#//I HAD TO AT LEAST RESPOND TO THIS ONE... THIS ONES BEEN SITTING THERE FOR AGES AND I LOVE MARY/MARI

[throttleheart]

⸻ ⸻ ⸻

Hiding

Pairing: Lando Norris x fem!Reader

Genre: angst with a happy ending

Word Count: ~9.2k

Summary: You & Lando have a big fight before a race. He crashes and you are left to figure out how can your relationship survive.

Masterlist

⸻

It started the night before the race.

Saturday. A day that should’ve ended in celebration. Or, at the very least, quiet comfort.

Lando had been on for pole.

Until the final corner of Q3 — just a slip of concentration, a tire off into the gravel. He lost the lap. Lost pole. Lost the mood.

Max locked in P1. Russell snagged second. Oscar, somehow, took third.

And Lando?

Fourth.

He hadn’t spoken much after quali. Just mumbled through the media pen, kept his head down in the garage. He didn’t even glance your way when you passed him his water bottle at the motorhome. The frustration hung over him like heat off tarmac.

So you tried to do what you always did.

Be the soft place.

Back at his apartment, you made dinner — roasted chicken with lemon and garlic, rosemary potatoes, grilled vegetables just how he liked them. You even pulled out those little candlesticks from the drawer. Set the table. Cleaned the counter. Let music play low in the background. Tried to make it feel like home. Like peace.

He walked in late, nearly eight-thirty, still in his team hoodie, hair flattened from his cap. He dropped his keys and bag by the door without a word.

You turned from the kitchen.

“Hey,” you offered gently. “Dinner’s ready.”

He barely looked at you. Walked straight to the fridge. Cracked open a bottle of water like you hadn’t spoken.

“I made your favorite,” you added.

He took a long drink, eyes on the fridge door. “I’m not hungry.”

Your heart sank a little. “You haven’t eaten since before quali.”

“I said I’m not hungry.”

There wasn’t anger in his voice. Just that flat, thin-edged coldness that cut sharper than a shout.

You tried again anyway. “I just thought you might want to sit. Unwind. Talk.”

That made him turn. Slowly. His jaw clenched.

“Talk?” he echoed. “About what? About how I fucked it today? About how Oscar outqualified me again?”

You blinked. “No, Lando. About anything. Or nothing. I just wanted to have a moment with you.”

He shook his head. “Why is that never enough for you? Why do I always come home to this pressure to perform for you too?”

The words hit like gravel under tires. Messy. Unexpected. Painful.

Your throat tightened. “I’m not asking you to perform. I just… I miss you. I tried to make tonight easier. Nicer.”

“Well, don’t,” he snapped. “Don’t try to fix everything all the time. It just makes me feel worse.”

You stood there, still holding the serving spoon. “I made dinner because I love you. Because I knew you’d be hurting.”

He scoffed and looked away. “Yeah, well. Love shouldn’t feel this heavy all the time.”

You opened your mouth to respond — then closed it.

He didn’t mean it. Not really. But he said it. And worse, he didn’t take it back.

He rubbed his eyes, tired and fraying at the seams. “I need to sleep. Big day tomorrow.”

Then he walked into the bedroom.

The door didn’t slam.

He just… shut it behind him.

And left you standing there, in the kitchen of his apartment, the dinner table glowing with candles no one would sit at.

⸻

You didn’t move for a while. You just stood there, eyes locked on the plates.

Steam still curled from the food.

Music still played softly in the background — a slow song, too delicate for this kind of ache.

Eventually, your body moved on autopilot. Blew out the candles. Covered the chicken. Put the potatoes in the fridge. Cleaned the knife you used to chop garlic. Wiped down the counter.

You only realized you’d left your car keys on the hallway table after you’d already put on your shoes and slipped into your jacket.

You stared at the table.

At the dark hallway that led to the closed bedroom door.

Your keys were just ten feet away. But he was behind that door — silent. Asleep, maybe. Or pretending to be. You weren’t sure which would hurt more.

You couldn’t go back in there.

So you left them.

And you walked.

⸻

The night air clung to your skin. Summer fading into fall — crisp enough to sting.

The streets were mostly empty, aside from the hum of far-off traffic and a couple walking their dog on the opposite sidewalk. You walked fast, arms wrapped around your ribs, every step sharp and brittle.

You told yourself not to cry.

You told yourself you were being dramatic. Sensitive.

You told yourself he was just tired. Stressed. Frustrated.

But none of those excuses softened the ache in your chest or stopped the sting in your eyes.

The tears didn’t come in sobs. They came slowly. Silently.

Hot streaks down your cheeks that chilled in the wind.

You sniffed once. Bit the inside of your cheek to keep your lip from trembling. Kept walking.

Block after block.

You passed a bus stop. A florist shop with its shutters down. A traffic light blinking yellow into the night.

And still the tears came.

Because you hadn’t asked for much. Just dinner. Just time. Just to be seen.

But he didn’t even notice when you walked out the door.

Didn’t text. Didn’t call.

And maybe that hurt more than the words he’d said.

Maybe that silence was the answer.

⸻

The walk felt longer than it should have.

Maybe because your feet ached in the shoes you’d rushed to pull on. Maybe because every time you thought you were almost there, another corner waited. Another stretch of street. Another minute in the dark.

Or maybe it was just the weight of what you were carrying. The quiet grief of it all.

Your hands were cold, fists buried in your coat pockets, keys to your own place slipping between your fingers with every step. The silence had turned into noise — your own breathing, the shuffle of your shoes, the occasional car in the distance. It all seemed louder than usual. Harsher.

You crossed the last big intersection. The red signal blinked on the pedestrian sign, but you didn’t stop. You didn’t care.

It wasn’t until your building came into view — familiar, a little run-down, but safe — that the trembling really started. A deep, sinking thing in your chest.

You sniffed again and wiped your cheek with the back of your hand.

Still wet.

Still crying.

You hadn’t stopped.

The keypad stuck for a second when you typed in your entry code. Your fingers fumbled. You let out a quiet, strangled sound of frustration — the first noise you’d made since the door closed behind you back at his apartment.

When it finally clicked open, you pushed into the stairwell.

It smelled like dust and someone’s burnt microwave popcorn. It always did.

The climb up to your floor felt like dragging yourself uphill through mud. Your legs were sore. From walking. From standing too long in his kitchen trying to make the night perfect. From holding yourself together.

You fished for your apartment keys, hands still shaking a little. Your breath fogged the hallway air. You didn’t bother wiping your cheeks anymore.

By the time the door swung open, you felt like a ghost. Not even angry anymore — just hollow.

The apartment was dark, quiet, still. You didn’t turn on the overhead lights, just the small lamp on the side table. Its warm yellow glow lit the living room in soft, sleepy gold.

You toed off your shoes, nearly tripping. Shrugged out of your coat and let it fall to the floor.

Everything inside you wanted to scream. Or crawl under a blanket. Or get in the shower and let the water burn until you felt something else.

But instead, you sat.

On the edge of your bed. In your clothes. In the quiet.

You stared at your hands in your lap.

Your palms still smelled faintly like garlic and rosemary. From the dinner he didn’t touch.

You closed your eyes.

And the tears came again — slow, steady, like the rain that hadn’t started falling yet but probably would. You didn’t sob. You didn’t shake. Just let them roll down your cheeks, soaking the collar of your shirt.

You’d tried so hard. To show up for him. To carry the weight when he couldn’t. To make the night soft when the world was sharp.

But he’d shut you out like it didn’t matter.

Like you didn’t matter.

And worst of all — you didn’t even slam the door when you left.

⸻

The bedroom door didn’t slam.

It clicked shut—soft, careful, like a secret.

But it still echoed like a gunshot in Lando’s ears.

He stood frozen just inside the threshold, back against the wood, jaw tight. The room was dark, moonlight painting long lines across the sheets. He didn’t sit down. Couldn’t.

His fists uncurled slowly. There was nothing to fight but himself now.

He felt like he’d been spinning all day. From the moment he hit the gravel in Q3, everything had spiraled. P1 was right there—his—until it wasn’t. George P2. Oscar P3. Max on pole, of course. And him? Fourth. Again.

The margin for error in the championship was razor-thin now. He knew what the press would say. What his critics would whisper.

Too inconsistent. Too emotional. Not a closer.

And maybe—maybe they were right.

He exhaled harshly and leaned forward, dragging his palms over his face. He hadn’t even touched the food she made. He could still smell it—rosemary, butter, garlic. Her attempt at making the evening better. Easier.

She’d tried to make things nice.

He remembered the way she looked when he walked in earlier—eyes soft, trying to be calm, to hold space for him even when he wasn’t making any for her.

“Will you have time after the race tomorrow?” she had asked him gently. “Just… a night? Just us?”

And that should’ve been a lifeline.

But instead, he snapped it in half.

“Maybe if you weren’t so damn needy all the time, I’d actually have the energy to come home wanting to see you.”

He felt sick now. The words echoed louder than any engine ever had.

She hadn’t fought back. She hadn’t cried in front of him. Just went quiet. Something behind her eyes shuttered. And then she started cleaning.

That should’ve told him everything.

But he hadn’t followed her. He’d just walked into the bedroom like a coward, like someone who didn’t deserve her. He told himself she’d cool off. Sit on the couch. Maybe throw on some movie she wasn’t watching. He’d apologize in twenty minutes. Or thirty. Or after his shower.

But the silence stretched on. Thicker. Heavier.

And eventually, guilt forced him up.

He cracked the door open quietly.

“Y/N?” His voice barely carried. He stepped into the hallway. “Love?”

Nothing.

The apartment was dim, only the kitchen light left on—warm, flickering, lonely.

He turned the corner and saw the table had been cleared. Plates washed, counters wiped. The napkins she’d folded for dinner had been neatly stacked again. The wine glasses rinsed, drying on the rack.

The food was untouched.

The effort she’d made—wiped away like it hadn’t mattered.

His chest went tight.

He glanced toward the couch. Empty. No pillows out of place. Her coat no longer hanging on the hook. Her bag gone.

Then his eyes flicked to the key bowl by the front door.

Her keys. Still there.

His heart stopped.

She walked.

She left on foot.

No coat thick enough for this cold turn in the weather. No shoes that could carry her far—she was wearing those soft flats, the ones she always said hurt if she walked more than a block.

And she left anyway.

He whipped out his phone, hands fumbling, breath catching.

He’d written a message already—I’m sorry. You were right. I was cruel. Please come back.—but hadn’t sent it.

He pressed send now. Waited.

The bubble stayed gray.

Not Delivered.

No signal. Or no phone.

He tried calling. Voicemail.

She’d turned it off.

She never turned it off.

His throat tightened as he sank down by the door, staring at her keys like they might vanish. Her charger was still by the couch. Her favorite hoodie—the one she always threw on after dinner—still draped over the back of the chair.

She didn’t even take the things that made her feel safe.

Just walked out.

Into the night.

He imagined her shoulders hunched against the wind, clutching her thin coat closed with both hands, hair whipping across her face, her shoes scuffing against the pavement. Quiet tears running down her cheeks—not the loud, cathartic kind. The quiet ones. The kind she let fall without wiping them away. The kind that hurt worse.

And she didn’t turn back.

She didn’t even wait for him to come out and fix it.

Because he didn’t.

He could’ve caught her if he hadn’t waited. Could’ve chased after her. But instead, he sat in the dark, too ashamed to move, and now she was out there—cold, alone, hurt.

Because of him.

Because he couldn’t hold space for the one person who always held it for him.

He rested his head back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling like maybe the answer was written there.

His voice cracked in the quiet.

“Please come back.”

⸻

Sunday Morning

You wake up with the kind of stiffness that doesn’t come from a bad night’s sleep — it comes from crying too long in one position, from curling in on yourself like a shield and staying that way because it hurt too much to move.

The couch cushion beneath you is warm, the blanket you grabbed at some point halfway through the night barely covering your legs. The thin cotton of your t-shirt clings to your skin, cold and wrinkled, and your limbs feel too heavy to lift all at once.

For a second, you don’t move.

You just listen.

The morning traffic outside. The soft creak of your apartment settling. The dull ache behind your eyes.

You sit up slowly, your neck protesting the movement. One hand drags across your face automatically, fingers catching on dried tears you didn’t even realize had fallen after you’d finally drifted off.

And then it hits you again — not in a sharp, jarring way, but like a bruise you forgot was there until something pressed against it.

The fight.

The look on his face.

The way he disappeared into the bedroom and didn’t come back out.

The dinner you made.

The plate you cleared.

The keys you forgot.

The cold, late-summer night air seeping into your too-thin coat.

The walk home, shoes biting into your heels, silence pressing on your chest like a weight.

You reach for your phone, lying face-down on the coffee table.

Still off.

You hesitate before turning it on. Part of you doesn’t want to know. Doesn’t want to see if he even noticed. If he cared.

The screen lights up.

A few missed calls. Two messages. One of them timestamped after 3 a.m.

Please just let me know you’re home safe. Please.

The lump in your throat returns instantly.

You press your lips together, hard. Staring at the screen like it might say something else if you look long enough. But it doesn’t. It just sits there, glowing faintly in your hand.

He noticed.

But not until after you were already gone. After your shoes were soaked from the pavement and your hands were numb and your tears had dried halfway down your cheeks. Not until you were already curled up here, in the quiet dark, trying to convince yourself you hadn’t made a mistake by walking out.

You stand slowly, barefoot on the hardwood, legs stiff and aching.

Your shoes are still sitting by the door, kicked off in a pile. The thin coat you wore is draped over a chair — not warm enough, not meant for the bite in the air that comes when summer starts giving way to fall.

You make it to the kitchen and stare at the coffee maker for a long moment, then decide it’s not worth it. Everything feels off. Like your apartment has too much space this morning. Like even your own breath echoes.

You wonder where he is now. If he slept. If he’s at the track already.

It’s race day.

And you’re not there.

He’s probably surrounded by noise and people and pressure. He’s probably putting on that same press smile he always wears — the one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes when something’s wrong.

You wonder if he’ll think about you when he walks to the grid. If he’ll remember your hand in his when you usually wish him luck. The way you always say, “Drive smart,” instead of “Drive fast,” because he already knows how to be fast.

You sit on the edge of the kitchen chair and let your head drop into your hands.

Because you don’t want to be angry anymore. You just want to feel like you matter to him the way he matters to you.

And right now, you’re not sure.

Not after last night.

⸻

You sit there for a long while, the quiet thick around you. Your phone buzzes again — a message from Lando. You don’t open it.

Instead, you glance toward the window, where the sky is a soft, pale gray. Late summer clouds drifting lazily, hinting at the crispness of fall yet to come. You pull your knees up to your chest and rest your head against them.

You feel like you’re split in two.

Half of you wants to throw on your shoes, drive to the track, and be there for him. To fix this — to remind him, and yourself, that what you have is bigger than a bad day or a heated fight.

The other half just wants to crawl back under the covers and hide from everything, from the tension, from the pressure, from the gnawing feeling that maybe you don’t belong in his world after all.

Your phone buzzes again. Another call.

You finally open the messages.

“I’m sorry. I was wrong. Please talk to me when you’re ready.”

Your heart stutters. You want to believe him. You want to text back, to say it’s okay, that you forgive him, that you want him to win today — for both of you.

But the silence feels too heavy. The hurt too fresh.

You take a deep breath and stand. Your bare feet meet the cold floor, and you shiver, realizing just how thin your coat was last night. You wrap your arms around yourself.

You know what you have to do.

You grab your coat, slip on your shoes — the same ones that hurt your feet on the walk home — and head for the door.

You need to see him.

Not just because of the race.

But because after last night, you both need a reminder that even when things get messy, you’re still there for each other.

And sometimes, that’s the hardest thing to say out loud.

⸻

You grab your coat, slip on your shoes — the same ones that rubbed raw against your heels the night before — and head for the door.

But you don’t open it.

Your fingers hover above the knob, and something in your chest folds in on itself. Not anger. Not even heartbreak.

Just… tiredness. The kind that settles into your bones when you’ve been trying too hard for too long.

You press your forehead gently against the door.

Because isn’t that what it’s always been?

You, rushing to forgive. You, swallowing the sting of words he didn’t mean but said anyway. You, stitching up the torn fabric of something he keeps pulling at.

You’ve stood in the paddock before with your heart quietly breaking. Smiled at cameras. Held his hand after podiums he didn’t think were good enough. Stayed quiet when his world demanded more of him than it ever asked from you.

But today — today you don’t want to go.

Not because you don’t care. God, if only it were that easy. If only indifference could replace the ache in your chest.

You care so much it hurts. That’s the problem.

You slowly peel the coat off your shoulders and hang it back on the hook. Kick off your shoes. Pad back into the living room on sore, quiet feet.

The morning light filters in, cool and colorless. You curl into the couch with a blanket wrapped around you like armor.

The TV remote feels heavier than it should.

But your hands know what to do — muscle memory from a hundred race days before this one. You find the broadcast, volume low. Familiar voices. Tire strategies. Grid positions.

P4. He’s starting P4.

You bite the inside of your cheek.

You should be there. Should’ve kissed his cheek before he pulled on his helmet. Should’ve smiled, told him “You’ve got this,” even if part of you wasn’t sure he did.

But you’re not.

And that silence is its own kind of message.

You don’t watch the pre-race interviews. You don’t want to see the way his eyes flick around, searching the crowd. You already know he’ll look for you.

You hope it stings a little.

Not out of spite — never that. But maybe a small part of you hopes that this time, he feels what it’s like to reach and find nothing waiting for him.

The race lights go out.

You pull the blanket tighter around yourself and whisper something he’ll never hear:

“Good luck.”

And then, you watch.

Alone.

⸻

The helmet feels tighter today.

Not physically — he knows it’s the same fit, same setup, same everything — but it presses down harder, like it’s holding more than just his head now. Like it’s holding in everything he hasn’t said, hasn’t let himself feel.

He blinks hard as he watches the crew swarm around his car. Everyone’s moving with sharp, practiced purpose, voices crackling through radios, tyres being warmed, wing angles being checked. He should be doing the same — syncing up mentally, running scenarios through his head.

Instead, it all just blurs.

His eyes keep sliding back to the edge of the garage, toward the place she usually stood. Arms folded. Soft smile. Quiet presence.

She’s not there.

His throat closes up for half a second. He shakes it off, flexes his fingers inside the gloves, breathes through it. He’s done this race-day ritual a hundred times. He can do it again. With or without her.

But his mind’s splintered.

P4 is doable. He’s overtaken from worse. But it doesn’t feel doable today. Not with the static in his head. Not with the echo of last night playing on loop — her voice, that silence that followed it, the way she didn’t look back when she left.

The engineer taps his shoulder. Strategy brief.

Lando nods, but the words don’t land.

They bounce off him like radio signals with no receiver.

He’s nodding at all the right moments. He knows that. He knows how to fake it. But inside he’s somewhere else. Still standing at the kitchen doorway. Still watching her back as she walked out.

Still wondering why the hell he didn’t go after her.

The pit lane starts buzzing louder now — engines coming alive. The grid forming. He steps out, suit zipped up, helmet under his arm, and everything outside his body clicks into motion. But inside? It’s just noise.

He straps in.

The car tightens around him.

Radio check. Tyre temps. Formation lap countdown.

He hears all of it — but feels none of it.

Because all he can think is:

She’s not here.

She’s always here.

And now she’s not.

And somehow, that’s what makes it feel like he’s already lost something today — and the lights haven’t even gone out yet.

⸻

The engine hum vibrated through his chest like a second heartbeat as he pulled into P4 on the grid.

Max on pole. George just ahead. Oscar to his right.

He kept his visor down longer than usual on the formation lap, trying to drown out everything but the car — the steering weight, the balance through corners, the cold bite of tyre temperature. But it wasn’t just the car he was fighting.

It was the static in his head.

The words he couldn’t unsay. The cold echo of a slammed door — not hers, but his, walking away from someone who needed him to stay.

You hadn’t answered this morning. Not his calls. Not his texts.

He told himself it didn’t matter — not now. But his gut burned hotter than the engine map he switched to just before lights out.

Lights out.

He got George off the line. Took the inside on Turn 2, swept into P3 clean. Then P2 by Lap 19 when Max ran wide. It should’ve felt good.

It didn’t.

Every corner was a loop of white noise and focus sharp enough to cut. The team radio crackled, relaying Oscar’s times — “Gap to Piastri, 2.1 seconds. Good pace. Let’s go get him.”

By Lap 47, the adrenaline was fire in his chest.

He was gaining.

Oscar ahead, less than a second. DRS open. Lando’s hands were steady on the wheel, jaw tight.

One move. One chance.

And then—

Oversteer.

Rear snapped wide. Correction too fast. Tyres locked. Car drifting. Gravel screaming beneath him.

Impact.

The barrier slammed back. A sickening crunch, the kind that vibrated up through his spine and stayed lodged in his throat.

His race was over.

And all he could think — before the radio even crackled to life — was that she wasn’t there.

⸻

The commentary was a blur in your ears — familiar voices you used to find comfort in, now muffled by the pounding of your heart.

You’d been watching the whole time.

Curled on the end of the sofa in his old hoodie, your phone face-down on the cushion next to you. You hadn’t touched it. Couldn’t. Not after everything that happened last night.

But you still watched. Of course you did.

You watched him climb to P2 with that ferocity he got when he was hurting — when the world got too loud and the only thing that made sense was speed and silence.

And you knew.

You knew the way he drove today — all risk, all edge — it wasn’t just about the race.

It was about you.

About what went unsaid. About all the things he didn’t have time for, didn’t know how to hold without squeezing too tight.

And then Lap 47 happened.

Your breath hitched the moment the camera cut to the onboard.

A twitch of the rear. A flash of gravel. That helpless slide.

And then the wall.

You flinched, hands flying to your mouth. “No, no, no—”

He was okay. The commentators said so. He got out on his own. Gave the thumbs up. The crowd even clapped.

But it didn’t matter.

Because you saw his helmet drop forward before he climbed out. Saw the slump of his shoulders. Not pain — not physical. But something heavier. Something cracked.

Your chest ached.

You should’ve gone.

But you couldn’t be the one always fixing it. Always running after the pieces he scattered when things got hard.

So you stayed.

And now, all you could do was sit there — staring at the screen, heart splintering — and wish that being in love with him didn’t hurt so damn much.

⸻

The race ends without him.

You mute the TV long before the podium ceremony. You don’t need to see Oscar spraying champagne or hear commentators dissecting the crash like it was just another technical error. It wasn’t just a mistake on Lap 47. It was a pressure cooker, and you could feel it long before the lights even went out.

You spend the next hour pacing.

Not because you’re waiting on him.

You tell yourself that again and again.

But every time your phone buzzes, you whip around like it might be him at your door.

It isn’t.

You open the window when the apartment feels too small, the hoodie you’re wearing swallowing your frame, sleeves soaked from where your fingertips keep nervously twisting at the cuffs.

Outside, the city glows like nothing’s broken. But inside, everything feels cracked open.

You should message him. You should ask if he’s okay — physically, at least.

But you don’t.

Because you’re tired of being the first to reach for something that feels like it’s always slipping through your fingers.

You light a candle just to have something warm in the room. Sit at the kitchen table — the one you never really use unless it’s the two of you. There’s still a tiny scratch on the edge of it from when he got too enthusiastic slicing sourdough. You almost smile.

Almost.

You stare at your phone for what feels like forever.

Then—

A soft knock.

You freeze.

It’s nearly 9 p.m.

The knock comes again — tentative, like whoever’s on the other side isn’t sure they should even be there.

You open the door slowly.

Lando’s standing there.

Hair slightly flattened like he’s run his hand through it a thousand times. Jacket zipped up to his chin. One hand in his pocket, the other holding nothing — no flowers, no apology, no shield. Just him.

He looks…tired.

But not from the crash.

From everything else.

“Hi,” he says, voice low and frayed. Like he almost didn’t trust it to come out.

You don’t speak. You just look at him. He looks at you.

And for a long moment, it’s just that.

Silence stretched between the doorframe and the guilt on his face.

“I shouldn’t have walked away last night,” he finally says. “I didn’t know you walked home. I didn’t know you left your keys. I—”

You swallow. The ache in your throat sharp.

“I watched the race.”

His shoulders fall. “Yeah.”

“You were chasing Oscar.”

“I was trying to outrun everything.”

You nod once, slow. “Did it work?”

He shakes his head.

“No,” he says. “It made it worse.”

You finally step back, opening the door a little wider. Just enough.

He doesn’t move immediately. He looks at you like he doesn’t deserve to come in.

Maybe he doesn’t.

But you also know what it took for him to show up.

So you let him in.

Not with words.

Not yet.

Just with a step. A breath.

And the tiniest tilt of your head toward the quiet inside.

He walks in like someone who’s been holding his breath for forty-seven laps.

And you — you shut the door behind him, not sure what comes next.

But for now, you’re both in the same room.

And maybe that’s where the healing starts. In the same way pain grows.

⸻

You lead him in without touching him. He toes off his shoes automatically, as if he’s been here a thousand times (he has), but tonight the movement looks unsure, like he expects you to say don’t.

You don’t.

He glances at the candle on your table. Vanilla and cedar. Soft. Safe. Wrong, maybe — because tonight doesn’t feel soft. But you left it lit anyway.

“Sit,” you say, nodding toward the chair across from yours.

He does. Carefully. Like sitting too hard might crack the air.

Up close you see the day on him: light graze across one wrist where the steering wheel snapped back in the hit, red pressure lines on his neck from belts, shadows under his eyes. He keeps his hands flat on the table so you can see them. You realize that’s deliberate.

He swallows. “I brought your keys.”

Your gaze flicks to his palm. He slides them across the table — the familiar ring, chipped orange tag, your car fob. The sight knocks something loose in your chest.

“I noticed them in the bowl after you left,” he says. “Didn’t…didn’t realize you’d walked until—” He stops, jaw locking. “Until I checked the hall cam and saw you go. No coat. Well—thin one. Not warm. And those stupid shoes.”

You huff out a humorless sound. “Didn’t feel the cold ‘til halfway home.”

“I should’ve gone after you.” His voice cracks. “I should’ve stopped you before you got to the door.”

You stare at him. “You should’ve eaten dinner.”

His eyes close. Slow. Painful. “Yeah.”

Silence stretches. You pick at the edge of the napkin you’d dropped there earlier. He watches your fingers like they’re the most important thing in the room.

Finally you say, “You texted.”

“I did.” He nods. “All bounced. Phone off?”

“Yeah.”

“Were you…were you done? With me?” The question is small. Terrified.

“No.” Your answer is immediate, quiet. “But I was done running after you when you shut the door.”

He sits with that. Doesn’t argue. Doesn’t defend.

“I get that,” he says at last. “You always come find me when I close up. I think I got used to it. Counted on it. That’s…awful.” He shakes his head. “You shouldn’t have to drag me back to us every time I spiral.”

Your throat tightens. “It’s not that I mind supporting you. I mind being treated like pressure when I’m trying to be a place to land.”

He looks up fast. “You are. You are that. I was just—” He exhales hard. “I was angry at myself and I threw it at you. And I hate that I did that, and now I crashed a car and nearly put it in the wall for good because my head was not where it needed to be, and all I could think mid-spin was you’re not here and that’s on me.”

You don’t realize you’ve stood until you’re moving. You grab a clean dish towel, dampen it, circle back and hold out your hand. “Let me see your wrist.”

He offers it without a word. Trust, quiet and unearned, but there.

You dab at the reddened skin. He flinches once. Doesn’t pull away.

“Hurts?” you murmur.

“Not as much as last night.”

You roll your eyes, but your thumb softens against his pulse. His shoulders drop an inch.

“I need a rule,” he says. “We do. No walking off. No doors shut until we say what’s real.”

You look up. “And no calling me needy when I ask for time.”

His answer is immediate. “Never again.”

You study him—searching for deflection, for race-face, for anything false. You don’t see it.

“Okay,” you say.

He lets out a breath he’s been holding since Lap 47.

⸻

Not Fixed. Starting.

You heat water for tea. He stands and helps without asking, moving around your kitchen like he’s trying to relearn a language he once spoke fluently. He opens the wrong cupboard first. You point. He smiles—brief, tired, real.

When the mugs are on the table, he curls his fingers around his like he needs the heat.

“I’ve got a car debrief tomorrow,” he says, eyes still on the steam. “And media. But after that…can I come back? Properly? No helmet. No excuses. We talk until we’re done.”

You don’t make it easy. “You showing up doesn’t erase the pattern.”

“I know.” He finally looks at you. “I’m asking for the chance to change it.”

You sit with that. Let him feel the wait.

“Come after,” you say at last. “Bring food. And apologize twice.”

He huffs out a wet laugh. “Deal.”

You slide his keys back across the table. “You’re driving.”

“For dinner?”

“For us time,” you correct.

His shoulders square, like the words put him back on a grid he wants to be on.

“Copy,” he says softly. “Us time.”

⸻

You both sip in silence for a while. The kind that isn’t awkward, but not quite comfortable either. Like you’re sitting at the edge of something and neither of you is ready to step forward just yet. The tea helps. It gives your hands something to do, your lips a reason to move without needing to speak.

He watches the rim of his mug. Then, without looking up, he says:

“I’m sorry.”

It’s soft. Like if he says it too loud, it might shatter between you.

You don’t interrupt. You let him go on.

“I’m sorry for snapping. For saying things that weren’t fair. For making you feel like your care was a burden. That was never true. I was spiraling, and instead of letting you help, I dragged you down with me.”

He finally looks at you. His eyes are red-rimmed now — not from tears, exactly, but from the exhaustion that comes after them.

“I’m sorry for all of it. For needing you and pretending I didn’t.”

You press your mug to your lips, mostly to stop them from trembling. The words dig deep, but not in a painful way. More like pulling out a thorn that’s been buried too long.

You set the mug down.

“I know things are hard for you,” you say quietly. “But I can’t be the only one carrying both of us every time it gets messy. You shut me out. You made me feel like I was just noise. And I didn’t know how to keep fighting for someone who didn’t seem to want me in the room.”

His shoulders cave a little. But he nods.

“I did. I pushed you out. And I regret it. I… I don’t want to be someone who only reaches for you when I’m hurting. I want to reach for you when I’m okay too. I want to be better.”

You study him. This isn’t just guilt talking. It’s something quieter. Like a door cracked open — not begging you to step inside, but offering to finally show you what’s behind it.

You don’t say you forgive him yet. But you do reach across the table and slide your fingers over his.

He goes completely still. Then, slowly, his hand turns palm-up and curls around yours.

It’s not a resolution. Not fully. But it’s a choice — to try.

You sit like that for a while. Mugs forgotten. Fingers loosely tangled.

Eventually, he asks, voice rasping, “Can I stay?”

You glance at him.

“On the couch?” he adds quickly. “Or I’ll drive home. Whatever you want. Just— I don’t want to leave things like this again.”

You squeeze his hand.

“You can stay,” you say. “But I pick the blanket this time.”

That earns the first real smile from him all night.

“Deal.”

⸻

You hand him the blanket from the back of the couch — the soft one he always teases you about, saying it looks like something your grandmother would knit. He doesn’t say anything this time. Just takes it with a small, grateful nod.

He lowers himself onto the couch like every movement costs him. The crash, the press conferences, the silence between you — it’s all settled in his shoulders. You know that look. He won’t sleep much.

You hover awkwardly for a second, half-turning toward the hall, toward your bedroom. But something keeps your feet planted.

“I’ll get you a pillow,” you say, already moving toward the linen closet.

By the time you return, he’s kicked his shoes off and sunk low into the cushions, the blanket pulled up to his chest. His eyes are open, staring at the ceiling.

You place the pillow beside him and linger a second too long.

“Do you want me to leave a light on?” you ask.

He looks at you. Really looks at you. And for a moment, he seems younger. Smaller. Not the Lando that everyone expects to be okay all the time. Just him.

“No,” he murmurs. “Just… stay for a second?”

So you sit on the edge of the coffee table, knees nearly brushing his.

“You scared me today,” you admit, voice quiet. “When I saw the crash, I couldn’t breathe. And then you didn’t get out right away and…”

You trail off.

“I know,” he whispers. “I scared myself too.”

His hand emerges from under the blanket. Hesitantly. Like he doesn’t know if he’s allowed. You don’t think twice — you take it.

It’s warm, calloused from years of racing, trembling ever so slightly.

You sit like that for a long while — his hand in yours, the dark wrapping around you both like a safety net. Eventually, his eyes drift closed.

You ease your hand away slowly and stand. For a second, you just look at him — the slow rise and fall of his chest, the wrinkle between his brows that stays even when he sleeps.

You pull the blanket up higher over his shoulder and turn off the last light.

Before you leave the room, you pause.

“I’m still here,” you whisper. “Even when it’s hard.”

He doesn’t answer — already half asleep. But maybe that’s okay.

You meant it more for yourself anyway.

⸻

The Morning After

When you wake, the apartment is still. A gentle, grey-blue haze filters through the curtains — that hazy, reluctant morning light where everything feels softer than it should. Your limbs are heavy, the kind of tired that doesn’t go away with just sleep. The kind that lives in your chest.

You stay in bed for a while, letting your eyes adjust, listening.

Nothing.

Eventually, you throw on your robe and pad into the hallway. The silence makes your heart skip — that irrational fear he might’ve left again. That this whole thing was a fragile, too-late apology wrapped in tea and exhaustion and not something that would hold in daylight.

But when you round the corner into the living room, you stop.

Lando’s still there.

He’s sitting on the couch with the blanket draped over his lap, hair a mess, hoodie wrinkled, and your old mug cradled in both hands. It’s probably cold tea by now, but he’s holding it like it anchors him.

He looks up when he hears your footsteps. His eyes are puffy, exhausted, a little bloodshot — but they soften when they find yours.

“Hey,” he says, voice scratchy.

You offer a small nod and lean against the doorframe. “Hey.”

“I didn’t sleep much,” he adds. Like he owes you an explanation. Like he’s afraid you’ll read too much into the bags under his eyes.

You nod again, arms folding over your chest.

“I didn’t either,” you say.

He watches you for a moment, and then gestures to the space beside him. “You don’t have to… but, if you want…”

You hesitate. Not because you don’t want to — but because it still hurts. Because it’s still raw. But you cross the room anyway and sit beside him. Not too close, not pressed against him. Just enough.

The silence stretches between you again — but this time, it’s gentler. Like it’s holding space, not keeping score.

He glances down at the mug in his hands. “I was gonna make breakfast, but I couldn’t find anything I wouldn’t set on fire.”

That earns a soft laugh out of you — not big, not bright, but real.

“Good,” you murmur. “I wasn’t ready to lose the kitchen too.”

He huffs a laugh, then sobers. “I don’t want to mess this up.”

Your breath catches.

“I know I’ve been selfish. I know I make it hard sometimes. But I’m trying. I want to keep trying. Not just say sorry when I crash into things — people. You.”

You look at him then — really look. At the sincere lines in his face, the bruise blooming faintly on his jaw, the worry shadowed behind his eyes.

“I don’t need perfect, Lando,” you whisper. “But I need you to show up. Not just when it’s convenient or when you’re afraid I’ll leave. I need you… before it breaks.”

He nods, slowly, taking that in. “I can do that. I will.”

A long beat passes.

He turns slightly toward you. “Can I ask something stupid?”

You raise a brow. “You’re Lando Norris. That’s kind of your brand.”

That draws a quiet, thankful smile. His eyes flick down, then up again.

“Can I hug you?”

You pause — not because you’re unsure, but because the question hits you somewhere deep. The version of him that’s here right now — this careful, vulnerable, almost boyish one — is so different from the defensive storm from two nights ago.

So you nod. Slowly.

And when he pulls you into his arms, it’s gentle. No pressure. Just warmth. Just arms around you like they remember exactly how you fit.

You lean into it. Not fully. Not all the way yet.

But enough.

And for now… enough is everything.

⸻

You stay in his arms longer than you planned. It’s quiet, but not uncomfortable. Just your head against his shoulder, your hand resting lightly over his heart — like you’re checking to make sure it’s still beating, still steady, still his.

And it is. It always was.

“I missed you,” he murmurs, lips brushing your hair.

You close your eyes. “You had a funny way of showing it.”

He flinches a little — not from anger, but from truth. His arm tightens gently around you.

“I know,” he says, and it’s not just apology in his voice now — it’s grief. Grief for what he almost lost. “You didn’t deserve that. Any of it.”

You don’t answer. Not right away.

Because you’ve heard the apologies before — in quieter tones, after bad races, in hotel rooms between travel days, when exhaustion made both of you fray at the seams. But this feels different.

Not like a quick patch.

Like something slower. Something earned.

Eventually, you pull back just enough to see his face. His eyes are searching, like he’s waiting for a verdict. Like he’d let you decide if today is a beginning or just the end delayed.

You lift your hand and lightly brush your thumb along his jaw, careful of the healing scrape there from the crash.

“You scared me,” you admit, voice barely a breath.

“I scared myself,” he replies.

You nod. Let the weight of that settle.

“And I know,” he continues, eyes never leaving yours, “I’ve made it feel like you’re the one always chasing me. And I hate that. I don’t want to be someone you have to fix, Y/N. I want to meet you halfway. I want to show up before I give you reasons to leave.”

Your throat tightens. You want to believe him. Part of you already does.

But it’s hard to unlearn disappointment. To untangle all the little ways you’ve swallowed your needs just to keep things from crumbling.

“You don’t have to have it all figured out,” you whisper. “I just need to know I’m not alone in this.”

“You’re not,” he says immediately. “Not anymore. Not ever again.”

He says it like a promise.

And for the first time in a while, it actually feels like one.

You nod again, slowly. Then lean into him, pressing your forehead to his shoulder.

“I made you tea,” you murmur. “You didn’t even drink it.”

He lets out a breath — almost a laugh — and rubs your back lightly. “It was cold by the time I could even hold it without shaking.”

You pull back just enough to smirk at him. “Want me to make another?”

He tilts his head. “Only if you’re having one too.”

“Deal.”

You stand, padding toward the kitchen. He follows after a moment, slower this time — not rushing, not trying to fix things instantly. Just there. Present.

And that, more than anything, feels like progress.

The tea steams between you both on the table. There’s still a lot to say. Still quiet between the cracks. But this morning, he doesn’t walk away. He holds the mug in both hands, like it matters.

And you hold onto the hope that maybe this time, things will be different — not perfect, not easy, but real. Repairable. Rooted.

Because he’s here.

And so are you.

⸻

You blow gently on the surface of your tea, watching the way the steam curls up and disappears into the soft morning light. Across the table, Lando is doing the same — eyes on his mug, jaw tight in that way you know means he’s thinking too hard.

It’s still quiet.

But it’s not cold anymore.

You take a small sip, letting the warmth settle in your chest. And when you glance up, he’s already watching you. Not intense or demanding — just… there. Like he’s grounding himself in the sight of you.

“I didn’t sleep,” he says, voice rough.

You nod. “Me neither.”

“I kept thinking you’d show up at the track,” he continues, his eyes dropping to the table. “And when you didn’t… that’s when it hit me. How badly I’d screwed it all up.”

You don’t say anything, because part of you still aches — not out of anger, but out of exhaustion. Emotional exhaustion, the kind that builds over weeks of being sidelined, made small, asked to hold everything together without being asked how you’re doing.

So instead, you reach for your tea again and let him talk.

“I panicked,” he admits. “Before the race, during it. I couldn’t focus. I kept thinking about what I said, how I left things. I was chasing Oscar and all I could think about was how I couldn’t even hold onto the one person who actually gives a damn about me when it’s not about podiums or press conferences.”

His voice breaks a little near the end.

You look at him fully now. Not guarded. Just quiet.

“I’m tired, Lando,” you whisper. “I’m tired of always being the one who makes room. Of being the one who stays calm when you’re under pressure, who understands every cancellation, every late-night call. And I get it — I really do. But sometimes, I just need to be more than an afterthought.”

“I know,” he says immediately. “I know that now. And it kills me that you even felt that way.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then:

“I don’t want to live a life that shuts you out,” he says. “Not anymore. I’ve been scared of messing up so badly that I forgot what I already have — someone who sees me even when I can’t win. Someone who waits. Someone who comes home cold and hurting and still gives me a second chance.”

You blink back the sudden sting in your eyes.

“I didn’t come home for you, Lando,” you say softly. “I came home for me.”

He nods. “I know. But I’m glad you let me in anyway.”

You stare at him for a long moment. And then — because the silence is soft again, because he finally looks like he means it, because you’re still allowed to care even when you’re hurting — you reach across the table and take his hand.

His thumb brushes over your knuckles, gentle. Grateful.

“I’m gonna be better,” he says. “Not perfect. But better. I want to be someone who meets you halfway. No more chasing. Just… choosing each other.”

And maybe that’s what you needed to hear all along.

Not a speech. Not promises laced in adrenaline.

Just him. Sitting across from you. Owning his part in what went wrong — and asking, softly, if there’s still a path forward.

You squeeze his hand.

“We’ll figure it out.”

He smiles. It’s tired. But it’s real.

It feels like the start of something worth rebuilding.

⸻

The tea sits forgotten on the table, cooling slowly. There’s something quieter now in the air — not tension, not regret, but something fragile and warm, like the moment after a storm when the air is still thick with the memory of it.

Lando shifts beside you on the couch, one arm stretched across the back, the other resting in his lap. You sit cross-legged, still curled into your robe, exhaustion tugging at your shoulders — not just from the night, but from the days before it, from the walking, from the weight of pretending you were fine when you weren’t.

He notices. Of course he does.

His gaze drops to your feet — bare now, marked faintly red around the ankles where your shoes had rubbed raw. His brows pinch.

“Your feet hurt?”

You glance at them, then give a tired little nod. “Yeah. I walked too far in the wrong shoes. Rookie mistake.”

Without a word, he reaches over and gently lifts your legs, guiding your feet into his lap. It’s so casual, so easy, like he’s done it a thousand times before — but it still makes your chest go tight.

You watch him silently as he settles in. He wraps both hands around one foot, thumbs pressing in slow, careful circles into your arch. His touch is steady, grounding — not romantic, not performative, just a quiet offering. Just care.

“You should’ve called me,” he murmurs, not looking up. “I would’ve come.”

“I didn’t think you wanted me to,” you say quietly. “Not after everything.”

He swallows hard, fingers pausing briefly. “I always want you to. Even when I’m an idiot. Especially then.”

You don’t reply. You just let your head tip back against the cushion, eyes fluttering closed, breathing out slow and even as his fingers move with purpose and precision.

After a few moments, he switches to your other foot. His thumbs move a little deeper now, easing into the sore muscles there, and you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.

“I forgot how bad you are at this,” you mumble, but your voice is soft, teasing.

He snorts. “Liar. I’m amazing. You’re just stubborn.”

You smile. The ache in your feet fades, replaced by something warm and safe. Something you haven’t felt in a while.

Then his hands slow.

He shifts again, this time drawing you closer, gently tugging at your legs until you’re half-curled into his side. Your cheek finds his shoulder, his arm around your back. It’s not dramatic, not even a question — it’s instinct, the way he pulls you close like he needs to hold you there, like he needs you to feel it.

The safety. The apology. The truth of it.

You melt into him, your legs still draped across his lap, his hand now resting on your thigh, thumb tracing idle lines through the fabric of your robe.

He dips his chin slightly, letting it rest atop your head. His breath is warm against your temple.

“I don’t deserve this,” he whispers.

“Maybe not,” you reply, voice barely audible. “But I still want you here.”

His arms tighten just enough, like that sentence alone could be enough to hold him together.

And for a long time, you don’t speak. You just sit like that — legs tangled, head on his shoulder, heartbeats slowly syncing — the world quiet for the first time in what feels like days.

Not fixed.

Not perfect.

But, for once, safe.

And in the quiet, that’s enough.

⸻

Masterlist

[sushi-enthusiast]

Situationship! Simon Riley x Fem! Reader

Have you ever developed feelings for a hookup? Yeah? Shitty, isn't it? Well, enjoy that being projected onto Ghost and reader. I wanted to make this hurt. 18+ MDNI

CW: Angst, smut, toxic?Ghost, toxic relationship, light alcohol use, hints of reader having depression, use of (Y/N), piv, face sitting, cunnilingus, cowgirl position, not proof-read.

Word count: 1,874

Masterlist

Simon wasn't a bad man; maybe he wasn't a good man either. But at least he wasn't bad. Sometimes, on drives like this, he had to remind himself of that. The exacts of how he'd met (Y/N) had gotten muddied by time and the fact that he didn't exactly care. At a grimy pub, some sweaty club he'd been dragged to, or one of the many dating apps available to him-- which he'd occasionally redownload on nights when the world felt too lonely. Simon wasn't a bad man, but he had needs. Sometimes, those needs would lead him into the bed of a woman who he knew wanted more than what he would give them. All under the guise of releasing pent-up energy, of mutual pleasure. When Simon looked into (Y/N)'s, which he tried not to do, he could see she wanted more. But that wasn't what he'd agreed to. Even after almost half a year, after she'd listened to him rant about work, his noisey neighbours, and his family (after one too many drinks as he tried to unwind), Simon reminded himself that they'd never agreed to more than hooking up. So, it had to be okay that he rarely hung around for more than the 10 minutes it took him to gain his energy back; it had to be okay that he'd been spotty in his communication with her; it had to be okay that maybe he'd called her someone else's name just once. (Y/N) had been the one to invite him over this evening, so clearly she must have thought it was okay, right?

Simon stuffed down any questions about the morality of his actions as he sped down the road, pent up, angry, and ready to find his release in the sweet young woman who would always respond to his texts within ten minutes-- when she wasn't working. He pulled into the guest parking spots for her apartment and sent a quick 'here' text as he walked over to the locked entrance. A few moments passed, and he was buzzed in. Simon made the same familiar walk up to her unit, knocking twice on the door before being ushered in by (Y/N). She wore a soft smile. When he looked a little closer, he could see that under her gentle expression was an unspoken exhaustion. Her concealer was starting to crease up, revealing a glimpse of her dark circles. She was paler than the last time Simon had seen her. A small part of Simon wanted to reach out, ask if she was okay. He'd seen it happen slowly, but never thought it was his place to ask. Before, when they'd chat about their week, (Y/N) had gone into detail about going out, work drama, what she'd been looking forward to, and which friends she'd seen. Lately, she'd only mentioned having shifts, what she'd watched or read, or what the birds that visited her balcony were up to. She was withdrawing; the half-dead plants and drawn blinds hinted at that. But that wasn't Simon's place; she had real friends for that, not her long-term hookup.

Instead of remarking about how she'd been decaying as she breathed, Simon made himself comfortable on a plush grey couch as (Y/N) poured them each a small glass of wine. She sat down next to him, her thigh brushing against his as she set the glasses down on the coffee table. Simon watched as she downed half the glass in one go. He took a sip of his own glass, letting the burgundy liquid warm him from the inside out. His free arm draped across the back of the couch, tracing shapes on (Y/N)'s shoulder in familiar fashion. He noticed how the woman seemed to nearly melt at his touch, instantly relaxing only slightly. The two chatted about the shows they've been watching and how work had been going. After Simon's unexpected rant about his family months ago, he refused to touch on any subjects that skimmed past the surface. It was basic, familiar, and, more importantly, easy.

Once the courtesies of chatting were up, Simon leaned in for a kiss. The glasses of wine were forgotten as soon as (Y/N)'s lips met his. Simon's hand went up into her hair, pulling her deeper into him. The kiss was hungry, desperate, and greedy. He needed her lips on his, to feel another person against him. Someone who wasn't tainted by the sound of shells dropping to the ground, blood, or the constant anguish of not knowing when their last moment would be. To Simon, it seemed that (Y/N) was starving just as much as he was. Her hands dug into his shoulders as he pulled her closer, she nipped at his bottom lip, and ground her hips into his own. Simon let out a groan before pulling away for air. He began to kiss, nip, and lick down her jaw and onto her neck. His hands began to wander with his lips, moving down her back before grabbing at the swell of her ass, feeling the way it sank between his fingers. Simon only stopped his exploration to allow (Y/N) to pull her tank top off, revealing her chest. Simon often wondered if there was a God; if there was, they had put a fair amount of energy into giving one woman the most incredible pair of tits he had ever seen. It almost felt rehearsed, the way Simon grabbed at her breasts, greedy and full of lust. He pulled (Y/N) on top of him before he pulled his own shirt off. The way (Y/N) ran her hand down Simon's torso as she gazed up at him with desperate, needy eyes was enough to drive him wild. He quickly undid his pants before shucking off (Y/N)'s loose shorts.

He pulled the woman up, past his chest and right above his mouth. They had spoken about this months ago, early into their arrangement. Any protests that (Y/N) had previously had about sitting on Simon's face were shut down by his insistence that if anything were to happen-- which wouldn't happen-- Simon would die a happy man. Now, like a starving dog, Simon buried himself deep in (Y/N)'s heat, licking up each lip once, twice, before he licked at her core, moving up until he was able to circle at her clit with his tongue. (Y/N)'s hands went right to his overgrown buzzcut, her hands gripping onto the barely-there hair in desperation. The shocked gasps and barely restrained moans he elicited from the woman made Simon feel like his blood was on fire. Suddenly, his boxers felt like they were three sizes too small. Simon continued his ministrations, licking at the now dripping heat like this was the only fluid he'd received in weeks. Simon worked his tongue up and down her heat. Whenever a particular area was rewarded with a moan or gasp, Simon would focus his attention there. His actions were practiced by now, down to a science. Simon knew (Y/N)'s body, and she knew his. As Simon moved his tongue up and down her clit in light, fast motions, he felt (Y/N)'s thighs begin to clench around his skull. She bent over him as she began to come undone. Simon's grip on her plush thighs tightened as he felt a gush run down his throat. Slowly, (Y/N) moved herself off of his face. Her two shaking legs were on either side of Simon's torso. (Y/N) began to work herself onto Simon's length. Despite how long they had been meeting up with each other, Simon could still feel that she clenched as her walls attempted to adjust to how thick he was. It seemed that it was easier for her now. Simon recalled how their first night together had entailed him softly brushing tears from her eyes, cooing at the way she moaned as he entered her. Now, her eyes narrowed in concentration. Simonn grabbed her hips, slowly moving her down until she reached the base of his shaft and earning a gasped moan. She took a moment to adjust to his size before she began rocking her hips-- resting her hands on the arm of the couch in order to gain leverage. Ever the impatient man, Simon used his grip on her hips to bounce her up and down. Every time with her felt like the first, the way her walls clenched against him, pulling him in. Simon groaned as he felt the way she purposefully tightened her muscles on him. Even in their familiar routine, she was a minx.

Simon began to buck up into her as he took control of their pace. Every thrust up drew a moan or gasp from (Y/N)'s lips as he hit the perfect spot. She was beginning to come undone once again, and this time Simon was with her as the two felt pleasure begin to pour over them. Hungry and messy, Simon continued to move (Y/N)'s hips up and down until he felt her tense for a few moments, relax. Her legs were shaking again; she had come undone on his cock. Simon gave a few more messy thrusts into her before he let go. Images of filling her up flooded his mind. But, as (Y/N) dismounted and plucked the condom off his shaft, the illusion was shattered.

Naked, (Y/N) walked over to her bathroom. She tossed the piece of latex and shut the door. For a few moments, Simon stayed on the couch, gathering his energy once more. As he lounged on the couch, Simon could hear the faint sound of sniffling, something he chose to brush off as allergies. A part of him knew that wasn't the case. He knew that (Y/N) had been harbouring feelings for him. With the way she'd eagerly respond to his texts, how she would always look in his eyes when he spoke, how last week she had tried to play off an 'I love you' in the heat of the moment as "love your dick." Simon knew the soft sniffling wasn't crying, it was muffled sobs. But that wasn't what they had agreed to when this started. That wasn't what Simon signed up for. So, he reminded himself that he wasn't a bad man as he pulled his clothes back on. He reminded himself that he wasn't a bad man as he poured her a glass of water and left it on the table-- a bad man wouldn't do that. Simon walked closer to the bathroom door and gave a knock before he spoke, "Gonna head out now, take care." As he pulled on his shoes, Simon reminded himself that a bad man probably wouldn't tell the woman he was hooking up with to 'take care.' As he shut the door to (Y/N)'s apartment, a small part of him reminded Simon that a good man probably wouldn't continue to sleep with a woman who was clearly harbouring feelings for him when he doubted he felt any for her beyond lust. But Simon wasn't a good man. He just wasn't a bad one.

[theosbabydollx]

Pillow Wall

Theo Nott x Female Reader. Enemies but crushing

The trip had been Mattheo’s idea. A weekend getaway in a rustic house by the lake, all of us together, no adults, no rules. But what none of us expected was that Draco, sweet Draco, would mess up one of the room reservations.

"Okay, relax. It's only for two nights" he said, raising his hands as he checked the confirmation email.

"Wait, what do you mean ‘one bed’?" I asked, leaning over his shoulder.

"Technical error" he shrugged.

"Perfect" I muttered under my breath, turning to look at Theo, who was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, wearing that smug smile that never seemed to leave his face.

"Relax, I don’t bite... unless asked" he said.

"I’m putting pillows between us" I replied instantly.

The house creaked in the cold forest night. The rest of the group was still downstairs playing cards, but I had come up early. Not because I was tired, it was because being in the same room with all this silent tension building between us was starting to feel... inevitable.

As I finished preparing my clothes and my toothbrush for a shower, Theo entered the room and looked at me with a small smile on his lips.

"What are you doing?" Theo asked.

"I’m showering first" I said, grabbing my pajamas and disappearing into the bathroom. The water was warm and quick. Just enough to make me feel comfortable. I changed and came out with damp hair and an oversized shirt.

Theo was sitting on the edge of the bed, scrolling through his phone. When he looked up, his eyes lingered on me a second too long.

"You can take a shower if you like" I said, dodging his gaze.

"Going to spy on me through the door?" he asked with that low voice of his, always carrying something underneath.

"Please," I scoffed. "As if you're that special."

Still, when he pulled his shirt off and walked into the bathroom, I glanced. Just a little.

Minutes later, he came out with wet hair, a gray t-shirt, and cotton pants. He looked… too good. Too comfortable. Too close.

"I already set up the pillow wall," I said, nodding at the line I’d built down the middle of the bed.

"How formal..." he muttered as he laid down on his side. "Such a proper Gryffindor."

I turned the lights off without responding and faced away from him.

A few hours passed.

The room was silent except for the soft hum of the fan and his slow breathing. At least, that’s what I thought.

Until I felt him. Slowly, his body inched closer. One arm slipped carefully over my waist. His breath mingled with mine, warm and close. The pillow barrier was gone. He didn’t say a word. He was pretending to be asleep. But I knew.

And I didn’t turn around.

I didn’t say anything.

I just stayed still, feeling his presence, his warmth, that quiet closeness behind me.

I smiled to myself in the dark, heart racing, breath caught in my throat, and eyes wide open.

Then I closed them again... and drifted back to sleep.

Tomorrow, I’d have something to say to him.

Though... maybe he’ll be the one to speak first.

[vervainandspritz]

A LITTLE BIT HAPPY

Thomas Shelby x Reader

Warnings: hurt no comfort, swearing

Summary: It stopped working a long time ago, but it's so hard to let go when it's all you know.

A/N: Let me know your thoughts. K x

Clock ticking was the only sound in her apartment. Y/n was sitting by the table in a dim light, hand wrapped around a cup of tea long gone cold when the knock came just after midnight.

Her breathing stopped for a moment, heart pounding in her ears. Where should be fear hearing someone at the door this late, there's only anxiety.

Because somehow.. she knew it’s him.

She didn't move at first. Just sat on a chair in the quiet dark, arms wrapped around her knees, listening. The rain against the window, wind, the too-long silence that follows the first knock almost like he’s unsure if he wanted to try again.

Then another.

She opened the door.

Tommy stood there, soaked to the skin, swaying slightly like he’s unsure how he got there. His coat hanging crookedly off one shoulder, shirt unbuttoned at the collar, collarbone slick with rain, sweat and regret. He looked.. miserable.

His eyes, red-rimmed and tired, flicked up to meet hers for a split second before dropping them to her bare feet. Even through the alcohol, his mind burned with shame because he failed. Again.

“I didn’t know where else to go.” He murmured, his hands clammy as her presence deepens the ache, simultaneously silencing the thunder in his heart.

Her eyes lingered on his face for a longer moment, taking in the sight, the familiar lines and imperfections decorating his skin. Each scar making him, him.

Not trusting her own voice at the moment, Y/n nodded as she stepped aside without a word.

He stumbled in, slow and quiet, following her inside but keeping the distance. At least trying to.

The apartment was dim, smelling faintly of lavender and something uniquely her. Something he'd recognise in a heartbeat even though it’s been four months since he left.. or she left. They never really figured out who ended it, only that it had to end.

Tommy didn't sit, just standing in the middle of the room, water dripping from his hair onto the rug, eyes not quite able to meet hers for long.

“You look tired,” Y/n said softly, only now seeing more details. How sunken his eyes were, his cheekbones more prominent than before.

He huffed something like a laugh, desperately clinging onto the last shreds of dignity. Pretending again.

“Didn’t come here to sleep.” He responded in a low, gravely voice to which she nodded again.

“Then why?” As soon as the words left her lips she silently cursed herself, because he was drunk and she... Only made it harder.

A pause followed as he let his eyes wander before meeting her own. He was ashamed of his state, of the fact he came here after all the promises he wouldn't.

“It's been one hundred and sixteen days since we did.. this” He raised his hand, drawing a circle in the air as he couldn't find a word to properly describe it.

But she knew exactly what he meant, which made her clench her jaw in helplessness. It felt like her heart was swelling with pain, all over again.

”I know” She responded, looking at him with that sad expression. The same one she wore all these months before when they agreed to part ways. After several years of trying to bring back the spark between them. The connection that used to warm their hearts in the coldest nights spent separately.

Fighting so hard, unable to let go even when they both already knew. Knew that trying to bring back the flame was like.. trying to light a match in the rain.

His expression was a picture of bad choices and ever present noise separating him from her. The noise in his head that pushed him so far, far out of her reach where she couldn't catch him anymore. Behind the pain and distance he was still the boy she grew up with, under all the ruin. Still the one who kissed her behind the bakery, still the one who promised to write every week from France and tried to keep that promise until the dirt swallowed him whole. Until war carved something out of him and left a hollow in its place.

I know she said, because of course she knew. She’d been counting too.

Not out loud, of course. She would never let herself live it down, but in the way she noticed time. How each morning felt a little hollower, how each night stretched a little longer. How food lost taste and silence gained weight.

How lavender stopped comforting her because it reminded her too much of him... Of them.

The way they used to be when there had been a time when his voice was the first sound she heard in the morning. When he’d pull her into his chest half-asleep and mumble something incoherent into her neck. When his fingers would trace lazy circles on her thigh just because he needed to touch her. Not sexually, just to know she was there.

His fingers finding hers in public when he sensed she got anxious before either of them could even process it. Before she knew what those twisting feelings were.

Y/n was there with everything she had. Through every argument, every week of silence that stretched into months in his worse times that seemed to be never ending at times.

She had known his every version. The golden boy with the lazy grin. The quiet one reading letters from France with ink-stained hands. The broken man who came home from war with haunted eyes and trembling fists, only turning colder and more distanced with each passing day.

...and she loved them all, but loving him hadn’t been enough.

“We can’t keep doing this, Tommy,” she said finally, voice low, eyes locked on the floor between them. “It hurts more every time.”

Her voice carried the weariness and hurt. Thomas didn't answer for a longer moment, his eyes flickering to her form, taking in the sight of her sleepy self. Every inch of his body hurt with longing.

The floor creaked slightly when he stepped forward, moving barely couple inches to give her time to react. Knowing how damaging his next move would be to both of them, but he couldn't stop himself. Reaching out, his arms curled around her shoulders in a way he knew by heart, one so familiar he'd recognize the shape of her against him anywhere any anytime.

He held her like silence could be an apology. Tommy rarely could offer more than silence.

Like maybe, if he held her close enough, it might undo the last four months or the years before that.

She pressed her forehead against his chest again. It was damp, his shirt still clinging to him from the rain, but it didn’t matter. Her body remembered the shape of him. The feel of his heart against her cheek and that’s what made it worse.

Because the comfort was familiar and safe but it didn’t fix anything.

His breath was shaky against the crown of her head, chest rising and falling unevenly as though each inhale physically hurt as neither of them spoke.

And then, suddenly —he stumbled. Just a small shift, his knees giving slightly under him.

She caught him without hesitation. Arms moving around his waist to keep him upright, but the motion turned into something else. Her body against his, not in want but in ache.

A hug born from instinct, from the raw need of survival. Pain pressed into the shape of an embrace.

She didn’t mean to hold him like that, but she did and he didn’t let go.

One of his hands lingered on her back, the other curled weakly around the edge of her sweater, like his fingers couldn’t stand the idea of empty space between them.

After a longer moment of heavy breaths and silence that seemed to accompany them for years, he asked.

“Is it easier now?”

Her stomach twisted. It was so soft, so broken, and she hated him for asking it. Not because it was cruel, but because it was so soft, scared and full of all the things he couldn’t say. Full of the man she lost in the trenches and never managed to find him again.

He didn’t mean life without him.

Not exactly.

He meant: is it easier to breathe without all this weight? Easier to sleep, to eat, to be? Easier to stop hoping I’d show up at your door?

She wanted to lie, wanted to say yes. But even the thought made her chest ache as she felt his form trembling like a blade of grass.

“Don’t do this,” she said, voice tight, eyes fixed somewhere over his shoulder. “Please, Tommy.”

Her arms were still around his waist. His chin was close to resting on her shoulder now. He wasn’t holding himself up so much as letting her hold him.

And she did.

Because despite everything, despite how shattered they were she still couldn’t let him fall.

“I didn’t want to come,” he said after a long moment. “I told myself I wouldn’t. That I’d finally leave you alone.” His words were a little blurry, a little slower than he'd usually speak.

She closed her eyes.

“You came” Y/n said, unsure how he meant it. Whether she was angry at him for doing so, or so relieved she could cry.

”I did,” He confirmed with a dark chuckle, pressing his lips against her hair for a second. “Because the thought of not seeing you again made me sick. Like, physically sick.” His voice cracked on the last word.

She couldn’t look at him or speak. Her heart was too loud in her ears, her breath stuck somewhere behind her ribs.

“I know it’s over,” he whispered. “I know we can’t fix it. But I didn’t know where else to go with this… with all this fucking weight.”

The softness in the way he stood in her bloody living room, in his soaked clothes after one too many glasses of whiskey was the most she got of him in the last... A year or two. The realisation made her jaw clench, fingers tightening on his waist.

Why now? Why not before?

He pulled back slightly, just enough to look at her, his hands still gently resting on her waist.

“Tell me you don’t miss me.” He mumbled, leaning down and for a moment she was scared that he'd try and kiss her. She knew she'd let him. But he pressed his wet forehead against hers instead, shaky fingers brushing against her cheek. ”Even a little.” Added in a whisper.

Her mouth didn't open for a while, not finding the words to lie to him. Not feeling strong enough to make him leave and never come back.

Because the fact that she was still holding him said everything.. But also nothing at all.

”Tommy” She whispered, noticing how heavy he suddenly felt against her. ”Come to bed, we need to sleep,” Her voice was gentle, soothing like she was trying to calm a wild animal.

His breathing slowed almost immediately, body softening at the sweet tone. One that used to be pulling him out of the mud every night when he'd wake up soaked in sweat, reliving the nightmares of France.

Tommy nodded lightly and she pulled them to her bed.

She let herself fall asleep with his arm draped around her waist —heavy, warm and familiar. Not in the way it used to be, no, back then it was possessive. Safe. Full of unspoken promises.

Now it just felt borrowed, fragile and temporary, like it might vanish if she breathed too deeply.

But still…

She breathed.

For the first time in months, she breathed.

His chest at her back rose and fell in time with hers, and for that one quiet stretch of night, the world stopped hurting.

There were no words between them. No promises made.

Just warmth, silence and the gravity of him —like he still belonged there.

~~~

When she woke, the space behind her was cold.

She reached back blindly, hand brushing over rumpled sheets and nothing else. No warmth or weight.

Her eyes opened slowly, already knowing, because the room was too still and his sleep never was peaceful.

She didn’t need to look to understand what morning had taken.

He was gone.

No note, no sound of the door, no last glance from the hallway. Just… absence.

She sat up in bed, her fingers still resting on the place where he’d lain. Where his heartbeat had soothed something raw inside her just for a while. It felt like a trick now.

Like the night had been a dream that morning had laughed at.

The sun leaked through the blinds in fractured lines, dust dancing in the air, and just like that, everything they’d smoothed out in the dark was raw again in the light.

She drew her knees to her chest, pressing her forehead to them, trying to catch her breath.

Was she relieved?

Maybe. Maybe because now she wouldn’t have to unravel all over again. Wouldn’t have to say goodbye. Wouldn’t have to beg him to stay, or worse—ask him to leave.

Then why did it feel like.. she was dying?

Because it had been him. Because even just a few hours of peace in his arms felt more like home than anything had in months.

Because now that he was gone, it felt final. Different.

Like something in her had closed quietly in the dark and locked itself up. She couldn’t tell. Her body was too still, her mind too loud.

There was only the silence and her breath.

And that unbearable emptiness where he’d been

[wafflexdguy]

The Sky Had A Dream (Astro)

Continuation of this

================================================

When you woke up, it wasn't pleasant.

In fact, it was the middle of the night. Not usually in the ordinary for you, especially you. Well, at least not in a cold sweat, that is.

You can't quite process everything. There was a memory of what your dream was, you remembered it vividly. You knew there was something that made you feel the wind in the air for a brief moment before it all went black.

Before that...

...

What was before that?

You can't recall anymore.

...

Maybe Astro can help...?

You should give it a shot in the morning. It's not worth it waking him up in the middle of the night. Especially over a dream you can't remember what it was about.

...

You can't fall back asleep, not like this. Not with your heart pumping the way it is.

You sit up from your bed, rubbing your eyes. Maybe a walk around Gardenview could help...?

Might as well give it a shot.

It couldn't hurt, you don't think.

You exit your room, to be met with darkness. Which to be fair, there's not really any windows to luminate the empty halls with moonlight, but nonetheless, you know where you're going.

Mostly cause your able to glow yourself, just like every other toon here. Some more than others.

You're able to make it to the elevator, which opens up for you upon your pressing a button. The light from the sudden open is enough to make you hiss.

When your eyes are done readjusting, you enter the elevator.

As your mind ponders...

...

You're shaking.

...

Perhaps you shouldn't ponder this time.

The elevator doors open, revealing... Astro's room? Your eyes were somewhat still readjusting, so maybe you pressed the wrong button? Weirdly enough, this is where you need to be in the morning.

...Weirdly, the room seems peaceful. The dark glow is enough to bring you some calm despite your... dream.

Against your better judgement, you exit the elevator. The doors slam shut behind you, sort of. There are mufflers so that it doesn't bring the attention of any twisteds. Or people that are sleeping.

...Or people that don't like the sound large elevator doors make.

You walk into the massive hall, examining everything around you. The beanbags, the amount of shelves and boxes that littered the entire room kind of shocked you. When the humans left, apparently they did it in a hurry.

You don't exactly know why, but either way.

You ignored the light tapping behind you. Figured it was a faulty light, you assumed. Which is weird, considering... Well.

The beanbags here seem very comfortable, you think. You sink into them when you fall straight into them with a 'fwump'. You turn onto your back and close your eyes. You had a slight headache, but that was about to go away...

Because someone did something. And you felt refreshed.

You perked up, investigating the source of the newfound refreshness, only to find Astro sitting there, stars surrounding both him and you. As the stars dispersed, so did your confusion.

Toons had magic, it had always been like that. The kids always loved it when Toons used their magic, considering that humans weren't really able to use it.

"...How long have you been standing there?" You asked, sweat dropping.

Astro took a moment to respond. "In this spot? For about thirty seconds..." He paused. "...I think?" He said, squinting.

You stayed silent for a moment. Eventually, Astro was the one who broke the silence. "...Are you okay?"

You tilted your head. "Why wouldn't I be?" You said with a shaky smile. Astro blinked, trying to recall something. He eventually sighs.

"Nevermind..." He dismissed. He walked towards you and sat down on the beanbag chair next to you.

Truth be told, you weren't completely refreshed. Sure, you were awake, but you still felt somewhat exhausted, which probably comes with waking up in the middle of the night.

"How have you been?" You asked to the Toon. He perks up slightly, brow raised.

He contemplates for a moment. "...Well enough." He says, eyes darting to his side. He didn't seem uncomfortable, just sort of tense. Or is that the same thing?

Maybe it's situational.

You look down at your feet. "...You're not usually up this late." You commented, not looking up.

He stayed silent. He didn't do anything, he was just... silent. Visibly tired, perhaps he just didn't know what to say...?

"...I figured you'd want some company." He finally responds.

You don't say anything, more confused than anything. You tilt your head in confusion, to which he notices, but continues to stay silent.

...You did want company, all things considered.

"Well, you weren't wrong." You say, laying back in your beanbag chair. "I won't lie, tonight's dreams were..." You pause, tensing up a bit. "...Not the greatest."

"I could tell..." Astro said, making you slightly flinch.

You weren't really surprised, you knew he could 'enter' dreams and change them and such. Even then, if he saw what you saw, then...

You weren't sure how to feel about that.

"...Maybe I shouldn't have said anything." Astro muttered under his breath. You waved it off.

"Nah, it's fine. It's not like I could really remember anything." You said, shrugging. You weren't lying, it was really hard to remember dreams if you recall correctly from one of Astro's teachings when Gardenview was still open.

Astro stayed silent. "They looked really real." He said, eyes darting to his side.

"They felt real." You muttered.

You decide not to push it there.

"You know," you started, grabbing Astro's attention. "I don't really know how you do it." You say raising a hand up.

He tilted his head. "Do what?"

"Fall to sleep so easily." You say, now looking at him. "I mean, recently I haven't been able to sleep a wink. And you fall asleep like it's nothing."

"...But you've been falling asleep every night?" He says, confused. You should clarify.

"No- well, yeah." You correct yourself quickly. "But usually, I fall asleep late in the night. It's been getting harder to fall asleep."

You don't know if he can relate.

He hums lightly. "That sounds... rough."

"Eh, I'm sort of used to it."

"That's probably not a good thing." Astro says bluntly. You shrug, not really bothered by it.

"Probably." You confirm. "But it's not like I can do anything about it. So just gotta roll with the punches."

You swallow a lump in your throat. "...It's gotta pass eventually, right?"

Astro looks at you sympathetically. "Maybe..."

There is a brief moment of silence, the quietness of the room is deafening. Neither of you speak up for a while, simply enjoying each other's company.

Once again, Astro breaks the silence. "What sort of dreams do you like?"

You perk up immediately. "Wacky ones! Weird ones, like pigs flying on dinosaurs!"

He stays silent for a moment before chuckling tiredly. "Pigs flying on dinosaurs, huh...?"

"Yes." You confirm. "Honestly, fever dreams give's me something to write about, you know?"

"You write?" Asks Astro with a brow raised.

You nod. "Yeah, it's more of a hobby than anything, really." You say, shrugging. "But it makes me happy. It's nice being able to write all of my wacky stories down, no matter how stupid it is."

You smile, thinking to yourself about the countless stories you've written and thought about.

...Maybe you'll share them one day with all of the other toons.

"Could you..." Astro stops himself from a moment. You hum in curiosity before he sighs and continues. "Would it be alright for you to share one of your stories with me?"

You sputter quietly. "I- yeah! Sure, I'll be sure to find one you might like."

"Haha, thank you." Astro says, smiling. "I'm sure they'll be very great.

Silence overtakes the room again, but this time you're practically vibrating in excitement. Someone actually wants to read your work! You couldn't stop yourself from smiling. Except for the fact that you yawned after a minute.

Suddenly... Astro started humming.

You stayed silent, just letting him sing his lullaby. Ignoring your distant feeling of drowsiness. That is, until that feeling became too overwhelming to ignore.

One minute, you were fine. Almost feeling active, even. But eventually... you felt your own eyes close.

You didn't even know when you fell asleep.

Astro didn't even know you fell asleep. When he did, he didn't wake you up, especially after you just admitted to having insomnia.

"Good night." He whispers, before getting up and leaving the room. He makes sure the doors leading to the room are locked to make sure Twisteds can't get in, then he goes to his actual bedroom.

You would have to thank him later.

================================================

I am so happy...

That we can go down these final paths,

T o g e t h e r .

[whowantstobenormalanyway]

Hangovers (TC2)

Part 2 to Tipsy Confusion!! A/N: Thank you to everyone who read and/or interacted with the last one! I can't believe so many people liked it! 🩷 I hope this one is as fun to read! Bsf!Reader x Dean who thinks they’re dating

“Dean, turn the goddamn light off!” You smushed your face into the motel bed’s pillow. Your head throbbed and everything was way too bright.

A groan came from beside you on the bed where Dean was suffering a similar fate.

“That’s the sun, so up and at ‘em!” Sam’s chipper voice sounded from the table he was perched at, sipping his coffee.

You were sure Dean growled in response before saying, “If you don’t wipe that smug smirk off your face, I’m gonna come over there and do it for you.” He hadn’t even looked up, but he knew. You knew too; you could feel the smugness dancing across the room.

A laugh slipped from your own lips, but regret came quick in the form of further pounding in your head, and your valiant attempt to suffocate yourself with the pillow.

Sam hummed knowingly, not threatened in the least.

“Can you close the curtains then, pretty please?” You asked, voice a mix of irritation, pain, and fake sweetness.

“No!” Sam laughed, “Guys, it's literally half ten in the morning. You gotta get up.”

The bed creaked as Dean rolled out, a loud thud sounding when his feet hit the floor. “I’ll get it for you, Sweetheart.” Bangs and curses came from his mouth and you looked up to see his eyes closed as he manoeuvred himself towards the window.

It wasn’t fair. 

Dean had this annoying ability to turn you to mush, calling you ‘Sweetheart’ and trying to ease your own pain while he himself was hurting. 

Self-sacrificing idiot.

When he finally managed to get the old, moth-eaten curtains closed, you let out a sigh of relief. Dean, despite his headache, perked up at the sound and sauntered over to you, eyes open now in the dimness of the room.

The bed dipped where he sat and you were forced to roll into him, the warmth of his bare thigh brushing against your own pajama shorts. Squinting up at him, you found him smiling softly down at you. 

“Thank you, De,” you muttered against the pillow.

“Can’t have my girl in pain now, can I?”

His girl. If only he meant it in the way you really wanted. 

He started to run his fingers through your hair and watched as you relaxed against him, a sleepy smile falling across your face as you began to fall back asleep. 

“Nope,” Sam threw the curtains back open, receiving a glare from Dean. “I found a case in Michigan. We can get there before sunset, but only if we leave in the next half an hour.”

“Sammy, I think we can spare a day, and I reckon I’m a little over the limit still to be driving,” Dean said. His voice was still raspy in a way that made your stomach curl.

“I’m not asking you to drive. I’m telling you to get your asses up and out the door.”

“What’s the case?” You murmured before Dean could respond about Sam driving his car.

“Some Teenager’s claim they saw the Abominable Snowman.”

Dean groaned and flopped on top of you. “People make claims about that all the time, dude.”

Sam rolled his eyes and set about packing, making as much noise as humanly possible. “Not all of those people come back with friends who died of frostbite, and claw marks on the body.”

Every muscle in your body screamed at you, but you pushed Dean off and sat up. Your best friend looked like a kicked puppy as he too was forced to sit upright. “They died of the frostbite, not the claws?”

“That’s what the autopsy showed,” Sam said, chucking you your rucksack filled with clothes.

The case had piqued your interest, and Dean knew it even before he turned to look at you.  The thinking face as it had been dubbed was one of Dean’s favourites on you. Nose scrunched up, mouth moving around in a little dance he could watch forever, and then, when you had come to a conclusion, your eyes twinkled a little and you bit your lip.

“Fine,” Dean said when you turned to him.

You tilted your head at him, a teasing grin on your face. “Aw, dude.”

Dean huffed and crossed his arms, making his muscles bulge deliciously. “Don’t call me dude.”

“Chum.”

He glared.

“Bro.” Sam let out an accidental snort at that one. Dean’s own face turned into one of mild horror and confusion, but overall just irritation. He turned his face away from yours, huffing a breath to show his distaste.

You pouted at him. He was so sweet and easy to rile. “Sorry, Honey-Bunny-Boo,” you said, voice high pitched like you were talking to a puppy. You also kneeled up to hug him from behind, poking his cheek just because.

The new position allowed you to see the cherry red hue climb up Dean’s neck and around his ears in response to the nickname. 

Before you could comment, he swung you around and lifted you up as he too stood. A shriek left your mouth and Sam rolled his eyes. Dean trotted over to the bathroom and deposited you inside, huffing again at the smirk on your face when he looked at you. He went to make a snarky comment, but his lips twitched before he could. 

Your heart rate rapidly shot to the sky when he planted a kiss on your forehead before leaving you to it and going to help Sam pack. 

He kissed your head and cheek and anywhere else pretty often, hell he’d kissed you on the lips more than once, but this felt oddly intimate. Almost domestic.

It made you nostalgic for a future that you knew wouldn’t be yours. Oh, but how you envied whoever he did end up loving like that.

Note: Originally they were going to have two separate beds, but I thought it was funnier sharing!

@marvelhead17 @screaming-les-bean

[nightlyrequiem]

Pen Pal V

Valeria breaks out of prison and holds you to your word that friends have each other's backs.

AO3 Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6 w.c- 2,128

A/N- I hope the people responsible for Spotify smart shuffle suffer and die.

Tags/Warnings- Inmate!Valeria, Friendship, Implied Developing Feelings, Open Ending, Prison, Post-Modern Warfare II, Fluff, Murder, Prison Escape, Slice of Life

Your growing distance is starting to grate on Valeria's nerves. She thought your issues were resolved when you had that talk, but she was wrong. You're still acting skittish around her. Avoiding eye contact. Acting uncomfortable. You try to hide it, but Valeria can tell.

She's laid up next to you in your bed with the laptop positioned on your lap. Playing some movie she couldn't care less about. Something dramatic on screen is happening, someone is dying. But she can't tear her thoughts away from you. To an outsider, it may seem like you're very invested in the movie. Your eyes are locked onto the screen and you're unmoving. But Valeria has gotten to know you well during her stay with you.

She can read your body language like it's her own. You're using the film as an excuse to not look at her. You're not moving because you're uncomfortable. Valeria's ass starts getting sore so she shifts onto her thigh. She sighs quietly, bored out of her mind. She looks at you again.

"How was work?" She asks carefully. Staring at you closely.

"Good. I guess." You murmur. She watches for any subtle movements, the tic of a brow, the twitch of the mouth.

It's often not the big obvious expressions that give a person away but all the little, unconscious ones. Or the lack of. Valeria can tell you're carefully trying to keep a neutral expression and that says just as much. She tried talking to you, she tried reassurance. You should be flattered, Valeria rarely forms genuine bonds with people, and she felt one with you. But all you're doing is reminding her that silly little connections are just wastes of time.

She removes the soft blanket from her lap and gets off the bed. The pins and needles in her legs make her feel unsteady so she grabs the wall for support. Immediately you look up at her. Took you long enough, she thinks irately.

"Where are you going?" You ask.

"To bed. I'm tired." She replies evenly. She turns away without giving you time to respond and walks out of your room. A few minutes after she lies down, she hears the movie stop.

*                                                     *                                                      *

"Is this everyone left?" She asks, Appalled. She surveys the pitiful crowd in front of her. What's left of her soldados. A measly ten people.

"... Well... yes," Diego says, scratching his goatee. "Everyone either died or got caught. There's at least nine more sitting in cells right now, but after you escaped, they cracked down on security. There's no getting them out."

Valeria scowls. 

"Or maybe you're a coward." She snaps. From the corner of her eye, she watches Diego's jaw clench. 

She's being unfair, she knows. It's not Diego's fault that most of her men are either dead or arrested. But Valeria's never been a fair person. Especially not when she's frustrated. And finding out that she can count all her manpower on one hand in very frustrating. 

"What am I supposed to do with this sorry lot?" She spits. "Alejandro has double our numbers and firepower." Saying that out loud only riles her up more, feeding the flames of her anger until it's burning her from the inside. 

"But he doesn't have your cunning." Diego replies, trying to ease her displeasure. It only does the opposite. She doesn't need his comfort. 

Valeria rounds on him. Despite being shorter by a few inches, he stumbles back.

"Do not talk down to me." She warns. "And never underestimate that little cockroach. The fact that you think he isn't cunning proves just how cunning he is." She whips around and starts pacing. Trying urgently to think up a solution. Her frustration mounts into uncontrollable levels when she just keeps thinking of you. Such a nuisance you're becoming, living in her mind like you own it.

This can still be salvaged. If she pours enough thought into this thing, she can pull it off. At the cost of a few lives, maybe. But her men are expendable anyway. She could coerce you into telling her what's wrong, why you're acting so strangely. If she could just bait you into - She whips around, scowling intensely. She can't concentrate on what she needs to be. You're becoming a liability.

She shakes her head to clear it and faces her men. She scans them critically, harshly assessing all flaws and weaknesses.

"We attack in seven days." She reminds them. Watching them close to make sure they're paying attention. "The only advantage we have is surprise. We are outmanned and outgunned. Be smart, win this, and you will reap the highest rewards." She says, knowing that not even half of them is likely to survive.

Even so, they perk up. Greed lighting their eyes and blinding them to reasoning. Man's fatal flaw.

A short, stocky man steps forward. Chin raised, daring to look her right in the eye. "When we're done there won't be any bodies to send home to their families." He promises confidently. 

Good. Valeria thinks. No bodies. Save for one which Valeria will use as the ultimate example. Who will serve as a border marker and a warning to her enemies not to cross her.

The front door clicks shut quietly behind Valeria. She kicks off her boots and glances at you sitting on the couch. 

"It looks warm out," You comment. Valeria heads into the kitchen to find something to ease the rumbling in her stomach.

"It is." She replies absently. She roots through cupboard pickily. She can feel the abrupt silence from you and knows there's more you want to say.

"I was thinking I'd take a walk." You finally say. Valeria rolls her eyes. Do you want her permission?

"Knock yourself out." She mutters, closing the door without taking anything.

Fabric rustles and she hears your feet lightly hit the carpet.

"Want to come with?" You ask awkwardly. You don't really sound like you want her to come with. So why offer? She stands upright and glowers.

"I'm pretty tired." She replies. You look down and pick at your already destroyed cuticles.

"Oh. Well... it would be just a quick one, to the convenience store down the road. I'd feel safer if you came."

She hesitates. Of course. It's dark out. The desire for protection is overriding your discomfort around her. What is she? Your personal bodyguard? If you want something from the store that badly either go on your own or wait till tomorrow. 

"Fine." Valeria replies. Surprising herself. She was fully intending on denying you, but her mouth works faster than her brain.

She quickly regrets her decision to come. It's quiet and awkward. You keep a respectful distance from her. At one point your hands accidently brushed, and you shoved them into your pockets. Valeria tries not to think about how that hurt. The convenience store lights wash out the sidewalk in front of it, and when you pull open the glass door, a little bell announces your arrival.

"Do you want anything?" You turn to her.

"No."

"... Okay." You pull away. Valeria stands by the door with her cap and head lowered. Hoping she's not attracting the attention of the clerk. She curses herself. This was stupid and careless, why did she come with?

She's relieved that you get what you need quickly and pay so the two of you can leave.

"It's such a nice night," You say. "Haven't seen the sky this clear in a while. The moon looks great. Like the lighting. It's nice. Very pretty." 

Valeria glances at you. Wondering what the sudden bout of chattiness is about.

"Yeah." She answers.

"Yeah." You parrot quietly. You allow the both of you to walk in peace for only a minute before you're speaking again. 

"You mentioned not having time for men but what about... others?" You suddenly ask. Valeria furrows her brows, what the hell are you talking about.

"Others...?" She implores.

You look at her with owlish eyes. "Like, I don't know." You laugh deprecatingly. "Never mind, I'm not sure... I'm just trying to make conversation. Are you mad at me?"

Valeria stops walking and it takes you a second to realize. You stop and look at her. The expression on your face softens her up, but only a little. You're far too obvious about your feelings. You're looking at her like a kicked puppy about to be sent back to the pound.

"I'm annoyed with you." She replies honestly. 

"Why?" You frown.

"Why? Because you're still acting weird around me even after our conversation." She says sharply. She doesn't have the patience for this. 

"I know, and I'm sorry. But I can't just stop being anxious. Things go wrong all the time, even when you plan to the last tiny detail. There's always something being overlooked, there's always someone who doesn't stick to the script. And that's all it takes to unravel everything. I'll lose my home, my life, you."

That last sentence sticks with her. She can't help but feel a little twinge of pleasure at you not wanting to lose her. no one's ever worried about losing her.

She slowly snakes her hand into yours and squeezes, testing the waters. You stiffen but don't pull away. She likes the warmth from your hand.

"We'll be just fine." She promises. "I have a plan for everything. Backup plans have backup plans." She knows that for all her reassurance, a part of you will never stop worrying. She'll just have to get over it.

"Okay." You nod. Squeezing her hand back weakly. "Let's get going then."

You don't drop her hand the entire way back. She's not sure if you forgot you were holding it, or if you just wanted to hold it.

*                                                         *                                                        *

It's a lot easier for Valeria to think and plan without you being secretive and edgy towards her. She's not sure what about that talk was different from the first, but it worked. You're back to being yourself. Lounging in the same room as her, bantering, laughing. 

And Valeria's own focus is much clearer now.

"Hm. I don't think I like this." You screw up your face and push away the grease stained takeout box you were eating from.

"What it is?" Valeria cranes her neck to look.

"Noodles, but the sauce tastes odd." You frown at it. You offer it to Valeria, and she takes it, coiling a few strands on the plastic fork and pushing them into her mouth. The flavour is intense and vibrant. But she sees what you mean. The sauce is oddly salty. Almost overwhelmingly so.

She abandons the noodles to go back to her own meal.

"I'm going out after this and I probably won't be back for a day or so." She tells you, shoving a piece of pork into her mouth. 

"Where are you going?" You look up.

"To finish what I should've finished years ago." She says. This catches your attention and you stop eating, expression growing serious.

"Already?" You reply. You don't sound very pleased.

"Yes. I need to do this. But once it's done, everything will be fine. I'll be able to go home and leave you in peace." She jokes, but your lips only lift halfway.

"I kind of like having you here." You admit, focusing on your food. Valeria can't help but share the sentiment. She likes being around you.

She shouldn't have eaten so much before coming here. Her full stomach is making her sleepy and she cannot afford any mistakes just because she's tired. She adjusts the tactical vest she's wearing, tightening it to fit her body better. The two recon men she sent to stake out Los Vaqueros' main base of operations came back with an all clear. Most of them are congregating there. In a little base a couple miles south of the town.

Alejandro won't be at that one, but Rodolfo will. and Valeria knows how close those two are. Attached at the hip to a disgustingly vulnerable degree. She checks each sheath again to make sure her knives and guns are there. Once she's satisfied she surveys her men. All suited up for battle and ready. Waiting in the bed of an armored truck.

This is it. Win or die. She pictures your face and wishes she gave you a better goodbye, just in case. All a promise to her has ever been just a way to manipulate people into doing what she wants. She's never particularly felt the need to keep them. But she promised you everything would be fine, and she certainly feels the need to keep that one. She hauls herself into the back and sits down.

"Let's go." She nods to the driver.

[star4soobin]

𝘊𝘢𝘳 𝘴𝘦𝘹?! ₊˚⊹

MDNI!! NSFW CONTENT BELOW !!

╰┈➤ softdom!soobin x sub!fem reader, unprotected sex (wrap b4 you tap!) slight size kink, petnames (baby, bunny, sweetheart, soobs), one mention of hair tugging, car sex, and making out

In the two years you and Soobin have dated, you both had NEVER touched each other sexually . Despite you both being the horniest people you both know, it was just a matter of who was going to make the first move. Sure, a few hugs and kisses here and there. And of course, cuddling. But you both had never even gotten to the makeout stage.

Until tonight.

You and Soobin had been giving small hints to each other the last few days. Soobin’s hands always dangerously near your boobs when he would be the big spoon, or how everytime you both would kiss each other goodbye to leave with friends, your lips would linger in certain places you KNEW he was sensitive in just to get a reaction.

On that same day, Soobin texted you, asking if you wanted to “move forward”. Knowing exactly what  he wanted, you agreed in less than a second. You both were so childish around each other, giggling whenever Soobin would put his hand on your thigh. You both would just burst out into laughter. It was silly and you both couldn't take each other seriously. So, setting the giggles aside you made up a little plan. You guys would clear your schedules for the next day and  try your best to start off just by making out

Except, of course it didn't go to plan. Soobin being forgetful of this whole plan, had you standing at the front door, confused on why his friends were now sitting in your shared living room. Soobin had invited his friends over, thinking nothing of it. So when you walk into your house, you can imagine the face Soobin had made as soon as he saw you, all dolled up for him.

Closing the passenger seat of the car, you turned your head to glare at Soobin, whose face had guilt spread all over it. Soobin had told his friends he was out to get some dinner, to which they all happily agreed, given they were hungry. But you and Soobin both knew it was gonna take a bit longer.

Soobin had put the car into reverse and slowly backed out of the driveway before shifting the gear to drive. His car was fairly big so it was great for transportation-.. Among other things. “Bunny, I’m sorry, I really am. I completely forgot. I must've mixed up the day or something.” “Soobs, we made the plan together! You could've at least texted me that we would’ve had people over.” “I know, I know. I really am sorry baby.”

Soobin mumbled, a hand reaching out to caress your thigh with his thumb You gave Soobin a small glance, just to see if he was laughing or anything but surprisingly he was serious. In a few minutes, Soobin parked his car in a secluded area. If he drove a little further, you could've sworn you could see the whole city.

You both quickly made your way to the back seat and wasted no time. Soobin crashed his lips into yours, to which you reacted quickly, wrapping your arms around his neck. He wanted to make up for that little mistake. That and because he was tired of hiding the fact he had jerked off to you so many times + he was horny.

Soobin pulled you into his lap as you two kissed, large hands squeezing the plush flesh of your ass. You jumped slightly, causing Soobin to break off the hungry kiss, leaving you both breathless. “Are you okay?” Soobin asked, tilting his head to the side. You nodded with a slight giggle. “Your hands are cold.” “Get used to it quickly..please.” He quickly responded, to which you nodded, leaning in to kiss Soobin once more.

Feeling you slightly grind on Soobin’s thigh, Soobin let out a small chuckle. “You want it that bad sweetheart?” He teased, lips slowly trailing down to kiss at your breasts. “It's not my fault you make me feel this way.” You breathed out, feeling Soobin’s cold fingers pull your low cut shirt down, only for his heart shape lips to latch onto your nipples

You feel your breath hitch as Soobin’s tongue licks and sucks your mound of flesh with such hunger, giving each one the same treatment. You felt his boner come up through his jeans to hit your right where your soaking core was, under your skirt. Your hands tucked softly on Soobin’s hair, causing him to look up at you with his big eyes, faking innocence. Your eyes said it all, and Soobin was more than happy to serve. <3

The car shook slightly as Soobin’s hard thrusts gave out. Your hands held onto Soobin’s broad shoulders as mascara filled tears trickled down your cheeks. Soobin’s hand gently was placed over the small bump in your stomach, watching as it disappeared and reappeared with each thrust. Your moans were like music to Soobin’s ears. He waited, he was patient for two whole years just to hear you cry out his name, saying it was “too much”

the man felt so fucking special.

You hiccuped and sobbed, removing all of your pretty makeup. Hours of getting ready, doing your hair, doing your makeup gone in a mere 20 minutes :( You watched Soobin pound the living daylights out of you as your grip on his shoulders tightened. Soobin lowered his face to kiss at your lips, to which you gladly kissed back in between soft sobs.

“Baby gonna cum- gonna- oh fuck! ‘M gonna cum-” “Its okay- just.. God you’re so fucking tight- gonna cum too.”

Soobin’s thrusts were sloppier than ever as you both nearly reached your high. Your guy’s moans became much whinier until you had came, to which Soobin had pulled out and came onto your stomach right after. Soobin let out a tired sigh, placing small kisses all over your face. “You felt so good, my love.”

“Why did we wait 2 years for this?” You asked, letting out a breathy laugh. Soobin shrugged slightly, chuckling a bit as his kisses trailed to kiss at your boobs. It was only until a text from one of Soobin’s friends had brought him out of his lustful trance.

“soobinnnnn! When will you and y/n be back? We’re starving and i swear i will actually burn your house down if you dont hurry” ✧˖°

[urfavteengirl]

off script— matt sturniolo

part three

(part one.) (part two.) (part four.)

part of actor!matt x actress!reader AU ꩜

⋆˙⟡ in which: thursday brings another scene to film— an intimate one. but staying character becomes really hard because you’re beyond frustrated with matt.

a/n: guys i’m so sorry it’s taken me so long to write and post this part i’ve had no motivation for this series sadly and i was on vacation :( but ily all!

cw: cursing, angst-ish, shooting a suggestive movie scene

“Cut!” Travis’s voice rang out through the small college dorm room, making you jump. You glared at him.

“Alright guys. Care to explain what’s going on? The chemistry isn’t there. Leo and Parker are about to share an intimate moment at this point. The point of the scene is that they’re realizing—”

“Ask Y/n what’s wrong. She seems to know everything.” Matt huffed from his position beside you. The two of you were sitting on the dorm room’s bed right next to each other, having just finished your fifth take of the scene before the main characters had sex.

Awkward.

Especially since you and Matt were furious with each other. And this scene included making out. A looooot of it. But every time you and Matt’s lips pressed together, it was firm and forced— not at all like the last scene you had filmed, when Matt had melted into the kiss, and you swore he’d said your name…

“Matt I’ve told you nothings up. You just won’t listen will you? You’re stubborn as all hell.” You said, frustrated. You didn’t want him to see why you were really upset. That you weren’t angry— you were hurt.

“You’re lying and everyone can tell, even Travis.” Matt shot back.

“Yeah, even me.” Travis paused. “Wait, what’s that supposed to mean?”

You brushed over the comment. “The fact that you don’t know what you did to make me angry makes me more angry than—”

“There you go spitting that emotional bullshit.” Matt interrupted, causing your eyebrows to furrow in frustration. “I can’t keep up with all your fucking complaining and jabbering.”

“Are you kidding me, Matthew? At least I—”

“All right, then!” Travis deadpanned. “Let’s get out all this negative energy. How about we skip to the after scene instead, yeah?”

You and Matt glared at each other, but agreed. Travis nodded.

“Go get changed.”

You entered the bathroom. Since this was the scene after Leo and Parker’s little moment, you and Matt were supposed to give the illusion of being naked. The blankets would be pulled up over your chest while you wore a tube top, so that only your shoulders would show.

When you finished changing, Matt was ready too, shirtless. You couldn’t help but admire his arms, all of his tattoos. That was your favorite part about him. You reminded yourself that you were supposed to be mad at him, and took your place under the covers of the dorm room bed, covers pulled up to your chest.

Matt slipped in beside you, his warmth radiating onto your exposed stomach where your top stopped. You both faced the ceiling, the camera over you in a high angled shot.

Matt turned to you, whispering. “I know we’re in a fight right now, but let’s not have it affect the acting, okay? I don’t want to let Travis down. Plus, me and you are literally majoring in acting. We need to practice being professional.”

You resisted pointing out the fact that it was hard to be professional with your best friend of so many years and just nodded.

“Action!” Was Travis’s next word. You and Matt faced each other as rehearsed, beginning.

Matt tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. Suddenly you remembered just days earlier when you had been sopping wet and he’d done the same thing— then had the guts to act like it was just a friendly gesture.

You tried to push down the hurt that threatened to bubble over as you said your next line.

“Parker, can I be honest with you?”

“Of course. You’re my best friend. You can tell me anything.” Matt responded. Oof, that one hurt. If only it were true.

“I don’t think I’ve ever loved anyone more than I do you.” Another line with truth hidden in its meaning. Another time when the actor wasn’t acting.

“Not even your mom?” You shook your head. “Your brother?”

“No. I love you different. I didn’t think you would ever understand if I told you.”

“I felt the same way.” Matt said, and it sounded so genuine, you almost forgot you were in the middle of a scene.

“I…” Shit. Caught up in the manner of Matt’s tone, your next line had completely slipped your memory. “Ummm..”

You looked at Travis helplessly, who sighed and— defeated— said: “Cut.”

Matt instantly turned to you. “What the hell, Y/n! We went over these a couple days ago!”

“It was an accident.” You turned to your other best friend. “I’m so sorry, Travis. Really.”

Travis waved you off. “It’s okay, don’t worry.”

You had known Travis would forgive you easily, but Matt was already angry at you— he wasn’t going to let this one go.

“I told you to be professional.” Matt said, jaw clenched. “You never listen do you?”

He abruptly sat up and slid out of the bed, angrily pulling on his shirt.

“Where are you going?” You asked, your heart clenching at his tone.

“Home. Clearly we won’t be able to shoot anymore useful scenes today because you’ve just forgotten how to act.”

“Matt, cmon man, everyone forgets their lines sometimes. It’s not her fault.” Travis said, glancing at you momentarily.

“And her being unprofessional and angry with me isn’t my fault if she won’t tell me what I did wrong.” Matt said defensively, heading for the door.

“Matt—” He stared at you coldly, cutting off whatever excuse was about to come out of your mouth.

Then he swung the door open and walked out, slamming it behind him. Travis flinched. You just stared after him.

You couldn’t stand Matt being mad at you. You were the one who was supposed to be mad at him. He was supposed to know what he did. He was supposed to know how you felt about him and reciprocate.

“Y/n?” Travis’s voice broke you out of your thoughts. “Do you want to go to dinner? We can talk about it. Or not, whatever you want. I’m here for you.”

“Sure.” You said distractedly, still staring after Matt.

Travis grabbed his jacket and slipped it on, then came over to you, taking your hand and helping you off the bed.

Still lost in thought, you didn’t even notice how he held your hand until you reached his car, and how his thumb comfortingly brushed over your knuckles. And how he looked at you with such concern and care, like you were a fragile object that might break if he let you go.

another part coming soon!

a/n: i’m sorry if this part sucked :( this definitely is not my best writing, i also wrote it at like 11pm so…

(dividers are not mine)

taglist (ask to be added!): @sturniolobananas1 @pawmpkinnn @courta13 @iluvchr1s @starryeyedivy @babyt0matoes @matts-babytomatoes @sturnsobsessed21 @thecrawlys

[bluemooncove]

The woman glanced back at her. The smile on her face grew brighter as Merah sturred in bafflement. Oh good! Dieselman don't respond like that! For a second she thought that it might just have been over but now she can relax in full. Her shoulders slump as she lets a held breath out.

"Ivy! If the radio chatter I was getting is correct, I guess I'm one of the bosses of The Outlanders now. Doesn't sound like any of the higher ups managed to get out."

It's then that she noticed a small spark remaining on her cape. She tossed it off and burst up. Then she stomped it before it had a chance to reach the petroleum covered parts of her uniform. After this she gave another awkward smile to Merah. As if that didn't take all the gravity out of her situation.

"Yeah, we lost a lot on that one. But hey! We gave a big enough distraction for the evacuation to finish, so in the end we still won! Plus it looks like at least one prisoner got out! Life's all about taking the small victories and all."

The dichotomy of emotions between them would be unsettling to any outside observer. A woman crushed at the final edge of despair and one that clutched as tightly as she could onto hope. Instead of sitting back down, Ivy held out a hand towards Merah. With the one arm burned she had to use the one that mirrored Merah's roboticized arm.

"But if we stick around here, I'm not gonna be a survivor for much longer and you're not gonna be a saved prisoner for much longer. How's about we hit the road before all the work we did was for nothing, okay?"

She wasn't sure what to think anymore. Her thoughts were a staticky mess, all trains of thought have left the station- it was just Merah left to shoulder the impossible burden of grief. She tried to outrun it, to keep moving and win the race against herself before everything caught up to her- and in the end, she couldn't.

She was, as she's always been, human. Always working twice as hard as anyone to keep up with self-inflicted expectations and outperform her peers with mixed success. So much of her life climbing uphill... and for nothing.

... maybe her grandmother was right about some things. A horribly dark thought, but it really couldn't get any worse for her from here. The only thing keeping her from dwelling longer on that thought is the ache of her- or, rather, what used to be her arm. Instead of this... hefty, awkward piece of metal and wire...

She'll never be the same again...

But things quiet down enough, everything seems to go still, she has a moment to catch her breath. Quiet enough, she barely catches the arrival of someone else...

So this is the end. This is where one of those freaks comes and puts her out of her misery... sorry... sorry Mom... sorry Dad... I'll never know why you died that day... I'll never graduate college... I let you guys down again... I...

'Hey.'

...? Huh-

She blinks, picking herself up just enough to take a sideways glimpse at the stranger- what kind of lunatic... who can exist in this place with such an absurd sense of positivity?? Isn't she another survivor of that attack-

"... w... what...?" She manages to stutter, a response of exasperation and bafflement. Who is she???

"W...ho...?"

[skyboundprime]

"Oh" The voice, or rather voices rung out in a curious tone. "Can you... hear us? ...Can you, hear me?" It wasn't often that the little dreamer lulled others into the void. Rather deliberately on purpose, it ment that they had some time to address their new... guest.

Overlapping whispers, faint laughter and snarking remarks all mixed and molded, until one voice broke out. Deep and demanding, as if intruded upon "Speak. Your Name."

There were whispers. Murmurs in his processor.

Ever since he had brought Mari to stay with the Autobots-- as well as to hopefully interact with Spike and Carly so then she wouldn't have to feel like she's the only human around giant robots-- he always found himself hearing mutters in the depths of his processor whenever he'd recharge... which was, well, a rare thing for him to do. Whenever he tried to recharge, there were nightmares.

But not this time.

Instead, it felt like being in a void. It was dark, cold. Such was his mindscape, though it was never done purposely. The outermost parts were often in a state of emptiness, a way to emotionally protect himself and dissuade others from possible hardlining-- yet there was life, people he could hear. What was this?

Optimus's helm slightly tilted in his recharge, his digits twitching. Within his mindscape, though, in this void-- only at the surface of it, he found himself squinting through the darkness.

" Hello? " He called out, " ... I can hear you? Who are you? " And then, one voice stood out amongst the rest. The others were kind, gentle, curious, but this one...? Cold. Stern. Perhaps even filled with hatred.

" ... My name is Optimus Prime. " Optimus adopted a firm tone in response-- his optics narrowed. " ... And you are? "

[theinfinitedivides]

'i think Jang Hyun orabeoni will wake up soon... because he has Ryang Eum by his side.' *turns to Ryang Eum* 'the day that Jang Hyun orabeoni went to do business at the border a while back, you got into a fight with a customer while playing at the kibang and were injured. do you know he came by that night? after hearing that you were hurt, he gave up on 7000 silver nyang to come back. he only came to check that you were okay, and then he left. an unnie i know asked him, when she was serving him, why he is always talking about Ryang Eum, and he supposedly said to her that his pleasure in life is in seeing Ryang Eum enjoy his life. so he would never leave Ryang Eum alone and die.'

[kitimeq]

⊹₊⟡⋆ gravity hurts (you made it so sweet) 🤍 caleb 以昼.𖥔 ݁ ˖

⋆˙⟡pairing: caleb x nonmc! reader

⋆˙⟡word count: 17.3k (i wrote a book lol)

⋆˙⟡summary: the three of you have been the best of friends ever since you remembered, and although your love for Caleb wasn’t exactly the friendly kind, you were more than happy to have him close. But who would’ve thought that one night by yourselves would end this way? The warmth of acceptance and the sting of the heartbreak that came after, and among all of it—a lost boy desperate to make it right.

⋆˙⟡tags: 18+, mdni!!! NOT a love triangle!! mc is treated as a caleb’s sis in this one, the reader and mc and caleb are friends!! best of friends!! unrequited love!! but not really, angst, angst with happy ending, misunderstandings, or more like lies, love confessions obsessed caleb, kinda pathetic caleb, insecure caleb, he cries, we cry, everyone literally cries, first times, but the scene is quite short, they love each other so much, my babies, please read it.

⋆˙⟡writer’s note: my first ever commission for my wonderful stella 🥺 i hope you like it baby and i hope all of u will like it too, despite the length. i wanted to stretch it in time so that the reconciliation at the end wouldn’t be forced. i hope you’ll read it and like it, i loved writing for caleb 🤍

!!likes, reblogs and comments, pls comment, would be appreciated ♡ let me know what u think!

* 20+ unread messages from [ my miss hunter!<3 ]*

✉︎ baby what happened, where are you?

✉︎ you don’t pick up and even read my messages, i don’t know what’s happening, are you okay?

✉︎ caleb’s going totally ap(pl)eshit pun intended god i hope if you’re reading this you laughed at least. PLEASE write back or i’ll join him.

✉︎ he’s actually going insane, does he know something? he refuses to tell me anything, what happened between you guys? i was absent for literally one meeting, did you throw hands or something? he seems really unstable, like, much more than usual and he already had issues before, that’s for SURE.

✉︎ i’m so sorry for joking. i’m just really worried. it’s been a week. please respond to me, i don’t know what to do. i need to know you’re safe.

✉︎ what did he do? now i know that he’s at fault here, he’s acting insane.

✉︎ he’s not sleeping. i don’t think he’s eating either? he looks like a walking corpse and he’s still looking for you everywhere. i’m not sure who’s managing the fleet now but for sure not him.

✉︎ he’s not saying a single word. i know now that he must’ve done something, he’s not just worried, he’s fucking terrified and to be honest i am too. it’s been almost two weeks now, please answer me.

✉︎ i swear i won’t tell him anything. just please respond.

It was supposed to be a day like any other.

You, her, him—sitting together, eating your favorite food, maybe watching one of the movies MC somehow always managed to convince you to watch. Such nights always ended in the same way: with you sleeping next to her, right on Caleb’s bed. The gruesome scenes replayed behind your closed eyelids, your body nearly sprawled on top of your friend, your hand gripping hers—too tightly to just be affectionate. Caleb’s laugh echoed through his apartment, jokes and jabs aimed right at you, spoken in soft tones from his usual spot on the couch, where he always slept during your sleepovers.

And while you were pouting and trying to defend yourself from his absolutely false accusations of being a scaredy-cat, it was always his little sister who defended you like a lioness. Her clever comebacks always softened his teasing nature towards you. But it was all just a silly little game—the truth was you didn’t mind being teased, you knew Caleb long enough to realize that it was just the way in which he showed affection. It just so happened that MC showed hers by protecting you and attacking Caleb right back, every time his teasing seemed to be endless.

“Easy, pip, I’m just tryin’ to get her mind off of that spoooky imitation of a movie.” He answered between quiet laughs, and a quiet scoff left your mouth, quickly followed by a small smile. “Besides, if she really was scared, she would sleep here with me. She would be much, much safer, right?” His question followed by your name, and you immediately sprung upwards to sit on your legs.

“As if! You would probably maul me in your sleep before any monster would even get a chance to reach me.” You answered quickly, your body turning toward the salon where he slept, your eyes meeting MC’s, shining with mirth in the darkness. You heard an exaggerated gasp from him, and you imagined how he probably looked right now: gripping his shirt right on top of his chest in a gesture feigning hurt.

“You wound me. I would protect you with all I have, my Evol, my Fleet, my annoying little sister—”

“Jerk!”

“—From any harm the flying sharks would want to cause you.” You laughed quietly, and you felt the tension in your shoulders slowly dissolving. MC’s faux-offended expression, along with his soft voice were doing a great job at melting the irrational fear you felt in your chest after the movie.

A second passed; then two, maybe three, while your eyes were looking through the huge glass walls, following the clouds that were drifting languidly outside. A sigh left your lips, and your hand squeezed that of MC, who was laying beside your sitting body, her eyes already closed. And when their laughs died down entirely, their breaths slowly evening out, preparing for a good night’s sleep, that’s when you decided to add one more thing.

“Laugh at me all you want, but it’s your fault for living so high up in the clouds, where all the flying sharks in the world have us literally handed to them on a silver platter. But fine, I don’t care anymore, eat up you little motherfu—”

“Oh my god—”

His bubbly laugh echoed loudly, bouncing off of the walls, filling the rooms, breaking the tranquil atmosphere that had fallen not so long ago. His sister’s body shook with laughter right next to yours, wide smile now present on your lips. Your silly joke landed exactly how you wanted it to land—concealing the fear still nestled inside you, simmering delicately just beneath the surface of your smile. Which was, despite their assumptions, not only caused by the abominations presented in the movie.

The enormous clouds, surrounding you from everywhere—that was what truly bothered you. The vastness and uncertainty of the sky which stretched out before you, visible through the glass walls, its eerie silence making the little hairs on your nape stand straight.

Sleepovers at Caleb’s place, which had happened occasionally ever since he moved to Skyhaven to study—and continued even after he became a Farspace Colonel—were something you had already got used to and looked forward to. But the location of his apartment, the surroundings and their quietness, the strangely uneasy privacy and stillness, especially at night—that was what made you so scared every time you were here.

You never told them about your little fear; you didn’t want to cause problems, especially when they were both so happy whenever the three of you found enough time for a sleepover, and Caleb’s place was perfect for accommodating all of you. Besides, you had your best friend, a literal Hunter, close to you, and Caleb’s presence right behind you, just a wall away. Your mind knew that you were safe, it was just your body that was having second thoughts in a form of occasional shivers and quickened heartbeat.

That’s why it always striked you whenever he seemed to notice your concealed discomfort, which this time happened an hour after you said your good night’s. Mc’s breath was already calm and steady, yours far from it, unwanted thoughts and the feeling of uncertainty making you lose your precious hours of sleep.

You heard him first: his calm steps, quiet breath. You saw him second: his head peeking through the door frame, eyes wide open, not clouded with sleep, landing straight on yours. His body approached the bed frame, and he crouched slowly by your side, a small smile adorning his lips. And you felt him at last: his huge, warm hand searched for yours under the covers, and proceeded to hold it gently, his thumb caressing the back of your knuckles in a comforting gesture. You were familiar with such touches, both him and his sister were touchy-feely ever since you remember. So you reciprocated his smile, tiredness clutching to your lashes, yet mind still refusing to rest.

“Are you okay? I heard you tossin’ and turnin’.” He whispered, whether to avoid waking his sister up or to not disturb your precious moment, you weren’t sure. You met his beautiful, sparkling eyes, which always made your stomach twist with longing, and you already started to feel better. His gaze was so gentle, so earnest that your heart decided to switch the reason of its rapid beating from fear to a complete adoration.

You were laying on your side, a pillow warm underneath your cheek, and your hand squeezed his in an answer to his worry. You noticed that his hands were dry and rugged, but so pleasantly warm. And so were your cheeks, their color fortunately hidden from his watchful eyes behind the curtain of the darkness.

“Yeah, don’t worry. I’m just a little uneasy, that’s all.” Which wasn’t exactly a lie, but his eyes were giving you skeptical signals as if he knew exactly what you were hiding.

The truth that the sky and space scared you, when he was the one who was constantly covered by the clouds, was always embarrassing to admit out loud. And thankfully, he never pressed you to do it.

Instead, he hummed, his chin resting on the edge of the bed, his eyes landing on your clasped hands, thumb sliding through your fingers back and forth. You knew he had no idea, but that slight touch was enough to make you shiver, your heart filled with unspoken, overwhelming emotions towards the one who was supposed to just be your best friend.

“But you know you can always come to me, right? The couch is really cozy and maybe you would feel safer there, somehow. Aaand, I’m much bigger than her. More comfortable too, I’m sure.” Your lips turned up in a smile, and your eyes closed for a second, trying to focus on calming your heart down. When you finally opened them, he was looking right at you with an unreadable expression. His face seemed to get closer to yours too, most likely unknowingly.

From such proximity you could see the freckles that covered his face like small specks of cosmic dust, that you have always longed to trace with your fingers. His eyes were also a sight to behold, even in the darkness they shined so brightly, violet mixed with a hint of a sunset, always so full of wonder and awe, looking right back at you. He was so handsome, even covered only by the moonlight, when you always thought that a warm sunlight suit him best.

“We’re not kids anymore, Caleb. Sleeping in the same bed would be a little bit weird, don’t you think?” He scoffed under his breath, and you bit your lip, not wanting your true emotions to appear on your face. Desperate to not let him know how much you’d like to join him, to fall asleep resting in his embrace.

“I don’t.” His reply instant, a sure whisper, accompanied by a slight shift of his head. His hair looked so soft, the strands falling into his eyes, making you want to reach out and fix them. His faint freckles seemed to flicker, once again catching your attention, teasing you to give each one of them a small kiss. But you knew that you didn’t have the right to. “Besides, we’re friends. You know I would never touch you or anything. You’re safe with me.”

These exact words echoed through your mind months later, a memory fresh and vivid, the only one you could think of when your heart wanted to beat straight out of your chest.

I would never touch you.

You remembered him saying, on that day that was supposed to be like any other, yet MC cancelled on you at the last moment. You were already drinking boba next to the relaxed Caleb, leaving you two alone for the first time in what felt like forever. An emergency mission, was her excuse, and although you were upset that she couldn’t make it, the happiness of finally being able to spend some time with Caleb, whom you missed just as much, was enough to raise your mood back up.

I would never touch you.

That sentence swirled inside your head, hours after you both went out for a hotpot, sharing a meal filled with laughter, catching up on nothing and everything all at once. You always had fun together, the years of friendship formed thanks to MC made you comfortable with one another, the banter teasing but affectionate, the atmosphere warm and familiar. Later you went for a walk in the park, searching for squirrels, and sending MC pictures of every single one you managed to spot with a short caption ‘You’. After that, you also stopped at the arcade to play with claw machines for some time: you managed to win a small cat plushie for MC, while Caleb gave you a similar one he got for you when you weren’t looking. And then, after the sun had long since set, you went back to his place—in the same way you always did when meeting up in Skyhaven. But this time, you two were completely alone.

I would never touch you.

And yet, by heavens, you thought that after that night there wasn’t any place on your body he left untouched. Not when he was paying such a close attention to you, his hands wandering absolutely everywhere, accompanied by his shaken breaths and whispers full of worship and wonder.

You weren’t sure who kissed whom first, your mouths connecting unexpectedly, meeting right in the middle, the movie you put on a while ago still playing in the background. The flakes of popcorn scattered everywhere around you; the bowl had fallen from your hands, so desperate was he to pull you to himself the moment he dared to push his tongue past your lips—uncertainly at first—only to feel how quickly you accepted him.

You were almost dizzy with happiness of finally having him this close, touching at his hair, neck, shoulders, waist. He was holding you in his arms tightly, squeezing your waist, while you sat comfortably on his crossed legs, lips sealed to his. But suddenly, your head became heavy the moment the gravity of the situation pulled you down. You pushed him away, pressing your hands to his broad shoulders.

You parted with a gasp, your breath uneven, cheeks burning with embarrassment.

He didn’t look any better, if his equally red cheeks and tousled hair were any indicator. His slightly chapped lips chased after yours, eyes lidded and brows furrowed when he felt the loss of your warmth.

“C—Caleb, wait, stop, what on earth are we doing—” You tried to reason, your legs struggling to stand, your heart uncertain what it truly meant to him. A panic overtook you, your true feelings suddenly out in the open, composure lost in a moment of weakness. You remember meeting his eyes in the room lit only by his TV, his head already turned your way, closer than it ever was before. That’s all it took; the sudden closeness, his intense, lingering gaze and hand reaching your way, for you to start making rush decisions.

He didn’t let you escape. In one quick motion you were grabbed by your arms and pushed back into his chest. His hands softly squeezed the flesh, his head fell onto your shoulder listlessly. Dark hair brushed at your neck when you heard his shaky breaths, his body trembling under the touch of your fingers, which now rested on his torso. They were the only barrier keeping you from melting entirely into his embrace.

“No, please—please. Don’t go.” He choked out, his voice pained, his forehead nuzzling up to the juncture between your shoulder and neck. His lips touched your neck, and you gasped. “Don’t go. Don’t run away from me. Please.” A quiet plea, which made you close your eyes in an attempt to finally think; think of the reason it happened, think of the ways in which it would affect your friendship, think of what it truly meant for him.

Afraid that the answer would hurt you.

Your head suddenly felt too heavy for your body, mind spiraling with possible answers, when you heard his voice once again, loud and certain against your heated skin.

“I dreamed of this—Of you—” He nuzzled at your neck, sending a shiver throughout your whole body, your chest squeezing, the implication slowly uncovering into something crystal clear. “Of holding you. Touching you, like this—” His fingers started a gentle trial up your spine and you pressed your body closer to his on impulse. His left hand buried in your hair, softly touching your scalp, and he finally lifted his head to meet your gaze. He looked ruined; eyes glossy and eyebrows scrunched in an image resembling an anguish. His eyes were shifting between yours and your lips, which you were biting in uncertainty. “For so, so long, you have no idea how I—”

“Caleb—”

“Let me. Let me kiss you one more time, just once.” The last word a desperate whisper, his eyes stuck on your lips, his head getting closer and closer with every second, as though he psychically couldn’t help himself. He cupped your cheek and placed his thumb on your bottom lip, pulling it from the confines of your teeth, his touch feather-light. A quiet grunt left him and he met your eyes again, your hands going to grab him by the shoulders to gain more balance. You were getting dizzy, his proximity maddening, his touches and honeyed words overwhelming. “I was always scared to be alone with you like this, and this is the reason. I knew that the moment you let me, I will continue to take, take, take…” He closed his eyes, his forehead falling onto yours, your heavy breaths already mingling. The hand on your cheek started shaking, but a calloused thumb never stopped caressing your skin. “You can say ‘no’ to me. You can say ‘no’ alright? Just—please. Please say somethin’. Anything. You’re so quiet and it’s killin’ me here—”

“I—I want the same thing. Caleb, I—” You finally breathed out, your eyes half opened, lowered to look at his chest, where laid a necklace you and MC gave him quite a while ago, before his first trip to Skyhaven. That memory appeared behind your lashes, along with MC’s face, the image making you halt momentarily. “Oh God, but what about MC? Wouldn’t she be weirded out when we suddenly—” You flinched again, and this time he caught you instantly, his big hands reaching for yours, pressing them into his forehead like a prayer, then huffing out a low laugh.

“She knows. She figured me out ages ago.” You didn’t hide your surprise, your heart beating so quickly you thought it will beat straight out of your chest. “You don’t have to worry about anythin’, alright? If only you feel—You fell the way I do, then I—”

“Ages…?” The word stuck inside your head, the implications making your eyes sparkle. He lowered your hands to rest flat on his chest, and you felt it—the thump of his heart matching yours, a rapid, uneven beat that could only mean one thing.

“Ages.” He answered surely, his violet eyes glued entirely to yours, his hand covering your palms. And when he nudged your nose with his, silently asking for permission, you found that you didn’t have any reason to refuse him anymore.

Not when you wanted him just as passionately.

Your lips met his again in a kiss so intense it was nearly bruising, your hands going over his neck, your mouth swallowing down his sigh of contentment. His hands quickly found their way under your t-shirt; grabbing and holding, caressing and squeezing everywhere he could touch.

I would never touch you.

And yet he did. He did and continued throughout the whole night, his hands never leaving your body, his lips almost permanently sealed to your soft skin, the quiet laughs and whispers of reassurance filling the entire room, your body almost floating even without his Evol, lifted by the feelings of finally being accepted. Of loving and being loved in return.

“You’re perfect. Perfect for me. I have seen countless sunsets above the clouds, and you are far more beautiful than any of them. Absolutely—” He choked out, his slow thrusts making you see stars, his sculpted body covering yours completely, mindful not to crush you in the process. His movements slightly awkward at times, totally inexperienced but you didn’t mind—it was your first time too, after all.

You had boyfriends before, but the relationships never lasted long. He was the first one you managed to open up to. The first one you were able to trust fully, the only man you ever loved. So how could you ever think of doing it with someone else?

“—magnificent. I can’t believe I get to have you like this… I—Ah—I still think that I must be dreamin’, what if I wake up and you’ll disappear? That’s how it always was. A lucid dream, a cry for even a scrap of—of your attention, and now you’re—” Your hands were gripping his biceps, leaving half moons in the glistening skin. Soft sighs were escaping your lips, along with the tears streaming down your cheeks, whether from the intensity of your feelings or the tight way he fit inside you, you weren’t sure. You closed your eyes and let him press more kisses along your shoulder and neck, cheek and lips, the very same ones to which he continued to speak his praises. “And now you are beneath me, f-fuck—Utterly beautiful. The best thing that ever happen’ to me, I knew that I was doomed ever since I met you—” You moaned his name and he smiled, his lips landing on your wet eyelashes, kissing the tears that had yet to come out. His lips were softer now, entirely covered in your chapstick, tasting of sweet apples and something that you already recognized as undeniably him. There was a hand placed under your back, bringing you even closer to his body, his hips moving more steadily, mouth attacking your breasts, making you shiver in pleasure. His hands were going up and down the sides of your body, a gentle touch, meant to bring comfort.

“Caleb—please. Faster, I can’t, I need—” Your hands went to grab his hair, pulling at the strands, making him moan, his body shaking. He looked at you as with so much adoration you thought you were dreaming.

“Okay, okay—Mmm—I got you. I—I got you, darlin’, I always got you. But if it was up to me I would have you like this the whole night long.” He lifted you up in a way that you were now straddling his thighs and sat down, not stopping his thrusts, his hands resting on your waist. Every single indication of inexperience he made up in passion, desperation and enthusiasm, always putting your pleasure above everything else. You opened your mouth in another gasp, his hips rutting into you without stopping, his arms circled around your body, refusing to let you get away even for a second. Not that you ever wanted to leave the safety of his hold. “I got you, my sweet girl. And will never let you go, never. You’re so adorable, so clever, so so kind and precious, you are—”

“—Annoying and too clingy to be honest. When you get to know her better, that is. Sooo, going after her would be a total waste of time, then.”

A quiet gasp, torn out of you suddenly, violently.

Unexpectedly.

You froze, your heart stopping, along with your hand which was already raised to push open the door to Caleb’s room. His voice, even though muffled by the door, was still perfectly distinguishable to you, having heard it even in your dreams by now.

You only came back for your makeup bag, which you had hastily left at his place this morning, the night after your moment of closeness, having overslept for work. You only managed to kiss his adorable sleeping head goodbye, wear the clothes from the day before and run through his door, smile not coming off of your face the whole day long, despite the slight soreness in your limbs.

It was reminiscent of your night together; that’s why it didn’t bother you. The night that was supposed to change everything for the better, the night that your feelings turned out to be reciprocated.

Or so you thought.

You knew that he was having a boys’ night—he told you during your hangout the day before, how excited he was to finally reunite with some of his college friends, after Gideon managed to get a hold of everyone. But you still hoped to quickly collect your things, maybe steal a small kiss or two.

You just hoped to see him again, even for a moment.

A second, nothing more.

You only wanted to—

“And she’s kinda afraid of flying, sooo not exactly a good girlfriend material for a pilot, guys.” His laugh, although a little nervous, made the crack in your heart spread further. “If she weren’t my lil sister’s friend, I wouldn’t wanna pay her any mind—”

Crash.

Loud and echoing, pierced through the living room where you were standing, your hands shaking. One hand went straight to cover your mouth, which opened in utter disbelief.

At first you thought it was the sound of your heart breaking; exploding into millions and millions of pieces, from the way it squeezed painfully in your chest upon hearing the words undoubtedly coming out of his mouth. You nearly screamed in anguish, the scenes from the night before appearing in your mind, the wonderful things he said to you reverberating inside your ears, the ghost of his touch still lingering on your skin—his rugged hands so soft, so gentle, the touch loving, worshipping so why—

“Who’s there?” His uncharacteristically harsh voice reached your ears but you had no idea what was happening. You felt as if you were underwater, all sounds quieted down, your body moving in slow motion.

You looked at your feet and saw your makeup scattered before you, the actual source of the crashing sound, coming from the small bottles hitting his apartment floor. Your hands apparently too shaky, too numb to hold the makeup bag after hearing his words. A dagger to your heart would hurt less, you thought, your vision getting blurry, your legs taking a few steps backwards, the movement awkward, your body suddenly too heavy for you to move.

Why did you come back? Why were you here? Why did you need to hear such things coming from the same mouth that had whispered sweet nothings to your ear for hours on end, not even a day before?

You raised your head abruptly, tears staining your cheeks now, when you heard rapid footsteps coming from the other side of the door. The ones you would recognize absolutely everywhere.

You choked down a sob and bolted straight for the door, your shaky hands fumbling with the lock for a second—enough to give him time to process the situation at hand, to connect every single dot, to notice your makeup sprawled on the floor and maybe your pathetic little teardrops lying among it.

That’s what you were. That’s who you made yourself to be. A pathetic little fool, for kissing him, opening up to him, giving so much to him in such a short amount of time when in reality all he thought of you was—

“No. No. Oh, no, no, no, no, fuck, fuck, please, wait, no!” You heard him shouting your name the moment you opened the door and bolted for the elevator. You did not bother closing the door, he already knew that you were there just a second before. He already realized what you heard, even though the true meaning of his words still felt like a fever dream, a nightmare that was unfolding right before you, painful and so, so, unbearably cruel you feared you will pass out the moment your eyes met his face.

You needed to get out of there. You needed to go outside, to breathe, to find the air he stolen from you so suddenly.

Fortunately, the elevator was waiting for you, a spec of light in the darkness of the situation, and you jumped right in, your hand frantically pressing the close button over and over again, even faster now that you heard him running down the hallway to reach you.

Ironically, this time, the luck was on your side.

His shadow was the only thing you could see before the door closed, cutting him off completely. The echoing thump of his fists hitting the surface of it made you flinch.

“No! Fuck! No, no, please!”

Your name reached your ears, desperate, panicked.

But you were already on your way down, tears falling freely, your hands squeezing at your collar, at the material covering your chest, at anything you could reach just to lessen the pain of your heart breaking. Your knees shaky, threatened to give out but you were holding onto the knowledge that he was still following you, and you absolutely couldn’t let him catch you. That’s why, you refused to let yourself break before you were sure that you were somewhere safe.

And it paid off. You miraculously managed to ascape from him, that day.

And many, many days after that.

* 50+ messages from [ ur caleb!<3 ] *

✉︎ please, let me explain myself. I can only imagine what youve heard and I need you to listen to me, please.

✉︎ what I said wasn’t true. everything youve heard was a big fucking lie and I need to tell that to your face, you have to believe me.

✉︎ please don’t do this to me, I know that I deserve it but you have to hear me out, please.

✉︎ answer me.

✉︎ I beg you, give me anything. I need to know youre safe. I can’t locate your phone is it turned off? I don’t know if youre safe. please.

✉︎ its torture. its my fault I need to see you and tell you everything just let me see you. let me find you.

✉︎ I need to find you.

✉︎ I miss you.

✉︎ I need you, don’t leave me in this loneliness any longer, I will do anything. anything to earn your forgiveness, even if i have to work my whole life for it I will, even if you say that you don’t ever want to see me anymore I will stay out of your sight, I just need to tell you the truth, I need to see you and tell you what I really feel, not that awful lie youve heard me saying I wish I could turn back time and scrape these disgusting words out of my mouth.

✉︎ I will do anything for you. I will do anything for only a second of seeing you, I will fulfill your every wish, every desire and unspoken craving just for a second of your time, for a chance to say that I’m sorry.

✉︎ It ruins me, the thought that you may still think that what you heard me saying was true, you are not reading my messages and you probably still think that I meant it. I’m going insane, I’m losing my mind, I need you. I need to see you.

✉︎ I searched for you everywhere and I still haven’t found you, but I won’t stop, I will never stop searching for you even if it kills me, even if you will be the last thing I see, I will find you.

✉︎ baby, please. sweetheart. my treasure. please let me explain myself. where are you? where haven’t I searched yet? how did you manage to escape me?

✉︎ you know me too well, that’s how. you knew where I will be looking for you and you took advantage of that, my smart girl.

✉︎ but this one time, I wish you made a mistake. even a small one, a millisecond long. because I’m waiting and I’m ready to find you. and I will find you. you know me and how stubborn I am. I will never stop looking, you have to come back at some point. and i will get to you before that. I promise. wait for me.

Three weeks have passed since you last saw Caleb—the memory of his betrayal still fresh, and the wounds he inflicted on your heart with his cruel words still open and bleeding.

But the tears were no longer staining your cheeks, and a mere thought of him didn’t make you panic anymore. At least, not when you knew that he wouldn’t be able to find you here.

After you left his apartment that day, you knew that he would search for you, taking into account his desperation to catch you when you were running away. Yet you couldn’t bear to look him in the face, not after what happened between you, and how humiliated he made you feel.

You thought that he felt the same, that maybe he loved you, but it seemed that he was just playing with your feelings. That you must’ve been an easy target. And you just couldn’t believe it, no matter how frequently you repeated the things he said in your mind, both to you during the night and the to his friends during the day. You knew him ever since you were children, his presence constant in your life, even if you were not seeing each other that often after he relocated to Skyhaven. He was always there for you, and for MC, no matter what happened, his care and friendship something you got used to long time ago.

If she weren’t my lil sister’s friend, I wouldn’t wanna pay her any mind.

Was your friendship always only a huge lie? Were you unknowingly only a burden, a nuisance that he had to put up with, because of your friendship with his sister?

And that night, when he was holding you so gently, treating you with such kindness and devotion, whispering the things you dreamed about hearing from him for so long, was it also something he did just because you were easy to manipulate? The easiest choice, a familiar body to satisfy his needs with?

And God, did he know about your true feelings before all of it went down?

You shook your head, trying to stop another train of thoughts, fighting with yourself not to break down in tears again. You came here not only to temporarily run away from him, you also wanted to take your time and relax, to calm the storm brewing inside your head, to survive that heartbreak and breakdown on your own terms, without anyone’s nagging or judgmental stares. Without others telling you what you were supposed to feel.

You fixed your sunhat, the slight wind making your hair gently caress your face, and you went down from the ladder, a basket full of fresh cherries hanging from your arm. You sighed, the fresh air and the smell of fruit filling your nose trills, reminding you that you were far, far away from Skyhaven and Linkon, the places that held too many painful memories.

Here, you were safe, because no one knew about your little, peaceful gateway, which was long ago introduced to you by one of your distant cousins. It was a peaceful little plot of land, belonging to one of your family members, a place they visited occasionally, usually in the summertime. And now, that small house in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by the trees of fruit, fields of flowers and tranquil atmosphere were exactly what you needed to get back on your feet.

You took a sick leave from work for a whole month, and you were planning to use that time to soften your dark thoughts and harden your skin before the gravity of the situation and its consequences met you upon your return to Linkon. Before you would have to inevitably face Caleb—the one you were trying to avoid at all costs.

“Here you are, auntie.” You approached her crouched figure, her hands paused in their strawberry picking, and she looked up at you with gratitude in her eyes.

“Thank you sweetie, you helped me so much.” She answered and stood up, taking off her gloves and stuffing them into the pocket of her baggy jeans, covered in strawberry juice and grass. A huge smile lit up her face, and you couldn’t help but return one just as bright, shaking your head.

“Oh, please, that’s the least I can do. I should be the one thanking you for letting me stay here.” You fixed your hat once again and went up to a bucket filled with rainwater, so that you could wash the cherries from your skin. “I haven’t known such peace in a long time, really. The air is so refreshing, the scenery so beautiful, and I’m visiting the orchard everyday. I probably ate half of your crops by now, like some kind of a pest.”

“Oh, stop it!” She playfully swatted your butt with a rug, and you giggled, snatching it from her to use it to dry your hands. “You’re always welcome here, you know that. Besides, you are a huge help with harvesting fruit each week. I always bring my boy with me, but as you can see, he’s nowhere in sight.” You laughed and picked up the basket with cherries again, as well as the one she was holding before. You peaked inside it and noticed that it was filled with strawberries and raspberries, a perfect amount for a snack. You opened your mouth and let her place one small strawberry inside it, the sweet juice filling your mouth, making you momentarily forget about your worries.

Everything here was just so peaceful and easy.

“It’s that age. He’s more interested in exploring than in sitting around and picking fruit. I was a chaotic kid, too.” You answered and she sighed, your walk to her truck much shorter than you wanted it to be. You placed the baskets inside the vehicle and saw the boy’s hair from where he sat in the passenger seat. You ruffled his hair, and he appeared startled, his hand immediately reaching up to fix it, a blush spreading to the tips of his ears.

“Chaotic and addicted to gaming, that’s what he really is.” She answered as you stepped back from the truck to hug her goodbye. She offered you a ride back to the house but you decided to stay in the orchard. The sun was still far from setting, and you wanted to read under the tress and snack on the fruits for a while longer.

You also remembered to thank her for delivering your letter to MC last week, in which you told her that you were safe, and apologized for not reaching out to her sooner, explaining that you will be back after some time alone. You decided to restrain from mentioning that you had to turn off your phone the moment you escaped from Caleb’s apartment, knowing damn well that if you didn’t, he would be able to track your location without any issue. You knew him and his little tricks like the back of your hand, or at least, that’s what you thought before everything that happened recently.

You were already waving goodbye to them, when it happened.

The boy opened the car door and handed you something, his small hands quick and secretive. Your eyes opened wide, and your smile faltered instantly, recognizing the weight.

“Sorry for taking it, mom never lets me take mine and I get so bored here… But I charged it for you!” He said your name and looked at you apologetically, his round eyes shining excitedly. You gulped, your mouth opening slightly, struggling to find your voice. “You can delete the game now. Oh, and you got a loooot of messages, are you, like, famous?” He asked in a hushed tone, then flinched when the aunt called out to him. He hugged your waist tightly, clearly thankful for your unintentional lending of possession, and went back to the truck, his small hand waving at you through the window until they disappeared from sight, turning onto the main road.

Leaving you by yourself, speechless, your hands full of something you avoided like fire throughout your stay here. The only thing that could betray your location.

A phone.

The one you intentionally turned off and left on the bedside cabinet inside the house.

Your phone.

A device that was Caleb’s only way of tracking you, now lit up after weeks of lying unused, for the purpose of your escape.

“No way, no, no, no, no.” You mumbled, your shaking hands going straight to turn it off, the device turning black again, your panicked gaze staring back at you from its small screen. You closed your eyes and hugged the phone to your chest, praying that it hadn’t been turned long enough for him to track you. For him to notice. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Not now, please. Not yet.”

You weren’t ready to face him yet. You didn’t know if you ever would, but you definitely weren’t ready right this instant, your heartbreak still fresh, your heart too weak to feel this much again.

You looked around slowly, taking in the the sight of the orchard and the endless expanse of the field, calm, steady and sunny, just the way it was during the weeks you’d been here. A gentle wind carried the strands of your hair behind you, the sunhat protecting your head from the light of day. You put the phone slowly inside the pocket of your shorts and began the long path back to the house, your plans of a leisure reading session long forgotten.

It was completely quiet, almost too quiet, but there was no one in sight. You had no idea if he had managed to track your location, or if he was even still looking for you. Maybe he decided to let go, you comforted yourself, even if you knew him well enough to realize how stubborn he could be. You just hoped that maybe if he truly didn’t care for you, he would leave you alone.

The wind intensified, and so did your steps. The house still not yet visible, the long way back made you anxious. You wanted to be inside already, lock yourself up, just in case he really waited for your slip up.

You huffed a small, nervous laugh under your breath the moment you felt the wind biting into the exposed skin of your arms, the temperature dropping, making goosebumps appear on your skin. You bit into your bottom lip and quickened your pace, your heartbeat already pulsing inside your ears, your mind trying to convince you that it was just a coincidence.

But when the wind blew away your hat, you didn’t turn back to fetch it.

Instead, your stride broke into a full-blown run, your legs moving in a panicked frenzy, your hair flying behind you freely. Your lungs and eyes already burned the moment the aircraft appeared in your peripheral vision, its shape and size so unmistakably matching those from the Farspace Fleet that you wanted to laugh at your brain for still hoping is wasn’t.

You heard it now—the deafening roar of it descending onto the field not far from you—and you cursed under your already ragged breath, knowing he must’ve already seen you. There was no one else in sight, after all.

You hadn’t stopped running. The house was twenty minutes away on foot, and if you were fast enough, you could make it before he caught up with you. The plane had already landed, and you didn’t have the courage to look back to see if—

“Hey! Wait!” The shout of your name pierced the wind in your ears, and a weak groan escaped you. He was close, too close if you were able to hear him, his voice bringing back all the memories from that day. Of comforting closeness, then cruel confession said so surely behind your back.

Every single muscle ached, but you didn’t stop running, you couldn’t stop running. The house was already there, peeking from behind the trees, and if only you could reach it in time, you would just lock the doors and regain your false sense of freedom for a while longer.

“Stop runnin’ away from me! Please!”

“Stop—Stop chasing me!” You screamed, the emotions built up inside of you finally having their outlet. “Leave me alone, I don’t—I don’t want to see you, I—I don’t—”

“Just talk to me! Let me explain—” He was getting closer, and your body was growing weaker, your legs moving seemingly only by the sheer force of your will.

“I don’t want to talk to you!” A sob almost escaped your lips, the knowledge and fear that he was this close to you again making panic squeeze at your chest. You were not ready to see him yet, not ready to look at that irritatingly handsome face of his, and hear him lying without batting an eye.

“Baby, please—” Closer. He was so close, just a couple of steps and he wouldn’t have to shout through the wind anymore, but you didn’t stop, couldn’t stop.

“Oh, fuck you!” You shouted right back, tears already forming in your eyes, your legs burning with extortion. How dare he call you this way, as if there was something between you, as if he cared about what happened, about the kiss, your first night, you. “Don’t call me that, don’t chase me like some kind of an animal—Ah!”

Your run stopped abruptly, your chest heaving as you desperately tried to catch your breath. Sweat stuck to your forehead and neck, your limbs tensed, grasping for something, anything, to keep your body from floating up in the air.

Naturally, you failed. His Evol too powerful, holding you gently up in the air, your body too weak to fight back against the invisible force, so you did the only thing you could do at that moment.

You took off your shoe and threw it at him, groaning pathetically when you heard it landing in the grass.

“Let—me—go!” You shouted, your breath heavy after the run, body refusing to calm down. You kept your head turned away from him, unable to look even at his shadow. The knowledge he was this close to you was enough to fill your eyes with tears.

You heard his footsteps close now, his breath heavy. You closed your eyes, tears instead of falling down your cheeks, drifted away from you, the temporary lack of gravity around you taking them away.

First your heart, then your sorrow—what else could he steal away?

You didn’t see how he stood below you, only few steps away, still wearing his Fleet uniform, looking up at your struggling frame with awe and relief. His hand reached out to catch your teardrop with his hand, the sign of your pain staining his fingers now. He brought it to his lips slowly, itching for any part of you, his brows furrowing with anguish.

“I can’t. I let you escape from me once and I won’t make the same mistake again.” His breath was already calming down as he crouched to pick up your shoe, not expecting the other one flying his way, catching it with his Evol right before it hit his head. He scoffed, his laugh sad and full of disbelief, as he let it fall right in front of his face.

“You coming here was a mistake.” He grit his teeth as he heard your poisonous words, spoken in a teary tone. He looked up at you again and his breath hitched. Your drifting body was surrounded by your teardrops, swirling around you and reminding him just how much pain he caused you by his own selfishness. “Me believing in your sugary words was a mistake. Me kissing you was a mistake, God, our whole night together was a—”

“Don’t.” His harsh voice cut through the air, silencing you at once. “Finish that sentence. I don’t wanna hear it.”

“Why? You said you wanted to talk so let’s talk.” With your back still turned to him, your hands swatting at your flying teardrops, his audacity to use his Evol on you making you see red. “Let’s talk about how you tricked me. How you made me believe that we were friends, that I could count on you—”

“Please—”

“That I maybe, maybe meant something more to you. Because it turned out that you were feeding me lies for years—”

“That’s not…”

“You—You made me believe you liked me, and then you… You took advantage of—”

“Quiet!” He nearly growled, his harsh voice echoing in your ears, the tone unfamiliar, instantly making you flinch. The Evol with which he held you up faltered, shaking your body, making a quiet squeal come out of your mouth. For a second there, you thought that he will let you fall right into the ground, but the impact never came.

You finally looked at him, scared and stunned by his outburst. He stood there, eyes clouded and distant, arms hanging loosely at his sides— one hand gripping his hat—both of them shaking equally.

And just when you thought you had imagined his expression darkening, you noticed the clouds shifting faster, the sky growing darker.

A thunder stroke in the distance, forcing the hair on your nape stand straight.

“T-That’s how you think you’ll solve this? By force? By scaring me?” Your voice wavered, your fear slipping right through your confident facade. “I—I don’t take orders from you, Colonel. You will not intimidate me into anything. I don’t—I don’t—” More tears floated around you, your vision blurred, fear mixing with the feeling of helplessness.

He whipped his head, finally grasping the reality upon hearing how you addressed him. And when your eyes finally met, both equally red-rimmed, tired and pleading, he felt as if something in him broke.

Because while he was pleading for a chance to be redeemed, you, on the other hand, for him to stay out of your sight.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have raised my voice. Please, don’t be scared, I’m—” Another plea, another apology, another way for him to mess with your mind, you thought. And you were scared, tired and hurt, lacking the energy for that conversation. Not knowing how to go about this, not being sure if there was anything that he could say that would fix this.

You were too shaken to listen—let alone react logically. Too unprepared to see his familiar face again so soon, to hear the voice that once offered you refuge for years, but now hurt you more deeply than you ever thought it could. Even the touch of his Evol—once used to help you, to ease your burdens, to cheer you up with his silly little teasing—was now a weapon. A way to trap you. To make you feel small. Helpless beneath the weight of his power.

It was not going well at all, both of you clearly too emotional, incapable of having a normal conversation. You weren’t prepared, but you noticed that he wasn’t either, his mental state unsteady, mind locked on one thing and one thing only—to catch you and never let you out of his sight again.

It was no way of resolving anything. And you really didn’t want to get hurt even more—not by his words, nor by the things you wanted to scream at him, rage tangled with fear, creating a poisonous mix that placed the most hurtful of things at the tip of your tongue.

You didn’t want to use them. Saying them out loud to him would break your heart in the process too.

“Let me go. Please. I’m not ready yet, I—” You closed your eyes, and the first drops of rain fell onto your warm skin. “I don’t want to talk. I can’t talk. Just—let me be. We will have to have this conversation at some point. And I know that. B—But for now just. Please, Caleb.” Your eyes full of tears met his, and he opened his mouth just to close it again, the sight of them rendering him speechless. The pleading, hurt look in them seemed to get him out of the trace. “Let me go.”

His breath hitched when you didn’t break eye contact. There was pain in your eyes, but also unwavering resolve. You kept looking at him with those radiant, exquisite eyes of yours, and that’s when he knew: he had lost this battle.

He slowly lowered you down, holding back tears when you refused to accept his hand to steady yourself. Then he bit his lip, his hands shaking, clenching into fists while he was forced to watch you run from him again, battling his desire to chase after you.

You said that you will have to talk at some point, and he believed you. He took your words and cling to them like a lifeline, a reason for him not to lose his hope. He would be patient, he could be patient, he had already waited for you for so long, he didn’t mind waiting some more. At least now he knew you were safe. Now he could protect you.

And he knew that the war to win you back had only just begun.

The heavy rain spattered against the windows, its sound echoing through the house, easing your shaken nerves and slowly lulling you to sleep.

A lightning struck in the distance, brightening the whole room. You rose quietly, waiting for the sound of thunder. Eyes closed, breathing evened out after what felt like eternity.

More raindrops hit your window, pushed violently by the wind as you stood, wrapping yourself in your huge, knitted cardigan, sinking your cold, shaking fingers into the thick, soft material.

He came here, for you.

A fact that you couldn’t shake for hours now, the weather outside an embodiment of what was happening inside your head. He came for you, the moment he managed to get your location, desperate, oh so desperate to talk, to explain, to repent, and you were left absolutely torn.

Because in your mind, you had already started seeing him as the bad guy, that thought a constant companion through these long weeks, your main coping mechanism. And now? He came here, looking anguished and miserable, his face thin and eyes red—a picture of a man in despair—and he was ready to drop everything just for a second of your time.

Which you didn’t give him. And that’s what kept you awake.

Your hand reached for the light switch but in vain. The storm that had lasted for hours must’ve cut the power some time ago, and you accepted it quickly. Your eyes had long since adjusted to the darkness, and you didn’t want to give any sign that you were awake either. You didn’t want to give Caleb false hope, knowing his aircraft still stood on the empty field, exactly where he had landed it hours ago.

You knew he wasn’t asleep either, not if he was as apologetic as he seemed to be. You should’ve listened to him, maybe. And if he hadn’t scared you so much, if he hadn’t used his Evol or raised his voice, maybe you wouldn’t have been so afraid, so defensive. Despite everything he said that fateful night, a large part of you was still curious about what he wanted to say and how he intended to explain himself.

Your deep infatuation with him, your huge soft spot for his expressive puppy eyes, his gentle, playful voice and soft dark hair, were his real weapon. You saw him, looking so devastated and your first thought was to comfort him, despite everything he had done. And you hated yourself for it, hated how much power he held over you unknowingly.

Because was there anything to explain, really? The things he said sounded pretty self-explanatory, and even the simple recollection of them made your heart squeeze painfully.

You knew you’d have to have this conversation sooner or later. He was your best friend’s brother, he used to be your best friend and you had to return to Linkon soon. He would find you then, and the conversation would have to happen either way. So wouldn’t it be easier to just get it over with now and try, slowly, to move on? If moving on from that kind of heartbreak was something you were even capable of.

That was what scared you most about all of this. Caleb had been your friend—the man you loved more fiercely than life itself—and it had taken everything in you just to get out of bed after what you heard from him that day. And now? He had shattered your precious, tranquil solitude so suddenly, and even though you knew that you were supposed to hate him—you should hate him, because that was the easiest way, the only way to survive the heartbreak and reclaim the part of your soul he’d so cruelly taken when he betrayed your trust—You also knew, the moment you saw him running after you like his life depended on it, that what you felt deep inside wasn’t even close to hate.

It was relief.

That he searched for you, after all. A longing, for him to somehow fix this, to tell you that it wasn’t him who said these things despite the fact that it was indisputable, because you would recognize his voice everywhere, even from thousands of miles away you once thought, because of how his timbre made you feel inside. When you saw him, dressed in that stupid, stupid Colonel uniform you felt nothing but love. Love, excruciating love for someone who did not deserve it.

You were stupid, so stupid for being like this, so stupid for still thinking so fondly over the man who lied to you for years, who created a false safe space for you to drown in, who slept with you, even though he thought you were not enough for a wonderful pilot like him.

A sudden crash came from the window downstairs, making you jump in place.

You quickly ran down the stairs, your fingers brushing the wooden railing, your footsteps blending with the sound of falling rain. A cold breeze seeped through the widow, now flung wide open. The wind must have been strong enough to burst it open, and as you rushed to close it, something outside flashed in the corner of your eye.

And your heart almost stopped at the sight.

Your head turned, leaning from the window, the cool droplets hitting your skin harshly, reminding you that you were still awake, and that your eyes didn’t deceive you.

Caleb was sitting right there, on the porch, leaning against the wooden beams, his head hung low, arms crossed on his chest.

And he was soaked to the bone.

Rain dripped from his hat onto his crossed arms, his posture nearly curled in on itself. His body trembled every few seconds from the cold, and the moment you realized he must’ve been standing there ever since you left him—hours ago, just before the storm rolled in—you felt the blood rush into your head.

You left him, but he stayed right there, sitting, waiting patiently for you to come out, not knowing when it will happen. He let you go, but he never left.

“Caleb!” A sudden shout tore from your throat, laced with dread and disbelief, your hands instead of closing the window, reached for one of the blankets lying nearby. “God, Caleb, you—” The front door bursted open and you reached him in no time, falling onto your knees before him, taking off his hat and throwing it to the side in an attempt to wake him.

He wasn’t asleep. Startled, his head shot up the moment he saw you, alarmed by your sudden appearance. His eyes immediately fell to your bare legs, your sleeping shorts far too thin and short to stand against such weather, and he reached for you in a rush of panic.

“What are you—go back inside, you’re goin’ to be sick!” He said alarmed and you scoffed in answer, taking notice of his wet uniform, clinging uncomfortably to his glistening skin. His hair was completely soaked too, streams of rain tracing paths down his temples and nose, the sight making you furious.

“You—absolute—hypocrite!” You barked back, your hands tugging at his wet arms in an attempt to make him stand. You threw the blanket over his head first, his hand grabbing at the material, and then you began pushing him into the house. “I had no idea you—Why did you—?!” He raised quickly, letting you push him past the doorway, and you already felt the cold biting at your skin, the seconds spend outside enough to make you wet.

And he was sitting there for hours.

“I—” He started, but you didn’t let him finish, his posture slightly slumped under the weight of the drenched uniform.

“You—you have a literal plane nearby, why didn’t you hide in there? It’s been raining for hours.” Words escaped you faster than you were able to form them in your head, your hands already working to remove his soaked clothes hastily. He fell completely silent, letting you ease your frustration, his eyes glued to your face. “I thought you were safe in there, I thought you already left, I—I thought—” The heavy material hit the floor with a loud thud, your shaking hands trying to take off the shirt he had underneath, horrified by how cold his skin was underneath your palms.

You bit your lip and sniffed, tears already streaming down your face, whether from the cold piercing at your skin, the thought of him sitting for so long, freezing outside, or from his closeness, which you were deprived of for these weeks, you weren’t able to tell.

You grunted quietly, your fingers slipping from one of the buttons of his shirt, shaking too violently to take it all off. Suddenly, through your blurred vision, you saw his hands reaching for you. You felt their warmth the moment he covered yours, pressing them against his chest. His heart pounded so violently you could feel its rhythm through the wet fabric, sending a shiver down your spine.

A broken sob escaped you, the weight of reality pressing you down hard. His hands stroked your trembling arms, trying to soothe you; but it wasn’t working. The stings or remorse cut through you one by one, haunted by the image of him sitting there, drenched, and cold, and shaking—

“I didn’t want you to—to—I had no idea you were there this whole time, I thought you left t—to sit in your—” Another sob came out stifled, because he brought you in for a hug; his hard, wet chest strangely warm and comforting. You didn’t return the embrace, but stayed there, sobbing quietly, letting him drape the blanket over you both, the material somehow still dry enough to bring comfort.

“Shh… Easy. Don’t cry, okay? It was my decision to stay there.” His soft voice reached you, and another sob came out, this time right into the shirt still clinging to his chest. “I had to stay there. I couldn’t leave you again. I didn’t want to leave you. I’m sorry.” He leaned down and rested his chin hesitantly on top of your head, bringing you even closer to himself. He released a long, heavy sigh, followed by a whisper of your name and another apology.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered right next to your ear, and you trembled in his strong arms.

“I’m sorry.” His hold tightening, and you hated how good it felt to have him this close again.

“I’m sorry.” His words no longer held just one meaning, and you shook your head as best you could, restrained by his tight embrace. Yet you stayed, your eyes closing, heart heavy with the knowledge that you were too weak to run away from him anymore.

The sound of the rain intensified, a thunderstorm still raging outside, and you both stayed close, Caleb cradling you to his chest, swaying gently side to side, almost lulling you to sleep. You took a deep breath, the scent of rain and him washing over you, and realized that you were ready to at least hear him out.

After you both calmed down your breaths and beating hearts, and after your bodies started warming up again, that is.

Because how can someone so warm have bad intentions? The feelings inside you were messing with your head again, and you let them, hoping you won’t regret making that decision.

Wishing, that this love won’t bring you to ruin.

The kettle began to whistle the exact moment he stepped out of the bathroom, candlelight casting his shadow across the room. Every movement danced on the walls, creating the illusion of him surrounding you from all sides. Ironic, because that’s exactly how you felt ever since you let him back in. Your body cautious not to relax in his presence, caged by the unfamiliar weight of broken trust.

You bit your lip and began pouring hot water over the tea, waiting for the pleasant scent to reach you, hoping that it will calm your racing heart—if only for a second. Its rapid beating didn’t slow down since you brought him in here willingly—the very man you’d successfully avoided for a whole month, dreading your next encounter, having no idea how you should act upon seeing him again.

And now there he was—standing behind you nervously, thinking so loudly you were almost able to hear it. Yet you stayed silent, believing that you had every right to. The awkwardness in the air wasn’t your fault, after all.

Letting him inside, not being able to stand the thought of him sitting out there in the storm—that was your doing. And you hated yourself for how easily you let your guard down, and for failing to hide the pathetic trace of love you still carried for him, even after he hurt you so deeply.

Your first encounter several hours ago didn’t exactly end in the way you wanted it to: him using his Evol on you and you breaking down in tears could hardly be considered a peaceful reunion. You were both not ready to talk yet, too shaken by being in each other’s presence after all this time. You, stubborn in your hatred. He, desperate and unraveling at the thought of loosing you again. An explosive combination, a disaster waiting to happen.

So you ran, as fast as you could from him.

And now, because you couldn’t stay indifferent to his discomfort, you had nowhere to hide.

“The clothes fit. They’re even a bit loose.” Caleb’s light tone finally broke the silence, though the slight tremble in his voice betrayed his stress. He was as nervous as you were. “Phew, I’m lucky your uncle isn’t here today, he would totally take me in a fight. To him I would probably look like… a walkin’… A walking stick.” Voice grew quieter with every word he spoke, and once he noticed he was rambling, he clamped his mouth shut, cussing internally.

He had always made a fool of himself when you were near, ever since the day he met you, all those years ago. Even just the sight of your turned back, the knowledge you were listening, made his head heavy with the need to impress you, and now, to make things right. He was terrified that at any moment you might lock yourself away in one of the rooms, somewhere he couldn’t reach you again—and he had no idea how he’d handle it if that happened.

Suddenly, you turned to him, your eyes glued to the mugs of tea you were holding. You placed them carefully on the table in front of you—the only piece of furniture that provided a bit of a distance you so desperately craved to have. From the corner of your eye you noticed he wasn’t exaggerating—the black sweatpants and a white shirt seemed to be a bit loose, and you realized that his homely appearance actually made you feel a bit more at ease. Now, without his Colonel uniform to hide behind, he seemed more approachable, if not more lost.

The air of authority vanished the moment his wet suit hit the floor, leaving only an uncertain man in its wake, one who knew he’d been walking on thin ice the moment you let him into your space again.

And you just couldn’t bring yourself to make him feel more welcome—the words he said still ringing in your ears, despite the time you spend to forget about them entirely.

“Thanks for letting me stay here. And for the clothes.” He was still standing in the same spot and you still refused to meet his eyes. Your hands grabbed one of the mugs and you started blowing air to cool your tea down, thankful for that little distraction, for something warm to hold when your heart was freezing cold. “And I wasn’t sitting there to make you pity me. If you were wondering. I wasn’t tryin’ to manipulate you into anything, I just—”

“I know.” Your voice rusty from the uncontrollable sobbing from before, hands gripping the mug harder. The light from the candles was too low for you to see your reflection on the surface of the drink. Maybe it was for the best, you must’ve looked like a trembling mess, eyes puffy and lips bitten red, still shaken by the storm of emotions that had torn through you during the day. “That, I know.”

You slowly sat on the nearest stool while he processed the meaning behind your words, still standing motionless few steps before you. You took a sip—and the warmth of the drink did nothing to soothe your nerves.

So, you waited. For something. Anything. Feeling his intense gaze on your frame, almost drilling a hole in your head, a silent prayer for you to look back at him.

You couldn’t, and that broke him all over again.

“You run away from me.” His voice trembled and your hands grabbed the mug tighter, the rain outside intensifying—or maybe you just became aware of its sound again. “I’ve searched for you everywhere. Every day. And I was loosing my mind every minute I couldn’t see you.”

“Did you?” You couldn’t help the venom spilling out of you, the tone mocking if it wasn’t so weak. “Why? Because of guilt? Pity? Out of obligation for—”

“Guilt? Pity? Is that what you think?” He took a step forward, and you didn’t move, head held high, still not meeting his eyes. “Everything I did for you, everything I ever said to you was out of—Shit—” His hands ruffled his hair, tugging at the strands. A pause, heavy, followed by a thunder, and then—“Out of love!” The last word nearly a growl, ripped out of him suddenly, as if holding it inside brought him pain.

You froze.

A thunder roared in the distance.

And the tears filled your vision once more.

You stood abruptly, putting down the cup on the table with a loud thud, its contents spilling out, nearly burning your head. His voice calm and sure now, so sure it almost made you choke.

“Out of overwhelming love, that I have felt for you for as long as I can remember—”

“Stop.” You choked out, your head dizzy, hands shaking in fury. What was he saying? What was he even—

“—Out of desperation to make things right, because I couldn’t bear the thought of you sitting somewhere alone, and hurting because of me, the things I said, the things I fuckin’ despise myself for—” He heard you, so he spoke much quicker, words spilling one after the other, hurting you more than you could imagine. He was getting closer to you, and you flinched, one leg already taking a step back.

He wasn’t serious, he couldn’t be. If he were, he wouldn’t have said those things, especially not after he got to have you. It wasn’t what you were prepared to hear, he was surely just messing with—

“Caleb, please.” Not more than a whisper, a calm before the storm, your head shaking, legs feeling weak.

“I lied. I lied that day and you need to believe me. I lied because I was a coward, and I didn’t know what to do, I panicked and I lied, because I love you, and they—”

“No, please, stop, I—I can’t listen to this, it was a bad idea, I—” With tears in your eyes you turned away and passed Caleb quickly, wanting to go back upstairs and hide: hide from his lies, from the hurt of his sudden confession, and from the way his voice sounded, so anguished and outright mad.

He didn’t love you, he couldn’t love you, because if he did he would’ve told you that night, when he held you so close and whispered broken praises into your ear. He would’ve said it then, not now, when you’d already made up your mind to cut him off, to forget the warmth of his body and the cold sting of the words you overheard.

You expected an apology, not a confession, which made and your whole facade crumble with his every word.

“No! Please—” He grabbed your hand, his touch frantic and secure, the contact and the memories it reignited made you gasp. And before you could realize what was happening, he fell down on his knees in front of you, his hands grabbing your arms, the hold strong but gentle, meant to slow you down, rather than cage.

You looked at the bare skin of his back, sticking out of the shirt, speckled with faint freckles, and noticed he looked thinner than you last saw him. Then your eyes landed on his dark hair, falling into his face freely, strands damp after the shower, but still looking so unbelievably soft.

“Please, I’m not lying, I’m—You have to believe me. You have to—Fuck—”

You eyes met and the time seemed to slow down.

Because you saw his beautiful, violet orbs, that always made you feel as if you were looking at the eight wonder of the world, flooded with tears for the very first time in your life.

His lips were trembling and you noticed how chapped they were, his teeth biting into them to stop himself from sobbing. You could hear the humming of your heart in your ears, your whole body shocked to stillness.

He looked absolutely torn.

And you couldn’t look away; your eyes traced the path of the first tear that slipped out of his eye, down to his chin, landing in front of your bare feet.

Like an offering. A statement. The last prayer of a man who lost hope.

“I’m not—I’m not lying to you. You have to believe me, please, please.” Tears. One after the other, tracing paths on his flushed cheeks, eyes burning with sincerity, lashes wet and shiny.

You nodded slowly, a lump forming in your throat, eyes filling with tears upon the sight, but you were trying so hard to keep them at bay.

And after a sniffle, he continued, warm hands stroking your shaking arms, eyes glued to yours like a lifeline.

“I lied that day. Everything I said was a fucking lie, okay? A big, pathetic lie to save my skin, to buy me more time. I said the first things that came into my mind—”

“But I heard you, Caleb.” You cut him off, your brows furrowing, unable to contain your confusion. “I heard you. If you really didn’t mean it how could you sound so sure? You said these things without even a single thought, and you expect me to—”

“I didn’t have to think! I just twisted—I think I just twisted the truth—”

“Wow. T—That’s low Caleb. That’s really, really low—” And when you started to back out from his hold he grabbed you harder, his arms going to circle around your waist, his face pushing into your stomach. You gasped and before you managed to push him away, his next words made you stop.

“No! Wait, shit, that’s not what I meant. Don’t go.” A sob escaped his lips and you took a deep breath, your hand almost reaching to caress his head. You’ve never seen him so broken and the need to comfort him was overwhelming. The sight of his tears excruciating. “I said you were clingy and you are—” Another sharp tug, but he refused to let you go. “You are. You are clingy and that’s okay, that perfectly fine, that’s perfect. And I love that about you. Every time you were holding my sister’s hand, I wished, God—How I wished you would hold mine instead. I wished, I prayed you would cling to me instead. Just as much as I wanted to cling to you.” He raised his head and you saw that he was telling the truth in the way his eyes gleamed, and his cheeks burned red, body trembling against yours.

And you felt your legs nearly bucking under your weight, his words making your head spin, not knowing whether you should stay offended or let him take your breath away once more.

“But—but what about me being annoying? You said—”

“You loved to push my buttons ever since we were kids, you are trying to annoy me all the time, just how I try to annoy you back. But for me, every jab, every joke, it was always to catch your attention. A pitiful attempt for you to just look at me, even for a fleeting second. And it worked—MC always called us annoying because of it, remember? That’s why it came to me so quickly. That’s the only reason I said it so surely.”

He was talking so fast he nearly lost his breath, his chest heaving against you, arms still holding you close to his chest. You took a deep breath and wanted to think, to have a second to process it, the burn in your cheeks intensifying, his words actually starting to make sense, because of your usual dynamic.

But it wasn’t all. It wasn’t what hurt you the most.

“You told them about my fear.” Caleb’s huge, red-rimmed eyes never left yours, and you fought with yourself not to fix the strands of hair that were slightly blocking his vision. His lips formed a straight line and turned slightly downwards, making him look like a kicked puppy. And you felt your anger slowly slipping, hope filling the hole in your heart. “And you listed it as my fault. You took my biggest fear and embarrassed me for it, made me feel like I wasn’t enough. I didn’t even—I didn’t even know you noticed how scared I was when—”

“I did. I notice everything about you. Of course I noticed.” His strong hands hugged you tighter, and a single tear slipped out of your eye. He was still kneeling before you, showing no signs of raising. “Just how I noticed that it didn’t keep you from visiting me at my place, even though the stillness of the clouds terrified you to the point of loosing sleep. But it’s okay. It doesn’t change a single thing for me. I only dreamed of showin’ you the view from the clouds, I hoped that I would take you up there with me one day, to show you that it doesn’t have to be scary. That it’s actually beautiful, and freeing, and calm up there. Cause I would protect you, always. And if you didn’t change your mind it would be fine—It would always be fine. I would just share with you the stories ‘bout the things I saw. And I would be the happiest to do it.” His shaking hands reached to touch your face and wiped the tears from your cheeks, ones that you had no idea you even shed. “I never thought about it as your flaw. Never. For me, you are nothing but a wonder.”

His touch was feather-light and comforting, his hands warm and so painstakingly familiar, bringing you back to the night that changed everything. How he held you back then, as if you were something fragile, something precious.

A wonder.

A sob tore through your body and he shook his head, hushing you quietly, his hands taking a hold of yours, bringing them to his lips, pressing a kiss to every single one of your knuckles.

“Then, why? Why did you list it as one? I just—I just don’t understand why, Caleb.” You cried out, one of your hands leaving his to cover your face from him. The past month of running away flashed before your eyes, making you even more tired. And although you wanted nothing more than to believe him and let yourself be held, he still didn’t give you the reason for saying such things. “Why did you even say that? If you lied, why did you do that? Why, Caleb, why did I have to hear—?”

You were crying again, and Caleb looked at you from his knees in panic, his hands caressing your arms, spine straightening so that his head could rest against your chest. The way he hugged you so tenderly made you want to hug him back, your head fighting with your heart. Yet he still didn’t give you all the answers, no matter how better the situation seemed now. You still had doubts about believing him at all.

There was a beat, or two, and he let out a deep sigh, hands gripping you tighter.

You sniffled, the word around going completely quiet, just to be disturbed by his quiet groan.

“I’m even—I’m even embarrassed to say.” He stood up slowly, and you gulped, his size all-consuming, making him be the only thing you could see. You took a careful step back, and he took one of your hands in his hesitantly. From this position he was too stressed to hug you, opting for less intense contact, especially when your hand was still limp in his, not reciprocating the hold. He scratched at his neck, his eyes meeting yours, an anticipation visible on your features. “And I know that won’t make the situation better.”

“Caleb—”

“Yes. Yes, I know—They—” A squeeze of your hand, the orange spark in his eyes shining beautifully, making your breath hitch. His hand went up to gently touch your face, fingers tracing patterns along your cheek. “They started talkin’ bout girls that day. The boys, my friends from college.” His brows furrowed, eyes looking at your face as if searching for something there. You listened patiently, his earlier words still ringing inside your head, the gravity of them almost crushing you. “Asked me if I knew someone they could go out with. I said ‘no’. They didn’t believe me, though.” His eyes narrowed, chin went down slightly in annoyance while recollecting the conversation. “They started teasing me about MC first. Asking if I would like to have a brother, too. But then one of them mentioned you.” His eyes darkened, the hand on your cheek stopped its caress. “Said he liked you. And that he already had your number. He was pretty confident, said something ‘bout you two having a connection. He said he talked with you that one time you and MC were visitin’ me in my dorm, and I—I started sweating right then and there.”

Your frown deepened but you already knew where this was going. You closed your eyes and swore under your breath, one hand covered your mouth in shock. You couldn’t even remember the guy.

“And—And we just slept together that night, and I finally got to hold you, caress you, kiss you—I was on cloud nine. Wasn’t thinking clearly. And I wanted to tell him about us, that you were mine, but I realized that we haven’t talked about it. And you weren’t there when I woke up—”

“Caleb, I overslept for work, I had to leave quickly—”

“I’m so, so sorry, but I wasn’t sure. I haven’t confessed to you either, I was just too—too overwhelmed, I felt too much, I thought too much and I realized that I couldn’t tell them you’re mine because you weren’t. Not yet.” You bit your lip and looked at him in disbelief, his face getting closer. He put a strand of your hair behind your ear, and his jaw tightened. “And when he asked me what I thought ’bout you I couldn’t tell him the truth. If he knew what I felt he wouldn’t let you go. They wouldn’t let you go, it would only make them want you more.”

You felt your hands shaking, your mouth opening and closing, not knowing what to say. His hands were still holding yours, feeling the tremble, caressing them with his thumbs in an attempt to bring you comfort.

“But you knew that what happened between us wasn’t a one time thing. You knew how I felt about you, and if you felt the same why didn’t you just—”

“I wasn’t sure if you’d pick me, if you had a different choice. And at that moment, I wanted to make sure you would. That they wouldn’t take you away from me. And that they would never want to again.” His hands cupped your cheeks, and you felt how rough and warm they were, your hands immediately going to hold at his wrists. He closed his eyes for a moment and you couldn’t believe what he was saying.

It was all a misunderstanding. And all of this happened because he was jealous? He hurt you so much just because he didn’t want others to reach out to you?

“So you had to say all these things about me? And that was supposed to be a better alternative than lying about us being together? Caleb, it really doesn’t sound—” You pushed his arms away, legs taking you further away from him, craving some space to think things through, but he followed suit, hands already reaching for you again.

“I panicked. I’m so, so, so sorry, I didn’t know what to do, I didn’t know where we stood, and I had no idea if that would make a difference for them. I had to say something to discourage them. So I did.” His hands went to tug at his hair and now he was the one who took a step back, breathing louder, obviously distressed. “And I hated myself for it. It felt so wrong the moment it came out of my mouth and I wasn’t even sure if they even believed me. And then I heard you. Fuck, when I heard you—”

A loud crash, making every single doubtful look from the boys leave Caleb’s face. Grateful for a distraction, his head heavy, heart burning with the weight of his lies. But when he opened the door and noticed your makeup scattered across the floor, his heart sank to his stomach. A wave of terror froze his body for a short while, until he heard you fumbling with the front door.

He didn’t even think about using his Evol, your beautiful frame running away from him enough to make him panic, the things he said hanging above his head, the knowledge that you had heard them becoming his worst nightmare.

And later, when he returned to his empty apartment after hours spend searching for you, calling you in hope you’d pick up, even by accident—he finally broke down. He screamed, throwing his phone against the wall, making it shatter. His Evol spiraled out of control, shifting the furniture, crashing the plates, the entire place left looking as if it had been broken into.

He lost you on the day he finally got to have you. And ever since that day, he hadn’t known peace, until your phone lit up again, a single red dot glowing on his device, revealing your location.

He left the Fleet right then and there in the middle of the meeting, everything else forgotten. Every duty postponed, every shout of his name ignored.

There wasn’t anything more important than you.

And now you were standing before him, as beautiful as the day he lost you, with tears in your eyes and your heart no longer open for him to take solace in. The eyes which used to look at him with mirth and affection—now uncertain, scared of him hurting you again.

And he felt that he was at his limit—one more second away from you and he thought he’ll burst into flames, the intensity of his feelings will turn him to ashes.

So, he begged.

“I’m so sorry. Please. Believe me. Take me back. Give me one more chance. I’m so sorry I hurt you. I swear I will never to it again, as long as I live.” You flinched when he fell onto his knees again, your arms trying to catch him before his knees hit the floor, but it was useless, his body too heavy for you to hold.

“Caleb! Caleb, stop doing that—” You grabbed his arm in an attempt to pick him up, but he was too strong, his bicep not even tightening. Goosebumps appeared on his skin under your palms and his head fell onto your arm pathetically.

And you just couldn’t look at him when he acted this way, your anger dissipating, the situation although still not ideal—him lying, then saying such things behind your back, whether he meant them or not, wasn’t something you could forgive him after one conversation.

Yet you couldn’t bear to look at him like that—on his knees, begging for forgiveness, crying and shaking, words slipping uncontrollably from his lips. In all the years you’d known him, this was the most vulnerable you had ever seen him—and the sight made your eyes sting. The image of the man you loved—once an unshakable, controlled pillar of strength—reduced to a broken mess before you.

You now knew why he did it. And that he didn’t mean it, not in the way you thought he did.

And you understood the jealousy, the anger, and the selfishness, because you had times you felt such way about him too. The image of him with another making you nauseous, the possibility of him loving someone else like a dagger cutting through your chest.

You took a deep breath, and glanced at him again. His shaking back, hands clinging to your body in an attempt to keep you close.

And you had made your decision.

“Oh, Caleb…”

To believe him.

“Caleb, please stand up!”

To build your relationship back up again, no matter how long i’ll take. And you just hoped you were making the right one.

“N—No, you have to understand. Please. I love you. I’m sorry. And I’ll do anything to earn your forgiveness, no matter how long it takes.” He breathed into your arm, his face snuggling into it, his head slowly rising, eyes meeting yours.

And you gasped at the anguish displayed all over his pretty eyes, two eternal sunsets clouded with misery.

“I love you. So much. I am in love with you, and I’ll do anything to prove it, I’ll spend my whole life trying to make it up to you. You want me to give you more space? I’ll do that. I will try to do that. You want me to leave the Fleet? Just say a word. I will. I will follow you to the end of space and time. You like it here? I can build you the exact same house with my own hands, brick after brick, and it would be the most beautiful, peaceful of places, you own private sanctuary. I will—”

Your knees hit the floor, joining him and you grabbed his wet cheeks in your hands, yanking his head down to meet your lips, effectively shutting him up.

And he melted.

Putty in your hands, leaning into your touch instantly, his chapped lips warm against yours, his soft sigh vibrating between your mouths. And when you broke the kiss and met his sparkling eyes, round with surprise and hope, you send him a small smile, holding back the tears that threatened to fall.

You wouldn’t let them. Not anymore. Not when for the first time in weeks you finally believed that you will be okay.

It was all a huge misunderstanding. A big mistake, fueled by insecurities, secrets kept for far too long, his desperation to keep you near, no matter the means. When he spoke so rapidly, afraid you’ll leave him again, you realized that wanting to keep you to himself might have been one of the few times in his life he had ever done something purely for himself—even if his methods were far from right.

You could see now, that behind his thick skin, and the air of countless of responsibilities, he was still just a boy that had to grow up too quickly. For MC. For you. For all of you to live as comfortably as you could, the burden of all your issues and failures always spoken to him, knowing that he will be able to help and find a solution for all of them.

And yet, he never confessed when something bothered him, his feelings and desires always bottled up inside, kept hidden and threatened to spill when it got too much for him to handle.

And that one time, when faced with the threat of someone taking you away from him, the threat of loosing you, the one he loved, he acted on instinct. He chose the option that wasn’t fair, and certainly wasn’t healthy, but he truly believed it could work to keep you beside him for a while longer.

He wasn’t used to being selfish, so he had no idea how to start, and how to do it right.

He looked down at you through half-closed eyes, taking you in and memorizing your small smile—one he felt he hadn’t seen in ages. Then he dove in for another kiss, his arms wrapping around your frame, pulling you tightly to his chest. He couldn’t believe that you kissed him, his brows furrowing, wanting to make this moment last forever.

And you reciprocated every single one of his hasty kisses, your head finally freed from the questions that dragged you down.

You will work this out. You will fix this, together. And you will make sure he’ll know how you feel, so that he could finally realize that he doesn’t have to fight dirty battles just to keep you close. Because you would never want anyone else who wasn’t him.

“Caleb-mmmh. Caleb, oh God, wait.” He reluctantly let your lips go, your lungs filling with a deep breath, and you hugged him around his waist, feeling the fast beating of his heart under your ear. He placed his shaking hand on your head, stroking your hair, placing a chaste kiss on the crown of your head.

“Sorry, can’t stop. Come back here, you kissed me first.” And he took your cheeks in his palms and dived in, wanting to capture your lips in his again, but you blocked his mouth with your hand, making him frown.

You giggled softly, eyes still teary, making his eyes sparkle—mesmerized by the happiness finally breaking through the walls you’d build around yourself over the past month. He kissed your fingers once, twice, his arms resting at your waist as he lost himself in the warmth of your body, and the pleasant fragrance of your skin.

He felt as though he had returned to where he truly belonged. He had finally come home.

You opened your mouth, your cheeks flushed and eyes sincere, and nothing could prepare him for what you said next, your tone soft, slightly unsure, a melody only for him to hear.

“I believe you, Caleb. But you hurt me that day so badly, I thought I would never get over that heartbreak. I thought I lost you, my best friend, the only boy I ever cared so deeply for. I thought you really hated me all this time. And I couldn’t face it, couldn’t even think about it, that’s why I fled.” He nodded quickly, eyes holding so much hurt and regret. You slid one of your hands into his hair, stroking the soft strands gently. And thats when you both sat down on the warm floor, bodies relaxing, hearts slowing down. “But it’s okay. I understand you now. And I’m sorry too, for not letting you explain yourself sooner. I was just so focused on trying to hate you to somehow cope with what I’ve heard—”

“Stop, it’s my fault, don’t—”

“I shouldn’t have run away. I should’ve faced you, even if I was scared of what I’ll learn. But it will take some time for me to forget about it, okay? It really—It really messed me up. The thought you put up with me only because it was convenient.” You bit your lip and he groaned softly, his head lowering, a symphony of apologies falling from his lips once again. You hushed him gently, taking his cheeks in your hands and wiping away the wet trails of his tears. He sniffed quietly, making your heart squeeze. “But it will be okay. Because I believe you. So you don’t have to be scared anymore, I won’t run away again.” His body shook as he kept nodding, biting at his lips, trying so hard not to interrupt you. You leaned over him again, the movement slow, and you looked deep into his eyes, silently asking for permission. Once his eyelashes fluttered, eyes looking at your lips expectantly, you placed a soft kiss on his swollen ones, red from his constant biting, still salty from the tears he shed. “And you have to promise to be honest with me. No more tricks. No more lies.”

“I promise.” Your name escaped his lips like a prayer. “I promise. I will never hurt you again, I swear. I promise. I love you more than you could ever realize.”

He groaned into another kiss, a quiet “mmm” followed by the touch of his hands on your cheeks. He brought you to himself closer, one kiss turning into three, four, five and still counting, yet all of them gentle and reassuring, meant to anchor, not escalate. One of his hands landed on your hip and tugged, touch meaningful—he wanted for you to sit in his lap, and although you were still shaken, you craved the closeness as much as he did.

You climbed onto his lap, your thighs bracketing his hips as he deepened the kiss, his tongue teasing at your lower lip.

You let him in, slowly, unhurriedly, your ears catching the sound of the falling rain, the storm coming back with the same intensity as before—but this time, it didn’t feel like a bad omen anymore.

You parted with a quiet pop, Caleb’s head instinctively following yours, unwilling to let the distance linger. His large hands caressed your arms and thighs, his expression love-drunk, looking as if he couldn’t believe you were really here with him again.

His eyes met with yours and you swiped the pads of your fingers below his under eyes, tracing the faint freckles.

A whistle of the wind, a spatter of rain against the window, the sound of your beating hearts, and then—

“I love you too, Caleb.” His breath hitched, hands clenching on the material on your shirt, eyes big and shining with disbelief. “I love you. So much. You’re the only boy I’ve ever loved.” His eyes closed and he rested his forehead against yours, the tips of your noses touching in a gesture so gentle your eyes stung.

“Again. Repeat that for me.” He whispered in awe, and you obeyed, another confession spoken into the night. One of the candles burned out, marking the end of a chapter, and, hopefully, the end of your separation. “Hmm, again.” He probed and you did, watching as a soft smile spread on his lips, his thumbs swiping circles into the exposed skin of your thighs. “Wanna hear it again.” Caleb’s voice unbearably soft, his touches even more so, and you put your hands on both sides of his neck, putting more distance between you. “And again. And again. I never want you to stop saying it.”

He opened his eyes and studied your face, eyes closing when you pressed a lingering kiss on one of his eyelids, his breath shaky, hands warm against your skin.

“I love you. Have been for so long I lost count ages ago.” His lips formed a line, happiness squeezing at his chest, and he nodded once, eyes opening slowly to bore into yours and don’t stray.

“Ages?” He repeated, partly mimicking your words from weeks ago, but still visibly shaken, chest filling with the warm ache of being accepted. Of loving, and being loved in return.

He cursed himself internally, eyes nearly filling with tears, dread rising in his chest at the thought that he had almost lost you, because of his selfishness and insecurities.

You kissed his lips again and he almost sobbed right into yours, his head falling onto your shoulder, kissing the soft skin, feeling the way in which it warmed up under the contact. He hugged you to his chest, kissing your neck, wanting to be even closer, to get under your skin, to merge with you for evermore and never let go.

“Ages.” Your answer sure and final, your arms returning his embrace, hands tracing patterns into the skin of his strong back. His necklace rested right next to your heart, where it should always be.

You began to hum a lullaby,letting your soft voice replace the harsh sounds of the rain and thunder. The melody drifted through the house, seeping into the walls, and into Caleb’s memory.

And when he whispered more confessions, his lips marking your skin with them, you exhaled a long, steady sigh, marking the end of this cruel storm.

And later, as you fell asleep in a tight embrace, listening to each other’s heartbeats and imagining the life ahead of you, neither of you noticed the objects gently floating around the room—silent signs of Caleb’s excitement. The heavy stone of guilt had finally lifted from his chest. He had won you back, and he wasn’t going to let you get hurt again—not by him, not by anyone else. He swore to protect you, and he would keep that promise for as long as he lived.

And if the sound of plant pots shattering, books tumbling, and your things scattering around woke you up from your slumber hours later, his puppy eyes, a kiss to your cheek and a promise of a breakfast in bed was enough to make you melt. You could always clean it up later.

This time, together.

*bonus!*

3 years later

* 15+ unread messages from [ my miss hunter!<3 ]*

✉︎ hii babey, why is caleb being so weird today??? he literally called me earlier, asked me to freaking pray for him and hung up on me that menace.

✉︎ did u like fight or smth? u never fight what did he do this time

✉︎ the last time he acted so weird was when he ate his bday cake day early cause he didn’t realize what it was for, remember that? what do u see in him i cant quite understand we’re like, losers trapped in hot bodies istg

✉︎ wait he just send me a pic

✉︎ OH MY GODDDSSG???? BABY CONGRATULATIONS!!!!! THIS SECRETIVE LITTLE SHInzsn

✉︎ you look so happy in that picture!! im literally bawling, the ring’s so pretty and you both look gorgeous. im so so so happy for you (*꒦ິ꒳꒦ີ)♡ ♡ ♡ i love you guys sm please INVITE ME TO THE WEDDING IN CASE CALEB FORGETS TO TELL HIS SIS SOMETHING THIS IMPORTANT AGAIN

✉︎ im so happy for you, can’t stop looking at ur lil happy faces. U both deserve the world. NEXT UP!! picking a wedding dress!!!!! Im already on it, you’ll look like a PRINCESS!!! ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧ gorgeous little b caleb’s a lucky maaaaan

✉︎ call me when you’re done with kissing!! or u know, other stuff. u guys can be pretty gross.

✉︎ i love you. both. can’t wait for the wedding!!!!!! AHH!!!

thank u for reading!! 🤍 if u managed to that one’s LONG. I hope it was worth ur time 🥺

if u want to support me, u can do it here!!: https://ko-fi.com/kitimeq

every like, comment and reblog would mean the world to me 🤍

[delusionsofgrandeur13]

canine

your roommate!simon “ghost” riley x reader

eighteen plus or else. i'll literally find you i stg.

you buy a toy that’s marketed as ‘deathly silent.’ too bad your roommate is a highly trained soldier.

“deathly silent”: that’s what the box said. that’s what the ad, the website, the product name, all said. 

and it was, in and of itself, silent. 

but you and your noises weren’t. 

at least not to your roommate, government trained, experience-laden, finger on the trigger, simon “ghost” riley. 

you’d been amicable, cordial roommates for two years. it’d gone without a hitch: he responded to your post online, went through your vetting process. agreed to get a background check. 

once he’d moved in, (if that’s what you’d even call it) it was like you still lived alone. even when he was deployed, rent was deposited right on time, every month. 

but somehow a man that size had learned to move silently. you’d never quite been able to figure it out. sometimes he’d scare you, sure, but he always apologized and moved on. made sure to make his footfalls heavier for the rest of the day. 

over the course of two years, you’d managed to learn a couple of things about him. 

he likes his coffee black—he buys the same brand they keep on base. 

but when it comes to tea, simon buys artisanal earl grey. 

he’s got a couple masks, so he’s always wearing a clean one. 

he puts his boots next to yours at the door. jackets are the same story. 

he has to make huge portions for himself when he does cook, so you’re always offered some. you stopped declining a month in: the man knows his way around a kitchen. 

he likes chocolate chip cookies, but not as much as he likes brownies. 

it’s almost weird to know so much about someone you’re not quite friends with. not quite family with. 

you’ve never lived in such close quarters with a man you’re not related to or in love with. so this purchase was extremely necessary. 

if you never had to hear him.. 

then he should never have to hear you. 

“mm, fuck!” you whispered around clenched teeth. at the sound of simon’s feet walking down the hallway, into his room, you slap a hand over your mouth. 

his presence next door just puts words to your unconscious thoughts. every sliver of fantasy pulling you closer to the crest is roommate related. 

you’re reminded of his eyes above the skull mask, the bulk of his shoulders in a black shirt. how he spreads his legs when he sits on your couch watching the game. it’s inescapable to you, inexplorable. it’s a safe place in your mind. 

your roommate, whose cologne lingers in the hallway. whose empty cups of tea sit in your sink. 

inescapable. inexplorable. 

a high pitched whine escapes from between your fingers, your back arching from the mattress. 

this thing was a lot stronger than you realized. 

your legs shake as you reach orgasm number three, your toes clenching. you can barely keep a grip on the toy itself, you’re so wracked with sensation. 

pleasure coats your bones, a slickness that oozes out of every pore, out between your legs. 

simon heard the buzzing from the kitchen. he’d seen the ‘discreet packaging’ in the trash. this wasn’t his first day on earth. his roommate's got a new toy. 

he can’t get the sound out of his head. he can hear it over the sound of water boiling in the kettle, over the football talk show on low in the living room. it’s utterly inescapable. 

an attack animal trained to hear frequencies he shouldn’t—simon was cursed with the knowledge that you were fucking yourself stupid behind closed doors. 

the thought alone had him throbbing under his joggers, blood swelling the piece of meat between his legs. 

it was already torture, living with someone like you. 

someone with such a light inside. someone who smiled at him like he wasn’t a monster with a kill count in the tens of hundreds. someone with great legs, that peeked out from tiny sleep shorts. if you asked he’d toss you a pair of his boxers to wear instead. 

he was waiting for you to ask, like you ever would. 

it was torture, knowing he had a bird waiting at home for him that wasn’t exactly his. 

torture that he had to hear your whines as he walked down the hallway, and couldn’t do anything about it. 

shouldn’t do anything about it. 

he shut his door with a loud click, giving you the chance to stop if you wanted. 

you didn’t. 

it was torture, but he couldn’t resist any longer. 

leaning against the wall, his head tipped back to hear better, he gives in.

simon slips his hand under the waistband of his sweats, fist immediately around his cock. 

his thumb brushes over the tip, and he’s making his own noises. 

they blend in with yours to soundtrack his thoughts, a scenario where he’d be the one under those sheets with you. instead of some stupid piece of machinery. 

you grow louder, your poorly muffled whimpering seeping through the thin walls. 

it’s obvious: you’re not trying to hide it anymore. 

you can’t. 

pleasure has taken over. sensation has gained command of your good sense. 

the finish line nears, and you can barely keep the buzzing piece of rubber on your clit as your whole body shakes, shudders. a full-bodied moan rips from your mouth as you soak the sheets, liquid squirting from underneath your fingers. 

the next room over, cum coats simon’s knuckles as he shudders into his own fist, the room spinning. 

he can’t remember the last time he came so hard. 

simon coughs, thankful for his mask. his cheeks are burning hot. 

“nice shirt, eh?” he remarks, his eyes trained on the ‘RILEY’ painted over your shoulders. 

you turn your head, smiling. it almost hurts to see you like this. like you’d just been rolled around in bed. 

“thanks?” you reply, a little confused. it was just the first clean shirt in your drawer. 

your roommate’s acting kind of odd.

he shakes his head. you have no clue what you’re wearing. what you’re doing to him. 

“s’mine,” he growls out. tone a little harsher than he means for it to be. 

you finish stuffing your dirty sheets into the washing machine, dropping a soap pod in after them before slamming the lid closed. 

looking down at the shirt you’re wearing, the fact that it’s simon’s is becoming increasingly obvious. it smells like him, it’s about three sizes too big, and it’s sporting a logo reading TF141 over the left breast. pulling at the shirt until you can read the back, your eyes widen at the huge letters of his last name. 

“i’m sorry! d’you want it back?” you squeak out, mortified. 

“nah, keep it.” simon says, tone flippant. devil-may-care. 

if that’s the way it’s gonna be, maybe he’ll slip a pair of boxers into your laundry later.

༄ first time writing cod! writing simon! i thought of this prompt and just knew i needed to put fingers to keyboard about it. lmk if i need to explore this more! ❤︎

divider: @viviansturns

[idoiising]

saja boys meeting you at a fansign

genre : fluff

contents : reader is not a fan of theirs and they take it as a challenge , mild beefing with jinu, baby saja aegyo im sorry,

you couldn’t believe you’d given in. your friend had been bugging you for days about this new boy group that had debuted and you were getting tired of it.

she had been blowing up your phone with edits, memes, and variety show clips of these guys non stop from the moment she caught wind of them. you didn’t understand what the fuss was all about at all. where did they even come from? no big company behind them, no obvious ties to the industry. you were convinced something fishy was going on.

totally not because they were charting higher than the groups you loved.

regardless of your opinion on them, you had ended up in line for their fansign and would have to act interested for the next hour.

“you’ll fall in love with them after seeing them in person y/n, i swear!” your friend had exclaimed, her phone in your face displaying the results of the fansign lottery she had entered god-knows how many times to win these tickets.

you looked around at the others in the queue as she tried to predict which member would be your favourite. god, everyone here is obsessed. every single person other than yourself was completely dripped out in saja merch. not a causal fan in sight.

that thought became solidified when the doors finally opened and security began to allow everyone in. utter chaos erupted from all around you. screaming, crying and shaking fans pushed you from every direction. all you could do was allow yourself to be moved by the crowd into the building.

the building was a decent size but the sheer energy of the fans was taking up a lot more space than the room was set up for. you’re pretty sure your feet got stomped on twice and your hair got yanked out of the style you’d put it in this morning amidst the chaos, as well as losing your friend in the crowd .

after around fifteen minutes of elbow-jabbing hell you managed to squeeze yourself through to your assigned seats only to find your friend already sitting there “jeez, that was insane” you laughed as you sat down, hoping your friend would joke back and make fun of the crazy people too.

she didn’t respond. her attention was glued to the empty table up front, her hands nervously playing with the lion keychain on her purse. your eyes widened a little in shock. you had never seen her like this; so wound up over celebrities that she’d only known of for a few days.

before you could tease her, the room erupted into crazed shrieks once again.

the saja boys had arrived. they walked out in a line, hair swooshing perfectly and jewellery swinging just like in all the ads. yeah, they were hot. you couldn’t deny that. but you live in the city, there’s hot people everywhere! you weren’t convinced to join the mass psychosis of the pride just yet.

the boys bowed and thanked everyone for coming before taking their seats and setting up for the signing. security started to choose people to line up, your friend being one of the first.

you could’ve sworn you saw the light leave her eyes for a second, shock overtaking her at the thought of being one of the first people to go see them up close. you put your hand on her shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

“you’ve got this, go see them!” you smiled. as much as you thought she was overreacting, you knew she would beat herself up if she didn’t go up there. she nodded anxiously and let security guide her to the front.

you pulled out your phone and began recording her as she went along the line of idols, it was the least you could do for her after not being very enthusiastic about this whole thing.

once she finished chatting to the last member, she quickly skedaddled back to you and threw herself back down on the metal chair. the feet screeched across the floor a bit but no one noticed over the sound of her hyperventilating.

“oh my god, y/n……oh my god” she repeated, face in her hands.

you laughed nervously, worried that she would work herself up into a serious panic attack or something.

“mystery touched my hand…i can’t wash it ever again.” she choked out, showing you her very normal looking left hand.

“yeah…glad you enjoyed yourself” you said.

before you could show her the video you took, you felt a tap on your shoulder. a tall security guard stood over you in a defensive stance. he looked like he was expecting you to pounce on him.

“your turn”

your heart almost fell out of your chest, making you panic for a completely different reason. you couldn’t go up there, you weren’t sure you even remembered all of the members names. you weren’t a real fan, surely it wasn’t fair that you should meet a group you don’t even care about when there were thousands of people who would kill to be in your position right now.

“oh no thank you, i’m just here for emotional support. she can go again though!” you pointed towards your friend who was still cradling her hand like it had been blessed.

the security guard relaxed his muscles and stared at you as if you had just grown a second head.

“you don’t want to go? you need to go. it’s unfair if one fan gets double the time with saja boys. you have a ticket, you see them” he stated plainly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

you looked to your friend for a second and mouthed a ‘i tried’ before reluctantly getting up from your seat and joining the line to meet the saja boys.

it takes you far too long to realise you don’t have anything for them to sign other than a crumpled napkin that’s been living in your back pocket for god knows how long.

jinu

the first member at the table is jinu. you know his name since he’s the one speaking in most of the promos and ads you’ve seen. he’s still finishing up talking to the girl in front of you but once she moves away he locks his attention onto you.

you look away awkwardly and sit down opposite him, only looking back up once you’re settled in your seat.

“hi” you say quietly, not really sure what to say to him. you’ve been to fansigns before but you’ve known the groups well and had so much to say to them that you’ve never had to worry much about there being an awkward silence before. this was a first for you.

he sees that you’re looking around a lot, not saying much, and assumes that it’s nerves. that’s the case with everyone he’s seen today. and the day before that, and the day before that.

“hey, no need to be nervous, what’s your name?” he asks, tilting his head to the side to try and meet your gaze.

your head shoots up, oh no he thinks you’re having a total fangirl freak out. you need to let him know that you’re chill and that he doesn’t need to do the whole loving idol shtick for you. it’ll make this a lot less awkward for both of you.

“oh nonono im not nervous, i just don’t have anything to say to you really” you start, laughing awkwardly.

“my friend dragged me here, i don’t even know all your names if i’m honest, i’ve only seen you guys do some ads and stuff and i’ve heard the song but i’m not too crazy about it so don’t worry about doing the whole ‘i care about you so much i love my fans’ act. i’m chill, you’re just some guy to me” you smile, genuinely hoping that it’ll relieve some tension from the situation and he can get a five minute break from being an idol while he chats to you.

jinus face completely drops. he looks a little disgusted even. he definitely didn’t take any of that as friendly and genuine. if he lifted a hand and asked for guards to seize you, you wouldn’t be surprised. shit.

“oh” he says, dumbfounded.

you stare at each other, both completely shocked by each others reaction. before the silence starts to make you itchy.

“my names y/n…by the way…” you blurt out, realising that he did ask your name.

something changes in him and you see it. like he’s been switched back onto regular programming. your slight moment of awkwardness reminds him that he does have the upper hand here. you’re not totally disinterested if you’re at least trying to make him comfortable–he can win you over. he smiles sweetly, relaxing his eyebrows.

“nice to meet you, y/n. i’m jinu, the leader of saja boys” he gestures over to the rest of the boys along the table.

“i would give you a heads up and tell you the names of the rest before you speak to them, but i think this is pretty funny” he says, his smile turning a bit sinister now that he’s switched his tone to teasing.

your mouth drops open. what an asshole.

you reluctantly hand over your napkin for him to sign, and he shoots you a confused look before flattening it out the best he can and signing his name with a little ‘:P’ next to it.

you narrow your eyes at him as you move over to the next seat, sticking your tongue out at him in defiance.

not like you care about the stupid beautiful saja boys names anyway

(you absolutely do now)

abby

you step over to the next chair and place yourself on it. sitting across from you is the second saja boy on the line up, one of the pink haired ones.

“hi” you say, meeting his eyes.

he says hello as he shifts in his seat, stretching his arms out behind him. you had watched him pull this move every single time someone new sat down in front of him so you were prepared to be met with his muscles up close.

what you weren’t prepared for though was for his shirt to come untucked from his jeans in the process, the waistband of his boxers daring to peek out from behind them and the shadows of his v-line revealing themselves to you.

the force it takes for you to wrench your eyes back up to look at his face could hold back an army. looking away feels like a sin. but you succeed. he grins when he makes eye contact with you again.

“want a copy?” he asks, pointing a finger to his stomach.

you don’t answer, but your face does. eyebrows screwing together in confusion.

he takes that as a yes and rips off a fresh piece of paper from a notebook he has on hand before slapping it across his lower torso and creating a tracing of his abs.

you can feel yourself gawk. who on earth does that? he seems so pleased with himself when he hands you the paper, signed.

“i won’t charge you any extra” he winks at you.

you can’t help but feel a twinge of admiration. he’s looking at you like a labrador that’s super proud of the hole it just dug in the garden. he doesn’t seem like he has any thoughts in his head at all.

you kind of like that.

“thanks.” you smile.

mystery

you slide into the seat across from saja number three, who’s already waving at you with both hands.

“hello” you say, waving back at him.

he’s wearing a longsleeved shirt that has thumb holes, giving him permanent sweater paws. it’s cute.

you decide to comment on it since he seems shy and being the first to speak might make things a little less awkward.

“i like your shirt. i used to cut holes like that into my school uniforms.” you admit, smiling at the memory. although yours was the result of crappy d.i.y. and his definitely cost most than your months wages.

he nods excitedly before creating claw shapes with his hands so you can see better. maybe he just doesn’t speak at all?

you stare at him for a little bit before snapping out of it and sliding your napkin over to him for him to sign. he takes it from you and goes to reach for a pen, but there’s none on this part of the table.

you start searching too once you notice what he’s looking for, but there are none on the floor or in the pen pot that’s sitting right next to him.

he grabs your attention quickly by waving his hands around frantically before raising a single finger to his lips in a ‘shhh’ motion.

next to him abby is posing, muscles on display for the fan in front of him. he’s so busy checking himself out through the fans eyes to notice mystery stealing his whole pot of pens.

you share a mischievous giggle with mystery as he triumphantly signs his name.

they all seem pretty close, maybe they aren’t a perfectly manufactured cash grab group after all.

romance

by the time you reach the fourth member he is covered in a ridiculous amount of hair accessories, necklaces and bracelets that have been gifted to him by fans. you scoot over to the seat across from him and try to keep a straight face as he removes a pair of huge sparkly pink sunglasses that were given to him by the last person.

“ah there we go, i can see your sweet face properly now” he says casually, placing the glasses down on the table.

you almost gasp out loud, the image of him looking so silly completely wiped from your memory. god that was smooth.

he takes the napkin you’ve been getting signed straight out of your hand, letting his fingers brush the back of your hand briefly.

“what’s your name, love?” he asks slowly, with the confidence of someone that knows his face would send poets mad.

“y/n” you stutter out. you aren’t sure how to speak to this guy who’s flirting so heavily with you, even if you suspect that he’s definitely like this with everyone.

he nods, as if it’s obvious.

you watch him as he signs his and your name together in a heart with a little plus in the middle.

he doesn’t comment on the napkin, you’re not sure if he even notices. he’s looking at you as if you’re the only thing that matters in the world, his dopey, loved up gaze piercing through your soul.

you reach to take the napkin back and he takes your hand as you grab it, flipping your hand over and kissing the napkin on top of your open palm.

there’s a faint lip gloss kiss-mark on it now. you didn’t even notice he was wearing any. he looks as if he wakes up in the morning with perfectly shiny lips.

god y/n snap out of it.

you don’t know how long you were just staring at each other for but before you could keep track you were being ushered to move to the next seat.

it takes you another hour until you notice the phone number daintily written around the heart.

baby

you finally reach the last member of the group and notice that he looks super young. he’s definitely the scary rapper that your friend always talks about, you remember something about his ‘crazy duality’.

he had been watching you as you were talking to the other members, unbeknownst to you. its not often they come across people that don’t care much for them already so he’s interested in speaking to you.

“this your first time seeing us?” he asks. it wasn’t a question really. he knows the answer, he just wants to see what you’d say.

you’re taken aback a little by how deep his voice is compared to his youthful face and the way he is styled. the fluffy pastel jumper doesn’t exactly scream baritone.

“uh, yeah. didn’t know a thing about you guys until today actually” you laugh awkwardly, sliding him your napkin to sign.

he takes it from you and nods, signing his name with bejewelled fingers.

“are you a fan now?” he asks cheekily, looking up at you with sparkling eyes. you try not to pay attention to his dimples and the way his cheeks seem to puff up like dumplings when he smiles.

“ah, i’m not sure. i’m just here for my friend” you say, trying to sound as polite as possible even though your words aren’t the kindest.

he scans the crowd briefly before locking eyes with who he assumes you came here with. you look over your shoulder too, towards your friend. she has her phone in the air, recording. yeesh.

the cogs start to turn in his mind, if he cant make a fan out of you now he should at least give you something to watch over and over until you become one.

“aww you’re not a fan of baby saja?” he pouted, grabbing your hands and placing them on both of his cheeks. he keeps his hands on top of yours for a good few seconds, running his fingers over yours while he holds them there.

you stare, shocked. this level of fan service is crazy, you think. you won’t be surprised if security come in and wrestle you away from him right now. surely this isn’t allowed.

“i might be…” you trail off, struggling to find anything else to say when you’re holding his face in your hands so tenderly.

“good!” he chirps, letting your hands fall away from him. he slides your napkin back over to you and waves you off “thank you for coming !”

he knows you’ll be back.

[brucedefender4eva]

After the fourth night in a row where one of his kids directly disobeys his orders and gets hurt even more

Bruce is just done

Burnt out, drained, weary; whatever the fuck you want to call it at this point

He’s been working on himself a lot lately. And at this point in all his relationships, he understands that taking away their alter-ego and benching them will only backfire on him.

So he doesn’t do anything

He mentally throws his hands up in defeat and just… does whatever they wants to diffuse the situation

Dick is expecting another yelling match to commence the moment they get back to the cave. In fact, he went out tonight deliberately trying to get to this moment. He brought cough drops for the aftermath to soothe his throat from all the yelling. He knows it isn’t healthy, but he just needs to let out some steam

Instead of their usual routine, Bruce gets out of the Batmobile and doesn’t even look at Dick. You can’t say his posture is… relaxed… but it isn’t wound up tightly like it usually is when one of his children gets hurt

Bruce goes over to the Batcomputer and starts typing down what happened on patrol that night while Dick does his best not to put any pressure on his possibly broken leg

After a few minutes of silence, Bruce sighs and turns back to Duck with a raised eyebrow, his face passively blank

“What?”

Dick shifts and winces as his entire leg throbs painfully. “A-aren’t you gonna call Alfred?” Dick responded back petulantly, keeping his voice low in hopes Bruce wouldn’t hear him then get annoyed and finally show some emotion

“Your arm isn’t broken, is it? Use it.” Bruce said simply before turning back around and continuing to type.

Dick felt anger bubble up in his chest, but it felt stupid to try and start a fight when Bruce obviously wouldn’t engage.

Dick storms off in a huff, at least he tries. He makes it a few steps before deciding to sit down and call Alfred.

“Love you,” Bruce calls back to him without turning around, causing Dick to stick up both of his middle fingers in retaliation.

Or with Jason, he’ll pick his battles and accept whatever happens afterwards

Jason’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. Extremely reminiscent of when he first came to the Manor

He had shot someone on patrol. Could he have used his rubber bullets instead of his real ones? Yes. Did he lie to Bruce and say that he didn’t have real bullets in him? Also yes

But fuck Bruce and all the rules he has

Now it was completely silent as they rode home in the Batmobile.

Jason checked over his gun for the fourth time before carefully tucking it back in her holster.

“You’re seriously not gonna say anything, old man?” Jason griped. Usually, this would be the catalyst for a large-scale argument, but there was nothing. Not even an eye roll for Jason's old man comment.

“What’s the point? Not like you’ll listen anyway.” Bruce shrugged, ignoring Jason's angry scoff as he stopped the Batmobile. “Here, your safe house.”

Jason blinked at Bruce, looking at him incredulously. “Are you fucking serious? You’re dropping me off at my safe house? Not gonna allow me in the cave anymore?” Jason snarled, not even thinking to question how Bruce knew where his super secret safe house was.

“You said, and I quote, ‘never wanna set foot in this fuck ass cave another day of my undead life’.” Bruce raised an eyebrow, at least it sounded like he did. Hard to tell with the cowl.

“Fuck you!” Jason decidedly does not pout as he gets out of the car and starts storming up to his door.

Bruce rolls down the windows and shouts out a quick ‘love you’ before speeding off into the night.

He won't enable it, but he's not gonna go out of his way to stop them if he's tried once before

Tim’s sitting down at the Batcomputer, mulling over a case that Bruce said to drop several times or at least put a pause in it, cause it's taking its toll on the young detective

When Bruce walks downstairs, Tim’s expecting a confrontation since Bruce had told him to go to sleep at least four times already

But nope

When Bruce noticed Tim looking at him, he simply gave him a greeting grunt before shuffling through his own stack of papers

“I know you said to go to bed, but I’m almost done! I swear!” Tim pressed his back firmly against the swivel chair, waiting…

“Mhmm…” Bruce hummed, barely listening. “Sleep, don’t sleep. Whatever.” Bruce takes another sip of his tea before placing it beside Tim, grabbing a folder full of paper, and pressing a kiss to Tim’s forehead. “Have fun, love you.”

Damian’s angry at him for something perfectly normal to be angry about, whether it’s regular teen stuff or vigilante stuff? Agree with him

While he’s threatening to stay a week at Dick’s place or even the Kent farm, Bruce is packing a bag for him

He nods and hums along absentmindedly as Damian rants that he can’t stand being in the Manor. Nothing he hasn’t heard a million times before from his children and other non-children

“What are you doing?” Damian questioned, finally stopping his rant to actually pay attention to what his father’s doing

“You said you needed a break from me, right?” Bruce grinned, actually okay with the house being quiet for a few days. “You’ve been dying to hang out with Jon more, go on.”

Jon, who was listening in just like his father always is, was already floating outside with the biggest and brightest smile on his face

“Have fun, kiddos. Love you!” Bruce called out, ignoring Damian’s sputtering as he shut the manor door behind him

——

Explanation for this post

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