#about your home and your chair and how you can never have it back

[whetstonefires]

'ethnostate bad' is a shorthand for 'if you set up a legal system designed to privilege and protect one subset of the population it controls over all others, this is guaranteed to lead to abuses and the denial of human rights; trying to get around this by creating nations that only have one kind of people, who can all be protected together, has reliably turned out to instead kick off a speedrun of evil, because human populations don't work like that.'

the sense of entitlement that tends to be associated with an ethnostate, the idea that this-ethnic-group has the definitive claim to this place and any competing interests are illegitimate, contributes a lot to the rate of escalation compared to most other imbalanced legal systems, because it sort of takes the brakes off.

none of these abuses are particularly unique to ethnostates; the US for example has never been in a position to be an ethnostate as classically defined, but we hold gold medals in a lot of these kinds of crimes for overlapping reasons.

'forming an ethnostate' was a Cool Idea In Theory premised on a range of reasonings ranging from Reasonable to Eugenics which, in practice, has always turned out to make things get really ugly really quickly.

this works, i would say, in roughly the same way organized religions have predictable social failure points, which small intense cults tend to hit really hard and really fast.

israel was a powder keg of human rights abuses from its inception, because it had the ethnostate speedrun modifier and also was structurally a colonial power, like the US.

i see discussion about this devolve into What Is Indigeneity a lot, but the relevant issue is the structure of israel's institutions as it became established, which were, as a matter of record, drawing on the colonial model on purpose, on the grounds that it worked. and they could hardly help doing so, given the scenario.

ie: most of the parties initially in power had few to no immediate, personal local ties, and did not depend on the existing social fabric for their authority, which was backed by foreign military power; there was heavy incentive to forcibly dispossess people of their homes so that other people could come from abroad to live there; there was an imaginary version of the country being worked toward, that the existing country must be obliterated to achieve.

change the language, change the law, change everything; maintain central control of the overall process while replacing the citizen body piecemeal with settlers.

and then on top of the logarithmic interrelation of those two elements, the establishment of israel was done almost entirely by people who were deeply traumatized by state violence along ethnic lines.

it would be nice to live in a world where this meant they were motivated to make sure the government they were created Wouldn't Do That, but human nature is such that for the most part trauma is much more likely to focus you on making sure it won't do that to you, because trauma is a survival response.

(and ofc the people who go into Founding A Country in a state of trauma are going to be disproportionately those who feel that power is the only safety. which is a totally understandable conviction under the circumstances! however.)

so add on that most of the foundational decisionmaking was made by people who were not remotely in a place to be fair or magnanimous to outgroup. and there was 0 chance of anything less than a gruesome shitshow.

knowing all of that is useful, i think, to trying to frame what a realistic way out of the morass could even look like, but unfortunately it mostly yields 'well that shit's fucked' because 70 years on all those problems are worse.

well, the holocaust isn't worse, obviously, but the 'all parties in power are primed to make their decisions on the assumption that the only realistic alternative to murdering is being murdered' has just reinforced itself. and the colonial project has advanced far enough that reversing it would just involve kicking off another round of the same thing, so that's not remotely a reasonable option.

but neither is anything else.

I gotta say I still don't understand what you people mean by "Zionist" here on tumblr or in the broader world.

I guess my frustration is that the question of whether Israel was founded in a monstrous or unethical way does not seem to me to have any bearing on whether or not it can be dissolved as a country in 2025 or 2030 in a way that is safe for the citizens living there.

Honestly the current Netanyahu government seems to consist entirely of bloodthirsty monsters who should be removed from all power and left in a dark hole so that they can't hurt anybody anymore, so it seems like the anti-zionist position ought to be at its strongest but all I seem to find is a sort of glib conviction that the October 7th attacks proved that Israeli citizens should be happy to incorporate Hamas into a new Greater Palestinian government that accords Jewish citizens no particular status one way or another, and that anybody who is hesitant about this is just a racist of some sort.

Also there's a very bizarre conviction that the world's Jewish population can rely on the international refugee system if the shit goes down, and that's, uh, just ridiculous on the face of it.

[gloomwitchwrites]

https://vt.tiktok.com/ZSjHFAReU/

This TikTok lit a fire in me ,like just imagine it happening with the 141 and possibly Alejandro 🥲their reactions after they open the lunchbox

141 + Alejandro? Yes, please. Also, I absolutely adore this. I keep imagining reader angrily packing their lunchbox and muttering under their breath but still thinking "goddamn it I love this man" and "this'll show him." Like, we might be upset with them because of the argument but we aren't sacrificing their nutrition over it.

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): established relationship, married life, swearing, arguments, brief suggestive themes, light angst, fluff

Word Count: 2k

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if series

John Price

John is alone in his office.

There’s a pile of paperwork on his desk. Files. Photos. Unfinished reports. It’s never-ending, and it’s the least favorite aspect of his job. John would rather be out in the field or back home with you.

But going home feels a bit daunting. The fight the two of you had last night was the worst one, not that there are lots of fights to begin with. With heated words exchanged, the two of you argued until you were both red in the face. You had stormed off, locked yourself away, and then John sat in silence for hours afterwords, staring at the wall.

All of that, and it was his unpacked lunch that broke him. You always pack it with filling food that keeps him going on the days that he’s not in the field and just sitting behind a desk. He loves the notes you leave inside, and how you always prank something in his meal that makes him chuckle.

But right now, all he can do is stare at the container before him, knowing there’s nothing inside it except what he packed himself last night.

“Damn it all,” he mutters, slowly tugging on the zipper, knowing it’s better to just face the measly meal than ignore it.

Yet as he opens up the container and glances inside, John finds something odd. Everything he packed last night is gone. In its place is what he’s always come to expect.

Disbelief spreads as John removes container after container, opening each one in turn. How did you manage it? How did he not sense you getting out or even returning to bed in the night? How did he not hear you in the kitchen?

John leans back in his chair, staring at the spread before him.

Where’s the note?

Grabbing the bag, John checks, and finds nothing. He even opens up each food storage container, trying everything to see if you’ve tampered with it. And still, everything is fine.

Reaching for his phone, John opens his messages, and there—right there—is one from you.

Sorry. Forgot to pack a note. Love you.

John sighs heavily, tapping the phone against his forehead. All this stress, all this worry, and you still care about him.

Thank you, he texts back. I love you, too.

John "Soap" MacTavish

“I’m done talking about this.”

Johnny shakes his head, grabbing your upper arm to pull you back into the conversation. “And I’m not.”

You roll your eyes, but Johnny ignores the attitude. Whenever the two of you argue, it’s mostly frivolous nonsense that ends with the two of you fucking until the both of you are too exhausted to care about whatever you were arguing over in the first place.

This is not that sort of argument. The both of you are far too heated for this to devolve into rough kissing and even rougher sex.

“I know you’re angry,” replies Johnny. “But—”

“Let go, John.”

Johnny cringes on hearing his government name. You never call him John unless you’re looking to draw blood.

He releases your arm and steps away. “Fine. But this isn’t over. I’m not going to let this go. We have to talk about it.”

“And we will,” you sigh. “But I can’t—I can’t think. I need…space. Just…space.”

Johnny watches you walk away and hates every second of it. The feeling only worsens when he glances over and notices his empty lunch pail. You always prep it for him, making sure he’s fed. He likes that you do it. Makes him happy every time he opens it up on his lunch break.

But you’re raging mad, and it’s late.

Johnny is on his own.

With reluctance in every step and movement, Johnny fills the pail with all sorts of junk. It’s all snack food, but he hardly cares. If he has to, he’ll grab something while on break. When he’s done, he heads into the bedroom, pausing in the doorway.

You’re already in bed, covers pulled up over your head.

Johnny frowns but he doesn’t bother you, and when he finally rolls into bed, sleep alludes him for a solid hour before seizing him.

The morning isn’t much better. You’re still submerged under the covers and unresponsive. Johnny dresses for work in silence, grabs his lunch he packed in silence, and leaves the house in silence. He can’t even bring himself to turn on the radio or listen to his favorite music. Part of him is empty.

The day drags at the construction site, and when he finally—finally sits down to eat, he doesn’t want to open up his lunch pail and see the pathic meal he packed for himself.

“Fuck,” he mutters while pulling on the zipper and flipping the lid.

Johnny blinks, staring down at the food before him. Gone is the prepackaged snacks and junk food. There’s a homecooked meal in here along with several snacks, fresh fruit, and veggies. On top of it all is a small handwritten note on heart-shaped pink paper.

I’m mad at you but I won’t let you starve.

He didn’t even hear you get up in the night.

Johnny’s eyes sting, and when he blinks to chase away a few tears, he realizes how stuffy his nose has become.

“Fuck,” he mutters, opening up the container of strawberries.

You’ve cut them into heart shapes.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Simon has been a grump all day.

Doesn’t matter that he wears a balaclava, and no one can see his face. He hasn’t cracked a single smile once. Any question asked is responded to with a grunt, and if he must speak at all, it’s nothing more than a one-word answer.

He’s not in the mood. His mind is elsewhere. All he can focus on is the fight the two of you had last night. Fights are rare but they’re always fierce, and you never back down during an argument. For Simon, it’s simultaneously attractive and frustrating.

“Up to trade anything, Lt?” Johnny saddles up to Simon, peering over his shoulder at his lunch pail.

The rest of the team teases him endlessly about the fact that you always pack Simon a lunch. They call it cute—domestic. But they’re also jealous. Johnny is always trying to barter and trade with him, and Simon always refuses.

Until today.

There is absolutely fucking nothing in his lunch pail except a protein bar and a bag of crisps. Simon packed his lunch last night while you went to bed after verbally chewing his head off. This time, Simon is willing to trade the whole thing, but he’s too proud to spend money on picking something up. He’d rather starve.

“Maybe,” answers Simon as he unzips the lid. “What you offering?”

Johnny’s eyebrows rise slightly. Simon never shares. Never.

Simon flips the lid over but doesn’t look.

Johnny leans forward, eyes widening. He whistles lowly. “Damn, Lt. Wifey hooked you up today.”

Frowning, Simon glances down and finds—not the lunch he packed himself—but one you packed for him.

“Changed my mind,” mumbles Simon, closing the lid and pushing the lunch pail away from Johnny’s reach.

“Changed your—” But Simon is already walking away, intending to enjoy his meal in peace. “Oi! Lt!”

Argument aside, you still got up early and put this together while he slept. For the first time today, Simon smiles.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Kyle holds onto the lunch pail like a lifeline.

It’s such a silly hesitation. He already knows what he’ll find inside. He packed the damn thing.

Cup-o-Ramen. Plain crisps. An apple.

I don’t want to talk to you right now, Kyle.

Leave me alone. Give me some fucking space.

Even now the resentment and anger still lingers on Kyle’s tongue. For all the years you’ve been together, arguments have been few and far between. And even when there is a fight, the two of you talk it out until a solution is found. Neither of you like going to bed angry.

But last night was an atomic bomb. An explosion of dissent.

You broke off to the bedroom, slamming the door, and locking it behind you. Kyle ended up sleeping on the couch with nothing but a decorative pillow and a throw blanket that hardly covered his body.

After all the yelling, after all the back-and-forth and then your sudden disappearance, Kyle was left with two realities. One, you were pissed at him, and nothing was resolved. Two, you didn’t pack his lunch.

It’s the one thing Kyle loves most about working, knowing that you’ve put together something healthy and filling. The cute notes aren’t so bad either. But there was zero possibility that you’d pack him anything after that argument, so Kyle set to it, dumping stuff into the lunch pail before falling asleep on the sofa.

And now, here he is, sitting down for lunch and dreading the choices he made last night.

“Better get to it,” he sighs, tugging on the zipper.

When he flips the lid over, he’s momentarily stunned. Gone is the Cup-o-Ramen and plain crisps. The apple is still there, but it’s sliced and in its own container with some chocolate spread on the side of dipping. You’ve replaced it all with sealed containers. Pasta. A salad with homemade dressing.

And on top of it all, a sticky note.

I’m mad but I love you.

Kyle’s trepidation vanishes. He chuckles as he picks the note up and presses it to his lips.

Everything is fine.

Everything will be okay.

Bonus: Alejandro Vargas

When you and Alejandro fight, it’s explosive.

If something doesn’t break from being thrown, it breaks because you and him were fucking like animals on it.

Last night wasn’t a simple disagreement. You threw a shoe at him, and when Alejandro knocked it out of the air and kept going, you threw a pillow, and then attempted to throw the lamp. All in vain. He had yanked the lamp out of your hand, had it back on the end table, and tossed you onto the bed in a matter of seconds.

It was just pure need after that. All carnal lust.

After all the energy and anger vanished, Alejandro was left staring up at the ceiling as you dozed beside him. Nothing was resolved. Nothing was fixed.

And when he woke up late and rushed out the door, he didn’t even think about that fact that you hadn’t packed his lunch. Alejandro grabbed the container, brought it with him out of pure fucking habit.

Not, it stares back at him, and he doesn’t know if he should even open it. Not like you got up in the night and packed it. Alejandro would have woken up if you had crawled out of bed in the middle of the night and returned much later.

No. No.

He won’t find anything in here. Nothing. A shame really. He’s going to have to convince someone to go out and grab something for him, or hope someone brought something to drop off in the break room.

Alejandro swears under his breath and then opens the damned lid.

He expects nothing, and yet, it’s not empty. For a second, everything freezes, and then Alejandro isn’t sure if he should laugh or cry. Inside is easily enough food for two. You’ve packed it to the brim, and as he explores, he even finds your homemade tortillas.

“Is this an apology?” he asks out loud, as if you’ll pop into appearance and answer.

There isn’t any note, and there isn’t a single message from you on his phone. Either you’re waving a white flag, or you’re still angry, but not angry enough to allow him to go hungry.

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[frannyzooey]

Short Days, Long Nights One Shot

Joel Miller x f!reader

Rating: soft, soft, soft

Series Masterlist

--

It doesn’t always line up like this, but for once, it has. 

June is at the neighbors house for the night (which, when you think about the concept alone for too long, you get emotional), Hank has been scooped up by his uncle for a little “man to man time”, and Dolly is (blessedly) down for the afternoon. 

The domestic stars aligning, you crawled into bed to soothe your ankles, which were getting bigger every day.  

“What are you doin’ in here, sweet girl?”

Joel leans against the doorway of the bedroom, just back from patrol. His curls are wayward and his scruff is a bit long and the hair on his chest peeks out above the collar of his flannel, just above where his arms are crossed. He looks tired, but soft. Relaxed, now that he’s home.

You gesture at your ankles. “Resting these enormous things.”

He chuckles, his boots softly thumping against the wooden floor as he makes his way to your bedside. Sitting down, the mattress dips under his weight, and you roll to your side, making room. 

“You feelin’ okay?” he asks, soothing a large hand over your bump. His fingers splay across the mound, and you place your own hand over his. 

“Yea,” you sigh. “Just tired.”

His hand skates down your leg to your ankle, and he wraps his hold around the swollen flesh, gently kneading. He stays quiet, and for a peaceful moment, there is just sunlight pouring in through your curtains, a soft cloud of a bed underneath your aching body, and the tender, firm touch of his calloused hand. You let your eyes slide shut, and he hums in approval, shifting to your other ankle. 

The room is warm with the heat of the afternoon, and you feel lazy, content. When his hand slips from your skin and he starts to rise, you open your eyes. 

“Where are you going?” you ask, the words soft and rounded. 

“Thought I would let you sleep.”

You consider him for a moment: the bags under his eyes, the tired expression on his face. He’s been up himself since before dawn with patrol, and you know he must be just as tired as you. If not more. 

“The kids are all gone.” You slide over a little more, patting the bed. “You should come join me.”

He raises his eyebrow, a deeply skeptical look passing over his features. “You know what’s gonna happen if I get in that bed, honey.”

You smile. “I promise I’ll keep my hands to myself.”

He shakes his head, amused, yet sitting down to unlace his boots all the same. “It ain’t you I’m worried about.”

Toeing his boots off, he strips his flannel off too. Tossing it onto the chair beside the bed, he stretches his shoulders and back with a groan, and you watch the muscles shift under the thin fabric of his t-shirt. They are still formidable and solid, firm and sturdy, and when he stretches out next to you with a sigh, you tuck yourself against his side. 

“See,” he comments wryly, his eyes closed, “you’re already gettin’ handsy –”

“I am not!” you laugh, scooting as close as your bump will allow. 

“You better watch it, girl,” he warns, “or this won’t be a nap at all. We’ll end up with another kid.”

“I’m already pregnant, Joel. How –”

He shakes his head with a chuckle, cutting you off. “Listen, I don’t know, but we’d find a way, I’m sure.”

He keeps his eyes closed, a smile curled at the edge of his mouth. 

Taking his hand in yours, you bring his knuckles to your mouth for a kiss. Your lips mold to each one in turn, lingering on the raw scrapes, both old and new. They are working hands: rough from the reins, blackened under his fingernails from the soil. The experience that fits within them is evident, and you fiddle with his wedding ring, a burnished brass band, scuffed and dull. 

Sometimes he sits and cleans it, and it makes you smile every time. 

“I can hear you thinking from over here,” his voice rumbles out, and you look up at his profile. Eyes still closed, another smirk on his face. 

“You ever think about we never would have met each other if it wasn’t for everything that happened?”

It’s a heavy question, but he’s used to them by now. The way you seek out these quiet moments to learn more about him, to ask the questions you’ve got held in your head. You’re introspective, and he’s thankful for every glimpse inside yourself that you grant him. His own impulses when it came to thinking about the past were still buried out of habit, but the way yours are not has helped him in a lot of ways: to deepen his bonds with people after so many years of forced distancing, to help him remember without the raw hurt from before. 

“I mean,” you explain, fiddling even more with his ring. “Not that I’m glad for what happened, but –”

“No, I get what you mean.” He turns to face you, tucking his arm under his head. “Who knows. Maybe you’ve made your way down to Texas and found me.”

The smile you give him is gentle, and playful, and his heart melts just a little in his chest. 

“I was always into cowboys…,” you muse. 

His eyebrows lift, his eyes creasing with mirth. “Oh really? You ain’t never told me that, honey.”

It’s his turn to grab your hand, and he twines your fingers together, playing with the slender digits. He fiddles with your wedding band, a matching one to his own. 

“You need me to find a hat, darlin’?” His accent slips into something deeper, something with more twang. “You want me to show you what a real Texas cowboy is like?”

“I mean, if you’re offering.” Your eyebrows bounce with implication, and he smiles. 

“See,” he scolds. “It’s turnin’ into play time again. Keep lookin’ at me like that and see what happens.”

You put on a mock face of apology. “I’m sorry, you’re right. I’ll be good.”

“No you won’t,” he teases, bringing your hand to his mouth. He brushes his lips against the back of it, his moustache tickling your skin. “But that’s okay.”

He winks, and you grin.

Your hands continue to play for a moment, your fingers curling together, pulling apart. The light catches the grey along the edges of his jaw, and you admire it for a moment; his own eyes warm with affection as they trace your face. 

“You miss it?” you ask quietly. “Texas?”

He regards the question for a moment. “Sometimes. The heat was a lot, and sometimes so were the people, but yea. The sunrises. The land, driving those big stretches in my truck.”

Fingers lacing together, fingers skimming palms. He continues. “Football. Barbeque.”

It used to hurt to talk about this, he thinks, and it still does, but in a different way. An ache, rather than an open wound. 

“Sarah used to like this place down the street from our house. This old man ran it – nothin’ fancy, just a smoker and some picnic tables. We used to go on nights when I didn’t have a dinner plan, and she used to get sauce everywhere.”

You lay still, listening with an ache in your chest. It’s rare he talks about Sarah, but it’s more and more these days, and every morsel is a prize. A glimmer of the man that used to be, of the life he used to live. 

“Sarah used to be like that,” he said, the two of you watching the baby’s unsteady steps in the grass, June kneeling in front of her to catch her should she fall. “She was always lookin’ out for the little ones. Always so patient. A born caretaker.”

“This was one of Sarah’s favorite movies,” he said, a wistful look to his face as the lights dimmed during movie night. “I haven’t thought about this in years.”

“And when I mean everywhere, I mean it.” He gestures to his chin, his hands, his shirt. 

He smiles softly, lost in the memory. 

“Sounds like Hank,” you say after a beat, and he chuckles, agreeing. 

Resting his arm around the curve of your hip, he strokes your back in a slow, soothing circuit. 

The heat and his steady breathing and his soothing touch and the peaceful silence all work together to lull you, your eyes sliding shut. Birds chirp outside the window, a light breeze rustling the curtains. 

You slip deeper, his hand still moving. The weight of it slides up your spine and back down; again, again.

You fade, and he scoots closer.  His lips press against your forehead, his nose settling in your hair. 

“I’m glad, you know,” he murmurs, his mouth brushing against your skin. 

You hum sleepily in response. 

“That you found me,” he says, softer. 

Your eyes closed, you lift your chin for a kiss and he grants it to you, his hand settling on the soft curve of your cheek. He presses his lips to yours once, twice, and when he pulls away, you’re already sliding into sleep. 

Staying awake, he takes the time to look at you. 

You, barely a memory in the QZ. 

You, your sleeping body tucked into a tight ball near his on the trail. 

You, water dripping off the tips of your lashes in the lake. 

You, in the saddle on the way to Jackson, June’s smiling face right under your own. 

You, in this bedroom, on a warm afternoon. 

You, you, you, you, you. 

Closing his eyes, he joins you.

[lilbabypanda-blog2]

Mydei x (fem) reader (3)

Mydei’s secret friend

Part1 Part2 Part3

Y/N moved around the kitchen with quiet efficiency, setting out ingredients and lighting the stove. The warm glow of the flames flickered against the walls, casting a cozy light over the small home. As she worked, the scent of sizzling meat, fresh herbs, and fragrant spices gradually filled the air, wrapping around them like an inviting embrace.

Phainon sat at the table at first, lazily leaning back in his chair. Mydei, meanwhile, remained as he always did—silent and observing, arms crossed as if he had no interest in anything happening around him.

But after a few minutes, Phainon’s fingers started tapping against the table. Then his legs bounced a little. He glanced around, looked at the food, looked at Mydei, then back at the food. Finally, with a groan of impatience, he stood up.

“Alright, I cannot just sit here doing nothing,” he declared, rolling up his sleeves. “Let me help.”

Y/N raised an amused eyebrow. “You cook?”

Phainon scoffed, placing a hand on his chest as if deeply offended. “Of course I do! I’m a man of many talents.”

Mydei snorted. “I’ve seen you cook. It was a disaster.”

Phainon shot him an unamused look. “That was one time.”

“You nearly burned down the barracks.”

“The fire wasn’t my fault,” Phainon huffed. “It was the stove! Clearly defective.”

Y/N chuckled, handing him a knife and a bundle of vegetables. “Alright, let’s see if you’re as good as you claim.”

Phainon grinned and got to work, chopping away with enthusiasm. His technique was... passable at best. His slices were uneven, and his movements a little reckless, but at least he wasn’t entirely useless.

“So,” he started, casually sliding some diced onions into a bowl, “since Mydei is acting all mysterious about you, maybe you can tell me—what’s your story?”

Y/N stirred the pot on the stove, adding spices as she considered her answer. “That’s a broad question.”

“Fine, I’ll make it simpler,” Phainon said, pausing to dramatically wipe his imaginary sweat. “Where are you from?”

Y/N hesitated for only a fraction of a second before replying, “Here and there.”

Phainon stopped chopping. Squinted at her. “That’s not an answer.”

She smirked. “Isn’t it?”

“Yes! It’s exactly the kind of vague nonsense Mydei would say.” He groaned, running a hand through his white hair. “You two really are alike.”

“Maybe that’s why we’re friends.”

Phainon gasped, dramatically clutching his chest. “You admit it!”

“I never denied it.”

Mydei, still seated, smirked slightly. Finally, someone who could match Phainon’s energy.

Phainon, recovering quickly, grinned. “Alright, fine. If you won’t tell me that, then how about—”

“Don’t,” Mydei cut in, already seeing where this was headed.

Phainon turned to him with an innocent look. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t start prying into things that aren’t your business.”

“Oh, please, Mydei.” Phainon rolled his eyes. “I’m just trying to get to know our dear new friend.”

Mydei narrowed his eyes. “You’re trying to interrogate her.”

Phainon smirked but didn’t deny it. He turned back to Y/N and leaned against the counter. “I mean, you do have this whole ‘mysterious traveler’ thing going on. You can’t blame me for being curious.”

Y/N chuckled, flipping a piece of meat in the pan. “I don’t mind a little curiosity.”

Phainon shot Mydei a smug look. “See? She’s fine with it.”

“But I mind,” Mydei muttered.

Phainon sighed dramatically but didn’t push further—for now. Instead, he focused on helping with the cooking, sneaking in smaller, more casual questions whenever he could.

“So, what are we making?” he asked, watching as Y/N mixed ingredients together.

“A little of everything,” she replied. “Braised meat, some roasted vegetables, stew on the side.”

Phainon whistled. “You really know how to cook.”

Y/N shrugged, stirring the stew pot. “I like good food.”

Phainon nodded approvingly. “I respect that.”

The meal came together quickly, the flavors blending into something rich and savory. Mydei had remained mostly quiet, watching from his seat. But even he had to admit—the smell of the food was tempting.

Eventually, Y/N turned around, wiping her hands on a cloth. “Alright. Let’s eat.”

Phainon grinned. “Best thing I’ve heard all day.”

And as they sat down to share the meal,

The meal was nothing short of a success.

The rich aroma of the braised meat mixed with the savory warmth of the stew, perfectly complemented by the crisp, roasted vegetables. The food was flavorful, well-seasoned, and filling—something Phainon had no problem voicing.

“This—” Phainon took another bite, nearly humming in satisfaction, “—this is amazing. Y/N, you might just be my new favorite person.”

Y/N chuckled, sipping from her bowl. “Glad you like it.”

Phainon turned to Mydei, jabbing his spoon at him. “How come you never told me she could cook like this?”

Mydei sighed. “Because it’s not relevant.”

Phainon gaped. “Not relevant? Mydei, this is incredibly relevant.” He turned back to Y/N with a pleading expression. “If you ever need someone to taste-test your dishes, I volunteer.”

Y/N smirked. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Phainon took another bite, visibly savoring it before looking at Y/N again. “Alright, alright, I’ll admit defeat. You’ve won me over with food.” He leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “Now, let’s get back to the important part—you and Mydei.”

Mydei groaned, already regretting staying.

Phainon grinned. “Come on, Y/N. You can’t keep dodging forever. You’ve already fed us, so why not throw in a little storytelling?”

Y/N tapped her fingers against her bowl, pretending to consider it. Mydei, sitting across from her, narrowed his eyes slightly. He knew she was enjoying this more than she let on.

After a few moments, she sighed in mock defeat. “Fine. Since you’re so curious.”

Phainon beamed, leaning in. “I am.”

Y/N placed her bowl down, glancing between the two men. “It happened at the ruins of Kremnos.”

Silence settled over the table as she began.

“I was exploring the area out of curiosity,” she explained. “The ruins are fascinating—old, crumbling, but still standing. I wanted to see what secrets they held.”

Mydei huffed. “Reckless.”

Y/N smirked. “Says the man who practically lives in battle.”

Phainon snickered. “She’s got a point.”

Y/N continued. “Along the way, I ran into some Titankin. Nothing I couldn’t handle. A few fights here and there.”

Phainon raised an eyebrow. “You took on Titankin alone?”

Y/N shrugged. “It wasn’t the first time.”

Phainon let out a low whistle. “Alright, impressive.”

Y/N nodded. “But then I spotted him.” She tilted her head toward Mydei. “At first, I wasn’t sure what I was looking at. He was moving through the ruins like a ghost—silent, purposeful. He didn’t seem like the usual treasure hunters or ruin explorers. There was something… different about the way he carried himself.”

Phainon grinned. “Creepy.”

“Focused,” Mydei corrected, rolling his eyes.

Y/N smirked. “Creepy and focused.”

Phainon burst out laughing. “I like you.”

Y/N chuckled before continuing. “I didn’t approach him at first. Instead, I watched from the shadows, keeping my distance. I wasn’t sure if he was a threat or not. But then…” She glanced at Mydei. “He noticed me.”

Mydei crossed his arms. “Of course I did.”

Y/N hummed. “But you didn’t know who I was. I had my hood and mask on, after all.”

Phainon’s eyes widened with amusement. “Wait, so Mydei was paranoid?”

“Agitated, more like,” Y/N corrected. “Neither of us knew who the other was, but we both assumed the worst. One wrong move, and suddenly—”

“A fight broke out,” Mydei finished, smirking slightly.

Y/N nodded. “And it wasn’t a small one, either.”

Phainon leaned forward, very invested now. “Tell me everything.”

Y/N took a sip of water before speaking again. “He was fast. Strong. He fought like he owned the battlefield, like nothing could stop him. I held my own, matching his attacks, dodging when I could. But Mydei…” She exhaled. “He doesn’t go down easily.”

Phainon grinned. “Trust me, I know.”

Mydei remained silent, simply listening.

“I realized something was off about him as the fight dragged on,” Y/N continued. “Most people—no matter how skilled—slow down eventually. Their stamina wears out. They make mistakes.”

“But he didn’t.”

She turned to Mydei. “You didn’t falter. Not even once. You just kept going.”

Phainon smirked. “Yeah, that’s the annoying part.”

Mydei rolled his eyes. “You sound bitter.”

“I am bitter.”

Y/N chuckled. “Eventually, I reached my limit. I wasn’t exhausted yet, but I could tell if the fight kept going, I’d lose. And then—” She glanced at Mydei again. “You won.”

Phainon clicked his tongue. “Of course he did.”

Y/N smirked. “You say that like it bothers you.”

“It does.”

Y/N laughed softly before continuing. “After that, I expected him to finish me off. Or demand to know who I was. But instead… he just stood there, looking at me. Studying me.”

Phainon turned to Mydei. “So? What were you thinking?”

Mydei shrugged. “I was curious.”

Phainon blinked. “That’s it?”

“There aren’t many who can match my strength,” Mydei said simply. “Besides the Chrysos heirs, most people don’t last long against me.” He glanced at Y/N. “But she did.”

Y/N smirked. “And so, instead of enemies, we became…”

“Rivals?” Phainon suggested.

“Friends,” Y/N corrected.

Phainon raised an eyebrow. “That’s a weird way to make friends.”

Y/N chuckled. “Maybe. But it worked.”

Phainon leaned back, arms crossed, clearly intrigued. “Huh. And here I thought Mydei was incapable of making friends on his own.”

Mydei groaned. “You’re insufferable.”

“I try.”

Y/N laughed softly, enjoying the banter between them. The conversation continued, shifting between jokes, light teasing, and small stories.

For once, Mydei didn’t mind the company.

And maybe—just maybe—he didn’t mind sharing this story either.

The meal was nearly finished, but the conversation carried on, the air warm with lingering laughter and the scent of spices still thick in the air. Phainon, still savoring the last bites of his meal, leaned forward with his usual mischievous grin.

“So,” he drawled, tapping his fingers against the table, “you and Mydei. Fighting, exploring, being all mysterious together. That’s nice and all—but surely, surely there’s more.”

Y/N tilted her head. “More?”

“Oh, don’t play coy now,” Phainon said, grinning. “You must have some good stories about our ever-serious prince here.”

Mydei sighed, already regretting not leaving earlier.

Y/N tapped her chin, as if considering it. “Well… there is one thing.”

Phainon perked up immediately. “Yes. Spill.”

Y/N smirked, casting Mydei a glance. “Did you know he likes baking?”

The room fell silent.

Phainon stared. Then he slowly turned to Mydei. “What?”

Mydei, who had been drinking water, exhaled sharply through his nose and set his cup down hard. “Y/N.” His voice held a clear warning.

But Y/N only smiled, resting her chin in her hand. “Oh, did I say something I shouldn’t have?”

Phainon blinked, as if trying to process what he just heard. Then, a slow, delighted grin spread across his face. “No. No way.”

Y/N nodded. “It’s true.”

Phainon pointed at Mydei, barely holding back his laughter. “You—you bake?”

Mydei scowled. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” Phainon let out a short laugh. “You, the Mydei, Crown Prince of Kremnos, warrior of Okhema, immortal being rejected by death itself—stand in a kitchen and bake?”

Y/N chuckled. “And he’s good at it too, i love his honey cakes.”

Phainon gasped, pressing a hand to his chest in exaggerated shock. “I—I don’t even know what to say.” He turned to Mydei, eyes practically sparkling. “Why have you never told me this?”

“Because it’s not your business,” Mydei grumbled, shooting Y/N a look.

Y/N just smiled innocently. “You never told me to not mention it.”

Phainon was clearly enjoying this revelation far too much. “What do you even bake?”

“Does it matter?” Mydei snapped.

Y/N, still unbothered, answered for him. “Mostly cake. Sometimes pastries or bread.”

Phainon’s mouth fell open. “You bake pastries?”

“… Occasionally.”

Phainon nearly collapsed in his seat. “This is the best thing I’ve ever learned.”

Mydei groaned, rubbing his temples. “I should’ve left when I had the chance.”

"can I try some...." phainon ask but mydei cut him off "NO!"

Phainon ignored him, still grinning. “So, what else? What other hidden talents does our dear prince have?”

Y/N hummed. “Let’s see… Oh, sometimes we go on walks together.”

Phainon blinked. “Walks.”

“Mmhm.”

“You mean like, patrolling ruins? Training?”

“No,” Y/N said casually, “just strolling around.”

Phainon looked between the two of them. Then, with an absolutely incredulous expression, he burst into laughter. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not,” Y/N replied, still amused.

Phainon turned to Mydei, who looked deeply, deeply (very deeply) unamused. “You—you take walks?”

Mydei scowled. “I don’t see the issue.”

“The issue is that you don’t even like talking to most people, let alone casually strolling with them!” Phainon exclaimed, still grinning. “Yet here you are, taking relaxing little walks like you don’t have the reputation of a battle-hardened warrior prince.”

Mydei exhaled through his nose, clearly trying to contain his irritation. “Are you done?”

Phainon smirked. “Not even close.”

Y/N chuckled, continuing, “Sometimes he even accompanies me when I explore ruins.”

Phainon shook his head, feigning shock. “Mydei? Voluntarily exploring with someone else?”

Y/N nodded. “He’s surprisingly good company.”

Phainon raised an eyebrow. “Surprisingly?”

“Well, he still complains sometimes,” Y/N admitted.

Mydei huffed. “Because you get distracted.”

“It’s called curiosity,” Y/N said with a smirk.

“It’s called reckless wandering.”

Phainon was absolutely thriving in this conversation. “Wow, this is so much better than I expected.” He grinned at Mydei. “And you always act like you prefer being alone.”

Mydei shot him a glare. “I still do.”

Phainon just grinned wider. “Sure, buddy.”

Y/N, watching the exchange, only smiled. She had no regrets about letting a few things slip.

If anything, she was enjoying it as much as Phainon was.

Phainon sat back in his chair, rubbing his temples dramatically, as if he were trying to process something impossible. He sighed, shaking his head in disbelief before turning his sharp blue eyes back to Y/N.

“I just… I don’t get it,” he said, voice laced with genuine confusion. “You. Friends. With him.” He gestured toward Mydei like he was pointing at a wild animal rather than a person.

Mydei narrowed his eyes. “Watch it.”

Phainon ignored him completely, leaning toward Y/N. “You do know who you’re talking about, right? Mydei? Crown Prince of Kremnos? The guy who treats most people like an inconvenience? The same Mydei who barely tolerates me—and I’m fantastic!”

Y/N simply chuckled, amused by his reaction. “And?”

Phainon threw up his hands. “And—how did this happen? How are you still here? Why haven’t you run off like every other sane person he’s scared away?”

Y/N only smiled before turning toward Mydei, her expression warm. Then, without hesitation, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him in a gentle, familiar embrace.

Mydei froze.

Phainon’s jaw dropped.

Y/N didn’t seem to notice their reactions—or if she did, she didn’t care. She rested her head lightly against Mydei’s shoulder, speaking softly. “Because Mydei is an amazing friend.”

Mydei remained stiff, like he wasn’t sure what to do with himself. His mind immediately jumped to retreating—he wasn’t used to people being this open with him. But Y/N’s embrace was warm, steady, completely unafraid.

Phainon, meanwhile, looked like he had just witnessed a divine revelation. He pointed at Mydei in stunned disbelief. “What. The. Hell.”

Y/N pulled back just enough to meet Mydei’s gaze, her eyes filled with warmth. “I mean it,” she said gently. “I wouldn’t trade him for anything.”

Phainon gawked. Mydei stared.

The room was completely silent.

Y/N, as if unaware of the sheer shock she had just sent through them, continued smiling. “Sure, he can be a little grumpy, and he acts like he doesn’t care—but he does.” Her voice was soft but firm. “He always has my back. He listens, even when he pretends not to. He’s reliable, strong, and even if he won’t say it outright… he’s someone you can always count on.”

Mydei swallowed, his jaw tightening slightly. There was something unfamiliar twisting in his chest—something he didn’t quite know how to handle.

Phainon finally found his voice, pointing at Mydei in absolute astonishment. “Who are you and what have you done with the real Mydei?”

Y/N laughed. “Oh, he’s still the same Mydei.”

Phainon shook his head, still completely thrown. “I refuse to believe this. You like him?”

“Of course.” Y/N gave Mydei a small squeeze before pulling away fully. “He’s my friend.”

Phainon dragged a hand down his face, muttering to himself, “This is insane.”

Y/N chuckled, watching as Mydei exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his face like he was trying to shake off whatever strange emotions had settled over him.

“…You’re both insufferable,” Mydei muttered at last.

Y/N just smiled, her expression knowing. “Sure, Mydei.”

Phainon slumped in his chair, still staring at them like he had seen a ghost. “I think I need to lie down.”

Y/N laughed again, and just for a brief moment—so brief it was almost imperceptible—Mydei’s lips twitched upward, barely a ghost of a smirk.

For once, he didn’t entirely mind the company. (Except for phainons)

Phainon stood in the doorway, arms crossed, staring at Mydei like he was trying to solve some impossible puzzle. His blue eyes narrowed in suspicion, darting between him and Y/N.

“I’m leaving,” he finally announced, though it sounded more like he was trying to convince himself that this was real life.

“Good,” Mydei muttered.

Phainon ignored him. Instead, he pointed dramatically at Y/N. “But you. You’re strange.”

She simply smiled. “I’ve been told.”

Phainon exhaled heavily, raking a hand through his white hair. “I need—” he paused, shaking his head. “I don’t even know what I need. To think maybe. To lie down. To question reality.” He took a step back. “This isn’t over.”

And with that, he finally left, muttering something under his breath about "needing a drink" and "Mydei being secretly replaced by a doppelgänger."

Silence filled the room.

Mydei let out a deep exhale, rubbing his temple. “Finally.”

Y/N chuckled softly. “You say that, but you know he’s going to be losing his mind over this for weeks.”

Mydei just grunted. “Not my problem.”

They sat in a comfortable quiet, the golden evening light filtering through the window, casting a warm glow over them. For a while, there was nothing but the soft sounds of the city outside, the occasional distant chatter from passersby.

Then, Mydei spoke, his voice quieter than usual.

“…You meant all of that?”

Y/N turned her head slightly to look at him. “Of course.”

His crimson eyes flickered with something unreadable. He stared at the floor, his fingers idly tapping against his knee. “…Even the part where you said you wouldn’t trade me for anything?”

She smiled. “Especially that part.”

His jaw tightened slightly, as if the words were settling somewhere deep in his chest, somewhere unfamiliar.

Y/N shifted closer, resting her head gently on his shoulder.

Mydei immediately stiffened. His entire body went rigid, like someone had just dropped a battleaxe in his lap. His first instinct was to move away—space, he always needed space—but… he didn’t.

He let out a slow breath.

“You don’t have to overthink it,” Y/N murmured, voice soft and reassuring. “I like you just the way you are, Mydei.”

His breath hitched.

“I adore you,” she added. “Grumpiness, sharp edges, and all.”

Heat crawled up his neck. He knew it. He felt it. His entire face was burning.

“…You say ridiculous things,” he muttered.

“And yet,” Y/N teased, “you’re still listening.”

He huffed, scowling slightly. But he didn’t move.

He let her stay, resting against him, her warmth a quiet comfort.

For once, he didn’t feel the need to push it away.

Meanwhile, outside, Phainon had barely made it five steps before stopping in his tracks. He placed his hands on his head, eyes wide, staring at nothing in particular.

“This—this doesn’t make sense.” His voice was hoarse, as if the very fabric of reality had just been torn apart before him.

He turned toward the nearest street vendor. “Hey, hey, quick question—what do you do when you see something so impossible, so unbelievable that your brain refuses to accept it?”

The vendor blinked. “…Uh.”

Phainon grabbed his shoulders. “Do you—do you just pretend it didn’t happen? Do you try to rationalize it? Or do you just—accept it?”

The vendor nervously handed him a roasted skewer of meat. “Uh… here. Have this. You seem… unwell.”

Phainon took it but barely noticed. He turned back toward Y/N’s house, eyes still wide in disbelief.

“I need to sit down.”

And with that, he promptly collapsed onto a bench, skewer still in hand, questioning every life decision that had led him to this moment.

_______________________________________

Well here's the 3rd part XD

If u have any wishes or scenarios u wanna see, feel free to ask XD

[coryndoll]

waking up to you ₍₁₂₎

plot ── you wake up in a strange alternate reality that just so happens to be the outer banks universe, and to your disbelief, you’re suddenly in a relationship with the shows most unlikely character, rafe cameron.

content ── this a long one i fear, another journal entry (u can literally see it right there help), rafe being as bf as he can, more ward awkward avoiding tension, some talks !! reader taking a few more steps to coming home

authors note ── ermm hi guys, I FINALLY FOUND THE TIME TO WRITE. lmk if u still wanna be part of this tag list, i was unable to keep up with any of my last requests for this series on the last part because its been 2 months so please lmk now or turn my notifications on !! <3

previous

‘ it all came crashing down again. family dinner at the camerons. i swear i tried, i really did. i didn’t want to be that girl anymore. the one they all whisper about behind my back, the one they think is just a spoiled, bitchy princess. i really thought i was getting better. but i guess i was wrong.

i’m so angry at myself, i can’t even see straight. i was rude. i didn’t mean to be, but i was to everyone. & i know they saw it. i saw the looks, heard the tension. i could feel it, like they were all waiting for me to screw up. waiting for me to be the person they’ve always known. i tried to prove them wrong, but i ended up just making it worse.

and sarah?? she just doesn’t get it. i don’t even know why i said half of the things i did. she said something that just triggered me & i couldn’t stop myself.

i just started spitting out words, things i probably didn’t even mean, all because i wanted to hurt her the way i was hurt. because i couldn’t stand the thought that maybe they were right about me. & rafe had to intervene too. it was so fucking embarrassing.

it was like the moment she opened her mouth, i became that girl again. the girl who can’t hold her tongue, the girl who lashes out when she feels cornered. & maybe that’s exactly what i am. maybe i haven’t changed. maybe they were right all along.

it’s like, every time i try to take a step forward, i end up falling so far back & i can’t even pick myself up anymore.

like what’s the point of changing if nothing changes? what’s the point of trying to be better when people are always going to see you as the same bitch you’ve always been?

maybe i really haven’t changed. ’

the journal is gripped tightly in your hand as you read the words that spill from the page, feeling the weight of the other y/n’s heartache.

everything she says, all the bitterness and the regret, it feels so raw, so real, and it stings like something you’ve felt before. you don’t know if you’re even supposed to feel sorry for her, but something tugs at your chest still.

the y/n who wrote this, she really believed it, didn’t she? she believed she hadn’t changed, that no matter how much she tried, she was always going to be stuck in this version of herself. the girl who could never win.

a soft sigh slips from your lips as you shut the journal with a soft thud. you toss it onto the desk like it might catch fire if you hold it any longer and lean back in the chair with a sigh.

for a moment, you just sit there, staring at the closed journal, your thoughts spinning. it’s clear now how much that argument with sarah weighed on her.

even if sarah and rafe don’t care about it anymore, because they don’t, right? otherwise, sarah wouldn’t have been so friendly when you first landed here, and rafe wouldn’t have looked so damn happy to wake up next to you. her.

but jesus, it must’ve taken a toll if she felt the need to spill her guts onto these pages.

you run your hands back through your hair, bringing your knees up to your chest as you try to make sense of it all. so, what’s the point of this? why are you here? why her? you don’t get it. any of it. but for some reason, it feels like time is slipping through your fingers, like there’s some invisible clock ticking down, and if you don’t figure out what the hell you’re supposed to do soon, you’ll never make it back home.

your chest tightens at the thought, and you look back at the journal on the desk. it doesn’t hold the answers you need, but for a second, you feel like maybe it’s the only thing tying you to the pieces of her life.

you will get back home.

you have to.

the first floor of the home feels colder than you expected, but you can hear something downstairs in the basement. it’s just muffled voices, sarah’s laugh, rafe saying something you can’t quite make out.

you take a slow breath, pulling your jacket tighter around your body as you walk down the steps. the closer you get, the more your chest tightens, like you’re walking into something you’re not supposed to see.

from the last few steps, you spot them. sarah’s leaning against the glass wall of the wine cellar, arms crossed loosely over her chest, her head tilted back in laughter. rafe is crouched inside the glass room, fiddling with something in his hands, while ward kneels near an empty wine rack, muttering something under his breath.

you haven’t been down here yet. the room feels so untouched, so pristine, like it belongs in one of those glossy magazines about rich people’s homes. there’s a bar in the far left corner of the room, the walls are lined with racks of expensive wine bottles, each label perfectly aligned. the air is cooler here, crisp and sharp, carrying the faint scent of oak and something else you can’t quite place.

rafe is the first to notice you. he glances over his shoulder as he stands, his foot pressing against the ground for balance. his hands fidget for a second before he straightens, brushing them over the front of his shirt. sarah notices his distraction and follows his gaze, her laugh fading into a quiet smile as she turns to look at you.

and then there’s ward. crouched near the wine rack, he drags a hand down his face and jaw, his movements slow and deliberate, like he’s trying to collect himself. when his eyes meet yours, the air shifts.

the tension is immediate. it always is.

you feel it in the way sarah and rafe go quiet, not because they have anything against you, but because it’s almost instinctual when ward’s in the room. you can’t blame them.

rafe’s the first to move. he runs a hand over his buzzed hair, his lips parting like he’s about to say something to ward, but instead, he steps out of the glass room and toward you. his hand reaches out to gently grasp your shoulders, his touch grounding.

“hey, babe,” he says softly, his voice low enough that it doesn’t carry far. “what are you— what are you doing up here? i thought you said you were reading.”

right, the lie you told him so you can read his real girlfriends journal.

you open your mouth to respond, but ward cuts in from behind the glass. “it’s fine, rafe,” he says, his tone even but clipped, like he’s dismissing the entire situation before it can escalate.

rafe’s grip on your shoulders tightens for a moment before he glances back at his dad. you follow his gaze, your eyes locking on ward as he stands, clearing his throat. his hand drags down his beard again, and he turns his attention back to the wine bottles.

he adjusts one of them, then another, like he’s mentally calculating if they’re placed correctly. finally, he straightens, his shoulders rolling back as he steps out of the cellar.

rafe’s hand slides down to yours, his fingers wrapping around yours as he gently pulls you off the stairs and onto the tile floor. ward doesn’t say anything as he walks past. he nods at you, a brief acknowledgment, before continuing up the stairs.

you gnaw on your bottom lip, trying to ignore the knot forming in your stomach. what could this version of you have possibly done to make him act like this all the time?

rafe looks back at sarah, who’s still standing near the wine racks, her expression unreadable. then he turns back to you, his voice softer now. “i’ll be back, alright?” he says, squeezing your hand gently. “we can watch our movie tonight.”

“but dad wanted to watch that new movie with us in the living room tonight,” sarah pipes up, her voice cutting through the quiet. she shifts her weight, her arms crossing over her chest. “are you seriously bailing on him again? you already did last month. he’s not gonna be so happy.”

rafe’s jaw tightens, and he snaps at her, “yeah, but dad is never happy.”

you know that isn’t true. ward was literally just laughing before you came downstairs. rafe’s just trying to make you feel better, to shift the blame onto someone else.

he looks at you again, his gaze softening. “i’ll be there soon, okay?” he promises, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your lips before disappearing up the stairs.

you stand there in silence, your arms wrapping around yourself instinctively, as if to shield against the invisible judgment that seems to follow you everywhere in this house.

you’re not even sure why you feel this way. it’s not your fault ward doesn’t like you. it’s not even you he doesn’t like. but being in the place of someone who carries so much baggage with him makes it impossible not to take it personally.

you glance toward sarah, who hasn’t moved from her spot near the bar. she doesn’t say anything at first, just looks at you with an unreadable expression. then, with a light shrug, she pulls out a stool and sits down, leaning her elbows on the bar behind her.

“hey,” she says casually, her voice cutting through the quiet, “at least he only left the room this time. you know, instead of muttering something under his breath like he used to.”

your brows furrow, and for a moment, you just stare at her, trying to figure out if she’s serious. she’s smiling, clearly trying to lighten the mood, but her words settle awkwardly in your chest.

you huff, crossing the room and sliding onto the stool next to her. “is that supposed to make me feel better?” you ask, your voice low and a little sharp, though not intentionally.

sarah’s smile falters. her shoulders straighten, and she tilts her head slightly, studying you. “i mean . . .” she starts, but then stops, her frown deepening. “you’re really upset about this, huh?”

you don’t answer right away. you just look down at the polished wood of the bar, tracing an invisible line with your finger.

sarah doesn’t press you for a response. instead, she leans back a little, resting her hands on the edge of the bar. “look,” she says after a moment, her tone softer now, “i know my dad. he’s . . . stubborn. i mean like, painfully stubborn. me and rafe and even wheezie get it from him. but he’ll get over it. he always does. and honestly, he’s kind of stupid if he doesn’t see you for who you really are.”

you glance at her, surprised by the conviction in her voice. “and who am i, exactly?”

sarah smiles, but it’s not the teasing kind you’re used to. it’s thoughtful, almost sad. “you’re someone who loves my brother. and i mean, really loves him. i never thought i’d see that, you know? someone like you, loving someone like rafe.”

your brows knit together, and you shift in your seat, tilting your head. “someone like me?”

she hesitates, her gaze dropping for a second before meeting yours again. “yeah,” she says quietly. “you’re . . . you. independent, smart, ambitious. you don’t take anyone’s crap, not even his. and trust me, he needs that. but more than that, you’ve always been real, like authentic. even when you were kind of a bitch, and sorry, but you were sometimes, you were just . . . lost. we all were.”

her words hit you harder than you expect, and you’re not sure why. maybe it’s because she’s seeing y/n, like really seeing her, in a way that no one else in this house seems to.

“you’ve been one of my best friends for years,” sarah continues, her voice steady but warm. “even when we weren’t as close, i always knew you were still you. and now? now, you’re finding yourself again. and it’s really good to see. even if it took my idiot brother to bring you back.”

you laugh softly, shaking your head. “i don’t know if i’m really ‘back.’”

sarah shrugs, leaning forward on her elbows. “maybe not. but you’re getting there. and honestly, if my dad doesn’t see that? if he doesn’t see how much you love rafe, how much you’re trying? then he’s an even bigger idiot than i thought.”

you can’t help but grin at that, a small, genuine smile tugging at your lips. “that’s your dad you’re talking about.”

“yeah, well,” sarah says, grinning back, “he deserves it sometimes.”

there’s a moment of quiet between you, but it’s not uncomfortable. it’s the kind of silence that feels like an understanding, like a bridge being built.

“and . . . i’m actually, like, so sorry for last week,” you say with a wave of your hand. “for the way i blew up on you. i could’ve handled it so much better, but i didn’t. and that’s on me. i’m trying to do better, to be better, so stuff like that doesn’t happen again.”

sarah’s eyes soften, and she reaches over to place a hand on your thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze. “oh my god, y/n, it’s fine,” she says, her tone light and reassuring. “seriously. one argument isn’t going to ruin us. i know you’re trying, and i see it. besides, if we’ve survived rafe’s terrible cooking, i think we can survive anything.”

you can’t help but laugh at that even though the memories aren’t yours, but the tension in your chest is easing just a little. “you’re not wrong,” you play it off, shaking your head.

sarah snorts, leaning back on her stool. “see? we’ve been through worse. and we’re still here.”

then, she straightens up, her expression turning more serious.

“you really are changing, y/n,” she says, her voice soft but firm. “and i like this new version of you. and someday, the whole world’s gonna see it too. especially when we’re traveling to every country, helping everyone, saving who we can.”

you blink, caught off guard by the sudden shift, “traveling.”

sarah nods, her smile returning, though it’s tinged with something bittersweet. “yeah. remember? that stupid plan we made in the eighth grade. i can’t believe i remember that. you and me, seeing the world, doing something that matters. i mean, we’re obviously still doing that, right?”

her words stir something in you, something deep and unspoken. you don’t remember reading about it in the journal, but it feels so warm.

as far as you can tell, in the show it was like sarah’s life was pretty much just figured out for her, as if she’d be stuck in outerbanks all her life but . . . even y/n managed to build plans with her to explore the world. sarah didn’t need some treasure hunting plot, she had y/n.

“yeah,” you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “we’re still doing that.”

sarah’s smile widens, and before you can say anything else, she leans in, wrapping her arms around you in a tight hug. you hesitate for only a second before hugging her back, resting your chin on her shoulder.

but the hug ends too quickly, and not in the way you expect. one second, sarah’s leaning forward, and the next, she’s losing her balance.

you feel yourself teetering backward, your hand instinctively shooting out to steady yourself on the edge of the bar, but it’s no use, sarah’s grip slips, and in her panic, she reaches for the counter.

the sound of glass shattering on the floor is instant. sharp. final.

your heart jumps into your throat as both of you freeze, wide-eyed.

“oh my god,” you whisper, staring at the bar even though you can’t see the damage from where you’re sitting. your mouth falls open, and you glance at sarah, whose face is twisted into a mixture of guilt and disbelief.

“oh my god,” sarah echoes, her voice quieter but no less panicked. she’s leaning over the counter, trying to peek at the mess below, though it’s clear she can’t see anything either.

you don’t know whether to laugh or panic, and for a few seconds, you do neither. you just stare at her, waiting for her reaction.

finally, sarah pulls back and looks at you, her lips pressed into a tight line as if she’s trying to hold it together. but then her expression cracks, and she lets out a breathy, almost defeated laugh.

“okay. okay, this is fine,” she says, more to herself than to you. “i’ll clean it up. just . . . go upstairs, and i’ll meet you up there.”

“are you sure?” you ask, watching as she makes her way across the room toward a neatly hung broom and dustpan set on the wall.

“yes, i’m sure,” she says, already pulling the broom off its hook. “this isn’t my first time breaking something down here. trust me, i’ve got this.”

you chuckle, shaking your head as you stand. “if you say so,” you say, still feeling a little guilty.

you linger for a moment, watching as she starts sweeping up the shards of glass with practiced ease. then, with a final glance over your shoulder, you head for the stairs.

you take the last step cautiously, your hand grazing the banister as your eyes scan the room. that’s when you see him.

rafe is just leaving the kitchen, his broad shoulders disappearing through the sliding glass door that leads to the backyard.

“a’right, i’ll be back,” he calls out, his voice carrying easily through the space. you watch him go, your gaze lingering on the door for a moment before it hits you. you’re not alone.

ward is still in the kitchen. he’s standing at the head of the island, facing you, his hands resting on the countertop. his posture is stiff, almost tense, like he’s deep in thought.

your first instinct is to turn around, to slip quietly into the living room and make your way to the staircase that leads up to rafe’s room. oh, wonder how this’ll play out. if ward’s here, he probably doesn’t want you here.

he doesn’t move at first. his hands rest on the edge of the counter, his gaze cast downward like he’s deep in thought or maybe just tired. for a second, it looks like he’s about to scratch the back of his head and walk away, but he stays rooted in place.

and then, before you can stop yourself, you take a step forward.

“why don’t you like me?”

your voice comes out stronger than you expect, cutting through the silence like a knife.

ward freezes. his head lifts slightly, his eyes locking onto yours with a sharpness that makes your breath hitch. at first, he looks almost offended, his brows pulling together in a way that feels like a warning. but then, slowly, his expression shifts.

he doesn’t say anything.

“no, seriously,” you press, your voice a little shakier now but still firm. “why don’t you like me? for god knows how long, you’ve been nothing but . . . or no, you’ve been literally nothing.”

ward’s gaze doesn’t waver, but there’s something in the way he tilts his head slightly, like he’s listening even if he doesn’t want to.

“i can’t wrap my head around it,” you continue, the words coming faster now. “are we ever going to fix this? or are we just going to live the rest of our lives avoiding each other? because, honestly, it feels like we owe it to the family to at least try to communicate. every time i walk into a room with you, it’s like everything and everyone goes still. and i just— what did i ever do to you?”

your voice cracks on the last word, and you hate it, hate how vulnerable you sound. but you don’t look away. you can’t.

ward’s head lowers slightly, his eyes narrowing as he stares at you. it’s the kind of look a parent gives when they hear something they don’t like. it’s stern, almost disapproving. but you’re just as upset as he is, and you feel like you have every right to be.

he cocks his head toward the island, the motion subtle but deliberate. it takes you a moment to realize he’s gesturing to one of the stools.

“sit down,” he says.

you hesitate, your brows furrowing as you try to gauge his intentions. but then he turns away, walking over to the sink.

you watch as he picks up a towel and starts wiping down a plate. he doesn’t look at you, doesn’t say anything else, and for a second, you wonder if you’ve made a mistake.

still, you move toward the stool, your steps cautious. you settle into it carefully, your shoulders tense but beginning to ease as you watch him work.

finally, ward glances at you out of the corner of his eye. he sets the plate down on the counter, his hand still holding the towel as he speaks.

“i don’t hate you, you know,” he says, his voice calm but firm. his movements are slow, deliberate, like he’s trying to buy himself time before speaking again.

he presses his palms against the edge of the sink, his fingers flexing once before he turns his head slightly in your direction. “and i was wrong,” he says, nodding once like he’s confirming it to himself as much as to you. “i know that.”

your breath catches. of all the things you expected him to say, that wasn’t one of them.

ward turns to face you fully, his expression unreadable but not as closed off as before. you don’t say anything, just watching, waiting, because this conversation, this moment, shouldn’t be happening with you. it should be happening with her.

but it’s not. it’s you. and you don’t know what to do with that.

he sighs, rubbing his fingers together for a moment before crossing his arms over his chest. “i’ve been watching you these past few months,” he admits, his voice quieter now, more measured. “i see you. i see how much you’ve changed.”

you swallow hard, your fingers curling into your palms.

“you’re getting better.” he nods again, almost like he’s convincing himself. “i don’t think i ever said that to you. but i should have. you always had a good heart when you were a kid,” he continues, his voice distant, like he’s remembering. “but somewhere along the way, you lost it.”

“but then you came around,” he says, shaking his head slightly. “and i see that now. and look, i know i’m not the easiest person. i know i have my expectations, and i know that sometimes . . . i hold onto things longer than i should.”

he shakes his head slightly. “but you’ve proven me wrong, y/n.”

your breath catches.

ward looks at you like he’s really seeing you, his expression unreadable but different, not as guarded, not as cold. “i don’t think i’ve ever told you that. and i should have, and i’m sorry.”

your lips part slightly, but you don’t speak. you just wait.

“for a long time, i thought . . .” he pauses, considering his next words carefully. “i thought you were a bad influence on rafe, on the girls. and maybe, back then, you were. but now?” he exhales sharply through his nose, shaking his head. “now, i see that you’re good for him. good for this family.”

“he loves you,” ward continues, his voice steady. “and i know you love him. that means something. that matters.”

your fingers twitch slightly in your lap. you don’t know what to say. you don’t even know if you should say anything.

there’s a beat of silence before he shifts his weight slightly and exhales. “look, i know this week has been . . . a lot,” he says, almost like he’s testing the words before fully committing to them. “but if you’d like, maybe, you could come with us somewhere for a few weeks like we used to when you guys were kids.”

your brows knit together slightly, lips parting in quiet surprise.

“it wouldn’t be for a while, ‘til maybe this summer,” he adds quickly, almost like he’s giving you an out. “but if you wanted to.”

you don’t know what to say. for the first time, ward cameron isn’t just tolerating your presence. he’s inviting you in. holy shit, did you just seal the deal for y/n’s relationship with ward? did you seal the deal for yourself?

ward watches you, waiting, and when you don’t say anything right away, he tilts his head slightly, his brows raising in that way dads do when they’re expecting a response. then he exhales through his nose, almost amused, shaking his head slightly.

“well?” he prompts, voice still firm but with an edge of something lighter, something that almost sounds like patience.

you blink. you don’t know what to say, but ward is still looking at you, expectant but not forceful. so you swallow the hesitation in your throat and nod slightly. “yeah,” you say softly. “forgiven . . . thank you. for everything.”

his lips press together, and he gives a single nod, like he’s acknowledging the weight of those words. then, after a beat, he pats his palm against the counter once, as if sealing the conversation.

sarah steps onto the main floor, glancing behind her as if making sure the basement isn’t suddenly going to collapse after the mess she just cleaned up, only to immediately pause.

her eyes flicker between you and her dad, seated at the island, not avoiding each other, not silently pretending the other doesn’t exist.

she hesitates, like she’s unsure if she walked in at the wrong time or if she’s even in the right house. her brows furrow, her nose scrunches slightly.

“what’s going on?” her voice is like she’s caught onto something she wasn’t meant to see.

before you or ward can even think of an answer, the sound of the sliding door from the backyard shifts open, and rafe’s voice cuts in, casual and unaware. “hey, dad, i couldn’t find the—” he starts, stepping inside, but he slows his pace almost immediately when his eyes land on the scene in front of him.

his gaze flickers between you and ward, then to sarah, like maybe she’ll have some kind of explanation, but she’s just as clueless as he is. still, there’s something almost amused in her expression, like she’s already piecing things together faster than her brother.

rafe, on the other hand, looks at the two of you like this is some kind of elaborate prank. his lips part slightly, his head tilts, brows drawing together in that signature confused-cameron look.

ward, ever the composed one, is the first to break the silence. he leans back slightly, hands resting on the island as he shifts his attention to his kids. “we were just talking,” he says simply, though there’s an unmistakable ease to his voice that wasn’t there before.

sarah’s eyes narrow slightly, suspicious, but there’s a flicker of something impressed there too. rafe, still playing catch-up, shakes his head slightly, trying to process whatever the hell he just walked into.

before either of them can dig into it further, ward smoothly changes the subject. “what movie are you guys thinking for tonight?” he asks, his tone light, almost casual.

you barely have a moment to process the shift before he turns to you. “y/n, why don’t you help me with the snacks?”

it’s not a question, it’s an invitation. a surprising, unexpected invitation.

rafe reacts immediately, jerking his head back like he just got whiplash. “what?” he blurts out, pure disbelief coloring his tone.

your eyebrows shoot up, equally taken aback, but you catch the tiniest hint of a smirk tugging at sarah’s lips, like she’s already reading into this moment and what it means.

still, you nod, pushing yourself up from the stool, hesitating only for a second before making your way around the counter to where ward stands. as you pass rafe, you send him a look, a silent, wide-eyed ‘oh my god’ look, and he just blinks at you, still visibly struggling to compute whatever the hell is happening.

ward, unfazed, reaches up into a cabinet, searching for something. “hey, sar, rafe,” he calls, his voice even. “can you two set up the movie and let rose and wheezie know to be downstairs in . . .” he pauses mid-sentence, then glances toward you as if waiting for confirmation on a time.

you shrug slightly, guestimating. “fifteen minutes?”

ward nods, turning back to his kids. “fifteen minutes,” he repeats, and with that, he resumes rummaging through the cabinet for the right bowls.

sarah takes a step back first, but not before glancing at rafe, her expression absolutely gloating. she doesn’t say anything, but the way she tilts her head, the way her brows lift slightly, it’s enough to tell him, this is happening.

rafe exhales sharply, shakes his head in disbelief, and finally turns toward the living room, muttering something under his breath about how this is going to take some getting used to.

and just like that, the dynamic shifts. for the first time since you’ve been here, something feels different. maybe even . . . right.

tags ── @v2los @cosmixstar @meeuhsworld @lilithblackkk @rovckwells @cherrylooney @iissza @namelesslosers @cocolovey @rafeyswrd @odairtrqsh @gretag13 @vivian-555 @lunaleah @smol-coffee-addict @twinge-vix @drewsephrry @avngrssckr @cali-888 @simpingcorner @nymphetkoo @pinkpantheris @ilyrafe @romaescapes @thereallifebambi @rafesweetie @faephoria @solo-pitstop-vibes @my-fabulousness-has-arrived @sgecorrow @rafesgiirl @ravisinghs-wife @booksntings @tinyfairies @maybankslover @honeyluvsatj @darleneslane @alysaaaa444 @w4nnabeurs @thewrittenpodcast @watersquirtpewpewboomm @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @benbarneslut @illicit-affcirs @helo1281917 ++

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[chrattho1]

employee!matt x boss!reader

do you have a problem?

summary: matt has been working under you for 2 years now,you have a very professional relationship with all your employees but sometimes when you catch matt staring at you and checking you out—you can’t help but be intrigued by what goes on in his head.

warnings: use of pet names, oral (m.receiving),sub!matt

a/n: there will be a pt2 for this!

“so these have to go in today?” matt’s eyes squint as he questions you in your office.

you click your teeth before looking up at him from the computer screen. “yes matt,do you have a problem staying late and finishing them up?” your eyebrows in a knot.

“i guess not” matt’s voice lower now as he looks down at the files in his hands,his foot tapping the floor next to your desk.

“start working on them” you said,eyes not leaving the screen.

you can hear matt sigh softly as he walks out of your office with the pile of files he has to work on,the pile of files that’ll take at least 2 hours to get done.

its already 5 pm, everyone in the office has left the premise to go to their respective homes,families,maybe get a drink with their friends,but you and matt are stuck in the office.matt still working on those files and you on digitising them one by one as he comes by and drops each one of them off in your office. even though you could have more people wait back-you would rather have only one person stay back and do the work,so you chose matt. is there a specific reason behind you choosing him? maybe.

you walk out of your office,trailing down your way to matt’s cubicle where you hear him humming a song.

you lean on the cubicle wall,watching him bob his head to the song as he fills out some papers.

“i wanna share an apartment a room,-mh mhm mh-” matt spins in his chair as he hums the lyrics to a song,but the spinning comes to a halt when he sees you leaning on his wall,smiling at him.

“hey” you said,your arms crossed,your shoulders still leaning on to the wall.

“hi” matt returns the smile,but his expression soon changes watching you still stand there,why were you here? don’t you have work to do as well? his thoughts race up,just as any employee’s thoughts would if their boss stood there staring at them doing their work.

“what? can i not supervise you?” you spoke, playfulness lacing your words.you slowly make your way to his small desk,pushing up and sitting on it. you’re now right in front of his chair,your bare knees brushing against his clothed ones.

matt’s breath hitches but he can do nothing but simply shake his head at your question,his lips curl up when senses your playful tone.

“i like your earing” you said pointing at his ear with a smile on your face,a smile you don’t often give to people in the office.

matt’s hands involuntarily reach to his earing,touching it,almost not convinced that he just got complimented by you.

“uh—thanks-thank you” matt’s eyes never leave you. something building up in his chest,but he doesn’t really know what.

“lets take a break yeah?” you said bringing your face closer to him,your hand reaching to grab the hand rest of his chair,your faces inches apart. matt’s chest heaving,his breathing ragged and you’ve barely spoken two sentences to him.

to your statement of taking a break matt nods,his eyes fluttering not knowing what is happening right now.

“so matt,tell me about yourself,got a girlfriend? a wife? kids?” your manicured nails tap the hand rest of his chair. matt shakes his head to your question,to which you frown.

“really?” you ask in disbelief,feeling a rush of excitement as soon as you realise that this is perfect.

“i don’t” matt shrugs,he has a smile on his face making it very clear that he is embarrassed.

“how is that possible? you’re a good looking guy,well spoken,make good money at this company” you state facts about him that you know,sounding almost like you admire those things about him, and that makes matt suck in a breath.

you praising him,talking to him in this demeanour,he feels like he is in a wet dream that he’s definitely had before-so naturally his pants start feeling tighter around his groin.

matt shrugs,his eyes not batting away,he is not even blinking as much.

“i thought girls would throw themselves at you” you bite the inside of your cheek,matt’s non verbal,flustered state making you want to tease him even more.

matt shakes his head again,letting you know that girls in fact don’t throw themselves at him.

“that’s a shame,i personally think you’re a greaatt guy” you pout,your hands reaching down to rest on one of his knees.

“fuck” matt whispered under his breath,but the office being so quite made his voice almost echo in your ears,you smirk at his reaction. a reaction he gave from something so small.

“like when i touch you?” you spoke tilting your head down and looking up,matt nods frantically.

“gotta use your words matt” one side of mouth curling up.

“ye-yes i do” matt finally lets words out of his mouth-shaky,hasty words.

“want me to touch you more?” your hand now stroking his thigh,at an extremely slow pace. you can feel his skin radiating heat from underneath the pants he’s worn.

“yes- please—” matt couldn’t have sounded more desperate if he tried to,his hips rising and sliding down the chair.

you lean over him more with your hands moving up to his tie,loosening it.your eyes never leave his as you do so.

matt’s eyes scan all over your you,your tits right in his face. his hands go up from his sides to softly lay at your waist.

“is this okay?” shaky words from him fall onto your features with his breath,minty you think.

“mhm” you nod,his tie now almost fully loose.

“please-” matt’s voice low,but your receptors catch it perfectly.

you grab the end of his loosened tie,pulling him up with you.dragging him into your office,matt fully giving into your actions,loving every single second of what’s happening-even the walk from his cubicle to your office.

once you’re both in the office,you push him against the door,his body weight closing it on its own.the way you’re pressed onto him-you can feel the the rhythm of his heartbeat aligning with yours,his being just a tad bit higher than yours. you can also feel his throbbing dick press against your inner thigh.

your fingertips trail along his jaw,feeling the tiny hair from his stubble. “i see the way you look at me matt” you whisper. he looks at you with wide eyes,exhaling deeply. your fingers now making their way up to his mouth,index finger toying with his bottom lip.

“what do you have to say about that huh?” your finger slowly making its way in,and he opens his mouth for you to do so.

“always so quite,looking so innocent” your voice low and seductive,matt’s eyes flicker at the sound. his mouth still hung open with just the tip of your finger in it.

you lay small pecks on his cheeks slowly,before getting to his lips dropping your hand to his chest,pressing him down. matt complies immediately kissing you with hurry he’s never been in before. the room is filled with sounds of sharp breaths that were taken through matt’s nose while his mouth was occupied. as both your lips and tongues were tied your hands got busy untucking his shirt from under his pants. his hands rested on your hips softly.

you pull away to slide his suit jacket off of him-one shoulder at a time,and then his tie and then the buttons on his shirt. once his shirt slides off of his skin,you’re taken a back,a small gasp leaves your mouth.

“you have a tattoo sleeve?” you asked even though the proof lied in front of your eyes. matts eyes drop to his arm,and then on to you hoping that’ll give you the answer to your question.

“fuck-come here—” you said pulling him and kissing him sloppily again,flushed by the feeling of wanting him even more,the knowledge that him acting so quite and innocent is kind of for show did something to you.

your fingertips trail down his abdomen,deciding to rest right on his v-line.

matt pulled away this time,his lips swollen and mouth open catching a breath.

“can i take this off you?” he asked hesitantly,fingers toying with the collar on your shirt. a smirk grows on your face and you nod. matt wastes no time,his fingers got to work-unbuttoning your shirt as fast as he can.

you smile down at him as he does so,his desperate state making your panties wetter by the second.

“oh my—fuck” a small whimper falls from his mouth,the sight of your lacy bra that barely covered your tits making his knees weak,better than he’d imagine,or dreamt of.

you throw your shirt off somewhere,before leaning your head down to his neck. lips leaving traces down to his collarbone,sucking on it. with a moan matt’s head falls back making a “thump” sound on the wooden door behind him. you immediately look up at him to check if he’s okay.

his eyes on you when he notices the look of concern on your face. “im okay” he whispers,his voice cracking. you smile holding in a giggle before getting back to what you were doing before.

after about a good 5 minutes,you’ve kissed him all over his neck and chest,when you get to his lower tummy matt noticeably squirms under you. a smirk forms onto your lips as you continue to trail kisses down his stomach,getting right above the band of his pants. you look up at him once,batting your eyelashes.

“please—” he spoke between his teeth,his eyes half lidded but you can see the glint on them.

you unbutton his pants with one hand,the other rested on his chest stretched out.

his pants fall to his ankles,you’re met with the sight of his calvin clien boxers that have a small dark patch of precum on them.

your long manicured nails graze the skin over his hipbone while you slowly pull down on his boxers. matt’s dick springs out of them as soon as the boxers come off,his dick more desperate than he is. tip red and swollen,precum oozing. the sight making you suck in a gasp he is big-you thought.

you lean down even more,your face at his dick-level. matt squirms at the feeling of your breaths falling on to his dick.

“hmp-please—” every time he begs,you want him to beg more,but this time you have a feeling if you keep teasing-he might cry.

“such a good boy for me yeah?” you say looking up at him,to which he nods with his eyes closed.

“yes-yes—i am” you smile at his words that motivate you to do more for him. your tongue pops out of your mouth,kitty licking his tip a few times.

“OH—” matt’s eyes pressed shut at the small action. his hips involuntarily thrusting in the air past your tongue.

you bring your tongue from his tip down to the base of his dick and swirl it around.

“oh fu—d-don’t tease—i’ll cum—” whining and groaning,matt’s voice isn’t even his at this point,so cracky,full of pants and heavy breathing. his brain working in favour of the pleasure and not him.

you finally put your mouth around halfway through his dick,taking the rest in your palms. matt’s mouth focused more on whimpering than breathing.

“hmpph—just like tha-so good mama” moaning and whimpering matt’s hands fall into your hair when you start bobbing around his dick,your tongue covered in his saline precum.

“so-so beautiful—ahhh fuck—” matt tries his hardest to open his eyes to get a glimpse of you sucking his dick in a bra with your short skirt riding all the way up your thighs but his eyes betray him and shut once again.

“i cant—cant—” matt almost sounds like he is apologising when you feel his dick twitch in your mouth,you knew he was going to cum right then,so you pulled off of him

the whine that leaves matt’s mouth next made your breath hitch,he is so desperate.

“not yet baby” you got up from the floor and grabbed his hand,leading him to your desk.

english is not my first language !

[honeyhotteoks]

across stardust - four (j.yh)

summary: you and yunho have worked together for years, idol and makeup artist, but until today you’ve never touched him skin to skin. when the world tilts on its head from just a brush of his cheek, you realize he’s so much more than a crush, he’s your soulmate. one | two (section 1); (section two) | three | four | five 📖series masterlist 🔗read on ao3 ✨across stardust pinterest board

note: okay we're um.... getting into it now. hold onto your lightinys, and trust me.... part five isn't too far behind.

tags/warnings: idol!yunho, makeup artist!reader, fem!reader, soulmates au, soulmate identifying marks, soulmate tattoos, tattoed!reader, anxiety/nerves, mentions of insomnia/serious exhaustion/being overworked, no smut in this one but there's some definite fluff, some sexist language used towards reader, not by any of our boys

pairings: yunho x reader

genre: fantasy, romance, smut || soulmates au

word count: 11.2k

Be additionally cautious means that this time, instead of secret rendezvouses, you don’t see Yunho at all. 

What no one really remembered that night in the studio is just how jammed the next few weeks if not months of their schedules were. The hidden truth about idol life is that even when you’re not in the middle of a comeback, schedules are just as  tight and days are still a minimum of ten to twelve hours. If you’re not promoting one album, you’re recording or filming context for the next, planning the tour, writing music, filming variety content, and being active on social media. There’s a constant, required drip of content that requires a constant, required effort from every single member of the team. 

It’s a job that burns people out regularly, especially at a company this size. 

So you’ve seen Yunho at the office, but not much more than that, and since you don’t even do his makeup regularly there’s not an opportunity for even an hour of closeness even if it’s just in stolen glances. 

You’ve been getting regular text updates though, and you and Yunho communicate on Kakao Talk like you're in a long distance relationship even when you’re feet away from each other. 

They’ve met and worked out their own requirements for early renegotiation, but now comes the secret meetings with lawyers and planning their approach, which is hard to do between all of their schedules on top of a quick promotional week in Japan for three stages, two special appearances, and multiple fansigns for their last album. 

The hours have been near comeback levels of workload, and while management has promised vacation time once it passes, that seems farther and farther away with every minute you’re not sleeping and every minute you’re not with him. 

Today is more of the same. 

Now back in Korea, you at least have access to your own bed, but today is an early morning shoot at four thirty so that the music video directors can have optimal light, so you still have barely slept. Yunho’s awake, you can feel that through the bond, but he and two other members haven’t arrived to set yet, a product of winning the ladder game and getting a little more time to themselves in the morning before call time. 

After you finish Seonghwa’s base, he asks to take a quick break and you sink into the chair to get off your feet for a moment, yawning heavily. 

That’s a cute sweater - Your phone vibrates with the message and you smile, eyes flicking up to the mirror to catch Yunho, Wooyoung, and San just coming in the far studio door. 

Morning x - You reply. 

You watch him in the reflection as he smiles softly at your message, typing out a response.

How’s it been so far? - He asks.

You sigh - Quiet, everyone’s exhausted after the trip.

You had all returned from Japan only yesterday, and though you’re not contending with jet lag, you’re all still balancing heavy schedules and the switch up between home and away. 

This should help then - Is Yunho’s next message, and you’re not sure what he means until you hear him behind you. 

“Morning,” Yunho says to the room, getting everyone’s attention but keeping his voice soft, “we’ve got coffees on the back table for everyone,” 

There’s a collective groan of appreciation. 

“Thank god,” Dahan says, “I’ll get ours,” 

You jump up before you can stop yourself, “I got it,” 

“Oh,” She takes a step back, smiling, “thanks girl,” 

“For sure, Hwa’s on break anyways,” 

Eunji and Dahan both return their focus to the members in front of them, but Iseul gives you a sly smile. You shoot her an eye roll and head towards the loosely formed circle around the back table. 

“You didn’t have to do all this,” You hear Wonshik say as he grabs a cup. 

“Ah,” San shrugs, “it’s too early to film, we couldn’t let everyone go without a little strength,” 

Jongho slips through the side, a roller and clips still in his hair, to find the iced americanos, “Let me know what we owe you,” 

Yunho waves him off, “You’re good,” 

As you get a little closer, you finally meet his eyes and you trade a little smile. You keep it professional, as always, but the warmth in both your chests at just stepping a little closer to one another is undeniable. 

“Thanks for this,” You tell all three of them. 

San and Wooyoung both grin, but step away fast, leaving you almost alone at the table with Yunho. 

“Here,” He picks up a cardboard carrier with four hot cups, “this one's for you and the team,” 

“Oh,” You smile, “thank you, Yunho,” 

“Mhm,” He taps the lid on one cup and nods, “this one’s yours,” 

You glance to the side, but no one’s lingering around too close so you look back as you take the cups, eyebrows raised. 

“Extra shot,” He murmurs, “and vanilla,” 

You could kiss him. 

“Anyways,” He leans back and puts some space between you, “I hope it’s still warm enough.” 

“It’s perfect,” You hear Seonghwa’s voice behind you, you have to go back to work, “thank you,” 

He nods, and you force yourself to turn around, to put your face back on and get back to work. At your station, you slip your coffee cup out of the carrier and leave it on your side table.

”Lattes,” You place one on each station behind the other makeup artists. 

“Perfect,” Eunji turns from Hongjoong and snaps the cup up, “I’m so tired I could inject this,” 

Everyone laughs softly and nods, and you yawn as you get back to your station, taking a long sip of your coffee. 

“Mm,” Dahan says as she wipes her lip and nods towards you, “what’d you get?” 

“Hmm?” You don’t really understand her question. 

She nods towards your coffee, and you lift the cup to glance at the side. 

There’s a hastily drawn English initial there in sharpie, matching your name, and you laugh, “Oh, mine just has vanilla,” 

You’re getting good at fighting through those waves of panic that people might be catching on, better at lying around every turn, so you keep yourself relaxed and shrug this off.

”I like vanilla,” Eunji comments. 

Your eyes connect for a hair with Iseul. 

Seonghwa interjects smoothly though, “I’ll tell Sannie for next time, we were just talking about coffee at that spot in Hyogo, he must have remembered,” 

“That’s thoughtful,” Dahan nods, “you take care of us too well,” 

“Ah,” Hongjoong adds, bringing the attention away from you, “please, it’s the least we can do when you’re always awake an hour before us.” 

“I’ll never complain about coffee,” Iseul smiles and then shifts the conversation like a professional, “Eun, do you have any spare cotton buds? I’m smudging this mascara,” 

“You’ve got to use the guards,” Eunji says, going off on one of her favorite tangents, shifting through her station for her beauty gadget of the moment, and you let Iseul take the reins on that so you can fade right out of their thoughts. 

Seonghwa gives you a quick smile when you turn to him, and you quietly rotate the lid on your coffee so that the initial faces away from them and towards your body. 

“So,” You focus again, smiling at Seonghwa, “how much glitter today? A subtle wash, or a truly tragic amount?” 

He laughs, relaxing into your chair again, “Somewhere in the middle, but I really want these contacts to pop in the closeups,” 

“Got it,” You find your favorite palette for him, setting your coffee to the side, your thumb unconsciously brushing over Yunho’s handwriting as you do. 

The morning gets a little easier after that. The surprise caffeine has put everyone in good spirits, and filming days, while stressfully tight and complicated, are still some of the more fun days you get to have at this job. The pressure is a little lighter without a live performance, and there’s always room for the members to relax and joke around a bit which tends to spread infectiously towards the staff. 

You watch them work with quiet affection, thinking of how quickly they fell into step with you and Yunho the moment they realized what you were to each other. That night in the studio has brought you closer to them in many ways, even if subtle and unspoken, and Yunho looks like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders now that his brothers know. 

He feels happier, despite the stress and long hours, and you’ve relaxed considerably with him as such a pillar of strength. 

Early into the afternoon it’s time for solo and unit shoots, and you find yourself in a largely unoccupied area of the set with Wooyong as you finish cleaning off his first coat of makeup. As you prep your tools, he gently nudges your leg with the tip of his boot. 

“You good?” He asks softly, with a friendly expression. 

“I’m good,” You answer automatically, plastering back on your smile. 

“You don’t look good,” He says plainly. 

You glance around the room, but it’s still empty, “Uh, thanks?” 

“You look exhausted,” He clarifies. 

“We’re all exhausted, it’s no big deal,” 

He cocks his head slightly to the slide as you mix a fresh batch of his foundation shade together on the stainless steel pallet in your hands, “Are you sleeping?” 

You shrug, “When I can,”

”Because he’s not sleeping,” Wooyoung points out, “which is weird, he used to be able to nap anywhere,” 

Your mouth snaps shut, lips pressed together. Wooyoung has always been painfully observant, but this goes the extra step. 

“Yeah,” Is all you can muster up. 

“Damn,” He murmurs, “can you not sleep if the other person is awake?” 

Your eyes scan the room again, “Uh,” you shrug again, “kind of? I mean, you can, definitely, but I don’t know… things are weird right now, and new.” 

He nods, tilting his face up so you can start his foundation again, “The physical separation affects you?” 

He’s not going to let it go, so you sigh, “I think so,” 

“Hmm,” He chews the inside of his lip for a moment as he considers that, “that makes sense,” 

“Does it?” 

“Sure,” He says like it’s only natural, “I mean, you’re literally connected. It would make sense that it gets stronger or feels better when you’re together and it’s the opposite when you’re apart.” 

You’ve read articles that propose that same idea, but so much of the scientific research into soulmates and bonds just isn’t there. Especially not on something like separating soulmates or testing physical proximity, not when the pull towards each other is so strong, it’s practically obvious you’re not supposed to be apart and a study like that would be unnecessarily cruel. 

You’re quiet for a moment, thinking that through, but then Wooyoung asks a question softly, “Does it hurt?” 

You blink, “Does what hurt?” 

“Not being with him?” 

As if on cue, your chest aches, and you nod, “Yeah,” 

“Like pain?” Wooyoung’s brows draw together. 

“Not… pain exactly,” You try to explain, “it’s just this… weight, maybe? Or ache?”

”I’m sorry,” He murmurs, “that sounds hard,” 

You feel Yunho deep in the bond, a tiny tug on the cord that connects you, a wordless question. 

You smile at the sensation and Wooyoung looks more confused. You shake your head, “Sorry,” you laugh softly, “he’s checking on me,” 

Wooyoung’s mouth drops open, “That’s amazing,” 

You nod, before brushing your fingers over your mark, sending a wave of reassurance back to him. 

Wooyoung’s eyes flick down to watch the motion and back up, “And you’re…” 

“Telling him I’m fine,” You feel your face warm up a bit. 

“Wow,” He murmurs, a grin spreading on his face, “I can’t wait to know what that feels like,” 

You smile, returning your attention to the makeup palette in your hands. 

“y/n,” He says, “I really think it’s going to work out, I think people will be so happy for you both.” 

For a moment his earnestness makes you believe him, and you thank him softly before you focus on his makeup, you don’t tell him about all the things you’ve seen online that tell you otherwise. 

In the weeks that have gone by, you haven’t been able to stop yourself from researching. 

In your deep dives you’ve found very little to comfort you. 

Two idols have found their soulmates, but their relationships were announced quietly years into retirement from public life, and even then the articles were full of negative comments. 

Plenty of idols have gone through dating scandals, and that always seems to end one of two ways. Either the company says nothing and the rumor fades into nothing, or the evidence is too damning and the destructive cycle of public outcry and idol disgrace continues until companies and contracts break down. 

Yunho has popped up in a couple of unfounded dating rumors, but even those comments made you ill. The way they turned on him, and the way they speculated about his non-existent mystery partner certainly contributed to your sleepless nights. 

Wooyoung’s confidence is almost sweetly naive for someone in the industry. 

You finish his makeup and make it through several more hours of standing around on set ready to hop in and touch up your members between takes. You hold on to the feeling of Yunho’s adrenaline while he practices and performs for the camera to keep you going. 

Hours later, the shoot has started to dwindle down to the people left who still have filming to go or members on set but both Wooyoung and Seonghwa wrapped and went home by the time you make it back to the set’s break tent. 

It’s quiet here, just a collection of plastic tables with snacks and water bottles, some seats, and organized chaos of everyone’s belongings. You could fall asleep right here. 

You’re nearly drifting, your body exhausted after a day of standing, and you sink into one of the break tent’s folding chairs, eyelids heavy. It’s empty for now, a good number of staff already gone for the day, but Yunho’s solo shoot is last and all you want is to see him one more time before you drag yourself home. 

Your head lolls to the side and you don’t know if you really sleep or not, but the next thing you register is a gentle hand on your hair. 

Sucking in a sharp breath, you blink your tired eyes open, “Mm,” 

“Hey, sweetheart,” Yunho murmurs softly, “time to wake up,” 

“Y-Yun?” You blink again, yawning as you shift out of the awkward position. 

“What are you still doing here?” He murmurs. 

“I guess I fell asleep,” You sweep a hand under your eyes, “is the shoot over?” 

He nods, “It’s already nine,” 

You look to your watch, surprised to see he’s right, “God,”  

He lovingly strokes your hair again, “Let’s get you home,” 

You sigh into his touch for a brief moment and then he steps back and you push yourself to standing. He takes one fast glance towards the tent opening before dipping down and kissing you once, just a quick indulgence of his lips on yours before he takes a few large steps back to leave a healthy gap between your bodies. 

“How was your day?” He smiles, starting to gather his belongings. 

“Good,” Your skin is still buzzing from the kiss, but you shake it off and look for your own bag, “long,” 

“Mm,” He nods, “same,” 

“How was the shoot?” You start to say, but voices outside catch both of your attention.

You didn’t realize many people were still here. 

You quickly pull on your coat and snap up your bag.

Wonshik, one of their managers, steps into the tent, all of his focus on the phone in his hands, “You ready?” 

“Yep,” Yunho nods, and you notice the other voices of your coworkers are hovered by the door as they talk animatedly about something you can't quite catch.

Wonshik responds but you miss his words, your mind still foggy with sleep. 

“Hyung,” Yunho says, “can we give y/n a ride, it’s late,” 

Wonshik looks up from his phone and finally notices you in the room, “Oh,” he nods, “sure, hey y/n,”

”Hey,” You normally would protest, but you’re dead on your feet, “you sure you don’t mind?”

”All good,” 

The tent flap opens again and San, Eunji, Iseul, and a few BB Trippin dancers start to step in, still mid conversation. 

Wonshik catches your attention though “Where do you live?” 

“Seongsu,” Yunho says it before you can open your mouth and a strike of alarm twists in your chest before he smoothly recovers, “you were just saying how close you are to the studio,”

”Yeah,” You nod, catching on to his misdirection, “super close, I usually walk,” 

Wonshik nods, “No problem, do you have everything? Another early one tomorrow,”

“Sure, I’m ready when you are,” You nod to them both. 

Wonshik turns, reaching into his pocket for his keys, and heads for the entrance again. You and Yunho exchange a quick look, and he nods for you to go first. 

“Good night,” You say to everyone as you pass by. 

They give you a good night, and as you pass each other, you feel Yunho’s tall presence behind you. He says something to San, and gives one of the BB dancers a fist bump for something that happened on set, but then for the first time in weeks he moves without thinking. 

“See you in the morning,” Yunho says, and then turns to follow you, his hand settling on your mid back to guide you forwards out of the tent. 

It takes you both a second to realize what you’ve done, the weight of his hand feeling familiar and right against your back, but you hear San say something loudly enough he could only be making a distraction and your gut twists. 

Yunho drops his hand, shoving it in his coat pocket. 

You feel the rapid pick up of his heart, the apology that he wants to give you but can’t in front of other people. You want to tell him it’s fine, no one saw, and even if they did it was the most mild, brief touch imaginable, but you bite your tongue and climb into the waiting car. 

Wonshik drives you home, and despite the closeness of your bodies in the backseat of the car, Yunho keeps his eyes on the window and an ocean between you. 

Two more days of shoots like that have you propped up on coffee and sheer force of will alone. 

You keep almost falling asleep everywhere, and you’re sure that to any of your coworkers who don’t know about Yunho and your sudden soulmate insomnia, you look terrible. 

“You’ve got to figure out this sleep thing,” Iseul says, nudging your shoulder as she collapses next to you on the couch in your offices at the KQ main building. It’s getting late, finally time to go home, but you just need a second to yourself before trying to muster up the strength to catch the train or risk falling asleep in another Uber. 

You sigh, “I know.”

“Is Yunho still avoiding you?” She asks. 

“He’s not avoiding me,” You huff a tired laugh into your sweatshirt sleeves, “he literally can’t when we’re literal soulmates.” 

He’s been a little distant since the other night, but it’s to be expected. You don’t need him to explain, you can feel it. He’s been looping through the line of mistakes from that night; the kiss, knowing your address, the back touch, all brought on by your joint exhaustion and the constant magnetic energy of the bond that tugs inside you, willing you to touch, to be close. 

“y/n,”

“Sorry,” You sigh, “I’m tired, but no he’s not. He’s just keeping some distance after the other night, he slipped up and he’s beating himself up over it,” 

“It’s a platonic enough touch,” She says, and you’ve heard this argument from her before, “and no one saw,”

“Mm,” You nod, “this is just how he deals.”

“By shutting you out?”

“By hyperfocusing on work,” You correct, “we’re texting, it’s fine, Iseul,”

“Fine,” She says with a sigh, “I just want my best friend back to healthy and happy,” 

You give her a close lipped smile, “Soon,” 

The door opens and you look up as Eunji, Dahan, and Eunwoo from the hair styling team come in, Hongjoong rounding the corner behind them. Hongjoong and Eunwoo are mid conversation, and the other members of your makeup team are carrying an arm full of vending machine snacks.

“How bad do you think I’ll break out after only living on Turtle Chips and caffeine this week?” Dahan groans and you smile.

“I’m telling you,” Eunji shakes the clear box in her hands, “the vending machine salads are surprisingly good,” 

“How? It’s a literal vending machine,” Dahan’s nose crinkles. 

They keep bickering, almost ignoring you and Iseul completely, but then you hear your name out of Hongjoong’s mouth and it catches everyone’s attention. 

“y/n,” Hongjoong says as he steps towards your group and makes eye contact with you, “I actually had something I wanted to talk to you about, do you have a few minutes while I’m already down here? Seonghwa wanted me to pass a bit of feedback back to you,” 

Your eyebrows raise, “Um, sure,” 

Your teammates glance at each other in a bit of confusion, it’s rare for the boys to give you feedback like this, if at all after working with each other for so long, but they let it lie and don’t interject. 

He waits for you, and then nods towards the hall. 

“Right,” You pull yourself up and brush your hands over your wrinkled trousers, “no problem,”

“Text me later,” Iseul says as she stays with Dahan and Eunji, and as you step away you feel their curious glances at you, leaving a strange pit in your exhausted stomach. 

Hongjoong steps into the hall and walks down towards the lobby on this floor, an empty space between elevators with no office doors or onlookers to overhear. 

Once you’re alone with him, you cross your arms over your chest, “Hwa needed you to give me feedback? What did I do?” You smile, keeping it light. 

He waits until he’s sure everyone’s out of earshot, and then he looks back at you, “Nothing, I just needed an excuse to talk to you for a second,” 

“Oh,” You relax. 

“My office,” He starts, “my recording booth, you know where it is?” 

You nod, “Sure,” 

“When the red light is on, no one ever bothers me, not even a knock,” He tells you. 

“Okay,” The word stretches on your lips, confusion on your face to be sure. 

He sighs, “Sometimes when comebacks get tight like this, members will use my studio to get a quick hour of sleep,” 

“Ah,” You nod, “okay,” 

“People will start heading home soon,” He points out, “but we’re all working late and have practice,” 

“I know,” You nod, “Yunho said it would be another late one,” 

“He’s in my studio,” Hongjoong continues, “and you both look exhausted. Wooyoung said you’re not sleeping either,” 

You shake your head a bit, “I’m fine, you all have enough to worry about,” 

He smiles softly, “I worry about my members,” 

Your shoulders drop, “You’re worried I’m affecting Yunho’s work,” 

“No,” He waves a hand to dispel that thought, “that’s not it, y/n. I know we haven’t spoken since that night at the studio, so I can understand why you’d think that, but no. I admit, I also wanted to apologize to you for how I reacted, the things I said.” 

“Thank you,” You manage. 

“I did some reading,” He admits, “I was… wrong, what I thought the connection was for you both, I didn’t understand and after what Yunho said that night, I did research.” 

“Oh,” 

“What I’m trying to say is,” He glances quickly to make sure you’re still not being overheard, his voice maintaining his low tone, “If I’m worried about Yunho, that means I’m worried about you too. You’re feeling these schedules just like he is, and your exhaustion is feeding off each other. I’m worried about you both, and I can only imagine how much worse the stress is making things,” 

If you weren’t so tired, down to your marrow, his words might not make you so emotional but you take a sharp breath and nod, feeling a pinprick of tears behind your eyes. 

“So,” He says with a small smile, “Yunho’s in my office trying to get a couple hours of rest, and I think you should join him. Get some sleep, we’ll text him if something comes up and we’ll cover for you both. Just be careful going in and out, but at this hour things should be pretty quiet.” 

“Hongjoong,” You say his name in a breath, “I don’t know what to say,” 

“You’re good,” He waves that off too, almost uncomfortable with the sudden emotion you’re trying to keep tamped down. 

“Thank you,” You smile, “really,” 

He nods and steps away, “Alright, I have to get to a schedule,” 

He doesn’t, and he knows you know that, but you let him off the emotional hook with ease and make your way to the stairs. 

Hongjoong’s office is close, which means Yunho is too and your chest starts to warm with anticipation. 

Quietly, you make your way down the recording studio hallway and it’s blissfully, absolutely silent. Ahead is Hongjoong’s door, a red light above acting like a do not disturb sign, and with one more fast second glance up and down the empty hall, you turn the handle and step over the threshold in one smooth move. 

The room is dark, but you hear the shift of a body on the couch before Yunho says, “Did you need me afterall?” 

“Hey,” You whisper. 

Yunho rolls over, and in the dim light you see him sit up, “Baby?” 

“It’s just me,” You confirm, flicking the lock on the door just for good measure before walking over to the couch, “Hongjoong said you were up here.” 

“Is everything alright, you okay?” He rubs a hand over his tired face before reaching out to you. 

“I’m fine,” You assure him, stepping into his gentle hold, “but scoot over, let me in here,” 

He shifts on the couch so you can slide next to him, but you can see the confusion on his face. 

“Joong said they’d cover for us to get a quick nap,” You tell him softly, “can I lie down with you?” 

He sighs, a smile stretching over his face, “Of course,” 

You both shuffle onto the couch, and it’s too narrow for his big body and yours, but you wind your legs together and make little adjustments until you’re comfortable, Yunho’s arm banding protectively around your back to keep you from rolling backwards. 

“Come here,” He murmurs as you adjust your head, cheek nestled into his bicep, “is that alright?” 

“Mhm,” You sigh, feeling the tension of the day and of the past week unspool inside you, “missed you,” 

“I missed you too,” he presses his lips to the top of your head and lets out a long, relieved breath, “so much,” 

You nod, but your eyes have already started to grow heavy. The safety of his arms, the warmth of his body on yours. Faintly you can catch threads of his scent, clean skin and something earthy, soft cedar and juniper. 

You nestle into his chest a little more, taking a deep breath and letting yourself relax, “Love you,” 

He hums softly, but you feel him relaxing right alongside you, “Love you,”

You don’t even remember falling asleep. No sooner do you hear his soft reply, an alarm is sounding above your heads and you start out of sleep, Yunho gasping sharply and pulling you closer as he bursts back into consciousness alongside you. 

“Mm,” You burrow into his chest, “that’s too loud,” 

He searches above his head for his phone, the alarm still blaring. 

“Yunho,” You groan. 

“I got it,” He says, clicking the snooze button, “sorry, sorry,” 

You sigh, “I think everyone in this building heard that,” 

He snorts a laugh softly and sighs, “I can’t sleep through it,” 

“That’s for sure,” 

He wraps you back up in his arms and tucks his head against yours. 

“Did we sleep?” You murmur. 

“Mhm,” He says, his voice rough with sleep, “almost three hours,” 

“I feel like I died,” You yawn, “oh my god,” 

He stretches his legs out, joints cracking as he adjusts. Neither one of you moved an inch during sleep, and you’re both feeling all the stiffness that comes with that now that you start to come out of it. 

“Did anyone message you? Are we good?” You prod Yunho gently. 

“Um,” He finds his phone again, wincing when the bright light hits his eyes, “fuck, um, no, we’re good,” 

“Good,” You sigh.

”I want to ditch practice and take you back to your place and just sleep for a hundred years,” He groans, winding his arms around you and rolling you artlessly on top of his chest so that he can stretch his long back and still keep you on the couch, “how much trouble do you think I’d be in?” 

You smile, pressing a kiss to his chest, “A lot,” 

“Yeah,” He yawns, “probably,”

  You hum softly, relaxing into him, “Do we have any time, or do you need to go?” 

He winces, “Five minutes, maybe?” 

You can’t hide your disappointment at that. 

“I know,” He strokes your back, “I’m sorry, I wish schedules were less…”

  “It’s okay,” You soothe him with another kiss, “it is what it is,” 

His lips press closed, and he nods, “Yeah,” 

“Only a few more days,” You sigh. 

A few more days of schedules like this, of early mornings and late nights and commitment after commitment stacked on top of each other. 

He nods, but then he says, “We’re going to start negotiations next week,” 

“You are?” Your head pops up and you meet his gaze. 

“We have a day off after these schedules,” He says quietly, a tentative smile on his lips, “after we sure things up with the attorney, and then we just have to request the meeting.”

“That’s fast,” You admit. 

“None of us want to waste any time,” Yunho admits, “between us and the potential our contracts could be better for all of us? I think we’re all ready,” 

“When do you think,” You let your words trail off, but he picks up on your point with ease.

  “A couple of weeks, I think we’ll know,” He smiles, “just a little longer,” 

You smile, pushing up from your position to capture his lips in a kiss. 

Yunho pulls you closer, shifting you higher on his chest as he hums pleasantly against your mouth, kissing you gently, tenderly, like all good sleepy, intimate kisses should be. 

Yunho’s phone lights up with a second alarm and you jolt, breaking the kiss and sighing. 

He silences the phone much more quickly this time, “I’m sorry,” he gives you a squeeze, “I really have to go,” 

“It’s okay,” You slide off him, taking quick stock of your clothes and how mussed your hair is as he gets to his feet. 

His phone dings with a notification and he checks it, before quickly tapping out a reply.

  “All good?” You check. 

“Mhm,” Yunho yawns and tucks his phone away, “Joong says the hallways are pretty quiet.” 

“Should I go first, or you?” You ask, reaching out to smooth the collar of his shirt. 

“I’ll go,” He leans in and presses a fast kiss to your forehead, “let me double check the coast is clear,” 

“Okay,” You nod.

  He takes a deep breath and shakes out the nap, “Only a couple more weeks,” he repeats, as much for himself as it is for you, “I love you,” 

“I love you too,” You kiss him quickly, just a peck before he gets on with the rest of his work day. 

“Let me know when you get home safely, okay?” He kisses your again, his warm hands cupping you close, “Try to get some more sleep,” 

You nod, but you both know you won’t be sleeping until he’s in bed too, “Text me when you’re home later,” 

“I will,” He says, “but try to sleep, okay? You need your rest too,” 

“I promise I’ll try,” 

His phone dings again, and he exhales sharply with a little exasperation, checking his phone again, “Alright, I have to go, I love you. Be safe.” 

“Love you too,” 

He kisses you fast, and then his hands are off you and he’s out the door. 

You sink back down onto Hongjoong’s couch and collect yourself, pushing through all the post-nap brain fog now that you have a second. You wait until he messages you it’s safe to leave, and then quietly you turn off Hongjoong’s recording light and slip out unseen into the hall. 

Downstairs you gather your things and get yourself back together so you can go home, darting quickly towards the exit when you hear that you aren’t completely alone in the building. Far off voices down one of the halls by your workspace, the sound of someone else in the lower break room, you don’t wait to see who could be working late. 

Walking to the train you take a deep breath of cold air. 

Only a few more weeks. 

You can do a few more weeks. 

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Not everyone would agree with you, but you love night schedules. As one of the staff members who has to be there before the members, you love any schedule that means you get to wake up at a normal time and not the three or four in the morning call times for morning shoots. 

A night shoot means you get the morning off. 

Last night after days and days, you finally slept, sinking into sleep alongside Yunho, even though he was across town at his own apartment. It was the best night you’ve spent without him by your side since that first night after the European tour. 

You woke up without an alarm, natural light and feeling fully sated. Today was going to be a good, good day. 

You get to the office with a brightness in your body. An afternoon coffee in hand, a cute outfit, and you took the extra time to put a soft curl in your hair just to see Yunho’s eyes light up when he sees you later today. 

He had texted you good morning and that he loved you. 

You had joked about ordering the same thing for dinner later and eating over FaceTime for a virtual date. 

Tomorrow was their meeting with the contract lawyer.

Everything was going right. 

You’re almost there.

Nothing seems out of the ordinary until it does. 

At the office, you scan your keycard to enter just like always, but you only make it halfway across the lobby before you’re intercepted by two of the largest men you’ve ever seen, dressed in simple black suits with armbands identifying them as security. 

“Miss y/n?” One of them stops you with an outstretched hand, blocking your access to any more of the lobby. 

“Yes?” Your heart speeds up. 

“Come with us, please.” The other says plainly. 

Your fingers tighten on your bag, “What’s this about?” 

“Come with us, please,” He reiterates, and you can tell the please is a polite formality. 

”Can you tell me what this,” You start to say, but you barely get a full sentence out before you’re cut off again. 

“Miss,” The first one says, “let’s not discuss this in the hall. Follow us.” 

They start walking, one in front of you and one behind, and you can sense people in the foyer starting to notice an employee being escorted by security, stopping to stare, but you keep your eyes ahead and try not to look as terrified as you feel. 

It could be nothing. 

It could be a keycard replacement or a problem with a clearance for one of the filming locations, it could be anything. 

They walk you swiftly towards the back elevators and take you up until you’re passing your normal floors and going higher, towards the offices with better views and higher salaries. 

Your stomach clenches when you get off and follow them further back to a corner office. 

“This way,” The one in front says as he opens the door to the office, and your eyes flick over the name on the door. 

Han Minchul - Attorney

Everything in your body is telling you to turn around, to get out of this hall and back to the elevators, to never step foot in this man’s office, but it’s just not an option. 

Stepping over the threshold, you come face to face with Han Minchul himself. 

“Ah!” He says, “Miss y/n,” 

You greet him, professionally and cordially, “Mr. Han,” 

“I don’t suspect you know who I am,” He gestures towards the chairs in front of his large dark wood desk, “please, have a seat,” 

Slowly you step forwards and take the seat. He’s perfectly average in every way with the exception of his nice office and even nicer suit. You clock the watch on his wrist and the decorative table in the corner with the crystal bottle of expensive scotch. 

“Well,” He says with a slight smile, folding his hands over a red file folder on his desk, “I do wish we were meeting under better circumstances,”

Your stomach drops out, “What circumstances are those?” 

His smile falls away and he taps the folder, “We have some serious and very credible information about you and one of our idols, Miss y/n.” 

It feels in a split second like your chest is collapsing in on itself. 

“Nothing to say?” He leans back from the desk and sits comfortably in his desk chair. 

“What would you like me to say?” You manage. 

“It doesn’t really matter to me,” He sighs, “and there’s no point in lying. You and Jeong Yunho have been seeing each other secretly for some time, though we were only made aware of the nature of your relationship this week.” 

“I see,” Your throat feels hoarse, your stomach rolling. 

You feel a tug inside you, a press against the bond, but you stay focused on the conversation.

”It took us a few days of digging and corroborating information, but you are both less secretive than you think you are,” He adds, “we’ll be speaking with him later today, but for now, if you’ll turn over your keycard and identification badge,” 

“You’re firing me,” 

“Very good,” He says, and then he taps on the folder again. 

Your ears are ringing, and you see his mouth moving but things feel like they’re falling apart all around you. Your heart is thundering in your chest and you feel another distinct touch of Yunho’s consciousness to yours. 

Mr. Han clears his throat and looks at you with a withering stare. 

“What did you say?” 

He purses his lips at you like you’re an annoyance, and then nods to the two stocky security officers at the doorway, “I said, we can make this simple, or we can make this difficult,” 

You swallow tightly, fear pooling in your gut. 

“Simple includes signing these two documents,” He finally folds open the folder and reveals a stack of contracts that are tabbed on multiple pages for your initials and signature, “and then you will quietly leave the premises. You will be let go without recommendation, but you will receive a lump sum of six months salary, still subject to tax of course.” 

“Y-you’re buying me off?” Your head feels like it’s spinning. 

“You’re a smart girl, y/n,” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, “now do I need to explain what difficult means, or do we have an agreement?” 

As if on cue, both of the security officers take a step from the door towards you. They linger behind your chair like menacing pillars, and you have no doubt they’ll drag you from these offices kicking and screaming if necessary. 

“I,” You start, fumbling over your words, “I’m sorry, but there’s been a misunderstanding,” 

“Oh?” For a split second you think he’s going to listen, but then he leans back in his chair as he shakes his head, “No, I don’t think there has,” 

Nervous knots tighten so hard in your gut you feel sick, “No, please, you have to listen to me,” 

“Does listening get you to sign these papers faster?”

”We’re soulmates,” You finally get the words out, “we would never have broken the rules if that weren’t the case, but I know you can understand that, that we’re supposed to be together, that it was out of our control,” 

The man across from you barely blinks, “Well,” he shrugs, “I’ve heard that one before,” 

“But our marks,” You insist, “if you just let us show you, you’ll see,” 

“Let me stop you there,” He shakes his head and sits forward in his chair, “because I can tell you exactly how that happened,” 

His words don’t make sense, “What?” 

“You developed a little crush,” He gestures towards you with his meaty hand, “and your crush turned into an obsession,” 

He doesn’t even need to say it, you know exactly what this story will be. You’ve feared it from the second you realized he was yours, and to see it laid out in front of you is a cold reminder that you were right from the start. 

That doesn’t stop the ringing in your ears though, and the way your heart starts to beat faster and faster like a bird in a cage, pure panic lacing through your body. Something sharp pulls in your chest, and distantly through the bond you feel Yunho’s own fear, his own sudden panic. 

Mr. Han continues, even as the blood drains from your cheeks, “No, I think you’ve broken your contract so severely you’re lucky I don’t contact the police.” 

“But,” 

“How did you do it? A peek down one of his costumes? Did you walk in on a wardrobe fitting to get a good look?” He sneers, “Or did you seduce him first and get your own tattoo later?” 

“I-I didn’t,” You feel cornered, trapped, fear pulsing through you, “I wouldn’t do that,” 

“You,” He levels you with a hard stare, his eyes flicking down to your exposed forearm, “wouldn’t get a tattoo?” 

You tug the fabric of your sweater down over your skin, “That’s not what I’m saying, I’m saying I wouldn’t get a fake soulmark, I wouldn’t deceive someone like that,” 

He has to believe you, he has to. But instead, he only shrugs, “I doubt it, but it doesn’t matter.” 

“It,” You feel lightheaded, sick, dizzy at the way the floor has all but dropped out from under you, “it has to matter,” 

“y/n,” He sighs, tapping the papers before him, “my job is to protect the company from liability, to protect our idols from things that would be catastrophic for their careers, and you, my dear, are catastrophic.” 

Panic slices through you, hot tears pricking at your eyes, “But I love him,” 

His nose crinkles slightly, disgust masked with mock pity, “I’m sure you do,”

His words, the way he looks at you, you feel small and silly. A foolish girl with a crush clinging to a fairytale, and your eyes land on the file folder of contracts, beneath them no doubt all the evidence he alluded to before, thick and likely full of a false version of your love story, crafted so that you look like nothing more than a rabid fan. You think suddenly of the girl in the airport who pushed you aside for her chance to touch Yunho’s skin, and you can see exactly the rumors they’ll spread about you if they have to.

Underneath the panic and the pulsing dizziness though, you feel Yunho. His own heartbeat seems to knock against your ribs, and distantly you know it, he’s coming for you. 

“I’ll offer you one last time,” Mr. Han says, and your eyes flick up to his, “I urge you to be smart about this. Sign the papers, take the money. I’m sure you can find somewhere that will hire you to do hair anywhere, it just won’t be alongside any other idols you can dupe.” 

This time all you feel is the popping sensation of rage, crackling through your body so quickly you can’t catch your tongue, “I’m a makeup artist.” 

“Yes, well,” 

“No,” You cut him off, leaning forwards and fisting your hands to keep them from shaking, “I’ve sat here and listened to you insult me, and insinuate that I am some kind of delusional, love-sick fan, and threaten me, I’ve worked here for five years.” 

“Congratulations.” He says dryly. 

“What is wrong with you?” You stand up, the chair pushing back behind you as it bumps into the security officers, “You haven’t even talked to Yunho, you dragged me in here like you’re a cop and I’m some sort of criminal, this is our lives!” 

”No, this is a place of business,” He shakes his head. 

You rub at your temples, a headache bubbling in your brain, “How?” 

“How is this a place of business?” He smirks. 

“No, how did,” 

“I know what you’re asking,” He interrupts and taps the stack of papers on the table, “it seems your friend thought you were behaving inappropriately in the workplace,” 

A wave of dizzy nausea passes through you and you grip the back of the chair for stability, “My friend?” 

“Your friend, one of the other makeup artists,” He repeats, “she had quite a lot to tell us.” 

“She,” You feel unmoored, “she told you?” 

“Everything we needed to know.” He confirms. 

“I,” You stumble over your words and then find the stability to straighten back up, “I don’t believe that for a second.” 

“Believe whatever you want,” He shrugs, “it won’t make a difference. It’s my job to ensure,” 

“No liability,” You roll your eyes, anger bubbling hot inside you, “and a steady paycheck for you while KQ’s biggest group stays nice and profitable, and a soulmate for one of their idols would really cause a scandal, wouldn’t it?” 

His jaw tightens, muscles tensing in his jaw before he recovers and nods again to security, “The difficult way then,” 

One of the security guards steps smoothly to your side, his large hands closing over your upper arms tightly and he tugs you back. 

The ringing in your ears gets louder, but you taste bitter adrenaline on your tongue and feel the bond inside you thrumming, you feel him closer. 

The other security officer grabs your bag from the floor though, and it pulls your attention, “What are you doing?” 

He ignores you, swiftly finding your phone and passing it over to Mr. Han who stays comfortably behind the desk. 

“Let me go, give that back!” You jerk an arm, trying to push free, but it only makes the man holding you still grip harder, pressing angry bruises into your skin.

 “Liability, remember?” He says as he flicks through your phone, “once this is cleaned up, you’ll be escorted out. Your access badge will no longer swipe into the building, and staff will be made aware that you are no longer welcome on the premises.” 

“Fuck you,” You wriggle a little harder, only to get yanked back into the chest of the security officer. 

“Very nice,” Mr. Han comments dryly, “very professional,” 

You want to scoff, to tell them there’s nothing professional about anything that’s happened since you sat down in this room, but you hear fast footsteps in the hall, a distant shout.

The men in the room look up, towards the door, and you take the moment to your advantage. You twist sharply in the security officer’s arms and duck to the side, breaking his hold while he’s momentarily distracted and rushing to the opposite end of the room by the door.

 He takes two steps towards you, but the door bursts open between you. 

Yunho pushes over the threshold with a kind of reckless purpose, his eyes focused and searching, cheeks flushed from running and chest heaving, Mingi and Hongjoong hot on his heels. 

He finds you in a second, and without a single thought to the room around him he rushes towards you, “You’re alright? You’re alright?” 

His hands cup your cheeks, thumbs smoothing over your cheekbone, and you shake your head, “They want me to go,” 

His brow furrows, and it takes him a moment to register your words. He felt fear and panic and dread so distinctly in your body that he didn’t know what he would find behind this office door. All he knew is that you were terrified and he was running, straight out of the recording studio with Hongjoong and Mingi stumbling behind him. But you’re here, alive and unharmed, and it takes a moment for the blood rushing in his ears to calm, to understand what you meant, but when he turns his head towards the room, he finally takes in everything in front of him. 

The paperwork, your phone on the desk, the attorney, the guards, it all threads together. 

You reach up and gently take his wrists, drawing his hands down from your cheeks so you can both face the room, and you thread your fingers tightly together with Yunho’s.

”What’s going on here?” Yunho asks. 

“They know,” You explain, “I’ve been asked to leave,” 

Mr Han sighs, finally standing, “I was trying to handle this situation professionally, I don’t know what you think calling them is going to change,” 

“I didn’t call them,” You shake your head incredulously, “you have my phone, you can see that,”

 He pauses, a brief flicker, but then shakes his head, “Regardless.” You watch him push together the contracts, gathering them to tuck them neatly away and your hand tightens on Yunho’s.

Hongjoong steps swiftly forwards, snatching the papers and bringing them back a few steps, “What are these?” 

“Contracts,” He replies, and for the first time this whole meeting you can hear a little tension in his tone, “standard for employment termination.” 

“Employment termination,” Yunho shakes his head, “that’s insane.” 

“You can’t break the rules like this an expect there to be no ramifications,” 

“Fire me then,” Yunho’s eyes narrow. 

“Yunho, be serious,” Mr. Han says. 

You feel a flash of Yunho’s anger in his chest, but then Hongjoong interrupts, his head shaking as he flips through the papers.

 “These are unethical,” He glances up at you both before continuing to flick through, and Mingi leans over his shoulder to read more.

 Yunho turns his head towards the two of them as Mingi reads aloud, “I, y/n, hereby acknowledge and agree to the terms of termination and the accompanying settlement as outlined above. Terms including, but not limited to, defrauding a member of the idol group ATEEZ, defrauding other KQ Entertainment employees in an attempt to establish co-conspirators, and intention to defame and devalue the aforementioned member’s career using these lies through public channels such as social media and the press. I understand and accept that by signing this letter, I am waiving all claims against KQ Entertainment, agreeing to the terms set forth in this agreement, and accepting the settlement outlined above.”

Read aloud, it’s even worse. 

“This is a lie,” Hongjoong flips through the papers again, “all of it,” 

“Defrauding me? Defaming me?” Yunho’s voice is low and steady, but you can see the look of betrayal on his face, you can feel the hurt, “You seriously wanted her to sign this? This bullshit?” 

“Yunho,” You warn him gently.

”No,” He shakes his head and drops your hand, pulling the papers from Hongjoong, “this is ridiculous,” 

“This is how it works,” Mr. Han replies, “this is is how we insulate you, and minimize liability,” 

“Liability!” Yunho’s voice is sharp, “This is a mile from the truth,” 

“It’s a smear campaign,” Mingi interrupts, calmly as he steps to Yunho’s side, “you get her to sign this and if the story about the two of them got out, you have it on record that she’s a liar and a manipulator.” 

The attorney’s jaw tightens.

Hongjoong snatches back the papers and shuffles through them until he finds a subsection, “By means of seduction and false representation…. fabrication of a soulmark.” 

Heat burns your cheeks even though the words aren’t true, and you swallow tightly to bury any threat of tears. 

“What the fuck?” Yunho manages, pulling the papers closer. 

“We don’t do this,” Hongjoong’s face is pinched in disgust, “we’re better than this. You make her sound like… you make her out to be some,” 

“Gold digging whore?” You offer, a sick laugh in your throat at the absurdity of it all. 

Yunho bristles, tossing the papers onto the desk and shaking his head, “She’s not signing this,” he says, “and she’s not fired, if you had just asked me instead of assuming I could have just told you that it’s true. We’re soulmarked, we found out while we were on tour. It wasn’t expected, but we’re happy. If you had just asked me, instead of treating her this way, we have nothing to hide.” 

“But you’ve been hiding,” He counters.

 “We were waiting for the right time,” 

“And let me guess, that was her idea?” He nods towards you. 

Yunho leans forwards, “Speak about her like that again and this conversation won’t be so professional.”  

Hongjoong closes a hand around Yunho’s forearm in warning. 

Mr. Han sighs and rubs his eyes, “Yunho,” his voice softens up and you brace yourself, “you need to think about your career, your livelihood. No one wants an unavailable idol, they want the fantasy.” 

“We’re not objects,” Hongjoong bristles, “we’re not dolls for you to dress up as you please and play boyfriend,” 

“Aren’t you?” 

“Fuck you,” Mingi curses.

”Be serious,” He continues, “I know you like the girl, this is certainly not the first time someone’s broken a dating ban and it won’t be the last, but it always ends the same. I am telling you, no girl is worth your career.” 

“She’s not some girl,” Yunho says sharply, taking a step back to you and finding your hand again, “she’s my soulmate, and I would have thought that would be different,” 

The beat of silence stretches into two

”He doesn’t believe us,” You murmur, “he thinks I saw your tattoo and copied it, that I tricked you,” 

“We’re bonded,” Yunho counters, “you can’t fake that,” 

Mr. Han sighs again, “I’ve seen it more than once,” 

You can’t help the flurry of rage that bubbles in your gut, and your hands fly to the buttons of your blouse. All eyes fly to you as your shirt starts to open, and Yunho reaches for your hands, “Stop, baby, stop, you don’t need to do this,”

You push his hands away, your shirt parting open, “You think I faked this?” You tug down the band of your bralette, “You think I’m lovesick and crazy, and would trick him like that? My tattoo is red, so is his, both of them used to be black. I have pictures of mine to prove that, and I’m sure your files have pictures of his.” 

You let the band of your bralette slip back into place, covering the mark, “But that’s not what this is about at all, is it? It doesn’t matter if it’s true. All that matters is me disappearing, and the money flowing.” 

His lips close into a tight line.

”Would you have convinced him it was a lie? After I was dragged out of this building by your goons, would you have told him all the stories of other idols who have been fooled?” You take a step towards the desk and press your nails into your palms to keep steady, “How many real bonds have you broken? And for what? A nice house? A nice suit? You’re disgusting,” 

His jaw tenses again, “We’re done here,” he says, flicking a hand to security, “get her out of here.” 

They step forward on command, but Yunho takes a swift step between you, putting his body between you and the room, “Don’t touch her.” 

“It’s over,” Han Minchul says, exasperated, “she’s fired. You can be angry with me all you like, but the decision is final.” 

“Then I quit,” Yunho drops the sentence like a bomb. 

Mingi and Hongjoong snap up to look at him, and you press forwards to touch his back, “Yunho, don’t, don’t do that.” 

“She’s right,” He nods, “you and this company have had a positive working relationship for years, don’t throw it away for a woman.” 

“You son of a,” Yunho darts forwards, but Mingi is faster, locking his arms around his best friend and dragging him back.

 You suck in a sharp breath of air and shake your head, tears threatening. It’s all coming down, just like you knew it would. When you look up, the attorney looks almost pleased. He holds your gaze as Mingi and Hongjoong get Yunho under control, a final challenge, and even though it kills you, you nod. 

With your stomach in knots, you touch Yunho’s arm and bring him back to you, Mingi's hold breaking, “Yunho, it’s done, it’s over.” 

“What?” He swivels to you, surprise across his face “y/n, we can’t,” 

“Not us,” You assure him, pulling him closer, “never us, but this is over. Even if we could work it out, I wouldn’t want to stay where I’m clearly unwanted and we’re being watched.” 

He studies your face, a tense crease in his brow, “But,”

”Let me go,” You squeeze his hand. 

“This isn’t fair,” He breathes, cupping your cheek, “it wasn’t supposed to happen like this, we had a plan,” 

“But we always knew it could,” You remind him softly. 

Hongjoong steps close, keeping his voice low, “We’ll find a way to take care of this, but y/n is right. There’s nothing we can do here,” 

“So you’ll go?” The lawyer pipes in, “Because as much as I appreciate this tender moment, I have a one o’clock,”

Yunho’s jaw sets hard.

”I’ll go,” You say from behind him, “just give me a moment,” 

You go to move, but Hongjoong clears his throat softly, “Your blouse,” 

Your cheeks flush, and you step back to Yunho who straightens up and tucks you closer to his chest while you hastily do up the buttons of your shirt.

You want to cry, to scream, to throw something and run away into the sunset with the man you know is yours, a truth so deep it’s in your marrow, but you can’t. 

Yunho drops a kiss to your hair, checking to be sure your blouse is closed before he turns back to the room, “She goes, but she’s not signing those papers.” 

“That deal is off the table,” The attorney says, “but our official position will be a downsizing of the department. You’ll be let go without severance, and without reference, but we will not interfere with your future job prospects negatively. Security will see you out of the building.” 

Yunho doesn’t move, he keeps you tucked behind him and you can feel the tension rolling off him in waves even without the bond. 

Hongjoong nods towards the desk, “Her phone?” 

“Ah, yes,” He stretches out a hand with it towards you, but Yunho intercepts before passing it back. 

One glance tells you all you need to know - Yunho’s contact is gone, your chat history is gone, and when you click on your photo library you see that every photo is missing. 

You make a soft, involuntary sound, “Our photos,” 

“I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that you are still bound by your original Non-Disclosure Agreement as an employee,” Mr Han says, “if anything is published online or otherwise about your relationship, you will be in breach of that contract and we will be forced to bring forward a suit. I trust you’re smart enough not to do that, but you’ll have to forgive me for taking additional precautions.” 

“Liability,” You breathe. 

“Exactly,” He nods. 

Yunho spins back to you, kissing your forehead and gathering you close, “It’s going to be okay, I promise.” 

“I know,” You murmur, “I know,” 

“I’ll fix this,” He presses, “it’s just a job, we’re still us.” 

Mr. Han makes a non-committal sound, “In case you’re planning on maintaining whatever relationship and contact you have, Yunho, I will remind you that your employment contract still maintains a romantic entanglement clause.”

Your stomach drops out, and Yunho turns. 

“You can consider this a formal warning,” He continues, “but if you break your contact again, you will be terminated, and that includes paying back a considerable amount of debt.” 

“This is insane,” Mingi manages.

”This is business, standard business.” 

Yunho finds your hand, pressing your palms together. Slowly, he exhales and looks up, “Understood.” 

Your heart aches in your chest. You wonder if he can feel it too. 

“Those contracts expire in a little over a year,” Yunho says, “I can tell you now that I will not be renegotiating.” 

Your heart starts to pound. 

“Is that supposed to be a threat?” Mr Han says, “groups lose one or two members after rookie contracts all the time, that’s not a concern to the company, that’s a probability.” 

“And if you lose eight?” Hongjoong says sharply, “Because I won’t renegotiate if this is the new climate at KQ, and I know the rest of the members will be right behind us.” 

“Yep,” Mingi nods, “Count me out.” 

Yunho’s stunned silent, so are you.

 “You’ve treated us terribly,” Hongjoong says, “but what you’ve done to y/n might actually constitute harassment, and I intend to find out.” 

“You’ll never,” 

“We understand the terms of our contract well,” Hongjoong interrupts, “and you will not catch us breaking those terms, but let me know how the CEO feels about their debut group walking away with grievances after that contract expires. Do you think that will be good for business? I know exactly how much profit we generate for this company, and if you think all we’ve done for six years is sing and smile on command, you’d be sorely mistaken.” 

Mr. Han takes that in, eyes flicking over the room, “This meeting is over.”

”Meeting,” Mingi scoffs.

”Miss y/n,” Mr. Han clears his throat and addresses you, “your final check will be mailed to you.” 

You have nothing to say, so you nod. 

“Security will escort you out,” He reiterates. 

Both of the security officers step forwards, looking at Yunho squarely, almost a challenge to see if he’ll let you go.

Panic lances through you at the thought of not seeing him again. 

Yunho turns, tugging you close. With his lips at your ear he murmurs something just for you, “I love you,” he promises, “I’ll come, I promise,” 

Tears track down your cheeks and you nod, “I love you,” 

“It’s you first,” He squeezes your hand, “I promise, y/n, I swear,” 

Your breath hitches, “I know,” 

“Yunho,” Mr. Han says firmly, “that’s enough.” 

Taking a step back from Yunho, the tears come faster but you scrub them away quickly with the sleeve of your shirt. The security officers nod and you step closer to them. 

One of them secures a hand to your elbow and Yunho takes a step forwards, “Take your hands off her,” he says

You pull your arm away from the unwelcome touch, “I know the way out,” 

“Yunho,” Mr. Han interjects, “stay. We have things to discuss, everyone else can go.” 

“Let me walk her out,” Yunho steps towards you. 

“No,” Mr. Han grows serious and gestures to the chairs, “sit. I’m done entertaining this,” 

Yunho’s name is trapped in your throat and you press your nails into your palms. 

“Miss,” One of the security officers nods towards the door. 

Yunho’s looks to you, his eyes glassy with unshed tears and his lips parted, there’s more to say but he can’t. 

“I’ll walk her out, I got her,” Mingi interjects, locking eyes with his best friend. 

Yunho nods, words still trapped in his throat. 

“Mr. Song,” The attorney says, “don’t you have somewhere to be?” 

Mingi clenches his jaw, muscle jumping and he shakes his head, “Just the lobby, what a coincidence,” 

Mr. Han looks briefly irritated, but looks to security. 

They don’t touch you, but they do guide you with their hands outstretched, and it’s clear this is fully over. You stumble out, eyes still glued to Yunho, but Mingi swiftly steps to your side and falls into step with you.

 “y/n,” Yunho manages, a stricken look across his face. 

“Do not make a scene,” You hear as you leave the room. 

Yunho lays a hand across his chest, a firm press to his soulmark that echoes in your chest and hot tears rush to your eyes. Security pushes you down the hall with their unrelenting pace though, and you’re forced to face front. 

Behind you, you hear the door shut but not before Hongjoong’s sharp voice gives you all the comfort in the world, “No, I think I’ll stay.” You’re deeply, deeply grateful Yunho won’t be in that meeting alone. 

“Mingi,” You manage as you all file into the elevator.

”It’s going to be okay,” He assures you softly, “keep your head up. We’ve got him, you know we do.”

You nod, swiping away the emotion from your eyes. 

“How did they know?” He asks quietly as the elevator descends.

”He said Iseul,” You can barely say it without the idea turning your stomach, “but she wouldn’t have done that.” 

“Are you sure?” His eyes track the floors as you descend. 

“I’m sure,” 

There’s a ding as you hit the lobby, and you breathe through the anxiety of knowing your coworkers are about to watch you be escorted out of the KQ offices. 

“Miss,” Security gestures forwards and you step out. 

“You got this,” Mingi says softly.

 The walk to the doors is a blur, surreal and strange. Five years of your life, gone in a second. 

You barely remember the walk home. 

Curled up on the couch you wait for something, anything. A phone call, a text, a single message from anyone but you get nothing. 

He doesn’t call. 

He doesn’t text.

He doesn’t come for you. 

The bond is strangely quiet, and it feels like your world is shattering around you. 

In the morning you call the one person you know will be there, sobs wracking your chest the moment the moment your sister picks up the phone. She doesn’t need to know a thing before she’s in the car and driving to Seoul.

You want to go back, you’d keep hiding if it meant you could have even a little of him, but this. 

You can’t stay here, choked by the ghost of him everywhere you look.  

For a little while, life really was beautiful.

[ninikrumbs]

Invisible strings

Suguru Geto x fem!reader.

"Need something, baby?"

The tone of his voice light and indulgent as it always was, not minding the happy distraction your presence brings.

Your head peaks from the doorway, a hesitant smile on your face as you watch you boyfriend work in his home office.

Shaking your head at his questioning haze, your cross the distance between you. He smiles fondly, realizing your intention, twisting his rolling chair a bit to the side to make space for you.

"Come here, pretty girl." He says when you draw near, pulling you down to plop down on his lap, arms immediately finding a home on your waist.

His familiar warmth and smell envelopes your senses imbuing your body with the affection and comfort you always craved from him. The contented noises you let out as you snuggle in the crook of his neck makes him chuckle in amusement, his gentle fingers tracing slow comforting circles down your back. "So my girl's just needy for me?"

You hum in response, looking absolutely cozy with your eyes closed, nose nuzzling his neck as you breath him in, hands resting on his chest.

His hands teasingly wander down your back to give your bum a light squeeze, not enough to startle you from you perfect position but enough to make you grumble, "Not that kind of needy, Sugu."

With you lips right next to his neck, your breath tickles his skin. He huffs a laugh, "Oh, my bad. "

Not a hint of remorse in his voice though. His hands changes it course up to you hair, gently threading through it, making your eyes droop. You feel him press a kiss on the top of your head before resting his chin on it.

This is where you belong, you thought. At peace in his arms, away from the cruel horrors of the world even for just a moment. And your sure he shares you sentiment with how constantly he tries to shield you from the sometimes brutal realities he has to face.

If he could create a world where you would only know joy and happiness, he would. But Alas the monsters in this world constantly grow like weeds. The best he could do was to make sure they could never get to you. Not in this life or the next.

He hears you whisper his name and mumbling something he incoherent.

"What was that?"

"I said I feel bad for a version of me out there who doesn't have you."

He pulls away just a bit to look at your face, he wonders where you get such sudden and weird ideas yet he humors you regardless, "You don't have to worry your pretty little head about it."

"Why not?"

"Because," He raises your palm to his lips, placing a kiss filled with devotion, "I refuse to believe that there's a world where I don't have you. Any version of me won't allow it."

He says it with such conviction that it sounded like a fact, not an opinion or a thought and it makes you want to believe him.

Seemingly satisfied with his answer, you press youself flush against him once more, finding solace in his words and the beating heart underneath your hands.

"Now sleep, I'll wake you up once im done working some we can eat dinner together."

Your eyes flutter shut again and you fall asleep to the steady rhythm of his heart.

The next time you open your eyes it was to the dark cold ceiling of your room. Your hands reach to the side -searching, hpong, wishing-heart dropping as you merely felt the bitter emptiness of your comforter.

Sitting up on your bed, you look out of your window. The city lights blurred as hot tears clouded you vision. They fall rapidly down your cheeks, faster than you could wipe them away with your fists. Your throat clogging up with such gut wrenching emotion, barely holding back you sobs.

Your lips tremble, smiling bitterly, memories of another life running at back of your head, "Youre such a liar, Suguru.."

Happy Part 2?

AN : To those who have read this, yes this is a repost. Im just doing an experiment. :)

[nerdygirlramblings]

hiiii. sorry to bother. i put up the ASDA request and I was giggling and kicking my feet! it was so good!!!!

but what about someone on the opposite end? Their wife/partner who loves to be at home, having everything clean and hot meals ready for when they get home. They find a way to fill the time: reading from their constantly growing ‘to be read’ list/TBR or they took up knitting to make Soap a beanie or something for the cold winter months. She’s antisocial but loves her boys and will literally stay home for them for as long as they want her there…

im trying to be that housewife

@caffieneaddictt18 thank you for another ask! This got a little away from me, but I hope it fits what you were looking for despite the long and winding road to get there ❤️

cw: poorly executed accents

You were never a huge fan of being around others. You had your people - your family, some close friends from primary and secondary school, mates from uni - but sometimes even they drained you. Parties and dinners and just sitting around chatting until the night wore on to morning took you days to recover from. You go because it's what they expected. It's what's normal. It isn't until you've been out of uni for several years, looking for a new job that might get you out of the city, that you stumble on the social battery theory. How you've always felt suddenly makes so much sense.

You lean into the idea that you charge your battery best alone or in situations of your choosing. You find a company that doesn't let but actively wants you to telework. Your new boss says the CEO likes how telework cuts down on overhead, and the CEO'd also heard how telework boosts productivity. They pay you more than your old job did, so you can afford a little cottage in the country.

The closest town to your little cottage has a thriving pensioner population, and their activities suit you perfectly. You find things you enjoy and learn to socialize on your terms.

One afternoon, a few weeks after moving into your cottage, you stop into the fabric shop looking for materials to make curtains. The mid-afternoon sun comes in too brightly for you to see your computer screen, and while you could move your home office, you like being able to look out over your back garden as you work. In the shop, you see a flyer for a crochet class and realize it would be nice to have a cozy throw blanket over your worn couch like the one your Gran made when you were a kid. You sign up for the class without any reservation.

Another week, after setting up an account at the library, you stop in the cafe at the corner for a warm cuppa. There are seven or eight people in the shop, all sitting at the tables and in the comfy chairs at the back, but no one's talking. They aren't even looking at one another. You know they have to be a group because there are several open tables and seating spaces, but these people are sitting too close together for it to be out of crowded necessity. When you ask the man behind the counter, he tells you it's a silent book club and points out the club's leader. You don't plan to wait, but you pull your book out all the same, and when the book club breaks up, you make your way to the woman in charge. She tells you when and where they meet and says you're welcome to join whenever you want.

It's at your fourth silent book club you meet John. You've taken to sitting at one of the tall tables with Mable, a widow who said you reminder her of her own granddaughter, "But you're much more content to sit and keep an old woman company than she is, dear." Mable is not here today, so you're alone on the outskirts of the club.

You've been reading silently for the last twenty minutes when you hear a gentle cough and look up into stunningly blue eyes and a mutton-chopped framed smile. "Sorry, ma'am," the man rumbles, "but I was wondering if this seat was free."

You look around the cafe, surprised to see far more seats filled than usual. Everyone else seems to be bundled against the coming storm, coming in to warm themselves with a post-work coffee or tea. There are only a handful of open seats in the whole store. The man must have assumed you're alone, especially as the rest of the book club is sitting at the low tables or armchairs a few feet away.

He's still looking at you, and you startle to realize he's waiting on a response, so you stammer out, "Er, sure, yeah," shifting your cup a little closer and turning back to your book again. The man is quiet for a few minutes, sipping his own cup, but you can feel him looking over at you. Maybe you leave book club early tonight. You're silently cursing Mable for being out of town.

You're startled when the rich baritone next to you asks, "What are you up to?" You drag your eyes from the page, terrified about having to interact with this stranger about your life when you see him nod his head to the book in your hands. "Lamb's one of my favorites, but I don't want to spoil anything. What's happening?"

You proceed to summarize the last chapter, and he's nodding along. "Yeah, how do you feel about Biff walking away?" Normally, you hate small talk, and the whole point of silent book club is to read what you want without interacting with others, but analyzing books and movies is one of your private passions, so if this handsome stranger is willing to give you an outlet for it for an afternoon, you're happy to take him up on it. You proceed to share your thoughts on Biff and his travels, what kind of reliable (or not) narrator he is, Moore's seemingly heretical treatment of Christianity. You ramble through your and his cups, ordering more when they're empty. You don't realize over an hour has slipped by until you catch sight of the clock on the wall.

"Gracious! I can't believe I've been talking with you, at you really, for so long. I'm so sorry," your words trip over themselves with your embarrassment. Your tablemate smiles and holds out a hand.

"Name's John," he says, shaking your meekly held hand as you proffer your name. You mumble your apologies again for taking up so much of his time. "It's been a delight hearing you talk about my favorite book. In fact, it's getting on supper. Care to join me, and I can share some of my thoughts?"

You hesitate for a moment before caving, the desire to talk about the book overriding your natural aversion to these kinds of interactions.

That first dinner with John leads to several book recommendations and an offer of more meals and discussions if you are interested. No one could have been more surprised than you when you take him up on those offers too. You look forward to dinners where you discuss the social satire of Pratchett's Guards! Guards! and whether Moore's Lamb or Winterson's Boating for Beginners is more blasphemous.

By the fifth dinner, John brings one of his team - he'd told you he was military - because the man is a huge Bradbury fan and hounded John as he read The Illustrated Man. You don't know what you make of Kyle at first, but he slips easily into conversations about the role of tattoos in modern society, showing you some of his.

Dinners and book discussions with John and Kyle slowly became afternoon cinema meetings with conversations on symbolism and allegory in the cafe after. The day before you're headed to the theater to see The Grand Budapest Hotel, John texts and asks if another of his team who's big into Anderson can come. You haven't seen too many Anderson films before, so hearing Johnny talk about shared themes between The Grand Budapest Hotel and Moonrise Kingdom and The Royal Tenenbaums is a delight.

By the time John invites you to the house his team shares, for the newest season of White Lotus, you're used to Kyle and Johnny. They've all talked about Simon, so meeting him seems more like greeting an old friend. You settle comfortably onto the couch with Kyle, Johnny on the floor near your knees, John and Simon in recliners, and watch the first two episodes. Over a meal of Indian take away, you Simon points out the imagery repeating itself and how it contrasts from repeated imagery in the first and second seasons.

You find your time split between work, your hobbies, and John and his team. You still go to your silent book clubs, but now Kyle joins you if he's in town. It turns out the cafe also holds a monthly crochet group of mostly older mostly female customers who sit and swap advice as they work on their current projects. You're with them one evening as you're working on a beanie for Johnny who constantly complains his head is cold when you realize you've been spending time with John and his team for nearly a year.

Two days after your revelation, you're at John's for a viewing of Won't You Be My Neighbor. You open the door with the key John gave you months ago when he asked you to check on the place when they were away. You walk in to find the table set and food out, an odd occurrence as you usually eat after watching something. You call to the boys and hear thundering steps coming from the back of the house where you know the stairs to the second floor are.

"Coming, lass!" Johnny calls, practically skidding in to the room.

"Oh, er, here," you say, passing over the completed beanie. The weather's started to turn, and you want to make sure he'll have it when he needs it. His face shows his confusion for a moment, and you rush to tell him, "You're always saying it gets too cold and you don't have a hat so..."

He's opened it up and is tracing his fingers along the change of thread from forest green to black. "Ye...ye made this?" he asks. You can't read his reaction, and you worry you overstepped.

"Er, yeah. Just something to keep you warm." He's still running his fingers along the stitches, so you ramble on. "It's as close to MacTavish tartan colors as I could find. I think it fits as the yarn stretches--"

He embraces you so suddenly you don't know what to say. He brushes a kiss against your cheek, so quickly you could imagine it never happened, and whispers, "Ah love it. Thank you." By the time he pulls back, the others have come in, and John's putting a small vase of flowers on the table.

He looks over at you as he straightens up, and he must read the confusion in your eyes because he says, "You didn't think I'd miss a chance to celebrate our anniversary, did you?"

You splutter. "Ou- our anniversary?"

He grins, the same warm, welcoming grin he gave you the first day in the cafe. "Yes, doll. It's been a year since we met." You look away, embarrassed and feel heat rush to your face as you realize he's talking about a year of friendship and not whatever you might have thought. "Come, sit," he cajoles. "Let's talk." He takes his seat at the head of the table. Simon sits across from him with Johnny and Kyle on one side, leaving the lone seat on the other side for you.

You're skittish, unsure of yourself with these men for the first time in a long time, but you take the seat left for you. If they can tell you're nervous, they don't act like it. You catch John smiling softly at you, which makes you bashful all over again. He passes you the plate of steaks, encouraging you to take a larger portion than you dole out for yourself. You ignore him, passing your plate to Simon, asking for a large portion of vegetables instead.

"Can' just eat rabbit food," Simon grumbles good naturedly, piling roasted carrots and Brussels sprouts next to the steak before passing your plate to Johnny, who puts a sizable scoop of white beans on it before handing it back to you. You roll your eyes at how much Johnny gave you, but you grace him with a smile nonetheless.

Everyone starts eating, talking to you about their job, sharing unclassified anecdotes from their last op, asking how your job is going. Johnny shows off the beanie you made, and the others compliment your talent. Kyle mentions, not subtly at all, that the den could do with another throw for cold nights, and finally your demeanor cracks. "It'll take a while, Kyle, but sure. I think I can do that." You offer him a small smile when he beams at you.

"I'm real glad John met ya, doll," Kyle says.

Your eyes drop from his face and million-dollar smile to your lap. "Me too," you say quietly. They know about your social battery, but you've never told them how it never feels drained after time spent in their company. You look around the table and say, slightly louder, "I'm glad to have met you all."

John reaches across the space between you and pats your hand. "I'm so happy to hear that, dove, because that makes this easier." He clears his throat, much like he did that first day, and says, "You've been in our lives for a long time, but what we've never told ya is that we aren't roommates." He trips a bit over that last word, and you think back to little moments, like how closely he sat next to Kyle when Kyle first started joining your dinners, the little touches Johnny and Kyle shared at the cafe after the cinema, the looks Simon would give John when everyone else was watching the telly. "We're together. All of us." His eyes never leave yours, and the room holds its collective breath.

"That's okay, John," you respond, smiling at the trust they're showing by telling you the full truth. "I think it's sweet." You flip your hand over under his and squeeze it gently. "Thank you for telling me."

Some of the tension of the last few moments dissipates, but you sense there's more when John grips your hand back. "That's not all." Simon shifts in his seat and Johnny is uncharacteristically still. "Er, we're together-"

"You already told me," you tease, trying to lessen the stress you hear in his words.

"I did," he says, "because I want you to know we talked about this, about you, as a group." He waits until you look at him. "We're together, and we'd all like you to be part of us, too." You stare at him for several long moments as the weight of what he's telling you settles in. "We love being with you, dove, and we want to be with you fully."

As it had when you met, the silence stretches almost into uncomfortable territory, but this time, you have an audience. An audience of men who have made you feel more welcomed and more loved than your friends and family tend to. Men who have become almost your whole world.

You find yourself nodding your head ever so slightly, ever so slowly.

"Is that a yes?" Kyle chokes out.

"Yes," you whisper, and when you see the relief on John's face and hear Johnny's whoop, you say it again, louder and more clear. "Yes. I want to be with you, all of you, too." You hear a sniffle to your left and look at Simon who mutters about allergies.

The first month of your relationship with them all consists of the same things you'd been doing, but now with kisses and cuddles. You snuggle into Simon's side on the couch watching telly or hold hands with Johnny walking back from the cinema. It takes less than six months before the men ask you to move in. Their house, like your cottage, is outside town in the rolling countryside, but that's where similarities end.

Their house is a sprawling home with massive front and back gardens they encourage you to plant your favorite flowers in. They add a fifth chair to the set in the back garden, overlooking a small pond, and you take to having breakfast and tea in the back with whomever wants to join you when the weather allows. While they all sleep in one room, on an Alberta King mattress big enough to fit them all comfortably, plus you when you eventually let things get more physical, the house has space enough that each of you has your own room. They turn the sunroom into a home office for you, giving you a view into the back gardens you like so much. You teach yourself to cook more elaborate dishes in their large kitchen, and when they're home, you make sure there's homecooked food on the table to sate their appetites.

Living with your men means having very few expenses of your own. They don't let you contribute any money towards utility bills. "We've been coverin' the bills since before you were here, dove," John says. "An' we're used to coverin' 'em even if we're all on a mission and the place sat empty. 'S nice to know there's always someone 'ere and we ain't payin' bills fer nothin'."

They don't let you pay for anything at the shops either, despite the fact that you set the grocery list because you now do most of the cooking. "Doll, everything you make is so good we wouldn't dream of makin' ya pay for your ingredients on top of it all. You can buy whatever you want as long as ya keep lettin' us eat it," Kyle tells you.

Even when you want something for yourself, they don't let you spend your money. "We dinnae treat oorselves much. Nae reason to spoil one another, really, but we love spoilin' ye. Ye wouldnae take that from us, hen, would ye?" Johnny asks, holding the new dress you were planning to buy just out of reach.

By the time you've been with them for a year, you've dramatically scaled back your work hours, picking up more freelance jobs so you can control how much time you're working. When your men are working from base, you want to be around and attentive. You want time to keep the house clean and try new recipes. When your men are gone on missions, you want to find new spots for walks or new films to watch when they return. You want to browse new books to share with them. You want to work on crafts for your men: a throw big enough to fit the massive bed, a scarf for Kyle, socks for Simon, gloves for John.

They constantly tell you you're their heart and their home, what they most look forward to coming back to at the end of the day. In the same way, they're your sun; you circle them, basking in the warmth of their love, letting it sustain and nurture you. They make your life fuller than you ever imagined other people could. And you wouldn't want it any other way.

[daylighted]

Why do I imagine baby not knowing how to drive ? Like she knows how it works but she was always the one being driven around.

Like imagine all of them being on hunt and they expect baby to be a good driver but she actually doesn’t how to.

the plan was simple enough: dean and sam drive to the location, handle the dirty work since you weren't a big fan of the whole "casual murder" thing yet, and you'd take them home, so the mess made in the already-stolen car was as minimum and centered to the backseat as possible.

you could do it. you'd taken them places before many times. what would be different this time? clearly, dean and sam believed in you and your capabilities. their strong-willed belief was always a balm to any worries that you'd conjure up.

they get out of the car, entrusting you with the keys and leaving the driver's seat open for you to take. dean kisses you on the forehead before he leaves, all with a simple parting warning of, "take care of my baby," a pat on the hood making it obvious that somehow, he expected this car to look out for you.

it didn't take long. it never took long, not when the boys knew what they were doing on run of the mill cases like this.

they were very messy, though. climbing into the backseat and bringing along with them the stinging smell of copper. it takes them moments to relax into the backseat, exhaustion in their expressions when you glance back at them in the rearview mirror.

"don't worry about navigating," dean reassures, running a hand coated in flaky, dried blood over his face, "i'll tell you when to turn."

you nod, still fiddling away with the keys in your hand, humming to the low music you'd left playing while they were gone. this was fun, wasn't it? everything but the smell was. you loved hanging out with them.

sam breaks the comfortable silence, giving way to the fact that maybe, it was only comfortable for you. "baby?"

your gaze flicks over to him in the mirror's reflection, now. "hi."

"hi," sam laughs a little, nodding toward the front end of the car, "take us home?"

your face lights up in recognition. home. you knew that word. home was right here. but clearly, they meant something else, since the both of them watched you expectantly now. "oh! i don't know how."

dean leans forward, leather seats creaking in the process. his hand curls around the back of the driver's seat chair. "i already told you, baby, don't worry about that. i'm gonna tell you when to—"

you nod along to his words, listening as intently as you always did when dean spoke, but you're quick to cut him off when you knew that he'd already said this once. "i know."

"so..." dean's hand lifts to lightly pat down on the leather of your seat now. "what's the hold up?"

you shrug. "i don't know how to make it go."

it's quiet for another long few minutes. they are comfortable for you, filled with your low hum to the guitar solo of whatever song played. then, "explain." dean.

"the car is sleeping." you point at the dash, unmarred by the bright lights usually lit up on it. "i don't know how to wake her up."

sam. "do you... know how to drive?"

"i do not know how." you were repeating yourself a lot here. that's okay. they'd been patient with you, you could try to be patient with them. "who is going to carry the car when we walk?"

silence. you didn't know why, either. usually, dean or sam drove them all places. she could not drive, so that was the next solution. leaving a stolen car coated in blood didn't seem like an option, so someone would have to do something with it, if neither of them wanted to drive.

"baby." the soft voice of dean, the one that usually came out when he was masking the eye twitch. "what the hell do you mean you can't drive?"

now, you were getting angry. you could only have patience for so long, just like they could, before it started to get grating, answering the same thing over and over. "i. do. not. know. how."

"you said you could take us home."

"i can. i will be a very good line leader while you guys carry the car."

sam, now, sounding incredulous, stating the obvious. "you were a car."

"what?" your face twists up, confusion mixing in pretty swirls with the budding anger. "i am not a car. me and this lady do not even look alike."

dean's hand lands on your shoulder, nudging you to look at him. you do, your eyes falling right to the mess on his fingers, now imprinted into the pretty blue of your shirt. the rage, again, overpowers the confusion. "we're unpacking this later. all of this? later."

"there are no boxes." you yank your shoulder free from his grip, the entire direction of this conversation turning to lead in your stomach. you reach up to run your fingers over the risen scar tissue on your collarbone, the shapes of what you now knew were letters so easy to find now. D.W., D.W., D.W.. "this doesn't make any sense. i want to go home."

sam is the angel on your shoulder. he starts talking, and your hand goes over to your other collarbone, tracing the S.W. there subconsciously. "no need to get overwhelmed," yes there was; you could see dean's eye twitching in the rearview mirror, "i'll drive us home. is that okay?"

you nod, even if it's a little hesitant, hating this newer, slimier feeling in your chest. you didn't want them mad. you never said you could drive, just that you could take them home; it felt like you'd failed them, and it hurt the same as crying did.

still, you switch seats with sam, sinking down next to dean without a care in the world about the wet blood staining your jeans, too. you were just as messy as them, now, all of your new favorite clothes reduced to red handprints and smears.

dean watches you as sam starts the car, starting back toward the motel. you don't look at either of them. it felt like claws in your chest, every mean word in your head turning their attention onto you for this mistaken misunderstanding.

he sighs, reaching over to clasp your hand in his, resting them both on top of your knee. he must have come to the same conclusion: your outfit was already ruined, so it wouldn't hurt to get a little blood on your hand.

"sorry," you mumble to him, because it feels right to apologize. they apologize when they hurt your feelings, and they were mad at you, so it felt like the best thing to do. you pause and then repeat it to yourself, your mind trying to apologize to your heart for the mean things you'd said to it. "sorry—"

"why?" dean says, an air of nonchalance to him now, like he'd known that the apologies weren't entirely for either of them, and that your head was turning into a cruel place of hurt, and you needed the gentle remedy of talking around the problem. "this just means i gotta teach you, that's all."

it sounded so simple in his mouth that you didn't know why you'd worried in the first place. a hesitant smile pulls up on your lips. "really?"

"can't have my baby not knowin' how to drive." his thumb traces shapes over your knuckles, and suddenly, you're reminded of why, exactly, the winchesters were your home. "i've got too many places i wanna show her for that."

notes. i'm weak and i did cry when i saw this lil idea btw. bc instantly this cameinto my head. the winchester boys + being sweet to baby :( !!!!!! hope u guys dont mind that i did not want to fancy this one up <3 lots of lil cameos of prev discussed lore here hehehehe

tags. @titsout4jackles @honeyryewhiskey @ultravi0lence14 @figthoughts @theosaurous @stereotypicalbarbie @whyyouegg @eepwtf @rositaslabyrinth @rubyvhs @aileenunfiltered @abox-of-rocks @sunsbaby @bluemerakis @jollyhunter @misatxox @sunsettsam @angelblqde @bombarda-babe @unfortunate-brat @funkycoloured @chevroletdean @chiierful @cowboysandcigarettes @voidsuites @bitchykittenconnoisseur @beausling @soldiersgirl @dulcescorderitas @hyacinnths @couturewinx @blushpinkdoll @mccartneyqp @svbnra @angelicalm3ss @nperoconelcositoarriba

[reddtulips]

you wanted requests 👀 how about an overworked price being forced gently coaxed by the 141 into taking a day off? all of them or a member of your choosing. he tries to order them to back off as their captain and for the first time gets a sarcastic "yeah right" look in return.

wholesome/domestic/sexual however you wanna take this. go wild

i just think he needs a break

yelling at the top of my lungs for price to go on a vacation and take an 80 hour nap and just eat citrus fruit

Captain John Price x the rest of task force 141 (mostly John “Soap” MacTavish)

Price has just gotten back from a mission, casualties and hostages and yelling until his voice is hoarse and flying bullets whizzing past his head galore, and no matter how much he tries to relax his breathing, he simply can’t.

His chest feels tight, his shoulders ache with every move and the food in the mess hall is actual slop, which just sours his mood even more.

It takes him forever to get through the paperwork for the mission, and the second he writes his last signature of the day, he exhales heavily. Even the squeaky chair he’s sitting on is annoying the living hell out of him. He feels like breaking it with his bare hands.

Exhaustion washes over him. He pushes the papers aside, files and pens and an open notebook with notes as well and rests his arms and head on the table. He just needs five minutes. Five minutes of interrupted down time and he’ll get right back up and phone Laswell and see if there’s any new info from the mission.

The door to his office creaks open. Price raises his head, high on alert, but relaxed a smidge when his eyes meet Johnny’s blue ones. He’s carrying a mandarin; is slowly starting to peel it.

“Been lookin’ fer ye, Price,” Johnny says. There’s no formalities or a sense of authority with them anymore. Price only pulls rank when Johnny’s being bat shit crazy on the field, and does it to save the sergeant’s life.

“You’ve found me,” Price mutters. His body feels too heavy to lift from the table. “Can’t say in what shape, though.”

“Better shape than most of those bastards from today, I’ll say that.”

All of the shadows from the mission were KIA and only three of their own soldiers were wounded and in medical right now.

Johnny grins, approaches the desk and looks like an apex predator under the dim light of Price’s floor lamp. Price gets a whiff of the citrusy mandarin, feels saliva forming in his mouth and swallows. Johnny, ever the observer, offers half to his captain.

Price takes it. Their fingers brush, and Johnny feels the buzz of electricity he can never seem to get used to. Johnny takes in his captain’s appearance. His hair is messy and his eyebags are darker and sit further down his cheeks than usual. There’s a small haziness in his eyes and Johnny thinks he could take on his captain right here and now and win without too much of a fight. That scenario looks very very wrong in his head.

“You feelin’ aright?”

“Never felt better, sergeant.” Price lies through his teeth and finishes the rest of his mandarin. The juice is sweet and sour at the same time and refreshes his mind there must be some magic in them. “D’you need anything or do I have to assign you recruit training for the next two months?”

“I’m just lookin’ out for my captain, is all,” Johnny says, raising his arms in defense. “Ye’ve been cooped up 'ere a lot. . . at base. We miss ye at home.”

Ah. Home. Price blinks, then blinks again. He looks up at Soap, sees his lips are pulled into a thin line.

“Soap,” he says, “get the hell out of my office.” the words come out and they sound like a deep sigh from the bottom of his lungs. He can’t deal with this. Not right now. Because he knows. He knows he’s been at base more than home with his boys. And he misses them as well but he has a job to do and he can’t let anyone down. Especially when life or death is at stake.

Price rubs at his eyes, drags his hands down to his beard. It does little to wake him up.

“Ye need a break, sir,” johnny says. “Somewhere on a beach and with 10 ice-cold beers waitin’ in a cooler.”

Price chuckles. “Tempting as that may sound, sergeant, I have too much shit to do here. I'm waiting on Laswell to send me some intel about the mission.”

“I can help.” Soap crosses his arms. Lifts one leg and sits with half of his ass hanging from the edge of Price's desk. Price appreciates the new view of Johnny's bicep, the floor lamp making his tan skin glow.

“I'm listening.” Price raises an eyebrow, sits back in his chair and intertwines his fingers.

“I'll do yer paperwork.”

“No,” Price replies immediately. Beautiful biceps, your charms will not work today.

“I can forge yer signature.” Soap grins and a wolf stares at Price then.

Price huffs a laugh. He’s not surprised to hear that and he fully believes the sergeant’s words.

“Get out, Soap,” Price says, a quirk to his lips. He thinks for a moment when he sees the shaved parts of Johnny's head are sprouting hair again. He needs a trim. "I'll be home tonight. Ask Gaz if he can make that lava cake we all like. The one we ate. . ." It's been so long he can't even remember the last time they ate the dessert.

"A month ago?" Soap supplies, shoving the fact into his captain's face.

Price closes his eyes. Has it really been that long?

At the look on Price's defeated face, Soap leans across the desk, captures his captain's chin between his fingers and presses a gentle kiss to his lips.

"Come home tonight."

Another kiss, slow and deep.

"I said, I will." Price pulls away to murmur. His body burns with guilt and lust. He's made his boys sad and worried and that's the last thing he wants. What he does want is Johnny's pliable body underneath him and Gaz's warm mouth over his cock and Simon's thick thighs underneath his ass.

"Ye've been sayin' that for the past week." Johnny shakes his head. Price can't remember the last time he had a conversation like this with him.

His cock is already half hard from three long kisses and a gentle hand against his cheek and he realizes he can't put his work above his boys any longer.

"I'll be home tonight, love. I promise."

Price pulls Soap down for another kiss that nearly ends up with them tearing each other's clothes off and Price railing Johnny into the desk, and he would give a single fuck about being loud or the rickety old table squeaking and giving them away. Soap is the one who pulls away first, eyes hazy and pupils blown wide and lips soft and puffy. He looks like a fucking dream.

Johnny begrudgingly leaves Price’s office when he’s being practically pushed out the door. He has a hard on in his pants and the peel of the mandarin is held tightly in his gloved hand. I promise, I promise, I promise.

The words are whispered into the crook of his neck that night, Price rocking into him while he’s gasping and moaning over the words sir, yes, fu-ah-fuck, ah, a-ah, ah, missed ye s’much. Ghost and Gaz’s brains are practically melted at this point, but they watch Johnny as his eyes roll back into his head and his cock spurts come in streams all over his toned stomach.

Price cums a few thrusts later, his chest heaving with every breath he takes. His boys are sated, he feels the tension in his shoulders and back slowly leave him in waves as the last of his orgasm washes over him.

They wash up, change the sheets and when they lie back down on the bed, he’s in the center. Soap, Ghost and Gaz curl up together with their captain, and they make Price promise he will take at least a few days off, because the house just doesn’t feel the same without all four members in it.

—————

a/n: I’m so incredibly sorry this took so long but I had so much shit to do last week and I rewrote this twice and I still don’t know if I’m happy with it or not, but nevertheless I hope you enjoy :’)

[bitchinbarzal]

2 Hands | T Meier

inspired by “2 hands” by tate mcrae

summary: timo can’t keep his hands to himself when he’s around you.

-

The bar is crowded, pulsing with the kind of energy that only comes from a team win and an open tab. Music thrums through the speakers, bass vibrating under your feet as you nurse the drink in your hand, pretending you don’t feel the heat of Timo’s stare burning into your skin.

You know exactly what he wants.

He’s leaned against the bar, one arm draped casually over the back of your chair, his fingers brushing the bare skin of your shoulder like he can’t help himself. And really, he can’t. Timo has always been a hands-on kind of man — possessive, hungry, desperate to touch, to claim, to make it clear that you’re his, even if he never actually says the words.

“I don’t know why you bother playing hard to get” he murmurs, lips right against the shell of your ear. His voice is low, husky, the kind that sends a shiver straight down your spine “We both know how this ends”

You tilt your head, feigning innocence “How what ends?”

Timo huffs out a laugh, but there’s nothing amused about the way his hand slides from your shoulder to your waist, fingers pressing in just enough to make you shift under his touch “Me taking you home”

Your heartbeat stutters, but you keep your composure, swirling the ice in your glass as if the way he’s touching you doesn’t set your skin on fire “You seem pretty sure of yourself”

His fingers tighten on your waist, pulling you just a little closer, until his thigh is pressed against yours “That’s because I know you” His lips skim the side of your neck, a barely-there brush of heat against your pulse “I know you don’t need sweet words or promises you don’t believe in. I know you just need me”

Your breath hitches because he’s right. He always is. You don’t need whispered declarations or empty gestures. You don’t need him to tell you how good you are, how much better you are than anyone who’s come before you. You just need him, his touch, the way he makes you feel like the only thing in the world that matters when he’s got his hands on you.

And he knows that.

Timo pulls back just enough to catch your gaze, his eyes smoldering with something almost feral “So” he says, voice barely audible over the music “Are we doing this or not?”

You don’t answer. You just grab his hand and lead him out of the bar, knowing full well he’ll have his hands on you before you even make it to the car.

The night air is crisp against your skin, but you barely register it because the second the door swings shut behind you, Timo’s hands are on your waist, yanking you flush against him. His mouth is hot and insistent on yours, his grip firm, unrelenting. There’s no hesitation, no teasing prelude — just pure, raw need spilling over between you.

The ride to your place is a blur of stolen touches and heated glances, his hand gripping your thigh, squeezing just enough to make you moan lowly with your head thrown back against the seats of his car. You can feel the tension crackling between you, thick enough to drown in, and by the time you’re unlocking your front door, Timo is right there, pressing into you, his lips ghosting over your jawline.

“You know” he murmurs, pushing the door open and guiding you inside with a firm grip on your hips “you could’ve saved us a lot of time and just left with me sooner”

You smirk, fingers tangling in the front of his shirt as you pull him toward you “Where’s the fun in that?”

Timo’s answering groan is the only warning you get before he’s lifting you off your feet, carrying you toward the bedroom like a man on a mission. And really, he is — because if there’s one thing he knows for sure, it’s that he needs his hands on you, and he’s not letting go anytime soon.

[puma-riki]

No One Noticed...

Warnings: consistent cursing, kms/kys jokes, [Subject to change every chapter]

Status: Ongoing (Start: 092124)

Taglist (open!): @bee-the-loser @iaintseggsy @channieismylove @yangjungwonnie @luluvhs @nikiswifiee @kingofthekards @skepvids @sammie217 @sh0dor1 @sirens-dreams @starfallia @polarisjisung @minhosimthings @mochiwonz @jiiyen @strawberrieswithchocolateo3o @ritzy-dream-boy @roseangelxfuma @sugarikiz @stvrriki @eczlipse @ddolleri @dangerousgardenchild @roarr-ki @rikidaze @rinoosformstellation @domfikeluva @b0os-jellfyfish @wensurr @melancholy-z @brinethebean @sol3chu @luvjichang @aerijns @bananna-12 @jungwonsjellies @sumzysworld @right-person-wrong-time @rikikiynikilcykiki @pjselee @maniluvzyou @jungwonswife-real @annybah @flaminghotyourmom @vvenusoncasual @pookalicious-hq @jaykehoonist @raven-odyssey @rodelalaland @planetmarlowe @joonsprettygf

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IGNORE TIME STAMPS !!

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Authors Note: Heyyyy guysss... Again, so sorry this took so long, shit hit the fan and I couldn't find the time to sit down and write this chapter sooner [cry] BUT she's here now! I listened to Don't Let Me Go by Cigarettes After Sex on loop while writing this and I think you should do the same while reading cuz... whew! also, I did not proofread this I just skimmed it... Anyway enjoy!!!!!

32. I'm Gonna Eat him + written (wc:3.5k)

You would think the world would have some mercy as you near the end of your shift. It's dark outside despite it only being 5p.m. You finished breaking your back mopping up the floors that will probably end up being sticky again by morning. Most of the dishes are washed, and there are only a few customers loitering around.

All in all, the worst part of the day was done. You could return home in the freezing cold and rest your weary limbs in 30 minutes.

Wrong!

The bell above the door chimes, and in walks an old lady with the specific kind of energy that immediately sets everyone on edge. The type that scans the room with barely concealed judgment, lips already pursed, eyes already searching for something to complain about.

It starts with the menu, after she, of course, ignored your polite "Hi, how are you?", Why don't you have this? Why is this so expensive? Then the drink, which is somehow both too sweet and not sweet enough. Then the table she waits at has invisible crumbs that she makes a show of brushing off in disgust.

A typical textbook petty customer who seems to have the need to share their bitterness with everyone else. It's easy to let her disgust and attitude roll off your back. So, you nod, you apologize, you fix things. You do what you're supposed to do.

But then, as you're finally sliding her drink across the counter so she can get the hell out of here and you can continue closing the cafe in peace, her words came through sharp and careless.

"No wonder this place is a mess if you're in charge."

It really shouldn't get to you. It shouldn't.

You've heard worse. You don't even know the woman and she doesn't know you.

But something about today- the exhaustion, the stress, the weight of it all pressing against your chest- makes that one off handed remark feel like a punch to the gut.

You don't react though. You never do. Just swallow, steady your breath, and carry on.

You make it through the rest of your shift. You wipe down the counters one last time, stack the chairs, lock the register, shut off the lights, double check the espresso machine is off. You go through the motions like you always do.

Jungwon, Soul, and Eunchae hover by the door as you gather your things. They've been acting weird all shift- quiet and hesitant. You caught Jungwon looking at you a couple times, but the second you glance over, he pretends he wasn't.

Soul has just been watching. His usual sharp-edged humor is absent today, replaced by something softer. Pity or maybe concern.

Eunchae is worse. She just straight-up stares. Long, drawn-out looks like she's waiting for you to say something, except you have no idea what.

They all look dejected, staring at you as you walk to the door. A lot like puppies in a pet store window. It makes you feel guilty.

And it's a bit unsettling.

You would very much like to clear this weird tension between all of you, but you're too tired and too drained to figure out how to right now.

So, when Jungwon finally says, "See you next week?" and Eunchae echos a hesitant, "Yeah, see you," You just nod, your voice flat when you reply, "Yeah." The pair then turns and leaves first

Soul lingers for half a second longer, "Get home safe."

Then you step outside and part ways, the cold night air hits you like a slap, and the door clicks shut behind you.

The only sound outside is from the traffic in the street in front of you as you look up at the blank night sky. There are no stars or moon out, not much to look at. But you know if you were to look down your watery eyes would spill over. You feel your throat tighten despite trying to swallow so it'll go away.

Eventually, your eyes can't hold any more tears, and fat tears quietly rush down your face. Maybe you can let yourself feel bad just this once. Standing by yourself and crying silently does make you feel a bit better, it's nostalgic in a way. The familiar company of loneliness wraps around your heart and gives it a squeeze, as if to say 'Oh, I've missed you so.' Although you can't return the sentiment, at least you still have a bit of normalcy to cling to in your life.

A slow breath leaves your lips and swirls in the cold air in front of you. Just as your debating if you should stay and wallow for a few minutes or go home. a sudden grasp on your waist makes you jolt and nearly fly out of your skin.

"Boo."

You stumble forward before sharply turning around at the familiar voice. Ni-ki stands in front of you with his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his puffer jacket, grinning like he just pulled off the greatest prank of his life. Relief floods through you before annoyance can.

You let out a sharp breath, "You-" You hurriedly raise your hand to your face to wipe your tears. "Seriously? What are you doing here?" You're embarrassed by how hoarse your voice sounds

Ni-ki's grin falters. His eyes flicker over your face, his posture shifting from playful to something softer. His voice loses its usual teasing edge when he says," I thought I'd give you a ride home since it's cold. What's wrong?"

You sniffle, looking away. "It's nothing"

Ni-ki takes a step closer, "It's not nothing if it's making you cry. Come on, tell me."

You take a step back; your tears have stopped flowing for now as you wipe the last bit of wetness from your cheeks. "It's a bunch of stuff... I- I don't know."

He takes a step forward, catching you by the sleeve of your jacket. "I've got time," Your face feels hot despite the chill. You look up at him for a fraction of a second, but even that feels too long as he's practically drinking you in with his eyes.

"Please?" He says it so softly that your knees almost give out under you. You convince yourself for now that it's because you haven't sat down for more than 20 minutes today.

You're also convinced that the boy in front of you has hypnotized you in some way because you sigh and let your arms fall down to your sides, still embarrassed, and frustrated, you've been caught crying.

You press the cold back of your hands against your cheeks, sniffling again. "It's just... it was a long day, and-" You hesitate, your thoughts still tangled together. You glance up at Ni-ki again. His hand has moved from your sleeve to the hem of your jacket like he's afraid you'll slip right through his fingers. The streetlight behind you reflects in his eyes and the weight of his gaze that is solely on you, makes you nervous.

"And... There was this customer that came in— and she was so mean, and usually, I don't care. Like why would I care? What does she even know."

The whole thing sounds stupid now coming out of your mouth. You feel your throat tighten up again and your eyes start to sting.

"But— it's not even about that. Or— I don't know, maybe it was, but- I think it was just— everything" Your tears are falling freely now, you've found one spot on the sidewalk behind him that you're set on staring at. You feel too humiliated now as you're basically ugly crying in front of Ni-ki now.

"I had so much homework to do, and I finished it— at least I think I did? I feel like I can't remember anything right. And I still have to study. And I have exams in less than a week, and I'm running on like two hours of sleep because I stayed up all night trying to take a load of homework off. I also couldn't eat today because I was so busy. And then—"

A sob cuts you off and a gust of wind blows between the two of you and whips your hair onto your tear-stained and snot-covered face. Ni-ki is faster than you to move it out of the way. Tucking it behind your ears and wiping his thumb ever so gently under your eye.

"And then?" He asks, his eyebrows are scrunched but his eyes are glossed over, almost like he's about to cry too.

You suck in a sharp breath, trying to regain your composure.

"And then work," Your voice cracking. "There was this whole thing with Ricky— He was like promoting his stupid music outside and it was so bad he was driving customers away. Keeho told us to deal with it but we spent too much time messing around trying to figure out who should tell him to leave— And- and the whole thing escalated and Keeho had to step in and he was upset that we didn't do anything so we all got in trouble and things got all weird— Jungwon and Eunchae got mad at each other and then got mad at me and Soul. And-" You're rambling now as you continue explaining through tears and sniffles how Keeho was upset and has now assigned a shift as a manager to everyone.

And then, in the middle of your breakdown, you remember.

"Oh my god, and—" You groan, pressing your hands into your face. "And my mom— She keeps asking me to invite you and the others to this dumb friendsmas dinner at my house for winter break"

Ni-ki blinks. "She what?"

You sniffle aggressively. "Exactly! I was already stressed out, and she kept texting me asking if I had asked you guys after I already told her I didn't think you would be into that— but she just kept asking I know she was just excited but I was getting annoyed with everything else— and I snapped at her and told her to stop asking me and now I feel like a terrible daughter on top of everything else."

Your voice begins to give out on you as your throat tightens up again. The tears still flow faster than Ni-ki can wipe them away. He gives up and pulls you into a hug instead.

And for a second, he can’t even breathe.

Because he’s never held you like this before—has never felt how small you are in his arms, how fragile you feel when your shoulders shake against him. And it makes him ache.

Because you’ve been carrying all of this alone. Because you didn’t tell him, or anyone, that you’ve been running on fumes. Because you’re standing here, falling apart in his arms, and all he can do is hold you tighter and try to will all of your exhaustion and stress into himself.

He swallows hard. He wants to say something, but nothing feels right. What could he possibly say to fix this?

So instead, he presses his chin against the top of your head and whispers, "That’s a lot, huh?"

And when you nod against his chest, clutching the back of his jacket, he holds you closer and quietly wishes he could make the whole world kinder to you.

Minutes pass, your breathing slowly evening out, and when the silence settles between you, Ni-ki finally speaks.

“Okay,” he says simply, voice softer than usual.

You sniffle, pulling away slightly to look at him. "Okay?"

“Okay,” he repeats, like he’s made a decision in his head. He lifts his hands, gently swiping away the dampness under your eyes with his thumbs. “You had a long day, right?”

You blink at him, still trying to gather your thoughts. "...Yeah?"

“And you didn’t eat.”

You shake your head.

Ni-ki tilts his head toward the street, his usual grin creeping back onto his face. “Come get food with me.”

You hesitate. “Ni-ki—”

“Nope,” he cuts you off, gently flicking your forehead. “I’m not letting you go home and cry yourself to sleep on an empty stomach.”

A small, watery laugh slips out of you before you can stop it. You wipe at your nose with your sleeve, sniffling. “I probably look awful right now.”

Ni-ki just shrugs, watching you with something unreadable in his eyes. “You’re a pretty crier.”

You huff out a disbelieving breath. “Don’t lie.” You smack his arm, the touch fleeting, but Ni-ki barely reacts—just grins and starts walking, his fingers curling briefly around your sleeve as if to check that you're following.

“Would I lie to you?” he teases.

“Yes,” you deadpan, but you take a step after him anyway.

He laughs, grabbing your sleeve and tugging you toward the sidewalk. “Come on. Let’s go before you start crying again.”

As they got back into the car after dinner, Ni-ki barely had time to buckle his seatbelt before noticing your head start to tip forward. You caught yourself just before your forehead hit the window, jerking upright with a sharp inhale.

"Whoa," Ni-ki said, biting back a grin. "That was almost really embarrassing for you."

You groaned, rubbing your face. "I wasn’t falling asleep."

"Yeah? Then what were you doing? Praying?"

You let out a half-hearted scoff and leaned back, closing your eyes for just a second. Ni-ki glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, something about the sight of you sitting there—soft, full from dinner, barely fighting off sleep—making his chest feel weirdly light. You never let yourself slow down like this. And now, here you were, practically dozing off in his car of all places. It felt… intimate.

He cleared his throat, looking at the gas gauge, and then, because he couldn't help himself—

"Oh nooo, [Name]. Look." He exaggerated a frown, shaking his head. "We only have enough gas to make it to my place. Guess you have to stay the night."

Your eyes blinked open, moving straight to the gauge, where the needle sat nowhere near empty. Slowly, you turned your head to look at him, unimpressed.

"Riki," you deadpanned.

He immediately slapped a hand over the gauge. "It literally says almost empty right here."

"You are so full of shit."

"Okay, but think about it," he argued, undeterred. "You’re exhausted. You’re literally swaying in your seat right now."

"I’m not swaying."

"You are. And wouldn’t it be way easier to just crash at mine instead of trying to make it home half-dead?"

"I don't have any clothes or anything with me."

"You can borrow mine."

You hesitated, exhaling slowly. He could see the argument forming in your head, could see you weighing your options—your usual stubborn independence against the undeniable exhaustion pulling at your limbs.

You sighed, "I should say no."

"But you won’t," Ni-ki said confidently.

You shot him a tired glare, then, after a long pause—

"...Fine," you muttered, half-smiling. "But only because I don’t want to hear you whine about it.

His grin stretched wide. "Cool. Beware though, Heeseung sleepwalks sometimes."

You rolled your eyes, but there was something softer about it this time.

As he pulled onto the road, you shifted in your seat, letting your body relax, head tilting slightly toward the window. Ni-ki watched as your breathing evened out, the tension you always carried finally melting away.

You had let yourself rest. With him.

After he had pulled into the parking lot of his apartment, he gently shook you awake and helped you up to his apartment. You clung to his arm most of the way, not entirely in control of your drowsy body.

Not that Riki minded, of course.

He led you to his room, flicking on the light as you entered. It was clean but lived-in—posters, stray hoodies draped over his desk chair, a few knickknacks scattered around. He rummaged through his drawers and pulled out a pair of pajama pants and one of his oversized shirts.

“Here,” he said, handing them over. “It’ll be way more comfortable than what you have on.”

You hesitated, looking down at the clothes in your hands. “Are you sure?”

Ni-ki rolled his eyes. “No, actually, I want my guest to suffer and sleep in jeans.”

You scoffed but were too tired to argue further. He gestured toward the bathroom. “You can change in there. I’ll get some water.”

You nodded and shuffled off, while he grabbed two glasses from the kitchen, taking a moment to let the reality of the night settle in. It was so casual, but somehow it felt different—like a quiet kind of trust.

As he filled the glasses with water, his mind wandered back to what you said earlier. About your mom and Christmas dinner.

"She kept texting me asking if I had asked you guys after I already told her I didn't think you would be into that"

If your mom had been asking about him and the others, then… did you talk about them to her? About him? The thought made something tighten in his chest.

And why did you think they wouldn’t want to come over? Had he ever made you feel like you couldn’t ask? Like he wouldn’t want to spend time with you outside of university?

A flicker of guilt crept in as he set the water jug down. He tried to think back—had he ever brushed you off when you talked about your home life? Had he made some stupid comment about hating holiday gatherings?

He didn’t know why it unsettled him so much, but the thought of you assuming he wouldn’t want to be there, with you, didn’t sit right.

He had wanted to ask you about it earlier, but that didn't seem like a good idea when you were crying in his arms.

But maybe now was.

As Ni-ki picked up the glasses of water, he exhaled through his nose, steadying himself. He wasn’t even sure why this was nagging at him so much, but the longer he thought about it, the more restless he felt. It wasn’t just about Christmas dinner—it was the fact that you hadn’t even considered asking.

He turned off the kitchen light with his elbow and started down the hall, feeling the cool condensation of the glasses against his fingers. Maybe he was overthinking it. Maybe you just assumed they’d be too busy. But no, that wasn’t how you said it.

"I didn’t think you would be into that."

That phrasing stuck in his head, looping over and over.

He thought about the way you had looked earlier, voice tight with exhaustion, stress pressing down on you from every direction. He hadn’t wanted to make things worse by digging into it then, but now that you’d eaten, now that you were here in his space, safe and warm, maybe he could just—casually—ask. Not push, just... understand.

He swallowed, licking his lips as he nudged his door open with his arm, rehearsing the words in his head. So, about earlier—

And then, his breath caught.

You were asleep.

The room was dim, lit only by the streetlights seeping through the curtains, casting soft shadows across your face. His bed wasn’t made properly—he never really bothered with that—but you had curled up on top of the blankets anyway, nestled into the pillows like they belonged to you. His shirt, the one he gave you to change into, draped loosely over your frame, too big, the sleeves swallowing your hands where they clutched the fabric near your chest.

Ni-ki stood frozen in the doorway, glasses still in his hands, as a strange feeling settled over him.

You looked… breathtaking.

His fingers tightened slightly around the glasses, and he forced himself to breathe, to move.

Quietly, he crossed the room, setting the water down on his nightstand. He hesitated before reaching for the spare pillow, planning to take it to the floor. But as he leaned over you, his hand brushing against the fabric—

You shifted.

A small sigh escaped you, barely audible, and then—before he could even react—you moved closer, your head resting lightly on his hand where it had been gripping the pillow.

His heart stuttered.

For a second, he didn’t dare move, didn’t dare breathe. The warmth of your skin against his sent an unfamiliar thrill up his spine, and he had the irrational thought that if he moved too quickly, you might wake up and pull away.

And for some reason, he didn’t want you to.

Swallowing hard, Ni-ki slowly, carefully, shifted onto his knees beside the bed. He could feel the faint rise and fall of your breathing, the way your lashes fluttered just slightly, lost in whatever dream had claimed you.

That conversation—about your mom, about Christmas—could wait.

For now, he just sat there, watching over you in the quiet of his room, letting the moment stretch longer than it probably should.

Now how was he going to get out of this.

Shit.

[b0n3s-is-gay]

Also, you can just do fluff for sodapop x male reader. I never cared for smut at all. Whatever is easier for you :) If you want to add the gang, that's fine too, 🙂

One on One Secrets

Synopsis: You agree to come over to see Sodapop after he has a shit day at the DX... You were cuddling and sharing quick kisses when you were caught by Darry...

Tags: Mentions of homophobia that are centered with the time, secret relationship, almost getting caught by Darry, he's bisexual (because have you seen the way he looks at Steve?), Male! Reader, fluffy, Darry being that accepting brother.

Quiet, that was a word that could be used to describe this moment. Sodapop Patrick Curtis was quiet, his brain was quiet for once since the accident that claimed his parents lives. The only sound that mattered to him right now was the sound of your heart beat and breathing...

"I wish Pony and Darry didn't fight as much... Y'know? I love both my brothers, believe me, but I'm tired of playing mediator..." Sodapop said out of the blue, his brown eyes looking up from your chest. "I have enough on my plate, with work 'n all... I can't always get between the two of them..."

Sodapop sighed as he shifted around, his head moving from your chest to shoulder. His eyes closed as you gently played with his hair, his hands moving to grip your sides. "And then this... Us I mean..."

You weren't dumb, you knew what he was talking about. The way people treated people who loved differently was... less than desireable to say the least. The way that people had to hide who they were, who they loved, just to keep living another day to love them. Windows closed, curtians drawn, doors locked just to keep yourself safe...

"I want to love you in public, I want to hold your hand and smile when we go on dates rather than hide it as a catch up lunch with a friend..." He murmured as he kissed your cheek while rubbing your side. "It ain't fair and it ain't right..."

Your lips quirked up in a soft smile before you drew him closer, if that was even possible, and gently kissed him. "I know Soda, but we'll figure it out... Promise..." You whispered back as you just laid with Sodapop, softly kissing and talking until you both heard the front door open.

"I'm home..." Darry called out tiredly as he closed the door behind him. You and Sodapop exchanged worried glances before you grabbed your boots and climbed out the window. "Till we see each other next..." You whispered before leaving the room.

When you left, Sodapop quickly got up and straightened himself out. He closed the door, fixed his shirt, and adjusted his hair. He then walked out to meet Darry. "Hey Dar, how was work?" Soda asked as he looked at his brother.

Darry didn't answer, instead opting to point to your jacket half-hazardly thrown on the back of the couch. The both of you had forgotten about it after getting caught up in each other. Sodapop's face shifted to a flushed panic, wondering how he was going to explain the coat. But Darry beat him to the punch.

"Tell your boyfriend to at least say hello when you invite him back over." He sighed as got himself a beer from the fridge and sat down in his chair. "No need to sneak around."

[bluejaysandblackbats]

Keepsafes

Fandom: Batman, DC Comics

Summary: AU where Martha and Thomas survive, and they adopt the batkids.

Chapters: 46/?

Characters: Bruce Wayne, Thomas Wayne, Martha Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Harvey Dent, Dick Grayson, Cassandra Cain, David Cain, Talia al Ghul, Damian Wayne, Jason Todd, Tim Drake

Relationships: Thomas Wayne/Martha Wayne/Alfred Pennyworth, BruHarvey, BruTalia

Additional Tags: Canon Divergent AU, Hurt/Comfort, Bruce Wayne is Not Batman, Angst, Alfred Pennyworth Knows All, Bruce Wayne Only Has One Child, Bruce Wayne is Not An Only Child, Bi Bruce Wayne

Chapter Forty-Six: Love

A few weeks after David Cain was detained, Harvey knocked on Cassandra’s room door to speak to her. Everyone else attempted to, but she shut herself in her room and refused to speak to anyone. “Cassandra, you don’t have to talk. I just wanted to hang out here. I figured you’d understand,” Harvey stated as he stood outside. Cassandra opened her door and pointed to the movies in the corner of the room and her TV on the other side. 

Harvey nodded and picked a movie before plopping down on the beanbag chair next to her. “I was never as brave as you were. I never could’ve fought my dad,” Harvey whispered as he moved his bangs out of the way to show her the healed gash on his head. “Bruce stitched me up after my dad threw a bottle at me.” 

Cassandra looked at his head before rolling up the back of her shirt to show Harvey two bullet wounds. “Gun,” Cassandra replied as she pantomimed shooting. 

“Yikes,” Harvey replied, “Are you sad about Davi—? About your father?” 

Cassandra nodded, and Harvey sighed. “I still love my dad, but I know he’s not a good person. You can’t change how you feel, but it doesn’t make you the same as him. It makes you good because you can love him even after how he hurt you,” Harvey stated. 

“Love… makes you good?” Cassandra questioned. 

“Love makes you want to try to be good,” Harvey explained, “And everyone understands how you feel. Even if they don’t know what happened to you for sure… They understand that you are as good as it gets. You’re a wonderful person.” 

“I am?” Cassandra asked. 

“Mhm. But you can’t stay in here all day hiding from your family. Especially Thomas. You saved his life, and he misses you,” Harvey whispered. Cassandra’s bottom lip quivered as she wiped tears from her eyes. “Jeez Louise, Cassie, I didn’t mean to make you—.”

She got up and ran to Thomas’ office, embracing him as she wept quietly. “What’s wrong, Cassiepillar? You can tell me,” Thomas whispered. 

“Love you,” Cassandra mumbled. 

“Aww, I love you too… You don’t have to be upset, sweetpea. I love you so much,” Thomas smiled. “And that’s why I’ve decided to stay home even after I’m all better. We’re gonna spend so much time together.” 

“Yeah?” Cassandra asked. 

“Uh-huh,” Thomas chuckled. 

**

Dick woke up in the middle of the night with a fever and knocked on his parents’ door. “Dad? Dad!” Dick rasped. He pounded on the door with tears in his eyes. “Dad!” 

“Door’s unlocked, Dick!” Thomas shouted in reply. Thomas transferred into his chair as Dick opened the door. Thomas approached Dick and got a good look at him in the dark. “Come on. Let’s talk in your room, so Alfred and your mom can get some sleep.” 

Dick nodded, still panicking as he followed Thomas down the hall to his room. And as soon as he realized it wasn’t panic that he felt, he ran to the bathroom to throw up. Thomas waited for Dick to return, and he turned the lights on low. Dick stepped out of the bathroom, shaking and sweating. “It’s alright… You’re sick. Do you want me to stay with you?” Thomas asked. They hadn’t had a chance to talk about that night with Cassandra and David. Thomas knew he’d have to talk about it, but he wasn’t looking forward to that conversation. 

Dick nodded and climbed into bed before letting Thomas climb in next to him. Thomas sat up and tensed up in shock as Dick grasped Thomas’ shirt and held it tight in his fists. “I don’t wanna lose you,” Dick whispered, “I—. I want you to adopt me.”

“Okay. We’ll talk about it again when you feel better,” Thomas whispered. Dick shivered, and Thomas pulled the blankets up over him. “I’m not going anywhere. I don’t think you’ve ever been sick here… I wonder why now…” 

“I can’t sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I see you falling. Over and over and over… The sound is a lot flatter than most people realize. It makes your stomach jump,” Dick whispered. Thomas looked ahead, so he wouldn’t have to face the look on Dick’s face. “I think the worst part of seeing someone die is the thought that they’re supposed to get back up. You can’t—. You can’t wake them up, but your brain doesn’t process that in real-time, so you’re just—. Every second before you realize they’re never coming back feels like years… Even still, some days I wake up thinking that I’m going to see them. Do you understand?” 

Tears streamed down Thomas’ cheeks. “I hear your voice,” Thomas stated in a broken whisper, “I hear you begging for help… I can feel your arms around me, pulling me back, and I—. I wasn’t choosing Cassie over you. I just—. 

“Having more than one child is something I never imagined. It’s hard enough having one human being around, loving them, and worrying about keeping them safe. Three children… I would’ve taken that dive for any of you without question.”

“Is Bruce—?” 

“He’s coming home. I know it’s hard to understand but the longer he’s away the more I understand. Bruce will come home when it’s time,” Thomas reassured Dick before looking down at Dick’s face. He couldn’t keep his eyes open. “You can go to sleep. I’ll be here.”

“I don’t want to… I don’t want you to leave—.” 

“I’ll be here. I’ll be here until you feel better,” Thomas whispered. 

**

Bruce followed Talia down the corridor to a bedroom that was twice the size of his room back home, and she handed him a change of clothes. He stood there for a moment, looking at her features, and they met eyes, startling him into averting his gaze. “You can look me in the eyes. I invite you to,” Talia whispered as she reached for his arm and froze. 

Bruce looked into her eyes. “Talia’s a beautiful name,” Bruce whispered. Talia laughed as Bruce moved her hair away from her face to get a better look. She leaned forward, and Bruce hesitated before pulling away. “I can’t… I don’t even know you. I don’t know why I’m here. Talia, I hope you understand that it isn’t a lack of—.” 

“We’re going to talk about that over dinner,” Talia whispered. Bruce swallowed hard. “And perhaps we should take a walk after… You and I.” 

Her eye contact made his throat dry, and his heart dropped into his stomach, feeling heavy and tight where it shouldn’t. “Okay… Well, I have to get dressed now,” Bruce said, almost commanding her to leave. Talia smirked. 

“Of course. Someone will come for you in a little while and bring you to dinner… And don’t panic if things have… changed, ” Talia whispered before leaving the room. 

Bruce stared into space as he thought about her words to him, and he stepped behind the curtains and looked in the mirror as he disrobed. He reached for his cock before noticing something strange. He touched his stomach, thumbing at where his scar should’ve been. He turned around and tried to see if he could see the exit wound scar on his back. “What the—?” Bruce shook his head climbed into the claw foot tub and sank under the water. He sat up pushing his hair back and taking a breath of air as he took the bar of soap and loofah hanging overhead. “I must be cracking up.”

[thewintersoldierdisaster]

Ok this might be a little too much and I apologize in advance if it is…. But what do you think about Andrei coming home from an away game or some other team travel and catching you using a vibrator 🫣 how would he react?

😅😈🫣 i truly love all the horny, kinky prompts in my inbox right now. never change, svech girlies!

with andrei, you’re usually so satisfied when it comes to sex and orgasms because he’s got professional athlete stamina and he’s just horny like all the time when he’s not playing or working out

when he’s home, you basically never have to worry about using a vibrator to get yourself off - he’s happy to be your own personal human vibrator if you express even the slightest desire for sex

you get a little antsy when he’s on longer away trips but even then you’ve been spoiled by his tongue, fingers, and dick so your usual vibrators aren’t as satisfying

for whatever reason you’re on edge during one game and decide to give yourself a few lazy orgasms before andrei gets home, figuring you’ll be done by the time he’s home and if he’s in the mood (which he always is with the post-game adrenaline flooding his veins) then you’ll be able to finish a little quicker and get to bed sooner

you lose track of time and you’re still mid-session when andrei gets home, appearing in your bedroom without you hearing him

he clears his throat and you startle, gasping breathlessly and letting the vibrator slip a little from your fingers. “andrei! you’re back?” you ask, brain a little fuzzy

“mhm,” he hums. “got the party started without me, solnyshka?”

he’s staring at you openly, his gaze focused on your bare cunt, wet and slick with the vibrator still buzzing against your skin. your legs are splayed open obscenely and your entire body flushes with the heat of his gaze

you resist the urge to close your legs and pull the blankets up to your chin, but you do tap the vibrator off, the lack of the buzzing noise suddenly obvious

“i…uh…” you shrug, “didn’t think you’d be home before i finished.”

andrei tosses his suit jacket onto the chair in the corner and frowns a little. “you do this often? i’m not enough for you, solnyshka? my fingers, my tongue, my cock? none of it satisfies you?” as he talks, you can see the front of his pants strain against his erection and you want to reach for him and grab him

you shake your head, “it’s just a little toy, drei. i barely even use it.”

“you’re using it now, yes?” he asks, smirking a little meanly. he rolls up the sleeves of his shirt, exposing tanned, muscled forearms. the veins in his hands and arms are prominent and you practically drool

“i lost track of time,” you make the excuse, grinning at him. “you’re home though, i’m so ready for you. just fuck me, drei.”

he shakes his head and undoes the buckle of his belt, the button on his pants. “no, no. you made a choice. you can get yourself off, little brat.”

you whine a little and he raises an eyebrow, looking down pointedly at your bare cunt. “you’re responsible for this mess, solnyshka. pretend i’m not here. how would you make yourself come?”

“i…i like to pretend it’s you anyway,” you murmur, vibrator in your hand as you watch andrei like a hawk, following his every movement while he runs a hand over his lower abdomen, grinding his palm roughly over his erection. the fly of his pants is lowered and he cups himself harshly, letting out a groan

“good,” he says, grinning and showing his teeth. “i want you to think only of me.” he pushes his hand under the waistband of his black boxer-briefs and you watch his hand fist around his cock, the fabric stretching obscenely. “i only think of your tight, sweet cunt when i have to jack off in a hotel room alone.”

he watches and strokes his cock while you get yourself off once with the vibrator, legs shaking and crying out for him

then it's his turn to have fun and he slots himself over you, head of his cock pushing at your entrance until he slides in, inch by inch, hips pressed against yours

he fucks into you with a steady rhythm, holding the vibrator to your clit until you're sobbing and squirting all over him and the sheets

after a (very) brief rest period, andrei decides you deserve another orgasm, alternating between pumping his fingers into you and sucking at your clit

he drags the still wet vibrator over your stomach and inner thighs, making you shake and tremble and arch off the bed

"guess this little toy is fun after all," he comments, after you've come so hard for the third time your vision briefly goes white

you're a limp, boneless pile on the mattress and can barely reply beyond a vague hum

after that, every once in a while, andrei likes to tease you with the vibrator, but he would much rather give you an orgasm with his cock (or tongue or fingers)