#pls continue to tag me i love to be included and also - in case you havent noticed - to talk

[stargatebarbie]

hello tungle dot net i have drunk spirits tonight for the first time in I think 2 maybe 3 years and I would like to say to you all that I love you dearly and genuinely. if we have spoken at all even in passing a guarantee that I think of you often and in high regard. if I have ever like, not responded to you or tumblr equiv of left you on read it is absolutely because I am extremely anxious as a person and also autistic as all get out and do not know how to interact with people in a socially acceptable manner. You are all beautiful incredible people and I would talk to you more if only I knew how. goodnight, and from the bottom of my heart, I love you guys

[joshujin]

we can be all we need

🔞 18+, minors do not interact • masterlist • submit a request

(っ˶˘ ᵕ ˘˶)ᐣ✎ ᝰ request from this prompt game

@studioeisa: "hey trixie i saw u rb the writing prompt thingo .. 👀 i can’t see the issue + soonyoung (or dealer's choice on any member!!!)"

soonyoung's pov • your pov ⇣

soonyoung has been pulling away from you for weeks now. it seems that tonight is the night he wipes his hands clean of you.

♫ darl+ing svt pairing: soonyoung x fem!reader word count: 8.7k tags: best friends to lovers, idiots in love, a bit of miscommunication, angst for like one second, happy ending cw: smut — unprotected piv (v irresponsible piv don’t be like these two); reader loses virginity; spit; oral f. receiving; fingering; sy likes the idea of people hearing them fucking but no one actually hears them; just really vanilla, really soft, really mushy smut tbh, vanilla pudding smut if you will lol a/n: for the biggest-brained, funniest, most talented kae – i hope you like it <3 if you don't, just lie to me <3 • i know the request didn't include smut, but this one truly TRULY got away from me (as you can tell from this monstrous word count lol), and it kinda just wrote itself, smut included. i did mark where the scene starts and ends in case anyone doesn’t want to read it, but that's a courtesy to adults uninterested in reading explicit material. if you're a minor, pls scroll away

you look around, grinning widely as everyone sings to you. the lights are turned off in soonyoung’s apartment, the light from the thirty candles on your cake more than enough to illuminate your face. you meet each of your friends' eyes, your heart so full of love as you look at each of them.

you leave the person you want to look at most for last. finally, you meet soonyoung’s gaze. you don't mean to, but you feel your smile immediately falter.

he’s singing, but you can barely hear his voice—already uncharacteristic of him on its own. he's spent every, single one of your birthdays since you've met obnoxiously scream-singing, arms usually wrapped tightly around your neck as he bent over you, caging you in from behind. whether it was in front of a party of people (like tonight) or just you two, he was always singing like the fate of your year relied on how loud he was in those first few moments of it.

he'd always press his cheek against yours, swinging you both back and forth to a beat only you two could hear. then, after the singing was over, and after you made your wish, he would press a kiss to your temple, wish you a happy birthday once more, and he would be the first person in your life to tell you they loved you in your new age.

so this silence is painfully loud. on top of that, he also doesn’t smile back at you, a faraway look in his eyes as he mindlessly sings. it’s like you’re not even there. it’s like he’s singing to an empty seat in front of a cake that definitely counted as a fire hazard.

things with soonyoung have been weird for the last several weeks. if you were being honest, things have been hard. you, of course, continuously asked what was wrong, and he, of course, denied anything was wrong. but the writing was on the wall: he dodged your calls, rescheduled hangouts over and over until plans just completely fell through, and hardly texted back anymore. it was clear to anyone with a pulse that he was avoiding you.

and when he finally invited you over tonight to blow out your candles, and you walked in, completely surprised to find your friends all gathered to celebrate you, you thought, oh, that's what was wrong. he was just planning to surprise me

you thought the awkwardness and flighty behavior was over. the surprise went well, he kept everything a secret—didn't spoil anything—and you were grateful. but here you two were, looking at each other from across the room like you were strangers. and you weren't strangers. kwon soonyoung is the most important person in your life. he's your best friend. and you're so achingly, painfully in love with him, this distance feels like it's slowly peeling every layer of you away and letting it disintegrate into thin air.

when everyone finishes singing, you clear your throat and try to force the smile back onto your face. you lean forward, careful to keep your hair from catching any of the candles, and you close your eyes to make a wish—the same one you've been making every year for the past decade you've known soonyoung.

i wish for the courage to love soonyoung loudly.

you open your eyes and you blow hard, cheeks burning when the absurd amount of flames won't go out. people giggle, and when you stop to take a huge breath, fanning your face from the effort, seokmin and seungkwan both laugh and lean in to help. the three of you get the job done, and they immediately put you to work cutting your cake while they help plate and distribute.

you lose track of soonyoung while on cake duty, and by the time everyone has a slice, any appetite you had for dessert is completely gone. you sink back into the seat you were in while everyone was singing, and you breathe shakily, trying your best not to cry at your own party.

did you do something? is he just getting tired of you? or can he tell that your feelings extend past friendship? after 10 years, did he finally realize? is this his way of letting you down without having to really do it?

you can't help when your eyes start to well with tears. you notice someone starting to look a little too closely at you from your peripheral—probably joshua, the most observant of your friends—so you abruptly get up, blushing when the chair almost falls over behind you. you go to the only place you know you'll be left alone in this huge apartment. it's the one place soonyoung doesn't let any of his guests go, except for you.

you all but barrel into his bedroom, quickly closing the door behind you and leaning against it. you made it just in time for your tears to start flowing.

soonyoung's room looks different from the last time you saw it. he’s a generally tidy person; of the two of you, you’re the messy one. right now, the state of his room feels like a reflection of your thoughts and feelings: disheveled, chaotic, and messy. he has clothes, both clean and used, strewn all over the place—the bed, the floor, his corner chair. drawers are thrown open, their contents very clearly rummaged through. he has a pile of empty water bottles in the corner, and his nightstand is so littered with random stuff, he has no room to even set a phone down. it astounds you enough that you momentarily stop crying.

you wipe your tears away, frowning at everything that has managed to change in the weeks leading up to your 30th birthday. this was not the way you wanted to start the new decade.

you hear a muffled cough and you're panicked to realize that soonyoung had the same idea you did. he's outside on the balcony attached to his bedroom, leaning up against the railing and looking out into the black night. he hasn't noticed that anyone has entered his room, and you're about to leave when something stops you.

"you're 30 now for god's sake," you mutter. "get a fucking grip."

you're tired of wishing for the same thing every year—wishing for something that isn't even out of your grasp because you could just decide to be brave. and instead of choosing to do that, you spent the last 10 years cowering behind the excuse that you desperately needed soonyoung in your life however he would take you, even if that’s just as his friend.

but if you're losing him now anyway, you might as well lose him for the reason you feared you would for the last decade.

you turn away from where you were about to escape back into the party, and you're joining your best friend outside before you can think twice.

he startles a little, briefly glancing at you, but when he realizes who it is, he simply looks back into the night. it hurts more than just being told to go away—to be ignored like this.

"what are you doing?"

"just needed some air," he answers quietly.

"no," you say, willing your voice to stay steady even though your eyes are already filling with tears again. "what are you doing? why are you ignoring me? why are you avoiding me?" you pause, taking a deep breath. "why are you acting like i'm not your best friend?"

soonyoung lives near the damn top of his pretentiously tall apartment building, and the wind is cold and biting up here, especially with how short your dress is. it doesn't compare to what he says next.

"because you're not." he says it the way he would say that he's having a good day. or that work was tiring. or that he wants to order food delivery. he says it like it's not something that has the power to kill you. “at least, i don’t want you to be.”

"what are you saying?"

you don't hear it, but from the way his shoulders dip, you can tell soonyoung sighs deeply. and it looks so sad and so spent, you have trouble grasping that you could possibly be the cause of whatever this is that's eating at him.

"what are you saying, soonyoung?" you ask more forcefully, unable to keep the tears out of your voice this time. if he was going to end your friendship, he was going to have the balls to say it to your face. you aren't leaving until you're forced to.

he turns away from the railing, pressing his back against it to face you. he slips his hands into his pockets and stares down at the floor. his eyes are just as red-rimmed as you imagine yours are, and you hate—you hate that your first instinct is to ask him what's wrong. to hold him and comfort him when he's the one who's telling you he no longer wants to be friends.

"do you remember your 23rd birthday?" he asks, voice gravely with emotion, as if he’s spent the entirety of the last few weeks crying. your chest hurts. maybe he has.

you turned 23 in the philippines. soonyoung has always had more money than he knew what to do with, and he has always been uncomfortably generous with it—at least when it came to you. and that year, he surprised you with a month-long trip that ended the weekend of your birthday, where you both found yourselves on a beach in siquijor, sharing an alcoholic mango smoothie and a small ube cake that soonyoung had gotten for you.

you knew you loved him long before then, but you remember that birthday being one of your most miserable, solely because it was the best. and it was what you wanted with soonyoung, but you could only have it as his best friend. you had never felt so loved and so lonely at the same time.

"siquijor. what about it?" you ask, a little irritated. if you were going to have your heart stomped on the moment you turned 30, you'd rather he just get on with it.

soonyoung smiles for the first time tonight, but you hate it. it's half-assed, sad—and not just sad, but nostalgic sad—and it's being wasted on the floor.

"do you remember why you cried that morning?"

he uses the term morning loosely. it was 4 a.m., so yes, morning, but also no, not morning because you had both stayed up all night. and unfortunately, he had gotten you several more alcoholic drinks before the bar closed, and you were all but blacked out by 2 a.m. you only know that because your last selfie on your phone was time stamped just before two.

you wouldn't have believed him when he insisted you were conscious that entire time if he hadn't shown you videos of you passionately trying to convince him that in another life, he could've been a k-pop idol.

you hardly believe him now because you don't remember crying at all. and he certainly never told you that you had.

"i..." you don't know what to say.

"you don't," he confirms, sounding bitter. "it's okay. i had a feeling you didn't."

you frown, eyes falling to the spot on the floor you're sure is the same one he's been staring at. you don't realize you're shivering as violently as you are until you see soonyoung's feet step into your line of vision, his jacket slipping across your shoulders.

large hands carefully adjust the jacket around your neck and when they're done, they gently grip the lapel and hang there, dead weight against your sternum. you dare to look up and find that he still refuses to look you in the eye, instead staring at his own hands.

the wind isn't what's making you shake, and the jacket doesn't help it stop.

"you said you were lonely," he informs you quietly. he sounds as choked up as you feel, like you're both battling the same stubborn knot in your throat. "you told me that this was everything you could have ever wanted—that you were so happy and it was the best month of your life. and you told me..." he breathes deeply and sniffles before continuing. you look up and watch his eyes fill with tears. "you told me you just wish you were experiencing it with someone you were in love with instead."

you involuntarily let out a strangled noise, feeling like that knot is suddenly demanding to be let out. “i—what?”

there’s that horrible smile again. “i tried not to let it hurt me,” he admits. “i tried to be a good sport. you were drunk, you were sad about never having had a boyfriend, and i know you weren’t trying to hurt me.”

your stomach turns painfully and you’re glad you didn’t have cake, otherwise it might’ve been regurgitated all over soonyoung by now.

you never had a lack of suitors or options; you just knew it would be impossible to look at anyone else, let alone be in love with them, while you were so preoccupied with your best friend. until now, you still haven’t ever had a boyfriend, still haven’t even had your first kiss, still haven’t felt what it’s like to have someone tell you “i love you” romantically.

soonyoung takes a watery breath, lips trembling, as the first of his tears begin to streak his cheeks. “but it hurt,” he can’t speak above a whisper. “it hurt more than anything i’ve ever felt, y/n.”

your hands close over his, more out of instinct than anything else, and you hold them like it’s the only thing that will keep him from running out of your life. you hate that, among all the warring emotions inside you, you suddenly feel hope blooming over everything. saying that only would’ve hurt soonyoung if he wanted to be the person you were in love with. right?

“soonyoung.” his name comes out of your mouth with sharp, desperate edges around it. “that’s not what i meant. i—”

“it’s okay, i’ve had time to—”

“but if you would just let me ex—”

“there’s nothing to explain,” he says quietly, finally, finally meeting your gaze. “i stayed around, didn’t i?”

the question shuts you up. or maybe it’s the way his eyes are swimming with pain you realized he’s been harboring for much longer than the last few weeks.

“i stayed for seven more years. if i needed you to explain, i would’ve asked the second you woke up sober.”

your hope deflates. the way he says the number of years makes it sound like that’s all it will ever be now. seven years. the last birthday he’ll be sticking around for.

“only seven?” you ask quietly.

you feel his fists tighten around the fabric of his own jacket briefly before his hands slip away from under you, retreating back into his pockets. you feel so cold.

he doesn’t answer, and that feels like an answer in itself. “instead of throwing myself a pity party, i decided i’d wait until your 30th birthday,” he tells you. “i didn’t mind spending all of my 20s pining after my best friend.”

your heart leaps into your throat.

“i didn’t mind waiting seven more years to see if you would ever return my feelings,” he says, voice shakier and shakier as he continues. “my friends, they told me i was insane for letting my 20s go to waste like that. but to me… if i still got to be around you, still give you experiences and love that made you feel like that’s what you deserved from someone you actually were in love with, then… i can’t see the issue in that. i’d happily wait seven more years. because even if it was seven years of the same longing—and even if it was seven years leading to nothing more, it was still seven years of me being able to show you how well i could… how well i could love you. how much i do love you.”

it strikes you then that the way soonyoung looks at you isn’t a way that anybody has ever looked at you. you used to think it was the delusion of being in love with him—that your brain was tricking you into thinking he felt a certain way about you because that would be convenient for you. but standing here, pinned down by his gaze, you have no choice but to accept that it was clearly in front of you this whole time.

“soonie—”

he keeps going like if he lets you speak, he won’t ever be able to muster up the courage to say this again, and you realize you both did waste your 20s. you wasted it being afraid of just telling each other how you felt. the fact that you could’ve had soonyoung the way you’ve always wanted since you were 23 devastates you.

“but i told myself… while you slept in my lap on that beach in siquijor, that if by the time you turned 30, we still hadn’t moved past… this…” he looks away again, opting to stare at something over your head. “then, i wouldn’t spend my 30s torturing myself anymore. i’d let you go.”

“i don’t want you to let me go!” you practically shriek. he flinches at the sudden outburst, his eyes snapping back down to you. “i don’t want you to let me go, you stupid idiot!” you repeat. “if that’s what you’ve been doing the last, few weeks, ‘letting me go’—” you make exaggerated air quotes out of your fingers, clearly agitated. “—then knock it off!”

“wh—” he makes a disgruntled noise as you slap him in the chest.

“what i meant to tell you, it came out wrong. i didn’t even mean to tell you anything, but if drunk me outed me like that, i need you to know that’s not what i meant.”

all the words he kept cutting off tonight tumble out of you quickly and freely now.

“i was lonely. i was really lonely, and yes, it was because i enjoyed that vacation so much and yes, it was because i wished i could have it with someone i was in love with, but i was having it with someone i was in love with!”

his body stiffens and his eyes widen but you don’t stop.

“i just meant i wanted it to mean more for both of us,” you explain desperately. “i wanted to be on vacation with you—but you as my boyfriend! not you as my best friend! there’s no one else i would’ve wanted to be with, soonyoung!”

you feel tears on your skin now, and you try to speak even faster because you know you’re on borrowed time before you devolve into a mess of sobs that won’t let you explain anything.

“do you think i’ve been single our entire friendship for fun?! do you think it’s fun being the 30-year-old virgin who’s never even kissed anyone?! because it’s not!” you screech through tears. you can’t even muster up the energy to be mortified at how horrible you must look right now. “but i didn’t want anyone else! i wanted you! you waited seven years, but i waited ten! TEN, soonyoung! do you—”

his lips are on yours.

your mind is quiet.

the wind isn’t cold.

you taste champagne and salt.

soonyoung holds your face gently, thumb caressing your cheeks while his long fingers slide into your hair. you’ve imagined how he must kiss a million times in your head. every time he licked his lips, puckered them for a photo, pressed them against your temple in what you deluded yourself into thinking was platonic affection—you would imagine exactly this.

soft, plush lips slotted in between yours, moving like you’re the only person they were made for. and even though you didn’t imagine it would be so salty from both of your tears, it’s exactly as perfect as you wanted your first kiss to be—as perfect as you wanted your first kiss with soonyoung to be.

when you get over the shock of it, you rest your hands on his chest, exploring the planes of it. you pause for a moment, enjoying the way you can feel the erratic beat his heart before reaching up, wrapping your arms around his neck, and pulling him into an even deeper kiss. it coaxes a sound out of him that convinces you he’s really yours, and he lets go of your face to circle your waist and hold you close.

you don’t know how and you’re not even sure when, but you end up in his bed, every inch of his body deliciously pressing against yours after he walked the two of you inside without ever leaving your lips.

his tongue slips into your mouth, and the moan that escapes you does so without your permission. you feel him twitch against your thigh and you can’t help but giggle into the kiss a little.

he pulls away, mouth pink and swollen. he rests his forehead against yours and smiles.

“what’s so funny, hm?”

it’s the first time in weeks that you’ve really heard his voice—the way you know and love it. light, happy, and, now that you’re equipped with the proper information, in love with you. you hear it loud and clear. you wonder if he hears it too.

“nothing,” you breathe, threading your fingers through the long hair at the nape of his neck until your hand is resting against the buzzed part of his undercut. you scratch his scalp there and he hums in contentment. you smile. “i love you, soonyoung.”

he lifts his forehead to better look at you. his eyes soften impossibly more and he looks like he’s trying to commit every detail of your face and this moment to memory. you realize you’re doing the same.

“i’ve always loved you,” you add, wanting to erase any lingering doubts that your 23rd birthday caused. “from the very start.”

his response is to push himself up and off you so that he’s on his knees, resting between your legs. you prop yourself up on your elbows, frowning from the sudden space. it’s exactly the opposite of what you want, but you know from the look on his face that it doesn’t mean he’s going anywhere or that he’s changed his mind. it confuses you to think that he looked at you this way for most of your friendship and you never thought it meant anything. it means everything.

he clears his throat, looking down briefly before meeting your eyes again. you only notice the bulge in his pants then, and you smile knowing that you felt that react to your moans.

“how far?” he asks, his voice so coated with desire, you shiver. he doesn’t need to elaborate. “i don’t want you to feel rushed or pressured. i just… we wasted so much time, and i—”

“all the way,” you say confidently, letting yourself lay back down and slowly wrapping your legs around his middle, trying not to feel self-conscious as your dress rides up and exposes you. “please.”

soonyoung groans like he’s in pain, hands instinctively resting against your bare thighs, eyes drifting down and unable to move from the wet spot between your legs once he sees it. his hands travel painfully slow toward the apex of your thighs, eyes never leaving you. his hands torturously stop when they reach the top.

several seconds pass with you fighting everything in your body to keep from squirming. if he notices, he doesn’t show it, seemingly too mesmerized by what’s in front of him. his thumbs burrow into the shallow divot where your legs meet your torso, the rest of his fingers kneading the flesh of your thighs, hard enough that you kind of hope they’ll bruise—give you something to remind you this was real. this happened.

he moves just as you’re about to ask him what he’s thinking about.

suddenly, as if he’s giving in to a voice telling him to just take what he wants, soonyoung allows his right hand to close the distance, tracing your skin until it leads his index finger straight to the part of you that needs him the most right now. he looks downright hypnotized as his finger meets your panties at their hollow part, where your hole is. you clench around nothing and you know he can tell when he finally breaks out of his thoughts and smirks. he only presses far enough to brush against the skin of your entrance before cruelly moving on. 

he slowly drags his finger up your slit with a little more pressure than he afforded your hole and you sigh into the movement, trying to move further down so you can feel him more. he squeezes your hip to keep you where you are, though, biting down on his lip as he watches you closely. if you weren’t so turned on, you’d be self-conscious under his attention.

then, finally, his finger finds the place you swear it belongs, and he’s pressed against your clit. your panties stick to you uncomfortably but you don’t have the words to properly tell him to take them off, writhing under the pressure of his finger instead.

soonyoung doesn’t move, just watching you breathe and beg incoherently in shallow gasps, and just when you think he’ll finally move his finger—that he’ll finally start giving you what you’ve wanted for so long—he takes his hand back. he laughs a little at your whine of protest, pushing down on your hip with the hand that’s resting there when you uncontrollably buck up into the space his finger just vacated.

"what?" you hiss at him. he laughs even harder, his pretty eyes turning into those narrow crescents you love so much. he crawls over you once more. "why are you laughing?!" you complain, face getting hot. "did i do something embarrassing?"

"'embarrassing'?" soonyoung repeats incredulously. he does nothing less than scoff in your face. "no, baby, your neediness is not 'embarrassing.' it's fucking hot."

your face gets even warmer. whether it's because he's being lewd or because he called you baby, you're not sure.

"shut up," you mutter. he grins down at you.

"gladly."

to your dismay, he doesn’t press himself against you like he did earlier. he hovers, planting a light kiss on your nose, then on your lips, lingering for only a moment before he leans back a little like he's trying to get a good look at your face. he brings his hand up to cradle your face, pushing the wind-tangled hair away from it.

the tiniest of smiles pull at his lips.

“i love you,” he finally returns. “i love you so god damn much, i thought i was going to die having to leave you.”

“you’re not leaving me,” you say firmly. the love you’re feeling for him is so strong, it leaves no room for doubt. you know that as long as you’ll have him, he’ll stay. and as long as he'll have you, you will too.

“i’m not,” he agrees.

he doesn’t say anything else, instead leaning down to capture your lips again. he doesn’t let it last long, though, moving from your mouth, to your jaw, your neck, and your collarbone. you’re a mess of gasps and moans as he kisses his way back up, until his lips are just barely grazing your ear.

“you tell me if you want to stop, okay?” he whispers softly. “and we’ll stop, no questions asked.”

you nod and he nips at your lobe before beginning to kiss his way back down, making you moan again. you don’t know if this is always how it feels like or if you’re just overly sensitive from being a 30-year-old virgin, but everywhere soonyoung touches feels like fire.

“you sound so pretty,” he mutters as he makes his way lower, unabashedly biting and licking wherever he wants as he goes. “exactly like how i imagined you’d sound.” you groan loudly when his lips brush over your nipple through the fabric of your dress. “fuck, even better actually.”

he reaches up and tangles a single finger around the thin strap of your dress, then gently pulls it off your shoulder. he briefly hangs his head in mock agony when he confirms you’re not wearing a bra.

you stifle another giggle, not wanting to keep laughing during something as serious as losing your virginity—to soonyoung, no less.

"what is my life?" he whispers more to himself than anyone else as he lowers his head and shamelessly envelops your bare nipple with his tongue.

the inhale you take at the sensation is sharp, and soonyoung briefly glances up without taking his mouth off of you, one eyebrow quirking as if to ask if you're okay.

you’re more than okay. you feel like your soul is about to float right out of your goddamn body, and the scary thing is he’s barely done anything to you yet. you open your mouth to try and tell him as much, but once your lips part, nothing comes out. you close your eyes, your body arching in response to soonyoung as his swirls his tongue around you, gently nipping every now and then. 

“soonyoung,” you gasp. 

“fuck.”

“lower,” you beg. “please, god, lower.”

you feel him smile against your chest. “whatever you want,” he whispers. 

but he doesn’t leave immediately, instead cupping his hand around your breast and biting into the flesh just above your nipple. your hips jerk up against his torso but he doesn’t let go, sucking for a few seconds before he releases you with a pop. 

he grins down at the blooming mark, giving it the gentlest kiss. “pretty.”

soonyoung finally makes his way back down between your legs, but not without releasing the other strap of your dress first. he must find some mercy to spare you because, without making you wait the way he has been all night, he lifts your hips up off the bed, pulls your dress down, and in one smooth move, slips both your dress and your panties off you. 

“oh my god!” he groans immediately, squeezing your clothes against his eyes. before you can even wonder if something’s wrong, he says, “i can’t believe this is my life right now, oh my god.”

he brings your clothes down just enough to look at you. his eyes narrow like he’s about to cry and you immediately laugh at the idea of soonyoung crying during sex… because he absolutely would. 

“oh my god, i really have you naked in my bed right now, oh my god oh my god oh my god.”

“soonyoung!” you scold him, coming up onto your elbows and bringing your legs together so your thighs squeeze him. “focus! come on, you’re just teasing me now.” you’re fully aware that you’ve never sounded whinier in your life, but you can’t bring yourself to care. “please.”

“okay, okay, i’m so sorry, i’m not trying to tease you, i swear. i just… i’m—just, i—it’s just, like… what?” he asks it so giddily, you can’t help but smile through your frustration. “y’know? like, what the actual fuck?” he babbles, very obviously just starting to process what the hell is happening right now. 

you groan, glaring at the ceiling. you’re annoyed at how empty you are right now, but at the same time, you feel your affection for soonyoung growing exponentially. even when he’s about to take your virginity, he can’t help but be so aggressively him. and you love it so much.

“it’s crazy how quickly you go from sex god to loser,” you murmur, unable to stop from grinning when he glowers at you.

“y’know,” he starts, voice considerably lower. you hate how much of an effect it has on you. “my favorite thing about you has always been your patience.” you snort as he carelessly tosses your clothes aside.

“good thing i have a lot of it then,” you retort, eyes catching on his long fingers as they start to undo each button of his shirt. 

he hums, narrowing his eyes at you. “right.”

the grin on your face fades fast as he finishes undoing the buttons and shrugs the shirt off. it’s nothing you haven’t seen before; after all, you spent many vacations together in nothing but swimwear the entire time. but as your eyes sweep the dips and curves of his muscles and the way his stomach flexes as he slips off the bed, you realize you’re looking at him in a way you haven’t been able to before. 

you’re looking at him like he’s yours. 

“wait,” you say suddenly, sitting up all the way and crawling over to the edge of the bed where he’s standing, hands frozen in the middle of removing his belt. 

“change your mind? it’s fine if you do,” he assures you quickly, already starting to fasten his belt again. 

you rest your hands on his to stop them. “no,” you say, laughing a little. “i’m not going to change my mind, soonie.” he visibly relaxes at the nickname. 

you reach up to kiss him, hands going up and into his hair. it’s slow and tender and careful, and you feel like you’re being held with so much care, you suddenly get nervous that you might be the one that ends up crying during sex. 

“i love you,” soonyoung whispers between kisses, his arms snaking around your naked waist. “oh my god, i love you, holy shit.”

“don’t start with the loser behavior again, please,” you joke against his lips. you feel him smile. you pull away and sigh, your fingers running across his chest in admiration. “but i love you too.”

he breathes deeply, leaning forward to rest his forehead against yours. “i’m so happy.”

you smile softly. “me too, soonie.”

you look down and watch your hands travel down his naked torso until they meet his belt. you finish undoing it, not bothering to remove it from the loops and going straight for the button of his jeans. soonyoung’s breath hitches when you pull his zipper down. before you can shove his jeans down, he grabs your face and brings your lips to his roughly, his tongue inside your mouth in seconds. you don’t know whose moans are whose anymore as he kisses you—not like it’s the first time, but like it’s the last. 

his lips get clumsy as he starts to remove his pants himself, shoving his boxer briefs down with them. you don’t get much of a chance to ogle him before his lips are on you again and he’s cupping your ass, forcing your legs to wrap around him. you revel in the feeling of him against your stomach—long, hard, and yours. 

he kneels onto his bed, carrying you back to where you were laying before and setting you down gently. when you part, you suddenly understand soonyoung’s brief meltdown. because holy shit. soonyoung is in bed with you. naked. and you physically cannot stop looking down at him. 

“see something you like?” he asks, his voice teasing. even with how arrogant he sounds, you can’t look away. 

“uh… what?” 

he laughs then, burying his face in the crook of your neck and effectively cutting off your intense eye contact with his dick. 

“soonyoung, put it in me,” you whisper frantically. “hurry up!” you near shriek at him. 

he only laughs harder. “i can’t just put it in you.”

“what?!” you push him away just far enough to be able to look at his face. “what do you mean you can’t just put it in me? is this not how sex works? you put that—” you widen your eyes at the monster resting against you. “—in me? like… over and over again?”

“baby, please,” he wheezes with laughter. “you’re making this so unsexy.”

“you made it unsexy first,” you pout. “put it in me, soonyoung!”

he bursts into giggles again. “stop saying that!”

“why?! you keep making me wait!” you complain. “pu—”

his hand clamps over your mouth before you can repeat yourself. “okay,” he says, laughter finally subsiding. “okay. shhh. relax… and i will, alright?” he doesn’t move so you nod. “good girl.”

you make a strangled noise against his hand at the praise and his eyebrows shoot up. 

“oh, you like that?” his lips quickly curve into a smirk when your only response is to wriggle under him, hips trying their best to move his dick in the direction you need it to go. 

he releases your mouth slowly and when you stay silent, his smirk deepens. he brings his hands to your face, squeezing your cheeks together and kissing your puckered lips before he rests it at the base of your neck, fingers splayed across your throat. you briefly wonder if he’d choke you during your first time if you asked. you quickly wave the idea away because you know he wouldn’t. 

“so pretty,” he murmurs again, finger tapping your lower lip. you dip your head to take it into your mouth and he groans. “jesus christ.” you release him and he sighs roughly. “let me know if i do anything you don’t like, okay?”

you nod eagerly, thinking it’s finally time to get what your body has been screaming for. so when he pulls away, you make a noise of protest and watch him in confusion as he moves down your body. it isn’t until he forces your knees apart and lays back down between your legs, breath hot on your skin, that you realize what he’s planning on doing. 

“oh,” you whisper pathetically. 

soonyoung looks up at you and you swear he looks excited to absolutely demolish you. without breaking eye contact, he unfurls his tongue from his mouth as far as it’ll go, the tip of it just a breath away from touching your clit. you try to move but his grip on your thighs don’t let you. you watch with bated breath as his saliva slides down his tongue, dripping right where you were hoping it would. 

it’s so fucking obscene, and the second you feel the warmth of his spit on you, you throw your head back and moan. 

“soonie,” you mewl. 

“god, i haven’t even done anything and you’re a mess—’s so fucking hot,” he tells you, letting go of one thigh to press his thumb into your clit, massaging his own spit into it. you gasp, bucking into the sensation now that one hip is free from his hold. “patience, baby,” he reminds you. 

soonyoung doesn’t give you a chance to talk back because with no warning, his mouth replaces his thumb and it takes everything in you to keep from screaming. he places his hand back on your thigh just in time to keep you from reflexively caging his head in. he holds you down as he devours you, tongue flicking, sweeping, and circling around all the places no one has ever been. you could cry. you think you might already be. you can’t tell anymore. 

he begins to massage where he holds you when your thighs start to tremble. 

“soonyoung,” you gasp, hand diving into his hair and fisting it without your permission. 

he doesn’t mind though, responding with a moan of his own, straight into your cunt. you half-sob at the vibrations of his voice against you. it doesn’t take long before his finger slips into you. then another. multiplying the pleasure tenfold. his tongue never falters as his fingers find and stimulate the small, ribbed spot inside you, pressing and pushing and rubbing to a rhythm that—as always—only you and soonyoung can hear.

“oh my god, soonyoung,” you repeat his name. you don’t know if you’re capable of saying anything else anymore. “soonie.”

“yeah, baby,” he mutters against you, kissing your sex with as much vigor as he was kissing your mouth earlier. “still okay?”

you nod wildly. “yes, yes. god, yes.”

he moans again, eyes flicking up to you as he does. “you sound so pretty, baby. be louder.”

“the…” you sigh as he gently removes his fingers, softly kissing down your slit. “the party…”

“let them hear you,” he mumbles. “let them hear how good i make you feel.”

“but…” you never finish your sentence.

he leaves one last whisper of a kiss before he suddenly takes two fingers, holds you open, and fully presses his face into you, his tongue entering you—stiff, thick, and so, so warm. you unwillingly follow orders, half-shouting and half-groaning his name. your back arches as he presses impossibly further into you, his tongue touching you in ways you only ever dreamed he would. 

“soonyoung… soonyoung!” you call him, grip in his hair tightening. “i’m going to… i’m…”

“go ahead, baby,” he encourages you. “god, go ahead,” he practically begs before his tongue dives back into you. 

his thumb finds your clit once more, working it harder and faster as he slips in and out of you, the sounds of him feasting on you so vulgar, you could listen to it forever. your body starts to inadvertently grind on his face the closer you get.

“soonyoung, i’m… i’m going… i’m…” you stammer, trying to pull him up by the hair. “stop, stop, i’m going to cum on your face.”

soonyoung frowns, thumb never stopping as he takes his tongue back. “that’s the point baby. i want you to cum on my face.” his eyes roll back at the thought, and he moans before seeming to shake the thoughts out of his head. “god, you better cum on my face.”

“but—”

“cum on my fucking face, y/n.”

that shuts you up and all you can do is nod quickly, allowing him to get back to what he was doing. it doesn’t take long after that. it hits you like a wall, slamming into every part of your body at once, reverberating to every corner of you over and over again. and because soonyoung is a demon and he doesn’t stop, the echoes of your orgasm ripple through you mercilessly until just mere moments later, you’re having another one. 

and if the way soonyoung smirks into you is any indication, you know he’s aware of exactly what he just did to you. it could have been seconds or it could have been hours when you feel soonyoung’s arms wrapping around your middle, torso pressing into yours as he kisses your neck and makes his way up until his lips are on yours again. 

you taste yourself on him and you think it should be gross, but it just makes you even wetter knowing that he took that part of you for himself—that he drank you up and he loved it. 

“soonie,” you whisper, breath still coming in ragged gasps. he pushes your hair off your forehead as he looks down at you. 

“mmm?” he hums, still kissing you wherever he can reach, but always coming back to your lips. 

“i want to be yours,” you say. you’re not even sure that’s what you meant to say. you’re actually 90% sure you wanted to demand he put it in you again, but that’s what comes out. it’s still true—maybe even truer—so you repeat it: “i want to be yours so bad.”

soonyoung looks at you with so much love, you feel your eyes burning. he doesn’t point out your tears, simply pressing his finger against each one that escapes your eyes. he leans in, presses his cheek against yours, and he whispers: “then i'll make you mine.”

he presses against your entrance then, and you gasp. 

“shhh,” he soothes you. “try to relax, okay?”

he props himself on one elbow, other hand coming to your hip and rubbing gentle circles into the skin there. his touch is comforting and grounding, and you feel your muscles relaxing even as he starts to push into you. your hand comes up to his shoulder, grasping tightly as the stretch starts to burn more and more. you squeeze your eyes shut, head turning to the side as you try to focus on relaxing enough to let soonyoung bottom out. 

“slow, slow,” you breathe, even though he’s already barely moving as it is. 

he plants a kiss on your temple, murmuring apologies against your skin. “i’m sorry, baby. do you feel okay?”

you nod, eyes still closed. he pauses for a minute or so, settling for peppering kisses all over you. his patience and love help—they’re everything. you adjust and that desire to be completely full comes back to you and you nod quickly at him.  

“keep going, soonie.” you’re too eager to be full of him to be embarrassed at how needy you sound. he smiles, coming off his elbow to lay back on you. 

you’re not sure if the kissing is a distraction, but it works. you’re so preoccupied with the things his tongue is doing with yours that by the time he’s fully sheathed inside you, it doesn’t burn anymore.

“oh my god,” he breathes, pressing his forehead against you and closing his eyes like he’s trying to concentrate. “oh shit.” he breathes deeply and evenly. “you won’t change your mind about me if i cum too fast, will you?”

you laugh but that’s a mistake because it causes you to clench a little, and soonyoung immediately groans, hand going to your shoulder and squeezing to get you to stop. 

“don’t, don’t!” he says quickly. “don’t squeeze, baby.”

“sorry,” you whisper, trying not to giggle. you give him a few moments to collect himself, just like he did with you. “no, by the way,” you say. he opens his eyes and looks at you. “i won’t change my mind. it’s been 10 years. nothing will change my mind.”

the words do something to him—seem to inject some resolve into his bloodstream—because without saying anything, soonyoung starts moving. your lips part at the foreign feeling of his cock dragging against your walls. his every dip and ridge fits to your every ridge and dip, and you don’t need any more evidence to know that soonyoung was made specifically for you. 

“oh fuck,” he groans, burying his face in your neck and kissing the skin there. “you feel so good—so fucking good,” he says, his breath hot and heavy in your ear. “your cunt is perfect.”

you let your eyes flutter closed as a mouthwatering mixture of pain and pleasure start to pool together in your lower abdomen. you don’t know when you start, but as he continues thrusting in and out of you, the deepness of his thrusts gradually increasing, you can’t stop moaning, gasping, chanting his name. it becomes a prayer to you. 

soonyoung. soonyoung. soonyoung.

no, not a prayer. a wish coming true—all 10 of the birthday wishes you spent on him coming true. you were finally loving soonyoung loudly. 

“y/n,” he pants, sweat dripping onto you. “oh my god.”

“soonyoung,” you answer, moans sandwiching his name. 

and just when you think his thrusts are as deep as they can go—pulling all the way out before slamming right back into you—he pushes off of you, holding himself up with one arm and holding the headboard above the both of you for leverage. and somehow, he gets impossibly deeper, impossibly rougher, impossibly better, coaxing all kinds of screams and noises from you. 

“oh my god, look at you,” he mumbles, eyes darting between your chest, your lips, and the place where he keeps disappearing inside you. “so—fucking—perfect.” his cock slams roughly into you with each word, easily aggravating all your pleasure points.

“‘m not gonna last long,” you breathe. “soonie… ‘m not—”

you cut yourself off with your own cry when his hips start to drive into you at an unforgivable pace. tears leak from the corners of your eyes, leaving hot streaks as you try to remember how good this moment feels—how fucking good soonyoung feels. how perfectly soonyoung fills you up.

“i’m not either, baby,” he says. he starts grinding his pelvis down on your clit roughly, making you grab his forearm in a weak attempt to ride out the overwhelming and overstimulating feeling of an orgasm building up inside you mercilessly.

he lowers himself again, closing the distance between you two and pressing his lips to yours. “i love you,” he says. “i love you so fucking much.”

“i—” you gasp as his pelvis presses down on you ruthlessly. “i love—oh my god, soonyoung,” you groan. 

“do you feel like you’re mine yet?” he asks, voice raspy, hips ramming into you so hard, there’s no way you won’t be bruised tomorrow. 

you nod frantically. “yes, god, yes. yes!” you shriek the last one as your orgasm approaches its summit. “yes!”

“say it,” he grunts, eyes boring into yours.

“i’m yours,” you pant. “soonie,” you whimper, eyes shutting on their own accord. “i’m yours, soonyoung.”

“i never want to hear another name come out of your mouth ever again,” he tells you, the statement followed by a string of colorful curses as his hips begin stuttering uncontrollably. you know he’s holding off as best he can for you. “you’re mine.” he moans loudly. “and i’m yours.”

“m-mine… soonyoung…” you open your eyes to find him still watching you intently. “soonyoung! i’m coming! i’m—” you grasp him as hard as humanly possible, your third orgasm of the night ripping through you.

for a few moments, soonyoung continues to thrust into you, trying to help you through your orgasm, but he doesn’t last, quickly pulling out and coming all over you, cords of white coloring your stomach, chest, even your face. you gasp, bits of it landing in your mouth. you lick the corners of your lips as you come down from your high, smiling a little when you finally get to taste soonyoung. 

“holy shit…” he huffs, sitting back on his heels and throwing his head back. you try not to gawk at how beautiful he looks on his knees like this, his still semi-hard cock covered in your pleasure. 

“c’mere.” speaking suddenly feels like such a chore as you realize how sleepy you are.

soonyoung half obeys, leaning forward to kiss you quickly before getting out of bed and ignoring all your protests over it. he returns from his restroom with a towel, gently wiping you both clean, even leaving kisses as he goes. it’s like he’s making up for his seven years. 

“how do you feel?” he asks when he slips back into bed, pulling the covers over the both of you. 

“like i’m in love,” you say, eyes closing as you curl into his chest. he laughs as he wraps his arms around you. “it was perfect. thank you, soonie.”

he kisses the top of your head. “i’m sorry about how weird i’ve been acting these last few weeks… and i’m sorry for thinking i could just… end our friendship like that.”

you open your eyes and crane your neck to look at him. “i wouldn’t have let you,” you inform him. he grins. “and i didn’t.”

“you didn’t,” he agrees. you hum. “i love you.”

“wait… do you love me?!” you ask jokingly after hearing it at least a dozen times tonight.

he rolls his eyes. “good to know our dynamic is going to be fine.”

you giggle. “i love you more.”

“whoa, fighting words.”

“ten years, soonyoung.”

“it was ten years for me too!” he protests. 

you frown. 

“i gave myself seven years before i forced myself to move on,” he reminds you. “i loved you long before that, you fool.”

you glare but your heart swells. you hug him even tighter. “so… what are we?’

“are you fucking kidding me?”

you laugh, burying your face in his bare chest. “yeah, i am. i’m joking.”

he pinches your side. “good. it would’ve been awkward to have to inform you you’re my wife now.”

you shriek-laugh and you know it’s infectious from the way he bursts into laughter at your reaction too. you spend the rest of the night like that, talking about the moments you knew you were in love, joking around, and planning your new decade and your new life, your birthday party long forgotten.

just before you both drift off to sleep, you exchange your last i-love-yous of the night. 

“good night, love of mine,” he whispers.

“mine,” you repeat, smiling. “yours.”

you know your 30s are going to be the best years of your life.

[dollgxtz]

His Watchful Eye Pt. 21

Word Count: 23.5k

Tags: yandere!sylus, sylus x fem!reader, possession, forced pregnancy, unwanted pregnancy, manipulation, coercion, tw for rape, ptsd, panic attacks, caleb appears, nicknames like pipsqueak, kitten, sweetie, honey

Taglist: @ngh-ch-choso-ahhhh @eliasxchocolate @nozomiaj @yuuchanie @sylus-kitten @its-regretti @starkeysslvt @yarafic @prince-nikko @iluvmewwwww75 @someone-somewheres-stuff @zaynesjasmine1 @honnylemontea @altariasu @sorryimakira @pearlymel @emidpsandia @angel-jupiter @hwangintakswifey @webmvie @housesortinghat @shoruio @gojos1ut @solomonlover @mysssticc @elegantnightblaze @mavphorias @babylavendersblog @burntoutfrogacademic @sinstae @certainduckanchor @ladyackermanisdead @sh4nn @lilyadora @nyumin @kiwookse @anisha24-blog1 @weepingluminarytale @riamir @definitionistato @xxhayashixx @adraxsteia @hargun-s @cayraeley @palomanh @spaceace111 @euridan @malleus-draconias-rose @athoieee @shddyboo @lavcia

AN: Hi guys! I know its been a minute since such a scene has been included so just an extra warning that there is noncon in this chapter! Stay safe pls!! Also some of you had some questions about whether MC will fall for any other love interest that appears, so I just want to say Mc has no romantic or sexual feelings for Caleb, just as she had no romantic feelings for Zayne or Rafayel when they showed up. I just felt it made sense for him to have a significant part in the plot considering they grew up together. Any romantic feelings she has is solely focused on Xavier and Sylus in this story! Just wanted to clear that up in case anyone got confused! Ty :3

“It’s her father, isn’t it?” You said nothing, but your shoulders stiffened, and that was enough. “Screw him,” Caleb continued, his tone sharper now. “Seriously. Whatever happened, he's clearly abandoned you. Left you to figure it out on your own. You don’t have to keep searching or struggling. You both can have a home here.” He leaned forward slightly, sincerity ringing through every word. “With me.” He meant it. You could see it—no bravado, no games. Just the raw earnestness of someone who wanted to do the right thing for someone they still cared about. And maybe that’s what made it worse. Your hands started to sweat, palms clammy as anxiety crept up your spine like a slow, cold hand. You curled your fingers inward, trying not to shake. He didn’t know.

Check my masterlist for the other parts!

You felt like nothing was real.

One moment, you had been on the verge of tears, your voice cracking in the vitals records office beneath the clinical fluorescence of the overhead lights, desperately trying to piece together a life where you and Sylvia could both be free. The clerk had looked at you with sympathy, yes—but it was the kind of sympathy reserved for people drowning in their own chaos. You had no address. No papers. No destination. You had been scrambling just to make it from one hour to the next.

And now?

Now, you were in a car.

A warm car. Heated seats humming softly beneath you. The windows rolled down just enough to let in a gentle breath of winter air. The hum of tires against pavement a strange, calming rhythm under your feet. It smelled faintly of leather, cologne, and something that reminded you of pine. And in the back seat, tucked safely into the car seat, was Sylvia. Her tiny form rose and fell gently with sleep, bundled in the soft blanket.

And at the wheel—

Caleb.

A man who, by every rule of logic, every memory of fire and destruction and goodbye, should not have been breathing.

You couldn’t stop staring at him. Every few seconds your eyes would dart to the rearview mirror, or the curve of his profile as he turned the wheel, or the shape of his hands gripping the leather. You kept waiting for him to disappear, for the car to dissolve into smoke, for the world to tilt and drop you back onto the sidewalk outside the records office, heartbroken and sobbing.

But he didn’t vanish.

He was right there.

"How many times are you gonna pinch yourself?" Caleb laughed, tossing a glance at you in the mirror, his voice light, almost teasing.

You blinked down at your arm, realizing with a start that your fingers were still gripping your sleeve, caught in the act of pinching. You let go like it burned and turned to look out the window instead, cheeks flushed with heat. You hadn’t even realized you were doing it.

It was easier to stay quiet. To lose yourself in the motion of the road, the blur of buildings and trees and traffic signs. To pretend, even just for a second, that the world was okay. That this was normal. That your life hadn’t imploded and left you breathless in its wake. The low hum of the engine soothed something deep inside you. Sylvia’s soft breathing anchored you. But none of it made sense.

“I just…” you murmured, voice raw, catching in your throat. “You’re supposed to be dead. I must be dreaming.”

“You could say I was,” Caleb said, his voice casual, but his eyes flicked toward you with something softer, heavier. “Didn’t take, I guess.”

You shook your head slowly, biting your lip. The joke wasn’t funny. Not to you. Not when you’d spent endless nights grieving him. Not when you’d whispered his name into pillows soaked with tears, praying that he hadn’t suffered. Praying that wherever he was, he wasn’t in pain.

The silence stretched.

You looked back at Sylvia, heart clenching as you watched her squirm lightly in her sleep. Even with Caleb in the front seat and a moment of calm settling around you, the questions clawed their way back into your mind.

How was he alive?

Where had he been?

Why now?

Why did it feel like, even in this surreal moment, everything was about to fall apart again?

Nothing was fine.

But for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, a thin thread of safety wound its way around your ribs. It wasn’t security, not really. But it was something. A promise. A fragile sense that maybe—just maybe—you didn’t have to be alone anymore.

Something almost felt safe.

And that was terrifying in its own right.

You had a million questions crowding your mind, each one elbowing the other for space, but none of them could find their way to your mouth. They piled up like traffic behind your teeth, heavy and stalled by disbelief. So instead, you sat in silence—shell-shocked, emotionally paralyzed, your hands cold in your lap despite the warmth of the car. Your eyes flicked between the dashboard and the man in the driver’s seat, who should have been dust and ash. Your breath felt caught somewhere in your throat, stuck between a scream and a sob.

It wasn’t that you weren’t happy to see him. No, that wasn’t it. Deep down, a part of you ached with relief. The sight of him—the curve of his jaw, the cadence of his laugh, the way his hands still gripped the wheel like he was built for steadiness—it was like coming home. But the rest of you—the louder part—was afraid. Terrified, even. That this was some kind of cruel joke. That maybe you’d finally cracked and this was all in your head. The idea that Caleb was actually here, alive and real, seemed too fragile to hold. Like one wrong word might break the spell and leave you in pieces again.

You were balancing on the edge of hope and horror, and neither felt stable. Better to just go with the flow for now before unraveling any mysteries.

Caleb, ever observant, seemed to pick up on your inner storm. His voice broke through the silence like sunlight through storm clouds. "Did you see that woman’s face when you said `You’re alive?' he laughed, the sound warm and familiar in a way that made your eyes sting.

You looked up at him, the corners of your mouth twitching into a weak, uncertain smile. “Yeah,” you said softly, voice still frayed from earlier. “It was a good thing I came up with that lie about you being in the attack with me…”

He snorted, nodding in approval. “Smooth save. Pretty sure her brain short-circuited.”

You gave a soft huff of air that was almost a laugh, but the tension didn’t lift. Your eyes fell to your hands again. There were so many things you wanted to say. To ask. Where had he been? Why fake his death. What had he gone through? Why hadn’t he found you sooner?

But still none of it came out.

Your throat locked tight, as if the questions themselves were too dangerous. Too sacred. And if you asked them now—if he answered—you weren’t sure your heart could take it.

"Ehh..."

Sylvia’s soft, restless whine from the car seat behind you was the first sound to cut through the haze that had settled in your chest. You turned instinctively, your hand already moving, gently stroking her soft hair to soothe her. She blinked slowly, her tiny lashes fluttering as her eyes opened halfway, still glazed with sleep. Her fussing faded under your touch, and her lips twitched into something almost like contentment. That small reaction—so pure, so undeserved—tugged at something deep and fragile inside you.

Your fingers lingered in her hair a little longer, like you were trying to memorize the feel of her, brand it into your memory before the world shifted again.

You turned back to the front, eyes drifting once more to Caleb. As if your brain had finally caught up to the moment, a fresh rush of disbelief surged through you. Caleb. Alive. Driving. Not a hallucination. And you were here, somehow, in a world that still had him in it.

He hadn't asked any questions yet. But you knew he had them. God, he must’ve had dozens.

After all, you had a baby in tow. You weren’t in Linkon. You weren’t on any assignment. You were living out of a beat-up car, with dark circles under your eyes, trauma stitched into every movement, your clothes wrinkled and worn from weeks of running. You were the definition of a red flag right now.

And still, he hadn’t said anything about it.

It wasn’t like him not to pry. Not to crack a joke or dig with teasing persistence. That silence said more than words ever could—maybe he was giving you space? Letting you collect yourself. Letting you choose when and if you were ready to speak.

The thought made your chest tighten with gratitude.

But still, your gaze flicked to the rearview mirror. You couldn’t help it. The car. The one you’d left behind in that parking lot. Caleb had promised it would be handled, that one of his guys would tow it to a secure location until you were ready to deal with it again.

But the thought nagged at you.

That car had been your shelter. Your shield. Your cocoon when the world outside was too hostile to face. You’d driven it through storms, slept in its back seat when Sylvia wouldn’t stop crying, spilled breastmilk on its floor mats. It smelled like desperation and stale snacks and newborn sweat. It was disgusting and broken and home.

And now it was gone.

Or at least, not with you.

The back of your throat tightened. You told yourself it was stupid to get emotional over a piece of metal and upholstery, but that car had meant survival. And you’d lost so many things already—you couldn’t lose that too.

Your fingers curled slightly in your lap. You didn’t say anything, not yet. You just sat there, letting the weight of everything hover in the stillness between you and Caleb, trying to ground yourself in the fact that—for now—you were safe. Right?

“We’ll have to take my jet the rest of the way. Hope you got over your fear of heights!” Caleb said, casting a glance in your direction with that same crooked smirk he used to wear when you were kids—only now, it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You blinked at him, the words barely registering at first. Jet? Your brows lifted before you could catch the reaction, and your head turned slowly, like your brain was trying to catch up with your body. He owned a jet now?

Jet—as in private aircraft? Caleb?

Your Caleb?

The same Caleb who used to beg Grandma to drive you both to school because his bike had a flat tire again, and once duct-taped the soles of his shoes back on because he used his savings from dogwalking to buy you the new pairs of shoes you were wanting. You stared at him, trying to align that boy—the one who used to eat cereal straight from the box on the kitchen floor at 2 a.m.—with the man sitting in front of you now, dressed very nicely, driving like someone who had nothing in the world to run from.

How many versions of Caleb were there now? And how many had you missed?

You didn’t say anything at first. You couldn’t. Your brain was still doing somersaults, flipping back and forth between the past and this unfamiliar present. So you did what you always did when the feelings were too big to name—you rolled your eyes. Not with irritation, but with the kind of self-protective sarcasm that had once made you both laugh under the blankets after Grandma had gone to bed.

“I’m more worried about her,” you muttered, your voice quieter, more grounded as you reached back automatically to check on Sylvia. Your fingers slid beneath the edge of the blanket and gently adjusted it over her chest, tucking her in a little tighter. She didn’t stir, her breaths slow and even, but still your heart twisted. The idea of her ears popping mid-flight, of her tiny face scrunching up in pain with no way to understand what was happening—it gutted you.

“She’s never been on a plane before.”

“Don’t worry, Pipsqueak,” Caleb said, waving one hand like he was swatting away a fly. “The cabin’s pressure-stabilized. She won’t feel a thing, I promise.”

You nodded slowly, but didn’t quite relax. Not because you didn’t want to trust him—but because trust didn’t come easy anymore. Not after everything. Not with Sylvia in the picture. There was too much at stake now. You weren’t just responsible for yourself anymore.

And then the name hit you.

Pipsqueak.

God. That name. It hadn’t been spoken in years.

It rolled off his tongue so casually, like no time had passed. Like he could just reach through the space between now and back then and pluck that version of you back into existence.

But it didn’t feel casual to you. It felt like a gut punch wrapped in nostalgia.

Because Pipsqueak didn’t belong to the person you were now. It belonged to a girl who had climbed trees barefoot, who had raced him down the hallway to call shotgun, who snuck junk food into the house because Grandma said sugar stunted growth. Belonged to the girl who sat beside Caleb on the roof when neither of you could sleep, pointing out constellations with chipped fingernails and whispered dreams. That version of you had been young and fierce and full of fire, long before trauma and survival had hollowed her out and filled her with something colder.

You weren’t her anymore.

You hadn’t been her since the first time you ran. Since you started sleeping in shifts and counting canned food like currency. Since the first time Sylvia screamed and you didn’t have a clue what to do and thought you might throw up from the sheer weight of it all.

But it was clear Caleb wasn't the same little boy either.

You looked over at him, more carefully this time.

Caleb was clean-cut now. Sharp jaw, newer clothes, posture like someone who’d spent a lot of time trying to stand taller than his past. But there were tells—little ones. The faint crease in his brow. The way his fingers tapped anxiously against the steering wheel when he thought you weren’t watching. That edge behind his jokes. The ghosts still lingered.

Neither of you had made it out whole.

You looked away before the memories swallowed you whole, your hand drifting down to Sylvia’s tiny cheek. Her warmth anchored you. Her soft breaths pulled you back into the present.

For now, she was safe. For now, you were in a car with someone who had once been your entire world, who still knew your middle name and your worst habit and probably remembered the way you liked your toast. For now, you could pretend this was normal.

For now, you could pretend this new version of Caleb—with his jet and secrets and unreadable eyes—was still the same boy who used to sneak you extra pancakes and call you Pipsqueak like it meant something sacred.

Neither of you said much else. The silence hung in the space between you like thick fog—unspoken words pressing at your lips, but none of them quite right, none of them quite safe. The weight of everything that hadn't been said settled heavily in the air, dense and unmoving. What was there to say? Too much, and all of it too tangled to unravel right now. Every sentence you might’ve spoken felt too fragile, too prone to crumbling under its own emotional weight. Silence, uncomfortable as it was, felt safer. Cleaner. A truce carved out of restraint.

In a strange way, you were grateful for the jet. Not for the speed or the luxury of it, but for the sheer, unapologetic distance it offered from Sylus. Even if it was temporary, even if he’d still live in your head rent-free for a while longer, there was something deeply comforting about physically putting space between yourself and everything you couldn’t yet face. A few hours of altitude between you and the weight of everything that had happened. You didn’t have to look back. Not yet. It wasn’t much, but it was something. A buffer. A breath.

The drone of the engine had settled into a low, steady rhythm—soothing in its own way. You watched clouds slide past the window for a while, your thoughts drifting in and out of coherence, like pieces of a dream you couldn’t quite hold onto. Eventually, without meaning to, you slipped beneath the surface of sleep. Your head tilted, your eyes closed, and the world faded away.

You didn’t even realize you’d dozed off until you felt a light tap on your knee, delicate but insistent enough to pull you out of the haze.

"Hey," Caleb’s voice stirred you gently back to consciousness. It was soft but grounded, laced with that practical warmth he always carried. He was half-turned from the front seat, one hand still out from tapping you, the other braced casually on the seat back. "We're here. Just grab the baby—I’ve got your stuff."

You blinked, bleary-eyed, and sat up straighter, trying to orient yourself. The car had stopped. The window beside you now showed a blur of unfamiliar buildings and muted light filtering through an overcast sky. You rubbed your eyes with the back of your hand, your muscles still heavy with sleep.

"Oh! Thank you…" you murmured, your voice still touched by that soft post-nap haze. It came out quieter than intended, wrapped in surprise and a thread of embarrassment. You turned your attention to Sylvia, who was still snoozing in her car seat, her tiny hands curled into fists.

You unbuckled her with care, every movement measured and quiet, not wanting to jostle her awake.

Caleb had already moved toward the trunk. True to form. Just like you remembered. There was something reassuring about the way he moved—efficient, no-nonsense, always one step ahead when it came to practical things. He slung the bags over his shoulder like it was nothing, sparing you the trouble without needing to be asked. He hadn’t changed in that way. Still Caleb. Still quietly, stubbornly helpful.

You stood there for a moment, watching him work, Sylvia curled against you, and felt a flicker of something—gratitude, maybe. Or just the strange comfort of familiarity in a world that didn’t feel like yours anymore.

The process of getting on Caleb’s jet was shockingly smooth—almost unreal in how effortless it all felt. Then again, it was his jet. His rules. There was no need to wrestle your way through crowded terminals or suffer the usual travel-day gauntlet of TSA screenings and endless lines. No security conveyor belts demanding you strip down your dignity piece by piece. No plastic trays, no pat-downs. Just a private hangar, a silent set of staff moving like clockwork around you, and the unspoken understanding that everything had already been taken care of. Caleb simply offered a few clipped words to the crew and a nod, like royalty checking into his estate.

You followed him as he led the way down a private runway, the rhythmic crunch of your shoes against the pavement echoing under the vast sky. The heat from the tarmac shimmered in soft waves around your feet, making the air feel thinner, dreamlike. And then, as you rounded a corner and the jet came into full view, you slowed your pace, your breath catching in your throat.

It looked like something out of a high-end magazine spread or an action movie—sleek and purposeful, its metallic silver body gleaming like liquid light under the filtered afternoon sun. A single stripe of midnight-blue curved down its side in a minimalist arc, subtle and elegant. Its windows were tinted so dark they looked like polished onyx, and the stairway was already lowered as if the jet had been expecting you personally.

You couldn’t help but let out a low breath, your eyes wide. "This is yours? Like...actually yours?"

Caleb gave you a side glance, his mouth tugging into a familiar half-smirk. "You sound surprised."

"I am," you said, not taking your eyes off the jet. "The last time I saw you, you were driving that beat-up car that only started if you begged it and hit the dashboard twice."

The last time you saw him was in a burst of flames.

"Hey," he said with mock offense, raising a brow. "That car had character."

"It had a death wish," you shot back, your voice full of disbelief. "Pretty sure it stalled just from looking at a hill."

He chuckled. "Yeah, well. Turns out the car was just shy. Needed a little love."

You rolled your eyes, unable to suppress the laugh bubbling up. "Right. Shy."

"Exactly," Caleb said smoothly, already climbing the stairway like he belonged in that world. He paused a few steps up and looked back down at you, one hand braced on the railing. "You coming, or are you going to stand there and fall in love with the plane?"

You gave the jet one last sweeping glance—the polished curve of its nose, the pristine angles of its wings, the seamless shine that made it look more like art than aircraft. You adjusted Sylvia carefully in your arms; she stirred faintly but didn’t wake.

With a soft exhale, you nodded and followed Caleb up the steps.

The interior met every expectation and then some—cream-colored leather seats, warm wood paneling, soft lighting that made everything glow like golden hour. It smelled faintly of something clean and expensive, like fresh linen and vanilla.

You weren’t sure what was waiting at the other end of this flight—what conversations, what challenges, what healing or hurt—but for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt a sliver of relief. Of air. Of something untangled.

The inside of the jet was just as luxurious as the outside—maybe even more so. You stepped into the cabin and immediately felt like you’d crossed an invisible threshold into another world, one far removed from the chaos, noise, and exhaustion you’d been living in lately. It was quiet in the kind of way that made your ears ring a little, like luxury had its own gravity.

The lighting was soft and golden, like perpetual sunset casting a warm glow over everything it touched. Wide cream-colored leather seats were arranged in a staggered formation, each one more like an armchair from a high-end hotel than anything you’d ever seen on a commercial flight. Every seat had its own console and polished wood side table with built-in touchscreen panels, chrome fixtures, and tiny storage drawers.

The carpet underfoot was a plush gray so thick your footsteps made no sound. Subtle overhead lights twinkled like stars, embedded into the cream ceiling panels, while small windows filtered in natural light through polarized glass. Even the air smelled expensive—crisp, with a hint of something floral and fresh, like linen mist. Built-in compartments disappeared seamlessly into the cabin walls, leaving everything tidy and curated to perfection. There wasn’t a single scuff mark or fingerprint in sight.

You paused at the top of the steps and just… stared, wide-eyed. "Wow," you breathed out, barely above a whisper. "This is insane."

Caleb turned around with that familiar crooked smirk of his. "Better than coach, huh?"

You snorted, your lips twitching despite the awe. "You think? This looks like something a billionaire would use to run away from their problems in style."

"What do you think I’m doing?" he teased.

The space was mostly empty apart from the seats, a few sleek tables, and a refreshment bar tucked at the rear, stocked with bottles and glassware that caught the light just right. Everything had that untouched, carefully maintained look—like the jet wasn’t just a mode of transportation, but a symbol.

It had been a long time since you’d flown anywhere. Long enough that your body reacted before your brain could catch up. The buzzing in your limbs wasn’t just nerves—it was the tightball of anticipation, a kind of vulnerability stirred by the idea of flying again. You took a deep breath and looked down at Sylvia, still cradled against you. She was awake now, her big eyes blinking slowly, peacefully.

You followed Caleb down the narrow aisle as he gestured toward one of the larger seats. He placed a hand lightly against the backrest, as if offering it like a proper host.

"Here," he said gently, helping you ease into the plush leather. He didn’t say much else, but he didn’t need to. His presence was steady, calm. He made sure the seat reclined without sticking, adjusted your footrest, and moved Sylvia’s baby bag into an overhead compartment without being asked. Small things, but they steadied you more than you expected.

You sat back and tried to breathe normally. The hum of the engines was so faint you almost forgot they were running. The quiet was comforting at first, but as the minutes stretched, your mind began to wander. You glanced down at Sylvia. She was quiet now but would need to be changed and fed soon. You swallowed hard, the idea of handling that in front of Caleb making you shift uncomfortably in your seat. It wasn’t just the act itself—it was the intimacy of it, the vulnerability, the reminders of how much things had changed.

Just as your thoughts began to spiral, Caleb stood up and made his way to the front of the cabin, past the bulkhead and toward the cockpit.

"Gonna talk to the pilot?" you called after him, blinking as you tried to make sense of what he was doing.

He paused in the doorway, looked over his shoulder with a glint in his eye—and then pulled something out of his jacket.

A pilot’s cap.

He slipped it onto his head with a theatrical little tilt. "I haven’t talked to myself since I was a kid, Pips," he said with a wink. "Don’t be silly."

You just stared. Your mouth opened slightly, but no sound came out. "Wait...you’re flying this thing?"

Caleb gave a soft chuckle and disappeared into the cockpit like it was no big deal, like you hadn’t just found out that your ride through the clouds was being personally flown by someone you once saw get stuck trying to parallel park at sixteen.

You sat in stunned silence, clutching Sylvia closer. She looked up at you with that calm, curious expression babies had when they sensed something strange was happening. You weren’t sure whether to be impressed, horrified, or both.

Probably both.

Sylvia began to fuss right before the plane started to move, her soft whines piercing the serene quiet of the cabin. You felt her small body shift against you, tiny fingers clenching and unclenching as her restlessness grew. With a quiet murmur of reassurance, you shifted in your seat, gently picking her up by the armpits and adjusting her in your lap so she was sitting in a new position, facing outward to take in the soft, ambient glow of the jet’s lighting.

Her little legs kicked against your thighs, and you could feel the tension in her body—restless and searching for comfort. You bounced your knees lightly, hoping the motion might soothe her, but her unease lingered.

You glanced around the cabin, your awe at the luxury around you temporarily eclipsed by the more immediate reality of having a fussy infant in your arms. The pristine elegance—the rich leather seats, the gleaming wood accents, the hushed air of wealth—suddenly felt a little less impressive. You dug through the diaper bag for a fresh diaper and a soft blanket, your hands moving quickly but carefully.

Balancing Sylvia in your lap, you began to change her diaper as discreetly as you could. The wide seat helped, its buttery-soft cushions giving you just enough space to manage the awkward angle. It wasn’t the most dignified moment, but you’d gotten used to that by now. Motherhood didn’t wait for convenience. You kept one eye on the cabin door that led to the cockpit and the other on Sylvia’s wriggling feet.

Once she was clean and dry, you gathered her back into your arms, wrapping the blanket loosely around her and beginning to feed her. Her fussing eased into quiet suckling, the tension in her body gradually fading. You rocked her slightly, syncing the motion with the subtle vibrations of the jet’s engine beneath your seat.

Even as your hands stayed busy, your mind wandered—inevitably—to Caleb. You pictured him seated in the cockpit, hands steady on the controls, posture confident, eyes scanning gauges and readouts with the same sharp focus you remembered from years ago. Maybe he was humming softly to himself, something rhythmic, a habit he'd had when he was deep in concentration. You wanted to see it. You wanted to witness him in that moment—so completely in control, so competent—but you told yourself not to interrupt. He was flying a jet, after all. Best not to distract the pilot.

You still couldn't quite believe this all. The cracks were starting to form in your mind. Yeah, it was easy to just go along with this. Pretend you didn't have a million questions but you felt like you were about to sob any second from it all.

The jet began to taxi, the movement smooth and steady, but as it picked up speed for takeoff, a sudden jolt of turbulence bounced through the cabin. You gasped quietly, instinctively wrapping your arms tighter around Sylvia. Her eyes widened, but she didn’t cry—just made a small uncertain noise and tucked her head into your chest. The turbulence only lasted a few moments, the bumpiness quickly smoothing into a steady, level glide as the jet ascended into the sky.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, your muscles slowly unclenching.

Sylvia finished the milk with a few soft gulps, her lashes beginning to flutter as sleep started to tug at her once more. You wiped her chin with a small cloth, adjusting the blanket around her once more, tucking her close into the crook of your arm.

"There we go," you whispered, brushing your fingers gently along her forehead. "See? Nothing to be scared of. Just a little rumble. Your first flight. Pretty cool, huh?"

"Ah..."

She blinked slowly, her gaze unfocused, mouth slightly parted. Her hand wiggled near your collarbone, searching for something familiar to hold onto.

"I mean, not that you’ll remember this," you added with a soft laugh. "But still. Big day for you. A jet, even. Not bad for someone who’s barely mastered neck control. You’ve got some high standards to live up to."

She made a soft grunting sound, somewhere between interest and complaint.

"Yeah, I know," you said with a sigh. "You didn’t ask for all this. It’s just happening around you. Same, kid. Same."

Her hand curled lightly against your chest, warm and impossibly small.

"Bet you didn’t know your mom used to be scared of flying," you said, lowering your voice even more. "Still kind of am, to be honest. But I guess that’s what happens when you’ve got someone to protect. You do it anyway. Even when it feels like too much. You just…keep going. I feel like I'm on autopilot. Nothing surprises me anymore. Hell, I still feel uneasy about being your mom. "

Sylvia shifted, her breathing deepening, her body relaxing completely against yours. You leaned back in your seat, the plush cushion cradling your spine, and rested your head against the window.

She wasn’t at the stage yet where she reacted to much. No words, no laughs, no mimicked sounds. It made talking to her feel strange sometimes, like tossing words into a void and hoping they landed somewhere meaningful. You felt the awkwardness creep in occasionally—was this silly? Did it matter?

But you kept talking. Because she was listening, even if she couldn’t show it yet. She could feel your tone, your breath, the warmth in your voice. And maybe, someday, she’d remember it not as words, but as comfort. As presence.

Or maybe you just needed to say the words out loud. Up until this point she had been your only company. And its not like you could suddenly vent all this to Caleb. You had to remind yourself that you were still here, still trying. That the fear didn’t win. That something inside you was still strong enough to carry both of you forward.

So you whispered to her until she slept, your words quiet but steady, carried softly through the cabin like a lullaby meant for both of you.

The rest of the flight went smoothly, the cabin wrapped in a quiet stillness that made it feel like time had slowed down. After Sylvia finally fell asleep, the gentle hum of the engines faded into a soft, constant murmur—almost like a lullaby in the background. You felt yourself melt into the comfort of the wide leather seat, the plush cushions cradling your tired frame. The golden cabin lights had dimmed just enough to cast everything in a warm, dreamy haze, and with Sylvia breathing softly against your chest, it didn’t take long for your own eyelids to grow heavy.

Your fingers idly traced the edge of her baby blanket as you reclined the seat a little farther, nestling into it as far as you could without disturbing her. It was the first moment in days—maybe weeks—where you felt remotely at peace. Somewhere between consciousness and sleep, you drifted, your mind floating untethered. Thoughts of the past, of Sylus, of Caleb at the controls drifted in and out like soft ripples.

You didn’t mean to fall asleep. But exhaustion won.

The jolt that woke you was sudden, sharp—a thump and a rumble beneath your feet as the jet's wheels kissed the tarmac. Your body reacted instantly. You lurched forward, nearly smacking your forehead against the cold window beside you. Heart racing, you blinked rapidly, trying to remember where you were.

"Ugh," you groaned under your breath, reaching up to rub your eyes with one hand while steadying Sylvia with the other. She stirred slightly but didn’t wake, her small fists twitching beneath the blanket. You yawned, jaw cracking with the force of it, and sat back, momentarily dazed.

It hadn’t been a long flight—at least, not in actual time. But in your body, it felt like you’d slept through a pocket of stillness carved out just for you. You still felt tired, foggy around the edges, like you’d only just dipped beneath the surface of real rest and been yanked back too soon.

You stared ahead, letting your senses catch up. The soft overhead lighting, the elegant silence of the cabin, the gentle rocking motion as the plane slowed—everything felt strangely familiar now. Like this place, this jet, had become its own little cocoon. You weren’t sure what to do next. There was no flight attendant giving instructions, no passengers rustling around you, no urgency.

So you just pressed the button on your seat, listening to the quiet mechanical hum as it slowly unreclined to its upright position. You adjusted Sylvia gently, making sure she was still snug and warm, her little head nestled just beneath your chin.

And then, you waited.

It didn’t take long. Footsteps padded softly over the carpeted aisle, and soon Caleb appeared from the cockpit, still wearing that damn pilot’s cap. He looked annoyingly well-rested, a slight sheen of effort on his skin, but not a hair out of place. The cap was tilted back in his hand, and his expression had that smug glow that told you he was absolutely waiting for your reaction.

"So," he said with an easy grin, leaning casually against the armrest of the seat in front of you, "how’d I do? Would you say...five stars? Maybe even a glowing review? 'Pilot was easy on the eyes, kept turbulence light, snacks were mid-tier, but landing was theatrical—10/10 would fly again'?"

You snorted, half amused and half groggy, a slow smile tugging at your lips. "I don’t know. I might have to knock off a star for that landing. I nearly got catapulted into the overhead bin."

Caleb let out a laugh, pretending to clutch his heart. "Harsh. That was a textbook landing. You just sleep like a corpse."

"You say that like it’s a bad thing," you muttered, shifting in your seat and stretching your back. You felt the familiar pinch of stiffness from sleeping in a less-than-ideal position, but compared to what it could’ve been, it wasn’t bad.

He stepped closer, peeking down at Sylvia with a softened gaze. "She sleep the whole time?"

"Eventually," you said. "She wasn’t thrilled at first. Had to do the whole routine—changing, feeding, coaxing. But she passed out somewhere over the clouds."

He nodded, then smiled. "Classic baby stuff. She’ll be a pro in no time."

"I’ll be lucky if I survive her becoming a pro."

Caleb chuckled and straightened up, then extended a hand to you, the same hand that had flown you across the sky just moments ago. "Come on, co-pilot. Let’s get you two off this bird before you give me a one-star review."

You took his hand, rising slowly from the seat with Sylvia still tucked securely in your arms. Her head lolled against your shoulder, warm and drowsy. You glanced once more around the cabin—this strange little haven in the sky—and felt something catch in your throat.

You didn’t know what came next. The world outside was waiting, probably still complicated and messy and too big. But for now, you’d landed.

You and Caleb exchanged casual conversation as he led you away from the sleek, humming jet. The tarmac stretched wide under a cloudless sky, and just ahead, a striking structure captured your attention—a gleaming building of sharp angles and flawless design. Its mirrored glass façade caught the sun like a blade, sending dazzling flares across the pavement, forcing you to shield your eyes as you approached. The air was crisp with altitude, clean and cool, wrapping around you like a fresh breath after confinement. A breeze tugged gently at your clothes and hair, as if the city itself was reaching out to greet you.

Caleb moved with an easy confidence, his posture relaxed but purposeful. You noticed the way others looked at him—not just with familiarity, but respect. Deference. One of his men, dressed in understated tactical black, stood beside a vehicle so polished it looked poured from obsidian. The car was sleek and understatedly powerful, exuding a quiet luxury that didn’t beg for attention—it commanded it. In the backseat, Sylvia’s car seat had already been installed, precisely and securely, its presence an unspoken reassurance that Caleb had thought ahead. You hadn’t even needed to ask.

You eased Sylvia into place, adjusting her carefully before sliding into the seat beside her. The soft click of your buckle was oddly grounding. Caleb glanced at you through the rearview mirror, offering a quick but sincere smile. “Your things will be delivered shortly,” he said. “They’re being handled.” His voice was calm, confident, and somehow grounding amidst the surreal shift in scenery.

He started the engine with a quiet purr, and the vehicle glided forward with barely a whisper of resistance. The road climbed steadily, winding upward into the heart of the city.

Your heart thudded with nervous anticipation, each breath tight with emotion. It wasn’t fear—at least not exactly—but the overwhelming sense that your world was about to change, and drastically. Caleb began pointing out familiar features of the landscape: landmarks, districts, old stories you faintly remembered from conversations long ago. You listened, nodding, but your attention was drawn outward—your eyes devouring the city with silent awe.

Skyhaven was a marvel of impossible engineering and artistic grace. The entire city floated, cradled high above the world, perched like a crown among the clouds. Towering structures spiraled upward with organic elegance, crafted from strange, shimmering alloys and ultra-clear glass. The sunlight painted everything in surreal gradients—blush pink, molten gold, soft lavender—while the skyline shifted with every curve in the road.

The architecture wasn’t just advanced. It was alive with intention. Roads weren’t merely functional—they danced in graceful curves, linking neighborhoods like silver threads through a tapestry. Suspended bridges arced through open air, connecting terraces filled with life: vines spilling over stone, flowers blooming in impossible colors, trees with leaves that shimmered faintly with bioluminescence.

People moved with purpose but no urgency. On translucent skywalks and in open plazas, they sipped from ceramic cups, browsed open-air markets, laughed beneath the gentle spray of fountains that spilled like liquid crystal. Hovercrafts glided soundlessly between levels, their soft lights blinking in harmony, maintaining rhythm in the city’s slow, serene pulse.

It was beautiful in a way that unsettled you—too perfect, too distant from the world you knew. Skyhaven felt like a dream captured in glass and gold, like a city lifted from the pages of a story and somehow made real. And now, it was yours to enter.

A city above the world. Alive, luminous, and waiting.

Caleb gestured casually out the window as the sleek vehicle moved smoothly along the suspended roads of Skyhaven. His voice was easy, relaxed even, as if nothing unusual had happened earlier.

“Over there’s the Grand Spire,” Caleb pointed, nodding at a towering structure with spiraling glass panels glinting softly in the afternoon sun. “They’ve got the best view of the whole city from that observation deck. Maybe we’ll go sometime?”

“Maybe,” you said softly, barely registering what he was actually pointing out. Your thoughts were elsewhere entirely, spinning in tight, anxious circles. The image of Caleb standing at the vital records office wouldn’t leave your mind. What had he really been doing there? He was that voice you had heard right? Had he truly stumbled upon you by pure coincidence—or had he been deliberately watching you? Could he be trusted?

“And down there,” he continued with enthusiasm, seemingly oblivious to your distant responses, “is Skyhaven’s central plaza. Great place for concerts and festivals. Pretty sure you'd like the food stalls—they have amazing pastries.”

You forced yourself to nod, but your throat felt tight, the words sticking painfully as you murmured another half-hearted reply, “Yeah, sounds nice.”

Every innocent glance, every friendly gesture he made suddenly felt suspicious. Your heart raced with unease, your pulse hammering in your ears. Was your anxiety purely trauma-driven paranoia? Were you being irrational, or were your instincts finally alerting you to something real—something dangerous?

“Ah, over there is the Archive,” Caleb said, his tone slightly softer, almost reverent as he gestured toward an imposing building with tall, arched windows. “You can find practically anything there—records, old manuscripts. Vital documents,” he added, his voice briefly catching your attention.

Your gaze shot sharply to him at the mention of records, breath hitching painfully in your chest. Was that deliberate? Was he testing your reaction?

You quickly dropped your eyes, fingers tightening around the edge of your seat, forcing a neutral voice. “Interesting,” you muttered flatly.

Caleb gave you a brief sideways glance, brows knitted faintly in confusion, but he let it pass without comment, turning his focus back to driving as you struggled internally. The paranoia, the unanswered questions—they gnawed at your mind relentlessly, turning every small kindness he showed you into another reason to doubt his true intentions.

“We'll be at the house shortly,” Caleb finally said, his voice slicing gently through the thick fog of silence that had settled uncomfortably between you. He tried to smile, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards softly, but it never quite reached his eyes. Instead, his gaze remained troubled, distant, as though he were carefully treading the line between reassurance and apology. He felt the tension just as acutely as you did—how could he not? The space between you both was filled with a storm of unspoken words, confusion, mistrust, and unanswered questions, all ready to burst at the slightest provocation.

You gave him a weak nod, eyes briefly meeting his before swiftly turning away, afraid your swirling suspicion and anxiety might spill over, betraying how utterly confused and terrified you felt inside. Your hands gripped the edge of your seat, knuckles pale from the pressure, as you forced your attention to Sylvia, who was thankfully still blissfully unaware, sleeping soundly as if nothing had happened.

When Caleb had first appeared at the vital records office, swooping in at the exact moment you'd desperately needed someone—anyone—to help you, he'd felt like a miracle. At that moment, you’d clung to him without hesitation, driven by the urgent need to escape immediate danger. Caleb, the boy who’d shielded you countless times, who’d once sworn he would always protect you. His familiar presence had been the lifeline you'd instinctively grabbed onto.

But now, after hours spent sitting beside him, listening to his easy yet careful conversation, your mind had begun to unravel, spinning with nagging doubts and relentless paranoia. Had you been too desperate, too reckless? Had you blindly placed your trust in someone who'd been a stranger for years now, just because he'd once been apart of your childhood?

Your stomach churned painfully at the possibility that you'd made a mistake, that you'd been careless in trusting so easily again. But it didn’t make sense—this was Caleb, the very same Caleb you'd grown up alongside, the one who'd protected you from bullies, who'd walked you home when the nights got too dark. The Caleb you’d known had always been safe.

Yet that only complicated things further.

If Caleb was truly safe, then why had he disappeared? Why had he faked his death, vanishing completely from your life, leaving behind nothing but grief and unanswered questions? What had he been doing at the vital records office, at precisely the moment you'd found yourself there? Could it really have been mere chance, a cosmic twist of fate, or had he been deliberately watching, waiting for the perfect moment to approach you?

Your thoughts circled chaotically, a vicious, exhausting loop. Your fingers trembled slightly as you stared at the city passing outside, the gleaming structures and lush terraces of Skyhaven suddenly blurring into meaningless smears of color. Each heartbeat grew more rapid, each breath more labored, as anxiety twisted sharply in your chest.

Why hadn’t he sought you out sooner? If Caleb had truly cared, if he truly was safe, then why had he let you struggle alone for so long, enduring pain and isolation without a single word or sign that he was alive and well? It didn't make sense.

You stole another careful glance at him, studying the relaxed yet cautious way he navigated the hovering vehicle. Caleb seemed calm, unaffected even, while you sat beside him in quiet turmoil, battling questions that felt impossible to ask aloud. Your confusion was tinged with guilt—how dare you doubt him?—but the fear felt justified, too deeply rooted to ignore.

As the vehicle wound along the graceful, elevated roads, drifting gently toward Caleb’s home, your thoughts twisted further inward, forming knots too tight to unravel alone. Trusting him had felt easy at first, natural even. Now it felt dangerous, like blindly stepping toward the edge of a precipice, unsure if the next step would hold firm or crumble beneath your feet.

Your heart sank at the realization that you knew nothing anymore. Caleb might have saved you, but he had also left you drowning in uncertainty. The once comforting silence now felt suffocating, filled to the brim with secrets and unspoken truths.

The remainder of the drive stretched out before you like an endless road, wrapped thickly in an uncomfortable, heavy silence that neither you nor Caleb dared break. Instead, the quiet was only gently interrupted by Sylvia's soft, innocent murmurs and coos from the backseat, filling the oppressive atmosphere with moments of lighthearted innocence.

“Mmnh… gah,” she cooed sleepily, small fingers flexing and unflexing in mild restlessness. She drew in a breath, sighing sweetly as if having a conversation entirely with herself. “Blegh…mmm,” Sylvia continued, her soft, whimsical voice drifting up through the tension in the air like bubbles rising to the surface of still water.

You glanced over your shoulder, offering a tender smile at her small form, relieved by the familiar comfort her presence provided. Sylvia was blissfully unaware of the tension crackling between the two adults in the car, entirely consumed by her innocent musings.

“Ah-gooo…eh…eh,” she chirped, an impatience beginning to edge into her tiny voice as her small hands reached upward, grasping at nothing in particular.

You couldn't help the small smile that tugged at your lips despite the churning anxiety deep in your stomach. You leaned back slightly, gently soothing, “Almost there, sweetheart,” your voice little more than a whisper. You hoped the softness of your words concealed the tremors caused by the uncertainty clenching your throat.

At your quiet reassurance, Caleb briefly turned his head, eyes darting sideways to catch a fleeting glimpse of your face. His gaze lingered only for a second, long enough for you to notice the hesitation etched into his expression, before he returned his attention to the road, jaw tight, eyes fixed firmly ahead. Neither of you ventured a word. Instead, the silence grew again, heavier now, broken only by the hum of tires on smooth pavement and Sylvia’s occasional sighs and murmurs.

Finally, after what felt like hours rather than minutes, Caleb eased the sleek car from the wide main road, guiding it effortlessly onto a private driveway that uncurled gracefully through an impeccably maintained landscape, drawing you closer toward your destination. You straightened slightly in your seat, your heartbeat quickening in anxious anticipation.

As Caleb slowed the vehicle, your breath caught sharply in your throat. Your eyes widened as the impressive mansion emerged fully into view. It loomed majestically ahead, sprawling outward like a fortress born from elegance itself, cloaked in deep, cool shades of grey stone and accentuated subtly by delicate veins of white marble. The sun traced golden paths across the building’s façade, making the polished surfaces gleam softly, shifting fluidly from silver to pearl as the daylight played against it.

The mansion’s tall windows, trimmed neatly with darkened frames, rose grandly upward, glistening and reflecting the drifting clouds overhead, creating a surreal impression that the estate itself hovered effortlessly among the skies. Ornate moldings framed every arch and window, meticulously carved patterns intertwining like the vines that cascaded down from elevated terraces. Each doorway stood imposingly tall and arched, their dark, polished wood surfaces inlaid with intricate brass details, beautiful yet strangely intimidating in their grandeur.

Surrounding the estate were expansive gardens so perfect they seemed more like paintings than living spaces. Symmetrical hedges were impeccably sculpted into precise geometric shapes, lined along polished stone pathways that wove through lush flower beds overflowing with blooms of every color imaginable. The air seemed fragrant with hints of lavender, roses, and something delicate and sweet you couldn’t quite name. At the center of the circular driveway sat a magnificent fountain carved from marble, water sparkling brilliantly as it cascaded gracefully from the outstretched hands of an elegant sculpture, catching the sunlight and scattering tiny rainbows across the manicured grass.

Caleb slowly brought the car to a halt directly before the mansion’s grand entrance. He killed the engine with a swift, practiced motion, plunging you both once more into the silence. This quiet felt different now—charged with a blend of awe, anticipation, and a nagging anxiety you couldn't shake.

You stared at the estate, eyes unblinking, mouth slightly parted in disbelief at the sheer opulence. Caleb’s home was more than just impressive—it was intimidating, beautiful yet distant, seemingly reflective of the man himself. A stranger to you now, in many ways. Even the familiar boy you’d once trusted implicitly seemed impossibly far away, replaced by a man who surrounded himself with wealth, secrecy, and uncertainty.

You gripped the edge of your seat once more, heart pounding unsteadily against your ribs. A thousand questions raced through your mind as you gazed upon the mansion. It was both a sanctuary and a fortress, welcoming but secretive. And for the first time since you'd stepped into Caleb’s world again, you wondered genuinely whether you truly belonged here—or if you'd just stepped into something you weren’t at all prepared for.

"Home sweet home! Come on!" Caleb said, his voice suddenly infused with forced cheerfulness, starkly contrasting the tension that had suffocated the car moments earlier. His attempt at enthusiasm seemed strangely jarring, like sunlight breaking abruptly through storm clouds.

You hesitated for a brief moment before slowly getting out of the car, your legs unsteady beneath you. Carefully, you leaned into the backseat and unbuckled Sylvia from her car seat, gently lifting her against your chest, and reaching in once more for the diaper bag slung haphazardly beside you. The cool evening breeze brushed lightly across your skin, sending an involuntary shiver down your spine as you straightened and took in the sight of the sprawling mansion once more. Such overwhelming luxury—so much excess—made your heart pound with nervousness, unease settling deeply within your bones.

Living with Sylus had left deep scars, a lasting fear of houses overly grand or imposing. The echoes of your past lingered, whispering anxieties that tightened your chest and quickened your breath. You closed your eyes for a moment, willing the fear away, taking several careful, slow breaths to steady yourself.

“Hey, you good?” Caleb asked gently, noticing your hesitation. His voice was softer now, tinged with quiet concern.

“Yeah...yeah, I’m okay,” you lied softly, swallowing down the lump in your throat as you forced a reassuring smile. You shifted Sylvia carefully in your arms, pressing her gently against your shoulder as you approached the elegant porch alongside Caleb, who watched you closely, saying nothing else for now.

He pressed his finger into the biometric lock beside the doors. The heavy doors opened with a hushed, almost reverent sigh, welcoming you into the expansive interior of his home. Immediately, you found yourself surrounded by opulence—marble floors gleamed softly beneath a chandelier dripping with tiny crystal teardrops, walls painted in delicate shades of dove grey, accented tastefully by touches of silver and ebony. Everything looked perfectly placed, yet oddly cold.

"This is nice..." you murmured in awe, stepping slowly across the polished floor. You meant it, yet couldn’t help but feel something unsettling about the stark emptiness. The vast interior was beautiful, undeniably luxurious, but utterly devoid of warmth. A chill hovered over the space, shadows stretching quietly in corners untouched by the pale glow of the lamps.

Caleb flicked on another set of lights, illuminating a wide staircase curving gracefully upward to the second floor. He offered a small, awkward smile, shrugging slightly as if embarrassed by your reaction.

"Thanks, pips," he said gently, rubbing the back of his neck. "Though, honestly, I’m not here a whole lot usually. Guess it does seem kinda…empty.”

You bit your lip, unsure how to respond, and began wandering further inside, your footsteps echoing softly on the marble floor. Caleb followed closely behind, his presence both comforting and strangely unsettling, a shadow you couldn't quite shake. Sylvia stirred gently in your arms, and you adjusted your hold instinctively, kissing the crown of her tiny head.

Caleb cleared his throat awkwardly, breaking the uneasy quiet as you moved toward the main hall.

"There’s six bedrooms upstairs. You’re welcome to choose any of them for you and, er—" Caleb paused abruptly, suddenly realizing he hadn't yet learned your baby’s name. His face flushed slightly with embarrassment, eyes flicking quickly away and then back again, hesitant.

"Oh, her name is Sylvia," you said quietly, your voice warm and affectionate, a soft smile curving your lips as you gazed lovingly down at your daughter. The moment felt oddly grounding in the midst of all the uncertainty, the simple act of naming her filling you with comfort.

"Sylvia," Caleb repeated softly, testing the name thoughtfully, offering a small, genuine smile. "That’s beautiful. It suits her."

For just a fleeting instant, the guarded edge in his eyes softened, revealing a glimpse of warmth that felt painfully familiar—like a ghost of the Caleb you had once known.

Yet even as your heart tugged gently at that familiarity, the questions remained unanswered, the tension still lingering in every careful step, every uncertain glance. The mansion around you seemed to swallow your voices, absorbing the warmth of the moment into its vast, elegant emptiness.

"Caleb…I..." you began softly, your voice cracking painfully as the words died in your throat. The sudden wave of emotion caught you off-guard, a rising tide of grief, anxiety, and overwhelming relief swelling within your chest. You didn’t even realize tears had begun falling until you felt their warmth trickling slowly down your cheek and onto your neck, soaking into the collar of your shirt.

Caleb’s awkward expression quickly melted into genuine concern, his brows knitting tightly as he stepped closer. He reached out instinctively, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder, guiding you softly toward the massive couch in the spacious living room. You allowed yourself to be led, clutching Sylvia protectively to your chest as your body shook uncontrollably, each breath growing heavier, more painful.

The moment your knees touched the plush cushions, your strength unraveled entirely. A sob ripped itself free from deep inside you, the sound raw and desperate as you finally let the barriers you'd carefully constructed crumble away. Caleb didn't hesitate—he sat immediately beside you, his arms wrapping gently but firmly around you and Sylvia, pulling you both safely into the shelter of his embrace.

You sobbed openly, unashamedly, into his shoulder, the flood of emotions overwhelming you completely. The relief of finally seeing him again, the unbearable paranoia, the uncertainty—it was all too much, every tangled thread of emotion finally breaking free in a torrent of tears.

Sylvia, thankfully oblivious, nestled quietly against your chest, making tiny comforting noises as if sensing your distress.

"You were dead," you choked out through your tears, your voice muffled against Caleb’s shirt, the fabric becoming damp from your tears. "I saw the smoke and the flames…I can't pretend anymore. I can't—"

Your voice broke again, lost in another harsh sob. The memories were vivid, sharp, and painful, burning images you'd buried deeply, suddenly surging violently to the surface.

Caleb sighed deeply, the heaviness in his chest clear as he held you tightly, gently rubbing your back with one steady hand, murmuring quiet, soothing sounds. His other hand softly cradled your head, his fingertips gently threading through your hair as though desperately trying to ease your pain.

After a long, heavy moment, he gently tilted your face upwards, looking down at you with sorrowful eyes. With the sleeve of his shirt, Caleb carefully wiped away your tears, his thumb grazing your cheek tenderly.

"Look," he whispered, his voice quiet and strained with emotion, "we shouldn't talk about that right now. You're barely holding it together as it is."

Your breath hitched slightly, an edge of frustration flickering sharply in your chest. He had deflected your plea for answers, sidestepping the issue with practiced ease. You wanted to push, to demand clarity and truth, but exhaustion tugged heavily at your limbs, dulling your resolve. The energy to fight had temporarily drained away in the wave of tears.

Caleb gently cupped your cheek, catching your gaze, concern clear in his eyes as he continued quietly, "Your stuff is here. Do you want to unpack? And…well, I ordered more stuff for you and Sylvia, too."

You blinked slowly, still foggy from the emotional upheaval but sharply aware of the careful way he'd shifted the subject. You wanted answers more than anything, but right now, you lacked the strength to press further. The grief, frustration, and vulnerability had drained your fight, leaving you feeling hollow, fragile.

With a soft, resigned sigh, you relented, shoulders slumping slightly in quiet acceptance. "Sure," you whispered hoarsely, nodding tiredly.

Caleb offered a gentle, sympathetic smile, clearly relieved that you'd accepted his temporary peace offering. Slowly, he stood, helping you gently to your feet while you still clutched Sylvia protectively, your heart aching fiercely within your chest.

Yet, even as you moved toward unpacking, doubt lingered stubbornly in the back of your mind. Caleb had rescued you, welcomed you into his home with warmth and care, yet beneath his comforting presence remained a veil of secrecy and unanswered questions—ones you knew would inevitably surface again.

As promised, Caleb let you freely choose the rooms for yourself and Sylvia. The mansion had felt overwhelmingly large at first, the endless hallways and cavernous spaces almost swallowing you whole. But after exploring briefly, you settled on two adjoining bedrooms near the end of a softly lit corridor, each room elegantly decorated yet still warm enough to ease some of your anxieties.

Despite the comfort of having Sylvia close by, the thought of her sleeping alone, even just one wall away, still sent anxious chills down your spine. Your stomach twisted nervously as you gently laid her down in the bed located in the smaller room beside yours. You took a step back, pressing a hand to your chest as if trying to physically steady your fluttering heartbeat. Maybe this separation would actually be good for you—giving you some mental and emotional breathing room after months of constant closeness and vigilant care. Still, it felt terrifyingly new, like taking an uncertain step into dark water without knowing how deep it might go.

You took another calming breath, quietly murmuring reassurance to yourself, What’s the worst that could happen? She's safe. You glanced back at Sylvia, watching her small chest rise and fall rhythmically in peaceful sleep, and slowly your pulse began to calm.

Just as your tension began to ease, Caleb’s voice broke through the quiet from behind you, casual and slightly sheepish, carrying a note of uncertainty you hadn’t heard from him before.

"So…I'll admit," he began, stepping carefully into the room carrying several large cardboard boxes stacked precariously in his arms, obscuring his face. "I don't exactly know a whole lot about babies." He paused awkwardly, setting the boxes down carefully near the doorway and giving you a hesitant, almost apologetic smile. "But while we were on the plane, I went ahead and ordered some things that seemed like they might be useful."

You stared at him for a moment, eyes widening in shock and disbelief—not only at the sheer volume of items now crowding the doorway, but also at the lightning-fast speed with which they'd arrived. The boxes seemed to multiply endlessly as Caleb brought in more from the hallway, stacking them methodically. You tried to mask your surprise, though it must have shown clearly on your face.

Caleb noticed your stunned expression and shrugged, a faint flush creeping into his cheeks. "Express shipping," he offered by way of explanation, chuckling softly as if embarrassed by his own extravagance. "It seemed like a good idea at the time. Thought maybe it’d make things a little easier for you."

A quiet warmth bloomed in your chest, gratitude mixing strangely with lingering suspicion and unease. The overwhelming generosity Caleb displayed was unfamiliar territory—so different from the strained conditions you'd grown accustomed to under Sylus's oppressive control. Sylus had generous yes, but only to the extent of what he wanted you to have. Or wear. Or eat.

It had only been when you got pregnant that he had started offering you more choices. Seeing Caleb so freely provide felt almost unreal. It reminded you again how dramatically your circumstances had changed in just a few short hours, and how little you actually knew about Caleb’s new life. Clearly, wealth was not a concern for him, yet it was still startling to witness firsthand.

Stepping forward hesitantly, you reached for one of the boxes, gently running your fingers along its cardboard edge, curiosity briefly overpowering your lingering anxiety.

"Thank you, Caleb," you said softly, your voice sincere but quiet, feeling simultaneously grateful and overwhelmed by his generosity. "You didn’t have to go through all this trouble."

Caleb gave you a careful look, his expression gentle yet thoughtful. "It's no trouble, really," he assured you softly. "If it makes things even a tiny bit easier for you both, then it's worth it."

The kindness behind his words warmed you, despite the lingering uncertainty, and for a brief moment, you allowed yourself to believe things might be okay again—at least for tonight.

You stood quietly by the doorway, holding your breath as Caleb began carefully unpacking the boxes he'd brought in, his movements methodical yet oddly gentle as he worked. His attention settled first on the largest box of the bunch, and he knelt beside it, sliding out the contents carefully. A crib, you realized immediately, feeling a swell of emotion that tightened your throat and quickened your heartbeat. Something about seeing Caleb so earnest and focused on setting up something for Sylvia stirred both gratitude and a touch of sadness deep within your chest. It felt surreal, almost impossible after everything you'd been through, that someone would be this genuinely thoughtful and concerned—especially someone you'd believed lost for so long.

Caleb paused briefly, glancing up at you from his position on the floor, holding up the large flat piece of the crib's base. A flicker of uncertainty passed through his eyes as he gestured toward the parts laid neatly beside him. "This crib is okay, right?" he asked softly, his voice carefully gentle, as if worried about upsetting you. "It meets all the safety standards. But if you had something specific in mind for her, it's no problem at all—I can easily get something different."

You swallowed softly, shaking your head slightly and smiling, though you feared the smile might waver under the weight of your complicated feelings. The very thought that someone might question if something was good enough for Sylvia struck you deeply—especially after weeks of paranoia, trying to conserve most of your money for a new future, having to question everything.

"No, Caleb, this is perfect," you said softly, your voice nearly breaking with honesty. You cleared your throat and pushed on, your tone lighter but tinged with lingering sadness. "She's slept in her car seat…on my chest…in cribs far older than this one. I'm sure she'll be fine with just about anything at this point."

You tried your best to smile, to reassure him—and yourself—that things were okay now, or at least they would be. Still, your words hung between you both heavily, a quiet acknowledgment of the difficult road you'd traveled to get here. Caleb seemed to pick up on the depth behind your statement, the small flicker of pain passing briefly through his eyes before he quickly masked it again with an easy grin.

"Great!" he replied, his voice lighter now, attempting to lift the mood gently. He began unpacking screws and tools, spreading them out carefully around him. "I'll get started putting it together right now. It shouldn't take me too long. I promise I'm not as terrible at this kind of stuff as I probably seem."

His playful humility made you smile genuinely this time, a small bubble of warmth rising in your chest. It felt strangely comforting to see Caleb fussing quietly, carefully organizing small wooden panels and hardware with meticulous precision. For a moment, things felt almost normal, almost safe.

You glanced toward Sylvia again, noting how peacefully she lay nestled against the soft blankets you'd tucked her into. Her tiny body had already settled into a deep, undisturbed sleep, her small chest rising and falling in a gentle, rhythmic pattern. Caleb followed your gaze, his own expression softening instantly as he watched her quietly from his place on the floor.

"Looks like she’s already passed out," Caleb whispered gently, a small, tender chuckle escaping his lips. He shook his head slightly, amused yet undeniably touched by the sight of Sylvia's innocent slumber. "Guess all this moving around and new environments wore her out."

You nodded slowly, breathing deeply to steady yourself. Your heart swelled with affection and gratitude—though the lingering shadows of worry and uncertainty remained ever-present, quietly waiting in the background. Still, at this moment, with Sylvia peacefully asleep and Caleb diligently working to create a comfortable space for your daughter, you allowed yourself to lean cautiously into a fragile sense of safety and hope.

Caleb glanced back up, catching your thoughtful gaze, his own expression shifting subtly into something more earnest and serious. He seemed about to speak, perhaps to finally address the many unspoken things lingering between you—but instead, he simply smiled softly again, returning quietly to assembling the crib. It felt intentional, this careful avoidance of deeper truths.

You lowered yourself onto the edge of the bed, quietly watching him work, each soft metallic click and gentle shifting of wood a comforting, grounding rhythm. Caleb seemed determined to help you find stability here, and even though unanswered questions still tugged at the edges of your mind, tonight at least, you felt a fleeting sense of peace.

You gently touched the side of your daughters face. She stirred only slightly, letting out a soft little sigh, her fists curling up beside her face. You lingered for a second, brushing your fingers along her fine hair, then turned your attention to the boxes Caleb had left stacked neatly beside the bed.

One by one, you opened them, and with each ripped seam and folded flap, your astonishment grew. It was more than just thoughtful—it was excessive in a way that almost made your throat tighten.

Baby monitors—two of them, one basic and one smart with a camera feed. Neatly folded bundles of brand-new baby clothes in soft, breathable cottons and gentle pastels. Clothes, soaps and other necessities for you. Diapers in what had to be every available size. Wipes, ointments, thermometers, baby-safe soaps and lotions, a full infant first-aid kit complete with a tiny nasal aspirator. There were multiple packs of onesies, tiny socks still clipped together in matching pairs, and even a baby blanket. He’d thought of everything, even things you wouldn’t have thought to ask for.

You sat on your heels, staring at the small mountain of care items around you, overwhelmed. Gratitude rose up in your chest, tangled with guilt and confusion. Caleb, who hadn't known Sylvia existed until hours ago, had done more in a single day than most people in your life had in months. You hadn't felt this cared for since you let Clara.

And yet…

You glanced over at him as he knelt beside the half-built crib, screwdriver in hand, brows drawn in concentration. Something about his profile in the warm bedroom light made you ache. You swallowed and stood slowly, dusting off your hands.

"Truly," you began quietly, approaching him, "you didn't have to buy all of this, Caleb." You hesitated, voice dipping a little. "I'm only here till I get the documents sorted. I feel like I owe you now."

Your words seemed to freeze the room.

Caleb’s hands stopped mid-motion, the screwdriver hovering just above a screw. It was only for a second—barely even noticeable—but you saw it. Felt it. The hesitation. He didn’t look at you. Didn't say anything at first. You almost opened your mouth to apologize, worried you'd said something wrong, but before you could, he spoke again. His voice was light—too light.

"Don’t be silly,” he said with a small chuckle, resuming work as if nothing had happened. “It’s always better to overprepare than underprepare. Besides…” He glanced at you with a playful smirk, the edge of his mouth tugging up. “If you end up liking it here with me sooo much and decide to stay, I’ve gotta be ready, right?”

His tone was teasing, like he was trying to make it a joke—but the weight behind the words wasn’t lost on you.

Now it was your turn to fall silent.

You looked at him closely, watching the way he focused again on the crib, how he purposefully avoided meeting your gaze. You wanted to smile, to laugh it off with him, to let the moment pass. But you couldn’t. He didn’t get it. How could he? He hadn’t asked. Not once. Not what you’d been through. Not what you were running from. He hadn’t even seemed curious.

“Caleb,” you said, your voice low and steady now. “I really can’t stay here forever.”

The words sat between you like a dropped stone in water, rippling outward.

He didn’t stop working this time, but his movements slowed, and the smile he’d worn just moments before faded completely. You didn’t want to hurt him—but pretending like things could go back to the way they were, like you could just slot yourself into this picture-perfect mansion and start over without reckoning with the weight of what you’d lived through—that wasn’t fair to either of you.

“I’m sorry,” you added quietly, meaning it.

And maybe, for the first time since you arrived, a little bit of truth settled into the room.

He sighed, long and quiet, and placed the screwdriver down with care, the soft clink of metal on wood sounding far louder in the stillness of the room. Then he looked at you—not with his usual guarded calm or teasing grin, but with something raw and open, like he’d finally peeled back a layer of whatever mask he’d been wearing since the moment you reunited.

"Look," he began, his voice low, careful. "I was going to wait to ask until you were settled, but..." He paused, searching your face as though hoping to read your answer before you even gave it. “It’s her father, isn’t it?”

You said nothing, but your shoulders stiffened, and that was enough.

“Screw him,” Caleb continued, his tone sharper now. “Seriously. Whatever happened, he's clearly abandoned you. Left you to figure it out on your own. You don’t have to keep searching or struggling. You both can have a home here.” He leaned forward slightly, sincerity ringing through every word. “With me.”

He meant it. You could see it—no bravado, no games. Just the raw earnestness of someone who wanted to do the right thing for someone they still cared about. And maybe that’s what made it worse.

Your hands started to sweat, palms clammy as anxiety crept up your spine like a slow, cold hand. You curled your fingers inward, trying not to shake.

He didn’t know.

He didn’t understand that you hadn’t been abandoned—you’d escaped. That you hadn’t been left behind—you’d run, because staying would’ve meant losing yourself entirely. And you hadn’t come here hoping to start a new life—you’d come here because there were no options left. You were hiding. From Sylus. From the people he had watching. From the life that had nearly eaten you whole.

You weren’t staying because you didn’t want to get anyone else tangled in that web—not even Caleb. Especially not Caleb.

Your chest tightened painfully. You wanted to tell him the truth. You really did. But how do you explain that kind of fear? That kind of damage? That your every decision these days was shaped by survival, not comfort or hope?

You swallowed hard, your voice shaky as you tried to begin. “Caleb, I…” You hesitated, pressing your lips together. “It’s not that simple.”

He blinked, his brow furrowing slightly, concern bleeding into his expression. You could see the questions rising again behind his eyes, all the things he hadn’t asked yet.

You looked down at Sylvia, still sleeping peacefully on the bed, her tiny body curled like a comma. How could you protect her and still be honest? Could you really have both?

“I’m grateful. Truly. But this—this is just temporary. It has to be.” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “You just need to understand…this isn’t forever.” You paused again, feeling the pressure build in your chest. “I’m afraid I’ll drag you into something you can’t get out of.”

Caleb’s jaw tightened, but he stayed silent, listening.

You took a breath and looked at him, eyes stinging. “I wish I could say more. I just can't get anyone else wrapped in my mess."

The room fell silent again, thick with the weight of everything unsaid. Caleb didn’t move right away. But something in his face shifted—his expression no longer just concerned, but as if he was quietly pondering something.

"Alright, alright. You don’t have to tell me," Caleb said, his voice light but laced with something quieter beneath it—something that still lingered in the space between you. He reached over and gave your hair a quick, familiar ruffle, his touch gentle, though you stiffened slightly from the unexpected contact.

He didn’t seem to notice. Or if he did, he didn’t let on.

"I’m almost done with the crib," he continued, shifting back into motion, picking up the screwdriver again. “Why don’t you start putting her clothes in the dresser over there? I’ll throw away the tags. you take off.”

You blinked, almost baffled by how quickly he let the conversation drop. One second you’d been teetering on the edge of something sharp, something fragile—and the next, he’d pivoted so casually it left you blinking in place. The tension hadn’t fully left the room—it hung there, thin and ghostlike—but his sudden shift in tone was, admittedly, a relief.

You nodded quietly and moved toward the dresser, opening its smooth, polished drawers and beginning to place the neatly folded baby clothes inside. The scent of clean fabric and new cotton wafted up, oddly soothing. Caleb gathered up packaging and tags without another word, moving around the room like he was trying to keep the air light.

And then, almost as if to test the waters, he spoke again.

“Remember when gran finally upgraded your bed, but couldn’t put it together? She said her arthritis was too bad and had me do it.”

You glanced over your shoulder, lips tugging upward instinctively. “God, yes.”

“I swear I was on my hands and knees all night trying to figure that mess out,” he said, grinning now as he worked. “You passed out on the couch before I was even halfway done. And you were so damn excited when I woke you up in the morning.”

You laughed softly, the sound genuine despite everything. “Yeah, because I thought I was finally gonna sleep like royalty.”

Caleb smirked. “You did, technically. Even if the headboard was backwards.”

That made you snort. “Yeah, don’t think I forgot about that.”

He chuckled, clearly pleased to have pulled you into the memory, even for a moment. “I was so proud of myself until you pointed that out.”

You shook your head, smiling as you tucked a pair of soft lavender onesies into the drawer. “You were lucky I didn’t tell Grandma. She barely noticed.”

“I should’ve gotten a medal for effort,” he shot back, tossing a wad of packaging into the trash. “Or at least some orange juice.”

The two of you settled into a comfortable rhythm, the conversation meandering through old, safer memories like a trail of breadcrumbs leading you both back to something you used to be. It didn’t erase the tension or the questions still looming in the back of your mind—but for now, it gave you room to breathe.

By the time the two of you finished setting up half the nursery—taking frequent breaks to feed Sylvia, change her, and calm her when she grew fussy—the sun had dipped below the horizon, casting the mansion in soft shadows and warm amber light. The sleek overheads in the hallways flickered on automatically as evening fell, illuminating your quiet journey through the house with a gentle, muted glow.

Sylvia had her dinner first, followed by a quick bath in the basin Caleb had set up in your adjoining bathroom. She splashed a little, as she always did, sleepy but content, her soft coos bouncing off the tiled walls. You were especially relieved to finally have new clothes for her—ones that fit. She’d grown faster than you expected, outgrowing onesies before you even realized they were tight. Now, wrapped in a fresh sleeper printed with tiny pink stars, she looked peaceful, clean, and safe.

Getting her to sleep was another matter entirely.

You spent nearly an hour pacing slowly around the nursery, rocking her against your shoulder, her body warm and squirmy as she fought off sleep with the stubborn will of a baby who just didn’t want to miss anything. You whispered lullabies, patted her back gently, made long slow circles by the crib, and shushed her over and over. At long last, her little limbs relaxed, her head slumped against you, and her breathing evened out. You eased her into the crib like she was made of glass, holding your breath the whole time, then carefully adjusted the baby monitor beside her and turned on the white noise machine with a low, oceanic whoosh.

“Finally…” you whispered, tiptoeing out of the room like a thief, cringing at every floorboard creak until the nursery door clicked quietly shut behind you.

Your body ached with exhaustion. You hadn't even gotten the chance to change out of your day clothes, much less take a shower or rest. Still, your stomach growled in protest, and the overwhelming scent of something savory hit you like a wave as you padded barefoot down the stairs.

“Caleb,” you called out, your voice low but hopeful. “I wanted to ask if there was anything to ea—oh!”

You froze in place as you rounded the corner into the kitchen.

The kitchen itself was a masterpiece—gleaming marble counters, glass-fronted cabinets lit from within, and a double oven you were fairly certain could roast a whole deer. But that wasn’t what stopped you. It was the spread on the island counter.

A full meal had been laid out, warm and waiting like something from a dream. A perfectly roasted herb-crusted chicken sat in the center, skin crisp and golden, steaming gently in the soft kitchen light. Surrounding it were elegant side dishes in gleaming ceramic bowls: creamy garlic mashed potatoes swirled with butter and chives; roasted carrots and parsnips glazed with honey and a hint of thyme; a vibrant salad made with mixed greens, pomegranate seeds, candied walnuts, and crumbles of goat cheese; a cast-iron skillet filled with buttery cornbread; and a pot on the stove simmering with what smelled like a rich, savory gravy.

You stared at it, slack-jawed, completely thrown off by the sheer care and coordination that had gone into making it. Your body, starved and tired, nearly buckled at the thought of eating something warm, fresh, and lovingly prepared.

Caleb turned from the sink, drying his hands with a dish towel, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips. “I wasn’t sure what you were in the mood for,” he said casually, as if he hadn’t just cooked a small feast. “So I went with a bit of everything.”

You blinked at him, still trying to find words. “Did you…make all of this?”

He shrugged, looking far too casual. “Of course. Do you doubt my skills?”

You shook your head slowly, your voice soft with disbelief. “Caleb… this is…”

He gave you a tired but proud smile. “You’ve got to keep your milk supply up right? Least I could do was make sure you didn’t go to bed hungry.”

And just like that, the knot in your chest loosened, if only a little.

You smiled reflexively, grateful beyond words for the food—but just as you reached for a plate, Caleb stepped in, his fingers curling gently around your wrist.

“Let me do it,” he said warmly. “Just tell me what you want, pips.”

There was that nickname again. His voice was soft, familiar. His eyes full of fondness. Anyone would have found it sweet. Caring, even.

You mirrored his smile, polite and composed, but deep inside something cold began to ripple beneath your skin. You didn’t pull away immediately.

“Caleb, it’s fine,” you said, keeping your voice light as you gently tried to free your hand. “I can get my own plate. I’m not a little girl anymore.”

You shook him off with a small flick of your wrist, subtle but clear. He let go without resistance, still smiling like he hadn’t felt the shift in your tone, or worse—like he had, and was ignoring it.

You reached again, your hand brushing the edge of the porcelain plate—only to find that it wouldn’t move. It stuck to the counter, as if bolted in place.

Your brow furrowed. “What the…”

Then you saw them—faint, silvery arcs in the air, like rippling strands of light bending in patterns only you and a few others in the world would recognize. The gravity pull streaks, barely visible, humming quietly around the plate’s edges.

Of course.

You turned your head slowly to look at him. And there he was, leaning casually against the counter, a knowing grin tugging at one corner of his mouth.

“Ha ha, Caleb,” you said flatly. “Very funny. But I am really hungry.”

He didn’t miss a beat. “Then just let me do it, silly” he replied, still smiling like this was nothing, like it was a sweet callback and not something vaguely suffocating. “I always made your plate when we were kids, remember?”

You inhaled slowly. Sharp. Controlled. But your chest tightened anyway.

There it was.

The tilt. The subtle shift in the room. That invisible thread pulling tighter around your ribs. You knew this feeling. You knew it too well. The warm voice. The gentle insistence. The way someone could steal pieces of your autonomy while smiling the whole time.

It wasn’t fair—Caleb wasn’t Sylus. You were sure his intentions weren't cruel, but they were familiar. And right now, that was enough to send you spiraling,

You saw Sylus’s face flash in your mind—eyes full of patience, arms always a little too helpful, hands always exactly where you didn’t want them.

You clenched your fist under the counter. Your nails dug into your palm. It was just a plate. It wasn’t about the plate. You reminded yourself of that.

“Now,” Caleb said brightly, picking up a serving fork, oblivious—or pretending to be—to the quiet storm flickering across your face. “What do you want first?”

You smiled. Or at least, you pulled your lips into something that looked like one. A practiced mask.

“Potatoes,” you said, voice breezy, almost chipper. “Please.”

He beamed. You watched him turn back to the food, humming softly as he scooped generous portions onto the plate, the streaks of gravity dissipating as he lifted it.

And all the while, you stood there, smiling through the tightness in your chest, wondering how long it would take before the quiet, polite mask you were wearing began to crack.

Caleb plated the food exactly the way you’d asked—carefully, almost dutifully—passing it to you with brisk precision. The dish was still steaming, buttery potatoes curling around the edges of the roast chicken, the aroma rich and savory. To anyone else, it would’ve been a small, comforting gesture. Maybe even sweet.

You forced a smile, grateful but reeling, your fingers tightening around the plate as if it might anchor you. The panic hadn't crested completely yet, but it was rising steadily beneath your skin. Your chest was too tight. Your thoughts too loud. Each breath felt like you were dragging air through a narrow straw.

You kept your face neutral. Calm. Just tired, you told yourself. Just overwhelmed from the day.

You hoped he didn’t notice.

“Hey, so,” Caleb began, drying his hands with a towel, his voice light, hopeful, trying to bridge the distance between you. “I was wondering if you wanted to play a game, maybe watch something while we eat, or—”

“Actually,” you cut in, softer than you meant to, trying not to sound as sharp as you felt. “I’d like to eat in my room.”

He paused. His face changed—his smile faltered for a second, not quite falling away, just…hesitating.

“I still have a lot to unpack,” you continued quickly, eyes dropping to the food in your hands so you didn’t have to look at him. “And I…I need time to decompress from today. A lot happened.”

You sucked in a slow breath through your nose and held it, trying to steady your pulse, trying to ignore the shaking in your chest. It wasn’t the food. It wasn’t Caleb. Not really. It was the moment. The forceful kindness. The gravity trick. The easy way he had kept control of the plate—like it was a harmless gesture, a callback to your childhood, and not a tiny theft of choice. You knew he probably didn’t mean it that way, but that didn’t matter to your body. Your body didn’t care what he meant.

What your body remembered was Sylus. The way he’d do everything for you, smiling the whole time. The way he’d keep you from lifting a finger, unable to do much without his permission or watchful eyes.

You couldn't live like that again.

And now—here, with Caleb—your brain knew this wasn’t the same. Caleb wasn’t Sylus. Caleb didn’t tower over you. Caleb was just trying to be nice. But the feeling was the same. The dissonance made it worse.

Still, you couldn’t tell him that. You couldn’t find the words. The thought of trying to explain that such a small thing—a plate—had triggered a trauma response made your stomach twist with shame. You didn’t want to see confusion on his face. Or pity. Or worse: defensiveness.

You didn’t have the heart to tell him. He’d done all of this—fed you, welcomed you, bought things for you and Sylvia—not because he wanted to harm you, but because he cared. But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. That it didn’t unravel something inside you.

“I just need a little time,” you added quietly, as if that might soften the sudden distance.

Caleb took a half step toward you, concern flickering in his eyes. “Are you sure? I mean, I can—”

You lifted your hand automatically, not sharply, but with finality. A gentle wall.

“It’s fine,” you said again, a little firmer now. “I’m just tired.”

He stopped. You saw the way his shoulders deflated just slightly, how his mouth pressed into a flat line. It wasn’t anger—just disappointment. Not at you, maybe, but at the invisible wall you’d just built between you.

There was a beat of silence, and then you offered a quick, practiced smile.

“Thank you for dinner,” you said, already turning away. “Goodnight.”

Your feet moved quickly, almost too quickly. Not quite running, but more than walking. You clutched the plate to your chest, fingers curling into its edges so tightly it hurt. Each step felt like your body was trying to outrun your own spiraling thoughts. You just needed to be away from him. From the kitchen. From the memory that had pressed itself into your ribs like a bruise.

As you reached the stairs, just before the sound of your footsteps overtook everything else, you heard his voice behind you—quiet, unsure.

“…Goodnight then.”

You didn’t stop. Didn’t look back. You didn’t trust yourself to.

You made it to your room, locked the door gently behind you, and leaned against it, finally letting your head fall back with a long, trembling breath. The food still steamed in your hands. But now it felt heavier than ever.

You barely made it through the door before the plate in your hands nearly slipped.

The room blurred—walls bending slightly around the corners of your vision, your breath coming in jagged bursts. You set the plate down on the nearest surface with a trembling hand and stumbled toward the bed, your legs no longer sure they could carry you upright. The moment your knees hit the mattress, everything cracked open. You buried your face into the blanket and cried—ugly, gasping sobs that shook your entire body.

You didn’t mean to cry. You didn’t want to. You’d promised yourself you’d hold it together until you were alone. But even alone, you weren’t safe from the memories clawing their way to the surface.

You pressed your fists into your eyes, willing it all to stop, but the tears kept coming. It was like your body had been holding onto them all day, just waiting for a door to close. And now they spilled out in waves. The sheets grew damp beneath your cheek. Your breath came in shuddering hitches.

Eventually—when the sharpest edge of it dulled just enough—you reached for the plate, telling yourself to do something normal. Eat. Focus. Keep moving.

You forced yourself upright, still trembling, and began to eat. Shaky hands, uneven bites. The food was probably delicious—Caleb had gone out of his way to make it, after all—but your taste buds were drowning under salt. Not seasoning. Tears. They fell steadily, silently, splashing onto the mashed potatoes, streaking down your cheeks and over your lips.

You chewed through it like your life depended on it.

It felt grotesque—this mixture of comfort and collapse. But you didn’t stop. Maybe if you kept chewing, kept swallowing, you’d crowd out the voice in your head. The one that was whispering he’s still here. The one that remembered the exact way Sylus used to gently take things from your hands, the way he’d feed you when you were too anxious to eat, saying things like “Let me take care of it, honey. You don’t need to think.”

And it had felt good, hadn’t it? Safe, even.

You hated that part the most. Not the fear. Not the damage. But the fact that some part of you missed it. Missed him. Missed the stability he created by stealing every ounce of control from you. Every time you cracked, every time you stumbled under the weight of your new reality, Sylus had been there to smooth the surface. To hush the panic. To reset you.

It was like being held underwater by someone whispering lullabies into your ear. Who brings you up for air, only to drown you once more. They keep doing it enough that you start to be thankful for the moments that they bring you back up.

And now? Now you were free. He wasn't here to fix it, to soothe the shakes or force calm back into your bloodstream—and your body hated it. Your chest screamed for it. The part of you he rewired to crave his hands.

You hated it. But missed it all at the same time.

Even here, miles away. Even in another man’s house. Even with someone familiar.

Yeah you were beyond fucked up.

You shoveled the last forkful into your mouth like it might hold the unraveling back for one more second, chewed furiously, swallowed hard. It wasn’t enough. It didn’t help. You dropped the plate unceremoniously to the floor and curled in on yourself again, the bed pressing up against your shins as you folded, folded, folded.

You collapsed forward in a pile of gasps and tears, clutching your chest as if that could stop the way it hurt—tight, clenching, seizing. You grabbed the pillow and shoved it over your head to muffle the sound, to make the room feel smaller, darker, safer.

“He’s not here,” you whispered against the fabric, voice breaking. “He can’t come here. He can’t. He won’t.”

But your body didn’t believe you. Your lungs kept misfiring. Your brain kept showing you his face, like a film on repeat. Smiling. Calm. Soft.

“Stop it,” you whispered. “Stop…”

You squeezed your eyes shut, curling tighter under the pillow, your breath coming in desperate little gulps.

You’ll never see him again, you told yourself, over and over. You’ll never see him again.

But a part of you didn’t believe that either.

The tension, the tears, the panic—your system couldn’t hold it anymore. You cried until your whole frame shook, until your limbs felt numb and heavy, until your throat burned and your eyes swelled. It didn’t even feel like crying anymore—it was like bleeding from the inside out.

You barely registered when you lost consciousness. There was no drifting off, no calm descent. One second, you were shivering in a spiral of exhaustion and grief, the next your mind had flickered off like a dying lightbulb.

What followed wasn’t rest. It was murk. A thick, dreamless space you floated through, weightless and untethered. There were impressions—heat on your back, the murmur of distant voices, the phantom pressure of a hand brushing your hair—but none of it made sense. It all bled together into a muddled blur of memory and sensation.

Then your body began to stir.

You woke slowly, groggy and disoriented, your head heavy and your lashes sticky with dried tears. You rubbed at your sore eyes, swallowing against a dry, aching throat. For a moment, your brain struggled to catch up. You weren’t sure where you were—or when. Everything was a soft haze.

Then the confusion cleared just enough to make out the shape of the room.

Your stomach dropped.

The blanket beneath your hand wasn’t the one from Caleb’s mansion. It was smoother. Denser. Familiar in a way that made your skin crawl. You blinked more rapidly, taking in the sharp lines of the furniture, the dark design, the scent of sterilized air laced with a faint trace of cologne you hadn’t smelled in what felt like forever.

No.

The walls were the color of wet stone. The floor was polished to a mirror shine. The fireplace. The tall bed with its sleek black headboard, the high mirror across from it, the sharp gleam of chrome on the drawer handles—it was all exactly as you remembered.

Sylus’s room.

You sat up fast, panic swelling before you could suppress it. Your breath caught painfully in your throat, and your body turned cold despite the warmth of the bedding.

"Please...not again,” you whispered, your voice hoarse, barely audible in the dense quiet.

Your eyes locked on the door across the room—the only exit.

You stared at it, heart hammering.

A shared dream again, maybe? That wasn’t new. You’d experienced it before, been pulled into his space even while asleep. If the emotional bond ran deep enough—if the door was still cracked open—he could reach in. Even from miles away. Even if you were trying not to think about him.

You tried to steady your breathing, tried to tell yourself it wasn’t real.

Then the doorknob shifted.

Your breath hitched hard. You felt the cold stab of adrenaline, not in your chest, but lower—in your gut. That primal sense of run, even though you had nowhere to run to.

The knob turned slowly, deliberately, like whoever was on the other side knew exactly what they were doing. Knew you were watching.

You didn’t think. Your body acted on instinct—an old, well-worn one. You dropped back into the bed, rolled toward the far side, and pulled the blanket up to your shoulders. You shut your eyes tight, forcing your body into stillness. The only thought that came to you was desperate and absurd: Maybe if he thinks I’m asleep, he’ll think this is his dream. Maybe he’ll leave me alone.

It made no logical sense, but it was all you had. Sylus had made it clear he knew when you weren't really sleeping.

Your breaths came slow, shallow, measured. Your heart pounded so loudly it made your ears ring, and you wondered if he could hear it too. You focused on stillness. On silence. You tried to make your body limp, heavy, at ease. You were a girl asleep. That’s all.

You heard the door creak open.

The sound was quiet, but in this silence, it sliced through you.

The footsteps that followed were soft, precise. Barefoot. Unhurried. You could picture them without opening your eyes—those long, calm strides. Always calm. Always in control. That alone terrified you.

He approached the bed. Closer. Closer still.

Then he stopped.

No greeting. No command. No pet name laced with ownership. No cryptic remark or smug sigh. Nothing.

Just silence.

You felt him standing there, his presence thick in the air, oppressive and electric all at once. You wanted to flinch. You wanted to scream. But instead, you stayed still, trying to convince even yourself that you were asleep. That this was all just a dream. That any second now you’d wake up in Caleb’s mansion, and Sylvia would still be safe, and your chest wouldn’t feel like it was being squeezed from the inside out.

But he was there.

Watching.

You tried to keep your breathing steady—slow, even, shallow enough to sell the lie. Every muscle in your body fought against the instinct to bolt, to brace, to scream. You could feel the tension in your limbs, the static buzzing just beneath your skin. You told yourself again and again: Don’t react. Don’t give him anything.

But then you felt it.

A shift in the air. A weight leaning over you. The soft press of fingers against your shoulder, just enough to rock you gently.

“Good morning, kitten,” he murmured, voice low and syrupy smooth. That same damn tone—warmth poured over steel. “You know what time it is.”

You opened one eye slowly, cautiously, as if you were peeling it back into a nightmare. You stared up at him, disoriented at first, the sight of his face so familiar that it made your stomach churn. His expression was calm. Too calm. His eyes held a patient glint, as though you were a child sleeping in too late and not someone who’d fled him like he was a fire.

What the hell did he mean, you know what time it is?

Still half-curled on your side, you slowly rolled onto your back, your spine tense, your hands clutching the blanket without realizing it. The panic you’d kept at bay started to return in sharp waves as you met his gaze—steady, unreadable, unforgivable.

“Don’t fucking touch me, bastard” you hissed, the words slicing out of you before you could think to soften them. You jerked your arm away from where his hand had rested on your shoulder, flinching like he’d burned you.

His smile didn’t falter. Not even a flicker. That same calm, maddening curve of his lips, as if everything you did was expected, forgivable, even charming in its defiance.

That only made your skin crawl more.

He straightened up slightly, clasping his hands together in front of him, the picture of composure. “I know these past few days have been hard,” he said, his voice still maddeningly soft, like this was a conversation you’d had a hundred times before. “But I won’t tolerate any fighting today.”

You blinked, your face twisting in disbelief. You stared at him as if he’d just grown a second head.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” you snapped, sitting up now despite the alarm pounding in your chest. "I haven't seen you in forever!"

Your eyes scanned the room again, half-expecting it to morph around you. Your brain raced to make sense of it. Was he trying to gaslight you again? Was this a loop? A game?

He didn’t answer. Not right away. He just stood there, watching you like someone observing a particularly stubborn animal—tenderness in his expression, but with an undercurrent of warning. Of control. That same suffocating sweetness you remembered all too well.

He let out a sigh, then got onto the bed and started unbuckling his belt. Your eyes widened, and your heart raced as you instinctively began to struggle. "No! What the actual hell, Sylus, stop!" you yelled. "Don't use this as an opportunity to rape me again you sick fuck!!"

Your resistance halted when he quickly seized both of your wrists and leaned in closer. You were frozen with fear. "I'm trying to be gentle today, so please stop," he said, sounding more exasperated than angry.

Gentle today? What? Did that mean...your mouth opens in realization. This isn't a shared dream. It was a memory. In your early days of captivity with Sylus. When he was very insistent on "breeding" you daily, several times a day. He often used force, but this particular morning he had been very gentle.

This was your own mind. A memory you had tried so desperately to rid yourself of, had come crawling to the forefront. You begin to sob. You were having a nightmare. Relieving one of your worst moments.

Which meant there was no escaping. This would play out as it always had. Sylus seemed satisfied with your sudden lapse in movement, as he began to pepper small kisses across your neck.

"Sweetie, don't cry. It won't hurt as bad this time I promise" Sylus coos gently, before slipping a finger into the hem of your underwear. You were frozen as he pulled them past your butt, and eventually discarded them on the floor. You hadn't even realized you weren't wearing pants.

"D-don't please..."

Sylus gently shushed you, and you tensed as you felt a warm finger begin circling your clit. The intense waves of pleasure you felt were electrifying and you again began to struggle again.

"I'm not doing this! Let go of me!" you yelled, using your free hand to push against his face. He sighed again as a red mist wrapped around your wrists, pulling your arms over your head. The grip was tight and warm, almost painfully so. You cried out, fresh tears streaming down your face again. Despite your protests, his fingers continued to work on your sensitive spot, and he started to slip a finger inside your now wet folds. You groaned as waves of pleasure surged through your body once more.

“Does that hurt?” Sylus asked, his voice low and steady, laced with that same gentleness he always wore when he was doing something cruel.

His hand cupped your chin—not harshly, but firmly, guiding your face up until you had no choice but to meet his eyes. The touch was deceptively tender, but the power behind it was undeniable. It made your skin crawl, made your breath come out in tight, uneven sobs.

Your hands—still suspended above your head with that sickly red mist, wrists straining under invisible pressure—throbbed with pain. Your fingers had gone numb. You whimpered, trembling from the hot ache and the rising terror in your chest.

“Y-yes,” you choked out, your voice wet and broken. “Please… let my hands go.”

He tilted his head slightly, like he was pondering his next move. His expression remained calm, measured. Too calm. That was what made it worse—the lack of rage, the way he treated your pain like a conversation.

“Then,” he murmured, stroking his thumb once along your cheek, “are you going to behave?”

You swallowed around the knot in your throat, chest heaving. The words caught somewhere between your ribs and your pride, but the pain was too much. The helplessness. The fear.

“Yes,” you whispered, eyes full of tears. “I’ll behave.”

He stared at you for a long moment, as if searching for even the smallest flicker of defiance in your eyes. Whatever he saw must have satisfied him. The pressure around your wrists loosened instantly, and the mist evaporated like smoke, vanishing without a trace.

Your arms dropped to your chest, limp and heavy, and you gasped in relief. The freedom stung as the blood rushed back into your fingers, but the ache was nothing compared to the weight that had been lifted. Your shoulders shook with silent sobs as you cradled your arms close to your chest, trying to catch your breath, trying to ground yourself in the moment.

Sylus’s fingers, warm and deliberate, curled around yours, interlacing with a slow, practiced ease. His other hand remained steady pushing another finger in and out of you, a gentle pressure that belied the tension crackling beneath the surface. You tensed immediately, your breath catching in your throat, your whole body going rigid as you instinctively tried to pull away—but he didn’t stop.

Your whimper escaped before you could silence it, soft and instinctual, like a warning to yourself. But there was no escape. It felt good. Even for just reliving a memory it felt exactly the same. Shame crept up and you felt your face getting warm.

He leaned in, and his voice came low—measured, sweet in tone but wrong in every possible way. “You make it very hard to be gentle, kitten,” he murmured, brushing a kiss across your lips before you could flinch away. It was soft, deceptively so, a contrast to the raw ache in your hands and the weight in your chest. His smile hovered just after, patient and expectant. “Tell you what…no more fighting me,” he said gently, “and this will be the only time this happens today. Okay?”

You already knew how this went.

The script never really changed—just the tone, the setting, the subtle reshuffling of his words. But the bones of it, the bargain, were always the same. He offered control dressed as kindness. Compliance cloaked in calm. And you—drained, desperate—were expected to accept it.

You had learned not to hesitate.

So you didn’t.

Your head bobbed quickly, instinct overriding reason, and your throat tightened around the sob clawing its way up. “Yes,” you whispered first, the word catching. You swallowed hard, forcing down the fear, the shame, the heat burning behind your eyes. “Yes,” you repeated, louder this time—pleading, broken, automatic. "Please just be gentle.”

You hated how you sounded. Had you sounded this desperate when this actually happened? You weren't sure.

Tears slipped more freely now, tracing hot lines down your cheeks as your voice cracked into silence. Your whole body trembled—not from pain this time, not exactly—but from the surrender. From the ritual of it. The exhausting necessity of giving in. The part of you that still wanted to believe the more obedient you were, the faster it would be over.

He nodded, stopping his movements and removing his fingers from inside you. You watched in shock as he licked the remnants of your essence from his fingers, then began undoing his belt again. You were wet enough now.

"Good girl. Lay still and this will be over before you know it".

You lay there frozen as he lifts your dress to expose your breasts. It wasn't long before you felt the burning ache of his cock spearing itself into your folds, stretching to accommodate his size. It still hurt, you weren't sure if it was ever not going to, but your slickness did help quite a bit. He groans in pleasure as he pushes himself into your body, slightly pulling back and then pushing in again.

"Shit..."

It happens the same way. The ache gives way to pleasure, your squeezing his hand as if your life depends on it and your moaning with him. Your body betrays you. Your mind betrays you. Mind numbing pleasure sears itself into your core. He pumps his cock into you faster, and you feel your brain begin to melt as he hits that spongey part within your body. Your breasts squeeze together as he holds you closer. You both become one.

"It hurts..."

You hate it. Your body loves it. You climax. You sob. He rubs your tears from your face with his thumb.

"Shh, its okay. You're doing so good, honey. I'm close, I promise."

It ends with hot, creamy liquid burying itself within your womb, and sweet sick promises of a new life being whispered in your ear.

"You'll see very soon just how happy you can be".

No...no!

You frantically thrash beneath the covers, breath coming in sharp gasps, heart racing like a jackhammer in your chest. When you finally manage to pry your eyes open, you're back—Caleb's spare room. You shiver violently, sweat cooling on your skin. Nightmare again. Another one. Even here, even in the safest place you could possibly be in, they follow you.

You sit up slowly, arms wrapped tightly around your torso as if to hold yourself together. For a moment, you just breathe. Tears are already sliding down your cheeks, warm and quiet. You wipe at them with the back of your hand and swing your legs over the edge of the bed, pressing your feet to the carpet. It's soft, grounding, but the tremble in your limbs refuses to fade.

You stand and shuffle toward the bathroom, eyes blurry with sleep and emotion. The tiled floor sends a chill up your legs, but you welcome it. Something real. Something solid. You sit down on the toilet, the cold seat a small shock to your senses. Everything is slow and disconnected—muscle memory pulling you through motions your mind hasn’t caught up to.

Then, you glance down.

A giant, darkened spot blooms in the middle of your underwear, unmistakably damp.

You freeze.

Your first thought is confusion. A small jolt of panic hits your stomach. Did you pee yourself? It wouldn’t be the first time—not lately, your body was still recovering from giving birth. But no. You hadn't woken in a soaked bed. The sheets were dry. Your thighs weren’t sticky, the fabric not clinging with that awful familiar weight. It’s localized. Contained. Different.

And that's when your breath catches.

Your mind scrambles, fumbling through memories of the dream. The edges blur, slippery as oil. There had been fear—yes, fear. You’d been powerless again, frozen while Sylus hovered over you, ripping away your autonomy once more. Claiming your body as his. That same choking dread had sunk its claws into your spine. But then—something had shifted.

No. No, no, no. That couldn’t be right.

But the evidence is in front of you.

Your stomach turns violently, as if rejecting the realization before it can fully settle. You shake your head hard, almost like you could rattle the thought out, dislodge it before it roots.

Had you actually...enjoyed that? That grotesque, warped thing masquerading as a dream?

You can’t breathe. You suddenly feel like you’re floating outside of your own skin, like your body has betrayed you in the most obscene way possible. What kind of person—what kind of victim—reacts like that? Your heart pounds against your ribcage like it’s trying to escape. The shame is a physical thing now, thick and suffocating, like a weight pressing into your chest.

It wasn’t a nightmare. Or it was, but your body hadn’t understood that. It had responded.

A wet dream instead?

A sound escapes your throat, something between a sob and a gasp. You slap both hands over your mouth, but it’s too late. Tears blur your vision, your breath hitching in short, helpless gulps. You feel like you’re rotting from the inside out.

You’re disgusting. You’re wrong. You're broken.

How could your body react like that to him? After everything he’d done? After everything he’d taken?

You feel like you're going to throw up. The air feels thick. Too thick. Like trying to breathe through wet wool. You curl in on yourself without thinking, arms wrapped around your knees, head pressed to your thighs, like maybe you can collapse into a space small enough to disappear entirely.

Your thoughts won’t stop. What if it happens again? What if this means something worse? What if you’re not really a victim at all—what if you’re complicit in your own nightmares?

You shake harder. Tears pour freely now, soaking the collar of your shirt.

It wasn't supposed to feel good.

You know, on some level, that it isn’t your fault. That it’s probably just your body reacting instinctively to certain sensations—some automatic, unconscious response to sexual stimuli. That’s what bodies do, right? That has to be it. It has to be. Because the alternative is too frightening to face. But that rational voice inside you is barely a whisper, drowned beneath waves of confusion and self-loathing. You don’t recognize yourself anymore, and the weight of not understanding this new version of you—this stranger living in your skin—is becoming unbearable.

You hop in the shower quickly, as if trying to scrub all the horrible thoughts away. The water is hot—almost too hot—but you welcome the sting. You lather shampoo into your hair with too much force, digging your nails into your scalp like you can claw the memories loose. You scrub your arms, your legs, your chest, over and over until your skin is aching and raw. It’s not about getting clean. It’s about feeling something else. Anything else.

You don’t know how much time passes. Minutes? An hour? The bathroom fills with steam, thick and heavy, clinging to every surface. You clean and scrub until the exhaustion settles deep into your bones, until your thoughts finally grow dull and hazy around the edges. When you finally turn off the water, you’re lightheaded and weak, limbs trembling slightly beneath you.

Seems Caleb has a good water heater—you never ran out of hot water.

You grope around blindly for a towel, the fog blurring your vision as much as your tired eyes. Wrapping it around yourself, you step in front of the full-body mirror. The glass is fogged, but you wipe it down with your palm, revealing your reflection piece by piece.

Your body…it had changed.

You realize, with a strange jolt, that you haven’t really looked at yourself since giving birth. Not properly. Not like this. The last time you examined your reflection this closely, you were heavily pregnant, body swollen with life. Now, the bump is gone—mostly. Your belly has deflated, but there's still a soft protrusion that wasn't there before.

You’ve lost quite a bit of the baby weight. Stress, probably. Poor nutrition. Skipped meals. Your hips are still wider. Breasts firm with milk. Everything feels a little out of place—familiar and unfamiliar all at once.

It’s not terrible. You still look like you. Just…different.

You remember reading in one of the baby books that it can take up to a year for the body to return to "normal," whatever that means. You’re not sure if this new shape will ever feel like home again. or if it'll even stay. Maybe you would eventually return to "normal". As much as you could anyway.

You get dressed in a long, comfortable shirt and slip into a fresh pair of underwear. You were thankful you didn't seem to be bleeding much anymore. The fabric is soft against your skin, still warm from the dryer. You realize you hadn't brough the clothes Caleb bought you in here. There aren’t any clean pants nearby—just a couple of ones you’d already worn this week—and after a moment of frustrated searching through the small stack of folded laundry, you give up. No one else is around. You’ll be in the house, just for a bit. It’s fine. You tug the shirt down as far as it will go, more for comfort than modesty. Its almost to your knees. Should be fine until you can grab some pants in a bit.

You step toward the bathroom door, towel still draped over your shoulders, drying your damp hair with lazy, tired motions. The steam from the shower clings to your skin like a second layer. You twist the knob, still half in your head, and swing the door open.

Then freeze.

Caleb is sitting on the edge of the bed, hunched slightly forward, gently rocking Sylvia in his arms. Her face is scrunched, her mouth pulled into a frustrated whine. Her tiny fists punch the air, and her legs kick as if warding off an invisible foe. Caleb is murmuring something softly under his breath, his movements tentative and gentle, like he’s afraid of doing something wrong.

Your chest tightens. You could've sworn you had locked the door?

He looks up, and the moment he sees you, his entire face lights up. His worry melts into relief.

"Hey! Sorry to just walk in," he says, giving you an apologetic half-smile. "I heard her crying from the hallway and figured you were sleeping. I thought maybe I could soothe her, give you a little more time. She seemed hungry, though, so I came in here."

You feel a jolt of panic snap through you like a rubber band stretched too far. The breath leaves your lungs in a stuttering rush.

“No—Caleb, please put her down!”

Your voice comes out louder, harsher than you meant, and the room seems to go still. His smile falters, confused. You’re already moving before he can say another word. The towel slips from your shoulders and lands in a heap on the floor as you rush across the room, hands outstretched.

“Just give her to me!”

Your heart is pounding, a chaotic rhythm that drowns out rational thought. Visions flare up unbidden—images of things going wrong, of Sylvia slipping, of her getting hurt, of hands that aren't yours doing something wrong. But deeper than that is something even worse: the fear that Sylus will find out. That he’ll somehow know another man held her, touched her, cradled her so gently like he never would. And if he knows, he’ll be angry—not at you but at Caleb.

You don't even want to imagine the horrible things Sylus would do to him.

Caleb’s eyes go wide, and he lifts his hands in surrender as you reach him. He says nothing, just instinctively transfers the baby into your arms with slow, careful movements. Sylvia lets out a protesting little squawk as the transition jostles her.

“Okay, okay—it’s alright,” Caleb says quietly, his voice filled with concern. "She’s okay. I was just trying to help."

You clutch Sylvia to your chest, holding her as tightly as you dare. Her body fits against yours like she belongs there, like she’s always belonged there. She lets out a soft sigh, her flailing limbs settling. The fussing tapers off to little hiccuping breaths, and soon she’s quiet again.

You press a trembling kiss to her forehead, eyes fluttering shut. You’re still shaking.

There’s a long pause.

Caleb is silent, his hands now folded awkwardly in his lap. He looks at you like he wants to say something but isn’t sure if he should. The tension in the room crackles softly, a quiet hum beneath the stillness.

“I didn’t mean to overstep,” he says finally, his voice cautious. “I just thought maybe I could help. You looked like you needed rest.”

"Y-you can't... if he finds out you even breathed the same air as her he'll—" Your voice falters, collapsing under the weight of what you almost said. The words die on your tongue, leaving a silence that's louder than anything else in the room. Your heart races, hammering against your ribs, and your fingers tighten protectively around Sylvia, who stirs softly against your chest. You hadn't meant to say that much—not even close.

Caleb’s eyes narrow slightly, but his voice remains low. "Who?" he asks, the question sharpened with suspicion. "He’ll do what? Her father?"

You don’t answer right away. Your eyes drop to the floor, to a speck of lint you suddenly find fascinating. Anything to avoid his gaze. The air between you thickens with tension.

"Just trust me, please," you whisper, almost pleading. "Leave me to her care, okay? It's for the best."

For a moment, you expect him to nod, to accept it like he did earlier. But this time is different. Something in him has shifted. Caleb doesn’t step back. He doesn’t drop it. Instead, he straightens up abruptly and takes two steps toward you, closing the distance.

"I just can't understand," he says, voice still calm but more insistent now, tinged with something rawer underneath. "You've never kept anything from me before. And now I find you stranded in the middle of nowhere, no ID, no records, no phone—not even a hospital bracelet. And you’re holding a baby that’s, what—a few weeks old? And you expect me to just pretend everything’s fine?"

The words hit you like a slap—not cruel, not intentionally—but real. Honest. Caleb’s always been the one person you could count on to be gentle. But he’s also always been the one who notices everything. He’s not stupid. And he’s not letting this go.

Your throat tightens, but you force yourself to look at him. Sylvia shifts slightly in your arms and lets out a soft sigh, a small reminder that she’s the center of your world now. The only thing that matters is protecting those you care about.

"She's seven weeks. I’m just protecting her and you" you say, your voice barely above a breath. "That’s all this is. That’s all I can do."

Caleb doesn’t move. He watches you carefully, waiting, like he knows there’s more. And there is. There’s so much more. But you can’t let it spill out. You can’t drag him into this mess. If Sylus ever found out—if he even sensed that another man had held his daughter—Caleb could get hurt. And you couldn’t live with that.

"You don’t understand what he’s capable of," you murmur, mostly to yourself. But it’s too late. Caleb hears it.

"Then help me understand," he replies. "Don’t shut me out. You think I wouldn’t want to protect her too? Or protect you?"

Your eyes sting. Your grip on Sylvia tightens, but she’s already asleep, little fist curled near her cheek. The words hover on your lips—I want to tell you. I wish I could. But you don’t say them.

"Just let me do this," you say finally. "Please. For now. That’s all I’m asking."

The silence stretches. Caleb’s face shifts slightly, from confusion to something softer, sadder. He sighs, but the hesitation is still there, written in the set of his jaw.

"You know I can't do that," Caleb says, clasping his hands together tightly. His voice is calm, but there’s something desperate underneath it, something raw and pleading. "If you'd just move in here with me permanently, that would solve all of this. He won't hurt you. He can't hurt you. You know I'd protect you. And her."

He looks down at Sylvia as he says it, his expression softening in a way that makes your chest ache. That softness—it's genuine. There's no doubt in your mind that he believes every word he’s saying. But belief isn't enough. Not when it comes to Sylus. Not when it comes to the kind of danger that lingers like a shadow behind every moment of peace.

You shake your head, jaw tightening until it aches. He doesn’t know. He can’t know. Not really. He hasn’t seen what you’ve seen. He hasn't lived through it, hasn't felt the cold dread of waking up every morning not knowing what the day would look like. He doesn't know what Sylus is capable of when he's even slightly displeased. And if Caleb ever got in his way—if he even touched Sylvia again—

You force the thought away, swallowing hard.

"I already told you, I can't!" you snap, your voice sharp and unfiltered. The frustration explodes out of you like a dam finally giving way. "It would just cause more problems! I already lost you once, I can't go through that again!"

He takes a half-step back, startled, but doesn’t retreat fully. His eyes are still on you, searching, waiting for something he can grab onto. He opens his mouth to respond, but you’re not done. Not even close.

"Besides, you want to talk about my secrets? What about you, Caleb? Huh? Let’s talk about you!" Your voice rises with every syllable, fueled by confusion and betrayal. "I saw you explode. I saw you die, Caleb. I felt the ground shake. I watched it happen. And now you’re just... here? Alive? Like nothing ever happened?"

You take a breath that feels more like a gasp, chest heaving.

"You just conveniently show up in Windsor—of all places—alive and well? Sporting fancy jets and luxury mansions like some kind of billionaire guardian angel? What is this, huh? What am I supposed to believe? That you’re some kind of miracle? That you just happened to show up the second I needed someone the most?"

Your voice cracks again, anger giving way to something more fragile underneath—something scared and overwhelmed. The question you’ve been swallowing down for weeks finally pushes its way out.

"What about that, huh? Why don’t you answer my questions for once instead of dodging every single one of mine like I’m too fragile to know the truth?"

The room feels electric with tension, thick and heavy like the air before a thunderstorm. You can feel your pulse hammering in your throat, your arms tightening around Sylvia’s small body. She stirs slightly in your embrace, murmuring softly, her warmth the only anchor keeping you from spiraling entirely.

Caleb’s face shifts slowly, his mouth opening like he wants to speak—but he hesitates. Something flickers behind his eyes. Not guilt. Not anger. Something more complex. Like he’s weighing whether the truth is even his to tell.

The silence stretches between you, pulsing with all the things that remain unspoken.

You feel it again—that gnawing feeling that something isn’t right, that the Caleb in front of you is the man you knew, but also...not. You can’t put your finger on it, and maybe that’s what terrifies you most. You thought you could trust him. You want to. But how can you, when he’s hiding just as much as you are?

He says nothing at first. Just watches you, the tension stretching so thin between you it feels like the room might snap in half from the pressure. His expression is unreadable, carved from silence and restraint. Then, finally, he sighs. Long and quiet, like he's been holding his breath for hours.

"I guess we all have skeletons in our closet," he says.

You stare at him in disbelief, your lips parting in a breathless huff. That’s it? That’s his answer? That’s all he has to offer after everything you just spilled, after weeks of uncertainty and swallowing back every cry for help? Weeks of unraveling silently at the seams?

What kind of bullshit answer is that?

You feel it rising in your chest—the pressure, the heartbreak, the helplessness. It presses against your ribcage like something alive, like it wants out. Your throat tightens, and your hands start to tremble.

You can’t do this anymore. You can’t. The tension, the secrets, the lies—they’re suffocating. You’re trying to hold it together, trying to survive while keeping a tiny human safe and clinging to the edge of your sanity, and it feels like no one around you is willing to meet you halfway. It feels like no one sees how close you are to shattering.

You just want one person. One. Someone who will be honest. Someone who will stop pretending. Someone who will look at you and see the wreckage and still say, "You're safe. I'm here. I’m not lying to you."

Clara had been that person. Sweet, gentle Clara with soft hands and quiet reassurances. She had been your lifeline when everything else was chaos. But now? Now she was gone. God only knows what Sylus did to her. You wake up thinking about her sometimes, wondering if she’s alive, if she’s okay, or if she was just another casualty of being close to you. The guilt eats you alive.

Xavier, too. God—Xavier. Dragged into the hell of EVERS experiments, brutalized just for trying to help you escape. And what did he get in return? Pain. Silence. Disappearance. He thinks you lied to him. Everyone who tries to help you ends up broken.

You'll be damned in Caleb ends up that way too.

You press a hand to your face, swallowing down the sob trying to climb its way up.

"I’m done," you mutter, voice strained and trembling. You turn away from Caleb and move toward the bed, carefully laying Sylvia down on the softest part of the mattress. You adjust the blanket around her, brushing a fingertip over her tiny cheek. She stirs, sighs, but doesn’t cry. She blinks up at you, clearly too confused with all the commotion to be upset you weren't holding her anymore.

"I can’t stay here," you say, eyes locked on Sylvia’s peaceful face. "This is all eating me alive. I’m not healing—I’m unraveling. And staying here is just...making it worse. I need space. I need air. I need to feel like I’m free, not like I’m still in someone else's trap."

You cross the room, the weight in your limbs making each step feel heavier than the last. Your bag is still where you left it, slumped against the wall. You crouch down, unzip it, and dig around to try and find your envelope of cash.

"No," Caleb says.

You freeze.

The word hits the room like a dropped stone, quiet but heavy. Your spine stiffens. The air changes.

You slowly turn to look at him.

He’s standing taller now, shoulders squared, something simmering behind his eyes. It’s not fury. Not sadness. Not even desperation. It’s something steadier. A line drawn in the sand.

"No," he repeats, and his voice is steel. "You’re not leaving. Not like this."

You scoff. What the hell did he mean by no?

"You won't find that envelope either. It's somewhere safe," Caleb says calmly, like he's discussing the weather. Not an ounce of guilt, not a flicker of shame.

Panic spikes through your chest like a sudden jolt of electricity. Your breath catches, and you lunge for the bag again, and begin tearing through it with trembling hands. You flip it upside down, shake it violently, throw it to the floor. Then you're on your knees, digging—harder, faster. You check the side pocket where you always kept it. Nothing. You tear open the lining. You throw out every item of clothing. You unzip every hidden pouch, check every crease.

Still nothing.

The air seems to get thinner. Your heart slams against your ribcage.

"You asshole!" you scream, whirling on him with a voice so raw it scrapes your throat. Your chest heaves as the words tumble out. "I pawned my ring to get that money!

Your breath comes in short, sharp gasps. Your vision blurs at the edges. The room feels like it’s shrinking, the walls closing in, bending and tilting like the floor can’t quite decide which way is up.

You feel yourself spiraling—fast and hard. Everything inside you starts to slip. Your thoughts crash like waves in a storm, and you can’t catch a single one long enough to think.

"No, no, no," you whisper, stumbling back, your voice fraying like torn fabric. "You were supposed to be different. You were supposed to be safe."

Your voice rises, caught between anger and desperation.

"You’re acting just like him. Please—please, stop."

Tears spill freely now, thick and hot, tracking down your cheeks in heavy streams. You wrap your arms tightly around yourself, rocking slightly, like your own body is trying to shield your heart from cracking wide open.

Caleb steps toward you slowly, hands slightly raised, his movements calm and measured, like he’s trying not to startle a wounded animal. But you don’t feel soothed. You feel cornered.

"Calm down," he says, voice low and maddeningly composed. "I’ll return the money once your documents are here. You don’t need it right now anyway. I’ll provide everything you and Sylvia need."

He takes another step closer, closing the gap between you by just enough to send another pulse of fear through your gut.

"I’m not going to let you be reckless and endanger yourself or the baby. This is the safest place for your right now."

The words land with a cruel chill. Cold steel straight through the ribcage.

You stare at him, blinking, unable to form a coherent thought through the storm of betrayal and confusion ripping through you. Behind you, Sylvia stirs softly, as if sensing your distress. Her tiny body turns slightly under the blanket.

Your voice comes out hoarse, barely above a whisper. "You had no right to take anything of mine."

But Caleb doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t apologize. He doesn’t move. There’s something unsettling in the way he holds his ground—not like someone who’s trying to help, but someone who knows he’s already won this round.

And that terrifies you more than anything else.

You feel the sting of fresh tears, the kind born of helplessness, not rage. You want to scream, but your throat feels tight, your breath shallow. You sink slowly to your knees, still clutching the empty bag like it might miraculously return what’s been taken.

"You can't see it now because of whatever you're battling in your head, but I'm protecting you," Caleb says quietly, his voice low and steady. "If he's really as dangerous as you say, then you absolutely need to stay here. You're being very impulsive."

You flinch as he gently pulls you into an embrace. His arms are warm, steady, secure—too secure. A quiet cage dressed in tenderness. It doesn’t feel like safety. This doesn't feel like the boy you grew up with. It feels like a door quietly closing behind you.

You don’t reciprocate.

You just sit there, stiff in his arms, your face pressed against his shoulder, eyes wide and unfocused. The weight of your body is bone-deep exhaustion, but your muscles stay tense, locked tight like a coiled spring. Tears continue to fall, slow and silent now, soaking into the fabric of his shirt. He doesn’t flinch or move. Just holds you.

You want to scream. To shove him away. To run. To trust. To collapse into someone and finally let go. You want everything and nothing all at once.

And you hate—hate—that he might be right in some way.

Because the truth is, you are locked in a bitter, daily war with your own mind. Your PTSD isn’t just in your head—it’s in your chest, your spine, your skin. It lurks in your muscles, whispering that no one is safe. That no place is real. That even a moment of rest is a trap in disguise. It claws at your reality, distorting every sound, every touch, every kind word into something laced with threat. Every door closed feels like entrapment. Every gentle voice feels like manipulation.

Your trauma-bruised brain doesn’t know the difference between comfort and control anymore. Safety and suffocation have blurred at the edges. You want to believe Caleb. You want to trust him. But part of you is screaming that this is just another gilded cage.

You close your eyes, just for a moment. Just to rest. Just to quiet the noise. Maybe if you shut it all out, it’ll stop.

But your body doesn’t relax. It stays frozen in his hold. Your arms hang useless at your sides. Because no matter how softly he’s holding you, no matter how many promises spill from his lips, it still feels like a trap. Like one more person trying to decide what’s best for you without asking. Like one more decision made for you instead of with you.

You are so sick of people telling you what's best for you.

"Just until the documents get here...?" you whisper, your voice barely audible, as if speaking any louder might break the fragile truce settling over the room. You close your eyes, trying to block out the gnawing doubt that’s coiled itself deep in your gut, trying to make the words feel true even when everything inside you is screaming they aren’t.

"Yes," Caleb replies, his tone soft and steady, almost relieved, like you’ve just agreed to something simple. Like your surrender is peace, not quiet devastation. "It’s for the best."

You want—so badly—to believe him. To believe that he knows what’s right. That this is safety. That this is care, not control. That his arms around you are protection, not boundaries. That his words are a balm, not a leash tightening around your throat.

But he’s still a liar.

Still keeping things from you. Still offering only partial truths, carefully curated phrases, and gentle redirections when you ask too much. He’s danced around every answer with the grace of someone who’s done it before. He’s protecting you—yes. But is he protecting you from the world? Or from the truth?

Or from himself?

You remember the way he looked when you confronted him. Calm. Measured. Like he was already several steps ahead of you. Like he knew he’d find the right words to stop you from walking out that door. That scares you more than anything—how easy it was for him to pull you back in. How much you wanted to stay, even after everything.

You know better now. You’ve learned. Painfully, repeatedly.

So you nod. You breathe. You stay.

But you do not relax.

Your body remains tense even as you curl up with Sylvia that night. Your hand never leaves her. You listen for every creak in the house, every footstep, every shift of breath from the next room. Sleep only comes in fragments, and when it does, it’s light and uneasy.

You’ll sleep with one eye open. You’ll memorize the exits. You’ll keep a backup plan, even if it’s just in your head. You’ll stash essentials in places he doesn’t know about. You’ll practice smiling when he speaks. You’ll say thank you when he brings you things. You’ll pretend to trust him, because pretending is safer than provoking.

You’ll keep your daughter close and your thoughts closer.

You truly can't afford to freely trust anyone.

You’ll watch him. Study him. Learn his rhythms, his moods, the things that make him soften and the things that make him quiet. You’ll map him like a threat, even when he acts like a sanctuary.

Because you have no choice.

Because you refuse to be in someone else's trap.

[luvistqrzzz]

TRIVIA : LOVE — enhypen hyung line oneshot series

Finding love is not easy they say but what happens when you fall for someone at the most unexpected time in an unexpected way? — whisper a small oops and continue to fall further into the loophole of love.

aka the chronicles of a hopeless romantic soul

PAIRING && GENRE — hyung line x f!reader, can be read as stand alone oneshots, crack, ansgt, fluff, happy ending, more tba in individual fics

TAGLIST — open send an ask or comment to be added (you will be tagged for all the 4 fics) — @flwrshee @aosbie @rsmura @enhastolemyheart @yannew @sophiko22 @www-jungwon @nwjws @in-somnias-world @zzinyl @mrchweeee @ghostiiess @ilovecheese09

PERMANENT TAGLIST — @rikizm @str0l0gy @yenqa @heetoldme @crxzs @s00buwu @nhularin @bunreis @hysgf @mochamvgz @myonos — will be added in all parts

STATUS — to be released !!

AN — TYSM FLO @dollikis FOR THE MAIN BANNER ISTG SHE'S SUCH A GENIUS 🫶🏼🥹 I CANNOT GET ENOUGH OF IT ILYSM FLO my banners for the rest of the fic look like shit 😻🤞🏼 i feel the general summary is so cringe ( if someone comes up w a better one then pls help 😭) ALSO the fics in the series are based on rom com books tbh ive been planning and editing the masterlist for the past two weeks ahaha so idk how to feel about it... technically im still on my writing hiatus but ill try to start working on the fics after exams,,, hope yall look forward to it hehe ^_^ !!

"It was like I was trying to memorize him — in case this was the last time I would ever see him." — (failed) STEPS TO NOT MISS YOUR EX

There were a lot of ways your sister's wedding could have gone wrong but none of them included you crossing paths with your ex who happened to be the assistant wedding planner.  Alternatively, where you were apparently "over" Lee Heeseung but an (almost) disastrous wedding made you think otherwise.

a luvistqrzzz rendition of save the date by morgan matson — [ read here ]

“Here's the thing about writing Happily Ever Afters: it helps if you believe in them.” — LETTERS TO YOU, ME AND THE BEACH

When a crippling writer’s block and an almost broke bank account forces you to move to an old family home, you didn’t expect to cross paths with your arch nemesis from high school, the ever obnoxious, Park Jay. But maybe the series of events that unfold during the summer could help you with a romantic book or two.

a luvistqrzzz rendition of beach read by emily henry — [ read here ]

“Note to self: Do not under any circumstances fall in love again.” — A 1000 WAYS BACK TO YOU

When Jake realizes he doesn't want to be (only) friends with you anymore, you are already moving halfway around the world and he's left alone on the other side of the line. Will it take two oblivious idiots 10 years and more than a hundred missed chances to see the feelings they've been hiding for long?

a luvistqrzzz rendition of where rainbows end by cecelia ahern — [ read here ]

"Well sure, who doesn't need a boyfriend? But realistically, those exotic creatures are hard to come by. At least a quality one.” — A STRANGER'S GUIDE TO LOVE AND CHRISTMAS

For Sunghoon, Christmas is like any other day, only a hundred times more crowded. But then he stumbles across a notebook at the local bookstore. A notebook full of... dares. As he and the anonymous author spend the entire Christmas eve swapping stories and dreams around the city of Seoul, where will it lead Sunghoon to?

a luvistqrzzz rendition of dash and lily's book of dares by rachel cohn and david levithan — [ read here ]

works belongs to @luvistqrzzz do not copy repost or translate my work

reblogs and feedback are heavily appreciated

networks- @hyfenet @enhanet @en-web @k-films

[bloopitynoot]

9 "Older" Lan Zhan WangXian Fics

Another rec list created for @yiling-laozu-is-loml but everyone pls enjoy!

Note: all of these fics are tried and true; meaning I have vetted, read, and cherish all of them.

There were some specific requests for WangXian fics featuring "older" Lan Zhan (I also added a little extra allowance).

Request parameters:

Must feature WangXian ONLY

bottomXian only (If applicable)

Book canon only (if applicable)

Can include: age difference as little as a year up to lifetimes.

Can include: age difference for reals but also in spirit (ex: Accidental Sugar Daddy Lan Zhan, intentional Sugar Daddy Lan Zhan, gratuitous usage of gege, immortal Lan Zhan)

Can also include: (if there isn't much of an age difference) a power differences in which the power difference is in Lan Zhan's favour (ex: employer/employee or professor/student)

I have a little mix of all of the above in the fics below.

If you'd like a personalized rec list- feel free to DM me! I love putting these together.

1 We Were Never Strangers (36728 words) by NeverEnoughWangxian

Chapters: 3/3 Rating: Mature Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Modern Cultivators, POV Wei Ying | Wei Wuxian, (mostly), College Student Wei Ying | Wei Wuxian, Rogue Cultivator Wei Ying | Wei Wuxian, Immortal Lan Zhan | Lan Wangji, Immortal Lan Yuan | Lan Sizhui, Dreams, Pining, Sharing a Bed, brief mentions of wwx's past death(s), WangXian.mp3, Getting Together, I guess getting back together technically, Happy Ending, No beta we die like wwx, added tags for last chapter:, Sexual Tension, Sexual Content, Hand Jobs, Biting Summary: The dream shifts. They’re back home now, tangled up in bed, buried under a mountain of blankets and, at least in Wei Ying’s case, sore in all the ways he doesn’t mind being sore in. His husband is radiating warmth, and Wei Ying burrows into his arms happily. He presses his still-freezing toes to his husband’s calves and muffles a snort of laughter against Lan Zhan’s chest when he feels the muscles tense momentarily from the shock. Lan Zhan nips at his ear in retaliation but continues to run his fingers soothingly through Wei Ying’s hair. He melts into the touch. The only thing keeping him from turning into a puddle is the strong familiar arms around him, holding him together, holding him close. When Wei Ying wakes up, he’s full-body shivering. His hand slides across the bed, reaching instinctively for the warmth of someone who was never there to begin with. Wei Ying is an art major by day, cultivator by night. After a seemingly routine night-hunt, he starts getting these strange, vivid dreams of a man in white he’s never met before yet somehow feels like he’s known his whole life…

NOTES: Starting this list off with a bang- soulmate AU, reincarnated WY, and an immortal Lan Zhan who is really just out here living to find his man. I love this one so much because it has such good descriptions of WY's past experiences with Lan Zhan. I love the art imagery and WY being an artist. This was just a fantastic fic with a solid ending.

2 Professor Lan, Babysitter Extraordinaire (4367 words) by Eleanor_Fenyx

Chapters: 1/1 Rating: General Audiences Additional Tags: Fluff, Single Parent Wei Ying | Wei Wuxian, professor lan wangji, Mature Student Wei Wuxian, background 3zun, Really just wanted an excuse to write baby a-yuan and LWJ bonding, Modern AU Series: Part 3 of Wangxian One-Shots Summary: “He’s got snacks and his sketchbook and a couple of quiet toys in there, and he can go to the bathroom by himself if you take him to it, and he likes to ask questions in new places, and-“ “Wei Ying.” “Right! Okay! God this is so weird. A-Yuan this is Lan-laoshi, be good for him please, he’s very nice. I’ll come pick you up as soon as I’m done, okay?” “Okay Baba,” A-Yuan says and then - so quickly it’s a surprise that his passing doesn’t make an audible swishing noise like a cartoon - Wei Wuxian darts into the lecture hall, leaving Lan Wangji alone with the scruffy bag and the not-nearly-as-scruffy toddler. Lan Wangji looks down at the boy, who looks back up at him, and he’s still far too adorable for his own good. “Your father is perhaps too trusting,” Lan Wangji remarks. A-Yuan seems to consider this for a long moment before he nods resolutely in a way that tells Lan Wangji he has no idea what he means. “May I carry you?” A-Yuan is quick to let go of his leg to reach up instead, so Lan Wangji reaches down to pick him up under his arms and hoist him onto his hip where he settles heavily like a sentient sack of potatoes.

NOTES: This fic is tooth rot sweet. The speed in which Lan Zhan goes from "kids- indifference" to "I WILL adopt this child and his father" is staggering. It's very short, very cute, and mostly not WangXian but end game wangxian and an excellent cleanser of a fic.

3 running around, chasing each other on the rooftops of China (53898 words) by Verity

Chapters: 5/5 Rating: Explicit Additional Tags: Fox Wei Ying | Wei Wuxian, Immortal Lan Zhan | Lan Wangji, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Mystery, Lan Zhan | Lan Wangji and Wei Ying | Wei Wuxian Have a Breeding Kink, Female Wei Ying | Wei Wuxian, But only for like a chapter and then he gets stuck as a fox, Uhhhhhh this was only supposed to be 15k, Help me i dont know why it keeps expanding Summary: Wei Wuxian, like every other person living in the dazzling era of technology and the modern age, knows that there's a hidden world tucked between society. It reeks of magic, wonder, horror, and everything in between, hidden in the shadows unless one dares to look. If one chooses not to see, they will never find a single hint that something different is amiss. As someone enamored with smartphones and laptops, Wei Wuxian never thought he would stumble upon the mystical. Until one day, his landlord couldn't see him. Or: Wei Wuxian dives headfirst into a shadowy world of magic, where he falls for a mythical figure and discovers a forgotten past.

NOTES: I honestly didn't expect to like this fic as much as I did- I was warry of the tag "Female Wei Ying" as it's not my speed usually BUT it ended up being a solid fic. I do love Foxxian fics and that paired with an eclectic hotel of magical beings ended up becoming sneakily endearing. This fic also has a solid "thawing ice prince/cunning fox" dynamic that is perfection.

4 Be around for the next day (10996 words) by Song_of_Storms

Chapters: 2/2 Rating: Explicit Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, New York City, Bisexual Wei Ying | Wei Wuxian, Top Lan Zhan | Lan Wangji/Bottom Wei Ying | Wei Wuxian, Mentions of WWX plus others, Slutty Wei Ying | Wei Wuxian, Trans Nie Huaisang, short king NHS, Hand Jobs, Anal Sex, Lan Zhan | Lan Wangji Talks Dirty Summary: Wei Ying owns a lucky red leather jacket that’s gotten him laid countless times. When he wears it out, someone’s going home with him. He doesn’t care who. He’s not picky. What matters is the jacket works, every time. Then he meets Lan Zhan. [Or, the leather jacket AU.]

Notes: So full disclosure this fic doesn't really have an age difference? maybe it does? unclear -BUT the dynamic between the two gives off very much that. It is filthy but also cute. Intentional bachelor WY has something coming for his sworn oath of singledom named Lan Zhan. Also- this fic features leather jackets!

5 All Old Things are New Again (51656 words) by The Feels Whale

Chapters: 1/1 Rating: Mature Additional Tags: Reincarnation, Modern Setting, canon still happened, extreme post canon, Sugar Daddy, Kink Negotiation, gentle dom!LWJ, canonical levels of consent play, Modern Cultivators, cultivators can recognize important people from previous lives, vaguely, this started out as a cute sugar fantasy and got just incredibly horny very fast, blame LWJ Series: Part 1 of All Old Things Are New Again Summary: Full-time necromancer and part-time cam boy, Wei Wuxian, finds himself unexpectedly homeless. An enthusiastic patron comes to his rescue. Conversely: Immortal Cultivator Lan Wangji has been waiting a long time for his deceased husband to be reincarnated again. In retrospect, he should have anticipated that this is how it would go.

NOTES: What do you do when you, an immortal, finally find your reincarnated soulmate on a cam site. Obviously- become their secret sugar daddy. The premise of this is wild but it's a good vibe. I do love when Lan Zhan is READY to rescue his man.

6 A Sure Thing (40280 words) by ElDiablito_SF

Chapters: 7/7 Rating: Explicit Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Pretty Woman Fusion, Prostitution, Unsafe Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, Attempted Sexual Assault, You'd think this would be wild and kinky, but actually they're soft and gross, past Zhancheng and they're still friends, Prostitute!WWX, rich asshole!LWJ, fashion bitch!LWJ, Shoe Porn, background attempted Xiyao, Drinking to Cope, physical assault, Villain JGY, Angst with a Happy Ending Series: Part 1 of Pretty Woman AU Summary: Lan Wangji's business trip isn't going very well. On top of it all, his fiancé dumps him, leaving him without a date to all the boring social functions he's expected to attend. Luckily the rentboy he accidentally picks up while stopping for directions seems to be the answer to at least his temporary problems. Yes, this is the Wangxian Pretty Woman AU.

NOTES: Okay I will state that this fic is very crackish but it was so good. The pretty Woman AU ft sex worker WY and sugar daddy divorcee and absolute BITCH Lan Zhan. Okay I believe there is mention of Lan Zhan's ex but it clearly is not a love match at all and so wildly ridiculous that it didn't phase me (it is NOT a pairing I ever read or seek out either), so I hope that doesn't ruin this fic for you @yiling-laozu-is-loml.

7 Players gonna play (68541 words) by Scrippio

Chapters: 6/6 Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - After College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Theater AU, Kinda, Director Wei Ying, Faculty advisor Lan Zhan, grad student Jiang Cheng, Baker Yànlí, grad student Wen Qing, for all intents and purposes, wanxian are in a teaching au, chengqing is in a school au, and xuanli is in a bakery au, Fluff, First Meeting, Getting Together, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Depression, but like coming out of it, No beta we die like wwx Summary: In which the Gusu University theater club is looking for a new beginning, starting with a new faculty advisor (Lan Zhan) and a new director (Wei Ying).

NOTES: This is one of the fics in which there isnt an age difference really, but Lan Zhan is technically WY's boss so that dynamic comes to play here. This fic is so damn wholesome. It has the junior squad, a bit of college au, brilliant WY, and Lan Qiren wishing none of these things ever came to pass (affectionately). A very wholesome adorable fluffy fic.

8 Overboard (51434 words) by celerydragon

Chapters: 11/11 Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Misunderstandings, Temporary Amnesia, Comedy, hopefully-freeform, Fake Marriage, Fake/Pretend Relationship Summary: Wei Ying, carpenter and single parent (he's doing FINE!) goes in for a repair job on a fancy yacht. After the rich-bitch owner of the yacht falls overboard and loses his memory, Wei Ying completely honourably, and with zero ill intentions, swoops in to save the day by lying about their relationship. There's no way this could go wrong.   (based on the 1987 movie)

NOTES: In which Wey Ying (idiot and carpenter) sort of kind of kid naps rich bitch lan zhan post a boating accident and convinces him (badly and not really) that they are in fact married. This is less age difference and more sugar daddy/gege energy BUT if you liked the film overboard, this is even better. Please watch while WY simultaneously sweats and falls in love with the man and hot mess he's created.

9 sunstruck (64376 words) by vesna

Chapters: 8/8 Rating: Explicit Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Getting Together, Idiots in Love, what lan wangji did on his summer vacation, Background LXC/NMJ Summary: Lan Zhan nods as the boat nears the dock and the figure becomes clearer. It's a young man with dark hair down to his shoulders and a wide smile. He is also Asian, and as he turns his gaze to Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan finds himself robbed of breath for the second time that day. The young man is beautiful. He could, Lan Zhan thinks, be Lan Zhan's age, possibly a bit younger. He's tan, wearing a bright pink shirt with the restaurant logo on it, and cargo shorts. He has a small mole under his lower lip. "Hey, guys!" he greets with a wave. "Need a hand?" "Yes, please, if you don't mind," Lan Huan shouts back. He gets up and begins the preparations for docking, handing the young man several ropes. "Thank you, Wei Ying." Wei Ying. That's the boy's name.

NOTES: Lan Zhan has a summer he will never forget and falls for the Hot Boy working at the restaurant. There is a very slight age difference but mostly this is a status difference fic- Lan Zhan has big money money and is technically a customer so the dynamic is there. Anyways- solid fic, good ending :)

[chthonicgodling]

(April’s)Huevember - Day 19!

featuring: Epi, Izzy, & Eury!

[in which I’ve made my very own #Huevember wheel this year (that you can use too! Pls tag me I’d LOVE to see!) - unabridged version continues, including a wide array of Elysium’verse characters across the rainbow!]

yay lavender day and after featuring both Eury and Epi in separate pictures they finally get to pose together, and with their daughter Izzy too - whomst I almost never draw so surpriIISEE,, notes!

awwuwuuu Fenixe’s Epi & Eury or AKA their ship name ✨Euriales✨ truly the couple of all time in here. I mean sure the couple of all time is Maci and Tory BUT they are too plus they’ve been together mUucHh longer,,… oh god they’re SO!!!

and their middle kid Izzy! Izzy, whose full name is Ichnasia, is ohhhh I don’t know about 10ish now I think? Are those multiple arms that she has! YES! and multiple - eyeballs?! Also yes!

for the uninformed, Izzy’s dad Epi (we know him but just in case, on the left) is a daemon and a shapeshifter. his incredibly pretty form that he presents in each day is a customized ✨choice✨ because underneath this is something a lot closer to the spooky look Izzy’s got full time. not as many Limbs, but just as many eyes - many more teeth - aaaaahhhhh

Izzy is the Goddess of Helplessness and she’s actually nonverbal - ALMOST completely. it turns out if you are someone who is exceptionally helpless you might be able to hear her talk to you! The only person who’s ever had this pleasure within Canon was actually Chal shortly after her mother ate her arm off and she was wallowing in despair 🥺

I’ve actually redrawn this pic a from its original first version which I wasn’t tooootally crazy about but I like it now yay!

stay tuned tomorrow for day 20!!! HEY! remember earlier in the month I said that Pho’s barely ever re-entered his physical body except for like, once and to remember that note?????? 👀UMM NO REASON - STAY TUNED THOOOOO—

Epi and Izzy and Eury all belong to @fenixethekid ! click the link up above to see the whole Huevember wheel - feel free to use the tag AceprilHuevember if u want to play too - and my tag this year can be found here!!

[blorbologist]

Aljdskjfksd I can't believe you tagged me, thank you so much. A literal honor!! 😭😭 (I hope you're having a lovely and wonderful day over there)

BUT THAT IS NOT WHY I AM HERE.

WHAT IS 'BLOOD IS SOUP'. PLS ELABORATE

!! <33

It's... still rough, but Prehistoric Planet 2 cheered me up this morning and I am Aggressively Compartmentalizing. Yknow how Percy takes 114 episodes and 7 in-universe years to go 'I miss my family'? like that. The Simosuchus were animated so well, so very reptilian, they made me think of my boy tho :c

ANYWAYS.

Blood is soup is my vampire!Bashter AU! It's mostly coming together in bits and pieces during prompt games, because I don't have a solid plan for what scenes I want to include in the fic.

Yasha is a vampire, dating pre-campaign. I think Obann turned her, or she was bitten/cursed after Zuala's death. Either way, she was a vampire when she tore apart her tribe, and caused a fair bit of death elsewhere too before getting her hunger to heel. Her frequent solitary bouts during the campaign are her going off to not be a danger to her friends. She needs to work through her guilt not only regarding Zuala, but the creature she's become and the deaths she continues to cause. Most divine magic hurts her due to her nature... except Jester's, because Artagan isn't quite a normal god, is he?

Beau remains a human, and thinks the whole vampire shit is hot. A lot of her conflict is just... her gut reaction is to hide vulnerability, and protect herself, and letting Yasha get some omnomnom would be a major show of trust she can't actually justify.

The title is a reference to the fact that, during the canon M9 Hero's Feast of comfort foods (including soup for Essek), Yasha blurts out that she can give her blood to anyone in the party. In case they want insurance against death for this final fight against Lucien.

Fjord takes her up on the offer for practical reasons. Jester... Jester does it because she thinks it's fucking cool.

(And Beau thinks the whole thing is hot and chugs her soup in embarrassment, and then as we know Jester dies during that Lucien fight, soooo.... Jester becomes a vampire too. )

It ends with a smidge of Polynein? Because Beau, Yasha and Jester become a throuple, but Fjord is still Jester's boyfriend. He and Yasha might be a bit closer in this AU due to dealing with dark powers n shit. Shadowgast are still their own thing, Yeza and Veth still happily married, and Caduceus has a lot more relationship counselling to feel responsible for. (Also wondering what a follower of the Wildmother's reaction to an undead vampire would be, and if there might be a fun angle there.)

[woniepop]

TYPES OF DATES ENHYPEN WOULD TAKE YOU ON!

Pairings: Enhypen x Gender Neutral! Reader

Warnings: cursing and mentions of alcohol if you squint

Word Count: about 300 - 400 per member

a/n: this is my first enhypen work if it sucks pls tell me LOL I ALSO LEFT HEESUNGS ON A SAD NOTE OOPS. Also I wrote some of this at 2 am and it is raining so hard. I live in SoCal and I feel like I can’t function when it rains so I had to blast music in my headphones but it’s okay Iz*one’s Fiesta is top tier. I did not mean for it to turn out this long lol.

༑ ࿐ྂ。Lee Heesung

- Karaoke

Sitting on the couch of the private karaoke room, exhausted having just sung and danced all of I Can’t Stop Me, Heesung reaches out to take some of the kimbap you had made together before karaoke happened, kind of like two dates in one day. Since he was always busy, he wanted to spend the most amount of time he could with you this weekend, in case he couldn’t meet you the next. Heesung always did a great job of making you feel loved and appreciated, and today he especially wanted to give all his love and attention to you.

“We should rap all of Canceled in one breathe” Heesung suggests, knowing it was a whole three minute song. Although you know you’d die, you nod excitedly, ready to shout at the top of your lungs “THIS YOU?” because Tana definitely gets canceled every 5-7 business days. He starts off the song, both screaming at the top of your lungs, starting off with Bryce Hall 😼. The song goes very swimmingly actually, definitely taking more than one or two breathes.

Taking a call from your phone, you step outside so as to not disturb the caller with Shake it Off. Your mother wanted you home soon, but you desperately wanted to spend more time with Heesung. Stepping back into the room, you decide one more song is short enough to catch the last train home, you grab the remote and pick your last song, Perfect. It was definitely slower paced than the songs you had sang before but you wanted to have at least one moment of romance before it’s completely dead. Taking your hands, he wraps them around his neck and places his hands on your hips and sways side to side as he sings every word beautifully. Even if you could sing as good as him, he was always so hypnotizing when he sang to you. Ending the song with a kiss, you guys both pull away, very sad at the fact that the night has come to an end.

THE REST ARE UNDER THE CUT!!

༑ ࿐ྂ。Jay Park

- Aquarium

- Aquarium

Walking through the hallways hand in hand, you enjoy each other’s presence while admiring all the children excited about the stingray that just swam by. Watching Jay’s face light up when he had finally found the sea otters, you giggle at how cute it was. “Look at all the baby sea otters, Y/n, they’re so cute ahhhh'' He says eagerly. Pulling out your phone to take a picture of him, he grabs your hand and takes your phone. “No, Y/n, we have to take this picture togetherrrr.” he whines. Sighing, you agree and wait for him to find someone to help take the picture for him, obviously right next to the sea otters. 

Continuing down the aquarium building, you find the automatic sliding door leading to the outside. Knowing exactly what lies beyond those doors, you pull Jay’s hand and rush out. As a kid, you loved coming to the aquarium to spend time at the petting tank, and now you got to experience it with Jay. Finding a spot at the tank, you dip your hand in and touch the bamboo sharks. You sigh in relief at the nostalgia of it, and turn your head to Jay. “Don’t you want to touch them too?” You ask innocently. Faced flushed, he frantically shakes his head, giving you a blatant no.

Laying your head on his shoulder, you bask in his presence, exhausted by the exciting day you had. Turning on his phone to check the time, you notice he’d set his lockscreen to you. “Did you take that while I was petting the sharks?” Embarrassed, he turns away and avoids the question. “HEY, I could take a picture of you alone for my wallpaper but you could??? Why is this so unfair???” you ask. 

“Because…” He says with a sheepish smile on his face. You quickly take out your phone and snap a picture. After a moment of playful fighting and begging to delete the photo on Jay’s end, he ultimately gave up and let you save it as your lock screen as well.

༑ ࿐ྂ。Jake Sim

- Laser tag

Having Jake as a partner, he’d always taken you on more high energy, adrenaline rushing dates, and today was no different. This date, however, he decided to take you to play laser tag, something you had never done before. Entering the lobby, you both decide to be on the same team for the first round, which helped you feel a bit of relief. Choosing a vest to put on, you get very very tangled in it, which causes Jake to laugh a bit but he eventually helps you out.

During your first round, Jake helps you out, staying by your side the entire time and even holding your hand to lead you through the room. It felt really nice, seeing him so protective of you in the moment, but you knew better than to like the thought of it too much, because the next round was going to be a lot different. Unexpectedly, your team lost, which made Jake feel even more competitive and pumped up for the next round.

The next round starts, and surprise!!!!! You and Jake are on opposing teams. It starts off very well actually :D. As soon as you enter the room, your heart starts beating out of your chest and you’re so nervous to be alone. Cautiously maneuvering through the hallways, you scan the premises thoroughly, knowing if Jake ever sees you throughout the game you’d be screwed. Surprisingly enough, you go a bit of time before you hear your vest’s alarm go off, signalling to you that someone has gotten you. You look all around you taking some time before finding Jake crouching on the other side of the wall. You run to the other side of the same wall, and decide to scare him before he could shoot you again. It works out very well, because the next time you see him, he screams and drops to the floor in shock. Taking this chance, you shoot his vest and run away, leaving him no time to get you back.

༑ ࿐ྂ。Park Sunghoon

- Birthday Party

Laying on the floor of your living room with Sunghoon, you lie on your back, trying to cool your body down as much as possible. The hot and humid Korean summers were definitely always fun, but not when you were craving cuddles. Thinking of activities the both of you could do without overheating, you think back to how refreshing all the ice cream was at your friend’s recent birthday party. Although it wasn’t even close to your guys’ birthdays, it gave you a great idea. You shoot up and rush to get dressed, leaving Sunghoon very confused. 

Finished, you come back to the living room. “Sunghoon, get dressed. We’re going to the market.” Without question, he does as you ask and you both head to the market in no time. 

Walking hand in hand down the ice cream aisle, you grab all the flavors you enjoy, filling your whole basket with different ice creams, toppings, fruit, drinks, and even a cake. “You’re quite hungry, aren’t you?” Sunghoon teases, earning him a slap to the arm.

As soon as you get home, you send Sunghoon alone to the bedroom, telling him you need time to prepare everything. You had pulled all the stops, whipping out the cheap snoopy shaved ice maker, birthday party hats, streamers, balloons, and banners. It was no one’s birthday in particular, but the fake birthday party put you in a festive and refreshing mood. You had set up a giant ice cream sundae bar, and had even made lemonade. 

Calling Sunghoon to come out of the bedroom, he was not surprised but very appreciative. He knew you’d pull sh!t like this Wanting to make it even more fun, he suggests to make sundaes for one another, which you happily agree to. The day was so fun, you had forgotten all about the time you had a few hours earlier, suffering in the heat of your apartment. 

Sunghoon on the other hand, was so happy that you planned something like this. He was never one to do anything cute for you unless you asked, begged so this time he wanted to show you how grateful he was to you by giving you one FREE boop on the nose. Scooping some ice cream with his fingertip, he lightly taps your nose, leaving the melted strawberry ice cream to drip off your nose.

༑ ࿐ྂ。Kim Sunoo

- Brunch

Being a foodie yourself, you and Sunoo would always go cafe hopping to try out different desserts and drinks. This Saturday morning in particular, you both decided it was time for a change. This change for the greater good would include brunching for hours like stuck up rich moms and judging everyone in the facility, as you do when you are a brunching mother. Dressing in your finest brunching attire and of course, sunglasses, your waiter leads you to the table and you strut down that walkway like you know the difference between regular and Belgian waffles.

Crossing your legs at the same time and sipping your orange juice, wishing you could have added some champagne. Your orders finally arrive, having ordered the classic avocado toast and eggs benedict. Starting with the avocado toast, as per tradition, you and Sunoo construct the perfect first bite, shove it into your mouths, make eye contact and a disgusted face, even though it was very obvious that you guys thought it was delicious.

“I feel they nailed the seasoning because avocado, egg, and bread are known to be very bland flavors. The poached egg was perfectly runny in the middle, which was so satisfying to me, especially knowing that the chef can actually cook an egg right.” You start off, pretending you were some high status food critic, above Gordon Ramsey almost.

Sunoo takes his spoon and splits apart the poached egg on the eggs benedict. The egg just so happened to be a tad bit overcooked and the yolk didn’t rush out as smoothly as the other one did. You make eye contact with Sunoo, the most disgusted look plastered on your faces. A couple seconds pass by and you burst out laughing, forgetting about the egg yolk and shoving a huge bite straight into your face.

༑ ࿐ྂ。Yang Jungwon

- Zoo

When you first suggested going to the zoo with Jungwon he looked at you with a confused face. He loved spending time with you, but why the zoo? It’s stinky and there are too many children everywhere. Nevertheless, after much convincing, he gave in and went with you. The screams of all the tiny children were giving him a headache, but he kept reminding himself he was here for you. Seeing the alligators first, it was definitely acting up and snapping its mouth very angrily and hissing. Just because he wanted to be nice by coming to the zoo with you, didn’t mean he was going to hold back on his snide remarks. 

“That’s you that one time I accidentally ate your pastry.” He comments. Rolling your eyes and smacking him in the arm, you continue on the path looking at all the animals in awe. The whole time you walked around you bickered back and forth, many “That’s you when/cause”s being thrown around mercilessly. 

The comment that took the cake and left both of you speechless was one made by you. Walking towards the flamingos, everyone knows them for being notoriously stinky. Pinching your nose to go with the comment you were about to say, you chuckle. “It smells like that one time you accidentally farted in your VLive.” you manage to get out with a straight face. I made that up lol

Jungwon stops in his tracks, looking at you like you had just betrayed him. .He stomps his feet on the floor and whines in the middle of the walkway. “Y/nnnnnn you know I’m sensitive about thatttt.” The time you spend with him after you get home consists of him clinging to you, demanding your undivided attention, cuddles and kissies, and for you to blow dry his hair after he showers. 

༑ ࿐ྂ。Nishimura Riki

- eating competition

Watching mukbangs all day and cuddling with Niki definitely got both of you hungry pretty quickly. With Niki being a bit homesick and you wanting to improve your cooking, a great idea pops into your heads. You wanted to cook Japanese food for Niki, hoping to aid his homesickness, and Niki wanted to see how much food he could shove down his face until he explodes. And with that, your whole date had become a food eating competition. 

Setting all the food down on the table, you had done a very good job. Working your ass off to make not only omurice with curry, but also yakisoba and fried chicken, you were very ready to start your whole competition. Portioning it out evenly with a scale beforehand, you and Niki countdown together and start scarfing down food like you’ve never eaten before. With a mouth full of rice, Niki manages to get out a “It’s really good.” Knowing he liked your food made you feel so proud even though you had just shoved a whole piece of fried chicken in your mouth. 

Several minutes, three enhypen members walking past you judgmentally, and 10 napkins later, you and Niki were too stuffed you even have food this close to you. Queue the rest of the enhypen members, they oh so generously gave you their service and finished the food for you guys. Concluding that you and Niki could not in fact eat two family sized meals in one sitting, you lie on the couch about to pass out. 

“That was so fun. We should do that again.” Niki says while groaning from stomach pain. “And thank you for thinking about my homesickness and making me Japanese food. I love you so much.” He adds. Ending the day with complaining about being too full, planning the next competition, and even inviting the other members, you both pass out an hour after you had eaten and were punished with the dishes in the morning for being cringely in love out in the open like that. 

[keimisan]

closest moots? or blogs that you really like?

KWBSJWJW i'm surprised you'd want to know but thank you sm for asking 🥺 its been about two months of the start of this blog, and honestly, its been such a nice experience. I have met some wonderful people who are also chaotic. I have met zebra wakasa, pink teddy sanzu and cow (???) hanma.

the closest moot i have here are @rae-blogging and @blueprint-han . But they're not a tr blog, so i'm not including them here i guess. P

theres no order

my first ever moot here is @hanniejji I LOVE HER SO MUCH SHE'S LIKE SO COOL and funny NAD SO NICE TO TALK TO. everytime a chapter or an episode drops, you'll catch me screaming in her inbox like some starved crow. Literally all of our convo is in caps lock, no kidding. my screaming buddy, simping buddy, and crying buddy in one package.

thenn @jyugosgf MY DESI SIS. like half the fandom is made of filipino population nd the other half is well, rest of the world. I never thought there'd be fellow desi blogs here. And PLS THE DESI RANTS/ DISCUSSIONS WE DID. Starting from momma baji caring for his hair in the most conventional indian way to om shanti om and deepika padukone, we've screamed. Damn it was so much fun. message for you if you see this bub: ily 🥺

@dr3ken ANOTHER DESI. she's funny, she's cool, her writings ABSOLUTELY CRAZY like bro did u learn that literature from shakespeare himself. i talk to her a lot, but in another social media. She texts like a loud punjabi AND PLS THE VIBE IS SO NICE LIKE you'll never be bored. Again, another caps lock buddy.

@sukunasbabymama first things first, she became my moot after i proposed to her. ma'am the proposal still stands- aNywAy, she's that one boss bitch who's also very comedic (you'll know if you read her works) i love how independent she is, and how free she thinks. Literally big sis energy, except that sis will take you out at 2 am to drink coke and throw the bottles into space with all the frustration you've got.

@sxlver-sweet the sweetest moot ever. she's an angel in human form, and a blessing to life. i went crazy over her works and sent an ask to yk, start communicating- she rb'ed that and deadass went WE NEED TO BE FRIENDS. that creme brule in my fridge that i'm eating slowly because i dont want it to end and will cry if i ever end it- thats her. also the only moot i've went jeogiyo noona hokshi namjachingu isseo (im so sorry if you dont get its, its kpop reference) and flirted like thrice with (probably) and will still continue to flirt because wkdjwjdjjw it is happiness.

and then @kallikrein my zebra wakasa comrade. i still feel no remorse for the amount of confusion we caused, nor the dash-clogging with countless reblogs we did. she's chaotic funny, and a professional charanon bringer. you literally can't but love her- there i said it.

@lila-skies i hyperventilated over her mitsuya request and thats it- thats how we became friends. SHE ALSO STANS RED-VELVET AND CHUNGHA LIKE please, you stan queens and i stan you.

@angrysupremacy a whole 24 carat gold with the cutest nose. i don't know why but i find her SO CUTE LIKE 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺. we fangirl about random tr posts on insta and its so nice talking to her! cute cute cute

@isuuki my bae. she too, is very sweet. brightens my day with her asks and makes me sob at the same time because --- death is coming and we're weeping every other day. i go 💕💞💖💗 Everytime i get an ask from her.

@tokyo-fukushu we dont have much interactions but i feel like she deserves a mention here. I'd definitely consider her one of my closest moots.

@uuden omg her works!! also simply her!! she's also really sweet! definitely in my closer moots list.

Last but not least, my cheese anonni (not mentioning you just in case) who also brings me serotonin. Shes so spontaneous and creative, as well as sweet. SHE GAVE ME HEART COOKIE DOUGH YALL 🥺

and @emergencyfoodpaimon 's posts are so fun to see. I really like seeing new things/fanarts. Also those heart memes make me go 💘💘💘💘

my moots' blogs are absolute masterpieces, and you'll totally love them. other than them, a few blogs that i really like are @kakuchan @maitani (my entire explore is filled with your content omg T.T) @harupill @manjikkai @everafterkeiji @ewitsren @red-beean @chif4yu @wwintersun sorry for the mindless tagging, please tell me if its bothering!

If you've read till the end, i applaud you omg. also, ship my moots with tr ask pspsppss, i really wanna do that.

[xpeachesncream]

acquainted | fourteen

> series masterlist | series playlist <

summary: the biggest goal of a grad student is to get through school in one piece - no petty drama involved, no sweating over the little things. however, that plan almost always never follows through. sometimes, you can’t help but fall into the most unthinkable, unexpected traps and learn the hard way. like, exhibit a: being unable to resist your engaged, substitute teacher, kim seokjin.

pairing: jungkook x reader x engaged!teacher!seokjin

genre: grad school au, student life au | fluff, angst, smut

words: 2.7k

warnings: cussing/mature language, overthinking, insecurities, questioning feelings/thoughts

notes: please look out for chapter 15 - it’ll be the final chapter for this series, however, you’ll get to choose your decision. ☺️ thanks as always for all the love!

tags: @laurynne5 @yiyi4657 @miinoongi @teamtardis-notdead@bluesharksandfish@photographic-girl @yonkoghan @moonchild1​ @thebeebi​ @brightcolorsoffendme​ (pls msg me if you would like to be added to the taglist!)

Close to a month had passed since you had seen Jin during that rainy night. Close to a month had passed since he quit being your creative writing professor. Close to a month had passed in complete silence and you still longed for him.

Close to a month had passed and your feelings hadn't changed.

Jin was in the same position, being that he was keeping his word and waiting for you until you were ready. He had quit because he honestly couldn't keep seeing you in class and he knew it wouldn't be a good idea with where his feelings were at for you. He only thought of the time to come, even if the light seemed to get weaker as the weeks passed on. He still had hope that you two would be okay. It also gave him a little bit more time to get himself together, clean up the empty space in his home and focus on his other job with all the deadlines he had to meet. He felt lonely, but he knew he had to put himself in this position in order to confirm where he stood with you and everything else.

He had seen Grace last week when she came to grab the last of her things, putting her movers to rest. It wasn't the best reunion, but she had flatly told him she was leaving for New York to continue improving her restaurant there before opening her Nevada location. He had given her his apologies and told her he wished her the best of luck, but she shook her head and told him to save it. She also told him that she hoped he was happy with how everything turned out and that you two definitely deserved each other for how selfish you both were. Jin quietly took it as he watched her stomp off to her car with a box of things in her hands.

Okay then. What else can he say?

He stands in his backyard, sipping on some coffee before he hears his front door open and shut. The individual comes beside him but leaves enough space in between and doesn't make eye contact.

"I'm only doing this because mom told me so." Jungkook says, his hands dug deep into his sweat pockets as he looked out at the view.

"Thanks anyway."

"So, why did you call me here?"

"Want anything to eat or drink?" Jungkook looks at him and shakes his head.

"I don't plan on staying long." Jin sits on one of the chairs, with Jungkook following suit.

"I just want to say I'm sorry that I wasn't a better brother to you, and that I didn't take your feelings into consideration." Jungkook presses his lips firmly together before slowly nodding.

"I appreciate that."

"I—" Jin sighs. "I know I was selfish, and it was wrong for me to not be upfront with you, or Grace like I should have been in the first place." Jin shakes his head. "I was just caught up—Still caught up." He catches himself. "I felt so much happier that I pushed everything else aside. I hadn't felt that way in awhile." Jungkook honestly agrees, he knows the feeling. But also, he noticed the change in Jin and wasn't sure what it was. He was happier around his friends. Full of life. Like he looked forward to every day. And he liked seeing that in him. He hadn't felt that kind of happiness and confidence radiate from his brother in awhile, and if someone was pulling the best out of him, then he couldn't even be mad at it. Yeah, he was hurt, but Jin had done so much for him as they were growing up that he only wanted him to be happy in the end. He wanted Jin to take care of himself first and foremost, since he had always been taking care of everyone else around him - Grace included. So no, he couldn't hate him, nor could he stay mad.

"I get where you're coming from, I really do. And I forgive you, but I can't say that I'm over it. It hurt pretty badly coming from you, especially."

"I know, and I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you like that. You're my little brother, you know you come before everyone else." A small smile crept up on the corner of Jungkook's lips.

"You're a lot happier." Jin looks at him. "I can see how happy she makes you." Jin doesn't respond and simply sips his coffee.

"She does. Except, I'm not sure where I stand with her anymore."

"Why?"

"She's overwhelmed with everything going on." Jin shakes his head. "I don't know if her feelings for me are strong enough to overcome that."

"I think they are. I mean, obviously you were worth it to her, right?"

"Sure."

"Okay, it's not gonna be the easiest for me to talk about, but, coming from me as your brother, I don't think you should give up on it, especially if you both mean something to each other throughout all of this. I think the thing that matters most here is what you really want. I don't blame you for all of it, even though I came off pretty harsh. You've been taking care of me and everyone else around you that I think you should finally take care of yourself." Jungkook stares out at the view.

"I don't know, it's difficult."

"What's difficult about it?"

"I just don't want people to look down on her and I think that's what she's afraid of."

"Fuck 'em." Jungkook shrugs. "It'll take a bit for everyone to get passed it, but fuck it. You're the only one who truly knows her and again, I think that's all that matters. I mean from what I know, besides all of this, she's a really good person." Jungkook sighs. "Smart, beautiful, funny, caring."

"That she is."

"Then?"

"I don't know how else to tell her that, or prove to her. We haven't talked these past weeks."

"Maybe she just needed this time, but I wouldn't let her get away like that."

"I guess. I just don't wanna force her, or be on her case." Jin's head hangs low. He really missed you, but he wasn't going to press you and be on your case. He wasn't that type of guy, even though this shit drove him crazy.

"Look." Jungkook places his hand on Jin's shoulder. "You're always gonna be my brother and I'll always love you regardless of the dumb shit you pull. Do this for yourself. The least you could do is try, and if it doesn't work out, then you can say you tried."

"Thanks." Jin smiles toothlessly.

"One day, I'll get back at you though. I won't forget it." Jungkook playfully punches his arm, causing Jin to slightly yelp.

"Please, nothing physical. You're so much stronger than me." Jungkook smiles at him before pulling him into a hug.

"Everything will be alright, Jin."

"I hope so."

You poked at your slice of banana bread at the dining table before lazily swirling the spoon in your coffee cup. You had spent the weekend at your parents' home, just to get some good, quality family time in. It helped you get your mind off of a lot of things and get your priorities straight. It also reminded you of who the most important people in your life were. But even with all of this, your mind still lingered to Jin every once in awhile - wondering if he was okay, how he was doing, what he was up to.

If he still loved you. If he still wanted you.

Majority of you felt like you'd never figure it out with the radio silence over the last couple of weeks. Maybe this was just it. And you were trying to come to terms with it. Be mentally prepared to accept the fact that this was just it. Even though you were just able to fully come to terms with the fact that you had loved him that night Jimin had stayed with you, listening to you cry over and over again.

"You doing okay, sweetie?" Your mom sat next to you at the table, giving you a small, reassuring smile. Your parents were amazing, and you had a strong relationship with the both of them. However, your mother had always been your confidante, the parent you could go to for anything and everything without having felt judged or anything like that. She never scolded you, never angrily got upset at you for the dumb mistakes you've made. Instead, she's always lent a warm, gentle hand and reassured you that things would always be okay. That you'd grow from the experience and that it was only up from there.

"Yeah, I think so."

"Things still clouding your mind?" You stayed silent before you looked up at her. You hadn't said much about Jin this weekend because the whole point was to stay away from it all before having to go back to your lonely apartment and face your thoughts again. But, this afternoon, before having to leave, you just needed to hear the reassurance from your mom. You needed her this weekend.

"Mom, when did you know you loved Dad?" She chuckled a bit.

"I knew I loved him when I realized he never ran off during arguments or hard times. He gave me space, but he was always there, ready to fix things. Never gave up. It made me long for him all the time. He was the only one I'd look for, even after I had just called him stupid or ridiculous." You let out a small laugh.

"That's cute." She nods, but she doesn't say anything else for a bit. Gives you a little time to ponder on her response and sit there. But at the same time, she's reading you and she's reading your body language. A mother just knows.

"Honey, whoever he is--" She pauses before she switches up her statement. "--If you haven't been able to get your mind off of him, maybe that's telling you something."

"What? How do you know?"

"I just do. I'm your mother." You sat there for awhile, poking your banana bread more before you drop your fork and look at her with your teary eyes.

"Mom, I think--" You sniff and quickly wipe your nose. "I messed up big time." She shook her head.

"If there's a will, there's a way." She softly says before you start to tell her about every single thing that had been occupying your mind. How you had a new professor that you had a harmless crush on. How that eventually spiraled out of control and things got further than you both had expected. Grace. His engagement. Seeing him during late nights, the secret calls. The LA trip. Jungkook. How he told you he loved you. Everything.

You just needed to lay this out on the table.

And yet, your mom never judged you. She sat, listened and held your hand the entire time. Caressing your hand and brushing the hair out of your face as you cried and told her you felt stupid for doing such a thing, but you loved Seokjin. You had fallen in loved with him and there was no going back for you. Not after Chance. You had opened yourself up to him and let him in even though you've tried your hardest to take it easy. To let yourself fully heal from losing Chance.

You couldn't help it. Even though you were afraid.

"Ohh, babygirl." She says softly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "I know it hasn't been easy, and it's not the best situation to be in, but if you're still looking for him after all of this--" She pauses. "If he's still waiting for you to be ready, maybe it's just meant to happen that way. You shouldn't stop yourself just because you're afraid. You might regret that more."

"I know." You sniffed. "But it just feels so messed up, you know? Even though that's how I feel about him, I feel like I'll never over overcome the anxiety or the what if's."

"The circumstances weren't the greatest, I'll tell you that. But you can't help who you fall in love with, right? Whether it turns out good or bad, your paths cross for a reason. Whether it's a blessing or another lesson to learn from. And from what I hear, it sounds like he was at least able to make you happy and pull you out of this dark hole you had been living in since Chance passed." She says looking at you, worry filling her eyes. She gently caresses your hand with her thumb before letting out a small sigh. "I know Chance's passing was the hardest thing you have ever had to endure, and I know it has been incredibly hard to pull yourself out of the dark since then. It's been hard to see you go through this."

"Jin did make me happy. I felt wanted."

"But, is that enough for you?" You shrug. "Honey, all I want is for you to stop shielding yourself from the world and living in the shadows. I know it's been difficult, and I know Chance was everything to you. But, he would have wanted you to be happy, okay?" She nods reassuringly. "He would have wanted that for you and so much more. No matter what that means - if you stay with Jin, or if you go and focus on yourself. Let yourself live and be happy, baby. It's okay." You let the remaining tears fall as you nod in agreement with her. Suddenly, a huge weight has been lifted off of your shoulders, hearing it come from your own mother.

Let yourself live and be happy, baby. It's okay.

It's almost like you can hear Chance's voice coming through and that's what makes you feel at peace.

And so, you pack up your things to head back over to your apartment, feeling 10x more refreshed than when you got here. You hopped into your car, debating if you'd send Jin a text before getting home.

[ryujin] 3:37pm: hey, are you almost going home?

[y/n] 3:38pm: just about to leave to head back. what's up?

[ryujin] 3:39pm: nothing, baby! just drive safely for me. i'll see you when you get back? text me if you wanna go somewhere.

[y/n] 3:40pm: okay! but aren't you with namjoon?

[ryujin] 3:41pm: yessss and? he can wait. lol

[y/n] 3:42pm: jeez lol don't do that to him! i'll text you later though if anything. have fun! be safe!

Over the weeks, Ryujin was able to tell you about the time she spent time with Namjoon and how she unexpectedly spent the night at his place before picking you up at the airport. You watched as she told you the details, the rosy tint filling her cheeks as she blushed and smiled from ear to ear. It made you happy that she was happy, and that she was exploring things with him. You didn't know much about him personally, but from what you've heard, he sounded like a great guy. You wanted a good guy for your bestfriend, someone who could appreciate her for who she is - a loud, tiny-but-packed-with-attitude, smart, beautiful woman.

You figured you'd text Jin when you get settled at home. It'll at least buy you some time to formulate the text, and what you'd say when you see him in person. It's a nice day out and it's contributing a lot to the calmness you're starting to feel. Things feel like they're falling into place, even though you hadn't had a chance to talk to Jin yet. Things just felt better than they have been in awhile.

You get to your apartment building and park in your assigned space before grabbing your things out of the trunk. Your duffle had gotten a lot heavier, being that your mom shoved some of the things she had bought you into the bag, plus an additional bag full of groceries. You slowly walked into the building and towards your floor, only to be greeted by an individual standing in the hallway, looking towards the opposite end of the hallway.

In front of your door.

"Jin?" You ask as he slowly turns around, his expression warm and inviting. He carried a huge bouquet of flowers in front of him, so huge it almost covered that small smile he gave off.

"Y/N."

[mrskurono]

Hey Sunny, it's Ivy here. I kinda freak out when i heard about the girl that's messing around with the writers who are here to share their amazing passion and creative writings. I am so sorry, genuinely sorry that some of you have to go through this. You guys don't deserve it, especially when you guys had already stated that "minors do not interact" and "18+ only" on your blog. Pretty sure almost all of the nsfw writers stated warning beforehand and even tell people to block them if they found no comfort from your blog.

I'm sure they already know that Tumblr, is a writing app that contain lots of contents, be it sfw or nsfw. If so, they should have just ignore any blog that contain contents that are not in the line of their likings. Sending threats? Minors sending threats to someone older than them? That definitely is pissing me off. I rarely get pissed off about internet thingy but this has crossed the line.

As someone who once experienced getting bullied on the internet, I understand how it feels to receive such harsh words from someone that's definitely do not know that words could harm others. Worse, it can end someone's life as well. This issue somehow trigger a dull past I had back when I was still in Wattpad's community. So, if the person somehow see this, I hope you quit your action and stop embarrassing yourself. Block the tags or the account with contents that you do not wish to read or see.

To that person, Tumblr is like a safe space for me, pretty sure most of you too. So, please do not ruin someone's safe place. If you truly dislike here, you are welcome to leave this platform and find other platform. Do not ever play the victim card if you're the one who begin the mess.

Sorry for stressing out more on this topic but I just wish that person would understand. Please continue doing your great works! Just a pre caution, I noticed that they have more than one account, more like a backup. Just in case they decide to mess around again.

Hope you have a nice day or night! Love you <3

Actually it’s part of the reason I’ve put a lot of my thirsts under asks and tagged content a little more heavier (but also including the banners bc I just think they’re pretty and I’m trying to be “that pretty blog” even though its just a jug fuck XD)

What’s going on is unfortunate but honestly speaking I haven’t been affected by it. I must have impulse blocked enough people when I get stupid asks (like “is this non con or dub con im too stupid to read the tags but I read all the works and now it might be problematic :/” kind of stupid) and just blocked enough people’s blogs I didn’t vibe with that I haven’t gotten anything. Not that it would sincerely matter like I said I’m heavy handed with the block button as it is. But to everyone else who’s gotten things can I pls pls pls beg you just don’t respond. Don’t engage. Don’t even breath in their direction. It’s what they want and frankly its gross and shows that they are children on a clearly 17+ app. You ignore dogs when they have poor behavior pls ignore this as well. 

The bullying is out of line and just so assine (as some of my mutuals have told me as victims themselves this “group” then proceeded with death threats on a literal abuse survivors so clearly their intent isn’t helping, its attention) If you guys need anything I’m here. The momma nickname isn’t a joke I’ll mom the crap outta all of you and give you all the forehead smooches bc I love you all and no one deserves it. 

This won’t end and like I said this is coinciding with spring break (kids are unsupervised) and something else will surely pop up when summer comes around too. They are children and should be treated as so by removing them from spaces they aren’t aloud in and not engaging in toxic behaviors. Pls block everything you guys and give them no fuel. 

Write fucking smut and every pervasion in the book bc none of you are wrong for it and no one is a monster for liking a fucking manga about fictional people who are, literally the same age I am (woot ‘95 babies with Tanaka and Noya) so last time I check I was almost 26 and well into my late twenties. 

This blog will always be a safe space for you guys worry not and I’ll keep the discourse down to minimum <3

I mean unless it’s a real dumb anon like, and I have a good come back, then I’m totally gossiping with you guys like we’re making ramen around a water cooler in the office <3

[thebomb-thebird-andtheburntbitch]

rules + FAQ

updated: march 2024

this is a reader insert blog

i will not tolerate any disrespect of any kind on this blog. this blog is a safe space for any and all ships/ideas/theories so long as they are appropriate ones.

PLEASE do me and other content creators the solid of leaving feedback or reblogging at the very least! liking content is great, but it doesn't spread our work. reblogs and feedback both help boost our reach to other fans and help motivate us to keep doing what we're doing.

DO NOT repost or plagiarize my works under any circumstances. i will not tolerate anyone taking my work and reposting it to other sites- even if they credit it back to me, DO NOT DO IT. I write on tumblr and i crosspost to ao3 and wattpad (rarely lol). plagiarism is just lazy, insulting, rude and just plain uncalled for and if you find someone else's work (or even mine somewhere) that someone has claimed as their own, call them out and let the original owner know so measures can be taken. we, as content creators, do not sit and tole over ideas and write and work hard for our work and stories to be stolen. don't be that person

any and all content that may have inspired you to create something like playlists, art, banners, moodboards, etc. are all welcome! if someone i create inspires you to do anything, pls be sure to tag me in what you've created! i'd love to check it out!

FAQ: utc

Do you post your stories/fics anywhere else other than tumblr?

yes, I do. I cross-post on ao3 and wattpad. though, wattpad is very unkempt and i don't tend to favor it, so if you don't read tumblr fics, then you can most likely find it on my ao3- which i greatly prefer!

Ao3: aem888

Do you have a posting schedule of any sort/at all?

pfft, absolutely not.

Will xxx have another part to it?

i will always try and include in my m.list if a fic will be a series or not. if it's not listed as a series or doesn't have multiple chapters outlined on my m.list post, then chances are it will not contain any more parts than i map out (although chapters can fluctuate if i go overboard with a series, but i will always address and update the m.list if that is the case).

Will this one-shot/drabble be contined?

referring to above, if the story in question is listed as finished or there are no further update links mapped out on my m.list then the answer is no. there's always a chance i could do drabbles based on a past fic, but it is rare. so, if it's labeled as finished, then it is and i have no plans to continue. this also applies to any discontinued fics that may occur in the future.

Do you know when xxx will be updated?

point blank: the answer will always be no. even if i set a date i'd like for something to be done and finished and posted, scheduling for me never seems to properly work out. and do not- i repeat- do NOT demand updates from me. i've dropped fics in the past from people demanding continuations. if you're curious about the progress of a story, feel free to ask politely, but if you're going to demand or ask me 'when' it'll be up without so much of thinking about how i feel, i will not answer you. be patient , it will all come when it comes.

Do you write R-rated content? // will xx containt smut?

although i have written it in the past for other stories in other fandoms, i do not write smut frequently at all. i have written maybe 4 fics in the past including smut and i can say without a doubt i hated every moment of it lol. i'm simply not comfortable writing it. i do try and challenge myself to try on occasion, but even then it's not full-on raw dogging it- just suggestive content bc i just can't bring myself to write sex scenes- soz. any suggestive content will always be tagged in warning(s), but i will not write what i'm uncomfortable with

additionally: the only R-rated content I will usually include will be graphic violence/death or perhaps any future obsessive/yandere-like themes or brief nude scenes in fics. still no sex tho

Can you recommend me a fic about xxx with xxx plot?

typically, no. but i've been around the block and if at all someone asks for recs, i can always answer it blankly and others can reply some fics for you in my stead lol

Can you recommend any blogs?

again, typically no. any blogs i frequently reblog things from can always been found through tags. if you're looking for something specific, search through my tags or ask me directly and i may be able to help.

Is it alright to DM or talk with you personally?

of course! so long as you remain kind, don't act like a creep, aren't a minor sliding up on me (bc hello i'm in my early twenties and i get gross messages for no reason and i'm not abt that/get kinda iffy about interacting with minors in general), and are generally respectful, feel free to message me. i'm just very awkward, so there's nothing really for you to fear or be shy about lol.

*Any questions related to anything mentioned above will automatically be referred here. *

[surviiived]

Guidelines

If you don’t agree to these rules and don’t want to follow me back—and if I have already followed you—please just HARD block me. It’ll help keep my dash cleaner, as well as make sure in my forgetfulness I won’t follow you again. Don’t worry, I won’t be upset lol. Thank you so much for looking at my rules!! 🖤🖤

Basic Rules:

-SEMI SELECTIVE AND MUTUALS ONLY.  This is for my own safety and feeling of security. If you want to roleplay with me, follow me. I will do the same for you if I’m willing to interact.

-OCS, AUS, AND ALL OTHER CHARACTERS WELCOME. I don’t care who your muse is. I’m all for OCs, crossovers, AUs, anything!! Just know I’m a bit more selective towards fandoms I don’t know about lol

-NO ONE-LINERS. I need some more interest in our thread from your end so I don’t lose muse as well. One-liners are fine for crack threads, but nowhere else. I’m fine with single to multiparagraph, and that’s how I will be writing.

-NO GODMODDING. I cannot express this enough. It’s my biggest pet peeve. Just don’t, or I’ll end the rp immediately.

-PLEASE USE CORRECT GRAMMAR. I’m a bit of a grammar freak, so seriously. At least try. However, If English isn’t your first language, I COMPLETELY understand.

-MULTIVERSE, MULTISHIP. Every thread is a different verse, every ship a different verse. Simple.

-DONT REBLOG THINGS FROM ME. Honestly, guys this just gets on my nerves. It’s a bit irrational...but also irritating because when I check my phone and see a notification from a mutual, I get excited because I think it’s a reply! But then I realize you just reblogged that meme/musing/whatever. Please, only reblog threads from me and everything else from the source. This includes memes, musings, pictures, and promos. Also, pls don’t reblog my PSAs, if you agree with them let me know so I can post it to my rp memes blog, which I would LOVE for you to reblog it from!!

-REBLOGGING ASKS AND TRIMMING THREADS. I’m not as strict as a lot of people over this, but some mutuals of mine are so please trim your threads when you reply to me. If you are in a situation where you can’t, that’s perfectly fine. However, thanks to this new Tumblr update I cannot trim asks because I don’t have xKit. So I ask for you to trim them for me, and if you can’t either then I’ll figure something out. Also with asks, I’m fine with you reblogging an ask to continue it. I will turn it into a separate thread for my friends’ sake.

-UNFOLLOWS. There’s a low chance I will unfollow someone, and the only reasons I can think of are spreading drama, being inactive for over a month without a hiatus, something else that annoys me, or too many OOC posts. The latter is why I am hesitant to follow back personal blogs who roleplay on said blog, but it’s not impossible. I won’t follow personal blogs from side blogs, but if you let me know you are a side blog I will gladly follow where you roleplay.

-DONT INVOLVE ME IN DRAMA. I hate drama. I’m the type of person who wants absolutely nothing to do with it. If I ask about what’s going on, then you’re welcome to tell me, but other than that, don’t talk to me about it. I won’t take sides. I won’t tell other people what’s going on. I’ll only act like nothing’s happening.

-SPOILERS. This is kinda hard with an Identity V blog... I don’t really anticipate there being any spoilers on this blog?? But if a new diary entry comes out or a deduction for a new character, sure, I’ll tag it for a couple of weeks.

-REQUESTING MUSES. If you don’t request a specific character in an ask or a starter call, I won’t write it. I just don’t have the time to go to you and ask which character you want, nor try to guess what you were thinking when you sent something in or liked a starter call. So I just won’t respond to whatever it is. This is the case when requesting one of my muses or picking one of your muses, if you’re a multi like me. Sorry..!!

Romance Rules:

-NO SMUT. I can’t stress this enough. It’s not that I’m a minor (which I’m not), it’s that it makes me uncomfortable. You will never see smut on this blog. I’m fine with heavy make out scenes, but when the clothes start to come off is where I request a fade to black.

-I LOVE TO WRITE ROMANCE THREADS. I’m a pretty big hopeless romantic, as that’s where most of my muse is generated from. I may want to add a ship to our thread at some point, but will never force it.

-REFUSALS. NO pedofilia, NO incest, NO rape, or ANYTHING nasty like that. I understand that sometimes in writing dark situations occur, as some of these things are in my muses’ backstory. So, if you write any of those things, I’m not going to block you. However, if you request to do any of that stuff with me, I’ll say no. Press the issue, I’ll hard block you. I shouldn’t have to hear you request it the first time, as it’s right here in my rules and that means you didn’t read them. But I’ll go easy until you cross a line.

-THERE MUST BE CHEMISTRY. Don’t bother trying to make a ship work that just won’t click, it’s a waste of time. But I’m more than willing to try things and see how they work..!!

-PLEASE RESPECT MY MUSES’ SEXUALITIES. You can tell a muse’s sexuality by what it says on their about. Most are bi/pan, but a few may be different.

Rules and things about me:

-I HAVE LOTS OF WRITING EXPERIENCE. I’ve been writing since I was maybe even seven years old, played games where I pretended to be a character irl since I was five, and have been actually roleplaying for approximately 7 years now. I’ve been roleplaying on Tumblr for three years. I really love writing, you know?

-WARNING, I WRITE GORE. I tend to go into detail about pain, suffering, death, and just very demented topics. That’s just a warning. If you have a problem with that, you may not want to follow me…

-TAGGING. Gore, murder, suicide, and other dark and triggering things will be tagged, but swearing will not. I swear far too much for me to remember to tag it. Also, I don’t post NSFW images or threads on this blog, so don’t worry about that, but I will tag asks and memes that can be perceived as nsfw. I tag things like this (using death as an example): “tw: death”. If you have any triggers, PLEASE let me know so I can tag them. There’s always a chance I might forget about something, and if I do please tell me. I’ll make sure not to forget a second time. Also, I ask you all tag vomit mentions, even if it’s just written, and ESPECIALLY TAG VISUALS OF THROW UP!!!! That is my ONLY trigger. Thank you.

-RESPONDING TIME. I’m a college student, high school student, and I work, so my responding time isn’t what it used to be lol. Please don’t pressure me over that..!! I also post most threads via queue unless I just need to send it out ASAP. I won’t bother you if it takes a little while to reply. We all have lives outside of Tumblr!!

-I’M NOT GOING TO SEND IN PASSWORDS. It just adds to my anxiety, and I don’t like that. That’s why I don’t ever ask someone to send a password in and just ask that they like my rules post! Just know I will always read someone’s rules before interacting.

-I’M ALWAYS HERE IF YOU NEED SOMEONE TO TALK TO. Honestly, I want to help! If something’s wrong and you want to tell me about it, I’m all ears. I hate being upset or depressed myself, so I like to try to make others feel better. It helps with my own sadness.

That’s all for right now..! Happy roleplaying~!!

like this post if you have read it and agree to it, please.

Hello! My name’s Kiki. There isn’t really much to say about me, except that I love to roleplay!! That and write, of course. And draw. And sing. So I guess I love a lot of stuff lol. Also, I am diagnosed with ADD (attention-deficit disorder), so please bear with me..!! One last thing, I’m 18 as of November 2020. 

If you ever need someone to talk to, I’m right here and always accepting PMs!!

My main account is twx-sid3d, but I’m rarely ever on there so here is the best place to contact me. I also have a multiverse oc sideblog @hxlf-bred​ that’s connected to my multi, @nycttophilic.

Thanks for reading! Have a nice day~!

[fourteenth-doctor]

i have a lot of thoughts about chibnall’s era thus far so i needed an outlet to voice them because none of my friends watch doctor who lol (note: this could come across as rant-y although it’s not all complaints, but if you see no flaws in the chibnall/thirteen era you might want to avoid this post)

disclaimer: i haven’t seen anything chibnall has written besides doctor who, and the only acting role i’ve seen jodie in besides the doctor is the episode of black mirror that she did. they could be wonderful writers/showrunners/actors, but i’m solely basing this off of what i’ve seen on doctor who

1. chibnall does so much telling, and not much showing. the easiest example of this for me is thirteen’s relationship with her companions. within the second (maybe even first!) episode of thirteen’s era, she referred to ryan, yaz, and graham as her fam. (side note, i’m so sick of hearing that word, i’m sorry). the most on-par comparison for this is eleven’s relationship with the ponds. they are undoubtedly his family, but you saw his relationship with all of them grow into a familial relationship and he didn’t call them his family after knowing them for less than a week. we’re not shown the relationship thirteen has with her companions growing and becoming something that can be considered a family, instead we’re told right off the bat that they’re her family. we’re now two series down and i do not see them as her family at all. she’s the doctor, they’re her companions. that’s about as deep as their connection goes for me as a viewer. i don’t know if it’s because there’s so many of them immediately so that already reduces the time for us to see their relationships deepening.

2. thirteen doesn’t seem to have many dimensions to her character. i made a post about this already but deleted it. i don’t know if it’s jodie’s acting, or if it’s because thirteen is so rambunctious and bubbly that when she’s serious it falls flat for me, but it does. i LOVE that thirteen is fun and goofy (eleven is my favorite doctor, i’m not opposed to humor and child-like behavior) but i feel like whenever thirteen attempts to be serious (most of the timeless children, for example) i have a hard time with it. i could be wrong but i feel like she hasn’t really had a Doctor Monologue™️ either. if you’re a fan of the show you know what i’m talking about, the speeches the doctor gives that could only be said by the doctor. and if she has, they haven’t been memorable which is why i can’t recall her having one. 

3. i legitimately don’t know what it is, but something’s missing. in s11 i said that there were a lot of time travel (rosa, demons of the punjab, the witchfinders) that i felt like chibnall forgot this was also a scifi show. however, in s12, that improved. orphan 55 felt like something out of black mirror, fugitive of the judoon was fun!, praxeus was a fun way to incorporate some real life issues into the show, can you hear me was very scifi. so that has improved tremendously already from s11, but it still feels like something’s missing. it doesn’t feel like the doctor is taking us upon their tardis and bringing us on a grand adventure anymore. so maybe what’s missing is fun. maybe these things feel more like duties than fun for the viewer, or at least for me.

4. please read this entire paragraph before you make assumptions about what i mean by this, but the wokeness. i love that doctor who has become more inclusive, i love that there’s more representation, i love that the new tagline is “space for all”. i am so happy that the doctor is played by a woman now. but some real life subject matter that they throw into the show now just feels... unnecessary and borderline performative. i already said praxeus was a good episode, and it was! i thoroughly enjoyed it. but it feels like chibnall just throws things into the show like climate change and it almost reminds me of the “my job here is done” “but you didn’t do anything” meme. whether intentional or not, it feels like a way for him to pat himself on the back. i desperately hope that’s not the case, and like i’ve said, i know nothing about the man other than the fact that he’s the showrunner for doctor who. i don’t know what his previous work is like, i don’t know how he is as a person, i am solely judging him on his work on doctor who. (also in the same vein, if s13 includes any comments about the doctor being a woman, my eyes will roll so hard they’ll fall out of my head. three series in and it’s now established in canon that the doctor is the timeless child who we saw regenerate into multiple genders. enough.)

5. i’m already craving change. and i feel terrible for it. i’m craving a regeneration, or a companion/all the companions to leave so we can get a new one. purely just to spice things up!!!! i don’t dislike any of the characters at the moment, they just aren’t doing it for me. and this is undoubtedly the writers’ fault. i don’t remember a time where i was just over the companions being there. and i think this has to go back to the point i made earlier where they were all there together immediately. i feel like i would like any of the three of them so much more if they had one-on-one time with the doctor. and i don’t mean a five minute scene, i mean they were the sole traveler. maybe it should have just been yaz. or ryan could have been the first and then his grandpa tagged along.

6. i still deeply, deeply love this show. and that’s the only reason i’m criticizing it. doctor who has been my favorite show since 2013, the longest a show has held my attention and my admiration. i’m not dumping all of these complaints out into the air and continuing to watch just for the sake of collecting complaints to add to a list. i’m complaining because i’ve watched this show for years, with five different doctors, multiple companions, two different show runners, and i know how good it can be. so it makes me sad that it’s not living up to its potential. i gave chibnall series 11 to get his bearings on what the series entailed, i chalked up me disliking that series to the fact that he was a first-year showrunner. and there were improvements with series 12, i like far more episodes in s12 than i do in s11. but it still had a lull period which i find incredible given the fact that there’s three less episodes than previous series had. i just want things to be better. 

(also this is the most minuscule complaint out of all of them but pls bring back the christmas specials.)

anyway. i’ve said my piece. just wanted to let that all out. if you agree or disagree with me please let me know, i just want to hear everyone else’s thoughts. thanks!

[rogerina-yee-haw]

dating ben hardy (and being younger than him) would include...

request: “I read your Joe one so can you do a dating Ben Hardy and your younger? Like 19?“ “can you please do a Ben dating a younger girl like you did for Joe? I loved it 💓💓”

tagging @chicagoblackhawkslover96 as promised <3

get on with it, babes xx

warnings: some implied smut (cause I’m always horny yikes) (18+ only pls), fluff, virgin!reader cause I feel like it; also the reader is 19; some language, typos (as always lmao), slight (???) angst

a/n: Ben Hardy’s amazing personality stealing my uwus?? it’s most likely to be happening right now, I love this man with my whole ass heart

this is Ben, and this is the reader

it’s bad I’m sorry!!!!

I’ve read somewhere that Ben is on dating apps

let it be tinder here lmao

so you two met through it

you didn’t believe it was really him before you met

and you were really self-conscious because you had no idea why Ben Hardy would swipe you right and invite you to go somewhere

because you were just a basic university student

but your best friend/roommate practically pushed you out of your dorm room and said, “go get this dick, you dumb bitch!”

she agreed to go with you in case it was a catfish

but it wasn’t

it was Ben Hardy in the flesh

your friend gave you a “thumbs up” and a grin when you approached him

Ben was nice since the very first second you met

you’ve talked the entire time

his soft and soothing voice was like a beautiful song that took you to another dimension

you could sit and listen to him for hours

and you did

throughout the night he couldn’t stop complimenting you at literally anything

“that’s a great choice of biscuits, y/n”, “yeah, it’s amazing that we both hate fish”, “I really like your coat” (the last one is a direct reference to BoRhap, yes)

you could tell you were falling in love with him

and it wasn’t just a simple celebrity crush anymore, you were falling hard for this incredible man

he was admiring you every chance he got, because, besides being crazily beautiful, you were really smart, funny and just amazing

so when it was time to say goodbye, ben gave you the tightest hug you had ever had in your life

your hands went around his neck, pressing your body to his and feeling his warmth

when you pulled away, he whispered, “I really want to see you again, y/n”

and you had to restrain yourself from screaming

so when he texted you, “Are you free tomorrow night?” twenty minutes later, nothing stopped you from hollering and getting multiple complaints from the neighbors in your dorm

that’s how your relationship started

you decided to keep it on the low because neither of you craved the attention from the media

you only craved each other

your first kiss happened a week after your first date

you were hanging out at Ben’s place, binge-watching some Netflix show after a hard day at uni

your legs were across his lap and he was absentmindedly drawing circles on your ankles with his fingers

at one moment, Frankie decided it was a good idea to jump right on your stomach and start licking your face

you laughed and started petting her as she continued her shenanigans

Ben watched the two of you in awe and with the biggest smile on his face

he loved his two favorite girls interacting

so when Frankie chased the stuffed animal you threw away just for her

Ben stroked you cheek gently before kissing you

and it was perfect

before you knew it, the kiss turned into a heated make-out session

Ben was hovering over you, one of his hands under your shirt, cupping your breasts through your bra, and the other one on your face, caressing your cheek

you could feel yourself grow wetter when he started leaving open-mouthed kisses alongside you neck

and when he sucked on that sweet spot right under your earlobe, you let out the most tremendous moan Ben had ever heard

it suddenly became tighter in his pants than before

he took off his shirt and helped you remove yours

“God, you’re beautiful”

you could feel his bulge through your jeans, and you rocked your hips against him to create some friction

he whined into the kiss

“You keep doing this and I won’t last long, baby”

his words worked as a stop sign for you

not that you didn’t want to have sex with him, you just didn’t feel like you were ready to do it just after a week of knowing each other

Ben understood you completely

“I’ll wait as long as you want. I won’t pressure you into anything”

if you didn’t know you loved this man before, now you certainly did

so at this moment, you’ve been in a relationship for four months

and it was amazing

you spent Christmas together, watching movies and cuddling on the couch with Frankie

your dates are always filled with blissful and delightful moments

you may go to the park and just walk while talking and laughing at each other’s jokes

or you can spend the day at his place, watching TV and cuddling and making-out

you keep forgetting that he is eight years older than you

because it seems like he’s actually eighty-five

as he always grumbles about the silliest things

like

“stupid kids and their stupid ball”

“it barely touched you, Ben”

“well, it could hit me on the head!”

or

“this dog came straight up to Frankie and started barking! So I had a little backchat with her”

“what did you say to that dog?”

“I told her to back off and not to bother my daughter ever again”

“so you were basically screaming at the barking dog in the middle of the park at six in the morning”

“she was being rude to Frankie, y/n!”

such incidents happen all the time

but you don’t mind

you’re already too in love with each other

so once your birthday comes, you decide it’s the time to get rid of your virginity

you don’t really know what’s been holding you back since you two were sinning on a regular basis

like you’ve been practicing your blowjob skills

after you went down on Ben for the first time, he just lied in bed for a while and then said, “That was so fucking good, baby”

and you suddenly became really shy and flattered

and when he went down on you

oOF

you were a whining and trembling mess and he had to hold your hips firmly because you were squirming under him

you couldn’t walk properly after it for a couple of days

so now you are ready for another big step

and you know it should happen on your birthday

so you get prepared: you buy really pretty lingerie and put on the perfume that drives Ben crazy

as you have lectures at university and it’s just a regular weekday, you delay your twentieth birthday party to Friday

but it doesn’t mean you and Ben can’t have fun

so you drop at his place after uni

you also ran some errands before it, hung out with your family and came to him at about seven pm

when he opens the door, he pulls you into the most heated kiss you’ve ever experienced

“happy birthday, baby”

the dim lights and the candles all over his flat make your heart skip a beat

turns out he’s made you dinner, cooked your favorite meal and bought your fav cake

“it’s not everything you’re getting tonight”

and you know your panties are soaked through thanks to only the sound of his voice

you eat the dinner, talking about your day, and just smiling at each other

once you’re finished you decide it’s time

so you get up and come across the table, where Ben sits

and you sit down on his lap, your hands around his neck

he’s completely taken aback

“what are you doing, love?”, he asks in between kisses

he’s already a mess while you kiss his neck and run your hand through his hair

“I want you”

and you’re both breathing heavily as you look into each other’s eyes

“are you sure? We don’t have to do it now, you should-“

but you cut him off with a kiss“

I want it, Ben. I want you. I want to have sex with you”, you state firmly

he gulps and draws his lower lip between his teeth

his green eyes are now dark with lust and love

“you want it?” he whispers, kissing alongside your jaw. “Want me to make you feel good?”

and you just sigh and nod, cause you can’t speak already

so Ben picks you up bridal style and carries you to his bedroom

and – oh God – he makes you feel good indeed

you go in for two rounds before you fall asleep

you’re really happy Ben is your first

because he’s been really gentle and loving with you, asking if you were okay all the time, looking at you so tenderly that you almost started crying about how much you love him

so when you two lie in bed next to each other, panting and sweating

Ben takes a small gift bag out of his drawer

“here’s the actual gift for you”

he got you exactly what you wanted and also a necklace with the letter “F” on it

“stands for Frankie”, he explains, “thought giving the necklace with yours or my initials was boring. And now you’ll always carry our daughter with you”

you melt at “our daughter” and kiss him fondly

“thank you, Ben. I love it. I love you”

and it’s the first time you confess your feelings

his whole face brightens and he beams before kissing you

“I love you too, y/n. So much”

after that, you two start fucking like rabbits

you do it at every place, on every surface, in every position that’s possible

you also decide it’s a good time to take your relationship to a new level

which leads for both of you meeting each other’s families

Ben’s family is everything you could ever ask for

his mum is this amazing woman, who greets you with the most heartwarming smile 

you talk with his siblings about everything

and by the end of the night, you’re already in love with all of them as they’re with you

your family is on the opposite side of it, as your parents don’t approve of you dating an actor who’s eight years older than you

“y/n, he’s going to play with you and then ditch you for some pretty model!” you father says while you’re helping your mum to prepare dinner several hours before Ben’s about to come

“so you think I’m not pretty enough to date him?” you furrow your brows. “As if I already didn’t have issues with self-esteem, dad”

“darling, that’s not what your father means”, your mum chimes into the conversation. “He just thinks that Ben isn’t good enough for you because he’s an actor. He’ll always be away filming, and God knows how many women would be around him-“

“so you think just cause he’ll be away surrounded by other girls he’d want to cheat on me? That’s quite an opinion of someone whom you haven’t met”

“what we mean is that he has different things in mind”, your father continues. “He’ll be thirty in two years, he probably wants to settle down already. And you’re so young for it! You’ve got your whole life before you! Why would you want to waste it on someone who’s likely to break up with you when he realizes he doesn’t want to be with someone like you?”

your father’s last words are really hurtful

because you feel like he’s right, as you've got these thoughts floating in your mind the second Ben’s lips fell on yours several months ago

as your parents are clearly unhappy to see Ben you leave their house in the worst mood

they’re not actually against canceling the meeting with Ben because they don’t like him already

so you go to his place

and it breaks your heart when he opens the door, almost dressed up and excited to meet your parents

“hey, y/n! I’ve been actually thinking to call you. What tie should I-“

you push him away and come into his flat

“baby, is everything alright?” he comes up to you and cups your cheeks in his hands

as you lose the ability to fight the urge to cry, you shake your head and tears start running down your cheeks

“just hold me. Please”

later that night when you cuddle on the couch, you’re wearing one of his shirts and he’s caressing your sides gently

and Frankie’s sleeping in the armchair near you

Ben can’t stop whispering sweet, reassuring things into your ear

“I love you. I love you so much. No matter what happens, I’ll always love you. You’re my soulmate, my love, my everything. I love you. I won’t ever leave you. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted”

you don’t bring up the topic of meeting Ben to your parents after this

they can’t actually stop you from dating Ben

and they cannot do anything when he asks you to move in with him

and you happily agree

you become even more inseparable since you start living together

you also go official on social media

Ben posts a pic of you playing with Frankie with a heart-emoji in the caption

and everyone goes wild

especially your groupmates from uni, who bombard you with questions on a daily basis

your best friend brushes them all off and you’re incredibly thankful to her

some people on social media are rude to you, but you ignore them because the rest of Ben’s fans are really nice and sweet

they somehow found your tumblr and tagged you in one smutty fic about you and Ben someone has written

Ben and you recreate it later

everything goes just perfect

you’re both crazily in love with each other

and you can’t wait to spend the rest of your lives together

[nycttophilic]

Guidelines

If you don’t agree to these rules and don’t want to follow me back—and if I have already followed you—please just HARD block me. It’ll help keep my dash cleaner, as well as make sure in my forgetfulness I won’t follow you again. Don’t worry, I won’t be upset lol. Thank you so much for looking at my rules!! 🖤🖤

Basic Rules:

-SEMI SELECTIVE AND MUTUALS ONLY.  This is for my own safety and feeling of security. If you want to roleplay with me, follow me. I will do the same for you if I’m willing to interact.

-OCS, AUS, AND ALL OTHER CHARACTERS WELCOME. I don’t care who your muse is. I’m all for OCs, crossovers, AUs, anything!! Just know I’m a bit more selective towards fandoms I don’t know about lol

-NO ONE-LINERS. I need some more interest in our thread from your end so I don’t lose muse as well. One-liners are fine for crack threads, but nowhere else. I’m fine with single to multiparagraph, and that’s how I will be writing.

-NO GODMODDING. I cannot express this enough. It’s my biggest pet peeve. Just don’t, or I’ll end the Rp immediately.

-PLEASE USE CORRECT GRAMMAR. I’m a bit of a grammar freak, so seriously. At least try. However, If English isn’t your first language, I COMPLETELY understand.

-MULTIVERSE, MULTISHIP. Every thread is a different verse, every ship a different verse. Simple.

-DONT REBLOG THINGS FROM ME. Honestly, guys this just gets on my nerves. It’s a bit irrational...but also irritating because when I check my phone and see a notification from a mutual, I get excited because I think it’s a reply! But then I realize you just reblogged that meme/musing/whatever. Please, only reblog threads from me and everything else from the source. This includes memes, musings, pictures, and promos. Also, pls don’t reblog my PSAs, if you agree with them let me know so I can post it to my rp memes blog, which I would LOVE for you to reblog it from!!

-REBLOGGING ASKS AND TRIMMING THREADS. I’m not as strict as a lot of people over this, but some mutuals of mine are so please trim your threads when you reply to me. If you are in a situation where you can’t, that’s perfectly fine. However, thanks to this new Tumblr update I cannot trim asks because I don’t have xKit. So I ask for you to trim them for me, and if you can’t either then I’ll figure something out. Also with asks, I’m fine with you reblogging an ask to continue it. I will turn it into a separate thread for my friends’ sake.

-UNFOLLOWS. There’s a low chance I will unfollow someone, and the only reasons I can think of are spreading drama, being inactive for over a month without a hiatus, something else that annoys me, or too many OOC posts. The latter is why I am hesitant to follow back personal blogs who roleplay on said blog, but it’s not impossible. I won’t follow personal blogs from side blogs, but if you let me know you are a side blog I will gladly follow where you roleplay.

-DONT INVOLVE ME IN DRAMA. I hate drama. I’m the type of person who wants absolutely nothing to do with it. If I ask about what’s going on, then you’re welcome to tell me, but other than that, don’t talk to me about it. I won’t take sides. I won’t tell other people what’s going on. I’ll only act like nothing’s happening. 

-SPOILERS. I will tag spoilers for everything that’s not in the anime. For example, if a post contains something in the BSD fandom that’s not in the anime, I will tag it. I doubt I will tag threads for spoilers, and if there’s a character that’s manga only I won’t tag it (ESPECIALLY if I write that character, like Daki.)

-REQUESTING MUSES. If you don’t request a specific character in an ask or a starter call, I won’t write it. I just don’t have the time to go to you and ask which character you want, nor try to guess what you were thinking when you sent something in or liked a starter call. So I just won’t respond to whatever it is. This is the case when requesting one of my muses or picking one of your muses, if you’re a multi like me. Sorry..!!

Romance Rules:

-NO SMUT. I can’t stress this enough. It’s not that I’m a minor (which I’m not), it’s that it makes me uncomfortable. You will never see smut on this blog. I’m fine with heavy make out scenes, but when the clothes start to come off is where I request a fade to black.

-I LOVE TO WRITE ROMANCE THREADS. I’m a pretty big hopeless romantic, as that’s where most of my muse is generated from. I may want to add a ship to our thread at some point, but will never force it.

-REFUSALS. NO pedofilia, NO incest, NO rape, or ANYTHING nasty like that. I understand that sometimes in writing dark situations occur, as some of these things are in my muses’ backstory. So, if you write any of those things, I’m not going to block you. However, if you request to do any of that stuff with me, I’ll say no. Press the issue, I’ll hard block you. I shouldn’t have to hear you request it the first time, as it’s right here in my rules and that means you didn’t read them. But I’ll go easy until you cross a line. 

-THERE MUST BE CHEMISTRY. Don’t bother trying to make a ship work that just won’t click, it’s a waste of time. But I’m more than willing to try things and see how they work..!!

-PLEASE RESPECT MY MUSES’ SEXUALITIES. You can tell a muse’s sexuality by what it says on their about. Most are bi/pan, but a few may be different.

Rules and things about me:

-I HAVE LOTS OF WRITING EXPERIENCE. I’ve been writing since I was maybe even seven years old, played games where I pretended to be a character irl since I was five, and have been actually roleplaying for approximately 7 years now. I’ve been roleplaying on Tumblr for three years. I really love writing, you know?

-WARNING, I WRITE GORE. I tend to go into detail about pain, suffering, death, and just very demented topics. That’s just a warning. If you have a problem with that, you may not want to follow me…

-TAGGING. Gore, murder, suicide, and other dark and triggering things will be tagged, but swearing will not. I swear far too much for me to remember to tag it. Also, I don’t post NSFW images or threads on this blog, so don’t worry about that, but I will tag asks and memes that can be perceived as nsfw. I tag things like this (using death as an example): “tw: death”. If you have any triggers, PLEASE let me know so I can tag them. There’s always a chance I might forget about something, and if I do please tell me. I’ll make sure not to forget a second time. Also, I ask you all tag vomit mentions, even if it’s just written, and ESPECIALLY TAG VISUALS OF THROW UP!!!! That is my ONLY trigger. Thank you.

-RESPONDING TIME. I’m a college student, high school student, and I work, so my responding time isn’t what it used to be lol. Please don’t pressure me over that..!! I also post most threads via queue unless I just need to send it out ASAP. I won’t bother you if it takes a little while to reply. We all have lives outside of Tumblr!!

-I’M NOT GOING TO SEND IN PASSWORDS. It just adds to my anxiety, and I don’t like that. That’s why I don’t ever ask someone to send a password in and just ask that they like my rules post! Just know I will always read someone’s rules before interacting.

-I’M ALWAYS HERE IF YOU NEED SOMEONE TO TALK TO. Honestly, I want to help! If something’s wrong and you want to tell me about it, I’m all ears. I hate being upset or depressed myself, so I like to try to make others feel better. It helps with my own sadness.

That’s all for right now..! Happy roleplaying~!!

like this post if you have read it and agree to it, please.

Hello! My name’s Kiki. There isn’t really much to say about me, except that I love to Roleplay!! That and write, of course. And draw. And sing. So I guess I love a lot of stuff lol. Also, I am diagnosed with ADD (attention-deficit disorder), so please bear with me..!! One last thing, I’m 18 as of November 2020.

If you ever need someone to talk to, I’m right here and always accepting PMs!!

My main account is twx-sid3d, but I’m rarely ever on there so here is the best place to contact me. I also have a multiverse oc sideblog @hxlf-bred and an Identity V multimuse at @surviiived.

Thanks for reading! Have a nice day~!