, never home long enough for it to feel like anything but an excuse.

zayne, on the other hand, filled the space caleb left behind.

it started as a casual invitation.

gran insisting he stay after studying, reassuring him there was more than enough food. he had accepted without fuss, without hesitation, and from that night on, his place at the table never felt out of place. gran told stories you had heard a thousand times before, and zayne listened to every one of them, nodding along, asking questions like he hadn’t already picked up on the details from you.

he wasn’t a replacement for caleb.

but he was something constant.

then one afternoon, you and zayne crossed paths with caleb in the hallway.

there was no tension, no hesitation, no moment of discomfort where zayne second-guessed himself. he just looked at caleb, gave a simple nod in acknowledgment, and kept walking, like it was nothing.

like caleb was no one special.

like he wasn’t even worth a second thought.

caleb didn’t say anything. he just stood there, watching.

but you knew that wasn’t the end of it.

and you were right.

the moment the wrong boy fell in love with you. and you wished he could pull out your heart, and make him see that you fell in love with the wrong boy too.

that was why you were here, standing in the biting cold, surrounded by barren fields of frost, with zayne’s rare laughter curling into the air like something warm, something that was meant to feel safe. that was why you let him get close, why you let yourself believe, even for a moment, that this could be enough.

you shouldn’t have been thinking about caleb.

so you focused on the wrong boy instead.

on the way his voice carried in the quiet, on how he walked beside you without hesitation, how his presence didn’t ask for anything more than what you were willing to give. he wasn’t waiting for you to figure things out, wasn’t demanding answers you didn’t have. he was just there. steady. certain.

maybe that was what love was supposed to feel like when you didn’t want it. something easy, something quiet, something that didn’t threaten to tear you apart.

but it still didn’t fit right in your chest.

‘we’re here.’

zayne’s voice pulled you back, his excitement evident in his eyes as he gestured toward the sled he had set up.

you blinked at it, then at him. ‘are you serious?’

he grinned, brushing the snow off the seat before tossing his scarf around your shoulders, adjusting it with careful hands. the fabric was thick and slightly uneven, the pattern something you wouldn’t have picked for yourself, but it was warm, and it smelled like him.

you raised an eyebrow, eyeing the details.

‘gran taught me how to knit,’ he admitted, a flicker of amusement in his expression.

your fingers traced the edges of the scarf as you exhaled. ‘it’s nice.’

and it was.

you didn’t know whether to laugh or cry over how endearing it was, how easily he gave things to you, how much he seemed to mean it. he could have handed you anything, and you would have taken it, because this. this moment, this feeling. was already too much.

then, without a word, he just looked at you.

not a passing glance. not a fleeting moment of consideration.

zayne never did things halfway.

when he looked at you, he made sure you knew.

his hazel eyes were bright despite the winter gray, his expression unreadable but not indifferent. there was something certain about the way he watched you, something steady in the way his gaze settled, like he was memorizing the shape of you.

like he took in every detail.

the way the cold had flushed your cheeks, the way your breath curled into the air, the way the weight of the moment made your fingers tremble against the scarf.

‘is there something on my face?’ you asked, startled by the intensity in his stare.

he shook his head, his gaze flickering slightly before settling again. ‘i wish i had more time with you.’

the words were quiet, simple, but the weight of them landed hard.

you swallowed, pulse stuttering, because there was something in the way he said it that made your chest ache. he didn’t say it like a passing thought, didn’t say it like he was reaching for something just out of grasp. he said it like he knew.

like he already understood that whatever this was, whatever you were, had an expiration date.

his eyes dropped, just for a second, barely noticeable, but enough.

enough to know what he was thinking.

enough to know that if you leaned in, he wouldn’t stop you.

and for a fleeting moment, you wanted to.

not because it was right. not because it was real.

but because you needed to forget.

you needed something to press over the ache in your chest, something to drown out the weight of caleb’s absence, the sound of his voice in your head, the way he had always, always been there. until he wasn’t.

but you didn’t.

because it would have been a lie.

‘gran, we’ve talked about this—‘

caleb’s voice cut through the air, sharp with frustration, breaking the moment before it had the chance to solidify into something real.

‘no, you talked. an aviation school halfway across the country? when there are good ones right here? what’s wrong with being close to home?’

the front door creaked open, and as if time couldn’t be any crueler, gran and caleb stepped outside.

his presence was immediate, impossible to ignore.

caleb had always carried himself like he belonged in any space he occupied, but now, standing in the cold with the weight of an argument still lingering between him and gran, he felt like something distant. something storming just beneath the surface, unreadable and untouchable.

zayne sighed, shifting beside you, but you barely noticed.

because while he was looking at you, you were looking at caleb.

your stomach twisted, the weight in your chest pressing down harder, suffocating in a way you didn’t understand.

‘and i know it’s far. i know it’s hard. but it’s not about running away.’ caleb’s voice was firm, steady, like he had already made up his mind. he barely hesitated before adding, ‘this is what’s best for me. for all of us.’

and just like that, it was over.

he turned before anyone could argue, before you could even process what he had said, stepping back into the warmth of the house.

the door clicked shut behind him, and somehow, that sound felt louder than anything else.

you don't know what's love and what's hate now. if there is a difference between the two of you, y/n and caleb, here.

later that evening, you fell.

it was late, exhaustion pulling at your limbs as you trudged up the stairs, arms full of books. zayne followed a few steps behind, his pace unhurried, hands tucked into his pockets as he listened to you yap.

you were mid-sentence, distracted by the conversation, too focused on the warmth of another presence at your side to notice the uneven step beneath your feet.

your toe caught the edge, and before you could react, your balance shifted forward. books tilted dangerously in your grasp before slipping from your fingers as gravity pulled you down. your stomach lurched, breath catching in your throat—

but you never hit the ground.

zayne’s hand wrapped firmly around your wrist, his other pressing against your waist with steady ease. his grip was strong, grounding, keeping you upright before you even had the chance to panic. your breathing was uneven, heart hammering from the sudden shock, your body tensed from the lingering adrenaline.

for a moment, neither of you moved.

his fingers still pressed against your skin, his touch neither hurried or hesitant. . he had caught you, steadied you, and yet he didn’t let go.

you became painfully aware of the way his chest hovered just inches from yours, the warmth of his palm burning through your shirt.

when you looked up at him, his expression was unreadable. calm, composed, but something else lingered beneath the surface. he wasn’t just looking at you. he was waiting.

waiting for you to move. waiting for you to step back. waiting for your permission.

and that was what made your pulse stutter.

it’s too much and it’s never enough.

you should have pulled away. should have created space. should have let the moment pass as nothing more than a near fall. but you didn’t.

because then, his gaze flickered. just slightly, just for a second. before his eyes dropped to your lips.

your breath hitched, and before you could process what was happening, a voice shattered the moment.

‘y/n? zayne?’

gran’s voice, light, amused, pulling you back to reality.

and then—

‘what the fuck?’

caleb.

your entire body locked up, tension snapping through your muscles as your head turned toward the sound.

he stood at the end of the hall, unmoving, his eyes dark, expression unreadable. his jaw clenched, the muscle ticking, his hands curled into tight fists at his sides.

he wasn’t just watching. he was seeing something he wasn’t supposed to.

zayne, still close, exhaled a quiet chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck, as if this was nothing, as if caleb wasn’t standing there barely a few feet away. gran smirked, clearly entertained by whatever she thought was happening.

caleb did not.

he didn’t speak, didn’t demand an explanation, didn’t so much as glance in your direction. he just turned on his heel and walked away, disappearing down the hall without another word.

and somehow, that was worse.

dinner was slow, thick with something unspoken, the weight of the evening settling over the table like a fog.

gran, as oblivious as ever, carried the conversation, her voice the only thing filling the silence. ‘he’s going to be a doctor, y/n,’ she said, beaming like it was something worth celebrating.

zayne gave a polite shake of his head, still eating, still composed, his presence unwavering despite the obvious tension in the room. ‘still got a long way to go.’

but the real shift came when caleb sat down.

for the first time in weeks, he joined dinner.

he didn’t make an excuse, didn’t disappear before the plates hit the table, didn’t claim to have somewhere else to be.

he was here. silent, stiff, but here.

his fork scraped against his plate, but he barely ate. his shoulders were tense, his fingers gripping the edge of the table just a little too tightly. he answered when spoken to, voice clipped, his eyes fixed on his food, refusing to meet yours.

zayne, on the other hand, didn’t react. he carried himself with the same quiet steadiness as always, like nothing had changed, like caleb’s presence, or his anger, meant nothing to him. he didn’t fidget, didn’t acknowledge the storm brewing across the table, didn’t shift under the weight of caleb’s unspoken frustration.

and that made it worse.

but you noticed.

caleb was stiff, his usual relaxed posture replaced with something rigid, something tense. his grip on his fork was just a little too tight, his knuckles flexing under the strain. he barely touched his food, answering gran’s questions with clipped responses, his voice measured, controlled.

through it all, he never once looked at you.

your stomach twisted, the weight of his silence pressing down on you more than any harsh words ever could. it wasn’t like caleb to hold back, it wasn't like him to sit in the same room as you and act as if you didn’t exist. but tonight, he was locked in his own storm, letting it brew under the surface, making sure you felt it, even if he refused to acknowledge you.

then, after zayne left, gran turned to caleb, her gaze slow and assessing, studying him the way only she could. she took a sip of her tea, setting the cup down with a quiet clink before speaking, her tone light but deliberate.

‘zayne is a good boy, but whether he’s good enough for you...’ she let the words linger just long enough to make them feel heavier before tilting her head toward caleb, watching for a reaction. ‘what do you think, caleb?’

the shift in him was subtle.

a slight tightening of his jaw, a flicker of something unreadable in his expression, the barely-there twitch of his fingers against the table. you barely had time to process it before he moved, smooth and purposefully, his arm slipping around your shoulders like it belonged there.

his grip was warm, steady, and possessive.

‘i think,’ he said, his voice softer than usual, the perfect balance of ease and sincerity, ‘as long as pipsqueak’s happy, then i’m happy too.’

the words were convincing.

to anyone else, they would have sounded effortless, genuine even. but you knew him. you knew the calm in his voice when he was anything but. you knew the way he smiled when he wanted to bite back something sharper. you knew the restraint in his touch, the tension running just beneath the surface.

and right now, caleb wasn’t just mad.

he was furious.

furious that you had kept something from him. furious that you had let someone else too close. furious that, for the first time, there wasn’t a single thing he could do about it.

later that night, when you knock on his door, he opens it immediately, like he had been waiting.

the hallway is dim, the only light spilling from his room, casting sharp shadows across his face. the space between you feels suffocating, thick with something unspoken, something heavy you aren’t ready to name.

his expression is unreadable, his face carefully blank, but you see it anyway.

the tension in his shoulders, the way his grip tightens around the doorknob, the barely restrained control in the way he stands, like he’s holding himself back.

your pulse thrums in your throat as you force the words out. ‘did you mean it?’

caleb doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, his silence stretching unbearably between you.

you swallow hard, pushing forward even as your stomach twists. ‘as long as i’m happy?’

a second passes, then another. his jaw tightens, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face before he finally answers.

‘no.’

the word lands between you like a blow. it should make things clearer, should make it easier to understand, but instead, it only makes everything worse.

you shift on your feet, your heartbeat hammering against your ribs, but caleb just watches you, his amethyst eyes locked onto yours in a way that makes it impossible to breathe.

‘then why are you acting like this?’

there's a crack in his surface, his electric electric eyes gleaming in undetectable, hidden message. his expression was a clear indication to what he felt.he wasn't ready to hear that.

his exhale is slow, controlled, measured, but there’s something beneath it, somehing restrained. and then, just as carefully, he says it.

‘get rid of him.’

the command slices through the air, sharp and undeniable, like a final puzzle piece snapping into place. your stomach drops at the certainty in his voice, at the quiet weight behind his words.

‘i-i can’t.’ the response comes out weak, barely more than a whisper, but it’s the only thing you can give him.

something in caleb shifts instantly. his body tenses, his expression sharpening as his focus narrows completely onto you. his movements are deliberate, controlled, like he’s making a conscious effort not to move too fast, not to let whatever he’s feeling slip past the careful edges of his restraint.

‘what do you mean you can’t?’ his voice is low, steady, but there’s an edge to it, a dangerous thread of something unraveling just beneath the surface.

you look away, knowing that whatever comes next will change everything. ‘i don’t want to hurt him.’

the silence that follows is heavier than anything he could have said.

his lips press into a thin line, his shoulders squaring as the warmth in his eyes fades into something colder, something unreadable. his posture doesn’t change, but the shift in the air between you is unmistakable.

‘so you’d rather hurt me?’

the words hit you harder than they should. you weren’t prepared for them, weren’t expecting the weight they carried, the way they landed with a finality that made your chest ache.

your throat tightens, and for a moment, you don’t know what to say, don’t know how to fix whatever just cracked open between you. but caleb doesn’t look away, doesn’t take it back, doesn’t even flinch as the meaning behind his own words settles over him.

his gaze flickers, the muscle in his jaw tightening before he exhales sharply, like he’s regretting letting you see this part of him.

‘are you saying… you’re jealous?’ the words feel too fragile, too uncertain, but they leave your lips before you can stop them.

for a moment, he doesn’t move.

doesn’t breathe.

you expect him to deny it, to roll his eyes, to throw some dismissive remark at you like he always does. you expect him to do what he’s best at, pretend it doesn’t matter.

but he doesn’t.

he just watches you, his silence heavier than any answer he could have given. and then—slowly, carefully—he smirks.

‘if you want me to say i’m jealous, i will.’

his voice is smooth, effortless, light in a way that only makes your stomach twist. it should be reassuring, should make this moment feel less like a breaking point, but it doesn’t.

because it’s too easy. too casual.

like he’s still pretending.

like he’s still keeping you at a distance.

your fingers curl into fists at your sides as the frustration rises, your voice barely more than a murmur. ‘you could have just lied.’

caleb exhales sharply, tilting his head slightly, and then he moves.

too close. you're too close together for just friends.

your back presses against the wall before you even realize you’ve stepped back. his presence is everywhere, surrounding you, his warmth pulling you in even when you know you should push him away.

and then his hands are on your face, fingers cupping your jaw, steady and warm, grounding in a way that makes it impossible to think.

your pulse jumps, a sharp inhale catching in your throat as his amethyst eyes lock onto yours, the distance between you disappearing entirely. there’s no teasing in his gaze this time, no smirk, no sarcasm.

just heat.

just certainty.

his thumb brushes against your cheek, slow, deliberate, like he’s memorizing the feel of you, like he needs to. and then, his voice drops lower, softer, barely above a whisper.

‘i am jealous, baby.’

a pause.

a beat of silence so heavy you can feel it in your ribs.

his fingers tighten just slightly, his grip firm but careful, like he’s making sure you don’t move, like he doesn’t want you to look away.

you're trying to not cry now but you missed everything you never had.

and then—

‘more than you think possible.’

[trivia-yandere]

ok head me out…jungkook…who happens to be your brothers best friend…are you catching what im saying???

well why the fuck not? off limits

he’s a 10 but…he’s your brother’s best friend & completely off limits.

word count: 3.118

warning: smut, little plot fr fr, age difference (like 3 years), fingering, unprotected sex, alcohol intake, oral sex (f/m) creampies, dirty talking,

“Did you know?” you asked Jungkook, head pressed against the cold window. Your eyes watch as the world passes by in a blur with the speed in which he’s driving. Your mind is a mess, the alcohol flowing through your body.

“Know what?” Jungkook asks.

Jungkook was the person you called to pick you up from your night out with your friends. It was nice of him to deal with all of you - the random crying in the backseat from one friend, to the angry screaming another did over the phone with her boyfriend. It was silent now, however, as he was on his way to driving you home. There’s soft music playing through the speakers that’s at the perfect volume for you and him to talk.

You don’t answer his question - not yet, at least. “Remember…my freshman year of highschool,” you start, lifting your head from the window to turn to look at him. “when I kissed you?”

Jungkook feels your eyes on him as he drives. His hand grips the steering wheel, his right hand lightly tapping his fingers against his thighs.

Jay, your brother and his best friend, would have not picked you and your friends up without giving you an earful along the way. Especially once he saw the way you were dressed - short skirt, tight shirt and laced stockings. It was one of the main reasons why you called Jungkook, after all.

“Yes.” Jungkook murmurs. “You weren’t even supposed to be at that party.”

True, you think. But neither was Jay. Your parents were out of town that weekend and that meant Jay was going to do what he wanted. You threatened to expose him if you didn’t go along with him - typical younger sister actions. After giving you a long list of things not to do, he allowed you to come.

Of course, he had told all of his friends about you being there and to keep an eye out. Your beer was stolen from your hands by Jimin who replaced it with soda. Taehyung had plucked the joint that was handed to you by a senior right out of your fingers and insisted you do something else. That something else was joining a game of seven minutes in heaven where, surely, no one would be there.

Except, Jungkook was. And the moment he saw that you were going to be in the closet with someone older than all of them, he had stepped forward and gone inside with you instead. He fully intended on not doing anything with you, of course.

“The look on your face was funny.” you snort, thinking about that memory. You haven’t talked about it with him ever - neither did you even tell Jay. Your brother made it clear from day one - back in elementary school when he met his closest friends - that you were to never be associated with them outside of a platonic relationship. 

They were off limits; and so were you.

“I wasn’t expecting you to do that.” Jungkook responds, snorting. You’ve done it so fast and it lasted less than five seconds. There was only a minute left in the game and you had placed a hand onto his chest and murmured a quiet “our little secret” before leaving. “You were like a little sister to me back then.”

Your smile immediately falls, your eyes shifting back to the road. The mood changes immediately and Jungkook notices it.

Your question you asked him before was did he know. Did he know that you liked him back then? You were only a freshman while your brother and him were juniors. You didn’t blame him for seeing you as a little sister as you all grew up around one another. He witnessed you and your brother fight and argue countless times, eyes bouncing between you and him with large doe-like eyes.

“How about now?” you ask as Jungkook stops at a red light. The roads are clear from any cars in sight. “Do you still think of me as a sister now?”

Jungkook allows himself to look at you fully now. He stares at you for a few moments, gathering your question into his mind. He doesn’t respond, unsure how to.

It was easier to see you as a little sister back then - all of the friend group had. Taehyung would always tease you like Jay had while Jimin was more of the caring type. 

Now, however, it was different. He noticed the shift as you began to grow older. Your senior year to be exact. Your figure changed, your voice grew a bit deeper and older. You were growing a bit mature for a senior girl. He told himself it was because you were a pretty girl so naturally, he would notice these changes.

But even after highschool, his eyes continued to wander to you and linger longer than they should. You moved in with Jay into his apartment to be closer to college and he would see you whenever he frequented there. Your shorts fit you perfectly, as did your shirts. You showed more skin (than Jay ever wanted you to) and when you spoke to him, it was always in a tone that Jungkook swore wasn’t entirely platonic.

“Kook?”

Jungkook blinks, turning his eyes away to look at the light that’s still red. He contemplates just running it as it’s nearly 3 a.m and not a single car around them. His cheeks are dusted a bit red when he realizes he’s been staring at you the entire time.

“No.” Jungkook says. “I don’t.” he answers truthfully.

“Kook?” you hum once more, this time a hand reaches out for him. It touches his arm and causes a jolt of electricity to shoot throughout his body.

“Yeah?” Jungkook swallows, adam’s apple bobbing. This damn light wasn’t turning fast enough. He turns his attention towards you. He notices from this angel, the red lights are illuminating your face. Your lips are coated in gloss and it shines.

“Can I stay at your place tonight?”

Another swallow, followed by a squeeze of the steering wheel.

“I lied about where I was going to Jay tonight. And…if I go home. He’ll see me dressed like this.” you explain further. It causes Jungkook to glance down at your attire again, immediately regretting it and then meeting your eyes. “He’ll call me a whore again.”

Jungkook wants to say no - that you should go home. Jay should be asleep by now; he had work in the morning right? 

Jungkook doesn’t see the issue of you being at his apartment. You’ve gone there before…with Jay. Without Jay, what would be the reason for you to be there? What if Jay found out and thought-

“You’re thinking too much into this, Kook.” your lips form into a smile and your head tilts. Your hand squeezes his biceps a bit. “Besides, what could go wrong? It’s just me.”

Everything could go wrong - and it did.

You’re unsure how long it took when you and him got into his apartment, but your lips were on his before either of you could think.

Jungkook’s mind screams at him to stop this. Not only were you not sober, but you were off limits. You were someone he respects greatly and shouldn’t take advantage of.

But your hands roam his chest, then go lower to his stomach. You grab hold of his hands and place them onto your hips - all the while continuing to deepen the kiss.

Jungkook gives in, pushing you closer. You smell of fruity alcohol and strawberries - your lips taste of peach; soft and sticky from the gloss. He’s hooked, the flooded feelings he suppressed coming out at such a terrible time. 

“I want you.” you mumble against his lips, arms wrapped so tightly around his neck. Afraid to let him go in the guise that this could possibly be a (wet) dream; one you didn’t want to wake from just yet.

Jungkook knows you do, but he’s hesitant. Kissing you is bad and it goes against his friendship. But fucking you was something so heinous. If Jay found it, it would ruin nearly two decades of friendship.

“Please,” you repeat, one arm unhooking from his neck to take hold of one of his hand that’s gripping your ass. You dip it between your legs and through the skirt so he can feel just how much you wanted him. “please.” you repeat.

Jungkook groans - how much could one man handle? You’re soaking through your panties and the stockings you’re wearing. His fingers are directly against your clit and on instant, they rub circles on the wet, sensitive bud.

“Jay’s going to kill me if he finds out.” Jungkook groans, capturing your lips into his as his fingers dips between your wet folds. He makes no move to stop or push you away, however.

“It’ll be our little secret.” you say, repeating those very words he heard years ago. A secret he was going to take to the grave with him, no matter how small and insignificant it may have been back then.

Jungkook dips his fingers into your hole. It’s tight and squeezes around him. Instantly, he begins to pump, needing to feel just how wet you were for him.

You don’t hide your moans in the slightest. You wanted Jungkook to know how much you wanted this; wanted him. You waited years to be in this position - to have Jungkook all to yourself, even if it meant that you had to do it behind everyone’s back.

“Just for tonight.” Jungkook says, his warm breath tickling your cheek. “Tonight I’ll give you what you want.”

“The whole night?” your hand is still holding his wrist as he pumps his fingers deeply inside of you. Your arousal is coating his palm, a groan escaping your lips.

“Fuck,” Jungkook grunts, eyes already clouded with lust. “you’re going to be insatiable.”

Jungkook removes his fingers from you, a whimper escaping your lips at the loss of them. He juts his head down the hall to the bedroom. He tugs you along, slamming the door open and leading you inside.

You don’t take your time in removing your clothes and the stocking, having them pool around you.

Jungkook doesn’t waste time pushing you onto his bed and pulling your legs apart. Your pussy is glistening underneath his LED lights and he groans at the beautiful sight. His head dives down, tongue swirling onto your clit. He’s groaning and grunting, his cock throbbing with just the act of eating you out.

It felt so wrong doing this, Jungkook thinks. The same young girl who was once so innocent and sweet was now you. The girl who was an adult who knew what she wanted. Who was laying naked on his bed and whimpering as he suckled onto your clit.

Your hand places itself onto his head, gripping his hair. Your hips grind against his tongue and he lays it flat so you could continue. The amount of times you thought of Jungkook in less than holy ways couldn’t be counted on both hands, but getting to live it out was a dream.

“Fuck, Kook.” you moan. 

Jungkook wasn’t going to stop until you came - which wasn’t far. He has your legs on his shoulders and his hands on your thighs to assure you cannot squirm away from him. His tongue laps your clit greedily, messy black hair jumping with the way his head bobs back and forth.

Jungkook’s cock is painfully hair as you moan for him. His eyes flicker up to your face - scrunched in pleasure with your eyes fluttering open just in time to meet him. He doesn’t look away, a satisfaction flowing through him when your eyes widen slightly and you groan. His tongue continues to ravish onto your cunt greedily until you’re shaking with pleasure.

You begged for him to fuck you right there. To take you as rough as he wanted - to not hold back. You were on birth control, you said. You wanted to feel him - all of him if this was going to be the one and only time.

Jungkook was but a man. He was already a fucked up person and friend. He sinks his cock into you and pounds you so disrespectfully - as if you weren’t his friend's baby sister. As if you weren’t someone he cared about deeply.

You begged for more, each thrust causing your stomach to churn. Your breast bounces erratically and your pussy’s already squeezing out another orgasm, but you don’t want this to end; neither does Jungkook.

Jungkook turns you around and fucks into you even deeper, your face pressed into his cotton sheets. Your ass was amazing from this view - it was going to be engraved into his mind. 

“Your pussy feels so good.” Jungkook whines, fully positive that he sounds like a school boy experiencing sex for the first time. 

It doesn’t help that you’re far too willing for him  to fuck you that you do whatever . You spread your  legs even further to allow him more access, nails digging into his sheets. He pounds into you with no mercy, your pussy squeezing him.

Jungkook hovers about your arched back, right hand dipping between your thighs to capture your already throbbing clit in his. He rubs it as he pounds into you, his lips close to your ear. “Are you really on birth control or was that a lie?”

“I-I am!” you say through moans. “A-Are you going to cum in me?”

Jungkook grunts - you weren’t going to make it easy for him, were you? The thought of cumming in you was exciting as he never did it with anyone without a condom. 

What’s the worst that can happen? You and he were already doing the unforgivable.

“You want me to cum in your pussy?” Jungkook’s voice sounds like sex, deep and sensual. 

You cum right there, overstimulation flowing through you but you nod your head erratically. You wanted any and every part of Jungkook that he was willing to give you.

And Jungkook had.He came right in you - again and again.

The fucking didn’t stop until he’s came in you at least four times. One time on your back so he could see your face as you cum around his cock. Once while you ride him, his hands cradling your hips possessively, eyes darting from the way you rise and fall on his wet cock to your bouncing breast in his face. The next follows immediately after, this time Jungkook taking control while you kept your position right above him.

Somehow, even then you weren’t done. You allowed yourself an hour before you asked if he could cum in your mouth. The request was outlandish but, Jungkook complied. You laid on your back and opened your mouth for him to, in your words, use you.

Jungkook should feel disgusted of himself for already using you as if you were nothing but a whore, but it was far too tempting. He pumps his cock into your mouth, watching the way you take him effortlessly and he ponders just how long you wanted this.

Him fucking your mouth turns to him fucking your breast - another request you had. His hands squeeze your breast together as his thumbs twirl against your hardened nipples.

“I didn’t know you were such a slut, Y/N.” Jungkook grunts.

“Only for you.” was your response that has him cumming again, cum shooting out and coating your breast.

The amount of sex that you and he have leads the both of you exhausted, sprawled out on his ruined sheets and both breathing heavily and sweaty. Jungkook’s mind wanders to how he was going to be able to look at you or his friend in the face again without feeling like a complete asshole.

Neither of you have time to think when a loud ringing sound comes from down the hall. It’s your phone and judging by the time, you can guess who it was. 

“It’ll go to voicemail.” you murmur to Jungkook. “He still thinks I’m at a friends.”

Jungkook's heart sinks but he nods.

“Wanna shower with me?” you ask, a hand placing onto his sweaty forehead. “We can both use it.”

Jungkook sniffs. “If that’s what you’d like. We can.” he says. “Y/N, I-”

You place a hand onto his lips to silence him. “I know, Kook.” you murmur. “You don’t need to let me down easily.”

Jungkook lifts himself to a seated position. “I wasn’t going to say anything like that.” he shakes his head. “I just…I want you to know that I do have love and respect for you.” 

You blink as Jungkook continues.

“And I don’t want you to think that I view you as…a slut or…any less than before.” Jungkook’s cheeks are a crimson color now. “I-”

“Kookie,” you lift your body so that you can grab his hands into your own. The nickname was one he hadn’t heard since middle school and it immediately caught his attention. “I get it. Trust me.” you say, a smile forming onto your lips. “Did you know…” you began, repeating the question from earlier. “...that I liked you?”

Jungkook's mouth goes dry and slowly, he shakes his head. It should be surprising as Jungkook was oblivious to any and every girl that liked him.

However, Jungkook does recall one moment - an instant in which Jay had stated that you and him could never be together. It was a random comment that came entirely out of nowhere, but it happened right after you kissed him.

“Jay knew.” you murmur. “I didn’t tell him but…he knew.” you look away. “I thought maybe he told you. I’m glad he didn’t.”

Jay wouldn’t have - not even now. 

Jungkook slowly inhales. A part of him feels even more like an asshole because this was a mistake. You had feelings for him that should’ve been obvious if he wasn’t such an idiot. Things are much more complicated now.

“Let’s shower.” you say, noticing the change in Jungkook’s demeanor. This was a one time thing that wouldn’t happen again and you’ll grow to be fine with that. “Then if you’re up for it, you can show me that movie you’ve been talking about.”

Jungkook nods slowly, allowing you to tug him off the bed and towards his bathroom. His mind wanders back to your confession and recalls just the amount of times he’s caught you looking his way and smiling shyly when he notices.

Off limits, he hears Jay’s voice say in his mind over and over again as you turn the water on to heat up. He was fucked.

@darkuni63 @sweetempathprunetree @chimmy-licious @investedreader @momnomnom

[scorpieuns]

BED CHEM | SIM JAEYUN

anon request: “a jake drabble inspired by sabrina's bed chem... i cant stop thinking of jake whenever that song plays!!! like imagine meeting a shy and polite jake at a party but a few shots in he becomes a completely different person. getting so flirty, and sexy, and just oozing with confidence around you... and soon leading you up the stairs of his apartment, stumbling along the way bc he couldn't wait to get a taste of you.”

word count: 2.9k

warnings (18+): smut. swearing. alcohol. kissing. nipple play. protected sex. switch!jake. pussydrunk!jake. switch!reader. a bit of fluff.

MINORS DNI!!!

A/N: I canNOT write a “short” drabble to save my life, I’m just a serial yapper atp. Anyways, anon I hope it’s to your liking!

The air was thick with the scent of salt, spilled liquor, and cheap vanilla perfume, blending into the heady haze of a spring break party in full swing.

Music throbbed through Jay’s beach house, shaking the floor beneath your feet as bodies swayed in time with the bass.

Out on the patio, half-drunk couples tangled under string lights, while inside, groups gathered around beer pong tables, their laughter bubbling over the music. It was the kind of party where inhibitions dissolved like sand under high tide, where the night stretched endlessly, ripe with possibilities.

You were invited by Jay, much to your chagrin. But he had insisted, his eyes gleaming with mischief as he pleaded with you a few days ago, promising just a few drinks and a little fun.

So here you were, smiling involuntarily as you chewed on your bottom lip, laughing every now and then—mid conversation with Jake, one of Jay's (devastatingly attractive) friends from astrophysics class.

Your breath caught slightly each time those honey-brown eyes met yours, framed by impossibly long lashes that cast subtle shadows on his cheekbones.

You had caught him watching you earlier, his dark gaze lingering with something that made your skin tingle before flickering away, as if he wasn't supposed to be looking. His plump lips would part slightly whenever your eyes met, as if there were words caught in his throat.

It was endearing, really—the way he would rub the back of his neck when you laughed, or how he stammered through your introduction, his cheeks tinged with something close to nervousness. That beautiful smile of his would flash briefly, making your heart skip.

"I'm, uh, Jake," he had said, his voice a low, velvet rumble that seemed to resonate in your chest, his gaze dancing between you and the floor as if he couldn't quite decide which was safer.

But there was something about him that pulled you in like gravity itself. Maybe it was the way he listened—really listened—his focus entirely on you, as if the rest of the party had dissolved into static.

Or maybe it was how, under the soft-spoken words and shy smiles, there was something else that made your pulse quicken whenever he leaned in closer to hear you better, his cologne a subtle, intoxicating presence that made it hard to focus on your words.

And then, somewhere through the night between failed beer pong attempts and a few too many shots, something shifted in the air between you—undeniable, inevitable.

Maybe it was when his hands found your waist, gentle but sure, as he pulled you onto the dance floor. Or maybe it was the way he looked at you now—different, darker, like a switch had flipped and all his earlier hesitation had burned away into something more.

“You’re really something else, you know that?” Jake’s voice had changed—deeper, silkier, his lips brushing against your ear in a way that made your heart stutter.

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

He leaned in, and your breath hitched as his lips grazed your jaw, his breath hot against your skin. “You. You’ve been driving me crazy all night.”

Something warm curled low in your stomach. This wasn’t the sweet awkward Jake from the living room. This Jake was bold, unwavering, and so sure of himself that it made your heart race.

His scent—clean, sharp, with the faintest notes of cedar—wrapped around you, drowning out everything else.

“I can’t believe Jay would hide such a pretty girl from me.” His fingers traced absent patterns along your waist, his touch deliberately featherlight but addicting all the same.

You laughed softly, threading your fingers through the soft hair at his nape. "Maybe he was trying to protect you from trouble."

Jake's answering laugh sent vibrations against your skin as his hands skimmed up your sides.

"Trouble looks good on you.” His gaze traveled down, appreciating how your dress hugged your body, before meeting your eyes again with an intensity that made your breath hitch.

“I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone as gorgeous as you,” he murmured, lips curving into something dangerously close to a smirk. “It’s almost unfair, really.”

You laughed as your pulse stuttered. “Jake, are you drunk?”

“Maybe,” He replied, tilting his head—then, with deliberate slowness, his fingers traced up your arm. “But,” he spoke up, finding the fallen strap of your dress and sliding it back into place with a softness that beautifully contrasted with the look in his eyes.

“That doesn’t make it any less true.”

The touch was nothing. A simple gesture. And yet it sent a thrill coursing through you.

So this is what they mean by liquid courage, huh?

“Who are you,” you teased, running your fingers through his hair, just firmly enough to earn a low groan that made your stomach flip, “and what have you done with the shy guy from earlier?”

Jake’s hand found your waist again, drawing you against him until there was barely any space left. The air between you was thick, his lips hovering teasingly close to yours.

Close enough to taste the promise in his smile, close enough to make you ache.

“He’s in there somewhere,” Jake murmured, his grin slow and devastating enough to make your knees weak.

And then, just as you leaned in to close that maddening distance, he pulled back slightly, leaving you chasing the phantom warmth of his almost-kiss.

But you could grumble in disappointment, he lifted his gaze to yours, eyes dark with unmistakable desire and something deeper, more tender.

“Wanna get out of here?”

The answer tumbled from your lips without hesitation, “Yeah.”

—

There was something both thrilling and torturous about being so utterly, maddeningly consumed with sexual frustration.

From the heated, borderline shameless makeout session in the back of the Uber (which, judging by the driver’s stiff posture, was definitely unwelcome) to the way Jake stumbled his way up the stairs, his grip on your hand tight and desperate—it was a slow, agonizing burn.

You weren’t sure how much longer you could take it.

Jake groaned as he struggled with his keys, his breath uneven, his hands not nearly as steady as they should have been. “You know,” he murmured, voice thick with frustration, “what you’re doing is really distracting.”

A slow, teasing smile spread across your lips as you pressed another soft kiss along his jaw, feeling the way he tensed beneath your touch.

“(Y/N)” He warned and you sighed dramatically, letting your head rest against the door as you murmured, “Then what am I supposed to do when I can’t kiss you right now?”

As if the universe itself had taken pity on you, the lock finally gave way with a soft click.

And then you were stumbling inside, barely making it through the doorway before Jake spun you around, his lips crashing into yours with a need that sent a shiver down your spine.

The door slammed shut behind you, but you barely heard it over the pounding of your heart.

Jake pulled you close, his touch sending a buzz through your veins as he gripped your hips, fingers digging into your skin.

You moaned softly against his lips, and his response was almost instant, his kiss growing more fervent, mouth moving against yours with a need that had you panting.

He was so good.

Jake tugged you closer, pulling you down the hall, trying to make it to his bedroom without tripping or running into anything. Not that it was an easy task when he was kissing you like this.

But finally, after what felt like an eternity, you were falling back onto the bed, the soft mattress catching you as Jake climbed on top of you.

There was something almost intoxicating about having him above you, his broad body looming over yours, his dark brown, heavy-lidded eyes raking over you as if he wanted to devour you whole.

Your lips parted, and Jake leaned down to kiss you, his tongue pushing past your lips to brush against yours. He pulled away without a second breath, grazing kisses along your neck, recklessly marking you from your neck to your collarbone as your head fell back.

The feathery feeling of his lips seemed to cloud your mind, soft moans emitting from your lips as he nipped at your skin.

You squirmed beneath him, and you could feel his growing arousal pressing against your thigh, making your breath hitch.

He continued his trail of kisses down your body, only breaking away as you pulled your dress over your head, leaving you in nothing but your underwear.

Jake’s lips immediately met yours again in feverish measure as his hands trailed down your neck, curving over your sternum and landing on your tits.

You moaned into the kiss when his hands began to cup the soft flesh—pressing your thighs together, scouring for some sort of friction that would dull your painful desire.

“Fuck, you’re so hot.” Jake panted as his hand grazed over your tit, nipple pebbling against the cold sensation of his rings making you whimper.

He squeezed the soft flesh with a lewd groan, arching into him with an involuntary moan as his tongue flicked over your nipples. You were so sensitive, the feeling sending a jolt through you, gasping as Jake grinned against your skin.

Your fingers meet his dark locks at its own accord, gripping the messy strands as you arched your back with a cry, the feeling of his teeth scraping against your nipple causing a spark of pain mixed with pleasure.

His other hand snaked down between your legs, brushing the damp spot that had formed on your underwear as you bucked into his hand with a whimper.

“Fuck, you're soaking wet for me, baby.” He groaned at the feeling of your arousal coating his fingers, lips meeting yours once more in a hungry, feverish kiss.

Jake broke away from your lips, swiftly lifting his shirt off his body as he discarded it somewhere in the room, the sound of his belt unbuckling shooting right to your core.

“Wan’ you so bad.” You whined.

Jake smirked as he hovered over you again, hands meeting your jaw as his other hand travelled to your inner thigh—hooking his finger under the hem of your panties, stroking your clit and eliciting a gasp from you.

His voice was deep and raspy as he murmured, "Tell me, baby."

You could feel the flush creeping up your neck as his touch sent a shiver through you, your thighs trembling with desire.

"Please..."

"Please, what?"

His thumb swiped across your clit, the sudden friction causing you to moan, the sound muffled by his lips.

Jake pulled away slightly, his lips brushing against yours as he murmured, "Be good, (Y/N), and tell me."

The way his voice seemed to drop an octave had your heart hammering against your chest, the heat pooling in your stomach.

"Fuck me, please."

Jake wasted no time pulling your panties away from your body, discarding them somewhere off the side of the bed. He pulled his pants and boxers off with a few swift motions, his cock springing free from its confines.

“Fuck.” you whispered, marvelling at just how pretty his dick looked, clenching around nothing.

Jake grabbed a condom and slipped it on, his gaze never leaving you. "God, you look so fucking good."

Jake moved over to your lips, brushing against them as his tongue tentatively darted out, tracing the swell of your lips. You let him in, tangling your tongue with his and sucking hard.

You both simultaneously moan at the feeling of his cock grazing your clit. He moved again, lining himself up with your entrance.

"Ready?" He asked, his voice raspy and thick.

You nodded, biting your lip.

"Use your words, princess." he tapped his tip along your glistening folds warningly, whimpering at the contact.

"Yes! Yes– please. Fuck me."

He pushed the tip of his cock into your heat, teasingly rubbing it against your folds. He kissed your jaw, his tongue brushing against yours.

Jake groaned as he pushed his length inside you, your body tensing up at the feeling. Your head tipped back at the sensation of him entirely inside you, moaning when he took the liberty of moving.

"Fuck, princess."

You bit your lips as you moaned with every thrust if his hips–nails digging into his back, the slight pain driving him wild.

"God, (Y/N), you feel so fucking good."

You were a moaning mess, his cock filling you, stretching you, as his thrusts sped up—the sound of skin slapping filling the room.

"Fuck, Jake. Don’t—don’t stop." you cried out.

Jake kissed your neck, his breath warm on your skin. He was whispering sweet nothings to you, but you couldn't cohere any of it, only his groans and moans.

You whimpered, his thrusts hitting all the right places, your hips rocking against him.

You whimpered, his cock hitting a particularly sensitive spot inside you, over and over again as your moans grew louder, your cries filling the room—digging your nails into the skin of his arm as the pleasure overwhelms you.

"You’re so hot-so good for me." Jake moaned, eyebrows knit in pleasure as whimpers slipped past his pretty lips.

You were getting close, his beautiful moans and the pornographic sounds of skin slapping together sending you off the edge—the pleasure threatening to make you fall apart.

"M’ so close, please, don't stop." You beg.

Jake thrusts into you faster and harder, and you cry, feeling yourself teeter over the edge. Your hands reach out to grip his arms, his muscles flexing beneath your fingertips as you arch your back with a loud moan.

You squirm under him, screaming his name as your orgasm crashes into you, almost seeing stars as he continues to thrust into you.

He presses sloppy kisses against the blooming marks on your neck, hands squeezing your tits—as though he can’t get enough of you.

The way his cock disappears inside your pussy makes him groan, the sight alone egging him on as he snaps his hips into you making your breath hitch as you involuntarily clench around him.

His mind was mushy, thoughts jumbled, too consumed with pleasure to form any coherent idea besides you.

“Such a pretty pussy.” He slurred, sliding your thigh under his arm as he lifted your thigh over his shoulder, high on the feeling of your cunt hugging him with each hard thrust.

“Jake shit-“ you let out a choked moan, the new position sending your sensitive walls into overdrive, equally impressed and shocked that he was still going.

Jake leaned in to kiss you, his desperate moans muffled by your lips until he couldn’t kiss you back anymore, mouth falling agape.

The feeling of you around him was so intoxicating, so mind blowing, so good. You were so sweet, so beautiful—so so fucking pretty.

You brushed back his damp strands, hand traveling to his pink cheeks as your thumb toyed with his bottom lip.

A smirk found itself on your lips as you gazed at him, lust blown eyes looking at you with adoration as he continuously whimpered your name.

Pride couldn’t help but swell in your chest as Jake’s newfound boldness seemed to wilt away…all to being pussydrunk.

“You are such a pretty mess for me aren’t you, baby?”

Jake nods without hesitation or second thought.

"Fuck, princess. I'm so close." He drops his head into the crook of neck with whiny moans.

His voice was strained, his breath coming in shallow gasps, his body trembling.

“I'm gonna cum. Fuck, I'm gonna cum.”

“Then come for me, baby”

Jake's eyebrows knit together as bites his lip, his cock twitching in you as his orgasm washed over him.

You watched as his head fall back, his eyes rolling back into his head, a long, drawn out moan escaping his lips.

"F-fuck." Jake groaned, his eyes squeezing shut, his body shaking.

"That's it." You cooed as his hips jerked erratically, thrusting into you a few more times before you felt his warmth fill you.

"Fuck, (Y/N)." Jake breathed, his voice still ragged.

You giggled, the sound causing Jake's heart to skip a beat.

Jake took a moment to catch his breath before he rolled off of you, removing the condom and tossing it into the trash bin next to his bed.

“That was…” he collapses back into the bed, raking his fingers into his hair.

“…Amazing?” You tease, leaning over to rest your chin on his chest.

“Yeah.” But after a moment, the dazed look in eyes finally disappears as he sits up in a panic, “but was that okay—are you fine?”

You press a kiss to his lips, “Jake, I’m fine, relax.” You laugh, “I liked it, I mean…clearly”

He cracks a smile of his own, leaning in to kiss you this time, hand caressing the side of your neck as he deepens the kiss, much sweeter than the ones before.

You softly bite his bottom lip as you briefly pull away, smirking at the groan that leaves his throat.

“Are you free next week?”

[bogboy420]

fr im legit considering getting a typewriter

tbh w all the algorithms and ads and subscription fees and ai bullshit i genuinely find myself abandoning newer forms of technology more and more in favour of smth more analogue, like not entirely, i'll still use newer tech when it's useful 4 me especially w my disabilities but tbh i feel like the internet as it is rn is genuinely so inaccessible already and becoming moreso as companies carve out features 2 make us pay more money 4 them

on top of that the fact that my brain has no attention span which is not the fault of technology im just neurodivergent but damn does modern tech love 2 prey on that shit, like more and more im finding that this idea of "everything on 1 device" that these companies use as a selling point is honestly more of a hindrance bc of my low attention span, i just end up spending hours on my tablet and then not getting anything done bc everything is on there but nothing is on there in a way where i can rly focus on it, idk sometimes i wonder how much of that was intentional? like if the point was 2 get ppl hooked on smart phones and tablets while feeling like they r not getting anything done, thus making them sad and spending more time scrolling,,,

ik this isn't every1's experience but 4 me it's enough that im genuinely trying 2 make some changes 2 how i approach new tech and again 2 b clear im not saying all new tech bad and all old tech good, it's not that simple but 4 me i find that especially having smth like that right up near my face is rly bad 4 that bc it makes me pay less attention 2 my surroundings so im not looking at all the stuff around me, this has in my life at least lead 2 my surroundings gradually getting more cluttered ect but also i find having a smart tv helpful bc while yes it has a bunch of stuff on it it's all just watching tv stuff, it's not trying 2 b literally everything at once, and it's not right in my face it's across the room from me so i can still very clearly c my surroundings, i use consoles exclusively 4 video games now instead of pc like i used 2 use bc i don't like the stress of troubleshooting pcs but also bc w a pc it's more in ur face? even when i tried hooking up my pc 2 a tv it didn't rly work as well since i still needed 2 use a mouse and keyboard and that doesn't rly work very well w how my hands r especially when im trying 2 relax

4 music im trying out switching over 2 cassette tapes since i can record stuff onto them if i figure out how 2 do it right and then i don't need 2 hav a bright screen in my face when i wanna listen 2 music i can just switch out the cassette, thinking of mayb doing that 4 audio books as well

4 writing i am genuinely considering getting a typewriter since it would mean smth that isn't a bright screen and i could set it up on a desk in a specific corner of the house that could b just 4 my writing

4 having video games on the go atm im using a tamagotchi uni but i basically only use it when ik im gonna hav a doctors appointment and im gonna b stuck in a waiting room, i then just play the mini games on that and i find that they r good since they r low stakes so i don't feel stressed abt putting it down when the appointment starts

and like, idk while ik op was joking and it was very funny 4 me at least it can b helpful 2 know that there's a way of trying 2 cut out some of the more harmful parts of technology w/out abandoning technology completely, i think it's nice how embracing older technology is becoming more normalised and also how it's becoming more normalised 2 cut out technology that is harmful 4 u as an individual while still using technology that is helpful 4 u as an individual,,, even tho tech companies try rly hard 2 bury any alternatives 2 the tech they want u 2 buy

idk late night disabled ranting from me ig

"We have a new AI feature!" "With the power of AI..." "Our AI..."

I am going to abandon technology and start only inscribing things on clay tablets

[militaryapple]

I'LL GIVE IT ALL TO YOU.

synopsis. caleb finds out you’re sleeping with other men. other men who look like him. if you wanted him so badly why didn’t you say so? it’s fine, he’ll just fuck the sense back into you.

cw. fem!reader, praise, edging, overstimulating, calebs a big meanie, reader fucks around and finds out, breeding, idk I need him so bad.

add ons. guys I'm so tired OH DONT GAG ME I FORGOT TO FIX THE SYNOPSIS THIS WAS MADE AT LIKE 11 AM BABES

wc. 2.2k

caleb has always had tabs on you. whether you liked it or not. he needed to know what you were doing, who you were with. it was just.. a safety precaution - well that's what he told himself anyways. he knew your friends , the people you worked with , even going as far as learning who your neighbors were. he could only thank his position as the fleet's colonel for letting him get this information. he was originally going to plant a chip in your phone and learn about both your social and personal life but this just made his little watch-sessions a little easier than what they had to be.

and so caleb thought he had nothing to worry about, truly. he knew where you were at all times and have been in your life for a decent amount of time there should be no one new. well - anyone that poses a threat to him anyways. it's not like you could hide anyone from him anyways.

is what he thought, so so foolishly.

it wasn't until you started spending your time at different places. unknown places at that. caleb took note of each and every house you were in. he took note of the people who lived there. man after man after fucking man. he didn't want to think the unthinkable, how you could be so stupidly whoring yourself out for perverts? one night fucking stands? this wasn't like you, far from you. it wasn't until he looked closer at the men you were fucking, and jesus.

they looked somewhat similar to caleb. it only engulfed him with rage. his heart hurting and pounding. if you wanted him so badly why haven't you spoken to him? talked to him? why were you going around trying to find scraps of him while he was already here for you? with you? arms open and ready for you whenever you were ready for him? that's when caleb decided he needed a bit of time off from work.

caleb made his way home. door opening as he scanned the living room for you. he sat down on the couch, still. he was going to talk to you about this little issue you had. it was gonna be fine, right? he talks to you, you tell him and this could all be swept under the rug. it wasn't until hours later, he heard the twist of the door and the creak of it opening.

just like when you both were in high school, every time you snuck out you would try to slip in silently. though you were never really silent, and caleb was the first to catch you back home before gran. what made you think this time would be any different?

he hands clenched as he stood. caleb didn't think about changing out of his uniform, hell he couldn't think about anything. all that filled his mind was anger. pure. fucking. rage.

"welcome home." he said, it was almost bittersweet. you looked at him, with a sheepish smile. waving. "hi caleb, didn't expect you home." was all you were able to muster out, and that was before caleb took a step closer to you. he watched as you twist and turn, looking for an escape. anything to help you leave, but that wasn't happening. not with him. not now.

"where were you?" he asked, his gaze shifting from you to your body. the clothes you wore tolling him more than enough.

"out." you said softly, you gaze averting his. "with a friend."

caleb scoffed, grabbing your arm and pushing you on the couch as he leaned down. you felt like you were being interrogated, which in theory, you were. "bullshit." he snarled. "you wouldn't be out for hours at some 'friend's' house. nonetheless a friend named fucking jacob. do you think I'm dense, pip-squeak?" caleb was angry, his hands balled up. his body shaking. every movement made him want to die, he could smell the foreign musk, the way you attempted to fix your hair. it was the only time he couldn't bear to be near you.

"he looks just like me." he scoffed. "just. like. me." he moved away from you. in a situation like this, you would've blown up at another guy. yelling at him on how he was able to even find out what house you were in, but it was caleb. of course you couldn't hide anything from him. how stupid could you be trying to anyways?

you couldn't say anything, you wouldn't dare. you lowered your head, but caleb wasn't taking that. he grabbed your chin tilting your head upwards to face you. "don't do that pip-squeak. if you wanted me - craved me, fucking needed me , why didn't you say anything? I'm here. in the flesh." his words piercing through you. oh how he hated being mean towards you, your wavering lips was all that he needed to see before he eventually got down. your head lowering so you could make comfortable eye contact with him.

calebs hands moved from your chin to your cheek. "come on pips," he huffed softly. "you're being reckless for no reason. instead, I'll show you how much I want you, how much I missed you, yeah? you don't need those other guys. after all, they can't beat the real thing." he snickered softly, and you could only nod your head in approval.

"ah-ah, say it. I need a verbal answer." caleb wanted to make sure what he was doing was okay, was right. he wanted to make it known that after tonight, there were no more caleb 2.0's. no more 'casual friendship'. that there would be more than what the two of you already had.

"please show me caleb."

he tugged on your skirt, pulling it down your leg as he rubbed small circles on your panties making you groan. he was being mean. really mean. you grabbed his arm, "caleb, don't tease me. your hands are cold - ah, your gloves." you whined. caleb could only chuckle. "you think you can tell me what to do right now baby? really? just shh and enjoy what I'm giving you."

you groaned, he was slow, too slow. your heat dripped as you twitched and squirmed. caleb used his evol to keep you down, leaning in and placing small kisses around you neck. "do you know how long I've had to restrain myself?" he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"how many times -" kiss. "I've had to get off thinking about you?" kiss. "I've held myself back until you were ready." kiss. "and you've made it so so difficult baby." kiss.

each word sent a shiver down your spine, teasing you and handling you. caleb looked over at you smiling. "i think you're ready, don't you?" he said softly.

caleb leaned in towards your aching cunt. staring at it like he was starving. he grabbed his hat before placing it down on the side of the couch. "grab on my hair if its too much 'kay baby?" he rubbed your thigh. you nodded in agreement as a smirk laid on his face. Caleb dug in. he licked your cunt making you mewl. your hands searched for something, anything to do.

caleb sucked on your pretty clit, groaning as he tasted your sweetness. he used his free hand, making his way up your body. finding your hand and making sure he intertwined both of your fingers.

he was starved. he placed sloppy kissing on your lips. his tongue finding any to go deeper in you. you felt hot, fuzzy. he made you feel so fucking good, other men were useless compared to him. he was right, nothing - nobody compared to how he made you feel.

and right now he was making you feel fucking divine.

the feeling of calebs tongue on your click made you shiver in ecstasy, it wasn't until moments later you used the hand on his head to pull him back. oh did he look absolutely pussy drunk off you.

your juices flowed off his chin while he licked his lips. the way he looked up at you in pure bliss. oh god did you love this man. "you look so cute, and you taste perfect." he said softly, going back and licking the juices he neglected. you shook and grabbed more of his hair.

"caleb 'm gonna -" you whined, bucking your hips up as he used his hand to hold you down. the other still holding your free hand. caleb hummed in approval, giving you the signal that you could finally let out the release you were holding in. caleb suckled for a moment before moving back, admiring the mess he just made of you.

he got up, his evol lifting you as he sat down in the spot you were once in. his legs spread before placing you in between them. his fingers pushing your panties over before they made their way inside your cunt. your hips buckled at the feeling, caleb grabbed your waist with his arm bringing you back down.

"its okay baby, you can take it." he coos "I know you can, 'gotta make sure you can take me , hm?" you moaned as his fingers stretched you. the sensation of his gloves curving as he hit every spot of your gummy walls. you clenched and twitched between him, making him plant soft kisses on your face down to your neck. "cmon you can take it. stay still, if you don't get through this you wont be able to take me." he reassured you. how big was he?

caleb pushed another finger in. hushing you and kissing you while tears strained down your face. oh he was being mean. "caleb - please 'm gonna cum again" you cried. in response he moved his arm that was holding you down. now using one hand to pump his fingers in you and another to move in little swirls on your clit. you throw your head back in pleasure.

"aren't i the best? making you cum twice? jacob couldn't do that, could he now?" he hummed in your ear, you whined in approval. caleb moved his hands out of you. "since I'm feeling generous, I'll let you ride my cock. but in return.." his voice trailing off as he moved his finger to your belly.

"I'm gonna make you into a mother." he coo'd in your ear, nibbling it. "so I can show everyone who you belong to. to show that you don't need other men. I'm here." caleb planted a kiss on the back of your neck.

it didn't take caleb any time before he was unzipping his pants, pulling on the fabrics waist line and pulling out his cock. "I need you to relax for me, you're ready." he said, pulling you up by your hips and straddling you down on his hard on. oh god, did he feel good.

your cunt dripped all over his base. he couldn't help but let out a small chuckle. "look at you, messy girl. we haven't even started yet you're already dripping all over me." he grunted adjusting himself a little more.

caleb rocked your hips. he whined for you "mhm that's it, work those hips for me." he moaned. he loved the feeling of pumping his inches in and out of you. the 'pop' noise your cunt and his cock made as he slid out and back in.

your cunt was brimmed to the top with cock. so full it made you think of only him and you. fuck, you were lewd. you couldn't even form a sentence, the only sound coming out of your mouth being moans and pants that were increasingly getting faster and faster.

"gonna come again? come on come with me its - ah okay." his voice was raw and rasp. his gloves dug into your skin as you made a mess on both his cock and his uniform. he didn't care, he was going to clean his uniform this week anyways. it was a sign to let people know that he was yours, and you were his.

caleb still fucked you deep. he caused your toes to curl up and your legs to lift to help him massage every part of you. clit and all. he grunted as he slammed into you, his rhythm leaving and now becoming messy thrusts. "I'm gonna come inside baby, okay? yeah? I'm gonna make you a mommy. oh fuck" he groaned.

"gonna make you bear all my children. fuck fuck" his hips stammered. "just me 'n you 'kay?" you clenched down on him. your back arched as your hands made their way to his thighs gripping tightly.

caleb bit down on his lip, not wanting to hurt you. both of your breaths steadying before caleb moved his head in your neck. he didn't dare pull out, all of his sweet cum would leak out, and you wouldn't want that right?

"I told you," he heaved "I'm better then some lousy rip-offs pip-squeak." he panted heavily. you nodded in approval. he knew that you wouldn't go to any more one night stands. still, there was a long way to go. he still hasn't made you a mom.

and he was going to make sure you bore his children.

[neptuneiris]

Only You | Part Two

pairing: modern!aemond × fem!reader (friend with benefits)

summary: time has passed, a new semester begins and the phantom memories of him come back to your mind on a specific day that makes you rethink your whole idea to let him back into your life.

words: 12.4k

previous part • my masterlist

okay before you read, i want to clarify one thing 😬 i know summer vacations were mentioned, but i came up with a last minute valentine's day idea so i will mention winter vacations now.

i know it doesn't make sense, it should make sense but i would have to change the whole first part, so this second part will be delayed. so please give me time to correct the first part, I will do it as soon as I can. i hope you don't mind and enjoy the chapter a lot 🙏🏽 thank you so much for reading!

AEMOND POV

The vibration of his phone makes him look away from his book.

The faint sound echoes in the library and with a serious look on his face, he immediately takes his fingers to turn off the device, not wanting to be disturbed now by whoever it is. Right now his projects have him so pressured and frustrated that he simply doesn't want any distractions.

But as he looks at the screen, he stops. And he reads the name of the person calling him: Cerelle.

She's not just anyone. So before he knows it, he quickly gets up from his seat and heads for the doors, picking up.

“Hey.”

He doesn't hear her immediate response, what he hears instead are whimpers and low sobs.

He pauses for a moment, his heart skipping a beat. He listens more carefully and she sniffles, letting out a small sigh only to cry again. Then he lets out a long breath and runs a hand through his hair, already imagining what's going on.

“Cerelle.”

He says her name in a low, soft tone, which makes her finally speak.

“I-I… I'm sorry,” she says in a shaky, low, vulnerable voice, ”I know you're probably busy and I didn't want to bother you. B-but…” her voice breaks.

She needs him.

He clenches his jaw tightly, annoyed, frustrated but mostly worried. He hates when she's like this. He hates seeing her and hearing her cry. He hates when he knows she's like this, again, because of his idiot brother.

“What happened?”

She sniffles and cries again, failing to form words at that moment. And then it's the signal for him, to go back inside the library to go get his things.

“Can I see you? P-please?”

“Don't worry. I'm on my way.”

She lets out a sigh. Maybe of exhaustion or relief. He doesn't know. He doesn't really care as he quickly heads off campus, car keys in hand.

“Thank you, Aemond.”

The drive to Cerelle's house feels longer than it really is. It's not the first time she's called him in that state, crying with a shaky, broken voice. And he also knows it won't be the last.

When he arrives at her house, she receives him at the entrance and immediately hugs him, clings to his strong body crying disconsolately in his arms and he holds her instantly.

He always does.

It doesn't even need to be said, he already knows, because he's heard that story many times before. It's nothing new. Yet he hates it.

He hates how Aegon makes her cry to the point of turning her into this, a heartbroken mess with his cruel tactless words and empathy-less behavior. And he finds it harder and harder not to lose control.

But he doesn't do it for her. Because she asks him to just hold her and not leave her alone.

They both go up to her room in silence, where there is no one in the corridors except for a few figures of the employees slipping by.

They both lie down on her bed and Cerelle clings to him again, hugging him tightly and Aemond pulls her tighter against him, wanting to make her feel comfortable and safe.

He strokes her hair, a repetitive and reassuring gesture as he lets time pass. Her tears slowly soak his shirt, but he doesn't care. Until she speaks, her voice barely a whisper.

“You really weren't busy when I called you?”

He rests his chin on her head and makes a slightly tighter grip of his arms around her body.

“No,” he lies, his tone soft, knowing he would give up any commitment to be there for her.

She lets out a small sigh and inhales the scent wafting from his clean clothes and also from his cologne, so masculine and comforting. His fingers continue to trace soft patterns in her hair, while his other hand draws comforting circles on her back.

“Why am I not enough?”

She asks him, raising her gaze to his, tears streaming down her cheeks and a look full of doubt and pain.

He lowers his gaze to her instantly upon hearing her words and frowns slightly, not understanding how she could think such a thing, when she is the most beautiful and perfect girl he has ever met.

He shakes his head slightly, running a hand down her cheek, wiping away her tears with his thumb.

“Don't say that. You're enough. He's the one who's not worth it.”

His hand slides down her back in an automatic gesture, slow and soothing. She sighs against his neck, relaxing slightly and Aemond feels his own breathing grow heavy.

“I don't know why I keep doing this,” she whispers, almost to herself.

Something inside Aemond moves and something inside him ignites.

Hope.

Hope that she is saying that, because she has finally opened her eyes. Because she has finally understood, that Aegon will never change for her.

That everything she is going to receive from him, will only be a moment of comfort to again make it clear to her, with his cruel words, that everything is casual.

Has she finally changed her mind this time?

Has she finally had enough of the situation this time?

Will she finally choose and love him this time?

Hope, illusion, longing, everything is mixed up in him. Happiness, even. And she only ignites that spark in him more, by embracing him with a firmer grip. As if she's afraid he'll leave. But they both know he's not capable of it.

“Stay with me, please. I don't want to be alone.”

The plea strikes his heart. Aemond closes his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath, letting the anger, frustration and helplessness dissolve into the thick air of the room, to make way for all those positive feelings he's having.

“You know I won't leave,” he promises her.

He feels the tickle of her nose nuzzling the side of his neck and of her warm breath crashing against his skin in one of his most sensitive areas.

Aemond lets his nose sink a little deeper into her hair, inhaling of her sweet scent. And then, she tilts her head a little, leaving a soft kiss on his neck.

He tenses instantly. He can't help himself.

His breathing becomes ragged, as his hand still on her back, clinging a little tighter.

“Cerelle,” he murmurs her name.

She continues.

Another kiss, firmer this time, just above his collarbone. Then another, moving up his neck, leaving him breathless. His whole body reacts to the touch, to her closeness, to the way she clings to him desperately, needing him.

And Aemond knows that, they shouldn't. That he, more than anyone else, should be strong. To remember that, when the moment is over, she will come back to him like the other times before. To his brother.

But her words and his thoughts, clinging to him that maybe there will be a chance after this, make him not want to stop. And they remind him, he's never been strong when it comes to her.

Then, in a slow movement, he tilts his head, seeking her face.

She looks up at him, her eyes still reddened, with traces of tears on her cheeks. But this time, there is something else in her gaze. Something that destroys him and revives him at the same time.

Desire.

He lifts a hand and slides it up to her face, carefully, devotedly. His thumb brushes her lower lip, and he feels the tremor in her skin, in her breath. And then, she is the one who closes the distance and Aemond surrenders. Surrenders as he has always done with her.

He reciprocates her kiss. He kisses her.

Slow, deep, taking his time. And she settles her body even more against his, pressing herself against him, needing this, him. Her fingers sink into his hair, deepening the kiss, needing to feel him everywhere, needing him to touch her everywhere and make her his.

And that's what he does, hopeful at all times inside him.

However, he shouldn't have let his thoughts let him get carried away. Because this is nothing new either. Cerelle repeats the same words over and over again at his most vulnerable moment, igniting hope in him. And in the end, there is no change and the pattern repeats itself.

As always, he is there.

It is here, in his arms, where she always ends up. But he knows it's not where she wants to. Because he's her fucking comfort, the temporary refuge.

And worst of all, he allows it, always. But deep down, they both know that, her words are worthless and eventually, she will come back to him. To his brother.

So the only thing he can do, is to hold her as long as he can.

He stays with her all afternoon and has the idea that she will tell him to stay like this for the rest of the day, just the two of them. But then one of the Baratheon sisters calls her and the party at the Martell house looks like a good distraction.

Aemond says nothing as Cerelle tells him they can spend another night together, so he just says goodbye and goes to his apartment, not being in the mood to actually go to any party.

But just knowing that she will be there has him getting ready to be able to spend more time with her. Not directly but to be around her, to see her and take care of her from a distance.

And the hope is still inside him.

The hope that her words have been real. That their moment together this afternoon has meant something. That she has finally understood and finally sees only him.

So he heads to the party and when he arrives, Aegon is already there, as are his other childhood friends. He greets everyone, doesn't really talk much, just has a beer, lights a cigarette and begins to relax, when his gaze inevitably begins to seek her out.

And when he sees her, she is beautiful.

Her figure, her face, her hair, everything about her is the only thing that stands out for him in the whole place. And when he sees her, smiling, talking to people, laughing and dancing… he can't take his eyes off her.

She's the one interesting thing, the one thing that shines the brightest, the one girl he catches his eye and who he could look at all day long without getting tired of it. He just wants to hold her, hug her, kiss her and never let her go.

She is perfect. She has been since they've both been kids.

But then, someone else comes into the picture. Someone catches her eye. Someone draws her in. Someone makes her disconnect from all the people around her to focus only on that one person.

Someone who is not him. It is never him.

Because it is Aegon. It's always Aegon.

The same guy who has made it clear to her multiple times that he doesn't want anything serious with her. The guy who has always made his intentions clear from the beginning, that everything to him is just casual, even drawing the line at every turn and the one who is hard on her to make her understand that he doesn't want her, not really, making her cry.

And yet… Cerelle has hope.

It seems like the fight they had didn't even happen. She keeps allowing him into her life. She keeps allowing herself to get involved with him like that, to hold on to the hope that he's going to change for her.

And then, they both disappear.

Something that does not go unnoticed by Aemond, because it is nothing new. For him, nothing is. In fact, it's another constant pattern in his life. And he sees it every time.

The two of them fight, Cerelle looks for him in tears, he comforts her because he can't afford to reject her and because he couldn't do that to her. Then he hopes that she will finally leave Aegon behind but she comes back to him and they fight again, making him see how the cycle doesn't end and repeats itself over and over again.

However, he has not gotten used to it. A snort leaves his lips as he watches the two of them walk up the stairs together, as he shakes his head slightly and averts his gaze, unable to believe this is happening again.

He clenches his jaw and takes a long swig from his bottle, with a serious look full of bitterness.

The constant ringing and vibrating of his phone catches his attention, annoying him. Irritated, he takes it out of his pocket, looking at it briefly without focusing on the missed calls he has and all the messages he hasn't read.

He only focuses on the messages he just received from Cregan.

Dude, are you coming?

We're all here.

He frowns slightly, having no idea what he is talking about. He also decides not to respond, simply puts his phone away again and then focuses on the stairs.

He doesn't know exactly how long it takes him to get a little distracted, unable to relax any longer knowing that in one of the rooms is her with his stupid brother.

Kissing her and touching her, making her make those sweet sounds that come out of her mouth that he has so often had her make for him.

The mere thought of the two of them together, like that, when it should be just him, makes him rage and make him clench his bottle tightly.

Until finally, Aegon emerges from one of the rooms, buttoning his breeches and with his messy hair. He stumbles a bit and has a smirk on his face, returning to the party as if it were nothing.

It's obvious he doesn't care about her, because that's all he's interested in, a quick fuck, leaving her behind like she's worthless.

Then Aemond heads to the bedroom, upset and annoyed.

He enters and sees her fixing her hair in front of the mirror. But as soon as he crosses the door frame, she immediately sees him through the glass and freezes for a moment.

Aemond watches her seriously as he closes the door behind him and leans against the wood, not taking his intense gaze off her.

Then several minutes pass, long minutes in fact, where neither of them say anything. They just stare at each other.

She is too embarrassed to say anything.

And he's an idiot for thinking, again, that she had finally understood that Aegon will never change for her. So he speaks first when it's clear she won't.

“Are you serious? After today, after he made you cry, you just come crawling back to him?”

She lets out a long breath, tired. Because it's a conversation they've had before, countless times. They always have it.

“Aemond—

“Why do you keep doing this?”

He demands to know, stepping in and walking towards her.

“Why do you let him hurt you again after proving to you over and over again that this is all he wants you for?”

She turns to him, looking at him seriously and guiltily. Of course, not for sleeping with Aegon. No. But for what happened between the two of them this afternoon and for him finding out, again.

“You don't understand—

“What don't I understand?” he interrupts her instantly, his voice serious and full of reproach, hurt, ”Are you really so blind that you don't see the reality of things? Can't you see that he won't change for you?”

His words make her gaze harden. And soon, she too uses a tone of voice similar to his, matching his temper.

“You don't know that.”

“The whole fucking world knows that, Cerelle.”

“This is none of your business.”

He parts his lips, genuinely surprised and confused.

“What?”

Cerelle falters for a second at the sight of his expression. But only for a moment, to again place a serious and firm gaze, watching him with some remorse as well.

But it's more the fact that she wants to make everyone around her, and herself as well, believe that she has hope with Aegon.

“Whatever happens between your brother and me… it is none of your business, Aemond.”

He watches her silently for a moment, incredulous. He shakes his head slightly with a small bitter smile, unable to believe what she is doing.

“It's none of my business, you say?” he repeats and watches her completely serious, ”So it's none of my business when you come looking for me after he makes you cry and ends up treating you like shit?”

That one hurt.

He sees it in her look as she finally drops her tough-girl armor. And that should have made him feel better, by proving her right, but the reality is that it doesn't. He hates seeing her like that, with her crystal eyes and her gaze lowered, saying nothing more.

He lets out a long breath and walks towards her, closing the distance between them. He lifts his hands and holds her face, watching her with all the adoration in his gaze. He watches her with love, with weakness and tenderness.

But also hurt, because she still doesn't understand. Because she doesn't see him the same way he sees her.

“Listen to me…” he says low and soft, stroking her smooth cheek with his thumb, ”I wouldn't make you feel that way. Ever. And you know it.”

Cerelle watches him sadly and remorsefully, shaking her head slightly to raise her hands and place them on top of his.

“Aemond—

“No, please, listen to me,” he interrupts her immediately, tightening his grip on her face, ”Why don't you just forget about him and try it with me?”

He tells her, no, begs her.

“Just…forget about him. You know we can work together.”

“Aemond, we've already talked about this—

“He's not worth it. He doesn't deserve you. But I do. I'd give you everything, everything. The whole fucking world if you ask me to,” he insists.

“Aemond—

“Please, just—

“You're not him!” she exclaims loudly, stopping him.

For an instant, Aemond stands completely still, as if those words have pierced his chest. His breath hitches and his lips part slightly.

He blinks slowly, analyzing her, looking for something in her gaze, some doubt or some hint that she is not meaning it. But there isn't.

The words get stuck in her throat, as Cerelle watches him with remorse and sadness as she notices his broken expression that he so desperately tries to hide, breaking his heart over and over again.

Then she purses her lips and lowers her gaze, as if she hates what she is about to say. But still, she says it.

“I know it's hard to understand. I wonder the same thing too, I wonder why I can't love you too,” she says exasperated, frustrated, ”Why do I keep doing this to myself. Why I can't choose you. But it's just… I can't help it and you…” she shrugs, shaking her head with a sad look, ”You're not him.”

Aemond watches her silently and finally his gaze recomposes itself, a serious and bitter look, the one he shows everyone. He clenches his jaw and releases her, taking a step back.

Then he laughs. An empty, bitter laugh. He shakes his head as he averts his gaze from her and runs a hand over his face before looking at her again, his gaze hard.

“Then do me a favor…

He says after, leaving the rest of what he wants to say up in the air as she looks at him caught between guilt and resignation.

“Don't come looking for me again after he tells you to fuck off again,” he finally says.

Cerelle closes her eyes for a moment, as if his words were a certain blow. Aemond steps back again, watching her, seeing what she is thinking and what she will actually do, just as he does.

“But you will, won't you?” his tone is bitter, mocking, but deep down it's just pure pain, ”As if I don't know what this is like. Us,” he points between the two of them with his finger.

He shakes his head in disbelief, with a restrained fury that threatens to boil over at any moment.

“I don't know why I'm even saying this either. Because we both know you'll be cruel enough to call me back…” he says, his gaze darkening. “And I'll be an idiot enough to be there for you again.”

She opens her mouth, maybe to protest, to say something, but she doesn't. She has nothing to say, because she knows he's right. So she can only say his name, in supplication.

“Aemond—

He lets out a hollow laugh, another one, in disbelief. Stopping her. And then he exhales wearily, his posture no longer one of fight, but of surrender.

“It's always the same thing.”

Cerelle's eyes fill with tears, but she doesn't let them fall. She just watches him, with a pain that is not enough for him.

“I'm sorry.”

He shakes his head, with a crooked smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

“No, you're not. You're not sorry.”

He doesn't let her say anything else. He doesn't either, because he's already tired and has nothing more to say.

So he simply turns around and walks out of the room slamming the door, annoyed, angry and clenching his jaw helplessly. But the truth is… he can't be mad at her.

Even he doesn't believe everything he has said.

Because he knows, just like Cerelle, that if she calls him, he'll answer and go to her to comfort her the second. Always.

And that's what makes him feel most upset of all. That he can't turn her away. He can't ignore her. He can't detach himself from her because he loves her, since childhood. But she's never going to love him back, because of his brother.

After that, maybe he should have gone to his apartment to get his shitty day over with. Or maybe he should have gone to clear his head somewhere else. He knows he should have gone somewhere else, except the pub.

You still remember it all too well.

You remember his touch, the feel of burning skin, his kisses, his breathing and the hypnotic way he held you under his spell.

So many moments in his bed, in his kitchen, in his living room, in his bathroom and in your dorm room. Moments you don't think you can leave behind so easily, when all you want is to live them again. To experience that feeling again, even if it was just between the two of you.

But you also remember that night, at that party, when you found out about her.

A party at the fraternity of Aegon Targaryen, Aemond's older brother, which was at it's peak. The crowd moved to the rhythm of the music, which echoed off the walls, with the air charged with the smell of alcohol, perfume, cigarettes and weed.

Outside, in the huge garden, students gathered around the illuminated swimming pool, while inside the huge house the atmosphere was more tense and noisy.

You were sitting at the kitchen counter, with a glass of water between your fingers, feeling the sweat on your skin after having danced with Alysanne and Sara for more than an hour.

You caught your breath and rested your feet a bit, while they continued dancing through the crowd. You let out a long breath, looking around briefly.

Aemond was also there, with Cregan and Jason. The three of them had arrived at the party together. But, as it is always in public, he kept his distance from you.

You were used to it.

Or at least that's what you always told yourself in every situation like that when you realized it wouldn't be any different.

You bit the inside of your cheek and watched him from a distance. He was there, calm and relaxed smoking a cigarette with the guys. Like you, he was just watching the people around him as they talked to each other.

Nothing was new.

You looked away to grab your phone to check the time when a voice in your direction caught your attention.

“Y/N! How good it's to see you!”

Aegon, with a half-empty bottle in his hand and a cocked smile on his lips, told you that he's already drunk, but at least he could still hold his own.

“You want one? I think you need one.”

He told you as he stood next to you. He held something out to you and you looked at it, it being a brownie.

“Really?” you looked at it between amused and expectant.

“Come on! It's a party!”

“No thanks. I don't want to eat that,” you told him pushing it away with your hand.

“It's just a chocolate brownie,” he told you innocently.

”Weed more like it.”

He tried to convince you, when suddenly, his gaze focused on something in the crowd and his smile came hooked again.

“Oh look! My dear childhood friends.”

You watched him slightly confused and amused, watching as he walked towards a group of people quickly, stumbling.

And simply because you had nothing better to do, you watched to whom he was going. And the recognition was almost instantaneous.

Alysanne told you about how Aemond or his family, rather, have friendships with people who are just as important as they are in the world of business management.

So you recognize the children of those important people, sons and daughters of the elite, the Baratheon's, Tyrell's and Lannister's. As Aegon said, his childhood friends.

You didn't think much of it, at first. Clearly he invited them to his party and they attended. Completely normal. However, someone caught your attention.

You watched as a girl from that group, tall, impeccably dressed, beautiful, with her bright red hair falling in perfect waves down her back and wearing a dress that fit her figure perfectly, after greeting Aegon, walked over to Aemond.

Normally you wouldn't have minded, she is his childhood friend.

But… you see how she approached him so naturally, with that confidence that only someone like her can have. She kissed him gently on the cheek and then said something to him, leaning slightly towards him and placing her hand lightly around his arm.

And Aemond did not pull away.

There was no look of discomfort, no expression of indifference or seriousness. In fact, he looked relaxed, even amused and attentive to the conversation. There was a half-smile on his lips, barely visible and one he rarely let show.

You felt a flip in your chest, something thick and warm that then settled in your stomach like a stone.

You had no right to feel this way. You knew perfectly well. He doesn't belong to you. He has never promised you anything. But still, that image turned your stomach in a way you couldn't control.

Something about that interaction felt different to you. Like there was a story there, something you didn't know.

Then Alysanne came to your rescue from that moment, taking you with them again to dance. You thought about staying where you were, but you needed a distraction. So again you joined the impromptu dance floor.

However, you couldn't help but look in their direction again, wanting to see everything. But it was impossible to see it because of the partitions of the house.

And when you had visibility again, Aemond was gone.

You searched the crowd for the next few long minutes but nothing. It was as if he had vanished. He wasn't with Cregan and Jason. Nor with anyone you knew. So you stood there, expecting to see him at any moment, but nothing.

Then, you saw Aegon, drunk and very happy, enjoying the party. And without thinking, you went to him, because he is the only one you can ask without him suspecting anything. You didn't want to be obvious with your friends. And surely tomorrow he would forget all about it.

“Hey, Aegon,” you grabbed him by the shoulder, turning him towards you.

“Hey, Y/N! What's up?”

“Hum… have you seen Aemond?”

“Aemond?” he repeated, dragging out his words, “Mmm… no. I don't think so.”

You were about to speak when he turns to a girl walking by, with that characteristic red hair.

“Hey T-Tyshara,” he grabbed her arm, stopping her, “Hey, tell me something…” he said, clearly drunk as that girl gave him an annoyed look as he slipped an arm around her shoulders, “Have you seen my little brother, hm?”

She raised her eyebrows.

“Who? Aemond?”

”Yeah, that one.”

She sighed, releasing from his grip.

“I think I saw him with my sister a while ago,” she said nonchalantly, ”I don't know. They left, I think.”

“What sister? Cerelle?”

“I don't have another one, you idiot.”

The girl left, giving him a look of displeasure, while you felt something inside you stop for a second. And then, Aegon let out a laugh, leaning against the wall so he wouldn't lose his balance.

“Oh, my little brother…” he said amused, ”He never gives up.”

You felt a sting in your chest and watched him completely attentively and slightly confused.

“What do you mean?” you asked him, trying to sound nonchalant.

He watched you with a lazy smile.

“Oh come on. Don't tell me you didn't know. It's so fucking obvious.”

“What's obvious?”

He laughed again, shaking his head.

“Well… Cerelle's not ugly, you know? She's beautiful. But she's not my type. She's too perfect, always wanting to be the perfect girl. And she always wants to be close to me, which annoys me.”

You frowned, not believing for a second that he was talking about that girl… Cerelle.

“I've turned her down, many times. Though, of course, we've had our moments,” he said with a smile and meaningful look, ”But she wants more. And I… I don't like that,“ he let out a dramatic sigh, ”Oh but Aemond…” he smiled amused, ”Aemond adores her. He's been in love with her forever. And she… let's just say she accepts him, but she's never wanted him in the same way.”

Suddenly, everything around you kept moving. People laughing, drinking, dancing, having a good time. But you, you were disoriented. You watched Aegon intently, only listening to the echo of his words.

And Aegon kept talking, oblivious to the rigidity of your expression and your tense posture.

“He's always there, following her around like an idiot. And she, she just likes his attention,” he said nonchalantly, ”Anyway, too bad. I can't do anything for him.”

You didn't react. You didn't say anything. You just nodded and Aegon walked away, stumbling away, while you stood alone in a corner of the party.

In that moment you knew where Aemond was and with whom. In that moment you understood the changes in his attitude, why it didn't feel anything like before.

And even though logic told you that you should end everything, whatever you had with him and that you should stop it before you hurt yourself more… you didn't do it.

On the way back to your dorm, the pain was there, weighing on your chest. And after that night, things didn't change and you understood better.

Every time there was a party hosted by Aegon, the pattern repeated itself. Cerelle would appear and at some point in the night, Aemond would disappear and then so would she.

But there were also times when, in the middle of those same parties, when Aemond was distant and serious, and she would suddenly appear, something in his expression would change. His mood would improve. Her shoulders would relax, her gaze would soften just perceptibly.

You stayed in your corner, danced with the girls, laughed with the boys, kept your smile on your face and let the night go by without showing what you felt.

You kept telling yourself that you shouldn't care and that you can't claim him because he and you are nothing.

You are not special. You are not different. You are just someone who is there, when he needs you. When no one else saw him, when he could let his guard down without fear of being judged.

And yet, you didn't leave him. You didn't want to. You couldn't. Because deep down, a part of you still hoped that, someday, he would see you as something more.

But that day, it never came.

Until he asked you to go to Dragonstone with him.

It had been a long week. With exams and final projects due, neither of you had time to rest and see each other. It was a stressful few days, with a lot of worries and responsibilities. Until finally the two of you made some space and he visited you in your dorm room.

You had missed him. So much.

You had only been able to talk by text. Rarely did he or you call each other. And finally the two of you managed to release at least a little stress before returning to the stressful reality, which wasn't over yet.

So you enjoyed the moment of holding him, of his arms around your body pulling you close to him, giving you that peculiar and divine warmth that only he can give you.

Both of you are exhausted. And for now, you can only be like this, in each other's grip, in your bed. His fingers gently and slowly caress the skin of your shoulder, while you have your face buried between his neck and chest, inhaling his delicious scent that makes you feel protected and comfortable.

Just a few more weeks and we are finally done with this semester.

You had thought then, so you could go back to the routine of before, of you in his arms. Unless he… had plans for that winter break.

You opened your eyes and stared at a mole on his shoulder specifically, thinking about it. You didn't know if you should bring up that topic, but the doubt lingered in your mind and so did the curiosity. So you decided to ask him about it.

“Will you be leaving for the winter vacations?”

You asked softly, with your nose touching his jaw, looking at a specific spot in your room.

He didn't answer for a moment, while still continuing to make those invisible lines on your skin with his long, pale fingers.

“Hm… probably,” he said in a low, husky voice against your head.

His response should not have disappointed you. You know he deserves it more than anyone else. He kills himself to get the best grades and to maintain his excellent grade point average that he should enjoy a nice, relaxing vacation.

Yet it did. Because that meant you would only have him with you those last few weeks of the semester.

“What about you?” he asked you later, ”Do you have plans?”

“Mmm… no. Not really,” you confessed.

That must have surprised him, because all his friends would be leaving King's Landing. The only thing they had been talking about, was the winter vacations.

“Why?” he asked you genuinely curious.

“Maybe I'll visit my mom and siblings for Christmas and New Year's,” you said vaguely, not really having it prepared, “And I'll come back to spend the rest of the vacations here. But I don't know,” you ran your hands down his bare back, pulling your body closer towards him if possible, ”Where will you go?”

He let out a long breath, at the same time he brought one of his hands to your cheek and lifted your gaze to him, as he lowered his to you.

“Dragonstone.”

Your eyes met his, as his thumb stroked your cheek slowly and gently.

That electricity you felt when you were with him, in that moment manifested. Neither of you spoke anymore and his lips brushed yours, as he continued his caresses and watched you as if he wanted to memorize every faction of your face in his memory.

Your breaths mingled and you loved the way your bodies seemed to fit together so perfectly.

Then, he kissed you. Slowly and precisely.

You reciprocated the kiss, as his mouth moved over yours firmly, unhurriedly. One of his hands went down to your bare lower back, caressing your skin and sending shivers down your spine, as you leaned closer to him.

You sighed against his mouth and wrapped your fingers around the base of his nape, drawing him closer to you, feeling that slight shiver run down his spine each time he exhaled against your skin.

Your lips barely parted for seconds before they met again, hungry, insatiable.

Aemond's lips slid to your jaw, then down your neck, marking a path with his warm, electrifying breath.

“Come with me.”

He said to you suddenly in a low voice, almost like a whisper against your skin, but clear enough for you to hear and open your eyes.

“What?” you said, thinking maybe you had misheard.

“Come with me.”

He repeated, never failing to mark your skin and never failing to make you sigh with every touch.

“Where to?”

You asked, your voice barely audible between your soft gasps. And Aemond didn't answer right away. Instead, he kissed you again, more intensely this time, before answering you.

“To Dragonstone.”

The kiss stopped for an instant. Not because you wanted to break away, but because his words left you momentarily breathless.

Dragonstone.

It wasn't just a vacation destination. It was his home. The island where he grew up, the place he always returned to when he wanted to get away from it all. And now he was asking you to go with him.

You couldn't move. You just watched him slightly surprised, definitely not expecting that. Instead, you were expecting him to take it back or tell you he didn't mean it.

But he just looked at you with the same intensity as always, with that indecipherable gleam in his blue eye. His hand went up to your cheek, outlining your jaw with his thumb, waiting for a response.

But instead of speaking, you kissed him again, smiling big against his lips. You felt happy, excited and illusioned because you had hope.

That must have meant something. Asking you to go with him, to that ancient and wonderful place, his home, must have meant something.

Even knowing about Cerelle, you had hope.

You have distanced yourself from your group of friends.

With the new college semester, things have changed a bit in your life.

Stricter teachers, more important and difficult subjects, more responsibilities and more pressures leading up to your graduation next year.

You still talk to them, in fact the group chat is more active than ever and you've seen them individually or in duos between classes to say hello and catch up a bit.

They still hang out in the gardens, as usual, even though most of them don't share many classes together anymore. You talk and see more with Sara and Alysanne, that's not changing at all.

The difference is that you don't share any classes with anyone and the times are more reduced between classes, except for some free hours in which you don't coincide with someone of them or the girls.

And when you say they… you don't include him.

He didn't come back to look for you since that day, when you came back to the city and he was waiting for you in front of your door. After you came back to make it clear to him that you don't want to have anything more to do with him, until now your wish has remained.

You have seen him a few times since then, from afar. Walking through the campus, you suddenly spot that distinctive silver hair in the distance blending in with the crowd.

But you avert your gaze instantly, not wanting to look any more than necessary even though it's probably Aegon. You just didn't want to know.

And you've only seen it once directly, days after the new semester started.

You were still having trouble finding your new classrooms. The directions were a bit confusing having not frequented other buildings you were used to.

It was raining. You remember it well.

And you were rushing up the stairs, already ten minutes late. When suddenly, as you turned to continue up the stairs, you stopped dead in your tracks when you saw legs in front of you in your line of sight.

You raised your gaze to apologize, as the two of you would have collided because of your speed. But as soon as your eyes took a direct look at that distinctive, bright blue staring back at you, you froze.

It was him.

And he seemed just as surprised to see you.

However, he didn't move either. Nor did he say anything. He just looked at you.

It was like going back to that day, in your residence. The rain was still pounding on the windows of the building and the hallway was almost empty. Only the distant echoes of footsteps and voices filtered between you, but at that moment everything disappeared.

You swallowed hard, unable to move, with everything that happened hitting you like a wave of memories. Your chest began to rise and fall with deep breaths.

And he, he was looking at you in an intense, burning way.

It seemed as if his mind was working at full speed, as if he was choosing what words to say carefully. As if he knew that anything he said could break what little was left between you.

And then, that's when you saw it.

It wasn't anger. It wasn't frustration. It wasn't resignation. It was a silent, desperate plea.

Talk to me.

Tell me you really don't want me anymore.

Tell me you hate me.

Tell me something.

Anything.

But you couldn't.

A lump tightened your throat, the pressure of his gaze was too much. Your heart pounded and you didn't know what to do, with every memory invading without stopping your whole mind.

However, you didn't let your thoughts and memories block you any more than necessary.

Even though he was looking at you like that, you didn't let it affect you anymore and quickly walked around him, putting enough distance between the two of you to avoid even a brush and continued on your way, leaving him behind.

That was the last time you saw him.

But that encounter, only made you couldn't stop thinking about him for the next few days.

Fortunately you haven't run into him again. And you hope it never happens. Or at least not soon. You know it's best to just move on, let go of what you both once had and stick with as much of the good as the bad.

However, he has his moments.

Vague, unexpected moments when he comes back into your mind and you remember it all. Memories of what you both went through together. Though you always don't think too much about it.

It's not something you decide to stay with all day. Then you go back to your projects, your mind gets busy and you forget about it.

One day, though, you're suddenly thinking and remembering everything about him. Too much.

It's not something you think about in a few minutes or a few hours. No. That stays with you all day long. And you can't help it. The nostalgia, the moments, the memories, it all comes back to you.

You wonder at all the things that could have been different. Of what would have happened. Questions and illusions that keep you awake even at night.

And the next day, the memory of all that was and all that could have been, is present on Valentine's fucking day.

Great.

You think as you look around you with a serious stare at all those girls with bouquets of flowers in their hands, stuffed animals, balloons and details walking around the campus.

You didn't even remember and just today your mind reminds you of him too.

Fortunately you only have three classes today, two hours each. Honestly it could be worse, since your other days, except today on Fridays, start from nine in the morning and end until seven.

You think positively that your hours will pass quickly. You just have to pay close attention, keep your mind busy and the hours will fly by.

But of course, this day is not in your favor. The hours go by incredibly long.

Even some of your classmates enter the classrooms with beautiful bouquets of flowers and details. You also see boys with flowers in their hands, among other details that make you roll your eyes and groan internally.

Everything is so beautiful, so pretty and so ideal that you want to be one of those girls. You also want to be given a bouquet of roses.

But no. Today you are a spectator.

And when your classes are finally over, you feel a little pathetic walking across campus back to your dorm with your hands empty compared to the many girls around you carrying their gifts.

So you pick up your pace, wanting to get to your room as soon as possible not wanting to see any more of this.

You greet some girls you meet at the entrance to your dorm, both holding a rose in their hands and head towards the stairs, when a voice stops you.

“Y/L/N!”

You turn around and notice Miranda, the woman who works as the receptionist at this residence. You frown slightly and head towards her desk, as you rarely speak to her.

“Yes?”

“They left something for you,” she lets you know.

The frown on your forehead furrows further, confused.

“For me?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I am. It says your name.”

You shake your head slightly, since you don't get anything. And if you do, whether it's from your mom, which has been very few times, she lets you know, always.

So you wait expectantly and she finally lets you see it, lifting it slightly in the air to place it on the table in front of you.

Your breath catches the instant you see it.

With your lips parted, completely surprised and in disbelief, she hands you a beautiful bouquet of flowers. But not just any flowers. They are hydrangeas, your favorite.

White and purple, your favorite color, all together they make a beautiful flower bouquet for you.

You gently run your fingertips over their petals, admiring it and not being able to believe that this is for you. Even for a moment you think it might be a mistake, even though they are precisely your favorite flowers and colors.

But Miranda is right. There is a small card tied to the bouquet that says your name.

But who gave this to you?

“Thank you.”

You say to Miranda, taking it in your hands and arms once you come out of your surprise.

And you quickly try to recompose your reaction, as you didn't want to look like a girl who has never received flowers in her life or who isn't used to such details on days like this.

But too late, you've already made the impression.

You go up to your dorm room and leave the bouquet on your desk. Having no idea who sent this to you. But then, a person comes to your mind.

Is it possible…?

No. Absolutely not.

The idea is ridiculous. It can't be. You only think about him because you haven't stopped remembering him for two whole days now and it just can't be.

And now seeing the little card, you don't want to open it.

What will you feel? Happiness or disappointment if it's not him? You don't know. And you don't want to find out.

But as you look at the card, curiosity and uneasiness only take over you more and more. You stare at it as if you could burn it with your gaze, nervous and unsure.

And once your patience is worn out, you finally take it and open it, simply reading it without further ado, wanting to know who it was.

When then, your breath catches again and your heart skips a huge beat.

I know it's too late now, but this was what I was supposed to give you on your birthday. I regret that day and the day you came back. I didn't express myself the right way and I didn't mean everything I said to you. I still think about you, all the time. Only you.

Your throat closes.

You read the words over and over again, surprised, wanting to make sure you're getting the message right, not getting it wrong.

But it's as clear as day. It's him. It's definitely him.

Your fingers squeeze the note, feeling the tremor in your hands and beginning to feel your emotions begin to invade you.

Your mind flashes back to that day, your birthday. To his voice, to his gaze. To the way every word he said to you tore you up inside. To the way you ended it all. And to the way he tried to get close to you afterwards. But now… this.

You don't know what's worse.

You return your gaze to your flowers, so beautiful and so perfect, with a sad look.

You once told him that these flowers are your favorite. Just once. And you thought he wasn't even paying attention to you. But this is confirmation that he did, he remembered.

I still think about you. All the time.

You close your eyes and drop heavily onto your bed, bringing a hand to your forehead and letting out a long breath, then stare at a blank spot on your ceiling, doing nothing.

He is still thinking about you. And worst of all, you haven't stopped thinking about him either.

But now, what should you do?

You sit up slowly, feeling the stiffness in your muscles, the restlessness in your chest. You look at the flowers again, their delicate white and purple petals spreading before you.

He still thinks of you.

Your mind repeats, but… what does that really mean?

He says he's sorry, he regrets, but is it enough?

Words and flowers can erase everything that happened? You should unblock him and thank him for the gesture? You should talk to him? But what is going to happen with Cerelle? He is choosing you but he is still going to keep her?

You don't know anything. And you don't know if you want to know.

Part of you wants to hold on to this, wants to believe that there's something still between you, something worth saving. But the other part, the part that still remembers the pain, forces you to stand firm.

You sigh heavily, running a hand through your hair as your gaze returns to his note.

Maybe you should ignore it. You should pretend you never received it.

But the problem is, now that you've read it, now that you know Aemond is still there, in the distance, thinking of you… you can't pretend you don't care.

But you don't know what to do either.

Two weeks have passed.

Two weeks since you received the hydrangeas and that note that has kept you awake at night.

Two weeks in which your life followed the same course. Your classes, your projects, even outings with your friends have gone on as normal.

Two weeks in which you haven't made a decision. Or actually, you haven't been able to.

And every time you find yourself alone, your mind goes back to the same old question: what should you do?

But you never have the answer.

You know it's not an easy decision. And you don't want to take it lightly because you don't want to make the wrong one.

So you've put it off, telling yourself you need time. But that time has only led you to be thinking about him almost all the time. His memory is not just an echo in your mind, but something constant.

And oddly enough, you started seeing him more frequently on campus. From afar, never too close, whether it was in the hallways, in the gardens, common areas or leaving one building while you were entering another.

His silver hair always gave him away. But he didn't see you. That's the difference. He doesn't notice you. And you feel like the universe is mocking you by constantly putting him in your path.

You wondered if it was a coincidence. You wondered if you should do something about it all. And every time the doubt appeared, you ignored it, convincing yourself that the right thing to do was to move on so you could think better of it.

But in the end, you didn't make a decision.

And it seemed like you finally had, when you found yourself with your gaze fixed on the screen of your phone, staring at the 'unlock' button on Aemond's contact.

You thought about doing it, sending him a message or even calling him, giving him a chance to talk. But after staring at the screen for who knows how long, completely unsure and biting the inside of your cheek too hard, you'd get frustrated and put the device aside, really not wanting to make the wrong decision.

He hasn't looked you up since Valentine's Day either. He must have done it, right?

Who knows, maybe to try again to talk to you. But he didn't, because he knew you would probably reject him and not give him the chance.

You let out a long breath, feeling like this is all torture. You haven't been fully focused in your classes, you've fallen behind on some projects, you haven't prepared enough for your exams and… you don't know what the fuck to do.

Until finally, one day, sick of it all, you made a decision.

The decision wasn't sudden, but the moment you realized you couldn't avoid it anymore was.

You know it can end badly or it can end well. You have no idea which it will. But you will when you finally do something about it.

So you text Cregan, asking him what time Aemond usually goes to the library and he tells you without a problem. The library is the place where you know you're bound to find him, so once your classes are over around the time he's supposed to be there, you head over to him.

Maybe you should have texted or called him before?

Your nervous mind tells you as you walk, without stopping. You watch curiously as it is raining again, having no idea why it is always raining when something related to him is happening.

But you don't care.

You hold your coat against your body, protecting yourself from the cold, but nothing could protect you from the whirlwind of emotions inside you.

Every step brought you closer to him, and with every meter you walked, the certainty of what you were about to do became more real. You're so nervous. You don't even know exactly what you're going to say to him. It's been so long since you last spoke to him. And yet, he still has this effect on you.

When the entrance to the huge library is finally only a few meters away from you, you feel like your heart is definitely going to burst out of your chest. But before you regret it, you push yourself to walk through those doors, knowing it's now or never.

You feel the immediate change in the atmosphere. The sound of the rain becomes a distant murmur, replaced by the faint rustle of pages and the occasional low murmur of students sitting at tables or between shelves.

You move among them, hands tucked inside your coat pockets to keep them from noticing that you're shaking. You slowly walk around the place, looking in every action, trying to find that silver hair.

Until you see him.

Obviously it's not hard at all. And again, you freeze, just watching him from a distance.

You can turn on your heels and walk away, pretend you've never been here and forget it, leave things as they are. He wouldn't even notice, because he hasn't noticed your presence and doesn't feel your gaze on him.

So that's the easiest thing to do. Avoid hurting yourself, protect yourself, in case this is a very bad idea.

But the truth is, you can't keep fooling yourself.

You really want to do this.

You want to clear the air once and for all. You can choose to continue if it's good for you and what you really want. But if not… then finally end it all as it should be.

You take a deep breath, feeling the air fill your lungs along with courage. You press your lips together, still having your gaze fixed on him. And then, cautiously, you take the first step, then another, another, and another. Until finally you are only a few feet away from him.

He hasn't noticed you yet. But you have no doubt he will soon. And you don't want it to be awkward, so you have to talk to him, call out to him. Nervous, your steps are a little slower, but sure, towards him.

You open your mouth, you're about to say his name when suddenly:

“Aemond.”

But you don't say it.

Someone else says it behind you.

You watch beside you and immediately that red hair appears in your line of sight, walking quickly towards him and catching his attention, as well as yours.

You stand still, watching as she walks towards him, with every plan you had in mind now simply forgotten. And then, he sees you.

He parts his lips, slightly surprised, you don't know if it's because of you or her, but his eye is fixed on you, watching as you had every intention of speaking to him, of heading towards him.

And then, just as surprised, he watches Cerelle too, right in front of you. Not understanding anything. But you do.

You knew this was a bad idea. You knew it, but you convinced yourself you could handle it. But now, with her in the middle, as she has always been, you feel your heart sink in your chest and you suddenly feel very small.

Discomfort grows in your chest and suddenly your hands can't stop shaking, feeling clumsy and heavy.

And you don't want to stay here, watching as he's going to choose her, again.

You bite the inside of your cheek and try to control your overflowing emotions, staring at the ground, that you don't even realize he's looking at you.

And when you give him one last glance, you see his attentive expression, surprised and with something else. Something you can't figure out because your mind is too busy telling you to leave. And that's what you do.

You spin on your heels as quickly as your determination crumbles and walk away without looking back.

You walk through the library doors and the cold rain air hits your face, but you don't stop. You just want to go to your room, to forget all of this, to finally put it behind you.

Your heart pounds as you walk at a fast pace, hugging yourself in an attempt to find some solace amidst the whirlwind of emotions that consumes you. The skin on your arms bristles from the cold breeze that sneaks through your clothes.

And although it's not raining hard, the air is permeated with moisture.

Your gaze is kept low, avoiding anyone who passes you, concentrating only on getting to your residence. But as you move forward, you realize something: you can't leave on foot.

Not like this. Not when the rain is too heavy and there's no sign that it will pass quickly. And you don't even have an umbrella with you.

You sigh, closing your eyes for a moment. Maybe you could call an Uber or wait for it to calm down a bit. You don't have much choice, but you also don't have the energy to think of a better solution.

Then, just as you're about to turn in the direction of one of the coffee shops or with another of the libraries on campus in mind to wait and at the same time make progress on projects, a firm, familiar voice stops you.

“Wait!”

Your body instantly freezes, as if every fiber of your being instantly recognizes the soft, confident tone of his voice. The sound echoes through the air, dissipating any other noise around you.

You don't need to turn around to know who it is. You know.

His footsteps are getting closer and closer, you can hear it perfectly. And when you turn around, he's right in front of you.

Confused, you see how his gaze is fixed on you, with his spotless dark jacket, his backpack hanging from his shoulder and his relaxed but firm posture. He is actually standing in front of you. And your chest tightens with a mixture confusion and something else, something you can't quite name.

You don't understand why he's here, why he's not with her, why he's looking for you. And you don't get a chance to ask because he speaks again.

“Let me drive you.”

Confusion takes root in you more strongly, creating an uncomfortable emptiness in your stomach. You blink, trying to decipher what's going on, trying to understand why he's telling you that, why he seems so determined.

He looks at you with the same impenetrable expression as always. And you say nothing, because you don't know what to say. Your lips part in an attempt to respond, but your voice gets stuck in your throat when, behind him, a figure catches your attention.

And then you see her.

Cerelle.

She stands in the distance, at the entrance to the library, her large, bright eyes fixed on Aemond, watching him with a mixture of confusion, despair and sadness. Her posture is rigid, her lips slightly parted as if she is about to call out to him, but she doesn't. She just stands there, watching him, waiting.

She waits for him to look at her, to turn and for him to come back to her.

But he doesn't.

And you don't understand.

Every part of you screams that this is wrong, that this shouldn't be happening, that he shouldn't be here with you when she's clearly waiting for him. So, without much thought, the question escapes your lips before you can stop it.

“But don't you have to go with her?”

The words hang suspended between you. Aemond blinks, but doesn't answer right away. He just watches you silently, his jaw tense, his expression indecipherable.

And you watch him intently, to watch her again and him again, with the silence dragging on too long. Until finally, in a low, soft, firm tone he speaks.

“Let's go.”

He doesn't answer your question. He doesn't look back. He just says those words, clear and decisive.

And that should be enough for you to refuse, to insist on an answer, to tell him you want no part of this. Not again.

But he's overconfident, as if he's making a decision, leaving her behind. And a part of you, the most vulnerable and desperate part, wants to understand what's going on. It wants explanations.

So you nod.

You say nothing more as he places a hand on your shoulder cautiously and gently, to begin directing you toward one of the parking spaces.

He opens the passenger door for you and you settle into the seat with the sound of rain hitting the windshield in the background. He starts the engine, the heater begins to fill the interior with warm, enveloping air, but the silence between you is almost unbearable.

The drive is short, just a few minutes as your residence is not far away, but every second feels eternal. Neither of you speaks. You don't even look at each other.

Until finally, Aemond pulls up in front of your building and breaks the silence.

“You wanted to talk to me?”

Your gaze lingers on your hands, on how your fingertips trace invisible lines on your pants. You don't know where to start, don't even know if there's still any point in saying anything.

Still, you nod. But you don't fully answer his question.

“I thought you were going with her,” you mutter, without thinking too hard.

The tension in the car intensifies. Aemond says nothing. He doesn't respond. And for some reason, that makes your chest tighten even more.

And instead of answering, he simply points to your building with a slight nod of his head.

“Can I come up with you?”

Your breath catches in your throat. You look up at him, actually seeing him for the first time since he stopped you in the middle of the hallway.

And the only truth that resonates in your head is that you don't understand anything. You don't understand why he's here, why he's asking you this. But after a long second, finally, you nod.

And without another word, you both get out of the car and head to your dorm room.

Your door closes behind Aemond with a faint click. But the sound echoes in the air like an echo. Everything around you feels strangely quiet. The air is thick, charged with an almost palpable tension, and you can feel Aemond's presence behind you, so close that you can feel the warmth he exudes.

Nerves invade you and you move away from him, as if he burns you. You don't know what to do or what to say because the truth is that you still don't fully understand how you got here.

So long without seeing him, without talking to him and now suddenly, he is here.

You take a deep breath, trying to calm the whirlwind of thoughts in your head. You take off your jacket with a mechanical gesture and drop it on your bed. Aemond takes off his as well, leaving it on the back of your chair next to your desk.

You watch him out of the corner of your eye, unsure, a little uncomfortable, and watch as he paces around your room, as if it's been a long time since he was last here.

When he suddenly focuses on the vase on your night stand next to your bed and a very small, barely visible smile appears on his lips.

“They're pretty.”

Her voice breaks the silence with an unexpected softness, too casual, trying to lighten the mood.

You follow the direction of his gaze and see the hydrangeas in the glass vase, still fresh and full of life, as if time had not touched them since the day he gave them to you.

“Thank you… by the way.”

He walks over to them, running his fingertips over the delicate petals carefully, while you stand at the foot of your bed, trying not to stare at him too much, then take a seat on the soft mattress.

Seconds pass, neither of you say anything and you don't understand what you are doing.

Then, he finally turns to you, with his soft gaze and speaks.

“You said they're your favorite, that night when we went to dinner, the hydrangeas.”

You don't say anything, you just watch him and nod slightly, you too remembering those days. But you definitely weren't prepared for what he says next.

“Your favorite color is purple. Your favorite animal is cats and wolves. Your favorite series is Stranger Things and your favorite movie is Maze Runner.”

Your breath catches for a moment and you watch him intently.

“You love the beach, watching sunsets, exploring hidden waterfalls, reading, and you love all the history of royal families, like the Tudors and the Romanovs. You want to go to Wales, to explore abandoned castles, London, Romania, Egypt and Versailles, to see Marie Antoinette's bedroom,“ he then says, stealing your breath, ‘”And you like The Weeknd, but also classical music and Taylor Swift,” he finishes.

You fall completely silent, your mind unable to process the amount of things he just said with such precision. You stare at him in surprise, feeling a lump in your throat that you can't explain.

It's not that these are secret facts about you, but you don't mention them that often either. Only once or twice. But you definitely never expected him to remember them.

You always thought Aemond wasn't someone who paid too much attention to details, at least not when it came to you. But here he is, reciting them as if they were etched into his skin. As if he knew you better than you thought he did.

He notices your expression and lets out a sigh, averting his gaze for a second before meeting you again with his clear eyes.

“I know you like the back of my hand Y/N,” he says in a soft, firm tone, ”The problem was… I didn't show that I was paying attention.”

Your heart beats painfully against your chest.

You don't know what to say, because this is a side of Aemond you've never seen before. Not the proud, cold guy who always seems unattainable, but someone genuine, someone who has actually been watching you all this time, even when you thought he hadn't.

But you can't be fooled by emotions.

Pursing your lips, you avert your gaze to your hands, feeling a pang of uncertainty prickle in your chest. You shake your head slightly, trying to rearrange your thoughts before speaking.

“I-I… I didn't let you into my room so you'd think I'd still be her replacement.”

Aemond lets out a small, low chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief.

You watch him instantly, completely serious, not understanding his reaction. But when he looks back at you, his expression has become more intense, more sincere.

“Haven't you understood?” he murmurs, his voice full of something you can't quite identify.

He takes a step toward you, then another, another, and another, narrowing the distance between you until he stands in front of you.

“I'm here with you because I want you,” he tells you firmly and clearly, ”I don't want her. I want you.”

The words fall on you like an unexpected blow, leaving you for a moment without air. Because even if you wanted to deny it, even if you tried to convince yourself that this was all a mistake, you can't ignore the way your heart races with his confession.

And worst of all, you know he's not lying.

He lets out a heavy exhale, running a hand through his hair in a frustrated gesture.

“I was an idiot,” he says, his voice low, almost hoarse, ”I wasted too much time chasing after a girl who was never worth it. And in the process, I hurt you…because she was hurting me.”

Something in his expression hardens, as if he hates to admit it. But then his gaze softens as he settles on you again.

“And I'm sorry. I'm really sorry.”

Your chest tightens with a million emotions at once. Because you didn't expect this. You didn't expect him to say it so clearly, so bluntly, without the arrogance that has always characterized him.

But the fear is still there.

You fold your arms, trying to keep your stance firm, trying to remember all the reasons why you shouldn't give in so easily.

“I don't know if I can do this,” you mutter, in a low, vulnerable tone.

“And I don't blame you,” he says right away, ”But you want to know the truth? I got feelings,” he confesses, ”But I was letting myself be held back by her.”

Your throat closes up. You don't know what's worse, knowing that he had feelings for you or knowing that he put them aside for someone else who never reciprocated and simply wanted his attention.

And he noticing the whirlwind of emotions on your face, he moves a little closer towards you.

“And I fucked it all up,” he says almost in a lament, “But I want to fix it.”

Your breathing quickens.

You can't trust him. Not after all.

And yet…

“Y/N,” his voice calls back to you, low, raw, honest, ”I know the last thing you want is to trust me. And I don't expect things between us to go back to the way they were. I want to make things right now, with the formalities, titles and all. If you need time, I'll give it to you, no matter how much, I'll… I'll wait for you,” he promises, ”But only if you want me to.”

Silence.

Your eyes dive into his, searching for some trace of a lie, some sign that this is all just another empty promise. But all you find is sincerity. A raw, vulnerable sincerity you've never seen in him before.

This is everything you've wanted to hear from him. Everything.

To be reciprocated.

And now that he's finally telling you, you can't stop the tears from starting to form in your eyes.

You close your eyes for a moment, trying to gather your thoughts. It's all too much. Too intense, too sudden. And yet, when you open your eyes and look at him again, something inside you begins to resurface.

Hope.

But not the hope of “someday,” no, but the hope that this, here and now, works. Because it's finally happening.

“Just you and me.”

You say it quietly, as if you're still testing how it feels to say it out loud, how it feels to let it out after holding it in for so long.

And Aemond nods without hesitation.

“Just you and me,” he repeats, ”Only you.”

And for the first time in a long time, you believe in him.

And when he holds out his hand to you, you take it.

His fingers intertwine with yours, warm, firm, as if he's reassuring you that this time he's not going to let go. As if he wants to show you that there is no one else, that there should never have been anyone else.

Because now, there is only you.

thank you for reading!

@almostpurplelady @fauxraven @targaryendestiel @bigsimpforremuslupin

[goldfades]

im afraid i need more mamas boy hayes

i kinda went off the prompt but there's a little mama's boy hayes somewhere in there LMAO. also this is when hayes is a little older (i'm thinking 7-8 years old)

You had always been skeptical about Hayes playing football.

It wasn’t that you didn’t believe in him—you did, wholeheartedly. He had Joe’s talent, his love for the game, his competitive edge. But he was still just a kid, and no matter how many times Joe assured you that injuries were just part of the sport, that he’d be fine, that he’d be careful—you never stopped worrying.

And today? Today proved why.

The game had been intense from the start—two undefeated teams, the stakes higher than ever. Hayes had been playing great, making sharp plays, throwing with precision, running the field like he was born for it.

But then it happened.

It was one play, one moment, one second that changed everything.

Hayes had the ball. He was running, weaving through defenders, moving with that same effortless agility that Joe had when he played. You could hear the crowd cheering, your heart pounding, your fingers clutching the fabric of your jeans as you sat on the edge of your seat.

And then—a collision.

Hard. Fast. Loud.

Your stomach plummeted as Hayes was taken down, his body crashing into the turf with a force that made your breath catch in your throat.

Then, silence.

Not from the crowd—the crowd was roaring. But from Hayes.

He wasn’t getting up.

Your heart stopped.

Joe was already on his feet beside you, his entire body tensed, his eyes locked on the field with the kind of fear you rarely ever saw in him.

"Come on, buddy," Joe muttered under his breath. "Get up. Get up."

But Hayes didn’t move.

And that’s when you felt it—pure, unfiltered panic.

You shot out of your seat so fast your legs nearly gave out beneath you, your hands gripping the railing in front of you. The medical staff was already running onto the field, coaches kneeling beside Hayes, and you swore your vision blurred as you tried to see if he was okay.

"He’s fine," Joe said beside you, but his voice was tight, like he was trying to convince himself more than he was trying to convince you. His hand gripped your arm, steadying you, but you could feel the tension radiating off him.

He was scared too.

Your breath felt shaky, your heart hammering in your chest. You weren’t even aware of the fact that you were gripping Joe’s sleeve until he pulled you closer, his other arm wrapping around you.

Joe didn’t even think.

One second, he was gripping the edge of his seat, heart hammering in his chest, and the next, he was on his feet, storming down the bleachers before anyone could stop him.

You barely had time to register what was happening before you were chasing after him, weaving through the crowd as he marched straight past security, past the coaches, past anyone who might have told him to stay put.

His only focus? Hayes.

And you could see it—the fear in him.

Joe was always calm, always composed, but this? This was different. He looked sick, his jaw clenched so tight it could’ve cracked, his fists balled at his sides.

By the time you caught up to him, he was already dropping to his knees beside Hayes, voice low and urgent.

"Hey, buddy. Hey, I’m right here." His hands hovered, unsure where to touch first. "Talk to me, okay?"

Hayes winced, shifting slightly as the trainer kept a firm grip on his shoulder.

"My arm hurts," he muttered, voice small.

Joe swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. His eyes darted from Hayes' face to the trainer, as if begging for an answer.

"He took a hard hit," the trainer said, voice calm but firm. "We’re checking for a dislocation or fracture, but nothing looks broken right now."

Joe nodded once, but his face was still pale.

And you? You couldn’t take it anymore.

You dropped down beside them, brushing Hayes’ hair back from his forehead, your hands shaking slightly.

"You scared us," you murmured.

Hayes’ lower lip jutted out, his little brow furrowing. "Sorry, Mom."

Joe exhaled sharply through his nose, running a hand down his face. His other hand finally settled on Hayes' good shoulder, gripping gently, but firmly.

"We’re done for today," Joe said, his voice leaving no room for argument.

"But—"

Joe cut him a look, and that was it. End of discussion.

"We’re getting you checked out," he continued. "I don’t care if it’s just a bruise, I want a full scan. No debates."

Hayes sighed but nodded, letting the trainers help him sit up fully.

And that’s when Joe finally looked at you.

Like really looked at you.

And you saw it then—the sheer panic he’d been trying to bury.

His blue eyes were still blown wide, his breathing still shallow. He looked like he wanted to throw up, or punch something, or both.

So you reached for him, squeezing his wrist, grounding him.

"He’s okay," you whispered.

Joe let out another sharp breath and nodded.

And then, without another word, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to Hayes' hair, lingering for just a second longer than usual.

And you knew.

Knew that no matter how much Joe loved this sport, no matter how much he wanted Hayes to love it too—

This?

This right here?

Was his worst nightmare.

—

The room was too quiet.

The kind of quiet that felt wrong, like the air had been sucked out completely. The kind of quiet that made your chest tight, your throat dry.

Hayes sat on the exam table, his small fingers curled into fists at his sides. His football jersey was wrinkled, his cheeks still red from exertion, but his expression was eerily blank. Too blank.

You knew that look. He was trying to be tough.

Joe stood beside him, arms crossed tightly over his chest, jaw locked. His knee bounced—a dead giveaway of the nerves he wasn’t voicing.

And you? You were perched right next to Hayes, one hand settled on his knee, rubbing slow, absentminded circles. It was instinct, really—the need to comfort him, to remind him that he wasn’t alone.

The trainer took a deep breath before speaking, eyes flickering between all three of you like he was trying to soften the blow.

But nothing could soften it.

"It’s a fractured clavicle."

Joe exhaled sharply through his nose. You felt Hayes stiffen beneath your touch.

"How bad?" Joe’s voice was tight, his usual composure barely hanging on.

"It’s a clean break, but it’s still a fracture. That means no football for at least three to four months."

Silence.

You swore you could hear Joe’s teeth grinding.

Hayes swallowed, the first sign of movement from him in minutes.

The trainer continued carefully. "Realistically, he’s out for the season."

Joe’s breath came out in a low, sharp exhale. He dragged a hand down his face, eyes closing for a second like he needed to reset.

You watched Hayes closely, your heart aching.

He still wasn’t saying anything.

But you could see the way his bottom lip trembled, how his eyes flickered to the ground, how his little fists clenched even tighter in his lap.

He was trying so hard to be tough, to take it like a real football player, like his dad would.

But he wasn’t Joe. Not yet.

He was still your baby.

Joe must’ve realized it too, because instead of arguing or pressing for other options, he simply nodded. "Alright. We’ll do whatever he needs."

The trainer nodded back, relief flashing in his expression. "We’ll get him set up with a sling and schedule follow-ups. He’ll heal up, I promise."

Hayes only nodded, but the way his little jaw tensed, the way he refused to look up—it told you everything.

Your heart cracked right down the middle.

Joe knew it too.

Which is why, instead of speaking, he just placed a hand on Hayes’ shoulder—the good one.

But Hayes barely reacted.

That’s when Joe finally met your eyes.

And in that moment, you both knew.

Right now, Hayes didn’t need Joe.

He needed you.

So without hesitation, you scooted closer, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him in without waiting for him to ask.

And the second he was against you, he broke.

His small fingers curled into your hoodie, his face burying itself in your chest as a small, shaky breath escaped him.

Joe exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw as he watched, but he didn’t seem upset. If anything, he looked… grateful.

Because he knew.

No matter how much Hayes wanted to be like his dad—right now, he just needed his mom.

The ride home was quiet.

Hayes barely touched his phone, which was rare. Usually, he was either texting his friends about the game or watching highlights, but tonight, his eyes stayed locked on the window, watching the city lights blur past. His good arm rested in his lap, and the sling they’d given him looked too big, too awkward on his small frame.

Joe kept glancing at him in the rearview mirror, his fingers flexing over the steering wheel like he wanted to say something—anything—but didn’t know where to start.

So you reached over, threading your fingers through his, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze.

You’d handle this.

Once you got home, Hayes shuffled into the house without a word. He bypassed the living room, the TV, even the couch where he usually flopped down after a game.

Straight to his room.

Joe sighed, rubbing a hand down his face.

"He’s shutting down," he muttered, more to himself than to you.

"He’s upset," you corrected gently. "Just… let me try."

Joe hesitated but nodded.

So you followed Hayes down the hall, knocking lightly before pushing his door open.

He was curled up on his bed, staring at the ceiling, the dim glow of his lamp casting soft shadows across the room. He didn’t look at you when you walked in, but his brows furrowed when you sat on the edge of the bed.

"You need to eat," you said softly.

"Not hungry."

You sighed, shifting closer until you could run your fingers through his hair, something you’d been doing since he was little.

"You know I’m not letting you go to sleep without eating something," you murmured.

Hayes let out a small, defeated sigh. "Fine."

"Good choice," you teased, pressing a quick kiss to his forehead before heading toward the kitchen.

You made him a plate—nothing too heavy, just something simple—and brought it back to his room. He sat up enough to take it, murmuring a quiet, "Thanks, Mom," before picking at the food.

It wasn’t much, but it was something.

When you stepped back into the kitchen, Joe was gone.

You frowned, checking the living room, then the backyard.

Nothing.

Then your phone buzzed.

Be back soon.

You rolled your eyes, but your lips twitched in amusement.

Joe had his own way of handling things.

—

Exactly 45 minutes later, the front door creaked open, followed by the sound of a paper bag crinkling.

You turned from where you sat on the couch, raising an eyebrow as Joe walked in with two large bags from a familiar ice cream shop—the one that was nearly an hour away.

"You’re insane," you said, crossing your arms as he set the bags down on the counter.

He just grinned, pulling out the pints one by one. "Tell me I’m wrong, though."

You sighed, shaking your head because—damn him—he wasn’t wrong.

You grabbed two spoons and followed him down the hall.

Hayes was still awake, lying on his side and scrolling through his phone.

"Hey, bud," Joe said, stepping inside. "Got you something."

Hayes barely glanced up—until Joe held up the ice cream.

The familiar packaging caught his attention instantly. His brows lifted in surprise, and for the first time all night, his expression softened.

"You drove all the way there?" he asked, his voice still a little hoarse from earlier.

Joe just shrugged like it was no big deal. "Figured it was a special occasion."

Hayes scoffed. "Getting hurt is a special occasion?"

"You being sad is," Joe said simply, handing him a spoon.

Hayes hesitated, then took it.

And just like that, the tension eased.

You settled in next to him, Joe took the chair beside the bed, and for the first time all night, Hayes actually smiled.

It wasn’t much.

But it was something.

[christinescupofcoffee]

Multis. Although… I do enjoy the stray one shot every now and again.

A bit of both, and i’ve found that I’m most relaxed when I write without a plan (or at the very least having an idea as to where it’s going but not really having a destination. All my fics the last couple of years have been like this).

I take my time with chapters now—last few times I’ve gone on ao3 for any reason, the damned thing crashes (really, I’m worried about that place. I can’t expect it to last for the next four years the way it freaks out every couple of days). I worry about things like censorship, too: so getting my fics saved onto my laptop, I’m free to write and continue these stories at my own pace. My laptop is offline, too, i.e., no distractions. Sure, I can’t share anything, it’s a hassle, but… I kind of like it. It’s giving me all the 2016-2018 vibes when I was in the dark, away from the world, living in my own world alone. Everyone was screaming and yelling and carrying on about the political landscape and I just tucked myself away into my own imagination. I kind of want to do it again, if I’m honest.

I feel so raw saying this, raw and vulnerable, but… I have always been in love. I have always found myself crushing on someone. I have always written from the heart.

Honestly? *looks around* not really. It can be very useful, helpful, inspiring even. But… I approach this the same way I approach the culinary world and art: I bake a cake or make a drawing the same way I write a long fic, and I simply cannot divorce my heart from my work. People like to gripe about this sort of thing until the cows come home… no one has no idea how it makes me feel. Yes, I know my grammar can be complete shit at times, and yes, I am very verbose, but that’s how I roll. No need to shame me and make it seem like I just committed a mortal sin by accidentally omitting a word.

Nope. No beta, we die like Titans of Creation.

It has to “speak to me”, if you will. Seasons Grey works with third-person perspective because you don’t know everything about Christine and Alex is a mystery. Blood & Chocolate and After the Gold Rush work with first-person perspective because it’s intimate. Xenon Dreams works with the alternating first-person because all five men have different experiences, and it’s intimate; conversely, All That Glitters has the alternating third-person because it’s more adventurous. Now it’s Dark and Dark Months of April and May use first-person because it’s unreliable. Quarter After Twelve has the what I call “2 whole eggs, 3 yolks” perspective (Andy and Zero’s arcs are first-person; Richie, Tina, and Allison are third-person), as Andy is traumatized, Zero is stuck in one place, Richie and Tina are both still waters, and Allison is a broken man and therefore detached.

Beginning (what I get for being an Aries 😅)

I try to—and you know, I would be a lot more adept at it if people didn’t bitch about it ad infinitum. I was thinking about this the other night when SNL50 was going, too: fandom has changed drastically just in the last few years alone, in a sense that fans not only treat it like it’s business but they spend more time whining about the most trivial things (lack of comments, getting criticism, this weird unhinged approach to fandom as a whole) than doing anything useful or creative, god forbid.

“Meanwhile, once she had come downstairs, Alex had already showed up outside of her apartment in a snug dark gray shirt and low-slung black long shorts. His shoulder-length black hair was almost smooth and nicely combed back: there was a slight curl right over his shoulders, and his skin looked as smooth as porcelain. He looked a bit fuller, rounder, and softer right then, especially with the shade cast down from the building upon the crown of his head and his shoulders. He lifted his sunglasses up from his face to show her his eyes.” (latest chapter of Dark Roots of Earth, book two of Seasons Grey)

Genuinely don’t want to do that because… you know. ao3 is more mental than me the week before my period starts. But… With Strings Attached, the Beatles fic that inspired pretty much everything long from me. There’s a Light, the Pearl Jam/grunge fic that I still think about even 8 years after its completion. My friend Amanda wrote a two-parter that inspired Midnight Oil (drawing a blank on the title). You Know Your Rights on Wattpad (can’t remember the author’s name), probably the best “Hole-vana” fic I can think of. The entire Gojira tag on ao3. There’s a couple of Alan Partridge fics on ao3 that got a good laugh out of me. Love in Exile and a couple of Alice In Chains fics that wake up the kinkster in me. FOOLS GOLD (from Cazio).

I have a complicated relationship with feedback. I welcome it forever, but because I had to go through English and writing classes, peer reviews, teachers who ran on assumption that I knew what I was doing, the whole thing about me writing from the heart, and the fact that I tend to attract negative attention (I’ve often felt that people have an inexplicable pathological hatred of me), I never expect accolades. In fact, I fully expect everyone to hate it.

Be descriptive. I like bending this one and injecting poetry into things, even if it doesn’t seem to make sense.

This has been a learned skill on my part because when I first got into fiction writing, it was hard to not get melodramatic with things. I’m an emotional person and the other thing that’s worked for me is a cause and effect situation as well as pulling from my own scars: in Seasons Grey, Christine lost her best friend at a young age and sort of buried it. I wonder how everyone is going to react to this tidbit of her life, especially Alex—especially since he reminds her of Chris. In stories like All That Glitters and After the Gold Rush, I just sit and think of angst. What would happen if Jed and Octavius suffered an irreversible falling out. Where would Phileas go if he just started thinking and realized what was happening, both with Monique and Passepartout and back home in England. I feel like I made those three more human with this, too.

My smut is so wordy that even I can’t believe it. I have to set the mood as well as be spontaneous with it. It’s genuinely isolating when I look at smut in other places, too, like I can’t just do 1200 words, I have to lead into things and I have to be real with it all, too.

A bunch 😅 As the Seasons Grey. I started writing it in early 2023 after doing kinkmas during a blizzard: it basically just grew out of this fantasy I have about being a source of comfort for the man.

Exercise. Draw. Read. Garden. Bake and/or cook. Watch a movie or TV.

I think there was a couple where I came up with the title after I started writing simply because anything else I came up with sucked (fever in, fever out was an example of this; so was Have Your Cake and Eat It). Like with perspectives, titles usually speak to me, and they’ll come in song form or in sayings. “xenon dreams” is a weird one, though: xenon is a byproduct of radioactive iodine, which is found in fallout. That whole fic had this dreamy, blue color scheme whenever I thought about it; xenon is blue/indigo when electrolyzed.

“Alternate Universe”

A love of food. A feeling of heart throughout. This overreaching feeling of vulnerability within, a tenderness. Writing because I have a crush and no one knows how to react to it. Lately, I’ve been throwing in little call backs to my other wips in my wips, like it’s a spiderweb.

Yes, but I don’t see it happening any time soon, though.

Second-person perspective. Done to fucking death at this point and something about it just irritates me to no end, like it ruins my immersion right from the beginning.

Write when you can (instead of “write every day”, because sometimes you just can’t write every day, damn it).

“Avoid overused words” (look no further than “said”. Why. Why would I avoid “said”.) “Use active voice” (I’ve found a lot of power in being a little passive or submissive, if you can believe it. Conversely, I have had the most complaints from my active voice).

now it’s dark. My last adventure before the pandemic. Joey himself even loved it!

fever. Homeboy was 1.1 million words!

Most favorite: just seeing my internal worlds come to life. Least favorite: sharing it with everyone.

2-3k is considered a good day to me. 4-5k is “I got snowed in/it’s too fucking hot out to do anything” word lengths.

Ha, you really don’t want to know.

Yes.

Characters. Maybe that’s another reason why my fics tend to be entrenched in heart?

Amanda. Aviva Rothschild (author of With Strings Attached, i had to look her up really quick). Drawing a blank on the name of the person who wrote Love in Exile.

Of course!

Hopefully not like my homeskillet Oscar Wilde.

Their darkness exists in all of us to some degree.

Nervously with a pit in my stomach, a devastating feeling of existentialism, and a side of ginger ale.

Yet another thing that speaks to me.

Yes… but I don’t have the best experience with them, though. I tried to get commissions with my art years ago, and… there’s a reason why you aren’t seeing them.

(see above)

bro, if you make fanart of Alex and Eric on the lawn outside the apartment complex at sunrise, of Erik and Dragon talking, of Isaac flipping out on Richie, of James and Richard at breakfast, of Phileas napping, of Octavius and Ahkmenrah getting slack jawed drunk, of Jane and Vanessa with their braids… I’ll be happy.

If I really like something, I’ll read it several times.

The last fic I left kudos on ao3 was a compilation of Strawberry Shortcake one shots: underrated fandom and it was snowing outside, so I was in a cozy mood. The last fic I bookmarked was a one shot from Ideal Home: it was erotic and very tender.

The latter. I really only put them through pain to ground them.

I have no beta but I omit words all the time.

I want to make you laugh then break your heart, and then vice versa—such is the Steve Coogan school of writing.

Emotionally charged idyllic action

2. Any more than that and I’ll drive myself crazy.

🤷🏻‍♀️

All the time and I don’t deal with them.

1.1 million, AHHHHHHHHHHHHH

4.9 million, I think?

I want to. Believe me, I want to. I’m way more responsive on instagram, though, mainly because I can see you on my lockscreen. There’s none of that nerve-racking “oh, shit, what is it now” that comes with getting an inbox notification.

Definitely a writer. When I read, I go way outside of the fandom (like Strawberry Shortcake, old Top Gear, lesser known literature and theater, anything Steve touches). I’m not afraid to go into unknown territory, too, like Around the World in 80 Days with Steve and Skinwalker Ranch. Maybe that’s why Bandom writers can’t stand me?

Really, just writing the thing.

Hands down, Alex. He’s the love of my life. I just found him on a whim, in a bad part of history, and I was drawn to his plume of silver and his intellect. He brings out the sensuality in me, too, more than Joey or Lars.

🤷🏻‍♀️

Wait until it’s finished. Again, I’ll drive myself crazy.

Writing without question.

No, and yes, I would. My mom wrote fics way back in the era of message boards and mailing lists, back in 2001-2002, so she gets it.

Can’t say I have.

I like doing it and… referring back to fandom changing for the worse, is it just me or do fics, especially rpf fics, seem kind of mean-spirited now. Seriously, I can’t remember the last time I read some rpf where it felt like the author actually likes the guy involved, aside from the thing Amanda wrote. There has to be some heart here.

Painful but my god, do they keep you engaged.

“Coming inside” someone. Screaming. “Good girl.” Tight pussies—bitch, no one’s pussy is that tight. Weird euphemisms for body parts, too. When you’re reading about your kink and something happens that turns off the whole mood or doesn’t gel with your approach. The author claims to be sex-positive but there’s something off about the whole thing, like there’s no way that they are. Goes without saying I don’t like a ton of smut.

“Good boy.” Foreplay. Tension, like… you’re anticipating it and you don’t know if it’s going to happen or not.

Bringing it to life. Cozying up all snug next to Alex, Eric, Joey, Lars, Krist, Richard, James, Steve, all my boys under the warm sun away from the world…

I don’t think about it anymore.

Independent ideas. I guess this is the other reason why I hate kinktober other than feeling rawer than a frozen chicken?

Everything.

Black Diamonds. I got called “disgusting” for that, if you can believe it.

Totally embarrassed. I’m enthusiastic but every time, I’m faced with stupid reactions that it makes me uncomfortable.

…I’m not sure?

Chronological. I kinda have to.

It’s just weird.

probably the writing style.

Get to know your fic writer!

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[hrtwayne]

Hot to Go! | Leah Williamson

Pairing: Leah Williamson x Attacking Midfielder!Reader

Summary: Where Leah has a crush on the team's new attacking midfielder.

Note: English is not my first language.

Warning: Sexual Tension and Leah Being Completely Oblivious!

Masterlist | Women's Football Masterlist

Leah Williamson had always been known for her discipline and dedication. As the Captain of Arsenal, she was the role model to follow, both on and off the field. Her mornings at the training center were almost always the same: arriving before the others, quickly changing her clothes, and starting her warm-up while the sun had barely risen. It was a routine she had mastered, a ritual that kept her focused. But on that Friday morning, something—or someone—completely disrupted the course of her routine.

When Leah entered the locker room, her backpack already on her shoulders and a cup of coffee in hand, she could hardly believe what she saw. Y/n, the new Spanish midfield signing, was there, with her back turned to Leah, her hair loose and cascading down her back. The training shirt was hanging on a nearby hook, and Y/n seemed completely at ease, as if the locker room were her second home. Leah stopped at the door, as if she had bumped into an invisible wall. Her eyes fixed on the scene, and for a moment, she felt her world come to a halt.

The defender swallowed hard, her lips suddenly dry and her cheeks beginning to burn, turning a shade of red she couldn’t control. Leah tried to look away, but she seemed hypnotized by the sight of her new teammate. It was then that Y/n cleared her throat, and Leah blinked several times, as if waking from a dream.

"Everything alright, Captain?" Y/n asked, her voice still hoarse from recent sleep. She turned slowly, crossing her arms and tilting her head to the side, a playful smile on her lips. "Your face is a little red."

Leah felt her heart race, as if she had just run a marathon. She took a deep breath, trying to regain her composure, but she knew she had already been caught red-handed. And the worst—or perhaps the best—part was that Y/n seemed completely amused by the situation.

"I... I'm fine," Leah finally managed to say, her voice slightly higher-pitched than usual. "I just... didn’t expect to see anyone here so early."

Y/n let out a soft chuckle, a sound that sent a shiver down Leah’s spine. The midfielder stepped closer, passing by the captain with a lightness that seemed almost choreographed. Her eyes sparkled with amusement, and Leah couldn’t decide whether she wanted to run away or stay there forever.

Next time, try to be a little more subtle, Captain," Y/n murmured, her voice smooth as silk. "My eyes are up here."

Leah stood frozen, watching as Y/n grabbed her training shirt and put it on with a naturalness that left the defender even more breathless. When Y/n finally left the locker room, Leah let out the breath she didn’t even realize she was holding. She leaned against the wall, feeling her legs slightly shaky.

"What’s happening to me?" Leah thought, closing her eyes for a brief moment. She had already admitted to herself that she felt an attraction to Y/n from the first time she saw her train. The way Y/n moved on the field, her confidence, her easy smile—it had all left Leah completely fascinated. But now, that morning in the locker room, had brought everything to the surface in a way she wasn’t prepared for.

As Leah finally began to change, her mind couldn’t stop reliving the moment. She knew she needed to maintain professionalism—after all, they were teammates, and Y/n was the new signing. But something about that morning had changed, and Leah wasn’t sure if she knew how to handle it.

When Leah finally left the locker room, already dressed and ready for training, she saw Y/n on the field, warming up with a lightness that seemed to defy gravity. The captain took a deep breath, trying to focus on the task ahead. But deep down, she knew that morning wouldn’t be as ordinary as she had expected.

And maybe, just maybe, Leah didn’t want it to be.

[definitelynotanalien]

♪⋆.✮ ‘cause you think you’re such a hard boy, baby

feat: Michael Kaiser, Sae Itoshi, Rensuke Kunigami

tw: toxic men, gaslighting(?), breaking up, kunigami is low-key traumatised, reader is an ah

Your boyfriend is cold, colder than usual. You thought it would’ve changed after you officially got together, even announced it to the press, but he’s acting odd. 

He’s started to avoid you in private, he never texts you to tell you if he’s coming late, and he’s stopped trying to hang out with you. Whenever you suggest something to him he immediately turns it down, and he’s not showing you his phone anymore.

Something had changed. He’s become toxic.

Maybe you should’ve taken your mom’s advice and never dated him, or never even talked to him.

He’s rude to you in public, to the point where even your managers notice the disconnect. He acts as if he’s sooo hardcore, does it make him feel big inside? Especially when you try to break up with him and he starts to gaslight and guilt trip you into staying.

Whatever, let’s see how hard he actually is when you leave.

Michael Kaiser is distant, more so than usual. He’s stopped talking to you, even when other people are around. The only time he seems to pay attention to you is whenever you’re surrounded by the press.

But it’s been on and off, sometimes he’s the usual loving boyfriend you adore, sometimes he’s like this. And it’s not getting for the better, in fact everytime you see him lately something seems to set him off.

He’s avoiding you, and you don’t know why.

Yet even though you know that the problem stems from Michael, you can’t help but doubt your own validity in this scenario. 

Maybe you did something wrong, maybe you were too enthusiastic or you weren’t enthusiastic enough. Maybe he was still pissed at you for not attending one of his soccer matches a few months ago, even though he knew you had work and couldn’t take time off. At the same time you had apologised for the incident, and you thought he accepted it.

But, whatever. It doesn’t matter that much. It doesn’t matter that when you finally confront him about avoiding you, he only responds with a simple, snarky, “Are you crazy?”

You blink, wide eyed and heart pounding. “I’m not crazy, you’re avoiding me.”

Michael scoffs, tossing his long blond and blue rats tail across his shoulder and staring at you half heartedly. 

“Why would I be avoiding you?” He laughs it off, his tantalising blue eyes glimmer in the light of your apartment.

His statement sets you off.

“You are avoiding me! You never talk to me anymore! You ignore me so much in public, that even the press is noticing!” You begin to shriek.

The blond man simply stands in front of you, his hands casually in his pockets as if this is any random tuesday. He licks his fake white teeth as you ramble about how you know something is wrong, and he glances down at his nails.

“And, and, you won’t even tell me why when I ask you! You’re constantly going back and forth between liking me and hating me!” You explain. “It’s like I’m not even your girlfriend anymore!”

There is a pregnant pause.

He runs a hand through his hair, interrupting your swirling thoughts, “You’re fucking crazy.” 

A sudden uneasy quiet envelopes the room, and your hands begin to shake.

Of course he’s calling you crazy. Of course he isn’t truly answering your demands. Of course he’s doing this as he always does. 

But. Whatever. It doesn’t really matter. Why should it. Why should you have expected more from him. Whatever.

You sigh, and poke his chest, where his heart should be. There’s a heart shaped tattoo on his chest, but there’s nothing inside. Michael narrows his eyes, staring down at the point your finger connects to his skin.

“Don’t touch me.” He screams, slapping your hand off.

His previous uncaring and nonchalant mask seems to be ripped off, maybe you were really that repulsive to him.

You look up at him, your hand retracted, “We’re done.”

The world goes silent.

Too cool for love isn’t usually your type. But now you find yourself standing in front of Sae Itoshi, on the verge of tears.

“Do you love me too?” You ask.

It’s an absurd statement, Sae is your boyfriend, of course he should love you. The phrase shouldn’t have made him stop his movement completely, his eyes darting to the side almost guiltily.

You think you’ve caught him off guard, the two of you are in his apartment after a perfect match and he’s rather relaxed, why would he expect his girlfriend to say something as odd as you just did.  

He recovers, straightening his back and pulling out his apathetic persona, “Excuse me?” Sae asks.

Your heart pauses. You know he’s heard you, afterall he gave you a surprisingly large reaction for him, and you know that if he truly loved you he would have no reason to ask.

“I said, do you love me too?” Your voice cracks, stomach swirling. 

Perhaps it’s the calm atmosphere, or the way you’re barely holding in tears as you stare down at the ground, that allows him to tell you the truth. Tell you the truth for the first time in a while.

“No.” Sae turns, resuming his prior actions. “I don’t.”

That’s what causes the dam to break, and gallons of tears to flow down your face. 

Your throat is as scratchy as a record as you question, “You’re leading me on?”

He doesn’t make a noise.

“You asshole!” You erupt, walking up to him and demanding his attention. “I thought I mattered to you, I thought we meant something!” 

He sighs, admitting coldly “You didn’t. We didn’t.” 

“What! You- take that back!” You gesture wildly, pleading to some deity to change Sae’s mind. To convince you that this was all just one cruel joke, or some stupid dare. “Make me think that I didn’t waste my life on you.”

He continues to just stand there, so unbothered and uncaring even though you’re spilling tears and your heart is shaking at the spot.

“You wasted your life.” Sae comments.

His pinkish brown hair is down, with bangs that barely reach his forehead, let alone his eyes. You’re starting to vibrate, as stupid as that sounds, you thought you meant something to him. You thought he cared for you, that he loved you as whole heartedly as you loved him.

“Why are you acting like we were nothing!?”

He bites his lip.

“This is why my friends hate you. This is why your own brother hates you! You’re an emotionless freak!” You lash out, you move your hand to slap him and he grabs your arm midair. He couldn’t even let you have that one.

He stares at you, gaze unwavering.

“I’m done. Let’s break up.” 

He smiles, “Good.”

Rensuke Kunigami is the kindest, most loving guy in the entire world. He’s the type of guy who plants flowers, just to grow them into a beautiful bouquet for you. He’s the type of guy who learns complicated braids and hairstyles to use on you and your future kids. He’s the type of guy who loves wholeheartedly, and worships his beloved.

Rensuke is, simply put, a bleeding heart. And he is the penultimate love of your life, the one man that you always find yourself lingering on and loving. 

He’s the dead parent in films, who are filmed with the blurry nostalgic footage and who the remaining family look towards as a fond yet fading memory. He’s your guiding star, your best friend and most precious treasure in the entire universe.

And you thought he would always treasure you too, after all you’ve been through thick and thin together. You dated before he got accepted into Blue Lock, and stayed together throughout the program, you kept by him even when he returned from the wild card program and became different.

Something is off about Rensuke. Whenever you touch he flinches, even if it’s a simple brush of your fingers. He never smiles in photos, let alone in real life. It’s odd. This big, hunky man used to brighten up years with a mere flash of his grin, and now he can’t even think of it.

And whenever you try talking with him, he always brushes you off. He comes in with one excuse or another, and you find yourself growing more and more frustrated at this.

You thought he would get better after you became fully official, but he’s only gotten worse.

You take a deep breath in, before announcing “We’re breaking up.”

“I love you.” For a second you swear you can see your Rensuke come back, with the innocent flutter of his eyes as he blinks slowly at you. 

The words hit you like a bullet train. How could a monster like him love? Maybe you misheard him, maybe he was lying. Or maybe you were growing insane.

“What?”

He pauses, repeating himself. “I love you.” He says it with such sincerity, as if you are his last and only lifeline, and for a moment you falter.

“You can’t spring that onto me.” You take a step back, trying to escape the thralls of your past love with him. He wasn’t allowed to do this to you, to make you feel like this once more.

He states straight at you, taking a step towards you, “I’m not sorry.”

“Don’t. Don’t do this to me.” You plead, you couldn’t take this. You didn’t care if he somehow got better or not, you just cared that he treated you bad before.

He responds with mere silence.

“We’re- We’re still over. It’s not me, it’s you.” You argue, gesturing as you speak with a certain lost ferocity, as if your old feelings -old self- have reunited with the current you.

Rensuke pauses, before turning away and scoffing. He crosses his muscular arms.

You continue, “You’re different now. You’re not the Rensuke I used to know.” 

“That’s true.” He responds curtly.

“Yeah. So we’re done. Over. Broken up. Get out of my house.” You overexpose yourself.

He blinks, “It’s my apartment.” 

Look at him, suddenly so hardcore. Although you may have forgotten about the apartment, in your defence it was somewhat reasonable. It wasn’t like the pair of you hadn’t lived there together since forever.

“You’re right. I’ll go.” You turn, reluctant to leave past memories behind. Memories from before he turned like this, and after he changed into this.

“Have a nice life…” He says.

You sigh, “I will. I hope you do too.”

“I still love you.”

“I don’t.”

[benniefranky]

THE FIRST TIME I SHIFTED AWAKE…

was horrifying. I was feeling hopeless, it was around 6 in the morning and i still had a few hours before i needed to make my way to work.

HALF ASLEEP, i thought it would be a good idea to test a subliminal i saw the night before. at this point in my journey i was actively trying different subliminals for shifting and rating them online based on if i shifted or not.

the subliminal was only 1 minute and 40 something seconds long. 6 am Nicky thought “why not?”

“Why not”? because for me personally nothing had been working those past 2 weeks. i was struggling and felt like i lost my groove of falling asleep and waking up somewhere else.

5 months into my success journey i was only shifting using asleep methods, i never thought you could actually shift awake. i assumed that it was easier for me to shift when i was knocked out.

so i closed my eyes and thought “what was the worst that could happen?” and just waited through it. listening to the subliminal, i zoned out, and within seconds my body ascended.

i started to panic. i wasn’t in my bed anymore. i was in a different bed, a familiar one.

everything was fuzzy for a few seconds, i felt my soul leave my body, my position in my bed change, and heard the grandfather clock in my bedroom go off. It was my heart bed, the bed Jonathan and I unofficially shared before our wedding that was completely against my father’s wishes. I was alone, which was good for my anxiety but different than every other morning.

as i opened my eyes and adjusted, i realized something was off. it was my room, but Jonathan was nowhere to be found. i was under a tower of blankets, with his side of the bed being left untouched. i took it as a sign that he was here.

with the thought lingering a second longer i remembered he came in around 2 in the morning. but he was gone now.

i got up, the shock of shifting now completely gone and was immediately replaced with “where’s my fiance?”

just as i went to grab my robe and head towards the door, i checked the grandfather clock. 8:03 in the morning. amazing. in new jersey it was 6 am. on solaria it’s 8.

there was a disagreement down the royal hallway. Jonathan and my assistant, Julia, who was been with me since my early youtube days, were arguing over something. they were far away enough that i couldn’t hear, but i could see them, and these two were huge on body language.

as Julia turned around to start to walk towards my door, i went panic mode. closed the door, sat down at my desk, and left. 6:04 am. new jersey. groggy.

the shift happened in less than a minute.

and i could finally say i shifted awake.

this was back in 2021 and the my first awake shift to my winx reality. i remember the entire thing to this day and it truly changed how i looked at my shifting journey.

[bombshellsandbluebells]

(didn't even get to the part where Ford comes in, but I loved the idea of a sentient Mystery Shack that grows to love Stan - mostly because Stan ends up treating the place more like a home than Ford ever did and goes through all those years alone with him and wrote a drabble)

At some point, Stan realizes he should clean the house. The epiphany comes around the same time he realizes he should also take care of himself—eat, probably, since he can't recall when he last did that. Shower now that he has access to one—even though the thought of using Ford's shower because the man himself can't makes his skin crawl so much he wants to peel it off.

He'll start with the house, then. It feels less like stealing a space that shouldn't be his if he convinces himself it's for Ford's sake—tidying the books and washing out the mugs growing their own ecosystems as some kind of apology. 

As soon as he starts cleaning, though, the mess seems endless. He wonders again at the state his brother had been in—at the barbed wire and panic, at the blood stains in the bathroom—and he wonders if the fear had come from Ford knowing what was beyond the portal, if he'd known the nightmare Stan was dooming him to, if he was even still—

He loses a few hours cleaning the kitchen, scrubbing everything from the floors to the inside of the fridge, but that's a few hours not spent tearing his hair out over the portal, and it feels nice to succeed at something for once. Even the house seems to breathe a little easier in the space he clears—though he can't really explain what he means by that. 

It's just a building, obviously, but it seems…happier. Like it's proud of the changes he made. Whatever, grief is weird, he knows that—their Ma had hit denial so badly after their Bubbe passed it took a full two months for her to even admit she'd died. If he feels better because he tells himself Ford's house is happy he cleaned it up, who cares.

 At least it will help him get out of bed tomorrow. 

-------

About two months in, Stan realizes there are probably bills of some sort he's ignoring. He's never owned a place of his own, but he remembers the whole song and dance with his parents, pouring over electricity and water bills at the kitchen table and debating which ones would be easier to argue—arguing with each other about who had dropped the ball on making enough sales that month.

Considering his new business is based out of the house, he can't risk losing power, which leaves him hunting around Ford's stuff for old utility bills—with no luck. His brother is probably the least organized person he knows, and it looks like that hasn't changed much. Somehow the man can keep up a meticulous system for his bookcase that doesn't make sense to anyone else but can't keep important documents in a folder somewhere. Hell, Stan would take a messy drawer.

He practically tears the house apart but can't find anything, getting increasingly pissed with every upturned cabinet—pissed at Ford for not taking better care of his house, pissed that he's not even here to deal with this, pissed that Stan's now actively seeking out bills to pay like some kind of lunatic. By the time he finally finds a number for Gravity Falls' one electricity company in the yellow pages, he's mad enough to curse out the employee on the other end when he informs him they have no record of an account for Stanford Pines.

"Then how the hell do I have power?!" he yells before realizing it's probably in his best interest to not reveal the fact that Ford has somehow slipped through the cracks and ended up with free power this whole time.

When the guy tries to talk Stan into setting up a new account, he quickly hangs up. 

So it's a mistake, probably—one actually working out in Stan's favor. Or Ford set up a generator somewhere he's yet to find. Either way, he just has to hope whatever's keeping the lights on doesn't decide to crap out on him soon; he could use the extra money he'd waste on bills right now. The Hut isn't that successful.

"Please," he says weakly, not quite sure who or what he's talking to. The concept of electricity itself, maybe. "Just—don't go out."

Maybe it's just his imagination, but the light above him seems to burn a little brighter in response.

Whatever. Grief works in weird ways.

–

It becomes harder to shake it off as just grief. 

Sometimes when the endless slog of the portal is getting to him, the lights burn brighter. Despite never paying a gas bill of any kind, the house stays warm around him. He never seems to lose anything, either—no matter how many times he misplaces something, it turns up right when he needs it. Sometimes it's not even something he's looking for: painkillers on the kitchen table after he smashes his fingers, Around the World in Eighty Days sitting innocently on his bed just when he starts thinking he needs to take his mind off of things for a bit. Once, he mentions missing the ocean out loud and turns the corner to see a painting of just that where he knows it wasn't before.

Terrifyingly, the first thing he thinks of are ghosts. Maybe Ford hadn't even made it to whatever lay on the other side of that portal. Maybe he'd just stuck around where Stan couldn't see him anymore.

He dares to ask one night, sitting in the kitchen where he'd first felt the feeling of not being alone, almost too scared to get an answer. The room ripples around him in reply. The light above him flickers. Stan watches it, trying to swallow down the sudden dryness in his mouth.

"Blink once for yes, twice for no," he says.

No, the house flickers.

He drops his head into his arms and just breathes. Squeezes his eyes shut so they stop feeling so wet. "Okay," he says. "Not the weirdest thing I've seen, I guess."

The way the light flares feels almost like a laugh.

Sentient Mystery Shack, who is really biased towards Stan, so when Ford tells Stan he has to give it back after the summer it’s on sight.

Ford keeps tripping over nothing, nothing is where it's supposed to be and somehow he keeps running into closets when he tries to go outside.

But the worst part, the WORST part is that Ford's lightbulb just won't. Work. No matter what he does it keeps flickering and exploding.

Ford is spiraling. 

There is no reason why it shoudln’t work. All his trial runs work perfectly. He’s already checked the Shacks wiring three times and relearned this dimensions science from the ground up. 

Nothing works.

The Rift? Bill? The impending apocalypse? Eating? Sleep? Who cares about that. 

WHY. WONT. THE. LIGHTBULB. WORK???

It doesn’t help that Stan keeps laughing at him.

“Then you do it!” Ford eventually snaps at Stan.

Stan shrugs and with a little song under his breath screws his own lightbulb in. It works perfectly.

Stanford screams.

[cumtastiics]

EMPTY PROMISES / ch.1

yan batfam. elements of neglect.

join my discord server!!! pls 🙏 here

present time.

You sat on your bed, curled up, while the old vinyl player in the corner of your room screeched from overuse. Not that you noticed.

You wiped your watery eyes, brushing away the tears that streamed down your face, your face hurting from how much you rubbed at it.

The scratchy melody echoed your inner turmoil, a symphony of loneliness and despair. Your gaze drifted to the window, where raindrops raced down the glass, mirroring the tears on your cheeks. Outside, the world moved on, oblivious to the storm raging within your four walls.

Your room, once a sanctuary, now felt like a cage. Faded posters clung to the walls, their edges curling inward as if trying to escape. Dust motes danced in the pale light filtering through threadbare curtains, settling on untouched books and long-forgotten toys. The air hung heavy with the scent of stale dreams and unspoken words.

Downstairs, muffled voices and clattering dishes signaled another family dinner you weren't invited to join. Not that they'd notice your absence. You were a ghost in your own home.

You still remember the first few days you arrived at the manor- it always brought a bitter smile to your face.

You traced the outline of a bat embroidered on your pillowcase, a symbol that should have united you with your family. Instead, it felt like a brand, marking you as an outsider. The emblem mocked you, its wings spread wide as if to fly away, while you were left behind.

Bruce, with his brooding silence and rare, fleeting smiles, was like the manor itself - imposing, full of secrets, and impossible to truly know. Dick was the golden child, the first Robin. Even then, the rest of them were just as loved and cherished. Yet, you weren't.

You hated it.

02/04/20XX, 7 years prior.

“Can I call you father too?”

The words were barely a whisper, but in the silence that followed, they rang louder than any explosion. The table was still, the air thick with an uneasy tension. The question lingered, unanswered, hanging between you and the man who had taken you in.

Bruce didn’t respond right away. His eyes flickered up, only for a moment, and then he returned to his dinner, the clink of his fork on the plate harsh against the silence. His expression never changed. He never looked at you the way he looked at them, the way he looked at Dick, or even Damian—no, not even close. His face was stone, unreadable, like it always was. The walls around him were so thick, you couldn’t even begin to imagine what was behind them. But you had tried. You tried for so long to break through, to get him to see you, to accept you in a way that felt real.

But that was never going to happen.

His voice, when it came, was flat, distant. “Just keep it as Mr. Wayne. It'll be easier that way for both of us.”

Your heart sank, and you quickly looked down, pretending to focus on your own food as if it could distract you from the heavy weight now pressing down on your chest. The others sat quietly, as though this was nothing new. As if this was just the way things were. You weren’t one of them—not really.

Damian, seated at the opposite end of the table, didn’t even glance in your direction. His eyes were fixed firmly on his plate, his posture perfect as always. The others had their places at this table. They had earned their places. But you? You were just a guest. A shadow. An afterthought.

Dick was the first Robin, the one who had earned Bruce’s affection through years of dedication, of trust. You’d always admired him, but it was hard not to resent the way Bruce looked at him—like he was the perfect son, the one who could do no wrong. You weren’t that. You were nothing like that.

There was an emptiness to the way things were, a hollow space at the table that you couldn’t fill no matter how hard you tried. The seat next to Dick wasn’t yours. The place next to Damian wasn’t yours. The seat next to Bruce? That one? That seat would always remain empty for you, no matter how many times you pulled your chair up to it, no matter how many meals you sat through, watching them laugh, watching them talk, watching them be a family.

And you, you were just a stranger in their midst.

You didn’t belong here. You never had. The truth of it stung more than you cared to admit.

The room was too quiet. The only sound was the hum of the air conditioning and the clink of utensils against plates, nothing to fill the silence that had settled around you like a thick fog. You didn’t speak again. What was the point? You had already asked the question. You already knew the answer.

"May I excuse myself?" You whispered, your voice barely audible. You felt yourself about to cry, and you couldn't dare to cry in front of them. You'd be too... Weak.

"You may."

You got up, your nails digging into your palms, trying desperately not to cry. Despite that, you were looking down, knowing well looking up would make it harder for the tears to fall.

You pushed in your chair, walking away. You felt the bile rising in your throat, but you couldn't do anything but walk. You hated them all, they were all stupid, undeserving-

"Master (____)?" Alfred's voice cut in. He was the only one who cared, but sometimes you still wondered if he really did care. His tone was gentle, but there was something else beneath it-concern, maybe, or pity. You didn't know which one was worse.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to stand straighter before turning to face him. "Yes, Alfred?"

His eyes, always so knowing, studied you carefully. He didn't need to say anything to make you feel seen, exposed. It was unbearable.

"You hardly touched your meal," he said, nodding toward the barely eaten plate left behind. "Shall I prepare something for later?"

You shook your head. "I'm not hungry."

Alfred didn't press, though you could tell he wanted to. Instead, he simply gave a small nod, stepping aside as if to grant you passage. You took it, walking past him, feeling the weight of the conversation you had just left behind pressing harder on your chest with each step.

The manor was too big. Too cold. Too empty.

Even with all the people in it, all the noise they made, it was hollow. And you... You were just another ghost wandering its halls, unseen and unheard.

You climbed the stairs quickly, your vision blurring as you made your way to your room. The second the door shut behind you, the dam broke. You pressed your back against the wood, sliding down until you were curled up on the floor, your arms wrapping tightly around yourself as silent sobs wracked your body.

Why did you even try? Why did you keep hoping for something that was never going to happen?

Your fingers traced the hem of your sleeve, gripping onto the fabric as if it could ground you, as if it could hold you together when everything else was falling apart. But it couldn't. Nothing could.

You wiped your face roughly, sniffling as you dragged yourself up and onto your bed. Your hands found your pillow, clutching it tightly as you buried your face into it, muffling the sound of your cries. It was pathetic. You were pathetic.

You weren't special in any sort of way like the rest of them, you can admit that. But that doesn't mean they have the right to treat you like you're not even family... Right?

present day, 2 hours prior.

"Alfred," you called while making cookies. "Did you ask... him yet?"

"Yes, I have spoken with your father. He-" Alfred paused for a moment, debating whether he should continue speaking. "He said he was busy and told me we can discuss it later," because the topic was about you. Not because he was busy. Alfred didn't mention that to you though.

"How can I move out then?" You sighed, rubbing your temple despite the flour on your hands. "He knows I'm still a minor, I can't move out without him signing my documents."

You had finished high school two years early with some program. It was to get some acknowledgement in your own house, but you never got that.

Alfred’s expression remained composed, but you saw the way his fingers twitched at your words. He wanted to say something comforting, something that might make you feel less invisible. But there was nothing left to sugarcoat.

“I understand,” he finally said, carefully measuring his words. “However, Master Bruce has made it clear that this conversation is not his priority.”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head as you shaped the dough with unnecessary force. “Of course it isn’t. Nothing about me ever is.”

You knew it was immature to have so much hate towards people who you never spoke with, but that exactly was the problem.

They never spoke with you, and you never knew when they would.

a/n: sorry this was so short! was rushing to get it out n barely edited

taglist: @1mawh0re @amber-content @foggyv-oid @kitty-from-daaaa-voidddd @ghostdoodlen @luxuryz3 @soriansick

anyone else who asked to be on the taglist isn't tagable.

[canarias-stuff]

By Your Side

Sung Jin-Woo X F!Reader

Summary:

You never asked to awake as a hunter, an A-Rank hunter nonetheless. You were pretty athletic and quick witted, but you had always hated fighting.

You wanted to live a normal life, one where you were just a teacher for a bunch of high schoolers. So yes, a lot of people criticize you after finding out that you were a high ranked mage who decided against entering dungeons – against fighting for society.

However, you are glad that you never gave a damn about people’s opinions about your life and didn’t change your mind, because now, facing this B, maybe A-rank monsters, you were sure that you made the right choice by not accepting the offers from the guilds back then.

…

Or, a story where you are a teacher at Sung Jin-Ah' school, when the dungeon break started inside the building.

(Spoilers from chapter 117 onwards)

(Sung Jin-Woo X F!Reader)

Author's note:

Hello everyone!

Anyway, the thing is, I nedded to write something, and I decided to use the dungeon break that happens inside Jin-Ah's high school.

So, I am new to the fandom! I finished the manhwa a few days ago and just catch up with the anime.

How can I person become so obsessed in just a few days???

Hellooo? Sung Jin-Woo? What the heel did you do?

I hope you enjoy!^^

You never asked to awake as a hunter, an A-Rank hunter nonetheless. You were pretty athletic and quick witted, but you had always hated fighting.

Scouts from various guilds reached you after your evaluation, asking you to join them, but you politely declined all offers saying that you already had something in mind. They all probably thought that you were waiting for a specific guild to contact you, but the truth was that… 

“I want to be a teacher.” You told the chairman of Hunters Association, when he asked to have a meeting.

“Is that so?” The chairman, Go Gun-Hee, smiled understandingly at you.

“I…I know that people will judge me for my choice, but I have my reasons.”

“It’s okay, I won’t force you, Miss (L/n). I just want to let you know that there will always be a place for you here too, if you ever change your mind.”

This time you smiled.

“Thank you, but I don’t think that I will change my mind.”

You wanted to live a normal life, one where you were just a teacher for a bunch of high schoolers. So yes, a lot of people criticize you after finding out that you were a high ranked mage who decided against entering dungeons – against fighting for society.

“Don’t listen to them, (Y/n) Unnie!” Jin-Ah exclaimed once, when you told the young girl what had been happening around you. “You can do whatever you like! Who are these people to judge what you want, anyway?!”

“I mean…it’s just irritating…” You sighed. “Is it so wrong of me to want to be something that’s not a hunter?”

A hand patted your head, and you turned your head to look at your sweet boyfriend, who gave you an encouraging smile.

“No, you are not wrong.” Jin-Woo said, his voice calm and soft as always. “As long as this is the path that you decide for yourself, (Y/n).”

Your chest felt warm hearing those words, and you couldn’t hold back the small smile and the laugh that escaped your lips. 

“Thank you.” You muttered, before kissing his cheek.

“Woah! Big words from someone who always lands at the hospital, Mister E-rank hunter…” Jin-Ah interrupted, provoking her older brother, who just rolled his eyes.

But of course, that was a conversation before Jin-Woo reawakened anyway.

However, you are glad that you never gave a damn about people’s opinions about your life and didn’t change your mind, because now, facing this B, maybe A-rank monsters, you were sure that you made the right choice by not accepting the offers.

People were screaming, the sound of doors and windows being broken were echoing around the whole school. The walls and floor were painted red – red with blood, the blood of your precious students –, and you hated that you couldn’t help everyone.

It was definitely a dungeon break, and of all places, it had to happen inside the school, a building holding more than 300 students.

You knew that some of them escaped, it was lunch break and a lot of students were probably having lunch outside when the problem started, but still, there were a lot still inside the classrooms, cafeteria and halls…and now…most of them were probably…

The green monster – an orc, if you remembered correctly – swung the ax towards you, and you blocked it with the sword that you had inside your space magic inventory.

Mages usually were the ones supporting a party from behind, but once depleted of mana, they were just like any other normal human, unable to protect themselves. But you never liked the idea of being helpless, so twice a week you trained kumdo under the supervision of Song Chi-Yu, who also awakened as a mage, but never left behind the martial arts.

You jumped, leaving some distance between you and the orc, and when it charged in your direction, you deflected the ax, using it as a step stone, and swung your sword, cutting off the monster head.

“Go! Go inside the classroom!” You yelled at some of your students who were still in the hall. “Put the tables and chairs at the door and make a barricade! I'm gonna buy you as much time as I can!”

You knew that it was useless, it was only you – an A-rank hunter without experience – against a crowd of orcs. These monsters would go through any barricade in just a second, but right now, any second that you could buy for these kids was precious.

“(Y/n) unnie!” Jin-Ah yelled by the door, when another orc came in your direction.

This time you used magic, an ice shard appeared in your hands, and at the next second it was stuck in the head of the orc, who fell lifeless to the ground.

“I said: Go inside, Jin-Ah!” You yelled again, eyes never leaving the opposite side of the hall, where more monsters were coming from.

“BUT!”

“This is an order from your teacher ! Go inside!”

“Come on, Jin-Ah!” Song-Yi pulled her friend inside and closed the door, making you sighed relieved that someone was there for the girl who you saw as your own sister.

Now…

There were a lot of monsters coming, and fighting in such a narrow space was difficult enough against only one orc, if they cornered you, it was game over. You didn’t have other choice.

The air in the hall got cold, ice shards started to appear around you…

I need to reduce the number of monsters, no matter what.

…and then a shadow, a black and blue shadow in the form of a bear suddenly showed up.

“...Tusk…?” You muttered, (e/c) eyes wide with surprise.

The bear was smaller than you remembered, but it probably adapted its size to fit in the hall.

“Hah…” You almost laughed.

Your boyfriend surely was the best.

“Let's go, Tusk!”

…

You were panting – tired of averting attacks and almost out of mana –, your vision was starting to swirl, black dots appearing here and there, and to make things worse, you were probably suffering from blood loss from the cut on your back.

Tusk was a great help, but everytime that it got destroyed, it took a few moments to come back, and that was a disadvantage for your side.

How many orcs did you and Tusk kill anyway? You didn’t know anymore, and it’s not like you were counting, but didn’t it have an end? No matter how many you pierced with ice shards or cut with your sword, those damn monsters keep coming.

You just took your eyes from the monsters for a second, just a second, and then, you were being thrown through the door of the classroom that you were trying to block. Your students yelled your name, when you hit the floor coughing and trying to pull some air in your lungs at the same time.

Jin-Ah came in your direction and helped you up, and then you felt how her hands were trembling. There was no need to look behind you to know that not only Jin-Ah, but all students, were more than terrified right now.

You took a deep breath, trying to calm down your panicking heart. Nothing good would come if you lose to your own anxiety.

“Stay behind me.” You muttered, pushing the girl to the back of the classroom.

You were all surrounded, and you didn’t know how much longer you could hold against the orcs. How long has it been since this horror movie started? Where was the Hunter Association? Where was the cavalry?

Two monsters charged, and you cut an arm of one with your sword, while Tusk bit the head of the other one, but you didn’t have time to block the punch that came from another orc that came inside the room.

It hurted like hell – and you were sure that you had a broken rib or two –, however you didn’t have the time to stop, those creatures were going for your students. 

“I’m right here, bastards!” You yelled, using your weapon to stand up, and sending ice shards immediately, piercing the monsters’ heads. “Don’t you dare lay a finger on my students!”

You crossed the classroom with an agility that you didn’t know you possessed – adrenaline , you thought – and cut the opponents as best as you could considering that your body was screaming in pain. 

Then the thing that scared you the most happened. One orc passed through you and Tusk, and raised the weapon at Jin-Ah’s direction.

No! No! No!

“JIN-AH!”

Suddenly, a red arm shot up from the shadows, grabbing the orc’s arm.

For a second you thought that you would pass out of relief, because of course your boyfriend would leave a guard, ‘ No, three guards.’ – you thought as other 2 red orcs appeared – for his baby sister.

“You could have shown up earlier!”

The red high orc looked at you with a confused expression before punching the enemy through the roof.

…

With Tusk and the three high orcs' help, you thought that now you may have a chance to win and leave this situation, but then, a new figure came around the corner, bigger and more intimidating than the others.

You instinctively knew that he was the boss.

Great, just great.

It yelled and pointed the weapon that it was caring at you, and really, people didn’t have to understand monster language to know what it was saying.

He wanted you dead.

“Don’t worry, the feeling is mutual.” You said sarcastically, as a few ice shards flew at the boss's direction.

But well, a boss was a boss at the end of the day.

The shards fell to the ground, small pieces of ice scattered all around the floor.

That’s bad.

Even if you were a newbie – no experience at all –, if you had to fight just the boss, you may have stood a chance. However, after who knows how long killing and almost being killed by its minions, you were exhausted and now completely out of mana, that attack was the last one you could conjure.

With hands trembling, you pointed the sword at the boss, but one of Jin-Woo high orcs pushed you to the side, shaking it head, as if telling you to take a break.

Before you could say a word of protest, Jin-Ah and Song-Yi grabbed your arms and pulled you at the back of the class.

“Stop (Y/n) unnie.” Jin-ah’s voice was weak, tears threatening to fall any moment as she checked your injuries. “Stay here, please…”

You didn’t dare to speak – you didn’t even know if you had the strength to – so you just patted the girl’s head and hugged her with your other arm, (e/c) eyes never leaving the dungeon boss, who was yelling something at the direction of Jin-Woo’s shadows.

The green orcs attacked together this time, slashing the shadow soldiers with fury, never giving them a chance to regenerate. And when you least expected, the boss approached you and your students while the shadows were occupied with its soldiers.

Pushing Jin-Ah to Song-Yi, you immediately blocked the boss sword with your own.

What a brutal attack!

The sword felt impossibly heavy – or maybe the boss was just too strong. Or both. There was no way to tell. Your arms and back screamed in pain as the floor cracked beneath your feet, buckling under the pressure of the attack.

The boss was yelling again, red eyes not even looking at you, but at Jin-Ah.

You gritted your teeth – anger consuming your being – and pushed with all your strength the enemy's weapon, making him take a step back.

“Where are you looking at, your piece of shit?!” The insult left your mouth so naturally that you almost felt proud. If Jin-Woo was here, he would probably be surprised, but would still laugh at your words. The situation was fitting after all. “Your opponent is me!”

The boss growled at you, an animalistic sound that made you and all your students flinch, before it charged at you again – this time, it was looking properly at you.

So now, I am considered an enemy.

You leap to the side, narrowly dodging the attack, and raise your sword to strike –but the boss catches it, halting your movements. Before you can react, he swings his weapon at you once more. You didn’t have time to think, you let go of your sword and threw yourself to the ground to avoid the blade that would have cut you in half – the monster grunted loudly, probably irritated that you avoided certain death and crushed your sword using just his bare hands.

The students gasped horrified at the demonstration of strength, if the boss could break an A-Rank weapon with bare hands, they (and also you), didn’t want to think about what could happen if he got his hands on any of you.

Conjuring a second (and last) weapon from your magic space inventory – a dagger of all things –, you stared at the monster, analyzing its movements and waiting for an opening.

You never saw Jin-Woo fighting, but you knew that his chosen weapon was a dagger, if not, you were sure that he was just punching monsters inside the dungeons, however, one thing that you learned from him when fighting with a dagger, was that everything was a matter of timing.

“It doesn't matter if the opponent is a monster or a human.” Jin-Woo said once, while the two of you were preparing dinner. “There’s always an opening, an opportunity to strike.”

“Andddd you are telling me this because…?” You joked, pushing him with your hips.

“Well, you never know when you will need the knowledge.” He answered with a shrug.

I’m glad that I listened to his battle’s advice.

You didn’t have another choice if not dodge the attacks for now, you couldn’t risk breaking your dagger trying to stop the sword. You were smaller and faster than the boss, you need to use it in your favour.

An opening, you just need an opening. One second was enough.

And as if your prayers were heard, the boss slammed the sword in the ground trying to beat you, resulting in the sword getting stuck on the floor.

That’s my chance!

You charged at the dungeon boss, his right side open for an attack, all you needed to do was strike it on the neck and things would be over.

But you were naive.

“Ah, but remember that the higher the rank, the more intelligent they are, be it people or monsters.” Your black haired boyfriend warned.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that not everyone plays fair.”

The monster smirked – Was that even possible? But it did look smug! – and when you realized what was happening, it was too late. You barely had the time to block the sword that surely wasn’t stuck at the floor at all.

You were sent flying, back at the hall, where you hit the already damaged walls. The air left your lungs, and for a second everything went black. Your body hit the floor, and the dagger that you were holding fell from your hands, you didn’t have the energy to hold it or to get up anymore. Something warm was running down your face, and the strong smell of iron invaded your nostrils. 

You were bleeding…

Hah…great…

…and probably had a concussion.

Double great.

You closed your eyes for a moment, trying to focus, trying to make the world stop spinning, trying to hold back the urge to vomit, trying to regain any leftover energy to stand up, because you could hear your students screaming your name at the top of their lungs.

They need you.

Jin-Ah needed you.

Tears of frustration started to form in your eyes, no matter how much you were forcing your body to get up, it wasn’t responding to your wants.

Another scream, Song-Yi was screaming Jin-Ah’s name.

Please, please, get up!

But your legs and arms weren’t moving.

Get up! Get up!

From where you were, you couldn’t see what was happening inside the classroom, so your stupid brain was painting the worst scenarios.

Silence.

Oh God…please, no…

Suddenly the boss yelled, and at the same time you felt a big source of magic power approaching.

The whole building trembled, pieces of the roof falling to the ground. There was smoke coming from inside the classroom, and among the sounds coming from there, you heard his voice.

“You’re safe now.”

You wanted to cry, he came. Jin-Woo really came. And he arrived, shutting up the damn monsters.

“It’s alright now.”

“Oppa!”

Jin-Ah’s voice made you release a breath that you didn’t even realize that you were holding.

She is okay. Jin-Ah is safe.

“I’m sorry, I’m late…”

No…you’re not. You thought, closing your eyes.

“Is everyone okay?” He asked, and you were glad to hear your students' voices. “Where is (Y/n)?”

“In the hall! (Y/n) unnie, s-she's in the hall! T-That monster, it attacked her!”

The magical power in the air seemed to disappear for a moment, and then it came back with almost the double of force, it was so intense that you could feel it almost crushing you.

“Igris…take care of Jin-Ah.” His voice was controlled, and you knew that he was barely holding back his anger. “Everyone else, take the students and head down first.”

And now you could finally let your body relax. Jin-Woo would take care of things from here. You didn’t need to worry anymore.

Maybe the relief was so big that you lost consciousness for a moment, because when you realized what was happening again, you could see your boyfriend pressing the stupid dungeon boss on the wall by the neck.

Hah…

“Serves…you right…” You muttered, a smirk on your lips as you saw the desperate look on the orc’s face. The face of someone who was facing death itself.

Jin-Woo immediately made eye contact with you, his beautiful gray eyes getting wide as soon as he accessed your wounds, at least the visible ones.

“Thanks for coming…” You tried to smile, but no smile would make your boyfriend less worried now. And it was your impression, or it was getting hard to breathe? Did a rib punctured your lungs?

“(Y/n)...” It was so good to hear your name, even if it sounded strangled.

“Hey babe…” You greeted, coughing blood as soon as the words left your lips. You saw Jin-Woo make a move to let go of the orc, but you glared at him, daring your boyfriend to abandon his duty as a S-Rank to help her. “Don’t you dare let go of this bastard.”

“I need to treat you now.” He said, voice serious, but still stayed where he was.

You grunted, you couldn’t move a finger, so yes, maybe you were in need of medical attention, but looking around and seeing the…blood trail that the orcs left behind, you couldn’t care less about your condition.

“If you let go of this piece of shit…I’m going to break up with you, got it?!” 

Who would have thought that mere words would make one of the strongest hunters in the world flinch?

“This is not the time to jok-”

“Because of this guy, my students are…they are…” You couldn’t say that word, and it made you more angry. “If you don’t want to be single by the next minute Sung Jin-Woo, do me a favor and give that…” You glared at the boss dungeon. “...hell.”

And with those words, you use all your energy. You heard your boyfriend call your name, but the world went black before you could mutter another word.

At least now, everything would be okay.

…

When you woke up, the white ceiling of a hospital room was staring back at you. The room was bright, the smell of antiseptic was pretty strong and you could hear the beeps of a heart monitor – your heart monitor, you were alive. There was also an IV drip on your arm – with (probably) a lot of pain killer –, and someone was holding your hand.

“Good morning.”

As you looked up, you were greeted by the expression of relief from your boyfriend.

“How are you feeling, (Y/n)?”

Like shit. You wanted to say, but you decided to entertain him.

“Like a truck just ran over me, and came back on reverse.” You answered. “Did you get the plate? I want to press charges.”

Jin-Woo arched an eyebrow, amused by your choice of words.

“Don’t worry, I already took care of it.”

You smiled and closed your eyes again, letting a relieved sigh escape your lips. It was really over.

“How is Jin-Ah? How are all the students?”

Jin-Woo seemed to stop to think for a moment, as if pondering what to say.

“And don’t lie.” You added.

“Jin-Ah is in this hospital as well, with a few bruises, but she is going to be okay, just like the other students that you saved.”

“Any other…survivors?” You asked, but Jin-Woo just closed his eyes and shook his head. “...Dammit…”

“You did what you could.” He interjected immediately, silencing the negative thoughts creeping into your mourning mind. “You’re not even a hunter, yet you stood your ground against A-Rank monsters alone. You should be proud, because without you, Jin-Ah and the others might not have made it out alive.”

There were a few tears ready to fall from your eyes, you were frustrated, angry and so sad, but somewhere in your brain, you knew that what your boyfriend was saying was also true. In the end you did what was possible in that situation, and you saved a few lives. So instead of using words, you just nodded, to let the man know that you understand what he was saying.

“But you really gave me a scare back there.” Jin-Woo said, his grip on your hand tightening. “Passing out after threatening to break up with me.”

You couldn’t hold back a snort. What kind of nonsense was this guy sputtering now? Drying the tears with the back of your other hand, you opened your eyes to take a look at the man beside your hospital bed.

“So, which one was scarier? Me passing out or the threat?”

“Both.” He deadpanned, but you knew that he was trying to light up the mood.

For a few moments you two didn’t say anything, but you knew that you needed to tell him a few things, for your and his well being.

“I…I’m sorry for scaring you.” You finally say, looking at his gray eyes. When he didn’t say a word, you decided to continue. “But back there, I was…I was so mad at that damn monster, at the whole situation, that I wanted you to end it before trying to come to me.”

“I know.” The man muttered, his thumb tracing circle patterns at the back of your hand.

“But next time, I promise to not threaten you.”

He frowned.

“There won’t be a next time.”

You smiled.

“I know, but even if it did happen, you would come again, I’m sure.”

“Of course.” He said, flicking your forehead. “Stupid.”

“Hey! What was that for?!” You exclaimed, with a hand massaging the place where you were hit.

“I’m glad that you are looking out for other people, but you should also take care of yourself!”

“It’s not like I didn’t try…” You muttered, because it was true. Who in their right mind would want to be at the brink of death?

“Try harder!”

“Says the guy who jumped inside gates as if going on a walk in the park before reawakening!”

This time Jin-Woo blushed embarrassed.

“T-this and that are different!”

“How so?!” You questioned, holding back a laugh. Your boyfriend was just too cute to mess with.

He sighed, before putting a hand on your face, caressing your cheek with his thumb. You leaned into the touch, closing your eyes, enjoying the quiet moment.

“Thank you for coming.” You muttered, happy with his strong and comforting presence beside you.

“You’re welcome.” Came the answer, way closer than you expected.

When you opened your eyes, you saw gray. They were staring at you intensely, trying to confirm if you were really there, if you were really okay, if you were really alive.

“I’m here.” You say.

“Yes, you are.” He answers.

And his lips met yours, as if confirming what his eyes were trying to tell him.

You were still here, by his side.

And he was there, by yours.

Ao3 link

End notes:

Wellll, first: English is not my mother tongue, so you may find some grammar (or spelling) errors…^^'' I promise to correct them as soon as I spot them.^^

And second: I know that I changed some things - it was necessary since Reader was there -, but still, I hope that you enjoyed the scenario.^^

Thank you guys for reading!^^

See you!

[gdinthehouseee]

Stars Rewritten: KWON JI-YONG x READER

summary: after he left you, you never heard from ji-yong again. or, that was the case, until you finally saw him again at a fashion show---where the walls you had spent so long building up around your heart finally crumbled down.

word count: 5062

tags: angst to fluff; exes to lovers, arguments, dramatic asf, you have a slight panic attack so please click off if you feel it's too much, hurt/comfort

ao3 link

The air inside the Chanel afterparty was thick with the scent of expensive perfume and fine champagne, a blur of murmured conversations and polite laughter. Paris had a way of making everything feel ethereal—timeless—but the moment you locked eyes with Kwon Ji-yong, time felt like it had stopped altogether.

He stood near the bar, one hand lazily wrapped around a crystal glass, the other tucked effortlessly into his pocket. Even in a room full of icons draped in couture, he stood out. Always had. And yet, it wasn’t the sharp lines of his suit or the effortless way he carried himself that held your attention. It was his eyes. Dark, searching, and unreadable. They traced over you like a memory long buried, one he wasn’t quite sure he wanted to unearth.

Your chest tightened. You should’ve known he’d be here. Fashion and Ji-yong went hand in hand—just like you and him once did. Still, nothing could’ve prepared you for the way seeing him again would make your pulse stutter, for the way his presence still felt like a song you hadn’t heard in years but somehow still knew the lyrics to.

He didn’t look away. Neither did you. So, you did the only thing you could—you closed the distance.

Ji-yong watched as you approached, his lips curving slightly—not quite a smile, not quite a smirk. "Didn’t think I’d see you here," he murmured, voice smooth as ever.

"Paris is big enough for the both of us," you replied, tone casual, though your heartbeat told a different story.

"Is it?" He tilted his head slightly, studying you. "Funny. I feel like I see you everywhere."

"Sounds like a personal problem."

You refused to be the first to break. A quiet pause. He probably didn’t mean it literally, but the weight of his words settled between you. Did he mean in headlines? In music? In memories?

He let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head as he took a sip of his drink. "Still quick with the comebacks, I see."

You shrugged. "Some things never change."

His expression flickered—just for a second. Barely noticeable, but you caught it. A shadow of something deeper, something raw. "Some things do," he said quietly.

That—that was the first real crack in his composure.

Your chest tightened, but you forced yourself to keep your expression unreadable. "Well," you exhaled, glancing around, "it’s good to see you’re still doing well."

"Are you?" His voice was softer now, but there was an edge to it—like he wasn’t sure if he wanted the answer.

"Of course," you answered, maybe too quickly. Too smoothly. Because what else were you supposed to say? That seeing him still made your heart ache? That Paris, no matter how romantic, still felt empty without him?

Ji-yong hummed, swirling the liquid in his glass. "Good." But he didn’t sound convinced.

You should’ve walked away. Should’ve let the moment pass, let him become just another face in the crowd, another ghost of your past that didn’t deserve to be resurrected. That would’ve been the smart thing to do—the safe thing. Just two people who used to know each other, exchanging polite words in a city meant for strangers and lovers alike. But that was the problem, wasn’t it? Ji-yong had never been just someone you used to know. He had been your beginning and your ending, the song that played in the quiet corners of your mind long after the music had stopped. And now, standing in front of him again, feeling the weight of his gaze, hearing the softness in his voice that made old wounds ache—you weren’t sure if you were strong enough to pretend he was just another person in the room.

"Did you ever miss me?"

His voice—so much quieter, so much heavier—cut through the space between you.

"Did you?" You shot back immediately.

Ji-yong didn’t answer right away. He just stared, gaze unreadable, jaw tightening slightly like he was debating whether or not to tell the truth. Finally, he exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "You always did know how to turn things around on me."

You smirked, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. "Guess some things really don’t change after all."

A flicker of something crossed his face—something almost nostalgic. Almost sad.

Before either of you could say anything else, someone called his name. His momentary distraction gave you the chance to take a step back, breathe, and remind yourself that you weren’t that person anymore—the one who used to fall so easily into his orbit.

His gaze flickered back to yours, as if considering whether to pull you back in or let you go. And then, with one last lingering look, he gave you a slow, almost reluctant nod.

"Enjoy your night," he murmured before turning away.

Ji-yong didn’t look back as he disappeared into the crowd, but he felt you lingering—like a song stuck in his head, like the one thing he thought he’d buried but never really could. His grip on his drink tightened, his pulse a little too quick, his thoughts a little too loud. He had spent so long convincing himself that time had dulled the edges of what you once were, that he had moved past the ache of losing you. But seeing you tonight? Hearing your voice, sharp as ever, watching the way your lips curled into that familiar smirk—it unraveled something in him. You still got under his skin. And maybe the worst part? Some small, stupid, hopeless part of him wanted to believe that he still got under yours, too.

The night air was crisp, carrying the distant hum of Paris beneath it—the soft wail of a saxophone from a street musician, the muffled laughter of strangers, the city breathing all around you. The elegant wrap draped over your shoulders did little against the chill, but you weren’t sure if it was the cold or the lingering weight of Ji-yong’s presence that sent a shiver through you. The party inside carried on without you—glasses clinking, laughter rising and falling, conversations blending into a meaningless hum. But out here, on the secluded balcony overlooking the city skyline, everything was still.

The cigarette between your fingers burned slowly, thin wisps of smoke curling into the night air. You took a slow drag, letting the warmth settle in your lungs, but it didn’t help. Nothing did. You exhaled, watching the smoke dissolve into the sky, your thoughts spiraling. You shouldn’t have come tonight. You knew there was a chance he’d be here. A part of you had even tried to prepare for it—but how do you prepare for seeing someone who once made you feel like your entire world revolved around them?

"You never used to smoke."

Ji-yong.

Your fingers twitched around the cigarette. You turned your head slightly, just enough to see him standing there, hands in his pockets, watching you with an unreadable expression.

“Not everything stays the same, y’know.” You mutter before taking another slow drag.

His gaze flickered, his jaw tightening for a fraction of a second before he stepped forward, resting his forearms against the railing beside you. Close, but not close enough. He let out a quiet scoff, shaking his head. "Didn’t think I’d ever see the day."

You arched a brow, finally looking at him fully. "What, me smoking?"

He tilted his head, studying you the way he always used to—like he was peeling back layers, searching for something just beneath the surface. "You hated it. You used to steal my cigarettes just to throw them away."

You exhaled a humorless chuckle. "Maybe I just wanted to piss you off."

"Is that what this is, then? Still trying to piss me off?"

"Not everything is about you, Ji-yong."

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he reached over—slow, deliberate—and plucked the cigarette from your hand. You let him. He studied it for a second, rolling it between his fingers like he was trying to understand something unspoken. Then, just as slowly, he lifted it to his lips, taking a drag. Your stomach twisted. The sight was familiar and foreign all at once.

He exhaled, watching the smoke curl into the night, before finally speaking—softer this time.

"You used to say my name differently," he said quietly, tapping the ash off his cigarette.

Your breath hitched. "Don’t do that."

"Do what?"

"Talk like—like we’re still the same people we were back then."

A humorless chuckle escaped him, low and bitter. "We’re not. That’s the problem, isn’t it?"

You didn’t answer. Because he wasn’t wrong.

He took another slow drag, his shoulders rising and falling with the inhale before he turned to fully face you. "You never answered me earlier," he murmured.

"About what?"

"If you ever missed me."

Your stomach twisted. He said it so simply, like it wasn’t the very question that had kept you up on too many nights, staring at the ceiling, wondering if he had ever done the same.

You wanted to lie. You wanted to tell him no. That you had moved on, that the years apart had erased him, that the sight of him standing in front of you now didn’t make old scars ache.

But your silence said more than words ever could.

Ji-yong’s lips pressed together as he studied your expression, as if searching for something—an answer, a confession, proof that he wasn’t the only one who had spent all this time wondering what if.

And then, barely above a whisper, he spoke.

"I missed you."

It shouldn’t have mattered—it shouldn’t have felt like a punch to the chest, like something raw and aching unraveling inside of you. But it did. You tore your gaze away, focusing on the city lights in the distance, anywhere but him. 

"Don’t do that, Ji-yong." You repeated.

His brow furrowed. "Do what?"

"Say things like that," you muttered, crossing your arms tightly over your chest. "Like it changes anything."

"You think it doesn’t?"

It was your turn to huff out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. "It’s been years."

"And?" His voice had an edge now, something frustrated, something almost desperate.

"And we ruined each other," you shot back, finally meeting his gaze again.

Ji-yong flinched, just barely—but you caught it.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence was deafening, stretched tight between you like a thread on the verge of snapping. The air felt heavier out here, thick with the past, with every unspoken word, every unsent message, every lingering memory that neither of you had truly let go of. It was in the way Ji-yong’s gaze flickered, searching your face for something—a sign that you still felt it too, that he wasn’t alone in this quiet ache. It was in the way your fingers curled against the railing, gripping it as if it could steady you against the pull of him. So much had been left unsaid between you, but standing here, so close yet so impossibly far, you realized something terrifying. Maybe the past had never really let go of either of you.

"You really believe that?" he asked quietly.

Your fingers curled into your palms. "I have to."

Ji-yong inhaled slowly, like he was trying to keep himself together. Then, before you could react, he took a step closer. Too close. Close enough that you could smell his cologne, something familiar, something that shouldn’t still feel like home. Close enough that the warmth of his body seeped into yours, despite the cold air.

"Then tell me to walk away.”

Your pulse jumped. "What?"

"If you really believe that—if you really think we ruined each other—" he tilted his head, voice low, challenging, "then tell me to walk away."

You opened your mouth, but the words wouldn’t come.

He searched your face, something vulnerable breaking through his mask. "See?" His voice softened, barely more than a breath. "You can’t."

"That doesn’t mean—"

"It means everything," he interrupted, his fingers twitching like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t dare. "We don’t end like this."

Your throat felt tight, emotions clawing their way up. "Ji-yong—"

He leaned in just a fraction more, voice barely above a whisper.

"Say it," he murmured. "Say you don’t miss me, and I’ll leave. Right now."

Your heart pounded. Because he was calling your bluff. Because you couldn’t say it. Because, no matter how much time had passed, no matter how much had broken between you—he was still the one person who could undo you completely.

And he knew it.

"You think this is fair?" You shot back, voice sharper than you intended. “Showing up after all this time like it means something. Like you didn’t—" You stopped yourself just in time, but it was too late. He caught it.

His jaw clenched. "Like I didn’t what?"

You swallowed, pulse hammering against your ribs. Walk away? Give up? Break me? The words were right there, but you couldn’t say them, because then he’d know. Then he’d see just how much of you was still tangled up in him.

He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. "I’m not playing games, if that’s what you think."

"That’s funny, coming from you."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It means this is what you do," you snapped. "You disappear. You come back when it’s convenient. You say just enough to make me wonder, just enough to make me—" You cut yourself off, breath shaking.

Ji-yong took a step closer. "Make you what?"

You clenched your jaw. "I don��t owe you an answer."

His expression flickered, something breaking through his mask for just a second before his voice dropped lower, rougher. "And who do you think lost?"

You huffed a bitter laugh, voice rising. "I don’t know, Ji-yong! You tell me! Because from where I’m standing, it sure as hell wasn’t you."

His eyes flashed. "You think I walked away easily?" His voice was sharp, almost disbelieving. "You think I just—what? Moved on? Forgot about you?" He let out a humorless laugh. "You have no fucking idea."

"Then why did you?"

"Why did I what?"

"Leave!"

Your voice cracked, but you didn’t care. The word rang out between you, cutting through the tension like a blade. Ji-yong’s breath hitched, his entire body going still.

"You think I wanted to?" He finally said, voice low, hoarse.

You scoffed. "I don’t know what you wanted!" You were almost yelling now, hands shaking. "Because if you wanted me, you should have fucking stayed!"

"You think I didn’t try?"

"You didn’t try hard enough!"

The words came out louder than you intended, your chest heaving with the weight of them. And for the first time tonight, Ji-yong flinched. The silence that followed was suffocating. His fingers twitched at his sides, like he wanted to reach for you, like he had to physically stop himself. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter but no less intense. "I still love you."

Your breath caught.

Ji-yong swallowed hard, his gaze burning into yours. "Not past tense. Not something I got over. I still fucking love you, and I think you know that."

Your fingers curled into fists, nails digging into your palms. "I—"

He took another step forward, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him, close enough that your body betrayed you, leaning ever so slightly in his direction. "Tell me to stop," he murmured. "Tell me to let you go, and I will."

Your chest rose and fell rapidly. You should say it. You should end this now before you drowned in him all over again. But the words wouldn’t come, and he saw it. His lips parted slightly, his hands twitching at his sides, like he was holding himself back from touching you. And then—

"I can’t do this," you whispered, stepping back.

"Why?"

"Because," you breathed, voice breaking now. "Because if I let myself believe you, if I let myself want this again—" You exhaled shakily, blinking up at him, heart on the verge of breaking all over again. "I don’t think I’d survive losing you twice."

Ji-yong’s expression crumbled. His mouth opened, but for the first time tonight, he had nothing to say. And neither did you. The silence between you wasn’t thick with anger anymore: it was replaced with heartbreak.

"That’s all you’re going to say?"

"What else do you want from me!?"

"I want you to tell me the truth," he shot back. "I want you to stop acting like you don’t feel this."

"Feel what?" Your voice was sharp, a desperate edge creeping into your tone. "Whatever this was, it ended. You made sure of that."

His jaw tensed. "You think I had a choice?"

"You always had a choice!" You snapped, stepping forward, your anger swallowing the hurt. "You could have fought for me, for us. But you didn’t. You left, and you—" Your breath hitched, but you forced yourself to keep going, keep pressing where it hurt. "You let me think I wasn’t enough for you."

Ji-yong's eyes flashed with something unreadable, something raw. "That’s not fair."

You let out a bitter laugh. "Oh, and what part of this is fair?"

He clenched his fists, exhaling sharply. "You think I wanted to leave? You think I just walked away without looking back?" His voice was rising now, matching yours, the heat between you bordering on explosive. "You have no idea how much I wanted to stay. How many nights I lay awake wishing things were different. Wishing I could be selfish enough to keep you—"

"Then why wasn’t I worth it?"

The words came out before you could stop them, loud and broken, filling the space between you like a gunshot.

Ji-yong inhaled sharply yet again, as if the weight of your words had knocked the air from his lungs. His mouth opened, then closed, his expression crumbling for a split second before he masked it again.

"Don’t," he murmured, his voice hoarse. "Don’t say that."

You let out a shaky breath, your throat burning. "Tell me I’m wrong, then. Tell me that when you left, it wasn’t because you decided I wasn’t worth the effort."

He stepped even closer, his voice low and urgent. "I never stopped loving you."

"Then why did you break my heart?"

The question shattered between you, both of you breathing hard, chests rising and falling as the weight of everything you’d buried finally cracked open.

"I don’t know," he admitted, his voice almost desperate. "I don’t fucking know. All I know is that being without you felt like hell."

Your breath stuttered, the world tilting beneath your feet, the weight of his words pressing down on you like a tidal wave. Too much. Too much. Too much. It clawed at your chest, curling tight around your ribs, making it impossible to breathe, impossible to think. This was dangerous. He was dangerous. The way he looked at you, like you were the only thing in the room that mattered. The way his voice softened when he said your name, like he was afraid you’d slip through his fingers all over again. The way your body still knew him, still ached for him, even after all this time.

And it terrified you.

Because if you stayed, if you let him keep talking, keep looking at you like that, keep picking apart the walls you spent so long building—you knew you’d crumble. You’d let him in again. You’d let yourself hope. And hope was the most dangerous thing of all.

Your hands curled into fists at your sides, nails biting into your palms, grounding yourself in the sharp sting of it. You had to get out of here. Now. Before your heart could trick you into believing this could end any differently than it did before. Before you drowned in him all over again.

You took a shaky step back. Ji-yong’s eyes tracked the movement instantly, his entire body tensing like he knew exactly what you were about to do.

"Don’t," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, but it might as well have been a plea.

Your throat burned. Don’t what? Run? Leave? Break his heart the way he broke yours?

"I can’t do this," you breathed, shaking your head as you took another step back. Then another.

Ji-yong moved instinctively, reaching for you, his fingers just barely brushing your wrist before you yanked away.

"Wait—"

But you were already turning, pushing past him, your breath coming in uneven gasps as you shoved open the balcony door and disappeared into the dimly lit hallway. You didn’t stop. Didn’t let yourself look back, didn’t let yourself hear the way his breath hitched when you slipped through his fingers.

You wove through the crowd in the main room, your pulse pounding in your ears, drowning out the low hum of conversation and the clinking of glasses. The air inside was suffocating, thick with perfume and cigarette smoke and everything you needed to escape. You barely registered the curious glances thrown your way as you reached the entrance, shoving the door open and stepping into the cool night air. Only then did you finally exhale, your breath shaky as it left your lips in a sharp rush.

But it wasn’t enough.

The city lights blurred as you stumbled forward, needing distance, needing space, needing to outrun the ghosts of his words—I never stopped loving you.

You squeezed your eyes shut, willing yourself to breathe, to push him out of your head, out of your heart, out of your bones.

But even as you walked away, every step putting more distance between you and the only man you’d ever truly loved—you knew it wasn’t over.

Not yet.

You pushed yourself harder, each step taking you farther away from the noise of the venue, from him. The streets blurred around you as you walked, each step fueled by the need to get away, the need to breathe air that wasn’t saturated with him. You didn’t want to be there anymore.

Eventually, you found a quiet alley, tucked away between two tall buildings, far enough from the crowd to feel safe, but not too far that you’d lose yourself completely. You sank down to the cold concrete, pulling your knees to your chest, desperately trying to calm the erratic beating of your heart. You tried to force your breathing into something steady, something normal. You were fine. You had to be fine.

You were fine.

But then the panic started to creep in. That tightening feeling in your chest, the same feeling that had gripped you all those months ago. The fear, the helplessness, the suffocating weight of the past, of the break-up, of everything you hadn’t been able to say or let go of. The walls you’d built around yourself trembled. You weren’t fine.

The panic slammed into you full-force, and for a second, it felt like you were falling apart all over again.

This was dangerous.

Just like before. Just like the night he left.

You gasped for air, but it wasn’t enough. Your chest constricted, your vision blurred, and you swore you could hear your pulse pounding in your ears. You weren’t going to make it. You weren’t going to survive this. You needed to breathe, you needed to stop thinking about how close you were to that awful, broken place you’d sworn you’d never return to.

And then, you heard it—footsteps.

No.

You jerked your head up, eyes wide with panic, just in time to see him standing there—Ji-yong, standing in the dim light of the alley, his gaze locked onto you like he’d been tracking your every movement.

You tried to push yourself up, to move, to run. But your legs were weak, too weak, your knees buckling as your breath came in jagged gasps. You couldn’t escape this, couldn’t escape him.

“Stop.”

His voice was firm, but not harsh. His hand reached out, fingers brushing against your wrist before grabbing your arm. Not painfully, but just enough to hold you still, enough to make you realize you couldn’t keep going.

You froze. The panic still gripped you, tightening your chest with every labored breath, but when his touch grounded you, something about the way he held you still made it worse. You hadn’t expected him to follow you. And now, here he was, like he’d found you in your most vulnerable moment.

He didn’t say anything else at first, just stood there, his grip on your arm gentle but firm, as if he was waiting for you to speak, to explain why you were falling apart, why you couldn’t keep it together. And then he spoke again, softer this time, with that quiet urgency that made your insides twist.

“You don’t have to pretend, you know.”

The words hit you like a wave.

You didn’t have to pretend. And that was all it took.

The tears you’d been holding back came crashing forward, hot and fast, spilling down your cheeks as your body started to shake. You tried to stand, tried to push through it, but the moment your legs gave out, Ji-yong’s arm shot around you, pulling you into his chest, catching you before you could hit the ground.

“Hey, hey,” he whispered, his voice full of surprise, full of something else you couldn’t quite name. His arms tightened around you as you gasped for air, your whole body shaking from the intensity of it. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

You shook your head against his chest, unable to stop the tears, unable to stop the sobs that tore their way out of you. You hadn’t expected this—hadn’t expected him to be here, hadn’t expected to break down in his arms again. But somehow, despite everything, despite how much you tried to push him away, you felt something in you soften, a part of you finally willing to let go.

He didn’t say anything more. He just held you, letting you cry against him, his grip never tightening, never too forceful, just enough to remind you that he was there.

Ji-yong's chest tightened as he held you close, his heart breaking into pieces with each sob that wracked your body. The way you trembled in his arms, the rawness of your pain—it was all too much. His mind replayed every moment, every misstep, every word he’d said or hadn’t said, and it all came crashing down on him. He had been the one to walk away. He had been the one to push you out of his life, to let pride and fear dictate his actions. And now, seeing you broken in his arms, it felt like he had destroyed something precious. The guilt gnawed at him, sharp and unforgiving. He was the reason you were hurting, the reason you’d built walls around your heart. His choices, his mistakes—he had caused this. The weight of it threatened to crush him, and he couldn't shake the feeling that he had failed you, that he had broken something that could never be fixed.

"I—" You choked on the air, the pain in your chest too much. Your heart ached, and you thought you might break again. But you couldn’t keep pretending. You couldn’t lie to yourself anymore. "I still love you, Ji-yong… I—I never stopped. But I’m so… so scared."

He didn’t say anything, didn’t even try to pull away or give you a soft smile to ease your discomfort. Instead, his arms tightened around you, pulling you closer, as though he wanted to absorb your pain, to make it his own.

“I can’t open up and have you leave all over again.” 

His voice cracked as he whispered, “I’m so sorry… for everything. I—God, I was stupid. I didn’t realize how much I was hurting you, how much I was pushing you away. I thought I could handle it, thought I could fix everything, but I only made it worse.” He swallowed hard, his throat tight with emotion. “I’m sorry for leaving you when you needed me most, sorry for all the things I didn’t say, all the things I didn’t do. I’m sorry for every mistake, every time I made you feel less than—less than everything you deserve.”

His hands, which had once been so sure, trembled as they cupped your face, lifting your gaze to meet his. He could barely hold himself together, his own tears falling freely now. “Please… I’m begging you. Give me another chance. I—I swear I won’t mess it up this time. I can’t lose you again. I love you. I never stopped. Please, just—please don’t give up on us.”

The raw desperation in his voice, the way he looked at you as if you were the only thing that mattered in the world, made your heart ache all over again. He wasn’t just apologizing; he was pleading, his voice breaking with the weight of everything he had failed to say before. And even though every part of you screamed in hesitation, you couldn’t help but feel the tiny spark of hope that maybe—just maybe—this could be the moment everything shifted.

“I’ll never give up on us,” he continued, his voice steady now, full of resolve. “I swear.”

A shaky laugh escaped you, despite the tears that still clung to your lashes. “I’m going to hold you to that.”

And with that, Ji-yong’s lips brushed against yours, soft and tentative at first, as if testing the waters, before deepening into a kiss that spoke of all the things you’d both been too afraid to say. It was gentle, full of longing and the sweet promise of healing. The kiss was the beginning of something new, a new chapter where the mistakes of the past could be forgiven and the love between you could bloom once more.

When he pulled away, his thumb gently stroked your cheek, and he smiled—a smile that was as soft and loving as the words he had just spoken. “I love you. I love you so much.”

“I know,” you whispered back. “I love you, too.”

taglist: @thanosscrossmain @maskedcrawford @mirahyun @riddlerloveb0t @onyxmango @sherrayyyyy @seunghyunwifey @petersasteria @allthoughtsmindfull

[s0urw00lf]

I miss you I’m sorry

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x reader

Warnings: angst, crying, heartache, heartbreak the whole nine yards

An: jeez this was a crazy write. I’m very proud of it though. Please i love this i can’t believe i wrote it.

Off and on. Thats the best way to describe what you and rafe were. You get together, act like idiots in love, then everything changes and you’re each others biggest enemy. But it wasn’t really true. You and rafe were idiots in love. Just not the romantic kind.

Thats what made you write it, you hadn’t expected it to become as big as it did. It almost scared you how scared you were of him hearing it. And he hadn’t until toppers girlfriend kept playing a live concert you did, and rafe knew immediately. He knew your voice like it belonged to him.

“Who is that?” He asked her, she was confused as he’d never went out of his way to start a conversation with her. “Uh- y/n l/n” she said. When your name slipped past her lips Rafe’s heart almost stopped.

Thats how he found himself down a rabbit hole on your music. Every song on your album made was about him and he knew it. But the one that stuck out the most was ‘I miss you im sorry’. Rafe knew the two of you were toxic there was no other word for it but you were so you and he was him and you mended so perfectly together until you didn’t.

He knew it was stupid. The dumbest thing he could’ve done but he couldn’t help himself. He needed to see you, to hear you at least one last time. He bought a ticket to your concert in Austin and he flew out the next day.

He was in the very front row, the closest to the stage. He knew you’d see him and he didn’t know if that’s what he wanted or needed.

When you arrived on the stage the crowd went wild, and you looked like heaven, your long sparkly dress complemented your glistening skin perfectly.

Rafe could’ve died and went to heaven right then and there, the smile you wore on your face you would’ve never guessed you spent so many nights crying on the floor of your old shared apartment because of him.

“Hey guys” you greeted, the crowd cheered loudly. “Thank you so much for coming out to my show. This album means the world to me and im so thankful so many people connected with it as much as i did” you say with a sincere smile. Rafe felt his chest tighten, he almost couldn’t believe he was seeing you again.

“I wrote this album after my first ever relationship, i was so in love with this guy, he meant the world to me but we weren’t good for each other and we just couldn’t accept that until we both walked away with more damage than we walked in with” you explained walking across the stage the train of your dress trailing behind you. “I haven’t spoken to him since, and im not even sure he knows where i am today but i hope he’s doing well. Anyway, let’s get this party started shall we” you say with a huge smile.

You preformed beautifully, every song was sang to perfection and rafe almost forgot the main reason he was here. That was until he saw you sit down at the piano, not even ten feet from you.

You set the mic on the stand in front of you “now this song, this holds a special place in my heart so i hope you enjoy.” You say. You took a deep breath feeling nervous. Somehow you had a feeling he was there.

Maybe it was the familiarity of his presence or the weight of his gaze. You’d felt it the whole performance and you tried to brush it off, but with this song you couldn’t because it held so much emotion that you didn’t let him see and now there was a possibility that he was here seeing you sing it raw and live.

You let out a deep breath and started playing the chords, swallowing the lump in your throat.

Do you remember happpy together?

I do, dont you?

Then all of a sudden, your sick to your stomach

Is that still true

You looked into the crowd. And like a moth to a flame your eyes landed on him and you visibly faltered. You recovered quickly but your heart hadn’t. He was here, watching you, so intently as if really seeing you for the first time.

You said forever in the end i fought it

Please be honest are we better for it

Thought you’d hate me but instead you called and,

Said “i miss you” i caught it.

Rafe knew exactly what you were taking about. Every time you’d break up he’d text no more than a month later claiming to had missed you, and every time you fell back into his arms after spending a month not knowing wether or not you made the mistake of not fighting when rafe asked for a breakup.

Good to each other, give it the summer

I knew, you too

But i only saw you, once in December

I’m still confused

You spent days begging for rafe to give you even a fraction of his attention and the most you got was the day together on Christmas, but that day meant the world to you and rafe had no idea just how much you cherished that memory. For some reason tears filled your eyes and you made eye contact with him again. Pouring all of the hurt, and love you had for him out.

You’d performed this song many times but this was the first time you felt like the weight and emotion the song holds was actually getting off of your chest.. rafe knew, he knew he’d damaged you and he couldn’t help the tears that filled his eyes as well.

You said “forever” and i almost bought it

I miss fighting I your old apartment

Breaking dished when your disappointed

I love you, i promise

The words kicked him right in the chest depriving him of air, and he didn’t even fight it, he couldn’t bring himself to care, in this moment the crowd was drowned out. It was only you and him and nothing else mattered.

Every word that spews from your lips you meant still even in this moment. Because even after all this time, you spent apart, even after every argument you had, every screaming match, you knew rafe was just broken and wouldn’t accept the love you had to offer, and you prayed every time that he would. But he never did.

Nothing happened in the way i wanted

Every corner of this house is haunted

And i know you said that were not talking

But i miss you, im sorry

Tears were now freely flowing down the both of your faces, and you sang the song more raw than you ever had before. Letting out all the emotions you’d held back because he needed to know. You didn’t hate him no you could never. But he’d broken you and you had to put the pieces back together.

I dont wanna go, think ill make it worse

Everything i know brings me back to us

I dont wanna go we’ve been here before

Everywhere i go leads me back to you

You broke down crying at this point. Your voice was severing and the crowd had gotten louder, seemingly noticing your state. But you didn’t focus on them, just him. Just rafe. Your rafe.

You said forever and i almost bought it

I dont wanna go think ill make it worse

I miss fighting in you old apartment

Everything I know brings me back to us

Rafe usually felt nothing after hurting a girl. They never had any long lasting effect on him, but you did and he hated it. He hated how much control you had over him. He hated how he’d do anything for you, but he didn’t hate you for it. He couldn’t his heart belonged to you and it held no negative emotion towards you. He couldn’t stay away from you. And he didn’t want to.

Breaking dishes when you're disappointed

I don't wanna go, we've been here before

I still love you, I promise

But he had to. He had to let you go because he could see how much you were breaking and he was the cause of it. So he did. He let you go and never looked back. Not because he didn’t want you but because he couldn’t.

You were like a drug that he couldn’t stay away from. He was addicted to you in every sense of the word. He couldn’t give himself the freedom to still keep up with you and your socials because he’d reel you back in and that just wasn’t something he allowed himself to do.

Everywhere I go leads me back to you (Nothing happened in the way I wanted)

I don't wanna go, think I'll make it worse (Every corner of this house is haunted)

Everything I know brings me back to us (And I know you said that we're not talking)

I don't wanna go, we've been here before (But I miss you)

You sang over your backing vocals, thankful for them at this moment you weren’t sure how much longer you could sing before completely breaking.

Everywhere I go leads me back to you

I don’t wanna go think ill make it worse

Everything i know brings me back to us

I don’t wanna go we’ve been here before

Everywhere i go leads me back to you

The song ends and the stadium is silent, before it erupts into cheers. You look around in surprise. The crowd has never been that loud before and you almost forget about rafes gaze burning into you.

When the cheers die down you give a nervous laugh “that was… a lot right guys?” You said with a shaky voice, noticing multiple people in the crows was crying too. The crowd cheered ‘yeahs’ and you sigh “i know, uh anyway, thank you guys again for coming out to see me today. I love each and every one of you and until next time” you said, giving a bow. Walking off stage as the crowd cheered.

You went straight for your dressing room, not stopping for anyone in between. You couldn’t believe rafe had been here, and you broke down crying in front of him and thousands of people.

You paced around your room for minutes until you heard a knock on your door, you sighed moving to open it, seeing your manager who held a guilty look. “I’m sorry” he said, before stepping away.

Before you could even realize rafe was standing right in front of you. Eyes red and even more handsome than you remembered. His hair was buzzed , something you hadn’t noticed when he was standing in the crowd, but it suited him more than the middle part hairstyle couldn’t care to change when you were together. He was also noticeably bigger, more muscular.

Seeing him so up close was odd. You weren’t sure how you felt looking up into his reddened green eyes.

“Hey” he said cautiously.

“Hey” you replied, voice quiet and hoarse.

Neither of you said anything you just rushed into a hug. Holding each other like the other person might melt away in their hold.

“I miss you” you whispered tears flowing again

“I’m sorry” he apologized into your hair.