#First Smoke-Free State

[mysterioushimachal]

Himachal Pradesh Statehood Day: The Journey to Becoming India's Eighteenth State

[reasonsforhope]

Ancient redwoods recover from fire by sprouting 1000-year-old buds

Article | Paywall free

When lightning ignited fires around California’s Big Basin Redwoods State Park north of Santa Cruz in August 2020, the blaze spread quickly. Redwoods naturally resist burning, but this time flames shot through the canopies of 100-meter-tall trees, incinerating the needles. “It was shocking,” says Drew Peltier, a tree ecophysiologist at Northern Arizona University. “It really seemed like most of the trees were going to die.”

Yet many of them lived. In a paper published yesterday in Nature Plants, Peltier and his colleagues help explain why: The charred survivors, despite being defoliated [aka losing all their needles], mobilized long-held energy reserves—sugars that had been made from sunlight decades earlier—and poured them into buds that had been lying dormant under the bark for centuries.

“This is one of those papers that challenges our previous knowledge on tree growth,” says Adrian Rocha, an ecosystem ecologist at the University of Notre Dame. “It is amazing to learn that carbon taken up decades ago can be used to sustain its growth into the future.” The findings suggest redwoods have the tools to cope with catastrophic fires driven by climate change, Rocha says. Still, it’s unclear whether the trees could withstand the regular infernos that might occur under a warmer climate regime.

Mild fires strike coastal redwood forests about every decade. The giant trees resist burning thanks to the bark, up to about 30 centimeters thick at the base, which contains tannic acids that retard flames. Their branches and needles are normally beyond the reach of flames that consume vegetation on the ground. But the fire in 2020 was so intense that even the uppermost branches of many trees burned and their ability to photosynthesize went up in smoke along with their pine needles.

Trees photosynthesize to create sugars and other carbohydrates, which provide the energy they need to grow and repair tissue. Trees do store some of this energy, which they can call on during a drought or after a fire. Still, scientists weren’t sure these reserves would prove enough for the burned trees of Big Basin.

Visiting the forest a few months after the fire, Peltier and his colleagues found fresh growth emerging from blackened trunks. They knew that shorter lived trees can store sugars for several years. Because redwoods can live for more than 2000 years, the researchers wondered whether the trees were drawing on much older energy reserves to grow the sprouts.

Average age is only part of the story. The mix of carbohydrates also contained some carbon that was much older. The way trees store their sugar is like refueling a car, Peltier says. Most of the gasoline was added recently, but the tank never runs completely dry and so a few molecules from the very first fill-up remain. Based on the age and mass of the trees and their normal rate of photosynthesis, Peltier calculated that the redwoods were calling on carbohydrates photosynthesized nearly 6 decades ago—several hundred kilograms’ worth—to help the sprouts grow. “They allow these trees to be really fire-resilient because they have this big pool of old reserves to draw on,” Peltier says.

It's not just the energy reserves that are old. The sprouts were emerging from buds that began forming centuries ago. Redwoods and other tree species create budlike tissue that remains under the bark. Scientists can trace the paths of these buds, like a worm burrowing outward. In samples taken from a large redwood that had fallen after the fire, Peltier and colleagues found that many of the buds, some of which had sprouted, extended back as much as 1000 years. “That was really surprising for me,” Peltier says. “As far as I know, these are the oldest ones that have been documented.”

... “The fact that the reserves used are so old indicates that they took a long time to build up,” says Susan Trumbore, a radiocarbon expert at the Max Planck Institute for Biogeochemistry. “Redwoods are majestic organisms. One cannot help rooting for those resprouts to keep them alive in decades to come.”

-via Science, December 1, 2023

[sacredsorceress]

Scars / Logan Howlett

pairing: dofp!logan howlett x mutant!reader summary: every person has a soulmate. after settling in the future that he saved, logan starts to consider his next mission when a suspicious mark appears on him. word count: 3.2k a/n: good ol'fashioned soulmate AU. this is the first actual fic i've written in a long time so please have some grace. reblogs and replies are super appreciated! warnings: general mentions of logan's past, scars, self-doubt, alcoholism, reader smokes a cigar, mentions of razors, scars, wounds, two uses of y/n

logan masterlist | inbox | full masterlist

It had been a week since Logan woke up in his healed timeline.

For most people, the change would have been dramatic. But Logan was far unlike most people. The initial dreamlike state he was in when he first walked through the mansion- seeing the ghosts he had once known returned to the flesh, unscathed- quickly subsided. Logan had always been a man thrown onto a new path- how he lived life constantly changing to best fit his interests. Now, with his newfound peace he found the most complicated mission of all: what to do with the life he was now free to live?

Even before the sentinels, the battles, the wars- he had always been a man on the run. He was solo, strategic, concise. For a man who was gifted with infinite regeneration, he had solely concerned himself with staying alive. He ate for sustenance, sought shelter for safety, and nursed a bottle to find enough peace of mind to sleep at night.

The professor had once told him that for a person to reach self-actualization they first had to have all of their needs met. Logan had scoffed at the time, assuring the professor that he knew himself just fine. But now, with his problems so solved that they had ceased to ever exist, he wondered if maybe the professor was right.

Who was he? Where did he go from here?

The answer was found in the form of a scar on his hand.

"Well, everything seems to be just fine."

Logan scoffed at the blue man in front of him

"Well it's not." Logan said. "Check again."

Two days after he had come back, a large, circular scar had appeared on the palms of each of his hands. When they hadn't disappeared after two minutes, he rushed to the bathroom and nicked himself with his razor, watching as the wound healed with only blood dripping down his scruff as a remanent of it. Thirty minutes after that he found himself in the lab with Hank, Jean, and the Professor hypothesizing his miraculous marks.

"Logan, the tests came back clear." Jean assured him, leaning against the wall. "Maybe it's time to consider that it's something else."

Logan quirked his head towards her.

"I haven't had a scar in over two hundred years," he reminded her, his voice laced with irony. "I get not one, but two and you... what? Think it's a coincidence?"

Before Jean had a chance at rebuttal, the professor moved to face Logan.

"That's not what Jean's inferring, Logan." Charles reminded him. "We're simply asking that you consider other options. Less... dire options. It could, after all, be a good thing."

"Yeah?" Logan scoffed. "Like what?"

A silence hung in the air.

When Logan had first come to them with news of his scar, the thought had been on all three of their minds. Still, there were a plethora of things that could have caused that. Though, when the tests came back clear and his skin continued to heal from all sorts of abrasions, it felt as if there was only one answer for his seemingly magical scars.

However, none of them were keen on sharing this diagnosis with Logan. One wondered whether he'd handle the idea of his body failing him over fated love.

Hank was the first to speak up.

"Like a soulmate."

Oh that was rich, Logan thought.

Logan wasn't unfamiliar with the idea of soulmates.

Around the time that two fated lovers were destined to meet, there would be a sign for each of them. In some cases they were eyes changing colors, feeling the other's pain, finding their names everywhere they looked. In other cases they were new birthmarks, tattoos, scars.

In some way, the two were inextricably connected.

In his long life he had seen others experience it dozens if not hundreds of times. When the first thirty years of his life rolled around with no one, Logan accepted that he was one of the outliers. He considered it for the best and by now, with everything that he had gone through, the concept of soulmates almost seemed like an old wives' tale.

Logan glanced at their faces. When he realized they were serious, a deep laugh escaped from his gut. There was a lack of light in his eyes that admitted his insincerity.

"So I disappear for a few decades and you all start believing in fairytales?" Logan pulled the needles from his arm, the heart rate monitor going flat as he did. "What a bunch of bullshit."

Jean laid her hand against his chest, urging him back into the seat.

"Logan." She soothed him. "This is a good thing. Scott and I-"

Oh this was real rich.

"Scott and you are... what, huh?" Logan urged. "Soulmates?"

Logan scoffed, swiping Jean's hand from his chest.

"Bet you're so happy with your 'soulmate' and that's why you lead me on, huh? That it? You're happy?" He taunted, a dark laugh escaping him once more. "Spare me-"

"Logan, that's enough!"

The professor's voice echoed against the linoleum walls of the lab, reverberating off of the medical equipment throughout.

"If you want to wallow in your own self-deprivation, be my guest, but spare the rest of us your grief." Charles continued. "I think it would be best if you go back to your quarters and consider the future the universe has offered you."

The energy in the air was thick.

Jean and Hank avoided Logan’s eye contact while the professor’s nearly burned a whole through him.

Accepting defeat, Logan threw his hands up in the air and pushed himself out of his metal chair.

“Fine.”

Soulmates. Logan thought. Who would believe in a thing like that?

-

"It's a pleasure to see you again."

The atmosphere in the mansion was a stark contrast to the lab Charles had been in days before.

Now the school day had commenced: children skipping from class to class, students chatting with their friends in the hallway, teachers grabbing coffee between lessons. Amidst the organized chaos, Charles had arranged to meet you in the foyer: the replacement history teacher for Logan's class.

"You too, professor." You smiled, reaching out your hand. "I was so glad to hear from you."

Your hand hung in the air briefly, awaiting his return. Charles examined it for a moment- a twinkle in his eye- before taking it. His thumbs brushed against the newfound scars between your knuckles as he did.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but you didn't always have these scars, did you, Y/n?" Charles asked.

You had not.

You had woken with them a few days before. Despite your powers rooted in chaos magic, it wasn't uncommon for blemishes or wounds to etch themselves into your skin. However, you often knew why. These marks, scars, were not faint, but instead quite profound. Three thick, healed over wounds patched together like a stitch on the back of each of your hands.

"No professor."

He closed his eyes, a soft smile gracing his lips. Though you knew he wished to ask more questions, the moment was broken by Logan.

"Ah, the man himself." Charles beamed. "Logan, I'd like you to meet Y/n. She'll be covering your class."

You had seen your fair share of news stories about the Wolverine. Who hadn't? Though the television had never prepared you for just how tall, or broad he was.

"It's nice to meet you, Logan."

"You too." He nodded, taking your hand.

His hand lingered in yours for a moment. Charles cleared his throat.

"We were just discussing the most peculiar scar on Y/n's hand." Charles said. "Appeared just a few days ago out of nowhere."

Charles nodded his head in the direction of your hand, leading Logan to squint. As if a light bulb had gone off over his head, Logan glanced between Charles and yourself and with your hand still in his, he turned it examine the back.

Three scars between your knuckles. Right where his own claws would be.

Though he liked to imagine himself as the patron of remaining suave, Logan's eyebrows shot up at the recognition. He traced his view from your hands, up your torso, to your face where you eyed him questioningly.

He thought back to the way that he woke up in the seventies, wrapped in the arms of another woman. If times had been different and Logan hadn't undergone all the so-called character development in the last forty years, he was sure that a face like yours would have gotten him in a lot of trouble. You were beautiful, and your demeanor highlighted your strength.

Your face radiated kindness, warmth and most of all, sincerity- a trait that was difficult to come by in a trade such as his.

But then Logan recalled that this wasn't the seventies and you weren't at some bar leading him on the entire night: your hand was in his and, according to everyone else, he was yours.

The idea almost couldn't register in Logan's brain.

"Interesting, isn't it, Logan?" Charles asked, breaking the silence. "Almost identical to where your claws are, hmm?"

Oh the professor thought he was quite funny.

Logan pulled his hand back from your grasp and shook his head.

"Not that easy, Charles." Logan commented before turning to you, a spiteful tone in his voice. "See you around, bub."

Before you had the chance to open your mouth, you watched as Logan stomped down the nearest hallway, his boots squeaking against the floorboards as he did. His fists clenched and released at his sides as he disappeared from view.

His reaction had come so far from left field that if it hadn't given you whiplash, it would have hurt your ego. Instead you turned back to the professor.

"Was it something I said?" You asked.

The professor shook his head, patting your hand gently.

"Logan's quite a complicated man." He assured you. "I'm sure you'll come to know that more than the rest of us. Now, to your classroom..."

Glancing over your shoulder to the void-like hallway that Logan went down, you considered the professor's words.

-

A storm had taken over the mansion by nightfall.

As you padded down the wood panelled hallways, the lightbulbs shook in their glass with each thunder clap- wind swatting at the window panes every few seconds. The pitter patter of the raindrops, although harsh, was comforting. It was almost as if the mansion had been engulfed by the storm, trapping everyone inside, while consequently making the outside world feel a thousand miles away.

When you found Logan's door, tucked in at the end of the hallway, you knocked.

"Yep."

The weight of the door fell against the palm of your hands as you pushed it open.

Logan's room was dark. The only light in the space had been from the embers of the cigar that hung in his mouth, cradled between his thumb and forefinger. Despite the darkness, you could make out his figure sitting at his desk chair by the window, feet kicked up on the sill.

Logan only gave you a quick glance over his shoulder before turning back to the view.

"What d'you want?"

His voice was thick and rough around the edges.

"I came for your textbooks." You replied, tiptoeing against his floorboards. "The professor said you'd have them."

The hand of his that held the cigar waved around. Minuscule ashes fell to the floor as your eyes remained trained on the light and the faint glow of the moon that illuminated the side of his face.

"Be my guest," he said. "Don’t have a clue where they are."

The professor had given you the lowdown when he saw your scars.

Charles told you that despite everything that you had learned- the history that you had known- the Wolverine you'd meet was not the same person. He was a man from a different time with far different, darker memories and enough baggage to weigh down dozens.

Amidst the silence, you cleared your throat.

"Must be hard to wake up in someone else's life."

By now you had reached his desk, your fingertips tracing the lines in the dark, lacquered wood.

You could smell him and the cigar from this distance- aftershave mixed with smoke.

"The professor tell you that?"

"Mhm."

The chair creaked as Logan flicked his hand towards the window, ushering you to come closer.

Watching your step in the dark, you maneuvered around the furniture and sat beside Logan on his desk- pushing loose papers to the side.

"He give you his whole spiel on soulmates too?" He asked, eyes trained on the rain outside.

Soulmates.

Now that was the last thing you expected to come from the Wolverine's mouth.

You'd heard of them more times than you could count. You once wondered whether every repetitive coincidence was a sign that your person was coming. But, when that never happened, you lost hope.

Who got to tell you who you belonged to anyway?

Leaning over, you gingerly took the cigar from his grasp and replaced it with your own fingers. Sitting back into the desk as lightening struck a tree in the distance, you took a puff.

"So that's what the scars on my hands were all about," You thought aloud.

The window fogged as you let the smoke leave from your mouth in a breathy sigh.

Logan tapped his fingers on his thighs, counting the seconds between a lightening strike and its consecutive rumble of thunder.

"Listen, I'm no prince charming if that's what you came here looking for."

Logan's chair creaked again as he leaned back in his seat. His arm draped against the desk as he met your gaze.

You chuckled and held out his cigar, offering it back to him.

"I came here looking for textbooks." You laughed. "You're the one who keeps talking about soulmates. I think you're more of a romantic than you let on.”

His fingers brushed against yours as he took the cigar back into his own hand. Another lightning strike met the ground in the distance, a clap of thunder following moments afterwards.

"You don't buy it?" Logan quirked his eyebrow. It was a teasing question, one he was curious to hear your answer to.

You shrugged.

"I don't think the universe gets to tell me who to love," you said. "If I fall in love with you it's because I love you, Logan. Not because some mark told me to. I just think of it as... a little shove in the right direction.”

The corner of his mouth quirked into a smile for the first time.

"A shove?"

"Like a... blind date." You finished. "Ever been on one of those?"

A congested laugh escaped him.

"Sweetheart, do I look like the type of guy to go on a blind date?"

You bit the inside of your cheek at the name.

Rolling your eyes, you swatted at his arm. You wouldn't admit how much it hurt your knuckles to do so. You'd have to make a mental note to remember his adamantium skeleton.

"Gosh, you're cocky!"

Logan shrugged, "You're the one who likes it apparently."

You felt yourself grow hot at his accusation.

Even though he had a mark signalling his future affection for you, you couldn't help but feel embarrassed by Logan's knowledge of yours. You felt like a child who's crush had just been exposed to the whole class. Was he noting ever glance that you gave him? The way you didn't move when his arm brushed against yours?

A brief pause hung in the air until another thunder clap reverberated against the walls.

"So what's your mark?" You asked.

Logan shoved the cigar into the corner of his mouth. The biting motion forced him to flex his jaw in a way that you would refuse to admit made you start to realize that maybe the universe was right.

And that maybe his cockiness was justified.

He laid out his hands for you. The room was still dark, making the ability to discern the details of his scar impossible. Taking Logan's hands in yours, you summoned your magic into your hands, watching as they glowed gold.

Logan had two large, circular scars imprinted into his palms. It was a clear indicator of your own magical power that surged from your hands.

It left a feeling you couldn't describe in your chest to know that someone else was marked for you. They were destined for you. To be with you. You had a future written together before the two of you had met. Even if he rejected you, there was a sign etched into his skin that bound the two of you together in some fateful way.

Gently, you traced your fingertips against the mark, feeling the warmth that radiated from his palms.

When your eyes flicked upwards, you noticed how close the two of you were now sitting. You could feel his warm breath against your lips as the lingering smell of the cigar drifted up your nose.

Although he wouldn’t admit it, Logan was enchanted by the energy radiating from you. Whether people hated or loved him, his ability got a lot of talk. In his mind though, he would never be a hero. He was just some guy who got lucky.

You, though? He didn’t need you to tell him that you were an Omega level mutant. Logan had heard about you from the professor: you could cast spells, read minds, reconfigure reality- to name a few. You didn't need a reason to fight for what's right, you just did. Again, and again, and again. Even here, now, you were picking up Logan's history class when he knew very well you could be on the other side of the world sipping pina coladas if you wanted.

What the hell was the universe thinking putting you with him?

Logan admired the reflection of the magic on your cheeks and the way your eyes stayed trained on his palms. Your touch was so gentle he could have sworn he was in a distant dream until your eyes met his.

The two of you stared at each other for a moment, gaze locked.

Then another clap of thunder shook the mansion.

You quickly leaned back, pulling your hands from Logan's touch.

"I should... I should go." You said, pushing yourself off of Logan's desk. "It's getting late and I have my first class in the morning."

Logan leaned back in his seat. He said nothing but eyes remained fixed on your form as you made your way towards the door.

Looking back at him with your hand on the knob you made a mental note to remember the image of him with his feet kicked back on the window as he smoked his cigar.

A soft smile remained.

"Good night, Logan."

When you didn't leave immediately, he nodded.

"Night, sweetheart."

Mustering up the courage to shoot him one last smile, you pulled open the door and stepped outside.

Now, Logan didn't know how much he believed in soulmates, but he could be inclined to consider that it was one good wingman.

Leaning back in his seat, Logan sighed and closed his eyes, letting himself drown out his worries with the sound of the rain.

a/n: my inbox is open for more requests! thank you for the request @welcometochilis585

[read-marx-and-lenin]

There is no magic "abolish the state" button, which is why I'm an anarchist, as "when the state has socialismed enough it will just magically poof away in a cloud of smoke" is the leninist position.

That is not the Leninist position, the Leninist position is and always has been that the state cannot disappear until the material conditions for its disappearance are achieved. The withering away of the state, first outlined by Engels, is not a magic process but one that proceeds from the abolition of class and the dissolution of the bourgeoisie.

How are you going to get rid of the bourgeoisie without a state? Are you going to simply ask them nicely to leave you alone? If you are organized and if your organization is suppressing the bourgeoisie as a class, then you have created a state, you have created an authoritarian imposition on the free organization of some section of the people. If you are not doing any of this, then the bourgeoisie who you have left unmolested will invariably come to dominate you once more.

Anarchists have always played word games to get around these simple facts. There are the practical anarchists who will admit to some amount of authority, but always with the caveat that theirs is *just* authority, *necessary* authority, and that is is the *unjust* authority that they condemn. Just authority is not the State, because the State is unjust, and so if they see an authority as just then it cannot be the State. Fair enough, you can call things by whatever names you like, but if you put these ideas in practice you basically end up with Leninism. You want to create dual power? You want to abolish the bourgeois state and replace it with a democratic organ of the working class? Well so did Lenin, and now you know why the Mensheviks accused him of anarchism.

Then there are the quite impractical capital-A Anarchists, who are adamant that anarchy means anarchy and that even voluntary hierarchy and submission to democratic authority is impermissible. Whether pacifistic or militaristic, they are generally unremarkable and ineffective at their goals because they eschew most effective forms of organization as ideologically impure. Even the most advanced anarchists, the CNT in Spain and the Maknovists in Russia, were plagued by economic confusion and disorganization. Their lack of discipline led to their downfall.

If you want to read more, here are some pertinent links:

[borathae]

The Consequences of Fucking Up

“Your break up was messy and painful. All you want to do is to forget about him. His friends, who ever since you ended it with Yoongi see you as their bullying target, make sure that the memory of him stays fresh in your mind however, haunting you day by fucking day. While Yoongi makes it seem as if he gives no fuck about your situation. Until one night he is in front of your door. Drunk and fucking regretful.”

♥️ Requested by anonie ♥️

Pairing: Gangster!Yoongi x f.Reader

Genre: Exes!AU, Messy Break-Up!AU, Crime!AU, Cop!AU, Hurt and Comfort, Angst, Smut, a lil bit of Fluff

Wordcount: 15.9k

Warnings: lowkey they're bad for each other, but also somehow so right?, OC is such a people hater, I feel like she has mental health issues which are never addressed tbfh, she is quite the pessimist, unhealthy consumption of alcohol, smoking of cigarettes & weed (listen. i hate smoking and stand by that but it sadly fits their characters), Yoongi is kinda apathetic and cold, or is he??, IS HE???, implied violence and murder, corrupt cops & lawyers, policeman!Jungkook makes an appearance and he stole my heart tbfh :(, he is so cute that i almost sobbed, drugdealer!Hoseok makes an appearance too, there is also detective!Namjoon and smuggler!Taehyung because I love this vibe :); abuse of power, fuck Yoongi just fuck he is so ngngn, slightly protective & possessive!Yoongi, intoxicated sex, desperate!Yoongi, no foreplay, but she is not uncomfortable, choking (m.receiving), rough desperate sex, position change from sex against a sofa to missionary on said sofa, a lil bit of strength kink hihi, he cums too soon, dirty talk, tears :'), he is actually so emotional during the sex, the ending is so cheesy and cute <3, Spoiler: he is willing to change!! and he is a cutie actually, jsjsjsj sorry but i love yoongi a lot :(

Disclaimer: This is purely fiction and isn't like my usual stories. It does not portray how the boys actually are and it is not how I see them. This is a work of fiction with no correlation to real life. The type of relationships depicted in this story are far from how I normally portray my relationships and I do not advertise for such relationhips or staying in such relationships. This story is supposed to be twisted and dark & so are the relationships in it, as well as the characters. You have been warned. If you decide to continue reading, then it is out of your own free will.

a/n: now that the disclaimer is out of the way i can officially bark because woof woof fuckkcc anonie thank you so much for this idea. i had the worst and best time writing this story like nfnfnf her mental state was definitely very difficult to write, but their tension just got to me. i made the ending as cute and fluffy as possible just as you wanted hihi <3 also i love villian characters who would set the whole world on fire just to prove their dedication :) i hope this is what you imagined, because i kinda made it longer and with more plot than i planned to at first sjjsjs i couldn't be stopped jsjsj ALSO this is giving me the perfect opportunity to finally write a Kook request I got years ago ohoho

Yoongi collides with the wall, feeling the cold nuzzle of the gun press against his chin. He drops the keys and flowers he was carrying, lifting his hands in defeat.

“Careful, it’s just me”, he lulls.

“Get the fuck out of my house”, you spit, carrying murder in your eyes. 

Three months prior

“So you’re breaking up with me?” he asks, gawking at you with widened eyes. He looks more surprised than he does hurt. Probably because it hasn’t actually sunk in yet.

“I am.”

“No, you’re not.” He laughs because he never takes anything seriously.

“Yes. I am.”

“Too bad, I won’t act like it.”

“Yeah, you will.”

He laughs, “you’ve had better jokes, but I still admire the commitment.”

“You see. That’s the problem with you. Everything’s a fucking joke to you.”

He is smiling. It reaches his eyes.

“Your job, your men. Me. Everything’s a fucking joke to you. If you would have taken Sukuna’s thread seriously, Soojin would still be alive. If you didn’t fucking insult Miss Mei, you wouldn’t have lost twenty thousand in drugs and you wouldn’t have to fucking kiss asses like a beggar.”

His smile doesn’t reach his eyes anymore.

“If you would have put any kind of effort into me, I wouldn’t be leaving now. You take everything as a joke, while in reality you are the biggest joke here.”

His smile falls. You stood up and that actually scared him. 

“Wait baby, wait. Princess, we can talk about this”, he argues, closing the distance with his arms stretched open. “I’ll fix the issue with Miss Mei, I promise.”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m done talking. Soojin died because of your recklessness.” 

Yoongi touches your hands. He holds them, clutches them. You have never felt such a touch from him before. As if he actually loved you. 

“What can I do? Tell me and I’ll do it”, he offers, caressing your knuckles. 

This is what you craved for months. Affection. Attention. You were always a passing thought to him. Something to fuck and possess. Something low maintenance like all his other shit. His current touch almost makes you want to stay because for the briefest moment, your breaking heart wants to believe that he finally changed. 

But you know better. He doesn’t take you seriously and if you stay, you will one day end up like Soojin. Metaphorically or not, you will end up dead because of him. 

“There is nothing you can do. Sorry.”

You slip out of his touch.

“Baby”, Yoongi follows you with panicked eyes, trying to touch you again.

“Goodbye, Min Yoongi.”

“Please don’t leave me.”

You close the door and run, finally letting the tears escape. 

You love him.

You always have and perhaps always will. 

You don’t want to leave, but know that staying will kill you. 

One week passes. You spent it holed up in your small, shitty apartment, crying your heart out. Yoongi was the best and worst thing that ever happened to you and you miss him. You hate that you miss him. Because he was way worse than he was good. 

He was never abusive. He was a violent man to anyone but you. You, he always touched with utmost care. At you, he never screamed. But he was still not good. He was cold and apathetic at times, then terribly affectionate at others, only to become cold again. And you couldn’t take it anymore. 

You wouldn’t have left your apartment today if your fridge hadn’t been empty. It wasn’t always empty, but sadly enough, groceries don’t magically appear. Not even for an outlaw such as yourself.

The city is busy. The smell of street food, smog and body odor poisons the air. The weather is hot these days and people started sweating more. You can’t stand people. You pull the mask tighter around your nose, hoping to shield the stench this way. 

You greet the clerk when you enter the shop, lowering your mask. It smells of grocery store in here. Fresh bread, produce and clean floors. It’s a welcome change to the rancid outside.

You spent fourty minutes in the shop and pay with cash. You never pay with card because it can be traced. Someone like you can’t risk being found. 

“See you”, you say your goodbyes and leave the store. You plan on coming back in three weeks. You can’t stand being outside often.

The door just about closed behind you and then someone jumps you. Three people to be more exact. Two hold your arms while one rips the bags out of your hands. 

“Let go! Hey, you fuckers!” you fight them off instantly, surprised at how easily it is to do. Way too easy. They let go of you as quickly as they grabbed you. At first you think that nothing happened, until you notice your grocery bags in one of the guys’ hands. They stole your stuff!

“You motherfuckers! Get back here! They’re mine!” 

They run away, flipping you off over their shoulders.

You sprint after them, but before you reach them, they jump onto a tuk tuk and drive off, finally showing you their faces. Those were some of Yoongi’s underlings.

“What the fuck?” You stumble back in disbelief. “Did they fucking steal my food? What the fuck’s happening?” 

It takes you a while before you finally come to the conclusion that you have to buy everything they stole a second time. And you do. And nobody jumps you. And you go home, make yourself shitty dinner and drink a bottle of soju all by yourself. It isn’t a good night. It’s a shit night. But then. All your nights have been shit for years.

You met Yoongi four years ago. It correlates with when your shit nights began. Okay, you are being unfair. The first two years with him were paradise and your nights were wonderful. You were an aspiring lawyer, while he was in the midst of getting a promotion to superintendent.  You supported each other’s dreams, motivated each other and celebrated when your goals were achieved. Then the truth spilled out. The man you knew to love turned out to be a lie. Why you never left, you do not know. He gave you the chance to leave, but you didn’t. You made yourself low maintenance to him and your nights became shit. He pretended to be a proper policeman by day while you pretended to be a proper lawyer and at night he became what he hunted by day while you tried to hide whatever evidence about him flooded into the offices. You hated it at first, then loved it, then lost your job because of it and became dependent on him and started to hate it again. Well, at least working for him. You liked everything else. Having to work in the system and seeing how corrupt even the most eligible politicians or CEOs truly are, made you realise that perhaps stealing from them isn’t as bad as it first sounded. You liked being on the dark side of the law because the bright side was just as twisted. You just simply started to hate that it means being close to Yoongi.

It took Soojin’s death to finally make you realise that staying with him will end in your death as well. And so you finally left.

You will start a new life, make up a new identity, move to a different country and forget about him. Maybe. Who knows. You haven’t decided yet.

A letter comes five days after the grocery store incident. It is stuffed into an unsealed envelope and clearly delivered by the person who wrote it. You open it, feeling shit instantly. Whoever wrote this letter is calling you the most hurtful of names, telling you personal stuff which truly hurts. You throw it away and go back inside, opening a bottle of soju. It wasn’t Yoongi’s handwriting, but somehow you still think that it is connected to him. You try not to let it get to you, but you still end up rotting away in your bed for the rest of the week only leaving it to piss, shit and eat. 

The next week your packages are missing. You never get them back. The culprit is never found. You curse the sky, knowing that it was fruitless. Yet again, you think that it was connected to him. To Yoongi, the man you wanted to forget, but who keeps haunting you day by day.

The city at night is a dangerous place. If you don’t know where to walk, you could find yourself in a rather messy situation. Especially as a woman. You are glad that most women are clever enough to stay at home once darkness greets the streets. Most women don’t know how to defend themselves though. Properly and without the law in mind. You killed before. Once. It was self defence. Yoongi took care of the body, you never found out what happened to it. He stayed with you the night it happened, even let you cry in his arms. He was gone the next day and never spoke of it again.

You clutch the big knife tightly in your bag, scanning the streets constantly. It isn’t far anymore until you are home. Hopefully the heavy rain clouds stay dry until you get there. You aren’t in the mood to get wet. Not tonight. You would have never left if you hadn’t ran out of fucking cigarettes. The kiosk was closed, so the journey was useless. Thunder announces that the clouds aren’t your friends. Mere seconds later, it starts pouring.

“Fucking shit, I hate this city.”

Rain in this city is always dirty and never really cold. You take it as a bad sign. Rain shouldn’t be warm. Not always, not constantly. Something’s wrong with this city. Something is rotting slowly until one day it will consume everything in its wake. You hope to have left before it can wake up.

The way home is too long for the amount of dirty rain it pours. You find refuge under a shop sign. There are no rooftops or canopies in sight and the only thing close to a safe place was the stupid restaurant sign. Authentic Asian Beef Noodles, it reads in bright red letters. The place is stuffed with people and the smell of beef broth mixes with the dirty scent of rain. You grind your teeth. What a shitty situation you find yourself in. You prefer being outside though. You know that once inside, the restaurant would be hot and stink of digested booze and body odor. You take getting wet over breathing in people’s air.

Except that you don’t really stay wet for long. The distinct sound of rain hitting an umbrella meets your ears. You look up. Black. You look to the side at the person holding it. Yoongi. Your stomach twists, your heart skips a beat. He is wearing a suit tonight. Black with a black tie. His hair is slicked back. He used makeup to  conceal the scar running all the way from his forehead over his eye and down half his cheek. This is his work outfit. His police chief outfit. Yes. He is a chief these days.

Your instincts tell you to leave without saying anything, but it’s been six weeks since the breakup and you still love him. You hate that you do, but can’t stop staring at his face. He has his brows raised in a nonchalant way as he inspects the heavy rain. He doesn’t grant you eye contact, but holds the umbrella in a way which lets you know that he came out here after seeing you. His left shoulder is getting wet, while you stay dry completely.

“What are you doing here?” you hear yourself ask him.

“Work dinner. I have to pay ‘cause I’m the boss and all that shit. They’re eating like greedy pigs”, he scoffs, “fucking assholes.”

“I see.”

“You?”��

“Buying smokes.”

He finally looks at you, studying from head to toe.

“The kiosk was closed”, you answer his question about your cigarettes’ whereabouts before he can ask it.

“I thought you quit.”

“Some things happened which made me start again.”

“Mhm”, he hums and takes out a packet of cigarettes from the inside of his suit jacket. He lights himself one and puts the packet away again, leaving you to stare at the smoke he blows out through his nose.

He isn’t actually serious, is he? It is like he is mocking you. It is already bad enough that he sends his stupid goons to terrorise you, now he is mocking you as well? You hate that you still love him.

You stay like this for a while. You staring at him while he holds the umbrella for you and smokes. You don’t know why you stay. You hate that you love him. You hate it so much.

Yoongi takes a long drag of the cigarette and exhales the smoke in an almost sigh-like breath. He lifts the cigarette, holding it closer to you.

“What?” you sound disbelieved, scandalised even.

He doesn’t say anything. He just shows you the cigarette as his eyes follow the endless rain. You hate that you love him. You hate it so much. But you still take the cigarette and put your lips right where he had his’ moments before. But you still smoke it as if it was the most normal thing to do. Because it once was. You and he shared many smokes in the past. It was once the most sensual, erotic thing to do between you and him. Barely clothed, intoxicated minds and high on the other, you often shared a joint as you got each other off. Fuck, it was always so fucking orgasmic to be with him that way.

“Wanna grab a bite?” he offers, pointing at the restaurant behind him, “one more mouth to feed isn’t gonna ruin me.”

You are hungry. You haven’t had a proper meal in weeks. Instant ramen, frozen food and snacks is all your body has to run on. You have no energy to cook and with how shitty you eat, it is a vicious cycle. Shitty food gives little energy, you already have low energy. The motivation to properly cook grows lower and lower each day. You dread the day you have only enough energy left to open a package of chips and eat it for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

“I’m not hungry.”

He glances at you. He knows that you are lying. Your eyes have greyed in starvation. He almost rips the cigarette out of your fingers and smokes it angrily, huffing out the smoke. 

“I’m offering”, he hisses.

“And I’m declining. I can take care of myself”, you throw back and rip the cigarette from his grasp to smoke it angrily. 

You may be starving, but you will be damned if you make yourself dependent on him again. You left him to finally prove to yourself that you can take care of yourself. You don’t need his help. Not anymore. 

You take another deep drag, then hand the cigarette to him. He smokes it, glaring at you. You know that your stubbornness angers him.

“Tell your men to stop pestering me”, you say into the tense silence. 

He looks over his shoulder at his police team. They are too drunk and caught in conversation to pay their boss any mind.

“They’re inside”, he says.

“You know I don’t mean them. Tell your other men to stop annoying me.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Yes. You do.” It is your turn to smoke. “It all started when they stole my groceries, but it’s been getting childish. My packages keep getting stolen, my internet cuts off, I find letters in my mail. Letters saying awful things about me. It’s getting ridiculous. Tell your men to stop terrorising me.”

“Stolen packages?” He takes the cigarette from you, brushing his fingers against yours as he does. The touch feels like the sweetest poison on your skin. “This doesn’t sound like my problem to solve. Go to the police.”

“Are you serious?” 

He inhales, exhales the smoke into your face. You should be disgusted by it, but almost huff it in like an addict. Yoongi watches your lids lower and your chest raise in a greedy breath, finding it hard not to stare at your lips as he hands you the cigarette. You smoke it. His eyes are still on your lips, glued to the shape of them as his throat runs dry.

“Very serious”, he rasps.

“You are the police”, you throw back in disbelief, exhaling the smoke into his face that way.

“Mhm yeah, I guess I am.” He takes the cigarette, smoking it with half lidded eyes. He exhales, handing you the cigarette. “When are you going to come home again?” he asks, looking back at the rain.

You almost choke on the smoke, exhaling it in a cough. Yoongi glances at you from the corner of his eyes.

“Your farce is getting ridiculous”, he says coldly.

“My farce?”

This break up wasn’t the first break up you and he went through. You left many times before, always thinking that you were finally strong enough to forget him only to come crawling back again. You don’t blame him for doubting that this time will be different, but you still can’t stop yourself from getting angry.

“Did you even hear what I said?”

“I did. Go to the police. I have nothing to do with it.”

You drop the half-finished cigarette. It dies in the puddle on the ground.

“I was smoking this”, he says dryly, “besides, don’t litter.”

“Pick it up yourself if you care so much about these dirty ass streets”, you spit and turn to leave. You take getting wet over being with him any longer.

Yoongi watches you leave, shakes his head in disbelief and bends down to pick up the cigarette. He won’t run after you because you will come crawling back eventually. You always do.

“Sir?” 

He turns his head. One of his officers. He is young and with sparkles of big dreams in his eyes. Yoongi pities him. This city is going to chew him up until there is nothing left of him. He had the same dreams once and knows what the viper nest, which is the justice system, is going to do to him. 

“What do you want?” he asks him dryly, rolling the wet cigarette between his fingers.

“Who did you talk to right now?”

“Just someone important to me.”

“Shouldn’t we escort her home? It’s raining and there could be criminals on the streets. It’s too dangerous for a woman to be alone.”

“She’ll get home safely.”

“Are you sure, Sir? I stayed sober for cases like these. I could get the car right away.”

“You’re sober?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“But it’s a work dinner. You’ve been off work for hours.”

The young officer salutes, “I know, Sir but a policeman shouldn’t slack, Sir.”

Yoongi feels deep pity for the young man. He is so motivated, so proper and full of good spirit. Waking up is going to hurt like a bitch for him.

He pats him on the shoulder.

“You’re a good person, Jeon”, he says and swerves past him to get back inside. 

The young officer follows him with pride glimmering in his innocent eyes. Yes, waking up is going to hurt like a bitch for him. 

Yoongi wasn’t always living two lives. He was like his young officer once. Full of dreams and motivation. He dreamed of using his powers to do good, to help those who needed it most and then he woke up. He watched politicians and men in power ruin, rape and kill the powerless without ever getting punished for it. He felt helpless. If even someone in his position can’t change the world, then who will? His criminal work was honourable once. He slipped evidence money under the table to hand out to the powerless, he let proof disappear for people doing crimes out of desperation. One time he was supposed to put a starving mother behind bars because she stole diapers for her babies. Yoongi couldn’t do it and so he disobeyed the law for these kinds of people.

But then his criminal work became less about the powerless and more about him. Making money the illegal way was easy and it is fucking addicting. Especially when he could make sure that evidence about him never reached the higher ups. Yoongi fucking loved the sudden power he possessed and he was too blinded by it to see that he became exactly what drove him to criminality in the first place.

Yoongi tells his officer to check up on your place that night. The young officer rings the doorbell like he was told to do.

You open it, swaying from intoxication as you do. The stench of digested booze wafts off you. But you somehow seem to sober up when you see the police badges on his shirt.

“You’ve got the wrong person”, you tell him, trying to morph your face into an expression of sobriety.

“Don’t worry, Miss. I came here to check on you.”

“Check on me?”

“Yes, Miss.” He salutes you. “I have orders from my captain to make sure that you arrived home safely and that you received this”, he says with an innocent smile on his lips, presenting a plastic bag to you. 

Authentic Asian Beef Noodles, it reads in red letters and inside, three big takeout containers of food are waiting to be eaten. 

Everything clicks into place. This is one of Yoongi’s employees. Another young, hopeful spirit which will be crushed in the system. You pity the young officer. You had the same innocent sparkle in your eyes once.

Hesitantly, you accept the takeout food.

“Thanks”, you mumble.

“Any time, Miss.” He studies you for a moment. “Are you…are you okay, Miss?”

You bite back tears. His empathy is going to kill him one day. But it feels so good to receive. You haven’t been asked this question in so long.

You shake your head. He straightens up in worry. 

“Should I call help for you, Miss?”

You know what he indicates.

“Thank you, no. I’m just going through some shit. Sorry, I’m being sappy tonight.”

“You don’t have to go through it alone, Miss.”

“I know. I’m just… I’m seriously alright, I won’t do anything stupid. You don’t have to worry, officer.” 

“Yes, well I still see it as my duty to stay because you seem sad to me”, he says and tries to go inside your apartment. He still has a lot to learn. You know from his eyes that he has no bad intentions and that he truly wants to help, but you know how the city will treat such deeds. One day he will try to help the wrong person and end up with attempted sexual assault charges. And it will fucking destroy him because people like him only see the good in the world and can’t imagine that others would want to hurt people.

You stop him with a guiding hand on his chest.

“That isn’t necessary, really. My packages keep getting stolen and I guess it’s been annoying me.”

He pulls out a pen paper instantly, stepping closer to you without noticing, “your packages? Have you seen anyone suspicious? How many packages have gone missing? When did it start?”

“No, I… Thank you for your concern and the food, but I will get through the night safely.”

He steps back, cheeks reddened in embarrassment.

“Forgive me, I don’t know why I did that. My captain said that you were important to him and that I should make sure that you are well, so I wanted to do a good job at it.” He bows at you deeply. “Please forgive me, Miss.” 

“He said that?” you whisper.

He nods his head, “yes, Miss.”

“Oh. Uhm. ” You clear your throat. “Thank you, I, uhm, tell him that I’m good.” 

“I will, Miss. Here, my card. You can always call me when you need something” he hesitates, “or when you just need someone to talk to.” 

“Thank you. This is so kind.”

“You are never alone, Miss.”

“Thank you”, you say, bowing at him. He is so kind. God, you want to grab him and tell him to run before it’s too late.

He bows as well, “good night, Miss.”

“Good night.”

You watch him leave. He gives you one last look out of the police car and a kind wave, then drives off. 

You close the door with a curse. This just sobered you up. The young policeman’s kindness just sobered you up. You check his name on the card he handed you. Jeon Jungkook. Why someone like him? He never should have found his way into this field of work. 

You look at the takeout food next, feeling your stomach twist. You are important to Yoongi. Holy fuck.

It’s been eight weeks since you left him. You don’t feel better. The cigarette you shared was two weeks ago and yet you still feel as if it was sticking to your lungs. Each time you breathe out, you swear you can taste him. It almost suffocates you and keeps you from relaxing. So you leave your depressing place for a walk to the kiosk. You read somewhere that walks are good for one’s mental health. You can’t agree. Walks force you to be outside where people are loud and fucking stink.

The vendor must be fucking with you. The day is bright, but the kiosk is closed again. You bang your fist against the closed door, cursing loudly. You want your fucking smokes is that too much to ask? This city is fucking shit.

You’ll just call someone who will always help. You saved him as Jay. His real name is Hoseok. You don’t say his real name in public. He doesn’t say yours. Yoongi sometimes called him his best friend, but what is such a title out of the mouth of the most apathetic man you know? You were his girlfriend too and look at where this has gotten you, living as an outlaw in the shit and dirt of this city.

Like always, Hoseok lets the phone ring four times then he picks up.

“Flames are hot”, he says.

“And the arsonist works hard”, you answer him.

“Hyacinth, it’s good to hear your voice”, there is finally a smile in his voice now that you answered the code correctly.

“The same goes for you, Jay.”

“What’s up? I haven’t heard from you in ages.”

“Nothing much. I’m out of smokes.”

“The corner in twenty?”

“Yeah.”

You and he end the call at the same time. Twenty minutes later you meet. He wears black overalls and smudged eyeliner. He says it keeps the char easier to hide. Like always, he greets you with a quick hug.

“What do you got?” you ask him.

“Whatever you want.” He opens his bag. “I’ve got cigarettes, but something stronger too”, he says, scurrying around the contents of the bag with his fingers. He always has burn marks on them, but somehow they are never dirty.

“What do fifty bucks buy?”

“For you? Two packs of cigarettes and two joints. That’s a steal.”

“Fuck dude, you’re getting expensive.”

“Yeah well, a man’s gotta eat.”

“Fine, I’ll take it.”

You and he exchange goods. He makes small talk.

“But why are you here with me? Did Suga run out of goods?”

Suga is Yoongi’s codename in public. The sound of it almost brings bile into your throat. You did such a good job in forgetting him and now the memory of him is as fresh as a new day. At least you like to pretend that you are doing a good job at forgetting him. Your heart knows better though.

“We, uhm…”

Hoseok exhales sharply, “again?”

You nod your head.

“When?”

“More than two months ago.”

“Damn, that’s long.”

“Yeah, I’m serious about it.”

He cocks his brow up.

“I am”, you insist just a little snappishly.

“Alright”, he closes his bag, “I gotta go now.”

“Already?”

He looks around nervously. Almost as if he didn’t want to be seen with you.

“Yup. Use the stuff wisely, I won’t have new stuff for a while.”

“Seriously?”

He nods his head and salutes you nonchalantly.

“See you around.”

“See…you?”

He turns his back to you and walks off quickly, soon disappearing into the busy crowd. Is this your fate? Even the people closest to you avoid you now that you aren’t Yoongi’s anymore? Were you truly only worth something as his little thing? You ball your hands into fists, bending the joints this way. You have to leave this fucking place. There is actually nothing holding you here anymore.

That night the phone terror starts. Numbers keep calling you over and over and over again. You pick up the first time, only to have to listen to the most hurtful things another human has ever said to you. The voice wasn’t Yoongi’s, but you still blame him. Now that you aren’t his thing anymore, you became free food to whoever had been waiting to make your life a living hell. You turn off your phone after an hour and go to sleep with the help of Hoseok’s joints.

The doorbell wakes you the next morning. You consider not answering because it’s probably just one of his goons wanting to terrorise you. But whoever is ringing the doorbell is stubborn, forcing you out of your bedroom. You look through the door cam first.

That young officer. He is in full uniform.

You open the door hesitantly.

“Good morning”, he greets you with a wave and a smile.

“Good morning”, you murmur. Your mouth is as dry as a fucking desert. You are also so hungry that you could throw up in his face right now.

“How are you feeling, Miss?”

“Good.”

“That’s good to hear.” He says and shows you a package which he kept hidden behind his back all this time. He smiles brightly and proudly. “Tada!”

“What’s that?”

“I caught the package thief, Miss.”

“Are you serious?” you gasp and your eyes instinctively drift to the car you have noticed parked outside your unit for days. The door is opened and someone is sitting in the backseat. He looked cuffed to the seat. You glance at the young officer and the shiteating, proud grin he is sporting. He has been watching you? Did Yoongi tell him to?

“Wait. You’re actually serious.”

“Very serious. For you, Miss”, he says and shoves the package into your face.

“Uhm, uh. Thanks”, you accept it, putting it under your arm. “Have you been watching me?”

“Did you notice the car? Sorry, I thought that I was better hidden. I’m still new to all of this. But I caught the thief, heh.” He points at himself with his thumbs. “That’s my first real arrest.”

He manages to drag an honest smile to your lips. He is kind of adorable in a way.

“That’s cool. Thank you for taking care of it. Now I’ve got nothing to worry about anymore.”

He grins and nods his head, studying your features afterwards. He opens his mouth.

“Jeon are you there? Over”, his walkie talkie interrupts whatever he wanted to ask you. He takes it off his chest harness.

“I’m here, Kim Sir. Over.”

“Come to the precinct. We need reinforcements. Over.”

“Coming right away, Sir. I caught a thief right now, Sir. Over.”

A pause where the higher officer is definitely baffled by his confession.

“Good job, Jeon. Over.”

The young officer giggles before he speaks again, doing so as seriously as possible.

“Thank you, Kim Sir. I am taking the criminal to the precinct. Over.”

“Understood. Over.”

He puts the walkie talkie back on its harness and gives you a sorry smile.

“That was my boss. My other boss, not your friend who is the boss of this boss. Anyways. I have to go now, duty calls. Are you going to be okay, Miss?”

“I am. Thank you for your kindness.”

“Anytime, Miss. Uhm, have a good day”, he says and leaves with a wave of his hand. He waves again as he drives off. You retort it, staring at his car until it disappears behind a corner. You sigh deeply. He is so nice. Why someone like him? Why does this life always find people like him?

It’s been ten weeks since you left him. You read somewhere that walks are good for your mental health. You still can’t agree. Walks force you to be outside where people are still loud and still fucking stink. But it’s better than staying in your apartment. You’ve got new neighbours since Monday. They keep fucking like actual animals. They fucked when you left your place tonight. You were this close to kicking their door in and slaughtering them like pigs. You opted for a walk in the end.

You walk for a while then sit down by an empty bench next to the river. It is quiet. Nobody is really here. At least nobody important. A couple, how disgusting. A late night jogger, clearly a man. A homeless person, who uses another bench as their bed. You hate looking at homeless people because you feel helpless seeing them. You stopped being on the bright side of the law because of people like them. You thought that maybe if you stole from the corrupt men in power often enough, you would be able to help the ones who truly needed it. But you never managed to actually achieve anything. The homelessness in the city grows, while the pockets of the politicians become fatter and fatter in wealth. You fucking hate this city. It is rotten to the core.

“Look who we have here. If that isn’t our pretty little Hyacinth.”

You aren’t quick enough to get up to leave and then you already have two men throwing their arms over your shoulders while a third is grabbing the back of your head from behind. You try to reach for your knife but can’t. Their grip on you is too good.

“What are you doing here all alone?”

Their voices are familiar and one look at them confirms your suspicions. It’s them. The same three underlings who stole your groceries months ago.

“Leave me alone”, you tell them.

“Why should we? You are all alone. If the boss knew we’re leaving you alone, he’d grow angry.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Now, now don’t be like that. You’re just a girl and there are many dangerous men out there.”

You look to your side. One of them is licking their lips like a hungry animal.

“Yeah? And you’re being fucking inappropriate. Leave me alone”, you spit, shaking off their arms.

They let you. Just as they let you stand up and take your bag.

“Goodnight”, you tell them and leave. Quickly. You walk a good hundred feet until you finally dare to look over your shoulder only to realise in horror that they are following you. Quickly.

You can defend yourself. You know how to kill, but you also know when you are outnumbered. And three bigger men against a woman is sadly never going to end well for the woman. You hate this city and you hate this life. You know that their words were nothing but provocation. They know you aren’t with Yoongi anymore, that you aren’t under his protection anymore and that in some weird way, you sullied his honour. You also know how people who bring dishonour to the gangs of this city are punished. The men are murdered and the women, well, they are murdered too but not before being sullied themselves. You hate this city and you hate this life. This life which is going to fucking end for you soon.

You dare to look over your shoulder one more time. They are so close that you can see the hunger in their eyes. No. Nononononono. It can’t end like this. You were supposed to leave this city, start a new life, forget about Yoongi. You are not going to die here in this dirty, shitty park far away from your dream.

Thump.

You bounce back from the impact, letting out a blood curling scream. It was instinct. Just as it is instinct of the person you ran into to grasp you by your arms and pull you closer again.

“Let me go! Help! Help me!”

“Quiet”, the person hisses and shakes you. This voice sounded different. Familiar in an almost intimate way.

You dare to shift your eyes to them.

Yoongi.

“I, I, I”, you stutter, feeling delirious in both fear and shock. You grab his shirt, twisting it to get closer to him. The act is intimate and out-of-place but you are too frightened to think clearly. 

Yoongi brushes over the state of your glassy eyes to look over your shoulder. There are three men suddenly scurrying away, using the darkness to hide. He managed to get their faces.

He looks back at you. Your eyes meet. A little bit of clarity returns to you. What are you doing? Your fingers soften around his shirt. 

“I don’t…”

“Come on, we’re going home”, he say sternly and puts an arm around your waist, dragging you with him like this.

You follow him all the way to his car. You even let him sit you down on the passenger seat and you even stay seated when he rounds the car to get to the driver side. You think that you are in shock because you don’t protest when he starts the car, nor when he drives off. You simply stare outside with your knees turned to him because your body acts against your consciousness. The city passes you by in flashes of neon colours. His car smells like his cologne and leather. He has no music playing. 

Yoongi glances at your face. You have your head against the window, squeezing your hands between your thighs. The neon lights illuminate your features each time he passes by another light source. He can see that you are trying not to shake.

He takes a deep breath, shifting his eyes to the road. He has to grip the steering wheel, otherwise his hands would shake in anger.

“Should we get dinner?”

His voice rips you from whatever trance you were in. You sit up straight, looking at him. He is gripping the steering wheel to the point his knuckles pale. His long hair is hanging into his face tonight. A turquoise varsity jacket adorns him. His scar wasn’t hidden behind concealer. He wasn’t working his day job today. What was he doing at the park? Why was he there?

“Take me home”, you order him.

“I am.”

“No. Home. Not your place.”

“My place is your home”, he gets out through gritted teeth.

“No, it isn’t. Not anymore.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Did you see what they were doing to me?”

“No.”

You are lost for words for a moment. The tears come afterwards.

“Stop the car.”

Yoongi looks at you because your voice was shaking. He holds his breath at the sight of your tears.

“What?” he makes sure.

“Stop. The. Car. Now.”

He laughs and shakes his head.

You pull the knife out on him. He swerves to the side on instinct, fixing the mistake so vigorously, you and he shake in the small space. You don’t let it affect you, holding the knife against his skin.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he hisses.

“Stop the fucking car or I’ll kill us both”, you spit, holding the knife against his throat.

“Fuck”, he growls and hits the steering wheel. The car rolls to a stop.

“Get out”, you threaten.

“I am. Fuck.”

He follows your orders because you have his life at blade’s end. He still slams the door closed. You leave the car instantly.

“What the fuck were you thinking? You could have killed us both” he tries to scold you, but you silence him.

“I’m talking now”, you roar.

Yoongi closes his mouth because he has never heard you like this before.

“You are such an asshole! Each day I regret the moment I met you! You are the worst thing that ever happened to me!”

Yoongi gulps. 

“I had a life before you. I had dreams and ambitions and, and goals and…a chance. I could have had a good life. I was supposed to use my degree to help people but you ruined everything for me.”

He rounds the car in big steps, coming so close to you that you smell his breath. It smells like chewing gum. 

“You could have achieved something? What exactly did you achieve as a lawyer? Mhm, what did you achieve? This city is fucked.”

“Yes, because you fucked it!” you hit his chest. He doesn’t budge, but also doesn’t stop you. “You fucked it and you fucked me and I hate you for it!”

“Don’t blame me for your decisions. I gave you a chance to leave me back then. You were the one who stayed.”

You inch closer until your lips are almost touching. Yoongi exhales shakily, placing his hand on your hip. 

“And I will regret this decision till the day I die”, you whisper, breaking the closeness.

You slip out of his hold. He follows you in a small stumble and a trembling gasp. 

“I never want to see you again. Are we clear?” you hiss at him.

“Don’t be fucking ridiculous, you don’t want this”, he hisses back at you.

“You’re wrong, I don’t want you. I thought I still did, but I don’t. You don’t care about me, it’s finally so fucking obvious to me. You don’t fucking care.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“They are terrorising me, Yoongi!” You finally scream. “I wake up to people ringing my doorbell in the middle of the night, I have to keep my phone turned off because the phone calls don’t stop. I keep getting my stuff stolen and, and I thought I was going to be raped tonight! They are terrorising me and you called it not your problem!”

“No, you-”

“I’ve been living in constant fear, our friends don’t even look at me anymore, I haven’t eaten in days and I can’t-”, you stop yourself. He doesn’t even deserve your anger anymore. “-you know what? Fuck this and fuck you. I’m leaving.”

You turn your back to him and leave. 

He says your name and takes your hand. He pulls, tries to turn you to him. But you rip yourself free again.

“Don’t go”, he says.

You don’t listen.

“I’m ordering you to stay”, he sounds desperate, yelling your name, “I am ordering you!” 

He can yell as much as he wants to. You don’t listen to him anymore. The subway station isn’t far. You will make an exception and take it tonight. Even if you hate it. It stinks. Just like the rest of this shitty city.

You are going to leave. Once you are home, you are going to start packing and then you are going to leave. You will call V. You don’t know his real name, but he can change your identity as quickly as others change their socks. You will call V and tell him to have your passport ready the day after tomorrow. You will pay him with the money you have under your pillow and then leave for somewhere clean. Maybe somewhere with lots of mountains. You always heard that the air at these places is breathable.

You call V the same night. He tells you that two days is too short and to wait another week. So you wait. Your bags have been packed. You live out of them in your own place. You don’t leave it. You are scared. With how little Yoongi cared about your situation, you doubt that he told his men to stop. You are scared that if you left again, they would finally go through with what they couldn’t finish back then.

The doorbell rings during a rainy, dark night. You flinch awake to the point where you feel sick to the stomach. The lights are turned on instantly eventhough you know not to do that in such a situation. You can’t think clearly. You just want this to be over. All of it.

You run to the front door because you suddenly feared that it was unlocked. It isn’t, but you can watch someone push an envelope under your door. The shadow blocking the light outside leaves the moment the letter is inside your apartment.

You don’t want to open it at first, staring at it as if someone had planted a bomb in your apartment. Fuck it, if that is how you die then so be it, you think in the end and bend down to pick it up. It feels different in your fingers. Sophisticated. Intimate. The envelope is glued closed as if someone licked the glue stripe and the faint smell of well-known cologne lingers on the paper. You open it with shaky fingers.

A letter. It is heavy and folded once. You open it, gasping when three photographs fall out of it and onto the ground. You don’t know what is on them because they landed on their face side. So you read the letter first.

“It has always been mine as well.”

Written in black ink and a familiar handwriting. This is Yoongi’s writing.

With even shakier hands, you pick up the pictures. You feel sick for a moment, gawking at the cruel pictures with your hand thrown over your mouth. The three men who terrorised you. Their mutilated corpses look back at you. He tortured them to death.

You rip the door open, stumbling onto the balcony. You look down at what tripped you. Two bags of your favourite takeout food and a six pack of water. Both clearly fresh. So it was him. Yoongi must be here somewhere. You look into the distance. The night is loud and blurry in a thunderstorm. The streets are empty. The ghost of your past is gone again. You squint your eyes. A person.

“Yoongi!” you call out, unable to realise that you are smiling and waving your hand.

The person moves. Oh. It was just the shadow of a tree. For just a moment you had hoped that the dark shape was him waiting for you. It was just a tree…and you were happy that if could have been Yoongi. The realisation hurts.

“Fuck”, you press out, going back inside. The lump in your throat makes it hard to breathe. You stumble back to bed, halting for a moment when you pass your suitcases.

It has always been mine as well. His words repeat themselves in your head. All this time, you thought that he didn’t care. All this time, you thought that your terror left him cold. Your eyes drift over the empty takeout boxes from the noodle place. You still haven’t cleaned them up. He made sure that you were properly fed for days back then. A glance at the new stuff he got tonight. He is still making sure that you are. Your eyes drift over the package next. He made sure that they stopped getting stolen. You look at the pictures in your hands. He made sure that they would never hurt you again. All this time, you were so blinded by your own anger that you missed how he had always looked out for you. You missed his way of showing you that you were important to him.

It has always been his problem as well.

Something inside you breaks and you scream. You don’t know what you scream for, but you scream. It hurts so much. It hurts so much because you will still leave. He will hurt you again if you stay. All his efforts healed your heart and it hurts so much because you will still leave. You were meant to stay broken hearted. Leaving would have been so easy this way. Now it hurts like a bitch. But you can’t sway. You have to leave this place. It will chew up what little is left of you until you truly cease to exist.

V comes to your place the next day. He rings your doorbell. It wakes you from the uncomfortable sofa you fell asleep on last night. You groan as you sit up and you barely want to open your eyes as you stumble to the door.

You open it without checking the camera first.

“Took you long en- you?”

Jungkook, the young officer, greets you with a smile.

“I swear I’m not stalking you.”

You have a headache today, so it is difficult not to snap at him. He is also not the person you wanted in front of your door today.

“I’m starting to doubt that.”

He laughs, “it’s not that. I talked to my boss. Your friend, the boss of the other boss. Sorry, anyways. I need you to come to the precinct with me.”

“What? Why?”

“Okay so, this is actually so cool and I shouldn’t even be telling you this, but you’re my boss’ friend so I guess it’s okay”, he begins with sparkling eyes, “turns out that the package thief is actually a serial thief and you aren’t the first one he stole from. Isn’t that cool? It’s like in those movies. Those cool cop movies.”

“Really? He stole from more people?” You highly doubt that.

“Yeah”, he laughs as he answers you, nodding his head excitedly, “now we’re calling in everyone who he stole from so we can take their statements. My boss says that we can’t keep the thief locked up for long otherwise.”

You know that this wasn’t really how the law works. After all, you were once a lawyer who was fucking good at her job. Is Yoongi trying to drag you back to him? First he tries to change your mind by killing your bullies and now he is trying to do the final blow by abusing his power as police chief? You check the time. Couldn’t the young officer have come later? You could have had your passport already and be far, far away from this place.

“Can I just give it to you here?” you ask him.

“Mhm”, he tilts his head to the side, “no, I don’t think that it works like this. I’m sorry, Miss. The captain said that it’s important that all the victims come into the precinct.”

You have to give Yoongi that. He is real clever about it. That means however that you can’t escape this situation. Any more resistance from you would make you suspicious.

You give up with a sigh. “Can I just change into something different?”

“Of course, Miss.”

The young officer lets you sit in the passenger seat. He is so new at all of this. With such naivety he tells you his entire life story. That he was from the countryside and that his dream has always been to be a policeman in the city. That he studied hard for years and that he completed his enlistment with honour just so he could be a proper officer. He sounds so proud of himself that each second with him makes you hate his presence more and more. He is so fucking stupid and it angers you. Why would he throw away his life like that? Why someone like him?

You are led to one of the precinct’s interrogation rooms and are told to wait there. The table is decked with different foods.

“What’s all that?” you ask Jungkook.

“Breakfast, Miss.”

“Did your captain tell you to do that?”

“He said that wanted to make sure you get your breakfast because we called you in so early. The captain really cares for the citizens.”

You stifle a scoff. Sure he does.

“Mhm, I see.”

“Either way, it won’t take long”, the young officer bids his goodbyes and leaves you in the interrogation room.

His words were a lie. You wait and wait and wait, but nothing happens. There are no clocks in this godforsaken room, but you still know that it has to be hours. You didn’t want to eat the breakfast at first, glaring at the two-way mirror because in your mind, Yoongi was behind it, watching you and making sure that you ate. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction at first, but had to in the end. The body begins working against one’s will when it is starving and the breakfast looked way too good. You eat all of it, then glare at the mirror again. You are still left alone and more time passes. It is as if they are trying to wear you down, as if you were the criminal in this situation. Granted, you are a criminal, but only Yoongi knows that and right now you are a poor civilian having done nothing wrong. You know that it’s Yoongi’s doing. That he somehow wants to terrorise you.

So when the door finally opens and he walks into the room, you almost throw the empty bowl at his head.

“Forgive the wait, Miss but something came up”, he says nonchalantly, flicking through some papers.

His second in command Kim Namjoon and the young officer Jeon Jungkook are behind him, which is why he is putting up this act. You grind your teeth.

“I already started to wonder if I’m in danger here”, you say way too sweetly.

“That depends on how you are going to answer our questions”, he says and sits down on the chair in front of you.

Jungkook stays by the door while Kim Namjoon stands a little to your side.

You look around yourself. He is trying to intimidate you.

“What’s that supposed to mean? I thought that I’m here to give my statement because of my stolen packages.”

Yoongi glances up from the papers. This is the first time your eyes meet after your fight and he killed your bullies. If only the others in this room would know how much blood he has on his hands and to which length he is willing to go to protect you. There were times where you would have dragged him over the table and kissed him senseless, but not anymore. You are stronger than your urges, even if it hurts your heart. You can’t give in again. If you do, he will take you for granted again. You won’t be happy with him. You finally have to fucking understand that.

“You’re right. You are here because of that”, he says dryly.

“Good. It started on May sixteen. I came home at around seven ten and noticed that my packages were missing. Two were stolen back then, but in total he stole eight packages”, you say and proceed to tell him the exact dates with the time as well as what was stolen.  

“You seem to know how such hearings work”, he says after he wrote down what you said.

“I had a few hours to practice what I was going to say”, you say with a poisonous smile.

One Yoongi retorts with just as much poison and a deep hum.

“Apologies again.”

“Don’t worry, I know how hard the police works at keeping this honourable city safe.”

He tongues his cheek. You give him a victorious smirk. This cut. Good. He takes a deep breath and releases it through his nose, reaching into his suit pocket to pull out a cigarette. He gets as far as to put it to his lips and then Kim Namjoon already speaks up.

“Captain. Smoking is prohibited in this building.”

“Fuck”, Yoongi presses out and takes the cigarette between two fingers to tap it against the table instead.

“Smoking is bad for you either way”, you say.

He tongues his cheek again. You know that he wants to curse at you right now, but can’t. He has to put up a friendly act.

“I know, can’t shake the habit”, he says and studies your face, “so what now?”

“Sir?” Kim Namjoon is rightfully confused. Yoongi slipped up.

“I don’t know, I was never in such a place before. Do you still need to take my information?” you act oblivious.

“We already have everything.”

“Great. Then I can go?” you ask, fluttering your lashes innocently.

“I don’t know yet.”

“Sir?” “What? Why?”

Yoongi shifts in his chair until he manspreads like an idiot. He crosses his arms in front of his chest.

“What are you going to do now?” he asks you.

“Uhm…is this still part of my hearing?” you ask, glancing at Kim Namjoon.

“No of course not, Miss. Please, follow me.”

“Sit. Down.”

The room is silent for a moment. You glare at Yoongi while Namjoon and Jungkook gawk in complete confusion. Their captain acts out of character. There is no reason to keep the innocent lady here any longer. This isn’t like him at all. He has been fidgeting all day, barely drank his coffee, went for far too many smoke breaks and now this. The officers have no explanation for their captain’s sudden behaviour.

“What is the reason for this?” you ask him.

“Just safety precautions. We wouldn’t want our honest citizen to get into danger”, he says coldly, “now answer my question. What are your plans now, Miss?”

“I will go home.”

“Where is that home?”

“Sir, I don’t know if that is necessary.”

“Shut up, Kim.”

Namjoon gulps, exchanging a confused look with Jeon Jungkook. This is really not like their captain.

Yoongi straightens up and leans forward so he is closer to you.

“Where is that home, Miss?”

You lower your eyes in anger.

“I don’t know yet, I’m planning to leave this city.”

“What?” his voice shook as he spoke. His fingers close and break the cigarette that way. His eyes almost bore holes into yours from how deeply he stares into them.

“This city’s become too depressing for me. I plan on leaving it for good.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Yes, I do. There is nothing holding me here anymore.”

“Yes, there is.”

“No, there really isn’t. I will leave.”

Bang!

You flinched back. Namjoon and Jungkook tense up as well.

Yoongi slammed his hand on the table, jumping to his feet.

“No the fuck you won’t!” he yells.

“Sir? What are you doing?!”

“Excuse me? It’s my right as an honest citizen to move”, you act oblivious as well.

“Keep her here”, he talks to Jungkook, pointing at him, “lock her up and keep her here.”

“Under what pretence, Sir?” the young officer asks with widened eyes.

“I, I, I don’t know. Refusal to, to, to cooperate or some shit like that”, Yoongi never stutters and he never paces, but he is currently doing both of those things.

“Sir…is…this legal?” Jungkook asks shyly.

Yoongi is by Jungkook’s side within a few steps, grabbing him by the collar.

“Do as you are told, Jeon! Unless you want to lose this job!” Yoongi growls, making Jungkook whimper with fear.

“Captain Min, you are stepping out of place”, Kim Namjoon speaks up, dragging him away from Jungkook, “and get off this poor officer’s neck. He is just doing his job.”

Yoongi whips around, now targeting his anger at Namjoon.

“If he was doing his fucking job, he would lock her up”, he hisses, pointing at you.

“I need you to step out for a moment, Captain”, Namjoon says and gestures Jungkook to open the door. The young officer obeys, holding it open as Namjoon shoves a protesting Yoongi out of the room. He closes the door again, muting the vivid fighting Yoongi was doing with Namjoon outside.

He meets your eyes, smiling awkwardly.

“Please forgive the Captain, Miss. He is very concerned about his citizens’ safety.” He is a terrible liar, but you don’t blame him. If you were in his situation, you would have no idea how to explain such a situation to a supposed innocent citizen either.

“Don’t worry. I, I’m just wondering if maybe I can finally leave? I’m sorry, this just really scared me and I just want to lie down at home now”, you act shaken up, looking at the young officer with pleading eyes. 

“Of course, Miss. Our honest apologies again, Miss. Please follow me”, he says and leads you out of the room.

Yoongi and Namjoon are still arguing, but stop when they see you come out. You lock eyes with Yoongi for the briefest of moments. 

He closes the distance and grabs your wrist, dragging you with him with such vigour that nobody truly gets time to act. Not even you know what was happening to you until you find yourself in his office with the door slammed shut. 

“What are you doing?” you gasp.

“Shut the fuck up, you’re not the one asking this question right now!”

“Yoongi, lower your voice. This isn’t the place for screams.”

He steps closer to you, pointing at your face in warning.

“I have every fucking right to scream right now and you know that”, he presses out through gritted teeth.

“Why? Because I finally don’t need you anymore?”

“You can’t move. What the fuck are you thinking?”

“I’m-”

‘I'm not done”, he interrupts you, “I killed them for you. I did it. Just for you. Because your safety matters to me. I care.” He hits his own chest. “I showed you that I care and you’re gonna leave?”

You hate that you love him, but not for the usual reasons. You hate it because it hurts. You are going to leave despite not wanting to. You love him, perhaps you always will but you are also going to leave. 

You nod your head.

Yoongi exhales shakily, taking a stumbling step back. He stares at you as if you were the ghost whose haunting hurts him the most. He huffs out air, rubs his hand over his mouth, then runs it through his hair and down the side of his neck.

“I’ll kill the thief”, he says in the end.

“What?” 

“I'll make it seem like suicide. He’ll look like a pisser who couldn’t take prison and killed himself.”

“Are you out of your mind? He’s just a thief.”

“Well, what more do you need?!” he screams

“Nothing! I don’t need anything from you!”

“Why not? I can give you whatever you want!”

“Look at you. Now that you finally realised, I’m actually serious about the breakup, you wanna act like you care.”

“I care”, his voice broke, but you are both too angry to acknowledge it, “i-i-if I knew that you- I just-” He breathes in, breathes out, rubs his mouth, then his neck. “It can’t end like this. It can’t.”

“It can. I’m done begging you for everything.”

Yoongi steps closer.

“I can-”

“Sir? What is the meaning of this?” 

Kim Namjoon and Jeon Jungkook are in the office. The rest of the precinct gawks at you and Yoongi through the doorway. The latter lifts his hands and steps back. His fingers are shaking. 

“The captain just voiced his worries for my move. Don’t worry about it, Kim Sir”, you lie and turn to leave, “may I finally leave?”

Namjoon tells Jungkook to handle it with a nod of his head. The young officer points at the open door.

“Please after you, Miss.”

Yoongi says your name. 

You look at him over your shoulder, despite knowing you shouldn’t. He takes a step closer, lifting his brows in pleading. Don’t give in. Don’t give in. Don’t give in. You ball your hands to fists and turn your back to him.

Yoongi tries your name again, hoping for another look. One which doesn’t come. 

“Come back”, he tries, but gets stopped by Namjoon.

You can hear them talk as you leave.

“What the fuck’s your issue, man? You’ve been weird all day and now you’re screaming at citizens?”

“Watch your tone.”

“Hyung, I’m not here as your colleague right now. I’m here as your friend.”

“She’s gonna leave, she can’t…”

Jungkook leads you away from the office before you can hear Yoongi’s full answer. 

“Are you crying, Miss??”

“Hm? Oh that, don’t mind them. It’s just…” Your heart is broken and you want to run back to Yoongi. “...forgive me, I’m just a little shaken from everything.”

“I’m sorry, Miss. The captain isn’t normally like this.”

“It’s alright. I know how Yoongi can be sometimes.”

“Yoongi?” Jungkook asks, glancing at the captain’s office. He wonders what kind of friends you and he are. Maybe Those kind of friends? Is that why you are important to the captain? 

“I mean…sorry, I don’t know why I said that. I just wish to go home now.”

“Of course, Miss.”

“Oh god, I don’t even have money for a bus ticket with me”, you murmur to yourself, looking for your wallet. This is all a scheme to get Jungkook to drive you home again. You are worried that if he didn’t, Yoongi would somehow get to you before you could reach the station.

“Don’t worry about it, Miss. As a policeman, it is my duty to make sure that you get home safely.”

“Really? I wouldn’t want to waste your time.”

“Of course, Miss.”

And so he takes you home and you hate yourself because of it. So it began. You were the first person who used his kindness to her advantage. You were the drop beginning the inevitable filling of the tank until one day it will swap over. And once that happens, it is almost impossible to stop the leak. Fuck, you are just as terrible as everyone else in this city.

But the young officer is oblivious to what you just did, driving you home with a kind smile on his face. He even walks you to your door and stays as you unlock it. Your neighbours are fucking again. He glances at their door, then awkwardly at you.

“Yeah, I’ve got new neighbours. You can’t go over there and flash your badge and tell them to shut up, can you?”

“Of course I can, Miss. Just one mom-”

“No stop, I was joking”, you stop him, studying him with exhausted eyes. You are so sorry. You are so fucking sorry.

“Ah, okay. Please forgive me, I always take everything way too seriously”, he says, scratching his own neck shyly. He furrows his brows. “What’s the matter, Miss?”

“Can I tell you something?”

“Of course, Miss.”

“Run.”

“What?”

“Run back to your hometown. Run and never look back.”

“Excuse me?” he laughs in confusion, furrowing his brows harder.

“You’re a good person, Jeon Jungkook. This city will fucking ruin you.”

“I…uh…” He laughs nervously. “I don’t seem to follow, Miss. Sorry.”

“You don’t need to get it, just listen to me. Please.”

“O…kay? I uhm…”

“Thank you for driving me home. I’ll think of you sometimes in my new home.”

“Miss, are you okay?”

“I am. You don’t need to worry about me anymore. Just promise me to run.”

“I promise?”

“Good. Be happy, Jeon Jungkook.”

“Miss, I-”

You close the door on him and lock it. You don’t expect him to knock or ring the bell. He is too proper to annoy you this way. You check the camera. He stares at the closed door for a few moments longer, looking confused. He lifts his hand to knock, hesitates and turns his back to the door instead, leaving down the steps to drive off. You know that you confused him, but you had to. Please let it be enough to save him.

V arrives later that day. He is stressed and clearly in a hurry.

“What’s wrong? You look like you need to be somewhere or like you need to shit. Do you need to shit?”

“What? No”, he sounds out of breath as well as annoyed, “I’m risking my ass being here. I’ve got your stuff. It’s the only thing except mine that I managed to save. Give me the money, quick.”

“Save?” you probe, giving him the money.

He stuffs it into his boxers hastily, looking over his shoulder again.

“My place got raided by cops. I was at the market getting food, then came back to five cop cars in front of my place. I barely escaped. If I didn’t always carry my stuff with me, I’d have been fucked.”

“What?!”

“Sorry, Hyacinth. Gotta leave the city for a while. I wish you all the best.”

“V, what the fuck?”

“Here’s to never seeing each other again, aye?” he jokes, laughing nervously. It’s a good thing he said. Never seeing each other again meant that you and he managed to escape safely.

“Wait. Where will you go?”

“I can’t tell you. You know I can’t.”

“Yeah, just…be careful.”

“You too.”

He leaves and you know that he will be successful. If there is one person who won’t ever be found it is V. 

You are in a trance for the rest of the day. Yoongi raided V’s place. He went as far as to betray his own people just to make sure that you wouldn’t leave. Carrying your new passport feels like a trophy, as much as it feels like a curse. Leaving this city won’t be as easy anymore now that he knows. You are so fucking stupid for telling him, but you didn’t want to miss out on his reaction when he found out. The small moment of satisfaction seems skippable now that you know how far he is willing to go to keep you close. And because V came as late as he did, your means of escape don’t drive anymore either. You have to wait for the earliest bus if you wanted to or not. Fuck, you did this to yourself. You stupid fucking woman. Look at you. You have this big, honourable degree and still manage to get yourself into shitty situations over and over again.

You go to sleep with a gun under your pillow. You won’t risk anything.

You don’t get a lot of sleep and then a noise wakes you. You heard it as clear as day. Someone unlocked your front door. He sent men to get you. Now he’s gone too far. You jump out of bed and grab your loaded gun, tiptoeing to a spot from where you could observe the apartment. You have to be strategic about it. First count the men, then calculate the fastest way to shoot them, then act. The door closes and locks again. Clever bastards, they want to make sure that you don’t flee. Oh, you are going to have a blast killing them. One last little thing to leave Yoongi before you abandon him.

The automatic lights turn on. Got you, assholes.

The first enters your vision.

“Hm?”

Yoongi. Clearly drunk, he is dragging his feet over the floor, using the wall as support. No one else follows him. So he came here alone. 

Overtaken by anger, you jump out of hiding and at him.

Yoongi collides with the wall, feeling the cold nuzzle of the gun press against his chin. He drops the keys and flowers he was carrying, lifting his hands in defeat.

“Careful, it’s just me”, he lulls.

“Get the fuck out of my house”, you spit, carrying murder in your eyes. 

“I can’t believe you’re still hiding your keys under the flower pot. Don’t make me so worried, anyone could enter.”

“I’m gonna count to three and if you haven’t disappeared by then, I’ll shoot.”

“Can we talk?”

“One.”

“I know I fucked up. I can’t stop thinking about you. Please, can we try again?”

“Two.”

“I promise I changed. You were right, I was a joke. But I wanna do better now.”

“Three.” “I’m sorry!”

Yoongi squeezes his eyes shut. His death never comes. He peels his eyes open again.

You are staring, panting heavily. Tears are in your eyes.

“I’m sorry”, he whispers.

This is the first time he is the one to say these words first. It feels so good, but you can’t give in again. You made up your mind to leave…didn’t you? You study the state of him. He is heavily intoxicated. He looks the way and reeks of it.

“You’re drunk.” 

He nods his head, furrowing his brows. He touches your elbows, caressing them softly. Such touch you only get when he is drunk.

“I drank because of you. What you said today. I just…don’t move away, please”, he begs, eyes filling with tears.

“So now you care? I wasn’t important to you when I was with you and now that I’m leaving, I’m suddenly important?”

“You’ve always been important.”

“No, I haven’t. You took me for granted.”

“I did and I’m sorry. I never should have taken you for granted. I’ll do better now, please just give me a chance to prove it to you.”

“If I give you a chance again, you’ll just abuse it and hurt me.”

“No, I won’t. Please, I just.” He cups your face, running his thumbs under your eyes as gently as possible. “We were right once. We were so good together. We were a team and, and we had dreams and we made each other happy. I want this back, I wanna try to get this back again please.”

“I just want to be happy, Yoongi”, you press out.

“I’ll make you happy, baby. Please, I-I’ll make you happy again.”

“No, you’re drunk and talking fucking shit.”

“I’ll leave this city if you want me to.”

You falter. He would give up what he built just for you?

“You wouldn’t do that.”

“I would. For you I would. I’d set this whole city on fire and leave with you as it burns to fucking ashes behind us, please.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Please”, he whispers and drops his forehead against yours, “please, I want to make you happy again.”

You hate that you love him. You hate that he made you addicted to him. This is so awfully him. He gives you enough affection that you get addicted to it then takes it away again. And once he feeds it to you again, you drink it up like an alcoholic. It is always the same. 

“No, you won’t. You’re drunk.”

“Please.”

“Leave my place.”

He presses himself off the wall and grabs the nuzzle of the gun, guiding it right between his brows.

“You have to kill me if you want me gone.”

You gulp. He forces your finger to the trigger. Your airways close up.

“Kill me. Fucking kill me. I can’t live without you anyways.”

You could end it. You’ve got everything. Your suitcases, your papers, the keys of his car he drunkenly drove like an asshole. You’ve got everything you need to escape this place. You could end it, finally make sure that you have no temptation to return. You could end him and your addiction with it. He’s got your finger on the trigger, it needs just one flex and it would be over. But you never wanted him dead. No matter how much you wished for him to be gone, you never wanted him dead. Because in some fucked up way, all you really wanted was for him to put more effort into you.

“No”, you whimper, shaking your head. 

He rips the gun from your fingers and drops it on your dresser. 

“I don’t want to kill you”, you press out, sobbing softly. 

He cradles your face, wiping your tears. 

“I know”, he gets out, nodding his head, “I know you don’t, princess. I know.”

“Yoongi”, you squeak out, twisting his shirt. 

“I’m here, princess. I’m here.”

He pulls you closer until his kiss is just one breath away, feeding on the shaky breath you let ghost against his lips. His drunken eyes gaze at your mouth, his heart is racing in his chest.

“Push me away”, he tells you.

“I hate you.”

“And I love you.”

“Yoongi”, you whimper, finally touching his chest instead of his shirt. 

He moans and pulls you into a kiss. A deep, hungry kiss. 

You pull at his hair to get him off of you as much as you pull him closer, fighting for air. You hate that you love…do you really? Do you really fucking hate it? Do you really hate it when his kiss makes you feel alive again? You spent months feeling out of breath and now it’s gone. You can breathe again. At least metaphorically, physically he’s got you very close to passing out. You push at him to get distance. Air. He lets you breathe, but not escape. He pushes you to your sofa until your legs collide with the back of it. Your shaky breaths intermingle, your shared moans follow. His right hand slides to your ass, his knee lifts to your middle. 

You gasp, grinding down on him. You can’t protest because he kisses you so deeply it feels as if he wanted to consume your soul. He kisses and gropes, kisses and gropes until air is sparse. He gasps.

“Fuck. Fuck, I’m fucked”, he gets out and pulls your head back so he could drag his tongue up your throat. 

It should disgust you, but it doesn’t. You moan, running your nails down his chest and arching your back. He lifts his head, looking at you with drunken, crazed obsession. His fingers just can’t stay still on your body. It is as if he wanted to touch everywhere at all times. The attention makes you short of breath.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.”

You touch his cheek. He leans into your palm, closing his eyes when you trace his scar. You were with him when he got it. It was during a fight. He fought with his fists, his opponent chose the cowardly way and pulled a knife on him. He was lucky that he didn’t lose his eyesight. He hated it at first, but you made him feel handsome. You always looked out for him that way.

“Do you…do you think I’m handsome?” he asks. Such questions you only get when he’s drunk. 

“I do.”

His breath trembles as it leaves him. He drops his hand from your hips to take out his cock. He touches himself, gazing at you as if he needed the view of you to stay hard. And he does. He needs you. You are the only person who can turn him on.

You look at what his hand is doing, gulping heavily. He sighs, gazing at your face. You are as mesmerised by him as you were when everything was still good between you and him. His cock still has the same effect on you.

“Princess?” he tilts your head back up to meet your eyes, using only two fingers under your chin for it. 

You meet his eyes, heart racing unbearably.

“Yes?” One little lift of his brows and you give him the answer he craved. 

You part your legs, tilting your hips closer to him. You nod your head vigorously, gazing at his cock again.

He doesn’t bother to pull his pants down all the way, neither does he care about taking off your panties. He pushes them to the side and stuffs you full of him, gripping the edge of the couch and your right thigh as deep moans leave him. Your right leg is lifted like this, supported by him.

You gasp, tensing up. Your toes curl instantly, your fingers clutch his lower arms. His cock stretches you out and stuffs your walls. It’s not uncomfortable, but it is definitely intense. You gasp again, looking at him with widened eyes.

“I know baby, I know”, he breathes and bottoms out. “It’s been too long. Fuck.” 

He moves, chasing your warmth in drunk, sloppy thrusts. You writhe and gasp repeatedly, scratching the back of his neck. You want to hate that you love him. He should feel like an intruder. You should want to kick and scream for help. But you don’t want to. You feel whole again. No preparation, but he doesn’t hurt. His kiss and touch was enough. Your addiction to him runs so deep that his cock is pure heroin to you.

“Yoongi”, you get out, grabbing his throat. Your thumbs are on his Adam’s apple, threatening to press down.

He smiles, “I love you”, he gasps out and drops his head against yours. His long hair tickles your face, his drunken breath swirls over your skin. He gulps and moans under your fingers, pumping into you with no signs of slowing down. You start losing strength in your calf, standing like this is exhausting, but if you were being honest, you don’t want it to stop. 

“I hate you.”

“Fucking kill me then”, he rasps.

You close your fingers slightly.

“Harder. This isn’t gonna do it.”

“You first.”

“Fuck, baby”, he gets out and lifts you so he could round the sofa with you. He pins you down into the pillows, ripping the panties off of you and kicking his pants off. He pushes into you before you can truly realise what was happening, feeding you all of him until he can’t give any more. He twists the pillow next to your head as he takes on a punishing rhythm. His dark hair hangs into his face, his teeth are bared as he huffs like an angry animal.

“Yoon-”

“I know, baby I know. You already told me, baby. I know”, he whispers, wiping your cheek, “take me, I know you can. You’re my baby, you’re made for me.”

His praise is like medicine to you. This is all you needed. To know that he is still obsessed with you and that you still affect him. 

You close your legs around his hips, keeping him with you this way. You need him to always stay like this. He moans your name, slipping his fingers from your cheek to hold the pillow instead. You told him that you hated him, but your body betrays you. Your eyes betray you. You keep him close, gaze at him as if he was your everything. Yoongi’s head is turning. Not only from the alcohol, but also from being with you again. And from knowing that you still loved him.

Because he loves you so much. He hates himself for taking you for granted. He never should have. You are his everything. The fucking reason why he does all of this. The last three months were torture for him. He started smoking again, drank too much, slept too little, worked too many hours. And if he didn't distract himself with work, he tried thinking up ways of showing you that he was still there for you. He ordered his officers to look out for you, sent food deliveries to your place, parked in front of your place somewhere hidden to watch you smoke on the staircase. He also followed you sometimes after you confessed to him that some of his goons were terrorising you. And each time he followed you, he wished for you to notice him just so he could get a chance at talking to you again. But you never did and Yoongi thought that you will come back again soon. Then you told him that you would move and Yoongi finally broke. He was truly losing you. Three months of hell, of lonely nights and heartbreak and he was truly losing you. 

“I missed you”, he gets out, painting his name against your favourite spots. The eagerness with which you clasp him results in your hips to lift off the pillow, allowing your clit to grind against him each time he bottoms out. The necklaces he is wearing are tangling over your face. They were too long once, but Yoongi cut them to the perfect length so they wouldn't hit your face when you are underneath him. That was six months ago. During a time you thought he didn’t care anymore. You feel so stupid now. His way of showing you that he cared was always there. He was always looking out for you. You were just too blind to see. 

You gasp and whimper, mewl and keen, looking up at him with teary eyes and your fingers closing around nothing. You can’t tell him that you missed him too because you are too overwhelmed. 

“Did you miss me too?” but Yoongi is drunk tonight and when he is drunk he is needy for your affection. 

You nod your head. 

“Say it.”

“I missed you”, you get out, following it up with a sob. 

“Baby, I love you”, he croaks, wiping your tears before dropping his forehead against yours, “I love you, baby, I love you. Don’t leave me again, please.”

“You’re so drunk.”

“Yeah, drunk ‘cause of you. Thought I’ll lose you. Baby, I can’t lose you”, he croaks and shows you his honesty with passionate rolls of his hips. Somehow he goes even deeper than before, he hits your favourite spots even better. 

You arch your back and scream his name, throwing your head back as best as possible. This is electric. Holy shit, he makes you feel good. Your face scrunches up against your will, your feet shake on his back. 

Yoongi admires you with a pounding head and racing heart, repeating what he did before over and over and over again. You react in mewls and moans and screams and he can’t get enough of it. He wants for you to lose your fucking voice because you couldn’t stop screaming for him. Because if you sound like this for him, he makes you happy. It has been too long since you actually screamed this way, so Yoongi is especially affected by tonight.

He laces his fingers with yours – again, he is drunk – and squeezes them needily. He thinks that he is crying too. He watches pearls of something drip onto your face sometimes. His eyes also burn. He doesn’t want it to stop. He is willing to carry his emotions on his sleeve if it meant you were happy again.

“Is this what you needed? Does this finally make you fucking happy?�� he gets out, chasing the ecstasy as much as he helps you with your own pleasure trip.

You squeeze his hands back, making him moan your name.

“Ye-yes.”

“Argh”, he growls, trying so much harder to fuck you right. It feels so good. He has to tell you. He stayed silent way too often in the past. You want his efforts and he wants to give them to you. “You feel so good.”

The first confession was hard because he isn’t used to sharing his feelings. It was hard, but it was also ecstatic because your sounds of pleasure became louder and you tightened around him, squeezing his hands happily. 

“You feel so good. You feel so fucking good. You feel so good, princess. You feel…so good”, he can’t stop now that he started, telling you over and over and over again how you make him feel. Good. So good. He feels so good when he is with you. “You are so good. Princess, fuck. I have to..I, I have to- ah!” 

You open your eyes in time with Yoongi collapsing on top of you. He whimpers into the crook of your neck, shaking almost pathetically.

There are two things you always believed to be true about Yoongi. First: When he fucks, his moans are always deep, raspy and growly. Second: He has perfect control over his orgasms. 

Both of these things are getting proven wrong to you right here and now as he whimpers and shakes and paints your walls with his unexpected orgasm. You want to blame the alcohol on it and maybe the months of abstinence, perhaps even the fear of losing you paired with the relief of having you again. Holy fuck, he actually loves you doesn’t he?

“I love you”,  he sobs, hugging you close. 

“Yoongi ah”, he breaks you with his confession and the tenderness with which he holds you. You swear that you can taste colours for a moment. You haven’t felt honestly good in your own skin in months. This right here is what feeling good is. This is it. 

You don’t know who comes down first. You think it is Yoongi, but even if he does, he doesn’t pull out. He lets you shake and throb and clench around him until your moment of peak pleasure is over as well. He holds you silently afterwards, catching his breath in the crook of your neck. He missed your scent like nothing else. Truly, it leaves him so drugged out that he actually finds himself drooling as he smiles like a giddy boy. 

You calm down with his weight atop your chest, his length still inside you and his hair between your fingers. It is still a little stiff and crusty from the variety of hair products he keeps in it during his day job. To think that mere hours ago, you were screaming at each other in his office. It feels so far away to you now. Like a memory of an unbelievable life.

You don’t hate that you love him. You really don’t. 

“How.” He clears his throat. “How are you feeling?”

“Good.”

“Are you sore? Does anything hurt?”

“No, but I’m leaking.”

“Fuck”, he laughs into your shoulder, nibbling on it gently, “sorry, I just…am drunk and missed you.”

“You were pathetic doing that.”

He laughs harder. You and he have a peculiar sense of humour. He knows that you meant it fondly. You laugh as well. He lifts his head at the sound of it, cupping your cheek. 

“If it means you’re laughing, I can live with being pathetic.”

Your heart flutters.

“What’s gotten into you?”

“Booze. Way too much booze.”

You laugh again. His eyes soften, he caresses your face. 

“Definitely too much booze, yeah”, you agree.

“Mhm, fuck.” He cuddles into your shoulder again. “I’m sleeping here.”

“And you think I’d let you?”

He nods his head.

“Fuck, you’re the worst.”

“Am I wrong?”

“No, you’re not.”

You wake up alone the next morning. It hurts. So nothing changed. He got what he wanted, made you addicted again only to leave. Like he always did. And you are left feeling dirty and used and fucking awful. 

You probably would have stayed in bed to cry the entire day if a very worrying noise hadn’t come from outside your door. Someone’s in your kitchen. You roll out of bed and leave the room. You don’t need weapons today. You are angry enough that you will probably be able to beat whoever is dumb enough to break in. 

You cross the corner and stop, lowering your fists.

Yoongi. 

He took a shower and tied all of his wet hair into a messy bun. He is shirtless, wearing a towel around his hips. Music is playing from his phone while on the stove, breakfast is sizzling. 

“You?”

He turns at the sound of your voice, face lighting up instantly. 

“Good morning, beautiful”, he says, closing the distance to take you into a hug. “Did you sleep well?”

You don’t answer him, you push at his chest so you could look at him. You can’t believe that he is still here and that he is making you breakfast.

“What’s the matter?” he asks. 

“Why the fuck are you still here?”

He furrows his brows, “why not?”

“I, I don’t know. I just, just. I thought that…huh? You didn’t leave?”

He frowns in regret for a moment, before leaning in to kiss your cheek. He gives your left buttock an almost playful squeeze afterwards, stepping back to return to the cooking.

“I’m making your favourite. I also cleaned. Your place was a shithole, honestly.”

Still flabbergasted beyond relief, you look around your small apartment. He didn’t just clean up the garbage and tidy, he fully wiped the place down. You check the clock next. It’s way past one at noon. You slept for more than twelve hours. Damn. You never even realised how much sleep these last three months took from you until you finally fell asleep in his arms again and actually stayed asleep. You feel refreshed and not uncomfortable in your own skin. 

Last, you look at Yoongi. He is humming to the music, switching between stirring the eggs in the pan and chopping up some pork belly. 

At first you don’t want to accept that this is actually happening to you, but then the desire to be close to him gets too grande to bear. You almost run to him, colliding with his back in a passionate hug. 

He stumbles and grunts, following it up with a fond chuckle and his big hands rubbing your lower arms. 

“Please don’t make me regret this again. Please.”

He turns in your arms, caressing your waist. He shakes his head, looking at you in ways he hasn’t looked at you in ages. As if he honestly loved you. 

“Can you promise me?”

“I promise you, baby”, he says in a soft voice and locks pinkies with you. 

The gesture is so cute and honest, that you have to stifle a giggle. Your heart hasn’t fluttered like this in ages.

“I have an idea. How about I’ll take next week off and we’re leaving this city for a while? Maybe the mountains? You’d like the air there”, he suggests. 

“Are you serious? Do you actually mean that?”

He nods his head. You and he began swaying to the music, looking at nothing else but the other. 

“But first I gotta sort out the mess I made when I busted V’s place”, he says.

“Yeah true.” You slap his chest. “Fuck you for that. He didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I know, I know. I acted irrationally, I admit. But I’m gonna fix this. You know how easily I can make stuff disappear. He’ll be able to return again in a week or so.”

“I hope you’ll fix this, you idiot you.”

“Mhm, I will and then I’m taking you on a long vacation”, he says, kissing your forehead before hugging you against his chest.

You close your eyes, melting into his chest. 

“And when we’re there, I’m gonna make you breakfast and make you cum and make you smile. Yeah?” he whispers.

“Yeah”, you snicker.

He smells like your shower gel today, but you don’t mind. He hasn’t shown such an actual desire to change in months and it feels so good to receive. You love that you love him. You really do. 

“I love you, Yoongi”, you whisper, feeling him squeeze you for just a moment as your confession overwhelms him. 

“I love you too, princess”, he tells you and he is sober for it because he swore to himself that he won’t need alcohol anymore to be able to show you his affection. 

He is willing to better himself, he truly is and a week later, you and he are in his car on your way to a long vacation in the mountains.

[jjscrybaby]

thinking of jj still being on the marsh or even on the beach when his baby’s born, so their first adventure out of the hospital is jj walking them around the water while you rest after giving birth to his baby

dad!jj maybank x mom!fem!reader | fluff | (haven’t named the baby in this little universe yet, will have to think about that, just adorbs!)

i’ve got an obsession with dad!jj. have my babies.

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶

“She’s gonna need to eat,” you argued weakly from where you laid in bed, watching JJ roam around the bedroom excitedly packing up a bag.

“It’ll only be an hour, she’s eaten,” he replied, waving you off. He turned to you, crawling up the bed to lay beside you and press gentle kisses to your cheek. “It’s gonna be fine, baby. Promise. I can take care of ‘er.”

“She’s just so little,” you pouted, arms wrapping around his shoulders.

“I know,” he laughed, pecking your lips. “When you’re healed up we’ll take her out together, a’ight? But, for now, you’re gonna have a nap and we’ll be back before you know it.”

It didn’t take much more reassuring from JJ for you to let him take your two week old baby out, strapped to his chest with a big hat covering her from the sun. He was beaming from ear to ear as he slowly walked around, not straying far from the house but walking down towards the beach.

“This is where we all used to get drunk, you’re never doin’ that, tell you that for free,” JJ said softly, pointing to the Boneyard in the distance. Obviously all he got in response was a gurgle, but he was happy with that. “Mommy threw up riiight in that bush there.”

“Havin’ fun?” John B called, appearing behind him with an amused expression on his face. “I’ve been sent to make sure you’re both still alive.”

“We’re alive,” JJ laughed, walking towards him.

“Lookin’ like a real mother-hen there, Jay,” John B teased, handing him a bottle of water — sent from you, of course.

“Just showin’ her around,” JJ explained, taking a long sip and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Was gonna head home soon. Surprised I haven’t had any messages.”

“She wanted to let you have fun, for a short amount of time,” John B smirked, clapping JJ on the back as the three of them made their way back home.

“Better getcha back to mommy, huh? ‘Fore she makes me sleep on the porch,” JJ stated, kissing his daughter’s head.

John B couldn’t help but watch in awe. Never did he think that the same guy who used to throw up in his sink and smoke all his weed would have a baby. Then again, the moment you came along he figured it was only a matter of time.

[personapeters]

𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐝 𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐞

— a jj maybank one shot (kook!reader)

✰ jj learns that his girlfriend has never smoked pot before and whenever she said she’s down to try it out, he’s at her service.

rating: sfw — cw: marijuana, suggestive, kissing

“can’t believe you’ve never smoked before,” jj muttered in disbelief as he sprinkled the ground cannabis from between his fingers onto the rolling paper. admittedly, it wasn’t that surprising that a girl like y/n, fresh out of figure eight, hadn’t partaken in any drug before — though it wasn’t too unlikely, either.

“i mean, i’ve thought about it, but i just… i don’t know,” y/n shrugged, watching intently as her boyfriend’s long fingers twisted and turned at the forming blunt in his grasp. jj nodded as he listened, his gaze still latched on the project before him. “that’s okay, baby — first time for everything,” he replied, glancing at her with a soft smile before pulling the blunt to his mouth, wetting it.

“woah, wait, you—you have to lick it?” y/n quickly interjected, sitting forward and watching as jj sat with his tongue idle on the rolling paper, his blue eyes wide at her sudden eruption as he was frozen in place. a moment passed before he realized his awkward stance, closing his mouth with a cough.

“uh, i— yeah, makes it, like, stick… why? worried about germs or somethin’?” he questioned, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “i mean, i—i just didn’t know you had to use spit to do that,” she mumbled, a faint warmth rising to her face as she felt his gaze on her, feeling a subtle embarrassment at her outburst. “y/n,” jj started, a sudden seriousness on his face, “my tongue’s literally been inside your mouth.”

“okay, that’s—,” she began dismissively, but jj was quick to resume. “many times — just swappin’ spit back and forth, you ‘n me,” he stated matter-a-factly, an amused smile on his face as y/n groaned. “stooop,” she pleaded, reaching up a hand in an attempt to cover his mouth, though that couldn’t stop him. “aye, i’m just sayin’,” he quipped, using his free hand to gently hold her smaller one away, “my germs’re already all up in there.”

“okay, i get it,” she laughed along pitifully, pulling her legs underneath her and leaning back into her corner of the couch. “alright, i’m just makin’ sure,” he murmured jokingly, feigning surrender as he finished assembling the joint, plucking the lighter from the coffee table and turning to face her. each item laid flat in either of his palms as he presented them as though they were sacred artifacts.

“these are your holy grail, alright? the yin and yang of life. and if you don’t got a yang, use a toaster — same shit,” he explained simply, to which y/n furrowed her brows. “right…” she muttered, slowly nodding, her eyes flickering between his face and hands. “now i’m not a teacher or anythin’,” the blonde warned, flicking open his lighter and igniting the spliff, “so you just watch and learn, young buck.”

he brought the blunt to his pink lips and inhaled deeply, allowing the substance to marinate in his lungs for a moment before blowing it out the corner of his mouth. “what’s it feel like?” y/n asked curiously, and jj smirked lightly at her innocent question. “different for everyone,” he began with a shrug, taking a quick drag, “but for me? cloud nine, baby.”

“different?” she wondered aloud, feeling her nerves rise at the opened ended statement. “mhm,” jj hummed as he held the smoke in, letting a few seconds pass before tilting his head back and letting it dissipate into the air, “but since you’re a virgin, we’ll start slow — you’ll be fine.” once again, y/n quirked her face at one of the many strange things her boyfriend had to say.

“y’know, like a—like a weed virgin, not a virgin virgin,” jj clarified as though it was needed, and y/n was quick to respond. “no, yeah, i got that,” she muttered quickly, pursing her lips as she silently prayed he would drop the tangent — but of course, he didn’t. “i mean, i know you’re not a virgin virgin ‘cause—,” he rambled, to which she abruptly interjected. “okay, jj, please,” she begged, watching as a small grin crept onto his face.

“alright, mama — your turn,” he spoke enthusiastically while scooting himself closer, the blunt pinched between his ring clad fingers before he held it out for her. “don’t grab the wrong side,” he warned (though he only felt it was necessary because he himself has once grabbed the wrong end, burning his fingers).

“so, i just, like, breathe it in? or…” y/n questioned nervously, having a general idea after watching her boyfriend so many times, though she was virtually clueless. “i mean, yeah, you kinda have to suck it like a straw,” jj advised, his demeanor instantly shifting as a laugh erupted from his lips.

“hah, suck it,” he repeated to himself with a grin, finding himself to be nothing less than absolutely hilarious. “you’re not helping,” y/n murmured, visibly on edge, her boyfriend’s immature joke not helping in the slightest. “sorry, i’m sorry, baby,” he laughed out pitifully, rubbing a comfortingly hand up and down her bare leg, “you good?”

“yeah, i just—i feel like i’m gonna burn myself or like, inhale it down my throat or something,” she explained hurriedly, knowing it sounded insanely ridiculous but they were concerns nonetheless.

“okay, so, first of all, you’re not gonna burn yourself, alright? i’m watchin’ you,” jj reassured, trying his best not to express the humor he’s found in her worries, “and second, only way you’d swallow the shit is if you were trynna suck the soul out if it.”

a laugh escaped y/n’s lips as she shook her head, causing jj to laugh along lightly. “i’m serious,” the blonde insisted with a smile, “you’re fine. look, you want me to hold it for you?”

“yeah, actually,” she agreed, handing the blunt back over to jj and he accepted it with a humored grin. he placed it between his lips, holding it there while he patted the place directly beside him, “come ‘ere.” y/n obliged, shuffling her way across the couch until their thighs were flush together.

“right, so, when you breath in, make sure it’s all the way down, like, to your chest — not just in your mouth,” he instructed, eyeing y/n intently to gauge if she was following along, “make sense?”

“mhm,” she agreed, and jj was content. “you’re probably gonna cough, like, alot but that’s normal, okay? so don’t freak,” he warned, and y/n nodded, almost impatiently, the prefacing explanations only increasing her urge to get the ‘initiation’ process over with already. “yup, gotcha — no freaking,” she clarified.

“alright, you ready?” jj asked with a small smirk on his lips, genuinely excited. y/n nodded once again, tucking her hands under her thighs as she straightened her posture. he took the blunt from his lips before reaching his free hand up to her jaw, gingerly resting it there before instructing, “open.”

she obliged, allowing him to set the spliff on her bottom lip before he lightly pushed up her chin, her lips encasing the tip. “you got it — go slow,” he muttered, crystal blue eyes trained on her mouth as he admired the soft flesh, almost mesmerized by the sight before him. y/n sucked in slowly, feeling the thick, earthy warmth cascade across her tongue before entering her lungs.

“okay, that’s enough,” jj laughed lightly as he pulled the joint from her mouth, watching intently as her brows furrowed, “let it out, baby, don’t choke yourself.” as if on cue, the breath she was holding was forced out by a violent series of coughs, her throat burning as she choked out puffs of white smoke.

“hey, you’re good,” jj coaxed, lightly patting her back with an amused smile. “oh, god,” she choked out with a hand over her mouth, her coughs merging with a laugh, “what the fuck.”

“good shit, baby,” jj praised, taking another lengthy hit before putting the blunt out the full ashtray. “what—we’re done?” y/n questioned, a couple small coughs escaping her lips as she watched him. “you’re done,” jj clarified, leaning back on the couch as he gazed lazily over to her, “just for now — wanna see how you’re feelin’ before you do any more.“

“i feel fine,” she shrugged. “takes a minute — come ‘ere,” jj insisted opening his arms. she leaned to the side, resting her head on his shoulder before he wrapped an arm around her, squeezing her into his chest. the smell of weed was far more potent in the cloth of his tattered shirt, mixed with the distance remnants of his cologne and natural musk — his scent alone always gave her it’s own kind of high.

“how do i know if i’m high?” she muttered. she felt his chest vibrate as he laughed, running a hand down her side and letting it rest on the plush of her thigh before giving it a pat. “don’t think you’re high off one hit, babe,” he informed with a humored, toothy grin. “well how long ‘till i can try again?” she questioned.

“oh, god, i’m ruining you,” jj sighed dramatically, laughing again when y/n playfully hit his chest. “oh whatever,” she rolled her eyes, “i’m just, like, anxious to see what it’s like.”

“i know, baby,” he comforted, running his fingers along her skin, “twenty minutes — that’s all i’m askin’; don’t want you getting sick or anythin’, yeah?” she nodded, admittedly knowing it was a bit excessive to ask, though it was simply the excitement and anticipation of it all.

“what — m’so boring you can’t wait that long?” he teased, looking down at her with pure blue eyes, blonde hair lazily resting across his forehead. “yeah, that’s it,” she teased back, letting out abrupt giggles when his hands suddenly made their way to her sides, poking softly at her ribs before she fell back in a fit of laughter, resting flush against the couch cushion.

“m’just boring you to death, huh?” he joked before pressing a firm kiss to her lips, swallowing her giggles as his hands ran up her torso, resting softly underneath her arms. “mhm,” she hummed happily against his mouth, the pair smiling so hard it was almost impossible to keep their lips together.

he pulled away before resting soft kisses along her jawline, mumbling out a sarcastic, “aw, poor baby,” before gently nipping at her neck, causing her to shriek out in laughter, softly pressing her hands to his shoulders.

“how much longer?” she inquired with a small smirk, deciding to play into the joke just that much further. jj reached into his pocket to retrieve his phone, quickly checking the time. “still got fifteen minutes,” he informed before looking back down at her with a suggestive glint in his eye.

their eyes met and her’s mirrored his own as she bit back a smile before jj feverishly reattached his mouth to hers, chuckling into the kiss when she squealed out giddily, raking her fingers through his disheveled golden locks as he wrapped a hand around the back of her back — that’s one way to pass the time.

 personapeters 2025 — all rights reserved • masterlist

[i-dreamed-i-had-a-son]

So I'm fully in a Transformers Prime binge rewatch and holy SMOKES I did not remember how gay this show was. Like obviously Starscream is twinktown central and Knockout is very flamboyant, yes--but Megatron is so obsessed with Optimus (and vice versa) it's not even funny! Here's a compilation of the best moments from *just the first half of S1*:

Megatron returns after who knows how long and one of the first things out of his mouth is "No one rids me of Optimus Prime except me!!"

Megatron "dies" and Optimus is immediately depressed to the point where Ratchet asks about it and unlocks Sad Reminiscing

The Autobots are trying to figure out what the Decepticons are up to and Optimus starts with "Starscream is no Megatron, but--" just say you miss him

Megatron is literally comatose and his coma dream is him and Optimus fighting over and over again. Optimus just keeps respawning. Bro is LITERALLY living in his head rent free

In fact when Bumblebee gets inside Megatron's head Optimus is literally the First Thing he sees

Why is Bee in there? Because Optimus is deathly sick! And one of the only things that rouses Optimus from his nearly catatonic state? Learning Megatron is alive!

Megatron is also the only one who has the knowledge to save him so now they're both on their deathbeds together and their fates are linked etc. etc.

Bumblebee gets the info he needs by telling Megatron that if he doesn't give them the cure, Optimus will die (and Megatron will therefore not get to kill him)

Megatron (who had figured out this was all about Optimus before Bee even told him): "After our deep history together, to NOT watch the spark ebb from his eyes with my very own...well played, Scout." And then he gives him the cure

Starscream is about to kill Optimus and Megatron--as the FIRST thing he does after getting out of his coma--literally knocks him out of the sky, saves Optimus's life (priorities), and completely lets Optimus go. Which brings the Deliberately Saving Optimus's Life count up to 2!

Will add on as the show continues, but this is just like. 14 episodes in. At this point, forget allegations, they've been fully tried and convicted lol

[livingdeadgirlflorette]

YOUR FACE ⟡₊⋆∘ carl grimes x fem!reader

summary : with this weird dynamic between helping Carl smoke, tension-filled silence, and longing looks— maybe this time together might be where unspoken words aren't left unsaid.

word count : 4.9k

tags / rundown : fluff, slightly suggestive, smoking, awkward first kiss, confessions, kissing, inaccurate depiction of how smoking affects people, reader isn't good at feelings

a / n : This was in my drafts for such a long time oml! anyways the tile is based of the song "your face" by wisp, I just really liked the song with this :3 this isn't as long as my other fics but I hope you enjoy just as equally <3

dividers by me ! ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

PART 1: SO HIGH ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

The smoke that fills Carl's lungs from your mouth gives him another familiar hazy feeling. It's been an unarguable routine from the two of you— whenever you guys get too overstimulated from the Alexandrian kids or just from the adults, you both go to the same clearing you guys met, sit down next to each other, Carl brings his comics to read and you bring your cigarettes.

And something that he'll always look forward to is you helping him smoke. The feeling of your hand holding his face, keeping him steady and blowing the puff you took into his mouth, him taking it in and breathing it out— all the while you both stare into each other's gaze. But as soon as he's done with the drag, you're eyes leave his— going back to your own devices.

your character had bemused him; how one second you both are sharing an intimate moment, holding him softly and with a fondness, and the next you're behaving like nothing had ever even happened.

Carl wanted to dispel that indifference you'd been feigning— that stoic face you'd been masquerading in and out of the walls. He desired to know what was behind all those barriers of distance you'd made to keep yourself safe. He wanted to know you. The real you.

"You know, I think you're ready to take off your training wheels and do it yourself, cowboy." If it wasn't already evident in the sluggish tone, you were relaxed from the amount of puffs you'd been doing already. Lifting your hand and pulling yourself away from him, he stops you by gripping your forearm. He had never done this before, and the unfamiliarity of it had startled you— but then registering his touch had your mind involuntary give you chills in your spine. It felt good, him holding you.

Carl didn't want you to pull away; he wanted to stay forever like this, with your face close and in his space. But he'd have to start saying it before he loses the chance.

"I think I'll need a few more practice runs." He stated boldly. Carl didn't really know what he was trying to say when he blurted that out. All he knew was that he wanted to keep your face close to his. He tilted his head and looked at your lips, before looking back to meet your startled gaze— but as quickly as it had shown on your face, you painted over a mask of nonchalance.

You let out a chuckle. Carl was always one to speak his mind about things, but he always seemed timid when approaching this. You like this side of him. With your free hand, you take another drag of the cigarette before putting in out. With his gaze studying you close, you blow the smoke in his face.

He definitely didn't expect that, because he let go of you forearm and waved his hands in front of his hands to get rid of the waft of smoke from his face. Despite all of this, he still managed to laugh at it.

"Maybe another time." You dismissed. You stand up and look down at him, clueless that he'd been left in the dust. "We gotta get back before they notice, remember?" You finish fixing yourself up before reaching out a hand at his still sat position.

". . ." Carl didn't know how to feel, he looks at the hand reaching out to him and back at you. ". . .Right." He finishes his contemplation and grabs your hand, getting support from you to stand up. He pats himself down to get rid of the dirt on his pants and flannel.

"I'll start walking back. Stay close, okay?" Your voice lets out a stable tone. Hesitant, he nods and goes back to tidy himself up and the comics strewn about on the grass. With that, you turn to the direction of Alexandria and start your walk.

With you figure walking away, Carl was left to drown in his own thoughts. He felt. . . dismayed? All you did was dismiss him but he felt like you threw his heart away doing it. He knew he shouldn't feel like this. He didn't have any right to, you guys weren't anything— You guys were just friends who helped the other smoke, but he didn't want just that. He wanted more. Carl looks back at your decreasing figure before finishing up and jogging to you, matching your pace and falling in step next to you.

He's gonna say something to you about it. He doesn't know when, but he will. He can't stand just being smoking buddies with you— he wants more.

"So. . . do you wanna tell me something you've been hiding from me?" Rick's voice cuts the silence of the dinner table, overpowering the clanking and screeching of utensils against the plates. Carl's movement of taking a spoon of his food slows with his gaze locking with his father's—but then, just as swiftly, he goes back to his normal act, breaking the eye contact.

"I don't know what you mean." He tries to act and put on an air of nonchalance, playing up an act and pretending nothing had happened—just like you do when you and him are in the forest clearing. Carl had never intended for you and him hanging out outside the walls a secret; however, with the fact that his father wanted the best for his son and still tries to show good towards him, he feels like Rick wouldn't be too happy if he found out his son was going outside the gates and smoking—maybe even worse when he finds out he's doing all of that for a girl.

". . ." Rick's eyes are trained on his son in contemplation quietly, watching every calculated movement his son does to see any tick of movement that would give him the assumption of nervousness. He already knew his son was hiding something—but he didn't take him as the type to lie about it; he just wanted to see if he'd tell him the truth.

"Sure then," Rick said. "If that's the case, I guess you wouldn't mind telling me about that girl you go on prancing around outside with?" And with the question alone, Carl stops his next move and fully becomes attentive.

How did his father know? He thought he was good at keeping up his face, but that inquiry from his father left his vocabulary in shambles.

"There's no—what? I don't know what you're—listen, whatever you're trying to say, I— . . . Okay, how did you find out?" Carl blurts out before he deadpans before dropping his utensils in defeat. He figured that trying to defend himself would make things worse, so he'd rather get straight to the point. He isn't going to get anything good out of dodging his dad's interrogation, but he needs to know how he knew first before he tells him.

"It was Tara's turn to keep watch in the tower," Carl should've known. With all the teasing looks he got from her whenever she talked about girls to him and how he would listen intently, he figured maybe Tara was just in a chipper mood these days, but he guessed he was wrong.

"She saw you and the other kid climb the back walls and walk away." His father finished. Carl didn't want to explain to his father why he did it; it'll just send him into a pit of shame. But he figures he'll have to cross that bridge when his father gets to it.

"Now I'm going to ask you this again, and don't lie to me," Rick leans back in his chair, a domineering aura surrounding him. You'd think he'd look all serious and stern—but with Judith squirming and cooing in his lap, it made him less authoritarian and more father-like.

"Do you wanna tell me something you've been hiding from me?" Rick's voice lowered, wanting an actual direct answer from Carl, not the 'I don't know what-you're-talking-about' bullshit he was spewing earlier.Carl didn't know what to say. If he was going to tell his father the truth, he'd have to open up to him about you. And that's hard enough on his own, but to his dad? He doesn't know how that'll go. But it's better now than never. So with a deep, defeated sigh—he starts.

"There's a girl I hang out with, just a few minutes outside the walls from here," Carl recalls the first time you'd met each other and how he told you how smoking was going to kill you. Oh, how much he laughs in his head at the thought of that, especially since he smokes with you now. With Carl finally confessing what Rick wanted him to say, his domineering stance softens, and he adjusts Judith on his lap—who was still moving around, now trying to grab his father's finger using her hands.

"We go to a clearing, and just talk there. She's—. . ." Carl's words pause. He was unsure what to call her; it would be weird calling her an acquaintance since they know each other more than that, and it would be even more peculiar to come out of his mouth calling her a friend—knowing what they've done together.

"She's something else." He finished. There wasn't a word that they could call what they were, and Carl couldn't think of one for the life of him. She really was something else.

"Well—I thank you for being honest with me that time," Rick adjusts himself to help Judith sit properly. "But I wanna know something else." He breathes softly through his nose, readying himself to ask.

"Why?" From the start, when the world fell to shit, Rick knew his son wouldn't be the same as he was before—his character would grow up to be more mature and stoic, having to leave the childlike nature he shortly had and take over this stone-faced disposition. He was forced to forget he was just a boy.

But, with the time that he'd been with that girl, Rick noticed Carl would be less tense, he'd laugh more, and he'd even let out a genuine smile without worry. Something that you had whenever you were with him had turned him back and made him experience what it felt like just to be a teenager. What it felt like to not be always vigilant, just relaxed and content.Carl was left speechless. Just like he couldn't think of what to call what you and him were, he didn't know why he was hanging out with you. Well, he did know; he just didn't want to say it. If he did, he'd have to acknowledge how all of your experiences with him in the forest were something more for him.

"I—I just, like her. She's good company." That was all Carl could say, before scooping another morsel of food and eating it. One confession mixed with another and a half-assed excuse. He knew his father was better to believe just that, but he also knew he wouldn't prod at him anymore.

Rick could read his son like a book. He knew that wasn't just the reason; that girl had done so much for him that Carl didn't even realize it, and he knew his son would think much more about what she was to him, but he knew Carl should let him figure it out himself—rather than condemning him for it. With a fatherly chuckle, he leans a little with the toddler in his arms to pat his son on the shoulder, letting a gentle squeeze.

"I bet she is. But tell her something before you do something stupid." That was all his father said before standing up and bringing Judith with him, walking up to the front door—presumably to sit on the porch with her. Carl seemed to notice that. With the amount of walls they were in, he saw his father felt safe enough to just enjoy the smallest of things, like how he'd just enjoy being with his daughter.

But after finishing his pondering about his father, his father's words rang in his head. 'Tell her something.' Should he? One side of his heart that still believed there was good in this world—how there is still hope in this—told him he should; he should tell her everything he wanted to let out—how entrancing her lips were when they were inches apart from his, how her presence alone could calm all the thundering thoughts pounding in his brain.

But the other side of his that was marred, cynical, and closed-off tells him he shouldn't; well, everything was going great for them, so why should he have the audacity to let himself ruin it? If he did something to shatter that with you, ruin the experiences you already had with him and in the future that you'd have with him just because he decided to do something he wasn't even sure if you'd reciprocate—he'd never forgive himself.

Carl was a mess, and he knew he was. All his thoughts were drowning in confusion just because your person was so enthralling. Your carefree personality and how you let him do the things he thought he could've never done—you were everything he wanted. He wanted you so badly.

But how would he tell you? You seemed so close, yet so distant. All those memories of being close with him and talking about the most nonsensical topics just for the sake of keeping the conversation going were layered on by the other set of events that follow—how after everything you've been through with him, you seemed to shut down—how you didn't allow yourself to get too comfortable with anyone, even him. How whenever you and him pause to get lost in each other's gaze, you flutter your eyes and pull away.

You looked afraid—you seemed to abhor letting people in, seeing who you were when you were vulnerable. Carl despised it. How it felt like you were close and far at the same time, all together. It was like you guys were at a standstill, and he wanted to stop the limbo your character put your relationship in. He needed an answer from you, even if it had the chance of breaking whatever you guys had with each other.

He dropped his fork. God damn it, with all the brainstorming in his mind about how to approach the thought of telling you, he had lost the appetite to eat. With a frustrated sigh, he picks up both his and his father's plates to put in the sink—going to wash it. He'll have to dwell on it later. Right now, he needs to distract himself from the mindless routine of washing the dishes—just to take his mind off it, off of you.

With the passing of the cigarette smoke, Carl looks back at your face. He wonders if he should listen to the wise words of his father and tell her the truth. But he's scared. He laughs at the thought; after all these years of living and surviving through this wretched apocalypse and off all things, the one thing he was most scared of was losing you. It was ridiculous to him; he's done heinous acts just to keep going in this cycle of life—yet he thinks that confessing what he felt to you would be the end of his world.

"What's wrong, you look?" You tilt your head in inquiry, visibly confused. Carl didn't even notice that you'd seen him staring at you, observing you like this would be the last time he'd ever see you.

"Sad. Or you could just be constipated with how concentrated you look."

Even with the amount of things he's been feeling about you and pondering the aftermath of what could happen if he told you—you still managed to make him let out a chuckle.

"I was thinking." Carl huffs a breath out. He was thinking, thinking of what you'd say. Without skipping a beat, you follow up on what he had said. "Thinking about what?"

As you ask, you take a drag of the lit stick of tobacco and gently grab his chin, just like you always did. No matter the repetitiveness, he'll always welcome that hazy feeling of you getting close.

But before you get to exchange the smoke in your mouth, he places his hand over yours that was holding him, looking at you with such a focus that could burn through your eyes. With his action, your movements halt from being startled, and you involuntarily let the puff in your mouth out slowly.

"This." Carl looked into your gaze. Just like the last time you were this close, you had pulled away. But you aren't sure if you'd like that. "I was thinking about you."

With the confession leaving the tip of his tongue, your face formed a light flush. Carl was always forward with you about things, but never this upfront about his feelings for you. Contrary to his belief, you know. You knew what he felt, ever since he had started to smoke with you.

Even though he was going through the same burden as you, he felt like he had to be there with you first. You hated it. You didn't hate Carl; you hated how you felt about it and how it felt with him. How you let the walls of your heart come down when it came to him, even after everything that you swore would never break. With a doubtful look slowly painting your face, you can't help but try to distance yourself from him.

"Oh. That's. . . interesting." With a heavy feeling, your vision goes to anywhere but his, finally breaking the chain of eye contact you'd been sharing in the blanket of silence. "I've been thinking too, about— stuff." You had muttered awkwardly, saying anything that comes out of your mind, just to fill the awkward silence.

"You think you can tell me?" Even with your eyes off him, you can still feel his perceptive gaze. Carl didn't want you to crawl back into that timid disposition you always had put up; he wanted you to open up to him—let him in that mind of yours.

"If I say it," you paused. "It's going to ruin everything." Your voice had barely let out the last sentence, your tone trembling. Your heart wanted to tell Carl everything—how your body felt flush whenever he did something to gauge a reaction from you, how you wanted his body near you—not just from helping him smoke—but more than that.

But would saying what you had wanted ruin the relationship that was one of the only highlights of surviving in this apocalypse? Will saying what you had dreamed of saying destroy what he had thought of you?

But with your self-doubt clouding your mind and making your body still, you had barely registered the warmth of Carl's hand on yours, holding it with such care you'd think of it more of an intimate gesture. With a gentle call of your name, he assures you.

"Hey, nothing you do will ruin—" Carl paused, unsure if he should state it as what they are. Friends? He isn't even sure at this point. "-will ruin us, okay? I won't get mad."

"I'm not expecting you to be mad," you counter. "I expect that you'll feel betrayed." You finished. If Carl didn't reciprocate what you felt, you were sure he'd be confused. Would he think that all you did with him was just an elaborate ruse to get him closer to you? You weren't certain, but you had an idea it would go down that route if he did.

"If you aren't sure how to tell me, then show me." Carl tilts his head, coyly lacing his time. Whenever he does those mannerisms, you always thought he looked cute. He didn't look like a stone-faced killer that was brought upon this apocalypse anymore, but just a teenager going through regular stuff, feeling normal things.

With that, you contemplate. You were irritated at yourself for not saying anything; it was as if your heart was in your mouth—disabling you from telling what you desired. But with a deep breath, you lean in close to Carl—his eyes going wide for a second, then adjusting to this newfound distance.

Carl knows he shouldn't be nervous; you've been in his vicinity close to him like this dozens of times. But with this unexplored feeling brewing in his stomach, he feels like he should be—because you were going to do something else.

"Don't—don't freak out, okay?" Your voice is so close to him, it makes his ears flush red. He's lucky he had long hair; he was sure you'd tease him for it if you had seen them.

The tension felt thick, just like all the times you had been close to his lips, mere centimeters away. Sometimes you wish that the times you were that close you'd just lean in and kiss him, but inevitably you always pull away.

And just like that, you realize that your embarrassment gets the better of you again. You pull away slowly; you think this is stupid. You shouldn't have done that. You turn away, one of your hands covering your face that was starting to burn up.

"I-uh, sorry, I think I should go back, yeah. I'm sorry—" Your face turned back to his. But before you could let out another apology, a pair of soft lips had met yours, your eyes fluttering shut.

Carl had kissed you. You had dreamt of what it felt like to kiss him. But now that it was actually happening, you felt so surreal. With a hesitant state, you tested the waters and kissed him back, a light push to see what it felt. His lips were chapped, understandable since chapstick didn't seem like a necessity in the apocalypse, but his lips felt gentle.

When you felt the absence of soft pressure on your lips, you fluttered your eyes at him. You were sure your cheeks were burning at this point; it was uncontrollable. Once you guys were at a normal sitting distance from one another, you finally piped up.

"That was, uh, good." Your voice barely above a whisper. Both your gazes found one another, and then, with heat creeping up your neck, you had looked away.

"Thank you, I guess...?" Confusion had still not left your tone. With this, you were also perplexed by your own words. What were you thankful for?

"Why are you thanking me?" Carl's voice didn't seem to miss a beat, going back to his playful self. You were thankful for this—how he could always help lighten your guys' mood even when it was awkward.

"I don't know, okay!" You let out a genuine laugh. "I've never had to think about what to say after. . . that." Your eyes met his. He seemed to have a glint in his eye, telling you all you needed to know that he was planning something mischievous.

"Well. . ."

"Yeah. . ."

This was one of the things that made you abhor having to actually commit to kissing him—the aftermath. What would become of you and Carl? Would it be just unbearably awkward, and you'd never have enough courage to look him in the face again? Or would it help express your blossoming feelings towards you and him?

"I've always liked you, y'know?" Carl speaks up first—his tone soft and careful, breaking the silence you both have been dreading. But with just a few words of confession, he seemed to melt through that weird tension that had permeated through the space between you.

"I know—or like I. . . knew, I guess?" Your voice comes out meek, nervous about what was still happening.

His face went slack—his face contorting to shock and embarrassment, with a noticeable flush of red rising up his ears.

"Wait wha-? How did you even-what. . .?!" His voice was getting higher, something you picked up on when he was getting nervous.

With a small giggle, you answer his question. "It doesn't take a detective to find out you like me, Carl. You were quite obvious." Your face grows a smirk, creating a playful atmosphere.

He looks away with another wave of shyness. This was disastrous. Was he really that obvious? "It couldn't have been that obvious." With a slow turn, he looks back at you. ". . .right?"

"Do you really think you were that slick? You looked." You paused, unsure whether to say what actually was on your mind. He looked in love, but you figured you shouldn't—it would be too fast.

". . . nevermind. It's just that eyes don't lie, Carl, and the way you look at me—it seems very telling." You end your sentence with a smile. With everything out of the bag, you felt light as a feather—with nothing left to hide from him.

"If you knew then, why did you stop?"

"What?" His question seemed vague, out of nowhere.

"Why didn't you kiss me?" Carl was sure you could tell his heartbeat going haywire, feeling the vibration of it beating up to the tips of his ears. He sounded so desperate, but he didn't care. All he wanted right now was an answer.

"Oh! Uh. . ." You didn't expect how much he looked like he was yearning, waiting for something, anything from you. Saying you were scared would be embarrassing, but with everything you and Carl already did, there didn't seem like anything else to do but go forward and be honest with him.

"It's a stupid reason," you say, looking up at him, with bashfulness filling your face.

Without skipping a beat, Carl's hand had already gone to yours to intertwine. He didn't seem to know it, but that simple gesture was already melting away that air of dread that was coercing you to not say it.

"If what you're going to say is stupid, then what does that make what we did?" His eye had a glint of wit that he always had when he wanted to cheer you up, encouraging you to go on.

With your free hand and the still-lit cigarette in hand, you take a long drag. It was funny to you how this small stick of nicotine used to be the only thing of happiness that helped you get through it—to go on and keep living. But now, the thing that was your hope and joy in this world was right next to you. 

"A bad idea?" You finally answer his rhetorical question.

With a dry chuckle, he looks to you and just gazes. He never thought that you'd feel the same way, let alone reciprocate kissing him. He felt like the happiest he's ever been since coming to Alexandria.

"I felt," Your mouth opens to let out another word, but you shut it quickly. Taking a deep breath and looking at the sky. "Afraid and. . . guilty is what I'd put as how I felt about you, I guess."

"Why would you feel that way?"

"'Cause it's you!" You look back at him, incredulous, and your hands gesture to his whole character.

"You and me, we were cool, y'know? And we just hung out; everything was going fine, and I didn't want to ruin. . ." You then gestured to both of you. "This, I suppose."

"Oh."

"Yeah, oh. I told you it was stupid." You look back at the golden hour of the sky, then just slump. It felt freeing telling him that, but it also filled you with shyness. This whole situation just made you want to get eaten by walkers alive and just sink into the world.

"I don't think it's stupid." His free hand goes to fix the loose hair that fell to your face and tuck it to your ear. The fact that his hand was ever so close to your face had your skin burn up so fast you're sure he already sees your skin blushing.

"I think it's cute."

Your eyes went shocked, but then quickly roll your eyes at the cheesy reply.

"Oh, just shut it already." You both giggle and simply bask in the playful mood that was created.

"No, I'm c'mon seriously!"

"You being 'serious' isn't you laughing, Carl." You smile and laugh as you say your quip. With a smile on his face and a shake of his head, you continue your tyrant of laughter.

But your laughter had come to a halt when he had lifted his head and held both your wrists, and he had said your name. "I like you, okay? You're so good to me, and you're such a comfort to come to when I need solace, and I just. . ."

As if the tables had turned, now he was the one losing his words, them dying at his throat.

"I just need you; is that enough? Can I please be with you?"

"If I ever say no to that, I think I'd need a checkup from our clinic."

Your response went out as fast as he had asked, eager and happy that he had finally decided that he wanted to be with you.

"Yes, I mean." With a final look from one another just looking into each other's gaze full of love and admiration, you both take a shy push in and finally kiss again, something you think you'll never grow tired of. But Carl pulls away just a breath away from your lips, wanting to get one last word in that he knows you won't ever forget—before he goes back in for more.

"I'm never gonna let you go."

woowee!! it's been a hot minute since I've posted! sorry guys for all of the people that were waiting for me to post when I never did, right now I've been really into my academics and I'm elbow deep into like 4 pending submissions to pass next week lolol!!11 anyways sorry for the rambling, I hope you enjoyed reading! ✮⋆˙ what did you think of this? don't be a silent reader and let me know ⭑.ᐟ

tags: @carlslvr @shadowybasementmiracle @kawliflo @xictoriiaa

wanna be tagged the next time I post my fics? tell me so I can ꩜ .ᐟ

[wonsroyalty]

TIMELESS : ̗̀➛양정원

XO tatted all over her body...

✧jungwon x f!reader

genre/warnings: 3.3k words, 17+, no minors 🔞, friends w benefits to lovers, hair pulling, slapping, smoking🍃, constricted breathing, biting, scratching, crying, annoying roommates, kinda filthy but um yeah, overstimulation, NOT proofread :(

a/n: umm the fact that this is my first work.. idk what happened tbh LMAOO i was listening to the song and jungwon came to mind so slay ?? i hope you guys like it but also PLEEASEE give me feedback because it’s my first time publishing anything but um yeah i’ll write more for enha because i literally love them and yeah (anton mentioned - RIIZE IS SEVEN 🧡🤗)

kisses, from laurie 😽

masterlist

As soon as the words - ‘come over.. i haven’t seen you in a while. i miss you.’ came through your phone you already knew what was going to go down.

The two of you had met a good few years prior after being introduced by a mutual friend - Sunghoon - and toed over the line of friendship during a smoke session. Ever since then you decided to keep the friendship but have constantly messed around.

Jungwon was in a band and on tour constantly so when he did eventually call you didn’t waste time getting to him.

Now you were in his room breathing as one with the fog that clouded the room and also your judgment while his 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 playlist played in the background.

Jungwon tapped on the XO tattoo that sat on your neck, signalling for you to open your mouth.

He blew the smoke from his mouth into yours and waited for you to hold it then exhale.

kiss me. kiss me. kiss me.

Were the words that ran through your mind on an endless track as you stared up at him with wide eyes and a small grin.

“Already?” he pouted. “You usually last longer than this.”

Your hands wrapped themselves around his neck allowing your fingers to weave their way into the hairs at the nape of his neck.

“Yeah well, given the circumstances…” you started.

It wasn’t common for you both to be alone together because his roommates were either always around or he wasn’t even there himself.

Jungwon had stated on the phone that Anton was out with some friends or whatever while Taesan wanted to see his girlfriend.

“I want you.” you finished.

“Did you ever do this to Jake?” he taunted.

Right. The ex situationship whose heart you broke which ended with awkward tension in the friend group because you didn’t wait long before running to Jungwon. It was known by all your friends that you and Jake were absolute freaks in bed.

And although the smoke had infiltrated your thoughts, you still knew that you were going to have Jungwon one way or another tonight.

“No. Only you. I just want you.”

He lifted his body off yours and sat back against the headboard of his bed.

“Yeah?” he smirked as he let out another cloud of smoke. “You want me?”

You nodded as you bit into the plush skin of your cheek.

“Show me how bad you want me.” he mockingly nodded back as he spread his legs invitingly.

You wasted no time in crawling over and planting yourself in between his legs.

Jungwon placed an arm behind his head as you unbuckled his belt and slowly pulled down his jeans and boxers.

He make a snarky comment about you taking your time.

“I’ve got time.” you joked.

You inhaled before slowly blowing cold air onto the head of his cock.

“Ugh.. fuck.” he groaned. “Suck on it baby.”

You wrapped your lips around the tip as you jerked the rest of him off to get him fully hard.

He took another drag as you lifted your head off him and began to tease him by licking a stripe along the protruding vein on his fat cock.

“Stop teasing me, ___.”

You laughed in response, “Be patient-”

The full sentence never left your mouth as your head whipped to the side. The stinging pain in the shape of a handprint coursed through your body all the way down to a throbbing sensation between your legs.

“Fuck..” Came out from your lips as a whine.

Jungwon wrapped his free hand through your hair and forced you onto his length.

“Open your throat, baby.” he asked. “I know you can take it.”

He bucked his hips relentlessly as he chased his own high without any regard for your breathing.

Tears formed in your eyes as you attempted to match his unruly pace without choking.

Being vocal about his pleasure wasn’t unusual when he was with you, but every time it turned you on even more.

“You’re taking me so well baby.”

You gagged over and over again as spit leaked out of your mouth and dripped all over his thighs.

He peeked open an eye to see you struggling to breathe and immediately pulled you off by your hair.

You coughed hysterically before attempting to suck him off again. He pushed you away once more.

“Sorry.. I got a bit carried away.” he inspected your face to see if anything was wrong.

You rested your face onto the palm on your cheek, “It’s fine, I like it.”

He chuckled, “Of course you do.”

You placed your mouth onto his length once more and jerked off whatever your mouth couldn’t reach, using your other hand to play with his balls.

Instead of resting in your hair like before, Jungwon snaked his hand around your throat, lightly testing the waters as he pushed on your pressure points.

The vibrations of you moaning sent chills all over his body.

“You like that?” he bit onto his bottom lip while pressing harder.

You hummed in response.

“You slut, I’m not surprised.” he degraded. “A freak like yourself would probably get off on me tying you up and making you watch me or some shit like that.”

Your thighs rubbed together as you moaned, feeling yourself get closer to your high without even being touched by him.

His words alone had you right where he wanted you.

“Fuck, babe i’m close.” he moaned. “I know you are, cum with me.”

Your eyes rolled back as he shot his load into the back of your throat causing you to come right after him as you struggled to swallow all he was giving you.

But you wanted to show him how good you could be.

So good that he wouldn’t need to keep fucking around with other people.

Jungwon felt himself get hard again as he watched you stick out your tongue to show that you’d swallowed everything.

“You’re so hot.” he whimpered before putting out the cig.

“Thanks, I know.” you smirked.

It wasn’t a secret that you’d been good looking your whole life. You even managed to pull the whole friend group at once, having all the boys wrapped around your finger.

But with Jungwon it was different, from the moment that he first laid eyes on you, he knew that he had to have you. He had to have you under his control.

Wasting no time, he pushed you onto your back then ripped his shirt off.

“You actually came?” he laughed menacingly. “I didn’t even touch you.”

Your hands covered your face in very little to no embarrassment as you nodded.

He pulled them away before opening your jaw and spitting into your mouth.

Giving you no time to swallow, he attacked your lips and began to messily lick, bite and tug them till they were swollen.

The two of you didn’t usually kiss, not wanting to cross the line. Like you hadn’t already done so longgg ago…

When he pulled away the two of you were connected by a single string of spit.

“Don’t cover your face pretty, look at me.”

As he stared into your own blown eyes he knew that he wouldn’t stop until he had you begging him to.

One second your mini skirt hugged your hips and the next it was ripped and tossed onto the floor.

“Jungwon!” you pouted. “That one’s my favourite.”

He ripped open your shirt and unclasped your bra before biefly sucking on each tit.

“I’ll just buy you another one.” he huffed as he shuffled down the bed to be face to face with your pussy.

He pulled down your panties awfully slowly before pushing your legs up to your chest and telling you to hold them.

Watching your hole gape and grasp around nothing led him to blow cold air onto your clit, trying to get a reaction out of you.

Your hips bucked up and you whined.

“Wonie, please.” you begged.

He laughed at you again.

“You see how you don’t like it when it’s your turn, huh?”

You huffed. “I’m sorry.”

You really weren’t. And you’d do it again just to see him react in the same way.

He licked at your slick with a long groan before replacing the hold on your thighs with his own hands and diving in.

Obscene noises came from your lower body as he fingered you open with two fingers and practically made out with your clit before switching to rub figure eights and curl his tongue against your sweet spot.

Your fingers wove their way into his hair as the moans leaving your mouth grew in volume.

Clit still sensitive from the first orgasm led you to tug at the locks on his scalp and pull him away.

He got the message for like two seconds before wrapping his lips onto it again.

“I know you can take it baby, come on.” he goaded while sticking a third finger into your heat. “Be good for me.”

“I can take it.” you moaned at the sight before you.

The lower half of his face was covered in your essence while his heavy lidded eyes intoxicatingly stared into your soul.

If you could etch this version of him into your brain to watch over and over, you would.

You threw your head back against the sheets as he plunged his thick fingers into you again, repeatedly hitting the spot that you needed him at.

“I’m so close… so close!” you cried. “Nngh.. Jungwon please!”

Your hips thrashed as you felt the coil teetering on the edge of a powerful orgasm.

Then he pulled away.

“Ugh!” you complained. “WHY would you do that?!”

“Fuck.” he moaned, ignoring you while he sucked on his fingers and closed his eyes due to the intense pleasure. “You taste so fucking good.”

“Jungwon?” you glared. “Hellooo, earth to Jungwon.”

He got up onto his knees and lined himself up against you.

“Figured you’d want to come on my dick instead.” he shrugged.

You couldn’t even roll your eyes in annoyance because he knew you so well.

He slowly eased himself in as you reached behind his shoulders to pull him into you.

“Fuck… you’re so warm. So tight.” he moaned out. “Can you take it?”

Your legs pushed at his lower back to indicate that you wanted allll of him.

The stretch was the best part. It had you feeling like every atom in your body had split and reverted as you felt a fullness inside you that only he could reach.

“You’re so big.” you babbled. “So big..”

“Already drunk on my cock… fuck baby.”

You nodded as you begged him to move, “Please, I can take it.”

He wasted no time in thrusting into you at a rapid pace, not even giving you a second to adjust.

“Fuckkk. Wonie, faster.”

Jungwon pounded into your heat as he moaned into your ear.

“Taking me so well.” he whimpered. “Like this pussy was made for me. Made for my cock.”

“Only you.” you moaned pathetically while your nails scratched down his back feeling overwhelmed from the sensation of his nipples rubbing against yours.

His dick was so good that you wanted to tell him you loved him then and there.

Already close from the orgasm that was ripped away from you, he rubbed your clit as your thighs began to shake.

“Hold on baby, let’s cum together.”

He lifted the upper half off his body and laced your fingers together.

“I’m so close.. fuck!” you sobbed. “Daddy, please let me cum.”

His hips faltered as you felt his tip twitch inside you.

“Daddy, huh?” he grinned. “Fuck, baby. Daddy’s gonna have you crying over this cock.”

He seemed to go at a pace that was impossibly faster than before not giving you time to process your words as he had you cumming all over him.

The feeling of your walls squeezing him and milking him for an orgasm sent him over the edge.

You both whimpered and moaned as the air began to feel heavy.

You whined at the feeling of his still hard dick pulling out, watching as Jungwon fixated on the cum leaking out of you.

“Fuck. You can give me another one right?” He pleaded. “Give Daddy another one, baby.”

You shook your head.

“‘s too much.”

You couldn’t even think straight as you stared into space.

“I know, I know.” he pouted. “One more for me, then we’ll stop.”

“Do you promise?”

“I promise.” he whispered back as he flipped you onto your stomach.

He pulled your hips up and pushed your head down into the mattress as your spine automatically arched to the position that you knew he loved.

“Fuck.” he cried as he pushed back into you.

Once again he wasted no time in fucking into you at a rapid pace, crying out as you clenched around him.

“Faster! Please daddy.” your cried into the sheets as he slapped your ass.

You were wayyy past the point of being cock drunk but the same was for him. His brain fogged up as the only thoughts coming through were that he wanted no. needed to have you writhing under him again.

He circled your clit and lifted up your leg to hit the deepest spot possible.

The mix of your past releases ran down the back of your thighs and stuck to the front of his.

Your tears soaked the duvet while your mouth hung open, drool seeping down.

Jungwon felt himself get close again but with the way you were twitching under his hold he could feel that something was different.

“Can I cum? Please daddy.” you sobbed.

“Yeah, baby. You’ve done so well for me.” he praised.

A weird but familiar sensation built up inside you leaving you to attempt to pull off Jungwon.

He pulled you right back and continued abusing your hole.

“No, no, no!” you cried as you squirted so hard that his cock slipped out and your body slumped down feeling spent.

Jungwon came all over your lower back at the sight. He could confidently say that was the longest orgasm he’d had in a very long time.

A loud ringing subsided in your ear as you felt the loss of his body heat.

Too tired to say anything, you patiently waited for him to come back.

He scooped you up princess style and took you the bath that he’d started.

You hummed contentedly as he scrubbed all over your body.

“Can we just sit here for a while?” you asked, voice hoarse from all the shouting.

He nodded as he snuggled up to your back.

The two of you stayed there for however long until Jungwon got out so he could quickly change his sheets before coming back to fully dry you off and help you apply lotion.

You followed him to his room again with shaky legs, allowing him to dress you in one of his shirts and boxers.

“Let me get you some water.” he said, caressing your cheek.

You followed after him into the kitchen despite his warnings to stay put.

Your legs gave way after like 6 steps.

“Fuck daddy! You’re so big!” came a voice from the couch.

Anton cackled at you as Taesan mocked the obscene dialogue that went on between you and Jungwon.

“Nice to know he fucks you well.” the former taunted.

“Fuck off.” you rolled your eyes as you struggled to stand up.

“Why don’t you get up first?” Taesan chuckled.

“Ugh, I thought you two weren’t even in tonight?” you grumbled.

They looked confused. “Now who said- ”

“Okayyy! Let’s go.” Jungwon conveniently interrupted.

He placed the water on the counter so he could pick you up then grabbed the glass again as he walked to his room.

You flipped off his roommates who made kissing faces at you.

"What the fuck happened to your back?" Anton commented on the red scratches running down his back.

"Heard he likes his girls the way he likes his cats." Was the last thing you heard before Jungwon slammed the door shut with his foot.

With you placed on the bed, he began to flutter around the room arranging random things.

The only thing you found interesting were the french tip nails - that he paid for! - as you thought about everything that had just happened.

First he lied to you about his roommates being there considering he knew that you always held back whenever they were in the apartment, secondly he kissed you - you never kissed each other but he did it so casually and third, the urge to tell him that you loved him.

You knew that what you felt for Jungwon was different to what you were supposed to but but how could you not? Your relationship was anything but casual.

Half of his closet stored your clothes and your shower routine products were literally in his bathroom cabinet. He always acted possessively over you whenever you’d meet with his other friends and didn’t even correct people when they said you looked like a cute couple.

But then he’d go and fuck the other people on his roster and you’d be reminded that you weren’t the only one when he’d post a soft launch on instagram.

“Wonie.” you called out.

He hummed in response while folding some clothes into his suitcase.

“Can we talk?” you asked timidly.

He stopped what he was doing and sat next to you.

“What do you mean, __?” he asked back as he held your face.

Wow, not even a nickname.

“I mean that… I just…”

Jungwon assured you that you could speak to him about whatever you were thinking about.

Fuck him for being so understanding.

You couldn’t even stop the words from coming out of your mouth,

“I think I love you.” you blurted out before covering your mouth in shock. “… I’m gonna go-”

He pulled you back in by your waist and kissed you delicately as if you were fragile and he needed to protect you from harm.

Butterflies erupted in your stomach when he pulled back to rest his forehead against yours.

“You finally caught on.” he smiled.

“Finally?” you frowned. “What do you mean finally?”

“I’ve liked you ever since I laid eyes on you.” he grinned. “Had to wait for stupid Jake to get out of the way.”

“Let’s not talk about Jake right now.” you laughed.

“I’m being serious.”

“What about the other people that you keep seeing?”

Jungwon rolled onto his back in a fit of laughter.

“At one point or another, I called them your name.” he smiled.

You gasped.

“No you didn’t!”

He nodded.

“With all of them?!”

“Come on, you’re making me seem like a man whore. It was only 5 people.” he groaned. “Not my best choice but yeah I called them all off agess ago.”

The laughing died down as you lay next to him.

“__ __, I know i’ve been a bit of a prick- ”

“Major prick.” you giggled.

“Right, major prick.” he smiled. “But I was wondering.. If you wanted to be my girlfriend?”

You nodded with an uncontrollable smile.

“I’d love to.”

He pounced onto you as he squeezed the life out of you stating that he was the happiest man alive.

A selfie of the two of you was posted to his story with the caption ‘My gf😍, back off bitches 😒’ and he tossed his phone to the side as it began to blow up with ‘congratulations’ and ‘finally’.

The two of you cuddled under the sheets as he played your favourite movie (he claimed it was his fav too 🙄)

Exhaustion overwhelmed your senses as you let sleep carry you.

Jungwon studied your features as he always did before snuggling up to you.

“I love you too.” he whispered.

THE END.

[shdysders]

a cold table II

pairing: vada cavell & female reader

summary: in which vada deals with the consequences of actions she barely remembers performing.

word count: 5.9k

author’s note: this is the first imagine i ever actually planned to write a part two for.

You didn't show up to school the next day.

Vada had woken up to a pounding headache and an uneasy feeling in her gut, remnants of last night's reckless decisions swirling in her mind.

The dim light filtering through her curtains had felt like daggers against her eyelids, and she winced as she recalled fragments of the evening—smoke-filled laughter, Mia's playful teasing, and that moment when everything blurred into a haze.

The first thing she did was open up her phone, hoping to find a familiar good morning message from you, like you always sent.

Instead, all she found were old messages from yesterday that she didn't remember receiving.

You had asked where she was, if she was coming home soon, and reminded her that you loved her.

There was also a message from her mother, ordering her to go to school and stating that she didn't care how much fun Vada had the night before.

And the last part threw Vada off guard; her mother didn't know about Mia or that she had spent most of her evenings with her.

What was she getting at?

For a second she just laid there, the pounding in her head mirroring the whirlwind in her thoughts.

Flashes of the night before invaded her mind—giggling with Mia, the thrill of sneaking away, the haze of smoke, and the way everything spun around her.

Each memory felt like a dagger, twisting deeper as the weight of her actions settled heavily on her chest.

What had she been thinking?

She had always prided herself on being honest and loyal, and yet, here she was—betraying you in the worst way possible.

A glance at her phone brought no comfort. The screen flickered to life with your unanswered messages.

where are you?

are you coming home soon?

i love you.

Her stomach twisted at the thought of you, probably worried and upset, wondering why she hadn't answered. The idea made the heaviness in her chest even more suffocating.

She had to talk to you, but what would she even say? How could she explain what had happened without sounding like a fool?

Would you even want to hear her side? How could she make you understand what she barely remembered herself?

But the more she thought about it, the clearer those memories became. Each flashback hit her harder than the last—the laughter, the reckless decisions, and then Mia.

She had crossed a line, one she never thought she'd cross, and now the shame of it burned in her gut. The realization of what she'd done twisted her insides, making her feel sick.

Vada knew she hadn't been the nicest to you lately.

She had pushed you away more times than she could count, snapping at you when you were only trying to help.

But in her mind, you understood. After everything she'd been through, it felt like she had a free pass to be rude, to shut you out whenever the weight of her emotions got too heavy. You were patient, and she thought you'd always stay.

Now, Vada could picture your face in front of her before she even told you. The hurt, the confusion, the way your eyes would search hers for an explanation she didn't have. It made her stomach turn, imagining the disappointment you'd feel once you knew what she'd done.

Vada felt the panic creeping up again, thinking about how she'd have to come clean. How she'd have to tell you something she could barely admit to herself.

With a deep breath, she rolled over and forced herself out of bed, her legs shaky as if the weight of what she'd done was pulling her down.

She had no choice but to face the day, to face what she had done no matter how much she wanted to hide.

Going to school was unavoidable—especially if she had any hope of seeing you. She needed to talk to you, to explain, to somehow piece together the mess she had made.

She didn't know how she would do it, but she had to try. Seeing you was the only way forward, even if it terrified her.

___

As Vada walked into school, the usual hum of morning chatter felt distant, like it was coming from another world she wasn't a part of.

She kept her head down, her feet moving automatically down the familiar halls, but nothing about today felt right. Her nerves were buzzing, a constant reminder of the mess she'd created.

Mia wasn't here. She wouldn't be for a while—her dads had given her the option to switch to online school, something Mia had been all too eager to take. Vada couldn't help but feel a little jealous; Mia got to avoid all of it.

But you weren't there either.

Vada stopped by your locker, her eyes scanning the hallway, hoping to see your familiar face among the crowd. But there was nothing. No sign of you. Anxiety twisted in her chest, tight and unforgiving. You were always here by now. Where were you?

The absence of both you and Mia only made the weight of everything heavier, sinking deeper into her gut. You had to be here somewhere, right? Maybe you were just late... Or maybe you'd heard something. Maybe you didn't want to face her either.

The thought made her stomach churn even more. She'd been holding onto the slim hope that talking to you would help her make sense of what happened, but now, with you gone, all she had were her racing thoughts.

Vada stood there for a moment, frozen. Everything around her moved in a blur, but inside, she was stuck, unsure what to do next.

She was so deep in her own thoughts that she didn't even notice Nick coming up behind her until he practically jumped into her space.

"Vada!" His voice made her jump, her heart pounding from the suddenness of it. She whipped around to find him grinning, clearly amused by her reaction.

"Fuck," she groaned, clutching her chest, "Could you not?"

"Sorry, sorry," he said, holding his hands up, though the smirk on his face said otherwise. "Just thought I'd say hi since, you know, I didn't see you at all yesterday. Figured you were busy."

Vada blinked, her mind still trying to catch up. "Yesterday?" she repeated, her brow furrowing as she tried to recall what he was talking about. She hadn't been at school, sure, but what did that have to do with anything?

Nick nodded, clearly expecting her to pick up on something she wasn't. When she didn't, his expression shifted slightly, and he glanced away like he was trying to think of a way to backtrack.

"Yeah, you know," he shrugged, scratching the back of his neck as he muttered, "Thought you had some plans or something. So, uh, how was... you know, whatever you were up to?"

Vada felt a flicker of confusion, but she brushed it off. There was no way Nick could know she'd been with Mia last night.

Her head was already pounding with everything else, and she wasn't ready to unpack whatever Nick was hinting at.

Vada hesitated, her mind blank. The truth of what she'd actually been doing last night was a tangled mess she wasn't about to dive into with Nick. Not here, not now.

"It was... fine," she said, trying to sound casual, though even she could hear the strain in her voice. Her stomach twisted at the thought of what really happened.

Nick seemed to sense the shift, his smile fading just a little. "You good?"

Vada forced a shrug, not wanting to get into everything. "Yeah, just... tired, I guess."

Nick gave her a knowing look. "Right. Late night?"

She nodded, not offering much more. "Something like that."

He stuffed his hands in his pockets, his tone casual but curious. "So... you did have fun?"

At first, Vada didn't catch the weight of his question. She glanced over at him, squinting slightly. "What do you mean?"

Nick blinked, caught off guard. "You know... last night? Thought maybe you were out doing something special."

The confusion on Vada's face was clear now, and Nick quickly backtracked, not wanting to press further. "Ah, forget it. I probably got the wrong idea," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Maybe it was nothing."

Vada frowned, her stomach knotting up tighter. What was he talking about?

Her thoughts kept drifting back to you as they began moving through the crowded hallway, her phone in hand, checking for any messages that weren't there. You were always the first to text in the morning, but today, there was nothing.

"Hey, uh," she began, glancing up at Nick, "Do you know where Y/n is? Is she sick or something? She didn't text me."

Nick frowned slightly, his confusion deepening. "Wait, she didn't text you?"

Vada shook her head, pulling her phone out and glancing at the empty screen as if it might somehow change. "Yeah, nothing."

He scratched the back of his head, clearly thrown off. "Weird. I thought you guys were, like, together yesterday."

Vada's heart skipped a beat. "What do you mean together?"

Nick hesitated, his eyes flicking between her and the hallway ahead. "I don't know, I just assumed. You guys are always together. Figured she'd be with you or something. Guess I got it wrong."

Vada felt her chest tighten. There was something about the way Nick said it that left her even more uneasy. He didn't seem to be making sense, and the idea that you could've been anywhere near her last night without her remembering hit her like a wave of panic.

"Oh," she muttered, trying to brush it off, "Yeah, no, I haven't seen her."

Nick glanced at her, his confusion lingering, but he didn't press it further. The silence stretched between them as they continued down the hall, but Vada's mind was spinning. If Nick thought you had been with her... then what had she forgotten?

"I wouldn't worry too much. She'll probably show up." Nick added, trying to lighten the mood.

"Yeah," Vada muttered, but her mind was racing with worry. What if something had happened? Or worse, what if you knew about it? About what she'd done.

Before the class started and the teacher began talking, Vada quickly pulled out her phone, her fingers trembling slightly as she typed out a message to you.

sorry i didn't answer yesterday. i'm at school rn though. are you not coming?

She stared at the screen for a moment, her thumb hovering over the send button before finally pressing it.

By the time she got home, she found herself curled up on the couch in her family's living room, her phone still in her hand. Throughout the day, she had sent you a few more messages, each one more desperate than the last.

are you sick?

or are you sleeping?

why aren't you answering?

i'm really sorry for not texting you back. please talk to me.

do you want me to come over?

Her fingers hovered over the screen, the guilt gnawing at her. She kept typing out new messages, only to delete them again, unsure of what else she could say. Nothing felt like enough, and the silence on your end was only making things worse.

At first, when you didn't answer in the morning, Vada had convinced herself that you were just asleep, hoping that was the reason for your silence.

But now, with the time creeping closer to four o'clock, that thought wasn't offering much comfort anymore. Her hope was fading fast, replaced by a gnawing pit of anxiety that only seemed to grow with each passing hour.

Finally, she typed out one last message, her heart racing as she pressed send.

have you heard anything?

It was vague, but it was all she could manage. She didn't want to admit the fear that had settled in—fear that you might have heard something about her night with Mia.

She didn't even know from whom you could have possibly heard it, but the thought of you being upset gnawed at her.

The TV flickered to life in the background, the news anchor's voice blending into a monotonous hum as he rambled on about the weather.

Vada barely registered his words; her mind was elsewhere. She had tuned out once the shooting had happened, the memories still raw and haunting.

It wouldn't surprise her if they were still covering it weeks later, discussing the fallout and the victims. The world felt heavy with tragedy, and she couldn't shake the feeling that her own turmoil was just another layer on top of it all.

Amelia was sitting next to her, a little further down the couch but still close enough that Vada could feel her presence.

Surprisingly, Amelia seemed to be paying attention to the news, her eyes fixed on the screen while playing with her hair, probably just trying to figure out what the weather would be like tomorrow so she could plan her outfit.

Every few minutes, though, Amelia would glance over at Vada, a hopeful and excited look crossing her face, like she was waiting for Vada to say something—something she didn't know yet.

Vada could sense the anticipation in her sister, as if Amelia was expecting to be let in on a secret, her eyes practically begging for some kind of revelation. But Vada had nothing to say, nothing to offer.

So when she realized Vada wasn't going to say anything, she couldn't hold it in any longer. Practically bouncing in her seat, a wide grin spread across her face as she blurted out, "Did she give you a gift?"

Her voice was filled with excitement, the kind of eagerness that only Amelia could manage, her tone bright and full of energy.

It was like she couldn't contain her curiosity, and her entire expression lit up with that signature look of hers—one that always made Vada feel like Amelia was living vicariously through her.

Her whole face lit up with a smile, as if she was already imagining the details in her head, too giddy to sit still.

Vada turned to Amelia, her brow furrowing in confusion, eyes narrowing slightly as she tried to make sense of her sister's words. "What are you talking about?"

Amelia's grin faltered for a moment, her excitement dimming as she sat up straighter, turning fully toward Vada. Her brows lifted, like she was waiting for something to click. "You know, a gift," she repeated slowly, her voice a little more deliberate now, as if she thought Vada was joking or trying to mess with her.

Vada's face remained blank, still not catching on, and Amelia's smile wavered again. She leaned in a little, her expression shifting from playful to confused, the eagerness fading just a bit.

"For your anniversary?" Amelia's voice softened, her tone almost hesitant now, as if she was starting to wonder if she'd gotten it wrong.

Vada blinked, her confusion deepening, and it must've shown on her face because Amelia's smile disappeared entirely, replaced by a puzzled frown.

Amelia's frown deepened, her brows knitting together as she tilted her head slightly, studying Vada's blank expression. "Wait... you guys had that dinner yesterday, right? For your anniversary?"

Vada blinked again, her stomach sinking as she felt a wave of unease wash over her. She could see Amelia searching her face, looking for confirmation, but Vada had no idea what she was talking about.

"Anniversary dinner?" Vada repeated, her voice uncertain, as she tried to piece together what she had clearly missed. Her mind raced, flipping through the events of the past day, but all she could recall was being with Mia.

Vada's heart slammed against her chest, panic creeping in as she grabbed her phone with shaky hands. Her mind raced as she unlocked it, her gaze locking onto the date.

November 23rd.

Her breath hitched. Yesterday.

November 22nd—the date that should've meant everything.

Three years ago, on that day, she had asked you to be her girlfriend. Three years.

Her stomach churned as guilt surged through her, heavy and unrelenting. How could she have forgotten something so important? The realization hit her like a punch to the gut, stealing the air from her lungs. Her thoughts spiraled, tangled in disbelief and regret.

She'd missed your three-year anniversary.

The thought sent a shiver down her spine; you two always found a way to celebrate your love, no matter how many years passed.

It was a tradition that reminded you both of the bond you'd nurtured since the beginning—a promise that, no matter what life threw your way, you'd always have each other.

Her fingers tightened around the phone, warmth creeping to her cheeks as shame took hold. She hadn't just failed to text you back; she'd failed to honor the day that had meant so much to both of you.

With each shallow breath, the weight of her mistake deepened, twisting in her gut like a knot that wouldn't untangle. How could she have been so careless?

When she finally tore her eyes away from her phone and looked back at Amelia, her sister's hopeful expression had dimmed slightly, her confusion evident. But Vada couldn't focus on that now.

Instead her thoughts spiraled back to last night, who she had been with. She could picture the laughter, the warmth of the moment shared with Mia, how effortlessly they had fallen into each other's company. They had talked for hours, their conversation weaving a tapestry of familiarity and intimacy that felt so right during the haze.

But that only deepened the ache in her chest now. The joy of being with someone else, the carefree way they had spent the evening together, felt like a betrayal in the light of what she had neglected with you.

Vada recalled every smile, every touch that had drawn her into that bubble of happiness, yet it was overshadowed by the guilt of not being present for the one person who actually mattered.

How could she have forgotten the significance of that day, when you had been there all along, waiting for her to acknowledge it?

Vada's heart raced as the weight of her realization crashed down on her.

Everything made sense now—the way Nick had been acting at school, the way he'd looked at her with that questioning gaze.

And her mother's text echoed in her mind. "I don't care how much fun you had yesterday." It hit her like a ton of bricks.

She was supposed to come home that night, to be with you. You had planned something special, something to celebrate.

But Vada couldn't remember seeing you when she got home. She couldn't even recall what time she had stumbled through the door.

Had you given up and arrived home before she did? The thought made her stomach twist painfully.

"Oh my God." Her voice came out shaky, barely above a whisper. Panic surged through her, and she jumped to her feet, almost stumbling over the couch in her haste.

Without a second thought, she sprinted into the hall, her mind a blur. She fumbled with her shoes, barely bothering to tie them as she slipped them on. Amelia's voice echoed from the living room, filled with confusion and concern. "Vada! Where are you going?"

But Vada couldn't focus on her question. All she could think about was you, the hurt she had caused, and the urgency to make things right.

The front door swung open, and she bolted outside, her breath coming in sharp gasps as she raced down the path, adrenaline propelling her forward.

Vada ran, her heart pounding in sync with her frantic steps. She barely registered the freezing autumn air cutting through her skin, the chill seeping into her bones as she dashed through the streets in her basketball shorts.

The cold didn't matter; nothing mattered except getting to you.

Each stride felt like an act of desperation, a desperate push against the guilt weighing heavily on her heart.

She knew she had to see you, to face you, to tell you everything. The thought of what she had done loomed over her like a dark cloud—she had slept with someone else, and it had been on your anniversary.

The weight of that betrayal twisted in her gut, and she felt sick with the knowledge that she had shattered something precious between you.

She couldn't go another second without telling you what had happened, without laying bare the truth that had been eating away at her. 

But the second she stood outside your house, knocking on your door with a trembling fist, the weight of her guilt crushed down on her.

When the door swung open, revealing you on the other side—your worn T-shirt clinging to your frame, messy hair catching the light in just the right way—her throat tightened, and she felt like her mouth was sealed shut.

You looked so effortlessly beautiful, as you always did, and the sight of you made her heart ache even more.

The words she had rehearsed over and over vanished from her mind on the way there, replaced by an overwhelming rush of emotion.

All she could do was stare at you, her heart pounding loudly in her ears, the enormity of the moment leaving her frozen in place.

You tried to give her a tired smile as you stood by the door, the familiar warmth of her presence mixing with the cool evening air.

"Hey," you said, your voice gentle yet tinged with exhaustion. But Vada couldn't reply. She just stood there, her eyes wide, taking in the sight of you.

The way your hair fell softly around your face, how your expression shifted from surprise to concern—it all hit her like a tidal wave.

You were her girl, the one she had almost forgotten in the chaos of the past weeks.

In that moment, everything else faded away—the frigid autumn air, the urgency of her earlier thoughts—all that mattered was you.

Yet, as the silence stretched between you, the weight of unspoken words hung heavy in the air. Vada trembled, her heart racing as she searched your face, desperate for understanding.

With each passing second, the realization of her mistake clawed at her insides.

The memories of last night flooded back, the laughter, the thrill, and the way she had betrayed you—all of it crashed down like a storm. She felt a lump rise in her throat, and finally, the words slipped out, barely audible. "I'm sorry."

Tears began to pool in her eyes, glimmering like shattered glass in the dim light, each one a testament to the guilt and regret that had been building up inside her.

She wanted to explain, to tell you everything about what happened with Mia, but the truth felt lodged deep within her, impossible to express. All she could do was stand there, shaking, waiting for your response, wishing she could take it all back.

Your eyes searched hers, reflecting confusion and hurt, and she felt her heart break at the sight. The silence hung like a thick fog, and in that moment, she realized just how much she had risked.

The fear of losing you washed over her, and she fought back the tears, wishing more than anything that you could understand how truly sorry she was.

You looked at her, brow furrowing in confusion. "Sorry for what?" you asked, but you knew exactly what she was talking about.

Still, you needed her to say it. You wanted to hear the truth come from her lips, to know she was ready to face what she had done.

The silence stretched out between you, charged with unspoken feelings. As she trembled, tears pooling in her eyes, your heart ached for her, for the pain that had driven her to this moment.

You needed her to confront it, to acknowledge the hurt—not just for you, but for herself, too.

So you watched her, waiting for the truth you already knew she was fighting against.

Vada didn't want to tell you. Her mind screamed at her to keep it inside, to bury it somewhere deep where neither of you would have to face it.

But her mouth—the one that always said too much, the one that never knew when to stop—was on the verge of betraying her again.

She shook her head, her hands trembling as she crossed her arms tightly over her chest, trying to hold it all in.

But the words pushed at the back of her throat, her lips quivering as she tried to bite them back. Her thoughts were racing, tumbling over each other.

Don't say it. Don't. You'll lose her. You can't say it.

But the more she tried to keep it in, the harder it got. Vada felt her chest tighten, like there was no room left for her guilt, her shame, or her fear. Her too-big mouth, always moving when it shouldn't, was about to undo her.

"I—" She stammered, her voice breaking. "I didn't mean to... I didn't..." She could feel the truth clawing its way out, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't stop it. Tears welled in her eyes, blurring her vision as she looked at you, her heart in her throat.

"I'm sorry I forgot. I wanted to be with you, I swear. I was... I don't know, I just... I don't know what happened." Vada's voice cracked as she rambled, words spilling out before she could stop them.

Her hands shook, and she ran them through her hair, her breathing uneven. "I didn't mean to forget. I don't even know how I did, but I did, and I'm sorry."

She looked at you, her eyes wide with panic, like she was searching for a way to fix something she knew she couldn't. "I should've been with you, I know that. I just... I don't know what happened."

There was no real excuse, and she knew that. She wasn't just talking about forgetting the anniversary anymore, and the weight of that realization pressed down on her chest.

Her words tumbled out in a shaky rush, her breath catching between sentences as she struggled to form coherent thoughts. She looked frantic, her hands tugging at her hair as if trying to pull herself back to the present, back to you.

"I wanted to be with you," she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper now, almost like she was pleading with herself as much as with you.

Her gaze flicked from your face to the ground, then back to your eyes, searching for any sign that she could make this right, that somehow she hadn't ruined everything.

But the more she tried to explain, the more lost she seemed to become, her mind spinning in circles she couldn't escape.

Vada's heart thudded loudly in her ears as she braced herself for your reaction, her mind running wild with what was about to happen.

She tried to prepare for the look on your face—the anger, the hurt, maybe even the disgust she thought she deserved. Would you yell? Walk away? She didn't know what was coming, but she felt like she had it coming, something heavy, something unbearable.

Her throat tightened as she tried to continue, the words sticking like they didn't want to come out. Her hands clenched into fists by her sides as she stammered,

"I was with—"

But before she could finish, you interrupted, your voice calm but firm. "I know."

The simple statement stopped her in her tracks. Her breath caught in her chest, and she froze, staring up at you in shock.

Her heart pounded, her mind scrambling for words that wouldn't make things worse, but nothing came.

How could you possibly know?

She had barely been able to admit it to herself, let alone think of how to explain it to you. Her hands fidgeted nervously at her sides, and she felt a knot forming in her stomach, waiting for your answer, dreading it just as much.

"How?" Her lips trembled, and she couldn't seem to tear her eyes away from yours.

Confusion and guilt churned in her chest, making her feel even more trapped in this moment she couldn't escape.

Your lips twitched into something that almost resembled a smile, but there was no joy behind it. It was more of a bitter acknowledgment, the kind of smile that comes when things hurt too much to be angry. "You really don't remember?"

Vada's panic surged as the reality of the situation settled in. What did you mean by that? she thought, her mind racing with uncertainty.

Had she really messed up so badly that you knew something she didn't?

Did Mia tell you? Her stomach churned at the thought. She racked her brain, trying to piece together the night before. Had she called you?

Was there something she had said that she couldn't remember? The more she tried to recall, the more her memories slipped through her fingers like sand.

She felt lightheaded, the cold autumn air biting at her skin, but she barely noticed. All she could focus on was the fear that clawed at her insides.

What if you knew everything? She couldn't face that possibility. Her heart raced, and she searched your face desperately for clues, wondering if you were hiding something from her or if you were simply waiting for her to spill the truth.

What do you know? The thought screamed inside her, but she couldn't say it.

Instead, she blinked, her voice barely audible as she stammered, "What... what do you mean?"

You watched her closely, gauging the reaction that flickered across her face. "You were with Mia," you said, your voice steady.

"You guys got drunk, smoked weed, and then you fucked.. I mean, that's what you told me last night, but was there something else?"

Vada's eyes widened in disbelief, the reality of your words crashing over her like a cold wave.

She could hardly breathe, the weight of her actions crashing down upon her. "No... I..." she started, her voice shaky as she tried to piece together the fragments of her memory.

She felt exposed, vulnerable under your gaze, like she was standing naked before you. She knew what she had done, but hearing it laid out so plainly made it feel more real, more unforgivable.

The fear of what she had lost clawed at her insides, and she felt tears prick at her eyes as she searched for the right words. How could she explain it? How could she make you understand?

Her heart raced as she struggled to form the words, each syllable heavier than the last. "I'm so sorry," she stammered, desperation lacing her voice. "I was drunk... I didn't mean for any of this to happen. I swear, I only want you."

She took a shaky breath, trying to gather herself, but the emotions swirled inside her like a storm.

"You're the one I care about, the one I want to be with. I messed up, and I get that, but please... please don't think that it means I don't love you." Her hands trembled at her sides as she met your eyes, searching for a glimmer of understanding amidst the chaos she had created.

"I just... I was caught up in the moment and didn't think about anything else. But you—you're everything to me, and I don't want to lose you." The panic surged through her again, threatening to swallow her whole, and she felt the sting of tears welling up as she awaited your response, hoping against hope that it wouldn't be the end.

You didn't even look mad as you stood there, shifting the weight to your other leg. Your expression calm, almost resigned, as you simply said, “It's fine, Vada."

But it's anything but fine. The words hit her like a punch to the gut, and she felt her heart drop even further. She didn't want you to be fine with it.

She wanted you to react, to feel the same rage and hurt that churned inside her.

Vada wished you would hit her, punch her, push her, or spit in her face—anything but brush it off like it didn't matter.

Your calmness made everything feel worse. But you continued, your voice steady but laced with a sadness that made her stomach twist. "I get that you're going through a lot right now."

But then, the air around her grew heavy as you added, "I just... I think it's best if we spend some time apart."

The finality of your words crashed over her, and Vada felt like the ground had been ripped out from under her.

Time seemed to stand still as she processed what you'd just said, the reality of the situation sinking in.

Every part of her screamed for you to reconsider, to understand how much she needs you, but she couldn't find the words.

Panic flooded her senses as she stared at you, her heart racing. "No, please don't say that," she said desperately, wanting to reach out, wanting to beg you not to walk away.

But she felt a heavy weight settle in her chest as she realized there was nothing else she could do. Nothing she could say would change what you wanted. And nothing she could do would change what she'd done.

When you made your mind up about something, it was like hitting a brick wall—there was no going back, no changing your decision. She always admired your resolve, but now that same strength felt suffocating, leaving her totally and utterly powerless.

She watched helplessly as a faint smile crossed your lips, though it didn't reach your eyes. "I'll see you at school, Vada," you said softly, the finality of your words echoing in her mind.

The urge to scream your name was building inside her, to fall to her knees and beg for your forgiveness. Every fiber of her being wanted to cry out, to make you see how much she needed you, how sorry she was.

But for once, her mouth was sealed shut. She couldn't force the words out.

If she tried to speak, she feared she'd either throw up from the overwhelming guilt, or worse—say something that would ruin everything beyond repair. So she stood there, paralyzed, as you offered that faint, distant smile.

Before she could respond, you turned and closed the door, leaving her standing alone on the porch, a whirlwind of emotions crashing around her.

As the door clicked shut, the finality of it echoed in Vada's ears, louder than the pounding in her chest. She stared at the door, half-expecting you to open it again, to tell her you were just angry, that things would be okay. But the silence was deafening, and the cold night air wrapped around her like a vice.

For a moment, she stood there, frozen in place, waiting for something—anything—that wouldn't come.

And then, finally, the weight of it all hit her. Her legs gave out, and she sank onto the porch steps, burying her face in her hands as hot tears spilled down her cheeks. There was nothing she could do now, nothing left to say. You were gone, and she was the one who had driven you away.

Her body shook with sobs, and the world felt emptier than it ever had.

[bloodibambiidoll]

There’s No Such Thing As Purity

(Rafe Cameron x Fem!Reader)

Summary: You and Rafe are childhood best friends and as far as he’s concerned you’re an innocent angel he needs to protect from the world. But he discovers a whole other side of you when you accidentally send him nudes that were meant for someone else. Wk: 4.9k

Warnings: Drinking/smoking weed, jealous!Rafe, posessive!Rafe, minor Jj x reader, brat taming, choking, spanking, spit kink, tiddy slapping, hair pulling, face fucking, fingering, orgasm denial, daddy kink, unprotected sex.18+MDNI!!!

A/N: this is only my second Rafe fic so pls be niiicee to me. But I love this man. I need him to own me and put me in my place. Thank you to my sweet angel @babygorewhore for listening to me rant about this, and for beta reading for me. Ilysm. Also this is based off the song “Purity” by Lilyisthatyou.

You’re not necessarily faded, but you’ve had a couple drinks and you smoked a blunt with a few of your friends when you first got here so you’re feeling a little buzzed. You check your phone and to your delight your sneaky link that you asked to meet you here had responded that he would be on his way soon. You smirk down at the screen, excusing yourself to the bathroom so you could respond to him how you really wanted to.

You close the bathroom door and pull your little crop top over your head, leaving you in just your low waisted mini skirt that you push down even further so your thong straps are on display. You stand in front of the large full length mirror on the bathroom wall, holding your phone camera up while you pose. You take a few shots, then a few more, until you're satisfied that at least a couple of them will be good enough to send. You spend a few minutes going through them before deciding on two.

One is straight on, your tits fully on display, your free hand pulling one of your thong straps up even further, and your tongue is sticking out. The second is from the side, showing the curve of your back and the top of your ass sticking out of your skirt, two fingers between your lips. You smirk, satisfied with your work. You select the two photos before typing out the text to accompany them.

“When are you getting here?😉”

In your somewhat hazy, horny state you click the most recent contact on your list and hit send. You didn’t think anything of it, since as far as you know he’s the last person that texted you. But what you failed to realize is during your little photoshoot your best friend had texted you, and you sent them to him instead. Seconds later your phone starts to ring, Rafe’s contact and a goofy photo of the two of you popping up on the screen.

“Hey, what’s up?” You answer cheerfully.

“What's up? What’s up with you? What’s up with those photos?” Rafe sounds pissed, which isn’t unlike him, but it’s very rarely directed at you.

“Photos? What’re you-?” It takes your slightly inebriated mind a second to catch up but when it does you gasp, pulling the phone away from your ear to pull up your texts. Your entire body warms and your heart feels like it’s going to fall out of your ass when you realize you sent him the photos, and not the intended recipient. “Oh god… fuck. Rafe listen, can we not make this a thing? Those weren’t for you, just delete them so we can forget this ever happened.”

“Who were they for then, huh? Also where the hell are you? I thought you were staying home tonight.” This was not good. You and Rafe have been best friends since you were kids, and he’s always been extremely protective of you, some may say overprotective. So things like guys and hookups? You keep them to yourself when it comes to him.

“Uh - I don’t see why that really matters? Can you just fucking delete them? Also I was going to stay home but then the girls convinced me to come with them to this party. You’re busy tonight anyways? I don’t know why it’s a big deal.” You huff in annoyance.

“It fucking matters because what if something happened to you? Since when do you go to parties without me anyways? You could’ve at least told me you decided to go out. Also you’re sending guys nudes now? Since when? Who is this fucker?”

“Rafe!!! You need to calm down. Seriously, we don’t have to make this a thing, okay? Just fucking delete them and go back to doing whatever it is you were doing. Please.” Your voice comes out more whiny than you mean it to, but you know he’s a sucker for your pouting so you're hoping it will calm him down a bit.

“No, seriously, answer my fucking questions.” He sneers your name into the phone and it sends chills down your spine. He’s been irritated with you before, of course. But never talked to you like this and you have to admit that it’s doing something to you. You’ve always wanted him, but he’s always seen you as this precious angel he needs to protect, innocent. When truly? You’re anything but. You go to parties without him when he’s busy all the time, and as far as your innocence? That was long gone.

“Oh my god. I already told you, I’m at a fucking party, okay? I’m here with my friends. You’re acting like I’ve never gone to a party without you or like I’m a child that needs to be watched and you’re honestly being really dramatic.” Rafe is taken back by your tone. You’re normally so soft and cheerful with him. But right now? You were acting like a fucking brat.

“At a party, where? And you still didn’t answer my other question. Who. Were. The. Pictures. For?” You can tell he’s pacing the room and running his fingers through his hair with his nostrils flared. The image makes your thighs clench. You’ve always fantasized about Rafe putting you in your place, he treats you like a princess, lets you do whatever you want. Granted you’re usually very sweet to him, but tonight? You’re wondering how far you can push him before he finally snaps. “You know you share your location with me, right? I can just fucking look myself if you don’t wanna tell me.”

“Jesus Christ, Rafe! It’s at Matt’s house! Are you happy? I’m still on figure 8, literally a few blocks from my house!! And as far as who the pictures were for? Just a guy, okay? I don’t know why the specifics matter. It’s almost like you’re jealous or something.” You tried to hold it in, you really did, but you’ve been holding back from saying that for years. It was like he didn’t want any guys near you, but he never did anything about it himself and you were over it.

“What if I am?” He practically growls into the phone and that wasn’t the response you were expecting. You had never brought up his possessiveness until now, but other people had and he always said something along the lines of ‘I’m not fuckin’ jealous, it’s just no man is good enough for my best friend’ and it always made your heart deflate, just a bit.

“Are you?”

“Just fucking stay there, alright? I’m coming to get you.” He doesn’t wait for you to respond, the line going dead. Your text notification goes off, the guy who you meant to send the photos to letting you know he arrived at the party. Suddenly you feel shockingly sober.

You take a deep breath to collect your thoughts. You have two options here. Option one, hide in the bathroom until Rafe gets here and then leave with him, totally avoiding any further drama for the night. Or, option two, you could go out there, and when Rafe gets here, you could see if he really is jealous… Fuck it. You pull your shirt over your head, look in the mirror to check your hair, and exit the bathroom.

You weave through the sweaty bodies in the living room and head out back to where your date said he would be waiting for you. Your eye’s scan the patio, searching for those blonde locks. Your eye’s meet smug blue ones, a cocky smirk on his lips. Yeah, Rafe was absolutely going to lose his shit when he found out those photos were meant for none other than Jj Maybank. Probably one of the last people on earth he would want you fucking around with. But you ran into him at a party a few weeks ago, hooked up with him in a random bedroom, and you’re not ashamed to say you’ve gone back for seconds. And thirds. And forths too. It’s not your fault it was the best dick you’ve ever had in your life.

“Hey princess, how’s a goin’?” He approaches you, his eyes unabashedly roaming your curves in your little party outfit. He brings his thumb to your bottom lip, running across it before leaning in close so his lips brush your ear. “You look good enough to eat.”

“Yeah? Maybe you’ll get to try a bite later.” You lean back so you can look up into his eyes, biting your lip. For a second you almost forget all about the Rafe dibocle, getting lost in Jj’s now familiar, fresh, but still somehow musky scent and those eyes that remind you of the ocean water that surrounds your home. But you couldn’t forget about Rafe for long. Your feelings for Jj are so incredibly surface level compared to the feelings you have for him. “You wanna get a drink? And dance?”

“Sure thing, pretty girl.” He winks at you, throwing an arm over your shoulder.

After you take a shot together you drag him out onto the makeshift dance floor Matt set up on his parents back patio. You start to sway your hips to the music that booms from the large speakers that were set up around the area and Jj hungrily eyes your curves. He pulls a joint from behind his ear, raising it between the two of you with his eyebrow cocked and you nod in response.

You continue to sway, turning your back towards Jj so you can rub your ass against him. He pops the joint in his mouth, turning his head to the side so he can use one hand to light it, his other hand coming down to grab onto your hip. His fingertips graze the skin above your skirt and it gives you goosebumps. After he takes a few puffs off the joint he holds it to your mouth, his skin grazing your soft lips. You turn your head over your shoulder to blow the smoke in his mouth and he takes the hint immediately connecting his lips with yours. But before you can even fully shotgun the hit to him your entire body is suddenly ripped away from his, a large hand pulling you by your forearm.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS SHIT? HUH? WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE FUCKIN’ DOING?” Rafe’s voice bellows over the music as he pulls you towards him, causing you to trip and fall into his chest.

“Rafe, I’m just having fun, you need to chill. Seriously.” You push against him but he uses the hold he still has on your arm to pull you closer. His free hand comes up to your jaw, gripping it roughly, forcing you to look up at him.

“I need to chill? Are you fuckin’ joking? Is this who those pictures were for? This dirty fuckin’ pouge? Are you fucking him?” His eyes hold a fire that’s never been directed towards you, and logically you should be pissed, you should slap him across the face for acting like this. But instead you feel your panties get even wetter under his angry gaze, the feeling of his hand on your jaw making your knees weak.

“Hey bro, you need to back the fuck off! She told you to chill, get off her!” Jj tries to grab onto your free hand but Rafe doesn’t allow it, he grips onto your hips, using his hold on you to push you to the other side of him, away from Jj.

“You’re the one that needs to fuck off bro.” Rafe gets in his face, his nostrils flared, his eyes filled with rage. “Keep your dirty fuckin hands off my girl, fuckin’ pouge trash.”

“Your girl, huh? She didn’t seem like she was your girl when she was beggin’ me to let her cum last weekend.” Jj smirks, his eyes boring right back into the taller man’s. Rafe growls, using all his force to push him so hard he falls to the ground.

“Yeah bitch, my fucking girl. Stay the fuck away from her or I’ll beat your ass so bad they won’t be able to identify you when you get to the fucking hospital.” He spits on the ground in front of the blonde’s feet before turning back to you with his jaw and fists clenched. “Bathroom. Now.”

You stare up at him with wide eyes, speechless. My girl. My girl. My girl. Replaying like a mantra in your head. After a few seconds of you standing there like a deer caught in the headlights, Rafe lost his patience. He swiftly closed the few foot gap between you, his large ringed hand gripping the back of your neck. He bends down so his face is level with yours, blue eyes filled with fire staring down at you.

“I said. Bathroom. Now. Start fucking walking.” He practically growls when he says it and you have to hold in a whimper. The hand on your neck glides down to your shoulder, turning you away from him without giving you a chance to respond. You have half a mind to talk back to him. But he seems like he’s two seconds away from turning around and taking his anger out on Jj and you’ve definitely done enough damage in that department for the night, so you start walking.

“Take me to the bathroom you took those little pictures in.” You squeal when halfway down the hall Rafe grabs onto your hair from behind you, pulling your head back against his chest. He’s looking down at you hungrily, his tongue running across his bottom lip. “I wanna take some pictures of my own.”

As soon as the bathroom door is shut he’s on you, shoving you up against it by your throat, his lips smashing against yours in a bruising kiss. He slips his tongue into your mouth using it to dominate your own. Just when you feel yourself start to get lost in it he pulls away, a pout forming in your lips.

“Seriously, what the hell has gotten into, Bunny? Where’s my sweet little innocent best friend? Cause this girl I’ve seen tonight, she’s certainly not her.” He looms over you, the look in his eyes is wild, he looks like he wants to devour you and god you’d be lying if you said you wouldn’t let him do just about anything to you right now.

“Maybe there’s a side of me you don’t know about, ever thought of that?” The smirk that spreads across your lips is seductive, the look in your eyes mischievous. “You do know I have a life outside of you, right?”

“No fucking shit, I know that. But this is not something I’d expect out of you. Going to parties dressed like that, smoking weed, grinding on pouges.” He snarls at the last part, the hand around your throat tightening slightly. He pushes your legs apart with his foot and shoves his knee between your thighs, pressing it up against your wet clothed core. You try to hold in the moan that escapes you but your body betrays you. “I’m only going to ask you this one more time, was he bullshitting me out there or did you fuck him?”

“Yeah I fucked him, more than once.” That Cheshire smirk reappears on your lips and he wants nothing more than to wipe it off. He releases your throat to grip your jaw, pinching your cheeks together.

“You lost your virginity to a fuckin’ pouge? You let him inside of you? When I’m the only one who's supposed to touch you? Bet he didn’t even make you cum.” He shakes your head from side to side, grinding his knee up into your cunt. You really don’t want to give into him just yet, but you’re losing your resolve quicker with every passing minute.

“HA! My virginity? I hate to break it to you Rafey, but that ship sailed back in highschool. And as far as him making me cum? Say what you want about the pouges but that’s the best dick I’ve ever had.”

“Yeah? Not for fuckin’ long.” He walks over to stand in front of the mirror you had your impromptu photoshoot in. He turns to the side, looking you dead in the eyes as snaps his fingers, his long pointer finger directed towards the ground.

“Are you serious?” You scoff, crossing your arms in defiance. “I’m not sucking you off.”

You absolutely were going to suck him off, but he didn’t need to know that, yet. You were having fun toying with him and getting him worked up.

“Really? Cause I think you want to. I think you did all of this on fuckin purpose to get me going. Come over here and get on your fucking knees for me, bunny. I know you want it.” He smirks, his hands reaching for the button on his shorts. He pulls his cock out and your eyes grow wide, your mouth dropping open. You can’t even hide the look of awe on your face at the sight of his thick cock. It’s almost subconscious the way your feet carry you forward towards him. You approach him, looking up at him through your lashes. His hands grip your shoulders, pushing you down to your knees in front of him. “Take that fucking shirt off.”

You rip your shirt over your head and as soon as it’s off he leans down to grab onto your tits, squeezing them roughly.

“Perfect fuckin’ tits, and they’re all mine huh?” He pulls back and abruptly his large hands smack down on both your tits causing you to let out a yelp. “Say it, say they’re mine.” Two more smacks come in succession.

“They’re yours Rafe, always been yours.” You look at him with big wide eyes and your lips set into a pout. You almost look like his innocent best friend again, but he knows better now.

“Open your fucking mouth, slut. Stick your tongue out.” He takes his cock in his hand, stroking it.

As soon as your tongue leaves your mouth Rafe is smacking the tip of his cock against it. Salty precum hits your tongue and you moan at the taste. His free hand gathers your hair into a makeshift ponytail, wrenching your head back so you’re looking at him.

“You done being a fuckin’ brat now? Gonna let me show you who you really belong to?”

“Uh-huh, yeah.” You nod to the best of your ability, all resolve you had left leaving your body. You’re already starting to feel fucked out and he hasn’t even really touched you yet.

“Did I say you could close your mouth? Open.” You stick your tongue out for him again and he leans down to spit on it. “Swallow… Good bunny.”

He pats your cheek and tilts your head back towards his cock. You immediately take his head into your awaiting mouth. You start to swirl your tongue around the tip but Rafe isn’t having it, he’s done with your teasing.

“Just fuckin’ sit still and relax your throat, let me use you like the whore you’ve been acting like all night.” He takes both sides of your head in his hands and thrusts deep into your throat, causing you to gag. “That's it baby, fucking choke on it.”

He starts to fuck into your mouth deep and hard, giving you no time to adjust. You look up at him and his head is thrown back, feral moans leave his lips and his chest is heaving. He pulls your head back, looking down at you. He feels like he’s gonna cum when he does. There’s a string of spit connected from your mouth to his cock, your mascara is running, more drool is dripping down your chin and onto your tits.

“Where’s your phone?” He growls.

“In my purse, probably on the floor by the door where I dropped it when you jumped me.” He rolls his eyes at your attitude, walking over to your purse to pull your phone out. He stands over you again, opening the camera.

“Keep sucking.”

You lean forward and take him back in your mouth, bobbing your head up and down on his dick. You decide you’re going to show him what you’re really made of. One of your hands grabs the base of his cock, stroking what isn’t down your throat, the other comes up to his spit slick balls, rolling them in your palm.

“Fuck. You really are a little slut, sucking me off like it’s your fuckin’ job. You wanna act like a whore? I’ll treat you like one. You wanna send out slutty little pictures to trash from the cut? I’ll help you out with that.” He turns the camera toward the mirror adjacent to where you were standing and snaps a picture of the two of you. Then he flips it towards your face and takes another. “Alright. Get up. Bend your ass over the sink.”

You scramble to your feet and lean down so your upper half is against the counter, your ass and hips in the air. The marble countertop is cool against your bare tits and your skirt rides up over your ass, revealing your little lilac colored thong with a dark spot right in the middle. Rafe groans at the sight, walking up behind you while he pulls his shirt over his head. You tilt your chin up so you can lock eyes with him in the mirror, clenching around nothing at the sight of him standing over your shirtless.

“Look how wet that slutty little pussy is already, all this just from sucking my cock?” He grabs the bottom hem of your skirt forcefully pushing it up over your hips. His hands grip the meat of your ass, spreading your cheeks. One of his long fingers hooks under the thin lace that sits snugly between your ass, pulling it back as far as it can go before letting go. It snaps against your pussy deliciously, making you whimper. “I’ve always wanted to get my hands on this ass. Never thought it’d be like this though, not the first time at least.”

“How’d you think it would be then?” You look over your shoulder at him and he looks like a lion that caught its prey. He doesn’t break eye contact with you when his hand comes down on your ass, once, twice, three times.

“For one, I didn’t think you’d be such a fucking brat. My sweet little bunny. Always acting so innocent. Thought I’d have to be all gentle with you and shit. If I knew you were such a little cock slut I would’ve done this a long time ago.” He spanks you again, but this time it comes from below, the smack hitting your wet lace covered cunt. His fingers hook into your panties, ripping them down your legs. He runs his fingers through your slit, circling around your clit but not never actually touching it. “Look at this fucking pussy, looks so fucking sweet.”

“Please stop teasing me, Rafey.” You whine.

“Please stop teasing me, Rafey.” He mocks, and you think he’s going to keep torturing you but two thick fingers are suddenly being shoved knuckle deep inside you.

“Oh, fuck!” His fingers start fucking you at a brutal pace, this thumb coming down to finally circle your slick covered clit. His free hand comes down on your ass again and it makes you clench around him.

“Whose pussy is this?” Rafe leans over you, his large frame caging your smaller one against the counter top, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “Tell me who fucking owns you.”

“You, you own me, daddy. I’m all yours.” He straight up growls in response, his fingers fuck into you impossibly faster and his lips latch onto your neck, surely sucking a bruise into it. Marking his territory. Your walls start to pulse around him and he can tell you’re getting close.

“You gonna cum? Gonna be a good little girl and cum for your daddy?”

“Yeah I’m gonna - I’m gonna fucking cum.” You push your hips back, fucking yourself against his hand. You're about to tumble over the edge when it’s suddenly ripped away from you, Rafe pulling his fingers out of you.

“Rafe! What the fuck! I was about to cum!” You push yourself up on your hands so you can glare at him in the mirror. He smirks back at you, taking the fingers that were inside you into his mouth with a groan.

“That’s what you get for acting like a fucking brat. Besides, if you’re gonna cum, it’s gonna be on my fuckin’ cock.” He pushes you back down by the back of your head, smushing your cheek against the counter. He lines his cock up with your entrance, fully inserting himself inside you in one thrust. “Oh shiiiit, you’re so fuckin’ tight bunny. Always knew you would be.”

“Oh my goddddd.” Your eyes roll back and drool drips down the corner of your mouth onto the marble from the way he has your cheeks pressed together with his hand. He’s huge and the stretch burns so good.

“Yeah, that’s a good little slut, take this fuckin’ dick baby.” His hand travels down your back, gripping your ass harshly before gripping onto your hips. He’s fucking you so hard the sound of your hips slapping together echoes through the large bathroom and his balls are hitting your clit with every thrust. “Your little pouge still the best dick you ever had?”

“N - no, you’re the best I’ve ever had daddy, you’re filling me up so good, feels so good.” Rafe reaches into his back pocket for your phone, using his other hand to pull your ass apart for the perfect view of his cock buried deep inside you.

“I think we should show him how good I make you feel, baby. Show him you really are my girl. From now on the only slutty pictures of you are either going to be taken for me or by me, got it?”

“Yes daddy, I got it. I’m yours, only yours.” He snaps a few photos before setting the phone down on the counter. He grabs onto the back of your neck, pulling your head up so you can see in the mirror.

“Look at yourself, look at what a little slut you are for my cock. Is that fucking drool?” He laughs condescendingly, a smug smirk spread across his lips.

You look at yourself in the mirror, your makeup is running down your cheeks, your hair is a disaster from how Rafe had been tugging on it, and there was in fact, drool dripping down your chin to your chest. Your eyes travel up to Rafe and you feel like you’re going to cum right then and there. His hair is hanging in his eyes slightly but you can see them enough that the look he gives you in the mirror makes your head spin. His toned chest is covered in a thin layer of sweat and the feral moans leaving him are your new favorite sound. His hand grabs onto the front of your throat, pulling you up so your back is against his chest. The new angel has him hitting deeper and you feel that coil in your belly starting to wind up again.

“Fuck daddy, I’m gonna cum, feels so good, please let me cum.” You reach behind you, threading your fingers into his hair while you push your hips back against his.

“Look who can be a good girl after all, asking me to cum without me even having to tell you? That’s such a good little bunny. Go on then, cum for daddy.” His fingers find your clit and it sends you over the edge, your walls tightening around him. “That’s it, fuckin’ cum on my cock.”

He fucks you through it before chasing his own high. Pushing you back down on the counter by your lower back, he grips onto your hips, and drills into you harder than ever.

“This is the best pussy I’ve ever had, this is my fucking pussy, you’re mine. I’m gonna fill you up so full of my cum you’re going to have to walk out of this party with it dripping down your legs.”

“Fuck yes daddy, fucking fill me up, please? Want your cum.” The sound of you begging for his release does him in. Just a few more rough thrusts and he’s pushing his hips flush against your own, pumping his cum deep inside of you. He pulls out and grabs onto your asscheeks, pulling them apart so some of the cum would seep out.

“Don’t fucking move.” He grabs your phone off the counter and takes a few shots of your puffy pussy dripping with his cum. “Good girl.”

He grabs onto your shoulders, pulling you up and flipping you towards him in one swift motion. He grips your face in his hands, kissing you rough and wet and possessively. He pulls away and tucks himself back into his shorts before looking at your phone again, he goes into your texts with Jj and selects the photos he just took, typing out a message and hitting send with a satisfied smirk on his face.

“Told you she was my girl.”

[atebyflowers]

toxic!dealer!ellie who favourites you over everyone else, yet refuses to make your relationship offical. one in the morning parked outside of a gas station, rain drops falling outside the smoke-fogged windows, tears streaming down your face, your head laying on her shoulder — she's rolling another blunt and rubbing your thigh in an attempt to make you calm down. "i know baby, i'm sorry" she rasps out, dragging the blunt to her lips before placing it between yours. "you're not sorry" you choke out, sniffling as your wiped away your own tears with the sleeves of the sweater ellie lenses you whenever you smoked together. She sighed at your words in slight annoyance, trying to keep her tone relaxed — she leaned back further in her seat as she watched you clear your eyes, taking the blunt from your hands before speaking. "there's nothing to cry about y/n, you knew this from the start" she replied, taking another hit.

holding your face in your hands for a moment — in the limited space, you turn to face her. your eyes puffy and red, hers identical though for a different reason — she lets out another sigh before sitting up to be closer to you. your faces closer than ever, she places the half smoked blunt back on the tray before moving her hands to caress your cheeks. Giving into her touch, you let your eyes close for a moment taking in the feeling of her.

"you know why it's like this... can't lose business" she'd remind you. something everyone had reminded you. your friends called you an idiot for getting involved with her in the first place, insisting she was nothing more than a fuck girl who bribed every pretty girl she came across with free weed. constantly reminding you that she wasn't willing to settle down, that she needed to be available so girls would keep buying from her thinking they had a chance — just to end up fucked before she moves onto the next. with you, it was different in your mind. she never persuaded you the way she did with the other girls. with you, she spoke gently. never pushing for anything more than what you wanted. always prioritizing your needs over her own, something even your friends didn't believe at first.

yet, despite any of this — you weren't hers. you could never be hers she warned you from the beginning. ellie insisted it was nothing more than a friendship, telling you anything more would ruin her income. "then why do you keep me around" you spoke just above a whisper, her hands still placed on each side of your face. "i don't get it ellie. we've fucked so many times.... so many fucking times. you've got everything you needed. why do you keep bringing me back?" your eyes began to water again — ellie scoffing "you can't put all of the blame on me" she says, "you run when i call y/n". and with those words your laughing in disbelief. "god ellie you know why the fuck i come back" you raise your tone, ellies eyes locked on you as you push her hands away from your face — ellie letting you before she slightly guides your chin back to face her. "look at me" she breathes out and you obey — tears blurring your eyes. "you have more of me than anyone else..." she informs, using her thumb to catch the single tear you let fall. "isn't that enough?" she questions, her tone seeking your cooperation.

with her desperate eyes piercing through your body, you stood no chance playing against her games tonight. it was tiring to say the least, but everything in your body craved her. even if she wasn't yours — she was right. you had more of her than anyone, you should cherish it while it lasts. pleased as you give in, she kisses your temple before brushing your hair out of your face. "i'm yours right now" she adds on, "be mine right now" she states, you staring up at her with wide yet drained eyes. "are we done with this bullshit now baby?" "got it all out?" she questions, her tone almost mocking you. embarrassed, you simply nod, pulling yourself into her embrace. "atta girl" ellie praises, placing kisses on the top of your head as you conceal your remaining tears by burying urself into her body — back at square one.

[cxrrodedcoffin]

Rock Me - Spencer Reid

Likes are always appreciated but reblogs and feedback keep artists going!

Summary: Spencer decides to surprise Rockstar!Reader on the road after one of her tour stops, so they fuck each other’s brains out.

Word Count: 3.8k

A/N: I made my first custom fic header! I really wanted to capture the vibe I was picturing for this so I hope y’all like it! Decided to combine my love of music with my love for Spencer Reid, I was def picturing the vibes of The Pretty Reckless and In This Moment for the kind of band reader is the frontwoman of, reader plays the bass guitar because I always wanted to play bass when I was younger lol. Very short outro cuz I felt like it was getting a little too long lol, p.s. yes the title is a one direction song, fight me ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

TW: sub!spencer, mommy kink, established relationship, lots of teasing, playfully mean dom!reader, degradation, pet names, unprotected sex, penetration, afab + fem reader, slight alcohol mention, cum eating, oral sex (reader receiving), handjob, typical criminal minds level violence at the beginning.

Rating: R, 18+

——

You were a force of nature. Spencer knew that from the moment the team walked into that concert venue in search of a serial killer targeting high profile rock musicians. Your voice captivated him, strong melodies reverberating inside his mind, snaking around his every thought, he was hypnotized like a sailor drawn to your siren song.

When the unsub ran on stage and held a knife to your throat, Spencer’s heart stopped, until you used the headstock of your bass to uppercut the criminal, forcing him to drop the knife and stumble back into your bandmate’s drum set. You weren’t going to wait for someone to rescue you no matter what you were ordered to do, your fate was in no one’s hands but your own.

That was the moment Spencer knew he had to have you, and he’d do whatever it took to see you as often as possible. He spent the next six months bouncing back and forth across the country, from whatever state the latest case was in to wherever your next tour stop was. He couldn’t get enough of you.

Now, as he waited anxiously on your tour bus with a bouquet of your favorite flowers in hand ready to surprise you, he found his mind wandering back to every dirty encounter the two of you had leading up to this. He catered to your every whim, falling to his knees to eat you out whenever you asked, in your dressing room before a show, in the bathroom on the moving tour bus, even side stage right after you’d just finished performing, smelling like smoke and sweat, ripping your fishnets so he could devour your cunt on top of an amp.

What the two of you had was utterly filthy, and he loved every second of it. You hadn’t given him the pleasure of properly fucking you yet, but that’s not to say you disregarded his pleasure all together, far from it. You loved to let him put on a show for you, sitting on the bench across from him on the bus as you watched his brow furrow, his large hand fisting his cock impossibly slowly as you talked him through masturbation, reveling in the way he whimpered when you finally gave him permission to cum, shooting a massive load all over his lightly toned stomach.

He felt free with you, like he could lull the constant noise in his head for a short while and just be whatever you wanted in the moment, whether that be a loving boyfriend who’d hold you and let you bitch to your heart's content about your in-ears malfunctioning during the show, or a mere tool for your pleasure, he was content.

But right now, he was really, really hoping you’d use him like your own personal sex toy.

-

You raised your bass in the air, screaming an enthusiastic ‘goodnight!’ into your mic before running off stage, desperate to rip your clothes off and cool down after sweating your ass off under the stage lights for the last hour and a half.

You handed off your gear to the sound techs before saying congratulatory goodbyes to your band mates, making as close to an irish exit as you could, shaking off any fleeting guilt you had about it knowing you’d do the whole thing over again together in a couple days when you arrived in the next city.

You grabbed your bag from your dressing room, taking a couple snacks for the road from the basket the venue provided in accordance with your rider before heading out to the bus, ready to take a cold shower as soon as possible. You yanked open the bus door handle, climbing the short steps into the central seating area, nearly dropping your bag when you finally saw him.

“Spence!” You cheered, a little too giddy to see your boy wonder. You quickly tossed your bag aside and straddled his lap, taking his face in your hands and crashing your lips to his in an open-mouthed kiss. Your tongue danced with his, desperate to taste him after two weeks of no physical content. Spencer had sent you as many tribute videos as you’d asked for while you were apart, but it just wasn’t the same as getting to feel him.

When you pulled away, the deep red of your lipstick was smeared across his plush lips, and you would’ve giggled if the sight hadn’t turned you on so much. He really was so pretty, you absolutely understood why his teammates nicknamed him pretty boy. You kissed him one more time on the cheek, placing a perfect kiss print on his soft skin before reaching for the flowers he’d brought you. You took in the fresh floral scent, admiring the flora for a moment before thanking him and getting up to put the stems in the neck of an empty liquor bottle in lieu of a vase.

“I’ve missed you.” He sighed, wrapping his arms around your waist as he watched your handiwork over your shoulder.

“Not more than I missed you.” You challenged, setting the makeshift floral arrangement on the small countertop. You turned to face him, your platform boots putting you right at his eyeline. He may have been taller than you but that didn’t stop the hold you had over him.

“It doesn’t have to be a competition.” He laughed, pulling you closer.

“But it does Spence, do you know how many times I got off stage and wished you were there to see the killer show we put on?” You were earnest, something only he seemed to be able to pull out of your usually headstrong facade.

“Ah, every show you put on is extraordinary, watching you is transcendent, you’re otherworldly up there, even on what you consider your bad days.” He praised, showering you with his famously flowery language. You felt a special appreciation for it, because despite the messy rocker chick stereotype, you held a life-long love of literature close to your heart.

“God, you are so whipped!” You teased, lightly pushing at his chest. Despite your deflection, the blush creeping across your cheeks showed him just how much his words meant to you.

“Maybe, but I know you love it.” He called your bluff and the back and forth was starting to stir something in you that needed attention, now.

“You know what I missed the most?” You asked, unable to keep your eyes off of his mouth.

“What?” He knew where you were going with this but needed to hear the words from your perfect lips.

“Seeing you cum all over your stomach live and in person.” Your sultry tone sent blood rushing straight to his cock, eidetic memory pulling clips of your mutual masturbation to the front of his mind.

“W-what if I came somewhere else tonight?” He stumbled over his words, having a hard time maintaining eye contact as he asked the awkwardly worded question.

“Like where?” You played dumb, exaggeratingly tilting your head and twirling your hair around your finger.

“Inside you.” He whispered, gaze locked on the wall behind you.

“Hmm I didn’t quite hear that, can you repeat it for me?”

“Inside you, I want to fuck you.” He blurted out, lipstick-stained cheeks burning bright red in embarrassment. You took his chin between your fingers, forcing him to look at you as you pondered your next move.

“I have a mountain of fan mail full of guys begging for the opportunity to fuck me, what makes you think you deserve it more than any of them?” You prompted, watching the way his features contorted in reaction to your somewhat harsh question.

“You’re being mean.” Tears started to well up in his eyes, brown irises glazing over as a lump formed in his throat. Despite how sad the thought made him, it also had his bulge straining even harder against his pants than it already had been.

“I know baby, but you’ve gotta prove how badly you want this, I’m not just going to give you the privilege without earning it.”

You could see the wheels turning in his head, no doubt debating what he could do to demonstrate his worth to you. His demeanor started to shift, holding eye contact as his shoulders straightened, practically puffing out his chest.

“I think I’ve already proven myself to you, given that you’ve cum on my tongue more times than you could count.” This sudden surge of confidence from Spencer was unexpected, but something about it had you hungrier for him than ever.

“Fair, although I do think that eidetic memory of yours gives you an unjust advantage.” You teased, a small smirk forming at the corner of his mouth. You took a step forward, closing what small gap was left between the two of you before bringing your hand to graze over his bulge. He let out a breathy whimper, pupils dilating as you applied slight pressure to his almost painfully hard member.

“I’ll do whatever you want, I just need you to touch me.” He breathed, bucking into your hand. You began to undo his belt, pushing him back until he fell back onto the leather bench. You loomed over him, low cut top giving him a face full of cleavage as you worked to slide his pants down just enough to free his aching cock. You moved to straddle his lap, sitting back on his thighs to leave ample space to toy with his member.

“Can you be a good boy for me?” You purred, starting to pump your spit-covered hand up and down his shaft.

“God yes.”

“Yes, what?” You stared him down, watching his lips part with a gentle moan.

“Yes Mommy.” The groan ripped from his throat, prominent veins framing his adam's apple.

“That’s right baby, let mommy take care of you.” You kissed his cheekbone, then his jawline, admiring the way your crimson lipstick contrasted against his pale complexion as you worked your hand over his cock, feeling every curve and contour of his thick veins against your palm.

“Take off your shirt.” You ordered, your free hand skirting under his layered vest and button-up to feel his abdominal muscles flex with every shallow breath he took. He did his best to quickly undress, lifting the vest over his head before shaky hands began unbuttoning each adornment, finally shaking off the garment and exposing his bare chest.

You trailed your kisses down his neck, peppering lip prints across his chest, stopping periodically to suck and nip until dark red and purple bruises bloomed over his skin. You could tell he was holding back, front teeth biting into his bottom lip to stifle his sighs.

“Spencer, I need to hear you.” You bring your hand to a stop, waiting for him to release his lip from the bite before starting up your movements again. You brought your other hand down to cup his balls, gently massaging them as you increased your speed, rotating your wrist to maximize the stimulation against his increasingly sensitive shaft.

The moans and whimpers falling from his lips grew louder, his mind abandoning all inhibitions as his approaching orgasm clouded his judgment.

“You’re so loud, the rest of the band is in the bus right next to ours, do you want them to hear how big of a whore you’re being right now?” You teased, snapping him out of his love-drunk stupor.

“I-I thought you wanted me to-“ He stuttered out, brows furrowed in confusion.

“You’re right sweet boy, I want them to hear exactly how good I make you feel.” You cut him off, a wicked grin spread across your face as you focused your movements on the tip of his cock, your thumb smearing the pre-cum dripping from his slit all over the swollen head. His moan caught in his throat, breathing becoming increasingly labored until one final twist of your hand had him falling over the edge.

“Mommy!” He cried out, his thighs flexing as thick ropes of cum painted his stomach. You slowed your movements just slightly, milking him for all he has. You took your free hand and picked up some of his spend on your fingers before bringing them to his parted lips, prompting him to suck them clean. He does as he’s told, utterly shameless about everything he does for you.

“You’re such an obedient slut Spencer, I love it.” You praised, pulling him into another heated kiss. You pulled away, watching him catch his breath and look at you like you hung the stars in the night sky.

“I think you’re ready for me, if you’re up for it.” His eyes went wide at your proposal, his heart feeling as though it could beat right out of his chest.

“Yes, yes, I just need a minute.” He panted, his cock already semi-hard again.

“Take your time sugar, I’m gonna take a quick shower.” You patted his cheek before rising off of his lap and walking to the small bus bathroom, stripping out of your black latex mini dress and shredded fishnets to wash off the sweat and body shimmer from your time on stage tonight. You didn’t bother removing your makeup, too excited to finally have Spencer’s perfect cock inside of you to waste any time.

He didn’t need to know how badly you wanted him, the cat and mouse game the two of you played was unlike anything you’d ever had before and it beyond satisfied you to know how much power you willingly held over him, and how much pleasure you mutually received from it.

When you finished scrubbing down you made your way to your small bedroom at the back of the bus, finding Spencer ready and waiting for you on your bed. He was laying nude on top of the comforter, messy strands of hair resting against his forehead, pillow sitting in his lap as he propped himself up on his elbows to watch for you.

“You’re so beautiful.” He greeted you, watching as you rubbed body lotion over your skin. When you reached your chest, you spent a little extra time kneading the lotion into your breasts, putting on a bit of a show for him. He loved all of you, that much you were sure of, but he always had a special appreciation for your breasts.

He’d find any opportunity to lay his head on your chest while you laid in bed together on your off days, watching Doctor Who and nerding out over through lines and plot holes alike. It was days like those that had you really falling for him, your souls finding ways to both mesh with and contradict each other in a perfect harmony.

“You’re too sweet to me.” You smiled at him, rubbing the last bit of lotion into your skin before walking to the end of the bed. You reached forward, observing as his eyes went straight to your chest when you bent over to pull the pillow away from his lap. His cock stood straight up, bobbing slightly. A deep blush creeped over his cheeks, his shyness endearing, especially given that you had just had your hand wrapped around him twenty minutes ago.

“Do you want to be on top, sweetheart?” The thought hadn’t even crossed his mind, he just figured you’d be the one in control of the whole thing, but the thought of hovering over you, getting to have a perfect view of your hair all splayed out over the pillows, your face contorted in pleasure, had goosebumps rising over his skin.

“If that’s what you want.” He surrendered, always looking to please you. You nodded, climbing onto the bed to lay down, waiting for him to reposition himself between your legs. He knelt there, reaching to grab the pillow from the end of the bed, bringing it behind your thighs. You understood what he was silently requesting, lifting your hips to allow him to slide the pillow underneath.

“Where’d you learn that, wonder boy?” You giggled, propping yourself up by your elbows to watch him.

“I read that it can ease the tension on the lower back created by repeated movement during intercourse, I want you to be comfortable.” He explained, bleeding heart showing once again. You nodded, smiling at him. His fingers slid up your thigh, pausing at the apex before dipping into your folds, his digits welcomed by your warm arousal.

“Y-you’re so wet already.” The look of amazement on his face amused you, as if he was somehow completely unaware that you were, in fact, truly attracted to him.

“Spencer, believe it or not, I actually do enjoy our time together.” You teased, raising your knees to your chest to give him a better view of your cunt. His features softened, your joking easing his nerves as he prepared himself for what he was about to do.

“Can I start?” He asked, positioning his hips just above yours.

“Yes baby, go slow.” You locked eyes with him, pushing a strand of hair away from his face. He brought his cock to your cunt, rubbing the head through your folds before tapping it against your clit a few times, making absolutely positive that you were relaxed enough. He positioned his head at your entrance, slowly pushing forward until his head popped into your welcoming hole.

“Stop.” You commanded, voice firm. His eyes widened in panic, freezing his movements.

“W-what’s wrong? Are you okay? Did I hurt you?” He rambled, fear in his tone.

“I’m okay Spencer, I just want you to stay like that until I say otherwise.” He could hear the amusement in your tone and although he was no longer concerned, confusion quickly replaced it.

“Why?” He questioned, apprehensively obeying your request.

“I’m just doing whatever I want, just like you asked me to. I want to see if you can resist your urges.” He was almost annoyed, knowing that this was another one of your power plays, but the shiver that ran up his spine told you he was enjoying this just as much as you were.

So he stayed there, wincing every time you clenched your pelvic muscles around his tip, trying to break him. You knew it wouldn’t work, he was the definition of obedient, but it was oh so fun to watch him squirm in anticipation. After a good five minutes you decided you’d had enough, ready to let him fill you.

“You are so deliciously pathetic.” You laughed lightly, pulling him down into a kiss. You felt him smile against your lips, his hand snaking up your stomach to grope your breast. Your nipple hardened against his palm, drawing a low moan from your throat.

“Move, Spencer.” You finally gave him permission, your hand tangling in his messy locks. He pushed further into you, his thick girth stretching your walls in a way that had you begging for more.

“So tight.” He moaned, pausing to just feel the way your pussy hugged him before pulling out and thrusting quickly back into you, his eyes shut tight in concentration.

“Look at me.” You moaned, needing to see the pleasure in his beautiful eyes. His eyelids fluttered open, catching your gaze as he found a steady rhythm inside of you. Each thrust of his hips made the filthiest sound, wet slapping skin mixing with both of your moans, his whines and whimpering music to your ears.

The pillow beneath you made for the perfect angle, allowing the veins on this cock to rub deliciously against your sweet spot. He grabbed the side of your face, his mouth practically devouring you as he swallowed your moans. When we pulled away, a string of spit connecting your lips fell to your chest, and without hesitation he dipped his head down to lick it up, repeating your earlier actions as me marked your chest, working his way to your breasts.

He increased his speed, pumping in and out of you at an animalistic pace, his mouth finding your nipple and sucking hungrily. You threw your head back into the pillows, your hands finding his back and your acrylics digging into his delicate skin. You scratched up his back, surely drawing blood and for a split second you worried you’d taken it too far, until he moaned loudly against your chest.

“I’m gonna cum.” He panted, shifting so his face was above yours again. He looked to you for permission, but you weren’t going to let him off that easily.

“No, not until you beg for it.” You told him, digging your nails into his back again. He slowed his pace just slightly, his free hand finding your clit and rubbing quickly over it, hoping it would soften your conviction just a little.

“Please let me cum, I need it.” He weakly pleaded, his actions growing increasingly desperate.

“Come on baby, I know you can do better than that.” You encouraged him, rocking your hips to meet his thrusts. He whimpered, hanging his head for a moment to center himself.

“Please Mommy!” He groaned, watching your tits bounce with every thrust.

“Do it, fill up Mommy’s cunt Spencer.” You finally allowed him to let go, getting in a few more hard thrusts before his hips stuttered, his cock twitching and coating your walls with his warm cum. The feeling of his warmth deep inside coupled with his hand on your clit sent you over the edge, every nerve in your body on fire as the tension in your core dispersed through your body, the pleasure washing over you in waves.

When you both came down from your highs, Spencer collapsed face down on the bed next to you, his head turned to face you.

“I love you.” He whispered, half hoping he’d said it low enough that you hadn’t heard.

“I love you too, Spence.” You returned the favor, any fear he had immediately dissipating with the mutual confession.

——

Tag List: @pleasantwitchgarden @lover-of-books-and-tea

DM me or send me an ask if you’d like to be added to my general or spencer reid taglist :)

[shrimpybbq]

a timeline of rafe cameron and obx actress!reader’s character’s relationship (+ their real life one) pt 2

season 2: the yearning

season 2 is where rafe's obsession with iris really grows

he's constantly wondering about her, and how she feels about him. he's so convinced that she hates him and will never speak to him again, but he has this feeling that she won't report him

after john b and sarah 'died', iris spends more of her free time with the pogues. she comforts jj, and often seems to end up bailing him out of trouble

but they don't know that rafe's managed to get her phone number, and he keeps sending her messages trying to explain what happened on the tarmac - she doesn't respond

he even tries to go to her work, but she's not working that day

as rafe spirals, he genuinely feels she's the only one who would be able to understand him

he messages her before he goes to the bahamas

r: "hey, i'm gonna be gone for a few days, but i still really need to talk to you, ok?"

r: "please, i need to explain"

r: "just give me a chance to explain"

r: "please"

iris has him under his first initial in her phone, just in case any of the pogues happen to see her notifications. finally, she decides to respond, if only to understand more (and to get him to stop texting her)

i: "ok"

rafe literally shouts with joy seeing her response, no matter how dry it is. she's finally acknowledged him

while he's away, iris goes to see barry. her mom has been getting worse, and in a way, barry understands what she's going through. he's surprisingly good to talk to and the pair end up smoking together more than once, venting about their lives

in his deluded state, rafe truly thinks he will be able to win iris over with the gold. he's dreaming about paying for her mom's medical bills, winning her favour and looking after iris, living their happy little lives together forever

iris and rafe finally talk at tannyhill, rafe pleading that he was just trying to protect his dad. surprisingly, she listens intently, and lets out some small 'hmms' and 'mhms'. they get back to neutral ground, though she's still torn between what to do, but inside, she knows rafe shouldn't go to prison for a mistake

side note: ward oversees the pair talking, noting his son's wildly erratic hand gestures and decides to keep an eye on whatever is going on between the two

they're good for a few days, and then the pogues return to kildare with a very much alive sarah and john b, and everything changes once again

iris was so busy working that she hadn't had much to do with the gang, until jj texts her that john b had been arrested, and that rafe had tried to shoot them all - safe to say she's disappointed

oh but she's so mad when she hears of him trying to drown sarah, and she fully ices him out again

rafe kidnapping iris was not his finest idea, but she won’t listen to him after she hears and he’s just so mad. he’s got her in his car on the side of the road, just trying to get her to listen but she keeps telling him she “knows what he did”

rafe doesn't register what he's done until the sound of her sobs cut through his internal monologue, shamefully apologising and dropping her home, not even trying to say anything more

he’s just mean mean mean in this season bc he's hurt, but also he wants iris so bad and when she won’t even look at him, he can't control his actions

iris hears from the pogues that there is a warrant for his arrest and can't help feel concerned for him, only to be both shocked and concerned at the sight of ward cameron blowing himself up, her being the one to console sarah on the pier

everything is awkward between the pogues now, but it only gets worse once they see the texts on iris's phone following rafe's release from jail, him asking to see her...

they completely shut her out, refusing to even speak to her, and it only serves to push her further into rafe's (extremely willing) arms

he wants her to stay with him for the next few days, unknowingly about to bring her into all the drama with the cross

iris and rafe end up kissing for the first time just before he manages to get the cross for himself, and from then on, it's on between them - they're all over each other. think making out against the wall, in bed, on the couch

they both understand each other, able to see through the tough facade they put on and be vulnerable around each other. at their core, they’re just two hurt kids clinging on to each other

rafe literally thinks he will combust if she ever tries to leave him after he got a taste

unfortunately for him, he tries to get her to come along with him to guadeloupe, but she refuses

"Rafe, I can't leave my mom…. she can't survive without me," Iris whispered.

"No, no, c'mon, we can go together and I'll make sure she's got a carer and everything, the best medical treatment, ok? I just - I just need you with me for this," Rafe pleaded, desperation seeping through his tone.

"I'm sorry Rafe, but I can't."

and just like that, the beginnings of their relationship crumble, leaving rafe feeling betrayed, hurt and angry, spiralling as he lost something he barely had, and leaving iris all alone on kildare once the pogues get lost at sea, vulnerable and hurting

season 2: behind the scenes

heheheheehhehe

season 2 is where rafe and iris get closer, and the flow on effects are felt between drew and obx actress!reader

the kisses they share on screen are so steamy it has fans freaking out, especially at the quick glimpses they get of their tongues melding together. even people from outside the fandom start resharing videos of the kiss with hashtags like #wantthis #hot #menext

like i'm talking hands in hair and 'rafe' gripping her waist like he's about to be torn away, pulling away panting, red lips, etc.

drew and obx actress!reader had both spent time looking forward to the kiss, each secretly reminiscing on the kiss at jd's party. neither objected when they had to redo the take multiple times

the lingering touches shared between their characters are also picked up on, with rafe often touching iris and keeping her close by the end of the season

drew and obx actress!reader spent more time together this season working to develop their relationship after the directors told them more of the series plans, growing their bond even more

the attention on season 2 is greater this time around, with more fans and more people interested in the actors personal lives

obx actress!reader posts a few behind the scenes pictures, but nothing that really gets tongues wagging

it's a picture posted by madison bailey that does, with drew and obx actress!reader lying next to each other on a yacht, the pair side by side as they appear deep in conversation. fans go crazy from all angles, from the tiny bikini she was wearing to drew only in his swim trunks

the pics of them getting clingy and touchy later on in the evening don't ever make it out however….

the cast just sigh, having flashbacks to the 'friendly kisses' the pair always seem to share after a few drinks

in interviews, fans learn of obx actress!reader spending christmas at drew's and they just go wild, convinced the pair are in a secret relationship

with rafe and iris becoming more important characters in season 2, interviewers are lining up to film with the two of them alone, and for the few that manage, the views on the clip are sky high

it's literally just drew and obx actress!reader flirting and giggling the whole time with each other

obx actress!reader 100% simps for drew, complimenting his new look to the interviewer and saying he looks so handsome. drew can only blush and look down at his hands, all shy and cute

ok but lets talk about the bloopers!

it's the scene where they're in the car, rafe begging iris to listen to him after trying to drown sarah, and drew is waving his hands around wildly and accidentally hits her in the head. drew is instantly all over her, tenderly brushing her hair away from her head, checking in on her and apologising so much. it's quiet, but the microphones pick up on drew whispering "are you ok, baby? 'm so sorry"

but yet, they're not in a relationship??? and then drew starts filming hellraiser and people become convinced he's dating odessa??? and everyone is just so confused (including drew and obx actress!reader)

but then? there's pictures posted by paparazzi of drew and obx actress!reader together in new york, seeming far too close to be platonic and cuddling up against each other? queue even more confused fans

hehehe

Q: if i were to give obx actress!reader a love interest to spice things up and build some more angst, who would you want to see???

[bonnie-the-butcher]

Rip Tide | Chapter XV

[ MDNI ] [ word count: 9.482 ] [ Masterlist ] 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬: Canonverse/Canon-Divergent; Dark! Content; NSFW; Strong Language; Cheating; Drug Use; Mentions of overdose; Some shades of Munchausen syndrome from dear old Rafe; Manipulation; Toxic, obsessive behaviour; Stalking; Violence; DUBCON/NONCON; My writing is really pretentious and English is not my first language, so please feel free to call me out in whichever grammar mistakes you might find find.

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | You and JJ have always been in each other's orbit. He's your brother’s best friend, the guy you've known your entire life. He was kind, protective, familiar. You never meant for the two of you to start hooking up. And you never meant for it to last so long. But when this boy you thought you'd come to know like the back of your hand turns out to be no better than the men he'd warned you about, you find yourself in the sights of the guy he hates most, regardless of wether you want that or not.

A very Delulu Rafe for yall's viewing pleasure. Likes, asks, reblogs, and comments are always greatly appreciated! Thank you in advance for reading <3

You’re frozen in place.

His arms are locked around you, his whole body wracked with sobs so violent you’re almost frightened by them. 

You hold him back, your heart heavy, but your eyes stay fixed on the bike. His bike. Barry’s bike.

And though Rafe’s state unnerves you, your head spins at the thought of Bee—alone somewhere, spiraling, because someone stole the one thing he never lets out of his sight— Your fingers itch to pick up the phone again and call him, tranquilize him, tell him that the bike is here and safe, and that you’ll be there to pick him up soon enough.

But you can’t move.

You don’t want to.

Because you genuinely think Rafe might break if you let him go.

He still grips Barry’s helmet in his good hand as he pulls you in with it, his movements sending faint waves of smoke and menthol—the scent of Bee, of home, of something steadier than this—drifting between you.

Your lips part, arms tightening around him just enough that he relaxes into it. – How—Rafe, how did you get here? How did you drive like this— You could have crashed!

Your fingers ghost over his shoulder. His left one. The broken one. You can’t bring yourself to press any harder, not when he seems to be in enough pain as it is. But Rafe burrows in deeper and, almost as if demanding more of your touch, he brings his splint arm to yours and pulls it tighter around him. – He— He left me there. – He stutters, still hidden in your embrace.

– What?

– My dad! – His voice is as shaken as he is. Cracked, unstable. – He left me alone at the fucking station— He just— Just turned his back on me and left! – The image waltzes through your mind: Rafe, broken, bruised, with death still clinging to him, standing alone on the pavement as his father leaves him behind. You hold him tighter. – That piece of shit could have killed me! – He cries. – Baby, you didn’t see the car— It was totaled! The fucking— the door, my door, it—It was digging into my side, it could’ve—

You shush him as the words fade, lost in a fit of sobs. Your lips press against his hair as his face shifts over you, nosing along your skin, breathing in desperately, as if he’d been deprived of air.

The sobs shake him, wreck him.

There’s nothing else you can do but hold him. Nothing useful you can say. 

So you don’t.

You stand there in silence and let him cry as much as he needs to, wrapping around him like the cast around his arm, keeping him enclosed in this tight, too-tight, bind, trying to hold him together by force alone.

His sobs quiet slowly, but his breathing stays uneven, still pressed against your skin. You can feel the heat of it—quick, shallow, trembling. His whole body is shaking, his grip unrelenting.

For a moment, neither of you move.

Then, his fingers tighten around your arm, like he’s reminding himself that you’re here, that he’s not alone, that you didn’t leave too. – You didn’t see it, – He whispers again, smaller this time, as if he’s trying to convince himself instead of you. – You didn’t see what he fucking did, baby. The car was ruined!

– Rafe…

His name barely leaves your lips before he moves closer.

You feel the tension in his body slowly giving way, melting into something exhausted, desperate, clinging. His forehead presses against the side of your neck, and suddenly, it’s like he’s breathing you in, like he needs the scent of you, the feel of you, to remind himself he’s still here.

Your throat tightens.

His breath hitches against your skin, sharp, sudden, uneven. For a second, you think he’s going to speak again—say something, explain something, beg for something—but the words never come.

Instead, his grip tightens.

His good hand fists in your top, pulling you closer like it's a reflex, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. His splinted arm is still hooked around yours, his fingers curled weakly around your arm, and his forehead pressed against the crook of your neck like he’s trying to disappear inside of you.

And you let him.

You let him because you don’t know what else to do. You let him because if you move, if you step away, he might shatter right in front of you.

– Baby, – He whispers again, raw and painful, like he’s drowning, it sends guilt flaring in your chest.

Your throat tightens.

– I’m so sorry, Rafe. – You murmur, uselessly. Because it’s the only thing you can say. Because anything else would only make it worse. 

Then, so quietly, so brokenly, you almost don’t catch it, he whispers— He doesn’t love me.

Your heart drops.

His voice is hoarse, wrecked, barely more than a breath.

It’s the kind of tone someone only uses when they finally believe it. When they’ve tried so hard to pretend otherwise, for so long, that the truth feels like a knife to the ribs. 

That the idea of ever having believed it, hoped for it, thought of it is agonising.

You don’t remember when you had this realization about you and your own father, but you feel that ache, that all too present and all too empty ache burning through you as it burns through Rafe. And you exhale, shakily, your arms tightening around him on instinct. 

His resignation hurts you all the more, because you know that though there was never hope for you, Rafe and his father aren't yet completely lost. – He does. – You plead, and you mean it, or at least you think you might. – I know it's hard to see, Rafe, but he does love you.

He shakes his head against you.

– No, he doesn’t, – He rasps, like he’s arguing with himself now. 

– Rafe, he cares—

He doesn’t let you finish. – You don’t get it. He never did. He never fucking did.

Your fingers twitch against his back, the powerlessness overwhelming you.

Because you know this can be fixed, but you don’t know how to fix it.

You can’t fix it.

His whole body shudders, and suddenly he’s clutching you harder, closer, like he’s trying to crawl inside your skin, like it’s the only place left that he can feel safe. And you want, desperately, for him to feel safe, to feel that you’re there for him. But you can’t parent him.

You can’t protect him.

And, though your concern is true, there’s something strange in this.

Something that makes you feel uneasy, unsafe yourself.

You push the feeling down, despite yourself, holding him tight, as tight as you can hold him without making his injuries worse.

And then, softly, almost like a confession, he whispers:

– But you do. You love me.

The words slam into you. 

You freeze. 

He says it so easily, so matter-of-factly, as if it’s just… the truth. As if he’s already convinced himself of it.

Your head shakes on instinct, your body rejecting the words before you can even process them completely. – No, Rafe, I— Your voice comes out smaller than you mean for it to. Because suddenly, it’s too much. Suddenly, that part of you that was uneasy jumps, and everything pieces together: The way he clings, the way he buries himself in you, the way his body is shaking, but his grip is unrelenting— The way he says it as of it’s a fact, as if it’s something that’s been true forever, as if it’s something he’s always known.

You don’t know how to answer.

You don’t even know if you’re supposed to.

You’re not sure if it’ll make it worse.

But before you can say anything, before you even have the chance to think—

His breath stutters, and he pulls back just enough to look at you.

And suddenly, he’s too close. His forehead nearly brushes yours, his eyes searching your face, his good hand still tangled in the fabric of your shirt. 

You don’t know what to do.

You don’t know what to say.

He’s looking at you like you’re the only thing keeping him together, like you’re the last solid thing in this world, like if he lets go, he’ll fall apart completely.

And he laughs.

A ragged, broken thing, wet with tears, shaking through his whole body. And he repeats it, breathless, wretched. – You do. You love me. You love me.

He says it in relief, as if he's just discovered that whatever’s broken in him is something you can fix.

But you don’t know how to fix that.

You can’t fix that.

You can’t fix him.

You're not a cast. 

You’re not a doctor. 

You’re not a therapist. 

You can’t do anything about his pain.

You can’t even love him.

You just met him! —Your mind screams, already counting the days, the short few days you've known him. How little it should matter on a rational scale. How he should never, ever, impose that on you, much less in such short a time.

But you don’t say those things.

And you almost feel guilty for thinking them.

Your lips part, but no words come out.

You don’t want to say them. Not now. Not when it’s the last thing he needs to hear.

So, just for a minute, you let him be heavy.

You let him breathe.

You let him settle into the way your arms tighten around him. His heartbeat pounds against your ribs—frantic, uneven—until, eventually, gradually, it starts to slow.

And yet he’s still saying it.

Buried in your embrace, his lips move against your skin, and he keeps saying it.

And you let him. – You love me. You do. You do.

Your stomach sinks.

– You're not—You're gonna be alright, Rafe, – You murmur, barely above a whisper. Rafe exhales, a sound that’s half a sigh, half a hum. – You need to rest. – His fingers twitch against your back, but he doesn’t argue. – You’re too hurt for this, right now. You— You’ll feel better after you’re rested.

His grip loosens this time. Not completely. Just enough.

You pull back first. Slowly. Carefully.

His brows furrow, his eyes fixed on your skin, on the tattoo, where his lips had just been resting—like he might fight it, like he’s not ready to let go just yet.

But he doesn’t stop you.

You reach for his good wrist, curling your fingers around it, guiding him toward the bike. – Come on, let’s go. – Your voice is soft. Careful. Measured. Like you're talking to a child. – Where are the keys?

Rafe shakes his head. – No. No. I don’t— Baby, I don’t wanna go home. – His grip on you tightens, his breath hitching, fingers twisting into the fabric of your top, desperate. – I don’t wanna go home. I don’t wanna see him.

– Rafe— You try, but he doesn’t let you finish.

He shakes his head frantically, his hands tugging at you, clinging, pleading.

You hold his face.

Your thumbs brush over his damp skin, over the tear tracks still fresh on his cheeks.

You try to wipe them away.

You try to steady him.

You try to bring him back.

– We’re not going there, okay? – You murmur. – We’re not gonna see Ward. We’re not going to your place.

He blinks rapidly, his hands still shaking as they grip your wrists.

– Then where? – He breathes. – Why can't we just go to— why can't we just go to sleep on your bed? Why— Why can't we just stay here?

His voice cracks. His head is still shaking slightly, bangs falling into his eyes, even as you hold him steady, even as he holds onto you like you could disappear at any minute.

– Because Sarah’s coming. And John—John B. JJ and Pope and—and Kie. – His jaw tenses. – We don’t want that— Your stomach twists. You want to chastise yourself for saying it. As if there is a we, as if there could ever be we with you and Rafe. But when you look at him, his eyes are gleaming. – We— I don’t want that.

He nods, immediately, that panic in his voice fully gone. – Okay. – He murmurs, dazed, his eyes hazy with a mist of something warm, something crazy, something you don’t want to linger on. – Okay. Let’s go.

Rafe doesn’t ask where you’re taking him.

He just nods.

Wordlessly, he pulls what you assume are the spare keys of this bike from his pocket and drops them into your waiting palm. You watch him as you turn toward the bike, his hands never leaving you, still wrapped around your arm, your top, your hip. You watch the way he’s still staring at you, still trying to piece together whatever just happened between you two.

Your fingers tremble slightly as you lift the top-box, pulling out the second helmet.

They tremble even more as you fasten Barry’s helmet onto his head, your heart sinking as the scent fans over you again.

Later. You tell yourself. As soon as he’s calm, I’ll call Barry.

But you don’t know when he’ll be calm. 

If he’s gonna be calm at all.

You let out a slow breath, forcing yourself to remember the little you know about driving a motorcycle. Trying to push everything else aside.

You focus on the road ahead.

On the ground beneath you.

On this path you've trailed a thousand times.

You drive slow.

Not because you want to—because you have to.

Because you don’t know enough about driving a motorcycle to do anything else. Because every turn, every shift in weight, every slight press of the throttle demands all of your focus. Because every time you blink, you feel the speed dragging past you as if it’d rip you off the seat, like it did with JJ.

You’re glad for the odd red light, even as your feet tremble slightly when you rest them steady on the ground. But even when you’re still, Rafe clings to you like you’re flying.

His arms are locked around your waist, unrelenting, even with the duffel bag wedged between you, heavy on his lap. Even with it physically separating you, he clings to you anyway. 

And he doesn’t let go.

Not when the road smooths out.

Not when you slow even further.

Not when the trailer comes into view.

Not until you stop, the kickstand settling on the ground beneath you with a firm, final sound.

And even then, it takes him a second.

You pull the helmet off your head, but you breathe no easier for it. You’re glad it’s over, hoping you won’t have to ride a motorcycle ever again, but Rafe flinches into you, squeezing you in his hold as soon as you move.

– Rafe. – You say it softly, afraid to startle him. But he doesn’t move. – C'mon, let's go inside.

His grip tightens before it loosens, fingers twitching like they don’t want to let go.

Carefully, you reach for his helmet, sliding it off gently, setting it aside, watching as his gaze stays glued to you. His eyes are glassy, still. His face red, his lips bitten. But he looks much calmer, the tear trails barely apparent, dry, against his skin.

You stand, grab the duffel bag, shifting its weight onto your shoulder. But when you take the first step toward the trailer his fingers wrap around your wrist. The movement sudden, a desperate reflex. 

Like a Venus fly trap, it closes around you before you have time to think. 

It’s tight, tighter than it has to be. And it startles you.

You just stand there, waiting, wrist still caught in his hold, until he finally pulls himself up.

Even then he doesn’t let go.

His eyes cling to you, as if he’s taking note of every movement, every breath. The heat of his hand sears through your skin, tight, damp, calloused. But you don't move. His brows furrow slightly when you pull out the key Barry gave you this morning, the expression on his face almost judging as you let yourself in, pulling him with you.

But whatever is going through his head, he doesn’t say it.

He doesn’t say anything for a while.

Not until you sit him down on the couch, helping him kick off his shoes.

– Why are we here? – His voice is low, a little slurred, exhaustion pulling at the edges. The knit between his brows is still there, softer now, when you look up at him. – I don’t wanna see Barry. – His words are flat, sluggish, but something in his eyes flickers, sharp. – He almost killed me too.

Your brow lifts slightly, but you don’t say what you’re thinking— That he was the one who mixed coke and Xanax, that Barry wasn’t the reason he almost died— he was. You school your expression back to neutrality before meeting his eyes again.

– He's the reason you’re alive right now, Rafe. You would’ve died if he didn’t know what to do.

A sharp exhale leaves him.

– No. I would’ve died if you left me there. – His fingers twitch against his knee. – Which you didn’t. He did.

You inhale, the memory surging through before you can stop it.

His blown out eyes. 

The tremble running through his body.

The sinking, horrified realization that you had no idea how to help him. That he would die there, in your arms. 

In your panic, you didn’t account for how much worse it would’ve been if Barry hadn’t been there. But you remember so clearly, the relief that washed over you when the charcoal purge began to show results. When he shot back to life, when he wretched, when he spoke.

It didn’t take you long to realize that relief was owed to Barry.

– Barry was the one that got me the things to wash the drugs out of your system. – You say, the memory still clinging to you.

– Yeah, and then he promptly fucked off! I was sitting there, dying on you and he fucking left!

You breathe in again. – I would have stayed with you either way, Rafe. Even if he wasn’t there to begin with. The difference is, if he hadn’t been there to tell me what to do, I would’ve been there to see you die from an overdose. Not to see you well again.

He’s shaking his head before you even finish, with that bitter laugh still on his lips. – He did fuck all—

– He still saved your life. – The retort is ready in his mouth, but you cut him off before he even starts. – Let’s not talk about this, Rafe. Please. The last thing you need right now is to stress yourself out. – Your voice stays even, steady, but he doesn’t like it.

His jaw twitches, his knee bounces, his fingers drum against his thigh—but he doesn’t argue. Not out loud. Not yet.

You push off your knees to stand, reaching for the blanket draped over the couch.

– Where are you going?

It’s softer this time. Sadder. No sign of the sharp, bitter annoyance he had only a moment before.

You sigh. – It gets really cold in here when the sun goes down. I’m just gonna grab you a blanket.

A pause. A breath. Then—barely above a whisper— You don’t wanna be near me?

Your hands still, brows drawing together. 

It's absurd.

It's ridiculous.

You don’t know how he shifts between moods so quickly, how he can say things like that seriously, with a straight face. – W–What?! Why would you say that?

– Just asking. – His head tilts back, eyes fluttering shut for a moment, but his fingers twitch—restless, needing. – It’s like you can’t wait to get away from me.

– Rafe, – You inhale, slow and steady, though your thoughts are anything but. – You know that’s not what I’m doing. 

He hums, but doesn’t sound convinced.

His hand wraps around your wrist before you can drape the fabric over him, pulling you closer.

– Can you sit with me for a minute? – It’s so quiet now, so careful, like he’s afraid  you’ll slip right through his fingers if he speaks too loud. His hand tightens around yours, his grip warm, insistent, pressing your palm against his chest. You feel the unsteady drum of his heartbeat pulsing quietly beneath the heel of your palm, and you remember holding him there, after he nearly died, trying to will yourself to realize he was alive.

You pull your hand back, pushing him to lay down. – You need to rest, Rafe.

– I’ll rest if you stay. – He tugs at you before you can move too much, his forehead dropping against your shoulder, breath brushing your collarbone, curling into you like it’s instinct. Like he doesn’t even have to think about it. Like he’s done it a thousand times before. His fingers slide from your wrist to your waist, curling in tight. – I slept so good when you laid with me yesterday, baby. So good.

You don’t want to remember that.

Laying there, under him with his words echoing in your mind. Leaving, sneaking out like a criminal. Praying that he was asleep every time you had to return.

The feeling clings to you as you shake your head. – You were sick. Probably hadn't slept very well before.

– I never do. – He mumbles, his grip is like quicksand. You’re quiet, trying your best not to move, but you can feel the slow pull of him around you, dragging you down. – I never dream, I wake up too much, and I always wake up tired. But not yesterday. – He hums. You're closer than you realized you were, his arms wrapped around you completely. – I slept so good, baby. And I slept all day. I even dreamed.

It's like an endorsement, almost a compliment, but you don’t really know what he's getting at. – It might have been the fever, Rafe. You did have a temperature.

He shakes his head. Soft, quiet. And he ends up nuzzling against you, almost unconsciously, until he's holding you tight enough that it's getting hard to breathe. – It was you. – He murmurs, voice thick, certain. 

Your breath catches.

– Rafe—

– I never dream, – He says, cutting you off like he knows what you’re about to do—like he knows you’re about to brush him off, push him away, try to put space between yourself and this moment. His grip tightens, just enough that you feel the start of pain, the pressure of his fingertips against his skin. Like a threat. His fingers slide against the fabric of your shirt, curling into your waist, steadying himself—or maybe steadying you.

His breath is warm against your skin, words creeping into the hollow of your throat, sinking into you, trapping you there.

– I never sleep through the night. I wake up too much, I— He exhales sharply, and it shudders through his whole body, shaking against yours. – It's like being half-awake y’know? But not when you were there. Not when I could feel you.

– You were sick, Rafe. – You try again, quieter this time, softer, measured. It barely crosses your mind that he seems to have gotten well awfully quick. – Sick and exhausted. If the fever didn't knock you out, I'm sure that the amount of Tylenol you took might have.

He shakes his head again. More insistent this time. His forehead presses against your shoulder, deeper, firmer, his voice slipping between the cracks of your resolve, whisper-soft, careful, certain.

– It was you. – He repeats, leaving you no space to question him. His fingers shift, dragging slightly up your side—not enough to push you, not enough to startle you, just enough that you feel it. Just enough that it lingers, that it brands itself into your skin.

He exhales again, slower this time, like he’s finally breathing, like he can finally let himself settle.

Then—soft, raw, a whisper so quiet you almost miss it— I dreamed of you. – He hums. – Before you came up to see me. Before you took care of me. It was like molly, baby— He laughs, low, almost absentminded. – I swear it felt like molly. My whole body was light. Like I was floating. Like I was— He laughs again, but it's darker this time, tinged with something else. – tingling.

You don’t say anything.

You don’t want to ask.

He shifts.

His lips brush against your jaw, barely there, not quite a kiss but close enough to burn.

– You make it quiet, – He whispers, his breath warm against your neck. – You—even in my dream— He exhales sharply, suddenly, as if it’s a relief to say it. – I don’t feel like this when I’m not with you. – His lips press to your skin now before he laughs, the outline of his smile forming against your collarbone, his teeth only barely brushing you, just enough to let you know it's there. – This light. It's like my brain is empty. Like— like it’s okay to just be.

You don’t respond, you don’t know how to. But your body does, even if quietly: The feeling doesn’t even bother to sneak up on you, it springs suddenly from the center of your chest— heavy, aching, breathless. You feel the need to coil in, to clutch your chest, to curl forward, but you can’t. Because it paralyzes you— Dread.

It flutters down your spine, like a flame consuming paper, and it settles in your ribs, pulling the bones within itself until it hardens. 

Your hands shake.

Your head spins.

You want to run. You want to shove him away. You want to curl into yourself, wrap yourself in your own arms and let it fade.

But you don’t give it the time.

You push it down before it settles any further, forcing your mind away. Not now. Not now. Not now.

You think of Barry. You think of how you need to get Rafe down, how you need to talk to Barry, how you need to get to him before he does something stupid, before he puts a target on someone’s back.

The feeling is still there, and it still aches, but you ignore it, hoping that’ll make it go away.

– Rafe, – You murmur, voice careful, even, like you’re not drowning with the weight of him. – You need to sleep.

He hums, lazy and warm, already pressing deeper against you. – Yeah, I do. – His grip tightens at your waist, his body shifting like he’s pulling you with him.

And he does.

Like a bag of stones tied around your middle, he sinks, and pulls you down with him.

He lays back against the couch not even hesitating, not even asking, just moving you as if you're an object he can just move around at will, as if you're something that belongs to him. As if whatever it is that he’s pulling you into isn’t gonna drown you, even if you’re already gasping for air.

Your breath stutters as his good hand slips against your back, pressing, anchoring, holding you over him like you’re something to be kept, to be guarded. – Put me to sleep, baby. Tuck me in.

His eyes are hazy when he looks at you. Soft and unfocused, dark in the dim light.

You swallow hard.

Your fingers twitch against his chest, then drag up, feather-light, brushing against his broken wrist.

– I don’t wanna hurt you. – You say quickly, the excuse coming so easy, so smooth, you almost believe it yourself.

Rafe makes a sound—something between a scoff and a groan. His head tips back, eyes fluttering shut, like he’s frustrated, like you’re ruining something. – Baby—

You don’t let him finish.

You kiss him —Quick. Thoughtless. The first thing that comes to mind.

It’s not soft. It’s not slow. It's not a choice. But you let it linger, enough that you feel him react.

His lips are warm, parted in surprise for all of a second before he exhales sharply through his nose, and his fingers twitch against your waist, just barely, just enough.

You pull back just as fast.

The taste of him lingers.

He stares at you.

Something dark gleams behind his gaze, something satisfied, something pleased.

He doesn’t say anything else as you stand, leaving him there, eyes still fixed on you, still lingering, breathlessly, over your face, your body, your hands, your phone. – What are you doing baby? – The words leave him in a stumble, almost in shock. – Come back.

– I’ll be right back, okay?

– What— Baby? – You don’t give him the time to argue before you make a turn for the bathroom, closing the door behind you.

You're pressed against the door, sharply aware of the broken lock, your hand still tight around the handle, and you fumble around with your left hand, scrolling through the contacts until you find him.

You’re praying now.

Praying he hasn’t beat some random person up because he thought they had something to do with it. Praying that he hasn’t broken anything in a fit of rage. Praying that he just picks up the fucking phone already.

The line barely rings once before—

– Sweetheart— What the fuck— Barry’s voice is sharp, furious, cutting through the line like a live wire. – Some piece of shit just fucking stole my bike, man, I swear to fucking God—I don’t know who the fuck he think he is, but I'm gonna gut this motherfucker—

– Bee—

—I leave it for two seconds, two fucking seconds, and some dickhead thinks—

– Barry—

—He don't know who the fuck he's messing with— I swear to fucking God, sweetheart, you better not tell me to calm down cause—

– It was Rafe. – Silence. You hear his breath across the line, heaving, thoughtless, suddenly gone. The anger shifting into confusion. – He took your —well, his bike— He's here. At your place.

– What?!

You exhale, pressing the heel of your hand against your forehead. Your reflection not half as jumbled as you feel. – It was Rafe, – You repeat, steady, measured, trying to keep the conversation stable before it spirals. – He took the bike. He came here. The bike is fine, by the way. It's not scratched, it's not broken. It's just the way you left it.

– The bike— He stutters, scoffs. – Sweetheart, you think I care about the fucking bike?! What the fuck is he doing at our place?!

You can hear it. The way his breath tightens, the way something in his mind clicks, the way all that anger shifts into something else.

You can’t see him, but the expression comes so clearly to you then: the furrow of his brows, the way his lips wrap around words that don’t come out, the way he shakes his head maniacally.

You can feel the anger through the line.

His voice suddenly drops, lower, serious, edged with something dark. – What’s going on? Are you okay? Did he do anything? Is he high? I swear to fucking God, sweetheart, if that piece of shit is high—

– Barry, it’s—

– Did he do anything to you? Did he hurt you?!

– No. – You say it quick, firm. – He's just—he was just upset, alright? He's fine. It's fine. I’m fine.

You cringe at yourself. “He's fine” What does that matter to Barry? He doesn’t care. You open your mouth, thinking of reeling it back, of saying something else, but you’re met with silence.

A kind of silence you know very well.

Barry doesn’t believe you.

You can hear it, in the way he exhales through his nose, sharp, frustrated, as if you’re a kid caught in a lie. – Sweetheart—

You cut in before he can start rambling – I’m coming to get you. Tell me where you are.

He laughs, disbelieving. – What do you mean you're coming to get me? You can't drive a bike!

You open your mouth to argue, the retort already sitting at the tip of your tongue, but just as you part your lips you hear a knock.

Soft. Almost hesitant.

The door creaks open before you even say anything.

Your grip tightens, and you lean it against the sink. You can hear Barry, the echo of his voice as you lower the phone, the call still on.

Rafe stands in the doorway, his body heavy with exhaustion, his eyes hazy, dark, searching yours. His fingers curl loosely against the frame like he needs to steady himself, like he can barely stand.

And his voice is thick when he speaks, low and quiet, like something sticky, something sickly sweet. – What’re you doing? – He asks. It’s not accusing. It’s not demanding. It’s almost whining. – You keep running from me. What— what's going on?

His voice is thick, sticky with exhaustion, but there’s something else curling under it—something needy, something that pulls.

You grip the phone tighter.

– I'm just talking to Barry, – You murmur, your stomach dropping, your voice careful. You're not even sure what you're being so careful about. – Everything's fine, Rafe. Go lie down.

He frowns.

It’s small at first, barely noticeable, just the slightest twitch of his brows— But then it lingers. Settles.

Annoyance.

Like something about what you just said doesn’t sit right with him. – Barry? – He repeats, slower this time, like he doesn’t like the way the name feels in his mouth.

His fingers tighten against the doorframe.

You swallow. – Yeah. You did take his bike.

Rafe exhales through his nose. A little sharp. A little off. His lips press together. You know that look.

His fingers flex against the doorframe, quick, thoughtless, frustrated.

– S’not even his bike. – He mumbles. It’s quiet. Almost as if he's talking to himself. But he still eyes you, his brows furrowed, his lips pursed in something like a pout. – It's mine. I left it with him, but the bike is mine.

You hear the ghost of a commotion from Barry's end, a string of curses, maybe a scoff.

You blink at him.

– Rafe—

His frown deepens, the sulk setting in. Digging in. His fingers drum against the wood, slow, deliberate, as his gaze flickers—phone, you, phone, you.

– Why are you even talking to him? – It’s childish in a way that should make this whole thing feel stupid, but instead it just pulls tighter around you. Because his voice is still thick, still cloying, still sticking to your skin like something you’ll never be able to wash off.

Your fingers tighten against the sink.

– I'm gonna go pick him up.

His brows furrow, his lips parting like he’s about to argue— But then his gaze flicks to the phone again.

And something shifts.

– Hang up. – It’s soft. Simple. A request, not a command. But it makes your stomach twist anyway. Because his eyes don’t leave yours as he says it, his fingers curl against the doorframe tighter, for all the softness in his voice, there’s something wrong under it.

– No. Rafe, go lie down, okay? It's fine.

– Why do you even have to go? Can't he get here on his own? – His voice climbs higher, just slightly, frustration burning at the edges, barely there. But you've known enough men to know that they can swing from mild irritation to outright rage faster than your eye can flick. And you freeze. Looking at him, quietly, not sure of what to do.

You tilt your head and look down —Another one of your mother’s tricks. Her favorite way to make someone feel bad about raising their voice to her— Rafe stills, looking at you carefully. – He can get here on his own. That’s all I’m saying. It’s late to be riding around alone, why would you go out right now?

– It won’t take me long. –  You exhale slowly, keeping your voice quiet, sweet. – I’ll go straight there and back. – You pick the phone back up. – Just tell me where you are, Bee.

Barry doesn’t answer right away.

The line is quiet.

You can almost hear him thinking, the way his jaw tightens, the way he’s probably running scenarios through his head.

A sharp breath. A reluctant sigh. – Near Shoreline. By the lot. Don’t bring him, sweetheart. I know how long it’ll take you to get here. I’m waiting for you.

Your fingers tighten around the phone. – Okay. I’m just heading out.

– Careful. – Barry warns, the edge of annoyance already bleeding through his tone.

You don’t get another word out before Rafe scoffs. – Why can’t he just get the bus? What, he doesn’t have legs or something?

Silence. Barry reacts exactly how you expect him to. – What the fuck did he just say?! – Barry’s voice is sharp, biting, all that earlier restraint snapping in an instant.

You don’t look at Rafe.

You won’t.

– Bee—

– No, no, no, don’t fucking ‘Bee’ me right now— The words come fast, heated, like a lit fuse burning too close. – Tell me he didn’t just say that shit. Tell me I’m fucking hearing things.

Rafe exhales through his nose, tilting his head, looking at you with something slow and amused burning in his eyes. His fingers flex against the doorframe again, looser this time, like this whole thing is suddenly entertaining to him. – I mean, does he?

You stiffen, raising a brow. – Rafe.

His lips twitch, a barely-there smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. He’s amused, but he isn’t happy. There’s still something angry behind his expression. – I’m just saying, baby. He’s a big boy, right? He can get himself home.

– Just—stop, – You mutter, voice low, trying to push forward, trying to not let this turn into something bigger. But it already is.

– Sweetheart, – Barry bites out, voice rough, dangerous. – Put me on speaker.

Rafe scoffs, the previous softness of his voice suddenly vanishing. – Oh, I can hear you just fine—

– No, no—I’m heading out. I’m heading out right now. Stay with your phone. I’ll be there in a minute, okay? Bye. – Barry still tries to argue, his words coming through in rapid-fire before you hang up.

Rafe stands before you, his arms crossed, that same conflicting expression clear as day on his face. – Baby,

– I’m heading out. It won’t be long. 

You walk around him, your mind moving as quickly as you, but even still, you’re not quicker than Rafe. His good hand wraps around your arm, pulling you back.

Not hard.

Not tight.

But firm.

Enough to stop you.

– Stop running from me! – The amusement is gone, buried. 

You force a breath.

– I’m not running from you Rafe. Barry's all alone there. I have to go.

His fingers twitch against your skin.

– Feels like you are. – His voice dips lower, tired, needy. But there’s a tick on his jaw that keeps you on your toes. – You keep doing that. We’re here, and we’re fine, and I know you wanna stay as much as I want you to, but you keep fucking running!

You shake your head, trying to pull away, but his grip tightens. Just slightly. Just enough.

– Rafe—

– It’s always someone else. You can never just let yourself enjoy your time with me, even when I know you want to. It’s your brother. Then it’s JJ. Then it’s Kareem. Then it’s Barry— He stops, laughing bitterly. – It’s always Barry though, isn’t it? – He scoffs, the sound is cold, sharp, humorless. – You’re always going to him.

Your stomach twists. – That’s not what I’m doing—

– Yeah, it is! – He shouts, his head tilting, that amused, irritated look still clinging to his face. – You’d rather go drive to fucking Shoreline to pick up him than stay here with me. What, you like him more than me or something?

Your brows furrow.

The answer is obvious. 

Barry’s been your best friend since you were twelve and he was fifteen. You’d known him for the better part of your life. Of course you like him more than someone you just met.

So why does it feel like you can’t say it? – That’s not what this is about, Rafe.

– Mm. – He hums low, dragging you closer without even thinking about it. – It is, though.

– Rafe, I have to go.

He blinks at you. Then, his lips part, brows furrowing like you just said something that genuinely confused him. – Do you? – His grip stays firm. He pulls you even closer, until you’re close enough that his breath fans warmly against your cheek. – You know what I think? I think you’re scared of what you feel for me. 

You bite back the scoff that threatens to leave your lips. – I beg your pardon?

His grip doesn’t tighten, doesn’t pull, doesn’t force—but he doesn’t let go.

– You keep running, baby, – He murmurs, voice dropping lower, almost soothing, almost gentle, like he’s comforting you. – Every time we get close, every time it starts feeling real— you run to someone else. Because you’re scared.

– Rafe—

– It’s okay, – He cuts in smoothly, nodding like he’s just realized something life-changing. His broken hand moves up, brushing a piece of hair from your face. – I get it, now. I didn't before, but I do know. It’s scary, isn’t it? When you left with JJ that night I was so fucking angry, y’know? It just didn’t make sense to me why you'd wanna spend time with that fucking nutjob. But it’s so clear to me now. That you love me. That you’re just scared of admitting it.

Your pulse jumps. Your head shakes on impulse, uncontrollably. – Rafe—

– I get it. I get it, baby. Because I feel it too. Fuck, I’m crazy about you. Crazy. Actually insane. – His eyes are burning into yours now, something unshakable behind them. – But I’m not scared of it anymore, okay? I'm a proactive type of person. I know what I want. I know what this is. And I know you feel it too. – His fingers trail down your arm, slow, light, tracing you like he’s memorizing you. – You’re just not ready to admit it yet.

His voice is soft. Patient. Like he’s forgiving you, when you didn't even do anything wrong.

Like he’s waiting for you to finally understand.

Your jaw clenches. You can’t stop shaking your head, as if you’re denying that this is happening, as if it could make it suddenly turn back to normal. – There’s nothing to admit, Rafe.

His lips twitch with that same almost-smile. – You do that. – He chuckles, pointing at your face. – When you lie. You won’t stop shaking your head. Like your body is rejecting it. It’s okay, baby. I’m not mad. I can't be. You’re too cute. Even when you’re lying, you’re so fucking cute. – He says again, that awful, calm, patronizing reassurance dripping from his voice. – You don’t have to say it. I know it’s hard for you.

– Rafe—

– You get all stiff when you’re in your feelings. – His fingers press lightly against your arm, like he’s demonstrating it, like he’s proving a point. – You don’t even notice, but I do. You get quiet. You try to act all normal, like nothing’s happening. – He exhales slowly, shaking his head, like this is something he’s studied, something he’s memorized. – But I see it, baby. I always see it. I always see you. – Your pulse jumps, your voice solid, stuck in your throat. – You’re scared.

– I’m not scared of you, Rafe. – You say it like a mantra. More to yourself than to him.

– I didn’t say you were. –  His grip loosens—but only so his hand can slide down, catching your fingers, lacing his through yours. – And you don’t have to be. I’m not John B. I’m not JJ. You think I didn’t see him yesterday? The way he grabbed you? The way he pulled you onto my bike? I did. JJ’s a fucking psychopath, okay? He’s insane. And I’m not like him. That’s why you’re not scared of me. Because you know this. Deep down. You know I won’t hurt you like he does. But you’ve never felt like this before, have you? That’s why you’re scared of this, of this feeling. – His eyes flicker between yours, searching, certain. – But you don’t have to be.

He lifts your joined hands, presses them against his chest— And you feel it, the racing, uneven thud of his heartbeat beneath your palm.

– See? – His lips part slightly, breath shaky, his voice softer now, almost sickly with this delusional sincerity. – You see what you do to me?

You pull back, your body moving on nothing but instinct, but he doesn’t allow you much. His good hand is still entwined with yours, still holding you to him. He gives you an inch, just enough to put space between you two, but no more than that.

– I have to go. – Your voice wavers, just slightly, just barely, but it’s enough. – Please, just—just let go of me, okay?

Rafe laughs.

It’s low, deep, a quiet chuckle that rumbles through his chest, and you feel it vibrate against your palm as he presses your hand tighter into him.

– It’s okay, baby. – His voice is so fond, so soothing, like he’s talking you down from something, like he’s reassuring you. – You’ll learn. Eventually, you’ll learn. You’ll learn you don’t have to run from me. That I’m right here, right where you need me. That I can wait. – His fingers trail slowly along your side, his grip never fully loosening, just shifting, just lingering. – I’m the only one that’ll make you feel like this.

Your breath catches.

– I know what you feel, baby. – His heartbeat thuds against your palm, fast and uneven, but his touch is steady, his grip firm. – Because I feel it too. I tried to run from this for so long, baby. So long. You can't even imagine.

You swallow, your throat tight, your skin buzzing under his touch, painful, electric, a shock that goes on forever, a breathless pain you can't escape. 

– Rafe—

– It's okay. – He shakes his head slightly, tilting it just enough that his forehead nearly brushes yours. – You don’t have to explain it to me.

His other hand moves—slow, careful—his fingers ghosting up your arm, skimming your shoulder, the touch barely there, like he’s memorizing the shape of you.

Like he’s done it before.

Like he’s done it a thousand times in his head.

– I already know. You don’t have to be scared, baby, – He murmurs, and the way he says it makes something cold creep up your spine. 

– Rafe—

– I mean, I get it. – His lips twitch, like this is some inside joke between the two of you. – It’s big. It’s intense. It freaks you out, doesn’t it? – His thumb brushes over your wrist, right where your pulse is racing, and he smiles. – I can feel it, you know? You don't realize it yet, you keep pushing it down, but I know how you feel about me. That’s why you keep running.

You exhale sharply, your head still shaking, your pulse roaring in your ears.

– I’m not running.

– You are.

– Rafe—

– It’s okay. – He says it again, and he looks at you, like you're this scrawny kitten, hissing out of fear. You always thought you preferred pity over loathing. Always wondered whether the overly honorable people of the world only hated pity because they've never felt what true hatred was like. But Rafe's sympathy is almost repulsive, somehow making you feel even smaller. – I told you baby, I get it. You’ve never had anything real before. You don’t know how to handle it. It's okay.

You stiffen.

– That’s not true.

– It isn’t? – He laughs, his hand tightening around your wrist, just slightly. – Be honest with me, baby. What, you think you and Barry were ever serious? That he didn't talk about you like you were some random bitch he could fuck on a Thursday night? – He says it just to hurt you. And it does. But not for the reason that he thinks. – He doesn't care about you! He never did! You're just a thing to him! But not for me! I care about you!

– Rafe—

His eyes are feverish, something dark flashing through them as he leans in. Possessiveness. – No one’s ever made you feel like this before, have they? – He smiles, completely convinced your baffled silence is affirmation. – It’s different with me, isn’t it?

– That’s not—

– It’s okay, baby. It’s supposed to be different. It's different when it's meant to be. 

Your stomach drops.

Something in his eyes shifts, and his shoulders drop, like he's just confessed something, like he’s finally put it out there.

– Rafe.

– You think I haven’t been watching you?

The words slam into you.

Your breath hitches.

Your whole body freezes.

But Rafe just smiles.

– I see you, baby. – His fingers trail up your arm, barely skimming the fabric of your top. – I’ve always seen you.

Your skin prickles.

– Rafe—

– You saved me before. – He hums, the glimmer in his eye so warm, so bright, you think you're staring at a flame. – I know you don't remember. But you did. You saved my life. Right here. – He pats the couch behind him, leaning on it, pulling you against him with such ease your body freezes all over again. – Barry’s birthday, remember? You were wearing your pretty little blue pleated skirt, carrying around that cake for people to write on with frosting.

– That was three years ago, Rafe.

He doesn't even listen. – Kelce’s got me some weird speedball thing. Fucked me up. I swear I could feel my fucking cells dying in me, one by one. – His eyes fill with tears, his hands shake. – I was sitting here, dying, fucking gasping on this couch and nobody did a fucking thing. Nobody. Not Topper, not Kelce, not Barry. Not even the bitch I brought over with me, she didn't do anything. But you did. You did.

– Rafe—

– You sat here with me, drunk off your fucking mind, and gave me water, you let me cry, let me hold you, stroked my hair like you do. Calmed me down. You slept right here. – He pulls you into his chest, and you yelp, but he doesn't hear you. It’s like he's in a daze. – Right here. Right on my chest. Curled up next to me like some bunny, shit, you were so fucking cute, and it was driving me fucking insane.

He leans in, taking a fistful of your ass as he noses at your neck, inhaling you like a feen.

– Stop it!

– Bouncing around next to me. That tiny little skirt riding up— His eyes roll back, breath coming out heavy, shallow, desperate. You feel his teeth graze your skin as you struggle, pushing him away. – fuck baby, you don't know how much it took for me not to fuck you right there.

Your whole body locks up.

Your stomach drops.

– Rafe—!

His breath is hot against your neck, wet, his lips brushing, his teeth grazing, his fingers tightening over your ass, digging in like he’s claiming you.

Like he already has.

– You were so fucking sweet to me, baby, – He groans, his voice low, rough, thick with something deep, something primal. – Holding me, stroking my hair, whispering to me like you fucking meant it.

– I didn’t— Rafe! I was out of my mind!

– Shhh. – His other hand drags up, his palm flattening against your back, spreading wide, pressing, holding you closer. – You did, baby. You did. You just don’t remember. You didn’t have to do it. – His lips graze your ear, his voice soft, low, like he’s confessing something sacred. – Nobody else did. Nobody else cared. But you did.

His fingers dig in, his body pressing, his breath coming faster, heavier, like he’s dizzy on the memory, like it’s drugging him all over again.

– You didn’t even know me, and you saved my life. You saved my life like it was nothing.

– Let go of me, Rafe!

– You saved me. You did. And you keep doing it. You do— Baby, you’re perfect. – The words come off in a gasp, breathy, dazed, like he can’t believe this is actually happening. – I spent three years trying to tell myself that I was only fucked up about you because you're crazy fucking hot. Because you’re nice. Because you’re good. Because you're smart. And because your food is so fucking good— Fuck. It really is amazing— He chuckles, light, airy, a single tear rolling down his face. Like this is the height of romance. – But it's not just that. It's not. I spent years running from it. Running from you. But I couldn’t get away from you, baby. I couldn’t. And then you saved me again. And I knew we were meant to be.

His breath is shaky, his grip tight, his whole body warm and heavy against yours like he’s melting into you.

You struggle, pushing at his chest, but he barely moves, barely even registers it.

His eyes are shining, wet, soft, like this is the greatest love story ever told.

Like this is his moment.

– You don’t get it yet, baby. – His hands slide, his fingers gripping, pressing, holding like he’s physically keeping you in place. – But you will. You will because you're already mine, right? – He grabs you, lifts you, his teeth grazing your windpipe so suddenly you feel your life slip right through your fingers.

Your pulse slams in your throat.

You push yourself out of his hold, stumbling back, but he grabs you again, holding you from behind, his face buried in the crook of your neck, biting at your tattoo as he laughs.

– Let go of me, Rafe!

He chuckles again, like this is funny, like this is cute, like you’re just playing hard to get. – I’ll let you go, baby. – His grip tightens—just for a second, just enough to make sure you feel it before he lets it ease up again. – I will. – His lips curl, his eyes dark, knowing. – After you kiss me.

Your stomach drops.

– Stop it—

– Don’t even deny it. You don’t have to. – His head tilts, eyes burning into yours, his grip warm and firm against your waist. – You don’t have to pretend. I know you like it.

– Rafe—

– I know you do, baby. – He exhales slowly, his eyes glazing over like he’s already lost in the memory, like he’s already feeling it again. – The way you kissed me this morning, the way you put this top on just for me, the way you put Sarah in her place, fuck, baby— The words escape him like a hiss, his breath shaky, his pupils blown wide with something hazy, something starved. – You can’t even deny it. You can’t. But, fuck, the way you kissed me… –  His fingers dig into your hip, twitching slightly, like he’s reliving it, like he’s sinking into it all over again. – That was all the proof I needed. We're meant to be. We are.

He doesn’t wait.

He takes.

His lips crash against yours, heat pouring from his body, from his grip, from the way he pulls you in, inescapable like gravity itself.

You struggle.

Your hands press against his chest, pushing, but he’s so damn strong, even with one hand splinted and broken, even with his body heavy with pain killers.

You push, but he doesn’t budge.

He just groans, low and rough, like he likes the fight, like he likes the way you press against him, like it only makes him want more.

– Mm, baby—

His grip tightens, his fingers spreading over your back, securing you, holding you, pinning you against him as his lips move hungrily, desperately, like he’s trying to devour every sound, every breath, every single piece of you.

His body burns against yours, his chest rising and falling fast, his broken wrist completely forgotten as he holds you with everything he has.

You try to turn your head, try to pull back, but his hand slides up, fingers curling at the back of your neck, keeping you there.

– Don’t fight me, – He murmurs against your lips, voice thick, drugged on the feeling of you. – You don’t have to fight me, baby. Just relax.

You don't.

You twist, trying to pull away, but Rafe chuckles, his lips dragging against your jaw, down to the corner of your mouth, his breath hot against your skin.

– You always do this, – He mutters, like this is so familiar, like this is something he’s already mapped out in his head a thousand times. – You always struggle, but you always come back. That's love.

You push harder, your hands pressing against his chest, but all it does is make him tighten his grip, his fingers pressing into your waist, holding you in place.

– You feel it, don’t you? You love me.

His lips find yours again, his teeth tugging at your bottom lip, his breath shaking as his body presses closer, closer, closer.

– It’s okay. – His voice is so soft, so sure, like he’s comforting you, like he’s calming you down from something that’s only happening in his own head. – You don’t have to run.

His lips move deeper, his fingers skimming under the hem of your top, his body pulling you into him, like he’s claiming you, like he’s marking you, like he needs to seal this moment into his skin.

His eyes open, and he stares down at the top, groaning, grinning, grabbing at the fabric. – You’re mine, baby.

You wrench yourself away.

Rafe follows.

You grab the keys.

You open the door.

You lean against the doorframe, breathing hard, your lips burning, your heartbeat slamming against your ribs.

Rafe just leans back, grinning, smug, satisfied, eyes dark and heavy-lidded, his lips red and swollen.

– Don’t miss me too much, baby. – His voice is thick, lazy, like he’s already settled into the idea that you’ll be back. – I’ll be waiting for you right here when you come back, okay?

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