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hencheri · 2 days ago

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— perfect little pet

▸ 18+ mdni.

you're jay's good kitten, his sweet girl, but you still need more training until you become the perfect little pet he knows you can be.

| pairing. bf!jay x fem!reader

| warnings. pet play, dubcon, daddy kink, really strict!jay, heavy dom/sub dynamics, impact play, dacryphilia.

| wc. 2k

⤷ part of my 1k event.

you bite down harder into your bottom lip, eyes full of water as you stare at the floor. your grip tightens around jay’s pants every hit that is delivered to your ass, doing your best to muffle down the noises of pain that threaten to escape you. you scrunch your eyes shut as you feel the familiar burning sensation of his palm meeting your flesh, wishing for it to end soon.

you’ve stopped crying apology after apology when the strikes only became more violent as sobs ripped through your throat, knowing no matter how many times you said sorry, he wouldn’t stop.

jay has been furious since you’ve come back. you’ve decided to show up 1 hour past your curfew, and he was absolutely pissed once the relief he first felt passed. how could you have been so careless? so irresponsible? he’s taught you better than this.

his palm hits your ass cheek again and he makes no attempts to comfort you. he asked you to count to 10 earlier, but you didn't expect him to continue his spanks even after you reached the assigned number. you want to beg him to stop, but you know better than this. with jay, you endure and wait.

he wraps his hand around your throat right after delivering yet another spank to your ass, pulling your torso up from his lap.

you slightly turn your head in his direction to meet his eyes and to your surprise, he doesn't seem furious. he looks totally at ease.

"how long until you finally act like the good, obedient girl you pretend to be?" he murmurs to you, rubbing your ass to soothe the sensitive skin, but it doesn’t feel gentle to you. "i don't like it, kitten, when you don't do as i say," he explains in a serious but calm voice, his hot breath kissing the side of your face.

"i'm- i'm sorry," you mumble, shamefully shifting your gaze away from him. it takes everything in you to not let the tears flow from your eyes.

you receive a sharp spank to your ass before hearing jay's commanding voice in your ear, "sorry who?"

"daddy! i'm sorry daddy," you choke out, whimpering as he doesn't hesitate to slap you. even when you do as he says, he still punishes you. he’s never fully satisfied.

your butt is on fire and it’s 10 times worse with nothing covering you, your panties sitting at your mid-thighs. he finds no remorse into leaving his handprint on you as long as it’s to discipline you. shape you little by little into the obedient, well-trained pet he’s always known you could be.

and well-trained will you become.

he lets go of your neck, slumping you back down onto his lap. his hand steadies on your ass for a moment. “what time is your curfew, tell me.”

“10 p.m.,” you exhale, trying to prevent the tears from falling, but it’s too late.

“so why…” jay begins, rubbing his hand over your ass in circles, as if preparing you for the next hit. “did you come back home 1 hour later?”

you breathe in deeply, blinking several times, making the translucent pearls roll down your cheeks one by one. “i don’t know, i just… i just forgot. i didn’t notice,” you explain with pouty, shiny lips, all coated in your spit. “please, jay.”

suddenly, he spanks your pussy, a wet sound echoing in the bedroom, your cheeks heating up in embarrassment. you jolt in surprise, letting out a high-pitched gasp.

“i want the real reason.”

you frown. “but- but it is, i swear!”

you scream as he strikes you and you feel so, so exhausted.

“how dare you raise your voice at me, pet? you do not talk back to me.”

you whimper in pain, shaking your head, wanting jay to just leave it for tonight, but you know he won’t stop until he’s satisfied.

“there’s no reason,” you croak out, “i’ve been careless and inconsiderate.” you sniffle, trying to slow down your tears and not choke on them. you notice you haven’t received another hit yet—so you continue. “i didn’t think about the consequences… but i should’ve because i know better than to worry daddy out.”

you feel slightly relieved when you hear jay humming in approval. “that’s right, kitten. daddy was worried about you. he thought something happened to you… but you were just being a disobedient little pet.” you hear the sound of his palm hitting your skin first, the pain making you grit your teeth. your nails dig into his pants and he can feel it poke his flesh.

“i’m sorry, really sorry,” you whine.

“oh, i’m sure you are,” he says, sighing as he parts your pussy lips, seeing just how soaking wet your hole is. literally begging for him to fill it. he knows that doesn’t mean you like being punished—it’s your body’s normal reaction to have jay’s hands on you, doing things that usually lead to sex.

he puts your panties back in place, the soft cotton material rubbing against your ass making you wince.

“get off.”

you don’t make jay wait and scurry off of his lap, going to sit on your calves, but as your bruised skin touches your legs—a scorching pain shooting through you—you rapidly decide against and lean on your hands instead. you wait for the next instructions, slightly hoping he’s going to tell you to bend over the couch and use you as roughly as he wants.

he rises up to his feet, pulling the sleeves of his shirt down his arms before lowering his gaze at you. “come on.” he gestures to the stairs with a nod of his head. “to your room.”

—-

the hard floor of the living room hurts your knees, but you still place one hand in front of the other, crawling up to jay. kittens don’t walk; he’s made sure you’d never use your feet in front of him.

you silently make your way to him and stop at his feet, glancing up at him, but he doesn’t look away from his book. you hesitantly put a hand on the cushions beside him, waiting for a reaction, and seeing none, you decide to climb onto the couch. you climb, you don’t stand up—never do you, he made sure of that, too.

you remember clearly the intense training he made you go through, whipping the back of your bare thighs with his belt whenever you stood on your feet to climb the bed—or any furniture he beckoned you to go on. you thought it’d be easy to just climb onto something, but with jay demanding you to be the perfect pet, it wasn’t. but now you know.

you lay down on your stomach, fitting your head on top of his lap. he doesn’t seem to mind and offers you a glance. you stay still, not wanting to bother him, but the thought of him still being mad at you weighs heavy on your heart. each move of your body is a reminder of your mistake, of how angry you made jay last night. and you hate that.

you let out a whiny sigh and he doesn’t miss on it, lifting up his brow. “what’s on your mind?”

you look up and he’s still focused on his book. you let out another sigh. “are you still mad at me?” you ask, the question finally leaving your lips.

he takes a few seconds before marking the page he’s on and closing the book, his eyes shifting down to your face. “i wasn’t mad, baby. i was disappointed in you,” he says in a calm tone, his voice almost soothing you.

“are you still… disappointed in me, then?”

“yes,” he answers honestly. “but i’m looking forward to good behaviour from you.”

“of course.” you immediately nod your head, sitting up on your knees, facing jay. your ass still hurts a lot, but you understand that the punishment was necessary.

he extends his arm toward you and takes a hold of your face, his eyes studying you. “you’re a good kitten, baby. i don’t know why you keep making it difficult for the both of us…” he wonders, his thumb gently running over your cheek. “wouldn’t it be easier if you’d just obey me?”

“but i do,” you whine.

you wince when his fingers dig into your face, squishing your cheeks between his hand. jay looks at you more severely now, a chill traveling up your spine as you recognize the familiar darkness in his eyes, that same darkness you see when he slaps you until you’re a sobbing mess, when he fucks all of your holes without ever slowing down.

“careful, pet. i’ve already displicined you yesterday, i’d hate it if i had to do it again today,” he warns and you know he’s serious. you should always believe jay’s threat.

“i’m sorry, daddy. i just… i just really don’t mean it.”

“oh, i know you don’t, kitten,” he coos, “you have a good heart, hm? you’re a sweet girl.” you bite down into your lip and slowly bounce your head, agreeing to his words. “come here,” he instructs and you don’t have to be told twice.

you crawl to him and straddle his lap, placing your arms over his shoulders and joining your hands together behind his neck. he smiles at you and you already feel yourself getting warmer.

“what should i do with you?” he wonders out loud, grinning at the way your shoulders sag down, a pout forming on your lips. “put you on a leash? tie you up to the bed?” you shake your head and it makes him laugh. “no? what do you want, then?”

“daddy…” you say in a low voice, almost looking sheepish of your answer.

“you want daddy?” you nod and he hums. “okay, then. you’re going to have me, baby.”

you totally didn’t expect to find yourself in this situation, and you feel like a part of you should have known that jay wasn’t completely satisfied by now. you fell right into his trap; kittens don’t ask for what they want.

your mouth is gagged by your panties, stuffed in by jay earlier when he pushed you to the floor, getting on top of you. he shoved it down further in, making you cry around your dirty underwear and all he wanted was to see those tears of yours again.

his hand around your throat, he drives his cock into you back and forth, giving you what you asked for. you squirm under him and it only earns you a smack to the face. “you poor helpless little thing,” he softly says, watching the tears fall to the side of your face. “you’re such a sweet girl. you must be asking yourself what you did wrong, hm?”

you arch your back, lifting up from the floor, meeting jay’s hip thrusts, hitting the sweet spot inside of you just right and making you cry out. you claw at his t-shirt, wanting him off of you or closer to you—you’re not sure. your mind is so dizzy, so confused. so hurt.

“after all my best efforts to make you into my good kitten, you’re still failing me,” he sighs, looking into your teary eyes, “but it’s okay, i’ll keep taking care of you. i’ll keep teaching you, keep reminding you.” he pulls your panties out of your mouth and you instantly cough, swallowing down multiple times to ease your sore throat. “do you understand, pet?”

you sniffle. “yes, jay,” you say in a weak voice.

“good, baby,” he smiles, finally satisfied. “because you’re not leaving this house until i’ve shaped you into the perfect little pet.

#enhypen smut #enhypen hard hours #enhypen x reader #enhypen imagines #enha smut #enha x reader #jay smut #jay x reader

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woso-story · 2 days ago

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Better Boyfriend Than Him - Part Three

Alexia Putellas x Reader - Other Parts

The club is alive with music, lights flickering in time with the heavy bass. The energy of the place should feel electric, but the tension at your table casts a shadow over the atmosphere. You’re sitting in a booth, a drink in your hand, and Luis’s arm draped over your shoulders.

Across from you, Mapi sits, her posture stiff as she debates something with Luis. The two of them have been at it for the past ten minutes, their words too low for you to make out but sharp enough to leave you exhausted.

You lean back against the booth, closing your eyes for a moment. It’s become glaringly obvious over the last few weeks that your best friend and your boyfriend can’t stand each other. When you asked them about it individually, they both denied it, but their actions tell a different story.

Luis mutters something under his breath, and Mapi’s jaw tightens. Her eyes dart to the bar where Ingrid and Frido are waiting for drinks, and suddenly, she stands up.

“I’m going to help Ingrid and Frido,” she announces, her tone clipped.

You furrow your brows, confused. “Mapi, they’re fine—”

But she’s already gone, leaving Luis to scoff.

“Typical,” he mutters, swirling the drink in his hand.

“What’s typical?” you ask, your voice laced with frustration.

“She always has to act like she knows everything,” Luis snaps, shaking his head.

You exhale sharply, trying to keep your annoyance in check. “Luis, can you not? It’s her birthday weekend, and we’re supposed to be having fun.”

He doesn’t respond, only taking a long sip from his drink.

Before you can press the issue, someone slides into the booth across from you. You look up to see Alexia, her signature grin plastered across her face.

“Hola, hermosa,” she greets you warmly, her eyes lingering on you for a moment before flicking to Luis.

“And Linus,” she adds with a teasing smirk.

Luis stiffens beside you, his expression darkening. “It’s Luis.”

Alexia shrugs, unbothered. “Whatever.” She leans back casually, her eyes returning to you.

“You look upset,” she remarks, tilting her head. “What’s with the grumpy face?”

Before you can even open your mouth to respond, Luis cuts in, his voice icy. “It’s because you came over.”

You glare at him, your patience wearing thin. Alexia, however, doesn’t miss a beat.

“Oh, I don’t think that’s it,” she says with a smirk. “I think she’s just not having much fun with you, and that’s not my fault.”

Luis’s jaw clenches, and he stands abruptly, grabbing your hand. “Come on. We’re dancing.”

You barely have time to protest as he pulls you toward the dance floor, leaving Alexia sitting there with an amused glint in her eyes.

---

The music is deafening as Luis leads you onto the packed dance floor. He pulls you close, his hands gripping your hips tightly. You try to lose yourself in the rhythm, but the tension from the booth lingers, weighing heavy on your chest.

Luis leans in to kiss you, and at first, you let him, hoping to smooth over the evening. But his grip on your waist tightens, and his kisses become more forceful, almost demanding.

“Luis, stop,” you mumble, your voice barely audible over the pounding music.

He doesn’t listen, his hands digging into your sides as he presses his lips against yours again.

“Luis,” you say more firmly, trying to push him away. “I said stop.”

But he doesn’t stop. Instead, he pulls you even closer, his grip almost bruising. Panic starts to rise in your chest as you struggle to get free.

Then, suddenly, he’s yanked away from you. You look up to see Alexia standing there, her expression thunderous.

“She said stop,” Alexia snaps, her voice cutting through the noise.

Luis glares at her, his face twisted in anger. “What the fuck? This has nothing to do with you.”

“It has everything to do with me,” Alexia retorts, stepping between you and him. “When she’s clearly uncomfortable, I’m not going to just stand by and watch.”

Luis turns to you, his eyes pleading. “You’re going to let her talk to me like that? Say something!”

But you can’t. You’re frozen, your body trembling as the weight of the moment sinks in.

Alexia notices and steps closer to you, her stance protective. “Get lost, Luis,” she says coldly.

Luis stares at you for a moment longer, waiting for you to defend him. But when you don’t, he lets out a bitter laugh.

“Whatever. Have fun with her,” he spits before storming off, shoving his way through the crowd.

---

You stand there, still trembling as Alexia turns to you. Her face softens, and she places a gentle hand on your arm.

“Are you okay?” she asks, her voice barely audible over the music.

Before you can answer, Mapi appears, her arm wrapping around your shoulders as she leads you back to the booth. Ingrid hands you a glass of water the moment you sit down, her expression filled with concern.

“Drink this,” she says softly.

You take small sips, your hands still shaking slightly. The events of the past few minutes replay in your mind, and you feel a lump forming in your throat.

“He’s an idiot,” Mapi mutters under her breath, but you don’t respond.

When you finally look up, you find Alexia watching you. But this time, her usual smugness is gone. Instead, she looks… worried. The intensity in her gaze makes your stomach flutter, though you quickly push the thought away.

“I’m fine,” you say, though your voice lacks conviction. “Really.”

Everyone at the table is still looking at you with concern, and you force a smile. “Let’s get some shots,” you suggest, your tone a little too bright. “I want to have fun.”

---

The next few hours blur together in a haze of alcohol and dancing. Normally, you don’t drink much, but tonight is different. You’re determined to drown out the tension, the frustration, and the lingering unease from earlier.

You’re on the dance floor again, this time with Mapi. The two of you are laughing, twirling, and letting loose. Everything feels vibrant and surreal, the lights spinning around you as the music pulses through your veins.

You feel someone behind you, their presence warm and steady. You turn to find Alexia, her smile softer than usual.

“Having fun?” she asks, leaning in close so you can hear her. Her breath brushes against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

You nod, a genuine smile spreading across your face. Alexia grins and gives you a thumbs-up before the two of you start dancing together.

At some point, you turn around, your back against Alexia’s front. Her hands rest lightly on your waist, the touch gentle but grounding. It feels different—safe.

Then you feel her lips against your neck, soft and fleeting. Your breath catches as she whispers in your ear, “I’d be a better boyfriend than him.”

Her words send a shockwave through you. Your heart races, and your mind spins. You turn to face her, your eyes locking with hers.

For a moment, the world around you disappears. Her gaze drops to your lips, and she leans in slightly, her movements slow and deliberate.

Your breath hitches. Part of you wants to close the distance, to give in to the pull between you. But another part screams at you to stop, to remember Luis—even after everything.

You hesitate, your emotions warring within you. And Alexia waits, her eyes filled with something you can’t quite decipher.

#alexia putellas x reader #woso #woso community #alexia putellas fanfic #alexia x reader #woso fics #woso x reader #woso fanfics #alexia putellas

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solxamber · 2 days ago

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oh goodness I hope I'm not too late- the surprise of this event shocked me really bad 😭😭😭

I hope this isn't too hard of a request but,

Deuce, Romantic, "I like me better" by Lauv

Thank you very much and I hope you have a great day!!!

"I like me better when I'm with you" || Deuce Spade

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠: I Like Me Better by Lauv

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 820

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: Fluff, Pre-Relationship

Deuce had never been in love before.

Sure, he’d had crushes—fleeting, clumsy things that never lasted long. He had admired people from afar, stumbled over his words when talking to someone he found attractive, but nothing like this. Nothing that made his heart pound so hard it drowned out the world, nothing that made him feel like his chest was too small to contain it all.

Because this—you—were something entirely different.

He didn’t know when it started, only that one day he looked at you and felt it. Like a switch had flipped, like the world had rearranged itself to make you the center of it. It wasn’t just admiration or excitement—it was warmth. It was wanting to be better, to be someone worthy of standing beside you.

You made him feel good. Not just about you, but about himself.

Deuce had spent so much of his life struggling with the person he used to be. The anger, the reckless choices, the reputation that clung to him no matter how hard he tried to shed it. He still fought against it every day, still worried about slipping up, about ruining everything he’d worked for.

But with you, it was different.

You never looked at him like he was the sum of his mistakes. You never treated him like he was constantly on the verge of losing control. When he got frustrated, you didn’t flinch or scold—you laughed, nudging his shoulder and telling him to “save it for a real fight.” When he worried about not being good enough, you reminded him of every time he’d been there for his friends, for you.

You saw the best in him. And when he was with you, he started to see it too.

It wasn’t just the grand moments—the late-night conversations where he almost told you, the times he caught himself staring and had to force himself to look away. It was the little things.

The way you cheered for him at flight lessons, loud and unapologetic. The way you called his name before running up to him, always excited, always happy to see him. The way you stayed close in crowded places, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And the way, when he looked at you, the world felt lighter.

He liked himself best when he was with you.

And maybe—just maybe—he would gather enough courage to tell you one day.

Deuce exhales sharply through his nose, gripping his pencil so hard his knuckles turn white. The numbers on the page blur, equations twisting into something incomprehensible the more he stares. His frustration builds like a storm, his chest tight, his jaw clenched. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t seem to get it right.

He wants to be better. For you.

But right now, he just feels stupid.

You must notice the way his shoulders have tensed because you reach out, your fingers slipping over his hand, stopping his restless scribbling. “Hey,” you say, voice warm, steady. “Relax.”

Deuce blinks, caught off guard by your touch. His fingers loosen under yours, and suddenly, the tight feeling in his chest isn’t from frustration anymore—it’s something softer, something that makes his pulse stutter.

“You always overthink it,” you tell him. “Try again, but this time, don’t try so hard.”

He swallows, his grip easing around the pencil. “I just don’t want to mess up,” he mutters. “I—I want to do this right.”

You tilt your head, smiling like you know exactly what’s going on in his head. Like you see him—really see him. “You will,” you say simply. “You always do.”

He doesn’t know what it is about you, but when you say it, he believes it.

And suddenly, everything shifts. The weight of his own expectations feels a little lighter, the words in the textbook a little clearer.

He tries again. And this time—oh. He gets it.

A grin tugs at your lips when you see his face light up. “You got it?”

It’s ridiculous, isn’t it? That a single moment—just you sitting here beside him, your hand still resting lightly over his—could make him feel so much more than he ever has before.

But it’s true.

Because he’s been trying so hard to be something better, to prove himself, to reach higher and be stronger and smarter.

And yet—when he’s with you, he already feels like the best version of himself.

His fingers tighten around yours for just a second before he lets go, trying to pretend he isn’t completely overwhelmed by the feeling.

But later, when you lean your head on his shoulder, still laughing about something dumb, Deuce realizes—he doesn’t want this to be just a moment.

He wants this forever.

Masterlist ; Valentine's Event

#ˋ°•*⁀➷ valentine's event #twst #twst x reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #deuce spade x reader #deuce x reader #deuce spade #deuce

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ethereal-moonglitter · 2 days ago

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Blue lock men and their soulmate aus

This piece is for the Soulmate au writing collab! All writers are free to join <3 Just check out this post. (here)

Characters included: Sae Itoshi, Rin Itsohi, and Isagi Yoichi (I'll add more characters if people like it)

Through every lifetime, it is you I seek, a whispered longing my soul speaks.

Sae Itoshi - Colors upon first touch

❥︎ Pre-spain! Sae was excited to see who his soulmate was. He always wanted to see colors. He wondered if he would be better at football if he does.

❥︎ He absolutely adores the concept of someone waiting for him. Someone who will complete him.

❥︎ After this trip to Spain though? Things changed. He thinks the whole thing is stupid. Why bother go to lengths to find someone anyway?

❥︎ His only goal is to be the best in football. Soulmates are just distractions. He didn't need that at all!

❥︎ His would was colorless, as it had always been, why would he desire to see color when he can see just fine?

❥︎ Sometimes he finds himself wondering if he is able to find his. Especially since Rin found his first. (that damn brat)

❥︎ Sae was curious, yes. But he never tried looking or genuinely care about it because he has football.

❥︎ He didn't want to meet his soulmate... Or so he thought.

Right after the U-20 Japan vs. Blue Lock match, Sae Itoshi couldn't deny the surprise twisting in his chest. Losing to a bunch of rookies? Unbelievable. He scoffed, shaking his head as he stepped out of the locker room. If those rookies had managed to get past him, then he needed to train harder. That was all there was to it.

Lost in thought, he barely noticed when he collided with someone. But then—everything shifted. His dull, monochrome world flickered—no, exploded—into color. He gasped softly at the sudden appearance of color. The dull world he lived in suddenly appeared alive, it felt worth living for.

His gaze snapped around, sharp and searching. Who was it? Who the hell just bumped into him? He had to find them. Now. Because whether he liked it or not, he knew exactly what had just happened.

He’d found his soulmate.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of you—just as lost, scanning the crowd. His pulse slowed, the noise around him fading into nothing. For a moment, it was just the two of you, locked in place like the universe had forced a pause.

His lips curled into the faintest smirk.

"Tch. Found you… you brat."

Rin Itoshi - Dream walking

❥︎ He really didn't understand the importance of soulmates, even when he was younger.

❥︎ He saw how his brother used to fantasize about finding his soulmate. And at first, he too wanted to meet them. But as he grew older, he also found it to be a distraction.

❥︎ He thought he didn't have one at first. Cause he can see color, unlike his brother.

❥︎ It was until he turned 15 did it start happening. He fell asleep once day then he saw you. Well... somewhat of you.

❥︎ He can see you! But once he wakes up, he forgets what you look like. And people say that was normal. That you forget what they look like when you wake up but once you see them you know.

❥︎ He was standoff-ish at first. When you first appeared, he didn't bother talking to you. You were a distraction!

❥︎ But slowly, he finds himself genuinely enjoying your company and he feels as if he is falling in love with the human blob in his dreams

❥︎ Then he blurted out that he was having a huge match. That they should met there. He didn't think they would actually agree.

"I have a match soon. You should come," Rin said, his tone flat, almost like it didn’t matter.

"Come? To where?" you asked, stepping closer. The two of you stood in your usual spot—a football field, because of course, even in his sleep, football was the only thing on his mind.

"You know my name. Just come," he replied, as if that was enough explanation.

You couldn’t help but laugh. But before you could say anything else—

He jolted awake. Dammit... You were so slow to answer.

The U-20 Japan vs. Blue Lock match hadn’t started yet. But that didn’t mean Rin would stop training. Not yet. He was in the gym, body tense with focus, warming up for the game ahead. He barely noticed anything else. It was just him and his equipment. But then..

"Hello"

A voice. One he knew. One that had engraved itself in his mind whether he was awake or asleep. He knew that voice from anywhere.

"So this is where you’ve been?"

His muscles locked up mid-movement. His breath caught. He knew that voice. He’d always known it. He slowly put down the weights he was holding. And slowly, he turned.

And this time, it wasn’t some blurry, half-forgotten figure in the back of his mind. It wasn't some human blob that he can't for the life of him make out the details. It was you. Like really you.

"You’re here," he muttered, almost like he didn’t believe it.

Yoichi Isagi - First words tattoo

❥︎ One day he woke up with a "Oh my god? Your eyes are so pretty" written on his wrist.

❥︎ His first reaction was to fangirl, cause what? the first thing his soulmate says to him is he is so pretty? What?

❥︎ If his soulmate finds him pretty, that means they'll have smth good right? Oh please let that be!

❥︎ Next, he finds himself staring at anyone and everyone, hoping to find that one person that finds his eyes pretty.

❥︎ When he was in middle school, he made sure that everyone can see his eyes! He wants to find his love as soon as possible.

❥︎ But once he entered Blue lock? he practically forgot about it. Suddenly his entire attention was driven away..

❥︎ He was so focused on his career that his desire to find his soulmate lessened. He needed to be the best striker!

❥︎ He was so focused in fact that even in his break, he was thinking about football when..

Isagi was on his way to hang out with his friends, finally getting a rare chance to rest and relax without the pressure of constant competition. He let out a small sigh of relief, enjoying the thought of just unwinding for once.

But, as usual, football was still on his mind. His thoughts drifted to the practice match he had later—strategies, plays, how he could improve. So lost in thought, he barely paid attention to his surroundings.

That was until he walked straight into someone.

Snapped out of his daze, Isagi blinked as he locked eyes with the person in front of him. They stared at each other for a moment. The stranger seemed so entranced by his eyes for some reason. But then the stranger suddenly blurted out, "Oh my god, your eyes are so pretty."

Isagi stiffened, caught completely off guard. "Hah?" His mind scrambled for a response—why was that the first thing they said? He blinked a few times, trying to comprehend what the stranger had said

Then it clicked.

His expression shifted as realization dawned. His eyes widened slightly before a small grin tugged at his lips. "It’s you!"

Time and time again, I fall into your embrace, No fate nor distance can ever erase.

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queenjulia11 · 2 days ago

Text

Oh my god. Okay.

So I was under the impression that Crokas and Fiedra’s “boss and bodyguard” dynamic was a mutually agreed upon thing. They both knew what they had was something deeper than that, but it was easier emotionally to not actually put a label on the relationship — imagine if they called each other mother and son in Rybad-Kol and then something happened to one of them, y’know? Much easier to mourn your bodyguard than your son. I got the sense that they were both content with this.

But now we know just how one-sided that dynamic really was. And I don’t think this was something Crokas just suddenly realized with his intelligence boost: it was always bothering him, just a little bit, to see Fiedra hold him at an arm’s length. Now he just finally has the words for it. And yeah, that hurts. This scene feels particularly brutal and real in a way that I don’t think anyone was really expecting, but when you look back at the life Crokas has lived and the people he’s interacted with besides Fiedra: it makes perfect sense.

Celeste says “you are family to us.” After a few weeks of travel. Rux calls him “brother” the moment he sees him. Crokas has seen how easy it is to be accepted as family by others — how things could be. But Fiedra? He’s a prize to her. After all these years, he’s just her bodyguard.

I think with the deep gruff voice it’s easy to forget that Crokas is the equivalent of an 18 year-old. It’s a time in life when most people are able to look back at how they were raised and finally put together just what their parents got wrong; while still maybe not having all the pieces as to why, or what was really going on.

Crokas doesn’t forgive Fiedra right away because he assumes her apology is only coming now because he’s called her out. If he never said anything, would she ever call him her son? Look at Alex’s face during Fiedra’s apology: it’s everything he’s ever wanted to hear from his mother but he can’t forgive her yet. He’s still a teenager: the anger feels easier than accepting the love because the apology doesn’t undo the years of pain that he couldn’t even fully understand before now. That’s the hard part about forgiving someone: it still hurts.

“I needed a mom. Not to fight for a boss.”

But of course, she is his mom. Nothing could ever change that. The fact that she’s apologizing at all — that she’s going out of her way to hunt down a nobleman because she’s just so disgusted by anyone who would abuse a child proves that Fiedra Marrow is a mother whether she calls herself one or not. She’s his mom and he loves her, and he will always go back to her.

Unspoken love can hurt worse than unrequited love. But once it’s finally said out loud, nothing can break it. Fiedra learning how to call Crokas her son means he can finally say it, too:

“Don’t ever touch my mother again.”

And the fact that he still calls her boss sometimes is just so damn cute, and such an 18 year-old thing to do. A little nudge that acknowledges the hurt while still accepting that Fiedra is going to do better going forward. Allowing her the chance to do better. For her son.

What a beautiful story Alex and Jasmine have shared with all of us. ❤️

“Maybe one day you’ll have bodyguards of your own to be just as proud of.”

Oh my god that’s how she calls him her son. Oh my god. She’s his tiny mom and they love each other and neither of them can say it. Fuck.

#Alex Ward has proven that he can also perfectly capture angsty teenagers #I love this big crocodile baby and his tiny mom so much you guys #new favorite dynamic fr fr #Fiedra may not be the best mom but she’s HIS mom #and now she gets to be Timothy’s mom too #that little wink wink nudge nudge of don’t fuck it up is so great too #like we are not LETTING the work stop here #breaking the cycle #exu spoilers #exu crokas #exu fiedra #critical role #exu divergence #alexander ward #jasmine don

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galaxy-stardust · 3 days ago

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Time-out with the Task Force

Part 1

The cold air bit at your cheeks as you stood outside the cabin, bundled up in layers while snowflakes dusted your hair. The Task Force - or better Soap - had somehow convinced the team that a getaway in the mountains was just what they needed after their last mission. Though "getaway" mostly meant them finding new ways to mess with each other in the snow.

The cabin was beautiful, with a roaring fireplace and just enough space for the five of you to coexist without getting on each other’s nerves - at least for the first hour.

Because it took exactly one hour before all hell broke loose.

Soap had already faceplanted twice trying to start a snowball fight, Gaz built a barricade but was half-buried after a sneak attack anyways and Price was wisely staying on the porch with a hot drink, watching the chaos unfold.

Simon, of course, stood next to you, arms crossed, tried to ignore them, radiating I am not amused energy. His mask was swapped for a thick balaclava, but his eyes still held that familiar, exasperated look.

"You look like you're enjoying yourself," you teased, nudging him.

"Mm." His gaze flicked to you. "I would be, if someone wasn’t shivering like a bloody chihuahua."

"Excuse you," you huffed, pulling your scarf up higher. "I love snow."

"That why you're turnin’ blue?"

Before you could protest, he was already tugging you against him, wrapping his arms around you like a human heater. His body was a furnace, warmth sinking into your chilled limbs instantly.

"Better?" His voice was low, teasing, but the way his hands rubbed slow, comforting circles over your back made your stomach flip.

"Yeah…" You sighed, leaning into him. "You could just be nice and offer your jacket, y’know."

He huffed a laugh. "Sweetheart, you'd drown in my jacket. Don’t need you tripping over the hem like an idiot."

Before you could elbow him, a thunk sounded from behind.

Soap, grinning like an idiot, had just nailed Simon in the back of the head with a snowball.

Everything went silent.

You slowly stepped back as Simon turned, cracking his neck. "MacTavish-"

“Soap, run,” Gaz muttered.

"Oh, shite-" Soap took off, sprinting toward the trees.

But it was too late. Ghost moved fast, tackling Soap into a snowdrift.

"What are you doing?" you asked as Simon bent down.

"Ending him." He packed a disturbingly perfect snowball, testing its weight. "Dodge this, you Scottish bastard!"

And with that, Ghost launched the snowball at an alarming speed.

It hit Soap square in the back of the head, sending him sprawling into a snowbank.

For a moment, there was only stunned silence.

Then, Gaz burst out laughing, Price just shook his head, and you? You decided that this was your new favorite winter memory.

By the time Ghost emerged, triumphant and entirely unbothered by the cold, you were shivering.

“You’re frozen,” he muttered, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you inside before anyone else could argue.

You sighed in relief when the warmth of the cabin hit your face. “I told you this was a terrible idea.”

He smirked. “Not all of it was terrible.”

His hand rested at the small of your back as he guided you toward the fireplace. You felt the warmth of his palm even through the layers.

“You need to warm up,” he murmured, voice low, rough. The way he said it sent a different kind of shiver down your spine.

Something flickered in his gaze - calculated, dark, full of intent. You weren’t sure if it was the firelight or the way he was looking at you, but suddenly, you weren’t that cold anymore.

“Stay here,” he said, before disappearing down the hall.

A minute later, he returned with a thick blanket, throwing it over your shoulders. “And?” you teased, looking up at him.

He stepped closer, voice dropping to that tone that made your knees weak. “And I’m not about to let you freeze, love.”

You swallowed. The fire crackled. You weren’t sure if it was the heat from the flames or him, but warmth bloomed deep in your chest.

And then -

“OI, WHAT THE HELL, MAN?”

You turned just in time to see Soap burst in, soaked and covered in ice, dragging a very guilty-looking Gaz behind him.

Ghost sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. You stifled a laugh.

There would be no peace on this trip. But with Ghost beside you, you didn’t really mind.

Part 2

#cod #simon ghost riley #simon riley #john soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #john price #kyle gaz garrick #task force x reader #task force 141

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cosmiclily · 2 days ago

Text

chapter eleven: blurred lines

wc: 2.5k

notes: hiii!! hope everyone is well, here is a new chapter ! i love jinx in this one 😭 and also caitlyn wasn’t a bad girlfriend i just head canon modern jinx to just not like her

You woke up to the sound of your phone vibrating aggressively against your nightstand. A groggy glance at the screen revealed the caller: Archie.

It was supposed to be your day off.

After an exhausting week of nonstop promotions—and with only three days left until the album release—you all needed a moment to breathe. A chance to rest, recharge, maybe even sleep in for once. But apparently, Archie had other plans.

You groaned, blindly reaching for your phone and answering without bothering to mask your irritation.

“Someone better be dying for you to be calling me at this hour” you muttered, voice rough with sleep, eyes barely open.

“Oh, finally! Took you long enough” Archie’s voice came through the speaker, far too chipper for seven in the fucking morning. “I know it’s early, but I really needed to talk to you.”

You sighed, rubbing at your face. Archie was always a cheerful guy—you could count the number of times you'd seen him actually mad on one hand. And most of those times had been directly related to Vi’s antics. But right now? Right now, he sounded extra excited.

“To me?” you asked, frowning.

“Yes, yes—you and Violet” he said quickly. You could hear the faint shuffle of papers and the distant ringing of office phones in the background. Whatever this was, he was already deep in work mode. “Can you come down to the office, please?”

You sat up slowly, your exhaustion starting to give way to curiosity. Archie wasn’t this pushy unless it was something big.

“Should I be worried?” you asked, stretching one arm over your head.

“Not at all” he assured you. “Just get here as soon as you can.”

And so you did.

You got ready quickly, barely awake as you sent a text to Vi:

You have any idea what Archie’s on about?

She replied almost instantly.

When do we ever know what he’s planning?

Fair enough.

By the time you arrived at the office, everything looked exactly the same as it always did—the old lady at the front desk flipping through a magazine, the god-awful elevator music playing on loop, the faint hum of printers and muffled phone calls filling the air.

The only real surprise? Archie’s office wasn’t a disaster zone. Usually, it looked like a tornado had blown through—papers everywhere, coffee cups stacked like a game of Jenga, whiteboards covered in half-erased scribbles. But today? Today, everything was neatly filed, his desk actually visible for once.

That was almost more alarming than the early morning summons.

You knocked on the door, and Archie opened it almost immediately.

“What is going on?” you asked, stepping inside.

“We should wait for Violet to arrive” he said, gesturing for you to sit. “I want to have this conversation with both of you together.”

You froze for just a second, your stomach twisting.

Did he know?

No. Impossible.

There was no way he had figured out that you and Vi were sleeping together. You had been careful. No one knew.

…Right?

You forced yourself to stay relaxed, shrugging as you grabbed a mug from the small coffee station in the corner of his office. Taking a slow sip, you shot him a casual look. “Is it bad? Are we getting a lecture?”

Archie chuckled, shaking his head. “Oh, not at all. It’s actually a great opportunity to promote the band.” He flipped through a few folders on his desk, organizing them with an efficiency that definitely meant he was up to something. “And why would you need a lecture?” He suddenly looked up, raising a curious eyebrow. “Did you do something?”

You nearly choked on your coffee.

Before you could sputter out a response, the door swung open, and Vi walked in looking slightly disheveled—her short hair messier than usual, her hoodie thrown over a t-shirt like she had barely been awake when she left her place. Unfortunately, that only sent a flood of inappropriate thoughts straight to your brain. On one hand, it was a welcome distraction from whatever dreadful conversation you were about to have. On the other, it was terrible for the exact same reason. How were you supposed to focus on what Archie was saying when she looked like that?

She yawned, stretching lazily as she leaned against the doorframe, her shirt riding up just enough to show a sliver of toned stomach. “What did I do this time?”

“Nothing bad, Miss Violet. In fact, something really, really great!” Archie beamed, pulling out the chair next to you and motioning for Vi to sit.

She turned to you with a puzzled expression, silently asking if he had gone insane in the short period you weren’t in contact. You had no answer.

Vi sighed, running a hand through her already chaotic hair. “Cut the bullshit, Archie. Just tell us already.”

She got a little aggressive when she was anxious. It was hot, actually.

Archie, unfazed as ever, clasped his hands together and launched into his pitch. “So, ever since your duo video, I’ve noticed a lot of buzz surrounding you two in the fanbase—which, by the way, is growing exponentially!” He swiped at his tablet, scrolling through whatever digital evidence he had gathered. “There’s a ton of talk about your chemistry. I’ve seen a bunch of compilation videos titled things like ‘Viy/n Moments’—which, apparently, is your ship name? I don’t really get that stuff, but the kids love it.”

The more Archie spoke, the more horrified you felt—not just because of what he was saying, but because he was the one saying it. Hearing Archie use terms like ship name was possibly the worst part of this entire situation.

“And I was talking to Mark” he continued “and he said that the younger audience really latches on to this kind of thing. A romance within the band? It’s intriguing. It keeps people invested.”

Vi leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. Her face was unreadable, her gaze locked on Archie. You couldn’t tell if that was a good or bad sign.

“What exactly do you want to do with this?” she asked, her voice steady but laced with something you couldn’t quite place.

You swallowed hard, gripping your coffee cup like it was your last lifeline. Whatever Archie was about to say next, you had a sinking feeling it was going to be a lot to process.

“I was thinking…” He paused dramatically, as if waiting for you to lean in with anticipation—not that you would. “The two of you could fake an affair during promotions, and even after the album is released. We could market the hell out of it!” He grinned, clearly convinced he had just struck gold.

You blinked. Then again. Surely, you misheard him.

“What the fuck?” The words left your mouth before you could even think them through. “Why would we ever do something like that?”

Vi let out a short, amused exhale, but when you glanced at her, she didn’t seem nearly as horrified as you were. Instead, she was watching Archie with mild curiosity, like she was waiting for him to dig himself deeper.

“Hear me out!” Archie raised his hands defensively, as if expecting immediate backlash. “You don’t actually have to do anything publicly affectionate. No staged kisses, no forced hand-holding—just be seen together enough times for people to start making their own assumptions.”

You shook your head, utterly baffled. “That’s insane.”

“Is it?” Archie countered, tilting his head. “Because from what I can tell, everyone is already speculating. The fans are eating up every little glance, every interaction. And you know what happens when people think two bandmates might secretly be involved?” He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping like he was letting you in on some groundbreaking industry secret. “They get obsessed. They create theories. They analyze song lyrics. They buy into the fantasy. And that means more engagement, which means more album sales, more streams, more everything.”

You stole another glance at Vi, hoping she’d back you up, but she was still unreadable, one arm draped over the chair, her fingers tapping absentmindedly against the wood.

“You’re asking us to fake a whole-ass relationship” she finally said, her voice neutral. “You know that, right?”

Archie shrugged. “I’m asking you to lean into what people already believe.”

You felt your stomach twist uncomfortably. This was dangerous. Not just because it was manipulative, but because… well, the lines between fake and real, platonic and romantic, were already blurred enough for you. And if you agreed to this? You weren’t sure you’d be able to keep those lines from completely disappearing.

Archie must have sensed your hesitation because he softened his tone. “Just sleep on it. Talk to each other, think about it carefully, and then we’ll decide what our next step will be.”

As you and Vi left Archie’s office and stepped into the elevator, an uncomfortable silence settled between you. Despite the muffled office chatter in the background, the tension was thick, making everything feel eerily quiet.

And then, out of nowhere, Vi burst out laughing.

You turned to her, baffled, watching as she leaned against the elevator wall, wiping at the corners of her eyes.

“What is going on? Why are you laughing?” you asked, half-annoyed, half-concerned that she had officially lost her mind.

Vi shook her head, still chuckling. “I don’t know. I just think the idea is so stupid — and so funny.” She took a breath, composing herself, though the amused glint in her eyes remained. “And the worst part? I’m actually considering it.”

You blinked at her. “You’re kidding.”

She grinned. “Jinx would think this is hilarious.”

Of course. Jinx would absolutely lose her mind over something like this—teasing Vi relentlessly, probably even stirring the pot further.

You crossed your arms, trying to make sense of the situation. “So what, you’re saying you want to go along with this?”

Vi shrugged, still smirking. “I don’t know. Maybe. Could be fun.”

Fun. Right. Because pretending to be in love with someone you were already secretly sleeping with and actually had feelings for wasn’t the most reckless thing you could possibly do.

──────────────────────

“And he wanted you to what?”

Jinx’s laughter crackled through the speaker as you sat in your car, Vi lounging in the passenger seat like she didn’t have a care in the world.

After her hysterical outburst in the elevator, the two of you had decided to park somewhere quiet and call Jinx — partly to share the ridiculous news, partly to actually talk about the possibility.

“Exactly that” Vi confirmed, stretching her legs out on the dashboard like she owned the place. “Pretend we’re in a relationship because — according to him — ‘the kids love it.’” She even threw on a near-perfect impression of Archie’s accent, making Jinx cackle even harder.

“I think that would be hilarious!” Jinx wheezed between fits of laughter. Vi shot you a knowing look, one that practically screamed told you so.

Then Jinx added, “How long do you think it would take Dad to call and congratulate you?”

You furrowed your brows, glancing at Vi. “What does that mean?”

Vi rolled her eyes, but Jinx was all too happy to explain.

“Oh, you know— back when you and Vi started hanging out, Vander was constantly asking when she’d dump Caitlyn and start dating you.” Jinx’s voice dropped into a teasingly deep tone, mimicking her father. “‘She’s such a nice girl, Vi. I can see the good influence she has on you.’” She burst into laughter again.

Your mouth fell open, and you turned to Vi, stunned. “Wait — what?”

Vi groaned, rubbing a hand over her face. “Yeah, yeah, he was obsessed with the idea. Thought you were, like, my guiding light or some shit.”

You couldn’t help but snort. “Clearly, he didn’t know about all the bad decisions I make.”

“Exactly!” Jinx chimed in. “Joke’s on him, you’re both disasters.”

Vi grinned, nudging your arm with her elbow. “So? What do you think? About Archie’s idea, I mean.”

The question lingered in the air, heavier than before. Because despite how absurd it all sounded… part of you wasn’t immediately shutting it down.

“I think you should 100% go for it!” Jinx pitched, her voice sharp with mischief. “Not to bring out the dead, but I would die to see Caitlyn’s face when you make it “public” — I’m making air quotes, by the way.”

“Leave her out of this, please.” Vi’s voice dropped, a sharp edge slicing through her laid-back tone.

You watched her carefully. She tried so hard to act like she didn’t care, like a year was enough time to bury a relationship that had lasted as long as hers and Caitlyn’s. But you saw the cracks. The way she still wrote songs to and about her, lyrics laced with unresolved feelings and quiet longing.

You rolled your eyes, but Vi was too busy staring out the window to notice.

“Calm down, sis. I just think her reaction would be funny,” Jinx teased.

Vi clenched her jaw, fingers tapping an anxious rhythm against her thigh.

“It kinda would be,” you muttered, shrugging as you leaned back against your seat.

Vi turned to you, eyebrows raised. “So you actually want to do it?”

You opened your mouth to answer — but nothing came out.

Logically, it was a terrible idea. Playing pretend with Vi when your feelings for her were already a tangled mess? Letting the lines blur even more than they already had? It was practically begging for heartbreak.

But the selfish part of you? The part that wanted any excuse to be closer to her, even if it was a lie?

That part was screaming yes.

“I…” You trailed off, feeling your pulse hammer in your throat.

Vi tilted her head, watching you carefully. “Come on, you can be honest. I won’t bite.” She grinned, but her voice had softened, and the teasing edge was gone.

You took a shaky breath, fingers curling around the hem of your hoodie. “I just… I don’t want things to get weird between us,” you admitted quietly.

Vi’s expression shifted, the playfulness fading entirely. She sat up, turning toward you in her seat. “It wouldn’t” she said, her voice steady. “I swear.”

You weren’t sure you believed that.

Because for you, things were already weird. Waking up next to her, pretending the warmth of her skin against yours didn’t linger long after she left your apartment. Pretending it didn’t hurt when she flirted with other people, or when Jinx made offhand comments about her type. Pretending you didn’t catch yourself wishing, over and over, that whatever you had with her could be real.

But Vi? She didn’t seem worried at all.

And maybe that was the answer you needed.

Maybe, to her, this wasn’t a big deal. Maybe you were, again, the one making it complicated.

You forced a small smile. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

Vi’s eyes lit up, and she slapped your thigh in excitement. “Hell yeah. We’re about to break the internet.”

Jinx let out a delighted shriek through the phone. “Oh my God, I’m gonna make a fan account and start the rumors myself.”

You laughed, but the sound felt thin — like it barely masked the fear curling in your chest. This whole situation felt like walking on the edge of a cliff, the ground crumbling beneath your feet. One wrong step, one careless breeze, and you’d fall.

And if you fell?

You were terrified Vi wouldn’t be there to catch you.

──────────────────────

masterlist - chapter twelve

taglist: @saturnhas82moons @oidloid @vaebear @wicked-laugh @baylegend6 @nomarksonelegance @antobooh @80saturn @arahiraaai

#vi x reader #vi x y/n #vi x you #vi arcane #arcane #arcane x female reader #arcane x y/n #arcane x reader #arcane x you #lily writes

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anakinstwinklebunny · 3 days ago

Note

I’m afraid I’m never getting that one nerd ani/stevie req from the depths 😔

- 🐇

PAIRING: stephen glass x f!reader

FLUFF ❦

Late afternoon's friday. It's this day when STEPHEN GLASS finally gave in and laid his head down on his work desk with a tired sigh. He’s been buried in paperwork and equations for hours, scribbling away like some man possessed, like a damn hamster in a cage. So it was just a matter of time when exhaustion would slowly took over.

But still, let's get this straight, he really didn't mean to fall asleep—he really didn't—and before he knew it, he was out, snoring lightly against the pile of notes.

Minutes passed, maybe hours..hes not really sure, before the realization hit in. He fell asleep. At work. During his work. He suddenly jerked awake within a heartbeat. Hands fumbled in panic as he frantically searched the desk, knocking over a pen and a pile of papers in the process.

“Shit, shit, where are they?” He muttered to himself, hands desperately grasping at the clutter.

While he was panicking, you were walking proudly through the hallway, before crossing to the right. When you found yourself before these doors, you leaned against the doorframe of his small office room. A smile curled your lips, faint but warm. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t find my glasses!” Stephen's voice was strained, a hint of embarrassment bleeding through. “I—goddammit, where are they?!”

He stumbled to his feet, knocking into his chair, letting our a painful groan, barely catching himself before his head slammed into the wall. His eyes squinted against the harsh fluorescent lights, the edges of everything being a disgusting blur.

You stepped into the room, amused yet concerned, watching your overworked, adorable man. You offered him a soft smile, eyes softening at the sight of his ruffled hair and the slight panic that overtook him.

“You’re looking for these?” you asked gently, holding up his glasses between your fingers.

He froze, a relief and frustration rushing through him. He looked at you through his blurred vision “How did you—”

You raised an eyebrow and nodded towards the bathroom. “You left them in the bathroom, sweetie. And, you know, I couldn’t let you struggle with your favorite pair.”

Stephen blinked again, still disoriented. “I don’t—what?”

You giggled, slipping past him towards the bathroom. With slow, measured steps, you carefully cleaned his glasses under the warm water. It was almost like you were performing some kind of surgery—delicate, precise, and thoughtful.

Stephen on the other hand leanped gainst the doorway, watching you with a grateful expression. He could feel his heart do a flip and swell as he took in the sight of you, so effortlessly loving, so kind.

After a few moments, you finished cleaning his glasses and carefully tiptoed over to him. Of course, he was still standing there, blinking rapidly as if trying to make sure his brain and his body were on the same page.

“You want me to put them on for you?” you asked softly.

He chuckled nervously, face flushed. “I’m not an invalid, you know.”

But despite his straight reaction, there was a softness in his eyes, something only you could see. With gentle movement, you gently placed his glasses on his face, fingertips grazing his temple, sending a warm shiver through him.

You grinned up at him, and before he could react, you pressed a quick kiss to his lips, "There," you said softly, "all better."

His eyes softened when his gaze moved down at you. His heart race, not just because of the exhaustion and relief, but because of the overwhelming amount of love he felt for you in this simple moment.

Stephen couldn't really help himself any longer and leaned in closer, planting a second kiss on your lips. Although it was deeper this time, as if he was trying to communicate everything he couldn’t put into specific words.

“You’re too good to me,” he murmured, pulling you into him

You rested your head against his chest, letting his arms envelop your waist. "I’m just doing my job, babe."

He chuckled; a small, a little breathless sound. "Well, yu’re my favorite part of the job."

TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @divineani @haydensprettyprincess @skyguys-princess @catnipaddictt @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @jediavengers @babybell-cheese @anisluvrgirl @slutforfinnickodair @xhunnybeeex @fuckmyskywalker @gallerygourmet @ysrjune @anakinskwkler @cookybananas @emotionallybruisedx @diorvalentina @sevinax @throughparisallthroughrome @aniiuv @ritosparty @ninastyless @lily-strnlo @thesassypadawan @awhhayden @sydkneez @anisangeldust @l1ttle-misssunsh1ne @anakinca @rubiesarepretty @luluartpop @cloverina @nikiloveshayden @cherriies-snake

#bunny's replies ૮꒰ ྀི >⸝⸝⸝< ྀི꒱ა #bunny forgot but made it #hayden christensen #hayden christensen characters #hayden christensen fanfiction #christensen hayden #haydenchristensen #stephen glass x you #shattered glass #stephen glass hayden christensen #stephen glass x reader #stephen glass #stephen glass x female reader #stephen glass x y/n

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4linos · 9 hours ago

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love unmasked.

lee minho x 9th member

synopsis: despite months of quiet affection, you and minho decide to share your secret with the group. the members' reactions are a mix of laughter, teasing, and understanding.

wc: 1637

It had been months since you and Minho first started dating, and in that time, you'd grown accustomed to keeping your relationship under wraps. Every stolen glance, every quiet conversation, every brief, secret touch felt like a dangerous game you were playing with fate. You weren't sure why you were so nervous about the secret getting out, perhaps it was because you weren’t sure how the other members would react, or maybe because your connection with Minho was something so precious that you didn’t want to risk tainting it with anyone's judgment.

But the more time passed, the harder it became to keep your feelings hidden, especially when it came to moments like tonight.

It was your one-year anniversary with Minho, and even though the excitement of the day filled you with joy, there was also that familiar tension hanging in the air. You had spent the evening out together, just the two of you, laughing and sharing small, loving moments, nothing overly dramatic or showy, but everything felt perfect in its simplicity. As you made your way back to the dorms, you were still laughing, your cheeks warm from the affectionate pecks Minho had given you.

But just as you rounded the corner of the hallway, a familiar figure appeared from the end of the corridor. Hyunjin. You froze, a sudden wave of panic flooding you. Minho’s hand brushed against your back in reassurance, but your hearts raced in sync.

“Hey, where have you two been? You missed dinner,” Hyunjin asked, his eyes narrowing slightly. You could tell he was suspicious, but not entirely sure what was going on.

You took a deep breath, summoning all the acting skills you could muster. “Oh, we… we stayed back at the company for some extra practice,” you explained, trying to keep your voice calm. “Minho was helping me with some last-minute choreography for the comeback.”

Hyunjin glanced at you both, still trying to read the situation, but ultimately shrugged. “Whatever Minho says, I guess. Just don’t keep me waiting again. You two better not be doing anything weird…”

The tension in your chest eased, and you gave him a small, nervous smile. “Promise we won’t.”

Hyunjin let out a disinterested hum and walked past you, disappearing into his room.

You both knew the day would come when you would have to tell the others, but you weren’t sure if you were ready.

The next morning, practice for the comeback was intense, everyone pushing themselves harder, giving it their all. During a brief break, you found yourself sitting next to Minho. He glanced over at you, a look of quiet understanding passing between you two.

He nodded towards the group. “It’s time. We can’t keep this secret anymore.”

You hesitated for just a moment, the knot in your stomach tightening. But deep down, you knew Minho was right. It had to happen. And as much as it terrified you, it would be a relief to stop hiding.

You cleared your throat, catching the attention of the others. Everyone turned towards you, curiosity flickering in their eyes.

“Minho,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the butterflies in your stomach. “Can you tell them?”

Minho didn’t hesitate. He looked around at the members, his gaze briefly meeting yours before he spoke without sugarcoating. “Y/N and I have been dating for a year now.”

The room went silent. The members blinked at him, the words hanging in the air like an unexpected punch. Then, Seungmin suddenly burst into laughter, his face lighting up with amusement. “What?” he gasped, wiping a tear from his eye. “It was so obvious!”

The rest of the members exchanged confused looks. Some were surprised by the news, others confused by Seungmin’s reaction. “What do you mean, ‘obvious’?” you asked, feeling your cheeks heat up.

Seungmin grinned and leaned back. “Well, remember that time I woke up in the middle of the night to get a glass of water? I saw you two in the kitchen kissing. You said you were just having a midnight snack, but… uh, your lipstick was smudged, Y/N, and Minho had some around his lips too.”

You buried your face in your hands, mortified. Minho rolled his eyes, nudging you softly. “I told you so.”

You groaned in embarrassment, your face burning bright red. Seungmin’s laugh didn’t make it any better, but his teasing only made the situation more surreal. “I mean, you two were pretty obvious. And let’s not even talk about how you guys act around each other. Like, seriously, we all knew.”

Minho chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re impossible, Seungmin.”

As everyone processed the news, Hyunjin suddenly spoke up, a light chuckle escaping his lips. “Honestly, I didn’t know,” he admitted. “But now that you mention it, I should’ve figured it out after last night. You two lied about staying late for practice, didn’t you?”

You winced, feeling caught. But you could only shrug sheepishly. “Yeah… we were kind of trying to avoid getting caught.”

Chan, ever the level-headed leader, broke in with a smile, trying to ease the mood. “I’m happy for you two, really. But you have to be careful. You’re both in the public eye. It’s cute, though. You two are adorable together.”

The warmth from his words settled in your chest, and even though you were still a little nervous, you felt relieved. It was done. Everyone knew.

There were no more secrets. And as awkward as it might be at times, it felt good to be able to hold Minho’s hand without the weight of hiding it from the members.

That night, after practice, the group gathered in the dorm living room to wind down, everyone sitting around on the couches, catching their breath after the intense rehearsal. The air felt lighter now that the secret was out, and you found yourself sitting next to Minho, your hands brushing occasionally, and not having to hide it.

Seungmin, ever the mischievous one, had a big grin plastered on his face. “Honestly, I’m still kind of shocked you two managed to hide it for so long,” he said, leaning back on the couch with his arms crossed. “You guys were so obvious. The kitchen kiss? Please.”

You felt your cheeks redden again, but Minho just rolled his eyes, clearly used to Seungmin’s teasing by now. “You could’ve kept that to yourself, you know.”

“I couldn’t resist,” Seungmin said, laughing. “But seriously, I’m glad you two are together. You’ve always been so… cute, I guess,” he added, shrugging as though the comment wasn’t that big of a deal.

The rest of the members chimed in, and what followed was a wave of lighthearted teasing, but it was clear no one was upset or bothered by the news. In fact, they seemed mostly excited. Chan was the first to speak seriously.

“I’m happy for you both,” he said, offering you both an understanding smile. “Just be careful with how you handle things in public. You know how fans and the media can be. But other than that, just make sure you take care of each other.”

“Yeah,” Changbin added with a smirk. “We don’t need any extra distractions. Especially during comeback preparation. Focus on that first, yeah?”

Minho nodded. “We will. We’re not letting this get in the way of our work.”

As the night went on, the group shifted back to their usual rhythm. The teasing and congratulations continued, but it was clear that everyone accepted your relationship. It felt strange, in a way like a new chapter had opened and things were slightly different, but also not. You were still a part of Stray Kids, still the same group of people who’d spent years together, and nothing about that had changed.

The next few days at practice felt different, but in a good way. There was a new sense of ease between you and Minho, a quiet acknowledgment of your relationship in the air. Still, the dynamic of the group hadn’t shifted. Everyone was still working hard toward the comeback, and despite the occasional teasing from Seungmin, things felt balanced.

But the true test came the next evening when you and Minho were in the kitchen alone, preparing your dinner after a long day of rehearsals. The members had already gone to bed, and it was just the two of you, standing in the quiet kitchen, your hands brushing as you passed ingredients to each other.

Minho opened the fridge and pulled out some fruit, then handed you a bowl. “I’m glad things are normal, even after all of that,” he said quietly, his voice soft. “I was worried it might get awkward.”

You smiled at him, heart warming at his words. “Yeah, me too. But I think everyone just wants us to be happy. Even if it means they have to deal with Seungmin’s constant teasing.”

Minho laughed, a low, soft sound. “I think I can deal with Seungmin. As long as you’re happy.”

You stepped closer to him, resting your hand on his arm. “I am. And I’m happy we’re doing this together.”

Minho’s eyes softened, and he gently pulled you into him for a quick hug. “Me too,” he murmured, his voice steady with affection. You held onto him for a moment longer, enjoying the quiet, simple comfort of being with him without any pretense.

masterlist.

[a/n: i have many 9th member requests that i’m working on. i hope u all enjoy 🥰]

❌proofread

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bonnie-the-butcher · 17 hours ago

Text

Rip Tide | Chapter XIV

[ MDNI ] [ word count: 9.280 ] [ Masterlist ] 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬: Canonverse/Canon-Divergent; Dark! Content; NSFW; Strong Language; Cheating; Drug Use; Mentions of overdose; Some shades of Munchausen syndrome from dear old Rafe; Manipulation; Toxic, obsessive behaviour; Stalking; Violence; DUBCON/NONCON; My writing is really pretentious and English is not my first language, so please feel free to call me out in whichever grammar mistakes you might find find.

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | You and JJ have always been in each other's orbit. He's your brother’s best friend, the guy you've known your entire life. He was kind, protective, familiar. You never meant for the two of you to start hooking up. And you never meant for it to last so long. But when this boy you thought you'd come to know like the back of your hand turns out to be no better than the men he'd warned you about, you find yourself in the sights of the guy he hates most, regardless of wether you want that or not.

Likes, asks, reblogs, and comments are always greatly appreciated! Thank you in advance for reading <3

You don’t remember the bus ride.

You don’t remember getting off the bus, you don't remember stepping through the station doors, and you don't remember the cold blast of air conditioning hitting your skin.

You’re here.

You know you are.

But it barely feels like it.

The moment you step foot in the precinct, something else hits you, and you’re sure that this won’t go over well. There’s people all over the place, running like headless chickens under the violently bright lights, pushing past both officers and civilians, as if a tragedy had just occurred.

Your heart sinks, beating at a speed that only panic can bring it to, and you only narrowly avoid colliding with other people as your feet rapidly tread the familiar path to Sheriff Peterkin’s office.

It's only John. You tell yourself. He fucked up again, they called me over here for bail. Nothing’s wrong. Everything’s fine. Everything’s fine.

But you don’t believe it.

Within the fear you’re feeling, all your thoughts feel off, untrue, as if the words that echo in your mind are the jumbled leftovers of someone else’s internal monologue, all mismatched fears and incoherent paranoias.

There was an ambulance outside, you suddenly recall. Its doors open, a single paramedic sitting within, his legs dangling over the ground as he toyed at his phone, mumbling frantically into the speaker. You pass another on your way, this one much more composed, resolute, almost angry.

You don’t know what to think.

You don’t want to be relieved in fear that if something bad truly happened, then the disconnect between your past calm and the dread that might hit you will send you spiraling into something you won’t be able to pull yourself from again.

It’s like a deja vu.

Suddenly, it’s your seventeenth birthday again, and you’re coming into the station to ID a body they think it’s your dad’s— The paramedics sit outside, talking to each other like nothing’s happening. You’re wearing a shirt that belonged to him, and sandals you stole from his friends’ daughter, standing before Peterkin and the pity on face, as you hold your phone in your hand, praying that John won’t call to ask what you’re doing.

She puts her hands on your shoulder and guides you to a little room at the end of the hall.

The body on the table lays like a stone, the coroner standing guard over it like a sentinel, his eyes fixed on you with the coldness of glacier as he opens the bag.

Discolored skin, bloated flesh, a beard that’s only been barely cleaned of the blood spilling from the cut up mouth. A row of toothless gums gape at you, darkened, the blood dry but the lips still glazed over. “That’s not my father,” You say, and you don’t know if you’re crying from mourning or from relief. You hear the words bouncing against the walls of your skull, but when they pull the zipper closed on the body bag, it’s John’s face disappearing under the plastic.

You stumble, and your heart stops painfully before kicking right back to the break-neck speed of before.

Your hands are shaking as you clutch your bag tighter, vision fraying at the edges, and you hold onto the wall for a moment before walking again.

Peterkin’s door is only an arm’s length away when something else startles you, and your feet stumble again as you recoil. Someone’s voice cuts through the air, sharp, urgent. It takes you a moment to realize that this person shouted your name.

You flinch before you even see him, before you process the way he’s already half-risen from his seat, fighting against Pope’s grip on his arm.

JJ.

Your eyes scan over him quickly. He has a split brow, apart from the bruises that Barry left on him. His breath is frantic, but he doesn’t seem like he’s grieving. He’s not crying. And for a half a beat, your heart calms down.

– Just—Just listen to me, okay? Look— This was an accident. It wasn’t our fault. We didn’t do anything. – His voice is pleading, his face wrecked with something painful —guilt, regret, maybe worry— you can’t read him, your eyes focused on the blood of his split brow, still fresh over the settling watercolor of black and blue that paints his skin. His eyes try to find yours, glassy, desperate. – It wasn’t our fault. – He repeats, taking a step towards you, hands up like a beggar. – We didn’t do anything.

Pope pulls at him again, trying to get him to sit down. His jaw is set, he doesn’t seem hurt, but the twinge of disapproval he sends JJ gives you pause. Kie is there too, rigid, tense, arms crossed tightly over her chest, but she doesn’t look at you, she just sits there, staring at the floor.

JJ calls your name again, extends a hand, beckoning you to come over, like the needs you near.

You don't move. Your feet are rooted on the ground and your heart is racing. Your mouth opens, but you don’t recognize the voice that comes out. – What did he do? What did you do? Where is he?

– We didn’t do anything. – He pleads.

– Didn’t do anything?! – Another voice. Louder. Angry. Your eyes dart towards the person, but you meet two. From further into the hall, Kelce and Topper are standing next to an officer, the blond boy facing the cop as Kelce stares right at JJ. – You didn’t do anything?! You could have fucking killed us!

JJ’s eyes don’t stray from yours. – Just listen no me—

– You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me! – Kelce’s laughter is edged with contempt. – Listen to what? You psychopaths ram your piece of shit car into us for almost a mile and I’m supposed to buy that it was a mistake?

– A mile? What— JJ, what did you—

– Baby, I swear we didn’t do anything, they tried to run us off the road and we—

– We tried to run you off the road?! Are you fucking high?!

– You were screaming at us! – JJ growls, rage surging through him. Pope finally stands up, his own anger clear on his face as he tries to push JJ back to his seat, but the blonde boy only wrenches away again, looking at you. – They were trying to make us crash!

– What did you just fucking say?!

Your mind tunes out JJ’s response, spinning. They shout over one another, back and forth, words tangling together into an incomprehensible mess of rage and self-righteousness that you can’t even begin to process.

Your head is splitting.

Your breath is shallow.

And then—

A hand on your shoulder.

– Routledge. – Peterkin’s hand rests on you, that strange, almost artificial look on her face. She’s still as a statue, looking at you as if you’re a puzzle, something for her to solve. – Come on in.

You weren’t ready for the touch.

Your stomach drops before your brain catches up.

You turn. Slowly. Out of body.

And you see them.

Ward. John. Rafe.

Waiting.

She pulls you in until you move, closing the door behind you with an uncanny calm. All you hear are the muffled remnants of the chaos outside and the sound of your own pulse.

John is there, your hands reach for him before you can stop yourself, on his shoulder, his arm, his face, as if confirming he's there.

He's alive.

It's not a dream.

You pull away as if his touch had burned you. You’re close enough to the door that a single step back has you pressed against it.

Your hands are trembling.

– You could have told me what was happening.

You only realized it was you who said it after Peterkin briefly pauses to look at you.

– Sorry, Routledge?

– You could have told me what was happening. – You're still shaking, but it's not from worry anymore. – Do you have any idea of what I was thinking? You call me in here, refuse to answer any of my questions, talking like the second tower is coming down and when I get here there’s a fucking ambulance parked outside!

– Don’t curse at me.

– I THOUGHT HE WAS DEAD, PETERKIN! I thought my brother was dead! And that’s exactly what you wanted, too! Isn’t it?!

– Look, Routledge, I understand you’re worried but let’s calm—

– DON’T!— You cut yourself off, hands on your temples. – Don’t tell me to calm down, please.

– I’m trying to help you out here, Routledge.

– You’re trying to fuck with me, is what you’re doing. You can tell me to come ID a body over the phone, you can tell me that you need me to sign the papers for my father’s death over the phone, you can tell me, as you have done many times before, that he was detained for this or that crime. What was I supposed to think, when you refused to tell me what was going on?!

John cuts in. – You’re overreacting.

– If I need an inmate's opinion on how to properly express my feelings I'll send a letter to Timothy Leary. At least he has a degree, the only thing you have to show for is an orange jumpsuit.

– What did you just—

– You wanna talk shit? Get someone else to pay for bail every time you fuck up. In the meantime, you can sit your ass down and keep your mouth shut.

John’s face twists, fury flashing in his eyes, but before he say anything else, Peterkin’s voice cuts through the air like a whip.

– Enough. – Her voice reaps the momentum from you. – If you two want to bicker like children, do it somewhere else. You’re in a police station.

A sharp silence follows.

John is still fuming, still gripping the arms of his chair, still seething like he might say something else.

But you don’t care.

You don’t look at him. Your anger is still focused on Peterkin, that rage that feels like an edgeless life, pointed but unthreatening, until it boils over. – Well, are you gonna tell me what happened or do you have any mind games to get out of your chest beforehand?

– Don't you talk to me like that!

– How else do you expect the girl to talk to you after you made her believe her brother was dead, Sheriff? – Your eyes flick towards Ward, the last person you would expect to back you up. His eyes move slowly, between her and you. His face taken by an expression so calm it almost feels unnatural.

Peterkin’s jaw tightens.

Her eyes flick to Ward, then back to you.

– I didn’t make her believe anything. – She says it slowly, controlled, but her fingers press just a little too hard against the desk.

– No? – Ward’s brows lift slightly, his tone light, almost teasing, and it comes so clearly to you then, because its the same face Rafe makes when he’s about to do something reckless. – Then what exactly would you call it?

Peterkin exhales, pressing her lips together before turning her gaze fully on you.

– Your brother and his friend— She glances at John, then at the door, like she can still hear JJ’s shouting. —decided to use their vehicle as a weapon. I assume you already pieced that together.

Your pulse skips.

John shifts beside you. – We were defending ourselves, – He mutters, but Peterkin doesn’t even acknowledge him.

Her focus stays on you. – That means reckless endangerment, destruction of property, possible assault charges—depending on what the Camerons want to pursue.

Your stomach turns.

You’re waiting for Ward to jump in, to press the issue, to demand the worst punishment possible.

But he doesn’t.

He leans forward, forearms resting on the table.

– I’m willing to be reasonable about this.

You blink.

Peterkin does too.

Rafe does a double take, the first sound he makes is a sound of outrage.

– You are? – Your voice coincides with Peterkin’s, both of you unable to hide your confusion.

Ward nods, shifting slightly. He looks at you when he speaks next. – What John did was reckless, yes. But he's young. He has a younger sister to look after.

– Look after? – Rafe scoffs, a bitter noise, so similar to the one his father made earlier today, like the warning sound of a rattlesnake. – This psychopath? Oh, yeah. He’s looking after her for sure. – He reaches for your arm, tugging so suddenly you nearly double over. – Look how well he’s been taking care of her these last few days.

– Let go of her, Rafe! Get your hands off of her!

– What?! You jealous I might be bruising her instead of you? You can’t handle that, can you, you sick fuck?!

John lunges.

He doesn’t think. He doesn’t stop.

His chair scrapes violently against the floor, hands already grabbing for Rafe, the heat of his rage flaring so fast, so violently, that you barely have time to process it.

But your body moves before your brain does. Your hands slam against his chest. Hard.

He stumbles back into his seat.

– Sit. Down.

His eyes widen. Not in shock. Not in fear. In something else. – He just said—

– Sit the fuck down, John B. I’m not playing with you.

The room is dead silent.

John is breathing hard, chest rising and falling rapidly as you step back.

Rafe is smiling. Smug. Triumphant. Like you’ve just proven his fucking point.

Your stomach twists.

Because you know exactly what he’s about to say before he even says it. – You see this shit? Can’t even talk to him wrong and he’s already jumping to fucking beat someone up!

Peterkin shoots Rafe a warning glance.

– That’s enough! – She growls. – This isn’t a boxing ring. This isn’t a school playground. You want to fight? Do it after!

But Rafe’s not done. He laughs, shaking his head, and Ward steps towards him, pulling him back onto his chair. – Would you stop acting like a child for a minute?!

His jaw tightens, his fingers drumming aggressively against his knee, eyes blazing with disbelief. – Dad, are you fucking kidding me?

– Language, Rafe!

– No, fuck that, – Rafe snaps, his voice low, shaking with something dark. He leans forward, his knuckles pressing into the desk. – John B could’ve killed me. Killed us. Topper and Kelce too. And you’re sitting here acting like he’s some poor fucking kid just trying to take care of his baby sister when the only thing he does is fuck her up!

He laughs, sharp, bitter.

Your stomach twists violently. – Don’t do this right now, Rafe.

– Tell me I’m wrong. – He sits back, looking at you with those wide eyes, almost playing at innocence, but the tick in his jaw is as dangerous as any car crash.

The room stills.

You feel Ward watching you, but your eyes are locked onto Rafe.

You don’t know what to say. Because he’s right. But that doesn’t mean he should be saying it.

Ward exhales slowly, deliberate. – I get that you’re angry, son. But this isn’t about anger. It’s about fairness.

– Fairness? – Rafe’s voice practically drips with disbelief. – And what exactly is fair about him walking out of here with a slap on the wrist?

Ward tilts his head slightly, watching him, measuring him. – Be reasonable, son.

Rafe’s voice is a growl. – How the fuck am I supposed to be reasonable when this piece of shit just tried to kill me?! Look at me! – Rafe slowly, deliberately, raises his left hand. His fingers are stiff, the skin bruised and swollen, his wrist wrapped in a temporary splint. His right arm doesn’t move at all. Because it can’t. He turns to you suddenly, his eyes desperate. – Look at what he did to me! – He tilts his head slightly, watching your face, measuring your reaction. – You see this? – His voice is low, gravelly, almost affectionate. – You see what he did to me? That was supposed to be you.

The words land like a gunshot.

– You think he wouldn’t do this to you? – Rafe’s voice drops even lower, almost gentle now, almost pitying. – You think he won’t put his hands on you the second you stop being useful to him? That he’ll keep just grabbing without beating forever?

Your brother seethes. – Shut the fuck up, Rafe!

But Rafe ignores him, moving towards you. Slow. Sharp. Dangerous.

– Tell me I’m wrong. – He begs, quiet, almost frantic. – You know I'm not. You know it.

The words land like a knife between your ribs. John is breathing hard beside you, hands clenched into white-knuckled fists. – I’m fucking warning you, Rafe!

But Rafe doesn’t care. He doesn’t even look at him. He’s still watching you. Still measuring you. – Baby, please. – Your stomach twists. It’s so quiet. So gentle. So sincere. But his eyes are anything but. There’s a glint to that unnatural blue, a glint that’s almost satisfied. – He’s not gonna stop. You know that. Maybe he hasn’t hit you yet, maybe he still thinks he needs you, but what happens when he doesn’t? What happens when you stop bending over backwards for him? When you stop cleaning up his messes? When you stop taking care of him?

John shoves forward again, but Ward’s hand flies out, stopping him.

– I swear to fucking God, Rafe—

– Baby, – He whispers, quiet, but the word carries an intimacy that’s almost foreign, as if he’s whispering your name, or something beyond your name, the name of an alter ego that only he sees. – He’s already using you! Why do you think he called you here?! – Rafe snaps, suddenly, the 180 degree shift from plea to violence sending you stumbling back. His injured wrist twitches. Like he’s reminding you it’s broken. Like he’s reminding you that this could be you. You feel your pulse hammering in your throat, in your ears, behind your eyes. And Rafe sees it.

He sees it, you know he does. – You’re better than this. – He’s closer now, and his voice cracks—not with anger, but with something far worse. – Better than this fucking lunatic.

John lunges.

And this time you don’t stop him.

You don’t move. You don’t flinch. You just watch.

John throws himself over Rafe, the two of them colliding violently, crashing down together.

Rafe’s back slams into the floor. His head cracks against the chair leg. A grunt—sharp, pained, breathless. John is on him in an instant. And Rafe fights back. Even with only one working hand, even with his wrist still in a splint, he still swings, claws, thrashes, snarls.

For a second you don’t think he feels the pain at all.

You don’t think he cares.

He’s too angry. Too fucking thrilled that John finally snapped.

Peterkin stutters beside you, words caught between shock and outrage. Ward takes a step back, his fists clenching, his mouth parting—

But neither of them move.

Neither of them do anything.

Not until you do.

Not until you step forward, grab John by the hair of his nape, and yank him back.

Not until you shove him down, back into his seat, hard enough that the chair groans beneath him.

His chest is heaving, his knuckles battered, shaking, curling into fists again—

And Rafe is laughing.

He stays on the floor, head tipped back, breathing ragged, grinning through split lips and bruised skin. Like he just won.

Like this was never about the fight—

It was about getting John to throw the first punch.

You let it happen.

And you would again.

– Jesus Christ, – Peterkin breathes. She’s already moving toward them, toward you, but Ward holds a hand up.

Calm. Measured.

Like this is only a minor inconvenience.

– I believe we’ve all made our points quite clearly, Sheriff. – There’s a twinge of emotion in his voice. It slips before he can stop it. Anger. – We’re not pressing charges.

Your pulse races, you turn to him so fast you almost get whiplash, because you can hear Rafe’s rage before he even murmurs it. And his eyes are already on you. His jaw set, the amusement, the cold, the glint in his eye, all of it gone.

– You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.

– Get up Rafe.

– Fuck off, dad. I’m pressing charges. I’m an adult I can—

– I’m not telling you again!

– He nearly fucking KILLED me, dad! Does that shit not matter to you?!

Ward doesn’t answer. Doesn’t even look at him. He just grabs Rafe’s arm and yanks him to his feet.

It’s rough. Too rough.

Rafe stumbles forward, nearly crashing into his father’s chest, and for a second he freezes.

His breath stutters.

His good hand fists at his side.

And you see it—

The barest flicker of something else. Something ugly. Something helpless. Something that only lasts a second before he swallows it down, before it calcifies back into anger.

– You’re unbelievable. – He breathes.

Ward lets go of him like it's nothing.

Like he’s nothing.

And Rafe shoves past him, shoves past you, shoves past Peterkin. The door slams behind him, hard enough that the fame shakes, and the four of you are left there, in the silence. The tense, cold, unbearable silence of whatever it was that just happened before your eyes.

– Mr. Cameron—

Peterkin starts, but she doesn’t finish. Ward raises one hand, sinking his face into the other, massaging his temples with a heavy breath. – Don’t. – Is all he says. For a moment you’re all waiting again, your hand resting still on your brother’s shoulder, frozen, as his heartbeat falls back into a normal pace. – Miss Routledge, I’ll see you again tomorrow. – He makes a move towards the door, but stops again. – If you could talk to Rafe, make him—

He trails off.

You’re not sure what exactly he wants you to do, calm him, plead with him, make him think this is somehow better than whatever else he planned to do. But you nod, and nonetheless, you tell him: – Yes, sir.

His eyes remain on yours for a moment, then he nods too, and the door closes behind him.

– I thought you were a chef, – John says, his tone as petulant as his expression. – Not a babysitter.

You don’t dignify his words with an answer.

Clutching your purse to your side, you turn your attention to Peterkin, who’s standing at the edge of her desk, still staring at the door. – What now, Sheriff?

She takes a moment to look away from the door, but when she does, she’s scanning you. You feel her eyes linger on your arms, on John’s hand, still tight around your wrist, around your neck. – You can go, John B. I need to talk to your sister for a minute.

– Anything you’re telling her you can say to me.

She smiles, laughs, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. – Get out of my office before I have you removed. – She warns. – This is your third strike, by the way. Next time you’re detained, she won’t be able to bail you out.

He seems shocked for a moment, his lips part, and close again, gaze drifting towards you as if he’s expecting you to say something, to have his back.

You don’t.

– Don’t make me tell you twice.

He blinks, confused, but does as he’s told. His hand brushing your arm quietly as he stands. – We'll talk outside.

Silence engulfs you once again as the door closes behind him.

– Sit.

Peterkin doesn’t look at you when she says it.

She’s still watching the door, her fingers tapping lightly against the edge of her desk, lips pressed together like she’s thinking —really thinking— about something she’s not saying out loud.

– I'd rather not. But thank you, Sheriff.

She exhales slowly, finally shifting her gaze back to you, and for the first time today, you’re not sure what she’s about to say.

– Suit yourself. – There's an edge to her words. Something like amusement. Something you've come to know much better after meeting Ward Cameron. – That was quite the show, – She muses, almost idly, the tap of her fingers the only sound between you for a minute. – Do you always find yourself in the middle of the Camerons’ problems?

You stiffen, raising your eyes, a quiet, humorless laugh escaping you. – How many episodes of NYPD Blue did you have to watch to get the finger-tapping down?

– I asked you a question.

– An irrelevant question. I work for the Camerons, I'm sure you gathered that, so, what’s the problem here?

– I’m just trying to get to know you, Routledge.

You laugh again. – If you want a date, you'll have to wait a while. I'm not of age just yet.

She smiles, ignoring your teasing. – Your brother is always around here, and you're cleaning up his messes, his friend's messes too, and that boy's, Barry, right? – She hums, sitting back on her chair. You don't answer, tilting your head. – But still, it's like I don't know you at all.

Her eyes flick over you —your bruises, the faint red mark on your wrist where John grabbed you, the wrinkles in your top from Rafe’s earlier grip.

– If you wanna get to know me so bad, maybe you should stop talking in circles.

Peterkin laughs, a soft rumble that echoes around you both as she leans back on her chair, the light of the morning just beginning to stream through the slits of her windows.

You're not sure whether its genuine or if she's just a good actress, but you fake a smile nonetheless.

– It's funny, y'know. – She shakes her head, still laughing. – I keep forgetting you’re your mother's daughter. Even though the two of you are exactly the same.

The words sting you.

Peterkin knows they would. But the questions sit at the tip of your tongue, like they do every time someone mentions her. How was she? Are we that similar? Do we look alike?

You don't know why you want to ask.

You've never heard anyone say one good thing about her. To her face or to her back.

– She liked her boys a little bad, too. Just like you do. – The woman says, as if she could hear you thinking. – Only she wasn't the one cleaning up the messes, no. She was the one getting them into it.

– Like your daughter, then? – You ask. Peterkin's smile falters for a moment. – I know how to play dirty too, Sheriff. So if you're looking to get something out of me by talking about my mother, I suggest you rethink your approach.

She's quiet for a minute.

– I'm not trying to get anything from you, girl. We're just talking.

– So I can go then?

She's quiet again.

– It’s a free country, miss Routledge. – You step towards the door, reaching for the handle, but then, just as always, the moment you twist it open, she speaks again. – Does he always call you that? – Peterkin almost seems amused. – Does he make it a point to stretch it out every single time he says it, too? – You don't look at her, but you don't move either. – That’s what he used to call your mother too. Did you know that?

– Probably had something to do with the fact that that was her name, right? Or maybe I'm missing some vital clue here.

– He was real fond of her. Bailed her out a bunch of times. Every time she got in trouble, there was Ward to save her ass. – She pauses for longer then, and steps up, nearing you. – Like you and that boy, JJ. Does your brother know you two are so close?

– You monitoring my friends now?

She laughs again, the sound like a bullet. – Is that what you call it?

– It's what your daughter called it. They used to be real close. And then one day, they took a trip to Charlotte, stayed there a couple of hours, came back looking like they'd been to a funeral, and never spoke again. Funny that.

You twist the handle again, but just as the door open, Peterkin slams it closed. – Don't you talk to me like that!

– Rules for me and not for thee? Thought you were better than this, Sheriff.

– I'm the one trying to help you here, Routledge!

– How?! – Your patience is gone. Drained. And you feel a surge of rage that's all too familiar as you look her in the eye. – By blackmailing me with little fun facts about my mom? It might come off as a shock to you, Peterkin, but I don’t need to know anything else about her. I know what I need. She's gone. You know she's gone. And you know she was not a good mother. You were the one who broke the case, remember?! But you weren’t a Sheriff back then were you? No. You got that promotion right off of my broken bones. Never got the chance to congratulate you, did I? I was too busy bleeding out.

Peterkin’s face darkens.

The fake amusement, the carefully measured patience, the knowing jabs, gone. – Watch yourself. – She warns. Her voice is low. Calm. The kind of calm your mother showed you before she started up again.

Before she did what she did best —hurt you.

You don’t back down, because it's the only thing you could ever do with your mother. You meet her stare, shoulders squared, mouth set, pulse hammering, and swallow your tears.

She shakes her head, exhales sharply through her nose.

– I’ve seen girls like you before, – She says, the anger in her voice almost pitying. Almost. – Too sharp for their own good. Too mouthy. Think they’re playing the game when they don’t even know what the game is. – Her head tilts, slow, deliberate. – You think Ward Cameron is your friend? That Rafe is? You think you’re gonna play the same games you play with that poor little idiot JJ, and your friend, the drug dealer? You think he’s gonna protect you? That any of them are?

You don’t answer.

Peterkin steps closer.

– Let me tell you something, miss Routledge. – Her voice drops lower. – You know a lot of men, don't you? You've gotten around. – You laugh, bitter, but she doesn’t stop there. – You ever seen a man let go of something he thinks belongs to him?

The room is dead silent.

You swallow.

Your throat is dry.

– You think you’re free? – Peterkin whispers, almost taunting. – You ain’t even close.

She leans back, watching you.

She lets the words hang between you, stretching the silence out until it feels like a weight.

– You can go.

And this time, she doesn’t stop you.

You don’t even register the sound of the door closing behind you.

Not at first.

The moment you step outside, something cracks.

It's small. Invisible to everyone but you.

But you feel it.

You feel it in the way your breath catches, in the way your shoulders shake, in the way your hands clench and unclench uselessly at your sides, like they don’t know what to do with themselves.

It was just words.

Just words.

But they sit in your chest like a stone.

You exhale sharply, trying to steady yourself, trying to ground yourself, but the ground feels off. Like it’s shifting beneath you, tilting under the weight of everything you’ve been pretending isn’t there.

And then—

A voice.

A presence.

A reminder that you’re not alone.

You don’t know who sees you first.

You don’t care.

Because they’re all there.

Ward and Rafe, standing by the steps, watching.

John, JJ, Pope, Kie, Sarah—all of them in the hallway, caught mid-conversation, watching.

You know what they see.

Your face.

Your hands.

The barely-there sheen of tears in your eyes, threatening to spill before you even realize they’re there.

You move.

Quickly.

Before anyone can say anything, before anyone can step closer, before anyone can ask.

You push forward, barely thinking, barely breathing, moving down the steps so fast the station around you is a blur.

Your fingers are already reaching.

Pocket. Box. Lighter. Cigarette.

You shove it between your lips, flick the lighter open, but your hands are still shaking, and it takes you a couple tries before the flame catches, a flutter of smoke floating around you, heavy and thoughtless like the beat of your heart.

You inhale like it’ll save you.

Like it’ll fix whatever is clawing at your throat, sitting heavy in your chest, making it impossible to breathe.

But of course, it doesn’t.

Peterkin was cruel, but that doesn’t mean she wasn’t right.

All your life you’ve been hoping someone will save you, ease the burden off your shoulders, pull you out of the depths you keep being thrown back into. But not only does that person never come, the ones that do always seem to kick you back down when you’re standing.

You should have learned the lesson from your mother —Three years of age, and people already looked away from the bruises, ignored the crying, pretended not to hear the screams.

Peterkin got to you too late, when she was already leaving.

When she had no more blood to take from you.

But you didn’t learn the lesson, and it came back to bite you with your father.

Then your brother.

Then the other kids at school.

Then the ones you thought that were your friends.

And at last you were all alone, you and Barry, who bailed at every opportunity, who broke your heart again and again, and who, till this day, you could never part from.

No matter how much you thought you learned, history always repeated itself.

It was already coming back to you.

Because you hear the familiar steps before he calls your name, before he's reaching for you.

JJ moves too fast.

Drops down next to you like he’s forgotten everything. Like he’s forgotten what he did to you just days ago. Like he's forgotten that he nearly killed you. Like he's forgotten he told you he never wanted to see you again.

His hands hover—over your knee, your arm, your wrist. Hesitating. Wanting to touch. Wanting you to let him.

Like nothing’s changed.

Like he didn’t kick you out.

Like he didn’t turn his back on you.

But he catches himself.

Clears his throat.

His face is wracked with guilt, you see it from the corner of your eye as you look ahead. That same boyish, reckless thing he does when he’s trying to pretend nothing’s wrong.

When he’s trying to get back on your good side.

When he’s trying to make you forget.

– Baby, – His palm presses against your thigh, warm, grounding. Like he’s offering something. Like he’s trying to fix things with just a touch. His knuckles are bruised. His palm is calloused.

Your cigarette trembles between your fingers.

You should tell him to fuck off.

But that’s exactly what he wants. He wants you to give him something, something he can twist and turn until he's the victim, until he can get you back. So you don't say anything. You just stare at the pavement, silent.

JJ hates silence.

– You’re good, right? Peterkin didn't— I mean, you look good. Like, really good.

He’s overcompensating.

His hand squeezes your thigh, he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. He’s just desperate to keep touching you, because it makes him feel like this isn’t nothing, that you’re doing it for him.

– You shouldn’t worry about her. Peterkin, I mean. She likes to get into people's heads. It's like, her favorite sport or something.

You exhale, the smoke billowing away from his face, still hanging between you.

– You know, I was thinking, – He says, voice light, too light, like he’s hoping you’ll play along. – Maybe we should just go home after this, right? Rest. I'm tired, really tired— I, I couldn’t sleep right, so— I could drive you. John B’s going with Sarah anyway, Kie's probably gonna drive Pope. – He's looking at you, his breathing heavy, his knee bouncing. He's getting anxious. – You should rest too, baby. – His hand drifts over your back, you have to fight the urge to recoil. – You looked so pale when you came in, so dizzy. I thought you were gonna faint. I'll take care of you, you know that, right? – His breath fans over your shoulder, eyes wandering over your face. – Do you feel any better? You— You look better.

It unnerves you.

Discomforts you.

You don’t know what to do. You should get up, leave him talking to himself, but that would give him an excuse to chase you, and you know you can't outrun him.

– They fired you, right? – You blink. Slow. JJ’s still watching you, still too fucking close, still with his hand on your thigh, and something flickers in his face. Relief. It’s quick. Barely there. But you see it. And you know what it is. He thinks you’re done with the Camerons. He thinks that you have nowhere else to go, so he can get you to come home. – Don’t— Don't worry about that, okay? I know it seems like a lot now, but you'll get another job, just like you did before.

You don’t answer.

You don’t move.

You just breathe, the cigarette burning between your fingers, your stomach twisting tight.

Footsteps echo behind the two of you.

Sharp. Angry.

Then a voice.

– She wasn’t fired, were you Y/n? – He laughs, you can hear the rest of them coming behind him, Pope's eyes meet yours through the glass, and he lowers them immediately. Embarrassed. – No, her boyfriend made sure he had his favorite servant close at all times.

JJ tenses. He looks between you and John, hesitant.

You look up at your brother, his hands shaking at his sides, restless. He doesn’t stop moving for a moment, looking all over, at you, at the ground, at the pavement behind you. JJ’s hand is gone. Like he already knows he has to put distance between you.

You stare at John, your cigarette burning down between your fingers, the taste of nicotine heavy on your tongue.

You don’t say anything.

Not at first.

You just stare at him, waiting for him to dig his own grave. Because you know he will. John isn’t the type to sit in silence. He needs you to react, and when you don’t, he gets restless.

– You’re really staying, huh? – His voice is sharp, his lip curled like the words taste foul on his tongue. – Gonna keep playing house with Rafe now? You like it that much? That much that you'd leave me in the dust?

You inhale slowly. Exhale even slower.

John’s eyes flick to the cigarette in your hand, like he might slap it out of your fingers. He doesn’t.

– You’re a fucking joke, you know that, Y/n? – He scoffs, voice dripping with something that sounds like betrayal. – I mean, what, is it fun for you? Cooking for him? Cleaning for him? Fucking him?

JJ shifts beside you. Uncomfortable. And for a moment, it seems like he might step in.

But he doesn’t.

Because he knows.

He knows your brother. He knows that he's not letting go until he tires himself out. So he just stands there, quiet, shifting, trying not to look at you.

– Rafe’s fucking laughing at you. – His voice is mean, cutting. – That’s all this is to him, okay? You think he gives a fuck about you? You think he looks at you and sees anything but a game? – He takes a step closer. His hands curl into fists at his sides, his voice turning softer, pleading now. – You know I’m right.

The weight in your chest tightens.

Your cigarette is all but burned down now, the smoke trailing from your fingers.

And still you don’t look at him.

You don’t move.

John exhales sharply through his nose, running a hand over his face, over his hair, back around his neck. He's shaking, all over the place, and when he speaks again, his voice is tight, like he’s forcing himself to stay calm.

Like he’s forcing himself not to shake you.

– You’re really just gonna sit there and ignore me?

Silence.

Your cigarette is out. Just a dead filter between your fingers. But you don’t flick it away.

You don’t move.

John scoffs. – Fine. Stay with him. Stay with them. See where it fucking gets you.

JJ shifts beside you again, but John’s already turning away. Already moving. Already shaking his head like he’s the one who should be disappointed.

He stops.

Turns back.

Because he can’t help himself.

– You like being someone’s fucking babysitter that much? That's much you need the attention? – He throws over his shoulder, voice laced with scorn. With venom. – I don’t know why I thought you were better than that. But I guess it makes sense. Your mom liked them rich too, didn't she?

You blink.

You breathe.

You stand.

Slow. Deliberate.

John doesn’t move.

JJ does.

He tenses beside you, his hands twitching at his sides, his lips parting like he’s about to say something.

But you don’t give him the chance.

You step forward.

Closer to John.

Close enough that you can see the way his jaw clenches, the way his throat bobs as he swallows, the way he braces, blinking rapidly, his breathing unsteady.

Like he knows what’s coming, like he thinks you'll beat him up.

You won't give him the satisfaction.

– You should be on your fucking knees thanking God you won't be sitting in jail cell for the rest of your life.

John blinks.

Stares.

You tilt your head slightly, watching him.

– You think I’m the fucking embarrassment? – Your voice is quiet, almost thoughtful. – You think me working a job, paying my own bills, making my own fucking way is the problem? Meanwhile, you tried to kill a guy just now?

John’s jaw tightens.

– He fucking deserved it, okay? – You scoff, and he stutters. – He did, okay?! You weren't there, you didn't hear him!

You laugh.

Short. Sharp. Bitter.

– Try saying that in court. See how it holds up.

His fingers twitch. His shoulders rise, his breathing gets heavier, and for one brief second, you think he might lunge at you like he did Rafe.

But he doesn’t.

Because he knows.

He knows you won’t stop him this time.

So he just stands there.

Fuming. Silent.

– I’ll get my things out of the house. – You hum, low, calm. You see him stutter, his eyes widen, his feet shift, back and forth, like he doesn’t know what to do. – I’ll get out of your sight then. Don't worry about seeing me again.

You see him flinch before you turn, as if it was the last thing he expected to hear from your lips.

The door behind him is open, his friends standing at the door, looking at you the same way. Painfully, wretchedly, like they can’t bear to look and can’t bear to look away.

He says your name, and it lands like an afterthought. Like he’s only now realizing he should have called it sooner.

You feel your own heart beat against your ribs, against your skin, against the weight of everything you don’t let yourself acknowledge.

John is still standing, his jaw tight, his eyes darting all over your face like he’s not sure whether to be pissed or just confused. You can see the questions on his lips, the disbelief, the hurt, the indignation—like he’s just now realizing that, for once, you’re not on his side.

– Where— Where are you going?

You don’t answer.

You don’t look at him. Because you know what he wants. He wants you to play the role you always do. He wants you to tell him you believe him, that you’ve got his back. He wants you to put everything else to the side, everything he did to you, everything he told you, every way in which he hurt you, and comfort him, be on his side, because John has never had to prove a damn thing. Because he’s never thought he had to.

JJ doesn’t let it go, though. He steps closer. Too close.

– Baby, – He whispers, close enough that only you can hear. – Don't— Don’t do this, okay? It's your house, your things. You— Why are you going?

He's already reaching.

His hand brushes your arm first, but it’s not like before. It’s not light, it’s not teasing, it’s not hungry or warm or comforting. It’s something else.

Something desperate.

Like he’s holding onto you the same way he used to, the way he used to fit into you, like he’s looking for some proof that you’re still his, that your arms still belong to him, that you’d still pull him in.

He looks like he’s on the verge of something. His fingers graze your wrist. Like he wants to hold it, like he’s about to, but he hesitates. The night before is still fresh in his mind, it’s still real in his mind, and even through his usual recklessness, through his guilt, through the desperation bleeding through his voice—he knows. He knows there are some lines he can’t cross with you anymore.

So he doesn’t.

But you feel it, anyway. – Why— Why are you leaving?

– What kind of a fucking question is that?

– Please, don't—

– You told me to leave. You told me to get out of my own house, you told me that I was a traitor and a whore, that I didn't belong there, that you didn't need me. I'm just following orders.

John looks between JJ and you, their expressions grievous, solemn. – That's not— JJ begins, his eyes teary. – I didn't mean that. I was angry, I know that—

– John let you do it. – You look at him. – Didn’t you, John? You're fine with JJ almost killing me on that bike, you're fine with me sleeping on the street, you're fine with someone calling me a whore, you're fine with having someone else humiliate me. Right?

– I don’t— He starts, but he doesn’t finish. His voice trails off, lost in a stutter.

– I'm sure you don’t. Nothing is ever your fault, John. You want me out of your life? Fine. But you can't have it both ways. Be an adult for once in your life and fucking own it.

John remains quiet, his hands still shaking, his eyes filled with tears.

He calls your name again, but you don’t want to hear him. You don’t want him near. You turn on your heel before he can grab you, and you don’t stop walking until you’re at the bus stop again.

Peterkin was right.

You are your mother’s daughter.

Leaving like that, throwing people’s words back at their faces like a teenager, that’s exactly the thing she did best, or at least so people tell you.

The thought pierces through the haze in your head, sharp enough that it stops you in your tracks, makes you falter mid-step, the air heavy in your lungs. You sit down, sink onto the curb and pretend to just be waiting, pretend this is just a day like any other.

But you can’t.

Because you can hear Peterkin again. Her voice like the smooth click of a safety coming off, her words landing on you with perfect, practiced weight.

"He called her exactly that. He was really fond of her. Bailed her out a thousand times."

It shouldn’t mean anything. It shouldn’t have stayed with you like this. It shouldn’t have latched onto your ribs like a living thing, twisting, growing, taking up space. But it does. And you can’t help but feel like an impostor.

People always say that to you, especially when they want to hurt you. That you’re your mother’s daughter, that the two of you are one and the same. And you can’t help but wonder if you’re some second rate version of her, barely filling these shoes you don’t even know you’re standing in, the specter of her presence in everyone else’s life.

Your brother.

Your father.

The Sheriff.

And now Ward.

The thought haunts you, you think about it all the way back to the Chateau, this idea that you’ve been inadvertently living a life that once was hers, with the people that belonged to her. Because everybody did belong to her, everybody except for you.

Now you can’t catch your reflection on the window without feeling like it doesn’t belong to you either. Because she’s there, looking at you, judging you, laughing at you, even though she was never there. Will never be there. Never wanted to be there. Regardless of how desperately you’d wished for it, in the quiet of the night, when even her worse batterings seemed like a kiss in comparison to your father’s cruelty, or the cruelty of the kids in the school yard.

You get “home” with the feeling that you never belonged there in the first place.

JJ’s words ring true, at last.

The air is thick inside the Chateau. Heavy. It smells like salt and old wood, like damp laundry left out too long, like something burnt that no one bothered to clean up, because of course, John didn’t.

Your hands are steady now.

You think that’s almost worse.

There was a time when coming home used to bring relief. But this place hasn't been yours for a long time now, has it?

Not really.

The bedroom is exactly as you left it. Clothes draped over the back of the chair, your shoes kicked under the bed, a pile of books stacked on the nightstand, an old jacket of your dad’s thrown over the desk. The posters on the walls are the same ones you’ve had since middle school, their edges curling from the humidity. Your closet barely even creaks when you pull it open.

And inside—

It’s so empty.

The realization slams into you like a physical thing.

You never had much to begin with, but it looks even worse all gathered like this: a couple of shirts folded into your duffel, a few pairs of shorts, two pair of shoes. A handful of books. Your dad’s old clothes, faded and a little too big, but they used to smell like him, so you held onto them. You don’t even think about leaving them behind. You shove them in the bag with the rest, jaw set tight.

It doesn’t take long to pack. It doesn’t take long at all. And somehow, that’s the worst part.

John doesn’t burst in after you, JJ doesn’t either. Nobody does. Maybe they don’t even realize you’re already gone. Maybe they think you’re still standing at the bus stop.

Maybe they think you’ll come back.

You know they’re wrong, and maybe, for the first time, they do too.

You look at the duffel bag, barely filled. There’s nothing else to take, because nothing else is yours.

Everything that’s left behind is theirs. Everything you fought so hard to keep is suddenly so meaningless. The clothes, the trinkets, the bed you once thought of as yours, the walls that have never really belonged to you.

The box —The thought occurs to you like a storm.

It’s tucked away under your bed, out of sight but never quite out of mind. You drop to your knees and reach for it, fingers shaking again, breath uneven. When you pull it out, dust clings to the edges of it, the cardboard soft, the lid slightly bent from how many times you’ve opened it before, looking for something, anything, that could make you understand her.

Your mother is gone, you remind yourself. But that doesn’t mean she ever left you.

This is how you’ve buried her, what a shame. No candles or kisses, nobody to say any words.

Your throat tightens. So does your chest.

The lid opens with barely a sound.

Faded polaroids —Her, in all of them. Her lovers, in most. The few friends she had, left with the rest. Crumpled receipts, from beauty stores and fancy labels. A necklace you’d found under your bed one day, the chain long broken, the locket empty, no picture inside. A handful of letters other people wrote for her. The gold bracelet she left on your nightstand before she left.

You don’t know why you’re crying until you feel it, the burn at the back of your throat, the sting in your eyes.

Maybe it’s the past twenty-four hours. Maybe it’s exhaustion.

Maybe it’s something else.

Maybe Peterkin was right.

Maybe you are your mother’s daughter, despite the fact she hasn't been your mother in years.

You stare down at the bracelet, the way the gold gleams in the dull light of the bedroom, like the embers of a fireplace that had long gone cold. It’s scratched, delicate and cool, not as pretty as it was one day, the same as her, and you press your lips together as you slip it onto your wrist.

Your phone buzzes again, and you wipe your tears on instinct before you pick it up, burying that box at the end of the bag, closing it, like a casket. The last true thing of a life that was never yours.

How ironic it is, that it too, belonged to your mother.

– Hey bee.

– You okay, sweetheart? It's five, right? Should I go pick you up? – His voice is warm, distant. You feel like you're watching a hearth from within a blizzard. It's a comfort, but one that's so far away you can barely imagine it. – We can go to the store right now, if you want.

– My work usually ends at eight.

– Eight PM?! – He gasps.

You could just see his expression right in front of you, the frown on his face, the way his lips hang open. You could almost smile. – Work is hell, Bee.

– Sweetheart, I know kids in sweatshops that have better hours.

You laugh, incredulous. – I left earlier today. I'm at my pl— You stop, biting your tongue. – At my brother’s. Picking up my things.

Barry's quiet for a moment, you hear the growl of a motorcycle far away from his line. His phone scrapes against his skin, as if he's tightening his grip on it. – Is he there?

– No, Bee. I don’t know where he is.

– Stay in your room. I'll be right there.

– Are you home?

There's a pause. – What?

– Are you home?

– No.

– Go straight home then, Bee. I'm already on my way. I'll see you later.

You hang up, barely listening to the last few hushed words lost within the grumble of his voice, and you're left to watch the site of the burial: Your empty room. Your now bare bed. The posters still on the walls, watching you emptily.

It's like a haunted house.

You don’t bother to look again before you leave. You don’t need yet another living, breathing, still existing thing to haunt you. But you leave the door open, so that they'll see you're gone.

Because you are your mother's daughter.

You don’t clean anything up, but you take a couple boxes of cigarettes from the counter and shove them in your purse.

Because you’re your brother’s sister.

You close the screen door and leave the wooden one open, leaving the one pair of shoes you never use sitting there on the shoe rack, where it's been for years, because you know you won’t come back for it.

Because you’re your father’s daughter, too.

But you step out onto the grass and there's someone waiting for you. The red and yellow paint on the bike —Rafe’s bike, the one that had been with Barry, the one JJ dragged you on— the first thing you notice.

His left hand, still on the splinter, trembles. And his eyes, those radioactive blue eyes, are filled with tears that spill long before he rushes to you, burying his face in the crook of your neck, before you can even say his name.

– Rafe?

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stargazsblog · 1 day ago

Text

how to lose a girl in 10 days chapter 4 sneak peak!!

If there’s one thing you know about Sukuna, it’s that he’s picky. he’s selective when it comes to the girls he wants. Sure, he’s a womanizer, but he knows how to get the right ones, those easy, pretty types who fall for his charm. Sukuna never backs down. If there’s something he wants, he’ll stop at nothing to get it, and once he has his sights set on someone, you can bet he’ll make it happen.

After the party, you tried your best to ignore everything. Shoko’s giggles were the worst of it, her grinning face and the way she kept trying to get you to talk about that moment when she walked in on you and Sukuna, right before you almost kissed.

You were drunk, yes, and maybe you didn’t know any better, but you could still feel his warmth pressing against you, the unmistakable heat of his body so close to yours.

You were pissed at him. Last week, he didn’t even know you existed, and now, he was suddenly everywhere. You couldn’t escape him. You sat in the back room of the coffee shop on your break, scrolling through Instagram. You knew you shouldn’t be stalking him, but after that night, how could you not? Sukuna had almost kissed you, you were still processing that, and now he was everywhere Your finger paused when you saw he’d posted a new story. You clicked on it, and there it was a selfie of him, Geto, and Gojo, with a few other girls around them. It was obvious the picture had been taken at the party last night, the same one where everything had gotten too close for comfort. You couldn’t help but scoff at the image. Of course, he was surrounded by beautiful women, what else was new?

The bell above the café door jingled softly, blending into the steady hum of conversation and the hiss of steaming milk. You sat up to walk to the register, not giving the customer a glance. It wasn’t the best job, but you liked the it. Here, you weren’t just someone who had brushed too close to Ryomen Sukuna the night before. you were just another barista, tucked behind the counter with your apron slightly wrinkled and a name tag hastily pinned to your chest.

The next customer stepped up, and you didn’t glance up right away. “Hi, What can I get started for you today?”

“I’ll take whatever you recommend.”

You recognize his low deep voice, you froze your fingers mid-swipe on the register. You glanced up, and there he was. Sukuna.

Of fucking course.

hey guys i’m back! i’m so sorry i’ve been gone for 2 months :( ive been busy with school but im back and i promise you ill try to start uploading once a week!! this chapter will come out at least by saturday or sunday i’m so sorry for the people that have been waiting for so long and thank you for all the comments i love seeing what you guys think about this little bet sukuna has going on

#how to lose a guy in 10 days #jjk fanfic #jjk x reader #look of love #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna #sukuna ryomen #sukuna series #sukuna x female reader #sukuna x reader #sukuna angst #ryomen sukuna #jujustu sukuna #sukuna ryomen x reader #suk

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jincapableoflove · 4 hours ago

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the lunchbox delivery | drabble

A PART OF 'THE HOUSEHUSBAND DIARIES' DRABBLE SERIES

pairing: jungkook x (f.) reader

genre: househusband! jungkook, corporate office worker! reader, established relationship, flufff.

summary: jungkook, your soft yet badass househusband, goes on a city-wide mission—apron and all—to deliver the lunch you forgot in your morning rush.

word count: 2.1k+

warnings: flustered husband!jungkook, soft domestic moments, jungkook in a manbun (a warning in itself), office gossip, pda, shy but devoted husband, theyre so in love with each other.

inspired by: the way of the househusband (manga)

a/n: i have so many wips but i had to upload this 😭 i'm working hard on hoc and tggpp i promise. writing this reminded me of jungkook saying he'd make a great housewife while washing dishes in that one weverse live.

the kitchen is bathed in soft golden light as the morning sun peeks through the curtains. it’s quiet, save for the faint hum of the refrigerator and the occasional rhythmic chop of a knife against the wooden cutting board.

"when i see your face… there’s not a thing that i would change, ‘cause you’re amazing… just the way you are…"

jungkook sings along to just the way you are by bruno mars, his voice a little raspy from sleep but still effortlessly smooth. his lips curl into a small smile as he sways lightly on his feet, the melody slipping from his lips as he focuses on the task at hand.

your lunch.

he carefully scoops a mound of warm, fluffy rice into his hands, the heat seeping into his fingertips. with practiced ease, he shapes the grains, pressing and molding them until they take form—two perfect little bear faces, their tiny ears rounded just right. he sets them down gently into the bento box and tilts his head, inspecting them with a critical eye.

something’s missing.

jungkook reaches for a small sheet of gim, the dark seaweed paper crisp under his fingertips. with a tiny pair of scissors, he delicately cuts out little circles for the eyes, a small curve for the mouth. he sticks them onto the rice bears with chopsticks, making sure they align perfectly.

he grins in satisfaction before moving on to the rest of the bento. rolled eggs sit neatly beside the rice bears, their golden layers stacked just right. a handful of heart-shaped strawberries adds a pop of color, followed by small sausage octopuses lined up like tiny soldiers. the finishing touch, a few neatly arranged kimbap rolls, sliced precisely.

he carefully closes the sanrio-themed lunchbox, running his fingers over the pastel blue lid where cinnamoroll smiles back at him. he knows how much you love this lunchbox you picked out, giggling over how cute it was in the store.

jungkook double-checks everything, making sure it’s perfectly packed before setting it on the dining table. he even places a pair of your favorite chopsticks next to it, feeling proud of his work.

"when you smile… the whole world stops and stares for a while…"

bam watches from his spot near the couch, his head tilted in curiosity.

"you think she’ll like it, bamie?" jungkook asks, ruffling the dog’s ears. bam wags his tail once in response.

jungkook chuckles. "yeah, she better."

meanwhile, in your room, everything is quiet except for the soft hum of the ceiling fan mixing with the distant chirping of birds outside. the warmth of the blankets wraps around you, and the pillow beneath your head is impossibly comfortable.

suddenly, your phone alarm blares.

your eyes snap open. there’s a beat of silence and then there’s sheer panic.

"shit, shit, SHIT!"

you bolt upright so fast that the blanket tangles around your legs, nearly yanking you back down. your heart pounds as you grab your phone, squinting at the time.

7:45 am.

OH MY GOD.

your early morning meeting.

the realization crashes over you like a bucket of ice water.

you fling the covers off and practically hurl yourself out of bed, making a beeline for the bathroom. toothpaste, face wash, a half-hearted attempt to fix your hair, it’s all done in record time. you throw on your blazer, barely managing to shove your arms through the sleeves as you stumble back into the bedroom.

jungkook, still in his apron over his pajama pants and a loose white t-shirt, leans against the doorframe, watching you with a frown. "you okay, baby?" he asks, his voice thick with confusion.

"no," you groan, hopping on one foot as you struggle to put on your shoe. "i forgot i have an early meeting today—i’m so late!"

jungkook opens his mouth to remind you that you still have fifteen minutes but you’re already dashing past him.

you snatch up your bag from the couch, nearly knocking over the cushions in the process. your blazer is half-buttoned, your hair is still slightly damp from your rushed washing, and you’re 90% sure you forgot to put on perfume.

jungkook barely gets a chance to say good morning before you spin around, eyes wild, and grab his face between your hands.

his lips part in surprise just as you press a quick, rushed kiss to his mouth.

"i love you—BYE!" you say in a single breath, already turning toward the door.

jungkook blinks. "wait, baby, did you—"

but you’re gone.

the door slams behind you, the sound echoing through the apartment.

for a moment, there’s silence. then, with a small sigh, jungkook resumes his everyday tasks, putting on gloves before turning to the sink. once the last plate is set on the drying rack, he moves on to the laundry, gathering the neatly folded clothes into a basket.

woof!

bam, lying on his stomach near the couch, lifts his head and barks toward the dining table. his ears twitch, and his gaze flicks toward jungkook as if expecting him to do something.

jungkook follows his dog’s line of sight.

and there it is.

your cinnamoroll lunchbox, still sitting exactly where he left it. untouched. forgotten.

for a moment, he just stares at it, blinking in disbelief.

then, panic sets in.

"oh, shit."

without wasting another second, jungkook moves. he grabs the lunchbox with one hand and snatches his helmet with the other, practically sprinting toward the door.

within seconds, he’s outside, straddling his harley davidson, the engine roaring to life beneath him. the wind tugs at the loose strands of his tiny man-bun as he pulls his helmet on, securing it hastily before gripping the handlebars.

the city blurs past in streaks of neon and morning sunlight as jungkook speeds through the streets, the deep rumble of his harley davidson cutting through the early rush hour buzz. he leans into the curves with practiced ease, the sharp black of his leather gloves gripping the handlebars as he weaves between cars. the wind tugs at the loose strands of his hair, his tiny man-bun slightly coming undone beneath the helmet. he looks every bit the part of a street racer, dangerous and intense.

except.

there’s a pink apron still tied snugly around his waist.

and strapped to his back? a cinnamoroll lunchbox filled with rice bears and heart-shaped eggs, all carefully prepared for his wife.

the contrast is almost ridiculous but jungkook doesn’t care. his only mission right now is getting this lunch to you before your day gets too hectic and before you end up skipping your lunch due to your deadlines.

a few pedestrians stop to stare as he flies past, some doing double takes at the sight of a broad-shouldered, tattooed man speeding through the city with a pastel-colored lunchbox clutched under his arm. at a red light, an older woman on the sidewalk squints at him, eyes flitting from his dangerous-looking bike to the cute apron still tied neatly around him.

jungkook pretends not to notice.

but when the guy in the car next to him rolls down his window, giving him a once-over and raising an eyebrow, jungkook lets out a slow sigh before muttering under his breath,

"it’s for my wife, bro."

jungkook strides into the lobby of your corporate office, the heavy glass doors sliding open as he steps inside. the sleek modern interior, polished marble floors and employees in crisp suits moving with purpose make him stick out like a sore thumb.

not because he’s out of place.

but because he looks like the world’s softest yet baddest househusband all at once.

the contrast is undeniable. his back boots echo against the floor, tattoos peeking from under the sleeves of his t-shirt, his posture confident. but then there’s the pink apron still tied snugly around his waist, its soft fabric a stark contrast to his sharp jawline and leather gloves stuffed in his pocket. in his hand, a cinnamoroll lunchbox, clutched almost too carefully as if the very fate of the world depends on its safe delivery.

the receptionist, bright-eyed and clearly entertained, has to stifle a giggle the moment she looks up.

jungkook notices.

his grip tightens slightly around the lunchbox as his ears start burning, a telltale shade of pink crawling up his neck. he clears his throat, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, and raises a hand to awkwardly push back the loose strands of his man-bun.

“uh—” he clears his throat again. “i—i’m here for my wife.”

the receptionist blinks, amused. “your wife?”

jungkook nods, shifting uncomfortably. “yeah. y/n, she, uh… forgot her lunch.” he holds up the lunchbox like it’s exhibit a. “can you, um… call her?”

the receptionist definitely giggles this time, eyes flicking between jungkook’s sharp features and the adorable lunchbox in his hands. she doesn’t even bother to hide her amusement when she picks up the phone.

"of course, sir. one moment."

jungkook exhales slowly, standing there, trying so hard not to fidget. his fingers twitch against the strap of the lunchbox, his gaze flicking around the office, avoiding eye contact with passing employees who definitely noticed him.

he swears this is the longest minute of his life.

the moment your receptionist notified you, you practically sprint to the lobby, your heels clicking sharply against the floor as you weave through your coworkers.

jungkook stands near the reception desk, looking utterly adorable despite the fact that he should look completely out of place. his man-bun is slightly messy from the wind, a few strands escaping to frame his face. his fitted shirt clings to his frame just right, tattoos peeking from the sleeve. but then there’s the apron, still snugly tied around his waist, the soft fabric completely at odds with the harley davidson keychain dangling from his fingers.

and in his other hand? your cinnamoroll lunchbox.

your heart melts on the spot.

"jungkook," you breathe, slowing down as you approach him. his big, round eyes lift to meet yours, relief flickering across his face the second he sees you.

"you forgot this," he murmurs, holding out the lunchbox like it’s the most important thing in the world.

something about the way he says it makes your chest ache with warmth. without thinking, you grab the lunchbox and then, before he can react—

you kiss him.

right there.

in front of everyone.

jungkook stiffens instantly, his brain short-circuiting as your lips press against his. it’s quick but firm, filled with gratitude and affection, and when you pull away, his expression is priceless.

his ears are so red.

actually, scratch that—his entire face is red. his doe eyes blink rapidly, mouth opening and closing like he wants to say something but can’t.

a few feet away, the receptionist giggles. several coworkers definitely noticed. someone even lets out a low whistle, murmuring, “damn, wish my wife loved me like that.”

jungkook malfunctions.

“i—y-you—” he stammers, gripping the back of his neck. “y-you didn’t have to—uh—”

you grin up at him, amused by the way he’s physically incapable of forming a proper sentence. “i did have to.” you shake the lunchbox playfully. “you came all the way here just to bring me this. what kind of wife would i be if i didn’t thank you properly?”

jungkook sputters, still blushing furiously. “b-but—”

you kiss his cheek this time, just for good measure.

his soul leaves his body.

the moment jungkook steps out of the office, the gossip erupts.

“oh my god, that was adorable.” “who knew your husband was such a softie?” “damn, does he have a brother?” “i swear, that was straight out of a drama.”

you shake your head, grinning as you make your way back to your desk, ignoring the knowing looks and teasing winks from your coworkers. no matter how much they tease, you don’t care because honestly? you love how much they saw. you love that they know just how sweet your husband is.

as you sit down, you run your fingers over the lunchbox, warmth blooming in your chest. jungkook had woken up early just to make this for you, chased you down just to deliver it. it wasn’t just about the food, it was about him, the way he always thought of you, always made sure you were taken care of.

at lunchtime, you carefully open the box, and the sight of the tiny bear-shaped rice makes your heart clench. he even arranged everything neatly, just how you liked it.

with a giddy sigh, you pick up your phone and type out a quick message.

you: you are the best husband in the world i love u sooo muchh 😭💖

a few seconds later, your phone buzzes.

kookie 🎀🐰 : damn right i am. you better eat all of it.

you roll your eyes, chuckling to yourself as you take your first bite, savoring the meal he made with so much care.

yeah. you were so lucky.

taglist open!! lmk ur thots <3

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