#I wouldn’t be thinking this hard without it

[luveline]

hi lovely, was wondering if you would be able to write any hotch x bombshell!reader ? maybe before they got together or any scenario/prompt you feel like!

take care of yourself and have a great day!!💝💝

The problem with Aaron Hotchner is that he’s too lovely for his own good. He might not think of himself that way. Not many, if any, of the office would agree. Morgan thinks Hotch is a hard-ass and Elle likes him in her way, but she rolls her eyes when he gets snippy, and Spencer… well, you think you and Spencer are probably on the same page. 

Hotch is kind, and a good man, and if he looks handsome when he’s frustrated that’s just how nature intended it to be. 

“Stop it.” 

“No.” 

“Stop.” Hotch levels you with a look over his computer. You’re surprised he knows how to use it, considering the semi-permanent callus on the pointer finger of his right hand. You must’ve watched him pen a thousand case files, consults and forms in a love letter to the old ways. 

He types slowly, but you’ve decided to keep your comment about it to yourself. “You’re looking at me like you know something I don’t,” he says. 

“Maybe I do.” 

“I’m sure you do. Stop bragging.” 

You lean on your elbow on the desk. He’s got a file open in front of him he’s transcribing for the sake of security. It details a case from a few months ago, and each line of the investigation is printed in Hotch’s neat script, lilting to the left over time. He frowns as he turns a page and realises it’s practically margin to margin with detail.

You want to offer to do it for him, but he’ll say no. You want to slide your foot up the leg of his slacks to see if he’ll blush as he did last Friday when you’d done the same thing, Gideon in the doorway none the wiser and somehow disapproving regardless. 

And Hotch, he’d laughed like a kid when the door closed, not turned on in the slightest but endeared by the guts it took you to try. Then he’d sort of enticed you around the desk somehow —you don’t remember the before of it, only slinking to his side with your heels tumbled on their sides under the desk still, his palms wide and open as you settled on a wooden corner. 

“I’m pretty good on the computer.” 

“I know,” Hotch says. “I authorised your computing and communications technology seminar myself.” 

“I was good at it before the mandatory company training garbage,” you say without heat, wondering how you might entice him over your side of the desk. Flirting aloud doesn’t work. Neither does footsie, and besides, what fun is that for you? But he’d looked at you in this strange way, none of his commanding sternness about him. A smile lingered on his lips; he can’t have known he was smiling at all, or it wouldn’t have shown. He’d left something honest there for you to see. 

Maybe it’s in your best interest to let down your own walls for a minute, too. 

“I could help,” you say. “Perhaps not from the same file, but I can get the laptop and start on the Maryland stuff. If you like.”

He looks at you steadily over the computer. His eyes seem lighter, the suspicious set to his mouth oddly close to smiling. “What do you want?” he teased quietly. 

“Nothing. Just figured it would make your life easier.”

“When have you ever made my life easier?” 

Your smile slips before you can stop it. Immediately, Hotch isn’t smiling either. The, “Oh, I didn’t mean it like that, honey,” almost doesn’t reach you, over that sharp second of hurt. 

“It’s fine.” You plaster on a smile again to save him the trouble. “I know you didn’t.” 

“No, really. I didn’t mean that.”

“Hotch,” you say, thumbing over his name slowly, “I know. We were teasing.” 

“Flirting,” he corrects. 

Your smile is real, then. “Flirting?” you ask. “That’s rather forward. Flirting might imply we like one another enough to, oh, I don’t know, help each other with our overflowing workloads?” 

He looks at you, all dark and him, steady, strong, all the stupid things that draw you in. You’re not just in it for his arms, however tightly corded they might seem when he’s pulling off his tie after a long day. “You do more than enough for me just sitting there,” he says, holding your gaze with a careful casualness that has your heart tripping in your chest. “Can you do that for me?” 

“Do what? Just sit here looking pretty?” 

His shoe touches your ankle. “Exactly,” he says quietly. “Just sit there exactly as you are. I promise I don’t need anything else from you.” 

Warmed from the inside out, you sit back in your chair. Grinning like a fool. “Why didn’t you just say that?” you ask. Any chance at sounding casual is lost when your voice comes out gossamer thin. 

He looks you over appraisingly. “See?” he says, turning back to his case file. “Thank you, honey. You’re a big help.” 

You swing one leg over the other to get comfortable, crossing your arms over your stomach smugly. “I know.” 

[kashverse]

gojo’s sweet tooth is a menace. you learned that early on when he asked for “a bit” of sugar in his coffee and ended up turning it into something closer to a dessert syrup. so, of course, when you bake a pear and berry pie—already sweet enough, mind you—he sneaks in extra sweetener when he thinks you aren’t looking. he’s not very subtle about it. the first time, you almost missed it, but then you saw his telltale smug grin, a bit too pleased with himself as he “innocently” leaned against the counter.

"toru," you deadpan, arms crossed.

"what? i’m just appreciating your hard work," he says, licking a stray bit of filling off his finger like he's in a commercial.

"you’re ruining my pie."

"nah, i’m improving your pie," he corrects, already reaching for another spoonful.

nanami, on the other hand, is far less chaotic. he keeps things simple—apple pie, nothing fancy. no extra fillings, no surprise ingredients, just a good ol’ classic that never lets him down. it’s his go-to for the weekends, whether he makes it himself (precisely measured, no shortcuts) or picks one up from the bakery he trusts more than some of his coworkers. sometimes, you’ll walk into the kitchen and find him in the middle of rolling out dough with the same focus he has when reading financial reports. if you joke about him being a househusband, he’ll sigh, wipe his hands on a towel, and say, "do you want pie or not?"

toji doesn’t bake. he doesn’t have time, patience, or, honestly, the self-control to wait for something to cool down before eating it. but after a long day, when you casually hand him a slice of pumpkin pie, he takes it without a word. he’s not big on admitting things, so he just eats it, nodding once in approval, like that’s the most gratitude you’re going to get. but the real giveaway is how he never turns it down. ever. even if he’s pretending like he doesn’t care.

geto loves pecan pie. no debate. no discussion. no hesitation. the man would probably start a war over it if necessary. you once offered him a slice of something else, and he gave you such a disappointed look that you almost felt guilty.

"you’re really this attached to pecan pie?" you asked, watching as he took slow, deliberate bites like he was savoring each one.

"it’s a masterpiece," he said, as if that explained everything.

choso is all about cherry pie, mostly because he likes the tint it leaves behind. after eating it, he’ll glance in the mirror and smile a little at the way his lips look stained, like a kid who got into something he shouldn’t have. sometimes, he’ll grin at you with his mouth still full just to make you roll your eyes.

"cho, you look like you just drank blood."

"cool, right?"

and then there’s sukuna. you have to physically stop him from turning a normal, innocent chicken pie into something… horrific.

"you can’t put human meat in it."

"why not?"

"it’s a chicken pie."

"so?"

you glare at him. he stares back, unbothered.

"suku, if i turn around and find out you’ve replaced the filling, i swear to god—"

he smirks. "you wouldn’t even know the difference."

"i would. you know why? because i would throw up."

he just laughs, because, really, who needs horror movies when you live with him?

[thenevarranaccord]

I disagree completely about Tav. One of the things that made this so clear to me was playing BG3 at the same time as DAV.

Most of the core companions in BG3 are in the “a nobody with some skills,” category, similar to the DAO companions. Astarion and Karlach are runaway slaves. Wyll is a rogue warlock whose noble father disowned him. Shadowheart is noted as a talented healer but seen as entirely disposable by her cloister. Lae’zel is a young, low-ranking githyanki with big dreams. Gale is the only core companion who would actually qualify as “at the top of his field” at the start of the game, and he’s been rejected by his goddess and disgraced. To top it off, he also has probably the most embarrassing (for him) introduction of any companion.

The secondary BG3 companions are more famous and competent, but you have to earn their loyalty by saving nearly all of them, and there is a clear reason why they are not as close to this situation as you are and can’t go where you can go.

It’s very rare for Tav to be set up to look stupid or be the punchline of a joke so that the companions can look smart or cool. Some of the companions might make fun of Tav if they have low approval of Tav, but Veilguard has one companion in particular who seems to go into every conversation looking for a chance to get an MCU-style one-liner at anyone else’s expense, and several other companions will do it to Rook too occasionally.

I can’t think of a single time when Tav was forced to ask a stupid question about something that both Tav and I should already know, just so that the companions can show off how smart they are. For Rook, there are at least a dozen conversations where Rook’s only role is to say, “uh… what?” There are entire conversations with Bellara and Harding where that’s basically all Rook says while Bellara/Harding rambles to herself. Rook is so stupid that they don’t even know what an eluvian is after a year of tracking Solas. It’s not an optional dialogue you can pick; most of these are automatic lines. The game decided for me that my Rook does not know multiple things that I think he should already know.

Halsin does check in on Tav. I think Shadowheart does too. Even without the companions initiating these conversations, though, *you* can initiate conversations with virtually any companion about the Absolute and the Dream Guardian. Even when you have to initiate them yourself, these conversations still make Tav feel more like a real part of this group with real relationships with the companions.

Yes, Tav can be removed from the story entirely and the story will go on. But that’s also true of every companion. You can choose not to recruit a companion, you can drop their approval so low that they leave, you can kill them, or you can let them die and choose not to revive them. This may close off a few avenues for resolving the main quest, but resolving the main quest is still very much possible without any one of them. It’s possible without *all* of them. This is also true of the warden. I believe either Alistair or Loghain has to be a companion going into the last battle, but you don’t actually have to take them up to fight the archdemon with you. Hawke can go into the final battle without anyone except Varric. The Inquisitor doesn’t have as much freedom to kick all of their companions out of Skyhold—many of them have to stay, no matter what—but it IS possible to solo the main quests.

Stopping the Evanuris is not possible without the help of your companions. You are dead in the water without Bellara and Lucanis. It’s implied that you wouldn’t make it past the prologue without Neve. There are vital NPCs that you can only contact through Harding. You can’t do a solo run of Veilguard; the game simply doesn’t give you that option on main quests. Even if you choose to leave your party empty, the companions will still have important things that only they can do during major quests. The one time that one companion can die before the final battle, it’s a necessary death to stop the Evanuris.

Incidentally, I think Veilguard would have benefitted massively from an origins playthrough option. It would have made many of my complaints about Rook moot and also massively improved the game’s replay value.

Anyway, Tav has a number of points within the story where they get to shine all on their own, even if you don’t do a solo playthrough. Tav’s victories feel like Tav’s victories, even if it’s only right to acknowledge that Tav had help; Rook’s victories are all the Veilguard’s victories, except perhaps for escaping the regret prison.

What’s really jumping out at me on my second playthrough is that the writers of the first three games understood that your character was the main character. The Veilguard writers clearly thought that the main characters were their characters, the companions.

Every scene is about setting the companions up as cool or competent or sympathetic. Often, this is done at Rook’s expense. The companions get all the witty one-liners; Rook’s attempts at humor not only frequently fall flat, but are frequently called out for falling flat (even when they’re completely automatic and the player has no say in them).

The companions have all the knowledge and skills; Rook just brought them all together and gives them all pep talks so they can focus. I’m trying to edit out all of the comments where Rook is like “Um… what????” from my videos, and let me tell you, it takes WORK. There are A LOT of them. I can count on one hand the number of times when the Inquisitor or Hawke comes across as dumb, but it seems to be a built-in, unavoidable part of Rook’s character. I have not selected a single “purple” option in all of Act 1, and Rook is still coming across as the kid who tries to be the class clown to cover for the fact that he’s always confused. Rook’s role in most scenes is to say “Uhhh… what?” so that the companions look smart.

Rook is always the one offering sympathy and never the one getting it. No one actually comes to comfort you after Varric’s death. No one asks you how you’re feeling about having to lead the team now that Varric is gone. No one tries to reassure you or give you advice for dealing with the trickster god haunting your dreams. We’re told that Neve could keep Solas out of your head, but she never actually offers to do this for you. No one comforts a Shadow Dragon Rook when Minrathous is destroyed or a Grey Warden Rook when Weisshaupt is destroyed. Rook’s problems don’t matter. Only the problems of main characters matter.

Rook is a secondary character in their own story.

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 44: Little Shit

Summary: John has left a mess in his wake. Can the pack pick up the pieces before it's too late?

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 9,659 words

Warnings: Alpha/beta/omega dynamics, a/b/o, angst, language, some fluff, kissing, Simon being an asshole, angst

A/N: I'm actually very excited for this one and I know you will be too

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

It’s cold out. It feels fitting, a mirror of the emptiness in your soul. They’re not happy about you being out here, but you don’t care. You don’t care about much right now. You’re wrapped in a blanket regardless, tucked into the chair, curled in, making yourself as small as you possibly can. There’s a need deep within you to feel protected and safe. Part of you had wanted to curl up in bed and lay there for the rest of time, but another part of you desired to sit outside and stare at the sea in the distance. A deeper part of you wanted to go, but you know they’d shut that down as fast as the words could come out of your mouth.

They don’t seem eager to do much of anything for you right now.

It’s a fair assumption. They’re all dealing with John’s absence as much as you are. There’s a definitive hole in your pack, and no one will be able to fill it, no matter how hard they try.

“If you’re going to sit out here, at least drink something warm.” A cup of tea is set down on the table before a figure lowers themselves into the chair next to you with a grunt. “’S cold out.”

“Feels good.” You murmur, ignoring the steaming cup. Of course he’d bring tea. He wouldn’t be caught dead drinking coffee after the playful rivalry that’s been ongoing between coffee drinkers and tea drinkers in the cottage. At least that can continue even in the tumultuous state of the pack.

It falls silent between the two of you, an awkward silence. He’s the last person you expected to join you outside. He’s been avoiding you like the plague, but then again he’s been avoiding you as much as possible since you arrived at the cottage. You know he doesn’t hate you, but you’d almost prefer it. The distaste he held for you back when you first joined the pack would be preferable to this quiet avoidance he’s wedged between the two of you.

“You...doing okay?” He asks, and you almost laugh in response.

Of course you’re not. He knows you’re not. He’s perceptive and aware. He knows what you’re feeling even without you having to say it. He’s asking purely because of societal expectations, but he already knows. He’s not stupid.

At least in his head.

“No.” You answer honestly, tucking your blanket up tighter around you.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asks hesitantly.

“Do you want me to talk about it?” You retort. “Feelings aren’t really your thing.”

He shifts in the chair, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. “Because you trust Johnny and Kyle more?”

“It has nothing to do with trust.” You say, your brows furrowing. “You’re just not the most...open person to talk to. Didn’t think you’d be interested in talking about feelings.”

“I’m just trying to be supportive.” He says.

“Well you’re doing a shit job at it.” You snap back.

Things fall silent between the two of you again, the wedge pressing on the edges of your bond, the little bond you have left. He’s done a good job at laying that barrier between the two of you, driving the space further and further in his distance. He’s the last person you want right now, but he’s the only one you have.

You let out a long breath, the air steaming in front of you. “He just had to be the one to go after Shepherd.” You say bitterly, your thoughts coming out before you can stop them. “He really just up and left and for what?”

“To make sure the pack is safe.” Simon says simply. “Alphas leave all the time.”

“But he didn’t have to! Not right now,” You say, turning your head to look at him finally. “Not when things were finally starting to get better.”

“He thought he had to.” Simon says, glancing sideways at you. “You know how he is.”

“Yeah and it sucks.” You say. “I wanted him to be better, to try harder to not think about the big picture...to think about me.” You let out a shuddering breath as you try to hold the tears back. “Just...why? Why him?”

Simon is quiet for a moment. “You wish I had gone instead.”

You give him a look. “You know that's not what I meant.”

“Is it? Because it sounds like it.” He says. “Would have been better if I had gone anyway.”

“Why, because then you wouldn’t have to deal with me?” You say, hurt and anger starting to churn in your chest. You’re getting frustrated with him and his emotional constipation.

“That’s not what I said.”

“Well it sounds like it.” You throw his own words at him, turning fully to face him now. “You really don’t want to be stuck here with me, in charge of me. Be honest.”

He’s silent for a breath, obviously trying to figure out how to answer in a way that’s going to hurt you the least. You don’t care. You want him to be honest and open, even if it does hurt. “It’s complicated.”

“That’s not an answer.” You say, letting the blanket drop from around you. You’re worked up enough from the emotions coursing through you, you don’t need it anymore.

“It’s the only answer I have.” He says, his voice firm.

You let out a sharp breath through your nose, pushing yourself up to stand. Some deep, twisted part of you wants to throw the tea at his face in anger, but you don’t. You won’t. You’re not brave enough for that. Instead you shove at his shoulder, barely making him budge. “You’re so fucking frustrating!”

You turn on your heel, storming back into the house.

“Well you're certainly not winning any popularity contests.” Kyle says, leaning against the door frame. 

“Piss off.” Simon growls, his shoulders hunched and tense like a coil ready to spring. 

Kyle glances over his shoulder as something thuds in your room. He wonders what it is you’ve thrown this time. Maybe yourself. That’s Johnny’s problem for now. Instead he steps out the door, sliding it closed behind him before making his way over to the tense alpha.

“You really are shit at this.” He says, sinking down into the chair you were sitting in. It’s still warm from your body, and so is the blanket as he drapes it over his lap. “You’re going to have to try harder than that.”

“I shouldn’t have to try at all.” Simon snaps.

“But you don’t have a choice right now.” Kyle says. “I know you’re scared.” He cuts off Simon before he can protest. “Shut up, I know you’re scared of having this much power, of doing something wrong, of hurting her, but you’re not doing anyone any favors being all moody. You’re throwing her off and you’re throwing the rest of us off.”

Simon stays silent, staring out into the distance as Kyle continues to speak.

“John did what he did and we can’t change that. There was no changing his mind. You know that more than the rest of us. Now you have to step up. He trusts you to do that. He trusts his omega with you. That speaks volumes of his trust in your ability to take care of his pack.” Kyle reaches over, putting a hand on Simon’s shoulder, rubbing it gently. “We’re right here with you. You don’t have to be scared.”

Simon slowly begins to relax, his shoulders lowering and jaw unclenching as Kyle continues to rub his shoulder, projecting his scent to try and diffuse the tension that had built in your exchange with the broody alpha.

“I hate it when you do that.” Simon grumbles, sinking further into the chair.

“It works, though.” Kyle says with a soft smile. “You’re the alpha in charge now, so start acting like it.”

“I don’t know where to start.” Simon says softly.

Kyle squeezes his shoulder. “Maybe with an apology.”

“He’s just so...emotionally constipated.” You say, throwing another pillow at the wall.

“He’s just...goin’ through a lot right now.”

“So are the rest of us!” You say, spinning on your heel to grab another pillow. “And we’re all doing just fine at trying to adjust!”

“Are we?”

You let out a huff as you stare at him, disheveled from the fit you’ve been throwing. Johnny grabs the pillow you’re bee-lining for, holding it out of your reach instead.

“That’s enough.” He says, letting the pillow drop to the floor before he reaches forward, wrapping an arm around you. He drags you up onto the bed, sitting you down between his legs.

“I just don’t get it.” You murmur as you sit there, drawing your knees up to your chest as Johnny starts to comb his fingers through your hair. “Why John had to leave, why Simon is being so difficult.”

“Ye want the truth?” He asks, tugging lightly at your hair. He’s starting to braid it, something to keep his hands busy.

“No.” You say, resting your chin on your knee. “I already know.”

“He’s just as scared as the rest of us.” Johnny says anyway. “He’s never been in this position before. None of us have. Sure, John’s left on solos before, but things are different now.”

“Because I’m here.” You murmur, leaning into his touch as his fingers brush your ear.

“A lot has changed.” Johnny says. “Not just because of ye.”

“A lot because of me, though.” You say. “If I hadn’t been here, if I hadn’t been added to this pack…”

“Things would have still gone to shit eventually.” Johnny says. “The truth would come out, Shepherd would run for the hills, John would chase after him. Difference now is there’s something tae come back to.”

Guilt churns in your stomach as you sit there, unsure what to say as Johnny finishes braiding your hair.

“You really think he’s coming back?” You say quietly after a moment, that guilt still chewing away inside your stomach.

“Course he is.” Johnny says, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you back against his chest. “He loves ye, he loves all of us. He has to ensure Shepherd is gone before he’ll feel safe again, before he’ll feel it’s safe fer you.”

He’s doing it for you.

It’s not the first time you’ve had that thought since your alpha left you.

You lean your head against Johnny’s arm, staring out the window at the grey world outside. It feels so dull and oppressive. For once you miss the sun and warmth of summer, the feeling of life instead of the chill that’s settled in your bones. It’s not cold in the house, yet you can feel a chill seeping down beneath your skin and into your very soul.

You curl up tighter in Johnny’s arms, pressing closer to his chest as if you might be able to sink deep into his very being. Maybe there you’ll finally be warm and that ache will ease just a little. His arms tighten around you, trying to offer you comfort, but it’s not enough. It’ll never be enough, not so long as John is gone. Your omega yearns for her alpha in a way you’ve never felt. You know separation can be hard on an omega, yet you’ve never quite experienced something like this.

Despite your hurt and anger and frustration, your omega longs to be in her alpha’s arms again. You want John to scoop you up and hold you tight in his arms and keep you there forever, safe and warm and protected.

Johnny’s trying his best, trying to offer you comfort but even he has to know it’s not enough. You need an alpha, you need someone there to offer some semblance of balance in the pack and for your omega. She’s not angry like she had been, but she’s restless still, pacing in her cage, waiting for something.

You let out a quiet breath, letting your eyes flutter closed for a moment as you sit there in Johnny’s embrace.

The quiet moment is broken by your stomach growling.

Johnny’s chest moves as he huffs out a quiet laugh, squeezing you tightly. “Come on, kitten. Let’s get ye some food.”

He finally lets you go, letting you slide off the bed. You grab a sweater from the closet before heading out into the main living area. Simon has disappeared unsurprisingly. Probably upstairs brooding, where he spends most of his time when he’s in the cottage. He almost spends more time outside the cottage now. He has to be going stir crazy laying low for this long. They all have to be.

Johnny passes by, brushing his hand across your back as he heads for the kitchen likely to harass Kyle while he tries to make lunch. Dr. Keller is nowhere to be seen, likely taking as much time to herself as she can. She’s been helping as much as she can while your pack tries to adjust to this sudden change. Mostly she’s been helping you, but the others have been utilizing her knowledge and understanding as well. It makes you feel guilty, making her work so much, but of course she’d never admit to being tired or worn out by the constant state of crisis within your pack.

You stand there for a moment, lost in thought until something warm presses against your back. You tense, slowly turning around to look up at Simon. He’s looming over you, staring down at you with his face hidden behind that stupid mask. You wish you could see his face and read him, but you know deep down his poker face is impeccable and you wouldn’t be able to read him anyway.

“You’re doing it again.” He says, and you know what he’s talking about.

“Sorry.” You say quietly.

“Stop apologizing.” He says rather harshly, making you flinch. His shoulders slump just a little at your flinch, a quiet sigh leaving his lips. “You shouldn’t be the one apologizing.”

You blink up at him. This is rather unexpected.

“We’re all going through a lot right now, a lot of changes...but that’s no excuse to be a dick towards you.” He lets out another breath. “I’m sorry.”

You continue to stare up at him in shock, not expecting him to go so far as to apologize for his actions. Especially not right now. “Are you...apologizing?” You ask him in disbelief.

“Yes.” He says simply.

You stare up at him for a long moment, staring into those chocolate brown eyes. He’s so big and imposing, yet he seems so vulnerable in this moment. Something stirs in the back of your mind, your omega starting to preen a bit at the idea of him finally bowing down before you and allowing you to be in charge. He’s lowered himself enough to apologize...what else can you get out of him?

A low rumble echoes in his chest as you stare up at him, a slow smile tugging at your lips. “You really mean it?”

“Stop it.” He growls, his eyes narrowing. “That’s not fair.”

“What’s not fair?” You ask innocently, batting your eyelashes at him.

He clenches his fist, his shoulders squaring. “I hate this new side of you.”

Your grin only widens as you step up closer to him. “Doesn’t smell like it.”

“Alright you two, come eat before you stink out the house.” Kyle says, breaking the tense moment between the two of you.

You give Simon a wink before turning on your heel, leaving the reeling alpha in your wake as you make your way to the table.

“How are things going?”

It’s an innocent question, but it almost has you in tears. How are things going? Your pack is on the fringes of a breakdown, the bonds have never been more tense, you have an alpha that doesn’t want to be an alpha. How are things going? Not great.

“They’re okay,” You lie, your fingers tightening around the edges of the book in your lap. “It’s an adjustment.”

“I bet.” Ashley says sympathetically. “I can’t imagine this would be an easy change.”

“They’re doing well all things considered.” Dr. Keller swoops in, saving you from having to come up with a response. “The separation of an alpha can be a hard thing to cope with.” Her eyes are on you when she says it, making the guilt in your stomach twist itself into knots.

“You’re a lot stronger than I would be in this situation.”

It’s directed at you, and you bring yourself to offer a small smile in response.

In truth you feel like falling apart. You doubt either women would care. They’re both betas, caretakers. You’ve cried in front of Dr. Keller so many times you’ve lost count, and you doubt Ashley would look down on you for showing such weakness. It might actually feel good, letting the emotions out in front of two people who understand.

“You need anything, you let me know.” Ashley continues. “Even if it’s getting the boys out of the house.”

They are out of the house currently, well, Johnny and Simon left. Well, it was more like Johnny dragged Simon out of the house. Going on a run, they said. A long run. Maybe to town and back. A run to clear the head. A run to get those emotions out.

How you wish you could go for a run right now.

Kyle is somewhere in the house. Kyle. You feel guilty for how much you’ve withdrawn from the beta. You can only imagine how he’s feeling. His alpha has deserted him too. You both share that closer bond because of John and yet here you are keeping Kyle at arm’s distance. You have something to bond over, something to bring the two of you closer together in your confusion and the adjustments you both have to make.

Yet here you are holding him at a distance.

It only adds to the twisting of the guilt in your stomach.

The room has fallen silent, Ashley and Dr. Keller both staring at you. You blink yourself back into reality, looking between them. You got lost in your mind again, a habit you still can’t break. It’s gotten worse in your isolation, often left with nothing but your thoughts for company.

Whose fault is that?

“Sorry.” You say quietly, adjusting yourself in your chair.

“Welcome back.” Dr. Keller says, giving you a soft smile.

“A fellow over-thinker.” Ashley says, giving you a wink. “I understand 100%. Why don’t we move on to less intense conversation.”

You glance down at the book in your lap. In truth you haven’t read much of it. You haven’t felt like reading much in the last few days. You haven’t felt like doing much of anything these last few days. Life has gotten impossibly hard with the desertion of your alpha. You hadn’t expected it to feel like this.

You hadn’t expected it to be so hard.

Everything has been thrown off, even your desire to function as a member of the pack. If you can even call what you have a pack. You’re more like four independent planets all stuck in the gravitational pull of the black hole that is the bond you share. You’re slowly inching closer and closer to the event horizon, the point of no return when the gravitational pull will be too much and you’ll be sucked in and spaghettified in the intensity of your bond.

You’ll all be sucked in eventually. There’s no escaping.

Well, that’s not entirely true.

There is an escape, a way to find the velocity to pull yourself free of the looming event horizon, but the pain of it will be far greater than the pain you feel now. There will be no recovery, no promise of a future for you. It will be the end of everything. You’ll fall into a different black hole and there won’t be anything waiting on the other side.

“So what do you think of the main character?” Ashley asks, drawing you from your thoughts once more.

“I think she could use a break from everything she’s been through.” Dr. Keller says.

You and me both.

As the days continue to pass since John’s desertion, things don’t improve much. Simon is still fighting his new role, driving Johnny to recede into himself again. Kyle is like a lost ghost, floating around the house like a specter. You...you’re going insane with it all.

You can’t take much more of this up and down, this lack of surety, the pain throbbing in the back of your head from the constant tugging of your bond. Their lack of motion has you spinning out of control. You need to take control, you need to help them and yourself. The pack won’t last like this, so you have to make things happen one way or another.

Looks like you have to do everything yourself again.

“Where’s Johnny.” You ask Simon as he passes by you in the living room.

“Upstairs I think.” He says, skirting past you.

“Will you go get him please?” You say, turning around to face him. “We need to have a pack meeting.”

Simon stares down at you for a long moment before nodding. “Fine.” He grunts.

You step out of his way as he heads for the stairs, his footsteps thudding up the steps. You let out a long breath, half expecting you’d have to fight him harder than that. You move to stand in front of the fireplace, a few seconds passing before you hear movement upstairs.

Three sets of footsteps make their way down the steps, the other members of your pack appearing one by one.

“Sit.” You say, pointing in front of you.

They move silently, sitting themselves down on the couches. Simon by himself on one, and Johnny and Kyle on the other. They’re sitting further away than they have been. It makes your chest constrict as you stare at them.

You clear your throat, the words you had planned vacating your mind as you stand before them. You have nothing to be nervous about. They’re just the members of your pack, men you’ve been around for almost a year now. You know them in and out, better than they know you. Yet you can’t hide the nervous twisting in your stomach as you stand there vulnerably.

You close your hands into fists to hide them from shaking as you look across their faces once more.

“I’ve gathered you here today to have a serious conversation.” You say, trying to keep your voice from wavering. “About us as a pack.”

Johnny shifts in his seat at your words, all of them staring at you intently.

“I know John leaving has been hard on all of us, but we can’t keep just floating around like a bunch of ghosts. It’s eating me alive and I can’t take it anymore.” You swallow the lump in your throat. “So, seeing as how no one else wants to do so, I’m taking charge of this pack.”

Simon shifts slightly at your words, just a flinch but you catch it out of the corner of your eye.

“My alpha is the one that left, so I should be the one to step up in his place.” You state firmly, not letting the thickening of Simon’s scent throw you off. “You can call me alpha now.”

Simon’s hands clench into fists, his scent nearly knocking you off your feet. “You think it’s that easy, do you?”

You steady yourself. You prepared for such an outburst from the broody alpha. “Yeah. I do.”

“You’re just going to step up and play alpha while yours is away?” Simon rises to his feet. “What gives you the right?”

“Well, you won’t do it.” You snap, steeling yourself as he steps closer. “So someone has to.”

His eyes narrow at your words. You’ve hit a nerve and he doesn’t like it. Good, you think. Serves him right.

“We can’t keep going on like this.” You continue, trying to reason with him. “Someone has to take charge and since you won’t, I will.”

“That’s not your place, omega.” His scent slams into you again and you feel the urge to drop as your status slips out of his mouth.

“Then do something!” You’re shaking now, fighting off his dominance. He’s using his own status against you. It’s not fair, but it’s what you want. “Man up and be an alpha.”

“Hey!” Kyle is between you before Simon can take another step forward, pushing the alpha back. “You’re not helping anything getting all puffed.” Johnny is on his feet too, halfway between you and the couch. “She’s right.” Kyle continues. “We can’t go on like this. John left and we can’t do anything about that. We need a leader.”

“You want that to be me?” Simon scoffs.

“Well, yeah.” Kyle says. “You are second alpha. It’s your job to take John’s place in his absence. We need you to take his place.” Kyle pushes him back another step. “You have to decide. You can’t fight our omega on wanting to step up because you don’t want to step up yourself.”

You feel like passing out as you stand there, still trembling from the onslaught of alpha you had just faced. You’re proud of yourself for facing it as long as you did. Months ago you wouldn’t have even approached the subject, much less stood up to him like that.

If you were stronger, you might have fought him back.

“It’s me or you.” You say, stepping out from behind Kyle. “It can’t be neither of us.”

Simon stares down at you, his eyes hard. His scent has dispersed a bit, the heavy ozone of it fading. The scent of beta is pushing it aside, but your nose still burns from his anger. He’s still frustrated, but you can see the tension in his body lessening. You imagine his jaw unclenching, his shoulders lowering just centimeters. You’ve got him right where you wanted him to be.

You step around Kyle, putting yourself back in his space. Kyle doesn’t move, inches away from your back. He and Johnny are still as statues, waiting and watching what’s going to happen next.

You reach for Simon, putting your hands on his arms. You gently guide him back before pushing him backwards onto the couch again. He goes easily, slumping back into the cushions. You stand over him and he lets you take the dominant pose this time. You move yourself so you’re between his knees and you bend down to take his hand in yours. It’s rough and calloused, even time away from handling weapons unable to soften the roughness of his skin. It’s the first time you’ve touched his skin since the day he rescued you. It’s the same hand he used to scruff you, the same hand that saved your life.

“I don’t want to have to do it.” You say softly, tracing the back of his hand. “I’d prefer it were you.” You lift your gaze from his hand to his eyes. “I trust you to do it. I know that probably doesn’t mean much, but it’s the truth. John trusted you to save my life once, and you did. He trusts you to take care of his pack, and I do too.”

He stares up at you for a long moment, his chest rising and falling with even breaths. You’re projecting your scent just a bit, trying to ease it deep into his brain where his alpha lies, use your power against him to convince him to take on this role so you can stop going insane.

“I need you, alpha.” You whisper.

His eyes darken, his hand tightening around yours. You’ve got him right in his soft underbelly.

He pushes himself up to stand, forcing you back half a step. Your chests brush as he looms over you, his scent thickening in the air, but not in the way it had before. The leather and natural muskiness invades your senses, seeping deep into your brain. You stare up at him, waiting for him to make the next move.

“Fine.” He breathes, dropping your hand. “I’ll do it.”

A small smile tugs at your lips. You got him hook, line, and sinker.

More days pass and slowly your pack begins to settle. Simon has shifted into his role easily, taking over as alpha. Johnny and Kyle no longer seem so weighed down, and the tumultuous energy has subsided a bit. You feel lighter, like some of the pressure has been lifted from your shoulders.

It has.

You’re no longer the only one holding the pack together, desperately clinging to the strings of your bonds. Simon is right there by your side, gluing them down so they no longer slip away.

You quite like him being alpha. He wears the title like a king and you find yourself feeling a stirring of excitement in your stomach every time you think of Pack Alpha Simon. It fits him, being in control of not just Johnny but everyone. Even Kyle seems a bit more at ease despite the missing link.

Your missing link too.

“Kyle?” You say softly, almost afraid to disrupt him where he sits on the couch reading.

“Hm?” He hums, glancing up from his book.

“I...was just wondering...how you were doing?” You wince at the awkwardness of your own words.

“Fine.” He shrugs, marking his place in the book.

“You’re sure?” You ask, slowly lowering yourself onto the opposite side of the couch. “I mean, our alpha is gone.”

Kyle nods slowly. “Yeah, he is.”

You swallow the lump in your throat. “I miss him.” You hate to admit it, but you do.

“I know.” Kyle says, reaching out for your hand. “I do too. He may be a shit alpha, but he’s our alpha.”

You can’t help but laugh a bit at his words. “That is true. You really think he’s coming back?”

Kyle nods. “I think so. I doubt he’d leave us high and dry. He loves both of us too much for that.”

You stare up at him. You forget just how much John cares for you and Kyle. It’s easy to forget with how he’s been acting lately. He left for you. He left for the good of the pack, to go eliminate the last threat hanging over your heads. Once Shepherd is gone, then you can finally move forward. You can finally decide what comes next.

What does come next?

Will they return to the military? Will they go back to the way life was before? You can’t expect them to give it up. You’ve come to that conclusion easily. They won’t leave that way of life without a fight, and you can’t ask that of them, not matter how badly you want to. You’ll go back to life on base, life the way it had been before. The constant worry and stress will always be a part of your life, no matter what. They’ll always put the good of the world above everything else. Even your pack.

They promised they’d start putting you first, but you can’t ask them to give up their livelihood for you. It’s been their whole lives. They’re all career soldiers, they all started early and haven’t known anything else. This is what they do and it will always be what they do until they die or are forced to retire. You’ll always be there, waiting for them back home, praying they come back breathing and not in a coffin.

You’ll always have nightmares of that phone call, of getting that news.

“You okay?” Kyle asks, squeezing your hand.

You look back up at him, staring into those deep brown eyes. “Yeah.” You nod. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

“Simon?”

Simon glances up from his phone, turning his head to the side. No word from John yet, but then again it could be too soon. He doesn’t know anything, and it’s driving him insane. He doesn’t like not knowing. He knows Shepherd had been found, though captured or spotted he’s none the wiser. John could have been going on a stakeout for all he knows. It could be weeks, months.

It’s been just over a week and he doesn’t know anything yet.

He hates it.

He turns his head to the side, staring at you. You’re standing there, looking small and timid next to the couch. So different from how you stood up to him days ago when you forced him to finally accept he’s in charge. He had to take on that role because John wanted him to. That’s why he knew first, that’s why John spent so much time preparing him. Simon have to take on this role eventually, whether he wanted it or not.

“Have you heard anything from John?” You ask, shifting on your feet.

It’s the first time you’ve asked about John. Sometimes he wonders what’s going through your head. You’re angry and frustrated with John, he knows that much. He can read that on your face. He knew from the teary goodbye, the look of despondency hidden behind the quiet confidence on John’s face when he walked out the door that something had transpired between the two of you when he told you. Maybe you already knew. Maybe you already understood this would happen eventually.

If John would have let him, he would have gone instead, if only to save you from having to face this.

It would have been easier for him to play the soldier and assassin. He’s done it many times before.

“Nothing.” He says honestly. Better to give you the truth than false hope.

John will return, even if you told him not to. He’s too stubborn for that. He won’t give up that easily. He’ll know you’d change your mind if you told him to stay away. You didn’t. He can tell that much, but he knows. He understands.

“Oh.” You say quietly, almost as if you’d had a false hope that there was word, some small message to let you know he’s alive, he’s well, he’s coming home.

He can’t come home soon enough.

You slowly inch around the side of the couch before sitting gingerly on the edge of the cushion. You’re moving like you’re approaching a wild animal, but in your mind you might just be. He’s not a wild animal. If anything he’s the opposite of right now. He’s tired, worn down from the sudden weight of responsibility. He wouldn’t even bare his teeth if he could.

You’re holding a book in your hand. You clutch it to your chest as you slowly lean back, scooting until you’re comfortable on the opposite end of the couch from him. Why you chose there and not across from him, he doesn’t know. You could have sat anywhere in the house and yet you decided to sit next to him.

Perhaps it’s some deep omegan need for comfort and security. You certainly need a lot of that right now. You’re going through a tumultuous time and you’ll need all the comfort you can stand. He’s the one that’s supposed to give that to you, yet he finds himself withdrawing from that desire, that need. You won’t want his comfort because he’s not your alpha. He’ll never be your alpha, he’ll never be good enough.

Simon sits there, still as a sniper as he watches you slowly inch your way into a comfortable seat. You haven’t spoken a word since your small, quiet acknowledgment of his answer to your question. Maybe you’re too afraid to speak more, ruin the moment, drive him away when you’ve so obviously sought him out for more than word on your absent alpha.

He stays there as you move, slowly shifting yourself on the couch until you’re curled up in the corner. It’s reminiscent of how you used to sit in the rec room all those weeks ago, curled up on the couch while he sat as far as he could from you, at least until those bonds began to grow, those steel-bound threads of alpha and omega began to wind themselves around you like nooses.

Bonds are like nooses. One fails they all do. That’s why he’s always hated them, why he’s always avoided them.

Why his mother never gave in.

His hand curls into a fist, nails digging into his palm as he forces the thoughts away, shoves his past down into the recesses of his mind where it belongs.

You seem ignorant to his inner struggle as you sit there, book open in your hands. You’re lost in a fictional world, ignorant of everything going on around you. How easily you slip into a realm of distraction, he’ll never know. There will always be a part of him that’s aware, hypervigilant to the world.

Maybe you can drift off so easily because you feel secure enough to do so. You feel safe enough with him there to sink deep into a stupor brought on by words on a page. It stirs something inside of him. Pride? Honor? Guilt?

You’ve sought him out for safety and security and here he is blocking you out more and more. You had to face him down to force him into this position when he should have stepped into it in the first place. He should have done more, been more. From the start he should have been a better alpha, even if he wasn’t yours, even if he’d never be yours. He’s an alpha in the pack, he should start acting like it.

The vulnerability that takes. The weakness he’ll have to show.

It’s okay. The soft voice of his mother floats through his mind. Better to be soft than hard like your father.

A shiver runs down his spine, making his whole body tense. It draws you out of your book, your head turning to look at him. Not quite so lost as he thought, then.

“Simon?” You ask quietly, concern lacing your voice. “What is it?”

Your omega must be sensing some sort of danger. He’s on edge, your omega is responding, looking for reassurance that there’s nothing wrong, there’s nothing there.

“Nothing.” He answers, forcing himself to relax. He has to put his hackles down, otherwise the moment will be ruined. “Just thinking too much.”

He’s not sure why he said it. Maybe it was because he knew it would draw that small smile on your face.

He likes it when you smile. You haven’t been doing much of it lately, but then again, you haven’t had much of a reason to. Why smile when the world is crumbling around you? Yet there are still moments when he sees that side of you, you let out on base. Those happy moments when life was good and easy and predictable. Back when he allowed himself to feel, to touch, to smell, to devour your very being.

He misses it.

No he doesn’t.

It’s too much of a risk, too much of a vulnerability to allow that again. He can’t open himself up to that when it will only lead to more hurt on your part. Everything ends in hurt. It’s all he can do, all he’ll ever do. He’s hurt Johnny, he’s still hurting Johnny. You’ll crumble in his hands too, slipping through his fingers like sand.

He sits there still as you begin to slowly shift yourself so you’re facing him, putting your back to the fire. He watches you from the corner of your eye as you begin to stretch out, joints cracking as they straighten. His eyes lower to your feet as they slowly slip across the couch, inching closer and closer to him. His hand twitches, his breath stilling in his lungs.

He can’t move. He’s stuck there, stuck watching as you slowly press upon the barrier between the two of you, breaking down that boundary he’s set in place with just a simple movement. He can see it crumbling as your bare toes inch closer and closer until they press against the soft fabric of his jeans. Just a brush, just a tickle against his leg.

“Do you have to do that?” He asks, still staring down at your toes.

“It’s a small couch.” You say simply, not even looking up from your book.

“There’s an empty one right there.” He nods towards the empty couch across from him.

“I like this one better.”

His hand closes into a fist as you push against his leg with your toes. That boundary is crashing down, crumbling brick by brick as your toes bend, feet arching as you push against his leg.

“What are you doing?” He still hasn’t moved. He can’t bring himself to.

“My toes are cold.” You say, turning a page in your book.

“There’s a fire right there.”

“I don’t want to get up.”

Little shit.

He swallows the growl crawling up his chest, swallows down the emotions threatening to choke him. He’s right back in the rec room with your toes on his arm as the two of you read in silence. You’d gone toe to toe with him then too, the snarky remarks flowing like water between you. How easily it came, how easily it flowed, how easily you faced him on and didn’t back down.

Fucking hell how he’s missed this.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t get up like he once might have. Instead he sits there, letting you rest your toes against his leg, even though he knows they aren’t cold.

Something draws you from the sweet edge of sleep and forces you back into the world of the living. You’re not sure what it is at first, unaware enough you can’t think rationally. You had been so close to the sweet bliss of sleep for your morning nap when something woke you. You try not to think about it, chasing that edge of tiredness that’s quickly fading from your mind.

A pain in your stomach pushes it even further away. It takes your breath away, pulling you right into the world of wakefulness. For a moment you think you might be dying. Appendix burst, GI bleed, some sort of horrible gas cramp. You did have a big breakfast after all.

No, it’s none of those things. That pain begins to shift, morphing into a gnawing feeling that grows until a low rumble sounds.

You’re hungry.

For a moment you wonder if you did sleep and you’ve slept through lunch. A quick glance at the clock tells you it’s only eleven. Not quite time for lunch yet.

You try to ignore it, try to curl up and go back to sleep, but that gnawing pain continues, keeping you from finding that tiredness that drove you to seek out your bed in the first place.

Instead you sit up with a huff, shoving the blanket off of you. A snack it is then.

The gnawing pain continues as you rise from the bed, padding quietly over to your half closed door. You slip through the gap, the living area empty. Upstairs or outside then, you think.

You head for the kitchen, digging through cupboards as the pain in your stomach continues to intensify. If you don’t eat right this minute you might die. You want something fast, but all you’re finding is cans and packages of food you’ll have to cook. You don’t have time for that.

Desperately you search, your hands starting to shake as you comb through the cabinets for something that might calm the uncomfortable growling in your abdomen.

Finally you find an unopened package of cookies. Tea cookies, you think, but you don’t care. You nearly rip them open in desperation, shoving one in your mouth. They’re dry, but you don’t care. They may as well be manna from heaven in this moment.

You carry the package over to the sliding door, staring out at the yard as you continue to shove cookies into your mouth. It hasn’t rained in a few days, the deck starting to dry out finally. It’s still cloudy and grey though, the sea reflecting the sky in the distance.

You stand there, lost in space and time until you reach into the packet of cookies only to meet air and crumbs. You stare down at the package, your stomach still rumbling hungrily like an insatiable monster. 

Insatiable. Hunger. 

“Oh fuck.” You say, staring down at the package still. 

“What?” Kyle says, approaching you from behind. 

You turn on your heel, hand still in the package. “I’m hungry.” 

“It’s almost lunch time.” He says. “What would you like to eat?” 

“No, no.” You gulp. “I’m hungry.” 

He stares at you blankly for a moment before realization crosses his face. He stares at you wide-eyed, shifting on his feet nervously. “Oh shit.” 

“Sedation is an option but I’d have to get the supplies for it.” Dr. Keller says. “We’re not equipped here for something of that caliber. I can get the supplies, but we might not have enough time, even with Kate’s help.”

“It might be risky, drawing that much attention.” Kyle says. “People will have questions.”

“You’re not even nesting yet.” Dr. Keller says with a sigh, glancing at you. “This is bad timing.”

“It’s not like I can control it.” You say around a mouthful of chips.

You’ve already downed three sandwiches and you’re working on polishing off an entire bag of chips.

“I know.” Dr. Keller says softly.

“Is there any way to stop it from happening?” Johnny asks.

“Not without considerable risk.” Dr. Keller says. “Especially this close.”

“What do we do then?” Kyle asks, looking at you.

“It is possible for a beta to help, but it’ll be a long and painful heat without an alpha.” Dr. Keller says.

A hand lands on your shoulder as they continue to brainstorm. You look up from the bag of chips, a handful halfway to your mouth. Simon is standing over you, his hand on your shoulder. He tilts his head in the direction of your door before removing his hand. You blink at him as he walks towards it, pushing the door open before disappearing into your room. You shove the handful of chips in your mouth before putting the bag on the coffee table. You lick the crumbs off your fingers as you make your way towards the open door.

It’s bold of him, entering your room just like that, but your interest is piqued.

He’s standing next to the bed, fingers toying with the edge of the blanket tossed haphazardly across the mattress from your attempt at a nap.

“Simon?” You ask quietly.

“Close the door.” He says, turning around.

You pull it closed behind you, turning the nob so it doesn’t make any sound. Something tells you he wants to keep this as quiet as possible. Nerves start to rattle inside of you. What does he want? Why does he want to keep things quiet? They must notice you’ve disappeared, but Simon doesn’t seem to care either way.

“Come here.” He says, holding out his hand.

You approach slowly, a bit hesitant from the alpha being in your space. It is your space now, your room. Even if you haven’t nested yet, it’s still your safe, sacred space. He hasn’t been in your space yet. You haven’t even invited him in, and here he is just walking in and making himself at home.

Your fingers tremble as you slip your hand into his, letting him pull you closer. He toes off his boots before turning back towards the bed. You watch as he stares at the giant bear for a moment before he shoves it off onto the floor on the other side of the bed. It almost makes you laugh, it would have had you not been so nervous. What he’s doing is bold, and it’s leaving you unsettled.

He climbs onto the bed, sitting in your spot. He uses the hand in yours to pull you up onto the bed as well. He relaxes back against the headboard as you wind up in his lap, straddling his waist.

“What’s happening?” You say, staring at him wide eyed. You haven’t been this close to him in months, and here he is just sitting you right in his lap like it’s nothing.

You’re going to get whiplash if he continues this.

“I did you a disservice.” He starts, tilting his head back to stare up at you. “That time I made you use sedation for your heat. I was too afraid of hurting you to see what it really meant, to understand the risks and what it would be like for you.”

“You don’t have to apologize.” You say quietly, trying not to jump as his hands come to settle on your thighs.

“I do.” He says, his eyes soft as he stares up at you. “I wasn’t man enough to face down my fears. I’m not making that mistake again.”

“Simon-”

“Don’t.” He says quietly. “Don’t talk me out of this.”

You shake your head. “You don’t-”

“I want to.”

His words have your protests dying in your throat. You stare at him wide-eyed. This feels like it’s coming out of left field. Things have shifted since his ascension into pack alpha, including the distance that had wedged between the two of you. Though he’s still been spending the least amount of time with you, you can’t deny he doesn’t feel quite so distant anymore. It’s comforting, just knowing there is an alpha there that would catch you if you fell.

Still, to go to this extent, to move this fast feels uncharacteristic for him.

“Simon,” You say softly as his hands trail up your thighs, reaching for your own hands.

“I should have done more, I should have been more for you.” He continues, almost as if he’s talking to himself. “You were right. I should have stepped up as soon as John said he was leaving.” He lifts your hands until they’re resting on either side of his neck. “I want to do this for you.”

You swallow thickly as you stare down at him, your fingers trembling where they rest against his mask. It feels strange being this close to him after so long. He’s being so...vulnerable suddenly and it’s making your head spin.

“Take it off.” He says.

“What?” You blink at him in surprise. You didn’t expect this at all.

“The mask. Take it off.”

“You...you’re sure?” You ask.

“Do it.” He says firmly.

Your fingers are still trembling as they curl around the bottom of the fabric. You can hardly believe this is happening, this is real. You’re really going to see his face. You had resigned yourself to only ever seeing him in his mask for the rest of your life, that he’d never willingly become that vulnerable with you. Yet here he is, coming into your space and opening himself up to this vulnerability.

Slowly you tug the fabric upward, revealing his scruffy chin. It’s the most you’ve ever seen of him when he tugs his mask up to eat. You continue pushing the fabric upward over his lips, your thumb tracing the scar there for a moment as you try and gain the courage to continue. It’s really happening. You’re about to see his face for the first time.

You push the mask up over his nose, thumbs gliding over his cheeks as you continue, pushing it up higher and higher. You take a deep breath in before tugging it upwards, pulling it completely off. He blinks up at you, leaning his head back against the headboard. You stare down at him in shock and awe, taking in his full face for the first time.

“You’re so...British looking.”

It’s the only thing you can think of to say. His face falls slightly, his brows pinching.

“Not-not in a bad way, it’s just...I’d know you were British if I saw you walking down the street.”

You wince at your own awkwardness. You’re not making it any better.

“You’re a handsome British man.” You say, cupping his cheeks.

He stares at you blankly for a moment and you worry you’ve fucked this up before his lips twist up in a smile, his arms wrapping around your waist.

“Like what you see?” He wiggles his eyebrows.

“Very much so.” You say quietly, cupping his cheeks.

You want to kiss him. You want to lean down and press your lips against his. You’re not sure where the desire has come from, when this sudden shift and change happened, but you can’t deny the desire you feel towards him. Maybe it’s your looming heat, maybe it’s because he’s the only alpha around, maybe it’s because he’s finally stepped up into what you knew he could be for you, what he could do for you.

He doesn’t stop you as you start to lean down, giving into the impulsive need. You wait for him to push you away, wait for him to change his mind and walk out the door, but he doesn’t. His arms tighten around your back, pulling you flush against his body as your lips touch his in a gentle, hesitant kiss.

A low growl rumbles in his chest as you kiss him, his hand flattening against your back. Shivers run down your spine, a quiet whine leaving your lips. His hand slides up your back, sinking into your hair to stop you from pulling away.

“Missed this.” He murmurs against your lips.

“Why did you wait so long?” You say quietly, kissing him again.

“Couldn’t stand the thought of hurting you again.” He says, pulling away. “I did it enough times before.” He stares up at you like you hung the moon and the stars. “I wasn’t fair to you.”

“You seriously don’t have to apologize.” You say, putting a finger on his lips. “I know you were being Mr. Emotionally Constipated So I Have To Make Myself Suffer For No Reason. It works for you, though.” You shrug. “Pairs with the Mr. Dark and Mysterious well.” You smile down at him. “Who knew Mr. Dark and Mysterious would also turn out to be Mr. Very British. Should have known with all the tea talk.”

He tightens his grip around you before suddenly pushing himself up. He flips you over onto your back, his hand squeezing your side, making you giggle. You trust him not to hurt you, his movements done in jesting not anger.

“You little shit.” He chuckles, resting on his elbows above you.

You smile up at him, pulling him down for another kiss. “I missed this.”

“So did I.” He says before kissing you deeply.

The kiss has electricity shooting down to your toes. Your whole body feels alive as your lips move against his, your arms wrapping around his neck. One hand slides into his hair, the short soft strands slipping through your fingers. You rake your nails across his scalp, a low growl rumbling in his throat. He pushes his body down against yours, squishing you into the mattress but you don’t care. He’s so big and warm it makes you feel safe and secure and for the first time since John left, your omega has settled contently.

You pull away begrudgingly after a few moments, staring up at him. You still can’t believe you’re seeing all of him, that he’s honored you with this chance to see his face fully.

“You really mean it?” You breathe, the hand in his hair sliding to cup his cheek.

“Of course.” He murmurs, pressing a kiss to your palm.

“We should go let them know so they can stop stressing.” You breathe.

“Good idea.” He kisses you one more time before he pulls away, letting you get up off the bed.

You grab his mask, handing it to him. “Here.”

He stares down at it for a long moment before pocketing it. “I don’t need it.”

You stare at him in surprise. “What?”

“I’ve been hiding long enough.” He says. “There’s no reason to now.”

You give him an incredulous look. “What happened to you?”

He shrugs. “Had an epiphany I guess.”

“One hell of an epiphany.” You say as he opens the door.

“It might be our only option.” Dr. Keller says as you step out of the door. “It’s going to be a rough heat though.”

“I’ll do it.” Simon says, standing next to you.

The three of them look up, Johnny doing a double take. Dr. Keller’s face slowly morphs into a smile as she stares at Simon. She’s seeing his face for the first time as well. It speaks volumes to his sudden new-found trust that he’s letting her see him as well. Or, maybe he’s solidifying her place among the allies of your pack. He knows how much she means to you, how much she means to the others.

It almost makes you want to cry.

The room is silent as Johnny and Kyle stare at Simon in shock. You stand next to him, a small smile on your face. Things are finally turning around, things are finally starting to shift and heal within your pack, even with John out of the picture for now. He’s going to be surprised when he comes back.

Simon shifts on his feet next to you, his hand squeezing yours gently. It grounds you, keeps you steady as he speaks the next words, the words you never thought you’d hear from him. They’re sincere, not born out of necessity or need. He really does mean them.

“I’ll help her through her heat.”

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[samoschier]

✧˖*°࿐ 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐄

series masterlist

—𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎. now go stand in the corner (and think about what you did)

𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐥𝐮𝐤𝐞 𝐡𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐬, 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐩𝐚, 𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐝𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐬, 𝐝𝐲𝐥𝐚𝐧 𝐝𝐮𝐤𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐡

Trying to deal with the aftermath of your boyfriend cheating on you with your best friend is hard... But it becomes a little easier when the perfect opportunity for revenge suddenly presents itself.

You were done crying over Luke Hughes. Too many tears had been shed the night you broke up, and you refused to shed anymore— even when he was glued to the side of some girl you had never seen before, barely a month after your relationship ended.

It felt impossible to stop staring at the picture. Jack was the one that posted it, Luke wouldn’t dare, not when you still followed him. Or maybe he would, everything you thought you knew about the kind of person he was had been thrown out the window weeks ago.

Jack probably didn’t even realize that Luke was in the background, sitting next to some blonde girl with his arm thrown around her. She’s halfway into his lap and you hold back the urge to scoff.

“Okay, no.” Your phone is promptly snatched from your hand, and before you can react, your best friend has quickly turned it off and slid the phone into her pocket, just out of arm's reach. 

“Chelsea—” you sigh, exasperated.

“Absolutely not.” She stares you down with a look that’s eerily similar to that of a mother’s. “I will not allow you to stare at this picture and wallow in self pity while Luke Hughes is out there sticking his dick into anything that moves.”

“Don’t say his name.” You sink further into your bed, pulling up the hood of your too-big hoodie that had been stolen from your brother’s closet long ago. 

“I can’t believe you still follow him, and his brothers.” Chelsea shakes her head, speaking up again before you have a chance to defend yourself. “He’s lucky I haven’t strangled him already, especially after what he did.”

The reason behind your break up still lingers, and no matter how much you wish you could forget about it, you seem to be reminded of it at every corner. At least it was summer, and you wouldn't be subjected to seeing Luke Hughes every time you walked around campus.

Your eyes drift over to the cluster of pictures that decorates the space above your desk. There are noticeable gaps, empty squares of white that stick out like a sore thumb against the colorful collage. 

There had been photos there, ones of you and the girl that was supposed to be your best friend since kindergarten, ones of you and Luke throughout your relationship, until you ripped them down with tears in your eyes.

Even now it was still hard to believe that she could do that to you, that they could do that to you. It makes your body heave with exhaustion. You were so tired of feeling like this, so tired of the ache that ran rampant across your heart.

So tired of being the only one heartbroken meanwhile Luke was off in New Jersey with his brother having what seemed to be the time of his life. 

The sound of running water from the bathroom stopped, and you could hear as Luke stepped out of the shower. Right as he did, a ding! From his phone caught your attention.

“Luke!” You called out, “you got a text.”

“Will you read it for me?” He asked, voice muffled from behind the door.

Without responding, you lean over from your spot on his bed, reaching for his phone that’s face down against the nightstand. The screen lights up as you turn it over. The name that pops up on the screen makes you furrow your brows. Why was she texting Luke?

You type his password in before clicking on the message. Your face drops, and you can feel your heart beating so loudly in your chest that you can’t hear Luke call out your name from behind the bathroom door.

It doesn’t register in your head the first time you read it, you have to read it a second time, and even then it's hard to believe what the words on the screen say. 

“I know we’ve already talked about this and you don’t want to tell her but she deserves to know. I know you said that you guys were on a break, but it never should’ve happened. We never should’ve slept together and I feel horrible about it. So either tell her about it or I will.”

When Luke calls out your name for a second time, you hear it. He’s standing in the doorway of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist. 

He scrunches his face in confusion. “What’s wrong?”

You don’t say anything, can’t bring yourself to. Instead, you stand up, phone in hand before shoving it into his chest. He stumbles, clearly taken aback by it.

Luke’s brows furrow before taking a look at what’s on his phone that has you so upset. His face drops, and then the yelling starts.

“You don’t unders—”

“I swear to God, Luke, if you try and come up with an excuse right now I’m going to slap the shit out of you.” Your jaw clenched, a futile attempt to hold back the tears that are beginning to well up and blur your vision ever so slightly. 

You can’t even look at him, can’t stand the pleading look in his eyes. Though, it’s hard to tell whether he actually feels guilty about it, or if he’s just sorry he got caught. Everything you thought you knew about the kind of person he was feels different now.

“Just let me explain.”

Tears are falling down your cheeks at this point, but even now you can’t help but scoff. “Explain? Explain what?”

“How you fucked my best friend— a girl I’ve known since we were kids, and didn’t even have the decency to tell me.” The way Luke lowers his head, casting his eyes downward in shame does nothing but set you off. “Explain how I had to find out through a text?”

“Were you even going to tell me?

The question is followed by silence, which is an answer in itself. Luke won’t look at you, even though he’s the one who did it. He’s the one that made that decision, and he won’t even take accountability for it. 

“When did it happen?” You ask, and it makes Luke look up at you, face scrunched in confusion, like he couldn’t possibly understand why you would want to know the details of him sleeping with another girl.

It takes him a moment to gather his words. “Uh, it was over spring break, when I was in New Jersey.”

The room goes silent as you process what he’s told you. Your voice cracks when you finally speak up again. “This happened almost two months ago?”

Luke takes a moment to respond. “We were on a break, I didn’t think it was worth mention—”

You attempt a scoff. “Just because we were on a break doesn‘t give you the right to sleep with someone else, and the fact that you didn’t think it was worth mentioning is… astounding.” 

You search his face for any sign of guilt, and if it’s there you can’t seem to find it. He doesn’t say anything else. Doesn’t apologize, doesn’t beg for forgiveness, just stands and stares at you, like this whole situation is just an inconvenience for him. 

The sudden urge to leave washes over you, unable to look at Luke any longer. Before you know it, you’re grabbing all of your things, but Luke is quick to try and stop you.

“Come on, don’t leave, can’t we just—” he goes to grab your arm, but you yank yourself out of his grasp, tears still streaming down your face.

“No, Luke! We can’t do anything about this, there’s no coming back from sleeping with my best friend.” Your tone is accusatory, and you can’t bring yourself to stand there any longer, not caring about anything else that could possibly come from Luke Hughes’s mouth. You’re almost to the door when you realize that there’s one more thing you want to get off your chest. 

“I would’ve never done this to you.”

That was the last time you’d seen him. You’d gone straight home that night, letting Chelsea comfort you while you cried yourself to sleep. Luke brought your stuff over a few days later, per Chelsea’s request.

You refused to talk to him, even after he blew your phone up with messages, though none of them were an apology. He tried to talk Chelsea into letting him into your apartment so he could talk to you, but she was quick to slam the door in his face. 

When Hailey texted you, however, you were torn. Explaining that she was upset with how you found out and that it shouldn’t have been that way. Apologizing that it ever happened in the first place. You couldn’t bring yourself to respond.

Which brings you to now, coping with the aftermath that comes from no longer having a boyfriend or a best friend in your life. 

It’s two weeks before the start of your junior year, and you’re sitting on the couch watching a movie with Chelsea when you get a text. It makes you furrow your brows and you nudge Chelsea with your elbow, angling your phone so she can look at the screen.

She turns to you with a puzzled expression. “Why is Mark Estapa texting you?”

You shrug your shoulders. “I know they’re already back at school, so he must've just told them we broke up. I don’t know why Mark would be texting me about it though.”

Right as you finish your sentence, another text from him comes through, one that makes your eyebrows shoot to the sky. 

Hey, sorry to hear about you and Luke.

Feel free to hit me up if you ever need anything. 

The two of you turn to look at each other, Chelsea with a hand over her mouth in an attempt to stifle a laugh. No words are able to come out of your mouth when she takes your phone from you. She reads the text over again.

“Feel free to hit me up if you ever need anything?” Her mouth is agape, rereading the text once again like she can’t believe what she’s seeing. Chelsea laughs. “Oh, he wants you.”

You roll your eyes, reaching up to try and take your phone back but she holds it just out of reach. “No, he does not. He’s just being nice.”

Chelsea gives you a look. “No guy texts his homeboy’s ex after they break up just to be nice.”

The corner of your mouth quirks up, shaking your head at the girl, but the fun quickly ends when you realize she’s typing something. “Chelsea, what are you doing?”

She smirks and by the time you finally snatch your phone back to see what she’s doing, a text back has already been sent. Your jaw drops when you read what she’s written.

“I appreciate that, maybe I will, winky-face.” Your eyes went round, just completely astounded. You groaned. “Chelsea, he’s already seen it, what am I gonna do?”

“Well,” she starts, and you already know you’re not going to like what she has to say. “You could just fuck him.”

You swear your head has never whipped around so fast. “Chelsea!”

“What?” She laughs, shrugging her shoulders as if what she just said wasn’t at all out of pocket. “Come on, think about it. It’s like, the perfect way to get back at that dick.”

You sink further into the couch, glancing up to stare at your friend. “How is sleeping with one of his friends going to make this any better?”

Chelsea grins. “You wouldn’t be sleeping with just his friend, Mark’s like one of his best friends. They literally live together, could you imagine the look on Luke’s face if he saw you there with Mark?”

You cross your arms over your chest, waiting for her to keep going, but suddenly an expression crosses her face. You squinted at Chelsea, not liking the way her eyes twinkled with mischief.

“I have an idea.”

“No.”

She promptly ignores you, adjusting her seat on the couch so she’s cross legged and facing you completely. “What if you got with all of them?”

You blinked. “All of who?”

“Luke’s friends.”

An incredulous look crosses your face. “Do you know how many friends Luke has?”

Chelsea lets out an exasperated sigh. “I don’t mean like every single one of his friends, just the ones he’s really close with. You know, like Mark and the rest of their group. It would be the perfect way to get revenge.”

Suddenly, you realize exactly who she means. “They’re not going to get with their best friend’s ex-girlfriend, they wouldn’t do that to him.”

“Mark would.” Chelsea smirked. When you didn’t immediately speak up to disagree she kept going.

You open your mouth to speak up, but promptly close it, letting Chelsea continue her ramble. She did have a point, but you were still unsure. Doing this just kind of felt exactly what he did to you, and you meant what you said; that you would’ve never done that to him. You understood that the circumstances were different, of course, you and Luke were no longer together so it wasn’t exactly what he did to you. 

You went back and forth in a mental debate before finally shaking your head. “I don’t think so, Chelsea. I just… at this point the last thing I want to think about is Luke. All I want to do is move on from this whole thing.”

Chelsea sighed, folding her hands in her lap. “Okay. If that’s what you want, then I won’t bring it up again.”

Reaching over, you grabbed her hand, squeezing it gently. “Thank you.”

As promised, she didn’t bring it up again for the rest of the night, and by the time you woke up in the morning, you’d almost forgotten all about it. It was around midday, though, when you found yourself scrolling on Instagram that you saw it. 

You shoot straight up, elbows no longer resting on the counter top like they were previously, and for the first time since the break up you find yourself angry, rather than upset. You screenshot the picture and zoom in, making sure you’re not just seeing things.

You’re not. 

You scoff, it’s a picture of Luke and some girl, his arm around her shoulders, but that’s not what has you upset. It's what she’s wearing, a necklace around her neck that’s yours. The one you were so upset about when you couldn’t find it because it meant so much to you.

You send the screenshot to Chelsea, typing out a message to go with it.

I take back what I said.

I want to get revenge.

— hope you guys enjoyed the intro, and if you did then there’s more where that came from

— i don’t have a set schedule for when i’m going to be updating, i am a college student so i’m pretty busy but i will try and get chapters out as quick as i can

— with that being said, remember my inbox is always open, feel free to ask me any thing you want to about the series (i’ll try and answer without spoiling anything as best i can) or if you just want to chat that’s okay too :)

[thatfeelinwhenyou]

SAFE & SOUND — part 3

Navigating one year post-apocalypse, when the dead began to walk and the living proved to be no better, you decide that trust is a luxury you can no longer afford. But after a run-in with a group of seven peculiar survivors, you learn that there are bigger problems than just the undead roaming the streets. You also start to wonder if there’s more to survival than simply staying alive.

word count: 7.4k

MASTERLIST

Whispers.

Soft at first, like the rustling of leaves in the wind. But they grow louder, more insistent, wrapping around you like tendrils of smoke. You’re alone. Back in the forest, standing in the middle of that clearing.

You spin around, your heart pounding in your chest. They’re here.

Rotters.

They shamble toward you from every direction. Some are missing limbs, dragging broken legs behind them. Others have half their faces torn away, flesh hanging in ragged strips. But it’s their eyes that hold you captive—clear, human, and horrifyingly aware.

They’re whispering.

You can’t make out the words, no matter how hard you strain to listen. The whispers slither into your mind, incomprehensible and maddening, sending a shiver down your spine.

You take a step back. They take a step forward. 

Every time you blink, they’re closer. Closing in, tightening the circle around you. You’re surrounded. 

“Y/N.”

Their whispers begin to merge, forming one singular voice. It echoes through the clearing, sharp and cold, making your blood run icy.

“Y/N.”

It’s louder now. They’ve reached you. Hands—cold, skeletal hands—grab at your shoulders. Tugging. Shaking.

“Y/N.”

The voice isn’t distant anymore. It’s right there. Right in your ear. Your chest tightens, your breath caught in your throat as panic seizes you. The hands grip harder. Shaking you so violently you think they might throw you to the ground. 

There’s nowhere to go.

You’re going to die.

“Y/N!”

You gasp, your eyes flying open. The forest, the rotters, the whispers—they’re gone. Instead, you find yourself staring into a familiar pair of dark eyes. Jungwon’s hands are on your arms, gently shaking you awake.

“Hey,” he murmurs, his voice soft but steady. “It’s okay. I’m here. You’re safe and sound.”

Your chest heaves, your pulse still racing as the remnants of the nightmare cling to you. Sweat beads on your forehead, and your hands tremble as you push yourself upright.

Jungwon’s brow furrows with concern. “You were shaking. I tried waking you earlier, but you wouldn’t come out of it.”

You swallow hard, trying to find your voice. “It… it was nothing,” you say, your voice hoarse. “Just a nightmare.”

Jungwon doesn’t look convinced. His gaze lingers on you for a moment longer before he sighs, leaning back slightly. “You sure?”

You nod, forcing yourself to steady your breathing. “Yeah.” But even as you say it, the whispers linger in your mind, a haunting echo you can’t quite shake.

You take a look around, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as the surroundings come into focus. The others have already alighted the van, their silhouettes moving quietly in the dawn light. The sky is painted in soft hues of orange and pink as the sun slowly rises from the horizon, casting long shadows over the road and surrounding trees.

“Are we there already?” you ask groggily, your voice raspy from sleep.

Jungwon, still seated beside you, reaches for his canister and hands it over without a word. You take it gratefully, the cool water washing away the dry, bitter taste in your mouth.

“No, we ran out of fuel,” he replies.

You glance toward the front of the van, where Ni-ki is tinkering under the hood, muttering quietly to himself. Jake stands nearby, stretching his arms and rolling his shoulders, his gaze drifting toward the distant village down the hill.

“Jungwon,” a familiar voice calls from outside. Heeseung appears at the foot of the van, one hand resting on the roof for support. “We’re thinking about checking out the village down there. Hopefully, siphon some gas and scavenge for supplies.”

Jungwon nods thoughtfully, his eyes scanning the horizon. He’s calculating the risks, weighing the possibilities before making his decision.

“Yeah,” he says after a moment. “Let’s do that. But not all of us. Just a few.”

You watch as the group gathers around to discuss the plan, their voices hushed but purposeful. There’s an underlying tension in the air—a shared understanding that every move counts, every decision could mean the difference between life and death.

Heeseung crosses his arms, his sharp gaze landing on Jungwon. “Who’s going?”

Jungwon’s eyes flick between the group, assessing each person in turn. “Jay, Ni-ki, and I. Us three will check out the village. You guys stay here to keep an eye on the perimeter.”

Sunoo lets out a scoff from where he leans against a tree. “You’re sending Ni-ki? What if we need the van fixed while he’s gone?”

“We’re not leaving him behind,” Jungwon says firmly. “If there’s gas to be found, we’ll need someone who knows how to siphon it properly.”

Ni-ki straightens from where he’s crouched by the van, wiping his hands on his trousers. “Relax, Sunoo. I’ll be back before you miss me.”

The feeling of guilt rises again—a familiar weight you’ve carried for far too long. It creeps up your spine and settles deep in your gut. You shouldn’t be sitting here, letting them take all the risks. They’ve already been through enough. And yet here you are, another mouth to feed, another body to protect.

It doesn’t sit right with you.

The words slip out before you can stop them. “No, Ni-ki should stay.”

Jungwon’s gaze snaps to you, his brows knitting together in confusion. “What?”

Ni-ki frowns, his usual playful expression replaced by something more serious. “Why? I’m the only one who knows how–” and he yawns. Self-explanatory.

“Because you’ve been driving all night,” you reply, your tone steady but resolute. “You need rest”

“I know how to siphon gas,” you say, your voice firmer this time. “My dad’s a mechanic back in the province. I used to help him all the time at his shop. I know what I’m doing.”

The group falls silent, everyone turning to look at you. The weight of their stares presses down on you, but you stand your ground, refusing to back down.

“You’ve done it before?” Heeseung asks, tilting his head slightly as he studies you.

You nod. “Plenty of times.”

Jungwon’s expression remains unreadable as he considers your words. His jaw tightens, and for a moment, you wonder if he’s going to shut you down. Because at the end of the day, whatever he says goes. But when he speaks, his voice is measured but tinged with something you can’t quite place—concern, maybe.

“It’s not just about siphoning gas,” he says. “It’s dangerous out there. You saw what we ran into last night.”

“I know,” you say quietly. “But I can handle it. You need me to do this.”

The silence stretches for a moment before Heeseung speaks up, breaking the tension. “She’s got a point.”

Jay scoffs from where he’s still leaning against the tree, arms crossed over his chest. “This is insane. We barely know her, and you want to let her go off into the village?”

“Jay,” Jake’s voice cuts through the tension, sharp and steady. “Again. Not your place to speak.” He doesn’t even look up from the med kit he’s reorganising again for the tenth time, but his tone is enough to silence Jay instantly.

The weight of Jake’s words hangs heavy in the air. You can see Jay tense, his jaw clenching as he looks away. It’s clear Jake hasn’t forgiven him—not entirely. That wound still festers beneath the surface, a quiet reminder of what they’ve lost.

You take a breath, your fingers curling into your palm before you speak. “Trust me. Or better yet, don’t trust me. If anything goes wrong, it’s easier to leave me behind anyway.”

Your words come out too easily. Too naturally. They’re the kind of words you’ve told yourself for days now—an unspoken truth you’ve lived by. The moment they leave your mouth, though, you see the ripple of discomfort they send through the group.

Every one of them shifts, guilt flickering across their faces. Heeseung’s hand falters over the strap of his bag, Sunoo looks away entirely, and even Jay’s hardened expression cracks for a split second.

“Y/N, that’s not—” Heeseung starts, his voice soft with concern, but you cut him off before he can finish.

“I was just joking,” you say quickly, forcing a smile you don’t feel. “Relax, guys.”

But no one laughs. No one even cracks a smile. Instead, their discomfort seems to deepen, the awkward silence stretching longer than you anticipated. It hits you then—you’ve triggered something you didn’t even realise was sensitive. Maybe it’s because those words carry a truth they’ve already lived through. Maybe it’s because the thought has crossed their mind before.

Either way, the tension is palpable. You’ve misjudged your audience.

Jungwon steps forward, his expression calm but serious. His voice, when he speaks, is quiet but firm. “Don’t joke about that.”

His words linger in the air, not harsh, but weighted with something you can’t quite name. There’s something in his eyes—a heaviness, a flicker of guilt or regret—that makes you realise he’s not saying it to admonish you. He’s saying it to comfort himself.

You hold his gaze for a moment, searching for the meaning behind those words. There’s no accusation there. Just a quiet plea.

“Alright,” you say softly, nodding once. “I won’t.”

The group falls into silence again, but it’s different now. Heavier. 

The road leading into the village is eerily quiet, the only sound coming from the crunch of your boots against the gravel. Jay walks a few steps ahead, his bow slung over his shoulder, his posture tense as he scans the area. Jungwon stays closer to you, his gaze sweeping over every abandoned house and overgrown field, ever the vigilant leader.

It’s a small village—the kind you’d expect to see bustling with life, where neighbours of neighbours know one another by name, where doors are left unlocked, and everyone exchanges gifts on Christmas and rice cakes on New Year’s Eve. 

But now it’s nothing more than a graveyard of memories. Weeds grow wild through the cracks in the pavement, creeping up the sides of empty houses. Windows are shattered, doors left ajar, swaying gently in the breeze as if still waiting for someone to come home. Faded signs and rusting bicycles lean against walls that haven’t seen a human touch in years. 

Unfortunately, a small village also means there’s no need for cars to travel around. No gas for you to siphon.

But among the dense field stretching miles out of the village, something catches your attention.

Overgrown crops, long since withered and dead, stretch endlessly in every direction. Tangled weeds twist through the rows, choking out what little life might have remained. And in the middle of it all, sitting like a forgotten relic from a time before, is a tractor. Its rusted frame gleams faintly in the early morning light, patches of red paint barely visible beneath layers of rust and grime.

Gas.

The three of you stop at the edge of the field, taking in the sight.

“That thing’s been sitting there for a while,” Jay says, his tone sceptical. “No guarantee it even has gas left.”

“Only one way to find out,” Jungwon replies, already moving toward it.

You and Jay exchange a glance before following him, cautiously weaving your way through the wild weeds and brittle stalks.

The field is too quiet, too still. The kind of quiet that makes your skin crawl, as though something is watching from the shadows, waiting for the right moment to move. The overgrown weeds brush against your legs, and every rustle sets your nerves on edge. It feels like something is going to pop out from beneath the ground and take a chomp out of your feet. 

The unease prickles at the back of your mind, but you push the feeling aside.

When you reach the tractor, Jungwon pulls out the siphoning kit Ni-ki packed for you. He hands you the tube and a canister. You kneel beside the tractor, unscrewing the fuel cap before inserting the tube.

“Let’s hope this thing’s got something left in it,” you mutter, giving the tube a few pumps. It takes a moment, but then—finally—liquid begins to flow.

Jungwon gives a small nod of approval before stepping back to keep watch. Jay crouches nearby, pulling out a knife and absently running his thumb along the edge of the blade.

The silence stretches as you wait for the canister to fill. The distant rustling of leaves in the breeze is the only sound. Until you decide to break it.

“It might not mean anything, but I would’ve done it too,” you say softly, your voice carrying across the field. Both Jungwon and Jay turn to look at you, confusion flickering across their faces. You meet Jay’s gaze, holding it steady. He knows what you’re referring to, but you spell it out anyway. 

“Going after him—I mean.”

Jay’s jaw tightens, and he looks away. “You don’t have to lie to comfort me. I know what I did was wrong.”

“There’s no right or wrong in the apocalypse. But even if you think it’s wrong, you don’t regret it” you say, your tone calm but unwavering.

Jay’s head snaps back toward you, his brow furrowing. “What are you trying to say?”

You shrug, leaning back slightly on your heels. “What I’m trying to say is, what you’re feeling is valid. If it were up to me, I would’ve shot him in both ankles. Make sure he couldn’t run to begin with.”

There’s a beat of silence. Jungwon shifts slightly, his gaze flickering between you and Jay, but he doesn’t interrupt. He’s listening too.

Jay’s expression is guarded, his lips pressed into a thin line. “You’re not scared to say that? In front of him?” He gestures toward Jungwon with a tilt of his head.

“Why would I be?” You glance at Jungwon briefly before turning back to Jay.

“You probably already figured it out,” Jay says quietly, his gaze fixed on the blade in his hand. “But the whole point of this group—the way Jungwon leads us—is to make sure we don’t become the monsters we ran away from.” He pauses, his jaw clenching briefly before continuing. “Whatever Jake or the others feel about what I did… that’s valid.”

You watch him carefully, noticing the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers tighten around the knife as if it’s the only thing keeping him steady. There’s guilt there, deeply rooted, but also defiance. He doesn’t regret what he did—he regrets what it cost him.

“Protecting your loved ones comes at a much too high cost sometimes,” you say softly, your voice steady despite the heaviness of the conversation. “Frankly speaking, if I saw someone I love die in front of me, I’d do much more than just shoot someone in the ankle.”

Jay’s knife stills in his hand. For a brief moment, something shifts in his expression—a crack in the hardened exterior he’s built around himself. In that moment, he looks younger. Less guarded. More human.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, his voice quieter now, tinged with something close to regret. “It doesn’t bring her back, though.”

“No,” you agree gently. “It doesn’t.”

The words hang between you, heavy with shared understanding. For a moment, neither of you speaks, the sound of the wind rustling through the overgrown field filling the silence.

“But,” you add, your gaze locking on his, “you seem to forget that it’s also human to want justice. Or revenge. Whatever you want to call it.”

Jay lifts his head slowly, his eyes meeting yours. There’s a flicker of something in his gaze—recognition, maybe. Like he hadn’t allowed himself to think of it that way before.

“Justice or revenge,” he repeats, almost to himself. “I guess it depends on who’s telling the story.”

You nod. “Or who’s left to tell it.”

He lets out a quiet exhale, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly. “I don’t know what that makes me, though. A monster or just… someone who’s trying to survive.”

You offer a faint smile, one that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Maybe it makes you both.”

Jay huffs a soft, humourless laugh. “Yeah. Maybe.”

Jungwon, who’s been standing quietly off to the side, finally speaks. “It makes you someone who’s still here. Someone who’s still fighting. That’s all that matters.” His voice is steady, filled with that quiet authority that makes people listen. Jay glances at Jungwon, something unspoken passing between them before he nods. 

The canister fills with a soft glug, and you pull the tube out, wiping your hands on your jeans. You glance at Jay again, his gaze distant as he processes your words. You screw the fuel cap back onto the tractor and Jay picks up the canister.

The three of you head back through the field, the morning light casting long shadows across the overgrown crops. You and Jungwon walk a few feet ahead while Jay trails behind in silence. For the first time, the silence between you and Jay feels a little lighter. A little more bearable.

Jungwon doesn’t say anything, but you can feel the weight of his unspoken words in the way his gaze flickers toward you. He glances at you, then away, like he’s searching for the right moment to speak—or maybe the right words. It’s subtle, but you notice it every single time.

It’s fascinating, really.

Just days ago, back at the auto shop, he was an impenetrable shell. Guarded, unreadable, every word measured and calculated. His presence then felt heavy with the burden of leadership, the weight of keeping the group alive pressing down on his shoulders.

But now? Now, you see something else. There’s a quiet shift in him. A softening. 

It’s in the way his shoulders aren’t as tense, the way his eyes don’t carry the same storm they did before. He still holds himself with purpose, still walks with that quiet confidence that commands respect. But there’s something more now—something vulnerable. Something real.

He’s finally living up to his name.

Garden.

Not the enclosed, walled-off kind. But an open, untamed one. Wildflowers breaking through cracks in stone, soft green creeping over hard surfaces, reaching out toward the light despite everything.

And it makes you wonder if you’ve planted yourself there, too. If, without realising it, you’ve taken root in the cracks he kept so tightly sealed. The thought sends an ache through your chest—one you can’t quite place, one you’re not sure you want to name.

But it doesn’t change the facts.

Your plan to slip away quietly still stands. It has to. The moment you start to care too much, the moment you feel like you belong—that’s the moment everything falls apart. You’ve learned that lesson the hard way, and you’re not about to forget it.

You glance at Jungwon, his gaze once again flickering toward you before settling ahead. There’s trust in his eyes now, trust you never expected to earn. And it terrifies you.

Because when the day comes, when you finally decide it’s time to leave, it won’t be as simple as walking away. You’ll not only have to pull yourself out of that garden—you’ll have to dig. Dig deep. Find every root, every tendril of connection that’s wound itself around your heart, and sever it.

And that’s what scares you the most.

You’ve always been good at surviving. Good at keeping your distance. But something about this group, about him, makes you question whether you’re as detached as you like to think.

You push the thought aside, your grip tightening on the knife at your belt. Not yet. Not today.

For now, you keep walking. 

But with each step, the weight in your chest grows heavier. The more you procrastinate confronting this—the way your walls have started to crumble, the way the cracks are widening—the deeper the roots grow. 

And one day, those roots will grow too deep. So deep that no matter how hard you dig, no matter how determined you are to sever them, they’ll remain. Buried beneath layers of regret, fear, betrayal and everything you’ve been running from.

And deep down, you know this. You’ve always known. 

It terrifies you.

Because in a world where nothing is certain, where survival often means cutting ties and leaving before things fall apart, you can feel yourself tethering to something—or someone—that you’re not sure you’ll be able to walk away from.

Knowing this and yet, you keep walking.

The three of you near the foot of the hill, the climb back to the van just ahead. Your legs ache from the trek, and your mind is still spinning from your earlier conundrum. But just as you’re about to start the ascent, something stops you cold.

At first, you think it must be your mind playing tricks again—another hallucination brought on by exhaustion. But no. These voices are real. They’re vivid, sharp, and far too close.

“Get down,” Jungwon whispers, already crouching low. His eyes scan the surroundings, quickly assessing the situation.

You drop to your knees, heart pounding in your chest. The voices grow clearer, drifting through the trees just ahead.

“When are your stupid friends coming back with the gas?” It’s a voice you don’t recognise—rough, impatient.

“If they’re taking this long, it better be because there’s so much gas for them to siphon,” another voice replies, laced with irritation.

“Or maybe there’s no gas at all, and you idiots are just wasting your time on us.” Sunoo, the ever so convincing diplomat. He might as well tell them to shoot him right there and then.

Jungwon glances up from his crouched position, subtly peering over the tall grass. His blonde hair, ironically, blends into the wildflowers scattered around, making him almost invisible from a distance.

He raises two fingers, silently indicating the number of visible threats.

Jay crouches beside him, his bow already in hand, an arrow notched and ready to draw. “I can easily take them out,” he whispers, his tone steady but eager. “One shot each.”

“No.” Jungwon shakes his head firmly. “Think about it. Sunghoon, Heeseung, and Ni-ki could’ve taken them out themselves. They wouldn’t let themselves get caught off-guard. Which means there’s more of them. Armed. Hidden.”

The realisation sends a chill down your spine. Of course. It’s not just two men holding your friends hostage—there’s a whole group. And they’re lying in wait, hidden in the trees or behind the van, ready to strike if anyone makes a move.

Jay curses under his breath. “Fuck, I knew I should’ve brough the pistol along.”

Jungwon’s jaw tightens, his eyes scanning the area for any possible advantage. His mind is already racing through options, calculating risks. His hand twitches toward the knife at his side, but he doesn’t draw it. Not yet.

“We wait,” he says quietly. “We need to figure out how many we’re dealing with.”

“And if they hurt them?” you ask, your voice wavering despite your best efforts to stay calm.

“They won’t,” says Jungwon, his voice filled with quiet conviction. “Not yet. They want something. And as long as they think they can get it, they’ll keep them alive.”

You swallow hard, nodding. But your eyes drift back toward the direction of Sunoo’s voice, your chest tightening with worry.

The seconds crawl by, the tension weighing heavier with each passing moment. Every whisper from the strangers ahead feels amplified, mingling with the rustling leaves and the distant calls of birds. You try to focus, straining to pick out anything useful—a clue about how many of them there are or where they’re positioned—but the sounds blur together, indistinct and frustratingly useless.

Then, from the corner of your eye, you catch it—a flicker of movement. Your head snaps toward the tail of the van, heart pounding. For the briefest moment, a hand emerges, fingers twitching in a silent signal.

Three.

The hand disappears just as quickly as it appeared, but the message is clear. You nudge Jungwon lightly, your fingers brushing his arm. His gaze follows yours to the spot where the hand had been, and you watch as his expression hardens. His eyes narrow in that calculating way you’ve come to recognise.

Three. 

No—more. The hand reappears, flashing another quick signal.

Five.

Your stomach twists, the tension tightening like a noose around your chest. Five? Does that mean five hidden threats, or five including the two already standing out in the open with your friends? You curse under your breath, frustrated that you hadn’t thought to establish hand signals with them sooner. Anticipating a situation like this should’ve been second nature by now.

Your heart skips a beat as the hand emerges once more. But this time, it’s more than just fingers. You catch a glimpse of hair, dishevelled but unmistakable.

Sunghoon.

His hands are tied behind his back, but he’s doing everything he can to communicate. His fingers form a fist, except for his thumb and index finger, which he cocks repeatedly.

“They’re armed,” Jungwon whispers, his voice low and steady, cutting through your thoughts. He’s already figured it out. Of course he has. Sunghoon’s making the universal sign for guns, cocking his thumb like a makeshift trigger. When he raises two fingers, it clicks.

Two guns.

Three hidden threats.

Five in total.

You turn to look at Jungwon and Jay and it’s pretty clear they figured it out too. Their faces mirror your own dread, their expressions tense and focused. There’s no room for error here. 

Sunghoon’s hand twitches again, slower this time. He forms a clenched fist before making a sweeping motion inwards, his fingers pointing to the back of the van.

“He wants us to come up behind the van,” you whisper to Jungwon, barely able to hear your own voice over the pounding of your heart. Jungwon gives a slight nod, his eyes never leaving Sunghoon.

But then Sunghoon’s fingers start counting down.

Five.

Wait, what?

Four.

Panic flares in your chest. What’s the plan? There’s no time to figure this out.

Three.

Jungwon’s jaw tightens, his hand inching toward the hilt of his blade.

Two.

If you rush out now, you’ll be spotted. You know it. You’ll be shot before you even make it to the van.

One.

You freeze.

“So, what’s the plan, lady and gentlemen?” Sunoo’s voice rings out, light and sarcastic despite the weight of the situation. “Gonna stand there all day?”

He’s creating a distraction. Of course he is. Turning the strangers’ attention to him, giving you a window of opportunity to sneak around. For a brief moment, you’re struck by how well this group operates together—how they fill in the gaps for each other. It’s seamless, even in chaos.

You also catch the nuance in Sunoo’s words. Lady and gentlemen. One woman. Four men.

One of the men steps closer, his rifle glinting in the light. “Keep talking, pretty boy. See how that works out for you.”

“I understand,” Sunoo says lightly. “But I really do need to pee. Would you be so kind as to help me out?”

The man doesn’t even flinch. “No. Pee your pants.”

Sunoo lets out a dramatic sigh. “Oh, come on. I know it’s the apocalypse, but you can’t strip me of my basic human rights. Back in the day, you’d be charged with kidnapping on multiple counts.”

“This isn’t ‘back in the day’ now, is it?” says one of them.

“Fine. But at least unzip my trousers and help me take it out, please!" you make a mental note that Sunoo and lack of decorum do not go well together, even in the apocalypse.

The man’s face twists in disgust, and a woman’s voice pipes up from the other side, exasperated. “Ugh. Just help him.”

There’s shuffling. Movement. Now.

You push yourself off the ground, body low as you crawl across the curb and step into the open road. You creep behind the van, the gravel crunching quietly beneath your boots. Jungwon and Jay follow close, silent shadows trailing in your wake.

Sunghoon stands just a few feet away, Jake perpendicular from him, both still bound. The tension between the three of you is palpable, a shared understanding that one wrong move could cost everything.

Unfortunately, from your position, you can't see where the oppressors are without risking exposure. The van offers some cover, but it’s not enough to make a clear assessment. Your pulse drums steadily in your ears as you scan your surroundings, searching for any advantage.

Then, out of the corner of your eye, you notice Jake shifting slightly. At first, you think he’s adjusting his position, but then a glint catches your attention—a flash of sunlight reflecting off the knife secured in his belt. Your brow furrows, curious.

Jake moves again, this time more deliberately, tilting the blade just enough to catch the light. The reflection bounces toward the treeline, and you realise with a start that he’s not just adjusting—he’s positioning himself to show you something.

He’s using the reflection to signal.

You narrow your eyes, focusing on the faint gleam in the knife. It flickers as Jake tilts it, revealing small glimpses of what lies beyond your line of sight. Through the distorted image in the reflection, you can make out the silhouette of a woman standing near Sunghoon. She’s clinging to the arm of a man with a rifle.

Jake tilts the knife again, revealing two more figures standing near the van’s hood. They’re not moving much, but the muzzle of a rifle glints faintly in the light.

Four.

Your chest tightens as you try to piece together the situation. You glance at Jungwon, who’s crouched nearby, his gaze locked on the same reflection. His lips press into a thin line as he absorbs the information.

Four by the van. One unaccounted for.

“What? Are you going to watch me pee?” Sunoo’s voice drifts through the trees, loud and mocking. He sounds far too relaxed for someone tied up and at gunpoint. It would almost be funny—if it wasn’t terrifying. But you know exactly what he’s doing—keeping the focus on himself. No, not just that. 

The pieces fall into place. Four by the van. One with Sunoo. Two confirmed firearms.

You take a risk, tilting your head just enough to peek beyond the edge of the van. The road stretches out before you, dappled with sunlight filtering through the trees. And then you see it—an opportunity.

Your gaze sharpens as the woman catches your attention again. She’s unarmed, still clinging to the man with the rifle, her hands trembling slightly. The way her fingers grip his sleeve, the tension in her posture—it tells you everything. She’s scared. Not just for herself, but for him.

Girlfriend? Wife? Sister? It doesn’t matter. It’s a weakness. 

Your heart pounds as you glance at Sunghoon, signalling with a subtle nod. He inches to his left, giving you a clear path. Every movement is slow, deliberate. The woman remains oblivious, her focus entirely on the man she’s holding on to. You shift your weight, exchanging a glance with Jungwon. His eyes narrow, and in an instant, he knows exactly what you’re thinking.

Don’t.

The silent message is written all over his face. His hand twitches, reaching toward you, a last-ditch effort to stop you. But you’ve already made up your mind.

You step out from behind the van, your footsteps soft but purposeful. The knife in your hand feels like an extension of your arm. The woman’s head snaps up as she senses your presence, her eyes widening in shock.

Before she can react, your arm wraps around her neck, pulling her close. The blade presses against her throat, just hard enough to make her freeze. A gasp escapes her lips—a fragile sound, filled with fear.

“Move and I’ll slit her throat,” you say, your voice cold and unyielding. Something in it that scares you even. The woman stiffens in your grip, her breath catching in her throat. The man in front of her spins around, his rifle swinging toward you before he freezes, wide-eyed and panicked. 

Beside you, Jungwon stays hidden, crouched low behind the van. He signals to Jay with a subtle nod, motioning for him to circle around to the front of the van now that every pair of eyes is locked on you.

“Let her go!” he shouts, his hands tightening around the weapon.

"Not a chance," you reply, pressing the blade just a little closer to the woman’s neck. Her breath hitches, a strained gasp breaking through the tense silence. She trembles in your hold, her fingers clawing weakly at your arm—not to fight you off, just instinct, pure desperation. Her nails barely scrape your skin, like she knows it won’t help but can’t stop herself from trying.

You know what must be running through her mind. You wonder if she feels like prey in a trap, heart pounding, mind racing to find a way out. Your mind spirals further, unwanted thoughts clawing at the edges of your focus.

This moment is a reflection. A sickening déjà vu.

Would this woman be feeling what their friend felt when that man held her at knifepoint? 

Would this man be feeling what Jay had felt when he witnessed his loved one on the verge of death?

Would they see you in that same light? 

Then again, why would you care what they think about you? It’s not like you’ll be staying long anyway.

So, you don’t let go. You can’t let go. Because you know what will happen when you do.

The man with the rifle looks like he’s calculating his odds, his gaze flicking between you and your hostage. The tension is palpable, each second stretching out endlessly. The woman whimpers, her body trembling against you. She’s scared. Good. Fear keeps people compliant.

“You don’t have to do this,” she whispers, her voice barely audible. “We didn’t come here to hurt anyone.”

You scoff, the sound bitter in your throat. “Funny. That’s not what it looks like.”

The man with the rifle shifts again, and your grip on the woman tightens. “You really want to test me?” you ask, tilting your head slightly. “Because I promise you, I don’t care about her life nearly as much as you do.” 

“No!” he shouts, his voice raw with desperation, his grip loosening on the rifle. “Don’t hurt her!”

For a moment, everything feels like it’s moving in slow motion. The trees sway gently in the breeze, the leaves rustling like whispers of a long-forgotten world. The morning sun filters through the branches, casting dappled shadows on the road. And yet, all you can focus on is the pulse beneath your hand—the steady, panicked thrum of the woman’s heartbeat against your arm.

Mentally slapping yourself out of your trance, you command. “Drop your weapon.”

He hesitates, his knuckles whitening around the rifle. His fear is palpable, radiating off him in waves. You press the knife just a fraction deeper against the woman’s skin, enough to make her whimper. “I said, drop it.”

The man hesitates for a long moment, his grip tightening. His gaze flickers to the woman in your grasp, then back to you. You can see the conflict in his eyes, the way he weighs his options. But you also see something else. 

Fear. Not fear of you—but fear of losing her.

That’s the thing about love, isn’t it? It makes you vulnerable. It cracks you open, gives someone the power to hurt you. And if someone knows where to press, that love becomes a liability.

Slowly, he lowers the rifle, the barrel pointing toward the ground.

“Good,” you say, your tone steady. “Now kick it over.”

The rifle skids across the asphalt, stopping just a few feet from Jungwon. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Jungwon’s expression—tense, calculating, but not surprised. He moves slowly, staying low as he presses himself closer to the van, positioning himself to take control of the situation once the opportunity presents itself.

"You don’t want to do this," another man, closer to the hood of the van, says slowly. His voice is calm, measured. Too measured. Like he’s trying to steady not just himself, but the entire situation. His eyes flick between you and the woman you’re holding. He’s trying to be the voice of reason, the negotiator, but there’s a tremor in his tone—one he can’t quite hide.

"You don’t want to hurt her."

"Don’t tell me what I want," you snap, your voice cutting through the tense air like a blade. Your grip on the knife doesn’t waver, but inside? Inside, it’s chaos.

Because he’s right. You don’t want to hurt her. Not really. Not if there’s another way out. They’ve got guns and they’re desperate, just like you. 

Desperation makes monsters of everyone.

The thought claws at the edges of your mind as you adjust your grip on the woman. She’s trembling, tears slipping down her face, but she stays silent. Her breath comes in short, shallow gasps, her chest heaving against your arm. You can feel her fear, taste it in the air, and it makes your stomach turn.

This whole situation, it’s just the natural order of things now. The strong preying on the weak. Demanding supplies, food, whatever it takes to keep their own people alive. You’ve seen it before, lived through it. Hell, there’s a whole organisation running rampage out there doing exactly that.

Regardless of their intentions and how they do it, it’s survival. But that doesn’t make it any easier to stomach.

And you know—you know—these people aren’t much different from you and your group. They’re just trying to survive, trying to keep moving, to keep the people they care about alive. They don’t want to hurt you any more than you want to hurt them. At least not until you give them a reason to.

And you did. The moment you grabbed the woman, the second your knife pressed against her throat, you gave them all the reason they needed to pull the trigger. Because you touched something they care about.

That’s the thing about people. It’s all about who and what they care about. And when you touch it, threaten it, everything changes. Logic, reason, morality—it all flies out the window. And now? Now they’re counting down the seconds until they can shoot you in the face without a second thought.

But they forget one thing.

They touched your people first.

"You’ve got about thirty seconds," you say, your voice steady, cold. "Drop all your weapons, let my people go, or I swear I’ll slit her throat."

You glance at Jungwon out of the corner of your eye. He’s still crouched low behind the van, waiting, watching. His expression is unreadable, but you know him well enough now to see the tension in his shoulders, he’s waiting for the right moment.

Jay is out of sight, somewhere on the other side of the van. You can’t see him, but you know he’s moving, circling, trying to find an angle. Trying to protect your group the only way he knows how. 

Your gaze flickers to the others. Jake and Heeseung is still bound, but their eyes are locked on you, a mix of shock and something like pride flickering in their expression. Sunghoon remains frozen, his body tense but ready to spring into action the second he gets a chance. Ni-ki is pinned down on the hood of the van but his eyes are on you, unwavering, waiting.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch a flicker of movement in the treeline—Sunoo. His figure is barely visible through the dense foliage, but you can tell his hands are free. He must have managed to cut through the rope binding him, probably using the rough bark of a tree. That—or the guy tasked with watching him isn’t very good at his job.

You keep your gaze locked on the man in front of you, careful not to let your eyes betray Sunoo’s presence. The last thing you need is for them to catch on. Instead, you let your peripheral vision do the work, tracking Sunoo’s slow, deliberate movements as he inches forward, his footsteps light and calculated.

He’s closing the distance. The guy guarding him hasn’t noticed. Too busy shifting from foot to foot, fidgeting nervously with his knife. He’s jittery. Out of his depth. They’ve clearly never done this before. Not properly, at least. There’s no confidence in the way he stands, no calm resolve you’d expect from someone used to wielding power.

But the man closest to you—the one with everything to lose—is different.

His jaw clenches tight, muscles flexing as he shifts his weight. You can tell he’s getting impatient, barely containing his frustration. His hand twitches at his side, fingers curling and uncurling like he’s itching to do something, anything. He keeps glancing at the rifle on the ground—probably kicking himself for letting go of it in the first place.

“What’s your plan here?” he sneers, voice low and venomous. His eyes bore into you with disdain. “Think you’re walking out of this alive?”

God, you hope so.

But hope isn’t a strategy, and you know that better than most. You don’t answer him. Instead, you move deliberately, swinging your free hand up to cover the woman’s face, pressing your palm over her eyes. She gasps, stiffening in your grip, her hands scrabbling weakly at your arm. She doesn’t fight hard enough to hurt you—too paralysed by fear. 

The man in front of you frowns, taking a cautious step forward, his confusion clear in the crease of his brow. Yes, that’s right. Let him think you’re escalating the situation. Let him think you’re panicking, acting out of desperation.

But It’s nothing more than a calculated move—meant to look like you’re trying to intimidate her further. Really, it’s to cover her vision. Keep her from seeing Sunoo.

“Shh,” you murmur harshly against her ear, low and threatening. Your voice doesn’t waver, even as your heart pounds relentlessly in your chest. She lets out a muffled whimper, trembling, and you press your hand more firmly over her face. The other man with the rifle steps forward, his brow furrowing in confusion. Perfect. Let him focus on you. Let him take the bait.

Sunoo is closer now, creeping along the treeline like a shadow. His footsteps are almost silent, his movements fluid and precise. He’s patient, careful. Waiting for the right moment.

Behind you, you sense Jungwon shift slightly, adjusting his stance. You know he’s seen Sunoo too. His hands hover near the discarded rifle on the ground, his body taut like a coiled spring, ready to move at a moment’s notice.

But it’s Jay’s absence that nags at the back of your mind. Where is he? He should have circled around by now, taken position. The fact that he hasn’t reappeared yet only heightens the tension coiling in your chest.

“Let her go,” the man demands, his voice harder now. “We’re done playing games.”

Games? You almost laugh at that. This isn’t a game. This is survival. Still, you keep your tone even, your grip steady. You tilt your head, letting a slow smirk curl at the corners of your mouth. “It’s kind of fun though, isn’t it?” you mock, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “This little game.”

Sunoo’s almost there now. Just a few more steps. He’s inching closer, creeping along the treeline with the precision of someone who knows how to stay invisible. His hands flex at his sides, ready to act.

And then—

The sharp crack of a branch echoes through the air like a gunshot. The noise is deafening in the tense silence, slicing through the moment like a blade. Your heart lurches into your throat as the man with the rifle reacts instantly, swinging his weapon toward the sound, his finger tightening on the trigger.

“Sunoo—now!” you shout, your voice breaking through the moment of standstill.

Bang.

A singular gunshot rings out.

part 2 - warmth | masterlist | part 4 - ?

♡。·˚˚· ·˚˚·。♡

notes from nat: *laughs menacingly* i'll shout out the person who guesses the title of the next part first when i post it HAHAHA also lowkey had a breakdown writing this part because of the whole sequence at the back. it was so challenging trying to portray her anxiety and levelheadedness at the same time.

perm taglist. @m1kkso @hajimelvr @s00buwu @urmomssneakylink @grayscorner @catlicense @bubblytaetae @mrchweeee @artstaeh @sleeping-demons @yuviqik @junsflow @blurryriki @bobabunhee @hueningcry @fakeuwus @enhaslxt @neocockthotology @Starryhani @aishisgrey @katarinamae @mitmit01 @youcancometome @cupiddolle @classicroyalty @dearsjaeyun @ikeucakeu @sammie217 @m1kkso @tinycatharsis @parkjjongswifey @dcllsinna @no1likeneo

taglist open. 1/2 @sungbyhoon @theothernads @kyshhhhhh @jiryunn @strxwbloody @jaklvbub @rikikiynikilcykiki @jakesimfromstatefarm @rikiiisoob @doublebunv @thinkinboutbin @eunandonly @wilonevys @sugarikiz @jellymiki @adoredbyjay @rebeccaaaaaaaa @strawberryhotlips @baedreamverse @bamguetismee @flwwon 

non-gray/underlined = cannot tag

[alba1221141]

Mary Janes

.˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳.☁︎

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵

8

(T.W Sexual content)

Y/N

I feel the weight of Cait’s gaze on me even as we get into position for the drills. The tension is still thick, clinging to the air around us. I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve let her down, but at the same time, something inside me rebels against her judgment. I’m not the same person I was yesterday, and I’m not sure if I can—or even want to—go back.

The sound of sneakers on the gym floor and Coach’s sharp instructions snap me out of my thoughts. I focus on the drills, pushing my body to keep moving, to not think too hard about the conversation that’s left a weird knot in my chest.

I glance over at Cait once more, but this time, she’s already looking away, her posture stiff, arms crossed over her chest. She’s not glaring anymore, but the distance between us is still there. It’s strange, how something as small as eyeliner can shift the way someone looks at you, and even stranger how it makes me question everything about myself.

Mel’s voice cuts through the silence, her usual easygoing tone filling the space between us. “You know, Cait’s just worried about you.” Her words are softer now, less guarded than they were earlier.

“I know,” I reply quietly, not meeting her eyes. “It’s just… I’m tired of playing it safe all the time.”

Mel gives me a small smile, like she gets it, even if she doesn’t say anything more.

The drills drag on, but my mind keeps wandering back to Cait’s disapproval, to the small voice inside me that wonders if maybe she’s right. Maybe I’m getting in over my head with all of this. But at the same time, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m closer to something real, something that’s mine.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿

Jinx

As per the request of my favorite nerd, I’ve been reading some good old Shakespeare.

I’m supposed to be diving into Romeo and Juliet. Star-crossed lovers, epic tragedy, all that jazz. It should be interesting, right?

But the words are swimming in front of me because, let’s face it, I can’t concentrate for shit.

Not after this morning.

Y/N just looked so fucking pretty.

It’s ridiculous how she doesn’t even try, yet manages to ruin me without saying a word.

The way her hair fell around her face, a little messy but still perfect, and those big, thoughtful eyes that always seem to see right through me.

And that eyeliner—my eyeliner—that I practically begged her to let me do. Seeing my work on her face, sharp and bold, was enough to drive me insane.

Like a little piece of me was with her, walking around, unshakable.

And then there’s the way she blushed when I teased her.

That soft pink creeping up her cheeks, her lips parting like she wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

Makes me want to press closer, push her boundaries just a little more, see how far I can take it before she pushes back.

Or maybe she wouldn’t push back at all.

What would she be like?

I’ve never seen her with anyone—guy or girl. Hell, does she even like girls?

The thought twists in my chest.

What if she doesn’t?

What if all the teasing, the lingering glances, the way her cheeks flush when I get too close—it’s just her being her, too sweet to tell me to fuck off? But then, what if it’s not?

What if she does?

I wonder what she’d do with one. What she’d do with me.

Do to me.

My hand trails down.

Down.

"Fuck,"

I'm already soaked.

I wiggle out the dampened underwear quickly, and toss it somewhere.

Doesn't matter where, oh fuck.

I lock eyes with myself in the mirror as I spread my legs, as wide as they can go.

Fuck, what has she done to me?

My lipstick’s a mess, smeared from where my teeth dug in.

My thighs are trembling and I haven't even touched... anything yet...

Normally i would just get myself off, quick easy, but Y/N wouldn't do that.

I'm sure she'd been curious, the girl's definitely never seen a pussy before, and I'm not sure any of her books have those lewd acts in them.

My finger slowly circles my clit, fuck that's good.

Gonna go slow.

Y/N would go slow.

My head drops back on my pillow as I resume those slow, slow circles.

God it's torturous.

My unoccupied hand, somehow, finds its way to my tit, totally unprompted.

"Fuck,"

The words barley there this time.

My teeth sink into my lower lip again when I slip a finger inside of me.

Gentle, slow.

Then another finger.

I keep my eyes trained on my reflection as I start those motions.

In out, in out.

"Fuck, fuck, Y/N," I turn my face into my pillow, whimpering now.

I bite down on the pillow to supress my lewd noises.

My hips move with my hand, chasing that sweet, sweet, release.

Fuck what would she do if she could see this.

See the state she's made me into, all squirmy on my bed.

She'd probably get that wide eyed look.

Maybe she'd whimper-

Oh if she damn whimpered-

My thoughts are cut short by a practically pornographic noise ripping from my throat.

"Oh, oh god,"

The noises leaving me gradually become more incoherent.

I can't keep my eyes open anymore, those familiar white spots starting to cloud my vision.

I've had orgasms before, of course I have.

But this was fucking earth shattering.

I don't know if it was the thought of her, those wide eyes, that blush, that spurred me on or what, but my back arched right of the bed, what was practically a cry leaving my mouth.

After regaining function of my senses, I lock eyes with my reflection.

Fuck I look a mess.

I lean closer to the mirror, squinting at the mess.

Jesus Christ.

Smudged eyeliner, streaks of lipstick—no, stains, because apparently, my mouth decided it wanted to eat the damn tube.

"Goddamn," I hiss, swiping at it with my thumb. It just smears more. Great. Now I look like a clown that got into a bar fight.

My hair’s a disaster too—sticking to my forehead in sweaty clumps.

I rake a hand through it, but it’s hopeless. I look like I’ve been... well, doing exactly what I was doing.

The chill of the room finally hits me.

Oh, right.

Still butt-ass naked. My eyes dart around for anything to throw on and land on an oversized hoodie draped over the chair.

Good enough.

I yank it over my head, the fabric catching on my damp skin, and flop back onto my bed.

The hoodie clings to me, sticking uncomfortably in places, but I don’t have the energy to care.

My legs are sprawled out, the hem of the hoodie riding up enough to make it clear I’m not bothering with underwear.

I stare at the ceiling, trying to will my brain into some semblance of order.

It doesn’t work.

My thoughts are still a chaotic mess, flitting between random nonsense and her.

Always back to her.

Her laugh. Her stupid, perfect laugh that’s like sunshine and honey and all that other cheesy shit people write poetry about.

Her eyes—soft, but sharp when she’s focused, like she’s solving the universe one thought at a time.

And that little wrinkle she gets between her brows when she’s concentrating too hard?

Yeah, that one’s burned into my brain. Thanks for that, Y/N.

I groan, rolling onto my side and dragging a pillow over my face. “You’re pathetic,” I mumble into the fabric.

.˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳.☁︎

authors note: another short chapter, but i felt it was quite important to have certain bits as their own entity, hope you like it ;)

please like and reblog!

[mikanotes]

heavenly way to,

hyunju x gn!reader

genre: angst comfort, established relationship. » warnings: death, blood, mentions of injuries, murder, firearms, canon divergence. » note: yes i’m back to writing for the series that basically started this blog. hello! i love her.

synopsis: Is sacrifice for your lover a gift to be grateful for, or a burden worth being cursed for? The thought grows heavy on your mind the longer you spend in the games.

“Why?”

Hyunju’s voice has never sounded so broken. She’s too astounded to even think of not letting her guard down, simply weak and vulnerable as she stares up at you. The shake in that one word, the sickening concern in her eyes— It almost makes you regret what just happened.

Almost.

“Because I care about you more than—”

“Nevermind…” she scoffs, eyes widening. She presses her lips together but it doesn’t stop the tremble of a sob waiting to escape her throat. Her gaze averts to a wall in the dormitory, silently putting a stop to whatever you were going to say.

You decide to give her space.

The bathrooms are empty, leaving you silence and space for thinking. You look at your reflection in the mirror, the blood on your face and neck. You did not kill anyone. You assured your safety. You did not kill someone. They were a problem. The thought repeats steadily in your mind as you turn on the faucet, letting water flow into your palms.

It’s as if you can see the overflowing blood on your hands, still. That player you fought to throw out of that room, the sight of the bullet shooting through their head once the door finally locked, the weight of their grip of the other the side of the handle loosening until a thud confirmed the end of a life. But they were in the spot she needed. You could not risk it. What if she had died? It was only right.

The blood washes off. The thought remains. You aren’t sure how long you spend staring at the mirror, barely even really looking at your reflection. You just know you’re asked to return to the dormitory, and that you go to bed, then the lights turn off.

You think Hyunju hates you.

You thought she would come to hate you here over trying to protect her, maybe. Now you realize, now that the blood is there, that she could simply hate you for taking away someone’s life— Even if indirectly. It makes sense to hate a now-murderer.

Yes.

Then, if she hates you, you’ll be able to sacrifice yourself for her sake if need be without wondering how well she’ll take the loss—

“Don’t just disappear.” A familiar soft voice speaks behind you. Hyunju’s arms circle around your waist and her head presses gently into your nape. She’s so warm. You almost forget your train of thoughts.

Once it comes back to you, your expression pulls into confusion. “Sorry,” you whisper, “I didn’t think you would mind.”

“Were you trying to give me space?”

“Yeah.”

She sighs, but hugs you tighter. “Because I was angry? Angry that you got yourself in so much unnecessary danger for my sake? Try making some sense.”

Your body relaxes into her hold before you even realize it, and soon, you’re turning over to look at her. She just seems a bit sad. Your hand slowly moves to her face and cradles her cheek, caressing the skin with care. “I pushed someone straight to their death and you’re telling me you were mad because I was in danger?”

She doesn’t respond, simply pursing her lips. A silent yeah. Exactly that.

“In danger? Me?”

“One second off and they could’ve switched you out of the room. And then I would have been alone with someone who practically killed you. And that would have been it. No more you at all,” she explains, and her voice begins shaking, “No more— I wouldn’t see your face anymore, wouldn’t have you with me, wouldn’t have the knowledge you’re there for me when life fucks me over— Think about it, come on.”

She’s trying so hard not to cry and stay quiet you wonder how much it must hurt. So you were wrong. It isn’t at all that person’s death that made her look at you this way. It’s somehow even worse.

You turn fully to return her embrace, hugging her firmly and kissing her forehead. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t risk dying for me.”

“I’m sorry.”

She hides her face in your neck. “I love you.”

She says it with every single fiber of her being. After all, her touch, her tears, her words before this— They’re all marks of love. You feel her hand brushing over your arm, an injury you earned yourself during that game. She traces it gently and you think you could never promise her not to die for her.

“I love you too.”

[crows4luna]

571 words. mature, suggestive. heavy sexual tension. unedited. pop star!reader. reader is not mc. reader has a blood evol and actually has a backbone so they see through caleb's bullshit. reader is afab. reunion-ish with colonel caleb. caleb is horny for reader and fantasizes about them. is this toxic? it might be. | i was originally going to write this scene in compliance for my oc story but i saw it more as a universally open concept. thus, here we are. if anyone was curious on how i interpret a blood manipulation evol, it's a combination of katara from atla as well as marie and victoria from the boys/gen v. 𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀now playing: sports car - tate mcrae

A curt tilt of his head, and his eyes flick down then back up at you. The hardened glance softens just the slightest, looking at you with the slightest undercurrent of fondness. He speaks, as he lowers his cap, setting it aside on the table behind him, “You did great out there.”

You scoff, swiveling around in your chair before the vanity, crossing one leg over the other. It’s him, in the flesh, but Caleb was a stranger in every way possible. Sure, you grieved him at one point, but there were other things that heeded your attention. Problems that arose because greedy scientists and investors continued to get too bold.

“You look beautiful tonight,” the colonel continues to shower you in praise.

Your senses are sharp, despite your calm demeanor. You learned a lot from the N109 Zone, from dealing with seedier investors in the Nest before that.

His praise is genuine, and you don’t miss the way his eyes flutter up and down over your form. A dazzling silver two-piece outfit hugs your body, modest in its coverage but short enough to tease with the skin that’s bared. (And, of course, being able to dance in it.) Up to your knees were patent white boots, giving you a little more height when you stood.

Of course you were stunning.

“It’s very thoughtful of the Fleet to host a music festival of all things for Skyhaven’s people,” you shrug, lips curling into a soft smile. “I’m honored to have been invited as the headliner.”

It’s Caleb’s turn to display his amusement, chuckling briefly in a lowered tone, “I just thought about giving you a more reasonable excuse to come here.”

That one pinches a little.

You grimace, knowing that he sees through you. Knowing that being here is a more dire situation than being a dancing monkey as a temporary distraction. But even if that was the case, you could feel the unique pulse of his blood as he watched you from the shadows. The way you were a natural, captivating performer on that stage like it was home—it had him under your spell.

Caleb had to admit to himself, shamelessly, the way you made him feel has not wavered at all. Seeing you like that tonight reassured him of everything—and he knew he wouldn’t be able to go to bed tonight without fucking into his fist at the thought of you.

“Watch yourself, colonel. I—”

“I think it’s you who needs to be cautious,” he drawls, stepping towards you. He bends to the knee, violet eyes raking over the expanse of your thighs, your exposed abdomen. How badly he wants you—needs you—right now is unbearable. He’s getting hard again.

But those sinful thoughts disappear, when he realizes your own bold demeanor mirrors his own. You’re not tense at all, nor does he sense anything amiss in your form.

You’re unable to tear your gaze away from his.

A slight vibration thrums in the thickened air between you both. Caleb’s ears ring just the slightest, though he doesn’t falter or twitch.

Until he feels a thick trickle from his nostrils. The tips of his leather-gloved fingers press against the blood, and it doesn’t take long for him to figure you out. Between the minimal, dark red on his fingers and your unwavered focus, Caleb only smirks.

He’s going to enjoy this game between you two.

[t-a-a-1]

Counting Stars

Pt.2: The Wait

TFP Optimus x Female Reader

Summary: After revealing to Optimus that you are carrying his sparkling, he convinces you to stay under the Autobot care. However, after the sudden appearance of an old lover of yours, Optimus faces difficult challenges as he tries to win you back and learn how to prepare to be a father at the same time.

A/N: Lots of yearning, jealousy, delusions, craving, fluff. All that good stuff.

4K

Counting Stars

Pt.2: The Wait

There is a clear difference between carrying a sparkling and dying. 

You weren’t sure which one you were doing.

Everyone was treating you like you were about to perish. Everyone has always been careful around you. But now they are extremely aware of you. Every step you take, breath, look, smell, nothing was too insignificant. 

“You shouldn’t be carrying that.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t eat that.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t go there.”

The autobots treated you like a doll. Although the thought sounds amusing, it really wasn’t. 

“I just want to go for a drive. I’ve been inside for two weeks. I need to get out.”

Bulkhead moves his helm from side to side. He was  the third bot you asked about going out. 

“What if we crash and you get hurt?” 

You knew he was making up an excuse to not take you for a drive. Because what kind of Autobot would be such a bad driver?

“I am a human! I need the sun and see pretty things or I’ll get depressed and die!”

“Can you just watch the sun and pretty things on TV?”

Crossing your hands in front of your chest, you huff, showing your clear satisfaction. 

“I am sorry (Y/N) but you are carrying the only sparkling Cybertron has seen since millennials. If you weren’t having our species’s only hope, I would be more lenient.” 

Bulkhead’s voice sounds apologetic. You know that he was telling the truth. Maybe they all missed hanging out with you but couldn’t do much due to current circumstances. 

“I am being serious. I need to go out.” you say looking at the bot. “I’ll seriously die.”

You were exaggerating but you didn’t know until how much you could last without going crazy. 

“Well, maybe we can wait until Optimus is back and hear what he thinks.” Arcee steps in, trying to see if she could alleviate the situation. “You know, so no one wants to get in trouble.”

“Prime isn’t even around.”

A simple talk couldn’t fix everything. Although you and Optimus were in speaking terms, you wouldn’t say that things were the way they used to be. Things were still awkward and tense between the two of you. 

“You need to understand him, he is also going through biological needs not seen eons ago,” Ratchet speaks up while still typing on his large computer. “He is nesting for you and the sparkling, he can’t control it and he is trusting us to keep you safe while he is away.”

“Oh so you care about his biological needs but not about mine? I see how it is.”

“It’s not that, it's just–”

Ratchet turns to look at you. 

“Alright, maybe you are right.”

The medic-bot notices the color of your skin. It’s pale. Not in a natural way but in a sick-manner. Your belly has grown and you look tired. Mentally, you must be going through a lot. The weight of the survival of an entire civilization is on your shoulders and you are yet to know if the sparkling will be born healthy. 

“Only for 30 minutes.”

.

.

.

Optimus was able to satisfy his biological needs only after he found ten dandelions. It was extremely hard to bring them to base since they were delicate and were easy for its tiny petals to crumble. He had found several but would have to go back and look for more since most would lose their petals on the way. 

He also found some pretty rocks. He wasn’t sure which one you would like most so he brought all of them. 

“So you are here to stay with (Y/N) for the rest of the pregnancy?”

His olfactory sensors picked a familiar smell. A human one but it was none of the kids. It was a scent he wasn’t fond of. One he very much wished did not exist. 

“Yes, as a Special Agent, I was assigned this duty. Which I am glad for, I want to spend time with (Y/N) as much as possible.”

Special Agent Alex. Fowler’s Co-worker and your childhood best friend. 

Optimus’ sensors were on alert. All of his instincts warned him. 

“Potential male threat detected. Human male may potentially steal sparkling and partner. Action Required: Keep human male away from mate.”

“May I inquire about your reasoning behind your sudden … presence without invitation?”

He didn’t waste any time as he walked towards the center of the hangar. His tall demeanor did not seem to phase the secret agent. 

“Hey, Prime! Sorry for not announcing it before,” Alex waved knowing that he would get more of a reaction out of Optimus if he pretended that his hostility does not affect him. “But I am just doing my duty. (Y/N) was originally supposed to be transported to a secured area under my watch. But since that didn’t happen, I’ll be staying here.”

“(Y/N) is currently protected by five Autobots at all times. She’s safe here and does not need your guarding.”

“That may be right but (Y/N)’s child is a matter of national security. I can’t let the Autobots have complete control over humanity’s first human-alien hybrid child.”

Optimus closes his servo, fighting the urge to smash the human like a mosquito. 

“My sparkling is no human experiment.”

“I am not saying it was,” Alex looks directly at Optimus’ optics. Unafraid. “What I am saying is that the child would benefit from having all the resources this world can offer. That child, no matter what it may be or look like, would be more human than Cybertronian. It will grow here. Learn our languages, history, traditions and culture.”

Alex smirks, about to deliver the final hit. 

“It’s not like there’s much to learn from Cybertron after all,” he says. “I may raise that child myself.”

Everyone could hear Optimus’ gun engine turn on, about to point directly at the agent. 

Until you showed up. 

“Alex?”

He immediately put away his weapon, pretending that he wasn’t about to harm a certain individual. He couldn’t do it, not after seeing the smile on your face. 

Not after you jumped into his arms, hugging him as he spinned you around. 

“Alert. Action Required: Eliminate threat. Keep human male away from mate. Alert.”

His processor telling him commands wasn’t helping the feelings in his spark. 

“You have always been beautiful but pregnancy suits you so well. It’s going to make my stay here all the more pleasant.”

Alex has always been a flirt.  But you never took it seriously. At least not now. You used to love the compliments during the time of your relationship. Years ago. 

“Are you staying here?”

You ask excitedly, in a desperate need of a friend your age. A human friend who would understand your need to get coffee and see the sunsets. 

“Yes, you won’t have to be lonely anymore,” Alex puts a hand on your head, giving you a soft head pat. An act Optimus was never able to do casually. Putting hands on you without consent in any way did not fit right with him.  “I’ll stay as long as you have me.”

“Yes! You can stay in my room!”

You seem to enjoy the affection. The agent gave you a certain warmness Optimus couldn’t give you and his processor is starting to write codes unfamiliar to him. 

“I am highly against that–”

“Alright, I’ll put my things in there,” Alex’s voice was louder than Optimus’ as he was closer to you. You were too excited to pay attention to the rising anger of the bot. “But tell me, where were you? I was waiting for you and got kinda worried.”

“I’ve been inside here for two weeks and Ratchet took me for a quick drive.”

“For two weeks? That’s not healthy for you and the baby, you need to stay active and get enough sunlight.”

“That’s what I told them but they wouldn’t listen to me.”

Everyone around you noticed your evident happiness that they didn’t mind the comment. You were right, they weren’t taking your needs into consideration. It was even more evident by the sudden change of your mood. 

“Well, from now on I’ll be taking care of you,” Alex moves his hand to caress your cheek. “And I’ll take you on regular drives and trips.”

“Do not touch my sparkmate–”

“Also I brought you a gift!”

He looks down at his backpack as Optimus’ voice subsides. Opening it quickly and showing the content inside it. 

“My favorite chocolate!” you take the pink box from his hands. It was an expensive brand and hard to find. Not available anywhere in the city.  “Thank you! 

Optimus quickly thinks of the things he got you. Dandelions, flowers, rocks. Would you love them just as much? Will you jump in excitement and hug him? Will you see him as fit enough to be your provider, protector and Sparkmate?

“Analysis Complete: Human Male wishes to bond with Sparkmate and steal Sparkling. Activating Sparkmate Protection Codes. Eliminate offering. Keep Sparkmate secluded.”

It’s like he couldn’t control himself. It was fear, confusion and jealousy that overtook his processor. 

Without any announcement, Optimus walks towards you and takes the chocolate box using two of his digits. You watch him with amusement, not understanding his actions. And without any previous warning, he crushes the box. 

The Autobots don’t say a word, flabbergasted at their leader’s actions. 

“I- I am–”

Optimus wanted to apologize but he was so surprised by his own doing that no words left his dermas. 

The room is silent for a few seconds until sobbing is heard coming from you.  Normally, you wouldn’t cry but your hormones have been acting differently, making you more emotionally sensitive.

You run to your room, Alex quickly follows by until the two of you disappear from the hangar. 

“Sparkmate in distress. Advance with caution. In case of Sparkmate rejection, proceed to program Offline codes.” 

Optimus looks at his servo. The pink chocolate box is destroyed. It was a nice gift. Delicate, gentle, genuine. And he destroyed it. All that was left was the result of his own selfish actions. 

.

.

.

He didn’t know how to approach you. Nor knew if he should. His processor was begging him to go talk to you. 

His pedes hang from the cliff as he sees the stars in the sky. Its a view Cybertron was unknown to.  His home planet, with all of its technological advances, unique traditions and indescribable views could never have this kind of beauty. Yet, it can’t compare to the delicacy of your eyes.

Hearing heavy steps walking towards him, he knows it wasn’t you. Most of the time, he couldn’t tell when you were approaching him, your steps were too small to be heard. Either that or he would smell your scent. 

“You know, the right thing to do is apologize, right?”

Arcee was not one to open up easily. That was something she had in common with Optimus. 

“It would be simple if I knew she would want me to,” he responds, seeing the motorcycle sit next to him.

“... Are all male bots this stupid?”

“I believe so.”

There was silence but it wasn’t awkward. They didn’t need to talk to understand each other. Optimus is a great leader but somewhat stupid when it comes to relationships. It is of no surprise, however. Cybertronian and Human relationships are very different. Cybertron culture is more reserved, sometimes even completely political. As a species living for so long, it’s more about companionship. A long lasting friendship. Finding a Sparkmate was completely rare. Something not everyone would get to experience. 

Humans however … Due to their short lifespan, they were more prone to fall in love and out of love rather fast. 

“My processor has been programmed to do things I deemed as primitive for our kind,” he says. “Sometimes I can’t control it.”

“Then just tell her that,” Arceee puts a servo on his shoulder. Physical contact wasn’t common in Cybertron either. But he didn’t mind. “And apologize … a lot.”

.

.

.

You started to overthink. A lot. 

Optimus had feelings for you. Of that you were almost certain. You think ‘almost’ because now you weren’t so sure. 

Optimus would live for many years after you are gone. Maybe one day he will finally find the one, his Sparkmate. Where would that leave your child? He has told you that he will be responsible. But is he doing it out of duty or because he has love for his sparkling? You didn’t want him to believe that he is being forced to stay. 

It was a stupid thought. You knew that. But the thought still lingers in the back of your mind. 

“Prime is gonna kill me whenever he finds out I took you out of the base.”

It's always nice to get out of the base during the night. Especially with someone who saw you as an individual instead of just a ‘carrier and savior of an advanced robot race.’ He also drives nicely, not too fast, not too slow. Alex used to be a mechanic, his love for cars was always evident. Even as he drives, you can tell that this is all he ever wanted to do. 

“You know he won’t even kill a fly.”

“Yeah and that’s why it’s so fun to tease him.”

Alex tried to diminish the tension of the previous situation. He didn’t know why Optimus did what he did. But he feels a bit guilty for teasing Optimus as much. Maybe if he hadn't pushed him to his limits, he wouldn't have done such ugly act. 

“Can we go to the beach?”

You ask randomly. 

Alex smiles.

“Sure.”

.

.

.

When Ratchet informed him that you had gone on a night drive with Alex, he immediately went to your room. 

Why?

It was something even he couldn’t understand.

He knew he wasn’t going to find you there. 

Yet, his processor couldn’t understand how you weren’t here. He needs you. Now. His every circuit aching at the thought of you leaving his side. Carrying his sparkling and with a male who had successfully stolen you from his servos even if it's just for one night. 

He can still smell your scent in your room. Even after he had mass-shifted to enter, the room was still too small for him. He touched the bedsheets and began to miss the moments he has shared with you before in it. 

Where are you?

He needs you now. He needs to hold you, to know that you are safe. To express how much he adores you and the sparkling. 

“Sparkmate Status: Missing. Sparkling Status: Missing. Safety Status: Unknown. If Unable To Locate, Proceed With Solitude Activation Codes.”

He used his Comm-Link to call your cell phone. But nothing. He tried again. Nothing. 

It wasn’t until the 30th time that he understood … You didn’t want to be with him. 

You didn’t want him. 

You didn’t want him.

You didn’t want him. 

His servos tremble. 

Optics feel heavy. It’s strange. Having blue liquid come out of his eyes. He had cried before. For different reasons. This was pain, in its purest form. In a way words can’t describe. Proof of it were his subsided pleas of air as he had forgotten how to breathe, something he didn’t know he could do until he saw you. 

His spark aches. It hurts. Everything. 

Everything …  His everything is gone.

.

.

.

It was about a 10 hour drive.

Watching the sunrise was always a beautiful experience. Feeling the warm sunlight touch your skin energizes you. It made you forget the previous negative emotions and you began to have this strange yearning. 

For Optimus.

You wanted to be with him. Wishing he could  be here with you along with your unborn child. 

Maybe he had over reacted but knowing Optimus he probably has a good reason for destroying the chocolate box. Was he taking care of your weight? What if chocolate is toxic for sparklings? You wanted to talk to him and make things better–

Oh. 

You were right. You do need the sun. 

“Let’s build a sandcastle.”

Alex could sometimes be like a child, which was fun. There was never a boring moment with him.

“Let’s build an Autobot, instead!”

You let yourself touch the sand and immediately feel something moving inside you. It feels strange. It doesn’t hurt but feels very uncanny. Nonetheless, you smile as you put your hands in your belly. Your sparkling may be more human than you think, also enjoying the activity and fresh air. 

“Do you think will look like his father?”

You ask Alex as he tries to make a small square with his hands, using water from a water bottle. 

He looks at you and then down at his little project. 

“If the child were to live on Cybertron then I would prefer for them to look like Optimus,” he says, trying to think of a delicate way to tell you his opinion. “But since they will be living on Earth, then I genuinely hope they look more human.”

You know you will love the child no matter what. But Alex had a point. What kind of life will the child live if he is too different? Humans can be cruel, especially to those who are different. 

“If something happens to me … will you take care of them?”

He lets out a heavy sigh and looks at you again. His mood had been ruined but it was a question you were meaning to ask. 

“You know childbirth is difficult as it is and well, I am assuming giving birth to the first Human-Cybertronian child would be even more so.”

“You know we’ll have the best doctors in the world for that day,” Alex starts to mold more rectangular boxes as he stacks them up. Meanwhile you have started working on the head. “And if anyone can come out alive out of that it's you.”

He makes a pause and a small laugh escapes from his lips. 

“Besides, didn’t you fuck a 20 feet tall alien robot? You did that and came out fine. Childbirth should be a piece of cake.”

Without any notice, Alex’s mouth is filled with sand. You had thrown him a sand-ball and he started spitting it out and washing his mouth with the remaining water. 

“Hey! It's true!”

“Yes but you didn’t have to say it like that!”

“I don’t blame you, if Arcee would give me the chance, I would hit too–”

You throw more sand at him and he also retaliates. A sandy-battle unleashed as the wind was in your favor. Alex was gentle enough to only attack you below or above your belly. His ‘projectiles’ are extremely small compared to yours and between giggles and laughs, the battle continues until both of your hairs and clothes are covered with sand. 

And then, Alex’s phone begins to ring. 

.

.

.

“Where is he?”

The sun is still rising. The groundbridge could not stop time. But the time in California and Nevada were the same. 

You run towards Ratchet who is still by the groundbrige system, Alex close by.

“At the top, he is doing better now that I told him you were returning but …” The autobot medic pauses, not finding the right words to describe the situation. “I think you should go and see for yourself.”

You didn’t hesitate and made your way towards the rooftop. Of course, you didn’t run but you moved as fast as your pregnant body could. 

It was a good workout, you were losing your breath as you made your way to the elevator. If you had been in better shape, you would have taken the stairs. 

As you wait to arrive at the top, you could hear the beats of your heart palpitating against your chest. Overthinking is a talent of yours. Many stupid thoughts crossed your head. Thinking that Optimus was too angry at you for leaving the base without permission. You were ready to accept your punishment, whatever that may be. 

Instead, as you arrive at the top of the cliff, there are more questions than answers. 

You find big rocks, with a weight of more than a ton. Two rocks standing vertically and one on top of the two laying horizontally. Like a small house made out of giant rocks, enough space for a single Cybertronian. One that is around 20 feet tall, blue and red that turns into a truck.

Optimus is there but he is too busy spraying dandelions around his small house that he didn’t notice your presence. 

It wasn’t until he turned around that his optics shine in excitement. He almost runs towards but reminds himself to be gentle. Reaching out a servo, you expected him to hold you but he doesn’t he pulls away, using all of his strength to restrain himself. 

“I am glad to see you are safe.”

He says in a soft voice, the relief in his voice is evident and you feel the need to jump into his servos and be embraced by him. But just like him, you stopped yourself from doing so.

“I am glad you are safe too,” you tilted your body a little, your attention directed to the rocks behind. “Ratchet said you were acting … strange.”

Optimus also takes a look at his creation. He wished he could do better but its the best he could do with his limited resources. 

“Yes, you could say so.”

“May I ask, what is going on?”

He has been meaning to tell you but he doesn't know without getting nervous. He didn’t know how you would react. Will you think of him as weird? Disgusting even? But he can’t run away any longer. You are the sword and he is against a dead end with the only option being moving forward.

“Cybertron hasn’t had a sparkling in milenia so to ensure its safety, my processor activated primal codes,” Optimus says. “It makes me do things that may be antiquated.”

Not understanding fully, but if you had to come to a conclusion, Optimus may be going through something similar to animal mating rituals. Which is not so far fetched since Cybertron used to have Predacons before Cybertronians appeared. 

“Is that why you destroyed my chocolate box?”

“Due that we haven’t concluded the Conjunx Ritus, my processor doesn’t consider you as my Conjunx Endura yet, although I consider you my Sparkmate” Optimus blinks multiple times as he only does when he is nervous. “I identified Special Agent Alex’s actions as threatening to steal you and my sparkling.”

“Me?”

“Yes, although those reasons are more … intimate ones.”

Your heart beats faster as the sunlight reflects on his paint-job. He looks beautiful. You once again remember how incredible and extraordinary of an individual he is. There is no one like him in the entire universe and never will. You feel delighted to know that you are in his presence, being able to admire a side not one has seen yet. 

“Oh,” you look away after realizing you had been staring at him for too long.  “And that?”

You point at the rock structure and Optimus optics quickly follow. 

“After you left, I went to look for you at your private quarters,” he kept looking at the rocks and you wonder the struggles he had to go through to carry them to the top. “Not seeing you there activated my Solitude Codes.”

He walks towards the rocks, there are a lot of dandelions. Some of them died. Others are alive. There is some sort of yearning in his optics as if he belongs there. Its a sorrowful yearning, as if he was made to do something that he wishes to not do. Yet, he knows he would be skillful at it. 

“I felt the need to build this.”

“And do what?”

You ask, not wanting to walk closer as you thought that maybe you would be overstepping his boundaries. 

“Wait,” he answers. 

His back faces you. Not being able to see his faceplate, you can only tell how he feels based on his voice box’s tone. He just stands there, looking down. 

“For what?”

“For you to come back.”

He answers so longingly that it makes you almost shed a tear. For a moment, time stops. There is no wind, no sound, no scent, nothing. But just him. As if your entire world had become just him.  

“... And if I didn’t come back?”

He slowly turns to look at you. A soft smile, of  love. There wasn’t any desire in it. It was pure. Genuine. As he is in love with your soul and wishes to spend eternity with the thought of you. With your existence, whatever that was. To be one until the heavens and the earth collide. 

“I would wait until you do.”

And for a second, the Prime no longer was. But just a spark. In his purest form. His faceplates open, he wants to say something but it's lost in words. He had given up so easily. Realizing that he has yet to find the right words to express his love for you. A love so vast that not even the best poets or writers could ever put into paper. 

If he could go back in time and stop himself from becoming a Prime, he would. Because being an archivist would have made him more eloquent, maybe then, he could describe to you a small fraction of his endless adoration. 

“Prime–”

“Guys!” Alex came out of the elevator, screaming and ruining the moment. “Sorry to interrupt but we have a message coming from Megatron!”

He tilts his head outside the elevator, blue eyes staring at the two of you. Noticing that he interrupted a romantic scenario, he just pointed a finger at the two of you. 

“Prime we need you, please make-out quickly!”

And with that, Alex leaves as soon as he appeared. 

“Well, now that you are here, I won’t be using this,” Optimus walks towards you and bends down on one knee. He is still too tall but you appreciate that he tries to see you faceplate to face. Using a servo, he caresses your hair and your soft skin. With so much adoration and devotion. 

  “I don’t have much time but I realized I haven’t thank you yet for carrying my Sparkling.”

He wants to hold you. Craving it. He wishes he could have time to tell you more. To whisper in your ears sweet things. To read to you the most lovely of poems. To just rot in a bed, indulging in nothing but love. 

But he can’t. Not now. 

“Creating a new life with you has been the greatest honor of my life.” 

He stands up, walks past you. Leaving you at a shock, at a state of awe. 

“Now, let us go,” he says. “Some things can’t wait.”

He'll wait until you call him by his first name again.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

A/N: It was fun to write this. Optimus panicking and not understanding the changes he is going through. I think on this he has accepted that he may not win you back but that won't stop him from loving you and his sparkling. Meanwhile you are falling for him all over again.

I wrote this because y'all liked the concept for Counting Stars and supported it a lot! So thank you everyone so much for the support.

This was a one shot and I continued it because there was lots of love but I don't have a certain story-line. To be honest I don't know how to continue it.

For the next chapter (if there is one) I was thinking that Megatron accidentally sends Reader to the Dark Dimension where Reader meets Nemesis Prime. In this dimension, Optimus loses Reader and his Sparkling, transforming him into an evil being.

Meanwhile in Reader's dimension, Optimus is losing it. Slowly spiraling into madness at the thought of never seeing Reader and his Sparkling again. Destroying everything on sight, the Autobots fight to keep Optimus at bay.

The plot would end with Optimus and Nemesis fighting to see who would keep Reader.

That storyline would take around 2-3 chapters and it would conclude this story.

But that is just a thought, I still don't if I'll continue this since I really need to focus on writing the next chapter for 'The Darkest Hour'

And I am currently working on a oneshot bayverse Optimus fic too so please look forward to it!

Again thank you for reading and sorry for any spelling and grammar mistakes.

See You in the next story!

Previous:

https://www.tumblr.com/t-a-a-1/771132293279580160/counting-stars?source=share

[southwestchili]

Gunpoint! ☠︎︎

Robber! Toji x Gas station worker! Reader

Synonpsis: Yikes! you are being held at gunpoint by some big buff guy in a mask, this isn't good. All you wanted to do was work your shitty cashier job and now your being put through this? Your night couldnt get any worse, but, maybe you arent so unlucky after all..

Tags: Reader is AFAB!, Dark content, dub-con, mask kink, fear play, gunplay, blowjobs, doggy style, toji is not a good guy in this, name calling, hair pulling, raw sex, breeding kink if you squint, spanking like twice.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆⋆༺𓆩

You're an overworked and definitely underpaid college student who works at the local gas station off one of the roads near campus. Your job isn't hard; all you really do is check people out stupid questions and have to deal with the occasional crazy person. Other than cleaning, restocking, and running the cash register, your job is fairly simple. The only problem is the fact that your manager loves giving you the night shifts.

Now, you wouldn’t mind this job if the pay was better, but you're always worried about what might happen—what if one night, someone decides to rob the store? You always rationalize these thoughts with logic, thinking about how people don't rob stores like that nowadays, right? Wrong. This particular night everything was running smoothly; the occasional late-night customers would set in. You're just doing your job as usual, checking people out and restocking shelves. It's late at night; the clock reads 11:20 pm. A customer walks in, and the door opens with a ding. Your eyes look over to the figure entering the store; you greet them with a warm smile and a casual wave. The man that enters is wearing a ski mask, and that's your first red flag. It's a bit chilly out, but not nearly as cold to be wearing one of those. You swallow nervously at the thought of potential danger, your trying to keep a level head. But to add the cherry on top, you're all alone in the store with this man. That would be very cliché of a robber to actually be wearing a ski mask… you think, trying to brush away those thoughts. The man walks up to the counter and rests his hands on the counter. "Hey miss, can I' get a scratcher? The $10 one, please." The mysterious man asks coolly, locking eyes with you. "Yes, sir, I'll go ahead and grab that for you," you say as you bend down slightly under the counter to grab the ticket for him. This guy is odd; he walks into a gas station at 11 pm, wearing a ski mask, to buy a scratch-off ticket? You grab the ticket, and as you tilt your head back up to meet the man, you're met with the muzzle of a gun. Your eyebrows knit together, and you are washed with fear. You put your hands up; you don't know what to do; you've never been held at gunpoint before! "Don't want to waste my time, doll. Make this easy for me and just empty your register, hmm?" He hums at you. You scramble to open the register and remember you literally can't. Your face goes white as you remember that it will jam sometimes. You try to swallow due to your throat being dry. Your eyes start to get watery. You don't know how to deal with this; are you just supposed to tell him that you can't get it open? "Uhm... It won't… open…" You manage to mutter out. You give the man with the gun a pathetic expression. Your face is pale, you're shaking, tears are threatening to fall, and you're utterly helpless right now. The man's patience is starting to run thin. "You better figure it out, doll. M'not leaving here without anything." He says sternly, holding the gun to you; the muzzle is pressing into your shoulder now.

You're grabbing onto the register and starting to shake it; thankfully, the bottom compartment opens, and you sigh in relief. You start gathering the money and placing it into piles. The man just observes you. He's never seen anyone so obedient before; he's definitely intrigued by you. You finish piling the money and give him a look of pleading. You're scared of what happens next. You hope he just takes the money and goes. But it's never that simple. Once the money is stored in the bag, his attention shifts to you. "You're pretty obedient; I like that." The man speaks up, and you're caught off guard. "I, uh... I guess so?" You say your eyes trying to meet his. His head tilts to the side, and he scratches his head with the gun in his head. You don't know why this psycho is trying to make small talk with you after just robbing you. This is absurd, but honestly? You've been so caught up in fearing this man that you haven't gotten a good glimpse of his toned body. His compression shirt and sweatpants definitely don't leave anything to the imagination. If he wasn't robbing you, you totally would want him to do unspeakable things to you. Your eyes trace his body until you're snapped out of your trance by metal against your forehead. "You done fuckin' me with your eyes?" He taunts; he moves from his spot and goes around the counter. Your heart is beating so fast you can hear it in your ears. As the man gets closer and closer, you feel as if it was getting harder to breathe. "You're as pale as a ghost doll. M'not gonna hurt cha'...unless you want me to.." The man is now right in front of you; he's leaning down to meet your level, and his hand is cupping your cheek. Tears are still threatening to fall. You're biting your lip anxiously. "C'mon, don't cry… You don't wanna make me feel like a bad guy, do ya'?" He coos. You blink at him, and your bottom lip trembles. You don't know what to say to him, so you just shake your head and look into his eyes. "Hmm... What should I do with you?" He says moving so he is standing up fully. You tilt your head to meet his eyes. "Wanna have some fun with you before your shift ends..go on and turn that closed sign on f'me yeah?" He says, You just know this bastard is smirking right now. You know what's coming up. You know what he's insinuating, so you comply. You turn around and flip the illuminated sign outside to say 'closed' and all the gas prices on the sign in front. You flip most of the lights off in the store except for the one above the two of your heads to make the store look vacant.

You can feel two pairs of eyes piercing through you from behind, so you face the man. His eyes are hungry, and he steps forward and grabs your chin and pulls his mask up a little before leaning in to give you a sloppy kiss. You kiss him back. This feels downright nasty; you're making out with the same dude that was holding a gun to your head not even five minutes ago. The kiss feels so sinful; his tongue is swirling around your mouth, and yours is trying to make its way into his. But this man just won't let that happen. You can feel a little roughness at the corner of his lips, and you wonder what it is. His hands slide their way down to your throat; he's not applying pressure, but he is just keeping it there. He pulls away from you, and there is a line of saliva connecting you two. He quickly pulls the mask back down before you can get a proper look. You feel two rough hands on your shoulders pushing you down, and you sink to your knees. You watch as he lazily slides his sweats down, and you eye his large cock. His tip is angry and red, and there is a bit of pre-cum spilling from the tip. You take the base of it into your hands, and you lick the top of it. You watch as he reaches over to the counter to grab something. Your view is obstructed, but you're soon reminded of what it is by the familiar metallic sensation on your forehead. Is this guy nuts? you think as you look up at him with a worried look. "Aw... What's that look for, doll? Just makin' sure you do a good job," he says, petting your head. "Keep your eyes on me the whole time; if you don't... well, then… there's gonna be some consequences. And don't cha even think about usin' any teeth either, you got me?" He says, narrowing his eyes, he has a solemn tone. You try and say yes, but you're cut off by him forcibly shoving his cock in your mouth. You look up at him, and you do your best to suck him off. You're being extra careful not to use any teeth. You're keeping your pretty little eyes on his the whole time. This whole situation is so disgustingly lewd and just downright horrible. You can't believe you're sucking off the man who can easily just kill you right here, right now. You hate to admit this, but you're pretty turned on by that fact. Your focus remains still on giving him head. Your tongue is swirling around his tip. And you make sure to jerk off the rest of what doesn't fit into your mouth. You bob your head up and down his shaft, his cock head hitting the back of your throat, making your eyes water. Your tears run down your face, smudging your mascara. You would have worn waterproof if you had known you were gonna suck off a robber. You gag around his length. He grabs the back of your hair that was already in a ponytail and fucks into your mouth. You can feel his cock pulsing into your mouth, and you can hear him starting to breathe louder. He groans a little before cumming down your throat. "Swallow f'me like the good, obedient slut you are." He commands, and you oblige. "Show me; stick out your tongue." He gives you another command, and you follow. You stick your tongue out at the man, and he removes the gun from your forehead, setting it onto the counter again.

"Such a good girl, how about I give ya a reward, hm?" The man looks down at you. You really want to see what he looks like under that thing; you can only imagine how handsome he is. You nod your head before you hesitate to ask him, "Sir... can I? Maybe... see your face? M'not gonna tell anyone, I promise. I just wanna see.." You manage to ask the man in front of you. He gives you a puzzled look, as if you had asked him the most outlandish question. He scoffed and then pulled the mask off his face. You blinked at the sight of a black-haired man with one of the most handsome faces you think you had ever seen. You focus your gaze on the scar that adorns his lip, and you remember feeling it when you made out. You take in his sculpted jawline and how complete his face looks now that you can see the whole thing. "You done starin'? You're makin' me uneasy, doll." He says, smirking. Oh, that smirk is gonna kill you. You bite your lip at him and give him a nod and a quick sorry. But you're not; how can you be sorry for just admiring the absolutely gorgeous man in front of you? "You wanna get fucked now or what? I bet you want it more than anythin' am I right?" The man grabs your face before forcing you to flip around and grab onto the counter for support. You feel as he pulls your skirt off and he peels your panties off. It's embarrassing how utterly wet you are. You feel a harsh smack get landed onto your pussy and look back to the man behind you admiring you. He gives you a smirk before he lines himself up with your hole and pushes himself in all at once. How rude. He goes slow at first, allowing you to adjust to his size. He starts to gradually pick up the pace. Grabbing into your hips and leaving little marks on the soft flesh. You feel great. He's fucking you so dumb you almost forget about the whole being held at gunpoint situation until you see his gun lying right next to your head. You feel him getting rougher with you. You've never been fucked this good in your life. "Hah— fuck! Fuck! Mister! You're fucking me so…good! Don't stop!" You babble, drool slipping past your lips and onto the counter. that you will have to clean. "Fuck…call me Toji doll, you deserved it." The man now known as Toji says. "Oh! Fuck! Toji right there!" you moan; you hope no one can hear you from how loud you're being right now. "Fuck Toji- Gonna cum...You're hitting that—ah!" You gasp as you feel a harsh smack to your ass. "Nuh-uh, you're not cummin until I say you are, girl." Toji punctuates his sentence with a harsh thrust. You see the gun leave the counter, and you can only imagine what he's about to do. You clench your eyes shut, and you feel a cold sensation on your clit. Is this motherfucker rubbing a gun on your clit right now? "Ah! Fuck! Been so good for you, Toji-! Wanna cum! Please, please let me…" you beg the man behind you. "Since you asked so nicely, I'll let you... and I'll even give you a bonus. I'm gonna cum deep inside yer pretty pussy here, gonna claim her for myself." Toji says he is getting close to his high, and as you clench your walls around his cock, he knows it's over. The gun's muzzle rubbing against your clit sends you over the edge. You cry out as you cum around Toji's cock. You can feel him cumming too; the hot sensation of his sperm inside you leaves you dizzy. The gun's movements come to a halt, and Toji pulls out. But he makes sure not one drop of his cum is wasted, and he pulls your panties up, making sure it's secure. Your legs are wobbly, and you watch as Toji pulls his pants up. "You tell anyone 'bout this and I'll actually blow your brains out, rather than fuckin 'em out, you got me, doll?" Toji says, pulling on his ski mask, grabbing his gun and the money he stole. He leaves the store and you behind with his cum between your legs and a ruined standard of men for the rest of your life. Maybe this job wasn't so shitty after all.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆⋆༺𓆩

This was lowkey a really weird thought i had but i think its pretty fire tbh.

[retroaria]

Hi, happy new year!! I hope you're doing great! 🎊🎆

This is genuinely so random but I would love to request fluffy windbreaker boys (choji, sakura, suo, etc etc.) reacting to their s/o calling them for help because they got hurt ... but it's just a tiny scar ! I wanna know how they would react if they found their s/o acting dramatic over a small scratch lol 😭

this request is vv cute, i don’t write for choji so i swapped him with kaji!! thank you anon and happy new year to you as well <333 ~ aria!

𓂃⋆.˚ these guys are somehow patient as ever... ── ★

★ how the windbreaker boys would react to an apparently “injured” s/o. gn!reader btw!!

★ mentions of blood, cuts, injuries, etc. for kaji, reader works in a cafe i just picked something random for the plot.

• wb m.list • as always, reblogs are appreciated!

★ he's just in awe...

“Did you just snicker at me?” you raised a brow in annoyance, shooting an expectant glance at Suo as he worked gently to wrap a bandage around your hand. Your question only seemed to amuse him more, the smirk plastered on his face began to stretch out to a smile as he tried to hold back his bubbling giggles. “Hmph~ I could’ve bled to death you know.” you pouted at him again - even you knew it wasn’t that serious of a cut, but here he was making you feel like an idiot for waking him up at the crack of dawn because you couldn’t cut an avocado properly.

“I’ve had nose bleeds more crucial than this~ you’re going to be fine my love.” he coed at you through his goofy smile, letting out a few breathy chuckles as he spoke.

The cut was right between your thumb and index finger, which was genuinely an annoying place to get a cut. You woke up this morning and for some reason decided to play master chef, wanting to surprise Suo with breakfast in bed. As you began cutting into the avocado, cutting through the skin and around the inner pit, you had failed to realize your hand was in the way of a full 360° cut. You pushed the knife down with a force you’d usually only use if your flesh wasn’t in the way, but of course, you didn’t notice until it was too late.

A fair amount of blood had gushed out at first, but the wound stopped bleeding by the time Suo had woken up to your frantic calls from the kitchen. He all but hopped out of bed and sprang straight to your side. When you lifted the paper towel you were using to soak up some of the blood in your hand, his eyes darted between you and the cut before he let out a sigh of relief - and slight disbelief. Without saying a word, he grabbed your hand and guided you into the bathroom, sitting you down on the toilet as he rummaged through the cabinet below the sink for the first aid kit.

As he made the final rotation around your hand, he pulled the end of the bandage tightly. You winced a bit and watched as he tucked it snug under itself. Suo looked up at you, still smiling.

“Does your ouchie feel ok now?” he said in a mocking tone, standing before you with your hands in his to bring you up with him.

“Fuck you, this wouldn’t have happened if I wasn’t trying to do something nice for you…” you pouted again and looked away, feeling rather silly and unaccomplished for not being able to finish breakfast.

“Miraculously, you didn’t get any blood on the food. How about you sit down and I finish breakfast, hmm? Don’t want you working yourself too hard when you’re oh so injured, my poor baby~” he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into him, ignoring the disgruntled look on your face and planting a chaste kiss to the top of your head. “No more knives for you, yeah?” he chuckled softly against your skin.

★ has no idea what's going on...

“S-sakura! I’m serious! I don’t think I can walk like this, can you please come get me?” your words came out like sobs over the call, but of course, Sakura was already sprinting to you the second you said you were hurt. He got to the street you were on and peered down every alley until he spotted you on the ground leaned against the wall of a building, clutching your ankle in pain. He immediately ran over to you and fell to his knees beside you. He was panting from the run there and his eyes scanned your body for any visible signs of injury.

“Hey-hey, its ok. What happened? Did someone hurt you!? Who was it?” Before even assessing the scene before him, Sakura was in a frenzy. He was practically seething at the thought of someone hurting you, yet his hands began to wrap around you gently, contrasting his demeanor. You gazed into his eyes for a few moments before glancing over at the culprit, beaconing his eyes to follow yours.

“A…a soda can…?” his angered expression twisted into a dopy look of confusion. He looked at the can a few seconds longer before looking down at your ankle and noticing that your foot was aligned just fine. His eyes then met yours again. “Did you…just trip on the can?”

“Y-yeah, and I fell and scraped the palms of my hands too. It hurts Sakura…c-can you carry me?” you sniffled, bringing one hand up to wipe your tear stained cheeks. For a moment, he looked at you in disbelief. You caught his expression and furrowed your brows at him. “I’m serious! What if it’s sprained!?”

“Well, is it?” he asked cluelessly as he scratched the back of his head.

“How should I know!?” you shot back, upset that he wasn’t taking you seriously.

“I-I just wanna make sure! Did you try walking on it?” he was still a bit confused but his voice was laced with genuine concern.

“No, that’ll just hurt even more, please I don’t want it to hurt~” you pouted up at him, your eyes glossy as they looked into his. He couldn’t bear the sight of you this distressed anymore.

“No no, don’t worry baby it’s gonna be ok...” he scoured his brain for the right words to use, nervous to upset you any further. “I-I can carry you home and we’ll uh…figure it out from there. I’m gonna make you feel better though I promise. Please stop crying...” he pushed any possible doubt from his mind and wrapped his arms under your body, lifting you up bridal style. He gave you a warm smile as your body molded comfortably against his.

He walked you home and laid you down in bed, placing an ice pack over your ankle before laying down next to you. He comforted you in your fragile state until you drifted off to sleep, and eventually, you kicked the ice pack off your ankle as your body shifted in the bed. Sakura let out a sigh of relief, glad that you had finally stopped crying and that by the morning you’d believe his love and a little ice healed your supposedly broken ankle.

★ you're lucky he loves you...

panting, heaving, covered in sweat and slightly more scuffed than usual - your knight in shining armor, ren kaji, makes his grand entrance to save you. even from way behind the counter, you could see the subtle smirk forming at the corner of his mouth as he gazed upon your hopeful expression.

"I came as soon as I got your text, is everything ok?" his eyes scanned over you and the rest of the cafe, checking for any signs of struggle.

well, you didn't expect him to run here like your life was in danger. you began to feel a bit small under his gaze, thinking of how to tell him what happened. he walked closer to you on the other side of the counter, leaning in to get a betterlook. as far as he could tell, you didn't seem injured at all. his eyes made their way back to yours and he raised his eyebrow a bit. truthfully, he didn't want to accept that he'd abandoned his patrol early in order to come here for nothing, so he persisted a bit and calmed his demeanor.

"Hey...y-you ok?" his voiced began to rasp towards the end and he cleared his throat.

"Well, yeah, but..." you let your words trail off as you raised your hand over to him. he looked down at your palm for a few seconds before grabbing it with his hand and pulling it closer to him. after a few more moments of inspection, he let out a sigh and looked up at you.

"What are you even trying to show me?" he said slightly annoyed.

"You don't see it?" you pouted at him. you leaned in closer and pointed at a small sharp of glass splintered into your palm.

"I don't see shit..." he said slightly frustrated as he genuinely tried to find what it is you were trying to show him. He turned your hand a bit and the light reflected off the glass enough for it to finally show in his vision. "A splinter?"

you looked up at him through glossy, hooded eyes - trying your best to make him give in and help you despite the look of annoyance and disbelief plastered on his face right now. "Uh, yeah...a-and it hurts! so, i can't take it out on my own..."

he furrowed his brows and closed his eyes - turned his head slightly down as to hide his face from you. how was he supposed to scold you for taking him away from his duties when you looked at him like that? it was absurd. he took a few deep breaths before his eyes met yours again. he decided that he'd make sure you knew this was a nusance, but he still wanted to play knight in shining armor.

and so he sat there at the cafe counter, his face disgruntled and a pair of tweezers in his hand as he shaky attempted to remove the small shard of glass from your hand. if he had taken a few minutes to calm down he surely could've done this much faster, but eventually he did get the glass out - a sense of pride washing away some of his annoyance as you thanked him.

"It's whatever, y-you're welcome...but next time, don't just text me 'help', maybe fill me in on the situation before i run halfway across town." he huffed.

network: @pixelcafe-network

[batboysanonymous]

A Taste of Silence

Pt. II

──────────────────────────────

Summary: Rhys's drunken words cut deeper than any blade, leaving Y/n questioning everything she thought she knew about their bond. As heartbreak and betrayal collide, she faces a choice that could shatter the fragile threads holding their world together.

Pt. I

──────────────────────────────

Rhysand was drowning.

He had endured centuries of torment in Amarantha’s Court, faced death and destruction in ways that would have broken lesser males—but this? This was agony unlike anything he had ever known.

Because this wasn’t just losing her. This was being the cause of her pain.

The bond was still there, a heavy, throbbing weight tethered to his soul. It twisted and pulled at him, refusing to let him forget the raw betrayal in her eyes when she left. He couldn’t block it out. Couldn’t shut down the waves of anger and hurt radiating from her, nor the faint echo of her presence that haunted his every step.

He didn’t deserve to forget.

He followed her from a distance, staying just out of sight, knowing he had no right to approach her. She had retreated to a small, snow-laden village on the outskirts of his territory, a place so quiet and unassuming it seemed designed to swallow grief whole. Rhys respected her boundaries—at least, as much as he could while still ensuring she was safe.

The villagers had no idea their little haven was now fiercely guarded by shadows. Every night, he patrolled the perimeter, silent as death, ensuring no threat could come close. When a pack of feral beasts wandered too near, Rhys killed them before they could even scent the village. He cleaned up the blood and left no trace, unwilling to let her see the lengths he was going to for her protection.

She might hate him, but she was still his mate. And he would protect her, even if it tore him apart.

But even the small things he could do weren’t enough. Not when every second without her was a reminder of the chasm he’d created between them. The cold, empty nights stretched endlessly, the silence gnawing at his mind until he thought he might go mad.

──────────────────────────────

The third week after her departure, he broke.

He had sworn to himself that he wouldn’t intrude, and wouldn't push her until she was ready. But the bond burned unbearably that day, tugging at him with a force that felt like claws raking through his chest. He flew to her cabin before he could stop himself, landing with a muffled thud on the snow-packed ground.

She was outside, stacking firewood with her back to him. She froze when his boots crunched against the snow.

“Don’t,” she said without turning, her voice cold enough to make him falter.

“Please,” Rhys choked out, his voice hoarse.

She didn’t respond, and he didn’t think—he just dropped to his knees. The snow soaked through his leathers, numbing his skin, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t care.

“Please,” he repeated, his voice breaking. “Please, just listen to me. I—” His throat closed up, the words catching on the lump that had lodged itself there since the moment she left. He dragged a trembling hand through his hair, his shoulders sagging under the weight of his desperation. “I know I hurt you. I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I—Cauldron, I can’t live like this. I can’t live without you.”

Her breath hitched, but she didn’t move.

“You are everything to me,” he said, his voice raw. “Everything. And I hate myself for what I did, for the way I made you feel. I’ll spend the rest of my life making it right, if you’ll let me. But if you can’t…” He swallowed hard, tears stinging his eyes. “If you can’t, I’ll still do it. I’ll protect you. I’ll make sure you’re safe and happy, even if it’s from afar. I don’t care what it costs me, as long as you’re okay.”

“How can I trust that the next time you’re drunk or angry, you won’t say something that cuts me to the bone?”

Her words hit like a dagger, sharp and precise. He bowed his head, his voice trembling as he replied, “I don’t deserve your trust, not after what I said. But I swear to you, I will never drink if it means risking your pain. I’ll stop entirely if you ask me to. Nothing—nothing—is worth losing you again.”

Her arms crossed, her shields firmly in place, though he caught the faintest waver in her expression. “And what happens the next time we fight, Rhys? What if you get angry? Will you throw my weaknesses in my face again?”

His head snapped up, anguish written across his features. “Never. I would never—” His voice broke. “You are not my weakness. You are my strength. And if I ever forget that, I want you to walk away and never look back. But I swear to you, Feyre, I will spend every day of my life proving to you that I’ve learned from this. That I will never, ever make you feel like that again.”

Her lips parted, but no words came. He could feel her battling herself, the bond between them a swirling tempest of doubt and yearning.

“I’ll do whatever it takes,” he whispered, his knees sinking deeper into the snow. “I’ll spend the rest of my life earning your trust if I have to. Just tell me how to begin.”

The silence stretched taut between them, and Rhys didn’t dare move. Finally, she spoke, her voice soft but edged with steel. “Prove it.”

Her shields weren’t just up—they were fortified. But he didn’t need to feel the bond to see the war raging within her.

──────────────────────────────

The days that followed were a slow, painful process. Rhys didn’t push. He stayed near enough to be there if she needed him but far enough to give her space. He continued his quiet watch over the village, eliminating threats before she ever knew they existed. He left her gifts—small things he hoped might bring her comfort. A new brush when he saw her old one had broken. A scarf enchanted to keep her warm even in the bitterest winds. And a note with every gift: I’m still here. I always will be.

She started letting him stay for longer each time he visited. They didn’t talk much at first—just sat in heavy, charged silence. But gradually, the walls began to crack. She started asking him questions, small and tentative, and he answered with an honesty that left him vulnerable and bare.

The night she finally forgave him, it was snowing.

They were sitting by the fire, the soft glow casting flickering shadows across the room. Rhys’s voice was low and steady as he recounted the years he’d spent under the mountain. The rawness of the memories was evident in the way his hands clenched and unclenched, but he forced himself to speak, each word a step toward atonement.

Y/N sat across from him, silent, her gaze fixed on the flames. Her fingers twisted the hem of her sweater, the movement restless and uncertain.

“You didn’t just hurt me,” she said at last, her voice trembling. “You betrayed me, Rhys. You made me feel small, like I didn’t matter.”

The words tore through him, but he didn’t flinch. He nodded, his throat tightening. “I know. And I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you never feel that way again.”

She looked at him then, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. “How can I trust you not to run your mouth again? To not let some drink or situation make you careless with me?”

He sucked in a sharp breath, shame crashing over him. “You can’t—not yet. But I’ll prove to you that you can. I’ll prove it every single day, Y/N.” His voice cracked, his chest heaving as he lowered himself to his knees before her.

“Please,” he begged, his hands trembling as he clasped hers. “Please, give me a chance to earn back your trust. I’ll never take another sip of wine if that’s what it takes. I’ll never let myself forget the weight of what I have to lose. You are everything to me.”

Her lip trembled as she stared at him, the rawness in his expression and the desperation in his voice cutting through her defenses. “I’m terrified, Rhys. Of trusting you again. Of getting hurt again.”

His thumbs brushed over her knuckles as he held her hands tightly, his head bowing. “I know. And if I ever break your trust again, I’ll deserve every ounce of that fear. I’ll deserve to lose you. But I won’t. I swear to you, Y/N, I won’t.”

The bond between them hummed faintly, like a whisper of what it once was, and it pulled at her even as she hesitated. She reached out, cupping his face with trembling fingers.

“You have one chance, Rhys,” she whispered, her voice heavy with both hope and caution. “One.”

He exhaled a shaky breath, pressing her palm to his lips. “I won’t waste it. I swear to you, I’ll never waste it.”

When she finally leaned into him, resting her head against his chest, his arms wrapped around her protectively, as if he could shield her from every hurt in the world—including himself. The bond sang louder, fuller, and in that moment, they began to mend what had been broken, piece by fragile piece.

[wrathofrats]

Very late Christmas and birthday gift for the ever wonderful @mac-and-thefox (:

1.1k of Swiss cumulus fluff

Warnings and tags for: exhibitionism, hot tub sex, it’s a little gross but don’t think about it too hard, that’s it it’s just them flirting and Swiss fingering cumulus for 1k words. They’re gross and in love.

Cumulus sighed into the jets in the little hotel hot tub. Just big enough for a couple people with the smell of chlorine burning their eyes, but after being on the road for so long the stuffy room felt like heaven. Swiss followed soon behind her, throwing his shirt and towel onto some dingy chair that was probably once a pristine white, but had faded into an ugly beige yellow.

They couldn’t ask for anything more though. There was something charming about the buzzing fluorescent lights or the singular dead fly in the windowsill that had probably been there for over a decade. Anything nicer usually felt sterile to Swiss, like he wasn’t allowed to touch or do anything besides sit on his hands. Late night escapades that were only aided by the fact that the workers weren’t paid enough to care, especially not when the hour was closing in on midnight.

“Surprised dew didn’t want to join us, usually he’s all for a cheap hot tub” Swiss played with the dials on the side of the wall, trying to turn up the jets.

“Yeah but his princess isn’t, rain gets sick if he’s in chlorine for too long and dew feels bad about leaving him when they room together”

Swiss simply shrugged. More for them he guesses. Besides, cumulus looked beautiful like this and he didn’t know if he entirely wanted to share anyways. A simple baby blue string bikini and her hair messily thrown up into a curly heap on her head. She always got pissy when she had to wash the chlorine out of her hair, claims it tangles for days. Swiss wouldn’t complain, he loved when she put her hair up. He thought she looked brighter that way, eyes sparkled more without the shadow.

“How foggy do you think those windows get if we turn the temperature up” Swiss swirled the water with his index finger, eyebrows raising in implication. Cheesy, he could be a dork sometimes when given the opportunity. Womanizer persona bleeding into something from an 80s porno when left unaccounted for.

“I saw the receptionist put her head down a couple minutes ago. If you can be quiet stardust I don’t think it’ll matter”

Cumulus stepped over to straddle Swiss’ hips on the hard bench, a playful giggle on her lips as he immediately grabbed for her waist. The strings were tied tight against her skin, simple bows that were easy to pull at for even easier access.

“No double knots? Usually it puts up more of a fight, unless you were intending on it coming undone”

“Took you ages last time, thought I’d give you a fighting chance” cumulus’ fingers skated along Swiss’ chest, running up and down the skin above the water. Her lips followed suit, delicately pressing to the base of his neck and working their way to his jaw. She nipped at the sweet spot right below his jawbone, drinking in the low hum he let out.

Swiss pushed his hips into hers, pulling her down harder in an attempt to grind through their thin swimsuits. Cumulus looped her arms around his neck, pulling herself flush with him as he snaked a hand to cup her beneath the fabric. Even like this she felt hot, slick to the touch as if she was just waiting to get her hands on him.

Two fingers dipped into her, crooking up while cumulus rocked her hips instinctively. Her eyes fluttered shut, head tipping back while Swiss worked. His hands were thick, strong muscular fingers taking her apart with ease.

“Don’t think I can handle anymore or are you just having fun taking your sweet time” cumulus grinded down into his palm to try and get more stimulation. Her clit was swollen, aching to be touched as swiss seemed to almost ignore it on purpose.

“Don’t want you to get carried away lus, you can get greedy when I touch you, let your cunt make your decisions for you instead of your brain” Swiss used his other hand to pinch at her clit for emphasis, point proven when cumulus let out a high moan. “And I don’t think we have much time, wouldn’t want to get caught would you?”

The water sloshed around them, cumulus biting her lip and riding Swiss’ hand. It would be fine right? It was late enough, no one was going to come looking for them. The workers don’t get paid much and besides, through the glass they probably looked innocent enough.

“Come on Swiss don’t tease me, maybe if you’d go a bit faster we wouldn’t have to worry about getting caught”

“But I like it when you’re needy. Begging looks so pretty coming off of your lips”

Cumulus let out a frustrated noise. Swiss wasn’t moving with any urgency, a slow pace that would be heavenly if they were in a private room and weren’t on an unknown time crunch.

“Can feel how hard you are, don’t deny that you need something as well stardust”

“All I need right now is to see you writhe babydoll”

The dumb let name would usually have her flicking him upside the head but all she could do was clench down and groan. Something edged in her stomach, the very beginnings of her orgasm heating up slowly. It was just barely enough to bring her closer and closer, even if it felt like hours were passing as she tried to ride Swiss’ hand for all it was worth.

“Gonna cum just like this? Cum around my fingers even if someone could walk in at any second? Come on baby don’t be shy, show me how good I make you feel, want them to hear it in the lobby”

Cumulus bit down onto Swiss’ shoulder as she shook, waves of pleasure making her vision blurry and hips working on their own accord. Her cunt convulsed around Swiss’ fingers as he cooed sweet nothings into her ear.

“That’s it, did so well, wish everyone else out there could know how nice it is to have you like this” Swiss rubbed her back, pressing a kiss to her temple.

“Fuck you asshole you drug that out on purpose” cumulus swung her legs to stand up, shivering now that she wasn’t covered by the warm water, “if you’re going to act like you want to get caught you could at least fuck me while you do it”

“What? Didn’t enjoy it?”

“I’d enjoy it more if you tried to please me like a lady and not like some haphazard teenage hookup”

“I’d be more than happy to try again if you wanna go back to my room”

Cumulus threw her shirt over her suit, water dripping from the loose strands falling out of her bun.

“I’m holding you to that”

[astars-things]

mom?

so I have written a fic similar to this, but y/n was young, and Jack made up a reason, read it -> here, but now that she is older, he decides to tell her the truth

reader is 15

 jack is 34

I was lounging in my room, my laptop balanced on my legs and my phone in my hand. YouTube was playing in the background while I mindlessly scrolled through Instagram. Suddenly, a message popped up. I glanced at the number, but it wasn’t saved in my contacts. Thinking it might be one of Dad’s teammates, I tapped on it without much thought.

The second I read the message, my heart started pounding so hard it felt like it was echoing in my head.

Hey bub, it’s me—your mom. How are you?

I immediately jumped out of bed and bolted down the stairs, my heart racing. I found my dad sitting on the couch, casually watching TV.

"Hey, Dad," I called out, my voice shaking slightly. he turned to look at me.

"Yes, Y/N?" Dad replied, his tone calm and curious.

I opened my mouth to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, I handed him my phone, unable to explain.

As Dad read the message, his face turned pale, the color draining from it almost instantly. My chest tightened as I watched his reaction, my thoughts spiraling out of control.

"How did she even get my number?" I started rambling, the words tumbling out in a rush. "I barely give it out to anyone! I’ve never even met her in my 15 years of living, so why is she randomly texting me now?"

“Breathe, hun,” Dad said softly, his hand rubbing soothing circles on my back. “It’s going to be okay, I promise.”

But it didn’t feel okay. It felt messy, confusing, and overwhelming. I always knew I didn’t have a mom—it was something I had accepted a long time ago. But I never really understood why.

“Why don’t I have a mom?” I blurted out, the question spilling from my lips before I could stop it. It was something I’d wondered for years but never had the courage to ask.

Dad sighed, sitting back against the couch and running a hand through his hair. “Well… you deserve the truth.” His voice was calm but heavy, and I could tell this wasn’t an easy thing for him to talk about.

“Your mom and I… we were together since high school,” he began. “When I got drafted to New Jersey, she moved here with me to support my hockey career. A year later, we had you. But after you were born, she decided she didn’t want to be tied down—to New Jersey, to this life, to being a mom. She made the decision to leave.”

He paused, glancing at me carefully. “It wasn’t easy, Y/N. Raising a newborn while building an NHL career was probably the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But I had you, and that made it all worth it. I wouldn’t change a thing about having you.”

I stared at him, my mind racing. “So she just… left? Just like that?”

He nodded, his eyes filled with a mix of sadness and love. “Yeah. She left. But that doesn’t change how much I love you or how proud I am of you. We’ve made it this far together, haven’t we?”

I nodded slowly, the weight of his words sinking in. It didn’t answer everything—like how she got my number—but it was a start.

[fear-is-truth]

how about the evans and how they react if they’re having a hard time with getting hard one night for some reason lol

⋆𐙚 ₊ the evans… having trouble gettin’ it up .ᐟ

ft. tate langdon ‧ kit walker ‧ james patrick march ‧ kai anderson | content warning: mention of murder

a/n: i love your mind. love it

⟢ 𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐃𝐎𝐍.

insecure as hell. tate would immediately spiral if he couldn’t get hard, thinking it’s a reflection of his feelings toward you or that he’s not good enough. he’d probably blame it on something else entirely—like his antidepressants (which he’s not even on, but he’s a liar lol).

would shut down or get defensive, saying things like, “it’s not you, inswear, i don’t know what’s wrong with me.” he’s terrified that you’ll think he’s not attracted to you anymore or that it means he’s not invested in the relationship.

the reassurance you’d have to give him would be important to make him feel like it’s okay and not a big deal. tate would probably even apologise multiple times, thinking it’s somehow his fault, but deep down, he just needs to hear that you understand.

⟢ 𝐊𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐄𝐑.

kit would handle it with humour. he’d try to make light of the situation, brushing off his embarrassment with a joke like, “guess this is a sign i should quit smoking, huh?” or “maybe i need more sleep, i’ve been working way too much.” he’d definitely avoid making a big deal out of it, trying to keep the mood light so you don’t feel like it’s uncomfortable.

even when he’s joking, he’d quickly follow it up with something like, “it’s not you suga’. i’m just tired, is all. let’s just relax, yeah?”

would definitely want to get physically close again without any pressure. he’d suggest cuddling or doing something non-sexual to remind you that he’s still connected to you and cares, even if things aren’t going exactly as planned in the bedroom. :,)

⟢ 𝐉𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇.

why do i feel like he’d murder someone to get hard.

james is a man of action. in his mind, everything can be fixed with a little… bloodshed. “perhaps all i need is a little inspiration,” he’d purr, already reaching for his gloves and heading to find an unfortunate victim. he’d return looking way too pleased with himself, claiming he felt “rejuvenated” (because what’s better than committing a crime of passion to reignite the passion?).

he’d turn it into a twisted declaration of love. somehow, this would all end with him professing his undying devotion to you. “what is my pride, my soul, if it means pleasing you?” (completely glossing over the fact that his coping mechanism just involved committing homicide.)

“you do inspire me, my love. it seems my earlier lapse has been remedied—shall we?” because, ofc, in true james fashion, he has to make it theatrical.

⟢ cult leader .ᐟ 𝐊𝐀𝐈 𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍.

if kai couldn’t get hard, his ego would take a serious hit, and he wouldn’t handle it well. his whole thing is about masculinity and control, so any loss of that would send him into a tailspin. he’d get defensive and PISSED. so his first instinct would be to project it all onto you.

assumes that you’d see this as some sign of failure on his part and take it personally, even if you hadn’t said anything to imply that.

would tell you that you’re simply “not turning him on” or “he’s just not in the mood,” bc there’s nothing more dangerous than a humiliated man lol.

he’d try to regain control of the situation. if he’s still upset, he’d get a little cold or distant. later, he’d try to turn things around by controlling the narrative, either with a dominant act or by shutting down any attempt at discussing it.