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mrsbarnesblog · 1 month

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first choice

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summary: being an incredibly reserved person, it took Rafe a long time to finally feel comfortable enough to let you see him break down

words count: 2.5k

warnings: hurt/comfort, crying, talk about feelings, Ward being a shitty father as always, insecurities

a/n: couldn't help myself but mention Wheezie as well because she deserves so much better💔

The first time you saw Rafe crying was not so long after you started dating. You went to Tanneyhill that day and were nearly knocked off your feet when Ward Cameron stormed out the front door. He was seething with anger and it seemed like he didn’t even register you standing there with wide eyes and a lost face expression.

You slowly walked into the house, hearing the sound of Ward’s truck driving away, and slowly patted into the light and big kitchen. Your eyes instantly caught sight of your boyfriend, standing with his back facing you and his body hovering over the counter. His hands were firmly gripping onto the edge of the marble, and his head was lowered so you couldn’t take a look at his face behind his hair. When you heard muffled sniffs, your eyebrows knitted in confusion.

“Rafe?” You almost whispered, talking one step closer to him. Rafe’s body instantly tensed, but he didn’t turn around. His shoulders and back seemed harder than rocks, and you swore his body was shaking from tension.

You debated for a few seconds, considering what was best to do. Something obviously had happened between Rafe and Ward, and even though they always fought, you never saw Rafe crying. You quickly figured out that he didn’t like to be seen as "weak,” so he rarely showed any emotions, even to you, no matter how hard you tried to create a comfortable environment for him. That’s why you knew that there was no point in trying to make him talk.

When he sniffed again, not moving for an inch or acknowledging your presence, your heart clenched and not waiting anymore, you slowly went closer to him.

When he felt your arms wrapping around his middle part with your chest firmly pressed against his back, his whole body stiffened at the unusual touch. Rafe had never had someone comforting him, and the whole thing with you constantly trying to go past his walls slightly terrified him. He desperately wanted to just give in, because Rafe knew that you would never hurt him, but something inside his head was still fighting against it.

You held him as close to you as possible, hoping to give him some sense of security. When Rafe’s body finally eased up a little, you turned your head to place kisses on his back while your hands moved up and down his stomach.

You didn’t know how long you two were standing like this—close to each other and in complete silence. Rafe clearly didn’t want to talk about it and you knew better than to push him. It was a small step for both of you, but you knew that you would do anything to make him feel safe.

The second time it happened, you were in Rafe’s bed, too invested in your book, when he entered the room. Your gaze shifted to him and you instantly noticed that slightly distant look in his blue eyes, as well as his clenched jaw and rapid breathing.

You were trying not to be very obvious by the way your instant reaction was to jump out of bed and ask what happened. Rafe was not this type of person and he needed gentle handling. So you went back to your book, only lifting your eyes every few seconds while he silently changed his clothes to something comfortable.

“I want to cuddle.” You suddenly said, placing a bookmark in between the pages and putting your book on the bedside table. Rafe just looked at you and it felt like your eyes were having their own conversation. He knew that you knew that something had happened and were now just trying to make it seem like you were the one who needed affection, and he was thankful for you not trying to get the information out of him.

He nodded, and the next thing you knew, he was on top of you, arms wrapped around your body, face in the crook of your neck. Your fingers started to brush through his hair and he let out a deep sigh of relief.

The room was silent, except for your quiet breathing; that’s why your ears easily caught a soft sniff. Rafe moved his head back and forth, trying to be closer even if it was impossible, and it made you feel something wet touching your skin. You didn't say a word because you knew that it was not the right time yet. Instead, you left one hand in his hair to massage the scalp and moved another one to Rafe’s back, rubbing it up and down. You let your lips brush against his temple and he tightened his hold on your waist in return.

You didn't know what had happened and you hoped that he would tell you when he felt like it, so for now, you were just giving him the safe space that he desperately needed. It clearly worked, because as Rafe’s body became limp on top of yours and his breathing started to slow down, you guessed that he had fallen asleep.

The next morning, you were standing in the kitchen and making breakfast when you felt two hands sneaking around your waist and turning you around. Before you could say anything, Rafe gave you a breath-taking kiss, which you knew was his way of saying "thank you."

At one of Friday’s evenings, you and Rafe’s family and a few closest friends were having a dinner in the restaurant to celebrate Ward’s important deal at work being finally successfully signed. You honestly didn’t listen to the conversation that everyone was having, looking down at your almost full plate, until Ward and Sarah started a little argument about him doing something that she didn’t like.

“It also turns out that the most important thing for me is you, Sarah. That’s why I did it.” Your heart skipped a beat when your ears caught the end of the conversation, with your whole body freezing in your chair. He said it so easily, not even hesitating or considering the feelings of his other kids, who sat at that exact table.

Rafe sat near you and your eyes instantly drifted to him, only t just a blank expression on his face. He looked at his father, then at Sarah, then back at Ward. The disappointment and hurt were written all over his features. It was so obvious for you, probably because you spent so much time trying to figure out him and his emotions, yet his father didn’t care.

Nobody did, honestly, as everyone at the table just brushed that comment off and continued talking. Only Wheezie looked equally sad, with a frown and with her hands crossed over her chest.

Rafe’s eyes drifted to his full plate as he became completely distant from the conversation, not even paying attention to your worried gaze. He just felt numb.

It's not like he didn't know that Sarah was everyone’s priority; he just didn't need to hear another reminder of that.

He hated the feeling of not being good enough. He tried to impress his father countless times, being loyal and jumping at every opportunity to do the dirty work, just to hear any kind of praise or approval. Yet Sarah has always been the best girl, the best daughter, and the best child.

A quiet groan escaped his lips in desperation, as he felt that similar tightness in his chest and throat.

It just fucking hurt.

Your worried eyes didn’t leave him even for a second, and when you noticed in which state he was in, you moved closer so only he could hear what you were saying.

“Do you want to leave, Ray?” He just nodded, taking your hand in his and making some lame excuse about needing to leave.

Sitting in his truck a few minutes later, Rafe didn’t even look at you, staring at something through the window. You saw the way he was occasionally clenching his jaw and blinking rapidly—signs that he was trying not to break down in front of you.

You bit your lip, thinking to yourself, before finally deciding that you couldn’t just look at your boyfriend being hurt. So, tossing your purse aside, you got up from your seat, moving quickly to straddle Rafe’s lap. He looked at you in shock, but still placed his hands on your waist, rubbing the soft fabric.

“Hey, look at me. You don’t have to keep it to yourself. Your feelings are normal, baby.” You tried to reassure him, holding his face firmly in your hands.

He furrowed. “It’s just— It’s just that—“ Rafe paused, looking down and trying to control his breathing. You didn’t know whether it was anger or sadness, but as his chest started rising faster, in the darkness of the car, you saw a tear rolling down his cheek.

Then another, and another, and another.

Rafe tried to physically distance himself from you, pulling your hands away from his face and throwing his head back with a frustrated groan as the palms of his hands pressed into his eyes.

“That’s fucking’ pathetic.” He hissed.

“No, it’s not. Stop trying to hide from me and just talk. You know I’m the last person to ever judge you.” You soothed him by softly caressing the skin of his neck with your thumbs, and then took a hold of his face to make him look at you. “Talk to me. It’s just us and no one else.”

Rafe’s blue eyes seemed even brighter with tears gleaming in them, even though it was dark outside and the only light that you had was a lamppost near the restaurant. He gave you a long look, probably fighting his own barriers inside of his head because of how hard it was for him to open up. You waited patiently, not looking away or rushing him and it must’ve worked.

“The shit that he says and does… It hurts me. No matter how much I try, how much effort I put into everything, or how often I do what he needs and wants, it’s never enough. I’m never fucking good enough for anyone or anything.” You took Rafe’s hand in yours, interlacing your fingers. He instantly focused on it, mindlessly playing with your ring and rubbing your skin. “And I don’t hate Sarah—fuck, I really don’t, ‘cause it’s not her damn fault, y’know? But it makes me so fucking mad and-and I just don’t know what to do or what’s wrong with me.”

Angry tears continued to flow down Rafe’s cheeks freely, as he was not capable of trying to hide them and wipe them away quickly anymore. You looked at him softly, with your heart aching for your boyfriend and for the way this situation deeply affected him.

“He does this to Wheezie too. She’s a child, Y/N, and I know how it messes up with her head.” Rafe sighed, throwing his head back and looking at the ceiling. “Sometimes... sometimes I feel like I fuck up everything in my life. I think that maybe it’s my fault for him to act like that. Maybe I do something wrong, I dunno.”

“I know that I can't give you what Ward was supposed to give you. That type of love, I mean. But you’re important to me, Rafe. I won't put you in second place because you're always my first choice.” You freed your hands, again placing them on his wet cheeks. Big blue eyes stared back at you with vulnerability and despair as hands on each of your thighs tightened, so you tried to let Rafe know how much he meant to you. “You are good enough, and don’t you dare think otherwise.”

You leaned closer, hovering over Rafe’s body, just inches away from his face, before tenderly pulling him into a kiss.

“You shouldn’t let Ward ruin your life and your relationships with your sisters, because it won’t benefit you in any way. Ward is the problem, not you, Ray, so no matter how hard you try, he won’t change his mind.” You kiss away his tears, still firmly holding his face in your hands. “I’m here for you. I love you, and I hate seeing you kill yourself over this.”

Rafe suddenly pulled you closer by your waist, hugging you with all the strength that he had. His body trembled against you while you soothingly scratched the back of his neck.

“I love you too. ‘M sorry f’ being a mess.”

“Don’t say that. Everything is okay, we are okay. I’m happy that you finally opened up to me a little bit, because I support you, okay?” He nodded and kissed your naked shoulder, trying to catch his breath.

“Thank you.”

A few minutes later, Rafe’s breathing calmed down and his hands were just slowly going up and down your back. Your legs were already sore from your position on his lap, but it was peaceful with just you two sitting in a comfortable silence, so you didn’t mind. You looked up at him as the idea came to your head. "What if we take Wheezie away from there and go out to eat or ride around?"

Rafe placed a kiss on your forehead, thinking about your words. His and Wheezie’s relationships were weird, with Rafe feeling distant from his family and her just being a child who didn't know how to handle the situation. But he always had a soft spot for her and he hated thinking about his sister sitting there and being invisible to everybody.

“Yeah, we can. She’d like that.” He mumbled, focusing on your lips that curled into a smile.

“Great!” You pushed away from him, opening the door and casually sliding on the floor. Rafe looked at you curiously, silently grateful that you were absolutely normal about what happened just a few minutes ago in his car. His heart suddenly raced, and he could not resist the urge to grab you by the waist and pull you in for a kiss.

Rafe connected your lips, then slightly tilted his head to deepen the kiss. Your skin got covered in goosebumps as you smiled against his lips before pulling away. Rafe subconsciously followed your face, trying to get more.

“Fuck, you’re amazing. So gorgeous. I love you so much, baby.”

“You already told me that… but I love you more!” You giggled, taking his hands away from your body. “Now I’ll go get Wheezie, and you remove my lipstick from your face.” You gave him a teasing smile before finally going back to the restaurant and leaving Rafe with a soft smirk on his lips.

He thought that maybe opening up for you was working much better in his favor than he expected.

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b0nten · 9 months

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HOW ARE BABIES MADE?

[SYNOPSIS] ˚⁀➷｡ ran, rindou, sanzu, takeomi, kakucho, mikey and izana being asked by their children how babies are made.

[NOTES] ˚⁀➷｡ reader is implied to be fem, reader is called “mother”, “mommy” etc. this was so fun to write!!! thank you anon for requesting <3 also, i used tenjiku&bonten characters but everything’s taking place in the final timeline.

RAN is definitely the type to try to explain the entire thing, without any second thoughts whatsoever. He’d definitely hear the question, and open his mouth but before gets to say ‘sex’ he feels a book flat against his head. “what do you think you’re doing?” you whisper-yell from the kitchen, curry udon long forgotten on the stove. “explaining to your daughter how she spawned into the world?” he answers, dodging another decor item that you aimed toward him. upon asking, dramatically and over-exaggeratedly of course, so offended because he just doesn’t know what he was doing wrong, you just stare at him. “we agreed to tell her when she’s 14. she doesn’t even know boys have dicks and you want to explain the entirety of sex and how it goes to her? do you even know how it works?” he sighs, defeated, “let’s go eat, sweetheart, i think i made mommy a lil mad.” he says, picking up his daughter, “that last part was uncalled for, by the way.” “suck it up, mr. club owner. ”

meanwhile, RINDOU simply freezes: “daddy, how are babies made?” what? excuse him? oh my lord, he did not expect this to happen this early. why the hell is his five year old son asking him about coital activity, right when you’re not around? fuck him (himself), fuck this situation, fuck you for not being around right now (both figuratively and literally). “you see! when… uhm.. when two people love each other and they kiss, they make a baby!” he mentally face-palms for what the fuck he just said. “so you can’t kiss girls until you’re twenty-one, yeah?” finally, thankfully, his phone rings, and thank the heavens it’s you. “oh my god, y/n—” “rindou, what did i just hear on the baby cam?” “haha, my love! funny story!!!!”

SANZU just goes feral. he’s having a fucking anxiety attack or whatever so he just texts you while your daughter asks her daddy about how babies are made.

TAKEOMI plays it safe, using the infamous stork. “and it just comes flying?” “yeah, it carries a little basket with its beak and gives it to us!” he smiles, playing into his baby girl’s fantasy. “you sound just like my parents.” you smile and his gaze averts to yours, from his seat on the living room carpet. “well, your own stories inspired me, because, to be honest, i was about to shit myself.” “daddy!” the little one yells, stretching out her palm, “1000 yen!” and her father exasperates “god put me out of this misery of only being an atm, you’re just like your mother. ow! what’d i deserve that punch for?”

KAKUCHO handles it like a pro. “papa.” one of his little girls walks up to him, younger twin following her right behind. “yes, pretty girl?” he straightens his back and crouches down, still sitting on the couch. “how are babies made, papa?” the shyer one asks and his face drops for a split second. “i promise to tell you when you’re older, right now it’s classified information!” he jokes, and the girls giggle. “now… who wants to watch doraemon!!” he does the jazz hands and the twins jump into his lap. not long after, you sit down next to them. “if i didn’t know any better, i would have said you rehearsed those lines from the moment you were born.” you laugh, resting your head on his shoulder. he wraps an arm around you, chuckling, and kisses the crown of your head.

if there’s someone (who thinks they’re) escaping this question, it’s MIKEY. “ ‘tou-chan, how are babies made?” blond locks spin toward him, and the big eyes of his daughter look him up and down. “ ‘tou-chan?” she says again, a bit annoyed. mikey sacrifices the motorbike races he’s watching and looks back at her. “ask ‘kaa-chan, i’m not really good at biology.” he smiles when she jumps from her place and runs into your bedroom, where you’re blow-drying your hair. confident that he’s just dodged a bullet, manjiro returns to his priority — the tv. moments later you storm in, hair half wet, still in your bath robe with the kid in your arms, visibly furious. he knows he’s dodged a bullet but is about to get hit by a cannon.

IZANA is at the dining table doing some paper-work for tenjiku and you’re watching tv when your oldest marches into the kitchen, determined. “daddy.” the blond looks up, eyeing back at the spitting image of himself. “yes?” he answers, and you also look back to see what’s going on. slamming a big book on the table, the toddler points to the cover “how are babies made?” you burst out laughing and your husband snatches the book away, making you laugh hysterically. “where’d you find this?!” he questions, and his forehead is already soaked with sweat and he wants to bury himself into the ground. “your office.” he can’t believe his five year old son walked in there and just so happened to find this book: effective positions for baby-making. his cheeks redden and he scans the room to find you and request your help, but he’s greeted with the sight of you rolling around on the living room floor, trying to calm your laughter down. yay.

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i-cant-sing · 2 months

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Time Traveller AU part 9

Part 1 is here. Part 2 is here. Part 3 is here. Part 4 is here. Part 5 is here. Part 6 is here. Part 7 is here. Part 8 is here. Time Traveller au masterlist is here. Check out my MASTERLIST for more!

Part 10 is here.

"I think you should take off your veil now. You need to impress the princes so that one of them could take pity and marry you. Or you could try black magic-"

"Baris, I will pull your tongue out and strangle you with it if you say another word." You muttered, holding your head in your hands.

After Baris landed the "marriage bomb" on you last night, you've been stressed. Why did I have to teach Mihirmah? Why did I have to accept the bracelet? Why did I-

"You have bags under your eyes, and considering that they're the only feature visible, its not good-" You threw a pillow at him, which he dodged easily. You hadnt slept at all, how could you? You tried to figure out a plan, that didnt work. You tried to fix your time machine, that was not going to work at all without tools.

"You could be wrong." You mumbled, opening your eyes as you stared ahead. "This bracelet could be nothing but just a kind gesture. It is not a marriage proposal. You're wrong-"

Baris cut you off. "I know it seems impossible, considering how you look, even I'm surprised- but I'm never wrong, Y/n. I've worked here for more 25 years, I know what everyone thinks." You stared at him with a pinched expression.

"You have to help me, Baris."

He smiled. "Of course, you'd be lost cause else wise! I'll get the seamstress to make you some new clothes-"

"No, I meant- you have to help me escape. I cant- I dont want to get married!"

He scoffed. "Darling, we're alone right now. You can drop the "I dont wanna marry a prince and enjoy the luxuries of the world" act."

"I mean it!" You huff.

"And why is that?"

"Because-" you bit your lip. What excuse can you possibly come up with to satisfy him?

"I love someone else."

"How tragic." He said monotonously. "Love has no place in the harem. You're here to attract, serve and please the royal family." He walked closer to you, leaning down as he lowered his volume. "And I'm going to give you some advice: you better not use that excuse again, never even MUMBLE about having a lover again, not unless you want to be tortured and executed for being a traitor."

You knew what he was referring to. The harem, the concubines, the whole palace was filled with jealousy. If anyone were to hear about this, they would use it against you, conjure up such vulgar lies that the sultan will chop off your head.

"Baris I cant-"

"You dont have a choice, Y/n." He cut you off harshly. "I suggest you suck it up and pretend to be happy or else you'll be in for a hard life."

"Now, get ready. You need to teach a lesson."

"You look sick."

You resist rolling your eyes. "Yes, I know I'm ugly. Thank you for keeping me updated."

Mihirmah shook her head. "No, I mean you dont look well. Are you alright?"

No, I lost sleep because of you and-

"Just tired, Mihirmah. I think we've should stop here today." You watched her beam.

"Finally! Now we can celebrate!" Mihirmah clapped her hands as the servants brought in some tea and sweets. She had initially wanted to celebrate her victory from last night as soon as you came in, but you wanted to get the lesson done with so that you could leave.

"You enjoy it. You did a good job." You tried to excuse herself but she frowned.

"I did. And so did you! I mean, the way you made Mahidevran shut up! It was amazing!" She took a piece of sweet and handed it to you. "Besides, my father appreciated your efforts as well-"

You looked down at the bracelet. This was more of a death sentence than a gift.

"Mihirmah." You took off your bracelet. "I- I appreciate the sultan's gift, but I cant accept this. Its too much- its-" you mentally rolled your eyes at your next excuse. "Its above me."

She furrowed her brows. "Even if that may be the case, which its not because you fully deserve that after the showdown, you still cannot refuse or return a sultan's gift, much less one that he made himself!" She tilted her head. "What is really going on? Why do you not want the bracelet? And dont say its not to your taste, because lets face it- you probably have not seen jewels like this in your life."

Biting the inside of your cheek to prevent the insults from slipping out, you took a breath.

"I... heard that..." you took another breath. How do you say "I dont want the bracelet because I dont wanna marry any of your brothers" without sounding narcissistic. "I... I heard that there might be a different meaning behind the bracelet. That it may signify... something else."

"Which is...?" She prompted you.

You exhaled.

"That I might be considered to be... a spouse for a sehzade."

Mihirmah snorted as you looked down to conceal both your embarrassment and fear.

"I'm sorry- what did you say?" She was laughing now. You continued to look down. As long as she's laughing and not getting mad at you for even suggesting such a thing, you're fine. Besides, if she's laughing then it means that all that bullshit Baris was spewing earlier was just that- bullshit.

"You think- my father, the sultan, wants you- YOU, to marry one of his sons?" She wiped a tear away from her eye as she laughed. "That is the most ridiculous idea I've ever heard. True, father does only give handmade gifts to those he considers close, but I dont think thats true in your case, Y/n. You're just my teacher, that's all. Besides, even if you were to be considered as a potential spouse for my brothers, you have my mother and Mahivdevran standing in your way. And trust me, they're going to marry their sons to someone they like. You- they cant even tolerate you as my teacher at this point of time."

Sighing in relief, you nod. "Well, that's great to hear-"

"Wait." Mihirmah narrows her eyes at you. "If you thought that my father wanted to marry you to one of his sons, why did you want to return the bracelet? Did you- did you not want to marry my brother?"

Oh shit. "Mihirmah no-" You tried to pacify her.

But she snapped at you. "What? You think you're better than my brothers? Any of them? You'd be lucky if Mehmed or Mustafa chose you, if such a miracle does happen."

Your eyes were wide at her venomous tone. You dont know whether it was because she was protective of her brothers, or if she just really hated the idea that you would consider rejecting royalty.

A few more moments of silence went by. "You misunderstand me, sultana." You chose her title to please her. "I know of my status, and I am well aware of how... lowly I am to be a part of this family. The only reason I was returning the bracelet was because... I didnt want the harem to assume things and threaten or hurt me. I am aware that the sehzade have their favourite concubines, much better equipped to their tastes. But if they were to see this bracelet gifted by the sultan on me, they would... it would cause misunderstandings. I just wanted to avoid that."

Your words were carefully selected to not aggravate her any further, which it didnt but they also didnt calm her down.

Mihirmah's face was still sour. "The concubines are smart enough to figure out who's a competition and who's just a mere servant. You have nothing to worry about."

The words stung but... you just bowed and took your leave instead of slapping her across the face.

Mehmed had just turned the corner when he saw you leaving Mihirmah's room with tears pooling in your eyes, the niqaab only causing them to look more prominent.

He entered Mihirmah's room, finding his sister looking angry as she gazed into space.

"Mihirmah?" He sat down beside her, noticing how she didnt immediately light up as she always did when he came. What did you do to piss her off so much?

He cupped her face to look at him. "What's wrong? Tell me."

You're laying in your bed, arm over your eyes as you try to think of a way out of here.

When will the time machine work again?

Its not like you can go out of the palace to get help or even tools to work on it, and you always fear that someone just may walk in on you tinkering with the machine. The only place where you can get privacy in this palace here is the dungeons, only because its dark and oh-so-daunting that it doesnt really attract people there.

There's a knock on your door. With a grunt, you get up and open the door, only to find no one there. Your room was in the harem, but it was on the upper floor, so you could see the whole area from above, including the silhouette of someone leaving the harem doors.

Normally, you wouldn't have bothered with the "door bell pranks", but you made your way down because 1. you're not familiar with what this might mean, maybe some royal summoned you and you're to follow the servant. 2. you're bored.

When you left the harem and looked to your left, spotting the back of a girl in red dress, you knew she was baiting you to follow her. So you did, turning around the corridor only to be body slammed to the wall.

3 women surround you, blocking any escape routes. They're all glaring at you, and you recognise their faces. They're the concubines.

You clear your throat. "Well? I suppose you have something to say that you couldnt say in there."

The brunette in front of you narrows her eyes. "Who do you think you are?"

"Why dont you tell me?"

Her glare intensifies. "You think you can just bat your lashes and whore yourself to the sehzade?"

"Heh?"

The raven haired girl on her right grabbed your throat and banged your head against the wall behind. "Dont play dumb! We know you're trying to marry the prince!"

The blonde on the left banged your head against the wall this time, gritting out "Stay away from sehzade Mustafa!"

"And sehzade Mehmed!" the brunette warned, repeating the same assault as the other two.

You took a deep breath, closing your eyes as you rubbed the sore spot on the back of your head. "None of your accusations are true. Unlike you, I actually have a respectable job here-"

"We saw the bracelet! You think you can just prance around here, pretending to be this holy and pure, untainted girl while we work ourselves to the bone to get in bed?!" The brunette screamed at you, getting in your face.

You pushed her away. "First of all, I am not interested in marrying anyone. Secondly, the bracelet means nothing than a job well done. And finally- you seem to mistake your status over me. I dont work for you, or under you. So, this is for earlier-" You slapped her hard across the face, making her fall. The other two were in shock, and you took that as an opputunity to slap them too.

"Now, we're even." You huffed, adjusting your niqaab before turning on your heel to leave. You needed to slap them, not only because you need to let them know they cant bully you, but also because you needed to release some steam. It felt good, you wont lie. You may have even imagined some people's faces as you smacked them-

"Omph!" You're pushed to the ground, flipped over onto your back. You grab on to the hands that are wrapped around your neck, eyes wide as the brunette starts to choke you.

"You stupid bitch!" She screamed as you fought hard to pull her hands away. She yanked the veil off your face, smacking your cheek hard enough to scratch you with her sharp nails.

"Laira stop-" the blonde tried to pull her off you but Laira continued to beat you.

"Hand me the torch!"

"Laira-" The blonde started again but the raven haired grabbed the fire sconce off the wall and handed it to Laira.

You stared in horror as she brought the torch closer to your face, the heat radiating. She grinned manically, one hand still squeezing your throat.

"You're not even that pretty for a sehzade. Did you use black magic on them?" She clicked her tongue, while your eyes were fixated on the torch. "I guess, it wont be futile to ruin your face for guarantee."

"Please no-" she choked you harder with her man hands that you just couldnt seem to pry off, and you sort of became paralysed as the dancing flames took you back to the night in the desert, when the assassins set your tent on fire. Everything slowed down, and noise drowned out like in the movies.

Salauddin. Help-

The flames suddenly vanish from your view as Laira is thrown off you.

"What the hell do you think you are doing?!" The man roared behind you. Your eyes moved from the shaking concubines to your saviour.

Ibrahim pasha.

"Pasha bey-"

"Shut it. Guards! Throw them to the dungeons!" Ibrahim yelled and automatically, 4 Janisarries appeared from behind him and dragged the wailing girls away.

Ibrahim looks down at you, his eyes shifting from rage to sympathy. He crouches down and helps you sit up, his touch gentle.

"Are you alright, Hatun Y/n?" You're staring at him in a daze, your body has not recovered enough to physically react, almost on autopilot.

Say something.

"Y/n?" He asks again, his brows furrowing as his concern deepens. Why does everything sound so far, so low?

He snaps his fingers near your ear, and your brain finally reacts.

"Y-yes." You tear your gaze away, looking at the fire torch lying on the ground far from you.

Fire. Second time you were almost burnt to death.

"Come on." He helps you up, gently tugging you to follow him. A few shaky steps later, you follow him to your room.

He sat you down on the bed. "There we go." Ibrahim pasha scanned your face for any burns or injuries, noting the nail marks from the slap.

"Baris Agha!" Ibrahim called and a few seconds later, the eunuch stumbled in.

"Yes, pasha- ya Allah, what happened to-"

"Baris." Ibrahim snapped at him. "Get me bandages and healing balm. And keep quiet about this." Baris only nodded before following orders.

You cleared your throat. "I... thank you for saving me, pasha." Ibrahim smiled courteously as he sat on a chair nearby.

"It was my duty. Sultan Suleiman had asked me to keep an eye on you."

Your brows furrowed. "Why?"

Ibrahim looked at the bracelet around your wrist. "I suppose you did something to make him pleased."

He relaxed in his chair, crossing his arms across his chest. "So... what happened with the concubines?"

"Misunderstanding." You said dismissively.

"And what that might be?" He prodded. When you didnt reply, he sighed. "I am the pasha, the sultan's right hand. I am supposed to know what happens in the palace."

"Its nothing of significance. You can let the girls out of the dungeon."

"I'm afraid that decision is not upto you." Ibrahim deadpanned. "If you do not wish to tell me, fine. I have other ways of finding out." He made his threat clear and began standing up.

"Wait!" You clenched your niqaab, looking at the veil in your lap. "I'll tell you, but... you cant tell anyone."

Ibrahim stared at you before nodding, sitting back down.

"There may have been a rumour... the cocncubines- they think that the bracelet, a gift from the sultan means that I am... special." You mumbled the last word.

"Special how?"

"They think... that the sultan wants me to be his... daughter-in-law. Actually, they think that I am wooing the sehzades- Mustafa and Mehmed."

"And are you?" He asks immeadiately.

"Of course not!"

"Why not? Anyone would love to marry a prince."

You scoffed. "I would never want to be a part of this family, not even as a teacher."

He raised a brow. "Hate the Ottomans?" You shake your head. "No. But I wouldn't want to be a part of it." You clicked your tongue. "Everyone in this palace is a slave. The concubines, the servants, the wives, the kids, you and me too. The wives of the sultan, they have all the luxuries one could imagine... except for the loyalty of their husband. Not to mention, they have to live in constant fear of being replaced and be in paranoia forever because everyone who is not family, is a threat to her. The kids? If you're born a boy, sure- you are immediately given a superior status, but with such power and princely status also comes with its own drawbacks. The boy will have to always be compete with his brothers, not because he wants to be the next sultan, but for survival."

In Ottoman empire, there was a common practice of fratricide- a tradition where once the next sultan is chosen, the new sultan is allowed LEGALLY to kill his brothers, stepbrothers, nephews and even female relatives (sisters included) as well, so as to get rid of any future competition or betrayal by his own family. In a nutshell, it was done to prevent civil wars.

"If you're born as a girl, then you may have a better chance of survival than your brothers, but that's still not guaranteed. Not to mention, you are raised to be married off to someone that will strengthen the royal family. Not to someone you love." Ibrahim watched you as you continued. "Its not better to be a servant either. Always being threatened, questioned about your loyalty, having to take the fall for the higher ups. The eunuchs, who think they are all high and mighty and control the court, you and I both know that their job to "protect the women of the harem" wasnt even their choice. To be forcefully castrated as children, forcefully ripped from their families, forced to serve the royals... they dont have a choice. I dont have to tell you how degrading it is to be a concubine."

"And me? How am I a slave?" Ibrahim asked.

You smiled sadly. "You know very well, and youre just trying to see how much I know. Your past is not a well kept secret, pasha." You kept quiet, and Ibrahim realised you already knew about his life.

Ibrahim, born as Orthodox Christian, was enslaved during his childhood. He and Suleiman became close friends in their youth, or perhaps forced to convert to Islam and then raised to befriend Suleiman. Suleiman appointed Ibrahim as grand vizier when he took the throne.

"How do you know?" Ibrahim's gaze was sharp. "I know a lot of things, pasha. But dont worry, I have no ill intent. If anything, I want to be as far from this life as possible. Perhaps... you could help me with that?"

He raised a brow. "I dont think that is an option for you right now." At your frown, he explained. "The safest place for a woman like you is here."

"Did you just forget that my face was almost burned off moments ago?"

He chuckled, shaking his hand. "Of course not. But you need to understand that you cannot just up and go without a word, especially after the sultan just gave you a handmade gift, and whether or not it signifies that he's considered you for one of his sons, it does mean that he considers you important. His majesty will not just accept your leave for no reason." Ibrahim leaned forward, clasping his hands. "As for your safety, you can leave that to me. I will make sure no harm befalls you again. I promise."

"But what about the sehzade? The rumours?"

He hummed thoughtfully. "If you're so concerned about that matter, then you should just avoid the princes as much as you can. Keep your niqaab on, continue your lessons with the princess and avoid interacting with people as much as you can."

Well, its not a bad suggestion. If you make yourself scarce and draw less attention to yourself, you can slip out of the palace and leave unnoticed.

"Oh, pasha?" You called him as he stood up to leave. "Can I request you not to tell about this incident to anyone?" You pointed to bruises on your face.

He grinned and nodded. "Of course. But it is not me you should be worried about talking." At your confused face, he chuckled.

"Baris Agha still hasnt returned."

Mihirmah and Mehmed were in your room just a few moments after Ibrahim pasha had fetched the bandages from below and treated your wounds, further confirming that Baris was spreading the news about your attack all over the palace.

"Y/n! Who did this to you?" Mihirmah traced the bruises gently as she sat beside you on the bed, while Mehmed sat in front of you, on the seat previously occupied by Ibrahim pasha- just closer this time.

"I dont know." You lied, pulling yourself away from Mihirmah's concerned touches. Oh you're still mad at her.

Your evasiveness didnt go unnoticed by her, as she dropped her hand and her mouth settled into a thin grim line.

"Why did someone attack you? What happened?" Mehmed asked, cutting the tension.

You shrugged. "I dont know." You fiddled with the niqaab in your lap. There's a big bandage on your cheeks, so while you couldnt exactly wear your veil again, you suppose in a way your face was somewhat covered?

"Probably mistook me for someone else. Or just a misunderstanding." You tried to brush this off.

"Still, it shouldnt warrant such a reaction. We should investigate-" Mehmed started but you shook your head.

"Ibrahim pasha is already looking into the matter. He'll take care of it-"

"I am the sehzade. I will look into this personally." Mehmed stated before leaving the room before anyone could stop him. Ah, to be the knight in shinning armour for a distressed damsel.

You and Mihirmah sat alone now. The air in the room was thick, the silence thicker. Mihirmah glanced at your nonchalant face, your eyes fixated on the ground, not caring how uncomfortable the silence was making the princess.

It was clear she had to break the ice.

"Y/n." She called. "Yes, sultana?" You answered, but your eyes still remained on the ground.

Sultana. Not Mihirmah, like she'd allowed you to call her, but sultana.

She pursed her lips. "I..." She paused. What is she supposed to say? Sorry? The word is as foreign to her as it is to any royal.

"I dont like the things you said this morning." She finally stated. "You shouldnt have said those things."

You resisted the urge to scoff. Is she really trying to pin this on you and make you apologise? Entitled brat-

"You're right, sultana. I was out of line. I suggest we should just stick to our lessons and avoid talking about anything else. I'll be careful not to bring up any other topic." You stated monotonously.

Mihirmah frowned. Why are you saying this? Why are you being so difficult?

"Stop it." She warned. You nodded. "As you wish, sultana. I'll arrange another Quran teacher for you." Your words only enraged her further.

"I said- stop it." She ordered but you're hell bent on making her apologise- a dream, but still. You clicked your tongue. "I suppose I'll hand in my resignation to the sultan and explain to His Majesty that it was my fault for being a useless servant who is just not capable- ow!" You finally looked at her in disbelief.

She pinched you. Mihirmah pinched your arm. Hard.

And she had the gall to glare at you, with some anger and remorse in her eyes.

"What did you do that for?" You spat, hissing as you rubbed the area she'd assaulted. There was going to be a bruise, for sure.

Her frown deepened. "You- I told you to stop, didn't I?!" You watched her trying to contain her rage, her body shaking as she tried not to wrangle you by the neck. "I- I dont want you to leave."

"But sultana-" "Mihirmah. You call me Mihirmah." She emphasised.

You bit the inside of your cheek to suppress your smile. "I am just a dispensable servant-" You jumped back when she went to pinch you again.

"Will you stop doing that?!" Your arm still hurt from her first attack. Mihirmah's nostrils flared. "Will you stop acting like a brat?!"

Your throat made a sound of disbelief. "I am acting like a brat?! Have you looked in the mirror recently?"

"Yes and I look very beautiful! Unlike your busted face!"

"Oh so you just get to insult me?" "I am not insulting you! I am DESCRIBING YOU!" She screamed as you glared at her. Mihirmah took a few deep breaths to calm down. "I am not calling you ugly, I was just referring to the bruises on your face. How did you manage to get beat up so badly? Did you not learn anything from my sparring lessons?"

"Sparring lessons? You mean the times where you would flip me on my back or throw me against the wall?" She glared at your accusation. "How is it my fault that you dont fight back?"

Mihirmah's gaze flicked the arm you were holding, the one she'd pinched. "Does it still hurt?" Her voice was much softer this time.

"Would you like me to pinch you back to demonstrate how much it hurt?" You spat back and she scoffed. "I didnt pinch you that hard. You're just sensitive." "Sure, you must only have meaty man fingers." You grumbled as she gasped and smacked your bruised arm, making you hiss.

The two of you glared at each other before Mihirmah wrapped her arms around you and looked up at you with a small pout.

"This doesnt work on me." You muttered, making her grip tighten around you.

"You know you're not a servant." Mihirmah whispered, looking up at you with puppy eyes, but only you knew the real Ronda Rousey in her.

"You're my friend, Y/n. Or the closest thing I have to a sister." "If you were planning on beating up your sister, I'm glad your parents didnt have one."

"Shut up, you're ruining the moment." Mihirmah scolded you. "I dont want you to go. I dont want you to be hurt, either. So just- I'm willing to let things go back to the way they were before this morning, if you are."

You stared down at her. You knew you were never going to get a real apology, Mihirmah was too prideful. You couldnt make her feel ashamed for her actions, or hold her responsible. So, you'll have to make do with this.

"Fine." She broke into a grin and squeezed her arms around you tightly before letting go.

"Now, tell me! Who were these girls who attacked you? I'll skin them with my daggers!" Ignoring her sociopathic tendencies, you shrugged. "I dont know, Mihirmah. I dont know who they were- I'm still new to the palace."

She hummed before her face lit up in realisation. "Wait! Baris Agha did say something about concubines. I'll ask Mehmed too when he returns with more information from Ibrahim pasha!"

While you are trying your best to hide the incident about your attack, unbeknownst to you, the news has spread like wildfire in the palace. A maid saw Mehmed entering Ibrahim pasha's office, and when she reported it to her friend, she then told her about how she overheard the eunuchs talking about a fight breaking out between the concubines and someone else, and then someone added that they saw Ibrahim pasha, Mehmed and Mihirmah in your room, so you were involved too. It wasnt long before this news reached Hurrem and Mahidevran, only this time it was more dramatised.

"The concubines tried to kill Hatun Y/n! It was only by pure luck that sehzade Mehmed saved her! And now her wounds are being tended to by Mihirmah sultana while sehzade Mehmed and Ibrahim pasha are punishing the concubines!" Gul, the chamber maid, told Mahidevran.

Mahidevran narrowed her eyes. "Why did they save her? She's just a teacher." The queen didnt understand why the royal children were going through such lengths to get justice for you. Fights in the harem break out all the time.

Gul fumbled with her thumbs, avoiding eye contact with her queen. Mahidevran's frown deepened. "What is it, Gul?"

"I- sultana- I just heard some rumors, its probably not even true-" "Out with it!" Mahidevran snapped.

Gul licked her lips as she spoke. "Um- I overheard that sehzade Mehmed has been... spending a lot of time with Hatun Y/n. Especially after the dinner where Mihirmah sultana recited-"

Mehmed... spending time with you? Why? If he wanted to sleep with you, he could have any girl from the harem. So why you? Why you, a Quran teacher, a conservative girl who covered herself from head to toe? Surely, Mehmed hadnt been bewitched by your physical appearance- not that you had any, in her opinion. And then Suleiman seemed to like you to, so for Mehmed to fancy you would be because-

Mahidevran's eyes widened at the sudden realisation.

"Get me Mustafa. Now!"

"Hatun Y/n was attacked by the concubines! Ibrahim pasha saved her and carried her unconscious form to her room!" A maid reported to Hurrem.

"Why was she attacked?" Hurrem asked, bored.

The maid hesitated to answer. "I am not sure, sultana, but the word is that the concubines were jealous of the attention Hatun Y/n was getting from sehzade Mustafa."

Mustafa? No. What possible business could you have with Mustafa? From the past week's events, Hurrem was told that you'd spend most of your time with her daughter, and only moments with Mehmed when he visited his sister.

"Mustafa isnt interested in Y/n." Hurrem stated, more to herself than to refute the maid's claims.

The girl nodded. "I'm only telling you what I heard, sultana. And... I also saw sehzade Mustafa leaving Mahidevran sultana's chambers to visit Hatun Y/n earlier today, just moments before I came here!"

Hurrem halted as she tried to make sense of the information. Mustafa was out all day because of the hunt, he wasnt supposed to return before dinner. Which means, he was fetched, likely by Mahidevran. Who probably informed him about your attack and now he went to check on you.

But why? Even at the dinner the other day, Hurrem didnt detect any sort of affection from Mustafa for you, or you from him. You both barely glanced at each other.

Maybe he's just checking in on you. That's all it is to it.

"How badly was Y/n injured?" Hurrem inquired.

"I didnt get a chance to see her yet, she's been with Mihirmah sultana since the event, but I heard that her unconscious body had to be carried by Ibrahim pasha himself! And- and that he even bandaged her up-"

"Ibrahim pasha?" Hurrem whispered to herself. What business did he have with you? He could've easily had a servant tend to your wounds, so why did he personally do it himself?

Ibrahim. Mustafa. Mahidevran. What are they upto? Hurrem knows Ibrahim doesnt like her, that he favours Mahidevran and Mustafa over her, that he wants Mustafa to be the next sultan-

Hurrem's heart sinks as she pieces it together.

"Get me Mehmed. Now!"

Suleiman was having dinner with his family. Both of his families- Mahidevran and Mustafa joined him tonight as well. He was happy to have them together, all well and healthy.

Except... something was off.

Suleiman's gut could sense it. The children were making small talk, his wives as well, but he could tell. There was some sort of tension.

It was Mihirmah that made him finally speak up.

"Mihirmah." He called out the girl who was playing with her food. "You've barely eaten. What's wrong?"

The room immediately fell dead silent, the attention now focusing on Mihirmah.

She smiled nervously, taking a small bite. "I'm fine, baba."

But Suleiman could see that her usual bubbling aura was somewhat depressing. "Mihirmah." He called her name more sternly, and this time, her smile faltered as she finally spilled.

"I'm just worried for Y/n."

Suleiman frowned. And when he looked at everyone else, it was clear that they knew something he wasn't aware of.

"What happened?"

Baris Agha was having fun riling you up. "So, you're telling me that both sehzade Mustafa and Mehmed, the two crown princes racing to be the next sultan, are visited you?" He snickered as you shot him a glare. "Can I just suggest you to remove the niqaab for the wedding-"

"Baris! Shut up!" You raged at him. "Dont think I dont know you were the one spreading the lies about-" "Lies? About what? About you being attacked? By concubines who are jealous of your- I dont know, I'm sorry what it is that these men seem to be enraptured with-"

There are hurried, intense knocks on the door. Baris opens the door as a servant stumbles in, out of breath.

"Hatun Y/n! Sultan Suleiman has summoned you! Now!" His tone signified that you're not to waste time.

"Why did he call for me?" You whisper to Baris as the two of you rush down the hallways.

"Perhaps he wants to formally ask you to marry one of his sons-" "Baris!" He grinned. "What? I have a sixth sense-" "YOU HAVE NO SENSE!" You yelled. "Have more sense than you." Baris grumbled.

"Why are you even following me? Dont you have a job?" You wanted him to stop vexing you.

He snorted. "And what? Miss out on all the fun? Besides, you know as the future sultana, you will need me-"

"I swear, as soon as I'm finished meeting the sultan, I am going to throw you off the roof."

The two of you turned the corner leading to the royal dining hall, and you bumped face first into Ibrahim pasha's back, the man catching you by the arms before you fell on your ass.

"P-pasha? What are you doing here?" You asked, backing up once you got your footing.

"Sultan sent for me. What are you doing here?" Ibrahim asked, equally confused.

"He summoned me as well. What do you think its about?" You watched the cogwheels in his mind turn and the realisation dawn on him.

"The attack earlier." He exhaled, closing his eyes as he tried to figure out his next steps. "We cant- you cant tell him the truth!"

"You want me to lie to the sultan?" He rose his brows. "Please, Ibrahim! I- I told Mihirmah and Mehmed and then Mustafa that I didnt know who the attackers were, or why they attacked me! If you tell them the truth-"

"Y/n." He grabbed your shoulders, staring into your worried eyes. "I promised to protect you, didnt I? I intend on keeping my promises."

You both entered the dining room together, bowing to the royal family sitting there.

"Y/n." You looked up at the sultan. "Is it true? Were you attacked?"

You were quiet for a few moments, resisting the urge to glance at Ibrahim to figure what to say, before nodding hesitantly.

"Y-yes, sultan." You trailed your eyes back to the ground. These people, they were warriors. They didnt have any technology back then, and they had to rely on body language to read people.

And you didnt want to risk him catching you in a lie.

"Are you alright?" Suleiman's voice was much softer now. "Did you go to the infirmary?"

"I'm well now, sultan. Thank you for asking." You meekly answered. "I was saved in time, thanks to Ibrahim pasha."

Mahidevran's eyes narrowed at you. Ibrahim saved you? Of course, you'd lie about that, so that no one would suspect you and Mehmed getting close. She thought to herself.

"Ah, Ibrahim pasha." Suleiman's voice turned serious. "You were the one who saved Y/n?"

"Yes, sultan." Ibrahim confirmed.

"And you have the attackers in custody?"

"Yes, sultan."

Suleiman slammed his fist on the table, rattling everyone. "Then why the hell wasnt I informed of it?!" Ibrahim kept his head down as the sultan continued to rage. "Why does everyone seem to be aware of this matter, except me?! Answer me, Ibrahim!"

Hurrem couldnt help the smile that curled on her lips. She was glad to see Ibrahim getting in trouble, perhaps Suleiman will finally get rid of him for once and for all-

"It's my fault, your majesty!" You announced suddenly, and everyone's focus shifted to you. "I- I was- I was shaken up from the attack and I- I made the pasha stay with me. I was too scared- I didnt think I was safe- so Ibrahim pasha left to make arrangements to assure me I was safe! He was busy because of me. I'm sorry! If- if anyone should be punished, it should be me!"

You held your hands together tightly to stop them from trembling. The room fell silent at your explanation, with you and Ibrahim holding your breaths.

"Is this true, Ibrahim?" Suleiman broke the silence.

"Yes, my sultan." Ibrahim answered. "After I had saved Hatun Y/n, I wanted to assure her of her safety, so I was busy interrogating the concubines who attacked her. After they confessed, I wanted to check if anyone else in the harem had any ill intentions for Hatun Y/n, so I was engaged in checking everyone who could be a possible threat. I was on my way to inform you, but you summoned me before I could."

"Concubines? Why did they attack Y/n?" Suleiman asked, wanting to know the result of his interrogation.

Ibrahim answered without missing a beat. "They were jealous of Hatun Y/n's bracelet." You looked at him but the pasha kept his eyes ahead at the sultan. "From what I gathered, Hatun Y/n refused to give up His Majesty's handmade gift, and when she put up a fight to defend your present, she was subjected to a harsh beating and had her face almost burned."

Suleiman's eyes widened. "Burned? Because of a bracelet?"

"It was what the bracelet represented, my sultan." Ibrahim's statement made your heart sink. He better not tell him about the "daughter-in-law" theory.

"The concubines think that you... favour Y/n over them." Ibrahim's words set fire to your cheeks and you had to bite your lip to suppress the gasp you almost let out.

Ibrahim decided to change the "daughter-in-law" theory to "3rd wife/bedwarmer theory".

"What rubbish?!" Suleiman slammed his fist on the table again, and perhaps everyone in the room was silently grateful for his rage and disbelief, as it disapproved the theory and quelled any future rumours. "I only see Y/n as my daughter, nothing else! How dare they slander me like that?! How dare they hurt someone I care about?! Ibrahim, execute those wretched concubines!"

Your eyes widened at the order. Preventing their death sentence was the only reason you lied and kept this charade up. You cant risk more people dying and history changing forever because of you!

"Y-your majesty!" You fell to your knees, your voice wet. "I- I beg you- I beg you on the behalf of the concubines, please- have mercy!"

Everyone watched in surprise as you cried for mercy for... your attackers?

"You... want me to forgive them? Despite what they did to you?" Suleiman asked, watching in disbelief at your tears wetting your niqaab.

"It- it was wrong- but please, they're just- they're just young girls. They made a mistake, they shouldnt pay with their lives!" You tried to come up with better reasoning. Aha!

"Sultan, I- we are Muslims. You are a role model for Muslims all over the world right now- but you have a role model as well- someone you havent met or seen, but you follow his advices and footsteps every day. Its Prophet Muhammad (PBUH)- and- and he advices us to be forgiving and merciful." Ibrahim watched you try to persuade the king.

"On the Day of Judgement, when we beg and grovel Allah for forgiveness, would He not forgive us happily if we show mercy to His creatures? If we forgive His mankind?" You pleaded and Suleiman was touched by your words, so-much-so that he walked over to you and pulled you by your shoulders before pressing a kiss to your veiled forehead.

"You're too kind, Y/n." He whispered, before nodding at Ibrahim. "Dont kill the concubines. But find a fitting punishment for them, Ibrahim." The pasha bowed his head obediently.

"And find Y/n her personal chambers in the royal wing." Suleiman stated, making everyone surprised.

No. Room in the royal wing only meant more contact with the royals themselves. This was the last thing you needed-

"Your majesty-" He held up a hand. "Dont protest, Y/n. You were hurt because of my present and while I appreciate that you defended it, I do not wish to see you hurt. Ibrahim, find her a room and shift her there by tonight. And assign a few guards and servants to Y/n as well. I dont want her to feel unsafe again." Suleiman looked at Ibrahim with a serious expression. "I trust her in your hands, Ibrahim."

"Of course, your majesty." Ibrahim nodded.

Suleiman looked back at you, a gentle smile on his face. "I would like you to join us for dinners now." He gently pushed your back and Mahidevran immediately scooted a bit closer to Suleiman's seat and patted the space beside her... and next to Mustafa.

Hurrem glared at the blatant display of intentions- Mahidevran showed her "generosity and humbleness" by letting you sit next to her to please Suleiman, and also make you sit next to her son to get close with.

At this moment, both queens are under the impression that Suleiman wants you to be his future daughter-in-law, so both women think that the other is making her son court you because the first one to marry you will produce a heir, further legitimising the prince's claim to the throne and becoming the next sultan, especially since Suleiman views you to be the perfect, pious woman who would be the perfect mother for his grandkids.

The only difference is- Mahidevran wants you to be Mustafa's spouse, not because she thinks you're a good match for her perfect son, but because she wants to speed up Mustafa's claim to the throne. She knows Suleiman prefers Hurrem over her (Hurrem's five kids are proof of that), and since she has no child other than Mustafa, Mahidevran is at disadvantage and she needs every advantage she can get, no matter how savoury it is- like you.

Hurrem on the other hand, does not want you as her Mehmed's spouse, because you're not what she had in mind for her precious son. She wants someone soft, demure, submissive, beautiful and more importantly- someone she can control. But she also knows what game Mahidevran is playing, and since Hurrem doesnt want Mustafa trying to steal the throne from Mehmed, Hurrem will have to just- get rid of you.

"So... the sultan just said that outloud?" Baris ate a date from the fancy table in your brand new chambers. "He just announced that you're his "daughter" to everyone?" He heard you groan a yes from your place on the bed- face buried in the pillows.

"And Mahidevran sultana made you sit between her and sehzade Mustafa?" He heard you groan another "yes".

Baris plopped down next to you. "So you're marrying Mustafa. Huh, didnt bet on that-"

"You bet on this?" You asked miserably, finally pulling your head up. "Of course, need to make money. Unlike you, not everyone has the oppurtunity to marry into royalty-"

You smack a pillow right across his face. "If I hear you talk about marriage again, I will strangle you."

Baris rolled his eyes, fixing his hair that you'd messed up. "I dont know why you're so upset. Did you want to sit next to Mehmed instead? If so, maybe I can still win the bet-"

"I dont want either of them!" You stated frustratedly, sitting up. "Do you not get it- I dont want to be a part of royalty! They're- they're all mad! My life would be in constant threat- from jealous concubines, possessive mother-in-laws, throne hungry princes. I dont want that!"

"Is it because you want Ibrahim pasha?"

You blinked at him. What? "What?"

Baris rubbed his chin. "Oh come on, I saw the way you two looked at each other before you entered the dining room- how the pasha promised to protect you, even from the sultan's wrath."

"Are you like- fishing for anything? For fun?" You shake your head at him.

Baris gave you a look. "Really? What about you going in and lying to protect him? He didnt even say anything before you took the chance to save him."

"I saved him because it was the right thing to do! Not because I love him!" You exclaimed, throwing your hand in the air. "If this is how you think, please- PLEASE resist the urge to ever help me! I dont want a proposal coming from you just because you saved me from choking."

Baris glared at you. "First of all- I'm never going to be as blind as the sehzade when it comes to love. Secondly, you'd be lucky to have me as a husband. At least your offspring will have a chance at looking somewhat normal-" You lunged at him and put him in a chokehold while Baris grabbed at your hijaab covered head to pull you off.

Your fighting match is brought to a halt as someone knocks on the door.

Mustafa stands outside your door, surprised to see Baris looking slightly disheveled when he opened your door.

"Baris? What are you doing here?" Mustafa asked, watching the eunuch fix his collar.

"Ah sehzade! Oh I was just helping Hatun Y/n adjust to her room. Shift her things in here." Baris faked a smile.

Mustafa nodded before lowering his voice. "Is she awake?"

"Yes yes- please come in." Mustafa walked inside just as you appeared out of the wooden divider screen, adjusting your niqaab.

"Sehzade." You gave him a courtesy. "How may I help you?"

Mustafa gave you a gentle smile, his moustache quirking up handsomely. "I would like to ask you to spend the day with me tomorrow."

You froze, and you didnt dare look at Baris who you knew was sporting a smug look because you didnt want to throw your shoe at his face in front of the prince.

"I- I think I am busy with Mihrimah sultana tomorrow-"

"No, I asked her. She said she's happy to skip her lessons for tomorrow." Mustafa cut your excuse. "I'll come by after breakfast. Good night, Y/n."

Even though Mustafa said he'll see you after breakfast, which for royals was just an hour before noon, you were woken up by Baris at the ass crack of dawn.

"Baris! What the hell?" You glared at him when he yanked the covers off you. Baris grinned at you. "As much as I'd like to believe in beauty sleep, its so not helping in your case. Come on, you need a bath and a lot of other stuff!"

He'd brought fine silk gowns and matching niqaabs (which you insisted on wearing despite Baris voicing his displeasure).

Currently, one of the maids had just finished doing your eye makeup- which in this case was kohl, and some dried berries crushed to a fine powder to make a rouge sort of shade.

"Since your eyes may be the only thing the prince sees, we need to make them bewitching!" Baris had commented before spraying you down with a lot of perfume.

"That's enough!" You push the bottle away as you coughed at the musky, earthy perfume. "Isnt that for men?" You ask coughing.

Baris's grin only widened. "Its sehzade Mustafa's favourite attar! I had to bribe his chamber servant to tell me this. And you my darling-" He sprayed you again. "-need to smell like him so that he thinks you two are a perfect fit!"

"That is literally the stupidest thing I've heard-" your insult is cut short as your vision is blinded by Baris flipping up your veil to reveal your lower half of the face and him applying some crushed berries juice to your lips.

"Just in case you have a change of morals and want to kiss the prince." He jumped back when you tried to slap him.

Soon, Mustafa came to fetch you. You two were currently walking through the royal gardens, with you giving curt answers so that he would lose interest in you and leave you alone.

Your dismissal didnt go unnoticed by him. "What do you like to do for fun?"

"Read." You answer looking at the well cut hedges. "Have you been to the royal library?" He looks down at you, finding you gazing at the flowers. "Yes. I've already read all of the books there." In college, of course.

"All of them?" His disbelief makes you look at him. Finally. Mustafa thinks.

"Of course." You answer, offended.

"Even the royal ancestry book?" Mustafa raises a brow at you.

"Yes." Your brows furrow. "Ask me anything."

He shakes his head and chuckles. "I doubt you know more about my ancestors than me."

When he looked back at you, you were still looking at him expectantly.

"Ask me."

Mustafa's curiosity got the best of him at your determination.

"This is- this is incredible." Mustafa commented, his eyes wide as he looked at the ancestry book from where he basically quizzed you. He didnt know he was talking to a historian who had pulled all nighters for pretty much every major empire for finals.

"How did you learn all of this?" He asks you, still double checking your answers.

"Oh... I have good memory." You mutter, making him shake his head at you with an amusing smile.

"Of course, I should've figured. You're a hafidha, you're passionate for learning." And passionate for making money in trivias.

Mustafa closes the book. "So, since you've read every book in here, I suppose you must be bored?" He doesnt wait for an answer when an idea pops in his mind. "Come on, lets go."

You follow him, trying to keep up with his fast pace. "Go where?"

"To get you new books." He looks over his shoulder and gives you charming grin.

Your steps falter. New books? "We're leaving the palace?" He hums.

You havent left the palace since you came here, mostly because you havent been able to leave.

You match his pace. "Lets go!" And Mustafa finally sees you excited for the first time today.

With a few Janissaries and some disguise, you all head out into Istanbul. You're looking around the city like a kid in a candy store, only you're looking for a something or someone to help you fix your time machine.

The market comes into view along with the sound of hawkers trying to attract customers. Of course, the only shopkeeper who wasnt yelling was the blacksmith, allowing his hammer to garner the attention of serious clients.

He could be of use. If you're able to find some tools, maybe even get some metal films, you could try to spark a charge and trigger the time machine to work.

You start to take a few steps towards him when Mustafa grabs your shoulder and pulls you back to him. "Where are you going? Stay close to me. I dont want to lose you." He tells you, almost in a chiding tone, but his hands carefully pulling your robes around you said otherwise.

He lead you towards a bookshop. Mustafa nodded at you to go ahead, explore and get any book you want. He'll buy it.

While you were busy browsing, Mustafa couldnt help but steal glances at you. He didnt understand why he was doing this- he couldnt really see your face, or anything except for your eyes.

Your eyes, they were pretty but its not their beauty that really captivates him. Its the swirl of emotions in them. The mystery in them, like there's... more to you. Like you're hiding something.

Perhaps it was your mannerisms. Your dismissive nature, your tendency to not be impressed easily by their eccentricities or status, almost as if you've lived with royalty before.

Maybe he likes how different you treat him him. How you dont bend over backwards to please his family, or try to pursue him or his brothers. In fact, you almost seem to be avoiding them altogether.

You intrigue him. Badly. Amusingly. Adorably.

"I dont understand! Where could she have gone?" Mihirmah whined to her brother at lunch. Mehmed only raised a brow. "Who? Y/n? She might be in her room recovering from yesterday's events. She was pretty shaken up-"

"I already checked! She's not there!" Mihirmah sighed before laying her head in his lap, and he began patting her hair. "She went out with Mustafa but she still hasnt returned! Its lunch time and I planned on teaching her sword fight! For self defense, you know- so that she doesnt get beat up like last time."

Mehmed's hand stopped patting. "She's with Mustafa?"

She nodded. "Since morning!"

"Huh." Mihirmah sat up, looking at her brother puzzled.

"What? What is it?" She asked him.

"Nothing." He faked a smile, but Mihirmah knew him like the back of her hand. "Mehmed. Tell me."

"I just... dont understand why Mustafa is spending time with her." He stated, standing up to walk to the balcony. "She's your teacher. What business does Mustafa have with her?"

Mihirmah watched her brother stiffen suddenly, watched the way his jaw ticked as he looked down the balcony. She stood up and joined him, following his gaze to see what he was looking at.

Its you. And Mustafa. Finally returning to the palace, servants holding piles of books following behind you two. What's even more bizarre is to see Mustafa smiling down at you while you giggled, covering your mouth despite the niqaab, making you look even more bashful.

Even Mihirmah hadnt ever seen you so joyful, and yet here you are- laughing so gleefully with her eldest brother. Step brother.

It rubbed her off the wrong way.

"You want her?" She asked him, her voice so hollow that it made Mehmed look at her.

"What?"

Mihirmah looked at him, her eyes stern. "Do. You. Want. Her?"

Unwavering determination. Thats what he saw in his sister's face.

Say the word, and it'll be done.

Mehmed stared at her.

"Yes."

"I hope you had a good time." Mustafa asked you as he walked you to your chambers. You nodded. "I did. Thank you, sehzade." Despite your best attempts at dismissing him, Mustafa was very persistent at breaking down your walls. And sure, part of you giggled and pretended to be flustered at his words, you mainly acted cordial so that he may take you out of the palace more often. He was your only way out at the moment.

You both stopped outside your door, the servants walking past you to place your books inside. Mustafa looked satisfied.

"If you ever need to go outside again, feel free to come to me, Y/n." He offered, before taking out a small box from his pocket and handing it to you.

Your heart dropped. A ring? Now? This fast? No no no no no-

You opened the box and you felt life returning back to you. It was a gold broach adorned with rubies and a diamond in the center, encaged in an intricate heart pattern.

"I may not share my father's gift of handcrafting jewels, but I do happen to be skilled at acquiring precious jewels on my conquests." Mustafa informed you as he took the broach from the box and looked at you for permission before pinning it to your hijab, just below your collar bone.

You were too stunned to stop him or even turn down the gift, though Mustafa took your silence as awe.

He adjusted the broach.

"Perfect." He whispered, looking into your eyes.

You watched him leave with a grin, finally able to breathe when he was out of sight.

With a sigh, you enter your chambers, half expecting Baris to be sprawled over your bed waiting to tease you for details on your outing.

What you werent expecting was... her.

"Did you have fun?" The sultana asked, her eyes sharp. "I've been waiting for you, Y/n. Lets have a chat, hm?"

Shit.

"You're abnormal." Your hands stop adjusting your hijab as you glare at him through the mirror.

"What?"

Baris tilted his head. "You're abnormal." He repeated.

You turn around from the vanity and glare at him. "Is this another way of calling me ugly?"

"Tch. No, I have words for that." He shook his head. "I meant, you've been acting weird since yesterday, after you returned from your secret outing with sehzade Mustafa."

"You're imagining things." You mumble, turning back to the vanity mirror and picking up the broach Mustafa gave you.

Baris scoffed. "I am not. I may have been busy with the younger royal kids yesterday, but I did manage to catch a glimpse of you giggling and blushing when you returned with the prince." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "So that means, the day went good. Something happened on the way to your chambers." He narrowed his eyes at you. "Did you kiss him?"

You whipped your head. "Baris!" He palmed his face. "Sorry, I forgot you're the religious prude. Did he kiss you?"

"No, Baris! No one kissed anyone." You began pinning the broach to your hijab, the same area where Mustafa had placed it yesterday. But you werent able to, too frustrated at the interrogation.

Baris grabbed the broach from you and pinned it in place. "So, you two didnt kiss, bought you enough books to make a you a scholar, and gifted you this broach, and you're disturbed because...?"

You frowned. "I am not disturbed. You're just reading too much into this."

"Fine, dont tell me. I'll find out on my own." You walked past him to teach your Quran lesson.

As much as you'd like to think that you're sly, Baris is right. Something did happen. After you'd returned to your room, you were met there by Mahidevran sultana.

You were reasonably scared because you thought that she's here to torture you or even kill you because you've been "seducing Mustafa" or whatever rumour Baris has spread about you.

But you were surprised when she told you that she wants you and Mustafa together, in marriage. As soon as possible. For the next half hour, Mahidevran basically told you all about the likes and dislikes of her son so that you would accustom yourself to them and then emphasised how supportive she would be of you to be her daughter-in-law. She even encouraged you to... sleep with him, she didnt say it directly but you got the meaning behind her words.

At the end of her lecture, she warned you to not spend time with Hurrem or any of her offsprings, besides Mihirmah because you are her teacher and even then told you to keep your interaction strictly formal and minimum.

When she was about to leave, she spotted the broach on your clavicle and beamed, almost proudly so. When you confirmed that Mustafa gave it to you, and started to take it off to return it to her, she stopped you and told you to wear it everyday. EVERYDAY.

"My son has given you something. You should be honoured. Cherish it." Mahidevran ordered.

The main reason you didnt tell Baris about Mahidevran and her confusing but threatening demands to court Mustafa was because of Baris's blabber mouth that couldnt hold a secret if his life depended on it.

And you have enough on your plate as it is.

You enter Mihirmah's chambers, bowing as you spot her.

"Ah! Welcome! Sit, sit!" Mihirmah pats down the seat next to her and you're slightly suspicious of her energy.

She's upto something.

You sit down beside her, opening the Quran. "I think we should start with-" She closed the book in your hands.

"In a minute. Lets talk first, hm?" She smiled at you. "How was your day off yesterday? Well rested?"

Your shoulders sag slightly. Of course, she wants to know about your day out with Mustafa. Baris probably blabbered something to spark her curiosity like this.

"Yes. A much needed break. Quite refreshing." You tell her, purposely keeping away from the details, lest she gets the wrong idea again and accuses you of whoring around your "ugly self" to her brother.

"Mmhm. Had fun with Mustafa?" Her sharp tone made you look at her.

Is she implying something?

"The prince was kind enough to get me some books." You told her cautiously, trying to ease the tension. "I think you'd like some of them-"

"Mustafa sleeps around." You blinked at her. What were you supposed to do with this unsolicited information.

"Okay...?"

She shrugged, picking up her cup of tea. "I'm just saying- he's been with a lot of women. The other day I was reading a verse from Quran where it mentioned adultery. Then I realised- thats what Mustafa is. An adulterer."

"You read Quran without me making you-"

"Mustafa is an adulterer, Y/n. Allah will not forgive him. He's doomed for hell."

"Actually, if he repents sincerely-"

"He's doomed, Y/n. Doomed." She reiterated.

"By that logic, so are most of your ancestors. I think most men, kings and princes commit adultery-"

"Mehmed doesnt." She stared at you. "He's never slept with anyone. He's a good Muslim man. Allah will be pleased with him."

What is going on here? "Um... okay. That's great news for sehzade Mehmed."

"And for you." Mihirmah announced. "You are the lucky one."

"What?"

She let out a sigh of frustration, as if she has to state the obvious. "Mehmed likes you- no, he loves you-" "Loves me?" "Shh! I'm still talking. You have caught his eye for some reason, so you should end whatever it is that you have with Mustafa and be loyal to my brother."

The room was silent, the two of you staring at each other- you, in confusion. Mihirmah, in determination.

A crow croaked outside.

"First of all, I have nothing going on with sehzade Mustafa. Secondly, Mehmed said he loves me?" You asked while trying not to show resentment.

Mihirmah scoffed. "He doesnt have to say it, I know it."

Your tension deflates to some extent. Okay, so she's just making up stuff. This can be handled.

"Mihirmah, I understand how-" you resist the urge to roll your eyes "-you may think Mehmed may be attracted to me, I am honoured, really. But I can assure you, Mehmed does not love me."

"No, I love you." Your head whips around at the sound of his voice.

Mehmed. He's standing behind you.

"Sehzade-" you begin standing up to bow to him, but he holds up a hand.

"Mihirmah's right. I love you." Mihirmah beamed proudly at standing correct.

Your eyes could only widen in horror as Mehmed sank down to sit right beside you, and with Mihirmah on your other side, you were trapped between the siblings.

"I. Love. You." Mehmed repeated, his hazel eyes staring into yours.

After several moments of silence, a crow croaked again. Mihirmah nudged you to say something.

"Um-" You cleared your throat. "Ugh... thank you."

Mehmed's brows shot up in surprise while Mihirmah broke into a fit of laughter.

"Thank... you?" Mehmed asked, and you would've thought he was mad if it werent for the amused smile on his face.

Mihirmah continued to laugh, and you had to look back at her to make her stop. "I-I'm sorry, Mehmed- this was- this was just too funny. I mean, she has a prince, the next heir of the empire confess her love and all she says is "thank you"?" She said, chuckling as she wiped the tear from her eye.

Mehmed glared at her playfully. "Well, maybe she's just shy around you." Why are they talking about you like you're not right there?

Mihirmah hummed, then nodded. "Perhaps you're right. I'll leave you two lovebirds alone. I have to do something-"

"What? Why? You dont have anything to do." You stopped her from standing up. You dont want to be alone with Mehmed.

"I do!" She narrowed her eyes at you.

"Like what?"

"Like-" her eyes zeroed in on your broach. "-pretty. Mustafa gave it?"

"Yes-" you yelped as she grabbed it and pulled it off you, ripping the niqaab it was pinned with along.

"Mihirmah!" Mehmed yelled at her, his eyes stern. You could only stare at her in disbelief before turning away from Mehmed to hide your bare face now.

"Oops! I'm sorry Y/n! I'll go get you a new niqaab- this one is all torn!" She said without an ounce of remorse before leaving the room.

Mehmed shakes his head as he watched her leave, before turning his attention to you- or well, your back.

"Y/n?" He called out to you softly. "I'm sorry for Mihirmah. She... she doesnt mean you any harm. She's just- she sometimes doesnt realise how hurtful her actions can be when she's trying to help someone."

When you didnt reply, Mehmed grew slightly worried. "Y/n?" He sighed when you didnt reply. An idea popped in his head as he looked around the room before looking down.

You heard the sound of cloth ripping, your heart dropping as you assumed the worst. He wasnt going to-

Your head turned around just as Mehmed's hands encircled around your head, a red cloth blocking your view of him.

"Mehmed?" You whispered, scared. His frozen hands seemed to snap out of it and began encircling round your head, the red cloth in his grip brought closer to your face. Thats when your eyes landed on the bottom of his red shirt (kemis). It was ripped.

Mehmed had torn his shirt to make a niqaab for you.

His eyes were focused on tying the makeshift veil, securing it before they landed on you.

"Y/n?" He called your name gently again, his concern growing at the sight of tears pooling in your eyes. He softly sighed as a his hand reached up to wipe a tear that escaped your eye.

"You're that scared of me?" After a few moments, you sniffled as more tears escaped your eyes and you shook your head. "Then?" When you didnt reply, or couldnt as you continued to cry mutely, he took it as a sign that you were humiliated because of Mihirmah removing your veil.

He took a deep breath and cupped your face gingerly before pressing a tender kiss to your forehead.

"My mind is occupied by you. I think about you all the time. Perhaps...I only think about you, moon." He wiped another tear with his thumb. "I love you, my moon. I fear I... I love you too much. My heart holds so much love for you, I can hardly call it my own anymore." He then kissed your teary eyes one by one.

"I know you... you dont love me yet, but one day, when you find yourself being generous, I want you to be the one holding my heart in your hands. Its yours, moon. Yours."

Baris waited with a few guards and servants outside Mihirmah's room, when Mehmed left the room with a satisfied smiled on his face. Baris noted the bottom of his torn shirt but before he could comment on it, Mehmed asked him where Mihirmah was.

"She went to see sehzade Mustafa. Shall I fetch her?" Mehmed waved him off, saying he'll go get her himself, after all- Mihirmah still had to finish her lesson with you.

Mehmed had just turned around the corner when you came out of the room.

"Y/n-" Baris called out to you but you sped past him, and he didnt chase after you when he saw your red eyes.

He'll tease you later, when you're not so sad. For now, he has to report the sight of this to someone.

Even if Mihirmah hadnt bumped into Mustafa and proudly showed off the broach he'd gifted you, the news would've still somehow made its way to him by the servants whispers.

"Oh this broach? Its pretty, isnt it?" Mihirmah smirked, showing it off to Mustafa. "Y/n gave it to me."

"She... gave it to you?" His gift. You gave it away?

She nodded. "Mmhm. She said it wasnt that precious to her, so she gave it. She was going to throw it away, but it went well with my dress so I took it."

You were going to discard his gift? Just like that?

"Mihirmah. There you are." Mehmed walked over to her. "Mustafa." He greeted his brother.

"Mehmed." He looked at his shirt. "What happened to your shirt?"

Mehmed grinned. "Nothing." He then looked at Mihirmah. "Come on, Y/n is waiting for you. I talked to her."

Mustafa could only watch the two siblings beam at each other as the taste in his mouth soured.

His broach. Torn shirt. Mehmed "talked" to you.

Mahidevran could feel her blood boil at the complaints Mustafa brought to her. Even if he didnt, the maids she'd hired to spy on you had already reported of everything they'd witnessed. You and Mehmed alone in Mihirmah's room.

Did you not understand a single word she said? Does she need to give you a more stern warning this time?

"Hurrem must've put them upto this." She muttered, before her gaze flickered to her worried son. She placed a hand on his shoulder. "Dont worry, Mustafa. I will fix this. You focus on Y/n, hm? You deserve her, my lion."

So? How was it?

Part 10 is here!

#time traveller au #ottoman empire #ottoman #yandere baldwin #yandere Salauddin #yandere x you #yandere x #yandere x reader #male yandere #yandere male #yandere #yandere x darling

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mahgyu · 8 months

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Thinking about Toji, who only realizes what he truly feels for you when he sees you happy with someone else.

Toji used to tell himself that you were just another woman he used for sex and nothing more. However, weeks turned into months, and even though he kept saying that you weren't anything special in his life, the situation was actually completely different.

You already spent more time in his small apartment than in your own. When he woke up in the morning, it wasn't with Megumi poking and asking him to prepare breakfast anymore because you promptly woke up before to do it. You did so much for them and never expected anything in return.

Speaking of Megumi, he also began to develop a strong bond with you. You always played together, watched movies, and you even helped with homework when you could. Megumi always looked at you with admiration, as if you were the mother figure he didn't even realize he needed. Toji might have displayed the facade of an unshakable man, but deep down, only he knew how much witnessing these domestic moments affected him.

But, in a way, Toji felt inadequate for you. He was just a troubled single father trying to stay alive, with a questionable job and a life that felt more like a rollercoaster. He looked at you and saw an incredible woman, full of life and potential, while he saw himself as someone who would only hold you back. You deserved more than just sex and a miserable life beside him.

Toji tried to end things by acting like a bad guy, a personality he always portrays to everyone but never before to you, behaving like a jerk so that you would hate him and feel nothing for him but contempt. He was cold, distant, and even cruel in his words. He knew he was hurting you, but it was the simplest way out.

He saw the pain in your eyes when you finally accepted his words and distanced yourself, leaving him alone with his regret and loneliness. Deep down, he hoped you would find someone better, someone who could give you everything he couldn't.

But as time passed, the pain of separation only grew in Toji. He tried to fill the void with more work, giving more attention to Megumi — who didn't make things easier by constantly asking why you had abandoned them. He even sought out other women for sexual satisfaction, but it didn't help. They weren't you; nothing could take you out of Toji's mind. He constantly wondered if he had made the right choice, if he had done what was best for both.

Months later, Toji saw you from afar, leaving a coffee shop, happy with another man. In one hand, a bouquet of your favorite flowers, and beside you, a well-dressed man, with neatly combed blond hair and a serene expression on his face as he briefly sealed his lips on yours. Toji's heart clenched in a way he had never felt before, seeing you smiling and radiant beside someone else made Toji realize how foolish he had been. He realized he had let slip away the best thing that had ever happened to him, all because of stubbornness and egocentrism.

At that moment, Toji realized that you were everything he had ever wanted, and that he had made the biggest mistake of his life by letting you go. He wished he could turn back time and fix his choices, but he knew he couldn't. All that was left for him was regret and the memory of the love he let slip away. He would never forgive himself.

I'll give a gift to whoever can guess who the other man I described at the end is ᵔ⤙ᵔ

I haven't fixed it yet so sorry for any mistakes.

ㅤㅤㅤ

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sy-on-boy · 9 months

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Real talk: the fact that Anya expects to read Demetrius’ mind but sees nothing is kind of sad because Demetrius saw his 6yo brother approach and congratulate him, and had zero thoughts in his brain. But that doesn’t mean Demetrius doesn’t care about him. When Damian stutters, Demetrius initiates conversation by talking about Damian’s grades, showing that he indeed pays attention.

Demetrius seems almost resentful by Damian’s insistence to impress Donovan, giving out a snarky, passive aggressive, teen appropriate response: “How would I know? It’s not as if I’m in regular contact with him.” This is like the passive aggressive version of whatever is going on with Melinda. Damian is a relatively innocent 6yo kid seeking his father’s approval, but both his mother and his brother appear to be seriously affected (in a bad way) by Donovan, and they avoid talking about Donovan even as Damian repeatedly mentions him. Demetrius doesn’t understand Damian’s desire for their father’s approval. He also doesn’t understand his father, hinting at some sort of disconnect between them.

What also saddens me a bit is how Demetrius barely acknowledged Damian’s friends talking to him. Like, they’re six year old kids trying to make a good impression. Still, Demetrius didn’t completely ignore them, just gave a meaningless “oh” and decided to stop thinking about people. It’s very much giving “stressed (and depressed) to the point of apathy”. When facing the innocence (ignorance?) and optimism of 6yo kids, Demetrius doesn’t understand. (And maybe he doesn’t understand friendship, which is what Damian has?)

I mentioned before that characters Anya met are probably “good” characters on the side of Forgers or at least are sympathetic to readers. Because if Anya met a “bad” character and read their mind, she would be too OP and the plot could be quickly solved. It’s like how we all thought Melinda was suspicious when she met Yor, but then Anya met Melinda and read her mind to reveal that she cares about Damian (even if it’s in a twisted way). Demetrius is interesting because he subverts what I said above by thinking very little, so Anya cannot really read him. But so far, I think his portrayal is that of a typical middle schooler with middle school angst, and he cares about Damian even if he has zero thoughts on his brain (and doesn’t like the way Damian craves fatherly approval). He is still a child and presumably a victim of his father’s parenting.

The framing is also interesting. Damian telling his friends to go on without him while he waits for Demetrius. The panel of Demetrius towering over a stuttering Damian. Demetrius going away, showing a panel of him as a small figure in an otherwise blank background. That panel when Anya thinks Damian’s relatives are weird has her looking at Damian while he’s some distance away from her (and the rest of his friends). The brothers feel disconnected. Damian is both eager and nervous to talk to Demetrius. Demetrius is nonchalant and apathetic, but not impolite or outwardly wholly dismissive.

Given Damian’s wacky family situation, I’m glad he has friends at Eden. Ewen and Emile of course are steadfast and loyal companions, always eager to back up their beloved boss man. Anya can read his mind and she knows about his insecurities (and also his weird family).

Becky is also good as a friend because she doesn’t care about sucking up to Damian, she often calls him out, but she also supports Damian when he deserves it. A sweet scene here is Damian saying he’s a Desmond so he’s expected to get a star, and Becky adding “it’s still a great achievement. Congrats!”. Becky is validating his success and telling Damian it’s okay to be proud and happy for himself. Even though she’s usually judgemental towards Damian, she’s still kind to him because that’s who she is as a character.

In the end, Damian still wants his father’s attention. He had no idea Demetrius wasn’t that close to their father… I would assume Demetrius spent most of his time at Eden and this is Damian’s first year at Eden, so he actually gets to interact with his brother instead of hearing things about him?

So far, Demetrius seems like a very jaded character in contrast to Damian who feels like a beam of sunshine now. He’s the heir so he’s got more troubles. But it’s nice that he’s finally debuted and no longer in mystery. Can’t wait to see what Endo has in store for him :)

#spy x family #this got so long??#damian desmond #demetrius desmond #becky blackbell #yeah im tagging them #uh #spy x family spoilers #long post #meta #sxf analysis

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boneblushed · 9 months

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Labyrinth

Uh oh, I’m falling in love / Oh no, I’m falling in love again

synopsis you’re reunited with your ex-boyfriend, Rafe, at an Outer Banks wedding.

tags Rafe Cameron x fem!reader, exes to lovers, second chance romance, slowburn-ish, A LOT of angst, an equal amount of pining, an awful breakup but a wonderful reconciliation 💓

wc ~11k

“You look,” you murmur, squeezing Brooklyn’s shoulder gently, “perfect.”

She’s sitting in front of a round, gold-rimmed mirror, the windows on either side of her painting her skin a warm aureate. You stand in shadow behind her, the sunbeams unable to reach your pretty features. There’s a wistfulness to them that’s almost imperceptible.

Almost. If she weren’t your best friend, someone you’ve known since forever, she probably wouldn’t have noticed the way you were hiding from them. The smile on her face falters as she looks up at you through the mirror.

“Look,” she begins tentatively, frowning, “if this is too hard —”

“Do not,” you interrupt. You try for an encouraging smile; what you hope is an encouraging smile. “I’m totally fine, okay? I’m over it.”

A pause. Brooklyn’s reflection sends you a long, hard look. “No one would blame you if you weren’t.”

You know what that means, the insinuation behind her words: you were supposed to be the first one. It’s all anyone in the Figure Eight was saying when they first found out about your break-up: you’re meant for each other, though, we can’t imagine you not being a couple!

Well, neither could you, not that it really mattered. Six months on with half a heart and pulseless motive, you’ve come to realise that wretched pining comes at a costly price.

You can’t afford it anymore.

“I know,” you reply quietly.

The spaghetti strap of your cowl neck falls as you straighten, the periwinkle fabric shimmering forebodingly. An image of the Rafe you knew flashes in your mind, slipping it down to press a kiss on your skin. Your stomach drops.

“But I am,” you add, louder. As though you’re trying to convince yourself more than you are her. “I promise.”

Brooklyn stares at you for a long time before her gaze falls, acquiescing with a sigh. “I hate that you still don’t believe it.”

“Believe what?”

“That he could live a thousand lifetimes and never deserve you.”

You bite back another wince, the fresh sting of forgotten feelings pricking at your eyelids. “I do believe it,” you say quietly. “I do. That’s what makes all of this so fucking hard — that I know we’re never getting a second chance. That he chose to throw all of it away and I’m never going to be able to forgive him for it.”

“You shouldn’t have to, though!”

“We were together for half our lives, Brooke!” You turn away from the mirror, taking in a jagged breath. “We — his mom had promised me her ring before she died, for God’s sake. Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to walk away from what we had?”

A long pause. Brooke’s voice is gentle, but her words cut like a knife. “It’s not as though you had a choice, Y/N/N. He didn’t give you one.”

You look around at her, unshed tears making your pretty eyes shine. “What does it say about me that I’m no closer to accepting that than I was six months ago?”

“Babe.” A tear falls. Brooke’s features soften, and she pulls you into a tight hug, enough pressure to wring out the melancholy in your chest. “It says that you’re human.”

She rocks you for a moment before you’re forced to pull apart, a knock on the door breaking your reverie. “God,” you self-reproach, sending Brooklyn a watery smile. “I would find a way to make your day about me, wouldn’t I?”

“Maybe I should ditch Kelce,” Brooklyn replies faux-seriously, catching the stray tears wetting your lower lids. “We can elope or something.”

As though on queue, the Universe intervenes before she can go through with this idea. Perhaps it knows, having watched the pair of grow close throughout college, that there’s a part of her that really would call this all off if you asked her to.

“Sweetheart!” Comes Brooklyn’s father’s voice from behind the door, punctuated by the sharp rap of his knuckles. “It’s nearly time!”

The tension ebbs. Suddenly, everything about this wedding—the same one you’ve been helping her plan forever—becomes entirely too real. Your melancholia is a tide in this way, flowing forth and receding as its surroundings permit. Never fading away; ever-present. Though it may not be as unbearable now as it was when you first broke up, it lingers.

You’re afraid that it always will. You push down this fear like you’ve done every other.

Focus. Your eyes widen in anticipation, mirroring Brooklyn’s as they transform into nervous excitement.

“Come in!” Brooklyn calls anxiously, biting back a squeal. You’re grateful for the fact that you haven’t ruined her mood completely. “Oh my god. Oh my god!”

She stands up and turns around just as her father enters the room, his lined face shining with a wistful sense of happiness. As the atmosphere in the room shifts, she glances back at you, and your insides twist in cruel mocking. More repentant than jealous. I was supposed to be the first one.

You don’t let your expression falter. The first few chords of the processional float into the room through the ajar door, and you spring into action, smoothing out your dress and readjusting your bouquet of flowers.

“That’s my queue,” you say, squeezing her arm once more before slipping past her and her father.

In true Kook fashion, Brooklyn’s wedding ceremony is taking place on the Island Club green. Upon exiting the storage room you’ve transformed into a vanity, you find yourself in the entranceway that leads to the venue, the set-up just visible beyond its oak doors.

Benches of beige driftwood sit on either side of the aisle, twined with buttery white lilies and ivy-like viridescence. They face a brilliant floral wedding arch, where the officiant and Kelce stand talking in hushed whispers. And the sky above you is a vibrant, cloudless blue, golden sunlight fanning down upon the crowd, bathing them aureate.

In the beat that passes, you search for someone you shouldn’t.

The last time that you saw him, he was hunched over his father’s office desk. His eyes were bloodshot and his tired gaze dull; half-finished documents stared up at him in mocking, and a nagging ache was making home in his chest.

The week prior, you hadn’t seen much of each other. And it wasn’t as though he’d requested this space—he rarely did, rarely asked you for anything—you’d just taken it upon yourself to give it to him. Stay in control. If you proposed time apart before he did, maybe it would feel more deliberate; hurt less.

You were dead wrong.

“Look,” he sighs, this cruel, heavy sound that splices right through your chest, “I realise I’ve been neglecting our relationship a lot recently.”

“Yes,” you respond tentatively. “But you’ve been under a lot of pressure recently. I get it.”

“You shouldn’t have to.” He glances up at you through red-rimmed irises. “I… I don’t know how long it’ll be like this. With everything that’s happened… my dad dying, and me taking over the firm —”

“I’ve seen you through all of it,” you interrupt quietly, your voice cracking. “I’ve — no questions asked, I’ve done it. I get it, Rafe, you’ve got different priorities at the moment. But we’ve loved each other for so long now that I —”

“But that’s the thing,” he says then, swallowing hard, “I just don’t know if I do anymore. Not as much as I used to.”

The silence that follows feels as though it’s suffocating you. You haven’t said a word, and Rafe’s said plenty, but it’s you with the lungs that heave for loveless oxygen.

“Oh.”

Rafe’s Adam’s apple jumps again, and he breaks eye contact as unshed tears brim to the surface. “I’m sorry.”

It doesn’t make any sense.

“Maybe,” you try, grappling hard for a logical explanation, “maybe your grief’s fucking with your ability to feel anything.”

Rafe’s gaze lifts to your face again, teardrop tracks making your pretty cheeks shine. His heart aches, hard, and he finds it difficult to catch his breath. “But… I’ve dealt with it,” he says quietly. “I’ve had to.”

“How can you have?” You throw back, exasperated. “Rafe you — you haven’t had a moment to yourself since his funeral last month, you’ve holed yourself up in his office and acted like everything’s fucking okay!”

“Because it is!” He replies, his face hardening momentarily. “I’m — I’m fucking fine, alright? I just need to be alone right now.”

“Because you don’t love me anymore.”

Rafe winces. Your lower lip trembles. “Yeah. Because something’s missing… the — the fucking spark, or whatever… and right now, I can’t give you the sort of love you deserve.”

He was tired of hurting you through his abjection, he’d said. As if breaking things off wasn’t the most hurtful thing he ever did.

Thankfully, you aren’t able to spot him in the crowd; if you had, walking down the aisle would have been infinitely more difficult. Out of courtesy to you—and Brooke forcing his hand, of course—he hadn’t asked Rafe to be a groomsman either, so you were well safe from an untimely encounter at pre-wedding festivities. And from standing opposite him in front of the altar. You aren’t sure such close proximity in holy matrimony would be healthy for either of you.

It’s unfair on him though, you know it is. He has as much a right being best man as you do maid of honour — the four of you were thick as thieves once upon a time; in fact, it was you that’d introduced Kelce to Brooklyn.

It feels like so long ago when you think back on it now, being nineteen-years-old with a naïve heart and nothing to lose.

You and Rafe had seemed invincible then, high-school sweethearts that were somehow surviving college-borne distance. Forever, that’s the word that ended every drunk call or late night text; forever, and the promise of a proposal and beach-side villa.

“Shi—did you not see the sock on the door, Smith?” Rafe groans, his forehead dropping to your shoulder in defeat. He’s spent the past half hour getting you into a compromising position, his rough hands awry and his wet mouth on your soft skin. The amaranthine imprint of his kisses have made home on your neck. You’re straddling him with your arms wrapped around his shoulders, and he really doesn’t want to sacrifice any amount of closeness.

Kelce enters the room tentatively, his hand firmly pressed over his eyes. “Hard to miss. You two decent or what?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

You let out a peal of laughter as Rafe glowers at his roommate, his calloused palms dropping from your hips to your thighs. You push the fabric of your dress over his hands, but he kneads the flesh anyway, the skin on skin like spare oxygen.

Kelce peeks at you from between his fingers before pulling them away, an unimpressed look on his face. “C’mon, surely you’re done with her Cameron. I’ve given you guys the entire fucking day together.”

“Half an hour,” Rafe replies, his blue eyes narrowing.

“As if you need more than five minutes,” Kelce snorts, plopping down on the bed opposite Rafe’s.

“Oh fuck—” Rafe’s large hands circle your thighs and tighten, standing up and advancing toward Kelce with you in his arms, “—right off—”

“Rafe!” You gasp, suppressing another surprised laugh. “Put me down, you asshole.”

“No way, Y/N/N,” Kelce says then, raising his arms in preemptive surrender. “Your PDA’s the only reason he hasn’t given me a shiner yet.”

Rafe affirms this sentiment by pressing a chaste kiss to your temple, his eyes still narrowed as he glares at Kelce. “You’re lucky I love my girlfriend more than I do my fucking reputation.”

Kelce makes a face, keeling over and mock-gagging. “Yeah, yeah, you guys have been bethrothed since fucking pre-K, I get it. Now will you stop being so possessive and let me have a conversation with her?”

You look over your shoulder at him, untangling your arms from Rafe’s neck so he can let you down gently. When he does so, it’s with great reluctance, and he doesn’t hesitate to circle your chest so he can pull you back against him. His strong bicep is warm against your neck, solid pressure.

“What’s up, Kelcey?” You ask, surveying him with interest.

“Ghosted,” he says gloomily, falling back against his duvet, “again.”

Rafe glances down at you at the same time you look up at him, a sage, sympathetic emotion passing between you. In the weeks after your break-up, you’ll come to yearn for this emotion more than anything else — that feeling of being immune to inadequacy, of having found the love of your life so effortlessly.

“You’ve gotta stop coming on so hard, bro,” Rafe says, resting his chin on your forehead. “These sorority chicks are probably all looking for something casual.”

“He can’t help the fact that he’s a lover boy, Rafe,” you defend, frowning. “You’ve just gotta find a girl that wants what you want, Kelce.”

Kelce raises his head hopefully. “Know anyone like that, Y/N/N?”

“Well,” you pause, chewing your bottom lip thoughtfully, “I am thinking of inviting my roommate Brooklyn to the Bahamas over summer break —”

“To Rafe’s?” This piques Kelce’s interest. He props himself up onto his elbows, a hopeful grin transforming his features. “Sold.”

How times change.

Today, Kelce stands at the other end of the aisle, waiting for the same Brooklyn that was once your roommate, now his almost wife. He’s wearing an elegant black tuxedo with a lily tucked into the breast pocket, its buttery white petals shining in the sun. He looks so, unimaginably, happy. It should’ve been you and Rafe. Your heartstrings twinge.

“You’re not ready,” you murmur as you pass him on the altar, finding your place opposite his best man, Topper.

Kelce smiles at you, a little nervous, a little unshed. “Will I ever be?”

You shake your head, smiling in tandem.

The wedding procession is a brilliant display of love, and you find a way to make it about your lack thereof. Seconds blur, minutes melt into each other, and your poor mind strays to when things were far simpler. The Island Club was your date night spot, once upon a time. It’s where you’d envisioned you’d get proposed to; where you would get married one day, too. Just like this.

You’re happy for them, you swear it. It’s just a difficult emotion to maintain when the opposite comes so naturally.

Rafe doesn’t arrive until the reception itself.

He wants to believe that this is entirely accidental — he’s had a long day at the office, filled with several meetings with prospective clients. He can’t though, his wretched conscience won’t let him. He chose to go to work today, chose to schedule important meetings at the same time as Kelce’s nuptials.

He thinks he knows why this is, and isn’t sure whether he can handle the why in a satin slip and strappy heels. He wants to believe that he meant everything he said to you six months prior, but the dreadful ache in his chest crescendos in mocking every time he tries this.

He’s made a mistake. He won’t admit this if it killed him. But he knows, deep down, that something isn’t right about all of this.

If he really didn’t love you anymore, if that fucking spark was missing, there shouldn’t have been anything to move on from—the ship should have already departed. But he’s struggling, hard, and his thoughts juxtapose his actions. Despite telling you that he needs to be alone for the time being, you remain unmoored in his mind, rocking back and forth but never sinking.

He’s done his fair share of fucking up over the past few months. Got into something else too quickly, tried that no contact thing and failed miserably. There’s no going back after everything that’s happened. And yet…

“Hello?” He greets you like it’s a question; like greeting you isn’t second nature anymore. Your stomach turns.

When you respond, your voice comes out jagged, pained. “Look. I get that you’re doing this ‘no contact’ thing, or whatever, but Sarah told me something pretty fucked up and I think you owe me an explanation.” Your voice is far weaker.

Rafe winces, a familiar ache pulling through his chest. “If this is about Elle —”

“It’s been a month, Rafe. You may as well have cheated.”

…that fucking hug.

After you’d confronted him about shamelessly flirting with Sarah’s friend, Elle—in front of Sarah, no less, who told you the second it happened—he’d asked to meet up in person and explain himself.

You weren’t quite sure what to make of it all, which is probably why you’d foolishly agreed to hear him out. Ward had hired Elle as an intern before his death; she’d been around a while, long enough for an affair.

It shifted bile into your throat.

And when you’d met him, the exact opposite of what you’d hoped had happened. He’d had the gall to tell you that he thinks something’s there, that he feels that bullshit spark that he swore was missing in your relationship.

What were you meant to say?

But then he’d apologised, recognised it was too soon, begged to stay friends. Friends—like a platonic relationship is in any way gift receipt redeemable. And ironically, hearing him out wasn’t even your biggest mistake, it was that wretched hug goodbye that you’d permitted you get.

It was as though that hug held everything unsaid. Your figure had moulded against his quite perfectly, and why wouldn’t it? He’s the only romantic embrace you’d known since you were a teenager.

And when you’d finally pulled away, separated the pieces of your heart that were finally greeting his again, you hadn’t realised that he’d think about that hug for weeks gone by, just like you.

All the way up until Christmas, which occurred two months after your sudden break-up.

It was the last time you saw him under the pretence of amicability, when you came by Tannyhill to drop off presents and see his family. Mostly him. It felt pathetic, even then; for all you knew, Elle was on his mind and you were somewhere insignificant.

Rafe’s pretty sure he’s fucking doomed.

Your laugh reverberates through Tannyhill like a siren song, and he’s pretty sure he’ll never not recognise the sound of it. It’s as though every bone in his body vibrates in tune to it—so unabashed, so freeing. Far more painful now than it used to be.

You’ve become so many Taylor Swift songs and none of them end happy.

He follows your sweet timbre to the hallway before he can help himself. Once upon a time—God, it feels so long ago now—he’d have been the first person you’d have texted before dropping by the house. Instead, as he stands paralysed at the foot of the stairs, it’s Sarah who’s hugging you, who gets to hold you in her arms.

Luckily for him, your eyes are closed in the embrace, and he’s afforded a second to recalibrate after taking you in. He’s known that you’re beautiful like his first memory on Earth, but that doesn’t mean your proximity leaves him any less winded. You’re fresh-faced with limbs that have an untouchable quality to them; you aren’t his to mark anymore, no longer his to ruin.

He can’t remember the last time he kissed you. He wants to remember so fucking bad. You’re slipping through his calloused fingers and fragments of you are all he has.

“You didn’t have to get us anything!” Sarah exclaims, pulling away faux-disprovingly.

“Hey, don’t do that, of course I did.” Your arms fall back to your side, and you open your eyes in tandem. When they flit past Sarah’s face and find Rafe’s instead, it feels as though someone has tipped ice-cold water down your singlet. A pause. “You’re family.”

Sarah notes the change in your tone with a frown, turning to look over her shoulder. “Oh,” she says, her expression hardening. “Sorry, Y/N/N. I didn’t know he was home.”

You swallow. “It’s no big,” you reply, forcing yourself to look back at her. “We’re alright, really. But I should go, I have a few more presents to drop off.”

Sarah frowns harder. “You sure you don’t want to stay a bit? I know Rose’d love to see you, we’ve all really missed having you around —”

“I’m sure,” you interrupt, handing her the bag of presents you’ve wrapped. “I’ll send her a text, okay? And listen,” you pause, your expression softening a little, “I know this holiday season’s going to be hard without your dad, and I want you to know that I’m here for you, whenever you need me.”

Sarah’s eyes well with tears. “It’s going to be hard without you too, Y/N,” she murmurs. “You’re my sister.”

Your features sadden in tandem, and you give her shoulder an encouraging squeeze. “And I always will be. You know that.”

“You should come to Christmas, then,” she says hopefully.

“I —” you falter as your voice cracks, grimacing slightly, “— I’m sorry. I don’t think I can.”

When you turn around, something in Rafe’s chest cracks too. He’s still hanging on to that expression-softening catalyst from a moment prior, yearning hard for the feeling of being on the receiving end of your love.

“Why the fuck,” Sarah fumes, rounding on him once you’re out of earshot, “do you have to ruin everything you touch?”

Rafe doesn’t even have it in him to wince. “I don’t know,” he responds quietly, with an honesty that aches. “If I did, maybe I’d have found a way to fix it.”

Sarah takes pause. Slight disbelief transforms her features. “You have to still love her. How can’t you?”

“I don’t know, alright?” Rafe runs his hand through his hair slovenly. “I just — I’m not happy anymore. It’s not fucking there… I don’t know if it’ll ever come back.”

“What isn’t?”

“The… the spark.”

“Bullshit,” Sarah spits out, accusatory. “The ‘spark’ is fucking bullshit, Rafe. You’re telling me you’ve felt it the entire time you’ve known her? You’re telling me this doesn’t have anything to do with dad’s death?”

Rafe swallows thickly, discomfort coating his throat. “I don’t, alright? All I know is I can’t give her what she needs right now; I don’t know if I ever will.”

To this day, he doesn’t know about your detour that evening — how instead of driving home, you took a left to the look-out where you shared your first kiss. He doesn’t know that the waves crashing ashore bore witness to your heartbreak; that sunset orange painted your tear-streaked cheeks a gentler amber. Caressed them, subdued them, where he no longer could. He doesn’t know you agonised over how much his hair had grown in your absence, the subtle stubble on his jaw, the stark outline of his biceps.

The him that’s foreign to you, now; the him that’s Elle’s and not yours.

At twenty-four years old, Rafe Cameron doesn’t know fucking anything.

Of course, once he does eventually recognise that his ‘something there’ with Elle is a rebound, it’s too late to entertain returning to you with his tail between his legs.

He can’t. Not after everything he’s put you through in the past. So he allows regret to caulk his limbs and bitterness to coat his insides, and Rafe Cameron does what he does best — pushes it down and ignores it.

Which brings him here, a non-attendee to his best friend’s wedding and an hour late to his reception.

He sidles into the venue through a pair of double doors, and the first thing he notices is the dimmed sconces and muted fairy lights. It’s the first thing, because perplexingly, the crowd is hard to discern but you glow anyway. A spotlight illuminates the centre of the room where Brooklyn and Kelce share their first dance, but they don’t draw his gaze, your beautiful features do.

Of course you do, in your strappy cowl neck slip. There’s less periwinkle fabric than he’d anticipated, more exposed limbs, and Rafe feels like he’s run a fucking marathon as he takes you in. And your pretty eyes and glossy lips cascade into a bare neck; soft skin that’s forgotten his rough touch, his bruising kisses.

It’s momentary lust that his regret promptly squashes. He can’t think those thoughts about you anymore, even if they’re almost second nature. Even if he’s spent more tangible years of his life as your boyfriend than he has a fucking stranger.

That’s what you guys are meant to be right now: strangers. His stomach coils. His tired eyes search for the open bar on instinct.

Once he’s acquired a whiskey neat and a glass of champagne, he pulls through the crowd and makes toward your figure.

You aren’t as lucky as he is to mentally prepare for a reunion. When he holds out the shimmering flute and prompts your gaze toward him, there’s a split-second of slack-jawed diffidence before you find your common sense.

God, you wish he wasn’t so easy to stare at.

He’s wearing an expression that isn’t yours anymore, with his thick brows furrowed and lips slightly parted. Yearning, but he can’t be. His blue eyes make your heart leap. Your gaze lifts before it falls, taking in his damp hair, his larger than ever frame. Both feel unfamiliar; he’s shed the skin and aureate curls your fingers once traced. Same notes of patchouli on his neck, though you note the absence of the silver chain you once bought him for Christmas.

Does he still have it, somewhere, hidden in a shoebox under his bed? (His hand is so close to your chest, it feels like you’re dying.) Is it as painful for him to see you like this after months and months of no contact?

Can’t be. Shouldn’t be. The ache may linger, agonisingly, but you’re stronger now than you were when he first ended things.

“Oh,” is all you can muster, accepting the flute of champagne. When your fingers brush, you reprimand the jolt of static. Lust may be hard to shake, but you resolve to let logic prevail. “Thanks.”

Rafe feels it too, harder, more unbearable. “Don’t mention it.”

You break eye contact to look out into the crowd, though it’s a struggle finding anything to focus on. “When’d you arrive?”

“Five minutes ago,” he admits, staring at your side profile for a second longer than he probably should. He analyses the glittery stuff on your cheekbones—highlighter?—for traces of a familiar feeling. “Work shit.”

“Ah,” you reply, raising your eyebrows at him. “Some things never change, huh?”

Rafe winces. “Look, Y/N, I —”

“I’m kidding, Rafe, relax,” you interrupt, sending him a small smile. It makes his stomach turn. “It’s all going well, I hope?”

“It is, yeah,” he responds, smiling in tandem. “Ish. Still doing a fuck tonne of late nights and weekends.”

“Bummer.” It feels strange, making small talk in this way. Strange, though not particularly as awful as you’d predicted. “How’re Rose and your sisters?”

“Yeah, they’re good,” they miss you, “Sarah’s going to UCLA in the fall.”

You nod. “She told me.”

Something in Rafe’s chest drops. He turns to you, his piercing gaze making your skin burn. “I didn’t realise you guys kept in touch.”

“We’ve always been really close. You know that.”

Because of me. “Right.” His eyes fall to your throat as you take another pull of champagne, smooth and unblemished and painfully foreign. “I’m glad.”

You turn to him then, an unreadable expression on your face. “Me too.”

A beat. The pair of you stare at each as the surroundings buzz into static.

“Listen, Rafe, I —”

“Y/N, I’ve been —”

You falter first, scrunching up your face abashedly. “Sorry. You go.”

“I…” Rafe pauses, running his calloused palm through his hair, “I guess I just want to apologise. For everything.”

Your eyes widen, and you turn away from him abruptly. “Rafe, I don’t know if now is the best time to have this conversation.”

“Shit, I know. I know I’m about five months too late and don’t deserve to be heard out.”

“Well,” you pause, chewing on your bottom lip apprehensively. Your voice quietens. “Maybe not at a wedding.”

Or ever. You tip back the rest of your champagne just as the slow dance fades out, breaking away from him. “I’ll see you around, yeah?”

Rafe fucking hopes so. He needs a clean slate if it’ll kill him. He nods reluctantly, watching you disappear into the crowd in front of him. The ache in his chest crescendos as the physical distance swallows you completely.

—

“We love you,” Brooklyn mouthes, blowing you a kiss through the open window. The limousine she’s in stretches forward with jet-black grandiosity, its ignition blaring alive as you catch it in mid-air.

When you blow one back, Kelce peeks over her shoulder and sends you a wink. The pair of them wave to the wedding-goers surrounding you before the vehicle pulls forward, leaving you in its dust. You watch them exit the Island Club gates, and a sense of bittersweet melancholia finds home in your chest.

That should’ve been you. You turn around as the crowd begins to disperse and find yourself face to face with Rafe once again.

“Oh,” you say, looking up at him in surprise. When your expression relaxes—in recognition—his chest pulls in tandem. “They’re sweet, huh?”

Us; that should’ve been us. Rafe nods, smiling wistfully. “Can you believe you’re the one that set them up?”

“At your holiday house,” you return, smiling in tandem. “This was a two-person wing man job.”

“Nah. You were the one that saw their potential.” A pause. “You’ve always been really good at that.”

Your brow furrows. “At setting people up?”

“At seeing their potential,” Rafe corrects. An unreadable emotion crosses his blue irises. “Even when they don’t deserve it.”

Your expression falters. You aren’t sure what to say to this, so you don’t say anything at all.

“Listen,” Rafe tries again, scratching the back of his neck, “d’you need a ride?”

“Well…”

You hesitate, looking over his shoulder for your parents. When you spot them, they’re in avid conversation with some family friends; they look extremely comfortable, like they’re going to be dawdling until God knows when.

You’re searching for justification even though he doesn’t deserve it. After all the pain he’s caused you, your wretched heart still yearns for more.

Fucking sadist.

“Actually, yeah,” you finish after a beat, bringing your gaze back to him. “That’d be great, thank you.”

His shoulders relax. “Yeah, of course. You have all your things?”

“Uh huh.”

“This way.”

You allow him to guide you to his pick-up trunk, pretend that you didn’t discern it right away. Besides, you were meant to have forgotten the location of his unofficial ‘official’ parking spot. So you follow him toward it, deny the familiarity of its number plate, and act like every dent and wretched scratch isn’t a piece of your heart.

“Shit—ow!” You curse, hurtling forward as you stall, again. “This is fucking impossible, Rafe. I quit.”

Rafe grins perplexedly, giving your shoulder a squeeze. “Baby,” he placates, “if Top can learn to drive manual, anyone can.”

You make a frustrated noise, crossing your arms over your chest. “Not me, clearly.”

Rafe lets out a laugh, unbuckling your seatbelt so he can pull you into his lap. “C’mere.”

When he does so—with entirely too much ease—he pinches your chin between his forefinger and thumb so he can guide your lips against his. It’s an unhurried kiss, a sure press of emotion, as though he’s rousing the embers that live within your ribcage.

He has this funny way of leaving you out of breath no matter how chaste the embrace. You break away reluctantly, raising your eyebrows at him. “So is this the reward system you used when you were teaching him to drive, hot-shot?”

Rafe makes a face, dipping his head to sponge a kiss to your neck. “Why? You jealous?”

“Never,” you sigh, running your fingers through his hair. “You wouldn’t dream of leaving me for someone else, Rafe Cameron. The Figure Eight wouldn’t forgive you if you did.”

“I wouldn’t forgive myself if I did.” Another teeth-scraping kiss. “I’d be crazy to let you go. I’ve been in love with you since we were freshman.”

He doesn’t open the passenger’s side door for you after unlocking his pick-up truck. That isn’t his place anymore.

He wants to, anyway. You want him to, badly. This revelation passes unsaid between the two of you as you climb into the seat yourself, unscathed by chivalry.

Once you’re buckled in, your gaze lifts to the new air freshener dangling from the rearview mirror. “Huh,” you say, flicking it absently, “you replaced it.”

He wants to say, you left me no choice. He wants to say, old spice smells like you. “Oh yeah,” he replies instead, clearing his throat. “Rose got me it.”

“It’s nice.”

“Thanks.”

He shifts into reverse and backs out of the park, and there’s a split second where he almost places his hand on your headrest. He can’t do that anymore. Too close; not close enough. You notice it too. An ache passes from his heart to yours.

“Are you going to take any time off over summer break?” You ask, keeping your gaze on the road ahead.

Rafe pulls out onto the main road before turning to you and responding, “I wasn’t planning on it, but I think I might need some.”

“I think you might need some too,” you agree, sending him a fleeting smile. “Bahamas?”

You don’t expect the tears in his eyes that follow. You straighten abruptly, your eyebrows pulling together. “Sorry, I didn’t mean —”

“No—shit, I just—” he falters as his voice cracks, clearing his throat again, “I don’t think I could go back there any time soon. Too many memories.”

Your expression softens. “Your dad, of course. I get it. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You have nothing to be sorry about.” He takes in a jagged breath. “Shit, I’m the one that should be apologising. For everything.”

“Rafe —”

“No, listen…”

He pauses as he turns left onto your street, pulling onto the side of the road as soon as he can. He’s still a good mile away from your house, but it feels an injustice to keep you waiting for an explanation. When he turns and angles his body toward you, there’s a brokenness on his face that makes your miserable heart falter.

“I’m… I’m so sorry for everything I put you through after I broke up with you. Even if that was what I needed at the time, even if it was the right decision, I shouldn’t have been so fucking heartless and I regret not reaching out to you more often.”

You swallow thickly. He takes your silence as encouragement to keep going.

“You deserved better than the way I treated you… you’ve always deserved better than me. I didn’t know how to deal with all of my grief and I pushed you away in the process. It was… fuck, it was so selfish of me, and I’m sorry. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t hate myself for it.”

He’s taken all of the oxygen in the car, and you find yourself struggling for air. You turn to him, every drunken rationalisation manifest. “Thank you,” you whisper, “for saying that.”

“And listen, the Elle thing —”

Too much. “Rafe,” you interrupt, swallowing again. “Stop. It’s fine. I accept your apology.”

Rafe frowns, the furrow in his brow painfully evident. “Yeah? Because… because I’d understand if you didn’t.”

“Yeah,” you affirm, turning away from him. “Besides, it’s ancient history. I forgave you a long time ago in my head.”

“You did?” Rafe’s asks, searching your features in earnest. “Why?”

The champagne you’ve consumed swirls uncomfortably in your stomach. “I had to,” you say quietly. “It was the only way I was going to be able to move on from the situation.”

Rafe’s stomach drops. “Which you have.”

“Which I have.”

The smokescreen between you smothers any semblance of hope you might’ve shared. He nods, turning on the ignition once again. “I hope that means you’re happy, Y/N.”

“It does,” you reply, “I am.”

“Good.” It doesn’t feel good at all. “Maybe this means we can be friends.”

You turn to him again, raising your eyebrows. “Friends?”

“Like we were before,” he affirms, putting the car into drive. His fingers brush the bare skin of your thigh near the gearshift. A very unfriend-like jolt of static shoots into your chest. “I… I don’t know. Sometimes I think I just miss my best friend.”

Your heart sighs. “Me too.”

“Friends then.”

“Yeah,” you reply, sending him a small smile. “Friends.”

—

You haven’t been to Shake Shack since you broke up with Rafe. You didn’t even realise you’d evaded it so long; perhaps it was a subconscious thing, too many painful memories to bear.

You remember when it first opened up in the Banks, this egalitarian refuge nestled between the Cut and Figure Eight.

Rafe Cameron remembers too, remembers bringing you here on your very first date. Roguish at fourteen with endless charm and a handsome face, he had far less creases etched onto his forehead then; far less familial expectations to deal with.

If only you knew he’s evaded it too. When he pulls into the carpark, the aforementioned date comes forth in fragments.

When memories lie dormant so long in one’s head, they tend to lose the stitches that hold them together. Nervousness, excitement, cherry coke and a lilac singlet. The strange feeling of forever before either of you could place it. He doesn’t remember any of your conversation, nor how long the date lasted, but he remembers the cloudless sky, the flutter of new love in his stomach.

The pair of you share a look before exiting his pick-up truck. A look that says: uh oh, and insinuates far more than that.

“So how’s work going, anyway?” Rafe asks, shoving his hands into his front pockets. He’s a beat behind you head toward the entrance, and you can feel your neck burn where his eyes remained trained on you.

“Yeah, alright, same old,” you say, sending him a fleeting smile over your shoulder. His blue irises are dappled golden in sunlight, and their brilliance unsteadies you, the eye-contact like a firestarter. You clear your throat. “Sam quit.”

Rafe’s eyes widen. “You’re kidding.”

“Not kidding,” you shake your head, “he ended things with Peyton and booked a Contiki in South East Asia.”

“Shiiiiiit,” Rafe wolf whistles, shaking his head in tandem. “Is he going through some kind of quarter life crisis?”

You shrug. “Who would let someone like Peyton go, huh?”

Rafe resists the urge to wince. He can think of one person in particular who threw away something far more special. He clears his throat significantly, regret like molasses coating the sides of his windpipe. “Yeah. How’s she doing with it all?”

“Oh you know Peyton, she’s the queen of acting unbothered,” you reply, sounding reproachful. “Even when she’s heartbroken, she refuses to tell me about it.”

Rafe frowns. “Fuck that.”

“Yeah?” You send him a wayward glance, raising your eyebrows knowingly. “Cause to me, it sounds like someone else I used to know.”

There’s a pause as he meets your gaze, a frightening wistfulness passing between you. It lingers.

“Right.” You’re at the entrance to Shake Shack now, and Rafe grapples for purchase on the one thing he can control—friends. He pulls open the door and beckons you forward, “So. Is today the day you branch out and order something new, Y/N?”

When you pass by him, a tendril-like brush of shoulder on chest, the buttery scent of your vanilla perfume lingers. A lot about you does, a lot more than he’d care to admit.

Rafe’s wretched heart cycles between the old and new you like it’s trying to make them both fit within its chambers.

“Don’t think I have a choice,” you reply, sending him a smile over your shoulder. “They’ve completely revamped their menu since the last time we were here.”

Rafe raises his eyebrows at you. “They have?” You checked?

“Uh huh,” you reply, nodding. “I was going to make a reservation here for our anniversary way back when.” You clear your throat. “When I went on their website to do so, I realised that their menu was totally different.”

You leave out the part where you’d stopped by soon after, asked—no, begged—the manager to serve you the originals when you came. You know, when old time’s sake was a sacred concept. When that sweet, lovesick version of you still existed.

“Oh shit,” Rafe says. Though it’s subtle, he catches the smidge of diffidence in your voice, like the ghost of relationship’s past rearing its ugly head. You checked, for him, and you’re so nonchalant about it. Like it may have mattered then, but right now it matters far less.

He feels an awful twinge in his chest. He adds, “That sucks.” He isn’t sure whether he’s referring to the change in menu or the change in your heart’s purpose.

“I know.”

“I was looking forward to ordering the usual.”

“Me too.” You shrug. “We’re just going to have to find a new usual, I guess.”

What you mean is, make new memories that’ll replace the old ones. What you mean is, erase the nostalgia being here brings.

Also, though you’d never willingly admit it, start anew.

Rafe nods, stepping forward and glancing up at the menu. Though it’s different to the one he remembers from his youth, the interior of the diner is comfortingly familiar — same ugly yellow track lights, same checkered linoleum underfoot. Same fingerprint-smudged counter and broken drinks machine, same uniform on the workers, same greasy smell permeating.

And the same booth you were partial to nestled in one corner, it’s retro cushion covers faded as ever.

The menu, and the girl beside him. The only two things that feel different.

“Hm.” You frown, deliberating over the menu. “I’m thinking the ‘classic’. You want to split some curly fries?”

Rafe raises his eyebrows, his blue eyes full of mirth. “So the one that’s exactly your old order, minus the pickles. Got it.”

“Yes,” you decide. “Except I’ll ask them to add pickles.”

“Of course you will.” Rafe grins. “I’ll get the same.”

You gasp, faux-scandalised. “Rafe Cameron eating pickles? Now I’ve seen everything.”

Rafe raises his eyebrows. “How d’you know I’m not just ordering it to pawn ‘em off to you?”

You balk. “I don’t, I guess.”

“And yes, to the curly fries,” he adds, quick to change the subject. The bashfulness on your features dissipates, but the tension in the room weighs ever-present.

You nod, sliding your wallet out of your back-pocket. “Should we just split the bill, then?”

“No way,” Rafe says, clasping your wrist to hold it in place. Your pulse feels funny. “I got it.”

“Rafe.” You frown, shaking your head. “Look, it really isn’t a big deal —”

It is to me. “Exactly,” he interrupts. “Which is why I got it.”

Maybe you should argue some more, insist on paying until he gives in. But you don’t. Between the pulse-jolting closeness and mocking sense of nostalgia, you aren’t sure you have it in you to retaliate.

Though in an act of rebellion, you avoid your usual booth. Once you’re seated at a new table and separated by your burgers, you re-enter this stupid friendship thing you’ve adopted. The one that boasts no-strings like the red one isn’t obvious.

“So,” you say, popping a curly fry in your mouth. “You remember Maya, right?”

Rafe makes a face. “That psycho roommate you had in senior year? Yeah, pretty hard to forget.”

“Well, she hit me up a month ago to let me know she’d be in the Banks to see her boyfriend.” At his audible gasp, you nod significantly. “I know. Asked if I wanted to catch up while she was here.”

Rafe wolf whistles in amusement. “No fucking way. After the Hell she put you through?”

“I fucking know,” you reply, grimacing in disdain.

Rafe raises his eyebrows, swallowing down a handful of curly fries. “Tell me you said no.”

You raise yours in tandem. “What do you think, casanova?”

“Y/N!” He groans, shaking his head. “Why do you put yourself through this shit?”

You frown, reaching for your soda and sipping stubbornly. Condensation rolls down your palm, the soft skin shining. “C’mon! It was useful, I swear. I got the intel on Maya and her mystery OBX man.”

Rafe leans forward in interest, taking a pull of his soda too. “Go on then.”

“God, I’ve been sitting on this information for ages,” you say, your pretty eyes full of excitement. Rafe’s heart leaps. “I wanted to tell you as soon as I found out, but we weren’t talking and you were avoiding me and I didn’t know whether I should break no contact.”

It deflates just as quickly, sinking into his stomach like deadweight. “I wasn’t… I don’t know, I thought it’d be best if I kept my distance.” He sighs, sitting back and raking his fingers through his hair. “Clearly that was a mistake. I haven’t been this relaxed in fucking ages.”

You smile small. “Yeah. This is nice.”

“Nice.”

“Anyway,” you clear your throat, this sticky, molasses-like something rising from your chest, “it’s Dylan. Like Dylan fucking Young that had a crush on me in freshman year.”

“Fuck off, seriously?” Rafe replies, mirth evident on his features. “Not kidding, think it’d be grounds for a restraining order if she ever found that out.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” You exclaim, raising your eyebrows significantly. “You promise to take this to your grave, Cameron?”

Rafe nods, faux-somber, extending his pinky toward you. “He won’t hear it from me, Y/L/N.”

When your fingers entwine, you wonder whether he feels it too. It’s a jolt of static that leaves your skin warm and your insides funny, and you wonder whether the effect it has on you is endearing or pathetic.

The latter, you conclude. The red string of fate disagrees.

“Good,” you say, retrieving your hand. “Oh, and,” you take a generous bite of your burger, “did you hear that Taylor’s moving to Texas?”

“I did, actually,” Rafe replies. “From Top, funnily enough.”

You frown. “He’s still pining, huh?”

“Unfortunately.” He pulls apart his burger to pick out the green pickles, placing them onto your plate before re-assembling. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world. In the offensive, fluorescent lighting, they shine up at you in mocking. “Anyway, I should probably learn to get used to it. I’m moving into Kelce’s room now that he’s happily wed.”

Your jaw slackens in surprise. “You’re moving in with Topper?”

Rafe grins. “I know. Who would’ve thought, huh?”

“But,” you pause, popping another curly fry into your mouth, “why?”

“Needed to get out of Tannyhill, I guess.” He falters, swallowing down the bile-like rise of emotion from his chest. “Too many memories.”

Your expression softens. “That makes sense.”

“Besides, Sarah’s starting college soon, and Wheeze’s off at boarding school for the majority of the year anyway.” He shrugs. “And Rose… well, she’s at the Bahamas house more than she is in the OBX.”

“Too many memories,” you repeat, frowning sadly.

“Yeah. I guess.”

There’s silence then, the comfortable kind. An emotion passes between you that feels both familiar and new at the same time.

It matters less when you finally finish, what you speak about, whether you’ll meet again. All you know is, something feels different now, as though there’s embers that this reunion has reignited in your ribcage. Dormant though they had once been, you’d always hoped that the renewed hope would set them aflame.

The next day, you wake up to a text from Rafe.

thank you for yesterday. It was really nice.

You don’t have it in you to reply; Rafe doesn’t mind. He knows you feel the same way.

—

It’s a few weeks before you see him again, at a farewell party for Brooklyn and Kelce.

Prior to embarking on their honeymoon, they were shifting their lives to Chicago; laying down the foundations of stability so they could return to a clean slate.

It upsets you to no end. You’d always assumed that her marriage to Kelce would guarantee that she settles down in the Banks.

Rafe Cameron must remember this, the way he does everything else. He hands you a beer and clinks his own against it, beads of condensation sliding over his calloused hand.

“Huh,” he murmurs, shaking his head in faux-disappoint, “so much for staying here and ruling the Eight with an iron fist.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” You exclaim, taking a generous pull of beer. Rafe’s gaze falls to the bare column of your throat, and he temporarily loses his bearings. “Does loyalty mean absolutely nothing around here?”

Rafe grins appreciatively. “They’re bound to come back, you know.”

“And how can you be so sure?”

“Because,” Rafe pauses, lowering his voice conspiratorially, “we were all cursed by the hometown witch when we were babies.”

You let out a peal of laughter. “Is that why I came back here after college?”

It isn’t lost on you that Rafe is standing far closer to you than he should. His spicy, cedar-wood cologne presses over your figure in waves. He bows his head to eye level, still grinning his mirth, “It’s why we all did. It’s also why they aren’t going to last more than a year in Chicago, I’m calling it now.”

“Who isn’t going to last more than a year in Chicago?” Comes Brooklyn’s voice from behind him, pulling the pair of you from your reverie.

He breaks away and turns to find her standing behind him, her eyebrows raised accusatorially at your closeness.

You smile guiltily at her, raising your arms in surrender. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t deny it either!” Brooklyn reproaches, faux-scandalised. She sends Rafe a playful glare, reaching for your arm and pulling you away. “I’m rescuing her from your bad influence, Cameron.”

Rafe nods sagely, taking a sip of his beer. “I think that’s wise, Astor—” he balks, shaking his head, “—sorry, Smith. Shit, Brooklyn Smith, huh? Guess I can’t do that last name thing ‘round here anymore, can I?”

“Not with us,” she replies, turning the pair of you around. She sends you the ghost of a wink before adding, “Y/N’s fair game, though. You know she’d rather die than take a guy’s last name.”

Something in Rafe’s chest deflates. “Yeah?”

You frown at him over your shoulder, mildly bewildered. “You knew that, Cameron.”

Maybe I thought I was different. “True.” He raises his beer bottle in acknowledgement. “Besides, Y/L/N suits you too much.”

Not as much as Cameron would have, once upon a time. You nod approvingly, the twinge in your heart conveying the exact opposite. “Doesn’t it just?”

Brooklyn steers you to the kitchen under the pretence of grabbing a drink, her true intentions becoming obvious when Kelce pivots into earshot on his barstool.

“So?” She prods, rounding on you once you’ve halted. “What’s the deal?”

“Deal?” You echo, feigning confusion. “What deal?”

“Don’t do that,” she replies, narrowing her eyes accusatorially. “Are you guys seeing each other again?”

You swallow. Your gaze darts to a helpless-looking Kelce. “Why? Has he said something?”

“That’s the thing,” Kelce mutters, shaking his head thoughtfully. “He hasn’t. But he’s… different.”

You frown. “Different how?”

“I don’t know… chiller. Happier. Like he was before Ward passed away.”

“Of course he is,” Brooklyn snorts, not buying it for a second. “He’s finally being absolved of all his guilt!”

“Brooklyn…” you sigh.

“What? It’s true!” She asserts, crossing her arms across her chest. “He’s… listen, Y/N, whatever you think this is, you need to snap out of it. He’s proved time and time again that he doesn’t have the emotional capability to deal with his shit, and you’ve been made collateral too many times to forgive him this quick.”

“Quick?” Your chest feels on fire. Isn’t seven months of torture enough exoneration?

“C’mon baby, you’ve gotta cut him some slack,” Kelce assuages, gentle but firm. “He fucked up, sure, but he also lost his dad, remember?”

“Grieving or not, he shouldn’t have pushed her away.”

“Granted, but we’ll never know exactly how he was feeling —”

“We shouldn’t have to, you just don’t do that to someone you love —”

“I’m still here, you know,” you interrupt quietly, frowning. “That someone that Rafe doesn’t love.”

A pause. Its silence that’s distilled in the overhead lighting, the scene beneath it awash in dim regret.

Brooklyn’s features are softer when she breaks the silence. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I just… I worry about you.”

You know she does; it isn’t her fault. She’s the one that slept over for four weeks straight post break-up, forced food down your throat and wiped away all your tears.

“Don’t apologise, Brooke, I get it,” you say, sending her a small smile. “But I’m fine, I promise. This isn’t even… this feels different.”

“Different how?”

“Like… you know that saying: ‘You’ll never find the same person twice, not even in the same person’? That’s how this feels. We haven’t fallen back into old habits.”

Brooklyn regards this for a moment, surveying your features carefully. “But you’ve been hanging out?”

“Only once,” you reply honestly. “Sent a few texts back and forth, that’s all. If… if anything were to happen, it’d be like a new relationship, not like restarting the old one. You know?”

“I do.”

Kelce smiles. “That’s… shit, that makes sense.” There’s a wistfulness to his voice. “That’s why I couldn’t figure out what it reminds me of, this different him that’s chilled and happy.”

You furrow your brow. “Hm?”

“It’s freshman year him all over again,” he explains. “You know… when the two of you got close the first time ‘round.”

“Oh.” Your heart soars. “Square one, huh?”

Kelce shrugs, sharing a meaningful look with Brooklyn. “Square one I guess.”

You’re about to respond when Rafe’s figure pulls your gaze, his crossed arms and broad shoulders blocking the kitchen entrance. He’s wearing a handsome expression and his hair is perfectly unkempt, the heady scent of his cologne juxtaposing his lack of proximity.

Sometimes, life is unfair. Your ex-boyfriend, now new friend, eliciting such un-platonic thoughts is one of those instances.

And it isn’t as though you’ve given Rafe much of a break, his blue eyes caught on your figure like a moth to a flame. You aren’t wearing a dress he recognises, which is both a delightful and agonising revelation.

Delightful, because it reveals bare expanses of skin that make his wretched hands itch in longing. Agonising, because it’s a reminder of the seven long months that he’s had to spend grappling with your absence.

Having a smile as pretty as yours is extremely unfair, all things considered. And eyes. Soft skin. He needs to stop staring before he does something stupid.

“Perfect,” he announces brusquely, “are we hosting our intervention now?”

He looks at you expectantly. You raise your eyebrows. “You know,” he adds, “the one where we beg them to stay in the Banks?”

“Hey!” Brooklyn exclaims, her green eyes full of mirth. “What d’you mean stay in the Banks? Newsflash, I’m not even from here.”

“You’re not from Chicago either, Ast-Smithy,” he returns significantly, sending her a meaningful glance. “Besides, you married into a Figure Eight family. You are very officially one of us now.”

“Not for long!” Brooklyn sings, sending you a wink.

“C’mon, Smith,” Rafe tries, turning to Kelce and feigning disappointment. “What happened to our sacred pact?”

“We were eight, Cameron.”

“And already privy to the tragedy of small-town life,” Rafe sighs faux-dramatically, nodding in agreement. “I’m bitter, alright? I thought I’d be the first one to get out of here.”

He glances over at you fleetingly as he says this. We’d be the first ones, his heart corrects in vain.

“As if,” you scoff, raising your eyebrows. “Mr Cameron fucking Development leave this place before me? No chance.”

Rafe grins roguishly, his blue eyes shining with amusement. “You’re all talk, Y/L/N. We both know it.” He sends Kelce and Brooklyn a meaningful glance. “We all are.”

“Yeah, yeah, we’re going to be here all fucking night if we keep arguing about this,” Brooklyn decides, patting Kelce’s thigh to prompt him to stand. “C’mon, baby, we should probably get back to mingling.”

“You know,” she adds, narrowing her eyes playfully. “‘Cause it’s the last time we’ll see some of these people.”

You let out a laugh, shaking your head bemusedly. Any retaliation on Rafe’s tongue fails at the timbre of it.

Once they’re out of sight, you turn to him, adopting a faux-somber look. “If we are truly doomed to a life in the Eight, will you promise me something?”

He’s still grappling with the fact that he’s a man starved of your beautiful laugh, now reborn. “Go on.”

“Should you find me yelling at Island Club employees about flower arrangements or charcuterie boards, shoot me.”

Rafe laughs, and it reverberates through your bones warmly. “And suffer alone? No way. I’ll meet you in the middle. Lobotomy?”

“No thoughts in my brain? So generous,” you tease. “Alright. It’s a deal.”

Rafe clinks his beer bottle against yours in confirmation, taking a generous pull of the bubbly liquid. “Can we trade promises?” He asks.

You take a sip in tandem, maintaining eye contact as you do so. There’s tension in the air, that familiar-new feeling manifest, and it’s no longer frightening, but rather a comforting embrace.

You marvel in it. Breaking free feels fruitless. “Yes.”

“If you make a plan to settle elsewhere, will you tell me?”

“Of course I will.” A pause. “Although, I think you’re right. I don’t think any of us are truly capable of leaving permanently.”

“If anyone is though, it’s you,” he says, so matter-of-factly, like he actually believes it. “I mean… you’re the only one who had the balls to go to a college out of state. The rest of us just accepted a cushy offer at UNC.”

“Doesn’t matter,” you dismiss. “I was back here so often I barely left.”

Rafe raises his eyebrows. “Only because you had a reason to come back.” You still do, if you’ll take me.

I still do, if you’ll take me. “True.” You frown, thinking on this for a moment. “Even so… I don’t know. Maybe it’s that hometown curse talking, but I wouldn’t want to raise my kids anywhere else in the States.”

Rafe’s gaze steadies, pulsing through you in waves. “I get that. We had a pretty sweet childhood, all things considered.”

You make a face. “Like, I don’t think I can deal with this iPad kid epidemic. Least we were sheltered from all that crap, you know?”

“Yeah,” Rafe replies, raising his eyebrows significantly. “Even if there were plenty of other things to jade us with.”

“Shit, I know,” you respond, laughing bemusedly. “See, only people from the Eight know how political beach clean ups can get.”

Rafe chuckles in tandem, taking another sip of his beer. “God, our lives are fucking ridiculous.”

You raise your bottle in agreement. A comfortable silence falls between you.

After pause, Rafe speaks up again. “You know,” he says quietly, an unnameable emotion flickering across his blue irises. “I don’t even think it’s everyone in the Eight.”

You balk. “Hm?”

“The whole, knowing each other thing,” he murmurs, shaking his head. “You’ve always understood me better than anyone else.”

Your traitorous heart leaps, and you force yourself to ignore it. Actions have always spoken louder than words, and you decide now’s as good a time as any to confront him about this.

It’s time to be brave, you decide. You say, “I find that hard to believe.”

“Why?”

“Elle.”

Rafe’s miserable heart falters, penitence like a lump in his throat. He’s been preparing for this accusation since your very first reunion, but it still doesn’t feel like enough; he’s a coward trembling at the frontlines, anyway.

“I’ve… we’ve… my therapist and I have talked about that situation at length.”

You eyes widen in surprise. “Your therapist?”

“I’ve been going to therapy, yeah,” Rafe replies, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “For a month or so now, every week without fail.”

It isn’t lost on you that Brooklyn and Kelce’s wedding was a month ago. The rift in your ribcage widens.

“Has it been helping?” You ask.

“A bit,” Rafe admits. “Mostly just to validate what I knew all along, I guess.” At your silence, he continues, “That… shit, that I’ve got this problem where I push people away when I need them the most. The Elle thing, there’s no fucking excuse for it, none, but it became pretty obvious after you confronted me that she was just a rebound.”

“A rebound,” you echo.

“A distraction, an escape… I don’t know.” He rakes his fingers through his hair slovenly. “All I know is, I didn’t care about her, so I didn’t have to push her away. She didn’t make me talk about my dad, my grief, anything, so she was easy enough company to have around when I felt like it.”

“Oh.” You swallow. “But I did.”

“But you did,” Rafe affirms, grimacing sheepishly. “Shit, all you fucking did was care about me and all I did was push you away.”

You try to be pragmatic. “Grief makes people do shitty things.”

“It doesn’t matter. You didn’t deserve it.”

“True.” A pause. Your gaze falls over Rafe’s face in paces, his haggard expression making you soften. “Listen. I’m glad you’re going to therapy, seriously. I know that’s a pretty big step for you to take.”

For you. “Thank you,” he replies quietly. “It… I just wish I’d listened to you the first time, you know? When you’d told me to go to therapy before I’d ended things.”

Your throat feels funny. “No use living in the past.”

“You’re right,” Rafe replies. A pause. The ghost of a smile flickers over his features. “What did I ever do to deserve your forgiveness?”

You smile in tandem, a little rueful. “Maybe you were a martyr in your past life, Cameron.”

“And you’re one in this one,” Rafe responds. “You know, after I lobotomise you over flower arrangements and charcuterie boards. Does that count as a full circle moment?”

You grin. “Not when you live on the Eight. Infinity sign, baby.”

It slips out before you can stop yourself, the ghost of pet-names past pushing Rafe’s pulse to fibrillation. Your eyes widen abashedly. “Should we rejoin the party?”

Rafe nods, “Probably,” and then, when you’re just out of earshot, “I’d do something stupid if we didn’t.”

—

Over the next few weeks, you begin to see more and more of one another.

A few texts back and forth become more than a few virtual trysts, and every spare moment you have is dedicated to being in each other’s presence.

And it isn’t as though you’re mending old love, this feels like something else altogether. Though old memories may flit through your brain on occasion, they are boundless and free — they don’t define this connection.

You’re starting anew. Rafe realises it too.

He still remembers how it felt to tell you he loved you the first time around, fourteen years old with a bashful smile and enough hope in his heart to ache. He still remembers what you were wearing the first time he drove you around; the first time you came to UNC to visit; the shade of lipgloss you worshipped from Sephora. And you remember it all too, the feeling of being in his pick-up, of being with this roguish, freshman boy that had so much charm your insides soared.

Going through it all again feels like receiving a new lease on life. How lucky are you to love a different person in the same man?

Currently, the pair of you are sprawled out on beach towels, velvet dusk revealing the bespangled sky stretching above you. Beside you, take-out boxes and sodas lie in the sand, discarded. Every now and then, his wrist brushes yours with a jolt of static.

You’re lying closer to each other than you should, his body heat pressing over you in paces. He’s pretty sure his clothes are going to smell like your soft-toned, vanilla perfume later, and he quietly delights in this.

“I’ve been thinking,” he says finally, breaking the silence.

You smile. “Shocker.”

He nudges your shoulder with his in faux-admonishment, turning his head toward you. It lingers; he’s closer. Your pulse feels boundless. “I’ve been thinking,” he repeats. “And I’ve realised something.”

You turn your head in tandem, his proximity making you balk. “What’s that, Cameron?”

“If we hadn’t broken up in the first place, I’d probably never have gone to therapy.”

A hush falls. “True.”

“And I’d never have worked through my emotional unavailability and all the problematic shit that comes with it.” He pauses, a heavy emotion making his blue eyes somber. “We’d have stayed together, but I’d never have become the man that you deserve.”

You swallow. “Is that what you are now?” You murmur, your voice unsure. “The man I deserve?”

“I don’t think so,” he answers quietly. “Don’t think I ever will be. But… but I’m working on it, properly this time. And getting to know you again, for real, has made me realise just how worth it this is.”

It’s too much. You make to turn away but Rafe’s hand stops you, gentle but firm on your face. His thumb swipes over your warm cheek in comforting circles, and you find yourself leaning into his touch inadvertently.

Uh oh, you’re falling in love. You sigh. “It feels inevitable, huh?”

“D’you believe in soulmates, Y/N?”

Your lashes flutter shut in response. Rafe inches closer still, his hand slipping down to your jaw, and when he kisses you, old embers create a new flame within your heart. It’s chaste, unsure, a second first kiss. And yet, though it’s soft, the press of his lips is a ravaging embrace.

“Do you, Rafe?” You return, opening your eyes tentatively.

His gaze is still trained on your pretty mouth, less iris than pupil as his yearning transcends everything else. He presses his thumb on your lower lip gently. “Only if it’s you.”

“I think I am,” you murmur.

Rafe smiles. Oh no, he’s falling in love again. “I think you are too.”

—

I thought the plane was going down / How’d you turn it right around?

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe x reader #rafe x you #rafe x y/n #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron oneshot

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zombieplaygrounds · 3 months

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cw: noncon hinted, hinted somno, creampies, sexual fantasies, masturbation, fem! afab reader, forced impregnation, stalker behavior, dead dove do not eat

MDNI.

It rained today; it had rained the day before as well. But today was different - at least, for Simon it was. The usual scent of cigarette the reeked around the neighborhood was washed away by the sweet, fresh fragrance of rain. He couldn't fucking sleep for the life of him, too accustomed to his shitty, inflexible work schedule. Sleep for three hours, wake up, report in, missions, come back, standing duty, work out. It was a filthy, scrambled jumble of a schedule that made his brain hurt.

His only luxury was the reservation of his civilian life.

Didn't socialize. Hell, he barely even glanced at someone's face for longer than a few seconds - didn't need to. He had already memorized their features for as long as he deemed important. Which is how he got to finding you.

You, his pretty little neighbor. You were all too fucking sweet for a bastard like him to have such possessive fantasies about. Spend the day time outside, tending to a garden, barbequing, reading a book while bathing in the sun. Your reading glasses were a cute look for you, as was everything else.

And in the evening, when you got to cooking, you'd prop open your kitchen window and let the food cool down. The sound of your dishes being scrubbed could be heard from his own yard - it's not eavesdropping if you're so got damn loud, darling. You yammer to your friend about life, work, the bullshit you experience and the guy who tried to get in your pants last week.

Oh, a pretty thing like you doesn't deserve to tell such vulgar stories. And Simon knows it's wrong to listen. He really does have morals, and respect, and chivalry. Sure, it's hard to prove that when he's fisting his hung cock. Muffling his grunts with sucks of air and shaky exhales.

Your laugh makes his cock twitch, and your sweet little "Mhmm"s make his tip leak with bitter tasting pre. He's sure he'd taste awful, splattered in your mouth. He was sure that you were spoilt on the delicacy meals you'd make in your kitchen. Simon wouldn't force you to endure something so cruel. He'd let his cream fill your cunt, holding your hand while you cry through your orgasm, because he is a gentleman.

Realistically, Simon probably couldn't last long. Especially given the way he busted in his pants the one time you came over to the fence, leaning over it with a hop on your ladder. Gave him a great view of your tits, something you had to be aware of as you begged him to give you some of the oranges from his tree.

'Course, he complied, who was he to reject his sweet little thing?

But love, when you initiate something like that, don't be surprised when the creep at your work randomly disappears. And when you wake up to the window you left open last night closed shut, and your panties full of a sticky white liquid. If they were even still on, you'd be lucky to have some dirty panties left.

You figured, you were a sleep walker. So innocent you are. Go to the doctor about all the "discharge" leaking out of you, not even questioning the throb against your cervix and imagining they were just some cramps from an upcoming period. One that never would come. And only when he hears you sobbing while waiting for one of your pies to cool down will he approach, very sweetly asking what's wrong. Leaning by your window well you break the news to him. You're gonna be a mother, and you don't even know the father. You've been abstinent for months!

Much to your surprise, your neighbor, generously offers to help. Because baby, he gets those combat paychecks; money isn't an issue for him. Simon would generously help you, from the bottom of his heart, with no ill intent, of course.

The military offered great family benefits, after all.

ahh </3 I haven't written in so long :T

anyways i wanted to try writing somno stuff because why not.

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 month

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Wicked Games 6

Warnings: non/dubcon, cheating, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Steve Rogers

Summary: you had a one night stand. Or did you?

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

The clinic waiting room reflects the silent turmoil of your existence. You sit in the rigid plastic chairs and stare at the wall. Your mouth still tastes of bile. Only minutes ago, you were in the bathroom, spewing up your guts. It’s as if you’re own body is trying to convince you of reality. You don’t need this test, idiot, you’re fucked.

When your name is called, you follow the dour nurse to a room. She goes over your chart and your reason for coming. She puts the clipboard in the plastic pocket mounted on the door and shuts it behind her as she goes.

The doctor is thirty minutes behind. She gets you a stick to pee on and takes blood to send to the lab. The first test comes back positive but the second will take longer to process. It doesn’t matter. It’s really just repeating what you don’t want to hear. You are pregnant.

The detached treatment has you feeling even more dejected. You’re given a stack of literature at the front desk before you go. You toss it in the bin by the building entrance and trod on.

It isn’t just the child, it’s the father. You know deep down it can’t be your husband’s. It’s been too long since you... did that. As much as you want to lie to yourself, you can’t. All that’s done so far is dig the hole deeper.

So, you don’t have much of a choice. You can’t afford it. Not financially, physically, or emotionally. An innocent child doesn’t deserve to be dragged into the mess you’ve made.

First, you need to leave. You already have a plan. You’re packing your bags as soon as you get home. Wendy said you can crash for a while. You’ll have to figure it from her couch. Once you’re settled, you’ll go to another clinic and do what needs to be done.

It isn’t the baby. Your marriage was already over. It just hurts. It’s not acceptance, it’s giving up. You can’t fix this. You tried so hard and it just didn’t work. The wasted time if worse than the wasted effort.

A car honks but you barely notice. There's always someone raging in the streets. It comes again, shorter than before, and an engine whirs up to the curb, sliding in between two parked cars. The silver paint glares in your vision.

“Hey,” the window rolls down, “how’d it go?”

You stagger and face Steve Rogers as he hooks his elbow over the open window. You shake your head, “Excuse me?”

“I was right.” He says. It’s just a fact, not smug. Just a statement.

“Stop. Please. Leave me alone. I told you--”

“You can’t run away from me.” He clicks free his seat belt and opens his car door. Before he can get out, you’re on the move. He catches up to your easily. “It’s mine.”

You splay your fingers in frustration and keep walking. Please, just go. “No, I’m married. It’s up to me and my husband.”

“I know you haven’t been fucking him.” His language has you skidding to a stop. You turn to him, aghast. “I can smell it. For a few days after.”

“It would be more than a few days ago,” you snap.

He scoffs, “yeah, it would be.” He stares at you and your heart flips.

“Have you—have you been following me?”

He doesn’t answer, just looks back at you. He doesn’t need to say it. You know.

“How long?” You hiss.

“Look, that night...” he begins.

“No. That night nothing! It’s over. One night and it’s not going to be the rest of my life. Alright?”

“I’ll take care of you and the baby. Your husband won’t be happy to know that you and I--”

“He’s not going to know, Captain.” You snarl. “He can’t know. Alright? This is a mistake but it can be undone. Got it? So go and live your superhero life while I scrape the barrel.”

“You’re going to leave him anyways so why are you doing this?” He asks. His tone is so fucking annoying. As if it’s all so easy.

“How do you—oh my god, oh my god. Please, back off.” You put your hands up and take a step back.

“You can’t just get rid of my baby,” he follows you as you fall back into step.

“Go.”

“No, I won’t let you.”

“I’m begging you--”

“Just like you did that night. I know you didn’t forget.” He grabs your arm and pulls you around to face him. “You can’t. It was the best night of my life and you just disappeared. I can’t let you go again.”

“Let go of me,” you wriggle in his grasp.

“I’m trying to help you. I’m telling you that you don’t need to do all this. I can help with the baby. Please.”

You stare up at him defiantly and tear away from him, “I don’t need you to save me. That was my first mistake. Thinking that a man could ever do that.”

You turn and stomp away. He calls your name but you keep going. You can’t look back. You’re terrified. Deep down you know if he doesn’t follow you then, he will find you later. This whole time he’s been playing your shadow and you never even knew it.

#steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #series #drabble #wicked games #captain america #marvel #mcu #avengers

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mimikyuno · 1 year

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love and hope and kindness being the running motifs in madoka magica and the forces that can single-handedly save and curse someone.

madoka’s love and kindness being what saves homura from her suicidal tendencies, but also what ultimately dooms madoka to die at the hands of the walpurgisnacht. homura’s love for madoka and undying hope to save her what curses her to repeat time and traumatise herself over and over again, while also increasing madoka’s karma and by default, cursing her too. madoka’s refusal for homura’s hope to be in vain being the driving force that grants hope to all, but also ends madoka’s existence. sayaka’s love for kyousuke and her altruistic, heroic ideals being what gives her confidence and hope at first, but when confronted with misogyny and unrequited love (even when you told yourself you would not expect him to love you back just because you sacrificed yourself for him) being what curses her. kyouko’s love for her family being the catalyst that leads it to break apart, because in all her childlike devotion to her parents, she couldn’t see her father for who he was. mami’s kindness forcing her to put up a brave face and resulting in her demise.

but it all does not end in despair! sayaka’s newfound love for kyouko being the reason kyouko is no longer lost and angry and alone. mami’s kindness finding a recipient in nagisa, to whom she can finally be a parental figure. in one universe nagisa was the one to end mami’s existence, but now they can both heal and not be alone anymore. madoka’s love for homura encompassing time and space and saving her, every time, over and over again. even when homura does not want it. even when she refuses her hand. madoka will always reach for her and find her and save her and show her kindness, even when homura thinks she does not deserves any, even when she’s willing to die in her own personal hell. homura’s love being yes, what commits the unforgivable sin and tears god apart, but also it is only through her “selfishness” and “terrible” act that the others get a shot at a normal childhood/adolescence. kyouko and sayaka can be together at last, mami and nagisa find each other, madoka can live with her family again.

this is what i hope will be explored in the next movie. this intrinsic relationship between hope and despair, love as a lifeline and a curse. kindness and selfishness coexisting and influencing each other. i hope the girls manage to finally tip the scale between hope and despair towards the light. i hope madoka’s love will keep on reaching homura even when she thinks she’s evil incarnate, a devil. even when she thinks her existence as antithetical to madoka’s true nature. even when she thinks herself beyond salvation. i hope they get a shot at happiness, together this time.

#im going crazy if you cannot tell #im still running a fever so im sorry if this is like. nonsense #madoka magica #pmmm #puella magi madoka magica #walpurgis no kaiten #madohomu #kyosaya #madoka kaname #homura akemi #sayaka miki #kyouko sakura #mami tomoe #nagisa momoe #holy quintet #mine

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yuwuta · 6 months

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PEOPLE TOLD ME ABOUT THE FLAMES, I COULDN’T SEE THROUGH THE SMOKE — MEGUMI FUSHIGURO

cw some kind of college au/boarding school au? this used to be for rodeo station and now just... exists on its own, friends to lovers, megumi has toji and satoru as father figures so are we surprised that he’s a bully and doesn’t really grow out of that phase… anyway, apologies to muta and miwa, 1.3k words

Nobara makes a poor effort to stifle her laughter as Kokichi stomps up to stand in front of you, hair and clothes drenched in chocolate milk, shoes sloshing with each step, and the bandage on the side of his cheek peeling from the wetness.

When you look up at him, you’re unimpressed, and unsurprised, so you resume annotating your lecture notes as if you weren’t interrupted. If Kokichi wanted to stand in a puddle of dripping milk, then so be it—you should have finished your notes yesterday, and you couldn’t get through your other tasks without catching up first.

“Look, I already said I was sorry. I shouldn’t have kept bothering you for your number when you’d already said no,” Kokichi starts, wiping dripping milk from his chin, “Now, will you please call off your guard dog.”

You don’t reply immediately, focused on finishing the last paragraph of the page, much to Kokichi’s dismay, and Nobara’s amusement. He huffs at your silence, frustrated and humiliated, but there’s nothing for him to say or do until you respond. Maybe that’s something he should have considered when he kept trying to talk to you in class. Still, even now, you’re not ignoring Kokichi to embarrass him or string him along; you just want to finish your godforsaken anthropology homework.

“You seem to be under the impression that I can make Megumi start or stop doing anything,” you sigh, put your highlighter down, and tiredly look up at Kokichi, “But I regret to inform you that you’re wrong.”

Kokichi’s nose scrunches in disbelief, an angered hand coming to wave in front of his face, but his dripping clothes result in splashes to his face—and further laughter from Nobara. He sighs out of frustration, trying to put away his pride, but Nobara’s giggling and your nonchalant attitude are really making it difficult for him to take this in stride.

“Okay, you’re fucking with me—and I deserve it, alright? But, Todo already gave me a fucking lecture, Mai won’t look at me, and Megumi is going to rip and stain every single shirt I own at this point.”

“That sounds like your problem,” Nobara snickers, rolling her eyes when Kokichi gives her a glare.

“I'd love to help, Muta, but this is out of my control,” you loll, capping your marker, “Maybe try apologizing to Megumi instead of dripping chocolate milk over notes and shoes.”

“Eh? The hell am I apologizing to him for?”

“You’re the one who pissed him off—how should I know?” you sigh, sliding your pens and markers into your bag, and closing your folder.

Nobara pipes in to taunt, “You’d better figure it out soon, though. I hear they’re serving spaghetti tomorrow, and that definitely stains.”

You swear you hear Kokichi growl, but it only makes Nobara laugh harder. The two of them together is a bad combination—Kokichi is easily aggravated, and Nobara easily aggravates. You’re certain that if Megumi weren’t already on his ass, Nobara would have stepped in to bully him just for the fun of it.

Still, you’d rather not have to testify on either of their behalf, so you bid Kokichi a goodbye, offering him your best advice about cleaning milk stains out of white shirts, and drag Nobara by the arm before she can make another quick quip to finally make him snap.

She’s still laughing at Kokichi’s expense all the way back to your dorm, “As much as I like seeing Megumi pummel Muta, he’s definitely gonna get written up, at the very least, if he keeps it up. Just tell him you’re not mad about it anymore, and he’ll piss off.”

You stuff your hands into your pockets, “I don’t control megumi. I didn’t tell him to egg Muta’s car, and pour milk all over him. ”

“Like hell you don’t,” Nobara scoffs, “Kokichi was right about one thing—Megumi’s a doberman on a leash and you’re his owner.”

“I didn’t even tell him that Kokichi kept asking for my number. I’m pretty sure Todo told Yuuji, and Yuuji told Megumi.”

“Yeah, that’s almost worse,” Nobara huffs, “He’s just moved to protect you out of undying loyalty—it must be nice to have a knight in shining armor. Does he call you ‘my liege,’ when you’re alone? He might as well bow down and kiss your shoes with the way he worships the ground you walk on.”

You know Nobara is teasing. The rhetoric that you have influence on Megumi isn’t new to you, but it’s always confusing for you to hear. You’ve known Megumi since grade school, and one thing you’re certain of is that he does things of his own conviction, and when he’s decided something, there’s little anybody can do to convince him otherwise. He’s the true definition of steadfast, and sometimes you wonder if his beliefs have inadvertently made him gain masochistic tendencies, because you’ve seen Megumi suffer in pain just to prove a point.

“Megumi’s his own person, and he’s not easily influenced,” you chuckle, “If anything, he’s more of an attack dog—he bites whenever he sees something he doesn’t like.”

“In any case, he’s your dog,” Nobara shrugs. She pauses for a moment, skipping to catch up to you with a scrunch to her face, “I change my mind though, he’s definitely not scary enough to be a doberman. What are the puffy ones—the really small ones that yap a bunch?”

“Pomeranians?”

She lights up—“Yeah, that’s way more fitting! Plus, he’s got spiky hair like those little mutts, a really bratty, spoiled one too. Gojo probably kept him in his Birkin as a kid.”

You giggle as Nobara searches for an image to compare to one of Megumi. She goes as far as to make a collage and send it in your group chat for approval, instantly getting a rave reaction from Yuuji, and predictably, no response from Megumi.

Nobara walks you back halfway to your dorm, leaving you on your own to head to the gym to meet up with Yuuji. When you get back to your room, you’re not surprised to already see Megumi inside, sitting snugly on your worn-in couch with a book in hand. It’s Wednesday, so he only had morning classes, and prefers to spend his afternoon studying in solace, usually taking advantage of your larger, empty room to get his work done. He gives you a small wave, enraptured in his reading, and you know better than to try and disturb him, so you take your place on the opposite side of the couch with the remainder of your notes in hand, finally having the peace and quiet to finish your annotations.

Megumi finishes his chapter before you’re done, but he waits for you, quietly scrolling on his phone so as not to interrupt you. You don’t face him when you speak, keeping your eyes on your notes, and simply stating, “Kokichi apologized.”

You hear him hum. you know he’s looking at you, but you don’t meet his gaze, and do your best to bite back a smile before he asks, “You forgive him?”

You finish your annotations with a final asterisk at the bottom of your page, so you cap the marker, and finally turn to face Megumi. He doesn’t ask a second time, even as you silently observe him, even if your smile is confusing to him.

“I wasn’t ever really upset,” you explain, “It was annoying, but he wasn’t harassing me or anything.”

He hums again, but it’s not agreeing. “Tsumiki is gonna get mad if you get suspended.”

Megumi calls your bluff with his hum this time, and you sigh. Tsumiki won’t get mad, because Megumi would never get suspended, not as long as Gojo is around as headmaster.

Megumi turns his body inward, raising an arm to rest his elbow against the cushion of the couch. He lolls his head to rest against his palm, cheek squished, and almost mischievous glimmer in his eye. In this light, you see Nobara’s argument—with sleep-tousled hair and expectant eyes, Megumi looks an awful lot like a puppy waiting for a command.

It’s cute, until you realize that Megumi is awaiting your command. Is he?—why would he, he’s never been known to listen, and yet, you’re tempted to see if you truly do have him on some proverbial leash, like everyone else seems to believe.

“Megumi,” you call, softly, “He’s learned his lesson, and I’m fine, alright? Leave him alone.”

Megumi blinks slowly. His features soften, only for a moment, before he’s turned away from you to pick up his book again. He doesn’t respond verbally, doesn’t touch on the topic for the rest of the evening that you both spend studying in your room, but the following day, you walk past Kokichi and Miwa heading into their chemistry lab, and notice a distinct lack of milk or food residue on his clothing or in his hair, so there isn’t anything more to be said.

Megumi is waiting outside of your lecture hall after your last class of the day, offering you a carton of strawberry milk—unopened, and un-thrown. You accept it, reaching up to ruffle his hair as a thank you, and you’re surprised when you feel him move into your touch. He dips his head down a bit further, gently knocking it against yours before straightening up with a sly smile. He nods his head, wordlessly, and turns towards your dorm, ready to walk you back.

You follow, dazed, as you stab the straw into your milk. You’re a half-step behind Megumi, head clouded with confusing new daydreams about the boy in front of you, and now you can’t help but to wonder if you’re the one left to follow Megumi’s whim, or if he’s just pulling you by his own leash.

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen smut #megumi fushiguro x reader #megumi x reader #megumi smut #megumi fluff #jjk imagines #jjk scenarios #gojo x reader #toji x reader #toji smut #jjk fake texts #jjk smau

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romanticintheory · 5 months

Note

now thinking about what it would look like if reader was betrayed by simon. i just wanna feel the excrutiating pain😞😞🙏🙏

nonny u read my mind!!

simon "ghost" riley x reader

-you meet him while you're shopping for new jewelry. your father, instead of celebrating your birthday with you, sent you a stupid amount of cash with the note, "happy birthday. get yourself something you like."

-he was always away for work. what he did, you never knew. your entire life, he had always been distanced from you despite his friendly, loud demeanor. it was like he was trying to make up for his lack of emotional and physical presence with his smiles and money.

-you believed simon riley was different.

-he tapped you on the shoulder when you were birthday shopping, clearing his throat to drown the nerves as he asked you which of the two necklaces looked better.

-you smiled kindly at him and pointed to the one you thought looked better.

-"who's the lucky lady?"

-"just my mum. figured she deserved something nice and i want it to be special for her."

-you both hit it off immediately.

-his quiet, observant demeanor was a breath of fresh air compared to what you had suffered with your father. he was always listening, keeping his eyes on you, or maybe had an arm around your waist when his attention was required elsewhere.

-he was also incredibly understanding of your situation with your father.

-"i dunno. i thought about having you meet him, but he's just always so busy and it always feels like there's no point in asking him."

-"he's that busy? what's he even do?"

-"couldn't tell you. he can't even be bothered to let me know what's so important that he has to basically ignore me my entire life. i mean, i love him, but..."

-"yeah. i get it."

-eventually, your dad catches on that you're dating someone. it's during his once-a-month call that hears a simon's "ow" following a loud thud.

-when your dad finds out it's your boyfriend, he insists on meeting him.

-"need t' get to know him, is all. especially if he's gonna be my future son-in-law!"

-when you tell simon, he gives you an encouraging nudge toward agreeing. it had been almost a year that you were together, and you were still apprehensive on letting the love of your life and the vague outline of your father meet.

-"he already knows. bet he'll keep asking until you give in, so why not now?"

-your shoulders sag in defeat as you realize he's right. so, you text your dad the details of a meetup.

-simon is oddly silent the entire drive to the restaurant. you assume it's nerves. after all, you can feel your own heart beating furiously against your chest.

-when you're about three blocks away from the restaurant, he pulls over on the curb. it's a dark night and all is quiet. for a moment, you think he's about to chicken out and propose the both of you just go home.

-he leans back in his seat and unlocks the car doors. he raises his hand as a signal and utters a single phrase:

-"don't scream."

-suddenly, the door to your seat is thrown open and someone is tying your hands behind your back and your legs together. the entire time, you're pleading, tears gathering in your eyes with a confused look on your face.

-as the last knot is secured on your legs, you hear a deep voice murmuring an apologetic, "sorry. nothing personal." is that a scottish accent? "ghost, price gave the good to go. we're ready for you."

-the soldier looks into your eyes briefly, nods back at simon, and leaves, shutting the door behind him.

-you turn your gaze back to who you thought was the one.

-"simon?"

-still, he refuses to make eye contact with you. instead, he opens the glove compartment and pulls out a balaclava and mask, pulling the former over his face.

-you can't read his eyes when he finally looks over at you, his expression now covered by a skull.

-"don't try to escape. we've got someone watchin' you, so we'll know."

-"why are you doing this?" your voice is cracking, and the tears are now slowly dribbling down to your chin and onto your lap.

-he doesn't answer you, just giving you a hardened, "i'm sorry," before taking your phone from your bag and leaving you in the dark, suffocating car.

-yeah. you believed simon riley was different.

#call of duty imagine #call of duty x reader #cod x reader #cod imagine #cod mw x reader #simon riley imagine #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley imagine #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost imagine #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you #ghost x you #cod angst #call of duty angst #simon riley angst #ghost angst #rarawrites

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joelalorian · 6 months

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Fall Into Me - Chapter Six: And I Knew My Heart Wasn't Mine

dbf!Joel x f!reader

Summary: Joel is hanging on by a thread as a single father to a tenacious 10-year-old Sarah. Feeling like he's drowning, like the world is about to spit him out, he needs some help before he breaks in half. At your dad's insistence, you show up in his life and change everything.

Story is inspired by the song Fall Into Me by Forest Blakk. Chapter titles will be lyrics from the song.

Word Count: 3.8k

Chapter Warnings: Explicit, under 18 take a hike. No outbreak AU. Lots of feelings, confusion, and self doubt. Two idiots falling in love. Finally some smut-ish stuff. Dry humping on the couch. Joel is his own warning. Tommy keeping it real. Age gap of about 9 years (Reader 24/25, Joel 33/34). No use of y/n. Reader has a nickname used only by her dad.

Dividers by the wonderful @saradika-graphics

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Chapter Five | Main Masterlist

Sitting at the kitchen table on Sunday morning, you reviewed an email on your phone from the Texas Education Agency. Relief washed over you. The State Board finally approved your certification after jumping through a million hoops, just in time for your upcoming meeting at Sarah’s school.

Yet another step closer to finally feeling like an actual adult contributing to society.

“Morning, Spud,” your dad greeted as he walked into the kitchen in search of his morning coffee. “You’re up early. Did you have fun with Sarah yesterday?”

“I figured I’d seize the day and all that. I had a blast yesterday! Sarah is so smart, and Joel was really nice, as always,” you replied, playing down quite how much of a roll Joel had in making the day so enjoyable. You still couldn’t believe how things worked out.

Joel Miller, dead sexy single father, liked you, wanted to be with you. Little morsels of doubt tried to weasel their way into your mind, trying to make you question what was so special about you that a man like Joel would be interested in. You shook those thoughts away, resolving to believe that you deserved someone like him, someone who liked you for who you were and not who they wanted you to be.

“He comes from good stock, that Joel,” your dad interrupted you’re wandering thoughts. “Not sure what happened with Tommy, though. Musta been dropped on his head as a baby or somethin’.”

“Dad!” you laughed, shaking your head. “There’s nothing wrong with the guy. He’s young, single, and unburdened by responsibility. I imagine you were like that once upon a time.”

“Musta been so long ago I can’t remember,” he replied, hip checking you into the counter when you stood to place your glass in the sink. “Watch yourself there, Spud.”

“Jeez, thanks, Dad,” you replied with an amused eye roll. Your dad watched as you tidied up your little mess from breakfast and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge.

“You know, Spud. You’d do well to find a man like Joel. He’s a really good guy. Shame he doesn’t date. All the women go crazy over him.”

Your dad kept going on about Joel’s aversion to dating, but your mind froze on that one simple statement – you’d do well to find a man like Joel. You tuned back in just in time to hear him say, “He needs to settle down with a girl like you. Someone smart and responsible who’ll still give him a run for his money.”

Practically bursting with the urge to admit that you and Joel just officially started seeing each other, you curled your lips between your teeth and just nodded. You promised Joel you’d wait a bit before mentioning anything to your dad and you planned on keeping that promise. “He should be so lucky to find someone like me,” you sassed finally.

The day carried on as you spent some quality time with your dad watching TV and lounging around. It was refreshing and relaxing, reminding you of times past where the two of you spent a bunch of time together.

The urge to text you plagued Joel all day Sunday, distracting his attention from the football game until Tommy finally snatched the phone out of his hands and hid it.

“Enough, brother. You’re like a lovesick fool checking your phone every five fuckin’ seconds. You just spent the day together yesterday. Give her a little breathin’ room,” Tommy chastised. “Women like a little mystery after all.”

Flopping back into the couch cushions with a huff, Joel crossed his arms in front of his chest. “I don’t want to play games with her, Tommy. None of that aloof, hard to get bullshit.”

Shaking his head, Tommy waited until a commercial break to turn to his brother again. “I’m not sayin’ to play games. I’m just sayin’ you don’t need to be up her ass 24/7. You’ll see her every day this week. It’s ok to build up a little healthy anticipation today.”

Joel knew his brother had a point. He just couldn’t help himself. It’d been so long since he felt like this about someone – if he ever really did before – and it was messing with his head. Berating himself for not even kissing you yesterday, Joel wanted to at least text with you today. It felt somehow wrong to not talk to you.

Then again, you hadn’t texted him either.

Tommy made a valiant effort to distract Joel from his thoughts, talking statistics about the game and the players, anything to get the guy talking. It only worked for so long before Tommy couldn’t take it anymore.

“Alright, how ‘bout this. I’ll take Sarah for a dinner and ice cream date tomorrow so you two can spend some time alone. Get a little action in and maybe that’ll help you get your head out of the clouds.”

For the first time in hours, Joel’s face lit up. “You sure?”

“I wouldn’t offer otherwise,” Tommy replied. “You two need to figure out if there’s something there and you can’t do that with a ten-year-old hanging around all the time. Not unless you want to scar her for life.”

Joel nodded, reaching out to take his phone back. Before letting go of it, Tommy grinned. “I already texted her for you. You’re welcome.”

Ripping his phone out of his brother’s hand, Joel scrolled through his text messages to find what Tommy sent you.

JM: Hey sweetheart. Netflix and chill tomorrow?

He only knew what that meant because of Tommy and you had to know that wasn’t something Joel would say. “Jesus fucking Christ, Tommy!” Joel growled, his ears turning red from what you must think. He was about to really lay into his brother for overstepping when you responded.

You: Netflix and chill, huh? Sounds like my kinda date 😉

Not expecting that response, Joel chuckled. Maybe Tommy knew exactly what he was doing after all.

“Like I said, you’re welcome,” Tommy teased when he saw the goofy smile on his brother’s face.

Joel ignored him, proceeding to ask you about your day. The two of you texted back and forth well into the night until it was time for bed.

Climbing between the cold sheets of his large, empty bed, Joel wished you were there with him. He could already imagine you there, falling asleep together after a romp or two, waking up next to you in the morning. It sounded like heaven to him.

Hmm, maybe he could Netflix and chill his way to convincing you to spend the night tomorrow.

You didn’t know what to expect when you walked into Joel’s house Monday morning, but it certainly wasn’t a flustered Joel, knelt on the floor, staring down at a mess of pancake mix surrounding him and Sarah giggling her little heart out at the breakfast table.

“What happened here?” you asked, hands on your hips and eyes surveying the damage. “Did you have a fight with the boxed pancake mix.”

“He really did!” Sarah exclaimed, still laughing. “It went everywhere!”

“I see that,” you replied, grinning at her before turning back to Joel.

He stared up at you with wide, sad eyes and shoulders slumped. “I couldn’t get it open and then it just…” His arms spread wide, gesturing at the powdery mess on the tile in such an endearing way. You couldn’t stop your smile from growing wider.

“Go finish getting ready for work. I’ll get Sarah some cereal and clean this mess up,” you directed, gently pulling him to his feet and around the mess.

“You shouldn’t have to clean up my mess, sweetheart,” Joel replied, pulling you in for a hug. You could tell the warm press of your bodies together made him feel better and you basked in it as well, not minding the bit of pancake mix that transferred to your clothes.

“Don’t worry, I got it. Now git!” One hand swatted at his ass playfully as he rushed out of the room. “Now, what kind of cereal do you want, nugget?”

Fifteen minutes later, Joel returned to find the mess gone and you running a mop over the tile to wipe away any last remnants of the pancake mix disaster. Sarah already finished her cereal and was upstairs brushing her teeth before it was time to head to school. When you put the mop back into the bucket, Joel crept up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. He pulled you close until your back was flush against his chest.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he breathed in your ear, sending a flood of goosebumps down your arms. Joel pressed his lips to the spot just below your ear and left a trail of kisses down your neck. The feel of his lips on your skin exceeded any expectations you had, and a contented sigh left your own lips.

With a hurried tenderness, he spun you around in his arms, the mop forgotten as it nearly fell out of the bucket. Faces close together now, your eyes drank in every detail of him from the richness of his dark brown eyes, the curve of his nose, the purposeful stubble of his beard, and, finally, to the fullness of his bottom lip. You could feel his eyes doing the same, drinking in every bit of your face before tilting his head impossibly closer.

“I’m going to kiss you now, ok?” Joel murmured; lips nearly pressed to yours already and you hummed in approval.

After all the weeks of mutual pining and self-doubt, Joel finally kissed you. It started as a soft press of lips and quickly morphed into an overwhelming need to devour each other when his tongue teased along the seam of your lips, begging entry to deepen the kiss. Teeth knocked together and tongues tangled as you tasted each other – somehow, the taste of coffee was suddenly appealing when it came from Joel’s mouth.

Hands wandered – his over your curves and yours into his luscious, dark curls. Joel’s hair felt as silky as it looked, and you had been itching to get your fingers in it from the moment you met him.

The sound of Sarah’s footsteps bouncing down the stairs broke the two of you apart, breathless, and dazed.

“Wow,” Joel murmured, struggling to remove his hands from your waist.

You smiled up at him, equally unwilling to remove your fingers from his hair. “Exactly,” you whispered, stepping back with your hands at your side just as Sarah entered the kitchen.

“I’m ready!” she declared excitedly and you both grinned at her cuteness.

“Okay, nugget. Let’s head out.”

Heart melting in your chest, you watched Joel and Sarah do their morning routine of saying goodbye. The love between the two of them was so strong it was like a tangible thing you could hold in your hands. Nostalgia washed over you as memories of your own childhood, moments like this with your dad, flooded your mind. What you had with your dad, what Joel and Sarah had together, was a connection that would never fade, only grow stronger with time.

Briefly, you wondered if your evolving relationship with Joel would affect that connection, interfere with it in anyway. You couldn’t move forward with him if that was the case. Some woman showing up and changing the dynamic between you and your dad would have upset you as a child and you refused to be the cause of any upset Sarah felt.

When the two of them stepped back from their hug and grinned at you, any question about your place in their dynamic washed down the drain. You felt nearly dizzy with relief when Sarah quickly said, “Give her a hug, too, Daddy,” and shoved him as hard as she could in your direction.

With a chuckle, Joel gave in to Sarah’s demand, wrapping his arms around you. The broadness of him surrounded you, enveloping you in warmth and a sense of security you’d not experienced before. Was that what love felt like?

“Have a good day, darlin’. I’ll see you later,” Joel’s deep voice was but a whisper in your ear, his lips just grazing your earlobe. “I’m looking forward to tonight.”

Warmth raced up your neck to your cheeks and you squeezed your thighs together in anticipation of what you hoped would happen later. “You have a good day too, Joel. Be careful, ok?”

“Always, darlin’.” He winked as you led Sarah out the front door to your car.

The journey to Sarah’s school started off quietly, Sarah bopping along to the music on the radio as you navigated the morning traffic. Your thoughts wandered to what you should wear later when Sarah startled you with a sudden question.

“Are you my dad’s girlfriend now?”

She asked the question so nonchalantly that you weren’t sure how to respond. Would she be upset with whatever answer you gave? Was there even a right or wrong answer? What did she want to hear? Mind racing, you settled on asking Sarah a question in return.

“Would you be upset if I was?”

Tilting her head side to side a few times, the little girl contemplated her answer while you held your breath. She turned to you with a smile so big it scrunched up her nose. “Nope! It’d make me really happy.”

“Really?” Your eyebrows were nearly at your hairline.

“Uh huh. You’re the coolest and prettiest. My dad would be lucky if you were his girlfriend,” Sarah admitted with all the confidence and knowledge of a ten-year-old. Another head tilt and she added, “So, are you?”

Equal parts amazed and grateful for Sarah’s acceptance of the idea, you opted for honesty. “I mean, I don’t know,” you shrugged. How could you explain what you had to a 10-year-old? “We haven’t talked about naming it yet, but we did decide to see how we like being together. Does that make sense?”

Sarah gave it a moment of thought. “Yeah, I think so. It’s kinda like how you’re a teacher, but not officially until you get the job, right?”

You laughed at the comparison with a nod. “Exactly. I’m as good as your dad’s girlfriend, we just haven’t made titles official yet.” You pulled up in front of the school and it was Sarah’s turn to get out. “Now get going, nugget. Have a good day!”

The little girl bounced out of the car, calling out to one of her friends. Just before you pulled away, you heard Sarah tell the other girl that you were her dad’s not-yet girlfriend.

The day absolutely dragged. Joel could swear that time went backwards every time he looked at a clock. It didn’t help that every single subcontractor gave him a hard time about something today.

The roof trusses arrived six weeks early and the sub refused to take them back even though the damn things would rot before they got to the roofing phase of construction. The company he rented the extra backhoe from wanted to raise their rates in the middle of his contract. The list went on and Joel ran out of patience three hours ago.

The only thing holding him together was the thought of you. Spending time with you. Kissing you. Touching you. Burying himself inside you… He adjusted himself with a sigh. Damn, he needed to put those particular thoughts on ice before he got himself riled up. The workday was shitty enough, he didn’t need the guys giving him a hard time about an untimely chub in his pants.

Finally, Joel had enough of everyone’s bullshit and called it a day, leaving his foreman in charge of the worksite.

“Off to doll yourself up, are ya?” Tommy teased as Joel headed for his truck. Gesturing in the general direction of Joel’s crotch, he added, “You remember how to use that thing? Make sure to clear out the cobwebs and use protection!”

“Jesus, Tommy,” Joel grumbled, climbing into his truck, and driving off. He knew his brother was only teasing, but Joel was nervous enough as it was. He didn’t need Tommy getting in his head. He did have a point about protection, though.

A quick stop at the convenience store to grab a box of condoms, Joel made it home before you and Sarah. Putting on some 90s rock, he jumped in the shower, putting in the extra effort to tidy himself up down there. He wondered if you preferred pubic hair or not. Fearing he was getting way ahead of himself, Joel opted to just trim his down and hoped for the best.

By the time he finished trimming his facial hair and tousling his curls, you and Sarah were downstairs, working on her homework. As he walked down the stairs, Joel could hear you encouraging his daughter to think the questions through and congratulating her when she got the answers right. His heart grew three sizes watching how you were with Sarah. You held his whole world in the palm of your hand and treasured it like the precious cargo it was.

Joel was falling so hard for you. You were quickly gaining the power to destroy him.

“Hi Daddy!” Sarah called out when she spotted him in the doorway. “We just finished my math homework. Can I play in the backyard?”

He set up a tire swing on the large live oak out back a week ago and it quickly became his little girl’s happy place. “Of course, nugget. Come give your old man a hug first.” Bending down, Joel swept Sarah up in his arms, biceps stretching his shirt sleeves as he swung her around in a circle. Sarah’s laughter echoed through the room, and you smiled sweetly at the pair of them.

“Uncle Tommy’s coming to take you out for dinner and ice cream in a bit. Ok?” Sarah nodded when he settled her back on her feet and raced for the sliding door. Once she was out of sight and earshot, Joel turned to you. “Come ‘ere, darlin’,” he said, voice deep and velvety.

Your body followed his command without conscious thought, so great the need to be in his arms. “I thought about you all day,” you admitted, staring up at him with wide eyes.

“Me, too. Could hardly focus on the job thinking about you and spending this evening together.” He tightened his arms around you, head bending to seal his lips to yours. When your lips parted at his prompting, Joel teased your plush bottom lip with his teeth. “It’s like a tasty little gummy worm,” he teased. “I could nibble on it all day.”

You moaned into his mouth, the little breathless sound music to his ears.

The kiss deepened until you were licking into each other’s mouths, hands wandering and grasping for purchase on any piece of real estate you could reach. Neither of you heard the front door open or the footsteps approaching the kitchen.

“Am I interrupting somethin’?” he asked cheekily as the two of you sprang apart, disheveled and gasping for breath.

Joel ran a hand down his face, closing his eyes for a moment to gather himself. “Excellent timing as always, brother.”

“Y’all just couldn’t wait five more minutes, could ya?” Tommy’s grin a mile wide as he teased. “Lemme get the nugget out of here before you two scar her for life.”

You tucked your face into Joel’s shoulder bashfully when Tommy slipped through the sliding door. Joel groaned and wrapped his arms around you. “Don’t mind him, darlin’. He just likes to bust my balls.”

Ten minutes later, after some hugs from Sarah and more teasing from Tommy, you and Joel were alone. Taking your hand, he led you to the couch. He hoped you didn’t notice that his rough palms were sweaty with nerves. You were abnormally quiet, and he wondered if you were nervous as well.

Seated a few inches apart, the tension became too much. “What are you in the mood for?” Joel asked, breaking the silence as he pulled up Netflix on the TV. He barely logged into his account when you suddenly straddled his lap.

“Hi,” you said when he stared at you in surprise. “You know what I’m in the mood for?”

“What?” He barely got his mouth to form the word, his brain short circuiting with you in his lap. His grip on the remote loosened, yet neither of you cared when it fell to the ground.

“You.”

There was a moment where you both froze, each waiting for the other to act first. Then the tension snapped, and Joel’s lips crashed against yours. His tongue danced along the seam of your lips until you opened them to let him in. Tongues tangled in a never-ending dance as your hips tilted, grinding down on him. Joel was uncomfortably hard in moments, pressing up against your warmth.

His hands were everywhere, fingers tenderly tracing the structure of your cheekbones, down the curve of your neck, along the swell of your breasts. They finally settled, grabbing handfuls of your ass to pull you impossibly closer. You moaned into his mouth, hips bucking in search of more friction.

Gasping for breath, Joel tore his mouth from yours, his hands urging your hips into a rhythm as you dry humped him. His mouth left a trail of scorching kisses down your neck, eliciting a wave of goosebumps to flow down your arms. Your hips rocked, gliding across his hardened length and Joel swore he could feel your wetness breaching through the layer of clothes separating you.

Fuck, how he wanted to taste you, get high on your sweet nectar. He knew, just knew in that primal way, that yours would be the best pussy he ever tasted. His cock swelled impossibly harder at the mere thought of burying his face between your legs.

“Jooooeeelllll.” His name coming from your luscious lips in a drawn-out moan caused his own hips to buck up into you, hitting just the right spot to make you both see stars from the friction alone. His mouth sucked little marks into your neck, leaving his left ear exposed to your mouth as crooned, “I’m gonna come, fuck. You’re gonna make me come in my panties, Joel.”

“Fuck, darlin’. Come all over me, pretty girl. I want to see you fall apart from grinding on me like this. Drench those panties.” Joel sat back a little, just enough to watch your face as your orgasm swept over you. It was the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen, eyes rolled back in your head, mouth hanging open in a silent ‘o’ as you trembled above him, delicate hands clenching the meat of his shoulders for balance. A little sheen of sweat dusted your hairline. Fucking beautiful.

Joel was absolutely certain he could feel you drenching his pants as you came, your breath finally coming back in a sharp exhale. He had never been so turned on in his life. Watching you come apart for him, feeling it seep through the layers of clothing became too much. For the first time in his adult life, Joel Miller came in his pants with a desperate whimper.

tbc

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