#and i miss him... so much every day... why does my heart feel like it's just empty without seeing him i don't know | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

reilemon · 3 months ago

Text

Powdered Gold

⚠ MINORS DNI (18+ ONLY) ⚠

♡︎ synopsis: When you invited Caleb to stay at your place in hopes of rekindling your friendship, you didn’t realize you’d be inviting the feelings you shunned years ago. You both changed, but what you feel for each other hasn’t—and maybe, this time, you’ll be brave enough to reach for it.

♡︎ pairing: Caleb x fem!reader

♡︎ tags: fluff, angst, smut, Caleb calls you pipsqueak (and always will in my fics), Caleb is a virgin, but reader isn't, oral (both of them giving and receiving), creampie as always

♡︎ word count: 10.3k

♡︎ a/n: this is my first time writing Caleb, so pls be nice to me ok??

♡︎ this is not beta read but i'm still giving a shout-out to my bestie ♡︎@its-de♡︎

divider by @/anitalenia

Caleb’s voice echoes from the bathroom, breaking you out of your thoughts. “How many body lotions does one person need?”

You roll your eyes but don’t respond immediately. Instead, you smooth the fabric of his shirt between your fingers before placing it on a hanger in your closet. Then you go to the bathroom.

You lean on the doorway, crossing your arms, “You’re not being a very pleasant house guest with comments like that.”

He’s standing in the shower, placing his travel size toiletries in one corner, his back turned to you. “And you’re not bein’ a very nice host for making your guest sleep on the sofa.”

You roll your eyes again.

This was your idea. That’s what you remind yourself as you watch Caleb settle into your space like he’s always belonged there. You were the one who matched your vacation days with his, and invited him to stay here instead of a hotel.

It made sense. You hadn’t seen much of each other since he came back, just a few meetups here and there, a handful of nights at his place. But now, for the first time in what felt like years, neither of you had somewhere else to be.

The sight of him here, snooping around your bathroom after setting down the toiletries you know he’ll use up in a day before inevitably stealing half of yours, warms your heart. When you’re like this - so close to him, grabbing his wrist to drag him out of the bathroom because ‘why are you inspecting every corner, you’re so weird!’ - and when he lets out that impish chuckle as he says ‘but I need to get acquainted with my vacation place.’ - it feels like nothing has changed.

Like there are no threats in the shadows. Like both of you haven’t lost a little light in your eyes.

But you have.

And now, watching him here, so effortlessly at home in your space, you’re not sure if it’s comforting or bittersweet.

⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

Time quickly passed while helping him unpack and putting away his stuff, and now it’s already dinnertime and you’ve worked up an appetite. You glance, from where you’re sitting on the sofa, at Caleb who’s rolling up his sleeves before opening your fridge. Before he can ask you anything, you stand up and start walking towards the coat rack.

“Since I am such a gracious host,” you begin, earning Caleb’s attention and he turns to you, “I’ve decided to spare you of your cooking duties on your first day – “

“It’s dinnertime.” Caleb intercepts, with a mock offence in his voice.

You ignore him. “We’re going to one of my favorite places to eat.”

He closes the fridge and turns to you, crossing his arms. “That is too vague. Do I need to change and wear something fancy? Is it your treat?”

“Do you want to come or not?”

“Sure!”

You toss him his jacket and when you reach for your purse you remember something. “Oh, wait – I got you something.”

You dig into your purse and pull out a brand-new lip balm, holding it up with a triumphant look. Caleb eyes it, then sighs.

“You’re so thoughtful. Thanks.” His flat tone as he accepts it makes you grin.

“It’s extra moisturizing so I don’t have to keep looking at your dry lips.”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “Oh? Why do you want to keep staring at my lips?”

Heat spreads across your face instantly. You immediately look away, mumbling, “I’m not staring.”

He hums, unscrewing the cap as he tilts his head. “What was that, pipsqueak?”

You exhale sharply, ignoring him. But the moment he swipes the balm across his lips, with orange glow of sunset spilling over his face, you can’t help but steal a glance. And you just know he catches it. But, for once, he doesn’t tease. He just smirks knowingly.

You grab your jacket a little too quickly. “Let’s go.”

He doesn’t say anything, just follows, still smirking as he tucks the lip balm into his pocket.

⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

By the time the two of you return to your apartment, you feel sleep already overtaking you. The dinner turned into wandering around some shops, then you had smoothies, then Caleb insisted walking around more to burn off calories. Usually, an evening like that wouldn’t be so tiring if you didn’t spend the whole day cleaning and tidying up, and then picking him up at the train station. And there were these waves of butterflies in your stomach, that would appear whenever you thought of him. It was draining, and frustrating.

But not confusing.

You thought those feelings had disappeared. You really did. But as the years passed and you started a new life here—new city, new people, new experiences—you told yourself you’d moved on. You had to.

A heavy sigh leaves your lips as you fluff up his pillow after slipping it inside a fresh and clean pillowcase. You already took a shower, stole one of his baggy shirts and paired them with pajama shorts and fuzzy socks. While he’s in the bathroom, you decided to set up the bedding on the sofa, since you’re sure he must be tired as well, even if he’s not showing it. As always.

Though your body feels like velvet, heavy with exhaustion, you still accept Caleb’s suggestion to watch a movie before bed.

"We don’t have to watch it tonight." Caleb lingers in the doorway, eyes flicking over your sleep-heavy expression.

"I’m fine!" You try to sound convincing, but you’re already tugging the duvet over yourself. "I just need to lie down."

Caleb huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he watches you nestle deeper into the cushions, head resting on the pillow meant for him.

"It’s so nice and cozy in here," you murmur, voice already thick with drowsiness. The crisp, freshly washed bedding cocoons you, pulling you under.

He chuckles, stepping closer and tapping your legs, silently telling you to move. "You’re just trying to convince me that this is comfortable for me."

Before you can protest, he takes your legs and settles them over his lap.

Your body stiffens at the contact. This is normal. It should be normal. It’s not the first time he’s had your legs in his lap. You inhale deeply, telling yourself to relax, to stop overthinking. You’re just getting used to his presence again.

Though, suddenly, you don’t feel so sleepy anymore.

The movie plays on the TV, filling the space with voices and background noise. Comfortable silence settles between you both, broken only by occasional remarks—mostly Caleb critiquing the acting. Of course he can’t keep quiet even during a movie. You fight the urge to roll your eyes, but the annoyance fades the moment his hands slide under the covers, grazing over your shins.

He glances at you, voice low. "You seem a little tense. Was the walk too exhausting?"

Your breath catches for a second before you close your eyes, exhaling slowly. His fingers press against the tight muscles in your calves, kneading gently.

"Maybe a little." you murmur, your voice softer than intended.

He murmurs a small apology, letting his hands make it up to you. He presses and kneads with just the right amount of pressure, his thumbs digging into spots that unravel you far too easily.

Heat blooms deep inside you, catching you off guard.

He works his way down, his palms smoothing over your ankles, rolling slow circles there before moving to your feet. The added texture of your socks only makes it worse—the friction, the warmth of his skin through the fabric, the way his thumbs press into the soles of your feet, it makes it so much harder to focus on the movie.

You bite your lip, pulse thrumming. A small sound threatens to escape your throat, and you swallow it back before lifting your legs off his lap. You murmur a small “thank you” and curl up on your side, your gaze now glued to the screen.

Caleb teases you, saying you look like you’re about to pass out. And even though you mumble a half-hearted protest, swearing you’re still awake, your eyes flutter closed before the movie is over.

His presence might be the source of your simmering frustration, of all the feelings you’re trying to ignore—but it’s also the most comforting one you’ve ever known.

⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

When your eyes open, it’s already morning. Sunlight filters through the curtains, casting a soft glow over your room. You’re warm, nestled beneath the comforter, a plushie tucked securely in your arms. A sleepy smile tugs at your lips as you nuzzle against it. You don’t remember how you got to bed, but you don’t need to think too hard about it. Caleb must have carried you here last night, just like he always used to, slipping back into old habits as if no time had passed at all.

The scent of something familiar drifts in from the kitchen, rich and savory. He’s up, moving around the kitchen, already making breakfast.

You stretch lazily before dragging yourself out of bed, moving through your morning routine. After freshening up and changing into more presentable loungewear, you step into the living room.

"Look who’s awake!" Caleb’s voice greets you the moment you enter. His back is turned as he works at the counter, only glancing over his shoulder briefly before returning to whatever he’s preparing.

You groan, voice still laced with sleep. “I don’t want to hear the usual ‘by the time you got up I already jogged’ and blah blah blah!” Caleb laughs at your mocking tone, shaking his head as he grabs a pair of plates from the cabinet. He starts setting the table, saying something in response, but his words blur in the background when your eyes catch on something unexpected.

A pillowcase. His pillowcase.

It’s hanging on the drying rack by the window, the fabric swaying slightly from the morning breeze. Your brows knit together.

"When did—why did you wash this?" You gesture toward it, confusion clear in your voice. "It was completely clean."

Caleb barely falters. "It was, but I drooled on it last night," he says easily, still arranging the table. "Didn’t want to make too much noise, so I hand-washed it."

You huff a small laugh, tempted to tease him for drooling, but for some reason, you don’t. Maybe he was exhausted. Or maybe your scent bothered him. Your stomach tugs uncomfortably at the thought, but you brush it off before it can settle. Don’t be ridiculous.

Instead, you take a seat across from him, scanning the breakfast spread. He made everything you like in the morning—even bought coffee from one of your favorite coffee shops. The warmth in your chest is immediate, dangerously soft, dangerously familiar.

“You should quit the colonel position,” you look up from the bowls and plates, meeting his gaze properly since you walked in – he’s already watching you, a hint of amusement in his eyes, “A – and be my personal chef.”

Damn it.

Heat creeps up your neck at the stumble in your voice.

He shakes his head with a small chuckle, setting a glass of water in front of you. "I wouldn’t mind that."

⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

The room is bathed in the dim, flickering light of the television, casting soft shadows across the coffee table cluttered with half-eaten snacks. The scent of buttered popcorn lingers in the air, warm and familiar, mixing with the faint traces of Caleb’s cologne. He sits comfortably beside you, one arm draped along the back of the sofa, his posture relaxed, his focus on the screen in front of him.

You should be watching too. After all, you’re the one who recommended it, but Caleb wanted to wait, saying he’d rather watch it for the first time with you instead of on his own. And now, here you are, barely paying attention at all.

Your eyes are glued to the phone screen, and every so often, a quiet giggle escapes you, fingers tapping swiftly against the glass as you reply to messages. You don’t notice the way Caleb’s gaze flickers to you from the corner of his eye. You don’t register the barely-there tightening of his jaw as you keep getting distracted, your smile aimed at a screen instead of him.

At first, he says nothing. He lets the minutes pass, lets you have your moment, but with every small laugh, every glance downward, his patience begins to fray at the edges.

Who the hell is so funny?

He shifts beside you, stretching slightly, making himself known, a silent reminder that he’s still here. But you don’t even glance up.

Fine.

The movement is swift—before you can react, Caleb reaches over and snatches your phone out of your hands.

“Caleb!” You protest in disbelief.

He leans back against the sofa, holding your phone just out of reach, with a self-satisfied smirk on his lips.

"I thought we were watchin’ this together?"

You blink at him, momentarily stunned by the sheer audacity, before a scoff escapes you. "Did you seriously just take my phone?"

He shrugs, turning it over in his hands, inspecting it, like he has every right to.

Your eyes narrow. "That is a violation of privacy."

His smirk widens slightly, thumb hovering just over the screen. "So what were you laughin’ at?"

You sigh in defeat. Time to change the tactic.

You lunge for your phone without hesitation, but he’s faster—his arm lifts easily, keeping it just out of reach, and he leans away, making you chase after it.

"Caleb—!"

The next few seconds is a blur of limbs, the glowing screen of your phone, and breathless laughter.

You scramble onto your knees, grappling at his wrist, stretching upward, trying to reach the device, but he moves effortlessly, dodging you like this is nothing. You nearly lose your balance in the process, your hands bracing against his chest—

Fuck, those muscles are strong.

Caleb chuckles at your failed attempt, his grip on your phone still firm, completely unbothered by your struggling.

You’re not giving up that easily.

With renewed determination, you grab at his wrist again, pushing against him with your full weight, throwing him slightly off balance. Your bodies end up in a tangled mess of limbs as both of you topple on your side onto the cushions. His body is so close, his warmth suddenly everywhere. Your breath catches, but you don’t have time to dwell on it, because you notice a slight flinch when your fingers brush against his ribs.

You blink up at him as realization dawns, slow and sweet and far too tempting.

Caleb’s expression shifts instantly. "Don’t."

A slow, dangerous smile spreads across your lips.

You dig your fingers into his side, and he twists in protest, his muscles flexing as he tries to escape you. His laugher is light and carefree - and it is the most unfairly attractive sound you’ve always loved.

You falter for a second too long.

Caleb doesn’t waste the opportunity. Before you can react, he grips your wrist, and with ridiculous ease, he flips you onto your back. By the time you catch your breath, he’s already caging you in, pinning your wrists above your head with one hand.

Everything stills for a moment. His breathing is heavier now. Yours is too. The TV hums softly in the background, but neither of you are listening. Your phone has slipped onto the carpet, forgotten. His grip isn’t tight, isn’t restricting, but it keeps you in place. Caleb’s gaze lingers on you, no trace of teasing left in his expression. And something about that - the way he’s looking at you, about the weight of his body pressing against yours, how his chest rises and falls above you—sends a slow, unbearable warmth curling through you.

But then, just as easily as he pinned you down, he lets go. You sit up quickly, forcing a small laugh, brushing off the moment like it was nothing. Caleb leans back against the sofa, running a hand through his hair before reaching down and lazily tossing your phone back to you.

“Alright, alright. I’ll stop stealin’ your stuff. For now.”

You roll your eyes, unlocking the screen, but you hesitate for a second before speaking. “I know it was rude to text during the movie,” you admit, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. “I was just talking to my friends about tomorrow.”

Caleb doesn’t react at first. He’s stretching out his legs, seemingly unfazed, “Yeah?” his voice is too neutral. “What’s happening tomorrow?”

“I already made plans to go out with them.”

There’s a flicker of something in his expression, something quickly buried, masked with indifference. He exhales through his nose, nodding, like he’s completely unbothered.

“Cool.”

"I won’t be out late," you say quickly, feeling a pang of guilt. “Just a couple of drinks, maybe some dancing. I’ll be back before you know it.”

He makes a noncommittal sound, eyes flicking back to the screen, but his jaw is tighter now.

You hesitate, studying him for a moment, before offering a small smile. "If it makes you feel better, you can come pick me up.”

That makes him glance at you, his eyes softer now. “Yeah. Alright.” Then he takes the TV remote to pause the movie, and now his full focus is on you. “So, what are you gonna to wear?”

The question makes you flustered, warmth spreading across your cheeks. “I don’t know.” You admit quietly. It is the truth, which is why you’ve been texting your friends during the movie. But he hasn’t seen you in anything revealing before—not really. Not outside of tiny glimpses in summers past, when you’d lounge around in shorts and tank tops, never once thinking about how his eyes followed you.

And it shouldn’t be a big deal. It wouldn’t matter if you weren’t so unbearably attracted to him.

You spent too much time getting ready this morning. From the cozy loungewear you’d picked out before breakfast, to the outfit you chose for your day out with him, to the subtle refresh of your makeup before settling down for the movie—it had all been intentional. Every choice, every small detail, designed to make you look effortlessly good.

“Why don’t you show me the outfits you had in mind?” He asks, leaning back against the sofa, “Maybe I can help you.”

You force yourself to exhale, keep your tone light. "Fine. But don’t be annoying about it."

Caleb smirks, tilting his head slightly. “No promises.”

⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

You disappear into your room, trying to shake off the ridiculous way your body reacted to that simple suggestion. You shouldn’t care. It’s Caleb. He’s seen you barefaced and half-asleep, wrapped in blankets, wearing mismatched pajamas. He’s been around you long enough to know every version of you.

You exhale slowly, smoothing your hands over the fabric of your dress. It’s soft beneath your fingertips, sleek and form-fitting, hugging the shape of you in a way that suddenly feels too revealing. You refuse to dwell on it.

You smooth your hands over the fabric before stepping out, ignoring the way your pulse picks up the moment you re-enter the living room.

And the moment you do, Caleb stills.

He doesn’t shift, doesn’t smirk, doesn’t offer some offhanded remark the way you expect him to. He just watches, his gaze moving over you. Then, his brows pull together slightly, his head tilting as if he’s weighing something in his mind.

"Hm. I don’t know."

You gasp, almost appalled at the comment. “What do you mean you don’t know?” You’re trying your best to sound normal, and not like your cheeks are burning under his gaze. He looks effortlessly handsome, sprawled across the sofa with his arms draped over the backrest, legs spread in a way that makes him seem both completely at ease and utterly in control of the space around him.

His eyes lift to yours. "Turn around for me."

The request is effortless, spoken with the same ease as everything else he says. But something about it—the quiet authority in his voice, the way his gaze stays locked onto yours, unblinking—makes your skin prickle.

You try to shake off the thought, rolling your eyes dramatically. “Turn around? What, am I on a runway?”

A smirk tugs at his lips. “Exactly. Indulge me.”

⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

You try on another dress, stepping out with a little more confidence this time, expecting at least some approval. But Caleb only exhales, tilting his head slightly, his mouth pressing into a thin line.

"Not my favorite."

You huff, retreating into your room once again, determined to find something he can’t find an issue with. But it becomes a pattern. No matter what you put on, Caleb always has something to say.

"That one’s not very practical."

"You’ll be freezing in that."

"It’s fine, I guess."

But you’re not stupid. The pattern is glaringly obvious—the more revealing the dress, the less he seems to like it.

After one final unimpressed hum from him, you let out an exasperated breath. There’s a pile of clothes on your bed and your muscles are aching from the endless zip-twirl-sigh routine. “Okay,” you snap, sharper than intended, “you’re officially no help.”

Caleb smirks, stretching his arms overhead until his shirt rides up, revealing a sliver of toned stomach. “Just bein’ honest.”

You roll your eyes, reaching for your phone on the coffee table. "Whatever. I’ll just ask my friends."

You barely hear whatever excuse he’s offering now, his voice a low murmur in the background as you tap out a message. Then, an idea pops up in your head. You glance up from your screen, cutting him off mid-sentence. “You should go out as well.”

Caleb stops, his gaze flicking to yours, just for a second. Then, he shakes his head, exhaling lightly. “Clubs aren’t really my scene.”

You nod, finishing your message and sending it off before locking your phone. You lean your shoulder against the wall, the cool surface pressing against your heated skin.

"Well, who knows—" your tone is casual, "you might meet a cute girl."

His laugh is hollow. “Doubt that’s happening.”

“Oh?” You tilt your head slightly, feigning innocence. “You have someone back home?”

The room stills.

You notice Caleb’s jaw shifting just slightly before his frown deepens. It’s not irritation—not exactly.

"I don’t." His voice is steady. Then, his gaze sharpens, latching onto yours, his expression more serious than before. "I would’ve told you, like I promised."

A breath catches in your throat.

"Like we promised."

Caleb’s words linger. I would’ve told you. Like we promised. You stare at him, throat tightening as his gaze sharpens—he’s studying you, dissecting the guilt spreading across your face.

“You never told me,” he says, voice deceptively casual, “if you ever liked someone.”

Your phone buzzes in your hand, but you barely register it. You don’t want to answer this question. You swallow, but your throat feels dry. "We weren’t talking as much." The words come out quieter than you intend, "It didn’t seem relevant."

“Relevant.” He repeats.

You inhale sharply, forcing yourself to meet his gaze even as something in your chest tightens. "You can’t deny we grew apart, Caleb." The words claw their way up, bitter and ugly, “And you're the one to talk - as someone who decided to go no-contact for months.” and the second they leave your mouth, you regret them.

You watch his face shift from stunned to something that looks an awful lot like hurt.

Before he can speak, you sink onto the sofa beside him, your scarred knee bumping his. “I’m sorry.” you curl your fingers into the fabric of your dress to keep from reaching for him. “I didn’t mean that.”

His eyes soften and a sigh leaves his lips. Then, the faint pressure of his palm settles on your head, the familiar gesture offering comfort. “You don’t have to apologize,” he says, voice low.

You lean into his touch, eyes burning. “But I am sorry.”

“I know.” His hand stills, heavy and warm. “So am I.”

The admission is so quiet you almost miss it. You glance up, but he’s already looking away, jaw clenched against whatever else wants to spill out. So am I for leaving. So am I for coming back broken. So am I for loving you like a man who was never meant to fly—reaching for the only light that ever felt like home, even knowing that if I get too close, you’ll be the one who burns.

You don’t press. Instead, you let your shoulder bump his. He exhales, tension seeping out of him as his hand slips down to cradle the nape of your neck. "Come on, pips." His voice is quieter now, lighter. "We should get some sleep."

The argument dissolves, but the ache remains—a bruise you’ll both keep pressing, to remind yourselves it’s real.

⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

Even though it was late, you had insisted on finishing the rest of the movie, clinging to the familiar comfort. You slipped back into the playful banter – you had whined about the pile of clothes still sitting on your bed, blaming him for it. Caleb, ever unbothered, had only smirked and offered to neatly put them away tomorrow.

While he was in the shower, you took the time to make up the sofa, tucking the sheets with more care than necessary. When he stepped out of the bathroom, hair damp, skin warm from the heat of the water, you didn’t comment on the familiar citrus scent clinging to him—the scent of your body lotion.

You’d exchanged a quiet goodnight before retreating to your bedroom, closing the door behind you.

Grabbing the pile of discarded clothes, you stacked them onto the armchair in the corner, ignoring the mess for now. You had planned on wearing your usual pajama tank top, but Caleb had insisted you wear one of his shirts again, claiming it was more comfortable.

You’re here now - lying beneath the comforter, pajama shorts brushing against soft sheets, the soft fabric of his shirt enveloping you, and yet still— you’re completely awake. Your eyes remain wide open, staring into the darkness, as if sleep might find you if you just keep pretending you’re not thinking about him.

You shift beneath the comforter, rolling onto your side, then onto your back, only to flip your pillow to the cooler side and press your cheek against it. The softness offers no relief.

A deep sigh slips past your lips, but the weight in your chest remains.

I should have told him.

You should’ve told him about the men you’ve dated. You should’ve kept your promise. That’s what he did. But you tell yourself, keep comforting yourself, that at some point your lives drifted apart. When time and distance made him feel more like a memory, you thought it didn’t matter anymore.

Except it did. It mattered to Caleb.

He’d said it plainly —I would’ve told you—as if keeping that promise was as simple as breathing. No loopholes. No expiration dates.

Your breath hitches slightly, something twisting in your chest. You roll onto your side again, eyes drifting toward the empty space beside you.

The dull ache in your lower back pulls at your attention, a stiffness lingering in your shoulder. You shift slightly, frowning at the discomfort— a souvenir from last night when you’d fallen asleep on the sofa. He had carried you to bed, made sure you were comfortable. And now, he’s the one out there, sleeping on the same sofa, crammed into a space too small for him.

The guilt creeps back in.

Finally, with a sigh of surrender, you throw off the covers and rise from your bed. You move carefully through the dark, the wooden floor cool beneath your bare feet as you make your way toward the living room.

⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

The apartment is silent, save for the faint hum of the city beyond the windows, and as you reach the doorway, you pause, peering inside. Your eyes take a moment to adjust, but you can already make out the shape of him—Caleb, stretched out on the sofa, one arm draped over his stomach, his breathing steady. For a second, you think he’s asleep -

"Can’t sleep?" His voice is quiet, but in the stillness of the apartment, it still makes you flinch.

You step closer, your gaze meeting his, even in the dark. “You should sleep in my bed tonight.”

There’s silence for a moment. You can’t make out his expression, but you can feel the hesitation in the way he exhales slowly.

Then you hear a soft chuckle. “I’m perfectly fine here.”

You narrow your eyes, irritation mixing with your exhaustion. Of course, he’s being stubborn. Any other night, you might have tried to coax him with teasing, maybe thrown in a snarky remark or the fact that he’d be doing the same thing for you if the roles were reversed.

But it’s late, and you don’t have the patience for an argument you know you’re going to win anyway.

So instead, you move without warning.

With one swift motion, you snatch the duvet right off his body, yanking the pillow from beneath his head before he can even react. A startled breath escapes him, but you don’t wait for a protest.

You’re already retreating toward your bedroom, grumbling under your breath, "I’m trying to be nice here."

Behind you, Caleb exhales a quiet laugh, shaking his head. He doesn’t argue this time, just watches for a moment before finally pushing himself up from the sofa and following.

By the time he steps inside, you’re already back beneath your comforter, curled on your side. The mattress shifts slightly as he settles in beside you, his presence familiar yet suddenly overwhelming.

“Goodnight,” you say, too stiffly.

“Night.” His reply is softer.

You close your eyes, and the fact that he is sleeping in a comfortable bed eases your mind long enough to let you drift off to sleep.

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When your eyes blink open, the darkness feels denser, heavier. The digital glow of your nightstand clock blinks 3:07 AM. You're not sure if you ever truly slept or if your mind simply hovered somewhere between dream and wakefulness.

The room is silent, save for the distant murmur of the city and the steady rhythm of Caleb’s breathing behind you—deep, even, grounding. You listen for a moment, letting the sound soothe you, lulling your nerves the same way it always used to. From the sound of it, he managed to fall asleep.

Slowly, carefully, you shift onto your other side, moving as if the smallest rustle might wake him. Your body rolls toward him, your eyes adjusting to the dark until his silhouette takes shape in front of you. He’s asleep, facing you. The moonlight spills in through the slit in the curtains, illuminating his face with delicate silver light. His brows are relaxed, mouth slightly parted, and one cheek is gently squished against the pillow.

Seeing him like this makes you smile, faint and bitter-sweet. He looks like a memory. Like all those nights you used to crawl into his bed after a nightmare, when he’d shift just enough to let you under the covers, barely awake but always aware of you, always there.

But the warmth of that memory fades almost as quickly as it came. Guilt rises like bile, acrid and insistent.

I don’t blame you.

You should have said that. You wish you had. When you apologized earlier, when you sat beside him trying to make up for your comment, you should’ve said that too. Because it’s true. You don’t.

You understand why he disappeared. You understand why he didn’t call, why he let you think he was gone—you know that he did it to protect you.

But the girl who slept with his necklace clutched in her fist for months, who scrubbed explosion residue from her hair until her scalp bled—she blames him. A splinter of her still does, lodged too deep to dig out.

Your eyes sting, but you blink quickly, swallowing down the lump in your throat.

You focus on the rhythm of his breathing, his lashes that cast delicate shadows on his cheeks, the slight sheen on his lips. He is right here.

So close you could reach out and touch him. So close you can feel the warmth coming off his body.

And yet, so impossibly far.

But wasn’t he always?

Hadn’t he always felt just beyond reach, even when you shared the same space, the same roof, the same memories?

You had spent so many years convincing yourself he didn’t see you that way—that his devotion was born out of duty, not desire. That he was bound to you by shared history, not longing. You told yourself that he saw you as something fragile, something to protect—not something to love.

But there were glances. Touches that lingered longer than they should have. But he never crossed the line. Never let himself want aloud.

So you told yourself he didn’t want to. That he couldn’t. That you weren’t something he was allowed to reach for.

And that’s why you found distractions. That’s why you chased comfort in other people. Because if you couldn’t have him, you had to have something.

But now, lying here beside him, in the quiet of your own bed, there are no distractions. No excuses. No distance left to hide behind. And suddenly, you wonder—

What if he wanted more?

What if he was always waiting for me?

You could wake him now. Could trace your fingertips over his eyelids, could say the words that have lived in the marrow of your bones since before you knew their name. I loved you then. I love you now.

But your lips won’t move. Your hand won’t reach out. Instead, all that comes is the memory of the aching regret that followed you around when you grieved him, whispering your sins in the dark - You should have told him. You should have been brave.

But now—he’s alive. He’s here. He’s right beside you.

But nothing is the same.

And even if you let yourself reach for him, even if you handed over every buried feeling and begged him to take it—the world around you hasn’t changed.

The people who tried to destroy you once are still out there, still watching, still hunting. There are still shadows at your back, and Caleb has always been the one who walks toward them first.

And if you lost him again—really lost him—

You don’t know if you’d survive it.

Because if regret was unbearable before, the devastation of another goodbye—this time after knowing what it’s like to have him— would split you open, would leave you hollow as the day you buried an empty casket.

You don’t realize the tears have started to fall until your vision blurs, until a soft sniffle betrays you. Caleb stirs - he takes a slow inhale, then a deeper one. You still, but it’s too late. His eyes open—drowsy with sleep—but the moment they land on you, on the shimmer on your lashes, they sharpen with clarity.

"What’s wrong?" He whispers softly, concern clear in his voice.

You swipe hastily at your cheeks, the salt sting lingering on your skin. “Nothing,” you lie, offering a trembling smile. “Just a nightmare.”

He doesn’t question it. Doesn’t search your face for more or press for the truth he knows you’re not giving. He just reaches out. His hand finds yours first, then the warmth of his palm presses against your side, gentle as it invites you closer.

You hesitate, just for a moment. But then your body moves on instinct, pulled to him like it always is, like it always has been. He shifts onto his back, making room for you, letting you tuck yourself against his chest, his arms wrapping around you.

You let yourself melt into him. Let yourself take comfort in the solid warmth of his body, in the slow, steady rise and fall of his breathing against your cheek. Your tears dry slowly, absorbed by the fabric of his shirt. Your fingers trace the chain around his neck, finding the pendants, the metal warm from his skin.

And you listen to the heartbeat beneath your ear.

Strong. Steady. Real.

He’s alive.

He’s here.

He’s yours, if you want him.

The fear is still there. The shadows haven’t disappeared. The world is still dangerous, still cruel, still capable of breaking him again.

But here, in the cradle of his arms, with his heartbeat syncing to yours, you finally understand: bravery isn’t the absence of fear.

So, maybe…

If that’s what sits at the end of this—if tears and heartache is what awaits you—then let it be. Let the hurt come. Let it hollow you. At least the emptiness will echo how fiercely you loved him.

You lift your head from the steady rhythm of his chest, propping yourself on your elbow, your face hovering just above his. Your eyes find his in the moonlight—half-lidded, warm, still laced with sleep, but softened by the sight of you. A small, barely-there smile touches his lips, a quiet relief. His thumb brushes your cheekbone, calloused and warm, and you lean into his touch, your lashes fluttering shut. Then you feel the press of his lips against your forehead, featherlight and lingering.

When your eyes open again, he’s still watching you. Your faces are close now, close enough that your breaths mingle, close enough that the brush of your nose against his sends a soft shiver down your spine. You glance down at his lips, drawn to the place you’ve denied yourself for too long.

His fingers still on your cheek.

And when your gaze returns to his, you see it - the look you’ve spent years misreading. The one you chalked up to pity or duty, something you’ve caught glimpses of over the years and turned away from. Something you didn’t recognize at first. Then later, refused to acknowledge out of fear.

But now, there’s no more running.

You shift closer slowly, cautiously, as if giving him time to stop you if this isn’t what he wants. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. His eyes dart to your lips, just once, but it’s enough.

In that stillness, you close the distance.

The kiss is soft. His lips are warmer than you imagined, but still a little chapped. He goes utterly still, as if fearing the slightest movement might dissolve this moment. But when you press closer, his hand slides to the back of your head, his other arm wrapping around your waist to pull you flush against him.

And when you finally pull back, his forehead rests against yours, his eyes still closed.

“Tell me I’m not dreaming.” he murmurs.

You smile softly, and press a delicate kiss to his eyelid.

“You’re not dreaming, Caleb.” you whisper.

His lashes flutter open. His gaze searches your face like he’s still trying to understand how this happened. His hand rises to your cheek, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth with aching gentleness. And then he moves. This time, he closes the distance. His mouth moves over yours, his breaths shaky against your skin. There’s no practiced skill, no calculated seduction—just raw, aching want, tempered by the fear of wanting too much.

Your hands slide from his chest to the nape of his neck, fingers threading into the silken, messy hair. He groans, low in his throat, the sound vibrating through you as his tongue brushes hesitantly against yours. It’s clumsy, earnest, his nose bumping yours, his teeth catching your lip by accident.

“Sorry,” he mumbles against your lips, but you laugh—a soft, breathless sound—and pull him closer.

“Don’t be.”

You lean into it, guiding him with soft sighs and quiet hums.

His hands hold you tighter now—one on your back, the other slipping down, splayed at your waist like he doesn’t know how to stop touching you now that he’s started.

And when your lips break apart for breath, you don’t pull away. You rest your forehead against his, and you whisper, barely audible, "I don’t want to stop."

He exhales, "Me neither."

Your fingers tremble slightly as they wander from his hair, along the line of his jaw, your thumb brushing the corner of his mouth before trailing lower. Over the column of his throat, skimming the pulse beneath his skin, before drifting lower—over the planes of his chest, the ridges of his abdomen. You feel the way he shivers beneath your hand, how his muscles tense slightly.

His breath hitches when you tug at the hem of his shirt, fingers curling there, his gaze locking onto yours.

He doesn’t need you to say it.

Without a word, he sits up, the sheets pooling at his waist as he yanks the shirt over his head. The fabric falls to the floor, and for a moment, you just stare—you’ve seen him shirtless before, but never like this. Never yours.

You gently press against his shoulder, coaxing him to lie back down, and he does so, collapsing against the pillows. You swing one leg over, your thighs bracketing his hips, but you hover just above him—close enough to feel his heat, yet far enough to let him breathe. You lean down to reclaim his mouth, your hands framing his face. The kiss deepens, and you tilt your head to better taste him, to feel more of him. He gasps into your mouth, one hand slipping to your lower back, the other lowering—slow, unsure—to brush against your bare thigh, the contact making you shiver.

And still, his hand doesn’t wander, doesn’t explore. It lingers like he’s afraid of being told to stop.

You pull back just enough to see his face, your breaths mingling between kisses. Your hand covers his where it rests against your leg, and you guide it higher, to your hip, where your skin is warmer.

You hold his gaze. “You can touch me, Caleb.” Your voice is soft, “Wherever you want.”

His eyes widen slightly, color blooming high on his cheeks. His fingers flex against your skin, then he speaks, “I don’t… I’ve never—” He swallows hard, and you see the flicker of frustration in his eyes, not at you, but at himself, at his own nerves.

“I know,” you whisper, your hand slipping up to cradle his jaw, your lips brushing just beneath his ear. “It’s okay.”

Then, slowly, you lower yourself until your hips meet his, the hard ridge of his arousal pressing against you. His head falls back with a groan, eyes squeezing shut. Heat blooms through your belly at the contact, and your hips rock forward just enough to make him shudder.

His hands clamp down on your hips, holding you still. “Wait—wait.”

You freeze, pulse thrumming in your ears. “Do you want to stop?”

“No,” he says, eyes snapping open. “Just… let me—” He swallows, his voice dropping to a plea. “Let me do this right.”

You smile, and brush his hair away from his eyes. “There’s no right, Caleb. Just us.”

He exhales, nodding, and then his hips roll upward tentatively, the friction drawing a gasp from both of you. His thumbs press into the soft curve of your hips as they continue to move against him in a slow, rolling rhythm. The thin barrier of fabric between you—his sweatpants, your pajama shorts—only amplifies the heat, the friction of every roll of your hips against his. His breath hitches, his eyes fluttering closed, as you grind down again, your own shorts riding up, the seam catching just right. He curses under his breath, hips jerking up to meet yours, his hands sliding down to grip your thighs.

You want to feel all of him, nothing between. And the way his hands start to roam, still cautious, still learning, tells you he’s thinking the same thing.

You shift slowly, rising from his lap with a final roll of your hips that leaves him gasping, lips parted, brows knit. His hands fall away reluctantly, his eyes flickering with confusion and curiosity. Your hands trail down his chest, over the taut planes of his stomach. His muscles jump beneath your touch, his breath hitching when your fingers graze the waistband of his sweatpants.

“Wait.” His hand covers yours, trembling. “You don’t have to—”

You lift his palm to your lips, “I want to.” Your gaze holds his. “Let me show you how much.”

He swallows hard, but nods.

You hook your fingers into the fabric, tugging gently. He lifts his hips, letting you peel the layers away, his eyes never leaving your face. When you finally see him, all of him – hard, heavy, straining for you, you feel a fresh heat rise in your chest, in your belly, deeper.

When your eyes meet his again, you find him watching you just as intently—like he’s searching your face for any flicker of doubt. But there’s none. At first, his body tenses—thighs taut beneath your touch, hands clenching the sheets under him. He tries to hold still, tries to be polite, tries to hide the way his hips twitch when your lips press to the sensitive skin just below his navel.

“Breathe.” you whisper against his skin, and you feel it when he does - shoulders softening, jaw loosening, a low groan slipping past his lips as you finally take him into your mouth. You take your time, learning what makes his body melt under your touch. You relish the way his hips stutter when you swirl your tongue, the broken whimper he tries to smother with his fist, the devotion in his voice when he rasps your name.

Gradually, his iron grip on the sheets loosens, one hand resting on the back of your head, and his hips finally start to move to the rhythm you set.

His breath starts to come faster. You feel the change in his body—the way his thighs tense, how his fingers flex and twist in the sheets. “Wait—” His voice is rough. “If you keep going, I’m gonna—”

You don’t stop. You slow, just for a moment, lifting your eyes to his flushed face. You reach for him, one hand sliding up his stomach, calming. “It’s okay,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to the sharp cut of his hipbone. “Let me take care of you.”

He groans at that, head turning into the pillow. He doesn’t speak again, but his muscles start to twitch, his legs falling wider, hips stuttering as your mouth picks up the pace. His moans become deeper, more raw, and then your name spills from his lips again.

“I’m—fuck—I’m close—”

You hum in acknowledgment, not letting up, your hands gripping his hips as he shudders beneath you, and then—he falls apart. You taste him on your tongue, feel every desperate pulse of release as his thighs tremble beneath your hands, coming undone in your mouth—helpless and wholly yours.

You don’t pull away. You stay with him through it, coaxing him through the final tremors. You only ease off when he makes the faintest sound of overstimulation, brushing your lips one last time to the hollow of his hip before sitting up.

Caleb is panting, eyes closed, arm thrown over his face.

But when you crawl back up his body, he opens his arms instinctively, pulling you into his chest, where you hear his heart is thundering under your ear. And after a long pause, his hand cups your cheek and kisses you softly, tasting himself on your lips.

His breath is still uneven, and there’s a slight sheen of sweat glistening on his skin. But he sits up, and for a second his eyes search yours again—asking permission without words. You nod once, and his fingers curl around the hem of his shirt you’re wearing.

He pulls it up slowly, his eyes tracking the reveal of your stomach, the curve of your breast, watching the way your chest rises and falls a little faster under his gaze. His hands tremble, just slightly, and you can see it - that mixture of reverence and disbelief in his eyes. He bends to kiss you again, before his mouth trails down your jaw, your neck, the flutter of your pulse.

He guides you onto your back, and shifts to follow, half-hovering over you. His lips trail kisses along your neck, your breasts. You arch into him, a gasp escaping as his tongue flicks over your nipple, and he hums in response, the vibration rippling through you.

His hands move lower, fingers hooking under the waistband of your pajama shorts. He pauses, “Is this okay?”

You nod, your voice failing you, and lift your hips. He slides the shorts down, his knuckles grazing your thighs, his breath hitching when you’re finally bare. For a moment, he just stares. Fading moonlight spills across your body, catching the sheen of arousal between your thighs. A shaky exhale escapes him as he drags a single finger across the wetness, his touch featherlight.

But before he goes further, before his mouth finds its way to where you’re already pulsing for him, something else catches his eye. The faint scar across your knee. Fading now, but still there. His thumb brushes gently along the uneven line, before he leans forward and presses a kiss to it, the silent apology making your heart flutter.

Then his mouth drifts lower, lips brushing against the soft skin of your inner thighs. The first flick of his tongue on your folds is so startlingly gentle you flinch. A soft laugh escapes you, breathless and giddy, goosebumps blooming on your skin.

Caleb stills, lifting his head, brows creased in confusion.

“You’re tickling me,” you murmur, threading your fingers through his hair in reassurance.

He huffs a laugh against your skin. “Got it,” he murmurs. His mouth presses more firmly, his hands holding your hips as his tongue parts your folds and he groans at the first taste. Your back arches off the bed, a moan slipping out, and it spurs him on. One hand stays braced on your thigh, the other moves to gently trace one fingertip around your entrance, testing. You whisper yes, please, and that’s all it takes. He sinks a finger in, his eyes flicking up to watch the way your face shifts—lips parted, brows gently pulled, the rise and fall of your chest now uneven.

His mouth finds your clit, more confident now. The heat of his tongue, the wet pressure of his lips - it’s clumsy but it’s honest, driven by need and the desire to learn what makes you tremble. Then his finger finds that spot inside you, the one that makes you fist your hand in his hair, the one that makes your toes curl. You whisper yes, yes, yes, and you swear you feel him smile.

His free hand finds yours, interlacing your fingers against your belly.

“Look at me,” he rasps, and you force your eyes open, “Want to see you.”

Your body is starting to unravel beneath him, soft moans spilling from your lips, your thighs trembling.

“Another,” you pant, and he obeys instantly, adding a second finger. His rhythm stutters at first, but you guide him with whispered pleas, your hips rolling against his hand. His tongue flicks faster, his fingers pumping in a deep, steady curl, and you’re suddenly so close to the edge. His name spills from your lips like a prayer, and he growls against you, as if your climax is his own.

And when you fall apart with his name on your lips and your hands tangled with his, Caleb doesn’t stop. He holds you through it, lets you ride it out, his fingers easing only when your thighs start to shake, when your hips twitch with overstimulation. He pulls back, resting his forehead against your inner thigh, his breaths ragged. His erection strains against the sheets, but his focus still on you, always on you, even as his hand trembles where it grips yours.

You pull him up, his body collapsing over yours, and kiss him slow and deep, tasting yourself on his tongue. His hips grind reflexively against your thigh, a broken noise escaping him, but he doesn’t push. Just holds you, his head dipping into the crook of your neck, your hands cradling his damp hair.

Neither of you speaks for a long moment. Just breath and skin and the quietness of the morning twilight.

His fingertips trace along the curve of your side, not teasing, just feeling. Like he can’t quite believe you’re here.

Then he murmurs—soft, regretful, honest:

“I should’ve been your first.”

The words make your heart skip a beat. Still, the way he says it isn’t bitter. There’s no accusation in his voice. Only ache.

You draw back just enough to meet his eyes, your palm resting flat on his chest, right over his heartbeat. “Then be my last.” You whisper.

His breath hitches, eyes widening for a split second. He presses a kiss to your temple, before he meets your eyes again.

“Do you… have anything?” A pause, his gaze dropping to your lips. “Protection?”

You pause for a moment. Then you nod, brushing your fingers over his jaw.

“Left drawer,” you whisper.

He hesitates, his thumb circling your hipbone. “We don’t have to—”

“I know.” You press a kiss to his furrowed brow. “But I want this.”

He shifts to reach for it, but you catch his wrist. “Wait.”

His eyes snap to yours, brows furrowed.

You trace the skin with your thumb, suddenly too sheepish to meet his gaze. “We don’t need it.”

He stills at your tone. "Are you sure?"

"Yes." You finally meet his gaze, “If it’s you… I don’t want anything between us.”

He exhales, shakily, the tension in his shoulders softening as his arms wrap around you again.

When your legs shift, parting around his hips, you feel the hard length of him press against your entrance, and it pulls a soft gasp from you both.

Caleb stills. One hand rests by your head, the other cradling your jaw, thumb stroking softly across your cheekbone.

“You okay?” he murmurs.

You nod, threading your fingers into his hair, your lips brushing the corner of his mouth.

He exhales slowly, trembling slightly as he reaches between you, lining himself up. The head of him nudges your entrance, already wet and aching for him. You feel the pressure first, a stretch that makes your breath catch. He sinks in just a little—then stops immediately when you tense.

“Too much?” he breathes.

You shake your head, running a hand down his back. “No… keep going.”

Inch by inch, his body presses into yours, your warmth pulling him in, taking him deeper. His jaw clenches, a guttural sound caught in his throat as your walls flutter around him, as your hand curls over his bicep for something. His restraint is palpable, sweat beading at his temples as he presses deeper, his hips rolling in shallow strokes until he’s sheathed fully inside you.

For a moment, neither of you moves. His necklace rests warm against your collarbone, the metal shifting slightly as his chest heaves above yours.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he whispers, his lips grazing your temple.

You kiss the corner of his mouth. “I will.”

His thrusts start slow, each one sinking deeper than the last, his eyes locked on yours as if searching for permission with every roll of his hips.

“Fuck,” he grits out suddenly, halting his movements with a trembling inhale. His entire body shudders as he lowers his forehead to your shoulder, nose brushing your throat, lips finding your pulse.

“I need a second…” His voice is breathless. “I don’t want this to end yet.”

You cradle his jaw, lifting his face up so you can look at him. “You don’t have to be perfect,” you whisper, your thumb brushing his cheekbone. “Just be here. With me.”

His gaze falters, then finds yours again. He draws back just enough to move again, slow at first, like he’s trying to find a rhythm that won’t break him.

One of his hands tangles with yours, fingers lacing tightly together as he presses it into the pillow above your head. The other slips between your bodies until his thumb finds you, pressing a gentle, slow circle over your clit—and it draws a gasp from you, your thighs tensing around his hips.

“Like that?” His voice is hoarse.

“Yes,” you breathe, hips chasing the movement of his hand. “Just like that. Don’t stop.”

He groans low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your lips as he leans in to kiss you again—messy now, all teeth and parted mouths. He keeps moving inside you, each thrust dragging along your sweet spots, and the rhythm of his thumb against your clit grows more confident, bolder with every breathless moan you give him. He watches you with blown pupils, flicking between your face and the place where your bodies meet, as if committing every detail of your pleasure to memory.

His forehead drops to yours, the weight of his body pressing deliciously down as his thumb circles faster, more intently, chasing the way your thighs begin to tremble, the way your grip on his hand tightens.

Then his hips shift—just a little, but enough for a sharp discomfort to shoot through you. You suck in a breath through your teeth, a soft, involuntary “ah—” escaping your throat.

He stops immediately. Every muscle in his body locks, his expression flashing from concentration to concern in an instant. “Shit—did I hurt you?” he asks, breath still ragged.

You shake your head quickly, already reaching for his face, your palm cradling his cheek. “No, no,” you whisper. “Just... not like that.”

Your legs tighten around his waist, your heels pressing against the small of his back, gently urging him into a better angle. “Here,” you guide, your voice low and coaxing. “A little lower. Like that.”

He swallows hard, still frozen in place, but the panic softens as he watches you, sees that you still want this. He nods, his throat working with the effort to calm himself.

“You’re doing so good,” you murmur, brushing your thumb along his jaw. “I promise.”

He exhales on the word promise, and then he moves again. His brows draw together, not in worry now, but in focus, lips brushing your cheek as he resumes the rhythm that had your body unraveling.

Your nails dig into his shoulder as he grinds deeper, the angle just there, the friction so exquisite your vision blurs.

“Caleb—” you gasp, voice cracking as the pleasure rises sharp and fast inside you.

“I know, I know.” he rasps. His hips snap harder, deeper, the slap of skin echoing as you spiral closer. “That’s it,” he grits out, his thumb pressing harder. “Let go. Let go for me.”

When your thighs lock around his waist, when your walls clench around him in a sudden, overwhelming spasm, your release rips through you - deep, intense, every nerve alight. Your back arches off the bed, a cry spilling from your lips as you pulse around him, your fingers clawing into the sweat-slick skin of his back.

“Fuck—” His rhythm stutters, his thrusts turning erratic. With a shattered groan, he buries himself to the hilt, his hips jerking as he spills into you, his forehead pressed to yours, his breath a ragged pant against your lips.

For a heartbeat, you’re both still, just a tangle of sweat and shared breath, his necklace resting between your breasts, now warm from the heat of your skin. Then he collapses against you, his weight comforting and grounding, his lips brushing your collarbone. His arms curl tightly around you, one hand tracing slow, mindless patterns over your hip, and the other splayed beneath your shoulder. You exhale slowly, your fingers sliding through his damp hair.

You’re not sure how long you lie there like that, tangled and breathless, your hearts gradually slowing from their frantic rhythm. The first sliver of sunlight filters through your curtains, golden and gentle. You tilt your chin to study him, how sunlight looks like powdered gold over his lashes.

“You’re staring,” he murmurs, eyes still closed.

“You’re beautiful,” you say, because it’s true, and because you know it’ll fluster him.

His nose scrunches, a half-smile tugging at his mouth. “Men aren’t beautiful.”

“You are.” You brush the hair from his temple. “Like a pouty Renaissance angel.”

He only chuckles, burying his face against your chest.

You tilt your head to kiss his temple, your voice a soft murmur against his skin. “Come on. Let’s wash up.”

He groans. “Or we could stay like this forever.”

“You’re sweating all over me.” you protest, already nudging at his side.

He lifts his head just enough to squint at you. “You liked it when I was sweating five minutes ago.”

You roll your eyes, pushing him off with a laugh as you both untangle from the bed. The sheets are a mess, still warm with everything that happened, and your thighs ache, making you bite your lip as you stand. You grab a towel and toss one at him too. He catches it, looking far too smug for someone who was blushing just an hour ago.

As you step under the warm spray, Caleb holding your hand for stability, something crosses your mind.

“Hey… did you really drool on the pillow?”

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace caleb #lads caleb #caleb love and deepspace #love and deepspace smut #lads smut #lads x reader #lads x reader smut #lads #caleb x reader smut #caleb x you #caleb x reader #caleb

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chronicowboy · 3 months ago

Text

Eddie calls him about ten minutes after he finishes unpacking. And Buck doesn't—panic. He doesn't! He has no reason to panic. Tommy doesn't know a damn thing about him and Eddie. And Maddie, well. She doesn't know anything either. Not this.

Nobody but him and Eddie—and Chris—understand what they are to each other, and that's okay. Buck made his peace with that long ago. Long before he even knew he liked guys. Which. Not that that matters or has any sway on his perception of his and Eddie's relation—friendship. They're just BuckandEddie. Doesn't need to be any more than that. Just his best friend.

All this to say: when Eddie calls, he doesn't panic. He takes a very respectable three deep breaths, tries not to grimace at the leather squeaking under his ass and hits the green button with a hand that absolutely isn't shaking.

Because he's not panicking. He's happy. He's so happy. He gets to talk to Eddie. For the first time since he left. Why would he be panicking? Because of some stupid assumptions from an insecure ex? Sure, right. Like he'd ever let that touch him and Eddie.

Competition, he thinks, like Tommy ever could have competed with Eddie Diaz.

"H-hey, E-eddie." Buck isn't sure why he stumbles over Eddie's name. He's had enough practice over the past few days. Said it enough times in his life that it should be able to slip out seamlessly every damn time.

"Hey, Buck." And there's Eddie sounding sure and confident and a little tired and warm and soft and so much like his best friend. Buck aches. "Just finished unpacking. Told myself I couldn't call until I was done. Incentive, y'know?"

And Buck grins. Grins so big his face hurts and he forgets all about the stupid leather couch underneath him. He imagines the two of them unpacking at the exact same moment, finishing in the same breath, still in sync even 800 miles apart. And then the second part of it hits him. Calling Buck his reward for menial, mind-numbing labour. The idea of hearing Buck's voice getting him through all the organising and reorganising and rereorganising. Fuck, he misses him.

"I, uh, I-I actually just unfinished packing too," Buck replies. A beat too late maybe. Doesn't matter. Eddie huffs a laugh, nothing matters but that.

"No shit. Should've known it'd take us a while to shake off the synchronicity." And Eddie's voice is so warm, so fond, it soothes the ache of the inevitable loss of their bond. That special tie between them that never let them stray too far soon to be severed. And then, like Eddie can hear him, "still a team even two states apart, huh?"

"Always a team," Buck replies, too soon this time probably. Doesn't matter. Not when he can hear Eddie's smile.

"How's the house treating you?" he asks, words shaped into something beautiful by the curve of Eddie's lips. But still, Buck's heart drops right out of his ass.

How does he answer that?

I missed you so much I couldn't sleep here without you. I didn't unpack because the house still feels like yours. The house still feels like yours because I wish it was. Yours. I couldn't sleep because you weren't snoring down the hallway. And the one night I did sleep here I had to fuck my ex as a distraction just to try and forget that you should be the one in that bedroom.

But he can't say any of that. He can't.

"Uhhhhhh." He blinks. Has forgotten every word in the English language.

"Buck?" Eddie's smile is gone.

"Why'd you stop talking to Tommy when we broke up?"

Silence. Fuck.

"He broke your heart, Buck," Eddie says slowly, evenly, too controlled. Hiding something. "Why the hell would I talk to him?"

"B-because. You guys were friends before me and him got together."

Eddie's straight. Tommy scoffs. Friends.

"And I promised to have your back five years before I even knew he existed," Eddie replies simply. "There was no competition there, Buck."

Oh. Oh, shit.

"How, um, how did you find out about that anyway?" Eddie asks when Buck's silence stretches on too long. "Not that it was a secret or anything. I just... I didn't tell you because I didn't think it mattered. And I know you didn't call Tommy, so..."

"No, n-no, I didn't call him." And he didn't is the thing. Didn't call him to apologise like he said he would to Maddie. Just. Let it lay.

"What aren't you telling me, Buck?" Eddie sighs. Buck misses his fucking sighs.

"Ravi called him. Well, found him. At the bar. And brought him over."

"Jesus Christ." And Buck can see him clear as day, bridge of his nose pinched between his thumb and forefinger. "Remind me to send Ravi a strongly worded e-mail on how to be your partner."

Buck kind of really wants to read that fucking email.

"We slept together," Buck blurts out.

Silence. Fuck.

"You and Ravi...?"

"No." Buck barks out a laugh. A startled sound. "No, not Ravi."

"Okay, okay, good," Eddie breathes out. "Because that would not be one of the points of the e-mail." Buck snorts again. Sobers instantly. Gets a sharp little pang in the pit of his stomach. No reason. "So. Tommy."

"Yeah." Buck ducks his head. "Tommy."

"Did you..." Eddie struggles with something for a moment, and Buck finds himself sitting up straighter, bracing for whatever comes next. "I mean, did you... When you... y'know, did you go to his or-or... yours?"

Buck bluescreens. Blacks out maybe. What the fuck?

"Um, y-yours or, no, mine. M-mine. It was closer. To the bar. And I—" And he what? What? What is it lurking in the shadows of his brain, slipping through his fingers like sand every time he thinks he's close enough to hold?

"Okay." Eddie says it like he's taking a punch.

"Is-is that, I mean, th-that's okay, right?"

"Well, I don't know if I'd classify sleeping with your ex as okay." Eddie makes some sort of noise. Half anguished and half furious. "Where the hell does he get off—" your bedroom, Buck thinks deliriously "—hooking up with the guy who's heart he broke?"

"He didn't break my heart, Eddie." Says it. Realises it's true.

"Oh, yeah, sure."

"He was scared I was gonna break his, remember?"

"Dumb," Eddie says succinctly. Buck snorts.

"I'm not getting back together with him or anything. It was just a one time thing. You don't have to worry about me showing up on your doorstep to brood again."

Silence. Again. Fuck fuck fuckity fuck.

"I think I'd be okay with it, if it brought you to my door," Eddie whispers.

Tears sting in Buck's eyes. He presses the bottom of his phone into his forehead until it begins to hurt. Clears his throat.

"How's the fixer-upper?"

Best friends. Nothing more. Nothing less. But.

#sami rambles #okay i'm half asleep so this is probably incoherent and i'm still fucking reeling but here u go !#911 spoilers #911 show #buddie #eddie diaz #evan buckley #buck x eddie #911 fic #911 ficlet #buddie ficlet #buddie fic

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lighting-and-shadow · 1 month ago

Text

Ikigai, Part 7

Summary: You’re desperately in love with a man who already belongs to another.

Ikigai (n.) (Japanese): "A reason for being," the thing that gets you up in the morning.

Part 6, Part 8

You thought your heart couldn’t take any more damage. That you were immune to the idea of Sylus and his soulmate hurting you anymore. How naive. For all that you called Sylus a fool, it was you who was the dunce between you two.

Miss Hunter and Sylus came back not too long ago. The atmosphere between the two was even worse than before. And it got even more horrific when they decided to eat together.

You, of course, kept your distance. Being around Sylus was too much for you, and Miss Hunter was always near him. She clearly didn’t want to be, but she was. And there was something going on between the two of them.

Maybe that’s why the sight before you hurt so much. They seem so distance, so uncomfortable in each other’s presence. Any closeness was off the table, and you could pretend that they weren’t destined for one another. Until now.

The two of them are in bed together. Miss Hunter sits on Sylus lap. His robe is open, his hand cuffed to the bed, and he sits there with an amused look on his face. She pats down his body. She moves her hands down his body in such an unbothered way that it makes your blood boil.

Why does she get to do what you’ve abstained yourself for years from doing? Why does she do it with such callousness and such ease? Maybe that’s just another bit of proof that the universe has favorites.

You certainly aren’t one of them.

Further proof comes when Sylus finally notices you and his face drops. You’ve never seen him so… scared. Not for a very long time.

He scrambles to get Miss Hunter off of him. She falls and that’s when she also notices you.

“I-it was part of our deal,” she begins. “He had this brooch and I was trying to get it and one thing lead to another before I—“

You’re gone before she can finish.

The retreat from the room is anything but quiet. Banging footsteps. Sounds of protest from both Sylus and Miss Hunter. Your own heartbeat. You wander the maze of the base until it all stops.

You open a random door and close it. You don’t hear it. You don’t hear anything. And even though you feel yourself breath in and out, there’s no noise. Nothing to cling to. Even your heart has gone silent.

Stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid.

You put your head in your hands. What else were you to do in this situation, a situation you always told yourself you knew and were prepared to happen. You just didn’t expect it so early.

Maybe it’s a good thing your relationship to Sylus had already fallen apart before this.

He’s stopped calling you sweetie or sweetheart since Miss Hunter arrived. And while that’s only been a few days, you’ve missed it. You’ve longed for those stupid nicknames. Now he only calls her them. Granted you also call her sweetie or angel, but that’s different. She’s not your soulmate.

Every pet name, familiar or new (like kitten), makes you die a little more. They make your heart crack a little more. They make your lips looser, desperate to confess the love you’ve held onto for so long. But what you just saw made that desperation vanish. It reminded you of your place.

You begin to get your bearings and look around the refuge you decided to hide in. You recognize it as the room Luke and Kieran fled to during the first few weeks of you knowing the boys. It was the farthest room in the base from Sylus’.

Fitting. Maybe I should camp here until my foolish heart stops loving him.

One would have to go out of their way to find you here. And, apparently, Miss Hunter thought to do exactly that.

“Just let me explain,” her words come out in a rush and her voice is full of panic. “Please! It’s not what you think.”

“You have no earthly idea how much you sound like a partner who’s just got caught cheating, do you?”

Miss Hunter splutters and looks embarrassed for a moment. However, that quickly goes away in favor of a determined gaze. She doesn’t flinch. Your anger just drains away from you at that moment.

Because she never did anything wrong. Sylus never did anything wrong. Only you did. You did something wrong by falling for a man destined for another, for someone better. Someone with less baggage. Someone more beautiful. Someone perfect.

“Calm down. It was just a joke.”

“A poorly worded one.”

“Yes, yes, I know. You’re right. It was poor of me to make such a joke,” you pause for a moment. “That feels strange to say, given my occupation.”

Miss Hunter scoffs. Though she stands at the door, she's close to you. She leans into your space, comfortable and relaxed. So different from how she’s been with you the past few days.

“There a reason you’re so nice to me? Guilty over sleeping with my man?”

You say the last part with the fakest mock scandalized voice you can muster. Which is pretty good given your past experience selling stuff to rich people. Making a false story sound convincing and enthralling was all a part of job back then. And it still applies now.

“Would you please stop saying that!” She can barely look at you, her cheeks burning red, and you chuckle a bit. “I’m trying to have a conversation.”

“We are having a conversation. You just suck at conversing.”

“Maybe if you talked like a normal person…” she mumbles.

“What was that, sweetie?”

She makes a sound of embarrassment again before rolling her eyes at you.

“You’re impossible.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“Ever thought of changing that?”

“Ever thought of not chasing taken men?”

You can’t help yourself. That little voice in the back of your head, the one that blames her for your heartache, speaks up in that moment. It’s far less of a joke. It’s far closer to the truth of your emotions than you care to think about.

Miss Hunter screeches at you. Her face is even more red.

“You really make me regret coming after you.”

“Sounds like your problem, my friend,” you continue when she seems to have no problems with you calling her that. “Ya know, since you slept with my boss?”

“I did not!” She appears even more appalled. “I would never… we would never…”

She takes a moment to collect herself before finishing, “I hardly know your ‘boss’ anyways.”

It won’t be like that for long.

You sigh at Miss Hunter, “Alright, alright. I’m done teasing you. How about you come in? Have some one on one time with someone who didn’t kidnap you at any point whatsoever?”

“That’s such a low bar.”

You laugh a little, “I know. Upstanding citizens aren’t really a thing here, sweetie. I’m just more… morally inclined than the others that live here.”

“You don’t say?”

Miss Hunter closes the door, and you both plop down onto the bed. She sits rather close to you.

“Can I explain now?” She gives you a look for a moment, “Without you making any jokes?”

“I make no promises.”

She rolls her eyes, straightens her spine, and begins. And your blood boils the minute she does.

Experiements… Modification…

All you see is the twins in your minds: their small, scarred bodies. Black crystals taking over one while the other screams in agony. They were just boys; 14 year old, innocent, little, boys who suffered the unspeakable. All in the name of science.

And Sylus tried to the same to her.

“He did what?”

Miss Hunter startles. Makes sense, given this is the first time you’ve ever been remotely hostile around her. Anger isn’t really a thing you tend to express to others. It’s harmful in your job.

You force the feeling to fade as soon it comes up. You stuff it down a wave of calm and force it to vanish into the ocean of your heart.

“Apologizes. I was just… perturbed by what you said. I’ll be having a word with him. Continue.”

Your tone is off, judging by her hesitance to speak. But after a little more encouragement, Miss Hunter moves on.

She finishes quickly, scrambling through the details of her deal with Sylus and avoiding your gaze when she talks about it. You don’t press her.

Finally, after she relaxes and you two bask in the brief silence, you speak.

“Ok,” Miss Hunter narrows her eyes at you. “I believe you, alright? No need for such scrutiny.”

You fall back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling and listening to your own heartbeat to calm down. To forget about what you just heard.

Sylus later. Miss Hunter now.

Repetition of those words creep into your thoughts. They’re your mantra at the moment, the thing that keeps you grounded.

Miss Hunter fidgets beside you. You tap the bed to beckon her to lay next to you. She does so with a bit of hesitance.

The two of you just bask in one another’s presence. She occasionally glances at you, but you keep your eyes glued to the ceiling. All the easier to avoid even a glimpse at her damn threads and what they do to your state of mind.

“Why did you come after me?” You say after a bit of silence.

Miss Hunter turns her head to look at you fully, her expression a weave of disbelief and almost pity.

“Because you looked so… betrayed.”

You laugh at her to cover up how vulnerable her words make you feel.

“Betrayed? Sweetie, you and Sylus are grown ass adults. And if there was consent on both sides, it is none of my business what you two get up to.”

You keep your tone bubbly and playful to convince yourself that you believe it.

“For the last time, we weren’t doing anything, “ she huffs before she continues in a softer voice. “Your boss is just an ass who likes to play games with people.”

You smile at that, “You don’t even have the slightest clue.”

“Oh really? He plays those ridiculous games with you too.”

You shrug, “Sort of. He has since the day we met. His games have just… shifted. He knows better than to truly piss me off.”

Maybe that’s why despite how much Sylus clearly wants to speak with you, he doesn’t try to. He’s seen how you can destroy people, how you use your words to bend their reality and use your hands to pull the life out of them. He knows what you’re capable when rage consumes you.

“So you two are close then?”

Miss Hunter lays on her side and props her head up by a hand on her cheek. You mirror her and give her an impish smile.

“I’d say we’re close.”

“Close? Close how? You only really ever call him boss around me.”

“Because he is my boss,” you say with a bit of attitude. “It’s an appropriate title.”

“Boss and employee don’t act the way you two act.”

“How so?” You ask despite it being a stupid question.

Miss Hunter doesn’t say anything for some time.

“He was worried, you know,” she’s so quiet, you almost think you imagine it.

“Hmm?”

“When you…,” she searches for the right word. “Collapsed.”

“You can say it as it is: I fainted due to extreme panic and lack of oxygen. Which is very unbecoming of someone in my position.”

Miss Hunter winces at your callousness.

“I’m not even entirely sure what brought that episode about. It’s not the first time I’ve seen my boss be shot, and it won’t be the last.”

You play off your words with humor, making sure the emotion drips from every syllable that falls from your lips. Even when you know the truth.

Miss Hunter looks like she wants to say something. She closes her mouth as soon as she opens. She does this a few times.

“Spit it out, sweetie. I’m not a mind reader and I believe you said you were trying to have a conversation with me.”

She hesitates, eyes flickering around the room and body squirming. A reassuring smile crosses your lips and you soften your gaze.

“W-what made it different this time?”

You, you almost say. But that wouldn’t be fair.

You play it off, “I was curious about that myself. Maybe the stress of being the sole sane person here in this ridiculous mansion has finally gotten to me?”

Miss Hunter knows you’re lying, judging by the minuscule frown on her face. She doesn’t press. You’re thankful.

Stupid. You pushed for her to ask and give such an inadequate and foolish response. Stupid stupid stupid—

Miss Hunter cuts off your thoughts, “So what exactly is your relationship with Sylus?”

You blink at her.

“He’s my boss turned work partner, sweetie. I don’t know what else you want me say.”

She snorts, “Bullshit.”

Your eyes widen at her sudden crass language.

“Colleagues don’t act the way you two do.”

“You’ve been at your current job for how long now?” She flushes and stutters at your words.

You sigh and roll over your side to face her again, “Sylus and I face death together every day, every second, of our job. It makes sense that we’d form some sort of bond.”

“You say that,” she says your name. “But, you didn’t see his face when started panicking. You didn’t see how held you, and how afraid he was. You didn’t see him fall apart like I did.”

The words she says and the way she says them makes everything click for you. Like the final piece of the puzzle was just discovered and you get to see the whole picture.

Oh.

Suddenly everything makes sense. She thinks Sylus loves you. You want to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. At the irony of it all.

“Sylus and I do have quite the history,” you shrivel at your own words, scared for a moment you might’ve just made things worse.

Your words are ironic. Painful. Pitiful. As if you’re trying to overshadow the history she shares with Sylus and compare to meager one you have with him.

How can you compare the two? She was the one who taught him to be human. She was the one who first showed the fiend love. She took his curse, his burden, and made it into something beautiful. She was his everything.

There was no place for you in all that.

You continue, “He cares for me like I care for him. And regardless of what you think of him, anyone would be frightened by what happened. You barely know me and you’re shaken up.”

Miss Hunter just hums. And you pray that you’ve convinced her. Because nothing’s going on between you and Sylus. Not ever will go on between the two of you.

We’re business partners and friends. Nothing more. You will never have anything more.

Miss Hunter suddenly breaks the tension. Something flickers across her face before she speaks, and for once, you can't tell what it is.

“So, ummm, Sylus gave me this dress, it’s in the room I’ve been staying at apparently, and I, uh…”

You wait for her to find her words. Not judging, but just silent companionship.

“I have no idea what I’m doing. Or what to expect.”

“I figured. Hunter training doesn’t cover fancy galas full of people who’d kill you an instant?”

“No. No it doesn’t.”

“Come with me. I’ll help you get ready. And I’ll give you a few tips.”

“Thank you,” she sighs with relief while you smile.

As you walk with her back to her room you wonder, is this what it’s like to have a little sister?

You don’t know Miss Hunter well. She knows you even less. But you can’t help but be drawn to her. Maybe that’s why she has so many soulmates? Even the universe itself can’t help but love her.

The pair of you arrive in the room, and you see the red dress. It’s perfect for Miss Hunter. It also reminds you of the first gala you went to with Sylus; he had you two match outfits back then as well.

But all you can think is: she’s wearing his color already.

It’s a stupid thought. A useless thought. But it permeates throughout your mind. It infects you as you hold it up against her body and shuttle to the bathroom to try it on. It’s still there once she comes out.

“Here.”

You reach into your pockets to take your mind off of your foolish thoughts.

You take out the earrings there causally, holding them to her ears for a moment before smiling, “They’re perfect.”

The earrings are some of your finest work: small studs of a dragon with red datura flowers as the back piece that holds it to her ears. On the nose in terms of her history with Sylus? Yes. But maybe they'll jog her memory even just a bit.

“Where’d you get these? They’re gorgeous…” she gawks at the pieces and you fluster from both embarrassment and pride.

“I made them, sweetie. For you.”

“Why?”

“Because I thought you’d look pretty in them,” you state, and her cheeks goes red. “And as a precaution, since my boss doesn’t seem to be doing any of that.”

“Precaution?”

“They have built in trackers, which you can disable if you so please,” you add on once she gives you a look and tries to hand the gift back. “The trackers only exist so that if you press here, it’ll send a distress signal to me and only me. God knows what kind of nonsense the twins would pull if they had access to such information. And I know you wouldn’t trust my boss for such an emergency.”

As you explain to her, you think about the bracelets you’ve given the twins and the necklace you’ve given Sylus. They each function the same way. And sure, the twins mostly use theirs to fuck with you. And Sylus uses his to drag you out of your office when you’re buried in your projects or any other time he just wants to spend time with you.

You respond every time, even when you know that it’s more likely to be a nonemergency. Better safe than sorry. And besides, it always makes the boys smile; especially Sylus. Their smiles make whatever frivolous or tired journey you had to make well worth it.

One day, those smiles will be hers as well.

Shockingly, you’re slightly happy at the thought. Because Miss Hunter deserves a family after all she’s been through. She and Sylus deserve happiness and they’ll find that with each other. The twins will also find happiness with her in their lives.

You're simply not needed now that she's here.

“I really must get going. I have my own preparations to begin.”

“Preparations? Are you sure you’re not going to talk to your boss? Because your face says otherwise.”

What face?

You bring your hand up to your face, feeling the familiar furrowed brows and creases of your mouth. Were you truly so lost in thought, in bitterness, that your facial expression changed?

Her openness is rubbing off on me.

“Quiet, you.”

Her laugh follows you out the room until you close the door. You school your expression immediately, retreating to a place of comfort behind a mask of lies.

Author's Note: Also, please go to the original blurb to ask to be added to the taglist (it's impossible for me to keep checking every part every time I update).

Taglist: @eolivy, @rafayelridesfisheatsfish, @animegamerfox, @jasperjokester, @schrodingerskimdokja, @just--crys, @snowdynasty, @shi-thats-kiera, @mansonofmadness, @dwuclvr, @ameilli, @katiedoesstuff101, @everythingistaken00, @napa-the-yappa, @hanaluxx, @lovesick-sylus, @tenaciouszombiewombat, @ladyparamount, @applepi405, @midnight-reverie, @69-gojos-wife-69, @bellagrayson-wayne, @phisen, @idkmanimjusthorny, @munchychuusy, @autumn2534, @poptrim, @sillyfreakfanparty, @zaynesfirefly, @flamedancer13, @thissmartdumbass, @mrsllawliet, @jeondyy, @ssetsuka, @dels-page, @that-lost-one, @johnnysactualgf, @mariquitas-en-verano @toelady, @sinnamon-bunn, @yesbiaswrecked, @doggyteam2028, @little-rays-of-darkness, @albatrossblue, @vyntheria, @silverianni, @browneyedgirl22, @tiklestar, @beaconsxd, @pepperushia

#lads x reader #sylus x non mc reader #love and deepspace #sylus qin x reader #sylus x reader #sylus x non!mc reader #love and deepspace x reader #sylus x mc #sylus angst #ikigai

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inseobts · 4 months ago

Note

youre my favorite law writer🥹could you give us a touch starved law with a naturally touchy reader? hes all grumpy and shy at first but then he melts into it🤭

Breaking Down His Walls

law × reader

a/n: shjakaoxsj I'm someone favorite law writer nknakjlhwej omg why am I kicking my feet and smiling, like he's my husband fr

words count: 1.1k

tags: fluffy, sfw

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

Law is not used to this.

Your hand casually rests on his arm as you lean in to show him something on a map, your fingers warm through the fabric of his coat. It’s nothing but just a simple touch. Yet his muscles tense like you just set him on fire.

He scowls, barely sparing you a glance “Can you not?”

You blink at him, head tilting “Not what?”

He shifts, crossing his arms tightly over his chest, as if that will protect him from your casual affection “Touch me like that. It’s… distracting.”

You snort “Distracting? It’s just my hand, Law.”

“Exactly…” he mutters, looking away.

You don’t miss the faint pink dusting his cheeks and ears. It’s cute. Ridiculously cute, considering he’s supposed to be this terrifying pirate captain. But you don’t push… at least, not yet. Instead, you just hum and let the moment pass.

But you don’t stop.

Over the next few days, you keep doing what comes naturally to you. A pat on the shoulder when he does something impressive, a hand on his back when you walk past him, a casual lean against him when you’re all gathered around on the Polar Tang discussing plans. Each time, Law stiffens. Each time, you see that flicker of surprise in his golden eyes, like he can’t understand why you keep touching him.

Until, slowly, he starts breaking.

It happens when you least expect it. You’re sitting on the deck, watching the waves, when Law sits down beside you, and not at a distance, not with space between, but close. His coat brushes against your arm. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even look at you.

You grin, deciding to test your luck. You lean into him, resting your head against his shoulder.

For a moment, he’s as still as a statue. You half-expect him to push you away, to grumble something about personal space. But then a long, heavy exhale, like he’s been holding it in for far too long. His shoulders relax under your touch, and when you shift slightly, you feel him lean back into you.

Your heart melts “See? Not so bad, right?”

He grumbles something under his breath, but he doesn’t move away. Instead, after a long pause, he mutters, “Don’t get used to it.”

You grin “Too late.”

And when you lace your fingers through his, he squeezes back.

Later on not much change.

You touch Law casually, so naturally because that’s how you are, and sadly for Law you do it unconsciously even in front of the crew. And every time, without fail, Law’s reaction is hilarious.

Like the time you casually ruffle his hair after a strategy meeting. Bepo gasps audibly. Shachi and Penguin nearly choke on their drinks. Law? He freezes, ears burning red, before grumbling “I’m not a damn pet, Y/N.”

Or the time you loop your arm through his while walking through a town. He stiffens like you just announced you’re engaged, and the crew watches in barely-contained amusement as he tries to play it cool and fails spectacularly.

Then there’s the best one yet… when you hug him from behind while he’s at his desk.

A perfectly innocent gesture, really. You’re just draping your arms over his shoulders, peeking at the map he’s been studying for hours. But the way Law’s breath hitches? The way his whole body tenses like he’s been caught committing a crime? Priceless.

Shachi whistles “Captain’s gonna short-circuit.”

Penguin nudges Bepo “Five berries he tells Y/N to get lost in three seconds.”

But then, Law does what no one expects… he just sighs and keeps writing.

No snapping, no grumbling, no pushing you away. He just lets it happen.

The room goes dead silent.

“…Captain?” Bepo ventures cautiously, eyes wide.

Law barely spares them a glance “What?”

Penguin gestures wildly at the two of you “Uh, are we just—pretending this is normal now?”

You grin, tightening your arms around Law’s shoulders “Guess he got used to me.”

The crew loses their minds.

“Since WHEN?” Shachi demands “You were acting like Y/N was stabbing you every time they even just tapped your shoulder!”

“People adapt” Law says simply, flipping a page in his book.

Your smile turns smug “He doesn’t just tolerate it now… he likes it.”

The moment you say it, you can feel Law roll his eyes. But instead of denying it—instead of pushing you away like he always does—he reaches up, grabs your wrist, and pulls you down into his lap.

Shachi drops his drink.

Penguin screeches.

Bepo’s jaw literally falls open.

You’re too stunned to even process it as Law leans back against his chair, keeping an arm around your waist like it’s the most normal thing in the world. He’s not flustered. He’s not grumpy. If anything, he looks smug.

You blink “Did you just—”

“You started it,” Law says lazily, tapping his pen against the paper “Now deal with the consequences.”

The crew is in shambles.

Shachi shakes Penguin by the shoulders “Bro, I think we lost our captain.”

Penguin is staring at Law like he just grew two heads “Who are you, and what did you do to Trafalgar Law?!”

Meanwhile, Law just goes back to writing, perfectly unbothered, while keeping you firmly in his lap.

The crew is still freaking out, voices overlapping in sheer disbelief.

“Okay, seriously, what the hell is going on?!” Shachi waves his arms around “Is this a prank? Are we in an illusion? Bepo, slap me—”

“Gladly…” Bepo says, raising a paw.

Before he can, a familiar blue glow fills the room.

“Room.”

In an instant, the crew vanishes, teleported right out of the studio.

You barely have time to process what just happened before Law tilts your chin up and kisses you.

It’s not hesitant. Not shy. Just slow and deliberate, like he’s been waiting for this moment for far too long. His hand lingers at the back of your neck, keeping you close, while his lips move against yours.

When he finally pulls back, there’s a rare smirk playing on his lips.

“They were getting annoying” he murmurs.

You’re still a little dazed, staring at him “You… you teleported them just to kiss me?”

He hums “They’re just outside the room, not in the sea.”

Outside, you can hear the distant shouting of Shachi and Penguin pounding on the door.

“LAW, YOU CAN’T JUST ROOM US OUT BECAUSE YOU WANNA MAKE OUT—”

“OPEN THE DAMN DOOR, CAPTAIN—”

Bepo’s voice is more resigned “I’m happy for you both, but this is getting out of hand.”

You giggle, resting your forehead against Law’s “You know, they’re never gonna let you live this down.”

His thumb brushes against your waist “Let them talk.”

He kisses you again.

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melwnst · 2 months ago

Text

────── ⋆⋅☆ DAD!DEAN HEADCANONS

⭑.ᐟso.. Dean as a dad? Wanted to post something cute before I start my new job tomorrow in case I can’t post as much this week🤭 please interact and send requests if u have any<3

supernatural masterlist /full masterlist

──────────୨ৎ──────────

⭑.ᐟ dean’s never valued sleep much until he became a dad. The nightmares aren’t gone-not really. But now he actually enjoys sleeping. The nightmares don’t matter so much knowing what he’ll wake up to. Joy, happiness, safety and love. So much of it.

⭑.ᐟhe’s never craved your touch as much as he does now. He doesn’t know why- or when the switch happened exactly but seeing you as a mom is the hottest thing he’s ever witnessed. The way you’re with the baby, the way you’re with him. You’re more grounded, happier, you actually glow and he’s obsessed. He won’t go one day without touching you in some type of way, sexually or not. He just needs to touch you.

⭑.ᐟuntil you came along, but mostly since the little one’s arrived, Dean didn’t think he deserved happiness, or safety. He thought he’d never get away from that life that reeked of danger, old motel rooms, or even the bunker. But now? He cherishes it with everything he has. He’s never been more grateful, and now he knows he actually deserves it. He knows he got out and he’ll never step a foot back in it because he has two people to protect now.

⭑.ᐟhe’s worried 24/7 though. Whenever the baby cries, which thankfully isn’t that much because it’s a great baby- he worries. Every cry, every whimper or sound that doesn’t feel right- he’s right by the baby’s side, examining it. You tell him to stop worrying so much. You tell him that your baby will be okay because it has him to protect both you and him/her.

⭑.ᐟhe starts chilling a bit more as your kid grows older. And oh my god your genes didn’t even try. It’s just Dean. The way he/she talks, walks, the music taste, movie taste. It’s all him. You’re okay with that though, because you couldn’t love Dean more- and now you basically have another one.

⭑.ᐟI think he’s such a girl dad. He obviously would LOVE a son, but a daughter? Yeah he’s so incredible. He’s even more protective with her, and he worries too much, but he knows she’ll be alright because she has both you and him.

⭑.ᐟfor you, dean’s never been hotter. The way he holds himself now, the way he smiles- genuinely and not like he feels that he has to. The way his laugh sounds even better now, because he actually does enjoy laughing now, he doesn’t have any of that weight holding him down anymore. He’s free, lighter, happier.

⭑.ᐟhe fully cries sometimes because he can’t believe how lucky he is. You could be feeding the baby breakfast and he’d have a full mental breakdown over it because he’s just so happy and he can’t believe any of it is real. Like it’s a dream he’s gonna wake up from and he’ll be back in the bunker chasing demons and shadows.

⭑.ᐟhe loves late night stories, where you both lay in bed with your kid,taking turns telling the story to him/her. It’s fun, and you’re all together, silence surrounds you, it’s freeing, and it’s just so beautiful.

⭑.ᐟhe swears he didn’t know he had so much love in him. The way he loves you- the way he loves this kid- his heart could burst it’s so crazy to him. Like his heart is full of love and he never thought that’d be possible.

⭑.ᐟhe doesn’t mind being vulnerable anymore. When he needs to talk, to say something, to let everything out, you let him. You let him cry, you let him lash out, you let him talk. You know a part of him misses it, mostly because he feels guilty that he can’t help people anymore and because he was conditioned to feel that way by his father. You try telling him that he never belonged in that life in the first place because his father had no business training and raising him as a soldier. He should’ve been a normal kid/teenager. And then he promises himself to never give that life to his child. To be there through everything. To accept them no matter what they choose to do with their life. To be the father John never was to him.

⭑.ᐟhe still has a bad habit of self destructing though. Not often- but sometimes he’ll wake up and hate what he wakes up to because he doesn’t understand why him. Why he deserves this- it’s like an impostor syndrome. He feels like a monster, his demons still follow him although he tries to swallow them down for you. You’re not stupid though. You see it- you try to help. You know that whatever you do it’ll happen again, one day every couple of months where it’ll be bad- but all the other days are so wonderful you figure he needs that one day where he hates everything and everyone- including himself.

⭑.ᐟthe day you give birth…. Dean’s never cried like that. He hates seeing you hurt- no matter what it is. But the moment he lays eyes on your baby, on you cradling him/her, his life doesn’t matter so much anymore. He’ll give that kid the best chance as a great life because he never had that. And god help him If he dares repeating the cycle.

⭑.ᐟhe’ll never dare going one single day without telling you he loves you. Without thanking you for giving him the most incredible kid, and for being his rock. He holds you, he loves you so strongly. He always has- but it’s different now because you’re not the only one he loves.

⭑.ᐟlastly… yes the sex has always been mind blowing, it’s Dean Winchester dammit. BUT! He worships you even more now. The way he’s obsessed with your body, with touching you everywhere. It’s just so crazy. You’re obsessed with each other and the sex has never been this good.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

taglist: @tinas111 @blossomingorchids @bluemerakis @lov3-audz @mostlymarvelgirl @that-stanford-girlie @sunnyteume @bohoooitsme (comment to be added!)

#imagine #fanfic #dean winchester #supernatural #sam winchester #dean winchester x reader #sam winchester x y/n #dean x reader #sam winchester x female reader #sam winchester x reader #dean winchester headcanon #dean winchester angst #dean winchester fanfiction #dean smut #dean winchester fic #dean fanfiction #dean supernatural #sam and dean #deanwinchtser

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iceunhie · 1 year ago

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voicelines about you: as their lover ! (part 2)

featuring: sunday, aventurine, blade (+ black swan, acheron) [ part 1: dan heng, jing yuan, gepard, kafka, jingliu. ]

notes: well. the long awaited part 2 is here! (i took absolutely wayyy too long to finish this but a lovely anon requested the penacony cast so i just waited until now haha) stay tuned for either a future aventurine fic or a sunday fic tho; reblogs are appreciated! main masterlist.

Sunday

About [Name]: Ah, you speak of my beloved. [Name] has managed to strike your interest as well? Heh, I'm joking. You aren't that type of person, no? ….But yes, my lover truly is quite stellar, if not incomparable. I doubt I'd find anyone in the universe as lovely as I do them.

About [Name]: Smitten Robin often jokes about how my eyes change whenever I see them. ‘Softens like the smitten man you are,’ she says. Well, my sister is hardly wrong about matters of the heart, and to be fair, her words are indeed correct. While I cannot be with them every second of the day, despite my only wish to do so…. I suppose this much is fine. At the very least, this bewitched version of myself shall ward any that dare take [Name] away from me.

About [Name]: Preparation. …My mansion has everything [Name] shall ever desire. As for I, what I only desire is them alone, and for them to be right by my side. When the time is right, what's mine shall also be theirs, and none shall ever separate the two of us again. Should anyone attempt it, well, there's a reason my mansion is built the way it is.

Aventurine

About [Name]: [Name], [Name], [Name].... I see that you too have an eye for priceless treasures. Unfortunately for you, this particular one is already mine to behold. Mm, I wonder how my lover must be faring right now…. Missing them is truly, horribly debilitating.

About [Name]: Unworthy Whenever I think of [Name] being with me, of all people… Sometimes, the thought is unbearable. To think they would care for someone like me…. How truly lucky I am. Or maybe it's the other way around? Hehe, take a guess.

About Topaz: Contradictory Topaz and [Name] get along fairly well, despite her rather obvious dislike for me. Nonetheless, I suppose I can understand why. My lover is irresistibly charming~ Now, does this make me jealous, I wonder…. How about we bet on that?

Blade

About [Name]: Though this sword may be battered and broken, if you harbor any intention of harm towards them, I will not hesitate to brandish this blade.

About [Name]: Mara Infliction When afflicted with mara, the senses are ravaged ceaselessly, muddying the mind—being unable to distinguish ally from foe. This is my path. And yet their face is clear, pure amidst the carnage, alleviating the haze for but a moment. My mind may be overridden with hatred, but I will never forget that feeling of salvation.

(BONUS: Kafka’s Voiceline about [Name] !) About [Name]: Truly A Shame Bladie’s little darling, hm? Definitely a wonder, that one, taming him so easily. Those two are definitely an interesting case, that's for sure. Scary, marastruck Blade and them…. truly a shame. Even I know just how the ending of that particular script will end.

Acheron

About [Name]: …They are my lover, yes. Hm? Tell you more about them? Heh, I think you'd have better luck asking [Name] instead of me. I probably wouldn't even know where to begin.

About [Name]: Keeping Memories Despite the fact of my memories being in less than the best condition, [Name] always tells me about all the exciting things they've come across, whether it be delicious food from various planets, or even the most mundane things like the sound of the rushing water, the sight of fireflies in the night. They truly make everything worth remembering.

(BONUS: Black Swan’s Voiceline about [Name] !) About [Name]: Eye Of The Storm Ah, you speak of that Galaxy Ranger's companion…. The abyss that is her consciousness seems to only become calm in the face of them, akin to the eye of the storm. A shining light in the middle of nothingness—that is something that even she cannot let go of. No wonder Miss Acheron is quite taken with them.

Black Swan

About [Name]: The memories of Memokeepers are sorted into various categories by their importance. As my lover, my memories of them hold the greatest value of all. Such memories…. even if the Remembrance wishes for me to hand them over, I doubt I will ever allow it.

About [Name]: Dancing My proficiency in the act of dancing is all thanks to my continued practice with [Name] on our shared time together. Fufu, ‘dates,’ if you will. Every moment I spend in their arms, swaying to the beat of the music at every turn… those are the memories I wish to forever retain.

About Acheron: Indebted One time, Miss Acheron managed to get lost in the middle of the Reverie Hotel’s halls... as usual. [Name] came across her then, and proceeded to have a lovely chat with her. I owe her a debt for keeping my lover company as I was preoccupied with some matters the Garden of Recollection entrusted to me to relay to the family. Next time, perhaps I should invite her over for some dinner with [Name]....

end notes thanks for sticking around the part 2 (for the ogs who read pt 1) and do look forward to more HSR content in the future! also did i say i love aventurine

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gyeomsweetgyeom · 4 months ago

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when the party’s over

fratboy!Jaehyun x f!reader

summary: it was only a matter of time until this conversation came up. Jaehyun only wishes he were better at putting his feelings into words before the conversation went down

word count: 4.2k

warnings: profanity, angst, fuckboy behavior, slut shaming I think, hurt, not too much comfort, anxiety attack mention

a/n: you all asked and I answered, this was very unintentionally inspired by Slim Pickins by miss Sabrina Carpenter, your feedback is very much appreciated! Not to worry, there will be a part 2 because Jae and Sweets are my babies <33

This fic is a part of my fratboy!jaehyun universe but can be read as a stand alone fic!

Timeline wise this happens before women in male fields and before Sweets and Jae are an official couple. I kind of cleared up the timeline in more detail, here!

dividers from adornedwithlight <3

taglist! @chriscentric @mmjhh1998 @jayhoonvroom @yowmaman @completelyjae @hollxe1 @cryingforjae @bluedbliss @choizzn @wonuziex @urlocalbeaner5 @cigarettesafterjae @naturallycomplicated @ive-cool @blckorchidd

The more time you spent around Jung Jaehyun, the more you grew to like him. How could you not? He was kind, he was funny, handsome, he made you feel like the most special girl in the room! In a quiet library you could always look up from your notes to find his eyes on you. During a crowded party you were always at his side and he made sure you were included in whatever was going on around the both of you.

After four months of being together, you were sure that you were falling in love with Jung Jaehyun. Every time he looked at you with those sweet dimples in his cheeks, every time you woke up in his arms, every time he kissed you, every time the both of you get tangled in the sheets in the throes of passion. Hell, you’d spent nearly your whole summer attached to your phone talking with him when you could have easily been spending time with your family. You want to tell him that you’re falling in love with him.

You want to tell him so badly… but what was holding you back? Well, for one, you’re not his girlfriend. He’s not your boyfriend and he’s made that quite clear. He doesn’t introduce you as anything other than a “very close friend” when he does feel like giving you a title and not just saying your name. He doesn’t like when you call your situation what it is— a situationship. He says that what the two of you have is a lot deeper than that, not a relationship but more than a situationship. He cares for you and “assholes in situationships don’t give a shit about how they make those girls feel.” He cares about your feelings! The whole situationship thing had been a point of contention between the two of you, so you didn’t address it, at least not with him. With Ari and Kira you could vent to your heart's content, but after four months you knew which lines not to cross.

With that being said, you weren't even sure where the huge downward spiral had exactly begun. Had it just been building and building until it all boiled over? Your day hadn’t been all that different than usual, nothing out of the ordinary. You woke up, you went to your classes, you came to the frat house, and you hung out with Jaehyun. Then, you’d go back to your dorm and you and Kira and Ari would continue watching your drama. It was an extremely normal day.

You were scrolling on your phone when you got a text from one of your friends from high school, giggling to yourself as you read her message. He pokes your side as if to ask what made you laugh. Four months of knowing him and you should know by now that he’s got a bit of FOMO, especially around you. You think it’s part of the reason why he makes sure you’re always included and introduced to everyone he knows so you don’t get the same feeling. He can be so considerate.

You clear your throat as you read the message out for him to hear, “one of my friends is coming out to visit next week and is so excited to meet my boyfriend. Do you think you’ll be free next weekend?”

You’re too busy typing back a response so you can’t see how Jaehyun’s face has morphed from one of curiosity to one of uneasiness. He clears his throat, “uh, is that what you tell people? That I’m your boyfriend.”

Jaehyun wasn’t sure how to broach this topic, how to voice the anxiety that had been bubbling in his veins for weeks now. How could he tell you, this amazing, kindhearted, absolute sweetheart that he was having doubts? Not doubts about you, no, never you. Rather, doubts about himself. The longer you two were together, the more the nerves just ate him alive. He couldn’t be with you alone without feeling a knot in his throat, always on edge that some day it was all going to blow up right in his face.

Jaehyun would be the first to admit that had his more dim moments, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew that he wasn’t being the best partner by acting like a boyfriend and refusing to give you the matching title. If anyone was more deserving of being his girlfriend— well there wasn’t anyone beside you! He knew you were it for him, but damn, a guy can freak out, alright!

He’d just spent two years of his life living just about every college guy’s fucking fantasy! He could pull any girl he wanted because they were practically lining up at his door just to catch a glimpse of him. Every week was another girl who didn’t care to be in a relationship simple because they wanted to be with him. He didn’t have to worry about breaking hearts, having titles, meeting friends, planning dates. No, the only worries on his mind were when the condoms ran out and he waited for the nurses at the clinic to call and tell him he was clean.

But you weren’t like that, you were the opposite and he really fucking loved liked it. He tried to be the best version of himself for you. He tried so fucking hard for you, but it was difficult. Not in the “oh fuck, it’s been two weeks since I got my dick wet” kind of way, but rather in the “I need to communicate how I’m feeling so my actions don’t hurt you but it’s hard” kind of way. But old habits and anxieties snuck in. It had been so long since he had been committed to anyone. It had been so long since he had actually been with someone he wanted to be committed to. Is that something he knew how to do? Had he ruined himself with all his pointless sleeping around? Did he want to be a boyfriend? Fuck, he felt like he was going to be sick.

You giggle softly, clearly not understanding that this is a point of discomfort for Jaehyun, “well, you basically are. I mean, we post each other all the time, we kiss, we have sex, we go on dates. It’s just easier to let people think that you’re my boyfriend than to explain that we’re in an exclusive not-relationship.” You knew it was a topic that made him uncomfortable, but honestly you didn’t really see the big deal. You didn’t want to be like the girls you saw on TikTok who complained about their situationships. You and Jaehyun were different! He was different! He was a good guy. You loved him and you weren’t naive enough to fall in love with someone who didn’t care about you.

“Right,” Jaehyun nods to himself, his voice trailing off. The knot in his throat was getting harder and harder to keep down. Why couldn’t he just say what he wanted to say?! Why was his mouth not working with his brain right now?!

You turn to look at him, your thumbs frozen over the screen of your phone, “why did you say it like that? Is there a problem?”

“I just don’t know how comfortable I am with you letting people think we’re boyfriend and girlfriend.” Fuck, that didn’t come out right. Okay, Jae fix this, take a breath and say what you actually mean—

“I let people think we’re boyfriend and girlfriend? Jae, anyone who doesn't know us would think that. What’s the issue with that?” Too late.

“We’re not boyfriend and girlfriend. That’s the issue.” There’s no going back now.

You sit up now, locking your phone and setting it aside, “but we will be someday.” He stays silent, he’s not looking at you. You feel your panic rising, “Jaehyun, tell me we will be someday.”

“I can’t—” Jaehyun starts, “I can’t tell you that.” God, he could hear the tension just flood the room. He felt his heart drop to his stomach. This wasn’t going to be good. He knew that, anybody with eyes and ears would be able to tell.

Your mouth dries out, heart pounding so loud it’s the only sound you can hear. “Well, why not?”

He’s pacing now, his hand running through his hair nervously, forcing himself to get his storm of anxiety into actual words, “I can’t— I haven’t been a boyfriend in a long time, Sweetheart.”

“Because of Hana, I know,” you nod, “but Jaehyun, it’s been four months. You told me you really like me.”

“And I do, but I can’t promise that this, us will ever become more than what it is.” No, that’s not right. Fuck! Why is his stupid ass mouth just spouting lies?! Is this some kind of protection mechanism that all reformed fuckboys just activate in moments of high stress? He doesn’t want it, but he just can’t stop it.

You stand now, in the opposite corner of the room from Jaehyun, your eyes hard, “Well, what is so bad about being my boyfriend?!”

“I haven't been a boyfriend in a long time, and I don’t know if I ever want to be a boyfriend again!”

You feel your throat tighten, “you don’t know if you want to be a boyfriend or be my boyfriend?” Your heart is pounding in your chest, face burning as you attempt to keep yourself calm, try to stop yourself from just breaking down into an emotional wreck.

“Sweetheart, what’s the difference? I’m trying to be honest and communicate with you here.”

“The difference is that on one hand you miss fucking around and getting your dick wet with random women and on the other hand you’ve just wasted four months of my life!” There goes your defense mechanism. It’s not your best choice of words and you know it, but in a moment of hurt you acted out in anger. You couldn’t deny that Jaehyun’s reputation had always been something that made you insecure. He could have any girl, he has had any girl he wanted, yet he chose you. You who didn’t sleep with him the first time he asked you to. You who made him work for it. You who didn’t even know who he was when you first saw him. You who always wondered what was so special about you for him to be exclusive with. What was so special about you?

“A waste?” He parrots, “that’s messed up, Sweetheart.”

“Stop calling me that!” You exclaim passionately, throwing your hands up, “what makes you think it’s okay for you to lead me on when you don’t even know if it’s ever going to progress to anything else?” How had he ruined one of the words that you used to love hearing from his mouth? It sounded condescending and disdainful coming from his lips now. The word that had once made you feel happy and warm, now made you feel grimy— like he was saying Sweetheart just to keep you calm, not because he meant it.

“I’m not leading you on,” Jaehyun replies far too calmly for the words that have just left his lips.

It feels patronizing. It feels like he’s trying to gaslight and manipulate you into thinking in the same fucked up way that he thinks. How could spending four months of exclusive hang outs without the promise of becoming anything more than a “very close friend” not be leading you on? What kind of girl would willingly choose to stay in that situation if she didn’t have hope for her guy? And you had hope, you had mountains of hope for Jaehyun. You’d seen the changes, felt them, heard about them. You were doing good, but this wasn’t the Jaehyun you were getting to know. You didn't know who you were talking to right now.

“Yes, you have! Who tells a girl they really like them? Who tells a girl that she’s the only girl for them? Who tells a girl that she brings out a side of them that they missed? You told me you were serious about me!” You scream weakly, your voice cracking as tears begin to prick at the back of your eyes. It’s getting harder to breathe now, even as you take deep breaths you know it isn’t nearly enough air to calm yourself down. The room feels like it’s getting both smaller and hotter the longer this conversation goes on.

Jaehyun shakes his head, leaning back to stare at the plain white ceiling of his room before responding with a tired sigh, “and then I started to think about us when you called me your boyfriend and now I’m not sure.”

“What the hell is so horrible about the idea of me being your girlfriend? What is so bad about me?” You feel helpless as the question leaves your lips. Whatever he says you know you’re not going to like, but you need to know. Even if it breaks you.

“I just… I haven’t been in a committed relationship for such a long time. I didn’t have time to adjust from being free to being tied down to someone,” he explains with another sigh, this time of frustration.

And you snap, because what the hell is so frustrating about being with you? You who let this bitch ass fratboy lead you on for four months? You who taught this adult man how to wash his fucking bed sheets. You who taught him how to use separate shampoo, conditioner, and body wash. You who taught this college student how to study. Fuck him. Seriously, fuck him. What does he even mean being fucking free?! As if you stopped him from doing fucking anything besides sticking his dick in anything warm with a pulse. “Being free? In what ways do I hinder you from doing anything you didn’t do before you met me?” You ask with your arms now crossed across your chest.

“You mean besides the obvious?” He asks with a quirk of his brow. Fuck, wrong move! Damn, his fratboy fuckboy instincts. This is getting ugly and messy and horrible fast. Much faster than he wanted. Fuck!

It’s a knife to your chest. The obvious. The obvious fact that no one seems to let you forget. The fact that he’s not sleeping around anymore. You’re so glad he can read your mind. You’re so glad you spent four months of your life giving this man every opportunity to read your quirks and pick up on what you were thinking. You used to love how in sync you both were, but now? Now you fucking hate it. You clear your throat, forcing the knot in your throat to stay down, if he wants to be an asshole then so will you. “I didn’t realize there was anyone on campus left for you to sleep around with.” You state coldly, your glare icy. Defense mode activated. All the way fucking activated. Attack, attack, attack so he can’t see your hurt. You can’t let him see how your hurt. Fight fire with fire and just deal with the burnt mess later.

“Just you, Sweetheart,” Jaehyun spits back smugly, “but wait… I got you didn’t I? I’ll admit it took a while but here you are, you still decided to stick around. I wonder now… what the fuck makes you think you’re so special if according to you, you’re just one out of the hundreds of girls on campus?”

The air is sucked out of the room. The tension is so thick that even a knife or a sword wouldn’t be able to cut through it. The room is silent, eerily so. To a random bystander walking by, they might just think this room was empty. Jaehyun didn’t want to say that! Fuck, no! He has never, ever thought of you as just some body to warm his bed. Why the fuck would he say that?! He hated the way that his past made you insecure, though. He hated the way you talked about his past and the way you looked down on him for doing something that didn’t hurt anyone. But you had gone low so he went lower. Now, he feels like he’s actually about to throw up because in the silence of his room he can hear how your breath catches and hear how your heart breaks.

He’s never seen anyone look so hurt, so fucking destroyed by anything in his life. He feels like a piece of shit. Then there go your tears, making the eyes he loves water and shine like the stars in the sky. Your voice is thick with your tears and with your pain as you force out weak, “Fuck you, Jaehyun.”

He wishes he could take it all back. He wants to cross the room right now and just hold you against his chest, hold you and kiss you until the only thing you remember about him is how much he cares about you, how strongly he feels for you. He wishes he could time travel. He wishes he had just bitten back his anxiety and said, ‘Yeah, I’d love to meet your friend! Have her come to the party!’ He wishes that instead of acting out of hurt and anxiety that maybe he had just taken the time to think— fucking think about how he was feeling and said something!

When had you ever made him feel like he couldn’t talk to you?! Never! That was just one of the millions of things he loved liked about you! Fuck, he was so fucking stupid! But he can’t do any of that. It’s like his body is refusing to work with his brain. It’s like he’s watching this whole mess go down from outside his body. He’s watching this shell of himself act in a way he should never ever treat you. He doesn’t even register his mouth moving, but he hears himself say, “Sweetheart, you already have.”

You don’t stop the tears then, you don’t say anything else as you gather your things and try to stop yourself from sobbing out loud. You can’t see anything, just a mess of colors through your tears as you grab your backpack and your phone. You can’t breathe either, it’s like your body is in fight or flight mode. You’ve given all the fight you have left to give and now you need to get the fuck away from here.

Jaehyun stands as still as a statue, watching how your shaky hands gather everything you brought with you like you’ll die if you don’t get out of here in a minute. He’s screaming at himself to move, to apologize, to say something— anything! He can’t fucking lose you! But he doesn’t and he hates himself for it. The slam of his bedroom door is what seems to snap him out of it. He immediately clutches at his chest, running a hand through his hair as tears of despair fill his eyes. He can’t breathe. “What the fuck did I just do?” He whispers to himself.

You’re running down the hall, hiccuping as you try to breathe and just get as far away from this hell hole as you can. The house is quiet, as quiet as you’ve ever heard it and you know the guys are home. They heard everything and that fills you with a whole different kind of pain. A pain of anxiety and nerves, knowing that they were all just witnessed to your heart not just being broken but stomped on, that they heard how you were completely eviscerated and treated like some cheap piece of ass, and how they also heard you speak to one of their own in a way that you had ever talked to anybody before.

You stumble down the last steps, watching helplessly as your phone and backpack clutter to the floor as your knees hit the floor with a dull thud. Just what you needed, perfect. You’re a mess now, on the brink of an anxiety attack as you gather your pens and pencils and back while your mind is on the brink of just shutting down completely. You haven’t felt this helpless in a long time, since you tried to do some hairstyle on yourself as a girl and just couldn’t get it right. But it hurts worse, it hurts so much fucking worse because you know that this is something that is going to stick with you for a long time.

You want to curl up on the dirty, sticky floor, sob and lay here until Mother Nature does her thing and this is just a memory long forgotten, but you refuse to stay stagnant. Get out, get out, get out.

You cough, hating the way that your own tears are starting to choke you. Why can’t you fucking breathe?! Why isn’t the zipper closing? Why do you have so many god damn pens? Why is your phone so far away? Just— why?

And then there’s another pair of hands. Then two pairs. Then three. One pair of hands gathers the pens, the other zips your bag closed, the other helps you to your feet. And then all hands embrace you. A warm embrace that is just what you need to break down completely. Your tears the soft cotton of Johnny’s favorite t-shirt, Taeyong’s soft and gentle hands use a tissue to soak up your tears, and Haechan hugs your back tightly, knowing that you need the pressure to ground you. You want to be far, far away from this frat house right now, but you don’t want them to leave you alone.

You can’t tell who’s speaking over your sobs or the racing of your heart in your own ears, but you hear, “you’re alright.”

You hear, “breathe with me.”

You hear your friends, though a by-product of your former not-relationship with Jaehyun, care for you. It’s just what you need. Johnny kisses your forehead in much of the same matter that your mom would when you were younger, Taeyong rubs your back, and Haechan cries with you.

When your sobs have calmed to sniffles and a steady somewhat stream of tears, you peel yourself off Johnny’s chest with a stuffy apology. You wipe away the tears with shaking hands, “thanks, guys. I should go now, though.”

“I called Ari and Kira, so at least wait until they get here. We don’t want you leaving in this state alone,” Haechan tells you quietly, like he’s afraid that speaking any louder will break you even further.

You shake your head fervently in response, responding in a broken voice, “I can’t be here any longer.”

Taeyong nods, leading you to the door. For a second you feel your heart break all over again, he’s kicking you out. One of the closest friends you’ve made in the frat is kicking you out. But he answers with a simple, “we can wait outside on the porch then. The fresh air will be good for all of us.”

You sit on the brick steps of the house, taking deep breaths that Johnny guides you through with Haechan’s hand in yours while Taeyong brushes your hair away from your face. You’re thankful for them. Thankful that even though this house has brought you heartbreak, it has also brought you love in all forms. Your backpack is planted beside you, a warm wind breezing against your heated skin. The air is sweet with a breeze all too warm for this point in the year, but your body needs it.

You hear Ari and Kira before you see them. Ari’s high pitched yell, “where is that bastard?! I’ll kill him!”

Kira hisses out, “shut the fuck up! She doesn’t need this right now!”

Both girls engulf you in a warm hug that has your chest heaving all over again, wanting to just get all the bitter pain out of your body. Ari takes your bag, helping you up to your feet while Kira takes your hand in hers giving it a reassuring squeeze.

You turn to your fratboy friends, feeling more tears, not because of Jaehyun, but because you know you won’t see them as much. They have loyalties to Jaehyun that you won’t impede on, a literal brotherhood, but you hate that in losing Jaehyun you have also lost your good friends.

You clear your throat, “Thanks for helping me out, I guess I’ll see you guys around.” Your voice breaks, “I’m going to miss you guys and I'm really sorry about what you heard—”

“Don’t talk like that, Sweets, and don’t apologize. We’re not going anywhere— we’re still your friends. You girls get home safe, we’ll see you,” Taeyong smiles sweetly.

Johnny embraces you one more time, a tight squeeze with a swift peck to your temple, “everything will work itself out, I know it.”

You nod, thanking him in a quiet whisper before accepting a hug from Taeyong. You turn to Haechan, expecting his hug, but he rolls his eyes, “the fuck, Sweets? I’m coming with you girls.”

You wave goodbye to the Nu Chi Theta president and vice president one last time, letting your eyes wander over the exterior of the house you’d been a frequent visitor of for four months. With one last glance and a reluctant glance at the third window on the far right, you leave.

a/n: feedback would be very, very appreciated! Thank you for reading this far! I don't have an exact date for part 2 so please don't rush, I'm not leaving them off on a bad note! :)

Part 2 here!

#kpop imagines #kpop au #kpop scenarios #kpop reactions #nct #nct imagines #nct fluff #nct x reader #nct angst #fratboy!jaehyun #frat!jaehyun #frat!nct #jaehyun imagines #jaehyun fic #jaehyun x reader #jaehyun scenarios #jaehyun angst

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cursedcola · 5 months ago

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Prompt: Couples will evidently begin to mimic their better half after some time. What traits do you steal from him, and vice versa? Fandom: Twisted Wonderland Characters: Everyone - because I want to and I’m amidst fleshing out all my Yuu/Character dynamics + designs Format: Headcannons. Masterlist: LinkedUP Parts: Heartslabyul | Savanaclaw | Octavinelle | Scarabia | Pomefiore (Here) | Ignihyde | Diasomnia A/N: Putting all my brain rot from my notes into something cohesive. Contrary to my love for ripping your hearts out, I've come with some fluff this time around. BTW you may or may not already do things mentioned - I write my works with a specific Yuu in mind for each character so this is based on them. Just a reminder.

Habits you steal:

Posture (Inherited): You know that scene in every princess movie, where they're in training with books balanced atop their head? Walking in circles over and over to maintain perfect posture? Yeah. Just yeah. It's one of his more annoying habits, for sure.

"Any further and you will kiss the table. Right yourself this instant." <-If you so much as slouch like the gremlin he truly does love - he will straighten you himself.

Social Freedom (Inherited): You are....a wonderfully weird character. Even by Twisted Wonderland's standards. Vil loves bringing out the intricacies in people and blossoming them into perfection. His confidence oozes and bleeds. Which is why being near him makes doing the most spontaneous and crazy things easy. Especially when there's such fondness behind his 'scolding'. You won't be camera shy or just shy in general, that's for certain.

"I never thought fleeting liberty could be portrayed as elegant. Alas, I am still yet to be convinced otherwise - but it is a wonderful look on you. That was a compliment, my dear." <- Others look at Vil as someone without the ability to let loose. They're correct to an extent, yet it does come easier with you. The last person he expected such a thing from.

Healthy Eating (Inherited): Vil follows a strict dietary regimen - he won't subject you to it's itinerary to a T. However, he is going to give the snide eye if you don't get a side salad with that pizza. He'll often order on your behalf at eateries or when the team is taking meal orders on set. Never in an oppressive way, it's always things you like, but he is stubborn when it comes to nutritional gain. There lingers a deep rooted discomfort that you'll one day feel neglected in his absence. Even if Vil isn't home, expect those ready-made meal packages to be sent to the door. Vil is nothing if not attentive - that much is for certain.

Pagers and Beepers (Inherited): A bit old-school, but he carries one. Vil can't always drop everything to check on his phone. He also puts the addictive device away two hours before bed to ensure better sleep - what he does keep on at all times is a functioning pager. This is Vil's preferred communication device and he expects you to have it on your person at all times. Never miss a beep. Especially if he is out for long periods of time, or you're in a state he's fussing over (gods do NOT get sick. He will be an absolute mess).

*Bzz* 'Home Late. 10:00.' *Bzz* 'Come to studio. Wear Mask & Bring Downtime Material' *Bzz* 'Still Sick? Have You Eaten Yet?' *Bzz Bzz Bzz* 'Love you. Miss you.'

Skincare (Inherited): Vil's very pushy when it comes to personal care - Epel can 100% attest to this, and takes every chance to voice his grievances (when Vil is not near, of course. Somehow word always gets back though). While he runs a tight ship, he's very sweet and takes your preferences into consideration when making products.

"Come here. Ah...your cheeks are reddened. Sunburn is a very dangerous opponent this time of year. Tsk. I fault myself for not thinking ahead. You might survive the occasional visit in Scarabia, but the Shaftlands climate is unpredictable." <- Vil will gently graze your cheekbones, already thinking over what potency of sun cream he needs to make. Everyone is different, after all. He already makes your perfume, shampoo, lotions, and cosmetics all from scratch - although he does have a preference for when you wear notes of citrus. Bright scents and soft looks suit your character (and are reflective of the effect you have on him). Beauty is an art, and you are his most precious canvas.

Wet-Wipes (developed): Yes, he owns smudge-proof lipstick. Yes, he could choose to wear said lipstick...Vil does not, and thoroughly enjoys seeing whatever shade he picked out smeared on your cheeks or lips. It's a rare bit of selfishness to waste time re-applying it, but he gets a bit of pleasure watching you scrub frantically at it in the mirror. Especially on days you have somewhere to be.

"Ahaha...oh? That look on your face is worth a bit of extra effort. I cannot expect to be rewarded without putting in the work, after all." <- It's a rare bit of unnecessary selfishness on his end. To waste his carefully crafted products, just to watch you scrub his mark off in the mirror. Not too frantic otherwise it'll earn a scolding...but he gets a brief twisted pleasure from it. Especially on days you have somewhere to be.

Apologies(Developed): You...always have to initiate apologies. He's nothing sour or stubborn. Vil can admit his faults when exposed to constructive criticism, and he will work on them. Do not expect things like silent treatment to work, because he will not give in. He is stubbornly attentive, making sure your pettiness won't bleed into life. Makes sure you still share meals together, etc. He will NOT apologize first though.

Habits he steals:

Junk Food (Inherited): Just like he tries to heal your body, you'll try to heal his heart through soul food. It's a part of bonding, and contractual between partners. Is he really going to sit there empty handed while you gorge on candy hearts after a bad day? He better have at least one, or you won't tell him what's wrong. What about peanut butter and potato chip sandwiches?

"You truly are one stubborn creature. Is your stomach made of impenetrable steel?... *sigh* I will taste this concoction of yours, but never claim that I do not love you. If I break out in a rash then you will have far worse to fear beyond my potions" <- He'll be disgusted, but you insist he has to have at least one bite. Just for the cultural experience. If you drink his convoluted potions, then he needs to try your culinary concoctions. Secretly? It's a bit thrilling. You're so wonderfully novel that he can act out any role without thinking the character weird. He's got the biggest weirdo at home after all.

Paparazzi (Developed): Vil will take the blunt end of the media to keep you hidden. He has a private account for people close to him on all sites, and knows what tricks to use so images can't be reused. Like always wearing the same outfit when accompanying you to the gym. This way pictures can't be reused. As much as he encourages you to blossom from your shell, he's a cautious fellow. Not unfamiliar with how obsessive some fans can be. When you're alone, there's always a body guard. Yet unwilling to make you nervous, he arranges for a more...secretive approach.

" - and how was your outing today? Rook is exceedingly knowledgeable on the tourism in this town. I'm sorry we could not go shopping together, but you bought me a gift surely?...hah! I'm merely teasing. It's good to hear that you both had a fun time exploring" <- It's honestly just Rook. Always Rook until the end of time. He's the only one Vil would trust to either politely follow, or simply hang out with you. You're familiar with him, Vil knows there are no ulterior motives, and he's got a sharper eye than most.

Cuddling (Developed): It's scientifically proven that cuddling improves the quality of one's sleep, did ya know? Get in the bed. Now. Don't you want his affection? Hmph.

"Now, I know fully well that you have no intention to spend the night on the couch. I suggest you join me in the next five minutes, or I will take matters into my own hands."

Video Games (Inherited): Vil isn’t a stranger to them. Enjoys them from time to time but never too much because he’s so busy - but you introduced him to Dress to Impress and now he’s addicted. Not just that but he absolutely loves a good rpg. He does like to play with you - like in a co-op platformer, cozy game, or service - when able because it’s bonding time. Vil gets so invested in story lore and actively starts seeking roles in Live Action Adaptation films. Vil as Astarion when???

Thrifting (Inherited): There’s something magical about not knowing what you’re going to get. At first he was against it. You don't have to do that anymore, y'know. He can buy you new clothes if you need them. That is - until you take him through an upcycling market. Vil is used to his designer brands and high fashion - but when you’re able to see potential in something? Make it sparkle? He’s just a big slut for creativity, and I think he would love upcycling.

"My radiance touches all fronts - including my darling. How bold of you to insinuate anything but - No. How daring of you to suggest that adhering to anyone else's standards is worth my time." == Vil is happy to discuss your relationship if the topic is breeched politely during an interview. He isn't shy, neither does he approach anything with less than his best. That includes romance...but oh, hell hath no fury than a smitten Shoenheit scorned by an uncouth reporter. He can sense their attempts to doctor an interview for petty gossip a mile away. He is PROUD that you are learning from him, and views the changes you've brought to his life as improvements. Not lovelorn imperfections.

Habits You Steal

Locks (Developed): Rook is? Oh...okay, so your love's a bit of a prankster - or perhaps a thrill-seeker is more like it? He doesn't let life get too boring, that's for certain. Rook knows Ramshackle through and through. It's not uncommon to look out the window and see his feathered hat zip by in the woods, or through the garden. He does love playing his own version of 'where's waldo' - flickering about to and fro, weaving between the garden trellis and ducking behind trees. Just waiting for his amour to spot him from afar. He knows the layout too intimately - you fear. His habit of breaking and entering instills an anxiety over how unsecure Ramshackle truly is.

“BOO! Aha - desolé, mon coeur - I didn’t mean to startle you so. Consider this a lesson in spacial awareness! Mon dieu, there is a blatant gap in your dorm’s fencing just near the east! Wild beasts can break through and have you for supper. My poor heart will be shattered!” <- So yeah. He's all to happy to set up padlocks on the weak point windows, your fence, etc. He even encourages you to set up some traps yourself. It'll make those 'where's waldo' games more fun for him with new obstacles hehe.

The Nearest Exit (Inherited): Huntsman through and through - he's trained you well. You always sit by the nearest exit in class, closest to the door wherever you are.

Research (Inherited): While Rook is très passionné about fine arts, he's also fascinated with the unknowns in this world. What better club for the truly curious, than the science club? He adores bringing you in to join experiments, always questioning your perspective and letting you take the lead (when safe). It makes a routine procedure all the more interesting, watching what is familiar to him become novel through your eyes. It's like planting a rare seed for the first time, not knowing what will bloom. Akin to venturing within the barred sections of NRC's greenhouse, a thrilling adventure in the pursuit of knowledge. Alchemy becomes your best subject, you can recite the periodic table without need for mnemonics, and you breech the top five in your academic year. Crewel is thoroughly impressed. Good pup.

“Hm? Ah, how curious…there are 123 elements for study in this world, my dear assistant. Would you like to learn the song we teach young mages to memorize them? I will happily serenade you as we work. <- Yup. Twisted Wonderland has more elements than we do, since they’ve got magic resources. Sadly singing the Periodic Table Song won’t be useful. Well, it’s mostly useful still? Trey will actually kill you for teaching it to Rook though. Their mnemonic is much less fast paced and…less annoying. Yeah.

Fleurien (Inherited) : Is this truly shock to anyone? It's french in our world - so props if you already speak the language. Rook isn't fluent but he'd love to learn more. So ... either you use it more with him, or pick up a phrase or two here and there. It's scary as shit - by the way. Now Epel's got not one head popping up screeching "BONJOUR" but two. Don't get comfy because he's small - Rook might be quick enough to dodge a punch but you're one to many outbursts away from a broken nose.

Talking To Yourself (Developed) : Alright. Ace is officially convinced you're off your rocker and need to go visit the nurse. There's no way you know when Rook's skulking about - and if you did, why the heck are you talking to thin air? Just tell him to come out?...yeah, it's not uncommon to have a conversation with your 'boyfriend' when said man isn't visible to the naked eye. There are rumors you finally snapped, just so y'know. Rook physically had to go clear it up with Kalim before the sunshine child sent you on an all-paid tropical vacation to destress (Dammit Rook we were so close -)

“Mon cherie! You look positively radiant in the afternoon light! - ah. The answer is 27, adieu!” <- Call out any question on your Maths or Science homework to the barren sky, and an answer will sound from proximity unknown. The gods have answered your academic dilemma in the form of fleurian embellishments. No. Grim. You can’t just ask every problem - okay you might want to only do this when alone.

Compliments (Developed// Inherited) : Rook is a sweetheart. Maybe a bit of an acquired taste - but he always has something wonderful to say about everyone. No matter their faults...it's almost instinctual, the way you flip from boxed caution to returning his zeal with a genuine compliment. Each and every one. His reaction remains unique as well, he never grows accustomed to it. People groan at the 'shameless flirting' - only to blanch when Rook compliments them in turn, and you are so quick to back him up.

“Oh…mon amour, you never cease to surprise me.” <- Spoken with the most tender affection. Tips his hat to cover his blushing cheeks.

Habits he steals:

Surprises (Inherited): Rook often leaves little gifts and surprises for you to find - in a way he's testing himself, gauging your reactions and getting a spin of glee when you show him a new expression. A bouquet of fresh flowers (their meanings spelling a love letter), sweets from a far corner in the Shaftlands, poems hidden throughout your home in places he predicts you'll check, polaroids of sites across the Isle (urging you to find where for a surprise) etc. This actually started with you - knowing his love for the unknown, you wooed his heart by making little games for him. Not so much snooping into his affairs, but it was fun being under someone else's watchful eye. A bit clumsy but charming to have someone wanting to get the jump on him. Could he be considered prey, if he wanted to be caught?

Decor (Developed) : We've...we've all seen his bedroom, right? Now it isn't going to be the extent of Neige of Vil. Be this a concern or comfort to you? - it's subjective. He will preserve every little thing in regards to your relationship. That middle space above his bed? Cut a square right down the room's center, taking equal parts away from the Neige and Vil spitdown. Add some shelving, a few boxes under his bed and new linens...yup. Polaroids, mementos, paintings, love letters, mayhaps not a plush but if you consent to him having a tiny crochet doll or tsum of you then he will be thrilled. It's all there, right at the center of his organized chaos. He doesn't harbor the same feelings towards you as he does his idols, but that doesn't mean you're any less important.

Organization (Inherited): On that note, since Vil's your friend and the space can be a bit much? Rook will politely tone it down when you're over - flipping the posters and dolls if he's expecting a visit. It is wonderful that you accept his bonified fanboy behavior, but he concedes this much for your comfort.

“Ah…my limited edition Appleblossom-Vil sheets. I understand your discomfort my love, so I have graciously turned them into the perfect couch-cushion cover! Come and see how magnifique they match the drapes!” <-Again…compromise. You can’t even be put off with that level of creativity and excitement.

Freckles and Gloves (Developed): Stop. Covering. Your. Damn. Freckles !!!! This isn't about the hair. Believe it or not, his hair is cute and anyone who says otherwise can stfu because he likes it. If it's what he likes then it's what he likes. The freckles? You're slapping that damn bottle of concealer out of his hands. He'll wake up early to try and reapply it before you wake up. Nope. Nada. He cannot go preaching about the beauty of imperfections while still covering up what triggers the most extreme cute aggression known to man. You compliment every nick on his hands and forearms and wherever else, praise all the little freckles on his nose and cheeks until this man physically is sent to the moon and back from your passion.

“Aha! I am being assaulted by a ticklish foe! If my face is enough to elicit such sweetness from you, then I will certainly die the happiest man in this lifetime” <- He's never seen you so passionate about anything. it's enough to overwhelm him, in all honesty. Stops wearing the concealer most casual days, but won't concede his gloves. Might wear it on occasion to see if you notice (and get a bit of that fire in your eyes to come back).

Scrap Booking (Developed): Rook documents everything, why not keep a scrap book? You suggest the idea to him as a way to immortalize his findings without always needing some kind of trophy. Now he has a scrap book dedicated to literally everyone. Vil and Neige might have multiple…and at some point you have to wonder when it breeches scrap book criteria and just becomes a full detailing of his observations. It depends on how you feel about candid photos.

Newspaper Club (Inherited) : Oh yeah. Rook becomes an honorary member of the Newspaper club. He finds great thrill in trying to get those candid shots without being spotted by his targets <3. If he can help out his amour on his little escapades, then say no more. He's honored to be the only one allowed to use your ghost camera.

“Oh just look at that sunrise! It is the true embodiment of what our students stand for! To press through the darkness through tireless hours of study and labor - all to emerge in new dawn as promising mages! I must get the perfect shot for my darling’s club…non. A ground view will not do - to the skies!” <- He proceeds to break six rules, pilfer a broom from the Spelldrive team, get the photo and return to class without any evidence

“Oh mon dieu - how my heart soars! To be loved is to be seen, no? Ah, I could as for no greater compliment. Merci Beaucoup, mon amie!” == Others might make the comparison with scorn. Most find Rook’s mannerisms to be peculiar, some find him distasteful. He is merely an appreciator of beauty, and you are one of the most marvelous creatures he has ever set eyes on. In body and mind. It is an honor to be mimicked. To be loved is to be changed. If anyone holds a true appreciation for sharing habits, it is Rook Hunt. He detests others prying into his personal affairs…and yet, he finds himself willingly giving hints to you. Oho?

Habits you steal:

Dialect and Slang (Inherited) : The most obvious. You don’t spend hours upon hours with someone and not walk away without some of their lingo. Do you REALLY think he has the energy to maintain that primmed facade all the time? The moment it’s closed doors Epel lets loose like no one else on campus. The personality flip is insane. It’s like when you spend time in a foreign country and pick up a bit of their accent - but that southern drawl.

"I don' sound like that! Wait..." <- Slams his palm over Deuce's mouth when he and Ace were mimicking you who 'apparently' started to sound like a bumpkin. Doesn't help that Epel calls you a 'pumpkin' either....oh yeah, the teasing is relentless.

Survival (Inherited): Epel could get you off a stranded island with just a coconut, three sticks, and a rock. Not even exaggerating, he’s just that resourceful. Navigating through woodlands through any kind of weather, making deliveries across towns and encountering any spectacle the mind can trudge up? Yeah. Teaches a guy somethin’. He makes sure you don’t walk off the farm without a survival pack and even shows you how to tell time using the sky. If only he realized how attractive this sort of thing is.

Apples (Developed) : I sincerely hope you have a taste for apples and everything apple related. Epel will be carving away, picking the dud chunks with toothpicks and handing them off without a second thought. Who eats them? You. Also his family sends a care package at least once a month. Cider, pie, tarts, hell they somehow got apples in kugel? The others in your little possé help polish it off, but Epel’s family is so stoked that he has a partner. That Harveston event was a doozy, let me tell ya. A village full of elderly folks asking after you means you will never go hungry. Well…so long as you can survive on apples.

"You know...you kind of remind me of a McIntosh apple. Pretty sweet but also nice an' refreshing...a-ah? That was romantic? I was just thinking out loud but if you say so..."

Cold Tolerance (Developed) : Speaking of Harveston, did you know you got thirty-minutes? Oh yes, thirty minutes to run my friend. Just kidding. Don’t run. Not unless you want to see a sled coming at you in the distance at breakneck speed. Now that his family has a face to match their Epel’s sweetheart, you will always be expected to join him on trips home. They want pictures, updates, your measurements for new clothes and he better be sending notice so the guest room is made up. Epel will be sent right back to NRC if he ever comes back without you in tow. Congrats, you’ve been adopted. It’s chilly there but you get some hand-knitted mittens out of it. Epel is mortified but also so thankful he has someone to buffer the welcome-wagon with.

"Hey uhh...do you mind if we take a picture together? It's just for my mom's scrapbook. She's been asking for one 'a us together and I don' want to disappoint her....h-huh? What'ddya mean you already sent some?! When?!" <- You're writing to his family. Alright. He's totally not running through every embarrassing story his Meemaw or parents have in their arsenal...ah crap.

Cowboy Hat Rule (Developed) : One-hundred percent true across dimensions. You are NOT allowed to wear anyone else’s hat, ya got that? No one. Especially not no-one from the shaft-lands or the Savannah. Rook once offered you his brimmed-hat on a rainy day and Epel completely lost his mask for a moment. He quite literally yanked his jacket off and smothered your head with it, meeting Rook’s amused mirth with narrowed eyes. He didn’t care if Vil scolded him. That Hunt knew exactly what he was doing, ain’t Epel’s fault. Not this time, no way.

"A-a little water won't kill anyone! Let's just run for it!" <- Shoots a poorly-controlled glare as you both book-it to the nearest shelter. Rook's laughter was as boisterous as ever, always happy to push Epel's buttons.

Cat-Calls (Developed) : Assholes love to hit on Epel. The amount of times other students mistake him for a girl - man. Poor guy. It really peeves him off when it happens in front of you too. We’re talking veins popping out of his neck and red enough to rival Riddle on his worst days. What makes it worse is that you defend him. Ain’t it supposed to be the other way ‘round? On one hand he’s smug because you’re parading him like a prized trophy - hah! Look at that, ain’t he a catch? The high dies down a bit when the pursuer leaves. Then he gets sulky.

Heating Pack (Inherited) : Dear god farmlife is kicking your ass. Epel cackles and jokes at your suffering, but hauling those crates is no joke. Thank god he knows a remedy and lends you his heating pack every night. Some icy-hot on the joints, a foot bath for the ankles, and he might rub your shoulders if you ask nicely. He won’t admit to using the remedies himself, claiming they’re for his parents. He just wants to seem tough but you know better. Seven have mercy on your aching knees…there’s got to be a way to worm out of this.

There isn’t. You don’t work, you don’t eat. Haul ass dimension traveler.

"Howdy pumpkin, how're you holding up? Jeez, I warned you about lifting with your legs...nah, forget about it. Vil must be rubbing off on me with his scolding. Here's some hot chocolate to tide ya over until supper. Meemaw's got some herbal remedies lying around, want to give them a try?"

Habits he steals:

Thievery (Inherited): Goes in-hand with the care packages he's getting from home. Those are suppose to be FOR HIM, but you're sneaking all the good bits and leaving him with the barrels of apples. Get your own mail man...just kidding(-ish). He honestly is so glad to have some of the heat taken off his shoulders. Plus, you writing them means he gets a bit more freedom...but seriously. He has to keep stealing back the stuff you've pilfered. Sure he's getting an allowance, but c'mon. Half the stuff that gets sent are things from his room that he already owns, like clothes and his whittle knives...it was cool showing off his best stuff, until his parents sent over his baby album without saying nothing. He had to pry that out of your mitts and bury it under lock-and-key in his room.

"Son of a- Hey! The heck did I tell ya about stealin' my socks?! I know yous ain't that desperate! Go an' get et yer own already dammit!" <- Doesn't matter if he sends a letter back to his Meemaw, asking her to send some extra pairs of those fluffy slipper-socks. Maybe some stationary and a couple jars of jam that Grim'll just run through in a day. You're always fighting over stuff.

Delinquency (Inherited): You are literally Vil's worst enemy - undoing everything he's sought to instill. When Epel is with you, he reverts back to his most basic form. Aka. hunched over his carvings like a gremlin crescent, doing contortionist moves through the halls, sneaking cup-ramen at 2am just 'cause he's bored (Rook plays Hide 'n' Seek those nights, chasing ya through Pomefiore until you're back in Epel's room. Wanna eat? Gotta work for it) , and really the most unmannered bullshit possible. Spell Drive was his go-to outlet where he could get muddy and talk hot shit. Still is - what? You think the Savanaclaw students (70% of the team) are going to sit there and paint their nails? Nah, he's been initiated and all that. Had to show his muscle...but this is different. Vil's considered banning you from the dorm during important times like exams, parties, assemblies, etc. just to get some grounding. Doesn't work, since Epel will just sneak out. Riddle isn't the only one with crafty first-years looking to couch surf.

Malipulation (Inherited): Epel learns how you've managed to last this long in Twisted Wonderland with nothing but that pretty little brain under your belt. People are so quick to expect nothing from the Ramshackle prefect...and instead of proving them wrong, or getting heated? You let them think that way, because bad press was good press at NRC. Let them think you were a conniving, brown nosed kiss-ass who was getting it in with the dorm leaders. Let them think you were a walking sack of bad karma. Let them think whatever else - because those stereotypes are what's keeping you afloat.

"Ah - pardon me...I'll take that challenge on their behalf, if it's all right with you? Don't hold back on me now!.....ya pea-brained fucknugget." <- Epel twists this in his own way- aka. he starts using his pretty looks to his advantage. Let people think he's a weakling, so that when the time comes to prove himself he'll make a 180 change and give a big ol' can of whoopass. Your 'normie-ness' as Idia puts it, is your biggest weapon. Same for Epel's disarming visage.

Cologne (Developed): In an effort to be seen as more 'manly' in your eyes, Epel went down to the Isle shopping district and bought the most putrid smelling drugstore musk you can imagine. One whiff near-singed your nostril hairs off from how much he packed on...Vil did not approve, and gifted him a higher quality scent with notes of peppercorn and jasmine. You personally went and thanked Vil in secret - unable to tell Epel just how bad he smelled since he did it trying to impress you.

Lint Roller (Developed): Vil runs a tight ship - Epel's needs to get Grim's fur off of his uniform for every inspection or else he'll get his head chewed off. Especially if his dorm uniform gets dirtied.

Confidence (Developed): Stops masking his accent when with friends. Never had anyone cheering for him before. Like, really cheering for him. So you coming to his Spelldrive games is such a boost. Wears Ramshackle colors (bandanna and waist-flags) on his club uniform - Vil not mad bc Rook wouldn’t shut up about it being in the name of love -

"Woooo! Score! Blue must be my lucky color! Hahaha!" <- Epel always looks for you in the crowd. Luck isn't nothin' to do with it, but if wearing blue and white gets him playing better? The team isn't complaining.

Protective (Developed): Part insecurity, part him being a bit old-fashioned, part being sick of stereotypes against the underdog (aka. ya both), and part pure country-boy lovin'. He's not a raised gentleman like Riddle, doesn't know the ins and outs of 'romance' like Rook, honestly bro is fumbling half the time...but ain't no one seen Epel flair up like he does in your defense. No one can talk him down. On the protectiveness scale he would get 15/10, because there ain't many friends to make back at Harveston. Surely not anyone to love. He's got some good examples for how to treat a life-partner, and knows 13 different moves to dislocate different joints across the human body.

"Sure ya want ta go there, huh? Huh? Say that again to mah face. I'll put ya nose to the dirt so fast that filthy mouth'll o' yers will taste nothin' but soil fer weeks!" <- He'll do it too. His Meemaw trained him for more than just the Sledathon...nah, years of hauling crates built muscle. Back when he was still a first-year on the Spelldrive team, he'd get shit from his teammates while they 'tested' him. The worst mistake they made was coming for you though, even if it was a bit. Epel was full on ready to clobber a Cheetah-beastman twice his size, and if Jack hadn't stepped in...he probably would've, no mercy.

“That’s….that’s somethin’ else, ain’t it? Heh. Heheheh,” == Epel had to excuse himself to go giggle on his lonesome. Can’t have anyone see how happy that small comment just made him. You really love him that much? You respect him that much? He can’t begin to put two and two together - his heart was pounding like some lovesick ninny…oh. Oh hells. He is a lovesick ninny. Needless to say that Epel is absolutely riding a high for the rest of the day.

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst x reader #twst imagines #twst scenarios #twisted wonderland x reader #pomefiore #twst vil schoenheit #vil shoenheit x reader #rook hunt #twst rook hunt #rook hunt x reader #epel felmeir #epel felmier x reader #twst epel #twst habits series #cola writes

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godricgryffinsnore · 9 days ago

Note

helloooo if your you’re taking requests for James Potter i have a REALLYYY long idea and I’m thinking maybe a long story where they are childhood friends and known as the Golden Girl and Boy of Hogwarts. James is quite clingy and touchy with her, so everyone thinks they’re dating. Then, one day, he makes a public, dramatic love confession when he realizes she’s going on a date.

PLEASE PLEASEE feel free to ignore this if its too much💗💗

Just Friends, He Swears ♡ | J.Potter ⋆. 𐙚 ˚

“We were just best friends—until she smiled at someone else and I realized I was one scarf away from staging a public meltdown in the rain.”

pairing : James Potter x fem!reader

summary : A golden boy, a golden girl, and the chaos of being “just friends” when everyone else knows it’s love—except them. A slow-burn Hogwarts rom-com full of tension, longing, and one very dramatic confession in the rain.

warnings : Fluff, Jealousy, Dramatic idiots, Public love confession, Mild language, Secondhand embarrassment. Please let me know if I missed any.

author's note : English is not my first language, so please forgive me for any grammatical errors or spelling errors. Re-blogging is completely fine with me, but please don't copy my work. I love you all. Enjoy <3.

della's note : Thank you so much for requesting anon!!! I really appreciate you coming here and sharing your ideas with me <3 Hope you like this!!

word count : 1.5k

navigation <3

banners : @/omi-resources and @/cafekitsune

James Potter met her on the train to Hogwarts in first year, hair wild from the wind, face flushed with excitement, and she had a chocolate frog stuck in her hair. He fell in love right then. Not that he’d admit it. Not even now. Not even when he’s sixteen and she's sitting next to him in the common room with her legs on his lap and his fingers tracing lazy circles into her shin.

They’re best friends. Have been since day one. She’s the only one who can match his chaos, ground his storms, slap him upside the head when he’s being arrogant, and whisper in his ear when he’s too proud to admit he’s scared. They’re Hogwarts’ Golden Pair—he, the adored Quidditch captain with a cocky grin and heart of gold; she, the fierce, loyal, terrifyingly clever girl who laughs at his jokes like he invented the sun.

Everyone thinks they’re dating.

They’re not.

They just… do things like a couple. Sit too close. Touch too much. Argue like they’ve been married for fifty years. She kisses his cheek before every match. He carries her bag to class. Once, he made her a flower crown out of actual magic and then got detention for hexing a Slytherin who called it “soft.”

Sirius once said: “Either snog already or take it to the Room of Requirement and spare the rest of us.”

Lily muttered: “Honestly, it’s like watching two penguins in denial.”

Remus just sipped his tea. He’s smarter than all of them.

But she doesn’t see it. Doesn’t see the way James stares when she’s laughing. Doesn’t feel how he tense-pretends-not-to-be-tense when another boy flirts with her. Doesn’t notice the absolute havoc he descends into when she walks in wearing that stupid Ravenclaw blue scarf—

Wait. That’s not hers.

James squints. “Whose scarf is that?”

She blinks, fiddling with the tassels. “Oh—Aidan gave it to me. The Ravenclaw prefect? I’ve got a date with him this weekend.”

Silence.

Like… actual silence. The kind that makes the room cold even though the fire’s crackling.

James blinks once. Twice.

Then says, louder than necessary: “A date? Like… a romantic one?”

She laughs, tilting her head. “Is there another kind?”

He wants to throw himself out the window.

James does not spiral. He is composed. Collected. A mature young man.

That’s why he definitely doesn’t—

Drag Sirius out of bed at midnight to rant about "Mr. Ravenclaw Bloody Kindness"

Accidentally blow up a pumpkin in Herbology while muttering “he probably says please before kissing her”

Tell Peter he thinks the bloke’s trying too hard to be soft. (“Is that illegal now?” Pete asks. “IT SHOULD BE,” James hisses.)

By Saturday, it’s raining. Of course it is. Because the universe is dramatic. And so is he.

She’s standing near the courtyard fountain, dressed in a skirt he’s definitely never seen and lipstick that’s going to kill him. The scarf’s around her neck, and he wants to rip it off.

He marches toward her like a man possessed. Wet curls in his eyes. Shirt clinging to his chest. The Marauders (plus Lily, Dorcas, Marlene) are trailing behind him like it’s a bloody play.

“Oi!” he yells.

She turns, eyes wide.

“James?”

He kneels. Like a bloody idiot. In the puddles. In the rain. Like she’s leaving him at the altar.

“Don’t go.”

She blinks. “What—?”

“Don’t go on the date.” His voice cracks. Cracks.

“James, why are you—”

“I don’t know!” he nearly shouts, arms flailing. “I don’t know why I feel like I’m dying when you wear his scarf or talk about his stupid kind smile or mention that he reads poetry—WHO EVEN READS POETRY VOLUNTARILY?!”

“You do,” she whispers.

He falters. “I know. But it sounds better when you read it.”

The rain pours harder. Everyone is watching. But it’s just them now.

“James,” she murmurs, confused and stunned and breathless, “why does this matter to you?”

His eyes lock on hers. Desperate. Soft. Possessive.

“I don’t have the words,” he admits. “I just know I need you. Like… air. Like magic. Like my broomstick needs me not to be a dumbass. You’re the one thing I can’t risk losing because I’d never recover. Not really. Not where it counts.”

Her lip trembles. She kneels down with him, the cobblestones digging into her knees, the rain soaking through her skin, their noses inches apart.

“I think…” she whispers, “I think I’ve been in love with you since first year and just thought it was normal to feel like this all the time.”

His breath hitches.

Then she kisses him.

It’s messy. Rain-slick. A little uncoordinated. James makes a sound like someone just gave him oxygen for the first time in weeks.

Behind them:

Sirius: “FINALLY.” Lily: “I’m emotionally unwell.” Remus: “Pay up, Marlene.” Marlene: “I hate love.”

James Potter, now that he is officially your boyfriend, is insufferable.

He always was, of course—hovering over your shoulder during breakfast, twirling your hair during study sessions, slinging an arm around you like it was a reflex. But that was before. That was when he was still pretending he wasn’t in love with you.

Now?

Now he wakes you up with a “Good morning, love of my life, did you dream of me?” every day. He holds your hand in the corridors and refuses to let go, even when you’re both trying to eat toast. He spells “J + Y/N = 🧡” into the condensation of every window he passes.

It’s revolting.

You adore it.

You’re sitting in the library, trying to do Transfiguration homework. James is across from you, meant to be writing a paper on theoretical wandless magic.

Instead, he’s staring at you. Again.

Hard.

Like he’s trying to memorize your face for war.

“James,” you whisper, not looking up from your notes. “Stop.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop looking at me like I’m about to vanish.”

He grins like you just told him he’s your Patronus.

“I would literally pass out if you vanished. Right here. Face-first into my essay.”

“You don’t have an essay.”

“I’d write one about you.”

You blink. “What would it be titled?”

He pauses for half a second before saying, proudly: “‘Anatomy of a Face I’d Die For: A Study in Tragic Obsession.’”

From across the table, Remus snorts.

Aidan—the Ravenclaw you almost went on a date with—is not helping James’s emotional stability.

He’s still friendly. Too friendly. He waves in corridors. Compliments your handwriting. Smiles a bit too long.

James is Not Normal™ about it.

“Do you think he wants to duel?” James says one day while you're walking to Charms.

You blink. “What?”

“Aidan. He looked at me funny. I think he wants to fight.”

“James,” you sigh, “he was holding a kitten.”

“Yeah. As a weapon.”

You stop walking. “Are you jealous of the boy I didn’t go on a date with?”

“I’m not jealous,” he says, tightening his hold on your hand. “I just think he’s too nice. And suspiciously symmetrical.”

He’s pouting. Full-on, Golden Retriever Pout™.

You tug him closer and whisper in his ear, “You know I only want you, right?”

James short-circuits. Blushes so violently Sirius will make fun of him for three days straight.

The Marauders, Lily, Marlene, and Dorcas are trying to have a civil conversation in the Gryffindor common room. You and James are not helping.

You're on his lap. His face is half-buried in your neck. He’s literally just… sighing contentedly.

Dorcas gags. “Do they think they’re in a cottagecore romance novel?”

Sirius throws a pillow. “Oi! James, you’re making us single by proximity.”

James doesn’t move. “You chose this life.”

Lily deadpans: “We didn’t choose anything. You cursed us.”

You grin, twisting slightly to look at your boyfriend. “James, maybe we should tone it down—”

James groans like you’ve stabbed him.

“I just got you!” he whines. “I’ve spent six years in platonic hell! I deserve this! Don’t take this from me, woman!”

“Godric’s bleeding ghost,” Marlene mutters, “he’s dramatic with her too.”

It happens in the middle of a Quidditch match.

You’re cheering from the stands, cold air whipping through your hair, and James does this ridiculous dive to catch the Quaffle—and slams into the ground with a dramatic thud.

Everyone gasps.

You leap from your seat. “JAMES?!”

He sits up immediately and yells:

“I’M OKAY, DARLING! I JUST SAW YOUR FACE AND FORGOT GRAVITY EXISTED!”

The stands go silent.

The Hufflepuff Beaters stop mid-swing.

Madam Hooch looks personally offended.

You turn bright red.

Sirius screams, “GET A ROOM!”

Remus whispers, “We are in the emotional splash zone.”

Later that night, curled into each other on the Gryffindor couch, James hums against your shoulder.

“You think people are sick of us?”

You smile, brushing back his hair. “Definitely.”

“Should we stop?”

“No.”

“Good,” he mumbles sleepily, already halfway to dreaming. “Because I plan on loving you out loud for the rest of my life.”

And even though he’s dramatic, possessive, clingy, and a little stupid in love…

So do you.

#della's inbox 𐙚⋆°🦢｡⋆♡#della answered ⋆˚✿˖°#della 𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼 #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x reader #james potter x you #james potter x y/n #james potter drabble #james potter #james fleamont potter #the maruaders #marauders era #marauders #james potter fanfiction #james potter fic

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yuansie · 2 months ago

Text

(1) even when there was rain, sunshine came

pairing. caleb x fem! childhood friend! non mc! reader (x childhood bsf! zayne)

synopsis. caleb planted a seed in your heart when you were both young, nurturing it without meaning to until it sprouted and blossomed. it shouldn't have grown this much, not when you knew you could never have him.

genres/aus. angst, fluff, f2l, unrequited love, childhood f2l

warnings. slight ooc caleb (i have not read homecoming or wtv that chapter is called BC BLUESTACKS DOES NOT WANT ME TO FINISH LONG AWAITED REVELRY OR WTV THAT CHAPTER IS CALLED IM STUCK ON CH12...), NOT canon compliant oops (no higher being placing a curse on zayne, no experimentation done on mc and caleb bc josephine is a good person this time BYEEEE), reader has neglectful parent(s) in the beginning kind of, mentions/descriptions of crying, mc is female (she doesn't have a name in here either). if there's anything i'm missing, please let me know!

rating. sfw but make it lowk very angsty but fluffy ish at the same time.

wc. 8.2 k

a/n. live love laugh angst (but with a happy ending) and live love laugh not proof reading and SORRY FOR NOT UPLOADING THIS EARLIERRR uni sucks booty fr !! also, i've come to the decision that i will just make this into a mini series, having about 5-10 chapters maximum !! the ideas keep coming, and i'd like to take a different approach to this prompt/world i've build for this nonmc! reader in an actual caleb series much like my rafayel one! also decided to make it into a mini series bc i cant keep writing and expanding on this and leave yall hanging for longer IOEOIFJAWEOI

YOU’RE EIGHT YEARS OLD WHEN YOU MEET CALEB. it was in the last days of summer, right before the leaves began turning red and yellow and orange. you remember your dad telling you that an older lady moved into the house across from yours, that there two kids living with her: a girl younger than you and a boy your age though a couple months older. he said something about the girl having a special condition but the words went through your ear and out the other because you didn’t care about them; you knew you wouldn’t talk to them anyways.

then, your dad left to go to work and you were all alone.

you were always alone, and you felt that loneliness every second, acutely aware at how it bleeds into your soul and makes you so, so sad. it’s what makes you head to the park two houses down the street and sit at the big, oak tree there. your favorite thing to do is climb it and sit on one of the bigger branches around its middle, feeling as if you could reach the sky and escape these heavy feelings. you blame your dad for making you like this: for making you think that the heavens can help you escape your heavy feelings. he told you once, on a night where he was in charge of tucking you in while your mom worked late at the hospital, that he loves the sky and how it makes him feel like all of his worries are nothing but a speck of dust. he made you think that one day, you could reach the sky and feel what he felt. if you reached out enough, you would be free.

but today you had no energy to do that.

as soon as you reached the oak tree, you sat down and rested your back against the trunk. your eyes watered instantaneously, cold tears dripping down your cheek and to the tip of your chin as you tucked your knees into your chest, your arms holding them in place so they could keep your weeping heart warm. you were so lost in your overflowing sorrow that you didn’t notice a boy running to the tree, not even when he stood three steps away from you.

“why are you crying?”

you snapped your head upwards.

the boy looked surprised, his purple eyes as large as the moon as he stared at you. his back was to the sun, covering him in a golden glow. he didn't say anything as he knelt down, his brows furrowed.

you hiccuped and looked away, angrily staring at your house from where you sat. “go away, stranger.” you see the older boy that lives next door when you avert your gaze from your home. it’s zayne—you recall your mom telling you that you used to have playdates together when you were younger. obviously, you don’t anymore. you don't even speak to one another—perhaps, he thinks being friends with a girl two years younger than him is not worth his time.

you don’t blame him for thinking that; after all, your own parents probably think the same.

before your mind spirals into the inky void that tells you bad things, the boy speaks up. “my name is caleb! now i’m not a stranger, right?” you glance at him from the corner of your eye. caleb grins at you, his smile as bright as the sun. it’s too blinding, you decide, and drop your gaze to the ground. “i guess not…” you mumble.

“so that means we’re friends!” caleb laughs when you quickly look at him again, surprise evident in your features. “now you can tell me why you’re sad!”

you wrack through your brain to come up with an excuse and end up stuttering out, “b-but you don’t know my name!”

“you’re y/n, right?” he laughs again when your jaw drops in comical way, gasping for air in between his next words. “ha! g-gran… talked t-to your… parents!” caleb wheezes, tears in his eyes. “y-your parents told us about you!” once he calms down, caleb lets out a sigh as he sits next to you, nudging your shoulder. “c’mon, you can tell me why you’re so sad now.”

you look back at your house, frowning at how lonely it looked. “i… i don’t think my parents love me.”

“what?”

“i mean,” you rest your head on your knees, your voice now muffled. “they’re never home and they never spend time with me.”

your dad is often away, being the colonel and all, which means he’s gone for months at a time. it wasn’t always like that, but things changed when that forsaken tunnel appeared above the city. your dad was one of the first to answer the call, to fly in the sky to protect the world from wanderers. so it isn’t his fault and neither is it your mom’s that they’re never there. she’s a doctor, a colleague of your next door neighbor's parents.

it is not your fault they are both needed by more people and by more important matters.

caleb’s about to say something when a girl calls out his name, running until she stands in front of you two. you don’t pay attention to her, and instead keep your eyes focused on your house. you wish your parents were home more, that they’d spend more time with you. the girl ends up leaving after she speaks to caleb, who watches her go with a careful eye.

“sorry about that,” he says, scratching his cheek. “gran sent her to tell me it’s time for lunch, but don’t worry! i’ll stay here with you until your parents are back!”

you blink at him, feeling your eyes start to burn. “you’ll stay?”

“mhm!” he smiles, and this time you actually don’t turn away. caleb laughs softly, leaning forwards to wipe away at the tears that fall from your wide eyes. “why are you crying again?”

you didn’t even notice that you had stopped in the first place. “i-i don’t know.” you do know.

it's the first time someone ever stayed with you in a long time.

caleb, surprisingly, calmed you down in a matter of seconds. he stayed with you until the sun began to set, when the blue sky became tinted by orange and pink. he made time go by fast, making you smile and laugh until your cheeks and stomach hurt. and he was surprisingly attentive, noticing immediately the way you perked up when you saw your mom’s car drive down the road and stop in front of your home.

“you ready to go now?” caleb stood up and stuck his hand out, waiting for you to grab it.

“your hand is warm,” you mumble, gripping tightly onto his hand as you lead the way back to your house.

he giggles and nudges your shoulder. “my hand is warm?”

“mhm.” it’s very warm, akin to the blankets you wrap yourself with during the cold days of winter.

and just like that you were at your front door, shyly waving goodbye before going inside. the doorbell rang shortly afterwards, yet before you could open the door, your mom had already done so. you left and headed up the stairs and into your room, telling yourself you’ll eat something after your mom retires for the night.

but that never happens.

because the strangest thing happened afterwards: your mom came up to your room and talked to you, apologizing for making you feel lonely and abandoned.

you know it was caleb’s doing: why else would your mom be like this?

without meaning to, caleb planted a seed in your heart that day.

when you’re ten, you realize that you’ve changed the slightest bit. you’re a little more outspoken, a little more confident in yourself; and your world that was once monochrome is now full of color, full of warmth and life.

you have memories where you’re laughing until your stomach hurts, where you’re learning to love apple and bake apple pies to perfection, where you’re learning to do cartwheels with the little girl while his laughter echoes in the air. it’s all thanks to caleb—he reached out to you, deciding to integrate you into his world. you’re forever thankful that he decided to talk to you two years ago, thankful that he spoke to your parents about your feelings because otherwise you would be stuck in the dark.

caleb has brought light and warmth into your life, and now you are never cold and lonely. he even sticks to you like glue at school, never leaving you alone for a second in the classroom because somehow you always manage to be in the same class as him. sometimes you grow tired of having to keep up with the energetic boy, sometimes the fatigue wearing your bones down and rendering you useless. caleb seems to know when that happens, or maybe he doesn’t. what matters is that he seems to time his golden smile; it is a smile so radiant that it melts away what weighs you down.

and always being with him has made you adopt some of his habits, his attentiveness being the one that shines through the most. it’s what makes you notice your next door neighbor. days of careful glances makes you learn that he’s always reading on the porch of his house or he’ll do the same inside by the window, that he’s never with any other kids his age and that he’s never at the park.

maybe you should talk to him and—

“y/n~” caleb nudges your shoulder. you jerk in surprise and wobble on the tree branch you both sit on, gripping tightly onto the wood while you lean forwards from your lack of balance. the boy yelps and takes a firm hold of your arm, stabilizing you. “you scared me!”

you huff, glaring at him. “you scared me! i could've fallen just now, dimwit.”

he pouts, “but that's your fault! you weren't listening to me.”

“yes i was!”

“oh yeah?” caleb raises an eyebrow. “then what was i saying?” he snickers when you don't reply, gently nudging your shoulders this time because he learns from his mistakes, you know! “see? i was right. you keep staring over there.” he gestures in the general direction of where you keep staring. his finger touches the green leaves of the tree, the tips fading into a yellow color.

autumn is coming. not yet, but it will be there in due time.

you decide to tease him a little. “pft, you’re pointing at the leaves.”

his lips curl into a frown. “you know what i—”

“caleb!”

the eight year old girl comes running up to the tree, huffing as she points up at your best friend. “i-it’s time for dinner!” she tilts her head over at you, beaming. “gran said you can come, sis!”

caleb looks at you, “you coming?”

you smile at the girl before shaking your head, moving towards the tree trunk. “i need to do something,” you grunt, shimmying down whereas he just jumps off the branch and lands with a thud. the girls gasps and you gape at him with wide eyes once your feet hit the ground, “are you okay?”

“a-okay!” he grins, standing up proudly as if he didn’t just scare the living daylight out of you. caleb flexes a boney arm, “i’m strong, after all!”

“yeah, okay hercules.” you chortle, rolling your eyes. “i’ll see you around.”

you watch as he and she wave goodbye at you, caleb hooking their arms together as they disappear into their house afterwards. you notice that there's a tightness in your chest when you see them hold hands or hook their arms together—it happens sometimes, not always. like right now: your chest tightens a little, feeling heavy. you chalk it up to wanting to do that with caleb one day and go your merry way.

your mom is startled when she opens the front door just as you reach out for the doorknob. she holds a container with cake inside. “goodness,” she chuckles, leaning down to press a kiss against your cheek. “you scared me.”

“are you going next door again?” you move to the side so your mom can walk out.

she hums, “i am! i left some—”

“can i come this time?” you usually don't go to the dinners your mom has with zayne’s family every friday, always heading to hers and caleb’s house instead despite your mom’s best efforts in convincing you to join her. you always had an inkling that she wanted you to spend time with the older boy next door.

your mom beams at you so wide that you’re taken aback as she drags you to the li’s front door. did it really mean that much to her that you want to join this time? well, you’re on a mission to get close to zayne so that he can have friends too.

speaking of the devil, the door opens immediately after your mom presses the doorbell, revealing the older boy. his eyes widen the slightest bit when he sees you, though he quickly regains composure, his features relaxing. with a small smile, he greets your mom. “hello, mrs l/n.” he directs his gaze at you next, “hi y/n.”

you blink in surprise. “…hi zayne.” you didn’t expect him to remember you because you don't particularly remember much about him.

he steps aside just as his mom appears from behind, momentary shock melting into a warm smile. “y/n! i’m so happy to see you! will she be joining us?” her eyes flit up to your mom, who nods excitedly.

you’re ushered inside and into a seat not even a second after being welcomed in. “we always have a plate and cutlery out in case you stop by,” mrs li says. a lump forms in your throat and it’s hard to swallow. you feel awful, knowing that every time you chose to stay with caleb, the li family had hope that you’d stop by and eat with them.

still, you somehow manage to smile at the older lady. “i’ll make sure to come with my mom from now on.”

“really?”

you nod. “of course,” holding out your pinkie, mrs li laughs and hooks her own with yours. “i promise.”

mrs li heads into the kitchen with your mom, leaving you and zayne alone at the dining table. he sits in the chair next to you and you fidget in your seat, not sure how to break the stifling silence. what would caleb do in this moment? he’d probably say something stupid or just go ahead and ask to be friends… that’s something only he could do easily, but for you? that’s a challenge.

“you look worried.” zayne says, looking at you from the corner of his eye.

you frown and play with your fingers, “was it that noticeable?”

zayne hums as the two moms come back with pots of food while chatting about your dad. “you aren't doing a good job at being subtle.”

his comment makes you huff through your nose, the corners of your lips curling upwards. caleb says that to you all the time, claiming that you make it is easy for him to read you.

“smiling suits you.”

you stop breathing and stare at the boy with raven hair, slowly blinking while the moms plate the food and continue talking. zayne glances at you again and then looks at his plate, eyebrows furrowed as he picks up a fork and pokes at the carrots, nudging them into a corner. “did i say something wrong?” he mumbles.

he didn't say anything wrong… it’s just that no one has said that to you. not even after your change, even if it was a small one.

not even caleb.

you shake your head, “no.” coughing, your eyes shift to his hands, seeing how he stabs the last carrot on his plate and places it in the corner along with the rest. “you… you still don’t like carrots?” you vaguely recall a memory from when you were about five: you and zayne were eating a plate of oranges when he suddenly spat it out and a chewed piece of carrot was then laying on the table. his mom had cut small pieces of carrot inside his bowl alone with the oranges, trying to trick him into eating them.

zayne’s hazel eyes widen. “you remember?”

with a snort, you answer, “you spit out the carrots every time your mom tried tricking you into eating them. that’s pretty hard to forget, if you’re asking me.”

his ears flush the lightest shade of pink, making you giggle as your fingers wrap around his plate, rotating it. with your other hand, you grab your fork and take his carrots.

“…thank you.”

“i should be thanking you,” you hum, “i love carrots.”

whereas you and caleb are polar opposites and only have a thing in common, you and zayne are not. you’re so alike: reserved and quiet, both sticking to what you deem is the vicinity of your personal bubble. it was easy to befriend him again; by the end of what remained of summer, you had introduced him to caleb and her. it did take a month and a half of convincing, of relentless pleading that convinced zayne to follow you to the park where she and caleb were playing as usual.

caleb and zayne didn't get along well right off the bat, and they always argued. it took you aback in the beginning, not used to seeing caleb argue so… pettishly with someone. much less with zayne. zayne baffles you every time he mutters under his breath about how caleb is ‘so annoying’ because all he does is talk about dinosaurs or is ‘a child’ during friday dinners at his house. well, he is a child, so he’s not wrong there. but with that logic, he should also be calling you a child and yet he doesn’t.

zayne does, however, get along well with her.

you see it in zayne’s attentiveness to the young girl, you see it in the way his voice softens when he speaks to her, and you see it in the way he hangs onto her every word as if it were something sacred.

you also see it in the way his ears sometimes turn the lightest shade of pink when he speaks to her.

when you think about it, they’re both alike in that way.

the sun is in the sky, bright and warm like the boy next to you.

“he’s trying to steal her from me,” grumbles caleb. he swings his legs back and forth while the two of you sit on a tree branch, zayne and the girl sitting underneath on the other side of the tree. she’s teaching him how to braid a crown of flowers, and you can see the small curl of his lips. he’s smiling a shy sort of smile only reserved for her.

“he can’t steal her from you because she isn’t an object.” you tear your eyes away from them and focus on the brooding boy beside you, taking note of how he pinches his brows together and pouts, mumbling something under his breath. while the branches and its leaves provide good shade from the sweltering heat, there is still sunlight that peeks through gaps, and golden specks manage to coat caleb’s figure. “that means you can’t have her either, cal.”

your words have him turning to you quickly, his eyes wide. “i can’t have her?”

“of course not!” your silent admiration of seconds ago dissipates as you scoff, flicking his forehead. he yelps as you continue, “she’s a person! you can’t have people; that’s weird.”

“but that monster is stealing my best friend!”

you frown, blinking once. “zayne isn’t a monster.” but caleb sure seems like one at the moment, you think. a monster of green envy.

“yes he is!”

“zayne is not a monster.” you repeat, irritation beginning to bubble in your chest because caleb wouldn't be saying such things if he didn't have this weird rivalry going on with zayne. “don’t say that about him.”

“why are you defending him anyways?” caleb narrows his eyes at you. “you’re supposed to be my friend—”

friend. best friend. you realize he hasn't ever really called you his best friend because she’s his best friend while you think he's yours. if he doesn't think that of you, then you can’t think that of him… right?

you both whip your heads to the ground, clambering down the tree as zayne calls out both yours and caleb’s name. if his voice hadn’t betrayed the frantic feeling swirling in it, maybe you wouldn’t have this overwhelming sense of dread. when you both round the tree trunk, you see that his face is pale, and he’s holding onto her. she’s trembling, her face paler than zayne’s as if all the color had been drained from her features, and she’s heaving and trembling uncontrollably. the sight makes your stomach drop to the ground as caleb dashes forwards, dropping to his knees while yelling about getting granny josephine to them. you honestly don't remember running to their house, asking josephine to help the little girl—it’s all a blur. all you can remember is how the two boys finally had something in common other than their care for the younger girl: their expression.

they were both horrified.

and you wonder if you looked like them.

your eleventh autumn was just like any other, but this time it was different because of him.

you decided to stay the night after having dinner at zayne’s so he could help you study for your science test on monday. caleb would have been the one helping you, being in the same classes and all, but he was helping her study. while you do love and care about her, you care more about your grades because surely the tests in middle school are harder than the ones in elementary, right?

you’ve been inside zayne’s room before. more often than not, after dinner, you’d end up in there with him while talking about everything and nothing. sometimes you’d both be quiet, content with just being next to each other while reading a book on his bed, and sometimes you both would talk about current hobbies and interests.

“where will you sleep?” zayne’s voice comes from near his bed while you head towards his desk.

“in your bed, duh.” your eyes skim over the surface, chuckling at how tidy it is… until your eyes fall on a haphazardly hidden pieces of paper underneath zayne’s stack of notebooks. weird, you think. zayne likes keeping notebooks, books, and papers separate from each other.

“why would you sleep in bed with me?” he asks.

“we used to sleep in the same bed when we were children.” which is true: your moms have a photo book with evidence in it from your younger days together. “i don’t see why we can’t if we’re still children.”

you hear him huff through his nose. he’s probably pinching it right now. “you’re eleven and i’m thirteen. you’re a child and i’m a teenager.”

“didn’t you say that teenagers are fourteen-year-olds and up the other day?” your fingers wrap around one of the notebook’s spine, carefully lifting it and whatver notebooks are on top and pull the pieces of papers out.

your eyes scan the contents of one of the pages, highlighted words aiding in your understanding of what it is that you’re reading. medical school… majors… he’s looking at colleges.

“well, yes.”

you turn around and hide the papers behind you. “so that means we can share the same bed, right?”

zayne sighs, shaking his head while his lips curl upwards just the slightest bit. “you win this round, miss know-it-all.”

you grin at him and bring the papers out. “you sure i’m a know-it-all?”

the older boy stares at the papers you wave in the air, staying silent as if trying to find the words to explain something to you. you raise your eyebrows. “staying silent makes you look like you were hiding something from me.”

“well… i am. was, i was.” zayne corrects himself and sits down at the edge of his bed, patting the space next to him. you take a seat and eye him. “i’ve been trying to tell you this past summer that… well…” he sighs. “i skipped grades.”

“oh—” you gasp, eyes widening to the size of saucers. “so this means…”

majors.

medical school.

he’s grad—

he exhales slowly. “i’m graduating from high school this year.”

you feel the world go still. you hear your breathing. you feel cold. suddenly, you feel deep and heavy dread wash over you.

after this year, zayne will leave.

your best friend is leaving you.

“why are you crying?” zayne panics, clumsily wiping the tears you didn’t know were falling down your cheeks. the pad of his thumb is a little rough against your skin, but his touch is soft. he’s trying to be gentle, and it makes you feel more gloomy.

“i don’t know,” you mumble, hiccupping as you look down at your hands, watching the tears he doesn’t manage to wipe away fall onto them. “it’s just…” do you tell him? that you don’t want him to leave you alone? sure, caleb is a great friend but you’ve come to realize, since the incident last summer, that she will always be his top priority and—

majors. medical school… her.

“you’re doing this for her, aren’t you?” your voice is quiet.

you love her, you do. she’s like a little sister, and you obviously care for her like they do. but they care more, they love her more. you don’t quite understand the intensity of their love for her. and despite their burning ardor in wanting to be there for her and how it always ends up making you invisible, you can’t bring yourself to ever hate her. she’s innocent, just living her life while the two boys flock to her. she didn’t ask for their attention or love, it’s just that she’s so easy to love.

“…don’t tell her.” zayne’s hands fall from your cheeks and grab onto your hands. his touch is cold, unlike caleb, but it doesn’t make you flinch away from him. you let him take your hands into his, holding them carefully. “please.”

you huff through your nose. “if that’s what you want,” you answer. “it isn’t my place to tell them, anyways.”

it’s quiet, peaceful almost if you weren’t so caught up in the sinking feeling your chest. your heart just sinks and continues to sink in black ink, growing heavy. zayne’s voice timidly calls out your name. “you’re still crying. there’s more to it, isn’t there?”

“i don’t want you to leave.” because if he leaves, you’re afraid that you’ll have to admit the ugly truth you know, deep down, about caleb. it’s a truth that is so clear to everyone, a truth that you see every single time they’re in their own world. a world that pushes you and zayne out like the waves when they leave shore and retreat back into the ocean.

the older buy chuckles, and you look at him through your wet lashes, noting how his hazel eyes flicker with quiet care in them. “i’m not leaving yet.”

“keyword being yet,” you mumble, gripping onto his hands now. “…i’m being dramatic, aren’t i?”

zayne opens his mouth to say something, but you cut him off. “i should be happy that you’re doing something so cool. i mean, skipping basically all of high school and graduating super early? that’s so cool… and i’m here crying like a baby over it.”

“but your reaction is reasonable,” zayne says. “i’d be upset, too, if my best friend told me all of sudden they’d be leaving at the end of the school year.”

best friend. not just friend.

“i’m your best friend?”

“naturally.” zayne responds quickly. “you know me better than anyone, just as i know you better than anyone.”

just like that, your tears stop falling and the sun peeks out from the cloudy sky inside you.

the rest of the night goes smoothly: zayne helped you study for your science test, which you both found boring after an hour because all of the questions were easy, and you spent the rest of your time talking with him. you wanted to know of his plans, what he’s thinking, about what he wants to do after graduating. you both fell asleep in the midst of your conversation, though you wake up at three in the morning because you felt weird. your own body was telling you that you forgot to do your night routine. so when you wake up, all blurry-eyed and dazed, the first thing you can see is your sleeping best friend. after a couple of blinks, your vision clears up and you’re aware that you’re close to him. in fact, you’re close enough to see and count his dark eyelashes. you pout, no way he has prettier eyelashes than i do. the thought goes away as quickly as it had formed in your mind, replaced by the icky realization that you fell asleep without brushing your teeth. so you sit up, gently waking zayne so he could do the same. when he stirs awake and stares at you with squinting eyes, he knows what you mean when all you do is wordlessly point at your mouth despite the sleepy haze of his mind. and just like that, you both silently head to the bathroom and brush your teeth next to each other, quickly going back to his bed and falling asleep once more.

when morning came, you both find yourselves staring at his mom with confusion as she giggles and repeatedly asks how you both slept during breakfast. you think she must have seen something while you both slept, though you decide to let your suspicions go when you bid the li family goodbye and head next door to your house.

mom will probably tell me about it later tonight, you think just as you shove your house keys into the lock. you push the door open and kick your shoes off your feet, sliding them to the side and slipping into your slippers when you step inside. you hear someone running down the street, and right when you’re about to close the door, you hear your name being called out.

“i didn’t see you at all yesterday!” caleb runs up to you, a bright grin plastered on his lips. with his back to the sun, he looks as if he's bathed in gold. “pips missed you, you know? what were you up to that—what’s that?”

you blink once and suddenly he’s in your bubble, burning fingers gingerly touching your eye. you close it on instinct, and he runs his thumb over your eyelid. you can see yourself reflected in his eyes from this close. his warmth seeps into your skin, and you have the urge to lean into his touch. your heart lurches and skips a beat, feeling excited and calm at the same time.

“what’s what?” you cough, taking a step back.

he frowns, his thumb now under your bottom lashes. “your eyes are red and puffy. are you sick or something? you feel oddly hot.”

oh, that’s right. you cried yesterday, and you feel as if your heart is ready to jump out of your chest and into his arms where it wishes it could be.

“i’m fine. it’s just that i watched a sad movie after dinner with zayne,” you sigh, gently pushing his fingers away from your eyes. zayne’s words echo in your head, a quiet reminder that you can't tell caleb because he’d tell her right afterwards.

caleb huffs through his nose, his lips curling into an amused smile. he shakes his head once, his purple irises reflecting the warmth he radiates. “you do cry a lot while watching movies, don’t you?” he leans back and tilts his head at you. “alright.”

you furrow your eyebrows. “alright… what?”

“even though you’re clearly hiding something from me, i believe you.” caleb pinches your cheek, the amusement in his lips softening. “i’ll see you later?”

“yeah…” you say, dazed, but shake your head quickly. “wait, what are we doing?”

caleb laughs, the hand pinching your cheek now covering his mouth, “don’t tell me you forgot that we’re supposed to study for the science test on monday?”

“about that…” you look away from him. “zayne helped me study for it last night.”

his silence has you taking a quick glance at him. caleb seems shocked and his eyebrow twitches, though it disappears and is replaced by something you can’t quite describe. a forced smile of sorts? “he helped you study?” he asks. “then what’s your verdict? will the test be easy or hard?”

you scratch your cheek, thinking. “well… even though he helped me study for a bit, i say the test is going to be very easy.”

“guess that means i won’t study.” caleb shrugs and ruffles your hair, a real smile on his lips now. “talk to you later, short stuff.”

“i am not that short, cal!” ever since he’s grown an exact inch taller than you, he acts like you're a midget now.

you watch as he waves goodbye, walking backwards for a couple steps with a laugh before twisting around and heading down the street. he’s probably heading to the small dessert shop nearby to pick up some of her favorite doughnuts—it’s what he does every saturday morning.

your twelfth autumn marks your first one without zayne.

he left at the end of summer, right as the tips of the green-yellow leaves on your favorite tree began turning a slight orange, barely noticeable. his disappearance had gone unnoticed until yesterday, half way into the fall quarter and midway into october. you’re in the middle of reading a book, one of your dad’s that he let you borrow, on his bed laying on your stomach while caleb helps her do her homework at his desk. he has a singular picture on it that he puts down whenever you're over, but you never ask why he does that.

“where is zayne?” she wondered aloud, tapping her pencil against her chin. “i haven’t seen him around lately.”

“huh,” caleb clicks his tongue in thought. “now that you mention it, neither have i.”

both their eyes land on you, though you don’t bother looking up. with practiced ease, you reply. “i haven’t seen him around.”

“but you go to his house every friday? and he’s your best friend? surely you know something.” she leans forwards in her chair, trying to get a better look at you.

“i go every friday because i made a promise to his mom,” you retort, finally looking up. with a shrug, you continue, “his mom hasn’t said anything about his whereabouts, so i’m just as clueless as you bunch.”

the girl drops it, a smile now on her lips. “your dad is coming home soon, right?”

you blink in surprise. “you remember?” you mentioned it in passing, it was when she and you were watching caleb during basketball tryouts. you told her that your dad would be coming back soon from the fleet, how you were excited to finally see him after so long.

caleb huffs a laugh through his nose, “of course she remembers, short stuff.”

you grimace, rolling onto your side and reach out to grab something in your vicinity, which happens to be a pen on his bedside, and fling it towards him. “you are literally just a couple inches taller than me, cal.” he’s actually a whole head taller than you now, and caleb's growing into his features. his cheeks have started losing their softness, his eyes a little sharper now. he has a natural, boyish charm, something that makes everyone notice him at school.

he loudly laughs, the pen stopping right in front of him before he swats it away. it lands with a clatter against the floor, somewhere in his room. with a huff, you lay on your back. “better work on that aim, short stuff~” he sings, getting up from his desk and heading over to his bed. you look up at him, your lips pursed as he pinches your cheek, purple eyes warm with mirth. his hair falls over his eyes, making its color look deeper. “how else are you going to get into the aerospace academy with me?”

you raise your brows, “you're acting as if you're already in.”

“well—”

the girl hums. “so you both want to leave me.”

just like that, caleb is back at her side and you’re all alone. “i would never leave you, pips.”

“pinkie promise?”

you watch from the corner of your eye how he wears a soft smile as they wrap their pinkies, his touch lingering.

you aren't stupid; in fact, you pride yourself in being so smart and attentive. so, you know that the tightness in your chest is because of caleb, because of the feelings you harbor for him. you aren't stupid, so you already know that caleb can never be yours, that he can never feel that way for you.

because he is hers.

with a sigh, you close your eyes and will yourself to calm your aching heart. you should be used to the ache that settles in your chest when this happens, but here you are.

later that day, right as the sun begins to set, you bid her and granny josephine goodbye. the taste of her apple pie from dinner lingers in your mouth.

“you don’t have to walk me home, cal.” you say, chuckling as you bump shoulders with him. instead of walking across the street, you walk down the sidewalk.

he hums, following you, “just let me be a good friend, short stuff.”

“you just love rubbing it in, don’t you?” you grumble, stepping into the park. your feet take you to the tree until you’re in front of it. you look behind you, raising an eyebrow at caleb. “i’ll stay here for a few minutes, so you can leave if you want.”

“i’ll stay.” at his confirmation, he moves past you, a faint scent of apples lingering in the air along with the sweet, woody smell from the oak tree as he scales up the trunk with ease. “your turn!”

“yeah, yeah.” you huff, rolling your eyes as you climb the tree and make it to the branch caleb chose to sit at. you breathe in and out slowly.

“the tunnel makes the sky look ugly.”

you snort, slightly baffled at the sudden proclamation from the boy. “where did that come from?”

“what?” caleb shrugs with a laugh, shoulders shaking slightly. “it does make it look ugly. like, really ugly.”

your quiet giggles get louder, and you throw your head back. “that is the first time i have ever heard anyone say that.” you wheeze, your laughter so strong you wobble on the branch. caleb wraps an arm around you to keep you from falling, his touch making you still instantly.

“you need to be careful,” he says. “one of these days you’re going to end up falling and i’ll fall with you.”

“if i ever fall, it’ll be because of you.” you cough and attempt to shimmy away from him, though his grip slightly tightens, preventing you from getting away.

the brunette absentmindedly taps on your arm with a finger. “i’d never let you fall… you know that.”

he’s saying that because you're his friend, and he is fiercely protective of those he cares about: the people in his inner circle. you are a part of it, you know that, and yet your heart cannot help but to stupidly flutter at the illusion of a hidden meaning behind his words.

“…it’s getting late.” which is true—the oranges and pinks of the sunset are now bleeding into a purple hue. “i should get going now.” you don't wait for him to say anything; you just climb down the trees as quickly and possible and book it to your home.

caleb is not far behind you.

stepping on the first step of your house’s porch, you stop and turn around. you’re eye to eye with caleb.

caleb wears a boyish grin on his lips, something that makes your stomach flip. “i have something for you.”

“oh? and what would that be?” the corners of your lips turn upwards.

“how about you close your eyes?” you shut your eyes, hearing intently to the boy shuffling. you feel a warmth brush against your cheek, trailing over to the back your neck. “give me a second.”

you hold your breath. caleb’s fingers work nimbly, and something cold hangs around your neck. there’s silence for a beat; he’s still close enough for you to hear his breathing until he leans away. “open your eyes.”

they flutter open at his command, and flitter down to see a necklace. there is a cloud with a wispy appearance right at the bottom, and small translucent beads hang from it in white and blue. the chain around your neck is decorated with solid white and blue beads.

“do you like it?” caleb scratches his neck, eyes carefully watching your reaction.

your voice comes out quiet, shy. “i do.”

you hear the smile in his voice. “i’ve been trying to give it to you since your birthday.”

“what?” looking up from the necklace, you blink at him repeatedly. “but my birthday—”

“i know.” he laughs softly, shaking his head. “i’ve had it since last year, and… i just didn’t know how to give it to you. i thought now would be a good time.”

i thought now would be a good time.

his words echo in your mind, and you take a deep breath. you also have something you want to give him: it’s sitting in the drawer of your desk, in a small box. “do you… do you want to come inside?”

you’ve never invited anyone inside your house, inside the walls that is your safe space. zayne is the only one who has stepped foot inside, who has made it up the stairs and into your room on more than one occasion. caleb used to bug you about that when you two first met, into the early months of your friendship. he thought it was weird that you were always over at his home while he had never gone inside yours. his complaints stopped when you introduced zayne to them—probably because he didn’t want to be around him despite the desire he had to discover what lays hidden in your home. you like to think that he finally decided to wait until you were ready to show him what’s inside.

caleb’s eyes are wide with surprise. “you want me to go inside?”

“i also have something for you.”

despite the poor lighting of the porch lamp, caleb is still akin to gold. he smiles and you turn around to unlock the front door, your heart thumping loudly in your chest. when you open the door and hold it open for him, caleb is all too quick to walk inside, following you up the stairs into your room after you shut the door. his eyes scan the inside of your room as soon as you turn on the lights, shuffling over to your desk as he stands by the doorframe. the color of your walls are a light blue, strings attached to the ceiling with paper clouds hanging at the end. he realizes there’s glow-in-the-dark stickers on the ceiling after squinting. there’s a book shelf in the corner of your room, right besides your desk. the top shelf has a few trinkets: a small airplane, a blimp, a cap.

he assumes it's your dad’s cap, the one that goes with his uniform.

the second shelf has a couple of books, a stuffed animal in the form of a snowman, and a picture: the last one you took with your parents. last summer, you and your family took a trip to verona. in the picture, your dad has you hoisted onto his shoulders, an arm on your legs to keep you steady while the other is wrapped around your mom. everyone wears a smile, yet yours is the brightest one out of the three. caleb’s chest swells with pride, knowing he did the right thing all those years ago when he found you crying at the big oak tree.

the third shelf has a picture, one where it’s you and him. he remembers when, where and who took the picture. it was on your last day of school, your fifth grade promotion ceremony, and your mom took it. again, your smile is the brightest one. though, upon further inspection, he realizes your picture is different from the one he has on his desk. you’ve decorated it with small stickers, ones of golden and purple swirls that sit on the frame.

then there’s more books. another picture frame—is that zayne? you and zayne as children… oh, well you look at that? another picture frame of you and zayne. a recent picture, it seems, decorated in the same manner as his. he’s not sure when or where or who took this picture—

“think fast!”

caleb blinks and the flying box stills in front of him, floating in the air before it can hit his chest. “uh… why?”

“gotta be on your toes if you want to be in the aerospace academy with me.”

he laughs. “look at you, already acting as if you’re in.”

you shrug. “you do the same.”

“touché.” his eyes look down at the box. with a hum, he grabs and opens it, blinking once. inside sits a necklace, one with a small, silver sun on it with a purple gem in the middle. “…a sun?”

“you remind me of the sun.” you mumble. “you’re warm like it, too.”

caleb beams so wide his cheeks start to hurt, and there's faint blush on his cheeks that spreads to the tips of his ears. “i’m like the sun?”

“mhm.”

“funny… because i got you a cloud because sometimes you’re calm and happy, sometimes you’re gray and gloomy, and there are times when you’re like a storm.”

you stare at him, wide-eyed, and he continues. “tell me when you feel like there’s a storm in you.” he gets closer to you so that he can tap on the necklace that hangs around your neck. “so i can shine the sun on you... i will never hurt you with my warmth.”

it’s a silent promise that he’ll be there for you.

“and if you do?”

“then you can hit me!”

his fingers twitch, his foot taking a step forwards. but there’s a knock on your door before it’s pushed open. both you and caleb watch, confused.

your mom has a night shift and wouldn’t be back until morning.

caleb doesn't see a thing before you’re already leaping forwards into the arms of a man in a black uniform, his cap falling onto the ground. he recognizes the man as the one that holds you on his shoulders in the picture on your bookshelf.

your dad, the colonel of the farspace fleet.

caleb smiles to himself, his hold on the tiny box in his hands slightly tightening. he will be there for you, whenever you're sad or happy or mad.

he will be there.

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