#it's “past” because rose is dead

[haphazardlyannotated]

Prompt: Consider a vindictive Pearl who guilt trips and trolls the diamonds at every opportunity. She goes on long rants, saying all the things she wishes she could have said in Era 1. She may not be able to stab the diamonds like she wants, but she's gotta avenge Pink (and herself) somehow.

Pearl had spent the first three thousand years of her existence hearing the other Diamonds berate Pink.

The way she ran her colony, how she talked to "lesser" gems, even when she dared to talk- it seemed like there was no aspect of Pink her fellow Diamonds couldn't strenuously disapprove of.

Pearl remembered countless times Pink's shoulders had slumped, her bright eyes dimmed with just a few sharp words, until Rose stood in front of Pearl, telling her that Blue and Yellow had never cared about her with a conviction that wasn't even resigned anymore.

The memories had been burned into Pearl's mind with helpless fury for millenia.

So honestly, when Blue and Yellow Diamond showed up on Earth, nearly killed Steven AGAIN, and then had the audacity to talk about Pink like they hadn't made her life a living hell for as long as Pearl had known her, and when Blue Diamond then grimaced at the moss Rose had once painstakingly tended to and loudly wondered what Pink could have possibly seen in this planet- well, Pearl couldn't be blamed for indulging in just the tiniest crumb of revenge.

"Well, she liked food, for one thing," Pearl said with the perfect, bland smile of a good, subservient pearl. She caught Amethyst's eye and was met with such complete understanding that by all rights they should have formed Opal on the spot. "I'm sure Amethyst will be happy to prepare some for you," Pearl continued, watching Amethyst struggle to contain a giant grin. "She's an expert in human nourishments."

Amethyst's creation was a precarious tower of everything in their fridge, some of it still in the packaging, liberally seasoned with engine oil.

Blue and Yellow Diamond, regretably, ended up deciding they didn't want to connect with Pink's past that badly, but the sheer vindictive delight Pearl felt at their expressions when Amethyst presented her masterwork to them (and then proceeded to swallow it whole when it became clear the Diamonds weren't going to) lasted her the whole day.

_

Pearl had intended for it to be a one off.

It should have been a one off, especially considering how badly they all needed the Diamond's goodwill to have any hope of healing their corrupted friends.

Unfortunately, Pearl had not anticipated how much being a pearl on Homeworld again would grate.

She hadn't been prepared for how angry it would make her to be once again looked at like a mindless possession, a trinket to adorn an owner.

She'd fought for her freedom in the war for hundreds of years, and thousands more in her own mind. She refused to be pushed back into the mold of what Homeworld thought a pearl should be.

She knew better than to make a grand gesture. Not now. Not when the fate of countless gems depended on it.

But she could keep her posture loose where she was expected to stand like a statue, could speak up unprompted, walk in front of ‚her owner‘ rather than behind him.

Most gems probably wouldn’t even notice, let alone know what a rebellion these little gestures were. But they mattered to Pearl, and when Blue and Yellow Pearl’s eyes flickered to her when they shouldn’t (because stars forbid a pearl showed curiosity for anything other than her owner’s amusement!) Pearl knew they at least had noticed.

Watch me, Pearl told them with every time she raised her voice like that, moved her feet just so. I am a pearl and they hold no power over me. They tried to destroy us, but we’re still here and free. You can be, too. They can’t stop us.

Homeworld would never own Pearl again, and if she had anything to say about it, it wouldn’t keep owning anyone else for long either.

_

When it was all over, the Diamonds approached Pearl on the beach in front of the temple.

They tried to seem casual. They failed utterly.

„Hello… Pearl,“ White Diamond greeted her, with an expression like treating Pearl like a person was the most perplexing task she’d ever put her mind to.

Pearl tilted her head a fraction to indicate she was listening. She had no inclination to play the accomodating servant. If White Diamond wanted something from her, she would have to figure out how to ask herself.

In the end it was Blue Diamond who spoke up.

„We know that we failed Pink,“ she began, an admission so utterly unexpected it briefly gave Pearl the sensation of being in the wrong form. „We would like to do better with Steven.“

That too was unexpected. The Diamonds Rose and Pearl had run away from would never have considered even the possibility that they could be flawed, let alone need to do better.

Rose, Pearl thought. Look at this. We changed them. Your son changed them.

Out loud she only said

„That’s nice.“

Yellow Diamond cleared her throat impatiently.

„We were hoping you would have some insights,“ she said.

Once again, Pearl felt like the ground had been pulled away beneath her feet.

If someone, even Garnet, had told her a year ago that the Diamonds would stand in front of her, admitting that what they’d done to Rose had been wrong, asking Pearl for advice - she would have thought it absurd.

The Diamonds she’d known would have sooner shattered their entire courts than admit their own faults. The fact that they were willing to put all of this, everything they had spent millenia trying to embody away for the sake of Rose’s memory and Steven’s future…

Rose had been wrong, too, Pearl realised. The other Diamonds had loved her. They’d done it badly, without ever truly seeing her, but they’d loved her all the same.

And now they wanted to learn to do it right.

Maybe Pearl could forgive them one day. Maybe.

Not today though.

„Well, for one thing,“ Pearl said, „I think Steven enjoys not being locked in an empty room for years on end.“

[cl-0v3r]

Mel is alive, but at what cost

Mel was nearly killed TWICE, her mother began being a struggle, she'd been thrown aside and trying her best to stop her, her boyfriend is not doing well, neither is anyone else (can't blame them) and the fact that she hadn't cried or spoke much about this situation to anyone a single time?? She IS upset about every single thing, yet she stays strong and enduring every bit of torture. The most she did was tell Jayce that Ambessa put her palm on the table, and let him know that she is going to push for hextech. That's it, nothing remotely related to her feelings.

The fact that she was constantly looking at Caitlyn, being able to understand her grief and knew she was in pain?? Mel knows this feeling. She'd went through it.

And in the end SHE has to pay the price of her mothers incompetence.

The intro is very much foreshadowing, we know the hands represent black rose/LeBlanc.

This is what happens in act one, she gets kidnapped by them. The lyrics do correspond to the characters as well (not just Mel, everyone.)

"Tell you you're the greatest" plays as a petal of the black rose floats down the screen, I think it adds significance to the power this organization holds, possibly the Medardas greatest foe.

"But once you turn, they hate us" both Ambessa and Mel were present in this line, I think its foreshadowing for when Ambessa switches up for whatever reason and goes against both Piltover AND Zaun. And Mel WILL go through change as well, a change that could hurt her relationship with others, and receive interest from others too.

"They hate us" could be read individually too, I feel like its a sort of "realization" ?? Perhaps Ambessa WASN'T the one that switched up, maybe Piltover switched up on them, and maybe Mel JUST got out of wherever she's taken to, and saw the mess Ambessa had done to her city??

I think this represents ACT TWO.

The hands pull away and it sort of looks like Mel is fighting back, a "get away from me" type of scream. you know what this reminds me of??

Don't mind me just pushing my Jinx/powder-Mel parallel agenda

Here is when i think Mel truly learns about LeBlanc/BR, she curiously and slowly goes to grab the rose, she learns about the history between her Mother and them, Kinos death, and most of all, learns about HERSELF. The lyrics speak otherwise.

"Pray away, I swear

I'll never be a saint, no way"

This feels like a parallel to caitlyn of sorts if that makes sense. Caitlyn had done everything to try and stop the council from attacking the Undercity, she kept her mouth shut when Jayce asked about Jinxs grenade, she was willing to protect Vi and the undercity, but how many times has she been tossed around? She'd been burned, exploded, kidnapped (god knows what happened during that time) and hit in the face by the same person, her MOTHER died because of the same person. She has every right to go insane. And she is hunting ONE person, which is Jinx. Although she is harming the people around her along the way.

What if Mel goes through a similar situation? Her mother pushed for war in her city, she dragged the enemy along with her even if she didn't mean to, she manipulated everyone around her INCLUDING Jayce, she LITERALLY got Mel hurt from the chembarons attack and killed so many people during a MEMORIAL to get her hextech weapons, Elora is most likely DEAD, not to mention whatever happened in the past between them. And the thing is, this will NEVER end throughout the entire season.

And what if she learns what she is? That she's 'blessed' by Kindred? The fact that the wolf is quite literally in her blood?

I feel like the "ill never be a saint, no way" also sort of indicates Mel will realize she'll never be able to push for peace and mercy like she always hoped for no matter what, and she comes to accept that as much as it hurts. But not like how ambessa accepted the wolf, but she sort of realizes she needs to push a little violence, towards nobody but the one and only, Ambessa "fine, if you want me to be like you, I guess I'll be like you towards YOU." Type of acceptance.

I think its also related to Mels new outfit too, she's dressed like her mother, in red and all of that. I will still stand by the idea that she has plans to decieve, but she will do something she doesn't want to do.

Mel was left with no choice, that lyric sounds like realization, acceptance, but also like a plea at the same time, an "I'll never be who I wanted to be" because in the end, she's still a Medarda, she's still her mothers daughter, she still has violence in her veins, she will never not suffer from the weight her name holds, and she will never escape it either, its like a shadow.

The Characters won't be themselves at their core this season. And those vital parts of their characters that represent them are no longer there in the intro, they all have given up what makes them, THEM design wise. (e.g.) Vi without her tattoo, Viktor hiding his identity with the mask. And the thing is, they did that to themselves because they do self-harm, they're changing themselves because THEY want to, they're forcing themselves to do that, they think they're undeserving and they're erasing their past selves.

But Mel? Mel doesn't have her gold accessories, Jewelry, or her Armor, she'd been stripped bare and hidden away because of the brutality of her name. She pays the price her mother brought to HER city. She's forced to change herself against her will, because nobody is giving her a chance to push for her ideals.

This entire theory never ends, and with all of this? I kinda do see Mel actually committing Matricide, it lifts the "Ambessa will die" theory further.

[poguehearted77]

Just Another Cliché

Summary: Rafe has been asking to take you out for years and you always shoot him down, but after a particularly bad day, you decide things can't get much worse.

<<Here's some fluffy angst for those who need it>>

Shitty was an understatement for the day you had. This day will go down in history as the worst day any soul has ever lived through.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me." The murmur is bitter on your tongue as you stuff your hands deeper into your warm pockets. The breath of your words were visible in the crisp winter air as you were about to pass by Rafe Cameron who waited patiently outside of your apartment building with a single rose just like he always did.

Since your senior year of high school, every year on the fourteenth of February, he would wait outside your complex, asking you out, then you say no, then he goes home. That's the tradition.

Well, technically you never said no. You'd always make up some excuse. 'I don't have time for a relationship right now' or 'Now's a bad time' are just a few of the examples you've used over the last five years.

It's not that there was anything wrong with him. You actually did find him attractive. Aside from the sketchy reputation he had going for him back in high school, he was still a relatively nice guy.

You just didn't have the time for a relationship, or at least you didn't before.

A small smile forms on his face as he sees you, already knowing what to expect. Another excuse like "Fine," yup, just as he thought- Wait.

"Say that again?" His head shakes in disbelief, blue eyes bulging slightly. Your shoulders shrug under your heavy-duty winter jacket. "My car was towed, then I lost my job, so why not lose my dignity too? Let's go out." You say and his heart begins to bounce off the confines of his ribs.

Not sure if it was the frosty air nipping at his cheeks or his lifetime wish finally unwrapping before his eyes, his cheeks flushed and he blinked a few times. "You won't regret this, I promise." he holds out the rose for you to take, and you finally do. For the first time in five years. You bite back a scoff, not in the mood for empty promises.

"Why haven't you given up yet?" You ask and now he places his hands in his pockets as a chilling breeze sweeps past you. He's rocking back on his heels slightly, "Life's too short to give up." The tiny smile on his face does make you scoff this time but he moves past it, "I'll text you later," is the last thing he says before he walks off.

You look down at the rose, then at his shrinking figure as he heads for the distance. A little pep in his step and you shook your head, immediately regretting your decision.

Great, this is exactly what you needed, another cliché.

-

Just another cliché is exactly what it was. On the lowest day of your life, you finally gave Rafe a chance. Of course, he changes your life in ways you couldn't imagine and leaves you with a dead weight of regret for not giving in sooner.

Your first date wasn't anything out of the ordinary, but it was fun. The two of you were inexperienced skaters failing to skate in the middle of the town square during the heart of winter. With festive lights outlining the rink where you laughed every time one of you fell.

There was even a point in time when you'd both embraced the cold connection with the ice floor and had a deep conversation on the sidelines, watching the other skaters circle the rink.

"Why me?" The question slips out before you can catch it and he licks his lips. He anticipated the query would arise eventually. "You remember that party Hailey Vanderbilt threw back in senior year?"

You hum with a nod, that was a party you'll never forget. Pool toys ended up in the trees, broken windows, jello in the hot tub, fights in the front yard and gambling in the back. "You and a few of the girls were playing truth or dare and they had dared you to start a rumour that I'd shaved my head because my family had joined some cult or some shit."

It took you a second, but the memory came back to you. "You don't know this, but I was fucking wasted behind the couch, but I'll never forget the way you stood up for me to them and refused to do it, and I dunno, I jus' think that was really cool of you." His head turns to you, his gaze softening when he looks at you.

At that moment, you felt the butterflies flap around in your stomach for the first time. He clears his throat, expression becoming more sombre as he continues. "My mom," He starts, taking a difficult swallow to get the words out.

"She was really sick. I got caught up with the wrong crowd to deal with it. Doing anything people said would get me distracted, even for a little, but she got worse and me being high every day didn't help so I quit. Her chemo was taking everything from her and eventually, she just shaved it off, she hated looking in the mirror and it killed me."

Your chest tightened at the story, having a sneaking suspicion of where this was going, "So when you shaved your head..." You trail off and Rafe nods along, turning away from you as a stray tear falls. "It was for her. You sticking up for me meant so much more than you know."

So there you both sat, on the ice with your backs against the wall in silence while the faint Christmas music chimed in the background. The date had taken a sad turn but you're glad it did, it sparked the beginning of your forever-evolving bond.

That was only the first date of many. Dozens and dozens of dates had flown past you and with each one you hated yourself a little more for letting him stand outside of your complex for five years rather than invite him inside.

"This is a nice place." He compliments as he takes a look around before settling himself on the couch with you beside him. "Thanks, it used to be a lot nicer when I could afford it. Had to sell some stuff to keep it after I lost my job."

He chuckles, "That explains why we're facing a blank wall and no television." and you pinch him. "Sacrifices had to be made. Who needs a TV anyways when there's so many other things we could do to keep ourselves busy." Your wandering hand gently runs down his firm thigh and you can feel the muscles in his leg tighten.

This was unchartered territory for you. You'd been dating for almost three months now and have never been intimate in that way, but Rafe knew the kind of person you were. A perfectionist, you need to be sure of everything before you try it.

Based on how fervently you were currently kissing along the length of his neck he could assume he had a pretty good idea of where your head was at. "Baby, baby--" He struggles to keep you at bay so he can lock eyes with you. "Are you sure about this? We don't have-" You silence him with the passionate attack of your lips against his.

Nearly tackling him onto his back, your hips straddling his as you demonstrated your certainty to him.

-

The months went on and sleepovers became more frequent. Even when Rafe had that tired look in his eye which was more often these days, you kept him up with your bright eyes and wide smile as you explained to him the newest conspiracy that intrigued you.

He tried his best to listen to what you were saying but he'd often lose himself in the labyrinth of his own mind. You were just so cute when you were talking about what you were passionate about. Especially when you wore the glasses you cursed so much, opting for contacts during the day.

"Why don't you wear your glasses more often?" He asks and you frown, "Rafee, did you hear anything I just said?" He nods, "Of course I did. I heard every last word.... up until about five minutes ago." You whine and he hugs you tight as an apology, placing a sweet kiss on your forehead.

You couldn't stay mad at him. That was proven time and time again when even your biggest fights would be resolved within 24 hours. Rafe insisted on talking things out, no matter how hurt the both of you may feel. He never wanted to go to sleep without making things right. "Life's too short," He would say.

You both had your shortcomings, but that goes without saying. Rafe was short-tempered and you were stubborn, a bad combination for an opinionated conversation. Things can quickly spiral out of control but when it came to apologies, Rafe outdid you every time. Flowers, or a small gift to show his feelings.

Even now, as Rafe leant against your kitchen island as you transferred the flowers he'd gifted you 'just because'. A weak smile graced his lips as he noted the way you did everything with such intensity, putting your all into everything you did.

Leaning forward onto his crossed forearms he watches you. "You're staring, babe." You say and he can only hum. "Can't help it. I like what I see," His words elicit a soft warmth to radiate in your chest.

"I love you, y'know that?" You're startled as you feel his arms wrapping around your waist from behind. "You tell me only every day, Rafe." He comes down to peck your cheek before you're rotating in his hold to face him. "But I love you too." You're unable to contain your smile as you say it.

It wasn't the first time but every time the words left your mouth, it gave you a little bubbly feeling. Security blossomed within you anytime your eyes grazed over his features.

"Let's go out tonight, yeah? Let's go dancing." Rafe declares without thinking and you laugh, tilting your head to look at the time over the stove. "It's almost midnight, nothing's open at this hour." You reason, but he doesn't back down.

Holding you by the hand, he twirls you. "Not a problem, we'll just do it here." That night your apartment was filled with laughter and soft jazz. Rafe hardly ever had this much energy so late but you loved it.

Two days after that night of dancing, you woke up to an eerie silence that felt too heavy for the morning. You went about your routine, still buoyed by the memory of Rafe's laughter filling your apartment. You checked your phone—just the usual notifications, a missed call from an unknown number, and a message from Sarah that simply said, "Call me."

You barely had time to press dial before she picked up, her voice trembling. She tried to speak, but only the sound of soft, choked sobs came through. Finally, she managed, "I’m so sorry…"

The words hit you, but you didn’t understand them. You wanted her to stop, to say something else—anything else. She kept speaking, her words blurred and distant, as though you were underwater, drowning. Somewhere in her explanation, you heard the words, "peacefully… in his sleep." But it didn’t feel peaceful. Your mind raced, demanding answers. Why hadn’t he told you? How long had he known?

Over the days that followed, Rafe's family gently filled in the pieces: he’d been sick for years, silently enduring, doing everything he could to hide it. Every date, every moment spent laughing with you, was a deliberate choice he made to live his last days fully, in love and joy, with you.

He hadn’t wanted you to know because he couldn't bear to see you suffer for him the same way he was once familiar with in his senior year. Even in the end, he kept the truth locked away, shielding you from the loss he knew was coming.

The weight of his choice tore you apart. You wanted to be angry, to hate him for leaving you out, but in his silence, there was also a strange kind of love. A love that had given you a few precious, unburdened moments together. Still, the pain settled deep within you, refusing to ease.

The anger, hurt, and ache became constant companions in the days that followed. But in his absence, you began to understand just how much he’d given for you.

He'd shared with you how hard it was for him to deal with that eerie state of loss. The stage where the person isn't gone but you know you'll lose them. It alters you in a messed up kind of way and he wanted you as far from that reality as possible. He was protecting you from his own condition till the very end.

Helping his family to clear out his apartment was easily the hardest thing you'd ever done. You couldn't do it without tearing up with every belonging of his you touched.

His favourite hoodie that he never let you wear but loved when you did. The polaroids in his drawer that you took from your first date, taken from the floor of the ice rink.

You noticed he'd scribbled writing on the back of the photo.

She finally said yes.

That was all it took. The last bits of your composure were stolen from you and you wept on his bedroom floor. Everyone always told you it would get easier but it never did. How could things get easier when the other half of your heart was buried six feet below the ground?

You learned to live with the loss, forcing a smile when in the company of others and taking deep breaths every morning when you woke up. Mildly disappointed the realm beyond the living hadn't reaped you during your slumber.

Very slowly, you begin to adjust to this new reality. It’s not the life you imagined, but you learn to live with the loss, carrying him with you in the smallest, most tender ways. His favourite hoodie becomes your comfort on cold nights, wrapping you in his memory and his scent.

Just because he was gone doesn't mean you'd end all of your traditions. Each year on the fourteenth of February, you visit his grave, placing a single red rose on the stone as a quiet tribute.

Though the ache remains, you hold his spirit close, carrying him forward into every milestone and memory yet to come, honouring the love you shared while finding the strength to continue onward.

In some ways, your love story turned out to be just another cliché—until it ripped your heart out from your chest, leaving you with the unbearable ache of everything he left unsaid, every unfulfilled promise, and the haunting silence of a future that will always belong to him.

Somehow, even in the quietest, most heart-wrenching moments, you never gave up on finding the silver lining, because life’s too short.

[cursedcola]

Prompt: Couples will evidently begin to mimic their better half after some time. What traits do you steal from him, and vice versa? Fandom: Twisted Wonderland Characters: Everyone - because I want to and I’m amidst fleshing out all my Yuu/Character dynamics + designs Format: Headcannons. Masterlist: LinkedUP Parts: Heartslabyul (Here) | Savanaclaw | Octavinelle | Scarabia | Pomefiore | Ignihyde | Diasomnia A/N: Putting all my brain rot from my notes into something cohesive. Contrary to my love for ripping your hearts out, I've come with some fluff this time around. BTW you may or may not already do things mentioned - I write my works with a specific Yuu in mind for each character so this is based on them. Just a reminder.

Habits you steal:

Plan-Books (Inherited) : Riddle habitually carries a planner with all his tasks. A physical one, not an app in his cell phone like most students choose. You find it easier to manage and swap to paper-and-pen alternatives at his recommendation.

Tidiness (Inherited): Riddle is a nit-pickier when it comes to physical presentation. His habits of pressing his uniform, laying his clothes out every night, and dressing conservatively rub off. He has a point - ironed trousers do make a difference. Every morning he will redo your uniform tie. It's never knotted to his 'standard', and is his preferred excuse to greet you before class.

"Now, isn't that better? Surely you are more comfortable in ironed linens than those rags you'd been wearing as pajamas. You seriously found them lying in Ramshackle? Were you not given an allowance to buy basic needs? Ridiculous! The Headmaster's irresponsibility holds no bounds!" <- Utterly appalled that you've been sleeping in century-old robes. He supplies you with seven sets of pajamas, a spare uniform, and an iron + board for Ramshackle. All after reaming the Headmaster for neglect in the last dorm-head meeting - either Crowley coughed up the marks or Riddle will supply from his own bank. Seven have mercy if he chooses to become a lawyer instead of a doctor.

No Heels (Developed): Riddle has a height complex. He won't make a show of it, but you wearing heels does emasculate him. Especially if you're already taller naturally. For his sake, you choose to slay your outfits in flats.

"Are those new loafers? Oh - no, they're lovely. The embroidery is exquisite and I can see why Pomefiore's Housewarden models for their brand. I merely thought you preferred the heeled saddle-shoes we saw during the past weekend trip. I must have been mistaken. Never mind me. You look wonderful."

Playing Brain Teasers (Inherited): Riddle has this thing with memory - you don't know if he's really into preventing old-age Alzheimer's or what. He carries a book of teaser games like Sudoku, etc. for when he has downtime and you eventually get into them too.

"Oh! My Rose, would you care to join me for lunch? Trey's siblings recently mailed in a large collection of cross-words. You'll find they are both educational and entertaining - hm? I do not seem the 'type' for word-games? I assure you, even I can relax on occasion. There is no need to look so surprised." <- Riddle's been making a grand effort to do things he enjoys and become more personable. Trey's siblings did not send the collection. Riddle went into town and picked it out on his own. He also found a book on organizing excursions since he's big on quality time. He is dead-set on not being a neglectful or 'boring' partner.

Swear Jar (Developed): Tired of Riddle collaring Ace for his vulgar tongue, you suggest a Heartslabyul swear jar. When the jar gets filled, the money can be used to fund things like study materials and renovations for the dorm. Riddle liked this idea, but now implements it on anyone who sets foot in the Heartslabyul. Considering you spend most of your time there, you've had to develop a vast vocabulary beyond swearing. Oh - you also unironically use the word 'fiddlesticks' now.

Habits he steals:

Useless Expenses (Inherited): You are an enabler without a doubt. Riddle has always functioned with the bare bones - with function and efficiency being the number one priority. Ever so slowly - you've spoiled him with aesthetically pleasing stationary. At first all the needless purchases felt redundant - why buy the pillowcases with flowers when plain white is cheaper? You can invest in a higher quality this way. Yet you've ruined him with gifts that he had no choice but to use. Now he needs to buy the pens with little hedgehogs on them because studying doesn't feel the same with a plain ballpoint.

Slang Dictionary (Developed): With each passing day, all the students in Heartslabyul get more creative at bending the rules. That includes you. Riddle takes it upon himself to carry a 'little-black-book' full of all the sang words he is unfamiliar with. He does want to be a bit more 'hip' to understand you more, but at the same time he wants to bust any student being a smart-mouth. It's an ongoing battle *sigh*.

"Apologies, could you repeat that term for me? Surely it must be relevant to my lecture if you and Ace are whispering. 'Let him cook'? Do you think we are in a culinary lecture?! Have you not been listening to - ah. So it's in reference to letting me finish before interrupting...One moment. I need to make a note."

Chewing Gum (Developed): This is an ode to psychology. In short, eating is tied to a person's fight-or-flight. Instincts dictate that our bodies need to be in a calm state to eat comfortably. One day when Riddle was at his wits end, you tossed him a pack of sugarless gum and told him to chew. Disregarding Trey's unholy dental screeching, Riddle develops a gum dependence for when he's stressed out. On the bright side, his jaw has never been so sharp.

“Mimicry? You must be mistaken. Even if my influence has affected their person, surely there are only positive developments” == Riddle denies any changes if confronted. In truth, he’s well aware of how much you’ve helped him grow. It’s the opposite accusation that spikes concern. Riddle does not want others thinking you’re a mini-version of him. Rumors are not kind and neither is his current reputation. Making those amends is his burden to bare. He is flattered to see you paying attention to his mannerisms, and secretly proud that your bond is strong enough to affect the psyche.

Habits you steal:

Whistling (Inherited): Trey whistles while working in the kitchen or doing general chores around the dorm. He's not very loud with it, so not may students are bothered. Since you laze about in his shadow the tunes he goes through do become repetitive. Now you do the same when cleaning up Ramshackle. Grim wants to knock you both out because he can't take it anymore.

"Ah -- How'd you know it was me in here? Just because I bake for the un-birthday parties doesn't mean I live in the kitchen, you know. My whistling? Huh. Never thought that would be my calling card but there are worse things, haha"

Head-Scratching (Inherited): Trey's got a habit of scratching the back of his head when he's uncomfortable or nervous. That, or rubbing at the nape of his neck while adverting eye contact. You start doing this too whenever you're being scolded or put in a tough situation.

Dental Hygiene (Inherited): By far the most obvious shared trait. Trey enforces his dental habits onto everyone- you are no exception. You now own four different kinds of floss, two toothbrushes (one being electric), and have a strict hygiene routine. Your pearly whites have never been so clean. Eventually you become somewhat of a secondary enforcer, policing anyone who sleeps over your dorm to take care of themselves before bed. All of Heartslabyul learns that there is no going back when you scold Riddle for not brushing after his teatime tart, and live to tell the tale.

"Hey - uh, weird question? Were you handing out floss to the Spelldrive Team yesterday? Seriously? I though Grim was pulling my leg - oh, no! It's not weird at all! Those guys should have a better routine for all the meat they eat when bulking. I'm just shocked you got through to them." <- Very proud. Mildly cocky. He's been itching to get those negligent jocks to floss after their banquets his entire tenure, but steered away from that conflict like the plague. Thank you for making his dreams come true. Now if you could maybe get them to stop picking their gums with toothpicks?

Habits he steals:

Overbuying Food (Developed): Being a baker's son, Trey's good with finances and money. He's also meticulous with the ingredients he purchases for his bakes. You are not. You go to Sam's shop, buy whatever is on sale, and then bring it back home to improvise. This ends poorly more often than not, and behold! Trey has two Ramshackle sluggers snooping around his kitchen for eats. This is unpredictable and therefore he now never knows what amount to buy. You've ruined him.

Phone Calls (Developed): Texting is easier. Especially since phone calls can be a commitment that Trey dislikes being wrapped up in. Whenever Cater's name pops up as the caller, Trey knows he's getting an ear full. The thing is that you never. answer. your. phone. Either the text gets lumped in with the hundreds of missed messages you have, or Grim stole your cell to play mobile games. So Trey gives up and only ever calls. Either Grim will answer or you'll pick up thinking it's the snooze of your alarm.

"Hello? Prefect, where are you? It's me, Trey. Just calling to see if you're still coming to the Un-Birthday party? Riddle's getting a bit nervous since the schedule's set for the next hour. Grim's already here with Ace and Deuce - uh, want Cater to send a double to pick you up? I have a sinking feeling that you're asleep...Call me? Please?" <- He was correct. You called back not a moment after, half-asleep and hauling ass not to be late.

Speaking in Propositions (Inherited): Trey's normally good at keeping neutrality in a conversation, but getting a clear answer out of Yuu you is like solving a rubix cube. Either it's easy and instant, or a long game. Eventually your habit of indecisiveness rubs off on him and he asks questions more than answers them. Evidently this gets his younger classmen to stop asking for favors unless they really need to.

“Aha - really? I didn’t notice at all. Okay. Okay, I picked up on a few hints. What’s so wrong with them taking after me? It’s cute, right?” == Trey is the observant sort that picks up on his influence quickly. Not just anyone carries floss in their pocket at all times - and the looks from his dorm-mates when you offer some up is enough for the realization to click. Trey’s used to playing the respectable sort, and finds it endearing that you’re taking his good notes to heart. In truth, most of Trey’s mimicry is intentional. He’s a flexible guy who doesn’t mind altering his habits to fit your needs. Easier this way, y’know?

Habits you steal:

Speaking in Acronyms(Inherited): Now this is scary. The first time it happened, you had to take a pause and just re-evaluate your entire life. You don't use them nearly as often as Cater does, but somewhere along the line your brain must have rewired to speak in internet lingo. O-M-G you're TOTALLY twinning with him right now, period :)

Nicknames (Inherited): Again, frightening. You once swore against ever calling him Cay-Cay. It isn't very slay-slay. Yet you can only hear him use nicknames for so long until you're unconsciously calling people by them too. Especially since he's always dishing gossip. It starts in your head, which is fine. It's not like they know. Then you call Lilia 'Lils' and that old fart is just grinning behind his sleeve because ohoho~ young love <3

"Did you just- AHA! OMG DO IT AGAIN?! Wait, gotta get my camera out for this - wha? Oh, that's totes not fair! C'mon. Call me Cay-Cay. Just once! I won't even post it to Magicam, please? Lils won't believe me without proof! Pleasssssseeeee - " <- He actually doesn't want you to call him Cay-Cay all the time. Cater likes you using his given name, since it's more personal. Although the way it obviously slipped out on accident is just too cute to ignore.

Reality TV (Inherited): At first you don't like the gossip. It's cheesy, a bit annoying, and the shaky camera-work for nearly every show is headache inducing. Cater likes his dose of drama in his free-time, and Ramshackle has a tv that no one is using. It starts with him watching while you do other things around the dorm. Yet each time you pass the living area, you take longer to leave. Lingering around like one of the ghosts. Then he pulls you in with snacks and starts giving the low-down of what's going on, pulling out a bottle of tangerine shimmer polish to paint your nails. It's just one episode, watch it for him? Please? Oh no. No. No. Suddenly you're invested in who's the baby-daddy of little Ricky and what Chantel is going to do because her sister just lost the house to foreclosure.

"#KingdomOfDeadbeats - am I right? Ugh. I'm so glad we met if that's the dating scene back home...What?! I know it isn't real! Don't be a dummy, I was just joking! Ah! Stop! Don't hit me!" <- Half-hearted jokes about going on one of those talk-shows one day. You're an alien, after all - imagine the juicy drama and views his account would get from doing an interview? It's all jokes though. Cater likes spilling the tea, but hates being it. Don't ever abandon him and go out for milk though, kay? He doesn't want to pay Grim's child support. Otherwise he might have no choice smh

Habits he steals:

Phone/Web Games (Inherited): Cater's phone is mainly full of social media. He's not too into the gaming scene, it's not his peeps y'know? Alas, you download a few dress-up games and one MMO on his phone. First off - props on getting his phone. That's Cay-Cay's lifeline and not just anyone gets to play with it. Pray tell - what is this Wonderstar Planet (props if you know what is being ref.) and how can he become the most influential digital streamer on it? Congrats. He's addicted.

"Who's this Muscle Red and why's he bombing our raid - AH! He just tea-bagged me! So not cool...Prefect? STOP LAUGHING WE HAVE BETS ON THIS MATCH! There goes my collab opportunity, big fail" <- Muscle Red continues to make an appearance. Eventually he becomes Cater's official rival on stream, and Lils is all to invested in the tea cater drops during club meets. Side note. You're the one who gave 'muscle red' Cater's domain code. The lore thickens.

Internet Caution (Developed): This goes without saying, but Cater's well-known in the Magicam scene. He's very forward and knows his way around using charisma. Since you're not in the scene as much, he becomes more cautious of where and when he does streams. The change is so subtle that only the most observant people will pick up on it - but Cay-Cay doesn't want any creepos popping in if y'know what I'm saying. His sisters were the ones to instigate this change.

“Awe~ SRSLY?! That’s fresh news to my ears but good, right? Ne, are there any clips or pics? I need my evidence, y’see. Especially if my cutie is off taking notes from their one and only. C’mon, spill the tea!” == Cheeky Cater is well aware of what’s happening. He’d humor anyone out for some light teasing - after all, he isn’t by your side at all hours. His walls are probably the second most difficult in all of campus to bypass, so he’s both sweetened and nerved to see you picking up on his mannerisms. That’s proof of a strong attachment, after all.

Habits you steal:

Knuckle Cracking (Inherited): Deuce still does this from his biker days. It could be because joint pain from past fights, or possibly air retention in his knuckles from studying. Regardless, Deuce cracks his knuckles at least once every few hours and you began to mimic him. Some people groan at the popping sounds but it really does feel good to release the tension. Let's just hope neither of you dislocate any fingers on accident.

"Stop that! G-geez, you nearly gave me a heart attack. Thought you broke a finger...your hands are stiff? That just means you're studying a lot! I think...uh, let's break? I think there's some leftovers in the kitchen." <- Deuce 100% gets needing to pop those air bubbles. His hands get stiff from studying all the time, but don't crack them too much or you might dislocate something. Side note - he shows you how to wrap your fingers with a soothing salve. He used to do it after fights, but now it's a great help after class.

Double Notes (Developed): Deuce tries. He really does. Yet the lad just isn't great when it comes to book smarts. Seeing that he is dedicated to turning over a new leaf, you make a habit of copying all your notes. He isn't allowed to share them with Ace or Grim - else all bets are off. Sometimes you leave little 'good job' stickers on the last page for him. Is he a toddler? No. Does he peel the stickers off and save them? Totally. He is a good noodle. Suck it Ace.

Sewing (Developed): He breaks things. Most of the time it's an accident. You've learned to carry a mini-sewing kit for all the rips in Deuce's uniform. Same for mini remedies for stains and other problems. It's not like he's trying to get grass stains all over his under-shirt or to split the seam in his gloves (nearly every week). It just happens, and every time he comes to you with a kicked-puppy look with a promise of it being the last time. It is never the last time.

"Uhm...hun'? It happened again. I'm so sorry for bothering you but Housewarden is going to kill me if he sees the tear in my blazer! Can you fix it?! I can't handle another collar with my exam tomorrow! I need to breathe to focus! - really!? I owe you one! Snacks are on me tonight."

Habits he steals:

Bottomless Stomach (Developed): Have leftovers from dinner? Bring them over. He'll get the tubba-ware back in 1-2 days. Coupon for buy-one-get-one at Sam's? He'll take the extra and polish it off in less than a minute. Deuce becomes a human garbage disposal and is taking the unwanted condiments off your sandwich to eat. Just pick them off and leave 'em on the corner of his lunch plate. Even if he dislikes it, he'll down it so you don't have to.

"Mm. Oh, thanks hun' - its that all you're eatin'? You don't like the steam bun? It is a bit dry, but wasting food is disrespectful to the cooks! I'll finish it for you so have my fruit instead. You still need to eat" <- 10/10 very thoughtful and not picky at all. He is grateful to eat your cooking and will gobble up all leftovers at Ramshackle, but doesn't think twice to sharing meals in the cafeteria. He will notice though if you do not eat enough. Restocks the snack cabinet if he sees it's empty. Is touched if you routinely share things you know he enjoys, like saving half your frittata on purpose.

Early Riser (Inherited): See - even if you hate the mornings, there is no choice at Night Raven College. As Ramshackle Prefect you need to be up to take care of business before class. Deuce becomes your personal alarm clock because he wants some time with you before everyone else joins in. Mind you that he lives with three other dudes who threaten to end him every morning because his alarm wakes them up too. Eventually he can wake up without it, but the time leading is unpleasant.

"W-what? Seriously? I've been trying to be more like them! They're a good person and responsible so I've been trying to follow their example. To think we've been doing the same thing this entire time...." == Why would you ever imitate him? He's been trying his damn best to become an honor student worth respecting, and has a long way to go. To think you're comfortable enough with him to mimic his mannerisms? It's a pipe dream, one he doesn't grasp until it's put right in front of his face. You don't let anyone else pick off your plate other than Grim. The next time his clothes tear, he's already handing off his tie before realizing just what's happening. When you wrap his knuckles after a six-hour lock in at the library? He can't help but feel proud at how neat the bandages are. Suddenly the dark memories of hiding bruised knuckles from his mom are pacified with healing balm. Deuce views this development as a gift, and is grateful. Very, very grateful.

Habits you steal:

‘I owe you’ cards (Inherited): Ace's favorite social invention - the 'solid'. Nothing spells new-low like getting your friends to do stuff in exchange for a favor in the future. Most of the time Ace counts on people forgetting he owes them one, but you're not so gullible. The only difference between you both is that while Ace never fulfills his solid, you have a conscience. Give it a few more years. He'll get ya.

"I know this is the third ticket this week but - Oh! C'mon, cut a guy some slack, would you? I'm sorry for bein' late to our date. Yeah, it was shitty. I'm not trying to fight it, aright? I'm here now so let's have some fun and you can chalk three strikes on my tab. I'll even buy ya some candy - Ah! Okay! Two candies but that's where my charity ends!" <- Evidently, the 'I-owe-you' tabs cancel each other out from how often you both call in favors. It's just an excuse to do acts of service or express apologies without being too mushy. Ace is definitely keeping a track record of them though. Expect an ongoing log that dates back to the week you met, when he showed up homeless, collared, and looking to couch surf.

Profanity (Inherited): Ace swears like a sailor. Maybe not so much in his dorm because *cough* he's being policed. He holds no such reservations when you're both alone at Ramshackle. Unfortunately his potty mouth has a mind of it's own - it taints you, and you are a sham of a prefect. Ace earned a week-long collar for teaching you some Twisted-Wonderland exclusive curses. Riddle is not pleased.

Leaving the Windows Unlocked (Developed): There are only so many times he can sneak in through your window before the adrenaline-induced charm wears off. You have class in the morning, and can't be bothered to deal with him on nights he can't pass out in his dorm. Thank seven you have all of Ramshackle to yourself - because Heartslabyul sounds like a nightmare with the roommate situation. You can't leave the front door open for obvious reasons, but most nights the guest-bedroom window will be left slightly ajar in case he needs a place to crash.

"Pssst! Oi! Prefect! ...ugh, Grim! Wake them up, man! The latch is stuck. Don't go back to bed you furball! HEY! IT'S FREAKIN COLD OUT HERE SO LET ME IN ALREADY" <- Please let him in. If Ace has to spend one more night in that stinky dorm with three dudes, he'll string one of their dirty gym socks over your bed. No mercy.

Sleeping with Earplugs (Developed): Bitch Ace snores.

Habits he steals:

Notes Memo (Developed): Ace is bad with remembering things. Anniversaries? Dates? Allergies? He admits to not putting in a great amount of effort, but you can't say he doesn't try at all. He has a notes block on his phone dedicated to things like your go-to takeout orders and preferences. He even has a few alarms set days before any important events because even if you say no-gifts or plans...yeah, he's not that stupid.

Excessive Yawning (Inherited): You're always tired - it wasn't Ace's problem before but now he does feel a bit guilty. Dragging you into his messes felt different when you were just the prefect, y'know? Regardless, it's human instinct to mimic each other's demeanor so he'll openly yawn all the time - normally in succession of you.

"Hey...you're dozing off again. Am I seriously that boring to hang around? - Nah. Just messin' with you. I'd suggest taking a nap during next period but I doubt a goody-goody like you is gonna take that advice. Let's just ditch juice at lunch and go back to the dorm. Don't get mad if I forget to wake you up though"

Medications (Developed): Ace is the last person to become a human apothecary, but he's always got a pack of pain-reliever meds in his pocket with a few bandages, etc. He also attached one of those tiny capsule bottles to his keyring with some stomach meds inside. You took a spill running laps? Dang man. That sucks. Here's a band-aid for your knee. Curse you for making him the slightly-more responsible one.

"Eh..what, like it's a shock? You saying I'm a bad influence? Cause yeah, that checks. Nothin' I can do if they want to take a card outta my deck though," == Ace is entirely neutral on the topic. He is definitely smug that you're coming over to the dark side, but he doesn't need anyone to point it out. He was your first after all. Maybe the start could have been a bit better - but hey, you came around. It's not like he's hurting anyone by helping build your backbone. Although Ace will instantly deny going soft for you in any way, shape, or form.

[rafes-slut]

Rafe accidently sees video of you fingering yourself

Pairing: bsf!Rafe Cameron x reader (both taken)

Warnings: Heavy sexual tension, explicit content, voyeurism, cheating implications, Rafe being completely inappropriate, detailed descriptions of arousal and tension, forbidden desires.

Summary: Rafe was just killing time, scrolling through your phone while you did your makeup—until he found that video. The one you’d made for your boyfriend, the one where your fingers disappeared inside you, soft moans spilling from your lips.

Rafe was sprawled out on your bed like he owned the place, his long legs stretched out, back propped against your pillows as he lazily scrolled through your phone. He looked perfectly at ease, one arm slung over his stomach, fingers moving idly over the screen while his other hand played with the frayed hem of his ripped jeans.

You were across the room, seated at your vanity, fixing your makeup. The low hum of music played from your speaker, filling the comfortable silence between you. This wasn’t anything new—Rafe at your place, making himself at home while you got ready, flipping through your phone because his was dead, acting like it was his given right to go through whatever he pleased.

Neither of you thought anything of it.

Not until his scrolling slowed.

Not until his thumb hovered over a video thumbnail that made his pulse kick up a notch.

The lighting was dim, the warm glow of your bedside lamp casting a soft hue over bare skin. He could barely make out what it was at first, but something about the frame had his curiosity piqued. He tapped it without hesitation, expecting maybe a stupid video or some mirror selfie.

But the second it started playing, his entire body locked up.

The first thing he noticed was your voice—soft, breathy, already heavy with arousal. The quiet gasp that slipped past your lips had his stomach tightening, fingers gripping your phone just a little harder.

Then he saw you.

The camera was positioned just right, catching the full expanse of your body sprawled across your sheets, knees bent, thighs slightly parted. You had your phone propped up somewhere, giving him the perfect angle to watch as your fingers trailed down your stomach, dipping beneath the waistband of the lacy panties barely covering you.

His jaw clenched.

He should have looked away. He knew he should have looked away.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he sat there, frozen, eyes glued to the screen as your fingers disappeared beneath the thin fabric, teasing yourself, stroking over your slit before slipping inside. A sharp breath escaped you, your back arching slightly, and Rafe felt something dark and possessive coil in his stomach.

Holy fuck.

You were touching yourself.

And not just teasing—no, you were fucking yourself, slowly pushing your fingers deep, your wetness glistening under the dim light. His throat went dry, breath coming out in short, uneven exhales as he watched your hips shift, a quiet moan slipping past your lips when you curled your fingers just right.

Jesus Christ.

Rafe felt the blood rush straight to his dick so fast it made his head spin. His jeans, already snug, suddenly felt unbearably tight, his cock straining against the rough denim. He shifted slightly, trying to adjust himself without being obvious, but nothing could ease the throbbing ache building between his legs.

You whimpered, your free hand gripping the sheets as your fingers worked in and out, slow and deliberate. His eyes traced every detail—the way your thighs trembled, the way your chest rose and fell with each shaky breath, the way your lips parted in pleasure.

He imagined them around his cock.

That thought alone had him gritting his teeth, fighting the overwhelming urge to palm himself through his jeans. He could almost feel it—your mouth on him, warm and wet, lips stretching around his length as he fucked into your throat.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He shouldn’t be watching this. He definitely shouldn’t be getting this fucking hard over it.

But the way you moved, the way your fingers disappeared inside you, slick with your arousal, had him completely entranced. The quiet whimpers that spilled from your mouth had his entire body strung tight with need, every muscle wound so fucking tense it was painful.

Then you moaned a name.

Your boyfriend’s name.

Rafe’s stomach twisted. A sharp, burning jealousy coiled inside him, something ugly and possessive that made his hands tighten into fists. That should be him. It should be his name you were moaning, his fingers buried inside you, his cock making you fall apart.

His breathing turned ragged, chest rising and falling rapidly as he fought to keep himself composed. He couldn’t fucking believe this. Couldn’t believe you’d sent this to someone else, let some other guy see you like this.

His fingers itched to delete the video, to erase the proof that anyone else had ever had this piece of you. But before he could even think, the video was coming to an end—your body tensing, back arching, thighs shaking as you reached your peak. Your breath hitched, a long, drawn-out moan slipping past your lips as pleasure consumed you.

Rafe felt his cock throb painfully, a pulse of heat surging through him so intense it had him gritting his teeth.

And just like that, the screen went black.

He barely had time to process what just happened before your voice cut through the air.

“All done,” you said, spinning in your chair.

Rafe nearly jumped, fingers moving so fast to exit the video that he almost dropped your phone. He quickly turned the screen off, swallowing hard as he forced his face to stay neutral, praying to fucking God that he didn’t look as guilty as he felt.

“Cool,” he muttered, voice rough, strained.

You didn’t even notice, too busy grabbing your phone back and checking your reflection in the mirror. Meanwhile, Rafe was still sprawled on your bed, painfully hard, his hands curled into fists as he willed himself to calm the fuck down.

His pulse pounded in his ears, his jeans unbearably tight, and the only thing running through his mind was the image of your fingers buried deep inside you.

This night was going to be a fucking problem.

[violetren]

I want to keep reading because I am reading in the work room which has been kept warm so the 3d printer will be able to function, and is the warmest room in the house by a significant amount.

But also I am reading in the work room that only has a ragged outdoor chair acting as a makeshift office desk because I haven't had a chance to buy a proper one and my back and neck are Not Happy.

It's also 1:30am. But it IS the weekend so...

I need to go to bed or I am going to be more sore than I am entertained but like, damn I wanna keep reading.

[pellucid-constellations]

I'd Answer

You've been gone. Azriel's been broken. Something has to change, and Azriel would do anything.

Part 2 of If You Cared to Ask

“This is for you,” Mor huffed, plopping down a small bouquet of roses onto the growing garden that seemed to have sprouted on the table. “What is that, number twelve?” 

“I don’t know, I don’t count them,” you brushed off, your gaze falling on the gifts for a fleeting moment.

Mor hummed. “Are they doing anything for you?” 

“Not particularly.” 

Your friend shuffled into the small sitting room and gracefully landed in the chair beside yours, her eyes piercing a hole in the side of your head when you refused to look up. She sighed, and then sighed again, making a show of slotting her chin in her palm and looking forlorn. 

The third sigh was your breaking point. 

You placed your book on the table and turned to Mor with your brows raised. “Yes?” 

“Oh, nothing,” she airily replied. “I was just wondering when you were going to give this up. You don’t have to forgive the guy, but at least put me out of my misery and let me tell him where you’re staying. I’m basically a delivery service at this point. He says sorry again, by the way.” 

“Oh, well in that case—” 

“More than just sorry, but I can’t remember everything he said. It was all rambly and his face was all gaunt.” Mor pressed her fingers up to cover her eyes. “I’m not even sure if he’s eating. Rhys had to stop sending him out because he almost fell out of the sky.”

“Is this supposed to make me feel bad?”

You hoped your ruse was believable because hearing that Azriel was doing so poorly did make you feel bad. Your heart lept up to your throat at the prospect of your mate falling from the sky from exhaustion. But he had had so many opportunities to make this right and you weren’t about to give up your anger so easily. 

Mor offered a sad expression that looked authentic this time. “Y/n, he loves you. He’s an idiot and the whole lot of them are mindless fools, but Azriel has never loved anything the way he loves you.” 

“Yeah, I’m sure,” you snorted. “And he shows that love by forgetting me and then arguing when I’m clearly upset over it?” 

“I know. He told me how much of an ass he’s been. But, I promise you, I’ve known Azriel for a long time. He was just—just handling everything with Rhys poorly. He felt so so guilty when Rhys got trapped. You know that.” 

You bit the inside of your cheek and avoided Mor’s gaze. “I know.” 

The lack of vitriol in your tone had Mor perking up. “And you remember how hard he tried to get him back—how broken he was when Rhys sent out his last message. Az feels responsible for everything when it comes to his family.”

You didn’t need the reminder. The tortured way he carried himself over the past 50 years was evidence enough of the truth behind Mor’s words. And you had been there to soothe that pain, to help run the court that Rhys left behind. 

When silence persisted, Mor craned her neck to catch your gaze. “I’m not saying what he did was right, but you know he’s been in overdrive since Rhys returned. He goes off on those missions when Rhys calls, but… y/n, he only leaves without notice when his informants…” 

Mor trailed off. 

Your gaze finally flickered up. “When?” 

Mor bit her lip and winced. “He told me not to tell you this part. He said he didn’t want you to think he was making excuses.” 

“Tell me anyways.” 

“Fine. But you can’t rat me out.” Mor sighed and leaned back in the chair, still facing you. “He does go on every mission Rhys proposes, and that’s… stupid, but he tells you about those ones, I think. When he just up and leaves, it’s because—y/n, it’s because they're about you. You know there’s a slew of people that want you dead for your involvement up in Illyria. He has a team of informants with the sole purpose of listening for you name.

“He goes on Rhys’s missions because he doesn’t want his family separated again, but sometimes, it’s because he just wants to protect his mate.” 

A stone dropped past your ribs and into your stomach. “But, he never told me—” 

“You know these overgrown bats think that suffering in silence is an honorable thing to do,” Mor rolled her eyes. “They overwork themselves fighting the good fight or whatever and seem to forget that the rest of the world is still out there, facing the consequences of their actions. And… I think he just wanted you to feel safe. I think he’s been scared.” 

Something sickly climbed its way up your consciousness. You looked down at your hands as they rested in your lap. 

You hadn’t seen Azriel in six days, and each day had more anger coursing through you, building up a wall that you thought impenetrable. Because you were so angry; Azriel had disappointed you time and time again, left you feeling abandoned and alone, and then he got defensive about it as if you were the one at fault. 

Part of you always knew it was a defense of some sort, but you had thought it a defense of something nefarious. You had tossed around the idea of infidelity a few times, and that rivaled the thought of him simply falling out of love with you. 

But it was this. 

It was him hiding how hard he’d been trying to protect you—however idiotic his tactics may have been. 

“You can tell him where I am,” you murmured clenching your fingers into your palm. “And leave the door unlocked, I guess.” 

Mor had left the small apartment on the outskirts of Velaris before you finished your sentence. 

It took approximately 7 minutes for a tentative knock to sound at your door. 

Mor had left it unlocked, but there was still a knock. 

You took a glance at the pile of flowers on the table before heading to the front door. The old floorboards creaked under your feet, a reminder of the rundown apartment you had sought out after you left. It was a frantic process, searching for a place to stay; you hadn’t cared much for luxury or comfort.  

Opening the door was jarring. Azriel’s wings were half-raised as if he’d just flown down and then forgot how to control them. His face was pallid with dark smudges beneath his eyes. His hair was windswept, expected from the flight, but it looked tugged at and disheveled beyond that. 

“Hi.” 

Maybe you’d been looking him over too long because Azriel’s voice cracked at the single word. He sounded unsure, verging on afraid, and all you had done was pass over his figure with your eyes. 

You tightened your grip on the door handle. “Um, hi.” Your tone was harsher than you meant it to be. 

Azriel flinched. “I’m sorry, Mor said…” 

“No, I—Come in.” 

You stepped back and pushed the door open to accommodate his hesitant steps into your rental. Azriel stood in the middle of the space and wrung his hands as you shuffled behind him, a slight tremor showing in his fingers. You leaned back against the door with your own hands pressed at the small of your back. You watched Azriel’s lingering gaze trail over the flowers in the corner of the room. 

“You didn’t like them?” he meekly asked. 

Something inside of you hurt. 

“They were okay,” you answered. “But I didn’t want flowers.” 

Azriel nodded and his lashes fluttered shut. His hands twitched. 

“I’m sorry—for the flowers, I mean. They were a pathetic reason to send Mor to you. You wanted to be left alone.” 

“I did not want to be left alone, Azriel.” You kicked away from the door, bringing your arms across your chest for some form of protection. “I wanted you. I wanted you to care about me.”

“I do,” Azriel stressed. He took a step forward and the wood beneath his boot creaked. “I do, y/n.  I care about you more than anything—I love you.” 

“Then why couldn’t you show me? Why did it take me leaving, me getting hurt, for you to finally listen to me and see how much I’ve needed you?” 

Your chest was heaving, each word from your lips a choked gasp. Azriel took all of it and absorbed your full meaning, seeming to wince at every insinuation that he didn’t love you. His jaw quivered and he opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. 

“Why did you stop talking to me?” you asked, a broken rendition of your anger. “Why—Mor told me… She told me things. Things that make sense. But why does it feel like I don’t matter to you?” 

“My love,” Azriel stressed. Yearned. He rushed forward, abandoning all reservations and gathering you into his arms as tears began making headway down your cheeks. “I’m so sorry, baby. I can’t—I’m so so sorry.” His words were almost lost against your temple as he held you, each apology a whisper of a kiss against your skin. 

“You weren’t there and Devlon—he—” 

“I know, angel, I know and I’m so sorry. Had I known… Had I listened.” He pulled you back from his chest, crouching down to meet your eye and wiping tears from your cheeks. “All I’ve ever wanted to do was keep you safe. I thought I was doing that. I don’t know what Mor told you—” 

“She told me everything. She told me you’ve been following leads about me and taking on too much. She told me you’re scared.” 

Azriel breathed and it sounded anguished. “I am terrified. We lost Rhysand and now you are in the throes of a society that almost killed me. I—I wake up every morning and everything is good and I am so afraid to lose that. I thought I was protecting you, protecting us. But I almost lost you and—” 

You let out a breathy cry. “You could never lose me, Azriel.” 

He pressed his forehead to yours, the wetness of his cheeks now apparent. Azriel’s hands were firm on either side of your head and his fingers laced up into your hair. 

Gods, you missed him. 

You missed him and everything hurt. 

“I’ll do better. I’ll be better. Just please—please, don’t leave again. Please come home. Let me fix this.”

The want was overwhelming. It would be so easy to say yes, but it would be just as easy for nothing to change. 

“You can’t do that again, Azriel,” you stressed, shaking your head and causing your mate to draw back. Only a breath was left between you. “You have to tell me what’s going on. You can’t—you can’t leave me in the dark. You can’t make me feel like that.”

Azriel’s head shook in desperation. “I won’t. I promise I won’t.” 

“I need to know I can rely on you—trust you.” 

“You can, angel.” 

“I need to know that you love me.” 

A pained sound escaped Azriel’s throat. He licked his lips and reaffirmed his hold on your face, locking his eyes with yours in a beseeching gaze. 

“I love you more than life itself, angel. I couldn’t breathe when you were gone. I can’t believe I made you think that I don’t. You are my life. Let me show you. Please, let me show you.”

You tracked your eyes between both of his. “Okay, Azriel.” 

“I’m going to keep you safe.”

“I am safe.” 

“I love you.” 

"I know you do, Az. I know."

[dyingswanpavlova]

"Your girl" - Part 15 | The Salesman x Reader

Summary: What is inside the box?

Warnings: dead dove do not eat, kidnapping, mentions of sexual abuse and other traumatic events in the past, numbness, helplessness, violence, threatening, mentions of blood, mentions of murder and rape, body issues, trauma talk, stockholm syndrome, forced relationship, unhealthy relationship, depression, manipulation, mentions of sexual activities and desires, hinting of suicidal thoughts in the past, stalking, not beta-read, if I've missed any please tell me! mdni 18+!

"Your girl" - The Salesman x Reader Masterlist

„Life. What even is life? An endless, pointless cycle of moments and memories which all serve the sole purpose of destroying my soul?"

“What is this?”

The words were barely even audible, but you could tell that he heard you nonetheless.

You tried so hard to focus on the box and whatever was inside, to be fierce and angry, but all you could truly look at was the bouquet in his hand. A giant bouquet of white roses, just like you had mentioned before. The innocence for which white roses stood, a heart that was inexperienced in love. The secret language of flowers. You had spent a whole afternoon explaining it to him and he didn’t laugh once, he didn’t even smirk. He had been so enamored with your words and the way your eyes shone and sparkled as you spoke about it.

And now he brought them home to you. Of course he did.

It made the pain in your chest grow tenfold. How was it possible? And why did you deserve this? What did you do to deserve it?

Why now?

Why not a month ago, when you had been confused and angry, sad and disappointed, covered in marks and an air of fear?

Why now?

He slammed the roses down onto the bed and rolled his sleeves up.

Did he wash his hands already?

He cracked his knuckles and suddenly you were sure these last few weeks had been no more than a fever dream. You saw yourself, motion- and lifeless, strangled to death by his beautiful hands.

But you fought. You fought so hard to let the anger win over your fear.

“What is this?”

He hummed softly and took a step closer, only for you to back away.

“Can’t you tell?”

You looked down at the box again. It was shaking in your hands. With a few quick, uneven breaths, you reached inside and began to pull out what would, no doubt, cause you nightmares, if you made it out alive this time.

“Is everyone born with a soul? Do some of us end up losing it during the course of our life? And is the soul even real? If it isn’t, why do I feel like I can feel it breaking? Tearing and crumbling? Every time she touches me. Every time she smiles and says it’s what’s best for me.”

The paper was the most prominent, for it was so big. It was crumpled up by a few times, like someone had read it in a fit of rage and attempted to throw it away - but decided against it.

Your cry for help.

You didn’t need more than two seconds to recognize the text. You had written it quite a while ago and you remembered the day vividly in your mind. Sitting at your desk in your childhood bedroom. A storm had raged outside, like it did every so often and you found yourself crying silently, feeling the suffocating weight of your mothers abuse. After she finished punishing you with the belt for what felt like hours, she stroked your hair in a way that was almost affectionate and whispered: “My dumb, stubborn girl. This is for your best. You should know better than to defy me again.”

She then locked you in your room and you spent the next two hours lying on your stomach, crying into your pillow. Every movement was painful and the depression came crashing like a stone rain. The loneliness was the worst. After eventually you stopped crying, because your tears ran dry, you closed your eyes and imagined, how beautiful would it be? How beautiful would it be, if someone came and rescued you. If someone came and loved you.

Loved you to death.

“The darkness surrounds me like a grey cloud. And I want out. Out, out, out. Please, Lord, let me out. Let me swim in the abyss of darkness and send me a dark prince to swim alongside. Let him be broken, like I am and I promise I will set him free. Let others call him overwhelming, let them call him suffocating. Let them call him all the bad things in the world. I care not. I don’t want for his love to be easy. Don’t let him love me conveniently, passively. Let him devour me whole. Let his soul consume mine. Let him be all-consuming. Let him end me with his love. Let me be his and let him be mine. All mine.”

You spent hours of your childhood and youth daydreaming like that. But the outcome was always the same.

You, crying and alone in your bedroom, sobbing to yourself, because no one loved you.

And no one ever would.

Normally, you’d fall asleep after a while. But not that day. The pain was intense and the humiliation that came with it was even worse. You considered watching a show, but even that felt impossible. Reading? Oh, no. You couldn’t bear it. For once, the lovely romance didn’t bring you any comfort, because it wasn’t your own. It only ever reminded you of how you wouldn’t get that kind of affection. That attention.

That love.

Ever.

So, instead, you moved to your desk and began to mindlessly hit the keyboard of your laptop in an attempt to find some comfort in the words. You poured out your heart and soul, because it was all that you got that would keep you from dreaming of dangerous things.

Once you finished typing and you read over the lines, you did something rather odd. You logged into the website, on which you’d normally be no more than a silent reader, a quiet mouse in the walls, a fly, observing and merely existing. And for whatever reason, you really couldn’t tell, you pressed the upload button.

There was your text, your soul bled onto paper. You stared down at it and…

Nothing.

For another hour – nothing.

And eventually you gave up.

No one would read it. No one would understand it. And no one would rescue you.

You parked it in the back of your head and forgot that it existed.

It wasn’t until three months later that you began to work out a plan, apply for jobs, book a flight in the hopes of finding a reason to live, somewhere across the globe.

And when one of the companies actually considered you – it wasn’t the greatest job, but it was a job and it was a real opportunity to leave – you immediately agreed. You ended up destroying the laptop in case your mother found it and tried to find you as well.

“Where did you get this?” You hissed as you stumbled to your feet, the paper crumpled in your hand. He sighed softly and approached you with tiny steps.

“Don’t you know how the internet works, darling? Once you publish something, it belongs to the depths of the network.”

Your frown deepened. “But why do you have it?”

He raised a brow, something akin amusement dancing in his eyes. “I didn’t think that’d be the thing that spooked you the most.”

“What do you-“

All it needed was a short glance down at the box and you felt your blood run cold.

Oh God, this was even worse than you thought. Far worse.

You swallowed, but your mouth felt dry. With a shaky hand, you reached down and carefully touched what remained in the box.

Your driver’s license. So far, so bad. You had lost it a few months ago or so you thought. Somewhere in the streets of Seoul. But did you really? You had asked yourself more than once. Why would you have lost it? You hadn’t driven a car since you came here. You took the bus, the train or you walked. And so you saw no reason to carry it with you, wherever you went. You were sure you had left it in your apartment, in-between credit cards and important papers, which you still needed to sort out. But why would it disappear from the safety of your home? It made no sense. You didn’t want to be paranoid, so you simply told yourself you had lost it.

And there it was.

Your heart clenched painfully in your chest.

You had lost it, months before you even met him. But this wasn’t even the worst part.

No. The horrifying part was yet to come.

There it was – tiny, little you. Cheeky and toothless, not older than four or five. Your father had still been alive then, that was the reason you still held that spark, that gleam in your eyes. Youthful and alive. Happy, even.

A normal girl. Unbroken.

You remembered the tiny photograph. For whatever reason – it couldn’t be love – your mother had kept it. The picture had its place in the living room of your childhood home, right above the chimney. And there she was, staring up at you - the sweet, little brat that you once had been.

Somewhere in the middle of South-Korea.

And it hadn’t been you who took that picture with you.

He had been there. He had been home. He had been in the fucking house.

Back in the day, when you gathered your most necessary things, you didn’t care about tokens or childhood memories. No, you only took what you could wear, eat or pay with and then you left in a hurry. There were no things like childhood pictures. You were sure this picture belonged somewhere in Yorkshire.

A ring from your jewelry box, a near-empty lip gloss you had worn only for yourself, a hair clip, a teddy bear and was that…

Oh, God.

You stared down at the pair of panties that you had worn far more than once in your life. He hadn’t taken that from any cupboard, had he? The faint blood-stain was self-explanatory.

A wave of nausea caused you to shudder and gasp out. You pulled your hand back like you had been burned and the paper fell from your hand.

He was still standing a few feet away, watching your reaction carefully. He obviously hadn’t hoped for disgust and fear, but that was exactly what covered your expression.

“Oh, God.” You whispered breathlessly. Your blood was rushing loudly in your ears and you stumbled backwards, until your back hit the wardrobe. “Oh, God.”

“Don’t panic, alright? Let me explain.”

“Explain?! What is there to explain?! Did you- Were you in my- Fuck!”

Your hands were shaking furiously and you tugged on your own hair, hardly recognizing the pain as such. The real pain was in your chest and stomach. The real pain stood right before you.

“Let me explain.” He said more firmly and took another step closer, ready to free your hair from your bruising grip.

You backed away and stared at him with wide, crazed eyes.

“Stay the hell away from me!”

He exhaled slowly, obviously to calm himself down. He was pretty good at this now. After all, he hadn’t hit you in weeks. But now, he seemed pretty tempted.

“Calm down.” He gritted out. “Shut your mouth and let me explain.”

A cold shiver ran down your spine and suddenly the curtain was lifted again. This was one fucking Joe Goldberg worthy moment. Just that not even that guy had been twisted enough to follow his victim around the whole globe…Or had he? You hadn’t finished the show yet. And you probably never would, after all, you were as good as dead.

“Why?” You heard yourself whisper.

He ran his hands through his hair, leaving it messy in his frustration. He then took a deep breath and loosened his tie.

Oh, he would strangle you. Creative.

“It…It’s complicated.”

You frowned. Ever since you got here, you hadn’t ever before witnessed him get so…flustered? Embarrassed, even. What on earth was this?

Was he even truly angry?

“Speak.” You hissed out. “Speak, or I swear to you, I’ll-“

He raised a hand to silence you and it worked. Your anger only went as far and the fear won. There was obviously still something inside of you that fought for your safety. Your sense of self wasn’t entirely dead. Only beaten to a pulp. An unconscious one.

“I read your text.”

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. I’m a sinner and I’m not a good person. The thoughts I have, they’re dark and bad. Too bad for anyone to understand, except for the lonely, broken souls which yearn for the same freedom that I do.”

Now it was you who took a breath to calm yourself. Fucking idiot.

“I then…” He groaned in frustration and kept stalking closer like a predator. “I hacked your IP-address. I found out where you lived.”

The wave of nausea became more and more apparent, leaving you gasping and near retching. You felt your mouth run dry and the room spin around you.

“I saw the pictures on your computer.”

Now, that was what caused you to stumble and your knees to give in. He immediately rushed forward, ready to catch you, but you backed away against the other wall, like a caged animal.

The pictures…

The pictures were for no one but yourself. Just a silly girl, trying on her mother’s dress and playing dress-up in her room. You remembered how the dress made you feel. Pretty in a way…but also restrained. You remembered the way your eyes glistened in the photos. Pretty, but sad. What had made you so sad? The way the dress made you feel. And the way you were so sure that you would never, never feel beautiful in a dress.

Never feel confident.

Never feel desired.

“And then?” You croaked out.

“And then I paid you a visit.” He said quietly.

“Dear Lord, I was already on my way to you. How many times? I cannot count. And what kept me here, what kept me? The hope for my dark prince to come.”

“I sat in a fucking Honda for near two days. I hid behind the hillside, so you wouldn’t get suspicious. A few times, I was sure someone would call the cops on me, but no one ever did. No wonder. Your next neighbors lived like a whole mile away. I remember getting so angry and thinking to myself, doesn’t she ever leave the house? But that anger quickly disappeared, when I finally saw you.” He smiled wistfully and tilted his head to the side. His smile seemed oddly genuine and not twisted at all. Unlike the rest of him. “Your mother was walking in front of you and speaking to someone on the phone. I remember thinking that you look nothing like her. She radiated such confidence, but not in a good way. More like…More like someone who takes up all the space in a room. Who sucks out all the air and doesn’t care that she leaves everyone else to suffocate. That bratty make-up and the way she swayed her hips and wiggled her ass around like a dumb dog. Repulsive.”

He sounded so angry.

It left you feeling oddly confused…and somehow comforted. Your first reaction was to be angry and horrified, because he followed you and stalked you all the way back to England. But the way he spoke about your mother, it made you feel so…seen. It was exactly how you saw her. So, you just stood and listened.

“You were different.” He hummed softly. “You looked so fragile compared to her. Like every step you took was a high risk. I didn’t understand it. I kept thinking how beautiful you are. Sad, sure. But beautiful. I kept asking myself why you wouldn’t see that. What a waste.”

Your heart was racing in your chest. It didn’t make any sense. Not a single word that left his mouth made any sense. His actions were a lost cause anyway, but his mind was worse. Whenever you felt like you understood him, he quickly made sure you didn’t. And now everything was different. All that was gone, right? He was a fucking stalker.

He was a murderer. You knew that since you first met him, knowingly, but at least he was open about that.

This, right here. This was a lie. A big, messed up, mean lie.

“None of this makes any sense.” You somehow choked out. “You read a text I wrote and saw a picture of me and that made you travel all the way to England? And why are we- Why am I here? Did you-“

“Let me finish.” He was now close enough to reach out a hand and touch you, but he didn’t. There he was again. The man who was so strangely adamant not to force himself on you.

Was there a reason for that? Would he ever tell you?

Your chest heaved rapidly with every breath you took. You knew there was no way out, except right through. So, you nodded.

Lord, help me.

“All I want is for someone to love me…and to love him in return.”

“I went inside and…” He glanced at the box and smiled to himself. “I know I went a little overboard, alright?” He sighed softly. “But can’t you see it? We’re made for each other.”

“You’re a stalker.” You said quietly. A part of you feared his reaction. But another part of you, the stronger one in this case, feared something else far more.

No matter what he did to you so far – he always seemed clear about it. He had never once come off as confused. Sociopathic, maybe. But he knew what he was doing. He knew that he abducted you. He knew.

But in that moment, something seemed different. And that scared the hell out of you.

He was insane. Of course he was. But his eyes were open about it.

Instead of striking you though, he smiled. A soft smile, with soft eyes. He then reached out a hand and carefully brushed a strand of your hair behind your ear. You squeezed your eyes shut and pressed your back against the wall behind you.

“Don’t be scared.” He said quietly. “Let me finish.”

You kept your eyes closed, but you nodded slowly.

“You wanted someone to rescue you, didn’t you?”

That made you frown and your eyes shot open.

“But that wasn’t you. I made it out of there on my own. I found myself a job. I booked the flight and I left on my own. That wasn’t you.”

He smiled in a mixture of amusement and something else. “Are you sure?”

That gave you pause. “What?”

He sighed softly and kept his gaze fixed on his fingers, still playing with your hair.

“Didn’t you ever ask yourself why you got the job so easily? No interview needed, nothing. They just hired you. Some little girl from England with no experience, except for what she learned in school.” He spoke calmly and softly. And you felt another shiver run down your spine, but not in the same way as it did, when he kissed your neck.

That memory suddenly seemed awfully distant.

Did that even really happen?

“What are you talking about? How would you-“

He shot you a long, suggestive look, his lips twitching treacherously.

“My computer.” You said quietly.

He nodded. “I told you, darling. It’s all in the network.”

“But how did you make them hire me?”

“It wasn’t that hard. Enough money can buy you anything these days.”

You swallowed. “Alright. So, you bribed them to hire me. What else?”

He hummed, feigning thoughtfulness. “Your mother came home late the day you left, didn’t she?”

Your eyes widened. “Is she-“

“No.” He said firmly and slowly shook his head. “No. She just had another client, unexpectedly.”

You took a deep, shaky breath. You were a horrible person. Your thoughts were dark and came from a bad place.

“Good.” You whispered. He raised a brow, like he didn’t believe you. It wasn’t too hard, he could read you like a picture book.

You glanced down at the box again. “So, you were in my house. My computer, my job. What about the rest?”

He smirked and looked down for a moment. “You have something specific in mind, don’t you?”

“Didn’t you care about the blood?” You didn’t know why that triggered you so much. Almost more so than the job. Maybe he had altered your brain chemistry so much, that you now thought insane things to be normal. Twisted ways to be expected. Bad to be good.

“You think I’m scared of a little blood?” He bit his lip and slowly shook his head. “Me?”

You wanted to laugh. It was so ridiculous. Everything was. This whole situation was so sick and at the same time, he was cracking jokes?

“Did you forget that my own desires are rather twisted?” He sighed softly. “I just wanted to be close to you. To feel you. And that was all I had at the time. Except for that one time in your apartment, of course.”

You tried to swallow, but the was no saliva. You tried to breathe, but there was no air.

When you saw the driver’s license, you had assumed as much. But you had also assumed that he had broken in, while you were at work or anywhere else. Not at home.

“Where was I?” You whispered shakily.

“Asleep.” He murmured. “Like an angel.”

You closed your eyes and held onto the wall, but this time he didn’t let you back away and instead he caught you. He pressed his palms against your hips and wrapped an arm around your waist. “Careful.” He whispered.

“Did you…” You swallowed heavily. “Did you touch me?”

His calm expression turned into a frown and he pulled his head back to get a better look at your face. “No.” He said in a tone of voice that made it obvious how offended he felt.

“Forgive me!” You snapped back angrily. “How silly of me to assume!”

He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, but he took another slow breath to calm himself down. Whatever he did, it was working. His expression relaxed.

“I didn’t touch you.” He said quietly. “I just watched you for a while.”

“Why did you wait so long?”

“What?”

“Why did it take you so long to…” You gestured around the room.

He hummed thoughtfully. “I don’t know. I didn’t want for things to go this way. I wanted to…to meet you. To speak to you. To take you out for coffee maybe. But…I just…”

You listened to him with a patience that surprised you. Of course you wanted to be angry with him, because you knew, despite the mess in your head, that would have been the right way to react. And you were angry. But you weren’t really angry, because he broke in or followed you. Because he stole your things or pulled the strings of your life like you were some dumb puppet.

You were angry, because he never told you about it.

Because he lied.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

His head snapped up and he met your gaze with obvious disbelief. “What?”

You nodded. “Why didn’t you tell me? I had to find out by myself.”

He frowned - and for the first time ever since you had met him – he was truly speechless.

“I trusted you.” You said quietly, without taking your eyes off him. “I accepted your sick bullshit, I took everything you gave me. I forgave you every thing you did to me – to my body and to my mind. I trusted you. And you can’t trust me in return. Why not?”

“I was…”

“Afraid?”

His dark eyes widened and he pulled his head back like you had slapped him. “What? No. Not afraid.”

You scoffed and crossed your arms in front of your chest, feeling far angrier than you expected.

“You slapped me. Punched me. Threatened me. Made me feel like I’m worthless. You deprived me of food, water and goddamn privacy. You ignored me for weeks. And I still forgave you. But you couldn’t even tell me the truth about who you are.”

“Stop this.” He hissed.

“You don’t care for anything except yourself. The only reason why I’m here, is because you thought I was pleasant to look at and pliable. Did you do this more than once? Do you always do it like this? Collect your poor victims online? Is it always people like me, with no family and no one to miss them? Or are some of them more lovable than I am?”

“I’m warning you.” He gritted out between his teeth, his gaze flicking from the floor to your face and back.

“The only reason why I’m here is because you wanted to fuck and me and eventually get rid of me. If I didn’t agree willingly, you would have just taken what you wanted, just like that man-“

“Shut up!” He rushed forward and grabbed your shoulders, pressing you against the wall with, what seemed to be, all his strength. His grip was painful and his movement rough, but the sound of his voice was anything but. It wasn’t an angry exclamation. It was a man, more desperate than you had ever seen before. “Shut up! That’s not true! It’s just not true!”

Your heart skipped a beat and you swallowed thickly. This was either really good or it was fucking bad.

“Then why am I here? Why me?”

His breathing was going shallow and his eyes were wide and almost frightened. It was a sight you weren’t used to at all. He was normally either composed or angry. But never this desperate, never this vulnerable. Not even that one time in the kitchen. Even back then, he kept a semblance of composure, but in this moment, he was too far gone. He looked like he was in pain, like he was aching and you were the reason. This time, though, you couldn’t stop. You needed answers, you needed something.

“Why me?” You whispered again, fighting for air.

“Because I-“ His brows furrowed in a mixture of anger and desperation, while his gaze scanned your face restlessly. He looked like he was on the verge of exploding, of dying, of crumbling into a cloud of non-existence.

“Say it.” You whispered. “Just fucking say it.”

When he still didn’t reply and instead just kept staring at you with those wide, uncertain eyes, it suddenly became too much for you.

“You owe me the truth!” You snapped in a fit of anger. “I did everything for you! I accepted everything! And also, for God's sake, I'm not an idiot! I can tell that there is something, something you want to tell me but your just too afraid to! I don't understand what it is and why it's so hard for you, but, fuck, things are hard for me, too! Despite all this, I never tried to leave, because I didn’t want to! I stayed here, despite everything and you can’t even bring yourself to tell me why you-“

“I love you.”

“Love me unconditionally, love me to death. Love me with his last breath. And I promise you, I promise, I will love him just the same. I will die for him and I will live for him. Let him murder my soul and I will kiss his hand. Let him bathe in my blood and I will apologize for the mess. Let him be as he is, let him be dark, let him be hurtful. Let him suffocate me and I will forgive it. Just let him love me as I am.”

There was no affection in his words. None at all. He bit them out like a curse, like another man would have a degrading slur. The hiss in his voice was all too apparent and so was his anger. There was no affection. Only pain.

You couldn’t bring yourself to care though. All that you cared about was…

“What?” You breathed out.

He closed his eyes and tightened his grip on you. Killing someone wasn’t nearly as hard for him, you could tell.

For a good ten seconds, you didn’t care about the way he said it. But then you suddenly did. And you also cared about the way he couldn’t seem to look at you.

Was he bullshitting you?

Had he just said that?

Was this some kind of twisted mind game?

“No, you don’t.” You nearly spat out. “You don’t even know me.”

His eyes shot open and the look in them was all but terrifying. But again, you didn’t care. You had long made peace with death. That was probably one of the main reasons why you stayed with him and did everything he asked, why your sense of self-preservation left you so early.

You were his girl, after all.

“I don’t know you?” He spat out in return.

“No, you don’t. How would you-“

“Your favorite colors are forest green and apricot.”

He was bullshitting you. It was a mind game.

“Do you really think a stupid color-“

“You never had a boyfriend. Just one kiss. A lost bet. You had your first real crush in High School and it was your teacher. You’re afraid of sharks, but you love orcas. Your favorite food is anything Italian. You hate alcohol. Your favorite book is Wuthering Heights. You favorite season is spring. You favorite musician is that Indie woman and I keep forgetting her fucking name, but you know who I mean. With the long, dark hair. She sounds like she’s crying in every song and she keeps referring to Jim and no one knows if she’s singing about her ex-partner or the drink. Your favorite actress is Sharon Tate. You’re afraid in the dark. You like being called darling. It sounds like something someone would call his partner in a stable relationship. You love Fred and Ginger. The nineteen-twenties are your favorite decade. You prefer Fitzgerald over Hemingway. You cry when you cum. And you love it, when I kiss your neck and call you sweet names, while I’m slowly ripping your body apart. You’re too ashamed to say the word fuck, in any normal situation, but you’d say anything, anything at all, when you’re in the right mood. You wish your mother was dead and you hate yourself for thinking that. One of your biggest fears is birthing a child. You want to write a book. You’re religious. You forgive far too easily, even a sick bastard like myself. You’re-“

By the time he got to the point of mentioning your mother, you felt a fresh wave of nausea wash over you. And suddenly everything was too much. His grip was too tight, the air was too little, your heart beating far too fast.

You didn’t. You didn’t want her to die. You just wanted…just wanted to be free.

Was that the same thing?

Were you horrible like that?

You didn’t even realize you were starting to hyperventilate, not even when he loosened his grip on you and gently cupped your face in his hands.

“Hey.” He whispered. “Hey. Stop. Stop.”

Hot tears ran down your cheeks and he quickly wiped them away with his thumbs.

“Look at me. Look at me.”

He gently tipped your chin up and then wrapped his arms around you, cradling you against his chest and gently running his fingers through your hair.

“Shh.” He made softly, as he gently rocked you back and forth. “Shh. Don’t cry. Please don’t cry.” He whispered.

He was a stalker. He was sick. He was dangerous.

And he knew you.

And he loved you.

He still loved you.

He knew your flaws. And he loved you.

He loved you.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and clung to him tightly, like a child, desperately seeking the comfort and warmth only he could give you. His grip on you tightened and he nuzzled the top of your head, mumbling gentle reassurances and sweet nothings against your hair.

It took forever, but eventually you calmed down.

He made you calm down.

And he loved you.

He cared about you.

And he loved you.

He knew you and he loved you.

After a while, when you finally managed to gently free yourself from his grip and slowly pull your head back, just enough to look at him, he didn’t cower. He stared right back at you, his eyes red-rimmed and his expression softer than ever before.

He was a different man.

You couldn’t tell what it was. But it was there.

It wasn’t just a better mood, a better day, a shift in his demeanor –

It was him. He was different. A different man.

But somehow, he was still the same.

The way he looked at you was the same. Only softer.

The way his eyes shone was the same. Only wiser.

He loved you.

“Do you really mean it?” You whispered, with the innocence of someone who was inexperienced in love.

He bit his lip and briefly glanced down at the floor, before he met your gaze again.

“I mean it.” He whispered back, with the softness of someone who had no idea what love even meant. His lips hovered right above your own and suddenly he didn't seem so bitter any more. "I love you." He whispered against your lips. "I do."

For you, he seemed willing to try.

He would do anything, wouldn’t he? Because you would.

Maybe he would even love you to death.

“Let him love me.”

He loved you.

_______________________________

Tag list 1:

@mitsuki-dreamfree @kpopsmutty69 @heroine-chique @vkeyy @mizuwki @blu-brrys @z0mbi345 @yourpointbreak @ayieayee @freddyzeppsworld @lola11111111 @indifitel6661 @salesmanlover08 @laurenbenoit70 @lalalaa2210 @lila-marshal @auspicious-lilana @0-aubrie0 @lovelyaegyo @theredvelvetbitch @violentbluess @muriels-lover @dorayakissu @eviebuggg @muchwita @ririgy @strxlemon @obsessedwthdilfs @kiwilov3 @misty-q @rlmiku

Author's note:

The most important things first:

Thanks to the lovely @thelastofkryze for the plot twist, because pookie came up with the stalking thing!

And thanks to the wonderful @muchwita for being a grand inspiration of the toxic love part in the letter ("Let others call him (...) love me conveniently, passively.")

Our man's being soft for a reason, guys!

I love you all! 🤍

[bernardsbendystraws]

𝑮𝒐 𝒑𝒊𝒔𝒔 𝒈𝒊𝒓𝒍 .ᐟ.ᐟ.ᐟ

synopsis: Chris is a stupid bitch.

warnings: traumatizing fluff but just funny random shit ? violence lmao. PISS OBVIOUSLY LMAOOOO

A/N: Doll .ᐟ Reader x Matt | Bunny .ᐟ Reader x Chris. I cackled writing this shit. Fun fact, I have witnessed @muwapsturniolo piss herself. It was very intimate and lovely. Credit to her for our combined au!!!

With love and big tits, Rose

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You needed to pee. Bad. Small curses are whispered under your breath as you rush from Matt and your bedroom to the bathroom just out in the hall. You wish you hadn’t waited so long to get up, but you were so warm and your day was already bad. 

Turning the knob to the bathroom, your entire body jolts as you hear some sort of battle-cry, a scream pursing through your lips as shock waves over you. 

“AHHHHHHH! AHHH- FAWK!” Chris screams, hunching over as he feels your fist pummel into his gut. 

“Chris! WHY THE FUCK? I just,” horror washes over your face as you feel the warm sensation of piss streaming down your legs. 

You pissed yourself. 

Chris is hunched over, groaning in pain. Matt and Nick have always landed some hard hits on him, but nothing as painful as this. He doesn’t know what you hit, all he knows is he might throw up and it’s hard to breathe. 

Matt immediately rushes out of your shared room, startled by the sight in front of him. On one hand, his girlfriend is hysterically crying, a puddle of pee at her feet. On the other hand, his brother is quite literally heaving like a elderly man, clutching his stomach as if he had been shot. 

“Alright, what the fuck happened?! Are you okay-” 

You cut Matt off as he tries to wrap his arms around you, crying even louder as the humiliation makes your bones vibrate in your skin. “Don’t touch me, I’m covered in piss!” you screech. 

The comotion had even reached Bunny from all the way downstairs. She hears the concerningly loud noises, padding up the stairs with her soft socks. 

Her reaction is about the same as Matt’s. A large gasp pushes through her lips, her hands covering over her mouth as her eyes grow wide. What the fuck happened? 

“Chris? What did you do!” she curses, running over to Chris fervently. And then her soft, pink socks feel it - piss. Literal fucking piss. 

“What the…” she trails off, finally looking up to you with even bigger eyes. 

Oh. 

That’s what happened. 

“I told you not to scare Doll!” she says, her nose scrunching from utter anger, “-and then you go and scare her when she needs to pee?! I - UGH!” 

“Can someone just kill me?” you plea, looking towards the ceiling and hoping everything just fades away. 

But it doesn’t. 

All you feel is the piss growing cold at your feet. 

___

After a hell of a cleanup, you had curled into bed with even more cries. You pissed yourself. At your grown fucking age, you goddamn pissed yourself. Chris usually aggravated you, but this was something so humiliating, so degrading. 

At least you got a good punch in. He definitely deserved it. 

It’s nearly midnight. Matt’s softly snoring next to you, dead tired from all the errands he had to go and do all day. 

Peaceful is what it should be, but it’s not, because you have to pee. 

“Matt,” you shake his shoulder gently, wincing as his tired eyes look over at you with panic. 

“Hm? What’s wrong?” he mumbles, struggling to keep his eyes open. Your frown deepening as you feel him sit up, pulling you into his arms. “-can’t sleep? You want hot chocolate?” he asks. 

You shake your head fervently, clutching your legs tighter together, your face burning with embarrassment as you ask him the question you had been contemplating for the past hour. “No, no, I just…can you, like, come with me? To the bathroom?” 

Matt pulls his lips into a tight line, nodding firmly as he guides you both to the bathroom. He walks in first, turning on the lights and opening the door wide, showing you that there’s no idiot there. 

“Want me to stay with you?” he questions, backing out of the bathroom as you shake your head from side to side. You weren’t gonna have your boyfriend take you fucking potty, you just couldn’t get up and check the room by yourself. Not after the catastrophe from earlier. 

You start doing your business as usual. Matt stomps down the stairs, his lips pulling even tighter as he grumbles to himself. 

Bunny is sleeping peacefully. Matt almost feels bad, but he needs her out of the way. 

“Move.” Matt urges, staring down as the girl tilts her head in the slightest before complying, rolling over to the other side of the bed. 

The second he’s looking down at Chris drooling all sloppily, he swats him on the head. Hard. 

“Ah - the fuck?” Chris wakes up abruptly, looking around with confused eyes. 

Matt stares down at him with annoyance. “I can’t believe I had to wake up to check the bathroom for my girlfriend in the middle of the night because your dumb ass wanted to pull a fucking prank. Don’t be such an idiot next time,” he huffs, walking back out the room. 

Chris is astonished. He looks over to Bunny, offended beyond belief. “Did you see that? What if you were layin’ on me Bun! He could’ve hit you!” 

Bunny shrugs, crawling back over and snuggling on his chest. “No,” she yawns, “-he told me to move first.”

“And you just…did?” Chris questions, offense fully written in the tone of his voice. 

Bunny just shrugs, cuddling into him more before sleepily rambling on;

“Told you not to scare Doll…”

[p1astr81]

‘tis the damn season

in which: Oscar’s ex calls him up one afternoon, proposing that they fake their relationship for a week at her parent’s house.

pairing: Oscar Piastri x fem!reader

warnings: loosely based on the TS song, use of y/n (once or twice), Oscar is hella whipped, cursing, idk I think that’s all.

wc: 7.3k

‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ ‧ *‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ ‧ * ‧₊˚ ‧

Your thumb hovered over the call button, mentally preparing for the awkward conversation that was about to take place. Your chest rose and fell in deep motions.

Before you could psych yourself out, your finger mashed the call button.

“Oh my god, please don’t pick up. Please don’t pick up. Please don’t pick up. Please don’t p-“ he answered after the second ring. “Hey!” Your voice shook, an embarrassing amount of vulnerability.

“Y/n? Has something happened? You sound… on edge.”

You pulled at the strings of the blanket draped across your lap. “Well, I have a very big favor to ask of you, and of course you can say no. I mean it’s a huge favor—really weird actually,” you laughed awkwardly.

“It can’t be that bad.”

It was tough to swallow the lump in your throat. “My whole family want to spend next week at our cabin, and I…” it was suddenly hard for you to breathe, your heart ten pounds heavier. Oscar remained silent. “Well,” you sighed, “would you be able to come along?”

The silence on the other end was deafening. Not even distant breath. The static filtering through the speakers inflated your anxiety with every passing second.

“Okay.” He gave in with a breath. “Just text me the details.”

₊ ‧ *‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

SUNDAY

Living out in Nice, the drive to his Monaco apartment wasn’t unbearably far. You stepped out of the car to help him put his bags in your trunk. You’d decided to take your car because, changes are, it would do better in the mountains than his McLaren.

When you rounded to the back of the car, the trunk was already closed, and soon the sound of your driver’s door shutting reached your ears.

You found Oscar occupying the driver’s seat. “What are you doing?” You raised a brow. Oscar smiled innocently. “have you ever driven when we are together?” It was a question not meant to be answered. You didn’t fight him, knowing it was a losing game. You just rolled your eyes and took up your place in the passenger’s seat.

You and Oscar traveled in near silence, only your music filling the empty air. The atmosphere was light, rid of all the awkwardness you assumed would hang around the both of you. Maybe Oscar was just easy company to keep.

You allowed your thoughts to travel far away from you, to the past to be exact.

You and Oscar didn’t end things messy. Not at all. It was a mutual agreement. In your year and a half together, you didn’t have many spats. Every day spent with together was brimming with endless devotion.

The problem arose when your schedules began to conflict.

With dreams of being a mechanical engineer, a lot of your time was spent on your studies. Oscar knew how dedicated you were, and therefore never pushed you to travel with him. But only seeing him for a few weeks of the year—less than half of them—began to strain your relationship. Mentally, it was draining the both of you.

So to focus on your studies, and for Oscar to focus on his career, you decided to part ways.

That was two months ago, and you’d been no contact ever since. Well, until you asked him to come with you to your parent’s cabin.

You felt a poke on your shoulder, followed by a “hey” and a laugh. You tore your eyes from the window, peering at Oscar with raised brows. “Where’re you at?” He grinned at you, taking glances out of the corner of his eye.

“Hm? Oh. Just thinking.” You shook your head, watching as the buildings transitioned into dead trees as you left Monaco’s limits.

He hummed a response, leaving a gap of silence before asking, “so, why did you want me to come along?”

You sighed, your hands falling to your lap. “You know how they are. They think I can’t keep a guy, and… I don’t know, I was hoping if they’d see you and think you’re still with me then their image of me would change.”

Oscar frowned. Reflexes guiding his movements, he reached out to you, having every intention to place a hand on your thigh or over your own hand. He caught himself before it got that far, placing his hand on the center console instead. The role of comforting you was no longer his part to play.

“It’s stupid, I’m sorry. We should turn around I’ll just-“

“It’s not stupid.” He cut you off. “I think it sucks, and I’ll help you the best I can.” He assured, giving you a soft smile, one you returned. “Thanks, Os.”

₊ ‧ *‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

You and Oscar were the last to arrive at the cabin on Sunday night.

He followed in behind you. His eyes widened when he saw the whole family in the living room. Your parents, two sisters, your two aunts on your moms side, and your four cousins. Not to mention all of their significant others and your niece and nephew. In all, it was about sixteen people.

He leaned in close to your ear, whispering, “I didn’t realize you meant the whole family.” You shivered as his warm breath hit your skin. Goosebumps spread across your entire body. “It’s as much as a shock to me.” You told him truthfully.

Your mom saw you first, jumping up and running to greet you. “Oh! I’ve missed you.” She greeting, smothering you in a hug. Her strong floral perfume nearly choked you to death. “Missed you too, mom.” You forced yourself away before the noxious scent took you out completely.

Meanwhile, your uncle, Isaac, had kidnapped Oscar, dragging him away with a tight hold around his neck. “Oscar! My boy, good to see you’re still hangin in there.” Uncle Isaac was sure to stare dead in your eyes while saying the last part. The way he laughed at himself made Oscar’s stomach twist. His face remained straight, not a hint of amusement in sight.

“Hey, Uncle Isaac.” Oscar greeted politely.

Little five year old Theo jumped up, running toward Oscar. “Oscar!” He cheered, nearly toppling over from excitement. Oscars ability to move was inhibited when Theo latched around his legs. Isaac let go of Oscar.

“Hey mate!” Oscar greeted with equal enthusiasm, hoisting the kid up into his arms. Oscar held Theo over his head, and Theo spread his arms and legs out. “Mom look! I’m an airplane!” He cheered, making airplane noises. Lia, your sister, nearly had a heart attack when she turned to see what her son was talking about. “Okay, I think that’s enough airplane.” She rushed to Oscar’s side, who let Theo down. “Aww,” Theo pouted, crossing his arms and walking right past his mom, ignoring her.

Oscar felt a tug on his pants. Looking down, he was met with the large doe eyes of Theo’s twin sister, Thalia. She waved shyly under his gaze. He bent down to chat with her closer, pointing out the doll clutched in her hand. “That’s a pretty doll.” He smiled. “What’s her name?”

Thalia swayed herself from side to side. “Lillia.” She muttered. Oscar gasped softly. “That’s a pretty name.”

While Oscar was being bombarded by the children, you’d been dragged to the living room to greet all of your relatives.

“Ah, I see you’ve kept this one longer than a year. That’s a new record.” You uncle Leni laughed, embracing you loosely. You gave a half-assed laugh, though it hurt massively. You thought you could’ve avoided these kinds of comments if Oscar was here with you, but now it seems you’ve dragged him out here for no reason.

You should’ve known better.

“Are you still going for that mechanical engineering degree?” Your aunt Anne asked a bit of a judgy tone. She sat next to her husband Leni while swirling a drink in her hand. You nodded, sitting next to your sister Katie on the floor. “And you’re still aiming for a job with f1?” You gave another nod.

“Are you sure? I mean, isn’t that a bit unrealistic?”

Cocking your head to the side you asked, “what do you mean by that?” Your tone was harsh and accusatory. Anne shrugged. “Well, it isn’t really a place for a woman is it? If you look in any of those garages, it’s mostly men.”

You felt the anger swirling deep in your stomach, brewing a deeper feeling of resentment. You open your mouth to speak when Oscar’s voice joined the conversation from behind you.

“Yeah it is mostly men, but that doesn’t mean she can’t do it.” Oscar shrugged, taking a seat next to you. Close enough to not raise suspicion, but far enough to not be touching. You looked to him with raised brows. “I think she can do it. Last year, she majorly helped the team fix an issue with the car. And that was only in her third year of school.”

Uncle Leni laughed. “Eh, she’s got as good of a chance as any man.” He waved a hand through the air. For a moment, you thought he actually was showing some support. “She’s dating one of the drivers.” He motioned a hand toward Oscar, laughing loudly. Everyone else in the room chuckled.

You stood abruptly. “Excuse me, I need the restroom.” You muttered, trying your best not to run away from the family.

With worried eyes, Oscar watched as you disappeared down the hall. He had never been a violent man, but right now, he really wanted to take your uncle by the collar of his shirt and chuck him over the balcony to send him tumbling down the side of the mountain. Of course, he did not.

₊ ‧ *‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

As the family was winding down and preparing for bed, a realization hit you. If it was a physical force, it would’ve knocked you through a wall.

While Oscar helped you straighten up the living room, you leaned closer to him, whispering, “We have to share a bed.” Oscar turned his head over his shoulder to look at you with a raised brow. “What?” He genuinely had not heard you. “We have to share a room. And a bed.”

The color drained from Oscar’s face. “Oh,” he muttered, crossing the living room to create distance between you two.

When the two of you entered the room a little later that night, the air between you became tense and awkward.

“I’ll sleep in the floor.” Oscar proposed, making you shake your head quickly. “I can’t ask that of you. I dragged you out here.”

“I chose to come out here.” He reminded you. Your eyes drifted to the king sized bed. “I think it’ll be fine. We’ll just stay on our own sides.”

You moved a pillow, creating a physical barrier between your two sides of the bed. You faced him, motioning your hands to the quick fix as a way to say, see?

Oscar shrugged. “I guess.”

₊ ‧ *‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

MONDAY

The family was off to the slopes the next morning. Oscar and yourself driving Theo and Thalia because your nephew was attached to Oscar, and Thalia was always by her brother’s side.

When you got there, Theo started dragging Oscar toward the small slopes. “I want to race you! I bet I’m faster than you.” Oscar laughed. “I was going to go down the big kid slopes.” Oscar pointed to the much steeper slope. Theo frowned. “But I can’t go to the big kid slopes.” He crossed his arms over his chest. It was hard for Oscar to deny Theo anything, so he looked to you with a question in his eyes. You gave him a small nod.

“Are you coming with us?” Thalia’s small voice asked form next to you, her hands, encased in bright pink gloves, gripping her goggles. You glanced up at Oscar and hummed. “Sure, why not?” You smiled, taking Thalias hand in yours and joining Oscar and Theo as they waited for a lift.

Oscar didn’t seem surprised that you had also wound up stuck with the kiddies. “I can look after the both of them if you want to go with the rest of my family.”

Oscar’s face scrunches up, like that idea inflicted physical pain upon his person. He shook his head. “Nah, I’m not a big fan of skiing anyway, so I think the kiddie slopes are the perfect pace for me.” He flashed one of his charming grins at you. You gave a small smile in response.

You flagged down Lia and Dylan, informing them from a distance that you and Oscar were looking over their kids. They seemed overly satisfied that the responsibility was taken away from them.

“I’m scared.” Thalia’s little voice squeaked from next to you. You smiled down at her, a comforting hand on her head. “It’s alright, Thal, I’ll stay with you.” You crouch down in front of her. “I’ll make sure you’re nice and safe. I pinky promise.” You offered your pinky to her. She hesitantly hooked your pinky with hers, splitting your lips into a smile.

Oscar called your name, causing you to look up at him with wide eyes. At the sight of your curious doe-eyed expression, he fought off a smile that tried to surface on his face. Half failing, he ended up with a slanted smile. “The lift.” He explained shortly.

The four of you piled in together. Thalia and Theo in the middle while Oscar and yourself occupied the outsides.

Thalia hung onto your ski pants when you got off. Theo and Oscar took off down the mountain, racing each other just as Theo wished. You could tell Oscar was majorly holding back, though.

“You’ve got it, Thal, you’ve done this before.” You reassured her and she gave you a small nod. You kept your pace slow at first, waiting for Thalia to catch up with every movement so you didn’t stray too far away.

But she eventually gained her confidence, and even tried to be faster than you. You let her fly on the skis ahead of you. It was easier to keep an eye on her that way.

At the bottom of the slope stood Oscar and Theo, waiting for the both of you. “So who won?”

“Me!” Theo tried to jump but his skis weighed him down. You turned to Oscar. “Getting beat by a kid? Shame. Better luck next time.” You teased.

Oscar smiled. “He’s just too good.”

Apparently, you and Oscar had been smiling at each other for too long, because Theo gags. “Yuck! Come on I want to beat you again.” Theo urged, leading the group as he walked back to the lift station.

Oscar was quick to follow, then you and Thalia. Thalia called your name once again. “What’s up, hon?” You replied.

Her eyes were trained on Oscar’s backside. “I think Oscar is pretty.” She confessed. You didn’t laugh, only smiled softly at her. “Really? Would you like me to tell him that?”

She hesitated for a moment, then shook her head. “No. He’s too old for me.” You chuckled.

Later that night, as you’re around the table eating dinner, sat next to Oscar, she tells him for herself.

She came between your chairs, tapping Oscar’s arm twice. He leaned down at her signal for him to come closer. His brows shot up when she told him. “Really? Well thank you. I think you’re a cutie, Thal.” At that, her face flushed a furious shade of red and scurried back to her seat beside her brother.

“Now she’s going to think you have a crush on her.” You whispered in his ear. A chill ran down his spine at the feeling of your breath contacting his bare skin. He tried his best to ignore how it made him feel.

He grinned. “I’m sure she won’t.”

₊ ‧ *‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

TUESDAY

She definitely did.

Now Theo and Thalia were attached to Oscar for completely different reasons.

When Thalia saw Oscar the next morning, the first thing she did was compliment him. “I like your hair.” She said from her spot on the couch. Oscar first glanced at you before looking at her. “I just woke up like this.” He brushed it off, smiling.

But the compliments didn’t stop. When you went out again to ski, she insisted on sitting next to him on the lift, and told him, “your goggles are cool.”

They were plain black goggles.

“You have pretty eyes.” During lunch.

Pointing to his plain maroon colored shirt during dinner and saying, “I like your shirt.”

Wedging between the both of you during movie night and telling Oscar he smelt good.

“I like your toothbrush,” while he was getting ready for bed.

Anything she could compliment him on, she did. And it started to freak you out a bit. “Oscar you’ve gotta tell her you’re just friends.” You advised while fluffing up your pillow. “It’s a harmless crush,” he ran a hand through his hair. “She’ll probably be over it by tomorrow.”

You doubted it. “And what if she isn’t?” You threw your pillow on your side of the bed. Oscar laid on his side, raising a brow at you. “Are you jealous of a five year old?” He teased.

You scoffed, sitting cross legged on your side of the bed. “There’s nothing to be jealous about. For one, she’s a five year old and you’re not a pedophile. And for two, we aren’t even together.”

Oscar shifted uncomfortably at the reminder. “If she isn’t over it by tomorrow, then I’ll make it clear that we’re just friends.” He chuckled, shaking his head. He thought it was a little ridiculous that he had to clarify to a five year old that they were just friends.

₊ ‧ *‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

WEDNESDAY

Oscar was proved wrong first thing in the morning, because as you and him came out to eat breakfast, Thalia was sitting in your spot. “I told you.” You muttered before taking Thalias empty chair.

Oscar whispered something to Theo, who moved over to take Oscar’s seat right after. You looked to him with furrowed brows, a silent request for an explanation. “Told him I’d buy him whatever candy he wanted at the markets today if he swapped with me.” You laughed loudly, a hand on Oscar’s shoulder to stabilize yourself as you doubled over. “You’ll come to regret that decision.” You forewarned.

On the way to the markets, Thalia tried to convince you to let her sit up front with Oscar. The whole time while telling her no, you were glaring at Oscar. He held back a smile at your fierce looks.

But she won one over you when you arrived at the markets. She clung onto Oscar’s hand like it was her lifeline. “Your daughter is stealing my boyfriend.” You muttered to Lia. She laughed before calling her daughter over to her. Thalia reluctantly listened, latching onto her mother’s hand instead.

You took the five year old’s place next to Oscar. “I suppose we should hold hands then.” He whispered close to your ear, gesturing to the intwined fingers of your relatives. “You know, to keep up the act.” He reasoned.

Though truly, a part of Oscar just may have just wanted to hold your hand for the sake of just holding your hand. No act about it.

You peered up at him, eyes widened slightly. “Uh- well- if you don’t have a problem with it.” Oscar smiled at the way you stumbled over your words.

You appreciated the warmth his hand provided. The December air was biting at you with every small gust of wind that blew through. At a particularly strong gust, you instinctively hid your face in Oscar’s chest. You muttered quick and quiet apologies when you noticed. But he didn’t mind one bit.

Theo ran up to the both of you, holding a remote controlled race car in his hands. “Oscar! Can you get me this?!”

Oscar chucked, kneeling down to be closer to eye level. He kept his hand in yours. “Buddy, I thought I said candy.” He was gentle with the kid, careful of his feelings. Theo frowned. “You did but… but Oscar this car is so cool.” He gave Oscar big puppy eyes, pouting his lips.

Oscar held back his laugh, taking care when sliding the toy from Theo’s grasp. “Do you want the car over the candy?” He asked. Theo nodded. Oscar smiled and stood. “Car it is then.” He tousled the boys hair, whose pout was now replaced by a big toothy smile.

“Thank you uncle Oscar!” Theo wrapped his arms around Oscar’s legs. An attempt at a hug. Oscar rubbed his back. “‘Course, kid.”

Theo ran off, joining his parents and sister at a vendor not too far from where you stood.

But your mind was suck on the title he’d given Oscar. And apparently Oscar was thinking about it too, because he bumped your shoulder and teased, “I’m an uncle now, hm? That wasn’t in the agreement.”

Head bowed, you chuckled nervously. “Sorry,”

Oscar smirked. “Don’t apologize. I think it’s cute.” His hand squeezed yours.

The both of you continued on, hand in hand, straying farther from the family. You stopped at a jewelry booth, a pendant catching your eye. On closer inspection, a small gasp left your lips. “Oh, Oscar, look how pretty.” You held the pendant in your empty hand. A small, flower-like shaped charm, a pretty pink color.

“It suits you.” He smiled, gaze jumping from the pendant to you and back. “Uhm, excuse me?” You called for the seller, an older woman. “How much for this?”

“Three hundred.”

“Three… hundred?”

The woman nodded. “Yes, it’s sterling silver and real diamond, just dyed that pretty pink color.”

You couldn’t justify spending that price, so you politely said, “ah maybe another time.”

Oscar frowned at the disappointment in your expression. Three hundred seemed like nothing to him, but he understood the burden it was to you.

His thoughts were interrupted by the feeling of little hands on his. When he looked down, he found Thalia trying to pry his hand from yours. You sighed, and gave him an ‘I told you so’ look. “I’m gonna go take Thalia, and discuss this crush with her.” You whispered close to Oscar’s ear before taking the child and walking off.

Once you were no longer in ear shot, he turned back to the woman. “Excuse me, do you take card?”

₊ ‧ *‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

That night at dinner, the conversation made a turn for the worse. Uncle Leni had one two many beers and couldn’t shut his mouth, so when he overheard your conversation, he just had to say something.

Oscar brought up your future, making a light hearted joke about you working in his garage next year. “Do you really think I have a chance? I mean, I did all that interning for McLaren last year and Andrea said he would ‘miss me greatly,’ but that doesn’t guarantee me a job anywhere in the paddock, you know?” You gushed. Oscar smiled at the way your eyes sparked when you spoke with such enthusiasm. He opened his mouth to speak, an encouragement and something about the future on the tip of his tongue.

The words were never spoken.

“I’d be careful with her, boy. She might be using you to get with your boss, and then fuck him for a job.” Leni interrupted. The vulgarity of the accusation had Oscar’s stomach twisting with something vile.

Your expression shaped into a mix of anger and disgust. Oscar watched you cautiously, offering a comforting hand to your knee. You stood abruptly just as his hand made contact. “I’d be careful with that alcohol, Uncle Leni. I think you’re one drink away from liver failure.” You shot back, leaving without letting him get another word in.

Oscar bowed his head, “excuse us,” he said to no one in particular, before turning to your parents and thanking them for the dinner. He cleaned up your plate and his and proceeded to follow you down the hall where you disappeared.

Muffled sobs came from the inside of your shared room. He knocked on the door hesitantly, calling your name in a soft question. “Go away,” your voice broke through your sobs.

But Oscar was persistent. He cared. You couldn’t get rid of him that easily. “I’m coming in.” He said, despite your very clear message.

His footsteps were cautious as he ventured into the room. You were lying on your stomach, sprawled out on the bed, face in a pillow. He was careful when he sat beside you, a hand coming up to rub in comforting circles on your back.

“It’s not fair, Osc.” The use of the nickname spiked his heart rate. He did his best to ignore it, putting his feelings aside for yours. “I know,” he hummed.

Your face emerged from the pillows, eyes already puffy and red. “No you don’t. Because you’re a man and they all love you.”

Oscar bit the inside of his cheek. “Yeah.” There was no point in arguing. He knew you were right. “Come here,” he encouraged, arms outstretched and waiting for your arrival. You drug yourself up, into his arms, lying against his chest.

The white shirt quickly became stained with your tears. Oscar didn’t care. He held you close while you cried. “I hate them.” You choked out. “They all think so little of me, have so little faith in me. Like I’m going to be nothing in life.” You clutched onto the white cloth of his t-shirt. “They talk about me like I’m a fucking prostitute.” Oscar ran a hand through your hair, and you snuggled your face closer to his chest.

Oscar tried to think of something comforting to say, but nothing felt quite right. He decided to pull you closer, instead. “I thought with you here they’d stop, but…” you shook your head. “I’m sorry I brought you all the way out here for nothing.”

“No,” Oscar jumped quickly to sooth your worries. “No you didn’t. I’m happy you asked. I’ve had fun here, with you.”

“You don’t mean that,” you tried to push yourself away from him, but Oscar held tighter. “Yes I do. I- on my life,” you struggled against his hold, desperately trying to rid yourself from the restraints that were his arms. “I promise you I meant it.” He urged, muttering the words close to your ear.

You relaxed at that, a palm coming to rest against his chest. Your tears still flowed freely. “And… and I’m so proud of you, too. And I believe in you more than you can even imagine.” He continued, dull nails scratching idly at your scalp.

You weren’t sure if his words were genuine. That didn’t matter. They were words you needed to hear, even if you had not known it until that very moment.

Oscar continued to keep you in his hold. He offered no more attempts to soothe you other than the hand of his that were tangled in the strands of your hair.

The exact timing you’d fallen asleep was unknown to him. He only realized you left consciousness when he stopped feeling your body shake with sobs and when the rhythmic tensing and relaxing of your hand ceased.

Your breathing had become even, too. Which he only took note of after he carefully laid you down in a more comfortable position.

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THURSDAY

You woke up, the clock informing you it was midday. You shot out of bed. The family was meant to go sledding today, and should have left an hour ago.

The floorboards under your feet creaked loudly as you raced to the living room. You froze upon entering. The only person there was Oscar, sat on the couch, only half watching the show on the television.

He turned at the sound of you approaching, and smiled. “Hey,” he greeted, soft and far too intimate for the current dynamic.

“Where is everyone?”

Oscar looked a bit guilty at the question. “Gone. I told them you weren’t feeling well, and we’d be staying here today.”

You nodded, padding over to round the couch. The cushion beside him became occupied by you. “Is that okay?” He asked, head tilted while he searched your eyes for some emotion. You nodded once more. “Didn’t feel up to it anyway.” You confessed. Then after a moment, “Thank you.”

A smile flickered across Oscar’s lips. “No need to thank me.”

You’d spent the day curled up on the couch together, strangely domestic for two people who had no business being so. Only when it was dark outside did Oscar raise any questions. “How long do they plan on being gone?” It was far past dinner time. 9pm to be exact. Oscar and yourself had already ordered and ate food.

Your head, being on his shoulder, tilts up so your eyes could meet. “They’re out at a restaurant, probably.” You shrugged.

Oscar’s eyes drifted to the window, the glittering snow having caught his eye. He had a sudden childish desire to go play in the fluffy white blankets.

So that’s what you did, before your family returned home.

You hid behind a tree with a tightly packed ball of snow held like a delicate jewel in the palm of your hand. The way your heart raced with anticipation sent a rush through you. Your face hurt, not only from the cold but also from the consistent strain of your muscles used to maintain the permanent smile on your face.

The sound of a snowball hitting the other side of the tree made you jump, but the reaction was quickly followed by a laugh. “Come on! I can’t get you if you’re hid behind a tree!” Oscar complained, but you could hear the smile in his voice.

“Then come get me!” You shouted back. The crunch of snow approaching closed caused you to smile harder. He had no idea what was coming for him.

But then it stopped suddenly. Definitely not close enough to be just on the other side. You peaked around the tree. Oscar stood still, his hands moulding a pile of snow. His brows creased in concentration. So much concentration, that he didn’t even hear the packed snow stress under your feet.

Once close enough, you let the snowball fly from the palm of your hand. It landed right on the side of his face. “Hey!” He laughed.

“That was totally on you. It should not take you that long to make one snow ball.” You teased, nearing closer.

Oscar frowned slightly. “It’s not a snowball,” he twisted his palm to face you. “It’s a heart.”

You stood close to him now. A small extension of your arm, and you’d be touching him. You smiled, soft and small. “It’s cute.” His cheeks were flushed with a light pink. Probably from the cold, you thought.

Careful fingers grabbed ahold of your wrist, twisting it so your palm faced the sky. Silently, Oscar transferred his creation from his palm to your. You chuckled. “Quite the romantic.” You teased once more.

“You more than anyone should know just how romantic I am.” Oscar leaned into the fun banter. You shook your head laughing. “Come on, I want some hot chocolate.” He followed you up the porch and into the house, pausing to wait for you to set his creation on the railing of the deck.

Plain white mugs were all that was in the cabinet, so it’s what you used to hold your hot cocoa. Oscar rummaged in the fridge while you blew into the cup, trying to cool it off. The steam continued to roll off it in heaps.

“Found it!” Oscar cheered, surfacing with a can of whipped cream. “Ah, good idea,” You hummed, holding your mug out to him. The spiral he put on top of your cup was nothing short of perfect.

You hopped up on the kitchen island, while Oscar stood beside you. He laughed at you after you’d taken a sip, his cheeks still colored pink despite the warmer environment inside the cabin.

“You’ve got a little—here, I’ll just get it.” He reached up, fingertips grazing your cheek. His thumb slipped across your upper lip, gathering the whipped cream.

His hand pulled back slightly, a smile on his face while he showed you the reason for his actions. You laughed.

Without thinking, you leaned forward, capturing his thumb between your lips. Oscar went red at the feeling of your tongue swiping against the pad of his thumb while your eyes remained on his. The situation far too sensual.

When your brain finally caught up to you, you jumped back. A hand of yours covered your mouth. “Oh my—I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. I mean, obviously I wasn’t but—“ your breath hitched, his hand on your thigh.

“Don’t apologize.” His voice came in hushed whispers. His eyes scattered all around your face, settling for a beat too long on your lips.

The both of you were locked in an intense staring contest, wanting the same thing but too scared to be the one to initiate it.

Oscar’s chest heaved, like the moment was sucking all the oxygen from his lungs. Hesitantly, he reached a hand up to your face. It found its home on your cheek. When you didn’t react, his other hand traveled to your other cheek. Still, you did not move, but he did notice the rate of your breaths had sped up.

He was the one to take the risk. His body found its way between your legs, and he pulled your face down to meet his.

The feeling of his lips against yours was familiar. The feeling that bloomed in your stomach was familiar. The heat between your legs, familiar.

He overrode every one of your senses. Tasted sweet, reminiscent of the cocoa and whipped cream. Smelled of cologne, fresh. Like amber wood, orange, and a hint of vanilla. His hands in your hair and settled at the base of your neck were driving you crazy. His hips rut against the counter, and he released a small groan into your mouth.

The sound of the lock on the door caught your ear. Two hands on his chest, you shoved him away. He stumbled back, but quickly understood when your family funneled through the door. Your face was on fire.

“Feeling better, I see?” Your sister smiled, then her eyes shifted to Oscar. “Nice lip gloss.”

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FRIDAY

The end of the trip was nearing. It was another relax day in the house, though the kids were far from relaxed. Their giggles were a constant echo through the house along with the patter of their feet.

You’d fallen asleep last night with Oscar’s arms around you, his body moulded perfectly to yours. But when you woke up this morning, the boy was no longer offering the warmth of his body heat to you. In fact, he wasn’t in the bed at all, and the sheets beside you were cold to the touch. He hadn’t been there for awhile.

It was the second day in a row you’d fallen asleep in his arms, and he was no longer there when you woke the next morning.

So it seemed he had a knack for fleeing when things got too intimate.

You swung your legs over the bed. The wooden floors under your feet were as cold as the winter air outside. You quickly shielded yourself with a pair of slippers, and the first hoodie you saw.

Just like yesterday, you found him on the couch. He wasn’t watching one of his shows, but bluey. Your brows were furrowed as you approached. Your eyes answered the question in your mind; Theo and Thalia sat on the carpet in front the television. Theo recklessly drove his new remote controlled car while Thalia played with his hot wheels. A content smile colored Oscar’s expression.

You ruffled his hair, muttering out a, “good morning.” Oscar’s greeting died on the tip of his tongue when he turned his head to find you in his hoodie and tight biker shorts. His throat bobbed as he swallowed harshly. “Morning,” he managed.

The dynamic between you two was different now. A conversation was never held after the events of last night, but the air shifted. An unspoken agreement that you crossed the line as friends but neither of you would dare to venture into the dating territory. You were stuck in a sort of limbo between the two, which meant neither of you knew exactly how to act around the other.

“Oscar, you sound like bluey!” Theo laughed, Thalia joining him. Oscar’s face contorted in amusement, brows raised and a broader smile. “You’ve got a good ear.”

When his eyes searched the room to find you, they landed in the kitchen, the fridge wide open.

You pulled out an avocado, an egg, and a bagel from the pantry. You jumped when you turned around to place them on the island. Oscar was standing with his back to the counter, staring at your every move. “stalker,” you laughed, standing beside him. He remained serious. “We should talk.”

Your body froze. “Where’s the rest of the family?” You asked, gaze focused on the countertop. “Downstairs. Playing pool.” He muttered, a quick glance at the twins. “They’ll be fine for a couple minutes.”

Your eyes met his, an unusual pleading look about them. You nodded. “Yeah. We can step outside.” You motioned towards the back deck.

Out on the deck, you waited for him to speak first, a foot playing with the fluffy white snow to avoid his gaze.

“So… last night,” he began. You shut your eyes, preparing mentally for an awkward conversation. He shook his head, restarting his mini speech. “I’ve tried to move on from you for the last couple of months. It hasn’t really worked and I’ve always had an idea as to why, but last night really solidified it.” His hand on your cheek directed your gaze to his. An uncharacteristically bold move.

His eyes searched yours. For what, you were unsure of. But his gaze burrowed into yours, making you feel light in the head and queasy in the stomach. “I still love you.” He spoke with finality, as if the statement would reign true for the remainder of his life. That’s what it felt like to him.

You gasped out a breath, shaking your head. “It’s not good for us. It didn’t work out. It won’t work out.” Your face, still held in his hands; your eyes, cast anywhere but on him.

He stepped closer. You could feel his body heat now. “It could. You’ll be out of school two months after the season starts, and then you can get a job at McLaren with me-“

“And then I’ll become everything Leni thinks I am.” You interrupted, words quiet.

“No you won’t, because you deserve it. You know it. I know it. Who cares if your drunk, deadbeat uncle thinks otherwise?” You breathed out a laugh, glancing at him for only a moment. “But that’s besides the point. It’ll be just two months with me away and you studying. That’s nothing. We’ve managed longer.”

His pleas were followed by silence, a slight frown, furrowed brows. Wandering eyes landed on the heart-shaped snow ball he carefully crafted for you. “I don’t know,” you spoke, almost too quiet for Oscar to hear.

The small swipe of his thumb against your cheek had your defenses crumbling. “The apartment has felt so empty without you.” He recalled how he continued to look for you in every room, even two weeks after you broke up. A hopeless dream that you’d be standing in the kitchen or sleeping in his bed. Of course, you never were. “Please. Just give me a month.”

The nod came slowly, after a long moment of silence; Oscar’s ears strained for even a breath from you. “A month.” You agreed, a silent pray to whatever god would listen that this wasn’t a horrible mistake.

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SATURDAY

Your last day at the cabin was spent back at the slopes, Oscar and yourself finally being able to break from the kiddie slopes and enjoy the more exhilarating ones. He’d tried to race you, and when you won, claimed that he slowed on purpose. His whole being exposed his lies, though.

The family ended the night on the couch, watching a Christmas movie, though Christmas was long past. Unfortunately for you and Oscar, you were demoted to sitting on the floor since you were the youngest of the adults.

Oscar didn’t mind. Not when you sat with your body pressed against his. Legs across his lap and head resting in the curve of his neck. He kept one of your hands encased in both of his. He wasn’t even sure what the movie was about. His eyes were hardly on the screen, opting to study you out of the corner of his eye. He felt incredibly lucky to be able to call you his again.

He only realized the movie ended when you looked up at him, laughing at how his eyes were already on you. “How was the movie?” You asked him, a soft smile. He absorbed every bit of it he could. “Amazing.”

Before you went to bed, Oscar pulled out a small box from his suitcase. Your back was turned, fluffing the pillow. He called your name softly. The curious look you gave him was just another thing he was sure to store in his brain for safe keeping.

“What’s that?” You hummed, interested. You stood in front of him now, the box within reach. He lifted the lid and presented it to you, earning a small gasp. “Oscar�� that’s too much I can’t take that.” You shook your head, a hand pushing the box into his chest. “I bought it for you. No returns.” His nervous laugh filled the gap of your response.

A tentative hand of your reached for the pendant, the ridges of it gliding over your fingers. You bit the inside of your cheek, deciding there was no use in turning the gift away. “Will you put it on me?” He smiled. Nodded.

₊ ‧ *‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

JUNE

You began working in Oscar’s garage right out of school. Andrea was sure to pick you up before any team even had the opportunity to approach you.

The relationship between you and Oscar was common knowledge within the garage. Your teammates—the other mechanics—treated you no different, other than the occasional teasing about it.

“We agree that if anything is wrong with the car, we blame her, right?” One of the other mechanics joked, gesturing to you. Laughter rang out over the roaring engines.

Of course, once your family got wind of the news, they had something to say. Leni in particular washed up the achievement to be special treatment since you were dating one of their drivers. It didn’t get to you this time, because Oscar reassured you that it was purely based on your skill. His opinion mattered more than your Uncle’s.

Outside of the world of racing, Oscar treated you like an Angel fallen from heaven. Acting like he existed with the sole purpose to service you. It annoyed you at first until you came to the realization that it was out of love. He communicated his love for you through of acts of service. From then on, you cherished it.

[baby-yongbok]

𝘗𝘪𝘯𝘬 + 𝘞𝘩𝘪𝘵𝘦

Hwang Hyunjin 𝗑 Afab!Reader

♡ Genre - Friends to Lovers

♡ CW - Explicit Sexual Content, Unprotected Sex, Nightmares, Alcohol usage by reader, Hyunjin calls reader rose as a nickname, One use of 'y/n'.

♡ Summary - Your avoidant tendencies have allowed the burn of pink and white to keep you Hyunjin at a safe distance until it all comes crashing down. Can the fire that kept you apart also be what brings you together?

♡ Word Count - 9.2k

♡ A/N - I went from not being sure if I liked this fic to being in love with it. I think that it's a very sweet fic and I loved writing it. I worked so hard on it and I'm so proud of it. The goal was for it to be 4k words.. then I almost posted it at 8k but now... yeah. I hope that you love this as much as I do!

♡ Playlist - Pink + White - Frank Ocean, Rainy Days - V, For Us - V, Beautiful Things - Benson Boone, Trajectories - Bruno Major

✧ Masterlist ✧

When you were six years old you punched a boy in the face on the playground. That was the first time that you ever felt the burn of genuine fear.

Your mom along with the many others came swirling around them. When your mother asked you what happened you cried. You clung to her running over to you and the crying brunette boy on the playground with a mix of emotions and explained the best you could through your tears that you didn’t like that he was chasing you, when you agreed to play tag you thought that you’d be the chaser not the one being chased.

That was the day that you learned two things about yourself, you have a habit of acting impulsively when you’re scared and you don’t like being chased. It's suffocating.

As you got older your friends described you as the avoidant type, especially in relationships. You developed a reputation for being an ice queen in your Sophomore year of university which led to you being one of the most sought after girls on campus. 

You’ve lost friends because of this. Their boyfriends saw getting close to them as a gateway to meeting you. Many guys took dating you as a challenge with an end prize of overnight popularity. Unfortunately, some of your closest relationships have been destroyed because of it. You learned not to be sad about it, you’ve come to terms with it, this is just the way that it goes. Of course your other friends were all important to you but you always told yourself that you’re alright with losing them as long as you have your best friend by your side. 

“More roses? Are you in love or something?” You weaved through the cluttered art studio that Hyunjin has claimed as his own. It’s on the dead side of campus on the second floor of a building that was abandoned last year. Your best friend refused to let the studio go when it was shut down, he says that it houses some of his fondest memories. 

“Always in love, never loved back.” He quips, eyes still trained on the canvas. “You’re early.”

You jump up onto one of the few clear desks in the room, right behind his easel. “Chemistry ended early.” Hyunjin stands straight, eyeing his canvas for a second before looking over at you. He knows that you’re skipping class. Your last hook-up is in that class and you're trying to avoid his attempt at getting you in his bed again. If you’re being honest, the decision to sleep with him was impulsive. You blame the beer, all eight of them.

“I thought that we could go to the exhibition early.” He starts another brush stroke and silence swallows you both. “I’m excited about it and if I’m being honest I just wanna spend time with you. I’ve barely seen you for the past three days.”

Hyunjin’s steady hand wavers and he thanks his lucky stars that you didn’t see it. “Aw she misses me. She loves me so much.” The sound of your feet hitting the ground as you jump off of the desk echoes through the dusty room of stacked chairs and forgotten storage items. 

Hyunjin stands and dips the paint brush covered in bright pink in the cup of water next to him. “You could’ve come to my place ya know.” You grab your stuff, swinging your bag onto your shoulder. 

“Your brother is there, you know how he gets.” You scrunch your face at the thought of Hyunjin’s step brother, Jeongin. The two of you get along perfectly, almost as well as you and Hyunjin until Jeongin starts flirting. He confessed to you on New Years and you’ve been avoiding him ever since. He’s too sweet for you, you’d hate to hurt him. “I’m gonna go change, I’ll meet you by your car.”

“You brought a costume change for an art exhibit?” He asks as he starts cleaning his space.

“Of course, I need to look like art too.” You smile at him but he doesn’t smile back, he rolls his eyes and turns his attention back to the mess of paints and rags on the desk in front of him. He waits until he hears the door open and close behind you to finally let the corners of his mouth turn up. He chuckles to himself quietly while his mind comes up with responses that he’d never dare to utter out loud.

“This one looks like you, rose.” The year old nickname slips off of Hyunjin’s tongue like silk. You’ve never fully understood how the name stuck. You figured that it’s because roses are his favorite flower and he thought it was cute. You’ve never asked for its origin but you don’t mind the name. It’s sweet.

You turn to view the series of pink, white and green dots making up a bouquet of roses on the framed canvas in front of Hyunjin. He studies it with smiling eyes though the neutral look on his face could fool those who haven’t experienced him like you have.

“It’s pretty.” You mumble as you lean your head on his shoulder. You wrap your arm around his and the sleeve of the brown oversized flannel shirt that you picked out a year ago rides up his forearm a bit, he blames the chills running up his spine on the breeze against the newly exposed skin. 

“I knew I’d see you here.” The voice of a woman next to Hyunjin startles you a bit. You stand straight and watch as Hyunjin smiles towards her. He’s cursing her in his head for interrupting the moment between the two of you but he learned a long time ago to just live in the moment when it comes to you.

“Of course, I had to see this exhibition.” He shakes her hand and you chalk it up to her being someone important though she doesn’t look much older than either of you. “You put it together beautifully.”

Ah, she owns the gallery. “Oh, please, it’s nothing. I just hope that you’re enjoying it. I actually thought about you when I put this piece up.” She motions towards the art in front of the two of you. The piece that Hyunjin says resembles you. “It looks like something you’d design. I’m still desperate to organize a local exhibition for you, ya know.”

Hyunjin laughs but it's stiff and polite. He’s being shy. He’s a very cautious person but he reaches a whole new level when it comes to his art. “I’m not quite on that level yet.”

“I disagree but I won’t bother you about it until you graduate. This is your final semester, right?” You can see her eyes smiling just like Hyunjin’s were a second ago as she checks him out. She’s shameless in her actions, the glint in her eyes is far from professional. 

“Yes, just three months to go.” She nods, dragging her gaze up from his lips with a smile. 

“Call me when you graduate, I’d love to have you working with us.” She pulls a business card out of her pocket and flashes one last smile before waving a reluctant goodbye towards your best friend. 

Silence settles between the two of you for just a couple of seconds before you break it. “She wants to fuck you so badly that she didn’t even look at me.” Hyunjin scoffs at your whispered words as he slips the card into his pocket. “Don’t tell me that you didn’t notice. How old is she anyway? She looks a bit young to be in charge of this place.”

“Her father owns it.” He mumbles as he grabs your wrist and leads you over to the next piece of art. 

“Oh, of course. She probably thought I was your girlfriend, ya know. She’s rude as hell for not even asking or looking at me. I know she saw me here, she’s clearly -” You’re pulled into Hyunjin’s side before you can finish your sentence. The sudden action cuts you off with a heavy thump of your heart and that painfully familiar burn rising in your chest. 

“Look at this one.” Your eyes are on him but his are on the art. “This one looks like you too.” You pull your gaze away from him to view the piece. The thumping in your chest doubles once your gaze meets your own. It’s a mirror with pink and white abstract designs floating around and over the glass. The paint is so messy yet strategic. It leaves just enough room for your reflection. 

“It’s messy yet elegant, don’t you think? You can’t help but to stare..” He’s visibly smiling now. The corners of his mouth turn up as he studies the art in front of him. As he studies you. “This one might be my favorite. It’ll be hard to beat it.”

“I don’t like it.” You mutter quickly, pulling away from Hyunjin and turning towards the next piece. You try your best to steady your breathing. You will your heart to calm down so that you can take a complete breath but it’s betraying you. “I’m gonna use the bathroom.” 

You’re walking away before Hyunjin can reply. He watches you with that smile in his eyes as you disappear around the corner. He knew that what he pulled would be a risk but it was one that he was willing to take. He doesn’t call you beautiful nearly as much as he should or as much as he really wants to. 

In the bathroom you’re slumped against the door of a stall while you try to catch your breath. You don’t like how Hyunjin’s words made that white hot burn in your chest kick up. You don’t like the way that his eyes being on you made you feel like you were the only two in the entire gallery. It’s suffocating. 

When you step out of the stall your fingers are busy on your phone screen. You find your friend Isa’s number quickly and take a sigh of relief when she answers on the third ring. You bypass reciprocating her kind greeting and get right to the point. 

“Get-together at yours tomorrow?”

You’re standing in the middle of the Pink and White art exhibition. Other viewers jumble together along the walls of the gallery and crowd the pieces. You can’t see anything but their blurred faces decorating the white walls. There’s a slow yet heavy beating in your ears but you’re comfortable. You’re alone in the middle of it all, watching everyone from a pleasant distance as you turn to study them all as if they’re the art on the walls.

 The beating in your ears skips as you turn and come face to face with Hyunjin. He’s standing in front of you wearing that brown hat that you love and the oversized flannel that he bought just to share with you.

 Suddenly the others in the room are quiet. All eyes are on you but Hyunjin’s gaze is the most piercing. His brown eyes are smiling at you with a softness that makes the flame in your chest burn brighter. 

“Why are you staring at me like that?” You look around at everyone else but they’ve vanished along with the art on the walls. The beating in your ears picks up, it’s deafening but Hyunjin’s voice can be heard loud and clear over the noise.  

“I like staring at you.” He takes a step towards you but you take two back. He frowns and steps forward again. You repeat the process until your back is against the wall. “Why do you do that?” 

“I’m not doing anything.” You swallow hard as you try to push him away but he’s stronger than you. As strong as stone caging you against the stark white wall. “I can’t breathe.” You’re pushing as hard as you can but it’s no use. You’re stuck under him.

“Why do you do this?” He’s still staring down at you, a burning gaze setting your skin ablaze. “Why do you keep running?” The beating in your ears drowns out all sensible thoughts. You can feel your veins swelling with fear and the blinding white burning in your chest puffs up with the crushing pressure of having him so close. Too close. 

“Back up.” You inhale the thick air, feeling dizzy. “Move.”

“Stop running.” You try to inhale but it gets stuck in your throat. You want to scream. You need to escape. You need to get out of here. 

You lift your heavy arm the best you can and pull back enough to punch Hyunjin. You aim for his face but your fist goes through him just as your lungs start to burn, you take one last look at him before the wall behind you gives out and you’re falling backwards. Hyunjin watches you, his eyes are void of that sparkling smile and guilt consumes you right before you hit the ground.

You jump up with a gasp as your eyes frantically search the room around you. Your chest rises and falls heavily and sweat beads at your hairline.

It was a dream. 

Friday is a late day for you with your last class ending at nine in the evening. Hyunjin always waits for you in the abandoned art studio, he waits for two hours just to walk you to your dorm across campus. It’s become a routine for the two of you but you told him not to wait up tonight. He was reluctant at first, he insisted on waiting for you but you were adamant about breaking your routine.

He agreed eventually but you could see the dejection in his eyes as he hugged you goodbye before your last class. He watched you walk away just like he always did but this time his heart was heavy in his chest. Did he do something wrong? 

That question haunted him throughout the day. It was loud in his head as he collected his stuff and made his way to the abandoned studio. It echoed in his ears as he tried to finish the painting of his vibrant rose that he’s added notes of dusty pale pink to. But it was the loudest when Jeongin called him to ask if he was going to the get-together at Minho’s place tonight.

He knows that you and Minho’s girlfriend Isa are close so you have to know about this, hell, you might’ve even helped plan it and you kept it from him. You’re avoiding him.

You skipped your class to head to Minho and Isa’s place. They share a small apartment right off of campus that you often use as an escape. Isa is one of the few friends that you still have from sophomore year since her boyfriend has never once tried to get in your pants. 

You sat on Isa’s bed clutching a bottle of soju that is not at all meant for one person while you laid your head in her lap. You loved being with her because there was never any pressure to fill the silence. She understands you in a way that other people just don’t. Not even Hyunjin. 

“So, he called you pretty?” You’ve been telling her everything from what happened at the art gallery to the nightmare you had last night. “And now you’re avoiding him?”

“I’m not avoiding him.” You take a swig from the glass bottle and gulp hard to rush the alcohol into your system. “I’m just being careful.”

“You’re being careful by avoiding your best friend… because he called you pretty and you had a nightmare about it?” You sit up with a groan, lifting the bottle to your mouth again with a sigh. She’s not getting it. 

“You didn’t see the way he looked at me. You didn’t feel the way he pulled me into him, his arm wrapped around my waist and he just stared at me with that smile in his eyes. You know the one that makes his eyes shine when he sees something pretty? He was looking at me like that and he told me that I looked elegant. Messy but elegant and that he couldn’t help but to stare. There was a softness in his voice, I swear, and he just wouldn’t take his eyes off of me. It’s like he was looking into me instead of at me it was… it was..”

“Sweet?” You tap the bottle in your hands with your nails. 

“Suffocating. It was too much. It made my heart skip and it made me feel hot.” 

“That usually means that you like him, ya know.” She takes the bottle from you, drinking from it a bit herself. “ You know that he’s a romantic and this isn’t the first time you’ve felt like this with him.” She hands the cold glass back to you while you think back to the other times that you’ve felt this. The latest being your birthday three months ago when Hyunjin whisked you away to the next city for a mini getaway. 

You stayed in the same hotel room and on the night of your birthday you had a bit too much to drink. He carried you up to your room since you were too out of it to walk but you weren’t too far gone to forget the way that he handled you with such gentle care.

He brushed your hair out of your face when he laid you on your bed and took your make-up off with such a tender touch that it made you want to kiss him. You almost kissed him. 

“I don’t like him like that.” You shrug and she sighs. 

“Whatever you say, ice queen.” That damned nickname makes you cringe but Minho is bursting through the door before you can rebuttal. 

“Jisung and Bin just got here, come on.” You stare at him with confused eyes and he crosses his arms as he stares back at you. “Well? Get up, you wanted to do this.”

“Do what?” You look over at Isa who’s already getting up from the bed.

“Did you not call her asking for a get-together? People are getting here so come on. I’m not hosting this by myself.” Your heart drops and you stare over at Isa who looks back at you with her own look of confusion until it all sinks in.

 “You meant for it to be just us, didn’t you?”

Hyunjin is a cautious person, anyone who knows him knows that about him. He doesn’t like when things go wrong because of him. It eats him alive until he can fix it and if he can’t he lets the anxiety consume him until a part of him dies with the memory of it all. 

His cautious nature is what prompted him to drive home after he got that call from Jeongin. It brought him right to his bedroom where he dropped his bag by the foot of his bed and laid back against the mattress with a death stare set on the dull ceiling. It stared back at him, reflecting his thoughts back to him for him to analyze. 

His brother left for the get-together as soon as he walked through the door and Hyunjin was tempted to follow him down to Seungmin’s car.

He was tempted to drop his bag and turn on his heels and come straight to you but he knew better. He knew you better than you knew yourself. If he shows up at that get-together you’ll avoid him like the plague. You’ll feel trapped by his presence and any hope that he has of fixing this situation will die right in front of his eyes. 

His cautious nature is what’s keeping him on his bed. It’s what’s grounding him to this spot and sating the burning desire to chase you. The problem is that the fire in his chest is bigger than he can handle. He’s seen how you treat the men you want to avoid on campus, he’s seen you take the long way home just to avoid a conversation and the thought of you doing that to him makes him wilt. He can’t let that happen. 

His feet are carrying him across his room before he can even fully process it. He opens his closet and pulls out the brown flannel along with his brown beanie. They’ve become comfort items for the both of you at this point, especially the flannel. It feels like a thread connecting you to him and him to you. He needs to save that connection.

 He sloppily throws on the items while he checks the clock. He’s nearly two hours late but there’s still time. 

Hyunjin has never gotten a speeding ticket but he was nearly positive that he’d get one tonight. He made it to Minho’s place in record time but he’s panting when he knocks on the door like he’s ran there. His heart is hammering when Isa answers the door and the look on her face when she takes him in only makes his heart beat faster. 

She forces a smile, inviting him in and telling him where everything is but he already knows all of that and she knows that he does. “She doesn’t want to see me does she?” Isa sighs, giving him a look that answers each and every one of his questions all at once. 

“Thanks for letting me in.” He walks past her with a nervous huff, making his way into the small party and searching for you immediately. He finds Changbin and Chan before he can find you and the two quickly drag him into a conversation about gods know what while wedging a glass bottle of mystery liquid into his fist. 

Hyunjin’s eyes wander in an attempt to find you as he ignores his friends' conversation. Luckily it didn’t take long for the sound of your loud laughter to echo through the room. His eyes were on you in an instant once he heard it. You’re right in front of him sitting in the truth or dare circle with a can of something strong in your hand. You’re always the loudest in the room but right now you seem to be the drunkest too, you shouldn’t be playing that game you’ll do something reckless.  

He wants to go over and pull you up, he wants to tell you that you’re going home and that you need to sober up. He wants to get you to talk to him but he ignores everything he wants and watches you instead. He stays cautious and keeps his distance. 

“Y/n, truth or dare.” One of your few girl friends, Harvey asks from across the circle. You answer ‘dare’ with a wide smile, it’s no surprise, you always pick that. The raven haired girl looks over to Mingi for assistance since she’s known for picking terrible dares. After a couple seconds of deliberation the blonde perks up with an idea.

“I dare you to kiss whoever this bottle lands on.” Mingi dares with a nonchalant smile and you shrug, the alcohol in your system is surely boosting your confidence but it’s not like you’ll remember any of this tomorrow so who cares, right?

He spins the bottle in the middle of the circle and everyone watches with quiet anticipation as it lands on the copper haired boy sitting three people away from you. It’s Jeongin. 

He stops in the middle of sipping from his cup and flashes you a small innocent smile but what you return to him is nothing less than a look of raw seduction. You’re on your feet in an instant, making your way over to him with low and hazy eyes. You straddle him swiftly, getting comfortable in his lap like you’ve done this a hundred times. 

“You sure about this, noona?” His hands rest on your thighs, he brushes his thumbs over the bareskin and you can feel a shiver down your spine. It almost reminds you of how Hyunjin touched you on your birthday. 

“Do you not wanna kiss me?” You tease him with a slight slur to your voice. You know he wants to kiss you, everyone does except for Hyunjin, right? 

Just as that thought passes your eyes flicker up and meet those of the very man on your mind. He’s watching you with an angry gaze as he fists the neck of the glass bottle in his hand. Your mouth goes dry as you take him in, when did he get here? You feel stuck staring at him, everything around you is suddenly muted and the people around you disappear. It’s only you and Hyunjin.

Both of your hearts are pounding in your chest. 

Both of you feel like you can’t breathe. 

Both of you are about to do something that you shouldn’t.

“Kiss her already!” Ryujin instigates from across the circle and you snap out of your haze and blink down at Jeongin. You both share a smile, one more genuine than the other, before he’s leaning into you. His lips just barely brush against yours before you’re interrupted.

A firm grip on your shoulder startles you and the man under you. You both look up to meet the eyes of the angry Hyunjin above you.“Get up.” He practically growls with a slight tug on your arm. You stare up at him with glassy eyes though you are feeling a bit more sober now. “Get. Up.” 

You’re being pulled up before you can process it. Your feet fight to keep up with him as you stumble towards the bedroom he’s leading you to. You can feel all eyes on you, you can feel the room getting smaller once he locks the bedroom door behind the two of you and pulls his flannel off to drape over your shoulders, something that he does to comfort you. 

“What the fuck?” That’s all you can manage to get out of your mouth as you stare over at him. He stares back with his arms crossed and his chest rising and falling with what you perceive as anger but he would describe as anxiety. Pure fear. 

“Do you understand what you were about to do?” Hyunjin tries to be mindful of his tone. He tries to limit the waver of his words and calm the frantic thoughts in his head. He’s trying. “Why would you kiss him?”

“I didn’t.” The alcohol in your system takes over again and you thank the ridiculous amount of soju you’ve consumed for coming to the rescue. You tug on the flannel resting over your shoulders, pretending that its warmth would protect you from the buzzing in your head and inevitable burning in your chest.

“You would’ve if I didn’t stop you. What happened to you not being into Jeongin? What happened to you not wanting to hurt him?”

You groan, stomping your foot like a child being scolded by their guardian. Like the little girl who punched the brunette boy in the face for chasing her. “Why don’t you mind your business?”

Hyunjin scoffs, his anxiety grows in his chest and he takes a step back. “You are my business.” 

It’s silent for one, two, three heartbeats before the dizzying emotions burning in your chest fill in the silence for you. “Well maybe I shouldn’t be. You’re way too attached to me.”

Hyunjin feels frozen even though he’s stepping back from you. He’s creating more space between the two of you just like you seem to be doing. What do you mean by that? You’re rambling on before he can ask. “You do all of these things that make me feel like I can’t breathe. You call me pretty and you touch me softly and you hold me close and… and you just make me feel hot. You suffocate me.”

Hyunjin whispers through the bubbles forming in his throat. He’s gentle with the way he speaks, he is a cautious person after all, especially when it comes to his art. “Is this about what I said at the gallery?”

His question goes in one ear and right out the other. Your brain formulates words quicker than you can process them, creating a violent episode of word vomit that threatens to spill over your lips and onto the carpet but you swallow hard and condense it all into one simple yet seering sentence. “You keep making my heart race, it’s not fair. You need to go, just go.”

Hyunjin’s blood runs cold and his temples throb like you’ve hit him. Like you’ve punched him in the face. Anxiety bubbles in his veins and swells behind his eyes. It’s his turn to ramble, the word vomit seems to be contagious. 

“I’m not leaving.” His gaze is frantic, cautious, scared. “I am too attached, you’re right. I have been for a while. I’ve loved you for a while and I tried to hide it but I shouldn’t have to. I shouldn’t be scared that I’ll lose my best friend if I tell her that she’s the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”

 “No, you are not confessing to me right now. Don’t you dare do that.” You pace to the left then the right in a hurried attempt to escape his words before they could reach you. He can’t be doing this right now. You needed to get out of here.

“I am. I am confessing to you. I need you to hear me say that I love you because I do and it scares me just as much as it scares you but you are the reason that it’s scaring me. Losing you is the reason that I’m afraid and I need you to tell me that that isn’t going to happen.” His voice is shaky just like your hands. He watches you like a dog being dropped off at the pound as you physically try to escape him. He knew this would happen, this is what he was afraid of. 

“Stop. Just stop it, Hyunjin. You’re doing it again, I can’t breathe when you’re this close to me.” He stares over at you from the other side of the room and you stare back at him. This doesn’t make any sense. He isn’t next to you but you still can’t breathe. It doesn’t make any sense. “I have to go - I have - just… just leave me alone.” You turn towards the bedroom door but he speaks up before you can make your escape. 

“I’m not going to chase you.” Hyunjin is unmoving. His feet are still planted to the floor like a statue as he slips his fists into his pocket. “I don’t want to push you further away but don’t you dare go home and convince yourself that I don’t care just because I let you go.” 

You listen to him over your hammering heart with your back turned to him and your unsteady gaze trained on the worn door knob. “I’m letting you go with the hope that you’ll come back. You know where to find me.” 

Your feet threaten to betray you, they try to turn you around and drive you over to him but your heart is screaming. That white flame is burning in your chest and begging you to run. Run as fast as you can and find safety, but your safety is standing behind you. It’s watching you with teary eyes that are desperate to meet yours. 

A tear slips down your cheek as you grab the doorknob and pull it with a quick twist. You follow your heart and rush out of the room with tears decorating your face and your hand over your mouth. You let the burning win again.

You rush past everyone, Isa tries to stop you and Minho even catches you for a minute but you fight him off of you and make your way to the front door. You don’t get too far before the last layer of your resolve snaps, You turn onto the next dark block and sink to the ground. Sobs rip through you as Hyunjin’s words hang in your head. He loves you. He wants you but you left him. You left everything you’ve ever wanted behind you. 

A heavier sob escapes you as the truth of it all comes crashing down. You love him too, don’t you? You’ve loved him for so long. Since your birthday and beyond that but you’ve been avoiding it. You’ve avoided your feelings just like you have everything else. You’ve punched yourself in the face, you’ve chased yourself into a corner and now you might just lose everything you have left. You might lose your best friend.

The storms over the next two days swirl the skies into mysterious clouds of pink and white as rain soaks the grass the same way that you’ve soaked your pillow for hours. You’ve opted to stay in, avoiding anything or anyone that could remind you of Friday’s catastrophe.

 You’ve debated texting Jeongin and apologizing for what you remember of the situation. You almost called Isa to spill the fears bubbling in your lungs to her so that she could help you sort through them but she can’t. This is up to you. You need to make a choice. Will you run away from the fire or towards it? 

On the other side of campus Hyunjin sits in the abandoned studio with paint stained hands and dried tears on his cheeks. He’s left his previous painting incomplete. The bright blushing rose sits across the room with the others just like it while he touches his brush to the canvas and smears a smoky mauve to the pristine white flesh. His lines are messy and uncalculated. Far from cautious. 

For a moment he considers that he was only ever careful because of you. Your lack of control over your emotions inspired him to fill in the blanks for you. Now there’s no need for caution without you.

The rain carried into Monday along with the emptiness in your chest. You’ve typed and deleted paragraphs to Hyunjin who has done the same as he sat on the studio floor.

He stayed in the dusty room until midnight each day that he was without you and you stayed up well past then. He poured himself into painting and you poured yourself onto the carpet of your dorm room. You made lists and mapped your emotions until it all started to make a bit more sense. Until the love that burned alongside your hot white fear was glowing pink in the mirror. 

You skipped your classes on Monday, your feet drove you over to the dead side of campus through the violent rain. You stood in the hallway outside of Hyunjin’s studio. The worn copper doorknob stared back at you like it knew what you were here to do. Like it was daring you to go inside. You suck in a breath as you grab the metal, you’ve never been one to back down from a dare.

The studio is empty when you walk inside. The fading warm light of the lamps that you and Hyunjin bought and snuck in illuminate the space the best that they can given the dull pink skies. Your eyes catch on the new piece sitting up on his easel. It’s dark and runny, it’s raw and it feels like it’s calling your name. 

“Hi.” Hyunjin’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts. His voice is small and surprised as he stares over at your frame clad in that famous brown flannel and sweatpants. 

“Hi.” You whisper back. He looks like a mess. Brown hat, pulled too far over his head and his hair spilling from every exit it can find. “More roses?” 

He stares passed you and over at the wilting petals on the canvas with a sad smile. “It’s like I’m in love or something.” 

Your guilt tinged heart beats a bit faster when he steps further into the room and closes the door behind him. He drops his bag next to the door and stares at the dinghy tile with his hands in his pockets. “I’m sorry. For everything, for the party and everything with your brother and for everything that I said.” 

The word vomit is back. It spilled over your lips before you could attempt to swallow it back but you’re almost thankful for it. You have no clue how you’d get your words out otherwise. “You just made me feel… I just felt..” You kick at the cracked tile as if it holds the answers you’re looking for but Hyunjin beats you to it.

“Suffocated.” His eyes are on you now, they’re low and shadowed in a longing sadness. “I’ve seen this happen a million times to other guys and I thought that I was being careful enough to avoid it.” 

“This is nothing like the other guys.” Your bag slumps off of your shoulder and you carelessly allow it to hit the floor. “Your confession just -” He cuts you off with a tight smile.

 “I know. It ruined everything.” He sighs, sad eyes examining the space between the two of you. “I ruined everything and I’m sorry for that, rose. I really am.”

“It didn't. It didn’t ruin anything, it just scared me. I felt suffocated, yes, but not by you. It was by what I felt for you. That’s why this isn’t like what happened with any of the other guys. I never wanted them. Avoiding them was easy but you… avoiding you..” Hyunjin watches your heaving chest with the caution that he thought had abandoned him. He’s quiet, allowing you time to gather your thoughts. He doesn’t want to corner you, he just wants to hear you. 

“Why do you call me that?” You whisper once your breathing has steadied. “Why did you start calling me rose?”

Suddenly he’s looking past you then down at the tile under his feet. He leans against the door behind him, a faint smile decorating his sad face. “You were wearing one in your hair on the day that I realized I love you.” He looks over to where his easel is set up. “We were sitting right there and you had a pale pink rose behind your left ear. You picked me one to match and I told you that it was my favorite flower because in that moment it was. It was beautiful but you…your beauty is hard to beat.”

Your heart is thumping in your ears, it’s a sound that you’ve grown comfortable with over the past few days. The clutter of the abandoned room almost seems to disappear as you process his words. The burning in your chest makes itself known along with the newly identified pink flame. The white walls of the studio almost seem brighter as you receive Hyunjin’s confession. You let it sink in and drown out the tension little by little. “So when you paint them…”

“I’m painting you. I’m always painting you.” The thumping is deafening but Hyunjin is clear over the noise. He has always been the only one who can cut through it all, even in your dreams. 

You can feel yourself falling just like in your nightmare only it’s forwards. You’re falling forwards as your feet carry you to him. You run. You run to him and you fall into his arms that have been desperate to catch you for months. The burn in your chest is paralyzing, it’s seering and fighting the pink flame for dominance. 

You cry into his chest, you sob as the pain of running into the fire engulfs you. It swallows you whole and you stand in it with him, you cling to him before you burn to ash and he holds you like he knows it all. He cradles the back of your head like he can feel the fire ripping your flesh apart. 

You’re flush against him, tears soaking his shoulder and burning all over until he does what no one has done before. He puts it all out. A simple kiss to the top of your head dowses the flame and reduces it to a measly spark of fear overshadowed by an uncontainable pink and white glow of love in your chest. 

You gasp at the cooling effect. Air rushes into your lungs and you can finally breathe, he’s the oxygen you needed. He’s everything you’ve needed but now you want to give your air away again. You want to give it all to him. 

You pull away from his shoulder in one swift motion, your eyes are shut tight as your lips find his and you pull him into a hard and messy kiss. The sound that escapes you both is desperate and beautiful. His lips move with yours in an uncoordinated rhythm that makes your lungs burn comfortably. They burn the way that they’re supposed to. 

Hyunjin cries into the kiss. Tears stream down his cheeks as he cradles you against him like you’d vanish if he didn’t. He drinks it all in, he allows himself to live in this moment that he’s been dying to have with you for what feels like an eternity before he reluctantly breaks the kiss. 

His eyes are still closed when he pulls away. He whispers to you, careful not to crack the shell of this delicate moment. “I thought you -” 

“I don’t want to keep running. I can’t, I need you. I can’t lose you.” Your eyes flutter open at the same time as his. He stares down at you with that smile in his eyes. That smile he has when he sees something beautiful, when he’s utterly enamored by the sight before him. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know how to do any of this, I only know that I want to do it with you.”

He’s quiet for a couple of seconds before a smile sneaks up on him. It fades just as quickly as it came and his eyebrows pinch together. “You want me?” You nod and the smile shows itself again. 

“I want you.” He leans back in, cupping your cheek as he kisses you hard. His body pushes against yours and you move with him as he walks backwards towards one of the few empty desks and lifts you onto it. 

His hands explore every inch of you that he can reach. He balls his fist over the baggy flannel hiding your body from him while your fingers tangle in his hair and scratch over his shoulders and up his arms.

 He breaks the kiss to run his lips over the flushed flesh of your neck, he whispers into your skin between each kiss “Tell me to stop.” He pulls at the collar of the flannel to kiss the curve of your neck. “I’ve waited so long for this, please tell me to stop. Tell me to wait.”

You push his head further into the crook of your neck as you tilt your head further to give him better access. “I don’t want you to.” He sucks a mark into the skin right below your ear and you pull his tucked in shirt from his pants with an elated moan. 

His clumsy fingers fight to unbutton the oversized flannel as yours attempt to unbutton his jeans. You reach your goal before he does and waste no time capitalizing on your victory. You dip your hand in just enough to fish his growing erection from his briefs and wrap your hand around it. 

Hyunjin moans at the stimulation, leaning his forehead against yours and squeezing his eyes shut as you stroke him slowly. “Fuck, please don’t, I wont - I can’t last.”

 You kiss his temple softly, whispering reassurance that you don’t care to have him last, you just want to have him. Once he’s centered himself again he continues his struggle to expose your body to him. The final button falls open like the curtain to a play and he stares down your scantily clad torso like an audience in awe. 

His hand moves on its own as he admires you. It dips into the waistband of your sweatpants and swipes over your clothed clit.

 Your head falls forward to rest on his shoulder with a quiet moan as he groans into the air. Your grip on his cock tightens a bit in response to the sensation and he hisses. “Please tell me I can feel you. Is it okay? Can I?” 

He doesn't want your first time to be here but he wants you. He needs you. 

Hyunjin hooks a finger into the damp gusset of your panties and pulls it to the side just enough to slip a finger into your waiting cunt. You pant in his ear, wanton moans bubble over the brim of your lips as his free hand cradles the side of your neck. “Look at me, please look at me, baby.”

 He runs his thumb over your cheek, brushing over the path of your dried tears. “So pretty, this must be a dream.” You shake your head. Speaking between moans. “Not a dream, baby.”

 He slips in another finger as you circle your palm over the head of his cock and you both moan. “Please tell me I can.” He leans his forehead against yours, his desperate eyes reflect the look in your own.

“You can. Please, I want you to.” 

“Have you ever thought about it?” He’s asking before he can process it and you’re shaking your head before he can even finish his sentence. A shy glaze washes over your desperate gaze as you watch him undress you.

 “You’re all I ever think about.” He whispers as he hooks his thumbs into the band of your pants. “You’re all I’ve wanted for the past year.” 

“I’ve loved you since my birthday.” You blurt out, vulnerable eyes peering into his. “Maybe even before that.” He runs a finger over your clothed cunt and you shudder under the touch.

“I wanted to kiss you the night of your birthday. You looked so beautiful but you were wasted. You wouldn’t have remembered. I just stared at you, I took your make-up off and I brushed the hair from your face and you stared back at me. I was just dying to kiss you. I was dying to confess.” Your hand runs slowly up his shaft and he swears that he feels electric. 

“I wanted to kiss you too.” He’s quiet, staring back at you with a smile. “That’s why I was staring”

“I kissed your forehead when you fell asleep.”  He pulls your panties down your legs, allowing them to pool at his feet with your sweatpants. “I knelt by your bed and whispered my confession to you.” 

His fingers are filling you again and you gasp while staring into his eyes. “I wanna hear it.” You whisper through a moan.

 “You want to hear my confession?” You nod, your gently fucked out gaze stares into his like your hypnotized by the moment. He scissors his finger into you, stretching you out just a bit before you’re gasping from the stretch of him replacing his fingers with his length. 

“Fuck, you’re inside of me.” Hyunjin stills with a groan. His forehead rests on your shoulder while he silently begs himself not to come undone just yet. He sucks in a breath before he recites all that he can remember. 

“You’re everything that I thought it would be to fall in love.” He whispers as he pulls back, thrusting into you slowly. “You really snuck up on me, I don’t know what I expected though.” He lifts his head to look at you as he sinks back into you. “You became my world so quickly. So effortlessly.”

 You cup his face with both of your hands as you bite back your moans. You want to hear him loud and clear. You want to remember every word. “I should’ve known that I’d fall in love when I first met you.” He picks up the pace, falling into a messy rhythm that’s accompanied by a fit of moans and grunts. 

He struggles to keep his eyes on you. They flutter shut with each thrust as he feels himself float closer and closer to his climax. “Baby, I won’t last.” You wrap your arms around his neck and one of his wraps around your waist while the other rests on your thigh before creeping over to softly pinch and rub your clit. 

“Hyune, you’re gonna make me - gonna -” He cuts you off with a sloppy kiss, his tongue brushes over your parted lips to request access before making room for itself against yours.

“If you tell me that you’re gonna cum I won’t last another second.” He whispers against your lips and you moan against his.

“What if I tell you that I love you.” Hyunjin’s eyebrows pinch at the confession. That’s way worse than telling him that you’re close. “I’ve loved you back for as long as - as long as you’ve loved me.”

“Rose, baby, you’re gonna -” It’s your turn to kiss him now, it’s a mess of teeth and tongue but you love it. You love him and him you.

 You both pull away in tandem, twin moans ripping through your chests as you both announce yourself to the other. 

“I’m cumming, I’m cumming.” Hyunjin pulls out of you, painting your thighs in his sticky white release while his fingers toy with your clit to ride you through your orgasm. It’s loud and messy and beautiful. A romantic elegance that you want to live in for as long as it’s available. 

Once you’ve both come down from your high Hyunjin kisses your sweaty forehead and you kiss his. He pulls his bottoms up before grabbing the cleanest paint rag he has to clean you up. A comfortable silence settles around you as you ground yourself and take in the space.

“You didn’t finish that one.”

He follows your gaze over to the painting of the pale pink rose. The middle of the canvas contrasts the rest with nothing but dull line art to show the completed picture. It looks like a work in progress. “I know, but I think I like it like that.” He looks back over at you and you at him.

“It looks like you."

It’s been seven months. Graduation has come and gone in the middle of your blooming relationship with Hyunjin and you’ve dedicated each and every second of your budding love to taming the flame. 

Each kiss from him has kept the spark of fear at bay and each touch has taught you how to stop running. It’s been a slow and cautious process that he is more than proud to be a part of. He takes pride in it. He takes pride in being with you.

The smooth breeze of late summer brushes against your skin as you step out of your car. The white dress that Hyunjin picked out for you sticks to you like paint on a canvas as you make your way up to the art gallery. 

It’s buzzing inside, people stand and stare in awe at each piece while whispering and pointing to their favorite details. You stop and stand in the middle of it all, taking it all in with a slow spin on the balls of your feet. You take in every corner until you turn around completely and you’re met with the face of the artist himself. 

“Hi.” Hyunjin smiles down at you, brown baggy flannel hanging from his shoulders. 

“Hi.” You stare back at him with a gleaming smile in your eyes. You take in every inch of him, scanning him like he should be framed and hanging on the walls around you. 

“Why are you staring at me like that?” Hyunjin wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him. “I like staring at you.” Your response makes him beam a shy smile. 

“You should be staring at the art. The artist might get sad if you don’t.” He kisses your forehead before letting you go. Some people around you stare over at the two of you with curious eyes. They’re eager to put a face to the muse of the showing artist. 

You take his hand and lead him over to the piece that a couple is walking away from. You stand in front of it hand in hand as you study it for what feels like the millionth time. “This one is my favorite.” The incomplete pale pink rose stares back at you.

“And why is that?” Hyunjin has that smile in his eyes as he stares up with you. The memory of this piece's origin plays behind his eyes like a memorized movie. 

“I’ve been told that it looks like me.” You lay your head on his shoulder and wrap your arm around his. A chill runs up his spine and he blames it on you. You and the love he feels glowing pink and white around you. 

“There you are.” History repeats itself as the lady that you’ve come to know as Dalia interrupts the two of you. “I wanted to check in with you, how does it feel to finally have your own exhibition?” 

Hyunjin smiles at her politely, turning towards her a bit with his fingers still threaded through yours. “It’s amazing. Thank you, you’ve done a wonderful job putting this together.” 

“Oh, please, it’s nothing. This is all you.” You watch her as her eyes smile just as they always have. Her hand brushes over his arm in a carefully calculated move. She’s still shameless and unprofessional. “This piece is my favorite. The unfinished look is unique and raw. What inspired this one?” 

You grin to yourself as you listen to her. She’s trying so hard that it’s difficult not to laugh. 

“Actually.” Hyunjin pulls your hand a bit, leading you forward so that you’re right next to him. It’s impossible for Dalia to ignore you now. Her eyes scan you reluctantly and the smile on her face falters for a second before she pulls it together. Gosh, that's gratifying. 

“My lovely rose here is the inspiration for it all.” Hyunjin looks over at you with a glow that is unmatched even by the largest of flames. “None of this would be possible without her.” 

It’s like Dalia disappears once Hyunjin looks over at you. You’re the only two in the room as far as you’re concerned. “Oh, well that’s just - that’s wonderful.” Her staggered speech pulls you both out of your loving haze. 

“Such a … sweet profession of love.” She glares over at you though you’re sure that in her head she’s doing a wonderful job at hiding her contempt. “I should make sure that everything is running smoothly. Please excuse me.” 

She clears her throat awkwardly before she departs, you and Hyunjin both bid her smiling farewells before turning to each other with wide smiles. “Show off.” You push his shoulder playfully and he laughs.

“I didn’t do anything.” You roll your eyes as you both wander over to the next piece on the wall. You stare up at the two pink roses in a lone vase, a shadow of sunlight casts down on them both as they rise towards its shining glow. 

A comfortable silence blankets the two of you while you listen to the soft buzz of the people around you. You squeeze his hand softly and he squeezes back just as you open your mouth to speak. 

“She still wants to fuck you.” He smiles 

“Shut up.”

Thank you for reading! I'd love to know what you thought about this fic! Leave a comment or send an ask to let me know! ❣️

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[vervainandspritz]

JUST ANOTHER OF YOUR MISTAKES

Thomas Shelby x Reader

Warnings: angst, swearing, violence, grieving, a lot of pain, eventual fluff, smut

A/N: thanks for reading guys

PART ONE PART TWO PART THREE

~~

Y/N was never a light sleeper, but this particular time waking up felt way more difficult than usual. Her head was hurting from all the crying and the last thing she could remember was Tommy holding her against his chest and the familiar scent of his cologne mixed with his own unique scent before she nodded off, unable to handle the recent events.

“Mrs. Shelby, you're awake” One of the maids spoke up with a gentle smile, putting a steaming tea on the nightstand by her side.

Sitting up, Y/N furrowed her eyebrows in confusion.

“I'm not a Shelby” She responded with more annoyance than she'd like.

“Oh” The older woman said with a hint of shame. “My apologies. Mr. Shelby asked to bring you tea and some pain relief tonic,”

Y/N nodded, thanking her quietly before she rose from the bed, looking around. The room looked familiar in a less than pleasurable way, just like the clothes she was wearing. Sighing deeply she walked out of the room, seeing the dark corridor of the places she once called home.

After getting refreshed and dressed, Y/N walked toward the grand staircase. She stopped cold, feeling goosebumps running through her spine in the worst possible way when she saw the monumental portrait of Thomas and her in the stairwell. One she used to see everyday. The eyes on the portrait looked as lively as ever, mocking the pain she held in her chest every time she saw it. There she was, the former lady of the house, laying claim to her domain even from the grave. The longer she stared at her, the more she felt Grace was taunting her. “You may have been his woman once, but I have his heart and his ring on my finger now.” The words rang in her ears, coming from the depths of her memory, loud as the day she heard them for the first time. Y/N couldn't seem to be able to tear her gaze away, silently battling the ghost that seemed to curse her relationship forever.

She stood there for a long moment, immersed in the painting so much that she didn't realise she was being watched.

Thomas stood in the doorway on the other side of the corridor, watching her silently losing the battle as shame gnawed on his insides. He should have thrown it away long ago, but it was the last thing on his mind as he desperately looked for Y/N everywhere. The dead woman on his wall wasn't a big concern.

“You're awake” He spoke up, unable to handle the silence anymore.

She turned around, almost startled, as he caught her staring at her. The first thing she noticed were the glasses on his nose, and she fought against the little smirk that tried to appear on her lips so badly.

“What am I doing here? Where are the boys?” She asked, straight to the point. Thomas shifted from foot to foot awkwardly, knowing she wouldn't be happy with the news.

“Boys are with Frances upstairs, playing.” He responded, looking her in the eyes. “You're not safe outside of Arrow house. You three need to stay here until the vendetta is over.”

“What if you had more men surrounding my flat instead?” Y/N bargained.

“It’s too dangerous and I need my men concentrated not spread out over cities” he replied, already prepared for the questions he knew she'd ask.

She wanted to argue so badly. Y/N wanted to be free from him and the reminders of the past that this house held. But she knew that receiving a black hand was a serious threat she didn’t have the capacity to handle by herself.

“The only reason I'm not leaving right now is because I need to keep them safe.” She said, stepping closer. “...and if anything happens to us, I want you to know that it's all your fault.”

Despite knowing and seeing the pure hatred in her eyes, Thomas could never fully brace himself for the impact of her words.

“Nothing will happen to any of you. I give you my word” He said, quieter this time.

“Your word means nothing to me, Thomas. Just… just stay away from us as much as possible.” Y/N added, wanting to walk away.

“You can't expect me to stay away. They.. are my kids. My sons.” He said suddenly, and the confidence and fierceness of his voice made her stop in her tracks. “I regret losing you every single day. Every day I grieved the loss of my bloody heart, and then I found out there's three I should have been grieving. But you're here, and so are they. So I won't let yo–them go.” He hissed out, almost frantically and the vulnerability in his eyes made her slightly tremble. It hurt even more, because she waited so long to hear.. anything. Any crumb of reassurance would be enough to keep her here, but he didn't say a fucking word.

Straightening her back, Y/N inhaled a deep breath, looking back at the bloody portrait who was witnessing the whole scene. Seconds later she looked at him again, and the fire in his eyes was more lively, outweighing the dead, judgemental stare.

“They won't call you their father. If you break this rule, you won't see us again.”

***

The next day Y/N woke up, bracing herself for another battle as she walked down the stairs and to her surprise, the portrait was… gone. Her heart thumped wildly at the realisation and she couldn't believe her eyes. Suddenly the tension in the house seemed to have lessened.

Walking to the kitchen, she noticed Thomas sitting by the table with a cup of coffee and a cigarette in his hand, as he read the newspaper. It felt weirdly domesticated and the thought alone made her smirk.

“Did the boys eat?” She asked, not sure what to expect.

“Frances fed them an hour ago. Tommy is napping in the living room, and Nick is picking daisies with Mary in the garden.” He responded in a calm tone, not tearing his gaze away from the newspaper.

Silence hung in the air as they each did their own thing

Finishing up her breakfast, Y/N cleared her throat again as she looked at the wall in front of her.

“The portrait is gone” She pointed out in an emotionless voice, not looking at him. A couple longer moments passed before she heard him exhale a cloud of smoke.

“What portrait? He responded, and Y/N’s lips stretched into a subtle smile before she grabbed her plate and walked away.

A couple days later Y/N still avoided him, occasionally getting to talk to John or Arthur, but both of them were distracted by the giant threat hanging over the family. Polly seemed to keep it together the best, coming over whenever she felt like it for some female company.

Y/N said her goodbyes to Polly, going to put the cups into the sink and cleaning the mess after Nick. She wasn't used to having maids doing everything for her, so it was more comfortable to just clean the mess herself. Nick himself was currently spending time with his uncles by the stables, and Tommy was… who knows where.

After cleaning, Y/N went looking for the other boy, asking Frances who just directed her to the little room where the toys were stored.

She expected everything, but not the view she saw arriving in the doorway. Little Tommy sat back on his legs, watching with wide eyes and furiously colouring the different shapes Thomas drew for him.

“Dat?” Tommy asked suspiciously, pointing towards the crooked flower on the paper and glancing at him with big eyes.

“This?” He asked with a grin, “that's a flower” he explained, to which the boy nodded, narrowing his eyes lightly.

“...and dat?!” He asked suddenly in a squeaky tone, seeing the car Thomas drew for him.

“That's a car. Almost” He chuckled, seeing the crooked shapes as he tried his very best.

Tommy nodded, grinning in the same way as his father before glancing at his mum.

“Hi!” He waved, before pointing to the flower again. “fwowa!” he said proudly, pushing his little chest forward.

Thomas just laughed quietly, putting the pencil down.

“Good job, little man” he said, before slowly rising from the floor with a groan.

“Oh God, I'm too old for this” He whispered with a chuckle, glancing at Y/N who wasn't able to suppress the smile on her face after she heard Tommy talk. “Don't smile like that, now it's your turn.” Thomas added, passing by her in the doorway, his shoulder brushing against hers.

***

The next couple weeks were… rougher. Changretta was relentless in his search, which turned into a couple of seriously dangerous situations where John got shot in the chest barely coming out alive. Polly didn't agree with a lot of Thomas' actions, despite his inability to back off right now. He stood his ground, no matter how difficult it was sometimes to keep Y/N inside Arrow house whenever worse moments would arrive. And they did, fairly frequently.

The pull he felt became stronger and stronger, no matter how many daggers she kept throwing. Spewing the words she held deep inside, reminding him of the monster he used to be… or maybe still was? He couldn't tell. The view in the reflection of his mirror was so blurry, that it didn't matter. As long as she saw him to be fit enough to be around boys.

The house was completely quiet as he made his way through the corridor, lacking the usual sounds of kids playing or Y/N walking from one room to the other. Walking past the library, he caught a glimpse of light coming from the room that made him stop in his tracks.

His hands trembled with anxiety. The fear settled in his ribs over three years ago and hasn't left him once, even though they were here.

Thomas was aware of how powerless he was once the vendetta was over. The thought of them leaving the house and never coming back was making his heart squeeze painfully, reminding him of the privilege he once had, but gave it up willingly. The fear was like a loop, tightening around his throat with each passing day as he grew comfortable coming home and seeing them here.

Walking into the library, Thomas was completely quiet, wanting nothing but to see her if it was all he could count on. He was completely unaware of the fact that she always felt his presence. Sometimes letting him stay, and other times making him leave so desperately that made him wonder whether it was possible to day from a broken heart.

Step after step he tried to control his shallow breathing as he finally saw her. Standing by the big shelf, he traced over the backs of books standing there for so long, it felt like they were always there.

“You wouldn't like that one” He spoke up quietly, noticing how she didn't even budge hearing his voice. It took a longer moment before she replied.

“How so?” Her voice was calm, light-hearted as she found herself lost in the countless stories filling up the wooden shelves. The nagging thoughts in his mind disappeared the second he heard her voice.

“Because you don't like uncertainty. It's filled with unanswered questions and has an open ending.” He thought for a moment before replying, well aware of the content of this book, because he read them all. In the moments of despair, trying to hold onto every scrap of feelings in the house so empty, it felt like nobody lived inside.

Sighing deeply, Y/N put the book back in its place, grabbing another one.

“Nobody likes uncertainty, Thomas. Holding onto the moment, unsure of what's to come.” She sighed, hearing his slow footsteps approaching. “A book is just a book. You can close it, and move onto another one anytime. If only life was just as easy.”

Silence in the room caused the whole scenery to become more intimate, unexpectedly even for him. Stopping mere inches behind her, he watched the back of her head for a moment, remembering the nightmares he had every night. Ones where he couldn't reach her, no matter how he tried.

His breath caught in his throat as he slowly raised his hand, moving it closer and closer towards her shoulder. Inches away, he noticed the goosebumps covering her skin. Without looking he reached out to the shelf, grasping onto the book he knew by heart, while his arm brushed against her own.

He stood close, too close, and Y/N knew it too well, yet she couldn't bring herself to make him leave or pull away. The way he trembled as his chest pressed lightly against her back made her stand still.

“You'd love this one” He whispered, not feeling brave enough to speak loudly. The uncertainty they talked about he knew better than anything else.

Her breathing became heavier, feeling him so close, the tingling on her skin she hadn't felt for so long almost made her flinch. Slowly, she turned around facing him.

This, Thomas didn't expect as she suddenly looked up, their eyes meeting in a gaze long forgotten, yet still alive and lively as when they looked for the first time.

“I don't read anymore” She confessed quietly, and his eyes couldn't help but watch her lips intently. The way they wrapped around the words she spoke.

The urge to grab and hold her closer was strong, almost too strong. Tommy tilted his head to the side, getting a better look at her face in the dim light.

“I can read it to you” He offered quietly, as it was the closest she allowed him to… just be near her.

So he waited, scared of ruining the moment as she moved closer. Their noses brushing against each other.

“I wanted you to speak, not read.” The sound of her voice was like the most beautiful music he ever got to listen to, even though the words were far from it. “...but now it's too late, and you're standing too close.” her breath touched his lips, taunting.

…and then she pulled away, leaving him standing there. Slowly making her way out of the library.

“You're cruel” He said, loud enough for Y/N to hear.

***

Y/N opened her eyes suddenly, sitting up as she took a deep breath, desperately trying to blink away the nightmare she had. The clock showed three AM in the morning, and her heart was pounding from the fear she felt. One she rarely felt anymore, feeling as Thomas was taking it over day by day, despite her unwillingness to share anything. Even the broken, ugly parts he ruined.

His cold eyes kept looking at her in the dream, so unfazed by the idea of her absence. The humiliation turned into physical tears rolling down her cheeks as the memories clouded her reasoning.

Getting up from her bed, she remembered the way he touched her. Avoiding her eyes, throwing his head back. Not bothering to bare himself, so eager to take but never give. Forcing her to pour from a completely empty cup.

Her bare feet were cold against the floor as she quickly made her way through the corridor, knowing where she'd find him. Swiftly opening the door to his office, Y/N didn't bother to say a word or wipe her tears away as she quickly walked up, not looking him in the eyes.

“Y/N?” He asked, taking his glasses off and setting them on his desk while she suddenly pulled him back, creating more space to straddle his lap. Tears kept streaming in a smaller amount, but never ending as she ripped his shirt open, baring his chest.

“What are you–” He tried to speak up, but she didn't let him, as she pressed her lips against his so aggressively his breath caught in his throat.

Pulling on his belt she unbuckled it skillfully, a motion she knew too well from all these years ago. The inner pain burned her chest as she kissed and bit him, while pushing his arms away.

“Shut up” She hissed, as the humiliation from the memories took over her mind. The shame of giving and never asking for more. Of being taken and left without any rest. Pulling his pants open she stroked him impatiently, doing just enough to get him going. It wasn't difficult, as he was the only man she ever slept with, knowing his habits and body more than she'd care to admit.

Her nails raked over his throat and chest, ripping a deep groan from his throat.

He didn't dare to ask, feeling and giving everything she wanted to take. Despite the burning, the physical attraction and need she felt was stronger, her arousal glistening and visible as she lined him up with her entrance, not caring enough to be slow or subtle as she sank down on him fully. A subtle moan pushed past her lips as she squeezed her eyes tightly, doing the same thing he used to.

His eyes were wide open, taking the beautiful sight of her on top of him, but the expression on her face made him hurt so badly, he thought he might not survive. He reached out, wanting her to look at him, but she refused, keeping her eyes squeezed tightly as she moved on top of him frantically chasing her release.

“Y/N” He begged quietly, as her hands wrapped around his throat, squeezing to cause pain.

“I hate you. I hate you so much” She whimpered, as his fingers dug into her thighs.

“Please” He whispered, and she let go of his throat, digging her nails into his shoulders.

Thomas wanted to reach out to wipe her tears away, but he knew she wouldn't let him.

So he leaned forward, his forehead pressing against her collarbone when he let out a shaky breath.

“I love you” He whispered weakly, holding her tightly as she haven't stopped moving even for a second, brimming on the edge.

“I hate you. I fucking hate you” She cried out, opening her eyes as she looked down at him, meeting his gaze. His eyes were half lidded but he didn't give up, staring and repeating like mantra.

“I love you” kept spilling from his lips as she reached her peak, causing him to follow right after as they reached the release.

His head fell forward, tears escaping his tired eyes as she quickly got off of him, leaving him without a word.

***

Y/N was growing increasingly restless inside of the Arrow House. Her days had been filled with reading and finding activities to keep her sons occupied, which took less time than usual, as Thomas took every opportunity to spend time with them. There was one room she had only been in once prior on this visit. She shuddered at the memory of her desperate conflicted intimacy with Thomas. Y/N knew that room would hold a concentrated form of his presence and essence, even more so after that night. She wasn’t sure if she felt strong enough to enter his sanctum again, but while Thomas was away on business and her boys were having their afternoon nap, the curiosity overcame her hesitation as she entered his space.

It was incredibly… him with deep mahogany furnishings and sumptuous emerald accents. During that night, she had paid no attention to the surroundings in the office - only to him and her inner emotions. Slowly she went deeper into his study, turning on a lamp at his desk. She could picture him here with those round glasses on, absorbed in matters of business both legitimate and less so. To the side of his desk was a small curio cabinet filled with antiquities and presumably family mementos. It hardly garnered a second thought from her until she noticed a figurine on the top shelf next to an old photograph of Thomas and his siblings. It was the figurine.

Before the war, before everything changed, she and Thomas would wander around Birmingham together - young and full of optimism. Both their families were poor and doing their best to survive in the cruel world, but they were the dreamers of their respective clans. He and Y/N often visited a certain shop that sold trinkets and collectables. Y/N yearned to be able to spend money on frivolous little objects like these one day. There was a specific figurine that she longed to own: a porcelain ballerina with graceful fingers and a white and pink lace ruffled skirt. She thought ballerinas were the most fairy-like women that walked the Earth. Of course neither of them could afford such a beautifully crafted figurine, but Y/N swore that one day they would walk in that shop and purchase her ballerina without a second thought to the cost.

That never happened, yet here it was, that same figurine she had seen so many years before sitting in Thomas’ curio cabinet in his most sacred space of his home. She didn’t know what it meant, but she felt tears prick her eyes at the reminder of those beautiful days from their youth. If only they could be like that again. If only the war and the turmoil after it hadn’t soured the tender young love they had known.

“I see you found your way back to my study” Thomas’ deep voice called from the doorway. Y/N was startled. She had been so lost in her memories and feelings that she hadn’t noticed his presence. She shifted awkwardly.

“Yeah, it seems like it.” She responded, glancing towards the curio cabinet. He slowly came up closer, a small grin on his face.

“What did you find?” Thomas asked, tilting his head to the side. Of course he knew what she saw, but wanted to hear it.

“I can’t believe you remembered my ballerina” Y/N said, not meeting his gaze.

“I went back to the shop to get it, but old Mr. Jones said he’d sold it years before. It took some hunting, but I eventually found her. I was hoping to someday show it to you, but… seems like you found her instead.”

“Why?” she questioned him in a small voice.

“Because this is how I remember you. You always said the ballerina was like a fairy or goddess come to Earth, but to me… when I saw that ballerina figure, I saw you.” Y/N’s eyes glistened with unshed tears as she glanced back towards the cabinet and then back at the man in front of her. Letting out a deep sigh, she wiped her eyes.

“Why now? Why did it take you so long to… to do this? Anything. I waited so long and… and now it's too late, Thomas.” She said, looking at him with an expression that crushed him. Feeling his breath hitch painfully, he felt his throat tightening. He had grieved over losing her and now that Y/N was physically here, she had never felt more far away from him.

After looking into her eyes for a longer moment, Tommy grabbed her hand, slowly straightening it against his palm while the other one reached to his holster, pulling out his gun. Y/N’s eyes widened, but his gaze remained locked on hers, not faltering.

Finally, he didn't feel the fear. Holding the loaded gun, he slowly shoved it into her smaller hand, aiming it forward before he closed his eyes. Pushing his forehead against the muzzle tightly, keeping her wrist upright.

“Then kill me.” He said out loud, the words hanging in the air for a moment. “Because otherwise I will never let you go, no matter how hard you try.”

Thanks for reading lol bye

@iilovedonnatartt @gentlebeari @narlytude @garrison-girl-08 @chaimaarouaine11 @bruhidkjustwannaread @reiwanwan @immyowndefender @jbrownta @honeymoon8

@dannysankletattoo

[sweettu1ips]

PAIGE BUECKERS x SINGER!FEM READER

SYNOPSIS: "The push and pull had always been intoxicating, a slow burn of control and surrender. But tonight, the rules shift—an unspoken goodbye lingering in the space where lips almost met."

WARNING(S): (18+) toxic relationship ⋮ situationship ⋮ hook-up buddies ⋮ fuck buddies ⋮ kissing ⋮ not exactly a happy ending, but if you like that reader got her lick back, then yes consider this a happy ending... ⋮ flashbacks to intimacy ⋮ not really sure what else I'm missing soo...

WORD COUNT: 6.7K

| MAIN MASTER LIST ⋮ VELVET TRACES [P2] |

THE THING ABOUT PAIGE BUECKERS is that she doesn’t do attachment. Not in the way that matters. Not in the way I wanted.

She’s like a storm that never settles, all presence and pressure, rolling in heavy and hot before vanishing like she was never there at all. A name whispered in locker rooms, an echo in arenas, a breath against my neck in the dead of night. She loves like a shadow—only seen when the lights are dim, only felt in fleeting touches that never sink past the surface.

I should’ve known better.

But how could I, when Paige is all adrenaline and honeyed words, wrapped up in a body that moves like poetry, lips that turn even the most fleeting moments into something that sears? She’s a habit, a high, a hands-on-my-hips, teeth-against-my-skin kind of addiction that I can’t shake, no matter how many times I swear I will.

We started as nothing. Just a few run-ins at events, a reckless decision after too much tequila and neon lights bleeding into the early morning.

 Me, fresh off a sold-out tour, my name looping through radio stations like an anthem, still buzzing from the stage, from the energy, from the world’s obsession with me. 

Paige, the golden girl of the court, drowning in expectations but never once missing a shot. Our first time was impulsive, a collision of egos and sweat, hands grasping, mouths hungry, neither of us looking for anything more than the rush of it all.

And then it happened again. And again. Until suddenly, I had the code to Paige’s apartment, and she had a habit of pulling me into dark corners whenever our paths crossed.

It was easy. Until it wasn’t.

Because while Paige only ever wanted hands tangled in sheets and a body pressed to hers, I wanted something deeper. Something beyond the four walls of a dimly lit bedroom, beyond the stolen kisses and murmured goodbyes before dawn broke.

I wanted late-night conversations that didn’t end in tangled limbs. I wanted mornings where Paige didn’t slip away before the sun rose. I wanted to be something more than just a fleeting thrill, more than just a name she moaned into the dark before locking the door behind her.

But Paige?

She wanted nothing more than the sensation, the moment, the rush.

And I don’t know how much longer I can pretend that’s enough.

That’s how I found myself in the studio late at night, the soft hum of the city’s distant chatter filtering through the windows.

 The overhead lights cast a warm glow, the dim shadows stretching like the quiet ache in my chest. The walls around me, lined with instruments and sound equipment, felt both comforting and isolating at the same time, as though they had absorbed every secret I had whispered into the microphone over the years.

Two days had passed since I had last sent a message to Paige, the blue text bubble sitting unanswered on my phone. 

My thumb hovered over the screen, pausing just before tapping it to send another message—my emotions like a tangled wire, too complicated to be untangled with a few simple words. 

Every minute that passed without a reply felt like a bruise on my heart, a dull throb that seemed to sink deeper with each second.

The night was mine now, a time to drown out the ache, to lose myself in music. I sat at the keyboard, fingers brushing lightly against the keys, a note breaking the silence in the room. 

My mind wandered as the melody spilled from the ivory, filling the space between the notes. My thoughts slipped into the lyrics that had been playing on repeat in my mind— Would you hear me more if I whispered in your ear?

A small sigh escaped my lips, and I exhaled slowly, almost like I was trying to let go of the tension held within my lungs. My hands hovered above the piano once more, the next note suspended in the air, waiting for something, anything to push it into reality. 

I could feel the weight of the question—a question that had stayed in my mind since the moment Paige and I had begun drifting, a question I didn’t have the courage to ask aloud. 

Would Paige hear me? Would she understand me more if I approached things differently? Would the vulnerability, the quiet intimacy of whispering, make her more present in our connection? Would it make her feel wanted, or would it push her further away?

I bit down on my lip, the sudden wave of emotion flooding my chest. The lyrics replayed in my mind, Would you hear me more if I touch you right here? 

I didn’t mean to think about it like this, didn’t mean to feel the heat of the words burning in my veins, but the song had a way of weaving itself into my very skin, sinking under my bones.

 The “right here” was never a place—it was an act, an invitation, a vulnerable plea for attention, for connection. I could picture it: my fingertips barely grazing Paige’s skin, the tremor in my touch betraying the uncertainty in my heart. 

The thought of making that kind of contact—so close, so intimate—was both electrifying and terrifying.

I slowly stood, the music still playing in my mind, as my hand reached for the microphone stand. The cool metal against my palm felt oddly grounding. The intensity of my emotions surged, threatening to spill over like an ocean crashing against the shore. 

I couldn’t stop it. I leaned into the microphone, my breath steadying, and whispered softly, “Ah, ah.” It was just a sound, a simple exhale into the space around me, but in that moment, it felt like I had said everything I needed to.

 The vulnerability of the sound echoed, filling the room. A sensation of wanting, of longing, crept up my spine.

I moved to the center of the room, the dim light casting shadows across the floor, and closed my eyes, my body swaying with the rhythm in my chest. My hands floated just above my skin, as if reaching for something that was just out of reach. 

Would it be enough if I reached out and touched someone, poured my desires into every delicate movement? Would it be enough if I brushed my lips against their skin, against their thoughts, the weight of every unspoken word shared in the air between us? The question lingered, as heavy as the silence that hung in the room.

I exhaled slowly again, this time with more certainty, as if releasing the tension that had built up between Paige and me, between myself and the world around me. 

I wasn’t sure if this would be enough—if this small act of touching, of whispering, would ever be enough to bridge the gap of distance that had formed between us.

But there was something about the act of letting go, of offering myself in the quietest way, that made it feel like I could be heard. Even if it was only by myself.

My fingers brushed the strings of the guitar by my side, the soft strum of the chord filling the space with its melancholic sound.

It was almost as if the act of playing the song was a silent plea—a desire to be understood, to be touched not just physically, but emotionally, in ways that words couldn’t express. 

My heart raced, the lyrics flowing through me as if they were written just for me. Would you hear me more?

I paused, letting the silence settle in. I wasn't sure if I was ready to hear the answer. But in this moment, in the stillness of the room, I let myself be vulnerable, letting the music carry my thoughts into the night.

I snapped out of the haze, the weight of the emotions that had overwhelmed me suddenly lifting, replaced by a sharp, determined clarity.

My heart, still thudding in my chest, quieted as I reached for my phone on the corner of the desk, the cold screen feeling almost foreign against my palm.

 My fingers fumbled for a moment, as if they were still tangled in the last few lingering chords of the song that had played over and over in my mind, but soon found their place.

The familiar touch of the phone felt grounding, like a lifeline pulling me back to reality.

I pressed the call button, the sound of it ringing filling the silence, each ring seeming to echo my anticipation, my nervousness, my need for something—anything— to move forward.

It was as if I was trying to shake off the last remnants of the vulnerability I had just laid bare. I couldn’t stay here, lost in my head any longer.

When the line finally clicked, the voice on the other end greeted me with that familiar, steady calm, “Hey, it’s me.”

I exhaled sharply, as if releasing all the tension I hadn’t known I was holding in. “How fast can you get to the studio?” The words came out faster than I had intended, but they carried an edge—urgent, a little desperate. My voice shook, just barely, the slight crack betraying the layers beneath the surface.

I could hear the slight rustle of movement through the phone, as if my producer was shifting his position, maybe setting his coffee cup down, or running a hand through his hair.

It didn’t matter. I could feel the moment stretching between us, filling the space with an electric charge. I wasn’t even sure if I was asking for help, for direction, or for something else entirely, but the need was undeniable.

My hand, still gripping the phone, tightened around it as I gazed out the studio window, my eyes scanning the night outside. The city’s lights twinkled in the distance, just a blur of movement that felt so far away, so detached from the chaos inside me. 

I was still on edge, still haunted by the unresolved feeling that had settled in my chest like a heavy weight. Paige. The distance between us. The things left unsaid. The longing that pressed against my ribs, urging me to do something, to make a choice.

But in this moment, I needed to focus. I had to focus. I wasn’t ready to dive back into my thoughts about her, about us. Not now.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves. “I’m not sure what I’m doing, but I need to get this out,” I admitted, my voice a little softer now. The honesty slipped through, unintended but there all the same.

 My eyes shifted over the studio, taking in the dim lights, the instruments scattered around like pieces of a puzzle I wasn’t sure how to solve. The walls that had once felt so comforting now seemed like they were closing in on me, the air thicker with the weight of my feelings.

The producer’s voice came through again, low and calm, but with an undercurrent of reassurance. “I’ll be there in 20.”

I nodded instinctively, even though I knew he couldn’t see me. A sigh of relief escaped me, and I finally let my shoulders drop, feeling the tension melt away, bit by bit. It wasn’t over, I knew that. 

The song I was trying to create, the emotions I was trying to channel, the unresolved ache that lingered—it was all still there, pressing at the edges of my mind. But I had made the decision. I was going to push forward, try to create something, anything, to move past the confusion and the frustration.

As I hung up, the weight of the room felt just a little lighter. I wasn’t completely sure where I was heading with the song, but in this moment, it didn’t matter. The only thing I knew for certain was that I had to keep moving, keep creating. Maybe in the music, I would find the answers. Or maybe, just maybe, the answers would find me.

𖥔 A WEEK LATER 𖥔

The air was thick with anticipation, the bass from the speakers humming through my body like a second heartbeat. Backstage, I stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the strap of my top—minimal, yet enough. 

The dim glow of the vanity lights flickered against my skin, casting shadows that felt almost poetic. The weight of the moment pressed down on me, but not in a suffocating way. It was exhilarating. Electric. Like standing at the edge of a storm, just waiting for the thunder to crash.

For the last week, I had poured myself into two songs. Every lyric, every melody had come faster than ever, flowing through me like something inevitable. Like I was supposed to write them.

 Like they had been waiting for me to put them into words. I hadn’t released them yet, holding onto them for this moment—this night—when I could perform them live for the first time. A choice that was far from accidental.

I ran a hand through my hair, inhaling deeply, trying to shake the gnawing feeling in my chest. It had been almost a week since I had last spoken to Paige. Since she walked away. Since I stood there, silent, replaying every word, every sharp edge of our argument, over and over.

"You act like this is more than what it is," she had said, her voice edged with something I couldn’t quite place—frustration, maybe. Or indifference. "But it’s not. We’re not. You know that."

I remembered the way she had looked at me, the way something flickered across her face just before she turned and walked away. Like she knew exactly what she was doing. Like she knew her words would stick to me, get under my skin, wrap around my ribs and refuse to let go.

I clenched my jaw, blinking away the memory as I exhaled sharply.

The arena was dark, thick with anticipation. A low, pulsing hum vibrated through the air, rattling through the floor beneath my feet. The crowd was already screaming, their voices blending into a chaotic symphony of excitement, but they hadn’t seen me yet. 

Not yet.

A single spotlight flickered on, illuminating nothing but the stage floor. The massive LED screen behind it came alive with static, glitching shapes and distorted visuals flashing in time with the deep bass that rumbled through the venue like a heartbeat. The sound of distant sirens echoed—warped, haunting, looping. A breathy, distorted voice whispered my name, stretched and layered over itself until it sounded surreal, hypnotic.

This—this performance—was my way of getting the last word in.

Maybe Paige would see it as an eye-opener. Maybe she’d see it as an attempt to get under her skin. Truthfully? I couldn’t give a single fuck.

What mattered was the music. The stage. The way the lights would hit just right, the way the crowd would scream the lyrics back to me, their voices colliding with mine in a way that felt almost sacred. 

And the fact that I looked good. No—better than good. The deep purple lace hugged my frame just right, the dark fabric catching the glow of the stage lights in flashes as I moved.

A crew member signaled that it was time, and my pulse quickened, the air around me shifting. The venue was packed—thousands of bodies pressed together, waiting, the energy buzzing like static in the air. And right at the heart of it all—Madison Square Garden. The place where it all started. Where we started.

The music built slowly, a heartbeat turning into a racing pulse, synths creeping in like something alive. The fog machines hissed, rolling thick waves of smoke across the stage, swallowing the floor in shadows. And then—just for a second—total silence.

The arena went pitch black.

Suddenly..

The bass dropped. A blinding flash of white light strobed through the venue in sync with the first beat, illuminating me for the first time, standing center stage. Head down. Eyes closed. The breath of the moment curling in my lungs.

The screen behind me glitched again—flashes of old, grainy footage, a mix of blurred city lights, broken reflections in puddles, flashes of hands, lips, fleeting touches. Her silhouette. The past bleeding into the present.

A deep, sultry voice—mine, but distorted—spoke over the mic, just two words:

"You watching?"

And then—violins.

Soft at first, delicate, but haunting. They floated through the venue like a slow drip of honey, smooth, entrancing, weaving their way through the charged air. The LED screens behind me shifted—deep purple and black, slow-motion imagery of silk slipping off bare skin, fingers ghosting over lace.

The first beat crept in underneath, a subtle pulse beneath the strings.

Then the drums hit, and the violins swelled, twisting into something richer, more dangerous.

The lights flickered, shifting to deep reds and violets as the beat intensified, climbing into something sultry, hypnotic. The bass curled through the melody like smoke, smooth but intoxicating, pulling the entire track into the kind of rhythm that demanded to be felt.

I let the moment stretch just long enough—let the tension coil, let the crowd feel the buildup in their chests, waiting, craving.

And then, just as the beat fully dropped, I moved.

Hips swaying, chin lifted, gaze locked forward.

The mic brushed my lips, and I let the first words spill out.

“I been singin’, I been screamin’...

“...I been goin’ all night till my throat’s bleeding” 

If she was watching, good.

Because this time, I was saying everything I never got the chance to.

The LED screens flicker to life behind me—glitching city lights, reflections rippling in puddles, fleeting hands skimming over skin. A fragmented memory playing for thousands to see.

And then—my voice.

"Did my purple lace bra catch your attention?

Uh Yeah, the look in your eye made me question."

The words drip from my lips like honey, smooth, effortless, but laced with something deeper. Something raw. Something meant for only one person.

And somewhere above—watching, devouring—Paige.

She's here. Actually here, in New York. In the VIP section, perched above the stage with the best view in the house. I don’t see her at first, too lost in the rhythm, in the way my body moves in sync with the dancers around me. 

The choreography is sultry, deliberate, every step calculated. When I drag my fingers down my torso, lingering just slightly against the purple lace that clings to me, the crowd screams—but only one gaze matters.

Paige.

And the second I finally lock eyes with her—piercing blue, locked onto me with a fire that burns even through the darkness—I feel it.

The shift.

Her gaze settles on me like she owns me, like every movement is hers to consume. And then the realization hits—I see it in the way her lips part slightly, in the way her fingers tighten around the glass in her hand—this is a new song. 

She hasn’t heard these words before. Hadn’t known until now just how deep this ran.

A memory flashes, one neither of us could ever forget.

Me, sprawled against silk sheets, bathed in moonlight, wearing this same shade of purple. The lace barely covering me, teasing just enough to make Paige lose her mind. 

The way she had whispered against my skin that night—God, you’re wearing this just to kill me, aren’t you?

I had laughed then. But tonight? Tonight, I’m performing.

And Paige is watching.

"Would you hear me more if I whispered in your ear?

Made all my inner thoughts sound like, ‘Ah, ah’

Would you hear me more if I touch you right here? Made everythin' I want sound like, ‘Ah, ah.’"

The choreography intensifies, fluid, seductive. I roll my hips, arch into the movement, dragging my hands down my curves before flipping my hair back, locking eyes with Paige again. There are thousands of people here, screaming my name, but I only care about one.

Paige’s grip tightens around her drink.

I smirk.

I feel the effect I have on her, see it in the way her chest rises and falls just a bit quicker, in the way her jaw tenses.

She’s unraveling.

And me? I’m going to make her feel every second of it.

"I could take it off for you and tell you what I'm goin' through, hm

'Cause my body positioning determines if you're listenin', ah-ah."

I turn, my dancers moving in sync with me as I twist my body, sinking into the rhythm. The choreography is intimate, teasing—slow rolls of the hips, fingers grazing down arms, lingering touches that set the stage ablaze. And the entire time, my eyes never leave Paige’s.

The flashbacks bleed into every lyric. Paige’s hands gripping my hips that first night, pulling me closer, our bodies pressed together in the dim glow of city lights. The way she had looked at me—like I was something to be worshiped.

And now?

Now, I’m untouchable.

"Did my dance on your lap pique your interest? Yeah

Now I got you like that, let me finish."

The words are a challenge. A reminder.

I run my fingers over my chest, pressing into the lace just enough to tease, enough to dare Paige to remember.

The chorus hits again, and I let myself sink into the song, into the power of it. Paige feels it—the way I own this moment, how every movement is meant to be felt, witnessed.

"I'm losin' my mind, I'm losin' my head

You only listen when I'm undressed

Hear what you like and none of the rest, 'est."

And Paige feels that lyric.

It’s the truth she never wanted to admit.

The way she ignored the things I actually needed to say, the words that got lost somewhere between tangled limbs and gasping breaths.

"I'm-I'm losin' my mind 'cause giving you head's

The only time you think I got depth."

Her stomach drops.

I see it—the way her fingers dig into her thigh, her jaw clenching so tightly I swear she might crack a tooth.

Because fuck.

This isn’t just a song. It’s us.

I know exactly what I’m doing, the way I sway my hips, run my fingers along my thighs. I let myself sink into the music, into the feeling of being desired.

And Paige?

Paige is trapped. Watching. Needing.

But this time, she doesn’t get to have me.

But this time, she didn’t get to have her.

The final notes linger in the air, and I let the moment hang. I let her sit with it, drowning in the weight of the lyrics, the weight of me.

Then, slowly, I tilted my head, eyes flickering up to Paige’s seat.

 I smirked.

And it was as if I knew— felt the way Paige was losing her mind, unraveling at the seams.

And then, just before the lights went dark, I mouthed one final thing.

“Still listening?”

Paige had actually sat through the whole concert—watching, studying, caught somewhere between lust, anger, and something heavier that neither of us had ever put a name to.

 Her eyes had been fixated on me the entire time, tracing every movement, every note I sang, her expression an unreadable mask of longing and frustration, the kind that simmered beneath the surface, never quite reaching the surface.

By the time I was done with my last set, she was already out of her seat, her body taut with tension as she stood.

 I thought, maybe, that this was it. Maybe this was the moment she would finally walk away, truly done with me for good.

But the second I hit backstage, pushing open the door to my dressing room, I realized how wrong I was.

There she was.

Paige was sprawled across the leather couch like she owned the place—legs casually spread, arms draped lazily over the backrest, her fingers barely curled as if she had all the time in the world. Her body was relaxed, but there was something predatory about her stillness, something that told me she had been waiting for this exact moment. 

Her head tilted slightly, eyes never leaving me, watching as the door swung open, revealing me in all my post-show glow. The rush of the performance still lingered in the air around me.

 My skin was flushed from the lights, damp strands of hair clung to my neck, and though my body ached from the show, I could feel the hum of my confidence still thrumming beneath the surface, energizing me, keeping me upright. But in an instant, that energy started to flicker, replaced by something I hadn’t prepared myself for.

My breath caught in my throat as our eyes met.

Everything stilled.

The cool, collected air that had surrounded me the entire night faltered for a second—just long enough for her to catch it. That self-assured smile I had walked in with faltered, just barely, enough to let her know she had the power to break me, to make me doubt every inch of the poise I had so carefully constructed.

The weight of the silence in the room pressed against me, the distance between us shrinking with each heartbeat.

I stood there for a moment longer than I meant to, the tension between us so thick that it felt like it could snap at any second. My final outfit of the night clung to me like it was made just for this moment—soft fabric molded to my form in a way that demanded attention. 

The mini skirt skimming the tops of my thighs, the hem dancing with each subtle movement, while the fitted top traced the curves of my torso, leaving just enough skin bare to tease, just enough to make her notice. 

The dark brown chunky platform boots I wore added an edge to my look, the weight of each step grounding me but also making me feel powerful in a way I couldn’t quite explain.

And all the while, Paige’s gaze was on me—slow and deliberate, her blue eyes tracing me from head to toe, each movement of her eyes sending heat pooling in my chest. Her expression remained unreadable—calm, controlled, like she was watching a masterpiece come to life, but there was something else there too. 

Something simmering just beneath the surface—an intensity I couldn’t look away from. It was like she was waiting for something to break. Waiting for me to break.

I could feel the pull of her gaze like gravity, dragging me toward her without a single word exchanged. It wasn’t just her eyes that had the power over me. It was the tension, the rawness, the fact that I had never really escaped her orbit, no matter how many times I thought I had.

And I knew then, just as I always had, that she was never really done with me.

She wasn’t just watching. She was studying. She was waiting. And I was no longer sure if I could fight it.

I broke eye contact with her, a scoff slipping from my lips before I even realized I was doing it. I rolled my eyes, not bothering to hide the annoyance that flickered beneath my skin. 

If she thought I was going to stand there, locked in some silent power struggle with her, she had another thing coming.

I turned my back to her and walked deeper into the room, letting the door swing shut with a sharp click behind me. The sound reverberated in the otherwise still air, cutting through the tension that had settled between us like a thick fog. 

My hips swayed with the rhythm of my steps, the heavy click of my platform boots echoing off the cement floor. The sensation of each boot hitting the ground felt grounding, like I could still control this situation, even if my heart was already betraying me.

I moved toward the vanity, not daring to look back at her. Not yet. I reached for the small mirror on the edge, adjusting it slightly, watching my own reflection instead of facing Paige’s unwavering gaze.

 I wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction of seeing how much she affected me, not tonight. Not when I was so close to losing myself to whatever this was between us.

I could feel her eyes burning into my back, unblinking, like a predator watching its prey. It wasn’t just the weight of her stare; it was the certainty that no matter how hard I tried, no matter how many walls I built around myself, she always knew how to break through them. 

She always knew where to strike. Her jaw was clenched tight, her body unmoving, but I could feel the tension radiating off her in waves.

 She didn’t say anything, but the amused smirk that danced on her lips told me everything I needed to know. She was watching, waiting for me to crack, to give in, to say something. Anything.

I wasn’t going to give her that. Not tonight.

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, like it was daring me to do something. I stayed focused on my reflection, pretending that the quiet wasn’t eating away at my insides. But deep down, my mind was a storm. 

Thoughts swirled like a cyclone, each one more confusing than the last. Paige—her presence, her control, the way she always seemed to hold every card—was never easy to ignore. It wasn’t just her ego, the way she carried herself with an unshakable confidence, or how she always had a smirk on her lips like she was always one step ahead. It was the pull of her. The constant tug she had on me, whether I wanted it or not. The way she made me question everything I thought I knew about myself.

I wasn’t some naive girl who couldn’t see the truth. I knew exactly what this was. Paige and I, we were never going to be anything more than what we were—hook-up buddies, tangled in this chaotic mess of lust, anger, and everything in between. Her ego was too big.

 Her confidence too loud. It was a game, one she always won. Always kept me at arm’s length, just enough to keep me wanting more, but never enough to let me close.

And yet, I found myself caught in it, every single time.

The weight of her presence grew more suffocating, and I could feel my patience wearing thin. But I refused to show it. I refused to let her see the way my heart raced when she was around, the way my body seemed to lean toward her without my permission. I couldn’t give her that satisfaction. I wasn’t going to let her win tonight.

She broke the silence, her voice cutting through the room like a blade.

"You really think that outfit's going to distract me, huh?" Her eyes flickered over my form, her smirk widening as she took in the tight mini skirt I’d chosen for tonight, the way the soft fabric clung to my skin. "You think that’s gonna make up for what you did on stage?"

I didn’t look up, kept my gaze focused on my reflection. I wanted to give her nothing. I wanted to return to the calm, collected version of myself—the one that could walk into a room and own it without breaking a sweat. But the truth was, I was already unraveling, piece by piece. And Paige? Paige was the one who had the scissors.

Her voice was a poison, calculated and precise. "So tell me, Y/N, is this your way of proving something? With that little performance of yours? You really think you can just walk out there, do your thing, and not expect me to notice?"

But I refused to give in.

“Don’t pretend like you don’t get a kick out of this,” she continued, her tone dripping with challenge. “You’re not fooling anyone, Y/N.”

I let out a slow breath, letting the tension roll off my shoulders like it didn’t matter. I wasn’t going to let her get to me. Not tonight.

“You really think I care?” I finally said, my voice steady, but I could hear the lie in it. The cracks in my calm. My hands clenched into fists at my sides, but I didn’t move.

Paige let out a low chuckle, a sound that made my pulse quicken. She stood from the couch, the smooth, calculated movement of her body almost predatory as she took a step toward me.

“I think you care more than you’re willing to admit.”

I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. Because somewhere deep down, she was right.

I was in too deep.

The silence between us stretched, suffocating yet electric, and I refused to meet her eyes, even as I felt the weight of her gaze searing into me. 

The reflection in the mirror, though, was another story. I could see the smirk spreading across her lips like a slow burn—satisfied, triumphant. I hated that damn smirk. It was her weapon, a reminder that no matter how much I tried to hold my ground, she always had the upper hand.

I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of knowing how much it grated on my nerves. Not once did I meet her eyes. Not once did I let her see how badly she was getting under my skin. 

Instead, I focused on the mirror, watching my own reflection, trying to cling to the remnants of composure. I could almost pretend that I wasn’t trapped in this web of tension, but I wasn’t fooling anyone—least of all, Paige.

She didn’t let it go. Her presence shifted, darker, closer. I felt the heat of her body pressing against mine, her chest just barely touching my back, and I bristled at the contact. But I didn't move, didn't flinch. I wouldn’t let her have that.

Her hands slid around my waist, just above the hemline of my mini skirt. The warmth of her touch made my skin prickle, my breath hitching slightly as she pressed her body further against me.

 Every movement was calculated, deliberate. Her hands were claiming me, possessive in the way they moved, gripping the soft curve of my waist with just the right pressure. My heart raced, but I didn't show it. I wouldn't show it.

I let her. I let Paige think she was winning, let her believe she had me right where she wanted me. Her kisses, slow and feather-light, trailed along my skin, familiar, almost too familiar. I knew what this was. I knew the drill.

 She wanted control, wanted to be the one in charge, and I was giving her that—just for a moment. But deep down, I was already ahead. I always was.

I kept my silence, my body still, my expression neutral, and I could practically hear her self-satisfied smirk. She took my lack of response as confirmation. 

"Did I hurt your feelings, baby?" Her voice, dripping with honeyed mockery, made my pulse spike as she pressed a kiss to where my neck met my shoulder.

The way her lips felt against my skin should have been comforting, but instead, it ignited something darker, something more dangerous. She was playing a game, and I was letting her think she was winning, letting her think she had the upper hand. But all I had to do was wait.

Paige didn’t give me any time to breathe. In one swift motion, she turned me in her arms, so I was facing her now, my back pressing up against the edge of the vanity table with a jolt that made my breath catch. 

The shift was urgent, messy, the kind of passion that made the air between us thick with anticipation. I didn’t flinch, though. Instead, I stayed still as she pressed her hips against mine, the pressure making me bite my lip to hold back a reaction.

 Her hands began to roam, tugging, gripping, finding familiar places that made my body betray me.

I could feel the way she took pleasure in it—the way I let her touch me, let her feel me respond to her. My hands gripped the edge of the vanity behind me, fingers curling against the cold wood.

 Paige’s lips found their way back to my neck, and I let her—let her think that she had me, that I was melting into her touch, that I was submitting so easily to whatever game she wanted to play.

I tilted my head back, giving her more access, playing into the illusion, letting her think she was in control. But it was all a lie. I knew exactly what I was doing.

Her kisses were relentless, tracing sweet spots along my neck that made my breath hitch and my body tremble. 

Her hands slid around to grip my ass through the fabric of my skirt, and I couldn't suppress the soft noise that slipped past my lips—one she loved, one she craved. 

Paige was a menace, always knowing exactly where to touch, how to make me fall into this web of tangled emotions, of lust and anger and everything in between.

Her lips trailed up my neck, slow, deliberate, marking their territory, moving toward my jaw. The warmth of her breath on my skin made my chest tighten, but I could feel the moment approaching, the moment when I would stop this game. 

Just when her lips were about to claim mine, I opened my eyes, my gaze slicing through the thick haze of desire like a blade through silk.

I tilted my head to the side, deliberately slow, a teasing pout curling at my lips—a cruel mimicry of surrender. Our mouths were barely a breath apart, the ghost of contact lingering in the air between us.

If it had been any other night, I would have caved, let her take what she wanted, let myself get lost in her touch. But tonight wasn’t any other night. Tonight, I was the one pulling the strings.

Paige froze, her breath hitched, her eyes flickering with confusion, frustration—searching for confirmation, for any sign that she still had me wrapped around her finger. But I refused to give her that satisfaction.

“I’m not your toy, baby,” I murmured, my voice a quiet storm, steady and unwavering. The weight of my words settled between us like a final warning.

For a moment, nothing existed but the shallow, ragged cadence of our breathing. I watched the disbelief flicker in her eyes, the realization creeping in like a slow-moving tide, threatening to pull her under. 

She didn’t move at first. But then, the smirk she always wore like armor cracked, faltering, and I pushed her back—gently, yet firm enough to carve a space between us, a boundary she had never encountered before.

Her chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, her lips parted slightly in stunned silence. My gaze stayed locked onto hers, heavy with something she wasn’t used to seeing in me—control. And worse—rejection.

A slow smirk ghosted across my lips as I turned away, pivoting toward the vanity behind me. Paige wasn’t far enough for there to be real distance, so when I leaned forward, fixing my reflection with careful precision, the curve of my ass hovered dangerously close to her front—just barely not touching. 

A whisper of temptation. A reminder of what she wouldn’t have tonight.

I adjusted my hair, smoothed my lipstick, acting as if her presence didn’t unnerve me in the slightest. The silence behind me was deafening, thick with unsaid words, unfinished games.

Satisfied, I straightened, meeting her eyes in the mirror, the corner of my mouth twitching with something smug and unforgiving. I turned, stepping past her, my fingers barely grazing the fabric of her sleeve as I moved toward the door.

Pausing in the doorway, I glanced back just once, my voice laced with something light, but sharp enough to leave a mark.

“You know where the exit is.”

And with that, I was gone.

The air outside the dressing room was thick, suffocating, despite the hum of excitement still pulsing beneath my skin. The second the door clicked shut behind me, sealing her inside,

I exhaled—a slow, deliberate release of breath that did little to steady the riot inside me. The hallway stretched ahead, a blur of dim, flickering lights and the distant hum of voices, but I moved through it like I was weightless, like my body hadn’t fully caught up to the gravity of what I’d just done.

I left her there—just like she had left me a thousand times before.

The symmetry of it should have satisfied me, should have made the ache in my chest shrink, but it didn’t. Instead, it spread—slow and creeping, like ink seeping into paper.

A stagehand passed by, tossing me a wide grin. “Insane show, Y/N. You killed it.”

I nodded, murmuring a thanks that barely scratched the surface of my lips. Their words felt distant, muted by the steady pounding of my heartbeat. My hands, wrapped in rings that glinted under the fluorescent lighting, flexed at my sides, still buzzing from the way she had looked at me.

Paige, sitting there like she had all the time in the world, like she had been expecting me to cave—to melt under her gaze the way I always had before.

But tonight, I hadn’t melted.

Tonight, I had watched the cracks form in her armor, had seen the exact moment realization settled in—that she no longer held the leash she thought she did. That I wasn’t hers to summon at will.

I made my way through the labyrinth of the backstage corridors, my heels clicking against the polished floors.

The air was thick with the scent of sweat, perfume, and something electric—an aftershock of the show still clinging to the walls. But none of it compared to the static lingering on my skin, the ghost of her gaze burning into me long after I had walked away.

The night unraveled in a blur after that. The dressing room, the press, the distant hum of a celebration I couldn’t bring myself to care about. People talked, laughed, congratulated me, but I wasn’t there. Not really.

Because in the back of my mind, Paige was still sitting on that leather couch, still staring at the door I had walked out of, still replaying my words like a cruel, looping melody.

I’m not your toy, baby.

I wondered if she had stayed there for long, if she had run her hands through her hair in frustration, if she had exhaled sharply the way she always did when things didn’t go her way. If she had sat in the silence, replaying every moment between us with that same restless, hungry energy I had spent years suffering under.

And then the days stretched into weeks.

Paige didn’t call.

Didn’t text.

But she didn’t need to. Because I knew she had seen it.

The internet had erupted like an uncontained wildfire, speculation running rampant in the wake of my performance. Every move, every lyric dissected, pulled apart, devoured by fans and gossip columns alike.

The video of me on stage went viral within hours—the way I sang with fire in my voice, like the words had been ripped from my ribs, like I needed this to be heard.

The analysis was relentless.

"Did you see the way she looked toward the VIP section? SHE WAS SINGING TO SOMEONE." "The way Y/N sang that line… she meant that. You could feel it." "Purple lace bra. PAIGE’S FAVORITE COLOR. The way she moved during that part? She knew exactly what she was doing." "Paige was in the crowd. You think she didn’t feel that?? That wasn’t just a song; that was a message."

The evidence stacked, theory after theory, fans pulling together every little thread like detectives unraveling a scandal.

Then came the videos of Paige at my concert—sitting in the shadows of the VIP section, her eyes locked on me like a predator watching its prey.

She hadn’t moved much, hadn’t reacted outwardly, but the cameras had caught enough. The sharp set of her jaw. The tight grip on her knee. The way her chest had risen just a little too sharply when I had turned in her direction.

I should have ignored it. Should have turned my phone off, drowned out the noise, let the world do what it did best—talk.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I let myself scroll. Let myself watch the videos, read the tweets, trace over every blurry, stolen moment that confirmed what I already knew.

She had felt it.

I pictured her in some dimly lit room, scrolling through the same chaos, lips pressed into a thin line, fists clenching as she watched the world speculate about us.

Wondering if she was regretting every moment that led up to this—the push and pull, the endless games, the times she had left me in bed, tangled in sheets and longing, only to disappear without a word.

Well, now she knew what it felt like.

And yet…

I missed her.

Not in the soft, romanticized way people spoke about heartbreak. Not in a way that felt poetic or tragic.

I missed her like a craving, sharp and unrelenting. Like something I had been forcibly weaned off, left to suffer the withdrawal.

I missed the way she would’ve laughed at all this—at the internet’s obsession, at the way people were tearing their hair out trying to figure out what we both already knew.

I missed the way she would have leaned in, breath hot against my ear, whispering, "Look what you did, baby."

But I wouldn’t break first.

She had spent years teaching me patience, teaching me the pain of waiting, of wanting. Now, it was her turn.

I stood in front of my mirror, makeup wiped clean, skin bare, exhaustion weighing heavy in my bones. My reflection stared back at me, lips curling at the edges with something dark, something smug.

You know where the exit is.

I wondered how long it would take before she found herself standing at my door.

𖥔 J'S JOURNAL 𖥔

Dear sweets,

this was a quick write--- well more of a get done to test the waters fic. But, here's my first Paige Buecker's fic <3

Not sure if I should leave it as it is or write a second part and make y'all happy...

Anyway's please let me know :)

P.S my main account is: @angelshxt. Thought the wifey deserved a separate blog, so here it is :p

xoxo,

J.

© sweettu1ips.tumblr 2025 do not copy, translate or claim any of my writing or works as your own.

[rafesangelita]

can we see how sheep!reader is like with rafes family (when everyone wasn’t like dead and sarah wasn’t living with the pogues aka s2 or s1)

rose and ward are sitting there wondering how on earth rafe managed to get this shy little thing to agree to be in a relationship with him. they think you’re way too sweet and polished for someone like rafe, but are in a way relieved that you could see past his rough exterior. since you tend to shy away a little bit, both of them make sure to include you in everything whenever you come around. wheezie and sheep were like besties from the very beginning, both of them raving about their favorite things. wheezie has definitely stayed the night at sheep’s a couple of times because neither of you wanted to stop talking. sarah on the other hand is sure you have stockholm syndrome, and is always asking you to blink twice if you need help..

[parkerslatte]

It’s Been a Long, Long Time

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: memory loss.

Summary: The last time Azriel had seen his mate was nearly four centuries ago. The bond went silent and for those many years, Azriel believed his mate was dead. As he sits with Elain in her garden, the bond suddenly comes alive once again.

A Court of Thorns and Roses Masterlist

•••

The day Azriel lost his mate, he was in agony. Not because of the pain, no. It was because of the lack of knowledge if she was alive or not. The bond fell quiet and Azriel could hardly grasp onto it. It was as if he were trying to catch smoke. There was nothing to touch. For years he searched for her, he never wanted to give up. He knew that every moment he waited, she could be in danger. 

Even long after she disappeared, Azriel still searched. However, as the centuries ticked by, Azriel began to lose hope. He was sure he had searched every possible location. There was no trace of Y/N. 

Azriel sat with Elain in her garden. He had noticed a positive change in the middle Archeron sister for the past few months. When Rhys tasked him to watch over Elain and help her adjust, he originally hated the idea. But he knew the reason why Rhys had set him the task. It was coming up to the 400th anniversary since Y/N had disappeared. 

As Azriel looked down at the ring in his hands, he could feel his heart plummet. Even if being around Elain had helped distract himself as she explained all of the flowers to him and their various meanings, the closer it got to the anniversary of Y/N’s disappearance, Azriel felt himself slip away from everyone and everything. 

The ring was still beautiful even after all this time. Azriel made sure it was. Despite vowing to never take off her wedding ring, Y/N always took it off before bed, deeming that it was uncomfortable when she rested her head upon her hand to sleep. But the first thing she did every morning was slip the ring back upon her finger. The night she was taken it had been no different except one thing, Azriel had not been there. His job had kept him away for an extra day, and for the first time since they were mated and married, Azriel had not fallen asleep next to Y/N. He had regretted that for four hundred years. The only reminder of her was the ring he found on her bedside cabinet that morning. 

“Azriel!” The sound of Elain’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. 

“Sorry?” He lifted his gaze from the ring and met Elain’s. 

“I asked you what that was,” Elain said, gesturing down to the ring in his hand. 

Azriel stilled. He never liked speaking about it with anyone but Rhys or Cassian. But seeing how Elain’s eyebrows were furrowed in concern, he could tell that a saddened expression had slipped onto his face. 

Azriel sighed. “It was my mate’s wedding ring.”

“Mate?” Elain said, her expression falling slightly. 

Azriel cringed internally. He knew about Elain’s small crush on him. She did not hide it well. Though he did not return her feelings, he still enjoyed her company. With her, she understood when he just wished to sit in silence and when he didn’t want to talk, she continued the conversation on her own. 

Perhaps there was a time where he could have retired her feelings, Elain was rather beautiful, but she would never compare to Y/N. Azriel had never had another relationship after Y/N disappeared. He only ever wanted Y/N and he would only ever want her. 

“Yes,” Azriel said, swallowing hard. “She- she disappeared four-hundred years ago. I was never able to find her.”

The small hurt expression on Elain’s face changed to one of sympathy. “Azriel, I am so sorry.”

Azriel nodded and looked back at the ring. “I have looked everywhere and there is no trace of her. I have always felt…empty since she disappeared. She was part of my soul that I have never gotten back.”

Elain dropped the bulbs she was holding back into her basket. “How do you know she is not out there? You couldn’t have searched everywhere on the planet?”

“I have searched everywhere where it was possible to take her,” Azriel answered. “I have found absolutely nothing.”

“Then believe that she is still out there,” Elain said.

“Elain, it has been nearly four-hundred years,” Azriel said. “I gave up hope of her still being alive a long time ago.”

“Do you still love her?” Elain asked. 

“More than anything,” Azriel said instantly. “I haven’t been with anyone after she disappeared. I tried, about two-hundred years ago but I couldn’t do it. It felt so wrong. No one will ever compare to her.”

“Then you shouldn’t give up hope,” Elain said. “You don’t give up hope on those you love.”

Azriel did not reply. He simply looked back down at the ring once more. It was centuries old yet it still looked brand new. Azriel made sure that the silver band never tarnished. Made sure that the gem never stopped sparkling. It looked the same as the day he had slipped it onto her finger. Elain, sensing Azriel wished to no longer talk about the topic, returned back to her garden. 

Ever since Y/N had disappeared, Azriel had always felt like he had lost part of his soul, and he supposed he had. Y/N was everything to him. She was who he lived for. She was the one and only love he ever needed, ever wanted. The night the bond snapped for them was one Azriel would never forget. Even if he tried, he would never be able to forget it. The initial shock then the pure feeling of the love she sent him. For the first time in his life, Azriel knew what it was like to be loved so deeply and unconditionally. It did not matter whether he deserved it or not. When he was with Y/N, none of that mattered. All that mattered was him and her and the fact that they were together. 

As Azriel tucked the ring back into his breast pocket, a large surge of emotion was brought to life within him. He clutched at his chest. Azriel cried out.

“Azriel?” Elain questioned, shooting to her feet. “Are you okay?”

Her voice was muffled as Azriel continued to claw at his chest. Something was threatening to burst through. 

“Something is different,” he forced out. 

“Do I need to get anyone?” Elain asked. 

“Rhys,” Azriel said. “I need Rhys.”

Elain nodded and ran out of the garden and into the house in search of his brother.

Azriel tried to stand but fell to his knees immediately. He could barely breathe. The pressure in his chest was gradually increasing and he could not place the feeling anywhere. 

“I have Rhys,” Elain said, rushing back into the garden, Rhys following behind her. 

“Az, what’s wrong?” Rhys asked, kneeling down next to him. 

“I don’t know,” Azriel said, breathing heavily. “There is a pressure in my chest. I don’t know what it is.”

“What were you doing before it started?” Rhys asked.

“Telling–” Azriel cut himself off as he yelled out. The pressure was becoming worse and Azriel was sure that if he tried to repress it anymore, it would surely kill him. “Telling Elain about Y/N.”

“Is he going to be okay?” Elain asked quietly, standing a small distance away.

“Az, you need to relax,” Rhys said, placing a hand on his shoulder. 

“I can’t,” Azriel said through gritted teeth. 

“The pressure will kill you if you don’t relax,” Rhys said sternly. “So, please, relax.”

Azriel met Rhy’s eyes and stopped clawing at his chest. The pain in his chest gradually got worse and worse. It was unlike anything he had ever felt before. 

“Rhys,” Azriel whispered, his voice full of pain. “I can’t…”

“Yes you can,” Rhys said. “Just relax, Az.”

Azriel closed his eyes and relaxed his body, letting the pain overtake his body until he cried out once again. However as soon as he cried out, the pain stopped and a new feeling overtook his body. It was overwhelming and Azriel backed away from Rhys’s touch. 

“Azriel,” Rhys said. “What is it?”

“I don’t know. I can’t–”

Azriel cut himself off as a familiar feeling rose within him. This time he didn’t claw at his chest, he gently placed his hand upon it. The emotions he was feeling weren’t his. They were someone else’s. Azriel hadn’t felt this way in a long time. He had forgotten what it felt like. But it felt right. 

“The mating bond,” Azriel said. “I feel the mating bond.”

Even Rhys looked shocked as he looked at Azriel. “Are you sure?”

Azriel nodded. “I can feel it. I can feel her, Rhys.”

Tears sprung to Azriel’s eyes. He tugged on that bond that had lain dormant for four hundred years. It was weak though he felt her tug back. Azriel could have sobbed at that feeling alone. 

“Take me back to my home, Rhys,” Azriel said. 

The home Azriel shared with Y/N. He hadn’t entered it in a long time. He could never bring himself to. Every single time he tried, he couldn’t open the door. That house was the home he made with Y/N and Azriel did not want to be there if she wasn’t. 

“Are you sure?” Rhys asked.

“I’m sure,” Azriel said. “She is there, Rhys. I can feel it.”

Rhys nodded and winnowed them to the outside of Azriel’s home on the outskirts of Velaris. As soon as they arrived, Azriel could already smell the familiar scent of his mate. He pushed away from Rhys and opened the front door. 

And there she was.

Y/N stood in the middle of the room looking around with her hands on her hips. “You could have dusted, Az.”

Azriel simply couldn’t believe it. “Y/N? Are you really here?”

Y/N smiled softly and Azriel nearly collapsed right there. That smile was always in his dreams but seeing it again in person…

Azriel rushed over to her and scooped her in his arms as they both sank to the floor. Azriel couldn’t stop the sobs that came from him and neither could Y/N. The bond between them hummed happily. Four hundred years of being apart and now finally being reunited. It was something Azriel had given up on a long time ago. 

“How are you here?” Azriel mumbled, his sobs subsided but his tears didn’t. “I thought you were dead.”

Y/N pulled away from the hug and cupped Azriel’s cheeks and wiped away the tears. “You are exactly as I remember. It has been so long since I remembered what you looked like.”

“What do you mean?” Azriel asked. 

Y/N sighed and held onto Azriel tighter, as if she were afraid she was going to be taken once more. “The night I was taken, I was drugged, they wanted me for my power of healing and I refused to give in. They were bad men and I was not going to help them no matter how hard they tried to convince me. They drugged my food to make me compliant but the only thing I could think about was you and our bond. Once they realised who I was and who I was mated to, they gave me another drug. This time it was one to dampen the power of the mating bond. It made me stop feeling you.”

“I remember that night,” Azriel said. “I thought you blocked it off.”

Y/N shook her head. “Once the mating bond was dampened, they drugged me with something else. Over time I began to forget things, important things. My name, where I came from, my family, my friends…you.”

Azriel wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her body flush against his. The sound of her heart beating was enough to bring a new surge of tears to his eyes. He never thought he would hear it again.

“They took me to a place on the continent, an entire city deep below ground with its own artificial sun and moon, whole fields and towns. Once I did not remember anything, they gave me a new identity and a whole new life.” 

“You didn’t remember me?” Azriel asked.

“I didn’t,” Y/N said sadly, threading her fingers in his hair. “But I always felt that there was a part of me missing. Even though the mating bond was repressed, I always felt that something was not quite right.”

Azriel’s heart fell. This whole time he had been in agony that his mate had been missing, while she did not remember him at all.  “How did you escape?” he asked. 

“If you believe me or not, there are good people in that community, incredible people,” Y/N said. “They helped me flush the drugs from my system and helped me remember who I once was.”

“The bond?” Azriel asked. “Did they help with that?”

Y/N shook her head. “Once the drugs were from my system and I was finally above ground, I felt you. I winnowed back here instantly. Consider me surprised when this house looks exactly the same as when I left four-hundred years ago.”

“I haven’t been able to come back here since you were taken,” Azriel whispered, his voice soft and vulnerable. 

Y/N caressed his face and wiped his tears away. “Oh, my darling. I am here now. Only if you still want me, of course.”

Azriel frowned. “Why wouldn’t I want you?”

“Az, my love, it has been four-hundred years. I would understand if you moved on in those years,” Y/N said. 

Azriel shook his head. “There has been no one else. I tried almost two centuries ago but I couldn’t do it. All I wanted was you.” When Azriel looked at her face again, he nearly burst into tears once more. It had been so long since he had looked into those loving eyes. The type of love he once thought he never deserved. “If you had found anyone, I would understand. You didn’t remember me.” Just that statement alone made Azriel hurt all over again. 

Y/N sighed a pained noise. “I won’t lie to you and say that there was no one, Azriel. There were a couple of people I have been with over the past four centuries.”

A new surge of tears streamed down Azriel’s cheeks as he gripped onto Y/N tighter. 

“But,” she continued, “there has been no one for many years and no one ever stuck around long. I could never fully commit. It was as if my body knew that it was wrong. I did like a few people but I never loved them. I could never love anyone more than I love you.”

“I never want you to go anywhere again,” Azriel whispered into her hair. “I missed you so much.”

Azriel’s fingers tangled in her hair as he rested his forehead against hers. Her soft breath fanned his face and Azriel swore he could nearly faint. Her scent, her touch, her breath. They were all things Azriel never thought he would ever witness again. 

“I am never going anywhere again,” Y/N mumbled. “I will remain beside you forever, my love.”

Azriel reluctantly unwrapped one hand from around Y/N and reached into his pocket and pulled out her ring. Y/N gasped once she saw it. 

“You kept it?” She asked.

“Of course I kept it,” Azriel said. “I always have it on me. It was the only thing I had that reminded me of you.”

Y/N wiped her tears away as Azriel took her hand gently in hers and slid the ring onto her finger. “Perfect,” he whispered.

Y/N looked him in the eyes. The love she held within them was something Azriel never forgot. He would see them in his dreams and nightmares. It was something he never thought he would see in person again. 

“Can I kiss you?” Azriel asked, almost afraid of the answer. 

Y/N smiled. “Az, I am your mate and your wife. There might have been a four century gap in our relationship but those two facts do not change. I love you. Of course you can kiss me. Kiss me until you can’t anymore.”

The shadowsinger smiled. “Then I’m afraid we will be here a while.”

Azriel finally kissed his mate and wife for the first time in four hundred years. 

[gffa]

*bungee jumping down the arcane fic rabbit hole* got any fic recs?

Save that bungee rope, we're going to need it to get the next person down here, too. And I do have a few recs I've enjoyed! (If you guys have any fics you want to rec that you've enjoyed in this fandom, I'm all ears. I'm still trying to navigate my way through the absolutely massive amounts and my usual method of finding authors I recognize from other fandoms is failing me because APPARENTLY WE HAVE WORK TO DO TO MAKE YOU ALL COME DOWN HERE WITH US.) JAYVIK RECS: (Current brainrot extraordinaire.) ✦ Begin Again by egg_thief, jayce/viktor, nsfw, post-canon, 3.3k or: Jayce and Viktor’s existence continues, somewhere out in the cosmos ✦ not to me, not if it's you by brewstersbru, jayce/viktor, post-canon, 2k They were supposed to die, then, a better ending than Viktor expected. Far sweeter than he deserved. Jayce’s hand warm and broad against his neck, foreheads tipped together, breaths fanning over skin. It was neat. It was nice. And then he woke up, splayed in a field, draped in the tatters of Jayce’s blanket. A groan rose from his left, then some pitiful shuffling before a final, loud thump, accompanied by a slight warble. ✦ the sun is an apricot promise by chicandcheesy, jayce/viktor, post-canon, 5.4k Six months after they destroy the Hexcore, Jayce and Viktor try to settle into a new life as friends. Partners. Turns out they love each other a little too much. ✦ The Softer the Skin, the Sharper the Teeth by ticketytockety, jayce/viktor, nsfw, spoilers, 5.4k During his time trapped in a devastated, apocalyptic world that does not belong to him, Jayce manages a temporary escape to somewhere else. Sometime else. ✦ The butterflies we feel by writin, jayce/viktor, time travel, 8.6k wip It was only right to offer Jayce one last thing: himself. A fleeting moment of shameless intimacy. There was no past, no future — only them, and everything they were willing to give. One final gift, for both of them. Or; S2 Jayce meets S1 Viktor, but there are consequences.

ZAUNDADS RECS: (Don't judge me, the artbook t-boned me with feelings, it's not my fault!) ✦ patience by orphan_account, zander/silco, nsfw, 7.6k He’s been dead five years when he shows up at The Drop unannounced. Vander can't be sure if this makes an already bad week better, or worse.

TIMEBOMB RECS: (This one also side-swiped me out of nowhere, officer, it's not my fault, either!) ✦ better to be poorly accompanied than to be alone by ajstyling, ekko/jinx, post-canon, 2.9k A long time ago, Ekko made a promise. Now he just hopes Jinx will give him the chance to keep it. ✦ the cycle of lonely creatures by red_dragon_rising, ekko/jinx & caitlyn/vi, post-canon, 7.4k So it happens that Caitlyn is now hiding Piltover’s most wanted terrorist and the murderer of her mother inside her ancestral home. So it happens that she’s become a traitor to her city. So it happens, because the girl is Vi’s sister. (AU: Vi dies with Warwick) ✦ pluto by zippe, ekko/jinx & vi, post-canon, 4.2k Ekko and Jinx, time after time