#that and falling through the floor into the void

[00fairylights00]

My friends: explain to me again why you spent over $1000 on PC parts?

Me:

✨he✨

[desolationcleo]

yeah i'm on a watcher lore kick today

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

Part 2/2

By the time Stanley had realized he wasn't as alone as he believed himself to be entrapped in this ravenous abyss; he had honestly begun to suspect that he was finally starting to properly lose his mind.

In all the ceaseless miles that Stanley had journeyed during his apparent permanent residence within the dark devouring void, not once had he encountered another conscious, walking, talking being similar to himself. Every other formerly living creature that he had crossed paths with had been so... silent. Empty. Dead, in every sense of the word. It was as though the very essence of life itself had been sucked out of their bodies with a straw, their forms slowly falling apart piece by piece under the vicious gluttony of the darkness that surrounded them. They looked like they actually were supposed to be there, unmoving and comatose, unlike him.

So, when Stanley first began to encounter the twins, all of a sudden, he wasn't the only one in the dark.

When meeting the first pair of them, he found himself standing in a lake.

He hadn't even noticed the changes at first. It felt as though he had been walking for weeks on end, his body moving purely on autopilot and his aching legs leading him towards a destination only it knew. A thick fog of forgetfulness and flickering memories had descended upon his brain like a heavy blanket of numbing static as he had traveled. In this absentminded state, he hadn't even realized that the ever-present undulating, buzzing darkness surrounding him had begun to gradually shift and morph to form a horizon line; stretching into tall looming cliffsides that almost seemed to close in on him. Once the nonexistent floor beneath his soles abruptly began to ripple and warp, like the disturbed surface of a shallow puddle; only then did he finally notice his transformed environment.

The transition was seamless, almost dream-like. One moment, he was still surrounded by that filthy, overwhelming abyss; and the next, his boots were suddenly plunged deep into the cold, dark lake water.

The silence didn't leave, however. It still choked and stuffed its way into Stanley's ears to clog up his mind with thick cotton; the eerie quiet not quite matching the calm, almost serene scenery the void seemed to have abruptly transformed itself into. Like a movie with its sound cut off; leaving only the unsettling hum of the projector to fill the empty air.

It was odd. The lake was surely incredibly deep. He could obviously tell from how thin and pathetically small the shores appeared all the way from where he now unceremoniously stood in the middle of the lake. Stan could look down and see the darkness below his feet swallow what meager light that managed to break through the murky waters. The overwhelming black almost seemed to beckon him, gaping and haunting; a bottomless underwater pit of pitch black that never seemed to end.

And yet, he didn't sink. Stanley remained perfectly level, the almost ink like waters stopping just at ankle level, as though he were held up just above the surface by some invisible force. Even the writhing waves seemed small and low, as though the waters were shy to climb up his legs further than that. It was odd, so very odd.

However, it wasn't nowhere near as odd as the sight that greeted him when he finally lifted his eyes from the waters.

Stanley had crossed paths with truly unbelievable sights in this strange somewhere; from bursting, collapsing stars; to the imploding heat death of entire universes, but none of them seemed to hold the candle to what he saw then when he lifted his eyes:

Children.

Two, to be exact. Two, nearly identical looking children stood motionless before him; completely soaked through to the bone as though they had taken a plunge into the frigid water that pooled around their ankles. It was a girl and a boy, both adorned with twin expressions utterly devoid of emotion, their wide eyed stare seeming to burn holes into his thin jacket. Their drenched clothes sagged off of their scrawny frames; thin rivulets of water dirpping off of them and disturbing the glassy surface of the water at their feet. The little girl's hair had messily stuck to her face in thin sodden strands, her cheeks still full and round with youth just like the boy's. They looked young. Too young to be in a place such as this.

Oh, but their eyes; their eyes.

They burned with such anger; such injustice, brighter than any dying star or galaxies he had ever seen. Anger towards the world, to fate, to whatever cruel deity that had deemed them fit to be sent to this wretched place so prematurely. They were too young to be here; to be entrapped like he was amongst this hungry darkness. And yet, here they were, sheer denial against their own untimely deaths being the only thing keeping them awake and conscious amongst the dead and rotting. A show of juvenile defiance to nature itself so vehement even the all-consumign darkness seemed hesitant to devour them whole just yet.

It saddened him. It saddened him to know that they belonged there, that they were supposed to be there. He could see it, he could feel it; they were dead. No amount of determination could deny that universal fact.

When they spoke, Stanley could hear anger:

Stan chuckled in a futile attempt to lighten the suddenly heavy atmosphere that threatened to crush him whole. "A lake monster? You kids and your imagination," he teased, hoping to somehow rid the poor kids of the haunted look that seemed to whirl in their glares. No child should have been burdened with such a knowing look; such eyes that looked like they had seen everything there was to see about the world, the horrid and the good.

Clearly, it had been the wrong thing to say, and Stanley's faux pas was rewarded with a scowl from the little boy. A world's worth of sour contempt etched into every contorted groove that his grimace seemed to dig into his much too young face. Stan suddenly felt guilt squeeze at his weary bones for having caused that.

"That's what they all said," the boy spat out, eyes shining with a sheen of wetness Stan wasn't sure he was prepared to deal with.

Stan left that first interaction with the twins with the feeling of guilt and sorrow still clining to him.

He couldn't have known, at the time. He couldn't have known that this wouldn't be anywhere near the last time that he would meet the pair. He hadn't realised just how many of them there were. After that first pair, his endless journeying within the Abyss was hardly be spent alone anymore. Countless more times, he came face to face with the exact same two young and impossibly worn faces; forced to meet one pair of beaten and bruised kids after another.

Not one pair had died the same death as another. Some had gotten lost, prey to whatever threat that had snatched them up out in the open; some had fallen from high up; some had been crushed under an incredible weight; some had burned; some eaten alive; some zombified. Some didn't even seem physically harmed at all, body perfectly intact, and yet that same faraway, distrubed look in their eyes remained.

He thought the worst ones were the ones he found alone. A little girl or a little boy, left all lonesome without their other half there. Twins, he remembered a pair of them telling him once.

Once, he had come across a town full of silent, stone statues. It was a rustic, shabby, almost nostalgic looking town- odd and strangely familiar. The sight of it had tugged at an aged memory that had long since wasted away in the back of his mind. It was serene, almost deceptively so. The sun shone; the air smelled crisp and fresh; numerous waterfalls continued to crash down from the tall cliffsides; and a soft nonexistent breeze whistled through the thicket of pine trees that blanketed the outskirts of the town. None of it seemed to match the gruesome scene of the hundred wailing statues that littered every inch of the town.

He had found the boy's statue on the other side of town, deep within the green forest and toppled over the gnarled roots of a towering tree. Like the rest of the townsfolk, he too, was frozen mid-shriek; his stone face twisted and contorted into a mock impression of a silent scream as his body lay paused in a writhing struggle. He made sure to be gentle when he carried the boy's statue over to place it beside the girl's, whose statue stood far deeper into the forest, sporting the same rictus grimace of terror as her brother's. It somehow felt wrong for them to have been so far apart from one another, even in death.

He had come to dread meeting of the twins. He hated every second he had to confront yet another pair of dead children that did not belong here, but fate had decided they did. He despised having to listen to their tales of woe as they wept about the injustice of the world, of having died young; he despised himself for being unable to do more than weep with them.

"We don't belong here, Grunkle Stan," he would listen to the little girl weep, calling him a title he didn't recognize. He never remembered if they had ever told him their name, but they all seem to know his, without a fail. "If we're dead, then what about you? What about Grunkle Ford? Mom? Dad? What about them? We can't be dead, we can't be," they would say, confusion and frustration written all over their faces. They didn't understand. They didn't understand why they had come to the darkness so early, so unfairly.

He never knew what to say, he'd never been good with words.

All he could do was kneel down to their levels and engulf them in his arms, hoping he could somehow squeeze the pain straight out of their bodies in his embrace. He hugged them, because what else could he do?

[clockwayswrites]

5 Times the JL Learned Batman was Married and the 1 Time They Met the Spouse.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. + 1

“What is going on?” Batman asked the group as he swept into the room.

John stayed focused on the circle, not wanting to mess up now. It would be a lot of faff for nothing if he did.

���Constantine believes he has a contact to help us with our current issue,” Superman explained. “He is working on the summoning circle now.”

“Is that safe to do on the Watchtower?” Batman asked, as cautious as ever.

“Yeah, mate,” John answered for himself. “This one is a good one. Haven’t met them myself, but real helpful sort of fellow from everything I’ve heard. Or at least real helpful for the things that they can help with.”

Careful not to smudge any lines, John moved backwards out of the circle and gave it a good look over. The rest of the lot were talking about something, but if Batman hadn’t stopped him yet, John figured he was good and intended to keep working. A little slice to his finger, a few drops of blood, the right words, and it was done.

The white markings of the circle seemed to shudder and warp, like the lines on a desert street. Then they snapped a bright green and the inner lines seemed to fall away into an endless void. The void rippled and suddenly a hand reached out of it. The claws made the worst sound as they gripped into the metal floor.

Another hand joined it.

And then the being pulled themselves out of the summoning circle.

John knew better than to try and comprehend what he was seeing. It was all shadow and green flames and fear anyways.

“Who dares to call upon the Ghost King?” the being asked. The voice echoed through the room, through John’s head, through his soul. It sounded like a thousand screaming voices of the dead speaking all at once.

Toxic green eyes in the black mass swept over the group. It was like they were being seen; their souls, their very beings, every aspect of them flayed open and on display for this other worldly entity. John swallowed reflexively when the eyes paused on him for a moment. He wasn’t scared, but there was still a primal part of his brain that said he should run.

Then the gaze landed on Batman and stayed there. Superman stepped forward, slightly, as if to shield Batman from the being’s view.

The being didn’t seem to care and leaned forward up to the edge of the circle. “B?”

Batman inclined his head slightly, “Phantom.”

“Shit. This Justice League approved, huh? Sorry about the dramatics. Usually I only get summoned by cultists who want Pariah Dark, the old king, to give them power or cleanse the world of life or blah blah blah. Best to show up and put the fear of me into them,” the being said, motioning to themselves and all their horror. The reverb of their voice had settled some, now only like a few voices overlapping.

“Understandable,” Batman agreed, seemingly unaffected by it all.

John could only shrug incredulously at Superman’s questioning gaze. Fuck if he knew. Sure, Bats was unflappable, but everyone knew he avoided the supernatural stuff if he could.

The being pulled the last of itself out of the portal which sealed with a sickening squelch. “You could have just called though. Like, I get summoning is a quick way to travel, but it's a little painful."

“Painful?” Batman asked, turning to stare at John, who swallowed nervously at the cold tone.

“Yeah. This was a pretty clean circle though, props to the maker—”

“Thanks, I think?” John mumbled at he watched the being start to shift. It was like watching a black hole collapse in on itself.

“—so it's not that bad, but still it feels like ripping some duct tape off my skin or something,” the being continued. They were much more human shaped now, though they still smiled with an alarming number of very white teeth.

“We'll keep that in mind in the future. I was unaware of who, exactly, they were summoning.”

The rest of the roiling darkness settled on their shoulders like a half cape— one that seemed to hold the infinity of the night sky inside it. The vortex of flames settled into a crown of fire that floated above a head of stark white hair. They flexed their claws and the limbs settled into normal hands that they tucked into pockets of their three piece black suit with its sharp white accents. Then they stepped over the live of what was supposed to be an unbreakable summoning circle.

Like it was just waking through a door.

Like it was nothing.

John took a reflexive step back. This kind of rule breaking shit was exactly why he liked to avoid the Infinite Realms when he could; they were too chaotic to easily manage.

“All good,” they said with a shrug and a fanged smile. “So, what did you need the Ghost King for?”

-

Bruce watched Phantom scan the meeting room as they entered. Their eyes caught, just for a moment, and a million thoughts ran through Bruce’s head. Did he want to do this? Was it time? He trusted the Justice League. They had issues and conflicts, like any group, but they were heroes through and through.

Revealing this also did not mean revealing either of their civilian identities.

The nod was barely any movement at all, but Bruce knew that Phantom had caught it and understood. After so many years together, they hardly needed words, which Bruce often appreciated. Words had never been easy for Bruce. He worked on it for his family. He had to after…

Bruce forced himself not to think about that. Danny had saved Jason, even if the resulting years without Danny there were some of the hardest for the family. They were together again and better for it. Bruce let out a careful breath and took his normal seat.

“Thank you for your assistance, King Phantom,” Wonder Woman started. Phantom held up a hand.

“I didn’t say I could assist. I’ll listen and help if I can and see fit, but there are a great many things that are not mine to aid in,” Phantom said sternly, though his voice was carefully kind. “My influence is only over those closely tied to death and of the Infinite Realms. The living are outside of my jurisdiction.”

“Of course,” Superman said quickly as he could without rushing the words. “Listening is a great start. If you’ll take a seat.”

Phantom nodded and strode right past the indicated seat. With a casual ease that Bruce had always envied, Phantom sat on the arm of Bruce’s chair.

“Um, King Phantom, your majesty?” Flash started nervously. “Batman doesn’t really like to be touched?”

“Really?” Phantom asked innocently. Bruce couldn’t see it, but knew exactly the smirk Phantom had as he leaned back to lounge against Bruce’s shoulder. (Bruce loved that smile.)

Bruce schooled his expression as he watched Flash and Hal exchange looks and frantic hand signs to each other.

J’onn tilted his head curiously as he took his own seat. Bruce could see J’onn come to an understanding as his eyes flickered down the the black metal brand around Phantom’s ring finger in the shape of a flying bat.

“Ah,” J’onn said softly.

“Ah? Ah what?” Flash asked, his words almost a whine. “What do you know?”

Bruce rested his hand lightly on Phantom’s hip, well aware that the motion was in sight of both Superman and Wonder Woman.

“Ah,” Wonder Woman said with a little smile. “J’onn knows something we all know, though not in this context. It is good to meet you, Phantom.”

“Good to meet you also, Wonder Woman. I’ve heard a lot about you,” Phantom said as she sat down next to them.

“I wish I could say the same,” she said with a teasing smile directed Bruce’s way.

“Hn.”

Phantom just laughed, the sound echoing like a ringing bell. “It’s okay, I know what B is like. Trust me, that you know anything at all is a big deal. He’s just bad at doing things the normal way.”

Bruce held back a sigh and just pinched Phantom’s side again, making the other squeak and backhand Bruce in the chest.

“Holy shit!” Hal jutted a finger at Phantom. “You’re Batman’s husband!”

“Guilty as charged,” Phantom said.

“Wait, no, you’re what?” Flash asked and zipped closer to the table. “Huh. You are so not what I expected. I mean, I guess ghost plus Spooky works but you’re so… lively! Wait— is that like, offensive to call the dead lively?”

Phantom laughed again and shook his head. “No, but not everyone in the realms will take it as a compliment. I don’t mind and besides, I’m only half-dead.”

“Half-dead?” Superman asked with his brow furrowed worriedly.

Phantom just waved the concern away. “It’s complicated. Mostly it just means that I still get to live out my human life as simply a human. Ghosts move slower, having eternity and all, so there’s not too much for me to do as the king other than attend to summons and make slow changes.”

“So,” Hal started, ignoring Bruce’s glare and sliding into a seat finally. “You’re married to Batman in your civilian form as well?”

“Of course, it would be silly otherwise,” Phantom said and then added, “and no, I won’t tell you who B is. That’s for him to choose.”

“Okay, but like, we can talk to you, right?” Flash asked, eager as ever.

“Well, I’m here, aren’t I? But work first. What do you think I can help you all with?”

Bruce moved his hand to rest on the small of Phantom’s back and watched his husband command the room like the king he was.

--- AN: and here's the last part! The JL finally meet Batman's husband, or at least once side of him!

[kirammanswifey]

Will you, pretty please, make a pt 2 of arcane characters breaking up with their so? You know, some fluff to cure our wounds…

arcane characters reconcile with you after the breakup x fem reader

characters: viktor, jinx, vi, caitlyn, jayce, ekko, silco, mel and sevika.

writer's note: let's be honest, both you and i needed this, i love a bit of drama but a bit of fluff is also necessary sometimes, and it was so nice to write this, i loved all the reconciliations, especially caitlyn's. thank you so much for all the support you give me, it makes me want to keep creating more and more content. as you know the requests are open ;)

break up link:

alternative sad final link:

@sugurulefttesticle thanks for the support babe :3

Viktor

The laboratory was shrouded in an unsettling gloom, the shadows cast by the machines seemed longer, darker. Loneliness had settled in every corner, but at the center of it all, Viktor was there, hunched over his plans, as if the weight of his thoughts was crushing him.

Since you had left, time had lost its meaning. The hours blurred into sleepless nights and frantic days of work. But nothing, no formula, no discovery, could fill the void you had left.

The door opened with a soft creak, but Viktor didn’t turn around. Perhaps he had imagined that sound before, hoping it was you, and he feared that this time it would be another illusion. However, your gentle steps echoed on the metal floor, and then his heart skipped a beat.

"Viktor..." your voice was barely a whisper, laden with emotion. "Please, look at me."

He closed his eyes, as if he needed to gather all his strength to do so. Slowly, he turned towards you, and seeing you there, a mix of surprise and something akin to relief crossed his face. But his eyes were filled with something deeper, a sadness he couldn’t hide.

“I didn’t think you would come back…” he said with a broken voice, barely audible. “After everything I did… I didn’t think I deserved your return.”

You stepped closer, each step carrying the intent to close the distance he had put between you. "Viktor, it was never about deserving. It’s about understanding that we need to face this together."

“I pushed you away because… I’m afraid,” he confessed, his voice trembling with the emotional weight. “Afraid that you’ll see me fail, that everything I am won’t be enough. Afraid that one day you’ll realize you can be happier without me.”

The weight of his words hit you like a wave, but you didn’t waver. “Viktor, we all have fears. But running from what scares us doesn’t make it go away. I’m here because I don’t want a future without you, even if it means facing our fears together.”

Viktor lowered his gaze, a silent tear falling down his cheek. “You are... the only thing that has kept me human. Without you, I become a machine, soulless, heartless. I don’t want to lose myself… I don’t want to lose you.”

Hearing those words, your own tears began to flow. You stepped closer to him, your hand reaching his face, gently caressing the cheek where the tear had fallen. “You won’t lose yourself, Viktor. Not as long as we’re together.”

He finally lifted his gaze, his eyes searching yours with a mix of desperation and hope. “How can you keep loving me after everything I’ve put you through?”

“Because I love you,” you said without hesitation. “Not for what you do, but for who you are, even when you can’t see it yourself.”

Viktor let out a sob he had been holding back, and without thinking twice, he moved towards you, wrapping you in his arms. It was a fragile embrace but full of promises. In that moment, you knew that, although the road would be difficult, together you could find a way to rebuild what had been broken.

Jinx

The night was heavy with rain and despair. Jinx stood at the edge of a building, her feet barely touching the edge as she gazed into the abyss below. The icy wind whipped her body, but she didn’t feel the cold. She was trapped in a whirlwind of dark thoughts, each more desperate than the last.

“End it,” the voices in her head whispered, cruel and persistent. “It’s best for everyone. Get rid of all the pain. You don’t deserve more.”

Her gaze was empty, lost in a place no one else could reach. She closed her eyes, letting the tears mix with the rain, allowing the weight of her emotions to push her further toward the edge.

But then, through the sound of the rain, she heard something. A voice. A familiar voice, filled with anguish. “Jinx, no, please... don’t do it.”

She opened her eyes slowly and saw you, soaked by the rain, your face marked by desperation and tears. You had run to her, not stopping, not thinking of the danger. Now you were there, fighting to reach her, fighting to bring her back.

“Why did you come?” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I told you to stay away... not to come back.”

“Because I can’t leave you alone,” you responded, taking a step closer, each movement filled with fear and love. “I love you, Jinx. I can’t lose you like this.”

She shook her head, the tears falling uncontrollably. “You shouldn’t love me. Not after everything I’ve done. I’m a mess. I’ll ruin you, like I ruin everything.”

“Let me decide that,” you said, your voice broken but firm. “You’re not a mess. You’re my baby, and I love you, even when everything seems to fall apart. I won’t leave you alone.”

Jinx stepped back slightly, as if your words hurt her more than anything else. “I always hurt people... I can’t stop. I don’t want to hurt you, but I always end up doing it.”

“I can take it,” you replied, stepping closer, extending your hands toward her, knowing you couldn’t rush her. “Because I’d rather be with you in your worst moments than lose you forever. You don’t have to face this alone. Let me help you.”

She trembled, the weight of her emotions too much to bear. “I’m scared... scared that I can’t stop, scared that this darkness will consume me. I don’t want you to sink with me.”

“We’ll sink together if we have to,” you promised, your hands still extended, waiting for her to reach you. “I don’t care how much it costs. I’m here to stay, Jinx. I won’t abandon you.”

For a long and painful moment, Jinx remained silent, her gaze filled with a sadness so deep it seemed impossible to heal. But finally, her hands moved, barely brushing yours at first, then clinging to them as if they were the only thing keeping her anchored to this world.

“Promise me you won’t leave me,” she whispered, her voice broken by anguish.

“I promise,” you said, squeezing her hands with all the love and desperation you felt. “No matter what happens, no matter how dark it gets, I’ll always be with you.”

With those words, Jinx stepped back from the edge and collapsed into your arms, her body shaken by heart-wrenching sobs. The storm still raged around them, but at that moment, they were bound by something stronger than fear: the promise not to abandon each other.

Vi

The weeks without Vi have been torment. Each day feels like a part of you fades a little more, as if her absence is slowly tearing your soul apart. Today, you’re in the gardens of your home, holding a photo in your hands: the first one you took with Vi, both smiling, happy, unaware of the pain that would come after. Tears blur your vision as your heart breaks over and over with the memories.

Then, you hear footsteps, and there she is, standing, her eyes filled with a mix of regret and desperation. You quickly try to dry your tears, to hide the photo, as if that could erase the pain consuming you.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, your voice trembling, not sure if you can bear what’s to come.

Vi takes a step forward, her expression more vulnerable than ever. “I miss you,” she says, her voice broken. “I’m sorry for everything I said, everything I did. I can’t live without you.”

You close your eyes, feeling every word of hers like a direct blow to your heart. “None of that matters now, Vi,” you respond, trying to maintain your firmness. “My family has decided to marry me to a member of the Piltover council.”

Vi looks at you, her face pale. “Marry?” she whispers, as if the word were a curse. “You can’t do it. I know you don’t love anyone else. You can’t love anyone but me.”

Tears threaten to return, but you hold them back. “It’s not my choice, Vi. They decide for me. You’re the one who left me, who pushed me into this destiny.”

“I was an idiot,” Vi admits, taking another step toward you. “I know. But I can’t let this happen. I’ll fight for you, even if I have to face the whole world. I won’t lose you, not like this.”

“And what will that change?” you shout, unable to contain the pain any longer. “You can’t fight everyone! You can’t change who I am, what they expect of me.”

Vi stops, her gaze fixed on yours, with an intensity that leaves you breathless. “The only time you’ll stand at an altar will be with me by your side,” she says with unbreakable firmness. “I won’t let you marry anyone else. Not as an act of pride, but because I love you, and I don’t want to live without you.”

“Vi, please,” you whisper, the tears now falling freely. “This is bigger than us. You can’t fix it with pretty words.”

“Then I’ll fix it with actions,” she responds, with a resolve you hadn’t seen before. “I’ll go wherever necessary, face your parents, that damn council, anyone who tries to come between us. I won’t let them take you from me.”

Her voice trembles, but her determination does not. “I don’t want you to be my savior,” you whisper, your voice almost inaudible. “I want you to be my partner, my equal. But I can’t do this alone, Vi. I can’t keep fighting if you’re not by my side.”

Vi comes closer, until the distance between you both disappears. “You’ll never be alone again,” she promises, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “I love you, and I swear I’ll fight for us, until my last breath. I won’t let them separate us, not them, not anyone.”

The weight of her words envelops you, and finally, you let yourself fall into her arms, allowing all the pain, fear, and contained love to overflow. Vi holds you tightly, whispering promises of a future together, promises that, this time, you’re willing to believe.

Caitlyn

The trial is a public spectacle, a circus meant to satisfy Piltover’s thirst for justice. You stand in the center of the room, hands tied behind your back, as the council leaders gaze at you coldly. The accusations fly over your head like sharp daggers: treason, conspiracy, disloyalty. All because you tried to talk to Ekko, to seek a peace you believed possible between the two cities.

Caitlyn stands at the back of the room, her face impassive, her gaze fixed on you. She hasn’t said a word since the trial began, and the emptiness in her expression breaks you more than any word of condemnation. You know she’s fighting internally, but her silence feels like a sentence in itself.

Finally, the judge announces the decision: "For the charges of treason, this court decrees that you will be stripped of your position as Enforcer and permanently exiled from Piltover."

The verdict falls like a hammer on your heart. You feel your world crumble in an instant. You look at Caitlyn, searching in her eyes for some sign of support, of compassion, but she remains motionless.

As the judge is about to strike the gavel to conclude the session, Caitlyn steps forward, her voice resonating with dangerous calm. "One moment."

The entire room turns toward her. Caitlyn advances with the elegance and authority she has always possessed, but there’s something new in her eyes, a spark of defiance.

"I cannot allow this sentence to be carried out," she says firmly. "This isn’t justice; it’s an act of fear and repression. The person you’re accusing only sought peace, a diplomatic solution to prevent more bloodshed."

The judge frowns, but Caitlyn continues before he can interrupt. "I am the leader of the Enforcers, and my loyalty is to true justice, not a system that punishes hope. If you expel my partner from this city, if you strip someone whose only crime was trying to save us all, then you’ll be provoking a rift you cannot control."

Caitlyn takes another step forward, and her voice lowers, but each word is a sharp edge. "I could easily take control, dismantle this corrupt system from within, and there would be nothing you could do to stop me. But that’s not the justice I seek. What I want is fairness, compassion, and truth."

The silence in the room is deafening. The council members exchange glances, understanding they are not dealing with someone who can be manipulated or intimidated.

After what feels like an eternity, the judge finally relents. "We will review the sentence. The accused will be sanctioned and will not be allowed to leave Piltover, but she will not be exiled or stripped of her position."

Caitlyn nods slightly, then approaches you, freeing you from your bonds with her own hands. "Let’s go," she murmurs, her voice soft yet filled with authority.

You leave the courtroom with her, and once you’re away from the others’ eyes, Caitlyn stops. For the first time, you see her tremble. "I’m sorry," she whispers, her eyes finally filling with tears. "I shouldn’t have doubted you. I shouldn’t have left you alone."

The vulnerability in her voice disarms you. Despite everything, despite the pain, you know Caitlyn did what she could to save you. "Cait," you say softly, taking her face in your hands. "What you just did... was the greatest act of love you could give me. You chose between authority and me, and you chose me."

She closes her eyes, tears falling freely. "It will always be you," she says, her voice trembling. "No matter the odds or the problems that come, I will always choose you. You are my justice, my reason, my everything."

The words sink into your heart, bringing overwhelming relief. You kiss her softly, sealing with that gesture the love that binds you. "You are my everything too, Cait," you whisper. "You always have been."

She holds you tightly, as if she’ll never let you go. "Together," she says in a whisper, her voice laden with emotion. "No matter what happens, we’ll face everything together. Because you are my choice, now and always."

Jayce

The air was thick with tension as the words that had been kept bottled up for so long finally exploded. Everything about him was focused on his ambition, on his vision for Piltover, and everything in you was hurt, torn apart by his indifference.

The last time you saw each other, it was a goodbye filled with cruel and cold words, an ending with no way back. You had decided that you could no longer be the shadow of his dreams, an accessory to the side of his grand plans. You didn’t want any more empty promises. You didn’t want to be the sacrifice.

But now, all that seemed about to change.

One day, you find yourself in your laboratory, lost in your thoughts, trying to push away the lingering pain. The door opens with a familiar creak, and your heart skips a beat without warning. It's not someone you expected to see. It’s him. Jayce.

Silence rises between the two of you. The air is heavy, as if time itself had stopped. He’s there, looking at you, but his gaze no longer holds the confidence it once had. In his eyes, there’s something else now: uncertainty, a faint glimmer of regret.

"I thought I understood," he says, his voice deep but hesitant. "I thought that what I was doing, the ambition, the future of Piltover... I thought it all had to be that way. That I had to leave everything behind, even you, if I wanted to get to where I am now."

You remain silent, the pain still fresh in your veins, but something inside you urges you to listen. You know that everything you’ve been through together can’t be left behind without an answer. You can’t help it, but something inside you breaks again at the sound of his voice, the same one that used to calm your fears, now trembling.

"But I haven’t forgotten you," he continues. "I haven’t stopped thinking about you, about us, about what we were. About what we could have been... if only I weren’t so blind."

You look at him, his presence so intense that it almost makes you doubt everything you thought you knew. "Then why are you here?" you ask, your heart pounding in your chest. "After everything you said... after everything that happened, why?"

Jayce takes a step towards you, hesitant but determined. "Because in the end, I realized that nothing is worth it if you’re not by my side. No matter how great Piltover becomes, no matter how grand my legacy is, if I don’t share that greatness with the person who truly matters."

His voice breaks at the end, as if he’s finally acknowledging something he had avoided all along.

A lump forms in your throat, and your hands tremble slightly. "Jayce..." you murmur, not knowing whether you want to believe him or if you’re afraid it’s too late for all this.

"I’m sorry," he says, his tone filled with remorse. "I’m sorry for not listening to you. For not realizing what we had until I almost lost it. I don’t know how to fix it, but I want to try. If you’ll let me... I want to try to make it right. I want you to be part of my life, not just a secondary option, not just something I pushed aside."

He gently takes your hands, almost as if he’s afraid you’ll break in his fingers. "I want to be better for you. And if that means changing, if it means prioritizing you, I’ll do it. Because I need you. Not just as part of my life, but as the center of it."

Jayce’s words envelop you like a warm embrace, but you’re still afraid. Afraid that this promise might be just another lie. However, a part of you wants to believe that all of this can be real.

"Do you really understand?" you ask, looking into his eyes with an intensity that reflects your doubts and hopes. "Because I don’t want to be a shadow anymore. I don’t want to be the sacrifice on your path to something that doesn’t include what we shared."

He nods, the determination in his gaze revealing that he’s not here just to talk but to prove it. "I promise you, I understand now. What we have is the only thing that truly matters."

Your breathing calms, though the uncertainty still lingers. "So what are you going to do? Are you going to stop fighting just for Piltover and start fighting for us?"

Jayce smiles, a vulnerable but sincere smile. "I’m going to fight for what really matters, for what I didn’t want to lose. For you."

A weight lifts from your shoulders, and for a moment, you feel that the pain of everything lost can be healed. Because, in the end, it’s not about power or control. It’s about what the heart chooses, about what people decide to cherish.

You step closer to him, gently touching his face, and at last, after so long, you allow yourself to be vulnerable. "I don’t want to lose you again," you whisper.

"And you won’t," he responds, drawing you even closer, as if there had never been space between you. "Never again."

Ekko

The cold wind of Zaun blew strongly as you entered the house, the echo of your footsteps resonating like a forewarning. You didn’t know what you were going to find, but something told you that Ekko was no longer the same. The house, once filled with laughter and camaraderie, now seemed empty, desolate.

Ekko was there, sitting in front of a table, his hands trembling slightly. When he saw you, his eyes widened, but there was no surprise, just a flicker of something else. Regret.

"Ekko..." you whispered, your voice breaking. In the distance, the image of the battle came to mind. That night when you almost lost him forever. It had been a brutal blow. The fear of never seeing him again consumed you.

"I saw everything, you know?" Ekko began to speak, his voice softer than usual, as if he were searching for the right words. "When I fell… when everything seemed to be ending… the only thing I saw… was you." A long sigh escaped his chest, as if those words had cost him as much as a contained scream. "I saw your face, your pain… and I realized, too late, that the only battle that truly mattered, the one I didn’t want to lose… was ours."

Silence filled the room, your eyes welling up with tears as you processed what he had just said. "Ekko, why...? Why couldn’t we make it work before?"

He looked at you deeply, as if each word was a struggle, as if he were slowly building up what he felt. "I told you that you weren’t enough... but it was me who wasn’t enough. I, who thought I could save everything, who thought I could be everything for everyone, but when I looked at my life… I saw nothing. I saw what I had lost the most. And it was me who pushed away the only thing that truly mattered."

He stood up with effort, his eyes filled with regret and pain, the way he looked at you was so intense it hurt. "I… I fought for Zaun, but the only real fight I should be fighting, the only one that matters, is for you." His words flowed out of his mouth, but it seemed he was seeking his own forgiveness. "I failed you. I failed you because I didn’t understand what it meant to have you by my side. You were always enough, and you always will be."

He approached slowly, his face now close to yours, and though his gaze was tired, there was something new in it: vulnerability. "Would you let me fight for you, even now, even though everything is broken?"

Your voice trembled as you looked into Ekko's eyes. "Why are you asking me now? Why when everything is already broken?"

"Because I saw you leave, I saw how my life dimmed without you. And I realized that despite everything, the only thing that keeps me standing is knowing that I can still fight for what I love the most. And that's you. You are my reason to keep going. My only reason." His eyes glistened, and for a moment, it seemed that time had stopped between the two of you.

The air was heavy with palpable pain, and your tears fell uncontrollably. No matter how much damage had been done, the love between you had never left, it had just been buried under layers of pride and distance.

"Ekko..." you whispered, your voice broken. "What if I'm no longer what you need?"

"You’ll always be. You always were. And you always will be, baby" he said, his voice cracking as he took your hands with a desperate strength. "I’m so sorry."

Finally, words were no longer enough, and in an impulse, you both leaned in, letting yourselves be carried by the need to heal what was broken. Ekko's tears mixed with yours, the pain transformed into something that needed to be healed, and within the shadows of the house, you both finally understood that although the path to reconciliation would be difficult, there was still a chance to fight for the love that hadn’t completely disappeared.

Silco

The warehouse's dim light wrapped around you like an ominous forewarning, the thick, heavy air clinging to your skin. You had fallen into the trap, and although you knew it, you couldn't stop fighting, trying to free yourself. You had been at the brink of death more times than you cared to count, but this time it was different. The face of the man who held you prisoner was not one you knew well, but you did know that he was under the orders of someone much more dangerous. Silco had never fully explained the world he moved in, but something about the surroundings told you there would be no escape. This wasn't just any kidnapping. This time you wouldn't be saved so easily.

The ropes binding your wrists tightened as your mind spun in search of a way out. Your breathing was uneven, and every attempt to calm yourself only multiplied the fear. The man in front of you, with harsh features and cold eyes, watched your every move with a cruel smile. The sense of threat was palpable, yet you tried to defy him, even though you knew it was a vain attempt.

"Silco?" You called, but your voice trembled, betrayed by panic.

"Do you think he'll come to save you?"

The man let out a mocking laugh, stepping closer, the blade of a knife catching the warehouse's dim light.

"Silco has too many problems to deal with you," he said with a calm that only made the situation more terrifying. "You should already know, in this world, there's no room for weakness. Especially not for a little whore like you; you whores are replaceable. And apparently, he's already replaced you, everyone knows it. But my boss thought it would be a courteous gesture to send him your head as a small gift."

Your thoughts blurred with the sound of the door bursting open, and a chill ran down your spine at the familiar echo of firm, controlled footsteps. It was him. There was no doubt.

The man didn't seem worried, his arrogance had blinded him. "What's the great Silco doing here? Jealous that I have your former little bitch now? Relax, I'll give her back to you once I'm done with her. You can keep a leg or both, but her organs are mine, I'm sure they'll fetch a good price in the market."

There was no response. Silco didn't say a word, but the tension in the air was so thick that the entire room seemed to hold its breath. His eyes, cold as ice, scanned the man before you and then fixed on you, without showing a hint of emotion. Without hesitation, his hand slid to the back of his belt. In the blink of an eye, the sound of the gunshot echoed through the room, and the man fell to the ground, his life fading so quickly he didn't even have time to comprehend it.

It all happened in a matter of seconds, but for you, the world seemed to stop the moment Silco's figure approached. The intensity in his gaze, that palpable energy that used to envelop you in his presence, was now just a reminder of everything you had lost. He freed you from the ropes without a word. The contact of his hand as he touched you sent a shiver down your spine, and though his gesture was practical, you couldn't help but wonder if, in some corner of his being, there was still something of the person he had been before. Something that had loved you.

"You'll be fine," he murmured, his tone cold and distant as always. But this time, it wasn't the tone of the protector, the leader who had cared for you. It was the voice of someone who had forgotten what it meant to feel.

You tried to pull away from his touch, the same touch you had once desired with all your being. You couldn't bear it any longer. You couldn't bear him, his indifference.

"Why do you keep doing this? Why do you keep saving me? If you hate me so much, why save me?" Your voice was a broken whisper, but the pain in it was clear.

Silco remained silent for a moment, his eyes fixed on you with an intensity that burned. You could see the internal struggle in his gaze, that shadow of doubt that had arisen between him and you. Finally, he took a step towards you, his face implacable, but his hands trembling as he approached.

"You didn't understand anything," he murmured, his tone low, more vulnerable than you had ever heard. "What I told you... it was all a lie. I didn't want to lose you, that's why I pushed you away. I didn't want you close to this world, to this hell... but I couldn't. I couldn't let you go. I thought if I pushed you away, you wouldn't suffer, but..." His voice broke briefly, and silence filled the space between you both.

You looked at his face, puzzled by the contradiction in him. Everything he had said before, everything he had done, seemed to crumble now before your eyes.

"You don't understand, do you?" You whispered, still fighting the lump in your throat. "What did you think? That I didn't know what I was getting into when I decided to stay with you? That I didn't know death would always be at my back? That I would always have to live on the edge because you insisted on being the damn king of a world like this?"

Silco didn't respond immediately, his face softened slightly, and a shadow of regret crossed his gaze.

"I know," he said in a hoarse voice, "I know everything I said was cruel. But what I didn't tell you... is that, even if the whole world collapses, the only thing that matters to me... the only thing I've truly loved... is you."

The impact of his words hit you, and for a second, time stopped. The pain, the rage, the uncertainty, all of it seemed to dissolve into the air. But above all, there was something else, something you never expected to hear from him.

"I chose you," you whispered as you slowly approached him. "Despite everything, I chose you. I chose you, and even knowing what it would mean, I would do it again. Because that's what love really is. Choosing the person despite everything, even knowing death is just around the corner."

A flicker of emotion crossed his eyes, something you rarely saw in him, and for a moment, all the hatred, all the anger that had existed between you disappeared, leaving you alone, vulnerable, but finally honest.

"Then, come back, please," he pleaded, his voice trembling, his hand seeking yours. "I can't bear a world without you. I can't lose you. I'll keep protecting you, no matter how many times I have to dirty my hands with blood."

You approached, touching his forehead with the softness of a caress that, in that moment, was the only thing that could heal the wounds you both carried.

"I'm here, my love," you whispered to him, as he closed his eyes, letting the pain and hope dissolve between his arms. "I'll never leave you again. No matter what happens. It will always be you and me against the world. Always and forever."

And so, in that moment, the broken words and wounds of the past were left behind. In their place, there was only the certainty that, in the end, the love they shared couldn't be destroyed, even if the whole world was in ruins.

Mel

It's close to three in the morning when you hear a knock on the door. You're half asleep, your head heavy, but something in the air alerts you. With every step you take towards the entrance, you feel your heart racing, as if you know something is about to change, something you can't stop. You open the door, and there she is.

Mel is not the same as before. She isn't wearing the luxuries that always accompany her, the perfectly applied makeup, or the golden jewelry that always shone on her skin. She's a mess, her gaze lost, her face haggard. The strong woman who always seemed in control is now broken, empty. And when she looks at you, her eyes are not the same. They are filled with pain, with a suffering she hasn't been able to hide.

Before you can say a word, Mel throws herself at you. She takes you by surprise, but you quickly wrap your arms around her. Her body is trembling, as if her entire being is collapsing. You feel her tears soaking your shirt, and in the silence of the early morning, she begins to speak through sobs.

"I faced her..." her voice is broken, and every word costs her more than it seems. "My mother... she told me... she told me I would never be enough. That I'm not. You were right." She pauses for a moment, unable to continue, as if the weight of those words is too heavy for her soul to carry.

You hold her tighter, even though the words coming out of her mouth are like daggers in your chest. "Mel, please... don't say that," you murmur, though the anguish in your own voice is as present as hers. "You're not what she says. You're not."

"I'm her puppet," she responds bitterly. "She manipulated me... manipulated me to make all this happen. To put Piltover in her hands. I started a war, and now... I can't stop it. I'm to blame for all of this." Her crying intensifies, and you can feel her pain as if she's tearing herself apart inside. "She called me weak... called me a disgrace to the Medarda clan..."

Those words leave you cold. You feel the air catch in your throat. But you can't let her fall. You can't let her sink further into that darkness. You pull her away slightly, holding her face in your hands, forcing her to look into your eyes.

"No, Mel," you say firmly, even though your heart is shattered. "You're not weak. You're not a disgrace. You are... you're Mel Medarda, an incredible woman, not Ambessa's daughter. And that's what you'll always be to me."

She shakes her head, as if your words are merely an illusion. "You don't see it... you don't understand," she says, her voice broken by the sobs. "I am everything she wants me to be. Everything she told me to be. And now I don't know who I am... I don't know if I'm what you need."

You move closer to her, almost brushing her lips, and you can feel her desperation. "What you need isn't to be what your mother wants, Mel. What you need... what you need is to be yourself. You are enough. You are more than enough. I want you, with everything you are. It doesn't matter what she thinks. I love you just the way you are."

Mel closes her eyes tightly, as if she wants to block out the pain of your words, but even she knows that something in you is true. You feel that, though she doesn't want to admit it, your love for her is a refuge, a sanctuary from the torment she's lived her entire life.

"I promise I won't leave you alone in this," you continue, holding her face in your hands. "We'll figure it out together, Mel. We will. You're not going to lose me. I'm not going to lose you."

Mel finally looks up and meets your gaze, her eyes filled with tears, but there's something different in her expression. It's not the emptiness she gave you before, it's a spark, something of hope that begins to ignite deep within her.

"I don't want to keep fighting alone," she says softly, almost as if it's a lost whisper. "I'm so afraid... so afraid of all this. Of what I've caused. But... I don't want to lose what we have. I don't want to lose you."

"You won't," you reply with a sigh, holding her tightly, as if you could embrace all her fears. "I won't leave you alone. I promise. We'll figure it out. Together."

Time seems to stop at that moment. The world outside keeps turning, but you and Mel, in this instant, have only each other. And although the future is uncertain, you know that as long as you have each other, nothing can tear you apart.

Sevika

The sound of heavy footsteps is the first thing you hear. It’s late, the city is shrouded in darkness, but something in the air tells you this time it’s not a dream, not a nightmare. The knocking on the door startles you, and when you open it, you see her.

Sevika is standing in front of you, slightly swaying, her breathing uneven. The scent of alcohol is strong, mixed with the sensation of sweat and exhaustion emanating from her body. Her eyes, usually so firm, are now dull, almost lost, as if she’s searching for something she doesn’t know how to find.

“Sevika… what are you doing here?” you ask, your heart pounding in your chest, confused and worried to see her like this.

She doesn’t respond immediately, just stands there, watching you, as if she wants to say something, but the words seem stuck in her throat. After a long silence, she finally speaks, her voice deep and broken.

“I went to the brothels…” she murmurs, her head hanging low, as if it’s a confession, something weighing heavier than anything else. “To forget you. To stop thinking about you. I was with other people… so many other people. But everything I did reminded me of you. Of you and how… how I lost you.”

Your stomach churns at her words. The betrayal cuts you like a sharp knife. You step back from her, feeling the pain grow in your chest.

“No… why? Why did you do that?” The anger and hurt are clear in your voice, but there’s also a vulnerability you can’t hide. “Is that why you left me? To be with other people?”

Sevika lifts her head, her eyes reflecting a remorse so deep you can almost feel it as your own. “I didn’t do it to hurt you,” she says, her words faltering. “I did it because I thought it was what I should do… because I hurt you, and I didn’t know how to fix it. I didn’t want you to need me, I didn’t want to drag you with me into this damn abyss.”

Your heart beats so fast you feel it might burst out of your chest. Every word from Sevika hurts more, but there’s something in her gaze, in the way she’s opening up to you now, that makes you hesitate.

“But…” she continues, taking another step closer. “None of it worked. None of it. I remember you in every one of those faces. I remember you when I’m alone when I try to forget you. And the worst part, the most painful part, is that I can’t… I can’t stop wanting you.”

The words hang in the heavy air between you. The silence becomes unbearable. Sevika takes another step, closer to you until you can feel her ragged breath. She’s so close you can see every line on her face, the fragility you never thought she had.

“I… I never wanted you to see me this way,” she says, her voice breaking, as if every word costs her a world. “But please… listen to me carefully. There’s nothing I want more in this damn world than to be with you. I don’t want to keep living without you. I can’t. I love you. I can’t keep running from it. I can’t live with the weight of not telling you this sooner.”

The air freezes between you, and for a moment, the world seems to stop. The hate, the confusion, the betrayal… it all mixes in your chest, but deep down, you know what she just said is real.

“What?” you manage to whisper, your eyes filling with unshed tears. “Are you serious?”

Sevika closes her eyes, as if fighting against herself. “I love you,” she repeats, her voice softer now, as if she’s giving you everything she had, everything she had kept in her heart. “I love you, and I don’t want to keep living this lie. You… you’re the only thing that matters to me. You’re my only reason for being here. I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want you to keep suffering because of me. Please…”

Those “please” are like a plea, a silent scream that pierces through all the walls you had built around your heart. Sevika, the strong and fierce woman who always showed you her darkest side, is now on her knees before you, vulnerable, open, filled with a desperation you hadn’t seen before.

And in that instant, you feel everything crumble. The pain, the resentment, the confusion… it all disappears. Only love remains, raw and real, so strong it almost chokes you. Without thinking, you throw yourself into her arms, your arms wrapping around her with a desperate intensity, as if you fear that if you let her go, she’ll disappear forever.

“I love you too,” you whisper against her neck, the tears falling uncontrollably. “I love you so much it hurts.”

Sevika holds you with the same strength, her body trembling against yours. “Then let’s make it not hurt,” she murmurs, her words filled with a mix of relief and pain. “Let’s not let it separate us again, please.”

“That won’t happen again,” you reply, your lips seeking hers, not caring about anything else. “I won’t let it happen. What we have is forever.”

When your lips meet, the kiss is fierce, filled with the passion of everything that has built up, of everything that was left unsaid. It’s a kiss filled with desperation, love, and unspoken promises. It’s the beginning of a new chapter, one where the darkness won’t separate you, where love will keep you together, always.

[wileys-russo]

filling the void (10) II a.putellas

la reinas birthday means another installation into the fresa universe! ft @girlgenius1111 solstråle engen filling the void (10) II a.putellas

“ale? por favour por favor i need help, hermana i need you!”

you’d managed through the searing pan to at least pull yourself up enough to sit leaning against the bath when alexia burst in, almost causing you to topple over again in shock as your sister practically kicked the door open and came to a screaming halt.

“qué ha pasado? estás herido? dónde estás herido? cómo de grave es? estás-” the older girl knelt down and fired question after question at you, eyes rapidly scanning your body for any sign of injury, barely giving you a chance to answer one question before asking another.

“alexia, cállate!” you snapped suddenly, frustrated that she wouldn’t let you get a word in as your sister did just that, falling quiet as you exhaled shakily. taking a moment to collect yourself you puffed air out your nose with a grunt as another wave of pain shot through your ankle and you felt like throwing up.

“hermana, what happened?” alexia asked firmly though not unkindly, eyes searching your own for any telltale sign of what had lead to the late night phone call, alexia’s stomach dropping the very moment you’d spoken and she’d heard the clear panic in your voice.

“i slipped over on the wet towel, think i broke it.” you whispered quietly with a nod down at your ankle, alexias gaze following your own and widening at the purple bruising already setting in and the weird angle your foot was at, the dimly lit bathroom meaning she’d not noticed sooner and she was cursing herself for it.

you meanwhile readied yourself for a lecture, told off for your idiotic choices, braced for a smack to the back of your head even and a reminder that this was your fault, because you were too stubborn for your own good, you didn’t use your crutches and of course thought you knew best.

but it never came.

instead all your sister did was give a curt nod that she’d heard you, your mami arriving in the doorway followed closely by olga who’d just woken her up, both women also looking down at your ankle in shock. 

“es tan malo?” you grimaced at their expressions, alexia shooting them both a firm look of warning as they quickly dismissed your worries before gently pushing your head back as you craned your neck to look down at your ankle, your sister deeming it would be more helpful for everyone if you didn’t, olga moving quickly now to bend down beside you.

“a la cuenta de tres.” the girl warned as both her and alexia grabbed your arms and you exhaled shakily, both girls counting to three together before lifting you upward off the floor. curses dropped from your tongue like raindrops at the sheer immense wave of pain which overcame you as they did, your sister quick to just pick you up to save any further complications.

all of a sudden you felt four years old again as your sister fireman carried you out to the car which was still running, very carefully helping you into the back and shooing eli into the front as olga got into the drivers seat and alexia sat herself right next to you.

the car peeled out of the driveway and you tried to deep breathe through the pain, dismissing your mami’s repeated apologies she’d fallen asleep and hadn’t heard you come home, assuring you knew you should have just let elena help you like she offered, but it was too late for that now.

“you came.” you met alexia’s gaze as your sisters eyebrows furrowed together and her hand squeezed the knee of your good leg reassuringly, olga speeding through a red light with a grimace, though it had already been mutually decided this was faster than awaiting an ambulance.

“por supuesto fresita, you called.”

~

“qué quiere decir? it is broke! snapped!” your eldest sister glared down the poor receptionist who sighed, not as offput by your sisters protective and abrasive attitude as most would be intimated by, simply again explaining that they would be able to give you some pain relief but due to how busy the emergency room was you’d need to wait awhile to be seen by anyone.

“amor? venga, come sit with your hermana. your mama can talk to them, fresa te necesita.” olga murmured gently, grabbing your sister by her bicep and dragging her away, leaving eli to fill in the necessary paperwork while a nurse was sat explaining everything to you.

“oye! you are vaping?” alexia hissed, snatching the green pen from your hand as you looked up with a scowl and the nurse hid a laugh. “no no, this is for the pain relief. she will feel a little uneasy and lightheaded, but it is quick acting.” the nurse held her hand out as alexia blushed and placed the pen back in her hand which was then given back to you.

the nurse re-explaining everything to alexia and olga at their request you’d tuned out, your head starting to feel a little foggy the more deeply you inhaled from the small green whistle clenched in your fist, zoning out entirely until a tap on your leg had you looking up.

you made a thumbs up at the questio you hadn’t heard as olga snickered quietly and the nurse smiled before she left, your sister sitting down on your other side. “ale!” you huffed as she snatched the pen from you, swatting your hand away as she squinted to read the writing on the side, eventually handing it back as you took a hit.

“how are you feeling chica? how is the pain?” olga asked as you paused and blinked slowly, everything feeling a lot more numb now and suddenly it was as if you’d never even hurt yourself in the first place. “why are we here?” you questioned bluntly, taking another deep inhale from the green whistle.

“que? your ankle?” alexia frowned as you looked between both of their concerned gazes, letting out a loud and sudden laugh as alexia smacked a hand over your mouth and a few people glanced over curiously at the outburst.

“we need one of these at home! mami!” you yelled across the room the moment alexia let go, your sister wincing and sending an apologetic look to the elderly couple across from you who shuffled a few more seats away with a side eye.

“ale.” your sister paused her impending lecture, looking over your head at her girlfriend who’d tapped her, reading the article she’d pulled up on her phone about the side effects of the little green pen, eyes widening as she did.

it seemed it would make you act as if you were-

“dios mio did we take shots on the way here?” you giggled suddenly feeling like you were drunk, eyes droopy with a lazy smile painted on your face, and much much much more relaxed than just a few minutes ago when you’d barely been able to sit still from the pain shooting up your leg.

“como un suero de la verdad.” olga grinned, like a truth serum, and alexia despite the small voice in her head which prodded at her to just leave you be, was curious enough to test the theory.

“ay hermana.” she knocked her knee gently into your good one, the other strapped up with some ice though you couldn’t even feel your legs let alone your ankle right now. “what happened to the blue phantoms?” your sister questioned, a pair of her spare boots having magically disappeared the last time you’d stayed over but you’d profusely denied having anything to do with it.

“i sold them to someone at work.” you confessed right away with laugh, snort and a shake of your head, inhaling deeply from the pen. “and your red and blue fluffy nike jacket?” you looked at your sister, head lolling from side to side a little. “i took it.” you admitted with a snicker.

“and your vintage barcelona hoodie? the custom one? i took that too!” you giggled to yourself, alexias eyes widening at the myriad of confessions which came rolling out of you, admitting to many a theft from her closet, albas closet, even some items which alexia had entirely forgotten about, and some that she’d almost beat your other sister for assuming she was the one lying about taking them.

“-and mami? your blue vase with the flowers? ale made me say i broke it cause i was cute and i’d get away with it. but she broke it!” you poked your finger into your sisters cheek with a lazy grin as eli sent her eldest a very unimpressed look from the seat across from your own.

“-and then alba used to sneak in through my window all the time from parties! she’d pay me not to snitch.” you shrugged, inhaling deeply again from the pen and exhaling with a content smile. 

“then one time alexia hit alba so hard she lost a tooth then she made her-” your sister shot up, not quite willing to let that secret fully see the light of day just yet, snatching the green pen from your hand and smacking one of her own over your mouth, eli’s eyes burning into her as she smiled awkwardly.

“i will go check with a nurse about the wait time.” your sister scurried off with the green pen still in hand, your mami charging after her leaving you and olga be as you sighed heavily, truly feeling on cloud nine and not at all understanding why you couldn’t just go home no matter how many times it was explained to you how you’d ended up here.

“olgui.” you spoke up suddenly, your sisters girlfriend raising her eyebrows in amusement beside you. “i know you worry that i don’t like you as much as i liked jenni-” you started with an ever so slight slur, olga’s eyebrows now furrowing, a little unsure of where this was going.

“-but you don’t need to! i needed jenni when i was little, i don’t anymore. i need alexia to be loved and looked after and you do that and more, you bring out the best in her, more than anyone else ever has.” you continued firmly, slapping a hand onto her shoulder and making her jolt a little.

“-and i love you, like a sister. eres de la familia!” you promised with a very determined nod and a dopey smile, head still lolling a little side to side as the older girls features softened, pulling you into a side hug.

“gracias pequeña.” she kissed your head as your sister and mami now returned, grumpy look on alexia’s face as she threw herself down in her chair with crossed arms, eli lowering herself much more gracefully back into hers and if you’d not been so high you might have clocked the tension.

but you didn’t, in the slightest.

“ale!” you quickly turned to face your sister, hands coming to grab her face and squish it together as she gave you a strange look. “i love you hermana. i love you! i love you! i love-.” you pinched her cheeks tightly and shook her head side to side with every declaration, alexia eventually pulling your hands away with a wince and a small smile.

“yo también te quiero diablillo.” your sister chuckled, kissing your cheek as your head fell to her shoulder and you patted her leg, everyone exhaling a little as it seemed you’d finally settled.

but they were wrong, alexia tensing up in surprise as you went flying back up into your seat, dopey grin and a glazed over expression on your face looking around the waiting room as if you were trying to find someone, snatching the pen from your sister and managing a half inhale before she took it back muttering about how your pain was more than managed.

“oye why are we here again? we should be at the club!”

~~~~~

you glanced up from your breakfast at the sound of a knock on the door, barely even able to blink before your mami warned she would get it and you weren’t to move as you huffed and leaned back in your seat, pushing the now cold plate of eggs away from you.

it had only been a few days of wearing the dreaded ‘moon boot’ encasing your foot like a cage but you were past ready to tug it off and launch it into outer space, your indeed broken ankle be damned. 

the boot was ugly, clunky, heavy, made your entire foot itchy and hot, but you couldn’t do anything about any of that, only simply sit and suffer while it helped you ‘heal’.

you still had to use your crutches most of the time because you weren’t supposed to bare any unnecessary weight onto your ankle in the boot, but that was causing irritating little bruises to form under your arms, which the doctor warned may happen while you still got comfortable relying on them.

though you didn’t want to become comfortable using them, you didn’t want to get used to this stupid ugly boot, you wanted to snap your fingers and have your bones magically heal. 

or for someone to invent a time machine so you could go back, rewind and not have slipped over that day to avoid this whole situation in the first place. you knew the boot had to be on for a minimum of five, maybe even six weeks, and here you were losing your mind after a mere four days. 

and you were, losing your mind.

the one thing you did have working in your favour was that it was a clean fracture, meaning you didn’t need surgery or any sort of invasive medical treatment. but you did need to go to a physio for rehab to build the ankle strength back up, as well as to see your doctor for x-rays every fortnight to keep on top that everything was healing as it should.

alexia had of course insisted you use her physio therapist, the same whom she’d trusted for years, and as much as you despised the treatment plan you knew if he could deal with alexia after her acl? the man must have the patience of a saint and clearly know what he was doing, so you’d begrudgingly agreed, not that you’d really had a choice.

though as much as the boot and the crutches was driving you crazy that was nothing compared to the absolutely insufferable smothering from your family, which was the final piece in the puzzle of your current head loss and slow but steady descent into insanity. 

you knew deep down it came from a place of care, and that being the baby of the family did have its perks, some of which you’d taken full advantage of over the years and still did to this day.

but one of these said perks was not being watched like an organism under a microscope, every move studied, wants and needs assumed and in turn met for you in an often forceful way, in which any and all protests from you were ignored or shut down.

alexia of course was the most insufferable of the bunch, hovering and fussing and bossing you around like your own personal nurse from hell. but as much as you’d reminded her time and time again she actually wasn’t the putellas studying a degree in medicine, she was far too pigheaded and tenacious to listen or let that stop her.

it had even gone as far as her deploying olga to stay at eli’s and ‘hang out with you’ when everyone else had to work since she could do her own job from the couch you’d been basically glued to all week.

but both you and your sisters girlfriend knew that really just meant to watch and hover and fuss over you when the others weren’t around to do that, ensuring that you weren’t left without a pair of eyes over you every second of the day despite once again your protests you were fine by yourself.

though at least olga allowed you a little more independence than her girlfriend did, asking what you needed rather than assuming, helping instead of doing things for you, and she always brought you some sort of food as a peace offering if it be sweet or savoury.

but after you’d almost stabbed your eldest sister in the hand with a fork at dinner last night after she tried to cut your food up for you as if you’d broken your hand, your mami had taken you aside to cool off.

she’d gently advised that your sisters, alexia in particular, still had their own wounds to heal with having made you feel so neglected the last year or so, reminding you that part of this healing process of their wounds was to overcompensate.

eli finishing that with as much as alexia could be insufferable and bossy, every little word and action from alexia came from a place of love for you, and that to some degree you had to just let your sisters do as they needed to feel like they were making up for lost time.

though a few moments after that chat when you’d returned to the table you threatened to stab yourself in the eye with a fork if alexia didn’t leave you alone and let you eat in peace, your mami realised that though she had the hindsight to see and accept alexia’s overbearing nature came without malice, you weren’t quite just there yet.

the worst part of it though wasn’t the fussing, or the smothering, it wasn’t the lack of quiet time and independence, or even the overstimulation of the boot and the bruises from the crutches, it was the boredom.

you’d never been the kind of child growing up who sat still without a cause. sure you had your times when you’d be quiet through sheer exhaustion, but almost all of the time you had to be moving around doing something and keeping busy, albeit chattering away to anyone who had an ear to lend to listen.

this in turn meant you’d had more energy to burn than your family knew what to do with, which is how you then wound up going to training so often with alexia after school, even if after the tooth incident you refused to so much as touch a football for fear of injury, no matter how many times your sister tried to change that. 

the running around the field after alexias teammates for hours was enough to tire you out for the evening, which in turn allowed a routine to be implemented that didn’t involve you running circles around your family and refusing to settle down or do anything you were asked.

but now nearly eighteen you’d calmed down quite a bit, and knew how to appreciate the little pockets of peace that came with laying on a beach tanning or the solitude locked away in your room studying.

your job was your favourite way to pass your time these days. 

you had a drive to achieve and to want and to work for what you desired instilled in you from a very young age and you were thrilled to have found something you were not only good at, but that you sincerely enjoyed like working at the clinic, and your studies that went hand in hand.

you were often teased by your friends and coworkers that you were like a sponge, just always going around soaking up every and any little tidbits of advice or knowledge you could wring from anyone who had the time around the clinic.

so when not only the doctor but your boss had agreed with your families suggestion you take some time off while you healed, it was like an uppercut punch to the stomach. 

your contests in the doctors office that you could sit at the front desk in reception and not put any weight on your foot all day were shut down with three fierce glares and a warning pinch to the back of your arm for the choice words muttered under your breath afterward.

so now without work to look forward to everyday, the rug of your weekly routine pulled out from beneath you in tatters, you were distraught at the thought of so much free time unoccupied to say the least.

you still had your studies you could do from home, though you felt like a nuisance texting your coworkers to ask for advice knowing they were busy. 

it was different when you were at the clinic and could ask things in real time and often be shown your answer, or when you were allocated your time to work on your assessments and one of them would sometimes opt to come sit with you in the back office to help on a lunch break.

then of course it was also near impossible to concentrate on anything when at any given you time you could have up to eight eyes all staring at you as if waiting for any sort of sign you needed assistance, forced to sit at the dining room table or the couch because in your room you were apparently far too unsupervised.

between the three women constantly fussing and hovering and offering help you knew they couldn’t give you alba had been the least insufferable. your older sister actually taking your side and advocating you be left alone to your notes and your textbooks, very firmly reminding alexia that not only would she be annoying you but she would be essentially useless if you did have any questions or require help.

none the less back to present day you perked up when after your mami answered the door you heard a familiar voice, eli inviting them in as the sound of footsteps thundering toward you had the first sincere smile in days tugging at your lips.

“fresa!” the girl cheered, climbing up onto the sofa and launching at you in a hug, elena quick to follow and sternly reminding her daughter needed to be very very careful of your ankle. the four year old nodded with a concerned frown as she looked down at the boot propped up on the coffee table, and you could tell by the little twitch in her hands she was trying very hard not to reach out and poke at it.

“but when my foot is all better your mami and i will have to take you to the aquarium chica, just like we promised.” you grinned as sofia perked up with an enthusiastic nod, eli watching on with a soft smile as she conversed with elena. 

“are you going to daycare today nena?” you asked, noting elena in her scrubs ready for work and knowing that she’d never take sofia with her. “sí! we have picture day today so mami did my hair special, but she brushes really hard.” the girl leaned up and whispered the last part in your ear making you laugh. 

“bueno, se ve hermoso. but make sure you do not blink in your picture, and no silly faces at the camera!” you poked at her with a playful glare making her giggle and push your hands away. 

“we thought we’d drop by to say hola and check on the patient!” elena pushed your head with a teasing grin, now stood behind the sofa as you turned a little to be able to speak to her.

“oh! and-” elena reached into her bag, pulling out a stack of papers as you perked up in relief. “eres un salvavidas!” you took them carefully, leaning forward to place them on the coffee table, rolling your eyes as your mami swooped in and immediately rushed them off to your room.

“they are all different reports, all public knowledge and from the last five or so years. what do you need them for amiga?” elena asked curiously about the files she’d sourced, copied and printed at your request. “research paper, if i ever get left alone to work on it!” you grumbled with a huff.

“there are eyes everywhere!” you whispered, pulling a silly face making sofia giggle and elena shake her head but with a small smile as your phone chimed in your lap. “oye sofia, i planted some new flowers in the garden nena. would you like to see before you go?” your mami asked, the four year old practically levitating to her side as eli lead her outside hand in hand.

“your favourite norwegian?” elena guessed with a grin, rounding the sofa and taking a seat beside you as you frowned at the message, eyebrows furrowed together.

“how did you-” your head snapped toward her, baffled at how she’d picked up on it so easy until you saw the knowing smirk and put it together she’d clearly read it over your shoulder.

“you promised to stop being so nosy, puta!” you shoved at her shoulder, your phone plucked from your hand by the older girl who waved you off, already filled in on the disaster that had been your first study session with solstråle.

“heard you broke your ankle. i can drive you to the library?” elena read out the message from ingrids sister and pushed you away as you reached for your phone back. “oh she seems harmless fresa, that is a nice offer to drive a cripple!” elena teased as you pulled another face. 

“ella es una gilipollas.” you quipped with a roll of your eyes, trying to reach for your phone back again as elena pushed you away once more. “i thought you were going to try again? give her a chance? that you felt bad with how you treated her.” elena reminded you of your own words as you groaned loudly.

“si, i will tutor her. but that does not mean i have to like it or her, and i do not want to be stuck in a car with her.” you scoffed, again pushed away as you tried to take your phone back. “elena no! elena!” you protested, held off by one arm and a hand against your forehead as her fingers flew against the keyboard with the other.

“you have an attitude problem amiga, tan hostil y malhumorada. you think your mami or your hermanas will let you take the bus to the library?” elena reminded as you finally snatched your phone from her grip. 

“you know we do have that wheelchair in the back at the clinic, maybe i could-” you tuned her out as you sighed at what the girl had texted back. ‘that would be lovely! thank you.’ it would certainly not be lovely, however elena did have some point in that perhaps an awkward car ride with a broody norwegian might be better than with alexia who no doubt would insist she carry you inside as if the floor was lava.

so with a stubborn huff you quickly sent your own message back to sol. ‘sorry, that was my friend with my phone. she thinks I have an attitude problem, you can drive me. I guess.’ you didn’t have to wait long for a response, rolling your eyes yet again as you read over it.

‘well I’m not arguing with the attitude thing. I’ll pick you up at 4:15.’

elena still chattering on and you still very much not listening, your nails tapped against your screen as you typed your own reply.

‘your car better not be as unorganized as your backpack.’

an ever so slight quirk in your lip at that, proud of your comeback which wasn’t laced with as much malice as it might seem to the untrained eye.

‘as you wish, dr. putellas.’

~

“is the answer on my face engen?” you questioned without even looking up from your own studies, feeling the norweigans curious gaze burn into your forehead. “no.” the girl mumbled, flushing bright red at being caught staring.

“then stop looking at it and work on the math.” you hid a smile at how flustered the stoically silent girl seemed as she cleared her throat and slouched back in her seat with a signature scowl. “i was looking at the board. behind you.” she nodded above your head as you glanced back and looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

“the empty one?” “yes.”

“tonta.” you muttered to yourself, the norwegian ready to fire an insult back at you until she noticed the small smile of amusement peeking through the corners of your mouth, realising there wasn’t really much malice behind the word at all.

were you, teasing her? being friendly? no, surely not.

“what is this?” you clicked your tongue in annoyance as your paper was snatched from the desk in front of you, the tall brunette squinting as her eyes scanned the paper, pushing back so her chair was teetering on only its back two legs as she kept the paper out of your reach and you huffed.

“grown up work!” you stood up and reached across, snatching it right back with a roll of your eyes as now solstråle smiled seeing she was getting under your skin. “i am older than you.” the norwegian reminded, again swinging her chair to balance on the back two legs as you glanced up with an unimpressed look.

“act it, engen.” you quipped in broken english, tapping a manicured finger against the math equations the norwegian was supposed to be working on instead of bothering you with your studies. “why do you want to be a doctor?” the taller girl asked quietly, hands now gripping the edge of the desk in the small meeting room you’d booked to keep her chair balancing on only the back two legs as you sighed.

you’d at least managed to coax her through two worksheets, which given how horrible the first session had gone, was progress. once you’d actually gotten her to admit you’d jumped a little ahead in assuming her understanding and you could take it back to basics, she was understanding things a little more. 

“not a doctor. nurse.” you corrected without looking up from the article you were summarising, highlighting its key passages with a bright orange marker. the girl didn’t talk anymore, returning to her usual silent ways, however once again you could feel her bright eyes burning into your forehead, wordlessly waiting for your actual answer.

with an overly dramatic sigh you looked up and sat back in your chair a little, solstråle shifting uncomfortably at the way your sharp gaze raked slowly over her for a moment as if sizing her up and scanning for some sort of imperfection.

“i like helping, learning. this-it is…interesting, and important. i like to be eh how do you say it? challenged, and this is not easy. i find reading, writing, remembering, all easy. but this is hard, makes it…fun.” you struggled to articulate yourself without your native tongue, always making sure, as requested, you speak to the scandi in english unless you were actively trying to work on her spanish which you’d not really had a chance to, yet.

the norwegian only nodded at your answer, a soft thump sounding as the chair dropped back down on all four legs, solstråle picking up her pen again and pulling the worksheet closer to her. the sudden change in demeanour back to silent and stuffy had your eyes rolling as you bit back the urge to question why she was like this, choosing to hold your tongue instead.

when the alarm on your phone went off to signal the end of your agreed upon time you had to bite back a smile this time as the tall norwegian almost fell to the floor in shock at the obnoxious chime of your alarm, scowling at your quiet laughter and muttering something you couldn’t understand under her breath.

before either one of you could break the strange silence that had filled the room you reached into your backpack, pulling something out and reaching across the table, dropping a small stack of books in front of solstråle who frowned.

“what are these?” she asked slowly, picking one up which had quite a tattered cover, every single book with a once brightly coloured title page had all long faded, two of them even taped up and most with well loved dog eared pages.

“books.” you drawled back sarcastically as she shot you a glare. “books, for niños. you will read them. help with your spanish!” you ordered with a curt nod, admittedly a little beguiled to part ways with them even for just a little while but it had been albas suggestion since that same little stack you’d read to death and back with her as a child had been what helped you.

“kids books?” the norwegian scoffed as you now gave her an evil look. “sí. and look after them engen!” you warned, perfectly painted fingernails pointing at her menacingly as solstråle started to argue, shut down by the firm and unwavering glare you shot at her.

“fine. even if it is stupid!” she grumbled, just loud enough for you to hear but if you did you made no move to show it, starting to pack up your things. 

“are you going to the final?” the norwegian asked quietly as you paused, leaning back in your chair and nodding, wincing a little as you rolled your moon boot clad foot as best as you could, a small bolt of pain shooting through your toes. 

“with my family. you are going?” you asked back as now she nodded, advising she would be sitting with mapi’s parents in the family and friends section. you faltered just slightly at her answer, eyebrows creasing as curiosity drifted over you as to why she would not be sitting with ingrids parents, her own family.

but deciding though today had been significantly less tense, you’d hardly call the pair of you friends, and as much as you were curious you knew not to push what little of a rocky relationship you were forming with the broody brunette.

you thanked her as she stood, slinging her backpack over her shoulder and grabbing your dreaded crutches from where they rested against the wall, not missing the way you gave the two sticks a clearly annoyed look.

“i will see you there then, before we meet to study again. if you want to study again.” you left the statement not quite as a question, though you hoped she would sense you were seeking some sort of confirmation or denial to the subtle proposal.

“i would like to. this was helpful, even if it was boring.” she was fast to to add on the last bit as you allowed yourself a small smile which was gone as soon as it appeared, unsure why you suddenly felt as if you needed a guard up but the way the taller girl was looking down at you had something in your stomach feeling a little strange.

she offered you a hand up, a hand you couldn’t help notice was a little swollen, a slight crease in your eyebrows as you studied her wrist which seemed just not quite right, maybe an old injury? it was probably nothing.

you accepted her help, grunting quietly as she pulled you to your feet, hurrying to slip your crutches under your arms as you mumbled a quiet thanks. you were eye to eye for a moment, or as eye to eye as you could be with the tall norwegian towering several inches above you.

then as soon as you seemed steady on your own feet she stepped back, fiddling with the frayed straps of her backpack, looking around the room, really at anything but you.

“boring?” you scoffed at her previous statement. “boring is watching you try to multiply double digit numbers engen.” and with that remark hanging in the air you began to crutch out of the room, solstråle quick to dart forward to pull the door open for you to hobble through, the tiniest of smiles on her lips when she thought you weren’t looking.

“well sorry that we are not all as smart as you, dr putellas.”

[wibben]

Pillow Talk

Choso discovers new sensations when thoughts of you turn innocent moments into something much more… hands-on.

↳ pairing: friend! choso kamo x afab! reader

↳ warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, virgin! choso, m masturbation, pillow fucking, overstimulation, fantasizing, pillow fucking, (not sure who the artist is, if you do please let me know so I can credit!)

↳ wc: 3,485

↳ notes: another cross-post from my ao3 while I try to make tumblr my main writing hub! I hope you enjoy! <3

“Goodnight.”

Choso’s voice is soft, barely louder than the creak of the bathroom door as he eases it shut behind him. Yuji is already asleep, he assumes—he doesn’t expect a response, but routine compels him to speak into that dark hallway void anyway. He waits, listening—a response does come in the form of a loud snore down the hall. 

Choso smiles fondly as he silently pads back to his own room, taking that as his queue that he is well and truly done with the day.

The cool, lingering dampness from washing his face clings to his skin, tiny droplets of water catching the faint flicker of silver from breeze-blown curtains as they trace thin rivers down his cheeks and neck. His hair, still slightly damp around his face, sticks to his forehead in dark, unruly strands. He doesn't care to tame it, nor does he bother to brush away the residual drips of water. They cool his skin wherever they touch, and he’s grateful for that because he feels oddly warm.

Warm enough that his t-shirt lies discarded on the bathroom floor, haphazardly kicked towards the laundry to be dealt with later.

He toes open the door of his room and nudges it shut behind him with his heel, listening for the soft cli-click of the knob. The room is dim, illuminated only by the soft glow of the moon filtering through the window, flickering through sheer curtains that really serve no purpose other than to look cute. That’s what you said, at least. Home decor…he doesn’t get it, but you seemed pleased with the addition so he was too. 

Choso shuffles with mechanical routine as he approaches his bed, his body craving the comfort of his soft mattress, to nest into the carved divet in the foam created by and molded to his body.

With the unceremonious flop of a marionette with cut strings, Choso allows himself to fall onto the bed, the springs squeaking their protest and his sheets rustling under his weight. He lays there face down, eyes closed, and simply lets himself sink.

In the quiet dark of night and behind closed eyelids, he wonders if this is what boats feel like.

He’s never been on one, but he’s seen plenty—in movies mainly, like the one you watched together earlier that evening. With senses deprived, his body rocks with the gentlest sense of vertigo, up and down, forward and back, soothing. He feels heavy, liquid and relaxed, and yet… not quite right. There’s a restlessness beneath his skin, an undercurrent to his gentle tide he can’t quite shake. He keeps his face buried in his pillow, wrapping an arm around it and holding it tight, as if the soft fabric could anchor him.

…He doesn’t know how long he’s like this but fuck he can’t sleep.

He turns his head from his pillow, eyes cracked open in the dark, lower lip pouted and dragging against the fabric; he wears a petulant expression with nobody around to see it, nobody to explain away his uneasiness. He’s tired he knows he is, and yet he feels like a taut bowstring, ready to snap at a moment's notice.

Choso rolls onto his back instead, running a hand through his damp hair and pushing it back from his forehead as he stares up at the ceiling. The room is silent save for the occasional creak of the house settling, and the faint, distant sounds of the city outside. A dog, a car, the smash of a bottle on a curb, the flap of his curtain, the grinding of his teeth—he categorizes each sound methodically, filing them away neatly and willing the tedium to bore him to sleep like it always does. Always did. But not tonight.

He closes his eyes, trying to force tranquility and exhaustion upon himself, but his mind refuses to settle. He thinks of boats and the ocean, he thinks about when you came over and knocked on the door, he thinks of the movie he watched with you and Yuji on the couch, he thinks of cooking dinner with you in the kitchen—he thinks of you, you, and you again. The tension in his bones stirs more insistently with each and every thought, each train tracking straight back into your station.

But that’s okay. Choso likes you, likes thinking about you, and thoughts of you have lulled him to sleep before with a sort of embracing comfort he can’t even begin to name. He smiles to himself in the dark—the same brand of smile only you seem to inspire in him. He just needs to think of you more and then surely—

He remembers your smile when he opened the door, the way it lit up your entire face, the wrinkle in the bridge of your nose as it screwed up and made him smile in return. Your laughter, too, was infectious. It always is, and he caught that particular sickness with remarkable consistency every time you tittered or giggled—a laugh reciprocated in his own throat as quick as a lit match, earning more than a few wide-eyed, slack-jawed looks of disbelief from his brother.

And then there was the spaghetti. 

It’s a simple meal and he eats it far too often—but it’s good, and easy to make for three. And you, ever eager to help, had insisted on joining him in the kitchen while Yuji picked out a movie. He didn’t mind though; your presence was nice, even if it meant treacherously navigating around you as you both shuffled around the small space with enthusiastic clumsiness. You bopped cabinets and the fridge closed with your hip, which he too fell victim to more than once, finding himself nudged into the counter by a stray hip-check. Despite the occasional collision, your proximity was a comfort, a warm, lively presence in the otherwise mundane routine.

Choso couldn’t help but chuckle as you fumbled with pots and pans, finding your determination to be helpful endlessly endearing, even with something so simple as flitting about the kitchen. He directed you to the cabinet where a jar of tomato sauce was stored with a quiet look of anticipation—innocently underhanded is the request. You wouldn’t be able to reach, he was sure. You wouldn’t be able to reach, and you would ask him for help, and he would be able to help—

He remembers the way you stood on your tiptoes, reaching for the jar with your free hand splayed against the counter. As you stretched, he watched as if in slow motion, fabric unfolding like the draw of a curtain away from a theater stage. Your shirt rode up, exposing just an inch of the skin above your waistband.

The sight was brief, but it held a searing magnetism that held Choso hopelessly hostage. It sapped his mouth of moisture, glued his eyelids open, and his hand gave a peculiar twitch with the sudden urge to touch you. He watched your skin shift as you reached higher and higher, the gentle curve of your waist, the way your skin looked so soft and inviting and smooth as satin and he so badly wanted to see if this usually hidden expanse was as soft as it looked, and Choso doesn’t want for much but god did he want—

And he completely forgot to offer you a hand, his mind swept blank with ringing tinnitus in his ears when you laughed and settled back onto the balls of your feet, whirling around and flourishing the jar with a triumphant smile. Your eyes sparkled with satisfaction, and there was a slight flush on your cheeks from the effort. Choso had smiled back then, feeling a warmth in his chest that surely had everything to do with the heat of the kitchen.

Choso suddenly flinches in surprise, abruptly torn from the pleasant memory as he absentmindedly rolls his wrist over his erection. He must have been doing this for some time now, judging by how the waist of his sweatpants has already rolled down his hip bones, freeing the red and needy head of his cock to the cool air and smearing a shiny trail over his arm. He stares down at the unmistakable bulge snaking up towards his navel silently perplexed, his shaft straining against the loose fabric where it’s still confined.

He’s fully hard. He hadn’t even realized it happened, hadn’t recognized the feeling building inside him until it manifested so obviously. Arousal snuck up on him, licking up his spine with hungry fangs while he was lost in the memory of you.

Familiar heat pools low in his abdomen, a dull hook that drags beneath his skin. His cock twitches with every beat of his heart, a heavy, insistent pulse that’s impossible to ignore. And he has tried to ignore it before. It keeps him from peace, from sleep— god he just wants to sleep.

It’s a mix of aching need and slick, simmering napalm that spreads through his veins and ignites kindling he hadn’t even known was there. He knows this feeling well, even if it has no name; the way his cock grows heavier and jumps against his stomach, the way his breathing grows rough and deep—all sensations he’s experienced before, though they never fail to leave him flustered and bewildered…and annoyed, above all else.

The intensity of the need always catches Choso off guard, consuming his thoughts and clouding his mind until he could find some way to deal with it. It frustrates him how this desire would strike at the most inconvenient times—when he’s trying to sleep, or worse, the times when he’s with you —an all too frequent occurrence, he thinks, and he wonders if you’ve done something to him. He’s been a decent friend to you, so it’s with a feeling of tormented betrayal that he simply cannot understand why you would afflict him with this so cruelly and so often.

Choso lets out a shaky breath, his hips shifting restlessly against his sheets. He hesitates, a moment of self-consciousness flickering through him and burning his face with a secret blush that blooms on his face first then leaks to his throat. He shifts upright, yanking his pillow from beneath his head, the familiar texture of the fabric cool against his skin, and positions it between his legs. He shoves his pants down, bunching them around his knees—good enough.

He tilts his thigh outward and lifts his hips up, giving an almost tentative grind into the pillow, as if unsure he’s doing it right. The friction is familiar, almost comforting in its predictability. Choso’s nostrils flare with a heavy sigh, his head falling back to the mattress as he stares heatedly at the ceiling, his eyes narrowed to slits. Slowly, he starts to fuck his pillow, the movements deliberate and mechanical, driven by the single-minded need to rid himself of the troublesome arousal gnawing at him.

His cock throbs with each slow thrust, the pressure of the pillow against him both soothing and maddening. The heat in his abdomen builds, coiling tighter with every grind. Pre-cum slicks the fabric, smearing in thin, dark stripes with each drag of his length against it. The pleasure is there, tingling all the way down to his toes, but it doesn’t crest, doesn’t even come close, leaving him teetering on the most frustrating of knife edges.

He grinds harder, hips moving more forcefully now, desperation seeping into every motion. The familiar rhythm that usually brings him relief is failing him, the need growing more intense with each passing second. His mind is a haze of lust and longing, the image of you blending with the sensation of his cock twitching against the pillow, creating a heady tonic that seeps deeply into his brain, sinking hooks that he doesn’t know yet he will never be able to remove. He bites down on his lip, a low, frustrated groan escaping his throat as he thrusts harder, faster, violently clawing for the release he so desperately and suddenly needs.

But it's not enough. His body is slick with sweat, muscles tensing and trembling with the effort. The pillow, once a source of solace, now feels infuriatingly inadequate. It only works him up higher, hotter, veins in his forearms standing out as he whines in frustration.

The pillow crumbles beneath Choso’s hands, the downy feathers within compressing and shifting into a useless lump under the abuse of his pelvis. Each pounding drag against the pillow drives him further from his peak, his own aggressive hopelessness raking him over hot coals as the very thing he uses to relieve himself falls apart in his hands.

His breaths are harsh, ragged, his heart pounding in his chest as he fights against the insistent ache that won’t go away. His goal remains just out of reach, a teasing promise that leaves him gasping and grinding against the pillow with mounting desperation. He wants to scream—it isn’t working, it isn’t working, why isn’t it working?

With a final, helpless thrust and bitter groan, he collapses onto the bed, panting and trembling with unspent desire. The need is still there, throbbing and insistent, leaving him feeling more restless than before. He whips the pillow aside to thump somewhere on the floor, damp and crumpled.

Choso lies there, staring up at the ceiling, his body aching with unresolved tension. The memory of you lingers in his mind, water and oil with the frustration of his failed attempt at relief. He feels helpless, yearning in the dark for something. Sleep, peace, release from his torment, you.

You.

It’s a new thought, one he’s never entertained before, but now it feels so undeniably right. He doesn’t question where the idea comes from; it’s an instinct, an impulse he can’t quite name but can’t ignore. Driven by this sudden urge, he trails his hand down the firm ridges of his abdomen, wrapping his fingers around his throbbing cock. The sensation is electric, sending a shiver up his spine as he tentatively strokes himself.

The sensation is immediate and overwhelming. It's like a jolt of lightning, a direct line of pleasure from his cock to his brain. His eyes flutter shut, a soft gasp escaping his lips as his fingers slide along his length, the friction so much more intense than the pillow. It's hotter, slicker, and he can feel every ridge and vein beneath his touch. His hips lift off the bed, rutting roughly into his palm with a choked whimper.

He strokes himself again, more confidently this time and slowly at first, exploring the unfamiliar territory with hesitant drags of his hand. He grips himself tighter, his thumb brushing over the sensitive head, and a strangled moan breaks free of his flushed and sweaty throat. It’s sharper, more focused, and it’s like nothing he’s ever felt before.

Thoughts of you flood his mind, but they're different now, colored with a perverse longing that makes his heart race and his cock throb in his hand. He remembers your kind smile, but now it feels like an invitation, a secret shared just between the two of you. Your laughter echoes in his ears, sweet and melodic, but it twists into something more intimate and utterly salacious.

His strokes quicken, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He thinks of you reaching for the jar of tomato sauce, the way your shirt had ridden up, exposing a strip of skin that glowed in the kitchen light. That innocent moment which only planted seeds of interest is now blooming with raw, aching desire. He imagines touching you—it would’ve been so easy to reach out and skim your flesh with his fingertips, to wrap his hand around the soft curve of your waist as he stood behind you, pin his hand over yours on the counter—

His fingers move faster, slick with pre-cum, each stroke sending pops of color to the edges of his vision. He thinks of the way you held the popcorn bowl between your thighs, the meat of your legs squishing around the ceramic and the genuine affection in your eyes when you offered it to him. But now, he imagines those eyes darkened with lust, looking at him with the same desire that grips him now. He pictures you close, your body pressed against his, your breath hot against his neck as you whisper his name.

Your voice would never sound as saccharine as it would as his name forms on your lips, your voice sweet as spun sugar as you coax him toward oblivion with a hand much gentler than his own.

The friction is maddening, his grip tight and unrelenting. Each pump of his hand draws him closer to the edge, his pleasure building in a way that’s almost unbearable. He imagines your fingers tangling in his hair, your lips ghosting over his skin, sending shivers down his spine. His hips thrust into his harried palm, chasing a climax that’s so deliriously close as his room is filled with the wet little sucks of pre-cum leaking between the creases of his fingers.

He imagines those same fingers in his hair drifting down his body, splayed over his abs, leaving red lines in their wake. The thought of your touch surprises him, but it feels so vivid, so intoxicating. He pictures your hands moving lower, tracing the dark hair that trails down his abdomen, teasing and scratching lightly. He imagines your hand… fuck, he imagines your hand.

Choso’s body tenses, his breath hitching as the pleasure peaks. His mind is filled with you—your smile, your laughter, your touch—how can he so vividly feel a touch he’s never known? How can he crave it so feverishly? By god does he crave it. 

With a gasp he suddenly turns his face into the crook of his arm, teeth pressing forcefully into the cords of muscle as he cums, muffling the guttural moan and reducing it to desperate whimpers instead. 

Cum spills over his fingers, hot and sticky ropes spurting onto his chest, his stomach, his spine arching under the almost blinding force of it and he only remembers to breathe when the lack of oxygen makes him dizzy.

His breath comes in ragged, uneven gasps as he lies there, stunned as certainly as if he’d taken a blow to the temple. Using his hand made all the difference, and picturing you rather than the detached clinicality he always approached this with changed everything. For the first time ever, the act of masturbation didn't feel like a necessary chore, it was a joy. His cum glistens on his skin, thick and milky, smeared across his abs and chest and sheets, a living, dripping, testament to that change of heart.

Choso’s hand remains wrapped around his cock, now softening in his grip, but he can’t bring himself to let go—an irrational concern that he might never feel something so exquisite again if he were to release himself. His cum dribbles over his fingers, pooling in the creases of his palm, and still he cannot let go.

He milks his cock slowly, drawing out every last drop with each firm squeeze around the head. The sensation is almost painful, the overstimulation sending sharp sparks of pleasure and discomfort through him, but he can’t stop. Each squeeze brings another bead of cum to the surface, dribbling down over his knuckles, mixing with the sweat and ejaculate that already slicks his skin and connects his hand to his belly with pale ropes.

His mind is a whirl of conflicting emotions. Embarrassment floods his thoughts, a blush creeping up his neck and settling in his cheeks with that awful clarity that always crashes his consciousness after. 

He wonders if he shouldn’t be thinking of you this way. He’s never thought of anyone else like this before, and the intensity of it all leaves him feeling exposed and vulnerable. But then, a small voice in the back of his mind reassures him. You’re friends, after all. This helped him, and you always love to help.

He’s struck with an odd desire—not the desire that landed him here, spent and weak and flushed in his bed with his palm wrapped around his soft and gooey cock, but a different kind. Gratitude. He’s grateful to you for afflicting him with this and unknowingly aiding him through it. Should he thank you? Choso thinks he should thank you. 

But for now, he lets himself drift in the hazy aftermath, your image the last thing on his mind as he begins to succumb to sleep, the feeling of your imagined touch still warm against his skin. Yes, he thinks as his brain all but weeps in joy as the curtain closes on wakefulness, he would have to thank you.

[joelsrose]

crawling back to you

based off hozier's cover of do i wanna know

The frost bit through his gloves, the wind slicing across his face like it had teeth. Every bone in his body screamed, every muscle quivered with exhaustion, but Joel didn’t care. He could’ve died. He was so close to dying. His breath came ragged, clouds blooming in the air before him as his horse plodded forward. Tommy rode close, his voice a low murmur through the haze.

“You alright, Joel?”

Joel didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Words wouldn’t come, lodged somewhere in the tight coil of his chest. His throat burned, raw and dry like ash, but it didn’t matter. Not now. Not when all he could think about was you.

You at home, waiting. God, waiting. Waiting like you always did—half-worried, half-stubborn, the way you chewed on the corner of your lip when he was late, pretending you weren’t scared. He pictured you in the kitchen, the smell of something warm clinging to the air, the lights low because you knew he liked it like that. Or maybe you’d be in the living room, curled up on that old, sagging couch, the one he kept meaning to fix but never did. A book would rest in your hands, forgotten, as you listened for the sound of the front door opening.

Maybe you were in the shower, steam clouding the mirror, your hair slick with that shampoo he couldn’t get enough of—the one that smelled like the start of spring, sweet and soft. Or maybe you were in bed, curled up under the blankets, half-asleep but still waiting for him. Always waiting.

He swallowed hard, his throat tight. His gloves creaked as he gripped the reins, hands trembling from the cold—or maybe it was something else entirely. He didn’t know, didn’t care. His bloodshot eyes stung from the wind, but it was nothing compared to the ache in his chest. That unrelenting pull, like a thread tied to his heart, leading him back to you.

He could’ve died tonight. Every part of him knew it. He’d stared down the edge of the void and felt it staring back, cold and unflinching. But he hadn’t fallen in. And it wasn’t luck or skill or the damn grace of God. It was you. It was the thought of you, waiting for him, that dragged him through hell and back.

Joel bit down against the pain, his jaw tight, his breath catching on the edge of a sob he wouldn’t let out. He couldn’t break now, not when he was so close. The lights of Jackson flickered in the distance, faint but steady, and his heart twisted.

˚୨୧⋆.

Joel’s legs burned with every step as he pushed the door open, the hinges groaning in the quiet. The smell hit him first—home. Not the walls or the wood or the faint smoke clinging to his jacket, but the soft, familiar trace of you. It wrapped around him, sank into his chest, and pressed against his lungs until he couldn’t speak, couldn’t even breathe.

You weren’t downstairs. He just knew.

His boots scraped against the floor as he climbed the stairs, each step pulling him closer, his heart hammering with a rhythm so steady it felt like the only thing keeping him upright. When he reached your door, he paused, his hand on the frame. His breath hitched as the wood creaked beneath his touch, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered, not now.

The door whispered open, and there you were. Curled on your side like he’d seen a thousand times in his mind—like he’d dreamed so many nights he couldn’t count. The soft rise and fall of your breathing, the way the light from the window caught on your hair—it was so achingly familiar it nearly brought him to his knees.

You stirred, your head turning, your eyes finding him through the shadows. They lit up when they met his, and in that moment, the tightness in his chest gave way. He could breathe again. He almost died, but he didn’t. He didn’t.

Joel didn’t speak. Neither did you. Words didn’t belong here, not between the two of you, not now. He let his coat fall from his shoulders, his boots thudding softly to the floor as he crossed the room. You didn’t move, didn’t ask, didn’t hesitate. When he slid into bed beside you, your arms opened for him like they always would.

Your face found the crook of his neck, your breath warm against his skin, and Joel swore he could feel every beat of your heart against his ribs. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you so tightly to him it almost hurt, like if he let go, you’d vanish. Like you weren’t real. Like you were something fragile he’d dreamed up in his desperation.

He held you because he could. Because he was here, and you were here, and that was enough.

Joel shifted, his head dipping until he found the crook of your neck, pressing in like it was the only place he belonged. You let him. Without a word, without hesitation. Your hand lifted, instinctive and gentle, settling on his back, tracing slow circles over the tense muscles beneath his shirt. He exhaled, shuddering against you, the weight of the night melting away with every pass of your touch.

You smelled like home—warm, familiar, a balm to the raw edges of his soul. The faint trace of your shampoo, the scent of your skin—it wrapped around him, pulling him under, quieting the noise in his head. His beard brushed against your neck, rough and unshaven, and it should’ve been uncomfortable, but it wasn’t. It was him. All of him.

“You’re home,” you murmured, your voice soft and steady, grounding him in a way nothing else could.

He didn’t respond. Couldn’t. The words stuck in his throat, lost somewhere between the ache in his chest and the relief that swelled just beneath it. He almost died tonight—so close he could still feel the ghost of it in his bones. But he didn’t.

No, he didn’t.

Because he was here now, wrapped in the safety of you, breathing in the only thing that made the world feel right. He held you tighter, burying himself in the space where he ended, and you began. He was home. And that was all that mattered.

[corkinavoid]

No Eyed Girl by Lemon Demon

Star Crossed Lovers

Space aesthetic

:3

(Can you tell I'm in love with aliens and space?)

DPxDC In Love With Space

"Someone's excited," Cassie teases, but Tim doesn't pay her any attention. The Bioship carries them through the clouds and up, closer and closer to the stars, and Tim's heart flutters a little in his chest.

"I don't think I've ever seen you so eager to get away from Earth before," Kon muses, leaning forward to get a better look at Tim's expression, and that causes him to blink and finally look away from the endless void of space that awaits them.

"I'm not really eager to get away," he corrects, and, in a moment of brilliant mischief - because one never just misses an opportunity to mess with their teammates - grins, feeling his cheeks heat up slightly. "It's just that when you spend a long time in love with space, it eventually falls in love with you, too."

Kon's face looks rightfully confused, which is exactly what Tim was aiming for. But not for long.

Not after a sound of fleeting, flattered distant laughter rings through the ship, and Kon's face shifts from confusion into alarm. But Tim's heart skips a bit for an entirely different reason, and he runs a hand over his cheek, trying to cool it down because it feels like his face is actually on fire now.

Shit, he definitely heard that.

Not that Tim minds, he'd say it again to his face, but... Let's say he was simply caught off-guard. Yeah, that's definitely why he is now a color of a tomato, and not because his boyfriend is a stalking little shit that decided on the most dramatic coming out possible.

He hears the worried voices of his friends behind him, something about the Bioship detecting a mass of something unidentifiable right in front of them, but he doesn't listen. Sure, he could tell them it's okay. He could explain that he knows exactly what said 'mass' is.

But he is decidedly not about to ruin Danny's performance because where's the fun in that?

The space in front of them shifts. Not inside the ship, no, the whole starry sky out the window moves, like it's merely a picture and not actual galaxies and nebulae out there. And then, there's another sound, like an ice crack in the distance, and a big, roughly the size of Tim's whole body, arm comes through the front shield of the Bioship. It's made of the empty darkness and bright stars, a piece of vast universe given form, and the claws clink against the metal floors as more and more of this impossible being comes through the reinforced glass and onto the deck.

It has no eyes of mouth, and its hair is merely a messy outline on top of their head. It's just... stars, planets, and comets and galaxies shaped in a vaguely humanoid form.

The form that stops trying to get inside the ship when it gets themselves in just halfway, and then lies its chin down on its elbows, their face right in front of Tim's. Or, well, not face, since it lacks all kinds of facial features, but Tim still feels that fond gaze of theirs on himself.

"Talking about me with your friends behind my back, Starlight, I see how it is," the being chuckles, tilting it's head to the side, the whisps of their hair floating gently in the air. Their voice sounds like a whisper of a shooting star, a roar of an avalanche, a gentle hum of electricity, all at once.

"Rob, what-" he hears Cassie start, but he is already taking a step closer, carefully pressing a kiss to where the being's cheek should be. It's a little weird when he is in this form, what with his head being twice as big as Tim's own, but, sue him, he likes the drama of it no less than Danny does.

Right on cue, his teammates all gasp and choke on air behind him.

"Hi, dear," he teases his boyfriend slightly, and Danny reaches one of his clawed hands forward, very carefully wrapping his fingers around Tim's body.

"When you spend a long time in love with space, it does eventually fall in love with you, too, yes," he gently repeats and confirms Tim's words from before, and Tim can't see it, but he knows Danny is smiling.

He also knows he is smiling as well.

~•~•~•~

Just for fun, as a finishing touch, here's the aesthetic I put together for this:

I really, really loved the song, by the way, I think I'm going to play that on repeat now.

Hope you like the piece!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

A Barter 7

Warnings: dub/noncon, smutty smut, I am a dark blog and I write dark things.

Summary: You are bargained to be wife to the witcher if he can slew the beast in the village.

Character: Geralt of Rivia

**note, I am not a Witcher genius or aficionado and so I may get some things wrong.

As usual, I appreciate any and all feedback and enthusiasm. Please reblog and leave a comment. Love! 😍

Your stomach presses against the rim of the tub. The water’s lukewarm, the floor is splashed with puddles, his rutting sending more over the edge. His growls remind you of a wild beat, deep and insatiable. Like the animal he mimics, he bites into the meat between your neck and shoulder. 

Hot breath dampens your skin as he pinches you meanly. He hammers into you, his hands over yours as you brace the wall of the tub. You whine and pant, spasming against him as your walls ache from his bottomless appetite.  

He snarls and snakes a hand down to your stomach. He feels himself in you and unclenches his jaw. He nuzzles your neck as his touch drifts further down. He spreads your lips and uses his middle finger to tease your clit. You babble as the speckling sensation mingles with your fullness and blooms to life. 

You cum in a quaking fit, muscles shaking, thighs trembling. You collapse against the side of the tub completely but he doesn’t stop. His finger swirls as he pumps into you, slowing only as he finds his own release. 

You hang over the edge as you gasp for air. You stare at the floor, your vision hazy in the flickering light of the single lantern. He growls again and it rumbles through. You tighten around him, whimpering at the tenderness inside. You don’t know how much more you can take. 

You could cry at the thought that this is only the first night. That he would expect this of you anon. That you swore that to him. 

He pushes himself away but stays inside of you. His damp skin peels from yours as he hooks his arm around your middle and lifts you with him. He brings his other arm under your knees to scoop you up and steps over the side of the tub. 

He takes you to the bed, still buried deep, lays you on your side. He puffs as your wet bodies glisten and bumps raise on your skin. You shiver and he groans, holding you close as he inhales the scent of your hair. His hand moves to spread over your pelvis. He bows his head to rest his forehead against your crown. 

Fatigue tugs your eyelids. You let yourself fall into the void. Those horrors roil in your mind. The fog, the crowded barn, the clop of hooves, the shady cavern and the lecherous eyes, the constant splash of water around the clap of flesh. 

Your worn body succumbs to numbness. You drift away from the wakeful torment and into the pit without end. You fall down and down and down until light breaks through and the pluck deep inside of you. 

You wake on your stomach. Under him as he rocks his hips lazily. He drones and nips at your ear. He fucks you in the soft light of dawn. You clasp onto the pillow and moan. 

Your cunt is brittle around his intrusion. You’re wet and wanting despite the agony. You lift your bottom to ease the pressure. He slides his hand under you to toy with you again. Another orgasm washes over you, shivers crashing down as eagerly as his hunger. 

He snarls as he cums. He stills and holds himself over you. He slips free and falls onto his back with a pained grunt. You stay as you are, plastered on your stomach. His breaths even out and you cautiously turn your head to see him. 

The lantern has burned itself out and only the morning hues limn his profile. You consider him closely, now that he is still, now that he is not on you. He’s a big man. Daunting even. His dark lashes are long and thick, his chin clefted and stubbled, and his cheek bones high and as chiseled as his jaw. 

He exhales and brings his hand over his softening member. He grunts again. You wince and roll onto your side. You bend your legs and whimper as your thighs meet. Somehow the emptiness is worse than being overly full. 

He reaches to you and pets your hip. His eyes open and seem to glow in the dim. His fingers swirl over your skin as his seed cools between your thighs. 

“I will go and lock the door. You will not open it. Not for any.” 

You sniff and gently rest your hand on his, “will you be gone long?” 

“Not if I can help it. I will leave food on the table.” 

“Yes, husband,” you accept. The promise of peace, of some time alone, a moment to take in all that has occured, is well-needed. 

“And another bath to be drawn before,” he states. “You will be easy.” He turns his hand over and grips yours. “And ready for my return.” 

[fairene]

my woman / ln4 sneak peek

established r. lando norris x f!reader

warning ⋯ language, alcohol use, a bit of fighting, tension, eventual smut.

a/n ⋯ i'm not dead..loll....lando plans to propose.

the drive back to the villa was thick with tension, the silence between you a heavy, suffocating thing. the soft hum of the car engine filled the void where your laughter usually lived, but tonight, it felt more like a reminder of the distance growing between you. lando’s hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles pale, the faint glow of the dashboard illuminating his face in fractured shadows. he kept glancing at you, his lips parting as though he wanted to say something, but each time, he stopped himself.

you stared out the window, the blur of greece’s moonlit coastline passing by in streaks of silver and blue. your arms were crossed, your posture stiff, but inside, you were unraveling. you could feel his gaze on you, the weight of his silence pressing against your chest, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. not yet. not when your emotions were still a storm threatening to spill over.

when the car pulled up to the villa, you didn’t wait for him to cut the engine. the door clicked open, and you stepped out without a word, the gravel crunching beneath your heels as you walked toward the house. lando fumbled to unbuckle his seatbelt, calling out your name softly, like a lifeline he was desperate to hold onto.

“wait,” he said, his voice trailing after you, but you didn’t stop. the door swung open under your hand, the cool air of the villa rushing to greet you as you moved inside, each step echoing against the quiet walls.

“please, talk to me,” he tried again, his footsteps quickening behind you as you ascended the stairs. his voice was pleading now, the vulnerability in it twisting something deep inside you, but you didn’t stop. you couldn’t—not yet.

his heart was pounding, each step feeling like he was racing against time, against the unbearable thought of you slipping away. don’t go, he wanted to say, the words clawing at his throat, but they stayed there, unspoken. instead, he reached for the bannister, his palm slick with nerves, as he chased after you.

you reached the bedroom first, the door creaking softly as you pushed it open. the room, normally a haven of warmth and comfort, felt different tonight—colder, emptier. you stepped inside and let the door swing shut behind you, not bothering to turn on the light. the moonlight spilling through the curtains was enough.

your bag landed with a dull thud on the floor as you made your way to the bed. sitting on the edge, you leaned back, your legs hanging off the side, the soft fabric of the duvet cool against your palms. you stared up at the ceiling, your chest rising and falling with the weight of everything you wanted to say but couldn’t.

lando hesitated at the door, his hand hovering over the handle. he could hear the faint sound of your breathing through the wood, steady but strained, and it made his chest ache. he swallowed hard, summoning the courage to face the storm he knew he’d helped create.

when he finally opened the door, the sight of you—bathed in moonlight, your face unreadable—hit him like a blow to the chest. you looked so far away, even though you were right there, just a few steps ahead. it terrified him, the thought of losing you, of this being the moment you slipped through his fingers for good.

“i…” his voice faltered, and he took a step inside, the door clicking shut softly behind him. “i don’t know how to fix this,” he admitted, his words trembling. “but i’ll try. i’ll do anything.”

you didn’t look at him, your gaze still fixed on the ceiling. “it shouldn’t have to feel this hard,” you said quietly, the words cutting through the space like glass.

“i know,” he said, taking another tentative step closer. “i’m sorry. for all of it—for tonight, for making you feel like you weren’t enough. you are enough. more than enough. you’re everything.”

your breath hitched, the raw emotion in his voice chipping away at the walls you’d built during the drive home. you turned your head slightly, finally meeting his gaze, and the look in his eyes—the desperation, the regret, the love—made your chest tighten.“then show me, lando,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “show me i’m not just someone you can lose in the crowd.”

taglist ⋯

@landoslutmeout@basicallyric@mybluesoul1@toriiez@customsbyjcg-blog@sofs16@strengthandstay@mybluesoul1@f1fantasys@cmleitora@idgasb@amalialeclerc@laneyspaulding19@staurdvst @oreosareara @sideboobrry11 @mortallyblueninja @fionamiller123 @2pagenumb @marvelfangirl04 @brune77e @allabouthappiness @tellybearryyyy @ringdingdingdingx @tillyt04 @danywonderland @rosebud224 @simpfortoomanymen @nataliambc @forcesensitivesoulmate @sweate-r-weathe-r @norlestappen @madszoca @milkandcookhot @fionamiller123 @16f1lc @jwiltsz @plotpal @inevesgf @theonottsbxtch

[gluion]

almost, but not quite — leehan

pairing — leehan x reader genre — friends to lovers, fluff, crack, university au wc — 8.5k misc/warnings — loser!leehan with avoidant tendencies, slight mutual pining, bonedo group dynamics, also architecture student!leehan... heh, a lot of aquatic and ponyo references, a pov switch happens between leehan and myungjae, getting froyo to avoid confessing, alcohol consumption, kissing playlist — heavy by the marías // nervous by the neighbourhood // halley’s comet by billie eilish // patutunguhan by cup of joe // intro (end of the world) by ariana grande // i know you by faye webster // tsunami by niki // ikot by over october // take a chance with me by niki note — please know i have dropped this and pick it up in multiple instances because i'm not built to write fluff. still, i hope you enjoy because i see myself in leehan :]]

synopsis — if there’s one thing leehan didn’t understand, it’s the gross, sticky emotions he feels with you. yet, there’s an undeniable warmth that lingers—and that’s when he knows he’s screwed.

(in other words, the five times leehan found himself at a crossroads and the one time he decided on what he wanted with you.)

if the world were to end, leehan believes it would start with a meteor shower. before they crash against the soil, their trail of flames would catch on tree branches, the fire spreading through forests. their craters would swallow civilizations, and the floor would crack beneath his feet. the world will go up in flames within the blink of an eye; how dinosaurs met their demise would be the same fate he would face.

jaehyun finds it stupid, arguing it would be through an alien invasion. (“there’s too much proof! i mean, have we forgotten about area 51?” is the same point he never fails to make.) it didn’t help that he believed leehan could be an alien in disguise, regardless of how many times leehan showed him his birth certificate.

but how the world ends for leehan happens without him even knowing, waking up in the middle of his fall into the never-ending void. the harsh light morphs into amber tones with every descent as heat prickles his nape. leehan imagines the sting of lava hitting against his skin, burning him alive to a slow death, but it’s his descent into the ocean.

how leehan’s world ends is not from a meteor shower or an alien invasion, but with his plummet past the ocean floor all the way to the core.

yet, the center of his earth doesn’t happen to be molten lava.

it’s you.

“who’s jaehyun talking to?” sungho frowns in confusion before shoving a spoonful of rice into his mouth.

leehan looks up from his phone and attempts to find his friend among the students who fill up the cafeteria. as he cranes his head past unacquainted faces, he spots the familiar boy talking to a stranger. “no clue.” before he can go back to doom-scrolling, jaehyun bursts into laughter.

it shouldn’t be a big deal; the sight of his best friend doubling over is an everyday occurrence for him, but not anyone can achieve it unless they knew the spectrum of jaehyun’s humor.

jaehyun catches leehan’s puzzled look and shoots him a smile. his hand lingers on the mystery person’s shoulder. before leehan can look back at his phone, you turn around.

leehan freezes.

if there’s a view that could beat the great barrier reef, it would be you. (even if leehan has never seen it. he just knows.)

“oh, they’re coming our way,” sungho points out.

like a human meeting a siren, leehan couldn’t rip his eyes off of you. your graceful strides resemble the movement of sea creatures. a coral forms on your nose with every laugh. yet, it’s a sea of jellyfish in your eyes that could make him crumble.

before he knows it, you stand in front of him with your eyes on jaehyun. if his friend was saying something, he never catches on—except for your name. “this is y/n.”

he repeats your name to himself; a song to be sung.

“hi! it’s nice to meet you.” your smile is made of the sun and sea. the expanse of blue glimmers as it crashes against him—out of enchantment and back into reality.

“how do you know jaehyun?” sungho asks.

you glance at your friend. “we’re in the broadcast club together. you know, he’s basically made to host.” from your compliment, jaehyun rolls his eyes and nudges your shoulder.

leehan rips his gaze from you, his hand finding a spot by the back of his ear as he fiddles with the last strands of his composure. he’s out of his mind. what’s he even thinking about you? for all he knows, you could be dating jaehyun.

oh god, are you dating his friend? what if you two have been going out for years and he never knew—wait, it shouldn’t even matter.

leehan doesn’t know anything about you so he feels indifferent towards you, right? right?

sungho tilts his head in curiosity. “oh! what do you do?”

in the process of glancing at you, leehan briefly locks eyes with his best friend. jaehyun’s eyes glance dart between you and leehan as a smirk makes its way to his face.

whatever his friend is thinking of, leehan only assumes the worst. is jaehyun going to misunderstand the situation? how does leehan explain to him that he’s just nervous around you? would his friend take it against him for looking at you?

leehan thinks it’s over for him.  

“tech. you know the people who manage the mixing board?” as you imitate yourself moving the sliders, leehan lets out a giggle without a second thought. once you smile at him, leehan feels the heat rise to his cheeks. he looks back down to his phone, hoping you can’t notice the pink tint all over his face.

“that’s cool! even cooler than what jaehyun does.”

sungho’s joke only brings jaehyun to smack his arm. “hey!” he frowns before glancing at you. “he’s kinda right.”

“not even kinda, he is right,” leehan remarks as he ignores the sea in his stomach.

jaehyun groans as his two friends fist bump each other. before they can ruin his reputation any more, he looks at you and says, “i’ll see you after class?”

you nod. “bye! it was nice meeting you.” you glimpse at his friends before locking eyes with leehan.

your eyes are seas that leehan wishes he could swim in. he would hold his breath just to stay in them, undergo the sting of his lungs just to admire them.

but it’s your smile that snaps him out of your possession. when he realizes he’s staring at you, his elbow slips off the table.

“are you okay?” sungho’s question is accompanied with a frown of confusion. while concern paints your features, the same, all-knowing smirk rests on jaehyun’s face.

leehan clears his throat as he fixes his posture. “yeah, i’m good.” he can’t bear to meet your gaze, not after his slip-up and certainly not after jaehyun’s reaction.

“okay, well i’m going. nice meeting you both!” with your farewell, you leave the group of three. 

once jaehyun finds his spot next to leehan, the worst possible scenarios flood leehan’s mind. the last thing he wants to do is ruin his friendship with him.

yet, he’s dumbfounded when jaehyun chuckles. “dude, if you’re going to have a crush, at least make it discreet.”

leehan’s eyes grow wide over jaehyun’s accusation. “i do not like y/n.” he snickers. “what are talking about?”

his friend clearly misread his actions. how could he even like you when he barely knew you? over one interaction, too? jaehyun needs to have more faith in him.

the disbelief in jaehyun’s features tell leehan otherwise. “are you seriously going to play that card? sungho, back me up.” he looks at the boy across from him who’s too busy eating away to even help him out. “didn’t you notice his eyes? they were practically hearts!”

he shrugs as he finishes his food. “beats me. leehan’s always been an oddball.”

“no, but he’s not like his usual silly self!”

leehan grumbles, nudging his shoulder against his troublesome friend. “quit it. stop making this weird.”

“whatever.” jaehyun rolls his eyes before jabbing his finger against leehan’s chest. “just know that i know your little secret.”

leehan grows annoyed at jaehyun’s accusations. he’s already said he doesn’t like you that way. how could jaehyun even think that? leehan swats away jaehyun’s hand before getting off his seat. “i’m leaving.”

“what? why?!” his friend clings onto his arm. the pout on his lips attempts to hold him back from his departure. “did i tease you too much?”

leehan shakes his head as he shrugs off jaehyun’s grip. “no, i’ve got a plate to cram.” he slings his backpack and drawing tube on his shoulders. “i’ll see you guys later?”

sungho only musters a hum before shoving another spoonful of rice into his mouth. as leehan takes his leave, jaehyun rests his chin on his crossed arms. despite the sigh that leaves the dejected boy, sungho pays no attention to him. “you’re not even going to ask why i’m sad?”

“just let him be. i’m sure he doesn’t like them.”

jaehyun groans in response.

if there’s one thing he’s certain about, it’s leehan’s crush on you. sure, his friends don’t see it, but one thing he knows for sure is leehan’s interest in you—he’ll do anything to make sure it comes into fruition.

and if there’s one thing leehan hates to admit to, it’s jaehyun being right in his suspicions, so he’ll keep going—deny, deny, deny, whatever he’s feeling because it doesn’t mean anything.

it shouldn’t.

but to leehan’s dismay, his mind would always drift back to you.

leehan swears he hasn’t thought about you. unfortunately for him, he never crossed paths with you since that one fateful encounter.

it shouldn’t be unfortunate. after all, he knows nothing about you.

(except for your name. and your course. and that you’re in the broadcasting club with his best friend. and that you’re a big fan of ghibli movies. and that every spotify playlist is perfectly curated to fit every mood, from the “slow mornings” to the “rageful evenings” as you’d like to put it on their descriptions.)

absolutely nothing, really.

as he found himself in the middle of midterms, the idea of you started to slip away in between papers and unfinished plates. 

leehan likes the library during exams season; place filled with students who are struggling like him. as night has dawned upon them, bulbs of yellow light up at every table. he’s always been able to work better at the library. after all, it doesn’t help that jaehyun is lounging in their dorm, enjoying his freedom from academic obligations.

still, leehan cannot deny his exhaustion as he attempts to finish one of his many essays. it works in his favor that his hoodie does its job in concealing his fatigue from others, allowing him to isolate and make sense of the words on his screen.

perhaps it’s for the best for you two. if he found himself entangled with you, maybe he wouldn’t get any work done. he already begged his professors for an extension, and he’s starting to think that might be the last time they’d understand. the last thing he wants on his mind is you—

“leehan?”

the source of his sleepless nights stands right before him. it seems like you’re unscathed from what this season brings but your laptop and bag filled to the brim with readings suggest otherwise.

still, it’s the same jellyfish-like glow in your eyes. 

“o-oh, hi!” at his voice crack, his eyebrows shoot up. “sorry, hi again.”

“no, it’s fine! i understand.” you smile in a poor attempt to suppress your laugh. “i just… wasn’t expecting to see you here. wait—you do remember me, right?”

he’s surprised that thought comes across your mind. “of course i do, y/n. how could i ever forget jaehyun’s cool friend?”

you roll your eyes at his flattery, trying to ignore his comment, but the smile on your face says otherwise. “at least. it would’ve been embarrassing to approach you and find out you don’t remember me, which i understand but i think i would’ve ran away.”

your shy demeanor causes waves to crash against his heart, the sound of your voice enchants him, and—snap out of it!

he shakes his head in an attempt to regain his composure. “what brings you here?”

“i’m here to work as well, but i’ve been walking around trying to find a table and i can’t find a vacant spot.” as your eyes flicker to the empty chair across him, he’s quick to move away his scattered things, some pens falling off the table.

“you can sit with me!”

“are you sure? i’d understand if you need your own space, really.”

leehan can try all he wants to shake off the thought of you, insist that he doesn’t have a crush on you (because he really doesn’t), but he isn’t going to have you leave this library in defeat. you two are in the same boat, trying to meet deadlines while running on a few hours of sleep and caffeine. he isn’t going to leave you stranded.

“yeah, i’d be happy to have someone join me. i can’t be the only one going crazy here,” he reassures you. you take that as your sign to sit with him.

(and this isn’t his attempt to spend time with you. really, it isn’t.)

he tries to continue where he left off on his work. if he continues to put off this essay, he wouldn’t only lose another hour of sleep but risk receiving a failing mark.

yet, his eyes are drawn to you. regardless of all the risks, of all the threats that loom in the deep ocean, he can only look at you.

which is why it comes to his surprise when you meet his gaze. 

leehan is quick to break eye contact and act like he’s working. heat rises to his cheeks. in the sea of typing, your giggle reaches his ear.

now, he isn’t sure how red he’s become.

“i didn’t know you like ponyo.”

a hum of confusion leaves him. as you stare at the stickers plastered over his laptop, your finger darts at a jellyfish one. “that’s from ponyo.”

his face flushes. “oh! yeah.” the last word trails into a whisper.

“is that your favorite ghibli movie?”

leehan melts into his seat. not from the nerves but pure embarrassment—because he has no clue what ponyo is. from what he’s gathered, it’s a ghibli movie, has jellyfish in it, and… that’s all he got. after all, he bought that sticker at a convention a few months back.

(it’s starting to make sense to leehan why the artist showed him a collection of anime characters back then, and it didn’t help that he asked to see more fish stickers instead.)

he should be honest with you; if he doesn’t know what the movie is about, then maybe you’d indulge him with everything you like.

yet, another lie is said. “yeah!” it leaves leehan in shock, in embarrassment, in a situation he could’ve avoided. he should’ve tried to save himself from the unfolding mess, but the beam in your eyes outshine all sea creatures he’s studied up on. “what about you?”

your smile grows bigger. “i love that movie! you know, there’s supposed to be a symphonic concert happening in a couple of months.” leehan only musters out a hum, trying to cover up his anxiety with interest. as you learn on the table, you ask, “who do you think you are between ponyo and sosuke?”

leehan’s absolutely fucked, but he knows how to keep his act up; avoid answering and throw the question back. “who do you think i’m more like?”

you take a moment to think. as your fingers tap against the table, a small hum leaves you. “based on vibes, i think you’d be ponyo.” leehan can only nod.

once silence settles between you two, leehan thinks he’s in the clear. he’s ready to put this interaction behind him, even kick himself for lying to you—

“now, what about me?”

“uh,” he mumbles as he discreetly searches up the movie.

with your wide-eyed gaze, the pressure to answer is multiplied by ten-fold. leehan thinks this is even worse than answering an exam worth 40% of his final grade. he wish he could be swallowed up; it pains him to keep the act going.

by some miracle, you read his thoughts. “you don’t know anything about ponyo, do you?”

he sighs in relief. “oh, thank god, i couldn’t keep this up any longer. i only got that jellyfish sticker because i like fish, and no one told me it’s a reference to a movie until you pointed it out.” the frown painted across your face makes him feel like he’s been stung by a jellyfish. “i’m sorry. i should’ve just told you that i had no clue what you were talking about, but i panicked and i didn’t want to ruin the conversation with my ignorance and—”

you burst into laughter, causing neighboring tables to glare at you. as you throw an apologetic smile to those you disturbed, you try to hold yourself back from laughing any more. leehan wishes you didn’t stop then; those few seconds turned into a song stuck in his head.

“i’ve never met anyone who’s into sea creatures.”

leehan’s breath hitches. is he weird for liking fish? would you be freaked out by his tank filled with corydoras? is it over for you and him—

“but i think that’s cool.” your words snap him from his thoughts. “do you have some as pets?”

the question brings him to grin. “corydoras and snakeheads.”

“you wanna tell me more about them?”

leehan thinks you might be it—the one, as riwoo likes to rave on about when imagining his unfolding future—for him.

but he’s gone through weeks filled with stress and the exhaustion gets in the way of his work; it’s probably the same case for his feelings towards you. before he can spiral into a never-ending hole filled with delusions, he shakes off the idea. “maybe another time.”

“you’re right. sorry about that. we both came here to work and i’m clearly distracting you.”

his eyes grow wide, scared to send you the wrong message. “no! you’re okay. i like talking to you.” as your expression shifts from apologetic to shock, he quickly adds, “about my fish! yeah, about them.”

while a nervous chuckle leaves him, you smile. “i like talking to you, too.”

leehan’s skin heats up.

“about ponyo, even if you didn’t know what i was talking about,” you tease. “maybe we can watch it together when we’ve got time. i don’t know what it’s like as an architecture student, but i can spare a few hours.”

leehan’s senses elevate—not from your suggestion but over the mention of his course. “how do you know my course?”

he didn’t want to get ahead of himself, really, but he can’t control his mind from jumping into conclusions. did you search him up right after the first meeting? were you curious about him?

were you interested in him the same way he is with you?

“myungjae mentioned it.”

his hope dissipates. “oh, that makes sense.” disappointment is evident in his tone.

still, your smile remains. “myungjae talks about you quite a lot.”

leehan’s groans as his mind jumps to the embarrassing stories that his friend could possibly say. “i would hope it’d be good things.” after all, jaehyun knows too much about leehan, and he didn’t want him to influence your perceptions surrounding him for the worst. 

a quiet moment stretches between you and him. 

“yeah, all good things.”

it’s a silent agreement for the two of you to get back to work; crunch out sentences filled with grammar mistakes and words derived from google searches of synonyms.

still, leehan’s eyes drift back to you every once in a while.

if there’s one thing jaehyun is set on proving, it’s leehan’s crush on you.

it’s been weeks since he first saw his friend freeze at the sight of you. the first time leehan’s eyes held a certain glow that resembled the jellyfish sticker on his laptop.

on the other hand, sungho’s grown tired of jaehyun’s supposed baseless accusations; all jaehyun needs to do is show the signs to prove it all.

he stands in sungchan’s kitchen, swishing around a mix of alcohol and mixers in his cup. the bartop is filled with bottles of liquor and drinks, a variety for him to choose. while everyone is off to enjoy the party, he stands with riwoo and sungho. as sungho shares about the gossip he’s heard, his fingers playing with the hem of his crop top, riwoo’s pink antennas bounce with every laugh. while they’re caught up in their own conversation, jaehyun’s gaze shifts between leehan, who stood by the corner of the living room with taesan, and the front door that swings open every five minutes.

“dude,” riwoo’s voice snaps jaehyun back into their conversation, “what’s gotten into you?”

sungho frowns at jaehyun who only takes a sip from his drink. jaehyun’s odd but never to a point that he’d stop himself from enjoying a party.

“are you waiting for someone?”

from riwoo’s question, sungho manages to connect the dots, and a frown settles on his face. “are you kidding me? even at this party? is that the only reason you begged us to come?”

jaehyun believes that he’s a mastermind. it was easy to convince his friends to show up to sungchan’s halloween party; the mention of alcohol and familiar names seemed did the trick. after all, they all saw the opportunity to de-stress from finals and end the semester on a high note.

the icing on top of his plan was your agreement to show up.

“is this about leehan’s supposed crush?”

sungho’s hip rests against the counter as he looks over at his friend from a distance. “we don’t even know if he likes them, but jaehyun’s so insistent on saying he does which, by the way, isn’t cool. don’t make it weird between them.”

in all other instances, jaehyun would agree with his best friend, but he shakes his head before saying, “just watch and see. by tonight, i will change your minds.”

“if only y/n shows up,” riwoo snickers. 

regardless of his friends’ comments, jaehyun stands tall. “trust me. i know they will.”

sungho rolls his eyes at his friend’s confidence. “what makes you say that?”

“jaehyun!”

the familiar voice rings in jaehyun’s ears. “speak of the devil.” with a smile on his face, he looks over to see you approaching his group of three, all dressed in a mustard-yellow shirt, grey shorts, and a green pail bucket hanging on your arm.

“sorry! i was finishing up my last requirement a few hours ago.”

jaehyun slings his arm around your shoulders. “i’m just glad you made it.”

“yeah, mainly because you begged me to do so.”

“he did the same to us,” sungho snickers.

jaehyun rolls his eyes. “we all know that’s not true. you just won’t admit that you wanted to party, too.”

“i’ll have you know that sungchan invited me before you did,” you remark before you grab yourself a clean cup. with jaehyun’s arm still wrapped around you, you drag him along in staring at the selection of drinks on the counter. “what’re you drinking?”

“oh, the perfect mix!” you don’t think twice about jaehyun’s words until you watch him grab on different bottles of liqueurs and mixers. “like juice, i tell you.”

“that’s dangerous.” a nervous chuckle leaves you before he shakes his head. 

“you’ll be fine, tipsy after one drink at most.” you roll your eyes at your friend being the cause for your impending doom. “by the way, this is sungho, as you’ve met before, and riwoo.” jaehyun’s introduction has you turning around to greet the two.

“you’re dressed as saiki k! i love that anime.” riwoo chuckles at your exclaim. as you look at sungho, you spot the neck of an electric guitar peeking from behind him. “you play?”

he snaps out of his trance and hums in confirmation. “sorry, i was trying to figure out what you’re dressed up as and i still have no clue.”

“oh!” you reach out into your bucket before pulling out a small keychain of a gingered-folk dressed in red. “i’m sosuke, from ponyo.”

riwoo’s hands come together. “i see that now!”

once jaehyun hands you your drink, you take in his costume; a purple sweater that drowns his figure with rock n’ roll girl plastered at the front. “who the fuck are you?” you sip on jaehyun’s concoction. the sweetness of the drink masks the taste of alcohol. it’s a mistake to drink this, not because this will lead you to an incurable hangover but because of jaehyun’s answer.

“i’m darla from finding nemo.”

you choke on your drink. jaehyun’s quick to rub his hand against your back. in the middle of your coughing fit, laughter slips in between. “what the fuck?! i wouldn’t have guessed that.”

jaehyun clicks his tongue before holding your arm. “which is why i have a partner to complete my outfit! come.”

before you know it, he drags you through the crowd of people. whenever your bucket crashes against someone, you’d quickly apologize before jaehyun hauls you five steps forward. you don’t understand the rush, but jaehyun’s smirk makes you believe otherwise.

jaehyun believes he’s a mastermind; he isn’t going to miss the perfect opportunity to push his plan forward.

“leehan!” his friend, dressed in a fish outfit with yellow and white stripes, rips his gaze away from taesan and settles on the two of you. his relaxed smile morphs into a thin line as his droopy eyes turn wide. it’s moments like these that make jaehyun question how his other friends fail to see the signs.

taesan’s eyes follow. “jaehyun! you came at the perfect time. i just needed a refill of your mix.” the moment he spots you, he straightens his back. “i don’t think we’ve met before. i’m taesan.”

“y/n.” the makeshift cat ears formed by his hair bring a smile to your face. “didn’t know i’d meet a catboy today.”

“yeah, well—”

“taesan, come with me.” jaehyun grabs his arm.

taesan and leehan frown at him. “huh? can’t you just make it and bring it here?” as taesan swings his empty cup, jaehyun rolls his eyes before dragging him to his side.

with your confused expression, he forces a smile. “no. i need to introduce you to someone, anyway,” he lies behind his teeth. while you accept his words at face value, leehan’s eyes grow wide at his friends’ escape.

before his lovesick friend can protest, jaehyun and taesan take their leave.

“what the fuck was that?” taesan shouts the question as they make their way back to the kitchen.

jaehyun shakes his head until they reach riwoo and sungho. “that’s the person i was telling you about! the one leehan likes.”

taesan glances at the two before bursting into laughter. “nah, i think they’re just friends.”

“i’ve been saying that for the past weeks,” sungho complains before he sips his drink. “every time jaehyun teases leehan, it almost looks like he’s going to kill himself.”

riwoo hums as he observes his friend. “what even makes you so sure that he likes them?”

“oh, i’ll show you.” jaehyun pulls out his phone before going through his contacts.

as sungho peers over, he frowns at the contact name. “what’s he going to know?”

“hey, can you at least make my drink—”

the call is picked up by their friend, whose eyes are shut and hair ridden into a mess. “hello?” he groans.

“woonhak, do you think leehan likes y/n?”

a pause ensues.

“who?”

sungho smacks jaehyun’s arm, causing him to hiss at the contact. “why’re you bothering the kid? can’t you see he was sleeping?!”

“at 10:34 p.m.? the night’s still young!” taesan jokes as he sings out the last sentence. “anyway, about my drink—”

“this is about the person i was telling you about! the one in the broadcast club.” despite jaehyun’s attempt to jog his friend’s memory, he’s met with a confused and sleepy groan. “the one who likes ponyo.”

for some reason, that piece of information clicks in his drowsy friend’s brain. “oh, yeah! what about them?”

sungho shakes his head. “this is pointless. he’s clearly too sleepy to have this conversation. bye—”

“no! woonhak, you are going to help me prove that i am right about leehan and y/n.”

riwoo laughs in disbelief. jaehyun’s persistence is not new, but it’s the first time they’ve seen it involving their friend. “and how are you going to do that?”

“like this.” jaehyun flips the camera, showing woonhak the view of leehan. woonhak’s face moves closer to the camera in an attempt to focus on his friend, who rocks back and forth in place as he talks to you.

like clockwork, leehan leans forward. “see! don’t you think they’re so close to each other?” jaehyun points at the view.

sungho chuckles before resting his hand on his shoulder. “it’s a party. i’m sure they can’t hear each other that well, especially since they’re near the speakers.”

“he’s right. i mean, they are close, sure, but it doesn’t really mean anything.” although woonhak shares the same sentiments as sungho, jaehyun doesn’t admit defeat. he’s secured in his suspicions; the last thing he’ll allow is for him to be swayed until he shows them all signs affirming it.

“okay, but look at his thumbs.” his friends dart towards leehan’s hands that are wrapped around his cup. “he’s twiddling them! don’t you think he’d fidget around someone he likes?”

riwoo sighs. “i’m sure he’s just nervous because he doesn’t know y/n that well.”

yet, jaehyun shakes his head at riwoo’s assumption. “but that’s the type of anxiety you expect from someone with a crush.”

“that is true.” taesan’s comment brings all eyes on him. i’m kind of just agreeing at this point so that jaehyun can make my drink.” everyone groans and scolds the alcoholic.

“okay, but he could still be warming up to them. i mean, they’ve only known each other for a few weeks now,” woonhak adds on. it’s clear that calling him isn’t helping jaehyun’s case. woonhak’s two more comments away before the call is dropped on him.

at this point, jaehyun’s desperate. he couldn’t have his plan fall through or he would never live this down. if anything, he might end up getting scolded by sungho. (“this is what you get for being so hard-headed!” jaehyun can imagine sungho’s harsh tone that would be accompanied with flared nostrils.)

yet, it’s like the universe heard jaehyun’s plea. leehan does the unimaginable—a gummy grin takes over his features.

“holy shit,” taesan whispers.

riwoo looks back at his friends. “there’s no way, right?”

leehan’s never the type to grin easily, always sticking to tight-lipped ones and smirks. such smiles are different from whenever he'd laugh; a beam in the middle of a conversation comes like bioluminescent waves.

“wait, the quality is so bad. i can’t see why you guys are shocked,” woonhak complains from the other end of the line.

“it’s just that leehan is smiling, like really smiling,” sungho briefs the confused fellow. his head tilts as he continues to watch you two interact. “i mean, y/n could’ve told a joke. like, that possibility is still there.”

jaehyun’s patience runs thin the more sungho remains dismissive. “why don’t you want to admit that i’m right? is it that hard to just say, hey, jaehyun, you might be right about leehan crushing on y/n. sorry about that! like, is it that hard?”

despite jaehyun’s frustration, sungho sighs. “it’s not that, really. i just don’t want to assume anything about his feelings.”

jaehyun’s frown falters. when sungho puts it that way, he recalls all the times he might’ve made leehan uncomfortable, going lengths to ignore what his friend says; he must’ve been a terrible friend to leehan. and for once, jaehyun admits defeat. “yeah. you know what, you’re right. i shouldn’t assume whatever he feels.”

“what makes you so certain about those two, anyway?” woonhak asks.

jaehyun looks over at you two, backs against the wall and shoulders pressed to each other. from leehan’s grin to the crinkle by your eyes, jaehyun smiles to himself. “because i’ve never seen them that happy unless they’re together.”

because to him, you two are a match made by the seven seas—handcrafted by the gods that rule the oceans with the intention of having you to stick together like corals and fish. while his friends can’t see that, he hopes with enough high and low tides that they’d start to see the same vision as him.

yet, the waters hear his final plea; one final sign that might affirm jaehyun’s suspicions.

as you walk away from leehan, making your way to the washroom, his eyes never leave you. his grin resembles the softness of sponges he’d ramble about, and the jellyfish-like glow in his eyes didn’t leave. 

“oh my god, leehan likes y/n,” sungho gives in to jaehyun’s conviction.

“wait, what? how’d we get here? what happened?”

jaehyun doesn’t think twice about dropping the call. (only to pick up and earn an earful of complaints about leaving woonhak in the dark, especially after waking him up.)

leehan thinks he’s dreaming. 

he’ll wake up in a classroom to his professor’s lecture on parametric design or urban revitalization. before he’ll know it, he’ll watch the clock tick away until the bell rings. if not to a lecture, leehan might wake up to jaehyun’s knocks, only to groan and doze off once again.

he should be dreaming, really, because in no universe would he be seated on the couch of the living room and watching ponyo with you—except for this one. 

leehan can’t find the words to explain how he got here. since his last class was canceled for the day, he was going to rush home and take a long needed nap. yet, the waves managed to bring you to him at the right time.

the thing about leehan is that could never say no to you. whether it be for a small favor or rearranging all his plans for the day, he thinks it’s only right to accept anything you throw at his way. you’re his friend, after all, which is why he didn’t think twice about having you over for the long-awaited ponyo watch party.

now, he finds himself seated on a sofa with you, speakers blasting your favorite film. the space is littered with all forms of knickknacks, sea-like or music related. it’s filled with leehan’s and jaehyun’s personalities, showing an apartment filled with love. when leehan’s free time lined up with jaehyun’s, they’d make it a habit to lounge and watch all sorts of films.

while he’s never had issues getting invested in what he watches, it’s only now that he faces that issue.

he swears from the bottom of the ocean that he wanted to focus on the movie, but it all seems impossible with you. the smell of your laundry detergent. your skin against his arm. the quiet, steady breathing of yours that syncs with his.

“leehan.” as you tilt your head in curiosity, he holds his breath. “are you watching?”

and the thing about you is that you always saw right through him. over the course of a few weeks, past the seafoam and algae, you always read him.

he clears his throat before scooting away from you. “of course.” as he stares right at the television screen, a chuckle leaves you.

silence hangs between you two. 

leehan glances at you. you’re eyes are already on him.

“gotcha.” heat rises to his cheeks. 

you sink into the couch with a pout. “if you didn’t wanna watch, i would understand.”

“no, it’s not that at all!” as your eyes snap to him, he sighs. “i really want to watch this with you. my mind’s just over the place.”

you face him, concern painting your features. “what’s going on then? why don’t you tell me what’s up?”

what you don’t know is that you’re his distraction. even at this moment, leehan can’t form an answer to your question. he can never think straight with you; the jellyfish you spoke of in your favorite movie could never compare to the ones in your eyes.

he takes one glance at your lips before breathing out. “nothing.” as he shifts his attention back to the movie, he tries to shut down the conversation. “it’s fine.”

leehan expects for the subject to drop, go back to watching your favorite movie in silence, until your hand rests on his thigh.

“leehan.”

when he looks at you, the distance between you two is enough for the seafloor to crack. the waves in his stomach roar. his breathing halts, almost scared that one exhale will cause you to crumble like a coral reef. when you lean towards him, hot water rushes out of the splits.

yet, you stay still.

the waves won’t carry him to you; all he needs to do is pull his feet from the wet sand to close the distance.

“hey, do you want to get some—oh!”

you pull away from him. as you attempt to resume watching the movie, leehan looks back at the intruder. there stands a shocked jaehyun whose eyes dart between you two.

“uh, i should probably go.” you get off your seat. “i still have some papers to work on, you know.”

leehan shakes his head in reassurance before standing. “of course. i can go with you back to campus—”

“no need!” you interject before shooting an awkward smile. “it was nice seeing you two!”

without any second to spare, you exit out of leehan and jaehyun’s shared apartment.

“were you guys about to…”

leehan’s eyebrows shoot up. “no! that would never happen,” he says as he shuts the television.

a moment ticks by.

before leehan knows it, jaehyun drops to his knees. “no!” his head finds its spot behind his hands. “why did i walk in? i should’ve just kept my damn mouth shut!”

leehan rolls his eyes before walking to his distressed friend. his distraught state should bring concern but it’s an everyday behavior that leehan expects. “nothing was going to happen.”

yet, jaehyun continues to wail. 

leehan grabs hold of jaehyun’s arm and helps him stand up. “c’mon, what did you want to get?”

jaehyun groans before fixing his posture. “i literally saw you two about to ki—”

“we weren’t!” leehan bites the inside of his cheek as he thinks back to today’s events. “nothing is going on between us.”

and there shouldn’t be anything because you two are just friends.  

despite his defense, jaehyun frowns. “well, something is definitely going on!” he crosses his arms. “i saw it with my own eyes, so you better start saying something if you like them.”

but leehan shouldn’t like you. to him, you’re still jaehyun’s friend before anything—even before his friend—and he should respect that.

his silence speaks volumes, bring jaehyun to sigh. “i mean it when i say there’s nothing wrong with liking y/n. why are you scared?”

leehan has always admired his friend’s sensibility. jaehyun welcomes emotions, allowing himself to run on its highs and lows, walking around with his heart on his sleeve. admittedly, it’s something leehan wishes he could say the same about himself. 

all his life, he’s learned to run away from vulnerability. he believes that emotions are inherently disgusting, almost sticky, and should be avoided at all cost. after all, what comes after vulnerability is a moment of inevitable embarrassment.

yet, it’s from jaehyun’s confrontation that leehan realizes he can’t run away from the waves anymore. soon enough, he’ll have to run to the ocean, allow himself to be consumed by the water, and let himself bathe in whatever he feels towards you.

but it’ll take steps for him to get to the sea. “let’s go get some froyo.”

so for now, he’ll continue to run until he grows tired.

leehan remembers the last time he felt this nervous; stomach churning and heartbeat racing with every second. it was for his final defense for his research study. he spent days locked up in his room, piles of clothes found left and right with a corner stacked with empty coffee cups. jaehyun likes to describe it as the great pacific garbage patch that leehan rants about.

who could blame him? with the panel of nitpicky professors, he only had his index cards filled with chicken scratch and his trusty fish keychain to rely on.

when he came out of the defense victorious, the keychain became a lucky charm. for difficult assessments. for life-changing decisions.

for you. 

it shouldn’t be a big deal to leehan, but he holds on to the charm as he waits for you to pick up his call.

ever since he opened up to jaehyun about his confusing feelings, the situation is impossible to avoid. jaehyun claims that the tides leehan rides on are from his crush on you. although leehan still denies it, his friend takes it upon himself to push him across the shore—so long as he’s closer to sea.

“hello?”

“y/n!” his voice cracks, a cough following to cover it up. “hi.”

“oh! how’d you get my number?”

he drums his fingers against his desk. “i, uh, got it from jaehyun.”

“oh, okay. what’s up?”

leehan takes a moment to breathe as he grabs hold of the tickets. maybe he shouldn’t ask you. it would be better for taesan and sungho to go to this event like they originally planned. yet, he would only receive an earful of complaints should he back out now.

“leehan?”

“sorry, i just…” he shuts his eyes. “are you free this weekend?”

“yeah.”

his friends have pushed him across the shore. now, the water is close to his feet. all he needs to do is ask. 

“do you, i don’t know, wanna watch the ponyo symphonic concert with me?”

a beat passes.

leehan’s heart races.

a moment of embarrassment.

he should’ve known better. how could he allow himself to be talked into doing this? he should run farm away from the sea— 

“you got tickets?! how?” your squeal breaks him from his trance. 

leehan chuckles, breathing unsteady, and says, “it’s a secret.”

“keeping secrets from me now? thought we were friends.” somehow, your playful nature and curiosity never fails to lighten up the mood—even if you never fail to make him nervous.

leehan could never think properly with you; he loses all common sense or composure, catching him off guard with every impulsive decision. “which is why i’m asking you out.” his eyebrows shoot up at the implications of that phrase.

“asking me out?” you giggle on the other end of the line. “like a date?”

“sorry, i mean—”

“i’m just messing with you,” you cut him off from his tangent. as he sighs in relief, you say, “but i’d love to go with you. send me the details.”

he smiles to himself. “i’ll see you, then.”

“okay, bye.”

once the call drops, leehan flops down onto his seat. as he stares up at the ceiling, he plays the phone call back in his head, and his cheeks start to hurt.

for once, vulnerability awarded him with something.

the sea has grazed his feet.

leehan thinks he sticks out like a sore thumb in the theater. considering that he’s never been here before, he’s grown conscious of his attendance to the symphonic concert. in these moments, he would’ve run away, ditched the event and locked himself in his room, but he made it through the night—all thanks to you.

in the unfamiliar, he’s able to find comfort through you.

“that was amazing!” there’s a skip to your feet as you exit the theater with leehan. “i think my ears were blessed.”

leehan chuckles at your joy. “i’m happy you think that.” as much as he would like to share the same enjoyment, his happiness stems from you.

people continue to make their way out, knocking shoulders against you two. “you don’t think the same?” you throw the question over the loud chatter.

“i’m sure you appreciated it more than i did.” 

your nose scrunches at his accuracy.

the bustling crowd doesn’t die down, swarming the lobby even further with every second that passes. while you attempt to stand tall within the busy crowd, your faltering smile gives leehan enough reason to protect you.

he loops his arm with yours. “hold tight.” before you know it, he dashes out of the theater with you. 

the breeze of the night hits his cheeks. a sigh of relief leaves you as you find yourselves in the open space. “thanks. i was scared that i was gonna trip,” you mention.

“i could tell.”

you laugh as you nudge your elbow against him. “oh, shut up!”

in these moments, leehan’s feelings towards you were pushed to the back of his mind. in these moments, you two are friends; nothing more, nothing less. 

still, you latch on his arm, like tentacles, like sea anemones, almost like you can’t imagine letting him go.

leehan walks on the edge of the pier; between embracing or ignoring intimacy.

you both get in the backseat of your uber. with how late the concert ended, you and leehan fall into silence as the car drives off to your complex.

streams of fluorescent lights fill the window. the radio plays a soft melody that reminds leehan of the sea. he’ll look at everything, so long as your arm around his remains off his mind.

yet, all it takes is your head on his shoulder for him to freeze up. 

a shaky exhale leaves him. his heartbeat fills his ears. when he looks over at you, he notices your eyes are shut. as a series of quiet snores escape you, leehan thinks back to jaehyun’s words. 

why is he afraid of you?

in all the time you spent with him, you learned everything about him; his quirks, his habits, his unconventional interests. he swore that you would walk out on him, drift away like plywood in the sea, as you got to know him. 

yet, you stayed through it all.

he should know better than to disengage with you the moment his fears come into play. without even thinking, he was villainizing you—every moment that teetered the edge of intimacy had only made him pull back like how seaweed rips through ship ruins.

in his eyes, the worst thing that comes out after intimacy isn’t the embarrassment—it’s the uncertainty that follows. there’s comfortability in familiarity; nothing ever goes wrong if he plays it safe. yet, his mindset may have upheld barriers that restrain your relationship.

leehan only understood that the moment jaehyun pointed it out. in all the time he’s spent with you, he’s never fully given you credit, assuming the worst about you the moment you do anything that encourages vulnerability from him.

and still, you welcome him with open arms.

what if you’re good? what if this is good?

all he needs to do is fall into the sea, plummet through the ocean floor, until he arrives at your embrace.

“we’re here,” the driver says as he pulls into the driveway.

to leehan’s surprise, your eyes open in an instant, catching him red-handed. in a split second, he looks away from you, a cough following afterwards.

when a soft giggle leaves you, he knows he’s only dug himself a deeper hole.

you both exit the car as you walk to the entrance of the builidng. for a moment, you stand beside each other, no word being said, and leehan wishes it could stay that way. he doesn’t want to say goodbye to this night just yet.

yet, you look at him with a smile, and say, “i really had fun tonight. thank you for thinking of me.”

“no, thank you for sharing your favorite movie with me.” leehan looks down to the ground as his foot kicks against the concrete. “i think it’ll be my favorite movie.”

“think you’ll end up loving it more than me?”

he smirks. “no one’s love for ponyo will ever compare to yours.” you laugh at his remark. 

leehan notices how your hands fiddle with each other. he’s never seen you uneasy; you always carry yourself with confidence everywhere you go. yet, it’s in this moment that it hits him—were you just as nervous as him?

in all the times his fears got the best of him, did your doubts do the same to you? were your nights plagued with ideas of him in the same way he fell asleep to the thought of you? did you second guess every action, every instance, like he did?

but most of all, did you want him, too?

“okay,” you breathe out, “i’ll see you soon.”

once you turn your back on him, he’s left to watch your figure walk away.

there’s security in the familiarity. avoiding intimacy saves him from embarrassment and uncertainty. if he were to shift the tides at this moment, who knows what could happen between you two?

the sea grazes his sand-covered feet.

despite the unknown future, is diving into the ocean worth it for you?

before leehan can spiral into his thoughts, he grabs your arm and spins you around. your wide eyes meet his. as he pulls you closer to him, his arm finds their spot around your waist.

the distance between you two allows him to take in your features; your trembling lips, the jellyfish glow in wavering eyes.

at the same time, what could happen between you two?

as his hand reaches for your face, you melt into his touch.

the possibilities are endless; you’re the risk he’s willing to take.

with eyes closed, he dives to meet your lips; soft like how he imagined. it’s a slow kiss, one spent trying to learn you in ways he only thought he could in a distant dream. yet, leehan’s hesitance shows with every second spent exploring you.

when your hands rest on the back of his neck, leehan’s fears dissipate, a small sigh leaving him in between. at his relaxed state, you take the lead. your nose grazes his cheek as your fingers play with his hair. leehan grows dizzy, hand gripping your waist as he tries to keep up with you.

somehow, your lips felt familiar; he’s secured in you.

as you pull away, your erratic breathing matches with his. the sight of your lips that once interlocked with his only makes him want more.

he goes for one more, causing you to giggle, and he smiles in between kisses. your fingers dig against his shoulder as he savors the taste of you. how could he have denied himself of this? if this is what it meant to kiss you, he wouldn’t have second guessed diving into the sea.

you break the kiss, a grin on your lips that can’t match his. “took you long enough.”

leehan’s world doesn’t end in a meteor shower, or an alien invasion, or even through his descent past the ocean floor. past the sand, the dirt, the minerals, the core of his world is not molten lava.

instead, it’s a pair of arms that embrace him. wholly. flaws and all.

and leehan’s world doesn’t end, after all—it’s only begun with you.

networks tag list: @kflixnet @k-labels @onedoornet @kstrucknet

boynextdoor permanent tag list: @bonedors @0310s @whyilovewhales-pdf

story tag list: @bananielle @yunextdoor @heechwe @taesanrot

@loserlvrss @blooqz @mari3s @saintriots @koodaes

@seokkiez @candycane-lemonade @chewnotchoke

[hisfavegirl]

The Queen Grief - King Aegon Targaryen x TwinSister!Reader

Summary : After the incident where your son was killed coldly, you were drowned in anger and also hated.

part II.

You were consumed by grief and rage, your heart aching as you watched the servants carefully lift your son’s bloodstained blanket. They were going to burn it, or perhaps throw it away, treating it like nothing more than a piece of cloth stained by death. The thought of it made you tremble with fury.

Your eyes shifted to the bed where your son had once slept, now soaked in blood—his blood. The memory of his innocent face, his little hands grasping the blanket you had carefully knitted for him, made your chest tighten with unbearable pain. You reached for the soft fabric, clutching it tightly to your chest as fresh tears began to fall.

The blanket, once a symbol of warmth and love, now felt like a cruel reminder of what had been stolen from you. You could almost hear his voice again, that soft giggle when you’d first shown him the blanket, the joy in his eyes when he wrapped it around himself, feeling safe in your arms.

“I made this for you, my sweet Jaehaerys,” you whispered through the tears, the words heavy with the weight of loss. “I promised I would protect you, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t protect you from them.”

The memory of his reaction, the bright smile and the way his tiny hands ran over the knitted fabric, was now a bitter and painful reminder of how brief his life had been. You clutched the blanket tighter, your sobs wracking your body, and you felt a deep ache inside you that could never be filled. The warmth of his presence, the sound of his laughter—gone. And in its place, only the cold, lifeless blanket and the bloodstains that would never wash away.

You collapsed onto the floor, your body shaking as you sat amidst the scattered toys that once filled your son’s room with joy. The small wooden blocks, the tiny figurines—each one a reminder of the life he would never get to live, the laughter and innocence that would never be heard again. Your tears flowed freely, and the pain in your chest became unbearable.

The sound of your sobs filled the room, louder and more desperate with each passing moment. Your heart ached for him, for the life stolen from you both. You cried out for the child you would never see again, for the dreams that would never come true. Your breath came in ragged gasps as the grief overwhelmed you.

Suddenly, you felt the warmth of Aegon’s arms around you, pulling you close, and his voice, cracked with emotion, whispered in your ear. “I’m here. I’m with you. I’ll never leave you.” His words were a comfort, but the sorrow in his voice matched your own, his tears mingling with yours.

You leaned into him, trembling with the force of your grief. The two of you clung to each other, crying together, mourning the loss of your son in a silence that spoke of shared pain. Aegon’s embrace, his steady presence, was the only thing grounding you in that moment, but nothing could fill the aching void left in your heart.

And so, you cried. You cried until your tears seemed endless, until the weight of the world felt too much to bear. Aegon cried with you, his own sorrow mixing with yours, and for that moment, it felt as though you were no longer alone in your grief. But the emptiness of loss still lingered, heavy and suffocating, as the two of you wept for the son you had lost.

After a long, silent weeping, Aegon finally made the decision to lift you in his arms. His steps were slow and steady, as though the weight of grief was pulling him down just as much as it had consumed you. Your body felt light in his arms, yet heavy with sorrow. Every step he took was an effort, but he kept going, determined to bring you some measure of comfort.

As he walked through the hallways, trying to escape the suffocating grief, a group of soldiers appeared before him. One of them, looking hesitant yet resolute, stepped forward.

“Your Grace,” the soldier said, his voice respectful but firm, “The Dowager Queen has commanded that the Queen has to meet her at her private solar, as per her instructions.”

Aegon’s jaw tightened. His eyes, filled with the same pain that tore at your heart, locked onto the soldier’s. His voice, cold and unwavering, rang out in the tense silence.

“No,” Aegon replied, his tone low but carrying the weight of his authority. “I will not hand her over. I will take her to our chambers.”

The soldier hesitated, glancing at the others, but none of them moved. They understood the King’s command. Aegon, despite the crown on his head, was not swayed by the demands of his mother, the Queen Dowager. His focus was entirely on you, his queen, his wife, the woman who was grieving the loss of their son.

With no further words, Aegon continued his path toward your room. The soldiers reluctantly stepped aside, not daring to challenge him again. The halls seemed eerily quiet as Aegon carried you with care, every step bringing him closer to a place where, for just a moment, there would be no responsibilities, no demands—only the quiet solace of being together.

When the door to your chamber finally closed behind him, Aegon gently laid you on the bed, his heart heavy but steadfast. He sat beside you, taking your hand in his, and in the quiet stillness of the room, he whispered, “I’m here. I will never leave you. You don’t have to do this alone.”

You clung to Aegon’s body, wrapping your arms tightly around him as if you could draw strength from his presence. The storm of emotion inside you seemed endless, the grief so deep you couldn’t see past it. His warmth was the only comfort in that moment, and you buried your face against his chest, closing your eyes, trying to escape the overwhelming pain.

Aegon held you close, his breath steady against your hair, his arms strong around you. After a long pause, he slowly closed his eyes, allowing the quiet of the room to wash over both of you. Then, with a soft and gentle touch, he pressed a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment as if trying to convey all the love and sorrow he felt without words.

“I’m here,” he whispered, his voice low and soothing, “I’m here, and I won’t leave you.”

Then, to calm you, Aegon began to hum softly, the familiar melody of a song you loved, one that had always brought you peace in moments of chaos. His voice was hushed, carrying the melody gently as he softly rocked you in his arms.

The tune, a song you’d always cherished, seemed to weave its way through the tension and heartache, slowly, gently pulling you back from the edge of your grief. His voice, full of love and concern, was the only thing you could focus on, and with each note, you felt a small measure of calm washing over you.

His arms around you were strong, a shield against the world outside, and in that moment, with his voice humming that familiar, soothing tune, you finally allowed yourself to rest, to close your eyes and let the pain ease—if only for a brief moment.

As the soft hum of Aegon’s voice began to soothe you, a sound from the doorway broke through the fragile peace. You opened your eyes, turning your head, and there she was—your mother, Alicent, standing with an air of composed determination. Her gaze swept over the room, lingering on the sight of you in Aegon’s arms, clutching the blanket that had once been your son’s.

Tears threatened to rise again as you held the bloodstained fabric closer, pressing it against your face, the faintest hint of your son’s scent still clinging to it. The weight of Alicent’s presence, however, was impossible to ignore.

Her voice was calm but firm, her tone leaving no room for argument. “His body will be taken through the kingdom,” she said. “The people must see the tragedy, must know who is responsible for the death of their prince. You- we will ride in the carriage directly behind him.”

Her words struck like a blade. For a moment, you couldn’t speak, the grief and fury warring within you. Slowly, you shook your head, lowering the blanket from your face. “No,” you said, your voice trembling but resolute. “I won’t do it.”

Alicent’s expression hardened, but there was something else there too—perhaps a flicker of understanding or even pity. “This is for the realm,” she pressed. “For your son’s justice.”

You sat up, Aegon’s hand resting protectively on your back as you faced her. “Justice?” you repeated bitterly, your voice rising. “Parading his body like a spectacle is not justice—it’s cruelty. It’s not for him, it’s for your politics.”

Alicent’s lips tightened into a thin line. She took a step forward, her gaze sharp but laced with concern. “It’s what must be done. The people need to see—”

“No!” you interrupted, standing now despite the weakness in your legs. “I won’t let his memory be used this way. I won’t ride behind him as if he’s nothing more than a tool in this war.”

Alicent stared at you, the tension between mother and daughter palpable, the silence heavy. Aegon rose beside you, his arm steadying you as he spoke, his voice low but firm. “She has made her decision,” he said, addressing Alicent directly. “And as her husband—and her king—I stand by it.”

Alicent’s expression faltered for a moment, her mouth opening as if to argue, but she said nothing. With a stiff nod, she turned and left, her footsteps echoing down the hall. You exhaled shakily, leaning into Aegon’s support, your heart still heavy but resolute in your refusal to let your son’s memory be tarnished.

The moment you heard the words—the news that your son’s head had been found and sewn back onto his small, lifeless body—you felt your knees weaken, but the urgency in your heart propelled you forward. You moved with haste, ignoring the calls of servants and guards as you hurried to where they had brought him.

When you entered the dimly lit chamber, your breath caught in your throat. There he was, your sweet boy, lying on a cold stone slab. His tiny body, once so full of life and laughter, now lay stiff and pale. The stitching on his neck was visible, crude and brutal, a reminder of the horror he had endured.

You froze for a moment, your mind unwilling to fully accept the sight before you. But then the wave of grief crashed over you, and you rushed forward, falling to your knees beside him. Trembling, you reached out, your hands brushing against his cold, lifeless skin.

Tears poured down your cheeks as you let out a broken sob. “My sweet boy,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “My Jaehaerys… please, wake up.”

You wrapped your arms around his small, fragile body. His coldness pierced through you, but you didn’t care. “Please,” you begged, your voice breaking. “Please come back to me. Just one more time. Hold me back. Call me ‘Mother’ again.”

Your sobs filled the room as you cradled him, pressing kisses to his forehead, his cheeks, his tiny hands. You clung to him as if your love alone could undo the cruelty of fate. But no matter how tightly you held him, no matter how desperately you cried, his small body remained still and unresponsive.

The world felt cruel and empty as you wept, your tears falling onto his lifeless face. There was nothing left but the unbearable silence and the weight of your sorrow.

Through the haze of your grief, you forced yourself to lift your head. His face was peaceful, but his silence screamed louder than anything. The coldness of his skin cut through your soul like a knife.

You turned to the nearest servant, your voice cracking with desperation. “Bring me his blanket. The one I made for him. Hurry!”

The servant hesitated, unsure of how to act in the face of your anguish, but a sharp glance from you spurred them into action. As they hurried away, you turned back to your son, your tears blurring your vision.

“Jaehaerys,” you whispered, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “You always loved that blanket. Do you remember? You said it made you feel safe. I’ll keep you warm, my love. I promise I’ll keep you warm.

Moments later, the servant returned, carefully holding the soft blanket you had poured hours of love into crafting. You snatched it from their hands, your fingers clutching the fabric as though it held the last pieces of him.

With trembling hands, you draped the blanket over his tiny body, tucking it in as though he were merely asleep. But the lifelessness of his form made your chest tighten further, and the tears came again in an uncontrollable flood.

You collapsed beside him, your hand resting on his covered chest, hoping against hope that you might feel it rise and fall, that somehow this nightmare might end. But there was nothing. No warmth, no breath, no heartbeat.

“I’m so sorry,” you sobbed, your voice breaking as you leaned down to kiss his cold forehead. “I couldn’t protect you. My baby, my sweet boy, I couldn’t save you.”

You stayed there, your body wracked with sobs, as you clung to him. The servants stood back, silent witnesses to a mother’s endless grief, as your cries echoed through the chamber—a lament for a life stolen too soon.

Your trembling hand reached out, brushing against the cold, pale skin of your son’s cheek. His once rosy complexion was now a stark, lifeless white. You traced his delicate features, your fingers lingering on the softness of his face, as though you could imprint the memory of him into your very soul.

Tears streamed down your cheeks, falling onto his still, small body. The silence in the room was deafening, broken only by the sound of your quiet sobs. Your heart ached with a pain so raw it felt as if it might tear you apart.

But as the weight of your grief pressed down on you, a fire ignited within your chest—a burning rage that pushed through the despair. You clenched your jaw, your hand still resting on his lifeless cheek, and whispered through your tears, “I swear, my son… I swear on your name, on your memory, on my very life—whoever did this to you will pay.”

Your voice grew stronger, more resolute, as if speaking the words aloud gave them power. “I don’t care what it costs me. Whether it’s my blood, my crown, or my life. I will avenge you, Jaehaerys. I promise you, they will suffer as you have suffered.”

The rage coursing through you felt like the only thing keeping you upright. It was no longer just grief—it was a mission, a purpose that would drive you forward no matter the cost.

You leaned down, pressing a trembling kiss to his icy forehead, your tears falling onto his skin. “Rest now, my love,” you whispered. “I will not let this injustice stand. I will make them pay.”

The vow settled into your heart, cold and unshakable, as you stayed beside him, your hand never leaving his face. Though your heart was shattered, your resolve was forged in steel, and nothing—not the gods, not death itself—would stop you from honoring the promise you made to your beloved son.

Your steps echoed through the long corridors as you made your way toward the council chamber. The fire of grief and vengeance burned within you, your mind consumed with thoughts of your son. Every step you took felt heavier, yet you pressed forward, drawn by the voices echoing from the chamber ahead.

As you approached, their words became clear.

“They were vermin, nothing more,” Aemond’s sharp voice declared, calm yet cutting. “The rats in this kingdom must know there is no tolerance for disloyalty or treachery.”

Another voice, one of the council members, spoke hesitantly, “But, the display—hanging them at the gates—some might see it as excessive.”

And then, you heard your husband’s voice, steady and resolute, with a dangerous edge that left no room for argument. “They killed my son,” Aegon said, his tone icy. “Excessive would have been feeding them to the dragons piece by piece. This kingdom will know what happens to those who betray the crown and harm my family.”

The words struck you like a hammer. You froze just outside the door, the image of the gates filled your mind—bodies dangling as a gruesome warning. Aegon had taken his grief and turned it into action, his vengeance swift and unrelenting.

You pushed the doors open without hesitation, stepping into the room. The council members turned to look at you, their expressions ranging from surprise to discomfort. Aemond stood to one side, arms crossed, his eye narrowing as he observed you. At the head of the table, Aegon sat, his face unreadable until he saw you.

You locked eyes with him, the air in the room thick with tension. “Is it true?” you asked, your voice trembling but firm. “Did you hang them at the gates?”

Aegon rose from his chair, his gaze steady as he approached you. “I did,” he replied without hesitation. “They took our son from us. They deserved worse.”

You searched his face, seeing the same pain and anger you carried in your heart. Yet, something about it unsettled you—the coldness, the finality of his actions. “And what justice have you found, Aegon?” you whispered, your voice breaking. “Does it bring him back?”

He reached for you, his hand brushing your arm gently. “No,” he admitted, his voice softening. “But it ensures that no one else dares to harm what’s ours.”

You looked down, the weight of his words pressing against your chest. Part of you wanted to rage, to scream at the futility of it all. Yet another part of you—the part consumed by your own need for vengeance—understood him all too well.

As the council chamber settled into a tense silence following Aegon’s admission, a sharp voice cut through the air. Otto Hightower, standing at the far end of the table, slammed his hand against the wood, his face twisted with fury.

“This was reckless, Your Grace!” he bellowed, his voice echoing off the stone walls. “Hanging the rat-catchers at the gates like common criminals? What will the realm think? What will this do to the crown’s dignity? Such actions—”

Aegon spun toward Otto, his eyes blazing with fury. “Dignity?” he snapped, his voice cold and filled with venom. “You think I care about dignity, Otto? They took my son! My son, who was barely old enough to speak his own name!”

The room fell silent, the tension palpable. Aegon stepped forward, his voice growing louder, trembling with both rage and pain. “Do you know what dignity means to me now? Nothing! Dignity didn’t save him. Dignity didn’t stop his head from being torn from his body. So don’t you stand there and lecture me about what is too far.”

Otto’s mouth opened as if to respond, but Aegon cut him off, taking another step closer, his presence commanding the room. “I am the king,” he growled. “And as long as I wear this crown, no one—no one—will harm what is mine without paying for it in blood. Do you understand me?”

Alicent, standing near the door, placed a hand over her chest, her expression a mixture of sorrow and alarm. Even Aemond, ever composed, shifted slightly where he stood, his single eye flicking between Otto and Aegon.

“You have lost sight of the bigger picture,” Otto finally said, his voice quieter but no less firm. “Revenge clouds your judgment. This will have consequences.”

Aegon’s expression hardened further, his fists clenching at his sides. “Then let there be consequences,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “I’ll bear them gladly if it means justice for my son.”

You stood there, watching the exchange, torn between the grief that mirrored Aegon’s and the unease Otto’s words stirred in you. In Aegon’s eyes, there was nothing but pain and vengeance, a fire that seemed unstoppable. You reached out, gently placing a hand on his arm, grounding him for just a moment.

“Aegon,” you whispered, your voice soft but filled with emotion. “Let’s not lose ourselves completely to this. Not yet.”

He looked at you, his anger dimming slightly as he took in your tear-streaked face. With a deep breath, he turned away from Otto, his grip on control tenuous but holding—for now.

Unable to bear the tension any longer, you turned and left the council chamber, your steps hurried and uneven as the weight of grief pressed down on you. The echoes of raised voices faded behind you, replaced by the quiet hum of the corridors. You wrapped your arms around yourself, as if trying to hold your breaking heart together, and made your way back to your chambers.

When you arrived at your chambers, the sight that greeted you pulled you to a halt. The servants were moving quietly, laying out a gown of rich black and deep green across the bed. Beside it rested a matching hood, its dark fabric shimmering faintly in the candlelight.

These were no ordinary garments—they were the colors of House Hightower, the mourning attire of the queen dowager’s line, meant to signify grief and strength in equal measure. Yet, to you, they only symbolized loss, a cruel reminder of the funeral you would soon endure.

One of the servants noticed your presence and turned, bowing their head respectfully. “Your Grace,” they said softly, their voice carefully measured, “the Queen Dowager requested these be prepared for you. She thought they would honor both your son and your house.”

You took a step closer, your gaze fixed on the heavy fabrics. Your hands trembled as you reached out to touch the gown. The black velvet felt cold beneath your fingers, while the deep green embroidery—a shade you once associated with pride—now seemed hollow, devoid of its former meaning.

The servant continued, their tone apologetic. “The procession will begin shortly. Queen Alicent thought—”

“Enough,” you interrupted, your voice barely above a whisper but heavy with emotion. The servant fell silent, stepping back to give you space.

You picked up the hood, its weight seeming far heavier than its fabric should allow. Holding it close to your chest, you sank onto the edge of the bed, your tears spilling over as you clutched it tightly.

“Green and black,” you murmured, your voice cracking. “For what purpose? To parade my grief for the realm to see? To show the world the price I have paid?”

Your gaze drifted to the gown again, and the pain in your chest swelled, suffocating you. “None of this will bring him back,” you whispered, the words breaking as they left your lips.

You closed your eyes, pressing the hood to your face as tears fell freely. The room seemed to close in around you, heavy with the weight of your loss, as the preparations for the ceremony continued in quiet, dutiful silence.

You sat motionless before the mirror, staring at your own reflection as if it were a stranger staring back at you. The pale, hollow-eyed face that greeted you bore little resemblance to the woman you once were. Your hands rested limply in your lap, surrendering to the servants who worked silently around you.

One was carefully weaving your hair into an intricate braid, while another secured the black hood over your head, its heavy fabric draping over your shoulders. Every movement felt mechanical, detached, as though this wasn’t truly happening to you. You had stopped fighting. You had stopped resisting.

You had surrendered.

The weight of the mourning gown clung to your skin, and the air seemed thick, suffocating in the quiet of the room. The finality of it all settled over you like a shroud, and you sat there, staring, as the servants completed their work.

Then the door opened.

The sound drew your gaze, and your reflection shifted as you turned your head. Standing in the doorway was your mother, Queen Dowager Alicent Hightower, dressed in a dark green gown that matched the depths of her sorrow. Her black hood framed her face, highlighting the familiar resolve in her eyes—a look you had seen countless times.

Her presence filled the room, yet neither of you spoke at first. She took a step inside, her gaze sweeping over you. For a moment, the queen dowager and the grieving mother collided within her, and her lips pressed into a thin line.

“You are ready,” she said softly, her voice steady but heavy with emotion.

You didn’t respond, turning your eyes back to the mirror. The servant adjusted the final pin in your hood and stepped back, bowing her head before retreating to the corner.

“I see you’ve decided to join the procession,” Alicent continued, stepping closer to you. Her green gown swayed slightly as she walked, the fabric catching the dim light. “This is as it should be. The realm must see your strength… and your grief.”

At her words, your fists clenched in your lap, but you didn’t turn to face her. Instead, you stared at your reflection, your expression unreadable. “Strength?” you repeated quietly, your voice laced with bitterness. “Is that what this is supposed to be?”

Alicent paused, her hands clasping tightly in front of her. “It is what must be done,” she said firmly, though her voice softened as she added, “for him. For Jaehaerys.”

Her words cut through you like a blade, and you closed your eyes, trying to block out the tears that threatened to fall again. “Do you think he would want this?” you whispered. “For his body to be paraded through the streets while his mother sits silently behind it?”

Alicent sighed, stepping closer until she stood just behind you, her reflection now visible in the mirror alongside your own. “He would want the world to see the price of this treachery,” she said quietly but with conviction. “And so would you, if only your heart were not so broken.”

You turned your gaze away from the mirror, unable to look at her any longer. “My heart is broken, Mother,” you said softly, your voice cracking. “And I wonder if it will ever heal.”

Alicent rested a hand on your shoulder, her grip firm but meant to be comforting. “It may not,” she admitted, her voice gentle. “But you will endure. You are my daughter. You will endure.”

And with that, the room fell silent once more, the weight of her words pressing down on you as heavily as the mourning garments you wore.

The creaking of the wooden wheels and the steady clatter of hooves filled the air as the funeral procession made its somber journey through the streets. You sat silently beside your mother in the dark confines of the carriage, the heavy mourning gown clinging to your body like a second layer of grief.

Your gaze remained fixed on the carriage ahead of you, where the small, still form of your son lay. Wrapped in the blanket you had lovingly made for him, his tiny body was carefully cradled on a velvet bier, his pale face framed by soft curls that once shone with life.

On his head rested the small crown you and Aegon had given him for his fourth nameday. You remembered how his eyes had lit up with delight when he first saw it, how he had run around the chamber declaring himself “a king like Papa.” The memory stabbed at your chest, and tears silently slipped down your cheeks, unnoticed by the world outside.

Beside you, your mother sat upright and composed, her hands folded tightly in her lap. The dark green of her gown blended with the black hood she wore, her expression unreadable as she gazed straight ahead. But even in her stoicism, you could feel her grief—muted, controlled, yet no less profound.

The crowds lined the streets, their murmurs and whispers barely audible over the sound of the procession. Some wept openly, others lowered their heads in respect, and a few simply stared, their faces etched with shock and sorrow.

Your eyes never left the small form ahead of you. “He’s so cold,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you broke the heavy silence in the carriage.

Alicent turned her head slightly, her sharp eyes softening as they fell on you. “The blanket,” she said gently, her voice barely above a whisper. “It will keep him warm, even now.”

You shook your head, your hands clutching at your gown. “It’s not enough,” you murmured, your voice cracking. “He needs to feel loved. He needs… he needs to wake up.”

Alicent reached out, placing a steady hand over yours. Her touch was firm, grounding you even as her heart ached alongside yours. “He knows he is loved,” she said quietly. “You showed him that every day of his life. That love… it does not end, even now.”

You turned your head to look at her, searching for comfort in her words, but the raw pain in your chest remained unyielding. “Then why does it feel like it’s not enough?”

She didn’t answer, only holding your hand tightly as the carriage carried you forward, the weight of your shared grief filling the air. Ahead of you, the small crown on Jaehaerys’s head glinted faintly in the light, a fragile, heart-wrenching reminder of what you had lost.

As the procession reached the Dragonpit, the air seemed to grow heavier, thick with the weight of grief and the whispers of the gathered crowd. You stepped down from the carriage, your body trembling with exhaustion and sorrow, but the moment your feet touched the ground, the atmosphere shifted.

Your mother following close behind. The crowd pressed closer, their faces filled with sorrow, but their hands reached out too eagerly, too insistently. The weight of their stares, their words, their touch became unbearable.

“Your Grace,” a woman said, gripping your hand tightly, her voice trembling. “The realm mourns with you. Prince Jaehaerys—”

You pulled your hand away, trembling as others replaced her, one after another, their voices blurring into an incomprehensible hum.

“Such a tragedy,” someone else murmured.

“Your strength inspires us all,” another said.

But their words felt like needles pricking at your raw grief. Your chest tightened, and your breathing grew faster, shallower. Your hands trembled uncontrollably as you stepped back, your gaze darting around frantically.

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head as tears began to fall. “No, I—I can’t…”

You turned to leave, but the crowd surged forward, their outstretched hands reaching for you. It was too much—the noise, the faces, the pity. Your knees buckled, and you clutched your chest as your sobs erupted.

“I don’t want this!” you cried, your voice cracking as you stumbled back. “I don’t want to do this! Stop—please, stop!”

A strong arm wrapped around your shoulders, steadying you. Aegon was at your side in an instant, his face etched with concern and anger as he glared at the crowd. “Back away!” he commanded, his voice cutting through the chaos. “All of you, back away now!”

The crowd hesitated, murmurs rippling through them as they began to retreat. Aegon pulled you closer, his other hand cupping the back of your head as he guided you toward the nearest private space.

“It’s too much,” you sobbed into his chest, clutching at his tunic as though he were the only thing anchoring you to the world. “I can’t… I can’t do this, Aegon.”

“I know,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “I know. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

He turned his head, addressing a knight who had stepped forward. “Clear the area. No one approaches her again without my permission.”

The knight nodded and moved to carry out his orders, while Aegon held you tightly, his hand stroking your back as he whispered, “Breathe, my love. I’m here. Just breathe.”

Your tears continued to fall, but his presence grounded you, offering a fragile sense of safety amidst the overwhelming tide of grief and chaos.

The moment came, heavy and suffocating, as Aegon stepped forward to give the final command. You stood by his side, your knees trembling as your eyes remained fixed on the small, still form of your son.

Aegon’s voice rang out, steady but laced with pain, as he uttered the word that sealed your son’s farewell. “Dracarys.”

Sunfyre roared, his golden scales shimmering as he unleashed a torrent of flame. The heat surged forward, consuming the bier in an instant. You watched, helpless, as the fire licked at the edges of the blanket you had made, the crown atop his head glowing briefly before it, too, was claimed by the flames.

The sight was unbearable. A strangled sob escaped your lips, and your body seemed to give out under the weight of your grief. The roaring fire blurred as tears streamed down your cheeks, your vision darkening.

“Aegon…” you whispered weakly, reaching for him before your knees buckled.

Aegon turned just in time to catch you as you collapsed into his arms, your body limp. “No!” he cried, his voice breaking as panic overtook him. “Someone—help!”

He cradled you tightly, his arms trembling as he lowered you gently to the ground. “Wake up,” he begged, his voice desperate as he stroked your face, his thumb brushing away the tears still clinging to your cheeks. “Please, my love, wake up!”

The attendants and guards rushed forward, but Aegon barked at them to stay back. “She’s my wife!” he snapped, his voice a mixture of fury and anguish. “Don’t touch her!”

Alicent appeared moments later, her face pale as she knelt beside her son. “What happened?” she asked urgently, her hands hovering uncertainly over you.

“She fainted,” Aegon said, his voice trembling. “She couldn’t bear it.”

Alicent’s expression softened with sorrow as she looked at you, then at her son. “She needs rest,” she said firmly. “Get her to her chambers.”

Aegon didn’t wait for further instruction. He scooped you up into his arms, holding you as if you were the most fragile thing in the world. His heart pounded as he carried you away from the flames, the weight of the moment pressing down on him with every step.

“I’ll take care of you,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “I swear I’ll take care of you.”

tag list : @danytar @looneytun3s @hangmanscoming @yazzzmints @julessworldd (italic means that i can’t tag you)

[imyimsorryy]

i bet you think about me

aaron hotchner x fem!reader

warnings: kidnapping, usual cm violence, kinda emotional cheating (not on each other), mentions of a hook up, angst —> fluff

no use of y/n

word count: 7k

“This isn’t working.”

It’s a punch straight to your gut. The words echo in your mind as you drive home, void of any emotion. The radio is muted, and the dull falling of snow does nothing to help your melancholy.

You love him, part of you always has. From the moment you stepped into the BAU, you knew he would ruin you. You just didn’t think it’d be like this—so close to the holidays you cherish.

Your phone rings from the empty passenger seat, you glance over, spotting Penelope’s picture flashing on the small screen. You ignore it, you aren’t in the mood to talk to anyone. The call ceases after a minute, but then the screen is lighting up again with a voicemail and a text message. You sigh, reaching over to press play on the message.

‘Hey babydoll, me and Prentiss are going Christmas shopping tomorrow, you in? Call me back, love ya.’

At least she doesn’t suspect the heartbreak you just experienced.

It had been a long case, the grueling cold of Minnesota only heightened everyone’s grumpiness. Christmas is in a week, everyone just wanted to get home to their loved ones.

Aaron had been snapping at you—and then when you separated from him and Derek to capture the unsub, he had snapped. He never yelled at you in front of the team like he did that day. You felt like a little kid again, being scolded over anything. You can’t get the pitiful face of JJ out of your mind.

You type a quick, ‘Sorry, I’m busy’ before throwing your phone back on the seat, redirecting your full attention to the road in front of you.

Your apartment is dark when you open the door, the bare walls and cold floor are what drive you to open the bottle of red wine stashed in your pantry.

The loneliness of it all—of having someone so tantalizingly close, and then losing it too much. His touch, his lingering glances, and whispered promises linger in your mind. The way his hand would brush yours while passing files or how he’d tap his knee to yours during a briefing; all of it is etched into your memory.

By the third pouring of wine you abandon the glass, opting to just drink it straight from the bottle. The TV plays a shitty reality show, you almost laugh as you listen to the rich snobs complaining about what to wear.

You lay your head on the back of the couch, and in the process of kicking your feet onto the coffee table you accidentally knock the glass over, spilling the remaining droplets of red wine and glass shards onto the light colored rug beneath you.

Normally you’d have cursed the universe for it, laughed a little, then cleaned it up. But now, you just stare at it. Broken and bloody—as dramatic as it sounds it’s how you feel at the moment, and you can’t bring yourself to get up and grab the broom.

You twist your body so you're laying down on the couch, and you fall asleep listening to the annoying voices on the TV and the smell of grapes.

You’re awoken to the sound of an incessant knocking on your front door. You’re not sure what time it is, but the sunlight peeking in through your blinds gives you enough clues to estimate.

You contemplate ignoring it, but then the nagging thought that maybe, just maybe, it’s Aaron. Maybe he’s hurting the way you are, maybe he’s sorry. In the process of getting up you feel glass crack on your bare foot, followed by a searing pain and a red footprint when you step off of it.

The knocking still doesn’t stop, and you conclude that you have to answer no matter what, so you can at least make whoever it is patch your foot up.

Blonde and black hair are all you see in the peephole, of course they came to get you anyway.

“Hey sweets.” Penelope is far too happy for you to understand, your head is already pounding from your previous wine drunk state.

You open the door wide enough for them to come in, and Emily notices your pained expression, before casting her eyes downward. “Jesus, what happened?”

“I stepped on glass.” You stumble slightly, gripping her shoulder to hold you up. Emily looks around your living room. She notices the empty wine bottle, the stained carpet, the messy blankets thrown about the room. She turns her attention back to you as Penelope searches for a first aid kit. “Are you drunk?” Penelope laughs, Emily gives her a look.

You hear Penelope mumble something about profilers as she approaches you with bandages and tweezers.

You try to get out of Christmas shopping, but part of you can use the distraction. The holiday lights flicker on the street, the sunlight making it hardly noticeable, but you notice.

“Aaron, where are we going?” You laugh, his hands around your eyes causing you to lean into him to steer you. “Just wait.”

A few more feet and he’s finally removing his calloused hands from your eyesight, you open your eyes in awe at the sight in front of you. Christmas lights blind you, from every direction.

In the center of the festively lit town is a large Christmas tree, it’s one you would see in a cartoon with how comically large it is.

Different strings of lights shine brightly and he watches with a wide smile as you take in the site. You love Christmas lights, he’ll never forget when you two drove past a house decked out in them after a hard case. Your eyes had glistened with joy in the passenger seat.

You turn back to him with a smile that could make him faint, and then the whole park goes black.

You’re the first to laugh, the idea that he brought you here to show you the lights just for the power to go out as soon as you arrive makes you gasp for air next to him. He looks grumpy beside you, preparing to pull his badge out to make them fix it for you.

He’d have captured a star for you if it made you smile, but hearing your laugh beside him was enough to snap him out of his annoyance, instead focusing his attention on the beautiful sound coming from you.

He laughs then, and you wrap your arms around his shoulders, standing on your tiptoes so your noses are almost touching. “It was beautiful.” You whisper against his lips, he almost tilts his head back with how overwhelming your presence is.

It’s embarrassing, how much of a lovesick teenager you make him feel by just being near him.

“I’ll make them fix it.” He says in return, causing you to laugh again as you press your lips to his pout. “You’re sweet to me.”

He doesn’t say anything to that, instead he presses a kiss to your forehead before pulling away in order to wrap an arm around your shoulders. “Come on, there’s more to do.”

Penelope snaps in your face, jolting you out of the trance you found yourself in. “Hey, what’s wrong? You seem upset.”

“I’m fine.” You sniffle, wiping it with your glove. “Seriously, it’s just cold.” You try your hardest to smile, it doesn’t quite reach your eyes and you know Emily notices, but she doesn’t say anything as you begin walking ahead of them.

You don’t buy anything, your Christmas shopping is long out of the way. You do it every year, you get excited by the upcoming holiday and accidentally buy everyone’s gifts the first week of November.

Aaron had found it endearing, how excited you got at the idea of giving people gifts they’ll enjoy.

“Let’s go in here.” The universe must be out to get you, because the store Penelope turns into is the same one you and Aaron would frequent on your occasional days off. It’s filled with antiques and books, something he didn’t particularly enjoy looking at, but you did.

The day continues on, little things remind you of him everywhere you go. You curse yourself for being so miserable, for letting someone have this effect on you.

You sip a hot chocolate as the sky darkens, pushing the memories of him kissing the whipped cream off your upper lip out of your mind as you wipe it away with a small napkin that Emily hands you.

Penelope is talking to the woman at the booth, asking her all about where her outfit is from, when Emily sighs next to you. “What’s going on?”

You turn to her, a little shocked at her question. You ramble as you attempt to come up with a reason for your sour mood. “Please—I’m fine. What makes you think something’s wrong? Seriously Em—”

“You ramble when you lie.” Emily says as she lifts her paper cup up to her lips. “So, spill.”

You hesitate, you can’t say anything. Nobody on the team even knows about you and Aaron. You’d kept it a secret for a year and a half, you definitely weren’t going to give it up now.

“Did something happen…with Hotch?” It’s like she can read your mind, and you bite your tongue in order to not talk and reveal your lie. Then your eyes widen, remembering that you hadn’t told her about Hotch.

“Hey,” She says your name. “It’s okay, nobody else suspects anything.”

“I don’t…” You stop yourself from rambling. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I saw you guys, a few months ago. You know, he smiles more these days.”

You laugh bitterly at that, suddenly angry at her revelation. He wasn’t smiling when he broke your heart.

“Nothing happened Em. Let it go.” Your tone is clipped, and she puts her hands up in surrender, dropping the topic as Penelope approaches the two of you.

Once they drop you back off at home you flop onto your bed. A few seconds pass before you grab one of the pillows and scream into it.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

The next weeks are torturous. Christmas is spent on a case in Florida, it would have been bearable if Aaron were still yours.

He knows you hate it, a white Christmas is your favorite thing, and the humidity of Florida is the complete opposite.

Hot weather has never been your favorite, the past summer you would complain you were dying every time he forced you to run with him. He thought it was adorable, and the image of you tinged with heat and sunburnt cheeks was one of his favorite sights.

“Alright, let’s get to work.” The current case is a local one, something you’re very grateful for. Sleeping in your own bed is much better than being in a suffocating hotel.

He calls your name, his voice void of his usual softness for you. “I need your report from the Michigan case.”

“I’m working on it.” You say, trying to remain civil as he stares at you. His eyes would usually soften when your tone was like that, stressed. Now he just stares. “Is that all?”

He nods, his voice suddenly dry as he tears his gaze away from you. You shoulder past him out of the conference room, heading towards Spencer as he works the geographical profile.

“There’s something there.” Aaron isn’t sure where Dave came from, but his shoulders slump slightly at the older man’s discovery. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about Dave.”

“Sure Aaron.” He claps his shoulder as he walks past him, standing in the same spot you just had. “She’s good for you—after everything.”

Aaron has to fight his scoff, if only he knew how good you were for him. He has no idea that he’d already indulged, already had you for the entirety of a year, and then some.

“I’ll remember that.” His tone leaves no more room for Rossi to speculate on his life, and with that he’s walking out of the room in order to go look at the latest body with Emily.

If Spencer notices your sadness, he doesn’t acknowledge it. It’s become your thing lately, a constant frown decorating your features. “Hey pretty girl.” Derek could usually get you to smile, but lately even those attempts are futile. “Oh come on, nothing? Baby, I don’t remember the last time you shined those pretty teeth.”

“3 weeks and 2.5 days.” Spencer says without looking up from a spot he’s working on the board. “Jesus.” You mutter. You spin your chair to face Derek, mustering up a big smile.

“Here.” You grit through your teeth. “Okay, that’s creeping me out.”

“You wanted a smile.” You shrug, causing Derek to laugh as he places a comforting hand on your shoulder. “We’re here for you, we all love you.”

This has you turning away from him. We all love you.

“Hey, I think I’ve got something here.” Spencer saves you from continuing your dreaded conversation with Derek.

The case seems to drone on forever, but once you finally find the unsub’s identity you grab your gun, preparing to retrieve your vest.

“You’re staying.” Aaron looks to you, his expression unreadable as you roll your eyes. “No, I’m not.”

“I need you here with Reid.” It’s bullshit, and you know it. But you don’t care enough to fight him on it, so you scoff before walking towards the small kitchen to get yourself some coffee.

Emily walks up behind you, placing a comforting hand on your back. “He’s protecting you.”

“Emily, don’t.”

“Why don’t you talk to him?” She persists, moving around you. “Don’t you need to go with them?” You ask, shrugging her off. She doesn’t say anything else, and you make a sour face at her pitiful expression.

Aaron spares you a glance as he leaves, your eyes meeting for a split second. But as quickly as the spark was there it was gone, and you're returning to the paperwork in front of you. He notices the shuddering breath you take, and the tired slump of your shoulders.

He wants to reach out, to console you. But he can’t, he can’t let himself do it because if he does he’ll never be able to leave you again. 

You’re gone once they get back, their killer in custody and the young girl he had kidnapped returned safely to her family. He rubs his hand across his forehead before heading up to his office.

Months ago you would have flashed him a pretty smile and the doe eyes that have him bending at the knees in order to get him to leave the papers and go home with you. 

“Aaron, come on, please.”

“I’ve got reports to do honey, just give me an hour. I’ll make it up to you.” You smile at him as you snake your arms around his waist, earning a warning glare from him. “Come on.” He shakes his head at you as he peels your arms off of him.

You sit with him for one hour, then two. After two you sigh, shuffling some of the papers out of the file and picking up a pen from the metal cup he keeps on the corner of his desk. He looks at you for a moment before going back to his papers, a fond smile remaining as he continues writing on the boring documents. 

Another hour passes when you finally stand up. You stretch your arms dramatically, pairing it with an overexaggerated yawn. He knows what’s coming, and before he has the chance to look up you’re wrapping your arms around his neck, pressing your face into his hair. “I’m going to make some coffee.” You press a kiss to the temple of his head before jumping off of him in favor of the door. You turn around with a smile on your way out, one he reciprocates instantly. “Thank you.” 

You return with two cups of coffee in your hands, you kick the door closed with your foot. “I got donuts too.” You grin goofily as you place the navy blue mug down in front of him. “Black coffee, horribly plain.”

“You drink sugar with a side of coffee.” He smirks as you take a bite of your donut. “And you’ve got the worst sweet tooth I’ve ever seen.” You stick your tongue out at that before lifting the donut up to his mouth. He shakes his head. “Right, I forgot you’ve got to be in shape for your triathlon.” 

“You’re doing it too.”

“Yeah, we’ll see about that.” You laugh before taking another bite of the chocolate donut. You look back down at the papers in front of you, careful not to get any chocolate onto the white sheets. You can feel his eyes on you, and you can feel your cheeks flush at his unmoving gaze. “What?” You laugh. 

“Nothing.” He shakes his head, his eyes still on your face. “You’re beautiful.” You smile at that, pulling your lip between your teeth as you avoid his gaze. “You know how to charm a girl, Hotchner.” 

“Only you.” He shakes his head as he lifts your chin with his thumb, rubbing it across your lip once you move your head towards him. It’s one of his favorite things, how easily you lean into his touch. You smile brightly at him as he leans in to capture your lips. 

His mind snaps out of the memory as he opens the door, the once warm office filled with your presence now bare and dull. 

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

Jealousy is a green-eyed monster. It’s not something you believed in the past.

In high school when Jessica Blake flirted with your boyfriend in front of your face you didn’t even flinch. 

You didn’t want to believe that Aaron was dating again when Garcia mentioned it. But then Rossi started teasing him when he thought no one else heard, you heard it though. 

“You’re staring daggers.” JJ whispers in your ear. “What?” You turn, your tone more clipped than you intended. You soften as you face her, mumbling a sorry. JJ puts an arm around your shoulders, “I know you have a thing for him, maybe she won’t last long.”

He just finished his triathlon, the one that you were supposed to run with him. You had trained with him for weeks. Weeks of your life you spent doing something you hated just because he wanted you to do it with him, wasted. “JJ, I don’t have a thing for him.”

It should’ve been you kissing him at the finish line, instead it’s Beth. You haven’t met her, and really you shouldn’t be jealous.

“Aaron, I can’t run any more. I think my side is going to explode.” You huff, bending over at the waste to try and catch your breath.

He laughed from his spot ahead of you on the track. “I’m not joking!”

“I’m not laughing at you.” He lies, the smile on his face giving him away instantly.

He grows more concerned for you as you don’t move from your spot, instead you plop down on the ground of the indoor track. “Honey, we can go get some water, come on.”

You laugh as you stare up at him from your spot on the ground, causing him to shake his head. “I think you need to carry me to the car.”

“Come on you dork.” He pulls you up by your arm, placing a hand on your waist to stabilize you. You lean into him as you two walk out towards the locker rooms. “I’ll meet you back out here.” He takes his arm off of you, causing you to stumble dramatically.

“Go change, we can get takeout and you can pick the movie.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.” You giggle as you turn your back to him, heading into the women’s locker room to change into warmer clothes.

Once you’re finished changing you meet up with him again, taking his warm hand into your cold ones once the freezing air hits your skin. “I forgot my mittens.”

“I’m not surprised.” He chuckles. “So you should know to bring them for me, you know I always forget.” You pout, and he can’t stop himself from pressing a kiss to your puffed out lips. “I’m horrible.”

The next time he forced you to go to the gym, he brought your mittens and a scarf to match them.

From your spot on the sidelines you can tell she’s a way to forget you. 

He won’t forget you anytime soon though, you can see it in the way his smile doesn’t reach his eyes even while he’s surrounded by people who care about him. You can tell by the way he still searches for you in the huddle your team has formed around him, and you can tell by the way his eyes lock onto yours from across the park. 

You decide to walk up to the rest of the team then, making sure to not look away from him. Beth talks to him, and you can tell he’s giving her incoherent mumbles as responses as he finally breaks eye contact to turn towards her. 

Derek wraps an arm around you. “Babygirl, out of you four, you may be the happiest one today.” He gestures to the very hungover women of the BAU, you had opted out of ladies night in favor of wallowing with a tub of ice cream. “And that’s saying something.” 

You look at Aaron after Derek says the last part, making sure he knows that the jab from Derek was his fault. He looks away, unable to bear the guilt you’re trying to seep into him. “I need something greasy and fried.” JJ says, breaking the silence that took over the group. 

“I need a drink.” You mumble to Derek, who smiles as he ruffles your hair. “We’ve missed you coming out with us, you know.” He says as you all walk towards the parking lot. Jack comes up next to you, and you realize then how you haven’t seen him in months. You smile, unable to be annoyed at him over his father’s doings. “Hey Jack-O.”

He smiles at you, tugging your hand to get you to pick him up. “How are you buddy?” 

Aaron watches as you hold Jack in your arm, and it physically pains him. He brushes it off as an ache from the swimming portion of the triathlon. That was your favorite part, your giggles as you splashed him with the pool water during training echo in his mind. 

He turns back to Beth, reminding himself this is who he needs. Beth is simple, uncomplicated. She doesn’t work a job that puts her life at risk daily. She smiles at him, completely unsuspecting of his yearning for another woman. 

But then he hears your laugh and he’s ready to drop everything for it. It’s the kind of laugh that even the greatest musicians couldn’t capture into a song. The way your lips curl and your head tilts back is a site that even the most talented of painters couldn’t put onto a canvas. 

“Hey, good job out there. I’m going to have to train more to beat that.” Beth jokes to him, once again regaining his attention. Beth is good for him, she even enjoys running as much as him. 

You set Jack down, and smile as he runs back towards Aaron. You hear him ask his dad to invite you over again, which you quickly tune out to avoid the awkwardness.

You miss her approaching you. “Hey, I’m Beth. Jack is over there singing your praises, I had to meet you myself.” She’s friendly, and you can see why Aaron likes her. You wish you didn’t hate her so much, she seems like she’d be a good friend. 

“Hi.” You smile as much as you can, reaching your hand out for her to shake. “Aaron told me you're great too, at the job.” At the job. “I’m sure he did.” Your response is light, but if anyone knew about you and Aaron they’d know there are layers to it. 

He watches as you interact, carefully watching your movements. At the restaurant when everyone is occupied in conversations he looks at you. You can tell what he’s asking without any words being spoken. You shake her head, rolling your eyes in annoyance. He wants to make sure you were civil with Beth. 

The next morning you roll over in bed, your hair splayed across the pillow as you listen to the sound of the shower in the bathroom connected to your room. In your sleepy and hungover state, half of you expects Aaron to walk out.

Instead it’s a man with strikingly similar features. It’s not him, but he was a good hook-up to take your mind off of him. You know you're using this random guy as a surrogate, and you know the psychology behind it, but you don’t care. 

“Hey baby.” The stranger leans down to capture you in a kiss, you duck to avoid his lips. They don’t feel like Aaron’s, you remember how chapped they were last night when he had kissed you. 

“I’ve got to work.” You slip under his arm in favor of the kitchen. “I made you some coffee.” You groan, annoyed at the fact that this stranger had rummaged through your kitchen while you were still asleep. “I’m not the biggest fan of coffee.” It’s a lie, and if the man was smart he’d realize it due to the vast selection in your pantry, but alas he is not the brightest. 

“What’s your name?” He asks, coming up behind you in the kitchen. “Look, please, let’s not do this. I have work in..” You check the time on the microwave clock. “30 minutes. Shit, you have to go.” You usher him towards the door, barely giving him a chance to grab his shoes. “Come on, you can be late once. Let’s go again.”

“Get out.” You roll your eyes. “Bitch.” He scoffs, but retreats down the hallway of your apartment complex. Once he’s out you set your security alarm before racing towards the bathroom. 

Five minutes is a new record time for you to be ready, you quickly grab a muffin and mug of coffee before leaving. 

“I’m here, I’m here.” You take a seat at the round table, conveniently the only one available is next to Aaron. “Dang mama, rough night?” Derek laughs from across from you, earning himself a glare. “Alright, let’s get started.” Aaron snaps, gaining the attention of everyone. 

Once everyone disperses from the room, in order to prepare to leave, Aaron stops you, placing a hand on your upper arm. You freeze, not turning to make eye contact before shrugging him off. “Sir, I need to go get my bag.” 

He says your name, causing you to turn towards him. You scoff when he doesn’t say anything. “Coward.”

“Excuse me?” He gives you the same stern look he gives to everyone, but there’s something else in his expression. “You’re a coward.” You repeat, pointing a finger to his chest. “I suggest you cover that..mark..on your neck, Agent.” He moves away from your hand. 

“That’s what this is about?” You narrow your eyes at him, if looks could kill he’d be a puddle on the floor at your glare. “It’s unprofessional, and distasteful for you to present yourself like that at work.”

“Get off your high horse Aaron. There’s barely anything there.” You adjust the collar of your shirt to make sure it’s fully covered. “You’re upset with me, when you’re the one who went and committed to someone else. I mean, you’re the one who ended this in the first place. Go to hell.” 

It was late when the team got back from Minnesota, and everyone was tired. Aaron couldn’t focus on that though, all he could see was the scar running across your cheek, and the bruise on your eye. 

“My office.” He doesn’t touch your shoulder like he usually does when walking past your desk. His orders are cold, and leave no room for argument. 

As soon as the door is closed he’s berating you. “I should suspend you. I should have you evaluated for being so reckless. You endangered the lives of everybody today, and that’s unacceptable. You got lucky out there today.”

He’s angry, you know it’s because you almost died, but he’s deflecting like always. You don’t respond, you know you did the right thing and it resulted in a young girl being saved. “This isn’t working.” He runs a hand through his hair.

“What?” You attempt to take his hand, he pulls back. “This. It’s over.” 

“Aaron,” You pull his face into your hands, forcing him to look into your eyes as he breaks your heart. “You don’t mean that, you’re angry.” He shakes his head, pulling away from the touch he usually craves. “Emotions have nothing to do with this, it’s a fact. We aren’t going to work. I’ll expect your case report on my desk first thing in the morning.” 

“You want to fight? I can fight, I can scream.” You sound pathetic, and you never thought you’d be begging a man not to leave you. But he’s different, he’s everything. “I don’t want to fight. I want you to go home and think about what you did wrong, Agent.”

“What I did wrong?” You scoff as you swing his office door open. You’re gone before he can realize what he just did, leaving nothing but the lingering scent of floral perfume in your wake. 

The unsub is kidnapping victims who look increasingly similar to you. Aaron can’t fight the unease in his chest as he stares at what he was doing to these women. It’s hard for his mind to not drift to images of it being you instead of them. He makes sure to pair you up with Morgan everywhere you go, already knowing that him being with you won’t do either of you any good. 

You were just stepping outside to catch your breath, it was dark out, but there were people around you, how much danger could you really be in?

You remember pulling your phone out, and you remember a searing pain in your shoulder, only registering that you’d been shot after seeing the silencer in the attacker’s hand. “Don’t scream, or he’s dead.��� You don’t need to ask who, your mind immediately flashes with images of Aaron. 

Your hands are bound in the back of his van, you fight a black out as you take in your surroundings. He’s disorganized, he shot you and left a witness outside of a station. From the brief look you got of his face you know he’s young. “What do you want from me?” You ask, as calmly as you can muster in your bleeding out. “I–I need a doctor.”

“You’re not getting a doctor!” He shouts, turning around while driving to point his gun at you. “Then I need you to hurry, before I bleed out back here.” You move to get more comfortable in the cramped spot he put you in. “I know you don’t want me to die.”

“I read about you, I’ve been to all of your lectures and conferences, and you never noticed me!” You squeeze your eyes shut, Aaron has noticed you’re gone by now, you know he has. “I knew I had to get your attention somehow.”

Back at the precinct Aaron is reeling. The woman who had witnessed it was shaking in one of the chairs. “I didn’t hear the gun—but when I looked up she was bleeding and this guy was yanking her by the hair.”

He puts his hands over his ears, trying anything to avoid the thoughts that you could be dead, that the likelihood of you being dead is high. Derek pats him on the shoulder, a reassurance that does nothing to ease his mind. 

“What if this is about her?” Emily looks up from the file. “The women all look extremely similar to her, but he never kidnapped any of the previous ones.”

“But why shoot her?” Rossi asks, taking caution with his words as Aaron paces back and forth. “She—she just did a bunch of lectures at the ivies. Over our vacation last year.” Nobody questions how he knows that, but they nod. Derek pulls his phone out, dialing Penelope’s number. “Hello my furry friends. How can I be of service?” 

Derek fills her in on what happened, gaining a large gasp from the woman on the phone. “Garcia, we need to cross reference all of the people who recently attended her lectures across New England. Ivy leagues–Harvard, Yale, Princeton.”

“Yes sir.” She responds, tight-lipped, to Hotch. “And Garcia?”

“Yes sir?”

“You need to be more professional.” Derek shoots Aaron a look at that. “Come on man, she didn’t know.” 

Aaron doesn’t respond as he walks outside to investigate the scene where you were taken from. Your blood is pooled on the ground, bringing tears to his eyes. Dave comes up behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder. Aaron quickly regains his composure, wiping the tears away from his face. “She’s strong Aaron. She’ll pull through.” 

“He shot her Dave.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I can’t–I can’t lose her.” Dave doesn’t say anything to that, he knows Aaron will blame himself for the rest of his life if he loses another woman he loves. “She’s everything, we–we were fighting last time we talked.”

“Then let’s go in there and find her.” He claps Aaron’s shoulder before turning back towards the precinct. 

You gasp as he pushes the bandages to your arm. The bullet was through and through, thankfully. “I lost a lot of blood.” You say, trying to sound submissive. “Come on, take these off my hands and I’ll do whatever you want.”

“No, no.” He shakes his head, pushing the gun to his head. “Stop talking.” 

You shake your head, fighting back the tears threatening to surface. You have to be strong, the team will find you. “What–” You shift. “What’s your name?” He twitches at you moving closer to him. “Come on, you know mine. I like to know the name of the man I’m with.” You want to throw up at the thought of flirting with him, but it’s the way to gain his trust. 

“Paul.” You nod at that. “Ok, Paul. I remember seeing you at my lecture. I…” You twitch slightly as he turns the gun around on you. “I wanted to talk to you, but you were gone before it ended.” 

“You wanted to talk to me?” You’re gaining his trust, you can tell by the way he lowers the gun ever so slightly towards the ground. “Untie me Paul, we can have some fun. I want you.” You fight the shudder taking over your features as he smiles at you. 

He unbinds one of your hands, the other is still cuffed to the chair behind you. “This is all I can do for now.”

“Thank you.” You contemplate kicking him hard, but ultimately it’s a fight he would win due to one hand still being stuck behind you. You’ll wait, and get him to trust you enough to unbind the other one. 

“I’ve got a name.” Penelope’s voice is professional, a stark contrast to her usual bubbly mood. Aaron doesn’t feel guilty for what he said to her, his attention too focused on not breaking down in order to find you. “Paul Danver. He attended every one of her lectures, and even began making obsessive comments about her in various articles.” 

“So he’s a stalker. That doesn’t explain the torture to the victims. He doesn’t want to kill her, he wants her attention.” 

Aaron thinks for a moment, racking his brain. He was at your lectures, he sat in the back to avoid attention. “The one at Yale, she was asked a question about how we pick our cases. She–she avoided answering at first but when he pressured her more she said we pick the most urgent ones. He went to these extremes for our attention, he knew it would bring her here.” 

Paul runs his fingers over your skin. Your shirt was gone, he had ripped it off in order to care for the wound on her shoulder. “Paul, I think it’s time. Untie this hand and we can be together.”

You don’t expect him to actually do it, and you fight your sigh of relief when he does. You wait a beat after he’s done it, giving him a second to lean back. He smiles as he takes in your compliant state, before leaning forward again to kiss you. This is your chance, you bang your head into his face, sending him stumbling backwards. “You bitch!” He roars, racing forward with his finger on the trigger of his gun. You push the hand holding it towards the wall as he pulls the trigger, narrowly avoiding a shot to the head. “I’ll kill you.” 

You struggle for a moment, before getting the gun out of his hand and pointing it at his retreating form. “I don’t think you will, Paul.” Aaron’s voice rings in your ears as the team fills the room. Derek puts himself in front of Aaron, knowing he’s too emotional to be confronting Paul. 

“Get on the ground.” Derek growls. Paul complies after realizing there isn’t a way out of this. 

“Let’s get a medic in here.” Aaron says into his mic before striding over to you. He breathes your name as he stands in front of you. He takes his vest off immediately, then his jacket to clothe your bare form. “I knew you’d come.”

“Always.” He sighs as he wraps it around you. A tear falls from your eye before you wrap your arms around him. He’s hesitant, not wanting to further injure your bandaged shoulder. “Please hug me back Aaron.” With your whispered plea he’s reciprocating instantly, breathing into your hair. 

“I should have killed her!” Paul shouts as they drag him away. “Get him out of here.” Aaron says harshly as he pulls away from you. “Come on honey, we need to get you to the ambulance. Can you walk?”

The team doesn’t dare say anything to the term of endearment that Aaron used for you. 

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

“I heard he broke things off with Beth.” David says to you one day while you're staring into his office. “Huh.” You make a noise without looking up from your case report. “Come on, go talk to him.” 

“Rossi, I’m working here.” You gesture to the paper, your pen has been unmoving for the past ten minutes, but he doesn’t need to know this. “You just got kidnapped, if now isn’t the time for a grand confession then I don’t know when is.” He retreats after that, heading back towards his office. 

The next day Aaron approaches you, muttering an quiet ‘my office’ just loud enough for your ears to pick up.

You smooth your sweater out as you stand, suddenly nervous at the thought of being alone with him.

The soft click of the door has him looking up, he almost seems surprised that you actually listened to him. “Yes?”

“Sit.” He gestures to the seat, at one point in time you’d have pulled it around to sit next to him. Now you sit on the edge, like you’re ready to jump up and escape at any time. “Agent, I think it’s in the both of our best interests to put our personal ties behind us. For the efficiency of our job, we should remain strictly professional.”

You scoff at his audacity, leaning back ever so slightly in your chair. “You want me to fight you on it. You want me to be the one who pieces this back together.”

He doesn’t respond to that, instead focusing his attention to the paper on his desk. “That’s all, I need your latest report as soon as you finish.”

He looks up slightly when you don’t make a move to leave, gesturing slightly to the wooden door.

“How’s Beth?”

He puts his pen down at this, finally looking you fully in the eyes. “She’s good.”

“Huh, I could have sworn Rossi said that she was old news.” You twirl a thread from your sweater around your finger. “We are still friends.”

“Oh, you can stay friends with her and not me?” You ask, leaning in closer to him. After narrowing your eyes you lean back in the chair again with a scoff. “Oh wait, I know why, you love me. Being friends with me would just be torture for you.”

“Agent.” His tone is warning. “Hit a nerve? I know you Aaron, I know you better than anyone. Did you tell her that you’re in love with another woman, or was the breakup mutual?”

“Enough!” He slams his hand onto the desk in frustration. “I love you, is that what you want me to say? You’ve almost died, twice in the past few months. Do you understand what that would do to me?”

Your eyes soften at his tortured expression. It’s full of many things—yearning, love, sadness. You stand then, and he prepares for you to turn around and walk straight out the door. Instead you shake your head, walking around to his side of the desk.

You place your hands on his face, cupping his jaw with one while the other moves towards his hair. He sighs, wishing you had slapped him instead. It would hurt less.

“Aaron, I love you.” You move his face so he has to look at you. His eyes are glossy, and tears brim them. “Aaron.” You whisper.

“I can’t lose you. I won’t recover.”

“I’ll be careful.” You smile as a tear rolls down your cheek. “Please.” You whisper, and that’s what causes him to break, the desperation in the singular word.

His hands find solace on your waist as he stands, wrapping his arms around your frame. He inhales the scent of your shampoo as you hug him back. “I missed you, so much.” His voice breaks as he speaks, it’s a side of vulnerable you’ve never seen from him.

You pull back slightly, smiling the smile that always has him putty in your hands. You lean in, pressing a light kiss to his pursed lips. “Kiss me.” You didn’t have to tell him twice, his lips are slotting into yours instantly.

You bite his lip lightly as you pull back, earning a throaty laugh. “Not here, I’m going to take you to dinner.”

“Always a gentleman, Hotchner.”

The team all watch with open mouths and shocked expressions as you and Hotch walk out together, hand in hand.

“Well it was a matter of time before they got together.” Derek shakes his head as he turns his chair back towards his desk.

“I thought they never would.” JJ admits. “They’ve been pining for so long.”

Emily smirks from her chair, toying with the pen in her hand. “They’ve been together for over a year.” She looks up at them, watching as their jaws drop even more. “Lousy profilers you all are.”

[bbydoll18xx]

Take It Off

‘Only bought this dress so you could take it off.’

Paige Bueckers x Reader

Based on this request

Masterlist

Word Count: 1.4k

Themes: basically porn without plot

A/N: this was such a good request! I wrote this to hold everyone over until i can get the next part of The Road Not Taken done. Nothing wrong with a lil smut to fill the void. Also i wrote this very quickly so sorry if it sucks

Enjoy and tell me whatcha thinkkk

~

Paige’s hands are shaking with restraint, trying to hold herself back from you.

It was a losing game.

Her fingers dance along the edge of her crop top, skimming across her tanned skin. She clenches her hands into two fists, a puff of air escaping from her lips, red and swollen from biting, and a small groan cuts through the quiet room. 

You look up from your phone, a surprised look etched into your features. You raise an eyebrow, your gaze training onto the tall blonde, who nearly shrinks from the heat of it. 

“You okay, P?” You ask, feigning innocence, eyes wide and mouth contracted into a small smirk. 

She clears her throat and rubs a hand across her jaw. “Oh, uh yeah. ‘M great,” she mumbles, trying to keep her eyes locked with yours.

You are standing right across from her now. You trail your hand up your thigh, subtly dragging the soft material of your sundress higher up your leg. The sunlight streaming into your apartment reflects off of your smooth, supple skin, creating a ripple of light.

Paige thinks she might just be looking at an angel standing right in front of her. 

You are determined to get her to make the first move, and you pull your hair into a makeshift ponytail, exposing the slender column of your neck. With your other hand, you fan yourself.

“Fuck,” you let out a breathy moan. “So hot, huh,” you whisper, and her eyes nearly pop out of her head.

“The weather, you perv,” you tease, letting your hair fall back down around your shoulders. You move closer to her, pushing against her taut, bare stomach with a gentle shove.

Paige’s eyes rake over your body as you position yourself right in her line of vision. Your eyes beckon her to reach out and grab you. 

You could already imagine it.

In fact, you had been imagining it since you met her. And while the two of you had maintained a healthy friendship, there was always an underlying tension that left you reeling. Your imagination could not take much more. 

You needed the real thing.

So, here you are now, doing everything in your power to seduce her. Hence, the short, flowy dress you had adorned this morning. It was perfectly low cut, the large scoop giving her ample access to your cleavage, and the dress hit right at the top of your thighs, swaying dangerously below the curve of your ass. 

And then finally, her restraint snaps, and she reaches out and grabs your hand, pulling you to sit on her lap. 

“Fuckin’ finally,” you whisper, a grin on your face. And you grab her by the face and kiss her.

It was everything you had been fantasizing about. Her lips move slowly against yours, tentative and gentle, licking into your mouth with the fire of a thousand suns. 

It sent sparks of want shooting down to your pussy, and you grind down onto her lap, needing any sort of friction to help the brewing neediness in your belly.

“God, you feel so good,” she mumbles, pressing kisses down your jaw and your throat. You let out a strangled groan as she sucks a mark right under your ear, and you tilt your head, wanting her to have as much access as she could possibly need. 

“So fuckin’ needy, aren’t you? My perfect girl,” she smirks against your skin, watching you fall apart in her wake. 

“All for you,” you whimper, already reaching at the bottom of your dress to throw it over your head and onto the floor, but Paige stops you.

“Let me,” she softly commands, and you stop your movements, wanting so badly to please her. 

You stand up, already missing the warmth of her lap, and she leads you into the bedroom. 

Taking you in front of the large mirror, she stands behind you, placing kisses on your neck and across your back and shoulders, and your skin erupts in goosebumps from the sheer anticipation.

“Go ahead, baby. Let me see what you’ve been hiding from me, pretty girl.”

Your breath hitches as you connect eyes with her in the mirror before pulling the dress over your head and flinging it to the floor. You’re left in just a pink thong, already soaked from your own arousal.

Your nipples are hard from the cool air and Paige’s gaze trained onto you, and she wastes no time spinning you around to face her. She pulls you in, your tits pressed flush against her chest as she connects your lips again in a searing kiss. 

“Gonna fuck this sweet pussy,” she groans, already pushing your thong down over your ass. “Get on the bed,” she orders before stripping the rest of her clothes off. 

You watch with hooded eyes as she bares herself for you, admiring her toned arms and the rippling of her muscles. 

You lean back against the pillows, legs slightly spread as the cool air hits your sopping core. It was filthy, being all spread out for your best friend. But you knew it was more than that now.

Paige comes to position herself on top of you, slotting a leg in between yours. 

It was the first contact with your pussy, and the sensation of her leg up against your heat was nearly too much. Breathy moans fall from your lips as you beg for more, not caring at all about who could be listening outside of the door. 

“Want you so bad, baby. Gonna take such good care of you, shit,” she groans as you grind down against her muscular thigh. 

Her lips connect to your nipple, biting it lightly and then soothing out the pain with light tongue strokes that have you gasping in pleasure. 

“Fuck, Paige, need you. Want your fingers, please,” you moan lustfully, the slutty words adding fuel to the fire. 

“Gonna take my fingers, yeah? Wanna hear you beg while I finger fuck this sweet pussy,” she demands, and your head spins from her words. 

She swirls a finger around your clit, and your hips fly off the bed. She chuckles at your reaction, holding them down with her other arm as she settles right at your pussy. 

“Wanna taste this sweet pussy. Bet you taste so fucking good, baby,” she whispers before diving in with a practiced tenacity. 

Moans fill the small room, and you make no effort to bring down the volume as she leaves you wriggling in pleasure underneath her. 

As her tongue flicks across your clit expertly, she begins pumping two fingers into you. Her fingertips brush against your g-spot, coaxing more whines and whimpers from your swollen lips.

Your hands find your tits, pinching and pulling at your nipples, adding to the sensitivity that was building in your body. Your breath quickens, and every nerve ending feels like it is aflame. 

Paige adds a third finger, stretching you out perfectly, mumbling to herself about how she was the only one who could ever make you feel this good. 

“Fuck, Paige, baby please,” you let out a long moan as she pounds into you, hitting just the right spot. “Gonna cum for you. Only you.” 

Your hips grind against her face, her groans vibrating through your core, adding to the growing pleasure. 

“Fuck, taste s’good. Gonna make you mine, fuck you like this every day,” she promises, her face still buried in your sopping pussy.

The band in your belly starts to tighten, and as you grow louder and louder, you reach for her free hand, clutching to her. Your other hand grips the sheet, as you attempt to ground yourself. 

You cum with Paige’s name on your lips, and you’re sure that the whole apartment complex could hear you. 

“Fuck, so good,” you cry, completely incoherent. Your legs were shaking, the aftershocks of your orgasm still ripping through your body. 

Paige scoots up to lay beside you, running her hand across your stomach and kissing you on the forehead. 

“Did so good for me, baby. So proud of you.” She states solemnly, and it was the most serious you think she had ever sounded. 

“Don’t want you like a best friend,” you confess, the blissful tingles running through every nerve in your body, making you completely fucked out.

“I think that can be arranged, baby,” she agrees, sealing it with another kiss. 

You look towards the floor where your dress was laying in a rumpled pile with a smirk. 

It was just too easy.

~

Whew so what did we think?? As always, thanks for reading

hugs and kissesss

katy

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[rothpie]

❝FIDELITY❞ |part9

MASTERLIST -`✮´- Rafe Cameron x Kook!Reader x JJ Maybank

Summary: Kook!Reader’s world is upended by betrayal, and her only way forward might lie with the most unlikely person—JJ Maybank. But as they build a new life together, old flames and past mistakes refuse to stay buried.

Warnings: mentioning miscarriage, blood, mentioning drug and alcohol use, daddy issues

Selly's note: First of all I'm sorry. I wrote this while my heart was broken. I learned my ex left the country. He was the first person I loved. LIKE COME BACK???? We HAVE TO marry!!!!! Sorry for oversharing💗, and if there is a mistake. I didn't re-read this. Love y'all.💗💗

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Your hands trembled. Your whole body felt numb, yet the shaking tethered you to reality. There was a heavy weight on your chest, as though even breathing had become an uphill battle. A knot in your throat tightened with every passing second, making even the simple act of swallowing painful. You didn’t know what to do. The chaos of the moment was tearing your mind into pieces, your thoughts tangling into a knot so thick you couldn’t unravel it. 

You hadn’t done anything unusual. The day had started like any other. You made yourself some herbal tea, watched TV, read a book about baby development. You cleaned the house a little, then opened the packages that had arrived—items for your daughter’s room. 

Alone. 

Since the moment you arrived in this town, you’d always felt alone, but this was different. This was like falling into a deep, endless chasm, where there was nothing to grasp, no hand to reach for. You could feel your hands flailing in the void, desperately searching, yet finding nothing. 

The warm, sticky sensation spreading down your legs sent a jolt of panic through you. Your eyes flicked downward involuntarily, but you didn’t want to look. Yet it felt as if everything around you was betraying you, even the streetlamp outside, which cast its harsh glow on the spreading pool on the floor. You didn’t want to see it. You feared that seeing it would confirm your worst fears. Your eyes filled with tears, but you couldn’t cry. You wouldn’t cry. Would tears ease the crushing weight of this fear? You doubted it. 

You reached for your phone, but even your fingers trembled. Touching the screen, dialing a number, selecting a name—it all felt like an impossible task. The chaos in your mind blurred your thoughts. Everything was moving too fast and too slow all at once. Seconds stretched into eternities, yet time pressed on, dragging you deeper into helplessness. 

You hadn’t wanted this. You had left the island just for this pregnancy, determined to build a life here. And now, was it all going to be taken from you? After all the effort to adjust, after everything? 

You glanced around. The silence of the room pressed down on you like a weight. It felt as if the entire world had pulled away, leaving you stranded. You knew there were people—so many people—but none of them were close, not really. Placing your hands on your belly, you clung to the small hope that the motion could somehow quiet the storm of fear inside you. But it didn’t work. 

The voices of fear echoed in your mind: What if I’m too late? What if it’s over? What if this loneliness never ends? Each scenario was scarier than the last. You closed your eyes, but even the darkness offered no solace. The images in your head only fanned the flames of your terror. 

When you finally held the phone in your hand, you knew you had to choose someone to call. Should it be your mom? Or your dad? Maybe… someone else? But what if they couldn’t come? That thought pushed you deeper into despair. It suddenly felt as if the entire world had turned its back on you, as if every person was out of reach. The weight of isolation was crushing. 

Your hands were cold and clammy. As your fingers hovered over the screen, trying to pick a name, you felt frozen. You couldn’t move them. It was as though your brain had redirected all its attention to the fluid trickling down your legs and the stabbing pain in your abdomen. Panic consumed you, leaving you paralyzed and unsure of what to do. 

A quiet voice in your mind whispered, Everything will be okay. But it was impossible to believe. That voice was so faint, so far away, drowned out by the louder, darker thoughts. Reality felt so distant that even hope seemed like a luxury you couldn’t afford. While your mind scrambled for answers, your body refused to move. 

You tightened your grip on your belly, as though holding on harder could anchor you to something, anything. Alone in that dark, silent room, you had never felt smaller. The outside world was shut off from you, leaving only your fears, your thoughts, and the suffocating weight of solitude. 

Since moving to this town, you’d thought a lot about loneliness. But now, you truly understood its meaning. Loneliness wasn’t just sitting in silence. It wasn’t merely being by yourself. Loneliness was not having anyone to reach when you needed them most. It was feeling as though your voice couldn’t reach anyone, as though you were invisible. 

The trembling didn’t stop. Your eyes darted around, trying to focus on something, anything, but everything was blurry—not because you couldn’t see, but because you couldn’t concentrate. Nothing made sense in that moment. 

You searched for a way out. But maybe the only thing you could do was wait. That thought terrified you even more. Waiting... it made you feel so helpless, so powerless. But what else could you do? 

Tears welled up again as you struggled to breathe. But each breath felt heavier, each inhale pulling the loneliness deeper into your chest. That loneliness, like a black hole, seemed ready to devour you. 

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at the pool of liquid spreading on the floor. You couldn’t face it. If you didn’t look, maybe it would stay a bad dream. Maybe this was just paranoia playing tricks on your mind. 

Even though you could feel the warm liquid dripping down your legs, you clung to the hope that you’d wake up. That you’d open your eyes in bed and thank God it was just a nightmare. 

You wanted to wake up. You didn’t want to believe this was real. Not after everything you had done to adjust to this new life. Not after leaving the island to start fresh. 

You had left everything behind. Everyone. 

For a life with your baby. 

You had wanted this baby. Even with your initial doubts, you had wanted it. And for what? To have it taken from you? 

Your eyes shut tight as your hand clenched the phone and your other hand pressed harder against your belly. You wished the pain would stop, that the ache—so reminiscent of a menstrual cramp—would just go away. 

Only days ago, you’d noticed your belly start to show, a tiny swell that made you smile. You had cradled it with your hands, talked to it, even though you didn’t care if it could hear. You wanted it to know you were there. Just a few days ago, you’d been excited about buying clothes for it. 

For this? 

For it to be taken away? 

When you finally opened your eyes, the only sound in the room was the ticking of the clock. You wanted to block it out. You wanted the sensation in your legs to disappear. For a moment, you convinced yourself it was all in your head. But the warm trickle that followed was a harsh slap of reality. 

Your trembling eyes drifted downward. The sight of the blood pooled on the floor knocked the breath out of you. Your heart skipped, as if an elephant had perched on your chest. Your legs gave way. Falling to the floor hurt, but it was nothing compared to the pain in your chest. 

You had never seen them. They’d only been with you for five months, but the thought of that bond breaking—of losing them—felt like your heart was being ripped out. 

When you love something so deeply, does it always have to be taken away? Is that just the way life works? Had everything led to this moment? 

Had you fought with your family, with Rafe, for this? Had you left your entire life behind, moved to this town, just to lose your baby? 

Even your family had started to share your joy. They were thrilled for you, as ecstatic as you were. And now, for what? For this? 

Were you supposed to mourn?

To learn a lesson, did you really have to fall this hard? You hated it. You didn’t want to learn any more lessons. Not if they hurt this much. If growth meant falling like this, you were ready to stay exactly the same—stagnant, unchanging, and safe. 

The moment you felt a fragment of clarity, just enough to push panic aside, you called 911. You couldn’t afford to lose more time. It felt like your mind had snapped back into place, even if only temporarily. 

But you had no idea what you were saying. Your words felt foreign, disjointed, even as you tried to describe what was happening. They assured you they’d come to your home. They told you not to hang up.

Then you realized—you needed to call your family. You needed them with you. Right now, you just wanted to be back in Outer Banks, in your own house, surrounded by the people who had always been there for you. 

If you were there, you wouldn’t feel this crushing loneliness. They would be by your side. 

You didn’t even know how many times you tried. Your fingers repeatedly dialed your mom’s number, then your dad’s, over and over again. Each time, you were met with the same recorded message: unreachable. 

Still, you kept calling, clinging to that faint hope that someone, anyone, would answer. But each attempt ended the same way, the monotone voice echoing the same result. 

And then, without thinking, your fingers moved on their own. They dialed his number. In that moment, you didn’t care about shame or pride. All that mattered was that you needed help. You needed Rafe. Even if the chance was slim, even if it was just a sliver of hope, you needed him to answer. 

As the phone rang, your heart pounded so violently it felt like it would burst out of your chest. Each ring amplified the fragile hope blooming inside you. Your lips moved as if uttering a prayer: “Please pick up.” You needed someone—anyone—to be there, to tell you that everything was going to be okay. Tears streamed down your face as the call rang on, unanswered.

He wouldn’t ignore you, you told yourself. He wouldn’t turn you away. He’d come. You knew he would. He had to. You prayed he wasn’t still angry, that he didn’t hate you for not terminating the pregnancy. 

When the call ended without an answer, you didn’t stop. Your trembling hands hit redial without hesitation. Shame and pride were irrelevant now. You needed him. If he wouldn’t come, you needed him to reach your family. You were utterly alone otherwise. 

Alone. The word echoed like a hollow drumbeat in your chest. 

For a moment, time seemed to stop. The racing of your heart, the chaotic swirl of your thoughts, even your tears—all stilled in the suffocating silence of your own helplessness. But you didn’t give up. You called again. And again. Your trembling fingers barely functioned, struggling to tap the screen. But you kept trying.

Fuck pride. You needed help. You needed someone by your side, someone to hold you, someone to tell you it wasn’t the end. Your lips quivered as you let out a stifled sob. “Please…” When the call went to voicemail yet again, your shoulders shook with the weight of another unanswered prayer. 

Wasn’t this his baby too? Didn’t it matter to him? You hadn’t made this baby alone. Surely he would care. You didn’t need him to grieve with you. You just needed him here. And he would come. Rafe was a lot of things, but when it came down to it, he wouldn’t leave you stranded. 

Not you. 

You had to believe that. You clung to that hope like a lifeline, begging for it to still be true. 

Another sob tore through you, reverberating through the empty room. This time, it came from somewhere so deep inside that it left your chest heavy, crushed under the weight of despair. You prayed he’d answer.

You weren’t strong enough to endure this. 

You didn’t want to do this alone. You fought to steady your trembling lips, desperate to string together the words you’d need to say if he picked up—when he picked up. But once again, the line went dead.

This time, it felt like a door slamming in your face. But it wasn’t just rejection—it was the crumbling of a trust you hadn’t even realized you still held onto. Deep down, you had truly believed he would answer. That he’d help you. That he wouldn’t leave you to face this on your own. 

As the silence deepened, your hands fell to the cold floor, sticky with blood. You didn’t even care. You felt like everything you wanted, everything you’d dreamed of, was slipping through your fingers. Did you not deserve happiness? Had you done something so wrong to deserve this? 

You wanted to scream. To set the house on fire, to rip apart the tiny baby clothes you’d just bought. 

You nearly buried your face in your hands, but the sight of blood on your fingers stopped you. Frantically, you wiped them on your nightgown, trying to erase it. You wanted it gone—needed it gone. You wanted to forget everything that had happened today. 

The phone was still in your hand, your fingers gripping it like it held a flicker of hope. Rafe hadn’t answered. Your family hadn’t answered. Their silence only pushed you deeper into yourself. Your tears began to dry, replaced by a hollow ache gnawing at your insides. 

After your final attempt, you let the screen go dark. The reflection of your tear-streaked face stared back at you from the blackened screen, ghostly and unfamiliar. Your lips still trembled with silent cries, your voice barely audible even to yourself. 

Then, the phone buzzed. The unexpected vibration made you flinch. The screen lit up, and your heart stuttered before racing into overdrive. A message. 

When you saw the name, a fraction of the emptiness lifted. JJ. His name sat there like it belonged, as if the chaos hadn’t touched it. You opened the message, holding your breath. 

How’s it going with your new street animal buddies? Found yourself a soulmate yet?

It was stupid. Ridiculous. But somehow, in all its absurdity, that sarcastic tone cracked something open inside you. A tiny window of light broke through the storm. 

And yet, the relief was fleeting. Looking at the message, then back at the blood pooling on the floor, your emotions surged in a tangle of anger, helplessness, and unrelenting fear. 

You needed him. Right now. Without thinking, your trembling fingers scrolled back to his name.

The name on the screen made your eyes well up. JJ. So ordinary, so simple. Yet, at that moment, it felt like your only tether to life. He’d come. He would, wouldn’t he? 

With trembling hands, you pressed the call button. As you held the phone to your ear, the silence was broken only by the erratic pounding of your heart. Each ring sent a jolt of panic through you—what if he didn’t answer? “Please…” you whispered, barely audible. “Please pick up…”

It felt like you were losing your mind. Was this real? Had he really sent that message? 

“Hey, Princess. I noticed we’ve upped the calls lately. Can’t manage without me, huh—”

The distant sound of sirens reached your ears, and your lips quivered. Even JJ’s voice, with its usual cocky tone, felt like an anchor. Just hearing him talk, hearing that familiar teasing edge—it was everything. It made you feel as if you’d already done all you could. 

“I need you here.” 

The words came out shakily, and there was a pause on the other end of the line. One hand rested in your lap, the other gripping the phone, both stained with blood. 

To be honest, you were terrified. Not just about what might happen but about losing the baby. 

“What’s wrong?” His voice had lost its playful tone, replaced with a sharp seriousness. He was waiting for an answer, but you felt too drained, too scared, to put your fears into words. Saying the possibility of a miscarriage out loud felt impossible. 

How did he always know? How could he tell when you needed him the most? Was he like this with everyone, or just you? 

When he said your name, you tried to take a deep breath, but it came out broken and shallow. The sirens were getting closer. “I’m bleeding.” The weight of the words nearly crushed you as they left your lips, leaving you lightheaded—not from pain, but from the sheer gravity of it. 

You were so used to him being there. The idea of him leaving, of him not being there, was unbearable. “I called everyone, but—”

“I’m on the way. Did you call 911? Listen, I’ll be there, okay? Don’t worry. I’ll get there as fast as I can. You’ll be fine. You’re going to be fine. I’ll meet you at the hospital. Okay? I need you to say something.” His words were quick, determined, unwavering. 

You nodded instinctively, even though you knew he couldn’t see it. Even if this was your fate, you didn’t want to accept it. 

“I’m scared.” A sob escaped your lips as the sirens grew louder. They were on your street. 

“I’m coming. Everything’s going to be okay.”

—

Last night was ordinary. A night that fell short of expectations—not that Rafe knew what he was expecting anymore. He had become a ghost of himself, far from anything resembling pride. 

Had he ever been proud of himself, really? 

He couldn’t focus on the future or the present; he was stuck in the past. 

His eyes had searched for you everywhere. There wasn’t a corner of the Outer Banks he hadn’t roamed. The beach, parties, the country club—he’d scoured them all, just to catch a glimpse of you. 

He even shopped at the grocery store near your house, the one far from his own. Almost every day, he’d find himself there, grabbing a drink, some crackers, whatever he could justify, just to linger for a chance to see you. 

He missed your presence. Your scent. 

He missed the moments in bed with you—not the sex, but the times he held you in his arms, kissed you, and just existed in your warmth. He missed looking into your eyes, the overwhelming urge to tell you he loved you. 

But Rafe was a coward. He couldn’t admit that to anyone, not even himself. And you? You already knew. You didn’t need to hear it from anyone. 

He hadn’t told his father. He hadn’t told anyone—Topper, Kelce, Sarah, even Wheezie. Not that anyone else could really understand. 

You were the only one who truly knew him. And he’d lost you. Because he was a coward. 

He missed the sound of your voice. If he could go back, he’d want you to talk more in those old videos. He’d spend hours talking to you if he had the chance again. 

He couldn’t adjust to your absence. 

When he threw himself into alcohol, he didn’t think much about it. When had he ever truly sat down and thought anything through? All he knew was how to make impulsive decisions that wrecked his life. 

He couldn’t stand Topper and Kelce’s phases of chasing random girls, calling them over, laughing at nothing. Rafe’s mind, body, and soul belonged to you. He couldn’t bring himself to touch or even look at anyone else. 

Every time he closed his eyes, every time he tried to sleep, the only image in his head was your face. 

He hadn’t touched another woman. Not that he tried. He knew he couldn’t. It wouldn’t be the same. They wouldn’t be you. 

There was a time when he thrived on quick, meaningless flings. He hated attachments—blamed it on his childhood. He figured it was because he didn’t know what it meant to make love. He never let emotions into it. But with you, it was different. 

It was intoxicating—better than anything drugs had ever made him feel. It was addictive. 

He loved whispering “I love you” while he was with you. It made him feel like less of the mess he knew he was. But even then, he hadn’t said it enough—like the idiot he was. 

You had been gone from his life for almost four months, and the void was unbearable. Not even when he’d tried to quit drugs had he craved their presence the way he craved yours. 

It was like he was a teenager nursing his first heartbreak. And yet, somehow, this was the mildest punishment he thought he deserved for his cowardice. 

He’d worked so hard to get Ward’s approval, to finally be seen by his father. Ward was noticing him now, for the first time. He could see Rafe’s potential, and Rafe knew it. For once, it wasn’t Sarah he was looking at—it was him. 

For the first time, Ward saw Rafe accomplishing something for Cameron Development. For the first time, Rafe gave his father the impression that he was capable of more. After years of begging for attention, Rafe was finally getting it. 

But it had cost him you. 

He couldn’t bear the thought of losing his father’s approval. He couldn’t face that rejection again. Ward had finally placed a hand on his shoulder, and Rafe didn’t want to feel that hand pulled away. 

He hadn’t wanted to lose you, either. That was never part of the plan. It just… happened. Too fast. And he’d been too scared. 

Scared of seeing that disappointment in his father’s eyes again. 

Everyone around him noticed his spiraling depression, even Topper and Kelce. Though he never opened up to them, they could tell something was wrong. If they noticed, then everyone else must’ve, too. Not that Rafe cared. Nobody dared bring it up to him anyway. 

Under Topper and Kelce’s relentless pressure, he found himself at a party. Not to have fun. Not to let loose. But to see you. He spent the night searching for you, glancing around like you might walk in at any second. 

He looked for your old friends, the ones he’d seen you with before. He hoped you’d be there, even though he knew it was unlikely. You were pregnant. You probably wouldn’t come. But the possibility, however slim, was enough to drag him there. 

That same possibility kept him shopping near your place, day after day. 

For the chance of you. 

The more he didn’t see you, the more he drank, as if alcohol could drown out the ache. Nothing could fill the emptiness you left behind, but he still clung to his glass, hoping—maybe if he drank enough, he’d hallucinate you. 

He didn’t know how much he drank. It didn���t even feel like a party. Topper and Kelce flirted and joked with girls, but Rafe didn’t bother looking their way. He just drank and searched. 

You were the one who used to go to parties with him. You were his girl. And Rafe? He was yours. It wasn’t an open relationship; he wouldn’t have shared you with anyone. 

You used to pull him onto the dance floor. He’d groan and complain at first, but you always got your way. And once he gave in, he didn’t hate it. Not when he was touching you. He loved every moment he could hold you. 

Even now, he could hear your voice in his head, persuading him to dance. Him pretending to resist. You insisting, until he finally caved. What an idiot he’d been. He should’ve just said yes every time. Done anything you asked. 

His regrets were endless. His self-loathing, boundless. For being such a coward. For being a failure, yet again. 

You had believed in him, even when he didn’t believe in himself. Your faith in him had given him the courage to ask his father for opportunities, small as they were. And with you, he’d felt like he’d succeeded, just a little. 

Now he hated himself for choosing his father’s approval over you—and the baby. 

The thought of you moving on, raising a child without him, was unbearable. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw you with your swollen belly, or playing with your child—his child. And the thought of not being there... 

He hated himself for fearing his father more than losing you. For crawling for scraps of his father’s affection like some pathetic creature. 

Which he was. 

And now, for the rest of his life, he would hate this moment—and himself—for choosing so poorly. 

Rafe thought he’d made it home thanks to Topper and Kelce. He vaguely remembered stumbling through the front door and collapsing into Wheezie’s arms. The idea that the tiny girl could hold him up was almost laughable. Somehow, he’d managed to make it to his room.

Wheezie had laid him down on his bed before leaving. You’d have to be an idiot not to notice something was wrong. She knew her brother too well. She hadn’t seen him this quiet, this withdrawn, in a long time.

You were always there with him.

When you were around, Wheezie could hear your laughter coming from Rafe’s room. Even when Rafe was being his usual insufferable self, you made him bearable. She never thought he had that side to him. Frankly, she wasn’t even sure it existed until you came along.

When Rafe opened his eyes the next morning, a sharp, pounding headache greeted him like a cruel companion. The remnants of last night’s party echoed in his skull. Sitting up in bed, hungover and disoriented, fragments of the night before started to drift back into focus—crowds, noise, laughter. The sunlight filtering through the curtains hit him square in the face, intensifying the pain. All he wanted was to throw up and stay in bed for the rest of the day.

He didn’t remember much, just that he went to the party and drank like it was his last night on Earth. Alcohol had been a more reliable friend than Topper or Kelce that night.

Rubbing his hands over his face, he tried to shake off the fog. The smell—his own and the room’s—was rancid, like a stale cocktail of sweat and regret.

He kicked off the covers, intending to get up, when his eyes landed on a single pill and a glass of water sitting on the bedside table. Without thinking, he swallowed the pill and drained the glass.

Stumbling to the window, he threw it open, letting fresh air seep in. He took a quick shower, practically praying for relief from the headache that felt like it was splitting his skull in two. The cold water shocked his system, but it wasn’t enough. He wanted to crawl into a dark room and hide there for a week.

Out of the shower, he wrapped a towel around his neck and caught a glimpse of his reflection. Dark circles framed his eyes, his face bore the fatigue of a man who hadn’t truly rested in years. The weight pressing down on him wasn’t just from the alcohol; it was everything else. Everything he’d tried to suppress. “You really are a master at screwing things up,” he muttered bitterly at himself.

His gaze drifted around the room—clothes tossed haphazardly on the bed, an empty bottle lying on the floor, a lighter on the nightstand. Even the carpet under his feet made his skin crawl. He needed to pull himself together, maybe eat something, grab a coffee. But first, his phone.

It sat there on the edge of the table, an unspoken threat. Reaching for it, a wave of unease washed over him. He didn’t know who he’d talked to, what he’d said, or worse, what he’d texted. His fingers trembled as he picked it up and unlocked the screen.

Notifications flooded in—group chats, Instagram likes—and then, there they were. Three missed calls.

From you.

His breath hitched. He stared at the screen, the timestamp mocking him. Midnight. One after the other. His thumb hovered over the call log, uncertainty gripping him. Why had you called? 

And why at midnight?

It couldn’t be. Not you. Not after everything. You never made the first move, especially not in the middle of the night. 

For a moment, he considered calling you back. His thumb ghosted over your name. Should he? Maybe. Or maybe not. What if it led to the same arguments—about the baby, about why you didn’t want to stay, about why he let you go? He could still feel the weight of everything left unsaid between you, haunting him like a shadow.

He dropped the phone back onto the table, running his hands through his hair. Deep down, he knew these questions were rhetorical. No matter how hard he tried to convince himself otherwise, he hadn’t stopped thinking about you—or the life you might’ve had together.

Rising from the bed, he moved to his closet, grabbing the first shirt he saw. A hollow ache settled in his chest as he debated whether to call. The courage he’d relied on last night felt a thousand miles away.

Just then, the phone buzzed. Another notification. His heart skipped. Was it you? No. Someone else. But the fleeting hope that it might’ve been you twisted something inside him.

Setting the phone down again, he took a deep breath. *Calm down,* he told himself. But calming down was impossible. The unease coiled tighter, mixing guilt and longing into a cocktail of misery.

Without thinking too much, he hit your name and let the call go through. The ringing filled the room, amplifying his heartbeat. What if you were asleep? What if he woke you? He hated the idea of disturbing you.

The line clicked off before you answered. His worry deepened. What if something had happened to you? His fingers hovered, then dialed again, this time with more urgency.

The second call rang longer. Each tone ratcheted up his anxiety. And then, finally, the line connected. 

“Hey,” Your voice was quiet, cautious.

For a moment, Rafe’s words stuck in his throat. He tried to speak, but it felt like someone had stolen his voice. Finally, he managed, “Hey… uh, you called me?”

It sounded weak, tentative. But hearing your voice, even like this, sent a pang straight through him. He missed you more than he could put into words.

A pause. The silence stretched, making him wonder if you were about to hang up. Then you answered, “I was drunk.”

The words hit him like a slap. Drunk? That was it? Just a drunk dial? The thought made his stomach twist. Was it really that meaningless?

“Are you okay?” he asked, this time more firmly, though it took everything not to press harder.

“I’m fine.” But your tone was too quick, too dismissive. He knew you better than that. He could always tell when you were lying. But he didn’t push. Maybe he didn’t want to know the truth.

“Alright,” he said, not knowing what else to say. He wanted to keep you on the line, to hear more, to find some excuse to hold onto this moment.

“Okay,” you said, your voice faltering briefly before you caught yourself. “I have to go.”

And just like that, the call ended. The short beep that followed felt like a final blow, sealing the unbearable silence around him.

Rafe stared at the phone. Drunk. The word echoed in his head. It collided with another thought, one that sent a chill through him. Did she…?

Had you gone through with it? The decision he’d pushed you toward but never truly wanted? He’d convinced himself it was the right thing to do, but now the thought made his chest tighten unbearably.

He slumped back into his chair, burying his face in his hands. He didn’t know how to feel—relief, regret, or something else entirely. But one thing was clear: he hadn’t stopped loving you. And that realization hit him harder than anything else.

He glanced at the phone one last time. Your name was still there on the screen, a painful reminder of everything he’d lost. 

He thought about texting you but stopped. No words felt right. Maybe silence was all he deserved. After all, what was left to say when you’d already walked away for good?