#angst with a happy ending

[rainedravens]

"holy shit they finally confessed, what comes next--"

[knowledgeableknitter]

The Walk Home

A little short and sweet one-shot.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x you (I think it's actually gender neutral? please let me know if I'm wrong)

Word Count: 2.1k

Summary: After Bucky walks you home for weeks, you finally confront him about the deeper feelings neither of you has dared to name. What begins as uncertainty and hesitation slowly gives way to honesty, vulnerability, and a long-overdue kiss.

Trigger warnings: I don't think there are any? This is just fluff, guys. One kiss. (That's all you get from me today, lol)

Author's Note: Apology fluff for the emotional wreckage of Chapter 7 of my "New Avengers" series, which also dropped today.

Masterlist

You’d initially found it a little strange that Bucky Barnes, the former assassin turned reluctant hero, chose to walk you home every evening after work. At first, you chalked it up to quiet politeness, something instinctive in him. He was a soldier, so looking out for people came naturally to him.

But over time, something shifted.

What started as short, polite conversations turned into shared laughter and lingering glances. The space beside you began to feel like it belonged to him. And though you never said it out loud, you started looking forward to the time you spent together. 

After each mission debriefing, he’d be there, waiting. Always the last to leave, always lingering just long enough for you to notice. You found yourself stalling too, taking your time packing up, heart beating just a little faster in anticipation as you waited for him to say it.

“I’ll walk you,” he’d murmur, almost casually.

And every time, you’d nod like it didn’t mean anything, like you hadn’t spent the entire day hoping he’d still be there when the meeting ended. You told yourself it was just a habit, just Bucky being kind. But as days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, you stopped believing your own excuses.

He became a quiet, calming constant. And each night, his presence lit something in your chest that you tried and failed to ignore.

Once or twice, you’d tried to poke at it, just enough to see if he’d give something away. But he always brushed it off with a chuckle and that disarming grin that was impossible not to return. “Just making sure you don’t get into trouble,” he’d say, like it was nothing. But it didn’t feel like nothing.

You started to notice the small things, the way his eyes would flick to your lips when he thought you weren’t looking, the way his fingers would brush against yours at crosswalks, the way his voice softened when he asked about your day.

He never said anything more, and you never pushed. But the tension between you started to build, quiet but persistent. You could feel it in the air, in the pauses between words, in the way your body leaned just a little closer to his each night. It was subtle, but undeniable.

Still, he insisted there was nothing to it. "Because I’m a nice guy," he’d say with that same familiar smile.

But you knew better.

You knew the way your heart reacted wasn’t friendship. You felt it in the way you looked forward to the end of each day, in the warmth that stayed long after you said goodnight, in the way you found yourself imagining what it might feel like if he finally closed the distance.

And yet, you said nothing either. Maybe because you were afraid to lose what you already had. Or maybe because your feelings had grown so slowly, so quietly, that by the time you realized how deep they ran, you were already in too deep to risk it.

You told yourself he’d make the first move, sure he’d be the one to speak up, but he never did.

Until finally, one night, the tension between you became too much for you to ignore.

The sun had already dipped below the horizon, leaving the streets washed in soft orange and fading violet. You walked at your usual pace, side by side, surrounded by the low hum of passing cars and distant city sounds. But tonight, something was off.

Bucky was quieter than usual. His shoulders were tight beneath his jacket, hands shoved deep into his pockets, his gaze fixed ahead like he was miles away. You kept sneaking glances at him, noting the hard line of his jaw, the crease in his brow, the restlessness in how he moved. It was subtle, but it made your chest tighten.

You could feel your own nerves rising, the words you’d kept locked away for weeks sitting heavy on your tongue. You’d rehearsed what to say so many times, but now that the moment was here, it didn’t feel any easier.

Still, you knew you couldn’t keep pretending nothing was happening. 

You slowed to a stop under a streetlamp, the light casting a soft glow across the sidewalk. The sound of Bucky’s steps continued for a few paces before he noticed you weren’t beside him. He turned, concern flickering across his face as he stepped back toward you.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice low and careful.

You hesitated, searching his face for any hint that he already understood what this was about. But all you saw was guarded confusion, and your heart beat faster.

“Bucky,” you said, your voice steadier than you felt, “we need to talk.”

He shifted, visibly uneasy, his posture growing stiff. “About what?”

You crossed your arms, trying to keep your composure. “This. You walking me home every night. You act like it’s just something you do out of habit, but it’s not, is it? I just... I need to know what this really is.”

His eyes widened slightly. He opened his mouth to respond, but no words came. He looked away, drawing in a slow breath, then exhaled hard. His jaw flexed, and he shifted again, like he was trying to ground himself.

“I told you,” he said finally, voice quiet but tense. “I’m just being a friend. Making sure you’re safe. It’s not a big deal.”

You stared at him, your patience thinning. “You call this friendship?” you asked, trying not to sound too sharp. “Every night. You ask about my day like it matters. You brush your hand against mine like you don’t even realize you’re doing it.” Your voice softened. “You look at me like...”

Bucky froze. His breath caught. His shoulders tensed even more, but he didn’t look away. “Like what?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

You stepped toward him, close enough now to see every shift in his expression. “Like you want more,” you said gently. 

A beat of silence passed, stretching longer than it should have. You could almost hear the pause in the air around you.

He didn’t speak.

His gaze stayed on yours, but he looked like he was caught between wanting to move forward and wanting to run. Then, slowly, his eyes dropped to the ground. He took a small step back, dragging a hand through his hair.

“I…” His voice cracked slightly, barely more than breath. The hesitation hit you like a punch, because you knew he felt it, but he was still holding back.

Afraid he might pull away completely, you shook your head and stepped in with quiet resolve. “Don’t,” you said, voice softer than your racing heart, but steadier than the storm behind your ribs. You met his eyes and held them. “Don’t tell me you don’t feel this. I see it in the way you look at me, in the way you're always there, even when I don’t ask.”

Your voice cracked a little, the weight of your feelings pushing past your restraint. Still, you kept going. “Are you really going to stand there and tell me none of it means anything? That you don’t feel anything at all?”

Bucky’s jaw clenched. He looked down, his throat bobbing with a hard swallow. His hands balled into fists at his sides, his body rigid with tension. When he finally looked up again, something in his expression had changed, like he’d stopped fighting and started facing it.

“I’m trying,” he said, voice low and rough. “I’m trying not to mess this up. Not to make it worse.”

Your chest tightened. “Worse?” you repeated quietly, the word stinging. You let out a tired breath, shaking your head. “Bucky, it’s already complicated. You walk me home every night like it’s nothing. You act like this doesn’t mean anything. But it does. And it’s driving me crazy not knowing if I’m the only one who feels it.”

You stopped, breath catching before you said too much. The silence stretched. You looked away, heat rising to your face, suddenly exposed and unsure.

But Bucky didn’t back off this time. Slowly, he stepped closer. The tension in his shoulders eased just slightly, and when he looked at you again, his walls were down. His eyes were clear, open.

“I care for you,” he said, barely above a whisper. “More than I’ve let on. You’re not imagining it.” He paused, then added, “But I’m scared. I haven’t let myself feel something like this in a long time. And the thought of screwing it up terrifies me.”

The honesty in his voice hit you hard. It cut through your frustration and settled into something gentler. You nodded slightly, breath catching as the weight of the moment finally settled between you.

“So,” you said, voice soft but sure, “you’ve been walking me home every night because you’re afraid?”

Bucky let out a short, dry laugh, more of an exhale. “Yeah. That’s pretty much it.”

You shook your head with a small smile, your chest lightening. “Well... if you’re going to keep walking me home, maybe it’s time we face our fears and stop pretending.”

His gaze lifted again, surprised by the shift in your voice. He looked at you like he was still catching up, like he wasn’t sure it was okay to hope.

“So...” he said slowly, carefully, “what happens now?”

You took a step closer, closing the last bit of distance between you. Your voice was soft, steady. “Now?” You smiled. “Now you kiss me. And we figure out the rest together.”

He looked at you for a long moment, breath shallow, something shifting in his expression. The hesitation faded from his eyes, replaced by the determination you’d been hoping to see. He stepped forward slowly, carefully, as if the moment might break if he moved too fast.

When his fingers reached for you, the rough pads of them brushing your jaw, you felt a quiet spark jump across your skin. You leaned into the touch, eyes fluttering shut as his hand cupped your cheek, his thumb drawing a slow line along your cheekbone. His touch was steady, but you could feel how hard he was trying to keep it that way.

You breathed him in: leather, faint cedar and sandalwood cologne, and something underneath that was just him. His breath warmed your lips as he paused, inches away. 

Then he kissed you.

It began soft and tentative, the kind of kiss that asked rather than assumed. Your lips parted instinctively, inviting him in, letting him know how much you wanted this too. The kiss deepened naturally, gently, like neither of you wanted to rush it but couldn’t keep holding back either.

Your fingers found his jacket, gripping it lightly as you leaned in closer. The tension that had hung between you for so long slowly melted away with each passing second. 

His other arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you in. You felt his hand press gently against your lower back, anchoring you. A quiet sound escaped him, something between a sigh and a breath of relief. It mirrored your own.

You let your fingers drift up to his neck, settling behind it, where his hair was soft. His shoulders, always so tense, finally relaxed beneath your touch.

Everything else fell away: the traffic in the distance, the city lights, the chill in the air. For a moment, it was just you and him, your breaths syncing, your hearts pounding in rhythm.

When the kiss broke, it was slow, like neither of you really wanted it to end. He rested his forehead against yours, and you stayed like that, eyes closed, breathing together.

When you opened your eyes, he was already looking at you, walls down, clear affection in his sapphire eyes. 

A small, breathless laugh slipped out before you could stop it. You touched his jaw lightly, fingers brushing over the stubble there. “So,” you murmured, half-smiling, “does this mean you’re officially walking me home now?”

Bucky let out a quiet laugh of his own, his arm still around you. His eyes warmed, and the weight he'd carried for so long seemed to lift a little.

“Yeah,” he said, voice low but sure. “I guess it does.”

The two of you began to walk again, hand in hand. The silence between you wasn’t awkward or filled with things left unsaid. It felt easy and natural. 

And for the first time, it didn’t feel like you were walking beside someone pretending not to care. It felt like the beginning of something real.

Tag list: @lovely-seb @calwitch @its-in-the-woods

[sorreldolli]

— ౨ৎ Ex!nanami who wants you back.

Ex!nanami who broke up with you because he wanted to prioritize his work.

Ex!nanami who realized how bad of a mistake he made just a day later.

Ex!nanami who was disappointed when he realized you had him blocked on everything.

Ex!nanami who began sending you flowers everyday

Ex!nanami who shows up to your favorite cafe. Hoping you’ll walk by.

Ex!nanami who memorizes the time you usually get off work, just to catch a glimpse from you from across the street.

Ex!nanami who starts calling your number every day to see if you unblocked him yet

Ex!nanami who eventually shows up to your apartment one rainy evening, holding your favorite flowers.

Ex!nanami who’s overjoyed when you invite him in, scared he’ll catch a cold.

Ex!nanami who pleads for a second chance, he promises to treat you right this time.

Ex!nanami who finally gets it, and realizes you don’t distract him from life. You’re the reason he wants to live it.

[orangeflowerr]

|WE'LL SEE THE END

warning: typical squid games violence, slight spoilers for s3, angst & comfort & oc? Gi-hun. 833 words!

After being chased by a pair of players in red vests, Daeho thought the best chance of survival for both of you would be to split up, reconnecting later on in the game when there would hopefully be less of a thirst for blood. Not being able to stand cowering behind a door, flinching at any possible movement, you decided to track down your partner.

“Daeho?!”

You called out as you opened the door,hands trembling, as nerves racked your body,swearing you heard his voice echoing just moments before. A scene you would awaken from in a cold sweat lay out before you.

Gi-hun had your lover pinned under his knees, arms tightening around his jugular. Daeho's head dangled dangerously over the edge of another opened door and was trying his best to pry at Gi-hun’s hands, a useless act. Gi-hun's head turned to look at you, his eyes filled with inexplicable rage, a stark contrast to the soulless stare he wore before. Both of their faces were crimson, veins moments away from popping.

In response to your voice, Daeho began to thrash around, a distraction, making it somewhat harder for Gi-hun to maintain such a tight grip. His gaze once more returned to that of Player 388's face. Gurgling sounds pierced the air.

A rage of your own begins to boil as you march over to the pair, picking up a knife carelessly tossed upon the floor and pointing it square in the face of your lover’s attacker, enough for him to get the message without harming him.

“How could you do this?!”

You scream, face burning hot as tears began to streak down your cheeks, eyes meeting his and his grip as tight as ever but not enough to elicit those sounds.

“He betrayed us, it’s his fault, all his fault!”

Daeho lay there helplessly as Player 456 fed you lies. He cursed himself, wishing he could do something, face almost at the point of purple. You thrust the knife closer, adrenaline coursing through your veins, a type of liquid courage. Gi-hun made no attempt to move away or loosen his hold for the second time.

“It’s yours, you're just looking for someone else to blame! You’re just as bad as them!”

You must’ve struck a nerve as he hesitated, hands loosening as he slowly began to release his grip upon Daeho : the movement was almost robotic. As if some other being had possessed him for the last few minutes. Knees releasing the pressure upon Daeho’s chest as he got to his feet.

Fearing that you might be his next victim, the grip upon the one thing that would secure your way out of this hellish game tightened, turning the knuckles of your hand white. To your surprise, he walked past without so much as a glance.

“I’m sorry.”

Those were the last words he uttered before leaving the room.

Waiting a couple of seconds in stunned silence before letting the weapon clatter to the ground. You sank to your knees and gently dragged Daeho back from the ledge, propping him against the nearest wall. You knelt beside him. He wouldn’t look at you, ashamed that you’d had to see him so helpless.

Yellow bruises were beginning to flower upon his neck.

Fingers cupping his chin, softly turning it so he faced you. Brown eyes trained on yours, they had lost their usual sparkle. It shattered your heart to see the one you loved so disheartened.

The games had really severed the hold you had over your emotions causing your eyes to begin to wet again. Using the pads of his thumbs he brushed the wetness away.

In the struggle, his hair had managed to become undone. You reached up releasing the hair from its holder and gathered the stringy, sweat ridden hair into a somewhat neater ponytail, it looked better than it had previously. His eyes never left you, as you redid his hair. Shifting some of the shorter, stray pieces back into place. He shivered under your touch as it brought him just that little bit of comfort the games had sucked away from him.

“You shouldn’t have to do this.”

“But I want to.”

Your arms coming back down to rest upon your thighs.

“It’s not your fault, you know that, right.”

He pulled you by the waist, so you were nestled to the side of him. Arm wrapping around you securely, head resting on top of yours. An acknowledgement with actions rather than words or a way to hide the fact that his eyes were beginning to prickle.

“Just in case, I love you.”

You protest at his words.

“Don’t say that, we will get out of here.”

Albeit outside the room, blood was being shed and you both could possibly be the next victims of these twisted games. For now sitting there was a distraction to the world around you. No amount of money could replace the way you felt for Daeho.

an: this is my first time writing such a longish piece, feedback would be appreciated! The ending feels kinda rushed.

[sturduststrails]

"Sue me" Ex!sukuna x reader

Exes to??

Masterlist

Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5 Pt.6

You sit at the edge of the couch.

He stays standing, like he’s afraid that sitting will feel too much like staying.

You don’t ask him to.

But he does it anyway.

The silence between you doesn’t feel heavy this time.

Just… full. Like a pause that hasn’t decided what it is yet.

You watch him.

Not the way you used to—waiting for warmth, or softness, or some version of him you could hold onto.

You watch him like someone watching a stranger try to find their way back to a home they burned down.

Eventually, you ask:

“When did it change for you?”

He looks up, startled by the question.

“When what changed?”

“When did you stop seeing me as… a person, and start seeing me as a lesson?”

He flinches like you slapped him.

Which is funny. Because you’re not even angry anymore.

Just tired. And done pretending like he didn’t take something.

“Was it when I cried too much?” you continue.

“When I stopped being easy to love?”

He doesn’t answer right away.

And for once, you don’t fill the silence.

“No,” he says finally.

“It was before that. I just… didn’t know it then.”

You nod once.

Because of course.

Of course he didn’t.

“You said you didn’t come here to fix anything.”

“I didn’t.”

“So why now?”

He hesitates. Then:

“Because when I read what you wrote… it didn’t sound like someone who wanted revenge.”

“It sounded like someone who needed to be remembered right.”

You go still.

He leans forward, elbows on his knees, eyes on the floor.

“And the truth is… I don’t know if I ever saw you clearly enough to do that.”

He says it so quietly, it barely makes it out of his throat.

But it does. And it lands like something sacred. Or maybe unforgivable.

You’re not crying.

You thought maybe you would, when this moment came.

But all you feel is… steady.

“You don’t get to decide how I’m remembered,” you say softly.

He nods.

“I know. I just… I needed you to know I’m starting to understand the version of me you had to survive.”

You let that sit.

And for the first time in forever, he doesn’t rush to soften what he said.

He doesn’t follow it with a joke or a metaphor or a quote from some book he used to love more than listening to you.

He just lets it hang.

And you do, too.

Because this time—finally—it’s not about whether he loves you.

It’s about whether he can really see you.

And maybe that’s a better beginning than pretending you’re not still bleeding from the last ending.

You lean back against the couch, arms crossed. Not defensive. Just… bracing.

He hasn’t looked at you in a full minute.

So you ask—softly, but not gently:

“Is that why you wrote me like that?”

His head lifts a little.

“Like what?”

“Like I never said anything.”

“Like I just stood there and let you walk away.”

He swallows hard. Doesn’t answer. But you keep going.

“You made me sound so quiet.”

“Like I only ever spoke in metaphors and soft exits.”

“But I screamed at you, Ryo”

“I begged you to meet me halfway.”

There’s heat in your voice now. Not rage—just the sharpness of remembering who you were before it broke.

“I told you I was scared, and you said I was being dramatic.”

“I told you I couldn’t feel you anymore, and you said I was making things up.”

“You turned it into something palatable. But it wasn’t. It was ugly. And I stayed. Even when it was ugly.”

He looks up, finally. And when he does—really does—his eyes look wrecked.

“You used to say something after we fought,” he says, voice raw.

You go quiet.

“It always made me feel like shit, but I never admitted it. I never even reacted.”

Your breath catches.

“You used to say…”

He swallows. Rubs the back of his neck.

“You’d say: ‘Just tell me if I’m hard to love, so I can stop trying to make it easy.’”

You close your eyes.

God.

You forgot you ever said that out loud.

But it hits. Because of course he remembers that line.

The one that cracked him, even if he never let you see it.

“I almost put it in the book,” he says.

“But it sounded too real. Too close. I didn’t want people to know I let you say that and didn’t answer.”

You’re quiet.

He leans forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the ground like it’ll forgive him before you do.

“I should’ve answered.”

You don’t speak for a while.

And then:

“You didn’t have to answer. You just had to stay in the room.”

His head tilts up—slow, cautious—like maybe he’s finally hearing you without trying to translate it into something that absolves him.

You sit with that silence together. Not awkward. Just honest.

And then, because you’re tired of pretending anything less than the truth will help either of you now, you say:

“You made me think my needs were noise. And I started believing it. That’s the part I still haven’t forgiven myself for.”

He doesn’t interrupt.

He doesn’t try to make it better.

He just nods, and says—

“You weren’t noise. You were the only real thing in the room.”

And for the first time since this whole thing began

You believe he means it.

[shinoko-oshi]

Just Because’s - Simon Riley

It started small.

You brought him new socks.

That’s it — socks. Nothing fancy, just a twenty pack of black ones from the store because you noticed his were wearing thin.

That night, he went down on you without a word. No buildup, nor teasing, just dropped to his knees while you were brushing your teeth, pulling your shorts down like it was his next mission.

You didn’t even have time to ask.

When you tried to stop him, said something like, “Babe, you don’t have to—” he just looked up at you with that dead serious stare he got at times and said, “You got me something.”

Like that explained it.

The next time, it was a bottle of his cologne. He was running low. You ordered it before he even mentioned it, leaving it on the bathroom sink.

He kissed you that night, slow and sweet, like it was the last thing he’d ever do. And then he fucked you like it was the only way he knew how to say thank you.

But that wasn’t the part that made your chest ache.

It was later, when you sat on the couch beside him, wrapping up in a warm blanket, your head resting on his shoulder and he stiffened slightly, then turned to ask, with a almost cautious tone:

“What do you need?”

And you blinked, confused “From what?”

“Well your coming to me, what do you want me to do?”

You laughed softly at first, thought maybe he was joking.

But he wasn’t.

His shoulders were tense. Jaw locked. He looked ready to stand, like if you told him to go scrub the entire kitchen with a toothbrush, he’d already be halfway to the sink.

That’s when it hit you.

This wasn’t just gratitude. It wasn’t about being a good partner.

To him, love had a price tag.

Every nice thing came with invisible strings he thought he owed you for. If you cooked, he cleaned like it was owed. If you rubbed his shoulders, he wouldn’t rest until you were trembling from something he did to your body. You left a note in his lunchbox once, just a simple “hope you have a good day”, and when he came home, he barely let you make it to the bed before he had you gasping his name in the dark.

Not out of desire. Not always.

Sometimes it was out of obligation.

You saw it in the way he watched you afterward, waiting and tense, like he was checking to see if you were satisfied enough to let him breathe again.

One night, it broke your heart wide open.

You had made him tea. That was it. He looked tired so you put on the kettle.

And when you handed it to him, he didn’t smile. Just took it and stared into the mug like it had insulted him.

“I didn’t ask for this” he muttered

“I know,” you said gently. “You don’t have to ask.”

“I didn’t do anything to earn it.”

The words shattered your heart.

You sat beside him, slowly, and reached for his hand. He let you take it. He always did. But he didn’t relax or soften.

So you said it as plainly as you could:

“You don’t have to earn it, Simon, that’s not how this works. I’m not keeping a score. I’m not waiting for you to pay me back.”

His eyes flicked to yours.

“I love you,” you said, “and sometimes love looks like tea or clean socks or maybe a new cologne and that doesn’t mean you owe me your body, or your time, or anything.”

He was quiet for a moment, looking down at his hands.

“No one’s ever done that for me before.”

You leaned in, pressing your forehead to his.

“Well, they should’ve”

And maybe he didn’t say anything else that night. Maybe he didn’t know how.

But he let you hold him.

And for once, he didn’t try to earn it.

Sorry for not posting, im finally back and out of the slump I was in lol

anywayyy what we thinkkk?

This idea was in my head for over three weeks now and I think I like it better now that I’ve written it, bit of angst and comfort, that I think fit Simon yk?

Master list

look at my cat

[luvvjayk]

𝙧𝙪𝙡𝙚𝙨 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙗𝙚𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙨𝙚𝙘𝙧𝙚𝙩 - 𝙟𝙪𝙣𝙜𝙠𝙤𝙤𝙠

PART 4

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5

pairing : fratboy!Jeon Jungkook x reader genre : angst, secret situationship, fboy-to-loverboy, slow-burn, university au, smut word count : ~5k warnings! : alcohol, party setting, drinking, suggestive tension, emotional manipulation, kissing,physical altercation, emotional conflict, reader is not innocent, slow-burn attraction, explicit language.

(MDNI) - contains mature themes!

Rule 4: We don't ask questions.

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand. Its glow sliced through the dark of your dorm. Jungkook’s name flashed: “Please. Just one word.” Another message joined the dozens piling up over the week. Each one was a ghost you refused to face. His voice from that night clawed at you. It was cold and sharp: “She’s nothing to me. Just another name in my phone. I’m over it.” The words were a splinter lodged deep in your chest. They ached with every breath. You swiped the message away. You let it drown in the silence you’d built. He wanted you hidden. You’d vanish entirely.

You slid out of bed. The mattress creaked. You faced the cracked mirror by your desk. Shadows clung to your eyes but defiance burned beneath. You pulled on a fitted black turtleneck and ripped jeans. The outfit was sharp enough to say you were still standing yet subtle enough to blend into the campus blur. His boundaries defined your distance: no one knowing, acting like strangers in public, never claiming each other. They had been his shield. Now they were your blade. You’d make him feel their weight.

Lila’s text pinged: “Coffee shop study sesh. You in?” You typed back: “Yeah. Need to clear my head.” Her reply was instant: “Still dodging him?” You ignored it and grabbed your bag. Your boots scraped the dorm’s worn tiles as you headed out. The campus thrummed with students. The air was sharp with autumn’s bite. You weren’t running but you weren’t chasing either. Jungkook could beg. You were finished.

The coffee shop hummed with low voices and clinking mugs. The scent of roasted beans hung thick in the air. You sat with Lila and a few others at a corner table. Textbooks lay open and laptops glowed. Your focus was brittle. Jungkook’s words looped like a venomous refrain but you forced a nod. You scribbled notes and laughed at a bad pun about integrals. Kai slid into a seat beside you. His grin was easy. His presence was a jolt in the heavy air. “Didn’t peg you for a math nerd” he said leaning close. His voice was warm with teasing. You smirked and stirred your latte. “I’m full of secrets.”

He lingered after the group scattered. He handed you a stray pen. His fingers brushed yours. “You seem off. You okay?” His eyes were steady and curious without prying. You shrugged. Your voice was light. “Just navigating life.” He didn’t push but offered to walk you to your next lecture. You let him. His banter filled the quiet. His shoulder grazed yours as you crossed the quad. Deep down you knew this wasn’t about Kai. It was about Jungkook. It was about mirroring the pain of seeing Ji-yeon’s fingers on his tattoos and his silence after he left with her. You’d caught his gaze in the lecture hall earlier. His jaw was clenched and his eyes were dark as he watched you smile with Kai. Good. Let it burn.

Jungkook’s texts were a storm you refused to weather. “Answer me. Please.” “I didn’t mean what I said.” “This silence is killing me.” You deleted them unread. Your chest was tight with pain and resolve. But he wasn’t one to back down. Five days later after a lecture on probability he caught you in a quiet hallway. His hand was soft but firm on your wrist. He pulled you into an empty seminar room. The door clicked shut. It sealed you in a space thick with tension.

He looked wrecked. His cap was low and his eyes were shadowed. His usual swagger was gone. “You’re shutting me out” he said. His voice was low and frayed with a quiet ache that tugged at something in you. “Like I’m not even here.” You crossed your arms. Your voice was like ice. “You said I don’t matter. Just another name you’re over. Why should I care what you think now?” He stepped closer. His hands twitched like he wanted to reach out. “I didn’t mean it. You know I didn’t. I said it to keep things clean. No questions asked. That’s how we keep people from stirring up drama.”

You laughed. It was sharp and bitter. You stepped into his space. Your eyes blazed. “Drama? You created the drama. You let Ji-yeon hang all over you and told your friends I’m nobody. Don’t pretend you care now.” He flinched. His voice dropped softer and carried a tremor. “You’re not nobody. You think I’d be here begging if you were? I kept things quiet to keep the rumors away. People twist things and make trouble.”

“Trouble?” Your voice cracked. It trembled with pain. “You made the trouble. You stood there and erased me. No questions? Fine. I’m not asking any. I’m done with your excuses.” He reached for you. His fingers grazed your sleeve but you stepped back. Your boots scraped the floor. “Don’t touch me. You wanted silence? You’ve got it.” You yanked the door open. You left him standing there. His breath was heavy. His eyes burned into your back as you walked away.

Kai was a steady presence. His warmth was a contrast to the cold war with Jungkook. You weren’t into him. Not the way his lingering glances suggested he hoped. But his attention dulled the ache. You let him pull you into group hangouts, late-night diner runs, and study sessions in the library’s back corner. His flirtation was bold. His hand brushed yours. His arm slung over your chair. His voice was low and teasing: “You’re making it impossible to focus.” You’d smirk and lean into it. You let his warmth draw eyes knowing Jungkook was watching and unraveling. It was calculated. It was a blade aimed at Jungkook’s chest. But guilt crept in. Kai was good. Too good. You were using him to wound someone else.

At a crowded diner Kai slid into the booth beside you. He tossed a fry your way. “You’re quiet tonight” he said. His eyes were soft but probing. “Something eating at you?” You shook your head. You forced a smile. “Just drained from stats.” He leaned closer. His voice dropped. “Liar. I’m good at reading people you know.” You sipped your soda. You let his concern linger but your thoughts were on Jungkook. You remembered his glance from across the quad earlier. His fists were clenched as Kai’s hand rested on your shoulder. You knew you were doing this to make him bleed. You wanted to echo the pain of Ji-yeon’s fingers on his arm. But Kai’s kindness made your stomach twist. It was a reminder you were playing a game that hurt more than just Jungkook.

The hallway was a swarm of students. Voices bounced off lockers. Footsteps were a chaotic rhythm. You were laughing with Kai. His story about a botched skate trick pulled a rare grin. “Fell flat on my ass in front of everyone” he said chuckling. His hand was warm on your waist. Jungkook appeared like a storm. His voice was low and sharp but cracked with something raw. “Get your hands off her.” His eyes were dark. His cap was low. His fists were tight at his sides. Kai raised an eyebrow. He stepped forward. “You got a problem man?”

It happened in a flash. Jungkook’s fist slammed into Kai’s jaw. The sharp crack froze the hallway. Kai stumbled and swung back. His punch grazed Jungkook’s cheek. They hit the floor in a mess of limbs and anger. Students gasped. Phones were out filming. You stood rooted. Your heart pounded. You shoved through the crowd and grabbed Kai’s arm. You pulled him back as he wiped blood from his lip. “Stop it!” you shouted. Your voice shook. Kai was breathing hard. Blood smeared his chin. You turned to him. Your voice was urgent. “You okay?” He nodded wincing. His eyes stayed locked on Jungkook.

Jungkook was on the floor. His lip was split. Blood dripped onto his shirt. Bruises bloomed on his cheek. His eyes found yours. They were raw with confusion and a quiet pain that made your chest tighten for a fleeting moment. “Please” he whispered. His voice was barely audible and trembling. “Just look at me.” You didn’t. You guided Kai away. Your heart was a tangle of fury and guilt. Jungkook’s voice followed softer and broken. “You’re walking away like I’m nothing.” You kept walking. Kai’s arm was heavy on your shoulders. Jungkook’s plea lingered. It was a weight you couldn’t shake. You didn’t look back but the image of him on the floor with blood on his lip and desperation in his eyes burned into you. It stirred a flicker of pity you shoved down.

The next week was a haze of silence and rage. You avoided Jungkook. His texts flooded your phone: “I messed up. I don’t know why I did that.” “You know you’re not nobody.” You deleted them. Your anger was a shield against the ache. Kai was gentler now. His flirtation softened into concern. At a library study session he slid a coffee across the table. His voice was low. “You don’t have to talk about it but I’m here.” You nodded. You forced a smile but your thoughts were on Jungkook. You saw his bloodied lip and bruised face in your mind. You remembered his whispered plea and how you’d walked away without a glance. The flicker of pity lingered but your anger burned brighter.

Jungkook was a ghost. He dodged his usual haunts. His crew was quieter without him. Whispers spread. He wasn’t hooking up or partying. He was holed up in his dorm staring at his bruises in the mirror. He didn’t understand why he cared so much. Your smile with Kai felt like a blade. He’d thrown that punch when he’d done the same with Ji-yeon by letting her hang on him and keeping you a secret. He questioned everything. His need to keep things quiet felt like a noose. Your silence cut deeper than any hit he’d taken. Lila told you he was a mess. He was barely eating and snapping at his friends. “He’s falling apart without you” she said. Her voice was soft. You shrugged. Your voice was cold. “He did this to himself.” But the words felt hollow. Your anger was tangled with a quiet pain and that flicker of pity you couldn’t shake.

The party was a pulse of bass and bodies. The warehouse was packed. Air was thick with smoke and spilled liquor. You didn’t want to be there but Lila dragged you. She insisted you needed to breathe. You wore a fitted black crop top and high-waisted jeans. The outfit was understated but sharp. It drew eyes without trying. Kai found you early. His grin was bright. He handed you a drink. “Didn’t think you’d show” he said. His fingers brushed yours. You smirked and leaned into his warmth. “Needed a break from reality.”

Jungkook was there by the DJ booth. His cap was low. Headphones hung around his neck. His eyes found you the moment you walked in. He approached later when you were laughing with Kai by a makeshift bar. His voice was soft but heavy with a quiet ache. “Can we talk? Just for a minute.” His lip was still scabbed. Bruises were fading but visible. You shook your head. Your voice was sharp. “You said enough last week.” Kai’s arm was around your shoulders. You let it stay to let Jungkook see it. His jaw tightened. His eyes flickered with something raw but he nodded. He stepped back. “Okay. I hear you.”

You stayed with Kai. His presence was a shield. His hand rested on your back as you moved through the crowd. You laughed louder and leaned closer. You let his fingers graze your arm knowing Jungkook’s eyes followed. It wasn’t about Kai. Not really. It was about making Jungkook feel the way you did: erased, discarded, invisible. But the guilt gnawed harder. Kai’s kindness was a stark contrast to Jungkook’s chaos. He didn’t deserve this but you couldn’t stop. Not when Jungkook’s dismissal still burned in your chest.

You slipped to the rooftop craving air. Kai trailed behind. The city stretched out below in a jagged line of lights piercing the dark. He leaned against the railing. His voice was low. “You’re not really here with me are you?” Your heart sank. Guilt crashed over you but before you could answer he stepped closer. His hand cupped your face. “I don’t care. I want this.” He kissed you. It was slow at first then deep. His hands pulled you against him. The railing was cold against your back. You kissed him back. Not because you felt it but because you wanted Jungkook to ache. You wanted him to feel the betrayal you’d felt seeing Ji-yeon’s fingers on him and her laughter echoing in your head.

You pulled away breathless and returned to the party. The taste of Kai’s kiss lingered like a mistake. As you descended the stairs Jungkook stepped out from a shadowed corner. His eyes were raw with pain. His hands were clenched at his sides. Your heart stuttered but you held your ground as he spoke. His voice was low and trembling with a quiet hurt that made your chest tighten.

Rule 4: We don't ask questions.

“Rule 4.....We don’t ask questions. That’s how we keep this right. I’ve got no right to ask why you kissed him.” His words were heavy and laced with pain. His gaze flickered to the rooftop then back to you. You straightened. Your voice was sharp. “Then why are you standing here looking at me like I broke you? You erased me Jungkook. You don’t get to care now.”

He flinched. His voice cracked softer than before. “I didn’t mean what I said. You know I didn’t.” You stepped closer. Your eyes blazed. “You stood there and called me nobody. Let Ji-yeon act like she owned you. Don’t pretend it’s different now.” His face twisted. His voice was barely audible and trembling. “I don’t know why this is killing me. I don’t know why I can’t let you go.” Your heart pounded but you held steady. Your voice was cold. “Figure it out. I’m not waiting.” You brushed past him and rejoined the party but his presence lingered. It was a weight you couldn’t escape. His broken words echoed: “I don’t know why this is killing me.” The quiet pain in his voice stirred that flicker of pity again but you shoved it down.

Back in the warehouse you noticed Jungkook pulling away. He brushed off Ji-yeon and other girls who tried to lean into him. Their hands slid off his shoulders. He was distracted. His eyes followed you. His usual charm was gone. You stayed with Kai and let his arm rest around you but your focus was fractured. Jungkook’s broken words and the tremor in his voice lingered. He was confused and caught in a storm he couldn’t name. It was tearing him apart.

The DJ booth was his domain. The crowd pulsed to his set but he was falling apart. His transitions were sloppy. His hands trembled. His eyes were glassy with liquor. You stood near the bar. Kai’s arm was loose around you. You watched Jungkook fumble. His confidence was shattered. He queued a new track you hadn’t heard. Its lyrics were raw and haunting: “Too scared to let you shine. Too scared to call you mine.” The words cut deep. They were a confession hidden in the beat. They spoke to his fear of letting you be seen and of claiming you in the open. The crowd roared oblivious but you felt the weight. Your chest was tight with anger and pain.

He was drunk and swaying slightly. His cap was low. His headphones hung around his neck. Mid-set he stopped. He yanked the headphones off and let them hang. The music cut to static. The crowd groaned. His friends shouted: “Yo you good?” He didn’t answer. He shoved through the bodies and vanished into the night. You stood frozen. Kai’s hand slipped from yours. The air was heavy with the echo of his song. Lila found you later. Her voice was urgent. “He didn’t go home. No one’s seen him since he left.” Your stomach dropped. The ache in your chest flared. Jungkook was gone. You didn’t know where or why.

The party’s noise faded as you stood by the bar. Lila’s words looped in your head. You tried to shake it off and rejoined Kai. You forced a laugh as he handed you another drink. But your eyes kept darting to the exit where Jungkook had disappeared. His lyrics clung to you. They were a confession you couldn’t unhear: “Too scared to let you shine. Too scared to call you mine.” Why did he write that? Why did he care enough to walk away from his set and his world into the dark? You sipped your drink. The burn in your throat did nothing to dull the growing knot in your stomach.

You slipped away from Kai and muttered an excuse about needing air. You stepped outside. The night was cold. The street was quiet with only a few stragglers lingering. You texted Lila: “Any word on him?” Her reply was quick: “Nothing. His roommate said he hasn’t been back.” Your heart sank. A quiet panic crept in. You’d wanted to hurt him. You’d wanted to make him feel the pain he’d caused. But this—him vanishing and leaving his headphones behind—felt wrong. You walked the block. Your eyes scanned the shadows. You half-expected to see his cap or his slumped figure. Nothing.

Back in your dorm you paced. Your phone was in hand. Jungkook’s last text was still unread: “I don’t know why I did that.” You didn’t open it but your fingers hovered. Your anger softened into something heavier. It was worry sharp and unyielding. You texted one of his friends Taehyung and kept it vague: “Heard Jungkook left the party. He okay?” The reply came slow: “No idea. He’s been off lately. You know something?” You didn’t respond. Your chest was tight. You’d pushed him and played his game but now he was gone. The silence felt like a punishment you hadn’t meant to inflict.

You sat on your bed. The mattress creaked. Your eyes fell on the leather bracelet on your desk. Jungkook had given it to you weeks ago after a late-night talk. It was worn and soft with his scent of cedar and smoke still clinging to it. You didn’t know why you kept it. You picked it up and ran your thumb over the braided strands. Your mind replayed his voice from the hallway fight: “Please. Just look at me.” The quiet desperation in his tone and the way he’d watched you walk away with Kai twisted in your chest. You dropped the bracelet. It landed with a soft thud. You stood and grabbed your jacket. You headed back into the night. Your boots echoed on the pavement. You didn’t know where to look but you couldn’t stay still. Not with his absence burning a hole in you.

The campus was quiet now. The streets were empty. You checked the usual spots: the 24-hour diner where he sometimes lingered, the bench by the quad where he’d sit with his headphones, the alley behind the warehouse where stragglers smoked. Nothing. Your phone stayed silent. No texts from Lila or Taehyung. The bracelet’s weight lingered in your mind. Its faint scent of him clung to your fingers. Where was he? The question gnawed at you. Your anger was fading. It was replaced by a hollow ache. You’d wanted him to hurt but not like this. Not lost in the dark with his lyrics echoing like a plea you couldn’t answer. You stood alone by the water. The cold bit at your skin. You wondered if you’d pushed him too far or if he was running from something neither of you could name.

author’s note :

hi, i’m rie ♡

im sorry for the delay, i was supposed to drop part 4 days ago i was really sick this past week and honestly needed a little time to recover. also tumblr has been glitching like crazy?? comments and reblogs keep going “unavailable” and then popping back later, idk if i’m shadowbanned or what 😭

thank you so much for the love on this series so far, i genuinely didn’t expect it to get this much attention. i’ve been a little out of it and i don’t feel like i gave my 100% to this, but i’m gonna make sure part 5 delivers the ending it deserves.

love u always. thank u for reading.

part five drops in two days , so stick around. feel free to drop a 💌 in my comments or in my inbox if you wanna be added to the taglist!

reblogs + thoughts in the tags/comments keep me alive fr 𓂃 𖥻 ⋆｡˚ 𖦹 ⁺‧₊˚✩彡 ⊹

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girl crush | aaron hotchner

pairing: aaron hotchner x bau!reader summary: beth is coming back from hong kong and you feel like hotch’s feelings are slipping away, so you decide to do it first. content/tw: brace yourself, it’s a long one! established relationship, beth’s coming back, jealous!reader, oblivious!hotch, dave being a father figure (love him), very angsty (at least my attempt), alcohol consuming (barely), lots of crying, happy ending, lmk if i missed something! word count: 7.3k (stfu challenge level impossible) a/n: based on this request! this one goes for my people who feel like they have to remove themselves from the situation for things to be okay. know that you are important, wanted and loved! if you ever had a girl crush, sending you an extra hug and much love! hope you like this one💗🪽 dividers by @uzmacchiato

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The smell of bacon and toast fills the air even before you step into the kitchen. 

Aaron is there, scrambling eggs with his shirt still unbuttoned and his hair damp from the shower. He glances up when you step in, already dressed up “Didn’t have time to make coffee.” he explains, nodding to the empty coffee pot plugged on the counter behind him. You shake your head, squinting your eyes at his face.

“Aren’t you at least a little bit embarrassed?” you tease, already starting to brew the coffee beans. It has been almost a year since he bought it – following your suggestion – and he never even cared to learn how to use it. Not that he needed to, really. You were always there to do it for him.

He pressed his lips together in a mocking reflective expression, just to shrug his shoulders “Not really, no.” you just chuckle as the two of you move in sync to finish preparing breakfast.

Just as the eggs were ready, his phone rang all the way to his bedroom. As an old man who still hadn’t created the urge to be glued to his phone 24/7, you took over the bacon pan as he faded into the hallway to pick up.

You were so focused on your task you didn’t realize he was taking too long. It wasn’t until you filled both of your plates and mugs that you noticed he didn’t come back. Your first reaction was too tense, to go after him and check what was wrong, but soon after you heard his laugh, loud and strong, making its way towards you. So, no emergencies.

Sensing it was probably Sean, your boyfriend’s brother, or maybe Rossi with a gossip – something you learnt after you started dating Hotch: the two older men at the BAU were gossipers. Penelope Garcia level gossiper – you stayed back, giving them privacy to chat. Ignoring all the etiquette lessons you had, you started eating alone. At least one of you should enjoy the warm food.

Just when you took the last bite you heard him stepping back into the kitchen, a ghost of a smile still present on his face “Hey, you chatty” you teased. He chuckled, sitting beside you on the stoll and drinking a sip of coffee “Who was it?” your curiosity got the best of you, even though you knew he was going to tell you either way.

“Beth!”

Oh.

“Oh”

“Yeah.” he agrees, taking a bite of the toast, completely oblivious to the gut wrenching feeling taking over your senses “She called me to say she’s coming back. From Hong Kong.”

Oh (but harder).

“That’s… good?”

“It’s great! She got to transfer back for a promotion, with a higher salary and getting to be close to her family.” he explains, sounding way too pleased with himself.

“She rocks.” you cringe immediately, not knowing what the hell you meant by that.

“Right?” fortunately – or not, that’s up to the eye of the beholder – he remained completely clueless to your awkwardness. “Jack’s going to lose it when he hears it.” he said, chuckling to himself.

You hate how hearing this makes you twice as jealous.

“Y’think Jack remembers her?” you wonder, pretending to be unbothered as you wash your dishes in a way to distract yourself. He stays silent for a second, and you hope he’s not picking up on your selfish rotting for the worse.

“He does. Last time she face-timed me, Jack took over half the call.” he says, his voice suddenly closer to you. He takes the dishes from your hand, gently pushing you to the side “That’s on me.” he points kindly, taking over the dishes. You step away, hoping he didn’t feel the sound of your heart breaking.

They face-time each other? Is Jack a part of this? By the way he said it, it seems like a frequent occurrence. Where were you all those times? How could you miss that?

Is this cheating? Objectively speaking, if it was cheating he probably wouldn’t be so blunt about it. And he’s probably the most loyal person you know.

So why does it feel like cheating? Why do you feel betrayed? Why do you feel so jealous?

Trying to take a hold of the situation, you fight to appear normal, trying your best to hide your anxiousness and all of self-doubt, at least while you figure your feelings out. Otherwise you’d probably end up locked in a mental asylum.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

It turned out the mental asylum would probably be a nicer place to be than your own head right now.

As the day passed by, you started to notice how excited Aaron was for Beth’s arrival. If you missed their calls before, you definitely weren’t now. Every other day you stumbled on him somewhere in the house, his phone balanced between his shoulder and his ear while he finished a task.

When it wasn’t the calls, it was the texting. He would send her pictures about things she liked and places she missed. She would always send a picture of everything that was different over there, ask silly questions about the job or about Jack. 

And Jack was a whole other problem. Not a problem, actually. But his obvious adoration towards the woman made you bitter. You found yourself losing your appetite more often than not every time Jack asked about her in the middle of dinner or lunch. Which was a horror on its own, but it was even worse because every time he did it, soon after the meal ended Hotch would call her to tell her about it.

You felt like an outsider.

The worst part was that it wasn’t even their fault. Everytime you walked by him, he asked you to join the call, pulling you to sit with him and chat with the woman on the other side of the screen. She would ask about you, about your likes and dislikes. She would joke about Hotch, about his sleep myoclonus, about his ability to fall asleep in the first few minutes of a movie.  You laughed with her, making fun of his antic habits as if sharing that with her didn’t feel like a knife in your gut. 

When she finally came back, it was, somehow, worse.

Hotch insisted that you’d tag along on their catching ups, you hang with them as she went out with the team. You had playdates with her and Jack.

It was now safe to say: you hated Beth. And you were completely obsessed with her.

You watched the way she spoke, the way she dressed. How she smiled, how she laughed. The exact color of her lipstick, her haircut. 

When her nails were perfectly made. She was so elegant. You started doing your nails weekly.

Next time you saw her, her nails were chipped and two of them were broken. She was so carefree. You cancelled your membership at the nail salon.

One would think Beth was a frequent character in Hotch's life. She really wasn’t. With all the cases, Jack and his relationship with you, he barely had time to actually hang out with Beth. But there was no point, and the damage was made.

Ever since he took that call, she made her way into your head, building her own little house with a balcony and a white fence. Even if she wasn’t around, your mind made sure to think about her. You hated hearing her name, but you secretly hoped it would come up in the middle of the conversation.

When his phone rang, you braced yourself, preparing for that gut wrenching pain you were oh, so familiar with. 9 out of 10 times, it wasn’t her. But 1 out of ten times, it was. And when you hear him calling her name, smiling easily at the speaker like she was seeing him, you felt your world fall apart, and what a comforting sensation that was.

You had no idea how you could crave someone as much as you craved her.

You wanted her gone.

The thought came to you out of nowhere, in the middle of the night. You were sleeping on his bed – almost yours by now – and his body involuntarily jerked. And there it was: another sleepless night. You were reminded of her, and now you were cursed to spend the rest of the evening wondering if she slept on the same side of the bed you were in, on how she would react. Would she laugh? Would she wake him? Would she pretend she didn’t see it?

It was maddening. It had to stop.

It wasn’t going to stop. You had to get out of this.

When the thought came, it stayed. You haven’t thought about it before, but you knew it. It had to be done. There was no way you would survive this. There was no way you could compete with this, with her. They understood each other to a degree you could never. They were the same age, and had the same references. They were both divorced, they had experiences you still haven’t had. You hated being outside of their inside jokes, even if said jokes were whatever was fashion in the 70’s.

Truth to be told, you wouldn’t even be with him if she hadn’t moved out of the country. And now she was back, reclaiming her old apartment, her athletic habits and his heart.

You weren’t dumb. You could see he loved you. But he loved her too. And you wouldn’t settle for half. Even if it killed you inside.

Besides being younger than Aaron – and Beth – you were very mature. Mature enough to understand that you shouldn’t make a big deal out of this. You knew, usually, the right thing to do was to talk about your feelings. To explain where you were coming from and make changes in order to keep the relationship alive.

But how could you go to the man you loved and beg him to not fall back in love with his ex? What exactly do you want to achieve by talking to him about it? He wasn’t doing anything wrong, you know that much. He would probably just stop talking to her ‘if it meant not making you insecure’, but you know very well how that would turn out. You didn’t want it to end with a fight, and you didn’t want to feel like you had to put up a fight to keep the man you love. You didn’t deserve that, and neither did him.

So, piece by piece, you started to make your way out of Aaron’s life.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You usually spent the majority of your time in his place. And you started to change that, slowly starting to spend more time in your rented apartment than in his. Piece by piece, you started to move back your clothes. First a blouse, then a pajama. Evolving to your dresses, shoes, and your products.

It was going by unnoticed, until after you moved almost all the products on your side of his bathroom’s cabinet. A wednesday morning, while getting ready to work, you opened it to find everything back where they belonged.

You stayed there, shocked for a few seconds, your heart racing. The toothbrush inside your mouth is frozen, the minty foam starting to burn your gums. Aaron stepped on the bathroom behind you, fixing his cufflinks and looking at you through the mirror.

“Oh, I saw you ran out of them.” he explained, casually pointing at the new stack of products, completely unaware of your mind short circuiting “You didn’t restock, but I remembered them from last time. I had to go to the drugstore anyway.” he shrugged, reaching for his cologne and stepping out like he didn’t just shatter your whole world.

Later, when your tears smudged your mascara, you just said you choked with the mouthwash.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

After a while, you’d spent so much time on your own place that Aaron started to miss you. Not only that, he questioned it. One specific morning, you were in the shared kitchen in the BAU mixing a bowl of yogurt with cereals and fruits when you felt a pair of large hands clinging to your hips. Yelping in surprise, you turned to face your boyfriend.

“Hey, you scared me.” you chuckled, picking up the bowl to put something between the two of you.

“I miss you.” he said, simply. He wasn’t whining, or complaining, or even trying to talk you out of your devious plan – not that he knew about it. He was just stating a fact, as clear as the day, the same way and tone he announced a profile or call a meeting.

Not knowing what to answer without breaking into tears, you stuffed a spoon full of greek yogurt, granola and strawberries into your mouth. While you did it, you mumbled something he couldn’t comprehend. Figuring you said you missed him too, he just moved on, leaning over your head to reach for the cabinet.

“Can I take you out for dinner tonight?” he asked, grabbing the freshly made coffee and filing his mug “It’s been a while since we left the house.”

You swoon at him, taking a deep breath before answering “It has. But I have plans.” you grimaced “Girls night.” you explained, chewing on the granola for longer than needed.

Aaron stopped for a second, his steaming mug already halfway to his lips. “Oh.” He wasn’t the kind of boyfriend to be in the way of your life, but he usually was aware of your plans. Not in a controlling way, but by knowing you, talking to you. And he was just realizing how it felt not knowing. He hated it. Not being a man to give up, he quickly came up with another idea “I can make you that BLT you like while you get ready.” not seeing you immediately jump with joy – as you usually do when BLT is mentioned – he suggested “Or we can stop at McDonalds drive-thru when I pick you up later.” 

Your heart did a backflip and shattered in a thousand pieces with the sight of his puppy eyes, expectantly looking at you.

“Oh that sounds lovely. But the bar we’re heading it’s the one across the street from my building. We’re walking there.” you explain, placing a hand on his chest gently, fixing the lapels of his suit. He looked down at your hands, fighting the urge to pull you by his arms and lock you in there. He wasn’t sure what was happening, but his gut knew something didn’t sit right.

“Text me when you get there. And when you get home.” he says, more a statement than a request. Your safety was not negotiable. You nodded, stepping closer to him and giving him a quick peck on the side of his jaw.

“I promise!” and you meant it, winking at him as you move to leave the kitchen.

Just as you step outside the perimeter, you almost bump into Rossi, who’s just standing there with his hands buried in his pockets and his eyebrow raised so high it was almost blending his hairline. Not ready to handle his piercing gaze – knowing you’d crumble at the first couple minutes –, you just nodded and gave him one of your best polite smiles, speeding your pace all the way to your desk.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

After you knocked twice on the office door, you stared at the words “David Rossi” engraved on the metal platter in its center as you waited for him to open.

When he did, you were surprised to see his office drowned in low light coming from the lamp on his desk and the moonlight peeking through the widow.

“You wanted to see me?” it meant as a statement: he did ask to see you. At first, you were sure it had something to do with the case you were consulting, the topic you and him were talking about during dinner. What confused you was that the setting looked anything but professional, if the expensive bourbon bottle and the two glasses sitting on the table wasn’t enough of a tell.

“Yes. Come in.” he said, waiting for you to walk into the office to close the door. You stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, waiting for him to take the lead. Unaware – or, most probably, choosing to ignore – your startled state, he slowly made his way to the couch on the back of the room, filling up both glasses before sitting comfortably.

Taking one of the glasses, you sat beside him, pressing your lips together and trying not to bounce your leg to ease the tension.

“How was girls night?” Rossi asks, raising his glass to his lips. He didn’t even look at you as he waited for your answer, his tone almost mocking you.

Having absolutely no idea what he was going with this, you decided to play along “It was fun.”

He nodded “I see.” You took a sip of your drink, trying to keep your posture. It didn’t work. As soon as the burning liquid settled in your stomach, you turned to face him. Terrible idea.

“Dave, what’s going on? What is this?”

“You know,” he started, completely ignoring your question “People may think about profiling as a criminal study. They think we have to learn about psychopaths, stressors, geography, and criminal patterns. That it’s about getting in the mind of crazy people and figuring them out.”

“And it isn’t?” you blinked, drowned by his speech.

“Oh, definitely. But it’s not just that. It’s about studying people. Feelings, motivations. Learning, understanding their behaviour and using it to figure out their intentions.”

And that’s when it hit you: he knew.

“We have an unspoken policy in the BAU: not profiling each other.” he began, turning his body to face you.

“So why are you profiling me?” you asked, voice edging and uneasy, desperately trying to stop him from putting into words. He ignored it.

“You’re breaking up with him.” Not a question, not a suggestion, and definitely not a doubt. “I know what this is about. Who this is about.” your chewed on your bottom lip, deciding on what to say.

“Please, don’t try to talk me out of it.” you beg, hating how weak your own voice sounds. He took another long and lazy sip, and you watched as the liquid clinged to his lips, the wet reflecting the low light of the lamp.

“I won’t.” he stared at you, his eyes squinting slightly “I’m here to encourage you.”

You frowned, your eyebrows pinching together “What?”

“Yes. You really should break up with him. You know, if you’re in such an unbearable relationship.” You roll your eyes, tilting your head back.

“Stop.”

“No, seriously. Do you think he’s what? Cheating on you with Beth?”

“What? That’s not what this is about. I know he’s not cheating.” you defend yourself, cringing at the topic of the discussion.

“Then what is it?”

“I’m just…” your eyes burn with tears harder than the liquid on your throat when you down the rest of the bourbon before continuing “I’m not her.”

“You sure? Under this specific light I could’ve swore…”

“Dave!” you whine, and he chuckles.

“Yes, you’re not Beth.” you grimace at her name, not bothering to hide your feelings anymore “Why are you saying this as a bad thing?”

“Because it is. She’s back now and…” you feel a tear striking down your cheek as you gesticulate “She just fits. She gets him.”

“And you don’t?”

You sigh “You must think I sound really stupid.”

“Oh, you sound absolutely ridiculous.” you look at him, looking at a smirk on his face. Before you realize it, you’re laughing as well, but in a weak and depressed way “Love does this to us. Make us blind to the obvious. Clouds our judgement and turns us into…” he gesticulates towards you. You roll your eyes, but you’re not crying anymore “I have three divorces, so you’d think I know one thing or two about failed relationships. And let me tell you: yours isn’t one of them.”

“You’re just saying this because you’re his best friend.”

“I’m saying this because I love you.” he stated bluntly, and you widened your eyes in surprise, not expecting this. “And it'll kill me to see you do something I know you’ll regret later.” he leaned closer, looking at you with a paternal love that made you uneasy “Hotch loves you, kid. Don’t try to assume things. Let him know.”

“It’s hard.”

“I know it is. It has to be, don’t you think?” he smiles, the wrinkle on the corner of his eyes enhancing his passion towards the subject “Or else is not worth it. But talk to him. You know him more than I do, but I’m pretty sure you’re seeing things out of a place of hurt, probably past experiences.” he nod his head in a knowing gesture “From what I see, you’re out of your mind if you think that Hotch would ever consider living his life away from you.”

You only notice the tear streaming down your cheeks like a waterfall when his fingers gently wipe them away.

“Sorry.” you mumble, and he shakes his head.

“Listen, if it doesn’t work out, it doesn’t. It’ll be fine too. You’ll be fine. But just don’t let it all go to waste before at least giving him a chance.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

It got to a point where you had to stop for a second to wipe the sweat out of your eyelids to see. By the time you reached your – Aaron’s – front door, your heartbeat had lowered to a normal rhythm and your skin was now cold rather than wet. You spent almost the entire night awake, tossing and turning on the bed. The night went so late it was almost morning, so you figured it made more sense to just get up and do something other than to lay in the dark with nothing but your loud and torturous mind.

Running, these past few weeks, were your loyal ally to your early mornings. That specific day, you just got back from an over two hour long run, finally feeling your limbs hurting more than your heart. As you walked in, you were surprised to find Aaron pacing around the living room, something crumpled up on one of his fist, a piece of paper in the other.

When he looked at you, his face was everything but stoic: he looked panicked, tortured, confused and, overall, hurting. “We need to talk” he said, quietly. If you listened closely, you could hear the way his voice wobbled in the middle of the sentence, like he didn’t actually want to talk. Like he wanted you to just be confused, and just ask what he meant by that, and that you weren’t being distant, he was just paranoid. Anything that could prove, beyond reasonable doubt, that you weren’t, in fact, leaving.

Despite all his silent wishes you just nodded, making your way to the couch “Yeah, we do.”

Hoping the sound of his heart shattering wasn't loud enough for you to hear, he made his way to the couch in front of you, distant enough for him to think clearly – as much as possible, under the circumstances. For a minute you just stared at each other, the weight of everything unsaid so heavy it could suffocate.

You glanced down at his hands, still not managing to understand what he was holding so tight on his fist. On the other hand, you could finally see what it was. Before you left the house that morning, already planning on staying out for long, you wrote him a note with the steps to use the coffee pot.

“Before we start,” he began, his voice hoarse. He clears his throat before continuing “I already know. So there’s no need to lie.” you gulp, shifting in your seat. You never lied to him before, but it was fair of him to point it  out. You weren’t being exactly honest. And even though you knew what he was talking about, it still surprised you when he finally said it out loud “When exactly you were planning on breaking up with me?”

Your breath hitched, panic rushing through your veins. It didn’t matter that you still weren't sure about what to do, there was no point in lying. Not anymore. It hurt you to think about it, but actually admitting to him was a whole other level of pain.

“I don’t know.” you answer weakly.

He blinks. And then chuckles.

When he dips his head down, you stare at him confused. The only thing you catch is the way his head shakes slightly, his fists flexing but never letting go of your note and the other white soft – looks fluffy? Is it a stress relief ball? – thing. Aaron tilts his head up and his eyes are full of tears. They are shiny and reddish, and you want nothing more than to make it all go away.

“Hotch,” you try, because just watching him crumble in front of you is not an option.

“Jesus! Stop calling me that.” he spat, frowning.

“Your name?”

“That’s not my name. Not to you. Not in here.” he adverts, the pain muffling the anger in his tone.

You chew on your bottom lip, trying to hold back the tears that are threatening to fall from your eyes. Sniffing as quietly as possible, you look at him “Do you think this is easy for me?”

“It must be!” he says, barely containing himself, “You’re doing it all behind my back, vanishing from my life little by little, until all I have left is an empty drawer with nothing but this shirt and a coffee pot I don't know how to use.” and you finally understand what he was holding on so tightly. It’s a plain silky pajama shirt. It’s the only piece of clothing because it’s matching short you – he – ended up tearing it in half on the first night you wore it.

“I left you instructions.” you point to the paper in his other hand.

“I don’t want to learn.” he looks disgusted at the paper, like it personally offended him “I’m not learning how to use it.” he emphasizes.

You try again “It’s not that hard.”

“I won’t.” 

That discussion was pointless, anyway. It is something to cling onto while avoiding the main issue. Sighing deeply in order to avoid crying, you change the subject “Listen, it’s nothing with you. It’s me.” you snort at that, because it’s that old cheesy and shitty excuse. But it’s the truth. “I’m just…” it’s all you manage to say before the tears blur your vision and you have to dip your head down to try and wipe them away.

His voice filled your ears, making you glance up to face him again. “I noticed that you weren’t being yourself, but I figured you’d tell me. It was something from work, or your family. I didn’t think it was this. It was us.” his voice weakens, and he has to gulp before continuing “Aren’t you happy anymore?” 

“I… there’s a lot going on.”  you feel your nose burning, and you stop caring if he sees the tears streaming down your face.

“Tell me what I did.” his demeanor changes, and he doesn’t look sad and confused anymore. He sounds energetic, urgent, demanding and begging all together “Tell me where I got it wrong, i can change it. I’ll do it right. I’ll do it better.”

Hearing this, combined with the raw desperation on his voice, so opposite from his usual calm and steady behavior, only makes you cry harder, and you don’t even try to wipe them away.

“You did nothing wrong. Nothing. I don’t want you to change. I just…” a strangled hiccup interrupted your speech, and you feel ridiculous, weak, dramatic and lonely. You want this to end, but also you want this to have never happened. “I shouldn’t feel this way in a relationship.”

He nodded, thinking. When Aaron speaks again, his voice is much calmer. Resignated, even. “So that’s it, then? You have your mind made up? Nothing I say will change it.” and it’s not a question anymore.

“I’m doing this for you, I want nothing more than what’s best for you.”

“Bullshit.”  he snapped, his words startling you “Why are you doing this? Is it the job? You said it’s not me. Is it Jack? Is this life too much for you? The responsibility of…”

“What? Of course not!” your heart aches thinking about it. It hurts that he thinks this, but you have no one but yourself to blame “I love Jack. I love our… this life.” 

He stays silent for a second, as if analyzing your explanation — or lack thereof. “Is it someone else?” you stop, and blinks. This is it. You won’t lie straight to his face. He stiffens, and it doesn’t need another word from you to understand. “Who is him?”

“Him?” you frown in the middle of your tears, so confused you stopped crying. “What do you mean?” 

“You said there was someone else.” he squinted his eyes at you.

“I didn’t, you did.” 

“You didn’t deny it. Who is he?” he insisted, his jaw tensed.

“Who do you think I am?” you asked, actually aggravated at his accusations “I would  never…” 

“Who is he?” he interrupts you, his eyes burning holes in your head.

“There's no he. It’s Beth.” 

Hotch’s jaw is immediately unlocked at that, the anger and betrayal completely subsided by complete shock and confusion. “What? You and… Beth?”

“Huh?” you were the one left in confusion now. How did he get to that conclusion? For a second, you didn’t feel the excruciating pain and humiliation from admitting your feelings to him “No. You and Beth.”

“What do I have to do with this?” he asks, his confusion turning to aggravation once again “You don’t like our friendship? That’s why you're breaking up with me?”

Now, said excruciating pain and humiliation were back on its full force. You ignored the lump on your throat, taking a deep breath and explaining the situation in the most sober and objective way possible. “I realized you and her fit more together than me and you, and…” your voice faltered as you saw his outrageous expression “...the two of you only broke up because she moved away. You’re all happy that she’s coming back. I just figured…”

“What?” he interrupted, his voice sharp and edgy “That i’d break up with you to be with her?” asking like it was a ridiculous thought. You stayed silent, because that was exactly what you thought. He huffed an incredulous laugh through his nose “Jesus. Did I ever give you a reason to question me? Or my loyalty?” he accused, his voice showing more worry than anger.

“No. Actually I don't know if you’d break up with me. That’s why I saved you the trouble.” you shrugged, trying not to show how much it hurt you to say it.

“Jesus fucking christ.” he muttered, pintching the bridge of his noise “Are you even hearing yourself?”

“Stop talking like I'm insane.” you snapped, losing your patience “You’re the one making phone calls, facetiming and going on dates with your ex girlfriend. I saw you when the two of you broke up. I was there. You were in pain. How am I supposed to feel? How am I supposed to handle this? How am I supposed to compete with this? Explain to me, Aaron. Because I have no fucking clue.”

The moment you stopped speaking, you realized you were almost yelling. It was the first time you let out your anger, your hurt. All the time you kept saying you were doing the best: for Aaron, for Jack, for Beth… Not once you stopped to think how much it sucked to be you, to deal with all of that. Yes, you could’ve talked to him sooner. But you shouldn’t have felt like that. No one should. 

When you asked him to explain, to tell you what to do, it wasn’t a fight. It wasn’t sass. You were actually asking, begging for him, for someone, to tell you how to feel. It didn’t make sense, none of this made sense to you. It was too overwhelming, and you just wanted it to be gone. You wanted to disappear.

You noticed too late you were crying, fully sobbing now, with one hand clutched to your chest, as if you tried to rip your heart out, and the other resting against your throat, trying to soothe the pain from talking so loud. You didn’t see how his expression softened, his anger melting into pure sorrow. He couldn’t believe he did that to you, that he, of all people, made you feel this way.

A few minutes had passed when he finally made a move. He got up from his couch and crossed the room, sitting right by your side. His knees were pressed against your thighs, his eyes filled with tears. His body and his soul were completely in surrender to yours. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, simply. “I should’ve seen it before. I shouldn't have acted like this. Or at least, talked to you about it. I’m not trying to make any excuses for the way I acted, but I need to explain.” he cleared, his eyes scanning your face every 10 seconds, trying to find any hint of chance in your stance “The thought of someone other than you, in a romantic way, is so out of my reality that I didn’t even considered her a ‘threat’. Not that she, or anyone, is a threat. But I really didn’t see the situation as something that could’ve hurt you. And that was my first mistake.”

“She knows you in a way that I can’t.”

“You know me in a way no one can.” he argued “You were my subordinate, then my work colleague, my friend. Now you’re my best friend and my family. You’re the woman I love.” he gulped, flinching at his own words and feeling the hot streak of a lonely tear falling from his eye. The one he couldn’t hold back. “I don’t want you going back to being less than that.”

Your posture didn’t show any kind of surrender. But he didn’t see resistance either, and when you turned to face him, he noticed that you didn’t keep arguing and just waited to listen. Taking it as a good (the best yet) sign, he pressed further.

“There’s nothing going on between me and Beth. She happened to be the first friend I’ve had outside of the job for a long time, that’s all. I don’t know if it will help to hear this,” he tried, hesitantly “...but her leaving wasn’t the only reason why we broke up.” seeing your questioning expression, he kept going “We came to the realization we worked better as friends anyway, and it was just a matter of time for us to end things. The moving just happened first.” he shrugged.

You opened your mouth to speak, but he anticipated your argument “Yes, I did suffer. It was a change in scenario, how could I not? But as I said, we knew it was happening. So what it hurt the most was actually Jack. I felt like the worst parent from giving another sort of mother figure just to take it away from his life. Again.”

Before you could think properly, your hand reached out to his, squeezing in a silent reassurance. He always doubted his parental skills, and you were always making sure to remind him how amazing he was. Even now, with your heart broken and your relationship hanging by a thread, you still found a way to comfort him. 

How could he lose something like this? Someone like this? How could he let you go? How could he make you feel that way? He had to press his lips together in a thin line to keep them from trembling, and to hold back the force of his grip when he squeezed your hand back, making sure he wasn’t hurting you as he not so subtly tried to hold on to you. To keep you from leaving.

“Honey,” he started, not even caring about his voice cracking. He couldn’t wait any longer, or lose any more chances. This was it. “I love you so much. I know this isn’t ideal, and I hate myself for ever making you feel this way. If not being with me will make you happier, then…” he gulped “...I’ll let you go. But if this situation is the only reason, please, don’t go. Please, give me a chance to show you how you’re the only one I want.”

You feel your tears running freely from your face, and you choke up a sob before speaking, your voice so weak it was barely hearable “I feel really immature.”

He laughs, but it doesn’t sound like he’s making fun of you. It sounds like he’s gone completely mad, like your admission was the water bottle after two days in the desert. It gave him hope.

“No.” he denied firmly, not letting go of your hand even for a second “Now that I think about it, if the tables were turned, I might’ve murdered your ex.” he whispered like a secret. It was so unexpected and so out of character of him that you laughed, surprising both you and him. He smiled from ear to ear at the sound of it. “I’m really sorry, I should’ve been more careful with the situation.”

“I should’ve just talked to you instead of jumping to conclusions.” you smiled apologetically. He ignores your attempt, looking deep into your eyes and calling your name with such a raw expectation that if you weren’t already seated, you would’ve fell.

“Did you change your mind?” you hesitate for a second, and he sees right through you “Tell me you have. I know you want to, I can feel it.” His voice is quiet, his words so soft spoken it feels like a spell. Only you know that you do want to be with him, now that is all cleared. “Please, give me a chance to make things right.”

You chew on your bottom lip as your eyes fill with tears again “I feel stupid.” you admit, and he wants nothing more than to cry his eyes out.

“Don’t say that ever again.” he leans in hesitantly, and when you don’t flinch or pull back, he wipes the tears from your face with the pad of his thumb. The other hand is still holding yours firmly “You were protecting yourself, as you should’ve. Thank you.”

“What for?” you snort between tears, not understanding what he could possibly be thankful for in this situation.

“Thank you for protecting and taking such good care of someone I love so much. Especially when I was too damn blind to see that she needed it.”

After that, there was no point of dragging this any further: you were completely and undeniably his.

He didn’t see it coming, his body jerking in surprise when you literally jumped to his lap, hugging him tightly and burying your face on his neck, sobbing and muttering apologies on repeat. His lips were glued to the crown of your head, kissing you repeatedly. His hands were all over you, touching from your feet to the strands of your hair, as if his body needed to feel you there, to make sure you were with him, for his mind to completely wrap up around the fact that you weren’t going anywhere.

Ignoring your words, he whispered his own, “Don’t you ever apologize. I should be the one apologizing. I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” and it’s the only moment his lips leave your skin “I’m sorry. I will never make you feel this way. If I ever hurt you like that again, and I won’t, I want you…”

“Don’t say it.” you cut him off. He ignores, once again.

“...to just shoot me in the face. Kill me.”

You chuckle weakly, lifting your head from his chest to face him properly “Dude, you gotta stop with the murder threats.” he arches his eyebrow at you, the corner of his mouth twitching in a smirk.

“Dude? Who do you think you’re talking to?” he asks, and his finger tickles your sides as the stubble on his beard tickles your neck. Your body jerks and twitches on top of his while you laugh loudly, but never moving away from his.

When he finally feels you learned your lessons, his hands rested comfortably around your waist in its rightful place. You sigh, looking at him.

“Promise me that you will always talk to me, and be honest about your feelings. No matter how ugly you think they are.”

“I promise.” you say as you wipe the wet off his face, and it’s just then that he realizes he’d been crying all along “Promise me that if your feelings for me change, you’ll communicate.” he rolls his eyes so hard it feels like they’ll hit the back of his head “Promise.” you insist.

“I promise.” he says, seriously. When you relax, he starts again. “Matter of fact, my feelings just changed.” you squint your eyes at his playful tone “A few minutes ago I wanted to stop by your place to get back the clothes you took. But now, I’ve decided you’ll be spending the rest of the weekend with nothing to wear but that shirt.” he says, leaning – without moving you away from his lap – to grab the piece of fabric he left on the center table.

“I have to get at least underwear.” you argue.

“If you behave, I’ll let you borrow a couple boxers.”

“Jack will see it.”

“He’s a kid. And they’re the exact same size of what you call your casual shorts so I doubt he’ll notice the difference.” he points seriously and you squeal, slapping his chest slightly.

“That’s rude. And humiliating.”

“That’s what you get for stealing.”

Your mouth hangs open for a second “I didn’t steal! I didn’t take anything from your house but my clothes.”

“This house is ours.” he stares at you deeply, waiting for his statement to sink in before continuing “So is everything in it. From the bedroom to the coffee pot and, therefore, your clothes. So, basically, you stole from us.” he shrugged, like he made a perfect point. You just laugh, choosing to accept it.

“I’m sorry for stealing.” he nodded politely and you dive back into his embrace, sighing happily “Can we stay like this forever?” Aaron tight his arms around you, his whole body answering before any words came out.

“I’ll think about it. But before that, we have to eat. You're probably on the verge of dehydration right now.” he points, standing up with you still in his arms, and makes his way toward the kitchen. He settles you in one of the stools and hands you your shirt “Go change while I make us breakfast. Now that I’ve learnt how to use the coffee pot.”

You gasp, widening your eyes in a mock-threat. Jumping out of the stool with your shirt already crumpled on your hands, you stomp your way to where he stands behind the stove, pointing your finger to his chest. “You can cook whatever you want, but don't you dare touch the coffee pot, Aaron Hotchner.”

Aaron does just as you said, beaming while frying the bacon even when you’re upstairs in his shower. Your shower. And both of you know, somehow, you’ll be okay.

taglist: all hotch @winyourheartemma all cm @s0urw00lf @deeninadream @khxna

[uhuhmaries]

Loved reading about his perspective!!! It hurts that they were both yearning for each other 😭

AAAAAARGH IM FEELING THIS SHIT AGAIN SO LETS GOOOOOO ROUND TWO!!!!! Spoiler alert..... good ending AYEEEEE

Round One: What Once Was

And Just Like That | H.S.

No warnings.... just pain then happiness

⋆˙⟡ —⋆˙⟡ —⋆˙⟡ —⋆˙⟡ —⋆˙⟡ —⋆˙⟡ —⋆˙⟡ —

You’re back in Florence. Two years and a bit since you left it behind, and the city feels smaller now.

Or maybe you’re just bigger. Grown.

You still take the back alley with the crooked bookstore. The bell above the door still chimes the same way. You don’t go inside anymore, though. That summer is folded neatly inside you, and you’ve stopped trying to reopen it.

Your boyfriend is a few steps ahead, pointing at something in a window. His hand is warm when he reaches back to grab yours. You let him. You’re not unhappy.

But you are tired. Not of him. Just… of the soft ache that never quite left your chest.

People say time heals. But time doesn’t heal. It blurs. It tucks things away in dusty corners. It quiets them, until you only flinch at night.

You don’t think about Harry every day anymore.

Just sometimes. When a specific guitar chord plays. When the sky is that exact shade of blue. When you pass by someone in sunglasses and messy curls and you find yourself looking twice, before scolding yourself inwardly like a child.

You got tired of waiting. Tired of refreshing messages that never came. Tired of checking his page like you had a right to.

So eventually, you stopped.

You moved on. Or at least, you walked forward.

You’re sipping wine in the open courtyard of a little cafe tucked between ivy-covered buildings. Your boyfriend is telling you about a book he read, something about time travel or philosophy and you smile, even though you’ve barely registered a word.

There’s a breeze. The kind that makes you close your eyes and tilt your head back a little. The kind that used to mean something else.

And that’s when it happens. You feel it before you see it. That shift in the air. That tug in your stomach.

You open your eyes. And there he is.

Harry. Your Harry.

Standing a few paces away. Holding a to-go cup like he doesn’t quite remember how to use his hands. Wearing sunglasses and a slightly crumpled white button-up that looks like it still smells like laundry soap.

His mouth parts slightly when he sees you.

He’s not just looking. He’s watching. Like someone watching a ghost walk right past their grave.

You blink. Once. Twice.

You haven’t seen him in a year. Not since London. Not since the nod. Not since that moment that splintered your chest open without even cracking your ribs.

You don’t know how long you stare. But it’s long enough that your boyfriend follows your gaze and turns around.

Harry notices. And that’s when he walks forward.

Your breath catches. A tiny inhale, sharp and shallow. You don’t mean for it to. You don’t mean for any of this to happen.

He stops at your table, just a little too close.

“Hey,” he says softly. His voice is lower than you remember. Or maybe just hoarser. Maybe it’s the smoke. Maybe it’s regret.

You glance at your boyfriend quickly, who looks up at him like he’s trying to place the face.

And you… you look back at Harry. And you smile. A polite one. Like you’re meeting a stranger.

“Hi,” you say.

You hope your voice doesn’t shake.

His eyes flicker between you and the man beside you.

“I didn’t know you were back in Italy,” Harry says. Then clears his throat. “Are you visiting?”

You nod. “Just for a week.”

He nods too. Like it’s the most natural thing to do. Like his whole insides aren’t collapsing into dust.

He looks down at the cup in his hand. “I almost didn’t come down this street.”

You say nothing. Because what could you say?

You want to ask him what he’s been up to. You want to ask him if he ever wrote more songs. If he ever pressed send on the message he typed. If he still keeps that secret folder full of you.

But you don’t.

Because the man sitting next to you—he’s kind. And warm. And he held you when you cried over things he never fully understood.

He loves you. You know he does. He showed up when Harry didn’t.

“So,” Harry starts again, forcing a smile, “You… live in London now?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “Still do.”

“That’s good. That’s… that’s great.”

There’s a beat of silence. And then he looks at you like he wants to say more.

Like he’s debating if it’s worth the pain. Like he knows it’s too late, but that if he doesn’t say it now, it’ll never leave him.

But he doesn’t say it. He just nods again.

You almost laugh. A bitter little thing behind your teeth.

He’s still nodding, even now.

Still choosing silence. Still choosing safety over truth. Still the boy who didn’t try hard enough.

“Well…” he says, taking a step back. “Enjoy your visit.”

You want to stop him.

But your boyfriend is watching. And you don’t even know what you’d say.

So you... nod. He turns. And just like that, he walks away.

You don’t cry. Not then. Not right away.

You barely spoke for the rest of the day.

After Harry left, your boyfriend looked at you with furrowed brows, quiet confusion clouding his voice when he asked, “What was that?”

You didn’t flinch. Didn’t stammer. Didn’t lie.

You just said, flatly, “I don’t want to get into it.”

And that was the beginning of the end.

Because he asked again an hour later. Gently at first. “Was that an ex?” Then firmer. “Do I even know the whole story of you?”

You told him it didn’t matter. He told you he does. You said you were tired of talking. He said he was tired of not knowing who you’re still in love with. You told him it wasn’t that simple. He said maybe it should’ve been, by now.

It wasn’t a dramatic breakup.

No screaming, no plates breaking. Just a long, exhausted silence. His hands on the handle of his suitcase, your face blank as he walked out.

“You’ve been carrying something I can’t touch,” he told you from the doorway. “And I think I’m done trying.”

You didn’t stop him.

Because the truth is—you stopped trying too.

Not to love him. But to make yourself forget someone else.

It’s past midnight when you step outside, barefoot in your hotel slippers, a single cigarette trembling between your fingers.

You don’t smoke often. You barely even know why you brought them. But you needed something. Something that burns.

The cobblestones are cold under your feet. The streets are hushed, only a few stray footsteps echoing from blocks away. Florence at night is a different kind of beautiful—somber and slow, like an old lullaby.

You take a drag, slow and unsure. It tastes awful. But it anchors you.

And then—

Like it’s scripted. Like it’s stitched into the cruel fabric of fate. You hear the rustle of a lighter. Look left. There he is.

Harry.

Sitting on the low ledge outside the hotel right next to yours. Hoodie over his head, long legs stretched out, hands buried in the pockets. His head tilts up slowly when he sees you.

You stop walking.

He blinks. Then offers a small, sad smile.

You don’t move. Don’t breathe.

“Didn’t think I’d see you again tonight,” he says, voice rough like he hasn’t spoken since earlier.

You nod. “Neither did I.”

You stand there for a second too long. Then walk over and sit beside him, both of you staring at the empty street ahead like you’re waiting for something to arrive.

He doesn’t ask why you’re out. You don’t ask why he is.

There’s no need. The air already knows.

You offer him your cigarette. He takes it with a soft “thanks,” his fingers brushing yours.

He doesn’t inhale. Just holds it between his lips like a memory.

After a minute, he says, “That was your boyfriend, right?”

“Was.”

He glances at you, eyes dark and too kind. “Because of me?”

You look down at your hands. “No. Because of me.”

You don’t explain. You don’t say that it was always going to happen, eventually. That your boyfriend never stood a chance. Not when every love you’ve had since Harry felt like reheated leftovers. That you tried. God, you tried. But when someone carves a home into your chest and never truly moves out, you can’t love someone else in the same space.

Harry’s voice is gentle, like a thread unraveling. “You didn’t even introduce me.”

“I couldn’t,” you whisper. “I didn’t know how.”

He nods. His jaw tenses.

You don’t know if it’s pain. Or guilt. Or just him trying not to feel too much all at once.

You sigh, lean your head back against the wall behind you.

“It never really went away,” you admit. “What I felt for you. It just… got quieter. Until today.”

Harry exhales. Like he’s been holding that same breath for two years.

“I didn’t call because I thought you moved on.”

“I didn’t move on because I thought you didn’t care.”

You both laugh then. Not because it’s funny.

Because it’s fucking tragic.

He turns his head to you, eyes softer now.

“I wanted to say something at the cafe,” he murmurs. “But you looked happy. I didn’t want to ruin it.”

“I wasn’t happy,” you admit. “I was functioning.”

Silence again.

Then he leans forward, elbows on his knees, face buried in his hands for a moment.

“I messed it up,” he says, muffled. “I knew what you were to me. I just didn’t know how to… keep you.”

You want to cry. But your body is too tired. Your heart too worn.

“I waited,” you whisper. “I waited so long.”

He turns his head, eyes glassy. “I know. I’m sorry.”

You shake your head.

“I don’t want an apology. I just wanted… you. Back then.”

He swallows hard. You hear it. Feel it.

He’s looking at you like he’s trying to find the pieces of you he left behind.

“I was scared,” he admits.

“So was I.”

He leans back again, and for a long moment, you both just sit there. Two ghosts tangled in living skin, breathing the same night air.

He glances down at your hand, resting limp on your thigh.

“I thought about writing a letter,” he says.

You smirk. “You should’ve.”

“I wrote twenty. Didn’t send any.”

You nod. “I would’ve read them all.”

He looks at you now like he’s memorizing you again.

The circles under your eyes. The curve of your jaw. The way you fidget with your fingers like you used to do when you were nervous.

“I never stopped thinking about you,” he says.

You close your eyes.

“I didn't know,” you say. “But me neither.”

The cigarette’s burned out. The street’s gone quiet.

You’re both older. Sadder. Softer.

He doesn’t touch you. But God, you want him to.

Just to remind you that this—this—was real. That you weren’t just two people passing through each other’s lives like a breeze through an open window.

Finally, he whispers, “Are you staying long?”

“Just another day.”

He nods. “Me too. London?”

"Yes."

You both know what that means.

Not fate. Not destiny. Just… a window. A sliver. A chance to redo.

And this time—maybe, just maybe—you’ll take it.

You don’t rush anything. Neither of you do.

You sit there a while longer. Letting the silence fill with things you’re both too afraid to name. Not yet. You’re not ready for declarations or second chances that come too fast, burn too bright. That’s how things break.

But when you finally stand, he stands with you. And when you turn to go back to your hotel, he asks—quietly—

“Would you want to… maybe walk tomorrow? Just around the city. One last time.”

You look at him.

And all you see is that boy on the floor of the bookstore, asking you if you liked Neruda.

You nod.

“Okay.”

The next morning is quiet and gold.

You meet him just outside the hotel. He’s wearing sunglasses and holding two coffees. He hands you one without a word.

And it feels easy. Shockingly, painfully easy. Like no time passed at all.

You walk through the places that still remember you. The market near the Duomo. The steps by the river where he once kissed your shoulder and told you nothing, but meant everything. That one graffiti wall near the end of the street—still there, still messy, still alive.

He doesn’t press. Doesn’t try to rush into conversation. He just stays close, shoulder brushing yours every few minutes.

At one point, you sit by the water, legs dangling off the edge.

“Do you ever wish you’d said something sooner?” You ask him.

Harry nods without looking at you. “Every day.”

You take a sip of coffee. “I thought it was all in my head,” you murmur. “What we had. The weight of it.”

“I'm so sorry. It definitely wasn’t.”

He’s looking at you now.

“I wrote you a song the day you left,” he says.

You turn to him. “Yeah?”

He nods. “Still haven’t finished it.”

You smile, a soft ache in your chest.

“Maybe you will now.”

“Maybe we both will.”

By noon, your hand slips into his. It’s quiet. Natural.

His thumb brushes over your knuckles like he’s checking to see if you’re real.

You are. So is he. So is this.

You fly back to London the next morning.

And he’s on your flight. You didn’t plan it. He didn’t either.

He smiles when he sees you in the terminal. That shy kind of smile that used to wreck you.

“I guess we’re going the same way.”

You nod, laughing. “Imagine that.”

He walks you to the gate.

You sit beside each other, not talking much, just occasionally bumping shoulders like a secret language.

And then, just before boarding is called, he says—

“Let me take you to dinner.”

You turn, heart thudding.

“In London?”

“In London.”

You hesitate. But only for a second.

“Okay.”

The first dinner back feels like rewinding time, but without erasing the pain. It’s better that way. You’re not pretending it didn’t happen. You’re just… letting it live beside you now. Like an old scar. Like a warning sign you both finally read.

The second dinner ends with a kiss.

Not rushed. Not fiery. Just warm. Familiar. Home.

Weeks pass. You don’t call it anything. But he starts showing up more. Starts staying later. Starts writing songs that do get released.

One of them has your laugh layered quietly in the outro.

You hear it the first time he plays it for you, and your eyes go wide.

“You kept that?”

He shrugs, smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Of course I did.”

Eventually, one night—months later—you ask him, “Do you still think about that summer?”

Harry doesn’t hesitate.

“All the time,” he says. “But now I get to have the rest of the seasons with you.”

And just like that— The ache doesn’t go away. But it softens.

Because now, finally… You’re not just what once was.

You’re what still is.

[rainedravens]

"oh my god guys the enemies just became lovers"

[figtreesandmoonlight]

Stuck in the God Damn Elevator

Bucky Barnes X Reader One Shot. Because who doesn’t love this troupe?

hurt/comfort, angst, fluff

Summary: You and Bucky Barnes did not get on. He was arrogant, reclusive and all in all a bit of a dick. He wouldn’t even acknowledge you when your paths crossed in the kitchen. He thought you were loud, obnoxious and ignorant of the realities of real life, you were ‘too much’. You thought he was too inclined to search for darkness in the world. You could think of nothing worse than getting stuck in a lift together. But oh, how the universe likes to laugh at your misfortune.

TW: panic attack (Bucky), swearing. 4.5K words <3

You let out a little sigh as you got into the elevator. Most of the team had been called away on a mission a few days ago, and while you understood why you weren’t with them, you were bored. Your arm was still healing after your last mision, and with your skill set, you wouldn’t be particularly useful in an underground bunker: there wasn’t enough sunlight down there for you to draw on its power. The lab team were still tinkering with a new artificial sun-source for your suit after the last one had been ‘put out of commission’ (read accidentally crushed by Alexi in the middle of your last mission, leaving you powerless and almost getting your arm ripped off by a mutant Hydra had created). 

So, between having no power source and being on a medical ban until your arm healed, you hadn’t gone on the mission. This left you wandering aimlessly around the compound for the last week, occasionally catching a glimpse of Bucky’s shadow, who also hadn’t gone on the mission. You weren’t sure why, but it wasn’t like you two had a glowing relationship where you could ask. Instead, he would just skulk around the compound, and you did everything you could to avoid him.

It didn’t particularly bother you anyway. You’d tried to be nice to Bucky when you first joined the team, but his cutting comments and withering glares made it clear he didn’t want to be friends. Well, you’d thought, his loss. You’d given up trying to be everything for everyone long ago. If you and Bucky didn’t get on, that was that. Sure, it upset you. You could see he was hurting a lot of the time, and with your shared history, you’d initially thought you could be a source of comfort for each other. Apparently not. 

The team were due home tomorrow, and you were going crazy on your own, so you decided to kill two birds with one stone; you’d welcome the team home by baking them cupcakes. Inevitably, Alexi would eat nearly all of them, which John would then complain about while demolishing the other hald himself, Ava would steal one away to her room needing some space after a mission (she always did) and Yelena and you would crack open a bottle of wine, eating cake and debriefing as friends before any kind of actual debrief. Bucky could eat a cupcake or not, you didn’t care. 

You’d overheard him once, complaining to John over beers on the balcony that you were ‘too much’. The comment might have hurt you once, but you’d decided long ago to stop letting other people’s opinions of you dictate how you spent your time. You were extroverted, kind, highly dangerous when angry, loyal to a fault, and happy. You were you, and you weren’t going to change that for anyone, especially not a grumpy old man incapable of saying a single kind word to you. And you were too damn good at your job, too damn professional to let your personal dislike of each other cloud your efficiency on missions. He could complain all he wanted, but you got results. You got them while choosing to always look for the light. You got them showing mercy to those you fought. You got them, in between baking and singing along to musical theatre. You got them while always watching your team’s six. 

You got them in spite of Bucky’s personal dislike of you.

You decided it would only be appropriate to listen to Waitress while you baked, trying to keep yourself from going stir-crazy. The elevator doors closed as gentle harmonies flowed from your headphones, and you squared your shoulders, even in the privacy of the elevator, pulling a smile onto your face. You missed Lena. You missed your friends. But they would be home soon. You always looked for the light. There was too much darkness in your past for you to do anything else. 

The doors slowly peeled open, and you began to step out of the elevator before lifting your head only a moment before stepping directly into Bucky, too late now to change your course. You crash into each other. Letting out a small gasp, your bodies collide, only lightly, but enough to startle both of you out of your separate reveries. Bucky’s hands were on your arms in an instant, simultaneously balancing you and pushing you away from him in one motion. 

‘Watch where you're going,’ his gruff voice huffed out as he stepped past you, letting you go and pressing the button for the roof. ‘I- sorry’ you mumbled out, pulling your headphones, which had been knocked around your neck when you collided, back over your ears, kicking yourself slightly for the moment, a faint blush rising to your cheeks. You certainly weren’t going to be making small talk with Barnes in the elevator. Hell, you turned the volume of your music up. 

The doors to the elevator slowly shut once again, and it continued its movement downward to the communal kitchen. Your eyes were burning a hole in the doors of the elevator, silently commanding it to hurry the fuck up and get you away from Barnes. You guessed he was doing the same, probably with his signature moody scowl written across his forehead. But sadly, you couldn’t actually talk to elevators. And clearly, you’d done something to piss off the universe. To majorly piss it off. So much so, that almost as soon as the elevator started moving, it came to a thundering stop, dropping you both about half a foot alongside a loud clang, and plunging you both into total darkness on unsteady feet.

Both you and Bucky let out sounds of surprise in the split second you dropped, Bucky immediately pulling you behind him in the corner of the elevator, his whole body blocking yours as both of your eyes darted around the room, assessing whatever threat was coming for you. ‘What the fuck,’ you called out, directed to no one in particular as your heart hammered inside your chest so hard you could hear it in your ears and feel it shaking your whole body. At some point, your hand had grabbed onto Bucky’s metal arm. You were clutching it so tightly that your knuckles had turned white. 

Both of you remained frozen, tension coiled so tightly in both of you that it threatened to snap any moment. After what could have been seconds or minutes, the fault button on the panel of the elevator flickered red, and the backup light above your heads flickered on, the harsh brightness of it stinging both of your eyes thanks to your enhanced senses. You’d only just adjusted to the darkness of the small space. You let out a small sigh of relief. You weren’t under attack. The elevator had just broken. Annoying? Yes. But not an attack. 

It was only as you watched the tension slowly dissipate out of Bucky’s shoulders that you realised what he’d done. For all of 10 seconds, you’d both thought you were under attack. And Bucky? His first response had been to put himself between you and whatever danger was coming. He hadn’t even thought about it. 

And something about it made you want to laugh. Not that his being ready for a fight was anything other than typical, but that he’d gone to protect you? You, who he scowled at on a daily basis? You. Who he avoided at all costs? He’d moved to try to protect you. 

As Bucky took a step away from you towards the other end of the elevator, his hand came up to the back of his neck, rubbing softly (a classic tell that he was stressed), you stifled the laugh that wanted to work itself out of your body. Bucky didn’t turn to look at you. Didn’t snap. Didn’t curse. Instead, he gripped onto the bar that ran around the elevator, hunched over and facing the wall, a stiffness returning to his body doublefold. ‘You okay, Barnes?’ You asked, voice soft from the other end of the elevator. 

He didn’t reply. He looked like a cat with its hackles raised, ready to bolt or strike at any sudden movement. He was mumbling something under his breath. Something in Russian. ‘No, you’re not there. You’re safe. You’re at the tower.’ He was looping it over and over. Shit, you realised, Bucky thought this was Hydra. 

‘Hey, Barnes,’ you tried again, voice becoming even softer as you slowly held your hands up in front of you, taking a slow, clear step towards him, ‘we’re okay. We’re safe. The elevator’s fucked, but we’re safe. The team’ll be back soon, they’ll get us outta here.’ 

Again, no response, but a sound, tiny and whimpering, made it out of Bucky’s lips. As you took another step over you clocked the insane pace of his breathing, shallow, fast, and hard. The metal bar was groaning under his tight grip. 

He was having a panic attack. 

‘Bucky?’ You never called him Bucky, and the sound of it made his breath catch in his throat, leading to some desperate, spattering coughs as he gasped for air. You’d made your way to be next to him, stood at his side, hands still clearly in view. ‘I think you’re having a panic attack. I don’t know if you’ve had one before, but I promise it’s okay, you’re gonna be fine.’ You slowly lowered a hand onto his vibranium arm, and he flinched slightly at the contact, but didn’t pull away. You could see his face now, drawn tight, eyes pinched shut, cold sweat running down his forehead. Something in it broke your heart a little. 

‘You’re gonna be okay, but we gotta slow your breathing down, ok? Can you try and breathe with me, James?’ Another name you’d never used for him, but it seemed to get a response from him, the smallest nod of his head. ‘Ok, great. That’s great. I’m gonna put your hand on my chest, and I want you to try and match my breathing. Is that alright?’ Again, the smallest nod of his head.

You slowly lifted his vibranium hand off of the metal it was gripped onto, wincing slightly at the dents it left behind as he lifted it. Valentina wouldn’t be pleased, but she could quite honestly fuck off. You brought Bucky’s hand up to your chest. The coldness of it settled on you, grounding you in the moment as you tried to exaggerate your own breath as much as possible to help Bucky match it. All the while, gentle nothings came flowing out of your mouth, promising Bucky he was going to be okay. That ‘yes this sucks ass, but it will pass.’ 

Bucky’s eyes locked onto yours as his hand made contact with your chest. You’d never seen such an intense sorrow in his expression before. His icy blue eyes cracked your heart a little more. He looked fucking terrified. 

With his hand still on your chest, you placed your own over his metal one, your other hand reaching for his flesh one, as you told him, ‘let’s have a sit, yeah? Get us comfy while we wait.’ By this point, Bucky’s breathing had evened out enough for him to be able to nod his head in agreement, but he didn’t dare speak yet. He didn’t trust his voice. The tears collecting on his waterline told you it would be a while before he could. 

The pair of you lowered yourselves onto the floor slowly and stayed like that, Bucky’s hand on your chest, your own over his, for a while. You didn’t know how much time had passed, but eventually, you Bucky’s breathing slow down, his shoulders stop jumping so much, and some of the frown on his forehead lessened. You felt Bucky’s hand twitch underneath your own, so you eased up the pressure of your hand on top of his, giving him the option to pull away if he wanted to. He shifted his weight beside you. Bucky drew his knees up to his chest, arms wrapped around them, eyes shut, his head hanging back, resting on the metal wall of the elevator. He looked so small. Not shattered, but not whole either.

The pair of you sat like that for a while, in a silence that somehow didn’t feel awkward or tense. If anything, it felt like there was something sacred about it. It was Bucky who eventually broke it, as a hoarse ‘thank you,’ came out of his lips. You turned to look at him, his eyes now looking at your own, a mixed expression of gratitude and embarrassment on his face. You gave him the warmest smile you could, your posture now matching his own, ‘any time.’ 

A beat passed before Bucky, eyes now firmly fixed on the floor in front of him, asked, ‘How did you do that?’ 

You looked at him, confusion written on your face. ‘Do what?’ You replied. ‘Help me calm down? The only person who could do that was Steve.’ 

You couldn’t hide the surprise that briefly flashed across your face. You had no idea that Bucky had had panic attacks before. But if experience had taught you anything (and it had taught you a lot), the last thing Bucky needed was someone to gawk at him. So instead, it was your turn to look at the floor in front of you, suddenly seeming like the safest option. ‘I get them,’ you replied, before softly adding, ‘a lot. I just did what I wish I had someone to do it for me. What my sister used to do for me.’ 

It was Bucky’s turn to look shocked now as he turned to look at you. And he didn’t clear it from his face for a long time. You never talked about your sister. Never. Everyone on the team knew that. She’d died, that was all the team had been told. Your file had added that it was at the hands of Hydra. But you never spoke about her. After hits to old Hydra bases, you’d turn silent on the jet home and disappear for a few days. The team knew better now than to ask why. 

But here you were, talking about it with Bucky. About her with Bucky. 

You shrugged before he could say anything else. ‘How long do you reckon we’ll be trapped here anyway?’

‘Not too long. Team are on their way back early, I was heading to the roof to meet them.’

You nodded in response. That made sense. Looks like you won’t be greeting them with cupcakes this time around, though. ‘Well, looks like it’s just you and me then, Barnes,’ you flash him a cheeky grin, knees knocking into his own, ‘Your worst nightmare, huh?’ Bucky mumbled something under his breath in response. You assumed you wouldn’t want to know what he had to say. 

‘Shame too. I was about to make some damn good cupcakes. Would’ve even let you have some, if you asked nicely.’ You were teasing him. Trying to help him feel some sense of normality, trying to show him that nothing changed because you’d seen him have a panic attack. ‘Although, knowing you, you probably would’ve just taken one and sulked off back to your room.’

‘I don’t sulk.’

‘You definitely sulk, Barnes. This whole thing,’ you gestured to all of him, ‘it’s sulky.’ 

Bucky looked at you with shock, which quickly turned into something sour as he bit out, ‘Well, at least I dont pretend to be happy all the time when my life’s a fucking mess.’ 

You felt like someone had punched you in the gut. Knocked the wind right out of you. It was one thing to hear Bucky moaning about you to John over a beer. It was another thing entirely for him to say it to your face. You looked at Bucky with a look bordering hurt and confusion, saying a simple ‘fuck you,’ and shaking your head before picking up your headphones that had dropped from you while you were helping Bucky earlier and moving to the other end of the elevator. 

You sat with your back against the wall, knees pulled into your chest, head hung slightly inwards, headphones securely over your ears, playing your choral playlist, something which grounded you, helped you centre yourself, loudly enough that Bucky could hear it across the elevator. 

Bucky immediately winced and then froze in shock, regretting what he’d said, kicking himself over and over again. You’d just helped him, and the first thing he did was be an asshole to you. A true asshole too. A brick seemed to settle itself in his stomach and he felt sick. He ran a hand over his face in frustration, letting out what could almost be described as a growl of annoyance with himself as he tried to think of what to do, hitting his head against the wall behind him. You didn’t want to talk, he could see that clearly enough from the volume of the music pouring out of your headphones. He could text you? No, that was a stupid idea, and likely to piss you off more. 

God, he thought, why do I always do this? The silence that had earlier sat so comfortably in the room was now heavy, weighed down with anger, frustration and hurt. Contrary to what you thought, Bucky didn’t hate you. Part of him longed for you. So hot, so deeply, that he didn’t know what to do with it. It scared him. The idea that you could be friends, could be something more, terrified him. He terrified himself. He didn’t trust himself. So he could never trust himself with you. You were light and happiness, he could never taint you. So, as usual, he pushed you away, it was an automatic response at this point.

I gotta make this right. 

Bucky took a deep breath in, steeling himself to push himself off of the floor, legs still slightly wobbly from the stress and anxiety running through him. Slowly, he made his way to sit about a foot away from you. You could almost feel his eyes boring into you, begging you to look up, to talk to him. Enough that it almost made you feel bad. It was a chronic problem you had, being unable to be the reason someone was upset, even if it came about through them hurting you first.

A bone-deep tiredness had settled over you in the moments you’d had sat listening to music. You didn’t have it in you to fight. Not now. Not when you didn’t know how long you were going to be stuck with each other. You’d had enough fights in your life, you didn’t want another. With a little huff, you pulled your headphones off, the weighty silence of the elevator ringing in your ears louder than any music could. You didn’t have it in you to draw out the impending argument, allowing the weariness in your body to show through as you asked Bucky, ‘what?’ 

‘I-’ he stalled, ‘I’m sorry. That was unfair. That was cruel.’ 

You were almost as surprised as when the lift had broken. Not once, not once in your years of knowing each other had Bucky ever apologised to you, ever acknowledged that what he had said or done could have been hurtful. You didn’t know where to go from here. 

Bucky must have mistaken your stunned silence as you still being angry, because he carried on, ‘I just,’ he let out a small sigh himself, ‘I dont get how you do it. You’ve been through hell. A hell far too similar to my own. But you’re good. You’re a good person. You’re kind. You look for the light, and not just to fuel your powers. You’ve seen so much darkness. Too much. Yet here you are, making cupcakes for the team coming back from a mission days after your arm nearly got ripped off. You listen to fucking choral music. You tell jokes, you watch films. Hell, you just helped me through a panic attack because the stupid elevator broke down. Because I couldn’t keep my shit together.’ 

Bucky drew in a shaky breath. At some point, he’d turned to look away from you, stood up and started pacing. ‘Because,’ Bucky wavered here, debating if he could go on or not, ‘because you’ve been through so much, and you’re not a wreck. So much of our lives have been the same, and it makes me- it makes me wonder how you can be okay when I find everything so god damn hard.’ Bucky let his back connect with the wall behind him, feeling suddenly too vulnerable to support himself. ‘I can’t sleep. I work myself into the ground because I’m scared of stopping. Of being taken again. I push everyone away because I’m terrified that one day the programming will snap back into place. One concussion, one word, could bring it back, and I could hurt people. I could hurt you.’

You were stunned into silence, unable to quite believe what you were hearing.

‘I just don’t know how you do it. Why you do it. How you’re strong enough, and… and how I’m not.’

‘I do it,’ you whispered, a tear making its way down your face, ‘because if I don’t, the darkness will be too much. It’ll take me over. I let that happen once, Bucky. I let them win once. I won’t do it again.’ You wiped the stray tear away quickly, looking into Bucky’s eyes. He’d stopped pacing the second you spoke. ‘I’m still a fucking mess. I’m never not going to be. Look at me! I lock myself away when I’m having a panic attack, I go off the grid pretending to be on missions when I hit a depressive episode.’

‘But I was alone so long,’ you carry on, ‘and I found a family here. I found people who get what I’ve lived through, who I can talk to and find comfort in.’ 

Now, Bucky was stood still across from you in the elevator, staring at you with a look you’d never seen before. It might have been shock. But there was something else under it. Admiration? Pride? And something softer too, something you weren’t ready to name yet. 

‘And yeah,’ you continued, ‘our lives have been pretty shit. So maybe I work a little bit too hard at being happy, at putting on a brave face. But I’d rather be someone who brings something positive to a room, someone people can go to, someone people can rely on, someone who tries to smile, even when people can see it crumbling,’ you let out a humourless laugh, ‘than let it consume me. If I let it take over me, for the first time since I got out, I would stop. And I don’t want to know what happens when I stop.’

You paused, steeling yourself to carry on with a deep breath. ‘They- Hydra, they wouldn’t let me feel anything. Happiness is my defiance and my defence, Barnes. It’s my way of winning.’ 

Your eyes hadn’t left Bucky’s. Tears were streaming down your face now. Bucky looked stricken, almost like a broken man. Both of you sat staring at each other. For a while, there was no other sound than your deep breaths, which occasionally staggered and caught as your emotions slowly dimmed. It was Bucky’s low, hoarse voice that pulled you back into the room.

‘I’m sorry.’ You’d been looking at him already, but now, now you saw him. Bucky carried on talking. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve been struggling since the void, more than I wanted to admit. And you’re a light. You’re like the human version of a sunrise. You make people laugh. Make them smile. You attract people to you. I wish I were the same. I push people away, because it’s all I’ve ever known, but I wish I knew how to hold them close. You have that. You can do that. And it hurts that I can’t do that too. So I’ve been cold. I’ve been cruel. And I’m sorry,’ he ran his hands over his face, a stray tear falling from his eyes, ‘I’m so sorry.’

Bucky had stopped looking at you at some point during his speech, his eyes falling to stare at his hands in shame. You took a deep breath and stood up, crossing the tiny space between you to sit next to Bucky. Bucky’s face turned, full of surprise and questioning, as you sat next to him. ‘You’ve been alone long enough, Barnes.’ You rest your head on his shoulder. He tensed ever so slightly when your head came to rest on him, but quickly relaxed. ‘If you don’t know how to keep people close, we’ll work it out together, yeah?’ 

You looked up to Bucky to see a small, tentative smile pull at the corners of his lips, to see his eyes soften, ever so slightly. ‘I’d like that.’ You smiled back up at him, disconnecting your headphones from your phone, letting the sound of The Bluebird spill out into the elevator. The two of you fell into an exhausted silence, but not one which was uncomfortable. It was a safe silence, one where each of you felt comfortable enough to let yourself feel the exhaustion that was claiming you. 

At some point, the weight of your head, of your body resting against Bucky’s grew stronger. Bucky looked down to see you dozing off to sleep. Ever so gently, he shifted your head on his shoulder so that it sat more comfortably against him as he shrugged off his jacket, pulling it over you while you slept. Bucky would stay awake, would sit guardian over you while you slept. You’d spent enough time performing happiness for other people. It was time for someone else to look after you. 

Bucky had no idea how long it had been when the elevator finally started to move. The normal lights flicked on, as the emergency ones shut off, and the elevator jolted to life. It wasn’t enough to wake you, though. Your head remained firmly set on Bucky’s shoulder, though his jacket had slipped slightly now. Bucky hesitated for a moment. Should he wake you? No, he decided, you looked too peaceful. Instead, he slowly snaked his arms around you, lifting you into his arms as he stood up. The doors eventually slid open, to reveal a slightly dishevelled team, Yelena holding a bleeding wound on her arm, John with a black eye, and Alexi holding Ava upright. 

The look Bucky gave the team very clearly threatened them into silence. He stepped out of the elevator softly, slowly, doing everything he could to not wake you while he walked down the corridor to one of the spare rooms on the floor for you to sleep in.

 The second he was gone, Ava turned to Yelena with a smirk: ‘so, looks like they finally sorted their shit out.’ Yelena only shrugged her shoulders with a smirk before a grimace took over as her arm stung in complaint. ‘What did I tell you. Broken elevator. Oldest trick in the book.’ John piped up almost immediately asking, ‘Sorry, am I missing something here.’ Alexi just let out a booming laugh, clapping John on the back, ‘You miss all the things, my friend.’ 

The four heroes trudged into the elevator, while down the corridor, Bucky placed you gently into a bed, pulling the duvet over your shoulders. He placed a gentle kiss on your forehead before whispering, ‘I’ll stick around, I promise. No more pretending to be okay. No more pulling away.’ Bucky slowly walked towards the door, and just as he was pulling it to, he could have sworn he heard you whisper ‘good,’ back to him. 

You two may not have been friends going into the elevator, but you came out something much deeper than that, even if that thing didn't have a name yet. 

Much love as ever, dear readers! Please do like and share, and if you have any requests don't hesitate!

[7-deadly-cats]

·.♡ fuck valentine's day

M A S T E R L I S T | T A G L I S T F O R M

♡ G E N R E ♡ one shot, angst but happy ending, steamy but not-explicit

♡ P A I R I N G ♡ taken!s4!rafe cameron x bsf!reader (f)

♡ C O N T E N T W A R N I N G ♡ strong language, angst but happy ending, suggestive language and themes, major argument, mention of substance abuse (alcohol and coke), emotional distress, toxic relationship (not with you tho hihihi) and manipulation, brief mention of physical violence (just a punch), mildly suggestive scenes and hint of intimacy and sex but no explicit content, my recommendation: 16+

♡ S U M M A R Y ♡ After the death of Ward Cameron, Rafe starts to reclaim his life, becoming more grounded and family-oriented. However, his close friendship with you slowly crumbles after Sabrina, his seemingly perfect girlfriend, enters the picture. You, grappling with suppressed feelings for Rafe, try to step back, but Sabrina's manipulative nature causes tensions to rise. On a stormy Valentine’s Day, a broken-down car leads to an unexpected confrontation between Rafe and you in which emotions spill over. As truths are revealed, your complicated relationship takes an intense and transformative turn, forcing both to confront what you truly mean to each other.

♡ W O R D C O U N T ♡ 8.3k+

♡ A / N ♡ this is the most i've ever written in ONE day (yes i spent the whole valentine's day writing this lmao) and i put my whole soul into it, and i know it's LONG but i promise i tried my best to make it work. so anyway happy very late valentine's day to everyone, hope you enjoy this little one shot <3 maybe it's a little cheesy, cringe and cliche (especially at the end) but i guess that's what this day is about. and i really enjoyed writing it hihhi + would love to hear your thoughts on this one (would mean a lot)

♡ ·.♡ ·.♡ ·.♡ ·.♡ ·.♡ ·.♡ ·.♡ ·.♡ ·.♡

Ward Cameron’s death was, in your eyes, the best thing that could’ve ever happened to Rafe. He was finally free from the toxic relationship with his father. Free from years of manipulation, being pushed around, and constant disregard.

Of course, it hadn’t happened overnight. The first step had been taken long before Ward’s death—back when he fell into a coma and Rafe was suddenly thrusted into the role of being the man of the house. It was during that time Rafe realized the family and their business could function without Ward Cameron at the helm.

Ward’s death had simply been the final key that unlocked Rafe’s cage. And as he let go of his father, he also let go of a significant part of his old life.

He became more grounded, business-minded, and above all, family-oriented. He kept talking about fixing things with Sarah and pulling Wheezie away from Rose’s grip.

Rafe Cameron genuinely wanted to become a better man.

Watching him finally blossom as a person was so incredibly beautiful to witness. And yet, it shattered your heart into a thousand pieces knowing you weren’t the one standing by his side as it happened.

Not in this way at least.

Sure, you had been there for him during his darkest, most destructive moments. You had stayed by his side when he’d said and done things that were nearly impossible to take back. He had hurt people close to him—you included—and yet, you had never left.

Deep down, you knew that underneath all the frustration and rage was a broken boy who just craved love and recognition. And no one had ever given him the chance to show that part of himself.

That’s exactly why you'd never dared to confess your feelings to him. He deserved love but there had never been a time when he’d been truly ready for a serious relationship.

Telling him about your feelings, purely out of selfishness, would’ve led to one of two outcomes: either an unstable relationship where he clung to the idea of being loved without genuinely loving you back, or the deterioration of your friendship due to his fear of commitment.

So, you suppressed your thoughts, feelings, and the love you held for him. You preferred to love him from afar as your best friend rather than risk dragging him into a formless relationship during his unstable state.

Tragically, that mindset became deeply ingrained in your brain. Even after Ward’s death, when Rafe visibly began to change for the better and showed clear signs of looking to settle down with someone, you stayed silent.

Not out of fear of losing him but out of sheer stubbornness, waiting for the “right moment.”

And that hesitation cost you your chance: another woman got there first and won Rafe’s heart.

Sabrina Anderson—he met her at a charity gala. She was stunningly beautiful, wealthy, had an excellent academic background, and everything about her screamed old money.

She appeared like the picture-perfect Kook girlfriend. Everything Rafe thought he wanted in a woman.

And, for fuck’s sake, it felt like the universe was punishing you for your patience and hesitation.

Normally, you would’ve accompanied Rafe to his important events as his plus one but this one time, this one fucking time, you had canceled because you’d promised Topper you’d help him move into his stupid new place (yeah, he had finally gotten his act together and left his toxic family’s home). And like the idiot you were, you completely forgot the gala was happening that day.

“Shit, I’m so sorry. You know I usually write this stuff down in my calendar but I must’ve missed it somehow,” you said the night before the gala while helping Rafe pick the perfect outfit.

Rafe just waved it off with a cheeky grin as he unbuttoned his shirt. “I’ll survive one evening without your bad jokes and complaints about the tiny dessert portions.”

“They are tiny portions. I think they’re expecting a bunch of kids as guests,” you retorted, your eyes flickering briefly to his sun-kissed, bare chest. You quickly averted your gaze and handed him a new shirt. “I think this one works better. Next time, I’ll be there. Promise. Even if Topper’s new place is on fire.”

Rafe nodded, amused, as he slipped on the new shirt. “That’s not even unlikely with his mom around. That woman’s straight-up on ‘psycho mom marries son’ type shit.”

A laugh escaped your lips. “Don’t say that. Next thing you know, it’ll be on TLC or some other trash TV channel.”

And so, you spent the rest of the evening together.

Rafe tried on a few more suits — all of which looked amazing on him (and in every single one of them, you wanted to rip the clothes right off him, though you'd never say that out loud).

You baked a pizza together, watched some movies in his bed, and every time you showed him one of your dumb, brain-rotting reels, he rolled his eyes, but every so often, he’d sent you one of his own because, deep down, he probably loved how much they made you laugh.

At some point, you fell asleep in his bed, and Rafe brought you an extra blanket. The next morning, he drove you home and wished you luck at Topper’s move.

Had you known that would be the last night the two of you could act like that, you would’ve told him everything.

But how could you have known that the next night, a new girl would enter his life? How could you have known that Sabrina Anderson would sweep him off his feet in a way you never could? And how could you have predicted that she would endanger your entire friendship so deeply that within a few months, you and Rafe were little more than acquaintances?

At first, everything seemed fine. Rafe told you about the gala, about Sabrina, and about how perfect she was. Of course, it broke your heart, but the way he spoke about her helped heal it again because he seemed genuinely smitten with her.

They started texting, going on dates, and Rafe did things for her he’d never done for anyone else. You being the exception, of course, but well, he’d never considered you a potential love interest, right?

Sabrina was different. He officially tried courting her. He bought her the most beautiful flowers, spoiled her with the most expensive jewelry, and gave everything to be a good boyfriend.

And so, their relationship grew more serious, and eventually, he introduced her to you, Topper, and Kelce at a party at Tannyhill.

That’s when everything went downhill.

Topper and Kelce obviously thought she was hot, of course. Those idiots were just guys, after all. They couldn’t see past her perfectly shaped breasts and the cute ass hidden under a stylish dress.

But for you, alarm bells were ringing. Something about Sabrina just felt... off. Sure, she was incredibly sweet and nice but whenever she looked at you, there was something darker lurking beneath her gaze.

You dismissed it immediately, assuming you were just biased because of your own feelings for Rafe. A part of you simply couldn’t accept that another woman was making him happy.

Besides, you were still his best friend. You’d been through thick and thin together, and nothing could tear the two of you apart. Not even a girlfriend.

Sure, Sabrina would be part of everything from now on but the chemistry between you and Rafe... that was something special, and even an idiot could see it.

So it wasn’t entirely surprising when Sabrina cornered you in the kitchen later that night, a sweet smile plastered on her face. “Oh, hey, Y/N. Needed a little breather too?”

You were pouring yourself another drink, and even though she gave you a weird feeling, you managed a smile. “Yeah, when Kelce DJs, it tends to get loud.”

Sabrina nodded in agreement but the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “True. Rafe seems to have some... interesting friends.”

The way she said it, while looking directly at you, should’ve been enough for you to go straight to Rafe and tell him something about Sabrina wasn’t right. But you just shrugged as you added vodka to your cup. “Kelce’s a bit weird but he’s cool once you get to know him. And Topper’s always reliable when it counts.”

“And you?” Her innocent look didn’t match her tone.

You raised your eyebrows slightly. “What about me?”

“When Rafe mentioned he had a girl best friend, I didn’t think that...” She paused, tilting her head with a bemused smile. “Well, you know, that she was his ex.”

What the fuck?

Your eyebrows shot up, and you shook your head in confusion. “I’m not his ex. Where did you get that from?”

Sabrina let out a soft giggle, as if your reaction had been overly dramatic. “You don’t have to get so defensive. I just thought, well, you two seem so close, and the way you act with each other... it’s only natural I’d have a few concerns, right?”

You shook your head again, though you couldn’t stop the warmth creeping across your cheeks. “We’re just friends, Sabrina. You don’t need to worry about me.”

“So... just to be clear, you two never had anything going on? You know, slept with each other or something?” She still wore that fake innocent smile.

What a bitch.

“No, of course not,” you replied dryly. “It’s always been purely platonic between me and Rafe.”

Sabrina let out a lighthearted sigh. “Oh, that’s a relief. Then I guess you’re basically like a little sister to him.”

Whatever that was supposed to mean. You shrugged. “I guess."

This time, Sabrina’s gaze darkened, though her facade still didn’t slip. “Good. I mean, I’d just like to think siblings behave a little more... appropriately.”

You only smiled in response but in that moment, the first brick of a massive wall between you and Rafe had been laid.

Because deep down, as much as it ate at you, Sabrina was right. It had never been an issue before if you shared a bed with him, wore his clothes, kissed him during one of Kelce’s stupid Truth or Dare games, or hung on him like a lovesick monkey when you got too drunk.

You had been both single and the flirty banter between you had always been just that: a few dumb words or gestures, nothing more.

But now Rafe had a girlfriend. He was taken. And all those things were no longer okay. And even though he was your best friend and hadn’t yet drawn those boundaries for the sake of his new relationship, you did.

At first, it was a slow process. Movie nights turned into movie afternoons, and instead of laying in his bed, you suggested the couch because it was cozier… right? And even though he still preferred you as his plus one for events, you started declining, insisting Sabrina would probably appreciate it more (Wouldn’t she, Rafe?).

You also pulled away from hugs quicker than before, drank less at parties to avoid doing anything dumb around him, and when it came to games like Never Have I Ever or Truth or Dare, you became a mere spectator. What used to be teasing touches were reduced to the bare minimum.

Your friendship began to waver and Sabrina kept Rafe so busy — dragging him from one date to another, satisfying him in ways you could only dream of — that he barely noticed how far the two of you had drifted apart.

Of course, the others around you weren’t stupid. Topper and Kelce immediately noticed the strange new tension between you and Rafe. Even fucking Ruthie, Topper’s girlfriend—and the two of you were definitely not on good terms—pulled you aside one evening.

However, you knew she didn’t do it out of concern for you. No, Ruthie felt threatened by Sabrina’s presence just as much as you did.

“Are you seriously going to let her walk all over you?” she asked, cornering you outside the bathroom at a beach party. “That bitch is a manipulative snake.”

God, you wanted to agree, to vent to Ruthie about how much Sabrina pissed you off. But for Rafe’s sake, you bit back the words and said instead, “If you want, I can let him know how you feel. I’m sure he’ll love to hear it.”

Ruthie, unimpressed, just smiled. “Oh, please. When’s the last time you two even talked alone?”

That stung because it was true.

Three months into his relationship with Sabrina, she’d already built a thick wall between you and Rafe.

These days, you only saw each other at parties or when the group hung out, and even then, getting a private moment with him was rare. Sabrina clung to him like a shadow, always watching, always there.

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d done something together, just the two of you. He barely seemed to have time for anyone else anymore, not even you.

And that was the problem. Rafe was so terrified of letting this chance at a “perfect” future with someone slip away that he clung to Sabrina just as tightly as she clung to him. Because even though Ward Cameron was no longer alive, one thing had stuck with Rafe: the idea of family.

That’s what Ward had valued above everything else, and Rafe thought he’d finally found that dream with Sabrina Anderson.

And even though it tore you apart, even though it cost you sleepless, tear-filled nights, you couldn’t bring yourself to talk to him about it. It was so incredibly wrong and cowardly, especially because you KNEW what kind of person Sabrina was. You KNEW that, eventually, her controlling nature would probably drive a wedge between Rafe and the rest of the group too—Topper, Kelce, everyone.

But in that moment, he seemed happy.

And you couldn’t be the one to take that happiness away from him, even if it meant losing him in the process.

It was unbelievably stupid, and deep down, you knew he deserved better. But the real problem wasn’t Sabrina. It was you.

No matter who stood at Rafe’s side, any girl would have reacted the same way Sabrina did. Maybe they wouldn’t have been as cunning about it, but no girl would have been okay with the bond you shared with Rafe. Some might’ve confronted him directly, others might’ve tried breaking you apart like Sabrina had, and some would’ve just given up and broken things off immediately.

And Rafe had realized that too, in his own way. The connection between you and him... it wasn’t a normal “best friends” kind of thing. You were probably the most important person in his life, until Sabrina had shown up. But Rafe had been too blind, too scared, to admit it to himself.

Or worse, to admit it to you.

Because the truth was, Rafe had feelings for you. He wasn’t stupid—how could he not have fallen for you? You’d stood by him during his darkest moments, even when he confessed to you about killing Peterkin. Hell, you would’ve followed him to Barbados if he hadn’t insisted you stay behind, where you’d be safe.

But Rafe also knew how messed up he was. He knew there was something deeply wrong with him. He was loud, impulsive, and reckless. At his worst, he’d nearly been willing to kill Sarah and his own father.

Rafe Cameron was a deeply unstable wreck and the last thing he wanted was to drag you down with him.

You deserved someone better. Someone kind and loving, someone who didn’t have anger issues or a fucked-up mind like his. Someone who knew their limits and respected others’.

God, how many times had he sat next to you at parties, though, with you drunk or high, leaning against him, your big, tired eyes looking up at him like he was the only person in the world that mattered? It had taken every ounce of self-control not to press his lips to yours right then and there, to carry you upstairs to his bed and forget about the party downstairs.

And the worst part? The thought of all the times you’d actually fallen asleep next to him in his bed. How badly he’d wanted you then—to kiss you, love you, to feel you. Not in the way he'd done with random hookups in the past. God, no. What he felt for you ran so much deeper, more primal, than that. It was like hunger, like thirst. He didn’t just want you. He needed you—every piece of you, your whole being.

So, as time passed and you remained distant, Rafe Cameron broke under the weight of the wall between you.

But while you hid away in your room, drowning yourself in movies, shows, mindless phone games, loud music, and lonely nights, Rafe fell back into old habits.

Not all at once, but slowly, quietly, in a way that would destroy him eventually. More empty whiskey bottles started showing up around the house. The occasional bag of coke appeared in his drawers again. And when he came home from parties with Sabrina, it was rarely without a bruise or a bloody nose.

And when he fucked her afterward, it wasn’t out of love. It was out of frustration and anger. Anger at himself for losing you, for letting you slip away, for not daring to chase after you out of cowardice.

And every time a soft moan left Sabrina’s lips, it wasn’t her he thought of.

It was you.

Of course, you heard about all of this. Not because you were present to witness his behavior (you avoided any place Rafe might show up these days) but through Topper and Kelce. They’d call or text you constantly, begging you to make up with Rafe. Because it wasn’t just you they were losing from the group—it was him too.

One night, Rafe even punched Topper, giving him a bloody nose, after Topper had the guts to bring up the whole situation. It wasn’t the complaints about Sabrina that set Rafe off, no, it was when your beautiful name had left Topper's lips.

Because Topper was right: Rafe had screwed it all up.

But he was too angry, too broken, to believe he could ever fix things with you.

Of course, he was Rafe Cameron. If Sabrina actually broke up with him, he’d just find someone else—at least, that’s what he had told himself for a while. But whether it was out of habit, some deeper fear of abandonment, or simply the thought of losing someone again, he couldn’t deny it.

Deep down he was afraid of losing her.

So, when Sabrina made it clear she was serious this time, he tried to do better. Especially because Rafe wasn’t sure if he had the energy—or the patience—to let someone new get that close again.

No, he couldn’t let her go. He wouldn’t.

And what better day to secure her forever than Valentine’s Day?

Rafe wasn’t exactly a romantic but for this occasion, he had it all planned out: He’d take Sabrina out, spoil her with whatever she wanted, treat her like royalty. Dinner at the most expensive, exclusive restaurant, a private balcony lit by candlelight. Then, when they got back to Tannyhill, he’d carry her inside, through a house decorated with rose petals, scented candles, and heart-shaped balloons.

He’d take her to their shared bedroom, hold her close, and tell her how much he loved her—that he couldn’t imagine his life without her. And then, he’d drop to one knee, pull out the most extravagant, glamorous ring she could dream of, and ask her to marry him.

He figured she’d probably say yes. After all, despite everything, she knew Rafe would do anything to keep her, and being a Cameron opened doors that her own name couldn’t.

And later, as he bent her over in the rose-adorned bed, he’d remind her how perfect she was. Though in truth, he’d be convincing himself that losing you had at least brought him this.

But, as if the universe was punishing him for his past and future mistakes, the weather had other plans. A torrential downpour hit the island with strong winds and relentless rain. Leaving the house was impossible—any attempt would’ve ended in getting drenched or worse, an accident.

So, Rafe had no choice but to scrap his grand plans and stay at Tannyhill with Sabrina. Unfortunately, he’d already teased her days in advance about the “special surprises” he had in store.

In short: Sabrina wasn’t happy. She was upset about the weather, frustrated that Rafe’s plans had fallen through, and irritated with him by association.

It took everything Rafe had to hold his temper and avoid a full-blown argument. But he was determined not to screw this up. He cooked for her, gave her massages, played the music she liked, and later that evening, he drew her a luxurious bath to unwind.

That seemed to calm her, at least a little.

So, while Rafe stayed inside, trying to salvage the day, you were spending your Valentine’s with your grandmother. (It wasn’t like you had a date anyway, so why celebrate it?) She lived about an hour outside the Outer Banks, and you’d spent the day catching up with her, enjoying the quiet.

But as someone who rarely paid attention to her phone nowadays and definitely didn’t check the weather, you had no idea about the storm brewing in the area.

It wasn’t until you started your drive home that you realized just how bad it was. The rain came down in sheets, so thick it was nearly impossible to see more than a few feet ahead. The roads were slippery, the wind was howling, and you found yourself gripping the wheel tighter than ever.

“Okay,” you told yourself, “just go slow. Better to get home late than not at all.”

That was supposed to be the plan, until your dad’s expensive Bentley decided to give up on you in the middle of an empty back road. No houses nearby, no streetlights, and definitely no one around to help.

You sighed, muttering a curse under your breath. Okay, it’s fine. Probably just a fluke. You tried turning the key in the ignition again. Then again. And again.

Nothing.

Alright, not so fine.

Panic began creeping in but you forced yourself to stay calm. You couldn’t fix the car, and stepping out in this weather wasn’t an option. Your only choice was to call someone for help.

Your grandmother was already asleep by now and you didn’t want to worry her. Your parents were out of town for the weekend, so they were off the table, too. That left Kelce and Topper.

You tried Topper first but he sent you straight to voicemail. You were pretty sure Ruthie had something to do with that. Kelce picked up but the loud music and slurred tone on the other end told you he was having way too much fun at some club to be of any use.

“Great,” you muttered under your breath.

You scrolled through your contacts but nobody else seemed like a good option. Sure, you had other friends from your years at high school but who would actually drive half an hour in this weather on Valentine's Day just to pick you up?

Your thumb hovered over Rafe’s name, chest tightening.

The Rafe you used to know would’ve come for you in a heartbeat—rain, wind, storm, volcano, it wouldn’t have mattered. He would’ve been there, no questions asked. But now? You hadn’t really spoken to him in weeks, and you weren’t even sure if he still had your number saved.

Besides, you didn’t want to ruin his Valentine’s with Sabrina. Topper had mentioned things were rocky between them for a while but apparently, Rafe had gotten things back on track.

So, that left… what? Spending the night in the car and hoping Kelce or Topper would sober up enough to rescue you in the morning? Not exactly ideal.

You glanced around nervously. You didn’t know this area well and the heavy rain pounding against the roof wasn’t helping your growing unease. It was dark, the only light coming from your phone which was now dangerously low on battery.

Great, you thought, sinking back into the seat. Just perfect.

Yeah, fuck, you were scared.

You bit the inside of your cheeks, your fingers hovering over Rafe's number. He probably wouldn’t even pick up—most likely cuddled up with Sabrina on the couch.

He’s not going to answer anyway, you thought, swallowing the lump of guilt forming in your throat.

Then, you hit call.

Not even two rings later, he answered. “Y/n?” His voice sounded both confused and alert, a heart-wrenching distance in it.

A lump formed in your throat at the sound of his familiar voice and only then did you realize how much you’d hoped he would actually pick up.

“Rafe…” Your voice was quiet, slightly shaky, given the situation you were in. “I... I’m so sorry to bother you. I know it’s Valentine’s Day, and I wouldn’t be calling if it wasn’t—”

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” His tone shifted immediately, softer now, filled with concern.

“Yes! No. I mean… no,” you stammered, struggling to get the words out. “I was just at my grandma’s, and my dad’s Bentley broke down. I already tried calling Kelce and Topper, but—”

“Where are you?” he interrupted, and your heart clenched deeply.

“Rafe, you don’t have to—I just thought maybe—”

“Y/n.” His voice was firm now, leaving no room for argument. “Send me your location. I’ll come get you.”

You hesitated, then muttered, “I really don’t want to ruin your Valentine’s Day.”

“Fuck Valentine’s Day,” Rafe said, frustration in his voice, unmistakable concern underneath. “Send me your location, and tomorrow morning I’ll beat the shit out of Kelce and Topper for not answering.”

Despite the tension of the situation, despite the fear and guilt gnawing at you, a laugh escaped your lips.

For a moment, you paused, then sent him your live location.

“I’ll be there soon. Stay in the car, lock the doors, and don’t open up for anyone,” he instructed.

You barely managed to thank him before he hung up. And despite the guilt gnawing heavy at your chest, an immense wave of relief washed over you.

Rafe was in his closet, pulling out two jackets and a hoodie, when Sabrina walked out of the bathroom, her cheeks flushed pink from the steam and a towel barely wrapped around her, exposing her still-damp legs.

She frowned. “What are you doing?”

“I’m picking up Y/n,” he said, slipping on one of the jackets. “Her car broke down in the middle of nowhere.”

A flush of red rose to Sabrina’s pretty face, her brow furrowing deeply. “And she called you?”

Rafe shrugged, sitting down on the edge of the bed to pull on his boots. “No one else picked up. I’ll be back in an hour—”

“Are you serious, Rafe?” Her voice sharpened, rising in pitch. “It’s Valentine’s Day. You’re driving out in this weather for HER, but you couldn’t even take me to dinner in town?”

Rafe grimaced, but his voice remained calm. “Like I said, I’ll be back soon. Don’t make this into a big deal.”

Sabrina scoffed, crossing her arms. “A big deal? You think I am the one being dramatic? Y/n is a grown woman. She knows we’re spending this evening together, and she still called you?”

"She called because she needs help, not because she’s trying to ruin your night or some shit," Rafe said, his tone making it clear she was being ridiculous. Still, he didn’t want to push her any further. He ran a hand over his face and sighed. “Look, baby—”

But Sabrina just shook her head in irritation. “My night? What’s that supposed to mean, huh?! This is our night, Rafe. And now you’re ditching our night for her?!” She stepped closer, her voice rising. “I’ve always known she was a threat to our relationship.”

“A threat?” Rafe raised his brows in disbelief as he stood up. “Come on, Sabrina, that’s insane. Just drop this bullshit.”

Her face flushed a deep, angry red. “I—excuse me? Do you even hear yourself right now? She hasn’t called you in weeks, Rafe. Weeks. And the second she does, you’re running off like some pathetic, lovesick puppy? It’s so embarrassing. For you, and especially for me.”

It took everything Rafe had to keep from completely losing it. Her words hit a nerve, and deep down, he knew she wasn’t entirely wrong. You had pulled away from him—hell, both of you had.

His blood was boiling, but all he could think about was you, sitting alone in that damn car in this awful weather.

Rafe took a step toward her, towering over her. Maybe he could control his words but he couldn't control his voice, now loud and frustrated.

He gestured to his chest with furrowed brows. “Tell me then, what the fuck do you want me to do, huh?! Leave her stranded out there all by herself?”

Sabrina nodded as if it was the most obvious answer in the world. “She’ll figure it out, it’s just one night and—”

“Okay, that’s enough.” His voice was dangerously calm now. “Pack your things and get the fuck out of my house.”

For a moment, Sabrina stared at him, stunned. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Rafe said, his gaze cold and full of suppressed disdain. “Get dressed and leave.”

She let out an incredulous laugh. “Are you kidding me? You’re being crazy, you—”

“If you’re not out the door in five minutes, I’ll make sure to throw you out myself.”

Sabrina blinked, her face twisting in disbelief. “You can’t just kick me out. It’s pouring outside, Rafe. It’s Valentine’s Day!”

Unbothered, Rafe shrugged, mimicking her earlier words. “You’re a grown woman. You’ll figure it out.”

And as the leech that called herself Sabrina Anderson had finally disappeared from Tannyhill, Rafe climbed into his SUV and took off.

His chest felt tight, his mind racing, yet at the same time, he felt an overwhelming sense of relief. You were the only thing on his mind right now. He didn’t even try to put into words the heavy, suffocating feeling that lingered.

He’d messed up again—this time with Sabrina. But there was no regret, no sadness, nothing. If anything, it felt good to finally be rid of her. It wasn’t until halfway through the drive that he realized how much of a blind idiot he’d been. On some subconscious level, he’d been waiting for a moment like this, a reason to cut her out of his life.

For the first time in months, he could gasp for air, without her breathing down his neck. And as the last few months replayed in his mind, it hit him—she’d been a parasite, manipulating him, controlling him, molding him to fit her needs. Maybe he’d known all along but he hadn’t wanted to admit it.

Breaking free from her had been almost as hard as breaking free from his father. And, apart from Topper—who’d earned himself a punch to the face—no one had called him out. No one had tried to wake him up.

Not even you.

He shook off the thoughts as he spotted the silhouette of a dark car up ahead. His heart sank, thinking about how you must be feeling—completely alone on that pitch-black road.

Pulling up behind the Bentley, he grabbed the umbrella and jacket he’d thrown onto the passenger seat and stepped out into the pouring rain.

The umbrella didn’t do much. His jeans were soaked through almost immediately. But he didn’t care. He knocked on your car door, and the look of relief on your face when you unlocked and opened it made his chest ache deeply.

Then he noticed the redness in your eyes and a gut-wrenching heavy feeling settled in his stomach. “Hey. You okay? Here, take the jacket.”

Shivering, you hesitated but took it anyway, the relief coursing through your body almost enough to keep you warm.

“Rafe…” you started as you stepped under his umbrella but he shook his head.

“Don’t,” he said, his hand resting gently on your back. “Let’s get you out of this weather.”

His touch sent a shiver down your spine but you didn’t argue. You hurried with him to his SUV and he opened the door for you, waiting to make sure you were inside before tossing the umbrella into the backseat and climbing in himself.

For a moment, the only sound was the pounding rain against the roof. Rafe gestured to the hoodie on the dashboard. “Put that on. You’re just in shorts.”

Still, you hesitated. It felt wrong somehow. The familiar scent of his car—of him—was already too much.

“Jesus Christ, Y/n.” He grabbed the hoodie and draped it over your bare knees. “Stop being so stubborn.”

You didn’t know what to think or say. Rafe had come out here for you in this weather, left Sabrina behind, and… while you were endlessly grateful, you couldn’t shake the guilt.

As he started the car and pulled back onto the road, some horrible feeling churned in your chest again. “Rafe, I’m really sorry. If I’d known it was raining like this, I would’ve stayed at my grandma’s, I—”

“Drop it,” Rafe cut in, his eyes fixed on the road. “You needed help, and I came. That’s all there is to it.”

You glanced at him, noting the tension in his jaw, the way his profile seemed sharper in the dim light. Hesitantly, you asked, “And Sabrina… how mad is she?”

It surprised you that she hadn’t insisted on coming along.

“She’s gone,” he said firmly, still staring straight ahead.

Your heart sank to your stomach. “Gone? I… what do you mean, gone?”

“I threw her out.” His tone was blunt, almost defiant. He finally looked at you, his expression a mix of frustration and exhaustion.

For a moment, you didn’t know what to say. “What—why? What happened? Is it because I called? I—”

“Because she’s a fucking bitch,” Rafe cut in flatly. He dragged a hand down his face before turning back to you, his tone softening as he caught the shock in your eyes. “I should’ve done it a long time ago. I just… I was too blinded by all her fake bullshit.”

Your fingers clenched into the fabric of his hoodie on your lap, your thoughts spiraling. “Rafe, I’m really—”

“No,” he interrupted again, his brows pulling together. “I swear to God, if you say you’re sorry one more time, I’ll throw you out too.” There wasn’t an ounce of seriousness in his voice, though.

He sighed heavily, the frustration evident. “It’s all just… so fucked. Everything about this. It pisses me off. I really thought she was the one, and I was so blind to all her flaws.” He let out a bitter laugh. “Jesus, Y/n, why didn’t you say anything?”

You blinked, taken aback. “What?”

“Don’t ‘what’ me,” he shot back, the frustration he’d been holding back now bubbling to the surface. “It’s obvious she came between us. I was too stupid—fuck, I was too into her to see it. But you…” His voice faltered, and he seemed to collect himself. “You’re not stupid. You’re always the first one to spot red flags in people. Shit, even fucking Topper eventually figured it out.” He shook his head, clearly frustrated. “I don’t get it. Why didn’t you say anything? Why did you let her play her stupid little games?”

You couldn’t tell if he was angry at you, Sabrina, himself, the situation, or all of it combined. “I…” But what could you say without revealing too much? “I thought she made you happy and I didn’t want to be the one to ruin that. I didn’t think it would turn out like this.”

“Bullshit.” The sharpness in his tone made you flinch. “You were my best friend. You’ve never had a problem speaking your mind when something bothered you. And now you’re telling me you let that bitch silence you?”

There it was. He’d used the past tense. You had been his best friend. Hearing it from his mouth shattered something deep inside you that you’d believed was already broken.

“That bitch, Rafe,” you snapped, a sharp edge creeping into your own voice, “was your girlfriend, just so you know. So, yeah, fine, I’ll admit it—when you first introduced her, every alarm bell in my head went off. Is that what you want to hear? I knew, and I didn’t do a damn thing about it. Boo-fucking-hoo. But you know what? You let it happen just as much as I did.”

And in that moment, you realized just how angry you were at Rafe. Sure, he’d been infatuated but was that really an excuse? He was just as much to blame for all of this as you were.

Rafe scoffed bitterly as he turned onto the main road leading into Figure 8. “I don’t get it. Did she say something to you? Is that why you pulled away? Shit, did she have something on you? Nudes or some shit like that?”

“What? No!” You stared at him, equal parts exhausted and horrified. You were cold, hungry, and overwhelmed by a storm of emotions boiling beneath the surface. You didn’t even know where to start. “Let's drop this, I'm tired. Please just take me home.”

But when he drove past your street without even slowing down, you frowned at him in disbelief. “What—”

“We’re talking this out,” he said flatly, eyes fixed on the road ahead. “If I drop you off now, nothing’s gonna change, and I’m so done with this shit.”

You opened your mouth to argue but when his tired, frustrated eyes met yours, the words caught in your throat. “Afterward, I’ll drive you home, and you can sulk in peace if you want,” he added, his tone softer but firm, hints at desperation undermining his words.

You stayed silent and turned your gaze out the window, hugging yourself. You knew him well enough to realize there was no point in arguing. When Rafe set his mind on something, there was no swaying him.

By the time the SUV pulled up to Tannyhill, the storm had mostly passed, though the occasional raindrop still pattered against the windshield. The two of you climbed out in silence. Despite the light drizzle, Rafe grabbed the umbrella from the backseat nonetheless and opened it over you both as he walked you to the house.

The door clicked open with a soft push and Rafe let you step inside first. As the door shut behind you and the warm glow of the entryway light filled the space, you were suddenly hit by an overwhelming, almost suffocating sense of unease.

The walls were lined with red heart-shaped balloons. The faint scent of roses lingered in the air, mingled with something sweeter you couldn’t quite place. Blown-out candles dotted every available surface, and the staircase was covered in a delicate carpet of red rose petals leading to the next floor.

It was… perfect.

Your stomach twisted as you took it all in, the earlier argument momentarily forgotten. Still staring at the carefully arranged display, you spoke softly. “You did all this for her?”

Rafe let out a bitter laugh. “Shit, I was even gonna propose to her tonight.”

Your heart stopped.

A proposal? He’d been that serious about Sabrina? Your gut twisted and you felt like throwing up. This was all too much to take in.

“But I’m glad you called,” he said after a moment, his voice softer this time, carrying an edge of something almost vulnerable.

You pressed your lips together and turned around, just to be hit with a shocking sight.

Now, under the bright light, you could finally see just how much this relationship had drained him. The dark circles under his eyes, the pallor of his skin, the way his cheekbones stood out more sharply than they should. It all painted a picture of someone who had given too much and gotten nothing in return.

And then the dam broke.

All the emotions you’d suppressed over the past few months—frustration, sadness, guilt, and fear—boiled down into the rawest form of emotion: anger.

“She’s a stupid fucking whore,” was all you managed to get out.

Rafe blinked, caught off guard by your reaction. “What?”

You shook your head, struggling to put your swirling thoughts into words. “She’s a stupid, arrogant, deceitful, manipulative bitch who doesn't deserve you. I mean, seriously, she ruined this,” you gestured between the two of you, “us. She tore us apart. You were my best friend, Rafe. There were times when we’d spend an entire week together, just the two of us, rotting in bed and sending Kelce and Topper stupid snaps, and then she came along, and… and everything changed overnight.”

Your brows furrowed deeply. “She’s such a disgusting person—no, scratch that—a creature. A monster. On the very first night I met her, she came up to me, and she had the nerve to question my relationship with you.” You shook your head with a grimace. “Like, she thought our friendship was too intimate or some bullshit like that. And I don’t know, I guess it got to me. What if she was right? I didn’t want to be the problem. I didn’t want to be a threat to your relationship with her.” You let your gaze drop. “So, I backed off.”

You groaned, frustration evident in your voice as you met his pretty blue eyes again. “God, I could just smash my head against the wall. I should’ve said something. To her, and especially to you! But I was so afraid that I was wrong about her. That I was blinded by my…” Feelings. You stopped yourself, the word stuck in your throat. “By my worry for you. I mean, at first, it seemed like she was good for you, so I stayed quiet. But by then, the damage was done and…” Your voice softened, almost like a question. “At some point, I thought, maybe if it was so easy to build a wall between us, then maybe our friendship was doomed to fail anyway.”

And there it was.

You’d said everything you’d bottled up, laid all your frustration out in front of him, and yet, there was still so much left unsaid. But you were exhausted, done with all of this, tired and pissed off, your chest rising and falling as you struggled to catch your breath.

Rafe stared at you, his expression unreadable. Whether he was stunned, irritated, frustrated, you couldn’t tell. And this realization hurt all the more because you’d grown so far apart, you couldn’t even read his emotions anymore.

His brows twitched, eyeing you with a scowl as if there was some deep suppressed anger inside him.

Finally, after a moment of seemingly endless silence, he spoke. “Shit, this bitch has been right all along.”

His words hit you like a lightning strike and before you could ask the meaning of his words, Rafe closed the distance between you, his hands cupping your face as he pressed his lips to yours as if they were the only place he ever belonged.

Frozen, overwhelmed, and confused, you stood still. A thousand questions and emotions surged through you. But in that moment, you pushed them all aside and let yourself melt into it, fingers clinging to his shirt, afraid to let go.

The kiss was raw, desperate, hungry as if you were the only thing that could satisfy the emotions he’d been holding back. Rafe’s hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer as he deepened the kiss. Every pent-up feeling from the past few weeks poured out through the way his lips moved against yours.

And god, you felt so good. Your soft lips on his, the warmth of your body pressed against him.

Shit. Even though he’d had Sabrina beneath him night after night, thrusting into her mindlessly, in this moment, he felt so endlessly touch-starved.

Not for the empty satisfaction of release, no.

For you.

When he finally pulled back, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting together as you tried to steady yourselves.

Your lips were swollen from the kiss, and you were too scared and stunned to say anything, afraid that speaking would shatter the moment.

“I’m such a fucking idiot,” Rafe finally said, his thumb tracing soft circles on your cheek, his voice low and raw. “It’s you. It’s always been you, Y/n. Fuck, it wouldn’t have mattered if it was Sabrina or any other brain-dead bitch. When you call, I’ll come running every single time. And I almost lost you because of all her bullshit." He sighed, lowering his eyes for a second, trying to grapple his words. "I think, somewhere in my head, I convinced myself I wasn’t good enough for you. That you deserved better. So I went for girls like Sabrina. Girls who are... Shit, I don’t know, seemingly polished and perfect on the outside but completely empty on the inside.” His brows twitched, his voice quiet. “The kind of girl I thought I was supposed to be with.

“But she’s not perfect." He scoffed. "Holy shit, not even close. She’s pretentious and selfish, and she made me feel like I had to change just to fit into her world. But you?” He let out a nervous laugh, meeting your eyes again, a vulnerability in his tone you’d never heard before. “You’ve never wanted me to change. You’ve always let me be ... me, even when I’m a complete fucking idiot.” A soft chuckle escaped his lips. “You’re the only person who’s ever made me feel like I’m not too much. Like I don’t have to prove anything.”

For a moment, his words hung in the air, sinking in. Your brain needed a second to fully process everything he’d just said. The weight of what just spilled out of him.

His blue eyes bore into your soul as if he were anxiously waiting for your approval, as if the way you returned his kiss hadn’t been answer enough. As if your next reaction would determine his entire life.

And then you laughed, a sweet and soft sound escaping your lips, cheeks burning, still hyper-aware of how his lips had felt on yours.

Overwhelmed, exhausted, and struggling to find the right words, you let your instincts take over. No words could describe how you felt in this moment. So, you let your action speak.

Your hands softly found his cheeks, pulling him back to your lips.

And Rafe? He didn’t hesitate. Fuck no, he took it as an invitation, wrapping his arms around you completely. His hands slid from your waist down to your hips, then lower. When he lifted you effortlessly, your legs instinctively wrapped around his hip, your hands finding his neck.

This time, the kiss was slower, deeper, like both of you were trying to savor every second, afraid this moment might slip away the very next.

He pressed you gently against the wall, the cold surface sending a shiver down your spine.

Your body's reaction made him smile into the kiss before pulling back slightly, his forehead resting against yours. “I guess this isn’t exactly the most comfortable spot, huh?”

A soft laugh escaped you. And with that sweet little sound, the last stubborn traces of tension melted away. Days, weeks, months—all those nights spent alone in your bed, frustrated and hurt by this whole... fucked-up, messed-up situation.

And hell, you didn’t have—shit no—you didn’t want to waste a single ounce of energy or thought on that time anymore. So all you said was "Could be worse. I’m used to your lumpy mattress.”

“Yeah?” His eyes sparkled with playful mischief and his hands gave your butt a teasing squeeze. “Well, so far, all you’ve done is sleep in it.”

Heat rushed to your face, and before you could say anything, he adjusted his grip on you, holding you like he was afraid you might slip away. Your heart was racing, tumbling over itself in your chest, as he carried you upstairs, his arms steady but his pace a little too eager, a little too desperate, like he’d been waiting for this just as long as you had.

When he reached the top, he nudged the door open with his foot, and it felt like the rest of the world disappeared. No noise, no distractions, just you and him, in the quiet of his room, where nothing else mattered.

He set you down gently, his hands lingering on your waist like he couldn’t bring himself to let go. His lips found yours again. Not rushed, not frantic, but slow and deliberate, like he was making up for every second you’d been apart.

You felt the weight of it all in every kiss—weeks, months, maybe even years of suppressed feelings neither of you had dared to name.

His hands moved over you like he was memorizing you, tracing your body in a way that was equal parts hesitant and hungry, like he didn’t want to scare you but couldn’t hold back anymore.

Your fingers softly moved over his buzzed hair, pulling him closer, and he let out a low, almost broken sound against your lips that sent a shiver down your spine. His breath was warm as his kisses trailed down your neck, and it was overwhelming but in the best way possible.

That night, the room was filled with quiet laughter and soft murmurs, the sound of his name slipping from your lips like it was meant to. Rafe's touch was gentle but sure, every movement unspoken proof of just how much he'd missed you. The hours blurred together, and for once, nothing else mattered—just the two of you, tangled up and lost in each other like this was where you were always supposed to be.

And even though all of it—the candles, the balloons, the rose petals, a ring that never found its finger—had been meant for a manipulative bitch called Sabrina Anderson, she was already forgotten in both of your heads.

Erased by this moment. By you.

Because, like Valentine’s Days, she had always been all surface: pretty words, empty gestures, and nothing real beneath it.

And if you both were being honest, this cheesy day was overrated anyway. Like Rafe had said: Fuck Valentine’s Day.

And sometimes, fuck the person you end up confessing your love to at the end of it. Even—and maybe especially—if they were your former best friend.

R. C. M A S T E R L I S T | T A G L I S T F O R M

[wordsarelife]

—the archer

pairing: mattheo riddle x reader

summary: when you state starts worsening, you hope to pull away from everything without someone noticing. but mattheo notices the signs, and he won't let someone he lo— he won't let you slip away...

warnings: mentions of depression, of harming behavior and worsening condition of someones mental health, angst with a happy ending, cursing, like a lot of it

note: this just came out of me. originally i hadn't intented for it to be so depressing, but here we are lol. the ending is happy i promise and there might be a love confession

there was a party today. you had heard about it when two slytherins you didn't know the names of, had discussed their outfits for the night.

you couldn't remember when you had last been to a party.

you couldn't even remember when someone had last invited you to one. you had stopped showing up at things a long time ago. and some time after that, people had stopped wondering where you were— and you were relieved.

it was easier to spiral when no one noticed.

when there wasn't someone you had to constantly find excuses for. why you didn't leave the bed. why you didn't eat for two days before you had a real meal on the third. why you weren't you anymore.

it was easier when you didn't have to explain. it was easier, because you didn't know how to explain.

it felt like any room you entered these days was filled with people who could see through you, knowing you weren't who you pretended to be. that you weren't worth their time. it was easier to realize that than to continue pretending.

you avoided mirrors when you walked through the halls of the castle. you didn't raise your hands in your classes, if you even went to them in the first place, and you stopped caring about what others thought of you.

all of it had been going great, until the last person you had expected, showed up at your door.

mattheo riddle and you had been friends since your first year in hogwarts. you had naturally floated toward his group, being born as a pureblood in one of the richest families in the wizarding world.

if money would've been able to fix whatever the hell was wrong with you, you were sure you would’ve never had any problems in the first place.

mattheo and you had known each other much longer, even before hogwarts, but you wouldn't have considered each others friends, so you never really counted that.

mattheo’s group had once felt like home— not because of how much they liked you, but because they never asked why you were quiet some days and reckless the next. they had grown up around chaos too. they understood the unspoken rule: you don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to.

at some point, they had stopped being your friends and started being people you avoided in the hallways. you’d cut them off so gently they hadn’t even noticed at first— a missed class here, a forgotten lunch there. and then, eventually, nothing at all. you thought that was the cleanest way to disappear.

but mattheo had noticed. evidently.

"what are you doing here?" you asked as you opened the door. your roomate had been gone for a few hours, probably at that party you had heard about earlier, so you were alone in the room, leaning against the door and staring mattheo down like he had greatly offended you by showing up.

"oh look, she can actually talk" he noted sarcastically, stepping around you without an invitation and sitting down on your bed, facing you.

you sighed, before you closed the door. "and what is that supposed to mean?"

mattheo wasn't the one to talk about things gently. "well, exactly what it sounds like" he shrugged "i thought there had to be something wrong with your voice, because you haven't opened your fucking mouth in weeks"

"you're so dramatic"

"am i?" mattheo asked with furrowed brows. "because i sure as all aren't the one shutting themselves off in their little rapunzel tower. wanting to be left alone so badly they forgot all basic manners when they enter a room. here's a tip: people appreciate hearing the word 'hello' from time to time."

you shook your head, rolling your eyes at his attitude. "maybe you shouldn't knock on doors when you weren't invited."

"maybe you should stop moping around like someone stole your favorite hair-tie"

"oh fuck off, mattheo" you crossed your arms. "you have no idea what's going on."

"no?" he repeated, trying his best to provoke you. "then enlighten me. what's been going on with you? and it better be good, because i didn't come all this way to hear some stupid excuse of you feeling tired." he leaned back, waiting for you to talk.

"but i do feel tired" you said, your tone totally different than before, "i feel so tired, mattheo"

mattheo looked you up and down. he noticed the bags under your eyes, how you had basically shrunken under his gaze and the way you coudln't even look him in the eyes while you talked.

"tired of what?"

"i don't know, of everything" you threw your hands around, pointing around you. "of my life"

"and you think disappearing from everything is gonna solve that?" mattheo asked. "because if you don't live your life you suddenly stop hating it?"

you said nothing, biting down on your lip while simply staring at him.

"this is not how it works, okay?" he stood up, crossing the room and taking your shoulders into his hands, as if to shake sense into your body. "and you think this is fun to watch? think we don't care? that we've simply forgotten you, because you tried to make us?"

"you should've"

"fuck that" mattheo shook his head, exasperation flowing his features. "enzo and theo ask about you daily, pansy tries to take notes in class to save them for you, draco sits at the library every thursday waiting for you to show up, even though he knows you won't. and blaise still brings up that stupid inside joke the two of you had every time someone orders peppermint tea. we didn't stop caring just because you wanted us to"

you pulled your shoulders back, frustration bubbling over. “you don’t get it, mattheo. you can’t just care your way through this. It’s not that simple.”

he tightened his grip on your shoulders, eyes fierce. “try me.”

you pushed his hands away, running your owns through your hair as you turned away from him. "i don't need whatever you're trying to do, okay?" your voice grew louder. "i don't need someone to tell me there's something fucking wrong with me, because i already know it"

“i’m not here to tell you anything,” he repeated, his voice low but steady, following a step behind as you turned away. “i’m here because i’ve been there.”

you paused, shoulders stiffening at the weight in his tone— not angry, not sarcastic, just… raw.

“don’t lie to me, mattheo,” you muttered. “you don’t know what it’s like.”

"oh, i know what it's like, okay?" he breathed, waiting a few seconds, before he finally continued "to look in every mirror and hate what you see, to not want to get out of bed because you feel like whatever you do, you have no fucking control over what will happen, to stop enjoying things you once loved and to stop wanting to be around people who you once loved."

"mattheo—"

"i'm not trying to tell you what the fuck is wrong with you" mattheo interrupted. "i'm trying to tell you that there might be a way out of it. but staying here and shutting everyone out won't make it better. because after a while, people start accepting that you don't want to see them, parties get thrown without anyone even thinking about inviting you and some day you really won't have anyone who cares and then you're genuinely at the worst fucking point. a point with no return."

"we're already way past that point" you shrugged. "so, what does it matter?"

"we're not, okay?" mattheo replied angrily. "because that's not something you just decide like that. you still have us, even if you don't want us to care. and you're fucking stupid if you really think i will continue watching this until you reach a point of no return."

"then stop watching!" you snapped, spinning back toward him. "if it's so hard for you, mattheo, then leave! stop showing up at my door, stop dragging me out of my own head just to yell at me for being different than you want me to be! i didn't ask for this—"

"you didn't have to!" he interrupted, stepping closer, eyes burning with something wild and sharp. "because it's not something you ask for. if people care about you, they're going to show up, whether you want them to or not."

tears welled up in your eyes, as you stared back at him.

"you think this care?" you asked in disbelief, trying to swallow the tears as you screamed. "barging into people’s lives when they’ve made it very clear they don’t want you there? yelling at them for not being who they used to be? you think that makes it better?”

“i think someone has to care enough to try,” mattheo shot back, brows furrowed. “and clearly, no one else is knocking down your door!”

“because i don’t want them to!” you shouted. “i didn’t ask for anyone to play hero or to fix me or care! i don’t need pity, mattheo!”

he stepped forward, jaw clenched. “this isn’t pity—”

"then what the fuck is it?" you snapped, the tears now flowing freely. "because this does look scarily close to it. what do you want from me?"

"i want you to stop acting like you’re the only one who's ever gone through hell!” he shouted, his voice rising again. “you think you’ve cornered the market on pain? on loneliness? on pushing everyone away because it’s easier to fall alone than drag people down with you? congratu-fucking-lations if you really think that's an achievement.”

you flinched like he’d struck you— but it wasn’t the volume that cut. It was the truth buried under every word.

“you think i want to be like this?” you hissed, voice shaking. “you think i chose to wake up every day and feel like I can’t breathe? you think i don’t hate it?!”

“i know you hate it!” he snapped, stepping closer again, hands twitching at his sides like he didn’t know whether to pull you in or throw something across the room. “that’s the fucking problem! you hate it, and instead of fighting it, you’ve just decided to rot in it!”

"oh, fuck you!" you bellowed, stepping back in utter disgust. "just because you know what it feels like doesn't mean you can act so high and mighty, like you have any type of authority over the way i deal with it."

"i'm not trying to!"

"then what the fuck do you want?" you shouted, your voice growing impossibly louder. "you come here to tell me how to deal with my problems, but you don't want to control me, but at the same time you do... it’s just back and forth with you. do i need to spell it out for you to get it? i don't need whatever this is, so what do you still fucking want from me?"

"you really think i came here with a plan?" he screamed back, matching your tone. "you really think i sat down and thought about how i approach this mess of a situation best? no, because you don't sit down to plan how you're gonna save someone who's drowning, you just get there and you try your best to fucking save them, that's how it works."

"you can't save people who don't want to be saved."

"why are you so fucking stubborn?" he bellowed. "i've never met someone as infuriating as you. it's fucking annoying."

"yeah? well congratulations," you snarled, breathless. "add it to the list of things you hate about me."

his expression twisted, like you’d struck him. good. let it hurt.

"you think i can just stop feeling like this?" you spat when he didn't answer. "oh, poor mattheo, he cares so much even when people don't want him to, he’s such a great person. god, it must be exhausting being you with care that comes so easily you don't even know who to place it onto next, you fucking twat"

"i don’t care because it’s easy!" he exploded, angrier than you had ever seen him before, taking a step forward. "i care because I fucking love you, okay?!"

the room grew quiet, your arms falling to your side as you narrowed your eyes at him. mattheo took a breath, but didn't say a word.

"what?" you asked, softly, your voice almost not there. maybe you didn't even want him to hear it.

but then his voice returned so suddenly you almost got whiplash. “fuck. i love you, alright?”

you stared at him, lips parted, every argument you had prepared suddenly useless.

he shook his head, furious at himself now. “i didn’t mean to say that. i wasn’t—this wasn’t how i wanted to—” he stopped again, ran a hand through his hair, defeated. “but it’s the truth. and I’m so fucking tired of hiding it.”

the room fell dead silent. your heart pounded so loud you could barely hear yourself think.

mattheo waited for you to say something, anything, but you kept quiet, so he was the one who spoke.

"you want to know what all this is? this fight, this yelling, me showing up at your door like a bloody lunatic—it isn't me trying to be a fucking hero. this is what love looks like when it’s terrified.”

"terrified?" you repeated, your voice almost giving in. you suddenly felt very lightheaded, like you would lose conciousness at any moment.

"terrified" mattheo nodded. "i don't need you to say it back or anything, that's not the reason behind it. but i need you to survive and i’m terrified you won’t."

"mattheo, i—" you shook your head, biting down your words, unsure what you should answer. all the words were suddenly buried so far back, you couldn't even imagine reaching them ever again.

"you don't have to say anything" he said. "this is not some fucking ‘get better so i can love you’ situation. because i'm gonna love you wether you want it or not, wether you get better or continue to hide in your fucking room for all eternity— so fuck that, okay?”

he took a breath “i want you to get better for yourself" he said softly, even managing to sound friendly while constantly cursing.

"because i remember how you spent hours outside just because you liked the way the sun felt on your body, or how you came to the library every thursday to work on your history of magic papers, not because you actually needed the extra time, but because you knew draco needed it, but would always be too stubborn to ask for your help.”

you sniffled, tearing up even further. the way he looked at you and the words he said broke your heart but stitched it back together at the same time.

“you used to love chocolate cake and pumpkin juice, the sound of snow crunching under your feet, listening to music at parties, dancing, laughing— living."

"mattheo—"

"no, please, let me finish" he muttered softly. "i know whatever you're going through feels impossible to overcome and it won't be easy, i can promise you as much… but even though you probably feel so fucking disconnected to everything that was before this— you aren't, because the you from before, she's still in there" he softly touched your cheek with his hand and you closed your eyes, leaning into his touch.

"i can tell, because you're crying while we're fighting, and you always did that, even when we were children." he counted on.

"because you looked at me with the same expression you always used to have and because you can feel me touching you right now. you can feel the warmth of my hand and it feels good. because you can still feel things and you will continue to feel them more and more as time goes on. you're not beyond the point of saving, but you have to do it yourself"

"you really believe in me that much?" you whispered softly, opening your eyes and meeting his brown orbs. "even when i tried everything to push you away?"

he looked at you like he couldn't believe you were seriously asking that. "what does it look like?" he muttered sarcastically "showing up unannounced in your room, screaming at you and confessing my love didn't prove that to you already?"

you laughed through your tears and nodded. "i will try, okay?"

"one step at a time" mattheo reminded softly. "i'll be here"

“just for the record” you mumbled, leaning your forehead against his. “the way i felt about you never changed, not even when i was at my worst. because i love you too”

you looked up at him, eyes searching his face, and added, “that never really stopped.”

[sturduststrails]

“Sue me” Ex!sukuna x reader

Exes to??

Masterlist

Pt.1. Pt.2. Pt.3. Pt.4. Pt.5. Pt.6. Pt.7

You’re both still on the couch.

Neither of you has moved.

But everything’s shifted.

The quiet isn’t calm anymore. It’s charged.

Like something’s about to crack open.

He looks at you, and this time—really looks.

Like he’s trying to memorize you.

Like he’s realizing this might be the last time he gets to.

“You know what else I remember?” he says, low.

You tilt your head slightly, wary.

“That night in the kitchen. After we fought.”

“You were wearing that oversized sweater. The one with the ripped sleeve.”

“You were crying but trying to make pasta like it didn’t matter.”

Your chest goes still.

“I walked in,” he says. “And you didn’t even look at me.”

“You just said, ‘It’s fine. I know you’re still mad. I’ll be quiet.’”

You look away.

“And I let you say that,” he says, voice cracking.

“I let you cook dinner for the person who made you cry, just because I didn’t want to feel guilty yet.”

You close your eyes.

God. That night.

“I’ve been thinking about that lately,” he adds.

“Not the fight. Not the words. Just… you, stirring pasta with shaking hands.”

You don’t want him to see your face right now.

But you don’t move.

And then—quietly, like the words are made of glass: “I used to think you stayed because you didn’t know better,” he says.

“But now I know you stayed because you loved me harder than I deserved to be loved.”

You inhale sharply. “And now?” you ask.

His eyes lock with yours. Unflinching. Finally.

“Now I’d burn that whole book if it meant I could hear you hum next to me again.”

Your stomach flips. Your throat goes tight.

“Don’t say that unless you mean it.”

“I do.”

“No, Sukuna. Really mean it. Not because it hurts now. Not because I said something you can’t ignore. Mean it like you would’ve meant it back then, when I was right in front of you and all you had to do was choose me.”

And for a moment—just a moment—you see it. All of it.

The regret. The ache. The way his fingers curl into his palm like he’s holding himself back from reaching for you.

“I didn’t know how,” he admits. “Back then. I didn’t know how to choose anything that made me feel that seen.”

“And now?” His voice is hoarse. Quiet.

“Now I see you even when I close my eyes.”

You hate how much that line hits.

You hate how much of you still wants to believe him.

And for the first time, your voice breaks when you ask: “So what do we do with that?” Silence. Heat. History.

And then he says it. Finally.

“We don’t lie about it anymore.”

Four days.

That’s how long it’s been.

No new messages. No late-night typing bubble.

Just silence.

Again…

It shouldn’t surprise you. You should’ve expected this.

But it does. Because for a second there—for one blinding second—he felt close again.

Closer than he had any right to be.

You keep telling yourself it’s fine.

That what you said was for you, not for him.

But still… you keep checking.

Quietly. Shamefully.

Like a habit you can’t break.

And on the fifth night, it happens.

You’re not even holding your phone. You’re brushing your teeth.

And it rings.

You freeze.

Look down.

His name.

Lighting up your screen.

You stare at it.

You let it ring once. Twice.

Then you answer.

You don’t say anything. Neither does he.

There’s only breath at first.

Tight. Uneven. Like he had to talk himself into calling you.

Then finally: “I’m outside.”

Your heart slams.

“I shouldn’t be,” he adds, before you can say a word.

“But I’ve been sitting in my car for an hour and—fuck, I don’t even know what I came here to say.”

You don’t move.

“I just… I didn’t want it to end like that. I didn’t want to be the guy who disappears again.”

You pause. Then quietly: “Then why didn’t you answer?”

A beat.

“Because everything I wanted to say felt too late.”

That’s when you move.

You walk to the door. Slowly. Barefoot. No coat.

You open it.

And there he is.

Leaning against the hallway wall. Hoodie, hood down. Eyes red, like usual and maybe he hasn’t slept since your last message.

He doesn’t smile.

He doesn’t come closer.

“I don’t know what you want from me anymore,” you say, voice low. I don’t want anything,” he says. “Not if you don’t want me back.”

You just stare at him.

And then, because the air is too still, too charged: “Why now, Ryo? Why come here like this?”

He rubs a hand over his face. Exhales like it hurts.

“Because I read that last message you sent… the one about the truth. About how I got to control the ending. And I realized I didn’t just write you wrong. I lived you wrong.”

You feel it then.

The weight of it. The sincerity.

The ache of something finally cracking open. But you don’t let him in. Not yet.

“You want me to believe you’re different now?”

“No,” he says, stepping forward, voice frayed. “I want to show you. Even if it takes everything. Even if I never earn it back.”

Silence.

And for the first time in a long time—

You don’t feel small.

You feel seen.

Not rewritten. Not rearranged. Real.

You step back. Just a little.

“Then come in,” you say. “But I swear to god—if you lie to me again, I’ll burn every word you ever wrote.”

He nods once.

And when he steps inside, it’s not with arrogance or ease.

It’s with care.

Like he knows this might be his last chance to get it right.

You’ve let him in. Not because you’ve forgiven him.

But because you need to hear it—out loud. From him.

No metaphors. No edits. No book to hide behind.

Just him. And you.

Finally face to face with everything that never got said.

He steps inside like he’s entering a place that doesn’t belong to him anymore.

And maybe it doesn’t.

You don’t offer him water. You don’t ask him to sit.

You just walk to the window, cross your arms, and wait.

The air between you is thick. Familiar. Awkward in a way that makes your chest tight. Like muscle memory trying to reattach after being torn.

He stays by the door for a second, then finally breaks the silence.

“It still smells like you.”

You glance at him : “It is me.”

His mouth twitches. Not a smile. Just a flicker of something—maybe guilt. Maybe regret. Maybe both.

He walks in slow. Takes in the apartment. The bookshelf. The throw blanket still tossed over the armrest.

“I thought you’d move.”

“I thought you’d never call.”

You both go quiet again.

And then he says it.

The line. The one that splits something in you:

“You used to say… after arguments… ‘Just tell me I’m still safe.’”

Your throat tightens. That ache from the past pulling at the present like a ripcord.

“You always asked me that when things got bad,” he goes on.

“And I never answered you properly. I’d walk out. Or shut down. Or turn it into a joke.”

You don’t respond. Just watch him.

“But I get it now,” he says, voice cracking.

“It wasn’t about being right. It was about not being afraid of the person who said they loved you.”

And that? That’s what does it.

You sit down, suddenly exhausted. Wrung out.

“Do you even know what that did to me?” you ask.

“Having to ask for safety from the person who promised it?”

He sinks into the chair across from you. Elbows on knees. Head in his hands.

“I didn’t deserve you,” he says. “I think I knew that the whole time. And I punished you for it.”

The silence between you isn’t empty now. It’s crowded. Full of the weight of years, of versions of yourselves you both pretended were fine.

“You wrote a book,” you say. “You got to process it. You got to be understood.”

“And you got to be misunderstood,” he whispers.

That lands. Heavy.

And for once, he doesn’t try to soften it.

You lean back. Breathe deep.

The anger’s still there. But it’s different now—less fire, more ember. More ache than rage.

“I didn’t need you to make me the villain,” you say. “I needed you to remember me.”

His eyes meet yours. Bloodshot. Raw.

“I remember everything,” he says.

“The way you hummed when you couldn’t sleep. The way you’d whisper, ‘we’re okay, right?’ after fights. The way you’d stare at the door like you were bracing for me to leave.”

You blink.

“Then why did you?”

His voice breaks.

“Because I thought I was protecting you from me.”

You laugh. Sharp. Bitter.

“No. You were protecting yourself from seeing what you were doing to me.”

And he doesn’t deny it.

Doesn’t flinch.

Just nods. Like he’s finally ready to carry it.

You both sit there, in that quiet. The real kind. The kind where there’s nothing left to hide.

And then you say it. Low. Almost too soft:

“I don’t know what this is.”

“Me neither.”

“But I know what it wasn’t.”

“Safe,” he says. “It wasn’t safe.”

You nod once.

And that’s where you leave it.

Not with a kiss. Not with a promise.

Just two people—staring at the pieces.

Maybe ready to pick some of them up.

Maybe not.

But finally, finally seeing them for what they really are.

Hi guys, this is one of the longest chapter i write, is one of my fav one too!! Get ready because the story is ending soon💕

taglist: @humeysaga

[starl1ght444]

jason todd x fem!reader

── .✦ angst

[jason’s hurtful words lead you to leave for a couple days]

long story — [7k word count]

second person writing / edited-ish

*.ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

you don’t even remember what started it.

maybe it was the late nights. the blood on his knuckles. the way he shut you out like a slammed door every time something bothered him. maybe it was the way you kept asking, over and over, “are you okay?” and getting that practiced silence in return. or maybe it was you. wanting too much. needing answers he wasn’t ready to give.

It starts with the quiet. the kind that creeps in before the thunder hits. jason walks in, his jacket soaked with rain and something darker. his eyes avoid yours. you’re used to it, but tonight something in you snaps. “did you kill anyone yet?” you ask. not because you want to accuse him. but because you have to know.

he stiffens. “what the hell kind of question is that?”

you don’t back down. “a serious one. because I can’t keep pretending I don’t know what you’re doing out there.”

jason tosses his helmet on the counter with a loud clatter. “don’t start this.”

“no, you don’t get to tell me when I start. you come home covered in blood, you don’t talk to me, you shut me out—”

“because it’s none of your business!” he snaps.

that stings. you feel it in your chest, sharp and immediate.

“I am your business, jason. or am I just something you keep around to feel normal?”

he laughs—bitter, cold. “don’t flatter yourself.” —silence.

you blink. his words hit you like a slap, and he knows it. he flinches for a second. just one. but he doesn’t take it back. you try to keep your voice steady. “so that’s what I am? just… convenient?”

he doesn’t answer. you’re waiting for him to say no. to soften. to say he didn’t mean it. instead, he mutters, “you knew what this was. don’t act like you didn’t sign up for it.”

that’s the thing. you did know. you knew loving jason todd would mean long nights, fear gnawing at your ribs, and blood on his knuckles when he kissed you goodnight. but what you didn’t sign up for was being invisible.

“I didn’t sign up to be treated like an afterthought,” you say, standing now, voice rising. “I didn’t sign up for being ignored, for being lied to. you don’t talk to me, jason. you just disappear.”

jason scoffs. “and what, I should be reporting in every five minutes? you want a boyfriend or a lapdog?”

your heart aches, but you don’t back down. “i want you. the version of you that lets me in. the one that doesn’t shut down and push me away every time something gets hard.”

“I don’t need you to fix me!” he shouts, voice suddenly cutting through the air like a whip. “I don’t need your sympathy or your constant hovering. you think loving me gives you the right to pry into every dark corner of my life?”

you stare at him, stunned. “It’s not prying when I’m trying to help jay..”

“I didn’t ask for your help!” he barks. “god, you’re so damn exhausting. always needing something. always complaining. maybe I’d be better off without you dragging me down all the time.”

you stare at him like you’re seeing someone else entirely. “you’re a coward.” — wrong thing to say.

jason steps forward, eyes burning. “you think I’m the coward? you sit here in your nice little apartment, judging me like you’re above it all. you don’t know what it’s like out there. you couldn’t last a week in my world.”

“and yet I’ve been trying for months!” you shout, your voice breaking. “but you don’t care. you never really let me in. you just wanted someone to come home to—someone who didn’t ask too many questions.”

“you think you’re some kind of savior?” he sneers. “you’re not. you’re just another person who thought they could fix me.”

you stop. you feel it crack right there—something fragile and important inside you. “i didn’t want to fix you,” you whisper. “ i just wanted you to let me in.”

he scoffs. “then you wanted too much.” and that’s it. a finial look into jason’s eyes of any hint of regret— nothing. just pure frustration and anger. a weight in your heart dragging you towards the door. no dramatic exit. no final scream. just you walking past him, grabbing your bag, and shutting the door behind you.

at first, jason doesn’t move he doesn’t feel much of anything, honestly. just numb. tired. angry in that hollow way that doesn’t have a target anymore. he just stands there, staring at the door like it’s going to swing open again. It always does.

you always come back. — he grabs a beer from the fridge. sits on the couch. flips on the TV. something violent and loud, because silence feels like guilt.

hours pass. no call. no message.

he scrolls through his phone. no unread texts. he opens your thread—nothing. his fingers hover over the keyboard, then stop. he locks the phone and throws it on the table.

then he starts thinking about what he said. really thinking.

“you’re just another person who thought they could fix me.”

the way your face changed. he remembers the silence right before you walked out, how final it felt. and something cold settles in his chest. it’s been almost 4 hours since you left.

he starts pacing. that tight feeling in his chest creeps in like smoke under a door. his palms feel clammy. he’s sweating. his vision is narrowing. he can’t think. — you didn’t come back.

you always come back. “shit,” he whispers, running a hand through his hair. “shit, shit—”

the room feels like it’s closing in. the walls are too close, the ceiling too low, like everything’s pressing down on him at once. he can’t breathe. his knees buckle, and he slides down against the wall, gasping for air, chest heaving like he’s drowning. his hands shake. his throat burning.

he didn’t mean it. — of course he didn’t mean it. you’re not convenient..you’re the only thing that’s kept him afloat. you’re the light he pretends he doesn’t need but clings to in the dark.

and now you’re gone. the words he threw at you, the venom he spit out just to win a fight, ring louder than the silence you left behind. he says your name into the empty apartment. once. then again. then louder. like if he says it enough, you’ll hear him. — but you don’t. and now the silence is unbearable.

he can’t breathe. now It’s been five hours since you left, and jason’s chest is on fire. not the kind that comes from bruised ribs or a bullet wound—he knows that pain. he’s good with that pain. this is worse. this is panic. helplessness.—this was worse kind of hurt because it doesn’t bleed.

his phone is clutched so tight in his hand, his knuckles have gone white. he stares at the screen, thumb hovering over your name in his contacts again. he’s already called five times.

no answer. — just the sound of your dumb voicemail message, cheerful and playful and now completely soul-crushing. “haii! Its (y/n), im sorry i missed your call! im not home right now! but i can take a message… let me grab a pencil…hm okay! what would you like me to tell me?” it used to make him smile. now it makes him sick. he hits redial.

one ring.

two.

three.

voicemail. — again. again. again.

he runs both hands through his hair, dragging his fingers hard through the strands like maybe pain will wake him up. like maybe this isn’t real. like maybe you’re still coming home, keys jingling, saying his name like you do when you’re trying not to smile. but the apartment is dead quiet. and it smells like rain and blood and something fading.

“pick up,” he mumbles to no one. “please (y/n).. please just pick up.” he calls again. and again.

his hands are shaking now, so bad he nearly drops the phone. his mind is running circles around itself—what if something happened? what if she didn’t look crossing the street? what if someone followed her? what if she’s hurt?—and he can’t shut it off. his heart is pounding too loud in his ears, drowning out reason. he stands up fast, then stumbles forward, grabbing the edge of the counter to steady himself. everything’s spinning.

he opens your location on his phone. nothing.

either you turned it off or the battery’s dead. or worse. his brain fills in the blanks faster than he can stop it. “goddammit,” he breathes, slamming his hand down on the counter. the sound echoes in the empty room.

this wasn’t supposed to happen. you were supposed to yell, slam a door, crash on the couch, and by morning everything would be fine. that’s how it’s always gone. you fight, you cool off, you come back. you always come back.

but not tonight. tonight, you left like you meant it.

and jason realizes—too late—that he pushed you harder than he ever had. too far. past the point of no return. past the point where an “I’m sorry” could fix it. he scrolls to your name again.

calls. again. “haii it’s (y/n)! im sorry i mi—” he shuts his eyes and grips the phone like he could tear it in half. your voice is soft, light, untouched by the mess he made. It makes him want to scream. It makes him want to curl in on himself and disappear.

you’re gone. and you’re ignoring him. that’s what finally breaks something inside him.

because jason todd—red hood, vigilante, killer, survivor—can handle almost anything. bullets. torture. death. — but he could not handle being ignored by the one person who made him feel human.

he sinks down against the wall again, chest heaving, lungs burning. his phone slips out of his hand, landing face-up on the floor, screen still lit up with your contact. a tiny, cruel reminder: your not picking up. you don’t want to talk to him.

his mouth is dry. he tries to swallow, tries to breathe, but every inhale feels like it’s too shallow. like he’s not getting enough air. his arms wrap around his knees. he’s shaking. his thoughts are racing.

‘she’s not coming back. you blew it. you pushed too hard. you said too much. she hates you. she should hate you. why would she come back after that?’ he doesn’t know how long he sits there like that—maybe twenty minutes, maybe an hour. All he knows is the silence. and your stupid voicemail. and the gnawing, tearing fear that he might’ve lost the only good thing left in his life.

“I didn’t mean it,” he says aloud, as if the room cares. as if his regrets can travel through walls and streetlights and find their way to wherever you are. “I didn’t mean any of it.” but the universe doesn’t answer.

he pulls himself off the ground. head still spinning, he can’t keep sitting around for you. he needs to find you. the air outside hits him sharp and cold, but it doesn’t clear his head. the city is still dark, the streets damp with leftover rain. his helmet is in his bag. he doesn’t wear it. doesn’t need it. he’s not red hood right now— he’s just jason. — and jason’s falling apart.

he makes his way through the city on his motorcycle, his mind endlessly searching for you. stopping when he even sees a glimpse of someone with your same hairstyle. everything reminding him of you. he feels hopeless knowing how huge gotham is, even more so how dangerous it is.

he ultimately decides to stop at some of your favorite places, maybe to soothe him with precious memories. he knows it’s to early in the morning for most of these places to be open, but he needs to check. needs to try anyways.

his first stop was a café. your favorite locally owned coffee shop, where you two became regulars. it was a small business, on a strip walk between a laundromat and boutique. — the coffee’s always too strong and the chairs wobble if you don’t sit just right. you loved that place.

he memorized your order. it was always the same thing everytime you came here— your order barely changed. — the smell of coffee, occasionally tea on ur breath, he was craving to kiss your lips just to taste your order again.

jason stands across the street for a second. the lights are off. homemade “closed” sign hangs crooked in the window.

he still walks up. presses his hand to the door like it might open. It doesn’t. he presses his palms to the glass, looking in

your spot is empty. the corner table by the window where you used to sit and steal sips of his coffee when you swore you didn’t want one. where your eyes would crinkle when you laughed, lips covered in foam you never noticed until he wiped it away. he stands there, remembering the time you convinced him to try that stupid seasonal drink with cinnamon and syrup and something else sweet that he pretended to hate—but secretly liked, because you liked it.

he thought if he came here, maybe you’d be sitting there again. your beautiful eyes locked in a book he’d recommend while eating a pastry. but there’s nothing. only cold glass and silence and now an emotional memory.

he sits on the bench outside and closes his eyes, trying to summon your laugh. where you are the happiest, and he remembers your smile when he took you to his favorite library.

it became a sacred place for you to. both calm and quiet while enjoying each-others company. so that was his next stop.

the library.

not a big, fancy one. no marble columns or quiet rules. this one’s cramped, unknown, smelling of dust and secondhand pages. you loved it for its charm—for the creaky floors and mismatched chairs and the old man behind the desk who always smiled when he saw you.

jason picks the lock with trembling fingers. slides through the back door like a ghost. third floor. far left corner. your nook.

he stares at the armchair you always claimed, the stack of dog-eared romance novels that you teased him with—the window seat you used when the weather was just right and the sun poured in like liquid gold. he walks through the aisle, trailing his fingers along the spines of books you once handed him. he can almost hear your voice echo in the stillness.

walking around until he was in the aisle where he first met you. making his eyes burn, to many memories flooding in his head— where he tried so desperately to be cool in front of you, and staring at you from afar admiring how divine your presence felt. — jason reading all the books he thought you’d like before even knowing you and putting his name in the checkout card. and watching your face light up from seeing his name once again. giving him the courage to go and talk to you.

a tear burning his cheek, he puts his head down feeling ashamed of pushing you away when memories like these made him feel alive again.

jason left the library, riding off having the city district him. he rides for a while thinking of any more possibilities. he was about to run out of gas and just decides he needs to take a walk anyways— and when he gets off his bike, he notices he’s at a familiar park — It’s further out, away from the main drag, quiet enough that the chaos of gotham doesn’t touch it. you both used to go there when things got loud—inside his head, inside the world.

It’s mostly empty, just a jogger in the distance and birds rustling in the trees. jason walks the winding path slowly, like a man retracing his own history — here—this is where you tripped over your own feet and he caught you, both of you laughing like kids. over there is the tree you climbed and got stuck in, yelling at him between laughs while he pretended he wouldn’t help you down. there’s a bench under the big oak tree. you kissed him there for the first time. real, honest, vulnerable. no masks, no walls. just lips and nerves and something too tender to say out loud.

he passes through more bench where you sat one night, eyes puffy, telling him things you hadn’t told anyone else. and he’d wrapped his jacket around you and promised—promised—he’d never be the one to hurt you.

he sits down there now, gripping the edge of the bench so hard his knuckles go white. — “i lied,” he whispers to no one, his voice strained. becoming angry with himself.

but there was still no sign of you.. and so he knew despite it all he had a couple more places to check. his mind became desperate. he heads where he should’nt, hoping you’re not there. he still had to check— ‘the narrows’ — ‘ park row ‘ — ‘crime ally ‘

he checks alleyways where addicts linger and criminals circle like vultures. every step, he begs he won’t find you there. But he has to check. has to know. he’s on a rampage now, eyes wild, heart racing. he gets in a guy’s face just for looking at him too long. knocks someone out cold when they make a comment about “that girl he used to walk with.”

he checks rooftops. alleys. places you shouldn’t be, but maybe are. places where bad things happen. — places he belongs, not you. he asks around. no one’s seen you. and those who know who he is don’t dare lie. — still nothing. jason’s a mess—bloodshot eyes, raw knuckles, unshaven. he looks like he hasn’t slept in years instead of just a night.

and then — “jason?”

jason turns around. it’s dick.

“jason?” dick calls, landing on the fire escape in full nightwing gear. “what the hell are you doing back in this part of town?”

jason doesn’t answer at first.

dick jumps down in front of him, blocking his path. “jay—hey. talk to me.” — “I messed up,” jason says hoarsely.

dick blinks. “with…?”

jason swallows hard. “(y/n)... she left. and she’s not answering. It’s been hours. I’ve checked everywhere. the café, the library, that damn park. nothing. I don’t even know if she’s okay. I just—I said too much. I said shit I didn’t mean and now she’s just… gone.— dick, i can’t breathe.”

dick moves quickly, placing a hand on jason’s shoulder. “hey. breathe. look at me.” jason meets his eyes, jaw clenched so tight it hurts.

dick doesn’t say anything for a moment. then: “alright. sit down.” dick says guiding him to sit on a nearby stoop.

jason does. because for once, he has nothing left to fight with.

“you love her?” dick asks, voice low. jason nods without thinking, like it’s a reflex. “then tell her. find her and tell her. but not like this. you’re spiraling.”

“I can’t stop,” jason whispers. “every second she’s not answering, I keep thinking she’s hurt. that it’s my fault. that I broke her. I can’t even hear her voice without thinking of what I did.”

dick sighs and puts a hand on his shoulder. “you didn’t break her. you pushed her away. that’s different. and maybe you don’t get to fix it. but you sure as hell don’t stop trying. not until she tells you to.” jason looks at him. “and if she never does?” — “then you mourn. but not until you know for sure.”

jason’s quiet for a long time. watching gotham pass by with his brother “never give up jay, i believe in you” and jason stands up, continuing his search.

but he doesn’t find you.

he checks safehouses. rooftops. he climbs halfway up wayne tower before turning around because he knows you wouldn’t go there.— by the time the sun rises, his hands are shaking.

his head is pounding. his legs feel like lead. and you’re still gone.

he stumbles home like a ghost. kicks off his boots. sinks to the floor. doesn’t even make it to the couch. just sits there.

and stares at the door. It never opens.

three days pass.

no texts. no calls. not even a read receipt.

jason doesn’t eat. doesn’t sleep. barely moves. the apartment is dead quiet except for the occasional replay of your voicemail, like he’s torturing himself on purpose. by the fourth morning, he can’t take it anymore.

he grabs his bag and heads to wayne manor.

bruce meets him at the batcomputer. he doesn’t ask why jason’s there. just takes one look at him—pale, tired, shaking, blood shot eyes — and knows. “use whatever you need,” bruce says softly, walking away.

jason nods, throat tight. while the system loads, alfred appears at his side with a quiet sigh and a fresh mug of coffee and a blanket. he doesn’t speak right away.

then, gently, “would you like to talk about it, master jason?”

jason’s jaw clenches. he shakes his head, but then his voice breaks. “I ruined it.” a lump in his throat, looking at alfred.

alfred sets the coffee and blanket down and pulls him into a hug without a word. just strong, steady arms and that grounding kind of warmth jason hasn’t let himself feel in years. “i don’t know how to fix this,” he whispers.

alfred holds him tighter. “you start with the truth. then you wait. and if she’s worth it—and I suspect she is—you never stop.” jason nods against his shoulder

and for the first time in days, he lets himself cry. sobbing into the older man’s shoulder releasing all the pent up sadness and anger he kept inside for days. “I’ve cleaned blood off your boots, patched holes in your uniform, and stayed up more nights than I can count wondering if you’d make it back. but what worries me most… is how quick you are to believe you don’t deserve good things.. ” he said rubbing jason’s back soothing him, letting himself cry. “i love her so much, alfred— I don’t know how to hold on to good things without breaking them.” jason hiccups “it hurts how much i love her”

and they stay like that for a while, talking about jason’s feelings and what happened causing you to walk away. alfred listening and making him eat and drink to get something in his system. jason slowly getting tired, the comfort he craved slowing his brain down. alfred replacing you for a little while.

you always comforted jason, your touch melted him into a different man. you were his safe place and made him feel completely loved. the unconditional love he never felt before, ‘she’ll come back..’ - ‘ she’s okay, she’s safe’ — he kept repeating to himself, trying any possible way to soothe himself — jason became tried once again, but this time he was willing to sleep. he slept next to the computer, with the blankets alfred placed over him. he got a couple hours in until he woke up, a reminder of what happened.

now five days have gone by—

the coordinates come in just after midnight.

a quiet ping from the batcomputer—courtesy of a city-wide search bruce helped set up. jason had loaded every street cam, signal ping, and facial recognition tool he could, but deep down, he hadn’t really believed he’d find anything.

until now. a small rental apartment in the east end. under a friend’s name. you hadn’t left the city—you’d just gone off the grid. he finally found what he was looking for.

the screen flickered, and your image appeared in the facial recognition software. jason’s heart dropped as he studied the image that was pulled from surveillance footage. your face, usually full of life and fire, looked hollow. the light in your eyes were dimmer than he remembered, like you’d been carrying an unbearable weight for far too long.

your skin was pale, darker circles under your eyes indicating sleepless nights and too many tears shed. lips, once always curled into a small, knowing smile, were now pressed into a thin line. the fight had drained you, and he could see it in every inch of your face.

the camera hadn’t caught the vulnerability posture, but jason knew. you weren’t just physically tired—you were emotionally worn out. the woman he loved wasn’t the same one who had walked out five days ago. this woman, this (y/n), looked like someone who had been pushing through the world alone, all the weight of her pain carried on her shoulders.

he gripped the edge of the desk, eyes locked on the screen, his chest tightening. guilt, sorrow, and a deep sense of regret clawed at him. he had to find her. he had to make things right before it was too late.

he reads the address three times to be sure, then grabs his helmet and jacket and is out the manor doors before bruce can say a word. he jumps on his motorcycle and starts the engine, the loud sound of his tires screeching in the cave as he raced out to find you. he was lighting on the road, dangerously weaving in and out of cars, adrenaline of seeing you alive making him rush even more.

then he makes it to your location. his feet on the pavement, one flight of stairs, then two. his heart is a riot in his chest. his hands are sweating, shaking, cold. an a rush of anxiety washes over him.

what if you slam the door in his face?

what if you don’t even open it?

what if you’re gone again?

what if you don’t want to see him?

but he still knocks. soft at first. then harder.

he hears the lock click. the door creaks open a few inches. you stand there in sweats your friend let you have, eyes puffy, hair lazily in your face like you stopped caring how you looked days ago. and you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

your eyes widen when you see him. and that’s all it takes. jason breaks down.

his legs give out. he drops to his knees like something inside him finally caved in. and before he can even stop himself, he wraps his arms around your waist and presses his face into your stomach, sobbing. not the angry kind. not the kind that comes with yelling and fists through walls.

the kind that’s quiet and raw and scared. the kind that says thank god you’re alive and I’m sorry and I missed you all at once. he was relieved.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out. “I’m so fucking sorry—please, I didn’t mean it, I was angry, I didn’t know how to say it right, I—god, I thought I lost you—” you freeze. shock, sadness and joy all overwhelming your head. your hands hover for a second, unsure, still hurt, wondering if this is a dream or not.

but then they come down gently, slowly, fingers threading through his hair as you hold him against you. your voice is quiet. “jason…” a melody to his ears.

he can barely speak. “I looked everywhere. I thought something happened. I thought—god, I thought maybe I deserved it. maybe you were better off without me. — I’ve never been this scared in my life.” you listen to him, his words muffled into your stomach. as he plants small kisses in between each sentence— his words rambling and gasping in-between for breaths. “baby.. come here.”

you helped him stand up and stared at his face. “I was angry,” you admit. “you hurt me.” — “i know.. i never wanted to hurt you.”

he leans into you like he needs your heartbeat to breathe.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he whispers. “I keep ruining everything good in my life. I say the wrong thing. I push too hard. I scare people off. and then when I finally realize what I’ve done, it’s too late.” you pull back just enough to make him look at you. — his eyes are red. wet. desperate.

“you didn’t scare me off,” you whisper. “you hurt me. but I left because I didn’t want to say something I’d regret. I needed time.”

jason swallows. “you should’ve. said something worse. hit me. I deserved it.” — “you don’t get to decide what you deserve, jason. I do.”

a beat. “and I still choose you.” he exhales a breath that sounds like a sob.

his eyes are rimmed red, exhausted, glassy with the tears he’s still trying to keep at bay.

“I went everywhere. the café, the library—the park,” he continues, his arms tightening like he thinks you might slip away again. “every place we made a memory. every place that still smells like you. I kept thinking, maybe I could find one more piece of us that wasn’t broken yet.— I needed to find you. I was losing it, sweetheart. I checked alleys. dangerous places. I—fuck, I was hoping I didn’t find you there but I had to check. I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t sit still. I just wanted to see you. to say I’m sorry. to fix it.”

you nod slowly, listening to him. watching the way he talked.

“I knew I took it too far, even when I said it,” jason continues, clutching you tighter. “I was mad at the world, not you. but I threw it all at you because I knew you’d still love me, and that makes me the worst kind of person.”

you press your hand to his cheek, and he leans into it like it’s the only thing keeping him together. “I didn’t mean it,” he whispers. “not a single word. I was angry and afraid and so fucking overwhelmed that I—” his voice cracks. “I lashed out. at the one person who loves me the most. and when you left, I knew. I knew I deserved it.”

you stare at him for a moment. because your silence isn’t punishment—it’s your own unraveling. choosing your next words — “you said I was just a distraction,” you whisper finally, voice shaking despite how hard you try to steady it. “that I make things worse for you. that I don’t understand you, and maybe never will.”

jason flinches. physically recoils at the words he remembers far too well. the words that have been haunting him for the past few days.

you swallow, continuing. “you didn’t just lash out, jason. you hit where you knew it would hurt. you said things I’ve been afraid of ever since we met.”

“I didn’t mean any of it,” he whispers again, desperate. “god, if I could tear the words out of the air and bury them, I would. I would’ve rather taken a bullet than see you walk out that door. I just—” he breathes in deep. “I’m not good with… emotions. with fear. and losing you? that’s the scariest thing in the world to me...”

you nod slowly. “you self-destruct.”— he presses his forehead to yours, eyes shut. “yeah. and I took you down with me.”

silence stretches again, but it’s different now. heavy, but not hostile. like the fog after a storm. “I wasn’t leaving forever,” you whisper. “I just needed time. space. I needed to remember who I was outside of what you said.”

running your fingers through his hair. “I love you, jason. that didn’t change. but you hurt me. bad. I will never stop loving you. i will always come back to you— I needed to know I could still choose to come back on my terms. not because you begged. not because you were falling apart. but because I wanted to.”

his arms tighten around you again, and for the first time since last night, his tears start to fall freely. once again. no restraint. no pride. just a man drowning in his own grief, relieved to be seen, still loved despite everything.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispers into your shoulder, his voice small and shaky.

“no,” you say gently. “but you have me. and that means doing better.” and you both stand there for a while. two exhausted people wrapped around each other like maybe the world will stop spinning if you just stay still long enough.

after a while, you hold out your hand. “come inside.” and he does.

the apartment is small, quiet. the kind of place that smells like lavender and old books and something that’s just you. jason steps inside like he’s walking on glass—like the walls might collapse if he breathes too hard.

you close the door behind him. lock it gently. like you’re not locking him out, but keeping the world away.

neither of you says much as you move to the small couch in the living room. he follows you, slow, cautious. sits on the edge like he doesn’t deserve the whole cushion. like if he gets too comfortable, you might change your mind and tell him to leave.

you notice the way he keeps stealing glances at you from the corner of his eye. the way his knee’s bouncing, nervous. his shoulders are curled in, defensive, like he’s ready to run the second you flinch.

finally, you break the quiet. “why are you sitting like you’re afraid I’m gonna hit you?” jason freezes.

you don’t say it to hurt him. you say it softly. genuinely. because you see it—the hesitation, the fear, the way he’s pulling away without moving an inch.

he exhales. “because I don’t wanna fuck this up again.”

“you think being quiet is safer?”

he shrugs. “I don’t know. I don’t know what’s safe with you anymore. I keep playing every version of this in my head—if I say too much, if I touch you too soon, if I breathe the wrong way—maybe you’ll walk out again.”

you shift toward him slowly. “I didn’t leave to scare you.”

“I know.” he finally meets your gaze. “but it scared me anyway.”

you nod. “and now you’re trying not to want anything.” he doesn’t answer. “jason, you’re allowed to want me.”

his breath catches. you reach out, gently covering his hand with yours. he looks at the contact like it might vanish.

“you’re not scaring me off,” you say, voice soft but sure. “you’re hurting. and so am I. but I didn’t stop loving you. I didn’t forget all the good just because of one night.”

jason’s voice is raw when he answers. “It was more than one night. I’ve been shutting you out for weeks. I didn’t let you in when you were trying. I turned everything into a war when you just wanted peace.”

“yeah. you did.” he flinches. “but,” you continue, tightening your grip on his hand, “you came back. you searched for me. you let yourself fall apart. that means something to me, and im sorry too. i didn’t intend on being away this long. i just felt so lost” he closes his eyes, jaw clenching.

“i’ve never felt this afraid,” he murmurs. “not even when I died.” you squeeze his hand.

“I’m not good at soft,” he admits. “I can be violent, I can be angry, I can be the guy who kicks in doors and breaks bones. but being… gentle? I don’t know how to do that without thinking I’ll screw it up.” you lean forward, pressing your forehead to his.

“you’re being gentle right now.” he nods, barely. and for the first time since that fight, he lets his hand curl into yours. not tight. just enough.

enough to say I want this.

enough to say I still love you.

he presses his lips to your temple, hesitant at first, then lingering. not hungry. not desperate. just present.

“i love you eternally jason, im sorry too, i’m truly sorry for walking away.”

“i love you so much (y/n), so.. so much it’s a unbearable pain i never want to let go of. you are my heart.. my soul.. my person”

he pressed kisses on your hand inbetween words. whispering softly to you, sweet nothings. just wanting to cherish you. “i cried to alfred, cried like some damn kid and I was just—gone. full-on sobbing in his arms like I was ten again.”

(y/n)’s eyes softened, reaching out but letting him keep going.

“I told him everything. told him I screwed up. told him I was scared you’d leave for good. and he just… held me, made me miss your touch.— i’m still sorry,” he whispers

“I know,” you say. “i am too jay”

the two of you sit there, wrapped in the silence that used to hurt—but now, maybe, it’s just healing in disguise. you pulled jason in to cuddle him. he wraps his hands around your body. feeling fortunate to have you, to touch you, to kiss you. he hasn’t been able to breathe normally since you left, but now his chest feels lifted. he’s calmer and exhausted. he can tell you were too. he rubs your body while kissing all over you until he knows your asleep in his arms. watching you sleep so peacefully puts him at ease, helping him drift off into a wonderful slumber he’s been dreaming about for the past five days.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

ahhh :3 i couldn’t do a sad ending— i was going to!!, but he’s been out through to much already!! haha

hope u enjoyed!! im trying out different writing, angst is one im not the best ask but i like trying! it feels repetitive sometimes :p

have a good day / night!! xx