ᥫ᭡ minor unknown age , sfw writer , askbox & requests open for once , currently writing for dc gachiakuta blue lock invincible , living in my own world and my own bubble 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒
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so I met my middle school ex yesterday at a school reunion right... and ik I had a glow up and all but tell me why he be caught staring at me when he thinks I aint looking and then he got nervous when it was my turn to dap up everyone there... like.... and he suddenly uses his Instagram notes to upload Michael Jackson songs like.... that's suspicious (he's totally down bad for me, Alexa play Olivia Rodrigo get him back) but idc he was a piece of shit and still is honestly 🫤🫤🫤 I'm just glad that i know i deserve better and I'm not that easy to fold (even tho the second I sat down across the table and looked at him, I remembered why I even dated this guy back then, MAN WAS MY TYPEEEEEEEE [medium ugly btw])
I mean a guy gotta be a lil ugly to be more attractive (iykyk I KNOW BALL)
anyways woa hey there……..IM GLAD TO KNOW YOU KNOW YOUR OWN WORTH AND I LOVE HOW HE STARING AT SMTH HE CANNOT HAVEEEE LAWD, YOU CAN DO BETTER ALRIGHT???
omfg continue shining so he regrets everything he has done wrong towards you PLS HELLO
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author’s note — im so not creative with the names and the chats but i just thought it would be funny cause crack is my thing i love crack fics sm haha ⸝⸝
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You stare at the text that has been lingering for the last five hours on your phone.
The pain of your teeth grazing your inner cheek runs over your nerves. It serves as a distraction. Not that it was a good one. You tried at least.
You have been trying all the time, have been putting effort into it, have been the one who made it work.
Why didn’t it work?
Because you were tired. And it was dragging you down, it didn’t only wear you off mentally but also physically. So you stopped.
Now he gave you a break. Gave you the time, gave you the space. For two months straight.
He gave you everything you needed—wanted.
Just a little too late.
Until the text came. Unforgiving, straightforward, undeniably desperate.
There was no reply and he knew there would be none. It doesn’t matter anyways because he has been standing in front of your doorsteps even before he hit the send button.
[ 03:13 ]
“Loser.” it leaves your dry throat quietly, hand grasping the handle before pushing open the door.
Dick is sitting on the cold ground. Back leaned against the wall beside the entrance and spread legs pulled up enough to rest his elbows on top his knees.
“Hi…” he lets out meekly, voice cracking awkwardly.
“Leave. It’s cold.” you urge him to. He doesn’t listen anyways. And honestly, you don’t want him to go.
A long inhale. He rises from the ground, legs weak from barely using them. His gaze drifts to meet yours, eyes softening at sight of you.
You look radiant.
“Can’t leave.” the whisper hangs in the air.
The longer you stare at him, the more your defences weaken. But you are strong, you hold yourself back. Your eyes narrow as you pull your brows together.
He looks disheveled.
“I’m sorry. For not returning even half of your love.”
Your lips form a thin line, grip tightening around the handle.
Dick doesn’t stop you. He doesn’t move an inch. He can only watch how the door is already closing gradually. You deserve to shut the door in front of his nose, deserve to break up.
Nevertheless, the relief and tiny hope returns when you keep the door a few inches open.
Even though he knew you wouldn’t leave him out here. Knew that you would have shut the door close if you broke up with him.
But you didn’t break up, didn’t close it.
“I’m sorry.” he hooks his fingers onto the edge of the door to keep it open. “I should’ve given you more of my time. I should have been there. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”
His voice isn’t overwhelmingly loud, his presence is surprisingly low — he keeps himself small to adjust to you. To adjust to the situation.
“Shut up.”
Actually, he doesn’t necessarily waste his breath. By now, he would be begging for forgiveness. He would spill apology over apology and plead.
“I should have loved you more — tenfold more.”
This time he holds himself back. He is tired. His heart aches for you, his body seeks out your warmth. He just wants to be in your vicinity, wants to be sure that you are safe, wants to be sure that you are here.
“I hate you.”
“You are allowed to. I fucked up—I fumbled, I don’t know what was wrong with me.”
He breathes out, shaky and weak.
“Please give me another chance. I will give you as much time as you need—please don’t end it.”
Silence settles in the room between you. Heavy. Anxious.
“I tried my best.” you whisper, “I was worried. I was tired. I kept loving you.”
You still love him.
“I’m sorry. I was wrong.”
“Just let go.”
His hand falls to the side.
“I can’t do this. Not with you.” you try to hide the fact you are crying, try to hide behind the door, “I don’t—I don’t feel seen around you.”
“It’s my fault. I’m sorry. I love you.”
“I loved you.”
The door shuts closed. No more words exchanged.
Dick breathes out again before inhaling — sucking in a sharp breath. His gaze wander to the bag.
Your favourite food.
Your favourite drink.
Your favourite snack.
The pencils you have been eyeing.
The little blindbox you had in your shopping cart.
A handwritten letter.
Fifty-one pages.
You didn’t feel seen. Not because he wasn’t looking. But because he didn’t show it.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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