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chanelrolls · 2 months ago

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THE MOTH HOUSE | Zayne Li, Caleb Xia 🔞

synopsis. growing up with them was fun, until they turned into fully grown men.

pairing. zayne & caleb x reader

tags. afab!fem reader, slight dead dove, implied pseudocest, dubcon, minor age gap, mutual pining, cheesy romance, slowburn, tension, childhood trio, kissing at 16, eventual smut (but they are adults), oral (m!receiving), sandwich, 3some, nipple play, fingering, 18+

a/n. this is very plot-based so prepare a snack while at it! i didn't do enough proofreading so might be messy and typo-filled lol. but if you're into tension-focused fics, this one is so for you

wc. 13.2k

picture ©️. HOBI

when you were nine years old, you weren’t supposed to follow them that far into the woods.

zayne had told you to wait near the fence, but you never listened when he said stuff like that. and caleb? he didn’t even look back. he just shouted something about a butterfly and took off like his sneakers had wings, crashing through branches and disappearing into the trees.

so of course you went after them, because you were nine and bored. and maybe a little afraid they’d forget you existed if you didn’t keep up.

when you finally found them, caleb was crouched in front of this sad little shed that looked like it’d collapse if you sneezed too hard. the door was hanging off like a crooked jaw, and one window was so cloudy it looked like it had cataracts.

but inside?

there were moths. everywhere!

“woah,” caleb breathed, sticking his head through the door. “this is... this is epic!”

zayne rolled his eyes. “it’s dirty.”

“no, it’s mysterious,” caleb corrected, already halfway inside. “you gotta think bigger, man.”

you hung by the door, nose wrinkled and arms crossed. “are they gonna fly into my face?”

“only if you scream,”

zayne muttered something under his breath about bacteria and tetanus but followed you both in anyway, stepping carefully like the floor might give out beneath him. which it might’ve.

but for some reason, that little shed was perfect.

you spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning it with a broom caleb stole from the neighbor’s garage (without asking), and zayne found some flattened cardboard boxes to sit on. you claimed the back corner near the broken window and said it was your ‘study area’ even though you didn’t bring any books. caleb said it was for “planning missions.” while zayne said you all needed vaccinations.

caleb wanted to call it “fort destiny,” but you shot that down immediately, “too dramatic!”

“you’re dramatic,” he shot back.

zayne voted for “the shed.”

“boring,” caleb and you agreed in unison.

so it became the moth house. no one really agreed on it. it just stuck.

you went there every day that summer. you brought juice boxes and mismatched pillows, old comic books, and one time, caleb even dragged in a radio that only played static and one fuzzy country station. it was too hot most days, and everything smelled like dust and pine needles. but you didn’t care.

you were nine. and this was your kingdom.

sometimes caleb would fall asleep snoring on the crate while zayne read something about how moths get confused by moonlight. other times, you’d all lie flat on your backs and try to find shapes in the broken ceiling. caleb saw a dragon. zayne said that was ridiculous. then you said you saw a chicken.

zayne tried to pretend like he wasn’t smiling, but you caught it.

and once, just once, you scraped your hand on a nail when you tripped, and your lip started wobbling even though you swore you weren’t going to cry. caleb freaked out and offered you a chewed-up piece of gum, but zayne just quietly pulled out the tiny first aid kit he always carried like a mini grandpa.

he didn’t say anything while he cleaned it. but his hands were careful, and he gave you the only sticker from the band-aid box that wasn’t ugly.

later, when the sun started dipping low and the moths began fluttering again, soft and sleepy, you all sat in a row by the doorway.

“we’ll still hang out when we’re grown-ups, right?” you asked.

“depends,” zayne said.

“on what?”

“if you stop eating glue.”

caleb cackled so hard he almost fell off the step. you shoved zayne's shoulder and he actually laughed, a little. just a tiny puff of air through his nose.

but you all knew the answer was yes.

on a sunday, you were not expecting to get married that afternoon.

you didn’t even ask for this. you were just sitting cross-legged in the grass, braiding little clovers into a ring, when caleb plopped down beside you and said, all breathless, “i’m gonna be your groom.”

you blinked. “huh?”

“for the wedding,” he added, puffing out his chest like a proud pigeon. “we’re getting married under the swing set. it’s the law.”

“whose law?”

“mine,” caleb grinned handsomely, showing off a juice-stained gap in his teeth. “i found the tie first, and i already practiced saying 'i do' in the mirror like… ten times.”

zayne, who had been sitting nearby flipping through some dinosaur book, looked up over the top of it. “that’s not how it works,” he muttered, adjusting the rim of his round glasses.

caleb narrowed his eyes. “you weren’t even playing.”

“i am now,” zayne said calmly, standing up and brushing grass off his shorts. “and i’m pretty sure she deserves to choose her groom, not be told by a boy who still eats crayons.”

“that was first grade!” caleb snapped, standing up to glare into zayne at eye-level.

you looked between them, amused. “i didn’t say i was marrying anyone.”

caleb ignored you. “i bring snacks to share. that’s groom material.”

“i helped her with her math homework,” zayne said, folding his arms. “long division. actual suffering.”

“i built her a fort last week—”

“that collapsed on her.”

“but it was cool before that!”

“you didn’t even factor wind speed.”

“it was made of couch cushions, zayne!”

you sighed and pressed the clover ring to your forehead like a very tired queen. “okay, okay. we can just, maybe, pretend there’s two grooms?”

both boys fell silent.

“...that’s not how weddings work,” zayne flatly remarked.

“sounds like she’s choosing both of us,” caleb smirked.

“no. she’s not.”

“yes, she is.”

"whoever wins at tag gets to be the groom!" you exclaimed with a clover ring pinched between your fingers like a sacred treasure.

caleb didn’t even wait for a countdown. he yelped, “yes!” and tore across the grass, limbs flailing, sneakers barely clinging to his feet.

“no cheating, okay!” you called after him, kind of amused, and kind of exasperated.

he didn’t answer. he just kept running like a man with a mission and a full juice box in his system.

you turned to zayne, but he wasn’t even moving. instead, he had already sat back down on the grass beside you, legs crossed while pulling something small from the pocket of his hoodie.

you blinked at him. “...aren’t you gonna run?”

he looked up, shrugged. “i don’t wanna.”

“but, what about the wedding?”

“i’m already the groom,”

your mouth opened, then shut. “how do you figure?”

he held something out to you. a dandelion.

"here. this is a flower," he said, as if it wasn’t painfully obvious. "you need flowers for weddings."

you stared at him, a little speechless.

meanwhile...

caleb, halfway across the yard and pumping his arms like he was in the olympics, tripped dramatically over a rock. he landed with a shout and skidded in the grass, dirt all over his knees and elbows.

he groaned, sat up, looked around only to realize that zayne wasn’t running behind him. at all.

"...hey!" caleb barked like a dog, furious

and betrayed, "why aren’t you tagging me?!"

zayne didn’t look up. just dusted a bit of grass off your shoulder like the gentleman he totally believed he was. caleb stomped back, dirt-smudged and puffing. “this isn’t fair!”

zayne blinked at him. “you lost.”

“i wasn’t racing myself!”

“you kinda were.”

you tried not to giggle.

"i hate both of you," caleb muttered, sulking as he sat down beside you and crossed his arms.

you held up the clover ring between them, solemn. "do you still wanna get married or not?"

they both looked at each other. then at you.

"...can we take turns being the groom?" caleb mumbled.

zayne narrowed his eyes. "i'm not sharing."

you sighed. because ugh, being nine was already this exhausting.

when you turned twelve, it started with thunder, low and slow like a grumble from the sky’s stomach. your lights flickered once, then again, before surrendering completely. the living room sighed into darkness.

you were halfway through brushing your hair when the first knock came.

it turns out to be caleb, soaked through the sleeves, and holding a duffel bag in one hand with a half-squished bag of marshmallows in the other. “power’s out! mom said i could crash here. also i brought snacks. kinda.”

five minutes later, a second knock came. you could already predict that it would be zayne. and he shows up not wet at all. he had an umbrella, a change of clothes, and a battery-operated reading lamp tucked under his arm. “your house has the safest structural foundation. i did the math.”

and just like that, the bed in your room was claimed. caleb flung himself across the cushions like a starfish. “dibs! this whole bed is mine cus i got here first.”

“you’re dripping on the upholstery,” zayne muttered, already rearranging the floor cushions with the precision of a mini architect. “besides, i brought a lamp. and logic.”

“i brought vibes,” caleb snapped back.

the bed was definitely too small. it was meant for one, maybe two if they didn’t mind getting elbowed in the ribs. but three?ridiculous.

“my foot is literally on the floor,” caleb let out a groan, flopping dramatically onto his back, arm flung over his face like some kind of old-timey opera star. “i’m gonna get frostbite and die.”

“your foot is not on the floor,” zayne argued, already facing the wall, blanket pulled over his ear. “and scientifically speaking, that’s not even how frostbite works indoors.”

“okay, mr. dictionary. then explain why i’m freezing to death right now.”

“maybe because you won’t stop moving like a hyperactive penguin,” you sided with zayne, wedged miserably between the two of them, blanket riding up your legs, one sock missing. “also, who kicks in their sleep?!”

“not me,” caleb said.

“definitely you,” zayne and you answered at the same time. “you’re a danger to national sleep.”

caleb turned his face into the pillow to muffle a laugh. “you sound like a sleep robot.”

“you sound like a vacuum,” zayne mumbled, deadpan. “loud, and constantly in the way.”

you snorted, and caleb immediately elbowed you lightly. “hey, don’t take his side!”

“i’m not taking sides,” you shoved him back. “i’m just agreeing with facts.”

caleb gasped. “betrayed. in my own home. wait, this isn’t even my home. betrayal squared.”

zayne let out a tiny breath, maybe a laugh, and shifted. “if you two are done performing shakespeare, maybe we can actually sleep.”

“fine,” caleb muttered. “but if i fall off the bed and die in the night, i hope my ghost haunts you both.”

you reached out blindly and tugged the edge of the blanket over him again. “you won’t.”

“you promise?”

“yeah.”

it was quiet for a bit. just the sound of sheets rustling, of breathing starting to slow. then, caleb’s voice, soft and already sleepy: “…you’re not cold, right?”

zayne didn’t answer immediately. then, barely above a whisper: “not if you stop hogging the covers.”

you smiled into the dark. it took a while, but eventually, you all settled, limbs tangled, breathing steady, three messy little universes orbiting one too-small bed.

and even though someone would probably fall off in the middle of the night, for now… it was enough. your tiny, chaotic world, all tucked in under the same old quilt.

during the day of caleb's football game, you were there.

the sun was hot in that way that made your scalp itch. metal bleachers burned the backs of your thighs, and the little paper fan in your hand was doing next to nothing. still, you sat there, legs swinging, a half-eaten orange popsicle clutched in your palm with your eyes trained on the field.

caleb stood out immediately.

maybe it was the way his jersey stuck to him, number 12 plastered to his back in grass-stained white. or the way his hair, damp from warm-ups, curled slightly at the ends. his socks were mismatched again. always one red stripe, one blue. his coach gave up on him weeks ago.

but when he ran?

you forgot about everything else.

the way his body moved, loose and fast and sharp with energy, it made your heart do this weird thud thing in your chest. and then he grinned across the field, squinting into the bleachers like he was looking for someone.

you waved, stupidly. almost jumping off the bleachers with your bagpack bouncing behind your back.

then, he saw.

caleb’s smile widened. “found her,” he mouthed, before jogging back into formation.

you bit into your popsicle.

“so.” a voice beside you sounded, seemingly sounding like it belonged to somebody you know too well, his tone was flat and unimpressed.

you turned, nearly dropping your popsicle out of surprise.

zayne stood beside the bleachers, one strap of his backpack slung over one shoulder, a stack of thick books tucked against his chest. his button-down shirt was too neat for a saturday, and there was a pencil behind his ear like he forgot it was even there.

his hair, black and just slightly too long, was falling into his eyes again. he didn't fix it this time, like he was more worried about something in particular.

“...zayne?”

he looked straight at you, not unkind, just... unreadable. he always looked like he was solving a problem in his head. “i thought,” he glanced down, then quietly, “you were coming to the science fair.”

your stomach dropped a little. “i- i wanted to. but caleb’s game... he, um, he said he’d be really upset if i missed this one, and—”

“i see.” he shifted, averting his gaze to the game at the bottom. “it’s not a big deal.”

you winced. “zayne, i'm sorry...”

he didn’t answer. instead, he climbed up the bleachers, sat beside you, with the books stacked neatly on his lap. his shoulder barely brushed yours.

you sat in silence for a moment, before the roar of the crowd reverbated throughout the vicinity. the whistle blew, caleb’s voice rang across the field, laughing, cheering.

“he’s good,”

you nodded, quietly. “yeah.”

“i built a robot that follows voice commands back at the science fair,” he said a second later, eyes still on the game. “it waved when i told it to.”

your head whipped to look at him, and he didn’t meet your gaze. but his lips quirked, just barely. “you’re the only one it listened to, though.”

you tried to keep your eyes on the game. you really did.

but zayne was talking, and while he talked, he had this way of pulling you in like you were inside the blueprint of his brain. he pointed at his sketchbook now, flipping past careful diagrams and scribbled notes

“and then here,” he murmured, “i rigged the infrared sensor to- wait, no, see this?” you leaned closer, feeling how his shoulder was warm against yours. “that’s where it malfunctioned,” he added, tapping the corner of the paper with the side of his finger. “but i fixed it. i rerouted the code.”

you smiled. “you’re really smart, you know that?”

he looked at you then. really looked.

your breath caught, not because it was romantic, not exactly. but because zayne, your zayne, looked like someone who’d outgrown his baby face without telling you. his lashes were darker than you remembered.

“i’m just trying stuff,” he pursed his lips together, blinking slowly, “doesn’t mean it’s good.”

you shook your head. “it is!”

on the field, you weren't aware that caleb had scored again. the crowd burst into cheers while you didn’t. you didn’t even look.

caleb’s head turned toward the bleachers, expecting your face, expecting your grin, your thumbs-up, the kind of cheer he only cared about when it came from you. but instead... you were hunched beside zayne, whispering and smiling. like he wasn’t even there.

his stomach twisted.

he jogged back, tossing the ball between his hands with a bit more force now. his eyes didn’t leave the two of you.

caleb narrowed his eyes when he catches you giggling at something zayne said, leaning in closer to hear him better through the cheers.

and then he hurled the ball too far, too high, directly toward the bleachers.

right at zayne.

it landed with a loud thunk against the metal rail, bouncing down and nearly smacking zayne in the knee. “oops!” caleb called, cupping his hands around his mouth. “sorry!”

you both turned, startled. you looked down at the field, at caleb. and he was grinning too wide that it reached his eyes.

“guess i missed,” he added, voice bright and sharp like a joke with teeth.

sixteen was strange. not in a dramatic, movie-kind-of-way, but strange in the small, quiet shifts. like how caleb didn’t always wait at your locker anymore,

or how zayne stopped answering texts right away because he was “studying,”

even though you knew it probably meant he was tired or stressed. or avoiding something he couldn’t name.

you were still a trio, sure. but the threads were looser now. like someone had tugged too hard at one corner, and no one knew how to weave it back.

zayne had books under his arm constantly, a pencil always behind his ear. he talked about scholarships and internships and universities you hadn’t even heard of yet.

sometimes he forgot to look up when you waved. though sometimes he didn’t forget, he just pretended to.

caleb had his team. he walked different now, with a swagger he never used to have, like he’d grown into himself a little too fast. he laughed louder in hallways you weren’t standing in. sometimes you’d pass him and he’d smell like sweat and cologne and someone else’s perfume.

and you... you were trying not to be too obvious. not to sit too close. not to ask too much. because at sixteen, people started assuming things. and you didn’t want to mess anything up.

not with zayne, who still offered his umbrella when it rained. not with caleb, who still flicked your forehead when you zoned out too long.

you were careful now, too careful.

because you still saw them as your brothers. just caleb and zayne. nothing more. nothing less.

but sometimes, in the way they looked at you in hallways and crowds, you started to wonder if they still saw you the same way.

the rain had been falling since last period, but you didn’t realize how hard until you were already halfway to the gate with no umbrella and nowhere to run. now you were tucked under a narrow shed behind the gym, cold water dripping from your elbows, while your uniform clung to places you didn’t want it to.

you wrapped your arms around yourself. not from the chill, really. but from how aware you were of how your soaked shirt left nothing to the imagination. your skirt wasn’t doing much better even. if someone saw you right now…

“you shouldn’t be standing out like that.”

you jumped at the voice, breath catching in your throat.

zayne stood just a few steps away. he didn’t look like he’d run through the rain. he looked perfectly composed, and his umbrella hovered neatly above him, barely a drop on his shoulders. he wore his uniform right, as always.

he looked at you, and his gaze slipped downward to your chest, your skirt, your trembling thighs... then it snapped back up like he hadn’t meant to. but you saw it, and he knew you saw it.

you tried not to shift under his stare. “i didn’t plan to... get stuck.”

“obviously.”

he hesitated, then stepped under the shed, offering the umbrella out to you. his fingers brushed yours when you took it, lingering a bit too long. “i’ll walk you home.”

“it's alright, you don’t have to—”

“i want to.” he said it too fast, and when you looked at him, you couldn't quite decipher the expression he wore on his face, but you could see how his ears grew pink.

the umbrella barely covered both of you, so he stood close, closer than before. shoulder to shoulder, arm to arm. every time he adjusted the angle to cover more of you, his fingers brushed yours.

your shirt was soaked through and completely transparent that you didn’t even need a mirror to know. zayne definitely didn’t mention it, but he wasn’t breathing the same way either. a little too shallow. his jaw clenched every time you moved, like he was trying not to look again.

and maybe that made it worse. that he was trying.

when a breeze blew and your skirt shifted, his hand shot out to catch the umbrella. that’s what it looked like. but it brushed your lower back on the way. and then he didn’t move it right away.

“sorry,” he muttered, voice lower.

you didn’t answer.

your house appeared too soon. zayne stepped up onto the porch with you, water dripping off the umbrella. he still didn’t say anything about the way your shirt clung to your chest, or how your thighs were practically visible through the skirt.

he just glanced once more, and then looked away, harder this time. “are you okay?” he asked. it came out rougher than he probably meant it to.

“yeah. thanks for walking with me.”

his jaw shifted again. “mhm, of course.”

you waited, expecting him to turn back down the path. but he didn’t, not right away.

so you offered softly, “do you wanna come in?”

his eyes lifted to yours. “i probably shouldn’t,”

the rain hadn’t let up.

zayne sat alone on the couch, damp blazer folded neatly beside him, with his hair still a little wet and curling at the ends. the television was on, but low. he wasn’t watching it, instead he was listening to the faint shuffle of your footsteps upstairs, the creak of your door, the sound of drawers opening and closing.

he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped so tightly his knuckles were white. it wasn’t cold, but he felt restless. like his body didn’t quite know where to place itself in your house anymore.

and when you came downstairs again, changed into a loose shirt that hung too soft on your frame, shorts that showed just a little too much skin, he almost forgot to breathe again.

“are you feeling alright now?” you asked, drying your hair with a towel, casual like nothing had changed.

zayne cleared his throat, “what? mm. yes, i’m fine.”

you flopped beside him, your thigh brushing his before tossing the towel on the armrest. “it’s boring,” you said, settling back, curling one leg beneath you. “let’s just talk or something.”

talk.

zayne didn’t trust his voice for a second.

he turned to look at you, and that was a mistake, because you looked so relaxed. too relaxed. and your shirt had slid a little off one shoulder, exposing skin he absolutely should not be looking at.

his gaze dropped, snapped back up, then his adam's apple bobbed up to down. “sure,” he managed, voice strained.

you smiled. and that made it worse. “why’re you so stiff?”

“i’m not stiff.”

“you’re literally sitting like you’re being held hostage.”

“i’m—” he laughed, short and tense. “i’m just trying to be respectful.”

you tilted your head. “respectful?”

he cleared his throat again and looked away. “nevermind.”

you pulled your knees up onto the couch, wrapping your arms around them as you watched zayne pretend to be interested in the tv. the air was still damp from the rain. he was sitting a cushion away, but it felt like a mile, or an inch. you couldn’t tell.

“you’re acting weird, zayne.”

zayne didn’t answer at first. his jaw clenched a little, eyes flicking to the tv and then, briefly, to your legs curled up beside him. “it's important to be cautious.”

“cautious?”

he nodded, still not looking at you.

you shifted slightly. “since when did that start being a thing between us?”

he finally turned, and you wished he hadn’t, because his eyes were so focused that it made your stomach twist in some unfamiliar way. “since now.”

you wet your lips, heart thudding. “what… what does that mean?”

he leaned back just a little, exhaling like he was debating with himself. then he reached out, slow, fingers brushing lightly over your cheek. “when we were kids,” he murmured, “i could touch you like this.”

his fingers drifted down to your shoulder, and your skin prickled under the contact. you hated how aware you suddenly were of everything. how close he was, how warm his hand felt on your skin.

“or here,” he voice dropped to a whisper, letting his hand pause on your arm.

his gaze dropped to your thighs, and you could almost combust from the amount of tension he's giving you. his fingers gently grazed your knee, then up to where your shorts ended. “and even here.”

your breath hitched. you didn’t mean for it to, but it did. his hand lingered a second too long, while you couldn’t look away from him.

then he pulled away, sharply. as if he had already decided for the moment to snap. “but now that i’m a teenager,” he paused. “it’s different.”

your chest rose and fell a little faster than it should’ve. “…different doesn’t always mean bad,” you suggested, voice quieter than before. you didn't know if that was an offer hidden in innocence, you hadn't meant it that way. but if zayne would accept it, you wouldn't complain either.

—

caleb [6:12pm]: practice just ended. you free? swing by. door’s open.

you stared at it for a moment longer than necessary, thumb hovering above the screen. the message was just casual, as if he hadn’t just been giving you space for the last few weeks. as if the three of you hadn’t started orbiting different stars lately.

you typed back. it's been a while, after all.

you [6:14pm]: yeah. omw.

the dorm building was already shadowed by the time you arrived. it was quieter now. dinner hour, probably. the air still smelled faintly of liniment and detergent, like it always did when you passed by the practice wing. you made your way up the stairs, familiar enough to not get lost but still unsure why your heart was beating faster with every step.

you didn’t knock. you only pushed the door gently, peeking in. “caleb?”

no answer.

you stepped in anyway, and paused. because the view was rather... something. he had his back to you, shirtless.

his shoulders were broad, not the lanky mess they used to be in middle school. they were much more... defined now. his back glistened with leftover sweat, and there were jagged, smudged bruises, patches of violet and red, splayed across his shoulder blades like careless brushstrokes.

he was digging through his gym bag, towel slung around his neck, muttering something under his breath about his socks.

you froze.

and maybe you should’ve said something, or made a sound, but your voice caught somewhere in your chest. not out of shock, not even embarrassment. it was just… you didn’t expect him to look like that.

not looking like your childhood best friend.

then he turned, eyes locking with yours. and for a split second, both of you just stared at each other. “damn, you’re fast.”

“you’re shirtless!”

“yeah?” he tossed the towel onto the bed like it meant nothing. “i live here.”

you stepped in, closing the door behind you. “you’re also… bruised.”

“yeah,” he muttered, shrugging one shoulder with a wince. “scrimmage got rough. elbows, knees, pride. everything took a hit.”

he grinned like it was fine, like it didn’t hurt at all. but still, you stepped closer in an attempt to check them out. “does it still sting?”

he tilted his head, staring down at you. only then you got to realize the height difference both of you had, he was practically towering over you already. “you gonna kiss it better?”

you rolled your eyes. “you’re insufferable as always.”

“but you came,” he shot back, half-sitting on the bed. “so maybe i’m still charming enough.”

sigh.

"do you have any ointment?" you asked softly, eyes scanning the mottled bruises on his back. caleb paused, then nodded toward the drawer by his bed.

you then moved to get it. the dorm room felt smaller now, more tender. maybe it was the fact that he hadn’t put a shirt on, or maybe it was the fact that neither of you had really spoken like this in weeks.

you returned and sat behind him so you could have better access to his back. “you sure 'bout this?” you asked, uncapping the ointment. “it might sting.”

he finally glanced back, eyes lidded, a breath of a smirk on his lips. “only if you’re rough.”

you snorted and dipped your fingers into the ointment. “what a baby.”

“only for you.”

you hesitated, caught off guard by his sudden flirting. he had always been like this ever since you were nine, and yet you couldn't help but recall what zayne had told you the other day. about how now that you're teenagers, the things that you used to normalize back in childhood feel different. then, you touched the first bruise, right below his shoulder blade. he hissed lightly in response.

“sorry,” you murmured.

he only shook his head. “nah, keep going.”

so you did. slow, gentle, spreading the cool gel across angry purples and dusky reds. your fingertips followed the slope of his back, avoiding the worse scrapes. it was quiet for a moment, until you spoke. “zayne said you bailed on cooking last night.”

caleb exhaled through his nose. “i didn’t bail. practice ran long and coach kept us past curfew.”

“you could’ve at least texted.”

“what, and ruin your alone time with him?”

you glanced at him. “...you sound bitter.”

“do i?” he didn’t say anything else. you kept your hand still against his back, watching his posture. the muscles under your fingers had tensed slightly. “you two talk a lot lately,” he added after a pause.

“we’re just catching up.”

“right.”

you moved to the next bruise. this one was higher, closer to his spine. he inhaled a little when your fingers touched the spot, and for a moment, you didn’t say anything either.

then you asked, “why don't you hang out like before anymore?”

“...we do.”

“doesn't seem like it.”

you didn’t mean to freeze.

but caleb turning around to face you with a half-grin, all mischief, kind of knocked the air out of you. the cut that he showed wasn’t deep, just a thin angry line over his chest, but he acted like it was life-threatening.

“hey,” he gestured, cocking his head. “wanna earn your nurse badge today?”

“you’re ridiculous,” your fingers hovered over the ointment tube, heart pounding like you were diffusing a bomb instead of treating a scrape.

“you’re taking forever,” he teased.

“maybe i should just leave it to get infected.”

“i dare you.”

you rolled your eyes and finally pressed the cream to his skin. his chest was warm under your touch, taut with muscle but still faintly bruised. he didn’t flinch, neither did he look away.

you, on the other hand, couldn’t bring yourself to meet his eyes.

until you did.

he was staring. not in a teasing way now, but in that way that made your whole brain short-circuit. he looked at you like he could see something you weren’t even sure you were showing.

then, without warning, he caught your wrist in his hand.

“you’re already sixteen, right pipsqueak?” he suddenly asks, voice dropping to an octave. “it’s impossible you don’t got a crush yet.”

you blinked up at him. he was close, close enough that you could count the lashes of his eyes, close enough to smell the faint citrus of his body wash. he smirked, just a little. “do you?”

your heart was doing that annoying thing again, thudding against your ribs like it was trying to make a break for it. his hand was still lightly around your wrist, and your mouth felt dry.

“i-i don’t like anyone,” you finally blurted, the words tumbling out too fast and defensive.

caleb’s brows rose, stretching his grin. “ohhh?” he leaned in slightly, tilting his head like he was trying to read something written on your face. “you sure about that?”

you scowled, heat crawling up your neck. “yes.”

“positive?”

“yes.”

he couldn't keep a straight face anymore as he gave out a knowing laugh and leaned back, finally releasing your wrist. “alright, alright. calm down, pips. i believe you.”

you rolled your eyes, pressing the ointment lid back on like it personally offended you.

but then caleb stood up with a stretch, ruffling his already-messy hair. “anyway,” he said, tone suddenly lighter, like that weird moment didn’t just happen. “how ‘bout we crash zayne’s place tonight? for dinner or something.”

“really?”

“like old times.” he glanced at you, shrugging a shoulder. “we haven’t done that in a while, right? bet he’s still hoarding those weird triangle sandwiches he thinks are gourmet.”

you let out a small laugh despite the aftertaste of your nerves. “you just want free food.”

“damn right i do,” he grinned. “but also… maybe i kinda miss the trio. just a little.”

you nodded slowly. “yeah. me too.”

caleb grabbed his hoodie from the desk chair and tossed it over his shoulder. “cool. c’mon then. let’s go bother the genius.”

—

the table was already set when you arrived, neatly arranged dishes with zayne’s unmistakable touch. curry rice, roasted vegetables, those weird triangle sandwiches caleb joked about, and even your favorite juice poured into mismatched cups.

zayne was wearing his usual cardigan and pajama pants, sleeves pushed up, hair a bit messy from cooking, but still frustratingly put-together. “you’re late,” he said with a straight face as you walked in, but there was a flicker of a smile at the corner of his mouth.

caleb strolled in behind you, tossing his bag on the floor. “yeah, yeah, blame basketball. you should be glad we even showed up, chef.”

zayne scoffed, already sitting down. “if i knew you were coming, i would’ve made extra protein powder stew.”

you snorted. “gross.”

“don’t give him ideas,” caleb replied as he plopped down across from zayne, stealing a piece of bread. “so, did you cook all this just to show off or something?”

zayne didn’t look at him. “i cooked because she always liked this combo,” said he, eyes flicking to you instead.

that made you blink, and caleb paused mid-chew.

“…right,” caleb muttered, clearing his throat. “well, i bet she liked my game-winning shot yesterday too. y’know, if she even saw it.”

zayne raised an eyebrow. “you mean the one you landed after ignoring your coach’s strategy and almost spraining your ankle?”

“oh, so you were watching?” caleb grinned, teeth showing. “that’s cute.”

you sat down slowly between them, feeling the air shift. what was supposed to be friendly banter had the undertone of something else now. there were too many sideway glances, too many moments when they were both speaking to each other, but their attention kept bouncing to you.

zayne passed you a plate. “are you okay? you look flushed.”

you nodded quickly. “just hungry.”

caleb leaned on his elbow. “you always get red when you're caught in the middle. c’mon, say it, who’s the better cook?”

you choked on your juice.

zayne didn’t smile. “don’t pressure her.”

“oh?” caleb leaned back, stretching, the hem of his shirt lifting just slightly. “scared of the answer?”

zayne finally looked at him with squinted eyes. “not really. but some of us don’t need validation every second.”

you reached for the rice, trying to drown yourself in the meal. both of them had grown taller, deeper voices with sharper gazes. and suddenly, this wasn’t just dinner anymore.

you missed when things were simple.

"you know, if we’re rating effort," caleb added, "mine would’ve been a five-star takeout. but nooo, zayne had to go full iron chef."

“that’s because i actually care if our internal organs make it past tonight.”

“please,” caleb rolled his eyes, “you burned toast until you were twelve.”

“i was experimenting,”

you took a bite of the stir-fry, trying not to laugh. “it’s good. really.”

that was all it took. "she said my dish was good," zayne turned with the faintest smirk.

“your dish?” caleb leaned forward on the table. “who do you think helped slice those vegetables? oh, right, me. with these very hands,” he held up his fingers like they were divine.

“you almost sliced your thumb.”

“but i didn’t.”

zayne sighed. “if we’re going there, who carried your groceries when your arms were sore from practice?”

caleb scoffed, “who ran across campus with your laptop when you forgot it before a big test?”

“who fixed your wi-fi?”

“who held your hair back when you puked in eighth grade?”

"who helped you rehearse that weird

speech for student council in ninth?"

they were both leaning closer across the table now, eyes locked together as their egos continuously inflated by the second. you watched like a spectator at the world’s dumbest showdown, until their focus now shifted onto you, now throwing the ball at your court.

“who’s the better listener?”

“who’s more supportive?”

“who makes you laugh more?”

“who’s more dependable?”

and then...

“who’s the better kisser?”

the silence was instant.

zayne blinked.

caleb's eyes widened.

your fork clattered onto the plate.

“…i haven’t kissed either of you,” you blurted, eyes darting between them.

so, caleb leaned back, suddenly fascinated by the ceiling. while zayne stared at his glass of water like it held the secrets of the universe.

for a moment, you couldn't speak. you could only keep your eyes glued on the empty plate before you, as if counting the leftover crumbs grazed along the surface. you tightened your grip around your spoon, biting your lower lip. your heart's thudding again, cause you have always pushed that thought away.

what thought? even now, you still did.

the thought of recognizing that there might be something beyond the threads of your sibling relationship. even though they were really just your childhood bestfriends, you were used to seeing them as your brothers. and now... the thought of kissing them was brought to the table.

you gulped, trying to shift your gaze anywhere, but instead landing on caleb, who's been staring at you for quite some time already. when your eyes met, he instantly glances down.

"how old are you now, [name]?" suddenly, you heard zayne speak from the other side. you look up at him, locking eyes with his emerald ones.

it took you a while to answer, trying to process the odd question. you could also feel caleb's eyes on you too, as if anticipating as well. "sixteen," you finally say, but you sounded so serious you didn't like it. "you attend my birthday every day, i mean, every year. how could you not know?"

your attempt at making the situation lighthearted was futile, as both boys remained expressionless. zayne spoke again, "you're turning seventeen next month."

you and caleb watched him in curiosity, trying to figure out the intent behind his words. he continued, "your age seems appropriate enough for... kissing. so, who's the best kisser, you say?" zayne finally averts his gaze away from you to focus on caleb.

caleb eyes him back, his two fingers resting on his philtrum. you noticed his ears turning red, as both men stared at each other in contemplative silence, as if they were telepathically sending messages.

and you were just there, clueless. you stand up, the chair making a loud sound against the floor. "i'll go- wash the dishes."

zayne barely flinched at the sound of the chair scraping, but his voice came quick, like it had been waiting. “leave it. i’ll do it later.”

you blinked, halfway turned toward the sink. “but—”

“sit down, girl.” caleb interrupted, softer than usual. he was still leaning back, hand now dangling over the edge of his chair, knuckles tapping lightly against the wood. his eyes flicked to yours and held them there. “it’s not like we’re gonna bite.”

you stared between them, and your fingers twitched against your thigh, but you sat back down, carefully. as if lowering yourself into a dream you weren’t sure you wanted to have.

“sorry,” you said, mostly to break the tension. “that was weird.”

“no,” zayne replied, sharp but low. “it’s not weird. it’s…” he trailed off, sighing through his nose, then leaning his arms onto the table. “you were the one who always said things would change. remember?”

caleb scoffed. “she was also the one who said she’d never date either of us ‘cause we were like… family.”

you looked at him, startled by the precision of the memory. his lips quirked, but there was no real smile behind it.

“you were eleven,” zayne muttered, almost to himself. “and we were idiots.”

“still are,” caleb added, shrugging.

zayne looked at him. caleb looked back.

again, that quiet stare-off. and again, your pulse picked up.

your throat felt dry. “you guys…” your voice faltered. “you’re not actually expecting me to answer that question, right? about the kiss?”

silence.

then, zayne leaned in slightly, “you don’t have to answer.” his eyes flicked to your lips. “but if you ever wonder… it’s not something we’d ever take lightly.”

caleb sat forward now too, “not a joke, pipsqueak. not this one.”

you looked down at your lap, hands clenched. “...i do wonder.” you weren’t even sure why you said it. maybe it was the silence. maybe it was the way they were both looking at you like you were something they couldn’t quite hold yet. maybe it was the way your heart had been thudding in your ears for minutes now, demanding some kind of release.

“you wonder,” caleb echoed, and his voice dropped. “about me? or him?”

"caleb." zayne warned.

"what?"

“…i don’t know,” you muttered. “both of you, i guess.”

the air fractured again. and this time, it stayed silent long enough that you had to look up. caleb’s brows were raised, lips parted like he hadn’t expected honesty. zayne’s mouth was pressed into a thin line, but his ears were pink.

caleb's voice cut through the stillness like a blade. “you can get your answer right now.”

your breath hitched. you looked at him, eyes wide, heart ricocheting off your ribs. "that's not- i didn't mean-"

“you sure?” caleb interrupted, a hint of seriousness blending in with his usual mischief. "because if you really wanna know, i'm not gonna pretend i haven’t thought about it too.”

you couldn’t look away. caleb was still there, waiting, giving you an out, but not backing down either.

he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and his voice dropped even lower. “you’re sixteen, pipsqueak. you feel things. and we’re not kids anymore. maybe it’s okay to stop pretending we are.”

zayne’s footsteps were quiet but firm as he stood up to gather the plates, standing right behind your chair. “or maybe,” he said slowly, “we’re not going to pressure her into anything just because we’re feeling bold tonight.”

“i’m not pressuring,” caleb replied. “i’m offering. there’s a difference.”

these weren't the same boys that you chased frogs with back in your childhood summer.

the words left your lips before you could even think them through. "then... i'll take that offer right now." you couldn't take it back now. you couldn't even back out of it.

"you sure about that?" caleb's voice was a little hushed, as if he didn’t want to push too hard. you could feel zayne's presence radiating behind you too.

"yeah," you whispered, your voice trembling ever so slightly, but there was a sense of resolution in it. "i think i am."

the room grew even quieter, only the sound of your own breath and the slight shift of the chairs beneath you breaking the stillness.

caleb didn’t speak at first. he simply stared at you, like he was waiting for you to change your mind. but you didn’t. he let out a low breath, a small smile playing on his lips. “alright then, pipsqueak. you know what you're getting into?” he pulls the legs of your chair closer.

before either of them could say anything else, you broke the moment by standing up abruptly, hands brushing your clothes nervously. "well, i—"

"hey, no running away." caleb’s voice was playful, but there was something darker beneath it, a promise you weren’t sure you were ready to face.

zayne’s hand landed gently on your shoulder, guiding you back into your seat. his touch was reassuring but left a warmth that lingered, a contrast to the uncertainty that was swirling inside you. “don’t act like you’re going anywhere. you started this.”

right, yeah, you did start this somehow. you also would be lying if you said you weren't curious of how far would this go if you explored just a little further.

you glanced at caleb, but his eyes weren't on you. instead, they were on zayne. he was giving him a look that you couldn't decipher, but you could tell it was one that held an intent beneath.

slowly, you turn your head to look up at zayne still standing behind your chair. he looks down at you, but he doesn't speak. and then, you feel fingers grazing your jawline. and you're pretty sure it's not zayne's.

the grip on your jawline gets more forceful, and before you could look at the one who it belonged to, you feel a pair of lips press on yours. a yelp got stuck in your throat, and your hands instinctively find their way onto caleb's shoulders.

was he a good kisser? you couldn't tell. you didn't have experience anyway. caleb was only pressing his lips deeper, sometimes using his tongue, you weren't sure if it's right, but you were sure about the effect it had on you.

and caleb? he had his eyes shut tight, breathing desperately like he'd been waiting for this to happen. cupping your face tenderly because you've been the only girl in his mind, the only girl his body had been aching to have.

he pulled away, not because he's had enough, but because he was afraid that he might touch you somewhere else if he kept on going. his eyes flickered to your body, before going back into your eyes. for a second, you saw something raw pass through his façade, something vulnerable.

before you could even make it out, another pair of lips were already on yours again. from zayne's position, he bent over to give you a pick, pulling away to check on your expression, and when he saw the way you stared into his eyes, he dives in again.

caleb watched, his eyes followed the way your lips tried to keep up with zayne's pace. then, he interrupts, "you're enjoying it a bit too much." which pulled you and zayne both out of the trance.

your lips parted as you slowly leaned back, breath shallow, heartbeat loud in your ears. it was like time stalled. there was no ceiling fan, no ticking clock, no leftover dinner scent. just the phantom of both their lips against yours.

you didn’t know what you expected. fireworks? a spark? maybe clarity?

instead, it was a storm. a tangled rush of confusion and heat, of everything that shouldn’t be real suddenly becoming too real.

"so...?" zayne spoke, “was that enough for a verdict?”

you swallowed. “i…”

you didn’t know what to say.

because how could you weigh something like that? how could you explain the butterflies and the guilt, the thrill and the ache? how could you admit that for the first time, you weren’t sure if you were still just childhood friends anymore?

and ever since that night, something cracked between the three of you.

you didn’t talk about the kiss. no one did.

but you felt it in the way caleb stopped sending random memes to your inbox, in the way zayne no longer waited for you by your classroom door after school. the group chats fell quiet. the little traditions, the teasing, the banter, the familiarity. it all faded into something strained and tiptoed around.

at first, you told yourself it was just a phase. that maybe everyone was busy, that things would snap back eventually. but the silence dragged on.

one night, you opened your messages to see two unread texts. one from caleb. one from zayne. both were apology messages from the kiss that happened between the three of you. you read them both in the dim glow of your bedroom, but you didn’t reply. not because you didn’t want to, but because you didn’t know how.

you started to notice it in the small things first. the way caleb would be walking down the hall with his teammates and suddenly glance the other way when he saw you approaching. the way zayne, who used to brush his shoulder against yours in crowded corridors just for the excuse to say something dumb under his breath, now passed by like you were a stranger in a crowd.

they didn’t talk to you. they didn’t even look at you.

at first, you tried not to let it bother you. maybe they were just giving you space. maybe they were waiting for you to say something first. but then the days stretched on. and the silence felt less like patience and more like avoidance.

and it stung. more than you wanted to admit. because they were the ones who crossed the line. they were the ones who leaned in first, who kissed you, who said things with their eyes they couldn’t take back. so why were you the one left behind?

you were twenty-one now.

a different kind of grown-up, one with a job to keep, bills to pay, and a life that had settled into its own rhythm. it wasn’t the one you imagined back when you were sixteen, wide-eyed and fumbling through emotions too big for your chest. but it was stable and manageable.

still, in quiet moments, in the pause between your third sip of coffee and your laptop screen flickering awake, they crossed your mind.

caleb and zayne.

they’d both gone abroad. scholarships, dreams, ambitions you always knew were bigger than the small town you all came from.you weren’t surprised. they were always meant for more.

sometimes, you’d get a text. zayne asking if your mom’s garden was still alive, or caleb forwarding a photo of an old arcade machine you all used to fight over.

but it was always brief and distant. like you were all just family friends now, tethered only by history.

you had tried to date other people, and though some were sweet, others were exciting, none of them ever made you feel the way you did at seventeen, sitting between two boys who once made you believe the world could burn just from how close they stood to you.

no one ever matched the heat of caleb’s teasing gaze or the weight of zayne’s quiet stares.

no one ever made your heart stutter the way it did when they asked who’s the better kisser? as if the question wasn’t going to ruin you all.

and maybe that’s why you were still alone now. not because you couldn’t love, but because you knew what it felt like to be loved too much, too young, and all at once.

you wondered if they ever thought about it too. about you. about what the three of you were before the silence set in.

you were slicing carrots when your mother told you, half-casually, like it was nothing,

"zayne and caleb are flying home tomorrow. their families are throwing a welcome party."

you blinked, the knife pausing mid-air.

"they're… coming back?"

"mm-hm," she said, too focused on kneading dough to notice the way your breath hitched. "i already told them you'd cook something for the welcome table. they’re expecting your lasagna. and maybe that buttered chicken too. you know, your usual."

your usual. the one you used to cook for them.

you didn’t argue. instead, you found yourself in the kitchen the next day, apron on, ingredients lined up like a ritual. your hands moved on instinct, muscle memory from years of doing this for them. back when dinners were chaotic and filled with dumb jokes, competitive card games, and stolen glances over the rim of your glass.

you stirred the sauce and kept your focus low, trying not to think about it. trying not to count how long it had been since you saw their faces in person. how long since zayne last ruffled your hair like he used to, or caleb leaned over too close, grinning like he knew what you were thinking.

then the front door creaked open.

and you listened to the way laughter spilled in, the way the families greeted in unison to welcome them back. and you hear caleb's laughter, which made you stop on your tracks. it was much more manly now.

from the kitchen, you stayed half-hidden behind the archway. wooden spoon in hand, apron dusted with flour and sauce. you were supposed to be checking the oven, maybe chopping the rest of the bell peppers, but instead you stood frozen in place, eyes locked on the scene unfolding in the living room.

caleb was laughing, his voice louder than the rest, ruffling zayne’s little brother’s hair like he never left, then turning to dab up with one of the uncles who slapped his back in greeting. his presence was loud and unmistakably him. maybe it was the colonel uniform hugging his frame, the silver necklace glinting against his chest, the way he carried himself with that trained, effortless authority. god, he looked good.

your gaze shifted.

zayne was across the room, kneeling beside your grandmother’s seat, speaking with her in that quiet, earnest tone that made people naturally lean closer. his white coat was unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up just slightly, and even from where you stood, you could tell that he’d grown into his face. sharper jaw, broader shoulders. handsome in a way that made your heart fumble a little too hard in your chest.

and then, his eyes lifted, before finding you.

you quickly looked away, busying yourself with the spoon in your hand, stirring nothing in a pot that didn’t even need it.

because you couldn’t trust your face to not show how you were suddenly burning.

after a few more minutes of pretending not to notice them and pretending even harder not to feel anything, you set down the final dish. a hearty beef stew still steaming from the pot. wiping your hands on your apron, you called out, “alright, last dish is ready!”

the room erupted in cheers, your aunts already passing out utensils and your cousins hollering your name like you were some celebrity chef. you smiled sheepishly, bowing a little as people complimented the spread. you took your usual seat beside your mom, grateful for the buffer of familiar comfort. but just as you picked up your fork, your mom stood to help grandma to the buffet.

before you could blink, caleb slid into the now-empty seat beside you.

and then zayne, wordless and quiet as ever, took the one on the other side.

you froze, eyes locked on your plate, heart thudding at the proximity of two very specific colognes, both achingly familiar.

for a moment, none of you said anything.

so, just for politeness, and maybe survival, you cleared your throat and forced a small smile. “…hey, you two.” you didn’t dare look at them directly, not yet.

but you heard the shift in caleb’s posture, the way his voice dipped low in that teasing lilt. “hey, pipsqueak.”

and zayne, ever so composed, “it’s been a while.”

yeah. it really, really has.

your fork paused mid-air when one of your aunts leaned forward, glass of wine in hand, “so, caleb. zayne. any girlfriends yet?”

you could’ve sworn the air thinned.

caleb chuckled, low and smooth, leaning back with one arm draped lazily over his chair. “nah. no one’s been able to handle me long-term.” he winked, and the table erupted in laughter. you could feel your shoulders stiffen.

zayne, gave a polite smile and shook his head. “i’ve been too focused on med school to even think about dating.”

“come on,” another aunt chimed in. “not even one? you boys are too good-looking to still be single.”

you didn’t mean to look, but your eyes flicked between them. caleb's smirk was still present, but his gaze, barely, shifted toward you. zayne remained calm, though you caught the way his thumb tapped anxiously against his water glass.

they didn’t answer further. and yet somehow, the silence that followed was louder than the laughter before it.

you were halfway through slicing a piece of roast when caleb, ever the instigator, tilted his head in your direction with a sly grin. “actually,” he said, voice loud enough to slice through the other conversations, “has anyone asked her if she’s got a boyfriend yet?”

you froze, your fork hovering awkwardly in the air. all eyes turned toward you, some playful, some genuinely curious. you forced a smile, trying not to glance at your mom’s reaction or the sparkle of amusement in caleb’s eyes.

“what?” you tried to play dumb, a breathy laugh escaping you. “no one asked.”

“then let me be the first,” he said, folding his arms as he leaned in with mock sincerity. “so? got anyone these days, pipsqueak?”

your throat went dry. you didn’t want to look, but you felt zayne’s gaze like a weight. when you finally dared to glance his way, his brows were relaxed, but he was a bit too focused on you, in an expectant way.

“no,” you answered softly, clearing your throat. “no one serious.”

caleb raised an eyebrow. “so there was someone not serious, huh?”

“guys—” you laughed awkwardly, ducking your head. “can we not?”

you slipped away from the noise the moment no one was looking, carrying the weight of too many glances and questions that clung to you like static. your mom had insisted on washing the dishes herself, brushing you off with a soft smile and a quick, “go rest, you’ve done enough.” so you did.

you took the stairs slowly, the sounds of laughter and familiar music growing fainter with each step. it should’ve felt comforting. but instead, it left a strange hollow space in your chest.

when you reached your room, you didn’t even bother turning on the light. you closed the door gently, then leaned your back against it for a second, just breathing.

then, with a quiet sigh, you crossed the room and sat at the edge of your bed. you stared down at your hands, still smelling faintly of garlic and oil. you tried to focus on that instead of the dinner table. instead of the way both zayne and caleb had looked at you.

your phone buzzed beside you.

you cracked one eye open and reached for it lazily, expecting a family group chat meme or your mom asking if you wanted dessert. instead, it was from caleb.

“come outside.”

you stared at the text for a moment, your thumb hovering. no punctuatio and no context? classic caleb. it made your heart twist in a way you hated still felt familiar.

you sat up, hesitated. but curiosity got the better of you.

you padded down the hallway quietly, slipping past the laughter and the glow of the living room lights. then, you stepped out the front door.

there they were. caleb was in his uniform jacket, arms crossed, looking off into the distance until he noticed you. zayne had his hands in his coat pockets, gaze already fixed on you as if he'd been waiting longer than caleb had texted.

you raised a brow. “what’s this?”

caleb gave a crooked grin. “we’re going to the moth house.”

zayne nodded. “thought we’d check if it’s still alive. it's not so far from here, isn't it?”

the words made something warm stir in your chest. that old place where you'd all sneak off to and swear eternal friendship over moth-eaten pillows and muddy sneakers. a piece of your childhood that still breathed somewhere in the outskirts of this town.

you blinked, then smiled. “seriously?”

“come on,” caleb said, already walking ahead. “you’re not gonna chicken out, are you?”

you rolled your eyes, but your feet moved before you could stop them. “you’re both still idiots,” you mumbled, but you were already smiling too wide.

you ended up running.

it started with caleb nudging you with his shoulder and saying, “last one is a rotten egg,” before sprinting down the familiar dirt path. zayne let out a breath of disbelief—“seriously?”—but took off right after. and you, despite your protests, despite your boots not being made for this, ran too.

just like you used to.

your laughter echoed through the night, tangled with the sound of crunching leaves and pounding footsteps, breathless and utterly alive.

the moth house sat tucked behind the trees, barely visible until you were almost in front of it. a small, forgotten wooden thing, its paint chipped and its roof a little more caved in than you remembered. but the moment you saw it, your breath caught.

it hadn’t changed.

caleb reached it first, pushing the creaky door open. zayne followed, and you arrived last, panting, eyes wide, something nostalgic and aching blooming in your chest.

“still standing,” caleb muttered, stepping inside.

“barely,” zayne added.

it was pitch black inside. the smell of damp wood and dust clung to the air. and then, in true zayne fashion, had been bringing a lamp all along. warm yellow light spilled across the floor and the walls.

you let out a soft gasp. there they were.

the remnants of your old world.

your pink barbie doll, hair tangled and limbs askew, sat against the wall. beside her was one of caleb’s beat-up toy cars, the wheels long gone but the lightning bolt sticker still scratched onto the side. and scattered near the corner, a few torn pages from zayne’s dinosaur encyclopedia, edges curled with time.

“this is insane,” you whispered, stepping further in. “i thought all of this would be gone.”

“guess we left more than we thought,” zayne said quietly.

caleb crouched down near his old toy car, brushing dust off it with the edge of his sleeve. “feels like we were just here last summer, huh?”

you leaned against the wooden wall, the lamp's dim glow casting soft shadows across their faces as they talked. caleb was squatting again, fiddling with his old toy car like it still mattered. zayne had his arms crossed, leaning on the opposite wall, the corners of his mouth occasionally twitching up in amusement at something caleb said.

they weren’t arguing. they weren’t bickering as always like before. they were just… talking.

you watched them like you were outside a glass window, nose pressed to the surface. both of them had become striking in their own way.

you felt your chest tighten. your gaze dropped to the floor, your heart started to pace without permission. because no matter how much older you were now, no matter how long it had been… your mind drifted. to that night. to that stupid kiss.

you hadn’t thought about it in years. or maybe you had, just not out loud. not where it could reach the surface. but here, in the moth house, surrounded by remnants of childhood and all the things you used to be, the memory pulsed.

was it supposed to be forgotten?

just one of those reckless, messy things you all agreed to pretend didn’t happen?

because you never talked about it after.

never got the answer to the question they’d both pushed into the air. and yet here you all were. again. so why did it still feel unfinished?

"i have the answer already." your voice cut through the soft crackle of the old lamp, quiet but clear enough to make them stop mid-conversation. caleb froze, halfway through repositioning the toy car on the floor, while zayne’s head turned slowly, brows knitting with confusion.

“what?” caleb asked, blinking up at you.

you swallowed, suddenly aware of how loud your heartbeat was. then, you looked down, and then back up, steadying yourself. “the... ‘who’s the better kisser’ thing,” you clarified, and your voice, though small, left no room for misunderstanding.

and just like that, stillness came.

zayne’s expression didn’t change at first, he just stood straighter. then you noticed the subtle shift in his eyes, locked onto you like he was trying to pick apart your thoughts, decode every layer behind your words.

caleb didn’t even try to hide his reaction. he blinked once, twice, before sitting back on his heels and leaning forward slightly, as if you’d just challenged him to a match. his smirk didn’t appear, but the intensity behind his stare said enough.

they were both looking at you now. hard.

not with confusion anymore.

no. this was something heavier. like possession. like the past had suddenly started breathing again, crawling back to life.

neither of them said a word yet. but you could tell that they wanted to know, and they weren’t planning on letting it go. not this time.

"so..." caleb finally said. "who is it?"

and zayne’s gaze didn’t waver.

"you're both good kissers!" the words left your lips before you could take them back. a soft, honest confession. you didn’t even say it to provoke. you just... told the truth.

silence followed.

caleb blinked at you, wide-eyed for a second. and then, he huffed out a breath, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. a short, breathy laugh slipped from him, like he couldn’t believe what he just heard. “silly girl.” he muttered, running a hand through his hair, clearly trying to keep himself from grinning too much.

zayne didn’t laugh. he just looked down, hands shoved in the pockets of his coat. you watched his lashes lower, his brows pinch, his lips pressed tight like he was trying to suppress something. either a sigh, a thought, or the quiet bruising of his own pride.

no one spoke for a while.

it was almost funny. you’d answered the question they left behind all those years ago. and yet, here they were... grown, taller, stronger, and still just as thrown off by you.

caleb scoffed, shaking his head. “nah, i’m gonna have to disagree with that.”

you looked up at him, blinking. “what—?”

he crossed his arms, gaze narrowed but playful. “you just said that to keep the peace. i call it. no way we were equally good..”

zayne, who’d remained quiet until now, finally lifted his eyes again. boldness, maybe. “he might have a point,” zayne said. “we were teenagers then, and inexperienced. it wasn’t exactly a fair measure.”

you turned to him, startled.

he glanced at caleb, then back at you. “for a real answer, there should be a reevaluation.” he said it plainly, but the weight behind it made your stomach twist.

caleb raised his brows, looking half-impressed and half-annoyed. “oh? you serious, doc?”

“just being thorough,”

your throat went dry. you suddenly weren’t sure if coming to the moth house was such a good idea after all.

you tilted your head slightly, “so… are you saying you have experience now?”

zayne’s lips tugged upward, just a little. “no,” he admitted, stepping forward, slow and sure. “not exactly.” his eyes didn’t leave yours. you could hear caleb shift behind zayne, but he didn’t say a word. he was just watching, waiting.

zayne stopped just a breath away, “do you want to try it again?”

your heart thudded. too fast. too loud. this was real. this was now. and caleb… caleb still hadn’t moved. but you could feel the heat of his stare burning right through you.

before you could even open your mouth to respond, before you could decide what you wanted, zayne muttered a soft curse under his breath. something like “fuck it,” barely audible. then, in one motion, he removed his glasses, carelessly tucking them into his coat pocket, and closed the distance.

his hands were warm when they cupped your cheeks, surprisingly gentle for how impulsive the gesture was. and then, he kissed you.

it was rushed, but deliberate. like he wanted to make sure you felt it, all of it. your fingers twitched at your sides as your eyes fluttered shut, your thoughts melting into the warmth of it.

zayne only pulled away when he had to, just enough to study your expression, forehead still resting against yours. “are you still unsure?”

“n-no,” you barely managed to whisper, your voice caught between your breath and whatever was thundering in your chest.

but that was all zayne needed before he kissed you again. this time, deeper. his hands slipped back to cradle the base of your head as if he didn’t want you pulling away. there was a quiet intensity in the way he moved, like he was making up for lost time, or maybe staking a claim.

you didn’t even notice your hand gripping the front of his coat until your knuckles tightened. everything else blurred out, the creaking of the old moth house, the muffled breath you both shared, even caleb’s presence—

until caleb shifted slightly.

you felt it, a presence behind you.

before you could even react, a pair of lips brushed your shoulder. and a slow burn followed the touch, trailing through the fabric of your shirt like it wasn't even there.

your breath hitched. “caleb…” you whispered, unsure if it was a question or a warning.

“pipsqueak,” he said lowly, voice husky and calm, as if this had always been part of the plan. “we're so sorry.”

as you turned to face caleb, his hand on your hip tightened slightly, pulling you ever so gently but insistently closer. you could feel the heat of his body, the firmness of his chest pressing against your back while he leaned in. you shuddered.

zayne, not to be outdone or left behind, leaned in to capture your lips once more in a searing kiss. one hand slid up to tangle in your hair, tilting your head to grant him better access as his mouth moved over yours with a hunger that stole your breath away.

you found yourself sandwiched between them, the solid wall of caleb's chest at your back and the lean, muscular frame of zayne pressed against your front. you could feel every inch of their bodies, the hard planes and soft curves melding together in a way that set their nerves alight with sensation.

zayne's hand fisted in your hair as he kissed you with a desperate, almost punishing intensity. he tore his mouth away, panting harshly against your lips. "this is dangerous," he rasped, his voice strained with barely restrained desire. "i might end up doing something else if we keep this up." his eyes searched yours.

and behind you, caleb pressed closer, the hard ridge of his arousal grinding against the curve of your ass through the fabric of his pants. "mm, should we stop?" he murmured, but his actions belied his words as he nuzzled into the crook of your neck, his lips and teeth and tongue busy mapping the sensitive skin there.

you were already losing yourself, drowning in the feeling of your two childhood friends. and god help you because you don't ever want to be found.

caleb paused, his hand stilling on the soft curve of your shoulder as he looked to you with a mix of desire and hesitation in his eyes. "is it okay if we touch you more?" he asked, almost pleading like an eager puppy seeking permission.

"where?" you breathed, the single word a question and an invitation all at once.

"here," caleb murmured, his thumb and forefinger pinching and rolling your stiffening nipple through the thin fabric of your shirt.

at the same moment, zayne's hands slid down from your hips, hesitating for a heartbeat before cupping the rounded globes of your ass. he squeezed gently, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh as he pulled you back against him, grinding his hard length against the cleft of your rear.

"and here," zayne whispered.

your moans filled the moth house as memories of simpler times flashed through your mind. you remembered chasing after zayne and caleb in the sunlit yard, their laughter echoing while playing tag, innocent and carefree as ever. how naive the three of you had been, unaware of the seeds of desire that had already been planted, the embers of attraction smoldering beneath the surface of your childhood bond. little had you known that years later, those innocent games would evolve into this - the feeling of caleb's fingers boldly cupping your clothed sex, the heat of his touch searing you even through the fabric of your panties.

"oh!" you gasped, your hips bucking instinctively into his hand. it seems as though the past and present blurred, the ghosts of your youth intertwining with the raw, carnal hunger of the moment.

zayne's hands kneaded the globes of your ass, his grip tightening when he felt you respond to caleb's touch. "fuck," he rasped, his voice strained with the effort of holding back, from not simply taking you right then and there. "you have no idea how long we've wanted this, wanted you."

"zayne..." you whispered. for someone who'd been protective of you, who'd been the most conservative than any other man, he acted like the opposite of what you've deemed him as in your entire childhood.

and behind you, the boy who had your back the most, the boy who jumped into any risky scheme with you, had his fingers rubbing and circling your clothed slit with a newfound confidence, a pent-up urgency that spoke volumes about the years of longing he had harbored for you.

then, the haze of lust momentarily lifted by the sound of caleb's grunt of discomfort. "it hurts." you turned to look at him, concern etching in your flushed face. for a second, you let go of zayne's shoulders and followed caleb's line of sight. to his... prominent bulge straining against the front of his pants.

instantly, you averted your eyes. "okay, maybe- maybe this wasn't a good idea after all—"

"mine too." zayne spoke up, just right behind your ear. "it's a natural reaction, especially when we're this close to you—"

"of course, i know that, idiot!" you whisper-screamed, backing off a bit to give yourself some personal space for a few moments. you gulped, "do we know what we're getting into? ...what if our families find out about this?"

"we aren't telling them, are we?" caleb said, already working on undoing the buttons of his top.

"yes, but," you paused, trying to gather your thoughts, because the words for what they were haven't formed yet. only now you've realized the severity of what you were up to, the hypocrisy of everything that have led you to this. you looked up, only to see both guys giving you curious gazes, with half-lidded eyes. "i've... always seen the two of you- as my brothers."

"bro...thers?"

"do you still see us that way?" zayne's voice made you stare at them. he stood with his glasses now forgotten in his pocket, dark hair tousled from the boldness had taken over him earlier. the white coat was long gone, he probably already took it off while you made out, and all that remained was the black shirt beneath, sleeves messily rolled up to his forearms, revealing veins and tendons you’d never once paid attention to when you were kids. the dip of his collarbone peeked out just above the neckline, and his chest rose and fell with a tension he didn’t bother hiding.

and caleb with the top buttons of his shirt undone, his collar skewed, sleeves rolled, forearms lean and marked with a few cuts and scratches. the light caught on the curve of his throat, the slight sheen on his skin, and the faint scar on his wrist from the time he tried to teach you how to climb the mango tree. his hair was a little messy too, a little too perfect in its imperfection, like he had run his fingers through it on the way here.

you didn't know when or how it happened. only that that was all it took for the three of you to get lost further.

you glanced down at your hand full of white liquid, some were also dripping down your chin you could feel. it's an uncomfortable position to be kneeling against the dirty ground for half an hour already, but that was irrelevant compared to the amount of cum that was spilled into your chest, into your face, and into your mouth.

you chased your breath, staring up at zayne and caleb in pure bliss. they sat next to each other on a wooden ledge, both chasing theirs too. zayne had his head rolled back that you could see the way his adam's apple occassionally bobbed, while caleb have had kept his eyes on you the whole time you sucked him and jacked the other guy off.

caleb wipes the bead of cum off the corner of your mouth with his finger. "are you tired?"

you shake your head. "no, i wanna keep..." you bring the finger in your mouth, licking it with your tongue.

in response, caleb slightly widens his eyes at your sudden action, but he enjoys it. he always enjoyed when you did something he wouldn't expect. he pulls his finger out of your mouth, and you whine, but he slides it down your chin, gliding it across your clothed chest, and down your stomach. until he leaned down to touch your pussy.

you squeaked, "caleb?"

"you like being touched like this?" he teased your clit.

then, you felt another finger pinch your nipple through the fabric. "i reckon she likes this more." you turn to look at zayne, who's staring hard into your eyes. he had his glasses back on. he always did around you ever since you've mentioned about how it looked good on him. so while your mouth got stuffed in his cock earlier, with his fingers on your head, his other hand made an effort to put the glasses back on with a "look at me."

you squirmed at both men's work, eyes fluttering shut to back. they watched you curiously, until caleb's finger shot itself inside. deep inside. "pipsqueak," he gives you that look again. that look he does when he's being vulnerable. "you're so fucking tight."

zayne shot caleb a glance, intrigued. but he was silent.

caleb licks his lower lip, "can i... can we,"

zayne looks at you.

"can we check how tight it is?"

"what do you mean?" you asked, trying to speak coherently even through a moan. "y-you already are....?"

caleb pulls away, leaning back. zayne does the same. they didn't say anything, they didn't answer your question, so you were just there, clueless. still kneeling. then, your eyes shifted to their throbbing, erected dicks. like both were waiting for you, were waiting to be inside you.

now you know what they meant.

but you couldn't believe it.

back then, in this same moth house, you used to count the moths up the ceiling, laying on each other's shoulders as innocent kids. now, the same men were asking you to get on them. with the same eyes that smiled at you across the field, running and giggling.

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writingoddess1125 · 10 months ago

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Relationship Weirdness

Kurt Wagner x GN Reader Headcanon

Funny and Silly established relationship

Masterlist

This Link leads to Kurt Wagner- Or does it???

THE NICKNAME DILEMMA

• Kurt has a Love, Hate relationship with the seemingly endless stream of nicknames you seemed to have for him and how you constantly

• Sure he had ones for you, but all classic in affection!

• Like Schatz aka his treasure, or Engel! He loves calling you Engel, Liebling also, Sweetie too in English

• However from you he does get the 'Love' Or 'Babe' but also he gets-

• 'Fuzzy Butt!', 'Blueberry', 'Sugar Booger-'

• Some he was fairly sure one was a drug inudendos as well!

"Schatz- What is will the constant changing nicknames?" He ask you one day after you kiss his cheek and weirdly called him 'Sugar Booger'

"Do you not like them?" You ask, he shakes his head.

"Nein, I like them. It's just- Isn't that a slang? For a bad thing?" He questioned, watching a weird smile goes across your face as you suddently snort up his arm like you'd done a line off him.

"Yes- You my Blue Cocaine"

He stared at you with a deadpan stare, trying to hold back his laughs as he covers his face with his hands.

You're so fucking weird-

PHYSICAL AFFECTION FUCKERY

• Kurt's tail has a mind of its own especially with you, so more often then not it will be wrapped around you, sliding up and down your back, sliding across your thighs or trying to find its way into your hands.

• He never notices until you reciprocate the affection, often leaving to him being a blushing mess when you run your fingers up the velvet like tail-

• He is naturally very physically affectionate so will cuddle you or lean against you most times.

• Sitting on the couch? Kurt will slide in right next to you. Making dinner? He will lean his weight on your back and look to see what you're making- Personal Space doesn't exist

• While Kurt is Cuddly, You are grabby-

• His tail? His fluffy little ears? His sides? All fair game!

• Seeing two fuzzy asscheeks in the shower, you see how the hair sort of swirls like a cowlick-

• You can't help but touch them-

• Earning a loud surprised noise from Kurt as he turns to look at you quite literally messing with the hair on his ass

"Really?-"

THE BEARD ERA!

• Kurt is very feline like in nature and the facial hair adds to this as well it seems.

• He will like to rub his neck and cheek against you, sometimes giving a growl/rumble as he does so.

• You can protest all you want but he will just give you an evil smile and rub his cheek against yours harder before teleporting away to avoid the consequences for giving you mild rug burn on your cheek!

• When Kurt's beard starts growing thicker he gets some ingrowns on the part were his neck meets his head so you have to open pin him to get at them-

"Stop being a big baby! It's deep!" You yell as you pin your boyfriend, watching him squirm under you in protest as you get the tweezers closer to the series of bumps.

"NEIN! LASS EN IN RUHE!" He screamed as you get the tweezers to get a big ingrown that protruded from his skin.

"AHHHHHH!!!"

THE FOOD FIASCO

• Has very weird eating habits- You often forget he was raised in a circus in Germany so he eats like it too.

• AKA Hawaii Toast-

• Your mortal enemy and the thing that you are willing the kick box over in terms of the kitchen area. The first time you saw Kurt make it, you almost sobbed at this atrocity towards both Hawaii, Italy, Bread and maybe Humanity

• "What the fuck is that!?" You almost cry out as you see the monstrosity on the counter.

"Hawaii Toast-" Kurt says calmly as he butters bread, adds ham, a ring of pineapple and some kraft cheese on top before chucking it into the toaster oven while grabbing some ketchup-

You stare at him in horror as he makes direct eye contact with you and takes a bite of this- monstrosity

• He does know how to cook luckily even if he makes Hawaii Toast for himself- Him learning recipes from your culture and you learning from his. As well as taking turns with kitchen duty!

• For Drinks- Kurt is the Master! He can open any bottle, he can make the perfect pours! He knows the exact drink you'd like off the top of his head

"You're a fucking Wizard Blue-"

You say in awe as you watch Kurt make you a drink calmly, raising a brow as he opens the beer bottle with his tail like nothing.

"I know~"

#x reader #nightcrawler x reader #nightcrawler #kurt wagner x #kurt wagner #kurt wagner x reader #x men x reader #x men 97 #xmen x reader #xmen imagine #x men #x gn reader

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littlcdarlin · 6 months ago

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dbf!Joel headcanons

warnings: big, though unspecified age gap, 18+ (as always)

note: Uni has been kicking my ass, so I’ve only had time for some headcanons lately. This Joel is very sweet, but I’m open to writing sleazy or dark Joel, too! If you have requests for any headcanons, I will be able to write them even during this stressful time. Full fics will take me a while longer. Enjoy reading, my loves <3 and feel free to add stuff!

He doesn’t really know how to cook well and mostly eats his faves every day but when you stay over more and more he makes an effort to learn and actually finds out he really likes it

Whatever pressure your parents put on you, he relieves it by accepting it rather than trying to fix it for you — you can just exist around him without expectation

He worries the age difference means you don’t have much to talk about, so he watches your favourite show that you mentioned and although it certainly wouldn’t have been his first pick, it lets him unwind. He likes watching something he knows you’ve watched and loved when you’re not around, it makes him feel closer to you

When he first starts looking at you differently he blue balls himself so as not to disrespect you — when he has sex with someone to relieve himself, he accidentally says your name to them

He keeps a polaroid of you in his wallet and cashiers wonder why he smiles at his debit card so much

He finds it hard to stay friends with your dad, because it makes him feel weird about this dynamic with you. He distances himself from your parents after they react badly to the news of your relationship, not because of guilt or cowardice, but because he doesn’t tolerate how they treat you

He thought he would hate the gossip after the two of you go public, but when you do, he finds himself imagining knocking you up just so everyone knows what he does to you. He opts for lots of hickeys until kids might be a possibility, but that doesn’t stop him from pretending you don’t have an IUD when he finishes inside of you

He loves when you wear his clothes, but when you forget your scarf at his place he wears it and enjoys that just as much — it smells like you and he likes the idea of people being able to tell it’s somebody else’s

When he figures out how much you like him talking to you during sex, he starts using the same voice/phrases in public to get you flustered & wet for him

He keeps everything that reminds him of you, like parking tickets etc. He doesn’t do anything with those things, doesn’t put them in a box, so they linger around his house, reminding him of you the way photographs would, except more privately

He starts “putting in an effort” for you when you start dating: styling his hair & wearing clothes he thinks you would prefer, until you tell him you like nothing more than his flannels and band tees and jeans, and although he doesn’t tell you, he’s beyond relieved. He realises you like him for him

When you tell your parents, Joel asks your father to hit him because “he knows he deserves it”. With time he learns he also deserves your kisses and smiles. Those things coexist within him, he thinks both are true

Despite completely supporting you in your pursuit of a degree & career, he likes when you’re on holiday, waiting around for him in his house wearing nothing but a pair of panties he bought for you & one of his hoodies. During those lazy weeks, he fucks you morning, afternoon, and night: before he leaves, when he gets home, and right before you go to sleep

He buys you a ring during the first week of dating because you mentioned how much you like it. He doesn’t give it to you until he knows you feel certain about him — he doesn’t want to freak you out. Still, even before that, he sometimes looks at it in its little black box and envisions it on your finger

During your first couple of “public dates” (neighbourhood barbecue where your parents are present etc.) he refrains from touching you much, although everyone knows about your relationship. You have to take his hand and initiate small touches for him to feel more comfortable

It takes him a short while, but then he loves being able to touch you in front of people: a hand on your lower back, an arm across your shoulder, his fingers lacing through yours, him pulling your back against his front and wrapping his arms around you. People stare sometimes (your Dad breaks one or two wine glasses in his hand), but Joel stops caring when he sees how happy it makes you

He tells you that you can change things about his home, that it should feel like your place, too and asks if you want to go shopping for “candles and stuff”, but you love being in a space that feels completely like him. It’s not how your apartment looks, but it makes you feel at ease, like you’re somehow living inside of him

Before he tells you he loves you, he whispers it in your ear when you’re sleeping, hoping your subconscious will somehow pick up on it. When he does tell you while you’re awake for the first time, it’s during breakfast. You stub your toe, and let out a string of curses you must have picked up on from him, and while he presses ice against your foot, kneeling in front of you, he smiles up and tells you: I love you.

The first time you sleep over at his house after he spent the night in your apartment, two brand new bottles of the shampoo and conditioner you use are in his shower. You thank him and jokingly ask why he didn’t buy your shower gel, too. He kisses you and tells you he likes when you smell like him.

He likes making you come more times than you thought you could — something about moving in and out of you while you tell him you can’t do it again, that you’re done, and then watching you fall apart on his cock anyway, thrills him to the bone. It makes him feel powerful, but part of it is knowing you let him fuck you without expecting an orgasm, that him being inside of you is enough for you to feel good

He doesn’t tell you, but he adds your name to his car insurance, so that you can drive it whenever you want

When you figure it out you give him road head every time the two of you drive somewhere — until he almost crashes the car and he forbids you to tempt him while he’s behind the wheel

He’s so nervous he asks Tommy for help when picking out a birthday gift for you — Tommy goes overboard and the gift turns out to be something completely ridiculous like a pair of huge earrings you would never wear. You tell Joel you don’t need a big fuss to feel loved by him. At night, he gives you a present he’s been wanting to give you for a while: he plays you a song he wrote for you on his guitar. It’s quiet and simple and so perfect you cry for half an hour

He doesn’t sleep well when you’re not around, and loves being close to you at night. If he could, he’d sleep nestled inside of you after a round of lazy midnight sex every night

As much as Tommy annoys him, it makes him happy to see how well you two get along. When you become actual friends with Tommy and hang out with him on your own, he’s more than pleased: the two people he loves the most in the world have become close

He would never ask it of you, but when you tell him you have stopped masturbating because he fucks you so often, it pleases him deeply. He likes being the only source of your pleasure. When you are apart for a while because of work/collage etc., he buys you a toy he can control from his phone

He tells Tommy he thinks he’s going to marry you during the first month of dating, which you find out about only on your wedding day during Tommy’s speech

#joel miller x reader #mine #my writing #joel miller game #joel miller #joel miller x you #the last of us part 1 #tlou1 #joel miller x y/n #dbf!joel #dbf!joel x reader #joel miller headcanons #Joel miller smut #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters

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rememberwren · 7 months ago

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A Dichotomy of Thought || 12

Prior and future parts here.

Simon gets even. Graphic depictions of violence. Food control. Ableist thoughts. Suggested sexual abuse.

Johnny is letting a cigarette turn to ash in his hand when he sees you leave the apartment complex. You droop in the overcast weather like a flower wilted by the cold, your shoulders bowed, your steps heavy even as you reach the sidewalk and push yourself into a jog. This is a ritual for you, Johnny knows—knows, thanks to those days spent planning murder.

He knew those days weren’t for nothing.

Sitting the cigarette on the balcony railing, he puts his first two fingers in his mouth and tries to whistle—it makes a pitiful little sound that doesn’t come close to reaching you. Red faced, Johnny thinks maybe it is for the best. God forbid you think he was catcalling you.

“She’s gone,” Johnny calls back into the apartment. He leaves the cigarette behind; he’s losing the taste for them. Even now the smell of one just makes his stomach roll. Everything these days does though, as his body struggles to adjust to no more OxyContin in his system. Even though the worst of the shakes and the shits are behind him, there’s the craving that never ceases—craving for that blissful loss of awareness, craving the weight of the pill on his tongue and the knowledge that with it soon things will get better.

He doesn’t need that today though. He feels it in the air. Things will get better. He doesn’t need to speak the words into existence, doesn’t need to pray nor pander. There is God, but then there is Ghost. Today belongs to him. Things will change because Ghost will make them.

“Alright,” Simon calls from where he’s at the sink doing dishes. He stops and leaves the water to turn cold, drying his hands on a nearby dish towel.

Gloves sit on the countertop.

“Come with me,” Simon says one more time as he slides the gloves on, working the fabric tightly over his damp hands.

Johnny is just as overwhelmed now as he was the first time Simon asked—because he knows Simon means it. Simon would take him, liability or not, dangerous or not, foolish or not. His word—unshakable, irrefutable as it always is—is proof that the weeks spent with a chasm between them weren’t for nothing.

But Simon isn’t the only one allowed to grow.

“I’d just put us both in danger,” Johnny says, slipping his hand into his pocket. “I’d rather that cunt get what he deserves.”

“Just going to talk to him, Johnny,” Simon says calmly.

“Could be…be…” there’s a word on the tip of Johnny’s tongue, but like something left on a high shelf, he just can’t quite reach it no matter how he strains, his fingertips brushing over familiar syllables like the cardboard box of his favorite cereal. He grits his teeth. “God fucking damn it all. Cocksucking fuck.”

“Notice you never forget any of those words?”

“Aye and thank God I don’t,” Johnny snaps. He forces himself to take a breath, in through his nose, out through his mouth. The word he was looking for still doesn’t come, so he changes the sentence altogether.

“He could forget something as simple as a talk.”

“It’ll be memorable,” Simon promises, eyes glittering. He comes to Johnny and kisses him, cupping the jaw that’s grown too sharp over past months. Johnny’s lashes flutter, his hand leaving his own pocket and finding Simon’s waistband, fingertips curling into it to tug him closer—

They break the kiss.

“Just a talk?” Johnny asks, running his fingers over the metal grip of Simon’s sidearm where it is tucked in his pants.

“That’s the memorable part.”

Johnny is absolutely insane; he just laughs.

Simon’s last moment of doubt comes in the hallway with his hand poised to knock on your boyfriend’s door. What he’s doing could get him a six-by-eight cell in any of the country’s not-so-finest jails or prisons. It would destroy this little slice of life he’s built with Johnny, painful though that life sometimes is.

But he’d known it was coming to this long before Johnny had picked a fight with the monster next door. He’d known when you sat in his apartment and burnt your mouth on his tea. He’d known when he woke from a nap to see you standing in the darkness of his room wringing your hands. This isn’t just about Johnny.

What’s the use, Simon wonders, in looking the way I do, and having the skills I have, if I’m not making bad men regret being alive?

Ghost knocks on the neighbor’s door at half-past one in the afternoon. You are less than a quarter of a mile away from the apartment building, on your run. Johnny says your circuit usually takes you thirty to forty-five minutes which is plenty of time—as a matter of fact, Ghost intends to be in and out with time to spare.

He knocks again when there’s no answer. He knows your boyfriend is home, knows that he doesn’t work and spends most days being a lazy sod around the apartment. When he hears movement on the other side of the door, he steps back and lets himself linger innocuously within sight of the peephole. He purposefully doesn’t cut his eyes towards his own apartment, the door of which is cracked open, a vivid blue eye visible between the frame and the door.

Your boyfriend is smart enough to leave the latch lock on. He opens the door the few inches the chain will allow, his brows raised in a mix of derision and disbelief at the sight of Ghost on the other side.

“Simon,” he says dryly. “What can I do for you?”

“I wanted to talk to you about the other night,” Ghost says. He shifts from foot to foot, hands deep within his pockets, too aware of how still he can be and eager to appear human in this moment. “I feel like, like I put my foot in it. I wanted to explain myself, I mean.”

It’s bait, something shiny and dangly, hopefully disguising the cruel sharpness of the hook. Appeal to his own superiority. I put my foot in it. Make it more convenient for him to let you in than talk in the hallway. I wanted to explain myself.

Ghost can snap that chain like a line of fish wire, but it will make noise. He’s hoping not to attract anymore attention than he needs to.

Your boyfriend heaves a sigh, bracing one fist against the door frame. His face twists into something understanding and contrite. “Look, I don’t blame you. I wasn’t exactly being Prince Charming. If my mother had heard me talking to a lady like that, she would have whooped my ass, you know what I mean?”

It is difficult to believe that the creature in front of him has a mother at all, that he isn’t just spawned from sulfur and brimstone, something slimy and misshapen that crawled from a crack in the earth. But he must have a mother, mustn’t he? Even the worst men do.

Ghost hopes she’s dead.

“I know what you mean,” Ghost lies, like his mother ever raised her gentle hands to him. He clears his throat. “When I heard you call her a slut, I just—“

The shorter man winces, eyes flickering toward what little bit of the hallway he can see around Ghost’s hulking figure. He laughs a little, but there’s not much mirth in the sound. “You want to say that any louder? Jesus. Look—you want a beer?”

That easy.

“I could go for a beer,” Ghost says, face impassive.

Your boyfriend reaches for the chain. Ghost’s adrenaline spikes, slowing the movement, sharpening the colors, amplifying the sound as the latch comes undone—

—then Ghost’s boot is meeting the door.

It catches your boyfriend in the face, the crunch of cartilage sprinkled beneath the thud of wood on flesh as it batters him backwards and to the ground. Ghost forces his way into the apartment and shuts the door behind him quietly.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” your boyfriend shouts, his words spraying blood and garbled as he gingerly feels at his injured face.

Ghost is on him in an instant, one skeletal hand gripping around his shirt and wrenching him up off the floor, seams in the fabric straining. He chokes him, gripping tight enough that the worm can’t even swallow, can’t suck in the breath to shout. His nose isn’t the same shape anymore, blood streaming from both nostrils, so dark it’s nearly black where it drips over Ghost’s fingers. Ghost has seen the expression on his face a thousand times before, just on other faces. The eyes are always the same: brown, blue, green, hazel, gray. Fear is always the same.

“We’re gonna talk,” Ghost tells him. “And you’re not going to do any shouting, understand me? If you do, I’ll make it even worse for you. Nod if you understand.”

Ghost uses his grip on the man’s head to make him nod. Blood splatters against his wrist between his gloves and the sleeves of his shirt, burning hot. His face is turning red with lack of oxygen, both hands scrabbling at Ghost’s gloved fingers, fighting for scraps of air.

“Good man,” Ghost says. He lets go of his throat.

Your boyfriend screams. Smart, honestly. His best chance at getting out of this unscathed is if there’s a knock on the door, after all.

Ghost grips his throat again, cutting off the sound before it can carry. Frantic, he takes up clawing at Ghost’s gloves and sleeves again, digging divots into the larger man’s forearms. Ghost tweaks the man’s broken nose just to watch his eyes stream with tears.

“Work with me. We can be civil, can’t we? Can’t we?”

There’s a struggle. For a moment your boyfriend manages to break Ghost’s grip (never underestimate the strength of a man afraid for his life). Ghost lets him run, blood dripping onto the laminate floors like a breadcrumb trail, and Ghost the monster following along behind. Your boyfriend seems to realize last minute that the bedroom is no good—there’s not even a fucking door to shut between them for Christ’s sake—and he feigns for the balcony instead.

Ghost forgot how much he likes the chase. It does something to him, something to his blood. He’s fucking good at this, good at giving a man a rope just long enough to hang himself with. Good at giving them hope just to watch it leave their eyes.

But it’s risky to underestimate the enemy, and Ghost can’t afford risks. Not for him. Not for Johnny. Not for you.

Ghost goes for his gun and slips it from the concealed holster in his waistband. It’s a comfortable weight in his hand, and at the sight of it, your boyfriend goes stiller than a statue. It’s game over, then. They both know it. His hands are shaking as he lifts them.

“Alright,” your boyfriend says, voice congested, blood smeared across his cheeks. “Just—calm down. You want to talk? We can talk. Civil, right?”

“Civil. Sit down,” says Ghost, keeping the gun fixed on him as he crosses the room and sits at the kitchen table, chair legs screeching across laminate. Not long ago, they were seated here playing poker together. But then, Ghost had only been wishing he could draw his sidearm.

Your boyfriend sits.

They talk.

The door closes behind Ghost, and Johnny can’t help pacing, holding his breath as he listens for sounds through the walls, for any sign that things are going south. But ultimately he has faith in Ghost; things will go whatever direction Ghost wills them.

Drifting around the apartment, Johnny freezes when he thinks he hears a scream, something high and bitten off. For a moment he hears the slowing thud thud thud of helicopter blades, feels the cold wind against his face as he realizes they’re going down. No stopping it. No getting out of this one, MacTavish. He can see the expression on his fellow soldiers’ faces, can feel their mortal terror reflected in his own. It is cruel to see death coming. Cruel and terrifying beyond measure.

Outside, it begins to rain.

“No, no, no, no,” Johnny says, staggering to the balcony. He stands there breathing in the cold air, blinking away the visions of the past.

Then he sees you, soaked to the bone. Coming back early.

“Fuuuuck me,” he mutters. His palm is sweating terribly despite the cold air billowing in through the open balcony. He closes the sliding door and limps his way to the front door, heart pounding.

He grabs his key off of the hook. He goes to jam his feet into his slip on shoes but the angle isn’t right and he has to stoop down, fix the angle with his hand, and then try again—god, had he just heard the elevator doors open?—come the fuck on, Johnny, they’re shoes, you’re a grown man, put on your fucking shoes—

He bursts out of the apartment and into the empty hallway. Shutting the apartment door behind him, he jams his key into the lock and tries to calm his racing heart. This isn’t like him. He’s been in high pressure situations before—he’s looked death in the fucking face—and never been this rattled.

Out of practice, I am, he thinks, hands shaking. Out of bloody practice.

The elevator doors open and you stand there, drenched from head to toe. You look even more defeated than you had leaving the apartment, and something in Johnny’s chest absolutely aches for you. His mouth wobbles. He forces it into a smile as he watches you approach.

“Hi, lass,” he says. “Fancy running into you.”

“Johnny,” you say with warmth that makes his chest flutter. You look exhausted, the bruises on your face more stark now that you aren’t wearing any makeup. Still, your shoulders sag with something like relief at the sight of him. “How—how are you? Practicing with your key again?”

“Ah—no, not this time. Just—trying to get in. But look at you, you’re shaking.” He opens the door, hopes you didn’t notice that it was already unlocked. “Come in, let me get you a towel.”

You glance toward your apartment door, face experiencing a host of emotions. “I shouldn’t,” you say with genuine regret. “He’s expecting me.”

“Just long enough to dry off and have a cup of something warm,” Johnny insists. You’re shivering even in the warmth of the hallway, and while you could easily go into your own apartment to dry off, Johnny prefers you in his.

“Alright,” you say, arms wrapped around yourself, mouth curled into an anxious frown. “Just for a few minutes. You said…a cup of something warm?”

“Aye,” Johnny says brightly, pushing the door open and standing aside to let you in first. “Could make you a tea if you like; Simon’s taught me well enough. Or I have coffee in the pot from this morning.”

“Coffee is fine,” you say. Your eyes flicker around the apartment. The door closes behind you both, and more tension bleeds from your shoulders as your eyes rake over him. “Are you alright? I was worried about you. Did he—hurt you badly?”

God, you’re a darling, even dripping wet with your clothes sticking to you (and Johnny doesn’t need to be thinking about that, about the way your curves are visible beneath the sodden fabric. He’s doing that more and more often lately, thinking thoughts he shouldn’t).

“I’m fine, love,” he promises. “Knee aches like a bitch. But when doesn’t it? Let me get you that towel, you’re dripping all over the floor.”

“Oh God, I’m so sorry,” you mutter, looking down at the puddle you are making on the linoleum. “I’ll clean it up, honest—“

“Don’t worry about it. More worried about you. You’ll catch a cold like this.” Johnny fights to control his own limp, trying to salvage his pride as he goes to the linen closet and fetches you a towel.

It isn’t until he goes to hand it to you that he sees the splint on your littlest finger, and the towel nearly falls from his hand. You take it but he reaches for you anyway, his fingers softly angled and slow to move, like you are an easily startled animal.

“He did this,” Johnny says, taking your hand gently in his own. His heart is loud in his ears, blood throbbing in his skull as he coaxes you to turn your hand over so he can examine it from every angle. “How?”

“Just sort of—“ you make the motion of snapping something in two, and Johnny’s stomach rolls with nausea.

“Sick fuck,” Johnny mutters. He covers your fingers with his own, wishing to heal you.

“Doesn’t hurt,” you murmur. Your hand flexes, soft fingertips trailing over Johnny’s calloused palm.

“Liar,” Johnny says softly. He glances up to catch you already looking at him, your eyes wide and soft. The two of you are standing close enough for your breaths to mingle, and it shocks Johnny back into awareness. What the fuck is he doing, coming onto you?

It’s not like that, Johnny thinks to himself as he steps back and watches you try to towel yourself off, squeezing at your sodden clothes. But deep down he suspects it's exactly like that.

“I’ll get your coffee,” he says, wishing to put a little distance between you both. Pouring with his weak hand is harder than it looks, muscles trembling a little. He sloshes some over the lip of the mug and his face colors. Glancing over his shoulder, he finds you not looking at him, your eyes distant, cradling your hurt hand to your chest.

He weighs the pros and cons of asking you to carry your own cup to the table—but the table is right fucking there. It’s just a few steps. Surely Johnny can get ahold of himself long enough to make the journey. Taking the handle of the mug in his hand, he grips it firmly and steadies himself.

One step. His knee aches, but he doesn’t baby it. Two steps. Three—halfway there.

The front door opens and Johnny drops the mug. It shatters on the floor sending steaming coffee and shards of porcelain every direction.

Simon stands there, his figure taking up the entire doorway, something out of many men’s nightmares. But not Johnny’s. Clear blue eyes scan him over from head to toe, but other than having taken his gloves off, he doesn’t look any different.

“It was an accident,” you say, looking from Simon to the cup. Your hand is pressed over your heart, like an oath, like you’re trying to still it. “I was distracting him. I—“

“It’s alright,” Simon says, coming in. He shuts the door behind him. “Just a cup. Alright, Johnny?”

“Alright,” Johnny says. He raises both his brows, silently asking: are you?

Simon nods imperceptibly. He goes and kneels down in the disaster zone, delicately picking up the larger pieces of porcelain.

“Let me help,” you mumble, coming to kneel beside him.

“Don’t, lass,” Johnny says. “You’ll cut yourself.”

“I’ll be careful—oh,” you say, reaching out to hover your hand gently over Ghost’s wrist. “You’re bleeding.”

Three sets of eyes turn to where Ghost’s sleeve has ridden up, at the drop of blood there. Johnny stares in horror as you brush your thumb against it only to find the spot stays, the blood dried and coagulated.

Ghost draws his hand away, glancing up to meet Johnny’s eyes, exchanging a glance. “Old wound. Don’t worry about it.”

You don’t connect the dots.

Not when you clean the blood off the whitewashed door. Not when you mop it off the floor. Not when you sanitize the table.

Creeping into the bedroom you share with your boyfriend, you stand still like a rabbit in a dog’s gaze letting your eyes adjust to the darkness. His figure is in the same place it’s been all night, curled up beneath the blankets on his side of the bed.

You swallow. “Do you—want me to make dinner?”

“Not hungry,” he says, his voice nasally. You’d only gotten one good look at his face, but it hadn’t been pretty: both eyes darkening with bruises, his nose swollen and misshapen.

Not hungry. Alright. But: “I am.”

One of his hands reaches out and slaps at the key to the refrigerator where it rests on the nightstand. He takes it and throws it at you without looking, the key falling short and clattering against the laminate floors.

You drop down to your hands and knees, feeling for it in the darkness. You must take too long, because he sighs heavily in a way that makes your face heat up. Finally you find it and you slip out of the bedroom, eager to be far away from him.

Belly full, you slip into the bedroom hours later just to find him still awake, his breaths loud where he’s forced to breathe through his mouth. You turn the key over and over in your hand, deciding. Feeling his eyes on you in the dark, you creep to the nightstand and softly place it back in its spot.

He says nothing, not even when you slip beneath the covers beside him.

Dread fills you when he rolls toward you, but already your body is going soft and limp, your brain ready to escape away to a safer place inside. You know what’s coming, the pain, the humiliation. It’s a nightly ritual for him, same as brushing his teeth and washing his face.

Except he doesn’t touch you.

You lay awake, eyes on the ceiling, waiting. Even when he starts to snore—great sawing sounds—you cannot seem to shut your eyes.

You do not sleep.

#ghoap x reader #dichotomy of thought

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thingsstranger4 · 7 days ago

Text

the other woman (Stack x reader)

summary: the other woman lives in silence, in stillness, in waiting — and you do. God, you wait.

based off of the song "The Other Woman" covered by Lana but ofc the og is Nina Simone

warnings: angst, like very angsty bc i just wanted to feel something. cheating, mention of bruising from sex

wc: 478

au: so this is my first ever posted fic, be gentle if it is bad. also please let me know if i am missing any warnings

You told yourself you’d made peace with being a secret. You were fine with being the ghost that lurked in the shadows of his mind. It was a lie you told yourself until you really believed it. The other woman lives in silence, in stillness, in waiting — and you do. God, you wait.

It was easy to believe when he came over. Stack would make it feel like you were his world. Like nothing else existed outside of the swanky apartment he paid for specifically to house his misdeeds. That was until the sun would rise and he was as ephemeral as a Summer storm. You could never hold your claim on anything but the memory left behind.

You also try to tell yourself the lie that you hate her — Mary. Her name burns in your throat like the whiskey Stack likes to drink. But how could you hate her when you’ve seen the way he talks about her when he thinks you’re not listening? How his eyes glaze with softness when he says her name in passing. How he stops calling her “my wife” and starts calling her “my girl” when he’s drunk enough to forget you're someone else.

You learn things about her you were never supposed to know. Her favorite kind of wine, the song she hums while she cleans, the scar on her thigh he once kissed after a bar incident a few years back. You gather these things like trinkets — little heartbreaks in your jewelry box, tucked between strands of pearls he bought you after missing your birthday.

You tell yourself you are not in love. That this is just something to fill the quiet. Something to do in the in-between. But that lie only holds weight until 3 a.m., when he rolls off of you and mutters her name in his sleep. You stare at the ceiling and pretend it doesn’t gut you.

What do you get, really? The evenings after the sun has gone down, when even the city’s most ruthless start to tuck in. You get cold dinners, unreturned calls, and bruises that bloom like violets. He always says he doesn’t mean to grab so hard.

Mary gets his mornings. She gets his coffee orders and Sunday paper runs. She gets his tired feet in her lap and his laughter over breakfast. You get his apologies. You get his guilt.

Sometimes, he says he’ll leave her. Sometimes, he says you’re everything he’s ever wanted. That she doesn’t understand him the way you do. That he’s never felt more alive than when he’s with you. And for a second, you believe him.

But the next morning, he’s gone before the first light hits your skin.

You stop asking him to stay. You stop asking him anything at all.

And yet — when he knocks, you open the door.

Every single time.

#sinners x reader #elias stack moore #elias moore #stack moore x reader #stack moore #stack x reader #stack moore angst #stack moore fanfiction #Spotify #michael b jordan x reader #stack x black reader #stack moore x black!reader #elias moore x reader #elias moore x black!reader

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rueclfer · 9 months ago

Note

heyy there can i request some more touya headcannons? i really enjoy your way of picturing him because it’s just so canon and he’s kinda a lovely dick y’know. whatever comes to ur mind. thank u so much!!

weelll since you gave me so much freedom here r some touya as a housemate hcs ANNDD a moodboard bc i enjoy the visualization <3 since we talked abt this the other day too !! (i yapped so hard here sry sry this is so indulgent)

bakugou's and sero's version too hehe

housemates // touya todoroki

touya hates the idea of living with a complete stranger or one of his siblings, so what other option does he have other than forcing his best friend (crush) on a lease with him?

the newfound freedom definitely puts him on his ass for a few weeks. barely sleeps. eats like shit. trash is scattered everywhere. several unpacked boxes. it stays like this until fuyumi comes over to check our the place and gives you two a hard scolding to get your shit together.

more often than not, you'd end up waking up on the couch with your legs sprawled out across his lap and his upper half leaned over the couch arm rest in deep sleep. staying up so late was probably one of his favorite things about living together. being able to talk as loud as you wanted, watch movies late into the night, look over the city from your balcony- he found solitude in existing with you.

if he wasn't already codependent before moving in together, just know his ass will be GLUED TO YOU. you'd be doing work in your room and he'd barge in and flop down on your bed without a word. maybe he'd gotten a bit too comfortable.

if he's feeling extra annoying that day, he'd bring in his guitar and amp and keep asking you to rate his riffs until you entirely give up on work and give him some attention.

is it obvious his love language is quality time? not only that, gift giving too. he's like a fucking crow.

"look what i found. it's a rock. for you."

makes him soooo giddy to see your display of the rocks, feathers, and dried up flowers he picked up for you on his walk. sometimes you'd come home and there'd be a new addition to the ever growing collection.

ofc you'd return the energy in a different way. touya will not cook for himself. ever. he eats like shit as an internal rebellion against the healthy diet he was forced upon as a kid, but you will not allow that boy to rot himself from the inside out!! he can expect several tupperwares of portioned out meals with notes attached to the lids if you know he'd be home all day by himself.

"to t <3. if you don't eat every last bite i'll find out and it'll hurt my feelings and i might combust into flames or something idk don't risk it!"

i can also imagine him holding back tears whenever you ever come into his room to hand him a bowl of cut up fruit. the first time you do it he'd be speechless like jaw dropped taken aback. has he ever felt love like this??? i think not.

despite all of the kind gestures, he's still touya todoroki. hides your keys if you annoyed him that morning by rushing him in the bathroom and makes you a few minutes late to class/work. chronic door slammer. pisses with the door wide open. no sense of privacy and do not gaf to knock. always locking himself out -> i feel strongly about this like imagine coming home after a long day and he's sitting out in the hallway with a pouty face waiting for you hehehe.

i don't think he'd realize this crush until a few months after you've moved in together. how could he when you two practically already act and bicker like an old married couple?

yes- peanut butter belongs in the fridge. no- it doesn't. stop leaving your socks everywhere. you forget to flush again. stop slamming the doors. you ate my chips, didn't you? don't lie. did you really need to put the mugs up that high? (he does it on purpose, and tightens the lid to every jar too.)

it wasn't until one late evening when he comes home to find you frantically mixing a doughy substance in a large metal bowl. you never bake, but you have your own oven now, so why not?

"god, finally. help me, my arms hurt." you groan, shoving the bowl in his hands. "i think i fucked up."

he sees the hurricane aftermath of your kitchen- flour everywhere, egg shells left on the counter, every single jar imaginable opened and scattered around. he could be teasing you about the mess, but god you looked so beautiful with that stupid wrinkle in between your eyebrows as you read over the recipe, and the streaks of flour across your pant leg from wiping your hands, and the way you swipe away the stray pieces of hair falling in your face with the back of your hand- oh fuck.

he thinks he's falling in love with you.

he swallows it, but he starts acting kinda weird around the apartment.

like he's.... avoiding you?

living with his best friend whom he just so happens to develop a crush for, would eat him alive. he locks himself in his room and chain smoke out his window while he's stressing the fuck out. he told you he'd stop smoking, but he's sure you'd understand the need for it right now. he hopes you can't smell it.

i also think he'd be a stress cleaner lmaaoo he cannot sit still with his thoughts for too long, so the headphones are ON and blasting and he'll definitely use that as a scapegoat + the loud ass vacuum for ignoring you if you try to talk to him while he's on this cleaning frenzy.

you think he's sick LMAO imagine the pain he feels when you come knocking on his door and calling out that you're leaving a bowl of soup and cough medicine outside his door for him. he doesn't tell you that yeah he's sick but *not in that way*

lovesick. that boy is lovesick!!!!!!

how do you avoid your housemate while you figure out how to control your feelings?

he confesses via note that he leaves on the kitchen counter. really simple tbh nothing too extravagant, but he signs off by telling you that he's staying crashing at fuyumi's for a couple days.

you text him a string of obscenities to get his ass back home and he does (he's scared of you).

he CAANNOOTT talk about his feelings in an adult way. he is sitting on the complete opposite side of the couch, twiddling his thumbs, and staring down at his feet like a child while you reread his confession note out loud to him. you find his discomfort hilarious but endearing. he finds you unbearably insufferable.

jesus the amount of times in that apartment where he would storm off to his room whenever you two got in an argument or you pissed him off...old habits die hard, you guess, because this isn't the todoroki household anymore and you aren't scared to lose that deposit and kick a door down.

once you corner him and get him to open up about his feelings the air in the room suddenly shift!! the clouds are clearing and the sun is shining woooowww look at what good communication can do.

sharing an apartment with your BOYFRIEND is no different than sharing one with your best friend. i think he'd like to keep your separate bedrooms to have your own space, but you'll rarely sleep apart.

so! many! new! traditions!

helping him dye his hair on the first saturday of every month. biweekly horror movie marathons. counting the communal piggy bank ever couple months. trying new takeout spots until you find THE spot for every category- chinese, pizza, ramen, etc etc.

and finally, an everlasting mark on your first apartment together: a small carved out heart around your initials left on the inner corner of a kitchen cabinet done with his pocket knife on a random weekday evening while you two are cooking dinner together.

touya tag: @moonchild701 @kaldurahms-lover @themultifandomgirl @devilslittlehelper @porusuniverse @ratatellie @katbug37 @ggriwm

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stvrrlau · 1 month ago

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𝙧𝙤𝙤𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙩𝙚.

⤷⤷ 𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 niki feels like he's just existing. until.

𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨.ᐟ roommate!misunderstanding!niki!⋆understanding!fem!reader!

𝘵𝘺𝘱𝘦.ᐟ angst????? fanfic (ITS OVER 1500 WORDS OKAY?????) fluff riki is mysterious ooo aura riki self sabotages mwhahaha riki is misunderstood reader doesnt pry but tries to help idk i just wanna write some juicy delicious sadness 👅👅

𝘴𝘵𝘷𝘳𝘳𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘴.ᐟ HEYYY guys u dont hate me right *crickets* IM SORRY MY EXAMS R IN 2 WEEKS BUT AFTER I PROMISE U GUYS HAVE MY FULL UNDEVOUTED ATTENTION I PROMISE I LOVE U ALL OKAY 💗 REBLOGS+LIKES+COMMENTS APPRECIATED!!!!! wrd count۶ৎ 2 805

🇭🇴🇲🇪 , 🇱🇮🇧🇷🇦🇷🇾 .

𝐓𝐇𝐄 first time i met niki, he didn’t say much.

back then, i thought he hated me, but looking back, it was quite out of character for him to even acknowledge my existence.

he just stood there in the hallway, with his headphones around his neck and a box in his hands. he stared at me—with that same far-away look in his eyes which seemed to always linger—and nodded slowly. not a friendly nod. just a small nod, like he was telling me—okay. you’re here. you’re my roommate.

that was it.

that’s how it had always been.

me and niki had always quietly co-existed—not close, not distant.

he had his space, and i had mine.

we both knew what to do—and what to not do.

monday? there was always a cup of tea left on the counter for me.

friday? i made sure there was always a snack on the counter for niki to take—since he seemed to forget to eat before dance practice.

this is how it always was.

was.

something changed. i don’t know what, but things were different.

we still had our own spaces, our own hobbies, our own things to do.

but sometimes, niki would come and sit on the sofa with me. sometimes, he'd pass me his charger without me asking. sometimes, he left me little notes, reminding me of things, even i myself, didn’t know were happening—but he did.

once, he knocked on my door just to hand me the last slice of pizza. said he wasn’t hungry, even though i’d seen him eyeing the box all evening.

and sometimes, when i couldn’t sleep, i’d hear his music playing softly through the wall.

some nights, i think he played it louder on purpose. just loud enough for me to hear.

he was different—but not in a bad way.

———

it happened on a tuesday.

i stood in the kitchen, staring at the kettle.

it was broken.

it took me five minutes to realise that the usual high-pitched screaming of the kettle wasn’t happening—the water wasn’t boiling.

before i could even touch the kettle and possibly smash it to pieces, i heard a voice behind me.

“it’s the switch,”

i turned around.

niki was standing there, hair damp, hoodie sleeves pushed up to his elbows, arms folded. he didn’t meet my eyes.

“you have to push the switch down twice. the first time it doesn’t stick.”

i blinked. not because of what he said, but because this was the first time i’d heard him say anything that wasn’t a mumbled ‘thanks’ or a cough that sounded suspiciously like ‘night’.

he stepped past me, flicked the switch, waited.

the kettle rumbled to life.

“see?”

i huffed a laugh, “you could’ve told me that two weeks ago. would’ve saved me from drinking cold tea.” i grimaced.

niki shrugged. “you looked determined. i didn’t want to get in the way.”

then—barely a twitch, but it was there—a smile.

i stared. not long. just a second.

“thanks.” i said.

he just hummed, finished what he was doing and left.

left like it was normal.

left like nothing had happened.

but something did.

now, every time i stood in the kitchen, staring at the kettle, i couldn’t help but remember.

———

the next time it happened was soon after.

it was a thursday.

i was sat at the table, hunched over a pile of notes, sheets spread for miles.

nothing was making sense.

“you keep doing that.”

my head shot up. i hadn’t even realised niki was here. but he was.

there he was, sat across from me, phone in hand, same unreadable expression.

“what?” i said, confused.

“you keep doing that,” he repeated, “you keep biting your lip and sighing like the piece of paper personally wronged you.”

i stopped chewing on my lip. he was right.

“you’ve been watching me?” i asked, a small smile on my lips for a reason even i didn’t know.

“well you’re kinda hard to ignore,” he shrugged, “you sigh pretty loudly.”

i gave him a look, but there was nothing behind it.

“what are you working on?”

“presentation.”

“want me to listen to it?”

i stared.

“so you can make fun of me after?”

“so i can help.”

i blinked. blinked again. niki raised an eyebrow, and waited.

so i talked.

and he listened.

and helped me.

pointed out where i stumbled along my words, where i rambled, when i rushed.

when i finished, he nodded.

“not bad.”

coming from niki, it felt like an accomplishment.

i mumbled a thank you and got back to my work, expecting him to leave. he didn’t.

he sat there quietly, scrolling through his phone, stealing one of the cookies from my plate.

it was silent.

but it didn’t feel like it.

not anymore.

———

things began to change.

sure, they changed before, but now they were really changing.

niki was changing.

he talked to me more. left me things. stayed near me more often.

noticed things even i didn’t.

like how i stopped using my favourite mug after it chipped.

the next day, a nearly identical one appeared in the cupboard. no explanation. no note. it was just there.

or how he stopped playing music late on the nights before my big exams.

or how he always knew what i was craving.

i didn’t even realise we were close. not until i caught myself waiting for him, just to see him, just to speak to him, just to be with him.

i didn’t even realise i began to repay the favours.

i didn’t realise that i began to leave him an umbrella when it was raining. that i began to order his favourite, even when he didn’t ask. that i began to wait for him to arrive home, just so we could talk.

i didn’t even realise. when i probably should’ve.

———

it was late when i had finally gotten back.

so late that i didn’t expect niki to still be up—but he was.

he was sat there, in his usual spot, eyes glazed over as he stared at the flickering tv. that was until he heard my keys on the table.

he blinked. shook his head. looked up.

we met eyes. i offered a smile. he returned it. patted the spot next to him. i gratefully accepted it.

we didn’t speak for a while. we didn’t have to.

niki nudged me and pointed to the ramen on the table.

i blinked in surprise but thanked him all the same.

it was still hot, evident by the steam coming from the bowl. did he know what time i’d be home?

we sat in silence, the distant flickering of the tv lighting up our faces.

“i think i’d miss you if you moved out.”

i stopped chewing for a moment. “i’m not moving out.”

“i know.” he said quietly, but his eyes still held that same melancholy feel.

silence.

his words hung in the air, his voice still ringing in my ears. his tone sad, like he cared.

“i’d miss you too.” i whispered, my heart racing for some unknown reason.

niki looked up in surprise. “you would?”

i nodded slowly. “of course i would.”

niki just stared at me for a moment before looking back at the ground.

“i think i’m in love with you.”

i sat there for a moment, not daring to move, let alone breathe. he said it so silently i thought i was imagining it, but after he got up, cheeks pink, i knew i couldn’t have.

and with that, niki wished me a goodnight and disappeared into the darkness, leaving me alone with my racing heart and thoughts.

———

it had been two days since that night.

two days since niki said those words.

two days since my brain had done nothing but replay those five quiet words over and over again.

“i think i’m in love with you.”

and then he left. just like that.

no follow-up. no “just kidding.”

no nothing.

i hadn’t seen him since.

so, naturally, i felt like i was going insane.

“yn. breathe.” jake half-laughed.

i eyed him in annoyance, but i couldn’t be mad at him—after all, he did listen to me rant for a full twenty minutes.

“i don’t even know what he meant!” i cried, burying my face in my hands, “like… who says that and leaves? he just left me there!”

jake laughed softly, but it was kind. understanding.

“well… maybe he was scared.”

i looked up. “of me?”

he shrugged. “of his feelings. of you not feeling the same.”

i mumbled a quiet oh.

i should’ve realised. why he was so silent all the time. why he barely spoke to me. he didn’t hate me. he hated himself. hated himself so much he didn’t think he could love.

i blinked. something in my chest tugged.

“come here,” he said, holding out their arms. “you’re spiraling too much.”

i hesitated, then gave in—let myself be pulled into a hug. it was comforting. safe. just like jake.

it was silent for a moment.

that was until i heard the sound of keys and something else drop.

i jumped away from jake, and looked up.

niki.

there he stood, hood up. expression unreadable. completely still.

his eyes flicked between me and jake.

between the closeness. the hug.

his jaw clenched.

something dark flickered in his eyes.

“oh,” he said, voice low. too calm. “sorry. didn’t mean to interrupt.”

and before i had chance to explain, a chance to tell him how i felt, he disappeared into his room. door closed and locked.

and just like the space between us became wide again.

———

it wasn’t until jake left that i noticed it.

the bouquet.

small. a little crushed. a few petals scattered near the door.

roses.

deep red, like a bruised heart. wrapped neatly, delicately—thoughtfully.

and yet they sat there, half-hidden in the shadow of the shoe rack, forgotten.

no note. no explanation.

but i didn’t need one.

not when i knew.

not when i remembered the sound that fell alongside the keys.

he brought me flowers.

and he dropped them the second he saw me with someone else.

dropped them quickly—just as quickly as he lost his trust in me.

———

i didn’t talk to niki. i didn’t think he’d want to anyway.

i rarely saw him nowadays—which was probably for the best—and on the rare occasion that i did, he disappeared as soon as i saw him.

he didn’t mention anything about that night. or anything about the bouquet. he didn’t say he was angry—but i could tell.

i could tell by the way he avoided me, like i was a disease, or how he wouldn’t even touch the snacks i left him on the counters.

it was like he was trying to forget about me—piece by piece.

the niki i knew was gone.

and all i had left of him was the slowly, wilting roses hidden away in my the back of my closet like a secret i was too scared to throw away.

———

it was midnight when i finally saw him again.

he was in the kitchen.

there he was, hood up, hair messy, arms folded as he stared at the kettle with that same look i adored.

“niki?” i whispered, like it was a sin for me to even utter his name.

he flinched, but didn’t turn.

“can we talk?”

silence.

“please. i-i just need to explain..”

he laughed. but it was bitter, like i was a cruel joke. “explain what?”

“that it wasn’t—what you saw, with jake—”

“you don’t need to explain,” he said, finally turning to face me. his eyes were tired. cold. “i get it.”

“no, you don’t.”

“don’t i?”

his voice was louder now. sharper.

“you think i didn’t know? i saw the way he looked at you. saw the way you looked at him. i was an idiot for thinking it meant anything.”

“it did mean something—”

“then why didn’t you say anything?”

that shut me up.

“you just let me stand there, like a fool for even believing i had a chance. you let me say everything—everything i ever felt—and then—nothing.”

“niki—”

“i let you in. and now i feel like a fucking joke.”

his chest was heaving. hands clenched. his eyes were glistening, like he was on the brink of tears, but was holding them back to retain any dignity he still had.

“i trusted you.” he whispered, voice cracking, “and i don’t think i can ever do that again.”

and then he was gone.

———

the sound of his door slamming was louder than it should’ve been. it echoed in my mind—like a reminder that i did this and that it was all my fault.

i didn’t move. i couldn’t. i just stood there, rooted to the kitchen floor, like if i waited long enough he might come back. might tell me it was all okay.

but he didn’t.

the silence was suffocating. the kettle clicked off. the rain came down heavier.

i broke.

the sob pushed its way out of my chest before i could stop it.

my knees gave out.

i hit the floor hard, clutching the edge of the counter like it would keep me from shattering.

each cry hurt more than the last. i cried until my lungs hurt. until my throat was raw.

i cried and cried and cried.

but still that ache didn’t leave my body.

i stayed on the kitchen floor until my fingers went numb and my eyes stung too much to stay open.

i don’t even remember how i got to bed.

but i remember—remember how niki looked at me.

like i was nothing to him.

———

the next morning was cruel. the morning sun was bright and welcoming, but in a way it felt like it was taunting me—like i didn’t deserve happiness.

i kept my head down when i walked into the kitchen. not because i wanted to avoid him. but because i wasn’t sure i could look him in the eye and not fall apart again.

niki was already there. quiet. tense. like always.

he didn’t speak. didn’t even look at me.

or so i thought.

“were you—”

he froze.

“crying?”

i felt my throat close up. the words stolen from me before i’d even had time to think about what i wanted to say. i couldn’t speak. so i didn’t.

i just kept my head down—hoping, praying, niki would just leave me alone. because, lately, he’d been real good at that.

“yn.” he said firmly, “look at me.”

his hand held my chin—firmly, but he didn’t hurt me, not this time—and looked at me. really looked at me. i saw his eyes flicker across my face, as if trying to memorise each of my features.

something shifted in his expression—barely—but it was there.

guilt. pain. regret.

he let go of me and left.

again.

———

niki left. again.

the door slammed shut, a firm reminder of our distance.

i didn’t know if he’d come back.

i didn’t follow.

maybe i should’ve.

but i didn’t.

i curled up on the sofa, knees to my chest, heart too tired to ache properly anymore. just for a moment, i told myself. just until he comes back. just until it stopped hurting.

i don’t remember falling asleep.

but i remember waking up.

the lights were off, apart from the soft orange glow coming from the kitchen window.

and niki—

niki was sat across from me.

sat on the floor. there was a bouquet of roses in his lap.

slightly crumpled.

like he couldn’t decide whether to give them or throw them away.

he didn’t speak for a while. neither did i.

he just sat there. watching. like if he looked away, i might disappear.

“you came back.” i whispered.

“you were still here,” he said, softly.

my throat tightened.

he looked down at the flowers. then back up at me.

“i was wrong,” he said, voice low, cracked. “about jake. about you. about everything. i said things i didn’t mean. i hurt you.”

i sat up slowly.

“i hurt you too.” i whispered.

he blinked. swallowed.

“i never stopped caring,” he whispered. “even when i was angry. even when i tried not to.”

silence.

then he stood, slowly walked over, and gently placed the bouquet in my hands. his hands grazed mine ever so softly—like he was hesitant to leave them there.

“i know it’s late,” he said, “but—i still love you.”

i looked down at the roses. their fragrant scent filled my nose. sweet. they were a little bruised, a little wilted at the edges—like they’d been held too tight by someone who didn’t know how to show love gently.

they were fragile, but still beautiful.

just like him.

“you’re not too late.” i smiled, “you’d never be too late niki.”

“i love you too.”

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sunarryn · 4 months ago

Text

DP X Marvel #3

The thing about being seventeen and King of the Infinite Realms is that nobody prepares you for the paperwork.

Sure, Danny thought there’d be some responsibility when he accidentally overthrew Pariah Dark and inherited an ancient, eldritch realm full of undead beings and chaos entities. But this?

“This” being a five-hour council meeting about whether the Blob Ghost could legally marry the Ghost of a Haunted Taco Bell.

Danny slammed his forehead into the obsidian table, sighing. “Can someone remind me why this is my life again?”

Fright Knight, sitting to his left in full spectral armor, replied without missing a beat. “Because you claimed the Throne of The Infinite Realms by Rite of Spectral Conquest, my liege.”

“Right…” Danny muttered, dragging his crown—which looked less like a crown and more like an aggressive mass of bone, metal, and green flame—off his head and onto the table. “That. Cool. I love my life. I’m living my best afterlife.”

The Ghost Zone’s politics were a nightmare. The Council of Wailing Scepters argued in riddles. The Ministry of Temporal Loops wouldn’t stop trying to undo Danny’s birth “as a preventative measure.” Ember was unionizing musical ghosts. Skulker demanded hunting permits. Box Ghost somehow had diplomatic immunity.

And let’s not even talk about the Realms’ economy.

“Have you ever tried to make a tax code for entities who don’t obey time?” Clockwork once asked with a deadpan stare.

Danny had not. Danny did not want to.

And all of that was on top of being a superhero, a public figure, a full-time student at Midtown, Tony Stark’s ghost consultant intern, and, most critically, Peter Parker’s boyfriend.

The one bright spot in his entire liminal, half-dead, legally dubious existence.

Peter was the only reason Danny hadn’t exploded yet. Or accidentally declared war on Canada (long story, don’t ask). Or gotten exorcised by a rogue Vatican unit (longer story).

When Danny phased into his boyfriend’s bedroom at 2:43AM wearing royal armor, covered in ghost slime, with a ghost octopus clinging to his leg screaming, “LONG LIVE THE GHOST KING,” Peter didn’t even blink.

He just put his book down and said, “Do you want hot chocolate or a sedative?”

“Both.” Danny croaked.

“Got you.” Peter said, already moving toward the mini kitchen.

Danny melted into the couch, dropping his crown on the floor. It rolled slightly, then hissed at the furniture. He kicked it under the table.

“I hate everyone.” He muttered. “The fire ghosts are trying to annex the Library of Screams again, the Spectral Senate is debating if time travelers have souls, and a councilwoman called me a fleshling with trauma issues.”

“Well,” Peter called out gently from the kitchen, “she’s not wrong.”

“Peter.”

“I’m just saying. You did try to punch Death last week.”

Danny groaned. “It was a misunderstanding!”

“You called them a dusty crypt bitch.”

“They insulted my hoodie!”

Peter returned, holding two mugs. He handed one to Danny, kissed his forehead, then sat beside him.

Danny leaned heavily against him.

Peter didn’t complain.

“Y’know,” Danny said after a moment, sipping his cocoa, “sometimes I forget I’m still seventeen.”

Peter chuckled. “Babe. You’re seventeen, King of a spectral empire, on the Avengers’ emergency contact list, and still get detention for being late to gym. You’re living like six lives at once.”

“I died once,” Danny muttered. “That should’ve been enough.”

Between ghost attacks, council drama, interdimensional skirmishes, and Midtown High exams, Danny hadn’t had a full night’s sleep since… well, since before dying.

The living world had opinions too. America couldn’t decide if he should be considered a minor, a sovereign leader, or a health hazard. International ghost regulations were passed in his name. He had diplomatic immunity in over a human countries and was banned from a hundred others. There was a conspiracy subreddit entirely dedicated to the theory that he was an alien hybrid bred by the government to replace the Queen of England.

Danny’s response to that was, “Do I look like I want to colonize anything?”

He still had math homework due tomorrow.

Sometimes he phased into the UN to yell at their Interdimensional Defense Committee. Sometimes he missed bio class because a ghost war broke out on the edge of the Dreaming Isles and he had to teleport to stop Nocturne from invading people’s nightmares.

Sometimes, Peter would find him sitting on the floor of their shared dorm shower, still glowing, muttering, “I am the King of Everything and Nothing and I can’t figure out mitochondria.”

“I’ll tutor you,” Peter always offered. “And also get you a nap and a cookie.”

Peter was… everything.

Unflinchingly patient. Wickedly smart. Constantly worried.

He patched up Danny’s wounds, whispered jokes during council meetings when Danny looked five seconds from screaming, brought extra snacks when Danny forgot to eat.

He held Danny after Danny woke up screaming from ghost-fueled nightmares.

And when the burden got too heavy—when Danny stood on the balcony of his palace in the Infinite Realms, overlooking a kingdom of madness and memory, time fractals and ghosts whispering in languages lost to the living—and said, “I don’t think I can do this anymore,” Peter kissed his knuckles and said, “Then I’ll do it with you.”

The other ghosts hated it.

A human, dating the King? Scandalous. Blasphemous. Soft.

Danny told them all to choke.

Peter? Peter told them to submit a formal complaint in triplicate and then kissed Danny in front of them just to be petty.

They ruled together, in a way. Danny signed the decrees. Peter corrected the grammar. Danny banished tyrants. Peter took notes and organized his calendar. Danny fought for peace. Peter made sure he didn’t forget who he was fighting for.

Once, Clockwork pulled Peter aside and said, “He will burn out without you.”

Peter just nodded. “I know.”

And yet, through all the madness, they found joy.

Danny giving Peter flying lessons. Peter webbing Danny’s locker shut as a prank. The two of them building a spectral stabilizer out of Tony’s spare tech, laughing hysterically when it turned the floor into a trampoline.

They shared ghost patrols, movie nights, star-watching on top of the Empire State Building.

Peter calling Danny “Your Majesty” in a ridiculous accent until Danny threatened to drop him into a lava lake.

Danny threatening international leaders by day and then cuddling with Peter by night, wearing fuzzy socks and a hoodie that said “Half-Dead, Fully Tired.”

Sometimes, Danny just stared at him. In awe.

Peter, who knew the truth. All of it. The weight. The loss. The terrifying power clawing beneath Danny’s skin. The fact that Danny was the anchor between dimensions, balancing the afterlife and reality like a tired high schooler with PTSD and ghost fire.

And still loved him.

Still said, “You’re doing great.”

Still held him when it all came crashing down.

The Realms called Danny a King.

To Peter, he was just Danny.

Sometimes, that was all Danny needed to be okay.

Just… Danny. Human. Ghost. Hero. Boyfriend.

King of the Infinite Realms, sure. But also a seventeen-year-old who just wanted to pass his math test, kiss his boyfriend, and maybe get five hours of sleep.

With Peter by his side?

He could do it all.

Even the haunted Taco Bell marriage negotiations.

#danny phantom #danny phantom fandom #danny phantom fanfiction #danny fenton #peter parker #spiderman fanfiction #spider man #spiderman #dp x marvel #marvel mcu #marvel #mcu fanfiction #mcu #mcu fandom

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rootedinrevisions · 11 days ago

Text

A Firework Kind of Feeling

Summary: You’ve always kept to the background at the Avengers Compound. You’re just an assistant, just a civilian, and perfectly fine staying out of the spotlight. But that doesn’t stop Bucky Barnes from noticing you. When he nervously asks if you’d like to go to the summer fair (and maybe call it a date), you say yes.

Warnings: Mentions of trauma / Bucky’s past (brief, non-graphic)

Word Count: 3,683

Prompt: Fireworks

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Shy!Reader

The Avengers compound always buzzed with movement. Footsteps in the halls. Intercom announcements. The occasional clank of metal from the training floor.

But you had a way of staying quietly tucked into the background. Invisible in a comforting sort of way. You weren’t a superhero. No combat training. No missions overseas. Your name wasn’t stitched into any kind of suit.

You were the kind of person who always remembered who liked their coffee black and who needed two sugars. You kept the supply closets in perfect order. You juggled mission briefings and transport logistics like a seasoned conductor managing an orchestra. And when someone was missing a report or a signature or had double booked themselves, they usually came to you for help.

Including Bucky Barnes.

Especially Bucky Barnes.

You’d never forget the first time he said your name.

“Hey,” he’d said, catching your attention with a light knock on your open office door. “You’re ___, right?”

He’d said it with a soft kind of certainty, like he’d known for a while but wanted to ask anyway. You nodded, surprised he even knew you existed. After all, he was Bucky Barnes. Somehow always looking like he stepped out of an old photograph with a stoic jawline, strong shoulders, and that unreadable softness behind steel blue eyes.

He had lingered that day. Asked about the paperwork you were sorting. Thanked you when you helped him fill out the confusing online form Tony had sent while grumbling about twenty first century technology..

You’d assumed that was it.

But then it happened again.

And again.

Little moments. Quiet ones. Sometimes it was him walking beside you down the hall without saying much. Sometimes he brought you coffee instead of the other way around. He somehow learned how you liked it, and always made sure it was to your liking.

Once he had waited in the lobby while you finished organizing post mission files, offering nothing more than company and the occasional dry comment that made you laugh under your breath.

You hadn’t realized how closely he paid attention until he started showing up just when you needed a hand. Too many boxes? Bucky was there. Printer jammed? He fixed it without saying a word, handing the page back to you with the smallest of smiles.

He never made a big deal about it.

But lately it felt like something was shifting.

Like maybe he wasn’t just being polite. Like maybe, just maybe, the way he looked at you meant something.

Today, for example, you'd barely made it into the staff kitchen when you heard footsteps behind you. You turned just as Bucky rounded the corner, a bit breathless like he’d been hurrying to catch up.

“Hey,” he said, his voice a little lower than usual. “I saved you one.”

He held out a blueberry muffin wrapped in a napkin. You blinked, unsure what to say.

“You mentioned liking these last week,” he added quickly, not quite meeting your eyes. “Didn’t want you to miss out. They go fast.”

You took it from him slowly, your fingers brushing his.

“Thanks,” you said softly, hoping he couldn’t hear how fast your heart was beating.

He smiled. Really smiled this time. It was rare, but when it happened, it made your chest ache.

“Anytime,” he said, turning to grab a coffee mug. “Oh, and…you’re still coming to the Stark Enterprises Fair this weekend, right?”

You hesitated, the muffin still warm in your hands.

“Oh I’m just helping organize. I wasn’t really planning to go.”

Bucky looked over his shoulder, brow slightly furrowed.

“You should.”

And then, “If you want…I’ll walk around with you. You know. Keep you company.”

You tried to play it cool.

“Sure,” you murmured. “That’d be nice.”

* * * * *

The compound was unusually quiet that Friday afternoon. Most of the team either went out on light missions or finished up early ahead of the long weekend. You were tucked away in your corner office, scrolling through last minute volunteer lists and booth schedules for the upcoming fair. Tony had left the planning to the non-combat staff but insisted everything still run like “a Stark level operation,” which, of course, meant chaos.

You barely registered the soft knock at the door until a familiar voice followed it.

“Hey. Got a sec?”

You looked up, your breath catching for a moment at the sight of Bucky leaning casually against the doorframe. His hands were in his pockets, sleeves of his henley pushed up to his elbows. Effortlessly handsome, in that disarming way you were still trying to get used to.

“Yeah,” you said, quickly minimizing your screen. “Everything okay?”

He stepped into the room a little hesitantly, like he was afraid of interrupting something important. His eyes flicked to the muffin wrapper on your desk from that morning, and the tiniest smile ghosted his lips.

“I just wanted to check if you’re still planning on coming to the fair tomorrow.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You trying to cancel our ‘keep me company’ agreement?”

Bucky chuckled under his breath. “Nah. Just making sure you didn’t change your mind.”

You tilted your head at him, watching the way he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. It was subtle, but there was something nervous about him. His metal hand flexed slightly at his side, like he was trying not to fidget.

You sat back in your chair. “Are you asking because you want me to go…or because you want me to go with you?”

His eyes met yours then, a flicker of something earnest flashing through them. He didn’t look away.

“I was hoping it could be both,” he said quietly. “If you’re alright with that.”

You blinked, heart stuttering just a bit.

He cleared his throat and added, “I mean, I know things are…different now. People don’t really call it ‘going steady’ or anything. But I figured…I’d like to take you. You know. Like a date.”

You bit back a smile, tilting your head in faux-thought.

“A date,” you repeated slowly. “Hmm. I don’t know, Barnes. Have you even asked a girl out in this century?”

He looked momentarily horrified, then laughed, rubbing the back of his neck with his flesh hand.

You grinned, heart warm now, and leaned forward on your elbows. “I’m teasing. It was very sweet. And yes, I’d love to go. With you.”

His shoulders eased visibly, and he gave you a sheepish sort of smile. “Good. Great. I…I’ll come by around five?”

You nodded. “Five sounds perfect.”

As he turned to leave, you called out one last thing:

“Bucky?”

He paused in the doorway, glancing back.

You smiled softly. “For the record…I think going steady might be kind of nice.”

He blinked once. Then that quiet, almost shy smile appeared again. It was one that made your stomach flip just a little.

“Noted,” he said, voice warm.

And then he was gone.

* * * * *

You’d checked the clock three times in the last five minutes.

4:52. 4:55. 4:57.

Your stomach flipped with every glance, a low hum of nervous energy curling in your chest. It wasn’t like you hadn’t seen Bucky outside of work before. But this felt different. This wasn’t bumping into him in the kitchen, or sitting near him at a team meeting. This was a date. The kind of thing that made you rethink your outfit twelve times before finally settling on something light, simple, and just a little more effort than usual.

He’d said five.

So when the knock came at 4:58, you froze. And then you smiled.

You crossed the short distance to your door, heart thudding like a drumroll in your chest. When you opened it, there he was.

Bucky Barnes.

Right on time. Or technically, two minutes early.

He stood with his hands in his pockets, wearing dark jeans and a soft navy henley that somehow made him look even more like he’d walked out of another era. His hair was down this time, brushing just past his jaw. And when his eyes met yours, he smiled. Not the small, polite kind he gave everyone else, but the one that reached his eyes. The one you’d come to think of as just for you.’

“Hey,” he said, eyes trailing over you.

You felt heat rise in your cheeks. “You’re early.”

He shrugged, lips twitching. “I said five. Didn’t want to be late. Figured early was safer.”

You stepped out, locking your door behind you, the summer evening already golden and warm around you.

“Good call,” you said, glancing at him as you both started walking.

The fair wasn’t far. Just down the wide path behind the compound’s west wing, where the open green space had been transformed in a matter of hours.

There were food trucks and twinkling lights, booths with games, a makeshift stage for music. Laughter drifted through the air, carried on the breeze along with the scent of kettle corn and barbecue.

“Wow,” you murmured as the fair came into view.

Bucky looked over at you, smiling at your wonder. “Kinda reminds me of the ones back home.”

“From the ‘40s?”

He nodded. “Different rides. Same feeling.

“I used to get in trouble sneaking extra tickets to the Ferris wheel,” he said, smirking. “Steve’d cover for me. He was a terrible liar, but he always tried.”

You laughed. “You gonna try to sneak me extra tickets tonight, Barnes?”

He glanced sideways at you, his tone casual but his eyes teasing.

“Only if you ask real nice.”

You bumped him lightly with your shoulder. “Noted.”

As you reached the edge of the fair, he paused.

“Oh,” he said, reaching into his pocket. “Almost forgot.”

He pulled out a small, folded paper.

“A ticket,” he said, handing it to you.

You blinked. “Is this real?”

He smiled shyly. “Made it myself. For one date to the fair.”

You turned it over and hand written with the ink slightly smudged it read: Admit One: Date Night at the Fair. Non refundable. Good for rides, snacks, and possibly a kiss goodnight.

You shook your head, smiling so hard your cheeks hurt. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“I know,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “But I wanted to.”

You slipped the ticket into your pocket carefully. “I’ll hang on to that.”

His voice dropped just slightly. “Good. I hope you use it.”

Lantern lights strung between trees cast soft gold across the grounds, and the scent of funnel cake, kettle corn, and sizzling meat filled the air. There were kids running past with sticky hands and bright smiles, teenagers shrieking from the spinning rides, and music pulsing from the small stage where a cover band played a familiar tune.

You and Bucky walked side by side, the world moving around you like a gentle current. It felt easy. Lighter than it should, considering how badly you were overthinking every brush of your hands, every smile he threw your way.

You pointed out things without really thinking. The frozen lemonade stand that reminded you of your favorite fair snack from when you were a kid. The fact that you hated the balloon dart game because you could never figure out how to properly throw a dart without it bouncing off and hitting the ground.

And Bucky listened.

He really listened.

Head tilted just slightly toward you, steps naturally matching your pace. He asked questions, remembered little things you said, made a soft “hm” sound whenever something caught his interest. And when you got particularly passionate about a weird niche topic—like the time you spent three months trying to bake the perfect sourdough bread—he didn’t laugh or brush it off.

Instead, he smiled at you like you were the most fascinating thing he’d seen all night.

“Okay, but why sourdough?” he asked, genuinely curious as you neared a row of game booths.

You laughed. “I don’t know. I guess it was the science of it? It felt like this whole ritual—feeding the starter, waiting, timing everything just right. And when it finally worked, it was like… this little victory. Like I’d earned it.”

Bucky hummed again. “That makes sense.”

You shot him a look, amused. “What, you didn’t have a sourdough phase in your Brooklyn days?”

He chuckled, eyes softening as they scanned the booths ahead. “No.. But my ma made bread on Sundays. Fresh, warm. Whole place smelled like it for the whole day.”

You glanced up at him, and he offered a small, almost shy smile.

“There’s a lot I don’t remember,” he admitted after a moment. “All the…rewiring, the conditioning. It scrambled things. But sometimes a memory just…peeks through. Like a word or a scent or a sound opens a door, and there it is. Only for a second. The memories never linger.”

You didn’t say anything right away.

Instead, you touched his arm lightly, offering a small, understanding smile.

“Like fresh bread on a Sunday?”

He nodded. “Exactly like that.”

You both lingered in that quiet space for a beat, the music and laughter of the fair spinning around you.

Then Bucky nodded toward a row of booths. “C’mon. Let me win you something.”

“Oh no,” you said, already laughing. “You know those are all rigged right?”

He smirked. “Why not give it a shot anyway.”

He led you to a booth with colorful stuffed animals hanging from the ceiling. The game was deceptively simple: toss a ball into a set of tilted milk bottles stacked three high. Knock them all over, win a prize.

The bored teenager behind the counter handed Bucky a ball.

You folded your arms. “This feels unfair. You have a metal arm.”

Bucky didn’t look at you. He was eyeing the bottles like a man on a mission.

“Want me to throw right-handed to even the playing field?”

“I want to see you throw left-handed. That’s adorable.”

He arched a brow and gently lobbed the first ball with his right hand.

It missed.

“Wow,” you said with mock sympathy. “The Winter Soldier, defeated by dairy.”

Bucky grunted, picked up the second ball—this time with his metal arm—and launched it with a perfect, smooth arc. All of the bottles went flying.

The booth attendant blinked. “Uh. That counts.”

Bucky turned to you with a crooked smile, then nodded at the wall of prizes.

“Pick one.”

You scanned the options: oversized bears, plush turtles, novelty sunglasses, an octopus with a grumpy face.

“That one,” you said, pointing to the octopus. “He gets me.”

Bucky laughed as the teen handed it over, and you hugged the stuffed grump to your chest.

“He’s going to live on my desk,” you declared. “And judge people.”

“Sounds like you’ve already named him.”

“Obviously,” you said. “His name is Gerald.”

Bucky’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “I like Gerald.”

You fell into step again, strolling past booths and snack carts. At one point, he gently guided you by the small of your back away from a group of rowdy teens barreling through the crowd, and your heart stumbled in your chest.

As you neared the base of the Ferris wheel, you both paused.

Bucky looked up at it, eyes thoughtful. “Been a long time since I was on one of those.”

You tilted your head. “Too scared?”

He shot you a look. “You wound me.”

You nudged him gently. “Let’s ride it. Come on. For old times’ sake.”

The line was short, and within minutes you were stepping into the rickety metal seat, Gerald the grumpy octopus in your lap. Bucky sat beside you, his body warm even in the evening breeze.

As the wheel lifted you above the fairgrounds, the view unfolded—twinkling lights, bustling movement, the horizon beginning to glow with the promise of sunset. You let out a quiet breath, eyes wide.

“It’s beautiful,” you murmured.

Bucky glanced over at you, but didn’t look away.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “It is.”

When you turned your head, you found him already looking.

You held his gaze for a second longer than you meant to.

Then the seat swayed slightly as the ride paused at the top, letting in a gust of warm air and the echo of distant laughter. He shifted just enough for your shoulder to touch his, and neither of you moved away.

“I’m glad I asked you,” he said finally.

You smiled, the words sitting warm and weightless on your chest.

“Me too.”

The sun had dipped below the horizon by the time you and Bucky stepped off the Ferris wheel, the fairgrounds bathed now in a soft indigo twilight. The lights strung overhead had grown brighter, casting a golden glow across the winding paths, and the air was buzzing—not just with music and voices, but with that quiet anticipation only a fireworks show could bring.

You found a patch of grass near the edge of the field where a few couples and families had already settled in with blankets and snacks. Bucky spotted an open spot beneath a large oak tree and motioned toward it with a gentle nudge of his shoulder.

“Looks like a good view.”

You nodded, hugging Gerald the grumpy octopus to your chest like some kind of emotional support plushie. “Perfect.”

He sat first, legs stretched out, one arm propped casually behind him. You eased down beside him, folding your knees to your chest as you settled into the soft grass. Your shoulders brushed again—barely, unintentionally—but neither of you moved to create space.

You stared out at the open sky, your heartbeat just a little too fast for a moment that felt so calm.

Bucky broke the silence, voice low and thoughtful. “You know, we didn’t have things like this growing up.”

You glanced sideways. “Fireworks?”

He nodded. “They existed. But it wasn’t like this. Not… this kind of magic. Not for me, anyway.”

You traced the edge of the plush octopus in your lap. “What was it like?”

He was quiet for a beat.

“Hot. Loud. Kind of… heavy,” he said, his tone distant but not cold. “Brooklyn summers were a mix of rooftop fans and sticky skin. Steve and I used to sneak onto the fire escape to catch whatever show the city put on. Half the time we couldn’t see anything. Just colors flashing behind buildings. But he always acted like it was the best thing in the world.”

You smiled. “I bet it was. If you were with someone who made it feel that way.”

He looked at you again then. Not rushed. Not intense. Just there. Present. Like he’d been carefully collecting pieces of this moment all night and was only just starting to see the full picture.

The first firework cracked through the skyloud and sharp, a bright burst of white that bloomed like a flower and faded just as quickly.

You both looked up.

More followed: blues, greens, golds. Each one rising with a whistle, bursting with light.

But somehow, the loudest part of the evening was the quiet between you.

Bucky leaned back onto his elbows, his gaze still tilted toward the sky. “You ever think about how fireworks are kind of ridiculous?”

You turned your head toward him. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know,” he said, smiling faintly. “They’re so temporary. All that work for something that lasts, what? Three seconds?”

You nudged his knee with your own. “I think that’s what makes them special.”

He glanced at you.

“They don’t last. So you have to actually be in the moment. Or you miss them,” you said, voice a little softer now. “Like a good memory. Or a perfect loaf of sourdough.”

He laughed quietly, shaking his head. “Can’t believe you’re bringing bread into this.”

“It’s relevant.”

Another firework exploded above, this time in a heart shape that fizzled into pink sparks. You both watched it in silence, and then you felt it:

His arm moved behind you, slow and careful, resting lightly across the back of the blanket. He wasn’t touching you, but the invitation was there. Unspoken. Waiting.

You shifted just enough to lean in, your shoulder brushing his again.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t rush.

But you could feel it in the way his fingers lightly curled into the blanket, the stillness of him, like he didn’t dare breathe too deeply.

You tilted your head toward him. “Can I ask you something?”

His voice was quiet. “Anything.”

“Is this…how people dated in the ‘40s?”

He looked over at you then, eyes crinkling. “You mean sitting under the stars and not quite holding hands?”

“Yeah,” you said, smiling. “Something like that.”

He leaned a little closer, just enough for his shoulder to press gently into yours. His voice was low.

“This was the good part,” he murmured. “A quiet walk together. A blanket under the stars. The part where you asked if you could see them again.”

You swallowed. “Is this the part where you ask?”

His eyes flicked to your lips, then back to your eyes.

“I was thinking it might be the part where I ask if I can kiss you.”

Your heart fluttered so hard it almost knocked the air from your lungs.

You smiled, soft and sure. “You don’t have to ask.”

But he did anyway.

“May I?”

You nodded.

And then he leaned in. It wasn’t rushed. Wasn’t bold. Just a gentle brush of lips, warm and careful, as if he didn’t want to scare the moment away. His hand slid behind your shoulder—not possessive, just steady. And the world, for those few seconds, was nothing but the hush of fireworks and the warmth of his mouth against yours.

When he pulled back, he stayed close his forehead nearly touching yours, breath mingling with yours.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” he whispered.

You smiled, your voice barely audible.

“Worth the wait.”

Above you, the grand finale began. Fireworks bursting in rapid succession, lighting the sky in waves of color and thunder.

But Bucky didn’t look away from you.

And neither did you.

Because for the first time in a long time, something felt undeniably real.

#Bucky Barnes x Reader #Bucky Barnes Fanfic #Bucky Barnes Fluff #Marvel Fanfiction #MCU Fanfic #James Buchanan Barnes #James Bucky Barnes

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chrisjw108 · 1 month ago

Text

A Captivating Flavour

Chapter Two

Caleb x Non!MC Barista!Reader

Chapter One

Contains: Fluff!, Angst! Slightly suggestive!: description of human anatomy!

WORD COUNT: 7.5 k

AURHORS NOTE:

English is not my first language.

First ever written fanfic.

Not owning any mentioned character.

All characters are mature!

Y/N mentioned.

_________________________________________________

hey guys! I have to thank you in advance for your huge support! Thank you thank you! Unfortunately I won’t be able to publish update for this fanfic for few weeks, so I am giving you part two in advance!

Enjoy!

________________________________________

They split up.

This sentence was replaying in your mind since Zayne left.

You felt.. Weird.

Part of you was surprised, the other one… curious.

What could have happened between them?

After all, in everyone's eyes, they were the couple.

MC, always nice, charming, gorgeous, and polite.

Caleb, composed, loyal, rational, and stupidly handsome.

He was often the quietest person in the room - not because he lacked words, but because he measured them carefully. Even though he seemed emotionally distant sometimes, he was loyal and deeply feeling — someone who did not show affection loudly, but with unwavering depth.

MC is a good example, you remarked.

He had a scientific and rational mind, often coming across as analytical or guarded, especially when it came to his emotions.

But from a different perspective, if someone accidentally noticed your presence, somewhere behind the curtain, you were known as their third wheel. In your eyes, you were.. A friend.

Or so you thought.. You were just. There.

You.. just existed.

Your red eyes were praying to get exhaustion the better of you, but it could not help. Tossing sheets were heard in the room, hiding beneath them, using them as your shield from your racing thoughts.

A close memory settles as a sense of flavor on the tip of your tongue.

Sweet, a bit off bitterness, and then… emptiness.

MC.

You have just remembered her flavor.

But something was… Missing.

Then it clicked.

“What if I’ve always read her wrong?” You asked out loud, sitting upright.

What if the.. emptiness was the main key of the split up?

Even in the millions of no`s there was a small voice with a certain yes.

You shuffled from the bed, going to the kitchen with unsure steps, opening a shelf full of mugs.

You’ve always had a hard time throwing them away, so you decided to use them as a wide range of collection. You continued searching behind them for the thing in the box.

You diary.

Pages full of confessions, memories, stories, sketches of cups, endless possibilities of good mixed and flavoured coffees, and other drinks.

God, how could you forget?

Or even never trying out those combinations?

Your back leaned against the kitchen aisle, a small smile forming, after reading remarks on later-on-added bright pink sticky notes.

Was I such a feisty kid? You thought

A folded paper fell out of the pages of the diary, elegantly falling on the floor, waiting for you to pick it up.

This is it.

You crouch to get close to it, hand held out towards it slowly, fearing that any fast moment would burn you, again. Carefully, after taking a deep breath, unfolding not just the paper, but the memories in it.

Your eyes roamed all over it, reading names and their flavor.

Zayne, Dark brew, a high caffeine content, a tiny bit of sugar, and two cubes of ice.

Tara, honey, Yigarheffe flavoured caffeine, a large amount of sugar..

Sylus, Robusta coffee, bitter, earthy, two times the caffeine of Arabica beans.

Then him.. Caleb

You don't quite remember his flavour.

Now you know why.

Every time you tried to read him like that, you erased or scribbled over the original idea.

Why?

Was he hard to read?

Giving him the setting flavour?

Why did you scribble so hard, that it was simply impossible to read the original line?

Were you scared when you found out?

Were you mad you did not find out?

Was it only Caleb?

Were there multiple people?

Was his flavor always changing, and if yes, what was the cause?

Why do you still care?

This sentence has woken you up from your trance, making you take a look at the ticking sound.

Two in the morning, great.

You hoped you would get the right answers, to let your mind at ease, and get the remaining hours till sunrise of good sleep.

Now you are even more confused.

As you stood up, yet another laying paper on the ground caught your attention. It was not folded, it was ripped apart.

You crouched again, curiosity getting the better of you.

When you turned the paper around, your stomach ached.

A photo, definitely from last year of high school.

Stupid smiles, stupid promises..

Were you unlucky that this was the part of the photo where Caleb and Mira are?

Of course, they were close, and majestic, even in the photo.

You did not ask where the second half is, probably knowing the answer already.

Somewhere forgotten, somewhere behind…

A flood of memories consumed your whole brain, swallowing you in it, shaping you into someone different. Somebody naive.

Somebody you used to know

_______________________________________________

You tripped and almost fell.

Your fate could not make you suffer less even on the first day of the final year at high school.

MC immediately reacted, out of reflex, trying to catch you.

She laughed:

“Dude, school hasn't started yet and you want to call it a day?”

“My brain still has holidays!” You exclaimed with pain in your voice, not because of the trip, but because you have to unfortunately admit that the school break is over.

And yet, after hard thinking over your future, you still do not know which career to choose.

MC shook her head, holding tightly the straps of her bag, walking with confidence through the gate.

How is she doing this?

The only confidence of choice you have right now is the urge to throw up.

You were lost at the number of people in the halls, panicking about being late for their first class, the majority sending greetings towards you.

Well to her, to be exact.

But you did not mind, your priority was not knowing every single soul in shared corridor, but knowing where the next damn class is.

“I thought you would be late, again.”

You felt his gaze on you, from top to bottom.

Caleb

How could his voice get any deeper, more soothing?

As you turned around, your eyes met his chest.

Did you get short, or did he get uncharacteristically taller?

And when you met his eyes, then face, god, even hotter.

You were playing with your fingers, trying to formulate a good biting comeback at him, then you scoffed with a laugh.

“Oh please, I thought your attitude wouldn't fit through the door, smartass.”

“I thought I was speaking to a first grader-“ he fires back. A good one.

“Okay, listen up-“

“Who would be first to the class, minions?” MC shouted with a challenge, catching you and Caleb by surprise.

Well, only you, since he and Mira took immediate action. Cheater, he did not give you a head start. Pathetic.

You laughed then shouted:

“Wait for me!” and repeated the exact thing as they did.

Being on time in class.

As you ran, trying to at least get any closer to your finish line, before the ring went off, you accidentally ran into someone.

God, why was everyone so fricking tall?

You looked up, ready to apologise, only to find two sharp eyes meeting yours.

You paused, Zayne.

He also.. grew up.

God, were you getting too old? Or too small?

His mouth left a sigh, typical exhaustion set at the edge.

“Still careless..” he pushed his glass higher on his nose.

Oh, he won't get away from this.

“Says the one who was busy all holidays.” You crossed your arms, pouting, trying to make him feel a bit bad.

But all jokes aside, you missed him through the summer break, however, he was busy with his studies. And finding the right time to hang out was quite a difficult task. What was maybe a bit more difficult, was trying to understand, why he studied so hard. After all, Zayne is one of the smartest people you know. You’ve always admired him for the tough work and his broad horizon of knowledge.

“Says the one who tripped thanks to their shoe ties.”

“How did you know?” you slightly gasped.

“Classified.” He looked down at your shoes, finally not mocking your height anymore.

You followed his gaze, only to find out untied laces, again. A slight redness appeared on your cheeks from embarrassment, immediately taking action and trying to tie them up as fast as you could. He was lucky the ring went off, or your elbow would have made contact with his ribs.

Well even if you tried he would not budge.

But seriously, he grew up through the summer, lost the remaining baby fat in his cheeks, shaping them as sharp as his ryes..

You were trying to accept that your childhood friend was growing from a boy to.. a man.

You stuck your tongue out at him, immediately taking a rushed leave for a class.

As you walked through the door frame, you saw Tara, next to MC, already discussing her experiences that occurred over the summer. You laughed quietly at how animated she looked, and evidence of dread spreading over her face.

Huh.. So something unpleasant happened.

Or she is just as ‘excited’ for school as you are.

But since Mira was in deep-dive conversation with her, she remained at your seat.

So the only free remaining was next to…Caleb.

You heard footsteps behind you, immediately taking action and placing yourself beside him, not wanting to be scolded by a teacher on the first day.

Well, it would not make a big difference, since you gained a bit sore reputation in his eyes.

For just existing, thank you.

You felt his smirk forming on his face, like he heard you talking to yourself in your mind, Or probably because of how tiny you were compared to him.

This guy had the audacity to cross the half of your shared desk. Jerk.

“You seem upset, shortcake.” He quietly remarked, not wanting the teacher to notice.

You were prepared to fire back, to give him a reason for being upset.

But with one word, he disarmed you completely.

Your cheeks reddened, you were quite used to Caleb and Mira’s antics, calling each other by names.

But this was a new one, shortcake.

Why do you hate it and love it at the same time?

“What did you just call-“

“L/N, please keep your focus, since this is your first day of your last year of high school, the information I’ve been presenting is quite important for the remaining year.” The teacher's harsh voice interrupted your question.

You nodded, knowing you would stammer and make a bigger clown of yourself in this class.

Thanks to someone who literally called you a desert.

After a while of babbling, that soon turned into background noise, the words of your thoughts got louder.

He never called you like that, he smirked at you like that…

What was happening?

Then a touch, lingering, but oh you felt it.

He brushed his knee over yours, under the desk — not by accident, with intention.

“See? You should pay more attention, your attention span is quite short..” a while of pause.

“Short as your legs. Hope they carry you through the school year. After all, I would be really unfortunate if my shortcake would fail this class.” He added.

My shortcake.

You swear this guy, if it were possible, would make your ears bleed.

———————————————————————————

You woke up from the trip of memories, closing the diary harshly.

You remembered after all, all these years.. Your first day at school.

A warmth was permanent on your cheeks, leaving the diary on the kitchen counter. You rushed to the bed, to let yourself rest under the comfy blankets and hide away from those memories.

But in two things you were confident.

One, the meet-up does sound even more horrible, than before.

And two, finally remembering, why you hate cakes.

_______________________________________________

The start of your day can be described in two words:

Exhausting and endless.

You were starting to prepare the café for opening, which would be in half an hour. But you felt like it took an eternity.

Every day it was so easy, in fact, kind of relaxing to have everything under control and do your things in your own way and pace.

Today was different.

You were chaotic, afraid of losing control, which happened at two in the morning today, thank you very much.

Your thoughts were all over the place, in one moment you were trying to focus to prepare everything right as always, on the second, the other half of your brain was storming with memories, ideas, and emotions.

A doorbell sounded through your ears, only to be greeted by your coworker and friend, Garett.

You have known each other since you joined the Spring’s volunteer program in high school.

At first, you were scared of him, sometimes the over-the-top confidence was something you did not know how to feel about. But time showed that Garett is not just that.

He knew he had the charm.

A shiny long light brown hair, ending up on his lower back with soft curls at the end.

A washed-up green with a light contour of blue at the edges of his pupils.

A slightly pointed noise with gold piercing in it.

His looks weren’t the only admirable thing about him.

He was someone who helped you plant a seed of minimal confidence in yourself, which grew over time. And most importantly, was accepted into the volunteering program that later on, helped you set your fate as a barista, thanks to his help.

And over the years, you were more confident that you’d chosen the right path.

It helped you to feel at ease, feeling lucky you found a hobby and a career, at the same time.

You started to remember, thanks to the diary, how your high school was demanding, in knowing what you wanted to do, for the rest of your life.

Those were hard times for you, you felt like you were cornered by high expectations.

Steps were making their way towards the counter, putting a heavy bags on top of it.

“Guess, who is back from vacatiooon~.” Garett sang, in his confident, old-fashioned way.

A huff of laugh escaped your throat, turning towards him to greet him back.

“Thought you could not make it today.” You smiled, tried to hide your exhaustion, but nothing would sneak away under Garett’s gaze.

You saw how he checked you from head to toe, then a certain:

“You look like a wreck. Honey, did you not sleep well? You don’t have trouble sleeping, do you?”

He sounded sincere, a bit afraid laced in his voice.

A sigh escaped your mouth, and then you nodded as your answer.

Garett came closer to you, caressing your shoulder in a delicate grip.

“Oh honey, don’t you wanna clock out a bit earlier today? You’ve worked many shifts in a row. You must be exhausted, don’t you agree?”

I can’t.

If I would not work, my brain would be occupied by those damn memories.

I feel sick.

You did not want to bother him, tried to create the most convincing-reassuring smile on your face, only to be met with a frown, then a sigh.

“Fine, I don’t wanna push you. But, I am taking small tasks from your part, don’t overdo it. Sounds fair?” He smiled sweetly, understandingly.

He is awesome.

“Okay, thank you so much.” You appreciated, running a hand through your hair, only to end up groaning with the pain that pulsated in your head.

Maybe the clocking out earlier does not sound so bad after all.

____________________________________________

You were in the halfway of your shift and already felt like a total wreck.

You were so exhausted and mad at yourself.

You were misspelling the names of the customers, sometimes accidentally mistaking the orders, only to be saved by Garett at the last moment. Like he could see through you, understanding your frustration and your slips.

The customers were luckily okay today. Majority of them were students from Skyhaven University, or workers from Farspace Fleet, or the Hunters Association.

You were quite scared that some of them looked a bit important.

You heard stories from Garett’s boyfriend Thomas, who was your supplier for the shop, and for other associations. How a Farspace fleet had a bit shady.. tactics, which none of us knew about. If it were true, you were quite scared to even think about it.

Not because, you were afraid of knowing the truth, but someone in your past, who wanted to be part of that group, could be tied to this.

You were wondering if he ended up fulfilling his dreams. You two were the same, liking having things under control.

But you’ve always liked to be grounded, being safe and at peace with something you know.

But he always wanted to reach the unknown.

____________________________________________

You were tired, books lying all over the desk, catalogs full of empty offerings on the floor, yet not a single one caught your attention.

A cook.

A doctor?

A hunter?

You used to dream about being a hunter, but the part of not owning any Evol always crushed it.

Tara does not have one either, but she had something that you did not have.

Trust.

Bravery.

She knew she was capable without or with Evol.

You let your head rest against the desk, your thoughts and dilemmas filling up the silence.

Why choose now?

Why does this have to be the last moment in your life to choose what you wanna do? For the rest of it.

It scared you, what would you choose and that it must be the right decision. Although you still have some time left to think about it, the standards of your high school are asking for your decision in the next few weeks.

Stress caught up with the weird and heavy feeling in your chest, pulling you down into the dark madness.

Then a vibration woke you up from the trance.

Tara.

Tara: I can hear your brain braining loudly, don’t you wanna turn it down? :)

Sometimes you were scared of how well she knew you.

You: I can’t, must concentrate.

Tara: Why alone? Coming to your place in 10 minutes. :)

A laugh escaped your throat, she was right, a break is seriously needed.

Your path was to the kitchen, turning on the coffee machine and making yourself a coffee.

The final result was worth it, but the process of making it was so relaxing. For a second you have forgotten how stressful everything was around you, like the process of making simple coffee lets you feel free from the rough.

The sweet scent filled your lungs, pouring the right amount of cream and cinnamon on top of it.

God, it tastes good, the warm liquid pouring down your throat, soothing the stress in your chest.

You leaned against the counter, letting yourself relax and enjoy this fleeting quiet moment, only to be ruined by frantic knocking on the front door.

You opened up, seeing not only Tara but MC with beaming smiles and hands full of catalogs.

You love them.

When all of you were inside, being chaotically seated on the sofa in the living room, catalogs scattered all over the place, reading out loud all of the programs that colleges offered.

Sometimes you laughed loudly at how stupid some of the empty promises sounded.

“This school offers a prestige swimming pool in the yard. Guess what major it is.” Tara presented with an animatedly sarcastic voice, stroking her imaginary mustache with bouncing eyebrows to add the effect.

Sometimes you asked why she did not choose an acting career.

“Sports major?” MC guessed, knowing the answer is definitely.. something.

“Close enough, cook.”

“What the hell? That sounds like a cheap scam!”

“Don’t ask me!” All of you laughed, but you heard the tiredness and a bit of sore throats when the laugh came out of Tara’s and Mira’s mouths.

You stood up, walking up to the kitchen, taking two mugs out of a cupboard, and placing them on the kitchen counter.

One green, one pink.

You don’t have to double-guess to know for whom each one is.

You were staring at them, how they were still laughing about the nonsense on the paper.

Deep down you thought about what to make, not wanting too disrupt them and their moment.

The right amount of chocolate, the cream, the sugar..

Then you sensed it, for a fleeting moment, yet a strong sense to remember, at the tip of your tongue.

A flavour.

Mira, sweet, right amount of cream, whipped cream at the top, and dark chocolate.

Tara, two spoons of sugar, whipped cream at the top, white chocolate, and dried strawberries at the top.

Got it, you've got to work.

The process was so peaceful, like time stopped, just you, the soothing smell in the air, the whirring of the coffee machine, voices in the background, just you and your hands working the magic.

Was it something you enjoyed?

You don’t know.

You returned with two full mugs of hot cocoa in your hands, placing them gently at the table.

“You made this for us?” Mira looked at you, a pleasant surprise sounded in her voice.

“You added the dried strawberries!” Tara exclaimed then continued. “Wait… how did you know..” she hurried, for the mug, carefully and slowly taking a sip to taste, not wanting to burn her tongue.

Then she stopped.

Like her brain had malfunctioned.

Oh god, does she hate it?

“…This is perfect.” She proclaimed.

No high-pitched voice.

No exaggerating.

A truth.

You felt something fluttering in your chest, like it removed all the ache that was just there a few minutes ago.

It felt… good.

When MC tried out her cocoa, you swear you saw stars in her eyes. Both of them drank it in one go.

A shock… and warmth.

That is what you felt.

You created smiles on their faces, through the method you enjoyed.

Taste. Flavour.

“H-how did you make this? This is so.. good..” Mira added, after gently putting down the empty cup on the coffee table.

You shrugged, not knowing how to describe it in words.

Just a glance at them and then it felt.

You felt their personality, inner and outer being like a taste on the tip of your tongue.

Are you sick or just weird?

“Y/N..How.. How did you know my favorite flavour? And that I like white chocolate. Not just that, but even the.. details..” Tara asked gently, like she knew your answer would be… interesting.

“I..Double-guessed?” You stammered while playing nervously with your fingers.

Both of them exchanged looks, then smiled, not wanting to force the answer from you.

“I was also wondering if… You would be interested in the Skyhaven Fleet’s Academy Programme, since you have a passion for space, stars...” MC changed the topic smoothly, handing you a catalog with their college program.

Although she is right, your academic or athletic skills are.. manageable.

But the thought of going to the same college as Caleb stirred something inside you.

You felt your chest getting heavy.

Since the school year started, Caleb’s behavior has changed.. towards you.

You’ve felt he had a thing for MC, sharing his warm smile with a lingering gaze only for her, carrying her bag, insisting to help her..

All these small gestures, made you secretly wish it was you.

But you could not shake the undefined feeling inside you.

Caleb was… something to you.

First, he called you shortcake.

Not by name, but by a new-made nickname.

He called only her by nickname.

But he never called you like that in front of anyone.

And his behavior… It has quite changed.

You did not know how to feel, what to feel.

At some point, you felt like your friendship did not matter..

His calloused hands from the hard training brushing lightly against yours, his presence so close that you swore you felt his breath at your neck.

How he lazily smiled at you, how you felt his scent through the air.

You would like his attention, you would like to feel special.

Only to recall how he treated.. her.

The overthinking recalled a memory of… recent experience.

_________________________________________________

Days passed since that first day of highschool. You went shopping for school supplies. That’s what Tara told you, at least.

Textbooks, rulers.. anything on the list.

Or anything you’ve personally thought was important.

You must admit that your heart melted when MC and Tara were checking out the cute pink-shaded highlighters with glitter, making their mouths water and gasping every time they found something else cute.

You were behind them, a laugh escaped you every time you heard them squealing.

But, you were not the only one who was looking at the display in front of you.

Caleb stood next to you, a soft smile spreading on his lips.

He looked so.. at ease.

And his gaze.. with deep affection. Intimate.

Then it hit you, the lingering touches, silent teasing words meant.. nothing.

Like everything what happened was only for his show.

For his liking.

Caleb liked MC.

Not you.

You felt how the raw feelings settled deep in your chest, making breathing a hard task.

You were trying to keep your composure, not to draw attention to yourself, but realizing how things really are..

It was not easy.

You were so desperate to keep it together, not noticing the slipping textbook through your trembling hands.

Before the textbook would hit the ground, getting probably turning heads and gazes towards you, in mid-air familiar hands caught it.

With precision.

Not wanting to ruin the moment.

Their moment.

Hers.

After all, it was not about you.

The silent laugh echoed deep from his chest.

“Careful, shortcake. You are breathing faster. Am I making you nervous?”Oh, you felt his goddamned lazy smirk appear on his face.

He must have leaned near your ear, when you felt his chest hit your back, feeling his breath at your neck.

In the corner of your eye, you saw his lidded eyes, staring at you with something that screamed danger.

And how threateningly close he was.

God, he smelled amazing.

You could not put a finger on it, did he always smell this good?

Why did you never notice the captivating scent that flooded your lungs all day?

He smelled like something sacred, a blend of warmth and mystery, reflecting his dual nature. Initially, it carried a fresh and vibrant aroma, crisp air, symbolizing his approachable and friendly demeanor. However, this scent gradually transitioned into deeper, more complex - smoky, leathery, and grounding—hinting at the secrets he harbors and the weight of his experiences.

Why at one moment was he the sweetest boy on earth, only to be turned into something like this?..

Just into the shell of himself, that was hungry for your attention, watching with a smile, while you drowned in the sea of questions and confusion.

You snatch your textbook from his grip, giving him a slight elbow to his ribs, only to feel a smirk growing wider on his face.

You hated it.

You hated how he changed.

From something real to something unexpected.

You hated how his scent always changed.

You hated that his flavor always changed.

Luckily, Tara and MC were finished with picking their stuff, leading you and Caleb to separate and create the deep canyon that was not there mere seconds ago.

His smirk was long gone, replaced with his friendly smile that finally reached, now his not dull, but softness that filled his eyes. Eyes that lacked the beautiful hue of purple and the shining spark moments ago.

Moments with you.

When you left the shop, heading towards your homes, you noticed how close he was to her, carrying her bags.

It felt like he was burning the remains of bridges that were still trying to connect the two worlds, where the endless canyon was set between them.

Did he forget how close he was to you when she was not looking?

Was he trying to forget?

He was just so close, yet so far, in front of you and Tara, laughing warmly at whatever MC was talking about.

A laugh, low, filled with warmth, genuine, fluttering.. Feeling how it wrapped around her like a hug, lingering, intimate, protecting something sacred. Something his.

Tara smiled at them, leaning closer to you, only to whisper:

“They are pretty cute, don’t you think?” She beamed.

Something stabbed you deeply in your chest.

“Yeah, they are cute.”

_________________________________________________

Finally, you turned the sign towards the street with Closed written in bold red.

What an exhausting day.

Even if today, there were less of customers, you still felt like you did your shift and ran a marathon on top of it.

Your heart was racing, and worse, so were your thoughts.

Maybe you need a break.

Maybe you need to erase your memories.

You sighed, stretched your back to relax your muscles, and groaned at the discomforting pain in your back.

A sound of signing Garett cut through the silence

“Y/N… Are you really… okay? You seem distracted and exhausted today, are you really alright honey?” he asked with concern in his voice.

You felt so bad, the last thing, you wanted, was to make him feel bad, for your own mistakes.

You serously did not have to search for that goddamned diary.

You did not have to read through it.

You did not have to drown yourself in those memories.

You have to forget.

You shook your head, turning to him and replayed your role. Fake it. Hide it. You ended up smiling at him, trying to ease his concern.

“Garett, I.. Am really sorry for my behavior today. I was really distracted.. By something I am not ready to talk about. I appreciate your concern, but I can assure you it’s nothing.” while saying this you started to play unconsciously with your fingers again.

Great, that will assure him, really.

He seemed a bit taken back for a brief instant, yet he looked deeply you, searching for an answer, that was hidden inside you.

You were afraid he might find it, when he knowingly smiled after a bit of silence.

“I see… I get it Y/N, don’t worry.” He assured, turned towards the sink to continue washing the remaining dishes.

“But remember.. You always have a choice to make Y/N. Only by you, not by your feelings.” he added.

He really saw through you.

_______________________________________________

Again, one in the morning.

Perfect, just perfect.

You were exhausted and could not sleep.

You were hungry and could not eat.

After you’ve finally gotten back at your apartment, you head off to the kitchen to got some snack.

Only the first thing to greet you was that damned diary on the kitchen counter.

The cause of your problems.

You felt stupid and weak when you did not find the courage to even go near it, yet get something good out of the fridge. You know if you would get closer to it, your damned emotions would betray you, again, and take a peek in the pages.

You know you would get lost in your own written words, in your memories, in who told you who you were.

Who you are.

But your stomach said otherwise.

You need to eat something.

You groaned, frustrated with yourself, standing up and listening to your stomach’s inner wishes. You stopped at the door frame, eyeing how the diary was staring at you.

Mocking you, that you already know how this would end up.

Or begging you to see the truth.

You rushed to the fridge, frantically searching for something to eat, but the only thing racing on your mind was the fricking diary behind you.

Where it went wrong.

Remember.. You always have a choice to make Y/N.

Only by you, not by your feelings.

Her and he changed, Y/N.

So did I

So did you.

Meet-up in a week…

I wanted to look back, for a moment I want to go backwards, because I am starting to get exhausted by how my life goes only forward.

You swore you wanted to throw up.

You groaned, loudly, trying to persuade yourself that it’s alright, just pick the food and go to bed.

So why did you end up near the counter, hunger long forgotten and reading through the pages?

_________________________________________________

It was a few days after the shopping spree.

You were trying to distract yourself by burying yourself in your studies, choosing to find a career, and then procrastinating.

You hated yourself.

You hated how you had to take a little distance from MC.

She did nothing wrong.

But you were not ready to face her.

Not ready to face the truth.

Why did you always feel something heavy in your deepest part of your stomach when you had to talk to her?

And you didn’t mention Caleb yet.

Do you hate him.. or..

Does he hate you?

Maybe you should be glad you did not know the answer.

You found yourself in the girls' changing room, preparing yourself mentally and physically for the dreading class of PE.

Especially if you were not one of the favourites of Mr. Henderson.

“I bet my lunch that we'll run laps around the stadium.” Tara groaned while changing herself into sport uniform.

“I am actually looking forward to it.” MC commented, while her hands were busy tying up her hair.

“Of course athlete would.” You added with slight laugh, Tara nodding and getting an eyeroll from Mira.

All the way to the stadium you were praying.

Anything, but run laps.

And of course, the fate did not fulfill your inner wishes.

But something caught your attention, distracting you.

In the corner of your eye, you saw how the other half of class was playing basketball.

That would meant nothing to you, but then you saw him.

Caleb.

His masculine, tall form, complimented by his broad shoulders. A shirt fitting in all of the right places and flattering his physique.

The build of his arms, his tonned waist.

The sweat made his shiny hair stick to his forehead, where his calloused hands would run through it sooner or later. Heavy breaths leaving his muscular chest.

He looked so hot…

You were staring at him in awe.

He was probably in the middle of the game, exchanging with a other player on the benches.

When he sat down, he picked up his bottle, to drink its content down his throat, his Adam's apple bobbing with each swallow, creating a subtle rhythm.

However, he felt your intense gaze on him, only to lead him to find yours.

A redness appeared on your cheeks, a breath caught in your throat, and you became aware how the sun shined up even more.

Or were you just hot?

Your attention was caught up, you did not recognize a forming smirk on his face while you were so lost in his antics.

A smirk that held something.

An idea.

A tease.

He pulled his shirt up. Slowly, movement with precision to wipe off the sweat that was forming on his forehead, giving you a show. He knew what he was doing to you, because you swear all of the air left your lungs, cheeks reddening in deep red like they were on fire.

And making your brain malfunction.

He was so lean, toned in all of the displaying places, his tanned skin so smooth, glistening in the sun.

Oh god, your mouth was watering.

But the teacher ruined your shared fantasy.

“Y/N, would you be proper and repeat what I said to your classmates?” A doomed question.

You shook your head, feeling everyone gaze at you, at your form.

Trembling, playing nervously with fingers, red as tomato, a shallow but unbalanced breaths.

“D-doing a laps?” You meekly replied.

“Great, that would be seven then for you.” He added, blowing his whistle to start the race.

You swear you heard his loud laugh at the background.

Damn you Caleb.

Well, that would be seven laps then.

____________________________________________

It took you one hour and half to finish your laps.

Only remaining you and the teacher.

You remembered the apologetic gazes set on you, some mocking, some familiar.

When you ran through the finish line, fell to the ground, you declare you saw god at the moment.

“Perfect, you should get a grade at the end of the week.” The teacher replied, checking his timer with scoff, leaving you at the stadium alone.

You rolled on your back, facing the sky were the sun was preparing for sunset, painting the horizonnabove with pink, purple and orange hues.

You wanted to stay like this, at ease, catching you breath and laying.

“The stadium his closing in five minutes. Please rest of the students, don't forget your things and leave the platform. Thank you.”

“-Are you serious!” You shouted angrily, trying to enjoy the moment only to just get it interrupted, again.

You swore the remaining power in your legs were not yours, but the gods work. You almost trip multiple times how exhausted you were, making your way to locker rooms.

Your hot skin welcomed the running hot water from the shower, letting you to lean your head against the wall, let the shoulders relax and feel every drop of hot water that ran down your scalp, neck and down back.

As lulling as it was, it still did not wash down the thoughts, images of him.

The tanned skin, sparkling against the hot sun, giving you a can't-miss chance to see his torso in broad daylight.

Why did he kept doing this?

Why did he tease you so much behind Mira’s back and than act like total sunshine in the other?

He was so frustrating.

You stood out of the shower, letting your towel hug you in it, from everything. Imagining, it assured you, that everything will be fine.

But deep down knew, you were lying to yourself.

When you changed to your casual clothes, you headed out of the locker rooms, walking in the hallway, only to hear.

“You are trouble.”

Oh you felt the smug smirk in his voice.

You are not letting this one go.

“Because of you and putting your goddamn show at me!” You exclaimed, turning towards him, scoffing and crossing your arms, knowing you’ve already lost this argument.

“Woah, woah, feisty, me? I was just drying myself up. It’s not my fault you were staring at me..” He smiled ironically innocently with his too-perfect teeth, showing off his canines. They were surprisingly sharp.

Sharp as his attitude.

He leaned down, your breath hitched, when you felt his hand creeping up at your lower back, not touching it completely, but to let you feel the brush of it through the shirt.

“But I must say, I am quite surprised how fast your short legs carried you.. shortcake.” he replied, lowing his voice and send shiver down your spine.

He stood too close — enough to hear your breath, fast heartbeat, a small voice praying that this moment won’t end.

There are million of insults running in your head but your mouth left none.

His phone vibrated, immediately moving away from your shared presence.

A smug smirk was replaced with a gentle smile, when he read the text.

Right, you were the second.

You almost forgot.

“I have to go, pips is waiting for me at the library for study session. See you around.” As fast as he got the text, he left.

Left you standing like complete idiot, mess, not giving a you enough time to process what just happened.

You wanted to scream.

Shout at him that he did not tell you.

That he forgot about you.

That he left you, again.

Luckily you were not that mad, reminding yourself to still stickup to your previous plan KADFCFX, which stands for:

Keeping A Distance From Caleb Fucking Xia.

He really made you mad.

And make a study session with Zayne.

Wait a study session with Zayne.

That was supposed to be an hour ago.

Oh.

You gasped, running your hands through pockets of your bagpack frantically, trying to find your phone.

When the black screen turned up.

15 messages

3 calls

You gulped loudly. With trembling gut you opened your chat, scrolling through messages, frantically reading them.

Zayne: I would be in front of the building in 5 minutes.

Zayne: I am sorry for the short delay.

Zayne: are you going to be late?

Zayne: it’s okay, I’ll wait.

Zayne: Y/N, is everything alright?

Zayne: Where are you?

Zayne: Okay, I am going to look for you.

Zayne: Y/N, seriously, are you okay? You can’t make it?

Oh God, you feel so bad but then…

Zayne: Found you, you are at the stadium.

Zayne: Glad you are okay, even though you don’t look like that.

Zayne: Is the teacher bullying you? It seems like it.

A laugh escaped your throat at the and of the last sentence.

Zayne: I must say, it looks quite funny how you are trying to run.

Zayne: Don’t worry, I’ll wait for you then. Good luck.

I’ll wait for you then.

No rushing, no nothing of making you feel bad.

Even though you did.

He was so sweet, god. He looked out for you.

You ran through the halls, feeling like your legs would give up any moment.

I’ll wait.

God, why it sounded so… comforting. Making your stomach flatter.

You rushed through the school gate, your eyes caught Zayne, sitting under the tree, reading his book.

“Zayne!” You shouted, catching his attention.

You stopped thanks to the tree, leaning yourself against it, trying to catch your breath.

“I-“ Zayne began, only to be stopped by puting finger which was held in front of you, silencing him by action. Because you swear if you would say something, while catching your breath, you’re going to suffocate.

He patiently waited in silence to let collect yourself, and after a while you pushed and apology out of you in one breath.

“I am sorry, I kept you waiting! I know I am a bad friend, that I should let you know, but my fricking PE teacher that despise me and my three future generations gave me 7 laps. I am telling you even a o-one..” you started to lose the air, catching your breath again, only to leading to make him laugh.

You made him laugh.

Zayne Li laughed.

Although rearely, but when it happened it always felt.. Welcoming.

He fixed his glasses and an amused sigh left his mouth, trying to collect himself after your mild crash put.

“Are you okay?” He asked, a little laugh coming with it.

“I want to throw up…”

“Then that’s a yes.” He smiled, took your bag to let your tense shoulders relax.

_________________________________________________

You closed the diary with a small smile.

Zayne.

Even though this happened a long time ago, he truly never changed.

He was always so caring, so understanding…

So Zayne.

You did not expect this, a memory that made you feel whole. Something warm stirring up inside you.

You closed the diary, gently this time, setting it on the counter, walking up to the bed, and laid under the comfy blankets.

Letting yourself sleep.

Letting yourself dream.

Letting yourself smile at the memories.

———————————————————————————

Days passed, since you read another of many pages of your diary, and your demeanor changed to your old self. Concentrated, full of energy, ready to make other people smile.

You were not the only one who was glad, Garett seemed more relaxed around you and the customers.

Maybe the diary was not a bad thing..

After all, a good memories could be found in the lists of pages.

But deep inside you knew, that the curious would take control once more and convince you to read another page. And then another.

And your gut told you, you might regret it.

So you’ve kept yourself busy, chained away from the diary that was every morning, every evening, every day, fighting for every chance to repeat its existence your mind, lulling you to drown yourself in the pages, memories once more.

It wanted to make you addicted to it.

Just as you were putting the clear mugs at a right place on the shelf, the doorbell woke you up from your thoughts. Another customer, you turned around, greeting them with your beaming smile.

“Hello! Order whenever you are rea-“

When you focused your gaze, to spot who you are sending your greetings to, the remaining words of reciting many times sentence, caught up in your throat. You stopped in your tracks, and secretly wishing if you were imagining things.

That person.

Oh, how many times you prayed to not ever see him, again

Hearing his name. Feeling his heavy presence.

Someone you hoped you would never meet again.

The same figure, posture, gaze..

Caleb Xia.

_________________________________________________

Thank you guys for the reading! A like, reblog, comments, criticism are deeply appreciated! I hope you enjoyed! If you want to be added to taglist, feel free to let me know!

Drink, eat and have a nice day! <3

Taglist: @animegamerfox

#caleb x you #caleb xia #lads #love and deepspace #reader x caleb #non mc x caleb #zayne lads #zayne li #lnds zayne #lnds x reader #character x reader #non mc reader #fanfic #self insert

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