#she wants nothing to do with him she hates him she was him once she looks far too much like him for her own comfort

[quicksilversnails]

It's so fun how the Princess and the Dragon acknowledges and plays with game mechanics that are assumed to be non-diegetic, and uses them to add insight to the story/characters.

The title card is a really obvious example, being something that TLQ actually sees and can comment on, and something that the Princess hadn't ever seen. What most would assume is just a framing device for the player is a real element of the world/construct.

I think it emphasizes how the story that the Narrator constructed is only "meant" to be told to TLQ. After all, The Narrator only appears in TLQ's mind, providing elaborate descriptions and attempting to contextualize the events of the game as a heroic task to save the world. Meanwhile the Princess is all alone, with no title cards or exposition, no context for why any of this is happening to her. The story revolves around her, but it doesn't care about her beyond her designated role, as something to be slain and hated. Her perspective is irrelevant to the Narrator's plan, so she doesn't get the fancy presentation or necessary context: she doesn't deserve it.

There's also those long stretches of dialogue where the voices talk to each other in TLQ's mind without progressing the story. They're occasionally acknowledged by the Princess elsewhere (Prisoner, Nightmare) but P&tD makes it very explicit and confirms that time is actively passing during these conversations, with TLQ staring in silence for who knows how long.

(Personally I don't think all of the voice dialogue is necessarily in real time, if only because some Princesses wouldn't have had the patience for it. Like if you had really stood still for that long, the Beast would've definitely eaten you... she's not waiting for you to finish thinking lol)

This one I think is more for humour, but it also draws attention to how much of the inner conversation the Princess is missing in normal chapters, when the voices aren't actively speaking to her through TLQ's body. Where we're having vibrant debates or key information revealed by the Narrator, she just sees a silent, staring figure. Speaking of the Narrator, He's completely absent from the Princess' POV, either because He doesn't want to speak to her or is somehow unable to (He does say in Tower that she's not supposed to be able to interact with Him...) Again, the story was not made to be told to her, so she isn't given His context, and because the player is usually so immersed in TLQ's perspective, they probably wouldn't realize just how much she's missing until they see things from her perspective.

One other example: if you choose to [Say nothing] immediately after you excise yourself, the Princess reacts to it:

I just find this so hilarious tbh, and the fact that she repeats back those exact words implies that she literally senses the text written in brackets. If you do it once you're back in the basement, she says this:

I wonder if it's the same for the Narrator/voices... do they also “feel” your actions while you’re choosing them? Do they hear you say (Lie) before you lie? When Skeptic said "Wink" out loud did he actually choose a dialogue option with [Wink] in brackets?? Ok that last one's a joke but there's lots of potential here

I just think it's cool because the average player wouldn't think twice about any of these things, because they seem like simple stylistic/game design choices. In a game where all player input is through dialogue options, the square brackets are an immediately understandable way to convey action, as opposed to plain text. In a game structured around repeating loops, it makes sense to make those loops distinguishable for players by separating each loop with a title card, and the chapter naming convention works as a nod to the fairytale storybook aesthetics the game draws from.

But by placing you into the Princess's head and acknowledging those design choices as diegetic elements that change depending on your perspective, it forces you to reevaluate your experiences: the things you didn't think were really "part of the game" and the experiences you didn't realize weren't universal. It exposes your hidden privileges, the luxuries and structural supports you have compared to the Princess that you don't even notice because you've never experienced the alternative.

It might make you realize how the way you perceive and conceptualize the world might be very different from how others conceptualize it (Tony's recent ask about the multicoloured glass in HEA could also play into this in a fascinating way, with the mismatch in perception between TLQ and the Narrator's script). It's all just very cool for a game that's based on perception.

It also makes me wonder... what other elements of this game are diegetic that we just haven't paid attention to?

Well, I think that the captions are probably also diegetic. TLQ occasionally refers to the voices by their complete titles despite them not ever referring to each other by those titles, instead opting for descriptors like "jumpy one" or "the worst one" or "rage boy" or "chilly little freak" lol. For a direct comparison, Paranoid exclusively calls Smitten "the lovesick one" or some variant in HEA, but TLQ refers to him by his full name using quotation marks, as if he's quoting something he's read:

The voices don't seem aware that these titles exist, while TLQ does, despite them sharing a mind. Also, when the Princess shares a body/mind with you, she never uses their titles either. In the Spectre/Princess and the Dragon, she calls Hero "the nice one", Cold "the quiet one" or "cold little freak", and the Narrator "the bossy one" or "that murder-happy know-it-all". Spectre describes the voices as shards of broken glass on the floor, so she likely perceives them completely differently to how we/TLQ see them.

Even The Narrator isn't aware of His title. If you call Him that in the mirror conversation, He says "'The Narrator'. I suppose that's my job, isn't it?", reacting to the title as if it's His first time hearing about it. There's also this question from the fourth Shifty encounter:

It seems like the titles are presented specifically for The Long Quiet/decider, and that they somehow reflect how TLQ perceives the voices/Narrator, since TLQ takes credit for "calling him" that. If the captions were specifically shown to TLQ in the same way that the title cards are, it'd explain how he has this information without it ever being verbally told to him, and why the Princess doesn't know their titles even when she's sharing your body.

But besides the captions, I think it could be fun to interpret the game as if most, if not all of its game mechanics exist in-universe. The choice menu, the music, the cursors, the save/load icons, saving/loading in general, the title screen, the Clown Princess living in the walls (game files), you name it. Let’s peel away these game mechanics cell by cell! Let's see what meaning we can find together, let's see what we're made of!

[moonlitstoriess]

Unseen, Unheard, Unloved- Rhysand x fem!Reader (oneshot)

Summary: She had given him everything—her heart, her trust, and now, the child growing within her. But as Rhysand’s attention drifts elsewhere, as excuses pile up, and as whispers of a mortal girl turn into something far more dangerous, she begins to wonder: Was she ever truly seen? Was she ever truly heard? Or had she been unloved all along?

See masterlist

Warnings: angst, pregnancy, cheating, mentions of intimate scenes at the start but nothing explicit or smutty, clearly rhysand and feyre's whole mating plot was changed in some ways to suit the story

A/N: I'm back at doing what I am best at, which is making people cry lol. Please do consider the warnings mentioned before proceeding with the story. Thank you for reading<33

For fifty years, Velaris had been hers to protect.

Fifty years of waiting. Fifty years of silence. Fifty years of ruling in his absence, of forcing herself to wake up every morning in an empty bed, of standing strong for a court that had been left bleeding in the wake of its High Lord’s capture. Of holding Mor, Azriel, and Cassian together, when they had lost the most important piece of their family.

Fifty years without him. Without Rhysand.

She had not always been a ruler, had never even imagined herself becoming one. She had once just been a child, born to a father who had been a decorated Illyrian general and a mother who had been little more than an offering—a female from a lesser noble family of the Night Court, forced into a marriage she had never wanted. She had inherited her father’s sharp instincts, his love for battle, his stubbornness. And she had inherited her mother’s mind, sharp as a blade, her ability to wield words like weapons.

Her childhood had been spent in the Illyrian war camps, a place where females were taught their place—to be weak, to be silent, to bow. But she had never bowed. Not when they sneered at her for trying to train, not when they mocked her for thinking she could ever be as strong as a male, not when her father had died on the battlefield and left her mother widowed, forced to return to her family’s estate.

And she had not been alone.

She had met Rhysand before he had become the feared High Lord of the Night Court. Before he had been anything other than a cocky, silver-tongued boy who had hated the camps just as much as she had. And with him had come Cassian—wild and brash and unbreakable, a bastard warrior who had nothing to his name but his own strength—and Azriel, silent and shadowed and broken in ways none of them had yet understood.

They had been inseparable. Training together. Fighting together. Growing up together.

And somehow, in the midst of all those years, she had fallen in love.

Rhysand had always been hers. Not in the way of mates, not in the way that fate had written in the stars, but in the way that mattered most. In the way of choice.

There had never been a confession, never been a grand moment of realization. It had been a slow, inevitable thing, woven between stolen glances and lingering touches, between the nights they had spent lying beside each other in the grass, staring up at the endless night sky. It had been in the moment they had first kissed, hesitant and unsure, before turning into something desperate and consuming. It had been in the way they had promised—young and foolish and certain—that even if they ever found their mates, it wouldn’t matter. That they would never leave each other.

And for nearly three hundred years, that promise had held true.

Until the moment Rhysand had been taken.

She had known it was coming. Had felt the sheer, unrelenting terror in his mind as Amarantha’s spell had wrapped around him like chains. Had heard his voice in her head—his final words before he had been utterly ripped away from her.

"I love you."

Then, silence.

And silence had been all she had known for the next fifty years.

She had ruled Velaris in his absence, had kept its people safe, had ensured that the city remained untouched while the rest of Prythian burned. She had fought for her court, for her friends, for the family they had built together. And yet—she had spent every night wondering if he was still alive. If he was suffering. If he still thought of her.

Now, after five decades of waiting, of hoping, of wondering if she would ever see him again—he was finally coming home.

She stood on the balcony of the townhouse, staring out at the city below.

The Sidra was quiet, its waters gleaming under the light of the stars. The city still hummed with life, filled with people who had no idea that their High Lord was finally returning after half a century of being held captive under a tyrant’s rule.

Mor stood beside her, arms crossed over her chest, her golden hair gleaming in the moonlight.

“He’ll be here soon,” Mor said softly, though her voice was strained, as if she barely believed it herself.

She swallowed, gripping the stone railing. “I still don’t know if this is real.”

Mor reached over, squeezing her hand. “It is.”

And then—she felt it.

The familiar pulse of power in the air, the sudden, breathless pull in her chest.

And before she could even take a step forward, the night itself seemed to shift, the world bending—

And then he was there.

Rhysand.

For a moment, she couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.

He was real. He was here.

And then she was running.

He caught her in his arms the moment she crashed into him, burying his face in her neck, his body shaking violently. She was crying, sobbing into his chest as she clung to him, as if he might disappear all over again.

His hands trembled as he cupped her face, as he pressed their foreheads together, his breath ragged and uneven.

“I’m here,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I’m here, I’m here, I’m here.”

She kissed him. Hard and desperate and aching, pouring every ounce of longing, of love, of grief into it.

He kissed her back just as fiercely, as if he was trying to memorize her all over again, as if he couldn’t believe she was real.

Mor was crying. Azriel and Cassian had appeared, standing frozen in the doorway, their own faces filled with raw, unfiltered relief.

But all she could focus on was him. The male she had spent fifty years waiting for.

Rhysand was finally home.

And yet, she had no idea that this was only the beginning of everything that would break her.

That night, neither of them could bear to be apart.

After fifty years of longing, of aching, of waiting for this moment—she couldn’t let go of him. And he didn’t let go of her either.

He had carried her inside, through the halls of the townhouse, past the murmured voices of their family who knew, who understood, and who let them go without a word. They had disappeared into their room, the door shutting softly behind them, and then—

Then she had kissed him again, with all the desperation that had been building in her for five decades, all the grief and rage and sorrow and love she had bottled up in his absence.

Rhysand kissed her back just as fiercely, his hands shaking as they skimmed over her body, as he memorized her again, piece by piece, as if he was afraid that if he didn’t, she would disappear.

She should have noticed it then.

The slight hesitation in his touch. The way his body tensed in certain moments, as if something inside him was resisting, as if he was fighting some invisible battle.

But she had ignored it. Had convinced herself it was just the weight of what he had endured, the lingering ghosts of his time Under the Mountain clinging to him like a curse.

She had whispered his name, had pulled him closer, had kissed away his pain. And for that night, and the nights that followed, she had let herself believe that love was enough to banish the shadows that haunted him.

The days blurred together in a haze of passion and tenderness, of stolen touches and whispered confessions.

She and Rhys could not keep their hands off each other. Every moment was filled with longing, with the desperate need to make up for lost time.

He had barely left their bed that first night, had spent hours worshiping her like she was the only thing that could tether him back to reality. His lips traced every inch of her skin, his hands roaming over her as if trying to prove to himself that she was real, that she was still his.

And she had taken him apart just as much, had kissed away the pain in his eyes, had murmured how much she loved him, how much she had missed him.

It didn’t stop after that first night.

They could hardly go an hour without touching—without pressing against each other in dark hallways, without his hands finding her waist as she stood by the window, without her lips brushing against his neck when he passed by. They were insatiable, consumed by each other, as if making up for every second of those fifty years apart.

But she noticed it.

Even in their most intimate moments, she felt it—that lingering hesitation in him.

It was subtle, almost imperceptible. A slight pause before he kissed her. The way his grip sometimes faltered. The distant, lost look in his violet eyes when he thought she wasn’t watching.

And through the bond, she could feel it—the echoes of something unspoken, something buried deep within him.

Regret. Shame. Guilt.

She had asked him about it once, had touched his face in the quiet of the night and whispered, What’s wrong?

He had only shaken his head, had kissed her slowly, deeply, as if trying to erase the question from existence.

And she had let him.

She had told herself that he just needed time. That whatever haunted him, whatever had broken him, he would tell her when he was ready.

She didn’t push. Didn’t demand answers.

Because the thought of losing him again, of disrupting the fragile peace they had rebuilt—it was too terrifying to face.

So she convinced herself that love was enough.

That if she just held him closer, if she just kissed him harder, if she just loved him more—then whatever was haunting him would fade away.

But then, everything changed.

It started with the exhaustion.

At first, she had brushed it off as nothing. After all, it wasn’t unusual for her to feel drained after everything that had happened.

She had been running on adrenaline since Rhys’s return, had barely given herself a moment to rest, too consumed by the need to be with him, to make up for lost time.

But then, the exhaustion turned into something else.

Dizziness.

Moments where the world tilted around her, where she had to steady herself against a wall, gripping the edge of a table as she tried to catch her breath.

And then—

The nausea.

A deep, rolling sickness that crept up on her at the most unexpected moments, that had her pressing a hand to her stomach as if she could will it away.

The realization should have come sooner.

But she had been so caught up in Rhys, in the way they couldn’t seem to stay apart, that she hadn’t let herself think about it. Hadn’t let herself believe it was possible.

It wasn’t until Mor had walked in on her one morning, pale and weak and barely able to stand, that she had been forced to acknowledge the truth.

“You need to see Madja,” Mor had insisted, her voice laced with worry.

She had tried to argue, had tried to wave it off as simple exhaustion, but Mor wouldn’t hear it.

So she had gone.

And when the healer had placed a gentle hand over her stomach, when she had closed her eyes and let her magic sweep over her body—

The words that followed shattered her entire world.

“You are with child.”

Silence.

She had just stared at Madja, her mind unable to process the words.

With child.

She was pregnant.

She barely remembered leaving the healer’s chambers. Barely remembered making it back home.

The moment she stepped into the townhouse, everything hit her at once.

A child.

She was going to have Rhys’s child.

A shaky breath left her lips as she pressed a trembling hand to her stomach, as if she could already feel the life growing inside her. A laugh—disbelieving, breathless—escaped her.

She was pregnant.

With Rhys’s baby.

And for that moment, nothing else mattered.

The doubts, the hesitations, the unspoken fears—she shoved them aside, blinded by the sheer joy that swelled in her chest.

She imagined Rhys’s reaction, the way his eyes would widen in shock before softening with love, imagined the way he would drop to his knees and press his hands to her stomach, imagined the way he would whisper in awe about their future, about the family they were about to have.

She thought about telling Mor, about seeing Cassian and Azriel’s faces when they found out. She thought about the child itself—what they would look like, what kind of power they would have, what kind of life they would give them.

She was foolishly blind.

So utterly oblivious.

So caught up in her happiness, in the overwhelming joy of this moment, that she didn’t stop to think.

Didn’t stop to question.

Didn’t realize—

That Rhys might not react the way she expected.

That this child, this beautiful, miraculous child, might not fill him with the same joy it filled her with.

That the shadows in his eyes, the ghosts that haunted him, the things he had kept buried since the moment he had returned—

They weren’t just going to disappear.

The moment she found him—standing by the window, looking out over the city she had known, the city they had fought for, the city they had built together—she could feel her heart racing in her chest.

“Rhys,” she called softly, her voice warm, her smile bright.

He turned, his gaze lighting up when he saw her, but something in his eyes—something flickered. Just a moment, barely noticeable. He covered it quickly, replaced it with the mask he had become so skilled at wearing.

“YN,” he said, his voice warm but not quite as soft as she remembered. “You’re home.”

She approached him slowly, the news she was about to share making her pulse quicken with excitement. She stopped a few feet away, pressing her hand to her stomach as if to still the fluttering sensation there.

“I have something to tell you,” she began, watching the way his eyes followed her every movement. He seemed alert, even eager, but there was something else—a tension, barely concealed behind the polite smile he wore.

“What is it?” he asked, his voice smooth, controlled.

“I’m pregnant,” she said, her heart leaping in her chest. She almost wanted to laugh at how simple it sounded, how easy it was to finally say it aloud. “We’re going to have a child, Rhys.”

The room fell quiet.

For a brief moment, she swore she saw something in his eyes—something like disbelief, or maybe even fear—but it was gone before she could truly register it.

Then, he smiled. It was a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“That’s... wonderful,” he said, his words too rehearsed, too empty. “I’m so happy for you, YN.”

But it didn’t sound like he was happy.

It sounded hollow.

For you. Not for us but....for you.

She felt the bond between them—felt the way it seemed to shudder in response to his words. There was something off, something wrong. But she couldn’t place it, not in that moment, and not with the whirlwind of excitement that was consuming her.

She laughed lightly, shaking her head. “You’re not even going to ask how I’m feeling? Not going to pick me up and twirl me around like we used to do when we had good news?”

He chuckled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m just processing the exciting news,” he said again, though his words seemed forced, like he was trying to convince both of them.

Her smile faltered for just a moment, a flicker of doubt creeping into her chest.

He wasn’t happy. Not in the way she expected.

She could feel it—through the bond, through the way his aura flickered with shadows of guilt and hesitation. But she pushed it aside, thinking that perhaps he just needed time to process. Perhaps he was still adjusting to everything that had changed, everything that had happened in the last few days.

“I know this is a lot,” she said softly, stepping closer to him, her voice gentle, “but I know we can do this together. We’ve always been a team, Rhys.”

He nodded, but his gaze flickered away from hers, his eyes focusing on the farthest corner of the room.

“Of course,” he replied, but the words were quiet, almost too quiet, as if he wasn’t fully hearing them himself.

“Rhys,” she whispered, her voice trembling just slightly, “it’s a gift. A miracle. And I know... I know we’ve been through so much. But now we have a chance to build something beautiful together. You and me. A family.”

For a long moment, he said nothing.

Then, finally, he nodded, his smile returning. It was better now, more convincing. But to her, it felt like a mask—a fragile mask that threatened to crack at the smallest touch.

“I’m sure it will be beautiful,” he said, his voice steady, but still... empty.

She watched him for a long moment, her heart thundering in her chest. She wanted to ask him what was wrong, wanted to demand to know why he wasn’t truly happy, why he wasn’t sharing in her excitement. But something inside her—some small part of her—whispered that it wasn’t the time.

He had just returned from being gone for so long, from everything they had fought for. He would come around.

She would make sure of it.

So, instead of confronting him, instead of asking the questions that were starting to swirl in her mind, she simply stepped forward, closing the space between them.

“I know you’re still processing everything,” she said, her hand resting gently on his arm, “but we’ll be okay. We’ll figure this out. Together.”

And though a small voice in her mind screamed that she was being foolishly blind, that she was ignoring the cracks in his facade, she smiled up at him, brushing the doubt aside once more.

For the moment, she was content to pretend that everything was perfect.

The evening air in Dawn Court was crisp, filled with a gentle hum of conversation. YN stood at the balcony, gazing out over the land. Her pregnancy, now just over two months along, was starting to show. Her once slender figure had softened, the slight curve of her bump a reminder of the life she was carrying, but there was something else—an unease. Rhysand hadn’t been the same lately.

It was almost as if he was a ghost, always present but never truly there. For weeks, his absences had become longer, his late-night disappearances even more frequent. She would lie in their shared bed at night, waiting for him to return, only to find him standing at the edge of their balcony, staring into the distance as if lost in his thoughts. His gaze was distant, unseeing, and every time she tried to reach for him, to pull him back into the present, he would retreat even further.

And then, when he would return, it was as if nothing had happened. He would smile, hold her close, kiss her forehead—but the bond felt... strained. It wasn’t the same. She could feel him slipping away, piece by piece, yet she didn’t want to admit it. She had tried to tell herself it was just the weight of the recent events, that he needed space to adjust to his newfound freedom—but deep down, she knew that wasn’t the only thing eating at him.

Tonight, however, was different. The High Lords had gathered in Dawn Court for the first time since the defeat of Amarantha, and there was an air of relief in the room, mingling with the light buzz of excitement. Rhysand had promised that they would attend together, but as the evening wore on, he had yet to appear at her side.

“YN,” Mor’s voice brought her back from her thoughts, a knowing look in her eyes. “Don’t worry. Rhys will be here.”

YN smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I know. He’s just... busy, I suppose.”

Mor didn’t buy it, but she said nothing more. Instead, she looped her arm through YN’s and led her back to the table. Most of the High Lords were mingling, some enjoying the informal dinner gathering, others discussing more pressing matters. Cassian and Azriel stood near the corner, deep in conversation with a few of the other soldiers. Kallias, the High Lord of Winter, stood off to the side, talking with Helion, but his gaze kept returning to YN. She felt a flicker of warmth in her chest when their eyes met.

Her bump was noticeable now, and the looks of congratulations and smiles from the lords were a welcome distraction from the silence between her and Rhys. Baron, of course, didn’t even acknowledge her presence, as usual, but the others were kind.

“You look radiant tonight, YN,” Kallias said, stepping toward her with a warm smile. He had always been one of the more reserved High Lords, his icy demeanor a product of his powers and his personality, but tonight, there was something in his eyes—gentleness, kindness. He reached out, carefully taking her hand in his, and she was surprised by how warm it felt, how soft his touch was. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” she replied, smiling at him, feeling a slight flutter in her stomach at his concern. “It’s been a long couple of months. Thank you for asking.”

“You’re carrying something precious,” Kallias said quietly, glancing down at her bump before his eyes returned to hers. “I can only imagine the strength it takes to bear such a responsibility.”

YN didn’t know why, but his words hit her in a way that made her feel seen. So often, Rhysand’s attention had been diverted, and it felt as if she was carrying this burden alone. But Kallias... Kallias made her feel like she wasn’t invisible. Like she was more than just the woman carrying Rhysand’s child. She was YN, strong, capable, and worthy of attention, of affection.

She had never spoken much with Kallias beyond the formalities of the courts, but there was something about him tonight—something different. He was engaging with her, making her feel important, something that Rhys had failed to do in the last few weeks.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice soft, almost shy. She hadn’t realized how much she needed to hear those words. “That means more than you know.”

Kallias gave her a smile—gentle, understanding, and somehow... safe. “You deserve to be treated with kindness, YN. You’ve been through so much.”

She couldn’t help but smile back at him, the warmth of his words melting some of the icy isolation she’d been feeling.

“YN, there you are,” Rhysand’s voice broke into the moment, and she froze. He had arrived, but there was something about his tone that immediately made her stomach tighten. He was smiling, but it was tight, forced.

His gaze flickered briefly to Kallias before locking onto her, and the change in his demeanor was subtle, but YN noticed it all the same. The possessiveness in his eyes, the way his posture stiffened just a fraction, how his jaw tightened. But when he smiled again, it was almost too wide, too practiced.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” he said, wrapping his arm around her waist in a gesture that felt more for show than genuine affection. His touch was tight, as if he was trying to hold her in place, but there was no warmth in it.

Kallias, ever perceptive, caught the slight shift in the atmosphere. “It seems like you’ve found her,” he said with a polite smile, but there was something in his voice that held a hint of challenge.

YN tried not to let the tension in the air affect her, but it was hard to ignore. Rhysand didn’t seem happy, and Kallias—despite his icy demeanor—had made her feel something Rhys hadn’t in weeks: seen. Rhys, however, took a step closer, his voice turning more possessive. “YN, you look stunning tonight. But if you’re done here, I think we should head back.”

Her heart squeezed at his words. She had expected joy, happiness—maybe even a little pride in his eyes, but all she saw was discomfort, an undercurrent of guilt. She could feel the hesitation through their bond, like he was holding something back from her, something important.

“I’m not ready to leave yet,” YN said quietly, her tone firm but gentle. She looked back at Kallias, who nodded his understanding, and for a moment, she felt like she was stepping into unknown territory, like the simple act of asserting herself was both thrilling and terrifying.

Rhysand’s smile faltered just slightly, and his eyes narrowed. “I think it’s time, YN. We’ve been here long enough.”

YN didn’t answer him immediately. She knew what she felt, what she had felt for months now. Rhysand wasn’t the same, and no amount of pretending could make her blind to it any longer. But as she turned back to Kallias, she saw the genuine concern in his eyes, the way he watched her with a sense of admiration that was foreign in Rhysand’s presence. It made her feel seen, and it was like a balm to a wound she didn’t even realize had been open for so long.

Finally, she nodded, but not to Rhysand. She nodded to Kallias.

“Thank you,” she whispered to him, before turning back to Rhysand. “Let’s go.”

But even as they left, Rhysand’s arm tightened around her waist, his silence growing heavier. And YN could only wonder what was truly going on behind his eyes.

It was a quiet evening in the House of Wind, the air crisp and fresh as the last remnants of daylight slipped behind the mountains. YN was curled up on one of the many plush armchairs in the sitting room, her hands resting gently on her slightly visible bump, her mind swirling with thoughts she couldn’t quite untangle.

But there was a coldness in the air tonight. A quiet tension that had settled in the room, and it was growing.

YN had been lost in thought when the sound of footsteps broke the silence. Rhysand appeared in the doorway, his presence as commanding as always, but tonight there was something off. His face, usually open and warm when he looked at her, was guarded. There was no smile, no greeting. He simply stood there for a moment, his gaze sweeping over her before he stepped further into the room.

But then, as quickly as he entered, he froze.

It was like the world itself stopped. His eyes went unfocused, his shoulders tensed, and before she could ask what was wrong, he disappeared—winnowed—with such suddenness that it took YN a moment to even comprehend what had happened.

She sat there, stunned, her heart thumping erratically in her chest. What had just happened? What could have caused him to leave without a word? Without a single explanation?

She rose from the chair, her hand instinctively moving to her stomach.

“Rhysand?” she called softly into the silence, but there was no answer. Nothing. It was as if he had never been there at all.

Her mind raced as she tried to understand what was going on.

She could feel it now more than ever—his discomfort, his uncertainty—but it was more than that. There was something else. She just didn’t know what.

The minutes stretched into what felt like hours before Rhysand reappeared, winnowing back into the room. He was disheveled, his hair tousled, his jaw tight with frustration. His eyes, though, were what struck her the most—they were shadowed with something unfamiliar, something that made her stomach twist in apprehension.

“Rhys, what happened? Where did you go?” She couldn’t hide the concern in her voice. The distance in the bond was suffocating, and she needed to understand.

He barely looked at her. “I—had something to take care of. Don’t worry about it.”

His tone was short, dismissive, and it stung more than she expected. Before she could respond, Cassian’s voice broke in, cool and calm, though his eyes were filled with something darker, like he could sense the tension in the room.

“Rhys,” Cassian said, standing up from his spot near Y/N. “You alright?”

Rhysand’s gaze flicked to his brother briefly, then away. He didn’t answer right away, and the silence grew thick, almost suffocating. Finally, with a flick of his hand, Rhys spoke again, but his voice was still clipped, irritated. “I’m fine, Cassian. Just... some things to sort through. I’ll be back later.”

YN opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, Rhys was already striding toward the door, his back to them. “Excuse me,” he muttered, his words a little too sharp.

Cassian watched him go, his gaze lingering for a moment before he turned to YN. There was a look in his eyes, one that was almost apologetic, but his words were kind. He moved closer, resting his hand gently on her bump.

“Don’t worry,” Cassian said softly, his voice low and reassuring. “Rhys is... he’s just got a lot on his mind. But you—” He looked down at her belly and then met her eyes. “You’re not alone. None of us are, alright?”

YN nodded, though the confusion and worry gnawed at her. “I just don’t understand. He’s been distant lately. I don’t know what’s happening.”

“You’ll figure it out, YN,” Cassian said, giving her a small smile. “He’s a stubborn one. But you know Rhys—when it’s important, he’ll come to you. Just give him time.”

But time had already passed. And the longer it stretched, the more YN wondered if the distance between them was something that could be repaired—or if it was already too late.

The next day, the atmosphere in the House of Wind was strangely subdued, everyone waiting for Rhysand’s announcement. Mor and Azriel had come by earlier, and there was a quiet sense of anticipation hanging in the air. Even Cassian seemed to be on edge, though he hid it well.

It wasn’t until dinner that evening, when the Inner Circle was gathered around the table, that Rhysand finally spoke.

“I have a special guest joining us for dinner tomorrow,” Rhysand said, his voice lighter than it had been in days, though there was a hint of something... genuine in his smile. “Feyre will be joining us.”

There was a moment of silence before the room erupted into murmurs of surprise. Feyre, the mortal-turned-Fae, the one who had helped free them all, the one who had played a key role in the downfall of Amarantha. YN felt a sudden lump form in her throat, but she swallowed it down.

The room filled with questions, comments, congratulations—though most of the attention was on Rhysand.

“So, Feyre’s finally coming to Velaris?” Azriel asked, his tone neutral, though there was a certain curiosity in his eyes.

Rhysand nodded, his smile widening. “Yes, she’s been through so much, and I thought it was time she saw the city. I can’t think of a better place for her.”

There was genuine warmth in his tone when he spoke of Feyre, and it hit YN harder than she expected. She hadn’t realized how much he had changed since their first meeting, how much he admired Feyre.

“You must be excited,” Mor said, her smile both kind and knowing. “I’m sure Feyre will love it here.”

YN forced a smile, but it felt hollow. She felt as though the room had shifted, as if Rhysand was now fully enveloped in the idea of Feyre’s arrival. She hadn’t even noticed how much he’d changed until that moment. How much he had changed.

She glanced down at her hands, the light from the candles flickering in her vision. Feyre—the girl who had saved them all. The girl who had freed Rhysand from Amarantha’s cruel reign.

The girl who had, it seemed, somehow taken her place. But at the time Y/N was too oblivious to notice that.

The night carried on, with Rhysand now more animated than ever, speaking freely of Feyre’s arrival and plans for their dinner. But YN couldn’t shake the feeling that something—someone—was about to come between them in ways she never expected. She had been blind, so foolishly blind to the changes in Rhysand. But maybe, just maybe, it was time to confront what had been lingering beneath the surface for far too long.

The evening had come, but Rhysand still wasn’t home. The rest of the Inner Circle was gathered around the fireplace in the House of Wind, the warmth of the flames not quite enough to chase away the coldness that seemed to settle in YN’s chest. She was perched on a plush sofa, her hands once again resting on her slightly rounded belly, her gaze fixed on the crackling fire. The rest of them—Azriel, Mor, Amren, and Cassian—were scattered around the room, engaged in light conversation, but YN couldn’t bring herself to join in.

She felt the space between her and Rhys more keenly than ever.

Azriel, ever perceptive, moved closer to her. He sat down beside her, his posture gentle as he placed a hand on her back, his touch comforting but not invasive.

"You've been quiet tonight," Azriel said softly, his voice like a balm to her frayed nerves.

YN sighed, her fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on the fabric of her dress. "I don't know, Az. Something’s wrong. Rhys… he’s so distant. It’s like I’m not even here for him anymore."

Cassian, who had been perched by the fireplace, took a step forward, his usual jovial demeanor subdued. His eyes softened with concern as he noticed the way YN was slumped into the cushions, her shoulders tense.

“He’ll come around,” Cassian said, trying to sound reassuring, but his voice lacked the usual certainty. He knew Rhysand better than anyone, and even he couldn’t deny the shift that had been happening.

But YN just shook her head, her voice quiet, barely above a whisper.

“No,” she replied, her eyes downcast. “It’s more than that. I’ve seen him these last few days, Cass. He’s not just distracted. He’s hesitant. Like he’s somewhere else entirely, even when he’s standing right in front of me. His smiles don’t reach his eyes anymore. He looks at me, but he doesn’t see me.” Her voice trembled as she spoke the words she had been trying to ignore, trying to pretend weren’t happening. “I try to soothe him, I try to be there for him, but I can feel the distance growing.”

Mor, who had been listening quietly, crossed the room and sat next to YN, her arm wrapping around her in a rare show of tenderness.

“I know it's hard,” Mor said softly, her tone filled with understanding. “But Rhys is... he's always had a lot on his shoulders. You know that. He’s the High Lord. And even when he has us around, some things he keeps locked up.”

“But this?” YN asked, her eyes wide with hurt. “It’s more than just the weight of the throne, Mor. He’s gone, even when he’s here. I feel it in the bond. It’s like he’s slipping away.”

Azriel leaned forward, his voice gentle but firm. “He’s not slipping away, YN. Rhysand is just… processing something. There are things he needs to work through. It’s not about you.”

“Isn’t it?” she whispered, feeling a knot of doubt twist in her stomach. “I’ve seen him shut down before, Az. But this time? It’s different. I don’t know how to fix it. I’m not even sure if he wants me to fix it.”

Cassian’s face darkened, his protective instincts flaring as he moved closer to her. He crossed his arms over his chest, his voice stern as he looked at YN. “Listen to me, YN. You’re doing everything you can. And you’re not alone in this. I’m not going to let you go through this by yourself. None of us are.” He shifted his gaze to her stomach. “You’re carrying something precious, and I’ll be damned if I let anything—” he stopped himself and softened, “I’ll be damned if you don’t get the care you deserve.”

YN blinked at him, the unspoken concern for her growing more tangible with every word.

“When was the last time you ate properly?” Cassian asked, his tone turning gentle but insistent. “When did you last sleep through the night?”

YN faltered, looking down at her lap. “I... I’m fine, Cassian. It’s just... I’m not hungry, that’s all. Rhys—”

“No.” Cassian’s voice cut through her words. “You’re not fine. You’re carrying Rhysand’s child, and he’s not here right now. But I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. You need to eat, you need to sleep. And we’re all here to make sure you’re taken care of.”

Azriel nodded in agreement, his hand still resting lightly on her back. “Cassian’s right, YN. We’re not going to stand by and watch you push yourself too hard. If Rhys doesn’t notice, we do. And we’ll make sure you’re okay. We’ll talk to him, too.”

YN swallowed hard, blinking back tears that had no business being there. “It’s just hard,” she admitted, her voice thick with emotion. “He’s not the male I knew anymore. And I’m scared, Az. Scared that maybe... maybe he never really was the male I thought he was.”

Before anyone could say more, the sound of wings flapping loudly outside interrupted the conversation. The group turned, and in the blink of an eye, Rhysand landed gracefully on the balcony, holding Feyre in his arms.

YN’s heart clenched at the sight of them, her thoughts a storm of confusion. She stood up from the sofa, but her feet felt heavy, reluctant. It was almost like she couldn’t move. She knew Feyre—had heard so much about her, the mortal-turned-Fae who had helped free them all. But seeing Rhys so effortlessly carry Feyre, with that smile that she’d only ever seen directed at her... it hit YN in a way she hadn’t been prepared for.

Mor stood by her side, watching as Rhysand approached the door with Feyre. Her hand on YN’s arm was gentle, a soft reassurance that YN was thankful for.

“Go on,” Mor said quietly. “You’re just as important here, YN. You don’t need to be scared of what’s happening. We are here for you.”

YN nodded, drawing in a deep breath as she moved forward, her steps uncertain but steady. As Rhysand and Feyre entered the room, she saw the way Rhys looked at Feyre—softly, protectively, and with an affection that, for the first time, made YN feel like she was no longer at the center of his world.

Feyre smiled at YN as Rhys gently set her down on her feet. There was a kindness in her eyes, a warmth that reminded YN of the girl who had sacrificed so much for them all. YN’s heart softened, and she stepped forward, reaching out.

“Thank you,” YN said, her voice thick with gratitude. “For everything. You—” She paused, her emotions overwhelming her for a moment, before she pulled Feyre into a tight embrace. “I know it’s because of you that we’re all here. That Rhys is here. I don’t know how to thank you for that.”

Feyre hugged her back just as tightly, her voice warm and kind. “I didn’t do it alone,” Feyre said, pulling back with a small smile. “But I’m happy to be here. With all of you.”

The group settled around the dinner table as the conversation turned to lighter topics. Feyre was kind and gracious, a perfect guest, while Rhysand sat with a rare relaxed air, laughing and joining in with the others. But YN, despite the smiles and easy conversation, couldn’t shake the feeling of being on the outside looking in.

She smiled when it was needed, nodded at the right times, but inside, she felt the gap between her and Rhys grow larger. The more they talked about Feyre—her kindness, her bravery, her role in their world—the more YN couldn’t help but feel that she was losing Rhysand to someone else.

It hurt in ways she hadn’t anticipated. But she kept her face calm, her composure intact, and though the knot in her chest tightened, she smiled through it all.

The night stretched on, filled with laughter and stories. But as they all ate, YN sat back, her thoughts swirling. Rhysand was no longer just the man who loved her; he was someone different, someone who had room in his heart for another. She could see it in the way he spoke of Feyre, the way his gaze lingered on her.

And YN? She was simply standing on the sidelines, trying to hold onto a love that seemed to be slipping through her fingers.

The night was long. But YN would fight for her place in Rhys’s heart—for their future. Even if it meant facing what she was most afraid of.

he House of Wind had become more than just a home for Y/N over the past few weeks; it had become a place of quiet, uneasy observation. At first, everything had felt like a blur—busy days and nights spent adjusting to the changes. Feyre’s arrival had been a shock, an unexpected whirlwind that shifted the delicate balance of their lives. Yet, it was not Feyre’s presence alone that unsettled Y/N. It was Rhysand’s shifting attention, his sudden and unnerving detachment from her.

Y/N had noticed it first in the small things—how he would spend hours in the study with Feyre, teaching her new things, showing her how to control her magic, his voice soft, patient. His lessons went on for hours, and there were times when Y/N would sit in the grand hall, reading, waiting for him to return to her, but he never did.

It was as if Feyre needed him now more than she ever had, and Rhysand was more than willing to give everything he had to her. She didn’t understand it—why did he need to give her so much of himself? Why did his lessons stretch on endlessly, late into the night, when there were so many other things to focus on, things that they could share as a couple, as soon-to-be parents?

Even when he wasn’t with Feyre, Y/N couldn’t reach him. When the day would finally end, and Rhysand would return to the House of Wind, he would often retreat to his office instead of coming to her side. He slept there for hours, the door to his office often left ajar, his figure slouched over piles of paperwork and forgotten responsibilities.

Y/N would lie in their bed, her growing belly pressing into the soft sheets, feeling the absence of her mate more profoundly with each passing day. She knew that Rhysand’s duties as High Lord were demanding, but surely, surely he could make time for her, especially now that she was carrying his child. But no. It was always Cassian, Azriel, Mor and Amren who hovered over her, their concern for her health and wellbeing growing each day. Cassian was the first to notice when she had trouble getting out of bed in the morning. Azriel was there, always in the background, quietly ensuring that she was okay. Amren and Mor took on the roles of mothers, watching over her, their comforting presence a constant reminder that she was not alone, even when Rhysand was distant.

She would often ask, “Have you spoken with him? Does he seem different to you?” and Azriel would only look at her with that familiar shadow of confusion in his eyes. “I don’t know,” he would say, his voice low, thoughtful. “Rhys has never been like this before. It’s like he’s refusing to talk about whatever’s bothering him.”

And Y/N? She tried to convince herself that it was just a phase. Maybe it was the pressure of ruling, the stress of keeping Velaris safe. Maybe Feyre’s arrival had triggered something deep inside Rhysand, something she couldn’t understand. It was foolish of her to think that she could make it through this journey unscathed. But deep down, she felt the sting of it. The weight of his neglect hung heavy on her chest.

She would tell herself that Feyre needed him. Feyre had gone through so much in her life—losing her family, fighting in the war, carrying burdens Y/N could never comprehend. Maybe it was only fair that Rhysand focus on her, that he be there for Feyre while she healed. Maybe she needed his support more than Y/N did.

The thoughts tasted like poison on her tongue, and she tried to swallow them down, but they kept coming back, lingering like a bitter aftertaste.

One evening, when Rhysand returned from another long day with Feyre, Y/N found herself staring at the door to his office, waiting for him to come to her. She could hear the sound of his footsteps in the hallway, and she tried to steady her breath, but when he didn’t knock on her door, when he didn’t even acknowledge her presence, her heart sank deeper.

Later that week, she overheard Rhysand telling Feyre that he would be taking her to the Illyrian camps. It was dangerous, he said, but necessary. They would stop at the Weaver’s house on the way, and Y/N couldn’t help the knot that twisted in her stomach. She tried to smile, to seem supportive, but when she asked, “Why? Why are you taking her there? That’s so dangerous,” Rhysand’s expression was distant, his gaze hard.

“I need her to retrieve something for me,” he explained curtly, but there was no warmth in his voice. He didn’t meet her eyes.

Y/N stood there, shocked, trying to process what he had said. She watched them leave, her heart heavy with the feeling that she was losing him, that whatever connection they had once shared was slipping through her fingers.

As Rhysand and Feyre made their way to the Illyrian camps, Y/N couldn’t shake the sense of betrayal that had begun to grow inside her. She would wait for them to return, but she wasn’t sure what she would find when they did. Would Rhysand still be the same, or would Feyre’s presence in his life change everything forever?

The house was quieter than it had been in weeks. The absence of Rhysand and Feyre had left a void, and the walls seemed to echo with silence. Y/n sat near the window, the early evening sunlight casting a golden glow across the room, her fingers gently tracing the curve of her swollen belly. She had been waiting—waiting for Rhysand’s return, for any sign of the distance between them to close. But all she had received was space. The quiet ache in her chest gnawed at her.

Amren, ever watchful, sat across from her, her expression unreadable. But Y/n noticed the tension in her gaze, the way she kept looking at her with something close to concern. It didn’t help that the others had been distant too—Azriel, Cassian, and Mor, all acting like they were hiding something, exchanging too many knowing glances and hushed conversations. It only deepened her sense of unease.

Today, however, was different. Gifts had arrived for her—thoughtful, generous tokens from several of the Highlords in honor of her soon-to-be motherhood. She’d been expecting them, but still, the small mountain of neatly wrapped parcels in front of her filled her with mixed emotions.

"Open them," Amren said softly, as if sensing her hesitation. "

Y/n nodded, the familiar rustle of paper comforting her in its simplicity. She picked up the first gift, a small, elegant box wrapped in a deep shade of red with a ribbon that shimmered like morning sunlight. She carefully untied the bow, lifting the lid to reveal a delicate silver bracelet, studded with tiny moonstones that glinted softly in the fading light. It was beautiful, simple, and elegant. She smiled softly, imagining it wrapped around her wrist as she cradled her baby.

"Oh, Helion," she murmured, the thought of the Highlord of Day bringing a warmth to her chest. She ran her fingers over the cool stones, letting out a sigh as she admired the craftsmanship.

"He's always been a thoughtful one," Amren remarked with a raised brow, as if she too had felt the affection Helion had for Y/n.

Y/n smiled faintly, placing the bracelet to the side. There were other gifts to open. She picked up the next parcel, this one wrapped in soft blue paper with intricate golden designs. It was from Thesan, the Highlord of Dawn, a court known for its refined beauty and grace. When she opened it, she was greeted by a set of hand-painted ceramic dishes, each piece vibrant with delicate patterns that seemed to glow with a warmth that reminded her of sunrises.

Thesan had always been attentive, and she smiled as she imagined the quiet, regal Highlord choosing each piece carefully. She couldn't help but appreciate the thoughtfulness, the way he considered her comfort and her child’s future.

But it was the third gift that captured her attention.

The parcel from Kallias, the Highlord of Winter, was wrapped in dark, rich purple paper. She carefully untied the ribbon, her heart beating a little faster, and opened the box inside. What she found inside was far beyond anything she could have expected.

A small, intricately carved wooden box. It was no larger than the palm of her hand, and as she ran her fingers over its smooth surface, she noticed delicate snowflakes and swirling designs etched into the wood. There was something magical about it, something that made her chest tighten. Inside, nestled among soft velvet, was a small crystal vial filled with a silvery liquid that shimmered like moonlight on snow. Alongside it was a small letter, written in Kallias’s elegant handwriting.

"To Y/n, with warmth and hope for the future. May this gift be a reminder of the strength within you, and the serenity you will find in the stillness of winter’s embrace. You are not alone, not ever."

Y/n’s breath hitched in her throat as she held the vial gently, the words from Kallias sending a ripple of warmth through her. His gift was not just thoughtful—it was deeply personal. It felt like an invitation, a message from someone who saw her, truly saw her, even when the others had become distant.

"He really thought of everything," Y/n whispered, her fingers tracing the small vial.

Amren watched her with a quiet expression, her eyes flicking between the gifts and Y/n’s reaction. “He did,” she agreed softly. “Kallias is a good male. He knows the value of compassion.”

Y/n nodded, her heart swelling with gratitude. The tension in the room was still palpable, but this small gesture from Kallias made her feel seen, reminded her that she wasn’t invisible in the midst of the growing chaos.

Before she could say anything further, a sharp knock echoed from the door.

“Rhysand and Feyre,” Amren muttered, already standing up. “I suppose the moment has arrived.”

Y/n’s stomach tightened, both with excitement and dread. She wasn’t sure what to expect.

As the door swung open and Rhysand stepped in, with Feyre at his side, something immediately shifted in the air. Rhysand’s usual confident demeanor was different—sharper, perhaps, but there was a sense of something unsaid between him and Feyre, an energy Y/n couldn’t quite place. Feyre’s smile was brighter than she’d seen in ages, but there was a newness in her eyes—a quiet certainty.

Y/n’s breath caught as she noticed their shared glances, the unspoken bond between them that hummed through the air like an invisible thread. She stood, feeling the weight of the moment settle into her bones.

“Well, look at you both,” Y/n said, forcing a smile, though it felt hollow. “Feyre, you look well. I hope the journey wasn’t too hard.”

Feyre smiled warmly, though there was a hint of something private behind her eyes. “We managed,” she said, the way she said it making Y/n’s heart clench. “And you, Y/n? How are you feeling?”

Y/n’s gaze flickered to Rhysand, his expression unreadable. “I’m getting there,” she said softly, and though it was true, it felt like an answer far too shallow for everything else she wanted to express.

As the evening wore on and everyone gathered around the table, Y/n couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong—something had shifted, and no one, not even Rhysand, seemed to want to speak the truth of it.

But she noticed the way Rhysand’s eyes lingered on Feyre, the way their quiet exchanges seemed to carry a weight that hadn’t been there before.

And she wondered, in the deepest part of her heart, if she had lost something she hadn’t fully realized was slipping through her fingers.

Y/n’s eyes fluttered open as an uncomfortable wave of pain stretched across her back, her large belly shifting uneasily beneath the blankets. The room, once warm and familiar, now felt suffocating, the walls closing in around her as she tried to shift positions. Her heart thudded a little too loudly, and the silence only amplified the emptiness in the space. Rhysand had not been by her side for hours, and at this point, it was becoming a familiar absence—one she couldn’t ignore.

A deep sigh escaped her lips as she sat up, the strain of carrying their child weighing heavily on her. She hadn’t wanted to wake him, but something inside of her yearned for the quiet solace of a midnight walk—anything to soothe the tightness in her chest. She slipped out of bed, careful not to wake Amren, who still slept soundly beside her. Y/n made her way to the door and stepped out into the cool, moonlit halls of the House of Wind.

As she walked down the corridor, her mind buzzed with a thousand questions. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed between her and Rhysand, even before he left for the war. The secretive looks exchanged between him, Feyre, and the others had only deepened her suspicions. The change in his demeanor when he’d returned had been subtle, but it was there. She just didn’t know what to make of it. Yet.

The soft sound of footsteps ahead caught her attention. Cassian.

He froze when he spotted her, his eyes briefly flickering with a flash of surprise before he tried to hide it behind a strained smile. “Y/n… What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice a little too high-pitched, like he’d been caught off guard.

Y/n raised an eyebrow at him, her hand resting against her rounded belly. “Couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d make myself some tea,” she said, trying to act nonchalant. “Is something wrong?”

Cassian’s smile softened, his shoulders visibly relaxing. He eyed her for a moment before speaking in a quiet, almost tender voice, “Well, wouldn’t want a lady like you wandering these halls alone at this time of night.” His voice dropped lower as he added, “Let me join you.”

Y/n felt a sense of comfort in his words, the warmth of his easy-going nature wrapping around her like a blanket. She smiled at him, the bond they had forged over the years making this moment feel… safe, in spite of the turmoil in her heart.

They started walking together, Cassian keeping pace beside her. The halls seemed endless as they made their way to the kitchen, but the familiar company made the journey less isolating. Their conversation flowed easily, the lull of their voices filling the air between them.

“Have you had time to rest?” Cassian asked, glancing over at her belly. “You should take it easy, you know.”

Y/n chuckled softly, rubbing her belly. “I’m fine. The little one is kicking up a storm tonight. Can’t quite settle down.”

Cassian’s grin was easy, but there was a flicker of something else behind his eyes, something unspoken, as he leaned slightly toward her, trying to offer her comfort. “Don’t let anyone tell you that you shouldn’t take it easy. You’ve been through a lot.”

She tilted her head at him. “You’re always so kind, Cassian,” she said, almost teasing. “I appreciate it.”

“Anything for you,” he replied, with a wink that made her laugh. “But don’t get any ideas. I’m not looking for trouble.”

Y/n smirked. “Me? Trouble? Never.”

They continued talking, weaving through the halls, discussing small things—how the weather had been, how the training had been progressing with the armies—and the more they spoke, the lighter Y/n felt. It was like a brief escape from the gnawing uncertainty she carried.

But then, as they reached a corridor near Feyre’s room, Y/n noticed something strange.

A small light was spilling out from beneath the door.

She froze mid-step, and Cassian’s eyes narrowed. “That’s odd,” he muttered, glancing at her. “Feyre should be asleep by now.”

Y/n frowned. “Should we check on her? She might need something.”

Cassian hesitated but gave a tight nod. “I’ll be right back.” He took a few steps forward, his large form blocking the door as he cracked it open. But before he could slip inside, he froze.

Y/n, not one to stand idly by, took a small step forward, peering around him. “Cassian?” she whispered, her voice unsure.

But Cassian, his face hardening in a way she hadn’t seen before, quickly turned to her. “Y/n,” he said softly, his voice laced with concern, “please… Let’s go back. It’s—”

Before he could finish, Y/n pushed past him, her heart thundering in her chest. She entered the room, and in the dim light, her gaze locked on the sight before her.

Rhysand and Feyre. Together.

Rhysand had Feyre pressed against the wall, their lips locked in a passionate kiss, the intensity of their connection undeniable.

Y/n’s heart stopped in her chest, the air thick with the realization crashing over her. She blinked, disbelieving. This was not happening.

“Rhysand,” she whispered, her voice breaking as her legs threatened to give out from under her.

Rhysand’s eyes widened, and he immediately pulled away from Feyre, both of them frozen in shock. Feyre’s face flushed with guilt, but it wasn’t enough.

Y/n’s hands trembled, her thoughts spiraling as she processed the sight. All the doubt, all the pain, everything she’d tried to ignore—it was true.

Without another word, Y/n turned and fled, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. She didn’t even hear Cassian call after her, his voice full of anguish. All she could hear was the thundering of her own heartbeat and the sound of her feet pounding down the halls.

She was halfway down the corridor when she felt Cassian’s hand on her arm, pulling her back gently. “Y/n, please,” he said, voice low. “You don’t have to do this.”

But Y/n, in her shock, yanked her arm away. “Don’t touch me, Cassian!” she shouted. “How long? How long has this been going on? How long have you all been hiding this from me?”

Her voice wavered, breaking with every word. Her emotions were a storm. She didn’t care who saw it anymore. She’d been blind.

Cassian took a step back, his eyes filled with regret. “Y/n, please—”

Her hands trembled, but her words were sharp, cutting through the hall like a blade. "Why didn’t you tell me? Why?" She stepped forward, her gaze locked onto Rhysand, the male who had once been everything to her. "You made me believe in you. We built a life together! A family! And now… now I’m supposed to just accept this?" Her voice cracked as she swallowed the lump in her throat, the weight of it all almost suffocating her. "We have a child, Rhysand! You will be a father!"

Rhysand flinched as if her words had struck him harder than any physical blow. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He reached for her, but her eyes hardened, her heart already too far gone for him to reach.

"Are you not ashamed of yourself?" she shouted, her voice growing louder, desperate for answers. The anger poured out of her like a flood, drowning everything in its path. "Is that it? You just gave it all up? How could you do this to me? To us?" She gestured between herself and her stomach, the child growing inside of her. "I gave you everything. I gave you my trust. My heart. And this is how you repay me? This is the price I pay for being so blind?"

Feyre took a hesitant step forward, her face filled with guilt, but Rhysand’s protective instinct flared. His hand shot out, catching Feyre behind him, his posture stiff and defensive. His eyes flickered with regret, but they held the painful truth.

For a split second, Y/n thought she might lose herself completely, but then the bitter laugh escaped her. It was harsh, mocking—disbelieving.

Because that was when it hit her.

These two were mates. Mates.

"So mates, huh? Is that what this is all about?" she scoffed. "I guess I should’ve known. I should’ve seen it coming, shouldn’t I?" Her voice was dripping with sarcasm now, the anguish inside her turning to venom. "But of course, you would protect her, wouldn’t you?" She looked at Feyre with contempt, shaking her head. "You didn’t even have the decency to tell me the truth."

Rhysand’s jaw clenched, but he remained silent. The pain in his eyes was evident, but he didn’t speak. He couldn’t, not when he knew the words he needed to say would only make things worse. His heart ached for her, but he had no idea how to fix what he had broken.

Y/n’s body shook with anger, the injustice of it all weighing down on her chest. She turned on her heel, ready to storm away, but that’s when it happened.

The sharp pain slammed into her abdomen, and her knees buckled. She gasped, her breath catching in her throat as her vision blurred with pain.

Azriel--who appeared out of nowhere--was at her side in an instant, his arms steadying her, but her body betrayed her. She clutched her stomach, her body wracked with pain that seemed to come from nowhere.

"Y/n?" Azriel’s voice was filled with concern as he tried to steady her, but she could barely hear him through the intensity of the agony. Cassian was on the other side, his hands gently gripping her arms, trying to keep her upright.

"Madja!" Cassian barked at Rhysand, his voice filled with anger and venom, "Be responsible and get Madja now!"

But Y/n didn’t hear him. All she could focus on was the agony coursing through her, the pain so sharp and overwhelming that it consumed her. She didn’t care about Rhysand anymore. She didn’t care about Feyre. She didn’t care about anything except for one thing: their child.

Her breath came in shallow gasps as she cradled her stomach with one hand, feeling the life growing inside her, the precious little one she had been so determined to protect.

"Please," she whispered weakly, her voice breaking as she looked at Rhysand. "Please don’t take this from me."

Cassian and Azriel exchanged a frantic glance, both of them moving into protective mode as they kept her steady. Y/n’s eyes were locked onto Rhysand now, her fury mingled with a desperate need for him to understand. To feel the weight of what he had done.

But it was too late. The damage was done.

Rhysand stepped forward, his hand reaching out to her, but Y/n jerked away from him, the sudden movement only worsening the pain in her abdomen. She gasped again, clutching her stomach as a new wave of agony hit her.

“Y/n, please—” Rhysand’s voice was low, broken, but she couldn’t listen. Not anymore.

"No," she choked out, her voice hoarse. "No more excuses, Rhysand." Her hands trembled, her body trembling, and she couldn’t hold back the flood of emotions any longer. She was done.

The pain continued to tear through her, her thoughts scattering, spinning out of control as she cradled her stomach tighter. The tears she had been holding back finally spilled, but they weren’t just from the physical pain. They were for everything she had lost in that one moment. The trust. The love. The future they were supposed to build together.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she sobbed, her voice breaking. “Why didn’t you tell me the truth?” She glanced at Feyre, her eyes hard, but her voice trembled with more than just anger. “How could you—how could you do this to me?”

But before anyone could respond, another wave of pain shot through her, and she screamed, her body collapsing into Cassian and Azriel’s arms. Her mind was a blur, only one thing clear—she needed help. She needed them to save the child.

Azriel's voice was low and commanding, filled with urgency. "Cassian, hold her. I’ll get Madja." He turned and moved swiftly toward the door, his wings brushing against the wall as he flew out into the night.

“Please, Y/n,” Cassian murmured, his voice soft but filled with fear. “Please, hold on.”

Y/n’s vision was swimming. She barely registered the words, the frantic chaos around her, her body failing her. All she could feel was the tight grip of the pain as it dragged her deeper into the darkness.

Rhysand stood there, torn between the desperate need to run to her side and the instinct to protect Feyre. He was lost. He had lost her. And in that moment, Y/n’s shattered words echoed in his mind: We have a child, Rhysand... You will be a father... Are you not ashamed of yourself?

And for the first time in his life, Rhysand had no answers.

Y/n slowly regained consciousness, the dull ache in her head reminding her of the storm that had passed through her body. She blinked against the bright light, her vision blurred for a moment before it cleared. The soft, cool sheets beneath her, the gentle rise and fall of her chest, it all felt so distant and overwhelming.

Madja's voice cut through the haze. "You're awake," she said softly, her tone warm but firm. "Good thing no harm was done to the baby, but you're under a lot of stress. I can feel it in your body, the strain on you."

Y/n turned her head slowly, seeing Madja standing next to her, the healer’s face filled with concern. Azriel was by the window, his posture tense, while Cassian hovered near the foot of the bed, his face a mixture of guilt and concern. Amren, ever stoic, stood off to the side, her eyes watching with an unreadable expression.

"Your baby is fine, Y/n," Madja continued, placing a hand lightly on Y/n’s arm. "There’s no danger of premature birth. Just take care of yourself, try to rest, and the baby will be fine. But your stress levels... they’re far too high." She gave them all a pointed look. "All of you."

With that, Madja stepped back, her eyes lingering on Y/n for a moment longer before she turned and left the room. There was a silence that followed, one that stretched out far too long for Y/n's comfort. Cassian was the first to speak, though his voice was unsure, quiet, the weight of his earlier actions heavy in the air.

"Y/n, I—" he started, but Y/n lifted her hand weakly, signaling for him to stop.

"How long?" she whispered, her voice fragile but steady with the hurt of it all. "How long have you all known?"

Azriel stiffened, and Amren rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. "Girl, don’t involve me in this mess," she said with a scoff. "I had no idea either. Though, it was kind of obvious." She glared at the two males as if daring them to argue.

Cassian ran a hand through his hair, looking down at the floor, his voice laced with regret. "We thought it would be best to wait until after the birth to tell you. We didn’t want to put you or the baby at risk."

Y/n's eyes flickered between them, too weary to say anything but the truth. "And that plan went to shit."

Azriel exhaled sharply, stepping closer to the bed. "Y/n, I am so sorry," he said, his voice raw with regret. "Rhysand told us all—told us that she was his mate after the journey. Feyre was mad at him, and... and then Rhys finally came clean to all of us. Told us everything." His eyes were filled with sincerity. "We should’ve told you sooner."

Y/n closed her eyes, shaking her head. "I trusted you all. All of you. And you kept this from me. You should’ve told me the moment you knew." Her voice cracked, but she didn't back down. She would not back down from this.

"I know," Cassian said quietly, his voice filled with shame. "We thought it was for the best. But you’re right. We should’ve told you. I should’ve told you." He ran a hand through his hair again, frustration flashing in his eyes. "I'm sorry, Y/n. I should've trusted you."

The room was thick with emotion, a painful silence hanging in the air when, suddenly, a piece of paper appeared in Y/n’s lap, its crisp edges catching the light. She blinked, a small smile pulling at her lips as she grabbed the letter. Her gaze softened as she read it, the others leaning in, confused.

"What’s this?" Cassian asked, his voice low. "Who’s it from?"

"Kallias," Y/n murmured, her fingers brushing over the letter’s surface with a sad smile. "The High Lord of Winter."

Everyone froze, their eyes widening as they processed the name. "Kallias?" Azriel repeated, his brows furrowed. "What’s he writing to you for?"

Y/n’s smile turned bittersweet as she looked up from the letter, her eyes filled with a mix of sorrow and something more resolute. "I wrote to him a week ago, asking if I could visit Winter. I needed a change of scenery. And he..." she trailed off, her smile growing faint. "He’s more than happy to have me."

The others stared at her, stunned into silence. The room felt as though it had shifted in an instant. "You... You’re going to Winter?" Amren asked, her voice tinged with disbelief. "Why now?"

Y/n’s smile faltered, but she didn’t hide it. "I already knew I’d leave sooner or later," she whispered, her hands trembling slightly as she folded the letter. "Just... not this soon. I guess my leave will be permanent."

The room erupted into chaos.

"Y/n, no," Cassian said, stepping toward her, his voice filled with desperation. "Please, you can’t—"

"Please," Azriel added softly, moving to her side. "Don’t go."

But Y/n held up her hand, silencing them all. There was a moment of stillness, a tension hanging in the air as they all waited. Slowly, Y/n swung her legs off the side of the bed, her movements slow but deliberate. She pulled her bag from underneath the bed, her gaze focused on the task at hand. "I need this," she said quietly, as though it was an understanding only she could see. "I’ve always needed this."

"Y/n, please," Cassian pleaded again, his voice rough with emotion. "You don’t have to do this."

Y/n’s gaze softened, but she was firm. "I do," she replied, her voice steady. "I do have to."

The room was quiet now, the weight of her words settling over them. It was clear there was no changing her mind.

"Now," Y/n said, turning to Amren, "will you please help me get changed?"

Amren’s expression softened slightly, but she gave a small nod. "Get out, all of you," she said, her tone more gentle than usual. "I’ll help her. And I’ve got advice for her."

The others left reluctantly, Cassian lingering at the door, his eyes heavy with unspoken emotions. Y/n caught his gaze and held it for a moment, before she turned back to Amren, the two of them sharing a quiet understanding.

Amren helped her get dressed, the quiet advice coming in fragments. "Take care of yourself, Y/n. Don’t let them hold you back. You deserve this peace. You deserve to find what you need. The rest will follow."

Y/n nodded, a weak but grateful smile on her lips. "Thank you, Amren."

When she was finally ready, Azriel appeared in the doorway, his expression unreadable. Y/n took a deep breath before moving toward him. Cassian, Mor, and even Amren stood back, their eyes heavy with unspoken thoughts.

Before she left, Y/n moved toward Cassian first. She wrapped her arms around him, holding him close for a moment, her face buried in his chest. "I’ll miss you," she whispered.

Cassian hugged her back, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. "Please take care of yourself," he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion.

Next, she turned to Mor, who embraced her with a tight, brief hug, her expression just as conflicted. "I hope you find what you need," Mor said softly.

Lastly, Y/n stepped toward Amren, who looked at her with a strange blend of pride and sorrow. "You’re stronger than you think," Amren said with a faint smile, before she too turned away, leaving Y/n to face her own path.

Y/n gave one last glance at the room before stepping outside. Azriel was waiting for her, his hand outstretched. Without a word, she took it, and in a flash of blue light, they vanished, leaving the shadows of the past behind.

And though Rhysand’s presence was absent, Y/n’s resolve was clear. She was moving on. She was taking the first step toward healing. Toward a future she would shape on her own terms.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[oyasumihikari]

(Here's a bunch of familial drama for you people. Get your popcorn. Also, I'm going to leave a lot of details of specific conversations out.

The TL;DR is that my dad was about to leave Mom and me to move in with a scam artist who stole a bunch of his money in one of those BS crypto investment schemes and I've never mentally recovered from the betrayal because I refuse to seek therapy even though I probably desperately need it.)

Shortly after my mom told my dad she wanted a divorce, my dad started talking to this random woman from Facebook Dating.

Long story short, he fell for one of those crypto schemes, and was fully willing to move in with said scam artist before it sunk in that he was being scammed.

Before it sunk in though, he was all gung-ho about moving away. He was going to move halfway across the country to Atlanta, Georgia. He would have left Mom and I with virtually nothing if I didn't bring up the possibility of one of my buddies becoming our roommate and him, me, and Dad splitting the bills.

He was going to abandon me for someone who couldn't have given any less of a shit about him. I played it off like I didn't care -- because, truth be told, as much as I hate the guy now, I do still want him to be happy, and I was excited he was finally going to leave -- but once shit hit the fan and he realized his mistake, I felt the anger finally hit me.

This fucker spent the past decade treating my mom like shit (possibly treating her like shit for all 21 years of their marriage), started treating her even worse after she got sick with long COVID, showed his true manipulative, narcissistic colors when he almost got me on his side, was about to leave us for some woman he'd never properly met before (my parents still haven't started the divorce proceedings, they're still legally married), and got all pouty and "oh poor me" after he realized he pissed away his money.

I have never thanked God more for not taking away my anger issues than during this process. There was one day during the earlier days of this whole ordeal when I had a verbal outburst at Mom while she was smoking on the porch. I let 'er have it with all of the (extremely wrong) information my father told me -- how she was the narcissist, how she wasn't in her right mind, etc. -- and showered. However, after my shower, she very calmly (way more calmly than I deserved) explained her side of the story. Everything clicked almost immediately, and I broke down into tears when I realized just how wrong I had been.

If I never had that outburst, I probably never would have given my mother the time of day to explain her side of the situation.

— Franz Kafka; January 25, 1922

[svnriseblvdd]

neighbour! clark kent x new girl! reader

SYNOPSIS: when your car breaks down right as you need to pick up a friend in metropolis, clark offers to give you a ride (not the type you want) and you step up your game.

everyone thank my writer's block, because if not for that, this would never have been as out there as it is. like if i'd released this half a week ago, it would not be anywhere near this level. i still had writer's block while grinding this out, so every question of where to go next was answered with 'make it HORNIER'. and you're welcome.

WARNINGS: mentions of road head, brief palming, accidental crotch grab, innuendo, clark is perpetually horny and shameful (who isn't?), he's still so down bad and needs loving desperately. (someone let this boy get RAILED (that's my job, really, but i promise i've got one more chapter idea before he FUCKS))

part one! part two! part three!

You sigh frustratedly as you lift the hood of your car to try to gauge the problem. Perhaps the problem was that the car was old as hell, just repainted and spruced up a little to give the illusion that it was simply vintage, not a second hand metal bag of parts. 

“Everything okay?” 

You look up to find Clark coming over. Whether it's good luck or not, you've broken down in front of the Kents house. No family nicer than the Kents exist. It's entirely possible. They're endlessly helpful. The problem, as always, is their gorgeous son. 

It's hot out, he's been sweating enough to give him a particular entrancing sheen over his skin. And now you're frustrated for two very different reasons. 

“No. Stupid car broke down,” you muttered, chest heaving in a sigh. 

Clark’s gaze wanders, against his will. All of a sudden, he’s looking at your chest, the way your breasts have been pushed up by a combination of that gorgeous tank top and probably the bra beneath it. And now he’s thinking about your underwear. You in your underwear and nothing else. You standing in your underwear in front of him, begging for his help once again. 

He closes his eyes firmly and looks away, mentally smiting himself. He can’t think about you like that. You’re his neighbour, his friend, and you’re in trouble. 

He clears his throat, speaking in the hopes that he can distract himself from the sight of your cleavage and bare legs. “Okay, well, why don't we push it up to the house? We can take a look at it, see if we can get it started again. If not, at least it's not out in the road in the way.” 

“Yeah, I guess. Thanks.” 

And so the two of you manage to push your crappy car up to the front of the house, where Mr Kent joins you to take a look at it with Clark. 

“Good news is, it's totally fixable. Bad news is, you'd need a mechanic to do it. We'll call them and they can tow it from here.” 

You sigh, looking at your watch. “Damn it. I'm supposed to pick up my friend from the station in Metropolis in a couple of hours.” 

“Well, I can take you in our car,” Clark suggests. 

“You'd do that?” You ask, and he nods, charming smile still there. You grin, throwing your arms around his neck in a hug as his arms slide around your waist. “Thank you, Clark, you're a lifesaver.” 

Clark can feel as the blush begins to set in. “Yeah, of course. We can get going as soon as you're ready to.” 

“I'm ready now, if that's okay?” 

“Yeah, absolutely.” 

It’s not until you’re in the passenger seat and on the road that either of you speak again. “So, who’s your friend?” 

“Just one of the girls from Central City. I told her she could visit once I was settled in. She’s fun, you’ll love her.” 

You play with your hair, and it sends a fresh whiff of your scent in Clark’s direction. He doesn’t know if it’s perfume or shampoo, but he knows he’s already addicted. You cross one leg over the other, and fold your arms. Clark glances over, a moment of weakness that he hates himself for. It’s like he wants to punish himself. Something in him that says that if he’s going to think like this, he can go unsatisfied and hurting. It’s not logical. In fact, he knows that looking is the one indulgence he’ll allow himself. A brief glance that he won’t let linger, thoughts he’ll bury as long as possible. 

“I’m sorry about your car,” he says, in an attempt to distract himself from your bare legs and accentuated cleavage. 

You smile a little. “Don’t worry about it. Thank you for helping.” 

“Yeah, don’t mention it.” 

“No, really, Clark, thank you,” you say, turning towards him and leaning over the console in the centre, hands resting on it and pushing your breasts up and together. “You’re always there whenever I need you. You’re so good, Clark.” He’s going to explode again. “Really. I can’t thank you enough.” 

Yet again, your attempts seem to have been either obliviously ignored or politely rejected, as Clark doesn’t respond to them. Granted, this was one of your more low-key comments, but he hasn’t even glanced at your tits, and they’re right there! 

So you decide to double down. Test to see if he’s just oblivious, awkward, or not interested. 

One of your hands lands on his thigh. He blinks, but doesn’t look at you. “You’re so helpful, Clark. Always happy to help when I need you. And I always need you. There has to be some way for me to repay you.” Your hand travels further up his thigh. In an ideal world, you’d be giving him road head right now, not halfway to it. 

Clark finally looks at you, his cheeks a little flushed, and as he turns his head, his gaze lands right on your chest. 

Immediately, though, a car horn sounds, and Clark’s eyes dart back onto the road in time to swerve back into his own lane. The road had been totally empty for a while now, it hadn’t even occurred to him that eventually they had to run into someone. 

He blinks heavily. “Sorry. I’m sorry.” 

You smile, eyes bright with mischief. “For the nearly dying? Or the other thing?” 

“Uh, both. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.” 

You giggle. “It’s okay, Clark. Really, you’re fine. More than fine.” 

Your hand is still on his upper thigh, a dangerous place. A bump in the road underneath the right front wheel jolts you, and your hand accidentally slips onto Clark’s crotch, applying pressure. His eyes go wide as saucers, a strangled noise barely escaping him before he gets a hold of his vocal cords. 

���Oh!” You gasp. “I’m sorry, Clark!” 

You pull your hand off, returning to your side of the car. That had slightly ruined your entire plan. It was a total accident. You hadn’t meant to straight up grab the guy. Just tease him a little. Shit. 

When you get out of the car at the Metropolis station to go find your friend, Clark takes the opportunity to do some breathing exercises, and uses the cover of his jacket to his advantage, palming at himself to relieve the ache a little for now. He bites the inside of his cheek to suppress the urge to make some sort of sound. He doesn’t know what it’ll be, and he’s alone in the car, but whatever it is, it’ll be embarrassing enough even if he’s the only one to hear it. So instead he just breathes a little irregularly, head tilted back a little against the headrest. 

He sees your friend with you as you approach the car again, and he tears his hand away from himself begrudgingly. Your friend has a grin on her face, eyes wide with excitement as you both talk with equal enthusiasm. 

You join her in the back this time, probably for the best, but you’re still on the opposite side of the car to him, so he sees you easily in the mirror, and all he needs to do is turn his head a little and let his peripheral vision do the rest. 

“Oh, you’re so right,” your friend says, and you shush her despite your giggling. 

taglist;

@blueeweeb

@ssnapsaurus

@artyandink

@i-got-a-bad-feeling-about-this

@milestellerismybf

@purple-1995

@writergiih

@elysianrosie

@glennussy

[bettys-redwinesupernova]

CRAZY

rafe cameron x fem!reader

(mood board does NOT depict readers’ appearance !!)

SUMMARY: y/n knows exactly what makes rafe angry, and after a fight she uses it to her advantage.

based on this ask !! i hope it’s what you asked for anon, enjoy my lovely <3

(check out my other drew starkey & rafe cameron works here !!)

WARNINGS: lowkey a toxic relationship, cursing, rage has anger issues, reader is a teensy bit petty, angst but w/ a fluffy/soft ending though !! (lmk if i missed anything !!)

WORD COUNT: 1.1k

THIRD PERSON +

The fight had been bad—bad enough that Y/N had stormed out of Rafe's truck, slamming the door behind her so hard the sound echoed through the empty parking lot.

Her chest heaved with frustration, fingers trembling as she dug into her bag for her phone. She needed space. She needed air. And, most of all, she needed to get away from Rafe before she said something she couldn't take back.

Their relationship had always been intense, an unrelenting push and pull that left them both breathless. Rafe loved hard, and he fought even harder, his jealousy and temper a storm she'd learned to navigate. Most of the time, she knew how to calm him down—knew exactly what to say to keep the fire from burning too hot. But tonight? Tonight, she didn't want to be the one to fix it.

Her finger hovered over the settings on her phone, her heart racing as she tapped the switch to turn off her location. She knew it would piss him off. That was exactly why she did it.

The messages started almost immediately.

Rafe🖤: Where the fuck are you?

Rafe🖤: Turn your location back on, Y/N.

Rafe🖤: Don't do this right now.

Y/N ignored them, walking the short distance to her house. She needed a night to herself, away from his sharp words and possessive hands. By the time she locked her front door behind her, her phone had blown up with missed calls, each one filling her with a strange mix of satisfaction and guilt.

She tossed it onto the couch and sighed, running a hand through her hair. She hated fighting with him. Hated the way it drained her, leaving her restless and exhausted all at once. But at the same time, she couldn't just keep letting him get away with his controlling tendencies.

She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. A night of self-care—it was exactly what she needed.

—

Rafe was losing his mind.

He was pacing his bedroom, jaw tight, hands clenched into fists. He'd called her a dozen times, sent twice as many texts, and nothing. The read receipts taunted him. She was ignoring him on purpose.

His heart hammered in his chest, but it wasn't just anger. It was fear.

He knew Y/N, knew she was stubborn and fiery, but she wasn't reckless. She wouldn't just disappear—unless she wanted to prove a point.

"Fuck," he muttered, shoving his hands through his hair. He grabbed his keys off the nightstand and stalked out of his house. If she wasn't going to answer him, he'd go straight to where he thought she’d be.

—

Y/N had just finished painting her nails when the loud, insistent pounding on her front door made her jump.

She groaned, already knowing exactly who it was.

"Y/N. Open the goddamn door."

Rolling her eyes, she stayed where she was on the couch, letting him stew. She wasn't about to let him ruin her night of peace.

More knocking. Harder this time.

"Seriously?" she called out, still not moving. "Go home, Rafe."

"Not happening," he shot back, voice muffled but unmistakably pissed.

Y/N sighed, setting down her nail polish bottle with exaggerated patience. She padded to the door, taking her sweet time before unlocking it and swinging it open.

Rafe stood there, broad shoulders tense, blue eyes blazing with frustration. His chest was rising and falling with uneven breaths, like he'd been barely keeping himself together the whole drive over.

"You think this shit is funny?" he asked, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation.

She arched a brow. "What are you talking about?"

He scoffed, shutting the door behind him. "You turned your location off, ignored my calls—what the fuck was I supposed to think, huh?"

She crossed her arms, unbothered. "That I wanted space?"

Rafe clenched his jaw, running a hand down his face. He was furious, but more than that, he was relieved. Seeing her standing there in pajamas, a face mask on, her nails half-painted—she hadn't been out doing something reckless. She hadn't been with someone else. She was just... here. Safe.

That realisation made his anger simmer just enough to be replaced with something else.

His shoulders dropped, his gaze softening ever so slightly. "You could've at least told me you were home."

Y/N sighed, some of her stubbornness fading at the exhaustion in his voice. "I just... needed a break, Rafe. From the fighting, from the way you get when you're mad." She shook her head. "I didn't want to deal with it tonight."

His lips pressed into a tight line, and for a moment, she thought he'd argue. But then he surprised her by exhaling slowly and nodding. "I get it," he muttered.

She blinked, caught off guard by his sudden agreement. "You do?"

"I don't like it," he admitted, his voice lower now. "But yeah." He ran a hand through his hair, the anger fading as something heavier took its place. "I just—I fucking hate not knowing where you are. It drives me crazy."

Y/N sighed, her frustration waning. She knew Rafe wasn't like this for no reason. He loved her, even if he didn't always know how to show it in a healthy way.

She stepped closer, hesitantly reaching out to touch his arm. "I wasn't trying to hurt you. I just... needed time to breathe."

Rafe looked down at her, his blue eyes searching hers. After a beat, he nodded again. Then, without a word, he pulled her into his arms, wrapping her up in a tight embrace.

Y/N exhaled against his chest, feeling the tension between them ease just a little. He was still possessive, still overbearing, but he was trying. And for now, that was enough.

"Can I stay?" he mumbled into her hair.

She let out a soft chuckle. "You already let yourself in, so yeah."

He huffed out a quiet laugh, his grip on her tightening. "I'll make it up to you."

Y/N pulled back slightly to look up at him. "Damn right you will."

He smirked, then pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead. "C'mon. Let's go to bed."

An hour later, they were tangled up together in her bed, limbs intertwined beneath the covers. Rafe's arms were wrapped securely around her, like he was afraid she'd disappear if he let go.

Y/N felt herself start to drift off, comforted by the steady rise and fall of his chest. Despite everything—the fights, the chaos—she knew she wouldn't trade this for anything.

Because for all his flaws, Rafe Cameron loved her in a way that no one else ever could. And if he had his way—no one else ever would.

(divider by @kodaswrld !!)

betty’s notes ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

this was a short little one, but i’m trying to get through as many request before i go on holiday !! the ‘sports car’ drew starkey fic may be posted when i return as i’ll be taking a tumblr break for that week :)

still send in any requests, i’ll be working through my inbox until then !! some of these i’ve been writing for a couple weeks i’ve just had writers block lmao

[satellite-evans]

Unfaithful

Pairing: Lewis Hamilton x reader

Summary: Going trough a breakup hits harder whe you realize only your hearts gets broken.

Word count: 1.6k+

Warnings: angst, no happy ending. mention of age gap.

A/N:

I wrote something similar for Chris Evans a couple of years ago and wanted to write it now with Lewis bc I liked the concept xxx

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, talks, vents, recommendations or just simple questions are always welcome.

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

Love. It’s a difficult word to understand, even harder to feel. Everyone has felt it at least once, but in different amounts. That’s why people sometimes compare it to chemistry. If you pour in too much, if the balance is even slightly off, it can become dangerous. It can destroy you.

And that’s exactly what happened with you and Lewis. You loved him too much. At least, that’s what your friends told you. They spoke in hushed voices, their pitying eyes following you across rooms, as if love had left you fragile. As if you might shatter if someone breathed too hard in your direction. You’d hear what your therapist had to say about it next week, but you weren’t looking forward to it.

What was she going to tell you anyway? That you had issues to work on, that it wasn’t your fault, and that healing takes time? Nothing you didn’t already know. Nothing you hadn’t told yourself a hundred times over in the dead of night while lying awake, staring at the ceiling, willing yourself not to check your phone. Because you knew there would be nothing from him.

But that didn’t stop you from wanting.

It hurt, like all endings do, but this was different. It hurt that it ended for you, but it also hurt that it never truly started for him. That realization struck you in the middle of the night sometimes, jolting you awake with a sharp pain in your chest. You would reach out for him instinctively, fingers fumbling against empty sheets, the cold linen burning against your skin like ice. The loneliness of your bed mocked you, whispering the truth you had refused to see for so long.

“You should’ve seen this coming, Y/N.”

How could you? He acted, he talked, he listened, and he loved like he was yours. In the 29 years of your life, you had never felt more alive than when you were with him. He made you want to do more, to be more. You remembered the way he used to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, the way his voice softened when he said your name, the way his hands always found yours in crowded places. He was your best boyfriend.

Until he decided he wasn’t.

And looking back, you wondered if he ever really was. If it had all been an illusion, a cruel trick you had played on yourself. You combed through every moment, every smile, every touch, every whispered “I love you,” dissecting it all with a surgeon’s precision, trying to find the exact moment it all went wrong.

Was it the first time he hesitated before saying “I love you” back? The time he forgot your anniversary? The night he turned away when you reached for him? Or had he been leaving you long before that, piece by piece, while you remained blissfully unaware, drowning in a love that only you were truly feeling?

In all honesty, you never thought that someone you loved so much could become the person you hated most. But then again, you can’t hate someone you never truly loved, can you?

“There’s a thin line between love and hate,” someone once told you. “People cross that line all the time. Sometimes, just one word can make you fall in love, and just one word can make you despise someone.”

In your case, it was two.

“I cheated.”

You remembered the way he said it—calm, almost indifferent, like he was commenting on the weather. Like it didn’t matter. Like you didn’t matter.

The world had blurred around you in that moment. Your vision tunneled, sound faded, and for a few seconds, it was just you and those two words, echoing through your skull, carving themselves into your bones. You had expected guilt, regret, maybe even tears. But all you got was a hollow confession and a half-hearted apology that came too late to mean anything.

The worst part? You hadn’t even screamed. You hadn’t cried. You had just stood there, nodding, as if accepting the inevitable. As if you had known all along and had simply been waiting for confirmation.

But that was the thing about love—it made you blind. It made you believe in things that were never real.

And now, you were left with nothing but memories and an emptiness you didn’t know how to fill.

The words still echoed in your mind, playing on a cruel, endless loop. They replayed every time you closed your eyes, every time you saw a couple on the street, every time you passed a place where you had once been happy together. The thought of it made you want to pull your hair out. How had you been so blind? Had love really done this to you? Were you so deeply in love with him that you ignored all the red flags?

No. You weren’t doing this again. You weren’t blaming yourself for someone else’s choices. Lewis had painted all the red flags green with his charm and his words.

Until your tears washed the paint away and revealed the truth.

What hurt the most was that he didn’t care. He didn’t care that you stayed up talking to him for hours when you had early morning meetings. He didn’t care that you flew across the world just to surprise him at his race. He didn’t care that you were always the one encouraging him before every challenge. That realization cut the deepest. Not just that he had hurt you, but that he had never really cared if he did.

He. Simply. Didn’t. Care.

And now, you were left alone, with no one to talk to, no one to travel across time zones for, no one to encourage you.

“Why?”

It was just one word, but it held a thousand meanings.

Why did you cheat on me? Why did you make me believe I was yours? Why did you let me fall in love with you? Why me? Why did you hurt me?

It didn’t matter anymore. He wasn’t worth your tears. He wasn’t worth your anger, your heartbreak, your sleepless nights.

Lewis didn’t deserve your love. Just like he didn’t deserve your pain.

Alcohol. That was his excuse.

"I—I swear, Y/N. I didn't mean to. I had too many drinks, and when I woke up, she was just… there."

Of course, he would blame it on everything but himself. Why would he take responsibility? Lewis Hamilton, the man adored by millions, was a selfish coward when it came to love.

At least he wasn’t a good liar. His stuttering, his clenched jaw, his hands running through his curls—all signs of guilt. He was suffering in front of you, and you should have enjoyed it.

But you didn’t.

Even now, even after everything, you felt sorry for him. Maybe it was because of your mother, who had always told you to see the good in people, to have empathy.

You wished she hadn’t. Especially now.

Deep down, you had known. Lewis had changed, right in front of your eyes. He went from the man who would rather stay in with you, watching movies on a rare free night, to someone who partied and came home at 3 a.m. You blamed it on stress, on pressure, on everything except the truth.

The truth was that it was all him.

“Whatever. I’m done listening to your excuses, done pretending everything is okay. You can’t even lie to me properly, Lewis. And maybe I should’ve known. You never cared about my feelings anyway.”

His silence was louder than any words he could have spoken. But his eyes—they told a story of regret. And you knew, if you stared too long, you’d start believing him again.

So you looked away.

“Please, Y/N. I don’t want to lose you.”

The urge to slap him, to scream, to break something, surged through you. But you held it back. He didn’t deserve the satisfaction of knowing he still had that power over you.

Taking a deep breath, you forced yourself to stand tall.

“And I don’t want to keep waiting, hoping that one day you’ll realize I’m what you want, Lewis. I’m done. I lost someone who never cared about me. But you? You lost someone who would’ve done anything for you.”

His eyes were glassy now, staring straight into yours.

“What are you saying?”

“I was the only one who actually fell in love. You just pretended.”

With that, you grabbed your keys and walked out of his apartment, slamming the door behind you—just like he had slammed shut the door to your heart.

Your first instinct was to drive away as far as possible and never look back. But for some reason, you couldn't. For some silly reason, you looked back to see that he would come after you, begging to stay, but he didn't. The street was empty and cold, just like him.

The moment your forehead touched the steering wheel, your eyes began to cry uncontrollably. Like a leaf in the cold night, your whole body started to shake, and the only thing you could do was cry even harder. It was a blessing you hadn't cried in front of him; you didn't want him to see you vulnerable and broken. Yet every fiber of your being had fought to hold those tears back, and now, they were no longer strong enough to keep them inside. In fact, you didn't want to be strong anymore. All you'd done in life was pretend everything was okay, acting as though words didn't hurt you. As though Lewis didn't hurt you.

You were done.

After drying your face with some tissues you found in your car, you took a deep breath, started the car and started driving.

You had no exact destination in where you wanted to go, you just kept driving. But one thing was clear:

You were never going back. Even if your heart ached, too.

[harunade]

hi moot *bites nails nervously*

imagine step-brother douchebag gyuvin who secretly listens to u touch urself at night and he’s so pent up until he finally does something abt it.. do we see the vision 😼

hi my lovely moot i love u req… need more

stepbro!gyuvin is so mean… he always talks to you rudely and barely has manners, of course he’s like that just around you and your mom encourages you to open up to him (although hes so fine u hate admiting that you would open your legs) “y/n… be kinder to gyuvin! he’s your brother after all” she whines at you all day long. but only you know how mean he really is :(

“move” the mentioned boy pushes you to the side and rushes downstairs, where you all go to eat dinner. as your new dad talks about his day, Gyuvin’s large hand places itself on your thigh. it was something usual for him, even though you shoved his hand off more other than not. he gave you a light squeeze before shoving his face with food once again.

you didn’t want to confess that although he was definitely not nice, he was fine as fuck. you loved how he was so tall you had to throw your head back to look at his beautiful face, with the plumpest most kissable lips. he was fit and you could see his defined muscles through certain clothes. and his hands… don’t even get me started. you imagined them in scenarios you shouldn’t ever be thinking about.

but unbeknownst to you.. Gyuvin had the same image in his head about you!

you really didn’t know what to do for his behaviour towards you to change, but you wanted him so bad. his touches like the one under the table always got you horny. if he could be so mean to you, why can’t he take his anger out on you by shoving his dick in and out of you?

so, you found yourself playing with your pussy at the thought of him. you imagined your smaller fingers to be his, but you knew that they could probably reach your gspot in no time, while you struggled to. whimpers were left out repeatedly, but they were quiet enough for them to only be heard in your room. or that’s what you thought. on the other side of the wall, you stepbrother did nothing but rub his dick while listening to you.

the first time it happened, he thought the gods had blessed him, as he was already painfully hard. who made you wear a short skirt that day..?

“gyuvin…” he thought he was hallucinating.. did you really moan out his name? although your stepbrother stopped his movements right there and then, his cock twitched at the sound of his name. just to make sure, he stuck his ear to the wall, hoping to hear things more clearly. and his fear came true, as you said his name like a mantra again and again

he couldn’t stop and entered your room. unfortunately for you, you didn’t have enough time to readjust your and he caught you in the act. “gyuvin..” you said at the sight of the taller boy at your door. he thought he would burst right there, as you looked so cute, with your hand in your panties and face hot and sweaty.

“oh, sis… you’re such a whore. were you really getting off to me? you’re so lucky i’m here to give you a hand” his tone was cold and a smirk planted on his face. he closed the door behind himself and got on the bed, facing you. “now now, don’t shy away. let me see you” you were obviously embarrassed but you decided to listen to him. you pulled your hand out of your panties and pulled them down at once. Gyuvin was met with your red and throbbing pussy and he almost drooled at the sight. His finger reached down and massaged your clit, making you moan out. “you’re so gross… horny because of your brother” he degraded you as his face pulled down before your aching cunt, where he gave you a lick. his tongue was hot and went, and it gathered most of your slick before swallowing it.

your hand moved to his brown hair as he kept eating at you. he was fast with his mouth, sucking on your clit as his fingers made their way inside you. as you previously thought, he found your gspot in no time. you moaned especially loud when he hit it. “what’s that? were your fingers too short to reach up here? it’s okay, i’ll take care of my little sister” he had the look of a drunk man in his eyes, obviously you had the same effect on him that he had on you.

he continued lapping at your pussy and aggressively fingering you until you fell apart on his tongue. “fuck.. gyuv” he slightly humped the bed as his name escaped from your mouth again and again. hell, Gyuvin couldn’t get enough of you. you tasted sweet and the thought of how forbbiden this whole interaction was made everything better.

after your stepbrother was done cleaning you, he got up and kissed you. his lips were harsh against yours, eating at you hungrly. his hands grabbed your face, pulling you closer and you gave back the same energy. you moaned in his mouth as he bit down on your lower lip. “fuck, baby.. didn’t know you had that in you” he said as he was getting ready to leave. he couldn’t risk being in there for too long, as it was still not bedtime and it would bring suspicions to find the two of you together.

before he left, you grabbed his hand. “wait… come back later?” you smiled at him while still catching your breath. he gave you a genuine smile. “of course, princess. don’t touch yourself anymore, i’ll do it for you” he winked at you.

[badasoneandonly]

𝘚𝘒𝘐𝘕𝘕𝘠 || 𝘏𝘞𝘈𝘕𝘎 𝘐𝘕-𝘏𝘖 × 𝘙𝘌𝘈𝘋𝘌𝘙

𝘞𝘤: 1,200𝘬

𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺:

Y/N struggles with self-image until Hwang In-Ho’s support helps her begin healing and finding self-acceptance.

𝘎𝘌𝘕𝘙𝘌:

¡𝘌𝘈𝘛𝘐𝘕𝘎 𝘋𝘐𝘚𝘖𝘙𝘋𝘌𝘙! 𝘈𝘕𝘖𝘙𝘌𝘟𝘐𝘊/𝘉𝘜𝘓𝘓𝘔𝘐𝘊 𝘙𝘌𝘈𝘋𝘌𝘙! 𝘈𝘕𝘎𝘚𝘛, 𝘔𝘌𝘕𝘛𝘈𝘓 𝘏𝘌𝘈𝘓𝘛𝘏, 𝘚𝘈𝘋 𝘓𝘖𝘝𝘌, 𝘋𝘙𝘈𝘔𝘈, 𝘚𝘓𝘐𝘊𝘌 𝘖𝘍 𝘓𝘐𝘍𝘌, 𝘗𝘚𝘠𝘊𝘏𝘖𝘓𝘖𝘎𝘐𝘊𝘈𝘓 𝘙𝘖𝘔𝘈𝘕𝘊𝘌

𝘈/𝘯: 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘭 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦, 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘪 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘯𝘰 𝘪 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘻𝘦 𝘪𝘵. 𝘐 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘮𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘺 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯. 𝘈𝘯𝘺𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘞𝘌 𝘊𝘈𝘕 𝘖𝘝𝘌𝘙𝘊𝘖𝘔𝘌 𝘛𝘏𝘐𝘚!!

Y/N stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, her fingers gripping the edges of the sink so tightly her knuckles turned white. The harsh fluorescent light above cast sharp shadows across her face, highlighting the hollows of her cheeks, the exhaustion in her eyes, and every perceived imperfection that her mind cruelly magnified.

Her gaze trailed over her body, lingering on the parts she hated the most—the curve of her stomach, the softness of her thighs, the way her arms weren’t as toned as they once were.

"If you just tried harder, you could look better."

"Why can't you be like the others? Perfect, slim, beautiful."

"You’ll never be enough like this."

The voice in her head was relentless, growing louder over the past few months. What started as a simple desire to “be healthier” had spiraled into something darker, something that consumed her every thought.

Skipping meals had become second nature. Hunger was no longer a sign of need but a twisted sense of accomplishment. When she did eat, guilt crept in immediately after, dragging her to the bathroom where she would undo her “mistakes.”

She knew, deep down, that this wasn’t normal. That this wasn’t okay. But the fear of losing control, of gaining even a single pound, outweighed every rational thought.

A sudden knock on the door jolted her out of her spiral.

“Y/N?”

Her breath hitched. She quickly wiped at her eyes, willing away any sign of distress before unlocking the bathroom door.

Hwang In-Ho stood in the doorway, concern etched into his features. His dark eyes softened as they met hers, scanning her face with a quiet intensity.

“Are you okay?” His voice was gentle, careful, as if afraid of pushing too hard.

Y/N forced a tight smile. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired.”

But In-Ho wasn’t convinced.

He had noticed the changes—the way her once bright eyes had dulled, how her clothes hung loosely on her frame, how she barely ate anymore. Most troubling of all, he had seen the way she slipped into the bathroom after meals, only to emerge looking pale and shaken.

“Y/N,” he murmured, tilting his head to catch her gaze. “Talk to me. Please.”

She looked away, her hands twisting nervously in front of her. “There’s nothing to talk about, In-Ho. Really.”

“Don’t do that,” he said, his tone firm but still gentle. “Don’t shut me out.”

Her chest tightened. She wanted to believe she could handle this on her own. That she didn’t need help. That she wasn’t as broken as she felt.

But the weight of her silence was suffocating.

“I…” Her voice cracked. “I just… I don’t feel like myself anymore.”

In-Ho’s heart clenched. He had his suspicions about what she was going through, but hearing it confirmed sent a pang of helplessness through him.

“Y/N…” He reached out, hesitating before resting a hand on her shoulder. “You are yourself. You’re just… struggling. And that’s okay. But you don’t have to go through this alone.”

Her throat tightened, emotions welling up so quickly she barely had time to suppress them.

She didn’t want to cry. Not in front of him.

But when he pulled her into a gentle embrace, she felt something inside her crack.

She let herself lean into him, closing her eyes as his warmth enveloped her. For the first time in a long time, she felt safe.

In the days that followed, In-Ho paid closer attention to Y/N’s behavior. Every skipped meal, every excuse about not being hungry, every time she disappeared into the bathroom after eating—it all added up to a pattern he couldn’t ignore.

One evening, after preparing dinner—a simple soup he had carefully cooked himself—he watched as Y/N barely touched her bowl. She pushed the food around with her spoon, offering him a forced smile.

“I’m not that hungry,” she said lightly.

He wanted to argue, to tell her he knew what she was doing, but he held back. Pushing too hard might only make her retreat further.

So instead, he nodded, pretending to accept her words.

But as soon as she excused herself and slipped away to the bathroom, he quietly followed. His heart pounded as he pressed his ear against the door.

Then, he heard it.

The sound of retching.

His stomach twisted.

“Y/N…” he whispered, his voice breaking.

He waited a moment before knocking on the door, his hand trembling. “Y/N, open the door.”

There was a long pause before she responded, her voice small and shaky. “I’m fine, In-Ho. Just give me a minute.”

But he couldn’t wait. He wouldn’t wait.

“Please, Y/N,” he pleaded. “Open the door. Let me help you.”

When the lock finally clicked open, In-Ho pushed the door open gently. Y/N stood there, her eyes red, her cheeks streaked with tears. She looked up at him, her expression a mix of shame and despair.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Without hesitation, he stepped forward and wrapped her in his arms. “Don’t apologize,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “You don’t have to go through this alone.”

She broke down completely, sobbing into his chest as the weight of her struggles came crashing down.

“I’m so tired, In-Ho,” she whispered. “I’m tired of feeling like this. I’m tired of hating myself.”

“I know,” he said softly, stroking her hair. “But you don’t have to do this anymore. We’ll get through this together. I promise.”

In-Ho didn’t have all the answers. He wasn’t an expert in mental health. But he loved Y/N. And he refused to let her fight this battle alone.

He started making small changes to their routine—subtle, thoughtful adjustments designed to help her without overwhelming her.

He began cooking meals with her instead of for her, turning it into a shared activity instead of a pressure-filled moment. He encouraged her to take small bites, never pushing, only praising her for every step forward.

He left little notes around the apartment:

You are enough.

You don’t have to be perfect to be loved.

Your worth isn’t measured by a number on a scale.

He reminded her, gently but consistently, that she didn’t need to punish herself. That she was more than enough just as she was.

But it wasn’t easy.

There were days when Y/N struggled to believe him, when the voice in her head drowned out his kindness. Days when she backslid, when the guilt consumed her, when she felt undeserving of his love.

On those days, In-Ho held her a little tighter.

On those nights, he whispered reassurances until she fell asleep in his arms, exhausted but a little less alone.

And slowly, ever so slowly, she began to believe him.

One evening, after a particularly difficult day, Y/N rested her head on In-Ho’s shoulder as they sat on the couch together.

Her eyes were heavy with exhaustion, but for the first time in a long time, there was a glimmer of peace in her expression.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

“For what?” he asked, his fingers brushing gently against hers.

“For not giving up on me,” she whispered. “Even when I wanted to give up on myself.”

In-Ho pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, his own eyes misting over.

“I’ll never give up on you, Y/N. No matter what.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Y/N let herself believe that maybe—just maybe—she could learn to love herself again.

One step at a time.

𝘛𝘢𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵 @warlabels @xcinnamonmalfoyx @ehcausewhynot @m0rtifiedg0th @crystalizia @floweradroble1123 @hwang-inhosb1tch

𝘈/𝘯: 𝘐 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘭𝘦𝘨𝘪𝘵 𝘤𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴, 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘪 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 (𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘮 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳) 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪 𝘢𝘭𝘴𝘰 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘪 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘬 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯 :)) 𝘪 𝘢𝘭𝘴𝘰 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘢𝘺 𝘪'𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘪���𝘨 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘴𝘰 𝘪𝘧 𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘢 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘣𝘰𝘹𝘹 𝘹𝘰𝘹𝘰.

[joelalorian]

Under False Pretenses - Chapter Five

Stepdad!Dave York x f!reader | wc: 5014 | masterlist

Summary: A challenging mission, whirlwind marriage, and an unexpected yet captivating stepdaughter push Dave York to the brink as secrets, feelings, and loyalties collide.

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ mdni. Stepdad trope. Unspecified age gap. More yearning. Feelings are acknowledged. Soft, sexy, and intense Dave. Domestic Dave. Good Dad kink. We like thick thighs in this house and so does Dave. Nicknames and terms of endearment. Mummy is a whole lotta bitch. No use of y/n. No smut in this chapter, but the plot is coming out to play.

Series Masterlist

Ranger became your shadow, watching over you in the basement suite overnight, riding shotgun in the car during the day when you’d drop off and pick up the girls from school. He lavished the girls with attention just as you did, running and yipping with delight through the backyard as they played.

Knowing that Ranger would be your and his girls' constant companion, Dave trained him to be a guard dog and a pet. He hoped Ranger would protect the three of you when he could not. After connecting with a K9 officer he knew from his military days, he worked with the pup daily, teaching him commands that he also taught you. Within a few months, Ranger transformed into a diligent yet playful dog twice the size of the little pup you found in the park.

Your mother hated all of it – having the dog in the house, the extra time Dave spent training the thing, and how he and the dog gravitated towards you. Yet Dave wasn’t bothered by it. In fact, he took joy in spending more and more time with the girls and you and Ranger, finding moments every day to dote over the four of you, almost like he was rubbing it into his wife’s face.

You didn’t know what to make of it, their relationship. It left you morally conflicted, the initial crush on your stepdad evolving with each passing week and growing into strong feelings for the man you came to learn more and more about after a few months. How could you be falling in love with your stepfather?

They had therapists for this sort of thing, right?

On the flip side of that, you watched your mom grasp harder, tighter to a man who seemed less and less interested by the day – and you began to wonder how they even got together in the first place. As curious as you were, you didn’t have the stomach to ask either of them, not with the deep feelings you had for Dave.

As the holiday season approached, Dave started traveling for work more and more as the couple’s outings lessened. Unfortunately, that left your mom home with nothing to do but work and nitpick your every move, driving you crazy. And the more Dave was away, the less your mom wanted to do with the girls.

“I don’t think your mom likes us much,” Alice told you quietly one morning while you helped her get ready for school.

Your heart clenched for the young girl, knowing how she felt. Your mom was never very good with children, not even her own. She was too selfish to put another’s needs first all the time as a good parent did. You thought it might be due to having you so young, but she never grew out of it.

“What makes you say that sweetie?” you inquired, needing to know exactly how much of a negative impact your mom was having on these sweet girls.

“I don’t know.” The little girl shrugged with a heavy sigh, staring at her feet while you brushed her brown locks.

“You can tell me anything. You know that, right? I will never get mad at you,” you promised, fingers working Alice’s hair into two neat braids once the tangles were gone.

“Promise?” Her eyes were sad yet hopeful, searching yours. You melted, holding out your pinky to Alice.

When she curled her small pinky around your larger one, you winked. “Pinky promise.” You finished tying off the braids and Alice climbed into your lap, Molly soon joining you on the bed. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”

“Lisa got mad when we told Daddy we didn’t want to call her ‘Mommy’. He said we didn’t have to because she wasn’t our mom, but she yelled at us, saying we needed to respect our elders and call them what we’re told to call them.”

Mouth dropping open in shock, you hugged the girls tight. God, your mom could be such a bitch sometimes. What did Dave even see in her? Why did he put up with her bullshit?

“I’m sorry, sweeties. My mom can be… a lot, sometimes. But your dad is right. She’s not your mom and while you should be respectful, you don’t have to do everything she tells you. If you doubt something she asks or tells you to do or say, talk to your dad or come to me. Ok?”

Your hands ran over their heads soothingly and they clutched at your sides. Ranger whined at your feet as if supporting what you just told them.

“Ok,” Alice replied in a small voice, Molly nodding in agreement with her older sister.

After dropping them off at school, you texted Dave that you wanted to talk to him about the girls when he came home. He responded immediately, letting you know he’d be home that evening, and you could talk then.

You spent much of the morning and early afternoon tidying up the house and doing laundry, wanting there to be one less thing for Dave to worry about when he returned. Your mom came home from the office by early afternoon, and you immediately wanted a change of scenery just to get away from her after what Alice told you that morning. You weren’t in the mood for a confrontation, but you doubted you could keep your mouth shut if your mom provoked you.

Figuring you’d kill an hour at your favorite café before picking up the girls from school, you headed into town. It was a beautiful winter day, brisk yet the sun peeked through small breaks in the clouds as the scent of snow hung in the air. The kind of day you loved in the northeast.

The café was moderately busy with the late lunch crowd when you arrived, many of the tables occupied but no line at the counter. Placing an order, you glanced around for an open table when your eyes fell on a familiar broad form and the blood drained from your face.

His neighbor Roger setup this meeting then had the fucking audacity to not show up, leaving Dave sitting at a corner table of the café you told him about with a beautiful woman who was another major player in his team’s investigation.

On the one hand, Roger pissed him off flaking out like that – probably had a date with his mistress or some shit – but on the other? Who was Dave to complain about having a late lunch with a beautiful woman, even if she happened to be on the wrong side of the law.

As conversation went on, Dave flirted a little, ingratiating himself to the woman who served as the intermediary between the Russians and the traitorous military operator they were seeking to find with this operation. He wanted this mission done asap, so he’d do just about anything to get it over with.

The woman, Anna, made no attempt to hide her flirting, stretching forward across the table to run a long-nailed finger down his forearm before coyly sliding her chair around the table, closer to his side. A chill ran down his spine when she reached over, scraping those fire engine red nails through the thick hair at the base of his head. “Perhaps once our business is done, we could meet somewhere a little more… private.”

Quirking an eyebrow, Dave’s eyes catalogued her features – wavy, brunette hair artfully styled to flow around her shoulders, porcelain skin, lips painted ruby red, a small mole on her right cheek. Undisputedly pretty, yet he felt nothing but discomfort when she touched him. The idea of taking this somewhere private just to move the investigation along repulsed him. All he could think when he glanced between the ring on his left hand and this undeniably gorgeous woman was the fact that she wasn’t… you.

“Perhaps,” he finally replied, voice and brow pinched with confliction. Thoughts and feelings for you were beginning to interfere with his work. That was not good.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dave spotted a flash of something familiar, and his gaze slid past Anna toward the counter. He fought not to show any surprise on his face when your eyes met his across the busy café, momentarily forgetting about the woman’s hands still being on him. Fuck.

An inscrutable expression crossed your face, and you spun on your heels, clearly asking the barista for your order to go. Dave yearned to go to you, to insist that this wasn’t what it looked like, but he couldn’t risk it. He needed to gain Anna’s trust, to keep his focus on her for now. Even if he had zero plans of taking it any further than a business deal, he needed to give the woman the illusion that there could be more.

He watched, longing hidden behind his cold, dark chocolate eyes as you fled the café with hunched shoulders and coffee in hand, never looking back at him.

Anna noticed his distraction, tilting her head to search for whatever captured his attention. “Something more interesting than me?” she purred, her body matching her voice in the way she arched toward his side like a minx.

Swallowing down his thoughts of you, Dave returned his full attention to Anna. Forcing a chuckle, he shook his head. He couldn’t keep up the flirty banter, shifting back to business, solidifying plans for a meeting the following week.

The meeting came to its natural conclusion then, and Dave lifted Anna’s hand to his lips, placing a kiss on her knuckles to maintain the role he was meant to play. “I’ll see you soon.”

“I will have you in my bed this time next week, handsome. And once you’re there, you’ll never want to leave. I promise.” She glanced down at the ring on his left hand with a smirk while Dave fought back a shudder.

Once back in his SUV, Dave shed the mask and let the guilt wash over him for all the lies he had to keep hidden and the cover he had to maintain.

He arrived home expecting to find you there, yet your car was nowhere in sight. Dave groaned when he pulled into the garage next to Lisa’s parked car. She was home earlier than expected and he did not have the patience to deal with her right then.

He just really wanted to talk to you.

With your heart in your throat, you parked the car at the environmental park, relieved that you decided to bring Ranger as your wingman. He sniffed happily at the ground as you walked along the well-worn path trying to make sense of what you saw and how you felt about it.

That woman, with the body of a vixen, all glossy hair and painted lips… basically, sex on a god damned stick. Who was she? Why were her talons all over Dave?

Was he cheating on your mom?

It sure seemed like it. It also seemed like he wasn’t trying to hide it, letting the vixen paw all over him in public like that.

Why did it feel like a punch to your gut, like he was cheating on you?

Nausea bubbled in your stomach as Ranger led you along the path, and you gulped down a lung full of air to fight the feeling. As if the man could read your thoughts from miles away, your phone buzzed with an incoming text.

Dave: Where are you, Firecracker? We need to talk.

You left him on read, not yet sure how you wanted to respond or even what you’d say. Your emotions were all over the place.

All the strange things you noticed over the past few months started piling up, but you still couldn’t find logic in any of it. The only thing that made even a lick of sense to your mind was that Dave was a philandering asshole who just wanted to look like the good ol’ family man to his peers while doing whatever he wanted when no one was watching.

You worked yourself into a state by the time you picked the girls up and brought them home, having picked up pizza for dinner along the way. There was no way you were hanging out in the kitchen making dinner for everyone that evening. Fuck that. You didn’t even want to be in that damned house right now.

The girls were barely through the door when you dumped the pizza on the kitchen island and bolted with Ranger hot on your heels, skulking in your basement hideout as you heard Dave greet his daughters. His deep, rumbling voice – the one you got off to memories of just the night before – suddenly made you feel dirty. Like somehow, the thought of him cheating on your mom with some random woman seemed worse than the salacious thoughts you’ve entertained of him cheating on her with you.

For fucks sake. You were upset that your stepdad might be cheating on your mom with someone other than you. You wanted him to cheat on her with you, ached for it. What the fuck was wrong with you? You were an awful person.

Unable to sit still, you paced the below-grade living space under Ranger’s watchful eye, desperate for something to take your mind off the man upstairs… off your mother… and off the pitiful life you were currently leading. You needed to get out of that fucking house for the night, if not forever.

You heard the door from the hall upstairs open and rushed into the bathroom, knowing it was Dave headed down the stairs. You did not have the emotional bandwidth to deal with this situation. Feeling safer behind the locked door, you turned the shower on and picked some music on your phone, turning the volume up as loud as possible when you still heard the soft tap of his knuckles on the door.

On the other side of the door, Ranger whined, and Dave patted his head. Sighing when the music turned louder, he looked down at the dog. “Come on, bud. She doesn’t want to deal with us right now,” Dave told the pup. “Let’s go upstairs for dinner.”

He’d let you avoid him, for now.

An hour later, you slipped from the house using the private entrance. The crisp evening air made you glad you were dressed in jeans, boots, and a sweater beneath your winter coat as you walked the sleepy neighborhood streets toward the small downtown area. You’d get an app ride home if you drank too much, but for now, it was refreshing to walk. The movement helped to clear your mind of… well, everything.

You needed to make some friends in town, you decided. Too long since you last had a girls' night or even a close friend to bitch about things with. During your time together, your ex-boyfriend isolated you from your friends without you even realizing it until suddenly, you had no friends left and the only person you could turn to was him, or your mom. He at least allowed you to maintain that contact. Probably because he knew your relationship with her was tense at times. Once again single, and in control of your own life (well, mostly), you were eager for socialization.

Dave couldn’t stand it. He gave you some time to make sense of what you saw earlier, but a couple hours later he went in search of you, unwilling to give any more space or time. He needed to know what you thought you saw; what you thought you knew. And, whether or not you planned to speak to your mother or anyone else about it. He needed to speak with you ASAP.

Slipping from the living room where your mom sat watching some ridiculous reality show now that the girls were in bed, Dave ventured down to the basement. He searched the suite for you and came up empty.

You must have snuck out through the private entrance. Was it sneaking if you were an adult free to come and go as you pleased?

Frustrated with his wandering thoughts, Dave shook his head and pulled his phone from his pocket as his body sank onto your bed, laying back against your pillows. The scent of you enveloped him.

Using an app that he stealthily downloaded on your phone – you had a shit ton of apps, and he figured you’d hardly notice a new one in the mix – Dave tracked your location. It was for safety, his girls and yours, he rationalized at the time, that same rationale easing his guilt at tracking you down now.

In reality, he just liked being in control. And knowing where you were was one way of maintaining that control when he could do little else when it came to you.

The app showed you at McCready’s, a hip little pub in town Dave visited a few times. He could see you liking it there. Did you go alone? Were you there to meet someone? A man? Were you going to go home with whomever you met? Would you bring them here or go to their place?

Dave’s thoughts spiraled as your scent surrounded him until he finally jumped up from your bed. He couldn’t stay there, in your room, without your consent, not like this. He needed to see you, again he rationalized, as he rushed back up the stairs to change. Throwing on a pair of jeans and a henley, Dave slipped on a jacket and grabbed his keys.

From the kitchen, he called to Lisa, interrupting her focus on that ridiculous show. “I’m going to meet up with the boys for a bit. Keep an eye on the girls while I’m gone.”

Lisa’s expression transformed from annoyance to interest. “Where are you meeting them? Maybe I want to go too.”

“Nowhere you’d want to go. Besides, you can’t. You’re the only adult home.” Dave spun on his heels to avoid further discussion, ignoring Lisa’s demand to know where you were and why you couldn’t watch the girls as he slipped on his shoes and entered the garage.

Pulling out of the garage, he was surprised to see your car still in the driveway. Did you walk or catch a ride with someone? It didn’t matter. He knew where you were, and he was on his way.

The parking lot was full to bursting with the Friday night crowd, forcing Dave to circle the block before finding a spot a street or two away. He stepped out into the crisp night air, pulling his jacket tighter as a cold wind cut through the alleyway. The walk from the car to the bar was agonizing as his thoughts clamored about in his head. He hadn’t meant to track you down – at least, that’s what he tried to tell himself, but even he knew that was a lie – and now that he was outside the bar, there was no way in hell he’d turn back.

McCready’s pulsed with the low thrum of conversation and music playing from the overhead speakers, dimly lit by the warm glow of string lights. Dave’s gaze darted across the crowded area, homing in on you almost instantly.

Perched on a barstool, your body angled slightly away with an elbow resting on the counter as you twirled a half-empty glass of wine in your hand. The soft light of the bar illuminated your features, catching the faint sheen of makeup and the gloss on your lips as they moved in polite conversation with the man beside you.

Dave’s stomach twisted painfully. Was that a laugh? It was. He watched as your head tilted back, a smile lighting up your face, transforming the air around you.

The ache in his chest grew sharper. He longed to be the one, the only one, to make you laugh like that.

Dave froze just inside the doorway, his feet refusing to move for a moment. Forcing himself forward, Dave weaved through the crowd with practiced ease. As he approached your spot, he caught snippets of the man’s voice – a deep, gravelly tone trying too hard to sound charming.

You smiled again, soft and indulgent, but this time Dave caught the slight downturn of your eyes, the way your fingers tightened around your glass, knee bouncing. It wasn’t real, he realized. You weren’t charmed. You were merely entertaining the guy without any better options.

It didn’t matter. This guy didn’t matter.

But the knot in his stomach only grew as the man leant closer, his hand brushing yours on the counter. Every instinct in Dave’s body screamed at him to intervene; to stake a claim he had no right to make. Not yet.

Dave stepped closer, feeling a magnetized pull toward you, until he stood at your back, close enough to see the faint tension in your shoulders, to catch the faintest scent of your perfume over the haze of spilled beer and warm bodies. His chest tightened, the magnetism of your presence nearly overwhelming.

The man stood as tall as Dave, with a thicker build, light brown hair on his head, and facial hair shaggy and in need of a trim. Gray shot throughout it, along with crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes. The guy was older than Dave by a handful of years, it seemed (and less attractive if Dave said so himself). Could that be the type of man you were attracted to? Unkempt jackasses with dad bods?

“Since you’re new in town, we should go out sometime. I could take you to dinner and show you all the popular spots.”

You hummed noncommittally in response, and the man kept trying. Dave didn’t catch his name.

“I have a sailboat,” the man said, his voice tinged with smugness. “I could take you out for a sunset cruise. Just us, the water, and a bottle of champagne.”

Dave’s jaw clenched, his teeth grinding audibly. A fucking sailboat? Who was this guy, Captain looking for his Tennille?

“Oh, I love sailing!” Your voice was too bright, your laugh too easy. “My best friend from college raced competitively. I used to love watching the races!”

Dave barely heard the rest of the conversation, his vision narrowing as he fixated on the subtle tilt of your head, the way you played along, humoring the bastard. His fingers curled into fists, and for a brief, irrational moment, he imagined how satisfying it would be to plant one of them right in the guy’s smug face.

Then the man made his move.

“So,” he said, leaning closer still, “how about we get out of here?”

Fearing you would say yes, Dave lost all sense of reason. He moved before you could answer, his hand finding your arm, the firm grip startling you. “That won’t be happening,” Dave growled, his expression menacing.

You whipped around, wide-eyed and furious. “What are you doing?” you hissed at Dave, eyes burning holes through him.

The other man straightened, his brows furrowing as he glanced between you and Dave. “Is this guy bothering you?”

You couldn’t pull your eyes from the way Dave’s dark ones bored into you, pleading for you to speak to him.

Dave didn’t flinch under the other man’s glare. “No, I’m not bothering her. Nor is she leaving with you.” His tone left no room for argument.

Yanking your arm free of Dave’s iron grip, you heaved an exasperated sigh and shot Dave a glare before turning your attention back to the man you’d been talking to. “Sadly, no. He’s not bothering me. He’s… my stepdad.”

The word hit Dave like a physical blow, your tone drenched in bitterness. You were so much more than that if only you knew the truth.

The man blinked, clearly caught off guard. “So, you’re not—”

“Not a chance in hell,” Dave snapped, cutting him off. His gaze remained fixed on you, the weight of his dark chocolate stare unbearable.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Dave!” You slumped back against the bar as the other guy walked away, your voice trembling with barely contained anger, and maybe a hint of something else. “What is wrong with you? What are you even doing here?”

Stepping closer, Dave let his voice dip and soften. “Just looking for you… looking out for you,” he replied simply, the tension falling from his shoulders now that your focus was back on him. The cacophony of the bar faded to nothing, the only sound he cared about was your breathing, your sweet voice.

A pit of yearning grew in Dave’s stomach as your hooded gazes clashed. He never knew a feeling like this pull toward you and for all his reputed self-discipline, Dave was but a man powerless against a woman, when that woman was you. He knew how wrong it was given the circumstances, but nothing ever felt so right.

Dave York needed you like he never needed anyone before, not even his first wife. Visceral, this thing between you, and he thought – no, he knew – you felt it too. How could you not?

Giving in, refusing to question it any further, Dave slid his hand over yours, twining your smaller fingers with his larger ones, and ever so gently pulled you to stand next to him.

“Let’s get out of here.”

Mouth popping open slightly, a fire burned suddenly bright in your eyes, fingers curling tighter in his grasp. There was no mistaking it now. You felt it, too, this magnetized thing pulling the two of you together. A smirk crossed his lips when you nodded dazedly.

Now that he touched you, Dave could not bring himself to let go of your hand. He didn’t care who saw, not that he knew anyone in this crowd anyway. Skin soft and enticing, he wanted to touch more of it, more of you, until he mapped every square inch of your body.

The night air had grown colder while you were inside, sending a shiver down your body and Dave pulled you closer as he led the way to his SUV. Silence reigned during the walk across the parking lot and down the sidewalk, lingering during the length of the five-minute drive back to the house.

Mind whirring visibly behind your eyes, Dave glanced at you often. Finally, just as he pulled into the driveway, the house sitting dark as night as he eased the vehicle into the garage, Dave cracked.

“Penny for your thoughts,” he murmured once the ignition turned off.

“They’re hardly worth that.” Wide eyes met his, lips turned up at the sides into an almost smile. “I don’t even know where to start,” you admitted.

Nodding, Dave opened his door. “Come on, we’ll talk down in the basement.” Rushing out of the car before you even had a chance to move, he opened the passenger door and helped you out of the vehicle. Like magnets, your fingers entwined with his of their own accord as he led you through the private entrance to the basement.

“Are you cheating on my mom?” you blurted, body flopping down onto the couch and sinking back into the cushions, Dave beside you still grasping your hand. He refused to lessen his grip despite your gentle attempts to pull it away.

“No.”

A firm answer. A full sentence in one word.

You didn’t know whether to feel relieved or pissed off. His dark eyes darted back and forth between your own, searching for something, anything hidden in your gaze.

“Then what was all that,” you gestured wildly with your free hand, “at the café? That… woman… was all over you. Is that how you usually behave when no one’s around to catch you?”

Dave gazed at you with those big, brown, puppy eyes, yearning for you to see him, really see into the depths of him. “Of course not,” he insisted. “I can’t say much, but that was part of an assignment, a role I have to play to get this particular job done. Nothing has – or will – ever happen with that woman. I promise.”

You believed him, though you could tell there was more he wished he could say. “Ok.”

“Was that why you ran off and ignored me all day? Because you thought I was cheating on your mom?”

His voice was low, you shuddered at both his words and how they washed over you. Was that why you reacted so?

No, not really.

You couldn’t hold back the truth with the way he looked at you, his thumb caressing your knuckles drawing delightful chills to run down your spine. For a moment – just a brief moment – you allowed yourself to believe that he might feel the same way about you, might have a debilitating crush on you as well. That’s why you sputtered out the truth.

“N-no…” you stuttered, clearing your throat roughly. “No, that’s not why I ran.”

“Then why?” Eyes pleading, he squeezed your hand, encouraging you to explain.

“To be honest, I was hurt.” Pausing, your gaze dropped from his eyes to his lips, before darting back to meet the dark heat in his gaze again until you could no longer bear to look at him as you blurted out the dark truth. “Hurt that you would cheat with someone like that and not with… me. How fucked up is that?”

After a beat, then two of silence, you chanced a look at him. Your breath caught in your chest as his eyes widened impossibly further, pink tongue darting out to lick his plump bottom lip as he stared back at you, everything about him intense. Dave turned fully towards you on the couch, taking your other hand in his to pull you into his lap.

“That’s exactly why nothing will happen with that woman. She’s not you.” Dave leaned forward ever so slowly, placing the softest kiss upon your lips. It lasted only a second, but it changed everything.

tbc

Chapter Six

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[tomlivingspace]

banging on the table RANT ABOUT TIGERHEART!!!

the thing about tigerheart is like. he meets dovewing as dovepaw when the group from all the clans goes on the beaver expedition. his FIRST interaction with her is after they run into dogs and he says "don't worry dovepaw, i'll protect you". and from that point forward he proceeds to seek her out.

jayfeather finds tigerheart lurking on the wrong side of thunderclan border. the next day, dovepaw recognizes tigerheart's scent during a patrol. she confront him out of earshot of the rest of their patrols, and he asks her not to tell anyone it was him, and that he'll explain it to her during the gathering.

during the gathering, tigerheart makes a point to get dovepaw alone. he then basically goes "we're friends right? if i trust you, will you trust me? :)" and proceeds to not tell her what he was doing. dovepaw extends physical contact because she can tell something's bothering him, and then he proceeds to get VERY VERY close to her.

"He seemed desperate for her to understand. She curled her tail to touch the tip of his. He stiffened at her touch, but didn’t draw his tail away; instead, he leaned forward and rested his nose against her ear fur...The warmth of his breath on her ear made her shiver. It smelled sweet, for a ShadowClan cat's breath." (Fading Echos, 69)

Dovepaw pulls away after realizing how close together they are. the MOMENT another cat comes even somewhat close to where they are, tigerheart RUNS away despite them being at a gathering.

they bump into each other while dovepaw is on patrol again, and dovepaw accidentally wanders into shadowclan territory. she apologizes, and tigerheart says, "'It's okay. I trust you. We're friends, right?'" (Fading Echos, 123). he then once again gets very physically close to her, pressing his muzzle against hers. they talk casually for a little, but he keeps going back and forth from casual to intimate which makes dovepaw uncomfortable.

“I tried to visit Sedgewhisker, you know...But everyone got so angry with me!...But I was worried about her. We’re all Clan cats, aren't we? Is it wrong to care about one another?” Tigerheart gazed into her eyes. “No, it isn’t.” Suddenly feeling self-conscious, Dovepaw looked away. “Do you remember when the dam burst?” Tigerheart’s mew was brisk, as though he could sense her discomfort and wanted to distract her. “The river nearly washed us to StarClan.” He stood up and began to knead the ground. “And we had to cling to nothing but branches to keep our heads above water.” He leaped for a low twig jutting from a pine trunk and swung by his forepaws. Dovepaw purred with amusement. “What about trying to drag the logs out of the dam? That was like trying to pull the forest up by its roots!” “I thought you were so brave!” Tigerheart told her. “You were braver,” she argued. “No way! I was terrified!” “I couldn't tell.” Dovepaw found herself staring into his soft amber eyes. Words dried on her tongue. (Fading Echos, 123-124)

god sorry really quick aside im skimming to find the correct context and i fucking hate flametail's pov. anyway. they bump into each other AGAIN and tigerheart talks about how much he hates borders. he then asks to see dovepaw that night. when they meet, tigerheart takes her outside of clan territory. they play around, and all of a sudden, once again, he starts to get really intimate with her and asks to be her mate.

“Without you, I’d be dead now. You’re my hero. How can I possibly thank you?” Dovepaw lifted her chin, playing along. “You must bring me mice,” she mewed haughtily. “And a fresh squirrel every day for a moon. And new moss for my nest. And . . .” She flicked his chin with her tail-tip. “You must follow me around all day and pick the burrs out of my pelt.” The playfulness drained from Tigerheart’s warm amber gaze. Dovepaw tensed, wondering if she’d teased him too much. “I’d gladly do all that for you.” His mew was as steady as his gaze. “You didn’t have to save my life first.” Dovepaw stared back. “I didn’t really save your life,” she whispered. “It was just a tiny crack. That log could still hold your weight.” “Maybe,” Tigerheart agreed. “But you were worried about me. That means you care, right?” Dovepaw saw doubt flicker in the young ShadowClan warrior’s gaze. “I mean, you care more than if we were just friends?” he pressed. Dovepaw swallowed. For the first time she actually felt like she had the power of the stars in her paws. “Yes,” she breathed. “Yes, I care.” Her heart twisted in her chest, half in pain, half in joy. “I shouldn’t, but I do.” A purr rose deep in her chest as Tigerheart leaned forward and touched his muzzle to hers. Their breath billowed into a single cloud. He twisted his tail around hers, and warmth spread beneath her pelt. Tigerheart sighed. “We’d better get back, before we’re missed.” He pulled away, but only far enough to let her get to her paws. Together they padded to the nest entrance, fur brushing fur. They paused on the smooth rock, and Dovepaw stared out at the forest stretching down toward the distant lake. “This is going to work, right?” “Yes,” Tigerheart promised. “No boundaries are ever going to be strong enough to separate us.” Dovepaw blinked at him. “Really?” She wanted to believe it. She had to believe it. Nothing had ever felt so important. “Let’s meet again before half-moon,” Tigerheart suggested. “Tomorrow.” Dovepaw felt bold. “Do you think we could leave camp two nights in a row?” Tigerheart’s eyes widened. “You’d take that risk?” “It’s worth it.” She brushed his cheek with her nose. His scent felt warm on her tongue. He was hers now. He didn’t belong to ShadowClan. They belonged to each other. (Night Whispers, 57)

after this point tigerheart makes a big deal about how dovepaw's denmates would notice her absence, to which she replies that only ivypaw is in the apprentice den with her right now. anyway. they part. eventually ivpaw finds out about their meetings. she confronts dovepaw about it, reveals to her that tigerheart is training in the dark forest. dovepaw accuses ivypaw of being jealous of tigerheart's romantic interest in her.

"That’s not true! You’re just jealous!” Dovepaw shrieked at her sister. She couldn’t believe these lies. “You’re jealous that I’m a better warrior than you. I always have been and I always will be, and you can’t stand it. And now you’re jealous that Tigerheart loves me and not you! You want to destroy everything I’ve got because you’re jealous. That’s all!” Ivypaw’s eyes gleamed. “Really? Why not ask Tigerheart?” “Shut up!” Dovepaw scrambled up the bank. “If you tell anyone that I’m seeing Tigerheart, then I’ll tell the whole Clan you’ve been training in the Dark Forest with Tigerstar, and then you’ll have no friends. Everyone will hate you as much as I do!” She pelted through the trees. “You forgot your catch,” Ivypaw called after her. “You take it!” Dovepaw yowled back. “Then your Clanmates might think you’ve done something right for a change!” (Night Whispers, 82)

they meet regularly, though it doesnt say how often, in the middle of the night. the intimacy in their meetings increases, they rub faces against each other, get in real close. dovepaw off-handedly mentions jayfeather's herb patch, and she's suspicious of tigerheart's interest, but she offers to steal some for him. he tells her no, and she insists, and he tells her thank you. of course, he does this after making it very clear that littlecloud could die if he doesn't get treated, only to then back down so she can believe it was HER decision.

ivypaw happens upon the two of them during this and tries to get tigerheart to reveal his participation in the dark forest. a shadowclan patrol approaches, tigerheart shoves dovepaw into brambles, and the patrol finds tigerheart and ivypaw on the border, and they take ivypaw prisoner. tigerheart then immediately reveals the information about jayfeather's herb garden despite dovepaw offering to get some for him. after this tigerheart becomes cold, cutting dovepaw off completely. when she confronts him, he said he's been meaning to talk to her but hasn't been able to. dovepaw breaks up with tigerheart. this is the end of their relationship while dovepaw is an apprentice.

so first and foremost: even if tigerheart is a "young" warrior, HIS BROTHER IS A FULLY TRAINED MEDICINE CAT. he has to be at least a year and a half old, compared to dovewing's 7 months MAYBE when they met. and from that point, he has been going out of his way to initiate contact with her, repeatedly confirms that they are "friends" and that she trusts him, tests her by giving her little secrets to keep for him to make sure she won't tell anyone about him. the fact he goes on to take her to a second location and then ask if they can be "more than friends" WHILE SHES STILL AN APPRENTICE?????? is absolutely fucking insane. he's clearly manipulating her, fishing for information about goings on in thunderclan and the like, trying to get what he wants and mold her into someone that would be okay breaking the rules FOR HIM. whenever someone gets close to finding out about them, he runs, he tries to leave their meetings as quickly as possible. and then, when ivypaw discovers their relationship for sure, he turns cold and pretends like nothing was between them at all. he uses the information she gives him both with the dark forest and with shadowclan. and, the most poignant part, is the fact dovepaw is becoming too tired to focus during training while seeing him. her clanmates notice shes tired and comment on it, ivypaw notices. shes a teenager being groomed by an adult who is using her. when he gets what he wants out of her and when he gets it, he leaves. dovepaw believes she ends the relationship, but its evident that its over before that.

people hate thistleclaw. people hate dustfern. people hate hawkivy. people have noted the fact brambleclaw is so much older than squirrelpaw and how that skews the power dynamic, but even THEY don't start dating until theyre both adults. so the fact that tigerdove is still seen as a cutsey pure what the fuck ever ship is kind of disgusting to me. if you want to rewrite it, WHATEVER. i just think its interesting that every other age gap ship is rightfully criticized, but tigerdove very seldom is.

[simplyraeblue]

King and Captive

(Hunter and Hunted Spin-Off) read here

modern au a chance meeting with Sukuna quickly turns into a nightly routine you can't escape. as the lines between game and something more blur, you start to wonder—how long can you keep playing, or will Sukuna make you his next conquest? !Sukuna x !femreader

chapter warnings/tags: no smut, mild angst, cigarette smoking, Gojo can actually act like a saint, mildly inebriated reader, Uraume is lowkey intimidating, mentions of past story line

A/N: first of all… if you guys can’t tell I suck at chapter warnings and tags sometimes lol. BUT SECONDLY. I apologize for the feelings this chapter may or may not cause lol. other than that - I have nothing else to say but enjoyyyy ;) also lowkey lemme know if you all like sentences capitalized or not cause I go back and forth

index part six | part eight

part seven word count : 3,853

You felt sick. all at once, the alcohol caught up with your emotions and you felt like you were going to hurl all over the tabletop and probably poor Shoko. 

As if she could sense the shift in your demeanor, her face softened. “Hey, just forget I said anything. He’s not the same person anymore, so I wouldn’t put whatever you two have on the line for something that happened in the past.” 

You almost couldn’t hear her over the ringing in your ears. All this time, you’d been slowly breaking down Sukuna’s facade, thinking that the dangerous aura he exuded wasn’t truly him deep down. And to top it off, you were jealous and a little hateful towards her.  

“I think I need some air.” you mumbled out, swaying as you bolted up from your seat. Shoko called out after you, but you made a beeline for the door, not wanting to risk having a breakdown at the table. You weren’t even sure if Sukuna noticed your hasty exit. 

Outside, the cold air hit you like a wave, doing little to soothe the roiling in your stomach. You doubled over for a moment, hands braced on your knees as you gulped down breath after breath of the crisp night air. It was only then you realized your hands were shaking—whether from the chill or the sudden rush of emotions, you couldn’t tell. 

A flicker of movement caught your eye, and you looked up to see Gojo and Geto leaning against the brick wall near the bar’s entrance, sharing a cigarette. The thin trails of smoke curled in the wind, and the neon sign overhead lit the faint grin on Gojo’s face. 

“Hey,” Gojo called, his voice lowered by a tone of concern. “You alright?” He offered the cigarette pack, but you waved it away, the very idea of nicotine or more alcohol making your stomach clench. 

Geto, with a quieter demeanor, tilted his head at you. “You don’t look so good.” 

Understatement of the year. You could imagine the look Sukuna might give you if he came out right now, his brows furrowed with concern. The very thought made your chest tighten. 

“Can—can one of you give me a ride home?” The words tumbled out before you could reconsider, your tone bordering on desperation. “I, uh, I don’t really want Sukuna to see me like this.” 

Gojo and Geto exchanged a look. You saw sympathy flicker in Geto’s eyes before he exhaled a cloud of smoke, glancing around as if expecting Sukuna to appear at any moment. 

“You sure?” Gojo asked carefully, lowering the cigarette from his lips. “He’ll be pissed if he finds out we just… took you without telling him.” 

You swallowed, stomach churning. “Please,” you said, gripping the edge of the wall to steady yourself. “I just… I can’t deal with him right now. Not like this.” 

Geto ran a hand through his hair, exhaling. “Look, I’ve got a bike,” he said, but he didn’t sound entirely confident about the idea. “And only one helmet—” 

Gojo cleared his throat. “I drove tonight, and I’ve been sobering up for the last hour. I can take her.” He flicked the remainder of his cigarette into the gutter, offering a faint grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “C’mon, let’s get you out of here.” 

You shot him a look of relief tinged with guilt. You could already picture Sukuna’s reaction when he realized you’d left. But at this point, you couldn’t face him—couldn’t handle the onslaught of emotions, the questions, or worse, the regret in his eyes. 

Geto stubbed out his cigarette. “I'll go back in,” he murmured to Gojo, “distract Sukuna if he asks.” Then he gave you a small nod of understanding before slipping back through the door, leaving you alone in the quiet alleyway with Gojo. 

“Thanks,” you breathed, voice trembling as you tried to stand upright without swaying. Gojo rested a light hand on your shoulder, guiding you away from the building and toward a dark Audi parked nearby. 

“Don’t mention it,” he said, opening the passenger door for you. You sank into the seat, your breath rattling in your chest, head pounding with a mix of alcohol and leftover adrenaline. As Gojo rounded the car to the driver’s side, you leaned your head back and stared at the ceiling. 

For a time, neither of you spoke, the car’s engine and the soft hum of nighttime traffic filling the silence. Finally, Gojo cleared his throat. 

“So…” Gojo began gently, casting you a sidelong glance, “you wanna tell me why you’re fleeing the scene like you killed someone?” 

Your throat constricted, emotions warring inside you. “You probably already know,” you whispered, forcing yourself to speak above the low hum of the engine. “Shoko told me he— that he really hurt his ex.” You drew a shaky breath. “And not just break-her-heart hurt. It was… it was bad.” 

Gojo’s jaw shifted. “I know what she told you,” he murmured, gaze flicking to the road. “I was around for most of it. It wasn’t pretty.” 

You pressed your palms against your eyes, trying in vain to stave off the tears that threatened. The buzz of alcohol only intensified the turmoil in your mind. “I can’t stop thinking… what if he does that to me?” The words tumbled out raw and unfiltered. “Maybe not physically, but what if he ruins me emotionally? I’ve seen glimpses of how he can be.” 

Gojo gave a low sigh. “Look, I'm not excusing what happened back then. Sukuna was in a bad place. He hurt her more than he ever wanted to admit—hell, he nearly tore himself apart because of it.” He paused at a red light, turning to face you fully. “But that was then. He’s not that person anymore.” 

“You sound so sure,” you said, voice trembling. “How can you be?” 

“I’ve known him a long time,” Gojo replied, easing the car forward again when the light turned green. “He’s not magically all better, but he’s different now—wiser, maybe. He regrets a lot of what he did.” Another glance at you. “I’ve also seen how he looks at you, how he tries to tone himself down around you. That’s not the Sukuna from before.” 

Despite the reassurance, a lump still clogged your throat. “Why didn’t he tell me?” you asked softly, voice cracking on the last word. “I feel like I’ve been opening up to him, trusting him, and now… God, I just feel stupid.” 

“You’re not stupid,” Gojo insisted, his tone surprisingly tender. “You’re scared. Anyone would be, after hearing that.” He let a beat of silence pass. “I'm guessing he didn’t want to dump all his skeletons on you too soon. He probably thought he had more time to prove he’d changed before you found out.” 

You pressed your forehead against the cool window, watching the city lights smear into glowing lines. “I want to believe he’s changed,” you admitted, voice muffled. “But knowing he was capable of that kind of… y'know … it’s terrifying. And I'm jealous of her but also scared for what she went through. It’s all jumbled in my head.” 

Gojo lowered his voice. “I can’t tell you how to feel, but I can say that if Sukuna realized you ran out tonight because of this… he’d hate it. Not because he’s pissed at you—but because he’s gonna think he messed up, all over again.” 

Your heart clenched at the idea of Sukuna blaming himself. “That’s why I couldn’t face him,” you whispered. “I can’t handle this conversation right now. I'm drunk and emotional, and if I saw even a flicker of that old side of him, it’d break me tonight.” 

Gojo nodded, pulling onto your street. “I get it. Believe it or not, I do.” He slowly eased the car to a stop by the curb in front of your building. The engine’s rumble quieted when he switched it off. “But you gotta talk to him eventually. Running is just gonna make this worse.” 

You stared at your trembling hands. “I know,” you managed. “Tomorrow. Maybe.” 

Gojo twisted in his seat, facing you. In the dim glow of the overhead light, you could see the genuine concern in his expression. “You don’t have to go through this alone, you know. If you need backup—hell, if you just need someone to vent at—call me. Or Shoko. Or Geto. We’ve all been there in different ways.” 

Your eyes burned with tears again, but you forced a weak smile. “Thanks,” you whispered, meaning it more than you could say. “And… sorry for dragging you into this mess.” 

He shook his head. “That’s what friends are for,” he said, popping the driver’s door open. “Come on, let’s get you inside. You look like you’re about to pass out and I really don’t want you puking in my freshly detailed car.” 

Gojo helped you out of the car, half-supporting, half-dragging you as you stumbled toward the front door of your building. 

“Wow,” he drawled, trying not to laugh, “you’re heavier than you look. Don’t tell me you’ve been sneaking rocks into your pockets for self-defense.” 

You rolled your eyes at his teasing. “I’d whack you with one if I had the energy,” you shot back, though it came out more slurred than intimidating. 

He snorted, juggling your keys to keep you upright. “Is that a threat? Because I'm not above leaving you out here, you know.” 

“Go for it,” you grumbled, only half-serious. “I'll just pass out on the doorstep and ask the raccoons for help.” 

Gojo barked a laugh, finally managing to get the key in the lock. The door gave way, and he guided you into the warm glow of your apartment. “Alright, rock lady, you win. Let’s find a couch before you kill me or break something valuable.” 

You practically collapsed onto your sofa, every limb feeling like jelly. Relief washed over you for all of two seconds—until your phone buzzed for the tenth time in as many minutes. Your eyes darted to the screen: Sukuna’s name glaring back at you, demanding attention. Are you okay? Where’d you go? Please answer me. 

“Wow,” Gojo said, peeking over. “He’s fucking persistent. Most I’ve gotten in a night from him is two texts: ‘Hey loser, be there in five’ and ‘Sleepy. Go away.’” 

You choked out something between a laugh and a groan, swatting at your phone. “Please, no commentary. I can’t… I just can’t talk to him.” 

He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, hey, I'm just the chauffeur-slash-bodyguard, remember? Not the relationship guru. Although,” he added with a dramatic flourish, “I am pretty great at advice if you change your mind.” 

Slumping deeper into the cushions, you shook your head. “I just need—time. Tonight was too much. If he hears me now, he’ll know how freaked out I am, and… I'm already freaking out enough for both of us.” 

Gojo gave you a sympathetic smile that was almost gentle. “Alright, fair. I'll spare you my amazing insights and personal wisdom.” He paused, tapping his chin theatrically. “Except for these gems: Drink water. Don’t puke on your floor. And definitely don’t call him drunk—because that’d be a train wreck for all involved.” 

Despite everything, a breathy giggle escaped you. “Roger that.” 

He grabbed a blanket from the back of the couch, draping it over you with a flourish like he was tucking in a royal. “There. Cozy.” 

“Th-thanks,” you mumbled, the humor draining as exhaustion took hold. “And… sorry for dragging you into all this drama.” 

He shrugged grandly. “Please, I thrive on drama. Plus, it’s way more fun than that time I had to dog-sit Megumi’s dogs. Those things are like fucking demons. This is a breeze in comparison.” 

Your eyelids felt impossibly heavy. “You’re… such a goof,” you whispered, but there was a faint smile on your lips. 

Gojo flipped an imaginary lock of hair. “Why, thank you. Now, on that delightful note, I'll leave you to your wallowing.” He started toward the door, pausing just long enough to check you one last time. “Seriously, though—call me if you need anything, or if your phone spontaneously combusts from Sukuna’s texts.” 

You nodded, too tired to offer a proper goodbye. As the door clicked shut, your phone buzzed again—a new text you were nowhere near ready to answer. With a long sigh, you let the world fall away, ignoring it all for just a little while longer. 

.𖥔 ݁ ˖. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁.𖥔 ݁ ˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁

Sukuna barely registered the next round of drinks hitting the table, his eyes fixed on the door you had just walked out of. A strange, uneasy feeling curled in his gut, but he told himself you just needed some air. Maybe you’d had one too many drinks—nothing to stress over. 

But the minutes ticked by, and you didn’t come back. 

His fingers drummed against the tabletop, his impatience growing by the second. He was about to push off his seat and go after you when Geto slipped back inside, his expression unreadable. That alone put Sukuna on edge. 

“Where is she?” Sukuna asked immediately, voice sharp. 

Geto didn’t answer right away. Instead, he slid into his seat, grabbed his drink, and took a slow sip before setting it down. That was a bad sign. Geto always bought himself time when he had news that he knew Sukuna wouldn’t like. 

“Sukuna,” Geto started, carefully neutral. 

Sukuna’s jaw clenched. “Geto.” 

Geto sighed, rubbing his temple before reaching for his drink. “She left.” 

Sukuna’s entire body tensed. “What?” 

Shoko, who had been mid-sip of her drink, blinked in surprise. “Wait—what do you mean she left?” she asked, turning to Geto. “Shit. She was just here.” 

“Not anymore,” Geto muttered, giving Shoko a look. “You didn’t notice?” 

Shoko frowned, setting her drink down. “Figured that she needed air. I thought she was still outside.” 

Sukuna raked a hand through his hair, frustration gnawing at him from all angles. He pulled his phone from his pocket, spamming you multiple text messages— Are you okay? Where’d you go? Please answer me. Just as anxiety surged hot in his chest, his phone buzzed. Hope sparked for half a second—until he saw the name. 

Gojo. 

A bad feeling coiled low in his gut as he answered, putting him on speaker while Geto and Shoko leaned in. “Where the fuck is she?” 

“Wow, not even a hello?” Gojo’s voice rang over the line, dripping with amusement. 

Sukuna wasn’t in the mood. “Gojo,” he growled, “Where is she?” 

There was a pause, then Gojo exhaled through his nose. “Relax, she’s safe. I took her home.” 

Sukuna’s blood ran hot. “You what?” 

Shoko sat forward at that, brows furrowing. “Wait, she left with Gojo?” 

Sukuna gripped his phone tighter. “Put her on.” 

“Yeahhh, see, that’s not happening,��� Gojo replied. “She’s not really in a talking mood. Kind of drunk. Kind of emotional. Not a great combo.” 

Sukuna’s patience snapped. “And you thought the best idea was to take her home without telling me?” 

“I thought the best idea was to get her somewhere safe before she had a full-blown breakdown in the alley of the bar,” Gojo shot back, his voice losing some of its usual lightness. “She didn’t want to see you right now, Sukuna.” 

That hit deeper than Sukuna wanted to admit. His jaw tightened. “Why?” 

Silence. 

Shoko and Geto exchanged a look. Then Shoko sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose as realization hit her. “It’s my fault,” she muttered. 

Sukuna turned on her. “Explain.” 

Shoko hesitated only for a second before giving him a steady look. “We were talking. Your past with your ex came up. I told her what happened.” 

Sukuna’s entire body tensed. A slow, creeping feeling started in his chest, climbing up his throat - just barely restrained frustration and something dangerously close to fear. He didn’t move, didn’t even blink. 

Shoko continued, her voice softer now. “I wasn’t trying to freak her out. I just… she was overthinking about her showing up and I thought she should know.” 

Sukuna closed his eyes briefly, exhaling sharply through his nose. When he opened them, his voice was low, controlled. “Dammit. What exactly did you tell her?” 

Shoko hesitated again. Then, “The truth. I didn’t go into every ugly detail, but I didn’t sugarcoat it either. She had the right to know, Sukuna.” 

A muscle ticked in his jaw. 

Geto sighed. “She panicked, Sukuna. She didn’t know how to process it, and instead of confronting you, she ran.” 

Sukuna let his phone drop to the table, ignoring the faint sound of Gojo’s voice still on the other end. He braced both hands against the wood, his grip tight. He could picture it—your face tightening as you processed whatever the hell Shoko had told you, your hands probably fidgeting the way they always did when you were anxious. 

“Why didn’t she just find me?” Sukuna muttered, his voice quieter now, frustration laced through every syllable. 

Geto gave him a knowing look. “Probably because she didn’t want to see if the version of you she just heard about was still inside you.” 

That stung. 

Sukuna leaned back, jaw working, emotions clawing at his ribs. He wanted to tell himself you’d call, that you’d text, that you’d at least give him the chance to explain himself before making up your mind. 

But you weren’t answering his messages. 

“She’s scared,” Shoko said, and the words cut more than they should have. 

Sukuna leaned back against the booth, running a hand down his face. He knew this was going to come up eventually—he just thought he’d be the one to tell you, not hear about your reaction secondhand. 

Gojo’s voice crackled from the still-active call. “Look, man, she needs time,” he said, his usual teasing edge replaced with something closer to seriousness. “Give her the night. She’ll talk to you when she’s ready.” 

Sukuna didn’t respond. He just ended the call, shoving his phone into his pocket before standing abruptly, shoving his chair back. 

“Where are you going?” Geto asked, though from his tone, he already knew the answer. 

“To find her,” Sukuna turned to face him, and for a moment, there was nothing casual or cocky in his expression. 

“Sukuna,” Geto sighed. “She needs space right now.” 

“She already thinks I might be the same person I used to be,” he said, voice low, controlled. “And you want me to just sit here and fucking do nothing?” 

Right now, all he could think about was you. And whether or not he had just lost you before he even had the chance to really call you his.  

As Sukuna stormed toward the bar's exit, a firm hand gripped his shoulder, halting his stride. He turned sharply to find Uraume standing there, their expression a mix of impatience and concern. 

"Where do you think you're going?" Uraume demanded, their tone edged with irritation. 

"Out," Sukuna replied curtly, attempting to shrug off their hand. 

Uraume's grip tightened. "To do what? Chase after her like some love-struck fool?" 

Sukuna's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Watch your mouth, Rume." 

They scoffed, releasing his shoulder but stepping in front of him to block his path. "Someone has to say it. You're acting irrationally. Barging in on her now will only make things worse." 

"And you know this how?" Sukuna challenged, his voice low and threatening. 

"Because unlike you, I can see when a situation requires patience," Uraume shot back. "You're so blinded by your own ego that you can't see she needs space." 

Sukuna's fists clenched at his sides. "This is none of your damn business." 

“I think it is,” they countered, unmoving. “Because I saw this coming from the moment you started getting tangled up with her, and I’d really like to save you from making it worse.” 

Sukuna’s patience snapped. “Oh? And what exactly do you think you saw coming?” 

Uraume clicked their tongue, shaking their head as if he were being particularly stupid. “This. You. Running after her like some idiot who doesn’t understand how feelings work. Getting in too deep. Setting yourself up for something you don’t know how to handle.” 

Sukuna’s lips curled in irritation. “And what the hell is that supposed to mean?” 

“It means,” Uraume said, voice flattening, “that you’re about to go chasing after her right now, when she clearly doesn’t want to see you, and in the process, you’re going to ruin any chance you do have of fixing this.” 

Sukuna’s fists clenched at his sides. “I can't just sit back and do nothing.” 

“You should this time,” they shot back. “You should’ve seen this coming, Sukuna. She’s different. She’s not like the others. You care about her—and that’s exactly why this was bound to hurt.” 

Something about the way they said it made something twist in his chest. 

Uraume sighed, running a hand through their hair. “You’ve never had to deal with this before. You don’t let anyone get close enough for this to happen. Hell, the last time you almost did... well, we all watched how that played out. But this time? You let her in. And now you’re panicking because she’s not sure she can do the same.” 

Sukuna’s jaw tightened. He hated how right they were. 

Seeing his reaction, Uraume softened—just slightly. “I’m not saying she’s gone for good,” they continued, their tone less sharp now. “If you go to her now, in this state, you'll confirm every fear she has about you. You’ll make her leave for good. Is that what you want?” 

Sukuna exhaled slowly, the fight inside him still raging, but now tempered with the weight of their words. Every instinct was urging him to push Uraume aside and haul ass to your apartment, but it was as if his feet refused to move now. 

Uraume took a step closer, lowering their voice. “I didn’t want you to go through this, Sukuna. I saw where it was headed, and I knew it would break something in you if it fell apart. So, if you don’t want to lose her completely, listen to me—wait.” 

For a long moment, Sukuna said nothing. The bar behind them buzzed with energy, the door to the outside world just a few feet away. His instincts screamed at him to go, to fix it, to see her now before she got too far away. 

But deep down, he knew Uraume was right. You couldn’t - shouldn’t - see him like this. He didn’t want you to.  

Sukuna’s hands unclenched, though his shoulders stayed tense. “Fine,” he muttered, barely above a growl. “But if she doesn’t reach out soon…” 

“Then we figure it out,” Uraume finished, nodding. “But not tonight.” 

Sukuna let out a sharp breath and turned on his heel, stalking back toward the booth. Uraume watched him go, their unreadable expression lingering long after he sat back down. 

Because this time—they weren’t sure if waiting would be enough to save him. 

⊹. ݁˖ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁₊

taglist : @mangiswig @sorahatake @osohchoso @clp-84 @sterzin @csolya @emochosoluvr @aldebrana @ravester @marie-is-in-the-dark @makingtimemine

[yeonmuse]

can you continue bloodlust and have sunghoon teach her a lesson and realize the one she hates the most is the one she wants the most despite heeseung and jake? and can you have her coming onto him, surprising him but also making him give his best

— Bloodlust pt 2

( pairing) - vampire!Sunghoom x f!r 2.9kwc + smut. not proofread!! 3rd pov Contains!! Mentions of sexual themes/blood/etc [reqs are open] ᝰ.ᐟ 𝓁ibrary ⚰️

🔖 @jwonistic @bubblytaetae @pkjay @planetmarlowe @dreeki @butterflywonz @lillotus17 @squiishymeow @river-demon-slayer @sol3chu @right-person-wrong-time @riribelle

Though Sunghoon had been away on business he was well aware of the events That had taken place in the estate. Not only had he had ears everywhere but when he finally returned home and all the others had left he could still smell their scent lingering on you. The fang marks that had adorned your thighs and shoulder had been enough confirmation of the events he had been informed had taken place while he was away.

Sunghoon knew you hated him, he knew you were entirely against living with him from the beginning. Though there should have been an unspoken vow to not sleep around with anyone other than him, especially those that were close to him like Heeseung and Jake. When he first found out he was completely pissed, not only with you but with the others, even though he knew they were like a moth to a flame, as soon as they got the opportunity to jump on you they would take it, he expected nothing less of the two, though you on the other hand he’d never expected you’d be as bold enough to let them have their way with you.

It had been a week since Sunghoon had come back from his business trip and he hadn’t spoken to her once, no snarky remarks, no arguments, nothing. He simply minded his business, even during dinner when the two would sit straight across from one another in the dining hall she was met with silence. It wasn’t until she finally decided that she would be the one to break the ice that he’d finally speak.

Sunghoon sat silently in his study, glasses sat upon his face as he flipped through his book. She slowly made her way inside assuring she wouldn’t disturb his reading as she herself moved to the shelf to reach for a book, her thoughts suddenly drifting off to her first week in the estate when he had cornered her against the bookshelf. Sitting across from him he hadn’t even spared her a glance as she took a seat and placed her book in her lap, every now and then her gaze would shift to him yet he continued to ignore her presence.

“Did I do something..? You haven’t said a word to me since you got back, no smart remarks, nothing.” Silence, she was met with silence.

“Sunghoon..?”

Sunghoon on the other hand had been treading his best not to let his intrusive thoughts get the better of him, he’d be lying if he had said he hadn’t been somewhat hurt. Knowing she had gone behind his back and slept with his friends only two days of having her fingers tangled in his hair moaning his name. She had been the only woman he had met that showed immunity to his charms and it both angered him and enticed him. He didn’t think that he would love the thrill of the chase this much but something about her made things fun. The way she talked back to him, the way she acted as if she hated him despite her attraction. She was the first human, let alone first person that he had ever found himself wanting to yearn for him.

“So you’re really going to ignore me?” Rolling her eyes at his persistence in acting like she hadn’t been sitting there she stands from the chair and throws the book onto the coffee table nearby.

“Even without having said anything you manage to be an asshole.” Her words made an amused grin curl onto his lips. Finally sitting the book aside and standing from his seat he manages to slip an arm around her waist before she could walk out the door.

“You’ve really got a mouth on you.” He responds brushes guys lips against her soft skin.

“You’ve ignored me this entire week and why I do to talk to you, you act as if you don’t hear me.” She responds turning around to face him, he stood somewhat shocked that she hadn’t had anything smart to say in return though he also found it amusing that she was hurt by him having ignored her.

“You think you deserve anything from me after you went and fucked to of my friends hm?” His fingers traced her skin until his hands met her waist pulling her flush against his body. He watched as she fell silent and her lips pressed into a thin line before she spoke.

“Does that bother you?” She asks, staring up at him in a way that was almost menacing to him, as if she had been challenging him.

“Tell me then who was the better sweetheart. Me or them?” He had fully expected you to respond with Heeseung or Jake wanting to piss him off, but instead the word you fell from his lips leaving him somewhat stunned.

“Were you expecting a different answer?”

“Were you expecting me to say that they were better? When I know you’re capable of making my body react in ways that satisfy the both of us.” Sunghoon was taken back by your sudden revelation. He was fully expecting you to say one of the others wanted to make him mad, though he wasn't shocked at all knowing that his performance was above all.

“Mm you do seem to find delight in pissing me off.”

“Would that have pissed you off then? Saying that they were better?” His hand rests at the ball of her neck, fingers tangling in her hair.

“You’re like an oblivious little doll aren’t you. Your ignorance alone pisses me off. The fact that you think I'd let you freely sleep around with my friends and not do anything afterwards is cute.”

“Wait- Sunghoon what.” In mere seconds the two of you had been in what you assumed to be his bedroom. His arm still wrapped around your waist while he held your wrist in his other hand.

“I’ll erase every trace of them from your body. I'll make sure the next time they step foot in this house they get a clear message of who you belong to.”

As you opened your mouth to speak, his hand immediately gripped your throat to silence you.

“It really pissed me off knowing that you’d lie in my house after fucking my friends and think that you’d not get caught.” If you had spoken even one word with the grip he had on your neck you'd have blacked out right then and there.

“To make matters worse..their fangs touched your pretty skin.” He didn't hesitate in bringing your wrists to his lips. You opened your mouth to defend yourself but once his silver eyes met yours you immediately fell quiet. You were forced into silence but they were absolutely captivating.

“You let him place his lips where only mine should be.” you were so busy staring into his eyes completely entranced to realize that his fangs had dug into your wrist. It wasn’t until you heard a groan spill from his lips and heat rise in your body that you realized he was now feeding. At first the pain of his fangs having ripped through your skin set your skin ablaze, but within mere seconds it felt like a simple pinch, a mere bee sting. Sunghoon listened in satisfaction to the way your heart beat picked up. The way you sucked in a breath told him enough, he had you exactly where he needed you. His silver eyes remained locked on you as he watched your head fall back and whimpers spilled from your lips. Humans get aroused by the simplest things he thought to himself, it was exactly why he usually found no interest in them, he felt they were so gullible and lacked self respect. But you, something about you made him feel alive again.

“So pathetic, you hated me just a week ago, yeah? Now all of a sudden you want me?.” While one hand remained on your neck the other slipped beneath your shorts.

“Jake and Heeseung weren’t enough for you sweetheart?” As his fingers circled your clit, you couldn’t bring yourself to speak any coherent words. The more you tried to, the more frequent the pumping of his fingers had become. He was doing it on purpose, he was toying with you, trying to work you up and get you frustrated because of course that was simply the side of you he loved the most. His fingers finally pushing past your folds, he slipped three fingers in and his fangs attacked your wrists once again. His fang marks digging into the exact same place that Jake had bitten, completely replacing the aussies fang marks with his own.

While he drank in your blood that was like sweet nectar to him, he curled his fingers inside of you earning a clench and tightening of your walls around his fingers. When he feels your desperation as you bucked your hips against his digits he laughs. With a soft him he pulls his lips away from your supple skin and swipes his tongue over his fangs.

“Look at that, you have no sense of shame, fucking yourself on my fingers after letting Heeseung and Jake use you like you were all theirs.” You had now completely drowned out his words. The feeling of his fingers curling and fucking into your wet mound was the only thing hazing your mind. You had been so close to your release, feeling your orgasm build up but you were only met with disappointment as he pulled his fingers from you and brought them to his lips.

“You didn’t think I’d make it that easy for you hm?” He roughly throws you down onto the bed. Slipping his rings further back on his fingers while climbing into bed in front of you. Seconds later he slipped in two fingers, taking the time to stretch your walls and feel you out before he began to thrust them in and out slowly. The way you whine for him to move them faster only causes him to slow them down, he wouldn’t stop teasing until you begged for it. His fingers thrust further into your cunt with every loud cry that left your mouth. His eyes glistened with pure lust and attraction as he watched you squirm and cry for more beneath him.

“Tell me then sweetheart did you think about me fixing you whenever they had their way with you?” The moment his eyes locked with yours he could sense you growing desperate and before you knew it you were practically begging him to fuck you.

"Hoon please.'' you choked out, your words barely audible but it was good enough for him because no matter how you said it the sound of his name from your lips was something he knew he would love to hear more of. Slipping in yet another finger he watched how your expressions changed as he moved his fingers faster. He tried his best to read your thoughts but it seemed that at the moment nothing was there, just the mere thought of him and all the things that he was now doing to you.

''Answer my question first love.'' he loved the way you squirmed and your body convulsed as he continued to stretch you out and pump his fingers inside of you, and as he stopped to remove his fingers to bring them to his lips he couldn't deny that your begging and pleas for him to continue had been so much sweeter. scooping your legs up and going between your thighs his eyes gazed up at your sleepy face as he left kisses on your inner thighs. before sinking his teeth in earning a small yelp from you before your fingers grasped at his hair. He was having too much fun, far more fun than he had expected to have with someone that was only meant to be a quick fuck like the others

“Yes- yes I thought of you.”

Moments after his lips met your clit and the sounds that spilled from your mouth following his actions made him desperate to hear more. He slipped his tongue through your folds and as your head fell back at the immense pleasure his eyes stayed trained on you. He already knew this though, he had known he without you even having to tell him, and the fact that you’d moan his name only that entire night made it all more satisfying.

''You look so beautiful like this sweetheart, crying my name so desperately.'' he slips his tongue past your entrance all while using a few fingers to massage your clit. He gave you no time to respond before he was attacking the heat between your legs as if he himself was desperate to touch you just as you were for him to touch you. Your fingers tugged at his dark locks as his tongue played with your sensitive core. It was a feeling you weren't exactly used to but god was it something you now wanted to experience more of. As he sensed your hip movements he forced your thighs against the bed and continued to suck and pleasure with his fingers all while you whined and moaned out for him and him only. He watched as your face contorted at the pleasure and felt as you clenched around his tongue and fingers and he was more than sure you were meeting your release.

"Gonna cum angel? '' He chuckles, feeling your fingers coiled within his dark locks as he so calmly worked to get his pants undone, his cock finally springing free from his pants and slapping against his abdomen. He watched as your eyes gazed down at it needily, the way they widened momentarily before resting at their natural state of admiration.

You were so mesmerized by the sight of it that it hadn’t even crossed your mind how easily you’d given into him. Yet you simply didn’t care either all you could find yourself thinking about was all the different ways and different places he could fuck you. Your eyes rolled back immediately as you clawed and bit at his shoulders. A sudden pain overwhelming your lower half bringing tears to your eyes.

“Be good for me now yeah? Or else I’ll fuck over and over and make sure that you never get a chance to cum.” He started slowly allowing the pain to subside as he pushed further past your entrance stretching you out until he fully bottomed out inside you. Your tightness earned a low growl from him as he pushed so deep you could have sworn you felt him hit the top of your stomach. He watched the blissed out look on your face with every little thrust inside you.

“Look at you taking me so well.” A chuckle spilled past his lips and he immediately spread your legs wider and pushed your thighs back against the desk. Your moans were evident enough that whatever pain you felt if any had gone away. He wasted no time fucking into you, rough and feverish thrusts from the very beginning. Thrusts that caused your eyes to roll to the back of your head so hard you saw stars.

Your nails dug so deep into his shoulders and back that they’d have drawn blood and your mouth fell open, lines of saliva dripping down your chin as gargled moans spilled past your lips.

The sound of his name spilling from your lips was like heaven. He immediately leans down to take your nipple between his lips while his other hand fondles your breasts. The pleasure had been overwhelming your bodies in ways you hadn’t thought to be possible. From the flicking of his tongue against your breasts every time he thrusted in to you feeling like the more he fucked the deeper into your stomach his cock seemed to push.

“Pisses me off that all of the others went home before I could make them listen. Give a clear message of who’s you actually are.” Your thoughts had been so cloudy that you could barely even make out anything he had been talking to you about.

“Such a pretty little bunny gonna cum all over my cock after getting used by the others.” He immediately rested one hand on your waist while resting the other on your stomach and pushing down. He wanted to feel just how far his cock could go inside your little frame. This action was all it took to push you over the edge. Your legs shook violently as his thrusts grew in speed and the low growls that spilled from his mouth made it all more easy for you to unravel right then and there.

You on the other hand, you were a moaning mess, fingers digging into his shoulders as he fists your hair and fucks into you with feverish thrusts. His fingers met your clit and overstimulation almost instantaneously settled into you. He mercilessly played with your clit like his life depended on it.

He paused his thrusting, one hand came down to under your thigh, pulled your leg up to your chest. As he speeds up his pace the sound of skin on skin grew loud throughout the room and as if on cue or something you both had cum at the same time, both your bodies in harmony with one another as you finally were able to relax.

“You’re mine, not there's.” He mumbles, his face buried deep in your neck, leaving sloppy kisses and love bites, before he finally sank his fangs into your neck completely taking you as his own.

“And next time they come around I’ll make sure they know that”

[hxrsheykisses]

OMG THAT LAST FIC WAS AMAZING! LIKE TRULY YOU’RE AN AWESOME WRITER!!! May I perchance ask for an oc x cannon fic of my own? Maybe? It’s Jackie and Bill they’re so toxic though idk if you’re comfy with Bill being… Bill

AUAAUAUAUA ofc I can🙏🙏🙏🙏♥️♥️♥️♥️ Thank you sm for being patient with me and requesting!!!

WARNINGS: Toxic Themes

💋 I HATE HER. 💋 | Bill Dickey x Jackie♥️

He can’t stand her. He just couldn’t stand her at all. Everytime he sees her, it’s like he’s suddenly spawned in the deepest pits of hell. Saying how he doesn’t “like” her is an understatement. Bill hates her.

She is everything that lurks in women. She is one of the many reasons why Bill hates on women so much and deems them as objects. She is just so full of herself, shows herself off as if she’s a prized possession, and thinks shes better than everyone just because she flaunts her tits and has a pretty(NOT) face.

Bill wonders, who the fuck does this girl think she is? She’s always been a needy bitch—hasn’t grown out of it at all. He doesn’t understand how a women like her can think that she’s all that when she’s clearly not. She dresses like a dumpster whore and will do anything to get laid—that’s what she looks like.

Oh god, don’t even get him started on her voice. Her voice is like nails on a chalkboard. The way she drags her sentences, talks like she actually means something despite her being in a man’s fucking world—she’s full of shit just like the shit she slaps on her face. Cakey makeup that she spends hours on—as fucking if. If Bill could, he would make sure that all those useless hours of spending time perfecting herself would go down the down the drain once he’s done with her. He just wants to slap that smirk right off her face.

He hates her hair, it’s sickly blonde and it’s terribly easy to point her out in a crowd.

He hates her eyes, too fucking blue. She always looks at him with those round eyes of hers while bating her lashes.

He hates her choice of clothing, it’s like she doesn’t feel whole without showing skin and she sucks ass at hiding it.

He hates her.

But a part of him—a toxic part of him feels himself wanting to get closer. He hates how his heart skips a beat whenever she gives him one of those looks. He hates how close she gets to him as she speaks, her eyes keeping contact with his own with zero shame. He hated the countless times another guy would ogle at her—not like she was worth staring at any fucking way.

He hated her, he hated himself.

One day—one fucking day, he will make sure that she knows not to mess around with him. He just wants her to be put in her place because obviously nobody else is doing it. She’s just some female who leeches onto male validation for a living—who craves the eyes of fellow men—who is stupid and doesn’t know shit about anything besides what could get a man going.

Jackie is nothing but a joke.

Jaxkie is nothing but a bug under his shoe.

Jackie is nothing but a woman who needs to be put in her place.

Jackie is nothing but a toxic and hateful yearn for Bill. That’s all that she ever is—that’s all that she ever will be.

God, he hates her so bad.

[lyavee44]

Leon S. Kennedy general hcs!!

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

secretly loves animals a whole lot. feels so bad every time he sees dead pets out in the field.

y'all know how he had this bloodhound doggy? the one mentioned in capcom design works? i think he probably had to give him away once he got into rpd. he's still missing the little guy

he loves food. will try anything. nothing grosses him out. give him a fried worm and he'll slurp it up.

i headcanon that his bio parents are of scottish and italian origin. we're getting into the tinfoil hat territory now, so hold onto it... (the hat lol)

i believe his mom was italian, and his dad was scottish. blah blah blah, mobsters uniting or whatever. i don't know how that works. but a scottish mob family and an italian mob family united due to his parents getting married.

(there's that one thread to see where im getting conclusions from) ↓

https://x.com/MarioPrime/status/1636782590580473869

his mom was a bit of a spiritual nut. his dad was a stern, emotionally absent dude. he got his looks from his mama

he had lots of siblings and cousins. all of which either kicked the bucket or managed to escape and change identities.

okay, kicking the angst aside... probably so lazy at home. while he doesn't like things being dirty, he's probably pretty unorganised. like, it's clean, but messy.

has either a beat up samsung or lg phone from 2010 or a hammer phone.

he canonically sends his selfies to hunnigan when he's beating up b.o.w.s. probably used those stupid snapchat filters back when it was popular too.

showers super long. doesn't do any of that 2in1 bullshit either. not really crazy over self care, but knows how to keep himself neat.

likes card games a lot.

barely interacts with his neighbours. don't ask me why, he just doesn't.

still speaks italian but his accent is a tad too americanised, and he's butthurt over it

agnostic and very deeply disappointed in catholicism. while he's respectful to the believers, he hates the mere idea of even being in a church. uncomfortable when people express love for jahwe or tell him that jesus loves him unsolicited. (IM PROJECTING)

has nightmares sometimes, but manages to fall back asleep quickly enough. he generally sleeps quite deeply, but the sleepiness escapes him soon after he opens his eyes. his ringtone is super loud because of that - he sleeps like a dead ox.

the type of guy to laugh at 2018 twitter memes and silly animals. it's top tier comedy to him.

secretly just really, really, REALLY needs a hug. it's such a repressed need that he doesn't even remember how much he wants it.

enjoyed talking to jd in re:damnation. overall thinks that slavic people are fun.

cries when he's on his own at last after a mission. mostly does it in the shower, he doesn't like the sensation of tears sticking to his face.

still contacts ashley sometimes. she gives him fun life updates and he's happy to listen.

dad rock listener... everyone knows that.

and that would be it!! lemme know what you think<3 i had fun coming up with these, ain't gonna lie. please, correct me if there's any errors. english is my second language! (⁠●⁠´⁠⌓⁠`⁠●⁠)

[ruershrimo]

take me back (take me with you) | f. megumi x fem! reader | chapter 9: you'll hate me

ao3 link for additional author’s notes | playlist | prev | m.list

chapter synopsis:

“You’ll hate me once you see what happened.”

“No, Megumi, I won’t,” you reassure him, “And anyway, things are different now, too.”

---

You could never hate him. After years of waiting to see Tsumiki again, you can finally do so now. Yet still, there's a sombreness in the air, and Megumi won't let you place a finger on it just yet.

word count: ~3k; tws: none for now ^-^

short a/n: hi everyone! I'm so sorry this took so so long, I really missed you all a lot. basically, school and life got a bit busy, but I'm happy to say I'm back now :). I've written an update here where I just talked about some matters regarding the series and my writing. you can read it if you'd like, because personally I think it's quite important for you to do so if you read this fic :)

28-6-2018 

“Morning. Did you sleep well?” 

Megumi moves the blanket away from him, blinking sleep out of his eyes still. You hoist yourself up until your back is against the headboard. 

“The blanket wasn’t here before I fell asleep, I think,” he voices out, nearly inaudible, drenched in the aftermath of a deep slumber, “Did you—” 

You nod your head.  

“...thanks.” 

At this moment, it’s as if nothing exists. Just you and him and the sky at blue hour, on his bed doing something that people who are just friends shouldn’t do. The urge to trace over his face— over his shut eyelids and sharp nose and thin lips— clings to you like a second nature, one which you never thought you had. There’s hair on his head like a nest you’re itching to touch, spiky and jet black like blades of grass. 

You’ve seen this kind of movie before, felt these feelings with your best friend, no less— and now they’ll eat you up from the inside like bacteria on a rotting fruit. Because feeling like this means feeling everything else assault you all at once: you don’t know if you'd like to bury your face into something and scream, or cry from the fact that it may be unrequited, or jump around in joy for everything good Megumi has done for you. 

But forget the sorcerers, forget the healing, forget the cursed techniques and the need to be useful and needed for one second, forget your parents, forget Tsumiki, even— and you can’t believe you thought that. What can they offer which you can’t find next to him, right now, on a warm twilight with cold blankets and pillows? 

There are so many things you have wanted. But right now, just this is enough. 

“Sometimes I regret talking about how I feel, being emotional and things like that— to the point that if I feel things strongly, these days I try not to show them. It’s… the vulnerability, I guess. Letting your walls down. I know it sounds super cliche, and I know that about 80% of the time I probably fail at this, and that it’s not always good being like that—” stirring him further into consciousness, “—but I think you’re the same, just in a different way. You don’t like talking about your feelings. Still, I have to say, I really enjoy this, these things we do.” 

His gaze stays locked on yours, and silence fills the air again; nothing but steady breathing. You wonder, if there’s anything he thinks about when he’s alone on mornings like these, whether he thinks about you. 

“So do I.” 

The girls’ and boys’ bathrooms are right next to each other. So at 4 in the morning, when everyone else is still asleep and the sun is yet to rise, you bump into Megumi after brushing your teeth. 

“Not going to shower?” he asks. 

“The sound will travel and it may wake the others up. What about you?” 

“I don’t shower in the mornings, only at night.” 

“Oh, right.” 

He pauses for a while, makes a little sound to fill in the gaps of his hesitation. You wait for him patiently. “Tsumiki… I can let you know about what happened to her. The truth is, she—” 

“Take your time,” you interrupt him. You aren’t stupid; something bad must have happened to her for him to be like this. Any slither of hope you have left that she’s all fine and good was used to play dumb and deny yourself the truth. 

“...let me take you there. To where she is.” 

For more than half your life, Tsumiki’s been a constant. As you moved around and floated between friend groups, you felt lonely in every waking moment; only wishing for the days when you had Tsumiki and Megumi again. That was the impact they had on you. So after such a long wait, your heart leapt with joy at the thought of seeing her again. 

“Okay.” 

“Actually, do they not have a curfew? It’s only 5 am,” you say as the two of you are on the sidewalk, next to each other; not with either of you in front of the other. You pull the strap of your bag up every time it slips down. 

“They do, but it’s only until 4 in the morning. It’s not as if it’ll be easy for sorcerers to obey a curfew anyway, so the teachers don’t really check if everyone is observing everything,” he explains, “Hey, I can hold your bag for you, you know—” 

“I’ll be fine.” 

“It looks heavy. It’ll hurt, and I don’t mind carrying it for you for a while. How many things are in there, actually—?” 

“... I do try to pack minimalistically. I don’t have many things in it. I don’t know why it does this.” 

“Let me hold it.” 

“...okay. Thank you. But next time, you don’t have to.” 

“I really don’t mind. It’s uh… like what you said. We take care of each other.” 

“I’m surprised you still remember that,” you note, chuckling, “In that case I should try to take care of you more.” 

“...you’re already doing more than enough.” 

“Hope I’m not being too much, then,” you joke, and your voice sounds a little too fond as you hear it exit your mouth, “I’ll start doubling down from now on.” 

A small part of you wants to indulge yourself; to imagine him doing this for you always. To feel the extent of the things he can do for you, and to want to do the same. 

You hand him the bag. There’s a ghost of a smile on his lips. 

You have a problem here. You’re in deep, aren’t you? 

The two of you had decided not to phone up anyone who could drive you there, nor were you able to take public transport from the school’s campus to your destination. In truth, you had no idea why it seemed that he and you were being secretive about it, but since you weren’t sure if whatever happened to Tsumiki was something Megumi wanted others to know yet, you obliged him. 

“Where are we headed to, actually?” 

“...the hospital.” 

“...what?” 

“...you’ll see. I’ll be able to explain once we get there.” 

It’s as if the expression on his face is written in a language you can’t understand. 

It only spurs your worry— what happened to Tsumiki? You’d wanted so badly to see her again and speak to her ever since she stopped all contact with you. The whole time you’d thought she was just busy, or that she would speak to you again soon, as if she were some constant who you couldn’t imagine being absent from your life due to sickness or injury. It hadn’t even occurred to you, that after you checked in on her and hadn’t even seen that she’d read those messages. To you she was a constant, and she’d always come back. You couldn’t imagine a life without her doing so. 

First your mother, and now Tsumiki. 

“The whole time I thought she just decided to… stop talking to me for a while.” 

“If anything was done to her, she would have told you, provided that she could. You weren’t an afterthought to her. She loved you. I… it was my fault, that after everything happened, I couldn’t bring myself to tell you. I’m sorry.” 

She loved you?

“I still don’t know what happened. I mean, don’t blame yourself—” 

A car passes by and the two of you cross the road. His hand hovers near your back at the end of it, when the pedestrian traffic light goes red and the cars move rapidly behind you. You pretend his actions aren’t blowing up fireworks inside you. 

“No, you called me, right? You even tried to reach me, and… after all I did and how I acted… it wasn’t the right thing to do. But I chose not to call you.” 

You remember when you did, remember how it stung. 

He’s not the only one keeping secrets. You’ve got the letter and the years of yearning you want to let him know about. Yet it would feel like betrayal to yourself, even with the guilt you have from always keeping them. You’re not sure if that guilt is for him or you. 

“But you apologised for all of that, and, well— I think I’m mostly fine with it now. It was just… circumstance, I guess. Especially because it was Tsumiki. Not sure what happened to her, but I mean… if it was just what was happening at that time, even if it may frustrate me, I just have to accept it,”  you explain yourself, speaking from your chest. 

“You’ll hate me once you see what happened.” 

“No, Megumi, I won’t,” you reassure him, “And anyway,  things are different now, too.” You’ve got more control over your technique, fine-tuned it with practice and determination. You may still be weak at times: you may struggle to heal severe injuries or may get a nosebleed when you’ve pushed yourself too far and tried to heal bruises on four hours of sleep, but you’ve improved.

“No— I’ve hidden it for so long, I don’t know—” 

“I mean, look, we all have our secrets. Sometimes we have them even if we don’t want or have to. You don’t have to be privy to all of myself, especially what I try to keep hidden, but if both of us ever want to… we can always take one step at a time, and I think we’re doing that quite well, in my opinion. Besides, you’re here now. And now that we’re both on campus it’s going to be even harder to get away from me.” 

He stops in his tracks all of a sudden. You do, too. The words come floundering out of his mouth. “[Name]... I don’t know the… ‘right’ way to say this, but I don’t want to get away from you.”

“Oh.” 

“Yeah, I never did.” 

“Huh.” 

He hums.

“…me neither,” you coax out of yourself. 

“...there’s a floral shop nearby. I usually get her some flowers.”  

It’s time to get your mother some flowers, too. 

The florist there greets the two of you with a wistful smile, and says that she hasn’t seen Megumi in a while. Megumi introduces you as a childhood friend. 

“What do you usually get?” you ask. 

“Lilies, usually. Carnations and daisies, sometimes, too.” 

You’ve only bought flowers to pay respects to the deceased, at least when it was you buying them and not Yuuji. You’d never met your grandfather, but back when your parents still called you their little girl, your father would bring you to the temple where his ashes were kept every year. You’d see that photo of his face, smiling in black and white, next to your grandmother on their wedding day, and you’d notice how your father prayed before it. He’d replace the flowers— carnations, lilies, daisies, and tell you all the anecdotes he had with his father growing up. You’d gaze at the chrysanthemums and carnations with their honey-hued petals, at the lilies and daisies in their clear glass vases, and you’d think of how pretty they were. You think your grandfather would have liked them, his smile a spitting image of your father’s and a spitting image of yours. 

“Those are her favourite, right?” 

“Yeah.” 

“They suit her. It’s a perfect match, because— well, to me, I always thought of parts of her as different things. Her kindness and the joy she shared with other people were cherries. Her hair was brown, so I’d think of chestnuts and that reminded me of Christmas with her, or mont blanc desserts. And her smile was like a flower to me, a bouquet of lilies. At first I only thought that it was because she was pretty and one of the sweetest people I knew, but now it’s more than that— wait, sorry, I’m rambling.”

“No, no— it’s okay,” he replies, almost immediately. 

“I’m just excited, is all.” 

He sighs, though you don’t know why. “Then you’ll want to scream at me,” he begins, “…I’m sorry. You’re excited and I just… I’m sorry. You’ll understand when we’re there.” 

You want to hold him. Tell him that it’s okay. Tell him that no matter what, you could never hate him. That you’d never had the power to, ever since you met him on that spring day. 

He chooses one bouquet on display, then heads over to the cashier. You don’t think you’ll be able to hold him at all, today. Or he won’t let you, his walls barring you from him, even when you thought many of them were already gone. You’d been so stupid, thinking the two of you were getting closer, but there was still so much more you had to learn about him now. There was still so much more you had to wait for, until he was willing to take them down. 

“Have you known her for a long time?” you ask, exiting the shop. He bought two— one from him and one from you. 

“Ever since Tsumiki got admitted.” 

“I can pay you back for the bouquets, by the way,” you suggest. 

“It’s fine.” 

“Gojo’s money?” 

“Gojo’s money.” 

You snicker. 

To be honest,  it’s a little difficult walking with him now. The two of you are devoid of any communication whatsoever, a silence calm in the night and early morning yet thickly unbearable once the sun has risen. Before this, you’d been timidly tiptoeing between small talk and deep conversations. Yet now, with the mood of Tsumiki’s incident looming over the air like a ghostly whisper, there’s nothing to talk about, really, as much as you’d like for there to be. 

You’d once heard that people who fell in love were able to talk each others’ ears off for hours on end. You could do that with Yuuji. But Megumi has always been different— in your life, at least. He’s not as boisterous, and not as agreeable with most people despite his politeness, but it’s always been a pleasure being silent with him. Sitting in silence. Lying on the bed together. There’s no spark before you, just the tranquility of an ocean at midnight. In the darkness, with shadows. 

He’s special. Now you can see that, now more clearly than ever before. 

And even now— even when things are awkward and jittery, you find you don’t mind this that much at all.  You don’t think you mind anything if you’re doing it with him. 

So there are no words between you, and you glance at his face, at the frown that contorts his face so softly and gently. 

If you held hands now, it would be pleasant. 

If you held hands now, your hands would inch closer to his as shyly as the first hints of spring arrive after winter. Your wrist would reach his, fingers aching for others to interlock with. Then they would slowly graze his palm like a lost man navigating through the wilderness, until you slid your fingers up his arm again. You would keep them on his wrist, at the outline of his veins, and perhaps if you pressed on it hard enough and used the same mental imaging you do for your cursed technique, you would be able to watch as blood flowed through his arteries and veins. You’ve held his wrist before anyway, grabbed it and pulled him along while his hand would slacken a little. At that time you did it almost abrasively. 

Maybe he would flinch. And maybe you would pull your hand back. 

But then before you realise it he would be tugging on your fingers again, palm against yours, finger to finger. You can even feel it as you think of it now— you would nearly melt in the grooves of his palm, the texture of his skin, and your hand would dance around his a bit until both of your hands wrapped around each other, a snug fit.

“[Name].” 

Your breath seems to fall short as you’re pulled from your fantasies. “What?” you ask, your face hot like a pan sizzling with melted butter. 

“Are you okay? It’s time to cross the road.” 

“Yeah. Just… it’s just… Tsumiki.” 

His hand is on your wrist. 

“Okay.” 

And if your hand slides down to his palm, and you squeeze his hand before he squeezes yours back despite not looking at you at that moment, well— 

You’ve done this before, and several times. But yo know why it’s different now. 

The sun has risen. There’s a certain pallor on Tsumiki’s face that you’ve never seen before. Under the early morning light it’s as if sunlight is seeping through her like light refracted in water. Her face is torn between peace and a grimace, as if she’s suspended precariously between a dream and a nightmare. A glaring red mark burns into her forehead like carved wood in patterns completely alien to you. There’s no lively ponytail bursting from her head, only the sordid scene of strands of chestnut hair gone flattened and lifeless, her once bright pink lips turned desiccated and pale; the sight of her grinning face from before only slipping through your fingers like powdery heaps of dust. She’s drawn out on the mattress resembling a fawn carcass in a documentary: too young and innocent to be like this, shallowly breathing in the torpid air. Comatose. The sight juts through your heart. 

This is different from grief. It feels like suffocation, like heaviness in the air. Your breaths are shallow as you take the clear glass vase, fill it with water and replace the previous lilies with new ones. There is no grief because nothing has been lost, only suspended. Locked in a standstill, for a little while. 

“We think it was a curse,” Megumi chokes. 

“How can you cure her?” 

“There’s no known cure since it was made from cursed energy. All we can do is wait for her to wake up.” 

“How long…?” 

“Since junior high. A while after you left.” Megumi confesses, “I’m sorry if you’re angry that I should’ve told you sooner,” his voice is strained and soft, a little bit from cutting himself off, “I’m sorry.” 

How many times had you thought of seeing her? How many times had you wondered why he’d never call and let you know how she was? Would she survive this, or would you have to wait a hundred times more just to see her again?

He knew all of this. He could have told you. 

Don’t be unreasonable, you think. Just focus on what you can do next. 

“It’s not your fault,” you sigh, “It’s just that after everything…” 

“I’m sorry,” he says. 

“I just wish I could’ve known. Then this whole time that I spent waiting—” 

“I know,” he goes, begging you to be angry. To hate him, as if anything he’s done to you could be the cause of something so great. 

You can cure people. You were placed on this world, born with powers to make or break life’s structures and processes, to cure people. With powers like that you’ve been hunted, sought after, protected— and yet now, when you need to heal this wound of hers, there’s nothing you can do. 

It makes you feel so useless it shakes you to the core. 

“I don’t know if I can do anything,” you start, half-resolute and half-doubtful. But despite your doubt you know that this is what it’s all about; what you’ve pledged yourself to do— to try your best and be useful. Like walking on a tightrope: you’ll have to march forward in the face of all of this and just force yourself not to look down, because this is all it’s ever been. Maybe, you think for a second, everything in your life has led to this moment. “But can I try?” 

“…of course. If anyone could do it, it would be you,” he remarks, voice softening with each syllable. 

“…thanks.” 

He’s very… tender today. Vulnerable. You suppose it’s because of Tsumiki and refrain from commenting on it.

You focus all your energy into her forehead and her brain, trying your best to somehow work against an obscure charm with an even more abstruse molecular structure. 

You can feel it— the strain on your consciousness, how it hurts to even think at some point, but ignore it all and try your best to help her. 

Be useful. If you don’t make it work now, her health is going to be up in the air for longer. If you don’t make it work now, you won’t know if you’ll be able to speak to her again, to thank her for everything— for teaching you to be kind and loving, for caring for you and appreciating parts of you when you’d never felt it before, for her cherry hair tie and her bright smile and her endless wisdom and— 

[Name]? 

If you don’t make it work now, how many more months will she have to spend without smiling through life and sharing her love with others? 

You want to scream at Megumi sometimes, actually. 

[Name]!

If you don’t make it work now, how much time of her life would be wasted in the end, when she had so much potential to change the world and shine her light on others? 

…he could have just told you from the start! 

You have to focus. If he told you this at the start, would that have changed anything? 

Be useful. 

[Name]! 

You have to make it work. You have to bring Tsumiki back. 

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~ Oh, It’s You ~

<<Prev TWO Next>>

[Series Masterlist][Main Masterlist]

Ex-Sneaky Link!JJ Maybank x Kook!Reader

This is an AU set 1 year after s4 however canon plot points won’t really be mentioned.

After months of hooking up with JJ in secret, you both began developing deep feelings for each other, but when his friends, Kie especially, learn of your relationship and plot on it’s downfall JJ leaves you reeling and confused as he enters a relationship with his best friend leaving you to wonder what you did to push him away so quickly. Unbeknownst to you however. the blonde was struggling more than he let on, wanting nothing more than to go his own path but feeling trapped with those who used to make him feel free. The only person he can think of now that makes him feel as open as he once did is….you.

Warnings: Emotional cheating(flirting), ooc Kie for plot, angst, confusion, pressure, and fighting.

~~~~

Jay Nobody climbed in ur window after i left right?

Your chest clenches when you see his name on your phone screen again, it had only been an hour since he left and you had reprimanded yourself for thinking about him a dozen times as you got ready for work. You doubted if you should even respond, it didn’t feel like a good idea but you couldn’t stop yourself, quickly typing out a short response before silencing his contact and shoving your phone back into your pocket.

Y/N🤫💛 Nope. Window is locked and secure.

JJ loved seeing your name on his phone again after over a month without it, he hadn’t even changed your contact despite the fact that he probably should have. He couldn’t suppress his smile as he texted you back almost immediately, pulling his phone closer to him, side eyeing John B on his right.

What r u doin today? Delivered

JJ stared at the word “Delivered” as he swiped up on his screen obsessively, biting the inside of his cheek worse with each second that went by without a response. Fuck, JJ thought as he realized how desperate he seemed for a scrap of your attention. The sound of Kie’s voice sent a chill down his spine, a shot of guilt hitting his heart as he exited the conversation with a sigh and desperately tried for the millionth time to get you off his mind.

He never could though, and he hated himself for it. How could he just forget someone like you just because his friends didn’t like you?

“Hey Kie,” John B spoke as JJ tried to look normal, he hated this feeling. Like he was a betrayer, he didn’t want to hurt anyone ever. But he never wanted this to happen in the first place. This was the expectation placed on him, everyone always thought it would be him and Kie. Hell, he thought it would be for a very long time. But if it was so right why did it feel like he was lying to everyone he cared about whenever he talked about you or Kie.

“Hey Kie,” JJ mimicked as she sat down on the other side of him, giving him a kiss on the cheek and taking the opportunity to whisper in his ear that he looked great. “I know I do.“ JJ smirked, swinging an arm around her, trying to ignore the tug at his heart that was you.

He should not have texted you. He knew that for sure.

~~~~

Your mind raced every second you were at work, almost not able to focus with JJ popping in your head just about every second at this point. But you stayed strong and stayed off your phone, knowing you would immediately check his contact despite your better judgment. You sat behind the medium sized wooden desk beside your boss’ office, obsessively clicking your pen as you tried to keep your eyes from drifting to the clock in front of you. You agreed you wouldn’t let yourself check his contact until your work day was up. Which you thought would help keep your mind off of his perfect blue eyes, and his toned chest, and the way he would always smirk at you when he was thinking the exact same thing as you.

Key word being thought.

You’re jolted out of your JJ centric trance at the sound of your work phone ringing, sighing as you prepared your voice to answer the call. You decided to apply for a summer job to help your mother with the bills after your father left the second you turned 18 two years ago and somehow it just stuck. You knew she could handle them but you had both grown accustomed to a certain level of luxury and you felt she still deserved that, even if it meant spending a little while as a, surprisingly nice, rich guy’s secretary.

You knocked on the solid wood of your boss’ office door, waiting patiently for a response before hearing his gruff voice tell you to come in. “Your 2:30 called to cancel Sir, I had to reschedule it for a week from now. It was the only time that worked with both your schedules.”

Your boss sighed as he rubbed his eyes under his glasses, tired irises meeting yours before falling back to the paper in front of him, “Thank you Miss Y/L/N,” He said, clearly annoyed but not at you, taking a quick glance at the clock before tossing his pen down and reaching to remove his glasses with the same hand as he relaxed in his office chair, “You can probably take the rest of the day off, send a message to my wife to let her know I’ll be home early on your way out please and have a good weekend.”

“Thank you Mr.Barnes, you have a good weekend too Sir.” You stated with a smile before silently slipping out of his office, typing out a quick message to Mrs.Barnes just as your boss asked before grabbing your bag and readying yourself to leave. You quickly find your phone in your bag, not wasting a second to open Messages to see JJ had in fact texted you. You never got off early, Mr.Barnes was always so busy that you were in turn just as busy if not more busy. So you took it as a sign from the world to unsilence JJ’s contact and just get over with it and text him back.

Sorry Jay, I was at work all day.

Your thumb hesitates over the send button before adding, Other than that I don’t have any plans but staying in my room. Don’t worry though my window is still locked.

You giggled as you pressed send while continuing your walk to your car. You weren’t surprised that you didn’t immediately get a response after leaving him on delivered almost all day but you scolded yourself as you drove home, music uninterrupted by a notification. Now that you thought of it your text seemed overly flirty for the circumstances at hand, he must think you’re ridiculously desperate. You thought as you tugged open your door, slipping off your shoes and trudging up to your bedroom.

“Fuck.” You breath while you stare at your ceiling, the scent of JJ still lingering slightly in your room as your eyes find the blanket and pillow he used the night before. You close your eyes tight with a sigh, “Desperate. Desperate. Desp-“

The sound of your phone snaps your eyes open, silencing you as you slowly look to your screen as it pings again. You contemplate waiting, making yourself seem less eager to get a message but you ultimately fail.

Jay Could that window be unlocked for me

Jay I’ll sleep on the floor and leave first thing

Jay Promise.

Your heart skips a beat as you read the texts coming through. You want to say “no, never speak to me again, have a nice life.” But your brain kept telling you something was wrong. The JJ you knew and, against your better judgment, loved never acted so closed off, so hurt. While you didn’t know if it was your subconscious making yourself feel better about everything you and JJ had been through and the fact that he still felt nothing for you, you knew you were going to let him in.

“You’re an adult, you can’t be this stubborn for the rest of our lives,” Kie shouted, standing above JJ where he sat on her bed. “Rafe has changed, not everyone stays who they were in high school like you.”

“Rafe wasn’t a kid Kiara, he was basically our age now,” JJ huffs, checking his phone again, gritting his teeth, “You act like he was some innocent victim.”

“He went through a lot okay, if Sarah can forgive him why can’t you.” She snaps, huffing as she begins to pace.

“Sarah has a child who should know his uncle, they’re family, Sarah didn’t “forgive” him she accepted it because she’s a good mother and a good sister,” JJ snaps, eyeing Kie where she stares at him like he had two heads, “And I don’t need to accept shit.”

Kie’s eyes darken, staring at him like he was somehow wrong. Her jaw noticeably clenches while she stops pacing, staring at him with eyes as deadly as a viper.

JJ sighs, eyeing his phone again and preparing himself for a lecture.

~~~~

[Next Part]

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