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lo1k-diamonds · 9 months ago

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How to Choose a Valentine 💜

PAIRING: idol!Jungkook x You (You can also read it on AO3)

SUMMARY: Who knew the best company for Valentine's Day would be a lovely Doberman? And who knew he'd get you a Valentine? Well, sort of.

WORD COUNT: 4.3k

GENRE: fluff and light angst

RATING: Teen (for cussing and drinking)

WARNINGS: drinking, kissing and making out while drunk (consensual), hangover, lapses of memory, misunderstandings, JK handles everything well, Bam is the center of this story, the cutest baby, and maybe a cupid, should fill your 💜 with fluff but wdik

A.N. I wasn't even supposed to write this. This is what happens when I wake up at 4 AM and can't sleep. Then I think, Hmm, I read lots of lovely fics yesterday about Valentine's Day. What would I do if I wrote one? X hours later, here we are. I just roll with it at this point, it's almost a way to deal with writer's block 😅 Enjoy 💜

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You snorted at the reel playing on your phone while your hand petted gently between the black Doberman’s ears. One girl smashed the phone camera while repeating ‘Girls don’t want flowers for Valentine’s Day’, while another immediately shyly said that yes, she’d like flowers. You scrolled; another of a guy guiding his significant other over a trail of petals; you scrolled, another of a guy explaining how he asked a girl to become his Valentine. Another, with the type of girls on Valentine’s Day and you smirked. Which one were you? Definitely not the spoiled girlfriend, you were single. Not heartbroken, you hadn’t dated for a while, or a heartbreaker. You chuckled; the only guy in your life at the moment was that sweet Doberman sleeping on your lap and you weren’t about to break his darling heart.

The next options were single and fine with it, anti-Valentine’s Day, and Galentine’s Girl. You supposed you were fine with it but had hoped not to spend it alone, hence why you were at your best friend’s apartment. What you thought could be a day of eating and having fun together turned into dog-sitting because she needed that favor. Something along the lines of the usual sitter being ill and her needing to find someone to do it, and you were available.

You could think of more depressing ways of spending your day. You put your phone down and petted the short fur between the dog’s closed eyes, knowing he was utterly relaxed under your touch. He was the cutest thing and you had a blast walking and playing with him all day. You checked his training and he was responsive, though testy of the limits, and you made sure he understood that he had to listen to you. During your second walk, he behaved so well and was rewarded so much that you thought he wouldn’t have an appetite for dinner, but he surprised you. And now he was sleeping soundly and you didn’t want to get up, but it was time for your own dinner. Maybe you could cook something up for you and—

Your phone buzzed and you checked it; speaking of the devil.

[It’s taking longer than expected so I’ll eat here. Treat yourself sorry see you soon! 💜]

You sighed. In the end, you were going to spend it with that cutie as your Valentine. You stretched your arms and shoulders, pressing your fingers to your neck before gaining the courage to slide under the Doberman. He wasn’t pleased and adjusted his head to get back on your thigh.

“No, Bamie. I gotta eat something, come on.”

You slid again and turned on the TV as background noise before getting to the kitchen and checking your best friend’s fridge. You decided to eat a bit of everything that you could find and got set to eat on the sofa in front of the TV. Not even five minutes in, you became sort of annoyed — stupid Valentine’s Day ads. You told Bam firmly not to even think about snatching your food before you focused on streaming something instead. A corny and sweet romcom should be fun.

And you had dinner as you laughed and cried with it until a scene came up where the main character cried her sorrows over a bottle of soju and you thought, Why not? You had nothing planned the next day, at least you could have a drink.

You started with a single soju bottle, but as the episodes played and the night passed, you didn’t stop. Eventually, there were empty bottles of beer and soju and you were feeling dizzy, despite being sat down on the couch. Your last reasonable thought was to turn off the TV, the only source of light in the room, before holding on to Bam as if he were a pillow and falling asleep.

It was the sound of bottles clicking that disturbed your sleep, and your instinct was to wrap your arms closer around the fluffy dog, “Bam.”

He was wiggling his tail like crazy, and in your haze, you connected that to the bottles falling over. Not to the extra dip on the other side of the chaise longue.

Perhaps it was the fact that you heard your best friend’s voice in the distance that relaxed you, not quite registering that it disappeared after the front door closed. It was only when a different scent hit your nose that you started connecting the pieces: Bam was squeezed between you and someone else, their hand touched your arm ever so slightly while they petted him, and that musky scent was from a man.

You opened your eyes, confused by your conclusions, but not at the top of your game — a quick nap was not enough to make you sober.

“Who are you?”

Bam’s tail kept wiggling as he seemed busy facing opposite from you, looking at the person who answered you, “Who are you?”

He sounded sleepy and you couldn’t see him properly. The city lights from the window were enough but you were still too hazy.

“I asked first,” you voiced, rubbing your eyes. He didn’t seem willing to respond quickly enough, but you could feel him still petting Bam, so you sulked. You wrapped your arms around the pet harder, “Bamie is mine!”

Instantly, a new set of arms did the same and tried to steal him away, “No, he’s not! I’m his dad!”

“And I’m his mom!” The man scoffed and you raised your chin proudly. “Don’t believe me? Look.”

You let go of Bam and scanned around, seeing where you could put your feet safely in between the bottles. Then you got up and walked a bit unsteadily across the living room, standing next to the window. You could see the shape of the man all in black, including his hair, looking at you from his comfortable position with the sweet Bam happily smelling around.

He could see your expression, your baggy tee shirt falling over you and covered with cartoons, but he only cared about Bam staying in his arms. Because of course, he would.

“Bam!”

He gasped when Bam jumped from his embrace to get to you, frantically wiggling his whole body before lying on his back over your feet. He gaped as his Doberman showed his belly, happily licking your face and squirming under your belly rubs.

“Such a good boy,” you cooed, grinning from ear to ear.

Then you straightened up and snapped your fingers and Bam got up too, easily following you back on the couch and splaying himself belly up in between you and the man.

“There you go,” you murmured, scratching his belly and up his chest much to Bam’s delight.

It was when Bam squirmed that his snout ended up under the man’s chin and you saw him clearly for the first time. Then he spoke and you smiled.

You woke up with a groan, drool all over the pillow, and a headache to make you want to run for the hills. But then you sat up, confusion still scrambling your brain as you eyed the bedroom.

“Bam?”

You waited but the sound of paws scratching the floor didn't grace your ears, so you got up from bed and searched for him. You looked everywhere, calling for him every few seconds, but he didn’t come out and you couldn’t seem to find him. In fact, there was no one else at home but you, which made you befuddled — where was your best friend?

Your hangover was deadly, it was trying to pull you down with a headache the size of the world. And so you beelined to the bathroom and stripped hastily to get your head under the water and try to wake up gently.

But there was no gentleness to be found when suddenly you remember something — there was a man. Yes, but— You— kissed?

Suddenly, you were flooded with the memories of you kissing, his gentle hand cupping your jaw, your trembling breath when your tongues touched. The foreign thing that ended up being a lip ring that you felt with your tongue. The way the kiss deepened, and your legs got tangled even beyond sweet Bam lying in between you.

You were hyperventilating, “What?!”

You did what?!

Did you kiss a random man? On your best friend’s couch in the middle of the night? Or did you hallucinate him because of the alcohol?

Suddenly, it came to you — he tasted of beer, and you told him as much.

You felt him smile against your lips, “And you taste of strawberry soju.”

You remembered chuckling before kissing him again, burying your fingers into slightly overgrown strands of hair that curled around your hand.

You rubbed your face under the water; you kissed him. You were both drunk, and you couldn’t remember everything, but you pressed your lips to—

You stopped breathing.

You were feeling his shoulders and pulling him close when Bam started licking both your faces, which made you both break away and laugh.

“I have to pee,” you had said, getting up.

Before you could be mortified about having said that to a random guy, you recognized that after you went to the bathroom, you forgot about getting back to the couch. Instead, you went to bed on autopilot and fell asleep. Because you were that drunk.

Well, thankfully. Otherwise, what could have ended up happening? You were not in your right mind, you could barely remember his face aside from his eyes and lip ring. You were crazy, nuts, and shouldn’t drink that much again.

You got out of the shower and got dressed quickly with more lenient thoughts. Since only kissing happened, it was okay. No harm no foul.

Your stomach was adding to the problem, but you still decided to take headache medicine before your phone buzzed and you grabbed it.

[Meet me at work and have breakfast with me?]

You agreed and got your stuff to go to her. The subway trip was twenty minutes but it was alright at that hour. The HYBE building was in a very busy area, so to already have a direct line there was a blessing.

You gave your name at the reception to get a visitor pass and went to the floor she indicated, smiling when you saw it was a cafeteria with breakfast all around.

She met you at the door and walked you through it before sitting down and watching you eat your broth carefully.

“Lots of people need caring for this morning. Funny what Valentine’s Day does to some people,” she was amused, though her expression screamed exhaustion. “If they’re in couple they drink together, if they’re single they drink alone. There’s no escape, is there?”

You were looking down apologetically until you could talk, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into me. I… raided your fridge.”

She sighed, “I know, I saw the bottles on the floor. Hence why you’re here, to have a power breakfast.”

“What happened yesterday? Why didn’t you come home?”

Your best friend heaved a deep breath, her spirit hanging on by a thread, “My artist went to a friend's dinner last night and got drunk. I got his driver to get him home but they had an accident,” she sighed. Your eyes widened in alarm, but she raised her hand swiftly, “They’re both alright. This all to say that after my meeting got lost into late hours, instead of going home, I had to go and manage that situation.”

“That sucks…” You thought back to the previous night, unsure of how to introduce the topic.

“By the way, thank you for taking care of Bam. My artist and I really appreciated it—”

She was interrupted when a spot of black dashed for you, barking the instant you took a second to acknowledge his presence. You instantly smiled despite the horrid headache the noise was making and reached to pet him.

“No, Bam! No eating!”

“It’s not the food,” your best friend pointed out jokingly, dismissing the manager nearby who tried to admonish the pet.

You were happy to give him all the cuddles that were making him go crazy and whiny; you were happy to see him again too. It instantly pulled memories from the previous night into your mind and you wondered again how to bring it up with your best friend when a voice interrupted your thoughts.

“Bam.”

Bam was licking your hand happily, yet instantly darted away at the call, and you knew before you looked up. It was him. You recognized the longer hair you had gripped, the lip ring, and the eyes. The sweet yet searing eyes.

He got near your table and bowed to you both before starting a light talk with your best friend about the schedule for the day.

And you blinked, wondering why his eyes set on your best friend’s face, or rather why the whole situation felt like a gut punch. He must have been the artist your best friend was referring to, the one she managed. You wouldn’t know, she was secretive about who it was. But the way he was ignoring you couldn’t be mistaken. He didn’t acknowledge you more than that bow, but why would he? You knew who he was.

The moment your lips grazed in a slow kiss while his hand gently supported your jaw came to mind and you blinked in astonishment. You couldn't believe it happened. Even as you remembered opening your eyes the moment he pulled away a few inches to breathe and looked straight into your eyes. It was impossible. Even if you were both drunk, how—

“Excuse me.” The three of you turned to the lady in uniform. “No pets are allowed in the cafeteria,” she bowed respectfully.

It was easy for you to get up, “I’ll take Bam to the rooftop garden.”

You grabbed his leash from the man’s hand without touching him and he let it go, a bit startled. Not that you noticed; you stepped away and called for Bam, who followed you swiftly.

Jungkook stayed behind, eyes still on you leaving with his dog until you were out of sight.

“She’ll take good care of him.”

He turned back to his manager and nodded, “I know.”

His manager was ready to use every argument she had to convince him, so she chuckled, “Funny how yesterday you were borderline going nuts over a stranger taking care of him and now you’re so relaxed.”

He nodded and looked back at where you disappeared with his Bam. You were not a stranger.

“What’s that look?” She asked, eyebrows furrowing ever so lightly.

He pressed his lips and nibbled a bit on his lip ring, but then looked back at her, “When you left me at your place… something happened.”

A mix of fear and ‘oh no’ crossed his manager's face and he sat across from her where you had sat before, ignoring your tray and half-eaten food.

“We were both drunk,” he started, expecting her not to believe him, but she just nodded. “And Bam loves her. We just—” He filled his lungs with air, pushing it back out anxiously as his tattooed hand ran across his hair, “We joked around that I was Bam’s dad and she was his mom. Then, that we were both alone, nowhere close to having a Valentine, and that maybe Bam was our cupid. Instead of meeting and making a baby, the baby— made us—” He became crimson and hid his eyes for a second, then he faced her again, “We were drunk!”

“You said that,” she deadpanned firmly. She was his manager, she needed to know things in black and white. He knew that.

“So we joked. Maybe we should get together, and we kissed.”

Her eyes doubled in size, “Oh no, you didn’t!”

“We just kissed!”

Her features hardened, “Tell me right now. Tell me the truth.”

“It’s the truth! I swear, we kissed— for a while—” His ears were becoming red, “And then she went to the bathroom and I fell asleep.” His manager’s expression had not changed a millimeter, and his eyes became pleading. “You have to believe me. You woke me up and I was alone with Bam.”

“That’s true,” she acknowledged, finally heaving a breath. “Shit, this is my fault. Leave two drunk people alone, and see what happens.”

He frowned, “I don’t just go around kissing people, even when I’m drunk.”

She faced him, “That is also true.” It seemed clear to her, so he relaxed. “So what happened? Why did you kiss her?”

He blinked with wide eyes, startled by the question. “I… I don’t know.”

He looked down, containing the urge to look back at where you had left with his pet. He didn’t even know your name, he knew nothing except that Bam loved you and you tasted sweet.

His manager waited for a proper response, for any additional information. But when none came, she knew what she had to do. She sighed, “Well. I’ll have to contact our lawyers and draft an NDA. She’s my best friend”, she confessed, rubbing her eyes for a second. “Shit,” was all she expressed before getting up and rushing out.

Jungkook pressed his lips and let her leave. He was confused about the situation, about his actions. He knew so little… Why did he think it was enough?

He put away the trays you and his manager had used while he pondered this. In a way, Bam’s heart meant everything to him. The way Jungkook loved him was unexplainable, he was the only soul in the world he could ever love in such a way. His innocence and instinct were enough, and he listened to you like he only ever listened to Jungkook himself. That shouldn’t have been enough, but it was.

And he was drunk, he sighed, leaving the room. It was his fault, he knew that. He shouldn’t kiss people irresponsibly like that, and now his manager was in a tough spot.

He decided to head for the rooftop and sort this out with you. He didn’t know what to say, but he thought maybe it didn’t have to be a big deal. You two just did it and it was… freeing. There were no inhibitions or second thoughts. It was playful and innocent, and then your lips touched. He didn’t know it would feel like that, he hadn’t thought it through. But it felt so good. It created shivers, made him hot, curious, awake, alive. He had no questions, no doubts, it was like jumping out of an airplane and freefalling. It was like the wind was guiding him to fit together with you, there was nothing in him telling him to fight it.

He got to the rooftop and immediately saw you across the garden sitting on a bench with his manager, and your best friend, next to you. Bam saw him too and raised his head and ears, but he was busy grabbing a stick that had just fallen on the floor and bringing it back to you. Jungkook could have expected him to drop everything to greet him, but Bam didn’t.

His manager was explaining something to you and your eyes were glued to the floor, expression closed except for the line between your eyebrows. Only when Bam brought you back the stick and you threw it again, did you look up. Jungkook was walking closer yet slowly, not meaning to intrude, and you had thrown the stick almost right into his path. That was why Bam happily gave it to him instead, and he crouched to pet his baby while his eyes stayed on you.

Your eyes turned away when you said something. He couldn’t hear it from there, but he knew the words out of your mouth were cold. He recognized his manager trying to have you reconsider or change your mind, but your eyebrows drew closer as you bit something back and just got up and away.

You didn’t look at him as you walked in his direction towards the exit. You planned to pass by him without a word, a mix of emotions inside you that you preferred not to address. And yet Bam was what forced you to change your mind when he lit up at your presence. He looked for a pet from your hand and you immediately halted, unable to punish that sweet pup because of his dad.

Still, the words slipped the seam of your lips somewhat bitterly, “Are you a baby?”

“What?” He blinked, eyes wide as he straightened up.

“You kiss someone and your first instinct is to threaten them with NDAs?” You were frowning with a hint of contempt, but your eyes were glistening. You continued before he could say anything, “I won’t sign it. I don’t care what any of you think, this isn’t normal. You regret it? Fine, but then act like a fucking adult.”

He was at a loss for words and movement behind you had him glancing, and so you turned. Your best friend had a serious expression on her, something you imagined was her work persona. Well, too bad you had no sympathy for it.

“No,” you raised a hand before she could say something. “You’re doing your job, and I’m standing up for my principles. I’ll go to your place and get my stuff.”

You passed by him at a hastened pace and the second he turned to say, “Wait!”, the heavy glass door was already closing behind you, muffling every trace of a sound.

He turned to his manager then, seeing the tiredness, sadness, and frustration all over her face as she heaved a deep sigh and hid the tears in her eyes.

His lips twitched with a question, but she spoke instead, “She thinks I’m choosing my job over her.”

“But you’re not,” he instantly said, confused. “This isn’t necessary.”

She sighed, “I’ll deal with this, ok? Get to your shoot.”

She also passed by him quickly inside and Jungkook looked at Bam, who was lying on the floor chewing on the stick with a hard focus. Why were they so eager to get anything done without a proper conversation?

He took Bam with him across HYBE and got inside the car with other managers and assistants. They were waiting for him to continue his schedule, chatting about Bam. It would be difficult to have him on the set, but they’d contact a sitter on the way—

“Take me to Manager Kim’s place.”

“What?” His manager frowned, “Now?”

“Yes, now. To drop off Bam,” he offered, though he knew it was a lie. His manager agreed though because he knew Bam had stayed there the previous day, and being late to the shoot was fixed with a simple call giving them a warning and an apology.

Jungkook left the car first, saying that he’d go and come back quickly, and the team agreed, to his relief. He was upstairs in a beat in front of the right door, yet before he could ring the doorbell, the door opened in front of him and something crashed into his chest. His heart jumped and his hands darted to support your arms as you recoiled back, and then you looked up at him. Such beautiful big and expressive eyes, and he knew then he would have wanted to kiss you anyway.

You broke away from his arms and moved to go around him. He didn’t miss your frown, but he didn’t hesitate, “Can we talk?”

“I’m not going to sign it,” you insisted as you turned to him, adjusting your backpack over your shoulder. “But you don’t need to worry, that doesn’t mean I’ll talk about it. I’m not like that.”

He nodded once, “Okay. But that’s not what I want to talk about.”

You paused, “Oh.”

Your features smoothed in confusion and he was happy he caught your attention, “Can we go inside?”

You shrugged but walked back inside. You petted Bam gently between his ears then put your backpack down on the floor. By then, Jungkook had released Bam’s leash and closed the door. The sweet baby darted to the water bowl and your lips curved before his dad drew your attention away.

“I don’t regret it,” he said, and your eyebrows jumped. “You keep saying that, but I don’t. And I didn’t ask Manager Kim to do this either, I suppose it’s standard procedure or something. I wouldn’t know. But she’s just doing her best because she feels responsible.”

You were skeptical, “You wouldn’t know?”

“No.”

You found that hard to believe, but you didn’t insist. It had nothing to do with you. “Why would she feel responsible?”

“Because she’s in charge of me, I guess. Managers tend to feel like that even when we are, in fact, not babies.”

Your lips twitched at his choice of words.

“So don’t get mad at her. After this, I’m going to tell her to stop it. I don’t want this NDA thing, and neither do you. It’s not necessary,” he sighed. He had told his manager that before, but maybe if he insisted, she’d get it.

You nodded.

“And thank you for looking after Bam,” he finished with a smile. The Doberman had jumped on the couch a bit carelessly, but he was calm. “He’s usually nervous around strangers, but he loves you. You might really be his Mom for all he cares,” he smirked, watching as you stepped to the side to pet Bam. “And I wouldn’t… separate him from a person he loves. If you’d like to see him again.”

Your cheeks instantly caught fire as you looked at him. He held your gaze calmly, the only hint of nervousness in his fingers fidgeting. You didn’t think you were misunderstanding him, then.

“I can make time.”

He smiled, “Good.”

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mountttmase · 6 months ago

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If I Lost You

Note - this fic was such a struggle for me but we’re here and we made it 😂 I know I haven’t uploaded in a really long time by my standards so I’d love to know what you guys think and also thank you to my besties for your help on this one, I couldn’t have done it without you 🩷

Pairing - Mason Mount × Reader

Word count - 7k

Warnings - angst and fluff

There was nothing Mason hated more than traffic. Traffic coupled with a later than usual training session was even worse

He’d been sat pretty much stationary for around 20 minutes now, slowly moving every couple of minutes but he hadn’t made it far. Eventually turning his playlist over to the radio so he could listen out for traffic updates but the flashing blue lights up ahead let him know what was happening.

He was right in the thick of it, no option to turn around and go another way, but not close enough to the front to be able to get around it yet and when a few more police cars came up to join the scene he realised it must have been a bad crash.

So he did the only thing he could do and waited. His mind wandering off to far away places that he tried not to visit too often and once he realised he was starting to spiral he quickly switched the radio back over to his playlist so he could distract himself.

It was only around 15 minutes later he’s made it to the front of the line, watching the traffic warden wave a few cars forward at a time to drive into the oncoming lane to get round and soon enough it was his turn.

He knew he shouldn’t have, but there was something making him want to look at the scene as he drove by. Head turning to the left of him to see how bad it was and the sight before him shocked him to the core.

The car was on its side, bonet crushed from hitting a lamppost and he could tell the windows had been broken to get whoever was inside free but after a few seconds the realisation that something was wrong slapped him in the face.

He knew that car. It was yours.

It was the colour that alerted him first. That specific shade of light blue he’d only ever known you to have but as he looked closer he could tell it was the same make and model as yours too. The panic rising up his chest until he thought he might have been sick but the sound of beeping horns shocked him out of his trance.

He couldn’t sit and wait and let himself process anything, the traffic officer waving him forward but it was like he was having an out of body experience. He wanted to get out and find you, the urge to scream your name was on the tip of his tongue but he did as he was told and drove forward, leaving the scene of the crime behind him but he felt too weird to carry on too much longer and pulled into a side street so he could park up and sort himself out.

There wasn’t much he could do, you hadn’t spoken in months and the only other person the pair of you had in common would no doubt tear him a new one if he called asking after you and he also didn’t want to worry everyone if it was nothing. He still needed to do something though and In the end he decided to text you in hopes you’d get back to him soon and settle his mind. You always had your phone in your hand so he knew this was the easiest way to grab your attention and hopefully speak to you.

The rest of the drive home, albeit short, was a nightmare. He couldn’t concentrate on anything and was constantly messing up but he made it back in one piece. Running inside so he could turn the news on immediately, hoping for any sign of what had happened whilst he sat and panicked. Not being able to think about anything other than knowing you were okay.

This was hell, and he hated it. But the way he was feeling for you right now was mostly his own doing.

You’d met Mason a few years ago at the after party for the final of their euros. Your best friend's brother was Rashy and she’d invited you along to watch the final, and although it had ended in heartbreak there was a certain brown eyed boy you and the rest of the world couldn't seem to tear their eyes away from.

You knew it was over for you when he came over to console Marcus, seeing how genuinely kind and concerned he was for his friend made your heart thump and when the pair of you were finally introduced you didn’t miss the way his eyes flickered over you.

He couldn’t stick around too long, needing to get back to his family but you caught eyes a few times throughout the night and when you were at the bar alone he used that as his in to come and speak to you properly.

It was his smile that caught you first, but it was hard not to notice his big brown eyes and musical laugh. In the end standing and chatting until the night was pretty much over and you had to go your separate ways but he gave you his number and made you promise to message him as soon as possible.

You didn’t know what you were expecting from Mason, but what you got was a blossoming friendship and you were more than thankful he was in your life. With you living in Manchester and him in London it was hard to see each other, Mason constantly referring to you as pen pals but you took what you could with him. Going to watch him play at Wembley sometimes and seeing him in the summer or whenever he has some free time for a few days gave you something to look forward to and you loved getting to know him on a deeper level.

It was very much a will they won’t they type of relationship. As much as you adored Mason, you didn’t want things to change and you knew long distance would be hard until just over a year had passed and you decided to take the plunge. The pair of you in Greece with a big group of the other boys and their girlfriends and Mason confessed he hated the thought of maybe seeing you with someone else and was willing to put the work in for you if that’s what you wanted.

And you really did.

Being Mason's girlfriend was everything you thought it could be and more. He was still his cute charming self but you felt free being able to be with him in the way you’d secretly always wanted. Your first kiss being a little awkward but he kept you relaxed and let you go at your own pace. Kissing all over your face until you were ready to try again and now it seemed as if you couldn't get enough of him.

It did come with its own set of challenges though. Being away from each other a lot of the time took its toll and even though when you were together you always made it count, the goodbyes were getting harder and Mason couldn’t stand to see you cry everytime he had to leave again. Or your sad face on FaceTime when you spoke in the evenings when you were apart, wishing he could reach out and touch you but he was never able to give you the comfort he so desperately wanted to.

It was around March of 2023 when it all came crashing down. Mason had a lot on his plate with an injury that wouldn’t go away and Chelsea’s new owners not treating him the way he should have been. You could tell he was more down than usual and planned a trip to go stay with him for a week so he’d have someone to come home to and someone to cuddle after a long day but at first you felt like he didn’t want you there at all.

You still remember the night before he ended it all. It’s like he was back to your Mason for a bit as you made dinner and spoke on the sofa until the early hours until you went up to bed. It was like he held you extra tight that night and whilst you figured it was just because he’d missed you and he’d had a nice night you now wondered if there was more behind it. Maybe thinking he should hold you properly if it was the last time and then out of the blue, he turned your world upside down the next morning.

He tried to give you the usual spiel of it’s not you it’s me and you were about to cuss him out for being so ridiculous but one look at him and you could see how much he was struggling. Telling you he hated that he couldn’t give you what you needed at that it broke him seeing you so down when he already had so much on his plate. You knew he needed to lighten his load, you just hated that it was you that would be cut off.

You didn’t argue with him, it being clear that he couldn’t take it but you spent the rest of your day packing up your stuff into the early evening where he made you stay for one more night so you weren’t driving home in the dark.

You felt stupid, making sure he was okay even though you felt like you were dying inside but you loved Mason and even though this was hurting you more than you could possibly imagine, you kept on a brave face for him. Telling him you’d still be there if he needed you and not to hesitate calling if he needed someone to talk to.

Sleeping in the guest room that night hurt more than anything he’d said to you over the last 24 hours but you remember him coming into your room at around two am as your cries had kept him awake. Holding you and shushing you in hopes you’d get some sleep but it didn’t work and all you wanted was to go back in time and undo everything he’d said but you couldn’t. So you stayed awake and tried to remember what it felt like to hold him, what he smelt like and how his skin felt pressed up against yours.

‘Can we make a deal?’ He whispered all of a sudden and you nodded into his neck in hopes he’d feel it, knowing your voice wouldn’t hold up if you tried to speak. ‘I want you to live your life and forget about me, yeah? Like if you meet someone new I want you to go for it. But in five years time, if we’re both single, do you think we could try again?’

‘I’ll see’ you whispered, knowing he wasn’t happy with that answer by the way he kissed your hairline softly but he let it go. Knowing he didn’t have a leg to stand on after what he was putting you through.

You left the next morning early, him giving you an emotional goodbye on his doorstep but you were ready to go home and be on your own now. Mason asking if you could still be friends and if he could text you and you stupidly agreed before getting away as fast as you could but you only made it one street away before you had to stop for a big cry. Wanting to get it all out before you began your drive home and after 15 minutes you set off again. Your phone going off every so often but you ignored it until you were back in the comfort of your flat and when you saw they were all from Mason you felt sadder than you expected to.

You were curious as to what he’d deleted but you didn’t have the energy to ask so you sent him a quick reply telling him you were fine and going to sleep before taking yourself straight to bed. Too tired to be upset or over think anything and when you woke up the next morning things still hurt but you’d resigned to your fate of being his friend again.

A friend.

So you spoke here and there for a while and even though you were broken it was a fairly easy split. You remained civil and on good terms and it broke you to see how unfairly he was being treated on the field and with his whole contract saga. He kept going though like the Mason you knew and loved but when the news hit he’d had surgery it felt like your world had tumbled upside down.

You felt useless, wanting to help him as much as you could but he was so far away and you’d already used up all your holiday so you did your usual and let him phone you when he needed a chat.

Not too long after his surgery everything seemed to fizzle out. Nothing happened as such but your texts and calls came few and far between until there was nothing and when the news broke he was moving to Manchester you felt too awkward to text him. Not wanting to give the wrong impression that you expected something from him now so you left it so he could come to you.

He never did though.

You weren’t sure why he didn’t, but Mason had his own reasons. Not wanting to drag you back into the mess of his life and the fact you’d stopped messaging him made him think you were done with him and he didn’t have the heart to face your rejection no matter how much you were on his mind.

So he moved to Manchester and didn’t reach out, even though he thought about it everyday, and tried to rebuild his life without you. He was doing well but you were always there in the back of his mind, even thinking he’d seen you a few times and his tummy jumped each time before he realised it wasn’t you. He’d wanted to message you more than anything but he didn’t have the guts, even though you’d both promised to stay friends the messages had become so few and far between and now there was nothing.

As soon as Mason was inside he ran to the living room to put the news on, pausing the TV as soon as it showed the aftermath of the accident so he could get a better look before playing again to where it was panning past what he thought was your car. He managed to stop it at a point to be able to examine it more carefully and he could feel the nerves rippling through him.

Same colour, same make and model, same sticker on the back window with where the car came from, different number plate…

Different number plate.

Mason let out a sigh of relief. It wasn’t you. Someone was clearly hurt and that wasn’t good but he couldn’t deny he felt lighter at the fact it wasn’t you who was in harm's way. Falling back into the cushions of his sofa so he could take a few breaths to steady himself.

You were okay.

He felt a little silly now, panicking so much when you were clearly fine but as the minutes wore on he managed to talk himself back into a frazzled state.

He didn’t know what it was, not being able to settle and focus on anything but you. Now you were back on his mind, all he could see was your pretty eyes and perfect smile.

He knew nothing about you anymore. The only piece of information left being the address of your old flat and now he was getting to know the area he knew you weren’t too far away. But he didn’t know if you were there anymore and if he did turn up whatever the chances you would even want to see him?

What if you’d moved on? Surely Rashy would have told him but Mason couldn't stand the thought of turning up at your house and a random guy being there. No doubt he’d be taller than him and funnier and be able to make all the time in the world for you and the thought of seeing you with someone who’s everything Mason isn’t made him miserable.

It was like there was an itch in his brain that he couldn’t scratch, not able to settle as his mind came out with random questions to make him doubt what he already knew. He decided against messaging Rashy, presuming he wouldn’t have much of an idea either and he didn’t want to start worrying everyone unnecessarily if there really was nothing wrong.

Maybe he read it wrong and it was your number plate? Or maybe you’d changed your number plate and it was you all along? Why hadn’t you answered his texts yet either? Was there an innocent explanation or had he missed something and it really was you that was hurt?

The only thing he did know was that he couldn’t stay in and drive himself insane. Eventually coming to the conclusion that a run would clear his head so he quickly changed into some shorts and a hoodie before setting off. No particular place or destination in mind, just the need to let off some steam and clear his mind.

When the rain started to fall he cursed under his breath. Too far away from home to turn around and avoid it and also not done with his run as he was still feeling on edge so he grit his teeth and carried on. Weaving in and out of streets until he started to recognise where he was a bit more.

Maybe it was just a coincidence he ended up here, like in the back of his mind this is where he needed to end up to finally put his mind at rest but as he stopped to get his breath just outside of your building he only felt worse.

Your car which you always parked in the same spot was nowhere to be seen, and the flat he knew to be yours had all of the lights off but the curtains were open. Like you’d been out and not made it home yet to shut them and he felt sick to his stomach at the thought.

‘No no no no no’ he whispered under his breath, not understanding where your car was and it seemed like only the worst possible outcome was the right one.

He knew it was a bad decision to come here but he’d done it anyway and now his mind was spiralling more than he thought possible.

He thought about going home but the need to see that you were fine with his own two eyes outweighed everything else and before he knew it he was running up the path and standing outside your front door with his hand poised to knock.

What am I supposed to say? He thought. I thought you were dead so I came to check you were alright? No, he couldn’t but he knocked before he had a chance to think of anything else. Waiting anxiously as he heard a few noises from behind the door but if you were there then you were taking forever to answer.

As soon as you opened the door he felt his body flood with relief. Your hair was pointing up in all different directions and he could clearly see the pillow marks on your cheek. A shocked and confused expression painted your features as you realised who was standing in front of you but he just felt his heart swell before his face crumpled as he tried to hold the tears back.

‘Mase? Mase what’s wrong?’ You asked, reaching forward to touch him in some way but you second guessed yourself before you got there. Not knowing if he wanted you to touch him but he looked distraught so you pushed your thoughts to the side and pulled him into the doorway. ‘Mase, you’re soaked. Come inside, it’s okay’

‘I’m sorry’ he told you, his voice wobbling as you shut the door and the feeling of warmth engulfed him immediately. He felt self here.

This feels like home, he thought. The place was unchanged from when he was last here and he stood awkwardly in the hall as you shut the door before leading him into the living room just around the corner.

‘Sorry, you've caught me at a bit of a bad time’ you laughed as you tidied the blankets off of the sofa and reset the cushions so you both had a place to sit. Flustered that he’d turned up so randomly and in the back of your mind you wondered if it might have happened one day but you chalked it off as being a silly daydream in the end.

‘Danger nap?’ He asked and you felt your face flush at the way he’d caught on so quickly. ‘Don’t worry, I remember them well’

‘Well I’ve been having them a bit more frequently since I’ve got no one to tell me off anymore’ you joked but you saw his face drop ever so slightly. ‘Take a seat, you want a drink or anything?’

‘I’m fine, thanks’

‘You sure? I’ll get you a tea you look like you need warming up’ you told him softly before scurrying over to the kitchen and he felt his chest warm with how kind you were to him. Hearing the kettle flick down before you came back to close the curtains and then run over to the cupboard under the stairs. ‘Take your hoodie off Mase, you’ll catch a chill. I’ve got you a towel and I’ll turn the heating up’

‘Sorry, this is probably the last thing you needed tonight’ he sighed, grabbing the towel to run over his hair once he’d taken his hoodie off but the shoulders of his top were still wet and now he was sitting here waiting for you he felt silly.

‘No don’t worry about that, I know we haven’t spoken for a while but I always said I’m here if you need me’ you told him shyly. Sitting down next to him so you could place his tea on the table before sending him a reassuring smile

‘I know’ he huffed. ‘I just feel a bit dramatic now that’s all’ he told you, trying to laugh it off but you knew him and you knew something was on his mind.

‘What’s going on? Why are you here?’ You pushed gently, trying to get him to open up a little bit more and when his eyes fell to his lap you weren’t sure if he was about to tell you or not. Thankfully he did after a few moments but you weren’t prepared for the words that were about to tumble from his lips.

‘There’s um… well there’s been this big accident on the main road out of Manchester. It’s all over the news and I was stuck in traffic for like 45 minutes until I could get round it’ he told you but you were unsure as to why he was updating you on the traffic when you’d asked what he was so upset about.

‘Okay?’

‘The car that crashed… well I thought it was yours’ he told you, his voice wobbling at the end and you felt your heart shatter as you realised what was wrong now. ‘It’s the same colour and make and everything and I… well I was out of my mind worrying that… i don’t know that you were hurt or something-‘

‘Oh Mase’ you breathed, cutting him off as his voice got more and more emotional and all you wanted was to pull him into a hug but you weren’t sure if that was what he wanted. In the end you just reached for his hand and you were surprised at how tightly he gripped onto you.

‘Sorry I bet I sound insane’ he laughed, wiping his eyes with his free hand and you felt your heart break for him.

‘No no it’s okay’ you reassured him, placing your other around your already clasped ones. Hoping he’d keep on talking but you let him take his time as he was clearly overwhelmed and upset by everything that had happened tonight.

‘It was on the news and I saw it wasn’t your number plate so I thought you were fine but then i managed to talk myself out of thinking that and I tried to text you, but i didn’t hear anything back but I guess you were asleep’ he smiled, squeezing your hand gently and you smiled sadly back at him.

‘I never got a text from you, I don’t think I did anyway’ you told him. ‘I was only asleep for like ten minutes. I did see some texts but it was a number I didn’t recognise and I thought it was a scam thing so I didn’t bother looking properly cause the number wasn’t saved’

‘A scam?’

‘Yeah I keep getting those texts like Evri has your parcel but it’s damaged and the details are lost. Please send your address, bank details and blood type so we can attempt a redelivery’ you joked and you felt your tummy flip when he let out a little laugh.

‘No it’s my fault, my personal number got leaked a little while back and when I moved up here I thought it would be a good idea to get a new number. I texted most people but I wasn’t sure if you wanted to hear from me so I just kept your number in my contacts. I completely forgot you wouldn’t have it saved’

‘You know that makes a lot of sense actually’ you smiled, watching his eyebrows pinch together in confusion and you thought his expression was adorable. ‘I sort of texted you last week. You know, after your goal? I didn’t hear back from you’

‘Shit, I’m so sorry’ he sighed, his free hand dragging down his face and you could tell he was annoyed with himself as he rolled his eyes.

‘No it’s alright-‘

‘No cause you probably thought I was ignoring you and I wasn’t’ he told you, almost pleading with you to make you believe him but you already did and when you sent him a soft smile he let out a big sigh he’d been holding in. ‘Where’s your car? It's not parked out the front?’

‘Chrissy upstairs moved out and I was next on the list for a spot in the underground car park so I park it down there now’ you explained, releasing how shaken he must have been and still was to know you might have been hurt and when one of your hands let go to touch his shoulder, his eyes snapped up to yours. ‘Are you alright, mase?’

‘No’ he whispered quietly, his glossy eyes looking back down to his lap and as much as you wanted to push him you also didn’t want to scare him off so you sat waited for him to come clean and tell you what was going on in his head. ‘I know it’s stupid but like… I realised if I lost you then… well it felt like my world was ending in all honesty’ he confessed, laughing slightly but you could tell there was no humour in it l. ‘I know that’s dramatic but all I could think about was everything I’d never told you, all the things I’d never be able to say to you again, you know? Never be able to hold you or kiss you…’

‘Kiss me?’ You whispered. Unsure as to why he’d said that at the end as you’d been broken up for almost a year now but you couldn’t deny his confession made your heart jump. If truth be told it hurt more than you thought it would when he didn’t reply to you a week ago and seeing him so heartbroken on your doorsteps just now was a shock. But the words falling from his lips right now were even more of a shock.

‘Sorry’ he mumbled, his voice thick with tears as he shook his head but you didn’t want him to shut down on you now. You wanted him to keep talking, to see if he’d say the things you’d been waiting a year for him to admit so you carried on stroking his skin and letting him get himself together.

‘No no it’s okay, I just wasn’t expecting it’ you laughed, looking up at him to thankfully looking back at you with a small smile on his face. ‘Now’s your chance Mase, what do you wanna tell me’ you whispered, wondering if he’d say anything at all but ever the unexpected he said the last thing you thought he would.

‘I love you’ he whispered instantly. The words sending a tingle down your spine and you almost lost your breath. ‘I’m still so fucking in love with you and the though of you not being around anymore hurt more than I could tell you. Not that I’ve tried, but I can’t love anyone else like I loved you. Like I still love you, y/n’

‘Mase-‘

‘I know it’s been a while and you won’t feel the same but-‘

‘Mase stop’ you whispered, your eyes stinging at the thought of what he might be doing but the sincerity in his eyes kept a spark of hope alive. ‘Are you sure? I think you’re in shock a bit, you may want this now but what about in a month's time? Or two? I can’t go through feeling like that again’

‘I’m sure, i promise’ he nodded, dropping his eyes to his lap before taking a deep breath and you knew he had more to say. ‘I know we said if we were both single in five years we’d come back to each other but that’s too far away for me and I don’t wanna give anyone else the opportunity to have you. People like us, we’re meant to meet in a few years time when we both know who we are and what we want for ourselves but I don’t wanna do that. I want us to work through it all and grow together, you know?’

‘Mase-’

‘I pushed you away when I should have held onto you tighter. I think about you… all the fucking time and I can’t be without you’ he sniffled. ‘I know it’s incredibly selfish of me but I don’t want you to be just a chapter in my life when you’re the whole damn book baby’

You couldn’t help but laugh at his last line, your chuckles seeming to break the tension a little bit as he smiled at you and you could feel your heart in your throat at all the sweet words he’d spilled to you tonight.

‘Sorry I know it’s a lot but I just needed you to know’

‘Well thank you, and you know I care about you so much Mase-‘

‘Oh’ he sighed, trying to remove his hand from yours as you hadn’t told you him loved him back and he felt a bit embarrassed but that wasn’t your intention.

‘No Mase, wait I just… look it’s a lot to think about’ you laughed, squeezing his hand tighter so he couldn’t move away. ‘Just give me some time to take it in, yeah?’

‘Sorry’

‘No please don’t be sorry’ you told him before a quietness settled over you for a moment. Not really sure what you were wanting to say and knowing Mason had said enough for a lifetime tonight so you went back to what you thought you did best. Looking after him. ‘Listen, have you eaten? I’ve got a pasta bake to put in the oven and you know I always cook for about five people’

‘I haven’t eaten’ he laughed ‘Too busy worrying that you'd been flattened’ he joked, rolling his eyes and you couldn’t help but let out a loud laugh at his attempt at humour.

‘Well let me make us something to eat, And we can hang out a bit and catch up, yeah?’ You asked hopefully and thankfully he nodded in agreement.

So you made the pair of you some dinner before getting settled on the sofa. Keeping the tv volume on minimum so you could talk and it was like having the Mason you fell for back with you. But your heart broke even further when he explained to you how hard the last year had been for him, from being sold to the constant injuries and feeling pretty lonely up here some nights when it was just him and his family and friends had to go home.

Soon enough your plates had been discarded to the coffee table as it was your turn to open up. Not that you had as much to say but he was interested all the same in hearing about your life and getting up to date with all the people you used to talk about together. Updating him on your job and all the changes that had been made before he commented on how even with all the changes your flat was still the same and it made him feel happy.

‘Hey Mase?’ You asked quietly when you saw him try to suppress a yawn and you knew he’d realised you’d seen when the bridge of his nose turned red like you used to love.

‘Yeah?’

‘Do you wanna stay here tonight?’ You asked, his eyebrows shooting up in shock as he clearly hadn’t expected you to ask anything like that but now you had him back here you didn’t want to let him go.

‘W-what?’ He mumbled, scratching the back of his head like he did whenever he got nervous but you send him a reassuring smile in hopes that would help.

‘I mean you don’t have to, but it’s late now and I won’t be having you walking home or paying for an Uber. Unless you want me to drive you home-‘

‘No you can’t drive me, I don’t want you driving back on your own’ he argued back but you were both smiling so you let out a little laugh before being a bit firmer with him.

‘So you’ll stay then? And I’ll drop you home on my way to work?’

‘I think that could work’ he nodded but you knew he was shy about it even though he had no need to be.

‘Okay perfect’

‘Do you still keep that blanket in the cupboard?’ He asked and you felt a wave of disappointment flood you.

‘Oh I um…’ you trailed off, realising he’d got the wrong end of the stick and you knew you needed to set him straight no matter how awkward it might get.

‘What’s up?’

‘Well I thought you might want to sleep in my bed? You know like… with me?’ You explained, his face a mask of shock as the words left your lips but you knew you needed to put the idea out there.

‘Oh’

‘Sorry I’m being silly’

‘No I want to, I just didn’t wanna push it you know? I wasn’t sure if that’s what you wanted’

‘I do’ you smiled. Holding your hand out for him to take and you felt your heart give a squeeze and he gently took it in his. ‘And I think it might be what you need’

‘I think so too,’ he laughed. A shy look on his face as you walked him through and into your bedroom and once you were inside you sent him a reassuring smile. ‘Get in, I’m just gonna use the bathroom and I’ll be with you’

You left him to sort himself out, quickly applying your skincare and trying to keep calm before returning to your room. Seeing Mason was already in bed and that he was still in his T-shirt but he’d stripped down to his boxers on the bottom half and you caught a cheeky flash of his thighs as you lifted the covers up.

You knew what you wanted, and what he probably wanted too so when you got yourself under the covers you turned away from him as you shuffled up close. Your back against his chest before taking his arm so you could wrap it around your body and you could tell from how stiff he was that he wasn’t expecting it but it only took a second for him to settle down and nuzzle into your neck.

‘I don’t think I need to wait until the morning’ you suddenly heard him whisper after a few moments and you felt your heart begin to pound. ‘I never ended things with you because I didn’t like you or I didn’t see us going anywhere. It was more that I didn't like myself. You’ve been the right person for me this whole time and I knew it long before we were friends, like it had always been my plan to make you mine and then when I finally got you I let you go’

‘Well you know what they say, Mase’ you whispered, holding him to you tighter and you felt him lightly kiss your shoulder. ‘If you love something you should set it free. And if it’s yours it’ll come back’

‘Will you come back to me then?’ He asked, his voice sounding more vulnerable than he intended it to. ‘Cause I’ll always come back to you’

‘I think we can work something out’ you whispered and you felt him stiffen before moving back so he could roll you over to face him. His eyes wide and glossy as he looked at you and you could tell you’d taken him by surprise.

‘Really? You’d wanna try again?’ He asked. Lip wobbling and it all became too much for him so you reached out to stroke his cheek and catch a few of the stray tears.

‘It just wasn’t our time back then, Mase. I get that now and yeah it sucked but if it’s really what you want then it’s what I’ve wanted since things ended’ you told him softly. Kissing the end of his nose as he shut his eyes softly. ‘I’ve been yours from the second you looked at me’

‘I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want this, or if you were seeing someone else’

‘Well lucky for you, you don’t have to worry about any of that’ you told him and you didn’t miss the look of relief on his face. ‘Things will be easier now we're closer okay? We can see each other more and all the things that drove us apart won’t be a problem’

‘You really think it’ll be that simple?’ He whispered, the hope in his eyes made you want to reassure him even further.

‘I think so, yeah. You said earlier you still loved me right?’

‘I did’ he laughed, not meeting your eyes as he blushed and you thought he was the most adorable thing you’d ever seen.

‘I still love you too’ you whispered, so quietly you thought he might now have heard you but from his reaction you knew he did. Letting out a shuddery breath before he hid his face. Giving you room to kiss all over his cheek until he had the courage to look at you again. ‘Shall we go to sleep?’ You offered, noticing how exhausted he was after a long evening and once he’d nodded you turned back onto your side and let him hold you close. Smiling at the way he was kissing your shoulder softly and nuzzled into your neck.

‘Hey Mase? Can I ask you something before we go to sleep?’

‘Anything’ he whispered, and the sound of his voice made your heart jump. Knowing he really would answer absolutely answer anything you asked him and this was something that had been plaguing your mind for a year.

‘That day I left to come home and you texted me the whole way, what did the message say that you deleted?’

You felt him let out a small chuckle, squeezing you a little before huffing and you knew it was something he probably never wanted to admit. You didn’t want to push him if that was the case but after a moment you felt his lips on your shoulder again as he began to speak.

‘It said, I think I’ve made a mistake. Can you come back and we’ll talk’ he told you quietly and you felt your heart pound at his confession. ‘I gave it ten minutes and said to myself if you hadn’t replied in that time then it wasn’t meant to be’

‘Mase’ you whispered, your eyes full of tears as a wave of regret from not checking your phone washed over you but he was quick to reassure you everything was fine.

‘It's okay, I’m glad you missed it’ he laughed. ‘It would have only made things worse probably. I needed that time to go through whatever was going on and realise how much I actually need you. Cause I really do’

‘I’m here’ you mumbled, turning you head to look at him and his whole face lit up as he looked down at you.

‘So am I. And I’m never going anywhere again okay?’

‘Me too’ you told him firmly before he finally lent down and placed the softest kiss to your lips. A feeling you’d waited almost a year for and when he pulled back to look at you, you almost felt disappointed but you could tell he was greedy for seconds. Diving right back in but with a bit more force this time and you let him do as he wished thankful the universe had brought him back to you.

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cravingcoldoreocake123 · 4 months ago

Text

Lacy | Lorenzo Berkshire

In which your best friend Lorenzo, whom you’re secretly in love with, introduces you to his new girlfriend Lacy during one of Theo’s parties. And jealousy fills your veins as you can’t love him in secret anymore.

TW: Fluff, best friends to lovers, no use of y/n.

I watch her throw her arms around his neck, pulling him even tighter as she looks me straight in the eyes. His hands snake around her frame, sliding them under her shirt, his fingers caressing her supple skin. He rests on the curve of her waist, nuzzling his head in her neck as she giggles, and I can’t help but imagine him holding me that way instead.

He lifts up his head, his eyes falling on mine. “Come! This is Lacy, my girlfriend that I’ve been telling you about.” Enzo says, snapping me back to reality. My body freezes watching him in her arms with the biggest smile on his face. I start feeling dizzy as I hesitantly walk over to them.

I stop in front of them, my heart physically aching at him calling her his girlfriend. “I’ve heard so much about you, it’s nice meeting you.” I smile, extending my hand towards her. Her sight lingers on it for a few seconds before making eye contact with me. “Lacy.” She says, her face not displaying any emotion whatsoever. She finally grabs my hand firmly, as I furrow my eyebrows at her reaction.

“I’ll just grab a drink, um… I’ll see you guys later.” I say retracting my hand, and I scurry off before Enzo gets the chance to speak again. He stares at my back in confusion, I felt sicker with each step I took. I take a few breaths, steadying my ragged breathing. It suddenly felt hot and uncomfortable, and I raise my hand to pat off the sweat collecting on my forehead.

I pick up the first glass of liquor I see, downing all of it in a second. The title “girlfriend” echoed in my head as I stared at their intertwined hands, her thumb caressed his soft skin. My grip unconsciously tightened around my cup. I look up to find him staring at me, with worry in his brown eyes, not listening to a word Lacy was telling him. My heart physically ached, it seemed as if my ribs crumbled down on it caging it, making it feel heavier. All my dreams and my silly scenarios of him suddenly went up in flames, turning into nothing but grey ashes and disappearing with the wind.

I couldn’t bear to look at them for just a second longer, so I grabbed my purse slinging it over my shoulder, heading straight for the doors. His eyes never left my back and his worry grew with each step I took. I didn’t know where I was going, Theo’s house was so vast and I was never around much to distinguish one room from another and remember all the entries and hallways. My sight blurred as tears gathered on my waterline, I walked faster down a dark hall passing numerous rooms, my steps being the only sound heard. I opened a random door, hoping no one would be on the other side.

I sniffled, wiping my nose on my sleeve. I sat on the ground resting my back on the bed. It was a big room with a pretty balcony, overlooking Theo’s beautiful garden, and the moon beamed down on me as I laid my head on my knees. I grew up with Enzo, I was there for him when he got stood up for the first time… he was there for my first heartbreak. We always had each other, we were the best of friends, but I wanted more. I wanted to be the one he comes back to at the end of the day, the one he brags about to his friends, I craved him to love me the way I loved him. But I couldn’t risk losing my best friend, he meant everything to me, he was all I knew. And so, I kept it to myself.

I pretended I was happy when he told me about his crushes, or the girl he had lost his virginity to, I mended my own heart after seeing the bouquets of flowers he got for his lovers, and I tried to outrun my love for him but I obviously couldn’t and there’s only so much a girl can take. Tears slid down my cheek as I remembered the way his arms caged her body so close to his that I’m sure they could feel each other’s heartbeats.

“What do you think?” He asked, giving me a little twirl. I chuckled, nodding. I rested my head on my palm, looking him up and down again and again admiring him. He looked so unbelievably good and my mind was racing with endless excuses to tell him to stop him from leaving. “You look amazing, Enz. Too good.” He turned to the mirror, fixing his hair. “So, is she pretty?” I asked curiously, my head tilting. He stopped and faced me, leaning his back on my vanity. “You’re still the prettiest girl I’ll ever lay my eyes on.” He said, smirking and pinning a loose strand of hair behind my ear. I instantly felt my cheeks heat up, and I lowered my head in embarrassment. I felt like a little high school girl, crushing on a boy for the first time. “Wish me bad luck.” He started walking to the door. “Good luck, you mean?” I chuckled. “No, wish it’ll go bad so that I’ll come running straight to you in no time.” He said, then quickly rushed to close the door before I could even think of an answer.

You bet your ass I prayed the whole time she’d be ugly or fall dead.

I lightly chuckled through my tears, remembering the memory. But it was short lived as the sound of the door cracking open pulled me back to reality. My hands tremble as they wipe the tear stains the rivers I was crying left on my cheeks, and I get up turning to the door. And there he stood, in all his glory. “What are you doing here? I looked for you everywhere-” He stopped as soon ah he saw my red puffy eyes, and the new batch of tears that sat delicately on my waterline. “What’s wrong, love?” His eyebrows pinched together in confusion, he walked closer to me extending his hand. “No. Don’t call me that, Lorenzo.” I said sternly, raising my own hand in front of me, and as much as I lived for him calling me love and all those other pet names, I simply wasn’t. I wasn’t his “love” or “darling” or whatever he called me, I was the girl that he grew up with, the one that loved him in secret.

His face paled and his mouth hung slightly open. “Since when do you not like me calling you love? And when have you ever called me Lorenzo? Are you okay?” He asked, confusion and worry laced with his shaky voice. “Since now. I’m not your love, Lorenzo. As much as I have dreamt and ached to be all these years, I’m still not!” I scream in frustration, letting my bag drop to the ground as I raised my hands to rub my teary eyes. “And you know what pains me even more, Lorenzo? The fact that she looks just like me. Her hair is the same length, our eyes are the same color, we dress the same and we’re the same height, we both even have bows in our hair but it’s not me, it should be me I want it to be me so, fucking bad but it’s not.” I sniffle.

My nails dig into my palms unconsciously, I couldn’t care less about how he thinks of me now or what I’ve ruined, my heart and my mouth both can’t hold it in anymore, it physically hurts to. “I don’t know who I hate more.. you or her. I don’t know if I hate her for having the privilege to hold your hand in public and show you off or you for choosing her.” Sweat forms on my forehead as I can’t think straight anymore, endless thoughts and words roam my head but I can’t seem to form a coherent sentence anymore. My hand clutches my chest, my heart was beating so fast I could’ve sworn it was going to break through my rib cage and rip my flesh open.

I look up to find his sweet eyes on mine, filled with an emotion I could not decipher yet. He sighs and cautiously walks over to me, he slowly raises his hands and rests them on my shoulders. I break eye contact for a short while, focusing my sight on the floor, trying to gather my thoughts and prepare myself before looking up at him again. The moonlight shone through the window and landed right on his face, and somehow he looked even more angelic. I scanned his features as mine softened, I almost forgot the reason we fought in the first place. Almost.

“Do you hate me now?” I genuinely asked, searching his eyes for an answer. His hands dropped from my shoulders and I mentally cursed at the lack of contact. He stayed quiet for a bit just looking at me, before sighing and speaking again. “I could never hate you, even if I tried.” He says. My face drops as I notice the tears welling up in his eyes. “Enz-” He quickly cut me off, shaking his head. “I’m sorry.” He slowly mutters, and I brace myself for the impact that is my rejection, and an even worse fall that’s losing him in every way possible, as my best friend, the person I loved most and the reason why I even pursued Hogwarts. “I’m sorry I wasn’t ballsy enough to admit it to you and I let all those years go by without loving you the way I wanted to, the way I dreamt I should.” My face scrunches in shock at his words and I stay silent. “I was scared. I didn’t want to lose you completely and I didn’t think you felt the same way about me, I thought having you as my best friend was better than not being with you at all.” He quietly says “I loathed being away from you and I feared by telling you how I felt I’d ruin our friendship.” I stay frozen as he delicately raises his shaky hand to cradle my cheek and caress it, I watch a tear make its way down his soft cheek, stopping at his chin. “I love you, and I always have.. not as my best friend. I’ve always tried to date girls that looked like you and I know it’s messed up but I wanted to be with you in any way, even if that meant pretending they were you.” He stops for a second to catch his breath, “I’m sorry, I’m really sorry, my love. I didn’t know how much I hurt you, I love you with the fire of a million suns- I’m in love with you. I can’t think when you’re not near me, I don’t even think I can breathe properly when you aren’t.”

Adrenaline rushes through me as I look into his sparkling eyes, his hands still held my face. It takes a second for his words to fully register, my eyes wander from his own down to his trembling lip. He slowly inches closer to me, “I live to be in your presence, you might just be the only reason I breath-” I quickly cut him off, throwing my arms around his neck as our lips meet in an overdue kiss, and I don’t think I’ve ever felt truly alive until then.

His hand glides up from my lower back and tangles itself in my hair, deepening the kiss. I could feel my chest tightening from the lack of oxygen but I couldn’t stop, I was way past addicted. He suddenly pulls back to stare at my eyes, both our chests heaving up and down. His soft hands scramble to hold my face as he flashes me his sugary smile, caressing my cheek with his thumb. “I’m never letting you go.” He says while chuckling, I couldn’t help but feel euphoric in his arms, but there was one thing bothering me still. “What about Lacy?” I hesitantly ask, afraid of ruining the moment.

“I broke up with her before even coming up here, it’s you I want.” He says.

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jadeylovesmarvelxo · 10 months ago

Text

The Bet

Part one

Eddie is desperate to talk to you but will you ever be able to forgive and forget after learning your friendship was nothing more than a bet? Especially as you had fallen in love with him.

Do you still love him after all that anguish?

Part two.

Warnings: A lot of angst and you'll see..minors shoo! 18+

Don't copy, translate or repost my work.

❤️

A bet. That's all you'd ever been to Eddie, a bet to get one over on your now ex boyfriend, on Jason and the rest of the dark side as Eddie's friend had put it.

Had they spent this whole time laughing at you? Did Eddie get some kick out of stringing you along, stealing your heart piece by piece.

Was everything just a lie?

You had broken up with Bryan a week ago. Sick of his horrible nature and drawn to Eddie, head over heels for him. God you felt like such a fool.

The night you found out about the bet you cried yourself to sleep, walking to school on autopilot. Thank goodness for your friends because you struggled to get through the first day.

Mostly everyone was sympathetic but there was some people who sniggered when you walked past, whispered to their friends only it was so loud that you could hear.

I can't believe how gullible that idiot was

Imagine knowing the freak only got close to you for a bet

Serves that bitch and all the rest of Jason's idiots and the cheerleaders right for thinking they are so hot.

About time someone took them down a peg

Each thinly veiled barb cracked your already bleeding heart and you hurried to get away from the gossip.

It trickled out a couple days later, once the people had finished finding your pain hilarious, how anyone could find someone in pain to be funny was a mystery to you.

Whenever you saw Eddie you rushed away before he could speak to you, wouldn't look at his face because all you knew from him was lies.

Everything was a lie. He didn't love you, he never did. Your heart throbs with that realisation and you do your best to walk around school, head held up high and the heartbreak tucked up inside.

It was all an act but you were a great actor, you had to be to pretend like you weren't in agony on the inside.

...

It was the worst few weeks that Eddie could remember in a long long time, Dustin was disgusted with him and took a long time to talk to him.

His heart felt like it had been ripped in half and it was all his own fault, you wouldn't even look at him.

If he even attempted to try and speak to you it was to no avail.

The longest sentence you uttered was when he begged you to talk to him, even just one word.

All you said was ''goodbye Eddie" or that ''you didn't believe a word he said"

Steve picked you up from school with Robin every day, wouldn't even let Eddie go near you. Threatened to beat the shit out of him if he made you cry again.

He tried to speak to you again a few days later when Steve had eased up on guarding you, it was agonising weeks of you avoiding him.

You were coming out of cheer practice with Chrissy and another girl, Chrissy glared at him and the other girl looked like she wanted to kill him.

"Can we talk please, princess?'' he pleads and you ask your friends to give you a second and they do, very reluctantly still scowling at Eddie. He deserves that.

"I can't Eddie. I don't have anything to say to you" he swallows, his mind going a mile a minute, trying to think of what he can say to express how sorry he is.

''I messed up. I made a stupid mistake. The worst mistake, because I hurt you. I made a dumb bet to try and get back at assholes who bullied and made my friends and my life hell, it was mean and selfish and I wish I'd never done it" you listen to what he has to say and his heart aches when tears pool in your eyes.

"But you did do it, you couldn't even tell me the truth. You lied to me Eddie and all the time I was...I fell in love with you" he moves forward to cup your cheek, desperate for you to know that he loves you too.

"I love you, I fell in love with you and that's why I couldn't tell you. I couldn't lose you" you stare at him and don't speak for a few seconds, when you do the words split his heart in two.

"That's the thing, you lost me anyway" you walk away from him and he can't think of a single thing to say to stop you. Then he steels himself and runs to catch up with you.

"What Eddie?" you snap and he talks quickly, tripping over his words and anxious to get the words out.

"I hurt you badly, I fucked up and what I did was just fucking awful. I know that. I also know that I'm so in love with you, never thought I could feel this way for anyone but you snuck into my heart and it belongs only to you" you don't say anything but you don't rush away either, so Eddie says one more thing before you do decide to leave.

"I'll wait for you sweetheart, for however long it takes. I don't care how long I have to wait, you're worth every single second"

Tears pool in your eyes and you nod slightly. Ever so gently you squeeze his hand just a tiny bit then walk away, leaving Eddie determined as hell to win your trust again and maybe somewhere along the line your heart too.

💕

It took a while for you to even speak to Eddie for longer than five minutes, but he was nothing if not determined and patient, he's was not screwing this chance up.

At first, you didn't think Eddie was serious about waiting for you, but he was. Endlessly patient and sweet. Big brown eyes full of tenderness and joy when you spoke to him.

It was hard not to find him endearing, but he had hurt you badly and there was still a small part of you that held back, that was hesitant to get close, trying to protect your fragile heart that ached for you to give Eddie a chance.

It's Friday now and after an intense week of cheer practice, you can't wait to relax for the weekend.

Chrissy had been watching you looking at Eddie with longing, the exact same way Eddie looked at you for weeks now. To be honest it was beyond frustrating, the both of you loved one another, it was killing you both to be apart.

So that's why she was saying something to you today. More than anything she wanted you to be happy, if Eddie hurt you again just even a tiny bit then she would kick his ass.

That's before Steve go there first.

"Honey, what Eddie did was wrong and I'm mad as hell at him but anyone can see how sorry he is. He's so in love with you, maybe you could give him a second chance" Chrissy says to you as you sit down for lunch.

You rest your head on Chrissy's shoulder and let out a sigh. ''I want to, I want to so badly but I don't want to be heartbroken again''

Something tells Chrissy that Eddie wouldn't dare. That he would keep his promise to never hurt you so badly again.

She squeezes your hand reassuringly and it calms your anxiety down.

"Babe, he wouldn't dare. He's not stupid. Plus everyone might think I'm a sweetheart but I'll kick his ass if he did and Steve would too. Eddie won't lose you, not again"

The words play on your mind all day and when Eddie is hurrying to his truck at the end of Hellfire Club you pluck up your courage and go to speak to him.

"Eddie" the minute he sees you it's like his whole face lights up. A dimpled smile and brown eyes full of adoration greet you.

"Hey, sweetheart" longing fills the air, stifling you both and honestly you're pretty sick of it. So you take a leap, walk up to Eddie and take his hand.

"Would you mind if I asked you for a ride Eds?'' his hand tightens around yours and he grins, rushes to open the door to his truck and almost trips over his feet in the process. It's cute and you can't help but giggle.

He holds the door open for you. "Princess, your carriage awaits" you head inside.

The drive is short and sweet, Eddie once again being a gentleman as he opens the door for you to step out.

You thank him for the ride and before Eddie can head back into the truck, you kiss his cheek gently, then leave a sweet, chaste kiss on his lips.

The kiss leaves him looking dazed, he touches his cheek then his lips and there's that smile again, the one that melted your heart the first time you seen it.

"One more chance Eddie, if you hurt me again thats it. I mean it" he nods, his face serious as he takes in what you say.

"I swear you won't regret this princess, I love you and I'll spend every day proving that, do you... do you still love me?" he whimpers after a few seconds, his expression wide with worry and fear.

"I've never stopped" you answer back.

After your confession he practically does a little dance as he goes into his truck. Just before you open the door to your house, you hear his whoop of delight before he drives off.

The smile doesn't leave your face all night.

❤️

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson angst

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macfrog · 1 year ago

Text

hits different cowboy like me chapter twelve

oh, my, love is a lie! are we all ready? do we have our coping strategies in place? have we prepared ourselves for impending doom? then gather round, my dear children, for i’ve a tale to tell. and it’s a SORE one

pairing: dbf!joel x fem!reader

summary: still reeling from your fight with joel, you seek out an effective way to deal with it: a night of sambuca shots and no second thoughts

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) alcohol + drug consumption (reader gets hammered), heartache, angst, unwanted touching, intended sexual assault, drink spiking, descriptions of blood and bruising, protective!joel gets into a quick barfight, more discussion of cheating(?), joel won't admit feelings, pain pain and more pain, age gap (reader is 23, joel is 48), cursing

word count: 10.9k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist

Joel takes a beat to answer. Like he’s waiting for your voice to fill the space, the way it usually would. What’s up, old man? How hard is it to copy an address right? Lois not as good at typing as she is at sucking your – “You, uh…you got it. Call me if there’s anythin’ you need. I’m home all night.” The call cuts before your dad gets the chance to say goodbye. Which doesn’t really matter, because he wasn’t talking to your dad. You know it, ‘n Joel knows it.

Of course he went to see Lois. He’s probably been seeing her for some time now. A nice lady, his own age, his line of work. You’re pretty sure she has a son, too. And your dad would love her, would love to think Joel was shacking up with some plant hire receptionist. She could turn your life around, son, he’d said. They fit together like a couple of jigsaw pieces. What the fuck would he have ever seen in you, past some young, tight thing for him to fuck? Just a placeholder. Just a time-waster.

A twenty-three-year-old; enough energy to keep him on his toes, cure his boredom. Fill his summer with something to do. And close enough to him, too, that he reeled you in with minimum effort. One stupid look at you – one stupid, stupid glance and you were hooked. High as a kite on him. All the touching, all the whispering. That fucking – the fucking bottle. The video. All of it, every second he ever spent near you – it all makes you cringe now.

And then, once the embarrassment of being played by your dad’s best friend passes, there’s the hurt. The aching. Fuck, the aching. The way your chest swells, feels like it might rip at the seams and burst open. The sting behind your eyes anytime you picture his smile, the way he’d look at you. The feeling of your throat closing up whenever you go to speak, windpipe constricting around any words that aren’t his name, and using them to choke you.

And it’s not like you can talk to anyone about it. Can’t have a heart-to-heart with your dad, have him make you a tea and sit him down by your window, ask for advice on heartbreak and getting over his best friend. You’ve been excusing your reclusiveness by telling him you’re on your period. That’s why you haven’t left your bed in four days.

It was just all so fucking believable, wasn’t it? So good, you thought you were dreaming the entire time.

And here he’d just proven you right. You dreamt it all up.

Has he fucked her yet? Lois. Is she one of the ten he told you about the other night? Has she touched him the way you have? Has he touched her, the way he did you?

Does she know how he sounds when he comes undone? How he looks? How he feels? Does she do it for him the way you do it? And what does he call her? Baby? Darlin’? Or something different entirely?

Now you’re wondering when he started seeing her, and then, if they have slept together, when the first time was. Whether or not you cross over with her. Maybe he went and fucked her after you argued. Let off some steam over at her place, while you sat in his house, smelling his shirts and reading his stupid fucking Alcatraz books. While you paced around, practicing the words you’d say to him when he came back.

All you wanted was for him to come back. You wanted him to come find you upstairs, take the book from your hands and lean his head down on your chest, mumble an apology into the material of your shirt and then kiss you, and kiss you again while he pulled the clothes from your body, and kiss you while you were naked underneath him, and kiss you while he rocked his hips into yours.

Oh, fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

You think you hate her. You don’t even know her. Don’t know what she looks like, only heard her voice. She’s probably gorgeous. Probably a really sweet woman, helps out on the PTA, the type that stops to read missing dog posters so she can keep an eye out for them. Probably knows Joel well enough that she writes Sarah a birthday card every year. Just a real nice, Southern lady.

And you fucking hate her.

That’s not fair, though, and you know it. She didn’t do anything wrong. Joel’s the one who screwed you over – screwed you both over. Really, you and Lois are one and the same.

Except that she’s taken away the only thing to put a real smile on your face since you got home, and for that, you fucking hate her.

What had he said again? That night he drove you home from Sal’s, the night your dad asked him to stay for pizza. …said she’d like to go for a drink. I said maybe sometime. Maybe he’d organized that drink, in the midst of whatever you two had been doing. Thought nothing of it – you said it yourself: you were just messing around. Said it, like, three times to him. Good fucking job.

And that adds to the hurt. That neither of you seemed to care enough to call it anything more. Because now, sitting alone in your room, desperately checking your phone for a missed call or a text message from him, ears pricking at every sound your dad makes downstairs in case he’s answering a call from Joel or welcoming him in through the front door – you wish you had called it something.

Wish you had just fucking said it. Told him outright about the feelings you had. You were thinking about them enough – the thought circled your mind any time there was a moment’s silence between you.

Sometimes, the way he’d glance over to you, the way his hand would brush against yours, the way he’d say your name…he felt like…

Yours. He was yours. He was so fucking close to being yours.

You almost said it, once. Almost admitted it to him. Couple times you saw it flash behind his eyes, too. And it’s a damn good thing neither of you did say it, because it would’ve been a mistake. Would’ve been lies.

You don’t love him. You never did. You were in some fantasy, built by Joel. There ain’t no love between you. None from your side. And definitely none from him.

Definitely – none – from –

him.

----------

Anna’s been at you all week. She text you on Monday night, but you were about four layers of blanket deep in your bed, weeping into a box of dry cereal and listening to some sad girl playlist on repeat. You fished your cell out from under your mattress the next morning. Your dad had to call it to help you find it.

Anna: Frank’s again on Friday? Rodeo night round 2!!!

Tuesday, it was Please?? It was so fun on Sat. Cmon, Kara’s coming again. Sam’s working but that means free shots so.

On Wednesday, she tried a new approach. I’ll cover any shift you want.

Any two shifts……

Ok three????

Thursday, she started to get desperate. I’ll spill all your secrets to my dad if you don’t come. And you know he’ll tell them all to your dad lol

By Friday morning, though, she’d decided you had no say in the matter: you were going, and you’d be happy about it. And you didn’t have it in you to fight back.

She’s standing at the side of the mirror, scanning you from head to two.

“All black? Again?”

“I look good in black.”

“You look good in anything,” she agrees, turning to sift through your closet, “so why don’t we go for…?”

“No,” you clip, holding a finger up to the red dress in her hands. “No.”

“What’s wrong with it? It’s hot. C’mon.”

“Why do I gotta be hot?”

“I mean…is Mr. Miller gonna be pickin’ you up again, or…?”

You lob a previously discarded dress at her and she snorts, turning to slip it back onto a hanger.

Even his fucking surname sends a pang of pain through your body. Your heart jumps at the sound of it, like its hopes had risen for a second, but then it plummets with the realization that it’s not really Joel, and he’s still really gone.

You’re in a plain black slip dress, black denim jacket slung over your shoulders. Black lace-up boots, too. It’s like rodeo night, except without the fun and excitement of Joel waiting for you at the end of the night. It’s basically rodeo night’s funeral. And good fucking riddance.

Anna – always glittering, always in some sparkly getup – leads you out of your bedroom and down the stairs. Your dad agreed to drop you guys off, seeing as he’s out working later on.

He’s sat in his armchair, glasses on the tip of his nose, squinting down at the instruction booklet to that fucking Garmin he’s still wrestling with. He looks up and claps his hands once.

“Ready, girls?”

Anna nods eagerly and you lift your eyebrows, thinking about how Joel would laugh at the sight of his buddy still fighting a very obviously lost battle to a GPS. Then you think about how he’d tell you quietly, You look beautiful, darlin’, and ask you to text him when you got home safe.

And finally, you think about how much of an ass he is, and you blink the tears from your eyes before following the two blurry figures out to the car.

Anna snaps a couple selfies as the car winds out of the neighborhood, angling her phone to pull you into shot. The sun setting over the roofs of the houses dazzles your eyes. She tuts, tells you to Look like you actually wanna be goin’ out, and sends them to Kara, letting her know you’re on your way.

You’re watching her reply to a text from some boy she’s seeing when your dad’s ringtone echoes throughout the car, the name on the tiny digital screen the very last name you want to see right now.

Or maybe the very name you’ve been waiting all week to see. Just, on your screen instead of your dad’s.

“Hey, Joel,” your dad calls, and your body instinctively leans in to listen better. Drawn in like a magnet to just the sound of his voice.

“Hey, bud,” he replies. It’s like a punch to your chest. Hands around your throat. Salt behind your eyes. “I just got off the phone with Clark’s, they just dropped that equipment off at the site. Said there wasn’t nobody around to sign for it, so they just left it at the gate.”

“It’s a manned site, what do they mean there wasn’t–?”

“No idea,” Joel says, cutting across him. “Just said there wasn’t anybody to take the delivery.”

Anna’s head slowly turns in your direction, likely to take another dumb selfie or to ask some random question about your outfit, but you turn away, refusing to meet her hazel-eyed stare. Refusing to let her take your attention away from this phone call. From Joel.

Your dad sighs, runs a hand down his cheek. “I hope it’s still there when I get to it. Sure you gave ‘em the right address on Monday?”

“I wrote it down exactly how you text me it.”

Joel’s voice sounds flatter than normal. Less trademark Joel grumbly and more tired, deflated. A little irritated. It bruises your heart hearing him and not chiming in, not teasing him for potentially getting the street name wrong or something. Not letting him know you’re here.

Your dad does that anyway, though.

“Well,” he sighs again, hitting the turn signal, “I’m on my way to Frank’s – girls are havin’ another one of their wild nights out. I’ll head straight from there to the site ‘n make sure everything’s in place. Thanks, Joel.”

“You, uh…you got it. Call me if there’s anythin’ you need. I’m home all night.”

The call cuts before your dad gets the chance to say goodbye. Which doesn’t really matter, because he wasn’t talking to your dad. You know it, ‘n Joel knows it.

No. He was talking to you. He knew you’d be listening. Knew that conversation would mean much more to you than it ever could to your dad. And he knew you’d be hanging on to every word he spoke.

He’s home all night, which translates to: he’s only ever fifteen minutes away if you wind up needing him. If you end up wanting him.

You’ve spent the last four days purposefully stopping yourself from wanting him. Your thumb has hovered over his name in your contacts more times than you’d care to admit. Mostly at night, when your dad goes to bed and there’s eight hours of quiet – quiet you’d usually fill by annoying Joel, striking up a conversation at midnight when he’s about to sleep.

What the fuck would you even say if he did pick up? Would you be mad? Would you yell? Or would you just break down, sob a few incoherent sentences down the line to him and pray that he doesn’t hang up?

But then – would he even pick up? It’s not a thought you want to entertain much. That sound of ringing and ringing, and no gruff, Hey, baby, at the other end.

Your chest hurts. You take a gulp of air.

You’d happily have him never touch you again if he’d just come the fuck back.

Anna slaps your arm and Joel’s face is wiped clean from your mind. “C’mon,” she chirps, and nods out of your window.

You turn to see the faded blue brick walls of Frank’s, clusters of people outside clutching cigarettes and glasses, holding hands up to shield their eyes from the sunlight and tipping their heads back in laughter at one another. Kara stands among them, arms crossed, shoulders hunched. She waves when you catch her eye, stumbling out of the car in a daze.

Anna’s arm links through yours, almost violently, and she skips along the sidewalk to Kara, who joins your chain. The three of you stroll into the bar together and over to Sam, who smiles genially in welcome.

“Hello, ladies,” he sings, leaning in. “What can I do ya for?”

“Get us drunk, Sam!” Anna exclaims, rapping her knuckles on the bar top, and, for the first time tonight, you find yourself nodding in agreement with her.

Get me –

fucking –

hammered.

----------

You get your wish. Sam hands you a cold beer, and within twenty minutes you’re ordering a second. Anna and Kara opt for cocktails, some bright pink concoction that you don’t even bother to ask the name of, you just lean over the bar and tell Sam to make up a third.

And then there are the shots, two each, which are a hysterically terrible idea. You know it as you tip your head back, sickly taste of sambuca spilling down your throat and taking with it the very last of your good sense, apparently.

All the while, that phone call rattles through your head. Joel’s voice swings between your ears like a pendulum. His dry tone, the borderline contempt he spoke to your dad with. The thought of who he’s been with and what he’s been doing either side of that call burns like the drink in your belly, and forces you back up to the bar for another to wash him away with.

You rock against the dark wood, sticky with alcohol, and hoist yourself up onto a stool. “One peer, blease, sir,” you garble to Sam, one finger in the air. “Oh, wait…”

You throw your hand down onto the bar with a roar of laughter and lean back, forgetting there’s no back to your chair. It tilts back, and your hands fumble to grab the edge of the bar, but it’s too far, too late, and you land on the solid floor with a clatter – metal leg of the stool digging into your own.

“Fuck,” you hiss, dragging yourself back to your feet. A thin line of dark red blood cuts from halfway down your calf, streaming down into your boot.

“Are you okay?” Sam yells, stood frozen with the beer and bottle opener still in his hands.

“I’m fine,” you grumble, clambering to your feet. You don’t even convince yourself.

Sam doesn’t let go of the bottle when your fingers curve around it. He looks you dead in the eye and asks, “What’s goin’ on?” and you know he won’t let go until you answer him.

“Nothin’. I’m fine.”

Until you answer him truthfully, that is.

“I’m…It’s just…I got a lot goin’ on up here.” Your shaky finger draws a circle against your temple, and your eyes flutter closed.

“I can see that. Is this really a good ide–”

“Well, howdy, clumsy!”

The owner of whatever fucking annoying voice just shrieked through your ears slaps his hand down on your shoulder, almost toppling you for the second time in five minutes, and you twist around to find a pair of red, blotchy cheeks and almost equally red hair to match, stood before you.

“Hi…?” You squint your eyes to get a better look, the figure swaying with the room behind him.

“Hi.” He’s still smiling. Two huge front teeth, like a pair of overgrown Tic Tacs. “You have no idea who I am, do you? That’s…embarrassing for me.”

“Zack!” another voice screams over the bassline of the music. “Are you fucking coming or not, dude?”

A pale, jittery guy with a dark green t-shirt hanging off of his lean frame barges into the red-haired boy’s side, and a few seconds after his mouth stops moving, you register what he’s said.

“No – f-fucking – way,” you breathe, staring him up and down. His red flannel is tucked into his jeans, sealed by a brown leather belt. There’s a longhorn head on the buckle. “Zack? From Costco? What the fuck’d you do, stalk me?”

He laughs awkwardly, looking from you to over your shoulder, where Sam’s still holding your beer.

“Sorry–” you mutter, shaking your head. “I’m not at my best right now.”

“It’s cool,” he replies, grinning. “You look like you’re having a good night. I’m out with my buddies. This is Eric.”

Eric gives you a nod – his blond fringe jumps, and he jerks his head to sweep it back out of his eyes. “Nice to meet you,” he says, before rounding again on Zack. “Seriously, bro, he says he’s not waitin’ around this time. C’mon!”

“We were gonna head to the rooftop if you wanted to come?” Zack raises his eyebrows, pointing a thumb over his shoulder as Eric and another two figures make off for the stairs at the other end of the bar.

“Sure.” You blindly reach for your beer and Sam relents, letting it slip from his grasp. He calls your name as you trot off, and you turn for one second to give his worried stare a thumbs up, before swirling back toward the stairs. No second thought.

This isn’t the night for second thoughts.

The rooftop is quieter, less crowded. Background noise made up of passing cars, a siren in the distance, and the muffled music from downstairs. You wander over to where Zack stands with Eric and a couple others: a short guy with wireframe glasses, hands stuffed in his hoodie pockets, and someone you think you almost recognize.

His black V-neck looks like it might burst at the seams around his chest, swollen with muscle. Thick neck, holding up a square jawline, and a face heavy with features which mirror the broad body below.

And a thick smell of marijuana which follows his every move.

Zack shuffles to the side to let you into the circle. You shimmy in between him and Eric.

V-neck pulls a small metal case from his back pocket and fishes a cigarette out of it. Eyes start to shift around the group, the boys glancing over shoulders to check who’s watching.

“Are we…? Is that weed?” you blurt out.

“Shut the fuck up!” Eric hisses, jabbing his elbow into your ribcage.

V-neck eyes you down quickly. It’s the first he looks at you, and it puts a sickly feeling through your body. Sends the alcohol hurtling over itself in your stomach.

You raise your eyebrows and wrap your arms around yourself, your beer bottle against your lips. “Sorry, jeez…”

“This is Knox,” Zack mutters, as Knox lights the cigarette.

He takes one hit, inhaling deeply with his chin in the air, and passes it to the boy in the hoodie. Another cloud of smoke joins Knox’s, slowly dispersing above your heads, and then it’s Eric’s turn. With a cough, his fist against his lips, he passes it to Zack. Soon, the air around you is thick and white, and Zack’s handing you the joint.

You lift it to your lips and inhale. The feeling hits you instantly; your body feels light, your face warm, your eyes blink in and out of focus, watching as a blurry shadow begins to follow your hand when you pass the joint back to Knox.

A couple more circuits, and the roach is pressed into the ground by Knox’s boot. The group separates; Zack and his friends fall into some metal chairs around a table, sparking up a debate on the best Lord of the Rings film, and you float around nearby.

“You a friend of Zack’s?” Knox asks, downing what’s left of his whiskey.

“Hm…Not really. We met at Costco, ‘cause I was there to get some party stuff for my dad’s friend’s daughter’s– Well, she’s my friend, too, and she wanted this garden party, and my dad’s friend was like, What the fuck is a garden party? you know, so I had to go help ‘im get stuff for it, with my dad, who was kinda a buzzkill, but anyway…Z-Zack helped me lift some sodas into my cart.”

Knox nods once. Fingers locked tight around his empty glass. He’s staring you down like you’re fresh meat.

You purse your lips and stare back, but quickly get bored when he doesn’t speak, and you miss Anna and her selfies and her sambuca shots. As you’re about to wander back to the door, though, Knox steps in front of you.

“So, you’re here often, then?”

Your shoulder knocks into his. “Huh?”

“Saw you last week. You were pretty spaced, don’t know if you remember.”

The memory whips past your eyes quicker than you can catch it, frames lingering only long enough for you to see Knox’s thick arm linked with yours outside Frank’s, the smell of weed in your nostrils, and the bright lights of Joel’s truck. And then it’s gone, before you can get a good grip of it.

“I’m…I remember now. Yeah. No, I’m not here much, I just…Rough week.”

He nods again, and you suspect he hasn’t listened to a word you’ve said since he got you alone. “You want another drink?”

The way he’s looking at you makes you feel more and more nauseous. Makes you want to turn and run back downstairs, slot in beside Anna and Kara, bury yourself between their shoulders and stay there until they decide they want to go home.

It makes you feel the way it felt last week, when he halted you outside the bar on your way to Joel. And suddenly the memory is soaring in front of your eyes again.

Your hand on Joel’s elbow. The frown on his face. Whitened knuckles around the steering wheel. ‘s go, pretty girl. Pretty girl. Pretty girl. Pretty girl.

“Yeah,” you tell Knox. “Yeah, I do.”

You follow him downstairs where he nods to Sam at the bar.

Sam ignores him, instead glares at you. “Can we talk…?” he asks, but Knox cuts across him.

“Beer, right?” he checks with you, and you nod. “And another whiskey.”

Your friend hesitantly grabs the drinks, glancing up at you every five seconds in a question. You respond by nodding slowly, feeling your head bounce each time you do.

You lazily scan the room for Anna and Kara, who you spot in a booth over by the window. The spotlights overhead reflect in the sparkles of Anna’s dress; Kara’s holding the straw of her drink between her lips, bobbing her head to the music. You saunter over, twirling on your way.

“Where have you been, baby?” Anna calls, giggling when you fall against the booth, palms flat on the wooden table.

“Upstairs,” you mumble, and then feel a tap on your back.

“Forgot this,” Knox says, pushing the beer into your hand. “You wanna go dance?”

Anna’s face twists into one of worry, and you give her an apologetic smile and spin off, following the wide frame to a dark corner of the bar where he takes your wrist and pulls your body against his.

He’s not doing much dancing, rather, he’s just keeping a solid grip on your waist, watching as you rock side to side, taking a couple shallow sips of your drink. You pull on his arm, Fucking move, dude, but he only leans further back, until he’s shrouded in shadows and pulling you into them with him.

When he leans into your space and snakes a drunken arm tight around your neck, you don’t retreat. You lean in, too, and plant your lips on his.

It’s messy, it’s a little gross. He tastes sour, weed and alcohol on his tongue, and it makes you wish you’d never started kissing him. Still, you take it further. You open your mouth more, letting more of him in, soak your own tongue, wet your lips. You barely even feel it when his hands move south and cup your ass, and it’s only when he squeezes that you wriggle out of his grip.

“Sorry,” you mumble, taking hold of his sleeve to steady yourself. “Sorry.”

He shakes his head, says something short that you don’t hear, and you lean back against him, wrapping your arms around his neck.

He’s smaller, much shorter than Joel. Your shoulders almost match the height of his. But he’s more built, he’s bulkier, in an uncomfortable way. Like trying to put your arms around a giant balloon or something. There’s no softness, no enclosing feeling when your weight presses against his. Just the huge surface of his chest, the hollow feeling of two mismatched bodies unwillingly pushed together.

Not strong. Not safe. Not secure. Not him.

But you’re kissing him again, because it’s the first time in five days you’ve felt something other than your aching chest and heavy head. You’re kissing him because you feel unwanted and unloved and, even though he seems almost as hammered as you are, it feels good to have someone want to be on you.

You’re kissing him because you’re trying to pretend it’s Joel.

Only he tastes…well, disgusting, and he smells different. He’s sweating from the heat in the bar, and his arms aren’t placed somewhere to make you feel wrapped in his grasp, they’re placed anywhere that he can pinch, squeeze, or otherwise fondle.

Joel’s face swims in and out of your head; a smile as he pulls you in for a kiss, a smirk when he’s telling you off, soft eyes when he’s listening to you talk. It makes you want to throw up.

That might just be the drinks.

Someone taps you furiously on the shoulder, and you push Knox off your body.

When your eyes fail to meet Sam’s, he takes your wrist and drags you behind the bar, ripping the beer bottle from your grasp and almost launching it into the sink. It smashes, and the liquid pours down the drain.

“Hey, what the f–?”

“I’m gonna call your dad,” he yells, deafening to your numb ears.

“Do not fucking call my dad,” you slur, laughing a little. “I’m fine! I’m having fun.”

“You’re fucking wasted. And that guy – he’s bad news.”

“Does it matter?”

He shakes his head in disbelief. “Who even are–? What the fuck is up with you right now? Yes, it fucking matters!”

“Not my dad,” you repeat as you back away, staggering over to the booth where your friends sit.

Anna storms over to meet you, slipping her wrist around yours and bringing you to a halt. “Did Sam find you?” she asks. Her hands plant on your shoulders, and she dips her head until you’re eye to eye.

She’s blurry. She’s nothing but shapes, and movements, and noises. And she’s fucking pissing you off.

“Can everyone just – get the fuck off of me?” you groan, stumbling backwards, and Anna links her hands with yours to stop you from collapsing.

She pulls you back upright, leaning in close. Her head shakes, you can see that much. But her expression is cloudy, and her hands don’t let go of yours so easily when you try to pull away. The orb-like shapes in front of you mutter your name, only it’s not Anna’s voice, it’s his.

Anna’s babbling, panicked tone drives through your skull. “She’s been drinking, like, a lot, and I think she might’ve had some weed upstairs. But Sam said he saw –”

“C’mon, kid,” his voice says again, and there’s a heavy arm pulling you off to the door.

“Get – off – of – me.” You struggle in his grasp, pushing his body away from yours, fingers expecting to find the V-neck collar of a black shirt and instead finding –

Buttons. The edges of a green flannel shirt. And a soft cotton tee underneath. And then his scent washes over you: warm, sweet, earthy. Grounding.

“Joel…” you whisper, thick with fear and intoxication and need.

His jaw angles down, you catch one fleeting glimpse of his chin, graying beard, tight lips hidden beneath it, and then you’re shoving his chest again, attempting to push him as far away from your own body as he’ll go.

Only he doesn’t move.

“Fuck off,” you seethe, palms flat on his pecs. “Get the fuck away from me.”

He says your name in a hazy blur, says, “We’re goin’ home,” and you almost laugh in his face.

“I don’t f-fucking think so.”

“Yeah? Well, I do. Thanks, Anna, I got her.”

“Hey,” a fourth voice joins the chorus, “hey, you know this guy?”

Knox pushes past Joel’s arm, unlinking your fingers from his, and takes your shoulder with one rough hand. All your anger, all your rage at Joel, and yet, the second you’re separated from him, the only thing on your mind is having his hand back around yours.

Joel’s upper lip twitches, he stares at the back of Knox’s head and then scoffs, reaches by him again to take your wrist. You let him have it. “Come on,” he says.

Knox is rounding on him, holding Joel back with a palm flat to his chest. “I ain’t too comfortable lettin’ her head outta here with some random old man, dude…”

Shut the fuck up shut the fuck up shut the –

Joel’s jaw ticks. His expression falls blank, narrowed eyes looking up and down Knox’s frame as you tremble behind it, Anna’s steady arm around your shoulders.

“Take your hand off of me, and move aside,” he snarls, voice dangerous. You can hear the threat, and at the same time, the desperate attempt from within himself to hold off.

“Hey,” Anna reaches forward, tapping Knox’s shoulder three times with a glittery nail, “she knows him. It’s fine. He’s fine.”

“Nah, man,” Knox hisses back, “who the fuck even are you? You ain’t takin’ her anywhere.”

You step forward, putting yourself between the two of them, hands clumsily landing on each of their shoulders. “He’s a f…my dad’s friend,” you slur, eyes unfocused.

Knox isn’t listening. He hasn’t listened the entire fucking night. His eyes are set on Joel’s as he wraps a tight fist around your free arm, trying to pull you closer to him. Only he’s hurting you, and your fingers struggle to pry yourself free, so you look up at Joel.

You couldn’t see Anna’s expression. Couldn’t make out the worry on her face that her voice clued you in on. You could barely even see Sam, when he dragged you out of the dark corner of the bar.

But you can see Joel. See the shadow his brows cast over his glower, see his thin lips, see the tightening of his jaw. See the rage inside him like it’s an alarm beacon, flashing red from behind his eyes.

Knox tugs angrily on your wrist. “You just gonna let this asshole ruin your night?”

“Let go of m-me,” you murmur, suddenly feeling the bar’s eyes on you. Your face reddens with heat from the alcohol, doubled by your embarrassment.

When he hears you, Joel’s face contorts into one you’ve never seen on his face in your life. Fury, disgust and fury, twisting his lip and tugging on his brows. He leans in and rips yours and Knox’s hands apart, pulling you free and shifting you behind his body with as much effort as it’d take him to click his fingers. Your weak hand reaches out to take a fistful of his shirt, holding onto him at his spine.

The men square up to one another, Joel at least four inches taller and, despite Knox’s built form, far broader. Knox takes a step forward and Joel matches.

“Joel…” you whisper, catching Anna’s gaping stare over his shoulder.

“Hey, uh, Mr. Miller?” Sam edges in from behind Knox. “I’m gonna have to ask that you…don’t…do this, but if you have to, can y’all maybe move it out to the street?”

“Do I gotta do somethin’?” Joel asks Knox. You pull in closer to his back, trying to hide your face from the spotlight cast on you by what feels like thousands of drunken eyes staring directly at you.

Knox thinks it over for a moment. You can see Zack watching like a deer in the headlights from behind his buddy. He’s seen Joel before, and you know from the way his eyes stick on him that he recognizes him. Remembers how briskly he swept you out of the soft drinks section, how blunt he was about it.

The V-neck swells with the deep inhale its wearer takes, and then he shakes his head, sighing. Smug smirk thick across his lips.

“Nah, man. I didn’t think she was gonna be worth the fuck anyways, so.”

Joel clicks his teeth, gives his head one quick shake, mutters a resigned, “Alright,” then reaches back, and nudges you gently by the stomach until you’re safely out of reach.

And then he swings.

Once, catching Knox across the corner of his jaw, sending his face skyward. The crowd around the three of you gasps. Knox’s burly chest twists, and he staggers backward. His hands come up to clutch his face before Joel’s taking the collar of his shirt in his fist, reeling him in and holding him steady.

“Joel!” you yell, but he doesn’t fucking hear you.

His second blow lands square on Knox’s nose with a crack loud enough even for your numb ears to hear over the thudding music. Blood sprays from his nostrils and floods down into his mouth, smearing across his cheek as Joel’s knuckles ricochet off the square face. The crimson pours down his chin, spattering onto his shirt, bright and shocking against the stretched black material.

Joel lets him drop and he collapses onto all fours, coughing blood and spit and whatever the fuck else onto the dark floor.

“Fuck!” Knox screams, fingers trembling over his burst nose – thick, dark droplets running down his hands. “You motherfucker, you broke my fucking nose!”

Joel stoops down, takes the back of Knox’s shirt in two rough hands and hauls him up until he’s limp on his knees.

“I ever see you around here again,” he growls, “I ever find out you’ve been anywhere near her, as much as looked in the same fuckin’ direction as her, I’ll do worse ‘n break your Goddamn nose. You hear me?”

Knox whimpers, more blood dribbles from between his lips, and Joel throws him down. He turns back to you, massaging his knuckles with his thumb, and grabs your hand.

Your voice is weak with shock. “What the f-uck was that?”

“Just – come on,” he says, dragging you out of Frank’s without another word.

He leads your wobbly form down the street, past chattering crowds toward his black truck, opening the door for you and helping your unsteady limbs up into the passenger side, before he closes the door over and strides around to the driver’s side.

When he shuts his door – more of a slam – he sighs, head leaning back. His hand clenches and then relaxes, loosening his knuckles, hissing anytime the quickly-darkening skin stretches.

“Sorry,” you mutter.

“What you sorry for?”

You shrug. Your mouth trips over words. “…gettin’ you into a barfight.”

He doesn’t look over at you. Just Hms and switches the ignition on, pulling away from the busy curb.

“Where’s m-my dad?” you slur.

“Work. Site inspection, remember?”

You nod, turning back to the road when you start to feel motion sick. Your eyes feel like they’re spinning in their sockets, your stomach flips with the slightest turn. “He get that delivery?” you ask, letting Joel know you heard the phone call earlier.

His jaw turns in your direction. Letting you know he knows you heard it. “Yeah. He’ll be home in a couple hours.”

“Did Sam c-call him?”

“No. Why?”

You lean your head against the passenger window, the cold distracting your brain from the ache in your head. The streetlights sail by in a blur. The engine rattles through the glass.

“Asked ‘im not to.”

“Yeah? ‘n why’s that?”

Your head rolls back onto the headrest as you decide on an answer. I didn’t want him seeing me drunk and high. I don’t care about you seeing me drunk and high. I just wanted to see you.

“’s never seen me drunk.”

“Or high?”

You snort. “I’m not…”

When your head slants to the left to look at Joel, his face turns from yours. He was just looking at you, and you missed it. Probably had that look on his face, that Nice try, kid expression.

“Okay…” you admit, spiritless, “a little high, then.”

“Anna was the one who called,” Joel says. “Said you were hammered, some guy was all over you, ‘n Sam watched him put somethin’ in your drink. They couldn’t find you anywhere. She was fuckin’ hysterical.”

Your head bobs with the moving truck. “When’d he put someth…?”

Joel shrugs. “I dunno. But I believe it.”

So do I, you think. Knox was on you from the minute he saw you. Tight grip around your waist, your wrist, drawing you into him with beer and weed and whatever else he had in his pockets. The comment that had warranted him two bone-breaking punches from Joel all but confirmed the intentions he had in mind. And now you feel fucking stupid.

“I didn’t really…I only had a couple sips of it,” you hear yourself saying, head heating with embarrassment – an attempt to convince him, or maybe more yourself, that you’re not as dumb as leaving your drink to be roofied.

Your voice sounds pathetic, though, and Joel doesn’t say anything to make you feel better. Doesn’t say anything to make you feel worse, either – the silence does that by itself.

You bring your knees up to your chin, nestling a little into the seat. It could almost feel like nothing’s happened, nothing’s changed, except you’re intoxicated, and Joel’s hands are firmly by his person. Not on your thigh, or tangled between your fingers like they usually would be.

You study him. Stare at every part of him like it’s the last time you’ll ever get to see it, until the gentle curve of his nose and the glint of his watch face are burned into the back of your eyelids when you close them over. Face lit red from the brake lights in front, right hand sitting idly on his thigh.

He looks like your Joel. Almost. Just a little closed off. Distant.

But he came to get you, right? Damn near punched Knox’s lights out, took you by the hand, led you back to the safety of his truck. He came straight to Frank’s as soon as Anna called. And he’s taking you home. He’s looking out for you.

So why doesn’t he feel like your Joel?

Well. You can wager a pretty solid guess. It starts with L and ends with comma, Receptionist at Clark’s Plant Hire.

The dark silhouette of your house looms overhead as Joel pulls into your drive. Sure enough, your dad’s not home.

The engine cuts and your head drops, eyes fixing on your hands clasped in your lap. You know Joel’s watching you. What the fuck is he thinking about?

Fuck that. Don’t think about that. Let’s not dive into that pool of imagination.

“Well, thanks.” You do your best to smile, without really looking at him. Your fingers find the door handle and you tug on it, pushing it open and spilling out onto your driveway.

You hear Joel sniff behind you. “Need a hand?”

“I’m good,” you call back, only just managing to stay on your feet.

The cold air helps a little to waken you up, sharpen your senses, but the world around you is still a whir of dull color and shapelessness, and you wobble across to the house in a route of zig-zags, boots almost tripping over thin air as you go. When you reach your front door, you hear his truck lock and the shadow of him appears by your side.

“I said I’m good.”

“I ain’t leaving you, kid. You’re hammered.”

You roll your eyes and open your mouth to protest, but then he’s taking the keys out of your hand and unlocking the door himself, hand on your back as he ushers you into your own house.

“I’m f-fine,” you repeat, tripping over the doorway.

“Look it.”

You meander over to the stairs, and when your foot manages to find the first step, Joel says your name. Your gaze sweeps across the floor until it meets his boots, travels up his legs, and finally rests on his outstretched hand.

“Water,” he tells you.

“I’m fine,” you say, the word losing meaning the more you utter it. “I wanna go – to bed.”

He shakes his head, and then tilts it in the direction of the kitchen.

You groan, mumble something about him being such an asshole, and walk straight by his hand.

Joel doesn’t react. Just follows you and hits the lights, which burn your eyes when they flicker to life. You wince and point up to them.

“Off,” you bluntly order, and he grunts, stepping back to oblige. You’re plunged straight back into darkness.

You’re holding yourself unsteadily against the edge of the kitchen island, whole body swaying. The room is fucking spinning, the lights out back swirling with it in a blur of white motion before your eyes. You swallow dryly and turn around to focus on Joel.

He’s filling a glass over the sink. “What happened to your leg?” he asks over his shoulder.

You turn your knee, examining the dent in your calf where the stool leg cut into you. The dry burgundy stain like a backwards seam line on your skin, emerging from a bright red bruise slowly fading to deep purple.

“Fell off a stool,” you mutter, angling it in the moonlight streaming in through the window.

Joel Hms again. “You got anything to cover it?”

You shrug, having lost any and all energy to barter back with him. He slides the glass across the countertop to you, followed by a bottle of painkillers, then turns back to the open drawer he pulled them from and begins rummaging for a band-aid.

Your shaky hand lifts the glass to your lips. It’s cold and slippery in your grasp, drops of condensation running over your fingers like the blood from Knox’s nose had run over his. The more you tighten your grip, the harder it becomes to hold, until it’s sliding from your clutch.

“Easy,” Joel murmurs, appearing at the side of you and placing his hands over yours, holding the glass still.

“Your knuckles are bleeding,” you say, eyes focusing and then unfocusing on the marks at the base of his fingers, the dabs of dark red where the skin has burst.

He slowly lowers your hands until the glass is safely back on the counter, and then pulls away from you, drawing his swollen knuckles in to his body.

“They’re bleedin’,” you repeat, looking up at him.

“I know they’re bleedin’.”

“Let me see,” you step forward, “Joel. Let me–”

He catches your hands in his. Pushes them back down. Stares at the counter, sighs instead of replying.

Your eyes sting, filling with tears that crowd your already-blurred vision. The punch you feel to your gut brings you to your senses as if it drains you of every substance in your system all at once.

It’s like he’s broken up with you all over again. And it pisses you the fuck off.

“Fuck you,” you whisper into the dark, and he doesn’t move. Doesn’t lift his eyes, doesn’t even flinch. “Fuck you, so much.”

You’re staring him down, what little you can see of him in the pale light cascaded onto him through the shades. The crease between his brows, more prominent with the frown on his face; the line his lips form with the tight clench of his jaw.

Fucking look at me, you think. He can say something back – anything. You can stand and hiss horrible words at one another, yell at each other if that’s what he wants to do. Argue until you’re blue in the face, until the alcohol’s all dried up and the moonlight on his chest is replaced by sunlight. Just fucking look at me.

“You’re an asshole and a liar, you know that?”

“Yeah?” he asks, eyebrows lifting.

“Yeah,” you decide. “Just stringing me along this whole time.”

You blink away the tears before they can fall, making room for more. They’re forming rapidly, each time heavier, and thicker, and angrier. But fuck it, right? This is over. He’s done, and you’re done. Just ignore the pain of it, stick your finger in the wound and keep pushing until you hit bone.

“That guy you punched? He was all over me. All fucking night.”

Joel’s voice is toneless. He’s already over the conversation before it’s begun. “I know he was, kid.”

“We kissed.”

“I know that, too.”

“Had his hands all over me. ‘n if it hadn’t been him, it woulda been literally any other guy in there.”

The words are starting to bleed into one another in your inebriated state. Anger turning to rage turning to fear turning to shame turning to hurt turning back into anger.

“Woulda kissed any one of ‘em. Mighta let them take me home, mighta let them fuck me.”

His head gives an involuntary shake and he blinks. Like he’s trying to wash the thought away. The image of you under someone else, moaning someone else’s name, pulling someone else into your body.

“That piss you off? It make you hate me?”

And then he looks up. Finally, his gaze locks with yours. And his eyes are just as glassy, just as fucking full of tears as yours. He replies with the worst thing he could possibly come up with. It forces the breath from your lungs in a painful exhale.

“There ain’t a thing in this world that you could do that would make me hate you, you know that.”

And then your tears start to fall. Your façade breaks. Stone crumbles. Dam bursts. They fall onto your cheeks, searing on your heated skin, rolling down onto the front of your dress in dark splatter marks.

Through a sob, you choke out another, “Fuck you, Joel,” and then, when you catch your breath, “you don’t get to – to sleep with someone else, and make me feel like the idiot for it.”

He looks up at you with a dark expression, lips locked tight like he’s refusing to let something slip. He shakes his head, and then says, “Can we not have this conversation right now?”

You scoff. A drunken, angry scoff. “You don’t wanna talk about her? When’s a good fuckin’ time, then? When suits you and f-fuckin’ – Lois?”

He falls quiet. Presses his fingers into his eyes. Sighs. “Baby,” he says into his palms.

“’m not your fucking baby,” you whisper between your teeth.

“Baby.” He drops his hands. Looks you dead in the eye. “I did not sleep with Lois.”

You’re frozen to the spot. Your lips fall apart, coated in salty tears. You’re holding your breath, though you’re not sure what for. The room stops spinning for all of ten seconds until he speaks again.

“I didn’t. I know what that message sounded like. Know how you musta heard it. But nothin’ happened, nothin’ has ever happened. Nothin’ would ever happen,” he says, a little more animated, tossing his hands in the air.

You stare between his eyes. He’s still enough that your fucked brain can focus on them, can see plain as day – even in the dark kitchen, even through your cloudy tears and all of the poison in your blood – that he’s telling the truth.

“Ex-plain,” you say dryly, looking down to his lips.

Joel sighs again. “I told you I had work to do. Had to head over to Clark’s to order that stuff for your dad. Saw her there, said hi. ‘n that’s all.”

Your eyes slowly close over, wet lashes on hot, dehydrated skin. Your ears are ringing, your body aching. You breathe a sigh as what he says sinks into your slow, throbbing brain, and then lull to one side, slumping against the counter.

“You didn’t…you didn’t think this was worth tellin’ me on Monday?”

“Tried, baby. You were gone. You were so angry; thought it’d be better if I let you cool off.”

“You’re – a fucking – idiot,” you seethe, shaking your head. It’s starting to pound again, sharp pain right behind your eyes like they’re being tugged backwards.

“Well, tonight, I guess that makes two of us.”

You grimace at him. “Lettin’ me go for four fuckin’ days thinking that –”

“– thinkin’ that I would actually cheat on ya? ‘s that what you think a’ me?”

“What did you ex-pect? You didn’t exactly try to – c-clear it up.” You step back, lifting a hand to cup your forehead with a groan. A mix of frustration, pain, and exhaustion in the form of a slow-moving ache hauls its way from one temple to the other.

“Baby, I gotta get you to bed,” Joel says, stepping forward. “We can talk about this when you’re able to see straight.”

“I’m fine,” you whimper, but it’s the least convincing you’ve sounded all night.

“Kid–”

“Don’t fucking call me kid. Like it’s some pet name, like you give a damn about me–”

“You think I don’t give a damn about you? You think I don’t care?”

Your head wobbles in response. It sends the room hurtling again, Joel’s figure swimming in and out of your vision. You grab the countertop again in attempt to freeze him in place.

He tuts and turns his jaw. “You know how much sleep I’ve had these last few days? Not a fuckin’ minute. I ain’t slept a single night, worryin’ about you ‘n what’s goin’ through your head. Like I give a damn about you. I wish I didn’t give a damn about you, baby. Make my life a whole lot easier.”

“Then, show me. Fucking prove it to me.”

“Prove it to you how? Break some asshole’s nose in a bar? Take you home when you’re wasted?”

Yeah. And also, no. Not just that.

You seethe. “You know what the fuck I mean. Do something about it.”

“I can’t,” he says, raising his voice. “Can’t take you out on dates, can’t put my arm around you, can’t kiss you ‘less there ain’t nobody watchin’. I can’t do none of what I wanna do. This is – it’s fuckin’…”

“…impossible,” you breathe, thick and slurred.

Joel lifts his head then, sees the look in your eye. He sniffs. “’s pretty damn hard, yeah.”

You tip your head back, feel the weight of your tears and your eyes and your brain slap against the back of your skull, a nauseating pull at the nape of your neck. You’re defeated. Nothing left in you to argue, talk, even so much as breathe.

Your words drag between one another, each one beginning with the remnants of the one before it.

“Just - take me to bed.”

He’s standing inches from you, hands hovering over your own, hesitant or unwilling or fucking afraid to touch you.

You ball your fists against his chest and give him one tiny, ineffective shove. But he’s bigger, stronger, sober. He doesn’t budge. Accepting defeat, you breathe one last, “Fuck you,” and brush past him, staggering out of the kitchen.

Joel – water and painkillers in hand – watches you like a hawk going upstairs, arms braced for you to lean on anytime you begin to tumble backward. When you do, his hand brushes your elbow, and you whip it out of his reach and reel it back in to your body.

He settles you on the bed just like he did six days ago, after your rodeo night. Only he doesn’t kneel, doesn’t take your boots off. Just walks away, grabs a tee from your chest of drawers and hands it to you to slip into by yourself.

You don’t even have to open your eyes. You know which one he’s given you. Can tell from the feel of the material, the cracked lettering on the chest, that it’s his Rangers shirt, the same one he put on you the first night you slept together. Smells more like you than it does him these days, but feels just like he always does. And as he waits a safe two-feet from you for you to change, no hands reaching out to help, to fix your hair, to stroke your cheek – you think the shirt will just have to do.

Everything he does is close enough for you to recognize him as Joel, and yet distant enough for him to be someone totally different. Every move he makes is pre-determined, all outcomes already analyzed and mapped, all risks carefully averted. It’s like he’s walking a minefield.

He hands you a couple of pills and helps with lifting the water to your lips. Then he sits at the end of your bed and applies the band-aid while you drag a makeup wipe clumsily over your face.

His thumbs linger on your fucked leg, rubbing over the padded dressing a few times after it’s stuck on, gentle and slow. Eyes never leaving the spot your skin broke open. And then, when you’re done with it, he takes the makeup wipe and quickly runs it down your calf, cleaning the dry blood from your skin.

Touch as delicate as though he were holding a rose – fingers brushing over your body like you might tear or fall apart at the slightest movement. When he’s done, he makes his way around to the opposite side of the bed.

“There’s a sleeping bag in the hall closet if you’d rather take the floor,” you tell him, rolling back and pulling your knees to your chin.

“Nah,” Joel says with the groan of a near-fifty-year-old man, kicking his boots off and propping his pillows up. “We’re close enough by now.”

He pulls the flannel from his shoulders and tosses it to the end of the bed, then slips in under the covers beside you, clasping his hands on his chest. His entire body a perfectly polite distance away.

Your wrist lifts, weak and limp, and your fingers ghost across his red wine knuckles. He winces a little, but he doesn’t move. Instead, he watches as you trace the curves of his hands, surfing the valleys where the bone drops, then back up to the peaks where the blood breaks from his skin.

“You didn’t have to…” you whisper. “He was just some dirtbag.”

He sniffs. Replies to you in his head, translated through the look in his eye. Wasn’t all about the dirtbag.

And you know it. Knox was just an asshole who took the hit for the last four days. Sure, he deserved it. But his big, ugly face and the uglier words which happened to tumble out of it were simply a punchbag full of sand; Joel’s fist hammering into it was as much about defending you as it was about punishing someone, anyone, the first fucker who wound up on the wrong side of him, for everything that had happened.

He's angry. At himself and at you and at this entire fucking mess. And you’re angry. At yourself and at him and at the very same thing. The two of you lie side by side in the dark, both broken and bruised and bleeding. You let out a small, pathetic sigh, and Joel echoes it.

His eyes close over and you stare at him. Stare at the faint lines on his face that slowly fade as he relaxes more, falls closer and closer to sleeping. Watch his chest slowly rising and falling, and his hands moving up and down with it. His entire body is still. Like it’s the first calm he’s had in a while. The first time he’s been able to settle.

And you stare at him. For hours, feels like. You stare at him until sleep, or alcohol, or something stronger coats over your vision and sweeps him out of focus.

----------

The wall opposite your window is lit with a single stripe of bright, nauseating orange, the sunrise staring in between your drapes. There are birds screaming outside. Your head is still throbbing and your throat feels like splintered wood and the other side of your bed is empty.

He can’t have left long ago. The mattress is still warm under the sheets he’s folded back over. His shirt is sat folded on the pillowcase.

You grab it and haul yourself out of bed – head still spinning, you trip out of your room.

He’s gotta be in the kitchen. He’ll be standing at the counter drinking a coffee, he’ll mumble a Mornin’, then pull you in and kiss the top of your head. He’ll ask how you’re feeling and if you want some breakfast. He’ll be Joel again.

“Joel…?” you call, rounding the bottom of the stairs toward the kitchen. No response.

The clock on the oven reads 5:57. The kitchen is deserted. When you loop around the island – as if he’d be crouched behind it or something – you notice an empty mug sitting in the sink, trails of black coffee at the bottom.

Your shaking hands cup around the ceramic. It’s cooling, but it’s warm.

He’s been in here.

“Joel!” you yell. Come out, now, this ain’t funny anymore.

You hear the squeak of wheels rolling to a stop outside and flee over to the living room windows, daybreak burning your eyes when you peer through the shades.

You’re frantically searching, going blind with the bright rays singeing your corneas, pacing back and forth between each window to get an angle on the street that will show you his truck. Show you him.

You don’t even notice the sound of keys in the door, or the rattle it makes as it pushes open.

“Hey, kiddo.”

You whip around. The owner of the voice lifts a hand to his puffy eyes and rubs them, yawning.

“H-hi, Dad.”

You look fucking insane. Hair all over the place, makeup haphazardly removed, Joel’s flannel shirt hanging from your fist. Wearing nothing but a long tee, a blood-seeped band-aid on your calf.

“Good night?” he says with a sleepy chuckle. “I am pooped. You want anythin’ before I head up to bed?”

You shake your head, but he’s not looking. Rubbing his eyes with his knuckles.

“Alright, I’m gonn–”

“Where’s Joel?”

Your desperation has reached a new high. Your pride, a new low. You just want him back, don’t care who knows or thinks or suspects what. Just come back.

“Huh?”

“Joel? He brought me home and I woke up and he’s gone.”

“He – Well, I…I suppose he’ll be at work, hon. He can’t stick around here all day.” He smiles weakly, and then swivels on his heels.

“He text you?”

He sighs, his back still turned. “What has gotten into…? Here.”

Your dad twists and throws his phone toward you. It lands on the carpet at your feet. Then he turns back and begins climbing the stairs.

“See ya in a few hours.”

When he turns the corner on the landing and his footsteps fade out of earshot, you bend and your fingers clutch his phone.

He has one unread text from Joel.

You unlock the phone with a click and open up the message thread. Your half-drunk, half-sleepy eyes flit across the screen, leaning back against the arm of the couch to read every word he ever sent your dad.

Joel: She’s in bed. Sat with her for a bit to make sure she didn’t roll onto her back. She’s a little worse for wear. I got a job up in Waco I need to be at in an hour, so I gotta head.

You scroll further back.

Joel: She okay?

Joel: Sarah says she hasn’t heard from her in a few days. We can come over for dinner tonight if you reckon that might help?

Further back still.

Joel: Sure, not doing anything anyway. Sarah in Nashville. Tell her to text me when she’s ready to be picked up. Hope she enjoys her rodeo night 🤠

Joel: Table booked for 6. Get you both at 5:45. Looking forward to it.

You scroll until your eyes hurt.

Joel: No answer. She’ll be home soon I bet.

Joel: You ever seen Grey’s Anatomy? Pretty good TV

Joel: Your daughter available tonight to help me put up stuff for Sarah coming home? I fear what might happen if I attempt it myself

You read the final message, the first thing he sent your dad after you got home. Six days in. He’d driven you home from work.

Joel: No problem, wouldn’t have her walking home in the rain. Was nice to see her again. She’s a sweetheart.

You’re laid back across the couch, your legs hanging over the armrest. You drop the phone to your chest and stare up at the ceiling, suddenly feeling a lot more sober.

She’s a sweetheart.

Your throat tightens around a sob. Like a fist clenching around your neck, crushing your breath to nothing. Your eyes well, tears slowly flood across your vision and then spill over, running rapidly down to your ears and seeping into the fabric of the couch. You’re still silent. Still unable to open your mouth.

You’re doing everything you can to hold back. To stop it from happening. But your chest feels like it could burst, and your eyes are screwing shut tighter and tighter, and your body curls up like an animal succumbing to a mortal wound, and then –

Then, you break.

It forces its way from your throat, hammering against the sides of your mouth before it’s escaping, tearing away from your lips and hurtling skyward. A deep, violent exhale. Broken, and painful, and heavy.

There’s no one to hold back for. Just you, sat in your living room, clutching the flannel of a man who doesn’t want you anymore.

Your breath stammers, shudders against the palms of your hands as your fingertips massage your eyes. You’re crying like a little kid, and it’s not making you feel any better, but no matter what you do, it won’t stop.

And you don’t know why. You tell yourself that: I don’t know why I’m crying. Almost laugh when you think it through to yourself: sobbing at 6AM over someone you were sleeping with, for all of, what, four weeks? I don’t know why the fuck I’m crying.

Except – you do. You do. And you’re totally, completely, undeniably fucked.

You sigh and close your eyes.

You are – fucked.

----------

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blackhairedjjun · 8 months ago

Text

honesty - c.yj

pairing: choi yeonjun x gn reader | genre / tropes: angst, open ending, non-idol au, best friends to (potential?) lovers | word count: 818 | warnings: profanity, arguing, reader has a toxic ex, implied infidelity (from the ex not yj)

part of my 300 followers event (event masterlist)

prompt - HEAT: while engaged in a passionate argument with one another, sender, in the heat of the moment, blurts out “i love you!” to the receiver. think of like, that glorious trope where people have a huge argument and then suddenly sb drops the mic with “because i’m in love with you!” and silences the other person. u know the trope! (requested by anon - "maybe with a bf2lovers au ?")

author's notes: hi anon! tbh it took me a while to write this since i already did the heat prompt with a different member and i didn't want it to be too similar lol. the ending is more maybe-lovers than outright lovers, but i hope you still like it! <3

despite the calm of the river next to you and yeonjun, your circumstances are anything but. you tried to keep your voice low at first, but your emotions run so high that you’ve given up; you care little about the other people staring at you as they stroll past.

“for fuck’s sake, yeonjun!” you yell. “you’re my friend, not my dad!”

“and aren’t friends supposed to look out for each other?!” your best friend grips his hair in his hands as if to pull it out, then lets go. “i’m telling you to stop hoping for him to come back! he doesn’t fucking care!”

“shut up! you don’t know him like i do!”

“i know he broke your heart so bad that you locked yourself up for a week, and that’s enough!” yeonjun takes a few steps toward you, but you step back.

what was supposed to be a calm afternoon stroll with your best friend has now turned into an argument once you brought up the topic of dating your ex again. you open your mouth to speak, then press your lips together. a cool wind blows from behind you; in your silence you hear a young couple laughing by the riverside, and you envy them.

you know that yeonjun is right, but you refuse to give him the point.

“ he destroyed you, y/n. and now he’s pleading for you back when he’s been kissing others?! don’t you know any better than that?!”

“i do! so why don’t you trust me on this?! why don’t you believe me when i say he’s changed? you keep seeing him as the bad guy!”

“and why don’t you trust me?!” yeonjun’s own voice gets louder with each word, oblivious to the stares of others. “i’m not making it up when i say i’ve heard him flirting with girls, i’ve seen him make out with them at parties. i’m trying to protect you from more heartbreak!”

he sucks in a breath and his voice shifts from loud to trembling. again he steps towards you, but you don’t move away. you look down at your hands to avoid his gaze and find them shaking.

“he’ll break you all over again,” he says. “and i can’t let that happen to you again... i couldn’t stand it the first time.”

a voice in your head tells you that he’s not lying; your best friend has no reason to. you ignore it and root your feet to the ground. “and that’s none of your fucking business, yeonjun. just let me make this choice for myself! i don’t need you trying to tell me what to feel. why do you care so much, huh? why are you trying to control how i feel?!”

“because i一 y/n, you can’t be serious��”

“i am serious! why the hell do you care so much about this damn guy?!”

“because i’m in love with you!”

yeonjun’s eyes widen as he realizes what he just said and he takes a few steps back. you’re frozen to your spot, but you no longer feel rooted. instead you feel brittle, as if a single touch could send you crumbling. every nerve in your body feels primed to fall apart.

“shit, i never should have said that. god, i am so sor一”

“yeonjun...”

his name is barely a whisper from your mouth. you swallow hard, unsure what to say. you can do nothing more but stare at your best friend: the one you’ve told everything to, the one you trusted more than anything else, the one who held you in his arms when you cried after your ex broke your heart. the realization that he’s loved you all this time starts to sink in.

there’s an ache in his eyes now, one so strong that you look away. you take a deep breath and hold yourself together long enough to collect your thoughts.

“i am so sorry, y/n.” his voice breaks and you know he’s on the verge of tears. “i shouldn’t have said一”

“no, jjun.” his nickname weighs down on your tongue. “i... i just...”

you can see yeonjun’s shadow growing closer to yours. with one hand he reaches out for yours, trembling still; with the other he gently lifts your chin up to look at him. his eyes shine with tears, but the ache in them has lessened a bit.

you step forward and he collapses into you. you catch him as he stumbles forward, your arms finding his waist and his head buried in your neck. you hold him gently as you can, as if carrying a fragile treasure; his body shakes ever so slightly as he starts to cry and his tears wet your skin.

when you speak, your words are quiet and carefully chosen.

“i ran away from you, jjun. that’s why i tried to date him again... because i thought you’d never love me back.”

#txt x reader #yeonjun x reader #txt x you #yeonjun x you #choi yeonjun x reader #kpop x reader #txt imagines #kpop imagines #yeonjun imagines #txt angst #yeonjun angst #tomorrow x together imagines #txt fic #txt fanfic #yeonjun fanfic #bhj's 300 follower event 🖤#bhj: violet's works

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brograndpa · 8 months ago

Text

Looking at some party banter and losing my mind at the bloodweave ones in particular

Gale caught yapping again and only catches himself when Astarion makes that pained look of "I wasn't making a joke"

And now here Astarion is actually making a joke just to call Gale out on being a nerd that's oh so easy to shove inside a locker.

The nosy wizard is going to get us killed!! (The more delusional take is that he's worried instead akdhfkdjd)

I wouldn't describe Kethric's throne as comfortable...

Aaaaaand there it is. Love that they have the conversation continue.

I like this one. It feels like Gale's silly and overly eager nerdiness actually serves as a grounding point for Astarion. Unnerved? Just wait for the wizard to say some nonsense trivia for a soft reset of one's mind.

I like to imagine Astarion throwing his arm over Gale's shoulder as he says this. They've grown attached to each other's company, and just as Gale's given Astarion a taste for books, Astarion has given Gale a zest for life he might have lost entirely if not for the concern of the orb going off.

I think it's really something that this is a conversation with Gale. If not for Gale's relationship with Mystra, I feel like he'd have the same atheistic approach towards them as Astarion. After all, Gale only saw Mystra's protection of herself as hiding away secrets from mortals.

Just why is he so concerned with Gale's love life?!?!? I get that Astarion's a gossip, but I always found his interest here so strange.

Interesting how he holds off on asking this until Act 3, and it's only if you're romancing Gale. Like is he trying to divide the two of you further by making Gale speak positively of Mystra? Why? Mission accomplished in its own way, but still, very strange.

I'm assuming this is Gale showing concern for the player character but also a bit of a reveal from Gale himself that he prefers his romances slow and paasionate. I like to think he's hoping things go well anyway, in spite of his preferences.

...And here's the proof for that hc, right here. He really does wish the best for Astarion, because if anyone's known heartbreak, it's Gale. Crazy how Astarion, so used to just using Gale as an emotional reset button by constantly ribbing him, instead returns the sincerity in kind. I think it speaks so much to their relationship with each other that, in spite of their early animosity, both of them recognize how much friendlier the atmosphere between them has grown. Add to this the shrinking amount of distance between their tents, and you can really see the point at which they stop being frenemies and instead consider each other true friends. A rarity for them both.

Gale is being 100% genuine here btw. I don't think he forgot about the orb, I think he's just delusionally of the belief that he can change how it tastes if he gives it willingly.

My headcanon is that orb-free Gale in postgame keeps the offer on deck anyway. He just wants to help! And yet, if it does happen, it will never not feel like the two of them are cheating on Tav together 💔

Lol. Just wait until you're in those shackles, Gale...

#pr@ncing #bg3 #this is super self-indulgent #bloodweave

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just-jordie-things · 1 year ago

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[part thirteen] to build a home - gojo satoru

word count: 5.6k warnings: !!manga spoilers!! swearing, jjk-verse style fighting series summary: when (y/n) (y/l/n) catches wind that the notorious sorcerer killer, toji fushiguro, has children, she makes it her personal mission to find them. the catch being she couldn't tell a soul about them- the risk of the zen'in clan learning about them was too great. keeping the secret isn't the hard part, it's lying to her friends, shoko ieiri, geto suguru, and of course gojo satoru, that she struggles with. especially when satoru has suddenly become so keen on keeping an eye on her lately.

series masterlist

[part thirteen] : “Melt My Soul” ___

How long after a traumatic incident does your body begin to process it? A minute? A day? Or was it the very moment the incident took place?

Does the soul know that this event was going to change the body forever? Or is it the body that processes the trauma the quickest, in order to protect the soul from the impending pain and grief?

It feels as though someone had drilled into (y/n’s) bones, and filled them with metal. Quick hardening, heavy, toxic metal. It keeps her trapped in place, stuck.

So stuck, she glances down to study the concrete of the sidewalk, just to see if there was a curse there keeping her put, or cement being poured over her feet.

But no, there was nothing holding her in place. It was simply her own mind, processing the scene before her too slowly for any of her other bodily functions to operate.

She’s standing outside of a KFC, of all places, close to Shoko’s side, and just barely hiding behind Satoru. She doesn’t exactly mean to be hiding, but again, she can’t bring herself to move. Her hands are curled into fists so tight that they’re shaking- or was that just me? She wondered, and hoped at least no one could notice.

Shoko did. She hadn’t taken her eyes off of (y/n’s) trembling hands since she’d arrived.

Neither of them had said a word, but even if they weren’t frozen in shock, there wouldn’t have been a chance to. Satoru hadn’t offered even a moment for someone to cut in with their own piece of mind.

“What’re you getting at!?” He snarled loudly, not caring about the non-curse users passing by, just trying to go about their days.

(y/n’s) eyes landed on a particular disgruntled couple, who hastened their steps upon seeing the public display. How she wished to be them, at this moment. What a luxury, to find this scene annoying, maybe mildly entertaining.

To think the world as she knew it was crashing down around her, burning up into a crisp. If only she could walk away and roll her eyes.

“If I could be you…” Suguru speaks and it sounds rehearsed, calculated, as if he’d had this conversation before. “Wouldn’t my impossible ideal become possible?”

“You can’t be serious” Satoru’s voice finally drops in volume, and (y/n’s) eyes dart from one friend to the other.

She stares at Satoru hard, trying to read him, trying to figure out what was going through his mind. It’s useless, because she already knows. She already knows exactly what he’s thinking, because she’s thinking the same thing.

Satoru’s hand curls into a fist, and when (y/n) notices it, she relaxes her own hands, which suddenly feel sore from how long she’s kept them tensed. Her palms feel raw as the cool breeze hits them.

For the first time since she’d arrived, she opens her mouth.

“Don’t do this, Suguru,”

All eyes are on her now as she steps forward. Her entire body is aching, maybe from the intense workout she’d done before warping here, maybe from the way the heartbreak is killing her soul.

But then again, what was one more heartbreak?

“Just- just come back, okay? Come back home and we can- we can talk this out”

Satoru and Shoko stare at her, surprised by the offer, wondering if she meant it, that she’d forgive him for his heinous crimes against non-sorcerers, against his own family.

What they don’t know is she’s speaking without thinking. The words that fall from her take a piece of her heart with them, making them sound like the most sincere thing she’s ever spoken, but truthfully, she just doesn’t want to accept that this is who Geto Suguru was now. She wanted to give him a chance to prove it all wrong. She wanted to give them all a chance to forget the last few months and go back to normal.

Suguru chuckles, shaking his head and plastering on a smile.

“Ever the hypocrite, (y/n),” He says, tucking his hands into his pockets.

Her posture stiffens, and her features harden too. Forgiveness was only Plan A. Her fingers twitch at her sides, and she fights the urge to curl them back into fists.

“Your exhaustion becomes you,” Suguru continues, with a smile on his face that doesn’t reach his eyes, which are pointed at her with a venom (y/n) can recognize even from the distance she’s at. “I see you’ve made your choice”

It’s a comment that doesn’t make sense to the others, but (y/n) knows fully well what Suguru was getting at. Her teeth grit together.

“Don’t you speak to me about choices!”

On it’s own angered accord, her arm shoots over her shoulder, fingers wrapping firmly around the hilt of one of her swords. Before she can unsheath it, Satoru’s hand is around her wrist, halting her.

Her head whips towards him so fast she hears a joint pop in her neck, but she’s not bothered by the unsettling crack, consumed enough by her rage to glare at him, silently demanding to know why he was stopping her. Satoru doesn’t say a word, but when he slowly releases his hold on her, she doesn’t try to draw her weapon again. The fire in her eyes doesn’t die as he holds her glare.

Suguru laughs to himself, shrugging his shoulders.

“I suppose this is goodbye, to all of you”

Satoru and (y/n) look back over to him, neither of them knowing what to say. Shoko is wilting behind them both, not having said a word since Satoru and (y/n) had shown up.

Suguru raises his hand, giving what appeared to be a friendly wave. It feels like a finishing blow. With that, he turns around, and walks away. He doesn’t run, he doesn’t summon one of the many curses he could have used to carry him away at high speed. He simply strolls away.

Satoru raises his arm, and (y/n) watches with baited breath as he positions his middle and forefinger to his palm, tucked there by his thumb, and keeps it aimed directly at Suguru.

It’s only for a few seconds, but with her breath caught in her throat, it felt like ages.

Did she want him to do it? Her heart pounded in her chest, getting quicker with every beat. Did she want to stop him, just as he had stopped her? Did she want to beg him not to kill him?

The question hits her, and her breath is finally released, a heavy, shaky exhale that makes her entire body deflate.

Did she want Suguru to die?

Satoru lowers his arm, although his eyes are still trained on the spot his best friend once stood. He was gone now, lost in the crowd of people. Leaving the three of them to stand together, staring at that spot, at a loss for words.

What was there to say? Their best friend had defected, he wasn’t the person they knew, he was a murderer.

(y/n’s) the first to move, although it’s staggered, she takes a step back, putting distance between herself and the others. Satoru and Shoko look at her with worry, and Shoko even reaches out a hand, as though to help stabilize her. (y/n) takes another step backwards.

“(y/n/n)...” The girl whispers, but (y/n) can’t even meet her eyes. Her own eyes are glazed over, locked in a fixed position on the ground.

I can’t dwell on this, she thinks to herself rationally. Her heart begs her to let go, to sit down, to breathe, but she ignores it. I need to move on. I need to focus on Megumi and Tsumiki. I can’t let this distract me.

“(y/n), slow down,” Shoko’s voice is closer to her now, and (y/n) barely registers how her hands set on her shoulders with a feather-light weight. “Breathe”

She doesn’t notice her breathing has gone ragged, uneven. She’s panicking. This is a panic attack.

Move on, she wills herself to get over the incident like it wasn’t her present situation. Think about the kids, and move on, she tries anyway, because she has to.

The funny thing about trauma was that you couldn’t bend it to your will. It hits her now that her chest is heaving, her mouth is dropped open as she gasps for air.

Shoko’s trying to get her to focus, something about matching her breathing, and looking at her, but (y/n’s) vision was blurry, and she couldn’t hear a thing over her pounding heart and her own thoughts.

You only have two days left to prepare, she reminds herself. In two days, the Zen’in Clan is going to come for Megumi, she repeats it like a mantra, a toxic coping mechanism to combat the panic threatening her body.

She had no time for things like panic and fear.

If you don’t get it together, you’ll lose them. And if you lose them, what will you have left? You’ve pushed everything away to protect them, you put your life on pause, and you’re about to risk what’s left of it by challenging one of the most prominent families in Jujutsu Society.

Finally, her head snaps up, wide eyes meeting Shoko’s, who flinches upon the contact, and then she turns to Satoru, who was now also standing before her. (y/n) doesn’t say anything as she looks between them both, and neither do they, at first, but their concern is evident.

“Are you alright?” Satoru asks, leaning in closer as he speaks. She holds his eye contact, but it doesn’t look to him like she’s processing a word he’s saying. “(y/n),” He says her name, catching a flicker of recognition in her eyes. “Can you breathe?”

You don’t have time for panic, the voice in her head reminds her ruthlessly. You don’t have time for any of this.

She looks back to Shoko, whose tears are spilling onto her cheeks, after too long of holding back her emotions. Her lip quivers, and her hands tighten on (y/n’s) shoulders, gripping the fabric of her uniform shirt.

You need to leave, the voice commands, and she doesn’t give it a second thought.

She draws her hand upwards, not noticing the violent tremble of her entire arm, she brings her middle and pointer finger to her forehead, closing the rest of her hand. Satoru recognizes this motion instantly, and jumps forward to rip her hand away from her head.

Using Hexing Eye so recklessly couldn’t be good for her right now. She hadn’t perfected it, hadn’t learned to use it as a means for teleportation, and without a hex in place, she was bound to lose consciousness as soon as she warped.

(y/n’s) faster, throwing herself backwards just as she closes her eyes and focuses her mind on her dorm room.

“Don’t-!” She barely hears Satoru’s voice before she’s warped away. It’s distant, almost an echo, almost dream-like.

Her body lands hard on the floor of her room before she even has the time to open her eyes again. With a groan of pain, she tries stretching her already aching limbs.

I guess that’s why you don’t teleport while mid-fall, she thinks bitterly, pushing herself off the floor on a shaky arm. Her legs aren’t any better, wobbling like jello as she half-drags herself onto her bed.

She’s going to be bombarded by Satoru and Shoko later, for this defiant act, she knows. And even as her strength is giving out and her vision is blurring in focus, she thinks it was what she had to do.

She tries to plan on what she’s going to do tomorrow when she sees the Fushiguro kids, but she loses consciousness just as their faces flicker in her mind.

Using Hexing Eye without a hex on the place she was warping to still wasn’t a viable form of transportation.

A tear slips down her cheek as she passes out, still in her uniform, mind still swarming with half-baked strategy plans, and fear.

Despite finally getting a few hours of sleep after two days, it wasn’t a night of rest. ___

When (y/n) picks up the Fushiguro kids from school the following afternoon, they can see her weariness right away. Even though she smiles, and excitedly asks about how their last couple days had been, they can see through it all.

The bags under her eyes are dark and heavy, and she’s moving slower, almost stumbling over her own feet. Tsumiki and Megumi share a look of concern, neither of them knowing how to approach the subject. As involved as (y/n) was in their lives, she hadn’t been very open about her own life outside of them.

Tsumiki takes her hand as they walk home together. She knew she wouldn’t be strong enough to catch her if she fell, but she hoped that it was enough to bring her some sense of comfort.

Megumi tangles his fingers together, picking at his skin nervously. He’s reminded of the day in the park, when he’d seen her talking to a supposed friend from her school. He remembers how she’d looked when she’d told him that a fellow peer of hers had passed away.

She has that same look in her eye now, he notices.

(y/n) feels him staring at her, and when she looks down at him, she gives him a smile.

It looks genuine enough, but he knows it isn’t. It doesn’t reach her eyes.

Once they get back to the Fushiguro house, (y/n) is quick to whip them up an afternoon snack while they get started on their homework. Tsumiki and Megumi get right to work, quietly focused on their assignments.

(y/n) sets down the plate of snacks between them, quietly praising them for working so hard.

As she takes a seat next to Tsumiki, Megumi notices the way her body seems to slump into the chair, as though melting into it. He quickly lowers his gaze back to his homework, but the sight troubles him.

She looked like she was going to drop and pass out any moment.

He tries not to worry about it, because she might not be a real grown up, but she was older than he was, and she was always put together like a real grown up. Megumi knew that he looked up to her like a grown up, and grown ups didn’t look like this.

He didn’t know what he was looking at, really.

Both kids finish up their homework quickly, and are quick to gather on the sofa to watch tv and relax for the evening.

(y/n’s) slower, still sat at the kitchen table while they dove into their program. She was still mulling over her options, trying to figure out if it was wrong to hide the letter from them, or if it would be more wrong to tell them about such an adult matter.

Which wasn’t fair, she cursed herself, hanging her head in her hands. She wasn’t an adult either, she shouldn’t have to deal with all of these decisions either.

Despite her better judgment, she decides to put it off for just a little longer.

She gets up from her seat, and slowly makes her way over to the living room sofa, plopping herself in the space between both kids.

“So, what are we watching? Catch me up” She tells them with a smile, and Tsumiki happily fills her in on the drama in her favorite characters’ lives.

(y/n) tries to sink back into that familiar, domestic feeling she’d grown accustomed to when she’d first joined their lives. That sense of normalcy that she’d tethered herself to. But even as she engages with Tsumiki, asks her silly questions about the show, she can’t help but fear this may very well be the last normal night she spends with them. Tomorrow was Friday, so she wouldn’t see them, and the next day… well, the next day she’d have to face the Zen’in Clan.

Before her mind can derail further, (y/n) feels eyes burning in the back of her head, and she turns to see Megumi staring up at her, completely turned away from the tv.

His expression is neutral, but his eyes are hard as he holds his stare on her. She almost feels uncomfortable, but she covers it with a small chuckle and a quirked brow.

“Somethin’ wrong, Megumi?” She asks.

His eyes shift to his sister, who gives a small shake of her head, warning him not to say anything about (y/n’s) troubling demeanor. Megumi sighs, and sinks back into the couch, focused on the tv again.

“No” he mumbles back to her.

He’s not a good liar, but he’s eight, so (y/n) lets it go. He seems to relax as he watches the show, anyway, so she figured whatever it was, couldn’t be too big of a deal.

The rest of the night continues in the same way. Until eventually she’s bringing them both upstairs to put them to bed, just like she always does on nights she spends with them. Except tonight, Tsumiki hugs her for a little longer than usual, and Megumi lingers in front of his bed, unwilling to get it.

“Megumi,” (y/n) calls softly from his doorway. “Are you alright?”

He turns around to face her, revealing the book in his hands. Charlotte’s Web.

He hesitates before speaking.

“I’m not tired…” He says, but his voice sounds slow and sleepy. “Will you read to me for a bit?”

(y/n) smiles, nodding her head back at him.

“Yeah,” She agrees, not thinking twice about the time, or how she should be getting back to Jujutsu Tech soon. “Yeah, of course”

“Can we go back to the couch?” He asks.

(y/n) wants to ask why she can’t read to him while he’s tucked into bed like she usually did, but she quickly assumes he’s just being a kid that wants to fight sleep, so she nods her head.

“Sure” She agrees with a smile, and steps out of the doorway so he could lead the way down the stairs.

Megumi climbs onto the couch with his book in one hand, his other hand reaching for the ratty old throw blanket on the cushion beside him. (y/n) takes a seat beside him, taking the book and flipping to the page that he’d last marked.

“How many times have you read this now, anyways?” She asks.

Megumi ducks his head shyly, shrugging his shoulders.

“I dunno,” He admits. “It’s my favorite”

She smiles as she looks back at the page before her.

“It’s becoming my favorite too” She says, before she starts at the top, and begins reciting the story she’s told him many times before.

She gets through about a chapter and a half, with Megumi curled up in his blanket beside her, his eyes following along as she reads. He’d had most of the story memorized by now, it really was his favorite, but he couldn’t get enough of it.

“Hey, (y/n)?”

His voice is quiet when he cuts her off mid sentence, but (y/n) stops speaking instantly, turning to give him her attention.

“What is it?” She hums, her finger holding her place in the book.

“Tsumiki said it was rude to ask,” He began, his eyes focused on his lap. “Are you okay?”

(y/n’s) brow furrows in concern, but Megumi doesn’t look up, too busy playing with his fingers.

“It’s not rude…” She says slowly, trying to find the right thing to say. “And I’m okay”

It’s not very convincing.

Megumi looks up at her, blinking his wide eyes as he stares at her in disbelief.

“You don’t look okay,” He says, and it’s blunt, but it’s the truth, and he doesn’t know how else to make her be truthful with him, too. “You look tired. And sick”

(y/n) chuckles at how intuitive he is.

“I appreciate the concern, honey,” She says, trying to play it off. “But don’t worry about it, I’m just fine”

“Did you have another mission?” He asks.

(y/n) winces, shaking her head.

“No, not exactly,” She says honestly. “I’ve just been… busy… that’s all”

Megumi frowns, not caring for the bullshit answer. It wasn’t like her to lie like most adults did, when they thought they were being smart and misdirecting. (y/n) almost laughs at how such a young boy can tell when she’s beating around the bush.

“Megumi, you don’t need to worry about me-”

“But you worry about us all the time,” He mumbles defeatedly. “And you don’t look very good so… so we’re worried about you,”

He blinks, and (y/n) swears she even sees tears in his eyes. Fretting over him, she closes the book, and brings one leg onto the couch so she could face him properly.

“Can you just tell me the truth?” He asks quietly.

(y/n) sighs, but nods her head. When he asks her so sincerely, she can’t bear to lie to him again.

“Of course,” She says, because if he’s telling her it’s what he needs, then it must be the right thing to do. “Megumi…” She starts, but the words fail her as soon as she tries.

How does she explain her situation to an eight year old?

“I… I had a friend. A close friend,” She begins.

Megumi’s eyes widened.

“A boyfriend?”

“No,” (y/n) scoffs, pushing his shoulder gently. “I’m too busy raising kids, I don’t have time for a boyfriend. But this was my best friend. And he… well he recently left the school”

“The one from the park?” Megumi tilts his head.

(y/n) frowns, before turning her face away to quickly hide the sadness of the whole situation she’d been trying to bury. It appeared she had quite a friends that weren’t around anymore, for whatever their reason. Megumi also frowns at this.

“No… no this is a different friend,” (y/n) says quietly. “Do you remember when I told you about the sorcerers who… who don’t want to follow the rules?”

“That they defect?” Megumi asks.

If it didn’t break her heart, (y/n) would praise him for his sharp memory.

“That’s right,” She murmurs. “Well… that’s what’s happened to my friend,” She tells him. “He didn’t want to follow the rules anymore, so… he left”

“Oh…” Megumi looks back down at his lap. “Did he die?” He asks quietly.

“No, no he didn’t die,” (y/n) said.

She lays her palm between his shoulder blades, rubbing his back comfortingly. Even as she censors some of the truth from him, she feels like her words are still putting a weight on his shoulders.

“I’ve been sad because he left,” She tells him. “I probably won’t ever see him again”

I hope I don’t see him again, she thinks.

“That’s worse,” Megumi says sadly. “I’d rather know that they’re gone forever for a reason”

(y/n) feels her heart leap into her throat, and she can’t help but wonder if he’s thinking about his dad. She’s surprised a child so young could understand how she feels. It hurts her more, knowing he’s experienced this same heartache.

“I think I’d have to agree,” (y/n) hums, raising her hand to mess up his hair. Megumi looks up at her with a frown. “It’s not easy being a Jujutsu Sorcerer,” She tells him. “I never said it was easy, never thought it’d be easy…”

Megumi pulls her hand out of his hair before she could mess it up further, before he fixes the messy locks himself.

(y/n) looks at him, and swallows the lump in her throat that makes her want to cry. If only he were older and she could explain all of this to him.

“But listen, Megumi,” She leans forward, and hopes he can take her seriously, even for just a minute. “You don’t have to worry about me, okay? I’ll be just fine,” She gives him a smile. “I’m sorry I made you worry, but you don’t have to worry that little head of yours about me anymore, alright?”

Megumi isn’t sure if he should believe her, but she ruffles his hair again with a laugh just to mess with him, and when he swats her hand away she only laughs more, so he thinks she’s okay, for now.

“You know you don’t have to raise us, right?” He asks.

(y/n’s) eyes widen at him, stunned to silence.

“It’s okay, if… if you have to go. You have a lot to do, don’t you?” Megumi drops his head again. “We would understand. We would be okay”

Her heart breaks, and before thinking, she reaches out and wraps her arms around him, hugging him tightly.

“Megumi, I’ve told you before,” She has to focus on keeping her voice even. “I’m sticking around whether you want me to or not”

His hands cling to the back of her shirt.

“There’s nothing that would make me leave you guys. I knew what I was getting into when I met you both. I knew what I was getting into when I started looking for you. And I’m still not going anywhere”

She rubs his back and keeps hugging him until he pulls away. Her focus remains on him, and she frowns when she sees tears on his face. Her fingers gently reach out to brush them away.

“I know you won’t just leave” Megumi sniffles.

(y/n) takes his little hands, smiling at him fondly.

“I won’t ever leave,” She whispers. “I’ve put a lot of trouble into watching out for you two. You’re important to me. And I’m going to make sure you guys can have everything you want”

Megumi musters up a small smile.

“Okay,” He mumbles, pulling his hands away to wipe the rest of the wetness off of his face. “Can you read a little more?”

(y/n) smiles warmly, and nods her head.

“Of course,” She says, picking the book up again, flipping through the pages to find the spot she lost.

Megumi gathers himself up in the blanket once more, and when she finally finds their place and begins reading again, he leans against her arm. He might have an eight year old’s willpower to stay up late, but the tiredness had finally caught up to him.

It didn’t take long before he fell asleep against her. (y/n) stayed still for a while, marking her place in the book and setting it aside while she sat quietly with the sleeping boy.

She petted his head gently, untangling the knots in his hair with careful fingers, and making his body relax more as he drifted deeper into his slumber. Even long after he’d fallen asleep there, she remained by his side.

I hope you believe me, Megumi, she thinks as she lays her own head against the back of the couch cushion, suddenly finding the old thing the most comfortable place she’s ever rested. And I hope you forgive me.

She drifts off to sleep with her hand on his head, and hopeful thoughts that she can do right by him. ___

With a jolt, (y/n’s) body is thrown forward in bed, tears streaming down her face and her hand outstretched, reaching for an imaginary figure, one that had been suffering before her in her dreams, but now was nowhere to be seen.

Panting to catch her breath, she tries to tell herself it was just that, a dream. Well, a nightmare. It was over now.

“(y/n)?” A tired, raspy voice rang out, before a warm hand smoothed over her shoulder. “You alright, sweetheart?”

“Satoru,” She breathes out his name as she turns to face him, a relief spreading through her chest upon seeing him there. “You’re here”

Her breathing steadies as she looks at him, his sleepy eyes and disheveled hair a sign that he’d actually been sleeping comfortably. She was surprised, considering he’d spent most of his nights in her room to dote on her, to ensure she was the one that slept well. Since Yu’s death, she’d been plagued with nightmares, the reminder that even jujutsu sorcerers face their mortality had been brutal.

“Well ‘course I am,” Satoru mumbles, giving her a small smile. “Where else would I be?”

She’s not sure why, but when she’d first laid eyes on him, his presence had shocked her before it had relaxed her. Her brows furrow as she wonders why that is, but she quickly brushes it off and lets herself relax.

The nightmare was over. She was here now, and so was he.

With languid movements, Satoru props himself up on his elbows, his eyes flickering over her curiously.

“You wanna talk about it?” He asks, pulling his hand from her shoulder to rub the tiredness out of his eyes. “Your nightmare?”

(y/n) pulls her knees to her chest, keeping her arms wrapped around them so she could comfortably rest her chin there. The longer she was awake, the more the horrors of her dream seemed to fade away, until it was just a few flashes of images that barely made sense.

“I think I’ll be alright,” She replies, laying her cheek against her folded arms so she could look over at him. “Satoru,” She hums his name softly. “Thank you, for staying with me,”

He gave her a look, displaying his confusion with her sudden sentiment.

“I don’t think I ever thanked you,” She says. “And I should have, a long time ago. So, thank you. For everything”

Satoru sits up, mimicking her position as he rests his arms on his legs, staring at her with an intensity behind his cerulean eyes that only she seemed to be able to take on directly.

“You want to thank me…” He says slowly, before his brows furrow. “When all of this… has been your doing?”

The chill that shoots down her spine seems to spread over her heart. The relaxation that had settled into her bones now replaced with freezing cold fear. (y/n) lifts her head up, unblinking as she stared at him.

“What?” She mumbles, her voice barely audible.

“You couldn’t track down Toji, and I almost died” Satoru spits out.

“No…” (y/n) shook her head in a small but trembling motion. “No, I… I followed him for days I- I did everything I could to-”

“Tch,” Satoru scoffs, the disgust evident in his face now as he glares at her. “And then you don’t even have the guts to fess up,” He mutters. “You sneak around and lie and cheat. What makes you think it will be any different?”

As he snarls at her he shoots forward, and she flinches, hard enough she had to steady herself so she didn’t tumble out of her bed.

“You think that you can protect them? You?”

She’s still shaking her head, unable to find her voice, or any words to defend herself. Where was this coming from? Why was he doing this?

“You can barely operate your own cursed technique, you have the ability of a first year, and you’re spineless, (y/n). It’s pathetic that you consider yourself a jujutsu sorcerer”

“‘I- I’m doing everything I-” She tries to speak, but it’s useless. Her breath had gone ragged and the panic inside of her was bubbling up too much for her to focus on speaking.

Satoru leans closer, and even though they’re both sitting, he towers over her as his glare hardens. She’s never seen him so filled with hate, and the fact that it’s directed at her makes her heart drop to her stomach.

“Your ‘everything’ isn’t good enough,” His voice is a low growl.

Tears burn in her eyes.

“How can you be the only one that doesn’t see that?” He laughs bitterly. “How are you the only one left that can’t see how weak you are?”

“I- I’m sorry-”

“Even your apologies mean nothing!” He yells now, and she squeezes her eyes shut so she doesn’t have to look at him any more. “You’re destined to fail, you’re weak, just like the rest of them. You can barely protect yourself, you think you can protect Megumi? Tsumiki?”

“I have to try!” She wails, but it’s drowned out by his vicious laughter.

“And when you fail, their blood will be on your hands!” He’s practically roaring over her.

She’s cowering, sobbing into her hands as she desperately attempts to wipe the tears from her face, but it’s no use. They won’t stop. Satoru scoffs at the sight, disgusted by what she’d been reduced to.

“Face it,” He mutters. “You could have stopped Toji, and you failed. You could have stopped Suguru, and you failed. Now you think you can take on the Zen’in Clan?” He scoffs and shakes his head. “You’ll die in vain” ___

“Stop it!”

(y/n) shot outwards, her strained voice leaving her throat in a pained cry, but as the blur in her vision clears away, and she gains her bearings, she realizes she’d just awoken.

A dream? She thought distantly, looking around herself, finding she was still in the Fushiguro’s living room.

That’s right… I fell asleep here… reading…

But she finds that Megumi is no longer sleeping at her side, and the blanket he’d had was now thrown over her lap. He must have woken up and gone back to his room. The realization that he’d given her the blanket to keep her warm brings her a moment of peace. Picking up the ratty material that was barely enough to keep her legs covered, (y/n) begins to calm down.

Her breathing calms, and she closes her eyes to focus on bringing herself back to the present. It was all just a cruel dream.

However it’s not as easy when she’s alone, she realizes. There was a time, although short, where when the nightmares would rob her of her sleep, there was always a comforting presence right there, ready to lull her back to sleep with a warm embrace.

And sometimes he’d read to me, she recalls.

Although the plaguing images of her nightmare had worn away from her mind now, she still feels a wetness pool in her eyes.

She missed him. Dearly so.

A tear drops to her cheek against her will, and soon she was quietly weeping into her hands.

Deciding to lay back on the couch, she gives in to staying the rest of the night at the Fushiguro house. She’d never stayed the entire night, but she was long past curfew now, and she was in no position to walk or warp back to Jujutsu Tech. She carefully pulls the small blanket over herself as she settles into the cushions. Her tears wet the place where she lays her head.

If she survived this, she’d have to thank him, for all the nights he stayed by her side, she recalls the short period of warmth that her dream had brought her. She hopes she can drift back into it’s sweetness. And then she’ll have to get on her knees and apologize for the rest of her life.

She knows she won’t earn Satoru’s forgiveness.

If I survive. ___

(a/n): wow that kfc breakup do be hurtin but it hurts so goood. reblog to dry ur tears <3 taglist: @whats-humanity-lol @malinq-ashida @mor-pheus@bekahtaylorgriggs@pookiea@megumimind@thealchemical@pearlstiare@niallerhere@96jnie @purpleguk @peqch-pie@yukinemaroop@makis-girl@sadtoru @kamikokii @nerdiel-has-no-braincells @googlesheetshoe @vzleria

xoxo ~ jordie

#gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo #satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader friends to lovers #friends to lovers #gojo satoru x reader series #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru imagine #gojo satoru fanfiction #gojo satoru scenario #satoru gojo imagne

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damneddamsy · 3 months ago

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renegade | aemond targaryen x oc (part ii)

My friend, I am writing this to you from the depths of the forest behind the castle. A thrush builds a nest far over my head while a violet beetle strums a tune, and nearby, a brown hart crosses a brook with her doe. It rains more often, and I stroll in it, wet to my bones. I alone bear witness to the marvels of my home. I cannot sit idle in my chambers anymore when no one seems to care about my whereabouts. Write soon, I eagerly await your tales of voyages on Vhagar. Yours, Aemma.

You should've seen him, the way Aemond Targaryen appeared when he unfurled the little scroll. It was a habit now. He would read and read it, for hours, a single wistful eye going back and forth on the page, mulling over each painstaking word, tracing her name, inhaling the scent of the soil on Dragonstone, before rolling the paper and depositing it with the others in his wooden chest for safekeeping. This letter found him over three moons ago. He had written back, twice, all to be met with nothing. He took to heart the gloom that seeped through the paper, unlike the bewitching girl he had heard from ages ago. She used to speak of collecting dragon eggs, running off with a boat into the sea, and exploring the caves beneath the courts. What was she up to now? What did she look like now? What were they doing to her?

Far away, on Dragonstone, Aemma's days evolved into boredom, a mere observer of the storms that raged. She grew further apart from her still-devoted mother, biding in heartbreak and loss while the princess enabled the household with Prince Daemon. Aemma couldn't help but see her father, Ser Laenor, everywhere. In the salt of the sea, in the misty eyes of his dragon, Seasmoke, in the boats that were docked at the bay, and in the sea glass that washed ashore. She became more disturbed, more evasive, and similarly, more accustomed to her smarting headaches. You could tell the days of her girlhood and absurd adventures were behind her.

There were times when her dear brothers would find a way to shed some light in her life by taking her to the watchpoint to have her see them glide above the ocean, mounted upon Vermax and Arrax. She had once ached for a dragon of her own, but she had given up as the years rolled into others. It didn't seem to matter, nothing changed in the way her family saw her.

Other times, she'd think of her dearest friend, Aemond, across the reach, training hard, fighting battles, riding Vhagar—he felt like a distant dream. A wish that would never quite be. Writing to Aemond brought back serenity to the young princess' mind. The quieter times were behind her. Her getaways were discounted now, but she'd continue to search the island for new excitement just for him. He was a gentle reminder that it was never too late to take action on what she had once dreamed herself to be.

On the morning of her father's observance, Aemma was informed that the princess would like to break bread with her. She didn't know what to expect. So she dressed in her best silks and joined her mother at the overflowing table. Aemma engaged in silence, scraping her fork against the plate, unable to hold her mother's expectant eyes. She wanted to share her troubles, talk about the past, and remember him the right way. Nothing came out except—

"I've missed you," Aemma managed to speak. It was the truth, she'd missed her mother's presence around her dearly.

"Then why have you been shying away from me?" her mother returned, her voice gentle. "Tell me, Aemma. What have I done to receive your silence?"

She met her mother's gaze, stronger now. "Nothing."

Her mother breathed a sigh. "I have not forced it upon you to wed a strange lord. Daemon often prompts me on this, but I refuse it because I know your heart. It belongs to no one but you." She reached across to warm her daughter's cold fingers. "Your brothers worry that your woes have become too deep these days. I share this concern with them, my love. I know you ache for Laenor—"

And the whisper-thin weir broke loose. Aemma's face crumpled into distress, using a hand to muffle a soft cry. She hasn't heard that name around here. No one would dare speak it. This has been a long time coming.

"No, mother," Aemma wept.

"Oh, Em. Even after all these years." Rhaenyra stood up to bound to her side, pressing her daughter into a tight embrace against her chest. "I'm here. Unburden yourself."

"Why doesn't it hurt as much for anyone else?" she asked through her tears, her shoulders shuddering. "Not you, Jace or Lord Corlys. Why me?"

"You loved your father more fiercely than any of us." Her mother stroked her fingers through Aemma's braids softly. "In time, you'll learn to make peace with the memories. Just as we have."

Aemma nodded, eventually finding it in herself to take solace in her mother's careful words. She felt a soft nudge against her stomach, moving out of her mother's arms to touch her swollen belly. Another addition to the family.

"I still want you to take a husband in marriage, Aemma, at your own will and time," her mother said to her, more serious now. She brushed a finger over her tear tracks.

"It does not interest me, mother," Aemma confessed with a sigh. "I've said this plenty."

"Yes, I know."

"Spare me the argument then."

"At the very least a kind, respecting companion who will support you in upholding your duties and protect your ideals, just as your father did for me," she insisted.

"If I were to wed, you would make me a pillar in a dismal court at King's Landing," she tried to explain, but her anxieties piled up to rush out in a mess. "Name me heir to the throne, face all those vile aspersions with a stone heart, and have me mindlessly plough out babes which I don't think I'm capable of for the life of me. I will not be made into a husk of my—"

Rhaenyra caught her chin to interrupt and glared her daughter straight in the eye. "You will not be heir."

She blinked once. "Mother."

"You should be, as my firstborn. I don't deny it. I've fought the very Gods for this privilege my entire life." Her mother palmed her cheek, her expression softening. "But it does not outweigh my oath to you and myself when I first held you in my arms. That I would never subject you to what my father had me brook, a mere political headache until I couldn't see past myself on the throne. I see my misplaced youth in you, daughter, and I want you to prevail for the both of us. Live as you please, captain a ship, voyage as an explorer, and not a tongue will raise against you. I will see to it."

Aemma stared at her mother, her words dripping into her mind one by one. She hoped she heard all of it right.

"For that, Jacaerys will be named my heir," the princess affirmed. "Although, as your brother's kin, you have to take to husband. I cannot have Jace's claim questioned any further. I can only grant you so much latitude on this, not freedom. I am sorry, it's all I—"

Aemma leapt at her mother to swallow her in a delighted embrace. It felt like a warm sunrise after a cold, unclear night, and it carried all before anyone. She pushed her face into her mother's neck, squeezing her as close as to pour her graciousness into her. She would never forgive herself if she were to do wrong by the princess, someone who trusted their years of deprivation and defeat to her.

"Thank you, my princess," Aemma whispered.

Her mother exhaled a laugh, smoothing many kisses against her cheek. "I am all but worthy of you."

"But, mother," she drawled and pulled away to show her the confusion. "How am I to move forward with this?"

"We can do this slowly. I will soon send word to a few great houses in Westeros. Essos, too, if you'd like," her mother divulged, smiling. "You will treat with them until you find someone who agrees with you. I won't bestow you upon them as a broodmare, they will value you as a princess and a lady. Take all the time you need, and satisfy your discretion."

"You make it sound so effortless," Aemma muttered.

"It will be, Em. Don't think too much, speak your mind, if you must. Someone who does not squinch at your wishes is most suited for your hand."

She shook her head. "I am not confident about that."

Her mother kissed her cheek again. "Simply let it happen, my love. Good things will follow."

As it turned out, the word of mouth of insurgency and challenges of Prince Lucerys' claim to the Driftwood throne brought the Dragonstone Targaryens back to their home on King's Landing. The young princes and princess were to stay with the rest of their kin after a long period of separation. A union for the ages.

Soon enough, that word grew old and what delighted the realm was the pleasing news that Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen of Dragonstone was arranging matters with a select few houses to place suitable marriage prospects for her eldest daughter, Aemma Velaryon. At sixteen years of age, her flowering into maidenhood had made her more beautiful. She would eventually draw the eyes of many young lords in the kingdom. Hightower, Blackwood, Arryn and Stark were among the favoured handful.

This matter did not escape Prince Aemond's ears, but he remained impassive to it. It shouldn't bother him, why would it? He knew it was only a matter of time before Aemma would be within these castle walls and he would heed her words before all else. This must be foul play from his sordid half-sister Rhaenyra. The Aemma Aemond knew would never stand for this plight. She would stand before him and remind him of his promise all those years back, they would mount Vhagar together and take to the open seas. Of course, he remembered. He always knew this day would come.

The morning Aemma arrived at the Red Keep, Aemond stood atop the verandah past the courtyard with his brother and sister, his head held high to show his duty and not his deference. But his eye searched and hungrily awaited the sight of her again. What did she look like? Was she as nimble and reserved as they said? That she was the epitome of a true Targaryen princess? Or perhaps—

"Whose eyes does Aemond One-Eye seek?" Halaena droned quietly, taking his attention for a moment. That title irked him.

The carriage was emptied and already making for the gates. Had he missed her arrival? No, she was too hard to miss.

Halaena took his arm, leading him back into the entrance doors. Aemond wavered, his sights still on the courtyard. Why hadn't she come? Where had she gone?

"Come, brother. She'll join us later, I'm sure of it."

He was having none of it. People expected Aemond to simply go about his day as if Aemma's disappearance from the occasion was irrelevant. He was ushered to break bread with his family in a rather torrid affair and train with Ser Criston in the undern when all of his thoughts were linearly on the young princess. Where, where, where.

He sweated out his anguish, battling hard, swinging his sword in lithe twists until Cole's sword was knocked out of his fingers with Aemond's simple outmanoeuvre. While the sparse crowd clapped for him, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed two of Aemma's brothers. The bastards of Dragonstone. The ones who cost him his eyesight. He'd been through a world of pain since that night. He would not let that slide, not so soon.

"Nephews! Have you come to train?" Aemond called out, hoping to get something out of them. Any one of them would know where Aemma had run off to.

Jace's gaze sharpened with a black stare as Aemond approached them in fleeting steps. Jace put himself protectively in front of Luke. Aemond scoffed through his nose and dropped his sword on the table nearby.

As if he'd venture to cut the throats of the princes of the realm. In front of all these witnesses. How unseemly.

"Aemma," he declared. Her name left his lips like a plea.

"What about her?" Jace sneered.

Oh, he was not making this easy. "The princess was missing this morning."

"Why would I ever—"

"She went to the stables to see her direwolf," Luke said instead, catching his eye. Aemond wanted to carve out his skin every moment the boy lingered unpunished. "She didn't arrive with us because... she didn't want the attention."

This piqued him. "Why not?"

"Seven hells, Luke," Jace hissed.

"You know how much sister cares for him," Luke mentioned.

Jace sighed, sensing his fairness, and spared Aemond an apprehensive look. "Aemma's not in the mood to speak to anyone. In fact, she should've stayed back. My poor sister had an unfortunate incident attempting to claim the Bronze Fury not long ago."

Aemond wasted no time in tracking down her chambers from her brother's directions. With bated breath, he burst through the doors—"Aemma?"

His dread intensified when he noticed her belongings still stacked in spotless trunks in the corner by the vanity as if she were planning to leave as soon as she came. No, he simply would not allow it.

He carelessly pushed the curtains of the bed aside to find it untouched. The room was freshly scented of lavender oil; she had recently taken a bath. Her cloak hung off the edge of her dining chair. Her gold jewellery was left scattered on the table. She had been here.

"Aemma!" he called aloud again.

"Aemond?" Aemma's delicate dulcet reached his ears.

From the short balcony, she finally presented herself before him, coming between the sunlight and him. Indeed, the rumours were true. Gone was the tempestuous little girl from his treasured memories and instead, in her place, stood a lady so impressive he couldn't believe it was Aemma. She had come into her own beautifully, in the graceful slopes of her breast, waist, nose and lips. There were still traces of that young girl which refused to give way, blessed in her doe eyes, sun-kissed skin and—her hair.

This was what her brothers had vaguely mentioned to him.

Her silvery-blonde hair, that usually flaunted intricate braids or hung in pretty ringlets around her waist, had been completely singed off by dragon fire, all the length and volume lost to a limp mess of curls around her neck. Her mother must have attempted to cheer her up by fashioning a delicate crown of braids around her head.

Aemond didn't care for any of it. She could've stood there with a third eye or a cock in her hands—this was his Aemma, in the flesh. Six years he had gone without her. Nothing could stop him now.

He couldn't contain himself any longer, he strode across the floor to bear her in his arms. As tightly, closely, and intimately as his strength allowed. This had not changed at all, she was as warm as the day she'd parted him.

"It's really you," Aemond exhaled with a faint, incredulous laugh. He spun her around in just as much elation as when he had first dismounted Vhagar and taken to her celebrations.

When he set her on her feet, Aemma had laughed in delight and taken his face into her palms, her dark eyes observing every tick of muscle in his features with a disbelieving smile. Even if his ghastly scar had startled her, she didn't show it.

"I've missed you every day, my friend," Aemma murmured. Gods, you could see his chest swell with satisfaction. It was exactly what he wanted to hear from her.

"How you've grown," he commended, warmly stroking her waist. "So tall and elegant... no wonder all the realm is vying for your hand."

Even the words tasted like poison in his mouth. His expression soured a little.

"And you! I never thought I'd live to see the day your hair was longer than mine own," she exclaimed back, overlooking his mood shift. She held his broad shoulders, measuring the distance between her hands. "You've come to be with the power of a true dragon-rider. I am proud. How goes Vhagar?"

"Insatiable." Much like him right now. "Come with me. I'll fly you over the bay for as long as you'd like."

He'd like to get the word out to the smallfolk, that the princess has been taken to another prince more deserving of her.

"Oh, no. I don't think I can even see another dragon without pissing myself," she told him, her eyes set on their feet. Discomfiture was evident on her face. "I tried to mount... Vermithor upon Daemon's guidance and my hair—" she sadly touched the soft trims around her neck "—I lost it in doing so. If it weren't for him, I would've lost my life, too."

Aemond's arms tensed under her touch. The thought of it was excruciating. What was his uncle thinking, putting such a hysterical little girl in front of a beast as large as Vhagar? And what was Aemma thinking, that such a ferocious beast would bow to someone with her merciful attitude?

She looked up at him, heavyhearted. "Do I look dreadful?"

Aemma could not begin to question that when he had been stricken by her fortitude all those years ago. No burned braids, dirtied skirts, or lost dragons could make up for that.

"I'm certain it'll alarm the lords but not me. You were always glorious to me, princess," he appreciated her, not-so-subtly.

She threw her head back to laugh freely. "Then I must tell my mother to cease this weary pursuit to find me a husband. At least until my hair has grown to an adequate length."

That sounded like a great strategy. It gave him enough time to plot a controlled plan to relieve Aemma of this pressure.

"Have you met with anyone?" he asked, his voice calculating.

She made a face. "Not yet. Lord Blackwood has written to my mother. But..." A lightness overtook her features. "After my stay has ended, I'll be heading north to treat with the Lord of Winterfell."

"Winterfell?" He made the word sound like filth on his tongue. "Those vulgar cunts will cut you up and stuff you in a pie before you can wish them good morrow."

She snickered. "Lord Cregan Stark, my mother tells me, is a gentle giant. No older than I am. I hear from my grandsire that he is an honourable king to his people." She twiddled her thumbs to hide a smile. "Lord Stark wrote to me a while ago. He is rather charming."

Aemond couldn't stand her growing fondness for that filthy northerner. "You write to each other?"

"It was only one letter," she denied. "To pursue familiarity? In any case, my family are thrilled. House Stark is an invincible, age-old power."

Aemond sneered under his breath. A mere word of mouth had swayed her affections to the cold deadness of the north. As if Aemma would last a single winter up there. Warm and beaming in that Stark's arms... he wanted to gouge his one remaining eye out and douse it in acid.

His vindictive thoughts faltered to the Aemma in front of him, who was lulling him to immodest thoughts at the way she stroked her finger down the long scar on his cheek. His eyes almost shut at the bittersweet sensation.

"Jace told me what happened that night with you and Luke," she professed, sadness enveloping her expression. "I never got to tell you how sorry I am, my friend. You must've been in great pain."

He gulped down the bile that rose to his throat at the mention, but he maintained his calm demeanour. Instead, he brought her fingers on his cheek to his mouth and, without thinking, lay a delicate kiss.

"Long forgotten," he lied.

He didn't miss the way Aemma's lips fluttered with a sharp inhale and slipped her hand to her side. She massaged the wrist with a flustered chuckle.

"The eyepatch is... different," she said breathlessly.

Aemond was affecting her, quite obviously. Just not enough. He glanced from the corner of his eye, smug, as she walked around him and toward the bed.

"You might not like what lies under it," he said. "Besides, I'd say we match for life now."

If only she read into what he truly meant. She knowingly touched the noticeable scar that cut through her eyebrow with an absentminded smile. "Yes, we do."

He couldn't wait on this any longer. The words were bursting at the seams, coming undone. "I must talk to you at once."

Aemond took her hand to hasten her to sit beside him on the bed. He entwined his fingers between hers and held it to his chest as he asked her, enunciating his words carefully. She watched him with all her focus.

"Do you truly want to be wed? Have they imposed this on you? You can tell me, Aemma, I will do anything in my power to stop this insanity. I will burn down that damned Sept for you if that's what it takes."

She smiled at him. "Don't fret for me. I am content."

"Surely you lie. 'Tis not good for you." They're not good for you, he wanted to say.

"My mother is right, my dear friend. If I can find someone who can understand what I want out of the marriage, I certainly couldn't ask for more. An honest relationship," she whispered intently. "It's all I want."

Her words burned him more intensely than any inferno in the world. Because she never saw him as a prospect. He would make her see him.

"Whatever fucking happened to fighting for your liberties? To not run in the face of adversity?" he snapped, dropping her hand from between his. "You said it to me, did you not?"

"I have done my part. I've deferred it fairly," she stated, slightly staggered at his tone. "This is a resolution."

"You've given up."

"I have not."

"They've turned you against me," he muttered.

"Oh, spare me the theatrics. Am I to remain a maiden all my life?" she asked, laughing.

He reached out to clasp her chin, but he made sure to be gentle how much ever he raged on the inside. Her smile fell to confusion, her gaze flickering to his fingers and then his eyes.

"You said we'd travel the world together. That we'd ride together on Vhagar, feast all we liked, row boats, build tents, see the world's wonders—am I to consign those ideals to nought? Have you filled my head with meaningless fiction?"

She breathed out a short gasp of incredulity before relieving his grip on her in sharp movement. She stood up to slant by a pillar, pushing her head into her hand. She was a picture of perfection toiled in a peculiar sort of misery. Beauty became her.

"We were children," she mumbled. "Priorities shift over time. I am a princess, a Targaryen no less, sans a dragon. I am without worth if not for my mother, and so are my ambitions."

He scoffed. "Maybe to you. I have counted on every letter, every fucking word, you've penned to me like a madman. You've grown a hunger in my heart and now you mean to crush it with your unfeeling hands."

"I don't understand what you want from me," she spoke, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"I want you!" he growled, pushing to his feet.

She turned to stone before him. Perhaps she had not heard him properly. Aemond took a calm breath inward. No turning back from this anymore.

"Wed me, Aemma," he said, surer of himself. It felt right to say those words aloud, in that exact order. He had never imagined saying it to any other lady except her.

Aemma eventually thawed and lifted her head to stare at him. As if she was waiting for something. He couldn't get a read on her. Her immense, dark eyes softened and smouldered and ravaged his mind.

"Wed me and make me yours," he persuaded softly. "I will protect your honour, our dreams, and our future together better than any foul-mouthed, fat swine lordling this realm has to offer. May the Gods help anyone who stands in my way."

"Aemond," she whispered with an edge of hysteria in her voice.

"Aemma," he murmured.

He sauntered closer to her, leisurely dragging his knuckles down her forearm all the way to her wrist. She had the softest of skin, unblemished, kissed by daylight. He elicited a shiver from her, an abrupt action pressing her closer to his chest.

"I've waited a lifetime for this. For us," he confessed. "I have known no other hope that was not you. Now that I have you, my hope is not misplaced."

The little vestige of control he had on his self-restraint began to splinter and then it would be damaging for him to be around her. It was only right to give her some leeway to consider his transparent proposal.

Aemond deliberately stepped away, tucking his hands together behind his back. "But I am a man of virtue. I will never push you to do something you disfavour."

Her lips parted as air shuddered back into her, a hand supporting herself over the stone pillar. She kneaded at her forehead, soothing away a headache.

"I... need to think."

He beamed brightly. "Yes, good. 'Tis a lot to fathom. A night's rest should do nicely. On the morrow, I shall revisit you, and we shall break our fast together."

Her brows furrowed when she understood. "You mean to court me."

"Apparently so."

"You will cause indecent speculation," she warned.

He pursed his lips, unable to contain his amusement. "Hmm. Why can't a prince and his dear niece dine together after all these years apart?"

Aemma uneasily bit her lip.

"We disregard their baseless whispers as we always have."

The hearsay of Prince Aemond and Princess Aemma breaking bread together and alone swept like wildfire around the Red Keep. It was said that among those the news had stunned, it was Prince Jacaerys who had taken this as a slight. Meanwhile, the Princess of Dragonstone and her consort, Prince Daemon, weren't certain of the positive response on this matter. One night, a thoughtful conversation in High Valyrian was heard from their shared chambers.

"Laenor had always sworn that Aemma was for Aemond," she pondered out loud to Daemon. "They've been following each other around since they could walk. We all saw this coming."

"She has hardly met with any other men," he said. "Offer her other options. Taste the local flavours. I hear Lord Stark has been quite pleased. He wrote to her personally, didn't he?"

"Aemond is what she wants," she sighed.

"She takes after her mother," the prince teased. "Seeking out her uncle."

"Daemon."

"Then make her see that the boy is not what he seems. Our girl has purposes that do not conform to his own. She intends to be like me," he chuckled, "and he is loyal to his sword."

"I will not twist my daughter's mind into submission," she grumbled.

"Gently dissuade."

The princess laughed quietly, stroking her pregnant belly. "Or it would do good for us to form an alliance with Alicent and the king. Protect our lineage from within. And with it, strengthen my claim to the throne."

Daemon hummed, mulling it in his mind. "He is only the second son after all. It is that drunken cunt who will be a threat."

"Precisely. I intend to hit two birds with one stone."

you can continue to read part iii here! and here's my masterlist!

hope you like the way this is progressing! do let me know what you'd like to see ~*

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violentdelightsandviolentends · 2 years ago

Text

North Star.

It's New Years Eve. Jake is tired of waiting.

Pairing - Jake Seresin x female reader

Warnings - None

Word Count - 1638

Author's Note - Thank you so much for all the love on The Orange - I've been giggling and kicking my feet reading all of your comments and tags. I loved writing it, and I loved writing this one too. Please feel free to send me any requests, ideas, prompts, comments or questions - I'll always read them. If I could kiss you all, I would x

Masterlist. Requests.

Multi colored lights adorn the beams of the ceiling. Metallic streamers hang from the bar. Music is blasting from the jukebox. The Hard Deck almost looks unrecognisable.

It's New Years Eve, and The Squad have agreed to spend it together. Hangman, Coyote and Payback are at the dart board, allowing Jake to show off his talent. Bob, Rooster and Fanboy are convened by the pool table, taking turns to shoot, unbothered by who's meant to be sinking what. You and Natasha are standing by the bar, waiting for Penny to serve you when she gets the chance.

"So, come on, who are you kissing at midnight?" Natasha looks at you with a glint in her eye. Mischievous girl.

"Yeah. Right. You, if you're not careful," you warn her, teasing lilt in your voice. Honestly, you don't think she'd be the worst choice in the world.

"As much as I'd love that, I don't think the squad could handle it," she winks at you cheekily. "Seriously, who?"

"I don't know!" you laugh. But that's a lie. You do know. At least, you know who you'd like to kiss.

Jake Seresin. Hangman. America's Sweetheart.

Pilot, Texan, Heartbreaker.

Your friend, your teammate, the man you've been in love with since you met him that first day of basic training.

The two of you were partnered for the first few exercises that day, and you beat every other pair by a mile. You both figured out pretty quickly that you make a damn good team.

That hasn't changed. If ever you have to pair up for an exercise, a mission, or just a class, Jake's eyes find yours immediately. A silent question. Shall we? And your answer, always - of course.

You seem to have your own language, this shared communication. You don't have to speak to know what the other person is saying. On the ground, or in the air, you know each other's next moves. Predictable, but comfortable.

Maybe that's the problem.

You believe strongly that women are more than capable of making the first move. You've thought about grabbing Jake and kissing him stupid more times than you can count. But you don't. Every time there's an opportunity, you brush past it, let it go. Because the comfort isn't worth sacrificing. At least, that's what you're telling yourself.

Your friendship with Jake has been built on years of trust, empathy, and reliance. You know that no matter what, he'll have your back. He's demonstrated it more than once. Countless times. Showing up for you, without fail. When you were harassed by a man at the Hard Deck, Jake showed up. When you had a family member's funeral and didn't want to go alone, Jake showed up. When you broke your wrist and ended up in the hospital, Jake showed up. He was your North Star. Always there, always guiding. Always comforting.

So you can't help but repeatedly ask yourself - why hasn't he made a move? You're convinced you know the answer to that question, though. Because you're friends. He sees you as a friend. A teammate. Which you wouldn't change for the world, not by any means. But it doesn't stop you from wishing that maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't hold his cards so close to his chest. Just for a minute.

The Devil Himself sidles over to the two of you, still at the bar, and throws an arm over each of you. Natasha manages to wiggle under and away from him, but you stay put. You don't mind.

"Hey pretty ladies," he beams, "whatcha whispering about?"

"It's kind of impossible to whisper when you keep queueing Duran Duran on the jukebox at full volume, Hangman," Natasha barks back.

He laughs, a real, full bodied laugh that shakes both him and you, still with his arm slung over your shoulder. You laugh with him. It's impossible not to. His laugh is contagious, you think. Unavoidable. He laughs, you laugh. That's the way it's always been.

It's at this moment that Bob pushes his way through the crowd, grabbing Natasha by the hand.

"Phoenix, I need you. Fanboy doesn't believe you can do that pool trick you showed me last week. Come and prove him wrong!"

She grins at you, and allows herself to be pulled into the swarms of people, on her way to earn some respect.

You turn back to Jake at the bar, and see that he's ordered a beer, and your usual. Observant boy.

You take a sip of your drink, only for a drop to miss your mouth entirely. Maybe it's the alcohol, or maybe it's just his impatience, but Jake decides he's tired of waiting. He leans in to you, and slowly, deliberately, follows the journey of the drop with his tongue, from the bottom of your neck up to your jaw. He pulls back, and watches you with that gaze of his. Measured, careful. Adoring. Mischievous. Just so Jake.

You feel the heat rise from your chest and up to your cheeks, but you don't break eye contact with him. It feels like a confession. You're baring your truth to him, silently, and he's understanding. That shared language. You're both saying so much, without saying anything at all.

It's then that you realise where you are. The Hard Deck has somehow become even more crowded, and you keep being bumped left and right by people attempting to get to the bar. The music is too loud, the lights are too bright. You need a minute. As if he can read your mind, Jake speaks.

"Let's get some air. It's hot in here."

He grabs your hand, interlacing your fingers with his, and leads you out of the door, onto the deck outside.

The cool night air hits you both, and you sigh with relief. You allow the breeze to flow through your hair, to ripple your dress, to cleanse you of your worry.

Jake's still holding your hand. Tighter, now. As if he's scared you'll blow away. Or run away, maybe.

You lean into him slightly, and rest your head against his arm. He's warm, soft. He smells like Jake. Like love. Like home.

"You okay?" he asks. Always so worried about you. Attentive boy.

"I'm good. Just a little overwhelmed, I guess."

He starts to rub circles over the back of your hand with his thumb, grounding you. It's all so intimate, you don't know whether to pull him closer or sprint in the other direction.

He makes the decision for you - closer. He kisses your hair, and then rests his head atop of yours. You can hear the squad laughing and cheering inside, all of them completely unaware that out on the deck, two of their teammates are baring their souls to each other.

You have no idea whether it's been two minutes or two hours when Jake speaks again.

"You're the prettiest girl in that bar, you know." Then, he says, a bit quieter, "You're always the prettiest girl in the room."

He says it so sincerely, so earnestly, that you want to rip your heart out of your chest and place it in his hands. You want to give it to him so that maybe he'll finally understand - it's already his.

You don't know what to say, so you bring your interlaced hands up to your lips, and kiss each of his knuckles individually. He's so warm, so golden. Radiating light wherever he goes. Your North Star.

You both listen to the gentle crash of the ocean waves, sitting with the weight of the moment. It feels like with every second that passes, silent revelations are being made. As if the love, the feelings, the comfort, are passing through your hands and into his. You're quite convinced that you could stay right where you are forever.

Bury me like this, you think. Immortalise us here.

All of a sudden, the sound of a countdown breaks through your solitude.

Ten. Nine.

You smile gently, and look at Jake, to see him gazing down at you. Stars in his eyes. Cosmic boy.

Eight. Seven.

He glances inside, to see the squad all gathered together, arms around one another. His family.

Six. Five.

Jake turns to you, and cups your face in both of his hands. Those hands that have picked you up from the ground. Those hands that have wiped your tears. Those hands, so strong, but so gentle. That's him all over, though. Your gentle boy.

Four. Three.

He looks at you with promise in his eyes. You can understand, clear as day, what he's telling you. Life will never be the same, from this day forward. Neither of you can wait.

Two. One.

Jake leans in, and presses his lips to yours. He tastes like spearmint, and the future. One of his hands travels to the back of your neck, to pull you in closer. Now that he has you this near, he knows he's never going to be able to let you go.

Bodies pressed together as close as can be, you kiss him with so much love, you're surprised he hasn't fallen over. He's breathing you in, trying to commit this moment to memory. He knows he'll tell your grandkids about this. Hell, he'll tell any damn person that'll listen.

"Happy New Year, sweetheart," he murmurs against your lips.

"Happy New Year, lover," you whisper back against his.

Bright beams of light appear above your head suddenly. Explosions of color dance across the sky, illuminating Jake's face. You look at him, and feel the urge to burst into tears. He's not watching the fireworks. He's watching you. He's gazing at you like you hung the moon. You're looking at him like he's the North Star, guiding you home. And that's exactly where you are. Home.

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kckt88 · 17 days ago

Text

Scorched Hearts XIV

Summary:

'We loved with a love that was more than love - Edgar Allen Poe'

Aemond wallows in his grief over Valaena.

Warning(s): Angst, Drama, Language, Uncle/Niece Incest, Kissing, Grief, Desperation, Heartbreak, Talks of Euthanasia, Attempt at Euthanasia.

AEMOND x O.C Niece

Word Count: 4465

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated, do not copy/post to other sights without my permission.

Tag List - @jasminecosmic99 @kaelatargaryen @yesterdayfeelings-blog @immyowndefender @0eessirk8 @darylandbethfanforever9 @killua2dot0 @msassenach @xcharlottemikaelsonx @moonnicole

The days had blurred into an endless stream of anxious hours. Aemond stared wordlessly out the window, his gaze vacant, face drawn and pale.

It had been over two weeks since Valaena had slipped into unconsciousness, and each day she remained silent, Aemond felt himself slipping further into despair.

Gerardys attended to Valaena daily, meticulously ensuring she received nourishment and care, his expression tightening each time Aemond asked if there was any sign of improvement.

Lirri and Arro had taken to caring for the children, who missed their mother terribly, not fully understanding what was going on.

Aemond himself had hardly eaten or slept. His usually pristine silver hair hung tangled, his appearance dishevelled. He spent nearly every hour by Valaena’s side, laying beside her, listening to the soft, rhythmic beat of her heart.

Sometimes, he would clutch her hand and sob, his pleas spilling out in quiet desperation, “Please-please, my love, come back to me. I can’t live without you.”

Family and friends came often, each one sharing their love, speaking as though their words alone could bring her back.

Rhaenyra would sit by her daughter’s side, clutching her hand, and Daemon would stand nearby, his hand occasionally brushing over Valaena’s dark hair.

Jace and Luke shared stories, speaking of their own daughters and laughing softly, trying to bring warmth into the room.

Alicent held Aemond often, her own tears mingling with his as she begged him to eat, to rest, to care for himself.

But nothing anyone did or said could reach him.

Even his new, unnamed son, waiting to be held by his father, had yet to meet him.

Aemond refused to see him, insisting that he would wait until Valaena could be there too.

One afternoon, as Gerardys was finishing his usual checks, Aemond whispered, “Is there any change?”

Gerardys let out a weary sigh and shook his head. “I’m afraid not, my prince.”

Aemond’s heart dropped, his gaze fixed on Valaena’s still face. He hardly noticed when Gerardys left the room.

There was a knock on the door, and Aegon stepped in, his expression shifting as he saw his brother’s grief-stricken face.

“What did he say?” Aegon asked quietly, already dreading the answer.

Aemond’s voice was barely a whisper. “There’s no improvement. S-She still won’t wake.” His voice broke, and he turned away, clutching the edge of the bed as though it could anchor him. “What if she never does?” he gasped, his face crumpling. “I-I can’t lose her, Aegon. I just can’t.”

Aegon crossed the room, wrapping his arm around Aemond’s shoulders. “Hey-it’s okay,” he said softly, his voice gentle. “Let it out.”

Aemond resisted, but only for a moment before he collapsed against Aegon, his body racked with sobs.

“W-What if she doesn’t wake up. I can’t lose her” he choked, the raw fear and sorrow cutting through every word.

“You won’t lose her,” Aegon murmured, his voice steady even as his own heart twisted painfully.

He had rarely seen Aemond cry, and never with such anguish.

Quietly, he brushed his fingers through Aemond’s tangled hair, trying to comfort him as best he could.

“Is she not responding at all?” Aegon asked gently after a few moments.

“N-No,” Aemond replied, his voice hoarse “How am I supposed to live without her?”

Aegon took a deep breath and, with quiet certainty, said, “You won’t have to. Valaena will come back to you. She loves you too much to leave you—not after everything you two went through just to be together.”

“I-I just—”

“No,” Aegon interrupted, his voice firm. “You listen to me. Valaena loves you, and she will come back. She’s fighting her way back to you, I know it.”

Aemond took a shaky breath, nodding as he wiped his tears furiously. He glanced at Valaena, his heart aching with every beat.

“I hope you’re right, Aegon,” he whispered. “I really, really do.”

Days passed, and Aemond felt hope slipping through his fingers. Each morning, as he opened his eye beside Valaena’s still form, the weight of despair grew heavier.

His sister, Helaena, would visit frequently, talking in her quiet, lilting voice about crickets and how they would all sing together again.

Although he didn’t understand her words fully, he found comfort in them—a flicker of brightness in the midst of his grief.

Rhaegar and Elaena would bring small bouquets of flowers, placing them tenderly by their mother’s side.

Daenys, too young to understand, would pat her mother’s arm, murmuring, “Mama, mama,” in her small, confused voice.

Each of her innocent touches and soft calls felt like a dagger to Aemond’s heart.

He tried to stay strong for them, though with each passing day, it felt like his own strength was crumbling.

However, on one of Gerardys' routine visits, the tension reached breaking point.

Gerardys moved from one side of the bed to the other, checking Valaena’s pulse and her pallor.

His sigh was heavy, and his eyes held none of the hope Aemond longed to see.

“It has been over four weeks,” Gerardys said gravely. “And still, there is no sign of improvement.”

Aemond’s hands gripped Rhaenyra’s tightly, his heart pounding painfully. When he glanced at his good mother, he saw her own pain mirrored in her eyes.

“Is there truly nothing more you can do?” Rhaenyra asked, her voice strained with desperation.

“I am afraid not, Your Grace,” Gerardys replied, shaking his head. “I have tried everything within my knowledge and means. The princess simply does not respond.”

Aemond’s jaw clenched, and his voice came out rough, nearly a whisper. “If she doesn’t wake up what will happen to her?”

Gerardys hesitated, his expression a mix of compassion and sorrow. “If she remains in this state, it is likely her body will eventually begin to weaken, and she may pass away-but there are also ways to help her pass-to end her suffering”

Aemond's brow furrowed. “What do you mean, help her pass?”

Gerardys looked between Aemond and Rhaenyra who nodded before speaking. “The Queen and I, along with her council have discussed the possibility of administering a high dose of sweet sleep to the Princess. It would allow her to pass peacefully.”

For a moment, Aemond was too stunned to respond, his mind reeling. “You-you want to kill her?”

“Please, my prince,” Gerardys said, raising a placating hand. “Allow me to explain—”

“Get out” Aemond’s voice was a low, dangerous whisper, but his expression blazed with fury.

Rhaenyra reached for him, pleading softly, “Aemond, please. Try to understand that—”

“GET THE FUCK OUT!” His shout rang through the room, raw and filled with rage and pain.

Without another word, Gerardys bowed his head and quickly left the room, and Rhaenyra followed after him, her shoulders slumped.

As soon as they were gone, Aemond rushed to the door, slamming it shut and locking it behind them.

He turned back to Valaena, his chest heaving. Sitting by her side, he took her hand in his, pressing it to his lips.

“I won’t let them- I won’t let them take you from me-” he whispered, his voice breaking.

Aemond clutched her hand, drawing it to his heart. He sat like that for hours, unmoving, praying that somewhere deep within, she could hear him.

Aemond barred the door to the room, turning away every visitor, every knock, every entreaty to let someone in. He didn’t want anyone near Valaena, didn’t want anyone near them.

He was done with their attempts to comfort him or, worse, convince him to let her go.

As he sat slumped against the wall, Gerardys’ words replayed over and over in his mind: that she may never awaken, that her body would weaken until eventually, she would pass.

The suggestion of sweet sleep to ease her passing had ignited anger so fierce it had consumed him, but now, in the stillness, that anger simmered into something else entirely—.

The ache in his chest was so raw, so all-consuming, that he felt as if he were being hollowed out from the inside, his heart twisted into a mass of pain he could barely breathe around.

The thought of her slipping further and further away, of her body growing frailer with each day, was like a knife twisting in his heart.

He didn’t want her to waste away; he didn’t want her to be in pain.

Slowly, he got to his feet and approached the bed, his gaze fixed on Valaena’s face.

She was so beautiful—ethereal, almost as if she were caught between this world and another.

Her skin was pale, but her features were softened, the gentle rise and fall of her chest was the only sign of life, and with every second, he feared it would be the last.

Even in this slumber, she was radiant, a vision of the fierce and tender woman he loved more than life itself.

It was almost cruel, the way her beauty remained undisturbed, untouched by the weight of what they were enduring.

He couldn’t look away; he was terrified that if he did, he’d forget this moment, the way she looked, lost in a place he could not reach.

In his mind, she was still full of life, laughing, fierce and strong. He closed his eye, recalling her strength, the fire in her gaze that had captivated him from the beginning.

Wanting to remember her as she was.

Aemond picked up a pillow, clutching it in his shaking hands. He remembered what she had said to him in their cabin.

‘Just promise me one thing. If I am to die, I would rather it be by your hand’

She’d made him promise. The thought of letting her linger in this half-life, slipping further from him, made him feel like he was failing her.

Taking a shaky breath, he lifted the pillow, his vision blurring as he held it above her face.

Every fibre in his being screamed at him to let her go, to do the one thing he could do to free her from this endless silence.

But standing here, the pillow shaking in his hands, he couldn’t bear it.

Looking down at her face, so still and beautiful, he saw the traces of her smile, the faint lines around her eyes from all their laughter, all the quiet moments they’d shared.

Memories surged forward—Valaena laughing, Valaena fierce and defiant, Valaena holding their children.

His hand dropped slightly, then his grip loosened, and the pillow slipped from his fingers onto the floor.

He stumbled back, horrified at what he had almost done. He pressed a hand to his mouth, his breath coming in sharp, shallow gasps.

“I-I can’t do it,” he whispered, his voice breaking. His chest felt as though it would shatter from the weight of it all. “I’m sorry,” he choked out, “I’m so sorry-”

Weakly, he lowered himself to his knees by the bed, clutching the sheets as he buried his face in them.

“Please come back to me,” he whispered, his voice raw with desperation. “Please, I can’t do this without you. I don’t know exist without you.”

After a long, silent moment, he pulled himself up, he leaned forward and kissed her gently on her lips before he laid down on the bed, drawing her close.

He wrapped his arms around her, pressing his forehead to her shoulder, feeling the faint warmth of her skin.

“Sleep as long as you need to, love. I’ll be here when you wake up. I’ll take care of you.”

With his arms wrapped around her, he rested his head beside hers, feeling the faint warmth of her skin against his own.

As he drifted off to sleep, he let himself hope—fragile, desperate hope—that somewhere, somehow, she could hear him.

Aemond was soaring through a vast, endless sky, the blue stretching out forever above him, beneath him, and all around.

Vhagar’s mighty wings carried him effortlessly as he glanced over to see Valaena riding alongside him, Silverwing gliding through the air.

Her dragon’s silver scales gleamed in the sunlight, and Valaena herself was laughing—a bright, carefree sound that echoed around them.

Aemond felt joy fill him as he watched her lean forward, urging Silverwing into a dive. She tucked her wings close to her body and plunged toward the glittering sea below, the wind rushing past in a blur of motion.

At the last moment, Silverwing pulled up, wings slicing across the ocean’s surface so close that sprays of water fanned out behind her, shimmering in the sunlight.

Aemond laughed, his voice echoing with pride and exhilaration, as he shouted, “Show-off!”

Valaena threw her head back in laughter, her dark hair streaming in the wind, her voice bright and filled with a joy he hadn’t heard in what felt like a lifetime.

But suddenly, a flash of blinding light tore across the sky, so fierce that he instinctively shielded his face.

Blinking, he looked around in panic. “Valaena!” he shouted, desperation cracking his voice. “Don’t go towards it—stay by my side!”

Her laughter faded, replaced by a strange, echoing silence.

Then, her voice drifted through the air, soft but clear. “Is not my time,” she said, her words rippling through the air like a gentle breeze.

“No, not yet. Come with me,” he pleaded, his heart hammering in his chest.

Valaena hesitated, glancing toward the bright light in the distance.

But then she turned Silverwing, guiding her away from the beckoning glow.

She followed him, and together, they flew back toward King’s Landing, circling the Red Keep in unison before landing in a green, sunlit meadow just outside the walls.

Aemond descended from Vhagar’s saddle, climbing down the sturdy rope ladder.

He barely had time to turn before Valaena was there, sliding gracefully down Silverwing’s wing and landing with a soft thud on the grass.

Aemond felt his breath catch as he closed the distance between them, pulling her into his arms. He buried his face in her hair, breathing in her scent, feeling her warmth against him, tangible and solid.

He whispered against her ear, “I love you-”

Before she could reply, footsteps sounded in the distance. Aemond turned to see Helaena approaching, her eyes soft and distant, a serene smile playing across her lips. She tilted her head, meeting his gaze.

“The crickets will sing together again,” she said quietly, her voice lilting with a familiar, otherworldly calm.

Aemond furrowed his brow, confusion knitting his expression. “Helaena, what—?”

But before he could finish, she turned and walked away, humming softly to herself, her voice fading into the distance.

Aemond glanced back at Valaena, who simply shrugged and took his hand. She looked at him, her gaze warm and full of affection.

“Let’s go home,” she murmured, her voice soft and comforting, her words echoing around him as the world began to fade.

Aemond’s eye fluttered open, the remnants of the dream lingering as a dull ache in his chest.

For a brief, beautiful moment, he half-expected to see Valaena there beside him, her smile bright, her eyes filled with that warm, knowing light.

But as he blinked, the cold darkness of the room settled around him, and the fog of sleep cleared, allowing the painful truth to seep in.

It had only been a dream.

Reality crashed over him like a tidal wave, and he clenched his fists, feeling an unbearable weight in his chest.

The vividness of the dream—the warmth of her laughter, the thrill of flying together, the strength of her arms around him—had felt so real, so heartbreakingly close.

But now, she lay beside him unmoving, locked in a silent slumber.

Aemond let out a shuddering breath as he realized how foolish it had been, to believe even for a second that she might have woken, that she might be well again.

A faint spark of hope that had flickered in his chest during the dream faded, replaced by a hollow, gnawing grief.

He turned toward her, studying her face—the face that had smiled at him moments ago, so vibrant and alive.

But now, her expression was empty, serene but lifeless, her shallow breaths offering a miniscule amount of comfort.

He reached out, his hand hovering over hers, hesitant, as if to touch her would shatter the fragile illusion he’d clung to in the haze of sleep.

His fingers brushed over her cold skin, and he felt an ache so deep it threatened to unravel him.

Aemond drifted into another restless sleep, but a faint sensation roused him—a delicate brush of movement against his hand.

At first, he thought he was still dreaming, that his mind was playing tricks on him.

But the gentle twitch continued, soft and real, grounding him back in the present.

His eye flew open, heart pounding, and he looked in disbelief as Valaena’s fingers moved, curling ever so slightly against his.

He sat up with a jolt, staring at her face.

Her eyelids fluttered, and then they slowly opened.

With a quiet gasp, he cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing across her soft skin. "I knew you'd come back to me," he whispered, voice breaking with relief and disbelief.

Tears spilled from his eye as he leaned down, pressing his face into the curve of her neck, his arms wrapping around her protectively. "Thank the gods-”

Aemond felt her hand, still weak, but unmistakably real, move to rest on his head. Her fingers stroked gently through his unkempt hair, a familiar, tender gesture.

A shiver ran through him as he held her closer, feeling the weight of his anguish begin to lift, replaced by an overwhelming wave of gratitude and love.

For a long moment, he stayed there, sobbing quietly, pouring weeks of heartache and fear into her presence.

Valaena’s touch anchored him, assuring him of her return.

When he finally looked up, her gaze met his, tired but warm, filled with a quiet strength. His heart clenched as he took her face in his hands, memorizing every detail.

"I was so afraid," he murmured, voice trembling. "Afraid I'd lost you forever."

She managed a faint smile, her eyes filled with the same love that had carried them through every trial before this.

"I’m here," she whispered hoarsely, her voice barely more than a breath. "I’m here, my love."

Aemond kissed her forehead, then her cheeks, and finally her lips, a desperate and reverent touch, as though it might bind her to him forever.

And for the first time in weeks, he felt peace.

“Our son?” Valaena’s voice was soft, hoarse from the long silence she’d endured during her coma, but it was full of that familiar warmth Aemond had missed so much.

Aemond’s smile faltered, and he looked down at her. His heart ached to see the longing in her eyes, but he kept his voice steady as he responded, “I haven’t seen him, not yet.”

Valaena frowned slightly. “Why?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, but her gaze searching his face for an answer.

“I-I wanted us to see him together,” Aemond said, his throat tightening at the memory of the promise he’d made to her, the one he had struggled to hold on to in the weeks since her coma.

Valaena’s lips curved into a gentle smile, a glimmer of her usual warmth returning. “Can we see him now?” she asked, her eyes softening.

Aemond nodded and stood up, walking toward the door. His heart swelled as he imagined the moment when Valaena would finally get to hold their child. He unlocked the door and called for Lirri.

A few moments later, Lirri appeared, her expression concerned as she saw Aemond’s face. “What’s wrong, my prince?” she asked quietly.

“Could you bring me the babe?” Aemond asked, his voice low.

Lirri nodded and, without hesitation, disappeared into her chambers. A few minutes later, she returned, carrying a small, swaddled bundle in her arms.

She gently placed the baby into Aemond’s arms, and he held the tiny form, feeling the weight of it settle against his chest.

“Thank you, Lirri,” Aemond said, his voice filled with gratitude. He shut the door behind her and returned to Valaena’s side.

With a tender smile, he carefully placed their son on her chest. Valaena’s breath hitched, her eyes wide with wonder as she gazed down at the small bundle, her fingers trembling as she lightly traced the baby’s tiny features.

“He looks just like you,” she whispered, her voice full of awe as she stared at the baby.

Aemond couldn’t help but smile as he looked at their son, his heart filled with a profound love that he could barely put into words.

He stroked his son’s cheek gently, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m sorry that I waited this long to meet you properly,” he murmured, regret lacing his words.

Valaena reached out, her hand taking his in a gentle, soothing gesture. She kissed his palm softly, and Aemond’s eye closed briefly at the touch.

When she pulled away, her gaze returned to their son, her expression tender.

“Does he have a name?” she asked, her voice quiet, almost like a prayer.

Aemond’s eyes met hers, his heart heavy with the weight of their shared decision. “No,” he replied softly. “I wanted to wait for you.”

Valaena’s lips curled into a small, affectionate smile. “I’d like to name him Aemon, in honour of his father,” she said, her eyes sparkling with love.

Aemond chuckled softly, shaking his head in disbelief. “Are you sure you want to do that?” he asked, teasing, though his heart swelled with affection.

Valaena nodded with certainty, her eyes warm with emotion. “I’m sure.”

Aemond stroked the baby’s soft silver hair, a tear threatening to fall as he marvelled at the life they had created together.

“Aemon,” he whispered, the name tasting like hope and promise. “He may look like me but he’ll grow up to be strong. Just like you.”

“Now’s not the time for Strong jokes my love” said Valaena,

“Time and a place. I know” replied Aemond smiling slightly.

Valaena shifted slightly, her eyes filled with concern as she looked up at Aemond. “You look so tired,” she said, her voice gentle.

“I haven’t been sleeping well,” Aemond admitted, his gaze dropping to their son. “Not since you’ve been in the coma.”

Valaena’s brow furrowed, and she gave a soft gasp. “How long was it?” she asked.

“Just over a month,” Aemond said, his voice tight as the pain of that time resurfaced.

Valaena’s eyes widened. “A-A month. What about our other children?”

Aemond placed a calming hand on her shoulder. “They’ve been well taken care of,” he said gently. “They visit often. The flowers over there are from Rhaegar and Elaena.”

Valaena nodded slowly, a single tear slipping down her cheek. She looked at the flowers with longing. “I want to see them,” she said, her voice breaking.

Aemond smiled softly. “Tomorrow, I’ll bring them to you,” he promised.

Valaena shifted again, the weight of the baby becoming too much for her.

Aemond gently scooped Aemon up, cradling him in his arms and rocking him softly as he looked at Valaena with concern.

“What’s wrong?” Aemond asked, his voice laced with worry.

Valaena’s gaze was sad as she watched Aemond care for their son. “I can’t even hold my son properly,” she murmured, the pain of her weakness clear in her eyes.

“You’ve just woken up from a month-long coma,” Aemond reminded her softly. “It’s going to take time to build your strength back.”

Valaena nodded, a sad smile flickering on her lips. “When will you tell my mother I’m awake?”

Aemond sighed, a small chuckle escaping him. “Not yet,” he said. “I want to keep you to myself for a little longer.”

The soft cry of their son brought Aemond’s attention back to the baby. He carefully opened the door noticing Lirri waiting outside in the hallway.

“Lirri,” Aemond said quietly, “He’s hungry. The wetnurse will need to be summoned.” As he placed his son gently into her arms

“Is my lady well?” asked Lirri.

“She’s awake”

Lirri smiled widely. “Does the prince have a name?” she asked softly.

“Aemon,” Aemond replied, a proud smile on his face.

Lirri smiled warmly “A good name-it suits him well”

“Don’t tell anyone that Valaena is awake,” he said softly. “I need a bit more time with her.”

Lirri gave a small nod. “I understand, my prince,” she said before slipping back into her chambers.

Aemond returned to the bed and sat beside Valaena, his heart light for the first time in so long.

He laid down next to her, his hand gently brushing her face. She was so tired, but there was a quiet contentment in her eyes as she watched him.

“I’ve been asleep for a month,” Valaena murmured, her voice faint, “yet I feel so tired.”

Aemond smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “It’s okay, my love. Sleep. Rest.”

Valaena’s eyes fluttered closed, and she whispered softly, “I love you.”

Aemond kissed her forehead gently. “I love you too,” he whispered back, wrapping his arms around her, holding her close.

Just as the gentle rhythm of her breathing steadied.

"I dreamt we were flying," Valaena murmured, her words barely a whisper.

Aemond froze, his chest tightening at the sound. He looked down at her, her eyes closed, her face soft and peaceful as she rested.

The vulnerability of the moment struck him, but there was something else in her words, something that tugged at his heart.

"Flying?" Aemond whispered.

Valaena stirred slightly, the corners of her lips lifting as though recalling the fleeting images of her dream.

“Yes, with you,” she murmured, her voice still heavy with the weight of sleep. "You on Vhagar, me on Silverwing-The sky so blue and endless. There was a light, you wouldn’t let me go-and the crickets they sing together again"

Aemond’s heart caught in his throat. The images she spoke of mirrored his own dream so closely, it almost felt as if they had shared the same vision.

For a moment, he dared to believe that her mind was reaching out to him, somehow connecting in a space beyond reality.

Her hand twitched slightly in her sleep, and he gently took it in his, his grip tight, as if holding on to a memory, a hope that perhaps, just perhaps, she could hear him, could feel him there.

And as the weight of their shared grief, their joy, and their love settled over them, Aemond finally allowed himself to close his eyes, drifting off to sleep with Valaena nestled safely in his arms.

TBC

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